The Marches

**The Marches** is the third episode of Season Seven (7.3). It is preceded by **Dragonstone (7.2)** and followed by **Castle Black (7.4)**.

## Summary

Qyburn and Ser Arys are betrayed by the Yronwood coup; Arya falls in with the Brotherhood; Littlefinger finds an ally in the Stormlands but contacts Cersei; a Northern/Vale army heads for the Wall and Jon heads south; Jaqen takes on a mission in Oldtown; Varys leaves the armada to find allies; Daenerys and Tyrion bond over past traumas; the army of the dead reach the Wall.

## Plot

In the southern Dornish marches, Qyburn and Ser Arys sits ahorse next to Lord Yronwood, in a desert cloak and headdress which obscures much of his face. Castle Wyl is in the distance to the north and Castle Yronwood to the south, as more troops and banners arrive.

“If they knew who I was, would they kill me?” he asks Yronwood.

“If I told them to,” he answers.

“Do they not ask where these convoys are going?” Qyburn says, looking north-east, where a long train travels up the Boneway.

“To the Stormlands. To the Reach. To the Riverlands. They do not care, they do not ask. The Dornish are generous neighbours, and you Lannisters pay well,” answers Yronwood.

Leaving Qyburn behind, Yronwood goes into the thick of the camp, where we see various banners. The blue hawk of House Fowler of the Skyreach. The coiled black adder biting a man’s heel of House Wyl. The sword and falling star on lilac of the Daynes of Starfall. Thousands of men. He rides alongside EDRIC DAYNE, Lord of Starfall.

“The Lemonwoods and Martells are still two days’ ride away,” Dayne tells him.

“And Obara and Nymeria lead the host?” Yronwood asks, jaw set.

“They do,” Dayne says.

Yronwoods nods and rides on.

That night, Qyburn sits in his tent with Ser Arys. The latter drinks wine, while the former does not. Ser Arys offers Qyburn a cup but is turned down. Qyburn describes in painstaking detail the effect that wine has the body, in particular the debilitation of the brain that is akin to infantilisation. Ser Arys is bemused by this display of knowledge and openly remarks that he now understands how a nobody could be both Grand Maester and Hand.

Qyburn returns that he is *not* Grand Maester. He reiterates that he studied healing at the Citadel under Ebrose, but was banished for having the “audacity” to consider that “we might learn more from the living than from the dead. Even if it's to account for the mark our souls leave behind on the world. Like that wine on your brain, Ser Arys.”

He was forced out and thus forced to find a place in the world where he could, in the quiet service of House Blackwood, Riverland bannermen to the Tullys. Anonymity was preferable to disgrace, and his talents were not wasted during the war.

“Not that such an old and noble house could complain when their soldiers rose and rose again to their honour. But it would be beneath them to offer praise, I imagine.”

Ser Arys is visibly disgusted, and Qyburn tells him that for every soul lost to his studies, he has paid back through the knowledge it gained him. This is more than can be said for the celebrated knights and warrior kings of lore.

“Yet even the wisest are terrified by what seems beyond them.”

Ser Arys concedes that he certainly is terrified by what Qyburn has placed beside him in the Kingsguard ranks. Qyburn chuckles.

“You're a soldier, and one of the finest soldiers in the realm by your rank. It's absurd that you'd happily surround yourself with death then squirm when it wears the same helm as you.”

Ser Arys excuses himself and hurriedly leaves.

The Hound drinks heavily from a flagon of ale, his eyes never leaving Arya. They are in an inn in the Riverlands with the Brotherhood.

“Am I your captive again?” she asks.

“You know there’s no one left to ransom me to,” Thoros says.

“My, you have been busy,” The Hound says.

“She doesn’t know,” says Beric.

Thoros tells her: her bastard brother Jon Snow came back from the dead and reclaimed the North. Northmen swear he faced the Bolton cavalry charge alone with a flaming sword. Her sister Sansa Stark rode in with the Knights of the Vale to make sure the victory. Thoros says he has seen in the flames the young King leading the forces of the living against the dead in the snow, from the back of a dragon. The Hound butts in that Thoros only saw his vision in the flames *after* they’d heard the stories about Jon Snow.

“But don’t worry, little she-wolf,” he tells Arya. “These Lord of Light-worshipping cunts have no need for gold now, they say. All they want to do now is march north to join your brother. *The prince who was promised,”* he adds scornfully.

Arya is slow to react to the news about Jon. She seems almost troubled, insecure – the scared girl she really is. Then she turns on them all: “Has the Brotherhood forgotten why it started in the first place? To defend the weak against the strong and cruel whatever banners they fly! The Lannisters and Freys are starving and robbing the Riverlands and you dream of questing north, and dragons?”

“Is that what you’ve been doing – defending the weak?” asks the Hound. “All those dead Lannisters, and we find you hiding in a cave as they hunt for an assassin. I can see it in your eyes. Was it worth it, seeing the blood run down their pretty red and gold breastplates – all the villages burning, all those peasants dying, for you?”

Doubt clouds Arya’s eyes.

“What happened to you, little she-wolf, after you left me to die? You’ve started to like it, haven’t you? What does right or wrong mean next to that feeling, that look in their eyes as they go? You’re a killer now.”

Arya looks up at The Hound. “And you’re a talker,” she answers.

Thoros smiles and notes that they're all both things once the wine starts flowing. He offers some and Arya drinks, a little faster than we might expect.

“You can put that killing to some use yet,” Beric tells her. “I remember you once told me you'd like one man to come back from the darkness. The Lord brought you his son.”

“He has that habit,” Thoros says, “funny old way of answering prayers.”

“Do you love your brother?” Beric asks. Arya nods. “The Lord brought him back to you, that you might love him again. What more sign do you need?”

Arya retorts that the only God is death.

“Yet there's all this life about,” Thoros says, “it's even spilling out the grave. Odd, that.”

Arya looks down.

Winterfell. A raven arrives and its message received. Soon after, a retainer carries that message to Littlefinger. He reads it quickly and smiles, then approaches Jon, who conducts Kingly business in the Great Hall. They talk. Jon needed allies, and so Littlefinger has beseeched Ser Gilbert Farring, castellan of Storm's End.

“It seems that nobody felt brave enough to have a crack at a siege” of the famous castle, what with the Stormlands virtually out of the war and racked by internal feuds. However, Farring is an honourable and loyal man intent on rebuilding House Baratheon proper. “Cersei is no Baratheon.” He trusts any son of Lord Eddard like he would any brother of King Robert. If Jon promises to return Baratheon losses and join their houses, then Ser Gilbert shall see to it that the Stormlands and the North are militarily aligned. While he's at it, he informs Jon that a Lannister-Greyjoy pact has taken Dragonstone.

“I brought you the Vale of Arryn as an introduction,” Littlefinger says, “and now I've brought you the Stormlands as a gesture. One wonders what we'd be capable of if we really put our mind to it.”

Later, Sansa meets with Lord Royce and Littlefinger, with Brienne also present. Royce tells her that he and Lord Petyr have consulted with the Lord of the Eyrie and have decided that the Knights of the Vale will stay here to defend the castle and Sansa.

“We came north for you, my lady, and we will defend you while the northmen go south.”

Brienne bristles at this but doesn’t say anything. Littlefinger clears his throat.

“Meanwhile, the King in the North has requested my services in his mission south,” He says. He gives Sansa a knowing look and smiles. “I did not dare refuse.”

Sansa remarks that much of Littlefinger's efforts have been directed towards the King, and Littlefinger replies that he knows no better way to serve his lady than to assist their King and her blood.

“Kings seem to sit miserably on their thrones, particularly in your brother's case, but their beloved reap the rewards of their loyalty. That's the essence of inheritance, my lady. I'd rather yours was larger.”

Sansa clearly isn't convinced, however, and tells Littlefinger to be careful in his “southern adventures.” The cliffs at Dragonstone are so very high and the steps so very steep. Royce is amused by this, and Littlefinger is forced to give a self-deprecating chuckle.

He's managed so far, he says, and gotten quite high.

“Yes, Lord Baelish,” she replies. “But it's a long way down.”

In the courtyard, Jon and his retinue, including Lord Manderly, Glover, Lady Mormont, young Ned Umber – and Littlefinger – prepare their horses to lead the small army assembled outside the castle walls. Tormund approaches Jon. His Wildling host are visibly preparing for war themselves.

“Off fighting southern twats again? Haven’t you had enough of it by now?”

They embrace.

“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to join me?” Jon asks.

“This is as far south as I ever want to go,” Tormund says. “It’s too fucking warm down here. We'll keep the Gift safe for you, until you come to the rescue again.”

“I will,” says Jon. “And we’ll bring you blades of dragonglass.”

Sansa and Brienne watch the exchange.

“The Wildlings love him. The northmen love him,” remarks Brienne.

“And they’d all be dead if it weren’t for me,” says Sansa.

“You think it’s folly to go South?” Brienne says.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Come,” says Sansa.

She meets Jon in the courtyard and they embrace.

“Look after the place while I’m gone,” he says, and glances at Ghost, sniffing warily around the horses in the courtyard and whining softly, while the horses whinny and stamp, agitated, in turn. “And look after him. Not that he needs it.”

“Direwolves are like Starks,” says Sansa. “They don’t do well in the South. You’re right not to take him. Did you know… Father killed my Lady. He had to: King Robert made him, on the Kingsroad. Cersei and Joffrey made it so, all because of some childish nonsense between Arya and Joff. Nymeria bit him to defend her, then disappeared.”

“I never knew,” says Jon.

“Why would you?” says Sansa. “It was childish nonsense, a thousand years ago. Before the war, before Father died, before Robb, all of it.”

Jon calls Ghost over, and crouches to stroke him. “When was the last time you petted a direwolf?” he asks. “A thousand years ago? Come here.”

Sansa crouches uncertainly, looking at Ghost. She takes her glove off and stretches out her hand to him. She slowly reaches his fur and puts her fingers through it. Then she hugs him close. Her eyes fill with tears – happiness and pain, joy and grief. She closes her eyes against his fur. Jon smiles.

We cut to outside Winterfell, Jon leading his army south.

In the hold of Yara's ship, Theon is in a duel with a Bloodrider. The Dothraki swings his curved blade and Theon's ducks and dodges, spear in one hand and blade in the other. Grey Worm watches from the shadows, impassive. He seems on the ropes, but then dodges and rallies and brings the spear to the Dothraki's chest. He stops an inch before hitting the chest. The Bloodrider belts out a laugh and slaps Theon across the shoulder. Grey Worm manages a curt smile and nods. Theon looks down sheepishly but can't quite hide a smile. Yara enters, joking that he heard the invasion had begun early, and in the hold of her own ship.

Grey Worm explains that all who fight for his Queen must fight as if they are the last man who stands before her. Yara is impressed, but says the Queen needs their counsel before it gets that far. Grey Worm and the Dothraki leave. Yara asks Theon if he's planning something, and Theon replies that he wants to be useful.

A harbour walk in Oldtown. Little Sam is walking now, and holds Sam's hand as they and Gilly take their slow stroll. It's a fine day and the sun is out in full. They're talking about brothers and sisters. Sam notes that as much as Dickon is kind and occasionally inspirational, he was never especially good to confide in. Talla is much easier to talk to in this respect. Gilly says that her sisters were her strength growing up.

“If it weren't for them, I'd have wished I was born a boy after all.”

Sam notes that her brothers are all now White Walkers, but visibly regrets this immediately. Gilly doesn't appear to notice. She instead wonders aloud whether Little Sam will have brothers or sisters. After a worried pause, Sam smiles and says he hopes both.

Later on, we see Sam continuing the grind of his education. After one of the classes, Sam talks with his fellow acolytes. They discuss the fields they are likely to go in. Both Sam and Pate agree on alchemy. Pate asks Sam about his previous argument with Maester Severyn. Sam talks more about his experiences, and how he used to think the world was a certain way, only to be shown something else. Pate is excited by this and says that he hopes he gets to see magic himself.

The acolytes leave the Citadel at the end of the day, and most of them are going to a tavern. Sam does not however. He's a kept man, as Pate laughs. We see the rest much later that night, after far too much drink. Pate wants another ale but cannot afford it, but a stranger buys it for him. Pate thanks the man, who is revealed to be Jaqen H'gar. They strike up a conversation about Pate's acolyte training, and Pate discusses how he has to be a maester to stay fed.

“No lord me.”

However, Jaqen wonders about wealth. Surely that's the real desire, not status. He pulls out a gold coin and studies it while wondering “if a young man would perform a deed for that wealth.”

Pate is very interested.

In the streets of King’s Landing, Bronn escorts a Dornish convoy of goods through the city, while peasants line the streets.

“Blood oranges, lemons, pomegranates, olives. It’s not what I’d choose to feed a starving city,” Bronn tells a City Watch captain. He rides over to a cart and pulls a curved, dark-red vegetable out. “And dragon peppers? *Dragon peppers!* You think Flea Bottom smells bad now? Wait until the entire city’s arseholes are on fire.”

In the Red Keep, SER LUCION LANNISTER – the young commander of the Lannister forces loyal to Cersei – tells her that her brother and Euron Greyjoy have taken Dragonstone without resistance. Cersei allows herself a smile. But Lucion has more news. Qyburn treated with Lord Yronwood but seemingly without success: the Dornish are assembling in the Dornish marches. And the Tyrell army is almost ready to march from Highgarden. Cersei’s smile has disappeared, and she pours wine. Still, Lucion does not take his leave.

“There’s more?”

“And a raven came for you… from Petyr Baelish.”

“Littlefinger betrayed me to support the Stark bitch.”

But she opens and reads the scroll, though we don’t see it. “He claims still to be loyal to the Crown.”

She sneers. “And to prove it, he brings me information. He still thinks knowledge is power.” She turns to Lucion. “Jon Snow’s northmen are marching south too.”

“A war on *four* fronts?” he replies in alarm.

“That suggests they’re all on the same side, and want the same thing,” says Cersei. “Perhaps we should dissuade them of that particular desire.”

On the Summer Sea, Daenerys and Tyrion stand on deck. They watch as a small boat is prepared by a skeleton crew. It is of some luxury. Daenerys asks if Tyrion wishes to go, and he says that he's becoming quite attached to the sea. “There aren't quite so many rude interruptions out here.”

Varys joins them, but it's a farewell. He's going on ahead to find allies and “lead the birds into nicer and softer songs.”

Daenerys wishes him luck, but her tone is sharp and her words pointed. This is a chance for him to prove his loyalty and worth, and failure is not an option. Tyrion accompanies Varys to the skiff and they talk about the latter's safety. Varys is significantly more confident about his chance than Tyrion is.

“Counter-intuitive as it may be, I'm harder to spot than the man half my size.”

Tyrion shrugs and replies “I'd make the obvious retort, but I fear the mast has beaten me to it.”

They give warm and genuine farewells, and Tyrion tells Varys not to trust a Frey. Varys in turn tells Tyrion to keep a close eye on their Queen. Then he leaves.

Afterwards, Tyrion and Dany talk at the bow.

“In an hour, we’ll be on the Narrow Sea,” says Tyrion.

Dany asks how he knows. Tyrion points ahead at a group of islands.

“The Stepstones.” He points slightly east. “There, the disputed lands.” Then he points far west. “Over the water, you may be able to see it. The Broken Arm. Dorne. Westeros.” He smiles up at her. “I think we should drink to that.”

Elsewhere, Missandei approaches Grey Worm and tells him the Dothraki wish to anchor briefly at Pentos, to spend a day or two with the ground beneath their feet. Many of them are sick and remain terrified of the poison water.

“Our Queen will never allow it,” says Grey Worm. He smirks. “And the Pentoshi would think us invaders.”

Daenerys and Tyrion drink in her quarters, merry and trading stories. Daenerys reminds him he once told her she would tell him about his father’s death.

“Do we have enough wine now?” Tyrion explains, after some prodding, that it was not so much that his father sentenced him to die. “He was always doing that,” Tyrion adds drily. It was that his father had stolen love from him. “And it wasn’t his first time doing that either.”

Daenerys asks what the first time was, gently, and Tyrion tells her about Tysha – an abbreviated version to the tale we heard in season one, but enough to remind us. concludes.

“The kingslayer,” says Daenerys.

“Oh, you know better than that now, surely,” Tyrion admonishes her. “But it was all my brother,” he says, explaining his part in the event.

Seeing that he's vulnerable, she tells Tyrion about Khal Drogo, everything. How she was taken so young but how she bent to him and how he became her strength and how he misses her even today, even as she desperately wishes to despise him for even touching her. She too fell in love when she shouldn't have. And she too was put there by her brother.

“My brother was always kind to me,” Tyrion says. “He just wanted to make me happy for the night, for my name day. How was he to know I’d fall in love with the whore?”

Daenerys responds that Viserys was cruel and an egomaniac driven by humiliation and the desperation of exile. Drogo was one last gambit that failed. She watched him die and did nothing to help. Tyrion is shaken by this, and briefly silent. She says that, in the darkest nights, she misses Viserys too. Who else can understand? “That is family,” she says, “and it's why I'll miss my brother the monster, and why your brother the kind knight has to die.”

Tyrion drinks.

On Dragonstone, Jaime emerges onto the battlements to find Euron and a bunch of Greyjoy laughing as they try to bring down a hawk. They miss, and Jaime realises they are using a ballista. He rushes forward.

“Are you mad, Greyjoy?”

But Euron fires another bolt, and it eviscerates the hawk, punching like a rocket through its body, creating a bloody explosion in the air.

“How many of those bolts did you use?” Jaime asks angrily. Euron shrugs.

“Three. But now I know how to fire the bloody thing, and how else would I learn?”

“Fire them somewhere where we can retrieve the bolts,” says Jaime, turning away. “Not into the sea.”

The Greyjoys laugh. In the Lannister quarters, Jaime is acknowledged by soldiers and officers, but he is increasingly discomfited as it dawns on them how few of them he knows. He retires to his chamber, where he receives a raven from Cersei.

“The northmen are marching south,” it reads. “The Tyrells march east. The Dornish head north. In the Riverlands, they slaughter our men. Our enemies mean to destroy us and fight over our corpses. If the dragon queen joins them with all her might, it is over. You have to kill her. You have to kill our brother. I am with child, Jaime.”

Theon and Grey Worm practice fighting again, and Theon has clearly improved. While not in the ascendancy, he is not as defensive either. At one stage, Grey Worm appears to have bested him with a lunge, but Theon spots and blocks it. Grey Worm is impressed. They notice a small skiff approaching the ship.

“Messages from the Queen's homeland,” Grey Worm says. “Perhaps good news.”

Theon nods. Grey Worm claps his shoulder and leaves. Afterwards, Theon is on deck looking out to land again. His posture is less slumped, his face less haggard. Tyrion approaches him and strikes up a conversation. Theon makes to leave, but Tyrion brings him back.

“Fear not, my Prince. I'm not here to mock you. To be honest, I've been indulging that part of myself a little too much around you.”

Theon says he deserves it, all of it, and Tyrion scoffs at that.

“Rubbish,” he says, “so what if you don't sit right at the dinner table? We let dogs circle our feet there, do we not? Why shouldn't a misfit get a seat? I've sat plenty of them myself, you're no less worthy. Believe me.”

Theon notes that Tyrion has the brain and the mouth to get him from one royal court to another, though Tyrion interjects that the trial and voyage in-between soured his record.

Theon is amused. He asks what Tyrion's secret is. Tyrion is surprised by the question. After some thought, he concludes that “I suppose it's about what people don't expect of you. The world gives you something to live up to, something to live down to, and the people make up their own version. They love being surprised, so why not do none of the above.” He pauses, then says that he had a reason to approach. “Our courier had almost so much news that he couldn't keep it all straight. But you should know. The Starks rule the North again, and they've declared Jon Snow their King. The Boltons have been destroyed in battle. I've heard much about your sufferings, Greyjoy. This ship is so small, and I have terribly good hearing for little ears. I hope this brings you some relief. I truly do.”

He gives Theon a half-glance nod and then leaves him. Theon braces himself against a handrail, stunned. Something physically leaves him and it takes a toll.

Obara and Nymeria Sand lead the Martell and Lemonwood armies into the Dornish marches which are… empty. The remnants of a camp remains. The sand snakes ride off the Boneway, inspecting the ground, while the army remains tightly packed along the road, continuing to file along. The sand snakes gallop and down the abandoned camp, inspecting what remains.

“They were here, so where did they go?” asks Obara.

Then, from both sides, from the Red Mountains across the plains between which the Boneway is situated, volleys of arrows soar down from on high. The unprepared Martells and Lemonwoods fall in their hundreds, and scatter, screaming. Nymeria watches as Obara takes an arrow in the throat. As the panicking forces scatter north, south, east and west off the Boneway, a great war cry comes from the mountain pass, as a long line of light cavalry – Dornish sand steeds – charge down at the Martell forces.

Nymeria stares in stunned disbelief. Then she raises her whip against the charge, defiant until the end. The end comes quickly, as the cavalry tramples her underfoot.

After the battle. Qyburn and Ser Arys, still disguised, rides out among the dead, the shattered power of Sunspear, the dust and smoke of war rising on the Boneway and on the plains. He eventually reaches a bloodied but exultant Lord Yronwood, addressing his troops.

“We do not kill little girls in Dorne, and we do not murder our princes. The child-killers and kinslayers Obara and Nymeria Sand are dead!”

The troops roar their approval.

“Next, we deliver justice to the Usurper Ellaria Sand, and Ser Areo Hotah’s murderer, Tyene Sand!”

The troops roar again.

“I am sorry it came to this. Shedding the blood of good Dornishmen. But the Sand Snakes turned them against their own Prince, and they were beyond our help. We must ensure it never happens again.”

After the speech, Qyburn approaches Yronwood: “You did well. Queen Cersei will be most pleased.”

Yronwood just looks coldly at Qyburn, who becomes discomfited. “She will appreciate the justice you delivered for her only daughter,” he continues, warily. “And she would now ask that you aid her. March *against* the Tyrells, not with them, they who have always looked down their noses at you from across the Marches.”

“A long time ago, Lord Hand,” says Yronwood. “I have heard your offer, and the answer is no. We go on now to Sunspear.”

Qyburn is aghast. “But – you can’t – your Queen is surrounded –”

“When did I ever say she was my Queen?” Yronwood says. “I serve only justice. Once the Dornish weeds are dealt with, we will once more seek justice, for Elia Martell. I know you and your Queen keep Gregor Clegane as your pet brute. Somehow, he survived Oberyn’s spear. Her father is dead now, but Ser Gregor is not. Go back to King’s Landing, Lord Hand, and tell your Queen that.”

Qyburn sits there, stunned, as Yronwood rides away, leading his great Dornish host back south and east, galloping down the Boneway, kicking up red dust all around the Hand of the Queen.

Castle Black. Bran is in one of the halls, sat before a hearth covered in furs and shivering even still. Two stewards are tending to him; the meek and nervy ARRON; and the swarthy and smug DONNEL HILL. Arron examines Bran's legs and sees that frostbite and possibly necrosis has set in. He says that Bran needs a maester of a healer, neither of which the Watch has anymore. Donnel remarks that they don't have a tavern or a brothel either, which will disappoint a boy of Bran's age.

Donnel apologises for his Brother, noting that “he says he's a Lannister; who'd call themselves a Lannister these days?”

Donnel replies “anyone with the sense to think about tomorrow.” He then asks Bran what he saw beyond the Wall. When Bran doesn't reply, Donnel says he was at the Fist of the First Men. He's seen the dead coming, and that they took the knight he was squire to, Ser Mallador. Nothing Bran can tell him will be shocking.

Bran looks at Donnel and asks if he wants to know if his father will ever return to Westeros. Donnel is shaken by this remark, and so Bran assures him that Gereon Lannister's disappearance had nothing to do with his illegitimate sons. Donnel is so startled by this he cannot reply. Edd arrives with his chiefs and dismisses the stewards. Donnel's eye lingers on Bran as he leaves. Edd sits and explains to Bran that he's sent for aid once again, but that nobody has responded. “People seem so distrustful now,” he remarks.

Bran assures him that they will come once the matter is sufficiently urgent. Edd asks him, clearly not the first time, what exactly he has seen north of the wall. Bran asks Edd what he has seen there.

“Well, you know, just the usual. Dead men riding horses, white demons with blue eyes. Treachery and murder and suffering. S'pose that's why nobody's coming, sounds about as good as war anywhere else.” Bran chuckles at this for a little too long, until Edd frowns.

“You're more right than you know, Lord Commander. You didn't understand why my brother left you the position when he left, and you still don't. But you're wiser than most Knights and Lords, and even Kings. You'll be remembered that way.” Edd blinks, then he laughs.

“How could you know?” Bran's smile fades.

“The dead will be here soon, very soon. You need my brother. He will bring the help you need. His watch hasn't ended, even if his life did.” Edd is perplexed, and his men stare. There's something in the air almost.

“Bran,” Edd says, “how do you know all this?”

Outside, the horn blasts three times.

On the Wall, the Night's Watch take up defensive positions. A number of crude and improvised weapons like cauldrons and onagers have been fashioned, along with archer positions. Edd appears with his chiefs. Arron and Donnel carry Bran with them. They look down. Below, the army of the dead appear from the treeline and slowly form a line one deep. It gets longer and longer until eventually it's out of sight in either direction. Everything stops. The winds howl. Edd looks at the endless line of dead men and shakes.

Bran lightly touches his shoulder and tells him; “the first thing you need to do is send for help. Send for Jon Snow.”

Edd nods sharply and calls for ravens.

Bran looks down at a sole mounted figure behind the waiting rank of the dead.