A massive horn, carved from ancient, frozen bone and flickering with a dim, ghostly blue light, floated in the mid-air of the Haunted Forest.
Surrounding it were dozens of crystalline ice pillars, ten to twelve feet tall, like jagged fangs rising from the white earth in an extremely eerie, irregular pattern. Beneath these monoliths lay the frozen, disemboweled corpses of wildlings and rangers. Their blood, spilled in sacrifice, had solidified into dark crimson ice crystals in mere seconds, catching the pale light of the eclipse.
The milk-white figures of the Others filled the gaps between the stone pillars. They stood tall and gaunt, their skin as pure white as flowing milk, clad in armor that shifted like reflections on water—some as white as fresh snow, some as black as midnight shadows, and others grey as storm clouds.
Their azure eyes burned coldly like profound ice, their gaze fixed on the center of the ceaseless, swirling black clouds. There, a pair of incredibly deep, ancient eyes, exuding a primal, suffocating terror gradually materialized in the frost.
A sudden, howling wind rose. The falling snowflakes transformed into whistling daggers, flying toward a black raven perched on one of the stone pillars. It was a bird possessed by the warging mind of the Young Wolf, trying to spy on the dark congregation.
But warmth was an insult to this place. The moment the bird attempted to take flight, the cold claimed it. Its feathers and flesh instantly froze, vaporizing into a fine mist of ice, and its bones crumbled into grey dust before they could even hit the snow.
In the King's Tower of Castle Black, Robb Stark trembled violently. A pained, guttural roar escaped his throat as he rolled off his chair, clutching his temples.
"The Great Other... the God of Night and Terror has woken," Robb gasped, his face pale as he struggled to breathe. "He is in the Ghost Shadow Forest. The magic... the Horn of Winter is being restored."
"Prepare for battle!"
Jon Snow, standing nearby, reached down to help his brother back into his chair. He offered a bitter, weary smile. "Prepare for battle? How, Robb? We have the steel, but we cannot man a wall that stretches for 300 miles. If that horn truly has the power to bring down the ice, holding our ground is just waiting for our graves to be dug."
Jon knew the reality. To march their garrison into the Haunted Forest was suicide; the cold alone would do the Others' work before a single sword was drawn.
Clatter. Clatter.
The door was pushed open, and Samwell Tarly's plump frame squeezed into the room, his breath coming in ragged, white gasps. "Jon... they're here. A massive column... coming from the south."
"Who is it?" Jon asked.
Sam handed over a Myrish spyglass. "The Vale. Thousands of them."
Jon took the glass and ran to the top of the Spear Tower. The cold wind lashed his face, but he ignored it, raising the lens to his eye. Across the snow-covered expanse of the King's Road, a massive black python of steel was winding its way toward the castle.
Sky-blue banners whipped in the wind, bearing the white Falcon and Crescent Moon of House Arryn. At the head of the column, riding a magnificent destrier, was Bronze Yohn Royce, his ancient rune-etched plate armor reflecting the pale winter sun. Following him were the lords of the Regency - Waynwood, Redfort, and Hunter leading a vanguard of 10,000 elite cavalry.
"Sam!" Jon shouted down the wooden ladder. "Tell Bowen Marsh to open the cellars and prep the stables! Black Castle is about to get very crowded."
Harrenhal. The Sunstone Tower.
Sansa Stark looked down at the child cradled in her arms. The baby had the solemn, grey eyes of Winterfell and the thick, dark hair of Karhold, with none of the Tully red. He was a true son of the North, his tiny hands clutching at her silver-trimmed bodice as he drank.
Thump. Thump.
The door opened, and the towering shield-maiden, Brienne of Tarth, stepped into the nursery. "My Lady, a raven has arrived from Sisterton. Lord Eddard's fleet has returned from Pentos. He is heading for the castle."
Sansa's face lit up with a radiant, long-absent joy. "He's coming home, Brienne? Truly?"
She looked down at her son, her heart swelling. She could not wait to show Eddard their child, and to reveal the impossible, miraculous news that Robb had returned from the dead.
"How are the levies gathering?" Sansa asked, adjusting her black wool cloak.
"The Vale has done its duty, My Lady," Brienne reported. "Following Lord Robert's decree, the six regent houses have mobilized 10,000 elite cavalry. They've already reached Castle Black to reinforce the Lord Commander."
"And the West?"
"20,000 infantry have assembled at the Golden Tooth," Brienne said, her voice dropping. "They are commanded by the shield-maiden Dita Calandre, Ser Podrick Paine, and the Karstark captains. But they refuse to march without Lord Eddard's personal command. They say they are his veterans, and they will only follow the Sunburst."
Sansa offered a soft, understanding smile. "They are loyal to their King, Brienne. I do not blame them. What of the Riverlands?"
"Tytos Blackwood, Jason Mallister, and Earl Vance have already marched their vanguards north," Brienne said. "The other houses are waiting for the Reach's grain. Lord Wyman's transport ships are currently moving the Tyrell indemnity along the coast, and Stannis is preparing to resettle our starving smallfolk in the fertile lands of the Mander. It is a slow process, but the roads are being kept clear of snow."
Sansa nodded. Eddard's grand design was working; even in his absence, the silent engine of his alliances was keeping the realm alive.
ROOOOO-AAAR.
A primordial, earth-shaking roar suddenly shattered the silence of the afternoon. The leaded windows of the Sunstone Tower rattled in their frames. The infant in Sansa's arms stopped nursing, letting out a sharp, frightened wail.
Sansa's eyes went wide. She had never heard a sound so loud, so full of ancient, terrifying heat.
"Brienne! Secure the gates!" Sansa commanded, her voice regaining its queenly steel. "Tell Ygritte to keep the giants and the Free Folk calm! Alert the wall guards and get the ballistas spanned!"
Brienne drew her sword, her face grim as she sprinted from the chamber. She ran into the courtyard, her boots kicking up the slush, and looked up at the sky.
High above the black ruins of the Wailing Tower, a massive shadow was circling through the clouds. Viserion, his silver-white scales flecked with gold, spread his wings and let out a second roar that silenced every hound in the castle.
Riding atop the dragon's neck, his smooth, hairless head reflecting the sun, was the King of the West and the Regent of the Trident.
Eddard Karstark had returned.
[System Notification: The Vanguard of the East arrives.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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