They knew the limits of their own strength.
In King's Landing, Melisandre had spearheaded the construction of the Temple of R'hllor on Rhaenys's Hill, using the labor of the Flea Bottom refugees to establish a foothold for her faith. Yet, even with the city under Stannis's control, the great power of the Red God was a transactional thing. It required a heavy toll, the blood of kings, of great lords, or of pirates despised by the world.
But the iron cages in the courtyard of Castle Black were empty now. The captive Ironborn captains had already been consumed by the flames of the previous day's sacrifice.
The Wall was crowded with lords and kings, but their alliance was a fragile, volatile thing, held together by shared fear and delicate negotiations. To suggest sacrificing one of their own to buy another reprieve from the cold would be like dropping a spark into a barrel of wildfire. The alliance would instantly turn to ash.
Therefore, before the great enemy could recover their strength, the living had to rely on their own steel.
Melisandre's crimson eyes gleamed in the dim light of the solar, her gaze drifting slowly across the faces of Eddard, Daenerys, Mace Tyrell, and the young Rickon Stark. She looked like a woman who saw the shadows closing in.
"I have seen the heart of their strength," Robb Stark said, his Tully-blue eyes staring into a distance only he could see. "The altar of the Great Other lies deep within the Haunted Forest. It is a place choked with the dead, guarded by the oldest of the White Walkers, and watched by an endless flock of shadow-ravens."
"Colder than Castle Black?" Mace Tyrell gasped, pulling his heavy fur collar tighter around his multiple chins. "How can we march? My men are freezing to death just standing on the ramparts! If we send them into that forest, the frost will claim them before they ever see a sword!"
"The Free Folk have lived in those woods for thousands of years," Tormund Giantsbane boomed, thumping his chest. "Leave it to us. We know how to walk the deep snow."
"And what will you fight them with?" Oberyn Martell sneered, his voice as sharp as his poisoned spear. "Your bone-tipped arrows and bronze scrapings? Against the dead, your courage will only buy them more corpses. We don't have the time to waste on a slaughter."
Tormund's face turned a dangerous red, his massive fists clenching, but Stannis Baratheon silenced them with a single, cold look.
"We have no choice," Stannis said, his jaw grinding with that familiar, stone-cracking rhythm. "The Wall is our shield, but if they bring it down, holding these gates is nothing but waiting for our graves to be dug."
"Jon Snow, we came to help," Bronze Yohn Royce said, his rune-etched plate armor clanking as he paced the room. "But my knights are horsemen. They cannot navigate a frozen forest in the deep of winter. Can your rangers lead us?"
"Our best rangers died with the Old Bear at the Fist," Jon Snow said, a bitter shadow falling over his face. "The men I have now are green. They know how to stand on the Wall, but they will get lost in the trees within a league."
"The men will come from me," Eddard Karstark said, his voice flat and authoritative as he stood up. "I have 200 men, the elite of my Winter Guard. They have fought with me from the swamps of the Neck to the burning sands of Slaver's Bay. They are Northmen born to the cold, and their bodies have been tempered by the frost."
"I will guide them," Robb Stark said, the three-eyed raven on his shoulder blinking. "My ravens will watch from the sky. Once your men reach the treeline, the Children of the Forest will assist them."
Eddard looked at his cousin-in-law. He still harbored deep doubts about the "Greenseer," but he knew they shared a common enemy. "Very well. We go."
"You cannot leave from the main gate," Jon Snow noted. "The Others have eyes in the trees."
"There are two hidden roads," Samwell Tarly said, stepping forward. He glanced nervously at his father, Randyll Tarly, who was watching him with a cold, unblinking glare. Sam swallowed hard but forced the words out. "The first is the Skull Bridge near the Shadow Tower. Ser Denys Mallister reports the gorge is clear; the wights have all drawn toward Black Castle. The second is the Black Gate at the Nightfort, an ancient passage through the very stone of the Wall, accessible through the wormways."
"We take both," Eddard declared. "A hundred men with me through the Nightfort, and a hundred with Karas Snow through the Shadow Tower. We will divide their attention."
"My people can help," Tormund said, his anger fading. "The Walrus-men of the frozen shore have sleds pulled by giant hounds. They can cross the snow drifts faster than any horse. I will have them ready."
Stannis questioned him. "You are the King of the West, Karstark. Your Riverlords and Westermen only follow your banner. What happens to the Wall if you die in the trees?"
"Brynden Tully is already marching north with the Westermen," Eddard said. "He will take the command of the West. And Lord Tytos Blackwood will lead the Riverlands. The defenses are in safe hands."
Tytos Blackwood knelt before him. "My Lord, think of Sansa. Think of your newborn son waiting at Harrenhal."
"It is because they are there that I must go," Eddard said, helping the Lord of Raventree Hall to his feet. "If I do not kill the threat in the cradle, my son will inherit a kingdom of ice."
By evening, the preparation was complete.
The Winter Guard stood in the courtyard of Castle Black, their white cloaks blending with the snow, their dragonglass-inlaid battleaxes and javelins strapped securely to their backs. The walrus-folk's giant hounds panted in the cold, their breath forming thick clouds of steam as they strained against the sled harnesses.
"Karas," Eddard said, handing his captain the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn. "You take the Shadow Tower route. A guide on an elk will meet you beyond the gorge. Trust him. I will see you in the Haunted Forest."
"I will not fail you, My Lord," Karas Snow replied, her face resolute beneath her helm.
Viserion whimpered at the edge of the yard, his massive, cream-colored head nudging Eddard's shoulder. Eddard stroked his spiky snout, feeling the dragon's reluctance. "Stay, Viserion," Eddard commanded softly. "Guard the Wall. Burn any dead that try to cross."
The silver dragon let out a low, mournful hum, settling onto the King's Tower as the sleds began to move.
Jon Snow rode Rhaegal above them, the green dragon's wings cutting the twilight air in a silent, majestic salute. As the sleds carved long tracks across the white landscape, the twilight faded into a starless, heavy dark. The towering Wall, gleaming with its last bit of blue light, slowly dissolved into the shadows as the expedition slipped into the great forest of the dead.
[System Notification: Special Mission 'The Heart of Winter' Active.]
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.