AN: This will be a story mainly focused on the Targaryen family, based on the fanfiction "Roberts Rebelion: Writ in Blood" by zzbkit4

To be clear, this is not a continuation or a follow up story. It is fanfiction-fiction, and I pray every day that the author continues their masterpiece.

Nat Waters Prologue: Beyond The Wall

The truest test of a man, his father had always said, was if his spirit or his body gave out first.

And as he meticulously placed foot after foot on the snow-covered ice, he had to force himself to repeat those words again and again as their group marched ever onward.

Their leader, Mance Rayder, had set a hard pace, yet did not seem even remotely bothered by the unstable terrain or fast-moving wind whipping his hair to and fro. He was as at home with the frozen land as the wildlings were - or so his friends had said while seeing them off almost two moons ago, assuring him that he would be back with the best tales of them all.

This, however, did little to ease his discomfort, as they finally crested the glacier they had been scaling, and he was given an unclear vision of the frozen land beyond. He could not see as far as he wished, as the wind picked snow into the air from the ground and blew it up into white dusty grain, which blanketed his view in all directions, and gave the strange impression that it was snowing upwards.

How far he was from home… If only his father could see him now.

This expedition was a unique venture, and he had traveled all the way to the westmost fort to partake in it. There were six of them, all taken together. And they were all rangers of the night's watch. Mance, who was their leader, himself, Remmy, Hike, Ser Argon, and Tuff.

He had only been a lowly squire before. Sworn to a minor knight in service of the Darklyns of Duskendale. Oh how great a life his had been then. A lowly bastard, who would one day be a knight! It had seemed almost like in the fairytales.

His banishment was a mercy, in truth. So many others had lost their heads in the defiance, Ser Grafton, the man he had squired under, included. He had only been eight then, but even now, almost ten years later, he at times still felt like that same little boy.

"It will soon be night", came the voice of the expedition's commander. Mance had an almost animal-like build, with strong wiry arms, shaggy hair, and wild laughing brown eyes.

"There will be no freefolk in this part of the land. Not this time a'year, atleast. When we find shelter we can make fire and finally warm our sorry asses". Mance had insisted upon carrying firewood with them when the forest had begun thinning out, and while he had complained in his head at the time, now, as he looked upon what he could see of the barren land before him, he could not help but be grateful. Mance had seemed tense tense that day though, no laughing or joking.

Taking a final moment to admire the end of their long days trek, they began pushing forward and down.

Some time into their descent of the glacier he began feeling something strange. A tingling in his otherwise numb limbs that made his hair stand on end and a strange altogether different chill creep into his spine. And as their downwards march continued, he almost fancied he could see some strange irregular shapes at the edges of the horizon, through the otherwise impenetrable blanket of snow.

But the next moment it was gone, and his pause was only met by a hoarse laugh from behind him.

"Fergot how yer legs work, did ya?" came the voice of another of his brothers - Remmy - from behind him. As he turned, partially grateful that he had been given an excuse to break his pace, he observed the four men tracking behind him. All of them were older, and all of them were veteran rangers. He himself was brought along mostly for his skill with a blade, and, of course, to give him a chance at real experience.

"I was just thinking how strange it is that we might be the first men to walk this snow in who knows how long…" he trailed off, and took a moment to gaze out into the snowy sheath which seemed to have grown even thicker since they had first begun their climb down.

He wondered how long it would be before he fully lost his Crownland accent, and the finer words Ser Grafton had taught him, even with the great effort he had made in keeping it.

"Yer can think 'bout it later, boy," the graying man said with an uncharacteristic gruffness. "There is a foul air to somethin' here… We're all feelin it. Stay near, and low."

And so their downwards march continued.

About halfway down, he felt the sting of unease, but it was quickly swallowed by his numbing body, and his unwillingness to show the older men any hint that he could be craven. "Will Mance not let us light a fire, then?"

The older man seemed to grow more weary at the question.

"Aven't a thought, boy. Mance is feelin it also. But wa'ever it is…" he trailed off. "Looks like 'at might be our restin' spot," he said, pointing at where there seemed to be a cliff face he had not noticed in the otherwise desolate valley they were shuffling down into.

It looked as though Mance had seen it also, for he had begun altering his course slightly to the east.

As their descent continued in silence, Nat couldn't shake his earlier unease. The howling wind, the crunching of snow under his boots, and the hollow sound of his own panted breaths. By the time he had reached the ground, he could almost only hear the pumping of blood in his ears, and the ghastly screams of the winter wind whirling around them, as they made their way around the final ice formation of the low glacier they had spent their day crossing.

"Lets make the setting-up of camp a quick affair, it is already getting late," came the wry voice of Mance. "I don't want your frozen toes to come off". He fancied he could hear the twisted smile in the leader's voice before everyone halted abruptly.

Caught off guard, he stumbled to a halt as well, before looking up and feeling shock overtake him a moment later.

What had appeared at a height to resemble a collection of rocky peaks or cliffs, did not, at closer distance, bear the semblance of any natural shape at all.

It was a collection of great stone blocks - perhaps eight - in a loose semi-circle, which, as they approached, appeared to reach almost six times his own height into the sky. And he was convinced that not even if they all reached around together would they be able to clasp hands around the bases.

But most disturbing of all, their angels appeared eerily straight, with sharp, intentional-looking square corners and although the snow they were flecked with made it hard to see, their rough surfaces appeared strangely patterned, as though made by some tool.

"Queer to 'ave a wind grow strong'r in a valley, d'ya think Mance?" shouted one of the brothers in the back, as they approached.

The controlled, whip-like eyes of Mance seemed to scan their surroundings for a moment, before he began approaching the structure fully. "Dig a hole. Make a tent. We turn to go back in the morning. We'll take a more western path back."

The process of tenting had become rather routine by now. And the four older rangers and him made short work of raising a shelter at the base of one of the massive pillars, after digging as deep a hole in the snow and ice as they were able.

Why do we have to continue descending? Some part of his brain seemed to whisper to him, but he kept working, and kept digging.

Mance had just stood still watching the horizon as they had worked.

Finally, after building a proper shelter, perhaps a man deep, with an improvised roof of tent-materials and with a hole up top for smoke, they were able to begin constructing their fire.

It was an arduous task, much more difficult then he had expected - even with all their preparations and the help of the other rangers.

"This land belongs to the gods of winter," Mance had said, "they hold great mislike for fire".

Eventually, with the waking and sleeping decided, he had settled down to rest, and he was left alone with his thoughts and the ever screaming wind.

And so he had descended into an uneasy sleep.

He awoke some time later to the sound of a brother's soft singing.

~ "Deep in the dark,

~ I felt the fire flicker,

~ Tend to the flame and give us light,

~ Thy cursed heart,

~ And hollowed eyes glow thicker,

~ Out of the shadow cometh night,

~ Blinding flame give us sight,

~ Warmth and Cold, black and white,

~ Make a choice, wrong or right,

~ I feel a curse in me preparing me to die."

It was a dark song, and as he rolled over to see who exactly was singing of such terrible things he was surprised to see Mance be the one awake, staring deeply into the fire.

After letting the final notes hang in the air for a moment, Mance spoke. "You should rest. It will be your turn to sit guard next."

Blushing slightly at having been caught, he turned over and let his clotted thoughts rest. In a haze, he contemplated how strange it was that he could no longer hear the screaming wind.

Slowly, though, he drifted back into cold unsteady slumber.

A rough shove in the shoulder woke him next. "Bear of some sort," Mance said, sword in hand. "We'll need fire to scare her away…"

The others had already begun taking sticks from their kindling and wrapping strips of cloth they had cut from their clothing onto them. "Fuck me for not bringing more oil." Tuff was cursing.

A deep growl sounded from outside, and he felt a shiver run through him.

With the embrace of sleep still drowning his mind, he scrambled for his sword which he had laid next to him. His hands were shaking, as he picked up his weapon of choice, sickly wishing for a spear, even as a great crash echoed just outside their little shelter - distinctly at odds with anything he remembered being outside.

A moment later the opening of their tent collapsed as a great weight was placed upon it, bringing much of the supporting structure with it. And with a great ripping noise, their tent gave out, plunging them all into a momentary blindness as cloth embraced their bodies and vision.

A great scream ripped through him from Hike as they all desperately tried to scramble from the ruins of their own collapsed safety.

Another shout, this time from Remmy, sounded less like a scream of pain, and more like the yelp of shock.

"It, it-s fuckin eyes!" Remmy sounded terrified. But he still couldn't see as he scrambled to get out of the pit they had dug themselves into.

"Fire! Light it on fire you bastard!" Tuff roared this time.

As he finally cleared the mound of snow he breathed out in horror as all the air escaped his lungs. A snow bear. Perhaps 14 foot tall on its hind legs, with great glowing blue eyes, its gaping maw dripping blood.

Hike's body was a broken mess beneath the bear. Black and red torn this way and that.

Remmy was currently trying to fend the bear off with his makeshift torch, but the fabric was not burning well, and looked apt to extinguish at any moment.

Argon and Tuff were standing behind Remmy with terrified faces and what little protection the fire seemed to offer. While Mance seemed to be trying to sneak around to the side.

Just as the bear seamed ready to charge Mance leaped forward, and sunk his blade into the bear - to easily, his deranged mind provided - and Tuff let out a shout of victory, which became a yell of shock as the bear charged, seemingly unbothered as the sword was ripped from Mance's hands still sticking out of it's leg.

Remmy had lept to the side to avoid the maw of teeth but had been tackled to the ground. Argon was not so quick, and was struck by the terror's clawed paw, letting out a gurgle as his cloak and light armor were shredded, blood running freely from his chest.

"Run you fool!" Tuff, who had managed to scramble down toward the fire bellowed at him.

But his legs froze again, and he had the desperate thought that if he left the fire, he would die.

A moment later Remmy let out a terrified shout as his head was ripped clean from his body by the great jaws of the beast. With Mance falling down into the pit with Tuff a second later.

A moment later the glowing eyes were in front of him, the dead meat of his Brothers seemingly obscuring the true horror of the badly rotting pelt beneath.

A moment later his body jerked back to the nightmare as he flailed back with all the ability he had. But the bear was already on him and an impossible pain flared through his body as he was lifted in the air by his right thigh.

A moment later the bright hissing fire consumes him as a flaming tent-support slammed into the bear's head, sending his body rolling across the snow, hot tears burning his frozen face.

"A fuckin weight. Tha- that was a fuckin weight." The ever quiet and composed Remmy was stammering.

He was bleeding out, he somehow knew. But the fear of dying seemed distant to him. What scared him more was the cold. That horrible cold.

"Hide me," he managed to get out as everything seemed to grow colder, "hide me from the cold. Please!", but his brothers didn't listen to him. "Please", he repeated.

But he knew they wouldn't, as Mance's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw fear in them.

Looking behind him he realized why, as a black-cloaked man with star-like blue eyes was walking towards him with a sword raised. A moment later he felt it pierce his chest, and the distant screams of his Brothers as they scrambled for more fire..

As his head rolled over a final time, he fancied that he could see something on the horizon, like some great watchtower or frozen stem glaring down from an impossible distance, hatred in its gaze, and he could not help but wonder what Ser Grafton - now long dead - would have thought of his death.