Toregg

For twenty five years he had hunted in these woods, and not even in his earliest memories he could remember the game being so plentiful, nor could he recall the Free Folk living so calmly. 'The dead frighten men and beast alike.'

So when Snow emerged from the cave, demanding they follow him back west, Toregg the Tall could understand the reticence of his people.

"You want us to leave a land without the dead? To meet Rattleshirt? To hell with that, crow." Ryk said. And he was not alone, not only the elders and children supported him, but a good chunk of the warriors thought the same.

"It's the Magnar I need," Snow responded, he then turned to the rest of the people. "And I'll need your help, not only to get to him, but for what comes after."

"What is that?" Someone from the crowd had asked.

"The fight against the dead."

Toregg had to laugh. "I knew you liked cutting 'em down."

"Keeps you in shape."

"And tell us," his father asked him. "Why keep fighting? We reached the Children and they seem to have 'em in check. We'll give 'em offering so they let us stay."

He never though his father a coward, and he knew he'd fight to the death if it came to that. But after almost losing Dryn in the attack, and with Torwynd barely recovering in this place, he had grown… cautious.

"Why? As it happens, Giantsbane, the moment I leave with my ring, they won't have the strength to keep the girdle up."

'Of course it comes back to the ring.'

"Besides, you don't have what they want. I mean to go to the Valley of Thenn to get it, and I once I do, we'll all go south. Behind the Wall."

Snow then told them of his plan, to please the Children and get their help, and then to cross the Wall. It took some convincing to get enough of the warriors to agree, but when they reached enough numbers the rest had no choice but to follow, none wanted to stay behind without protection.

The eldest son of the Giantsbane supported the crow every step of the way. He'd already made his decision days ago. To follow Snow was to enter into the songs and legends, Toregg would be dammed if he lost that chance.

So he commanded the scouts as they walked back the leagues of the Haunted Forest and without a corpse in sight for days the host found their balls and made a far better time.

'I should take Dormund with me tomorrow.'

He was returning from his last patrol, nothing new as always, when he spotted a white shape in the bushes. As he came closer the direwolf raised his head, but made no move to stop him.

Snow was sitting in the ground, one arm resting in a raised knee, facing a hawk as it ate some meat, it was clear he had feed it. His eyes were closed and he remained unnaturally still.

He knew his fair share of skinchangers, but he never witness them taking a new skin. The man just sat there, unnaturally still, and he keep waiting for something, for his body to slump into the ground or for the hawk to watch him with knowing eyes. The bird just flew away.

"Toregg," Snow greeted him.

"Couldn't tame that hawk?"

"It's a process. I could try to take it quickly, but I'd only have one chance. I'd rather not risk it with such specimen." He explained.

He stood up then, brushing the snow off his cloak, it was made of simple grey wool, but the rest of his clothes were still black. From his boots to his armor.

"Care for a spar?"

Toregg snorted and pointed at the sword in Snow's hip. "I'm not interested in ruining more weapons. We can practice with axes."

Snow had lost his magic sword in the attack, but apparently the Children gave him a fancier one. 'Only he would come back from a cave with a sword of gold and gems. And a weirwood bow besides.'

The man accepted his conditions, and they fought with one handed axes. Toregg was stronger and had more reach, but Snow was faster and he danced around him, and he didn't lack stamina.

'It's obvious he's been taught since we could walk.' Toregg thought as his opponent did a fancy strike twisting the stone axe around.

But Toregg had not survived so long without a trick or two. He tossed the axe at Snow, making sure the shaff would hit him instead of the head, and rushed at him intent of tossing in the ground. Snow ducked and rushed him as well, they almost butted heads and called it a day.

The next morning he mounted his horse and set out to scout. The forest had grown quieter as they put distance between them and the land of the Children.

Not half an hour had passed when he suddenly heard horses in the distance. Normally he'd find a place to hide and observe, but the days of the Free Folk fighting each other were behind them. 'I hope so anyway.'

He still took out his great axe, more maul than blade, before calling out. "Who goes there?!"

His two companions advanced warily alongside him, soon enough a voice responded. "Watchers from the host!"

They keep riding until two riders emerged, one of them wore a scaled bronze armor.

"Best call Snow."

Jon

The camp they entered was identical to the one he had found in the Frostfangs, men making weapons, children playing and even some giants lounging around. Only far smaller.

Their welcome had not been hostile, but it hadn't been warm either. Jon could sense the tension in the people as they made their way to center of the camp, to the Magnar and Rattleshirt. 'Do they expect a duel between them and Tormund?'

He and Toregg were beside him, alongside a couple of the most loyal warriors, he didn't intent to defy them through arms, but an army with too many commanders was unwieldy, the Free Folk would know that just as well as Jon.

They arrived at the same time as Rattleshirt, the Magnar, tall and earless, was already waiting by the bonfire.

"Tormund, and his pet crow," The Lord of Bones said. "Thought you were dead. Were you fucking him for a month?"

Tormund growled but Jon ignored him. "Any news of Mance?"

"After the dead attacked us the crows were not far behind," the Magnar Styr responded. "They charged us, all mounted. What order Mance established broke and we haven't seen him since," he walked closer to Jon and spoke in a low, dangerous voice. "I don't remember you mentioning your flock of crows."

"Three hundred men ahorse. Did you all really not noticed them?" Brynden had come up with the lie. "I thought Mance knew already, hard to miss them really."

"You mock us, crow?" said Rattleshirt.

"I'm standing here and not back in the Wall. Am I not?" Jon barreled forward, not giving them time. "At any rate, I have a plan to get behind it, and I'll need your help. The Thenns' specifically."

The Magnar raised an eyebrow at that, but Rattleshirt spoke again. "Haven't heard a word from you Giantsbane, does this crow speak for you now?"

"We're behind him in this matter."

"And what would that be?"

"The fight against the death," Jon said, they may support him, but it was up to him to win over the other chiefs. "I know why the White Walkers attacked that night, and we found the Children of the Forest. We need to get something for them, so they may help us."

Silence was the response he got, until Sigorn, Styr's son, laughed loudly. "Did you went mad in some blizzard?"

"It's true, every word," Tormund intervened. "We got away thanks to the Children, they made the Milkwater slower so we could cross. Then we arrived to their lands, the dead couldn't walk there, all of our people will tell you the same."

The rest of his company agreed, adding some detail or another, and Jon could see doubt beginning to creep in the faces of the warlords. 'Men who fight corpses don't remain skeptical.'

He made sure Ghost was nearby as he tugged at the chain the Children gave him, he now wore the ring as a necklace. Part of him was annoyed at having to use it to prove his claims, the other was weary of their reactions. 'If one of them is a warg blood will be spilled.'

Jon shown them the ring, and they did not react. "The Others want this. It's why they hit us in force. And as soon I put it on, they'll come."

"Why would they want some little piece of gold?"

"Why? Magnar," Jon responded, feeling strangely insulted. "If you were a warg we'd be dueling for it by now. It has power only those with the gift can perceive. Power the enemy covets, and I intent to use that against them."

"Fight the Cold Gods? You've gone mad, crow." Styr said, shaking his earless head.

"They are not gods," Jon responded, and repeated Brynden's words. "For years they attacked you, aye, but it was never like that night. They probed you, deprived you of food and took those who fall behind. That night they charged," he looked from the Magnar to his son, to Rattleshirt and to each of the petty chiefs that followed them. "They desire my ring, and they desire the power that hides in the Valley of Thenn. Now that we know what they want, we can set a trap."

Silence was the response, the faces of the chiefs were a mix of disbelief and, to Jon's relief, curiosity, and even some excitement.

"We left our sacred land, because we couldn't fight 'em, if you want to…"

"Enough of this!" Rattleshirt yelled. "Fighting the Walkers? The Children of the Forest? Fucking magic rings? Lies all of it! The crow means for us to die far north, so we wouldn't take his Wall. Mance never trusted him! And if…"

Jon grew weary of the wilding, and he turned to look at the camp. It was somewhat more organized than he expected, and rudimentary defenses were being constructed. He could see the Fist of the First Men some distance away. 'I'll make do.'

He put the ring around his left index finger and entered into the unseen. Jon felt a small smile forming in his mouth at the gaping mouths of the wildlings. He walked as stealthy as he could and stood behind his opponents. He saw smugness in Toregg's face and relief in Tormund's. 'I suppose some doubt remained in him.'

Jon sat in a rock some meters behind from Rattleshirt, the warlord was turning left and right, his face had grown pale. As satisfactory as the sight was for him, Jon knew it couldn't last, he'd been extremely careful to not turn his mind outwards, but already he felt a pull from the north. Jon took off the ring and materialized.

"I hope that was enough for the lot of you!" He called, the chiefs and captains and common warriors turning at his voice. "It was certainly enough for the Cold Shadows, they will come, and we must be ready."

The camp moved slightly, as to hug the ford they'd used to cross the Milkwater, Jon would take the mist form the river over being surrounded any day. 'They can call their own mist anyway.'

They devised a three layer defense, sharpened stakes were put in the ground and trenches were dug, but not in a continuous line, they weren't there to stop the wights, but to funnel them. Those constructions continued to the Haunted Forest, which was fortunately close by, trying to maintain a route to their other source of food.

"Shouldn't we make the camp at the Fist? I know it's not big enough for the army, but if we get the children and the old there…"

"You won't have the time," said Brynden. "You'll surely have to use the ring to convince them, and from then on, the Others will hunt you."

"A few hours then? That's not enough to fortify the camp. They won't resist."

"Two days," he responded. "When you found the ring you accomplished something not done in millennia. You scared them. Normally they'd be content to slowly kill the wildlings with a thousand cuts, but they desire the ring, though I imagine they'll be more cautious this time. The first night they'll scout your position, but in the second or third they'll pounce."

"Still, to use them as distraction…" It left a sour taste in Jon's mouth.

Bloodraven chuckled. "I assure you, your task shall be the most perilous one. That should satisfy you, no?"

When nigh fell Jon lead a group of watchers to the forest, Ghost could smell decay and frost. A group of four, all with horses, but only to get to the dead. Their host had barely more than thirty mounts, and risk them so soon would be folly.

They dismounted when they got close to the white wolf, and left a man to guard the mounts. Jon unsheathed Dark Sister, the black metal as dark as the night sky, and walked forward.

He heard some sounds and quickly slipped in Ghost's skin. The nose of the direwiolf thousands of times more potent, and he knew the position of their foes.

About seven wights came from behind the trees, the three of them separated, hoping to split the dead in smaller groups, but five still attacked Jon. 'Of course.'

The two in better shape reached him first and tried to bury a sword and a club in his head. He jumped backwards and to the side, evading the club entirely and passing dangerously close to the sword, feeling the wind rushing on one side of his face. Jon brought down Dark Sister and the arm of the wight fell to the ground, as if he was cutting wheat instead of flesh and bone.

He couldn't do more as the other corpses attacked him as well, with axes or barehanded, and Jon had to give more ground. Already he could hear the scared horses some distance away. 'Can't let them surround me, I need a distraction.'

Ghost leap on the one armed wight then, dragging it through the ground and away from his companion, but the rest of the dead didn't even looked hi way.

With a growl of frustration Jon ran to side, rolling in the ground to evade an axe, and separated the upper chest of the wight from the rest of his body. The other corpses weren't so slow and already he saw a club coming down his face.

Jon ducked and jumped to side, only to duck again when another axe tried to embed itself on his chest. He remembered the words of Leaf, the Child of the Forest, when they had a spar in their cave.

"Always move, like the wind never ceases, you must never be still."

She had danced around him, and Jon felt like he was trying to hit a bird flying around him.

"It's called the wood dance, we move as one with the world."

Jon did his best to mimic their moves, but the Children were inherently graceful and quick, qualities he couldn't match. 'They wight are not.'

He evaded the slow and heavy club, and danced around the wight trying to grab him bare handed. His feet were never still, and he tried to be as fluid as possible, letting the momentum of the previous movement carry him to the next.

But try as he might he could not hit his enemies, as each time he brought up his sword a new attack came his way, forcing him to dodge again.

Jon feared the wights would exhaust him enough to kill him when a great spear hit a corpse sideways, making it fall. He didn't waste the opening, cutting a wight in half with a smooth arc of his blade, he then ducked under an axe blow and severed the corpse from hip to shoulder.

The earless figure of Styr stood over still moving wight, he finished off his opponent and looked at Jon, examining him for a moment and then gave a short nod.

Even after his demonstration the Magnar had wanted answers.

"The Weeper is south from here, with a few hundred who are mostly warriors," Jon had told them after his stunt with the ring. "He'll come here to cross the Milkwater and will help you resist the attack." There was a big, black raven in his shoulder and the Free Folk knew what that meant, so none questioned him as to how he had the information.

"Useless, even if he had the rest of Mance's army. They'll kill us," Rattleshirt complained.

"The Others will follow me when they learn I'm gone."

The Magnar shove Rattleshirt to the side, bones rattling against bronze, and faced Jon. "You want to go to the sacred valley, our valley, and in a raid besides. Anything found there should be mine by rights."

'If you found it yourself instead of running.' He thought.

"With the artifact the Children shall help us, and we'll get south." He said instead.

"Another ring?"

"Perhaps," Jon was growing restless, each moment they dallied was a moment the wights used to get closer. "If after we get it the Children let us keep it, it'll be yours." He lied.

Styr only grunted. "I've seen your magic ring, but I'll need to see the strength of your arm to help in this madness."

And now he had seen it.

There were sporadic attacks throughout the night, but nothing major. When the sun rose the Free Folk continued to prepare the defenses and the raiding parties that would go north were assembled.

Jon, Toregg, Derren, a warrior that had followed them to the cave and back, one of Rattleshirts lieutenants, and the Magnar with his son, each would command thirty men. Almost two hundred in total, few enough to traverse the land with speed and numerous enough to make a breakthrough, including almost a hundred of the Thenns. Jon had also asked for wargs to scout ahead and some Nightrunner warriors, as they'd fight without the sun.

When he asked why the Magnar and his heir would both risk such a raid, Sigorn had snorted. "To not go would be cowardly." Jon just shrugged at that, and the lordly family left a cousin in charge of the rest of their people.

'They're not so different from the lords I knew.'

The rest of the day had passed in a deceptive calm, and Jon confirmed his suspicions when a black crow flew above him, shrieking. "Two! Two!"

It was the agreed upon signal, two for this day and three for the next, Brynden had spotted the enemy. The sun was almost gone when he brought his horn to his lips and blew.

Jon heard horns answering him and the camp stirred, men took their positions behind stakes and trenches, and began to light the bonfires. He could see the difference between the men that followed him to the cave and those who hadn't, the former were swift to prepare while the latter dallied.

"Magic is almost as useful to awe the men as it is to kill them." Bloodraven told him.

Considering how the defense of Mance's camp went, Jon would take this as a victory. He was going to the designated place with his horse when he passed a group of elders and children with their mothers, they would all be in the center of the camp to prevent casualties.

One of the children drew his attention, he was small, perhaps five or six, and the thinnest child Jon had ever seen. His skin stretched over his bones, almost without any muscle between, and he could count those bones if he tried.

'Was he one of our people?' He didn't think so, but then, he could hardly know three thousand souls in some weeks.

The Free Folk shared food, despite their deeply individualistic life, or maybe because of it, but only the necessary to survive, any more would be the work of the hunter of each family, and it was clear this boy didn't have one to feed him. Jon wondered what happened to them, if they died fighting against the dead, against the cold or against the crows. 'Did Mormont's attacked make him an orphan? Condemn to starve?'

Even in the travel to the cave Jon didn't lack food, Ghost hunted enough for the both of them, and now he reflected that the worse hunger he felt was when his father sent him to bed without supper. When Jon was his age he would train with wooden swords besides Robb and learn to read with the stories of the Young Dragon, and this boy was looking for worms to eat.

He approached him, his eyes were looking ahead without watching, and he was aged beyond his years, tragedy made the work time had not. Jon took out one of the roots the Children gave him, white as weirwood, it'd allow a man to go a day without eating.

'Brynden was clear. If I fail because I didn't have food for one more day thousands, hundreds of thousands of children like him will die.'

"What is your name?" Jon asked.

The boy was startled and only answered after a few seconds. "Horun."

"Take this." He gave him the root and walked away.

When he arrived with the rest of the riders night already fell, they were between the first and second line of defense, ready to support whatever section looked weakest. As Jon prepared his weapons and helped with the fire he could feel the fear growing.

'Brynden said the Others themselves won't attack, calm yourself.' But the Greenseer didn't know everything, especially when the ring was concerned.

Jon took a deep breath. 'Remember why you are here. The realm is in grave danger, you've put each person here in harm's way. It's why you're doing this. Why…'

He was sitting in front of Bloodraven, they had finished their training for the day, and a question burned in Jon's mind.

"Tell me, the green you speak of…" He began, uncertain.

"Yes?"

"It lets you look into the past. Right?" The Greenseer was silent, only looking at Jon with a raised eyebrow, somehow he felt Bloodraven already knew what he'd ask.

"…. Could you look for a specific person?"

"If I cared to. Who is it you would see? His voice had the barest hint of amusement.

Jon pursed his lips in frustration. "My mother. I want you to show her to me." He snapped.

"Why? As it happens, Jon Snow, I know precisely who your mother is. I watched your birth, after all."

Jon had a bad felling about this. "But?"

"I won't tell you about her. Not yet."

He almost screamed, it was the same story his father told him, each and every time he asked. "Why? What is so important that you'd hide it from me?" he wasn't sure for whom he spoke those words.

Brynden Rivers laughed aloud. "It would distract you from this task Jon Snow. But don't despair, for I will tell you when you come back. Think of it as your reward." His smile was nasty. "I promise".

Jon let out a sound between a chuckle and a sob. Even here and now, even after facing death, he still chased the answer.