"Sorry, Sansa. Lyra is my sister; she's never left the North, so she doesn't recognize Tyene." Jorah could tell things were getting bad and quickly explained as he saw Sansa's expression grow darker.
"I'm not blaming her. Mages aren't so easy to kill." Sansa lifted her head and looked at the snowstorm overhead, speaking toward the North: "Geralt, let's go back and find people."
"Sansa, I suggest you come with us to Bear Island. When we fled, many ships got scattered in the confusion. If it's Bear Island knights at the helm, they're more likely to find their way back. Maybe if we wait a few days on Bear Island, you'll find the person you're looking for."
As they prepared to leave, Jorah urged them to stay. Whether it was really Tyene or not, two Mages returning to Shadow Tower would likely not survive! Sansa held a high rank, and the white-haired youth was also a sorcerer. The Bear Island fleet had two protectors, so it was safer than traveling alone.
Geralt walked up behind Sansa: "The Three-Eyed Raven's prophecy was for us to take the ships, and these ice-bound ships are still ships!"
Sansa thought for a moment before replying: "Let's go to Bear Island first. We'll inform Winterfell of the important figure in the prophecy, who could be Tyene, and might be dead or captured by the wights."
"It might not be her yet! Do we really have to write it?" Geralt said nervously.
Sansa replied firmly: "Then make sure to write 'might' in big letters!"
---
Returning from the North, Wright saw that the Wall was still intact, and the training grounds at Castle Black were crowded with people. As Odahviing descended, he saw that it was filled with wights and quickly soared back into the sky.
Wright looked down at Castle Black: "The Wall is done for!"
Odahviing rumbled: "No matter how powerful the magic circle, it will eventually be destroyed—perhaps by human hands, or maybe just by time."
Wright had Odahviing circle around: "Before we leave, we need to leave something behind for them. What if we kill the Night King?"
"I was thinking the same!" Odahviing gathered magical energy.
"Don't hold back on the magic! Let's drop a big one and get out of here," Wright shouted, while also casting his own magic above the dragon's head.
A massive storm of fire meteors rained down, accompanied by lightning, wreaking havoc on Castle Black, obliterating the wights and turning the ancient castle into rubble. The centuries-old fortress was destroyed by Wright and Odahviing.
The snow around Castle Black had all melted, and huge columns of steam shot up into the sky.
If the Night King had been there, Wright would have jumped down, disregarding the wights and vampires, heading straight for the Night King's face to kill him. If the Night King died, the attack would be half over.
However, the larger structure was underground, with passages spreading in all directions. Even after a group of wights was burned, more crawled out from the depths—endless.
"Let's go. The Night King is probably hiding in some cave up north!"
With that, man and dragon flew south.
---
Winterfell had been bustling for days, like a market. Every street was crowded with carts, empty carts entering the city, and others full of goods heading south. At every intersection, groups of knights were on guard, and several bandits hoping to loot were hanging from the gates.
Important supplies from the main city were being carried away by cart, while the Stark family gathered in the crypt beneath the castle.
Eddard, Catelyn, Robb, and Seran, along with his son Young Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, stood solemnly before an ancient, weathered human-shaped stone effigy.
Maester Luwin held a large, thick book, recording the deeds of the Starks' ancestors: "This is the stone coffin of Rickard Stark. He defeated the Swamp King and brought the Neck into the North."
"Winter is coming. The descendants of the Stark family don't wish to fight their ancestors on the battlefield. We hope the ancestors understand."
Eddard placed his hand on the coffin and recited an old god's prayer. After finishing, he stepped back a few paces: "Open the coffin!"
Walder, a man towering at over two meters and made of muscle, stepped forward and easily opened the stone coffin, revealing the skeleton inside.
"Old Gods bless!" Robb stepped forward, and flames shot from his hand, reducing the bones to ashes.
After completing the ritual, the Stark family moved aside to open the next coffin.
As Eddard mumbled his prayers, Catelyn quietly asked Maester Luwin: "How many more are there?"
Maester Luwin's book didn't match the number of coffins. He explained to Catelyn: "This coffin belongs to Rodrik Stark, the conqueror of Bear Island. Not all of the Stark family are buried here; some were lost at sea, or their bodies were never found, so only their names were engraved on stone. There are still dozens more."
Seran, standing nearby, whispered to Robb: "The walls of Winterfell are tall and strong, and the city can hold many people. Why are we abandoning Winterfell?"
Robb tightened his grip on Seran hand. "You haven't been to the North. The bodies from thousands of years ago have all been resurrected by the wights. There are endless wights, both human and animal. Winterfell is just a castle, and once it's surrounded, there will be no escape routes."
Seran looked up at Robb's side profile. "Can't the mages deal with them? What about Wright? And can't Odahviing do something?"
Robb shook his head. "A headsman can chop off a hundred heads in one day. A knight, trained in full armor from childhood, can swing a sword a hundred times with full strength. If we count Wright as ten men, plus magic, he could kill ten thousand wights. But that amount is nothing compared to the endless sea of wights!"
Just as Seran was about to speak, Robb added:
"Wights won't just kneel and wait to be killed! Under the command of the Night King, they'll run, jump, and dodge. Armed, they can form battle lines and attack like an army. Wright is human, not a god. If he faces a powerful Night King or a vampire, he'll be held back until his magic runs out and he dies from exhaustion."
"But didn't Wright kill tens of thousands in Myr?" Seran recalled a story about Wright.
Robb laughed in frustration. "Is that the version you heard in a tavern, or the one written by the maester?"
Seran fondly remembered the openness of Tyrosh and didn't want to admit she often snuck out to the Winterfell tavern to drink when Robb was away. Without blushing, she said, "The version written by Maester Luwin."
"The number of deaths in a war, as written by historians, is often blamed on the one who started the war," Robb paused for a moment:
"Wright had good relations with the Citadel. From the time he was born until he was twenty, the Citadel's records about him were very objective and reliable. Then the Citadel opened a branch in Tyrosh, and the young maester there, dissatisfied with the old-fashioned and rigid ways of Oldtown, started a scholarly conflict. They called it an invisible war."
Seran understood. "So, Wright's deeds were written in the Citadel as foolish and brutal, a butcher who killed at will with magic, and spread by the scholars throughout Westeros. The real records can only be found in Tyrosh?"
Robb almost laughed out loud but quickly covered his mouth. "Not even in Tyrosh! To oppose Oldtown, the scholars there reversed everything. In their historical writings, they portrayed Wright as wise and heroic, a god-like figure!"
"This…" Seran was speechless. "Doesn't King Renly care? Wright is his brother!"
"I don't know. Renly has never made any public statements about it, not even written a letter to the Citadel asking for clarification," Robb thought for a moment, puzzled by the situation.
Seran didn't ask further questions. She understood this must have been something controlled behind the scenes by both Wright and Renly. Whether slander or praise, when the scholars from Tyrosh mature and the ones from Oldtown age, Wright would ultimately emerge victorious in this invisible war.
---
In the underground chambers of Winterfell, in the luxurious guest rooms set aside for esteemed guests, Wright sat on the sofa writing. His right hand wrote while his left was busy using the Mage Hand spell to hold the crying and wailing Sauron down on the bed. Quaithe sat by the bed, trying to comfort Sauron.
The message from Sansa, sent from Bear Island, was for Robb. Believing it to be urgent, Robb had informed Wright.
As Robb left Wright's room, he ran into Sauron. Robb, who wasn't good at lying, looked very unnatural. Anyone could tell he had something on his mind. Unable to withstand Sauron's persistent pestering, Robb reluctantly told him to go speak with Wright directly, indirectly confirming that something major was happening with Wright.
Sauron had been shouting by Wright's side, and his disturbed thoughts made Wright's words come out in a jumble.
"I don't care! I'm going to find her!" Sauron continued his tantrum.
Wright put down his pen and looked over his shoulder. "It's only been a little over nine years. I've known Tyene for over a decade. Do you think your relationship with her is better than mine?"
"Then why haven't you gone to find her?" Sauron asked.
"I did." Wright stood up and walked to the window. "I asked the Three-Eyed Raven, but he didn't answer. He just smiled at me."
"The Three-Eyed Raven?" Sauron stopped his crying at the mention of the all-knowing Three-Eyed Raven. "What does his smile mean? Is she alive or dead?"
"He didn't answer. When I threatened to throw him to the wights unless he gave me a straight answer, he just smiled and said, 'This is the prophecy.'" Wright clenched his fists. The Three-Eyed Raven was insufferable, and Wright was already planning his own revenge.
Quaithe added, "A smile represents something good, so Tyene should be safe."
"There are dozens of dangerous creatures." Sauron said, still concerned.
Wright spoke in the most stern tone, "The population north of Winterfell has already been evacuated. You are not allowed to go north! If there is any news, I will go find her myself."
Sauron finally quieted down, lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
The door to Wright's bedroom wasn't closed. A dozen northern nobles entered. Seeing the tense atmosphere, they all stood by silently, none daring to speak.
Wright, standing by the window, turned around to look at Sauron, whose face was smeared with snot and tears, and dismissed the magic. "Quaithe, take him to wash up."
Quaithe picked up Sauron effortlessly, dragging him along. When Sauron saw so many people in the room, his face flushed in embarrassment, and he buried his head into Quaithe's open collar. "I don't want to wash my face!"
"Then let's go to the hot spring!" Quaithe, seemingly frail, held Sauron like a plush toy, walking out of the room without breaking a sweat, even with the northern nobles watching.
"The body of Mage Quaithe is remarkable, large chest, perky backside, she'll surely give Lord Wright a big, healthy grandson one day!" Lord Roose Bolton, eyeing Quaithe's form outlined by her tight black robe, complimented Wright.
"I need to find a female mage for my son, raise him from a young age, then have him marry and start a family."
"I think you're looking for one for yourself!" another noble joked.
Laughter erupted from the others.
Northern people tend to speak bluntly, and when in their land, you must follow the local customs. Anyone who gets angry will only be mocked. After a couple of crude jokes, Wright motioned for everyone to sit, signaling it was time to discuss the matter at hand.
Wright handed the papers he had written to Lord Bolton. "All information regarding the White Walkers has been compiled. This document details how regular soldiers can deal with the White Walkers and vampires. Go to Eddard and have him print as many copies as possible, then distribute them to all literate knights as quickly as possible."
"This is invaluable," Lord Roose Bolton said, after reading, passing the papers to a Stark family member nearby.
Every region was in turmoil. All northern vassals pledged loyalty to House Stark, but internally they were divided into two factions—one loyal to the Starks, the other led by Roose Bolton.
At the Dreadfort, with the second strongest military force in the north, no matter Roose Bolton's previous actions, here he showed no signs of rebellion. Wright couldn't just kill him because he disliked the fake smile on his face.
The papers quickly reached Lord Jon Umber, who read through them before exclaiming loudly, "It says the obsidian daggers are very brittle, they break easily when striking armor. I'd rather just use my axe and cleave through them! Why go through all this trouble?"
Wright had expected this response. "An axe can split a corpse in half, but it doesn't kill it! As long as any part of its body can still move, it will continue attacking. But with obsidian daggers, even a small toy-like blade, once it pierces any part of the corpse, it will be a fatal blow!"
Lord Jon Umber, towering over two meters tall, sat higher than Wright, even in his heavy leather armor.
"I believe both you and your son, Smalljon, are exceptional warriors!" Wright complimented, causing both Jon Umber and his son to sit up straighter, puffing out their chests. "The things written on these pages may seem trivial, but they concern everyone's life! The reason I had each of you lords come personally is so you understand their importance!" Wright stood up from his chair.
"Northerners are brave and bold, always charging into battle against strong enemies, with the best warriors and generals leading the charge! But against the White Walkers and their army of corpses, if you continue fighting like this, you'll only help the White Walkers increase their forces, and you'll become their enemies, not their allies!"
Greatjon Umber stood up, glaring down at Wright, shouting, "We Northerners have no cowards! First, the Night's Watch lost the Wall, and now, even before facing the White Walkers in battle, you're talking about abandoning Winterfell? Is that how you fight down south?"
Those who had never suffered a loss would only trust their own judgment. The problem with fighting the White Walkers wasn't about supplies or numbers; it was the stubborn mindset and the sense of traditional honor.
Seeing his father getting angry and confronting Wright, Smalljon knew Wright was not someone to be trifled with and stood up, resolutely standing beside his father.
The other lords remained silent, watching to see how Wright would respond. Lord Roose Bolton subtly gestured to Wright, signaling him not to be upset. Northern people had quick tempers.