Chapter 5: The Green Man

298 AC

The Gods eye was huge. The week of hard riding had meant that once Torrhen and his small party arrived at the shore of the great lake they had camped beside it to rest, and all Torrhen could do that night was stand with his bare feet in the water's edge to try and see the mysterious isle of the Green Men. He couldn't see a damn thing.

The next morning at dawn he set out alone in a single rowboat, keeping a direct course for the centre of the lake. He was rowing for at least a couple of hours when a shape of dark red came into view, and as Torrhen got closer, he could tell that the red was the Weirwood leaves.

He soon got to the Isle and left the boat on the narrow strip of land between the sea and the ground touching leaves. Pushing them aside and stepping through, he gasped at the beauty. At least a dozen Weirwood trees, all with differing faces were staring inwards, all looking at a single stump. Torrhen stared at each one of the faces and instantly felt chills. This was a sacred place no doubt, and he felt humbled to have been invited.

After looking at each of the faces, Torrhen looked in the centre of the Weirwood grove at the single stump. On it was a small bowl made also of Weirwood, that had a dozen Weirwood faces carved into the sides, the same faces that were on the trees looking in on him. The mixture inside the bowl didn't look too appetising, a thick white paste with green veins snaking out over its surface.

"No thanks." Torrhen grimaced, looking away from the paste. He wondered around the grove for a few moments before his belly started grumbling however, and soon gave in to his hunger. He picked up the bowl and sat upon the Weirwood stump, dipping his finger into the paste and sucking it clean. It was bitter, so bitter that Torrhen shuddered in horror. The winds rustled the leaves gently though, and Torrhen took this as a sign. He dipped his finger in again and continued, and the paste began to taste better. The more he ate, the more the taste changed, it went from honey, to fresh snow, to the peppered sausages that Gage the cook cooked, and finally with his last mouthful, he tasted Mira Forrester's lips.

"That's the paste of the Weirwood trees." A gruff voice sounded behind Torrhen. The Stark turned around, and he saw a sickly old man wearing thick plate armour, a crimson surcoat with a bright red three headed dragon in its centre. Torrhen also saw the frayed fastenings of a gold cloak on the man back, and thanks to all of his lessons in Targaryen history, he knew who he was talking to.

"This is impossible… you're dead." Torrhen whispered.

The body of Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, King of the Stepstones and brother of Viserys I Targaryen, laughed. "You look, but you do not see. I am no mortal, Torrhen of House Stark. I take this form for your benefit. I can take another."

The man inside the armour turned to dust, and the armour crumbled to the floor. Torrhen gasped, standing up to inspect the area where the man had been. Another voice sounded behind him.

"I can take on this form, if it eases you more." It said. Torrhen turned again and saw the man from the Three Eyed Crow's vision. His grown-up son, Cregan.

"Cregan…" Torrhen whispered. A branch came down from one of the Weirwood trees surrounding them both and slapped Torrhen in the face.

"Open your eyes!" The man exclaimed. "I am no mortal."

"You are the Green Man." Torrhen told him, rubbing his pained cheek. "I thought you were meant to be green and horned."

The Green Man laughed. "Myths lead to exaggerations. No, I am whatever I am needed to be. Daemon Targaryen saw his ancestor the Conqueror, Addam Velaryon saw Jaehaerys the First. Your bannerman Howland Reed saw his own Father."

"And I see my son." Torrhen surmised. He sat back down on the stump and buried his head in his hands. "What do you want with me?"

The Green Man sat down beside him. "You're return has caused great imbalance in this reality. Already changes to the proper course have been made, and you are blissfully unaware of some of the damage you could cause."

"Saving my family and friends is damage?" Torrhen asked incredulously.

"Not if you understand what your actions can do to the greater scheme of things." The Green Man explained. "The Gods favour you, Torrhen Stark. I have been tasked with guiding you so that the world remains intact."

"And how are you going to do that exactly?" Torrhen asked.

The Green Man grinned. "Like this."

He gripped Torrhen's hand tightly, crushing the bones in the young Stark's hand. Torrhen tried to free himself, but within moments his eyes rolled back into his own head, and he felt his mind forced into the interconnected roots of the Weirwood Trees surrounding them.

Back in Winterfell, the atmosphere had been a strange one. Ned had gathered his children together the night that Torrhen left and together with Howland had explained what a Greenseer was, and why Torrhen had had to go. It was difficult looking at them after Torrhen had told him their fates in the other time, but he kept reminding himself that it hasn't happened yet, and looking at his family, Ned was determined to do a better job at protecting them this time.

After Howland and his family had left, Ned had shut himself up in the library with Septon Chayle researching everything he could about Northern Legends and the Long Night. So far, nothing new had popped out to them, but there were still hundreds of books for the Septon Librarian to go through.

A few days of research had been enough for Ned however. He wasn't as impatient as Robert was, but Ned had never been a studious child. Instead he sought out the person who had first taught him about the Long Night, Old Nan.

She soon came to his solar and sat down heavily, her old bones almost creaking as they moved. "Nan." He greeted.

"Little Eddard." She smiled softly. "I remember your birth, you were so calm your Mother thought you were ill, but no you were just watching."

Ned smiled sadly at the thought of his mother. Ben had never really forgiven himself for that, no matter how often all of them told him that he was a fool for thinking it. "I need you to tell me a story, like you used to." He told her.

"You're a bit old now, no?" Old Nan asked with a grin.

Ned chuckled. "Aye that I am, but I'd like you to do so all the same."

Old Nan settled into her chair. "Which story would you like? Macumber was always your favourite."

Sighing amusedly, Ned shook his head at that. "Not this time. Tell me all you know of the White Walkers."

Old Nan sat up straighter. "The White Walkers roamed through the woods of the North thousands of years ago, why would you need to hear of them milord?"

Ned rubbed his beard with his hand. "What if they weren't truly beaten? What if for thousands of years they've been sleeping, waiting for a time to strike?"

Old Nan looked haunted. "Then, milord, we best prepare for a winter that will last a generation. We must prepare for starvation, and snows more fierce and deep than even I've ever seen. For when the White Walkers roam the lands, they steal the sunlight so the crops fail to grow, they steal the warmth, so that even in castles Kings and Lords freeze just as easily as Hedge Knights in their bushes. And if by chance you don't freeze to death, then you'll come face to face with the White Walkers and the Night King himself, on their undead horses commanding all the dead that still hold form. They'll send their spiders, pale as milk and as big as hounds, and they'll march southwards until all the living have joined their ranks." Ned felt the hairs on his arms standing upright, and Old Nan's words terrified him. "The Last Hero stopped him before, supposedly on the land that Winterfell stands on today." She continued. "He joined forces with the Children of the Forest and forced them back to the Land of Always Winter and built a Wall to keep them away. But that was a time of magic, if what you say is true milord and they're back, then we best beat them where we stand."

Later on that evening Ned was in his solar still, going over potential locations of Dragonglass in the unlikely instance that Stannis outright refused him access to Dragonstone. Luwin had said that one of his colleagues believed Winterfell itself was heated by the same fires that were found in the Dragonmont on Dragonstone, but any attempt to try and find the source of the hot springs had proven useless. Skagos was another possibility, but the Skagosi hadn't been involved with the mainland since their failed rebellion 100 years earlier, and so Ned didn't particularly fancy risking sending an invasion force over there purely to look for obsidian.

The only other place that Ned could think of was the Fourteen Flames of Valyria, but that idea was also abandoned quickly. Sighing in defeat, Ned was glad of the distraction as the door opened to reveal his wife. He piled some papers up to hide some of the more intricate plans and greeted her. "My Lady."

"I'm scared, Ned." She admitted, quickly shutting the door behind her. "I should have gone with Torrhen."

Ned shook his head. "This is something he has to face alone, Cat." Ned insisted kindly. "He will be fine."

"He's seeing visions in his dreams of course he won't be." She exclaimed emotionally. "The last person I know of that had visions of the future was Daemon the Drunkard, and he drank himself to death because he couldn't handle it."

Ned quickly shook his head as he saw Cat start to tear up. Rising to his feet he made his way towards her and took her in his arms, holding her tightly to his chest. "Torrhen is a smart boy, he knows what he's doing Cat."

"He's a child. An 11-year-old child." Cat whimpered, melting into her husband's embrace.

Ned wanted to tell her that he wasn't, not really, but he couldn't. "He's a Stark of Winterfell and a Tully of Riverrun. He's with some of my finest men going to a safe space in your Father's lands. He will be fine."

Cat sniffed her tears away and nodded. "I just worry." She insisted. "All of this talk of the White Walkers that's buzzing around the castle, and now your gods are giving my boy visions… I'm second guessing everything."

Ned smiled at her sadly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears. "You are a fantastic mother and wife, My Lady. You have raised our children to be excellent people and will continue to do so for little Rickon and any others that we may have."

Cat nodded and leaned up to kiss her husband. He reciprocated the kiss, pressing his lips firmly on to hers. They pulled away an inch, and Cat said, mainly to reassure herself. "He did promise to stop into Riverrun when he was on his way back and send us a raven."

Ned smiled soothingly down at her. "He did, and meanwhile we have 5 other children that will be enough to keep us occupied until he gets back."

Cat nodded. "I'm being foolish, aren't I?"

"Slightly, but no less than I must have seemed these last few weeks." Ned told her. "I promise, when Torrhen is back and I've spoken to him properly, you'll be among the first to know everything. But war is coming, Cat, and we must be there for the entire North, not just Winterfell."

He didn't mean to scare her, but the mention of war did nothing to soothe her. "Who are we warring with?"

Ned looked up at a map of Westeros that was hanging up on the wall beside them. "That's what worries me, Cat. I'm not too sure yet."

Looking up at him worriedly, Cat moved up to kiss him again quickly. "Can you forget war for one night?" She whispered. Ned smirked at her, nodding. He kissed her again, more forcefully, desperate to feel her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, Cat wrapping her legs around his waist as he moved her over to the table. "In here?" She giggled as his lips briefly left hers. Ned didn't speak, he just growled in the affirmative before latching on to his wife again, losing himself in her embrace.

Robb and Theon regularly made their way into the Wintertown, where Theon's favourite haunt stood far enough away from the main castle to not cause Lord and Lady Stark offence. Robb joined him, not for the barely dressed women that roamed the upstairs and side buildings of the establishment, but for the bar, where he could chat to some of the smallfolk and let them get to know their future Lord while sharing an ale with them.

Theon had been quick to find his favourite, and he had Ros sprawled over his lap, fondling a breast in one hand as he held his tankard in the other. Robb meanwhile was nursing his drink.

"That looks painful." Ros cooed, stroking Theon's black eye.

"The other guy came off worse." Theon boasted, causing Robb to scoff.

"The other guy is my 11-year-old brother and he didn't have a scratch on him." The heir to Winterfell chuckled.

Theon gave him a dirty look. "I wasn't going to tell anybody that." He said through clenched teeth. Ros just laughed.

"You pay me enough to not care that you were beaten by a child." She said soothingly, stroking Theon's face to boost his ego once again.

"Yes well." Theon sniffed arrogantly. "When the child is as deranged and dangerous as the young Lord Torrhen, it's a wonder I didn't die."

"Oh give over." Robb rolled his eyes, getting frustrated. "He's not well."

"He's a freak." Theon countered. "He's going as mad as the Mad King, beating people for no reason and seeing visions in his sleep. If you ask me, your Lord Father should send him up to the Wall to take the black and to keep him out of sight."

Robb threw back his chair loudly as he stood up with force, the scraping of the legs on wooden floor so noisy that the entire inn grew silent. Aware of everybody staring at him, Robb lowered his voice to a deathly whisper, and growled at Theon. "Remember your place, Greyjoy. You may be my friend, but he is my brother. Have a care for how you speak about him in my presence." He didn't wait for a response, picking up his tankard and downing the ale, before walking to the bar and placing it down on the counter. He took out his money pouch and placed it by the owner. "Use whatever is in here, I'll pay for the peoples drinks until it runs out." He said quietly.

"Thank you, milord." The barkeep smiled widely. Robb just nodded and walked out into the night.

A light summer snow was settling in, but there was a chill in the air, and so Robb tightened his cloak and mounted his horse quickly, galloping up towards Winterfell as his rage calmed down.

His mind was all over the place when he arrived back inside the walls of Winterfell. Making his way over to the stables, he dismounted and handed the horses reigns to Hodor the stableboy.

"Thank you Hodor." Robb said honestly.

"Hodor." Was the only response.

Smiling at the friendly giant, Robb walked away aiming to get over to his chambers, but the sound of a sword swinging at a dummy caught his attention. He changed direction and walked towards the sound, fully expecting the sight of Jon Snow pounding away at the dummy.

"Mother again?" Robb asked.

Jon stopped mid swing and turned around. "Not tonight, I think she's with Father. I went to go and talk to him in his solar and Jory was outside the door urging me away."

Robb looked disgusted. "In his solar?" He feigned gagging in illness before laughing slightly. "Mayhaps we'll have a little brother or sister soon then.

Jon chuckled too, before sighing and placing his sword in the rack. "What are you doing back anyway? I thought you were out with Theon."

Robb shook his head. "I couldn't stay there, he was calling Torrhen names like freak and mad. If I had stayed, I'd have blackened his other eye."

"He deserves it." Jon muttered, and Robb chuckled again. "Torrhen will be fine, you know that right?"

Robb nodded. "I just wish I understood, I wish I could help him." He kicked out at a loose stone on the floor. "Green sight, I thought it was just a myth."

Jon shrugged. "It was apparently quite common in the Dawn age, if the records in the library are right."

Robb was surprised. "You've been in the library?"

Smirking with a guilty expression, Jon ran a hand through his hair. "Arya wanted to know why Torrhen couldn't help her anymore, and of course she roped me into helping her search. Septon Chayle has been glad of the help I think."

Robb sighed. "All of this research into old legends… why is Father so interested?"

Jon shrugged, as both boys looked up towards the main keep. "I'm not sure, but I'll bet it has something to do with why he shut himself up in his solar with Tor for so long."

Ned was feeling the effects of his passionate night in his study, as his back was aching from an uncomfortable sleeping position. Cat had left quickly after dawn so that she could get bathed and dressed before the majority of the castle knew she had spent the night in the solar, but Ned was more relaxed, moving all the parchment back on to the desk after it had been knocked off. He hadn't even bothered to put a shirt back on, standing there in only his trousers.

He moved back over to the map, focusing on the North and the lands controlled by the different regions. Torrhen's warnings about Roose Bolton and his bastard flashed in his mind, and he drew a line with his finger from the Dreadfort to Barrowton, and then to Highbrook Tower and the other lands that were controlled by House Ryswell. Those were three powerful houses joined together by Roose's trueborn son, while House Stark had marriage allies to the South, but none in the North. Sighing, he knew he had to break his initial idea of letting his children marry for love, and the Lord of Winterfell sat back down at his solar. Grabbing a fresh page of parchment, he began writing down all the families in the North and their military strength, before adding the names of the family members, working out where would be best to ally himself with in order to create a stronger and more united North.