Miscalculation #19

eside the crackling bonfire, Qhorin deftly turned the obsidian dagger within his left hand, his eyes focused on the ancient weapon as he raised a question that carried a hint of suspicion. "Where did these come from?" he inquired, glancing at Benjen with an inscrutable expression.

Benjen responded, his tone measured. "Gale found them buried in the Fist of the First Men a year ago..."

Qhorin's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "How convenient..." he muttered, his gaze shifting towards the direction Gale had taken when he ventured out to gather firewood. Qhorin had always been a man with a cautious nature.

Benjen couldn't help but sigh in response to Qhorin's wariness. "I realize that your paranoia has saved your life on more than one occasion, but try to have a little faith once in a while, will you?" he remarked, though his words earned him a deadpan look from the old ranger.

After a brief pause, Benjen's expression turned more serious. "However, you are right. The snow is no hindrance to Gale. It's certainly strange for him to take this long," he conceded with a trace of concern.

Benjen contemplated the situation, ready to stand up and search for Gale when a realization dawned upon him. "Something must have happened. I'll look into--" He said, pausing mid-sentence as he raised his head and discovered that Qhorin was already on his feet. 

"What good will that do when you've barely recovered any of your strength?" Qhorin questioned, his hand waving dismissively. A sardonic smile tugged at his lips as he turned to Edd, who was soundly asleep. "You just sit there and watch over our sleeping princess," he remarked with a chuckle.

Benjen raised an eyebrow at Qhorin's response, a bemused smile touching his lips. "It's like my words go through one ear and out the other," he remarked, shaking his head. 

"Fine, go ahead if that will satisfy your paranoia," he conceded, understanding the old ranger's personality. 

Qhorin's trust was not easily earned, and the recent events only added fuel to his doubts. The fact that the wights ignored Gale and that the young man conveniently possessed the only weapon capable of killing the undead creatures felt peculiar and all too convenient to him. 

Solid proof was what he sought, and he would not rest easy until his doubts were either confirmed or dispelled.

...

In a clearing some distance away, bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon, Gale walked with deliberate steps, his breath forming a hazy mist in the frigid air. His long sword, gleaming with an icy sheen, was poised and ready for action. 

His expression remained inscrutable, betraying nothing of the unease gnawing at him.

"I know you're there, so you might as well show yourself," he called out, his voice clear and unwavering. He raised his sword, the blade pointing toward the trees on the other side of the clearing, where an eerie stillness had settled.

Despite his words, there was no immediate response, save for the whisper of the night wind through the branches, a cold melody that only heightened his annoyance.

"I can feel your presence from a mile away," Gale continued, his voice steady, undaunted. "You're basically radiating cold."

As if beckoned by his words, a humanoid figure emerged from the shroud of shadows beyond the trees, like a wraith from a realm of eternal winter.

The figure was a White Walker, its presence commanding the hushed respect of the winter itself. Clad in dark armor adorned with intricate designs that seemed to glisten with an inner light, it bore an otherworldly and haunting beauty. 

Its skin was pale as death, and its eyes, a piercing shade of ice-blue, gazed at Gale with an unsettling intelligence.

The White Walker's thin, elongated fingers clutched a wickedly sharp ice blade that shimmered with an eerie light, while white long hair cascading the sides of its deformed face, giving it an air of malevolence. 

It was the harbinger of an endless winter, a creature born from humanity's nightmares, and its presence signaled the arrival of a terrible omen.

Gale stood firm, his hand gripping his sword, every inch of his being tense in the presence of the White Walker. He kept his fear hidden beneath a facade of composure, knowing that revealing any unease could be his downfall.

Despite the tension, Gale's voice had a hint of bravado as he addressed the enigmatic figure. "I don't know why you've been tailing us and why you chose not to attack, but I'd appreciate it if you went your merry way...."

In response, the White Walker opened its pale lips, producing a strange sound – an eerie resonance, like ice cracking under winter's unyielding grip. To Gale, the noise was as mysterious as the creature itself. 

Still, it was clear the being aimed to convey something, even if the message remained unclear.

In the strange sounds, Gale sensed a mix of emotions. There was a hint of curiosity, and a touch of confusion, all shrouded in an otherworldly aura of ancient wisdom. 

However, the usual malevolence and blind hatred toward all living beings, commonly associated with the undead was strangely absent. This encounter challenged everything he thought he knew about these legendary beings.

Gale furrowed his brow, utterly perplexed by the bizarre encounter. Nevertheless, the course of action remained clear to him. "I have no idea what you just said, but I'll be more direct," he declared. "Get lost," he added with a touch of irritation.

To his astonishment, the White Walker responded with an eerie smirk, lifting its ice blade in a deliberate manner. It proceeded to emit more of those enigmatic sounds, conveying a sense of mockery and taunting. 

Gale struggled to formulate a retort. The young man was a veteran of verbal sparring battles with online trolls, but even he was rendered speechless, unable to respond without knowing what the White Walker said. 

Eventually, he settled for a straightforward response. "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you too!"

The White Walker emitted another ghastly noise, akin to eerie laughter that grated against Gale's ears. However, he had no time to react to the discomfort as the enigmatic creature abruptly charged towards him. 

Gale's eyes widened with alarm as the White Walker closed the gap in the blink of an eye, forcing him to hastily raise his blade in defense.

The impact of the White Walker's ice blade meeting Gale's long sword was immediate, the frigid chill radiating from the undead creature's weapon swiftly freezing the young man's blade before shattering it into shards.

Gale barely had a moment to process this as the blade splintered, and before the fragments even hit the ground, the White Walker concluded its assault with a brutal kick to Gale's chest, sending him flying backward.

Gale's body slammed into a tree, the impact expelling the air from his lungs. He struggled for breath but couldn't manage more than a gasp before the White Walker, relentless in its approach, reached him once more. The icy grip of the undead creature closed around Gale's throat, hoisting him above the ground.

The White Walker peered into Gale's eyes, attempting to convey a message with its cryptic noises. Gale, in the vice-like hold of his captor, remained baffled by the incomprehensible sounds. 

Yet, he couldn't ignore the undercurrent of mockery that laced the creature's eerie noises, as it stared at him with an unsettling patience, as if it was waiting for something. 

Between ragged breaths, Gale ground out his defiant words, his voice strained by the unrelenting grip on his throat. "Enjoy this moment... while you can..." he managed, his determination unbroken despite the dire circumstances. "I'll make you... regret this... soon enough... fucker..." 

In his mind's eye, he envisioned a scenario where his latent power would surge in response to his distress, allowing him to exact revenge upon the smug White Walker many times over.

As the seconds ticked by, Gale's struggles grew feeble with each passing moment. His vision darkened gradually as the specter of death drew near. In his mind, Gale's inner turmoil erupted into a torrent of curses. 

'Fuck! Shit! Damn it! Come on! Don't fuck me over now of all times!' he implored, his mind a chaotic mixture of desperation and perseverance, as he willed the uncharted power within him to manifest. 

However, the latent force remained frustratingly dormant, refusing to answer his plea.

...

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