"We should have stayed at the citadel. We should have never come back to the North." Sam whimpered, his breath pouring from his lips in a heavy fog on the icy air. He couldn't remember ever feeling so cold, not even during his time beyond the wall.
As soon as the screaming started at the front of the caravan, he and Gilly and Little Sam had stolen away from the road and found a hiding place at the tree line. Gods... how he wanted to block out that screaming. He'd witnessed plenty of fighting and slaughters in his life, but not like this. Not so many innocent and defenseless cornered and powerless against an enemy they couldn't hope to escape. It was enough to turn his stomach. But he couldn't falter now.
Gilly had wanted to keep moving, afraid that Little Sam would be too frightened of the monsters in the dark to stay quiet, but Sam was afraid that if they pressed on in the dark they'd either get terribly lost or fall and hurt themselves. Perhaps that later concern was more about his on likelihood of falling and injuring himself than Gilly or Little Sam, but it was a valid concern regardless. He couldn't imagine that Gilly would leave him to the wights with a twisted ankle and he wouldn't be the cause of her being harmed, not for all of Westeros.
"Quiet Sam." Gilly scolded, pinching him. Hard enough shame him, but not so hard as to illicit a sound of pain.
Sam would have liked to think she was scolding her child, but he knew better. Little Sam was as quiet as a mouse in a sept. And if Sam was being honest, the child had a good deal more courage than his namesake.
He bowed his head, properly ashamed of his cowardice, and tried not to let the screams jangle his nerves any worse. A fools effort, but all he could really do in his present situation.
"Maybe I should try to help." He suggested, very much wanting her to talk him out of any mad idea of that kind.
Gilly shook her head. "You're no good at fighting."
He bristled a bit at the slight, not that he thought she meant it to hurt his feelings. She was just being frank, just being Gilly. After all, He was well aware that he was not much of a fighter. Still, he would have much rather she'd used a different tactic to dissuade him. Perhaps if she's demanded that he stay because she was pregnant and he couldn't leave her and a small child unprotected it would have stung less… Better that than reminding him that he was useless. Selfless was much less insulting than useless.
His thoughts drifted back to the road and their decimated caravan. How many had died already? How many would yet die? Were any Ironborn left, fighting for the defenseless? Were they all already dead and he was just too hopeful of a fool to realize it?
He felt a hand slip into his and give it a firm squeeze.
"I'm sorry Sam." Gilly whispered.
He shook his head, hoping she'd know all was forgiven. She was right after all. That was why Jon sent him away, if he was being honest with himself. Not so he'd be with Gilly to keep her safe, but so that he himself would stay safe. He was no good at fighting and everyone knew it. At Winterfell, he would have been as good as dead. This was supposed to be his road to safety.
Perhaps, the gods had it out for him. Or maybe they just had it out for all still living. Maybe the only god among the Seven with any strength these days was the Stranger.
"You were right." He whispered to his wildling love. "We should run. It's no safer staying here waiting to be found."
"No." Gilly shook her head. "There's no where left to run, Sam."
He realized she was right. They were outmanned and out planned. There was no miraculous escape this time.
Unless the Night King was stopped, they were all as good as dead. Seven hells… Even if he was beaten, there was no guarantee that would be enough to stop his forces. Maybe another of the White Walkers would just take up the mantel of Night King. Maybe, like death, there was no escaping its agents.
He gathered Gilly and Little Sam and tried to ignore the hot tears burning down his cheeks.
An unnatural sounds, like blocks of ice grinding together in an awful, screeching chitter drew his attention. He squinted out from their hiding place, into the dark and saw eight, glowing blue eyes burning in the night. An enormous spider, larger than a draft horse scurried down the hillside, its eight long legs covered in frost white hairs.
Sam didn't know how, but he felt certain the great beast saw them as clear as day.
"Take Sam…" He said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "Run. Don't look back, no matter what."
"Sam!" Gilly protested.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard. "Just run."
Gilly's face scrunch up in distress, but after a moment, she nodded. She took Little Sam's hand and the two disappeared into the dark.
Hands shaking, he fished out a dragon glass knife and crawled out of his hiding place. If this was the end, he'd face it head on.
No more running.
No more Lady Piggy.
After all, it wasn't cowardly to be afraid. He'd seen that enough among the men of the Nights Watch. How often had he seen scared men do great things. Jon had been terrified more often than not and still he rose to greatness. No… it wasn't cowardly to be afraid. It was only cowardly to let the fear win.
For a moment, for this one moment, he didn't have to be a coward. Perhaps he'd lived as one, but he could die as something more.
The great spider let out what he would have almost considered a chittering sound of excitement as he came out into the open. Could the dead or their beasts feel excitement? He didn't know. He didn't want to know. Not if his courage was going to hold long enough for Gilly and Little Sam to escape.
He brandished his knife, realizing how pathetically small it looked up against such a beast.
"Stay back!" He shouted.
The spider didn't stop at the threat. It didn't even slow.
Sam closed his eyes and flailed the knife wildly. Waiting to come into contact with something. Waiting for the pain.
It didn't come.
Instead, a wild, ferocious growl ripped through the night.
Ghost?
Sam opened his eyes, a sudden burst of hope lifting him from his terror. He expected to see a flash of white fur.
But no… A dire wolf hung from the side of the ice spider, it's jaw clamped down on one of the eight legs. But this was no white wolf. He gaped as a swarm of smaller wolves joined the dire wolf and overwhelmed the spider.
As the eight-legged beast stilled, the smaller wolves took off, perhaps in search of other prey, but the dire wolf lingered. It turned it's great head toward Sam, it's fierce eyes burning as it licked its chops.
A dire wolf, south of the wall, followed by a pack of gray wolves. The whispers of such a beast had spread far and wide over the years from travelers who claimed to have encountered such a beast. He'd even heard stories of the great bitch at the Citadel. But Sam had thought they were just stories. But the stories stood before him, wild and vicious and real and he had a name for her. After all, save Ghost, he only knew of one dire wolf south of the wall.
Nymeria.
He'd always had the strange feeling that Ghost was more intelligent than any beast had the right to be. He could only hope the same applied to his sister.
"Thank you." He said.
She let out a low growl but turned and raced after her pack.
Sam let out a breath of relief.
Then he remembered himself.
Gilly and Little Sam.
Despite his fear of the dark, he charged into the underbrush after them. They were safe. Well… Perhaps not safe, but saved. Perhaps now they stood a chance. And that was enough. A bubble of hope was enough.
He raced through the woods, obeying the wilding logic he'd learned from Gilly. Moss grew on the North side of a tree, so she would have gone South. Away from the dead. Yes, he was sure of it.
And Gilly wouldn't be moving fast, between the baby and little Sam. He'd catch up with them soon.
They'd be together soon.
They would be okay.
He tripped over a root and fell to the ground.
He groaned in pain, but slowly gathered himself up… until he realized what tripped him was no root, but something soft and warm.
He scrambled over, but knew what he would find before he reached her. New that form as he ran his hands over it.
Gilly.
"No no no…" He wailed as he gathered her into his arms. Hot blood soaked through his clothes but he ignored it. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead.
He rocked her gently, the tears coming in torrents.
Then a thought stilled him.
"Sam?" He called, his horror lodged in his throat.
Slowly, painfully, he laid Gilly down, and felt around for a second, smaller body but found none.
"Sam?" He called again, his voice frantic with grief.
A small sob caught his ear and he scrambled in its direction. At the base of a tree, he found little Sam, pale with fear. He grabbed the child and held him close.
"It's okay." Sam whispered. "You're okay."
And he knew it was the truth or at least that it would be. Because that was what would have mattered to Gilly. Keeping Little Sam safe, no matter the cost. That was the very wish that had started their journey together so very long ago. A journey that had brought him the greatest joy and now the greatest sorrow in his life. A journey he and Little Sam would continue alone… for Gilly.
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