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Name: Bloodwind. Contractor: Robb Stark. Physique: 100. Magic: 100.
Species: ice direwolf (1).
Wolfpack: war wolves: Nymeria (bloodkin: 6), Lady (bloodkin: 7); servant wolf: Vine.
Skills: Soul Link (Magic), Absolute Control (Physique).
Blood pact points: 177.
Since Robb had emerged from the giant ice statue outside Highgarden, the world had looked different to him.
Soul Link had broken through after Bloodwind's Magic reached one hundred points. Even in its passive state, the connection between Robb and Bloodwind had begun to show new effects.
His vision caught motion with frightening clarity. Night looked almost like day. His body had improved in every way, and his control over magic had become smoother and more precise.
Of course, those gifts came with a price.
The most obvious was Bloodwind's instinct as a supreme predator. From time to time, bloodlust stirred in the king.
But Robb had already suffered once when the blood pact's influence ran out of control. He had learned how to suppress that urge.
After Bloodwind's Magic and Physique both reached one hundred points, Robb could no longer add points to either attribute. Yet the blood pact points continued to gather, already far beyond the point that had once caused him to lose control.
He had thought through the reason.
Soul Link had raised the limit.
Bloodwind was born to kill. Sharing that burden with him allowed Robb to bear far more than before.
As for Absolute Control, its meaning was simple and brutal. It allowed Bloodwind to use his own body with impossible precision.
Now Robb had entered the wolf's body through Soul Link, then used Absolute Control to change Bloodwind's limbs.
The result was the towering white werewolf standing on the battlefield.
Moqorro looked up at the monster and gripped his burning staff.
"Even the claw of the enemy is this terrible," he said. "We cannot let it live. If we do, the world will fall into endless cold and darkness."
His voice hardened.
"We fight with our lives now."
Ayla shook her head.
"That thing is too large for ordinary weapons to kill. If that were all, we might still try magic, but its ice magic is stronger than ours. Do you truly think we can win?"
She looked toward King's Landing.
"I promised to help. I did not promise to die."
Jaime wiped blood from his mouth and looked at the horn of flesh wrapped around Robb's body.
"We do not need to kill the wolf. Robb Stark has always been the target. He is wrapped inside that thing's horn. Get me close enough, and I will kill him."
He turned to Ayla.
"Lady Ayla, you need not fight him at close range. Carry me near him with your magic. Leave the rest to me."
"Count me in," Beric said.
His crushed body had been dragged together again by Thoros's fire, but the shape of him looked as if it had been roughly bound back into place.
Thoros took a long drink from his wineskin.
"And I must go as well. Who else is going to bring you back?"
The shadow with Stannis and Melisandre's joined face turned toward Thoros.
"Thoros of Myr, what limits does your resurrection have?"
Ayla glanced at the shadow and sneered.
"Last time your shadow magic could not even speak. Did my blow help you improve?"
The shadow ignored her and watched Thoros.
"Limits?" Thoros said. "Only one. I can bring back Beric."
"Then its use is greatly reduced," the shadow said, sounding disappointed.
It then turned toward Bloodwind with confidence.
"Getting close to the wolf and killing Robb Stark? Watch me."
"Careful," Moqorro shouted. "It is coming!"
Robb had waited long enough.
The giant werewolf stepped over the frenzied soldiers at its feet and charged.
The shadow moved first. It became a stream of black smoke and rushed straight for the horn of flesh on Bloodwind's head.
"Wait!" Jaime snapped. "Damn it."
He turned to Ayla.
"Send us over."
Ayla nodded and began chanting in Valyrian.
The air beneath Jaime, Beric, and Thoros made a sharp hissing sound, and the three men flew toward the approaching werewolf.
At Ayla's side, Moqorro began his own prayer. Orange flames rose around him.
The shadow swept toward Robb.
Bloodwind raised one great claw and closed it around the smoke.
Melisandre, controlling the shadow from within her burning wagon, gave a cold laugh.
Smoke flowed through a gap between the claws.
Then Bloodwind's great head dipped.
His ear swept through the escaping shadow like a blade.
The black smoke broke apart and vanished.
Inside the wagon, Melisandre vomited blood.
The backlash struck her hard. Only the red jewel at her throat kept the magic from tearing through her completely.
She understood at once.
There was Valyrian steel in Bloodwind's ear.
The claw had never been meant to catch the shadow. It had blocked her sight and forced her through the gap Bloodwind had left.
The wolf was not merely a beast.
Robb Stark was controlling it.
The red jewel flashed. A flame appeared inside the wagon and began eating at the wood.
Melisandre stared into the fire.
"Great Lord of Light," she whispered, "your faithful servant begs for guidance."
Outside the wagon, the fight continued in the air.
Jaime, Beric, and Thoros had also realized that Bloodwind was being controlled by Robb.
That meant this was the best chance to kill him.
Orange fireballs the size of a man's head shot toward the werewolf.
Bloodwind opened his jaws and breathed out a twisting stream of icy mist. The fireballs froze in midair and shattered.
Ayla split the air beneath the three men, carrying them around the frozen breath from both sides.
But they had underestimated Bloodwind.
The werewolf attacked before they finished dodging.
One claw swept toward the two targets on his left. The talons cut Thoros in half before he could escape.
Beric avoided the blow only because Ayla reacted in time.
Bloodwind did not let him go. Both claws struck through the air again and again, swatting after him as if after a fly.
On the other side, Jaime had already circled behind the monster.
The Kingslayer landed on Bloodwind's head and rushed toward the horn of flesh with the black Valyrian steel dagger raised.
"Your father was a man worth respecting," Jaime said softly. "Farewell, Robb Stark."
He lifted the dagger.
Blood sprayed.
Jaime slowly lowered his head.
Ice had stabbed out from within the horn of flesh and pierced his chest.
One yellow eye had opened in the horn, watching him.
The flesh withdrew, revealing Robb seated on his throne of red flesh and white fur.
He smiled faintly.
"In some ways, your father also has things worth respecting."
"Why..." Jaime coughed blood and tried to look from Robb to the still-moving werewolf.
"I know what you want to ask," Robb said. "This state is strange. If I must describe it, it is like guiding two bodies at once. One through my own senses, and one through Bloodwind's. I can shift my attention between them without losing either."
Jaime's eyes clouded with confusion.
Robb continued anyway.
"Why did all of you assume I would be helpless while controlling Bloodwind?"
He had allowed the flesh to wrap him on purpose.
He had turned his own body backward within the horn, using Bloodwind's eyes to watch the front and his own to guard the rear.
Jaime understood too late.
"Cersei..."
The word left his mouth with the last of his blood.
Robb drew Ice free.
The flesh closed again.
The werewolf's eyes sharpened, and he ignored Beric. One claw sent the resurrected lord tumbling across the battlefield like a broken doll.
Then he charged toward Ayla and Moqorro.
Ayla tried to stop him with a blast of air, but the force that could move men could not stop that vast body.
Moqorro raised a pillar of orange flame.
Bloodwind passed through it under layers of ice and crushed the red priest beneath one paw.
When Robb turned to find Ayla, the wind sorceress had vanished.
He shook the massive wolf head once, then looked toward the River Gate tower.
Across the battlefield, both armies had watched the fight.
When Robb's soldiers saw the towering werewolf win so easily, their morale surged.
"His Grace is the god who commands ice!"
"Bloodwind is the god of ice direwolves!"
"King's Landing is ours!"
The enemy broke in the opposite direction.
The Brotherhood Without Banners suffered the worst collapse. When the werewolf turned toward them, tens of thousands began to flee at once.
The battle outside King's Landing suddenly became clear.
Robb's allies drove forward. His enemies ran.
At the rear, Daven's men quietly turned away with their shield-carts and wagons, retreating toward the kingswood.
The River Gate tower had fallen into silence.
Then a heavy sound broke it.
Ayla landed on the wall and released her concealment.
"Andar, we must go," she said quickly. "That wolf is too terrible."
Andar Royce's face lit with relief at the sight of her alive, then tightened at her words.
"Even you cannot deal with it?"
"If we were in Essos, or in Asshai, I might have choices," Ayla said. "Here in Westeros, I see none."
Tyrion stepped forward.
"My lady, Jaime was with you."
"Dead," Ayla said. "All of them are dead."
Tyrion and Tywin both went still. Cersei's face did not change, as if Jaime had already died in her heart.
Andar turned to Tywin.
"Lord Tywin, we did what we promised. Give us my father."
"Your father is in a confession chamber inside the Great Sept of Baelor," Tywin said. "Go find him."
Andar bowed once and left with Ayla.
As they passed Stannis, the aged king asked hoarsely, "The red woman?"
"She is dead," Ayla said without turning back.
Stannis stared ahead as if he had not heard.
Davos stepped close.
"Your Grace, we should leave."
"Dead," Stannis murmured. "She is dead."
Davos clenched his jaw.
"Forgive me, Your Grace."
He struck Stannis down, then called the king's guards to carry him from the wall.
Tommen's face had gone white.
"Grandfather, Mother, Uncle... the monster is coming. Should we flee too?"
Tywin looked toward the city below.
"Yes. Run."
He turned to Tyrion.
"Take them through the Dragon Gate to the Vale. If the wolf cannot fly, the Eyrie is still safe. Littlefinger will understand your value."
"And you, Father?" Cersei asked.
"If I go with you, none of you will escape. Tyrion, take them and go."
Tyrion could only obey.
He led Cersei and Tommen away under the protection of the Kingsguard.
The streets of King's Landing were almost empty. Most commoners had hidden themselves.
At the crossing of Muddy Way and Hook Lane, Ser Meryn Trant spoke from behind Tyrion.
"My lord, one horse cannot run forever. We should return to the Red Keep and take fresh mounts. It is nearly on the way."
Tyrion knew the suggestion was sound, so he nodded.
They returned to the Red Keep, now crowded with frightened nobles and servants.
Near the stables, Ser Meryn ordered the other Kingsguard to fetch more horses.
Tyrion was thinking of how to face Littlefinger in the Vale when a dull blow sounded behind him.
He turned just in time for an armored fist to smash into his face.
Tyrion fell, blood running from his mouth and nose.
Cersei had already been struck down. Ser Meryn held Tommen in his arms, pressing a cloth over the boy's mouth and nose. After several heartbeats, Tommen stopped struggling and went limp.
"Meryn Trant," Tyrion gasped, "what are you doing?"
"Finding my own road," Meryn said with a laugh. "How could I let the Iron Bank's valuable goods leave with you?"
He looked down at Tommen.
"With him, I can spend the rest of my life comfortably in rich, beautiful Braavos. Suffer with you in the Vale? Do not make me laugh."
Before Tyrion could answer, Meryn kicked him in the face and knocked him senseless.
At the River Gate, ice climbed over the doors.
The gate shattered beneath a terrible impact, and the giant werewolf entered King's Landing first.
Tywin stood waiting not far from the gate.
Countless soldiers poured in behind Bloodwind like a tide. At their front came Oberyn Martell, golden spear in hand.
The moment Oberyn saw Tywin, fury twisted his face. He leveled his spear and lunged.
Bloodwind's claw blocked the thrust.
Robb stood from the flesh throne on Bloodwind's head.
"Prince Oberyn," he called down, "would killing Tywin so easily not be too cheap for him? Take your men to the Red Keep and find the other Lannisters. Do not kill them. We will settle accounts together."
Oberyn looked displeased, but he obeyed.
In the end, apart from Tywin, Oberyn found only Cersei's ruined body amid the riot in the Red Keep.
He did not know what had happened to her before death.
But he felt that such an end, at least, might bring a little comfort to Elia's soul.
Once Robb's army poured into King's Landing by the tens of thousands, the battle for the city was over.
Under Crey's enforcers, the capital still suffered looting, but murder, rape, and slaughter were rare.
That evening, Robb entered the Red Keep's throne room with Bloodwind, now reduced to the size of a young wolf, and all the nobles who followed him.
He looked at the Iron Throne.
The seat rose on its high platform, great and twisted, built from a thousand melted blades into a shape like black thorns.
Memories flashed through Robb's mind, from the day he had come to Westeros to this moment.
He climbed the steps one by one.
The nobles behind him watched in silence.
At the top, Robb rested one hand on the cold iron, paused for a moment, then turned and sat.
Every noble beneath the throne knelt on one knee.
Their voices rose together.
"We pay homage to Robb Stark, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lawgiver, master of the ice direwolf god, and the one who commands ice. Your Grace!"
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