Tormund goes on a suicide mission. But he finds unexpected help along the way.

Next chapter should take a bit longer. Probably only next week. Sorry about that.

38. Catch the Cold - Tormund

Tormund Giantsbane had grown tired of the lordling by the second day of their journey. Robin… Even his fucking name is stupid. And the older lord wasn't any fun either, but at least he kept to himself. The little lord would keep asking one dumb question after another, How big is the Wall? How cold does it get up there? How many times have you climbed it? What are the dead like? After answering a couple, he knew the boy wasn't paying attention, since he would hear the same stupid questions all over again.

I should've asked for the big woman…

Fuck it, he decided, spurring his horse ahead to keep as much distance from the weakling as possible. The boy had brought a small army of twenty men with him, each more arrogant than the last, all with armor so shiny it was likely they never had to use it in combat before. At least they won't bother me with stupid questions.

The rest of the journey was more to his taste, and soon they had reached the gates of Eastwatch. The place didn't seem as well kept as Castle Black, and some bricks seemed almost loose, while the gate itself had rust covering nearly half of it. The lazy crows don't even bother to fight the salt air around here.

"Who goes there?" A voice called from the top of the castle walls.

He took a deep breath before he introduced himself as loudly as he could, "TORMUND GIANTSBANE, TALL-TALKER, HORN-BLOWER, BREAKER OF ICE, THUNDERFIST, HUSBAND TO BEARS, MEAD-KING OF RUDDY HALL, SPEAKER TO GODS AND FATHER OF HOSTS." Pausing for effect, he continued in a lower tone, "The Queen sent me from Winterfell, along with some helpers."

"Helpers?" The old man said, an angry scowl on his ugly face. "Step aside, wildling!" Spurring his horse forward, he looked up. "I'm Robett Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, and together with Lord Robin Arryn of the Vale, we've come here to protect the North. You will allow us passage beyond the Wall." This one is used to giving out orders, Tormund noticed, but he could learn a thing or two about manners.

After a moment, the gate opened. Glover made sure to ride ahead, trying to make it seem as if he was in charge of everything. Fools die first, Tormund's nan used to say. I wonder if the fool will ride first when we face the Walkers?

When they entered the castle, a short dark-haired man with close-set eyes and a broken nose stepped forward to greet them, "I'm Cotter Pyke, the commander here. The Queen sent a letter a while back, detailing your plans." His voice was rough, as if more used to shouting than speaking quietly. "Before you go on, there's some people you should meet."

"We're very busy." Glover started, looking down at the commander. "The Queen made it clear this was urgent."

"Who are these people?" Tormund asked, ignoring the old man, who just stared back at him.

Pyke looked from one to the other, a grin on his pox-riddled face. "Yesterday, we had other visitors who also wanted to cross the Wall. They gave us a bullshit reason, something about Rollo or Yoler… I didn't care enough to listen. Sounded like religious crap to me, so I locked them in the cells until I figured out what to do." He raised a hand to scratch his forehead, a bit below the widow's peak. "But they could be useful fighters. One of them is the biggest man I ever saw, built as heavy as an anchor."

We'll need better fighters, he knew, glancing back to watch those Vale pricks turning their noses up. These fuckers won't last long against the dead.

Tormund nodded, saying, "We'll go see them." And he dismounted his horse, waiting for the commander to lead him, and ignoring the looks from Glover and the rest.

Pyke smiled and nodded back, walking ahead towards a run-down building, even worse than all the others in the poorly maintained castle. Prisoners don't get much comfort, Tormund considered, thinking back to when the little crow had kept him under guard at Castle Black. Could've been worse, I guess.

Eventually, they reached the cells. "Has the bastard finally decided to let us go, or are we to freeze our balls here forever?" A gruff voice barked at them, and Tormund saw why the commander was impressed. He's as tall as the big woman, maybe even taller. The man had a huge scar covering half his face, but otherwise seemed strong enough. Who gave him that? Probably someone bigger.

Pyke spat on the floor near the cell. "This just might be your lucky day, cunts. It all depends on this ginger here." He said, nodding towards Tormund.

Another man stood up, a patch covering his right eye. "Has the Night's Watch sunk so low as to take orders from wildlings now?" His voice was deep and strong, echoing all around the small room. He reminds me of Mance, Tormund thought, the man could be a singer. His clothes seemed finer than the others, clearly marking him as their leader.

The commander scowled. "Watch it, Lightning Lord. This wildling is here in service of the Queen in the North. Convince him, and you can join his suicide mission beyond the Wall."

"Is that so?" The lord asked, his eyebrow rising on his forehead. "Very well. I am Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven." Moving a hand towards the others, he continued, "These are my companions. Thoros of Myr, a priest of R'hllor," he pointed at a robed man in the corner, his hair knotted at the top of his head, "my squire Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall," He pointed at a young man with pale blonde hair and dark blue eyes, looking slightly out of place among these older men, "and that charming man over there is Sandor Clegane, the newest addition to our Brotherhood." He finished, pointing at the tall scarred man.

"I haven't joined your fucking Brotherhood, you dumb cunt." Clegane said, again in that gruff voice. "I just didn't have anything better to do."

Dondarrion didn't seem offended, for he smiled. Maybe that's just the way they talk? "We are all here for our own reasons, but the Lord of Light has brought us together all the same." Turning towards Tormund, he said, "I wonder what's your reason for following a Queen's orders, given your people's history."

Tormund barked a laugh. "Aye, we don't much care for taking orders, but in this case I made an exception. If you'd seen what I've seen at Hardhome, you'd understand." He took a deep breath, shaking his head to try and ignore the memories coming back. "I'm Tormund Giantsbane." He introduced himself. Short version, this time. "The Queen is the sister to a good friend, and they both want to show the southern pricks what we'll have to face. We're to capture one of the dead men and bring it back to Winterfell."

Their mouths were left hanging open for a while. The squire recovered first. "But… how?" He asked in a quiet voice. Is he really a lord? He didn't look a day older than the Queen's tiny sister. Another wide-eyed lordling.

"Ropes, mostly." Tormund replied, shrugging. "And a sack. We brought those. Though I suppose it'd be better if we had a crate and a sled to carry it back to Winterfell and beyond." He turned to face Pyke. "Do you think there's something like that here? It wouldn't have to be too big, just enough to keep the corpse safely locked inside."

The commander scratched his chin. "We might have something in one of the ships. I'll have to check the harbor, but it should be ready when you return. If you return." He added, with a grin on his ugly face. "So, are you taking them with you, or what?"

He took another look at them. They weren't as impressive as he had hoped, but if those scars were any indication, they seemed experienced enough. More than those perfumed knights, at least. "Aye, I'll take them. Can you lend them horses? We might have to run back."

Pyke didn't seem too happy with that, but he nodded. "I'll expect them back, though. The horses, I mean. Do what you want with these cunts." He said, moving to open the cell.

They were just a few paces beyond the Wall, when he paused to take a deep breath. This is the true North, Tormund thought, closing his eyes. The piney smell, the freezing cold, the feeling in his bones… it all reminded him of home. Winterfell is too hot for my taste.

"Mother's mercy, it's cold up here!" The lordling's annoying voice made him re-open his eyes. Tormund turned to see the boy holding his own arms, huddled under his thick bearskin cloak. "I thought the Eyrie was cold, but this is just too much."

The other Vale men seemed to be in worse condition, as they were only wearing cold steel armor. At least the fools will die protected. Glover had been more sensible, with several layers of leather, wool and fur covering his body. And the Brotherhood had mismatched clothing, mostly warm.

"You get used to it." Tormund said, spurring his horse ahead. "It's important to keep moving. If you stop, you die."

About halfway to the Haunted Forest, he spotted a raven landing nearby. White eyes.

"That's the sign." He called out to the others. "We'll have to follow this raven now."

Glover and Arryn seemed resigned to follow, but Dondarrion spoke up, "Uh, If I may ask, why are we following a raven?" The rest of his Brotherhood also had confused looks on their faces.

"That's no simple raven." He answered, still keeping an eye on the bird. "Don't you see the white eyes? The Queen's brother is in there, guiding our way."

"I see." The man said, seemingly satisfied. Good, I'm tired of answering stupid questions.

As the bird flew into the Haunted Forest, Clegane led his horse closer. "Who the fuck is this Queen everybody keeps talking about? It's not that Lannister bitch, is it?"

The Arryn boy answered for him, "No, the Queen in the North is my cousin, Sansa Stark."

Tormund turned to see the scarred man's reaction. His eyebrows shot up, impressed, then he muttered something about a little bird, but it was barely a whisper.

When they entered the dark forest, the priest spoke up, "And you're sure we can deal with these dead men? What was the plan again?" For a priest, he didn't seem to have much faith.

That's not a stupid question. "Sure as I can be, though I reckon it won't be easy. If the little crow was here with his sword I'd be more confident, but we'll have to make do with the people we've got." Tormund wasn't one to comfort nervous men before a battle. If you're shaking in your boots, go back to your mama's skirt. But he should at least let them know what to expect. "The plan, as much as we can call it that, is to find the White Walker and a small group of Wights, kill the big one and wait until there's only a corpse left standing. We'll tackle it, rope it, and stick it in a sack. Then we lump it over a horse and go back to Eastwatch to see if Pyke found that crate I asked for. If not, we'll just carry it the same way to Winterfell."

"And you've fought these… Walkers before?" The little squire asked, his big blue eyes almost purple in the darkness of the forest.

Tormund nodded. "Aye, if you can call it that. Hardhome was a massacre, with thousands of free folk dead by the end. No, not dead. Worse than that." He scratched his shaggy beard. "Well, the little crow was the one who really fought the White Walker. I just watched as his sword destroyed the thing, shattering the frozen body into tiny ice crystals."

"So they're weak to swords? Then it shouldn't be so difficult." The priest said, looking relieved.

"Nah, his sword's different." We should've discussed this at Eastwatch, but Glover was in a hurry. Tormund had to make it clear. "From what he said, normal steel shatters when it touches their icy blades. He almost died himself, before he picked up the right sword. Only Valyrian Steel weapons can do that."

"Then we're right fucked." Clegane said, shaking his head. "You don't look like you're carrying that. And I doubt any of those other pricks have one either." He nodded back at the knights, riding behind with the old man, just beyond earshot.

He reached into his belt. "They have another weakness." Presenting the short green dagger, he said, "Dragonglass does the trick too. I just need to get close enough to stick it into the bastard." Should've made a spear instead.

"Is that it?" The priest seemed nervous again. "Don't you have more of those for the rest of us?"

Tormund sighed. "Nah, the stash we had was lost at Hardhome. The little crow gave me one of these for protection, but after the Night King came we had to get the fuck out of there."

"I'm sure the Lord will provide assistance." Dondarrion said, in his deep voice. He should be the priest, since he's the only one of the bunch who actually believes in this red god. "Is there another source of Dragonglass we could use?"

"Aye," Tormund replied, nodding, "that's why the little crow went to Dragonstone to meet with the dragon queen."

"Who the fuck is this little crow you keep talking about?" Clegane's voice was as rough as usual. "You sound half in love with the man."

He barked a laugh. "He's too small for my member. Besides, I have my eyes set on the big woman." Brienne… there's a strong name, Tormund's face broke into a smile, thinking of climbing that massive mountain. Our children would rule the world. "Nah, the little crow is Jon Snow, the former Lord Commander of the black crows and former King of the northern pricks." Huh, he sure keeps losing titles…

The squire made a noise like he was about to say something, but Tormund shushed him. The air just grew colder. A strange mist was coming from the northeast, the trees there seemed to vanish at the top. The raven had landed on a tall sentinel tree some twenty paces ahead, jumping and spreading its wings. That's a sign if I ever saw one.

"Do you all see that?" He asked quietly, raising a hand to stop them. "We're close now. It's best if we go walking from here." And he dismounted from his horse. He turned back to see the others, and most of them were already tying the reins of their horses to trees. Right, I should do that too.

As he moved to do it, Glover tried to take charge. "Alright, the plan is simple enough. We focus on the White Walker first. You three," he pointed at the biggest knights, "come with me. The rest of you, try to keep the wights occupied while we finish up."

He finished tying his horse to an ironwood tree. At least the man's brave, but he's just as foolish. "Have you found dragonglass somewhere?" Tormund asked, raising his dagger. "Because you won't do much against the Walker without it. But I'll need the distraction, thanks."

The old man huffed. "You should hand that over to one of your betters."

"I don't see anyone better than me here, so I'll be keeping it for now." He turned to face the others. "Remember: don't destroy any wights before the Walker is down. I'll try to find an opening and stab the bastard, but it might take a while. Until then, fight defensively. Keep them away from your most important bits and you should be fine. You," He pointed at Clegane, "should carry the rope, since you look strong enough. Be ready to tie up the thing when the time comes."

Tormund searched in his saddlebags for the strengthened rope. Better safe than sorry. He also picked up the thick burlap sack. Not as important as the rope, but it should make it easier to carry. Clegane didn't protest as the rope was shoved in his hands. The sack he gave to Dondarrion.

"Let's move, then." He said, gripping the dagger tightly in his hand.

Following the raven, and stalking quietly from tree to tree, he reached a small clearing in the middle of the forest. Hugging the tall sentinel, he tried to spot them. The mist made it difficult to see clearly, but he could make out the bright blue eyes of two wights, standing very still for some reason. The kid said six, didn't he? So where…

A sound from behind made him turn around to see one of those Vale men falling with a wight on top of him, biting and clawing. "Fuck, it's an ambush!" He shouted, moving into the clearing. "Get away from the trees!" The two wights sprung to attack him, and he shoved them back. I can't use the dagger yet.

One of the wights grabbed hold his arm, trying to gnaw the furs away. "Get… Off!" He waved the arm around, but the fucker was holding tightly. Suddenly, a large hand grabbed the thing and easily pulled it off, almost throwing it against a tree.

"Your plan's shit, ginger." Clegane spat, moving to stand beside him. Soon, others joined them, the priest, the squire, the one-eyed lord and the lordling, along with four Vale knights.

"We just need to find the Walker. Did anybody see it?" Tormund sheathed his dagger to avoid destroying the wights, who kept trying to attack. Counting their number, he spotted four in the clearing. Two others must be with the Walker.

"I think I saw Lord Glover fighting it," the squire said, catching his breath as Dondarrion pushed a wight away from him, "they were over there." He pointed at some place to the left of where they came from, the mist making it near impossible to make out anything from a distance.

Tormund sighed. That fool's probably dead already. "Alright. Clegane, you're with me. Dondarrion, stay here and make sure these wights don't follow us."

He shoved a wight away with all his might, moving towards the direction given by the squire, with Clegane close behind. Once they entered the woods again, it didn't take long to hear the familiar sounds of people fighting for their lives.

Following it, they reached a place with several corpses of men littering the forest floor, the foul smell of death and shit mingling with the piney scent of trees. A few paces ahead, the White Walker was slicing his pale sword through an armored knight like a knife cutting through butter. Glover and those three bigger knights were shoving the two remaining wights, trying to keep them down.

"I'll go ahead and try to draw his attention." Tormund whispered to Clegane, bending low. "While I'm doing that, you go around the trees and get behind him. When the fucker's focused on me, you stick this into him." He handed the dragonglass dagger over to the big man.

Clegane nodded. At least he's good at following orders, Tormund considered. I hope I don't regret this. He wanted to be the one to destroy the bastard, but he doubted anyone else could manage to avoid being killed as a distraction. They'd probably get skewered just like those corpses. And without a distraction, they wouldn't get the wight at all.

Taking a deep breath, Tormund moved forward. When he came closer, he shouted, "CRASTER!" That was enough for the creature to turn around and face him. "That's right, you ugly bastard. I knew your da. He was a proper mad fucker."

Every free folk knew about the sacrifices that miserable shit did with his sons. He wasn't the only one who had supplied the Army of the Dead, Tormund admitted bitterly, just the most recent.

The White Walker stalked closer, his pale crystal blade glinting in the darkness of the forest, while the cold blue eyes burned like ice. His skin was wrinkled, like someone who had spent too much time underwater. The dark armor seemed ancient, though there was no rust anywhere. Tormund was wondering what material it was, when the creature's blade came slashing down.

Stepping sideways, he narrowly avoided the hit. Too fast, was all he had time to think, before the blade slashed again from right to left. This time, it sliced a part of his furs away. Too sharp, he noticed, as it was only the tip of the sword that had made contact. They continued the dance, until he heard a sound of shuffling to his left.

"Give me the dagger!" The old man ordered, coming closer with his hand stretched out. "I'll finish it off!"

Tormund didn't bother saying anything, since it was hard enough to focus on not dying, weaving and stepping away from the pale blade. The Walker shifted his stance, slowly moving towards Glover with each attack. When he noticed the movement, he finally opened his mouth.

"Watch out!" He shouted a warning, but it was too late. The pale crystal sword was swiftly buried into the old man's chest, a shocked expression fixed on his face. His last surprise.

The Walker's lips curled into a smile, as he pulled the blade away to continue attacking. But his next attack was also his last, because Clegane jumped from behind a tree to stab the arrogant fucker in the back.

The sound of ice breaking apart was followed by a loud screech, as the bastard opened his mouth in agony, white cracks covering his entire body until it finally burst in an explosion of crystal shards, scattered on the forest floor.

Tormund glanced around to see if any wight was still standing, and he saw one. "Quick, get the rope!" He told Clegane, who moved without hesitation, unfurling the bundle of rope from his waist. He ran to jump on the wight, pinning it down. The surviving knights helped to keep it still, while Clegane laced the rope around it.

When the deed was done, he finally took a deep breath. Fuck, that was harder than I thought… And it was only a small group… He walked over to pick up his dragonglass dagger, then said, "Alright, good job. Let's go see who survived."

Back in the clearing, everyone was breathing hard, but they were still alive. The Vale knights were huddled around the lordling, who was shaking, his right arm bleeding. The priest had a limp, favoring his right leg. The one-eyed lord had a few more scars on his face. And the squire seemed to be fine, without any blood or scar marring his features. Either he's a great fighter, or a great coward.

He clapped. "I think it's about time we headed back, who agrees?" Tormund asked, grinning.

Dondarrion cleared his throat. "Before we leave, there's something you should see." He pointed at the middle of the clearing. "It might be important."

Tormund followed the man's finger, reaching a strange circular stone slab. There was a familiar spiral pattern on the top, marking it as the work of the Children of the Forest or the Night King. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy.

"Clegane, come here." He called, and the man handed the wight over to Dondarrion, who covered the thing with the burlap sack. "On three." He warned, once they were both holding on to the slab. "One… two… three!" They heaved together, and the stone shifted to reveal a large hole on the ground.

Inside the hole was a cache of dragonglass daggers, speartips and arrowheads. "Well, this would've been useful two hours ago." Clegane said, picking one up.

But there were other things too, like several smaller stone tablets inscribed with runes, and an old dark warhorn, banded with bronze and cracked at the rim, also inscribed by runes. Tormund picked it up. It's heavier than it looks. He raised it to his lips and blew with all his might, but no sound came out. Strange… even broken horns usually give off a weak sound. He decided to carry the horn with him. I can probably fix it later.

"Maybe we should return to Eastwatch." A Vale knight offered, looking at his lordling with a worried expression. "Lord Arryn isn't the only one who needs a maester's attention."

He nodded. "Right, but we'll carry everything in this hole with us. I'm too dumb to know what's important and what isn't, so let's just take the whole thing."

Tormund turned to look at the survivors. We came with seven and twenty, and now we're going back with three and ten.

Exit Lord Glover, he won't be missed. And Robin survived! Who saw that coming?

About halfway through this chapter, I regretted not bringing Brienne to this expedition. I've been looking to give her something to do, and this would've been the perfect opportunity. So many interesting dynamics here…

But she would've made the whole battle much easier, to be honest. With her skill and a Valyrian Steel sword, the White Walker would be dead within seconds. I needed some casualties here.

This was pretty fun to write, but I'm not sure if Tormund will return as a POV. I suppose it depends on what I'll need to see.

EDIT: I forgot to explain it, but here it goes: I know the cache of dragonglass with the horn had been found before (season two, I think?) but the show didn't really do much with that. And it would've been weird to mention it ("hey, remember way back when we found this horn? Yeah, it's important now.") So I just had Tormund find it again. Because why not.

15/07/2019

25/07/2019 - edit