The battle raged from dusk until deep into the night. The arrival of the black dragon granted the defenders of Castle Black a precious opportunity to rest. The Night's Watch brothers manning the winches were replaced time and again, with the latest group being Northern knights. They shouted in unison as they strained their trembling hands and shoulders against the mechanisms. Just as exhaustion overtook them, fresh comrades arrived to take over the task.
Bread, jerky, chocolate, and hot water were bundled into thick fur baskets and passed up to the defenders on the Wall, one after another.
"Cease distribution! Everyone, get off the Wall! Lord Commander Benjen orders all forces to withdraw!" A messenger ran past the winches, shouting.
"Withdraw from the Wall? Are we abandoning it?" asked Rickard Karstark, his long white beard hanging over his chest, though his movements remained as vigorous as ever.
"I support Benjen's command," replied his son, Harrion Karstark. He had a thick beard and a face blackened with soot, leaving only his eyes and teeth visible in the dim firelight. "The few catapults we had are already destroyed, and our numbers are too few. Throwing more living men into a desperate struggle against the dead is not worth it."
His favorite cloak, embroidered with a golden sun, had been burnt away, leaving only the section clinging to his shoulders. Even the leather buckles on his black pauldrons had melted in the fire, forcing him to hold them in place with his hands.
Retreating from the Wall was far easier than holding it. The winches were reserved for the wounded, while able-bodied soldiers formed lines to descend the zigzagging staircases.
"The Wall must never be lost! That is the ancient creed of the North!" The Karstark knights surrounding Lord Rickard, shovels in hand, clustered around him, ready to continue firefighting alongside their old lord.
His father was not wrong, but neither was Benjen. The only one who might persuade the stubborn old man was Lord Eddard Stark himself. As the soldiers descended, Harrion anxiously searched the crowd and finally spotted Eddard.
"Why are you still up here? The wights will soon regroup and attack again." Eddard's gaze swept over Rickard and his men, who had stopped near the winches, refusing to leave. He already had an idea of what was on the old lord's mind.
The section of the Wall defended by House Stark had no dragon to assist them. The entire defense relied on their mages. Robb had fought desperately to preserve the lives of his knights, but even so, half of Eddard's shoulder-length hair had been burned away.
"Isn't this how siege warfare works? We cannot retreat like this!" Rickard Karstark refrained from calling Eddard a coward when he saw his charred appearance, but he remained firm in his stance.
Eddard sighed. "This is the Lord Commander's order. The Northern forces on the Wall must prioritize obeying him."
"Benjen is your brother!" Rickard roared.
At that moment, the black dragon returned, soaring swiftly over their heads. Its talons clutched several people, among them a white-robed, masked figure—Sansa, easily recognizable. She even nodded toward Eddard as she passed.
"The Starks are no cowards. Even my sister has left the Wall to fight the White Walkers." It was Robb who spoke this time, standing beside Eddard.
Rickard Karstark chuckled. "So, you're personally overseeing the fortifications at Moat Cailin? Are you truly prepared to abandon not just the Wall, but Winterfell itself, Ser Robb?"
"Lord Rickard, the Wall was built by our ancestors. No one wishes to abandon it more than House Stark," Robb said as he turned to the Karstark knights.
"Both Lord Rickard and Benjen's decisions are correct. But this is a war between the living and the dead. We cannot concern ourselves with the loss of castles. What we refuse to see is our fallen comrades returning to the battlefield as wights. We must claim victory in this war—the victory of the living!"
"The North belongs to the living!" Harrion Karstark raised his arm and shouted.
"The North belongs to the living!"
The younger knights, many of whom idolized Robb, all took up the cry in unison.
"This war is unlike any before. There is no need to match the dead in chivalry or honor. Survival is paramount. Come, Lord Rickard, lead your men down the Wall with us," Robb urged.
He glanced at his father. Seeing Eddard nod, Robb pulled Rickard Karstark along toward the stairway.
At last, his stubborn father had relented. Harrion exhaled in relief, leaning against the metal framework of the winch as he watched the soldiers descend. When he noticed a small girl among them, he stepped forward.
"How is your sister Sansa?" he asked.
"You're Harrion Karstark?" Arya Stark squinted at the soot-covered giant before her, recognizing his voice.
"Hah! That's me!" Harrion laughed heartily and rubbed his hands over his face, smearing away the grime to reveal his features.
Arya walked alongside him down the stairs. "What? Gave up proposing to Sansa when you heard she lost her hands? I'll tell you now, you're too late—she already has someone."
"No, no, you misunderstand!" Harrion hurried to explain. "I only delayed my proposal because of the war. I wanted to earn merits on the battlefield first."
Arya burst into laughter. "Ha! Then you'd better hurry. By next year, she might already have a child!"
"But I heard Sansa isn't engaged to anyone yet?" Harrion refused to give up, still holding out hope.
"You should ask King Renly about this!" Arya left those words behind, vaulted over the railing, and quickly descended the winding stairs.
"The king?" Arya had made up the statement on the spot, but the honest and straightforward Harrion took it seriously, his brows furrowed in deep contemplation. He considered that Sansa, as the Lady of a Creekwood land and the Mgae of the Red Keep, likely had her marriage decided by the king himself, rather than by Eddard.
Arya caught up with Robb, and by the time they arrived at the training grounds, Sansa was rubbing Lady's head with her metal arm. Grey Wind and Nymeria were circling Sansa curiously, intrigued by her metallic limb.
The direwolves had been kept in the underground passages of the castle during the wildfire assault on the Wall and were only released when Sansa returned.
Ever since she had her new arm fitted, Robb had been too busy settling the knights who had arrived from various regions to properly speak with her. Now, seeing the smile on her face, he stepped forward. "Looks like your arm is working well—you went all the way to the White Walkers' stronghold and came back without a single tear in your clothes."
Sansa lifted her arm, allowing it to slip out of her sleeve and dart toward Robb. Robb raised his left arm to block, but just as the metal limb was about to reach him, its forearm suddenly split into two, bypassing his defense from both sides.
One hand, with three fingers, hovered near Robb's throat, while the other, with only a thumb and forefinger, pointed its index finger directly at Robb's right eye.
"Impossible to guard against!" Robb wasn't upset at being caught off guard—he simply chuckled and reached out to touch the hovering mechanical limb.
"Wow! It can split apart! I want one too!" Arya darted over, grabbing at the arm and exclaiming in excitement.
The separated metal hand spun rapidly in the air, slipping free from both Robb and Arya's grasp before returning to Sansa's sleeve. Watching Arya's face full of disappointment, Sansa smirked. "First, you have to make a fortune. Then, cut off your arm! Since you like using a sword, you don't need to lose both hands—just become a one-armed swordsman!"
"Sansa!" Arya shouted, then suddenly lowered her voice. "Let me play with your arm?"
"Not a chance!"
Sansa and Arya had clashed since childhood, their personalities starkly different. Robb was long accustomed to their bickering. He looked up toward the top of the Wall—near Castle Black, the fires had been extinguished, but in the far distance, parts of the Wall still burned. "There's some time before the White Walkers launch their next assault. You two should stop messing around and get some rest."
"Stingy Sansa!"
"Unreasonable Arya!"
As the two bickered, a voice both familiar and unfamiliar—cold, devoid of emotion—cut through the air.
"Do not rest. Robb, inform your men to prepare their supplies. We are continuing south immediately."
"Bran!" Arya gasped.
Summer, Bran's direwolf, had died the same day he became the Three-eyed Raven. Perhaps it was fate—after gaining far greater warging abilities, Bran never sought another beast companion. Instead, like other Three-eyed Ravens, he was constantly surrounded by a flock of black ravens.
His legs had not survived either. Unlike in the other timeline where he had been crippled by a fall, this time, both of his legs had been frozen solid and torn off by White Walkers, leaving nothing below his knees.
Now, the Three-eyed Raven sat atop a dog-drawn sled. Three skinchangers followed behind on their own sleds, tending to his belongings and assisting with daily tasks. They were devout followers of the Old Gods, having sworn a lifelong oath to serve the Three-eyed Raven.
Robb steadied himself under Bran's emotionless gaze. "Three-eyed Raven, can you tell me why? In our current state, I won't be able to convince my knights without a reason."
"Go to the underground barracks now. Once you see your men, you will understand." Bran, as always, spoke in half-answers before turning his attention to Sansa. "Sansa, you and Geralt will not follow us. You are to go west to the Shadow Tower. Once you find an important individual, make sure to sail south."
"An important individual? Sail south?" Sansa quickly considered the logistical detail—the Shadow Tower's supplies were handled by the Bear Island fleet, and those traveling to and from it mostly journeyed by ship. As the westernmost stronghold of the Wall, Sansa had no idea who this "important individual" might be, and Bran refused to name them.
Since Sansa didn't reply, Bran did not elaborate. He simply left one last remark: "I will wait for you at the Neck," before he and his three skinchangers drove their sleds away from Castle Black.
"You two get some rest. We'll discuss this in the morning." After a tense day, Robb had finally found a moment to relax, only for Bran to set them all on edge again. He spoke to his sisters, then slowly made his way toward the underground tunnels.
The Three-eyed Raven would never speak without purpose. If Bran said he would understand upon seeing his men, then Robb would find out soon enough.
The underground passage was crowded with people coming and going. Some were exhausted, collapsed in corners, fast asleep; others were carrying burn victims into the room, while some were carrying the dead bodies of fallen comrades out of the passage.
As Robb twisted and turned through the passage, he finally reached the room with the direwolf flag hanging on the door, but nothing seemed to happen.
Pushing open the door, a strong smell of sweat and blood hit him. This was the scent of the battlefield. The Stark knights had removed their armor; some were wiping themselves with towels, others were bandaging wounds, while some had already fallen asleep in bed, snoring loudly.
Seeing this, Robb began to feel conflicted. Should he trust Bran's words and have everyone pack up to march south immediately?
"Jojen, come here for a moment!" Jojen was one of the men escorting the Three-eyed Raven. Robb wanted to speak with him privately about the matter.
Jojen shoved a meat pie into his mouth and washed it down with water, then walked over to Robb, his bare chest still exposed as he mumbled, "Wh-what's the matter, Robb?"
"Just now, the Three-eyed Raven left on his sled. He told me..." Robb lowered his voice as he looked around the room, "He wants us to pack up and head south immediately!"
Jojen chewed a little more of his meat pie, his eyes fixed on Robb. "Heading south means retreating from Castle Black. Retreating without reason is demoralizing; it's desertion! Robb, you need to think this through."
"Keep your voice down!" Robb pulled Jojen to the door. "I didn't know this! That's why I'm consulting you first. The Three-eyed Raven has powerful prophetic abilities, but he only speaks in half-truths!"
"Hmm, anyone who can foresee the future likes to be mysterious like that," Jojen agreed.
"The North's army command is with my father, Eddard. The Night's Watch has Commander Banyon. Why does the Three-eyed Raven have to speak to me? Why can't he talk to them directly?" Robb's face grew more angry as he spoke. "Now I finally understand why Master Wright hated the Three-eyed Raven so much!"
Robb didn't know if Wright and the Three-eyed Raven had ever fought, but now that Bran was the Three-eyed Raven, Robb certainly wouldn't hesitate to fight back. At this moment, Robb really wanted to fly up and kick the Three-eyed Raven.
"How about we get a few more people to discuss this? Maybe we can come up with a compromise," Jojen suggested.
"Alright!" Robb agreed. He needed more people's opinions to find a way to obey military orders without defying the prophecy.
"Hodor, smalljon, Donnel Locke, Owen Norry, come over here," Robb called out to several people nearby.
When they gathered, Robb repeated what he had just told Jojen.
"Wait, didn't the Three-eyed Raven say you'd learn the reason? Why don't you—" Smalljon began, but was cut off by loud shouting from down the passage.
"White Walkers are attacking the castle! White Walkers are attacking the castle!"
"White Walkers are attacking the Wall? Don't they turn to ash as soon as they touch it?" Many people in the passage didn't believe the messenger's words.
"It's not the White Walkers themselves; it's the ice spiders they've bred! These ice spiders are different from what the legends say. Their bellies are enormous! They're crawling out of the tunnels, blindly charging at the Wall, and then exploding on impact. Now the base of the Wall is releasing thick white smoke!" The messenger shouted, gesturing wildly.
"Alchemy's hydration reaction!" Robb and Jojen exchanged glances, both realizing what was happening.
"No matter how strong the magic circles inside the Wall, it's ultimately made by freezing water. The White Walkers could never have done this. Looks like the vampires and human traitors really are a huge problem. Sigh..." Jojen sighed.
Robb, who was more versed in alchemy, understood. Water seemed stable, but many substances could react violently with it—quicklime, ores, metals—some even causing massive explosions.
"Who could have known this, centuries ago? It was easiest to melt water and freeze it to build the Wall." Robb turned and shouted into the room, "Everyone, pack your things! Grab your weapons and food, and be ready in ten minutes at the training ground!"
Outside the Wall, strange-looking ice spiders were continuously emerging from the tunnels near the Wall, launching suicide attacks.
The people above weren't idle either, tossing fire oil down and even throwing wildfire onto the attacking spiders, but the effect was minimal.
The spiders were resistant to fire, and their suicide attacks were meant to breach the Wall. The added flames only made the melting process worse, and a large ice hole began to form at the base of the Wall behind Castle Black.