Before an improvised training dummy constructed from sticks and furs, Gale wielded his sword with determination, moving swiftly from side to side, unleashing a barrage of strikes upon the dummy. His movements were marked by speed and precision, each swing effectively reducing the training target to tatters.
Yet, to a discerning observer, it was clear that his technique lacked depth, relying on sheer speed and raw physical power for its impressive impact.
Gale's frustration over his limited aptitude in swordsmanship gnawed at him, and it was a source of personal annoyance. However, his inner turmoil was interrupted when Tormund approached, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Feel like taking on something that can strike back for a change?" Tormund proposed, his eyes glinting with humor. Gale turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow.
"What do you have in mind?" Gale inquired, intrigued by the prospect. Tormund's grin widened, and he beckoned for Gale to follow.
"It's time to prove yourself to Rayder. We're going white walker hunting," Tormund declared with a sense of adventure.
"Finally," Gale grumbled, his impatience apparent as he followed Tormund. He couldn't help but be curious. "You're coming along too?" he asked, to which Tormund responded with a nod.
"Who else is coming?" Gale asked.
"Come and see for yourself."
...
In the stables of King's Landing, Ser Barristan Selmy was meticulously completing the preparations for his upcoming journey to the North, having already handpicked several companions to accompany him.
His luggage had been secured, and he ensured that the saddle on his trusty horse was appropriately fitted. As he concentrated on these final details, he noticed the approach of five armed men, all clad in the unmistakable armor of Lannister soldiers.
Leading this group was none other than Tyrion Lannister, who greeted the seasoned knight.
"Good day, Ser Barristan," Tyrion began. "I'm Tyrion, and I've been assigned to—" He paused in mid-sentence as Ser Barristan interjected, skepticism etched across his face.
"You've been assigned to accompany me North," Ser Barristan declared. "Although I confess I'm uncertain as to why," he admitted, his wary gaze fixed on Tyrion.
Tyrion offered a genial smile and raised his hand in a placating gesture. "It appears the reputation of House Lannister precedes me. I assure you, Ser, you've nothing to fear from me," he reassured, eliciting a faintly amused look from the veteran knight.
Recognizing that his words may have come across differently than he'd intended, Tyrion hastily cleared his throat before continuing with a better choice of words. "Clearly, Ser Barristan the Bold has little to fear from most men, let alone me," he explained with a chuckle.
"What I meant to say is that I'm not here to execute some sinister plot," Tyrion added, emphasizing his genuine intentions.
Ser Barristan pondered Tyrion's words for a moment, finding no obvious falsehood in them. "So, what exactly is your purpose here, then?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
Tyrion's response was nonchalant as he casually shrugged. "My father informed me that the situation in the North is more complex than he initially comprehended, and he asked me to investigate," he explained, a wry grin forming.
"I suspect he might have grown weary of seeing me sullying the Lannister name with my mere existence and decided to grant his eyes a temporary reprieve by sending me away," he added with a chuckle.
Ser Barristan let out a resigned sigh, shaking his head in dismay. He had witnessed firsthand the cruelty and indifference with which Tywin Lannister treated his own children, especially Tyrion. It never ceased to astonish him how a man could harbor such contempt for his own flesh and blood.
"Be that as it may, the situation in the North is undoubtedly more intricate than you might imagine," Ser Barristan confided. "While I may not have all the details, I can assure you that Lord Stark is not one to exaggerate or mislead his king," he added, conveying his respect for the Warden of the North.
Tyrion's eyes widened this remark, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Ser Baristan could see the gears shifting in the young Lannister's head, and so he voiced out Tyrion's thoughts in words.
"Indeed, it appears to be a situation where Lord Lannister is either wrong or placing an exceptional amount of trust in you," Ser Barristan's smile revealed a hint of amusement.
"In any case, I suspect that this journey will prove quite an intriguing one, if nothing else," he concluded, acknowledging the potential for an eventful journey in the days to come.
...
Gale's frustration was evident as he surveyed the unusual group before him. He turned his gaze to Tormund, Threya, and the giant who appeared to be lost in thought, gazing into the horizon, and couldn't help shaking his head in exasperation.
"Let me make sure I've got this right... I ask Rayder to point me to a white walker and give me a few capable men, and this is what I end up with?" Gale grumbled in discontent.
"A brute of a woman who's threatened to slit my throat in my sleep, a brute of a man only capable of violence, and a giant who seems barely capable of functioning unaided..." He continued, his irritation and the urge to bang his head against the nearest rock rising.
Tormund couldn't help but laugh at Gale's exasperation. "You asked for a few men, and here you got yourself a bloody giant and two of the finest Free Folk fighters out there. What more do you want, lad?" he jested with a grin.
Gale, still feeling uneasy, rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Someone who doesn't have a vendetta against me and someone whose thoughts I can remotely begin to understand..." he mumbled, his voice trailing off as he glanced back at the massive figure still dazedly staring into the horizon.
"And well, I suppose the big guy is alright... It's you two brutes I could do without," he added, casting an alternating gaze between Tormund and Threya.
Threya scowled at Gale's words. "You got a problem, pretty boy?" she retorted, her hand reaching for the short sword hanging from her belt. "We can always settle it if that's the case," she challenged, a fierce gleam in her eyes.
Gale matched her scowl, his temper flaring as well. "Matter of fact, I do," he replied, his voice laced with frustration. "I'm starting to second guess the possibility of working together with you people."
His eyes began to glow a chilling blue, and an ice blade materialized in his hand, mirroring his escalating irritation. "I ought to kill you and make my way back to Castle Black- your people can be be ripped to pieces by the fucking undead for all I care."
The weight of time pressed heavily on Gale's shoulders ever since he had arrived in this world. His one and only goal was to rally a formidable force capable of contending with the Night King and his relentless armies before King Robert's death the ensuing chaos after his passing.
Yet, his path seemed littered with constant delays and obstacles.
His first year in this foreign land had been largely wasted, a time filled with training and reading within the confines of Castle Black. He had done everything within his power to earn the Lord Commander's trust and get him to act as Gale wished.
He succeded eventually, but too much precious time had slipped through his fingers.
Then came the constant delays and enigmatic reluctance of Rayder at the Wildling encampment, further hindering his quest to take action for two more weeks.
And now, with Threya's unapologetic and irrational aggression, Gale had finally reached his breaking point. His teeth were gritted, and anger surged through him with every passing second.
As Gale's frustration mounted, his powers manifested with matching intensity, generating a chilling wind that sent snow swirling around him in a furious whirlwind.
Even the giant, lost in thought earlier, finally stirred from his reverie due to the intense chill radiating in the air.
At this sight, Threya reacted instantly, her short swords drawn with a swift and practiced motion, ready for the impending conflict. Tormund, on the other hand, broke into a wide grin, clearly enjoying the brewing confrontation. He, too, had a hand on his weapon, poised for action.
The collective reaction of the three individuals further fueled the escalating tension. With each passing moment, Gale's frustration grew more pronounced, pushing him forward with a menacing step. This gesture forced Tormund to draw his weapon as well, matching the hostile atmosphere with his readiness.
The situation teetered on the brink, and the three of them appeared poised to unleash a storm of aggression, threatening to tear into each other at any given moment.
Gale's grip tightened around the ice blade, his resolve unwavering as he took another step toward Tormund, who stood closest to him, prepared to unleash his anger. The tension in the air was palpable, and a violent clash appeared imminent.
However, before the young man could make his first move, an unexpected interruption occurred. He was struck in the face by a large snowball. The seemingly harmless projectile landed with a soft thud, instantly quenching his rage as he traced it back to its source, the giant.
The giant returned his gaze with an unfazed, blank expression before turning away, resuming his silent vigil of the horizon.
Gale felt a mixture of shock and exasperation at the bizarre interruption. He glanced at Tormund and Threya, who appeared equally taken aback by the giant's perplexing behavior.
Ultimately, Gale let go of the ice blade, causing it to disintegrate into shimmering blue particles. He let out a sigh, his anger dissipating.
"Just forget it," he conceded, his voice laced with frustration. "As much satisfaction as cutting you down would bring me, I won't let your idiocy undo all my work." His words conveyed his reluctance to let the situation escalate further.
"Let's get this over with so I can return to civilization and never have to interact with you savages again," he added, a scowl on his face.
Tormund couldn't help but taunt Gale further, his grin growing broader as he goaded the young man. "Eager to return to your kneeling ways, are you?" he jeered, his playful tone contrasting with Gale's frustration.
"I'd wager his knees are getting itchy after standing upright for too long," Threya chimed in with a scoff, sheathing her short swords. "Fuckin' southerner cunt," she muttered with disdain, her scorn evident as she spat on the ground to emphasize her point.
"I never kneeled to anyone, and I don't intend to do so in the future," Gale retorted, his voice laced with pride. He wasn't about to let the Wildlings belittle him.
"Self-respect isn't exclusive to you goat fuckers," he added dismissively, waving his hand to dispel the insult. "Let's get on with the journey before I change my mind," he concluded, his desire to expedite the mission now stronger than ever.
"Spoken like a true goat fucker..." Tormund said with a chuckle.
The tension that had momentarily gripped them seemed to have subsided, and the group readied themselves to continue, albeit with lingering unease between them.
...
As Ser Barristan and Tyrion, accompanied by their escort of soldiers, continued their journey along the King's Road, they found themselves drawing closer to Winterfell. Their journey had been challenging yet surprisingly uneventful.
The road had presented them with relatively few obstacles, except for the abrupt changes in temperature as they passed the Twins and the marshy bogs they encountered beyond.
Now, before them, the imposing silhouette of Moat Cailin loomed on the horizon. This ancient stronghold of the First Men rested on the northern edge of the vast swamp known as the Neck, situated in the southern reaches of the North.
In ages past, Moat Cailin had served as a formidable natural choke point, protecting the North from potential invasions by the South for thousands of years.
However, as they approached, it became evident that the once-mighty fortress had fallen into a state of disrepair. Its walls had crumbled, and its watchtowers stood barely intact, evidence of the passage of time and the gradual decay of its defenses.
Tyrion rode atop his own horse despite Ser Barristan's earlier offer to arrange a carriage for him at the start of their journey. His eyes roved over the decaying ruins of Moat Cailin, and he couldn't help but voice his observations.
"So, this is Moat Cailin," Tyrion remarked, his tone betraying an undercurrent of disappointment as he calmly steered his horse forward. "It doesn't appear to be—" he began, only to be cut off mid-sentence by Ser Barristan.
"Luxurious enough to host a Lannister lord such as yourself?" Ser Barristan quipped, offering a good-natured jest as he guided his own mount forward.
Tyrion flashed a wry smile in response to the knight's jest. "I was going to say 'formidable,' but yes. I suppose I've had the pleasure of better accommodations," he replied with a chuckle, his sharp wit ever at the ready.
Ser Barristan remained unfazed, his expression one of calm resolve. "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to make do," he calmly responded. "There aren't any inns or towns we can reach before sunset," he explained to Tyrion, and then turned his attention to the soldiers marching in their wake.
"Ride ahead and secure the place. We'll make camp in Moat Cailin for the day," he instructed, decisively outlining their plan for the immediate future.
...
As they pressed forward in their relentless pursuit of a White Walker, Gale and his group had covered significant ground. Their journey had led them to the very northernmost fringes of the Haunted Forest, leaving the territories of the Thenns far behind and now encroaching upon the lands of Always Winter.
The biting cold winds clawed at them, a constant reminder of the perilous region they were venturing into.
Gale's frustration was palpable, casting a dark shadow over the group as they huddled around the warmth of a bonfire. Resting on the ground, he had a sullen expression, his eyes fixed on the tip of an obsidian dagger that he used to sharpen a stick.
The meticulous scraping of the wood against the dagger's edge was a manifestation of his intense boredom and irritation. Every stroke of the blade seemed to convey his readiness to snap and unleash his anger on anyone or anything that would give him an excuse.
Tormund, typically the bearer of humor and tall tales, was not in his usual boisterous mood. He, too, had lost his usual smirk, his usually lively eyes tinged with fatigue. He even stopped recounting his countless tales of exploits, which had been his chosen method of bothering Gale at the start of the journey.
Even Threya, who had once harbored an unreasonable aggression toward Gale, had succumbed to the exhaustion and frustration that now hung like a heavy shroud over their quest. She sat there, her aggressive tendencies momentarily subdued.
Amidst this air of discontent and weariness, the giant remained a constant and enigmatic presence. Silent as ever, he followed the group whenever they moved and would come to a halt when they did.
His gaze was unfocused as he gazed into the horizon, his thoughts as impenetrable as the icy landscape they traversed, if there were any thoughts behind his eyes.
The tranquility of their camp was shattered by the arrival of an unexpected presence.
The crisp, deliberate footsteps cutting through the snow signaled an intruder's approach. Everyone, except for the giant who remained unperturbed, reacted swiftly. Threya and Tormund drew their weapons, their eyes alert, while Gale summoned an ice blade into his hand.
As one, they rose from their sitting positions and converged on the mysterious robed figure who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing at a distance from their bonfire.
"The Lord's blessing this far north... now, that's something I haven't seen in a long while," the stranger remarked, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the flickering flames.
Slowly, he shifted his attention to Gale and his companions.
"The lands of Always Winter are no place for the living, especially the young. Turn back and return from whence you came," he advised in a calm and measured tone.
His words were delivered with an air of wisdom and a quiet confidence, as though he carried secrets of these icy realms.
Gale's frustration found a target in the mysterious stranger, and he shot back with a scowl. "And I suppose you're the only talking wight on this side of the Wall, eh?" he jeered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
The robed man responded with a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. "I'm no wight, nor am I a white walker, young man," he clarified, his words carrying an air of authority. "Though I have tasted death once... these lands are my home, as they are the home of the Night King himself," he explained cryptically.
With a deliberate motion, he lowered the hood that concealed his features, unveiling a visage aking to a rotting corpse and giving the group an expectant look, almost like he was waiting for something.
The sudden revelation drove Tormund to an immediate, instinctive reaction. He lunged at the stranger, brandishing his blade, and shouted with a mix of anger and aggression, "Bloody undead! Kill it!"
The stranger appeared taken aback by Tormund's swift attack. He sidestepped with surprising agility, his movements graceful for someone who had professed to have once died.
With a well-timed maneuver, he tripped Tormund, causing the Free Folk warrior to tumble face-first into the snow.
A wry look crossed the stranger's face as he glanced at the fallen Tormund and turned his attention back to Gale and the others, who remained poised and ready to spring into action.
"I must confess... I'm unsure how to proceed from here," the stranger admitted, his voice marked by a tinge of puzzlement.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, his face marred by hesitation. "Revealing my face is usually enough to send everyone running back to the Haunted Forest," he added, acknowledging the rare situation he now found himself in.
Gale regarded the stranger with a puzzled expression. "Just let me ask you one thing for a change," he began, a hint of weariness in his voice. "What exactly do you want from us?"
The stranger tilted his head and, in a somewhat robotic fashion, repeated his earlier words, "To turn back and return from whence you came..." His voice and gestures mirrored the previous statement, as if he had rehearsed them many times.
Gale's initial aggression dissipated as he let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, for the love of... another weirdo. Just what I needed," he muttered, dismissing his iceblade, much to the confusion of his companions. He lowered himself to the ground and sat down, visibly frustrated. "Please, just go away and find someone else to bother, will you?"
The stranger's contemplative gaze met Gale's, his expression betraying confusion as he weighed his options. He sidestepped yet another attempted attack from Tormund, demonstrating remarkable agility despite his eerie demeanor.
Amid the scuffles and dodging, a glimmer of realization seemed to break through the stranger's facade. He managed to evade yet another of Tormund's attacks, gracefully tripping the burly warrior once more.
He grinned, retrieving a single golden coin from his cloak, which he tossed in Gale's direction. The young man caught the coin, scrutinizing it with a furrowed brow.
It was unquestionably crafted from solid gold, yet its design bore no resemblance to any currency Gale had ever encountered. Neither had it the markings he had read about in his extensive studies.
A hint of satisfaction danced in the stranger's eyes as he watched Gale's keen interest. "No one would venture this far without being driven by desperation. I've heard it said that gold could resolve all manner of difficulties, so—" the stranger began, but Gale abruptly interrupted him by flinging the coin back.
The stranger deftly caught the coin, his grin promptly vanishing.
"Unfortunately, gold can't solve my problems," Gale looked at the stranger with a bitter chuckle. "I don't know who you are or why you're so insistent on us 'turning back and returning from whence we came,' but I won't leave until I find and slay a white walker," he declared mockingly.
The stranger's decayed countenance exhibited further confusion, and yet he swiftly composed himself. "Well, if that's the case, I'd be willing to guide you to a white walker... though your chances of survival are slim at best," he stated, nodding matter-of-factly.
At those words, Gale arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused smile. "You won't even make an attempt to dissuade us?" he inquired, letting out a light chuckle. "In other words, you don't want us to turn back to save our lives but rather to keep us away from something you're trying to protect," he added, regarding the stranger with a shrewd look.
The stranger began to form a response, but found himself unable to articulate a refutation. Instead, he acknowledged, "It's been quite some time since I've had a meaningful conversation with a human. I nearly forgot the extent of your observant and cunning nature," he admitted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
Internally, Gale rolled his eyes at the sudden shift in the stranger's stance. He wasn't inclined to jump to conclusions based solely on a few exchanged words, but the initial shift in the stranger's demeanor did strike him as suspicious.
Gale decided to probe his intentions, and the stranger promptly caved, confirming Gale's suspicions. It was clear that this peculiar undead being was either incredibly gullible or profoundly disconnected from human behavior and reasoning due to the passage of time if it even had such things.
"Whatever it is that you're guarding, I'm not interested in it," Gale declared firmly. "As long as you can guide us to an isolated white walker, we'll depart and never return once we kill it," he concluded.
The stranger acknowledged Gale's terms with a simple nod, displaying no signs of suspicion or doubt. Gale found this utter lack of skepticism exasperating, but for the moment, he was content that the stranger appeared willing to assist.
He was never one to look a horse gift horse in the mouth, even if it was rotten and reeking of death.
...
As they sat around the crackling bonfire in the ruins of Moat Cailin, Ser Barristan noticed Tyrion's curious gaze wandering over the desolate landscape, the bogs, and the greenery in the distance.
"What's on your mind, my lord?" he asked, intrigued by Tyrion's apparent interest.
Tyrion looked back at Ser Barristan with a hint of fascination in his eyes. "I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the Crannogmen... They're known to be reclusive, but I thought we might at least encounter one of them," he explained, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Ser Barristan chuckled at Tyrion's expectations. "The Crannogmen are indeed a reclusive people, but aside from their habits and traditions, they are no different from you and me," he reassured, his tone dismissive of any exaggerated tales.
Tyrion gave him an amused yet slightly affronted look. "I do appreciate your efforts not to insult my intelligence. I'm fully aware they are regular people. It's their habits and traditions that I'm-" he said, pausing as the sudden blaring of alarm bells disrupted the tranquility of their surroundings.
Both men jumped to their feet, drawing their weapons as they were greeted by the blood-curdling battle cries of charging foes. The urgency of the situation was evident.
"Seek cover quickly! We're under attack!" Ser Barristan barked out orders, his sword gleaming in the firelight as he scanned the darkness, trying to identify the source of the threat.
One of the archers positioned atop a tower nearby rapidly nocked an arrow, lit it with the torch near him, and let it fly into the night. It arched and landed near the intruders, marking their position with an ominous burst of flames, effectively alerting everyone to the direction from which they were being attacked.
Ser Barristan Selmy's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the numerous intruders that had descended upon them – a formidable force of over thirty attackers. His veteran instincts kicked into high gear, and he swiftly drew his sword, wasting no time in issuing commands to his men.
"Men, form up around me! Archers, hold your positions in the towers! Light up the area!" he commanded with authority.
The dozen knights swiftly gathered around him, forming a defensive line, while the six archers stationed in the towers responded promptly, their flaming arrows casting an eerie glow over the darkened landscape.
In the midst of this chaotic scene, Tyrion Lannister, initially frozen in shock, snapped into action. He scrambled for cover, his eyes scanning for any available weapon.
The dimiunitive nobleman spotted a discarded hand axe on the ground, and with nimble fingers, he snatched it up on the way.
The intruders continued their advance, metal-clad and well-prepared, their shields raised to protect against the archers' arrows. A dark shadow fell over Ser Barristan Selmy's face, for these were not mere bandits but trained soldiers. However, he did not let this revelation dampen his resolve.
"We're facing trained soldiers, but do not despair! You are the finest knights and soldiers in King's Landing, handpicked by me personally!" Ser Barristan declared with unwavering confidence. "Hold the line, and we will see the light of day once more!" He stood firm in the center of his men, his very presence injecting a sense of courage into the surrounding soldiers.
His warriors remained resolute, their unwavering postures and stoic expressions revealing their unwavering faith. After all, Ser Barristan the Bold was with them, and that was all the assurance they needed.
The intruders closed the distance rapidly, their weapons raised for combat. Despite the odds stacked against them, Ser Barristan and his loyal companions fought valiantly. In the thick of the skirmish, it was Ser Barristan who claimed the first life among the intruders, his seasoned skills proving unmatched.
With a single clash of swords, his opponent fell.
This initial victory emboldened the knights surrounding Ser Barristan. The sight of their revered commander in the heart of the battle sent shockwaves through the opposition, instilling fear in their hearts.
One by one, the second and third intruders met their end, their assault thwarted by the fierce defenders.
As the formation of the attackers grew increasingly disorganized, the skilled archers in the towers unleashed their deadly rain of arrows, taking a toll on the assailants. Victory seemed tantalizingly within reach for Ser Barristan and his stalwart company.
Their opponents would all fall sooner or later.
However, just when it appeared that triumph was imminent, fate intervened. Tyrion, alert and observant, noticed another group of armed men rapidly approaching the ruins from a different direction, their presence signaling that this battle was far from over.
A sense of urgency swept over him as he realized that the situation had taken a perilous turn.
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