Chapter 56: The Last Stark

307 AC

Ned was sat in his solar having his supper when a single horn blast bellowed throughout the castle. His initial thoughts were to sit in terror as he waited for more, but the single horn was all that came, so he immediately left his stew where it was and raced down to the courtyard. What he saw was harrowing.

In a large cart he saw the Greatjon Umber, still chatting away as loud as ever, but with a large gash on his forehead and his arm bandaged up. Beside him was the large, ginger Wildling Tormund, dried blood on his face and a bandage around his head. Behind that cart were dozens more filled with the injured and the young.

"What happened?" Robb asked, who Ned had noticed had just joined him. Wylla was beside the heir to Winterfell, and immediately she began directing the carts towards the Main Keep and the Great Hall. Ned noticed the Wildling leader Karsi walking over to him.

"They fell upon us." She explained, her voice bitter. "No warning like we had planned, just horns and screams in the night." She shivered. "We fought them off the first night, but they killed enough of us."

"Where are they?" Ned asked impatiently.

Karsi shrugged. "The third night we managed to drag Umber into the fight, but they were strong. Mance dragged them away to the mountains with as strong a host as we could get." She explained. "The wounded were told to come here."

"My boy went with Mance." The Greatjon limped over towards the small group when somebody came to tell him to sit back down. "No, fuck off woman I'm fine!" He roared, before he stopped before Ned. "They won't be back, they knew that before they left."

"The others… your grandson?" Robb asked.

The Greatjon nodded. "Here, somewhere. We got the children out with the wounded, but we can't stay here Ned. Jon can only hold them for so long in the Mountains."

The Smalljon was formidable, but Ned agreed that they wouldn't be coming back from that. "Then we sound the evacuation." He turned to Robb. "Go and get Luwin, before he attends to the wounded I want as many ravens sent out as possible. Evacuate the North and warn the South. Torrhen also needs to know he will have a lot of guests soon."

"Aye Father." Robb nodded, before he ran off towards the Maester's tower at full sprint.

Ned rubbed his temples. "How did this happen? What of the Night's Watch?"

"Those fucking crows." Karsi growled, spitting on the floor in disgust. "We heard nothing from any of them."

"That doesn't make sense." Ned shook his head to himself.

The Greatjon shrugged. "What's done is done Ned, we should have gone to the Moat I know, but you were closer and some of my people…" He turned to see another wagon of injured roll past. "It was all we could do to keep them alive this far."

"You did the right thing Jon." Ned explained. "Go, get yourself some rest and a meal, find little Ned Umber."

The Greatjon nodded and limped away towards the castle, and Ned looked at the number of injured surrounding him. "This is just the start." He whispered.

"Aye." Karsi agreed.

"Get some food yourself, Karsi." Ned explained. "It may be the last true meal you get for a while, we begin the evacuation of Winterfell tomorrow."

Karsi nodded and followed the Greatjon, offering her arm to help him walk quicker. Ned looked around once more, although he focused more on the castle he was preparing to abandon more than the people this time around. As he did so however, his thoughts rushed towards the Dreadfort. Sansa had not long since given birth to her first child and the Lord of Winterfell hoped desperately that she would get out in time. Sighing, he forced himself back to reality and moved swiftly to ensure that the evacuation of his castle could begin.

The raven from Winterfell arrived just before Torrhen was about to retire for the night, and he entered his and Mira's chambers with a grim expression on his face. Mira was sat brushing her hair already changed into her nightdress when he entered, and her smile at his presence was quickly replaced with concern.

"What is it?" She asked. Torrhen just handed her the raven letter and let her read it before saying anything. A moment later and she choked back a sob. "It's starting, isn't it?"

Torrhen nodded. "Tomorrow, you and Asher will ride for Riverrun." He explained. "A raven will be sent there by Father I am sure, but you need to get out of here." He knelt down by her chair and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her bosom. "If we fall, you take Asher and you run as far South as you can go."

"You won't fall." Mira whispered forcefully. She lifted Torrhen's head up and captured his lips on her own. "You won't."

Torrhen smiled at her belief. "We know not what will happen my love." He whispered back. "But you will go anyway, I cannot lose you again. I will not risk our children." He placed a hand on her stomach.

Mira nodded. "Just swear to me you will survive." She whispered.

Torrhen stood up, pulling her with him. "I swear, on the Old Gods and the New, I will do my best to get back to you." He told her as he pulled her into a tight embrace. He meant down and kissed her once more, this time more frantically and passionately as she began to undress him hurriedly, eager to spend one last night as man and wife before they were separated.

The call to arms from Winterfell had ensured that Torrhen began drilling his men more aggressively, and as he had stood in the courtyard waiting for the first group of Northerners to arrive at Moat Cailin he took in the sights of hundreds of men all frantically practicing with the Dragonglass tipped spears and daggers that had been handed out to each individual. Above the noise of the men however were the hammers coming from the forge, and Torrhen took note of Gendry Waters, the bastard son of King Robert, hard at work.

His attention was taken when the River Gate swung open, and in streamed a few thousand men and women. The first group to arrive inside Moat Cailin were the Crannogmen. Howland Reed had arrived with seemingly everyone from the Neck, all armed with bows, spears and nets. Cley Cerwyn quickly directed the warriors of House Reed and the other Crannog Houses towards the Marsh Tower, whilst Torrhen invited Howland and his family into the Main Keep for refreshments.

"I must admit I'm surprised to see so many of you." Torrhen explained as he had ale and wine brought to the head table. He smirked as Meera Reed immediately grabbed an ale before continuing. "I don't think the warriors of the Neck have ever appeared in such numbers outside of the Neck."

"We haven't." Howland explained. "But this isn't a human civil war, this is a war that all people with breath in their lungs must fight in, one way or another."

Torrhen nodded, grateful for the elder man's aid. "With more soldiers, comes more chance we can win this. I am happy you are here in such numbers."

"Things will be different." Jojen said calmly, yet he had a faraway look in his eye. "The fight you know will not be the same as what is coming. Undead horses are not the only mounts of demons. They know about the child of time."

Torrhen gulped. "He knows about me." He said, it wasn't a question.

Howland nodded. "And Ice Spiders, I only know of them from the tales, but they are both fast and deadly." He took a sip of ale. "How much do you know of the Long Night? The original Long Night?"

Torrhen shrugged. "Only what we all know from the stories. It lasted generations and was stopped, before the Wall was erected and the Night's Watch was formed."

Howland nodded. "Yes, and think about that for a second. It lasted generations, meaning that neither side had a true victory until your ancestor defeated the Night King and drove him back."

"His own brother." Torrhen explained, to the surprise of the Reeds sat with him. "When I… when I died before, I was taken into a vision and I saw his creation, he is a Stark, the Night King, or at least the brother of our founder."

"A Stark of day and a Stark of night, darkness falls and the two must fight." Jojen whispered. "The Red Priests think their hero to be an actual prince, but he isn't, not in this realm."

"I don't know who is fated to kill the Night King this time around, nor do I care." Torrhen said firmly. "Whether it's me, Jon, Dany or even one of you, I don't care."

"Everybody must be ready." Meera agreed.

"My point, anyway." Howland continued. "Is that there must be untold secrets hiding beneath the Northern soils from the first war, and we should expect those secrets to be thrown at us."

Torrhen sighed and took a large swig of his ale. "Great, prepare for the unpreparable." He groaned.

Howland smirked. "You've done well so far, what's one more challenge thrown at you?"

Far away from the cold winds and the snow of the North, a lone Braavosi ship was docked on the Dornish coastline and a rowboat was making its way to the shore. Prince Quentyn Martell had been gone for almost 10 years, vowing never to return to Westeros so long as he lived, but the self-disinherited son of Prince Doran was soon stood upon the sands of Dorne once more.

He was quickly escorted to the Water Gardens, making note of the children playing in the pools as he passed. He noticed Areo Hotah, the faithful bodyguard, stood outside his Father's chambers as always.

"Areo." He greeted with a nod. "My Mother sends her regards."

"The Prince is expecting you, Quentyn." Hotah told him formally. "Do not keep him waiting any longer."

Quentyn tutted. "So dour." He rolled his eyes, but he entered the large sitting area anyway. Inside sat everybody that Quentyn had expected to be there. His Father was sat in his chair, clearly in some form of pain but hiding it from everyone else. His Uncle Oberyn, who everybody said Quentyn took after in too many ways, was stood at the side of the room. Quentyn then saw his younger brother, Trystane, sat there like an eager puppy.

"My son." Doran spoke warmly. "Come, greet me." Quentyn did as he was asked, walking to his Father's chair and kneeling before him, kissing Doran's ring before he rose once more.

"Father, it is good to be home." Quentyn said, as was expected of him.

Doran chuckled. "We both know you would rather be away in Essos. You are back for a reason?"

Quentyn looked over to Trystane with a smirk. "I heard tales both believable and fanciful, including of my brother's betrothal."

Trystane turned red, as easily embarrassed as he had been as a child. "I am to wed Lady Gwyneth." He explained.

Quentyn plopped himself in a comfy sofa and poured himself some Dornish Red. "Ah, Gwen!" He exclaimed. "How is she?"

"She still finds herself enamoured with the rogue Martell." Oberyn said honestly. "So you best not stay, Quentyn, or Trystane here may get jealous."

Quentyn snorted in amusement. "Not to worry brother, she will always be like a little sister to me."

"As much as I enjoy your presence and the small talk." Doran commented. "You are here for a reason." He repeated, not asking this time."

Quentyn nodded. "Tales of myths and legends reached me as far as Norvos." Quentyn explained. "They say the North is rallying for war with demons."

Oberyn snorted. "A ridiculous tale, that the Northerners have bewitched the entire realm into believing."

"Ned Stark is many things, brother." Doran commented slowly and calculatingly. "But a liar has never been one of them."

"He lied about his son… about Rhaegar's son." Oberyn told them darkly, a glare in his eyes.

Doran nodded. "For good reasons, reasons I too would have lied for had I been able to save Aegon or Rhaenys."

Quentyn felt uncomfortable, as he did every time his cousins were mentioned. "I would have ignored the rumours, but as I got to Braavos I heard that House Targaryen was back and working with the Usurper's brother as his subjects." He grimaced distastefully. "Of all I heard of Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen in my travels, kneeling for the Usurper's brother seems very out of character."

"So they must know something." Trystane surmised. Quentyn looked impressed, something that amused the youngest Martell. "I've not been idle in your absence, brother."

"No, you have not." Doran noted. "I have also heard of these rumours, Quentyn. But the North is far from here, and we have other matters to worry about."

Quentyn shrugged. "I heard about the Ironborn, judging by the size of the armada that sailed around Dorne ahead of us I don't think we are needed in Oldtown, but the rumours of the North scare even me."

"You think we should aid Ned Stark?" Oberyn asked incredulously.

"I think past grievances get us nowhere." Quentyn replied strongly. "I have seen much in my travels and heard much more. If the spider is right…"

"Varys." Doran interrupted. "You have been in contact with Varys."

Quentyn nodded. "He told me the Targaryen pair are solely focused on the North, even now. As is Stannis Baratheon." He shrugged. "If a war is going on and the focus is somewhere else…"

"Then it is a threat worth taking a look at." Doran finished off. He smiled. "Very good, my son."

Quentyn should have guessed. "You already had plans, didn't you?"

Doran nodded. "I guessed much of what you found out, although the confirmation from the Spider changes it all. We cannot sit this out." He scribbled out a note and handed it to Oberyn. "You will command, brother. Dorne will follow you."

"I will go to." Quentyn said, standing up. "I have seen much, but I have never been to the North."

Doran looked like he was about to argue, but the stern look from Quentyn made him relent and nod. "You shall."

"And me." Trystane said.

"No." Oberyn said. "You are no warrior."

"I am to lead Dorne one day..." Trystane began to argue.

"And to do that, you must live." Doran said firmly. "No, Oberyn is right. You will remain here."

Trystane looked downcast. "Father…"

"Tryst." Quentyn said calmly. "Think of your soon to be wife, not of dying in the snow."

Trystane wasn't happy, but he relented and sat back down in his chair. Doran cleared his throat and said. "Enough of that though, it has been so long, Quentyn. Come, tell us of your travels."

Quentyn grinned as he also sat back down and began to tell of the last ten years of his life and allowing himself a moment of happy calm before the storm truly hit.

As Winterfell became a site of mass evacuation, with carts and horses and people galore all streaming away from the Northern capital, Ned Stark made his way down towards the crypts. While he knew that what he was doing was right, something in the back of his mind was niggling at him. As he walked past the statues depicting his ancestors, some great men and others not so great, he felt the weight of history on his shoulders.

"Nobody has ever done what I am doing." He muttered to himself as he passed the King who Knelt, Torrhen Stark. Ned stopped for a moment and looked up at the fiercely bearded statue. "Would you have done as I am if Aegon the Conqueror had flown above the Neck?" He asked rhetorically. Sighing, Ned carried on as the Kings of Winter gave way to the Wardens of the North. He stopped briefly once more by Cregan Stark, the only Stark to have served as Hand of the King in this timeline. Shaking his head, Ned wondered not for the first time on how his once peaceful life had divulged into tales of demons and multiple worlds.

He continued further into the crypts, passing his Great Grandfather Willam, who had been killed in a battle against the Wildlings. He passed his Grandfather Edwyle too, before his eyes rested on the stern stone face of his own Father, Rickard.

"Forgive me, Father." Ned said calmly. "You taught me much, but nothing more important than to keep a Stark in Winterfell. I must break that tradition now though, I cannot afford to sacrifice my children. I hope you would understand." He sighed and looked over to Brandon. "You would have made your stand here instead of run. If only you had lived, brother. If only you were not so headstrong you would have the burden placed upon my shoulders." Finally, he saw his sister's statue, the cruellest of them all in the crypts in Ned's opinion. "Lya, you would be proud of him I know it. I'm sorry I couldn't keep him safer."

"You did your part." A voice Ned didn't expect to hear echoed from towards the crypt doors. Ned turned his head to see his brother appear from the darkness, rot hinted at on his face. "They would understand, but you need not break the tradition, Ned."

"Benjen." Ned gasped. "What are you doing here? I thought the magic of the Wall prevented that from being possible."

Benjen shrugged. "The Wall is no more, the Night's Watch failed. As soon as it happened I rode quickly for Winterfell, bypassing the Night King and his army." Benjen then shivered. "He has demons, Ned."

Ned moved quickly to embrace his brother as the news was digested in his head. "I am glad to see you." He said honestly.

"It will be brief, you must move with your people." Benjen explained. "Once more you will ride to war, brother, and I will be the Stark in Winterfell."

"They'll come for you." Ned shook his head. "I won't leave you alone."

Benjen shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. "The Night King senses the living, he will come for Moat Cailin." The dead First Ranger explained. "I'm not alive, he cannot feel me. I will be fine, I swear it on the Old Gods." Benjen then looked up at Lyanna's stone face and placed his palm against her cheek. "Besides, I have spent my life running away from Winterfell, it makes sense that I should hold it as the world comes to an end."

Ned chuckled lightly, but he felt a tear well up in his eye. "You have always been stronger than you knew, Ben." He mumbled proudly. He hugged his brother again, tighter than before. "If this is the last time we meet, then know how proud I have been of you, from the very beginning."

Benjen nodded his acceptance of the compliment. "That means a lot." Benjen spoke into Ned's shoulder. "You were always the best fit for Lord, no matter what you think." Benjen sighed as he pushed away. "Go now, Ned. Get to the Moat. We have dark days ahead of us."

Ned nodded, but not before looking at his brother once more. He gulped down what was threatening to become a sob and he walked back towards the crypts exit, not wanting to look back when he needed to focus on the future.