Game of Thrones Iron Stark

In King's Landing, Tony and Jaime stood side by side watching soldiers carefully load wooden crates onto wagons.

"Easy with those," Jaime barked. "Spill what's inside and you're all dead men."

Tony laughed. "Didn't think you'd remember where the Mad King hid his wildfire, Jaime. This is going to be our secret weapon at the Wall."

Jaime had come to Tony days earlier and told him exactly where Aerys's old caches were hidden. He wanted every last drop sent north.

"These things are pure evil," Jaime said quietly. "I watched them burn people alive—including your father Brandon Stark and your grandfather Rickard."

His voice was casual, but Tony caught the edge underneath.

"I'm sorry about them, Tony. If I'd driven my sword into Aerys sooner, maybe I could have saved them."

Tony shrugged. "Bastards don't need fathers. Fathers don't need bastards either. Tyrion figured that out a long time ago."

He really didn't care about being a bastard. Ned Stark had taken him in, raised him at Winterfell like one of his own. Catelyn had been cold at first, but after Robb and the others were born, Tony became the big brother who protected them all. Eventually she accepted him—the way Robert still carried Lyanna in his heart, or the way Cersei once carried Rhaegar.

Even honorable Ned had his own bastard in Jon Snow.

"Tyrion's not coming with us to the Wall," Jaime said, hand resting on his sword. "If the Others show up I might have to keep his head on his shoulders."

Tony nodded. "The new armor's finished. Want it delivered to Casterly Rock?"

"Send it. My father wants to meet you. He's impressed."

Tony grinned. "Tell him to bring plenty of gold. I like money."

Once the last crates were aboard the ships, a runner appeared.

"My lords, the wildfire is loaded. When do we sail?"

"When Ser Barristan gets here."

A white-cloaked figure stepped out of the fog—Barristan Selmy, armor gleaming, beard and hair gone silver.

"Tony. Jaime."

"Ser," they answered together.

"Take the wildfire north ahead of us," Jaime said. "Gods keep you safe."

"Fair winds, Ser," Tony added.

Barristan looked at the crates and shook his head.

"Jaime, you've saved King's Landing from wildfire twice now. All these years these barrels were sitting under the city like a loaded crossbow. No wonder you killed the Mad King."

He boarded the lead ship. It carried wildfire, food, and supplies—the grain mostly from Highgarden, because the Reach grew the best. Barristan would reach the Wall first.

Beyond the Wall, Edward's pirate-turned-brothers crept toward Craster's Keep under cover of night.

They had been sailors once. Looting and killing came easy. When they saw only one old man and a house full of women, they didn't hesitate.

Craster was ancient but still dangerous. He killed two of them before they cut him down.

Now the black brothers owned the place—and every woman inside it.

"Seven hells," Edward laughed, wiping blood off his knife. "Didn't expect a little paradise this far north."

"Bring me the oldest one," he ordered.

An old woman was dragged forward. Edward pointed his bloody blade at Craster's corpse.

"Tell me where the Horn of Winter is."

She looked at her dead husband without flinching.

"You're not real Watch. I've met Benjen Stark. I've met Corlin One-Hand. I've met Lord Commander Mormont. None of them would do this."

Craster's Keep had always been a safe stop for rangers. Now it was gone.

"Spare me the speech, old woman. Where's the horn?"

"It's a legend. There are no giants big enough to bring down the Wall under the ground either. You're chasing ghosts."

The men laughed. Pirates loved legends. The bigger the story, the better the prize.

"Talk or we burn your daughters alive."

"Burn them! Burn them!"

A sudden cold wind slammed into the yard. The fire guttered. Crows screamed overhead—hundreds of them, black shapes against a pale, misty night that wasn't truly dark, just wrong.

"You're all dead," the old woman said calmly. "It's here."

She shoved past the men and ran with her daughters into the fog.

"Stop them!"

White mist swallowed everything. Torches flickered. Men shouted in panic.

"Grab your weapons! Light the torches! Stay together!" Edward roared, but his boots were already sliding backward in the snow.

Screams tore through the darkness—wet, terrified, final. Steel rang and shattered. The temperature dropped so fast the fires died with soft hisses.

A wave of killing cold rolled over Edward. He charged forward with a battle cry—

—and the night went silent except for falling snow and the soft crunch of footsteps walking away.