There was no more color in the world, at least not to the king of Westeros. The moon was up in the sky, but it was hidden from view by heavy storm clouds that covered the sky like a blanket. The snowfall was thick and unceasing. There was no color, no joy, no light in the world beyond the Wall. There was simply snow and death.
Torches flickered atop the Wall, but it didn't help in the slighted. It was like a candle held by a sailor in the middle of an ocean of black.
Robb and his generals, with the exception of Jon, stood at the top of the Wall as the archers rained down fire at the swarm of wights. It was a sight that Robb had never seen before and knew for certain that he would never forget for the rest of his days. There seemed to be as many arrows in the air as there were flakes of snow. Occasionally, there would be an explosion of fire as a barrel of oil was dropped onto the enemy hundreds of feet below.
The walkway around Robb was filled with the twangs of bowstrings alongside the calls for more arrows, bolts, or oil. There didn't seem to be anyone panicking, which Robb was proud of. The men showed no fear as they sent wave after wave of death towards the enemy, destroying them by the dozens.
One group of men off to Robb's right roared happily as they slew one of the undead giants with a dragonglass-tipped bolt fired from a ballista. They didn't have much of the specially made ammunition, but the men were making the most of them, firing at the giants and ice spiders.
Far below them, hundreds of wights threw themselves at the gate, tearing and scratching at the steel and wood. From time to time, an oil barrel would smash into the group and destroy dozens of them, but those who survived didn't seem to care as they continued their work, soon joined by more of their undead comrades. Any undead giant who looked to be getting close to the gate was impaled by no less than four ballista bolts.
Some wights began to climb the Wall, finding foot-and-hand holds among the blocks of ice. A few fell back down into the sea of their comrades, arrow shafts sticking out of their skulls, but there had to be hundreds of the bastards working their way up. However, Tormund Giantsbane, Mance's best warrior, took one look at them and grunted:
"They'll take a day."
"How do you know?" Robb's father asked.
"Because I've spoken to people who have made the climb," Tormund replied. That seemed to bring that conversion to an end.
All in all, the first battle was going well for Robb and his men. Any other commander would have balked at the prospect of taking the Wall. The frozen structure was several hundred feet tall and a hundred leagues long, defended by tens of thousands of defenders armed with dragonglass and fire. To climb over the Wall would take a day and to pass under it, one would need to batter down three thick gates.
Unfortunately, Robb and his men weren't facing a 'normal' general, nor were they facing 'normal' soldiers. The undead did not feel pain or fear. The Others didn't have a single thought for their losses. They would continue their attack until there were either none of them left or they destroyed all life.
"Well," Jaime Lannister said drily, "this is much easier than I thought."
"At this rate, it will take them weeks, months even, to breach the first gate," Lord Royce grumbled. "But none of this will matter if we can't kill the White Walkers."
"They'll have to show themselves eventually," Lord Tarly said, adding his voice to the conversation. "Whatever the circumstances, they cannot withstand losing so many wights. Sooner or later, they will need to take action."
Robb listened as his commanders debated without comment. His eyes were firmly trained on the sky, waiting to see his 'secret weapons' appear. After a few moments, Robb's patience was rewarded when a pair of roars shook the clouds, and two dragons―one red and black, the other green and bronze―swooped down over the battlefield.
Dozens of men stopped firing in order to cheer Jon and Daenerys as the dragons they rode unleashed torrents of flames upon the enemy. Robb couldn't help but smile when he saw the destruction they caused the enemy. He would be the first to admit that he had his doubts about Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons, but as he saw them now, setting dozens of wights aflame, he realized that he never would have been able to defeat the Others without them.
The Lady of Dragonstone crisscrossed the enemy ranks, leaving burning trenches as she went, destroying countless undead beings. Jon had turned his attention on the pile of wights clawing at the gate, turning them into a mountain of charred corpses.
"Lord Tarly, are the men standing at attention down below?" Robb asked, not looking at his Master of War, but his brother in the sky, when he asked the question.
"Yes, your grace," he answered.
"Let them rest," Robb ordered. "It'll be some time until we need them. No point in letting them get a chill waiting for an attack."
"Yes, your grace," Lord Tarly grunted before walking off.
"Robb, what are you thinking about?" Father asked curiously, noticing the thoughtful look on the king's face.
"We're going to need a lot more sticks and dragonglass," Robb replied, finally turning around. "There is no need for us all to be up here, my lords. Go, find a fire and warm up. I will remain here until morning."
"Your grace, perhaps another could stay," the Green Man said, joining the conversation.
"Highsmith, where in the blazes have you been?" Royce asked.
"I may not have led ten thousand valemen north, my lord, but I had my own warriors to rally," the Green Man replied. "Your grace, there is one among them who you should meet."
Robb noticed the seriousness in his tone and nodded. "Of course. Lord Royce, you have command up here. Father, Brienne, with me."
It didn't take long for Robb and his companions to make their way to the bottom of the Wall. The hundreds of men who had once been assembled there had been dispersed by Tarly, and many had presumably left to either find their bed, some food, or a fire to stand beside.
"She's waiting in the mess hall," the Green Man said, leading the way.
"She?" Father asked. "Who are you referring to?"
"It's better you see for yourself, my lord," the Green Man said. "Though you have no reason to fear her. Your son, Bran, knows her quite well. So does the queen," the Green Man said, nodding to Robb.
Robb raised an eyebrow but said nothing as the foursome entered the mess hall, the entrance of which was guarded by a pair of green-cloaked warriors. Once he was inside, however, he understood the need for secrecy.
A hundred small humanoids had encircled the small weirwood tree that was growing in the center of the room. A product of the years of neglect that the castle had seen. They all wore leaf-cloaks and carried the same dragonglass-tipped weapons as Robb's men did.
In the center of the group, watching Robb as he entered, was a child-like being with green and gold eyes, large ears, and nut-brown skin that was dappled like a deer's with pale spots. Although there was something bright and curious about their eyes, there was also something in there that was sad and mournful.
Robb knew the look. Both of them. They were the eyes of his son―excited about everything that life had to offer. They were also the eyes of an old soldier who had seen the worst in mankind and had experienced far too much death.
"King Robb Stark, may I introduce Leaf, leader of the Children of the Forest," the Green Man said formally.
Leaf bowed her head. "It is a pleasure, king of Westeros," she said, her voice high and sweet, but tinged with sadness.
"The pleasure is mine…Leaf," Robb said, unsure if there was a title he was supposed to use.
"The Children of the Forest stand ready to fight beside mankind once again," Leaf continued, glancing around before adding with some dark humor, "what few there are of us."
Robb smiled grimly and strode forward before kneeling to the child's height, where he was still a head taller than Leaf.
"You are here, and that's all that matters," Robb said firmly. "I heard you've met my wife already."
Leaf nodded.
"Queen Margaery the Beautiful, we call her," she replied. "She was very kind."
"Yes, she is," Robb said with a smile. "You also know my brother Bran, is that right?"
"Yes, the last greenseer!" Leaf said. "I know him very well."
Their conversation was interrupted by a quiet knock at the door. Robb looked over his shoulder at Brienne, who merely nodded before marching over to the door and opening it slightly. Robb didn't hear the conversation but watched as Brienne nodded and closed the door.
"Is everything alright?" Robb asked.
"Yes, your grace," Brienne answered as she moved back over to the group. "The enemy is retreating."
"Retreating?" Robb's father asked.
Brienne frowned. "Retreating may not be the best word. They have stopped their attack," she explained. "They have pulled away from the Wall and the wights who were climbing up the Wall have been destroyed by the scythe."
Robb nodded. "What of Jon and Daenerys?"
"They were seen retreating from the battlefield," Brienne said. "Lord Royce says that the men are in high spirits."
"They won't be for long," Leaf said sadly.
"What do you mean?" Robb asked.
"The Others are strongest at night," the Green Man explained. "The storm they bring with them allows them to attack during either night or day, but they are a cunning race. They will attack again when night falls. They will allow the elements to do its damage during the day."
The man shrugged. "Besides, you'll run out of dragonglass eventually."
Robb nodded. "That's a wonderful thought to have."
The Green Man smiled grimly. "I'm full of them."
Gendry Baratheon
Gendry tried to look dignified as he and the rest of his company rode into Winterfell, but compared to Garlan and Prince Oberyn, he felt more like a blacksmith than ever before. They were everything he wasn't; poised, commanding, and most importantly, confident in who they were.
All things Gendry felt like he was supposed to be, but wasn't.
The group of riders was about thirty strong, with some of the best warriors the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne had to offer. Besides Prince Oberyn and Lord Garlan, there was also Ser Daemon Sand, Ser Baelor Hightower, Lord Donnel Swann, and Lord Edric Dayne, who was the only one who seemed just as unsure as Gendry. The group had been hastily formed after the king had summoned them to the Nightfort where he commanded the defenses.
Apparently, he had asked for Gendry by name, which had surprised the former bastard until he realized that the axe he carried was more needed than himself.
"My lords, welcome to Winterfell," Lady Stark said graciously as Gendry and the others came to a stop.
"Your hospitality is most welcome, my lady," Garlan said, dismounting and quickly embracing the older woman. "It has always been a dream of mine to visit Winterfell, and I have certainly not been disappointed."
"It is good to see you again as well, ser," Lady Stark said with a smile. "I feel much better knowing that a skilled knight such as yourself is riding to join my son."
"Yes, has there been any word on that front?" Prince Oberyn asked, interrupting the conversation. "My lady."
"Prince Oberyn," Lady Stark said with a nod. "I have heard nothing, I'm afraid."
The dornish prince sniffed and walked away. Garlan gave Lady Stark an apologetic smile.
"You must forgive him, my lady. It has been a long, hard ride and he's not a fan of the cold."
Lady Stark waved the apology aside. "Think nothing of it, my lord. I grew up around warriors all my life. I know well the feelings after a long time on the road."
Garlan turned and caught sight of Gendry, who was standing off to the side awkwardly. The Reacher lord gestured for him to come over.
"My lady, may I introduce Lord Gendry Baratheon," Garlan said, throwing an arm around Gendry.
"Baratheon?" Lady Stark said, clearly confused. "You're too old to be Stannis's son."
"I'm King Robert's son, my lady," Gendry answered, stumbling over his words. "Er, his natural son, my lady."
Lady Stark's eyes widened as she realized her mistake. "Ah, I see," she said after a moment. "Be welcome to Winterfell, my lord. House Stark and House Baratheon have always been the best of friends."
"Yes, my lady," Gendry said with a slight bow, not sure what to say next. Thankfully, Garlan saved him.
"Gendry here carries the Axe of Durran Godsgrief," he explained.
Lady Stark nodded. "Well, if he is anything like his father, then he will be very helpful at the Wall," she said. "If you would excuse me, my lords, I must return to my duties. Please know that Winterfell is open to you."
"You are very kind, my lady," Garlan said. Lady Stark gave a slight curtsey before almost marching off back to the keep.
"Thank you," Gendry muttered as Garlan clapped him on the shoulder.
"Think nothing of it," he said. "From what I know, Lady Stark has rather odd feelings for bastards. Don't let it get to you. She really is a very nice woman."
Gendry looked around at the castle. Besides the activity in the courtyard as a group of servants helped the knights lug their equipment into their rooms, the castle felt strangely empty.
"Why don't you have a look around," Garlan suggested. "If you need me, I will be helping Lord Edric."
Edric Dayne, who mainly went by Ned, was about the same age as Gendry's half-brother, which made him a few years younger than Gendry himself. He was tall for his age, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes that were so dark that they looked purple. From the few interactions that Gendry has had with him, he has always been a very polite, kind man who's a tad shy.
Just like with Gendry, he wasn't with the group because of his martial prowess, but because of the weapon he wielded. To the surprise of many, the young man had arrived at Harrenhal carrying Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne that was only bestowed upon a worthy knight of House Dayne. The last to wield it had been the legendary knight Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.
When he had been questioned about why he had the sword, he merely stated that the Green Man had ordered him to carry it into battle against the Others. That had been enough to stop the conversation.
Gendry simply nodded to the green-clad man before walking off.
He wondered around for the next few hours as he lost track of time and missed dinner. He visited the godswood and was amazed at the size of the Heart Tree. He also went to the forge and spoke with the smith there for two hours, showing him the axe that he carried. Once, Gendry accidentally walked into the crypts and walked dozens of former Starks until he realized where he was and left.
Finally, he made his way up to the top of a broken towered and looked north, wondering what exactly he was riding towards.
"What are you doing?" a small, curious voice asked.
Gendry looked towards the entrance to the room and saw a girl, except she looked like no girl Gendry had ever met before. She was dressed like a boy, with a shirt, jerkin, and pants tucked into boots. She also wore a weapon at her side; a slim, rapier-like sword that Gendry saw once when an Essosi man entered Master Mott's shop.
She was cute, with dark hair that was pulled back in a tight bun and serious grey eyes. She was slim, athletic, and almost boyish-looking, but Gendry could tell that she was a girl.
"Who are you?" Gendry asked in return.
The girl straightened slightly. "I'm Arya Stark. Who are you?"
"Gendry Baratheon, my lady," Gendry answered. "I'm with Lord Garlan's party."
"Baratheon?"
Gendry nodded. "King Robert was my father."
Lady Arya narrowed her eyes slightly, assessing him, before nodding. "You look like him, but you're not fat."
Gendry glanced down at himself. Working in a forge had kept him fit and muscular, but when he had begun working with the axe and eating better food, he was beginning to develop the manly physic that men like Garlan had.
"No, I'm not," Gendry answered finally. "How did you find me?"
Lady Arya reddened slightly. "I saw you walking around and kind of…followed you."
"You followed me?" Gendry asked, surprised.
"I was curious," Lady Arya said, defending herself. "Can I see your axe?"
Gendry raised an eyebrow. He had certainly never met a girl who was interested in weapons before. He lifted the weapon from the leather loop at his side and removed the leather covering he had made for it. He held it out flat for Lady Arya to look at.
The girl took a step forward and ran a gentle hand over the dragonglass edge.
"You told Berwick that this belonged to Durran Godsgrief," Arya said quietly, most of her attention still on the axe. "Where has it been all these years?"
Gendry shrugged. "The Green Man gave it to me. I guess he had it, keeping it safe all these years." he nodded to the sword at her side. "Can I see your sword?"
Arya nodded quickly and pulled the blade from her side as Gendry put the axe away. She handed him the sword, and in his hands, it felt as light as a feather and as small as a dagger. Still, the closer he looked, he saw how well it had been crafted.
"This is amazing work," he praised, handing the sword back to the girl. "How did you get ahold of it?"
"My brother Jon had it made for me," she answered proudly. "I never liked dresses or needlework. I wanted to ride and fight."
"Do you train with it?" Gendry asked.
Lady Arya nodded. "I'm learning to water dance."
"Dancing?" Gendry asked.
The girl smiled proudly. "It's a form of sword fighting that is popular in Braavos. My master was the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos."
Gendry raised an eyebrow. He didn't know what any of that meant, but it sounded important and so he dropped the questions he was about to ask.
"Why are you looking out the window? What were you looking for?" Lady Arya asked, standing a little closer to Gendry.
Gendry turned his attention back to the north. In the short moment, he had spent talking to Lady Arya, storm clouds had appeared and the snow began to fall in greater quantities than before. This meant nothing to him, but when he looked at the small girl, her face had grown grim.
"What's wrong?" Gendry asked.
"It's come," she said ominously.
"What?"
Arya looked up at him, her grey eyes wide and full of worry.
"The Long Night."