One of the two hounds accompanying them barked as Benjen waved the torch, the signal to open the gates. The creaking sound of wood against metal rang out loud as the distant sight of the haunted forest came into view.
As they set off through the tunnel, Jon looked towards the sky and noticed the comet above, a streak of bright red across the sky, reminding him of Sansa's hair. The dragons will hatch soon. He remembered Dany telling him the tale of bringing the dragons into the world. They'd waited for the comet to appear in the sky, which was why they delayed the trip. Not that anyone could know the truth; instead, the burned right hand Jon had got from saving Lord Commander Mormont was the reason given.
Jon whistled for Ghost, who dashed into the forest, sniffing for danger like it was his first taste of freedom. Here, the direwolf was in his element. North of the wall was his true home. Jon envied the direwolf's freedom, and he felt guilty for not allowing him to roam the north forever. Jon's path would take him south, and he was uncertain whether Ghost would want to join him. Would Jon have to leave his northern roots to live in the south, accepting his dragon heritage? It was a question he couldn't answer.
With that thought on his mind, Jon, Benjen, Edd, Pyp, Grenn and two accompanying Stark soldiers rode out on their horses, followed by Sam on the supply cart; containing ravens, food and wine for Craster. If it were up to Jon, he would avoid the place altogether, but he felt he owed it to Sam to introduce him to Gilly; Jon couldn't let his friend live without the love of his life; nor could he leave Gilly to suffer the fate she would have endured had she stayed, where Craster would leave baby Sam in the woods for the whitewalkers.
Jon hoped he'd find Mance Rayder and get back in time to save them. The journey from Castle Black to Craster's Keep was around sixty miles. Doubled when travelling through Haunted Forest, which was littered with fallen trees and no direct path. Their journey would have been easier if it weren't for Sam's supply cart slowing them down.
The fifth overnight stop was near a small village called Whitetree, a few miles north-west of Castle Black. A long abandoned wildling village containing four tumbledown one-room houses, surrounding a sheepfold and a well. The small ramshackle houses were each built from dry stone walls and roofed with sod, the windows shuttered with pieces of hide to keep out the wind. Each house had low doors, packed dirt floors, and a smoke hole in the roof.
Above the village stood an enormous old Heart Tree, unlike any Jon had seen. Its trunk was almost eight feet wide, and its branches, covered with blood red leaves, were large enough to shade the entire village.
The weirwood tree's face was not a simple carving, instead a jagged hollow for a mouth, large enough to swallow a hound, replaced the usual gash. At the foot of the tree, he spotted ashes and sacrificial bones. As he knelt at the base of the tree, he found a human skull. He picked it up and felt the power of the tree seep into his body.
Jon turned the skull over in his hand and examined it. "Wildlings burn their dead." he glanced around the village. "I wonder if the dead have already been, or if the villagers ran."
"Knowing my luck, the one who ran will come back and kill me, then the dead will turn me into one of those blue-eyed fuckers." Edd stared fearfully at the skull in Jon's hand. "I'd look terrible with blue eyes."
"Check the houses for dead bodies. Anything we find, burn." he gazed at the horizon. "The sun will set soon. We should camp elsewhere." Jon turned to Pyp. "Pyp, you help Sam with the horses. The rest of us will search the houses."
The men split into pairs, Jon with Edd, and Benjen with Grenn. Jon and Edd searched the first house, both stooping under the low door. The room was unfurnished, with a simple dirt floor. There was no sign of recent occupation, save for the ashes beneath the smokehole.
"I was born in a house like this," Edd told him. "Those were my enchanted years. Later I fell on hard times." In one corner of the room was a nest of dry straw. Edd looked at it with longing. "I'd give anything to sleep in a bed again."
Jon knelt down on the floor and rummaged through the straw, searching for anything concealed within. "There's nothing here."
The next house they searched was the same. Whitetree was the fourth village they came upon and, like the others, the people were gone, along with their scant possessions and whatever animals they had. None of the villages showed signs of being attacked. They were just empty. The men reunited after the search. Benjen and Grenn had yielded the same results as Jon and Edd.
Benjen, pulling a map from his saddlebag, "Nothing more to see," he showed it to Jon, who examined it.
"North of here there's a lake." Jon pointed out. "If we get a move on, we can camp there tonight. We've three hours of daylight left, and we can camp by the shore, perhaps catch a few fish."
"Samwell, fetch me paper, ink and a raven," Benjen called out. "I should write to the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon. Let them know of the wildling villages." Sam shuffled over with the necessities, handing a quill and parchment to Benjen, who wrote his letter and gave it to Sam.
"I need to write a letter too, Sam," Jon called out. Sam handed him a piece of parchment with ink, and Jon scratched down the few words he needed to say.
Sansa
I hope all is well. Tell everyone I'm missing them and I'm north of the wall with uncle Benjen. In a few days, we will encounter a place called Craster's Keep, where we found Gilly. Don't worry if I don't send a raven. Sending ravens will become difficult.
Take Care
Jon
Jon handed the parchment to Sam. "Send this to Queenscrown." Sam nodded, took the scroll, and tied it to a quorking raven.
Following the search, they took a few minutes to eat, drink, and take a piss before Jon commanded them to ride north. They mounted their horses, turned and set off north toward Craster's Keep.
The following ten days merged into one, with wind, rain, sleet and snow battering them as they made their way to Craster's Keep. When Jon spotted the smoke ahead, he knew Craster's Keep was within sight. The news energised the group, except Jon and Benjen, who knew of Craster's nature. He warned his men of Craster's predilections towards his daughters, and to stay well clear. Jon was uncertain how Craster would react to him. During their previous encounter, Craster had been downright hostile towards Jon. The second stay proved worse. He hated the Craster more than before.
The only difference was Jon planning the demise of the old pervert. An unthinkable act while he was a sworn brother. Now he was a free man, he could do whatever he liked, and Craster was superfluous to their needs. Jon was more interested in getting Craster's wives south of the Wall and move them to Queenscrown, if they'd allow it.
Above the canopy of the forest, a solitary hill arose in the distant snows. Two moons passed since Jon left Castle Black. The jagged top of the Fist of the First Men became visible.
The journey from Craster's had taken forever, and the rain never ceased, leaving the ground soaked and the mud too deep for cart wheels, not to mention the danger it posed to the horses. Every day, Sam's supply cart thrice threw a wheel, and they edged more than a daily mile before darkness fell, when it was time to camp once more. It would have been quicker to walk, Jon concluded.
Benjen trudged ahead of Jon. "We need to get moving if we are to reach the crest before dusk," he called out against the wind.
Jon held his hand out and looked up at the grey sky. "At least the rain has stopped."
"Aye, for now. Soon the snows will come and they'll be three feet deep." Benjen glanced back at the men following. "Will they manage?" he asked.
Jon looked behind him. "They're a lot better than they look. Even Sam."
Benjen chuckled and stopped to survey the area. "I'll take your word for it."
They made it to a summit crowned by a circular wall of rocks, which they followed for some distance before encountering a gap large enough for the horses. "This feels like solid ground," Jon proclaimed when they reached the top. "We'll make our camp here." Jon swung down from his saddle, hitting the ground hard.
Benjen trudged over towards him. "Is this the place, Jon?" he asked. Jon looked around the ringwall, trying to remember his last visit. He nodded. "I grew up on stories about the Fist; in the Dawn Age, the First Men created the ancient ringfort. An old place," Benjen said.
The climb would be steep and stony, not practical for horses. Jon minded the route he took with Lord Commander Mormont, one which was suitable for their mounts. "This way," he told Benjen.
Jon's gaze fell upon the stone wall, where he remembered erecting Mormont's tent. "Aye, this is the place. Ghost will find the dragonglass and horn somewhere close by,"
Sam approached, puffing. "Jon, I can't get the cart inside. It's stuck again," he said.
"Don't worry, Sam, we'll all help unload the supplies, except Pyp, who can tend the horses." The other six men gathered around Jon and Benjen. "We camp here tonight. You all know your duties. Best get to work," he said.
By dusk, the ringwall housed two tents, a latrine, and a fire. The supplies unpacked, and Pyp had fed and watered the horses. Ghost was nowhere in sight. If Ghost hadn't liked this place before, he wouldn't like it now. Jon climbed down the hill in search of his direwolf, who, out of nowhere, appeared beside him, white as snow.
Jon led him back up the hill to the ringfort, but when reached camp, Ghost sniffed at the stones, and retreated, not liking what he'd smelled. Whatever ghosts haunted the ringfort, the direwolf had no desire to be anywhere near it.
Jon climbed upon a pile of rocks and gazed off toward the setting sun. He looked to the horizon, where the jagged mountains protruded from the lands, like teeth, their peaks covered in snow. They looked as inhospitable from afar as they were to inhabit. He sat there until the sun vanished behind the mountains and darkness crept over the forest.
"Jon?" Samwell Tarly called up. "I thought it looked like you. Are you alright?"
Jon hopped down. "Aye, what about you?"
"Alright, I suppose. A ringfort of the First Men. Do you think they fought battles here?" Sam asked.
Jon nodded. "Aye, I should think so,"
Sam shuffled. "Benjen sent for you. Food is ready,"
Jon cocked his head. "Come on, best get something to eat."
They walked back through the camp together, where a cookfire was blazing. Overhead, the stars were shimmering, and the men gathered around the warm fire. Benjen sat away from the rest. He beckoned Jon over to him; he sat on the damp grass next to his uncle.
Benjen showed Jon the crude map Sam had drawn back at Craster's Keep. "Easiest road to the Frostfangs is following the Milkwater back to its source."
Jon looked at Benjen and shook his head. "We'd be best going through the Skirling Pass, if it's clear."
Benjen looked at Jon as if he'd grown another head. "Why would we go into the mountains? If we get caught in a storm …"
"We know where the wildlings are. I don't like Craster, but I do not think he lied to us. Our best chance is to cross the Skirling Pass." Jon lowered his head close enough to Benjen so he could lower his voice. "Once we've found the dragonglass, we send Sam back to the wall with the soldiers. Let them take Craster's Keep and rescue the women. Give him some daggers, just in case he comes across any whitewalkers. We'll take the rest to Mance."
"Is that the safest way?" Benjen asked.
"Yes," Jon said. "No dead will bother us there."
"As you say. Best get some sleep, lad." Benjen patted Jon on the back before getting up and heading toward his tent.
"Sleep well, uncle Benjen." Jon folded up the map and put it in his saddlebag.
Jon's stomach rumbled, telling him he was hungry. He made his way over towards the fire, where Grenn was spooning stew from the kettle into bowls and handing them out.
"I wouldn't like to ride alone through these woods tonight. Can you smell it?" Pyp asked.
"All I smell is the shit of two hundred horses. And this stew. Which has a similar aroma, now that you mention it." Edd said.
Grenn filled Jon's bowl from the kettle. They ate a stew filled with barley, carrot, and onion, and an occasional shred of beef. "What smell, Pyp?"
Pyp wrinkled his nose, "It smells … cold."
"Cold doesn't have a smell." Grenn laughed.
Jon knew better, for death carried a smell; in battle and the army of the dead who marched on them; they smelled of the cold. Jon lost his appetite, so he gave his stew to Grenn, who looked to need more than Jon did.
The freezing wind was blowing in his face when he left for watch duty. Jon built a fire outside the tent he shared with Benjen, Edd, and Sam. The first watch of four men would sit outside the tents, each facing one of the four directional points. In the distance a faint, but unmistakable sound howling of wolves pierced the darkness. Their cries sounded eerie and lonely. It made the hairs rise along the back of his neck. Across the fire, Jon spotted a pair of red eyes in the shadows.
"Ghost, have you found it, boy?" he asked; the direwolf set off, stopped, and looked back, urging Jon to follow.
Jon pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. Torch in hand, he left the tents and warm fire to follow his wolf. The wind whistled through cracks in the rocks, blowing Jon's cloak, as they edged from the entrance of the ringwall. Ghost raced down the hill, Jon followed, his torch lighting his way as he made his descent.
The night was dark, and the slope steep and uneven. In the distance, there was a faint sound of water flowing over rocks. Jon knew the direwolf was heading in that direction. Ghost vanished into the brush, and Jon struggled after him. He heard the trickle of the brook and found the direwolf lapping from the stream.
"Ghost," he called. The direwolf raised his head, his eyes glowed red in the torchlight, water teemed from his jaws, giving him a fierce and terrifying appearance in that moment. Then he ran, bounding past Jon and into the trees.
"Ghost, wait," he shouted, but the wolf ignored him. The darkness swallowed the wolf whole. Jon followed, holding the torch out low so he could see the rocks under his feet. He kept calling for Ghost, but the wind blew through the trees and his words disappeared.
Jon needed patience. Ghost led him to his treasure once before, but even he was ready to turn back. Up ahead, he glimpsed a flash of white, back toward the hill, and ran after it. He stopped to catch his breath at the base of the hill. A soft scrabbling sound of paws digging made him turn. Jon edged toward the sound, shining the torchlight onto the ground while stepping between boulders and thorn bushes. He came on Ghost behind a fallen tree. The direwolf was digging a hole in the dirt.
"Have you found the dragonglass, boy?" Jon lowered his torch, revealing a mound of earth. He knelt beside the mound and jammed the torch into the ground. The soil was already loose, without stones or roots; Jon could dig it by the fistful. Someone had buried the dragonglass. A couple of feet down, his fingers found the cloth. He pushed against the fabric, fingering the small hard shapes buried underneath, which were unyielding.
Ghost backed away and sat on his haunches, watching. Jon brushed aside the loose soil to reveal the rounded bundle perhaps two feet across, containing the treasure. Jon jammed his fingers down the sides to work it loose. When he'd free it, the dragonglass clinked together. A length of frayed rope bound the cloth.
Jon unsheathed his dagger and cut the rope, groping the edges of the cloth, he pulled. The bundle opened, its contents spilling out onto the ground, glittering dark and bright. There were a dozen knives, leaf-shaped spearheads, and arrowheads. Jon picked up a dagger and examined the feather-light and shiny black, hiltless obsidian blade.
Beneath the dragonglass was an old warhorn, made from an auroch's horn, banded in bronze. Jon shook the dirt from inside it, letting a stream of arrowheads fall out. He remembered the cloth covering the weapons, to be a black cloak of a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. Jon stood, shook the cloak out, re-wrapped his treasure, and returned to camp.
Jon spied the campfires in the distance, lighting up the night sky. These would lead him back to the tents, where he could continue his watch until it was his turn to sleep. The torch led the way, avoiding boulders and thorns while carrying his bundle of treasure, making the return journey more complicated with just one hand.
He reached the stone ringwall where Edd was waiting for him. "Where do you think you've been? Were you taking a shit in the woods?" he asked.
Jon held out the black cloth in his hand. "Ghost found this."
Edd lowered the torch in his hand to inspect the bundle. "Another damp cloak?"
Jon shook his head and placed the bundle on the ground. "It's dragonglass." He unwrapped the cloth, revealing the black obsidian. Edd picked up an arrowhead. "Be careful with that. It's sharp."
"What do we need with dragonglass?" Edd asked.
"Dragonglass, or obsidian, kills whitewalkers. We should arm ourselves, just in case we meet one." Jon replied.
"Knowing our luck, we'll meet a group of fuckers immune to the stuff." Edd picked up the warhorn. "What about this? What's it for?"
"I couldn't say. Don't blow it until Maester Aemon examines it." a cough came from his tent. "Sounds like the men are stirring. Must be our time to sleep."
The following morning, Jon presented the dragonglass arrowheads and daggers to the men.
"There are few things which kill whitewalkers, dragonglass is one of them. There are enough daggers for us all." Each man took a dagger and examined the sharp, black objects. Jon turned to Sam. "I want you to go back to Craster's. Addam and Robb will escort you. Kill Craster, take his wives to the wall. Take the horn and give it to Maester Aemon to look at."
Sam looked at Jon with trepidation. "I've never killed before," he said.
"I'll do it. I've killed plenty." Addam said.
"What about the ravens? Someone needs to look after the ravens. I'm the only one who knows how."
"I'll send a raven to Lord Commander Mormont. Tell him I'm sending you Castle Black with Craster's wives and there'll be no more ravens from me," Benjen said.
"Go south to Queenscrown. I'll send a raven to Sansa. She'll be expecting you."
"What about the cart? And the supplies? Don't you need me to drive it?" Sam asked.
Benjen clapped Sam on the back. "We'll be on foot for Skirling Pass is no place for carts."
Edd rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. Just what I needed, frostbite."
"We'll carry our supplies and you take yours on horseback." Jon said.
Sam's eyes widened. "You want me to ride back?"
Jon nodded. "Take the horses with you to help the pregnant women. We'll carry what we need on our backs."
"Oh... I don't like to ride. I'm too not good at it. How will I find my way back?"
"Better than throwing a wheel. You'll be quicker on horseback, especially with the map. With the Frostfangs in sight, we have no need of it. Mayhap rescue that girl. Was it Gilly?"
The mention of Gilly worked. "Alright, I'll go," said Sam, waddling off, before returning minutes later with a quill and parchment for Jon and Benjen. Jon sat to write his final raven to Sansa.
Dear Sansa
This will be my final raven before we find Mance's camp. We're on the Fist of First Men and will soon head out to the Skirling Pass. I've sent Sam to rescue Craster's wives, expect them at Queenscrown within two moons. Tell everyone I miss them.
I look forward to a warm hearth, ale in hand, watching you sew while we talk. Then retiring to a comfortable bed and sharing it with a beautiful woman, kissed by fire who smells of lemons.
Jon
Jon blushed at the romantic words he'd written while he rolled up the scroll and handed it to Sam. "Here. Send it before I change my mind."
Sam tied the scroll to the raven. "What did it say?"
"I called my wife beautiful and told her I looked forward to seeing her again."
"Is that all? Didn't you tell her you loved her?" asked Sam. Jon shook his head. "No wonder you're worried."
Sam sent the raven, leaving Jon to worry whether he'd said too much.
The group was down to five when they arrived at the snowy, treacherous Skirling Pass. Jon had climbed this path before and awaited their difficulties. Sam's map was rendered useless. Instead, they needed Ygritte. She would escort them to Mance.
Limited supplies, scarcely any food, and without tents or ravens; designed to make the trek across the mountains easier, meant hunger was never far from their minds.
The one luxury Jon allowed, was the lighting of fires. Whereas, in his previous life, Qhorin Halfhand tried hiding from the Freefolk, Jon preferred to be seen. The quicker Ygritte found their group, the sooner they would reach Mance. A blazing fire would make their presence known to the wildlings.
In the distance, another bonfire burned bright in the night sky, flaming red and orange. Unlike the moon or stars, it didn't twinkle. Sometimes it flared up, sending sparks into the sky, sometimes dwindling away to nothing, fading into the distance, just visible to the naked eye. The sky was like Sansa, Jon thought, kissed by fire. They were almost there, a half mile trek forward ahead and two thousand feet up.
Jon nudged Benjen, pointing toward the distant fire. "They're they are."
"Are you sure, Jon? I don't like this. How many Watchers do we face?"
"Three of them, including a woman, against five of us," Jon said. "I could kill them all myself if I wanted, but I don't. They'll lead us to Mance's camp. They know these mountains better than you or I. They'll lead us to Mance quicker than Craster's map. We'll need to surprise them by attacking them at night."
"You mean for us to climb them rocks in the dark?" Pyp asked.
Jon nodded. "Aye, I do. We've got ropes, hammers, picks and spikes to climb safely, as long as we watch what we're doing. Our black cloaks are visible for miles. We'll sleep under rocks or in a cave during daylight hours to keep hidden. We can climb the rocks after the sun sets."
Night fell, the sky was cloudless. The moon lit the snow and ice atop the jagged mountains. "That's a cruel climb at night," Benjen said, eyeing the darkened route.
"Benjen and I will go first. Once we're up there, we'll throw down a torch to signal your turn. Ghost, you stay here. Uncle Benjen, are you ready?"
Benjen stood. "No time like the present. We should go while the weather holds."