SOME POOR FOOL

A few rough shoves, a nice kick or two. That was what Varik awoke to that morning. Considering what he dreamed of that night for the thousandth time, he embraced it, as callous as the gesture was. Once upon a time a decade or two ago when he was only a stupid boy he would awake roughly whenever he felt like it, perhaps go trapping or hunting with Morlaf and Bjorran, gather firewood for the small tribe he had belonged to with them and his father. His mother of course had died birthing him, but honestly that was something he came to realize was not so bad, compared to how else it might have been had she lived. No, that much he knew for fact, saw every night in his sleep.

It was the same every time, starting happily enough, that shining orange sun of four years past glaring in his eyes as he trod back towards the camp, a nice fat hare slung across his back. In his dream he was not the half-starved man he was today, but a gangly boy well on his way to adulthood. Yet the camp was empty every time he came back. Uncountable sleeps had he walked this same vision, and still he was shocked and confused every time. That was probably the worst of it, to be true. Not a soul to be found, not father or Morlaf or Bjorran, nor any of the others, not the chieftain either. Even the bloody dogs had vanished.

Next came the haunting part, what he knew to be truth from the jumbled, broken recollections he held to by day.

Faster than was natural, the sun slipped away, drowning in a sudden black that slid into the sky and ate the stars, clamping down on the warmth and life like the jaws of a beast. Cold too he remembered, for since then he had never felt cold like that, not even when frostbite stole two of his fingers. Creeping and crawling, frigid fingers stole his breath and seared his lungs. Every time his younger self dropped the hare and drew his dagger, gripped tight in fingers white as bone, even with his gloves of doeskin.

Stupid boy.

Compelled by some madness he crept forward, tensing with honed-instinct as the night surrounded him, watching with mocking disdain for this pitiful mortal in its midst. Hissing like steam and crackling like frost echoed from the brooding sentinel trees, a cacophony that pierced his ears. That was about when he pissed himself, a warm trickle down his leg that turned to frost in seconds. He did not blame himself for that, not when they finally revealed themselves from the haunted forest, drifting forth like a mirage.

Cold and dead, every last one, except they wore the faces of loved ones. Morlaf and Bjorran, faces usually alight with laughter now blank. Viri, the pretty girl with hair like raven-feathers who was his first fuck about a year before. Father, whose eyes had shone with pride when his son had made his first kill of an elk, now like all the rest. Ice blue eyes, like sapphires, where before had been brown and green and grey. They seemed to shine in the night, but nothing like their master.

It was seated on a dead horse, flesh as pale as milk, its eyes like azure stars. It stared at him, stared and hated, looking upon him like a man looks upon a particularly disgusting insect.

One black finger it raised, pointed at him straight as an arrow. Wordlessly his fallen kin moved forward, silent as the grave they belonged in. From then until he finally awoke was unclear, a jumble of pounding feet and a thumping heart, trees rushing past him as he raced towards some clearing, away from Winter itself. Louder and louder his breath would sound in his ears, heightening into a tempest scream until finally he was pulled back into the waking world.

That was where Varik found himself as always, blurry vision rapidly crystallizing into clarity. Directly above him was the top of his small tent, an old and familiar sight. He knew every line and stitch on the thing, having stared at it on many a night where he simply did not have the bravery to confront the dream yet again. It was adorned here and there with bone-charms, trinkets and the like. Mementos from years of wandering. As close as he had to home, really.

Pulling his eyes down from it, he came to behold the pale face that intruded within his makeshift chambers. It was a beautiful face, high cheekbones and eyes of pale grey. Over one shoulder hung a braid of honey-gold hair, that caught the early morning light like polished gold. She was ravishing, to be certain. It contrasted greatly to what came out of her dainty mouth, in fact.

"Move your lazy arse, Varik. We're leaving soon as we've eaten, before the Crows have a chance to track us down."

He rolled his eyes at her.

"Gods, Val, did Mance name you Queen when we wasn't lookin'?"

She tried to mask it with a grimace, but he saw how the corners of her mouth turned up at his jest as pulled out of his tent. It was charming, especially on a face like hers. Her fine teats didn't hurt either. If Jarl wasn't likely to rip him in two for it, he liked to think he would have tried to steal her a while ago. That is, if she didn't just kill him in the process, which was certainly a likely possibility too. All the same, it was time to rouse, so he rose, following her into the glow of the morn. It was cold as always, and there was no doubt that winter was here, at least beyond the Wall.

A small fire sputtered in the middle of their campsite, and a nice fat hare roast indeed roast on a spit above it, tended by another figure swaddled in thick furs. Her hair was fire-kissed, like copper, though her face was more round than the sharp features of Val. When she looked up to regard him, she grinned and waved him over. As he sat before the blessed warmth, she took the steaming carcass off the spit, carving a large piece off before handing it to him and Val.

"Finally woke up, did you Varik? About bloody time!"

He did not dignify that with an eye roll.

"Morning to you too, Ygritte."

They ate in relative silence, as they had run out of things to say after three moons out scouting for Mance. There had been another man in their group, that stupid boy Holger, but they had sent him back to Mance to report on what they found when they ran into a Crow patrol. It had been close, but they managed to avoid the fuckers. All the same, Mance needed to know that the Crows were active this far away from their fancy palace south of the Wall. So, now it was just him and the two women. Most men would laugh and call him lucky, but truth be told this journey made him damned uneasy. By now everyone had heard the rumors on top of the fact of the White Walkers return. Green lights spotted in caves, people disappearing, horrific cruel traps set in odd places, like some bastard was playing a sick game with his folk.

In short, it was the last thing Mance needed right now, and they were to find out what it was. They had been following some tracks for days now, the strangest tracks he'd ever seen in all his years in the depths of the wild. They were like those a rabbit or a shrew might mike, but huge, close in size to those of a wolf or even a man. It was the strangest thing. Usually such tracks would be long since blown away, but these had not.

Almost like they were meant to be followed.

He shuddered at that thought, even as he knew there was no alternative. They had to discover the truth, or all of Mance's years of preparation would be for naught. And they had to get over the Wall. There was no other choice.

Thus fortified, he rose with the other two and help in packing the camp, strapping his meagre possessions to his person as they prepared to move out once more. He took the lead, as he was the best tracker of all of them, Ygritte and Val walked closely behind him, making idle chatter as they meandered through the silent morning forest. Finally, beside a frozen stream, he jabbed his spear in the frozen dirt and knelt before the tracks once more, and was immediately struck by what he saw.

They were fresh, but what's more was they were fresher than they had been the day before. Like someone had come and made the tracks in the same spot once more for their convenience. He turned to tell his companions, but hesitated, not wanting them to get jumpy over what could be a trick of his eyes.

Val noticed, however, one golden eyebrow leaping up.

"Something the matter, Varik?"

He slowly shook his head, and rose to his feet, taking his spear in hand and looking to their north, where the tracks seemed to lead towards some nearby hills.

"Nothing. Just trying to figure out these tracks."

From the look on her face, she clearly did not believe him at all, but could not disprove either way his claim.

So, they made their way up, into rougher country where the trees seemed to grow ever thicker. About the forest pulled closer, brush and branch reaching so close that they were almost like hands trying to grab. All the way the tracks circled, as straight and true as an arrow, even in the most precarious of terrain. Higher they ascended, over rocks and through crevices, and until finally they reached the crest of a hill and halted, all three huddling about a boulder as they gazed down into the small valley.

In the center hill, the highest of them all, yawned a gaping cave, the sort often used for shelter during nasty snow-storms. He strained to see, but spotted no signs of life around the cave, no firepits nor people. Just those tracks, leading directly into the cave. He turned to look at the women, who seemed to be making the same searching he was. Without a word, Val rose from their spot and hurried down the hillside, feet as nimble and certain as a mountain goat. Varik and Ygritte followed closely behind, as splitting up in uncertain territory like this would be damn foolish. Finally they came before the cave, which was lit from somewhere deep within from a sickly green glow.

Just like the rumors.

Val stood in silence, her usually fierce gaze now showing more than a hint of uncertainty and even fear. Finally, she tore her gaze away from the entrance and turned to her companions.

"All right, I imagine this is the place, judging by that queer green light. I'll go in with Varik. Ygritte, keep watch out here, make sure we aren't followed in."

Ygritte nodded, though her face betrayed her own uncertainty, hurrying over to a nearby grove to ensure she would be caught in the open. Val turned to Varik then, raising her spear and gesturing towards the cave.

"Let's go see what has Mance so scared, shall we?"

Brave words, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Inside the cave was rather unremarkable, stone and water and some moss here and there. Like any cave he had ever been. But as they advanced, that changed rather suddenly. They discovered the source of the glow, for all around them the stone was laced with veins of green rock, that seemed to pulse and glimmer with malignant energy. What was more, his hair stood on edge, like before a lightning storm, and he felt almost ill in his belly. Now signs of life were definite, as tools of all kinds were strewn about them. Pickaxes, buckets full of the green stone, and wooden scaffolding appeared. But who could have done it? With the exception of the Thenns, Free Folk did not mine nor smelt, did not know how to, like the kneelers did. And they were far from Thenn territory. Yet here it was, appearing as if out of thin air. Perhaps the Crows? But no, they wouldn't venture this far for ore they could just get easier and safer in the South. Who then? Or what?

That thought made him gulp, and they hurried forward then, Val clearly feeling as uneasy as he. Now the tunnel shortened again, barely wide enough for the two of them. It suddenly twisted and turned, disorienting changes of direction that made him glad there was someone by his side. Faster they moved, though they knew not why, until he and Val were nearly running. Finally she let out a gasp, and pulled him back from the ledge he nearly ran over. As he got his bearings, he saw they stood before a gaping chasm, with the ledge skirting the edge on either side of the entrance they came through. All along the ledge small holes in the rock were, looking decidedly unnatural. Of course, that paled in comparison to what he saw below him, coating the ground of the cavern.

It was an enormous settlement, lit by the same sickly green that illuminated the cave. He had heard stories of the kneeler cities, of their wealth and splendor whispered of around campfires, and he imagined they looked about his big. But for some reason, this one seemed positively alien to him. It twisted and staggered, structures of stone and brick and wood that looked ready to topple, broken mortar and shattered buildings being everywhere. It looked like it had been ravaged by a cataclysm and then rebuilt by some madman, pieces and bits placed wherever convenient rather than wherever practical. He was too far to spot the people, but he could see distant shapes, scurrying and scuttling like vermin about the gnarled shadows of the rotting towers, moving like no people he had ever seen. In the center of the strange city squatted an insane construct of metal and the green rock, which span and bucked like something living. In the heart of the thing, a green light brighter than any others in the city glowed, throwing off an emerald glare that hurt his eyes to look at. But for all that, he was not affected by what he saw nearly as much as what he smelled. Even from here, it was repulsive. Shit, vomit, decay, disease, pestilence. It was putrid and horrific, and by the look on Val's face, she felt the same.

"What by all the Gods…"

That was all he managed to breath, for he had failed to notice the nigh-silent patter of steps, nor the excited pants to his right. So, he found himself with a searing pain in his side, and he whirled to behold who had stabbed himself, only to almost jump back in shock.

It was a rat, he could see that clearly, but it was a fucking rat the size of a man. Its fur was filthy, and it wore only a soiled rag around its groin, and it hunched like an old man. Its maw was filled with sharp, crooked teeth that chattered with fervor even as it recoiled from him, a rusty blade in hand. Above all else, he saw its eyes, that glowed red, a hateful gaze that burned into him even as his wound burned. He staggered forward with his spear, but it recoiled, dodging his stumbling strike. It was not fast enough for Val, however, who had shock on her face even as she sprang forward to bury her axe in the rat-man's hideous brains. It keeled over dead, but their troubled were not nearly over, for suddenly the air was pierced by a thousand screaming shrieks, as the tunnels of the ledge erupted with giant vermin, rat-men like the last brandishing dirty weapons. They all rushed towards them, and he knew he was dead. But Val…

He turned her and pointed towards the entrance.

"Go, right bloody now! Get Ygritte and tell Mance! Right fucking now!"

She looked like she wanted to argue, but reconsidered when she saw the hideous horde surging towards them. Val gave him one last sympathetic look, and was gone, white furs rapidly vanishing down the tunnel.

He turned towards the vermin then, brandishing his spear as menacingly as possible. Surprisingly, it worked, for the cowardly creatures backed away and looked at one another, none wanting to be the first to die. His mind raced, considering something, anything, that would help him escape from this nightmare. That came to an end when a loud crack sounded above the disgusting noises of the rat-men. He felt a sudden blow in his chest, near his lung, and crumpled to the ground in a heap. He felt blood bloom from the wound, spreading red across his furs. Though he was defenceless, the horde stood still, dozens of beady crimson eyes glaring in the dark. Suddenly like a sea they parted, and he heard a clanging of metal on metal. Two rats, black furred and twice as big as any of the others sauntered forward, backs near as straight as a man. They were clad in armour, relatively clean and polished, at least compared to their comrades. Between them walked a smaller rat, with fur as grey as morning fog. It was clad in tattered robes, an ugly patchwork of browns and blacks, and atop its furry head was the skull of some beast, two horns spiralling away like worms. It came over and stooped to him, silent as a crypt as it peered at him through the eye sockets of the skull-helm. As red as the others, its eyes shone nonetheless with a malicious wit, and he saw its filthy mouth curl into a smug smile even as his vision began to blur.

One of the black beasts walked over, and opened its mouth, a voice that was deep and gurgling forcing its way through yellow teeth.

"Your Putridness Seer Skrot, what about the feeemale man-thing? Shall we catch-catch and stab-stab?"

At the idea of being given leave to "stab-stab" the horde chattered with excitement, shrill voices squealing and screeching agreement.

They grey one raised his hand for silence, and they were all silent, like he had stolen their very voices. Gods, was he going mad in his final moments?

It rose, and turned towards its subject rats. Its voice was shrill and harmonious, perverse as the rest of it.

"No, Stormvermin. Not those two. They shall run-run, and tell the other man-things what they saw in our home-home. Let them fear. Let the surface dwellers know what comes for them. Not even the White-Dead-Things will stop us! We shall drown them and strip their flesh with our teeth! We will EAT the SUN! For the Horned RAAAT!"

When the end came, Varik's ears rang with the hideous screams of the hideous rats and the braying laughter of their hideous leader.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What you all have been waiting for, hope it doesn't disappoint :). As always, please review. The Horned Rat demands it!