[h2]Cregan[/h2]

He eyed the sword once more, admiring its sheen after a good cleaning. The wolf sighed as he rested his shoulders against the rugous and ancient roots of the Heart Tree in Winterfell's Godswood. So many preparations on top of preparations. Not only winter, but war. The halls felt a little emptier, and what kind of father would Rickon think he had once he grew up and learnt that his father had helped a war while preparing for winter. Arsa...was also missing, in a fit of a rebellious age.

He could feel it. Kinslaying could stain the war forever, yet. It would leave none of the Kingdoms untouched, and he had agreed upon that, for the honor of his predecessors, and the fairness and glory of the Stewards of the North. He stood there, as a messenger bore news of his newest developments.

"Easy, lad. Do speak clear." He said, as he allowed the youth to regain his breath after running searching for his lord. "I trust the orders have been executed?"

"Aye, Lord Stark. We are moving the most restless under Lord Roderick Dustin towards the Neck. They should fortify it and await orders, the two thousand of them."

Stark nodded, as he eyed the assorted scribbled parchments that the messenger had to read. "The harvest is going as planned. Lord Benjen is also leading the timber expedition towards Dragonstone."

Stark made a quick nod. Timber expedition was a term he had coined. In truth, it hurt not to be too careful. Given the despodent attitude of the Greens, chances are they would never look past the Neck in terms of activity and planning. And Cregan had no incentive to call their attention just yet. So he had sent his men for timber, of the human kind. Having sailed from White Harbor towards Dragonstone as yet another token of his loyalty to the Blacks. But there were simply not enough men to have said he had fully roused the north, yet.

"Bear island also reports that they have seen Dragons towards the Iron Islands." Cregan narrowed his eyes. The Iron Men were drawn to war just like maggots to rotten meat. He made a mental note to ask the Mormonts if they could identify the faction of said riders. If they had by, any chance been swayed to the greens, he would have yet another front to fight. 

"You may go." He dismissed the messenger as soon as he was done, as he kept thinking. THe cogs of war slowly but surely were turning to a grim prospect. And yet, parlay could not be denied up until the last moment. Kinslaying was more than probable. Cregan knew that it was his duty to include someone if said talks would take place. The Night's Watch was to be informed of the fate of the Kingdoms, even if they would never take part in such a civil war.

He eyed the Heart Tree's face, covered in dry red sap that resembled tears of blood, uttered a last murmur, and left the sacred place in silence.