On the River Road, winter's chill had already deepened.
The lingering glow of late autumn barely edged the vast plain with a thin rim of gold, unable to dispel the cold that seeped into the bones.
Tywin Lannister's vanguard, five thousand heavily armed elite troops from the Westerlands, marched along the road toward Riverrun.
Their armor gleamed in the setting sun, spears rose like a forest, and war drums beat dully. Every step made the earth tremble slightly.
Leading them was a knight named Stephen Haytall.
He rode a tall warhorse, clad in a scarlet surcoat emblazoned with a golden lion, looking every inch the gallant warrior.
Stephen was young and headstrong, eager to win unparalleled glory in this northern campaign.
He believed the Lannister cavalry could easily trample any obstacle in their path.
"My lord, there's a mountain ahead."
A scout rode back, a trace of confusion in his voice.
"The map shows no mountain anywhere near here."
Stephen frowned.
He unfolded the Parchment Map and carefully checked it.
Indeed, along this stretch of the River Road from the Trident to Riverrun, mountains lined either side, but the land between them was flat, with no towering, isolated peaks.
"The terrain may simply have been mapped incorrectly."
Stephen waved a dismissive hand.
"Or you've exaggerated some raised hill."
The scout hesitated, wanting to say more.
That "mountain" looked strange, especially out on this plain, where it stood so abruptly that it seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
Moreover, its whole surface shone a ghostly blue, with faint cracks in the ice visible across it, utterly out of place amid the surrounding yellow-brown landscape.
"Keep moving!" Stephen urged.
He had no intention of letting some nameless soldier's imaginings delay the march.
The army pressed on.
As they drew closer, the outline