Game of Thrones Iron Stark

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The Neck was burning.

Ser Asor Dayne, Ser Brand Hightower, and Ser Jaime Lannister led the southern army straight into wildling territory. Asor and Brand were barely twenty, but Jaime Lannister had already earned his white cloak from Arthur Dayne himself—the youngest Kingsguard in history. Now he rode with Arthur's nephew, hungry for revenge.

They wanted the King of the Neck dead. They wanted Howland Reed's children back so Reed would finally face them blade to blade for the deaths at the Tower of Joy.

"Three lords," a scout reported. "The wildlings offer surrender. They'll return every Neckman they took—except Reed's children."

Asor's hand tightened on Dawn until the blade hummed.

"They're lying. We kill them all."

Jaime raised a hand.

"Wait. This smells like a trap. Stannis and Reed could be playing us."

Brand scoffed. "You want to let them go? After what they did to our families?"

"No," Jaime said. "We go in hard. Find the kids ourselves."

They hit the wildling camp like a hammer. The free folk broke and ran. When the last "king" fell, the southerners tore through every hut.

They found Neck prisoners.

They did not find Meera or Jojen Reed.

Asor and Brand roared their fury at the sky.

Hours later the three knights stormed Stannis's command tent with swords drawn.

"Stand down!" the Red Viper snapped. "You will not threaten the king's brother!"

Garlan Tyrell stepped in front of Brand.

"Put the sword away, Hightower."

Reluctantly, the blades went back into scabbards.

Stannis stared at them, cold and steady.

"Howland Reed is here. And no, you will not kill him. He and your father survived the Tower of Joy when eight others died. That makes him strong. The weak perish. The gods spared him for a reason."

Jaime laughed, loud and bitter.

"Gods? You? The man who keeps a red witch in his camp? Spare us the holy talk, my lord."

A soft voice answered from the shadows.

"Perhaps he simply wants you to see the truth."

Melisandre stepped into the firelight, red robes flowing like living flame, red hair glowing. Every man in the tent felt the air grow heavy.

"The truth of what?" Jaime asked.

"The truth of what is coming."

She waved a hand. The central fire roared higher, and images bloomed inside the flames.

Snow fell in thick sheets. Dead men marched in endless ranks. Massive spherical shapes floated in the sky like glowing moons. Green fire danced across white fields. The Wall stood sealed—every gate blocked, every passage frozen shut. Wildlings and corpses alike hurled themselves into the sea rather than face what waited beyond.

Gasps filled the tent.

"This is the future," Melisandre said. "And it is almost here."

Her burning eyes found Tony Stark.

"You are the key, Tony Stark. The Lord of Light has shown me."

Tony's mind raced. Those giant floating spheres—hot air balloons? Something he could build? Here?

"Why me?" he asked.

"If you need help, come to me." She turned and walked out, leaving silence and fear behind her.

Stannis's eyes lingered on Tony long after she was gone. Once she had called him Azor Ahai reborn. Now her gaze had shifted.

The army kept marching north.

The wind grew sharper. The snow grew deeper. The nights grew longer.

Winter was no longer coming.

It had arrived.