Interlude: White Harbor

The Port of White Harbor was packed with ships. Not just trade ships looking to fill their holds with White Harbor Broadcloth, but the War Galleys and Dromons of the Manderly Fleet, with their four-pounders and bombards. Dominating the naval docks was a single Nau-Style Carrack, the Merling Trident, which was the flagship of the Manderly Fleet and stocked with six and eight-pounder guns purchased from Lord Seawynd. Standing on the deck of the Gilded Merling, the trade cog on which he'd escaped King's Landing, Ned Stark could recognize that much. Clearly, Lord Manderly's modernization efforts had outstripped the majority of the rest of the North's. Indeed, as they docked, Ned could make out Manderly Guards in Fish Scale Armor over chainmail, armed with a mix of Halberds and Matchlock Muskets.

Standing at the docks, flanked by those guards, were his family. Robb, his heir, Sansa and Arya, his daughters, and Cat, his beautiful and patient wife. Near to them was the vast, armored, bulk of Ser Wylis Manderly, Heir to White Harbor. The armor that contained his bulk reminded Ned of nothing so much as an onion, an effect made only more odd by the bushy, walrus-like, mustache that covered Ser Wylis' mouth and wiggled as he spoke. Ned, however, was long practiced at mastering his emotions in the face of Manderly Eccentricity. As Ser Wylis rose from his flourishing bow, no small task for a man of his size, he began to speak, causing the mustache to jiggle as he did.

"My Lord! We're all extremely pleased to see you alive and well! Unfortunately, my Father couldn't be here to greet you personally." Greeted Ser Wylis.

"Has his health taken a turn, then?" Questioned Ned.

"No, My Lord. No more than usual." Refuted Ser Wylis.

"Then what?" Queried Ned.

"I think it best you come with me to the New Castle, My Lord. The whole story can be told there." Frowned Ser Wylis.

"It's bad, Ned. I wouldn't have believed some of it if I hadn't seen the proof with my own eyes." Spoke up Cat.

"Cat? What is going on?" Asked Ned.

"Wildlings are coming South in force, Father, and we know why." Answered Robb.

Ned looked at his family, Robb looked determined, Cat looked worried, and Sansa and Arya both looked more worried than Cat, Ned would even go so far as to say his daughters looked Haunted. Looking over at Ser Wylis, Ned simply nodded at the heir to White Harbor and gestured at him to lead on. The Scale and Chain-clad Guards fell in around Ned and his family as Ser Wyman began to lead the group through the City toward the New Castle. As they walked, Ser Wyman filled in what background information he could while not being in the New Castle.

"We got reports from Lord Commander Mormont at Castle Black that the Wildlings were moving south in force a few months back. Mance Rayder, the so-called King-Beyond-The-Wall had been moving from tribe to tribe, squashing feuds and gathering a horde. Current estimates give him thirty thousand Warriors and countless Non-Warriors given pointy sticks and pressed into service. It seems like the whole of the Wildling Population North of the Haunted Forest has thrown in with Mance." Began Ser Wylis.

"That's not so unusual. Something similar happened in my grandfather's time, and he had to deal with a revolt on Skagos as well." Pointed out Ned.

"Just wait, Father. It gets worse." Scoffed Robb.

"Indeed. Mance hasn't put all his eggs in one basket here. He's sent a few Boat Raiders off from Hardhome to circumvent the wall. Their boats aren't a match for any real Naval Vessel of ours, being little better than a hide-covered fishing vessel that can perhaps hold a dozen people at a time. They don't have to be, though. These vessels are similar enough to Ironboen Longships with their shallow drafts and ease of launching that they can hit a coastal village and withdraw before a real response can be mustered." Continued Ser Wylis.

"All right, so they have a new tactic. Mance Rayder was once a brother of the Night's Watch, so he likely lent some expertise there. He'll be punished for it before this war is done. What makes this different, though?" Questioned Ned.

"One of the Naval Patrols we sent up the coast toward Karhold at Lord Karstark's request found one of these Wildling Vessels wrecked upon some rocks out in the Shivering Sea off the coast. The whole thing had been covered in a sheen of ice as if it had been caught in an early Winter Storm, not uncommon in the Shivering Sea in Autumn. We sent a party aboard on a boat to check the Raiding Vessel out. Perhaps to recover looted goods. What the boarding party found was nothing short of a nightmare." Informed Ser Wylis.

"Remember the Deserter we executed those months ago, Father?" Queried Robb.

"I do. He was delirious raving about dead men walking. What does that have to do with Wildling Raids?" Asked Ned.

"Those were no delusions. The boarding party was attacked by the frostbitten corpses of the Wildling Raiders. They were forced to literally hack these Wights to pieces with cutlass and boarding axes and set the whole damned ship alight to kill them." Intoned Ser Wylis.

"You must be joking. That's the stuff of fireside stories, not reality." Frowned Ned.

"It's true, Ned. They brought part of it back. A severed hand that moves on its own in some sort of mockery of life." Insisted Cat.

"It was horrific, Father." Shuddered Sansa.

"I can still see it in my dreams." Muttered Arya with a shiver.

"I'll show you when we arrive at the New Castle, My Lord." Vowed Ser Wylis.

"You'd better. I'd hate to think you were attempting to spin a story as some sort of prank." Huffed Ned.

The rest of the walk to the New Castle was completed in silence. Past the crumbling masonry of the Wolf's Den, up the mermaid statue-lined, marble, steps of the Castle Stair. Past the Merman's Fountain with the eponymous statue of a merman spouting water into the basin. They arrived at the imposing gates of the New Castle of White Harbor, flanked by twin round towers and guarded by more fish-scale-armored guards. Ned and Company were swiftly ushered into the Merman's Court, its oak-paneled walls carved with the images of fish, sharks, krakens, leviathans, seals, starfish, whales, dolphins, and more. Every manner of sea creature one could think of was represented somewhere on the carved walls. Sitting on a chair placed on a raised dias was the somehow even fatter form of Lord Wyman Manderly, Head of House Manderly and Lord of White Harbor.

If Ser Wylis was rotund and resembled a walrus, his father, Lord Wyman, was a vast Leviathan. Too fat to sit a horse, Lord Wyman spent much of his time sitting and eating while he ruled his holdings and it showed. The man was possessed of several chins, and the size of his stomach rivaled even the most gluttonous of Free Cities Merchant Princes. For all that, however, Lord Wyman was no true glutton. There were no carcasses of half-devoured chickens or plates of fish bones. His seafoam doublet was unstained by food. He was simply a Lord who enjoyed food quite a lot and had the means to do so regularly and with gusto. While some might decry his lack of ability to take the field of battle, Ned knew the Man to be possessed of a keen and analytical mind.

"My Lord! Forgive me if I cannot rise to meet you, my knees are giving me some trouble this day. Please, take a seat, be welcome in my hall." Nodded Lord Wyman.

"He wishes to see the Wight Arm for himself." Announced Ser Wylis.

"Is this true, My Lord?" Questioned Lord Wyman.

"It is. I need to see it with my own eyes. To know that you are not playing me false." Nodded Ned.

"You believe I would joke about this?" Queried Lord Wyman.

"I know you to be a man of honor, Lord Wyman, but this is quite the story. Something my nursemaid might have told me growing up. You have to see how it appears from my point of view." Frowned Ned.

"Of course, My Lord. I'll have it fetched at once." Concurred Lord Wyman, mollified.

A guard in Scale Armor over chainmail saluted before leaving the Merman's Court to head for wherever such a thing might be kept. Ned steered himself for whatever might come, be it a prank or the stuff of nightmares. Honestly, at this point, Ned wasn't certain which he would prefer. On the one hand, he hated to think that his vassals and family would be willing to conspire to make a jest at his expense, but on the other hand, a jest at his expense would be preferable to a Wight. That could only mean one thing, that the Others were real and had not been all destroyed during the Long Night. That they had instead sided their time to let the Realms of Men fall to infighting and forget about them. That they were now stirring once more somewhere in the far frozen north, in the Lands of Always Winter. Every Stark knew that there was a deeper meaning to their House Words, but Ned had not thought it would ever mean something like this.

"Sansa, Arya, let's go wash up. It's been a long day." Called out Cat, drawing Ned's attention away from his brooding.

"Yes, mother." His daughters chorused in response. As they left, Robb sided up to Ned.

"Sansa's been having difficulty sleeping since she saw the Wight Arm the first time. Arya's been more subdued than her usual self too, though she's refused to talk to us about it." He mused.

"Arya was always stubborn. It's the Wolf's Blood in her. Too much like your Aunt Lyanna." Sighed Ned.

"My Maester is, unfortunately, not an expert in healing the mind, though healing the Body he does with aplomb. I've had him do what he can, but even with Milk of the Poppy for dreamless sleep and a friendly ear to listen, it's slow going." Admitted Lord Wyman.

"Aye, and I thank you for having your Maester do what he can. What is his name?" Asked Ned.

"Maester Yorrick. He wrote a history of White Harbor some years back that earned him a bit of praise in the sorts of circles who care for such things. Not bad for a man who specialized in healing, eh?" Chuckled Ser Wylis.

"I'll pay Maester Yorrick a visit later to express my gratitude in person then." Affirmed Ned.

Unfortunately, before anything else could be said, the guards returned with a locked wooden chest bound in bands of iron and a bronze key. The chest was set on the floor and the key was placed in the lock, then turned. A clicking sound signaled the lock had been unlicked and the chest was opened. Suddenly there was a surge of motion as a thing stirred inside. One of the armored guards reached his hands down into the chest, wrestling with the contents for a few moments, before pulling the grisly spectacle out into the open air. It was a single hand, black with frostbite, connected to a forearm that appeared to have been severed at the elbow. The ragged stump was capped with chunks of coagulation blood and necrotic flesh. However, the most striking thing was that the severed arm and hand kept moving, trying to throttle the guards.

"As just a hand and forearm, it has no leverage with which to do more than distract a proper Guard. That in and of itself can be deadly on the battlefield." Informed Ser Wylis.

"How does one stop this?" Breathed Lord Stark.

"Apparently by hacking the corpse apart and setting it aflame. Jon says Runes on weapons also seems to work. Ser Waymar Royce killed two Wights and an actual White Walker using equipment that Lord Seawynd had donated to the Watch." Offered Robb.

"You keep in contact with Jon?" Questioned Ned.

"We send letters back and forth every fortnight when able. That isn't important at the moment." Shrugged Robb

"Your heir is correct, My Lord. It seems that your House Words have become prophetic in a way none expected." Added Lord Wyman.

"Indeed. I shall have to send a Raven to King Stannis. He won't be happy, nor I think, will he believe the story about the Others. A Wildling Horde, however, is something he will understand." Sighed Ned.

"I've heard Stannis is a practical man. I assume we're bending the knee to him?" Queried Ser Wylis.

"We are. Unfortunately, the North will be unable to send forces south at this time." Intoned Ned.

The Others were active, pushing the Wildlings South against the Watch. The Watch would slaughter ill-prepared Wildlings with superior equipment and discipline, and that in turn would give the Others more shambling Wights to throw against the Realms of Men. Ned could see the strategy clear as day and knew that Stannis would not be getting any of his Northern Troops any time soon. He was a lesser priority and had Lord Seawynd helping him at any rate. After all, Winter was coming in a manner more dire than anyone had ever expected.

And the Wall would need whatever reinforcements Ned could Muster to survive. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, here's a short interlude on the goings-on in the North. Mance has gotten the Wildlings to start building Pictish-style Sea Currachs to circumvent the wall and slip raiding parties by. They've been raiding along the Eastern Coast of the North and bouncing before any Northern Response arrives. They're taking a page out of the Ironborn Playbook like that. Unfortunately, one of those raiding parties froze to death in a storm and became Wights. The White Harbor Naval Patrols found them and took an arm back to show people. Now Ned knows about the Others.

While this means the North will be reinforcing the Night's Watch, it also means that Stannis can't expect any reinforcements from that quarter. At least not until the situation at the Wall is resolved. Mind you, Mance Rayder's Horde is a few months to a year ahead of the Others, at least in canon. The timeline of how that plays out here has yet to be seen, but there should be a few months where Ned can send some forces to Stannis between Mance's defeat and the Others attacking.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude in King's Landing showing the reactions of the Royal Court to everything.

Stay tuned. . .