The vast lands south of the Wall, forgotten by the people of Westeros, had never been as lively as they were today.
A hundred thousand Free Folk poured into this land that had lain silent for a thousand years, like silt swept downstream by a flood.
They brought their families, drove scrawny cattle and sheep, and dragged all their belongings on crude sledges.
The crooked hide tents they had just erected lay scattered across every inch of the land.
Smoke curled up from countless campfires.
Fights and curses broke out constantly.
Warriors from two tribes drew blades over a campsite sheltered from the wind.
A pack of ragged children fought over a stray snow sheep.
Chaos. Disorder.
Those hundred thousand hungry mouths weighed like a mountain on Castle Black's already strained granaries.
The Gift was a godforsaken place that even northerners wanted nothing to do with. News of this would not reach King's Landing anytime soon.
Quite apart from having Myrcella in his hands, Lynn had already told Sansa about this through greensight and asked her to pass the message on to Ned.
He had also informed Robb, telling him to keep his bannermen in line.
Let them think it over first.
The North and Lynn were in the same boat and would inevitably be implicated. When the time came, the entire North would be forced to stand with him.
That meant more than a hundred and fifty thousand troops ready to face the enemy.
Even Tywin had only fielded sixty thousand men during the War of the Five Kings. Any opponent would have to think carefully.
And a wight was already on its way to King's Landing. If Robert refused to see reason, Lynn would simply go to war.
He now had the power to turn corpses into wights,