At night, the godswood felt even older. Moonlight pooled in the hollows between roots, and the red leaves hung still as if listening. Howland Reed led them without a lamp. He moved in the dark with ease, moving with the ease of a man for whom the dark held no secrets.
When they reached the clearing, Howland stopped before the heart tree and turned. "The south claims they hold the language of vows," he said. "They think knighthood belongs to their Faith, their gods. They forget there were oaths before the Andals ever set foot on this soil."
Benjen tilted his head. "Oaths to whom?"
"To the earth beneath our feet," Howland answered. "To the waters that feed the roots, the bronze that arms the hand, the iron that shapes the plow. To the fire that warms and the ice that hardens. And above all, to the gods who are not seven but countless: the spirits in leaf and stream and stone."
Howland set down a leather bundle and unwrapped it on a flat stone. Inside lay three bronze bands, a clay cup, a river pebble flecked with iron, a shard of clear ice sealed in waxed linen, and a twist of dried moss bound with horsehair.
Benjen's voice came out soft and laced with awe. "You brought a whole altar in your cloak."
Howland almost smiled. "The North learned to carry its altars when septs began to rise." He looked to Lyanna, then to Dacey. "I have not spoken plain until now. You know the Green Men as a story. They are not only a story. We went into the Neck when the Andals burned our groves, but we remained. We learned to keep the old vows without pageant or song. We kept them alive."
Lyanna's breath caught. "You are one of them."
"I was sworn at Greywater at fifteen," Howland answered. "I have kept the oath since. Tonight, if you wish to bind yourselves, I can help you do so."
Dacey studied him with new weight. "And if we take this on, we carry it past tonight."
"You carry it until you can no longer stand," Howland said. "Or until the trees you guard no longer need guarding."
Lyanna stepped forward. "Then teach us."
He nodded once. "Kneel."
They knelt on the damp earth. The smell of leaf mold rose around them. Howland dipped the cup into a shallow runnel where dark water moved under roots. He lifted the pebble and let them see the iron glitter in it. He unwrapped the ice and set it on the stone so the breath of cold night air would keep it whole a little longer. He touched the twist of moss and horsehair as if greeting an old friend, then struck a piece of flint to set it alight.
"The South names knights with oil and swords," he said. "We name with what was here before names. Repeat after me, and mean it."
He wet his fingers in the runnel and marked a line of cold water across each brow. "I swear by earth and water."
They repeated it. The words seemed to sink into the ground.
He set the iron-speckled pebble against each shoulder. "By bronze and iron."
Again they echoed him. Dacey's jaw was set, but her voice did not waver.
He lifted the little shard of ice and touched it to the crowns of their heads, then held it near the embers of a small banked fire at the tree's roots so steam rose and kissed their faces. "And by ice and fire."
Their breath fogged the air. The night pressed close.
"I will grant mercy to the weak," Howland said, "help to the helpless, and justice to all."
They spoke the promise together. It fit the mouth strangely and then settled.
"I will never fail the old gods."
The last line went into the leaves and did not come back.
Howland straightened. "Now hear me, and mark this part." His voice changed; it was not louder, only deeper. "The Green Men serve quietly. We do not court banners or songs. We watch. We mend. We warn. We stand between axe and root where we can. We choose peace before blood, patience before pride, truth before comfort. When we must fight, we fight clean."
He set the bronze torc first to Lyanna's right shoulder, then left, then the top of her head. "Lyanna Stark. Sworn of the Green Men."
He placed the second on Dacey in the same way. "Dacey Mormont. Sworn of the Green Men."
Benjen bowed his head with a seriousness Lyanna had never seen in him. "Eddard is the dutiful one," he murmured, almost to himself, "but I can carry this much." Howland rested the torc on him. "Benjen Stark. Sworn of the Green Men."
The bronze bands were plain and cold in their hands. When Lyanna slipped hers onto her wrist, the bronze warmed to her skin.
Howland took a bit of the dried moss and ground it between his fingers, sprinkling it on the earth. "Rise," he said. "And listen to one more charge. Our order is hidden for a reason. Speak of your oath only to those who must know. Keep our signs veiled. If the helpless need shelter, shelter them. If a lie endangers root or child, break it. If a lord's will endangers the land, oppose it. We do not serve crowns. We serve what crowns stand on."
Dacey gave a small, fierce nod. "That I can do."
Benjen's mouth twisted wryly. "I suppose this means fewer pranks."
Howland's eyes warmed. "Choose better targets."
Lyanna looked up at the carved face. The sap at the corners of its eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "Will the gods answer," she asked, not sure if she wanted a sign.
"They already have," Howland said again. He knelt and pressed his palm to a root. "We are not alone. We never were."
A breeze moved through the leaves, soft as breath. Somewhere a crow called once, then twice. The sound fell into the quiet and stayed there like a seal.
Benjen rose and stood a little straighter than before. "What now," he asked.
"Now we fit your mail," Dacey said, the practical bite back in her voice. "Now we teach you how to fall without breaking your teeth. Now we make sure no strap squeaks when you ride."
Lyanna turned the torc under her fingers, feeling the shallow runes. The vow sat in her chest with a steady weight. It did not feel like a chain. It felt like a spine.
"Thank you," she said to Howland.
He shook his head. "Do not thank me. Keep it. That is thanks enough."
They left the clearing as the moon tipped past its height. Behind them, the heart tree watched. Lyanna did not look back this time. She could feel the gaze on her shoulders and did not need to see it to know it would be there in the morning.
At the edge of the godswood, Benjen broke the hush with a crooked grin. "Sworn knights of the old gods," he said. "If Brandon learns of this, he will never stop pestering me to show him a secret handshake."
"There is no handshake," Howland sighed.
Lyanna huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. "Then let us begin," she said. "Tomorrow I ride. And I would have the old gods proud of their new knights."