POV - Steve Rogers (v)

Rogers looked up at walls and turrets and banners, bathed in the light of the full moon; Castle Black reared higher and higher as he rode north from the Gift. Rolling snow-covered fields passed by on either side of him, tree-studded pastures stretched out like a carpet beyond them. To either side of the castle was the Wall, its hundreds foot high mountain of ice stretching off into the distance to either side.

Things had changed here since he was last here. As part of the North's new structuring of the Night's Watch, Castle Black had been turned into a fortress-palace; carved out of the previous structure by brute force and the labor of thousands. But despite its massiveness there was a certain grace to the great complex. A curtain wall with towers and gates formed a half-circle around it; the skyward-thrusting bulk of the keep rose above but still ended not even a quarter of the way to the top of the Wall. The high walls were covered in ice, but something atop them turned the ice a pale pearl color, and towers higher yet were spaced around its length, with the Kingdom of the North's banners flaunting from the spiked peaks of their green copper roofs.

A single tower, taller than all the rest, rested flat against the Wall, its conical roof gilded but the circular shaft of the tower was sheathed in some smooth black stone.

A large village lay just on the eastern side of the King's Road a half mile short of the renewed Castle Black, un-walled but still formidable looking with strong brick walls and thatched roofs. He had gotten a whiff of manure and pig-shit from it, but the stock had been neatly penned and nothing but dogs and small children and wild birds were about. When he passed there was a mass of people there, five or six dozen, all were either too old or too young to fight and their eyes betrayed their fears. The sight was one he had gotten used to long ago, in place he had nearly forgotten, but he never got used to the point and murmuring at him. As if he was some sort of exotic, dangerous beast.

"Wildling," he said to himself, waving politely as he passed. They were finally South of the Wall, but now that they were here they may not know what to do.

He was wearing his armor now, what he considered his war-uniform, rather than leather gear he normally used when traveling. The red, white and blue enameled armor kept him warm, but even so he could feel the temperature dropping with each step he took forward.

Normally an escort of the Castle's knights would flank out to either side of the gate when they were going to greet someone, but this time there was no-one. He couldn't see anyone, but his ears told a different tale. The clash of arms, the screams of pain and cries for mothers carried well beyond the gates and into his enhanced hearing. Steve did a quiet double check of his armor, making sure it was all secured by the various leather straps, drew his blade, and dropped the shield from his back to his arm with a controlled shrug of the shoulders before running for the gates.

As he approached the gate he was surprised to find it partly open, partly broken by some strong force; he had to squeeze a bit to get though it but once he did he thought he saw something from an old-campfire tale. Castle Black, fresh from its remodel, was alight with dozens of fires. There were hundreds of soldiers about, on either side of the entrance; crossbowmen shot at charging targets, footmen and armored warriors hacked at attackers, mounted men chased down their targets and speared them with lance or chopped at them with blades. Fiery arrows were fired at the oncoming targets, while swords sliced lumps off of men and beast who kept coming. He looked up at the Wall, and saw troops of all varieties crowded at the top, firing flaming arrows out at attackers and dropping barrels of ice down upon them.

Houses and sheds, workshops and barracks and stables had once lined the inside of the castle wall, but now all were alight and blazing as men fought beside or even in them.

When one of the attackers saw him and charged, that was when Steve got a good look at the enemy. It was, or had been, a man. His lower jaw was missing, a black tongue left hanging swayed with each step. The top half of his body was missing skin, only bone and blackened rotted muscle showed through the ripped and torn clothing. An arm was missing as well, but in the other was an ancient looking rusted sword, and the dead man knew how to use it as the blade was lifted high overhead. Steve lifted his shield to block, and was shocked by the force of the impact as it rippled through his muscles.

On instinct Steve shoved his blade though the attackers chest, but instead of killing or even stopping the monster it just kept coming. The dead man flailed at Steve with his blade, knocking his shield away and nearly putting a foot a metal though him. Just as the blade was coming for Rogers's neck a white blur passed by him, gripping the dead man in its massive maw and tossing the attacker into a nearby fire with a flick of its massive head.

"Ghost?" Steve exclaimed. He could recognize the white fur and red eyes of Jon's direwolf anywhere, though admittedly the beast had doubled in size since he last saw it. It was as much as seven feet long now, and well over three-hundred pounds. The beast didn't stick around, and instead launched itself at the next dead man, and then the next as it made a circuit around the outer wall.

Northman, Wildling and Night's Watch alike were locked in battle, but Steve needed to know what was happening and how he could help. "This is going to be awkward." He said grimly.

Steve looked for the closest men fighting, a Wildling with an axe locked against two other dead creatures, and charged in. Taking the clue Ghost gave him, Steve decided that instead of trying to fight he would try to end them. He grabbed the first creature by its exposed spine and, with a solid lift and pure strength, picked up the undead and tossed it into a nearby blaze. The second turned to face him, but instead received a backhand with the shield that sent the second following the first into the same inferno.

Not waiting to hear thanks or praises, Rogers turned to the wide-eyed Wildling and demanded, "Who leads these things? Who is in charge here?"