The Kingsroad, past the Last Hearth, was less a road and more a scar cut into the frozen earth.
It wound north like a dying snake, flanked by ancient sentinel trees that blocked out the weak sun. The wind here didn't just blow; it bit. It carried the scent of pine, snow, and something older—the smell of deep, untouched wilderness that had never known the warmth of a hearth.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the groaning of the wagon wheels and the occasional snap of a frozen branch, sounding like a gunshot in the stillness.
"River ahead!" Tomard shouted, his voice tight with tension over the rattle of the wagon. "The Last River. We'll need to lighten the load to cross, My Lady. The spring melt here has swollen the banks. It's angry today."
Serena pulled her cloak tight against the biting chill and nodded. She didn't complain about the cold or the mud that threatened to swallow their boots. She simply tapped the side of the wagon, signaling the children with a calm efficiency.
"Out. Walk with purpose to keep the blood moving. Idleness lets the frost in."
Yoriichi hopped down first, his boots crunching heavily into the gravel. He turned and helped Lyra down, guiding her hand to his shoulder with a gentleness that belied his solemn expression. Serena followed, her breath pluming in the air like dragon smoke, her eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
The Last River was a monster.
It churned violently, a torrent of grey and white water rushing from the western mountains toward the shivering sea in the east. It roared like a living beast, the sound vibrating in their chests. The ford they were approaching was treacherous—slick, moss-covered stones hidden beneath foaming rapids that looked hungry.
"Careful with the footing!" one of the mounted guards warned, his horse skittish, dancing nervously as it approached the water's edge. The animal could smell the danger.
Yoriichi walked to the bank, his small figure dwarfed by the rushing water. He crouched down, ignoring the icy spray that froze instantly on his tunic. He pulled off his glove and dipped a hand into the water.
It was colder than ice. It was a cold that burned like fire, threatening to stop the heart of anyone foolish enough to fall in.
The current is fast, Yoriichi analyzed, his red eyes tracking the way the water broke around a jagged rock. It flows at four meters per second. The turbulence suggests the depth is uneven. If the wagon hits that depression in the center, the axle will snap, and the current will take us.
He stood up and walked over to Tomard, who was eyeing the river with pale-faced nervousness. The seasoned guard looked like he would rather face a wildling raiding party than this water.
"Tom," Yoriichi said, his voice cutting through the roar of the water with an eerie calm. "Steer the left garron two feet wider than the tracks. There is a drop-off in the center. The current has eroded the bed. I can see the disturbance in the flow."
Tomard looked down at the five-year-old boy. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell the child to go play with a stick and let the men handle the danger. But he remembered the night in the hut. He remembered the dead men and the impossible precision of the knife.
"Two feet wide," Tomard repeated, swallowing hard, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. "Right. I'll... I'll keep that in mind, little Lord."
"I am not a Lord," Yoriichi corrected gently, turning his gaze back to the churning water. "I just do not wish to swim today."
The crossing was tense. The horses snorted and thrashed as the freezing water rushed up to their chests, their hooves slipping on the riverbed. The wagon groaned, the wood creaking under the strain as the current slammed against it. Tomard's knuckles were white on the reins. But he followed the boy's advice, steering wide, fighting the instinct to follow the beaten path.
Just as the left wheel passed the center, a massive chunk of the riverbed collapsed exactly where they would have been. A swirling vortex of water opened up for a second before closing.
Tomard paled, his breath hitching. If he hadn't steered wide, the wagon would have tipped, spilling their supplies—and likely the driver—into the freezing death below.
"Safe!" the rear guard shouted as the wagon hauled itself up the muddy bank on the far side, water streaming from its wheels.
Tomard let out a shaky breath, looking back at Yoriichi, who was simply wringing out his wet glove as if nothing remarkable had happened. The boy sees things, Tomard thought, making the sign of the seven-pointed star against his chest. He sees the world like a map drawn in blood and water.
Beyond the river, the trees began to thin.
The forest gave way to the Lonely Hills—rolling, desolate mounds of earth covered in brown heather and stubborn grey shrubs. It was a landscape of haunting beauty, vast and empty under the endless sky, stretching out like the spine of the world.
"This is the start of 'The Gift'," Tomard explained as they trundled along the rocky path. He was a talkative man when nervous, and the silence of this land made him very nervous.
"The Gift?" Serena asked, walking beside the wagon to save the horses' strength on the incline.
"Brandon's Gift, and the New Gift," Tomard said, gesturing with his whip at the endless empty land. "Thousands of years ago, the Starks gave this land to the Night's Watch. To feed them. To honor them. It stretches for fifty leagues south of the Wall."
"It is empty," Serena observed, her eyes scanning the horizon. "The soil looks rich enough for barley. Why are there no farms? No smoke?"
"Wildlings," Tomard spat the word. "They climb through the Wall, or sail around Eastwatch. They raid the farms here first. Steal the women, burn the crops. The smallfolk fled south generations ago. Now, only a few stubborn fools live this close to the Wall. They pay taxes to the Watch—a part of their harvest—in exchange for protection."
"Protection?" Yoriichi asked from the back of the wagon. "If the land is empty, the protection is failing."
Tomard chuckled darkly. "Aye, lad. You have the right of it. The Watch isn't what it used to be. Not enough men to patrol the Wall, let alone fifty leagues of farmland. It's a dying land for a dying order."
Serena listened, her mind whirring like a merchant's abacus.
Empty land, she thought. Desperate people. A failing organization that needs food but cannot protect its suppliers.
In King's Landing, chaos was a pit. But here? In the North? Chaos was a ladder, just as it was everywhere else.
If the Watch needs food, and the farmers are scared... the one who controls the safety controls the food. And the one who controls the food controls the Watch.
She looked at Yoriichi. He was staring at the horizon, his red eyes narrowed. He wasn't seeing emptiness. He was seeing defensible positions. He was seeing sightlines.
It needs work, Serena thought. But the foundation is there.
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Aye, Guys... I failed again this time.... My novel rejected again.... Sigh...