Onward you journeyed, a prisoner of Morna Whitemask and her companions. At times the woman Karsi was gentler than needed. The man - Toren, you had learned - was less so. You spent little time with them, watching from Ghost's eyes as he followed, masked by the snow and silence. So it continued until, at last, you came to a crack in the earth.
Karsi stared down it. "This the one?"
Toren grunted and with a dismissive kick sent you tumbling down.
Something in your ankle twisted as you rolled, dirt and stone tearing at your skin and clothes. The Wildlings followed, descending carefully without the hindrance of tied hands and feet. "Get up, crow. We've a ways to go still." You rose unsteadily to your feet, and fell with a pained gasp. "Fuck."
The Wildling gave a toothy grin. "It speaks! Looks like I clipped your wings."
Fuck it. Future beatings aside, this guy was asking for a headbutt to the cock-
A thin arm, pale with veins protruding, seized hold of yours own. Whitemask. She knelt, examining your ankle for a moment before nodding at the other woman. Karsi extended her hand. "I will help you the rest of the way. There's no need to hear your screams for the rest of our journey."
The contrary part of you considered biting her finger off. But no. There was something ahead. Something worth seeing. Ghost could find father, find Sam or Maester Aemon, anyone, and bring them to the tunnel entrance. You could lose yourself forever down here, looking for it alone.
So you took her hand and followed, still silent. Left. Down. Middle. Right. Third opening. Raised voices. Backtracking. Second opening. Voices in the distance.
And then openness. Not skies, but a vast chamber, illuminated with the pale blue mushrooms that dotted the walls.
And within it Wildlings. Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. Could it be all of them? Giants too. Dozens, straight from Old Nan's bedtime stories. They too turned to regard you as you were dragged into the crowd. Thousands of eyes staring. All at you. Toren's thick hand took hold of your neck and shoved, sending you tumbling onto your ass.
When you looked up, the Queen Beyond the Wall was staring down at you.
That was something the scouts had gotten wrong then.
Anywhere else, you might have mistaken her for a normal spearwife. Closer in height to Arya than you, she was thin - thinner than the already thin normal for a Wildling - and red haired, a fiery red that seemed all the brighter in this dark, lonely place. No different from any spearwife.
But you knew without any doubt that it was her from how she stood. How they looked at her. She wore a thin black cloak, fashioned no doubt from a Watchmen she had killed. On her neck were two lines of pale scarred rings. And her eyes were white. She is blind.
Morna stepped forward, her face bared. "This is the one. Ned Stark's boy."
Jeers. Hisses. Taunts. Someone threatening to shave your head.
The Queen's head jerked to the side, her fingers still on your lips, and she cocked it to the side like Ghost when eavesdropping. Almost immediately the din of the Wildling horde turned to silence. Then, a low rumble. Distant, then closer. The sound bees made in Old Nan's stories of Garth Greenhand - a buzzing that made your hair stand on end. The sound grew more distant. Then it was gone.
The Queen stepped away, her back to you. "The Children are hungry. Bring the Stark to the door."
The Wildlings pulled you to your feet. You spat. "My name is Jon Snow.
She paused. "An evil name."
"I fight to defend the people you and yours will slaughter. I know true evil when I see it."
She smiled. "You know nothing, Jon Snow."
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