Maester Walys descended the rookery with purpose, his heavy chain of office jingled with each step and soon he stood outside. The northern chill soaked him to the bone as he navigated the castle grounds.

The sounds of the distant clangs of metal from the training yard almost managed to cover up by the gaggle of voices and general movements around him.

The castle was alive despite the weather. Servants scurried quickly about; intent on completing their tasks. Guards stood at their posts while patrol men no doubt moved along the battlements.

Not one to be distracted, walys braved the icy breeze as he made his way over to the great tower, nodding to others he passed momentarily. All while clutching an extremely important missive to his chest.

It didn't take long for him to reach the great tower and he sighed as he stepped into the heated halls of the great tower. As a man who lived most of his life in the south, it took quite a while to get used to the climate of the north where winters tended to cling much longer than any southerner was used to.

The worst winters in the reach were nothing when compared to the autumn snows of the north. He still wore many layers under his grey cloaks in an attempt to ward off the cold.

Fortunately, the marvel of the Winterfell's heated walls was a great reprieve. As a boy, he remembered reading of the fabled castle's heating and wondering just how bran the builder crafted such a wonder.

To have the waters of an underground hot spring channeling through the walls of the castle like arteries of a man was... impossible with current means of masonry. Even to this day; the mechanisms by which the first men used to construct the castle during the age of heroes is still heavily debated at the citadel.

He pondered this as he strolled through the ancient halls of the fortress before scaling the winding steps of the tower. His destination?

The tower's pinnacle- Lord Rickard's solar.

Walys huffed before nodding to the two stoic men who faithfully guarded the door.

"Enter." He heard the gruff voice of lord stark after he knocked.

The maester stepped inside to see his Lord facing towards the window with his arms folded behind him. Walys smiled as even from this height, he could hear the jubilant voice of the lord's sons training below.

"Lord Stark."

"What is it maester walys?"

"My lord, a missive from Castle Black." Rickard's back straightened at the news.

He turned slowly and stared at him with icy blue orbs, his face set firmly. Walys walked over to him and handed him the missive. Lord Rickard didn't waste any time opening it up. His eyes scrutinized the parchment carefully; as if re-reading each word on the page before moving on.

Maester walys observed his expressions secretly, looking as the lines on his face deepened and thinned at times. His Lord's face cycled through a plethora of expressions only to settle on one of frustrated bewilderment.

He wordlessly handed the page to walys before taking a seat behind the ancient ironwood desk. The stout maester wasted in reading the sheet of parchment. The more he read the more he found each word more preposterous than the last. This wasn't the first missive he'd read in regards to this situation.

The very first of these came in around two weeks ago. Lord Commander Qorgyle wished to inform winterfell of strangers encountered on Skagos by brothers of the night's watch. Another came in the very next week claiming these strangers visited Eastwatch-by-the-sea; on a sail-less, stone ship no-less!

But he and lord stark were beginning to wonder if the lord commander had lost his mind. They discussed the contents of the missive and sent a raven back, politely expressing their doubts and concerns.

This missive was the third and most outlandish of the lot. The lord commander was now reporting the arrival of these 'Fire men' who rode into the castle grounds upon giant birds.

'This... this is madness!' Walys couldn't finish the missive. It seems the lord commander may have lost his wits!

Stolen story; please report.

He looked up from the parchment to see Lord Stark leaned over the desk; his fingers interlocked before his stoic countenance. His blue orbs seemed to be searching for something beyond the physical realm.

"-Lord Stark, I fear Lord commander Qorgyle's mind has been addled by the cold or stresses of his post. Something must be don-" Rickard cut him off with a raised hand before he could finish his sentence.

"I don't think Tremond has fallen into lunacy. I've shared the battlefield with that man. There's no way for such a man be broken so easily."

It was at these times he remembered that Lord Stark was a martial through and through. He was a wise lord and level-headed, however at times he would attribute martial strength to mental will. But that was alright. He was a maester of the citadel, it was his duty to the realm to advise his lord whenever he fell short.

"My Lord! Yitish-looking strangers squatting on Skagos of all places? Sailing the seas upon stone ships? Gant birds?... large enough to carry a man? None of these things are possible." Walys felt the chains around his neck jingle as he spoke firmly.

As a response, Lord stark eased back into his seat and combed his fingers through his great beard.

"Lord Stark, I recommend sending a contingent of men to the Wall to ascertain the Lord Commander's sanity and ensure the Night's Watch is being led with the wisdom and sobriety we expect from our brothers in black."

There was a pause after he said his piece and he was afraid rickard was about to dismiss his advice, however to his relief, lord stark nodded wordlessly.

"Maester, please instruct Vayon to prepare a contingent of men for the journey to the Wall. We must see to it that the Lord Commander's words are not mere fancy, and our brothers in black are not in peril. Have Vayon ready a suitable force to depart at dawn." Lord Stark instructed.

Walys bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the order before he turned to leave.

"Also, dispatch a raven to Eastwatch with a missive of inquiry regarding these... 'fire men'. After you've done that, finish reading the missive in your possession and follow the instructions contained in it. When you've completed these tasks, commit it to the flames."

He was confused but complied to the lord's words.

"By your leave my lord. I shall see to it." He bowed again and strolled out to carry out his orders.

(-)

After the maester left. Lord Stark eased back in his chair; his hand reached up to massage. 'Fire men...'

He wondered just how long it would take for walys to read the reports of these strangers and their use of fire magic. He'll likely be seeing the maester again soon. However, he wasn't in the mood to deal with the maester's skepticism.

If it were anyone else who sent those missives, he would've thought them mad. In fact, he briefly considered the possibility of a rouge brother of the night's watch somehow managing to write babble upon a page before send sending it down to winterfell as a jape.

But he recognized the lord commander's hand writing better than most. They both served upon the battlefield in the step stones and have been in close correspondence since then. Years ago, there was a short resurgence of wildling attacks south of the wall. There was a genuine concern of another 'king beyond the wall' emerging. With the watch as diminished as it was, such an event would be catastrophic.

He even took the matter to the newly crowned, king Aerys, believing that for once the north could have aid from the south. All he got for his efforts was a winded oration on how the king planned to build a second wall further north to push the wildlings back and gain more lands for the kingdom. No plans or funds to aid the night's watch or armed forces to fill in the gaps.

Rickard left the capital feeling a fool.

The issue was only solved due to his he close correspondence and cooperation with the lord commander. The possible scare of another 'king beyond the wall' was averted without fanfare.

Rickard didn't believe the men of the night's watch would allow the lord commander to go mad and keep his post. The watch wasn't like the south with sycophants and lickspittles. It was depleted yes, but there were still some competent men in high enough positions to take control.

Maester Aemon's words would've been a soothing balm to the situation and would've convinced or quiet Walys. Unfortunately, his ailment prevented such a thing.

He reached over to the metal pitcher atop his desk and poured himself a cup of bitter ale before sipping the drink. As he savoured its bitter flavour, Rickard considered many things. Not just the 'fire men' of the 'burning islands', but also those further south.

Aside from Robert Baratheon's letters to lyanna, Ned also brought news from the south during his brief visit from the Eyrie. Rather worrying accounts of the king's recent courtly activities. They were even more outlandish than before...

Gone were Aery's lurid japes upon his hand's lady wife and scandalous tales regarding the noble women in the red keep.

Now there were tales of violent outbursts, unnatural bouts of crying and laughing... and even darker rumours of supposed 'traitors' being burnt alive with wildfire as punishment for slights and crimes great, small or none-existent.

What would the king think when he eventually learns of these Maegi who are said to control fire with but a thought?

His fellow lords and informants have also confirmed these tales. The king was going mad and war was brewing in the south. He didn't know when or how, but eventually, the seven kingdoms would be plunged into chaos.

He was truly beginning to second guess his moves to involve the north in southern affairs. The north had been cut off from the rest of the realm since the conquest, they braved winters and wilding invasions alone. There was a millennium strong will in the north.

The north unified and managed to continuously beat back the invasions of the Andals; being the last kingdom still ruled by the first men and the old gods.

He believed the connections with the south would aid the north and grow the power of house stark and the north as a whole. There was even a potential for more...

With the introduction of this new force however, complications may arise and the faint embers may become raging fires.

'"Haaah." He rubbed his forehead.

(-)

The Great Hall of Winterfell was warm and lively, the fire crackling in the hearth as the Stark family gathered for the evening supper. Lyanna, her hair shining like gold in the firelight, laughed and chatted with her brother Branndon, their banter easy and familiar. Benjen, ever the quiet one, listened intently, a small smile on his bruised face from the yard.

But at the head of the table, Rickard Stark's expression was somber. His eyes gazed into the flames.

"Father, what troubles you?" Lyanna asked, her voice gentle, as she reached out to touch his hand.

Rickard's gaze snapped back to the present, his eyes focusing on his children. "Nothing, child. Merely the burdens of lordship."

Branndon, ever the cheerful one, grinned. "Come, Father, let us speak of something more pleasant! You should've seen Benjen in the yard today! He was knocked on his arse!"

Rickard's expression remained stern, but a small nod acknowledged his son's attempt to lift his spirits. "Oh, was he now?" Benjen looked away in embarrassment as his father's focus fell upon him.

"From what I've seen, Benjen's taking his lumps well. Far better than you did when you were his age." The family collectively chuckled at brandon's expense.

Supper continued, the conversation light and lively, but Rickard's thoughts remained shrouded in concern, his mind ever turned to the uncertain future of the Seven Kingdoms.

He needed to secure a betrothal for his last son. With lyanna and Brandon sorted, he needed his other sons to be apparently wed. He hoped Eddard would've found himself one in the vale but it seems he would have to arrange something personally. As for Benjen, a good northern marriage would be enough.