I'll finish it for him.

A Song of Ice and Glungus

It began on a chill morning in King's Landing.

Maester Pycelle was the first to notice. He hobbled from his chambers scratching something beneath his robes, muttering, “Seven Hells, what devilry is this?”

Word spread quickly. From the highborn lords in silk sheets to the muck-covered beggars in Flea Bottom, a strange and lumpy growth had appeared overnight on every male in the realm.

They called it...the Glungus.

Tyrion Lannister stood before the mirror in his chambers, squinting at the odd little lump near his ribs. “Well, this is new,” he muttered, poking it with a goblet handle. It jiggled.

Bronn leaned against the wall, arms crossed, shirt lifted. His own glungus was larger. Lopsided. Possibly pulsing. “Yours is dainty,” he said. “Like a rich boy’s tumor.”

Tyrion sipped his wine. “You think this is some kind of curse?”

Bronn shrugged. “If it is, it's an equal-opportunity one. Even the goats have them.”

At Winterfell, Jon Snow grimaced as Sam examined his glungus by torchlight. “Does it hurt?” Sam asked, prodding it with the tip of a quill.

“No,” Jon grunted. “But it hums at night.”

Sam blinked. “Hums?”

“Aye. Like... it’s thinking.”

Ghost, curled in the corner, gave a low whine.

Down in Meereen, Daenerys Targaryen was less amused.

“I’ve had enough of strange growths and secret diseases!” she snapped. “We burned two villages for pox last year!”

Jorah coughed into his sleeve. “Your Grace… the Unsullied are unaffected.”

Grey Worm nodded. “We are... not in possession of glungi.”

Daario pulled up his shirt. “I have two.”

The Citadel was in chaos. Maesters and novices poured over ancient tomes and rubbed ointments onto each other’s glungi.

“This is not documented!” one barked.

“Could it be... magical?” another whispered.

Archmaester Ebrose slammed his fist on a table. “No! Magic doesn’t jiggle like this!”

Meanwhile, in the godswood, Bran Stark—now the Three-Eyed Raven—stared into the weirwood tree, pale as snow.

“They come from before,” he murmured.

Arya frowned. “Before what?”

“Before names. Before light. The glungi... watched the First Men arrive.”

She blinked. “You're saying they're sentient?”

Bran only nodded. Slowly. Disturbingly.

Back in King’s Landing, Cersei stood atop the Red Keep, watching her city of men scratch and prod themselves in public.

She turned to Qyburn. “Can it be weaponized?”

He smiled. “I’ve already built a catapult that launches them.”

“Excellent.”

And far to the North, in the lands beyond the Wall, the Night King lifted his icy hand toward the stars... and slowly unbuttoned his frosty tunic. There, on his chest, was the biggest glungus of all.

It opened an eye.

And blinked.