Winterfell
Eddard Stark — 298 AC
The Gates had always opened.
A tear in the air. A distortion in snow or stone. Sometimes no larger than a doorway. Sometimes wide enough to swallow a hall.
Every kingdom endured them.
The Reach burned theirs. The Stormlands broke theirs. Dorne buried theirs. The Westerlands collapsed theirs into mines.
The North survived them.
But now the count was wrong.
Eddard Stark stood over the map table in his solar. Seventeen black circles marked confirmed Gates across the North.
Seventeen.
"In a single year," Ned said quietly.
Maester Luwin folded his hands into his sleeves. "And more will come, I fear. The pattern is increasing."
"They are not beyond the Wall."
"No, my lord. They are within our lands. Near the Last River. The Rills. Even south of Winterfell."
Ned's jaw tightened.
The North had warriors. Hard men. Frost-bitten fighters who endured long winters and longer silences.
But numbers were thin.
Silver-ranked warriors were few. Gold—none.
"And we cannot ask the other kingdoms," Ned said.
"No, my lord. The Reach reports nine Gates this year. The Stormlands have lost three coastal villages. Even the Westerlands have sealed five beneath their hills."
Every realm strained.
No one could spare strength.
Silence filled the chamber.
Finally, Luwin spoke carefully.
"There is one body that exists for this very purpose."
Ned did not look up.
"The Night's Watch."
"The Watch answers to no kingdom. Their vows bind them to defend the realm against all threats, including those that come through Gates."
"They are undermanned."
"True," Luwin said. "But if the North is where the Gates increase most, it is their duty to reinforce us."
Ned stared at the candle flame.
Ask the Watch for aid.
It was bitter.
The North had once needed no one.
But times were changing.
And memory returned to him then—not of Gates.
But of a river running red.
The Trident.
He could still hear the roar of steel.
Robert Baratheon had been unstoppable that day. Bronze shattered beneath his hammer. Silver faltered.
And when he reached Rhaegar Targaryen, the prince had been driven backward.
Ned had believed it finished.
Until the air changed.
Light had erupted around Rhaegar like a second dawn. Gold radiance spread across his armor. The river itself seemed to recoil from him.
He had broken through.
Gold.
Robert struck with all his fury.
It was not enough.
Rhaegar moved with terrible clarity—calm, precise, beyond mortal pace.
Robert fell.
The war ended in a single moment.
Ned remembered stepping forward, grief and fury battling in his chest, with Jon Arryn beside him.
Rhaegar had removed his helm.
"I did not steal her," the prince had said, voice carrying across the silent field. "Lyanna Stark came willingly. I loved her. I wed her beneath the old gods and the new."
Ned had nearly drawn steel then.
But Rhaegar continued.
"My father's crimes were not mine. I did not order wildfire. I did not command the deaths of Rickard Stark or Brandon Stark."
His eyes had held no madness.
"For that injustice, I offer what atonement I can."
He spared them.
Spared Ned. Spared Jon Arryn. Spared the surviving rebel lords.
But not all.
When Hoster Tully stepped forward, still defiant, Rhaegar's mercy cooled.
"You rose without cause," the prince had said. "You answered rebellion before seeking truth."
That day, hoster tully was stripped of his paramount title.
"It shall be restored," Rhaegar declared, "when your heir comes of age, and not before."
A punishment not of blood—but of humiliation.
And when Tywin Lannister arrived late to the war, claiming uncertainty, Rhaegar's warning echoed like steel drawn slow.
"The dragon remembers who answers its call."
Ned returned to the present.
Rhaegar ruled still. Strong. Gold-ranked. Untouchable.
The realm was united.
But unity did not mean safety.
If the Gates were increasing everywhere…
What did it mean?
"Send word to Castle Black," Ned said at last.
"Request assistance?"
"No," Ned corrected softly. "Remind them of their duty."
Luwin inclined his head.
"And King's Landing?"
Ned's eyes hardened. "Send the latter to king"
"If the dragon believes this is mere northern trouble, he is mistaken."
He looked again to the map.
Seventeen Gates.
All within the North.
And growing closer together.
The wind outside shifted, low and restless.
Something beneath the frozen earth was stirring.
And this time—
It was not beyond the Wall and what horror Brewing beyond the wall god's know what
His mind drift his nephew who is in kings landing with smile whisperd 'it has been so long since he last saw him only letters exchangeed all this time he snaps out his thoughts when guard stroms through door saying " forgiving me my lord high silver rank gate opend in windows watch"to that his face go pale "what " says with disbelief to that measter luwin says" it is great danger my lord to close that gate we have to have atleast three high silver ranked warriors but apart from you they are none my lord young robb just beginning silver rank and brik of advanceing into middle silver and it takes him 2 ot 3 moon's for that we have to ask crow for help " says with fear in eyes to that i look at guard asks " how long has it been since they found the gate " to that guard says ' recently my lord no more than a moon ' to that ned breaths with relief and Says ' we have atleast five moon's to prepare to that before monsters storms out of gate measter luwin send word to crown that high silver rank gate has been found saying it has been more than 100 years last opening of high silver gate " with nod measter luwin leaves and ned with singh says " this is troubling