GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond the Ice

"What?"

"What!"

Two voices rang out at the same time, one sharp with disbelief, the other laced with shock.

Waymar shot Aegor a strange look before turning his full attention to Will. "What exactly did you see? Tell me everything, and don't leave out a single detail."

"The camp is about two miles away, over a small snow-covered ridge next to a stream," Will reported, his voice tense. "The fire's burned out, there's only a pile of smoldering embers left. The wildlings are scattered around it, lying in the snow. I counted eight bodies, which lines up with my earlier estimate, but I didn't see any children among them.

"They're... motionless. Not a twitch. Even the one in the tree, it's like they're frozen in place. I crept as close as I could and watched for a while. There's no blood, no signs of a fight... but no living person would lie so still."

"Living people wouldn't let their fire die out either," Gary muttered, his tone grim. "The temperature's been dropping fast these past few days. Maybe they froze to death?"

"Maybe," Will agreed with a shiver. "What do we do now, my lord?"

"If it's cold, wear more clothes," Waymar snapped. "When we left the Wall nine days ago, it was still dripping with meltwater. We've had some frost and light snow since, but it hasn't been cold enough to freeze a group of wildlings to death. And they had warm furs, good shelter from the wind and snow, and a fire to keep them alive. That's not what killed them."

Aegor felt an icy chill creep down his spine as he listened to the exchange. His thoughts raced. How could this be happening?

The situation was too familiar. Even with his patchy memory, the feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming. He knew what this was, the beginning of A Song of Ice and Fire. The ill-fated Waymar Royce leading his patrol straight into an encounter with the White Walkers.

And now, thanks to whatever cosmic joke had placed him in this world, he was here too.

---

"Now that the wildlings are dead," Gary said uneasily, "maybe we should head back."

"Afraid of a few corpses, Gary?" Waymar sneered. He turned back, a trace of contempt tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Dead people don't scare me," Aegor finally spoke up, his voice steady but urgent. He knew he couldn't stay silent any longer, this was life and death. If Waymar led them to that camp, they would face the White Walkers head-on. And Aegor knew that the four of them wouldn't stand a chance against those ancient monsters. "What I'm afraid of is whatever killed them."

"Just because it killed wildlings doesn't mean it can kill the Night's Watch," Waymar said confidently, though he seemed momentarily taken aback by Aegor's uncharacteristic boldness. "Besides, are you sure they're even dead? Where's your proof?"

"Will may not be a fighter, but he's no liar," Gary said, his voice heavy with doubt. "If he says they're dead, I believe him. We were ordered to investigate the wildlings, and we did. They won't trouble the Wall anymore, so—"

"Do you think the commander won't want to know what killed them?" Waymar interrupted, his tone sharp. "We'll never find out unless we see for ourselves. Mount up and take me there."

Gary's face darkened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue. But in the end, he bit back his anger and turned to retrieve his horse.

---

"I'm not going," Aegor said firmly.

The words hung in the cold air, his defiance startling everyone. But Aegor couldn't afford to back down, not this time. "You can call me a coward if you like, but I'm not going. I've had a bad feeling these past few days, like something's been watching us. Whatever killed those wildlings, it's not something we can handle."

"I feel the same way," Will muttered hesitantly, emboldened by Aegor's stand.

Gary glanced between them, visibly conflicted. He had the seniority to challenge Waymar's decisions, but openly defying an officer's order wasn't something he could do lightly. "It's almost dark," he suggested cautiously. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow?"

"Afraid of the dark, are you?" Waymar's face twisted with irritation. He wasn't used to being challenged, least of all by three subordinates at once. Their defiance only made him dig his heels in further. "I've made my decision. Get on your horses, we're going now. I won't say it again."

"No," Aegor said again, his voice quieter but no less firm. He turned to Gary, hoping for support from the older man. "I have a strong feeling that if we go there tonight, we'll die."

Gary hesitated, but after a moment, he shook his head. He wasn't willing to defy his superior for Aegor's sake.

Waymar narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint in them. "I don't believe in your 'feelings,'" he said coldly. "But if you're that scared, fine. You can run back to the Wall, but you'll leave your weapons behind, and you're not taking a horse. If you think you can make it, go ahead. Run."

Aegor stared at him, his throat dry. Waymar's hand was resting on the hilt of his sword now, his meaning clear.

Run, and he'd be branded a deserter. No one would take him in. And even if he somehow made it back to the Wall on foot, he'd be executed for abandoning his post. But if he resisted... Waymar had the training, the bloodline, and the blade. Aegor wouldn't stand a chance against him.

His only option was to go along. Perhaps the small precautions he'd taken before would save his life.

Finally, he sighed and lowered his gaze. "Fine. Let's go."

Waymar smirked, clearly satisfied with his victory. "Good. Get on your horse. You and Will will lead the way. And don't even think about trying anything, I'll be watching you."

---

The four of them mounted their horses and set off. Will took the lead, with Aegor close behind him.

The snow was treacherous, a soft, thin layer concealing rocks, roots, and hidden puddles that could easily trip a horse. Aegor gripped his reins tightly with one hand, his other hand slipping into his pack. His fingers brushed against the cold, smooth surface of the obsidian dagger he'd spent so much effort acquiring.

---

Obsidian—also called dragonglass—was known as "frozen fire" in ancient Valyrian.

Back in Aegor's original world, it was nothing special: volcanic glass, commonly found and largely unremarkable. But in this magical realm, obsidian was said to hold unique properties. Legends claimed it could kill White Walkers, though few in the present day believed such stories.

The White Walkers had disappeared thousands of years ago, their existence reduced to myth. The only value obsidian held now was as a low-grade gemstone. Fragile and dark in color, it wasn't particularly desirable, and it fetched low prices on the market.

Still, it wasn't easy to acquire. Despite its lack of rarity, few merchants traded in it. It had taken Aegor months to track down a piece. He'd finally managed to buy a small chunk from an overseas trader at Eastwatch, paying for it with nearly all the allowances he'd earned since joining the Watch.

When he first got the obsidian, it had been a crude, forearm-sized chunk. Over the course of several weeks, he'd painstakingly carved and polished it into a rough dagger, wrapping its base in cloth to serve as a handle.

It wasn't much, but it was the only weapon he had that might give him a chance against the creatures he feared.

He had gone hungry for weeks to afford it, enduring ridicule from the other brothers for wasting his coin. They'd laughed at him then, but now, as he gripped the dagger tightly, Aegor could only hope it had all been worth it.

If this dagger saved his life, then every miserable, hungry night would have been worth the cost.

Everyone dies eventually. Some deaths are weighty, like a mountain. Others are as light as a feather.

Aegor wasn't a coward. He didn't fear death itself. But he refused to die here, in an unnamed forest beyond the Wall, with nothing to mark his grave but snow. To die alone, forgotten, with a name given to him by a group of farmers, killed by creatures the world refused to believe existed?

That was a fate he could never accept.