Burning Cold

Prologue


"Are you ready, Snow?" Qhorin asked quietly, watching the boy as he briefly looked back at the Fist behind them. "You won't be seeing them for a few months at the least."

If we even manage to come back from this, he thought grimly.

"I am," Jon Snow answered with a nod, his face set into a determined gaze. "I already said as much to the Lord Commander when you asked for me."

"Aye, you did." Qhorin admitted, as he looked up at the Fist himself for a brief moment, the steep, dangerous hill looking more like a mountain from where they were. "But it is one thing to say as much in front of your commander, and another to actually do as you say you would."

The steward, now a ranger in all but title, frowned. "I am not afraid, nor am I a liar, ser."

"Only fools or children can truthfully say that they have never lied or been afraid, and as far as I know, you are neither a fool nor a child." The ranger said with a slightly amused snort.

Qhorin wondered if a boy could frown as deeply as Jon Snow proved he could, as his mouth opened for a rebuke. "You are Qhorin Halfhand. When in your life have you ever lied or been afraid?"

"Anytime I thought that my duty would be best fulfilled by doing so." He answered simply. "We're both men of the Night's Watch. We chose duty, to guard the realms of men, instead of taking a wife and forging a family, or..."

"I know that," Jon Snow said with a bite of anger in his voice. "I spoke the vows too, just like you."

"Just like every man in the Night's Watch… But the number of men who truly practice what the oaths say are small, even putting aside visits to Mole's Town and the like." Qhorin said, looking at the boy in front of him calculatingly. "Are you one of those people, Jon Snow?"

The boy opened his mouth to retort, a fiery word almost certainly tumbling out of his mouth, when he stopped, his brows furrowing.

"I didn't expect an answer." The older man continued after a brief moment. "You'll have the opportunity to demonstrate soon enough."

"My father… He said the same thing." Jon Snow said quietly, as he spied Dalbridge, Stonesnake and Ebben descending the mountain, all equipped to deal with the journey ahead. "A man can only be truly brave when he is afraid, he told us once when we were children."

"Your father was a wise man." Qhorin offered sincerely, remembering the time that he'd met the former lord Stark, as a boy and as a man. "If you have inherited that, as well as that Stark look of yours, I am sure it will serve you well in the battles to come."

The boy smiled slightly at that, a melancholic one that made him wonder what was going through his mind at the reminder of his father. "Thank you, ser."

Qhorin took another look at the Stark bastard, who was now crouched down in the snow next to his direwolf, who'd almost appeared out of nowhere if he hadn't caught sight of the wolf clambering from the edge of the deep black crevasse, where the Skirling Pass and its waters lay beneath.

He saw a glimmer of what Mormont likely saw in him now… Steel waiting to be forged into a true man of the Night's Watch with any luck.

Mance had been the same however, he thought slightly darkly. Was Jon Snow, another flip of the coin like that oathbreaker, or was he one of the few that truly believed in the words that every man spoke when they joined the Wall?

The ranger decided that he'd wait and see. He still only knew a little of the lordling, and it'd take awhile to see what sort of man came out the other side of what lay ahead.

"You've been waiting down here all of this time, Halfhand?" Ebben asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Only ten minutes, which spares you lot from having the first watch for the next two weeks." Qhorin said simply, watching as the relieved expressions grew on their faces. "You do get the first watch for the first week, however."

Dalbridge let out a small sigh of disappointment, Ebben seemed to slump and Stonesnake shook his head. "You truly are cruel."

Jon Snow watched all of this with a bemused expression, seemingly unable to decide whether or not to sympathize with his brothers, or be amused at their suffering.

"Either way, I command you all." Qhorin said with a shrug. "So let's get a move on, before Mance Rayder catches us with our breeches down."

As the three rangers began to move forward, their grumbles almost as loud as their feet on the snow-covered rock, he heard a strange noise of claws scraping on rock. Turning around, he saw that the direwolf was now on its haunches, with its teeth bared towards the east of them.

"What's up with your wolf, Snow?" Qhorin asked, as he motioned the other three to stop.

"I… I don't know." He replied with a furrow of his brow, as he knelt down and put a hand on the wolf's neck. "Ghost. What are you doing?"

Ghost continued to not make a single sound, merely baring its teeth to the east.

"Stonesnake." Qhorin ordered after a brief silence. "Climb over that ridge and see what the wolf is smelling."

The older ranger glanced at the direwolf doubtfully for a moment, before nodding, as he pulled an ice pick from his belt. The dark-haired man smashed it into the ice as a test, where the tool seemed to stick, and then began to climb.

The only noise that entered his ears was Stonesnake's climbing, and their breathing which seemed to linger in the air for a moment… Which…

Qhorin knew that was strange, from what he knew of the area, from what he knew of the weather. Why was it…?

Jon Snow began to slowly look around, opening his palm out for a brief moment and frowning. "It's snowing…"

"That's not meant to happen tonight." Dasbridge said with a hitch in his voice.

The old ranger looked up at Stonesnake, who was just about to reach the top of the ridge, and peered over his man at the sky, where the sun was meant to be sitting low in the sky.

Yet, Qhorin saw nothing but clouds, which struck him as even stranger than the sudden snowfall.

"I see nothing." Stonesnake said with an annoyed glower, as he finally reached the top. "Snow's direwolf is-"

It happened almost faster than he could see. The dark-haired man turned around to glare at the bastard boy, when a blue-eyed shadow smashed into him, teeth flashing at the man's exposed head, and clamping down.

With a loud cry, the ranger fell from where he'd climbed, blood and bone flashing from his scalp as the skeletal body savaged him. Clattering to the ground with a crash, Qhorin had already reached for his sword.

Yet, he already heard them from above him and from the north. The silence of the grave from before was gone, and now he heard it all… The clattering of bone on the rock, the distant roar of barked commands, and the screams of men.

Then the horn blasted… Once, twice and then thrice, as Qhorin only faintly realized what that meant, almost unable to rationalize what he was hearing.

He cut apart the wight in half, as the blood seemed to pool around the dead body of Stonesnake, but it continued to wriggle and struggle, the bones straining to attack them.

"Fire! If we have to kill them, we need our torches!" He heard himself shout, remembering how Mormont had been saved as he saw Ebben struggle for his torch.

The skeleton struggled towards him as he cut it apart savagely, cursing loudly the loss of his fingers.

It grabbed onto his leg, and almost attempted to rip the flesh off his bones, when Jon Snow stabbed at the wight with a lit torch. The rotten flesh burned black, and an utterly putrid smell reached his nose.

Qhorin immediately looked down the path, and saw dozens of the things begin to pour up the path towards them - some of them weren't even whole, just half of a torso, but most of them were.

"We need to move out!" He bellowed loudly, grabbing Dalbridge firmly by the arm, as he struggled to light his torch. "Get yourself ready, or you're going to doom us all."

The ranger nodded quickly, as he lit the torch on fire with his flint.

"We need to help the Lord Commander." Jon Snow declared, his face set into a terrified, but composed expression. "If there's anyone we have to save…"

"More than anything, Snow… We have to fight for our lives here." Qhorin replied with a scowl, as he looked at the oncoming mass of wights who were rapidly approaching, and then at the body of Stonesnake. "Burn him. One of you, burn him."

Ebben stabbed the corpse with his torch, as the cloak and leathers of the ranger began to burn. Qhorin almost thought a small prayer for him, but he knew he couldn't get distracted.

"Above us!" Dalbridge shouted as nearly dozens of wights clambered over the edge of the ridge, and began tumbling down towards them.

Qhorin reacted almost instantly, smashing one away from Snow with his right arm, and stabbing one monster with his torch. Ebben struggled for a brief moment, and Dalbridge let out a roar of pain as one bit him on the arm.

More and more seemed to rush up the path, even as they began to retreat, and every wight they managed to burn, several more added themselves, as the noises of tearing flesh and blood curdling screams rose up in a wail of death and destruction.

This… This was what the Wall was guarding from and why there were three blasts to the horn, Qhorin realized as Jon Snow smashed another of the screeching dead to pieces with Longclaw. The wildlings were nothing compared to the horror that they were fighting right now.

Ebben screamed as one finally grabbed him by the leg and pulled him over, disappearing into the horde before he could even get a word out. None of them, not even the greenest of them, moved to help - there was simply no opportunity to, as the waves of the dead seemed to pour in from the top and behind them, as they rushed up the hill as fast as they could.

The shouting and screaming was getting louder as they neared the top closer and closer, when Qhorin saw a sight that he didn't imagine he'd ever see in his life. A shadowcat, with a massive hole in its side, bound towards them with blue eyes shining brightly in the dark.

The direwolf leaped into the fray, silent as the grave, as Snow shouted a strangled cry of denial. The two beasts, one of the living, another of the dead were on eachother instantly, claws and teeth flashing as they tore into one another.

Blood flew into the air, and Qhorin moved. Grabbing the massive beast by the tail as it poised itself to finish off the wolf, Dalbridge immediately smashed his torch into its flank, breaking on impact. The fire rose suddenly, making the wights tumble backwards.

Snow then immediately moved to push the flaming beast that screamed as it burned, his brother also helping him with a kick to the shadowcat's side as Qhorin made sure that the thrashing beast couldn't take them out.

It barrelled down the hill, lighting dozens of wights alight as the light from the deluge of flames rose higher and higher.

"Ghost…" Jon murmured, his voice choked as he knelt down to put his hand on the direwolf, who limped upright, blood pouring from its side. It looked at its master, red eyes shining, before licking him on the cheek.

"Snow! We have to move!" He shouted loudly, grabbing the boy by the shoulder as he smashed one down the hill with the butt of his torch. "The wolf'll survive if he's anything like us!"

"Live." Jon Snow said simply at his direwolf, who seemed to look at his owner intensely for a moment, before it began to move over to the side of the crevasse. The wights almost began to follow it, when the bastard boy immediately lashed out with his sword, cleaving almost two of them in two.

Qhorin wondered what the bond between them was - a wild beast like a direwolf usually wasn't so willing to listen to anybody, not even the greatest of beast tamers. Was Snow…?

There was no time for him to get an answer, and he knew. Dalbridge was roaring in pain as a wight tore into his left arm, barely able to push it off. Where there used to be a forearm, there was now nothing but blood pouring from a stump.

Jon moved to help, but the older ranger put his hand up with a grimace, holding up his torch. "I'll hold them off, Snow. Continue with the Halfhand and… Keep the Lord Commander safe."

The young man swallowed, quickly glancing at him for a moment. He could only grimly nod in response as they continued moving up towards the Fist.

"And now his watch has ended." Qhorin murmured, thinking of the three rangers who had lost their lives so quickly, yet had fought for every breath they had taken, as Dalbridge shouted defiantly, lighting himself on fire as he thrashed around, taking out dozens of wights as he burned to death.

Snow whispered the same prayer, managing to keep his voice strong as they pushed onwards, taking out a few wights that weren't preoccupied with trying to put down the blazing ranger.

It had only given them a minute amount of space between them and the tide, especially as Dalbridge's shouts died down, but that would hopefully be enough.

Despite the energy he felt at facing the true enemy of the living, he felt a chill slowly descend on his body as the ridge that had hung over them all this time, slowly began to grow smaller as they rose.

He experimentally reached for a flask of oil beneath his cloak and poured a bit of it on his torch, the flame soaring for a brief moment. Yet… It didn't get warmer as he expected it would.

"This cold is unnatural, Snow." Qhorin said firmly, as he passed the oil to the steward. "Be on your guard."

Jon Snow nodded firmly, quickly sheathing his sword to keep his torch alight, before passing him back the flask.

The only noise he could hear was the chattering of bones and their footsteps on the snow. The shouting and screams were gone now, mere whispers on the rising wind.

Qhorin stiffened as he finally saw over the ridge. Where rudimentary fortifications had begun to be built, where men had stood on guard, or chatting amongst themselves… There was nothing but corpses, black cloaks littering the area.

The youthful ranger stepped forward, and then whirled around to look at him. "They're going back to the Wall."

Whatever answer he was about to give, froze in his mouth as his eyes saw.

Frost beckoned their arrival, covering the area in a thin sheet of white. Several white shadows slowly rose from the ice, their crystal armor shining and reflecting the distant Haunted Forest in front of them. They were oddly beautiful, yet… Disturbing. Blue eyes, like stars, shone in their eyes, and he slowly realized what they were.

The Others. The cold shadows that stalked the wildlings in their tall tales, the ones who heralded the Long Night.

He was a man of the Night's Watch, he thought intensely. Even if this was the end… He would not go out with a whimper.

Jon Snow's eyes went wide as he too saw, but he didn't run. No, the Bastard of Winterfell stood firmly, reached for the scabbard of his sword, and pulled it out. Qhorin knew then what sort of man he was now.

The Others spoke, their voices sounding like the crackle of frost, cold and hard. The words felt… excited. He couldn't decipher what they meant, no human tongue seemed even capable of repeating what they said, but it was impossible to not understand the intent.

He saw their swords then - ice blades that shimmered like their armor, sharp and beautiful even from across the hill. They seemed to pull them out languidly, as if this wasn't any effort for them.

They moved across the hill like wraiths, fast and deadly, as they headed towards Snow, who seemed to ready himself for the assault by muttering a prayer to the gods.

Qhorin moved to intercept them, as one of the Others caught him. He dodged the lazily swung blade, feeling the cold from it piercing his skin, and then smashed his sword right into the white walker's side.

The blade merely smacked into its armor, the loud cry of steel echoing as Qhorin saw his blade crack. The Other didn't even react, merely swinging its blade faster at him, where he quickly raised his sword to parry.

As he backed away from the Other, he saw the ice course through his blade as it exploded, and he let out a cry of pain as the shards smashed into his hand, arm and chest.

The Other seemed to… cackle, as it looked at him, and Qhorin realized faintly that Jon Snow was barely managing to stay alive, and only because they were playing with him.

He realized something. Why were they so intent on going after the weakest link? Wouldn't he have been the greater threat out of the two of them?

The Other advanced on him, and he stumbled backwards. He reached for the ground, where his hand felt something. A blade, a small obsidian blade that had fallen during the panic when the wights had attacked, he surmised.

He swung upwards savagely as soon as he saw what it was, pain coursing through his hand as it struck the Other right in the stomach, and… pierced through. Pale blood ran down the blade, steaming, as it tried to reach for his left arm, shrieking.

Qhorin felt a grim satisfaction rise in his old bones, as he stood, watching as the white walker crumpled, dissolving away quickly. He knew their weakness now, he thought, even if by pure luck.

He stormed towards Jon, who was being edged closer and closer to the cliff, barely keeping up his parries with Longclaw, the blade of Valyria seemingly able to resist, as the ear piercing clangs of the ice blades against the rippled edge rang out.

They stilled for a moment, even as the ranger fell onto his back, Longclaw tumbling out of his hands and nearly off the cliff face, and turned towards him, their eyes square on the dagger he wielded.

"They're weak to Dragonglass, Snow." He told the young bastard boy, as he struggled to his feet, even as the Others glided away from him and towards him.

He saw their blades strike in unison, and barely managed to get away in time, quickly whirling around to regroup with Jon. They were afraid of the obsidian, he noted, as they backed away at his slash.

They were on the edge of the cliff, as the youth pulled out his own dragonglass dagger too.

The Others stopped then, and they stared at Snow intently. He had been forgotten now, and that part of his brain, the one that had saved him during countless rangings, seemed to wake up as he realized what they wanted… Or who.

"They want you for some reason, Jon Snow." He declared, as he realized what he was going to have to do. "And… We can't have that happen."

"What… What do you mean?" The boy asked confusedly, staring at him. He seemed like his age then, and Qhorin knew he was going to the Seven Hells for what he was about to do. For what his duty demanded that he do, now that he knew what their true enemy wanted.

"...I pray you survive, and that you regroup with Lord Commander Mormont." Qhorin said regretfully, as Jon stared at him nonplussed, fear slowly rising in his dark grey eyes. "If you do not… The Others are denied when your body washes into the Frozen Shore and out into the ocean."

He then pushed with all of his might, watching as the boy fell into the deep dark crevasse, with a betrayed expression. He wondered if that was how Mance Rayder felt when Denys Mallister denied him the right to use the wildling woman's cloak.

Qhorin then turned towards the Others, who had watched as he committed that terrible crime. He was going to die now, he knew, but… He was going to fight, he thought as he saw out of the corner of his eye, the wights shambling up the path and towards him.

"Night gathers, and my watch begins." He began to chant, as he gripped his dagger firmly, staring into bright blue eyes. "It shall not end until my death."

All he hoped for, as he began to recite his oaths… was that Jon Snow somehow found it in his heart to forgive the Night's Watch, for what he had done to him.