Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

Before nightfall, the tide of wights finally receded.

At least near Castle Black, those monstrous creatures—either burned to ashes or hacked to pieces—lay scattered across the snowy battlefield.

But as for whether the rest of the Wall had been breached by the undead army… this was a question that Eddard Stark, the exhausted Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, dared not contemplate.

Dragging his weary body across the field, he directed his men to clean up the battlefield and tend to the wounded.

From above, the white dragon dove down, landing directly before him. Its fiery aura created a circle of warmth hundreds of meters wide, shielding the area from the bitter cold of winter.

"Your Majesty." Seeing the king dismount, Eddard bent low in a bow.

"You and your men fought bravely," Samwell said sincerely. "The Night's Watch has proven itself the shield that guards the realms of men."

"And us?" A crisp, clear voice suddenly interrupted.

"The wildling warriors also fought valiantly," Samwell replied, smiling at Val as she approached with her spear in hand.

Only then did Val nod in satisfaction, though her face soon clouded with worry.

"It's a shame we only managed to hold Castle Black. The Wall stretches so far… who knows what's happening elsewhere?"

Hearing this, the mood among the gathered fighters grew heavy.

"Perhaps it's not as bad as we fear," offered Ser Denys Mallister, attempting to inject some optimism. "The Wall only just fell. Those creatures may not have been prepared. The attack on Castle Black might have been their strongest wave. Other areas might only face smaller incursions."

"Are all Southerners this good at deceiving themselves?" Val retorted bluntly. "Or do you really think what we just faced was the full strength of the wights?"

Ser Denys's voice hardened.

"At least we Southerners don't come begging for shelter and then act like we own the place."

"Enough!" Eddard stepped in to mediate. "Still, we did just kill five or six thousand of them. That has to count as part of their main force, doesn't it?"

"You're grossly underestimating these creatures from the grave," Val replied. "What we faced just now was merely an advance force. The true wight army hasn't even arrived… or perhaps they've already gone south by other routes. After all, the Wall is so long."

"Stop trying to scare people," Ser Denys countered. "These creatures failed to breach the Wall before. How large of an army could they really have? Unless you wildlings have lost hundreds of thousands already?"

"Alive, there are only a few hundred of thousands of us wildlings," Val said with a faint smile. "But as for the dead? Do you know how many have perished in the Lands of Always Winter over thousands of years? Now, they all rise at the White Walkers' command."

This silenced the Night's Watch.

The thought of thousands of years' worth of dead rising in the Lands of Always Winter chilled them to the core.

But Samwell chuckled and shook his head.

"While we shouldn't underestimate the enemy, there's no need to frighten people with wild exaggerations. The dead from thousands of years ago would have turned to dust long ago. They can't crawl out of their graves. Even if the cold climate slows decomposition, it's only the bodies from the past two or three centuries that pose any real concern."

Hearing this, the others sighed in relief.

Val, however, giggled.

"No wonder you became king, Caesar. You're cleverer than most. The rest of them are just too easy to fool."

Her words drew sharp glares from the Night's Watch, but none could find an adequate rebuttal.

"Still," Samwell continued, "we cannot let our guard down. The wights likely number in the millions. The wave we faced just now wasn't even close to their main force. And did you notice? Among the enemies, there wasn't a single White Walker."

Eddard nodded slightly and asked,

"Your Majesty, do you think they held back, or intentionally avoided Castle Black?"

"They avoided it intentionally," Val said, her bright eyes fixed on the king. "They're afraid of you."

Samwell nodded, though his expression remained grave.

"The White Walkers are intelligent beings, something I believe we all understand. Compared to the wights, they are the true source of this calamity—the most fearsome enemies mankind must face.

The fact that they avoided the Battle of Castle Black likely means they've taken other routes southward.

To prevent further loss of life and to keep the wight army from snowballing in size, two urgent actions must be taken."

"Your Majesty, what are they?"

"First, the people of the North must migrate south," Samwell said solemnly. "The closer their homes are to the Wall, the faster they need to move. I will personally travel south to ensure the lords along the way organize their people's evacuation."

Eddard nodded.

"You advised this long ago, Your Majesty. But at the time, the Wall still stood, and most people didn't take the White Walkers as a real threat."

"That's no longer an option. What was once voluntary migration is now mandatory," Samwell said. "Second, we must establish a new defensive line to block the White Walkers and the wights."

"Your Majesty, where do you think this new line should be?"

"Do you have any suggestions?" Samwell asked in return.

"Perhaps the Last River could serve as a barrier," someone suggested.

Eddard shook his head in disagreement.

"The Last River will freeze in winter; it won't stop the White Walkers. In fact, the vast, sparsely populated North lacks natural barriers like wide rivers or high mountains. To establish a new line that can actually hold them back… we'd have to retreat to the Neck."

As he spoke, the pain in Eddard's eyes was palpable.

The Neck was the boundary between the North and the southern kingdoms. It had been the North's most crucial shield of independence for centuries.

When the Andals invaded Westeros, their superior weapons allowed them to conquer much of the continent, yet they failed to breach the Neck and claim the North.

This was thanks to the swamps and quicksand that made the region nearly impassable.

For thousands of years, a few hundred archers stationed at Moat Cailin were enough to repel entire southern armies.

Even the Targaryens, with their dragons, couldn't subdue the North without circumventing these natural defenses.

Since the White Walkers and their wights can't fly, the Neck is a logical choice for a defensive line.

What's more, its southern location allows for easier resupply and reinforcements from King's Landing.

Previously, Samwell had delayed sending his army north because the supply lines from King's Landing to the Wall were far too long to sustain.

Maintaining 200,000 soldiers at the Wall during winter would have caused more deaths from famine in the south than from the White Walkers themselves.

Establishing a defense at the Neck would alleviate these logistical challenges immediately.

But this plan came at a cost: the North would be completely abandoned.

Samwell had deliberately avoided proposing this plan earlier, knowing the gravity of what it entailed. But to his surprise, it was Eddard Stark who brought it up first.

The North was the House Stark's ancestral home, and for Eddard, it was the land he loved most. Samwell could scarcely imagine the inner turmoil the man must have endured to say such words aloud.

But as a rational ruler, Samwell understood that tough decisions were sometimes unavoidable.

"Lord Stark is correct," Samwell said, picking up where Eddard left off. "The Neck is the best location for a new defensive line. Of course, this means the plan to migrate the people of the North southward must proceed with utmost urgency."

Eddard swallowed his grief and forced himself to remain composed.

"Your Majesty, I've already tasked Jon Snow with organizing the northern evacuation. But I fear he won't move quickly enough. If possible, I'd ask you to go to Winterfell personally and have my son Rickon issue a formal decree, as the Warden of the North, ordering the migration."

"I will," Samwell said, nodding firmly. He was about to prepare for his departure when Eddard stopped him again.

"There's one more matter, Your Majesty…"

"Go on."

"Please, follow me."

Eddard led Samwell toward the castle.

They ascended the spiral staircase to the third floor. At the top, Eddard paused outside a door on the left, the second one down the hallway.

He placed a hand on the doorknob but hesitated, as though something terrifying lay on the other side.

"Lord Stark, is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Eddard said, his voice low and heavy. "This is the room of my… illegitimate son, Jon Snow."

At last, he pushed the door open.

Samwell stepped inside, a sense of unease growing within him. The first thing he noticed was the bitter cold emanating from the room, as if this was the very source of winter's chill.

Shards of ice were scattered across the wooden floor. Eddard froze in place, staring at them as though they were ghosts.

Samwell's gaze fell on the bedside table, where a black cloak was draped, and several dark weapons lay atop it—arrowheads, spear tips, and daggers. He picked one up, inspecting it closely.

"They're all dragonglass," Samwell remarked.

Eddard finally broke his silence, his voice laden with sorrow.

"Your Majesty, Jon told me that during his expedition with Commander Mormont beyond the Wall, they discovered a cache of what appeared to be Night's Watch relics at the Fist of the First Men. Among them were dragonglass weapons… and a horn."

As he spoke, Eddard pulled a dark horn from his cloak and handed it to Samwell.

The horn was cold to the touch, ancient in appearance, with bronze inlays along its edges. It bore an austere, unassuming air, with no obvious signs of magic or power.

"This is… the true Horn of Winter?" Samwell asked, studying the artifact with a furrowed brow.

"Jon says so," Eddard replied. "On the day the Wall fell, Robb returned to Castle Black from the south. He said nothing, went straight to Jon's room, and found this horn. He blew it… and the Wall came down."

Samwell's expression grew somber.

"If that's true, then this horn is indeed the real deal."

Eddard nodded, his eyes avoiding the shards of ice scattered on the floor.

"If Jon's account is accurate—if Robb was the one who brought down the Wall…"

"I believe Robb didn't act of his own free will," Samwell interrupted.

Eddard nodded again.

"Jon told me that Robb seemed… changed that night. Like he wasn't himself."

"The White Walkers can control the dead," Samwell said gravely. "It's not impossible that they've found a way to influence the living as well."

Even as he spoke, his thoughts drifted to Winterfell's crypts—the resting place of the ancient Kings of Winter. He recalled the missing swords that were once laid across their tombs, said to keep their spirits at peace.

"Your Majesty, your mercy humbles me," Eddard said. "But House Stark must bears responsibility for this tragedy. There's no denying it. And Robb's actions remind me of another concern… my son Bran. Ever since he returned from beyond the Wall, he too has seemed… different."

Samwell ran his fingers over the Horn of Winter's cold surface, considering how to address the Lord Commander's anguish.

Eddard spoke again.

"Your Majesty, the more I think about it, the more I suspect that Bran may also bear some responsibility. It was he who identified the false Horn of Winter and declared the threat neutralized… and that gave us all a false sense of security."

"I doubt Bran meant to deceive anyone," Samwell replied, though doubt gnawed at him. "It's possible he was misled by Mance Rayder, who might have believed the horn in his possession was real. We were all fooled, not just Bran."

In truth, Samwell couldn't help but feel that this plain, unassuming horn lacked the gravitas one would expect of such a legendary artifact. It looked like something that could be easily overlooked or dismissed as insignificant.

"I trust Your Majesty will judge the matter wisely," Eddard said. He hesitated, torn between his duty as a commander and his love as a father.

Samwell pocketed the horn and placed a reassuring hand on Eddard's shoulder.

"Lord Stark, I have never doubted your loyalty to the realm nor the honor of House Stark. The Wall has fallen, and humanity faces an unprecedented crisis. In such times, we need warriors like you.

Do not let guilt or grief consume you. The Night's Watch needs your leadership now more than ever. Rest assured, I will get to the bottom of what happened at the Wall."

"Thank you for your faith, Your Majesty," Eddard said, his voice steadier.

After a moment's hesitation, he added,

"I know this may sound selfish, but… if you leave Winterfell, I beg you, please take my wife and children with you."

"I will," Samwell promised. "There's plenty of room on the white dragon's back. I'll bring them to King's Landing."

With that, he gave Eddard's shoulder another reassuring pat before striding out of the room.

(End of Chapter)