Chapter 138

Winter is here.

The sky was dark, the air damp and cold, and the biting chill crept silently into every crack of clothing and armor, leaving men shivering to the bone. The lands beyond the Wall had never known summer, but even by their standards, the temperature had dropped drastically over the past few months.

Snow fell incessantly, blanketing the ground in a pristine white layer that concealed any footprints left behind. Everywhere the eye could see was an endless expanse of snow and ice.

“This bloody weather… why aren’t we back at Castle Black, sitting by the fire?” Citt snarled, kicking a hound that had nestled against his leg for warmth. The dog let out a pitiful whine but crawled back toward him, seeking the faint heat radiating from his clothing. “Damn wights! What’s the point of catching one of those things? Can you boil it into a soup?”

“The Lord Commander said we need to bring a wight to King’s Landing to show King Robert and request aid,” replied Lack. “It was Aegor’s idea—you didn’t listen during the briefing, did you? Too busy daydreaming about some whore, I bet.”

“Always Aegor!” Citt spat, his face red with fury, his pockmarked skin almost glowing. “The bastard worms his way south by licking the boots of that Lannister dwarf, living in comfort, and then has the gall to write back, getting Mormont to send us out here to die! Did I dig up his ancestors’ graves or something? If he ever comes back to the Wall, I swear I’ll pin him down and shove a frozen turd up his arse!”

“Pin him down?” Dolorous Edd cut in dryly. “Aegor’s taller and broader than most rangers. You can’t even keep a single hound under control—how exactly are you planning to overpower him? Besides, you’re wearing the fur coat and trousers he sent us. Seems a bit ungrateful to think about beating him up while wrapped in his generosity. Maybe take them off first if you want to look like you’ve got a shred of dignity.”

“Seven hells! So what if he sent a few coats and trousers? Am I supposed to kneel and thank the gods for his charity?”

“You also ate the meat he sent,” Edd reminded him, shrugging. “No need to kneel—might ruin your pants in this snow, and then you’d be even colder. But a word of advice: don’t mess with him. Remember when he, Will, and Garry left that Royce boy to die and managed to flee back to the Wall? Everyone thought he was doomed, but not only did he survive, he pulled strings and somehow got Yohn Royce, that idiot’s father, sent to the Wall too. That’s the kind of man he is—a dangerous one. If he does come back, I’ll call him ‘Chief Quartermaster, Ser Aegor, my lord,’ and do whatever he asks. Who knows? Maybe he’ll be pleased and send me south with the logistics team to enjoy some meat and new clothes every day. That’d be heaven.”

“Damn the Chief Quartermaster, damn Jon Snow, and damn Sam Tarly!” Citt roared, kicking the dog again.

Then the horn sounded.

One blast. Two blasts. Three blasts. And finally… the fourth—three long notes followed by one short, a call the Night’s Watch had never used before. The hunt was on.
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For over two months, the Night’s Watch had been attempting to capture a wight alive. They had succeeded twice, but both times the prize had slipped from their grasp due to the intervention of the Others.

The first time, rangers had managed to kill the pursuing Other with dragonglass arrows after a fierce battle. Unfortunately, the wight they had captured disintegrated into a lifeless corpse the moment the Other perished.

The second attempt revealed an unsettling truth: the Others had adapted. They now wore a layer of icy armor, impervious to dragonglass arrows, and kept their distance from the rangers, relying on wight thralls to do most of the fighting. In that battle, the rangers suffered heavy losses and were forced to abandon their captive wight and flee before the undead army could encircle them.

Time was running out. The Free Folk, numbering in the tens of thousands, had begun their slow but steady march south from the Frostfangs, dragging their families and belongings with them. Within ten to fifteen days, their vanguard would reach the Wall, and capturing wights would become nearly impossible.

This was their last chance. If the Others discovered the Watch’s intent, the entire operation would fail. The Night’s Watch had no room for further errors.

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s final orders were clear: avoid the main undead army and target isolated wights not yet under the Others’ control. Scouts had reported that the dark magic of winter was intensifying north of the Wall, causing corpses—human and animal alike—to reanimate more frequently. These newly turned wights roamed aimlessly before being claimed by the Others, creating a brief window of opportunity for the Watch to act.

The fourth horn blast confirmed it: wights had been sighted without an Other nearby.
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Tension filled the air. Many of the men present had never ventured beyond the Wall before. They had heard countless stories of the horrors that lurked in the wilderness but had never seen them firsthand. When the horn sounded, some felt a chill run down their spines, and others felt an immediate urge to relieve themselves.

Even the hounds sensed the change. The one Citt had been kicking moments earlier now pressed against him desperately, while the other dogs fidgeted nervously, tugging against their leashes.

Dolorous Edd tightened his grip on his sword and shouted up at the trees, “Will, what do you see?”

“They’re coming,” came the poacher’s voice from above. “And… there are more than I expected!”

“Check carefully! Look for any signs of Others hiding among them,” Edd urged. “They might be trying to confuse the scouts by coming on foot. Don’t miss a single one!”

“North of us, I see about twenty. Northeast, another dozen… Shit, there’s more behind them! I don’t see any Others, but I’m coming down—if I wait any longer, I won’t make it.”

A mounted rider burst through the snow, arriving at the group’s position. It was Ser Jeremy Lake, the new First Ranger after Benjen Stark’s disappearance. “Listen up! The rangers drew more wights than expected. Follow Plan B. Everyone, mount up!”

“There, in the trees!”

The wights emerged from the shadows of the Haunted Forest, their forms blending eerily with the snow and ice. Their lifeless bodies, coated in frost and ice shards, moved with unnatural speed and precision, the crunch of snow underfoot the only warning of their approach. It was impossible to tell how many there were—blurry shapes in the storm, almost invisible unless they moved.

“Mount up!”

“Wait! Don’t leave me behind!”

“Will, stay in the trees! You’ve survived twice up there—don’t push your luck now!” Jeremy shouted. “Don’t hesitate! If you’re surrounded, it’s over. Save your dragonglass arrows for when it matters most!”
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The rangers quickly mounted their horses, the urgency in the air palpable as the wights closed in. Snow fell heavier, the forest’s shadows growing darker. As the first undead stepped into view, the hunt began in earnest.