Chapter Fifty One: Every Angle

"By no means can I force you to remain on this side of the Wall, Lord Jeor," Ned admitted, "Even so, I cannot condone your decision not to, either."

"No disrespect, my lord," the former Lord of Bear Island said gruffly, "But your approval is not what I require of you."

"Then what is it you require?" Lord Eddard Stark asked.

"A few minutes of your time," Jeor Mormont replied. He folded his arms and declared "All you know of this expedition is the concept of it. Perhaps once I explain it to you in further detail, you will better understand our reasons."

I understand them perfectly. I simply do not share them. Nor do I expect to. Eddard was under no obligation to listen to anything Lord Jeor had to say. As it happened, he had not come to Castle Black to talk about the upcoming great ranging. He was there for two entirely different reasons. The first was to pay his respects to the Wall and the brotherhood that manned it. The other concerned his second son.

Of course, at some point during this visit, Eddard would have had words with the Lord Commander and his brother. However, he would have preferred to have spoken with them separately. He also would have preferred it if a deserter was not present.

At this time, the Lord of Winterfell was in the Old Bear's solar. Lord Jeor was seated at his desk. The First Ranger, Benjen Stark, sat to his right. Standing against the adjacent wall was the self-styled King-beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder himself.

Apart from the men in that room, no one at Castle Black knew Mance was here. A few days earlier, another group of wildlings had been brought south of the Wall. Mance had been among them, travelling with the appearance of a different man. He had not removed his disguise until about ten minutes ago, just after Benjen escorted Eddard to the solar.

Mance Rayder's crimes against the Watch still remained unpardoned. The penalty for his desertion had been temporarily set aside due to "extenuating circumstances." In Ned's mind, no circumstances justified breaking one's vow and delaying one's punishment. Even so, his jurisdiction ended at the Wall. Although they were technically still in the North, they were gathered on the southern face of the Wall. As such, Lord Jeor and Ben had full authority to convene with Mance Rayder. So for now, Eddard would not protest.

Long as they ultimately remember what he's done and what they must do.

When Eddard first heard about Jeor's great ranging, he thought it was only one potential option the Watch was considering. When Benjen informed him they were actually going through with it, he became concerned. They know what's out there, but they're going after it. I do not see any logic in that approach.

He had told Benjen as much when the First Ranger visited Winterfell for Robb's wedding. Evidently, Ben had shared Ned's reservations with his commander when he returned to his duty. Now the two Stark brothers were alone in a room with Lord Jeor Mormont and Mance Rayder. They mean to sway my mind. Or maybe they only wish for me to see this situation from their point of view.

Eddard did not think either outcome was very probable. Nonetheless, he would be at Castle Black for at least the rest of the day, and Bran and his friends were preoccupied elsewhere. As such, he could afford to take the time to listen to what his brother, the Old Bear, and the "king" of the Free Folk had to say. It certainly would not hurt to hear them out.

"Very well, my lord," Eddard conceded, sitting down in a chair before Jeor Mormont's desk, "I will give you one hour of my time."

Benjen smiled widely. Clearly, he was pleased. The Old Bear and Mance Rayder were, as well, though their satisfaction was less obvious. Ben always was the cheeriest of us.

"Where shall we begin, my lord?" Lord Commander Jeor inquired.

"Let's start with 'why,'" Eddard proposed, leaning his head on his wrist, "Why are you committing to this ploy?"

Mance Rayder was the first to supply a response. He answered that question with one of his own: "How many people do you suppose have died north of the Wall in the last eighty centuries, Lord Eddard?"

Eddard Stark thought on that for a moment, and then he shrugged and proclaimed "I could not even begin to guess."

"Try to," Mance bade him.

Eddard rubbed his temple, and then he thought aloud "Several hundred thousand, at least."

"For such a grim man, that is a rather optimistic estimate," Mance Rayder stated, "You must account for all those of the Free Folk, the Night's Watch, and other parties who expired since the first Long Night. Many of them were buried under snow before their bodies could be properly burned. After eight thousand years… there would have to be tens of millions of corpses throughout the lands beyond the Wall."

"And every one of them a prospective soldier for the Night King's army," Benjen contended, "The population of the Seven Kingdoms is what… anywhere between one and ten million? Whatever the number, only about half can fight; no more than two thirds."

"All the more reason for you to stay here," Eddard argued, "Our numbers are few enough as things stand. The Watch may be withdrawn from the affairs of the realm, but the people of the Seven Kingdoms have the same interests in the coming war as you. We must hold together for when the White Walkers arrive, not break up our forces before then."

"Numbers are not the only factor that matter," Lord Jeor disputed, "That goes for their side as well as ours. For all we know, there could be a hundred wights out there for every wildling and black brother. All the same, a fraction of our forces could severely weaken the Army of the Dead."

"Apart from eliminating a fraction of theirs, I do not see how you could make any difference at all," Eddard bluntly commented.

"Oh, you would be surprised, Ned," Benjen told his brother, "We have nothing to gain by remaining idle. If we wait for the Night King to march south, we will be little more than prey. Currently, that is all he sees us as; animals to be hunted down and slaughtered. We should change his perspective. As such, we must bring the fight to him."

"And save the hunter the burden of catching the prey?" Eddard dourly muttered.

"No," Mance Rayder countered, "We'll show him the prey can fight back. Better yet, it can strike first."

Eddard scoffed. "While it is true that numbers are not all that matter, I do not think the Night King will be impressed by your boldness."

"We care not if he is impressed," Jeor Mormont proclaimed, "We are not vain, Lord Eddard. We realize no display of force on our part would ever intimidate the Night King. The loss of his soldiers means nothing to him. Regardless of how many of the Others and their wights we put down, he will keep sending more of them against us. However… it is another story entirely if we put an end to him."

The Lord of Winterfell raised an eyebrow. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"That is the true purpose of the ranging, Ned," Benjen apprised him, "The Army of the Dead only exists because of the Night King. None of them – including the White Walkers – would ever have risen without him. Thus, it would follow that if we take out the Night King, his entire army will crumble. In every way."

"You honestly believe it is that simple?" Lord Eddard mumbled in astonishment. He did not need an answer; he could tell they did believe that. Truthfully, a part of him wanted to believe it, too. It would be a relief if we actually could prevent the Long Night after all. But he was not about to give his hopes up.

"The Night King was a man once," Jeor Mormont pointed out, "He was a black brother once. He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch once. He may be dead, but he can be destroyed."

"All that would require is for one of us to get close enough to him with a Valyrian steel blade, a dragonglass weapon, or a lit torch," Mance Rayder argued, "A single blow of any of the three would get the job done. Once he is consumed by fire, all our problems will be remedied."

Not yours, deserter. Eddard would see to that once the Long Night was over, if not before.

"This does seem an appealing and prospective tactic," Eddard perceived, "But not an entirely doable one. Tell me how you propose to reach the Night King."

"Once we locate the Army of the Dead, the Night King will ideally be at the head of the column," Benjen supposed, "We can expect to find him leading his forces into battle, just like other commanders."

"You forget he is not like other commanders," Eddard Stark disputed, "The dead have no honor or sense of worth. The Night King kills and reanimates without prejudice. And even if the Others and their wights do not truly know how important he is to them, he does. Thus, you cannot guarantee he will be at the front of his army. He could be at the back, or, worse yet, the center of it."

"We have prepared for that possibility, my lord," Jeor Mormont disclosed, "My fellow black brothers and I will not be out there on our own. Mance has assembled a larger host of the Free Folk. They will join up with us after we clear the haunted forest."

"With no insult to the wildlings, how will that help?" Eddard queried curiously.

"We will have more than men in our company," Mance Rayder revealed, "And I am not speaking only of women. We will also have giants, wargs, and mammoths. All of which are very useful at clearing away huge crowds. If need be, we could use them to cut a path through the Army of the Dead all the way to the Night King."

"How many giants and mammoths do you suppose have died in Westeros' history?" Eddard rejoined, "Furthermore, for all we know, the Night King can counter the powers of any warg. He may even have a few of them in his ranks."

"Fire will bring them all down just the same," Benjen insisted.

"There may not be enough fire to go around," Eddard conjectured. He looked to Jeor Mormont and asked him "How many black brothers are going on this ranging?"

"Five and twenty hundred," the Old Bear pronounced. Half the Watch's power.

"North of the wall, their company will be augmented by another ten thousand of my people," Mance Rayder added in.

"And how many obsidian and Valyrian steel weapons do you have?" Eddard enquired.

"Enough to adequately supply every man on the Wall," Lord Jeor professed, "But not nearly enough to even partially supply the Free Folk. Or the population of just one of the Seven Kingdoms."

Just as I feared. "In other words, not every man who goes on this ranging will have a proper armament on hand. Those who carry regular steel will be the first to fall. When your warriors realize how small a chance they actually have against the undead, who's to say they will not turn tail and flee?"

"The wild does not breed cravens," Mance Rayder sharply retorted, "Despite what you may think of us, we do not retreat so easily."

"Neither does the Watch," Jeor Mormont asserted, "I will personally strike down any man who dares to turn his cloak. But while I am prepared to do that, I do anticipate that I will have to. My men know their duty."

"Did Ser Waymar Royce know his?" Eddard Stark countered.

That brought a brief yet tense silence to the room.

"Ser Waymar has nothing to do with this, Ned," Benjen said firmly.

"Oh, but he does," Ned sternly claimed, "I recall how eager the boy was to join the Watch when he first arrived in the North. For the duration of his stay at Winterfell, all he talked of were the great deeds he would achieve as a black brother. Then, not half a year after he swore his vows, my men caught him attempting to flee south. He did not struggle or resist when they arrested him. I looked the man in the eyes before he died. All the fight had gone out of him; he had all but lost the will to even live. He was little more than an empty shell, but he was still sane enough to tell me why he abandoned his post. Although I beheaded him that day, seeing the Others had already killed him within."

Ned paused here so the other three men could reflect on all that. Then he said inquisitively "Can you tell me with absolute certainty that the same thing will not happen to the men of your company?"

"That may happen to some of them," Benjen contended, "But not many. A dozen, at most."

Jeor Mormont nodded his head and stated "Indeed. The men accompanying us are not like Ser Waymar. Ser Waymar Royce, while a knight, was a green boy, unbloodied and untested in war. He insisted upon having his own command, and the first time we gave him one, the mission ended in disaster. However, Ser Waymar and his party did not know they would encounter the wights when they went out. The members of this ranging do know, yet every one of them is a willing volunteer. A great many of them fought in Robert's Rebellion or Greyjoy's Rebellion. Additionally, all of them have ranged north of the Wall at least thrice before. A fair amount of them have already seen the Others with their own eyes. But that has not dissuaded them from going back out there."

"I can vouch for my people, too," Mance Rayder avowed, "There are no green boys in my forces. I can assure you of that, my lord."

That did not surprise Eddard. They hardly ever have any green at all up there.

"Alright, let us say everything goes well," Eddard Stark hypothesized, "Your men hold their ground. There is enough obsidian, Valyrian steel, and fire to fight off the Army of the Dead. You somehow break through their ranks and reach the Night King. But even if you manage all that… what if you were to fail, my lord?"

"Why would we fail?" Lord Jeor queried.

I could list the ways how, but that would take too much time. Lord Eddard remarked "That is beside the point. For the sake of argument, just suppose you do. What then?"

The Old Bear thought on that for a minute. Ultimately, he sighed and declared "Then hopefully my successor will have better luck defending Whe wall than I did fighting the Others."

Benjen interceded here. He proclaimed "You do not need to tell us how much is at stake, Ned. We've known that for a while. We only have one chance at success. If we botch it, we will not have enough manpower to launch another ranging of this magnitude. And even if we did, the remaining watchmen would likely not have the will or resolve to go through with another one."

"Then why go through with it at all?" Eddard inquired in perplexity.

"Because it is better than doing nothing," Mance Rayder candidly replied, "And because there is a genuine likelihood that we will succeed. Be that as it may, we are not so ignorant as to assume that it will."

"Even if it does, how do you know you will come back from it?" Eddard inquired.

"We don't," Lord Jeor confessed, "For many of us, this will be a one-way mission. I myself do not expect to come back alive. But I've made my peace with that."

"So have I," said Benjen.

"We all have," Mance Rayder claimed, "Free Folk and crows alike."

"I know you are willing to die," Eddard bluntly remarked, "But should you fail, something worse than death awaits you. After your defeat, you might come back to the Seven Kingdoms. In the ranks of the Night King's army. You cannot mean to tell me you can accept that."

That last statement gave the other men pause. For a brief moment, Eddard thought he may have finally raised a point that made them rethink this great ranging. Alas, that moment passed, and Benjen disclosed "The possibility of that occurred to us, Ned. It is our worst fear, as there is no way to avoid returning as wights if we fail."

"What if you burned your dead immediately after they fell?" Eddard hypothesized.

"That cannot be done, my lord," Mance Rayder disclosed, "The obsidian and Valyrian steel will be useless against still corpses, and the Night King will not revive the casualties on our side until after the battle ends."

"How would you know?" the lord of Winterfell said inquiringly.

"Some of my people have seen him do it," Mance informed him. As Theon and his kin claim, what is dead may never die.

"We don't want to become wights, Ned," Benjen assured his elder brother. I never thought you so mad, Ben. "But that's a risk we will have to take."

"What if the Army of Dead only becomes stronger as a result of this ranging?" Eddard Stark supposed.

"That is why we wished to see you in the first place, my lord," Lord Commander Jeor Mormont stated.

Ned was confused. "Enlighten me, if you would."

"If we are unable to destroy the Night King, the Wall is all that stands between him and the Seven Kingdoms," Mance Rayder clarified, "As such, the Free Folk and the Watch will need all the support they can get to defend it."

"But there may not be enough of us left to cover all three hundred miles," Benjen went on, "So we were wondering if you'd be able to lend us the strength of the North?"

"Of course I would," Eddard said almost promptly, "My bannermen know as well as I what happens if the Wall collapses. For that reason alone, they will send you aid if I command it of them. But I cannot force any of their vassals to enlist in the Watch."

"We will not require them to," Jeor Mormont stated, "We just need them to man the Wall until the Army of the Dead reaches the Seven Kingdoms."

"That is acceptable," Ned proclaimed, "Even so, you should know there is a limit on how many soldiers the Northern lords can spare. They have their own interests to look out for."

"We understand, my lord," the Old Bear assured him.

Benjen nodded in agreement and murmured "Winter is coming."

"Winter is coming," Eddard concurred. Soon enough, it'll be here.

About five minutes later, there was a knock on the entrance of the solar. A rather heavy knock, Ned noted.

Mance Rayder hastily stepped into the shadows so he was hidden from view of the door. After that, Lord Jeor called out "Come in."

The door opened, and a very large man entered the room. Lord Eddard grinned when he saw who. It was his childhood friend Walder. That was what we called him then, at any rate. Now, he went by a different name.

"What is it, Hodor?" Ned inquired.

"Hodor," the man muttered gleefully, approaching the Lord of Winterfell. He gently tugged on Eddard's sleeve, as though he wanted him to stand up.

"Do you want me to go with you somewhere?" Eddard assumed.

The stableboy nodded his head, saying "Hodor, Hodor, Hodor."

"Is it Bran?" Eddard asked rhetorically.

More nodding, followed by more "Hodor, Hodor, Hodor."

Eddard turned to Jeor Mormont and asked him "Are we done here?"

"We are, my lord," the Old Bear affirmed.

At that, Eddard Stark rose from his chair, turned back to Hodor, and beckoned him "Lead the way."

"Mind if I join you?" Benjen requested, "I haven't seen Bran since Robb's wedding."

"Certainly," Eddard replied. In his mind, it was always better to have more Starks together. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

The two Stark brothers followed Hodor out of the Lord Commander's solar, and he led them to the wooden keep beneath the rookery, where Maester Aemon's chambers were located.

I suspected he would bring us here.

The maester of Castle Black was the great-great-granduncle of Eddard and Benjen's nephew, Jon. Jon and his elder half-siblings had left the North about a month ago. A couple weeks before that, they had gone to Castle Black to speak with their ancient relative.

On their way back to Moat Cailin, Jon had stopped at Winterfell and told his uncle that Maester Aemon wished to meet Bran. He was unable to supply a reason as to why, but he insisted that the maester would not be wasting anyone's time.

As it happened, Bran had dreams of joining the Night's Watch himself. Alas, he had a long way to go yet. Eddard and his lady wife Catelyn had told him they would not allow him to go to the Wall until he could at least fend for himself. He was already more than adequate with a sword, a shield, and a bow. But he is not nearly ready to endure man's constant struggle with nature.

Jon had once considered enlisting in the Watch, too. Yet lately, his ambition in that pursuit had greatly decreased. His interests had begun to change when he became involved with the wildling girl Ygritte. The startling discovery of the truth of his heritage had discouraged him even further. Then there was the whole affair of revealing that secret to Robert, and how the King meant to return House Targaryen to nobility in the Seven Kingdoms. If all went well, Jon would even be named the prince of Dragonstone. At this point, I doubt he even remembers his aspiration to join the Watch.

When Hodor brought Eddard and his brother to Maester Aemon's chambers, they found the elderly Targaryen conversing with Bran and the Reeds. Summer was seated at the base of Bran's chair. However… someone else was there, as well.

This person was almost as short as Bran. At a glance, Eddard could not tell if the individual was male or female. It also had gray skin, and its hair was fashioned in a very stiff and expansive manner. Although it was shaped like a human, Ned could not tell if it really was.

"Who are you?" Benjen asked, more out of curiosity than misgiving.

"My name is Leaf," the short person responded. Its voice sounded feminine.

"What are you?" Eddard asked. That's the more relevant question.

Although anyone in the Seven Kingdoms would have thought that a rude thing to ask, the female creature before him did not seem offended. She calmly told him "I am older than any person in this room, including the maester. Yet your people regard me and mine as children."

Despite the vagueness of that statement, it was enough to provide an answer to Eddard's query. He immediately realized who and what was standing before him. He uttered softly "You're one of the children of the forest."

Leaf lightly nodded her head. She observed "You do not seem surprised by that."

In a world where dragons are returning, giants live among men, and the dead walk, this hardly even qualifies as surprising in the slightest amount.

"Indeed not, my lady," Eddard affirmed, though Leaf was clearly no lady, "Might I ask what business you have on this side of the Wall?"

"It is business of the highest precedence, my lord," Jojen Reed declared.

"Actually, it's business with us, Father," Bran interjected, "But what Jojen said is true, too."

That response did not provide any real clarity. If anything, Ned was just more baffled than he was before. He commented "I believe we need some more clarification."

"Perhaps we should just show you, my lord," Meera Reed proposed.

"Show me what?" Ned said enquiringly.

Meera, Jojen, and Leaf all turned to Bran, who kept his gaze on his father. He told Lord Eddard "What you are about to see, Father, is something I only learned to do very recently. No one other than the people in this room knows that I can do it. It would be best if we kept it a secret for now."

"Very well," Ned declared. He was interested to learn what this so-called special ability was.

"We won't tell a soul, Bran," Benjen conceded.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

The second son of the Lord of Winterfell then looked down at his four-legged companion. He stared intently at the beast for a few seconds, and nothing remarkable happened at first. After that… Bran's eyes went white and he fell back in his chair. Summer erratically convulsed for a moment, and then he rose from the ground and stood perfectly still.

Eddard and Benjen watched as the direwolf padded over to them. When he was at their feet, he sat down on his haunches and gazed up at them. Then he extended the paw of his right front leg, as though he wanted them to shake it.

Benjen was the first to reciprocate the gesture. He knelt to Summer's level, took ahold of his paw, and lightly shook it. Then he stepped back, and Eddard did the same, albeit hesitantly. Shaking the direwolf's paw was a queer sensation. Is it possible to actually teach a direwolf tricks? If this was a trick, it was a more elaborate type. It almost felt like shaking hands with an actual human being.

Summer then bounded back over to his master. Bran's eyes returned to their normal coloring, and he sat back up in his chair, respiring heavily. Meera patted him on the back to help him regain his composure.

"What just happened?" Eddard wondered aloud.

Maester Aemon finally spoke. He uttered quietly "Your son is a warg, my lord."

Again, that reply just raised more questions. Although Eddard was baffled, Benjen seemed fascinated. He queried in interest "Since when?"

"Since the night of Robb's wedding, Uncle Benjen," Bran recounted, "I know it sounds strange, but I can explain. After the feast, I went to the Broken Tower to meet with Meera and Jojen. I was climbing up the outer wall-"

"After your mother explicitly told you no more climbing?" Eddard drily interrupted, folding his arms.

"Yeah…" Bran admitted, staring at his feet. He has the decency to look ashamed, at least. He then looked back up at this father and continued with "While I was climbing, I had this terrible, terrible headache. It only got worse as I went higher. But I did not give up. When I reached the top… I saw something that wasn't really there."

Eddard was intrigued. "What did you see?"

"I do not really know," Bran responded, "But I believe it was the Queen and her brother, wrapped in a tender embrace."

"That's rather odd," Benjen Stark commented, "Ser Jaime and Queen Cersei did not attend Robb's wedding."

"As far as I know, neither of them has ever even set foot in the North," Eddard amended.

"I said it was not real," Bran repeated, "But it looked real. My head hurt worse than ever then. It was so bad I almost fell, but Meera and Jojen caught me. That was when I… awoke."

"When you gained the ability to warg, you mean?" Ned presumed.

"That's right," Bran confirmed.

"I was trying to tell your son for weeks beforehand that he was both a greenseer and a warg, my lord," Jojen proclaimed, "He was quick to deny it, and he did not choose to believe me until that moment."

"Ever since then, Jojen has been teaching Bran how to use these new gifts," Meera disclosed.

Eddard merely nodded his head in acknowledgment. Benjen, however, was visibly captivated. He stated eagerly "What all can you do?"

"I can warg into Summer's head and become him for a while," Bran revealed, "I can also warg into smaller animals, such as ravens, dogs, and rats. But I prefer being Summer. The best time for warging is when I am asleep. That is also when the green dreams come. The dreams are always unclear, but Jojen insists they are messages from the gods."

"I insist nothing," Jojen debated, "They are messages. But the gods are not the only ones who send them."

"Who else would have the power to send you such premonitions?" Benjen enquired.

"The Three-Eyed Raven," Jojen answered him.

"The what?" Eddard mumbled, baffled.

"That was another thing we talked about at the Broken Tower that night," Bran notified his father, "There is one person in the world who sees everything at once. He is the ultimate greenseer, the ultimate keeper of truth."

"That would be the Three-Eyed Raven," Jojen professed, "Our father told me and Meera of him. Although he has never met or seen the man, he never doubted or questioned his existence. He believes the Three-Eyed Raven must be consulted sometime before the Long Night begins."

Lord Howland Reed was one of Eddard Stark's closest friends, and he trusted the man with his own life. Even so, he could not help but question his motives for seeking out this mysterious Three-Eyed Raven. If this matter was that important, surely he would have told me of it. Then again, Howland had always been a withdrawn and private man.

"May I ask why you believe that?" Eddard enquired, "What would you hope to gain from this… individual?"

"Most of us would gain nothing," Jojen contended, "However, there is much he'd have to teach your son. As of now, Bran's abilities are untrained and undisciplined. The Three-Eyed Raven can give him the guidance he would need to take full advantage of his powers."

"How can you be so sure?" Eddard inquired, "You do not even know this man."

"Indeed, they don't," Maester Aemon muttered, "But I do, my lord. I knew him before he became the Three-Eyed Raven. He is my cousin, Ser Brynden Rivers."

Eddard could not tell whose eyes widened more: his or Benjen's. That aside, his brother pointed out "Lord Commander Brynden Rivers died almost fifty years ago, maester."

"So they say," the elderly black brother remarked, "But that was never confirmed. I would remind you that no one saw Ser Brynden die. He simply disappeared on a ranging north of the Wall, and his body was never recovered or burned. Everyone else believed him dead, but I never gave up on him. Now, thanks to Lady Leaf here, I have discovered that he is in fact very much alive."

"I am no lady, my lord," Leaf stated plainly. Just as Aemon is no lord. "But that is the truth of the matter. I was there when my people found Ser Brynden in the wilderness. He was in a very weak state and on the verge of death. He had more wounds than we could count. Whether they had been inflicted by animals or other men, or even himself, we could not say. But that did not matter. From the moment we met him, we knew he was different from the other tall men. He had the gift you call greensight. As such, we elected to save his life."

"How did you accomplish this?" Benjen asked. I would like to know that myself. If Ser Brynden really was on the verge of death.

"We have no maesters, or any conventional types of medicine," Leaf disclosed, "But we have a special connection with the weirwood trees of Westeros. They are more than relics and altars to the Old Gods. They have extraordinary healing properties, too. North of the Wall, there is one particular tree that grows above a cave. Its roots can be found inside the cave. They are so huge that a man could become encompassed in them. That was where we brought Ser Brynden. The tree's roots have kept him alive since."

"That is quite remarkable," Eddard muttered sincerely, "But what would happen if Ser Brynden was disentangled from the heart tree?"

"He would die," Leaf promptly answered him, "The tree's roots can sustain him almost indefinitely. But should he remove himself from them, his old wounds would reopen, and his body would expire. Apart from that, he has already lived far longer than any other member of your race."

"In other words, he cannot come south of the Wall?" Eddard presumed.

"Correct," Leaf affirmed, "He cannot even leave that cave."

"Then how do you propose to introduce him to Bran?" asked the Lord of Winterfell.

"That should be obvious, my lord," Maester Aemon softly pronounced, "My cousin cannot go to your son, due to physical restrictions. However, those same restrictions do not apply to your son."

Eddard immediately realized where this discussion was headed. He furrowed his brow and snapped "No. Absolutely not."

"We expected you to disapprove, Lord Eddard," Jojen Reed calmly remarked, "But you must not dismiss this matter so readily. Perhaps once we have discussed this better-"

"There is nothing to discuss," Ned sternly countered, "You are asking me to send my son, who has yet to see his tenth nameday, to an unforgiving land overrun with all manner of dangers. The deadliest of which has conquered even death. What kind of father would consent to that?"

"The kind that has the interests of all his children at heart," Meera debated, "This would be for the good of all, my lord."

"I know what's out there, Father," Bran declared, "I will not lie to you; I am afraid of it. But I'm far more afraid of what will happen if the Others overrun Winterfell. I do not want that."

The thought of that greatly unsettled Ned, too. In his head, he got the image of Catelyn and their children being killed by the Others and coming back as wights. That is something I would never allow to happen.

"I don't want that either, Bran," Ned told his second son, "But how would you seeking out the counsel of a long-lost former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch prevent it?"

"Even the Three-Eyed Raven will not live forever, my lord," Leaf interceded, "He must have one to continue his work. Since the day my people rescued him, he has been aware of that. Not long ago, he looked into the future and saw that one of the Starks would be his successor. He knows for a fact that your son Bran will be that Stark."

"Did he send you here to retrieve Bran?" Benjen supposed.

"He did," Leaf disclosed, "Originally, Ser Brynden was going to sit by and wait for Bran to go to him on his own. But the world is different from what it once was. Things have changed, due in large part to the deeds of your vassal, Lord Gregor Clegane. Thus, Ser Brynden deemed it necessary to approach you directly.

"That is why I am here," she went on, "This is the first time I or any of my people have been south of the Wall since it was erected. We never planned to cross back over to this side of it. We made an exception because it was the only way we could reach out to your son and take him back with us."

"Do you plan to do so against his will?" Eddard mumbled accusingly.

"No, Ser Brynden's instructions were quite clear," Leaf revealed, "We were to convince him to head north through words, not force. We were not to return until we managed to sway both him and you. Naturally, the Three-Eyed Raven knew he would succeed."

That remains to be seen.

"So, perhaps Bran is meant to replace Ser Brynden," Lord Eddard contended, "Be that as it may, you still have yet to tell me what makes the Three-Eyed Raven's capabilities so worthwhile."

"Like Ser Brynden, Bran will be able to see everything," Meera professed, "Think on the possibilities, my lord. He could uncover the identity of the person who set off that explosion in Moat Cailin the other week. He could learn the history of the Night King and the Army of the Dead. He may even find out just where Lord Gregor Clegane gets those visions of his."

Those were all appealing prospects. Eddard had always been curious to know more of Lord Gregor Clegane's visions, and any knowledge pertaining to the Army of the Dead was certainly useful.

The explosion at Moat Cailin was one matter that Ned personally wished to see resolved. He had been shocked when he heard that someone had tried to destroy Lord Gregor Clegane's newest creation, and Smalljon Umber had been murdered in the process.

On his way to the Wall, Eddard Stark had stopped at Last Hearth to offer his condolences to Smalljon's family. Lord Greatjon Umber and his other sons and daughters were all beside themselves with grief. But they appreciated their liege lord's comfort and support.

The perpetrator of the crime was still at large. Nevertheless, Ned gave the Greatjon his word of honor that whoever killed his firstborn son would not escape justice. Lord Gregor Clegane had promised him the same. Both men fully intended to honor that pledge.

"Bran would also be able to hone his warging powers exponentially," Jojen argued, "With the right guidance, he could control anyone and anything. Including creatures that have been absent from the world."

Initially, Eddard was perplexed. Then Maester Aemon announced "I told them of the dragons, my lord."

"What dragons?" Benjen muttered in confusion.

"The dragons Jon is bringing back alongside his aunt and uncle," Eddard told his brother, "Three, to be exact. As of now, they are only eggs. But once they hatch…"

"Then the Night King's problems will dramatically increase," Meera finished for him.

"Especially once Bran masters warging," Jojen added in.

"Quite so," Maester Aemon conceded, "Dragons are not like other creatures of the world; they cannot be subjugated or brought to heel. None of my ancestors ever fully tamed their dragons. However, with the right discipline and focus, a warg could do what the Targaryen dynasty could not."

Benjen whistled in amazement. "The Army of the Dead would not stand a chance against three dragons."

Indeed not. If Bran actually could learn to solve mysteries and control dragons from the Three-Eyed Raven, the benefits of him going north greatly outweighed the risks. All the same, Ned still had certain reservations.

"Suppose I agreed to this," Eddard conjectured, gazing down at Leaf, "Would Bran be expected to go beyond the Wall with no one other than you for company?"

"Of course not," she assured him, "As you said before, he is still a boy, my people are 'children,' and the path to the cave of the Three-Eyed Raven is not deserted. We would definitely need protection of some sort."

"Summer will be there," Bran announced, scratching his direwolf behind the ears. I can certainly count on him to guard Bran with his life.

"Meera and I will join them, too," Jojen declared.

"You needn't ask our lord father's permission, Lord Eddard," Meera proclaimed, "He has already given us leave to go wherever we must."

Howland must know what 'wherever' constitutes. Otherwise, he is unknowingly allowing his children could to place themselves in grave danger. Perhaps Howland Reed was simply more confident in his children's ability to survive on their own than Ned was in his own children's ability.

"I might be able to send a detachment of rangers to accompany you," Benjen proposed, "They would have to regroup with the rest of our company once you arrived at your destination, though."

"I can spare twenty of my household guard," Ned offered, "They will stay with you the whole time you're beyond the Wall."

"That should be more than enough," Leaf proclaimed, "We cannot bring too many men. The cave of the Three-Eyed Raven can only house so many."

"Where is this cave, anyway?" asked Meera.

"I'll show you," Leaf pronounced, "Do you have a map?"

"I thought your people predated maps," Benjen commented.

"We did," the child of the forest stated, "Even so, we've had millennia to learn how to read them."

The First Ranger nodded in understanding.

Maester Aemon opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a map. Although he could no longer read them, he kept a few on-hand if ever anyone had need of one.

As he spread the map out on his desk, everyone else gathered around. Ned noted it was one of their more detailed maps. Likely, it was made with the combined efforts of both the Watch and the Free Folk.

Leaf studied the map closely for about a minute, and then she placed her finger down and declared "There is where we must go."

Everyone leaned in closer to get a better look. Except Maester Aemon, of course.

"I know of that area," Benjen thought aloud, "It's not that far at all. It's still within the confines of the haunted forest. Only…"

"Only?" Ned beckoned him continue.

"No one has ventured there in over a year," Benjen uneasily revealed, "That land was one of the first places the White Walkers were spotted. It could be overrun with the dead by now."

"It is," Leaf said bluntly, "My people are small; we managed to slip by without the wights noticing. You, however, are larger and less discreet. Getting you to the cave will be harder."

"Will you even be safe once you reach the cave?" Eddard asked, almost as a demand.

"Yes, we will," Leaf reassured him, "The cave is a large, underground labyrinth of caveryns. It is charmed so that nothing undead can enter. Because of that, my people and I have dwelt there unharmed for centuries. It is perhaps the only place in the whole of the world where one could find sanctuary from the Night King and his forces."

"You are certain of that?" said Ned, as though he did not believe her.

"I would not gamble with your son's life, my lord," Leaf responded firmly, "Ser Brynden does not mean for him to stay in that cave forever. One day, Bran will return to you. He may be a different person when next you see him, but he will still be Brandon Stark."

"This is the only way, Father," Bran stated, "The Three-Eyed Raven needs me, and I need him. Otherwise, we are all doomed. Please, for the love you bear me, let me go to him."

There was the longest interval of silence in that chamber. Eddard Stark never thought he would have to make a decision such as this one. It was harder than any other dilemma he had ever been faced with. Lying to Robert about the fate of Rhaegar Targaryen's children was far easier than this.

A piece of him was extremely reluctant to part with Bran at all. He had already sent his daughters to King's Landing. While the capital city was a notoriously unsafe place, at least the dead did not pose a threat there. Apart from that, if Bran left, it would mean three of his five children would be away.

There was also the issue of how Catelyn would react. His wife would be outraged if he sent one of their sons north of the Wall without her consent. But I would rather have Cat furious at me than made into a wight. Then again… perhaps I don't have to tell her where Bran is.

Eddard could easily have told his wife that Bran was staying at Castle Black for an unspecified period of time. If she asked why, he could claim Bran was seriously considering joining the Watch, and he had decided to live among them for a while to see how appealing the prospect truly was. I just wish I would not have to lie to her again. I remember how displeased she was when she found out Jon is actually a Stark on his mother's side.

Ultimately, Eddard Stark let out a sigh and declared "Alright. I will permit Bran to go north."

Bran grinned, rose from his chair, and embraced his father. He muttered softly "Thank you, Father. I promise I will make you proud."

You already have. You're the bravest boy I've ever known. Eddard wrapped his arms around his son, as though he never meant to let him go. But I have to.

"One last thing," Eddard announced, gazing down at Bran, "I want you to take Hodor with you."

For once, Bran did not argue at all. He just nodded and said "Alright, Father."

He's fond of the stableboy, just as Hodor is of him. That worked out quite well. Ned better trusted Hodor with Bran's safety than he did any of the guards he planned to send with them.

Hodor had been standing by the entrance to the chamber this whole time. When he heard his name, he grinned and giddily muttered "Hodor."

Leaf chuckled. "A man of few words, is he?"

"Yes, he is," Ned muttered. But a man's worth should not be measured in his words alone.

…

"I give you my word; I'll take good care of them," the Northern maid pledged. For a wolf in sheep's clothing, she makes a superb maid. And right now, that is all she is; Myrna the maid and nothing else. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Lyanna Stark is dead.

"We know you will," Ellyn Lannister stated with a smile.

Dacey Clegane nodded in agreement and said "If all goes well, we'll see you soon."

"And if it doesn't?" Myrna conjectured.

"Then we'll see you a lot sooner," Lady Dacey wittily contended. Whatever the case, I do not intend for any of us to die today.

"Alright then," Myrna acknowledged, snickering a bit, "Your boys will be waiting for you when you get back."

"Thank you," Dacey and Ellyn chorused.

Dacey handed her youngest son over to the maid, and Ellyn gently placed her only son down on the bed.

Lyarra was lying on her stomach beside the bed. She tilted her head up when Lady Ellyn set Duncan down. The mother direwolf sniffed at the Westerlander boy, and then she licked him once. He giggled playfully.

Ellyn grinned at this interaction. Dacey grinned with her.

Although most mothers would not dare to leave their children in the same room as a direwolf, Lady Dacey Mormont and Lady Ellyn Clegane were exceptions. They had been wary of Lyarra at first. They both realized how easily she could have harmed their sons. Most normal wolves would have done so without hesitation. Be that as it may, such indiscriminate savagery was not in Lyarra's nature. Interestingly, she was rather fond of human children. Just as her mistress is.

After entrusting their boys to the care of the princess-in-disguise, Dacey Mormont and Ellyn Clegane left the cabin. Then they made their way up to the command deck of the vessel.

The bridge was nearly empty when they got to it. In fact, there were only two people there: a young boy and a dwarf. Both of whom Dacey recognized the moment she saw them.

"You got here just in time," Alyver said wryly when he saw his mother and aunt. He seemed eager to disembark.

"You didn't have to wait on us," Dacey told him.

"We weren't waiting," her son informed her, "We were looking for Uncle Tyrion's saddle."

It was then that Dacey realized Lord Tyrion Lannister was holding a large bundle under his arm, which indeed turned out to be a saddle.

"What would you need with a saddle, my love?" Ellyn asked her husband.

"When dealing with Dothraki, you always bring a saddle, my dear," Tyrion advised his wife.

"Do you expect to do much riding?" Dacey Clegane said inquiringly.

"Not necessarily," Tyrion Lannister claimed, "But no harm ever came out of being overprepared."

"I agree," Alyver remarked. He placed his left hand on the hilt of his shortsword, and he added "That's why I'm not taking this off until the next time we board this ship."

Dacey was incited to both smile proudly and roll her eyes. She resisted the urge to do either. Instead, she gazed down at her son and mumbled patiently "You won't need your sword while we're here, Al."

"Oh, you never know, Mother," Alyver Clegane disputed, "After all, in your experience, how often have things gone according to plan? I mean entirely according to plan."

Lady Dacey thought on that. In her head, she reflected on several of her previous missions in the Legion without Banners. Although she knew full well that things rarely ever went as planned, she was surprised to realize how many had involved at least one major or minor setback. Even though most of those setbacks had been remedied by a contingency plan which had been organized beforehand, the most ideal circumstances had hardly ever transpired in any of the Legion's assignments.

Dacey's first mission to the Vale had been a complete success. However, the world was supposed to regard that one as a failure. Only those of us on the secret council know that the true purpose of that mission was not to ensure Baelish's survival. The true purpose was to eliminate him as a threat to the stability of Westeros.

"Alright, fair point," Dacey admitted, "If the situation calls for it, Al, you can brandish your sword. But whenever you do, promise me that you will stay close to me."

"I will, Mother," Alyver told her. That was enough to assure the Bear Islander. Still, if fighting broke out, she would be ready for it. Although the dragon eggs were the target of the mission, Dacey's first priority was to protect her son and her companions. She was sufficiently prepared to do that. Bearswrath, her Valyrian steel longsword which she had acquired at Lannisport,was strapped to her side. The slightest sign of trouble, and I'll draw it.

A moment later, Allard Seaworth appeared at the port side of the vessel. When he got off the gangplank, he announced "We're ready whenever you are."

"Right," Dacey Clegane uttered. She, her son, and the Lannisters went over to where the Stormlander representative of the secret council was standing. The five of them swiftly got off the Zenith and crossed over to the docks below. We're officially in Essos now.

They had been at sea for more than a whole turn of the moon. After enduring that tribulation, it felt good to be on some flat, even terrain, even if it was in a foreign land.

Dacey had been on deck when the Zenith sailed into Pentos. She had gotten an exquisite view of the city whilst the vessel pulled into the harbor. She could not deny that it was a rather beautiful place.

However, Dacey was not wholly interested in the city itself. She was far more invested in a certain event that would take place just outside its walls. An event we almost did not arrive in time for. Fortunately, their arrival could not have been better timed. The gods had been good enough to bring Dacey and her company to Pentos on the very same day that event was scheduled to occur.

A few seconds after she stepped onto the marina, Dacey looked to the north, and then she looked to the south. In both directions, there were Westerosi vessels as far as the eye could see. The majority of them were Ironborn in make. Regardless of where they had originated from, they all served the same purpose at present. They composed the fleet Gregor and the King had dispatched to Pentos. And each and every person aboard them is under my command.

"Have the ships been cleared?" Dacey Clegane enquired.

"For the most part," Allard apprised her, "As per your orders, we've left a skeleton crew on each one. Just enough people have stayed behind to keep the vessels properly managed and maintained. There numbers will be spread thinly but efficiently. You'll also be pleased to know that even with all the additional responsibilities going around, the crews will still be able to prepare the fleet for departure at a moment's notice. Or even sooner."

"Excellent," Dacey commented in approval. Depending on how our meeting with the khal goes, we may have to make a quick getaway. "Where will the ceremony take place? I mean, I know it will be outside the city, but where exactly?"

"A couple miles to the south, along the shoreline," Allard Seaworth disclosed, "Drogo's entire khalasaar is camped there. They're very hard to miss."

"Alas, I didn't glimpse towards the south when we pulled into the harbor," Dacey revealed, "But I'll take your word for it."

"You'll see the Dothraki horde soon enough," Allard asserted, "Actually, you'll hear it before you see it."

Oh, is that what that faint rumbling sound in the distance is?

Allard glanced down at Tyrion Lannister. When he saw what was in the Westerlord's hands, he grinned and slyly perceived "I see you came prepared, my lord."

"I always do," the dwarf proclaimed, "Now, if you would be so kind as to direct us to the horses…"

"Certainly," said the second son of the Onion Knight.

Allard hastily led Dacey and her companions to the southern end of the docks. On the way there, Ellyn queried "Where is everyone else?"

"They've already ridden out to the Dothraki encampment," Allard Seaworth replied.

"Again, as I ordered," Dacey commented. She had gotten the idea for her forces to scout around and study Drogo's. Maybe we can somehow surround the khalasaar. Then again, they outnumber us four-to-one. Still, it would be ideal for us to establish a network around the horde in case we actually have to fight our way out of Pentos.

"So, has everyone gone ahead without us?" Alyver said inquisitively.

"Not quite everyone," Allard explicated, "A select few insisted on waiting for you."

I wonder who.

Dacey Clegane found that out a minute later, when they reached the end of the marina. Prince Jon Targaryen was standing there with his direwolf, his sworn shield, and his lover. Eight sturdy coursers were gathered behind them. I thought he might linger.

In all likelihood, Jon was the only one of them who sincerely wished to stay behind. After all, Ghost, Ser Gerold Hightower, and Ygritte hardly ever left his side. If not for him, the three of them would already be headed south.

Jon gave Dacey a friendly smile when she and the others reached him. I hope they weren't waiting too long.

"So, are you ready, my lady?" he asked rhetorically.

"Yes," the Bear Islander promptly stated. "Are you?"

The young man who had been her lord husband's squire looked Dacey Mormont in the eye, firmly nodded his head, and told her "Ready as ever."

He sounded plenty confident, so he probably was ready. He's about to meet relatives he did not even know he had until a few months ago. How does one get ready for something like that?

"Then let's get down there," Dacey recommended. No one objected.

They needed a few minutes to tend to the horses. Lady Ellyn helped her husband fasten his special saddle onto his courser. Lord Tyrion was able to mount the beast on his own, however. He did not require any aid in that respect. But someone else did.

Dacey watched as Jon and Ser Gerold assisted Ygritte onto the back of her horse. For obvious reasons, the task had become difficult for the wildling girl lately. She was still a fair rider of horses, but getting on and off them was starting to be a challenge for her. Before long, she won't be able to ride at all. Dacey had been through that process five times before. In the last three months of each of her pregnancies, Gregor had insisted that she keep off of horses. In the last month, he had all but forbidden her to even go near one. Much as I appreciate how much Gregor cares for me and our children, I could have done without him treating me like an invalid whenever I was heavily with child.

Once there were all ahorse, they proceeded towards the south. Since Allard was the only one who knew where exactly they were going, he rode at the head of the group. For most of the way, Dacey rode alongside him and talked to him.

"When does the ceremony begin?" she queried.

"It already has," Allard notified her, "But worry not; you didn't miss much. It will last the whole day."

"It will?" Ellyn murmured in interest. She and Tyrion were riding behind the two members of the secret council.

Allard looked over his shoulder at the Lannisters and nodded his head. He professed "Dothraki weddings are not like any in the Seven Kingdoms. To get an idea of what they're like, think of a typical Westerosi wedding. Could be the Old Gods, the New Gods, the Drowned God… doesn't really matter which faith. In any case, imagine that the conventional wedding ceremony itself was absent. Now imagine that the wedding feast was the ceremony, and it lasted from dawn to dusk."

That's a peculiar arrangement. Hard as Dacey tried, she could not visualize such a thing in her head. She just could not see it happening. Some of the others could, though.

"With those conditions, one would not need an excuse to be drunk during the ceremony," Tyrion Lannister cheekily observed.

Ellyn Lannister laughed at her husband's jest. After that, she looked to Allard and inquired "So, when are the vows spoken?"

"As far as I can tell, there are no vows," the Stormlander disclosed, "The bride and groom hardly even exchange any words throughout the entire ceremony."

Ellyn was stunned. "Really?"

"Yes," Allard confirmed, "From what I've gathered, the Dothraki culture places much more value on actions than words. In fact, while they are a very loud and aggressive people, they are surprisingly laconic."

Then I suppose we'll do all the talking. That could work to our advantage.

"So, the whole wedding is just one day-long feast?" Ellyn presumed, as though she had a hard time picturing such a thing.

"Essentially, that is the case," Allard informed her, "There is a little more to it than that. Some procedure is involved. I would tell you more, but truthfully, I myself am not that familiar with it. Magister Illyrio Mopatis would know more than I. If you want to know more of these strange nuptials, you should ask him."

"Alright, we'll do that," Dacey pronounced.

They rode on in quietness for about two minutes. After that, Allard leaned closer to Dacey and whispered "By the way, there's something more you should know. I should've mentioned this to you earlier: it probably wasn't a good idea to bring Alyver along."

Dacey turned to him and asked in perplexity "Why not?"

"Well…" Allard tentatively began, "Has he ever seen a naked woman?"

I held him to my breast for the first fifteen months of his life. But I suppose that does not count, as he wouldn't even remember it. Ultimately, she responded with "Not that I know of. Rickard probably has, though, given how much time he spends with Theon Greyjoy."

"It's Alyver you should be concerned about now," Allard informed her. Dacey flashed a glare at him. At least Alyver is here with his mother. Right now, Rickard is with neither of his parents. "That's one thing you'll quickly learn about the Dothraki. Modesty is not one of their virtues. Often the men wear nothing over their chests. At weddings and similar events… so do the women."

"Oh…" Dacey murmured, realizing what he was indicating, "Does that apply to all the women?"

"No, only some," Allard responded, "But it gets worse than that. Does Alyver know what women usually do with men when their clothes are off?"

"Alas, Gregor and I have not yet had that talk with him," Dacey Clegane revealed, "So, likely he does not. If he does know, it was not from us."

"Then I would advise you to be careful," Allard Seaworth recommended, "Because otherwise, he's about to receive a firsthand lesson in that subject."

Dacey turned to face the second son of Davos Seaworth and asked uneasily "What are you talking about?"

"The Dothraki have no concept of privacy, either," the Stormlander told her, "They believe all things of meaning should be done in plain sight and out in the open. That includes sex. Whenever they wish to mate with one another, they do so wherever they are. Regardless of who else is present at the time. According to the magister, weddings are an especially popular occasion for them to… 'bond.'"

Dacey felt herself pale. That is appalling. In actuality, it was not the concept of seeing a man and a woman get intimate with each other in public that disturbed her. What really unsettled her was the thought that her young son would witness such a thing.

"Do you want to send Alyver back to the Zenith?" Allard proposed.

Perhaps I should. Dacey peered over her shoulder and saw that they had already put at least a mile of space between themselves and Pentos. Or maybe not.

"No, I wouldn't want him going back on his own," the Bear Islander thought aloud, "And I am not about to ask anyone here to escort him back there, even as a favor to me. Aside from that, I know he'll behave himself."

"Oh, no one is questioning that he'll behave," Allard remarked, "But some of the Dothraki women are very loose. While the majority of them are decent enough not to make advances on children, they could easily mistake Alyver for someone older."

Given his height, his build, and the sword at his side, I would not be surprised. He looks closer to three and ten than nine. "Don't worry about Alyver, Allard. That's my job. I'll keep a watchful eye on him."

"If you'd like, Dacey, we could keep an eye on him, too," Ellyn offered.

Dacey gazed over at her sister-by-law and her husband and smiled at them, saying "I would be very grateful for that."

"Think nothing of it," Tyrion bade her, "We love the boy. We aren't about to let our nephew fall victim to some horse-worshipping temptress."

Dacey and Ellyn chuckled at that remark. Allard soon joined in, as did Tyrion.

Thus far, Alyver, Jon, Ygritte, and Ser Gerold had been trotting at a lesser pace behind Dacey, Allard, Tyrion, and Ellyn.

When the laughter died down, they were all caught up. Alyver appeared at Dacey's side and said inquiringly "Something amusing, Mother?"

"No," she claimed, "We're just talking."

"Alright," Alyver murmured. After a bit of quietness, he asked no one in particular "So, what will happen when we get there? Do we need invitation or approval to get in?"

"As it happens, Dothraki weddings are generally open to the public," Allard Seaworth pronounced, "Anyone can attend, so long as they pay homage to the khal."

"Are we required to present him with a gift or anything?" Dacey queried. Let's hope not; we have nothing to offer. At least, nothing that I think he'd like or we'd be unwilling to part with.

"No, gifts are unnecessary," Allard assured her, "A formal introduction will suffice. As soon as we arrive, we should present ourselves to the khal. Since Drogo does not speak the Common Tongue, Magister Illyrio will announce us."

"Very well," Dacey muttered, "What happens after that?"

"After that, you're free to do as you please," Allard replied, "When will you know whether or not we'll be leaving before the ceremony ends?"

"That will depend," Dacey stated, "First, I'll have to speak with Princess Daenerys."

"Why just Daenerys?" Prince Jon Targaryen asked.

"Because this wedding was not her choice," the Northwoman elucidated, "Whether she'll go through with the marriage should be."

"I see," Jon remarked.

"At any rate, once I find out Daenerys' decision, I will inform the rest of you," Lady Dacey announced.

"Very well," Allard proclaimed, "Whatever you decide should happen next, we'll be ready to follow your orders."

Dacey nodded in acknowledgment. Hopefully, none of our people will become too engrossed in the festivities, as we may have to act fast.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

Relative silence, anyway. Allard was correct; they really did hear the khalassar well before they saw it. The further the group rode, the louder their surroundings got.

When they finally reached the Dothraki encampment, the noise was practically unbearable. The sight, however, was almost overwhelming.

There were tents, horses, and people spread across a vastness that spanned miles. With the possible exception of the tourney at Lannisport, Dacey doubted she had ever seen so many people in one place. There may have been even more people there. All the same, even the combined might of the Seven Kingdoms did not look nearly as fierce and impressive as this immense Dothraki horde.

Although most of the people in the encampment were Dothraki, people of all backgrounds and trades were among them. Merchant princes from Qarth, clothing peddlers from Myr and Lys, slavers from the far east… the diversity was astounding.

Dacey also saw many of her fellow Westerosi in the crowd. All of them had either been in Pentos for the past year with Allard or arrived in the city that very morning, just as she had. Some of her countrymen and countrywomen were partaking in the merriment, but from the look of things, they were all still on their guard. That is fortunate. We do not need anyone getting distracted.

Allard brought them to the western end of the encampment. Apparently, everyone of precedence was gathered there.

A number of high-ranking Legionnaires could be found in that general area. Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Lothor Brune were accounted for, as were Ser Malcolm Branfield, Ser Bonifer Hasty, Eddison Tollett, and Alysane Mormont, Dacey's younger sister. Allard Seaworth led Dacey and the others over to them.

Alysane was the first to notice the mounted group, the first to smile at them, and the first to approach them. She called out "Hey there, Dace."

"I see you're doing well, Aly," Dacey told her sister, smiling back and holding out her hand.

Alysane took Dacey's hand and shook it firmly. Then she gave it a very powerful squeeze. Dacey scoffed. Even now, she still tries to crush my hand. She had been doing that since they were girls.

Alysane then turned her attention to her nephew. She walked up to him and stated gleefully "Alyver! My, how you've grown."

"Thank you, Aunt Alysane," Alyver wryly uttered, smirking, "So have you."

Alysane chortled at that. It never took much to make her laugh. The Free Cities have not changed her at all.

While her sister and her son interacted, Dacey looked to the male Legionnaires on the ground. She gave a friendly nod and murmured in acknowledgment "Gentlemen."

"Always a pleasure to see you, my lady," Malcolm Branfield proclaimed.

"Likewise," Dacey rejoined, "Have you passed along my instructions?"

"We have," Brynden Tully answered her, "Our people are in position and awaiting further orders. Whatever those orders may be, they will carry them out. As will we."

"Good," Dacey commented. Now I can focus on the purpose of this assignment. Regardless of how this scenario plays out, we can handle the aftermath of its resolution.

Dacey Clegane spent about thirty seconds gazing around the camp. With the exception of Tyrion, Ellyn, and some of their retainers from Casterly Rock, no one there was clad in red.

"Where's the priestess?" the Lady of Moat Cailin enquired.

"She was asked to stay at the magister's manse," Bonifer Hasty disclosed.

"For her safety as well as ours," Eddison Tollett glumly expounded, "It would seem the Dothraki do not look kindly on those who practice magic, the dark arts, and whatever the hell the followers of the Lord of Light do."

Dacey snickered. How I've missed Dolorous Edd's dry humor.

"It's just as well," she thought aloud, "In the long run, she would only interfere in our plans."

"Considering what all the Red Woman knows, I would have to agree," Allard Seaworth conceded, "She's an obstruction we can do without."

She might prove herself useful later, though. We'll just have to see how the day turns out.

Jon reigned up beside Dacey and queried "Do you still mean to speak to Princess Daenerys?"

"Absolutely," the Bear Islander affirmed. She looked down at her colleagues and asked them "Do you any of you know where the Targaryens are?"

"Over there," Bonifer Hasty responded, pointing to the southwest. Dacey followed his finger and saw a huge platform made entirely of clay at the far end of the encampment.

There were two levels to this platform. A tall man and a blonde woman sat on the upper level. One glimpse was enough for Dacey to infer that they were the groom and his bride.

There were five men seated on the lower level. Three of them were on the left, just below Khal Drogo. They were clearly Dothraki, so they must have been the khal's bloodriders. The other two men were on the right, just below Princess Daenerys Targaryen. One was a blonde man in his early twenties and a morbidly obese man in his middle years. Obviously, they were Viserys Targaryen and Magister Illyrio Mopatis.

Half a dozen more Dothraki stood guard around the base of the platform. Apart from them, no one else was within ten feet of it.

"Shall we offer the bride and groom our congratulations?" Tyrion drily suggested.

"That was the idea," Dacey remarked blankly.

She was about to take the reins of her courser and direct him towards the clay platform. Before she could, Lothor Brune stepped in front of her and declared "You should get off your mounts first."

Ygritte seemed taken aback. "Why?"

"It would be a sign of respect towards the khal," Ser Lothor stated, "Believe it or not, the Dothraki do have a system of protocol."

"That is true," Ser Malcolm confirmed, "It is something of an unwritten rule. When the khal sits on ground, no one approaches him on horseback."

"I suppose that's not unreasonable," Jon debated. No, it is not.

"Long as we don't have to kneel to him," Ygritte mumbled. Jon and a few of the others laughed, even though the wildling girl had been totally serious.

Dacey and the seven who had ridden there with her swiftly dismounted. They joined her sister and the other five men on the ground. Their horses were led away by Magister Illyrio's servants.

Together, the fourteen Westerosi made their way through the encampment. That in itself proved to be a bit of a hassle; scores of Dothraki stood between them and the clay platform. Many of them were unwilling to move aside. Saying "excuse me" or "pardon me" did nothing to sway them. Even if they spoke the Common Tongue, I doubt they even know what those phrases mean. Before long, the Legionnaires had to resort to pushing and shoving. That turned out to be a much more effective solution.

So far, Dacey noticed, everyone was fully clothed. Then again, perhaps not fully clothed. At least nothing is hanging out yet.

Be that as it may, the atmosphere was definitely starting to get suggestive. Already, some of the men and women were dancing sensually. The men were groping the women's breasts, and the women were groping the men's crotches. It will not be long before someone's attire gets cast aside. If and when that happened, Dacey Clegane intended to lead Alyver away from the scene as quickly as possible. He will not learn of intimacy from this lot.

When they were thirty feet from the platform, Dacey felt someone grab her wrist. She turned to her left and came face-to-face with a sneer.

The sneer belonged to a Dothraki man. This man was huge. His arms and legs bulged with muscle, and his abdominals were larger than his hands and feet. His eyes were filled with what was undoubtedly desire.

Dacey tried to pull her wrist away, but he would not let go. She glared at him and nonchalantly muttered "Do you want something?"

He said nothing; he only looked her up and down. That may have been his answer to Dacey's question. She took it as such and snorted in disgust. She spat "You cannot have it."

The Dothraki paid no mind to that. Instead, he brought his other hand up and reached for Dacey's bosom. She saw his arm coming and grabbed it with her free hand before he could grab her. "Are you stupid? Or just Dothraki?"

He did not like that one bit. But before he could try anything else, Alyver rushed forward and punched the Dothraki in his abdomen. In response, the man released Dacey and stumbled back a few paces. Dacey looked down at her son and smiled at him. He smiled back.

When he regained his full balance, the Dothraki scowled at Alyver. The boy folded his arms and fearlessly warned the horselord "Keep your hands off my mother. Or else."

The man marched closer to Alyver and drew his weapon. Almost instinctively, Dacey pulled out hers, too.

The man's arakh was not even halfway in the air when Bearswrath knocked it out of his hand. Before the Dothraki could attempt to recover his blade or even look to see where it had landed, Dacey drove her longsword through his chest cavity.

The man stood utterly still for a few seconds. Then he slumped backward and dropped to the ground.

Almost immediately, there was a roar of fury. Dacey turned to the source and saw another armed Dothraki coming her way. She did not panic. Instead, she held Bearswrath in the air and urged this new adversary on with "Come at me."

That he did. He rapidly waved his arakh at any part of her body he could reach. Dacey managed to counter or dodge each of his blows just in time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alyver move to draw his sword. But Alysane stopped her son and advised him "Stay out of this. Your mother can handle this."

Indeed, I can. In less than a minute, Dacey was the one delivering blows instead of receiving them. She studied her opponent's form for weaknesses, and within seconds, she spotted one. When he raised his arakh high over his head, she threw an underhand cut to his lower body.

The Dothraki promptly dropped his weapon and clutched his midsection with both hands. He was bleeding profusely from the opening Dacey had carved into him.

Fortunately for him, Dacey Clegane was not one to make her enemies suffer too long. She grabbed his head by his braid, pulled it back, and used her sword to slice his throat. Death was almost instantaneous.

Now there were two bodies at her feet. One more and this wedding will start to get interesting for the Dothraki.

Dacey then realized that everyone in the immediate area had stopped what they were doing to watch her fight. She smirked and jibed daringly "Anyone else want a go?"

Her reply came in the form of a Dothraki archer. This archer was about forty feet to the northeast. By the time Dacey spotted him, he had already drawn an arrow, notched it to his bowstring, and pointed it at her.

As always, Dacey's reflexes did not fail her. She dodged the arrow just before it reached her. It ended up flying straight into the waters of the Narrow Sea.

The archer reached into his quiver again. Just as he extracted an arrow, another arrow of a different make appeared in his throat. He dropped his bow and gasped frantically for breath. Then he collapsed onto his stomach.

Dacey peered over her shoulder and saw Ser Lothor Brune with his bow in the air. His gaze met hers, and he nodded in her direction. She just smiled knowingly. I'm damn lucky he never misses. I'd much rather have the Dothraki shooting at me than he.

After that, no one else dared to attack Dacey again. Thus, she sheathed Bearswrath, and she and her companions were able to resume their previous heading.

Khal Drogo had seen every bit of that deadly encounter. He did not seem the least bit displeased. If Dacey did not know better, she would have thought he was impressed.

Seeing him up close, Dacey realized that Khal Drogo was younger than she thought he would be. He could not have been much older than she was. Perhaps they were actually the same age. He is certainly younger than Gregor.

At any rate, Dacey, Alyver, Jon, Ygritte, Ser Gerold, Tyrion, and Ellyn stepped up to the platform. Allard Seaworth went over to where Illyrio Mopatis and Viserys Targaryen were seated.

"Brought more of your associates, have you, Master Allard?" Mopatis supposed.

"Yes, Magister," the Stormlander affirmed, "These are the last of them, I assure you."

Illyrio Mopatis nodded and beckoned him "Proceed."

Allard Seaworth gestured to his companions and declared "Lady Dacey of House Clegane of Moat Cailin, formerly of House Mormont, wife of Lord Gregor Clegane. Her son, Alyver. Lord Tyrion of House Lannister and his wife, Lady Ellyn, formerly of House Clegane of Clegane's Keep. Ser Gerold of House Hightower. Lastly, Prince Jon of House Targaryen and his paramour, Ygritte of the Free Folk."

As he made that announcement, Magister Illyrio translated it for Khal Drogo and his bloodriders to understand.

Dacey noticed Viserys bristled when Tyrion and Ellyn were introduced.

He rose from his seat and snapped at Allard "Lannisters? You brought Lannisters here?"

"No, I did," Dacey calmly refuted, "But do not hold their heritage against them. Lady Ellyn is my lord husband's sister. Only Lord Tyrion is a Lannister by birth, and he is nothing like his father."

But I see a bit of yours in you.

That did little to lessen Viserys' anger, but at least he seemed more tranquil now.

In any case, Daenerys did not seem bothered by the presence of Lannisters. She seemed much more interested in another member of their group. Specifically, the dark-haired boy from the North.

Daenerys gazed down at Jon and presumed "So, you're our brother's third child?"

"That is what I've been told," Jon candidly replied, "I am delighted to meet you both."

"Sure, you are," Viserys said sarcastically.

"I am," Jon insisted, "For the longest time, I thought my only family was in the North. When I was finally told otherwise, I was shocked at first. So, believe me; I know how you must feel."

"You know nothing, Jon Targaryen," Ygritte interjected.

Dacey, Alyver, Tyrion, and Ellyn snickered at that. Jon just placed his hand against his forehead and shook his head. Even she acknowledges his true background now.

"How do you know you are indeed a Targaryen?" Daenerys questioned. Dacey would have expected that question to come from her brother, but not her.

Ser Gerold Hightower stepped forward and declared "You may not remember me, Princess Daenerys, but you do, Prince Viserys. I was the Lord Commander of your late father's Kingsguard. I can validate that Prince Jon is indeed the issue of your brother Rhaegar."

That was enough to appease Daenerys. Viserys was not quite convinced, but this evidence would do for now.

Just then, Ghost appeared at Jon's side. Nearly every person on the platform flinched at the sight of the direwolf. Khal Drogo was the only one who did not move. Instead, he eyed the beast with intense fascination. Maybe he is pondering on the best way to make a trophy out of Ghost. If so, Jon should not let Ghost wander too far away.

Jon would have more time to get acquainted with his aunt and uncle later on. Currently, he was in no rush to do so. As such, he and almost everyone else in his company went to join in the wedding activities. Dacey was the only one who did not.

Now that introductions were out of the way, the Bear Islander stepped closer to the platform and announced "If it would please the khal, I would have words with his bride."

As she hoped, Magister Illyrio repeated that statement in Dothraki. Everyone then looked to the khal as he sat contemplating a response. Ultimately, Drogo bellowed in his native language.

Again, the magister was kind enough to interpret: "The khal says that normally, he would allow no one – man or woman – to speak privately with his khaleesi until the ceremony ended. However, you, my lady, have so impressed him that he will make an exception for you."

Dacey grinned merrily. "Please thank him for me."

"I would," the cheesemonger claimed, "Alas, the Dothraki have no word for 'thank you.'"

Of course they don't.

Dacey cautiously walked up to the platform and approached Princess Daenerys. The blonde girl politely moved to make room for her.

Once the Northwoman was seated, Daenerys enquired "What would you like to talk about, my lady?"

Dacey checked to ensure that no one was eavesdropping, and then she whispered "What if I were to tell you that I could get you out of this?"

Daenerys was more than a little baffled. "How do you mean?"

Dacey did not answer straightaway. Instead, she muttered "I will explain further. However, you must promise not to react too conspicuously to anything I am about to tell you."

Despite the oddness of that request, Daenerys nodded and said "Alright."

Dacey then began with "I assume you are aware of an 'advantage' my lord husband claims you and your brother possess?"

"Yes, I am," Daenerys affirmed, "We still have no idea what it is, though. Do you?"

"I do," the Northwoman revealed, "Strictly speaking, you do not possess the advantage just yet. But by the end of the day, you will."

"Go on, please," the Targaryen princess bade her.

"Sometime during the wedding feast, Magister Illyrio will present you with three dragon eggs," the Lady of Moat Cailin expounded, "He believes the eggs have turned to stone. He is wrong. They're real."

Remembering Dacey's request not to draw attention to herself, Daenerys did nothing more than raise an eyebrow. But her astonishment was evident. "You mean…?"

Dacey Clegane nodded and stated "One day, hopefully very soon, they will hatch. Then we will be able to use them against the Night King and the Army of the Dead."

"How can you be so certain of that?" Daenerys Targaryen inquired.

"This information came from my lord husband," the older woman disclosed, "If he says the eggs are real, they must be. After all, that is the whole reason we are here: to acquire the dragon eggs. As well as to bring you and your brother home."

"What about the Dothraki?" Daenerys uttered enquiringly.

"We are prepared to transport them back to the Seven Kingdoms with us," Dacey stated, "However, you, Viserys, and the eggs are the priority. Therefore, it is not critical that we bring them to Westeros. That works out well for you; you need not go through with this marriage."

Daenerys was stunned by that. "What are you implying?"

"We can get you out of this marriage," Dacey proposed, "All you have to do is say you want out, and our people will extract you and your brother. But only once we have the dragon eggs and not a second before."

"What about the Dothraki?" Daenerys pointed out.

"Don't worry about the Dothraki; we'll deal with them," Dacey Clegane proclaimed, "All that really matters is whether you can see yourself finding happiness with Khal Drogo. If you cannot, my fellow Legionnaires and I will liberate you from this prison sentence of a marriage. If you can…"

Daenerys said nothing. Could it be she actually can? Was Tyrion right all along?

"You do not have to decide just yet," Dacey contended, "The ceremony will last all day. It could be hours before the magister presents the eggs. Plenty of time for you to consider your options. Just know that whichever one you pick, we will support."

No more words were said after that. Dacey simply left Daenerys to meditate on the situation. Again, the princess was alone with Drogo. Alone with the man who may or may not stay her husband after today.

The wedding ceremony went on without any further interruptions. The entire time, Dacey waited for the dragon eggs to appear. Those were her foremost concern. Nonetheless, she decided to enjoy herself. This is a celebration, after all.

For the entire duration of the wedding ceremony, Khal Drogo and Princess Daenerys never moved from the upper level of the clay platform.

Every now and then, someone from the assembly – usually clad in fine robes and smelling of strong perfumes – would step onto the lower level, bow respectfully, and set an offering in front of Drogo and Daenerys. As soon as the giver stepped off the platform, one of the six guards would move to pick the gift up, place it off to the side of the upper level, and promptly return to his post after.

Although the wedding had already had its obligatory three deaths to be deemed interesting by Dothraki standards, those were not its only victims. At least nine other men died that day. Fortunately, Dacey did not have to kill any of them.

Dacey spent most of the day mingling with her fellow Legionnaires. They ate, they danced, they laughed, and they had a fair deal of fun. Who would have thought the Dothraki knew how to have fun?

There were a few things she could have done without. Chief among them were all the instances of public mating. It seemed every five minutes or so, some random man seized some random woman and made violent love to her on the spot. Whenever that happened, Dacey hastily got Alyver away from the area as quickly as possible.

Sometimes the solution was not that simple. On four different occasions, the problem concerned Alyver more directly.

Once more, Allard was correct. As the Stormlander had conjectured, a few of the Dothraki women thought her son was old enough to lie with them. It did not help that he was fairly handsome for his age, too. He gets that from me and Gregor.

Dacey actually had to "rescue" Alyver from those four women. She was able to reason with three of them. The fourth one was a little more persistent. She almost Alyver his first kiss. But before her lips could meet his, they met Dacey's fist. That was when the Dothraki woman backed away.

Finally, in the last hour of the ceremony, Magister Illyrio had four of his servants bring forth a large cedar chest.

Dacey watched from afar as Daenerys accepted the magister's gift.

Although Dacey had been allowed to speak privately with Daenerys once already, she was not about to abuse her favor with the khal by asking for that privilege a second time. So she did not climb onto the clay platform. Instead, she just approached the platform and waited for Daenerys to notice her.

Once she did, Dacey wordlessly gestured over at Khal Drogo with her eyes. It only took the princess a moment to catch on. She realized the Northwoman was waiting for an answer to the issue at hand.

Daenerys spent a minute looking back and forth between the dragon eggs and Khal Drogo.

Ultimately, she looked back over at Dacey Clegane and nodded her head.

Dacey was astonished. Princess Daenerys Targaryen, an innocent girl of five and ten, was actually going along with a marriage she had been forced into. She must realize what she is consenting to.

Daenerys did not strike her as an unstable or insane individual. Her brother on the other hand…

Regardless of all that, Dacey had assured Daenerys that she would respect her decision. Even if her decision was a questionable one. Whatever reasons impelled her to give this marriage a chance, I must find out what they are later.

On the plus side, the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms would now have forty thousand Dothraki screamers to join them in the war against the Others. That's another advantage.

At the very end of the ceremony, Khal Drogo presented Daenerys with a young silver mare. He helped her onto the horse, after which he mounted his own red stallion. The two of them rode out of the encampment on their own.

Dacey Clegane was with Allard Seaworth and Lothor Brune at the time. The three of them watched as the bride and groom went off to consummate their marriage. I pray she doesn't come to regret her choice. Or that we do, for that matter.

In spite of that, Dacey was in a very good mood. "It would appear everything worked out for the best."

"Quite so, my lady," Allard conceded, "Three dragon eggs, two Targaryens, and a Dothraki horde. We bagged a spectacular prize."

Dacey nodded and commented "Best of all, this time tomorrow, we'll be on our way back home."

Lothor and Allard gave her a pair of strange looks. She raised an eyebrow and said "What?"

"I'm afraid it will not be that simple, my lady," Allard informed her.

"Indeed not," Lothor confirmed, "Whenever a Dothraki khal takes a new bride, he must present her to the Dosh Khaleen at Vaes Dothrak."

Dacey folded her arms and inquired "How far is Vaes Dothrak?"

"It is all the way on the other side of the Dothraki Sea," Allard Seaworth pronounced "That is at least a fortnight's journey from here."

"If one was to march straight there without delay," Lother Brune argued, "Alas, the Dothraki are never in a hurry, and they tend to stop frequently."

"So, how long a trip can we expect?" Dacey asked.

Allard and Lothor stood thinking on that for a minute. After that, the latter stated "Most likely… three months."

"Two if we are lucky," the former supposed, "But no less."

Dacey let out a dreary sigh and mumbled "I might have known."

In Dacey Clegane's experience, conflict resolution was a very intricate process. In any scenario that employed it, all it took was one tiny impediment for everything to go wrong. This was one rare occasion when nothing had gone wrong. Alas, even when everything turned out just fine, an unforeseen dilemma had arisen. Even with the most fortunate of outcomes, things never go according to plan.