A sudden and bloody mutiny shattered the silence of Castle Black.
The rebellion claimed the life of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and left more than fifty men dead. Blood stained the frozen courtyards of the Night's Watch as brothers turned their blades against one another in the darkness of the Wall.
Most of the dead were true brothers of the Night's Watch.
The Westerlands soldiers who had followed Tywin Lannister into rebellion accounted for only a small portion of the casualties. Nearly three-quarters of the corpses belonged to the original black brothers of Castle Black.
Among the fallen was Ser Alliser Thorne, the harsh and hated Master-at-Arms.
When the battlefield was finally cleared, they found his body crushed beneath a pile of stones. His skull had been smashed beyond recognition, and one of his arms was completely missing.
It was a miserable and brutal death.
Yet amidst all the slaughter, one person remained strangely untouched.
Maester Aemon Targaryen.
The blind old maester sat quietly in his chair throughout the entire mutiny, listening silently to the chaos around him. Steel clashed. Men screamed. Blood spilled across stone floors.
But Aemon did not move.
His pale, blind eyes remained open as he waited calmly for the madness to end.
At last, heavy footsteps approached him.
Tywin Lannister.
The former Warden of the West now wore the black Valyrian steel sword Longclaw at his waist. The weapon, once carried by Jeor Mormont, rested against his side as naturally as though it had always belonged there.
Tywin stopped before the old maester.
"Tywin," Aemon said quietly, seeming to recognize him instantly despite his blindness. "Do you understand what you have done?"
Tywin's face remained cold and expressionless.
"Everything here was never truly mine, Maester Aemon," he replied calmly. "You only need to concern yourself with your own duties."
His voice was steady and emotionless, as though orchestrating mutiny and murder was merely another political necessity.
Aemon sighed deeply.
"You claim not to belong to the Night's Watch," he said softly, "but the moment the king sentenced you here, you became one of us."
The old maester slowly turned his head as though gazing across the ruined hall.
"Jeor Mormont wanted you to swear the vows because he hoped you would understand the honor of the Night's Watch."
"But from the beginning, you betrayed him."
"You betrayed the Watch."
"And you betrayed yourself, Tywin."
The old man's words carried no anger.
Only disappointment.
"And those men," Aemon continued, "followed you into rebellion and donned the black to atone for their crimes. Yet now you lead them down another dark road."
Tywin's expression darkened slightly.
"If I remained here, that would be the true betrayal."
His patience was beginning to fade.
"Enough. I did not come here to debate morality with you."
"The Night's Watch may remain here forever, but do not mistake that for ownership over me."
His tone became heavier.
"From this moment onward, I am taking control of all ravens at Castle Black."
That, at last, revealed his true purpose.
Aemon shook his head without hesitation.
"I will not help you."
"What you are doing is wrong."
"I am a brother of the Night's Watch… and so are you."
"But I will never aid a murderer who slaughters his own brothers."
Tywin's eyes turned cold.
"Do you believe I am asking for permission?"
The threat in his voice was unmistakable.
Yet even facing death, Aemon remained calm.
"You have already murdered Jeor Mormont," he said quietly. "One more death means little now."
Then the old maester spoke words sharp enough to pierce even Tywin Lannister.
"You helped destroy House Targaryen."
"Princess Elia Martell."
"Rhaenys."
"Aegon."
"Even here at the Wall, I have heard of your deeds."
Aemon lifted his blind face slightly.
"You are still a lion, Tywin… but your fur is no longer golden."
"It has been stained black."
"With betrayal."
"With broken vows."
"With blood."
"But this is not the black of the Night's Watch."
"The honor of the Watch does not belong to you."
Silence fell heavily across the room.
Tywin's expression hardened completely.
The cold fury in his eyes deepened.
For a moment, it seemed he might kill the old man on the spot.
But before he could speak, Kevan Lannister stepped forward quickly.
"Brother," Kevan said firmly, "if you kill him now, it will only make matters worse."
"There is no need for this."
Kevan understood their situation perfectly.
There was no turning back anymore.
They had already crossed the line between survival and destruction. If they succeeded, the Lannisters might rise higher than ever before.
If they failed…
Everything would end.
Even so, Kevan knew they could not allow themselves to lose every shred of honor remaining to House Lannister.
More importantly, Maester Aemon was no longer responsible for most of Castle Black's ravens anyway. At nearly one hundred years old and completely blind, others already handled much of that work.
Tywin naturally understood the meaning behind Kevan's words.
Reason remained his strongest weapon.
After several tense moments, his anger slowly faded.
"Lock him away," Tywin ordered coldly.
"But do not let him die."
Kevan immediately gestured for several soldiers to escort the old maester away.
Once Aemon disappeared into the darkness of the hall, Tywin turned toward Castle Black itself.
The fortress now belonged to him.
Snow covered the training grounds outside, though patches of mud and blood still stained the earth where men had died earlier that night.
Tywin rested one gloved hand atop Longclaw's bear-headed pommel and began issuing orders calmly.
"Ask the surviving brothers of the Night's Watch if any wish to leave with us."
"If they agree, I will personally release them from their vows."
"But tell them this clearly—everything they desire must be earned on the battlefield."
"They may become knights."
"Even lords."
"If they possess the ability."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"As for those who refuse to join us, I will not force them."
"But they will remain here until we depart."
"What happens afterward is none of my concern."
Kevan listened carefully and nodded.
"I will question the remaining brothers," he replied.
"Those willing to follow us deserve an opportunity."
"I will also secure the ravens and send messages to the other castles."
"We need every weapon, every soldier, and every ounce of supplies we can gather."
Tywin gave a slight nod.
This was expected.
Their survival now depended entirely on speed.
Kevan hesitated briefly before speaking again.
"We must move quickly."
"Are Gina and the others prepared?"
"And what about Davos Lannister?"
"Can he truly persuade the master of the Dreadfort?"
At the mention of Roose Bolton, Tywin fell silent.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against Longclaw's hilt as he stared across the courtyard.
Finally, he spoke.
"If I were Roose Bolton… I would not refuse."
"But he must see our sincerity."
"And he must believe we can win."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Write to Davos."
"Tell him to make our position perfectly clear."
Then another thought surfaced.
"Domeric Bolton died from illness," Tywin muttered. "Roose has no trueborn heir now. Only that bastard son he brought back to the Dreadfort."
He looked toward Kevan again.
"If Roose Bolton agrees to join us, Myrcella—or another suitable woman from House Lannister—can become his wife."
Kevan's eyes flickered slightly.
A marriage alliance.
Tywin truly intended to bind the Boltons to them completely.
"As for Gina," Tywin continued, "before all this began, I entrusted the Lannister fleet to her."
"If the Iron Bank wishes to recover its investments tenfold—or even a hundredfold—they will not refuse us."
"We need control of the Bite."
"That is essential."
The Bite.
The dangerous stretch of sea separating the Vale from the North.
Control of those waters would determine supply routes, reinforcements, and the movement of armies.
Tywin reviewed every calculation carefully in his mind one final time.
Politics.
Marriage.
Gold.
Fear.
Every piece mattered.
Everything depended on Robert Baratheon's death.
Once the king died, the Seven Kingdoms would descend into chaos.
And chaos…
Was opportunity.
Tywin's first objective was simple:
Take control of the North.
Only then could the rest of his plans move forward.
No mistakes were acceptable anymore.
Not with men.
Not with politics.
Not with profit.
Kevan studied his brother quietly.
Despite the grim situation, Tywin still radiated confidence.
It reassured him.
Their original plans had failed at Harrenhal, forcing them into this desperate gamble.
This was no longer strategy alone.
It was survival.
Robert's death would ignite war across Westeros.
Stannis Baratheon would never remain silent.
Neither would Renly.
Dorne would move.
The Iron Islands would move.
Every ambitious lord in the realm would seek advantage.
And for House Lannister…
This was their final chance.
"I will personally verify every report," Kevan promised solemnly.
"There can be no mistakes."
Surprisingly, Kevan felt more pressure now than he had during the mutiny itself.
Facing drawn swords had been easier than carrying the weight of what came next.
He turned to leave—
But suddenly Tywin grabbed his arm.
Kevan froze.
For the first time that night, genuine emotion appeared in Tywin Lannister's eyes.
"See this through with me, Kevan," he said quietly.
"At the very least…"
"We must avenge Jaime and Cersei."
A deep fury burned beneath those words.
Kevan understood immediately.
Tywin rarely revealed emotion.
But the deaths of Jaime and Cersei had wounded him deeply.
Kevan knew how much Tywin had loved Joanna Lannister.
And Jaime…
Jaime had always been the son Tywin valued most.
The heir he had trusted.
The child who carried his pride.
Now both Joanna and Jaime were gone.
And Tywin carried that pain silently beneath layers of iron control.
Kevan nodded firmly.
"I will stand with you, brother."
Far to the east, beyond frozen forests and snow-covered hills, stood the Dreadfort.
Seat of House Bolton.
The grim castle loomed beside the Weeping Water, surrounded by towering walls and jagged battlements.
Legends claimed its dungeons still contained flayed skins taken from enemies—including several Starks.
Even among northerners, the Dreadfort inspired fear.
Today, however, a strange caravan approached its gates.
Ramsay Snow watched from above with narrowed eyes.
The bastard of Roose Bolton tilted his head slightly as he studied the arriving convoy.
Something felt wrong.
The caravan carried ordinary supplies—horses, armor, weapons, food.
All items House Bolton had ordered.
Yet Ramsay's instincts screamed that something was unusual.
At his feet, his hounds barked violently.
The snarling dogs pulled hard against their chains as though sensing danger.
Ramsay frowned.
He had only arrived at the Dreadfort a little over a year ago after the death of Domeric Bolton. Since then, Roose Bolton had acknowledged him as heir.
Everything within the castle now belonged to him.
And Ramsay paid close attention to anything unfamiliar.
"Come," he muttered to his dogs with a cruel grin.
"Let's see what our guests brought us."
As he approached the caravan, Ramsay quickly noticed the strangest detail.
Several luxurious passenger carriages traveled alongside the supply wagons.
That made no sense.
Merchants delivering goods had no reason to bring noble carriages into the North.
Especially not to the Dreadfort.
Who would willingly visit House Bolton?
Ramsay's smile slowly widened.
He approached one of the covered carriages and casually unclipped a chain from one of his hounds.
"Go, Sarah," he ordered.
"See what's inside."
Ramsay loved hunting terrified girls through the forests with his dogs.
Those who entertained him were granted "merciful" deaths.
Afterward, he often skinned their corpses.
He named many of his hounds after former victims.
Sarah was one of them.
The beast lunged toward the carriage viciously—
But suddenly—
SHING!
A sword thrust outward from inside the carriage with incredible speed.
The blade pierced directly through the hound's open mouth.
Blood exploded across the snow.
Sarah whimpered once before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.
Silence.
The soldiers.
The merchants.
Even Ramsay's men froze in shock.
The dead hound twitched weakly as blood pooled beneath it.
Then the sword slowly withdrew back into the carriage.
Ramsay's smile vanished instantly.
His eyes turned dangerous.
A moment later, the carriage door opened.
A tall man wearing a heavy wool cloak stepped out calmly.
His hood concealed most of his face.
Without hurry, he wiped the dog's blood from his iron sword using the edge of his cloak.
Then he looked directly at Ramsay Snow.
"This," the stranger said coldly, "does not seem like proper hospitality toward a guest."
Ramsay narrowed his eyes.
He loosened the chains of his remaining hounds slightly before tightening them again.
"A guest?" he asked softly.
"And how exactly am I supposed to believe that?"
His grin slowly returned, colder than before.
"Especially when this 'guest' refuses to show his face?"
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)