Game of Thrones Iron Stark

Knights who had been itching to enter the great tourney got the news all at once. The whole event was canceled. They demanded answers and were told to prepare for war instead.

The real reason stayed buried. No one wanted smallfolk panicking about dead men walking. Fighting wildlings north of the Wall made a clean cover story. Plenty of hedge knights signed on as retainers the moment they heard.

In a dim tavern in King's Landing, Jaqen slipped into a shadowed corner and found an old face waiting.

Syrio Forel. First Sword of Braavos.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jaqen asked.

Syrio gave a short laugh. "If they sent you, the chief assassin of the Many-Faced God, then they must think they found the perfect vessel."

Jaqen's voice came out flat and cold. "This is none of your business, Syrio. You left the House of Black and White. Stay out of it. The god's will cannot be denied. All men must die. All men must serve."

Syrio's hand rested on the hilt of his steel sword. "I know who you're hunting. I'll protect her with everything I have."

Jaqen studied him for a long moment. "I'll let you live today. But I will find the girl. She will be offered to the Many-Faced God as his vessel."

He turned to go. "Tell Arya a god has marked her. She won't enjoy what comes next."

Syrio watched him leave. "Looks like I need to warn the little wolf. Being hunted by a god never ends well."

Arya moved through King's Landing like a shadow. She could knock birds from the sky with a stick now. She could drop a cutpurse with a stone from thirty paces.

Dressed in black, face covered, she pushed into the Sisterhood's hidden base and dropped two huge, stone-like eyeballs on the table.

"From the last job," she said.

A candle flared in the dark. A figure in a black robe and white mask leaned forward.

"Excellent work, Arya. You're the best partner we have in this city." The masked woman tossed her a heavy pouch. "Your pay."

Arya didn't reach for it. "Why are you collecting dragon bones, teeth, claws, and these eyes? What are you building?"

The woman stayed silent for a beat. "It is the will of the Great Goddess Jimei. We obey her commands."

"Who is Jimei?" Arya asked.

"Different lands worship different gods. Old gods, new gods, the Seven, R'hllor, the Drowned God. We follow the Great Goddess Jimei. She rules love and beauty, wisdom and war."

Arya frowned. Sounded like the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone smashed together with a sword in her hand.

"What's the real goal?" Arya pressed. "I feel it. You're planning something big. Wolf instinct."

The masked woman tilted her head. "Your Stark blood is waking, Arya. The running wolf runs in you now. You've earned the right to join us. Will you wear the mask?"

She held out a plain white mask.

Arya stared at it, then shook her head. "Not yet."

She backed out into the night. The candle died behind her.

The masked woman laughed softly in the dark. "Arya Stark. More than one god has their eye on you. Choose wisely when the time comes."

At the Wall the raven from King's Landing finally arrived. Mormont read it twice and let out a long breath.

"Robert's sending ten thousand men. Stannis commands the new Wall Guard. We've got real reinforcements coming."

One brother muttered, "So the Lord Commander takes orders from Stannis now?"

"Stannis knows how to hold a wall," another said. "He held Storm's End for a year."

"Only because Davos smuggled in onions and salt pork," someone added. "Then Stannis cut four fingers off the poor bastard for his trouble."

Laughter rolled through the room.

"Was it the thumb he lost?"

"Doesn't matter. The Onion Knight still got the job done."

Mormont cut them off. "Enough. Those pirates Victor brought south, the ones who took the black, want to range beyond the Wall looking for treasure. Tell them no. They're sailors, not rangers. No training, no ranging."

"We need every fort manned when the army arrives. Start clearing the other sixteen positions. The Wall has to become a real barrier again."

A runner burst in. "Lord Commander! Riders from the south. Flaming heart banners."

"Red priests? Open the gate."

Thoros of Myr rode in with Beric Dondarrion and a handful of red-robed followers. The cold hit them like a hammer.

"Seven hells, this place is a frozen nightmare," one priest said, shaking.

The brothers laughed. "Southern flowers can't handle real snow?"

Thoros glared. "We're here to help you, you ungrateful sons of bitches. Where's your commander?"

Mormont stepped forward. "I'm here. State your business."

"I'm Thoros of Myr. This is Beric Dondarrion. We brought Lady Catelyn back to Winterfell. Now we're here to fight the dead that won't stay dead."

"Just the few of you?" someone asked.

Thoros drew his sword and spoke a quiet prayer. Flames roared to life along the blade. He drove it into the snow. Ice melted in a wide circle, water hissing around the burning steel.

Mormont stared at the glowing sword. "Men who can bring fire like that are worth more than giants. Welcome to the Wall."