Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Here's the revised and clarified version of Catelyn's POV with your feedback iCatelyn Stark

The Great Hall of Winterfell felt colder than ever, as though the chill had seeped into the very stones. The iron cage at its center exuded no warmth, no life—only dread.

The creature within was like nothing Catelyn had ever seen. Its pale, bloodless skin stretched taut over its gaunt frame. Its eyes glowed a piercing blue, like tiny shards of ice lit from within. The unnatural color was enough to freeze her in place, her hand instinctively gripping her skirts.

Eddard stood beside her, his face unreadable as he addressed the black-clad men of the Night's Watch. "You say the Free Folk delivered this to you?"

"Aye, my lord," said the Watchman at the front, his voice steady though his face betrayed unease. "They brought it to Castle Black, said they'd found it wandering the woods near their camps. They didn't try to kill it, claimed they feared what might happen if they did. It does not speak, it does not eat, but it moves. Gods, does it move when it's roused."

Eddard's eyes narrowed. "And they delivered it to you as a... gift?"

"A warning, my lord," the man clarified. "They said we wouldn't believe them otherwise. They call them 'Wights,' but this..." He gestured toward the cage. "This is no man."

Catelyn's unease deepened, her hand tightening on her shawl. "Why bring it here? To Winterfell?"

The Watchman hesitated. "The Free Folk said this thing is only the first. If the Wall cannot hold... we'll need the realm united. We thought it best that the lords of the North see it with their own eyes."

Eddard's voice was sharp. "And you thought it wise to bring it here, to my home, where my family sleeps?"

The man stiffened. "We did not come lightly, my lord. We dare not risk this thing escaping, but neither can we pretend it doesn't exist. The Free Folk said the truth of this would unite men against what's coming."

"What is coming?" Catelyn asked softly, though her voice trembled.

"They called it winter, my lady."

The words hung in the air like frost. Catelyn turned her gaze back to the creature. Its movements were slow but unnerving, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. Chains wrapped tightly around its neck and wrists, holding it in place within the cage, yet she still felt no safety in its confinement.

"Burn it," she said abruptly.

Eddard looked at her, his brow furrowing.

"Burn it," she repeated, her voice shaking. "Whatever it is, it does not belong in this world. It is evil."

Eddard's jaw tightened. "We don't know what it is yet."

"And you want to know?" she snapped, fear breaking through her composure. "At what cost, Ned? You've heard this man. You've seen what it is. This thing is not alive, but it moves. It hungers. Burn it, before it's too late."

"We don't know if fire can kill it," Eddard countered, though his tone was more measured than defiant.

"The Free Folk claimed fire is its greatest fear, my lord," the Watchman added cautiously. "But we didn't dare test it. We thought it best that you decide."

Eddard turned to the cage, his expression hardening. He was the Warden of the North, the protector of these lands, yet in that moment, even he seemed uncertain.

Catelyn reached down and gently guided Rickon away, the boy clutching her hand tightly. Jon Snow, ever the quiet one, stood with Robb, Bran, Sansa, and Arya near the edges of the hall. He, too, was transfixed by the sight of the creature, though his expression betrayed no fear.

"Come," Catelyn said, ushering Rickon and the others toward the door. "The children should not be here."

---

The godswood of Winterfell was a place of solace for the Starks, but not for Catelyn. She stood in the small sept that had been built for her upon her arrival in the North, her hands clasped tightly in prayer.

"Father, guide my husband's hand," she murmured, her voice trembling. "Mother, keep my children safe. Smith, give us the strength to endure what is to come."

She had not told Eddard of the dreams that had plagued her of late—of cold winds sweeping across the land, of lifeless eyes staring out from the darkness. She did not need to. He had seen the same harbinger of death that now haunted her thoughts.

But what disturbed her more than the creature itself was the knowledge that it was only the beginning. If the Free Folk's warnings were true, the threat beyond the Wall was greater than she could fathom.

Catelyn knelt before the altar, the soft light of candles illuminating her face. She had always found comfort in prayer, yet tonight, the silence of the sept felt hollow.

---

Winterfell was a hive of activity as word of King Robert's arrival spread through the castle. Servants rushed to prepare the halls, and banners bearing the stag of Baratheon were unfurled alongside the direwolf of Stark.

Catelyn stood on the walls, watching as the first banners of the royal procession appeared on the horizon. The golden stag shone brilliantly against the gray sky, the column of riders moving steadily closer.

"Robert will be here before sunset," she said to Maester Luwin, who stood beside her.

"Yes, my lady. The castle is nearly ready to receive him."

Her thoughts turned briefly to the cage in the dungeons. Ned had summoned the lords of the North to Winterfell, though most had yet to arrive. Soon, the Great Hall would be filled with banners and voices, all debating what should be done about the creature.

For now, she turned her attention to the impending arrival of the king. Robert Baratheon, her husband's oldest friend, was coming to Winterfell. But she could not shake the feeling that his visit was not merely one of friendship.

As the first riders crossed the gates, Catelyn Stark drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Winter was coming, and she could only pray that her family would endure the storms ahead.

Tyrion Lannister POV

The road to Winterfell was long, but for Tyrion Lannister, it had its pleasures. The North's biting cold was not one of them, though the warmth of his current company provided some relief.

Tyrion lounged in a well-worn chair in a dimly lit brothel near the outskirts of Wintertown, a goblet of sour northern wine in hand. The establishment was not quite up to Lannister standards, but the girls were pleasant enough, and the hearth fire was roaring.

"More wine, my lord?" The woman draped across his lap smiled coyly, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his doublet.

Tyrion chuckled. "I'd sooner drink Dornish red, but alas, I must make do with the swill of the North." He waved his goblet lazily. "Pour away, my dear. The night is young."

As she leaned over to refill his cup, Tyrion's sharp ears caught snippets of a conversation from a nearby table. The men were speaking in low tones, their voices thick with fear.

"... found it wanderin' the woods, they said."

"More likely they made it up. Bloody Wildlings'll say anything to save their hides."

"But what about the glowing eyes? The Watch don't lie, do they?"

"Who knows what they saw. Could've been a trick of the light, or some sorcery. But if it's true..."

Tyrion turned his attention to the men, his curiosity piqued. He nudged the girl off his lap gently and rose, taking his goblet with him.

"Gentlemen," he said, approaching the table with his most disarming smile. "A tale of glowing eyes and wandering woods? Do go on. I do so love a good story."

The men exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a thick northern accent, cleared his throat. "It's just talk, my lord. Nothin' worth your time."

"On the contrary," Tyrion replied, pulling out a chair and seating himself without invitation. "I find that rumors often carry a kernel of truth, no matter how small. Indulge me."

The man hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "They say the Free Folk brought somethin' south of the Wall—a creature that don't eat, don't speak. Eyes like ice, skin like death. The Watch took it to Winterfell, so the lords could see for themselves."

Tyrion arched a brow. "A creature? How very... intriguing. And what did they intend to prove by showing it to the lords?"

"They're sayin' it's a warnin'," another man chimed in, his voice trembling. "Winter's comin', and with it, things we can't fight. Things that don't die easy."

Tyrion took a slow sip of his wine, his mind racing. The North had its superstitions, to be sure, but the fear in these men's voices felt genuine. He'd heard similar whispers in King's Landing, rumors of shadows and cold winds beyond the Wall. He'd dismissed them as tavern talk then. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Fascinating," he murmured, setting his goblet down. "And what do you fine fellows believe?"

The broad-shouldered man crossed his arms. "Don't matter what we believe, my lord. If the Watch says it's true, the lords'll decide. But if you ask me, this thing shouldn't be anywhere near Winterfell."

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, his fingers drumming against the table. "Wise words, my friend. Wisdom, as I've found, is a rare and precious thing." He rose from his seat, tossing a coin onto the table. "For your troubles—and your tales."

The men stared after him as he made his way back to the hearth. Tyrion's jovial facade remained intact, but his thoughts were anything but light.

---

Arrival at Winterfell

Tyrion reached Winterfell hours before the royal procession, his arrival marked by little fanfare. He preferred it that way. While his brother and the king would no doubt make a spectacle of their entrance, Tyrion was content to slip in quietly and observe.

The castle was bustling with activity as servants prepared for the arrival of Robert Baratheon and his retinue. Tyrion strolled through the courtyard, his sharp eyes taking in every detail.

"Lord Tyrion," a voice called out. He turned to see Maester Luwin approaching, his expression polite but wary.

"Maester," Tyrion greeted, inclining his head. "A pleasure to see you again. Tell me, is Lord Stark available? I find myself eager for conversation."

"Lord Stark is occupied at the moment," Luwin replied carefully. "Perhaps later this evening?"

Tyrion nodded, unsurprised. He'd expected as much. "Very well. In the meantime, might I trouble you for a tour?"

The maester hesitated, then gestured for Tyrion to follow. As they walked, Tyrion's questions were as pointed as ever, probing for any hint of the rumors he'd heard in the brothel. Luwin, however, was practiced at deflecting.

As the sun set over Winterfell, Tyrion retired to the guest chambers prepared for the Lannisters. He poured himself a generous cup of wine and settled by the fire, his thoughts heavy.

The North was full of secrets, and Tyrion intended to uncover them all.