Walder Frey slammed his fist on the table, scattering plates and spilling wine.
"ONE HUNDRED MEN!" he roared, face red with rage. "One hundred of my soldiers vanish into northern snow, and NOT ONE sends word?!"
His eldest son stepped forward cautiously.
"Father, perhaps they were ambushed—"
"AMBUSHED?!" Walder spat. "By who? Milk-drinking farmers? Old men with pitchforks?!"
He paced back and forth, cane thumping the stone floor.
"This was supposed to sow chaos. To weakenStark. To show the Twins cannot be ignored!"
"But instead," another son murmured, "we lost a hundred armed men with no explanation."
Walder froze.
"That is impossible," he whispered. "No northern lord has that kind of strength. No wildlings either. No sellsword band."
He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing.
"This means…" He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper.
"There is something in the North. Something killing men without warning."
The room fell silent.
Walder shuddered — old bones shaking.
"We cannot retaliate. We cannot escalate. If we attract attention, Stark may investigate the Twins…and find out what we did."
His sons nodded nervously.
And for the first time in decades…
Walder Frey felt fear.
LEO RETURNS TO WINTERFELL — THE GHOST IN THE WOODS
By the fourth month, Leo knew Winterfell's walls, patrols, and habits better than some of the guards.
But this time he slipped inside after Ned Stark had returned from the wildling hunt — empty-handed and frustrated.
Ned's men had found nothing but abandoned Frey campsites.
No bodies.
No tracks.
No raiders.
That alone terrified Ned.
Something had ended the raids.
Something fast, efficient, and invisible.
Ned's Investigation
Ned spent nights in the Maester's tower, sorting through old records.
Reports of a "specter" seen in the forests.
Travelers whispering of a "metal-armed warrior."
Tracks too sharp and heavy to belong to normal men.
Ned frowned over a stack of documents.
"Someone hunts bandits and raiders before my men even reach them," he murmured.
Maester Luwin adjusted his chain.
"A protector, perhaps?"
"Or a threat," Ned said darkly.
JON SNOW — A STRONGER DREAM
That night, Jon dreamed again.
He stood in Winterfell's yard, snow swirling around him.
The mysterious swordsman approached — the same figure from before, but clearer now.
Black tactical armor.
A metallic left arm.
Eyes sharp and calculating.
Jon stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The figure said nothing.
Instead, it held out its left hand — the metal one — and from its palm fell a single drop of blood, splattering onto the snow.
Around them, shapes appeared:
A hundred dead Frey soldiers
A burning village
A throne of ice
A dragon screaming in the sky
Jon reached toward the figure—
And woke up gasping, gripping the adamantium sword beside him.
He didn't understand the dream.
But he felt one thing with absolute certainty:
This figure was real.
And he was watching.
LEO — FINAL PREPARATIONS
Leo crouched in the branches overlooking Winterfell, the fourth month's cold wind biting at his uniform.
Through Winter Soldier instincts, he kept his heartbeat calm, senses sharp.
He was almost ready to leave the North.
Why leave?
Because the timeline would soon shift.
The Hand of the King would die in 2 months time.
Robert Baratheon would ride north.
Jon would choose the Night's Watch.
The game of thrones would begin in full.
And Leo couldn't be trapped here.
He needed to go south.
He needed to gather resources, gold, allies, weapons.
He needed to dismantle the Boltons before they could rise.
And most importantly:
He needed to prepare for the White Walkers.
But before leaving…
He studied Winterfell one last time.
Jon training with the sword he gifted him.
Robb practicing harder, eager to catch up.
Arya sneaking out to practice with her wooden sword.
Ned trying to understand the "ghost in the woods."
Catelyn glaring suspiciously at every shadow.
Leo smirked.
They had no idea he was only meters away, perched in a pine tree.
He whispered to himself:
"Time to move. King's Landing, the Riverlands, the Stormlands… There's a storm coming, and I need to be ready."
He dropped silently from the tree, snow whispering under his boots, and began walking south.
The North would not see him again for a long time.
But Jon?
Jon kept the sword close every night, waiting for the day he would meet the mysterious protector from his dreams.