ASOIAF/GOT: The King On The Wall

Two miles wasn't far, but in the dense woods, progress was slow. Dusk was falling, and in the North, night descended quickly. The cloudless sky deepened into a bruised purple, the stars beginning to dot the heavens, and the moon rising pale and cold. Its light was faint, less than one-tenth of the sun's, but thanks to the snow blanketing the ground, the visibility was good enough.

"It's just ahead," Will whispered to Aegor, nervousness slipping into his voice.

"Be careful. If anything happens, run." Aegor took a deep breath, his chest tight. While Will feared the unknown dangers lurking in the dark, Aegor felt his blood pounding with a mix of dread and resolve. He knew what lay ahead. His body and mind were bracing themselves to face the natural enemy of mankind.

A lone wolf's howl echoed through the woods, distant yet clear.

Will stopped by an ancient ironwood tree, its gnarled trunk half-covered in frost, and dismounted. Aegor followed suit, the cold biting into his face like a blade. The wind whistled through the branches above, and the temperature seemed to plummet even further. Whether it was the presence of the White Walkers or just his own fears heightening his senses, Aegor couldn't tell.

If the story unfolded the way he remembered, the enemy would already be closing in.

"Something's wrong," Gary muttered.

"Really?" Waymar said mockingly. He smiled as if Gary's unease amused him.

"Can't you feel it?" Gary pressed. "Listen to the sounds in the dark."

"The wind, the rustling leaves, and wolves howling," Waymar replied dismissively. "Which of those terrifies you?"

Waymar dismounted, tying his horse to a low branch well away from the others. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, he drew his sword, the metal glinting faintly in the moonlight. "If you're scared, old man, stay here and guard the horses. Aegor, Will—come with me. We'll check the camp."

Gary scowled, clearly insulted, but didn't argue further. Instead, he began rummaging through his saddlebag. "I'll start a fire."

"Are you trying to advertise our position to the whole damn forest?" Waymar sneered. "If there's something out there, do you plan to lure it to us with your fire?"

"Some things fear fire," Gary countered stubbornly, holding up his flint and steel. "Bears. Wolves. And… other things."

Waymar snorted but didn't bother replying, turning his attention back to Will and Aegor. "Let's go."

Will took the lead, moving cautiously through the dense underbrush, with Aegor following close behind. Both men tried to step carefully, avoiding the crunch of snow beneath their boots. Waymar brought up the rear, making no effort to be quiet. His ringmail jingled softly, his boots scraped against the branches, and his cloak snagged on twigs, prompting him to mutter curses under his breath.

Every noise Waymar made sent a jolt through Aegor's already taut nerves. "This idiot." He clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to turn around and silence the knight with a harsh warning. But speaking up would only make things worse, draw even more attention to their position and Aegor had no desire to challenge the arrogant noble when his life might soon depend on Waymar's cooperation.

He had no choice but to move forward, step by agonizing step, trying to ignore the tension coiling tighter in his chest.

By the time they crested the snow-covered ridge, it felt like an eternity had passed. Aegor heard Will gasp beside him.

The camp lay below, bathed in pale moonlight. The embers of a fire still smoldered, a faint wisp of smoke rising into the frigid air. Rocks and tree roots poked out from beneath the snow. A half-frozen stream glittered nearby. But there were no bodies.

The savages Will had seen earlier were gone.

"Gods bless you," Waymar muttered as he joined them. He sliced through a branch that had blocked his path and stepped up beside Aegor and Will, his sword in hand. The wind tugged at his cloak, and the moonlight outlined his figure sharply against the dark woods.

"Get down!" Will hissed, grabbing Aegor's arm and pulling him into a crouch. "Something's not right."

Waymar remained standing, smirking down at the empty clearing. "Will, it seems those dead wildlings of yours decided to get up and leave."

Will's breathing was ragged as he stared at the deserted camp. Aegor's grip tightened on the steel sword in his right hand, while his left hand clutched the obsidian dagger hidden up his sleeve. He scanned the clearing, the slope, and the darkened treeline, his eyes wide and searching. Where are they? Where will they come from?

In the TV show, the White Walker had appeared behind Waymar, taking him by surprise. The details in the book were hazier in his memory. Would it happen the same way now?

"Will, get up," Waymar ordered sharply. "There's no one here, and it's undignified to crouch like that."

Will shot Aegor a nervous glance before rising reluctantly to his feet.

"I'm not going back empty-handed on my first patrol," Waymar declared, his voice filled with stubborn resolve. "We'll climb a tree and look around. If there's a fire nearby, we'll see it."

The final moment was approaching. Aegor's pulse thundered in his ears. He leaned close to Will and whispered, "Watch the dead."

"What?" Will turned, confusion and fear on his face.

"What are you two muttering about?" Waymar snapped irritably. "Hurry up!"

Will hesitated, his gaze darting to Aegor before he turned and trudged toward a towering sentinel tree. He pulled his dagger from his belt, gripped it between his teeth, and began climbing. Snow shook loose from the branches as he ascended, his figure soon swallowed by the shadows.

Aegor stood motionless, every muscle in his body tense, every sense heightened. The silence of the clearing was oppressive.

And then he heard it.

The sound was faint, something shifting in the snow nearby, too quiet to be natural. At first, Aegor thought he might be imagining it. But no, it was real. Something was moving.

He turned sharply, raising his sword, his eyes darting across the darkened forest.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" Waymar muttered. "You're not like the others. You—"

"Shut up," Aegor snapped, his voice low but urgent. "Listen."

"What are you—" Waymar began, but then he froze. His face paled as he heard it too.

"Who's there?" Waymar called, his voice unsteady. For the first time, the arrogance had vanished from his tone. He raised his sword and turned, scanning the shadows. "Will? Do you see anything?"

There was no answer from the poacher in the tree.

The camp lay in a shallow depression, surrounded by slopes on three sides. The wind had stilled completely, leaving the air heavy with silence. The faint noises—soft steps in the snow, the rustling of unseen figures—grew closer. Yet nothing appeared in the moonlight.

Aegor's knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. Waymar's steel weapon caught the moon's glow, a sharper gleam than the dull standard-issue blades of the Watch. It was a fine weapon, no doubt—but would it matter?

The cold intensified, seeping into Aegor's bones. He gritted his teeth to stop them from chattering, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness. And then—

It emerged.

From the far side of the clearing, a figure stepped into view. At first glance, it looked human, but only barely. It was tall and thin, its skin pale as milk, stretched tight over sharp, bony features. Its armor shimmered as it moved, shifting between black shadow, snow-white, and a deep forest green, as though reflecting the moonlight itself. Its sword, translucent and jagged, looked like a shard of ice.

Aegor spotted it immediately. His breath caught in his throat as the White Walker advanced, its steps slow and deliberate.

Waymar saw it too. He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, raising his sword with both hands. "Who are you? Stop!"

The Walker said nothing. It didn't even seem to hear him. It just kept walking, its dead, ice-blue eyes fixed on Waymar.

The wind had died, leaving only silence and the crushing weight of the cold. Aegor's pulse roared in his ears as adrenaline flooded his veins. His fingers tightened around the obsidian dagger hidden in his sleeve.

One chance. That's all he would get. The dagger was fragile, and he knew it. If Royce could hold the Walker's attention for even a moment, he might be able to strike.

"Since you won't stop," Waymar said, trying to mask his fear with bravado, "let's fight."

He stepped forward, his sword raised, cloak billowing in the windless air.

Aegor swallowed hard and followed, his steel sword ready in one hand, the obsidian dagger in the other. But before he could take another step, the world seemed to tilt beneath him.

Something unexpected happened.