As it turned out, human flesh was incredibly susceptible to superheated plasma. Before Roman even needed to increase the voltage of his Pale Flame, the surviving wildlings spilled every piece of intelligence they possessed.
They confirmed the overarching strategy. A small raiding force would flank Castle Black from the south as a distraction, while Mance Rayder's main host would assault the Wall directly from the north.
Lord Eddard and Lord Commander Mormont stared at the tactical map in deep bewilderment.
"Why are the Free Folk so desperate to breach the Wall right now?" Ned asked. "Mance Rayder was once a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. He knows the martial strength of the Seven Kingdoms. He should not be attempting a siege this reckless."
Roman pointed a gauntleted finger at the map, highlighting the crux of the issue. "They are not attacking out of ambition, Lord Eddard. They are attacking because something far worse is driving them south."
"For example, the White Walkers."
Ned stared at Roman in sheer disbelief. "The Others? Do not be ridiculous, Lord Roman. Even the children in the North no longer believe those old bedtime stories. They have not been seen in eight thousand years."
Before the Warden of the North could finish his dismissal, Roman casually tapped one of the demonic horns protruding from his skull.
"Lord Eddard, if a magical freak of nature like myself can exist in this era, is it truly impossible for the Others to return?"
Roman let the silence hang for a moment before offering a more grounded alternative. "Even if it is not the White Walkers, a cataclysmic winter is approaching. The long summer has lasted for years. The maesters of the Citadel predict the coming winter will be devastatingly brutal. They are fleeing the cold."
This logical explanation immediately won the agreement of Ned Stark and the Old Bear. It made perfect sense that the wildlings would risk annihilation against the Wall if extreme cold threatened to wipe them out entirely.
Just then, Fili burst into the command tent, her breath pluming in the freezing air.
"Lord Roman! I have discovered a suspicious owl observing our camp!"
Roman noticed the fine ice crystals clinging to the girl's blonde hair and eyebrows. He grabbed a warm towel from the hearth and gently wiped her face.
"Catch your breath, Fili. Explain the situation clearly."
"Thank you, my lord. But there is no time! An owl has been hovering near the perimeter for the past few days. It is circling back toward the haunted forest right now!"
Roman immediately followed Fili outside into the biting wind. He activated his Pale Flame Vision, scanning the darkened skies. Sure enough, he spotted an owl radiating a faint, unnatural magical heat signature.
"A skinchanger."
Roman quickly signaled for his heavy weirwood bow. He knocked a steel-tipped arrow, pulled the massive draw weight back to his cheek, and fired.
The arrow tore through the freezing air in a perfectly straight trajectory, emitting a sharp whistle as it cut through the snow.
The possessed owl clearly sensed the incoming attack and attempted a frantic dive, but it was too late. The heavy arrow cleanly pierced the bird's chest, dropping it from the sky.
Fili had already mounted her horse the moment Roman drew his bow. She reached the snowy impact site just as the dying owl hit the ground.
Before the bird's life fully faded, Fili pressed her forehead against its bloody feathers, tapping into the fading magical link.
Miles away in the Haunted Forest, Orell the skinchanger violently lost his connection to his beast. His vision went completely black, replaced only by the terrifying image of a pair of glowing blue eyes staring directly into his soul.
Orell screamed in agony, slipping and crashing face-first into the frozen mud.
Fili had pinpointed his exact location.
"My lord! There is a wildling warg hiding in the western copse of woods!"
"Lead the way, Fili. We are taking him alive."
Roman instantly signaled the Harrenhal cavalry patrols stationed near the perimeter to cast a wide net.
Knowing his position was compromised, Orell frantically ordered his small scouting party to scatter. However, running on foot through deep snow was futile against heavily armored warhorses. The Harrenhal vanguard easily ran them down.
This small group of wildlings was another forward scouting party, and only a handful survived the brutal capture to be dragged back to Castle Black.
Orell glared venomously at Fili. He knew this strange Southern girl was the one who had hijacked his magical connection and ruined his plans.
"You little Southern bitch," Orell spat bitterly. "When the King-Beyond-the-Wall breaches this gate, I will drag you into the true North and let the shadowcats feast on your bones!"
The very next second, Roman's heavy gauntlet slammed directly into Orell's face.
The skinchanger's left cheekbone shattered instantly, and a bloody mixture of teeth and spit flew into the snow.
Roman casually flicked his wrist, using a quick burst of Pale Flame to burn the wildling's blood off his steel gauntlet. He turned his glowing blue eyes to the remaining prisoners.
"You will give me Mance Rayder's exact deployment strategy, or I will slowly disassemble your skeletons while you are still breathing. Choose quickly."
Within the hour, Castle Black possessed the Free Folk's entire siege schedule and troop deployment. Roman had extracted in minutes what the Night's Watch Rangers had failed to uncover in years.
The sheer efficiency of the Harrenhal forces made Lord Eddard painfully aware of just how far the Night's Watch had fallen into decline.
Roman, however, was far more interested in the terrifying intelligence they had just gathered.
"Perhaps we should parley with Mance Rayder. We need to know exactly what he saw in the far North that made him desperate enough to unite the clans."
"A parley?" A surviving wildling sneered, his hair still standing on end from Roman's electrical torture. "Do not make me laugh, kneeler."
"Mance will never kneel to a Southern lord. He marches with a hundred thousand Free Folk. You arrogant crows will be torn to bloody pieces!"
Ned Stark firmly disagreed with Roman's diplomatic approach. "An enemy of this scale will not come to the negotiating table until you break their host on the battlefield. We must focus entirely on the defensive war."
Lord Commander Mormont agreed with the Warden of the North. The three commanders immediately began drafting their final defensive perimeters.
Fortunately, as long as the massive ice gates of Castle Black held firm, the defenders held the ultimate high ground. They only needed to repel the climbers and hold the tunnel.
"Captain," Roman addressed a Harrenhal officer. "Report on the rear guard patrols."
"The southern perimeter is completely secure, Lord Roman."
"And the flanking gates at Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower?"
"Fully reinforced with Northern heavy infantry, my lord."
"What is the status of our alchemical oil, arrows, and ballista bolts?"
"We have stockpiled enough munitions to sustain the entire vanguard for two straight months of continuous volley fire."
They were ready. As night finally fell over the Wall, a massive line of fire erupted deep within the Haunted Forest.
The wildlings emerged from the treeline. Their numbers were visibly sparse, confirming this first wave was merely a vanguard designed to test the defenses.
Lord Eddard ordered the Northern archers to step to the icy ledge and loose their arrows. However, the sheer darkness of the forest floor made aiming impossible, and the wildlings were too far below to return fire effectively.
Seeing the tactical stalemate, Roman ordered his Harrenhal engineers to deploy the newly constructed trebuchets.
Heavy wooden barrels packed with highly volatile Pale Flame oil were launched off the top of the Wall. They shattered against the frozen earth below, erupting into blinding pillars of white-hot plasma that instantly illuminated the battlefield.
With the wildling formations fully exposed in the glaring light, the Harrenhal ballista crews and Northern archers unleashed a devastating rain of steel, instantly massacring the vanguard.
Hidden deep within the treeline, Mance Rayder observed the slaughter with grim realization. The defenders' firepower was vastly superior to the standard Night's Watch arsenal. It was obvious the Southern lords had brought devastating siege engines to the Wall.
"Send in the giants," Mance ordered sharply. "Have them equip their heavy timber shields and longbows. We must break their siege weapons immediately."
Roman was currently observing the burning battlefield, analyzing the enemy's next move, when massive silhouettes suddenly emerged from the trees.
These were not the unarmored giants of Northern myth. Mance had equipped them with massive wooden tower shields, thick timber armor plating, and tree-trunk battering rams. There were nearly a dozen of them advancing on the gate.
"Something is wrong," Roman shouted over the din of battle. "Ballista crews, refocus your fire on those giants! Do not let them reach the base of the Wall!"
"Conserve the alchemical oil for the main host!"
The heavy ballistae atop the Wall swiveled downwards, firing massive iron-tipped bolts at the approaching behemoths. However, the thick timber armor the giants wore absorbed the impacts, while the giants raised their own massive weirwood bows to return fire.
Arrows the size of javelins tore through the sky, inflicting horrific damage on the defenders.
Several ballista emplacements were shattered into splinters by the giant arrows. One javelin struck a Harrenhal engineer carrying a payload of Pale Flame oil, causing a catastrophic localized explosion atop the Wall.
Roman and Ned Stark were frantically organizing bucket lines to extinguish the flames when a giant's arrow vaulted directly toward the command canopy above the inner gate.
Roman reacted with blinding speed. He swung his massive steel warhammer, deflecting the giant's arrow mid-flight, but the residual kinetic force still shattered the wooden scaffolding above their heads.
Surveying the burning wreckage and bleeding soldiers atop the Wall, Roman felt a sickening wave of panic and guilt. He had severely underestimated the physical strength and tactical adaptability of the giants.
"I was too arrogant."
Roman slammed his gauntlet against the ice wall in bitter self-reproach. He had been overly complacent following his easy victories in the South, and now his loyal men were paying the price in blood.
"Lord Roman, you must not blame yourself," Ned began to say, trying to steady the young lord.
Before Ned could finish, a Northern guardsman sprinted toward them, covered in soot.
"Lord Stark! The wooden winch elevator connecting the courtyard to the top of the Wall has caught fire! The alchemical oil spilled down the shaft!"
The situation had just become catastrophic. The defenders atop the Wall were now cut off from fresh supplies and reinforcements. Worse still, the giants had reached the base of the Wall and were using chained mammoths to rip the heavy iron outer gate off its hinges.
The siege was deteriorating far faster than in any canonical timeline, yet Lord Eddard remained a pillar of stoic Northern resolve.
"Lord Roman, even if the outer gate falls, Castle Black still stands. Our heavy infantry holds the courtyard. Even if the wildlings breach the tunnel, we will choke them on Northern steel and drive them out."
"The Free Folk have breached the Wall before, but the Starks have always thrown them back into the snow. Tonight will be no different. Maintain your composure."
Ned was tactically correct. Castle Black was a fortified choke point. The wildlings could not pour through the narrow ice tunnel all at once. They would be forced into a brutal, grinding bottleneck.
If they organized their shield walls properly in the courtyard, they would eventually win the war of attrition.
But Roman looked down at the Harrenhal soldiers being carried away by the medics. Their wounds were horrific. Severe plasma burns, shattered ribs, and missing limbs.
These were the same men who had been laughing and drinking to his health just days ago in the Riverlands. Now they were being butchered.
A terrifying surge of draconic fury ignited in Roman's chest. If the wildlings were allowed to flood into the Castle Black courtyard, the resulting melee would slaughter thousands of his men.
He possessed the raw power to hold the bottleneck himself. There was absolutely no reason to let his mortal soldiers die in his place.
"Lord Eddard! I am leaving the defense of the upper Wall in your hands! I am going down to hold the inner gate!"
"Lord Roman, what madness is this?" Ned shouted over the wind. "The winch elevator is destroyed! How will you even descend?"
To Ned Stark's utter astonishment, Roman Rivers vaulted over the edge of the seven-hundred-foot Wall.
Blinding white plasma ignited around his right hand. He punched his gauntlet directly into the sheer face of the Wall, using the magical heat to carve a molten trench through the ice, drastically slowing his terminal velocity as he plummeted toward the earth.
"Gods be good, look! What in the seven hells is that?"
The Northern infantry stationed in the Castle Black courtyard stared in awe as a blazing comet of white fire streaked down the side of the Wall, crashing into the snow with a thunderous impact.
Roman rose from the crater, completely unharmed.
"Lord Roman! How did you..." a Harrenhal captain stammered.
"Open the inner iron gate," Roman ordered, his voice echoing with unnatural, draconic distortion. "I am holding the tunnel."
The Harrenhal heavy infantry instantly realized the suicidal nature of the command. They drew their steel swords in unison.
"We march with you, my lord!"
"No! You will only hinder my destructive radius. Hold the courtyard and prepare ladders to resupply Lord Stark's men on the Wall."
The captains attempted to protest, but Roman unleashed a blinding shockwave of Pale Flame, forcing the heavily armored men to step back.
"Do not fret. I am a dragon. They are merely flesh."
Knowing they could never override their lord's absolute authority, the men quickly hauled the heavy iron inner gate open. They formed a massive shield wall just outside the tunnel, prepared to charge in and drag Roman out the moment he fell.
Roman stepped into the freezing, pitch-black tunnel under the Wall. Far at the other end, he could see the giants using heavy logs to prop the shattered outer gate open, allowing a massive horde of wildlings to pour into the passage.
The dragonseed cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The Harrenhal troops were far enough back. He no longer needed to restrain his volatile magic to protect friendly combatants.
Searing Pale Flame and crackling lightning erupted from his pores simultaneously, wreathing his towering, horned physique in a terrifying armor of pure plasma. He gripped his massive steel warhammer and charged.
The surviving soldiers would later swear that this was the exact moment they realized Roman Rivers was not a man, but a god of war. The sheer brutality of the scene would haunt their dreams for the rest of their lives.
Roman swung his warhammer into the skull of the leading wildling vanguard. The superheated steel cooked the man's brains inside his skull before the bone even had a chance to shatter.
The resulting shockwave of erupting plasma completely engulfed the wildlings charging behind him. The magical lightning chained through the tightly packed mob, causing human bodies to violently detonate from the rapid expansion of boiling blood.
In the suffocatingly narrow confines of the tunnel, Roman swung his hammer like a reaper's scythe. Every single strike turned a screaming wildling into charred ash and flying viscera.
Roman single-handedly halted the surging tide of humanity, slowly pushing the entire horde back toward the outer gate.
The wildlings eagerly rushing into the tunnel from the Haunted Forest were suddenly met with blinding flashes of lightning and the horrific sight of their comrades' severed limbs flying through the air.
The bravest wildling warriors attempted to swarm the towering demon, but the ambient heat of his plasma armor severely burned their flesh before their rusted blades could even touch him. Those lucky enough to survive the ambient heat were instantly crushed into paste by the swinging warhammer.
Complete terror seized the Free Folk. The vanguard desperately tried to turn and flee, but they violently collided with the thousands of wildlings still pushing forward from the rear, creating a horrific, crushing bottleneck in the ice tunnel.
"Run! There is a horned demon in the tunnel!"
"Stop pushing forward! Let us back out!"
"Move out of the way or we are all going to burn!"
The sacred ice passage had become an industrialized slaughterhouse, and Roman Rivers was the executioner, systematically erasing lives with every swing of his hammer.
Standing just outside the shattered outer gate, Mag the Mighty, the legendary king of the giants, immediately sensed the shift in momentum. He watched in confusion as his fierce wildling allies began scrambling out of the tunnel like terrified rats fleeing a burning ship.
Mag the Mighty grabbed a massive tree trunk and roared for his closest giant companion to follow him into the tunnel.
As the two towering behemoths forced their way into the bloody passage, they beheld Roman Rivers casually walking toward them, surrounded by mountains of charred, smoking corpses.
Mag the Mighty unleashed a deafening roar and charged directly at Roman, raising his tree trunk to smash the demon into the ice.
Roman did not even break his stride. As the giants closed the distance, he released a blinding flare of superheated plasma directly into their eyes. The giants roared in blind agony, completely paralyzed by the sudden sensory overload and electrical shock.
Roman stepped inside their guard. Two lightning-fast horizontal hammer strikes shattered both of the giants' kneecaps with the sickening crack of breaking timber.
The two behemoths collapsed to the bloody floor, shaking the tunnel.
Writhing in sheer agony, Mag the Mighty blindly swung his tree trunk in a last, desperate arc. Roman easily batted the massive log away with his warhammer, the steel ringing like a cathedral bell.
Roman stepped forward and delivered a devastating, steel-shod kick directly to Mag the Mighty's face. The king of the giants slammed against the solid ice wall and instantly lost consciousness.
A second, equally brutal kick rendered the other giant completely comatose.
Stepping over the fallen titans, Roman casually ignited his Pale Flame and incinerated the wooden logs the giants had used to prop the heavy iron outer doors open.
With the supports destroyed, the massive outer gates slammed shut, sealing the tunnel.
High above on the top of the Wall, Lord Eddard had successfully extinguished the scaffolding fires. He rallied the remaining engineers, dumping the last of the boiling alchemical oil down onto the wildlings clustered at the base of the gate, driving the horde back into the tree line.
Hidden in the forest, Mance Rayder stared at the blazing inferno illuminating the base of the Wall. He had tested the defenses and gathered enough intelligence. There was absolutely no strategic value in wasting more Free Folk lives tonight.
"Sound the retreat horn," Mance ordered bitterly.
As the long, mournful blast of the wildling horn echoed across the frozen wasteland, the brutal siege finally drew to a close.
Down in the darkened tunnel, Roman Rivers leaned his exhausted, blood-soaked body against the freezing iron of the outer gate. He stared back at the tunnel, completely blackened by scorched corpses and melted ice, and let out a long, heavy sigh.
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