Chapter - 59
It didn't take long before we encountered our stalkers.
I sensed them up ahead lying in wait and even Benjen seemed to have noticed a few moments later.
"There's an ambush waiting ahead," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I shrugged. "I know. Let's see what they want."
We continued forward openly, making no attempt to hide our approach.
As we entered a clearing, figures emerged from the treeline. Their furs and makeshift weapons left no doubt of who they were.
A red-bearded man stepped forward. I was pretty sure I recognized him- Tormund Giantsbane.
"Quite surprising seeing a crow and some green boy round these parts," Tormund called out, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. Despite his tense posture, there was more curiosity than hostility in his tone.
"I would have come alone. It's just that I am horrible at navigating unfamiliar places, so I asked for some help," I replied casually.
"That so?" Tormund raised an eyebrow. "And what brings you here?"
"As much as I would have liked to come here just to look at the scenery, I have some serious business to attend to," I said. "We're hoping to catch ourselves a wight, maybe even a White Walker if we're lucky."
The words were followed with nothing but silence. The wildlings went dead silent, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief before Tormund burst out laughing, his deep laugh echoing through the trees. The rest did not join in, though some were dismissive.
"Quite dangerous games you like to play, boy. I like you already!" Tormund declared, wiping tears from his eyes.
I saw an opportunity and took it. "Feel like helping us out? You guys seem like you'd know your way around these parts better than we would." I glanced apologetically at Benjen. "No offense."
"None taken," Benjen replied with a slight shrug. "I couldn't agree more."
"Ha!" Tormund said with humor and slight interest. "Quite the set of balls you have on you, lad. What do we get in return for what is essentially a mad quest?"
"Well, I don't mean to brag, but where I am from, I am quite the famous healer. And I would like to offer my services as a healer to anyone you would want me to"
"Really?" Tormund turned to Benjen in a serious tone. "Is that true, crow?"
"Yes," Benjen nodded. "If anything, he is underplaying his skills."
He seemed to think on this for a moment before nodding "Very well. If you come back with us to our current settlement, there are enough sick people to be able to prove your words, healer boy."
"Wonderful, the name's El by the way," I said with a grin. "Not that I have any problem with healer boy, I just realized that I hadn't introduced myself."
"Ha! The name's Tormund Giantsbane, healer boy!"
I noticed another familiar face in the group as I caught Ygritte staring at me.
I couldn't help but think I should have brought Jon along - watching that particular drama unfold would have at least kept me entertained.
Next time, I guess.
We set off together, with Benjen taking up position at the rear while I walked right in the midst of the wildling group, completely at ease. My casual attitude seemed to unsettle some of them - after all, any normal person in my position would be at least slightly nervous when traveling with a dozen wildlings.
Even Benjen, while alert, wasn't exactly anxious. It seems he had enough faith in my abilities to keep us both alive if things went south.
The awkward silence was starting to get to me though.
"Hey, since we've got quite a journey ahead of us, and I get bored easily, does anyone want to play a game of twenty questions?" I asked, trying to break the ice.
"What's that?" Tormund asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
"It's simple - you ask me a question, and I answer truthfully. Then I ask you one, and you do the same. We keep going until either we get bored or something more interesting happens," I explained with a grin.
"Sure, I'll start," Tormund grinned. "How'd you end up traveling with a crow?"
"Simple, really - I needed someone who knows the land, and Benjen here was kind enough to volunteer," I replied. "My turn - what made you decide to ambush us instead of just following?"
Ygritte spoke up before Tormund could answer. "Saw you coming from leagues away, you weren't really being subtle. Figured might as well see what a crow and some kneeler were doing this far north."
"I'm wounded," I placed a hand over my heart dramatically. "Do I really look like a Southerner to you?"
"You're wearing that fancy white coat," she pointed out. "No one dresses like that beyond the Wall."
"Fair point," I conceded. "Though I'd argue it's quite practical. Never gets dirty, keeps me warm, looks impressive..."
Tormund let out a booming laugh. "Aye, looks impressive right up until you need to hide from something nasty in the forests."
"Who says I need to hide?" I shot back with a grin.
"Ha! I like this one," Tormund declared to his companions. "Got more fire in him than most crows I've met."
As we walked, the tension gradually eased. The Free Folk were naturally suspicious people, but they seemed to appreciate direct honesty and a bit of humor.
"So, healer boy," Tormund continued, "I was under the impression that anyone south of the walls don't believe in the existence of white walkers and what makes you think you can capture one?"
"Well like I said already, I am quite unique even south of the wall," I said with a smirk. "And leave the capturing to me. I have a couple of tricks up my sleeve."
"Tricks won't save you from the dead," one of the other wildlings muttered darkly.
"Maybe not," I agreed. "But they've worked well enough so far. Speaking of which - how far to your settlement?"
"Not far now," Tormund answered. "Just over that ridge. Hope you're as good as the crow says because we've got some people who could use a proper healer."
I noticed Ygritte still studying me intently. "Got another question?" I asked her directly.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're different. Can't quite figure out how, but you're not like the others south of the Wall."
"Thank you," I grinned. "I try my best, and that wasn't a question."
"Where are you from?"
"I really doubt you know where I am from. I myself am not so sure but I currently live in Winterfell and have been for a couple of years now."
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As we crested a hill, an enormous encampment spread out before us. Hundreds, maybe thousands of tents dotted the landscape.
"Well damn," I muttered to Benjen. "When you said King beyond the Wall, you weren't exaggerating."
I was quite genuine in my surprise too. I hadn't expected that many people would gather so early on but I didn't give it much thought.
People bustled between the tents like ants in a colony - more humans than I'd seen gathered in one place since arriving in this world. Well, Kings Landing was a close second.
As we made our way down, curious eyes followed our progress. Most shot dark looks at Benjen's black clothing, marking him instantly as a Brother of the Night's Watch. A few did double-takes at my spotless lab coat but mostly ignored me as some oddly-dressed southerner.
Tormund led us through the maze of tents toward one larger than the rest.
"Oi Ryder!" Tormund bellowed. "Got some visitors you'll want to meet!"
After a few moments, a man emerged from the tent. Even without introduction, I knew this had to be Mance Rayder. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of a natural leader, his weathered face and sharp eyes taking in every detail of the scene before him.
His gaze lingered on Benjen's black cloak before shifting to me with open curiosity. "Now this is interesting," he said thoughtfully. "A Benjen Stark and the White Mage in my little camp?"
"Oh? I'm surprised my reputation has made it this far north," I remarked, genuinely impressed.
Mance's lips quirked in a slight smile. "I make it my business to know what happens south of the Wall. And you, my friend, have been causing quite a stir. Come on in, I am sure you have much to talk about."
Before we could enter the tent, an angry voice cut through the murmurs of the gathered crowd.
"Well, if it isn't a lost crow!"
"Alfyn," Mance warned, his voice sharp. "These are my guests."
But the scarred man - Alfyn Crowkiller - ignored Rryder's words, pushing forward with murder in his eyes. "Come to join your dead brothers?"
I felt Benjen tense beside me, his hand moving to his sword. Before things could escalate, I stepped between them, keeping my voice light despite the tension in the air.
"Actually, he's my guide," I said with an easy smile. "I'm absolute rubbish with directions, and he was kind enough to volunteer. So any problem you have with him..." I let my voice trail off meaningfully, the threat clear despite my cheerful tone.
Alfyn sneered. "And who might you be, Boy?"
I grinned, letting a hint of power leak into my voice. "Someone you really don't want to mess with. But if you insist..."
This was my opportunity to make a statement.
Almost everyone here had no idea what I was capable of.
'I guess I may as well enlighten them'
Unlike last time, I had many more options for handling this situation.
The wildlings formed a circle around us, their reactions a mix of bloodthirsty excitement and wary suspicion. Some eagerly pushed forward, hoping for a show.
I kept my stance relaxed, hands loose at my sides as the infamous Crowkiller stalked toward me. The seasoned raider moved with the practiced grace of a killer, his mismatched axes glinting in the pale light. His lips curled into a sneer - clearly, he expected this to be quick.
He made it three steps before something changed.
A single drop of blood fell from his nose, landing silently in the snow. Alfyn froze mid-stride, his fierce expression melting into confusion as he reached up to touch his face. His fingers came away red.
Then the screaming started.
The sound that tore from Alfyn's throat wasn't human - a horrifying shriek of pure agony that echoed across the silent camp as he collapsed to his knees. The eager crowd that had gathered for a fight recoiled as one, their bloodlust replaced by primal fear as they realized this wasn't going to be the simple brawl they'd expected.
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Ygritte's first impression of El had been simple enough - a naive southern lordling looking for adventure away from home. An idiot who'd soon learn the hard way why you didn't venture this far north for fun.
But something about him set her teeth on edge.
When he'd announced his intention to hunt the Others, it had only reinforced her initial assessment of his stupidity. Tormund seemed to sense it too - that something wasn't quite right about this stranger.
Still, he'd been friendly enough, and they had him vastly outnumbered.
Or so she'd thought.
Ygritte had grown up beyond the Wall. She'd seen men torn apart by shadowcats, watched entire villages succumb to winter's cruel embrace, and faced death more times than she could count. Fear was an old friend, as familiar as the bow in her hands.
But this... this was different.
The screams still echoed in her ears. Alfyn Crowkiller - a man who'd earned his name in blood and violence - had practically melted before her eyes. His flesh had sloughed away like spring snow, dissolving into nothing as if he'd never existed. No blood, no bones, not even a scrap of clothing remained to mark his passing.
And El... he hadn't even moved. Hadn't raised a hand or spoken a word. Just looked at Alfyn, as if deciding his fate with a mere thought.
Now he stood there, that same friendly smile on his face, as if he hadn't just erased a man from existence mere moments ago.
"So," he said cheerfully, turning to Mance, "Where were we? Oh yes, I was hoping to get my hands on a White Walker. I could use some help tracking one down. In exchange, I'm happy to offer my healing services to anyone who needs them."
The casual shift from dealing death to offering life made Ygritte's blood run cold.
This man, this being who wore the shape of a man, could probably wipe out their entire camp as easily as brushing snow from his cloak. They weren't the ones in control.
They never had been.
Chapter - 60
I hadn't moved a muscle, but everyone watching knew I was responsible for what had just happened. The wildlings' faces went from anticipation to a mix of fear and awe.
Good - that's exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for.
It was a neat little trick I'd recently developed to get around my limitation of needing touch to use my powers. I'd created what were essentially flesh-eating bacteria that remained tethered to me, moving around like an invisible cloud that I could control with a thought.
Their main purpose was converting organic matter into biomass and storing it for later use.
They weren't really that versatile yet, but they were ready to consume any organic material at my mental command - like a swarm of invisible piranhas. I always had this cloud of invisible biomass surrounding me, prepared to use at a moment's notice.
The discussions with Mance that followed were a bit tense, but I managed to ease things with my winning charm.
"I hope the events outside won't hinder our cooperation," I said once we were in the privacy of his tent.
He was tense but seemed to relax a bit. "No, you didn't start anything, so it wasn't your fault." He clearly had questions but kept them to himself.
That was fine with me, so we got on to important matters.
"So," Mance said, eyeing me skeptically across the tent, "You need our help capturing White Walkers?"
"I'll handle the capturing part. What I need help with is tracking, and we're talking about just one. Failing that, I'd at least like to get my hands on a wight." I flashed him my most winning smile.
He wasn't impressed. "And why exactly would we help you do something that dangerous?"
"Because winter is coming. We both know it, whether we like it or not. That's the truth. Now, I can't promise anything yet, but I might be able to do something about the larger problem somewhere down the line." I said as seriously as I could.
He contemplated my words for a few moments before nodding slowly.
"Ten men," he said.
I shook my head. "Five is plenty. Any more would just slow us down."
"Eight." Why was he negotiating for more men?
"Five," I repeated. "And I'll throw in fixing that shoulder of yours that you keep trying to hide. Don't think I haven't noticed you favoring your left arm."
He agreed easily enough after that.
Without much delay, I was back in my element - sitting on a makeshift chair around a campfire with a line of patients to fix.
I'd thought my earlier display would make people hesitant to approach, but word spread quickly after I regrew that first patient's eye. Soon there were plenty seeking help, most with basic physical injuries.
As I analyzed more and more of their physiology, I found it fascinating to see the small adaptations they'd developed - like skin noticeably thicker than those living south of the Wall. Makes sense, given the harsh climate they endured.
After what felt like hours, the steady stream of patients finally came to an end. I spotted Tormund's familiar face approaching through the dispersing crowd.
"You definitely weren't lying when you said you were a famous healer," he said with a grin.
"I don't like lying," I shrugged. "So, you're one of the men coming with me?"
"Of course!" Tormund laughed. "Like there's a chance I'm gonna miss out on this. You should see how many people are lining up wanting to come with you."
"Oh, I thought my earlier …display would have had the opposite effect."
"Ha! Not many liked Crowkiller anyway," Tormund grinned before he became more serious.
"Death, no matter how brutal, isn't exactly rare beyond the Wall," Tormund continued.
"But when you regrew Orker's eye? Now that's something none of us had ever seen before. Made gathering volunteers very easy I barely had to do anything."
He wasn't wrong. If anything, I had to be selective, choosing only those I thought would be most useful for our hunt. There was no point in having too many people slowing us down.
"Well, I'm done here," I said, standing up and brushing off my clothes. "Shall we go meet this eager bunch of volunteers?"
Things were going according to plan so far. Hopefully, everything on the other side was going as smoothly as I'd hoped.
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The last few years have been quite interesting and enlightening for Luwin.
While healing had not originally been one of his primary interests, it had now become so. All due to one person.
It all started the day that Lord Stark brought a strange boy into the castle after returning from the Greyjoy Rebellion. This boy possessed unusual abilities …magical abilities, and at first, Luwin was skeptical and worried, of course.
However, it didn't take long for him to understand that the boy was truly someone blessed by whatever gods were out there.
What awed Luwin more than the boy's ability to heal anyone with a touch was the vast amount of knowledge he had on subjects beyond just the art of healing. Every available minute was spent reading and learning from the numerous books the boy had written, filling him with a giddy excitement reminiscent of his days as an acolyte.
He often sat in on the classes at the newly opened healing institute that El had established. He had become so engrossed in the new knowledge available to him at certain moments that he had slightly slacked on some of his duties, but he had picked up his slack other than cutting off or permanently delegating some of his more tedious duties.
However, Luwin was currently annoyed and worried for another reason.
After what was supposed to be a normal execution, as morbid as it might sound, it was quite a common occurrence, the men returned looking spooked, and more concerning was that El was with them, looking worried as well.
It had all started with the noble heirs showing up in Winterfell at the same time, which required him to spend considerable time organizing all the communications regarding the situation. That was still manageable, but what truly began to weigh on him was a previous correspondence with the Citadel.
They had expressed an interest in acquiring some of El's books after he shared some of his findings with them.
So, he decided to ask El, and his response had been positive. However, he also asked for a condition: He wanted the Citadel to send a copy of an equally interesting book in exchange for the growing library at the institute.
It had seemed like a fair ask but for some reason he couldn't comprehend, he was met with a refusal from the Citadel. That marked the beginning of his problems, and now, as he held the latest letter from the Citadel, he couldn't believe what he was reading.
The letter stated that the Citadel had been attacked, and all the high-ranking Archmaesters had been killed by a swarm of locusts that had seemingly gathered for that sole purpose.
He didn't know how to process this information. He had already checked to see if the letter could be fake, but it showed no signs of being so; even if it was fake, he wondered what purpose it was supposed to serve.
What was clear from the letter was that the leadership of the Citadel had changed overnight.
Archmaester Merwyn was now the senior most Maester left at the Citadel and was handling matters. He had agreed to the previously proposed exchange of books and even stated that he would personally look for any existing copies of interesting books and have them sent.
That was one less headache for Luwin to worry about, but he couldn't ignore the growing number of questions he had: What had happened? How? Why?
He reported the matter to Lord Stark, but for some reason, Lord Stark seemed distracted. It wasn't just him; Luwin soon noticed that the entire group of men who had gone to execute the deserter had returned looking spooked but completely unhurt.
It wasn't just him that had noticed it. Almost the entirety of Winterfell seemed to be speculating what had occurred.
When Luwin asked around, he couldn't get a single answer that made any sense. Even Lord Stark had been silent on the matter when he inquired.
-----------------
Robert stared at Jon Arryn's pale face, watching helplessly as his foster father's life ebbed away.
The room felt too small, too stifling, but the size of the room had nothing to do with it.
It was just the weight of failure crushing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
He took another long pull from his wine cup, hardly tasting it anymore.
Jon had always disapproved of his drinking, but what else was there to do? Watch clear-headed as the man who'd raised him, who'd kept the bloody kingdoms from falling apart while he made a mess of everything - watch him die?
"Your Grace," Pycelle droned from somewhere behind him, "perhaps we should-"
"Get out," Robert growled, not bothering to look at the old maester. "All of you, out!"
The shuffling of feet told him his command was being obeyed. Good. He couldn't stand their hovering, their fake concerned faces.
Once they were gone, he leaned forward in his chair, taking Jon's frail hand. When had the old man gotten so fragile?
"Jon," he said roughly, his voice thick. "Don't you dare die on me, you old bastard. Who's going to run the kingdoms? Not me, we both know that." he finished chuckling humorlessly.
Jon's eyes fluttered open, cloudy and unfocused. "Robert..." his voice was barely a whisper. "The seed is..."
And then nothing. His hand went limp, his chest stilled, and just like that, Jon Arryn was gone.
Robert sat there for a long time, still holding that lifeless hand, feeling more alone than he had since they'd brought Lyanna's body back from that cursed tower.
It didn't make sense—Jon had only seemed a bit under the weather these past few days. Nothing could explain this sudden, devastating decline.
He had been gone not long on a hunt and returned to find Jon in a state so completely incoherent that he didn't even understand what his last words meant. For gods' sake, there was a plot afoot, and he hated plots. He couldn't do this alone.
He needed help. He needed someone he could trust, someone who could do what needed to be done. Someone who actually cared about honor and duty and all those things Jon had tried to teach them.
He needed Ned.
Robert stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor. Yes, he'd go North himself. Ned would refuse if he just sent a raven—his friend was stubborn that way. But face to face? Robert could convince him.
And maybe, just maybe, he could convince the Mage to come south as well.
He was fun to talk to, and he definitely had to thank him for whatever he had done to make Cerci quiet. He had experienced a lot fewer headaches without having to deal with her nagging.
Most importantly, he could tell that the smell of the city was returning, although it was still leagues better than what it used to be. He had gotten used to the city not smelling like shit.
Robert took one last look at Jon's peaceful face before striding toward the door.
He made up his mind he was going to journey north after Jon's funeral
The Mage had probably been right—the throne was definitely cursed. Everyone who sat on it seemed to have a terrible life. But what choice did he have now? He couldn't just walk away, as much as he wanted to.