"Steady and methodical?"
"Yes, steady and methodical!"
Having "commanded" the Battle of The Twins, Edmure considered himself experienced in dealing with these undead creatures and opted for the most conservative tactics.
Under his command, over ten thousand Riverlands troops marched out of Moat Cailin and immediately formed the tightest defensive formation—swords and shields in the front, spearmen in the middle, archers in the rear, with each unit accompanied by a mage hired by the nobles. The cavalry positioned themselves at the back, waiting for an opportunity to strike.
As they advanced, a passage was left open in the center to allow civilians to enter the castle. Meanwhile, squads at the rear dispersed, ran to the front, and reassembled, allowing the army to progress northward in alternating movements.
Among the forces sent out to engage the enemy, there was one infantry unit that Edmure could not command.
Amidst the battlefield stretching for over ten miles, this unit maintained a disciplined formation, breaking away from the Riverlands' coalition forces and swiftly moving toward the most intense fighting in the north.
This thousand-strong force wore steel armor and golden one-shouldered cloaks. Carrying wooden shields and longswords, they were led by four members of the Kingsguard, each draped in their distinctive colored cloaks. As they advanced, they efficiently cut down the wights attacking from the flanks.
Once the battle commenced, Jon ran at full speed. His combat style was ill-suited for large-scale formations, so at Loras' request, he temporarily ceded command before vanishing into the chaos.
Loras, now acting as the overall commander, positioned himself at the vanguard. With a longsword at his waist and a lance bearing the stag sigil in hand, he skewered one wight after another. Dressed in his pristine white Kingsguard armor, he executed elegant yet practical spear thrusts, catching the admiration of many Gold Cloaks who resolved to learn from him once the battle was over.
Ahead of Loras, however, was a hundred-man unit that he had no authority over. They had broken away from the Gold Cloaks' formation and were cutting through the wights at incredible speed.
"City Guard, advance faster!" Loras sighed, urging the Gold Cloaks to pick up the pace and keep up with the relentless charge.
This hundred-man unit was uniformly equipped with pale gold armor and cloaks, wielding massive battle-axes taller than a man. As they swung their weapons, wights were either cleaved in two or pulverized entirely. However, due to the momentum needed to sustain such heavy strikes, they were spread out, only assisting each other when one was in danger.
These warriors, both men and women, were all towering figures. Their thick plate armor concealed their features, making it difficult to distinguish gender except for the slight curve of the female breastplates.
As both ceremonial guards and elite combatants, the unit was fixed at precisely 101 members. Recruited from the navy and army, positions only opened when a veteran was injured or retired. Since Wright required no personal bodyguards, serving in this unit was the highest honor for any Tyroshi commoner. Unfortunately, strict height requirements meant that many skilled soldiers were eliminated in the first round of selection.
"Ahh!"
Balon Swann, captain of the unit, swung his battle-axe in a sweeping arc, decapitating two wights before continuing the motion, bringing the weapon around his head for another devastating strike that cut three more in half.
As the vanguard, Balon momentarily found himself in a cleared space. Peering through the slit of his helmet, he assessed the battlefield before raising his axe and pointing forward. "Guardsmen, push ahead!"
However, there was one individual Balon did not bother to command. He merely watched as the man charged headlong into a dense cluster of wights, using him as a battering ram to clear the way.
After years of training, rotations, and combat experience, Wright's personal guard had become the most elite heavy infantry of the time. Yet, on this chaotic battlefield, the only one fighting more ferociously than them was something of a monster.
Even the largest Northmen looked like children beside him—their heads barely reaching his chest. Even the mighty Greatjon stood only as high as his ears.
Unlike the pale gold armor of Wright's personal guard, this warrior was clad in golden plate that gleamed like true gold. Every piece of his armor was seamlessly fitted, leaving no gaps. His shoulder pauldrons extended into clawed tiger paws, while his helmet bore a snarling tiger's head with only two small openings for sight. Embedded across his armor were multicolored gemstones.
Any experienced knight could tell from the metallic clanking as he moved—this was an ultra-heavy suit of plate armor.
Aside from his gilded armor, he wielded a massive golden longsword in his right hand and a rectangular metal tower shield in his left. The shield bore a raised tiger's head with eyes that seemed to glare eternally at whatever lay before it.
Under the bright, reflective snow, his golden armor shimmered dazzlingly, making him the center of attention. Onlookers could only marvel—such extravagance! Clearly, he had money with no place to spend it!
This warrior was Ellios Chiheda, head of House Chiheda of Volantis. Having forsaken his bid for Triarch, he joined the Dragon Cult to devote himself entirely to the study of magic. Known as "the Dragon Priest who was not a Dragon Priest," he had been granted the title of Lord of Saerhorse Town by Wright.
The commoners and Northern soldiers only had to turn their heads to see the towering figure of Ellios, his upper body exposed above the crowd. Such an obvious target could not be ignored by the wights on the battlefield.
Hundreds of wights abandoned their previous targets and charged at him. Ellios, however, showed no fear. He raised his shield before his chest and charged straight into them.
"Roar!"
With his furious bellow, red patterns began to surface on his armor. As blood-red magical runes spread across his entire body, his armor ignited in golden flames.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The heavy armor stomped against the ground, producing thunderous sounds. The ice beneath him, already packed solid by the trampling of commoners, shattered beneath his steps. Each stride he took left behind a flaming footprint.
"Roar!"
Ellios let out another furious bellow.
His longsword whipped up a swirling wind along its blade, which then flowed into his body, causing the flames on his armor to erupt as if doused in oil. His speed doubled in an instant.
The tiger-head engraving on his golden shield turned crimson, and violent blue flames burst from the shield's front and edges. The flames trailed behind Ellios as he charged, forming a burning hemisphere around him.
Wights swung their axes and swords at him, but upon contact with the blue flames, explosions tore them apart. Those nearby who hadn't yet struck were also caught in the blast. Even those that managed to avoid the explosions were shattered by the sheer force of his shield bash, their remains quickly consumed by the fire.
"Whoooaaa—haaah!"
Like a raging bull set ablaze, Ellios rampaged across the battlefield, charging wherever wights were most densely packed. In his wake, wights were trampled and crushed into burning fragments, leaving behind a long trail of fire in the snow.
"That's a full set of inscribed armor... And that magic shield and longsword are real Valyrian steel! That bastard must be filthy rich!"
Not far away, Smalljon Umber, riding through the battlefield in search of a mage, let out an exclamation of astonishment.
One of the knights behind him, glancing at his own worn chainmail, battered longsword, and aging horse, muttered, "My entire fortune couldn't buy even one of his gauntlets, and I'd probably still have to throw in a few gold dragons!"
"Forget it! Even if you had ten times your wealth, you still wouldn't afford a single glove." Smalljon waved him off, urging him to stay focused on their task.
House Umber's maester had a book on Valyrian steel weapons, and Smalljon often flipped through it in the library.
The tiger-head shield was called "Fangbreaker", named after an old tiger raised by House Chiheda that had grown up alongside Ellios. The tiger had lost a canine tooth in its youth, and since its lifespan was far shorter than a human's, Ellios named his shield after it upon its death.
The shield was crafted by Wright. Some men spent most of their wealth on their equipment—Ellios was a prime example. He often said that a set of fine weapons and armor could save one's life, secure battlefield merits, and serve as one of the safest investments for a noble house.
This shield was also one of only two known Valyrian steel shields. The other was in the hands of Wright's wife, Nymeria. Her full set of armor, weapons, and shield had only one named piece: her spear. Perhaps she simply didn't bother naming the rest.
Ellios' longsword was borrowed from his wife's family and was also forged by Wright.
After each Westerosi lord obtained a Valyrian steel weapon, some earls eagerly awaited their turn, thinking theirs would come soon. But then, the Valantene invaded and seized Tyroshi weapons auctions for four consecutive years.
Support from the south had struck the battlefield like a dagger, piercing deep into its core. The wights on the eastern flank had long been annihilated, and the Northern lords, along with their soldiers, were now rushing north to reinforce their allies.
On the western front, while chasing down the White Walkers, Wright had inadvertently flushed out vampires hiding in the snow.
He knew that not all White Walkers were swift runners; their true main force was still further north. Only a small fraction could keep up with humans. After slaying several White Walkers, he managed to capture both a White Walker and a vampire alive.
The bitter cold forced the Northern cavalry to pace their horses carefully—letting them run too long in such weather risked illness. When they spotted Wright approaching, they pulled back to wait for his return.
Two translucent, coffin-sized rectangular ice blocks floated in the air, slowly trailing behind a skeletal horse. The ice blocks were inscribed with glowing purple magical runes. Lacking a Valyrian steel cage, Wright had instead used illusion magic to imprison their minds.
The skeletal horse, Arvak, wasn't finished running yet. Its nostrils flared, exhaling purple soul flames, and its head jerked back repeatedly, signaling Wright to let it keep running.
As a fellow undead creature, Arvak considered itself far superior to the wights. It longed to trample the lowly creatures beneath its hooves.
Wright, however, did not indulge it. Upon reaching the Northern cavalry, he dismissed Arvak back to the Soul Cairn. The Northern riders, unfamiliar with the sight of a skeletal horse, had grown agitated, their own horses anxiously pacing in place.
A mage's hand guided the two ice coffins under the direwolf banner.
"What are your losses?" Wright asked.
"We walked into the White Walkers' trap," a knight replied grimly. "We lost a quarter of our cavalry and two-thirds of our horses."
"People just need to stay alive, and the horses will be able to bear offspring in three years," Wright said, looking in the direction. "Where are the mages? I need to hand these two over to them."
Only a mage could handle the ice coffins with the magical symbols; Wright wouldn't trust them to ordinary people.
"Lord Eddard..." the knight pointed south.
Wright looked over, and saw a small hill; it wasn't a battlefield, and there were no signs of people. "Eddard? What happened to him?"
"Lord Eddard is dead," the knight said, and the surrounding people fell silent, only the heavy breathing of man and horse, and the white mist exhaled from their mouths, filling the air.
"Dead? Where is his body? Lead me to him!" Wright had seen a purple shadow heading west earlier, Jon Snow following Eddard—how could he be dead?
The knight led Wright over several small hills, coming to a flat open area where a large group of Northmen had gathered. From the banners, it seemed at least five or six families were present.
The knights handed their horses over to the infantry and led Wright toward the center of the crowd.
"Lord Wright has arrived!" someone called out.
The surrounding Northmen turned to look at Wright, and the crowd parted, creating a path.
In the middle of the crowd stood several of the old noble families of the North with their children, their swords planted tip-down in the snow.
Robb and Jon were tending to Eddard's remains.
Eddard's chest plate had been removed and set aside, while Jon carefully cut open the seams on Eddard's clothes, sewing his sleeves. Robb, having taken off his gloves, picked up some snow from the ground to wipe his father's face.
Wright approached the two, raising his hand to signal for the crowd to be silent and to lower his head as he quietly observed them.
Eddard's body was missing his right arm, and his face had a ghastly pallor—a color even a human losing too much blood wouldn't have. His exposed neck and face showed veins beneath the skin, glowing with an eerie blue hue.
Once Robb and Jon finished briefly tending to him, putting Eddard's chest plate back on, they slowly stood up.
"Master Wright," Jon said.
Wright nodded, his expression grim. "When was Eddard struck by the ice spear of the Others?"
Robb spoke up, "Father was struck and immediately pulled out the spear. His body was still able to fight, so he didn't go to a mage for treatment right away."
Jon added, "When I found my foster father, I saw the cold magic of the spear spreading through his body. I immediately severed his arm, but the wound was too close to the heart. It was too late."
In Winterfell, Wright had told the northern nobles that the most dangerous wound was one inflicted by an Other's ice spear.
The ice spear carried massive amounts of cold magic, combined with other unknown magics. The force behind the shot was so great it could pierce even the scales of young dragons. Even Wright would need several layered spells to block it. What made it more deadly was that, if no magical resistance was applied, the strange magic would continue to erode the body.
However, while fighting the wights at the Wall, people had only used weapons made of obsidian and silver, which they were familiar with in battle against wights and vampires. They had never encountered an Other, and the knowledge of how dangerous they were had been overlooked.
Eddard had thought it was just a simple penetrating wound. For the sake of his honor, he drank a healing potion and continued to lead his knights into battle. The wound gradually healed, causing him to miss the opportunity to seek out a mage for treatment.
"This is a battlefield. Robb, take part of the men and send Eddard's body back to the keep." Wright waved his hand, and two ice coffins floated above the crowd.
Wright spoke solemnly: "I've captured one of the Others and a vampire. Robb, you're in charge of bringing them back. Remember, you must keep them alive until I return—don't let the vengeful ones kill them!"
Robb nodded.
"This is the first live capture of an Other. Perhaps this is the key to understanding their bodies and magic!" Wright was worried that Robb, in a fit of impulse, might kill the Other. He placed a hand on Robb and Jon's shoulders: "Once I finish my research, we'll have them accompany Eddard in the afterlife."