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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 93: The Frozen Shore
The dawn came grey and lifeless over the haunted forest, a pale smear of light that did little to dispel the darkness clinging to the frozen earth.
The sun, if it could be called such, was a ghost behind the clouds, a memory of warmth that offered no comfort to the living.
The trees stood like skeletal sentinels, their branches bare and black against the snow.
Ned Stark was reaching his limit, and he knew the others were past that point already.
His legs ached with every step, his muscles screaming in protest as he pushed through the deep snow.
His lungs burned with each breath of the frigid air, the cold searing his throat like fire. His hands had gone numb hours ago, tucked beneath his furs in a desperate attempt to preserve what little warmth remained.
The snow was deep here, past his knees in some places, and every step was a battle against the cold that seeped through his boots and crept into his bones.
He had not eaten in three days.
None of them had.
The group moved in a ragged line through the snow, their breath misting in the cold air.
They had been walking for two days now, following Mance Rayder through the frozen wilderness, always heading north. North toward Hardhome.
Behind him came Bran, his second son, riding on the back of Summer, his direwolf. The boy was looking pale, his eyes hollow from exhaustion, his body shivering beneath his furs. But he did not complain. He had not complained once since they had fled Castle Black, not even when the cold had grown so bitter that his lips had cracked and bled.
Ned was proud of him.
Beside Bran walked Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. His face was weathered and tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been when they first met. But his eyes remained sharp, as always, scanning the trees for threats, reading the land for signs of danger.
He had been leading them through the frozen wilderness for two days, following a path that only he could see, a path that wound through the trees and across the frozen streams, always heading north.
Behind them came Gilly, the wildling woman, clutching her baby to her chest. The child was wrapped in layers of fur, its face hidden from the biting wind. She had not spoken much since they had escaped, but her eyes never stopped moving.
Ghost, Jon's direwolf, brought up the rear. His white fur blended with the snow, making him almost invisible against the frozen landscape. His red eyes scanned the trees for threats, his ears twitching at every sound.
He had not left them since the escape, had followed them through the secret tunnels and out into the frozen wilderness beyond, just as Jon had asked him to do.
But on the day prior, Ned had noticed a change in Ghost's demeanor. The direwolf had become more nervous, more agitated. He would constantly be looking around, his hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He would stop and stare at the trees, his eyes fixed on something that Ned could not see.
Ned could not help but wonder if the beast was reacting to something he was seeing... or if perhaps something had happened to Jon.
He had been worried about Jon since they left the castle. The boy had stayed behind to keep his oaths, to face Stannis's justice alone.
Ned had tried to convince him to come, had begged him to leave the Wall and return to Winterfell, where he belonged. But Jon had refused. He had said that his place was at Castle Black, that he had sworn an oath to the Night's Watch, and he would not break it.
Ned had lived like that once, bound by honor and duty, and he knew where that road led. It led to pain and loss and regret. It led to a life spent serving others while your own heart withered away.
"Father... I see something."
Bran's voice pulled Ned from his thoughts. He looked up, following his son's gaze through the thinning trees.
The forest was beginning to thin as they approached the coast. The trees gave way to rocky outcroppings and frozen cliffs, their surfaces slick with ice. The wind grew stronger here, howling off the sea, carrying the scent of salt and ice. And through the grey light, through the swirling snow, he saw it.
Hardhome.
The settlement was a collection of crumbling ruins, the remnants of a town that had been destroyed centuries ago. The buildings were little more than skeletons now, their roofs collapsed, their walls half-fallen.
The harbor was choked with ice, the skeletal remains of ships jutting from the frozen water like the bones of dead giants. The place had a feel of abandonment about it, a sense of loss that hung in the air like a shroud.
But there were signs of life.
Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys, thin plumes that drifted up into the grey sky. Fires burned in the ruins, their orange glow visible through the gaps in the stone walls. Figures wrapped in furs moved among the buildings, their breath misting in the cold air.
Wildlings.
Ned's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, but he stopped himself. These were not enemies...not right now, at least. These were the people Mance had been trying to save, the people who had fled the Wall after the battle. They were refugees, just like them. And they were their only chance to return home.
Mance raised a hand, signaling for them to stop. "Wait here," he said, his voice low. "I will go ahead and speak with them. They will recognize me."
Ned nodded. "Dont forget your words."
Mance walked forward with his hands raised, his furs flapping in the wind.
The wildlings in the ruins noticed him almost immediately. A shout went up, and figures emerged from the buildings, their weapons drawn, their eyes wary. They had been hunted for so long that they had learned to trust no one.
But then they recognized him.
A woman stepped forward, tall and beautiful, with long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders like spun gold. She wore a white fur cloak over her leather armor, and she carried a spear in her hand.
Her eyes were sharp, her face cold, but when she saw Mance, a smile spread across her lips.
"Mance," she said, her voice carrying across the frozen ground. "You are supposed to be dead."
"I'm hard to kill," Mance replied, his voice warm despite the cold. "You should know that, Val."
She looked past him, her eyes scanning the group behind him. "And who did you bring with you? Southerners? Direwolves?" Her eyes landed on Gilly, and her expression softened slightly. "And a wildling girl with a babe. What a strange group."
"Aye," Mance nodded. "We are also cold and hungry. Why don't we go inside, and I'll tell you all about it?"
Val studied them for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. "Very well. Bring them inside. We have a fire in the main hall. And we have food, though not much."
She turned and walked back toward the ruins, her spear tapping against the frozen ground.
Ned let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. "She seems... formidable," he said to Mance. "Wife?"
Mance chuckled. "She is my wife's sister. She has always been fierce." He paused, his expression turning serious. "But she is also loyal. She will help us."
They followed Val into the ruins.
The main hall of Hardhome was a large stone structure that had once been a storehouse, its roof partially collapsed, its walls cracked and crumbling.
But a fire blazed in the center of the room, and the warmth of the flames was a welcome relief after two days in the frozen wilderness.
Wildlings filled the hall, men and women wrapped in furs, their faces weathered by the cold.
They watched as the newcomers entered, their eyes wary, their hands never straying far from their weapons.
Ned felt their stares on him, felt the weight of their suspicion. These were people who had been hunted their entire lives, who had been driven from their homes by the dead and by the men of the Night's Watch. They did not trust outsiders, and they had good reason not to.
But they trusted Mance.
The King-Beyond-the-Wall moved through the crowd, greeting old friends, clasping hands, exchanging words of comfort. He had been their leader once, and they had not forgotten. He had led them south, had tried to save them from the coming darkness, and they remembered.
Val guided them to the fire, where a large iron pot hung over the flames.
The smell of stew filled the air, rich and savory, and Ned's stomach growled in response. He had not realized how hungry he was until the scent of food hit him.
"Sit," Val said, gesturing to the furs around the fire. "Eat. We will talk after."
Ned did not need to be told twice. He sank onto the furs, his aching legs grateful for the rest. Bran sat beside him, his direwolf curling up at his feet. Gilly took a seat on the other side, her baby still clutched to her chest.
A woman brought them bowls of stew, thick and hearty, filled with meat and root vegetables. Ned ate ravenously, the warmth spreading through his body, chasing away the cold that had settled into his bones. He had not realized how hungry he was, how close to the edge of exhaustion he had been.
Mance ate beside him, his eyes scanning the room. "Val," he called out. "Come. We have much to discuss."
Val approached, her spear set aside, her expression unreadable. She settled onto a fur across from them, her eyes moving from Mance to Ned to Bran.
"Explain," she said. "How did you escape Castle Black? And who are these people?"
Mance took a sip of stew before speaking. "The escape was Jon Snow's doing. He found a secret tunnel beneath the Wall, one that had been sealed for centuries. He helped us through it."
"Jon Snow?" Val's eyebrows rose. "The boy who killed Qhorin Halfhand? He helped you escape? I thought he would go back to being a crow as soon as he had the chance."
Mance glanced at Ned. "These right here are his father and half-brother. This is Lord Stark, the Warden of the North."
Val's eyes moved to Ned. "Lord Stark? What was he doing there? Did he decide to become a crow?"
Ned met her gaze. "I am indeed, Eddard Stark. The details are not important. But I was being kept prisoner by Lord Stannis, who had declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms and demanded my house's loyalty."
He was not going to tell the woman commanding all those wildlings that he had taken part in the battle that had ended so many of their lives.
Some things were better left unsaid. Ned had learned to keep his mouth shut when it was necessary, had learned that sometimes silence was the wisest course.
Val's expression hardened. "Stannis Baratheon. The man who attacked us at the Wall. The man who burned our people alive." Her eyes burned with a cold fury. "Is he still in that castle?"
"As far as I know," Ned responded.
"Stannis will pay for what he did to our people," Mance Rayder promised. "But we will need to be more careful next time."
"There may not be a next time," Val said, her expression darkening.
Mance noticed the change in her demeanor. "How is the situation here?"
She shook her head. "Not good. Our supplies are running low. We have too many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around. The hunting parties have been returning empty-handed. The game has fled south, away from the cold."
"What about the Others?" Mance inquired.
"I sent scouts two days ago. They have not returned yet." Val moved her eyes back to Lord Stark and the others. "Mance... you still haven't told me why you brought these southerners here. What are we to do with them?"
"I made a promise in exchange for my freedom. A promise to Jon Snow."
"You made a promise to a crow?" There was a hint of disappointment in Val's eyes. "If my sister were still alive..."
"We just need a ship," Ned said. "A small one. Just enough to take us back south of the Wall."
Val studied him for a moment, her eyes cold and calculating. "That won't be easy. The ships here are nothing more than fishing boats. And the crows have another castle on the coast."
Ned nodded. "Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. I am familiar with it. But I am not concerned about the Night's Watch brothers stationed there. As long as Stannis didn't bring his army there..."
"He may have," said Mance.
"We will have to take the risk." Ned glanced at his son. "The more we wait... the worse it will be."
Val was about to say something when a commotion at the entrance to the hall drew everyone's attention.
A group of wildlings entered the room, their furs covered in snow, their faces flushed with the cold. One of them stood out...a massive man with a red beard that fell to his chest, his arms thick as tree trunks, his face split in a wide grin.
"What is this I heard about Mance Rayder returning from the dead?"
"Tormund!" Mance called out, rising to his feet. "You survived!"
Tormund Giantsbane laughed, a booming sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Of course I survived! Do you think a few crows could kill me?" He strode forward, his arms open wide. "Mance, it's really you."
"It is me," Mance said, embracing the giant man. "I had some help."
Tormund pulled back, his eyes moving to the others. He saw Bran, saw Gilly, saw Ned. "I see that. More crows?"
Ned rose to his feet, his eyes locked on the new arrival. "I am Eddard Stark."
Tormund's eyebrows rose. "Stark? The Warden of the North?" He looked at Mance. "Is this the father of Snow?"
Mance nodded. "He is. And his brother as well." He pointed at Bran, who had been standing behind his father the whole time.
"Well... you have all come at a bad time. Hardhome is no longer safe. We should be preparing to leave," Tormund said.
"Is it that bad already?" Mance muttered.
Tormund's eyes moved to Val. "It's really bad."
"And where should we go? We already tried going south," Val responded. "There is an army guarding the Wall now."
"There is a different kind of army coming here," Tormund said.
"We don't know that for sure yet. The scouts have not returned," Val answered.
Ned could feel the tension in the air. There seemed to be some disagreement among those in charge of this settlement, a rift between those who wanted to fight and those who wanted to flee.
He did not really care for their politics. He just wanted a ship and to get out of here, to get his son to a safe place.
Val's jaw tightened. "Then we fight them. We have no other choice."
"We don't have many left who can fight," Tormund reminded her. "Most died at the last battle. The ones who survived are wounded or exhausted. We cannot hold Hardhome against an army of the dead."
"Whose army is coming?" Bran could no longer contain his curiosity after hearing the wildlings argue for a while.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"You southerners really don't know anything?" Tormund appeared genuinely surprised. "Even the crows know. The dead are coming. They have been gathering in the north for months, building their strength. And now they are marching south."
Ned placed a hand on Bran's shoulder. "They are talking about the Others."
"The Others?" Bran's eyes went wide. "I thought Old Nan had made them up to scare me with her stories. She used to tell me tales about them, about their cold swords and their blue eyes, but I thought they were just stories."
"The Others are real," Gilly spoke up, her voice trembling. "I've seen them. I've seen the dead walk and the cold that follows them. And if they are coming here... we need to leave right now." She held her child tightly, her face pale with fear.
"Perhaps... there is another option," Ned said, trying to ease the tension. "When I return to Winterfell, I could..."
Whatever his idea was, he never got the chance to share it.
His words died in his mouth when he heard the sound that came from outside...a high, cold shriek that seemed to pierce the very soul. It was a sound no living creature could make, a sound that spoke of ancient hatred and eternal cold.
Then more screams were heard, followed by the banging of drums.
The sound of ice cracking filled the air, the unmistakable sound of the dead approaching.
Tormund's face went pale. "They are here. They are at the gate."
Ned's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his heart pounding in his chest. It appeared they were not going to leave so easily. Another battle was about to start.
The Others had come to Hardhome.
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