The Wall
The caged carriage from Mole's Town rolls onto the main yard of Castle Black. Though still early in the morning, a few people have gathered here for one reason only: new recruits, possible ones at least. That always brought some excitement to the dull tedium of a Night's Watch's routine. But while the Brothers contemplate the convict's crimes, Jon and Sam share an uneasy look. They know the truth, after all.
The driver spits before dragging out the ragged-looking prisoner, a sorry sod wearing long-sleeved brown clothes with bandages and a hood over his face. Hidden beneath its shadow is a piece of paper tag that Jon and Lady Ran designed. Seeing it fluttering in a light breeze, he can only hope the thing stays on.
"Here," the man throws the manacles' key to the Lord Commander. "Bastard's named Wyman. He's yours now."
"And his crime?" asks the Lord Commander, giving some piece of bread to the raven perched on his shoulder.
"Too handsy with my whores and didn't have any coins with him. Gave him a few licks before coming here," he chuckles, and for a moment the man's eyes meet Jon's. A crooked smile appears on his face before continuing. "Don't let him come to Mole's Town, you hear!?" And with that, he leaves Castle Black. Jon hopes the bribe they gave him will keep his lips sealed.
"Sounds like an idiot," says Dolorous Edd, whispering to Jon's ear. "Only a fool commit crimes so close to the Wall, other than your kinslaying of course. That earned you honours and a fancy sword," he cackles. "Might as well have my brother here-"
"Quiet," Ser Allister growls.
"Welcome," the Lord Commander greets the prisoner. "Never expected to be here, aren't you? Or perhaps you heard of our offers on warm black clothes?" A few of the older Brothers laugh while some new recruits frown; even Jon felt he was tricked into coming here.
"WALL! WALL!" the raven squawks before jumping on the prisoner's shoulder. "STARK! STA-"
"Right, enough of that," the Lord Commander grabs the protesting bird and putting it back on his shoulder. "I'm Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, though you may already know of that. Now, I trust you won't try to run in my presence?" The only answer Wyman gives him is a cold, dead stare from his grey eyes. "I'll take that as a yes."
"I'll bet you a few groats that he has his tongue cut," Grenn whispers to Jon.
"I'll take that," Jon smiles.
Ser Alliser strides out of the crowd and stands before the prisoner, his face stuck in a permanent scowl. Jon gulps, praying that the man isn't too rough with his Uncle. It took a lot of work and retching to put him together again; to have it be undone here will spell doom for Jon.
"All men of the Night's Watch must be able to fight, lest they become arrow fodder for the Others. Can you hold a sword?" the master-at-arms asks, and he doesn't respond kindly to Wyman's silence. So the man slaps his face instead, the ring causing Jon to flinch. "I said can you hold a sword, halfwit!?"
Seconds pass before the prisoner answers. "Yes…" he rattles with a voice deep like broken wood. "I can… Use sword."
"Dimwit," Ser Alliser sneers. "Grenn, Toad, fetch me two swords. Live steel," he accentuates with a malicious glint. "No need for an extra mouth if the dullard can't protect himself."
Grenn groans and hands Jon a few groats before running off; a pyrrhic victory for the mummer's farce is in threat. Jon locks eyes with the Lord Commander, but the man solemnly shakes his head before giving his bird more feed; stopping it now would look far more suspicious.
The two return with a short sword and a greatsword. As if a cruel jape, Wyman is given the greatsword which he can't seem to hold properly. "Let's see what you're made of." With a swift slash, Ser Allister gives a cut on Wyman's left arm before jumping back. Jon sighs in relief for a few strands of cloth still hold the sleeve, hiding the corpse-grey arm. "No reaction… Just like a dummy."
As if reacting to the taunt, Wyman's right hand grips the sword and he begins to move. His steps are stiff and shuffling, dragging both snow and the sword behind him. Ser Alliser strikes the hand with a broadside but the man does not drop it. "A sword is not a shovel! Do that again and I'll personally cut your hand off!"
In response, Wyman raises his sword up high for an attack. But so slow is his movement that Ser Alliser simply steps aside, letting it hit the dirty snow and mud. "Allister…" he groans, though no fog forms from his breath.
"Ser Alliser," he says, kicking the sword from Wyman's hand. "What a pathetic waste… Bastard, come here!" Jon marches out of the crowd and stands before the master-at-arms. The man shows a rare grin to him. "Since you're so adamant in training greenboys, take him on. He's more of your level, after all."
So now Jon stands in the training yard, a sword in hand and his Uncle staring him down. Dead Uncle, he reminds himself, though he's somewhat glad of this position. Doing it myself means less wounds to tend. And at least Ghost is with Lady Ran or else he'd try to intervene.
Though most of the face is obscured by bandages and a paper tag, he can still see his Uncle. That gaunt, laughing man who convinced him to join the Wall. The same one that I killed. "Focus Jon," he whispers to himself, "just play it all out."
Jon makes the first move, landing a shallow blow to the stomach. Wyman swings his sword one-handed and misses, giving Jon more chances to strike. But Jon notices something: with each swing and turn of the sword, his Uncle's movements are getting faster. Lady Ran said something of this, that the muscles relax with more exercise.
Jon pants at the exertion. Looking back at Ser Alliser, he sees that most of the people have dispersed for other matters. Damn it, I haven't eaten brea- "AAGH!" he shouts in surprise as the greatsword swings past his head. That would have easily knocked him out. "Getting into it, are you?" he asks Wyman with a half-smile. "Don't be tired-"
"Snow…" his voice calls out to Jon. No longer are his eyes cold and dead, but they're now filled with fire and fury. Anger. His lips stretch and crack, baring sharp yellow teeth for all to see. "Why…?"
"…Uncle?" And in that moment of distraction Wyman swings down towards Jon's head. Too late to dodge, Jon blocks the hit with his sword. But he has forgotten an important point with Jiang-Shis: their strength is nothing to scoff at.
The moment they make contact sparks fly. So terrific is the impact that Jon's legs scream in pain and give out under him. The sword moves to his head but in a stroke of luck the point strikes dirt in a splatter of snow and mud, barely missing his skull. Jon quickly rolls aside with trembling legs, patting down his body before confirming that he is still whole.
"I've seen enough," says Ser Allister, grabbing the sword from Jon's hand and Wyman's. "Woe the fate of the Wall if you lot are their best," he spits before turning to the Lord Commander. "What do we make of this Wyman then?"
"Rough, uncut, but there's potential," he replies, tugging at his beard. "We are losing rangers by the day, so we need more people in those positions."
"You mean to have these fools take Benjen's position? Don't make me laugh."
The Lord Commander lay his cold glare at Jon. "Not these, no. Qhorin Halfhand or Blane deserve the title of First Ranger. Besides, the man has yet to say his vows. Needs training like any other, right Snow?"
"Aye, strong but…" Jon looks back at his Uncle, eyes slowly glazing over with frost. "Unpolished."
"And I'm not one to polish fools," Ser Alliser sneers. "Let Lord Snow here teach him, and we'll see if there are any improvements."
"What do you say to that, Snow? Can you do it?" The Lord Commander's eyes bore down on him hard. He knows what it means; his last chance to abandon the path of dark and blasphemous sorcery. But his answer is still the same.
"I'll do it," Jon smiles.
Ser Alliser looks as if he's about to say a few things, but leaves them with a scowl instead. With no strangers that could overhear them, Sam rushes to Jon's side. "You were great!" he beams. "I don't think anyone noticed that he's Benjen Stark."
"You're only half-right, Tarly" says the Lord Commander, examining the standing corpse more closely. "No one noticed the farce."
"No one! No one!" the raven caws.
"But you, boy, that performance you did was flawed."
"Flawed? But I-"
"-Got distracted twice and nearly killed each time," the Lord Commander cuts, his voice sharp as steel. "If Benjen was still alive your head would be lopped off before you know it. Hells, a Wildling could throw a rock to distract you. Ser Alliser was right in calling you inexperienced, Snow. Now let's go, someone's waiting for us." With that, the Lord Commander walks with Sam in tow.
'Ser Alliser was right.'
Of all things the Lord Commander could have said, that stings the most. He always thought that the master-at-arms was too harsh on him and new recruits, but to hear the Lord Commander support his view…
Jon clicks his tongue. "I'm better than Robb," he whispers to himself. What would they think of the Lord of Winterfell being worse at sword fighting than his half-brother? But since no one is here to hear his grievance, he sighs and goes to work on his Uncle.
He fishes out several rolled pieces of paper from his pocket: orders dictated by Lady Ran and written by Jon himself. He looks at the chicken-scratch written on it with blood-mixed ink, trying to remember if the one he's choosing will make his Uncle docile. Docile… The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Confident in his choice, he reaches up and swaps the two pieces of paper. For a moment the body jolts before straightening itself, eyes blank and unfocused. "Follow me," Jon commands.
Catching up to the two, they soon descend the dark tunnels of Castle Black and through the cold vaults. It's best not to be seen entering the King's tower after all, especially with a new recruit in tow.
A short walk down several corridors lead them up a staircase through the King's tower. Cold wind blows through open windows, only the Lord Commander and Jon's Uncle are seemingly unaffected by the cold.
So they enter the topmost room, the King's room. Though their guests are sleeping in the Queen's quarters, the King's room has been transformed into a lab for the fox sorcerer. And it's clear how much work has been done here since the room have practically been turned upside down. Piles upon piles of ancient tomes and scrolls litter the floor, causing Sam to gasp in horror. Candles both lit and cold are stuck on said books, using them as makeshift candle-stands. The shelves and bed have been moved from the walls, which are now coated with occult and strange glowing writings. And last of all is the sorcerer herself, scrawling on the walls with chalk.
"We have visitors," Maester Aemon croaks from a corner, seated on a chair with furs over him.
"Sorry to intrude," the Lord Commander bows his head, carefully stepping over scrolls from Valyria. Sam gathers them up, not wanting any damage on those precious pieces of history. "You'd be glad to hear that Benjen Stark's integration was a success."
"Good. Great. Please wait," the fox lady replies in monotone.
"She's been at it since last night," the maester chuckles. "And that one there been snoring since yesterday's supper."
A human form lies asleep underneath a pile of books and fur on the King's bed. And Ghost, Jon notes. "Glad to see my direwolf brings you comfort, Lady Reimu," Jon laughs, causing the sleeping woman to stir awake and yawn loudly. With a whistle, Ghost wakes up and runs over to Jon, causing the woman to groan in annoyance. "You know, it's hard to believe Lady Ran's words that you're some sort of hero or priestess when all you do is eat, drink, and sleep!"
"Hey…" she yawns again, stretching and combing back her wild bedhair. Since they didn't bring a change of clothes, the Lord Commander had his men purchase some clothes in Mole's Town. Now, the two women look like a native. If one ignores the fact that there are women at the Wall. And Lady Ran's tails. "Unlike that priest I at least stay sober," she says, nearly knocking over an empty bottle of wine while sitting up. "Most of the time."
"Sure," he rolls his eyes. Even Sam snickers at that.
"Don't act like that, young man! Ran, explain to him that I've been helping you out."
The fox lady's many tails twitch and rotate before she answers. "Certainly. Miss Reimu has been helping me retrieve books from the vaults and sorting them as well."
"See?" she smiles smugly.
"She has also helped me relax through her snoring, which provided a vicarious way for me to rest. Her ministrations on my tails were also-"
"WOAH woah woah, alright!" Lady Reimu interrupts and waves her hands wildly, cheeks flushed from the accusations. "Fine, I'll get out of bed."
"Sam, do fetch me and the two ladies here some breakfast. I'm sure Lady Ran is quite hungry from staying up all night," says Maester Aemon.
"Yes, maester," Sam replies before dashing down the steps.
"So," the Lord Commander sits himself down on the study desk, "anything that we should know about of the cold scourge? Or perhaps ways of fighting them?"
"I have a few things of note," she replies, eyes still focused on the wall. "But I'll explain it after I finish… This… Formula…"
…
"It's going to take a while," the maester smiles. "Though, she's quite quick in picking up written Common Tongue. Just need a bit of help now and then."
"Your help is ever appreciated, Maester Aemon."
"I see…" the Lord Commander sighs before picking up a random book from a nearby stack; something about the Targaryens and the Wall. "You heard the man, make yourself comfortable, Snow."
Haunted Forest
A thick blanket of snow covers the haunted forest, painting the area in a beautiful white. "Like a newly cleaned bedsheet," was what Edd said of it, "till someone pisses on it."
It's not yet sunset, though the sky has gained an orange tint as of late. The trees are thick enough here that he's not blinded by the snow's reflection, though he can easily see the length of his shadow stretching across the ground. There's only a few hours left before the night, and with the snow being knee deep means their horses have to tread it slow and carefully.
"How much farther away is it?" asks Lady Reimu, wrapped up in black furs and walking on top of the snow. Jon doubts she's even human, more like a ghost in not leaving footprints. "It's getting real cold now."
The forest livens up with the Lord Commander's laughter. "It's only Autumn here up North," he says with a bright smile. "When Winter strikes us, even Winterfell down South will be buried in snow, ain't that right?"
"Half-buried," Jon corrects him. "We have hot springs to keep the castle walls and people warm, so it never felt too cold in there."
"Hot springs…" she sighs dreamily before shaking her head. "Ugh, why can't I be transported there instead of an actual ice wall?"
"Perhaps it's the Gods' way of saying you're needed here," says the Lord Commander, spying the trees for anything out of place. The only thing they see right now though is Ghost leaping through the snow chasing down a hidden prey. Gods, do Jon feel hungry right now. "After all, who wouldn't want the Hero of Gensoko to help us defend the Wall?"
"Well if you say it that way," she laughs into her hand, steam coming off her face. Jon looks at Sam, both of them starting to doubt the veracity of her claims. "Hey, is your Uncle getting left behind?"
"Wha- Oh." Jon looks back and sees his Uncle's horse some ways away. "Uncle!" he shouts, "gallop faster or you'll be buried in snow!" With that, he sees the trail of snow kicked up from the horse's run. Jon sighs; it took a custom order to allow his Uncle to ride a horse because as Lady Ran puts it: "riding a horse is a complex process." If I need to change his tag every time, how much good can he be in a fight? he wonders.
"How is the clime in your part of the world then?" asks the Lord Commander as they pass by a few weirwoods. They're near where Sam and Jon took their vows. "Is it like the South where they get some snow?"
"Gensokyo is located a bit to the North," answers Lady Reimu's floating red-and-white ball, another bizarre artefact that makes Jon thinks the true hero here is the fox sorcerer. "Though we never have unstable seasons like what you have in Westeros. Ours is divided into four but they fit into a year and last only a few months. Where we came from, a single season lasts approximately three months."
"Three months?" Sam exclaims. "That… That sounds like paradise!"
"So no years-long Winter there?" asks Jon, now curious on where in the world such a thing could be possible. "Is there even snow?"
"There are. It was autumn when we were transported here," says Lady Ran's voice.
"No need for a maester to track the seasons," Sam realises.
"And no fear of food shortages," says the Lord Commander before pointing to his left. There, Ghost stands beneath the carved face of a weirwood, sniffing all around it. Even Jon can smell the old earth beneath the snow. "That's where you made your vows, correct?"
"Yes, Lord Commander, and the place should be near here. Ghost, remember where it is, boy?"
The direwolf wags its tail in silent confirmation before running off due East. The sun is setting so they must be quick. Following the deep tracks, they finally enter the clearing where they found the bodies. Jon descends from his horse and quickly sinks up to his knees; Lady Reimu tries her best to hold her laughter. Cheater, he thinks before moving to his Uncle and pulling him down as well.
He replaces the riding tag with the one used during the yard fight, the neutral one if he remembers the term correctly. Benjen's eyes flicker violently before locking onto Jon; they're not kind. "Why…?"
"Sorry Uncle," Jon gulps and backs away, "but we need your help."
"First Ranger Benjen Stark," the Lord Commander calls out from his horse, making the walking corpse turn his head. "Welcome back to the Night's Watch. We sorely missed you," he smiles. "I must apologise for waking your eternal rest but we have problems festering Beyond-the-Wall. I assume that you remember where you died? Or at least where you were brought from?"
The corpse doesn't respond, instead offering a cold glare to both Jon and the Lord Commander. A grumble escapes his mouth as he turns and trudges through the snow further East. "Follow him," the Lord commands, "and prepare the torches, boys. It's getting dark out and I don't want shadowcats ambushing us."
Lady Reimu seats herself on her Uncle's horse as the five continue their trek deeper into the forest. Jon lights his torch and set aflame Sam's, keeping an eye out on the treeline. Ghost appears from the dark, sniffing at the walking Benjen. A sharp scent of sweet rot assaults Jon's nose, no doubt from his Uncle. Maybe we could mask it with perfumes, he thinks. But would that be right? What kind of Brother of the Night's Watch- what kind of men dress themselves in perfumes? Even the Others will mock him for that. Jon intends to keep his Uncle's good name.
"Have you heard the reports from Shadow Tower?" asks the Lord Commander, breaking the deafening silence of the forest.
"T-The Wildlings," Sam shivers in the cold. The sun has set beneath the horizon now, leaving only a reddish glow in the East. "A messenger said that empty camps were found along the Wall."
"When I last went there, that place was full of women and children," the Lord Commander huffs, a grim look hanging on his face. "Wildlings may be savages, but they're not stupid. They wouldn't leave their homes of generations if it were not for something important. Which leads me to two possible reasons. Tell me, have any of you heard of Mance Rayder?"
Jon did from a story Uncle Benjen once told. "A Brother of the Night's Watch at Shadow Tower, right?"
"Was a brother, that damned turncloak," the Lord Commander spits into the snow. "Half a wildling that one, so no surprise when he escaped the Wall to join them. A Wildling hostage said that Mance is gathering men up in the Frostfangs, that large fires have been sighted elsewhere in the West and East. And reports of large footprints…"
"A ranging," Jon suggests. "We could make one to find out their plans."
"Aye, and strip the Wall of a third of its forces. No, we shall wait for your half-brother's promise. Lord Stark should be sending men up North pretty soon," he sighs. "At least someone South of here knows our plight."
"What's the second reason?"
A cold look set on the Lord Commander's face. "I think you already know the answer, boy."
Jon keeps his lit torch close to him, its warmth a welcome comfort in the haunted forest. But looking out now, he truly understands why it has been called that. The flame's flickering casts queer shadows in the woods, tricking his eyes with human silhouettes. And the silence, Jon notes, hearing nothing more than his breath and their footsteps. Why are there no animals so late at night?
The five continue their trek following Uncle Benjen's path. At least, that is until Sam stops and whispers: "there's a body."
They stop in their tracks with Jon blocking his Uncle's path. "Where?" asks the Lord Commander.
Sam brings his torch up to a column of pine trees. There, in a dip of snow and dirt, a fur-covered corpse lies with its face obscured. Jon can't tell if it's a wight, a Jiang-Shi, or just a body. "Alright," says Lady Reimu, floating off the horse. "I'll-"
The Lord Commander stops her. "No need for a Lady to do this work; Snow and I will take care of it."
She gives him a dirty look. "I've done exterminations ever since I was five, Jeor Mormont. I can handle a corpse."
"No worries, Lady Reimu," Jon says as he pulls out the bundle of magical paper tags. "I need to practice magic as well, so just intervene if it goes sour."
"It will NOT go sour, boy," the Lord Commander growls as he wraps his greatsword with a length of cloth. He then grabs Jon's torch and set his sword alight, a perfect weapon against a wight. "Let's see what we're dealing with."
Lady Reimu grumbles before seating herself back on the saddle. "Suit yourself."
The two slowly approach the corpse as Sam and Benjen stay well behind, looking out for other bodies. Ghost pads up to it, sniffing and biting the exposed hand; it does not move. And its skin is blue, just like frostbite. But then again, Uncle's skin is grey…
At sword's reach, the Lord Commander stabs the corpse's neck with his burning sword. But the body doesn't burn nor move, instead it lays dead still on the snow. With that confirmation, Jon quickly places the many paper seals all over the body: arms, legs, hands, head, and torso. By the time he's done, nearly half of his paper stack has run out. Lady Reimu said that the effect is weaker due to me not being adept in magic, he frowns, so I must compensate. With a nod from the Lord Commander, he flips the body over.
The smell doesn't hit as hard as the sight. The corpse's face is all torn up, most likely chewed by some animal. The same can be said of its torso, guts spilling out with worms and maggots crawling in its half-frozen blood. Jon puts a hand over his mouth trying not to gag, commanding Ghost to stay still and not eat the viscera. "Not a walking corpse," he chuckles.
"Not yet. Cut up the body so that the wild can eat it, boy; we have no time to burn this."
"Cu- Do we have to?"
The Lord Commander raises his brow before sighing. "Snow," he grabs the boy's shoulder, "you are a Brother of the Night's Watch, or have you forgotten that? Did seeing this dead body make you want to throw your lunch out? Makes you want to turn back on your duties, the one you have volunteered and sworn to do until death?"
"N-No."
"Then cut this body up, boy! Cravens die and no Stark I know is a craven. Your uncle wasn't, your father isn't, and even your brother wishes to march South and save his mother. I do NOT want you to be a disappointment. Here," he pulls Longclaw out of Jon's scabbard and places it in his hand. "Valyrian steel cuts through bone like butter, so use it. Tarly!" he shouts, "help your fellow brother in disposing the body. I'll keep a lookout."
Jon holds the sword in his hand, so light that it feels almost wrong to wield. Sam approaches with a worried look. "You don't have to cut," Jon assures his friend. "Just drag the parts away from here, alright?"
Taking a deep breath, Jon makes the first cut by decapitating the head. The Old Bear was right, Valyrian steel cuts through flesh like water. Not much blood spills out, most of it frozen from the cold. As Sam drags the part away, Jon goes cutting apart the rest of it. But as he's engaging this morbid task, a sour thought fills his head.
Robb.
Jon always loved his half-siblings like they're his own, yet sometimes he can't help but be in the shadow of Robb. Now Lord Stark, he frowns, lobbing off the limbs. Even here they still compare me to him. He's got father's looks, love of the girls, and now Winterfell. But not that good with a sword, he smirks. I'll be a Lord Commander in the future, and then everyone will acknowledge my deeds. I'll return to Winterfell with men and full honours, you'll see. "Right," he huffs, looking at the pieces strewn about. "Ghost, help me out here. And by that I don't mean eating it."
The stink of the viscera sticks to Longclaw and his clothes; he'll have to clean this out thoroughly if he's to sleep well tonight. Sam vomits and Jon pats his back, but the smell from his gloves may have caused him to vomit some more. After wiping down Longclaw with some snow and leaves, the two return to the horses where the Lord Commander converses with Lady Reimu. "Done?"
"Done," Jon answers, taking back his torch. "Are we continuing on?"
"No, I think this is enough for the day," the Lord commander huffs. "Not good to stay so late Beyond-the-Wall now. Though, Lady Ran requested us to stay put so that she may do… What did you call it again?"
"Leyline imaging and barrier measurements," says the floating orb. Some of those words sound normal to Jon's ears. "The Hakurei orb is a great tool for spiritual and magical probing, if you know how to use it."
"Hey, the orbs are better as bludgeons," Lady Reimu pouts.
"Best to put Benjen on the horse now," says the Lord Commander. "Once she's done we're departing."
Jon swaps the tag on his Uncle and straps him to the horse; Lady Reimu floats off with no complaints, though she does pull out a small bottle from her pack. Knowing her, he frowns. "Really?"
"It's getting dark," she says, gulping down the wineskin. "Besides, not much to do so late in the day. Best to spend it eating, relaxing, read a book or two, and sleeping."
"…Right." For you maybe, he sighs. "Ghost," he calls out, "come back, we're leaving soon."
But the direwolf stands tall looking deep into the forest, ears perked and tail stiff as a mast. Goosebumps raise up his arms as a familiar rotted scent enters his nose. "Wights!" he shouts, alerting the others.
"Where, boy?"
"I-I don't know but they're near," Jon replies, pulling out Longclaw from his shoulder scabbard. He shines the torchlight all around him, peering into the forest for any of the dead. But instead he just sees a group of animals prowling the area, a few deers here and there, a small boar, and… Blue eyes, shining brightly in the night. "Dead animals walking!"
"Lady Ran, how much longer?"
"Not much longer so please wait warmly."
"Great, time to go to work," Lady Reimu says coolly, pulling out long needles from her pack. "Shouldn't have drunk that wine."
"You think? Tarly, protect the horses," the Lord commands, tying up more cloth to his sword before lighting it up. "When we're running back, blow that bloody horn three times, you hear!?"
"Y-Yes!"
Jon grips his sword tightly, his other hand holding the torch while his heart thumps hard against his chest. Ghost goes to his side, baring his teeth and ready to strike. I'll show you, Lord Commander, he assures himself, that I'm worthy of that position, that Robb can't hold a candle to my swordplay!
A beast with spotted fur bursts from the undergrowth, its belly empty and torn open. But before it could pounce, the Lord Commander strikes it with his burning sword and set it aflame, ceasing its unnatural life. "Bloody hells that worked!" he laughs. "Seems your account is truthful, Snow."
A small boar charges out of the dark but Jon manages to dodge it before Ghost pins it down. A single hit with the torch set it aflame. "As fragile as tinder," says the floating orb, "fascinating." Another shadowcat appears from the bushes but Lady Reimu's needles stop its movement, allowing Jon to hack it to pieces with Longclaw. "So not only humans become wights but also thaaaaAAA-" The orb flies past Jon's ear before smashing a nearby wolf to bits.
"Damn," he whispers, watching the ball bounce around in the forest and killing more of those things. But as soon as he's about to help the Lord Commander, a dark shape knocks him down and bites deep into his left shoulder. He cries out in pain as ice-cold claws dig into his back, pinning his face into the snow. Luckily Ghost is quick to move and wrestles it off of him.
Jon touches the wound and sees his hand drenched in blood. My blood, he gulps. I'm not going to die here! Though moving that arm shoots bolts of pain through him, he sets the dead wolf alight all the same. Ghost rips off its frozen tongue, quickly swallowing it down. "Shit, how many more are-"
Then comes the sudden snapping of branches. From the sound of its steps, something larger than a shadowcat is coming close. Jon readies his torch but his spirit dampens upon seeing the beast. Slowly walking out the darkness is a massive elk near twice as tall as he is with antlers that could rip open a giant. A wolf pelt is tied around its neck, written on it strange symbols like worms on a corpse. And to Jon's horror, its eyes don't have that icy blue stare. "Jangsi…"
"Snow! We're running back!" shouts the Lord Commander as he leaps onto his horse. "Lady Reimu, find a path for us!"
"On it!" she says before flying high into the sky.
Jon quickly clambers back onto his horse as the elk begins to move. "Ghost, follow her!" he commands, prompting the direwolf to run ahead of the group.
They race towards the Wall following the direwolf through trees and thickets. Smaller beasts try to stop them but they're either run over or cut down with swords, crunching their bodies under the snow. No, their main threat lies in the crashing footsteps behind them, the elk giving chase. As Jon tries to stop the bleeding Sam blows the horn, its sound more like the dying bleats of a deer. Three blows mean the Others, he remembers, wincing as jolts of pain rush up his arm.
Soon they burst out of the forest and fire arrows rain down from the Wall. The wights catch fire but the elk shrugs them off; with no trees in the way, the beast is slowly gaining speed. Jon turns back and sees it plowing through the thick snow. A Jangsi's strength is nothing to scoff at, and Lady Reimu is already back at the Wall. So he spurs his horse even harder, causing it to whine and run faster to the open gate.
And in the nick of time as well because as soon as he enters, the gate slams down and the beast rams against it. The sheer sound of the impact nearly topples him from his horse, and he can even hear the ice tunnel groan and crack under the pressure. They quickly rush out and close another set of gates, fearing that the beast will come through. Though some brothers have taken swords and spears, he feels that it'll be mere toothpicks against it.
Then…
…
…
Nothing.
Not another hit, no stomping against the gate. Just… Silence.
A guard winches himself down from the Wall, reporting that the beast ran off after the first hit. As all the men sigh in relief, Jon can only groan in pain.
There'll be more nights like this.