The heavy snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the world in white. This was a land where only the people of the North could find peace. As the snow covered the ground, an icy grip swept in from the Land of Eternal Winter. The true master of this land had but one enemy: winter itself.
They left Castle Black through the tunnel. Today marked the Commander-in-Chief's journey south to Winterfell, to attend Lord Eddard Stark's funeral. Outside the fortress, a gathering of people waited.
Cole had already arranged the formation. Tents were pitched, warriors from the Stormlands rode their tall warhorses, and carriages came and went.
A servant led Cole's horse, followed closely by his direwolf, Ghost. The first time Ghost saw Cole, its back arched, its fur bristled, and it let out a series of hoarse roars. Its blood-red eyes glared angrily at the silver-haired knight on the warhorse.
"Ghost," Cole called, reaching out to calm the direwolf.
Cole clearly observed the scene. A complex expression flickered across his face, but as Cole approached, he managed a smile.
"Are you leaving?" Cole asked, stroking Ghost's fur, feeling its agitation.
"Going to Eastwatch," Cole replied. He and Cole had reached an agreement.
Cole had agreed to help him persuade Robb Stark. In Cole's view, they shared common enemies: the Lannisters and the White Walkers. Cole had recounted to him what Cersei and Tywin had done to his father and sister in the South, which deeply angered Cole. He detested the vile Lannisters.
To demonstrate his sincerity, Cole had also sent Durran Bar Emmon to accompany Cole to Winterfell. Of course, besides being an envoy for the alliance, Durran also had the mission of bringing back Princess Shireen.
"Cole."
Cole, who had already mounted his horse, turned his head, looking at him with a hint of confusion.
"Take care, brother."
Cole nodded, then rode his horse, leading the team onto the Kingsroad. At the edge of the horizon, the white direwolf looked back, its gaze fixed on Cole.
After Cole departed, Cole led his army east. His next destination was Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Regardless of Winterfell's decision, he would march south. For the Wall, this was all he could do.
Castle Black grew smaller and smaller behind him. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, located at the easternmost end of the Wall, was about 200 kilometers from Castle Black. They traveled for three days before the sea and sky appeared in the distance.
The sound of waves crashed against their ears, and the horn of the Night's Watch sounded from the fortress of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. This time, however, it blew only once. Garrison Captain Cotter Pyke led the rangers to greet them.
Cole chose not to station his troops around the fortress of Eastwatch, but on a hill facing the sea. The Night's Watch frequently patrolled the sea, seeking to catch smugglers bringing weapons beyond the Wall and wildlings sneaking south by sea.
The ship Cole had brought from the South was docked on the coast, guarded by two hundred men. The ship lay horizontally, flying the banner of the Julius family. He thought that perhaps soon, he should replace the white bird with a white dragon.
The arakh scimitar slit the Dornishman's throat, and blood gushed from the gaping wound. Facing the attacking Dothraki cavalry, the Dornishman seemed utterly panicked. Only around one iron-clad horseman were people still fiercely fighting.
In Haggo's opinion, these must be the bandits, the iron-clad men, from the Sunset Lands.
They used long spears, rode slender horses, and their armor was primarily copper scales, just as described for the iron-clad guard next to the Khaleesi.
Haggo shouted, ordering his mounted warriors to prepare to attack the Iron-Clad Bandits' formation. The Dothraki warriors circled the Dornishmen on their horses, testing them with long whips.
Haggo, the bloodrider, picked up the grassland bow tied to the side of his saddle.
They roared and screamed, cursing these cowardly armored men in Dothraki.
Haggo drew the bowstring with his arm, clasped his feet tightly to his horse's belly, and pressed his feet into the stirrups to keep his lower body stable.
As the arrows flew, the sharp, iron-tipped arrows, like hunting eagles, pursued their prey with piercing beaks.
The Dornishmen were trapped within the Dothraki encirclement, arrows from short bows raining down from all directions.
"Quentyn, we have to break through!" Ser Garis Dinwater protected himself with a shield.
Quentyn looked at the Dothraki circling them. He glanced at Maester Kedry, who lay not far away, and felt a headache. Except for Kedry, none of them understood Dothraki, and these mounted barbarians clearly didn't understand the Common Tongue of Westeros.
"They don't understand the Common Tongue," Prince Martell said.
"Yes, if we stay here, we'll either be shot to death by stray arrows or have our heads cut off by their arakhs," Garis told him. "We have to take a risk."
He wanted to break out, but Quentyn was wondering: Is this a good idea?
"People will praise your bravery for this, prostitutes will open their legs to welcome you, and drunkards in the tavern will sing songs written for you loudly. If you kneel to these barbarians, the Dornish will laugh at you," Garis Dinwater continued, seeing his hesitation. "What are you still hesitating about? These grassland barbarians simply regard us as envoys, and they kill our people on sight."
Adventure? Great adventures always involve death, this was what Garis always liked to say, but he also loved doing dangerous things. Quentyn had not crossed the sea with malice; he still carried the mission given to him by his father. Yet, before they even got close to the horse king's tribe, they were attacked by this cavalry.
"No matter what, we can only break out first, then make plans, Your Highness." William Wells seemed to think that breaking through was a good idea, but as soon as Ser William finished speaking, a sharp arrow pierced his throat.
His neck guard did not stop the arrow. Quentyn Martell watched the blood gushing from the hole in the neck guard. He wanted to reach out to help him, but one hand couldn't support him at all. Ser William fell to the ground with the clang of copper plates.
Watching his companion fall, Quentyn knew he could not hesitate any longer.
Break out! As this thought consumed his mind, his horse was already galloping.
In Drogo's tent, vigilant Dothraki warriors patrolled ceaselessly. The bloodrider Cohollo rode on a Dothraki warhorse, intent on protecting Drogo's Karak (heir).
In recent days, the Khal's Karak and Khaleesi had been targeted by assassins from the Land of the Setting Sun three times, and once poisoned.
Those iron men feared them, resorting only to the tricks of eunuchs and wet nurses. This was seen as a cowardly act by the mounted warriors, and the assassination attempts on women and children had also ignited the Dothraki's fury.