Summary: Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends, warned the red priestess and, for once, she was not mistaken. At the Wall, an army of men fights ice with fire while the struggle for the Iron Throne continues with old and new players alike. Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen becomes determined to go home, leaving behind a trail of destruction in her wake. Amidst it all, Arya Stark returns to Westeros teaming up with the most unexpected company yet, becoming a participant in a very different meeting of ice and fire. The realm will soon discover House Stark and House Targaryen are not as dead as everyone once thought and, more importantly, that the darkest hour is upon them.

AN: The story picks up right after events in A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons so for anyone who has not read the novels, SPOILERS abound. I will try to keep it as true to the books as possible in style and content which also means the story is rated M.

Anyway, I've been wanting to write this since reading ADWD when it first came out. It was supposed to focus mostly on Arya but has since grown a little in scope. The initial premise has been rewritten quite a few times – so much that the result is very different from what I originally planned, which would have required tinkering with the canon timeline. Instead, I might upload a different and lighter story using the discarded beginning.

This chapter is not betaed so I apologize in advance for any errors! Constructive criticism is much appreciated so please feel free to point out any mistakes and/or thoughts on the story!

PROLOGUE

(River Road, mid 300 AL)

Two days past the Golden Tooth on the River Road and Courin Tascer was, once again, glad for the day's end when all four hundred men along with their charge halted to set up camp for the night. It was hard to believe the days were supposed to be getting shorter for today had seemed like yet another overly long and weary day of riding so he was grateful for the night's rest.

In truth, he had little to complain about seeing as they were not traveling at a hard pace – much to Ser Forley Prester's chagrin. The matter was entirely out of their hands in large part due to the small wheelhouse and many wagons to pull but most especially because of the snow. Aye, the snow and the very large party made it difficult for them to cover as much as terrain as their commander expected when they first began their journey from Riverrun to Casterly Rock; not that Ser Forley didn't try pushing them as hard as possible anyway.

Tiresome as he was, Courin still respected the man.

Fumbling with his sleeves while checking his numerous balms and ointments, Courin almost walked right into someone. Looking up startled, he held back a groan when he recognized Sybell Spicer, or rather, Lady Sybell Westerling. She eyed him icily and sniffed past him without a word, damnable woman as she was.

Courin found her to be the most tiresome out of everyone else in their group, including that idiot Sabas who seemed intent on plaguing him with new injuries and complaints every other day. The man's aches were getting increasingly ridiculous and Courin was thoroughly convinced he nursed an unhealthy addiction to milk of the poppy. He'd been turning Sabas away but the damned man was frighteningly persistent. He had half a mind to slip him something nasty instead and see if he learned his lesson; as if Courin didn't have enough on his plate already with the number of injured traveling in these conditions.

The grand escort for Edmure Tully and the Westerlings encountered some trouble before reaching the Golden Tooth. Those at the back edge of the column were attacked a couple of times. They had all been small sneak attacks but a handful of men were lost while near twice as many had been wounded and several of their supply wagons also suffered some form damage. Ser Forley believed the attackers had not been thieves at all but members of that infamous group of traitor outlaws running loose across the Riverlands; not surprising considering he expected a rescue attempt at every turn of the road. Courin couldn't deny the possibility but times were hard and winter was coming so he wouldn't discard them being simple thieves either, the gods knew there was a growing number of those as of late.

In any case, Courin's duties were to care for the wounded so he hardly cared who had attacked them or why as long as he himself didn't receive an arrow through his chest.

Courin Tascer had never been an especially athletic man or in any way suited for the life of a soldier. In fact, back home most would say he did not seem to be suited for anything at all; certainly not anything that demanded any kind of effort. But physical labor was the worst as far as Courin was concerned and that was one of the reasons he once wanted to become a maester. That, and being smart. Courin thought highly of himself in that regard and nobody who knew him could deny it. So as a young lad, Courin was sent to study at the Citadel. He always believed he might enjoy being a maester but even his studies eventually proved too tiresome so he left after a few years. He did manage to forge a few links though not enough to earn the title of maester.

His father had been extremely cross when he returned home. 'Cross' was a mild way of putting it, thought Courin. No, Father had been furious. But, as always, Courin simply shrugged it off and, as always, his father's steaming anger eventually cooled down. Growing up, that dull routine had been a regular occurrence in their household. Nowadays he remembered those times with something akin to fond amusement; Courin could still recall the sound of his sweet mother's voice trying to placate his father. He had a happy childhood and was well loved by both parents, his father only had greater difficulty understanding his younger son though Courin was self-aware enough not to fault or resent him for it. Whatever the man said or did, it was because he cared for his family.

Father was a landed knight sworn to House Kenning of Kayce in the Westerlands and Courin was the younger of his two sons. Most people would say he was also the most difficult. Not in a mischievous way but because he was what people would describe as a 'good-for-nothing'. His reputation didn't bother Courin in the least. He knew he was good at a great many things; numbers, languages, history, herbs, healing, human and animal anatomy to name a few. However, while other men of similar status vied for honor and glory Courin had only ever wanted an easy life avoiding anything he considered even remotely bothersome. He hardly saw the crime in that.

His brother, on the other hand, was a knight like Father and would someday inherit their keep, as was his right. Arvin was a righteous man, honest and kind, and Courin loved him for it. His brother was one of the very few who humored and accepted him entirely. Father and Arvin had both ridden out when their liege lord called for his knights and bannermen. At the time, Father insisted Courin also make himself useful and thus the reason he found himself presently serving, not as a soldier, but instead tending to the wounded. There was always use for men like him in wars, men who knew of healing. And so, Courin Tascer, barely past twenty-five years of age and not-quite-a-Maester, found himself a safe position away from the front lines during the War of the Five Kings.

After sidestepping Lady Westerling and muttering his apologies, Courin made his rounds knowing it was high time he saw his patients. Later, when night fully descended and the entire camp was secured, he stopped by the fires crowded with men not on watch duty who gathered 'round laughing at bawdy tales. Spotting a few familiar faces, Courin sat between Larris Hill and Jaesse Himan. The former a by-blow of one of the sons of a cadet branch of House Sarsfield who'd been tasked to the escort because he knew the terrain well. The lad was also fine archer and among those taking turns guarding Edmure Tully and Jeyne Westerling. Gossip and speculation abound – most of it astonishingly on the mark – but Courin was probably among the few who knew on good authority the exact nature of the orders those guards had received. When he asked about it, young Larris had confided he wasn't too keen on them, especially not where the girl was concerned. Courin could hardly blame him; no decent man would welcome an order to lose an arrow on a defenseless girl.

"Cour!" Jaesse exclaimed, clapping him on the back happily as he sat down. "How are your wounded faring?"

"Well enough," he replied truthfully. Only one of the men seemed not to be healing as expected but Courin was already taking precautions against infection.

Jaesse nodded. "Don't think you'll have much to occupy yourself with from here on. We shall be safer now we're past the Golden Tooth. Everyone seems to think so."

"You all seem convinced our only danger are the possible rescue attempts on Lord Tully and the Young Wolf's widow."

"Well, everyone knows the Blackfish escaped…" Jaesse shrugged. "That man will surely come for his nephew don't you think? Even Jaime Lannister thinks so; why else would he arrange such a large escort for him?"

"I know," Courin said. "But what about road thieves and brigands? Surely there are just as many of them hidden in these mountains as anywhere else in this rotting kingdom."

Jaesse shrugged yet again. It was a habit of his. "No doubt they shall think twice before attacking such a large group."

This time Courin was the one to shrug. He hardly had the will to argue his point and it mattered little to him what anyone thought about it. "Tell that to the men I've been tending to," was his final comment on the matter.

Jaesse shook his head with an amused smile. He was a golden-haired fellow, good-natured and quick to smile - even in this weather. He was of an age with Courin while Larris Hill was a few years younger, eighteen or nineteen at the most.

Courin turned to Larris when the lad unexpectedly hooted loudly beside him. The other men sharing their fire followed suit, calling out loudly at someone. It wasn't until he saw Whitesmile Wat that Courin realized they'd been calling out for songs.

The singer stopped with a laugh and seated himself amongst them.

Courin was not entirely surprised to see Whitesmile Wat. He usually spent most nights either singing for Ser Forley and the other higher ranking knights or the Westerlings in their tents but this was far from the first time he joined the men in their fires.

Tonight, he began with "Bessa the Barmaid," followed by "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" and the bawdy "Her Little Flower" after that. It wasn't until after they had their measly meal and most men retired for the night that a young squire came to him saying Ser Forley was asking for him. Courin sighed and stood up reluctantly, he'd been just about ready to leave himself and get some sleep. Even Wat had already gone to bed after singing "The Maids that Bloom in Spring."

Walking at a slow pace, Courin blinked in surprise when he discovered Lord Gawen Westerling with their bald and brown-bearded commander. Lord Westerling often dined with Ser Forley but he did not expect to see the head of House Westerling still there at this late hour. Courin didn't dislike the man, he seemed to be a kind, pleasant sort of person. If anything, Courin felt sorry for him and his situation.

"You called for me, Ser Forley?" Courin asked after clearing his throat.

"Tascer," the older man acknowledged. "Indeed I have. Lord Westerling just mentioned one of his daughters is taken ill… Now, he insists his wife is more than capable of handling it but I believe you should look at the girl to be safe."

Courin felt as if he'd swallowed something sour though he tried his best to keep his feelings from showing on his face.

Sybell Spicer would most certainly not welcome his opinion or any form of meddling. Courin was in no mood to argue with that woman and even sniffed at the notion despite himself. He was loathed to admit it but the Lady of the Crag knew her herbs and potions well, no doubt about that. Nevertheless, her concoctions were quack medicine compared to the proper knowledge he acquired at the Citadel. He made it his mission in life to avoid bothersome people, and Lady Westerling qualified as one with flying colors; only Father had ever managed to be so exhausting.

Their enmity could be traced to merely a few nights ago – right before arriving into the Westerlands – when her young son developed a very bad rash on his hands. The two argued extensively over the proper cause and cure so it stung deeply when she was proven right. The smug knowing glint in her eyes had been unbearable. Courin cared little for pride but his innate understanding of healing and the human anatomy had always been his two strongest talents, even at the Citadel he had excelled above his peers in that area.

"There is really no need –"

"Nonsense, Gawen. You and your family are in our care so I feel it is my duty to have our healer see to your daughter."

Lord Westerling sighed in resignation before motioning for him to follow. Courin had a feeling the man knew his wife would not be happy. He shadowed the man silently. Only one fire remained with no more than a handful of men still sitting and talking quietly amongst themselves, the camp had grown otherwise silent and dark with the moon up high yet barely visible through the mist. Courin once again cursed not having gone to bed earlier… now that he faced the probability of not getting any sleep tonight he mourned the precious few minutes he might have had otherwise.

"A fever took her last night and, I think, might have worsened after traveling all day," Lord Westerling murmured.

Courin nodded firmly but kept following silently, this time with more concern for the girl.

Passing by Edmure Tully's tent, Courin nodded to the two guards at the entrance. They were both archers. Dalton, he knew somewhat; a rather boring brown-haired fellow with a stubby nose he'd spoken to on a few occasions. The other was a skinny red-haired young man; Courin wasn't sure but thought his name was Angill or Anguy… something along those lines. It didn't take long for them to reach the Westerlings' tents after that. Both Lord Tully's and Lord Westerling's tents were not far apart and none too far from Ser Forley's tent either. To keep an eye on things surely.

Once outside their destination, Courin braced himself for what was to come. Following Lord Westerling, he saw the other man eyeing the guards posted around this tent none too happily.

Stepping inside, Courin took a measured look around. The youngest daughter was lying down with her mother and sister, the Young Wolf's widow, sitting by her and pressing cold compresses to her skin. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, my Lord, I see once again my opinions are of little worth to you," Lady Westerling said to her husband in a disgruntled tone as she stood up. "Or have you perhaps come in hopes of learning something, Tascer?" This time she looked at him directly.

Courin cleared his throat, not taking the bait. "Ser Forley insisted upon my services here," he said while briefly glancing back towards Lord Westerling who turned and took his leave from them.

She looked almost amused at his answer. "While we are grateful, they are unnecessary."

He peered at her but his annoyance faded, if only a little, when he realized that behind the sneer there was a hint of worry in her eyes.

Rather than taking that as the dismissal she obviously intended it to be, Courin only nodded in acknowledgment of her words but made no motion to leave. One might almost think he stayed solely to irk the woman but that would require too much effort on his part, something Courin Tascer was prone to avoid at all cost. Ser Forley Prester expected him to stay - the gods help him if he left and something happened to the girl, however unlikely. He was in no mood to be admonished gratuitously.

Courin shuffled closer to his new patient industriously and became alarmed when he felt her burning skin. The girl was sweating profusely; unconscious but obviously in pain. He proceeded in checking her temperature, pulse, eye color and all the usual. Lady Westerling hovered over them watching his every move like a hawk. She made no further vocal protests, however. The sister made room for him immediately but did not let go of the younger's clammy hand.

"Has the fever worsened from last night?" he asked.

Lady Westerling frowned and appeared about to retort but her eldest was quicker. "Eleyna woke up much better this morning and seemed recovered but the day's journey must have worn her out… she seemed to become increasingly weary with each passing hour."

Courin nodded and motioned for her to continue.

The girl bit her lip. "I fear her fever is indeed much worse tonight…"

"She looks to be a strong, healthy girl. I expect she might have recovered easily in a day where she warm and at home... but traveling in these conditions is no good for anyone, much less so for someone taken ill."

"Her temperature was manageable but spiked so suddenly and unexpectedly less than an hour ago," Lady Westerling finally spoke, far less bitingly than he would have expected.

"We must bring the fever down. She must drink abundantly and keep pressing the cold rags to her forehead," Courin said.

Lady Sybell raised an eyebrow. "Well if you are to tell us what we already know then either lend a helping hand or leave," she said briskly pushing past him to her daughter.

She called for a servant and a rather odd young woman stepped forward with a bucket of ice-cold water. She seemed quite out of place and unused to being a maid. Courin thought nothing of it since experienced servants were surely hard to come by in these circumstances.

The Young Wolf's widows frowned ever so slightly at her mother before biting her lip as if thinking. "Mother, what of her throat?"

Lady Sybell ignored her completely, focusing instead on dousing the rags into the bucket and twirling them to get rid of the excess water. "Thank you, Meg."

At his questioning look, Jeyne Westerling elaborated. "Eleyna could barely speak today. It's been hurting badly for days but since last night her voice has gone completely hoarse."

"Quite normal," Courin began carefully. "The fever is cause for greater concern... however, there are certain herbs you can mix into her drink which will alleviate the soreness and her voice should be fine in a couple of days."

"Eleyna was foolish in not coming to me at the first sign of her symptoms when I could have nipped this in the bud," Lady Sybell said harshly. Apparently, they'd already had this discussion. "I've already mixed some medicine into her drinks."

"I just thought... It wouldn't hurt to tell the maester."

"Well, Tascer here is not a maester! Do you see any chains? A half-maester at best," Lady Sybell retorted snappishly.

So, the woman thought herself above him. She disliked taking counsel in herbs and healing from anyone less than a maester although Courin thought even a full maester might have trouble dealing with her.

Lady Westerling informed him what she'd already given to her daughter.

Surprisingly, Courin found himself agreeing with her. However, something must have shown on his face when she listed one ingredient he himself wouldn't have picked. He cursed inwardly. Courin wouldn't have said anything at all since Lady Westerling wasn't in the wrong either – just personal preferences he supposed – but the woman saw the brief motion and did not take it well. Almost as if she'd been actively seeking some excuse to quarrel, bully and bait him.

They did not manage to bring the fever down until at least an hour later.

"We shall have to monitor her the rest of the night to be safe," Courin said once Eleyna was back in bed after they'd been forced to bathe her in ice-cold water. Lady Sybell and the young widow helped the maid change Eleyna into her bedclothes.

As the servant stepped outside, Courin and Lady Westerling sat down watching Jeyne hand her weakened sister a glass of water.

"You best not speak, Eleyna," her mother warned. "You require a lot of rest so lie down once you've had your drink."

They fell into a moment of dull silence that was interrupted most unexpectedly. The moment became tense and fearful when they all first heard it.

The shouting and screaming.

The occupants of the tent sat still, straining their ears to make sure whilst exchanging brief uneasy glances amongst themselves. The sounds were very low at first – barely there – but grew louder and closer in a matter of seconds until they were clearly more than a trick of the mind. Both Courin and Lady Westerling stood up in alarm as the sisters remain seated, clutching each other's hands in fear. The older woman looked down at her daughters then turned to the entrance of their tent. Before she managed a single step, however, Meg came rushing in eyes wide but determined as she motioned for them all to step back.

Men were undeniably shouting and running outside. Courin thought he heard horses and the ringing of steel. The noise became louder and louder so, soon enough, he was sure he heard it… along with the screaming of dying men. A sudden flare of fire was seen through the tent to their right.

Someone gasped and Courin wheeled his head around just in time to see the maid pulling out a small slender sword. Indeed, she was no ordinary servant after all. She never even glanced at them, looking intently at the entrance of their tent instead.

And sure enough, a soldier - one of the guards from outside - pulled the flap aside. "We're being attacked," he shouted above the noise and his eyes fixed themselves onto the Young Wolf's widow.

In the split second that Courin realized what was about to happen, the armed maid launched herself onto the man and steel rang against steel.

A second guard swooped in, bow and arrow already in hand. Courin heard himself shout though he surely could not be heard above the rising cacophony all around them and out in the camp. One of the women screamed as well. In horror, he watched an arrow fly straight pass him. Meg jumped at the man but it was too late.

Everything happened so quickly that Courin missed it. He was finally made aware of himself when yet again, a female scream pierced his ears. Lady Sybell ran to her daughters who were holding each other, both shaken and covered in blood. Courin ignored the battle between the serving maid and the guards as he also rushed back to the two Westerling girls. The eldest was crying and pleading frantically as her sister slumped against her. He realized the blood belonged to Eleyna, the poor brave girl must have pushed her older sister out of the way and was struck by the arrow in her stead.

"Eleyna! Please – please!" Jeyne cried as Courin ripped open the girl's bedclothes to look at the wound. What he saw was not reassuring. He ordered Jeyne to hold her sister as still as possible as he pulled the arrow from her upper chest, nearly at her throat. Lady Sybell immediately pressed some cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding. The three of them lowered her to a lying position in bed.

More shouting engulfed the air around them around them. Courin was briefly aware of further movement behind them and realized more people must have come in but he ignored it all. Eleyna was deathly white, choking, her lips red with blood and fading fast.

He looked away in pain and defeat upon realizing there was no saving her. When he turned back his gaze met the hard red eyes of Sybell Spicer. Tears poured down her terrified face.

"Don't – Don't you dare say it!"

The woman had obviously come to the same conclusion.

"My Lady, I'm afraid –"

"Don't!" she shouted in a shrill voice suddenly grabbing his arm and pulling him down to her. Lady Westerling shut her eyes in grief before opening them again and looking around as if searching for a solution before they finally rested on her dying daughter. She briefly looked down at something in her hands, afraid and uncertain. When her eyes met his own again she seemed almost apologetic. "My grandmother was a truemaegi…" she whispered to herself with eyes wide and unseeing, so soft that he almost missed it. "I'm sorry," she gasped and Courin felt cold metal plunge sharply into his chest.

'The arrow I dropped', he recalled fleetingly.

Her eyes looked wild and wide as they stared into his own.

"Jeyne, leave! Leave and hide! Take her! Please! Everyone leave this tent NOW!" she shouted in a voice so full of urgency that it left no room for argument.

Meg the maid, or whatever she was, and at least two other men he did not know dragged the reluctant young widow away from her sister's body. It wasn't until then that Courin noticed the dead body of the men Ser Forley had on watch. One of the strangers sliced open the back of the tent with his sword and they all followed him out, the others still forcibly dragging Jeyne Westerling out with them.

"I'm sorry," Lady Sybell whispered to him again and he realized she was just as scared as he. "I must save her - must try…"

Courin felt something wet and cold he knew to be his own blood spreading across his chest. A horrible, frightening wailing filled his ears. The cold blood spread even further and he thought he saw shadows dancing around them until the room grew dark.

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AN: Sorry this first chapter was narrated by an OC! This will be the only one I promise :) I decided to try following GRRM's prologue customs. Every single prologue POV character has died by the end of the chapter (or book) and there's always some sort of magic involved.