Game of Thrones Iron Stark

The wildlings moved through the frozen waste like ghosts in thick furs. Wind howled and snow blinded them, but they kept walking. Every step sank deep. Every breath came out white and sharp.

After days of this hell they finally saw the crude stone and timber huts of their camp. The men grinned through cracked lips and picked up the pace. Home meant fire, meat, and a chance to sleep without freezing to death.

They piled inside, got a blaze going, and sat close. For a little while the world felt almost kind.

Then a runner ducked through the flap. "Mance wants to see you lot. Now."

Tormund Giantsbane stood up with a grunt. "I'll go. The rest of you stay warm."

Mance Rayder sat by the fire in his tent, eyes hard. "What did you learn on the road?"

"Southerners are sending an army north," Tormund said. "Ten thousand men to reinforce the Wall. They're calling it the Wall Guard. Stannis Baratheon's in charge."

Mance stared into the flames for a long time. Only the crack of burning wood broke the silence.

"They want to keep the fight on our side of the Wall," he said at last. "We'll be the meat they throw in front of the dead. If it comes to that, we use the Horn of Winter."

Tormund shifted. "How do we stop them?"

"Only one way. We need a Brandon Stark. Without him the Horn won't wake the giants under the ground and bring the Wall down. So we take one."

Tormund recited what they'd beaten out of northern prisoners. "Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. His brother Benjen is First Ranger at the Wall. Robb is the eldest son. Bran is the second. Rickon's already dead. There's also the bastard Jon Snow. And from the last generation, the older Brandon Stark left a bastard named Tony Stark."

Mance's mouth curved into a slow, cold smile. "Fate. Bran Stark still lives. That means he'll come north eventually. Go get him, Tormund."

Tormund groaned. "I just got back."

Mance laughed. "The smart ones always get the hard jobs. Bring me the boy."

Tormund muttered curses but nodded. For the good of the free folk he would cross the Wall again.

Farther south the great herds had already started moving. Millions of aurochs, bison, deer, and wild boar streamed across the grasslands, fleeing the coming freeze. Their hooves shook the earth like thunder. Predators followed at first, then thinned out as easy meat grew scarce.

The smallfolk moved too. Poor families in leaking wooden shacks knew they would die if they stayed. They packed what they could and headed south, praying they still had kin alive in the warmer lands.

Winterfell's great hall was busy with the fallout. Robb Stark sat in his father's chair listening to yet another dispute.

An old man and his tall grandson stood on one side, a merchant on the other. The old man's ox had been starving on the road south. It had lunged for the hay in the merchant's cart. The animals panicked, the carts crashed, and the merchant's wagon got wrecked.

Robb listened, then spoke. "I'll pay for the damage. The old man and his boy are just trying to reach family before the snow buries them. Let it go."

The merchant grumbled but took the coin Robb offered. The old man bowed low. "The gods bless you, my lord."

When they left, Robb rubbed his face. "Every day it's the same. Can't they settle this shit themselves?"

Maester Luwin's voice was gentle but firm. "They come to you because they trust Winterfell. This seat carries duty and honor, Robb. One day it will be yours for real. These people are your responsibility."

Robb nodded. He was growing into the role faster than anyone expected.

Luwin changed the subject. "Bran's in the yard with Theon, Hodor, and Osha. They're keeping him busy. You don't need to worry about him today."

Robb managed a tired smile. At least one thing in the North still felt normal.