Night-time Visits...

Natalia moved quickly down the hallway, her slippered feet soundless on the marble floors. She peered into every open doorway, but none were occupied. A sound made her spin around, but it was only Shadow.

"Stay here," She made her voice a whisper, for in the dead of night the squeek of a mouse was a scream in the dark. Natalia pushed such thoughts away- there were too many screams as it was.

A creaking door alerted her to a prescence. Ducking behind a stone statue of The Stranger, she watched a tall figure emerge from the Kings bedchambers. He moved with the stealthy silence of an assasin, and was clothed all in black. He moved down the seemingly empty hallway, only to be confronted by a growl. Shadow, his huge bulk seeming to fill the hallway, loomed in front of the man. The man froze, but calmly pulled a delicate longsword from a sheath at his hip.

Natalia stepped out from the statue, sliding a dagger into her hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The snow flakes fell all around, creating large drifts against the roots of the ancient trees. Winter was coming. Over the tops of the leaf-less branches Mkia could see a grey stone wall rising up imposingly, as if daring her to protest. She shivered and wrapped her forest green cloak tighter about herself. Jasmine's little hooves made dainty prints in the white crystals behind them and the bells on her reins tinkled softly as they trotted towards the gates.

Winterfell. Finally, after the long, tiring journey, they had arrived. Balor rode forward and banged on the heavy iron arch with the hilt of his sword, "Open the gates!" With a creak and a groan, they swung inwards, and Mkia saw the castle itself.

Tall, spiraling towers jutted up into he low clouds and cruel gargoyles leered down at her from their posts. The windows were clouded over in the cold, but she could see the warm glow of hearth fires within. A large commotion could be heard from behind the oaken doors, which had opened to reveal...

A strange banner flew over the procession of warriors, a banner that bore a sigil Westeros had never seen. The sigil was foolish, and the men even more so. The majority of them were drunk, and the ones that weren't could have passed for it.

The denizens of White Harbour watched the company of men warrily as the latter passed through the streets, making their way to the stables on the outskirts of the city.

Garrold Snow's Stables sold fine enough horses; the beasts weren't kingly, but the Riders of Justice were no kings, so the eager stallions and dusty old mares were just fine for them.

A fairly tall, slender pale man who had the unmistakable look of a Northman payed for the beasts, all fourty-five of them; a beast for each man. If you could call the others men, for unlike the Northerner, these men were the bastards of the world. Ebony-skinned Summer Islanders, a Dothraki barbarian, numerous Bravosi, two beared Norovoshi priests, a red-masked Asshai'i, and many, many other men. None of them, save the leader, looked like a Westerosi.

"Who might you lot be?" Garrold asked, he simply had to know, for this was certainly the strangest-looking, and most dangerous-looking, group to pass through White Harbour in a long time.

The Westerosi spoke, his Common Tongue fluent and without accent. "Hail, Garrold Snow, my company and I thank you for these fine beasts. I am Frederik Mormont, Lord and Commander of the Riders of Justice."

Garrold shook his head, "You say your a Mormont? I have me doubts, but it certainly would explain your sigil." The sigil was peculiar, a Black bear, with a helm on its head and a sword in its hand, riding on a horse, over a green field.

Frederik burst into laughter, "Clever, isn't it? I expect you are wondering why I am back in the Seven Kingdoms. I'll spare you your breath and explain. I have had enough of the life of being a freerider, so I've come home to bend the knee to my mother, the Warden of the North, and the Iron Throne once more."

Garrold seemed genuinely interested, "Nice story milord, but why are you telling me?"

Again, that infectious laughter emanated from those thin lips. The Riders followed suit. "Across the Narrow Sea and beyond the Free Cities, all men know my name. Hear, few even know of my existence, and I don't like that. Not one bit.... So, GO! Spread the word of my return, and I shall be thankful."

He laughed a third time, and mounted a grey mare. His men laughed as well, joking and staggering and bellowing as they all mounted. The Riders of Justice gave one last howl of laughter and rode off at high speeds, kicking up Autumn snow and dust alike as they did, their green cloaks and banner, with their bizzare sigil, flapping in the wind.

"To Winterfell!" cried Lord Frederik.
"To Winterfell!" echoed a million other accents.