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Chapter 139
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:30:18 +0000 UTCAmidst the neighing of horses, the barking of hounds, and the chaotic cacophony of noise, rangers tasked with luring wights rode past in scattered groups, galloping through the snow. The rest of the waiting Night’s Watch members hastily mounted their horses, leaving behind many supplies in their rush to escape. There was no time to retrieve anything; at the urging of the First Ranger, every man spurred his mount forward, following the hounds along their predetermined route.
Wooo—wooo—wooo… woo!
The horn sounded again: three long blasts followed by one short. It signaled that another lookout had confirmed the presence of wights without the accompaniment of Others, and the plan could proceed. However, the horn-blower's zeal proved fatal. Instead of retreating to a safe position and then signaling, he remained exposed, his judgment clouded by a mix of fear and duty. The clear, resounding horn call drew the wights’ attention, and soon, the rock he stood on became their focus.
From his perch in the treetops, Will witnessed the sentry’s sacrifice. The young man dropped the horn and leapt off the boulder, sprinting toward his tethered horse. Yet wights emerged from the trees ahead, blocking his escape. With no choice, he drew a dragonglass-tipped spear from his belt and plunged it into the chest of the nearest wight. The spear shattered from the force of the blow. Tossing the broken shaft aside, he ran a few more steps before a rotting, disemboweled direwolf lunged from the side and brought him down.
The scream was short-lived, cut off almost immediately.
…
Huddled in the canopy, Will clutched a dragonglass dagger and wrapped himself around the tree trunk, trembling. He dared not make a sound. He admitted to himself that he was a coward. When Ser Waymar Royce had fought and died against an Other, Will had survived by hiding in the treetops until it was all over. At least that time, he had been ordered by his commander to stay hidden, a twist of fate that allowed him to bring back Ser Waymar’s broken sword and news of the Others. For that, he had been praised—his contribution outweighing his cowardice. If someone dared call him a deserter, he’d argue his case before the Lord Commander himself.
But during the search party for Benjen Stark, things had been different. When they encountered an Other leading a horde of wights, Will had fled on horseback, dragging with him the dragonglass weapons meant for the fight. He hadn’t thought about using them against the enemy—he had prayed only for their protection to ensure his escape.
The same weapon that had killed an Other in Aegor’s hands, becoming the stuff of legend, had turned into nothing more than a good-luck charm in his. If the dragonglass dagger had consciousness, it might have sighed in frustration and shattered itself. Worse, when he returned to Castle Black, Will lied to Jeor Mormont, claiming he had survived by hiding in a tree and waiting for the wights to leave. A deserter and a liar, his deeds were indefensible even to himself.
When Benjen Stark and his elite rangers failed to return, it was assumed they had perished. No one could challenge Will’s account of the events. Somehow, the coward who had fled became a legend among his brothers—a man who had escaped the clutches of the Others twice. While he wasn’t promoted, many rangers felt reassured to have him among their number, even defaulting to his lead when no officer was present. It was absurd.
…
Below him, the forest teemed with wights. Ser Jeremy Lake had claimed there were “a few too many,” but Will could see that was an understatement. Hundreds of undead creatures—humans, direwolves, bears, even deer—moved aimlessly but relentlessly. Worst of all was a giant wight. Its movements were slower than the others but its enormous legs made up for the lack of speed. Each step sent tremors through the ground.
The giant was heading straight for the tree where Will was hiding. At over twice the height of a man, it could theoretically reach him if it jumped.
Closing his eyes, Will clung to the trunk and muttered prayers to the gods for protection, though he doubted they would listen to a coward like him. If the gods truly cared, they would be helping heroes like Benjen Stark, not deserters like him.
Thud!
The giant brushed against the tree, sending it swaying violently. Snow cascaded from the branches, landing on Will and nearly making him lose his grip. He held on for dear life, his face scraped raw against the bark, refusing to let go even as the vibrations subsided.
When the shaking stopped, Will cautiously opened his eyes. To his relief, the giant had moved on, its uneven gait revealing a limp. It had struck his tree by sheer coincidence.
The forest grew silent again. Below, the corpse of the sentry lay mangled and still. Will remained in the tree, unwilling to descend. He wanted to wait—wait for his brothers to complete their task and return with their horses to retrieve him. Walking back to the Wall on foot was a nightmare he had no desire to relive.
…
The Night’s Watch had split into three groups, each fleeing in a different direction. Without the guidance of the Others, the wights were mindless, dividing themselves between the three trails. Though relentless, the undead were slower than horses, giving the rangers enough time to lure them toward a trap.
Scouts, mounted on the fastest steeds, darted between the groups, coordinating their movements and keeping the wights at bay. After several close calls, they finally led the undead to the designated location.
“We’re capturing dead men, not wolves or bears! Kill anything too dangerous!” Ser Jeremy Lake shouted. “Keep your distance!”
“A giant!” one ranger yelled. “What do we do?”
“Kill it unless you plan to drag it to King’s Landing for King Robert!”
“Dragonglass arrows barely slow it down—it’s taken two already!”
“Burn it! That thing will light up like a pyre!” Jeremy ordered.
Rangers equipped with torches lit special fire arrows. The first volley ignited the giant’s tattered fur, spreading flames across its massive body. Despite the fire, it continued to move, a lumbering inferno heading toward the trap.
…
The rangers reached the pit, veering around it just as the wights barreled forward. The ground gave way beneath the first few undead, sending them tumbling into the deep trench. The rest followed mindlessly, piling in like sheep to slaughter.
Cheers erupted as the rangers reined in their horses. The pit, over three meters deep with sheer sides, was filled with wights struggling to climb out. With the trap a success, the Night’s Watch now had their pick of captives, selecting the most intact wights to bring back to the Wall.
But disaster struck. The flaming giant stumbled into the pit, its massive weight crushing the wights below and igniting the others with its fire. The trench became an inferno, the heat forcing the rangers to retreat.
“Get the nets!” Jeremy bellowed. “We need to save our captives!”
Despite the chaos, the rangers scrambled to action. Some drew weapons to guard the perimeter while others hurled nets into the pit. They worked quickly, hauling out the burning wights before they were reduced to ash. Each captured wight was doused and restrained, their struggles subdued with heavy sacks and ropes.
By the time the fire burned out, the giant lay still, its remains smoldering atop the charred corpses of the other wights. The pit, now a flaming chasm, resembled the entrance to hell itself.
“Keep away from the pit!” Jeremy ordered. “Pack up the captives and head back to Castle Black. First and second squads, escort them without stopping. Third squad, with me—we’ll search for any brothers who might need rescue!”
