The Horn of Winter #21

As Edd gradually emerged from his slumber, the hazy fog of sleep lifting, he scanned the camp with a drowsy gaze, finally locking eyes with Benjen.

"Where's Gale and Qhorin?" Edd's voice held a tinge of concern as he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Gale went to fetch wood for the fire," Benjen began, his tone heavy with worry. "He's been gone longer than expected, so Qhorin decided to go after him..." Benjen's explanation was accompanied by a weary sigh, and he shook his head. 

"Now it's been over an hour since Qhorin set out, and there's still no sign of either of them." Frustration etched his face.

Edd's exasperation was palpable. "For fuck's sake... there's never a shortage of troubles in these parts, is there?" He grumbled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Come on, let's go look for them."

He attempted to rise, but the lingering exhaustion from their arduous journey took its toll, leaving him struggling to get to his feet.

Benjen, however, remained seated, shaking his head. "Gale is better suited to navigating these lands than we'll ever be, and Qhorin has patrolled these lands more than any ranger alive. I'm sure they'll return soon..."

His voice held a hint of doubt, but he pressed on. "If something happened that they couldn't handle... well, our chances of faring any better would be slim at best."

"As much as I hate to admit it... you're probably right..." Edd's voice carried a sense of helplessness. He sighed deeply, accepting the grim reality. "Guess we can only twiddle our thumbs and wa--"

Before he could finish his thought, the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. Edd halted midsentence and turned around, expecting to see Gale and Qhorin returning to camp. However, the sight that met his eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

Walking towards them was a humanoid figure, its flesh as pallid as milk, adorned in dark armor. It cradled the limp body of Qhorin in its hands, making each step with an eerie, deliberate grace.

"What the...?" Edd's voice trailed off as his shock and confusion mounted. The bizarre tableau before him left him frozen in place.

Suddenly, the enigmatic creature inexplicably toppled forward, crashing to the ground with Qhorin's body still in its grasp. This bewildering sight only deepened Edd's astonishment.

"Looks like something happened, after all," Benjen remarked with a sigh, his eyes narrowing as he observed the fallen figure. He wasted no time and rose to his feet, hastening toward the mysterious entity.

"That's Gale," Benjen declared with a grim certainty, his gaze fixed on the fallen creature.

"What?!" Edd's exclamation rang out, his voice laced with disbelief. The astonishing sight and the revelation of the transformed figure had flooded him with a surge of strength, propelling him to his feet.

"It really is Gale..." he breathed, his gaze fixed on the dramatic shift as Gale reverted to his normal state. The eerie blue glow that had enveloped him receded, and the dark veins tracing his face slowly faded away.

Benjen's sense of urgency surged as he approached Qhorin, and the grave wound on the old ranger's chest, encased in an icy shroud, came into view. His worry deepened at the sight of his injured comrade.

"Quick. Help me drag them near the fire," Benjen's words were laden with concern. He swiftly turned to the unconscious Qhorin, his mind focused on the immediate need for warmth and care.

Edd's gaze flitted between Gale and the injured ranger, a myriad of questions and remarks swirling in his mind. However, he chose to hold his tongue for the moment, understanding that their comrades needed urgent attention. 

Without hesitation, Edd began the task of gently dragging Gale closer to the campfire, while Benjen tended to the wounded Qhorin, the crackling flames casting long, flickering shadows in the quiet of the night.

...

Upon the snowy heights of the Fist of the First Men, the wildling woman and Craster's former wives reached their destination, their faces etched with exhaustion from the long and arduous journey.

"Start making camp. I need to find something here," the wildling woman instructed her companions, turning her attention to Morag, who nodded in acknowledgment and began directing the other women to set up camp while the wildling woman embarked on her quest.

Curiosity tugged at Morag, and she couldn't resist asking, "What do you seek? Maybe I can help?"

In response, the wildling woman retrieved a map from her bag, her expression etched with determination. "Rayder sent me to find the Legendary Horn of Winter—said to waken the giants from the earth..."

Morag's brow furrowed in confusion. "The giants? Why would you want to awaken them?"

The wildling woman released a heavy sigh, her breath crystallizing in the frigid air. "Winter is coming, sister. If our people are to survive it, then we venture south beyond the wall..."

With an air of urgency, she continued, "Without the strength of the giants, crossing the wall is damn near impossible, and we don't have the time to wait for them to awaken on their own..."

Her eyes flicked between the landscape before her and the map in her hands, determination etched across her face. "We need to coax them out of their slumber..."

...

Slowly regaining consciousness, Gale couldn't stifle a groan as he assessed his surroundings. His eyes fell upon Qhorin's still form, swathed in layers of fur, and Benjen's visage, filled with visible relief.

"You're finally awake, lad," Benjen stated with a sigh of relief as he settled beside Gale. 

"You had us worried there for a moment," Edd chimed in from the side, drawing near.

Gale, disregarding their comments, inquired urgently, "Qhorin?"

Benjen wore a somber expression as he relayed the grim news, "He's breathing, but barely. I'm afraid Qhorin's not long for this world..." he said, causing Gale's gaze to sift to the old ranger, a troubled look etched across his face. 

"What happened, anyway?" Benjen's frown mirrored Gale's, reflecting his curiosity.

"A White Walker happened," Gale responded through clenched teeth, his jaw tight with tension. "I... got cold feet, and this is the result," he added, glancing at the ailing Qhorin.

To everyone's surprise, a frail chuckle emanated from Qhorin's direction as he stirred within his cocoon of fur cloaks. "You were... you were an experienced brat facing an ancient horror, lad," Qhorin teased, his words interspersed with coughs. "It's a wonder you didn't piss your breeches," he quipped, offering a weak smile.

Wincing at the recollection of the encounter, Gale, despite his aching body, summoned the strength to stand and shuffle closer to Qhorin. Regret weighed heavily upon him as he uttered, "I'm sorry... it's all because of me..." He slumped down beside the old ranger, his guilt palpable.

"For fuck's sake... get your shit together already," Qhorin admonished, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency, though he struggled to shift his head to better face Gale. "The way I see it, you're supposed to save everyone from the undead, or bring about our destruction..." Qhorin's words, laced with determination, cut through the tension. 

"Whatever the case may be... you won't achieve shit if you let the death of one old man weigh you down." He completed the sentiment, emphasizing the need for Gale to rise above his turmoil.

Gale's eyes, heavy with guilt and uncertainty, met Qhorin's unwavering gaze. His lips parted, but the weight of the moment bore down upon him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

"I can't change the way you think, lad... but if you feel responsible for the gaping wound on my chest, then take responsibility," Qhorin declared, his grasp on Gale's wrist firm and resolute. 

"Take that dagger of yours and slit my throat... let me die in peace and burn my corpse," he urged, the gravity of his request hanging heavily in the air.

...

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