[Five months later]
Deciding to kill the Night King and actually doing it are two different things—especially when the bastard seems to be in hiding, him and the rest of his cold little village.
It's been nearly seven months up here, and I haven't crossed paths with a single White Walker. Just wights. And I get the feeling even they've started avoiding me… which is a little insulting.
As for the wildlings, my reputation means most of them leave me be—except a few (mostly Thenns). They usually figure out fast why you don't piss off someone who can snap your spine without laying a finger on you.
End result: magical target practice is getting scarce. I've had to make do with objects, empty huts, and whatever else I can find.
I've mostly wandered this frozen hell, working my craft, until I discovered something new: I can bind a spell from one of my schools of magic into any object—basically enchanting. A stone that scours everything around it, a flaming sword, or a ring that lets anyone hurl lightning.
The Thenn I handed the ring to for a test couldn't believe his eyes when the crackle ran up his hands.
He was so delighted, it almost made me feel bad about killing him… almost. Fun detail: when an object is… enchanted—yeah, let's call it enchanted—black-and-violet runes bloom across it. Looks pretty damn classy to me.
Also, I'm one hundred percent sure I've mastered the apprentice level in my three schools of magic, and yet the Adept tier stays greyed out. Which, to my mind, means one thing: I have to successfully brew at least one potion.
Unfortunately, four of the five Apprentice-tier potions are impossible here because the ingredients don't exist in this wasteland—except maybe the Potion of Plentiful Needs, which literally only asks for a gods-damned apple. Sadly, even that's impossible to find up here—and believe me, I tried.
So, with no real choice and eager to see what the Acolyte rank has to offer, I headed to the one place I'm most likely to find one—bringing us to the present situation.
"Just so we're clear," I say evenly to Robin gingerHood who's got an arrow trained on me, even if she's clearly hesitant to loose. "If you loose this time, I'll pull out your guts, cook them, and make you eat them." Her hesitation only deepens, because she knows I can do it—not just from the tales, but because she's seen a little of what I can do.
The other wildlings, though, just tense at my threat, bows drawn and blades pointed my way, which honestly makes me want to laugh. I could break their necks with a flick of my mind before they realized what was happening… Not that I would. I'm not a psychopath. I think. I hope.
And second, that wouldn't help with why I'm here.
Still, getting held at arrowpoint is annoying, so with a pulse of magic and a flick of my hand, every weapon yanks out of their grips and hangs in the air in front of them.
Blade tips swivel back toward their owners; bows are drawn, arrows nocked and aimed right at their chests. Ygritte throws her hands up in surrender—smart—and the others follow a heartbeat later.
Smart people.
"As hard as it is to believe, you assholes, I come in peace," I say, flat but a little snarky. Another lazy wave, and the floating steel and wood clatter to the ground. The wildlings—sorry, the Free Folk—pick everything up and, to their credit, actually sheathe and sling them. "Take me to your leader."
They trade looks for a few seconds before Ygritte steps forward with that smug little grin. "Well, you're in luck. Mance has wanted a word with you for a while." Lucky me. We make good time to Mance's camp—a big place, easily the largest Free Folk gathering I've seen yet. A darker thought flits through my head, seeing all these people as target dummies for spell practice, but I shut that down immediately.
We head toward what I'm guessing is Mance's tent while I watch the Free Folk live their lives, and for the first time since I got here, I spot a giant. Which is… kinda underwhelming, not gonna lie. Sure, he'd be scary to most people. To me? "First time you've seen a giant, 'Great Hunter'?" I don't have to look to feel the ginger smirk coming off Pumpkin.
"Yeah. Low-key disappointing, honestly. I expected more intimidating," I answer, deadpan. "Doubt he'd survive one of my offensive spells. Shame." I don't wait for her comeback, and keep on toward the big tent I clocked earlier—has to be Mance's.
I don't wait for my "escort." I duck into the tent and clock a lean, average-height man with a sharp face, clever brown eyes, and long brown hair shot through with gray. Laugh lines crease the corners of his mouth. Beside him stands a broad-shouldered mountain of a man with fire-red hair and beard, pale eyes, and a weather-beaten face. Their conversation dies as I stroll in and make myself comfortable like I own the place. They frown at the attitude, but not for long—Mance sits as well, across from me, a dead campfire between us. Familiar setup.
More wildlings file in—Ygritte among them—forming a loose ring at a cautious distance. Pretty sure they're trying to intimidate me… which might've worked if I couldn't turn this whole camp to ash with a single thought. So yeah. I'm chill.
Anyway, back to business.
"My name is Carmine O'Hara, but—" I meet his eyes, snap my fingers, and the campfire flares to life. The Free Folk startle—everyone except Ygritte, who's seen that trick, and Mance, who doesn't move… though my boosted eyesight has no trouble catching the surprise in his eyes. "I think you lot call me something else."
"The Wight Hunter," he says, calm as a still pond.
"The Wight Hunter meets the King-Beyond-the-Wall," I say with a small smile, leaning back into the rickety chair like I own it.
Silence settles—just the crackle of fire and tight breathing—until I decide to break it. "Let's play a game."
He doesn't look surprised. When he speaks, his voice is even. "The game of questions. I've heard of it." He flicks a glance at ginger Robin Hood before looking back at me. "I ask a question; you answer it honestly. Then you ask, and I answer honestly. A fair trade, yes?" I nod, smiling. "An interesting game, I must say. If you don't mind, I'll begin."
I just nod.
"The wights—and the Others. Do you know what they are?"
Expecting that, I answer with a simple, "Yes," and let him wait for more. "The question was whether I know who the Others are, not that I explain who they are." His brows knit; my smile ticks up, amused. "The devil's in the details, Mance. My turn."
"People probably ask you this a lot, but why'd you bail on the Crow Club—the Night's Watch?" My nickname for them earns a few snorts from the Free Folk ringed around us.
Because I was done with chains. They say the Watch guards the realms of men… but I've seen more men die by their own vows than by a wight's hand. I wore the black. I said the words… and then I learned I was not born to bow to walls or to kings."
He watches the bright, snapping flames, and his tone hardens. "They name me traitor. I name myself free. At the Wall, you obey, you bend your back, you die with no wife, no child, no name. Here, in the true North, I live. I have a wife, a son, a people. I became a king not by wearing a crown… but by standing upright, unbound."
My eyebrows go up at that. Mance had a wife and a child in the show and books? I don't think so—maybe this world isn't a clean match to, either. Could be a blend with extras. Something to keep an eye on.
He turns his gaze back to me, weighing me.
"That is why I left the Watch. A crow may fly high, but it is ever caged. I chose to break the cage."
A few of the Free Folk let out proud, guttural noises and thump their chests like gorillas at their king's words.
"They tried to hand you a life, and you told them to go fuck themselves and carve your own path—respect." I tilt my chin, inviting him to ask.
"The Others. I want to know who they are."
Obviously, he wants that. "The Others—the White Walkers, that's what they're called. They aren't gods, and they're not beasts born of snow. They were made, millennia ago, by the Children of the Forest."
Mance frowns, surprised, but doesn't cut in, so I keep going.
"When the First Men—your ancestors—landed here, they found the Children already living on these lands. Humans being humans, they started acting like they owned the place, cutting forests to build their little civilizations. As you can guess, the Children didn't love that—especially when some of those trees were sacred. We're talking weirwoods."
"What had to happen, happened: war. And the First Men were winning. The Children were cornered. Their forests burned, their lands shrinking. Desperate, they forged a weapon: the Others. They took a man, bound him to the cold, and shoved dragonglass into his heart. That's how the first of them was born—the strongest of them—the Night King."
A ripple of whispers runs through the Free Folk around the fire. Mance stays still, but his gaze darkens. "But as you can guess, something went really wrong, or we wouldn't be in this massive mess."
"What was meant to protect them turned on them. The Walkers multiplied. They raised an army of the dead—wights. Every fallen body becomes their thrall. That's how they kicked off the Long Night." I finish and let them chew on it. You don't hear this kind of crap every day, so… take your time.
A few minutes later, Mance draws a long breath, then nods for me to take my turn. "Do you know where I can find a White Walker?" Given they deal with this constantly, they must track sightings to avoid them. If I want my first Smurf kill, they're my best shot.
Mance thinks a moment, then looks toward a random Free Folk scout. "Go to the skinchangers and ask if they've seen signs of Walkers." The man heads out; Mance looks back to me.
"Thanks. I appreciate it." He could've just said yes and fired off his question. Now I kinda feel bad.
"Don't thank me yet. The chances they find anything are slim—because of you." I frown; a smile edges onto his face. "You've noticed you're hunting less, haven't you?" I nod, still a bit lost. "Since you started hunting wights, they've gone to ground. Attacks have dropped sharply, and sightings even more."
Did the Night King pull back because of the wight massacre I've been dishing out? Makes sense. He's not stupid. An unknown variable shows up and slaughters his troops by the dozen—strategic retreat is the smart play.
Anyway—that's a problem for future me. Right now, we deal with the present.
"How do you kill the Walkers?"
"For wights, there are three ways—four if you're me: fire; Valyrian steel—which you'll only find south of the Wall; the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch carries a Valyrian steel blade; and dragonglass. There's barely any this side of the Wall, but plenty to the south."
"For White Walkers and their king, only Valyrian steel and dragonglass will do." The more my words land, the darker their faces get. "I do have a workaround, though—which brings me to my question." Heads lift; everyone hangs on the pause. "Do you have any apples?"
Silence stretches a full minute.
"You want apples?" I meet his eyes, dead serious, and nod. He studies me a beat, then glances to another Free Folk. "Go round the camp and ask if anyone has apples."
"Just one is enough." The man hesitates, then heads out. Mance shakes his head and focuses back on me.
"What's this alternative you're talking about?" With a crooked grin, I pull one of my swords from my inventory. A few Free Folk jump; some grab for their gear.
"Meet one of my builds—an enchanted weapon." As I speak, I give the blade a little cut through the air; a ribbon of fire trails behind it, drawing gasps. "Besides being steel of a quality you've never seen, the edge reduces whatever it hits to ash—tuned for creatures of ice." I conjure a dagger and a bow from my inventory. "Daggers and bows included. Loose an arrow from this, and it'll set whatever it hits on fire."
I toss the dagger to Mance; he snatches it clean and turns it over, eyes wide. "I currently have two hundred thirty-four swords, fifty-six daggers, and thirty-eight bows—and I can enchant your weapons too."
"Why?"
"Couple reasons. The Night King's playing quiet for now, and I want to sharpen my magic. To do that, I need to travel south of the Wall to find new training targets."
"But I can't leave you defenseless in case they pounce while I'm gone, so I'm leaving you ways to hit back so I don't have to come clean it up later. Plus, if you can stand against White Walkers, you've got no reason to rush the Wall, which means the realm doesn't turn into a circus. Bonus: enchanting your weapons doubles as practice for me. Everybody wins."
Except the Big Smurf—but fuck him, he's blue.
Mance watches me for a few seconds, then bursts out laughing, quickly joined by the rest of the Free Folk. "Well then, we'll take your offer. While you're with us, make yourself at home—and tell me if you need anything. You're a friend of the Free Folk now, hunter."
Well. That went well.