The dragonfire from Odahviing was incredibly fierce. A day ago, while burning the corpses of the wights outside the fortress, the explosive flames scattered the ash everywhere. After flying low over the bodies of the Northern soldiers, Wright had it land to rest on the side.
King Renly's dragon took on the task of performing the cremations, following the precedent set by Eddard, who had burned the Winterfell tombs. With the addition of the real battle with the wights, the Northerners had no choice but to abandon their ancient tradition of burial.
The golden-red dragonfire guided the Northerners on their final journey, and Peytvahaaz, with its four limbs on the ground, slowly took steps, continuously whipping its neck and spraying dragonfire in both directions.
At one point, Peytvahaaz stopped and turned to look at Renly. After Renly gave it a fierce glare, the massive white-and-red striped dragon had no choice but to endure the tempting scent of roasted meat and resumed its laborious task.
The living relatives stood behind the military formation, holding ceramic urns, waiting for the dragonfire to burn out so they could collect the ashes. Renly ordered the urns to be placed in a warehouse in the fortress, with plans to return them to their homes for burial once the war was won.
"Lord Bolton, how is your grandson?" Wright asked softly as he returned to the ranks.
"He's safe," Lord Roose Bolton replied calmly, his face void of any smile.
His son, Domeric, had died—he was among the knights who stood in front of the prince and Sauron.
The Bolton family, before swearing allegiance to the Starks, had been rulers in the North, known as the Red Kings. Lord Roose had an eight-year-old grandson named Royce Bolton, named after four kings from the family who had once borne that name.
Wright was relieved that the direct line of the ancient Bolton family had not died out. If it had, the ruthless Roose Bolton would undoubtedly have backstabbed during a critical war, and even if it meant hindering Renly or Wright, they would have dealt with him. Eddard had just died, and Robb's influence over the older nobles was insufficient—without intervention, the North would descend into chaos.
Wright: "From this war, it's clear that battlefields aren't suited for civilians and children. Lord Bolton, many children in Tyrosh are about the same age as Royce. I run a school myself; why not send him there? It's safe, and he can receive the best education, even learn magic."
"Oh? Is it expensive? We, the Northern nobility, are like stray dogs now. I can't afford high tuition fees," Lord Bolton forced a small smile.
It wasn't that he lacked money—the first thing nobles took when moving was their gold dragons and valuables. Wright had seen dozens of supply wagons carrying the sigil of the Flayed Man. Lord Bolton's question was more of a way to delay while he thought things over.
Wright: "There are many schools in Tyrosh. At Royce's age, he could enroll in a junior class at my private school. When he graduates, he'll have more options—he can study arts, banking, or even continue at a magic school if his talent is sufficient."
Wright's mention of magic and art schools intrigued Lord Bolton, but when he heard about banking, he was surprised. He had never been to Tyrosh, but he had a habit of gathering information from all over. He now realized that Tyrosh was far more advanced than Westeros.
As long as Royce could learn something slightly more advanced, once he returned to the North, he wouldn't just help expand the Dreadfort to rival Winterfell—he would ensure a life of wealth and power.
Wright saw that Lord Bolton hadn't responded, so he continued: "If you agree, tonight you can say your goodbyes to Royce, and tomorrow he can join the southern-bound caravan."
"Agreed!" Lord Bolton no longer hesitated, knowing that Wright was doing him a favor, and if he refused, Wright would move on to the next person.
"Wait here; my personal guard will come to register," Wright said, patting Lord Bolton's arm.
Sure enough, after Wright walked away.
Renly and Wright had discussed Lord Bolton's arrangements for a long time. The Northern nobility were not the prince's personal guards; they gave their lives to protect him. If they took that for granted, the kingdom's rule wouldn't last long, so the two of them had to return the favor.
Depending on each noble's circumstances, some were compensated with gold dragons, others with trade contracts, some had children placed in the Red Keep as attendants—but Lord Bolton was different.
House Bolton's military and economic power were second only to the Starks. Most of the lords in the North's northeastern region were nominally loyal to the Starks, but privately, they followed the Bolton family, a legacy of ancient history.
Renly and Wright used this opportunity to send House Bolton heir to Tyrosh. If he went to King's Landing, the nobles he befriended during his growth would be a valuable asset when he returned to the North, potentially aiding him in resisting the Stark family.
Tyrosh, however, was different. The nobles there were far removed from the North, and the military power was firmly controlled by Wright. They could lend some money, but they wouldn't be of much use otherwise.
The North could only be rule by one House loyal to House Baratheon in power, and that family was the Starks.
After the funeral, a brief coronation ceremony was held.
With the witnesses of King Renly, Lord Wright of Tyrosh, Lord Edmure Tully of the Riverlands, Lord Denys Arryn of the Vale, and several other Northern nobles, Robb Stark officially inherited the title of Warden of the North. King Renly also granted him command of the North's military affairs, officially entrusting him with the leadership of Northern military matters. Other Northern nobles with casualties also named their heirs.
Two vampires nailed to wooden frames were lifted into the center of the square.
Renly, holding an iron sword, stepped forward to the vampires and shouted, "For humanity!"
With that, he thrust the sword into the vampire's abdomen.
Next, it was Wright's turn, who, similarly holding an iron sword, drove it into the creature's body, saying, "For Eddard!"
Amid the vampire's agonized wails and the shouts of the crowd, every noble and family member of the fallen stepped forward, holding daggers or longswords, and one by one, they took turns stabbing the vampires.
Vampires possessed an extraordinary healing ability, but even they couldn't withstand the efforts of thousands of people. When their heads drooped and they were on the verge of death, soldiers behind them would pour a bowl of bloody, rotten paste made from rats caught in the granaries into their mouths. It was a fresh stew made from mashed rodents—intended to keep the vampires alive long enough to endure more stabbing.
In the end, the two vampires were decapitated by Robb, their heads placed on either side of Eddard's urn.
The next day,
Everyone knew the war was far from over. South of the Moat Cailin, long lines of wagons formed again.
Moat Cailin was a military stronghold, not providing enough housing for civilians. Only blacksmiths and stonemasons were left behind, while civilians, noble children, knights, and soldiers' families continued their migration south.
This decision had been made after a military council. The war outside the city had made everyone realize that untrained farmers, even if armed with the best weapons and gear, were nothing more than background figures, and the Others didn't care for that. In the end, they became wights to turn against humans.
Noble families and knights would go to King's Landing, where they had family houses to stay in, while peasants and soldiers would have to travel as far as the northern reaches of the Riverlands before they could settle, where the farmlands still had greenery.
The Hand of the King, Mathis Rowan, proposed a policy: the Northmen would help with farming, and in return, the northern lords of the Riverlands would provide temporary housing and food.
At the south gate, carts joined the line one by one, as countless soldiers bade farewell to their families. Children's laughter and women's sobs filled the air. Perhaps this parting was forever, and the next time they would meet, only ashes would remain.
After saying goodbye to his son, Robb walked with Seran, who cupped his face in both hands and lifted it to meet her gaze.
"Robb, don't always rush to the front. Now you are the Lord of the North. You must be a commander who guides everyone to victory, not just a warrior rushing into battle!"
Robb, holding her hands, pressed his face into them, feeling the warmth of her touch. "I won't be reckless like I was when I was younger."
Seran smiled and hugged Robb tightly. "You make it sound as if yesterday you were young, and today you've become old."
Robb kissed her golden hair and spoke softly, "King Renly has arranged it. This time, you and my mother will stay in the Red Keep in King's Landing. Little Robb will attend the magic school."
"Why not go to your mother's castle, Riverrun?" Hearing that they were going to stay in the Red Keep, Seran's expression froze. Luckily, her face was buried in Robb's chest, so no one saw it.
Robb explained, "The snow has frozen the entire Trident region. If the Others cross Moat Cailin and head south, it will be open ground. Riverrun won't be safe."
"Moat Cailin will fall? Did your brother give you this information?" Seran had gotten along with Bran in the past. But since his return, calling him the Three-Eyed Raven, they hadn't exchanged more than a few words. She found his eyes, which seemed to see through the very soul, terrifying.
"It's what was said in the military council. Even the scouting units have encountered so many wights, and Wright discovered magic circles controlled by the Others beyond the Wall. Once the main force of the Others arrives, it will be the deadliest battle in history," Robb said grimly, his own confidence waning.
"Then tell me about it. I'll help you analyze it," Seran said seriously, pushing Robb away. Now, the war was between the living and the dead. Anyone who could hold a weapon, regardless of gender, had to join the fight. In the traditionally conservative North's army, even strong peasant women had been conscripted. As Lady Stark, Seran had the right to join the council if she picked up a weapon.
Robb reflected for a moment and began recounting.
At the previous military council, Wright and Renly had first summarized why the Battle of Moat Cailin had been so disastrous.
Renly held several sheets of paper and read aloud: "The Others have ice spiders helping to increase their mobility, and vampires have joined them to aid in decision-making, especially with the help of human traitors! These traitors revealed our defense strategies and tactics to the Others."
He paused, then continued, "These are the enemy's factors.
As for us, the extreme cold beyond the Wall made it impossible to send out a reconnaissance unit. We know almost nothing about the Others' movements. From the beginning of the war, we've been in a passive defensive position."
He paused again, adjusting the papers before continuing.
"The civilians who cannot fight have hindered the army's movement. We had to split into three groups—east, west, and north for protection. Although we outnumber the enemy, our forces are divided, which has turned our advantage into a disadvantage."
"The protection of the North was also ambushed, trapping us on the western front and making it impossible to command the Northern army, which caused chaos across the entire battlefield. Each lord had to seek support on their own."
The people sitting below deeply understood this, especially Great Jon, whose son had gone to find support but instead encountered the prince and Sauron, leading to his death.
"The Riverlands army did a good job of protecting the civilians' evacuation, but because they didn't receive a call for help from the North, they stationed most of their forces on the rear defense," Renly said here, giving Edmure a modicum of face.
Edmure straightened up, raising his head. The order he received had indeed been to protect the evacuation of Northern civilians, and he had successfully completed that objective. He had even been publicly praised by Renly for it. Edmure had not known how badly things had turned for the North, nor had any soldiers come to him for help.
"The Vale cavalry had the same issue, staying behind the infantry to protect the civilians," Renly finished reading the document and set it down.
Sitting beside Wright, Denys Arryn and the Vale nobles in the audience were expressionless. After separating from the Riverlands forces, they had ridden around the battlefield, launching a few charges but never killing a single wight. Their efforts had been in vain.
At that moment, Wright tapped the table and took over the conversation. "Finally, I want to say that it's become painfully clear from the Battle of Moat Cailin—there is no qualified military commander in this kingdom!"
"Commander?"
Wright's fingers tapped the table one by one. "Many nobles and knights are brave in battle, able to take on ten enemies at once, leading a group of knights to win small skirmishes. In larger engagements, they might clear out a bandit hideout, but once it comes to a major war, chaos ensues! Three Lords led troops on the battlefield, yet none could command the others!"
Some in the crowd wanted to rise in opposition but were held back by those next to them.
Some were familiar with Wright's temperament and could tell from his gestures that now was not the time to frown. While Wright wasn't a tyrant like some nobles who would raise armies to attack, his actions often led to troublesome consequences.
Rumors had it that Titus Peake had somehow offended Wright and was forced to sell his ancestral lands and go to Tyrosh, even offering his wife to Wright to warm his bed. Now, his life was worse than that of a pig or a dog.
Wright continued, "This war is different from the others. It's not about a single town or a lord's domain, but the entire Seven Kingdoms and all the living people! Does anyone remember the last time the Seven Kingdoms gathered their armies?"
"Eleven years ago, King Robert led the army to attack the Stepstones!" the participants replied almost simultaneously.
Even children knew that it was the first time dragons appeared before the world, and it marked the beginning of a new Lord's domain in Westeros. While most still referred to it as the Seven Kingdoms, the mighty Tyrosh was no longer an overseas territory to be ignored, as its powerful trade networks connected every person present in the room.
The attendees were from the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale, which had, incidentally, been the three regions that had stayed behind during that war, having been too far away to send troops and therefore had not truly participated in the battle.