Outside Winterfell, the thick snow had long been cleared, and Robb stood on a temporary wooden platform, speaking loudly and confidently. Around him, various family banners were planted, and the northern nobles, young and old, waved their weapons and shouted loudly.
A White Walker with no limbs stood beside Robb, impaled by a spear stuck in the ground. Its eyes were gouged out, and it could only hiss at the crowd making noise. A female vampire, still unclad since her capture, was bound to a wooden post in a humiliating posture, demonstrating to the northern nobles the cold resistance of vampires.
To the side of the platform, Duke Eddard was discussing the freezing of winter rivers and the transportation of goods with Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor. Wright and Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort stood together.
"Lord Wright, any news of Ramsay Snow?" Roose Bolton asked in a soft, polite tone.
"Do you want good news or bad news?" Wright smiled. This man was skilled in calculation, cruel, and ruthless, exploiting his land severely. Their conversations were often full of cryptic exchanges.
"I've had the bounty on Ramsay up in Winterfell for years, but no one has come to claim it," Bolton turned his gaze to his son among the crowd.
Wright replied, "Good news is, Ramsay isn't dead. He's become a notorious bandit leader in the Rhoyne River. Bad news is, several surrounding city-states have ceased their wars and are now intensifying efforts to clear out bandits."
"I heard that Theon Greyjoy and his sister had their crimes pardoned by the King," Bolton added, looking sincerely at Wright.
"Oh, given the crimes Ramsay committed, unless there's a new king's amnesty, there's no chance," Wright said kindly, though inwardly he thought Ramsay was being used to control the Cult of the Lord of Light. Once he subdued that faction in a year or two, Ramsay, this inhuman creature, wouldn't survive. He'd change his surname to Bolton if necessary.
"I hope you'll share more news with me, Lord Wright, so I can pay out the bounty. I'd be greatly appreciative," Bolton said, never mentioning that he wanted to rescue Ramsay.
At that moment, Robb on the platform raised his greatsword Ice high, swinging it down. The head of the White Walker, still hissing, fell to the ground and quickly turned into ice crystals.
"Good!" The crowd cheered.
Next was the female vampire. Robb walked over to the post where she was bound and began listing the crimes she and her kind had committed across the Seven Kingdoms.
The beautiful vampire with shoulder-length brown hair looked up at Robb with a guilty expression. The male nobles in the crowd stared silently at her pale body. Many of the noblewomen, seeing the poor woman without even clothes, began to feel some sympathy.
A hurried figure appeared from the gates—it was Maester Luwin, in his thin grey scholar's robes, which looked out of place in the heavy snowstorm.
Maester Luwin had forged his own Valyrian steel necklace long ago, and after Wright introduced magical theory, due to his service in Winterfell, he didn't have the opportunity to attend a magical school. He could only study from the magical books sent by the academy. Studying alone had low efficiency, and after many years, he still hadn't reached the level of a graduate. It could be that he was too old and also studied magic from the Green Prophet faction, which slowed his progress. Talent was important, diligence was important, but finding the right method was even more important.
Maester Luwin rushed over to Eddard and handed him a note.
Wright noticed that the note was tied to the leg of a raven. After a few glances, Eddard's face turned ashen, and Maester Luwin nervously pulled at the necklace around his neck.
"Big trouble! Lord Bolton, let's go," Wright said, curious about the news that had caused Eddard's change in demeanor. He didn't wait for Eddard to speak but moved closer.
When Eddard saw Wright and Bolton approach, he looked up, his mouth agape, unable to close it.
"Eddard!" Lord Wyman Manderly, standing nearby, tugged at his sleeve, and Eddard snapped back to reality.
"What's wrong?" Wright asked, a bad feeling creeping in.
"You can see for yourselves," Eddard said, handing the note to Wright.
---
Two days before the raven arrived at Winterfell, the city of Casterly Rock in the Westerlands was bustling with activity.
People and horses entered and exited the castle non-stop, and a red carpet stretched from the main seat in the hall all the way to the castle gate. They were preparing for a grand banquet to welcome the young knights of the Westerlands returning victorious from the Riverlands.
Tywin sat at the main seat in the castle hall, with his brother Kevan, the castle steward, and Maester Creylen sitting at a nearby table, checking the banquet supplies with merchants—various meats, wines, and flowers to greet the knights. After each transaction, a servant would bring the ledger to Tywin for his signature to authorize payment.
Rubbing his temples and eyes, Tywin looked at the sunlight streaming through the main entrance, its golden hue matching the color of the lion in the family crest.
"Tywin, you need to rest," Kevan said as he walked over to Tywin's seat.
Tywin waved his hand, "I'm only fifty-nine. I'm not old enough for diapers just yet!"
"Then does the banquet really need to be so grand? We just sent the king off, and the taxes haven't come in yet. I'm worried…"
"Must be done!" Tywin interrupted his brother. "This is for Jaime."
Seated in his chair with his chin resting on his hand, Tywin regretted nothing more than inviting Robert to stay at Casterly Rock.
Allowing Robert to reside in the castle meant hosting him as a guest, with grand feasts, fine wine, music, and entertainment every day. Their decade-long estrangement had temporarily eased. However, Robert's retinue consisted of over a thousand men, and Tywin couldn't ignore the expenses incurred by the nobles accompanying him—eating, drinking, and gambling had to be provided for. Casterly Rock's liquid wealth was rapidly dwindling.
Only after the Riverlands coalition's victory against the "vampire" at the Twins, and Jaime and Edmure's successful rescue of the knights at the Eyrie, did Robert's entourage finally set off for Riverrun.
Tywin, accompanied by the older lords of the Westerlands, personally escorted them as far as the Goldroad past Golden Tooth. Only when Robert had left his domain did Tywin return, shifting his focus to preparing for the upcoming feast welcoming the young nobles of the Westerlands.
"This time, Jaime gathered troops without your permission—an unofficial levy. But since he won, it's worth celebrating. Besides, the ones who followed him are all young nobles of the Westerlands. It's a good opportunity to win over some of the more discontented families." Kevan stroked his beard.
Tywin lifted his head. "Have all the invitations been sent out?"
Kevan replied, "They left yesterday. Every Westerlands lord received one, as well as a few of Hand of the King Rowan's friends in the northern Reach."
Tywin narrowed his eyes and leaned back. "The Reach has been dealing with this vampire nonsense for quite some time. What do you think of Willas Tyrell, Kevan?"
Trying to push Cersei toward Highgarden again? Kevan saw little hope. "Willas has feigned weakness for years, pretending to be sick. That alone proves he's highly calculating and not easily dealt with. As for leading troops into battle, he's far inferior to Jaime."
"Mm." Tywin, already aware of the true battle reports from Adam, kept his eyes closed. Jaime had contributed nothing to the Riverlands campaign. He was merely one of the nominal commanders, so credit had been forced upon him. Worse, he had lost the Valyrian steel sword that had cost forty thousand gold dragons.
Because of Jaime, Tywin had been spared repaying a loan of 1.8 million gold dragons from the treasury, but in exchange, he had privately compensated Robert with five hundred thousand. Now, another forty thousand was gone. Even the wealth of Casterly Rock couldn't sustain such losses. Jaime, the wastrel!
And now he had to throw a grand feast to celebrate Jaime's victory. Tywin would have collapsed in fury if not for his strong constitution. Every time he thought about it, he could only close his eyes and rest.
Ding-dong—
The great bronze bell of the clock tower tolled, its sound echoing from the peak of Casterly Rock across Lannisport.
"The victory bell! The knights have returned!" Kevan was overjoyed. His eldest son was still missing and hadn't been rescued, but his twin sons, Willem and Martyn, had distinguished themselves in battle.
Smiling, he took a few steps toward the hall's entrance before abruptly stopping. He turned back to Tywin. "According to the letter, they weren't supposed to arrive in Casterly Rock for another three days."
Tywin twitched his fingers. "Ser Benedict Broom, go see what's happening."
"As you command, my lord." Ser Benedict, Casterly Rock's master-at-arms, took six guards with him and rushed out.
"Is Jaime back?" Cersei arrived with two maids, asking Tywin directly.
Tywin cast her a glance but said nothing. Kevan quickly answered, "We're not sure yet. Ser Benedict has gone to check."
"Any news of Donnel? How is he now?" Cersei immediately pestered Kevan with questions.
Tywin's expression remained unreadable, but his headache worsened. In her thirties, Cersei's figure remained unchanged, and she had only grown more strikingly beautiful with age. He had arranged countless opportunities to marry her off, but her promiscuity had ruined her reputation every time. If she weren't his daughter, Tywin clenched his fist—he would have buried her alive by now.
The triumphant knights rode through the streets of Lannisport, showered with red flower petals as the citizens cheered. The petals landed upon the golden armor of the riders, shimmering under the afternoon sun.
The crowd did not follow beyond the port. The procession slowly ascended the slope toward Casterly Rock's gates.
"Why aren't they coming in?" Kevan, waiting at the great hall, frowned and called out to a guard.
"I'll go check immediately!" The guard sprinted out.
The sun emerged from behind the clouds, and its piercing light streamed through the high gates into the hall. A breeze carried the red petals along with it.
Then, a squad of knights in Lannister armor strode into the hall, their boots sinking into the thick red carpet.
A guard stepped forward. "My lord, please remove your weapons and helmet."
The leading knights, tall and imposing, wore brown cloaks, their helmets concealing their faces completely. Only strands of golden hair peeked out from beneath their helmets, marking them as men of the Westerlands.
At the guards' challenge, the cloaked knights did not halt. Instead, another knight from their ranks stepped forward, approaching the guard. He reached over the man's shoulder, gripping the side of his neck as they leaned in as if whispering.
"Guards! Stop them!" Ser Kevan commanded as he watched the knights stride into the great hall, their swords sheathed, their helmets still in place. "Who are you? Where is the master-at-arms?"
"You mean that old fool?"
The moment he heard the familiar voice, Tywin sat up straight.
The foremost knight took a step forward, fixing his gaze on Tywin before slowly removing his helmet.
"Donnel!" Cersei shrieked, dashing toward him and throwing her arms around him.
"You've been gone so long! Where have you been? Your father went out searching for you—did you see him?" She cupped his face, running her hands over his hair. "Your hair's grown out... You look taller... even more handsome than before."
"Heh." Donnel let out a cold chuckle, lifting his head to cast a sidelong smirk at Tywin.
Tywin gripped the armrests of his chair tightly, veins bulging beneath the sleeves of his tunic. He clenched so hard his arms trembled, though whether from anger or something else, he refused to show.
Cersei barely reached Donnel's chest now. She studied his face, her fingers brushing over his skin. "Why is your face so cold?"
"Cersei! Come here!" Tywin bellowed. "Guards, they are vampires! Fetch silver weapons!"
"Heh, too late!" Donnel sneered. He grabbed Cersei's arm and flung her into the arms of a waiting knight behind him before striding toward Tywin.
Screams echoed through the castle. Without magical wards or detection spells, Casterly Rock had been left vulnerable. The vampires had scaled the cliffs, infiltrating the fortress, executing silent killings in the shadows.
"Let me go!" Cersei thrashed, screaming, but the knight holding her did not budge.
"Cersei, it's me—Lancel! Look!" The knight cast his helmet to the ground.
He was taller now, but Cersei recognized him instantly. "Lancel! You are my knight! I order you to release me!"
"No," Lancel said with a sly smile. "In bed, I was your knight. Out here, you are my wife."
Cersei stared at him, stunned by his changed appearance. "Wife? You're dreaming!"
"Hahaha! Donnel has already agreed to our marriage!" Lancel's grin stretched wider, laughter growing wilder. His lips parted, revealing four sharp, gleaming fangs.
"Let me go, you monster!"
"You are mine. I will taste every inch of you." Lancel tore her dress apart in one swift motion, leaving her bare before stepping back to unfasten his own armor, piece by piece.
"No—!" Cersei shrieked and fled into the depths of the castle. There was no one left to protect her, no one left to bar her way. Most of the guards had been sent by Tywin to Lannisport for supplies; the remaining soldiers had already been slaughtered.
The great hall's archways filled with the shadows of approaching vampires.
Lancel licked his lips as he watched Cersei's frantic retreat, then laughed and sprinted after her.
"Donnel! Joffrey! What are you doing?!" Kevan demanded.
A hand burst through his chest from behind, gripping his still-beating heart.
Donnel continued his steady approach toward Tywin. The old lion glared at him, saying nothing.
Clang—
A sword slid from its sheath, its blade gleaming an icy blue beneath the sunlight.
"Disgraceful wretch!"
Tywin spat the words and sat up straight, shutting his eyes in defiance.
He waited.
Waited for the steel to bite into his flesh.
But the fatal strike never came.
Tywin's eyes snapped open. "You aren't going to kill me?"
"Heh." Donnel smirked, shoving the sword back into its scabbard. Then, without a word, he turned his back on Tywin.
His heavy cloak swept across Tywin's head, but the lord of Casterly Rock dared not protest.
Donnel spread his arms wide and declared to the gathered vampires, "The warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock—he is my grandfather, my maternal kin, my closest blood. Take him to the castle's highest tower."
"Yes, my lord."
Two vampires stepped forward, each seizing one of Tywin's arms. His legs trembled beneath him, unable to support his weight. But he allowed himself the briefest moment of relief—at least he had survived.
Then Donnel spoke again.
"Tywin Lannister! Heh." He sneered. "Strap him to a trebuchet. I will launch him myself!"