A Treasure of the Past #3

As they finally reached the summit of the Fist of the First Men, the young man couldn't help but release a relieved sigh. The grueling climb had taken its toll, and the feeling of reaching their destination was a welcome respite. Benjen, appearing even more fatigued than his companion, panted heavily for breath as he set about making camp.

With determined efficiency, the young man stepped forward, offering to help. He took the bags from Benjen's weary hands and began unloading their supplies from the horse's back. 

Benjen nodded in appreciation, and together, they worked, their movements slow but steady as they set up their camp. Wooden stakes were driven into the frozen ground, and the horse was securely tethered to one of them.

As they worked, the young man rubbed the back of his neck and then settled beside the slowly kindling fire, its flames beginning to dance and crackle in the cold night air. 

"Did we have to make camp here of all places? I'm not looking forward to the trip down..." he remarked, his voice laced with a touch of weariness but still carrying a hint of humor.

Benjen, seated nearby, mirrored his sentiment. "Me neither. But I wouldn't even get a good night's sleep if we stayed in the open," he explained, his tone resigned. "The Fist of the First Men has always served as a safe refuge for Night's Watch rangers..." he continued, his gaze distant as he recalled the history of this place. 

"So long as we stay alert, you can be sure no one and nothing will sneak up on us," he added, reassured by their choice of campsite. 

Benjen's words seemed to trigger a spark of realization within the young man. He rose from his seated position near the fire, his movements fueled by a newfound purpose, much to Benjen's confusion. 

"So, this place has been frequented by the Night's Watch for a long time, right?" he inquired, his expression difficult to read.

"More or less..." Benjen replied with a quizzical look, unable to discern the reason for the young man's sudden interest in the Fist of the First Men's history.

The young man's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Mind if I borrow your sword for a while?" he requested, prompting an arch of Benjen's brow. "Er, the sheath will do—anything that's long and pointy, actually," he added, his hand scratching his head as he explained his unconventional request.

Benjen regarded him with bemusement before acquiescing. He reached for his sword, unsheathed it, and then casually tossed the sheath to the young man. "What do you intend to do with it, anyway?" Benjen inquired, a mixture of curiosity and amusement in his tone.

"Well, if rangers have been passing through here for many years, then some of them must have left something behind..." the young man explained, his eyes gleaming with determination. He then turned his attention back to the sheath he now held.

"And how does asking for my sheath relate to that?" Benjen asked, his puzzlement growing.

The young man grinned mischievously. "Well, just watch," he replied, and without further explanation, he began to walk around the campsite. 

With each step, he plunged the sheath into the snow, as if probing the ground for hidden treasures or long-forgotten items left behind by generations of Night's Watch rangers.

As the young man continued his methodical search, Benjen's interest waned, and he shifted his focus to more immediate concerns. He retrieved a loaf of bread from their supplies and proceeded to munch on it. Crumbs fell to the ground, remnants of his meal.

"I take it you'll be taking the first shift, then," Benjen remarked casually, his voice muffled by a mouthful of bread. He finished half the loaf and placed the remaining portion near the warming fire. "Keep your eyes peeled, lad," he advised, his tone a mixture of instruction and caution.

The young man tore his attention away from his treasure hunt long enough to respond with a respectful "Yes, sir." However, it was clear that his mind was still preoccupied with his exploration, Benjen's words entering one ear and swiftly departing from the other as he continued probing the snow for a certain hidden cache. 

...

The rhythmic, dull thuds pierced the tranquility of the night, jolting Benjen from his slumber. His eyes shot wide open, and he moved with haste, his hand instinctively reaching for the handle of his sword as he scrambled to his feet. Expecting to confront a group of Wildlings or some horrifying creature from beyond the Wall encroaching on their camp, his heart raced.

However, what he witnessed upon emerging from his sleeping bag prompted a mixture of sighs, annoyance, and exasperation. Some distance away, the young man stood over a patch of snow, rapidly stabbing the sheath into the ground with each thrust producing a monotonous thud. 

The young man's face was alight with an ear-to-ear grin, his eagerness palpable.

Before Benjen's eyes, the young man suddenly released his grip on the sheath, allowing it to drop to the ground. He then dropped to his knees and dug into the snow with his bare hands, a fervent enthusiasm in his actions that left Benjen utterly bewildered.

Realizing that sleep would not return to him anytime soon, Benjen emitted another weary sigh and approached the young man, curiosity tugging at him like a persistent itch. "What you got there, lad?" he inquired, positioning himself just behind the young man.

"We'll see soon enough," the young man replied cryptically, his tone a blend of excitement and mystery. He was well aware of what he sought—the possibility of unearthing a cache of Dragonglass weapons left behind by a ranger of old. 

In his recollection from the show, Sam Tarly and two other members of the Night's Watch, whose names eluded him for the moment, had stumbled upon such a cache, eventually discovering that Dragonglass was a potent weapon against the White Walkers. 

However, he had no intention of revealing his true intentions, aware that it might raise too many questions.

With single-minded determination, the young man continued his excavation efforts, parting the snow layer by layer until a stone slab emerged from beneath the frosty blanket. 

On the surface of the slab, a strange circular symbol had been intricately carved, its contours filled with snow.

"Those look like the markings of the First Men," Benjen observed, his brows furrowing as he examined the intricate carvings etched into the surface of the stone slab. "See if you can pry it open," he suggested, lowering himself to kneel next to the young man and focusing his attention intently on the slab.

The young man nodded in agreement and began to gingerly explore the edges of the stone, his fingers digging beneath the snow until he located the slab's edge. 

With a determined grunt, he exerted effort to lift the stone, revealing a hollow space concealed beneath it. His curiosity piqued, he reached into the cavity, his hand encountering something that felt like furr, and used his other hand to retrieve the concealed object.

"Look," the young man exclaimed, his voice tinged with exitment he held up a black fur cloak that appeared to be tightly wrapped around something concealed within. 

"That looks like a Night's Watch cloak... and there's something inside it..." Benjen observed, his keen ears detecting the faint clinking of objects hidden within the cloak's folds. 

"Let's see what's inside," the young man suggested, his eyes alight with anticipation. He carefully laid the fur cloak on the ground and proceeded to unfurl it, revealing a cache of numerous black-glass-like daggers nestled within the cloak's folds. 

Alongside the obsidian blades rested an ornate drinking horn, its craftsmanship apparent even in the dim light of their camp.

"Daggers—made from dragon glass, or as some folk call it, obsidian..." Benjen remarked as he reached for one of the jagged black knives. He held it up to inspect it closely, turning it in his hand as he assessed its craftsmanship. 

"But why would a ranger leave them here?" he mused aloud, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"For someone to find them, I reckon," the young man replied, his gaze focused on the cache of weapons. "Now, I'll have something to defend myself with, if nothing else," he remarked with a grin, plucking one of the obsidian daggers from the pile.

Benjen regarded him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to use those?" he inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

The young man responded with an unapologetic shrug. "No," he admitted matter-of-factly, his honesty clear in his tone. "But throwing them shouldn't be too difficult..." he added, a confident gleam in his eye as he raised the dagger and prepared to demonstrate his skills. 

However, his bravado was short-lived, as the dagger promptly slipped from his grip and landed a mere inch away from his own foot. He let out a sheepish chuckle. "With some practice, of course," he conceded, his grin never wavering.

...

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