The wind howled like a wolf across the frozen expanse. It tore at cloaks, bit through layers of fur and leather, and froze breath into plumes of mist.
Waymar Royce looked upon the snow-filled wasteland and considered the lands before him the most hellish place in the world. He suspected the gods didn't create this place. Instead, he believed some foul demon from the depth of the seven hells made this place to torture man.
He wouldn't have been in this place if he hadn't been born third. As a third son of House Royce, he stood to inherit nothing, and he couldn't stand his siblings. The only thing that gave him peace of mind was when he got to kill with a sword in hand. He thought being a knight granted him the right to kill to his liking, but he later found out that was not to be. When he became a knight, he realised it was expected of him to uphold the laws and be a glorified guard more than anything else.
He only got to kill someone when the Mountain Clans decided to raid a village in the Vale. But even that was rare as the clansmen were keen on not getting caught. They mostly raided at night and never targeted the same village twice in the same month. By the time he reached an affected village, the clansmen would be gone with their haul, leaving him to witness the wails of women and the complaints of farmers and merchants.
Under these circumstances, he chose to serve at the Wall, where he was free to kill as many wildlings as possible, with no questions asked. It'd serve as a service to the Seven Kingdoms, and he could satisfy his urges without harming the good name of House Royce. His father was initially reluctant to accept his wishes but later relented to his reasoning.
With his father's blessing and his mother's tearful goodbye, Waymar joined the Night's Watch in the North.
Despite the rumours, the North was neither a barren wasteland nor a land of savages. He could've taken a ship from Gulltown and sailed into Eastwatch by the Sea. However, he wanted to see the North, the sole place in the Seven Kingdoms where the blood of the First Men thrived. He was thankful he took the long route because there was much to see in the North. The towering silhouette of the ancient keep, like Moat Cailin, the massive castle of Winterfell, and the gigantic lakes, fields, and snow-tipped mountains were all sights he enjoyed. His name also granted him the warmth of Winterfell's hearth, and he had the fortune to stay at the home of House Stark for a day or two during his journey. He also had the fortune to see the forges where Harrion Stark forged the Valyrian steel swords.
But he was a bit disappointed that he couldn't meet the famed sorcerer of the North.
Nonetheless, the trip was most illuminating. The people of the North were welcoming, and he saw firsthand that the North was not filled with snow. Some places snowed even in summer, but there were warm places as well. There were also a lot of ripe farmlands in the North, and food was much cheaper compared to the Vale.
He joined the Night's Watch shortly upon reaching Castle Black and served under the command of Lord Commander Mormont. He joined the Watch at the most opportune moment because, from the first day, he had the opportunity to kill a wildling on a random patrol meant to make him familiar with the Wall. From then on, he had a steady supply of wildlings on a weekly basis. He never lost a chance to ride out from Castle Black to hunt for Wildlings, but as of late, it became increasingly rare to see a wildling in their ranging.
So, he made the request to Lord Commander Mormont to give him command of a small group for ranging beyond the Wall. Thankfully, the Lord Commander gave him a small company of men, probably hoping not to antagonise his father.
This was the first time he was granted a command and a company of men by Lord Commander Mormont. However, he did have some choice words about the men he was given. Of the three rangers under his command, only Gared and Will had any combat experience. The third one was a green boy and a nuisance he wanted to cut down if the opportunity presented itself.
Waymar stared at the former prince out of the corner of his eyes while walking deep into the woods. Joffrey Waters was not someone he liked. The boy was skinny, loud, brash and a headache with no practical skills with any weapon. The endless complaints and whining throughout their journey from the bastard annoyed him enough to wish an accident would happen to Joffrey.
He tugged his cloak tighter. His eyes flicked warily over the shadows between the trees. He had been beyond the Wall before, but the air tonight carried a weight he had never felt—a smothering stillness beneath the howling blizzard.
The woods were unnaturally still, which tested his mind like never before.
"Why do they always send us to chase ghosts?" Joffrey asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
The former prince walked ahead at the head of their column, his fine sable cloak billowing behind him.
"Been on the Wall for thirty years, I have. You'd do well to listen to those who've seen winters longer than you've been breathing, princeling." Gared muttered darkly, glaring holes into the back of Joffrey's head.
Waymar looked between the two and wondered whether he'd have to worry about a fight breaking out amongst their company. Despite the circumstances that led Joffrey Waters to the Wall, the former prince had a small following within the Night's Watch thanks to the large number of Westerlanders forced to take the black to avoid the block. It made for an interesting dynamic to emerge within the order as there were Targaryen loyalists amongst the ranks of the ancient order.
Will glanced back at Gared. The older man's face was weathered and drawn, his eyes haunted by memories of harsher nights.
"It's not ghosts," Will murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I saw them. Dead men, standing."
Hearing that, Waymar couldn't help but snort out a laugh.
"Dead men don't stand, Will. They rot. You've been too long in the cold if you believe otherwise."
He could see Will was not happy being dismissed out of hand, but the man had the sense not to talk back to him. The last thing he wanted was the stories of ghosts and dead men rising from their graves to take root more than they ought to. It was already difficult to find brave men in the Watch to accompany him on the ranging.
"Maybe you looked into ice and saw yourself, Will. I've always thought you to be a dead man with the way you smell and look." Joffrey laughed cruelly, the sound making Wymar grit his teeth and contemplate just bashing the little shit's head with a rock.
"Quiet," Gared snapped suddenly, stopping midstep. His head turned sharply, scanning the shadows. "Do you hear that?"
Will held his breath and strained to listen. The wind howled, the trees groaned, but beneath it all was something else—a faint, brittle sound, like ice cracking. It sent a shiver through him.
Waymar drew his sword with a flourish. The steel caught the last dying rays of the sun.
"Show yourselves!" he called into the darkness. "Come out and face us if you have the courage."
The forest answered with silence. Then, slowly, the wind died. The stillness was absolute, as if the world itself had stopped.
Waymar kept his eyes peeled for any movement from the woods. The wildlings were masters of disguise. They blended in well with the surroundings and made many brothers of the Night's Watch pay dearly for being complacent.
"Ser," Will whispered, his hand tightened on his bow. "We need to go. Now!"
Waymar ignored the tremble in his companion's tone, his eyes darting into the deeper woods.
"If they're out there, we'll find them. Or are you afraid of shadows, Will?" he said, keeping his wits close to his heart.
"I saw what I saw," Will said, his voice shaking. "They're not shadows. They're not men."
Waymar rolled his eyes at the same story being dredged up by the man. He had tolerated it thus far as not all men could keep their wits in this godforsaken land. The lands beyond the Wall tended to play tricks on the minds of even the bravest knights.
"If there are ghosts of wildlings or whatever you saw, we'll kill them once more and keep them dead. Now, stop dallying and let's finish the ranging." Waymar muttered before pressing forward.
Gared followed reluctantly, one hand gripping his axe. Joffrey, who had pulled back from the front, followed closely. Will hesitated, then fell in line behind them, his every instinct screaming at him to flee.
They walked further into the woods until they came upon a clearing. The snow was pristine, untouched, save for some bloodstains clinging to the snow on the ground—perhaps the remains of a fire, though no warmth lingered on the blackened wooden logs. Snow crunched softly under his boots as he walked further into what was most likely a small wildling camp. There have been sightings of wandering groups of wildlings for a while now, all moving away from their usual spots to somewhere. If he were to guess, it had something to do with the so-called King-beyond-the-Wall.
"This is where they were," Will said, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and looking in all directions like a deer being hunted. "The wildlings. And the Others."
Waymar rolled his eyes, and Joffrey made a sound that suspiciously sounded like a whimper or a snort he couldn't tell.
Waymar knelt, running an ungloved hand over the ashes. They were cold.
"No sign of—"
The sound came again, closer this time—a sharp, brittle crack, like ice splintering underfoot.
Waymar rose slowly, his sword held before him, his eyes darting back and forth as a lump formed in his throat. The air grew colder, the kind of cold that burned his skin, if that made sense. Frost formed on his blade, creeping like tendrils of frostbite, which he watched with wide eyes.
"They're here," Gared whispered, a primal fear in his brown eyes while the axe in his hand trembled.
"There is no such thing as ghosts," Joffrey said in a highly squeaky voice, but everyone could hear the false prince's teeth chattering.
A figure emerged from the darkness made of deathly pale flesh, its armour shimmering like hoarfrost. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly blue light. More followed, stepping soundlessly into the clearing, their movements unnaturally fluid. They were ethereal beings crafted from the clearest crystallised ice Waymar had ever seen. Behind them came the wights, dead men with slack faces and empty stares, their limbs jerking in grotesque imitation of life.
Will froze. The arrow slipped from his fingers and fell into the snow. His bowstring twanged as he fumbled to draw another.
"Stay back!" Waymar shouted, though his voice cracked.
He didn't know why but knew staying close to the creature would be a death sentence. He stepped back, though he kept his sword raised front and centre.
Will, who took several laboured breaths while keeping an arrow pointed at the Other, acted without thought. A distinct twang reverberated across the otherwise silent woods.
Waymar watched the arrow get released from Will's bow. He tracked the arrow's trajectory while his heart hammered in his chest. His eyes widened in disbelief as the steel-tipped arrow shattered upon contact with the Other's crystal skin.
The White Walker tilted its head as if curious about something. Then it struck. The creature was so fast that Waymar couldn't track its movement. When he blinked and opened his eyes, he found the Other standing close to Will with a spear of ice in its hand. In the next moment, he watched with wide eyes as the Other stabbed Will with the ice spear straight through the abdomen.
He froze as these events unfolded before his eyes. Will spat out blood from his mouth with a painful groan. The Other easily raised the spear with Will stuck pierced through over its head.
Waymar's hands shook as he watched the Other grasp Will by his throat and pulled the ice spear out of his abdomen. The Other threw Will almost carelessly to the ground as if the Northerner weighed nothing.
Gared and Joffrey screamed as they ran away, fleeing the scene with their lives. He wanted to follow them, but his limbs refused to move. The Other formed another ice spear in its free hand and threw both spears straight at him. Waymar closed his eyes and braced for the pain that'd follow, but it never came.
'Is this what death feels like? There is no pain!' Waymar thought.
But he later realised he was not dead, and the horror of the situation came back to him. When he opened his eyes, he found an army of wights staring back at him with their unnatural blue eyes. He slowly turned around and saw the Other pulling the ice spears from the corpses of Will and Joffrey. Blood pooled around their bodies, turning the snow on the ground dark red.
Waymar didn't know what to do. He wanted to scream for help, but no sound came from his throat. He wanted to stab the Other with his sword, but his arms were unmoving, and frost was setting on them. He tried to run, but his legs refused to listen to his wishes.
The Other crushed the ice spears between its crystal fingers and turned its cold blue eyes on him.
In that moment, he felt movement return to his limbs. With a yell, he ran towards the Other with his sword raised. The Other met his blade with an ice sword formed in its hand in the blink of his eyes. Waymar flinched as his sword shattered like glass upon contact with the Other's ice sword.
He stared at the demonic being before him, and under its cold, dispassionate gaze, he saw death. But instead of facing death like a courageous knight, he turned his tail and ran. The screams and unearthly shrieks of the wights followed him, but he never turned back, not even once. He ran and ran until his limbs failed him, and his lungs were just about to burst.
Waymar fell to his knees as the world spun around him. The Wall loomed in the distance, its icy heights glimmering faintly. Black spots filled his vision, but he tried to crawl forward as he wanted to warn the Night's Watch about what he had seen. He didn't know what he would tell them. He didn't know if they would believe him.
But he knew one thing. The dead were no longer resting.
"May the gods have mercy on us all." Waymar gasped before he fell forward face-first into the snow.
******
Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, stood on the battlements, his heavy cloak wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. Below, the Wall stretched endlessly in both directions, a frozen barrier separating the known world from the chaos beyond. It was a sight that never failed to humble him, even after years of guarding the post where his ancestors had served. The icy wind howled in his ears like a hungry wolf, clawing at Castle Black with its icy fingers.
There were many things he was worried about in his tenure as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. At first, it was about the shortage of supplies and the castles and towers along the Wall being undermanned or abandoned. But that particular problem was solved by House Stark, leaving him to manage the much-needed support his overlords arranged from the Watch.
He never thought he'd see the day the forts along the Wall would get full of men and restored to their former glory and more. The magical liquid stone that arrived from Avalon made repairs easy, and its magic kept those inside warm. Ale, meat, tools and weapons were aplenty at the Wall now, thanks to Avalon giving them direct support by sending them a consistent stream of supplies. Once the eastern coastal road was completed, the supplies arrived faster.
Still, some supplies arrived through the sea route connecting Avalon to the newly built port of Westwatch-by-the-sea. Just as the supplies came, the infamous icebreakers of the Avalonian fleet transported ice from the Bay of Ice to the rest of the realm.
Jeor never thought he'd see the day the North's ice, which was a curse upon his people, would become such a commodity of high demand in the south. From what he heard, it wasn't just the southern kingdoms where Northern ice was in high demand. The Essosi were now supposedly so hung on getting once they paid crates full of silver and gold to ensure a steady supply came from the North. He was happy such changes were happening in the world because his family in Bear Island were one of the beneficiaries of this change.
He only wished his son hadn't been so foolish.
'If only Jorah had been just patient, all the good fortune that befell House Mormont would've come to aid him.' Jeor thought forlornly.
However, he was happy to learn that his sister was ruling the island with grace and good fortune and had come for House Mormont to relieve them of the stain left by his son's actions. The other Northern houses had shunned them for his son's actions. His son Jorah had done the most heinous crime of selling poachers into slavery to support the extravagant lifestyle of his wife.
It was an act that shattered the good name of House Mormont. Actions like that had consequences as other Northern houses became reluctant to be closely associated with his family. Jeor was shielded from it all because he was already at the Wall serving diligently at his post when his son tarnished the family name and honour. It was his sister, Maege, and her rowdy daughters who suffered because of his son's actions.
Still, they had done admirably in their position. They had sought help from Harrion Stark, whose generosity to those asking for help knew no bounds. The largesse of the Black Wolf was widely known in the North. It was one of the reasons why Sea Dragon Point was the most prosperous region in the North. That patch of wild, untamed land outproduced the rest of the North and maybe even some of the southern kingdoms under the Black Wolf's rule. It had only strengthened the claim that the gods blessed Harrion Stark.
That same wealth and prosperity was open to all who came to Avalon seeking aid. His sister just happened to be the most prominent case. House Mormont was at its lowest point when Maege sought Harrion Stark's help. Now, House Mormont was far beyond their wildest dreams within the span of a few years. They were now an integral part of the Avalonian fleet, which guarded the western shores of the North.
The latest raven from Mormont Keep also spoke of his niece being betrothed to Jon Stark. It was an advantageous match despite the groom being a legitimised bastard.
'The lad has the Stark name and the Stark blood. That's all that matters.' Jeor thought with a satisfied smile.
He was broken out of his musings when he heard movement behind him.
"You summoned me, Lord Commander?"
Jeor found Benjen Stark standing behind him. His black cloak swept the floor, and frost clung stubbornly to his boots. His sharp, wolfish features were calm, but his grey eyes held curiosity. Benjen Stark was one of his best rangers. He hoped that one day, the lad would take over his post as Lord Commander.
"Waymar Royce and his party have not returned. They were last seen heading into the Haunted Forest, tracking whispers of strange rumours about a wildling camp near the Milkwater."
Benjen's jaw tightened. He'd warned Royce of the dangers of venturing too far with so small a party.
"How long overdue?" Benjen asked.
"Two weeks," Jeor said gravely. "Too long for a mere delay, not long enough to presume them dead. Not yet."
"You want me to lead a search party." Benjen crossed his arms.
"I do," Jeor replied without hesitation. "You're my First Ranger, Stark. If anyone can find Royce, it's you. But more than that—if something out there has taken him, I need to know what. House Royce has supported the Watch for centuries. I need to know what happened to Waymar and inform Lord Yohn should anything untoward happen to his son."
Benjen nodded slowly.
"I'll need a party. Five men, at least. Rangers, not green boys."
"You'll have them," Jeor agreed readily. "Pick the best. And take a raven. If you find anything—anything at all—you send word back immediately."
"Lord Commander, if Royce fell to wildlings, there's little chance of finding more than his bones. And if the man fell to something else…" Benjen left the implications unsaid.
Jeor exchanged a look with Benjen before nodding jerkily. The tales of things that walked in the cold—dead things with blue eyes—were older than the Wall itself. He didn't want to think about such fell things as he had already sent word to Winterfell and Avalon. The matter of White Walkers was far above his station, and there were greater men capable in the North to face this ancient threat.
"Also, look into what happened to Joffrey Waters. I don't need Stannis Baratheon taking too much interest in our affairs." Jeor added almost as an afterthought.
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
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