Robb

He wished that Father was here, with him. He wished that Jon and Theon were with him as well, but he knew that they were still making their way back from the Iron Islands and… well, he could not wait any longer. Uncle Edmure should have been there as well, and Grandfather Hoster, but, again, too much was happening in too many places and he could not wait any longer.

So he stood there, under the Heart Tree in the Godswood of Winterfell, with the blazing torches of his party all around, keeping away the dark of the night. Mother was off to one side, Luwin too and both the Cassels, along with a misty-eyed Sansa, a smiling Domeric and a very bored-looking Arya and Rickon.

Hearing steps behind him he turned. Val was standing there, her mother to one side and a glowering Mors Umber on the other. Val's silver hair was unbraided and hung down her neck and flowed over her shoulders like a waterfall and she wore a brown and red dress with silver piping – the colours of the Umbers sigil - that was modest but did not disguise the swell of her breasts.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" It was Rodrik Cassel who boomed out the words and once again he wished that Father was here to ask the same question.

"VAL UMBER!" Her grandfather bellowed the two words as if it was both a statement and a challenge to anyone who dared deny that Val was an Umber. "Val, of the House Umber, comes here to be wed. A woman has grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

He stood taller at the challenge in the voice of Val's grandfather. "Robert, of House Stark, heir to Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Mors, of the House Umber, who is her grandfather."

Rodrik Cassel nodded. "Lady Val, do you take this man?"

Val stepped forwards, in an almost stately manner, her eyes fixed on Robb's face. "I take this man."

He took her hand and then one-handedly took the cloak that Jory has passed him and placed it on her shoulders, before they both knelt before the Heart Tree and prayed quietly. After he finished he looked up into the branches above their heads and caught sight of Quicksilver, who was watching with fascination, before nodding her head at them both and then vanishing upwards.

Val looked at him, a little wide-eyed. "I still wonder if she is a messenger from the Old Gods."

Robb smiled at her. "I'll tell you what I think… later."

They rose together and then strode out of the Godswood, hand in hand, towards the Great Hall, where a feat had been prepared. As they walked he swapped a glance with her. She looked as… hungry… as he felt.

He knew that some in the North would mutter darkly at his marriage to a Wildling – but he also knew that her upbringing was one thing, but her Umber blood and open acceptance by the Umbers (they could do*I pull my nothing else in the face of Mors Umbers loud insistence, as well as the GreatJon's agreement) would lessen those mutters.

That said, with Sansa betrothed to Domeric he would have to advise Father that Arya and Rickon also marry in the North. Bran's marriage… well, he suspected that that would raise a lot of eyebrows, if Bran's future relationship with Quicksilver was as he thought.

As they passed into the Great Hall and the assembled crowd cheered them, Val leant close to him. "You ride to war soon, I can sense it."

"Soon, when the time comes."

His wife smiled at him. "Then we need to make sure that by the time you ride North with the Banners, there's a babe in my belly."

He looked at her and saw the naked hunger in her gaze, before pulling her close to him and delivering a searing kiss that made the hall echo with the roars of approval. "Oh, we're going to break the fucking bed tonight."

She smirked at him in an almost challenge. "Really?"

"Really."

"Then let's make the wedding feast short, husband. And bet on who breaks the bed first."

He flushed and escorted her to the High Table. Being patient was going to bloody kill him tonight, until he got her to their chambers. But by the Old Gods, he was married and to a beautiful, clever, lusty wife.

They had to enjoy the moment before the Second Long Night came.

Jaime

As it turned out the Greenseer was not as weak as Leaf had thought. But he was indeed dying, the Green Man made that very clear. The Blackfish, Brienne of Tarth, the Green Man and Brynden Rivers met often and afterwards the first three were always sombre. He asked the Blackfish why they were so down in the mouth and he told him that there was not a lot of time left, that much had to be learned. And that… the Others were moving, waking the thing that had created them.

He still had a lot of trouble with that. The thought of something that ancient, something that was more than thousands of years old, that left his mind reeling. Perhaps Tyrion could have come to terms with it more easily, but to Jaime it all felt… insane.

But then was not the word to describe his life over the past year? He had gone from a Kingsguard to a Brother of the Nights Watch, to now sitting in a cavern under the earth with men and women who talked of magic and… other things.

Nevertheless days passed and still Bloodraven lived, or so he was told as the other three spent their time with the man in the world of his mind that could be accessed via the white roots. Jaime spent the time continuing to explore the caves, wondering at the things that lay within, the bones, the mushrooms, the old rust-pitted armour and ancient swords in one ancient cave that told that First Men had been there, long, long ago. Some of the latter were made from some kind of metal that was studded with obsidian in places and there was one that caught his eye, one that was gleamed and seemed to be whole, so he spent some time looking at it, marvelling at it.

And then, as he looked at it again, almost hesitant to pick it up, Leaf appeared and looked at him. "An early attempt at what became the great blade," she said eventually, with some sadness. "Much blood was spilled making that one. It has a brother, a more perfect one, the great blade itself, the blade of the sun rising. It was made here and then left here long ago, carried by the One Who Speaks Plainly who lived at that the time."

He frowned and thought that through. "Do you mean… a Stark? Of House Stark? And the sun rising – do you mean Dawn? Of what is now House Dayne?"

Leaf smiled slightly. "You begin to understand. Yes. The blade sings again."

"The blade the Stark carried?"

"Yes. I hear it, in the South. It sings, like it is happy again, as if it has purpose." She paused and looked at what he held. "Do you wish to carry the blade that you hold?"

He looked at it sombrely. "Why isn't it rusted? And why the obsidian?"

"It was forged with magic and blood. And dragonglass. But it was imperfect – never as good as it's brother, but still… it has power. It was made, at that time, for a man who will come, not a man who had come at that time." She looked at him, eyes hooded. "Hold it. With your bare hands."

He looked at her for a long moment, stunned – and then he pulled off his gloves and pulled the blade from the old scabbard of rotted leather and wood that surely should have fallen apart thousands of years ago. For a moment he felt the weirwood handle warm under his grasp, just for two heartbeats – or was that his imagination? That said – it had a good balance, it seemed well-made, for something that was ancient. How could this be a brother Dawn, which he had seen so often?

Leaf looked at him again, one of those long and odd looks that she seemed to give him at times. "You cannot yet wake it."

He stared at her. "I don't understand."

"You will – one day, if you can. Take it. Try and understand it. If you can – then you can use it." And then she turned suddenly, as if startled by something that he could not hear - and her face set. "Come – come now!"

She ran off back to the main cave and he swore to himself and followed, ramming the old sword into his belt and running to try and catch up with her. By the time that she slowed they were both in the main cavern, next to the weirwood throne that bore Bloodraven and Leaf stared at the motionless man. Then she darted to one side, pulled out a bowl and then ran over to him.

"Eat this. Now!"

He looked at the paste and then reached out and hurriedly ate it, before sitting and reaching out and grasping a white root. As he did he could feel his head drooping as he slumbered and then – blackness for a long moment and then he was standing in the throne room of the Red Keep again and the others were there.

From the light from the windows dusk was falling and he could feel that the room felt different then before, not colder but somehow tighter, more compressed. Bloodraven was sitting on one of the steps that led to the Iron Throne, his cloak drawn tightly about him, his silver hair almost lank and his eyes closed. The Green Man sat by his side, his hands on his knees, whilst the Blackfish and Brienne of Tarth stood to one side, holding hands, her leaning against him for comfort.

Jaime slowly, reluctantly, stepped forwards and joined the Blackfish and his wife. "How is he?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, dying," Bloodraven said, his face drawn and sallow. He opened his eyes and looked at Jaime. "I haven't had the chance to talk to you much, have I? There's been too much to do, too much to tell and teach. But now night falls and there is no more time. So, we must talk now."

Bewildered he looked at the ancient old man with the young face. "About what?"

A smile crossed the older man's face, quick and wry. "Leaf has told me about you. And I've had a look into your past. There have been times when you have been brave and done the right thing and there have been times when you have been foolish and weak and done the wrong thing. Which is strange, because you have a brain. You're not like your brother, who is clever indeed, but you can be like your father, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. So – you need to choose. If, like Duncan here believes, you do have talent, you do have something else that others do not, change."

He stared at the man who had held so many roles in his life. "I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. Become something greater, it's within you, just as it was in your brother. He rises to greater things. You share the same blood. You can too."

"I'm not as clever as he is."

"That's not what I am talking about!" Bloodraven snarled the words and then stopped and subsided as he reeled with weakness. The Green Man put his hand slowly on his back and after a moment Bloodraven nodded slowly and then looked back at Jaime. "There is… something inside you that needs… to wake up. Leaf told me that you have taken up a new sword?"

"Ah – something I found in the caves. A failed version of Dawn?"

The others looked at him oddly and he made a gesture of bafflement. "Just a sword I found, made by the First Men and left here."

"Left here for a reason. Maybe you can wake it. Maybe you cannot. It is a challenge for you, set many years ago by the Old Gods. Rise to it."

He stood there, feeling genuinely stunned. "But-"

"But nothing, there is no more time." Bloodraven was visibly weakening, his gaze rising to the darkening windows. "I don't want to die. Ironic isn't it? I wanted more time. But… that is denied to me now. Brynden?"

The Blackfish knelt at the feet of the dying man. "I am here."

"You and your wife must carry the torch on. You are the lanternbearers. Much is up to you now. So much. Brienne?"

Brienne joined her husband. "I am here too."

"Your husband can be stubborn at times. Kick him in the shins and move him on."

She laughed softly and then scrubbed tears from her face. "I will always do that."

"Duncan?"

"Yes?"

"I should have listened to you more. And I wish that Egg could have lived longer. So much would have changed if he had. But… now we have to play the game that is before us. You know… what you might have to… do."

Night was falling and the room was darkening. But Bloodraven's head came up one last time. "Leaf… will sing me… to a better rest. Euron Greyjoy… beware of him, he waxes! I feel it… Worry not about my body. It is my… wish… as to what will… happen. The Old Gods will… have their… due. We were born… from… the earth and we… return… to… it…"

Darkness fell and suddenly Jaime jerked awake from where he was sprawled on the ground, clutching the root in one hand. Sensing movement from the others as they stood, he joined them as they stood around the great weirwood throne that held the physical body of Bloodraven, whose one remaining eye was now closed.

And then Leaf stepped forwards. She was dressed in black and as she walked forwards she lifted her face to the stone roof above them all and then she… sang.

It was a song of deepest, most profound sorrow. Of… loss that he could not even begin to describe. Of… mourning, the kind of mourning that he could not put into words. But, interweaved into that song, there was also something else, a kind of triumph at overcoming great odds, of becoming something greater…

It was not until he felt the tears starting run down his face that he realised that he was crying and even then he realised that he doing the right thing.

And then… the weirwood roots that made up the throne started to move, started to writhe. He blinked at them in bafflement and then flinched back as they covered the body of Bloodraven in a carpet of white. More appeared, more flexed in an unsettling way and he stared at it all in bafflement.

At which point the entire mass seemed to clench with an unsettling noise as something, many things, snapped and all of a sudden there was red all over those roots. He jerked backwards – and then the red vanished into the white roots as if absorbed, before the roots started to just retract away from the throne to reveal nothing but the outcrop of rock on which the throne had stood.

The Green Man and the others bowed before the rock and Jaime just stared at it. He suddenly knew that he had a lot to think about.

Bran

He looked at the chair and pulled a face. He still didn't understand why Sansa and Arya couldn't sit in there instead, but then he was also baffled about why it was that Robb was still in his quarters with Val. They'd been in there for a day and more and he didn't understand why.

Mother laid a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her. "Are you ready Bran?"

He nodded – and then he jumped into the stone chair and leant back against it. It was hard and stony and cold – and then he felt an odd warmth under him and behind him, as if the chair was somehow welcoming him. He frowned a little. Robb hadn't said anything about how it felt to sit in the chair, had he? Like – it being warm?

A guard nodded at the doors. "Noon, my Lady, my Lord." He knew that there was a short chain of people from the courtyard to the room, to tell them when exactly it was noon, thanks to Maester Luwin and some kind of device that had had made that was made of metal, with a thick bit of dark smoky dragonglass that was somehow see-through.

He sat there, wriggling a little with impatience – this was boring – and then the warmth blossomed again all around him and he looked around excitedly. Was this magic? Could he feel the magic? The doors closed as usual and the wall in front of them seemed to come alive with the figures of men standing around the chair in the Nightfort where Uncle Benjen was sitting, only everything seemed to be happening faster and crisper than ever before. He blinked and he felt Mother stir next to him, along with the Cassels and Sansa.

"Hello Rob- wait! It's young Bran!" The King's voice boomed out and he smiled and waved.

"Hello Your Grace! I've been told to apologise that it's not Robb, but he got married to Val the other day and they've been talking or something in his rooms ever since. I don't know what about, but it's taking a long time."

For some reason the King found this funny, putting his hand over his face and making some spluttering sounds, before turning to the other lords in the room and saying something in a low voice that made them all smirk or look away and laugh. Even Lord Lannister, who was a very scary man who never smiled, seemed to get some extra wrinkles around his eyes for a long moment. When he turned back he wagged a finger in the air for a moment. "You'll understand, once you're old enough. Er, 'talks' like that can take a long time, when the couple is… well, I'll leave it at that." Something crossed the King's face for a moment, like a shadow and Bran remembered that his own marriage had not ended well.

Uncle Benjen coughed from the chair and the King looked at him – and then turned to look at Bran and then at Mother. "Well now – what news?"

Mother stepped forwards and started to speak about what the ravens had brought them, with more volunteers who had heard the Call arriving from Dorne (who needed better furs, which were being provided) and other matters. It was all very boring and he did his best to concentrate, but his mind kept wandering and he wondered what his friends were up to. After a while it was all over and as he and Uncle Benjen both stood up from the chairs and the scene from the Nightfort flickered out he looked back at the chair and ran his hand over the arm as the doors opened again.

It was only then that he noticed that Quicksilver was standing in the far corner of the room, her eyes on him. "Oh! When did you arrive?"

The others all turned to look at Quicksilver and Mother directed an odd look at the Child of the Forest. "I've been here for a while. How did it feel?"

"How did what feel?"

"The chair."

He looked at it again and then ran his hands over it. "Warm. Odd. Why?"

She looked at him in a peculiar way - and then she smiled a warm little smile that made him tingle inside for some reason that he really didn't understand. "Things are waking up."

He frowned at her. "What?"

"You'll understand." And with that she flitted out of the room, running on silent feet. He watched her go, feeling baffled, and then looked at Mother who had an almost equally odd look on her face, almost as if she was frightened about something for an instant. And then Mother shook herself and smiled wanly at him.

By the time that they emerged out of the passage and back into the sunlight he was feeling a bit cross. What was it that people were not telling him? He was old enough now to know what was going on and to not have people smirk over his head, surely?

And then he heard the sound of horns at the East Gate and he turned to look as a party of horsemen rode through the entrance. They were led by a man wearing a surcoat with the image of a fox surrounded by blue flowers, followed by a woman in a cloak who was looking about the courtyard almost urgently. He frowned as he tried to remember his lessons. Oh. Was that Edric's mother?

Robert

Talking to young Bran about what his brother was (not that young Bran knew) up to – no pun intended – left him with a slight case of melancholy afterwards and he retired to the corner of the Nightfort where he had been doing his exercises with his log. The fat was gone, the muscle was back, but the skin on his belly was still in the process of shrinking back and as he panted through another circuit of the training yard he looked down and cursed himself yet again for his weakness in letting himself go so very fucking badly.

Yes, he'd been married to an unfaithful whore who had preferred her own brother's cock between her legs than his, whilst he mourned Lyanna, but he still shouldn't have let himself go so very badly.

That said, it had been too long since he had known a woman's touch. The marriage proposals were piling up, but he knew that he had to consider them most carefully, talking them over with Stannis. That said, gods but he had a need.

He panted his way through an extra circuit of the training yard to punish himself for being such an idiot and then threw the log down. Only then did he see Oberyn Martell standing to one side, looking up at the Wall and making notes whilst ignoring Selmy's cautious eye.

He grabbed a cloth and wiped his sweating face and neck as he strode over to the Dornishman. "You seem very intent, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn Martell looked at him and then bowed. "Your Grace. I was observing the stones at the base of the foundations here at the Nightfort. They appear to have runes engraved on them.

He looked to one side at the nearest wall. Humph. Quite right. "Winterfell has the same runes on the lower courses, from what I can see."

The Dornish prince smiled slightly. "The First Men must have thought ahead," he said dryly, before looking about. "A shame that the place has been so neglected – but I must admit that it is being repaired with great speed."

That was a good point and he looked about and then grabbed a keg that contained something and sat down on it. "Aye, the Call was heard by many ears."

"Did you hear it, your Grace?"

He shook his head with a grimace. "I think I was asleep at the time. That said – I felt a powerful need to be elsewhere afterwards. Storm's End called to me. Called to me most powerfully." He squinted at the Martell. "I take it that you didn't hear it?"

The Red Viper flashed him a rueful smile. "Not a word!" Then the smile vanished. "But there were those in Dorne that undoubtedly did. House Dayne did, I suspect. Lord Dayne left for King's Landing soon after with Dawn. He stopped off at Sunspear and visited my brother. I was there." He shook his head for a long moment. "The Call was heard in Dorne. The Stony Dornish heard it best – and that is all I can say."

He nodded at that and then looked back at the Nightfort around them. "Thanks to the Call it's all being repaired. A shame that it was so neglected. I sent help to the Wall, before the Call, but I know now that it wasn't enough."

Oberyn Martell snorted. "The neglect was long and started long ago, Your Grace. I know that you blame the Targaryens for much, but you can rightly blamer them for this. At various times various paranoid kings thought that the Night's Watch was the private army of the Starks. They were ever wrong about that."

And now it was his time to snort. "One of the first times I ever met young Ned – Lord Stark – I asked him if it was true that the Night's Watch was at his father's beck and call. He stared at me as if I was a simpleton – and then he explained everything." Then he frowned. "Do you really think that the decline of the Night's Watch can be laid at the feet of the fucking Dragons?"

Oberyn Martell looked around at the castle that was only now starting to see visible signs of improvement, before shrugging a little. "I would say so, but then who knows? I've seen some of the records brought here by Maester Aemon. They speak of… indifference from King's Landing and sometimes indifference can be the foundations of neglect. And then worse after that."

That was a good point and he looked about again before pulling on his shirt against the chill that was starting to seep over him. "Well – that's over now at least."

The Dornishman nodded as he completed whatever he was writing in the book in his hand and then looked about. "Oh yes. Indeed."

And then a horn blew from the other side of the gates and they both turned to see a party of men ride through, all in armour that seemed to have been wrapped in cloth and fur in places. They were led by a man whose silver hair – with a black streak – but youthful face instantly raised his hackles, as he was reminded of the fucking Dragons.

"Well now," Oberyn Martell said quietly as he dragged his hood over his head. "We spoke of House Dayne – and now here is a Dayne. Ser Gerold Dayne, the Darkstar himself. Even I must be wary. I wonder what he wants here?"

He was right to be wary. Because Ser Gerold Dayne threw back his head and bellowed: "Where is the bastard that claims to be Lord Dayne? He wields Dawn, the sword that should be mine! Where is he?"

Well now. This should be something to judge carefully.

Alekeyne

Winterfell was greater than he had heard. Was it greater than Highgarden? Well… he could imagine the querulous voice of Father asking why he would think that anything could ever be greater than the capital of the Reach, where House Florent deserved to be.

But then Father could be a little… fixated at times.

Seeing young Edric had been an education in of itself. The boy was taller than the last time he had seen him, and with more bulk in his upper arms. He was still enough of a headstrong young lad to visibly want to run to his mother the moment that he saw her, a huge smile on his face, but also now old enough to check himself after a moment and bow to her formally and stroll towards her – before breaking down and running into her outstretched arms.

After a long and teary moment he had remembered himself and then introduced his friends to Delena – and what a surprising group they had been. Brandon Stark was perhaps not too surprising, but Robert Arryn was utterly changed from the last time that he had laid eyes on the boy at court. He was taller, no longer pale and sickly and wonder of wonders he no longer sounded as if he was a lackwit. Young Ned Umber was next, tall for his age already. And then there had been the hovering figure that was Shireen Baratheon. Who no longer had the greyscale scars that had marred her visage for so long and who had shed the almost visible cloak of sadness that had always been with her.

Yes, great changes indeed.

He had kept his head down, nodded to the right people, accepted Guest's Rights with the bread and salt, taken Homefinder to the stables, avoided Selyse and then quietly sent word to Ser Courtney Penrose that he needed to talk to him later on. Only then did he go to the quarters that had been found for him and bathed and changed his clothes.

When Penrose finally knocked on the door he turned and held his hand out for the Stormlander to shake. "Ser Courtney."

"Ser Alekeyne."

"My compliments. Young Edric looked in fine form when I saw him earlier. He seems to be taking after His Grace, his father – his shoulders seem broader than the last time I saw him."

"He has taken to the warhammer with a gusto," Penrose said with a certain wryness to his smile. "As I prefer the sword myself, and the lance, I have had to ask others to help with his training." His smile diminished. "You wished to see me?"

Ah. And now here it came. "Ser Courtney – have any Stormlords passed through Winterfell of late, or communicated with you?"

Penrose frowned a little. "Few if any have come here. They tend to go north to the Wall to answer the Call or to talk to His Grace. I have had a few letters though. Why do you ask?"

He sighed a little. "House Florent has heard… certain things from the Stormlands that have alarmed my father, Lord Florent, and I. Talk of two petitions that have been mooted – and which we feel you need to be aware of, if you are not already, as one could directly affect Edric."

Penrose straightened – not that he had been exactly slouching. "Petitions? What petitions?"

This time the sigh was deeper. "The Call was heard in more places than many might have thought in the Stormlands. It… echoed in many ears, caused many to seek out tales of their First Men ancestors. The Second Long Night is coming, the Stormlords want to be led through it. There has been… doubt, that is the best way that I can describe it, about Lord Renly Baratheon's ability to lead the Stormlands through this great test. The first petition that has been mooted would call upon His Grace the King to take on the rule of the Stormlands again."

Penrose stared at him, his eyebrows flying upwards. "Good Gods. And the second?"

"For His Grace to appoint Edric as Lord Renly Baratheon's heir, as he is… currently heirless. And perhaps cannot produce one, given his… inclinations."

Penrose leant back for a moment as though absorbing a blow. "Gods! Are they fools? Inclinations…" He pulled a sudden face. "Ah."

"Loras Tyrell." He said the name as expressionlessly as he could. "You must have suspected."

Penrose ran a hand over his face before nodding slowly. "I did. Servants in Storms End talk. I did try to warn Lord Renly but… well perhaps I should have been more blunt. For Edric to be pulled into this nonsense though – are they fools? Will these petitions make it to His Grace?"

"I doubt it. Lord Estermont has, according to Father, been criss-crossing the Stormlands, presumably shouting at people."

There was a pause as Penrose absorbed this and then nodded slowly. "Then if Lord Estermont knows about this then so does Lord Renly." He winced. "He must know that Edric has no part in this nonsense. He's too young, he's been here in Winterfell, the Starks would never encourage any of this."

"As I said, my father thought that you needed to be aware of all of this, as a matter of some urgency. Although Lord Estermont will likely quash it in the Stormlands, and presumably Lord Renly will take his own measures, there could be some… contacts… from Stormlords who are more impulsive than others."

Another pause and then Penrose scowled a little. "It might explain that latter from Lord Cafferen that I received a few days ago, asking about Edric's education and training. I have not replied to it yet. I will think carefully before I do." He ran his hand over his chin for a moment and then walked to the window, visibly pondering. "Ser Alekeyne, you have my thanks. Are you off to the Nightfort yet?"

He blinked. "The Nightfort? Is His Grace no longer at Castle Black?"

Penrose snorted with amusement. "If you wish to speak to His Grace then just wait until mid-day tomorrow and join us all in a room in Winterfell. There is a chair here that, when a Stark sits in it, allows them to speak to a room in the Nightfort where there is another chair that needs a Stark to sit in it. Benjen Stark is at the Nightfort and there are many Starks here. And there is a Child of the Forest in the Godswood."

He stared at Penrose for a long moment. Was the man addled? And then he saw the absolute certainty in his gaze. "Truly?"

"Truly."

"Is the Green Man – Ser Duncan the Tall – still with His Grace?"

"No, he is on a mission, North of the Wall."

"Ah." He swallowed. "There is another matter. You might be wondering why Delena's husband, Ser Hosman Norcross, did not accompany us."

Penrose blinked. "Ah. Yes?"

And here it came. "Norcross heard the Call. Or at least he heard something. As you may know Ser Courtney, the Call was not always welcomed. It was loud at Brightwater Keep – I heard it at least, as did my father. Norcross was on his way to a tourney in the Riverlands when the Call came. He… well, based on the one letter that he sent to Delena, a letter that made little if any sense, he heard something that he came to regard as a challenge to his faith in the Seven. And he reacted as he… well, sought fit."

Penrose stared at him – and then his eyes widened. "He rejected the Call?"

"He… he, well, based on what his squire told us, he sold his tourney armour as being too extravagant and bought the cheapest armour he could find as a mark of humility. Hedge knight armour in other words. And then he sought out like-minded fellows who wanted to join the Faith Militant. He found some. And then he heard word of a Septon who needed swords on a great crusade against the Old Gods – to conquer a village of heretics by the Gods Eye, who were denying the Faithful access to boats that would allow them to get to the Isle of Faces and burn it down."

Penrose's eyes were very wide now and his mouth almost agape. "I heard word of the charge of the Green Man, Ser Brynden Tully, Brienne of Tarth and other Green Men against members of the Faith Militant at the Gods Eye. Norcross was there?"

"He led them. And was killed by the Green Man. Which is the other reason why I am here. To disavow his actions. House Florent has nothing to do with what he did. His squire returned with his bones a week before we left Brightwater Keep, after many tribulations. Everyone thinks that the man who led the charge against the Green Men was a hedge knight. He was not. He was Delena's husband. And now Delena is a widow. And you can imagine how delicate our position is."

Penrose still stared at him. And then he nodded. "I understand."