Eddard III

Eddard Stark had not slept well of late, not since Theon.

He remembered the tears and pleas, not just from Theon Greyjoy, but from his own son as well. Robb had come to see Theon as a brother, and they'd grown especially close since his lady wife had taken the younger children south to Riverrun. It pained him more than he could say, but the bird from Casterly Rock was clear. Balon Greyjoy had broken the king's peace a second time. For that, there could be only one penalty.

So Lord Stark did it himself. He owed his ward that much. Before the face of the heart tree in Winterfell's godswood, Ned took Theon's head with Ice, one quick, clean cut. It was a terrible thing, how the lad thrashed and struggled. They needed three men to hold him down. Robb had hardly spoken since.

It was at times like these that Ned was grateful for Jynessa. His son's new wife, though heavily pregnant, had strength enough to be Robb's comfort in these dark days, and they were dark. Lord Commander Mormont swore the old powers were rising. Ned's brother Benjen, a seasoned ranger, had been lost for half a year and was feared dead. Others had disappeared without a trace. The few they found rose again, with evil blue eyes and grasping black fingers that sought to crush the life out of the living.

So he called the banners. Domeric Bolton was riding hard up the Kingsroad with ten thousand seasoned men. They'd be at Winterfell in a day or two. Roose Bolton and a few of his other bannermen who didn't join the campaign against the Iron Islands were coming as well. The castle would have to be made ready to receive many a guest. Ned sighed. Cat usually handled these sorts of things.

***

"Father!"

Gods be good, Eddard thought he saw a ghost for a second. Arya looked tall and tan and healthy, laughing and smiling such as he'd never seen her. She was joking with a big boy who had a scar on the side of his head. As soon as she saw him, the girl took off at a run.

"Oof!" Ned grunted. "Gods, Arya, what've they been feeding you?"

"Oh, Ser makes me eat my vegetables and drink my milk. Says it's important for a growing girl," she replied with easy confidence. "'Choke it down,' he told me once." She spoke from her throat, trying to imitate a man's voice. "You want to grow big and strong, don't you? Think of it as medicine."

For the first time in a moon's turn, Eddard laughed, a real, true laugh from the heart. "Does he indeed?"

"I do," confirmed Domeric Bolton. He was in riding leathers, but the dust of the road did nothing to dull the luster of his courtly polish. Even his speaking voice was sweet and clear. "I learned a lot of lessons training Elia. I know just what a girl needs to make a knight. Arya is a good sword and excellent in the saddle."

Just like Lyanna, Ned thought wistfully.

"But it's the wolf that makes the difference. Your daughter will be the finest scout and outrider in the Seven Kingdoms, or my name isn't Domeric Bolton. Speaking of which, will your son Robb be joining us?"

Ned shook his head, though he still had an arm around Arya. Gods, those shoulders were as hard as rocks! "I fear not, Ser. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I need him to hold the castle while we ride."

"Pity. I should've been glad of another direwolf. They're dead useful; they know when trouble is coming before it finds you. Enemies aren't used to fighting them. Arya absolutely has to come with us beyond the Wall. Nymeria will make sure the dead or the wildlings don't get the drop on us."

His daughter seemed not surprised at all to hear those words. "You're not frightened, Arya?"

She frowned in thought. "I was frightened in the battle at Lannisport, and I had a terrible scare when Brad went over the side, but I can keep my head. Ser counts on me, and so can you, Father!"

He suddenly felt very old. It wasn't Sansa who was speaking, but his second daughter, who seemed a child just last year. When had she grown up? "Very well," he agreed tiredly. Gods, Robb would be terribly disappointed when he learned his sister was going to war and not him.

"I should like for her to attend the council of war tonight," Ser Domeric added. He unbuckled his sword belt and hung it on a peg in the great hall, the first many. "There is much she can learn by listening, and there is something I want her to tell all your lords."

Ned saw no reason to refuse, but it seemed a queer request. What would the likes of Greatjon Umber and Rickard Karstark say about listening to a slip of a girl?

***

Briefly, to all the lords assembled, Lord Stark related the contents of Lord Commander Mormont's raven: how rangers had been disappearing, how wildling villages close to the wall were empty, and how dead men rose again.

Some laughed, some jeered, and some listened quietly. Domeric Bolton spoke up, silencing them all. "Did anyone catch that?"

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"Catch what?" Smalljon Umber, who was actually taller than his father, asked in genuine confusion.

"Swords don't work," Bolton explained. "Cut the dead man's arm off, and it will still try to fight you. If you stab the creature in the belly with a spear, I bet he won't bleed out either. Only fire worked, but I think there is another way."

Daryn Hornwood stood up. "What way?"

"If we can't hack them to bits, might be we can smash 'em to bits. Every man should carry a warhammer, a mace, or at least a cudgel. Even if it's still twitching, a broken arm isn't hurting anyone. Further, we need to work on a procedure for deploying fire."

One of Lord Karstark's sons, might've been Harrion, or perhaps Torrhen, groaned. "Not another procedure!"

"Yes, another procedure! I know how much you all hated my water survival training, but it saved some of your lives, didn't it?"

"It did!" another Karstark son, they all looked much the same, tall and bearded, spoke up. "We practiced ditching our gear and floating half a hundred times afore we ever set foot on a ship. I'd have surely drowned otherwise!"

Eddard hadn't heard about that. "Water survival?"

"It was a plan for what to do if a man fell into the sea, my lord," Rickard Karstark explained. "Tedious and uncomfortable, but Ser Domeric's plan made sense."

"I am glad you think so, my lord. Anyway, failing to plan is planning to fail," Ser Domeric continued.

Ned and Roose Bolton shared a glance. "One of your sayings?" Roose only shrugged.

"Then what's the plan?" demanded the Greatjon.

"Every man must keep a torch at the ready, with a rag soaked in oil at the end. We need to stage our casks of oil at regular intervals on the line of march and in camp to minimize the distance every man need travel to get more. Aye, and in camp we need to set up protected fires well-shielded against the wind, burning at all times. Men must be detailed for the purpose. Making sure we have fires and fuel ready before every night needs to be our priority. At the first sign of trouble, every man lights a torch and forms a ring around the perimeter. If we run into more dead men, we smash them if we can, then burn them. To burn them, we must make sure we have fires and torches always ready."

These all seemed fine suggestions, so Ned did not object. Someone else did, though.

"It seems an awful lot of trouble to go to over rumors, my lords," said Lord Glover. "The Wall does queer things to a man, they say, and the Haunted Forest is worse. How do we know this isn't just a fanciful tale?"

"We don't," Ser Domeric answered him, "but I'm inclined to believe. Arya, would you tell the men about your dream?"

Ned expected the men to be outraged to share a war council with a girl, but, to his surprise, every one who marched south with Ser Domeric listened respectfully. Several of them whispered how Arya fought bravely. She fought? Truly?

His daughter explained about the red comet and how it was a key, bringing back powers long forgotten, which were not dead, only sleeping.

"You hear that?" Ser Domeric asked. "Nothing is impossible. The world is changing. We've been planting weirwoods in the south, taking back land for the true gods. Even the dead god at Raventree is alive again! Who is to say something else hasn't woken up? Something worse? If we need fire to fight it, then we must make sure we have fire."

All around, men were nodding, seasoned men, men who rode with Ned to put Robert on the throne. "So be it," Lord Stark agreed. "Is there ought else before we retire for the night?"

Young Domeric spoke up again. "Yes. We need to be clear about this campaign, what our goals are, and how we will accomplish them. First of all, our purpose is not to bring Mance Rayder to battle. This is a reconnaissance in force. Information is our objective. The dead men are out there, and we need to learn why and what power is behind them. Are they friends or foes with the wildlings? Therefore, I propose we limit the force that marches beyond the wall to two thousand men. The rest should be detailed to man the castles the Night's Watch has abandoned. The rangers of the Watch shall be our scouts and guides, eyes and ears, and we the muscle, if you will. Let us plan for a ninety-day ranging. My wife at the Dreadfort and my aunt at Barrowton have already been instructed to purchase the supplies we'll need. Like as not, cold and starvation will defeat us before the enemy if we are not prepared." He looked at Arya and her friend Bradamar Frey meaningfully, as if to say Here is a lesson for you. It surprised Ned to realize Domeric Bolton was teaching his squires even now.

It surprised him more to realize that this council of war under his own roof had mostly been dictated by another man. Only abed later did Eddard realize how other men heeded the council of Roose's boy.