Chapter 5 — Doubts
The silence inside Ned Stark's solar stretched long after he finished speaking. The lords of the North, men hardened by winter winds and years of struggle, stared at him as if the ground had shifted beneath their feet. They trusted him. They had followed him into battle. But what he had just said did not feel like the world they knew. It felt like something from old tales told in the dead of night.
Lord Karstark was the first to break the silence.
"My lord," he said slowly, "you speak of the Long Night as though it were truth and not story. We know the tales, aye. But children hear them before bed. The dead walking? The sun hiding? This is… difficult to accept."
Lord Manderly cleared his throat. His heavy frame shifted uneasily in his seat. "With respect, Lord Stark, even the oldest records are vague. Maesters say the Long Night happened thousands of years ago. How can we be certain it was real? And even if it was, why would it return now?"
Greatjon Umber leaned forward, thick arms crossed. "I'll follow you into any fight, Stark, but I need to see the enemy first. Until then, these are campfire tales. No offense meant." He glanced at Manny, then back at Ned.
Roose Bolton sat with his hands folded neatly. His face was unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and flat. "If this stranger"—he nodded at Manny—"is the one who brought these warnings, we must question his motives. Men lie. Fear spreads quickly. And panic only weakens us."
Lady Maege Mormont, who rarely hesitated, narrowed her eyes at Manny. "Why should the North trust you? You appear from nowhere, speak of doom, and ask the Lord of Winterfell to gather his bannermen. If you lied, this meeting itself would be a danger."
From the back, young Lord Cerwyn muttered, "He could be a spy from the South."
"And what of dragons?" Lord Hornwood added sharply. "Those beasts died long ago. Not even the Targaryens have them anymore."
More doubts followed. More questions. More suspicion. Every lord had something to ask, something to challenge.
Ned listened to all of it. He had expected doubts, even fear. He opened his mouth to answer.
But Manny stepped forward first.
"If I may, Lord Stark?" he asked in a steady voice.
Ned paused, then gave a single nod. "Speak."
All eyes shifted to Manny. Some were sharp with distrust, others merely curious. Manny met their looks without flinching.
"If I were in your place," he said, "I would not believe myself either." His voice was clear and calm. "I understand your doubts. Old tales are easy to push aside. But we must look at the world as it is, not as we want it to be."
He turned to the lords from the northernmost regions.
"Lord Karstark. Lady Mormont. Lord Glover. You are closest to the Wall. You know its moods better than any. Tell me—how often have wildling raids come in recent years?"
Lord Karstark frowned. "Raids from beyond the Wall happen every year. That is nothing new."
Manny nodded. "And if you compare the raids now to those ten years ago?"
Karstark hesitated. Maege Mormont's eyes widened slightly. Lord Glover rubbed his beard, thinking.
Finally, Lady Mormont answered. "They are more frequent." She looked toward Ned. "Aye… I thought it was because Mance Rayder was growing bold."
Manny's tone sharpened slightly. "Not just bold. Desperate."
That word settled heavily in the room.
Manny continued, "Lord Benjen. How many wildlings did you see beyond the Wall when you first took the black?"
Benjen straightened. "Far fewer than now. That much is certain." His brow creased. "The woods used to feel empty at times. Now they feel full."
"Full of what?" Manny asked.
"People," Benjen said. "Whole families. Not only raiders."
"And why," Manny asked softly, "would so many people gather at the edge of a frozen world? Why risk crossing a Wall built eight thousand years ago, guarded by men sworn to kill them if needed? Why leave their own lands behind?"
No one answered.
"They are running," Manny said. "Running from something worse than cold. Worse than hunger. Worse than death."
The chamber felt suddenly smaller.
Greatjon Umber let out a breath. "If this is true, then something is driving them. But what?"
Manny did not answer immediately. He let the question hang.
Instead, he turned to Maester Luwin.
"Maester," Manny said, "how long has this summer lasted?And how long is the summer expected to be?"
Luwin blinked behind his chain of linked metals. "Barely two years, my lord. The Citadel predicts it to be a long summer."
"And what follows a long summer?" Manny asked.
Luwin's face drained of color. "A long winter."
The lords shifted in their seats. Long winters meant famine. Death. Sickness. Raids. Battles. For every northern house, a long winter was worse than war.
Ned's voice cut through the tension. "How long, Maester? How long do the Citadel's counts say the summer will last?"
Luwin swallowed. "Eight to ten years, my lord. Perhaps more."
A stunned silence fell across the solar. Even Roose Bolton's stillness seemed to crack for a heartbeat.
A summer of ten years meant a winter of ten years—or longer.
A decade of snow would break the weak and test the strong.
Manny let them sit with that truth for a moment before he spoke again.
"There is more you need to consider," he said. "All of you have Weirwood trees in your lands. Sacred trees. Old gods carved in their faces. Their blood runs deep in the North."
Lord Cerwyn frowned. "Aye. What of them?"
"Have any of you noticed changes in them? Are they more flourish than before?" Manny asked.
The lords exchanged confused looks. No one answered.
Surprisingly, it was Maester Luwin who responded again.
"The Weirwood in Winterfell has grown many new buds in recent years," he said. "More than usual. The godswood also seems livelier."
Manny nodded. "Weirwoods are not simple trees. They are tied to the old gods and to magic itself. If they are changing, then the world is changing. Magic is returning."
The word "magic" felt strange spoken aloud. It sounded like a whisper from a dream, or a warning carved into stone.
Roose Bolton raised an eyebrow. "Magic is for songs."
"Dragons," Manny said calmly, "were once only in songs. Then the Targaryens came."
Lord Hornwood frowned. "But dragons are dead."
"For now," Manny replied.
Umber scoffed, but not as confidently as before. "And you expect us to fear stories?"
"I expect you to understand," Manny said, "that the world is shifting. Magic is waking and it will bring other things. Dragons. The children of the forest. And White Walkers."
A shiver moved through the room.
Ned watched his bannermen carefully. Many of them looked uneasy. Some frightened. Others simply in disbelief. But all were listening now.
The White Walkers were not tales in the books of old. They were monsters whispered about in hearth stories. Some maesters dismissed them as myths. But the First Men carved their memories into stone and weirwood.
Manny let his gaze sweep across them. His voice dropped lower, but it carried to every ear.
"The dead are not meant to walk," he said. "But they will."
Lord Manderly's hand trembled ever so slightly on the table. "If this is true," he murmured, "the North must be ready."
Karstark shook his head. "Ready? How do we prepare for legends?"
Ned finally stepped forward, standing beside Manny.
"With truth," Ned said. "With unity. With strength. And with the North standing together, as it always has."
His voice held the same steady resolve his father once carried.
The bannermen turned to him. Their doubts were not gone, but the first cracks in disbelief had appeared.
Greatjon Umber stood up first. "If the North faces danger," he said loudly, "House Umber stands with House Stark. Legends or not."
Lord Karstark rose more slowly. "I trust you, my lord. Even if the truth is hard to carry."
Maege Mormont nodded sharply. "The North remembers. House Mormont will fight if needed."
Even Roose Bolton inclined his head a fraction. "If danger is real, it must be met."
Only then did Ned breathe easier. He looked at Manny, who stood quietly at his side. Whatever this man truly was, he had brought truth the North needed to hear.
Ned felt the weight settle again on his shoulders. He knew the long night would not come tomorrow, nor next year. But it would come.
"Then hear me all," Ned said at last. "Winter is coming. And we will face it together."
No one disagreed.
But Manny raised another point. "Forgive me for bluntness my lords, but the North cannot defeat the dead alone."
End of Chapter 5 — Doubts