Chapter 260 - News from King's Landing

The stitched-together wight was easier to handle than they'd expected.

It had no clear will — or more precisely, it had two wills. Two heads sharing one body, and neither would give way.

The left head charged toward Jon. Two steps in, the right head yanked hard and pulled the whole body sideways, toward Tormund.

Its limbs had no coordination at all. The left foot stepped forward while the right leg shoved backward. The whole thing moved like a puppet caught between two ropes pulling in opposite directions, lurching and spinning through the snow — but every turn carried raw, stupid force.

Jon sidestepped as it lunged, flipped his grip, and drove the pommel into the left head's temple.

That head's mouth twisted sideways. A garbled shriek came out. Then the right head wrenched the body away again.

The right head was already lunging toward Tormund, mouth open, teeth snapping.

Tormund stepped into it, grabbed the outstretched arm with both hands, and wrenched it sideways, using the momentum to crank the upper body around.

The Mountain came in from behind and kicked it hard in the kidney. The thing went down into the snow.

It kept struggling. Four arms raked wildly across the ground. Four legs kicked at nothing behind it.

Jon pinned the shoulder from the side. Tormund wrestled down one leg still trying to kick free. The Mountain stomped the other flat.

"Rope," Jon said.

Tyrion Lannister picked up a coil of hemp rope from the ground and tossed it over.

Jon caught it, looped it twice, bound the wrists, then wrenched all four arms behind its back and cinched them there.

Tormund took the tail end and wound several loops around the ankles.

The Mountain tied off the last length with a dead knot and hauled it tight.

He looked down at the mass of still-writhing limbs. "How do we get it across the Wall?"

Tormund wiped the snow off his face.

"Castle Black. Rope it up over the top, lower it down the far-side ladders. That way we skip the gate entirely."

The Mountain nodded.

Tyrion Lannister frowned. He walked over and crouched beside the thing, watching its eyes still rotating in their sockets.

"Going over the top of the Wall — it still crosses the magic barrier." He looked at Jon. "How did Drogo's men bring Ygritte across?"

Jon was quiet for a moment. Something moved behind his eyes. "Ygritte died inside the Wall. She died at Castle Black."

Tyrion Lannister stared toward the distant line of the Wall and turned that over for a while.

"Then we go around it. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Sea route."

Tormund glanced at him, then nodded. "Fine."

They found a cart inside the Wall and a few horses still fit for a long march, stuffed the wight in under a burlap sack, and started east along the Wall's base.

The Wall's shadow stretched long and dark across the snow. They walked inside it and out of the open wind.

Hooves crunched through the frozen crust. The cart wheels cut two thin lines in the ice behind them.

Nearly 3 days later, the towers of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea came up on the horizon.

The pickup ship was already at the shore. A boatman bundled in thick furs stood at the prow. When he spotted them coming he raised one hand.

The Mountain hauled the wight out of the cart, slung it over his shoulder, walked to the stern, and laid it flat on the planks at the bottom of the hold.

The boatman shipped the oars. A short scrape of hull against the dock, and then the scull dropped into the water.

None of them noticed the figure watching from the edge of the storm.

It stood where the blizzard met the gray air, gaunt, pale, utterly still. Its skin was the white of frozen milk. Its eyes were colder than the ice underfoot. One hand held an ice-crystal spear, the tip catching the dim daylight with a faint blue gleam.

The boat moved forward. The outer line of the Wall crept closer.

Nobody spoke. They held their breath and watched the prow inch toward that invisible boundary.

The prow crossed it.

The wight was still moving.

Tyrion Lannister slumped against the gunwale, breath rushing out of him.

The boat docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea's rough wooden pier.

A few Night's Watch men came down from the shore wrapped in cloaks, looking to see what the ship had brought back. Then the Mountain climbed out with the wight still squirming over his shoulder and dropped it onto the pier planks with a heavy thud.

A young crow stumbled back 2 steps, hand going to his sword. The blade came halfway out of the scabbard and stopped.

He just stared. Two heads pointing in different directions. Four arms raking at the air. A foot stitched onto the shoulder socket with the toes splayed wide.

That evening, Tyrion Lannister sat in Eastwatch's hall with a cup of warmed ale and a fresh-baked meat pie on the table in front of him.

A brazier burned at his feet. The heat worked its way into toes that had been frozen stiff for 10 days.

He bit into the pie, chewed, swallowed. Took a long pull of ale. Settled back against the chair.

Tormund sat across from him, tearing apart a flatbread.

A few Night's Watch men sat nearby. One of them had a mournful face, sunken eyes, and shoulders that curved inward like a man waiting for the next bad thing. The man beside him called him Dolorous Edd.

Tyrion Lannister raised his cup toward Edd. "I am the bravest dwarf alive. Tormund, have you ever met a dwarf this brave?"

Tormund chewed and answered with his mouth still full. "Dwarfs get killed at birth beyond the Wall. We don't have food to waste on a cripple."

The hall went quiet.

Tormund looked at Tyrion Lannister and swallowed. "But I like you."

Tyrion Lannister leaned back, cup in hand, and let his shoulders go loose.

"When I return to King's Landing, the war will be over. Perhaps I'll have King Joffrey sent to the Wall to take the black. Make him your brother."

Dolorous Edd raised his head and looked at him. His eyebrows moved, just slightly. "The war's already over."

Tyrion Lannister's cup stopped at his lips. "What?"

"Drogo took King's Landing on dragonback. The Iron Throne has a new master."

Tyrion Lannister's face was all disbelief, and underneath it, the sour, bone-deep recognition of a man who knew he should have seen it coming.

"Joffrey?"

"Word is he tried to hang himself from a crooked weirwood. Didn't manage it. Someone cut him down. He's a prisoner now."

"I'm going back to King's Landing," Tyrion Lannister said. "Now."

No one tried to stop him.

➤ Next: The Arrival of the Brotherhood Without Banners