Chapter 508: The Collapse of the Wall

After midnight, the snowstorm finally subsided.

A full moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting its glow upon the Wall at the edge of the world.

The massive ice wall, which separated two worlds, shimmered faintly with a ghostly blue light under the moon, appearing breathtakingly majestic.

Robb Stark carefully sneaked into the stables, startling the sleeping horses.

He froze for a moment before stepping forward to soothe his mount.

The cold wind whispered through the stables, carrying an icy chill that felt like death brushing against his face.

After ensuring no other Night's Watchmen had been disturbed, Robb quietly led a horse outside.

Despite its name, Castle Black had only one wall—the Wall itself.

The other three sides were entirely unfortified.

The Night's Watch had only ever guarded against threats from the north, and their sentinels were stationed exclusively along the Wall.

This arrangement made it easy for Robb to slip away under the cover of darkness.

Leading his horse, he followed the winding Kingsroad. The moonlight bathed the nearby hills in silvery light.

Once the last flickering lights of Castle Black disappeared behind him, Robb slowed his pace.

After some time, flickering lights appeared on either side of the road ahead.

Robb recognized them—they marked Mole's Town.

He urged his horse onward into the village, where he heard only the barking of dogs and the braying of a donkey in a stable. Otherwise, the village was deathly silent.

A few faint glows of hearth fires shone through tightly shut windows, and dozens of oddly shaped tents stood on the outskirts. These belonged to the Wildlings who had migrated south.

Mole's Town was far larger than it appeared, with at least three-quarters of the village situated underground.

So close to the Wall, the warm subterranean tunnels were far preferable to the frigid surface.

The interconnected cellars and passageways formed a labyrinthine underground settlement.

However, Mole's Town was most infamous for its red lantern-lit wooden huts—the places where Night's Watchmen came to "dig for treasure."

While the vows of the Night's Watch prohibited marriage and fathering children, there was no explicit rule against carnal pleasures. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was well aware of these activities but chose to turn a blind eye.

Robb dismounted and walked through the village, idly wondering how many of his brothers in black were currently "treasure hunting" underground.

He stopped in front of one of the small wooden huts and knocked lightly.

"Who's there?" a faint female voice called out.

"It's me," Robb replied.

The room fell silent for a moment before soft footsteps approached.

The door creaked open, and under the dim lamplight, a frail woman in a worn cloak peeked out. Her innocent brown eyes glanced at the man and said:

"Come in, but keep your voice down—the baby just fell asleep."

Robb entered and gently closed the door behind him.

The woman had already returned to the bedside to check on the swaddled infant.

"I've made arrangements," Robb said. "Tomorrow, the supply convoy returning from Castle Black will pass through Mole's Town. You can join them and head to Winterfell."

He stepped forward and handed her a sealed letter.

"Give this to Lady Catelyn. She'll take care of you and the child."

"And you?" the woman asked. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"I took an oath," Robb said with a forced smile.

Of course, he wanted to go with her—to return to Winterfell, the place he dreamed of every night.

In his dreams, he could see Winterfell clearly, as though he'd left it only yesterday.

The towering stone walls, the warm halls filled with the smell of roasted meat, the wolves running wild in the courtyards, his father's study, and his own bedchamber.

He longed to see his sisters Sansa and Arya's smiles again, to taste his mother's beef-and-bacon pie, and to hear Old Nan's stories of the Children of the Forest and the White Walkers.

But he couldn't leave the Wall.

Not just because of his oath, but because he was the eldest son of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

If he deserted, it would destroy his father's reputation.

"Don't worry," Robb added. "My mother won't treat you differently because you're a Wildling. Your child will be cared for."

"And I promise—I'll come see you both someday."

The woman didn't look reassured.

She nodded silently, her thin face hidden in the shadows, making her expression unreadable.

"I have to go," Robb said before he could change his mind.

As he stepped outside, he turned back for one last glance and saw the tears streaming down her face.

It almost made him reconsider, but his sense of duty pushed him onward.

"I've made mistakes, but I can't keep making them," Robb whispered to himself.

He walked away, leaving the small hut behind without looking back.

As he left Mole's Town, he heard the clear sound of hooves approaching from the north.

Narrowing his eyes in the moonlight, he recognized the rider:

"Kingslayer" Jaime Lannister.

The two passed each other on the village road, exchanging brief glances without a word.

Robb recalled the news the supply convoy had brought earlier: the former queen regent, Lady Cersei Lannister, had been taken to Mole's Town.

No wonder Jaime seemed in such a hurry.

Robb wondered what kind of reunion awaited the infamous siblings—whether they might even plan to escape together.

Lost in these thoughts, Robb failed to notice the figure standing in the middle of the road ahead.

By the time he saw the figure, it was too late to stop his horse.

"Move aside!" Robb shouted urgently.

But the figure didn't move, standing frozen as if in shock.

At the last moment, Robb yanked the reins, forcing his horse to veer off the road.

The horse stumbled on the snowy ground and fell, throwing Robb off.

Brushing off the snow, Robb quickly turned back.

"Are you all right?" he called out.

The figure didn't answer.

After calming his horse, Robb approached the stranger and asked:

"Are you from the North or a Wildling? What are you doing here alone? Do you need help?"

The figure remained silent, staring at Robb with icy blue eyes devoid of emotion.

"Hey! Are you deaf?" Robb stepped closer and noticed the figure's deathly pale skin, armor like frozen ice, and the utter lack of warmth in its gaze.

But there was something hauntingly familiar about the face…

Robb's heart froze as realization struck him.

He had seen that face before—in the crypts beneath Winterfell.

"You're…" Robb began, but his words were cut off as a wave of bone-chilling cold swept over him, freezing him in place.

His body stiffened as one final thought flashed through his mind:

The Kings of Winter have risen from their graves… and now one stands before me.

Crack. Crack.

Robb regained control of his body, but his eyes now glowed a ghostly blue—cold as ice, bright as starlight.

He climbed onto his horse and galloped back toward Castle Black under the cover of darkness.

---

Mole's Town.

In a warm underground chamber, Cersei Lannister lay nestled against a broad, bare chest, her face flushed from exertion.

"Tell me," she murmured, "why do they call you 'Giantsbane'? Have you really killed a giant?"

"Of course!" Tormund boasted loudly. "How could you doubt a man as strong as me?"

Cersei poured him another drink and handed it to him with a coy smile.

"Tell me the story of your great deeds."

Tormund downed the drink in one gulp, a faint blush spreading across his face as he began:

"It was during the last winter. I was young and foolish then, wandered too far, and my horse dropped dead in the middle of a snowstorm. I knew if I waited for the storm to pass, I'd freeze to death. So, I found a sleeping giant, cut open her belly, and crawled inside for warmth.

It was warm in there, sure, but the smell nearly killed me. Worst of all, when spring came, she woke up and thought I was her child.

Before I managed to escape, she fed me her milk for three months! Hah! Sometimes I still miss the taste of giant's milk."

Cersei raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical.

"When did you kill her, then?"

Tormund paused, looking slightly embarrassed. He coughed a few times before admitting:

"Well… I didn't actually kill her. But don't go spreading that around! 'Giantsbane Tormund' sounds a lot better than 'Tormund the Giant's Baby.'"

Cersei laughed lightly, her green eyes flashing with intrigue. Her gaze drifted toward a strange, black-and-gold horn resting by the bed. She gestured toward it nonchalantly and asked:

"And your other nickname? I heard someone call you 'Hornblower.' Why is that?"

Tormund muttered under his breath about women being too curious, but seeing Cersei offer him another drink, he took it with a grin and explained:

"That's because I'm very skilled at blowing horns. Even the giant-sized ones—they're no problem for me."

Cersei pointed at the black-and-gold horn beside the bed.

"This isn't a giant's horn, is it? It's so small."

"Of course not," Tormund said, lowering his voice. "But it's no ordinary horn, either. This is the legendary Horn of Winter. Mance Rayder gave it to me himself. Don't tell anyone, though!"

Cersei's green eyes flickered, her heart pounding, but on the surface she remained calm:

"The Horn of Winter? The one that's supposed to bring down the Wall? Wasn't it said that Caesar burned the real Horn of Winter?"

"That one was a fake," Tormund whispered. "The real horn has been hidden with me all along. Mance wasn't stupid—he knew this horn was the only thing that could make Caesar hesitate. Why would he carry it around himself?

He told me that if Caesar broke his promise, I should blow the horn and bring the Wall down, burying everyone with it."

Cersei's expression grew more intense, the glint in her eyes betraying her thoughts.

But before she could press further, the door to the room was suddenly kicked open.

"Cersei! Don't be afraid—I've come to rescue you!"

Tormund leaped up from the bed, entirely naked, and grabbed his axe.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Jaime!" Cersei gasped, recognizing her brother. She quickly wrapped herself in a sheet. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take you away!" Jaime shouted, pointing his sword at Tormund with his one good hand. "Tormund, back off! Don't touch my sister, or I'll kill you!"

Tormund hesitated, his eyes darting between Jaime and Cersei. Finally, he asked:

"This guy's your brother?"

Cersei nodded.

Tormund immediately lowered his axe and grinned.

"Ah, I see. Misunderstanding, just a misunderstanding. Jaime, right? I like your sister a lot. Don't you southerners all have to get married? Don't worry, I'll marry her. We'll have some big, strong sons together—"

"I'll kill you!" Jaime roared, lunging at Tormund with his sword.

Tormund genuinely seemed to care for Cersei and refrained from fighting back, instead blocking Jaime's attacks while trying to reason with him.

But Jaime grew angrier the more Tormund spoke, refusing to relent until Cersei finally shouted:

"Enough!"

Both men froze.

"Tormund, leave us. I need to talk to Jaime," Cersei said firmly.

"Fine." Tormund shrugged, grabbed his clothes, and left the room with his axe slung over his shoulder.

Jaime immediately stepped forward and grabbed his sister's hand.

"Cersei, don't be afraid. I'll take you away!"

Cersei pulled her hand free and asked coldly:

"Where?"

"Back to Casterly Rock!"

"Casterly Rock?" Cersei sneered. "You're as brainless as ever. Casterly Rock isn't ours anymore."

"Tyrion is the Duke of Casterly Rock now. He'll—"

"He'll hand us over to Caesar," Cersei interrupted. "Without a doubt."

"No!" Jaime shook his head. "Tyrion wouldn't do that. He'll take care of us."

"You idiot," Cersei snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. She turned away and picked up the horn that Tormund had left behind, holding it up for Jaime to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"What?"

"The Horn of Winter."

"Impossible," Jaime said immediately. "Caesar burned the Horn of Winter."

"The one he burned was a fake. This is the real one."

"Who told you that?"

"Tormund."

"That Wildling?" Jaime scoffed. "If this is the real Horn of Winter, why didn't he take it with him? And haven't you heard his nickname? They call him 'Tormund Tall-Tales.'"

"How will we know if it's real unless we try?" Cersei said, running her fingers over the horn as a wild, dangerous light shone in her eyes.

Jaime frowned.

"You're not seriously thinking about blowing it, are you?"

"Why not?" Cersei replied. "If it works, Caesar will have bigger problems to deal with. He might even die fighting the White Walkers. Then our revenge will be complete!"

"But thousands of innocent people will die," Jaime protested.

"So what?" Cersei sneered. "Did you think revenge wouldn't come at a cost?"

Without waiting for Jaime's response, she raised the horn to her lips and blew it as hard as she could.

Jaime hesitated but didn't stop her. After all, he thought, the horn was likely a fake.

**Wooooo—**

A deep, mournful sound echoed through the night, cutting through the wooden walls, the earth, the snow, and the sky.

Outside, Tormund paused mid-step as he heard the horn's cry. His face twisted in surprise and disbelief.

"Crazy woman," he muttered to himself. "And a stupid one, blowing a fake horn like—"

He staggered suddenly as the ground shook beneath him.

The entire underground chamber trembled violently, as if an earthquake had struck.

Tormund scrambled to the surface, gasping for air, only to hear a panicked scream pierce the night:

"The Wall has fallen! The Wall has fallen!"

The cry was filled with terror, carried by the frigid wind.

Tormund turned to the north, his gaze drawn to the distant horizon. In the darkness, he could barely discern something massive collapsing into ruin.

"The Wall… fallen?"

Impossible!

He opened his mouth to speak, but the icy wind from the north froze the words in his throat.

The cold—the kind he hadn't felt since crossing the Wall—chilled him to the bone.

At that moment, fear and disbelief consumed him.

The Wall… had truly fallen.

(End of Chapter)