A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones.

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Xxx

293 AC

Ned

There was so much to be done and with so little time. White Fang's unparalleled speed helped to balance this out, crossing overland to the North and on to Winterfell in only a little more than what it took to ride south – no doubt because of the injuries the direwolf had sustained in the battle. Before leaving King's Landing he had taken care to leave a command structure, however tentative, to ensure that order would be maintained under Ser Barristan and Jon Arryn's watch until he returned.

For now, he had only one concern, one which drove him to push on after everything that had happened.

Robert was dead.

The capital was a ruin.

Much the same might be said about most of the kingdom by this point.

But to Ned Stark the only thing that mattered was closing over the horizon as White Fang passed long convoys of wagons, catching the attention of both Northman and Giant as the Lord of Winterfell returned to the husk of his ancestral home.

There were no intact gates and barely any intact walls along the perimeter, but the rubble still served as a good vantage point for sentries who took notice of the approaching white mass. They called up Ser Cassel as it grew closer and were almost set to begin loosing arrows to deter it before Rodrik was able to spot who sat atop the largest wolf he had ever seen, recognizing features that he had seen mature from a young boy into a full man over the course of his service to the Wardens of the North.

"Stand down!" He barked. "Stand down men. It's Lord Stark."

Men hard at work on excavating the ruins abandoned their posts and raced to the mound of rubble to watch as their liege-lord rode up on a creature lifted straight out of myth. Direwolves had not been seen south of the Wall in so long that many thought them to be, much like the Children of the Forest or the White Walkers, a fantasy. Given the everyday presence of Giants this seemed strange, but humanity's ability to rationalize around anything was an enduring quality no matter what circumstance it was in.

"Ser Rodrik!" Ned vaulted down from White Fang's back and scrambled up the rubble.

"My Lord!" Rodrik grasped his forearm and helped him clear the final step to the top. "We feared for you."

"My family." Ned breathed, taking in the destruction of his home. "Where is my-"

White Fang leapt over the mound. Men cried out and stumbled aside as the direwolf raced into the ruins.

"Stand down!" Ned barked, racing after him as weapons were drawn. "Stay your blades!"

White Fang led him to the caved in entrance of the crypts. Two giants were assisting in excavating fallen stone and had just created a breach through which screams could be heard. One of the giants unleashed a growl from behind their great, black iron helmet and reached for their discarded axe as White Fang approached, but paused as they saw Ned join the direwolf and place a hand on its flank.

Dipping his head down, White Fang motioned towards the breach. "Stark."

Realization struck Ned like a war hammer, propelling him into the breach where he found himself surrounded by pale, dust and blood coated faces of small folk who had taken shelter in the tunnels. Fearful wails turned to cries of joy at the sight of their lord, and many hands brushed his damaged armour as Ned forced his way through.

There was one shriek which had not changed, one from further down the passage. He followed it…all the way to the tomb of his sister, Lyanna. There, he saw a gathering of people huddled around the source of those cries.

"Cat!"

The group turned as one.

"Father!" Robb and Jon raced towards him, slamming into his chest as he dropped to his knees and embraced them, soon to be joined by Sansa and Arya.

Looking up from the tearful eyes of his children, Ned saw Maester Luwin approaching him with a smile on his face…and a bundle in his arms.

"My Lord." The Maester held it out, and almost as soon as Ned's shaking hands cradled the bundle the wailing ceased and a pair of grey eyes stared up at him. "Your son. Rickon."

Ned's eyes became hot with salty tears which mixed with the blood, soot and filth caked to his face. With his newborn held close he clambered to his feet and moved to where his wife lay, covered by makeshift blankets and recovering from the brutal process of giving birth.

"Cat." He whispered. "Cat, it's me."

Her eyes peeled open. "Ned…?"

"Yes." He leaned down and kissed her brow. "It's me, Cat."

"Thank the gods." She breathed. "Where is he? Have you seen him?"

Ned held Rickon in her view. "I have him." He smiled lovingly at his newest child, the first Stark who would never know the threat of the Deadwood.

"The demon?"

"Gone." Ned promised, deliberately withholding the 'how' and 'why'. "We're safe now, Cat."

Even as he said it, Ned knew it was a lie.

The reason was strapped to his belt.

Xxx

In the weeks following what came to be known as the Demon's Day, the Seven Kingdoms only barely managed to pull together. The worst of the fatalities and damage were centred on King's Landing, the Shadow City in Dorne and Old Town in the Reach, followed closely by Lannisport where it had been caught at the edge of Aku's assault on the seat of House Lannister. This and the fact that the other major targets were so few made it easier for the minor lords to organize and ride to aid their liegelords.

The Giants in the North wasted no time in converging on Winterfell. Where smallfolk celebrated the vanquishing of the demon by the hand of their Lord Paramount, the Giant King and the tribes united beneath him set about clearing the ruins of Winterfell and then settling in while resources trickled in. Once word (and some experienced architects) came in they would begin rebuilding the heart of the North, making it greater than ever before. That they had not done so centuries ago had been out of a desire by each reigning Stark to avoid altering their ancestral seat too heavily without just cause.

The Knights of the Vale and the Riverlords were quick to react to the destruction of the Eyrie and Riverrun respectively. The Eyrie itself was a small castle and only the summer home of House Arryn, which had been in King's Landing anyways, so the only concern for Bronze Yohn Royce and the other Vale Lords had been finding survivors and ensuring that the Mountain Clans could not use this as an opportunity to raise seven hells across the Vale.

Edmure Tully, joined and advised by his uncle Brynden, set out to put his lands to rights. For weeks his time was consumed chasing down bandits who had taken advantage of the carnage, seeing to the protection of farmlands from desperate refugees and finally ensuring those refugees found safety when they were found to be reasonable enough in their behaviour to heed the command of the Lord Paramount of the Trident. The region around what used to be Riverrun was, much like Winterfell, rife with fields filled with tents where the sick, starving and wounded were tended to. In the meantime House Tully's banner made a slow move to Harrenhall where Lady Shella Whent opened her doors, allowing the use of her fortress as a supply base from which order would be restored. It helped that when called to King's Landing, Edmure did not have to travel far.

House Lannister had convened in the partly demolished Lannisport where Tywin was forced to deal with the revelation of just how rich his family's mines truly were. He began to put into effect plans to make use of lesser mines which he'd had scouted and marked over the years when the first signs of Casterly Rock's veins running dry appeared. The Old Lion knew that if he was to maintain control of the Westerlands in the face of the loss of his seat and perceived endless wealth he would have to act quickly and adapt to the situation, something he'd hoped to stave off for a while longer until his hold over the Throne was more secure. The Rains Of Castamere had to be played by several wandering minstrels in the vicinity of certain lords who, given the opportunity, would have gladly seen the Lannisters knocked from their position. The only thing that convinced him to depart for the east and leave his brother Kevan in command was a letter personally addressed to him from Jaime, pleading for his presence in a matter of greater importance.

High Garden was a charred husk of its old self. Willas Tyrell took over management of the Reach while his brother Garlan worked closely with Randyll Tarly to provide security and relief to Old Town. As far as any of the surviving members of House Tyrell, all of whom mourned at the news of their youngest son and brother, were concerned: the Game was suspended. All that mattered to them now was rebuilding what had been lost and mourning those who could not be saved. When word came from King's Landing, calling for a representative to attend a gathering, the Queen of Thorns volunteered herself and departed with her son and his wife in tow.

At Storm's End, Stannis was met with praise when he arrived with a portion of the Royal Fleet, bringing with it men at arms to enforce the peace and supplies for the survivors of his family seat as well as those from the capital who all but flew as far south as they could. None would see it, few would admit to it if they did, but when he finally had time alone in the ruins of his childhood home Stannis allowed himself to weep for the brother he had lost before composing himself just as word came to him of a raven from King's Landing. He set affairs in order, executed any thieves or brigands who had begun their short lived careers in the wake of the destruction and then departed with his favoured Onion Knight in tow.

Dorne had known many days of mourning in the previous decade, but now what remained of Sunspear was silent as survivors gathered to say a prayer for those lost, chief among them Prince Doran, now succeeded by his daughter Arianne. Prince Oberyn and Captain Areo Hotah were swift to send word to the other houses, the former swifter still to respond when a raven came bearing news of a gathering in King's Landing of all the high lords of Westeros as well as a promise that the truth behind Aku's appearance would be shared freely with all those who attended. The Red Viper, mourning and enraged at the loss of his only remaining sibling, boarded the first ship available for the capital.

On the untouched Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy was as apprehensive to these events as he was apathetic. To him, the Seven Kingdoms were now weak and divided, ripe pickings for the Iron Fleet with the other naval powers scattered across both sides of the continent. To him: this was the time to make up for his earlier failed rebellion and take revenge on those who humiliated him and murdered his sons. But where he refused to acknowledge this summons, other more level headed individuals such as the lord of House Harlaw, better known as 'the Reader', made discreet departures in the night from their respective holdfasts and travelled overland from the west coat, seeing the destruction for themselves.

One by one, they converged on the Crownlands where they had thought to find King's Landing badly damaged but still intact. Instead they saw only the blackened remains of a city where fleets of supply ships in the Blackwater Bay and armies of healers, Silent Sisters and Maesters attended to the great mass of refugees amidst what was slowly becoming a new city in itself, right in view of the former capital.

There, they would be told the truth of what had transpired.

Xxx

Just less than two months after the Demon's Day they had all arrived, some even bringing aid convoys of their own. When they were settled into a section of the encampment reserved for higher ranking nobles and the Royal Family the rumours began to reach them.

The King was dead. The Quiet Wolf, riding a great white direwolf, had struck the demon down. The King then named him the Lord Protector of the realm and regent to the newly crowned King Joffrey.

Many had taken to singing Ned Stark's praises each night, thanking him for ending the single most devastating night in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Others had taken to observing and even converting to the Old Faith, abandoning the Seven and the Septons who, in the eyes of many, were mainly attentive only when the time came to collect coin from their flocks. Few dared to try and curb this change, most who did were ignored…most of them.

But where had the Quiet Wolf gone? Lord-Commander Barristan Selmy reported that Stark had left him standing orders in regards to maintaining the peace and tending to the now displaced population of King's Landing, now cut down to a little over three hundred thousand. Afterwards he had gone north, riding his alleged lupine steed at speeds surpassing any equine. Supplies had been the main issue even before his departure, but Willas had been quick to begin dispatching caravans to the Crownlands even before the summons had arrived and in the wake of flocks of messenger ravens bringing word of the great host of starving and dispossessed small folk.

Little word came down from the North, save for ravens relaying the state of affairs there and the occasional captain who had sailed from White Harbour. Only one message came from Lord Stark, addressed to Ser Barristan to arrange the very gathering which they had all come for.

Finally, word came from the sentry parties patrolling the routes leading to Harrenhall.

The Quiet Wolf comes!

Almost as fast as word spread, a great white direwolf rode down from the Riverlands, met by outriders who escorted him in. Many massed together to witness Stark's return, finding him clad more befitting a Northern Lord compared to his first appearance, compete with a wolfskin cloak. Stannis was quick to have his men clear a path, not unenthused at the idea of waiting for the smallfolk to spend hours staring in awe at the Lord Protector…who appeared to share this view, given by how his mount easily leapt over the crowd to the nearest open space.

Stark dismounted almost immediately and was met by the equally grim expression of Stannis Baratheon.

"Lord Stark." The Lord of Dragonstone greeted him.

"Prince Stannis." Ned nodded. "Are the other high lords gathered?"

"And behaving as if their time is too precious for the good of the realm." Stannis grunted and motioned with his head. "Ser Barristan has gone to join them together somewhere…private."

This turned out to be the ruins of the Red Keep. With the streets being cleared day by day it was possible to safely traverse most of King's Landing, which made it easier to scavenge for any food stores, clothing or materials for building temporary shelters. One in every twenty buildings were safe enough for habitation, but the risk of fires still burning beneath the streets, slowly making its way along any avenue available to it until it hit another sewage line (or even in one case, a stash of wild fire left over from the Mad King's reign) kept all but the most desperate or stubborn from taking their chances.

"Gods. Wild fire?" Ned shuddered when Stannis relayed this to him. "Beneath the city?"

"The Eunuch would occasionally find another stash." The Prince of Dragonstone informed him. "We thought that the worst had been dealt with, but Aerys' pyromancers had no lack of time or coin to brew more."

"Why did I never hear of this?" Ned asked as they began to scale Aegon's Hill.

"The same reason that all but the Small Council, Kingsguard and several trusted lords and ladies were kept uninformed: to avoid a panic or, worse yet, some fool getting it in their head to steal a jar for themselves." Stannis explained. "In the aftermath of the sacking of this city and Robert's ascent, Ser Jaime discreetly informed Lord Arryn of the larger stashes beneath the Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor and other key areas around the city. Afterwards it was a matter of rooting out the smaller ones spread across the city, enough to fill a lake with that accursed substance."

"What of Robert? Did he know?" Ned pressed.

Stannis' mouth tightened into a thin line. "My brother had little love for ruling. Administration of the realm fell to the Hand of the King in most matters. So long as he gave his blessing to Lord Arryn's authority we were able to discreetly deal with the matter."

The pools of green flames surrounding craters blasted into streets and market places were a good show of how truly dangerous the alchemic fire was. If the lion's share of Aerys' stashes had remained there for all of those years…the entire city could have gone up in the first hour of Aku's attack.

"The Kingslayer divulged this?"

"He did." Stannis nodded. "Almost immediately after you stormed out following Tywin Lannister's show of fealty, from what I've been told. I was only made aware of it by Lord Arryn himself when I took office."

The Red Keep was another Harrenhall, a gargantuan ruin that would be little good for more than a garrison even if years of work went into rebuilding it. Knights and lords from every one of the southern Kingdoms were occupying it, coordinating further searches for stranded survivors even as hope of rescuing many more waned. Gone were the flocks of courtiers and sycophants who would flock here in hopes of raising their status, same with the lavish décor and gestures of wealth and station that had hung throughout the castle since the days of Aegon the Conqueror.

"I sent ships from White Harbour to bring aid here." Ned looked around. "Where are my bannermen?"

"The Dragon Pit, mostly." Stannis paused and tilted his head up as shuddering foot steps grew closer. "But none had the courage to ask him or his kin to leave."

A group of five giants, clad in heavy armour emblazoned with the Stark Direwolf, marched through the ruined courtyard. Where they stepped, others would scurry away in fright. Few if any of them must have seen a real giant before, and only a few more would have believed they existed without seeing them.

The leader of the procession came to a stop before Ned and pushed up the visor of their helmet with a resounding creak.

"Stark." Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, otherwise known as Mag the Mighty in the North and King of the Giants, greeted Ned.

"Mag Mar." Ned replied. "I trust our southern friends have received your assistance gracefully."

The Giant snorted, a smouldering glare passing over the rest of the courtyard. "Andals." He growled before resorting to the Old Tongue to explain his…displeasure.

When the Northern supply fleet, some twenty merchant ships arrived with a hundred of Mag's people to assist in clearing the streets, they were met with some instances of hostility. Certain pious groups among the Faith and the small folk viewed them as monsters to be slain, leading to incidents where several giants were attacked and forced to defend themselves. One of them was driven into a rage and trampled through a street before being restrained. Fortunately Jon Arryn, who was in Mag's good graces thanks to his time as Ned's foster father, was able to restore order before it could spiral out of control.

Needless to say however: Mag the Mighty wouldn't willingly return to the south after this not so pleasant visit.

"I'm sorry for your troubles old friend, but your services here will not be forgotten." Ned assured him. "I need your assistance with one last matter before you and your warriors return North."

A smile slowly formed on the Giant King's face. He knew exactly what Ned was referring to, and after the welcome he'd received he was more than pleased to oblige.

Xxx

The High Lords had gathered in the remains of the Throne Room, along with representatives from the Iron Islands and even some from the Free Cities sent out of concern for the calamity. The Iron Bank had also appointed someone, no doubt in the interest of seeing how Aku's devastation would affect the Iron Throne's ability to repay a very substantial debt.

When Ned came to the doors he found them split into several clusters across the formerly grand chamber. Stannis moved to the side and whispered softly to Barristan Selmy, who had assigned the remains of the Kingsguard to secure the room for this meeting.

"Hail Ned Stark!" The Lord-Commander bellowed. "Lord-Protector of the Seven Kingdoms!"

The gathered lords turned almost as one to lay eyes upon him. He could see varying levels of contempt, suspicion and interest among the crowd and knew he'd been wise to prepare in advance for this moment.

"And Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, King of the Giants!"

The sight of the armour clad giant appearing behind him made the gathered nobles look up, contempt and suspicion replaced with fear and interest with awe. The King of Giants gave a low growl as he slowly lumbered into the room, dividing the sea of nobility so that Ned and Whitefang could follow him through, doing to stop at the base of the stairs which led to the now melted heap of twisted metal.

It was an ugly fucking chair anyways. As comfy as sitting on an axe, too. Ned remembered Robert's words, blurted out quickly to outrace the King's final breaths. I'd have traded it back for her…I'd have traded it a thousand times.

Ned exhaled deeply and turned to face the assembly.

"My lords and ladies, I give you my heartfelt gratitude for your attendance." With honeyed words he filled the silence, covering where his attention lay among the ranks of nobility.

Tywin Lannister. Oberyn Martell. Edmure Tully. Jon Arryn. Olenna Tyrell. Stannis Baratheon.

Six representatives, one for each of the mainland kingdoms. Baron Greyjoy's absence did not surprise him, but he noted the sigils of lesser houses from every kingdom milling about behind their respective liege lords while those from the Iron Islands stood alone.

A silver sickle on a black field. House Harlaw. Lord…Rodrik! Rodrik the Reader.

A pleasant surprise. The Reader had counselled against Balon's ill-conceived rebellion, though still lost children to it as he followed House Greyjoy all the same. Named for his passion for literature, Rodrik Harlaw was one of the few Ironborn Lords who Ned would invest with even an ounce of trust if only because the Lord of Ten Towers was wise enough to see what Baron had refused to acknowledge: reality.

The Lord of Harlaw was not alone either. Other bannermen from both the isle of Harlaw and its neighbouring islands were present. The grey hand of the thundergod for House Kenning, the ten black nooses on white for House Myre, the barren tree of House Stonetree and the Leviathan of House Volmark were gathered behind him while those of the other Ironborn holdings remained further back, almost as if they hoped to go unnoticed among the proceedings.

Good. Let them witness what Balon Greyjoy will refuse to see for himself.

"Our Kingdoms have endured a storm more terrifying than any calamity to come before it." Ned continued. "We have endured it, but there are truths surrounding the origins of the demon, Aku, which I cannot in good conscience hold back."

Curious and concerned murmurs were exchanged only to be silenced when Prince Oberyn stepped forward, clad in his signature leather armour but wielding no weapons that were visible to Ned. The Red Viper's eyes, usually bright and piercing, had the signs of restless sleep framing them as he stared sullenly at Ned.

"You know from where the monster responsible for the death of thousands of my people, least of all my brother Doran, was wrought?" He asked.

Ned nodded, making sure to keep track of the distance between him and the last of an entire generation of Martells…and undoubtedly the most dangerous of them all. "I do."

"Then name it." Oberyn hissed, stalking a step closer.

The Quiet Wolf met the Red Viper's glare with a stony, unflinching gaze. "Aku was born from what was, until recently, the Deadwood of the North."

"That pagan holy ground?" A Reachlord with noticeably large ears snorted.

"Lord Alester." The Queen of Thorns' voice sharply cut off any further commentary. "If ever your wisdom is called upon, rest assured I will make it known. Any with the gift of reading or a sliver of intellect would know that the Northerners revere the Deadwood about as much as one would the Grey Plague."

"Lady Olenna speaks truthfully." Rodrik Harlaw spoke up. "The Faith of the Old Gods has held the Deadwood as a site of great evil since antiquity, supposedly since before the First Men ever set foot on Westeros if one is to believe the full tale behind that religion."

Ned exhaled a sigh of relief, never so glad to have an Ironborn speak on his behalf. "The full tale is why we stand here today, for we are now part of it." He looked past Olenna to the one sigil he had been hoping to see more than any other. "Ser Baelor, I trust that you received my raven."

The man in question stepped forward, the white tower on his chest plate displayed prominently. "I did, Lord Stark." Baelor Hightower held up an intricately carved wooden container. "My father spoke of this to both myself and every one of my siblings, instructed us thoroughly so that we would know when to retrieve it."

He faltered. "And it is Lord Baelor now, Lord-Regent."

"I see." Ned said solemnly, easily deducing the implication behind Baelor's words. "My condolences."

"My father died well, now I seek only to ensure that House Hightower's debt is paid." Baelor knelt and set the box on the floor, sliding the top off so that he could extract a stack of parchment. "Lord Stark, on behalf of House Hightower I, Baelor, son of Leyton, present to you the Third Pact as it was transcribed from the runes beneath the High Tower following the conversion of Dorian Hightower to the Faith of the Seven. To my knowledge the information contained within has been maintained in its original state and is free of any alterations."

"What is this now?" Olenna peered at Baelor from her seat. "I've heard of the tale of a Pact from the myths of the Old Faith but never of a third."

"A consequence of our ancestors not taking to passing down knowledge through writing until the coming of the Andals, Lady Olenna." Ned accepted the parchment from Baelor. "When the Gardner Kings welcomed the Andals to settle the Reach, House Hightower, then charged with maintaining a copy of the Third Pact, saw an opportunity to ensure that what is written here would not be lost, as Lord Dorian feared that quite rightly that the Septons would seek to erase all traces of the Faith of the Old Gods. Beneath the Hightower was one of the few rare inscriptions used by the First Men to pass down their wisdom, carved runes carrying the tale of the Deadwood told by the Children of the Forest themselves. Other houses and kings had their own copies, but at that point the Hightower had the only fully unaltered and undamaged iteration, which they allegedly retained as payment to Brandon the Builder for his construction of their seat."

Disbelief and speculation rose among the assembly.

"Lord Stark, surely you don't mean to suggest that these…Children are real?" One Crownlord, bearing a sigil of two black warhammers over a white saltire on a field of blue, asked.

"I have always been of the belief that they were," Ned clarified, "but that they had gone from this world, much like the Dragons. Long before the Andals landed on these shores the First Men had crossed a land bridge connecting Westeros to Essos. This parchment tells of how they met and waged war upon the Children, stopping only when their foe demonstrated how far they would go to win by smashing the Arm of Dorne and partly flooding the region now known as the Neck. The two sides met and, as Lady Olenna said, formed a Pact to maintain the peace."

Ned looked up towards King Mag. "A Pact which included the Giants, who stood as the Childrens' allies against my own ancestors."

"What does this matter?" Oberyn demanded. "Have you come to tell us of the Demon or to lull us to sleep with tales of your gods?"

Mag huffed, crossing his tree trunk thick arms as he stared at the Prince of Drone, unimpressed by his outburst.

"Oh sit down, boy." Olenna said to the Red Viper, who rounded on her swiftly.

"I doubt that Lord Stark would speak of this if it was not important." Jon Arryn interceded before more words could be exchanged. "Prince Oberyn, I beg your indulgence in this matter."

"As must I, for what I am about to tell you is the beginning to the story which we have now become part of." Ned shook his head. "Other copies of this will be provided later, but for now you must indulge me if you wish to know the full truth. It was after the First Pact was sealed that the Children led those who settled in the harsher north to the site of that which had made them so desperate to bring their war to a swift end. They showed them the Deadwood, the encroaching black tar and trees that sprang from the ground, sharp as spears and swift as an arrow in flight to impale any who wandered too close."

Ned looked to the hunched from of Grand Maester Pycelle. "Grand Maester, I assume that you might know of a document from the time of Aegon the Conqueror, one which has no doubt been destroyed. It was marked with both the seals of House Targaryen and my own."

"Er-y-yes my Lord-Regent." Pycelle sputtered. "Upon my-my taking of office, I was compelled to…thoroughly read it. It was not the original, merely a copy made to preserve the words of…King Aegon, the first of his name."

Ned noted a slight narrowing in Tywin Lannister's eyes.

"It was a…mandate to be upheld in per-perpetuity." The Grand Maester continued. "Ensuring financial support and protection of the Crown for…a group known as the Deadwood Druids. Every new copy was to be given the King's seal, that one having been marked by Aegon the Fifth only just before his demise. And all mention of it was forbidden, save by the command of the King…or his Hand…or Regent."

"I imagine if Aerys had been called upon to renew it he would have burnt it." Rodrik Harlaw said. "And perhaps accused the North of some conspiracy."

"I'm inclined to agree." Tywin recalled how the man he had once, so long ago, seen as a friend decline into the paranoid mess that had met its end at the blade of his eldest son. "So the Conqueror himself knew of the Deadwood."

"He was shown it after Torrhen Stark bent the knee." Ned confirmed. "He attempted to destroy it with dragon fire but found his efforts to be futile. King Aegon, at the advice of his sister-wives, recognized the threat the Deadwood posed if it was allowed to spread, and so extended his protection to the Druids because they were the only ones who possessed the means to keep the Deadwood in check. Long ago the Children of the Forest conducted regular rituals which halted the expansion, restricting it to a small portion of the Wolfswood."

He looked down at the parchment in his hands again, stopping on a particular passage. "Following the First Pact, the Children maintained their watch over the Deadwood while the First Men settled Westeros. Many centuries the Second Pact, one of a military alliance, was drawn up in the midst of a war which nearly saw the extermination of Man, Giant and Children alike."

A war that lasted a generation and nearly ended with an eternal winter.

"The Children had especially suffered, having already been so few in number." He pressed on. "When the war had ended they were so few that their demise seemed imminent and sought to go into seclusion so that they might hopefully recover one day…or die away in peace. But before they left they gathered Man and Giant to their side once more to create the Third Pact, which saw the Children teach their magic and rituals to the First Men so that they might take over the role of ensuring the Deadwood would not spread. They called upon their allies to unite, leading to the first true King of Giants being recognized by all of the clans who agreed to remain while the rest travelled north beyond the Wall. This also led to the rise of my own House to prominence."

Ned set the parchment back in the box, sliding the top back into place. "And since then, the Deadwood Druids did their duty. Every King of the Stark- and later the Targaryen dynasty was informed of the Deadwood, save those who were viewed as unreliable due to madness or…other character failures."

"What of King Robert?" Edmure asked.

Ned shook his head. "I did not tell him."

"Why would you withhold this from him?" Tywin asked, sounding merely curious rather than mirroring the outrage and astonishment of the lesser lords and ladies.

"Because by the time Robert had ascended to the Iron Throne the Deadwood Druids had been wiped out," Ned replied, "their holdfast was burnt, every soul within put to the sword and every archive destroyed, taking with it any knowledge of the rituals that could hold back the Deadwood."

The demise of the Deadwood Druids was no secret, but so few south of the Neck heard of them and even fewer cared to keep up with current events in the far flung North where the Game was viewed with disdain. Those few who would have even remembered might not have factored this into Ned's decision at the time.

Edmure broke the following silence. "Cat…she wrote to me of urgent matters in your lands. Talk of refugees, lost holdfasts and villages…I thought she spoke of Wildling marauders or Ironborn raiders."

"She withheld the truth at my request." Ned informed his goodbrother. "The Deadwood was spreading, slowly but surely and growing faster each year. Ever since I took up Lordship of Winterfell I have been devoting my time to finding a solution to this threat. If I had come south to Robert in search of aid I would have been met with derision and scepticism, wasting too much time convincing the King and his court of the threat while my lands and people suffered. So I kept to my silence and devoted every resource at my command to this matter, consulting with sorcerers from Essos and woodwitches from the Wall to the Arbor."

Some were more focused on his confession to seeking out the aid of heretical magic wielders, but a raised hand by Tywin Lannister silenced those in his retinue and later those in the company of the other representatives.

"Who was responsible for this slaughter?" He asked. "How were these Druids annihilated whilst under the protection of the Throne?"

Ned was given no chance to answer for himself.

"The Rebellion." Edmure Tully stated. "That's what it was, wasn't it? The letters from Cat came almost immediately after she journeyed to Winterfell. The events she described had to have been ongoing by then."

A pleasant surprise that the new Lord Paramount would pick up on that, but for any flaws he had Edmure cared deeply about his sisters. This much Ned knew to be fact in spite of how little time they'd ever spent together. The Lord of Riverrun had been a recipient of his wife's many complaints regarding the raising of a baseborn son alongside her own true born children, all conveyed by raven or in person on the rare visit; there was little doubt that he remembered everything she'd told him, good or ill.

"You are correct, good-brother." Ned confirmed. "I returned to the North to find my lands rife with conflict and the Deadwood Druids slaughtered in a dedicated, coordinated effort. While my bannermen heeded the call to march against Aerys the Mad, an old enemy had taken the opportunity to strike. I know not when or how they came to be, only that they, as was earlier implied about all Northmen-"

Lord Alester Big-Ears seemed to attempt to shrink down into his gaudy, oversized armour like some brightly dressed turtle.

"-they worship the Deadwood much like how those of the Old Faith worship the Heart Trees. They are the Children of the Deadwood, and it is by their actions that my hand was forced. Without the Druids and their knowledge it was only a matter of how long it would take for all lands to be consumed…so when the Red Priests of R'hllor approached me with an offer of salvation, I took it."

Several outraged cries rang through the hall.

"You consorted with the heretical fire worshippers?" An attending septon demanded.

"Demon summoners and shadow binders, the lot of them!"

"Are they to blame?! Did they conjure that monster?!"

Mag the Mighty's roar caused loose stones to rattle, but it's primary effect was in leaving the congregation frozen in place and silencing any of the infuriated callers. The Giant resumed his original pose and nodded at Ned with a grunt. Whitefang emitted a low growl as he padded to the Lord of Winterfell's side, further deterring anymore interruptions.

"I know-" Ned wished, not for the first time since entering the room, that he had thought to bring a water flask in with him. "I know that the reputation of the Red Faith carries dark tales with it, but you must understand that I was faced with the total annihilation of not only my people…but of all of our kingdoms and perhaps the world if the Deadwood was permitted to grow unhindered. I was approached by Thoros of Myr and a small retinue claiming to possess magic which could vanquish this threat."

"I...don't imagine that you took them at their word." Harlaw, eyes darting between Ned and Mag, spoke softly.

"They showed me proof." Ned recalled the night as clearly as if it had been only mere hours ago instead of near an entire moon.

"They showed me that they, or their god, had the power to vanquish those touched by the darkness."

Xxx

End of chapter aaaaaand cliffhanger!