Chapter 54: Danger Draws Near
Frostfangs
The air grew colder with every passing day.
A biting wind pierced through wool and leather alike, slipping past cloaks and furs to gnaw at the marrow. Jon Snow let out a long breath, watching it turn to frost before his eyes. All around him stretched an endless expanse of white.
He could not fathom how the free folk managed to survive in such a place.
Once, he had thought the North harsh. Now, compared to this frozen wasteland, Winterfell seemed like paradise.
He shook the thought away, tightened his cloak around his shoulders, and hurried to catch up with the others.
"Cold, are you, Jon Snow?" Ygritte called over her shoulder, her tone teasing.
"I'm not cold," Jon replied stubbornly, meeting her bright grin.
She pursed her lips and mimicked him in a sing-song voice. "I'm not cold. Even though I'm thinking about the warm halls of Winterfell and bowls of steaming stew."
Then she added loudly, "You know nothing, Jon Snow."
With that, she turned and strode ahead, leaving him behind.
Jon flushed faintly, lips pressing together in embarrassment. She had seen straight through him.
The cold wasn't the only thing gnawing at him.
"Lad," Tormund said, stepping closer with a grin, his green eyes gleaming with mischief, "I'll wager that girl fancies you. Aye, she does. I'd say she wants you badly enough."
Jon nearly stumbled.
"I don't—" he began, but the words faltered.
Tormund laughed, a booming sound that echoed against the icy cliffs. "You crows are blind as moles when it comes to women."
Ahead of them, the gathered free folk moved slowly through the Frostfangs—ragged, wary, and burdened. Word had spread of strange movements in the far north. Whispers of blue-eyed shadows in the storm. Of villages found empty. Of hunters who never returned.
The laughter faded.
Even Tormund's grin thinned.
The wind shifted.
For a fleeting moment, Jon felt it—a prickle at the back of his neck. A silence beneath the wind. As if something vast and watchful stirred beyond the ridgelines.
Tormund leaned in closer and gave Jon's shoulder a suggestive slap.
"Best keep one eye open when you sleep, lad. She might come steal you in the night."
Jon had lived among the free folk long enough to grow used to their blunt ways. Their words no longer shocked him as they once had.
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for the warning, Giantsbane Tormund."
Tormund was forever boasting about the giants he'd slain. Jon, tired of hearing it, had taken to calling him "Giantsbane" at every opportunity. To his annoyance, Tormund wore the title proudly.
Up ahead, the column came to a halt. The free folk spread out across a patch of level ground, scanning the area.
Curious, Jon moved forward.
"Ethan," Tormund called to one of the men, "didn't you say there were bodies here? Where are they?"
"They were here when I scouted the place," Ethan insisted. He was a skinchanger among the free folk, and had seen the site through the eyes of his hawk. That was why Tormund had led a group out to investigate. Jon, having little to do in camp, had volunteered to join them.
Jon studied Ethan's certainty and said quietly, "You all know where the bodies have gone."
"White Walkers?" someone muttered.
Jon nodded.
"So they've searched this far south already?" Tormund's voice grew heavy. "This isn't far from camp."
"We should move before they find us," Jon warned. "While we still can."
"Tell that to Mance," Tormund replied bluntly. "We've no say in it."
Jon fell silent. Mance Rayder did not trust them—not yet. He would not break camp until every last band of free folk had gathered.
After searching a while longer and finding nothing, Tormund finally led the group back.
---
As they neared camp, Ygritte slipped close to Jon. Her breath brushed his ear as she murmured teasingly:
"My body's warm, Jon Snow. Care to try it?"
Before he could answer, she snatched his sword and darted toward a nearby cave.
Jon stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching the others continue ahead. Then, gritting his teeth, he ran after her.
"Ygritte?"
He reached the cave entrance and hesitated. Inside was darkness.
"Ygritte?"
Receiving no answer, he stepped inside. Warm air rushed to meet him. He followed the tunnel deeper until it opened into a broad cavern lit from above by a shaft of daylight.
There, steaming beneath the light, lay a hot spring.
Ygritte was already in the water, only her head visible above the mist. When she saw him, she rose without hesitation.
Unashamed. Unafraid.
Her bare form shimmered in the rising steam, vibrant and alive—like some wild spirit of the mountains themselves.
…
---
Castle Black
High atop the Wall, Saelen watched the small cavalry escort ride southward until they vanished into the pale horizon.
The wind bit hard. He tightened his cloak and turned away.
"Do you think they'll really get support from the southern lords?" Robb asked, still staring into the distance.
"We've done what we can," Saelen replied calmly. "The rest depends on them. If the southern lords choose to remain selfish and shortsighted fools, there's little we can do about it."
For Saelen, sending the wight south was less about supplies and more about shock. He intended to force the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms to see the truth with their own eyes. Let them witness what stalked beyond the Wall. Let them understand that Westeros was no longer safe.
If aid came, good. If not—at least they could no longer pretend ignorance.
The iron cage carrying the wight had been specially forged by Donal Noye, reinforced with steel to prevent escape. Twenty riders escorted it—ten of Saelen's own men led by Othell, and ten rangers of the Night's Watch under Yoren.
Saelen had given strict instructions: at every castle and town along the way, the wight was to be displayed publicly. The realm would know.
He would not repeat the mistakes of others—marching to war in silence while the rest of the kingdom remained blissfully unaware.
"Come," Saelen said at last. "Lord Stark has summoned us."
They descended the Wall and entered the hall, where Eddard Stark, Lord Commander Mormont, and Maester Aemon were waiting.
After formal greetings, Eddard spoke first.
"Stannis has sent word. He's ordered Dragonstone to begin mining obsidian. Ships will deliver it to Eastwatch. We're to prepare men to receive it."
Saelen blinked in surprise. "Stannis moved that quickly?"
"Stannis does not shirk matters of the realm," Eddard replied with quiet approval.
Saelen nodded. For all his rigidity, Stannis Baratheon was among the most dutiful men in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Stannis also arrested three or four hundred rioters in King's Landing," Mormont added. "They're being sent to the Wall. It's the largest intake of men we've had in years."
Saelen said nothing, but inwardly he was wary.
Criminals were not easy to command.
In another time, Lord Commander Mormont would fall to mutiny at the hands of such men.
Saelen would not make the same mistake.
Winter was coming closer with every passing day—and with it, betrayal and blood.