ASOIAF/GOT: The King On The Wall

Waymar determined to make a name for himself, had already made up his mind to continue the chase. His three companions, however, were less than thrilled.

Will, a former poacher with excellent tracking skills, soon reported his findings: the group they were pursuing consisted of about ten people—men, women, and children. Most likely, they were a wildling family.

The people of the Seven Kingdoms often regarded wildlings as savage, barbaric monsters, their image so fearsome that Northern parents would invoke them to frighten disobedient children. But the Night's Watch, who dealt with wildlings regularly, knew better. To the men in black, wildlings were essentially rebellious farmers, people who refused to pay taxes or labor for any lord, believing this rejection to be "freedom."

Compared to them, the Night's Watch were professional soldiers, even at their current state of decline, the Watch was still one of the largest standing armies in Westeros.

In this feudal era, noble armies were often hastily assembled when needed. Farmers set down their hoes, picked up weapons, and joined knights and lords in battle, forming armies on an ad hoc basis. But the Night's Watch was different. Their only mission was to guard the Wall, and they were always at war in some capacity. They lived off the resources provided by the Gift and the support of Northern lords, and, even in the best of times, the Watch produced nothing. While the quality of its members was often poor, the Night's Watch trained daily, making them a rare standing force. By the low standards of this world, they could still be considered an "elite."

The Rangers were the combat troops of the Watch, distinct from the stewards and craftsmen who handled logistics. Rangers didn't waste time on chores like cooking or washing clothes. Their lives revolved around training and patrolling. Compared to wildlings armed with wooden clubs and stone axes, people who spent most of their time on sheer survival—rangers were far better trained and equipped. While some wildling warriors were exceptions, most free folk avoided direct confrontation with the Night's Watch unless they held a significant numerical advantage or the element of surprise.

The small group of wildlings that Aegor and his companions pursued certainly didn't seem inclined to fight back.

Initially, the wildlings had been moving west along a path roughly parallel to the Wall. But once they realized they were being followed, they turned north in an attempt to escape. Waymar eager to prove himself, refused to let them go. The chase began: a relentless game of cat and mouse through the snow.

During the day, the rangers pressed forward on horseback, following the trail left behind by their quarry. At night, they huddled beneath thick blankets to rest. Their horses gave them an advantage, allowing them to keep close on the wildlings' trail. Over nine days, the pursuit wound its way north, veering northwest at times, before curving back again. Thanks to clear skies and no snowfall, Will never lost the trail.

By the ninth day, though, doubts began to creep in.

"Nine days, my lord," Gary grumbled.

"Is nine days a long time?" Waymar asked sharply.

"Not long," Gary replied, his tone calm but pointed. "But we only brought enough rations for a dozen days. Even if we stretch them, we might last twenty. And we still need enough to get back. If we keep going much longer..."

Waymar cut him off, a note of sarcasm creeping into his voice. "I heard from Ser Alliser Thorne that last winter, rangers survived outside the Wall for six months on just one month's rations. How do you think they managed it?"

Will and Aegor exchanged awkward glances but said nothing. Waymar's point may have been dramatic, but he'd clearly aimed it at the wrong crowd.

"If you really want to know," Gary said dryly, taking the opportunity to humiliate the young knight, "I can tell you. I was on that mission. When the food ran out, we started with horse meat and dog meat. Then we dug up grass roots, raided rat nests, and hunted anything that moved. When there was nothing left, the commander ordered us to...prepare the bodies of our dead brothers."

Waymar's face paled, but Gary continued relentlessly. "We didn't end up eating them. A storm forced us to retreat to Craster's Keep. That 'helpful' wildling who marries his own daughters let us shelter there, and we barely made it back alive. If you want to try that for yourself, I'll do my best to get everyone home. But just so you know, the Lord Commander warned us never to ask Craster for help with fewer than ten men. And horse meat isn't exactly easy to stomach."

Aegor expected Waymar to lash out in anger at Gary's insubordination, but to his surprise, the young knight remained composed. His face twitched, his pride visibly bruised, but after a few moments, he conceded.

"Fine," Waymar said finally, his voice carefully measured. "We'll call off the pursuit tomorrow. But for today—our last day—we're going to take the initiative. We'll try to capture one or two of them alive. If we succeed, we'll interrogate them and head back. If not, we return anyway."

"Take the initiative?" Will broke his silence, his nervousness plain. "But Lord Benjen only ordered us to investigate the wildlings' movements. He didn't say anything about engaging—"

"And what exactly have we learned after nine days of chasing them?" Waymar interrupted. "Capturing one of them is the fastest way to get answers. Don't you agree, Gary?"

Gary scowled but bit back any retort. As a veteran, he could mock Waymar, but he couldn't openly defy a direct order from his superior, especially one who was both a knight and a noble. "As you wish, my lord," he said reluctantly.

Waymar smirked, clearly enjoying the small victory. "Good. Will, scout ahead and report back. We'll plan our next move based on what you find."

Will shot an exasperated look at Aegor and Gary before mounting his horse and riding off. The remaining three dismounted, finding a spot between the trees to rest.

---

Aegor climbed onto a snow-covered rock to survey the area. The weather had grown colder with each passing day. They were now hundreds of miles north of the Wall, in territory where the temperature was significantly lower. But it wasn't the chill that unsettled him, it was the presence of Waymar Royce.

It wasn't fear of the man himself. Waymar, while arrogant, wasn't entirely intolerable. He wasn't a true villain; just a pampered young noble trying to prove himself. What worried Aegor was the story Waymar was tied to.

As a traveler from another world, Aegor's memory of A Song of Ice and Fire was frustratingly vague. He had skimmed the series and watched the show without paying close attention to the details. But one thing he remembered clearly: Waymar Royce's death.

Waymar was the first named character to die in both the novels and the show, cut down by the White Walkers in the prologue. His death wasn't just the end of his story, it was the moment that revealed the existence of Westeros's greatest threat and set the stage for everything that followed.

Aegor had no desire to become part of that introduction.

Unfortunately, he had no say in the matter. As a convict sent to the Wall, he couldn't refuse orders or choose his missions. When he learned that Waymar would be leading this patrol, he had dreaded it. But there had been no avoiding it. And so, once again, he found himself venturing into the Haunted Forest, a place named for the ghosts that undoubtedly dwelled within it.

The forest's twisted trees and endless shadows made it easy to believe in ghosts. Aegor remembered his first patrol beyond the Wall, when his mind had been haunted by half-remembered legends and plots. Every dark shadow had seemed like a White Walker lurking in the distance. Every weirwood tree, its face carved in the bark, had made his skin crawl. By the end of the first day, he'd been so terrified that he could barely stand after dismounting his horse.

He had grown used to it since then. This was his eleventh trip beyond the Wall. He had encountered wildlings twice before and had learned to temper his fear of the forest.

But something about Waymar's presence set him on edge. The dense shadows between the trees felt oppressive, as though hiding something far more dangerous than wildlings.

Aegor forced himself to dismiss the thought. Maybe the sense of unease was just his imagination, heightened by his knowledge of Waymar's grim fate. Still, one thing was certain: when they returned to Castle Black, Aegor would do whatever it took to avoid patrolling with Waymar Royce again.

He shook his head and returned to where Gary and Waymar sat. Taking a seat beneath their watchful gazes, he waited silently for Will to return.

The cold wind howled through the trees, and the horses shuffled restlessly, their breath misting in the air. Aegor kept alert, listening for any unusual sounds. Time dragged on, and nearly an hour passed before Will finally rode back into view.

"Hm?" Waymar looked up as the poacher approached, his tone haughty and dismissive. "The savages must have stopped to make camp by now. Did you find them?"

Will dismounted slowly, his face pale and shaken. His eyes darted between the others as he swallowed hard.

"You won't believe this," he stammered. "I don't even know what happened... but the savages—they're all dead."