In the far North.
The Shadow Tower began to violently tremble.
Crack... crack...
A withered, rotting hand violently thrust out from beneath the thick snow!
Followed immediately by a second, a third, a tenth, a hundredth!
Thousands upon tens of thousands!
Countless corpses that had been slumbering beneath the freezing earth simultaneously ripped open their piercing, icy blue eyes!
From the snow, from the deep, pitch-black fissures in the glaciers... they crawled out one after another.
Among them were corpses clad in the heavy black cloaks of the Night's Watch, corpses draped in savage Wildling furs, and even the impossibly massive corpses of long-extinct ancient Giants!
They possessed absolutely no thought, no pain.
Only a single, absolute will drove them forward.
South!
South!
South!
Even further away, near Hardhome, far north of the Wall.
The exact same apocalyptic scene was playing out on an infinitely more terrifying scale.
The blackened, freezing earth was violently torn apart.
An impossibly dense horde of corpses, exactly like a swarm of locusts violently erupting straight out of hell, completely blanketed absolutely everything in sight!
One hundred thousand!
Five hundred thousand!
One million!
A full million wights violently converging into a bottomless, endless ocean of pure death!
They didn't make a single sound.
The entire world was filled only with the heavy crack, crack of grinding bones and the chaotic, overlapping thunder of dead footsteps.
They marched aggressively across frozen rivers and scaled heavily sheer mountains.
Wherever they passed, absolutely everything withered and died, the very air permanently tainted by the suffocating, freezing chill of the grave.
This apocalyptic army forged entirely of death violently rolled toward the Riverlands in the South!
---
King's Landing.
The Tower of the Hand.
Lynn slowly opened his eyes.
He could actively, physically feel it—his massive, apocalyptic army had finally awakened.
Excellent.
Lynn walked to the heavy oak table and casually rang the small bell.
Moments later.
The Commander of the Gold Cloaks aggressively marched in.
"My Lord!"
"Assemble every single Gold Cloak," Lynn's voice was dead calm. "Thirty-one thousand, four hundred men. Not a single man less."
The Commander's body violently jolted, his face heavily plastered with predatory excitement.
"Yes, My Lord! Are we actively marching right now to violently chop off that heretic Stannis's head?!"
"No." Lynn slowly shook his head.
He walked directly to the massive map, tapping a single finger dead onto Winterfell in the North.
"You will take Joffrey, board every single available warship, and violently strip King's Landing of absolutely every ounce of wealth you can physically carry."
"Sail directly to White Harbor. There are people actively waiting for you there."
The Commander's violent excitement permanently froze on his face.
He stared at Lynn with his eyes practically bulging out of his skull in absolute, paralyzed disbelief.
"Wh... what?"
"My Lord, you mean... we are actively abandoning King's Landing?"
He was completely, utterly mind-blown.
Stannis's apocalyptic army was literally about to aggressively siege the city, and instead of mounting a violent defense, they were actively fleeing with the King?
What the actual fuck was this? Absolute cowardice before the battle even began?
Lynn slowly turned around. He looked at the Commander's completely brain-dead expression, absolutely refusing to waste a single syllable explaining.
Because Northern brains were notoriously, rigidly dense.
"This is an absolute order."
"You are only required to flawlessly execute it."
"Yes! My Lord!"
The Commander aggressively dropped his head and violently sprinted straight out of the hall.
Lynn watched his retreating back, a highly toxic, ruthless smirk violently hooking the corner of his mouth.
King's Landing?
This permanently filthy, heavily rotting city—whoever the fuck wanted it could have it.
He was going to actively, completely vacuum up every single asset belonging to his faction, leaving Stannis a massive, apocalyptic inheritance.
A massive horde of heavily fanatic believers of the Seven.
Let him aggressively box it out with the gods!
He genuinely wondered if Stannis would actually, violently butcher that mob of psychotic zealots.
If he actually did, it would be apocalyptically entertaining.
Not only would it entirely eradicate the religious faction and flawlessly pave Lynn's own path to absolute power, but it would also instantly hand Lynn the absolute perfect, undeniable casus belli to violently deploy his army and completely annihilate Stannis.
An absolutely flawless, multi-layered trap.
It all entirely depended on exactly how Stannis decided to play the game.
Right at that exact second.
A guard violently scrambled and crawled straight into the hall.
"My Lord!"
"Lady Margaery of House Tyrell and Brienne of Tarth are actively requesting an audience outside the doors!"
"They look... absolutely devastated!"
Lynn's eyebrow slowly arched.
They arrived surprisingly fast.
"Bring them in."
The absolute second the words left his mouth.
A petite silhouette aggressively burst through the heavy doors.
It was undeniably Margaery Tyrell.
Her highly ornate silk dress had been violently shredded into absolute rags, heavily caked in freezing mud and thick blood.
Her flawlessly beautiful face was completely covered in grime, her hair a chaotic mess, making her look exactly like a completely broken war refugee.
"My Lord!"
The absolute second Margaery saw Lynn, her desperately determined eyes violently overflowed with heavy tears.
She couldn't physically hold on for another fraction of a second; her legs completely gave out, and she heavily collapsed toward the stone floor.
Right behind her, Brienne's reflexes were instantaneous, aggressively catching her before she hit the dirt.
"Lord Lynn! Please! I absolutely beg of you, save me!"
Margaery desperately gripped Brienne's armored arm, violently sobbing toward Lynn.
"My father has completely lost his goddamn mind! He is actively forcing me to marry Stannis! The exact bastard who violently murdered Renly!"
"I absolutely refuse to marry him! I genuinely prefer death!"
"And my brother! Loras has also been violently captured by Stannis! Please, you have to save him!"
Lynn slowly closed the distance, staring down at the heavily sobbing, completely broken girl.
"Get up."
"Now that you are absolutely here with me, not a single person in this world can violently touch you."
Margaery stared up at him in absolute, paralyzed silence, her heavy tears violently spilling even faster.
She was incredibly, highly intelligent; she perfectly understood the exact, lethal implication of Lynn's words.
Lynn was absolutely willing to personally protect her.
But as for House Tyrell, Lynn had completely, permanently abandoned them.
He had explicitly drawn the line. Lynn had already been unfathomably lenient with House Tyrell.
It was their own absolute failure to firmly grasp the golden opportunity he provided.
Lynn didn't waste another syllable on her.
His dead gaze heavily swept across the three women standing in shock in the corner of the hall.
Lyanna, Sansa, and Margaery.
"King's Landing is about to become an absolute, apocalyptic warzone."
"It is permanently unsafe here."
Lynn's dead gaze heavily locked onto each of their faces.
"Pack absolutely everything. You are coming with me."
The three women didn't speak, offering absolute, silent nods.
"Sandor, you will actively protect Varys, and then violently extract yourselves alongside the Gold Cloaks."
"Remember this absolutely: aggressively vacuum up every single drop of Wildfire buried beneath King's Landing. Do not leave Stannis a single fucking jar!"
Lynn heavily shifted his gaze to Melisandre.
"Melisandre, you are with me. Mount the dragon."
"Yes, My Lord," Melisandre replied with absolute, religious reverence.
Lynn actively led the four women straight out of the Tower of the Hand, stepping directly into the absolute largest, most cavernous courtyard of the Red Keep.
He slowly raised his head, locking his eyes on the sky, and let out a piercing, heavy whistle.
The absolute next fraction of a second.
An apocalyptic, deafening dragon roar violently detonated from above the heavy cloud cover!
The absolute entirety of King's Landing violently shook and trembled beneath that roar!
An impossibly massive, pitch-black shadow aggressively ripped straight through the clouds, violently plummeting from the sky with the absolute, unstoppable momentum of a literal apocalypse!
BOOM!
The colossal dragon violently slammed into the stone courtyard, aggressively kicking up a massive, blinding shockwave of dust and debris!
Every single guard and servant in the courtyard completely lost their fucking minds, aggressively dropping straight to their knees in sheer, paralyzed terror!
Sansa was already completely, numbly accustomed to it.
But for Brienne, this was the absolute first time physically witnessing a literal, mythological dragon up close!
Every single drop of blood violently drained from her face, her massive legs aggressively turning to jelly. She practically couldn't stand, her absolute primal instincts forcing her to violently rip her heavy longsword from its scabbard.
The dragon, Winter, completely refused to give a single flying fuck about the "brave" woman drawing steel on him, simply because to him, she was pathetically, unfathomably tiny...
"Mount up."
Lynn flawlessly, aggressively vaulted straight onto the dragon's massive back, extending a heavy hand down to the women below.
Lyanna and Sansa were the first to violently snap out of it. With Lynn's absolute physical strength pulling them, they awkwardly, heavily scrambled up the scales.
Melisandre flawlessly followed right behind them.
Margaery violently gritted her teeth and aggressively hauled herself up.
She pressed herself completely flat against Lynn's massive back. Only when she physically felt the heavy, absolute warmth radiating from him did the apocalyptic terror in her chest finally begin to dissolve.
Brienne stood entirely, completely frozen on the stone.
"My Lord, I absolutely will not—"
"You are mounting up, too." Lynn aggressively cut her off.
"You actively saved Margaery. I will absolutely repay that favor. You are strictly forbidden from dying right now."
Brienne's entire massive frame violently locked up.
She shot a heavy look at Margaery clinging to the dragon's back, and ultimately, absolutely chose ironclad obedience.
The colossal dragon let out a heavy, vibrating rumble, violently unfurling its apocalyptic wings, aggressively preparing to launch into the sky.
Right at that exact second.
Lynn's dead gaze heavily swept across a deeply shadowed corner of the courtyard.
He saw her.
Cersei Lannister, standing absolutely alone in the freezing shadows of the corridor.
She hadn't aggressively dropped to her knees like the pathetic servants, nor had she violently fled in terror.
She just stood there in dead silence, her eyes locked onto Lynn sitting atop the dragon, heavily watching the flock of women clustered around him.
There wasn't a single ounce of toxic jealousy on her face, nor any violent rage.
There was absolutely only... an indescribable, profound, apocalyptic desolation.
The massive, violent hurricane generated by the dragon's wings aggressively whipped her flawless golden hair into chaos.
Lynn stared dead at her.
"Cersei."
His lethally calm voice flawlessly pierced straight through the roaring wind.
Cersei's body violently, imperceptibly shuddered.
She slowly raised her head, locking eyes with the absolutely god-like man towering above her.
Lynn kept his dead gaze locked on hers, slowly, methodically opening his mouth.
"What the actual fuck are you standing there for? Get up here."