The Bay of Ice

298 AC

How strange it was that the blizzard had subsided…

Perhaps not even a day into Mormont's stay at Westwatch keep had the storm outside dissipated and cleared. It was rather sudden, and had come as a welcome relief to the black brothers of the Night's Watch…

But something about the immediate change in weather had made something churn in Mormont's gut…

Now there was only a light, airy snowfall as he stood on the prow of his personal ship, The Maiden Fair. He felt the rushing wind of salt and cold brush against his face. It was… a pleasant sensation.

At his left stood Benjen. The First Ranger had leaped at the chance to use Mormont's ship to land at the fishing village of Seafell. Otherwise, he'd have to ride through the Frostfangs and potentially encounter the more… distasteful wildlings…

And at his right was Jorum, the Captain of Mormont's household guard. He'd stayed behind on the ship when Starag had gone to Westwatch. He was a tall, lanky sort of man with a large yellow beard. He was in his mid-thirties much like Mormont himself.

Jorum was a good, dependable man through and through. Not to mention, he was rather funny when he had a good mug of ale.

Right now, though, the Captain had worn a stoic expression. He was not in the joking mood. Still, Mormont considered him to be one of the best men he'd ever met.

As for Ulfgar, the man stood near, though he likely wanted to keep to himself. At least for the meantime, seeing as he was being unwittingly brought back to the one place he'd desperately not wanted to return…

Mormont knew they were nearing their destination, however. He could tell because of the palpable fear he could see in Ulfgar's brown eyes, even with the wildling's stony expression.

It was far too genuine for the older man to be lying about these dead men and… about the Other…

That said, Benjen had brought along an extra ten men from Westwatch in addition to the fifteen he'd taken with him from Castle Black. Just in case this was some kind of wildling ambush.

Mormont himself was half-mad with burning curiosity at what they'd see once they landed by the village. Would there be corpses? How many? And were the walking dead men still there? Or had they gone?

And what about the Other? What was its game? Had it intended to let Ulfgar go free?

Or had it been planned for Ulfgar to come to Westwatch?

The more Mormont had thought of the possibility, the more he doubted it. The whole thing was a huge gamble, there were too many details that were out of their control…

And yet there was the tiniest sliver of wonder and even bitter admiration at the potential chance that this was a trap.

He'd prepare for it, anyway. There was no other choice. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

Mormont would leave men stationed at certain points along the path so as to make their forces much more mobile should something go terribly wrong. Each man in charge of a squad of five was ordered to come to their aid if wildings came down on them…

When he'd shared his plan with Benjen, the First Ranger had staunchly agreed to it. They were more or less walking in blind, and planning for the worst-case scenario was best for all their lives. Mobility would save them from certain doom.

Mormont and Benjen would range ahead with fifteen good men and Ulfgar. They'd go to the village and have the spare squads of five stationed along the path. If it was an ambush, one of the men could run back and get reinforcements.

"You don't have to do this," Benjen said stolidly. Though his blue-grey eyes were pleading. "This isn't your job after all. You're Lord of Bear Island, not a man of the Night's Watch."

Starag shook his head and put on a wicked grin. "You misunderstand, Benjen. If I turn back now, I'll be bored out of my fucking mind."

Even the stony-faced Stark couldn't resist sharing his smile. "It's that bad? Thought you had a wife and two children by now…"

"Three." Mormont corrected. "But they're far too young to be any fun. Rhae does a well enough job with taking care of them, though." He paused to add further context. "Not that I don't love them. It's just all the blasted paperwork manages to eat up my time."

"Hah!" Benjen let out a hard bark of laughter. "Jon was saying the same thing to me some time ago. Was about ready to pull his hair out over some quarrel between a few tavern owners in Queenscrown, I believe."

Starag Mormont was thankful that they'd changed the subject from the Others and dead men to that of their respective families. Especially now that they were speaking about Jon.

By the Old Gods… It must have been three-no, four years since Mormont had last seen Jon Stark. Just after Arthur married Dacey, I should think. Just about after his last tour of Westeros…

Bloody hell… That was a good time, especially with young Jon as his squire. It was good that the lad had gotten a wild experience like that at such a young age.

And now, supposedly, the boy had grown up into a strong and durable young man with a taste for adventure…

And for pretty girls, too…

Mormont wasn't sure if Jon and Margaery Tyrell still kept in contact, though he was fairly sure that the relationship between House Stark and House Tyrell had grown significantly over the past few years, which came as much of a surprise to many of the Lords Paramount in Westeros.

Every now and again, either Lord Mace himself, or even the Queen of Thorns would come down from Highgarden and trek all the way up to Winterfell… Not a very good sign for any other family that desired a match with House Tyrell…

When the boy had turned fourteen, Mormont heard of him being named the Lord of Queenscrown. The appointment was made by Eddard Stark himself.

No doubt training of some kind, at least in regards to ruling. Starag had thought. That was quite probably the best way for one to learn; to be thrown to the wolves and left to fend for himself.

Jon Stark would make plenty of mistakes and collect plenty of scars as Lord of Queenscrown. At the same time, he'd nurse those wounds and, bearing the spirited optimism of most youths, would come out of it with hard-earned experience and wisdom. A clever little ploy concocted by Ned, and probably Olenna Tyrell as well. The plan reeked of the Queen of Thorns.

Though Mormont had only traded the odd letter with the boy, it still would've been nice to see him again sometime soon. Just to see how he was doing. And perhaps about how well Ghost was doing, too.

Mormont briefly smiled at the memory of the snow-white pup that had licked his massive hand the last time he'd seen it… Wish I had a good dog like that one…

And then he remembered what the pup had represented. The future. The same dream with the thousands of crystal blue eyes behind the white veil of a snowstorm…

The chill had returned to his bones. Now, as they drew closer to the shoreline… It had all begun to come crashing down on him. He'd known it from the beginning, but the gut-wrenching feeling was far more powerful as he realized just how much closer he was to the Lands of Always Winter…

If the direwolf was real…

Then so were the Others…

They made anchor just beyond the white beach of snow and sand.

In the distance, Mormont could see the massive cluster of huts and wooden homes up high on an icy plateau. If there was a fire in the village, it must've been well hidden. No smoke could be seen at all.

Climbing the ice was out of the question. They'd be faster on foot should everything go terribly wrong. However, the climbing hooks may just come in handy. Just in case.

When they could sail no further, Mormont had ordered for the rowboats to be taken out.

The fresh light of the morning sun had peeked through the clouds as they finally landed on the beach. It was there that both Mormont and Benjen had left a few men with the boats and took the rest with them up the jagged pathway of ice.

Ulfgar had not been keen to go back to his village, but he had little choice and led the way to it. The whole time, Mormont constantly scanned his surroundings as best he could with his one good eye.

Benjen too was doing the same. Though he was likely more on guard thinking that this whole ordeal was simply a wildling ambush. Mormont did not blame him.

The Others were a tall tale to the First Ranger. To hear about them for the first time at least outside of ghost stories from Old Nan- was about as believable as the existence of fairies.

Regardless, Mormont, Benjen, Ulfgar, and the accompanying thirty men of combined House Mormont men-at-arms and Night's watchmen had made their way to the fishing village of Seafell.

No one had commented on the cold. They were far too busy making sure they weren't about to be ambushed.

The first thing of the desolated town that Starag had seen was that of the wooden front gate, held firmly in place in between two high walls of ice.

It looked quite sturdy for something so old, but the gates were hanging ajar with the loud breath of the wind. Luckily, there was nothing obstructing it.

Mormont pressed forward and pushed open the gate with one great heave. The wood easily gave way and bent away from him on its creaky wooden hinges.

He stopped by the boundary, Benjen following close behind. The First Ranger had already drawn his sword.

They left more men at the gate and continued onward. Now they were down to twenty-five.

"The main village will be up and around this crevice here." Ulfgar had said from his side. "I'd have your sword at the ready if I were you." He looked warily at Mormont.

"You worry about yourself." Starag's replied emotionlessly. Still, he kept his palm firmly on the bear's head pommel of Longclaw.

The crevice was actually a hollow in the massive hull of ice in front of them. It had opened up into a long and narrow hallway of sorts that led further up into Seafell.

Five more men were left on the southern side of the passage. Now they were twenty.

Finally, as Mormont came out the other side of the crevice, he saw the beginnings of what might've been a… welcoming sight.

He'd only seen the tattered remains of huts that were put together out of old furs and thick linen. There was also an old wooden watchtower that stood about fifteen feet high.

There was nothing by the watchtower except for three nearly empty quivers of arrows. As such, Mormont and Benjen turned to the huts. They scanned over the first upturned home with scrutinizing eyes.

The fur exterior was completely torn open. As if something had clawed and clawed at it with a relentless fury to get inside. There was a large hole punched through it which had only let in the snow.

All the belongings inside the hut were largely inconsequential. Old clothes and blankets. Along with some arrows. The rest was covered in thick snow and a thin layer of ice.

"Strange." Benjen toyed with the flap of the tent. "Whatever had gotten in just avoided the front entrance. Simply tore right through."

Mormont nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Seems like they were in a hurry to get warm..." He said dryly. Mormont looked over to another hut perhaps ten meters away. Outside of it, there was a slight bulge in the snow that looked rather awkward.

He left the tent and approached it. The whole time, something… an instinct of his perhaps, was telling him to keep his sword hand at the ready…

Once he finally stopped in front of the bulge, he knew what it was.

A corpse.

Mormont wiped away the snow on top of the dead body and kept himself from cringing at what he saw.

It was a young woman thrown dead on her side. Even though most of her body was covered in a thick bundle of furs and cloth, her abdomen was split open, revealing the mass of organs and marrow inside. Her innards were completely frozen.

It was hard to make out her features, too. Her hood was frozen and stuck to her head, and her face had four distinct claw marks that completely marred her facial features. She didn't even have a nose.

No wildling would do this… He knew. That ever-present feeling of dread came back to him. Ulfgar had been telling the truth the whole time.

He called over Benjen, who had also looked at the frozen body with a look of absolute disgust. "Shit." He said simply. "Not even the Thenns would leave a body like this out for so long…"

"Neither would Shadowcats…" Mormont agreed. He'd known the bloody cats all too well. One of them had taken his left eye many years ago.

Shadowcats would always scavenge the bodies of the dead for themselves. They'd eat them whole. But this corpse had been left here for weeks…

"We always burn the dead. Even after raids." Ulfgar added. He came over and sighed heavily upon seeing the frozen body. A look of absolute burden fell over him as he likely recognized who the girl was. "Poor Illia… She was a sweet lass…"

Mormont did not inquire further about the girl. He knew that the wildling wanted to be alone in his grief.

They made their way further into Seafell, leaving behind another five men at the start of the village. Now they were down to fifteen.

Their target was the largest home in the village, which Ulfgar had simply called the "Gathering". Mormont suspected this was where all the important meetings had taken place.

More and more frozen corpses could be made out in the surroundings, and they came across many upturned tents and even burnt timber huts… Empty and cold firepits littered the edges of the narrow pathway they walked on…

Seafell was definitely far less orderly than how Mormont had constructed Westhelm or even Frostgate for that matter. For the former, he'd had the city divided into thirds to keep everything nice and orderly…

There was Anchorage Hall, which was where Dacey's branch of their House would live. It was a nice, sturdy keep with lots of warm fireplaces. Still, Mormont preferred the nice and snug Bear Keep.

Then there was Middletown, as he liked to call it. That was the largest section of the city. With the market square, shops, taverns, and homes to spare.

Lastly, there was the port. Where all the ships came in to deliver goods from far and wide. Either from Essos or from southern Westeros and the Summer Islands. It was likely to grow out of hand at one point. But for now, it was nice and simple.

Still, they had made their way further into the village and had eventually come along to their prize.

It was a tall wooden structure made out of both pinewood and bone, likely taken from plenty of walrus over the years. It looked to be an abomination of architecture. Unique in its mad design.

There was a large horn of collected tusks hanging above the large wooden doorway, and the curved roof had open gaps in between so as to let out smoke from a fire. The rest of the structure was wide wooden walls and a high ceiling.

No doubt, it was a popular building in its time. Home to plenty of village-wide gatherings and dinners…

Not any longer… Mormont thought to himself. The corpses outside disagreed with that idea.

The wind had begun to pick up, and it began to snow. Eventually, thicker, darker clouds had rolled over above them, blocking out the sun in tiny blots.

Keeping his palm steadily on Longclaw, Mormont pushed open the wide pine door of the lodge and stepped inside.

The great stone firepit had long been snuffed out, and the log benches that had been sat around it were tossed over. While there were no corpses inside this building, there was more than enough dried and blackened blood thrown onto the wooden floorboards…

There wasn't a single sound in the place. Not except for the creaking of old wood.

Behind him came in Benjen, Ulfgar, and two other men from the Night's Watch. They silently filled out into the rest of the room, looking around the cluttered debris for… something, anything, that could be of use…

A hand gripped tight around Starag's elbow. He looked down at the intruding hand, and then at its owner.

Ulfgar looked at him with pleading brown eyes. "We should leave. Now." He said nervously as he glanced outside the door. "Winds're howling…"

Benjen had heard the comment from the other side of the room and reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Aye, there's naught else we'll find here. Nothing but bones and ash."

Starag would not have normally listened to orders from other men unless he respected them deeply, or was friends with them. Benjen Stark was one such man.

But as he looked into Ulfgar's shaking brown orbs, he knew it wasn't ordinary for this old man to beg. A man who had been chosen as leader for his remaining people would not easily crumble unless it was something that absolutely terrified him to his core…

It was time to leave. They'd found out more than enough. The old man had been telling the truth after all. What else could they find among the ruins of this destroyed village? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There was something about this wind… It was the same he'd heard outside Westwatch… As strange as his suspicion was, he soon found his instincts agreed with Ulfgar.

Just as he was about to speak the words, he heard the sound of a heavy footstep press against wood up on the second floor.

It was not akin to smallfolk dancing on the well-worn floor of a tavern…

No, this was more like the deadly sharp draw of a steel blade from a sheath…

All five of them had slowly glanced up at the high ceiling. None of them spoke a single word. The whole room had suddenly gotten far colder than before…

Not a single man in their party had entered this place before Mormont had. It was probably the wind picking up outside.

"It's time to leave," Starag said firmly. He was not one to be easily spooked by ghost tales or strange sounds.

The dozens-or even hundreds of frozen corpses he'd passed by outside was more than enough confirmation that something… terrifying was amiss in the lands beyond the Wall. They'd gotten more than enough visual confirmation.

Benjen glanced back at him calmly, gave a stiff nod, and walked by him and out of the lodge.

He looked to Jorum. "Get the men ready to leave. We've seen enough."

The Captain of his guardsmen had nodded deferentially. "My lord." He too left the lodge behind Starag. The other two men-at-arms had followed him.

There wasn't much, but at least it confirmed that something abnormal happened here... If the wildlings-even the cannibals- burned their dead, and there were corpses littered in the village...

Well, it wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but it would just have to do. Starag simply hoped that his father would take his warnings seriously this time.

Mormont gave the place one last momentary glance, and then made to turn around.

Wheeeeeeeze-CRACK!

Immediately, he dove out of the way to the front right corner of the abandoned lodge as the ceiling above him gave out. Splinters of wood rained down above him as something fell with a CRASH!

Instantly, Mormont was back on his feet, Longclaw in hand. He-

It was standing right where he'd been just a second earlier…

And everything had gotten much colder…

It was not nearly what he imagined They would look like… It was nothing like what Old Nan or even his father had mentioned in the bedtime stories…

It was tall, almost as tall as Mormont himself. It was gaunt and pale. It had rather elegant facial features and a slim figure underneath the fitting, shimmering armor. It had skin as white as fresh snow, and hair that gleamed like newborn ash from a dying fire…

High cheekbones, sharp jawline, strange, pointed ears, and two crystal blue eyes that burned into his soul like ice…

Its armor was glowing in all sorts of colors, white here, black there, like a sort of camouflage. And in Its hand was a regal-looking, crystal blue longsword made purely of ice…

So this was one of Them… An Other in the flesh…

And It was staring directly at Starag Mormont.

Mormont forced himself to be ice-cold. The once dead nerves that had long fallen slack in his mind had reignited with a burning fury. His mind was fighting off the intense fear that struck him like a thunderbolt…

Ulfgar was the first to react. Despite the overwhelming dread that hung over him just minutes ago, the older man had raised his blade and lunged at the Other.

As light as a cat, It had stepped out of the way, completely anticipating the hasty sword strike with the calmness and expertise of even the most trained swordsman…

Ulfgar brought up his sword again, but this time the Other had simply brought up its own blade to parry the strike. The two blades had clashed with a terrible wring!

Starag Mormont watched absolutely paralyzed as he saw ice crawl up the length of Ulfgar's sword, cracks and gaps in the metal began to spread until it shattered into a tiny thousand pieces of iron…

He knew what would happen next. Instantly, Starag Mormont jolted himself out of his trance and sprang forward. He had to give Ulfgar time to escape.

But the Other had known this. Almost with lightning speed, it had sidestepped Mormont's overhead strike and had deftly moved away from the smoky black edge of Longclaw. Instead, it set its impassive gaze on Ulfgar.

Mormont did not even have the time to order the older man to escape, as Ulfgar had drawn the large sax knife on his belt and shot toward the Other with a furious snarl on his bearded face.

Whist! The crystal blue sword sunk through Ulfgar's wolf pelt coat and hissed a high, screaming sound that made Mormont's ears ring.

The old man crumpled to the wooden floorboards completely motionless. Thump! Blood soon began to pool where his chest was. He was dead.

Those burning ice blue eyes had latched themselves back onto Mormont. They were cold. Impassive. The look of a professional when sent to perform a job. It knew that It had won.

Starag Mormont did not waver, however. Despite the fear that welled up in his belly, he did not cower before the living legend that stood before him…

He simply raised Longclaw and held fast. He knew that if he even turned his back to the Other, he would be dead.

Stay alive, Mormont. Stay alive. Stay alive. He reminded himself again and again. You have a family now. A wife, children, your cousins, your aunt, and your people… They all depend on you, Mormont. Stay alive.

The speed with which the Other had moved far outclassed anyone he'd gone up against previously. Even Jamie Lannister wasn't that fast with his onslaught of countless lunges and jabs.

This… Entity… was in a completely different class of its own… One that was likely far outside of Mormont's own skill…

For the moment, there was no chance of defeating it. Survival was the most he could hope for. He'd just have to hold out as long as he could or find a way to make his escape.

The Other had stepped forward like a flash and had immediately brought down its icy blade on Mormont. He did not have time to block it or parry it, so he dove for the side.

Even once he got back on his feet, the glowing blue sword had come for him again, far too fast for him this time. He slammed his back into a wooden beam by the firepit as the blade sailed for his head. Just narrowly, he ducked underneath it.

He'd never fought something so fast in his life… Or perhaps it had only gotten the best of him through his fear… He didn't care to find out…

Mormont dove towards the front entrance in a somersault. He rolled along the ground perfectly, making enough distance between him and the Other for him to get up and start sprinting out the door.

He didn't look back to see if the Other was following him, and he did not want to, either. Starag Mormont simply kept running. Stay alive, Mormont. Stay alive. Stay alive.

The moment he'd stepped outside, the blizzard from just a few days before had come back again in full force. Over the howling wind, he called out to the men who might be hearing him. "Fall back! Back to the ship! Now! It's a-"

He stopped when a bony hand reached out to him through the blizzard. Its owner revealed itself to be the very same young woman he'd seen earlier. Her dead pearly eyes were crystal blue.

Mormont immediately slashed at the corpse with Longclaw, driving enough power back into his arms to sever an arm.

The dead limb fell to the ground, but the corpse kept plodding towards him as if it were nothing.

Starag cut downwards at the dead woman, this time sending the shambling body off balance and into the snow. Then, he simply kept running.

Now, he could barely see a few feet in front of him, but he just barely managed to follow the small trail of firepits that he'd seen on his way to the lodge. Mormont wiped furiously at his one good eye so he wouldn't be snow-blind.

As soon as he'd gotten back to the large wooden watchtower towards the entrance of the village, a leather-covered hand reached out to him. This time, Mormont was on guard but stopped himself lunging his blade when he saw Benjen's face.

"We need to leave!" The First Ranger yelled over the wind. "The dead are-" He cut out over the long screaming howl. Stark pointed behind them.

Just through the fog and snow, Mormont had seen more and more of the corpses begin to rise up from their places in the desolated village. Their eyes were glowing the very same dull crystal blue. There was no doubt about it now. This was a trap.

Mormont nodded and saw the other men behind Benjen and Jorum. Instead of the fifteen, they'd entered Seafell with, there were only seven left.

They'd lost five black brothers, and three of Mormont's own men-at-arms. Blast! He cursed in his mind. He did not want to leave them behind if they were still alive. But if they all stayed, they'd surely perish.

"Let's go!" Starag ordered. He pointed in the direction of the initial crevice. The rowboats were their best chance at survival right now.

Benjen nodded. Jorum also gave a firm dip of his head.

They ran wildly through the blizzard, hoping to finally find their way back the way they all came. It felt almost like years had passed by in those few mad moments of adrenaline and furious ecstasy.

Starag grinned madly when he saw the wide-open gap in the ice. There it was! He turned and-

Something hard and cold knocked him clean on his back. He landed on the ground with the wind knocked out of his chest. As he heaved for air, Mormont looked up to see the terrifying sight of the Other standing high above him. Its gleaming crystal sword shimmered brightly in the snowstorm…

It glared down at him with emotionless crystal blue eyes. Then, slowly, its mouth had curled up into a cruel smirk.

Almost out of nowhere, a steel sword held by one of his men-at-arms- Jorum, had sailed in an overhead strike at the Other!

But the creature was faster. In the blink of an eye, it had turned and held up its glittering sword to block the steel blade.

Starag Mormont watched mesmerized as the durable blade of castle forged steel had completely frozen and shattered. The metal had rained to the ground in tiny shards right before his eye…

Jorum had been just as surprised, but he'd not gotten the chance to say anything when the gleaming blue sword was thrust sharply into his belly.

He fell to the snow, dead.

Mormont felt a hot burning rage begin to boil in his heart. Too many good men had died today. Pure and raw instinct had taken over. He'd forgotten all chances of staying alive. If he was going to die, at least he would take this blasted Other with him…

He rolled away and stood up. Immediately the blue ice sword had come for him again. Mormont sharply sidestepped and picked up Longclaw.

He made for a quick wide-sweeping strike aimed at its neck, but the Other stepped nimbly out of the way and made a lunge towards his left breast. Mormont danced away on his feet and followed up with a parry. Once again, the Other was too fast.

Soon enough, however, Starag Mormont found himself shifting back onto the defense. Each strike the Other had given him had gotten progressively faster and nimbler. Far more efficient than any man he'd fought before. But if he blocked, Longclaw would surely suffer the same fate of being shattered into a million pieces…

The rain of swift, efficient, and fatal blows had become too exhausting for Mormont to keep up with. In these small moments, he looked back on all of his training with The Sword of the Morning himself…

This was like nothing he'd ever been prepared for...

Finally, the Other had clasped its longsword in both hands and made a quick sweeping arc for Mormont's neck, forcing him to raise up his sword and defend himself.

Instinct had taken over Mormont's sense of reason, and all the muscles that had resulted from countless hours of practice and exercise with Arthur Dayne had kicked into action. Mormont raised Longclaw up to block the crystal sword and prayed for a swift death…

TWWWAAAAAANG!

For the briefest of moments, Starag Mormont stopped hearing the overbearing howl of the cold northern winds…

There was a sharp hissing ring that echoed in his ears, almost like the scream of a dying animal mixed with the hard clashing of steel. His arms had shaken with a terrible ache and pain from the impact of the glowing blue sword, and the superhuman strength behind it…

That was when Mormont realized he was still alive…

The Other's sword had clashed against Longclaw. And even now, mere seconds after both blades had met…

The smoky black edge of Longclaw's Valyrian Steel blade had held true and had even notched deep into the Other's glowing cold longsword.

Counter and move. Counter and move. Arthur Dayne's words had instantly shot through his mind like a ringing bell. Mormont didn't even need to think about his next move, as he recovered from his shock much faster than the Other...

Starag pushed the gleaming cold longsword away with all his might and swiftly drew Longclaw backward into a wide uppercut swing. He summoned up all the power and strength in his legs, arms, and back. He slammed the deadly keen edge of his sword underneath the Other's ghostly pale, and lightly armored forearm.

THRRACK! The black blade of Valyrian Steel had even cleaved sharply through… whatever the Other's armor was made of. The arm had snapped off the Other's body as if it were an icicle.

The limb had fallen to the ground into a million different pieces of glass. Even over the wind and the ringing in Mormont's ears, he heard what sounded like the cracking of ice emit from the Other's screaming mouth.

It had stumbled backward into the snow and fell over. It was vulnerable, now-

No! Mormont stopped himself from finishing off the Other. He looked past it and saw the tens and dozens of dead wildlings shamble closer toward him just barely ten feet away...

Starag Mormont would not get a better moment to escape. It was either die attempting to finish off the Other, or escape with his life and live to fight another day…

He chose the latter and ran for the icy passageway that led to his ship.

It was time to go home.