Game of Thrones Iron Stark

On Bear Island a dead thing crawled through the sewers toward the castle. The Night King controlled it from hundreds of miles away, guiding the wight like a puppet. It pushed the manhole cover aside and climbed out, blue eyes scanning the dark.

No one was watching. The corpse dragged its sword behind it, leaving a wet trail as it headed straight for Maege Mormont.

Inside the keep only Maege and her massive white bear, Gordon, remained. The wight reached the inner courtyard and raised its blade.

A white blur exploded from the shadows. Gordon the Bear King slammed into the corpse, crushed its skull with one paw, then tore it to pieces until nothing but shattered bone remained.

"Filthy creature," Gordon growled. "I'll never let you near Maege."

Far to the north the Night King roared. A chunk of ice broke from his crown before slowly reforming.

Osha ran with Bran in her arms while Hodor thundered behind them. A pack of wildlings crashed through the trees, shouting.

"That's Brandon Stark in the sable cloak! Grab him!"

Osha yanked the cloak off Bran and flung it over a sapling. The wildlings skidded to a stop, tore it down, and cursed when they found nothing but branches. They charged again.

"The one with the silk cap—that's him!"

She dropped Bran's hat on a dirt mound. The wildlings fell for it again, but this time they didn't slow down. They were gaining.

On a ridge a red-haired wildling woman nocked an arrow. She wasn't aiming for Bran or Osha. She fired at Hodor.

Three arrows flew. Two slammed into his back, one into his calf. The giant man went down with a roar.

"Turn around!" Bran shouted. "We have to help him!"

Osha hesitated, then smiled like she'd just had the best idea of her life.

"Stay quiet and follow my lead," she whispered.

She sprinted back toward the wildlings, holding Bran high.

"I caught Brandon Stark! I caught him!"

The wildlings surrounded them fast. Tormund Giantsbane stepped forward, red beard bristling.

"Osha? You're still breathing?"

"Still kicking, Tormund. And I brought you a present. Mance will reward me well for this."

A female wildling dropped from a rock—red hair, sharp eyes, bow still in hand.

"Ygritte," Osha said with a grin. "Still the best shot north of the Wall, I see."

"Cut the shit," Ygritte snapped. "Why were you protecting him? Starks are our enemies."

Osha shrugged. "I was playing the long game. Getting close to the Starks isn't easy. I lost friends, freedom, even pieces of myself. All so Mance could have eyes inside Winterfell."

The wildlings didn't look impressed. Mercy was rare beyond the Wall. Osha knew that better than anyone.

"Spy or traitor, you're coming with us," Tormund said. "Mance will decide what to do with you."

Ygritte pointed at Hodor, still groaning on the ground. "What about the big one? Kill him or drag him?"

Bran spoke up, voice steady. "Leave him. I'll go with you."

Tormund laughed. "Brave little wolf. You know we eat people, right?"

"If you wanted me dead you would've shot me instead of him," Bran said calmly. "I'm useful to you."

Tormund studied him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Fine. You're coming north. Time to show you the end of the world."

At the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton hosted Geralt of Graystark in the great hall. Ramsay Snow stood in the shadows, watching.

"I never expected another Graystark to surface," Roose said. "But if you're willing to fight the dead, we'll take all the help we can get. One hundred men, at least."

Geralt ate quietly. "I go where the monsters are, my lord. That's what witchers do."

Roose smiled thinly. "Ramsay isn't my heir. Just a bastard. You understand how these things work."

Ramsay's lips curved into a pleasant smile. Inside his head he was screaming.

Kill him. Kill the old man. Take the Dreadfort. Make them all bleed.