The Haunted Forest loomed in the distance like a towering, frozen tomb, its ancient pines choked by a thick, white mist. Today, that mist was alive. From the dark depths of the treeline, the dead crawled out in numbers that defied comprehension.
The once-empty wilderness was now a churning sea of ice-blue eyes. Thousands of cold, silent figures moved swiftly through the snow drifts, their movements jerky but relentless. They wore the tattered rags of wildlings and the rusted mail of long-dead rangers, their limbs pierced by jagged shards of bone and their flesh coated in a pale, glittering frost.
Jon Snow, standing at the base of the Wall's massive tunnel, felt his chest tighten. He pulled on the reins of his horse, whispering soft, urgent words to soothe the panicked beast, but his eyes never left the horizon.
He could not give the order to charge. To ride out now would be suicide.
The stench of the dead carried on the wind, a heavy, suffocating slurry of rotting flesh, old blood, frozen mud, and the chemical bite of decay. It was enough to turn the strongest stomach. Beside him, Ghost shifted his weight, his red eyes fixed on the black tide. The direwolf let out a low, vibrating growl, his nostrils twitching as he tried to catch a familiar scent amidst the overwhelming stink of the graves.
Behind Jon, the Lannister guardsmen and the newly recruited rangers stood in the shadow of the gate, their hands white-knuckled on their spears. They had spent weeks hearing stories of the dead, but seeing the sheer scale of the horde turned their blood to ice.
"Get the oil ready!" Jon commanded, his voice tight. "And prepare the Wildfire at the gates!"
He ground his teeth, remembering his discussions with Eddard Karstark back in Harrenhal. Eddard had always been pragmatic: You don't fight a horde of a hundred thousand in the open, Jon. You use the stone. You use the pitch. You let the fire do the work of a thousand swords.
But the fire was a temporary shield.
The sun was dipping below the edge of the ice, throwing long, bloody shadows across the snow. Amidst the thousands of shuffling wights, two riders were desperately cutting their way toward the gate.
Bringing up the rear was a tall, silent figure in the black of a ranger. He rode a massive, lumbering elk, a beast that did not breathe, its own eyes glowing with the pale blue light of the wights. Yet, the rider fought the dead, his ancient, rune-carved sword whistling through the air to sever frost-bitten heads with a terrifying, unnatural strength.
But it was the second rider who made Jon's heart stop.
Riding a grey-black direwolf that had grown larger than a draft horse was a young man with auburn hair and the clear blue eyes of House Tully. His face was pale and weathered, lined with a profound, bone-deep weariness, but the features were unmistakable.
Jon's breath caught in his throat. His fingers locked onto the pommel of Longclaw so tightly his joints popped.
Robb?
The grey-black wolf - Grey Wind, grown to monstrous proportions, let out a massive, rumbling roar that echoed off the Wall, his golden eyes locking onto Ghost.
Jon felt the world spinning. The letters from Winterfell, the tears of Sansa, the empty crypts, they had all told him Robb was dead, swallowed by a kraken at Sea Dragon Point. Yet here he was, riding out of the Haunted Forest like a ghost made flesh.
"Light it!" Jaime Lannister's voice shattered Jon's paralysis. The Kingslayer was already on his feet, his green eyes wide with a rare, visceral panic as he saw the wights closing in on the riders. "For fuck's sake, throw the torch!"
Dolorous Edd didn't wait. He cast his torch into the pre-prepared trench at the entrance of the tunnel.
WHOOSH.
A brilliant, emerald wall of Wildfire roared into the sky, forming a blazing crescent of green flame that cut the courtyard off from the wilderness. The heat was instantaneous, scorching the frost from the stone. The first few wights to step into the trench were instantly vaporized, turning to fine grey ash before they could take a third step.
The horde stopped. The thousands of blue eyes stared through the green wall of fire, waiting.
The rider on the elk turned west, guiding his beast along the base of the Wall to find another path, but the rider on the great wolf rode straight toward the smoking gatehouse.
Robb Stark pulled down his hood, a gentle, tired smile on his face. "Long time no see, Jon."
Jon did not return the smile. He drew Longclaw, the Valyrian steel catching the green reflection of the fire. He pointed the blade directly at the man's throat.
"Revert to your true form," Jon commanded, his voice shaking with a dangerous, unstable rage. "I don't know what kind of demon, or warlock, or skinchanger you are. But take my brother's face off, or I will carve it off myself!"
"Jon, it's me," Robb said softly, patting Grey Wind's neck to keep the wolf from lunging at the drawn steel.
"My brother lies in the crypts of Winterfell!" Jon shouted, the tears finally spilling over his lashes. "He died in the salt water! He would never stand before me in a Crow's cloak!"
"It was Kaelen in the crypts," Robb said, his voice level and calm. A black raven landed on his shoulder, its third eye blinking in the firelight. "The son of Cayn. Do you remember Cayn, Jon?"
Jon froze.
"When the kraken took me under the water, I thought I was dead," Robb explained, his grey eyes searching Jon's. "But I woke in the dark. It was a suffocating, narrow space that smelled of old salt and dead fish. I was inside the belly of a leviathan, a giant sea beast. There were walls of soft flesh and strange, glowing moss. I survived on the fish in the hold, alongside Grey Wind and this raven, until the beast washed ashore near the Frostfangs."
Jon's hand began to tremble. It was a madman's story, but the direwolf Grey Wind was looking at Ghost with an ancient, familial affection.
"You say you are Robb," Jon whispered, his voice cracking. "Prove it. Tell me something only my brother would know."
Robb offered a soft, reminiscent smile. "Do you remember the winter before Father went south? We had a heavy snow, and the battlements of the Great Keep were packed with ice. We hid above the stables and pushed a massive pile of snow right onto Cayn's head as he passed."
Jon's breath hitched.
"Father was furious," Robb continued, his eyes warm with the memory. "He made us apologize to Cayn in front of the entire yard, and then he ordered us to clear every inch of snow from the inner walls. Kaelen was the only one who helped us. He brought us hot cider when our hands were blue."
Jon looked at the man, the doubt in his heart melting away like snow before the fire. He sheathed Longclaw with a heavy, ringing clack.
"You always did hate the shovel, Robb," Jon said, his voice thick with tears.
Robb laughed, a sound Jon hadn't heard in years. "And you always did the work of three men just to keep me out of trouble."
Jon spurred his horse forward, reaching out to grasp his brother's shoulder. "Welcome back, brother."
[System Notification: Legendary Resurrection Event: Robb Stark's Return.]
[Identity Verified: Robb Stark (Living/The True Three-Eyed Raven).]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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