Beside the crackling bonfire, Qhorin deftly turned the obsidian dagger within his left hand, his eyes focused on the ancient weapon as he raised a question that carried a hint of suspicion. "Where did these come from?" he inquired, glancing at Benjen with an inscrutable expression.
Benjen responded, his tone measured. "Gale found them buried in the Fist of the First Men a year ago..."
Qhorin's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "How convenient..." he muttered, his gaze shifting towards the direction Gale had taken when he ventured out to gather firewood. Qhorin had always been a man with a cautious nature.
Benjen couldn't help but sigh in response to Qhorin's wariness. "I realize that your paranoia has saved your life on more than one occasion, but try to have a little faith once in a while, will you?" he remarked, though his words earned him a deadpan look from the old ranger.
After a brief pause, Benjen's expression turned more serious. "However, you are right. The snow is no hindrance to Gale. It's certainly strange for him to take this long," he conceded with a trace of concern.
Benjen contemplated the situation, ready to stand up and search for Gale when a realization dawned upon him. "Something must have happened. I'll look into-" He said, pausing mid-sentence as he raised his head and discovered that Qhorin was already on his feet.
"What good will that do when you've barely recovered any of your strength?" Qhorin questioned, his hand waving dismissively. A sardonic smile tugged at his lips as he turned to Edd, who was soundly asleep. "You just sit there and watch over our sleeping princess," he remarked with a chuckle.
Benjen raised an eyebrow at Qhorin's response, a bemused smile touching his lips. "It's like my words go through one ear and out the other," he remarked, shaking his head.
"Fine, go ahead if that will satisfy your paranoia," he conceded, understanding the old ranger's personality.
Qhorin's trust was not easily earned, and the recent events only added fuel to his doubts. The fact that the wights ignored Gale and that the young man conveniently possessed the only weapon capable of killing the undead creatures felt peculiar and all too convenient to him.
Solid proof was what he sought, and he would not rest easy until his doubts were either confirmed or dispelled.
...
In a clearing some distance away, bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon, Gale walked with deliberate steps, his breath forming a hazy mist in the frigid air. His long sword, gleaming with an icy sheen, was poised and ready for action.
His expression remained inscrutable, betraying nothing of the unease gnawing at him.
"I know you're there, so you might as well show yourself," he called out, his voice clear and unwavering. He raised his sword, the blade pointing toward the trees on the other side of the clearing, where an eerie stillness had settled.
Despite his words, there was no immediate response, save for the whisper of the night wind through the branches, a cold melody that only heightened his annoyance.
"I can feel your presence from a mile away," Gale continued, his voice steady, undaunted. "You're basically radiating cold."
As if beckoned by his words, a humanoid figure emerged from the shroud of shadows beyond the trees, like a wraith from a realm of eternal winter.
The figure was a White Walker, its presence commanding the hushed respect of the winter itself. Clad in dark armor adorned with intricate designs that seemed to glisten with an inner light, it bore an otherworldly and haunting beauty.
Its skin was pale as death, and its eyes, a piercing shade of ice-blue, gazed at Gale with an unsettling intelligence.
The White Walker's thin, elongated fingers clutched a wickedly sharp ice blade that shimmered with an eerie light, while white long hair cascading the sides of its deformed face, giving it an air of malevolence.
It was the harbinger of an endless winter, a creature born from humanity's nightmares, and its presence signaled the arrival of a terrible omen.
Gale stood firm, his hand gripping his sword, every inch of his being tense in the presence of the White Walker. He kept his fear hidden beneath a facade of composure, knowing that revealing any unease could be his downfall.
Despite the tension, Gale's voice had a hint of bravado as he addressed the enigmatic figure. "I don't know why you've been tailing us and why you chose not to attack, but I'd appreciate it if you went your merry way..."
In response, the White Walker opened its pale lips, producing a strange sound – an eerie resonance, like ice cracking under winter's unyielding grip. To Gale, the noise was as mysterious as the creature itself.
Still, it was clear the being aimed to convey something, even if the message remained unclear.
In the strange sounds, Gale sensed a mix of emotions. There was a hint of curiosity, and a touch of confusion, all shrouded in an otherworldly aura of ancient wisdom.
However, the usual malevolence and blind hatred toward all living beings, commonly associated with the undead was strangely absent. This encounter challenged everything he thought he knew about these legendary beings.
Gale furrowed his brow, utterly perplexed by the bizarre encounter. Nevertheless, the course of action remained clear to him. "I have no idea what you just said, but I'll be more direct," he declared. "Get lost," he added with a touch of irritation.
To his astonishment, the White Walker responded with an eerie smirk, lifting its ice blade in a deliberate manner. It proceeded to emit more of those enigmatic sounds, conveying a sense of mockery and taunting.
Gale struggled to formulate a retort. The young man was a veteran of verbal sparring battles with online trolls, but even he was rendered speechless, unable to respond without knowing what the White Walker said.
Eventually, he settled for a straightforward response. "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you too!"
The White Walker emitted another ghastly noise, akin to eerie laughter that grated against Gale's ears. However, he had no time to react to the discomfort as the enigmatic creature abruptly charged towards him.
Gale's eyes widened with alarm as the White Walker closed the gap in the blink of an eye, forcing him to hastily raise his blade in defense.
The impact of the White Walker's ice blade meeting Gale's long sword was immediate, the frigid chill radiating from the undead creature's weapon swiftly freezing the young man's blade before shattering it into shards.
Gale barely had a moment to process this as the blade splintered, and before the fragments even hit the ground, the White Walker concluded its assault with a brutal kick to Gale's chest, sending him flying backward.
Gale's body slammed into a tree, the impact expelling the air from his lungs. He struggled for breath but couldn't manage more than a gasp before the White Walker, relentless in its approach, reached him once more. The icy grip of the undead creature closed around Gale's throat, hoisting him above the ground.
The White Walker peered into Gale's eyes, attempting to convey a message with its cryptic noises. Gale, in the vice-like hold of his captor, remained baffled by the incomprehensible sounds.
Yet, he couldn't ignore the undercurrent of mockery that laced the creature's eerie noises, as it stared at him with an unsettling patience, as if it was waiting for something.
Between ragged breaths, Gale ground out his defiant words, his voice strained by the unrelenting grip on his throat. "Enjoy this moment... while you can..." he managed, his determination unbroken despite the dire circumstances. "I'll make you... regret this... soon enough... fucker..."
In his mind's eye, he envisioned a scenario where his latent power would surge in response to his distress, allowing him to exact revenge upon the smug White Walker many times over.
As the seconds ticked by, Gale's struggles grew feeble with each passing moment. His vision darkened gradually as the specter of death drew near. In his mind, Gale's inner turmoil erupted into a torrent of curses.
'Fuck! Shit! Damn it! Come on! Don't fuck me over now of all times!' he implored, his mind a chaotic mixture of desperation and perseverance, as he willed the uncharted power within him to manifest.
However, the latent force remained frustratingly dormant, refusing to answer his plea.
Realizing the bitter truth that his powers remained beyond his command, Gale's trembling hand delved into his cloak. He fumbled for a dragon glass dagger, slowly raising it with the intent to strike.
Yet, as time passed, his strength dwindled, and the blade slipped from his unsteady grasp. "Da... damn it..." Gale mumbled, his consciousness slipping away, vision narrowing to a mere sliver.
Just as the final vestiges of life began to fade, Qhorin burst through the tree line. He swiftly closed the distance and swung his own dragon glass dagger at the White Walker's wrist.
The White Walker, perceiving Qhorin's approach, promptly released his hold on Gale's neck, retracting his hand and stepping backward to avoid the attack.
"Are you alright, lad?" Qhorin inquired, keeping an eye on Gale, who was on the ground, clutching his neck and struggling to regain his breath.
"No," Gale responded amid coughs, "But I can still fight, if that's what you're asking." He slowly rose to his feet, his throat raw from the recent encounter.
"Good," Qhorin acknowledged with a somber nod. "Because I don't know how much fight I still got in me." He gripped the dragon glass dagger tightly, preparing for the confrontation.
Though Qhorin's unexpected arrival momentarily caught the White Walker off guard, it swiftly readied itself for the impending conflict. The addition of one more combatant would not significantly alter the outcome of the battle.
With a shriek that resembled the crackling of ice, the White Walker charged toward Qhorin and Gale, its ice blade raised menacingly.
Gale cautioned, "Don't try to block with your sword. It'll break into pieces." He swiftly sidestepped, bracing for the White Walker's rapid and aggressive assault.
Qhorin nodded, mirroring Gale's movement by dodging to the other side. This strategic maneuver positioned the White Walker between the two fighters.
Qhorin, now on one side of the foe, charged forward, dagger poised to pierce the creature's icy core.
The White Walker did not shy away from Qhorin's daring charge. Instead, it executed a sideways swing with its ice blade, compelling the old ranger to use his dragon glass dagger for a block. Although Qhorin managed to intercept the attack, the sheer force of the blow sent him staggering backward.
The White Walker promptly pivoted, preparing to confront Gale's oncoming assault with another sidelong swipe. In response, Gale promptly dropped to the snowy ground, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc of the ice blade. He slid across the frozen terrain, attempting to thrust his dagger into the White Walker's thigh.
However, his endeavor was met with the White Walker's icy fist slamming into his face, sending him sprawling onto his back.
The White Walker, holding its ice blade in a reverse grip, poised to drive the jagged edge into Gale's heart. Swiftly, Gale reacted by hurling his dagger at the White Walker's face.
Gale's dagger whizzed through the frigid air, narrowly missing the White Walker's face but leaving a shallow gash across its icy cheek. The undead entity recoiled, its cold gaze shifting between Gale and the makeshift weapon that had grazed its unearthly skin.
The gash, instead of oozing blood, seeped an eerie mist that quickly dissipated.
The White Walker's strange reaction hinted at its unfamiliarity with pain, a sensation often alien to its kind. Gale, however, seized this opportunity to scramble to his feet, coughing and dazed.
Qhorin, who had regained his footing after the previous collision, repositioned himself, ready to confront the White Walker once more. His rugged face bore the weight of many battles, but this was unlike any adversary he had ever faced.
The White Walker, now sporting the scar on its cheek, exuded an eerie sense of cold authority. It had quickly regained its composure, the initial surprise fading into the relentless chill of an ancient predator.
The skirmish continued, each combatant wary of the other, as if locked in an ethereal dance of life and death. The White Walker's movements remained eerily graceful for a creature of its kind, each step fluid and precise as they continued to exchange blows.
Gale, still reeling from the earlier blows, kept his distance, watching the White Walker with an uneasy gaze. The overwhelming odds and nervousness gnawing at his mind were slowly but surely turning into hesitance that almost encompassed his every action.
On the other hand, Qhorin circled the White Walker cautiously, his battle-hardened eyes searching for an opening. The obsidian dagger was poised, its glint matched only by the steely resolve etched on the ranger's face.
The White Walker sensed Gale's hesitance and quickly took advantage of it. In a lightning-fast motion, it executed a savage horizontal swing with its ice blade.
The strike was shockingly accurate and carried with it an unforgiving cold that seemed to pierce the very soul.
Qhorin's defenses were too slow to thwart the White Walker's devastating assault. The ice blade sliced through his chest with a gruesome ferocity. For a moment, everything hung in suspension, the world holding its breath in the face of imminent tragedy.
With a look of profound shock, Qhorin's eyes met Gale's before his strength gave out. He crumpled to the ground, his grip on the obsidian dagger loosening.
The deathly silence that followed was disrupted by the sound of cracking ice, resounding from within Gale's body. A transformation unlike any other took hold. His body shimmered, and a peculiar blue hue surrounded him, encasing him in an ethereal aura.
An ice blade materialized in Gale's hand, its form mirroring the White Walker's own weapon but with a cruel twist – the tip was crafted from the obsidian daggers he had carried. A weapon designed to vanquish the undead had fused with the source of his newfound power.
Gale, now bearing the uncanny resemblance of a White Walker, turned his icy gaze toward his supernatural adversary. With an unsettling aura of ferocity, he launched a sudden assault, surging at the White Walker with newfound strength.
The White Walker's initial shock gave way to a quick response. It hoisted its ice blade in defense just in time to intercept Gale's swift, forceful strike. The meeting of their respective weapons created a jarring, high-pitched sizzle that reverberated throughout the desolate landscape.
It was an eerie sound, one that contrasted starkly with the expected metallic clash of conventional swords. The sheer power of the impact sent the surrounding snow into chaotic disarray, the white powder swirling in the air.
Gale refused to relent. With every ounce of his augmented might, he pushed against the White Walker, forcing the enemy to slide back. The supernatural creature struggled to maintain its balance, causing it to stagger back a considerable distance.
Without hesitation, and with the white walker a safe distance away, Gale knelt beside the fallen Qhorin. His hand hovered over the old ranger's grievous wound. And as he focused his newfound power, ice gradually encased the savage slash on Qhorin's chest, effectively halting the blood's ominous flow.
Standing once more, Gale and the White Walker locked eyes, their frigid gazes clashing in a battle of wills. An unusual silence hung heavy in the air as they confronted one another.
The White Walker opened its mouth, unleashing a series of sounds that resembled the splitting of ice, an eerie form of communication that held the secrets of an ancient tongue.
Gale, now empowered and strangely attuned to this cryptic language, responded with an utterance in the same enigmatic language. His reply was a declaration of intent, a prelude to the impending clash as Gale launched himself once more at the supernatural adversary.
The battle between Gale and the White Walker raged on. Gale, now empowered by his transformation, launched his icy blade at the supernatural foe. With relentless speed, he struck, aiming for the White Walker's heart.
In response, the White Walker exhibited its uncanny agility. With an almost ghostly grace, it sidestepped Gale's assault, its movements like the flicker of a chilling wind. Gale's blade met only empty air, and in the next instant, the White Walker retaliated.
The undead creature lunged forward, executing a blindingly fast strike with its ice blade, aiming for Gale's flank. Gale managed to block the attack with his obsidian-tipped weapon, the meeting of their blades producing an eerie sizzling sound of two crystals clashing.
They circled each other, two supernatural beings locked in a relentless battle. It was a dance of shadows and frost, a clash of powers beyond the realm of the living.
In a moment of icy fury, Gale channeled his newfound abilities into a final assault. An icy wind burst from his outstretched hand, an elemental force that sent the White Walker hurtling backward. The supernatural creature slammed into a nearby tree, the impact sending shards of ice scattering in all directions.
Gale didn't hesitate; he closed the distance in an instant, thrusting his icy blade into the White Walker's chest. The obsidian tip pierced the creature's frigid heart.
Gale opened his mouth and spoke in the white walker's tongue, producing a series of sounds that oozed mockery. He stared straight into the white walker's eyes as its body exploded into countless ice particles.
The supernatural menace disintegrated in an otherworldly spectacle, leaving nothing behind but an eerie mist that quickly dissipated into the desolate, frozen landscape.
As Edd gradually emerged from his slumber, the hazy fog of sleep lifting, he scanned the camp with a drowsy gaze, finally locking eyes with Benjen.
"Where's Gale and Qhorin?" Edd's voice held a tinge of concern as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.
"Gale went to fetch wood for the fire," Benjen began, his tone heavy with worry. "He's been gone longer than expected, so Qhorin decided to go after him..." Benjen's explanation was accompanied by a weary sigh, and he shook his head.
"Now it's been over an hour since Qhorin set out, and there's still no sign of either of them." Frustration etched his face.
Edd's exasperation was palpable. "For fuck's sake... there's never a shortage of troubles in these parts, is there?" He grumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Come on, let's go look for them."
He attempted to rise, but the lingering exhaustion from their arduous journey took its toll, leaving him struggling to get to his feet.
Benjen, however, remained seated, shaking his head. "Gale is better suited to navigating these lands than we'll ever be, and Qhorin has patrolled these lands more than any ranger alive. I'm sure they'll return soon..."
His voice held a hint of doubt, but he pressed on. "If something happened that they couldn't handle... well, our chances of faring any better would be slim at best."
"As much as I hate to admit it... you're probably right..." Edd's voice carried a sense of helplessness. He sighed deeply, accepting the grim reality. "Guess we can only twiddle our thumbs and wa-"
Before he could finish his thought, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Edd halted midsentence and turned around, expecting to see Gale and Qhorin returning to camp. However, the sight that met his eyes sent a shiver down his spine.
Walking towards them was a humanoid figure, its flesh as pallid as milk, adorned in dark armor. It cradled the limp body of Qhorin in its hands, making each step with an eerie, deliberate grace.
"What the...?" Edd's voice trailed off as his shock and confusion mounted. The bizarre tableau before him left him frozen in place.
Suddenly, the enigmatic creature inexplicably toppled forward, crashing to the ground with Qhorin's body still in its grasp. This bewildering sight only deepened Edd's astonishment.
"Looks like something happened, after all," Benjen remarked with a sigh, his eyes narrowing as he observed the fallen figure. He wasted no time and rose to his feet, hastening toward the mysterious entity.
"That's Gale," Benjen declared with a grim certainty, his gaze fixed on the fallen creature.
"What?!" Edd's exclamation rang out, his voice laced with disbelief. The astonishing sight and the revelation of the transformed figure had flooded him with a surge of strength, propelling him to his feet.
"It really is Gale..." he breathed, his gaze fixed on the dramatic shift as Gale reverted to his normal state. The eerie blue glow that had enveloped him receded, and the dark veins tracing his face slowly faded away.
Benjen's sense of urgency surged as he approached Qhorin, and the grave wound on the old ranger's chest, encased in an icy shroud, came into view. His worry deepened at the sight of his injured comrade.
"Quick. Help me drag them near the fire," Benjen's words were laden with concern. He swiftly turned to the unconscious Qhorin, his mind focused on the immediate need for warmth and care.
Edd's gaze flitted between Gale and the injured ranger, a myriad of questions and remarks swirling in his mind. However, he chose to hold his tongue for the moment, understanding that their comrades needed urgent attention.
Without hesitation, Edd began the task of gently dragging Gale closer to the campfire, while Benjen tended to the wounded Qhorin, the crackling flames casting long, flickering shadows in the quiet of the night.
...
Upon the snowy heights of the Fist of the First Men, the wildling woman and Craster's former wives reached their destination, their faces etched with exhaustion from the long and arduous journey.
"Start making camp. I need to find something here," the wildling woman instructed her companions, turning her attention to Morag, who nodded in acknowledgment and began directing the other women to set up camp while the wildling woman embarked on her quest.
Curiosity tugged at Morag, and she couldn't resist asking, "What do you seek? Maybe I can help?"
In response, the wildling woman retrieved a map from her bag, her expression etched with determination. "Rayder sent me to find the Legendary Horn of Winter—said to waken the giants from the earth..."
Morag's brow furrowed in confusion. "The giants? Why would you want to awaken them?"
The wildling woman released a heavy sigh, her breath crystallizing in the frigid air. "Winter is coming, sister. If our people are to survive it, then we venture south beyond the wall..."
With an air of urgency, she continued, "Without the strength of the giants, crossing the wall is damn near impossible, and we don't have the time to wait for them to awaken on their own..."
Her eyes flicked between the landscape before her and the map in her hands, determination etched across her face. "We need to coax them out of their slumber..."
...
Slowly regaining consciousness, Gale couldn't stifle a groan as he assessed his surroundings. His eyes fell upon Qhorin's still form, swathed in layers of fur, and Benjen's visage, filled with visible relief.
"You're finally awake, lad," Benjen stated with a sigh of relief as he settled beside Gale.
"You had us worried there for a moment," Edd chimed in from the side, drawing near.
Gale, disregarding their comments, inquired urgently, "Qhorin?"
Benjen wore a somber expression as he relayed the grim news, "He's breathing, but barely. I'm afraid Qhorin's not long for this world..." he said, causing Gale's gaze to sift to the old ranger, a troubled look etched across his face.
"What happened, anyway?" Benjen's frown mirrored Gale's, reflecting his curiosity.
"A White Walker happened," Gale responded through clenched teeth, his jaw tight with tension. "I... got cold feet, and this is the result," he added, glancing at the ailing Qhorin.
To everyone's surprise, a frail chuckle emanated from Qhorin's direction as he stirred within his cocoon of fur cloaks. "You were... you were an experienced brat facing an ancient horror, lad," Qhorin teased, his words interspersed with coughs. "It's a wonder you didn't piss your breeches," he quipped, offering a weak smile.
Wincing at the recollection of the encounter, Gale, despite his aching body, summoned the strength to stand and shuffle closer to Qhorin. Regret weighed heavily upon him as he uttered, "I'm sorry... it's all because of me..." He slumped down beside the old ranger, his guilt palpable.
"For fuck's sake... get your shit together already," Qhorin admonished, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency, though he struggled to shift his head to better face Gale. "The way I see it, you're supposed to save everyone from the undead, or bring about our destruction..." Qhorin's words, laced with determination, cut through the tension.
"Whatever the case may be... you won't achieve shit if you let the death of one old man weigh you down." He completed the sentiment, emphasizing the need for Gale to rise above his turmoil.
Gale's eyes, heavy with guilt and uncertainty, met Qhorin's unwavering gaze. His lips parted, but the weight of the moment bore down upon him, leaving him momentarily speechless.
"I can't change the way you think, lad... but if you feel responsible for the gaping wound on my chest, then take responsibility," Qhorin declared, his grasp on Gale's wrist firm and resolute.
"Take that dagger of yours and slit my throat... let me die in peace and burn my corpse," he urged, the gravity of his request hanging heavily in the air.
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