Game Of Thrones: Khal Pollo (GOT)

In the stuffy confines of his private room at The Twins, Lord Walder Frey stared at the parchment in his hands, his wrinkled fingers trembling with a mix of fury and pure fear. The flickering candlelight danced on his pale, mottled face, making him look like a tormented ghost.

Roose Bolton, seated across the table, watched in silence. His pale, emotionless eyes showed nothing but cold patience. "Bad news?" he asked, his voice soft as a silk whisper on steel.

"Bad?" Walder Frey slammed his fist on the table, making the wine goblet rattle. "King's Landing has fallen! Joffrey the fool boy is dead! The Lannister fleet is ash! A Dothraki dragon sits on the Iron Throne!" His panic was palpable. "We've bet on the wrong horse, Bolton! The Young Wolf had us fighting against a ghost!"

Roose Bolton showed no surprise. He only nodded slowly. "The Young Wolf fought for his father's honor against a dead king. This new conqueror... Khal Pollo... he doesn't care for honor. He cares for power. And now, he is the greatest power in the land."

Walder Frey looked at Roose, his raisin-like eyes narrowing as a sly calculation began to form in his mind. He saw a way out. A way to flip his bad bet. "Tywin Lannister would pay dearly for Robb Stark's head," Walder mumbled.

"Tywin Lannister is no longer the main player," Roose calmly countered. "But the new Khal might appreciate a man who can get things done. A man who can deliver him the North without a fight."

A terrible understanding passed between the two men in the heavy silence. Walder Frey nodded, a thin, cruel smile forming on his lips. "The wedding will proceed," he said. "Send word to the musicians."

In the great hall of The Twins, the festive atmosphere felt wrong. Catelyn Stark sat at the high table, a rigid smile plastered on her face. The music was too loud, the Frey laughter too shrill. She felt a cold sense of dread in her stomach. As the bride and groom were led to the bedchamber, she noticed the large hall doors being closed and barred with a heavy THUMP. Her heart began to pound.

The musicians in the gallery began to play a different tune. Not a joyous wedding song, but the melancholic, menacing notes of "The Rains of Castamere."

Catelyn's eyes darted to Roose Bolton. She saw the glint of chainmail beneath his fancy sleeve. A cold horror seized her.

"Robb!" she shrieked, but her voice was lost in the chaos.

Crossbow bolts shot from the musicians' gallery, hitting the Northern soldiers. The Freys drew daggers from beneath their robes, butchering their guests. The scene exploded into a blurred nightmare. Catelyn saw Robb's shocked face as an arrow pierced his chest. She saw his beloved direwolf, Grey Wind, killed in the courtyard. She heard Walder Frey's shrill laughter. In a last desperate act, she grabbed Walder's terrified wife, Jinglebell, holding a dagger to her throat. But it was useless. She felt cold steel slice her throat, and as warm blood poured over her hands, the last thing she saw was Roose Bolton's pale eyes staring emotionlessly at her. "The new Khal sends his regards," the man whispered.

Far to the north, atop the icy Wall, Jon Snow knew nothing of the blood and betrayal in the south. He stood watch, staring out at the endless expanse of the Haunted Forest, his breath puffing out in the freezing air.

Suddenly, the guard's horn sounded. A single long blast. Rangers returning. A moment later, a second blast, more urgent. Wildlings. The entire guard on the Wall tensed.

Then, a sound that had not been heard for thousands of years tore through the cold night air. A third blast. Long, vibrating, and full of despair. Others.

Before they could even process the horror, they saw it. In the distance, among the trees, one bonfire lit up. Then another. Then a dozen. Then a hundred. Within minutes, the entire northern horizon was transformed into a sea of bonfires stretching from one end to the other. Mance Rayder's army. One hundred thousand strong.

Jon drew Longclaw, its wolf-head hilt feeling a cold burn in his hand. From below, the hoarse war horns of the Wildlings began to roar, while from far to the north, the wind carried an unnatural, icy sound. The world in the south was burning in a war of kings, but here, at the end of the world, the real war was just about to begin.