Game of Thrones Iron Stark

"As for that black steel tube weapon, I've got nothing," Ser Jorah said. "Never heard of anything like it. Doesn't sound like anything from our world. Maybe the maesters at the Citadel cooked up some secret toy they're not telling anyone about?"

"I don't know," Daenerys answered. "But in my dream a boy — almost a man — was holding this thing with six or seven steel tubes sticking out of it. He was shooting straight into a rolling ball of corpses. The power was terrifying. Fast, too. He pulled it out of some kind of rip in the air, like it came from another world."

"Khaleesi, dreams lie sometimes," Jorah said gently. "Danger can mean opportunity. Death can mean new life."

"No. Ordinary people might twist dreams that way, but dragon dreams don't lie. My family has always seen what's coming." Daenerys stared out at the endless grass sea, voice firm. "I saw the future."

Jorah sighed. "Westeros isn't finished yet, Khaleesi. There's no need to rush across the Narrow Sea. Once you and Khal Drogo unite every khalasar, you can sail home with dragons big enough to make them all kneel without a single sword being drawn."

Daenerys knew better. The future rarely bent to hope.

---

In the North, the Boltons were the second-strongest house after the Starks. Their lord, Roose Bolton, looked like a mild old gentleman. He wasn't. He was a cold-blooded killer who never blinked when he took a life.

Eddard had ordered him to lead a thousand northern soldiers to the Wall because he didn't trust his own son Robb to handle it alone. Eddard had already buried one son. He refused to bury another. He only had three left.

At the Dreadfort, Roose was already writing letters to every other northern house, demanding they send dozens or hundreds of men to make up the thousand.

"My lord, there's a wolf pack causing trouble near Lonely Mountain," a man reported. "Should we ride out and clear them?"

"Wolves? Since when does Lonely Mountain have wolves?" Roose thought for a moment. "Send Ramsay. I don't have time for this."

Winter had come. Food was running out. The wolves of the Wolfswood had begun drifting south into the grasslands around Lonely Mountain.

---

Night fell over the wide grassland. A bright moon hung cold and white in the sky. The wolf pack lay hidden in the grass, bodies blending into shadow like living ghosts.

The Wolf King stood tall, eyes gleaming with hard purpose. A low growl rolled from his throat and the pack moved. They flowed through the grass in perfect silence, graceful and deadly.

A fat antelope stepped into the open. The wolves closed in like a tightening noose, moving as one. The antelope bolted in panic, but the circle only grew smaller. There was nowhere left to run.

The Wolf King struck first — lightning fast, teeth flashing silver in the moonlight. The rest followed. The chase was brutal and short. When it ended, the pack fed together, sharing the kill without waste or fighting.

That was how wolves ruled. Teamwork. Ruthless skill. Iron will. They took what they needed and left nothing for weakness.

The lesson was simple. On the stage of life you either hunted together or you died alone. Arrogance and blind desire only bought you an unmarked grave.

---

At Castle Black the brothers were busy reinforcing the Wall. They hammered black dragonglass into the outer face to stop wildlings and Others from climbing.

The first shipment could only be used for this. They didn't have enough blacksmiths to turn it into real weapons yet.

"A raven just came in," the maester's assistant said, holding the scroll. "Second batch of dragonglass and wildfire is already headed for Eastwatch. We just have to hold until it gets here."

"Gods grant we live to see the next long summer," one brother muttered. He had felt the true cold. He had seen the blue eyes of the dead.

---

Bear Island sat in the Bay of Ice, home to the Mormonts. Two girls were racing along the shore on the backs of two massive white armored bears, laughing like children.

"Hahaha! Faster! Don't let Lyanna catch us!"

"I'm going to beat you, Lyra!"

The bigger bear carrying Lyanna was slower, but the girls didn't care. They were free and wild and happy.

Then both bears stopped dead. They growled at the northern waves, teeth bared, hackles rising.

Lyanna and Lyra slid down and crept closer to the tide line. A pale corpse lay half in the surf, washed up from the sea.

"Wildling?" Lyanna asked. "How the hell did it survive that long in the water without the fish eating it?"

"Leave it for the gulls," Lyra said.

"No. We bury him."

"Fine. Your call. Let's get help."

The armored bears kept growling at the body even after the girls walked away. Strange. Armored bears could kill mammoths. One dead man shouldn't have rattled them.

After the girls and bears left, the corpse opened its eyes. They were the color of frozen sapphires — beautiful on a living face, horrifying on a dead one.

The thing stood up and began walking inland, leaving wet footprints in the sand.

When the girls returned with guards, the tide had already smoothed the beach flat. The corpse was gone.

"It was right here!" Lyanna insisted. "It washed in from the north!"

"My lady, were you two playing games?" the big guard captain asked, half amused, half annoyed. Next to the armored bears he looked like a child.

"No! Search! Look for tracks!"

A guard finally found them — strange, dragging footprints leading straight toward the castle.

"Shit," the captain muttered. "Go tell Lord Mormont we've got a problem. Something dangerous just walked onto this island. And get the bears hunting."

The corpse was already inside the walls.