The horses picked their way slowly into the gloom of the ancient forest. A biting wind howled through the canopy, sounding like the low snarl of a predator hidden in the brush. The pines stood so thick they choked the sky, leaving only jagged fragments of gray light that failed to warm the damp, heavy earth.
Captain Rand rode at the vanguard, his back straight, eyes scanning the shadows for anything that moved. Kevin followed on Fast Fish, letting the reins go slack as he memorized the gnarled roots and tilted stones. He didn't plan on being lost if he had to leave this place in a hurry.
"It's cold," a thin soldier whispered, clutching his tattered rags.
"Late autumn," Captain Rand sighed, his voice like grinding gravel. "It'll snow soon. You lot are sons of summer—but I remember the taste of a Long Winter."
"What is it like?" Kevin asked.
Rand went quiet, his gaze piercing the treeline. "The last one... I was but a boy. The cold doesn't just touch you; it seeps into your marrow like icy water. It clings to you through the thickest wool. I remember my little brother dying because the hearth went cold and the porridge ran dry. I don't care to see it again."
Kevin thought of his home on the Fingers. The sea breezes were cold, but there was always a fire and a grandmother's tales. If the Long Winter was worse than a storm off the Shivering Sea, he wasn't sure he wanted to see it.
"Is it coming now?" Kevin pressed.
"The war started in heat, but this chill is wrong," Rand said with certainty. "A harsh winter is coming."
Winter is Coming. Kevin repeated the words in his mind. The motto of House Stark. A family that had stood for eight thousand years like a mountain of iron, only to be swept away like ash in a gale. The Master had said all things with form must crumble, but Kevin hadn't expected the Great Wolves to be the first.
Perhaps it was for the best. With the Starks gone, the Golden Dawn could sweep the land without Jon Snow having to choose between his blood and his Light. Kevin had never cared for lords anyway. His own father was a landed knight of the poorest rocks in the Seven Kingdoms—a joke of a title. Being a second son was the punchline.
Suddenly, a sharp whistle shattered the silence.
Crossbowmen emerged from the trees like spirits, their heads crowned with wreaths of leaves.
"Identify yourselves!" a burly man barked.
Rand didn't flinch. "I am Rand. We heard from Thoros that the Lightning Lord has passed and Lady Stoneheart holds the reins. We've come from Harrenhal to pay our respects."
A youth stepped out from behind an oak, his face lighting up. "Captain Rand! It's been too long!"
"Hobbs." Rand dismounted and embraced the boy. "This is Kevin Turner, our Sunwalker. No one bleeds when he's around."
"Sunwalker?" The boy looked at Kevin with awe, then his face clouded. "My uncle broke his neck in the last skirmish. Sir Roger found him, but... the Light couldn't reach him in time."
Rand patted the boy's head. "The Sun gives life, Hobbs, but the Stranger still takes his due."
The entrance to the Hollow Hill was a jagged tear in the earth. Inside, the air was a suffocating mix of damp soil, rot, and old mold. Kevin ducked as they passed through a low tunnel where water dripped like icy needles onto his neck.
The path twisted and rose, eventually opening into a massive cavern teeming with men. A fire pit roared in the center, casting dancing, orange shadows against the limestone walls, but it did little to kill the chill.
At a plank table set into a rock crevice sat a woman in gray. She was hooded, her fingers tracing the bronze band of a crown encircled by iron swords.
A massive man in a bright yellow cloak—Lem Lemoncloak—stepped toward her. "Madam, Captain Rand and the Sunwalker have arrived."
The woman lowered her hood.
Rand recoiled. Kevin froze.
Her hair was brittle as bone, her skin a mottled gray-green of active decay. Tattered strips of flesh hung from her jaw. Some wounds were caked in dried gore; others showed the white of the bone beneath. This wasn't a woman. It was a walking corpse.
"Lady Catelyn?" Kevin whispered, his forehead creasing. "They said... they said you were brought back."
The thing clutched its throat, fingers digging into a jagged, open wound on its neck. It forced out a sound—a wet, rattling sob.
A Northern youth standing beside her spoke for the corpse. "Lady Stoneheart welcomes you to her hall, Captain Rand. She hopes you find it... familiar."
The youth then turned his gaze to Kevin. "She remembers you. And your Master. She says you weren't by your King's side when he needed you most."
The pity in Kevin's heart evaporated. He met the Northerner's gaze with iron eyes. "Lady Catelyn, the Young Wolf paid for our blades in the field. He didn't have enough gold to buy our consciences. That price was too high for him."
The youth stepped forward, hand on his hilt. "How dare you speak to the Lady so—"
"That's enough, Barron," a voice commanded. Sir Roger Hughes stepped from the shadows. The Sunwalker offered a steadying look to Kevin, then turned to the newcomers. "They are guests. Let them rest."
Lem Lemoncloak threw an arm around Rand's shoulder, forcing a smile. "Hungry? There's stew in the pot. Taste it while it's hot."
Rand looked at the dead woman at the table, then at the pot. "Aye. I'm hungry." He followed Lem, but his hand never strayed far from his sword.