Stannis XV & Barristan VII (297-8 AC)

Stannis XV

Until a few years ago, Stannis wouldn't have believed how much his chair in the Small Council chamber made his back and rear hurt. Not because it was uncomfortable - Robert had spent significant amounts of gold on having the most comfortable seats possible in Stag Tower - but because he spent so much time here in the chair.

He'd been part of the Small Council for almost half his life. But as Master of Ships, of Coins and of Law he'd had responsibilities that took him away. Now, if he wasn't meeting with the Small Council or the King, he was meeting someone else... or reading letters.

So many letters and about so little.

Why would anyone write letters about such trivialities?

It was the icing on the cake that Robert, it turned out, read faster than he did. When he was in the Crown, Robert read almost everything he did, and it took him much less time. If it wasn't for his miserable handwriting, Stannis wouldn't have believed himm to be the same boy who had to be all but beaten to attend letters with the Maester.

"While the reports from the rangers indicate Wildling numbers are higher than at any point in recorded memory, there hasn't been any sign that they're massing for an attempt to storm the wall." Mance Rayder had fit into the court like a hand into a glove, which made Stannis suspicious. How did a wildling-born raised at the Wall become such a courtier? Aemma had told him that irresponsible young women were even likening his music to Rhaegar Targaryen's harp-playing.

"On some levels a lack of invasion is satisfying." Robert didn't seem to have his heart in that statement. Then again, if there was an invasion, then he'd have an excuse to run off North to his friend Ned and break heads with his hammer. "On the other, we've already had to stop an impromptu melee between the Reachmen and the Westerlanders from turning into a petty war. I think the boys are getting bored up there."

"It would not be regrettable if the Wildlings were to make an attack."

"It's almost as if they don't want to be slaughtered for your convenience," Mance told Lord Bolton.

The Master of Laws nodded in his quiet way. "Indeed."

"We don't have the information to know what's happening there." Olenna Tyrell seemed to find the disagreement amusing. "If the maps of the far north are correct then rangings have only covered a small portion of it. The forests could hide an immense army easily." She unrolled a map. "And we have almost no idea what could be happening in the Frostfangs or the lands west of them."

"No one who goes there returns."

"A suspicious fact," she replied.

"Then a new ranging is in order," Stannis noted. "Cool some of the heads on the Wall by marching them further north. The Milkwater is a considerable river. Could we send ships up it, Ser Davos?"

"I've never been there myself but smaller ships, perhaps."

"Let's take the opportunity to map the river then, decent charts could save us a lot of trouble if for any reason we ever need to send ships up there more seriously. Ask for volunteers from the wall and..." Robert looked over at Mance. "I'd like you to go with them. I'll send Lord Commander Mormont a letter asking for some rangers to act as guides. I have some ideas how we can make use of the Wildling numbers - even if they aren't going to throw themselves on the obsidian daggers I've been sending north."

Mance looked grim at the thought. Stannis could almost sympathise. Robert's description of the wall was enough to make his own blood run cold. But if Mance didn't want to spend the rest of his life there he shouldn't have taken the oath. "I have to wonder what you have in mind there. The wildlings tend to hold those south of the Wall in contempt."

Robert looked around the chamber. "This is something I'm only going to share with those who need to know. Mance will be allowed to disclose it in the course of his mission and all others only when it's absolutely necessary. And I will make that decision, not you. Even now I'm going to tell you the bare minimum."

He waited until there were nods. It wasn't the first time Robert had declared something would be shared only with those who he felt needed to know. Olenna Tyrell had supported the idea and even Stafford Lannister would grudgingly admit that it was an effective way of keeping secrets from being circulated: no one could tell what they didn't need to know.

"I suspect that the more sensible wildling leaders have realised that next winter is likely to be brutal. We could be looking at ten years before spring... and there's still no sign of autumn!" Robert sat back. "I'm therefore going to offer such leaders transport with their people to more southerly lands."

Roose Bolton blinked. "Where, precisely?"

The king smiled. "That's need to know, Lord Bolton. I assure you, I will tell you when you need to know. But this is not something that can be known ahead of time. Every lord in the North and half the lords south of the Neck would be convinced I was going to foist the Wildlings on them."

Stannis cleared his throat. "I appreciate that you may have a masterstroke in mind, but as the Hand..."

Robert nodded. "Quite right. If anything happens to me, you'll need to know enough to carry on." He looked around the table. "If there's no other business today, I'll brief my brother and Mance in private."

As Stannis watched the others leave he realised he'd condemned himself to more time sat down in a meeting. At least it wasn't a letter.

Barristan VII

Barristan had visited the Wall a few years ago, with the first Northern levy to reinforce the forts. He'd never looked at the Wall from this angle though.

The Milkwater flowed into the Bay of Ice through a deep gorge that anchored the western end of the Wall. The Shadow Tower, one of the few forts that hadn't been abandoned by the Night's Watch, looked down on the gorge but there was one more fort to the west, linked to the Wall by a terrifyingly high and narrow bridge.

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was manned entirely by the King's Men and its quays were busier than they had been in years, a dozen Ironborn-styled longships gathered to carry the ranging north. The vessels' shallow keels would be an asset in the river-waters.

"You can't think that you can get a ship this size up the river," Mance remonstrated.

Tyrion Lannister, wrapped in a fine and very warm looking cloak, laughed. "I have a keen eye for heights and depths, Master Ranger. The Silence is my treasure and I don't want to wreck her. There are two longships here that belong to House Lannister and I'll be taking command of one."

Barristan tugged on his own cloak. The years had winnowed away flesh from his frame, enough that he could get another layer of stout wool beneath his armour to add to the fur lining Ashara had sewn into his cloak. "If the maps we have are right then the Milkwater reaches far into the north of the Frostfang mountains. Do you think it's navigable so far north?"

"I doubt it," Mance admitted. "But there are Wildling tribes along the east bank at least as far north as the mountains and they use coracles and canoes for fishing and hunting. I'm not sure we can get so far with longships but if we can I'll be more than satisfied."

"Are you sure about going, Ser Barristan?" The dwarf looked over at him. "Coming north has turned all your hair white, who knows what effect going beyond the Wall will have."

He gave the Lannister a grim look. "There are no whores or wine, does that deter you?"

"I think I can manage for a reasonable time without those."

Barristan smiled thinly as he saw the younger man pose dramatically in much the same way his son Duncan would when he was playing at being Aemon the Dragonknight, or Duncan the Tall... or much to his and Ashara's amusement, Barristan the Bold. It wasn't clear to them if their son knew that the last knight was the same man he called father.

"Then I'll ask you to trust me not to collapse into senility for the same length of time, Ser Tyrion."

"It's a bargain!" Tyrion offered up his hand and Barristan accepted it.

"I'm glad we've got that sorted," said Mance. "Ser Tyrion, please make sure your personal gear is no more than you can carry yourself. This is going to be a ranging, not a pleasure trip. If the ships have to be abandoned we'll have to walk back so we'll have to leave anything we can't carry behind. Don't take anything you can't bear to leave."

Tyrion nodded. "I have a pack for the essentials and a sea-chest for anything that would be useful but that can be left behind if the ships aren't available."

"You've done this before?"

"Not in the North, but I've been to Old Valyria and as far east as Asshai. And anyone who's been through a storm at sea knows what it's like when everything around you is trying to kill you."

"That's a good start." Mance looked him over. "Oh, and we'll raid your ship's rope-locker before we leave. A few hundred feet of rope can save more lives than all the armour in the world."

Barristan thought. "Safety lines?"

"Among other things. Dire wolves and shadow cats don't climb trees so well. Tying yourself to the upper branches of something they can't push over might save your life."

It had been a long time since he'd climbed a tree. Still, he supposed he'd be motivated. "How about more human threats?"

"There's no one rule that works for all Wildlings. I'm told the mountain clans of the Vale are the most like them but I've not met them. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of tribes and each has their own ways and customs. Some ar nomadic, some have strongholds they claim to have ruled since the end of the Long Night. None of them have much time for lords or knights."

"Or for the Night's Watch?"

"Or for the Night's Watch," agreed Mance. "Our goal is to talk to them while their first reaction is likely to be attempts to kill us. We'll have to expect ambushes and possibly running battles along the riverbanks. I'll be looking to you, Lord Barristan to keep us alive and to keep the knights with us from running wild."

"I think I can manage that."

"And you, Ser Tyrion, will be helping me with any negotiations. I'm told you have a swift wit - and of course, your reputation as the Crowslayer will be of value."

"I hadn't realised my reputation stood so tall in these lands."

"The Ironborn raid the coasts north of the wall too. Euron Greyjoy has no friends here."

Tyrion paused. "So when we talk to them, what are we supposed to offer them? The Iron Islands? My brother would probably hand Pyke and Saltcliffe over but we'd have another bunch of sea-raiders for our children to fight."

Mance shrugged. "Short of exterminating them, wherever they go they'll likely be a problem for the future. His Grace, King Robert, is of the opinion that the problems of next summer can be looked at once we're sure of getting through the winter."