The Wall, which had stood frozen and silent for thousands of years, was suddenly becoming warm.
Snow that had accumulated for months melted rapidly, streams of water running down the ancient ice. The strange weather unsettled everyone. Combined with the recent attack by the Others, it left a heavy sense of dread hanging over Castle Black.
Faced with such bizarre circumstances, Tywin Lannister had little choice but to break camp and continue his march south.
Although he commanded an army of six thousand men, fewer than three hundred horses remained available for riding. The vast majority of his soldiers were infantry, and the amount of supplies they could transport was severely limited.
The events of the past few days had also changed the Night's Watch.
Before the attack, many brothers had considered abandoning their vows and leaving with Tywin. After witnessing the horrors beyond the Wall, however, their resolve returned.
The number of men willing to remain at Castle Black rose from only a few dozen to more than two hundred.
Some stayed out of fear.
Others stayed because they remembered their oaths.
Regardless of the reason, they had chosen to stand once more upon the front line of humanity's defense.
Benjen Stark and the senior officers of the Night's Watch accepted them back without hesitation.
Under normal circumstances, abandoning the Watch was punishable by death.
Once a man swore his vows, there was no turning back.
But these were not normal times.
The Others had returned.
Humanity itself faced extinction.
Compared to that threat, strict adherence to rules seemed insignificant.
In Benjen's eyes, any man who found the courage to return and defend the Wall deserved another chance.
Tywin did not interfere with the decision.
In truth, he welcomed it.
Had Castle Black been left with too few defenders, he had even considered forcing some men to remain behind.
After witnessing the attack firsthand, he no longer felt comfortable leaving his rear completely exposed.
Before departing, he took most of the ravens with him but left behind ten horses and a portion of supplies.
It was not much.
Still, it gave the remaining brothers a chance to survive and preserved their ability to contact the kingdoms for aid.
The Night's Watch also faced another urgent matter.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was dead.
The Watch required new leadership immediately.
Thus, the election for the Nine Hundred and Ninety-Eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was held without delay.
The result was decisive.
Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, received one hundred and sixty-three votes.
Qhorin Halfhand received twenty-six.
However, midway through the election, Qhorin withdrew his candidacy and publicly cast his vote for Benjen.
Even Mormont's raven seemed to support the decision, repeatedly croaking Benjen's name during the proceedings.
The remaining candidates quickly stepped aside.
Bowen Marsh withdrew.
Dennis Mallister withdrew.
Othell Yarwyck withdrew.
There was no further contest.
Benjen Stark became the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, commander of Castle Black, and supreme leader of the Watch.
Before Tywin departed, Benjen offered one final warning.
Standing atop the Wall as the newly elected Lord Commander, he looked directly at the Lion of Lannister.
"I will report your actions truthfully to the king, Tywin Lannister. If you abandon this course now, there is still time."
Mounted upon his horse, Tywin looked down at him calmly.
"To my knowledge," Tywin replied, "there is more than one man claiming to be king at the moment."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Which king exactly do you serve?"
The question was meant as mockery.
Benjen remained unmoved.
"King Robert Baratheon named his heir before his death. There is nothing unclear about that."
Tywin snorted.
"That bastard?"
The Lannisters had crossed paths with Karl countless times. His influence had become an unavoidable obstacle in nearly every major event.
Tywin knew exactly whom Benjen meant.
"I hope he's still alive to answer your call for help."
With that, Tywin turned away.
The killing intent hidden within his heart remained suppressed.
Without another word, he led his army south toward Last Hearth.
Two days later, the Lannister host arrived at its destination.
The location was a dense forest within the New Gift, positioned along the route connecting Castle Black and Last Hearth.
The Gift itself consisted of two regions: Brandon's Gift and the New Gift.
Together they stretched fifty leagues south of the Wall and covered a vast expanse of land.
To the east lay rolling plains that extended toward the Shivering Sea.
To the west rose forests, hills, and mountains that reached all the way to the Bay of Ice.
Long ago, these lands had been granted permanently to the Night's Watch.
Villages and settlements paid taxes in labor, crops, and goods to support the Watch.
Yet as the Watch declined, so too did the Gift.
Without sufficient manpower, fields were abandoned.
Wildling raids became increasingly common.
Entire communities disappeared.
Many families fled south, leaving behind empty villages and crumbling manors.
The village Tywin now observed was one such place.
Abandoned.
Silent.
Perfect for an ambush.
According to intelligence gathered from Roose Bolton, a patrol from House Umber would pass through the area and camp there for the night.
Tywin's luck proved exceptionally favorable.
Soon after arriving, his men captured a local hunter gathering supplies before winter.
The frightened man unknowingly confirmed that Umber riders were indeed traveling toward the village.
After scouts verified the information, Tywin finalized his plans.
This battle was crucial.
No survivors could be allowed to escape.
The hunter therefore never left the forest alive.
As evening approached, tension spread throughout the Lannister camp.
Hundreds of soldiers waited silently among the trees.
Weapons were checked.
Armor straps tightened.
Every man prepared himself.
Then, at last, the enemy appeared.
A small cavalry detachment rode down the road.
Their banner displayed the sigil of House Umber—a giant roaring beneath a fiery red field.
Tywin watched patiently.
The riders inspected the village.
Finding no signs of danger, they began establishing camp.
Cooking fires were lit.
Armor was removed.
Horses were fed.
The Umbers relaxed.
That was precisely what Tywin had been waiting for.
When smoke began rising from their campfires, he raised a hand.
The signal.
Kevan Lannister immediately drew his sword.
"Forward!"
A war horn sounded through the forest.
Hundreds of Lannister infantry surged from concealment.
At the same time, thunderous hoofbeats echoed from the road.
The remaining Lannister cavalry charged from a secondary position, cutting off any possibility of escape.
The infantry advanced rapidly.
Though slower than mounted troops, they quickly sealed every entrance and exit to the village.
The Umber riders were caught completely off guard.
Most had already removed their armor.
Only a handful remained mounted.
Panic erupted.
Men scrambled for weapons.
Others rushed toward their horses.
None of it mattered.
Tywin had deployed overwhelming force.
Three hundred attackers against fewer than thirty dismounted cavalrymen.
A lion used its full strength even when hunting rabbits.
The battle was swift.
Brutal.
Decisive.
Within minutes, resistance collapsed.
By the time Tywin entered the village, the fighting was already over.
Bodies lay scattered across blood-soaked ground.
Campfires still burned.
The smell of food mixed with the stench of death.
Scouts soon returned.
"No survivors within five leagues, my lord."
Only then did Tywin relax.
The operation had succeeded perfectly.
Nearby, soldiers gathered the corpses and searched for valuables.
Tywin observed everything with his usual cold indifference.
Victory brought him no joy.
It was simply another step toward survival.
Then Kevan approached.
Four soldiers followed behind him carrying a particularly large corpse.
Tywin frowned.
Something about the scene immediately drew his attention.
Kevan stepped aside.
"Tywin."
His voice was unusually serious.
"It appears one of the dead was the heir to Last Hearth."
Tywin's eyes narrowed.
Kevan gestured toward the body.
"They identified him as Smalljon Umber, eldest son of Greatjon Umber."
Silence followed.
Tywin studied the corpse.
Even in death, the young warrior appeared massive.
Nearly seven feet tall.
Two broken spears protruded from his chest.
Blood covered his face.
His eyes remained open, staring toward the darkening sky.
"Roose Bolton neglected to mention this," Kevan said quietly.
Tywin understood immediately.
Roose Bolton had hidden the information deliberately.
Killing ordinary cavalrymen was one thing.
Killing the heir of House Umber was something else entirely.
The consequences would be far greater.
As sunset painted the sky purple and blue, Tywin finally looked away.
His expression remained cold.
"We don't have time to waste."
His voice carried no emotion.
"The Others have brought an unnatural summer to the North."
He turned toward his commanders.
"We move at first light."
His eyes hardened.
"Last Hearth will be our next target."
Far to the south, another army was preparing to march.
At the Dreadfort, thousands of Bolton soldiers gathered beneath their banners.
Robb Stark had called his bannermen to arms in his father's name.
Because of distance, only House Bolton was required to move immediately.
Other northern houses would remain in their territories until further orders arrived.
To avoid provoking suspicion, Robb specifically requested that Roose bring only a modest force.
Roose interpreted that instruction generously.
His army numbered two thousand five hundred men.
Two thousand infantry.
Five hundred cavalry.
Hardly a small force.
Standing upon the walls of the Dreadfort, Ramsay Snow watched the preparations with a faint smile.
His pale eyes glittered with cruelty.
Footsteps approached.
Roose Bolton stopped beside him.
The Lord of the Dreadfort appeared calm as ever.
His voice was soft enough that Ramsay had to listen carefully.
"Manage the castle while I'm away."
"Follow my instructions."
Ramsay bowed immediately.
"Of course, Father."
Roose studied his bastard son carefully.
He understood Ramsay's nature better than anyone.
Unpredictable.
Violent.
Dangerous.
Yet the Dreadfort needed an heir.
For now, Ramsay was the only option.
"Do what you're told," Roose continued.
"Nothing more."
Ramsay smiled.
A dangerous smile.
His gaze shifted toward the castle behind them.
"And what about our guest?"
Roose's expression remained unchanged.
His pale eyes grew colder.
"I need him alive."
A brief pause followed.
"But no one else must learn of his existence."
Ramsay nodded.
"I understand."
Satisfied, Roose adjusted his cloak and departed.
His army awaited.
Ramsay watched him leave.
The smile never left his face.
Instead, it slowly widened.
His eyes became colder than winter itself.
"I don't believe we've ever collected Lannister skins before."
At his feet, a hunting hound growled softly.
Sharp teeth gleamed in the fading light.
Ramsay chuckled.
"It seems we may finally have the opportunity."
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)