Turk
Even with two blankets and a fire roaring in the small, stone fireplace in the bedroom, Turk was freezing. He'd spent the entirety of the last winter on Sand Island, and the long summer had made him far too comfortable in the heat. The temperatures here were unbearably cold compared to what he was used to. Even as a boy, he'd never experienced the harsh, northern winds like this. He clutched at the imitation fur blanket that enveloped him, pulling it tighter. Then he grasped the thick quilt on top of it and pulled it in as well. He never took his eyes off the flames, as if the mere sight of them would warm him up.
Are you there? he found himself asking in his own head, but no reply came. He frowned. Two of his companions had seen something in the sky tonight. He'd heard it and felt the wind shake the old house. Blythe insisted it was a drone. Lance swore he saw a dragon. Turk had seen nothing but starlight and a quick burst of fire against the black. Part of him wondered if it would have been better to have seen this mystery object in the sky, but the other half of him was glad to have been near the fire instead. He decided that he'd learn the truth of it soon enough. He shivered one last time before closing his eyes.
When they opened next, it was still dark. He struggled to focus as he realized he wasn't alone. His heart spiked into action as he saw a dark figure crouched next to the fire, prodding it with a stick before throwing the stick on top of the embers. He blinked hard, squinting when he opened them again. His heart skipped a beat as he slowly saw the familiar face of Ranger Lance staring at him.
"Did I wake you? Sorry," Lance offered.
"No, no," he brushed it off. "I was just startled." Lance nodded.
"Your fire should come back to life," the ranger whispered as he placed another piece of wood onto the growing flame. "Figured you'd be cold."
"Thank you," was all he managed before the man stood and slowly moved towards the door. As Lance grabbed the handle, he stopped and looked back at Turk.
"Can I ask you something?" Lance posed. Turk turned his head to meet Lance's gaze.
"Of course," he agreed. Lance took a step back into the room.
"When you were being controlled by the Raven," Lance began slowly. "How did it feel?" Turk grimaced under the blanket, his eyes peering over before he slowly pulled the cloth away from his face.
"At first," he answered honestly. "It was extremely uncomfortable. It was as if someone were forcing me into a dream while I was still awake."
"He never announced his presence?" Lance asked, his brow furrowed.
"Not the first time, no," Turk shook his head. "Later, he would frighten me by saying my name – only, inside," Turk explained, raising one hand from the blankets to point at his head on the last word. Lance frowned.
"And he'd do this anytime?" the ranger asked, turning away from the door and slightly closing it behind him.
"Anytime," he answered. "Usually, he was trying to give me instructions."
"And now, nothing?" Lance went on. Turk nodded, a shiver running up his body as he struggled to keep warm. He had no idea how Lance could stand there so calmly. "When I was young, my mother used to tell me all sorts of stories," he began, taking another step towards the growing fire. "Old stories – about magic, dragons, the White Walkers, all of it. When you're a boy, you believe them all. I don't know why... maybe it just makes the boring world seem exciting. I'd dream about times like this; Hoping I'd be one of the heroes left at the end of the world. Now that it's here," he trailed off slightly, staring into the flames. "Well, I just wish I had my mother back."
"You are not alone," Turk agreed. "My mother also spoke of dragons and White Walkers, but these stories were not popular in Essos. That was mostly a Westerosi legend," he admitted.
"What gets me the most," Lance sighed. "She could be anywhere right now. Marching on the Wall, or maybe she was at Dragonstone, and we dropped bombs on her. We used nuclear weapons!" he hissed. "There's no coming back from that. That land won't be inhabitable for generations to come."
"There may not be any future generations," Turk reasoned. Lance frowned.
"Aye," Lance agreed. "But humans are pretty resilient," he then offered. "I'm sure that, aside from us and our boys at the Wall, there are survivors out there. Even in Essos," he concluded.
"I also believe this," Turk nodded. Lance turned to him.
"I hope your man comes back to you," the ranger wished out loud as he stepped backwards towards the door.
"As do I," he agreed. The ranger nodded and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Turk looked back at the fire, now roaring in the stones. He again pulled the blankets as tightly to him as he could as he drifted back to sleep.
The morning was quiet. Their determined march went without much fanfare – Blythe reasserted her position that she'd seen a drone. Lance kept uncharacteristically quiet. Beck took point ahead of them, out of conversational range. Lisa alone attempted small talk, asking questions and making astute observations to each response she got. After a while, she'd realized that no one was in much of a talking mood. Whereas only a few days prior they had been overjoyed to see each other, it seemed now their steam had run out. True, it was much colder than before and the snows were picking up, but still, Turk desired to see their issue resolved.
"When I was a boy," he spoke suddenly. "My mother told me a tale of the White Walkers." The group took turns looking over to him, but he continued. "You see, she loved scary stories and ever since I was old enough to hear them, she shared them with me. I didn't care so much for them, but I listened because she was my mother," he explained.
"You were a dutiful son," Lisa offered. He smiled.
"I remember asking her if they were real, or just stories," he went on. "She laughed and laughed... I didn't know what was so funny, you see. To me, every story could have been true. People all over the world have similar legends," he reasoned. "If two peoples from different corners of the world have the same legend, I must assume some truth to it."
"Haven't you seen enough proof?" Lance snorted. Turk nodded.
"I wish I could tell my mother this," he answered honestly. "But I fear she learned for herself." Another period of silence overtook them before Lisa spoke.
"What was her story about?" she asked. He pursed his lips.
"Hmm," he thought. "It was a tale of a winter so cold that the Narrow Sea froze, and the White Walkers crossed the ice. They arrived first in Braavos, then south to Bentosh," he narrated. The group listened as they marched. "When they came to Valyria – when people still lived there – the White Walkers did not attack them."
"Why?" Blythe asked.
"Because of the dragons," he replied. "And perhaps, because of magic. My mother told me that the Valyrians defeated the White Walkers with their secret power," he concluded.
"And dragons," Lance offered.
"Well, I would assume that the dragons were a part of that secret power," Turk reasoned. "No other men had dragons."
"To what end?" Blythe asked. Turk looked at her confused. "I mean," she clarified. "Why tell us this?" He shrugged.
"In her tale," he continued. "The White Walkers marched across Essos. They went past the Shadowlands, unstoppable. Very few people survived. One day, they all left. They suddenly marched away, and, after some time, the people came out of hiding and built the cities that we know today. Braavos and Bentosh and Myr – all of these cities were founded by those who survived – but not Valyria," he explained. "Valyria remained. Why?"
"The dragons," Lance sighed.
"Yes, but, if the Valyrians could use magic and dragons to stop the White Walkers, why didn't they do it anywhere else?" Turk posed. Blythe hummed aloud before speaking.
"Perhaps their magic only worked there," she reasoned. "Or their dragons couldn't leave yet."
"I have another theory," Turk suggested.
"By all means," Lance urged. "We've still hours to go."
"We know that the First Men came from Esoss and spread across the Narrow Sea into Westeros, yes?" he questioned the group. They murmured in agreement.
"From north of the Wall, down south to Dorne, across the Stepstones," Lance confirmed. "As we've learned it, at least."
"Yes," he agreed. "And we know that this is, at the very least, the third Long Night – from the stories."
"Are you suggesting that this isn't the third time?" Lisa asked quietly.
"I'm suggesting that this may occur every so often," he answered honestly. "The good Maester suggested every thousand years – after all, it's been a thousand years since the last time the dead walked, and they claimed a thousand years before that – but there are no books or evidence from any time before."
"Makes sense," Blythe admitted.
"So, by that logic, what if the First Men came here looking for the White Walkers?" he posed. The group looked at each other, equal parts exhaustion, confusion and trepidation.
"You mean, to kill them?" Lance asked. Turk nodded vigorously.
"We know that the dragons flew across the Narrow Sea to Westeros when the world opened up and destroyed Valyria," he explained before shrugging his shoulders. "What if they went there because they remembered going there before?"
"Seems a bit far-fetched," Blythe reasoned. Turk nodded.
"To be fair," he countered. "All of this is a bit 'far-fetched.'" Blythe laughed.
"Yeah, you're right about that. Alright, so your theory, if I'm following you, is that every thousand years, the White Walkers wake from their icy tombs, spread across the world – wiping away human civilization – and the humans that do survive rebuild the world?" she summarized.
"So far, yes," he agreed.
"And you reckon that, during one of these previous Long Nights, humans came from Valyria – the only place untouched by the White Walkers – to Westeros not as settlers but to combat the dead?" she continued. He nodded vigorously.
"This is why you saw a dragon," he insisted. "It has come back to finish its work."
