A raven flew overheard. On any normal day, such a bird's incessant squawking would cause Edd Tollett to cringe, maybe even complain a little, but today there was no sound coming from it at all. It simply kept circling Castle Black, over and over. This, to Edd, was even more disconcerting than the usual ravens he encountered.

Jon Snow had given him a job to do – command the Wall, protect the North, wait for something to happen. That had been nearly two years ago; he hadn't seen Jon since. A letter had come at some point indicating that the bastard had succeeded in retaking his ancestral home at Winterfell and gotten himself crowned King of the North. Another letter had come later, telling tales of a Targaryen queen from across the sea invading the southern lands of Westeros. Things were going mad out there in the world, but Edd Tollett was stuck here on the edge of it. Freezing my damn balls off.

The lift came down, carrying two watchmen. They stepped out and two more stepped in. The lift began creaking back up the icy Wall, back up to the top. Edd had men watching from above at all times now. Since that boy Bran Stark had arrived, nearly a year ago now, the Night's Watch had been on constant guard for attack. Not an attack from wildlings, of course. As winter tightened its gnarled, icy grip, Edd increasingly doubted there was a single living thing still out there north of the Wall.

He shuddered and went down the wooden steps into the courtyard. Nearly all the brothers were keeping watch up top or were within the castle, the day being as cold and windy as it was. Visibility was not the greatest.

Suddenly, from the gate connecting the castle to the kingsroad, there came a horn blast. Edd started and he turned his head up, to the brother at the horn. "MEN ON HORSES!" the man shouted. "OPEN THE GATE!" Edd commanded back.

The great wooden gate swung open with a great creaking, the doors complaining from lack of use as they came round wide. Finally, a bit of variety in my day, Edd thought dourly. It was like to be bad news, if whoever it was had ridden all the way here in these conditions.

The horses came clopping through, whining from their journey. The riders stopped within the courtyard, and the gate closed behind them. Just five. Five, all dressed for winter in huge layers of furs.

The man at the front dismounted, and Edd saw who he was. Huge, flaming red beard, and a massive build. "Tormund?" he asked, in shock.

The wilding nodded, a grave, desperate look on his face. "This is Beric Dondarrion," he said gruffly, pointing to the other rider who had dismounted next to him. Edd's eyes widened as he took stock of this new person. The man had hair similar to Tormund's, but the length and colour were both more subdued. His face was sickly, and he wore a black patch on one eye.

"You've come from Eastwatch," Edd said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," the man called Beric Dondarrion answered. His voice was cracked and hoarse. "How many men do you have, here? How many horses?"

Edd paused for a moment. "Forty men, give or take," he told them. "Not enough horses."

"Not good. Shit." Tormund wiped snow off of his face, in an uncharacteristically vulnerable gesture. "We've got to go. We've got to leave. All of you, now."

"Wha…" Edd shook his head, confused. "What? Now? Why? Where?"

"South," Tormund answered. "Back to Winterfell." By then, a huge crowd of brothers of the Night's Watch had gathered around the visitors, and they were all listening.

"The army of the dead broke through at Eastwatch," broke in Beric Dondarrion. "We are the only survivors. They're here. Within the Seven Kingdoms. There is no time at all. They're marching south."

Whispers and conversation erupted all over the crowd of brothers, and Edd Tollett's nerves fired. He looked at Tormund, the one he knew, and saw it confirmed in his eyes. This was no lie. It's begun. It's happening.

"I don't understand," Edd said aloud. "What do you want us to do? Loop around and fight them? If they're heading south, then…"

"No, no." Tormund shook his head, despairing. "You're all gonna die if you stay here; get that through your thick skull."

"He is coming," Beric said. "Alone."

"What, you mean the bloody Night King?" Edd asked. "We can take him then, if he's coming alone. We've got enough men here to fight a walker."

The brothers behind him gave whoops of approval.

Tormund sighed in exasperation. "NO!" he shouted. "You still don't get it, he has a…"

A sour, awful cracking filled the air, and everyone covered the ears, grimacing. What the…? Edd and several others turned, and looked up at the great, milky wall of ice. The thing that had stood as part of their lives for so many years.

It was cracking open. The great faults snaked their way down to the ground, branching out from a spot high up, sending spray of snow and ice out from where they formed.

And then, the Wall blew open.

Massive chunks of ice flew out in all directions. The lift structure collapsed and fell, shattering into thousands of wood pieces. Debris of all sorts rained down on Castle Black.

Beyond the great new gap formed in the structure, a massive shadow loomed, wings flapping through the biting wind as if they were cutting the very air apart.

"GET TO THE HORSES!" came a shout. Edd had no clue who it was, he never found out. "MOVE!"

Edd raced to the stable, fighting the wind that was picking up. A massive block of ice fell onto the Castle, crushing the walls like they were a child's toy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, gods save me, no, no, no.

The dragon roared. It was the loudest thing Edd had ever heard, like his ears were catching fire. He was vaguely aware of brothers running out the gate, of Tormund and Beric getting back on their horses, of horses moving away, getting south as fast as possible. He found his horse and mounted.

There aren't enough for everyone, something in the back of his mind said. Meanwhile, the front of his mind was spouting out every swear word his old dad had ever taught him.

He slapped at the reins, and the horse picked up speed, catching up to the now-galloping group ahead of him. He briefly allowed himself to turn around and look.

The ruins of the castle grew smaller and smaller by the second. More horses were emerging from the gate, with riders on them fleeing south, but not many. The great, skeletal beast let out another roar, and this time, dazzling blue fire came with it, slashing across the rubble of the Wall and Castle Black, blowing everything in sight to smithereens.

As the group of survivors desperately fled away, the raven followed them.

And then Bran Stark awoke at the weirwood, gasping and out of breath. His worst fears had been confirmed. The endtimes had begun.