Edge of the Haunted Forest, temporary camp
Daniel's POV
The first figure broke the treeline. Its eyes caught the firelight — and burned. Not the warm orange of a hearth, but a cold, unnatural blue that made Daniel's breath catch in his throat.
It moved with a terrible grace, gliding over the snow as if the uneven ground did not exist. Behind it came others — slower, shambling, but no less wrong. The smell reached him then: rot, old and wet, threaded with the sharp tang of cold iron.
"Loose!" Mormont's voice cracked the night.
Arrows hissed into the dark. Some struck home, thudding into dead flesh — but the things did not fall.
"Fire!" came the next order. Torches flared, arrows were tipped in flame. This time, when they struck, the dead burned — some collapsing in the snow, others staggering on, ablaze.
Jon was already moving along the line, shouting for the men to keep their nerve, his sword in one hand, a torch in the other. "Stay close to the flames!" he called, cutting down a wight that had clambered over the stakes.
Daniel mirrored him on the opposite flank, his own blade flashing as he met a wight head‑on. The steel bit deep into its shoulder, but it kept coming, clawing at him with blackened fingers. Jon was there in an instant, torch sweeping low. The wight went up in flames, thrashing in the snow until it lay still.
Another brother went down nearby, blood dark against the snow. Daniel dropped to one knee beside him, pressing a hand to the wound. "You're not done yet," he said, voice steady despite the chaos. His other hand worked fast, binding the gash, keeping the man conscious.
Above the roar of the fight, Mormont's voice carried like iron. "Hold the line! No one breaks!"
Then the second horn blast rolled down from the dark.
The sound was closer now, and heavier — as if the forest itself had joined the enemy's march. The slope below was crawling with them, a tide of dead flesh and frozen eyes.
"Shields forward!" Mormont bellowed. "Archers, keep the fire on them!"
Jon vaulted a low barricade to reach a breach in the stakes, torch swinging in a wide arc to drive the wights back. Daniel followed, cutting down one that lunged for Jon's unguarded side.
"Thanks," Jon panted, not looking away from the fight.
"Don't thank me yet," Daniel said, shoving another wight back into the flames.
The line was bending. Men were shouting, some in pain, some in fear. Daniel could see the truth of it — they couldn't hold this hilltop much longer.
Mormont must have seen it too. His voice rose above the chaos, steady and unyielding. "Form on me! Fifty men — we break out, now!"
Mormont's voice cut through the roar of the dead like a drawn blade.
Jon was already moving, torch in one hand, Longclaw in the other, carving a path toward the western slope. Daniel fell in beside him, his own sword flashing, the heat of the torch in his off‑hand a fragile shield against the cold pressing in from all sides.
The line contracted, brothers stumbling into formation around the Old Bear. The air was thick with the stink of burning flesh and the hiss of snow melting under fire. Wights clawed at the shields, their fingers snapping like dry twigs when caught in the torchlight.
"Keep moving!" Jon shouted, shoving a torch into the face of a wight that had lunged for Daniel's back. The thing went down thrashing, its screams swallowed by the wind.
A man cried out ahead — one of the rangers, his leg caught in a tangle of stakes. Daniel was there in two strides, hacking the wood apart, then hauling the man upright. Blood was already soaking through the man's breeches.
"Can you walk?" Daniel asked, voice low but urgent.
The ranger nodded, teeth clenched. Daniel bound the wound in three swift motions, the prayer on his lips more reflex than thought. "Go. Stay in the middle of the column."
They pushed on. Mormont was at the front now, his great bear‑skin cloak snapping in the wind, Longclaw cutting down anything that came too close. His voice was steady, calling orders, keeping the men from scattering.
The slope ahead was a churn of snow and shadow. Wights poured in from the flanks, but the torches held them at bay just long enough for the survivors to punch through. Daniel fought and healed in the same breath — dragging a man clear of a fallen horse, cauterizing a bite with the flat of a heated blade, shoving him back into the moving mass before turning to meet the next attacker.
Jon's torch guttered low. Without a word, Daniel thrust his own into Jon's free hand and drew another from the pack slung across his back. The younger man gave a quick nod, then turned to drive the flame into the chest of a charging wight.
The dead followed them down the slope, their pale eyes burning in the dark. But the Watch was moving now, a black‑cloaked wedge forcing its way into the night.
"Don't stop!" Mormont bellowed. "We run until the Wall's at our backs!"
Daniel didn't look back. He could feel the cold at his heels, hear the scrape of bone on ice, smell the rot in the wind. But ahead — ahead was life, and he would drag as many brothers toward it as his hands could hold.
The wedge of black cloaks plunged into the dark, torches flaring in the wind. Snow churned under their boots, the slope treacherous with ice and the bodies of the fallen.
"Keep tight!" Mormont's voice carried over the roar of the wind. "Don't break the line!"
Jon was on Daniel's right, Longclaw cutting arcs through the dark, torchlight glinting off the ripples in the Valyrian steel. Every time a wight lunged from the flank, Jon was there — a quick step, a clean cut, a shove into the fire.
Daniel's world narrowed to the men within arm's reach. A brother stumbled ahead, clutching his side. Daniel caught him by the collar, dragging him upright even as he swung his sword one‑handed to keep a wight at bay.
"Hold this," he said, shoving his torch into the man's grip. With his free hand, he pressed hard against the wound, feeling the hot pulse of blood. He tore a strip from his own cloak, binding it tight as they moved. "Stay in the middle. Don't stop."
The man nodded, pale but breathing, and Daniel shoved him forward into the press of bodies.
A scream cut through the night — behind them. Daniel risked a glance back. A wight had pulled a ranger down, teeth snapping at his throat. Jon was already moving, torch sweeping low, the dead thing bursting into flame as Daniel hauled the man to his feet.
"Can you run?" Daniel asked.
The ranger's eyes were wide, but he nodded. Daniel gave him a shove toward the column.
The dead were everywhere now — spilling from the treeline, clawing up from drifts of snow, their eyes burning in the dark. The torches kept them back, but the flames were guttering low.
"Fresh fire!" Mormont bellowed. Daniel swung his pack around, pulling free two wrapped bundles of pitch‑soaked cloth. He tossed one to Jon, who caught it without looking, jamming it into the nearest flame before hurling it into the face of a charging wight.
The thing went down thrashing, and the column surged forward another dozen yards.
Daniel's lungs burned, his arms ached, but he kept moving — fighting, binding wounds, dragging men to their feet. Every life he could keep moving was one more the dead didn't claim.
Somewhere ahead, the slope began to level. Mormont's voice rose again, fierce and unyielding. "We've got ground — push through!"
The survivors roared, a ragged, desperate sound, and the wedge broke into a run. Behind them, the dead howled, the sound chasing them into the dark.
The slope eased underfoot, but the dead didn't slow. They poured after them, a tide of snapping jaws and clawing hands. The torches were burning low now, their light ragged in the wind.
"Hold the line!" Mormont's voice was hoarse but unbroken. He was at the point of the wedge, axe rising and falling, each blow clearing a path.
Daniel's breath came in ragged bursts, the cold cutting his lungs. A brother stumbled beside him, blood soaking his sleeve. Daniel caught his arm, yanking him upright.
"Stay with me," he said, binding the wound as they moved. His fingers were numb, but the cloth held, and the man's eyes cleared enough to keep running.
A roar went up ahead — not from the dead, but from the living. The treeline broke, revealing a shallow hollow where the snow lay unbroken. Beyond it, the dark bulk of the forest loomed, thicker and deeper.
"Through!" Mormont bellowed. "Make for the trees!"
The survivors roared, a ragged, desperate sound, and the wedge broke into a run. Behind them, the dead howled, the sound chasing them into the dark.
Snowflakes stung Daniel's face as he ran, lungs burning, boots slipping on the churned slope. The forest loomed ahead — black trunks, deeper shadow — and the promise of cover.
They plunged into the first line of trees, the noise of pursuit muffled by the close‑set pines. Men sagged against trunks, gasping, some laughing in disbelief, others silent with exhaustion. Daniel didn't stop moving. He dropped to one knee beside a brother clutching his side, fingers already working at the knot of a blood‑soaked sash.
"Stay with me," he said, binding the wound as they moved. His fingers were numb, but the cloth held, and the man's eyes cleared enough to keep running. Jon passed close, torchlight catching the edge of his jaw, Longclaw still in his other hand. "Half the men are out of shafts," he muttered. "We'll need to strip what we can from the field come daylight."
Daniel tied off the bandage and rose without looking up. "If daylight comes."
Jon's mouth twitched — not quite a smile — before he moved on. Mormont's voice rumbled low with his senior men at the edge of the firelight, but his eyes kept sweeping the camp, counting, measuring.
Daniel finished with the last of the wounded and flexed his raw hands. A gust rattled the branches overhead; somewhere far off, a wolf howled. The men went still, listening.
"Rest while you can," Mormont called. "We move at first light."
Daniel was checking the last of his supplies when a shadow fell across him. Mormont stood there, broad as a wall, his breath steaming in the cold. "You kept more men on their feet tonight than I thought possible," he said quietly. "That's worth more than any sword stroke."
Daniel shook his head. "They kept each other alive. I just made sure they could keep moving."
The Old Bear's gaze held him for a long moment. "Aye. And that's the difference between a man who fights to win and a man who fights so others can see the dawn."
Mormont's eyes swept the camp again before he stepped back. "Get some rest, healer. We'll need your hands again before this is done."
Daniel pulled his cloak tighter, the ache in his muscles deep but steady. He kept his eyes on the dark between the trees, listening for the sound he dreaded most, until the cold forced him to close them. Dawn was still hours away — but for the first time since the dead had come screaming out of the dark, he believed they might reach it.