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The Three-Headed Titan Chapter 14 (Giants in the Snow)
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 22:14:34 +0000 UTCJon sat at the lower end of the high table, watching his uncle and father discuss matters of the Wall. Steam rose from the bowls of hot stew before them, forgotten as the conversation grew more serious.
"The wildling raids are becoming more frequent," Benjen was saying, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Three villages attacked in the past month alone."
"How many men were lost?" Ned asked, his face grim.
"Five rangers. Good men, all of them." Benjen took a long drink from his cup. "The wildlings are getting bolder, better organized."
"Savages," Jon muttered, his hand tightening around his spoon as memories of steel against Wylla's throat flashed through his mind. "What else can we expect from them?"
Benjen's sharp eyes found Jon's mismatched ones, studying him with an unreadable expression before turning to Robb. "And how goes your training, nephew? Still favoring your right side too much?"
"Ser Rodrik says I'm improving," Robb answered proudly. "Though Jon still beats me more often than not."
"Uncle Benjen!" Arya interrupted, practically bouncing in her seat. "Did you bring me anything from beyond the Wall?"
"Arya," Lady Catelyn warned, but Benjen laughed.
"And what would a lady want from such a cold, harsh place?"
"I'm not a lady," Arya declared. "And I want a knife. Like the ones your rangers carry."
"Absolutely not," Catelyn said firmly.
"But Mother-"
"Your mother's right," Ned added, though Jon noticed the slight twitch of amusement in his father's beard.
Arya turned her best pleading look on Benjen. "Please, Uncle? Just a small one?"
"I'm afraid I value my head too much to go against your parents' wishes," Benjen said diplomatically. "Though perhaps a story about the Wall would suffice?"
"Is it true there are giants beyond the Wall?" Bran asked, eyes wide with wonder.
"Bran," Sansa sighed, "giants aren't real. They're just stories."
"The world is full of mysteries, Lady Sansa," Benjen replied carefully. "Even after all my years at the Wall, I wouldn't claim to know all its secrets."
"Will you tell us about the grumpkins and snarks too? Will you tell us about your adventures?" Sansa asked, trying to sound properly ladylike despite her obvious interest.
"Speaking of adventures," Benjen turned to Jon, "what have you been up to, nephew? Your father mentions you've been keeping to yourself lately."
Jon tensed slightly, imagining how his uncle would react if he revealed the truth about his healing, about the steam that rose from his wounds, about the gaps in his memory. "Not much, uncle."
"Not much?" Robb interjected. "Tell him about White Harbor! About the bear!"
"Bear?" Benjen raised an eyebrow.
"It was nothing special," Jon mumbled.
"Nothing special?" Robb shook his head. "Uncle, this bear was enormous. It had already wounded five of our men when Jon picked up a spear and threw it clean through its neck. One throw! Even Father said he'd never seen anything like it."
"Is that so?" Benjen studied Jon with renewed interest, and Jon noticed his uncle looking concerned at the mention of this giant bear. "You must have had quite the adventure in White Harbor."
Jon thought of Wylla's laugh, of her hand in his, of her final moments. "I did," he said softly. "I met someone there. A lady named Wylla Manderly."
The table grew quieter at the mention of her name. Jon forced himself to continue, determined not to let her memory become a weight. "She was beautiful and good. She loved exploring the woods around White Harbor, always wanting to discover something new."
Benjen caught the past tense, his expression softening with understanding. "She sounds remarkable."
"She was," Jon agreed, meeting his uncle's gaze steadily.
Benjen held his eyes for a moment longer before turning to Ned. "Speaking of travels," Benjen said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "any thoughts of heading South again, Ned?"
Before Ned could answer, Sansa's eyes lit up. "Could we visit Highgarden, Father? I've heard the gardens there are full of golden roses, and they have singers performing day and night!"
"Highgarden?" Ned's expression was caught between amusement and exasperation. "That's half a continent away, Sansa. We can't simply appear at the Tyrells' doorstep unannounced."
"But Father-"
"What about King's Landing?" Bran interrupted, nearly knocking over his cup in excitement. "I want to see the Kingsguard! Ser Barristan the Bold must have so many stories!"
"The Kingslayer is there too," Robb pointed out, causing their father's smile to fade slightly.
"Ser Jaime," Catelyn corrected automatically, though without much conviction.
"But Ser Barristan!" Bran persisted, undeterred. "They say he's the greatest knight who ever lived! Father, did you see him fight during the rebellion?"
"I did," Ned answered carefully. "He is indeed a remarkable swordsman."
"When I'm older, I'll be just like him," Bran declared proudly. "I'll wear a white cloak and protect the king!"
Jon noticed Lady Catelyn's hand tighten around her fork, but she said nothing.
Arya, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up. "I'd rather go beyond the Wall with Uncle Benjen. That's where the real adventures are!"
"Adventure?" Catelyn's voice was sharp. "The lands beyond the Wall are no place for a lady."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not a lady," Arya retorted, causing Benjen to choke on his ale as he tried to suppress a laugh.
"We are of the North," Ned said firmly. "Our place is here, not gallivanting across the Seven Kingdoms."
"Oh? Afraid you'll melt into a puddle if you venture too far south, brother?" Benjen teased. "I seem to recall a young Ned who quite enjoyed his time in the Vale."
"That was different," Ned protested, though a slight smile played at his lips. "I was fostered there."
"And made lifelong friends," Benjen added meaningfully. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying what the South has to offer, so long as you remember where you come from."
"The South has its charms," Lady Catelyn interjected, "but winter is coming. The Starks must be in Winterfell."
"Winter is always coming," Benjen chuckled. "Doesn't mean we can't have a little adventure before the snows fall. What do you think, Jon? Wouldn't you like to see more of the realm?"
Jon, caught off guard by the question, considered carefully. "I think... I think there's much to learn beyond our walls. But home will always be here."
"Well said," Benjen nodded approvingly. "Though I notice you didn't actually answer the question."
"Perhaps in time," Ned conceded. "For now, we have duties here. The harvest feast approaches, and-"
"And you're changing the subject," Benjen interrupted with a grin. "Some things never change, eh, little brother?"
"I am the Lord of Winterfell now, Ben. I can't just-"
"Can't just live a little? Gods, Ned, you sound older than Old Nan sometimes."
The children tried to hide their snickers as their father's face reddened slightly.
"I do not-"
"'We are of the North,'" Benjen mimicked in an exaggerated solemn tone. "'Our place is here, brooding in the snow and never having any fun.'"
Even Lady Catelyn had to hide a smile at that.
"When did you become such a troublemaker?" Ned demanded, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Someone has to keep you from turning completely to stone, brother." Benjen winked at his nieces and nephews. "It's a hard job, but I consider it my sacred duty."
The tension around the table dissolved into laughter, and even Jon found himself smiling. For a moment, watching his family's joy, he could almost forget the weight of his secrets, the gaps in his memory, and the mysterious power that lurked beneath his skin.
Almost.
Benjen
The door to Ned's solar closed with a solid thunk, and Benjen immediately made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, stretching his legs out. "You know, brother, it wouldn't kill you to travel South once in a while. Take the children to a tourney, let them see the realm."
"Our place is here," Ned's response was automatic as he poured them both cups of ale. "The last time Starks went South..." He left the sentence hanging.
Benjen's smile faded. "So many years, Ned, yet you speak of it as if it were yesterday."
"Some wounds never truly heal." Ned handed his brother a cup and sat behind his desk. "But that's not why I asked you here."
"No?" Benjen took a long drink. "Then why did you send that urgent message to the Wall? What's so important that it couldn't wait for my regular visit?"
"It's about Jon."
Benjen sat up straighter, his easy manner vanishing. "What's wrong? Is he ill?"
"No, nothing like that. He's never ill, you know that." Ned rubbed his temples. "You've heard about what happened at White Harbor?"
"Only rumors."
"Lady Wylla Manderly," Ned confirmed. "Jon and she. They fell in love during our stay there. She was killed before his eyes by wildlings and deserters."
"Gods," Benjen muttered. "How is he handling it?"
"Better now. At first, he withdrew completely. Blamed himself. But he's starting to come out of it." Ned paused, choosing his next words carefully. "But there's something else. Something he's hiding."
Benjen laughed softly. "He's a young man, Ned. They all have their secrets."
"This is different." Ned leaned forward. "Do you remember how Arya used to call him 'magical man' when she was smaller?"
"Children's tales."
"Perhaps. But I've noticed things over the years. He never seems to get hurt. Never gets sick. And then there's what happened at White Harbor..."
"What about it?"
"We found thirty-three bodies, Ben. Thirty-three armed men, they were all killed, three of them were torn apart as if by some great beast. And there were footprints..."
"Footprints?"
"Massive ones. Bigger than any giant I've ever heard of."
Benjen's eyebrows shot up. "Giants? This far south? That's impossible."
"I know what I saw," Ned insisted. "The prints were larger than Lord Manderly himself. And the way those men died..." He shook his head. "No normal man could have done that."
"Are you suggesting," Benjen said slowly, "that Jon somehow... what? Turned into some giant creature and killed them all?"
"It sounds mad when you say it like that."
"Because it is mad, Ned." Benjen set his cup down. "Even if such a thing were possible, which it isn't, why would it matter? Jon's alive. The men who killed his lady love are dead. Isn't that enough?"
"You didn't see the bodies, Ben. Even Arthur Dayne in his prime couldn't have killed thirty-three men alone." Ned's voice dropped lower. "Something happened that day, something Jon won't speak of."
"And you thought I might get it out of him?"
"He trusts you. Always has."
Benjen studied his brother's face. "There's something else. Something you're not telling me."
Ned was silent for a long moment. "Sometimes... sometimes I look at him, and I see..."
"See what?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
"Clearly it does, or I wouldn't be here." Benjen leaned forward. "Why did you really call me here, Ned? What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid," Ned protested. "I'm concerned. If Jon does have some sort of... ability, he needs guidance. Someone he can trust. Someone who understands what it means to keep certain truths hidden."
Understanding dawned on Benjen's face. "Ah. Now we come to it."
"He's a good lad, Ben. Whatever happened that day, whatever he might be capable of, his heart is true. But he's carrying this burden alone, and I..." Ned's voice cracked slightly. "I don't know how to help him."
"So you want me to what? Take him to the Wall? Where secrets can be buried in the snow? That's never happening, Lyanna would revive herself just to kill me, and you of course."
"I want you to talk to him. Really talk to him. He might tell you things he won't tell me."
Benjen was quiet for a moment, swirling the ale in his cup. "And if he does? If he tells me something... extraordinary?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together. As family."
"Family," Benjen repeated softly. "Always comes back to family with you, doesn't it?"
"What else is there?"
Benjen finished his ale and stood. "I'll talk to him. But Ned?" He waited until his brother met his eyes. "Whatever Jon might be hiding, remember that he's still the same boy who follows Arya around the castle and sings for her nameday. Don't let your fears about the past cloud how you see him now."
Ned nodded slowly. "Just... help him, Ben. Whatever the truth is."
"I will," Benjen promised. "After all, what are uncles for if not to help their nephews with their impossible secrets?" Benjen was about to bolt out of the solar when he remembered something that he had wanted to talk with his brother with.
"There's something else I need to tell you," Benjen said, settling back into his chair. "Now that we're alone."
"More problems at the wall?"
"No, this is... different." Benjen leaned forward, lowering his voice. "There have been strange reports beyond the Wall."
Ned waved his hand dismissively. "There are always strange reports beyond the Wall. Grumpkins and snarks, if we believed every tale."
"Three months ago, I rode out with a ranging party," Benjen continued, ignoring his brother's skepticism. "We encountered an elk."
"An elk?" Ned's brow furrowed. "What's strange about that?"
"This one was the size of three horses put together." Benjen's voice was deadly serious. "And before you question my sanity, I wasn't drunk, and the Lord Commander himself was there to witness it."
Ned studied his brother's face for any sign of jesting. Finding none, he asked, "Did it attack?"
"That's the oddest part. It just... looked at us. Studied us, almost. Then walked away as if we weren't worth its time." Benjen took another drink. "Speaking of large beasts, tell me about this bear Jon killed."
Ned's face grew troubled. "I've never seen its like. Three meters tall, even on all fours. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet..."
"And yet Jon killed it with a single spear throw," Benjen finished. "First giant elk, then massive bears. What do you think is happening, brother?"
"I don't know," Ned admitted.
"Well, hopefully, we won't encounter any dragons while we're at it," Benjen attempted to joke.
Ned's face darkened. "Don't. The realm has seen enough of dragons. The Dance of Dragons taught us that much."
"I meant it in jest."
"Some things aren't meant for jesting." Ned stood and walked to the window, staring out at the gathering dusk. "First these creatures, then whatever happened with Jon in White Harbor... Something is stirring, Ben. I can feel it in my bones."
"Like father used to say before a hard winter?"
"Worse." Ned turned back to his brother. "At least with winter, we know what to expect. But this? Giant elk, massive bears, mysterious footprints, and thirty-three dead men? What are we supposed to make of that?"
Benjen rose and joined his brother at the window. "Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved."
"And if they don't stay mysteries? If whatever is happening continues to grow?"
"Then we all sail to Essos and enjoy the rest of our lives as pirates," Benjen japed, earning an annoyed look from his brother.
Jon Snow
The sound of splintering wood echoed through the training yard as Jon's sword connected with the practice dummy. Benjen watched from the shadows, his eyebrows rising as one of the dummy's arms went flying across the yard. The force behind the blow seemed almost inhuman.
"That poor dummy must have gravely offended you," Benjen called out, clearing his throat as he walked out of his hiding and now approaching his nephew.
Jon spun around, his mismatched eyes brightening at the sight of his uncle. "Uncle Benjen!" He dropped the practice sword and embraced him.
"What brings you here?" Jon asked, pulling back. "Shouldn't you be discussing important matters with Father?"
"Can't spend all my time with your father," Benjen grinned. "Besides, some nephews are worth seeking out. Though I must say, your swordwork has... improved considerably."
Jon glanced at the destroyed dummy, something flickering in his eyes. "Just been practicing more."
"Are you cold, uncle?" Jon asked, noticing Benjen's thin cloak.
Benjen barked out a laugh. "Cold? Boy, compared to the Wall, Winterfell is as warm as the Water Gardens of Dorne. Speaking of which..." He studied Jon's face carefully. "Still dreaming of taking the black?"
"What's it really like there?" Jon asked eagerly. "At the Wall?"
Benjen's expression hardened slightly. "You want the pretty version or the truth?"
"The truth."
"It's a place of thieves, rapers, and murderers," Benjen said bluntly. "Men who chose the Wall over losing their heads or worse. Finding someone you can trust not to stick a knife in your back is like finding snow in Dorne."
Jon's enthusiasm dimmed, but he pressed on. "There must be some good men there. Men of honor."
"Some," Benjen conceded. "Few enough to count on one hand." He gestured toward the Godswood. "Walk with me."
They moved through the castle grounds, their boots crunching on the fresh snow.
"You still planning to join?" Benjen asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Yes," Jon replied without hesitation.
Benjen sighed deeply. "There's a whole world out there, Jon. The Wall doesn't have to be your destiny."
"I can be of use there," Jon insisted, his words tumbling out faster. "I'm good with a sword - better than most. I can read and write, I can-"
"Stop." Benjen held up a hand. "Someone like you could climb much higher than the Wall, Jon. The South doesn't care as much about names when you prove your worth. I've seen lesser men rise to great heights."
They entered the Godswood proper now, the ancient heart tree watching them with its carved face.
"What else is there for me?" Jon asked quietly. "What other paths are open to a bastard?"
"Any path you're willing to forge," Benjen replied. "I've seen you fight. That strength of yours... it's not normal, is it?"
Jon tensed slightly. "I don't know what you mean."
"No?" Benjen gestured back toward the training yard. "That dummy didn't destroy itself. And that bear in White Harbor. One spear throw?"
"I got lucky," Jon mumbled.
"Luck doesn't explain thirty-three dead men," Benjen said softly.
Jon's head snapped up, his green eye seeming to gleam in the dim light. "What?"
"Your father is worried about you," Benjen continued. "Not afraid, mind you. Just concerned. He thinks you're carrying some burden alone."
"I..." Jon started, then stopped, looking lost.
"Whatever happened that day in White Harbor," Benjen placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, "whatever you're capable of... it doesn't have to be a curse. It could be a gift, if used wisely."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Jon whispered, but there was a tremor in his voice.
"Perhaps not," Benjen agreed. "But I know what it's like to carry secrets. To feel different. The Wall isn't an escape, Jon. It's just another prison, if you're running from yourself."
They stood in silence before the heart tree, its red eyes seemingly watching their exchange with ancient wisdom.
"What would you have me do?" Jon finally asked.
"Live," Benjen replied simply. "Find your own path. Use whatever gifts you have to make your mark on the world. The Wall will always be there if you truly want it, but don't choose it because you think it's your only option."
Jon looked at his uncle, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. "You sound like Father."
"Gods forbid," Benjen laughed. "Though he might be right about some things. You're more than just a bastard, Jon. Much more, I suspect."
The wind rustled through the weirwood leaves, sending a shower of red down around them. Jon watched them fall, remembering steam rising from healing wounds, remembering gaps in his memory, remembering Ymir from his dreams.
"Thank you, Uncle," he said finally.
"For what?"
"For helping me."
Benjen smiled sadly. "That's what family's for, isn't it? Now, show me that sword work of yours again. Without destroying any more dummies, if you can manage it."
As they walked back to the training yard, Jon felt a little lighter, as if sharing even this small part of his burden had helped. Perhaps his uncle was right - perhaps there were other paths, other possibilities he hadn't considered.
But first, he had to understand what he was becoming. And for that, he needed more than just practice dummies.
Their training swords clashed in the yard, the wooden crack echoing off Winterfell's ancient walls. Benjen moved with grace of a seasoned warrior, each strike precise and measured. Jon found himself constantly adjusting his footwork, impressed by his uncle's speed despite the cold.
"The Watch hasn't made you slow," Jon commented, parrying a particularly clever combination.
"And whatever you've been doing hasn't made you sloppy," Benjen replied, flowing into another attack.
Their dance continued, neither man willing to yield. Benjen's experience showed in his economy of movement, never wasting energy on flashy strikes.
Finally, Jon saw his opening. As Benjen committed to a thrust, Jon stepped inside his guard, twisting his body in a way that shouldn't have been possible. His practice sword found its mark, tapping Benjen's chest while simultaneously disarming him.
Benjen stared at his empty hand, then at Jon. "Seven hells, nephew. Where did you learn that?"
Jon shrugged, trying to hide his smile. "Just something I've been working on."
"Something you've been working on," Benjen repeated, shaking his head. "You beat me without even using that strength I saw earlier. Impressive."
They sat on a nearby bench, catching their breath. After a moment, Benjen asked softly, "Tell me about her. Lady Wylla."
Jon's smile faded, but there was warmth in his eyes as he spoke. "She was... different. She had green hair, you know? Dyed it that color because she said life was too short to be boring." He paused, lost in memory. "She didn't care that I was a bastard. Said names were just words, and words were wind."
"Sounds like quite a woman," Benjen observed, "to break through that famous Stark shell."
"She was the best," Jon agreed quietly. "She could make anyone laugh, even Father. And she was brave. So brave." His voice cracked slightly. "She never feared anything."
"I know what it's like," Benjen said softly, "losing someone you love. It leaves a hole nothing else can quite fill."
Jon looked at his uncle curiously. "You never married."
"No," Benjen's eyes grew distant. "There was someone, once, a lovely woman. But fate had other plans." He turned to Jon. "You know she wouldn't have wanted this for you, don't you? The Wall, I mean. Wylla wouldn't have wanted you to throw your life away."
"Father said something similar," Jon admitted. "He said she'd be disappointed to see me hiding from life."
"Your father's right." Benjen picked up his practice sword again, studying it. "The Wall will always be there, Jon. But youth, opportunities, chances to make something of yourself – those don't last forever."
"I just..." Jon struggled to find the words. "Sometimes I feel like I'm carrying something inside me. Something I don't understand. And I thought maybe at the Wall, it wouldn't matter."
"It matters everywhere," Benjen said firmly. "The question is whether you'll let it define you or learn to define it yourself."
Jon remained quiet for a long time before turning his face to look at his uncle with a smile. "Did you bring any exciting tales with you, or did you come empty-handed, uncle?"
Benjen laughed before slapping his nephew on the shoulder. "I never come empty handed, Jon. As for tales, well, three months ago, me and my group encountered this giant elk-"
Beyond The Wall
The wind howled through the trees, snow whipping against their faces as they trudged through knee-deep drifts. Tormund's usually booming voice was muffled by the storm, but his complaints carried nonetheless.
"What in the frozen tits of the ice giant's wife possessed Mance to send us out in this?" He stumbled forward, his red beard caked with ice. "Looking for some oversized elk that might not even exist!"
"If you spent half as much energy walking as you do complaining," Ygritte shot back, "we'd have found it by now."
Val raised her hand, signaling for silence. The group huddled closer together, their breath forming clouds in the frigid air. "Tracks," she said, pointing to massive indentations in the snow. "Fresh ones."
Varamyr Six Skins moved forward, his gaunt face intense with concentration. His animals – three wolves, a shadowcat, and an eagle – circled the group restlessly. "There's something strange about these tracks. No normal elk made them."
"Har!" Tormund exclaimed. "Nothing normal about an elk the size of three horses. Probably just had too much of that fermented goat's milk when we saw it."
"You weren't even there when we spotted it," Val reminded him dryly.
"No, but I heard the tale so many times, I might as well have been. 'Oh, Tormund, you should have seen it! Big as a mammoth, it was!'" He mimicked in a high-pitched voice.
"Nobody talks like that," Ygritte muttered, adjusting her bow on her shoulder.
"The eagle sees something ahead," Varamyr interrupted, his eyes glazed white for a good minute. A gasp escaped his mouth when his eyes turned to normal. "Through the trees... it's... by the gods."
Val unsheathed her blade. "What is it?"
"It's there. The elk. But..." Varamyr's face contorted. "Something's wrong. I can't... I can't get near it with any of my animals. It's like there's a wall around it."
Tormund's joking manner vanished instantly. "What do you mean, can't get near it?"
"The animals... they're afraid. They won't go close." Varamyr blinked, his eyes returning to normal. "Never felt anything like it."
"Well, that's just perfect," Ygritte growled. "Walked all this way through this storm for nothing."
"We should at least look at it," Val decided. "Mance needs to know what we're dealing with."
They crept forward through the trees, the storm beginning to ease slightly. Suddenly, they saw it – a massive dark shape moving through the white landscape. The elk stood easily twice the height of a normal one, its antlers spreading wider than a man was tall.
"Mother's mercy," one of the wildlings whispered.
"Bet you're not laughing now, eh Tormund?" Ygritte whispered.
But Tormund's usual mirth was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. "That's no natural beast. Look at its eyes."
The elk turned its head toward them, and even from this distance, they could see its eyes gleaming with an almost intelligent light.
"Varamyr," Val commanded quietly. "Try to enter its mind."
The warg's face contorted with effort, sweat freezing on his brow despite the cold. After a moment, he gasped, stumbling backward, blood dripping down from his nose. "I can't. It's... it's like trying to warg into a mountain. There's something in there, something old. Something powerful."
"Well, shit," Tormund summarized eloquently. "What do we tell Mance? 'Sorry, found your giant elk, but it's too magical to be useful'?"
"We tell him the truth," Val said firmly. "These creatures aren't meant for our armies. They're something else entirely."
The elk continued to watch them, unmoving, unafraid. Snow swirled around its massive form, giving it an almost ethereal appearance.
"Maybe," Ygritte suggested, "we should just-"
The elk suddenly raised its head, as if hearing something they couldn't. Without warning, it turned and bounded away, each step covering more ground than seemed possible.
"Har!" Tormund finally broke the tense silence. "At least now I know I wasn't drinking too much when I saw one last month!"
"You're always drinking too much," Ygritte rolled her eyes.
"True enough," he agreed cheerfully, "but at least now I know my eyes weren't lying to me. Just my common sense."
Val sheathed her blade, her expression troubled. "We need to get back to Mance. Something's changing beyond the Wall. First these creatures, then the Others..."
"Always something trying to kill us," Tormund sighed dramatically. "Why can't we ever find giant chickens instead? At least then we'd eat well while we die."
"How are you still talking?" Ygritte demanded.
"It's a gift," he grinned through his icy beard. "Like my member. Speaking of which-"
"Don't you dare start with your member stories," Val cut him off. "We have enough problems without that."
As they began their journey back, Varamyr remained silent, his animals still agitated. The tracks of the giant elk were already being filled by fresh snow, as if the creature had never been there at all.
