East of Castle Black, the Wall was a sword; west, a snake.
It had no gates, only tunnels piercing the thick base, leading beyond.
These tunnels were blocked by multiple iron grates locked with heavy chains.
Any tunnel abandoned or endangered would be sealed forever with ice and gravel.
For the Seven Kingdoms, the Wall was an impregnable barrier.
For 8,000 years, except for the 13th Lord Commander "Night's King" and his "Corpse Queen"—who ruled for thirteen years until defeated by Brandon the Breaker, King in the North—the defenders on the Wall never wavered.
This was the history of the Night's Watch, and their supreme glory.
Even though the current Watch was filled with criminals and scum, this pride etched in their bones was fiercely guarded.
Except for a few shameful oathbreakers, these men practiced the vow they took the day they donned the black until their dying breath.
"Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."
When Aldric first heard Benjen recite this, a fire lit in his chest, urging him to join and watch over the North.
But after the Haunted Forest's cold wind slapped him, he dropped the idea.
This was the Watch's mission, not his. His mission lay elsewhere.
The burden of saving the world was too heavy for this fragile organization of less than a thousand men and three hundred fighters.
Aldric had to find stronger power.
Passing through the tunnel under the Wall, they officially left the Seven Kingdoms.
Emerging from the dark tunnel into the lands beyond, a dense, gloomy coniferous forest came into view.
Aldric sniffed the air filled with freedom. It wasn't sweet, just cold.
Benjen led them into the forest, explaining to first-timer Aldric, "The Haunted Forest is vast, no less than the Wolfswood. To keep trees away from the Wall, we cut day and night, burn wood, but can't make it retreat... I think one day, the Haunted Forest will grow right up to the Wall, under our feet."
"Many Wildling villages lie in the Haunted Forest. Most get along with the Watch. But sometimes new tribes migrate here, don't know the rules, and cause trouble. So we rangers patrol regularly to ensure no new tribes threaten the Wall."
Benjen continued, "There are only two ways for Wildling raiders to cross the Wall. One is risking their lives climbing the face. These years, with fewer brothers, defense is thin. If Wildlings walk far enough, they find unmanned sections. Those who cross this way are few, just a nuisance."
"The other way is crossing the sea at the east or west ends. But Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea guard those coasts. Unless Wildlings dive underwater and freeze to death, they get caught as soon as they surface."
As the forest grew quieter, Benjen fell silent. In the silent woods of towering oaks, ironwoods, and grey-green sentinels, only hoofbeats echoed.
Deep in this vast coniferous forest, the cold wind cut like a knife.
Rangers rode with legs clamping horses, hands gripping reins, the team connected by invisible bonds, bodies merged with mounts, eyes alert.
After a day's march, Benjen found a dry, wind-sheltered hollow to camp.
The eight men, with limited load capacity, brought only sleeping bags, no tents.
Camping meant sleeping around the fire in bags.
Benjen arranged four watch shifts, pairing strong and weak. Aldric was paired with a lad named Gordon.
As others slept, Aldric threw wood into the fire, the light reddening their faces.
After a long time, Gordon asked, "You beat the Hound, Sandor Clegane?"
Aldric nodded. "Yes. The Lannister kid framed me for lying to the King about my kill. The King made me fight him to verify the truth."
"Did you really lie to him?"
"Who, the King?"
"Yes."
Aldric shook his head. "Of course not. Even if someone lied to him, it wouldn't be me."
Gordon sneered. "Heh, the King's judgment..."
"You've seen the King?"
Gordon poked the fire with a stick. "Yes. When I was a squire, I followed my master to the Tourney at King's Landing. My master lost after two rounds, only earning a suit of armor. But that kept us comfortable for months."
"And then?"
"Then... my master died fighting bandits. I tried to take his belongings, was judged a thief by the hiring lord, and sent here."
Aldric fell silent.
A while later, Gordon continued, "Sandor Clegane is good. In that tourney, he reached the semi-finals but lost to Jaime Lannister."
"When Jaime knocked down his last opponent and rode past the stands, the ladies screamed like wolves at a full moon, throwing handkerchiefs. He ignored them all, only accepting the Queen's flower."
"My master said if the Kingslayer traded looks for strength with the Seven, he'd have won the tourney."
Aldric asked curiously, "Who won?"
"The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane. A giant. He plowed through seven or eight opponents, beat the Kingslayer in the semis, and beat Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard in the finals."
"But in my opinion, 'Barristan the Bold' is stronger. His hair and beard were white, yet the gap with the Mountain was a hair's breadth. If they were the same age, Barristan would win."
"Not necessarily..." Aldric shook his head. "In tourneys or regulated matches, experience can bridge the physical gap. But if the Mountain is as huge as you say, in a real fight, Ser Barristan would likely lose more than win."
Gordon drank some ale, imagining young Barristan fighting the Mountain, and admitted, "True. Just thinking about fighting the Mountain makes me want to piss myself."
Aldric took the wineskin, drank, and handed Gordon some jerky. They ate and chatted softly through the lonely night.
Aldric sensed Gordon missed his days wandering the South.
"Do you want to go back?"
Gordon shrugged. "Go back to what? Since donning the black, the Wall is my home. Actually, life here isn't bad. Food and clothes provided, pay goes to Mole's Town for fun. Aside from being colder than the South, it's fine."
Aldric hugged himself, shivering. "Probably more than a little colder? Don't lie to me."
"Haha..."
When the next shift woke, Aldric crawled into his bag, thinking: These men, abandoned by the Seven Kingdoms, found their belonging in this cold land. He felt happy for them.
The next morning, they continued north. Before noon, they saw the first village.
Outside, seeing no activity, Benjen sent Othor and Jafer to scout.
Weapons drawn, they entered carefully. Pushing doors open, they found the dozen low huts empty, stripped of anything valuable.
Benjen dismounted and checked every house. "I think they migrated. But why? Two months ago, Tosh and his tribe sold us half a sheep."
Othor suggested, "Maybe captured. Wildlings don't know peace."
"Maybe," Benjen dusted his hands. "Let's check the next one."
Near nightfall, they reached another village. Unsurprisingly, it was empty too. Cleaned out.
Benjen was certain now: voluntary migration. No signs of violence, unlike raids.
"Someone summoned them, or something terrible scared them away. Voluntary or forced, we must find the answer. We can't let a conspiracy brew under our noses."
Benjen decided to head to Craster's Keep north of the Haunted Forest.
"Craster's Keep isn't a real keep," Gordon explained to Aldric. "It's just a name we give it. It's north of the forest. Past that is the endless ice field."
"The owner is Craster, a bad-tempered Wildling, but our friend."
"Rangers rarely go this far north, but Craster always hosts us. If anyone north of the Wall knows what happened, it's him."
That night, the eight men rested in the empty village.
Aldric picked a house nearby.
Midnight, waking with a full bladder, he stumbled out and pissed against a tree.
As the stream slowed, Aldric felt something wrong. Too quiet.
In this vast forest, aside from their horses, there was no sound.
Abnormal.
Snap. A twig broke.
Aldric pulled up his pants, drew his sword, and approached carefully.
A giant bear, tall as him, stood under a pine tree nearby, staring at him, growling low in its throat.
Behind it, two knee-high cubs hugged its legs, staring too.
Aldric froze.
He wasn't afraid... okay, he was afraid.
Even after leading the Argent Crusade to storm Icecrown Citadel and kill the Lich King, he still got wrecked by normal bear NPCs in Mount Hyjal.
Before figuring out which version/patch this mama bear was from, Aldric wouldn't attack lightly.
The bear seemed to think the same.
After a standoff, Benjen's voice came from behind. "Aldric, what are you doing?"
Hearing another voice, the bear realized the two-legged beast had backup. She turned and left with her cubs.
"Nothing. A mama bear with cubs. She's gone."
Aldric sheathed his sword, returned to the abandoned village, and patted Benjen's shoulder. "Lock the door tight when sleeping. Who knows what else is out there."
Benjen watched the shadows in the forest for a while, then went back to his room, sensibly jamming the door with a thick log.
The next morning, they packed up and moved on.
To verify Benjen's guess, they checked three more villages that day. All empty. Not a grain left.
"Two more villages north. We check them tomorrow. If empty, we go straight to Craster's Keep."
Unfortunately, that night, a freezing rainstorm hit.