The little piggy at the Wall…
Samwell
He watched from atop the Wall. On a dark night, you could see for miles and miles over the Haunted Forest. Right now, the fires in the Haunted Forest was a haze of red obscured by the trees. It was a faintly surreal sight; to watch the wilderness from so far away and knowing that all of his friends were going to be fighting for their lives shortly.
Sam had never felt so helpless, or so useless.
Four hundred men of the Night's Watch - the second Great Ranging in as many months - were in the forest right now. Sam knew the plan, he had been over it obsessively in his head. Stannis and Mormont would rout both camps at once, to stop them assembling and launching a coordinated assault on the Wall.
Mormont said they had to take advantage of their victory at the Frostfangs, repeat their success. The other officers agreed - particularly with Stannis taking the far more dangerous job of assaulting Hardhome. It was a good plan.
So why do I feel so scared? Sam thought to himself, twitching as he stared over the Wall. This high up, the ground was nothing but black.
Maybe I'm just a craven, Sam thought. Maybe I'm just scared, and maybe Thorne is right to laugh at me every time I whimper. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was a different type of fear.
Sam stared upwards at the sky. A moonless night, Thoren Smallwood had insisted. A moonless night was the best night for an ambush. There was something about that statement that kept on bugging him.
Castle Black was nearly deserted. There were barely a hundred and fifty left in Castle Black now; mostly stewards, new recruits or old men.
Or cowards, like me, Sam thought, twitching his sore arm. His wound was mostly healed, but the Lord Commander still hadn't asked for him. Perhaps he really did make such a mess of the last ranging that nobody wanted him. Bowen Marsh had left for Eastwatch, and Ser Alliser had command of Castle Black. Sam did his best to stay out of the knight's way.
Sam shouldn't even be on patrol right now, but he had come to the Wall anyway. He needed to see.
Ten thousand wildlings, he thought quietly, against four hundred sworn brothers. Twenty-five to one, he supposed, but there would be old, young and weak with the wildlings, while the Night's Watch would be all seasoned rangers and disciplined fighters. The sworn brothers would have mounted formations and bowmen. The odds were far better than the numbers might suggest.
Sam shivered slightly. He couldn't help but wonder about Jon. The rangers were insistent that Jon Snow had turned deserter, but Sam could still barely believe it.
This is wrong, Sam thought. He could feel it in his bones. It just feels wrong.
But there was absolutely nothing Sam could do to stop it. Whatever happened was happening miles away, and Sam could only watch from afar.
The minutes ticked by in shivering silence. Sam had no torch so he could see clearer in the darkness, but even under the furs it was freezing cold.
He knew he should be going back soon - maybe Aemon would need him for the ravens - but he still hesitated, watching the blur of fire in the distance. It's definitely getting smaller, he thought. Smaller specks of light scattering into the woods.
Sam stood on the Wall for hours, just watching and thinking.
Sam watched, wondering what would happen now. The wildlings scattered again, would they try to rally once more? What about Jon - would Mormont bring him in as a prisoner, or could he escape and come back, maybe to explain that this is all just some horrible misundersta-
There are torches approaching the Wall.
The sight caused him to pause. He could see the torchlight coming south out of the forest - a dozen pinpricks of light coming out of the Haunted Forest. Heading for Castle Black.
Rangers returning? Sam thought, his heart heavy. No - that didn't make sense. It was both too late and too early. If they had decided not to go through with the attack, then they should have been back hours ago. If they did attack, then the plan was to fortify a position in the forest and return back early the next morning. Why would rangers be coming back now?
Maybe wildlings then? It was too dark to recognise anyone. Still, there were only a dozen torches - it wasn't a wildling horde. They would have to get to the gate to see who they were.
Sam's heart pounded. He could see the first of the figures break through the treeline. They were all running fast, desperately. It took a long time for him to figure out what to do.
He agonised over whether to blow one horn blast, or two. Eventually, Sam started running, while he struggled to puff a single long, uncertain blow that hovered over the Wall. Sam sprinted, heading for the stairs down to ground. There was nobody to operate the winch elevator. At night, the wooden steps were winding, icy and treacherous, and very long. Sam wheezed, struggling to skitter down them.
Some watcher I am, Sam thought with a flash of bitterness. They're going to reach the gates before I do.
The Castle Black was already awake. Nobody really slept. Sam could see the people moving through the courtyard even as he descended. A much louder, more confident horn blast rang through the castle.
He could see men rushing through the barricades, into the tunnel. Sam followed the crowd, gasping for breath in the long and narrow passageway under the Wall. The cold air howled through the icy tunnel like the breath of a giant beast.
The wildlings had been known to disguise themselves as men of the Night's Watch on occasion. Whenever a horn was blown and there was doubt, available men were to head towards the tunnel. The sworn brothers could look down through the murder holes at anyone outside, and the three iron gates on the inner passage would only be opened one by one. If it was a deception, then they had to trick their way through four different checkpoints and the patrols on each one. Sam wasn't on guard duty, but he rushed ahead because he desperately wanted to see who was coming through.
"Seven hells, let us in!" He heard a voice scream desperately, banging on the solid oak gate at the far end. The wood was nine inches thick and reinforced, so tough that a man could through his entire weight against it and it would barely knock. Sworn brothers rushed to the gate. "By the gods, let us in!"
Sam saw Donal Noye and Ser Thorne at the front of the crowd. Everyone was gathering, but Ser Thorne pushed his way through. "Who's there?" Thorne demanded.
"Wyck from Shadow Tower," the man stammered. "With thirty others! Please, gods, you've got to let us in!"
A man moved to the winch, but Thorne stopped him. "Where's your commanding officer, Wyck?" He thinks they're deserters, Sam realised, as he panted up towards the gate to see.
"Dead! I don't know! I think they're all dead!" He pleaded. "Please gods, they're after us! We've got wounded, they were following us… !"
Protocol said they couldn't allow any men through without their commander officer, Sam recalled. Deserters in large groups was a very real risk. Instead, they would have to wait between the inner gates until someone made a decision, or an officer came to vouch for them.
Sam glimpsed through the narrow steel bars of the grating above. There were barely a dozen still walking, but they were dragging more figures with them. They all had torches in their hands, staring out behind them fearfully. Like they expected the shadows to attack any moment.
"… Please, ser… !" A man begged. "There are injured… We need medical attention!"
"Let them in," Donal Noye ordered, his voice a growl.
Still, Thorne hesitated. "Bloody let us in!" A new voice shouted. Sam saw Janos Slynt banging on the gates, his face pale. Janos looked weak. They all looked weak. "Alliser! Let us in already!"
That caused Thorne to relent. He stepped back, ordering the brothers to hoist the gate up. There was a moment of shambling confusion, and then he saw the man collapse weakly inside of the tunnels. Everyone had swords drawn, but the men were so weak most of them couldn't even stand.
"… They were chasing us," Janos murmured. Sam had never seen him look so fearful. He had been full of bravado and ego when the Lord Commander assigned him to the ranging. "… The monsters… Following us…"
The wind howled through the door. The brothers stared out into the dark plains, but there was nothing there.
"Get the gate closed. Increase guards on the outer gate, post some men at the north side to watch for others coming!" Thorne snapped, before turning to Janos. "Janos! Janos! Tell me what happened. The Lord Commander?"
The man had already collapsed. "He's cold," Donal said, touching his skin. "They're all cold."
"… It was them," The man called Wyck stammered, shivering. His furs were covered in snow. "I saw them. The Others…"
Thorne frowned. "Stop talking nonsense, man."
"… Following us…" Wyck stammered, teeth shattering. It looked like he had frostbite on his ears. "They kept following us…"
He's clutching his side, Sam realised. "He's wounded."
Donal dragged the man's furs upwards, looking at his wound. There was no blood, only ice. Sam stared. On the man's lower waist, near the hip, his skin was gouged and peeling off, but frozen. As if he had been mauled by a giant animal, but then the wound froze.
Teeth, Sam thought, but like no teeth he had ever seen before.
Wyck stared at his own body in horror, like he couldn't even feel it anymore. The cold left him numb. "The infirmary!" Donal ordered, pointing at men to carry them. "Get them to the infirmary."
Most of them were conscious, but barely. They were all murmuring and shivering. Sam stared in shock, wondering what to do. "Tarly," Thorne snarled. "The maester, fool. Fetch Maester Aemon."
Sam gulped, and turned to run away. He heard the whimpers of the wounded men all the while they were carried out of the tunnel, into the guardhouse, and then upwards into the castle proper.
The maester was already awake. For an old, blind man, Aemon reacted quickly.
Aemon had Sam act as his eyes as he inspected the men. All fireplaces were to be lit warmly, for the men to be stripped of their dirty furs, and heavy cloaks to be placed over them to conserve heat. They were still so cold, so Aemon ordered boiling water pans for under the hard infirmary slabs.
Anybody with experience treating injuries was called to help. Sam saw Septon Cellador, swaying slightly from drink, trying to undress a man. Sam glimpsed Edd, Toad, Jeren, Dareon and Albett rush around them. The castle was so undermanned that they even had to get some of the new recruits to help carry the injured to the infirmary.
The master never rushed, but he moved quickly with a practiced calm and efficiency. "Samwell," Aemon ordered, running his hands over an unconscious man's shoulder. Garreth, a builder from Eastwatch, Sam recalled. "Describe him."
Sam gulped, staring at the nearly naked man. He looked so very pale, his breathing haggard. "… Um… ah… he's very pale," Sam stammered. The maester's fingers traced the man's skin. "Um… And there's a wound on the back of his shoulder. Several wounds, actually…"
"The same as the others?" Aemon demanded.
"Yes," Sam nodded. He felt squeamish just looking at him. He nearly fainted as Aemon's bony fingers ran over the wounds. "… No, a bit different. They're smaller, but more of them. He looks like he was… attacked from behind repeatedly."
They were following us, the man had said. Sam's hand twitched. "They look like… bite marks, maester," Sam added nervously.
The old man shook his head, but he didn't seem so sure. "No animal has teeth in that shape."
"What happened to them?" Thorne demanded, barging into the room.
"Still to be determined," Aemon replied. "They all bear signs of injury from battle, but…" A pause. "There are stranger injuries as well."
Thorne hesitated. The men were all struggling to breathe, and they all seemed so pale and cold. "What?"
"I believe it to be a form of poison," Aemon said, and Sam looked at him in shock. "Something that robs the blood of its heat. I will need my herbs and medicines. Samwell, accompany me."
"We need to question these men," said Thorne.
"Right now, they are too weak." Aemon replied. "Have you men refill hot water bottles, keep the fires burning, and poke and talk to them constantly to keep them awake. Samwell, now - I need your help to devise a treatment."
Sam skittered past Thorne nervously. The knight glared, but he looked worried too. Aemon moved with surprising speed for an old man through the courtyard, towards the rookery. "Double the patrols on the Wall!" He heard Thorne shouting. "Ser Wynton will act as castellan of the castle. All fighting men take positions on the Wall. Get Clydas to watch for ravens. If we do not receive any reports within two hours, I will be leading a sortie into the forest to look for survivors!"
Thorne's worried, Sam thought. It was strange for a single group to make it back to the Wall when there were four hundred that did not. Thorne must be very nervous indeed if he was willing to give control of the castle to Ser Wynton Stout, old man who lost his wits years ago, to lead a sortie himself.
"What happened to them?" Sam asked, jogging to keep up.
"I do not know," Aemon admitted. The maester had always seemed so calm, so knowledgeable, but he was worried now. "… The wounds are severe, but they are not what are killing them. This poison… hmm… there was a book in the archives I recall, but… curses, it's been so long since I read it…"
He was muttering to himself quietly as they raced up the steps to the rookery, to the maester's quarters on the bottom level. "Samwell, I will collect the herbs," the maester said. He knew every neatly organised jar in his quarters by touch. "You search for that book. Look in my office - on the top shelf of my cabinet, a journal. Leather covered, I recall, bound in a velvet sash."
Sam blinked rushing to the maester's private collection. Books of note from the Castle Black libraries that the maester had always wanted to copy and archive, even after he lost his sight. Some of the books at the very top looked like they had never been touched in years.
It took a few minutes of scrambling amongst the dusty tomes for Sam to find it. A leather book as small as a pocket diary, with pages of goatskin parchment so old they might have cracked. There was no title on the front, but Sam opened to the first page.
"An Account of Lord Commander Ryder - the Expedition to the Lands of Far Winter," Sam read, squinting to make out the faded ink.
Maester nodded. "A journey to scout out the Lands of Always Winter - one of the very, very few to ever be documented. From eight hundred years ago, I believe. Bennard Ryder proved a very adventurous but short-lived Lord Commander. " The maester was still picking out vials from his cupboards, with the same care a knight might select his weapons. "I read it myself once, but my memory fails me. There was something in there about an injury in the Frostfangs?"
Sam flipped through the delicate pages, trying to decipher the old, curly handwriting. "… 'A company of men left Shadow Tower'… 'travelled north'…" Sam skimmed. "… Oh! Their expedition stopped at the Fist of the First Men too!"
"Focus, Samwell." The maester's voice was quiet, but firm.
"… Um…. 'Found giant tracks in the valley'… 'avoided a tribe of giants towards the mountains'…" Sam skipped the pages. "Oh! I think this might be it: 'On the eighth month I learned how the Frostfangs earned their name. After moving north along the edges of Frozen Wastes, one scout was attacked by an unknown creature in the dark. Something that attacked from behind and disappeared into the mountains. Our best trackers found no trails, but we came across various bones - of bears, wolves and elk as well as some suspiciously human - at the mouth along a cave that lead into tunnels deep under the mountains. It looked like a lair, but for what I do not know. None dared pursue the strange beast any further into the tunnels'…"
He read quickly. "… I spoke to two wildling trackers from nearby mountain clans who told me tales of a terror that attacked at night, and had haunted their territory for generations. They described it as 'pure ice, with teeth'…
"… 'As for the scout, we found him with a fang pierced into his back - the queerest fang I have ever seen. The fang dripped what I firmly believe to be venom, injected into his blood. My assertion has been met with doubt even from my own men, but I am confident that this evidence of an attack from an ice spider - the kind described in the stories'…" Sam gaped. "An ice spider? Really?"
"… Ah yes, I recall it now," the maester sighed, leaning backwards. "The last time I read that line I was a young fool - I dismissed the Lord Commander's claims as well. I thought he mistook a shadowcat's tooth for a spider's fang, and the effects of hypothermia as signs of a venom. Go on, Samwell."
"… 'From the size of the fang and the wound, I estimate the ice spider as at least eight foot tall'…" Sam gulped. There was a rough sketch of the tooth. The wounds on the men in the infirmary weren't that big. "… 'The scout himself died from the venom. From my observations, the venom appears to be almost pure ice. It is more of a paralytic than a poison. In smaller dosages it may be survivable, but in large doses it freezes the blood, and then the muscles. Eventually, the organs freeze too. It is a slow death, but the victim is consistently weakened and numbed until they finally die'…" Sam gulped. "… 'The venom is unnatural. It is cold and it doesn't appear to ever warm. I have never seen the sort before'… um… it doesn't say anything about a cure for the venom, maester."
He didn't reply. There was a long moment of quiet. Sam's hand was trembling.
Ice spiders, Sam thought in shock. Ice spiders!
In the stories, the Others used to ride giant ice spiders, Sam recollected with a stab of fear. He thought of the men in the infirmary, and his body squirmed. He was about to say something, but his mouth closed nervously.
"I can hear your mouth flapping open and shut, Samwell," Maester Aemon said, with a frown. "If you have something to say, then speak."
Sam twitched. "… Well, it doesn't make any sense," he said. "… Those men… they were weak. They said they were being chased, but how did they get away?"
Aemon never replied, staring thoughtfully upwards with blank eyes. "I mean," Sam said nervously. "You saw those wounds back then - oh, sorry, I don't mean you saw them-"
"Samwell."
"Right, um, I mean that man had been bitten repeatedly - over and over again. If they could do that, why not just kill them? Why let them escape?" Sam gulped. "There's no way men that weak could have escaped by themselves. Instead, it's like… whoever… were following the men, hounding them, but never killing them - letting them reach the gate."
"You think they were allowed to reach here?" Aemon murmured. "Deliberately kept barely alive?"
"But it doesn't make any sense!" Sam said, unable to shake the feeling that he was being a fool. "Why bother? Why would anyone-"
He stopped. His mouth hung open.
Strangely, he heard Lord Commander Mormont's words come back to haunt him, from so long ago; Tarly, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was like to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware of weasels . Beware of weasels, Tarly.
One of the old stories that Sam heard came back to him. That the Wall was built to keep the Others out. "… They needed to be alive…" Sam muttered. "… Because the dead can't cross the Wall…."
The vision of a blue-eyed corpse walking, attacking the Lord Commander's tower, flashed in front of Sam's eyes.
His knees were trembling. Barely alive, Maester Aemon had said. About to die.
The wights couldn't cross the Wall - the old stories were firm about that. But that wight that Jon killed, they had been across the Wall. Because we carried them across, Sam remembered. They had been dead when the Night's Watch found them, dead when they carried them through the tunnel, and then they had been resurrected on this side of the Wall.
"… The infirmary…" Sam gasped, his hands shaking. "… Oh no, the infirmary…"
Sam was already rushing out of the door, dropping everything as he ran.
Sam burst out into the cold. Sam had never been much of a runner, but he was running now. He heard a man shout some cruel jest - probably about a piggy running - but Sam never even processed it. The infirmary - across from the Flint Barracks, beneath the Silent Tower. It was barely five minutes away from the rookery and the maester's quarters, but suddenly that distance seemed so, so far.
Sam sprinted as he clattered up the stairs and burst through the door so hard that his wounded arm stung. Sam panted, staring around the stone room - filled with rows of hard beds.
"Dammit Sam, close the bloody door after you, will you?" A voice snapped. Sam saw Hake looking at him irritably. "We're supposed to be keeping this room warm."
Sam blinked. There were seven stewards in the room, caring for the wounded men. Sam saw Edd, Hake, Tim Tangletongue, Jeren, Dareon and Toad scattered around the room filling up hot water bottles and running between the men, while Three-Finger Hobb scattered around filling up cups of boiled onion stew.
"What is it, Sam?" Edd asked, frowning. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Surely Hake's not that hideous."
Sam's throat jammed, struggling to get the words out. He jammed, still blinking repeatedly.
Everyone was staring at him like he was a fool. They stared at him right until the moment when Janos Slynt pulled himself up from his bed.
"Easy," Jeren said, rushing to the man's side. "Don't move; you're injur–"
Janos' hand struck, grabbing Jeren by the throat. Eyes opened, and they were suddenly blue. Janos' face was pale and blank.
Run, Sam thought stupidly. Five seconds later and it was far too late, and those five seconds Sam hesitated. I should have just screamed run.
Janos Slynt died on the bed and nobody noticed in time. Edd and Tim rushed to Jeren's side quickly, trying to pull Janos off, but he was suddenly strong - much stronger than the man had any right to be. Edd was thrown to the ground, but while Tim was thrown backwards into another bed.
Sam finally found his voice. "Help!" Sam screamed. "Somebody! Help!"
The wight Janos dropped Jeren on the floor. The brother was gasping weakly, clutching his throat, but the wight was already heading to the nearest bed. The wight wrapped his hands around one of the wounded men's throat, even as he lay dying, and he squeezed tightly.
First thing he does is try to kill the other wounded men too, Sam realised in the back of his brain, still screaming as he shambled backwards. If the others die, they'll come back as wights too.
Another man pulled himself off his bed, pale blue eyes staring into the distance. Dareon was running for his life, while Edd struggled off the ground. Toad and Hake were trying to stop the wight Janos, but they were weaponless and the wight was very tough and strong. Three-Finger Hobb poured his tankard of steaming stew over the wight's face, causing skin to blister and burn, but Janos never even flinched.
The man being strangled gasped his last breath, and then another wight sat upwards. Without a word, the new wight slammed himself at Three-Finger Hobb, dragging the man to the ground.
More and more wights were being raised every second.
Eddison stared in horror around the room, before diving out the door. "We're under attack!" He shouted into the courtyard. "Wights! They're bloody wights!"
Edd clutched tightly at the horn on his belt, blowing it deeply. Three times, Sam noticed as he stammered backwards.
Fire, he thought suddenly. Jon killed the last one with fire.
Sam never had a sword, so he ran backwards to grab a torch from the walkway, clutching it awkwardly with his one good arm. The flames burnt so hot he nearly scolding himself just holding the wooden torch, with a tip wrapped in oil-soaked rags.
Sam saw the men moving around him. The wights were all naked after being stripped, but they were didn't seem to care. Sam saw Toad still trying to wrestle with Janos uselessly, right up until Janos gripped Toad's neck.
"Toad!" Sam shouted, as his friend gagged. Sam tried to run, but more wights blocked the door. "Toad!"
Suddenly, Janos ripped Toad's throat straight out of his neck. The sight nearly took Sam to his knees as he watched his friend gag and collapse. Sam staggered backwards, wielding his torch uselessly, while the wights spilled out into the room.
"What's going on there?" Donal Noye shouted from below, running out from his forge. The one-armed smith never had a sword, only one of his hammers. "What's happening–"
The man barely even had time to flinch as a wight leapt down at him from the top of the walkway out of the infirmary. Sam recognised the wight. He used to be Cuger, a heavyset young man, formerly a steward, a newer recruit. Cuger had always been slightly clueless in the training yard, but Cuger had been so excited when Mormont had picked him to come on the ranging to tend to the horses.
Now, Cuger was naked, frost sticking to his skin, as he tried to rip Donal apart with strength he never had in life.
Even with one arm, Donal fought off the wight. Around him, more wights were spilling from the infirmary. Sworn brothers were running, or being assault by the blue-eyed creatures.
Every monster Sam saw, he recognised. They were faces he used to know, men he had once called brothers.
They planned this, Sam thought. Oh gods - the Others, the white walkers - they did this.
Any man the white walkers touched came back, and the white walkers must have touched them all before letting them reach the gate. They let thirty men in through the gate. Now there were thirty wights in Castle Black trying to kill them all.
Sam's head spun, frozen in the spot with fear. Thirty wights, against a hundred and fifty men left in Castle Black. But most of those men were either young recruits or old men - and they were fighting murderous undead creatures that felt no pain. Too many of their able men would be posted on the Wall or on patrol, not in the castle.
Sam watched as the whole castle spun out of control. The wights were shambling outwards - still stripped of clothes. Sam backed away, almost tripping down the steps.
Thorne screamed for men to rally, but wights were everywhere. To his credit, Thorne never backed down - he was at front of the cluster of men fighting back. He stabbed and swung at the creature, and it was still freshly dead enough to bleed.
Thorne's sword chopped a wight's arm off, and then slashed across its torso hard enough for it shamble backwards. On his next strike, though, his sword jammed in the wight's ribcage, so stiffly he couldn't even pull the blade out in time, and then the wight grabbed at him with one arm.
Sam saw Thorne scream as the wight's jammed its fingers into his eye, clutching at Thorne's skull. He kicked and thrashed, but Sam saw Thorne's eyeball pop as the wight dug in.
All around him, there were wrestling bodies and ragged screams.
Donal managed to fight off the wight, but then more leapt down at him and attacked. The one-armed smith was relentless, but the hammer was a poor weapon against them. The wights took each blow and barely even stumbled. Five wights charging at him, and the smith was staggering as he backed away.
He saw Septon Cellador stumble out of the Silent Tower, robes dishevelled and clutching a bottle in his hand. He was blinking, perhaps wondering what was happening with all the screaming. Then, the wight, formerly known as Wyck from the Shadow Tower, was on him, ripping the old man down with bare hands. A builder - a bulky man named Kegs - tried to save the septon, but then Wyck ripped off Keg's head. Celldador was coughing, scrambling as the old man tried to crawl away.
The sound of a crossbow bolt pinging through the air. One of the younger recruits - a fresh-faced boy named Satin - had a crossbow. The bolt hit the wight in the eye, but the creature didn't stop moving.
He glimpsed Hairy Hal shouting, charging bravely against the wight Janos Slynt with a spear. The spear plunged through the creature's chest, but then the wight still crushed Hal's skull against the wall with a single hand, pulling out the spear with his other hand.
Sam's heart was pounding, so scared his body froze. Two wights closing in on him. Sam gulped, staring at the faces of Left Hand Lew and Muttering Bill. Lew had always been a good friend to him - a loyal brother, strong and dependable. Now, Lew's face was blank as he tried to murder Sam with his bare hands.
"Oh no no…" Sam begged, hand shaking as he clutched the torch tightly. Their faces were so blank it looked like they looked carefree. Muttering Bill attacked first, staggering towards him. On pure instinct, Sam slammed the torch into Bill's chin.
The wight caught fire, but it was still moving, still clutching Sam painfully as its body burned. Sam smelt burning flesh. He was so close he could see the skin strip off the creature's bone.
Sam screamed. He screamed and fell backwards, with the burning wight still on top of him.
The flames burned unnaturally fast. It was trying to squeeze the life out of Sam. Sam's face turned purple, gagging from the flames. His eyes were wide as he watched the wight sear into scorched flesh and then finally turned still.
Sam was so scared he couldn't even move. The smouldering, charred body was still on top of him.
Stay still, Sam thought with pure fear. Play dead. Make them thick that Muttering Bill killed you before it burnt.
Sam was lying on his back in snow, a charred corpse on top of him, as the dead walked around him. He didn't dare open his eyes to look.
There were shouts around him, mixed in with some screams of pain. People were dying, other people were running away. The men of the Night's Watch were too slow to react. The wights kept to small groups, hunting through the castle. They are familiar with the layout too, he realised, they are intelligent.
Through a crack in his eyelid, Sam saw Thorne - bleeding from one eye - and Donal Noye - gasping for breath - struggling to gather survivors. Most people were running scared in fear. The wights were arming themselves, picking up weapons. Sam glimpsed Janos Slynt chasing after them - along with ten other wights. They marched naked through the snow.
Footsteps were over him. Sam tried so so hard to stop himself from trembling, but then he felt the body over him. He opened his eyes, and he knew instantly that pretending was useless. The wight was standing over him, and it knew that he was still alive. Sam could see it in the eyes.
Sam screamed. The creature that was Left Hand Lew grabbed him.
The snow hissed. Sam wet himself in fear. He fully expected those hands to crush the life out from him.
Instead, there was nothing but pain as the wight grabbed his shoulder and dragged him physically across the ground. Sam thrashed and screamed in a high-pitched wail. Gods, it was so strong.
There was absolutely nothing but panic and terror. With a single motion, the wight lifted Sam upwards and slung him over its shoulder.
It kicked the door open as it lumbered forward. The wight half-threw him down the stairs. Sam gasped, rolling in pain, but then it was dragging him again like a sack of meat. It's taking me downwards, he realised. It's carrying me into the wormwalks, towards the tunnel.
Why hasn't it killed me?
They reached the guardhouse at the front of the tunnel. More bodies around them - a dozen wights, but the shambling, screaming shape of living men too. There were four others being carried by the wights - Sam saw Dareon, Septon Cellador, Three-Finger Hobb and the boy Satin all being similarly dragged. Dareon was weeping, Cellador looked like he had soiled himself and rambling nonsensically, Hobb gasping for breath, while Satin seemed the most composed out of them all. Why would they kill everyone else but leave us five alive?
The wights slammed the door shut behind them. They broke the lock and blocked the door with a heavy oak table, sealing themselves guardhouse. There was no hesitation or questions asked - every wight just moved with purpose. They all clutched a weapon and set about their task. Sam stared at the eyes, and realised that they all had the exact same eyes.
Those eyes were bright blue, but they weren't stupid. They were sharp. There's intelligence behind them.
Sam gulped as he recognised Janos Slynt. The wight was barely recognizable anymore. The man's face and skull was bubbling and peeling from where Hobb's stew poured over him, and bleeding from a dozen wounds, as well as a gaping hole in his chest were the spear went straight through. Like a butchered pig.
Sam could only squeal as Janos kicked him, marching the prisoners forward.
"Seven protect me… !" Cellador rambled next to him. "… Oh the Seven… I'm your devout servant, save me from these demons!"
They are heading into the tunnels, Sam realised. Fortifying the guardhouse and sealing the tunnel behind them. Heading back north of the Wall?
There would be guards manning the inner gates, but a group of wights went ahead and the guards never lasted long. Sam heard the screams. The tunnel was only really defendable against the north, not the south. They reached the first inner gate, and the wight of Left Hand Lew moved to winch the metal gate open. They moved synchronously.
There's twelve of them down here with us, Sam realised suddenly. There had been twenty-nine in total. The other seventeen stayed in Castle Black to hunt down the living. But why go back through the Wall? If they wanted to take the castle, then they would need as many as possible. Why would these twelve barricade themselves in the tunnels with five prisoners?
And why keep us alive?
Seven wights stood in formation around them. Two of them clutched bows, notching arrows with unblinking eyes. Satin looked ready to try and charge them, but Sam clutched the recruit and shook his head. They were one fat steward, a drunken septon, a crying singer, a three-fingered old chef and a young recruit against seven armed, unfeeling monsters. They wouldn't stand a chance in a fight.
But what was the alternative? Wait until Thorne or Donal assembled the men to throw the wights out? How long until they broke the fortifications, and the wights holding the guardhouse against them? The tunnel was meant to be defended from the south, not the north, but the gates were thick either way.
Janos pointed his spear, forcing the hostages backwards. Those eerie eyes shone. Its mouth opened. The words were rough, slow, as if the wight wasn't sure how to speak.
"Walk," Janos said. "Walk."
Dareon was weeping madly. Satin had to pull him backwards, Three-Finger Hobb had to half-drag Cellador away. Sam almost stumbled.
Janos point its spear. "Walk," it repeated, but didn't follow. The wights with the bows pulled back their arrows.
Slowly, the group shambled backwards down the tunnel. The tunnel had never seen so dark, or so cold.
"What do they want?" Satin gasped. "Why are they…?"
"They're walking us to our doom!" Cellador wailed, with skittering steps. "Demons that would drag us from the light of the Seven, to march us to eternal damnation…"
No… "They want us to walk down the tunnel," Sam muttered. "But they can't follow us. The dead can't cross the Wall, not even walking beneath it."
Did the barrier work both ways? Did it stop the wights from crossing from the south as well as from the north of the Wall? Or maybe they could cross from the south, but they didn't because then they would be trapped on the wrong side of the Wall again?
But it didn't matter. The tunnel was long and straight towards the outer gate, the wights had bows, and there was nowhere to take cover. A hundred feet long through solid ice.
"Walk," Janos repeated, his voice louder. It pointed with the spear. It wants to us to head for the oak gate to the north. Does it want us to open it for them?
The group took nervous steps, like walking to be butchered. I need a plan, he thought. What would Jon do in this situation? "Keep walking…" Sam said, his voice quivering. "… We reach the gate… we open it, we run through it, and then we close it behind us quickly… They can't shoot us when we're on the other side of the gate…"
"But then we'll be on the wrong side of the Wall!" Dareon wailed.
"So?" Satin countered. "It's better than being here. We could run along the Wall, maybe meet up with the ranging, or head to Eastwatch if we have to."
With no supplies or proper equipment, Sam thought, but he didn't say anything. The gate was less than fifty feet away. Every step felt like an eternity.
"They'll follow us," Three-Finger Hobb muttered. "Chase us down."
"They can't. Look at them, they can't cross the Wall." I hope, Sam added to himself. "That's why they're marching us with bows."
The gate loomed less than thirty feet away. Nine inches of solid reinforced oak.
But it still doesn't make sense, Sam thought slowly. If there was an intelligence coordinating the wights (and Sam had to believe there was) then why would they let them get away? If they still couldn't cross the Wall even with a tunnel, then why did matter if the gate was open or not?
Unless…
There was a sudden screech. They all froze. The sound caused them all to jump. The sound of wood groaning, metal creaking.
Sam stared in quiet horror at the gate in front of them. The huge iron hinges trembled.
With a tremendous crack, the wood shattered. Sam dropped as splinters like knives shot overhead. Metal bolts tore out of steel.
His heart almost stopped as suddenly the gate dropped in front of them. The wind howled through the tunnel, and suddenly they were left staring at the night beyond the wall.
Cold blue eyes shone back at them. The nine-inch thick gate trembled and cracked as it was torn away. Dareon was screaming.
Sam glimpsed black, hulking shapes - larger than any he had ever seen - stomping outside over the thick snow drifts. He saw the outlines of mammoths and giants, massive beasts, all working to rip the gate straight off its hinges with unbelievable strength. Sam fell to his knees as he looked up at the monstrous giant, and it had glowing blue eyes.
There was no gate anymore. Standing out the front was an army of blue-eyed creatures, as still as the dead.
But his attention was fixed firmly on the creature in front. Even in the light of day, it seemed to glow, luminescent as a full moon. It was a shimmering figure, cold beyond cold, more beautiful and more inhuman than anything he had ever seen before, had ever imagined. It stood there like a living masterwork, a crystalline sculpture carved out of ice. A sculpture with bright blue eyes.
Eyes that moved. Eyes that glittered with intelligence, awareness, interest, flickering over the haggard band of men arrayed before it.
An Other. A white walker. A figure straight out of the oldest myths, the most terrible legends. It stood tall at the mouth of the tunnel, wind and snow swirling around it in patterns, as though the world itself reacted to its presence.
They stared at it. It stared back, not at them, but through them. Like they were nothing but some curious sort of insect.
Sam remembered to breathe, and then became aware of the blood in his veins, how desperately his heart was beating. Like his entire body and soul was frozen in fear. He became dimly aware of Cellador, weeping and praying on his knees somewhere off to the side.
It was like he was looking into the eyes of Death itself, standing barely fifteen feet away.
But it can't reach us, some part of Sam thought. The tiny rational part that was still working amidst the pure panic. Even if the gate is open, it can't come through. Otherwise they would be through already. The Wall is more than stone or ice - it's a barrier. The ancient spells from the children of the forest. The Others can't come through it.
So then why…?
Still, the white walker took a step forward. It raised a delicate, slender icy hand, stretching towards the mouth of the tunnel.
Its voice was alien, like the cracking of ice. It sounded like it was trying to form syllables that were unnatural for its tongue. "Walk," the Other said, before motioning towards it again.
It wants to get through, Sam realised with quiet horror. Only living men could walk freely underneath the Wall.
Around it, he saw blue-eyed corpses step forward. Dozens of bows being notched. Arrows pointed at them. Even if wights couldn't reach him, arrows certainly could. It's going to kill us if we don't do what it says.
Sam froze, staring out into the blackness. Standing at the mouth of the tunnel, staring at an army of hundreds upon hundreds of monsters waiting in the snow.
He couldn't breathe. It felt like his lungs just jammed. It felt like he was literally about to choke from the fear contracting in his chest.
Very slowly, the creature stepped forward its hand still outstretched. It walked two steps, before Sam saw the very edges of its cold fingers begin to sizzle and burn. Its hands stiffened at an invisible barrier towards the mouth of the tunnel. A flash of something like annoyance crossed the Other's gaze.
They burn. The Wall burns them. So the wights can be pulled across but the Others themselves can't? Sam thought. Sam was struggling to understand how the boundary of the Wall worked, but he didn't think the Other understood it either. This moment it felt experimental - investigative. Like the white walker itself was trying to figure out how to pass.
Castle Black had been short-manned. It must have seen an opportunity to try and get through the Wall.
Next to him, it sounded like Septon Cellador soiled himself again.
The Other paused, before motioning again at the five men. "Walk," it repeated, in its gravelly voice. The wights around it moved like puppets. "Walk."
Sam whimpered. Three rotting corpses dropped a bundle of stitched hemp rope at the mouth of the tunnel. The white walker pointed again down into the tunnel. Cellador clutched the seven-pointed star around his neck, mumbling scripture with his eyes focused downwards at the snow.
Behind it, the dark shapes of so many bodies stood like statues across the snow. "What are we going to do?" Satin hissed.
"It wants us to carry the rope under the Wall," said Sam. There was a lot of rope - easily two hundred feet's worth, the braid so thick a normal human could never lift it all.
"We do it and they'll kill us."
"We don't move and they'll kill us!" Dareon snapped. "We need to run!"
Three-Finger Hobb shook his head. The old man was trembling. "We ain't getting through all them," he muttered. Easily a hundred dark shapes standing in the snow, in the dead man's land beyond the Wall and before the treeline.
The Other was looking straight at them. They picked us deliberately, Sam thought. The fat, the boy, the old, the cowardly and the drunk - the weakest out of the bunch. Anyone stronger might try to be a hero.
Either side, he looked at bowmen. The blue eyes were emotionless.
Sam twitched. "Pick up the rope," he said. "Let's do what they say."
"You craven!" Satin snapped.
Sam cringed, but he stepped forward. That moment as he stepped out onto the snow it felt like his body was about to collapse. The Other stared at him, and then stepped back to let him touch the rope. The Other was tall - easily seven feet, and long limbed.
His body shuffled as he bent down to heave up the rope. The cold, woven hemp was so heavy he gagged trying to pick it. The Other kept its distance, staring at him with unblinking blue eyes.
Dareon followed. Then, hesitantly, Satin did too. Septon Cellador stumbled forward, muttering and trembling. Three-Finger Hobb cursed, the old man's back stiff as he tried to lift too. The white walker watched them go.
The rope hung over his shoulder, trailing behind him. Each slow, laborious step back through the tunnel felt like marching to their execution. There's an army of them across the Wall, and only seven in the tunnel, on this side of the gate. How long would it take the Night's Watch to recover and retake the gatehouse? How long do we have?
"Why a rope?" Dareon murmured behind him.
"They want to pull more wights across the Wall," Sam whispered. The wights couldn't cross freely but they could be carried, or pulled. Yet the Others couldn't cross at all, could they? The Others would burn trying to cross the Wall. The wights were just puppets, and the Other's strings burned across the Wall. "They can't walk through."
"We can't do this, if they… if they get across…"
The rope won't make a difference, Sam thought. They could still only get soldiers through a couple at a time, and very slowly. The Night's Watch would retake the tunnel before they pulled across enough wights to make a difference. I hope .
Or maybe I'm just being a coward.
"… So they can't cross beneath Wall…" Satin said in a hushed breath, walking very, very slowly through the dank tunnel. "They can't follow us?"
"Then what happens if we just stop walking?" Hobb mumbled. "In the middle of the tunnel, where none can reach us."
"Then they'll shoot us with arrows!" Dareon hissed. Enemies on both sides of the tunnel, with bows. It would be a long shot, but they'd be sitting ducks trying to dodge arrows. Cellador moaned. "I don't want to die… I can't…"
"How many were back there?" Satin asked.
"Hundreds? Thousands?"
"If we help them get through then Castle Black doesn't stand a chance," Satin hissed. Young boy, but brave. "We can't do this."
"We can't…" Sam murmured. "We can't stop them…"
"Let's just do what they say," Dareon hissed. "They could have killed us, they didn't. They need us."
"For now," said Satin. "We can't beat them on the other side, but we might beat the ones in the tunnel."
They were trundling closer, as slowly as they dared to move. Sam could see the rotting, naked body of Janos Slynt waiting for them. "There are seven of them," Sam warned. Two with spears, two with bows. "They're armed, we're not."
"If we do nothing they'll be more than seven!" Satin shouted. They were walking as slowly as they dared, feet trundling as the rope dragged behind them. "We charge them. Steal their spears. Just run for cover."
Sam could feel himself shaking. "The boy's right," Three-Finger Hobb said. He was an old, crooked fat man. The cook had once been a tall man, but now his spine was crooked, with a pot belly and blistered skin. The man walked with a limp and squinty eyes, but his voice still seemed strong. Scared, but strong. "We got to do something now."
"Don't, it's suicide," Sam begged.
"Take a deep breath, grow some spine," Hobb ordered. "I take the one at the back with the bow. Sam and Satin charge Janos - steal his spear. Dareon and the septon go for Lew. As soon as we get close. Just take their weapons and ambush them."
"We can't…" Sam muttered. Yet what choice do we have?
Cellador was wailing, unable to speak properly. Dareon never said a word, but he was crying too. Hobb and Satin seemed to tense themselves.
"Ready?" Hobb mumbled under his breath. Less than fifteen feet away. "Now or never. On three. One."
"We can't…"
"Two."
"… Let's not…"
"Three ."
Hobb dropped the rope and barrelled forward. Satin dived, jumping to try to knock Janos to the ground. Sam tried to follow, but his knees failed him and he collapsed.
Dareon and Cellador didn't move at all. They were too busy crying.
Sam only vaguely was aware of Janos knocking Satin easily down with the butt of the spear. A bowstring thumped. Hobb fell too with an arrow embedded through his chest.
Sam gagged and whimpered with the sight. Hobb died quickly. No no no… Hobb had been a member of the Night's Watch for over fifty years. The cook was one of the longest serving members. He couldn't just die, not like that…
None of the wights even blinked. No surprise. Two of them picked up the end of the rope and dragged. Dareon wept and wailed.
The wight Janos raised his arm and pointed. "Walk," the wight said again, while the other wights took the end of the rope and started pulling.
Sam collapsed, head spinning. The wight kicked him upwards with cold, purpling feet. "Walk," it repeated.
That's our job, Sam thought. The only reason they kept us alive . To walk backwards and forward under the Wall because they couldn't.
The other wights were wrapping the end of the rope to the gate. The wight Janos used his spear like a cattle prod to push them forward. The mutilated flesh caused Sam to squirm, hyperventilating in panic. Their every step was unwilling, frightened.
They were all weeping, sniffling or crying. The wight never said a word, but the movements made it very clear that if they did not walk, they'd be killed. There was absolutely no emotion there.
At the other side of the rope, they had made a cradle. The wights in the tunnel were pulling the rope, dragging another three bodies - corpses clad in sheepskin or wool - through the tunnel. Sam's heart pounded as he saw the blue-eyed bodies being lurched across the ice, heading towards the Wall. Three bodies formerly wildlings or sworn brothers.
All they needed was a rope long enough and wights in the tunnel, and they could pull more and more troops across by themselves. It was a slow, clumsy and awkward method, but the Others had found a way to get their soldiers south of the Wall. A crude way to circumvent the barrier.
The Night's Watch will stop them, Sam told himself. As soon as the sworn brothers rallied, they could break the gates in the tunnel down to clear the wights. They'd throw rocks and arrows from atop Wall to clear those at the gate. The Night's Watch could recover.
But if the Others start slipping through the Wall now, how long will it take them to break the Wall altogether?
The snow howled through the tunnel. Sam thought he might have heard sounds of battle in the distance, but the Other looked totally unconcerned. He watched it pace at the invisible boundary by the broken gate, swiping with graceful movements, as if trying to push through.
"They're going to kill us…" Dareon wailed, as Janos prodded him to keep walking. "They're going to kill us… Seven save me…"
Sam wanted to break down and cry, but he couldn't. What would Jon do in this situation?
Jon would save the day. Jon would do something brave and heroic to stop them. Jon wouldn't have let Hobb die like that. But how can I do anything like that?
"Remember your vows," Sam hissed, trying to reassure himself too. "We're men of the Night's Watch, we can't break apart now."
"Men of the Night's Watch?" Dareon laughed hollowly. There was a crazed look in his eyes. "My vows?"
"Whenever I'm scared, remember our vows." Sam gulped. "We have to stay strong."
"Vows?" Dareon snorted, shivering. "… I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls… fire that burns against the cold…?"
"Dareon…"
The Other stopped suddenly. Its head jerked at the sound of Dareon's voice.
"… I am the sword in the darkness… I am the watcher on the walls…" Dareon mumbled. "They're just words, I can't do this, I can't…"
The Other's gaze focused on Dareon. Suddenly, a wight pointed a spear closer to the singer. "Say them," the wight croaked.
Dareon gasped. The spear inched closer. "Vows," the wight said. "Say."
Sam stumbled, nearly tripping into the snowdrifts. The wight lunged to grab Dareon roughly, dragging him to the Other. It jerked as it stepped past the mouth of the tunnel, but it managed to push through to grab the singer's neck. Satin rushed to intervene, but then the wights with bows pulled back on their arrows. Satin was grabbed too. Sam tried to stop them from pulling the boy, and then he felt a rotten, skeletal hand grab at his cloak.
He landed face first into freezing snow. Wind howled. They pulled us across the boundary, Sam realised. The Other couldn't step through the boundary at all, but the wights could move at least part way through the mouth of the gate. The barrier affected the Other more than it did the wights.
Dareon screamed, high-pitched, girly. The wight dragged him by the collar through the snow.
The white walker grabbed Dareon with hands like ice. The singer gasped in pain. The words out of the white walker's mouth sounded sharp, crackling, alien. "Say vows," the Other crackled. "Say them."
Dareon whimpered. "… Night gathers, and now my watch begins…" He gasped. "It shall not end until my death… I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children…"
His voice broke. "Say them," it hissed.
"… I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness…" He shivered "… I am the watcher on the walls…"
The Other's eyes flashed. It forced Dareon to repeat the words three times, all the while gripping the singer's wrist. Sam could only stare and shiver.
Then, the Other took a step forward, pushing Dareon forward too. There was no crackling. The ice of the Other's skin did not sizzle.
Sam's heart pounded. He realised. "Stop talking, Dareon! " He screamed. "Don't say the words, don't–!"
A wight slammed his spear onto Sam's head. The world blurred. He heard sounds of struggle.
Dareon tried to squirm. The Other held his wrist like an iron vice. "Repeat," the Other ordered. "Walk. Walk, and repeat."
The singer was gasping, screaming. Satin was screaming too. Cellador was on his knees, praying nonsensically. "… I am the fire that burns against the cold…" Dareon whimpered. "… the light that brings the dawn…"
The Other took another step. Sam could only watch in terror. Whatever barrier stopped the Others, it could be nullified by a brother of the Night's Watch granting them passage.
I've got to stop them. The wights are bad enough, but if a white walker itself crosses the Wall…?
What would Jon do?
Sam shambled, half-running, half-crawling across the floor. He caught the wight by surprise, slipping through him. Charging at the Other.
The Other reacted fluidly. It's hand slammed Sam to the ground, so fast he could barely even process it. Sam gagged as he felt the stinging cold from where its fist collided with his chest.
Still, it was the distraction Dareon needed to slip free of its grip. The singer squirmed, and as soon as he broke from the Other's touch Sam heard the sizzling. The white walker flinched, starting to burn before it jumped backwards away from the Wall.
Dareon was weeping. The singer just turned and ran - sprinting back down into the tunnel as fast he could possibly run. The Other flinched, hissed and crackled, and then the wight archers fired. Sam had his face in the snow as he heard the bowstrings. Dareon barely made it a dozen steps before the arrows cut him down.
Sam wailed. He tried to struggle, but two wights were on him, holding him down. He heard Septon Cellador wail, and Satin thrash.
Behind him, there was the lurching of bodies as another three wights were dragged down the tunnel by the rope. The Other paced at the invisible line in the dark tunnel. It's irritated, Sam realised. It's found a way to get its troops through, but it can't follow.
The white walker turned, to stare between the prisoners. It paused, and then walked towards Satin with long, graceful steps. There was no gentleness. The Other grabbed Satin by the throat and lifted him physically into the air with a single hand. It's strong, Sam thought. Very fast, graceful, and strong.
"Vows," the Other's sharp voice crackled. It sounded like iron grating against bone. "Say them."
Satin gagged. The grip was beyond cold. "Don't!" Sam choked. If I'm right… "He's a recruit, not a sworn brother - he hasn't taken any vows! He can't let you through!"
The Other paused, cocking its head. Then, without another word, its hand jerked, and Satin's neck snapped. The boy went limp, spasming weakly like a dead fish.
Sam screamed.
Septon Cellador was still on his knees, praying with his eyes closed. Perhaps the septon had the right idea. Perhaps this was just some horrible nightmare, and if Sam closed his eyes hard enough it would all just stop happening.
The Other's voice was growing impatient. It dragged the the old man upwards, hand on his throat. "Vows," it repeated. "Say them."
"Seven help me… demons have no power in the light of the Seven…"
The Other grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Its fingers must be like cold daggers. Cellador screamed. "Vows," it said again.
Cellador was crying. Don't, Sam begged silently, too scared to even speak.
The septon said the words. The Other took a step forward, before stopping. "Those vows have been broken," it hissed, staring at Cellador. "Useless."
A wight stabbed its spear straight through the septon's back. The man crumpled in a hiss of blood.
Sam couldn't stop trembling. He could barely even think. There had been five of them. Four were dead. I'm next.
The white walker reached out to grab him. Sam felt like his bones were shaking.
"Vows," it said. "Say them. Say them and walk."
Sam felt his body being hoisted up. "… I can't…" he wailed, gasping for air.
"Say them."
Sam couldn't even speak through the gasps of breath. It squeezed with fingers like frostbite, but the pain just made Sam mutter even more nonsensically. There was no thought, just fear. The Other snapped something in a sharp, crackling tongue. Irritated.
"Say them," it hissed.
Sam was too busy crying, struggling even to breathe.
The wights shifted around them. Even if it could walk through, the Other could only pass so long as the wights held the tunnel. A dozen wights wouldn't be able to hold out long once the Night's Watch rallied. The white walker had a time limit too.
"… You want to live?" Its voice crackled, straining to speak. "Say the words and you live. You stay warm."
Sam shook his head. "… I can't, my brothers they…"
"They go cold. All warmth goes cold. Warmth is abomination. Warmth is brief. Fire is chaos. We are the only balance. We bring order, peace."
Its hands on Sam's furs were cold, colder than anything Sam had ever felt. So cold it burnt even through his furs. "Say the words, and walk," the Other crackled. "Then you walk away. Live out your warmth, live out your briefness."
"You'll kill everyone."
"Kill." It spat the word with something that seemed like disdain. "No. You kill yourself. Your warmth would bleed without us. You are brief. We bring eternity."
It pulled itself closer. Gods, those blue eyes were so bright. "When we conquer, the world will be at peace. There will be order."
There was something in its posture, its voice. It didn't seem like anger, it felt more like urgency. "Now say the words."
Sam's hands were shivering. What would Jon do?
Jon would fight. He would fight to his last breath, as hopeless as it was. Jon would be a true sworn brother, right up until his last breath.
… I can't be Jon. I'm sorry, I just can't…
"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death…" Sam recited between gaspy breaths. "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children… shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post…"
Sam said the words, still barely able to breath. The Other held his shoulder tightly. The white walker pushed him to keep walking, into the black, cold tunnel.
How did it work? Were the vows like some sort of key, a way to unlock the barrier of the Wall? Certain phrases that could disable the spells?
The wind and snow had blown the torches out. The tunnel turned pitch black. The Other's blue eyes shone in the dark. Every step felt torturous.
How far did the barrier stretch? At least halfway through the Wall? The Wall was two hundred and fifty feet thick at the base.
"I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men…"
Sam's body was squirming. He could feel the cold walking next to him. He could have cried as they walked, one step after another.
"… I am the watcher on the walls… I am the fire that burns against the cold…" he mumbled the words.
Count the steps. One step. Two steps. A dozen. Just say the words and walk. That's all they want me to do. If I want to survive that's all I have to do…
Sam could see the first gate in the gloom. They were about halfway under the Wall. He must have repeated his vows a dozen times. It was amazing how fifty feet could seem like fifty miles. The Other kept on pushing him forward.
He could see a figure waiting for him in the gloom. The wight Janos Slynt, with skin covered in rime and blisters, standing halfway through the tunnel with his spear. Ready to greet his master.
"… I am the watcher on the walls…" Sam repeated. "… I am the watcher on the walls…" He took a deep breath, and then stopped. Would this work?
The Other's grip tightened, so tight it felt like his arm would snap. "Walk," it growled in his ear.
Halfway through the Wall. "I am the watcher on the walls," Sam wheezed, gathering every sliver of resolve he could muster. "… and you do not have my permission to pass!"
The world seemed to pause.
For a second, it felt like the ice itself shivered. The barrier returned. Something beyond the edge of his senses moved, something ancient, it felt as if the world itself had become a slamming door. Please work. And then then–
The Other howled - a soul-piercing shriek that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire the tunnel.
Sam heard ice sizzle. The white walker's body shuddered. Then it began to sizzle with white licks of energy.
Fire, he realised. The Other is being lit on fire.
The Other shrieked. Halfway through the Wall. It was too far for it to run back out. Sam had seen how the Other had flinched and jumped after Dareon stopped saying the words. He could only hope it also would work if the Other was too far under the Wall to run back.
Its hands clenched. For a second, it felt like it about to ripped Sam's shoulder off, but then Sam shrugged off his cloak, dropped to the ground, and slipped out of its grip.
The white walker thrashed and staggered. Its white body burned. He saw milky cold flesh sizzle and blacken. Sam's heart had never pounded so hard as he shambled upwards and started running as fast as his tired, short legs could take him.
He saw blue eyes shoot at him. The Other hissed and thrashed. The wight formerly Janos Slynt shivered in surprise, but then staggered after Sam.
All of the wights are trembling, Sam noticed vaguely. The Other was in pain, and its wights trembled.
It was too fast. The wight dived into him, knocking him to the ground, his spear in hand.
Sam fell. He wasn't quite sure how he managed to, but he barely rolled out the way as the spear bounced off the ice beneath him. Sam screamed. His hands flinched, grabbing a hold of the spear's shaft as the wight tried to pull the weapon backwards.
The wood stung. He felt the metal spear tip scrape his shoulder, but Sam couldn't even feel the pain. Instead, Sam just pulled back, and the wight stumbled and fell into him.
The body crashed into him. He felt cold, sick, mutilated flesh. They rolled and stumbled, wrestling. Sam made a sound like a squeal.
The rest of the world disappeared. There was nothing but that black tunnel, and the two figures rolling, thrashing and squealing in the dark.
Sam could feel the wight trying to rip him in half. Even without the spear, Janos was strong, with powerful hands and an unbreakable grip. Sam could only roll and squirm, trying to stop those black hands from wrapping around him.
The ice underneath stung. Sam crawled backwards, feeling the wight clamber at him. Sam felt something bounce off his leg. The spear, he realised. The wooden spear he pulled from the wight's grip.
Janos grabbed his ankles and dragged. Sam screamed in pain. His flailing hands wrapped around the spear's shaft.
Sam was still screaming and wailing as he grabbed the spear and slammed the butt into the wight's chest. The creature never even flinched, but it knocked him backwards slightly. Janos' hand gripped at the spear, but Sam pushed forward. Using the leverage to knock Janos backwards.
The wight shambled. Sam felt tears in his eyes and piss in his breeches as he barely managed to drag the spear upwards. The wight shambled, readying to lunge. Sam was grasping a spear he could barely even hold, against a monster that he couldn't kill with it. Blue eyes gleamed in the dark.
The eyes. Go for the eyes.
Sam squealed as he thrust the spear upwards against the wight's head. The spear tip collided against the ridge of its nose, and then scraped off across his right eye and into the wight's skull. The wight kept on pushing, charging into the spear.
Sam twisted, swinging the creature around. Using its momentum against it. It recovered quickly, and then Sam stabbed with the spear again. Straight at its remaining eye. Congealed blood splattered.
The wight thrashed blindly. Sam clutched the spear with both hands as he stabbed downwards again. The first stab grazed its upper arm. The second pierced its thigh. The third missed altogether. The fourth stabbed and jammed in its shoulder.
The wight was thrashing, struggling to move with torn ligaments. Sam panted for breath, eyes wide. In front of him, the Other was burning and sizzling. Its perfect, crystal skin was being scorched black with every step it made. Wounded and in agony, but pushing through the remaining distance. It's trying to force its way through. It's still trying to cross the Wall.
Sam had no choice. He turned and ran. North, back down the tunnel, away from the white walker.
The wights at the mouth of the tunnel were crazed. Their master was in trouble, and they couldn't help it. They couldn't follow through the tunnel.
They were caught off-guard as Sam came tumbling out, gasping for breath and running harder than he ever had. There were hundreds of them, but they had slow reaction times and they struggled to respond. Sam turned left, scrambling out of the mouth of tunnel and over the snowdrifts as he ran.
Beware the bowmen. Can't die like Dareon did . He had to run forward, not back. Use their own troops as cover from the bowmen's fire.
Sam shoved his way through a rotten corpse. The creatures looked crazed. Some started to run after him, but they were sluggish, disorganised. They stumbled into each other - none of the eerily perfect coordination that Sam saw before. The white walker is in pain, Sam realised. It's not controlling its puppets properly.
Go for the treeline. Take cover.
There were bodies squirming behind him. Sam heard the lumbering footsteps of a rotting giant, chasing him. The monster was nearly twelve feet tall, so big it was nothing but a looming shadow glistening in hoarfrost. Sam screamed as he dived into the trees, but the wights were right behind him.
He stumbled. A branch. Sam's body shut down as he tripped over a root and fell into the snow. He heard footsteps.
Then, another figure loomed over him. A wight charged, but the shadow in a black cloak cut out of the trees. The rotting wight was sliced in two with an easy stroke of a black sword. More wights attacked, but the cloaked figure held them back.
Trees cracked as the giant tried to barrel through. Sam heard flapping. He saw black wings - ravens - flocking in the air as the birds launched themselves at the giant's eyes.
Sam screamed. Everything felt so crazed he could barely see.
A hand was on his shoulder, pulling him upwards. "Run, brother," a hoarse voice - the stranger's voice - said. "We must run."
"… Can't… the Wall…"
The stranger shook his head. He pointed to the mass of wights.
Vaguely, Sam had wondered why so few of all those wights had chased him. He had been too distracted to realise. The rest of the wights let him run because they were busy crowding around the tunnel. The wights were moving in unison again, with perfect coordination. It took Sam a few panicked seconds to realise what that meant.
The Other survived. It had crossed the Wall. Sam took it halfway, and it managed to push through the other half by itself. His heart pounded. No no no… I didn't mean to… I didn't want to actually let it through…
Sam felt his body convulse. "We've got to help them, the Watch…"
A white walker was through the Wall. The Others had actually made it south.
The black-cloaked stranger just grabbed and pulled him backwards. His hands were cold. "We cannot. It is too late, brother," the stranger said in his deep, solemn voice. "The Wall has already fallen."