ASOIAF/GOT: The King On The Wall

The sound of hooves grew louder, and soon the visitor's identity was revealed. Emerging from the trees was Will's horse, a creature killed ten days prior, its head split by an ice sword. Now, its stiff, decaying body was coated in icicles, and on its back sat a thin, pale figure.

The White Walker, the one who had pursued Aegor, had reanimated the dead horse into a wight and ascended from an ordinary White Walker to something more terrifying, a White Walker Knight. If not for his poor riding skills, he might have caught up to the two Night's Watchmen sooner, before they reached the shadow of the Wall.

Still, he was satisfied. He had finally caught up.

To the Walker, the two humans in black had demonstrated surprising endurance and determination, particularly the younger one. From his instinctive decision to turn and run at first sight of danger, to his cool judgment when his weapon slipped from his grasp, to his agility in dodging thrown ice swords and his sheer speed, it was clear this human possessed admirable qualities. Soon, though, he too would join the ranks of the dead, a loyal servant to the cold and darkness.

It was two against one, but the White Walker was unfazed. With the overwhelming advantage of strength, weapons, and power, their numbers meant little. The two humans, already physically and mentally drained, were prey in a hunt, not opponents in a fight.

The horse crashed to the ground, kicking and screaming, before staggering upright and stumbling away. Aegor drew his weapon, his gaze fixed coldly on the advancing White Walker. The burn in his lungs forced a hoarse growl from his throat, as if the sound rose not from his voice, but from somewhere deep in his soul. Fear and shock churned within him, but instead of paralyzing him, they fueled an unshakable will to survive. The White Walker had a horse, there was no outrunning this foe. It was kill or be killed.

"This ends here."

"I'll hold him off," Gary said, raising his sword. His voice was rough with determination. "Run, Aegor. Someone has to warn the others—winter is coming."

"No. I'm not running just to die tired while you get cut down," Aegor shot back. He knew Gary couldn't hold this monster off alone. "We fight here, together. Then we escape across the Wall. We'll figure it out from there. Watch his weapon, it'll shatter steel. If he throws it again…"

The Walker didn't wait for him to finish. For a few long, chilling moments, it stared at them with glowing blue eyes, its face blank and emotionless. Then, with a sudden, unnatural lurch, it spurred the dead horse forward.

"Move!"

Aegor and Gary split apart, darting into the trees. The dense forest offered some cover, forcing the White Walker to maneuver awkwardly. The two men circled through the undergrowth, dodging between trunks and branches as the mounted Walker charged again and again, unable to land a strike. Finally, with an enraged shriek, the Walker dismounted, abandoning its horse and advancing on foot.

"Go!" Gary roared, lunging forward.

"Be careful!" Aegor cried out, his heart pounding.

The sword training of the Night's Watch was simple: block, counterattack, strike. It worked well enough against wildlings, who relied more on brute strength than skill. But that kind of combat assumed the weapons could withstand a blow. Against the White Walkers, this basic truth shattered—literally.

The fight erupted in an instant, the ferocity of the confrontation obliterating any preamble. Gary had decades of experience, and his instincts were second nature. When he saw the Walker expose a weakness, he struck with everything he had.

It was a masterful blow, deceptively simple but executed with flawless precision. Gary's timing was perfect, his blade arcing toward the Walker just as it dismounted. It was the kind of strike born from forty years of battle, a culmination of every lesson learned and every fight survived. Even the Sword of the Morning himself would have had to take this attack seriously.

Gary felt it in his gut: this strike would end the battle. If by some miracle the Walker managed to block it, Gary was already ready to withdraw, adjust his stance, and swing again. Aegor would finish it off from behind. This ghostly monster would die, and they'd drag its body back to the Wall. They wouldn't have to live as deserters after all.

But that first, perfect step went horribly wrong.

Gary's sword shattered.

The sword Waymar had brought from home had only lasted a few strikes against a White Walker's ice blade. The standard weapon issued to Night's Watch soldiers was little more than crude steel, barely worthy of the name. Its strength and resilience were laughable compared to finely forged weapons. When Gary's sword clashed with the White Walker's weapon for the first time, it shattered with a loud, ringing crack, splitting cleanly in two, with shards flying in all directions.

In all his fifty years, Gary had never seen anything like it. He froze, momentarily stunned, and in that split second, the White Walker drove its ice blade through him.

"No!" Aegor's bloodshot eyes widened in horror. He was too far, just two meters away but he'd been unable to intervene. Helpless, he could only watch as his companion fell, pierced through by the ice sword. Desperation turned to fury, and he charged at the creature from behind without hesitation.

Aegor didn't have any great fondness or admiration for Gary. How could anyone truly admire a man who had served in the Night's Watch for forty years and remained nothing more than a foot soldier? It was like his own life before, when he'd worked as a site inspector on behalf of the client, visiting construction projects. He hadn't become friends with the older laborers who were still hauling bricks in their sixties, unable to read or write. There was no malice in it, no disdain for their work, it was simply the reality of different lives. With no shared perspective or common interests, how could friendship be expected?

But still… Gary had been his roommate, someone who'd shared the same roof and taken care of him when he first arrived at the Wall. More importantly, at this moment, Gary had been his last ally, his comrade-in-arms against an enemy far beyond their strength. Aegor had been counting on him. He'd had a plan, if he could bait the White Walker into making a mistake, there'd be an opening to drive the obsidian dagger he carried into the creature's body.

If all had gone well, Gary would have been there to help him escape over the Wall afterward.

Now, though, all of it was gone. The plans, the chances, they were all shattered along with Gary's sword. The last human ally he had left was struck down before the fight even began. How was he supposed to stand alone against an enemy with such inhuman power?

"Damn you—die!" Aegor roared, his voice hoarse with rage. Rational thought vanished in an instant, replaced by unfiltered madness. When hope is lost, even the most composed and cautious men will turn reckless. Fear evaporated like mist. There was nothing left to lose. He gripped his sword in his right hand and swung it at the back of the White Walker's head while, in his left, he clenched the obsidian dagger, stabbing with every ounce of strength he had. If there was no way out, he'd fight to the death. If he was going to die here, then he'd make damn sure his enemy paid for it.

The pale figure turned, its icy weapon raised to parry, its face as blank as ever. It regarded this final prey with faint disappointment. The last man it killed had been defeated in the exact same way, and yet this one attacked just as recklessly.

Did this human truly believe such a slow, telegraphed attack, a strike warped by rage and desperation could land? The sword's trajectory was clear as day, predictable enough for him to counter a dozen different ways. And the dagger in the other hand? A pitiful gesture.

The White Walker's expression twisted faintly in disdain. Its form was held together by magic; it had no weak points. A strike to the head or stomach might create some inconvenience, but even if it stood still and allowed the human to attack, it would suffer no harm.

The creature's ice sword flashed. With effortless precision, it parried Aegor's strike, shattering his blade just as it had shattered Gary's. In the opening that followed, the Walker's weapon swept across Aegor's body in a cold, final arc.