Origin Story #7
As the young man gradually regained consciousness, the warmth of the bonfire enveloped him, causing him to furrow his brow in discomfort. The contrast between the intense cold he had felt earlier and the now-blazing flames was disconcerting.
Benjen, busy cleaning his blade, was quick to notice the young man's awakening and turned his attention to him.
"Took you long enough to wake up, lad..." Benjen remarked as he sheathed his sword, concern etched on his face. "How are you feeling?" he inquired.
The young man let out a sigh as he managed to sit up, his entire body aching and his muscles protesting every movement. "Like shit," he admitted with a grimace. "My entire body is sore, and I feel like I've run an entire marathon..." He paused, realizing that the term 'marathon' might not make much sense to Benjen.
Sure enough. "Marathon?" Benjen repeated, confused by the strange word.
"Never mind that—just speaking gibberish..." he added with a nonchalant shrug.
Benjen raised an eyebrow but decided to let it slide for now. He had more pressing questions on his mind. "In any case... what the hell happened back then?" he inquired, his curiosity evident.
"I have no idea..." the young man replied when Benjen inquired about the strange events that had transpired earlier. Benjen furrowed his brow, waiting for an explanation. The young man continued, recounting the harrowing moments.
"The bastard was carving my face, and it was like something snapped in my head..." he added, his hand instinctively moving toward his left eye, which was now concealed beneath a cloth. "It felt like I wasn't myself, but not quite. Not sure how to describe it..." He shook his head in frustration, unable to put his experience into words.
Benjen let out a sigh, his expression reflecting the complexity of the situation. "Figured you'd say something like this..." he muttered, concern etched on his face.
An awkward silence settled between the two, broken only by the crackling of the campfire.
Suddenly, Benjen's face lit up with a smile. "On a positive note... I think I've thought of the perfect name for you..." he said, turning his attention back to the young man.
The young man raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Oh? Let's hear it," he responded with curiosity.
Benjen nodded thoughtfully. "Gale—seems most fitting," he proposed.
The young man paused, contemplating the name for a moment. "Gale, huh?" he mused, his fingers stroking his chin as he considered it. "Not bad. Gale it is..."
...
Three more days had passed since Gale regained consciousness, and during that time, he and Benjen continued their arduous journey through the Haunted Forest. They pressed on relentlessly, pausing only when absolutely necessary.
Their journey had been surprisingly peaceful and uneventful, allowing Gale to dedicate his time to honing his skills with obsidian knives. His relentless practice paid off, as each throw now struck its intended target with remarkable accuracy.
Observing Gale's progress, Benjen couldn't help but comment, "You're getting really good at this..." He watched as an obsidian knife sailed past him, embedding itself precisely in the center of a weathered tree ahead.
Gale, jogging ahead of Benjen to retrieve his knife, replied with a casual shrug, "Over a week of single-minded practice and sheer boredom can do that, yeah..."
"Well, it's a good thing you didn't take much longer, then," Benjen chuckled, stepping past the tree line.
Before them stretched a snowy wasteland, and rising majestically into the sky was the Wall, a colossal structure that marked the boundary between the northern horrors and the Seven Kingdoms.
The Wall seemed to extend endlessly, with its beginning and end hidden from sight. It resembled a natural mountain, its surface covered in thick layers of ice that concealed the stones used in its construction.
"Once we're in Castle Black, you'll have no time to practice tavern tricks..."
...
As the iron gates at the base of the Wall opened, the duo found themselves traversing a dark passage, sparsely lit by torches, their flickering light beckoning them from the other side.
The journey through the tunnel was cold and eerie, the weight of centuries of history hanging heavily in the air. Soon, they reached the other end and emerged into Castle Black's yard.
The yard was a hive of activity, with rangers scurrying about, some returning to the barracks to rest, others heading out for their duties, and a few engaged in idle chatter. The towering, black stone walls of Castle Black loomed over them, a stark contrast to the snowy landscape surrounding it.
High walls and towers defined the formidable fortress.
Waiting for them in the yard was a man dressed in Night's Watch ranger armor, leaning casually against the wall. His face was adorned with a thick, scraggly black beard. He greeted Benjen with a mixture of familiarity and surprise.
"Well, well, if it isn't Ser Benjen Stark. Here I thought you'd finally met your end," the man, Ser Jaremy Rykker, remarked, his voice carrying a hint of jest.
Benjen responded with a wry smile. "I won't die so easily, Ser Rykker," he retorted dismissively. "Starks are known for their stubbornness, after all."
"Persistent bastards, your Starks-- I'll give you that much..." Ser Jaremy Rykker repeated with a wry grin, acknowledging Benjen's resilience. "The other two?" He leaned in, clearly curious about the fate of the other members of their party.
Benjen sighed heavily in response to Rykker's inquiry. "Gone," he replied somberly. "One succumbed to frostbite—didn't make it through the harsh cold. The other met his end at the jaws of wolves while he was taking a piss," he explained, a touch of regret in his voice.
Rykker nodded in understanding at the unfortunate circumstances. He then turned his attention to Gale, his scrutiny evident in the way his gaze appraised the young man.
"And who's this you brought with you...? A wildling...?" Rykker queried, his tone inquisitive yet cautious. "Looks green, though. Nothing like the savages up north..." He added.
Gale's appearance clearly set him apart from the wildlings they often encountered.
Gale, maintaining the fabricated story they had concocted, scratched his head with a bemused grin. "I'll take that as a compliment... the name's Gale," he introduced himself confidently. "I am... was a retainer to a lord from the far south," he continued, spinning the tale that he and Benjen had rehearsed, his words ringing with practiced conviction.
Rykker continued to eye Gale with a furrowed brow, his wariness clear in his demeanor. He couldn't help but question Gale's unusual circumstances.
"What's a noble's servant doing so far away from home, going beyond the Wall of all places...?" Rykker inquired, his curiosity mingling with skepticism. "This should be interesting, I reckon," he mused aloud.
Gale, maintaining his fabricated story, sighed with a troubled expression. "Accompanying his lord, naturally," he replied, his tone filled with resignation. "You see, said lord was a bit of an oddball—some might even say he was, erm..." Gale trailed off, hesitating momentarily.
Benjen chimed in, completing Gale's sentence without hesitation. "Dumb," he stated plainly, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "He was competing for the title of lord with his brother—thought he could distinguish himself by venturing beyond the Wall and coming back with souvenirs," Benjen added, shaking his head as he recounted the fabricated tale.
An amused smile split Ser Rykker's face, but he maintained his skepticism. "And how did you sneak past the Wall exactly? We had no reports of anyone crossing other than rangers..." He asked.
"By boat, sir," Gale replied. "Through the Shivering Sea and around Skagos," He added.
"I found this one just past the Haunted Forest, running for his life from a black bear..." Benjen said. "The lord and his entourage were all crow feed at that point..." He added, shaking his head.
At those words, Rykker finally lost his skepticism and broke into laughter. "Now that's a story I'll be telling for a while... tell me, lad, who was this lord of yours?" He asked with a smile.
"I'll have to refrain, Ser. He might have been a bit eccentric, but I wouldn't want him to bring shame to his house..." The young man said, a hint of seriousness in his tone.
"I suppose it doesn't matter..." Ser Rykker said with a chuckle. "Take the lad to Commander Mormont-- a good chuckle ought to do him good, and he wanted to see you anyway," He added as he turned around and walked away.
...
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