Prologue
It was only mid noon but the sun's dwindling light was failing slowly against the blackness, soon that blackness would also invite the coldness of the night. Ivar has been waiting patiently next to a stream with clear running water, for their main meal of the day. He knew the creatures of the forest would arrive to drink their fill before the evening descended upon the land.
It was a relieve to think about things that he did know. It was so much easier to take reassurances from the simple cycles of life, nature - and living. Ivar knew that there's been too many uncertainties of late.
It all started with Mance Rayder's mission to attack the Wall.
Ivar and his spearwife Freja were glad to escape the armoured onslaught of the southern King and his horse troops. They got away just in time, many of the Freefolk were slaughtered on that day, too many. He and Freja ran deeper and further into the Haunted Forest, many others of the last remaining Freefolk escaped to Hardhome.
Ivar's Grand old Nanna had the sight, and she always said that Hardhome was cursed, with the half dead who suffered there. As a child, Ivar recalled what she had told him; demons and dead things dwelled 'round the caves and mountains, they are always lookin for living flesh with warm blood.
She told him that the demons would steal your eyes, and replace them with light, glowing blue orbs, Ivar shivered almost unconsciously at the mere thought.
His Freja had just given birth at time he wasn't going to take any chances. Besides, he knew there was a good cave near Craster's with some hot springs.
Despite the big loss against the Southern King, those first few moons were some of their best days. He and Freja had many days alone, together in their little paradise, they lay with each other next to the hot springs and sometimes under the stars, they hunted for rabbits and fish, they brushed the snags from each other's hair, they cooked and ate their meals in easy-silence, they worked the hides from the meals they have caught - together. Nothing was ever wasted, neither time, nor a fresh kill.
He often watched Freja feeding their son, she often sat naked next to the steam that escaped from the hot spring. He could sometimes hear Freja sing as the sun came up while she sharpened her blade. It was easy to forget that there was once a great battle, in the shade of the Wall. How easily the moons and days passed them by.
Those spring days could never last.
Winter was always creeping upon them, like a scout that does not want to be seen. They got a stark reminder of winter's reach when Sigurd the Thenn arrived at the mouth of their cave, merely three moons back.
Two rabbits were now drinking at the stream, they took turns to watch out for any predators, Ivar quietly took aim. As the arrow pierced the heart of the rabbit closest to him, he could hear the birds flapping their wings and screeching with relief as they were not the ones who will end up on a cooking fire this night.
Ivar was glad to collect his prize, he would still like to reach the cave before the darkness has time to find a foothold for the night. Ivar slung the rabbit over his back, there were also some roots that he had dug out of the ground during the day. The roots could be a bit tart at times, but you could keep them around for a long time, they did not spoil easily.
Ivar recalled that he had seen some snowbear tracks close to their cave, after he left this morning, he and Freja would have to move their drying meat deeper into the walls of their cave. The predators grows bolder and their hunting draws closer.
Ivar and Freja have started collecting acorns and roots since the arrival of Sigurd. According to Sigurd most of the Freefolk were slaughtered and turned into the living-dead at Hardhome.
He and Freja were thinking about going to the Wall, according to Sigurd the latest crow commander and Tormund Giantsbane tried to rescue the Freefolk at Hardhome. Ivar found that very hard to believe, but mayhaps they could go to the Wall, soon it might be the only choice left for them.
During these past two moons most of the streams around them have frozen, fish was becoming more difficult to catch. The rabbits were burrowing themselves deeper into the underground. Elk and stags were disappearing, at night they could hear the pleading of the direwolves. Sometimes they could see the shining eyes of shadowcats, moving closer and closer to their fires over time.
Ivar understood nature and wild things, it was harder to look upon the suffering of Freja and their son.
As the cold winds blew stronger from the north, he could feel Freja's hipbones and elbow bones sticking into him as he lay next to her at night, his son's face have become more boney, it was hard lines for a babe that still suckelled on his mother's milk. Even the simplest task such as lighting a fire becomes more of a chore as the cold wrapped itself around your body like a musty old cloak.
The days are shorter now than Ivan could ever remember them being, each night more snow piles up in front of their cave.
Sigurd the Thenn was apprehensive about the Wall. According to him the Thenns fought bravely at Hardhome, their new leader did not trust this deal with the latest King Crow, but he also died at Hardhome. Has there ever been any rewards in following a dead man's advices?
The Freefolk does not kneel.
Mance did not kneel, and he died, those who went to Hardhome did not kneel and they became a carrion army for the White Walkers. From the time Ivar understood his first word, he quickly understood that the Freefolk stood tall. The Freefolk did not have fancy weapons of steel, soft and silky garments or feather beds, they had something better.
They were free men.
Ivar was proud that they could choose their own leader, and stay where they wanted to live.
But; all of the leaders were gone or dead, even fire doesn't warm as much as it used to. He and Freja could do whatever they want, but what if you just wanted some warm broth to fill your belly?
What if all you wanted was a place to sleep, where a wolf or a shadowcat wouldn't steal your babe in the middle of the night? What if you just wanted to see some hills without any snow? What if you just wanted some good lands, where you could plant some seeds? And what if; you could eat something that grew from those seeds?
Ivar realised in that moment that he wanted many things, but everything he wanted meant nothing to freedom, it almost seemed a bit unfair. What is freedom, against the haunted look in Freja's eyes? It seems then that freedom is a hard price to pay, harder then the ice that has been frozen for thousands of years atop of the highest peaks of the Frost Fangs.
Ivar's thoughts had carried him into a large open clearing, the darkness was still fighting with the last mild rays of orange light. He knew he wasn't far from their cave.
He suddenly realized that he was surrounded by a piercing silence, he couldn't even hear the rustling of the wind through the last drying leaves. It has been deadly quiet for a while now, he was just too lost within his own thoughts to realize it. There was a quiet serenity in the air, the last beams of light gently caressed the bright snowflakes, making the leaves, rocks and trees come alive with a glistening sparkle. For a few wild heartbeats, everything was beautiful, perfect and peaceful. Light, fluffy snowflakes gently landed upon Ivar's face. He could feel the hair in his neck raising as the snowflakes melted against cheeks, like long forgotten tears.
He was being watched. His heart started beating more erratically and his hearing became sharper. Ivar could hear his own uneven breaths sounding uncomfortably loud. He did not want to look around, his only course of action was to retreat, slowly, to the edge of the clearing whence he came from. No sudden movements. Somewhere deeper in the forest he could hear the crackling of ice.
A sudden, unbearingly cold wind, crashed against his warm irregular beating heart, a darkness fell upon the once peaceful forest, the snow and wind whipped and thrashed against him. Trees and branches bended like twigs underneath the will of the storm. The cold enveloped and invaded his whole being, I should run; but he was frozen like an ancient root planted deep into the ground. He could feel warm tears escaping from the corner of his eyes, freezing on his cheeks and eyelashes, yet he could not look away.
Finally he saw some movement, or was it? Perhaps it was just the snow, a comforting thought; but it was false hope.
The White Walkers appeared silently through the haze and mist of a storm, he saw their their crystal clear, blue eyes first, shining unnaturally, brightly and lifelessly in the darkness. A handful of them appeared, they kept a slow torturing pace of leisurement with a gliding gait, they moved casually and carelessly through the clearing on top of the snow.
A handful became many, and more, there could be as many as the whole Hornfoot tribe from what Ivar could see.
Ivar felt an utter desperation for his own devastation in that moment. He felt as if his warm heartbeat might be a beacon to them, a fire beacon in the night sky. Ivar could feel the warm blood rushing through his veins.
The contrast between the heat and the cold became painful, and his warm blood burned his insides.
As one they turned in unison and looked at him, they looked through his being with their unforgiving eyes, their eyes were ancient and all knowing. Ivar knew that his end was near.
The moment kept on slowing down, they encircled him, in a lazy fashion. The crackling became louder, Ivar's mind has never felt so clear and so lost at the same time.
He could hear and feel the heat from the rushing of his blood running through his head, his irregular breathing appeared as steam in front of his own eyes. Just three more steps, and the White Walker would be within touching distance.
One White Walker lifted a great sword that was surely made of the thinnest ice, it was smooth, translucent and deadly. Some of the windswept trees reflected darkly as moving shades, upon the gleaming blade. The edge had a fine blue glint as clear as their eyes, it was the sharpest blade Ivar had ever seen, and it was swinging towards him in one confident strike.
There was nothing left for him; to do or say.
Ivar saw his son's boney face in front of him, he could see Freja's sparkling eyes in front of his own, a sad smile touched her lips. Oh Freja, please run to the Wall...