Blythe
As she entered the courtyard of the old castle – little more than a ruin of ancient stones vaguely arranged into a square – she found Beck and Lance standing with the Lord Commander under a spotlight. In their hands were the swords they'd risked their lives taking from Branton. Beck admired his as he held it up to the light, his black-gloved hand gripping the restored weapon tightly, watching the light dance off each ripple of steel. Lance held his outwards, equally enthralled by the blade. The Lord Commander tucked a third into a sheath and wrapped the belt around his waist, now, more than ever, resembling a knight more than a modern soldier. Dr. Stone stood with Turk nearby, as well as a group of men from her own army. Forscythe, she recalled. And his men. The Lord Commander looked up to her and nodded in respect. She returned the gesture as Dr. Ebrose slowly climbed a wooden staircase onto a platform holding the replica elevator once used by the Night's Watch in centuries past.
"Friends," he began, gathering their collective attention. "We haven't much time. You've all felt the temperatures rapidly drop and the snows set in. The Night Queen will be among us soon," he warned. The group looked on, a mix of fear and reverence. "I'm not sure exactly where we're going," he then admitted. "And I'm not totally sure how to get there... but I believe in what we're doing – and why. I just wanted to thank you – all of you – for coming with me," he concluded. Blythe looked around at the group. Despite the fear and anxiety, they appeared ready. She hoped she did as well.
With a nod from the Lord Commander, the heavy wood and steel door that sealed the tunnel began to open. The motors controlling the door whined in the cold temperatures as small shards of ice and frost broke free. The door slowly slid up, revealing the darkened passage behind it. As the door reached the top of the track, the lights inside slowly flickered on. Though time and temperature had not been kind to the modern equipment inside, the walls of the tunnel appeared untouched by time – no cracks or gouges could be seen. She peered down to the end where another equally impressive door sealed the other side from the land beyond the Wall. She grasped her rifle and began to walk into the tunnel. Forscythe took position behind her, and his men quickly fell in. Ebrose descended from the staircase and, flanked by Lance and Beck, joined the group. Dr. Stone and Turk came last.
By the time the other door finished opening, the first door had closed, sealing the tunnel from the south. On the other side of the wall, they found nothing but a field of snow stretching for hundreds of yards before suddenly terminating at a wall of thick woodland. Though the winds howled around them, they proceeded towards the line of trees, looking back only to watch the door seal the tunnel shut behind them. As if a premonition or an omen, the two amber floodlamps next to the tunnel door also shut off, leaving them in a dark gray reality, surrounded by white.
The forest protected them from the worst of the winds and snows, but the narrow road leading north from the tunnel had been neglected. Trees lay across the snow-covered gravel, frozen together with ice. In other places, moss and lichen grew and sprouting saplings did their best to erase mankind's involvement with the land. Now in the lead, Beck marched forward, clearing the path of stray branches as best he could. Blythe approached him and lent him a hand for a particularly large branch laying across the path.
"Appreciate it," he grunted as they tossed the dead limb away.
"You've been up here before," she stated, watching her words depart her mouth in the form of steam, the heat escaping and joining the winter chill. He grunted in affirmation. "You know where we're going?"
"Up ahead, there's an old tree," he offered. "It's one of our landmarks from the old days."
"Is that the tree Dr. Ebrose is searching for?" she asked. He shook his head.
"No, this tree is long dead," he replied. "Same type, though."
"From there, you know where to go?" she asked. He snickered.
"To be honest, no," he admitted, leaning down to pick up another branch and tossing it aside. "But this road splits off from there. One path to the east," he pointed to their right. "Another goes further north," he swung his arm ahead, his black-gloved finger outstretched.
"And the dead?" she asked. "Where are they in relation to us?"
"Far," he answered confidently. "They're up past the Fist."
"What's the Fist?" she asked.
"A mountain," he answered. "Up in the Frostfangs. Never looked much like a fist to me," he continued, raising his own hand in front of his face and squeezing it into a fist. She looked ahead, squinting through the trees but was unable to see the horizon.
"How far does the North go?" she half-asked, half-whined. He gave a short laugh.
"You could march to the top of the world," he offered. "At the northernmost shores, where the forest stops, that's where people stop. That's weeks away from there, though. Even if we had vehicles, we would be days away. I reckon all this," he gestured around them. "Is larger than the rest of the North," he concluded. Her eyes grew wide.
"You're kidding," she gasped. He shook his head.
"Half the goddamn country is uninhabitable," he lamented. "'Cept for a few crazy bastards that want to be up here."
"Like the Watch?" she asked, half-joking. He snickered.
"To be honest, I reckon they could have built the Wall even further north," he mused. "But they built it there because it was the most convenient spot." Suddenly, he stopped, causing her to also stop. She looked over to him as he peered ahead through the snow falling between the trees. "We're close," he suddenly announced, turning back to see the rest of the group approaching them from behind.
Sure enough, an hour later they came to a clearing. Though they felt the chill of winter surrounding them, they couldn't help but to stare in awe at the majesty of the lifeless tree – solid white standing starkly against the deep brown and green of the rest of the forest. No other trees grew next to it, leaving enough space for the entire group to gather in the opening around it. Blythe walked up to the old tree, examining the face-shaped carving in the trunk. She looked over at Beck, who nodded in approval.
"Watch lore has it that these trees are what're left of the Old Gods of the North," he explained to the group. Ebrose approached it and ran his hand along the lower mouth, feeling the solid wood.
"The Old Gods carved the face into the tree?" the maester asked. Beck shook his head.
"You misunderstand me," he clarified. "The trees are the Old Gods."
"This tree is long dead," Ebrose quietly replied, staring at the dried, blood-red sap staining the face as if long-dried tears.
"Aye," Beck replied. "And so are the Old Gods. There are only two trees like this that I know of – this one here and the one in Winterfell Castle. They've both got the faces on 'em," he explained. He looked around and took a deep breath. "Let's rest here a few minutes. Get our strength back," he reasoned, unslinging his rifle and resting it on the ground against the tree before removing his backpack and retrieving his canteen. The rest of the group gathered into a tight circle, blocking the wind from one another, as they did the same. Blythe walked over to Ebrose, who instead examined the face on the tree.
"It's not natural, right?" she asked, looking at the haunting face.
"No," Ebrose explained, peering into the face closely. "It's manmade, but the carving is old. Perhaps ancient, even," he pointed at some of the features as he spoke. "Some of this has worn away, but very little of it. This wood is incredibly resilient," he went on as he ran his finger along one of the 'eyes' of the tree. "You can still see – here – where it was whittled away with a tool of some sort."
As he rubbed his hand along the face, he slid his hand into the mouth and suddenly took a sharp breath, his eyes rolling back in his head until only the whites could be seen. Blythe looked at him in fear, her heart suddenly accelerating. She turned to the rest of the group, who seemed oblivious. She tried to call out, but her mouth wouldn't move. She found herself gripped by something more than fear. She turned back to the maester, who was now standing upright, jerking slightly as he gasped for air. He didn't appear to be struggling, but was rather taking something in.
"Something's wrong," Lance chimed in as he stood, peering into the forest. Blythe looked over at him, her heart racing and unable to speak. Her hands trembled, but she couldn't reach out. Whatever was taking Ebrose was preventing her from stopping it. The rest of the group looked towards Lance as a dark figure appeared, slowly marching towards them. It made no sound as it approached. Even the snow was undisturbed where its boots should have left prints. The black cloak around them obscured any detail, as did the black wrapping around its head and face. "Who goes there?" Lance called.
"You cannot stop here," the stranger called in a familiar voice, stopping at the edge of the trees just before their temporary encampment. "She will find you," it warned them.
"Ben," was all Blythe could gasp. Lance looked back at her, his eyes growing wide, before snapping back to the apparition.
"Old Ben?" Lance called out. "Is that you?"
"You have to keep moving," the ghost answered, pointing north. "You can make it, but you're in danger here," he warned. Lance began to shout something back to the ancient brother but before a word could come from his mouth, the vision faded. The group instead stared at an empty space between the trees where it stood only a moment earlier. Blythe turned back to Ebrose, who had apparently returned back to consciousness, nursing his hand as if the tree had bitten him. His face a portrait of fear. He looked up at her and shook his head.
"I... saw... so much," he panted. She placed her hand on his shoulder as he looked onward.
"Some people used to call this forest haunted," Beck said as he walked towards where the apparition appeared. "I guess they were right."
"He said we have to move – " Blythe began before stopping suddenly as a high-pitched shriek filled the air. The angry rasp rushed through the trees and gave them all a chill.
"What was that?" Dr. Stone questioned, clutching her hands close to her chest and shivering.
"Not the wind," Lance answered, picking up his bag and slinging it onto his back. "Let's listen to our ghostly friend and go." With that, the group, already on their feet, began to hurry towards the trees. As they moved, the shriek came again – this time louder.
"It's getting closer," she warned. Lance readied his rifle and took the lead next to Beck. They scanned the forest as they moved before stopping.
"No way," Beck spat. Blythe looked ahead, keeping the maester behind her. In the trees, she saw it. One of them. It stood motionless, only the white hair whipping in the wind with an icy sword in its grasp. The blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light.
"That's one of them," Lisa cried. "A White Walker." Beck wasted no time; He brought up his rifle and focused on his target. Before he could squeeze the trigger, a wave of corpses ran from the darkness straight at them.