Prologue

The Wall.

A massive barrier, built of ice, stone, earth, wood, and, according to legend, magic, stretching one hundred leagues, east to west, over seven hundred feet high, for the most part, though there were some points where the foundation was built atop tall hills, causing it's highest points to reach heights of near nine hundred feet.

At the top of The Wall, it was wide enough for a dozen mounted knights to ride abreast, and it got increasingly thicker the further down one went. Down at the base stood the castles of the Sworn Brotherhood of The Night's Watch, an ancient order of warriors sworn to defend the realms of men from what lay beyond The Wall.

According to legend, Bran The Builder raised The Wall, with the help of giants, and The Children of The Forest, in The Age of Heroes, thousands of years ago, after The First Men and The Children defeated creatures- or some would say 'demons' -called The Others, and their supposed Army of The Dead; dead men, women and even beasts, brought back to life by their dark magic.

According to legend, after The Wall was raised, The Night's Watch was formed by a band of warriors who had fought and defeated The Others, in The Battle for The Dawn, to keep watch upon The Wall, and guard against The Others, should they ever return.

It seemed to Ser Garlan Tyrell, a ranger and sworn brother, that the only thing The Wall, or The Watch, was keeping back these days were men; wildlings, as the folk that lived beyond The Wall were called.

Though it seemed that way, Ser Garlan couldn't help but think that, if all The Wall or The Watch were meant to be nothing more than a means to keep men- men not much different than most, if a bit rougher and more primitive in their ways -from coming south, such a thing could be far more easily done with a few strategically placed forts, and good, well trained cavalry.

To Garlan's mind, no one with any sense builds a wall, seven hundred feet high, one hundred leagues long, backed by nineteen castles, and mans it with a sworn brotherhood of warriors, who take a lifelong vow to do the job, just to keep men off their lands. To Garlan's mind, the only conceivable reason The First Men, and The Children- if the latter ever truly existed -would build such a thing, and form such an order as The Watch, was that they felt a very real need to do so. Otherwise, none of it made any sense, not in the slightest.

At least, not to an educated mind, and Ser Garlan, as the second son of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of The Marches, High Marshal of The Reach, and Warden of The South, was fortunate enough to posses just such a mind. Garlan's youth had been spent far to the south, in The Reach; the most fertile lands in the whole of The Seven Kingdoms, where the climate was mild, even in the winter, and well suited to all manner of agriculture. At Highgarden, his family seat since Aegon's Conquest, lush gardens and orchards grew within the very walls of the magnificent castle itself.

As the son of a high lord of The Realm, Garlan was very thoroughly educated, by his maester, but also by more than a few well regarded scholars, whom his father- or, more than likely, his grandmother -had sent for, to ensure that, even if House Tyrell were not the most powerful house in The Seven Kingdoms, it's heirs would be the best educated, and thus, more like to increase Highgarden's power in the future.

Such matters would be handled by his siblings, however, for Garlan had taken the black- another term for joining The Watch -not long after his eighteenth nameday, which was not long after he'd been knighted. Brothers of The Night's Watch swear an oath to take no wives, father no children, wear no crowns, and win no glory. The oath is also for life, and, as such, Highgarden would rise or fall on the merits of his older brother, Willas, the heir to House Tyrell, and his younger brother, Loras, fast becoming a skilled and cunning young warrior in his own right. It would fall to Willas and Loras to win glory, wear crowns, marry ladies of high standing, and sire the heirs of Highgarden. Not that this bothered Garlan overly much, as crowns and glory didn't matter for much to him. The company of women...well, Garlan wouldn't go so far as to say he hadn't made any sacrifices in joining The Watch.

Of course, then there was the matter of his lone sister, Margaery, through whom Garlan was most certain that his house's fortunes would rise. Their grandmother and mother had been grooming her for such practically since she was born, from what Garlan could remember, and what Garlan could remember was quite a lot. Even a blind man- provided he wasn't also deaf -would see that such was so, if he'd spent so much as an hour with Margaery; the etiquette, refinement and polish engrained in his sister's very being would show that this was no ordinary highborn lady.

Margaery was being groomed as a future queen.

One way, or another.

The young ranger sighed at his thoughts of home, as such thoughts tended to cause him to do, and, in the frigid air at the top of The Wall, a plume formed, as quickly as the sigh left his mouth. He hated watch duty. It was, without question, the most boring thing he'd ever done in all his twenty years, two of which were spent here, at The Wall.

He wanted to be out there, where his eyes were set, on the vast forests beyond, and the horizon beyond that. He loved ranging, and he was good at it. Much like his horsemanship, swordsmanship, lancing, archery, and all the myriad things he'd been taught growing up, when it came to ranging, he'd been taught by the very best; Qhorin Halfhand, one of the toughest, most cunning men Garlan had ever met, and Benjen Stark, First Ranger of The Night's Watch, a son of the paramount house of The North- House Stark -and a native to these lands. Between the two of them, Garlan learned to set aside some of the courtesies expected of an anointed knight, and fight- and think -like a ranger.

Their lessons had saved his life more than a couple of times, out there, beyond The Wall, as had both men.

Benjen's eldest brother, Lord Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of The North, came to mind now, as his thoughts shifted from home, to his mentors among The Watch, to the man most responsible for his being here in the first place.

When Garlan was only six years old, Lord Brandon rose in rebellion against King Aerys Targaryen, called 'The Mad King'- and, if stories about the king were true, he'd certainly earned the name -to avenge the murder of his father and the abduction of his sister, Lyanna, by Rhaegar Targaryen, who had been, at the time, Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to King Aerys. Prince Rhaegar was also a married man, a point not lost on Lord Brandon, nor his late father, Lord Rickard Stark.

Such a thing simply could not be allowed to stand. If anyone- even a king, or a future king -can take hostage a member of your house, and there are no consequences, your house loses it power; it's standing. To lose that much would drive most houses to war, but with House Stark it was much more than that.

In the end, as Benjen had explained it to him one day, Brandon cared not a whit about power, or stature, or losing face. For Brandon, it was a matter of honor, and for a Stark to allow a dishonor to his house to go unchecked, well, such a thing was unthinkable. All the rest could be damned to the hells, but perhaps there was no house in all The Seven Kingdoms that valued their honor more than House Stark.

An abducted- and probably violated -daughter, or sister, or wife...to a Stark, those were grounds for the spilling of as much blood as it would take to see that honor restored.

Lord Rickard rode to King's Landing, with only a small retinue of personal guards, seeking an audience with Aerys, and at first, he was received cordially.

In his personal audience with The Mad King, Lord Rickard asked for but two things: First, for his daughter's return, and, secondly, for The King to admonish his son, and the two knights of The Kingsguard also implicated in the abduction- Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword of The Morning- for their actions.

The Mad King's response was to have Lord Rickard's men slaughtered, after which The Lord of Winterfell was stripped naked, flogged, and thrown in the nefarious Black Cells; the deepest, darkest dungeons beneath The Red Keep.

Aerys then sent ravens to Riverrun and The Eyrie, with simple messages:

To Lord Hoster Tully, he demanded that Brandon, and also Ser Elbert Arryn, a close friend of Brandon's who was also the nephew and heir of Lord Jon Arryn, Lord of The Eyrie, Defender of The Vale, and Warden of The East, be given over to The Crown.

To Lord Arryn, he demanded that Lord Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, and Lord Paramount of The Stormlands- to whom Lyanna was betrothed -and, also, Lord Rickard's second son, Eddard, be given over to The Crown.

The reasoning, as it was understood, was simple, really:

Brandon was to be given over to The Crown to keep him from returning to The North and calling his father's banners in his father's stead. Lord Robert was to be given over to keep him from returning to the Stormlands and calling his banners. Eddard, as Rickard's second son, was to be given over to keep him from returning to The North, and calling the banners in his father's and brother's stead. Ser Elbert was to be given over as a hostage to ensure total compliance by Jon Arryn to Aerys demands...and to keep Jon Arryn from entertaining any ideas of calling his own banners.

It was in all of these actions that Aerys made the war that followed an inevitability.

Before he'd set out from Riverrun for the capital, Lord Rickard had given his eldest son Ice, the ancestral, Valyrian steel, greatsword of House Stark. "What if you should need it?" asked Brandon, to which Lord Rickard replied "If I would need it, I'm certain you'll need it more for what would follow. If the worst should happen, it will serve you better than I."

Lord Rickard was proven to be most wise in his assessment.

Lord Tully, was an honorable man. He would not hand over two young knights, almost certain that they would be slaughtered. He also had faith that, when he called his banners, more of his bannermen than not would answer his call.

He was also a rather shrewd man in the political sense. He already had one heir of a paramount house betrothed to his eldest daughter. Now, as he saw it, he had two.

At one time, Lord Tully had betrothed Lysa, his second daughter, to Ser Jaime Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister, who, at the time, had been Hand to King Aerys, but was also Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of The West. That ended when the heir to Casterly Rock was made Kingsguard by Aerys, bound by oaths much like The Watch, in that he would take no wife, father no children, and inherit no lands, nor titles- a final insult to Lord Tywin, meant to wound deeper than any other insult he could think of.

Now, Ser Elbert Arryn, heir to Lord Jon Arryn, was beneath his roof, under his protection...and the young man was also unspoken for.

An alliance was forged: Brandon would wed Catelyn, Elbert would wed Lysa. In one ceremony, The North, Riverlands, Vale and Stormlands were allied in rebellion against The Iron Throne. Lord Robert would have to wait for Lyanna, but Brandon assured him that, whatever may happen, the marriage agreement between their houses would be held to.

Brandon and Elbert would not even have a full evening with their new brides, as they were forced to slip out of Riverrun in the middle of the night, under cover of darkness, to conceal their movement from crown spies.

So it came to pass, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully called their banners. In both cases, most of their bannermen answered the call, but not all. A group of loyalist lords took up position at Gulltown, momentarily keeping Robert Baratheon from traveling to The Stormlands, but Eddard Stark crossed The Mountains of The Moon, to the southern shores of The Bite, and secured passage from a fisherman there, to White Harbor, the great port city of The North.

Lord Brandon rode north, with the rest of the Winterfell guard that had come south with Lord Rickard, while Ser Elbert rode east, with a small retinue from the Riverrun guard, to the Highroad, and The Bloody Gate, to join his uncle's arms in The Vale.

When Ser Elbert arrived in The Vale, he was just in time to join his uncle's arms on the march to Gulltown, where the arms of House Arryn, and their loyal bannermen, smashed the lords loyal to The Iron Throne, and took control of the port city, allowing Robert to sail home to Storm's End.

By the time he reached Winterfell, Brandon learned that his father had been executed- burned alive, with wildfire -for treason. He called his banners, and the whole of The North answered the call, with Ned arriving at Winterfell not long after, with Lord Manderly's arms, but also a wife of his own.

A great and bloody war followed; Robert arrived at Storm's End and called his banners, then, at Summerhall, he defeated the arms of three separate loyalist houses in three separate battles in a single day. Overconfident with those victories, and having brought the majority of the loyalist lords into his fold, he marched into The Reach, but was stalemated at Ashford, by Lord Randyll Tarly, who'd been in command of Father's van.

Much as he loved his father, Garlan thought the man either a craven or a fool for his actions after Ashford. He had Lord Robert in the open. He had the numbers to pursue, encircle, and crush the Stormlanders- possibly break the rebellion's back right there, in The Reach itself.

Instead, Father marched east, to Storm's End, and laid siege to Robert's home, and a garrison of five hundred men...and sat there, feasting within sight of the castle walls. Garlan's uncle, Paxter Redwyne, used the Redwyne fleet not to bring reinforcement to the capital, but to blockade Storm's End.

Instead, it was left to Lord Jon Connington, Hand to King Aerys, to lead a Crownlands force, supplemented by Riverlords loyal to House Targaryen, to Stoney Sept, where Robert had taken refuge, with a small group of men, while the rest of his arms continued north, to link up with the full power of the rebel arms; the combined might of The North, Vale and Riverlords loyal to Riverrun.

Connington entered the town and began a building to building search for Robert. With his arms divided, half within the walled town, half outside it's walls, a combined advance force of the rebel arms, led by Ser Denys Arryn, fell upon them from both the east and west, nearly trapping the whole of the Crown army in a double envelopment that the half of the army outside the town's walls were forced to fight their way out of.

Within the walls, the Crown army was slaughtered, with Lord Brandon cleaving Lord Connington's head in twain with a single blow from Ice.

While the rebels regrouped, and headed north, the surviving half of Connington's army fled back to King's Landing, demoralized, and near broken.

It was then that Rhaegar arrived to lead a larger force, backed by Dornish spearmen, to rally the loyalist arms and march north, to the final battle of the war.

At a place now called The Crimson Ford, on The Trident, Lord Brandon cut his way through many great knights, including two knights of The Kingsguard- Ser Jonothor Darry, whom he slew, and Ser Barristan Selmy, whom he merely left near death -to get to Rhaegar, the source of all the woe that had befallen House Stark.

In the middle of the ford, Ice and Fire clashed...and Lord Brandon cut Prince Rhaegar in two, from just inside his left collar bone, through his chest, and out just above his right hip. So much blood filled the water when Rhaegar was slain that it stained the waters crimson for a great distance in every direction.

After that, Tywin Lannister, after entering the capital under the false pretense of coming to Aerys aid to defend the city, sacked King's Landing, and his son, Ser Jaime, slew the very king he'd sworn an oath to protect.

Not long after that, Lord Brandon, and Ser Eddard, marched the new Crown Arms south, lifting the siege of Storm's End.

It was said that all it took for Father to dip his banners was the sight of the blood stained banners of Winterfell approaching.

The war was over. Now, only the peace remained.

It was what occurred in Dorne, after the surrender of The Reach arms, that guaranteed that the peace would be a vengeful one.

Lady Lyanna had died there, while captive to Prince Rhaegar. Lord Brandon and King Robert now required more than mere oaths of fealty to sate their anger.

Lord Stark had put much thought into his vengeance, however. As such, he devised a plan that would satisfy all of the victors, while crippling the vanquished in their capacity to rise later.

King Robert, and his new Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, needed time to cement the new regime's hold on The Seven Kingdoms, and to do that, they needed to pacify the noble houses that had stayed loyal to House Targaryen. Lord Tully, whose lands sat between the loyalist Reach and Crownlands, and had even been forced to fight some of his own bannermen at Stoney Sept and The Trident, needed peace of mind; if a new war were to break out, his lands would be the first to bleed, as the The Riverlands always seemed to be the ground upon which most of the battles, of most of the wars in the entire history of Westeros were fought.

With this in mind, Lord Brandon provided them with a solution to their concerns: The Black Sanctions.

The numbers of The Night's Watch had dwindled greatly by the time of the rebellion. Only three of the nineteen castles along The Wall were manned, and The Gift, the lands set aside by Bran The Builder, and later, added to by Queen Alysanne, wife of King Jaehaerys I, to sustain The Watch, were nearly abandoned entirely, and overgrown. Lord Brandon was most adamant on correcting this problem.

It was not uncommon for vanquished lords or rebellious knights, and other criminals, to be given the choice of taking the black over death. Lord Brandon suggested that the victors make that choice for the vanquished.

Thus, The Black Sanctions were drafted and agreed upon by the victors: King Robert, Lord Jon Arryn, Lord Hoster Tully, Lord Brandon Stark, and even Lord Tywin Lannister, who'd secured his seat at the table by taking King's Landing, and providing King Robert with a wife befitting a king, in his daughter Cersei.

In accordance to The Black Sanctions, the loyalist noble houses of the Riverlands, Stormlands, Reach and Crownlands were to send a fit male of their house to The Wall, without exception. Loyalist knights and the City Watch of King's Landing were sent, one and all, to take the black, again, without exception, save for one: Ser Barristan Selmy, who was pardoned by King Robert, out of admiration.

Further, the noble houses that had remained loyal to the Targaryens were required to send a number of fit, young, men from their lands to The Wall- every year -for twenty years, beginning in 284, when the formal peace was signed.

It had been fourteen years since, and, the fresh men who arrived each year began to add up, swelling the ranks of The Night's Watch such that now fifteen of the nineteen castles at The Wall were fully manned, and The Gift was restored to it's original purpose.

The cost to restore or rebuild the castles and The Wall was to be paid, mostly, by the vanquished loyalist houses. Those same houses were also required to send shipments of food stores, tools, building materials, and everything from wool, leather, and linen for clothes, to steel for weapons and armor, to all manner of apothecary supplies that could be found in those lands.

At only one third their market price.

There was still quite a bit of resentment in those areas most affected by The Black Sanctions, but this was alleviated in some small part, when, five years later, after Lord Balon Greyjoy launched a failed rebellion of his own, The Black Sanctions were levied upon The Iron Islands as well.

Those numbers were bolstered further, as, many a young man with few or no prospects, even second born and lower sons of noble houses that had supported The Stark Rebellion, found a well funded, well accommodated life at The Wall as a viable opportunity to make something of themselves, serve a greater purpose, or simply escape a life of boredom or crime.

To some degree, The Black Sanctions had brought Garlan to The Wall.

House Tyrell needed to send a son to The Wall, in compliance with the sanctions, true, but Garlan didn't need to be the son to go; Willas was unfit to serve, due to a lamed leg, suffered in his first and only joust. Loras, however, the third son of their house, could have gone, as many expected, once he came of age.

Garlan, however, had read of The Night's Watch, and knowing his younger brother as he did, he was certain such a life would be lived in misery. With all of that in mind, Garlan volunteered, two years past, and regretted little of the decision. He actually enjoyed life at the veritable edge of the world, strange as that would seem to most.

In a way, Garlan thought, he had two men to thank for that: Lord Brandon, for conceiving of The Black Sanctions, and his own father, for being such an inept field commander during the war.

With his thoughts on Lord Brandon, he did another sweep of the vast, open plain before him, as, more than a turn of the moon ago, Lord Brandon himself, accompanied by two dozen mounted men of The Black Wolves, had come to The Wall, held lengthy discussions with Lord Commander Mormont, and also Maester Aemon, at Castle Black, then passed through the tunnel there and headed north.

For what reason, Garlan did not know, and if any of his sworn brothers in The Watch knew, they were keeping it to themselves. All Garlan knew was this: Lord Brandon and his men hadn't been seen or heard from since, and Benjen was preparing a great ranging party to go looking for them. Garlan had been the first to volunteer, and Benjen had been glad of it, and said so. They were to leave in three days, which was probably why most of the men on watch duty the past week had been men who'd volunteered for the ranging.

There had been a lot of wildling activity of late; wildlings captured on both sides of The Wall told stories that beggared belief, and had Garlan not been present to look one such wildling man in the eye, he probably would have dismissed the claims as nonsense.

The tales were both strange, and troubling; Mance Rayder, a former sworn brother, now living among the wildlings, was said to be rallying all of the wildlings to form a massive army to march on The Wall. This was, compared to some of the other tales, the least troubling, strange as that would seem.

Other stories spoke of the dead rising, entire villages and camps vanishing, and sightings of The Others...

His thoughts were jolted by the blast of a horn.

One blast. That meant a ranger coming in.

Then he saw it, far below, a lone rider, his horse at full gallop, had cleared the tree line, some five leagues out. It looked like a small, black, speck, but it was moving towards The Wall, and quickly.

"Let's 'ave a look then..." The Halfhand grumbled, raising his far-eye to get a better look. "Damn! I'm headin' below. Garlan, Harkyn, with me!" he barked.

Garlan fell into line behind The Halfhand, and spoke, "What troubles?"

As they reached the lift and boarded it, ringing the bell to signal for their descent, The Halfhand blew into his hands. "That's no ranger, lad. It's no wildling on a stolen horse neither. That's Lord Bran!"

"But, he rode out with two dozen good men!" Garlan gasped in disbelief, "How-"

"I dunno, lad, but my guts are tellin' me this is the beginnin' of hard times." The old ranger replied, quietly, clearly deep in thought...

Lord Brandon had slept for nearly two full days before waking in the quarters of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, a good friend, and, before he took the black, after the rebellion, one of his most loyal bannermen.

The Lord of Winterfell attempted to rise, but his sides ached, and he felt light headed.

"My lord," The Old Bear said softly, "lie back. Maester Aemon says you were lucky to survive so long, with three broken ribs, and near dried out as a bone. When was the last time you ate, or drank?"

Lord Brandon blinked his eyes, his focus slowly returning. "How long was I out?" he replied.

"You were barely conscious when your brother, and Qhorin Halfhand, and some of the younger rangers, retrieved you, my lord." the soft, wizened voice of Maester Aemon came in reply, "Your lips were parched, your tongue, blackened, the wound on the palm of your hand, fortunately, was cleaned and cauterized well enough. That was two days past. Were I to guess, from how my assistants described your condition, you hadn't had a drop to drink in at least two days, perhaps more. Your horse fell dead beneath you, a league from the wall. I do not wish to ask a sensitive question, but I dare not ask this one, in times like this, my lord: What became of those two dozen men that rode out of Castle Black with you, more than a moon's turn ago?"

Brandon steadied himself and tried to slow down the blur of images in his head- so many, of his journey beyond The Wall, and the things he saw there, but also the things he saw when he touched that Heart tree...

"The villages closest to The Wall- Whitetree, a few others...the people there were terribly afraid of something. Spoke with some of the folk there, the ones that would speak, at least. Talk of...folk headed south, with tales of dead men, risen from the dead, and The Others."

"We cleared Craster's Keep about the third day out, I think...hard to remember now..." he continued, trying to separate what he saw in the tree with what had happened along his journey. "I think it was...two days later, we came across another village, and it was empty- not a soul to be found -but...they'd left everything behind. It didn't make any sense. They'd left everything behind; weapons, clothes, tools, food, water skins..."

Lord Commander Mormont reclined a bit in his chair, a grave look taking his face. "You say they simply abandoned the village completely? At great haste?"

"I know not, Lord Commander, for the village was deserted when we got there...and, it had been for at least a week, maybe more...one of the men...I cannot remember what it was, but, it caused us to figure it deserted for at least a week. The next one, a few days after that, just as abandoned, but, from the looks of it, more than a month past. There were...charred bones, in an open pit. I counted at least four skulls in the ashes, maybe five. When my head's cleared, I can tell you..."

He went silent now, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him.

"My lord," Maester Aemon spoke again, a bit more firmly now, "what of your men? What happened to them?"

Brandon's heart began to race. He could see the whole of it again, as if it were happening right there and then. He shut his eyes, but the scene did not change, it only seemed to become clearer. He breath quickened, until he finally let out a gasp, then was still again.

"They attacked us...a dozen of them, perhaps a score...and they cut my men to pieces...butchered them like hogs..."

His breathing steadied, and he continued, "Can't fight them with steel...not even the best, castle forged, steel. It shatters like glass after only two or three swings. Against their swords, their armor, their flesh, it matters not. Steel shatters against them all. It left the men defenseless...Only weapon that didn't break...only weapon that could kill them, was Wintersun...my Valyrian steel sword."

He was quiet, wiping his face down, cold sweat moistening his fingers.

"By the gods..." The Old Bear said now, barely a whisper.

"Where is my blade?!" Lord Brandon asked now, almost frantically, his hands groping around the bed blindly.

Benjen appeared at his side now, and handed him his cherished blade, a longsword of the Essosi style; a blade just an inch shy of a bastard sword, with a hilt for one handed or two handed use- forged from re-worked Valyrian steel harvested from Ice, which had been a greatsword -sheathed in it's black lacquered, bronze bound, weirwood scabbard.

The deep bronze of the slightly angled crossguard, with teardrop quillons at it's ends, long, grooved, tapered hilt, capped by a flared, teardrop pommel, glimmered in the firelight. "It's here, brother, and so am I." his youngest brother said, quietly, calmly, trying to reassure him.

Lord Brandon clutched the sword to his chest which seemed to calm him.

"Valyrian steel...and dragonglass. I saw The First Men, and The Children, fight them, and kill them, with weapons of dragonglass."

The men of The Watch all looked at one another curiously at Lord Brandon's statement: He'd seen the First Men and The Children? Perhaps the man had become delusional from fever.

"Who?!" demanded Maester Aemon, the only man in the room whose attention was still fixed on the lord abed before them, his ancient face grown cross.

"They had eyes like blue ice, burning...their skin...pale as milk. They were tall, gaunt, nimble- so quick! It was them...I'm sure of it. The Others...gods help us all...they've come back..."

Maester Aemon's brows furrowed. "This...gods help us all...this is not good...We've not the strength to fight both The Others and the wildlings! We must choose, Lord Commander, and I think that choice is clear: The Others have returned, and with them, The Order's true purpose! To defend the realms of men- from them!"

"Aye, Maester Aemon...but how do we do it? There's two Valyrian steel swords at the whole of The Wall, and I'm certain Lord Brandon's will be returning to Winterfell with him. Dragonglass...The builders found arrowheads, axe and spear heads, some daggers, even a few swords of the style of the First Men, while rebuilding and restoring the castles. Not much of it- not enough to arm every man of The Watch- not enough to arm every man in any single castle. There's some uncut, unpolished, dragonglass as well. I'm not certain how much, perhaps a few weapons worth more- perhaps more than that."

"Ah...I remember it now." the ancient maester said, his face growing a bit more hopeful, "They didn't know what to do with it, but, I had read in several ancient scrolls, and tomes, back when I could still see...I had Kennet re-read the passages for me; make a list- every item found, where it was found, what condition it was in. Many of the weapons were cracked, broken, flawed in some way, from poor storage, or crumbling stone or wood falling on them. Each castle has a copy of the list, each one stores them in a safe place. The uncut and unpolished obsidian as well. I don't know how much there is...I fear nowhere near enough, but, on Dragonstone...down in the caverns, more than you could imagine! So much of it...there's a chance, a chance that there could be enough down there. We must send a raven to Lord Stannis, Lord Commander. We must have that dragonglass, as much as possible! As soon as possible!"

"You'll need...more men." Lord Brandon spoke again, his eyelids growing heavy, "The Others...in the tree...I saw them...so many of them...but worse, they bring the dead with them. Hundreds and thousands. We need more men...we need more men...wildfire...burn them all...burn them all..."

Lord Brandon's head fell to one side, causing Benjen to check on him, quickly.

"He's still breathing." the ranger said, "It's probably the strain, all of this..."

"Maester Aemon, send ravens to every castle on The Wall. I want the maesters and commanders of each castle to assemble here before the week's end. We've grave matters to discuss." Jeor Mormont said now, calm, firm, but his eyes betrayed a fear behind his stone faced mask of resolve.

"Indeed, Lord Commander." replied the blind, old, maester, "Errold, see to Lord Stark in my absence. If his condition should change, come and fetch me. I'll be in my study." he said softly, as he rose to his feet, assisted by Lucas, one of his stewards.

The Old Bear rose to his feet as well, "Benjen, I'm issuing orders to halt all sorties for now. The Watch needs to prepare before we make any moves. We don't know how close they are, or how many there are, or how fast they're traveling. We'll need to find out, soon enough, but for now, I'm keeping the gates closed, doubling the watches. I know you'd rather stay here just now, but you're First Ranger; I need you to address the men, here, at Castle Black. Tell them: No sneaking off to Mole's Town. We need every man of us here, and now."

"Aye, Lord Commander, as you wish." Benjen replied, rising to his feet, eyes still locked upon his sleeping brother.

"If anything changes, if anything should happen, I'll make sure you know." The Lord Commander replied, "Now, go. Gather the men in the mess. All of them. Tell Hobb to tap a few barrels of ale. Don't say a word until every man's had at least a horn or two. With what's coming...better to let the men enjoy it while they can, rather than let it all go to waste. I'll be there shortly...".