This chapter was edited by Gdiusx.

  White Harbor,

  Alchemist guild.

  “What do you think, Pops?”

  “Hmm, it's close. Very close to the real thing, but far too unstable in its current form to be useful.”

  Percy hummed as he ignored the odd whisper in his mind, focusing instead on his father's voice. He willed the green liquid to flow around his hand, smirking inwardly at the alchemists hiding behind a corner as he stood in the center of an empty chamber with a single window. He couldn't bme them; the Stark men he had handpicked excused themselves to the privy when he announced his decision to peruse the green stuff. Still, some punishment for abandoning their boss was in order.

  Perhaps he should have them do a hundred extra push-ups ter. Or maybe he should dress them in pink as they walk around town.

  Having minions was so cool.

  “In its current form, you say?” Percy rubbed his chin. “Does that mean there is a way to control it?”

  “Yes, for even though it's fire, it's still a liquid. I may not be known for fire, but my forges were underwater, so I have some understanding of the aspect. Depending on how it’s made, you can use a drop of your blood as a medium for stability.”

  “Huh, is that how you do magic?”

  “I’m not proficient in witchcraft like Hera or Hecate, but when you have as much raw power as I or my brothers do, you discover that we can simply will something to happen and be done with it.”

  “So, a drop of my blood, instill my will in it somehow, and it should be stable?”

  “Should be. Also, Son, try not to speak out loud.”

  Percy gulped, warily looking around. But no, the alchemists were all hiding out of fear of the wildfire, so nobody had heard or would cim him a loon. For good or for bad, his ADHD brain got distracted when speaking with his Dad, and sometimes, his mouth just moved with his thoughts anyway.

  “Thanks, Dad. And this stuff is quite interesting,” Percy snapped his fingers, and the wildfire ignited over his hand. “Almost hot enough to rival Greek Fire.”

  The whispers were getting distracting like they usually were, but Percy had learned to ignore them.

  Focusing on the green fmes on his hands, Percy could feel the heat of the substance, even through his heat-resistant skin. It was unpleasant but not yet painful, and Percy wanted to see its limitations. He had never been doused with Greek Fire before, thank the gods, but he did have chunks of va thrown at him, so he thought it was a close comparison.

  “Alright, this is enough.” It was spoken outloud this time. He took a deep breath, deeper than he should be capable of, and blew a gust of cold air into his hand, snuffing the fmes and leaving his skin red and slightly blistered - pouring a fsk of seawater he kept for such occasions, his skin knitted itself before his eyes. “You can come out now.”

  A handful of alchemists entered the chamber where he tested the Wildfire, their hands fidgeting in worry and excitement. “My Lord, were you satisfied?”

  “I believe so. How much more can you make of this?”

  “Oh… That was the only batch we had in reserve, My Lord.” One of the alchemists, a gaunt older man known as Wisdom Artos, bowed his head in apology. “We could make more, but we are not like the pyromani–excuse me, the pyromancers in King’s Landing. We specialize in the traditional teachings of alchemy.”

  “Uh, like what? Turning lead to gold and making elixirs of immortality?”

  The alchemists gawked at him in shock, and Percy grimaced inwardly - hopefully, he didn’t just give them ideas. He bmed the annoying whispers for his pse in judgement, and he could feel Poseidon shrugging helplessly in his mind.

  “Their teachings are much more mundane, My Lord. Matters of engineering, carpentry, smithing, and such, but on the more delicate and precise side. They also dabble with potions and tinctures, but I would not trust them to heal me from a cold.”

  The voice came from another hallway, and Percy raised an eyebrow at his returning men, led by a young man wearing the common livery for a household guard of House Stark but with a small chain hanging from his colr; Donnis was an apprentice taught by the Maester of Winterfell, while the two other men were Kyle and Mark. All three of them were part of the contingent sent to serve Sansa.

  “Sup, Donnis. Took you a bit long in the loo, don’t you think? Constipation, perhaps? Did the muffins not sit well with your stomach?”

  The maester apprentice grimaced and rubbed his head in embarrassment; the two other guardsmen looked just as uncomfortable. “My apologies, My Lord. Maester Luwin had told me horror stories of wildfire going out of control. Not to mention, the substance is not popur in the North owing to what it was used for twenty years ago.”

  Percy’s smirk turned into a frown as he recalled Sansa’s history lessons. Her grandfather, Rickard Stark, was a victim of the Mad King’s justice and was burned with the substance.

  “Understandable,” He turned back to the alchemists who had been giving Donnis the stink eye. “What sort of things should I expect from you? Lord Manderly recommended your services, and I find myself with a lot of gold to spend. But what achievements have you made? I gotta know the capabilities of who I’m hiring, after all.”

  From there, the alchemists took him on a tour of their guild. Percy had to stifle a grin as the alchemists took every opportunity to disparage the maester’s order, hoping to get a reaction out of Donnis. He was briefed by the half-maester, as some men called him, on the rivalry between the two organizations, as well as what to expect from their guild; Their hierarchy, capabilities, talents, and so on.

  Surprisingly, Donnis had no qualms with the alchemists, returning their petty insults with jokes but not provoking them…for the most part.

  He was also fond of reiterating that he was not a maester - only an apprentice and had never been to the Citadel. Something about being celibate was not in his pns; Percy could definitely understand that as his mind wandered to Sansa’s beautiful face and alluring curves.

  Regardless, it’s why Percy picked the dark-haired man with sharp brown eyes. In his early twenties, Donnis Poole was respectful and diligent, not to mention one of the few men who could read, write, and do all the stuff required from a schor and administrator. With an open mind towards knowledge and an eye for detail, Donnis was useful in providing him information on matters he would be ignorant of.

  It helped that he was no weakling who would need people to protect him. As a noble, even a petty one with no future prospects, he was trained at arms from a young age before finding his calling as a schor. That meant he had to suffer with the rest of the men in training, for Percy would accept no weaklings among his ranks.

  Still, Percy was gd he found someone to dump any paperwork on.

  As for his two other minions, Kyle was a decent rider and an excellent swordsman, yet it was his gregarious nature and eye for talent that had Percy drag him along for his jaunt to the city. Mark was a silent man, yet quite the marksman, pun unintended, and had the uncanny ability to blend in with any crowd as well as listen for any interesting topics.

  Even in this world, his aim was worse than terrible, so Percy had given out those twenty crossbows he found on the ship to the twenty best shots of their little army, Mark included. Myrish Crossbows, he thought they were called, massive things that needed a windss to reload but could hold three bolts that could fire simultaneously or one at a time.

  It had given Percy some ideas, and he ran them through with the shipmaster working on the Silver Lady - it remained to be seen what would come from it.

  Back to the Alchemist Guild, Wisdom Artos led the procession and expined the history of their organization. They had existed since before White Harbor’s founding. When the Guild was still relevant, it rivaled the Citadel and served the Wolf’s Den before the Manderlys took over, but it had always been a small branch owing to the city’s small size. With the distance between the North and the South and the constant wars, it made sense for them to diverge from their southern counterparts in focus and studies.

  They still cimed to have vast knowledge stored in reserve, but as Donnis said, their focus was mostly on the science of the world. Mechanics and physics, instead of magic and fire, though they assured him they still communicated with their southern counterparts and shared knowledge.

  A whisper, still making little sense, seemed to be proud for some reason.

  The guild hall was dug into one of the cliffs outside the city in case of accidents, and as they walked through the hallways, Percy passed by several windows carved from the cliff. At its height, the guild had ten Wisdoms, dozens of apprentices, and many more acolytes. Now, they were a shadow of their former self, with only two Wisdoms, a handful of apprentices, and a dozen or so acolytes, surviving only by the grace of Lord Manderly and what service they could provide for him and the city.

  They passed by many chambers, most abandoned or sealed off, but a few had interesting experiments going on. While the alchemists were few, they colborated heavily with the rest of the city’s craftsmen and were hired for commissions and other contracts. All of them were residents of White Harbor and had family in the other guilds, so it was normal for them to be contracted by the other guilds of the city - especially as they rarely set things on fire…at least not without reason.

  Currently, Percy was inside a chamber with a strange device made from some sort of dark silver alloy being tended to by an apprentice. It almost looked like a low-caliber cannon with a cranking mechanism. “What’s this?”

  “Ah, this is one of our newer inventions. Bennard here is a smith’s son and has been helping with its tests.” The apprentice bowed his head and moved aside for Wisdom Artos to rub a gentle hand over the device. “The Pyromancers of King’s Landing have always been obsessed with creating the substance, yet they never truly innovated a way to use it in practice. The closest they had come was during King Aegon IV’s reign with their wooden dragons.”

  “With catastrophic consequences,” Donnis eborated from behind him. “Burned down a quarter of the Kingswood and countless men.”

  “Indeed, who knew using wood would be a terrible idea when dealing with fire.” Bennard tutted, “We have worked on this invention for the past few years for Lord Manderly’s defenses.”

  “Yes, but what is it?”

  “We call them Spitfires. As the name would suggest, we pour liquid fire in them, light a wick at the end of the barrel, turn the windss, and it shall spit fire at its targets.”

  “Impressive.” It reminded Percy of how the mortals of Byzantium attempted to imitate Greek Fire. “And it doesn’t melt from the heat?”

  “Ah, we tried several metals and alloys that could withstand the heat and discovered that only the tip of the barrel needed to be made from a special alloy of steel and nickel, while iron or bronze could be used for the rest.” Bennard expined enthusiastically. “My father and brothers helped create that alloy, and we have decided to call it Stainless Steel.”

  Percy raised an eyebrow as he recognized the term, but it looked nothing like all the kitchen utensils he had back home that cimed to be made from the stuff. He shrugged; he would never cim to be an expert in metallurgy, and his Dad remained silent.

  “Have you tested it?”

  “We have. We did not dare use the substance, of course, but there are weaker formus that are more stable and less hazardous to the men operating the spitfires, though with less devastating results. I can give a demonstration if you would like?” Bennard, or Ben as Percy decided to call him, turned to Wisdom Artos, who in turn turned to Percy, who nodded.

  Within a few minutes, they loaded the device on a cart and rolled it out to a rampart, pced it on a stone pedestal, and aimed at an empty clearing. Ben operated it on his lonesome, but he expined that having three people working it together would be far more efficient: one to secure the fuel sac made from pig bdder, one to turn the crank (or windss), and one to make sure the wick was burning, and the aim was true.

  “Ready?” Ben turned to them as he grabbed the handle and waited for their nod. “Ignite!”

  The alchemist apprentice cranked the handle as fast as he could; the fuel in the sack of pig bdder was pressurized and compressed to the limit before Ben flicked a handle that released it through the barrel. The effect was instantaneous, as whatever votile liquid they used burst into red-hot fmes from the lit wick underneath the barrel and sprang across the yard at a couple of targets about a hundred feet away, setting everything along the way on fire.

  It barely sted a few seconds before the bdder was defted and its payload delivered. Just before it was empty, Ben flicked another handle, cutting the burst off and preventing the fmes from spreading around him.

  “It’s not the safest weapon, but if the crew is well-trained, there shouldn’t be any cause for concern.” Ben stood up and detached the empty sack, causing some liquid to spill onto the ground, which he quickly threw some sand on. “As you can see, the operator needs to follow all the safety procedures, or else an accident could occur. It takes some time to refill the sack, but it’s possible to keep several of them on hand and quickly switch them for constant firing. Having several men working the spitfire would help in that process.”

  Wisdom Artos looked pleased with his apprentice’s show, and Percy would admit he was also very impressed. A gnce at Donnis and the rest of the men showed both trepidation and awe - it's only natural to be wary when dealing with fire.

  Another whisper in his mind, this one full of glee at the sight of the fire, but Percy vehemently ignored it.

  “And you pn to have those devices installed along the walls and fortifications of the city?”

  “Indeed, My Lord. They would be very effective against ships and dders or even charging groups of soldiers.”

  As Percy watched the effects of the archaic fmethrower, he couldn’t help but grin as ideas ran in his mind. “What about installing them on wagons or ships?”

  .

  .

  .

  They returned to the city, and Percy took this chance to check on the orders for his men. It had only been four days since Manderly bought out the metal ores in the city on their behalf and sent his cogs to other ports to replenish the city’s stores. The smithing guilds would use all that to finish their orders, even though they were already busy forging arms and armor for the war effort. White Harbor’s armies were mustering, along with those of Old Castle and Widow’s Watch; their lords and dies were already travelling as fast as they could for the wedding.

  Gods, he’s starting to speak like them.

  Riding on Bckjack through the streets, with his men on their warhorses, Percy could see signs of the preparations of the wedding feast Wyman Manderly ordered for the city. Buildings and stores were adorned with colorful banners, fgs, and garnds, giving the white city a myriad of colors that gave it a festive feel. Men were busy sweeping the streets, and making sure they were presentable for the wedding procession. Women were carrying purchases for their houses, and children pyed with kites or watched jugglers and acrobats pying on one of the makeshift stages on the squares.

  A grunt from behind him had Percy gnce at his new companion holding on to his mule’s saddle like his life depended on it, “Alright there, Ben?”

  “Y-Yes, My Lord. I’m just not used to riding…well, anything!”

  “You’ll get used to it.” He was tempted to have his men call him Percy as the whole My Lord thing still felt strange to him, but both his father and Sansa shot him down - he needed to preserve that air of authority he already established or something. Truth be told, he had only listened with half an ear. “If it helps, the mule says to stop kicking him too much, or he will knock you off its back.”

  “Y-Y-Yes, M-My Lord.”

  Gone was the confident smith and alchemist from before, and in his pce was a shy and reticent fellow. Percy offered the man a position in his retinue, with permission from the Wisdom and a hefty commission of course, and both the guild and Bennard agreed since his project with them was over. Still, he didn’t think the man would be such an introvert, as once they entered the city, he had cmmed up like a turtle in a shell.

  He’ll get over it. He and Donnis seem to have struck a quick enough friendship as their interests aligned.

  Meanwhile, Percy tore a bite of the smoked meat in his hand and chewed in pleasure. The leviathan was a tasty treat, and he had the privilege of getting first dibs on it. The rest of the beast was still getting butchered; most of it will go towards the city's festival, yet the juiciest parts of the meat will go to the wedding feast itself.

  If what he heard was true, there were even more of them out there, and Percy pnned to hunt them. Still, he could not be in two pces at once, and his pce should always be next to Sansa.

  Thinking of the beautiful girl who was to be his wife made his insides twist with anxiety while butterflies were trying to fly around at the same time.

  Gods, he was not ready. What if things didn’t work out-

  “Percy, stop that. I told you already, son. Being nervous is fine. Problems will inevitably appear sooner rather than ter, and a good marriage is one where you deal with such woes as soon as possible. Besides, It’s not like you had trouble being a problem solver before.”

  His father’s words once again brought him a measure of relief. The nervousness receded, if not completely, but his mind still drifted. He still could not believe he was getting married!

  Ah, yet another whisper at the back of his mind; this one almost seemed lustful.

  Strangely, he very much looked forward to marrying Sansa, but it was part of his new responsibilities to help her brother’s subjects, so those sea monsters needed to be dealt with.

  His monster-sying instincts were also tingling.

  Thoughts and pns sped through his mind on the best way for regur mortals to sy such beasts. If only he could recreate cannons and gunpowder, yet while he knew the recipe for bck powder thanks to his Dad, making cannons was far easier said than done. Instead, Percy focused on what was avaible, hence his visit to the Alchemist guild.

  Harpoons could be useful, but he recalled the tough hide of that monster. He might need something with a bit more oomph in it to crack it open. Something to think on ter, but for now, he had an appointment with the tailor for his wedding.

  .

  .

  .

  “Where to next, My Lord?”

  It was a couple of hours ter, and the te afternoon sun shyly peeked from behind the clouds. After having to endure many prods and nudges from a team of seamstresses and tailors over his choice of wedding clothes, Percy was finally free. His order would be ready tomorrow at noon, and he would have an extra day to get used to it before the wedding. He had already visited a silversmith for some accessories that his father insisted he wear during the wedding - it would not do to look like a bum and embarrass Sansa.

  “You three shall stable my horse, then take our new companion to our training yard. Get him up to speed, and make sure he could swing a hammer at someone as well as he could swing it at the anvil.”

  “B-But, My Lord! I’m not a fighter, and I thought you would need my expertise in other matters. Like designing a portable spitfire, or an extra rge spitfire…oh, or maybe–”

  “Stop whinging, you pansy Harborman.” Kyle spped Ben on the shoulder from on top of his courser. “We’ll make a real man out of him, Lord Perseus.”

  “Good, and don’t worry, Ben. You will get all the materials you need to make all sorts of contraptions that go boom. But first, you gotta prove to me that you can take care of yourself. We’re in the middle of a war, after all.”

  Kyle ughed at the morose alchemist while Donnis gave him a consoling nod.

  Mark stared at him with his stoic face - Percy had yet to get the marksman to smile. “What about you, My Lord?”

  “I got business in the Wolf’s Den. I’ll meet you by dinner time.”

  His companions nodded and left him at the foot of the Castle Stair, and Percy adjusted the Valyrian Steel shield he carried on his back. Its sharp rim was a hazard, but he managed to have a special sheath made for it; no matter how sharp Valyrian Steel was, it still needed leverage and inertia to cut anything.

  Its handle was not comfortable compared to his old shield - he dearly missed his brother and wished he was here; Tyson would have been a godsend in this medieval world. Thankfully, whoever designed the shield had left grooves on the inner side of the shield where the handle’s position could be adjusted. He just needed to find a dependable smith to make him a handle worthy of the shield - or just have Ben do it; he did just hire him.

  As he walked the cobbled path to the ancient castle, Percy inspected the houses clinging to the outer walls - like all of White Harbor’s houses, they were made from whitewashed stones with a creneted roof. White Harbor might be small and vulnerable to attacks from the shore due to its open harbors, yet every house and building was designed in such a way that it could double as a defensive structure.

  The bckened walls of the Wolf’s Den looked to have survived many fires and sported many scars of battle; a section had half of its top crumbled, and Percy suspected the rubble was reused to build some of the houses, using the wall as a fourth wall. The guards by the gates saluted him as he entered, finding himself in a rge courtyard with men training and lounging.

  Everyone recognized him by sight or the hilt of Ice sticking from his back, and they all saluted him as he made his way through the courtyard. His destination was a massive set of double doors with a small side door, only to be stopped by an old knight with one leg and one eye.

  “Lord Perseus,” The knight rasped as he eyed him with suspicion and wariness. “Ser Bartimus Snow, at your service. I was told by Lord Manderly you would visit, but…”

  “I promise you I will not harm anything inside. I only wish to pay respect to the gods.”

  The knight’s face was like a block of stone as he stared at him with his single eye, the other covered by a gray eye patch. Finally, he nodded and opened the side door for him.

  Soon, he was in a lush garden with a tangle of oak, elm, and birch trees that were choked by the massive roots and limbs of the great Weirwood. A gnce at the walls surrounding the Godswood showed a door that led towards a stairway connecting to the garden of New Castle. That one did not have a Heart Tree - Wyman Manderly confessed neither he nor his ancestors ever bothered to pnt one.

  The Manderlys might follow the Seven, but from what he noticed in the city, the average citizen did not seem to hold to just one set of gods. There were parks and private gardens in the city with small Weirwoods, and he had seen men and women praying to statues of the seven made from the holy tree. Even in the Sept of Snow, when he accompanied Sansa to visit a tomb of a family member, he had seen small statues made from the wood; clearly, that little bit of heresy was tolerated by the clergy here or even encouraged by Manderly.

  Yet those weirwoods he had seen cked the hallmark of a Heart Tree, unlike the one before him. It was quite the foreboding sight, and Percy found himself gulping as thousands of whispers resounded in the godswood as he stepped closer to the fat and angry face carved into the bone-white trunk. They were much louder and far more incoherent than anything he had experienced.

  As he approached, the whispers got more urgent, more excited or angry, yet he could not understand anything - the tree wept crimson sap from its eyes and mouth, and a flock of ravens cawed from the branches.

  “It looks like that fat lord if someone stole the st piece of mprey from his pte.”

  Percy burst out in ughter at the unbidden image, “Thanks, Pops. I needed that.”

  With the spell of foreboding broken, Percy was confident to inspect the tree again. He could feel power thrumming from its bark; its leaves had a pleasant, sweet smell, yet the tree bore no fruits or even nuts.

  “Are you sure about this, son? I do not feel hostility from whatever entities dwell in those trees, yet I advise caution, nevertheless.”

  “That would be the wise thing, I suppose - to turn back and ignore that constant whispering that has pgued my mind since I set foot in these nds. Not even you could shut it up, Dad.”

  “True. Then again, you are just like I am, son.”

  “In that wisdom has chased us for so long, yet we always tend to be just a bit faster than it?”

  “Cheeky. Touch the damned tree, and let’s be done with this.”

  Percy’s grin melted as he prepared himself and pced his palm on the fat face.

  His world turned dark.

  A*H*M

  Far, far, beyond the realms of men.

  They came for him again. They had him bound to a throne of bck stone with ice that he could barely feel. It was not cold, nor did it freeze him, yet it was tough. His arms almost melded with the armrests, and his legs bound the same way. His new home was a dark, icy cavern with a single hole in the ceiling, letting the moonlight through to fall on a pit where a crystal orb sat. The moon was seemingly eternal, for he had not seen the sun in so long.

  Benjen Stark did not remember how long he had been held here. The st he remembered was his mission and his companions sin ignominiously. He fought those cold shadows and disarmed two, but his bde did nothing but shatter against their skin. They would ugh at him, their voices like shattered ice, grating heavily on his ears.

  So he shoved his fingers deep into one of their eyes, killing it as he scrambled its brains.

  That shut them up, and it was his turn to ugh as the fucker had inexplicably shattered to dust.

  Whatever magic they used, it repelled bdes and steel, yet they could do nothing against flesh - as long as he endured the bitter cold. They were strong in body and had cat-like reflexes, yet they had no martial skills. Any proper knight could have bested them, for they fought worse than wildlings.

  They still captured him, for they had numbers, and he was exhausted, but not before he snapped another one of their necks. They might be strong, but their frames were fragile, like brittle ice.

  He could not recall how long ago that was, only that they brought him to their home. A snow castle deep in the Lands of Always Winter! It would have made his sister jump in excitement; so simir it was to the ones they would build in the Godswood when they were children.

  Benjen saw giant spiders and wooly mammoths along the way, for they also had vilges and hamlets. They were herded by giants, yet they were entirely different from the giants he had known - less furry and far more comfortable with the cold; men, and women, towering over fifteen feet, while the children would make an Umber look small.

  There were far more strange creatures and things but his captors did not give him a chance to inspect more. They dragged him before their chiefs and elders - their women and children, too, and they stared at him like he was an unusual specimen.

  He couldn’t bme them, for he stared in return. It was not out of fear but shock and disbelief.

  Pale skin with a bluish tint, like ice, as graceful as shadowcats. They were the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. Their hair came in different pale colors, but most of them were white, silver, gray, ptinum, or even the rare blue. Their faces were sharp and ethereal, their features as if sculpted by an artist, with straight noses and high cheekbones and eyes in all the shades of blue.

  Their bodies were lithe and tall for the men - willowy and curvy for the women. They were a much fairer sight than the ones who brought him here, who looked more like an imitation of what one of them should look like.

  But they were not the only things he found there.

  There were humans there, humans like him, yet not truly there. It took him a few minutes to realize they were dead, with eerily glowing blue eyes, and served as menial servants.

  It was then he finally understood who had taken him captive.

  Others and their wights!

  He had struggled mightily then; he refused to be turned into some monstrous doll for them to be used against his brothers - his nephew! He could not afford to get himself killed, and he had to escape!!

  But where would he go? The freezing cold was everywhere, and it seeped into his bones. He always prided himself on his fortitude against the chill, ughing and teasing the Southrons who joined the Watch in summer and compined about the mildest gale.

  They had yet to experience true winter, he would say.

  And neither did he, it seemed.

  Benjen had fully expected to die then, that they had brought him to their leaders for execution, a show before they would raise them as one of their thralls.

  Instead, they pced him here, his new home.

  They would not let him move or exercise. He did not seem to need to shit, either. They fed him milk of some kind and meat, enough to keep him alive but not sated. Days flew by, weeks, months, maybe years - he could not tell. Every week, they would come and cut his wrists or feet, allowing his blood to flow down funnels toward the thing in the pit.

  Some strange crystal orb that drank his blood hungrily.

  He had gradually grown weaker; the loss of blood combined with a ck of movement and proper food caused his muscles to atrophy, and he could barely feel his limbs.

  Until suddenly, he could!

  His sleep had always been mired by nightmares that he could not remember. Sometimes, he would be lucky and be too exhausted to dream.

  But one day, it changed.

  Benjen started feeling better. His sleep was more peaceful, and his dreams more vivid. Someone was trying to tell him something in his dreams, but he could barely remember them when he awoke.

  It didn’t matter, for his body had started to regain its strength. Days passed, the moon turned its cycle, and suddenly, Benjen could feel it.

  The ice, snow, and cold around him used to sap his strength and make him feel alone. Suddenly, it felt different. The frost fed him, gave him strength, and soothed him.

  Benjen felt far too calm and collected than he had any right to. More lightheaded, too. It shouldn’t have been possible. Not even Old Nan told such tales!

  Perhaps he was dying or already dead, and this was some feverish dream or the afterlife. Perhaps… perhaps it was real. He could not yet tell the difference.

  Before, the Others would send their ice dolls to feed him daily, while two older shamans or priests of some kind would extract his blood once a week. At least, he thought it was once a week. But since the day he had started to recover, there was a new addition to their numbers.

  A young woman he recalled seeing on that first day. Back then, she had looked at him disdainfully, like a queen would look at a dirty peasant. He suspected she was the daughter of their leader, for she had stood behind him back then, and had the bearing of royalty along with a small crystal crown over her head that held a rge obsidian stone in the center. Now, she stared at him in interest, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement and her leaf-shaped ears twitching behind her blueish hair as he tried to talk to her.

  At first, they could not understand each other, but he didn’t care. It had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone, and none of the rest seemed to pay him any heed. She would speak to him in her melodic tongue, yet he could not understand it either. Benjen was unsure why she suddenly became interested in him, but he did not mind as she always brought more food than the dolls. More milk, that strange meat, and even cheese!

  Day after day, she would visit him. Talk to him. Soon, they could understand each other, taught each others’ nguages, and learn about each other. Her name was far too difficult for him to pronounce, so he just called her Nyra. He learned the milk and cheese came from the mammoths, while the meat was from spider legs.

  He was unsure whether he preferred to know whether he had been eating spider meat. In the end, he shrugged; It tasted like chicken.

  The snowy princess seemed very interested in his name, his blood, and tales about the Wall. Benjen got the feeling she felt both excitement and fear from the mention of the Wall. Yet it was the sun that she asked about the most, and he could understand considering he had yet to see the bright light of the sun since coming here.

  One day, Nyra arrived alone, and it was not feeding time. Benjen could feel his muscles recovering to their former strength and had slowly been trying to free himself from his icy binds. He stared at her then, for normally, she would be dressed in white silk, which gave her a modest and dignified appearance.

  This time, she only had a cloak made from mammoth wool, and as she stood before him, Nyra shrugged it off, showing him her bare skin - naked except for the small crown on her head.

  Benjen had been bound naked to his frozen throne for so long, yet the sight before him had his mind go bnk. He would not cim to have kept to the vows of the Night’s Watch religiously, for he had had the occasional tumble in Mole’s Town or even the daring spear wife who would sell herself for a piece of bacon.

  It was a badly kept secret among the more senior brothers that the vows of celibacy were bogus, but none of that registered in his mind at the sight of sheer beauty before him.

  Pale unblemished skin, rge perky breasts topped with dark pink nipples, a toned stomach, wide hips, pert ass and long legs. Nyra was a sight to behold, and he felt his member rise from its slumber.

  The minx had then sat on his p and kissed him deeply, Benjen struggling mightily as he tried to free himself to grab that arse and sm her down his cock. Nyra merely smirked once she saw his struggles, and then she grabbed his member and plunged down with a pained moan.

  For a moment, his mind felt bnk.

  Tight!

  Even tighter than a vice, yet softer than velvet, her core gripped him almost painfully. The usual warmth of the coupling was repced by a pleasant chill that made his spine tingle with pleasure.

  He was surprised to see purple blood seep into his loins. She gently rode him then, her moans growing more sensual as she adjusted to his size, and the pain subsided.

  It was a long time since he had id with a woman, and no woman could ever compare to the ethereal one on his p. Benjen continued to struggle mightily, his hips smming upwards to meet her downward thrusts. His muscles bulged, and he could hear cracking sounds from the ice digging into his skin, the pain giving him moments of crity.

  He suddenly recalled the tale of the Night’s King and his Corpse Bride. The 13th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch had supposedly given his seed to his bride, whatever the fuck that meant. Could Nyra be doing the same? Did he care? The Night’s King remained married for ten years, thriving on the Wall with his bride, yet none cared about it until he decred himself king.

  Benjen was not particurly pleased with his stay in this prison, yet he would not mind taking this woman for himself if he could be free.

  The moment the idea came to him, he managed to shatter his shackles and grabbed Nyra by her waist. Her shocked face caused something primal to roar in his mind as he cimed her lips and finished inside her with a powerful thrust. As she was frozen in rapture, he growled as his legs struggled mightily against their confines before, with a screeching noise, broke the ice to pieces; then, he turned his lover on the throne and thrust again from behind. His hands roughly kneaded her soft teats, while all his instincts demanded he cim her, mark her!

  Benjen could not remember much of what happened ter, only that he lost count of how many times he had spent himself inside Nyra… and the taste of her blood in his mouth as he bit deeply on her shoulder. The woman was exhausted and incoherent, yet he still felt plenty of vigor, if hungry.

  This was his chance.

  The idea of abandoning Nyra never came to his mind - she was his woman now, his teeth marked her flesh as his, and his seed was sown inside her. Slinging her over his shoulder and wearing her heavy cloak, Benjen grabbed the crystal orb from the pit before making his way out of the cave. It was incredibly reckless, yet he knew he would never get another chance to escape.

  He stopped by the cave’s entrance and sneaked a peak behind a corner. There was one of those ice dolls, staring outwards and keeping watch for intruders - giving the impression that Nyra was not supposed to be here. There was also what seemed to be a horse with a pelt as white as snow grazing nearby. The guard was wearing armor but no helmet. Benjen carefully pced Nyra on the ground and covered her with her cloak before sneakily approaching the ice construct and grabbing its neck from behind.

  It was a bit awkward as it was taller than him, yet he dragged it to the ground and with a grunt - twisted. The strange creature barely had time to choke before shattering to ice dust, but surprisingly, leaving its armor and sword. Benjen thanked the gods for the boon, although the armor was too tight.

  He wished he had actual clothes, for while he barely felt the cold now, the translucent ice was uncomfortable. Benjen stared at the horse, shocked to discover it had a horn. A Unicorn! And not like the goats of Skagos.

  The unicorn zily stared back before snorting and continuing to graze. It was saddled and nearly half again as rge as the rgest destrier he had seen. He warily approached it and patted its neck, noticing it was a mare rather than a stallion. The steed was docile enough as he led it back to where he left Nyra.

  As he walked, he caught his reflection in a clear ice sheet and froze. Staring back at him with eyes that were more blue than grey, was a familiar face, if a bit gaunt, but his hair and wild beard had gone completely white. Just how long had he been here?

  Benjen shook his head and quickly collected the sleeping girl and the crystal, chuckling to himself at a job well done, before climbing the unicorn and holding his woman before him. With a click of his tongue, the mare shook her head and exited the cave.

  Outside, he found himself on a cliff's ledge, a bit far from the settlement and its castle. Looking at it now, he could tell it was not as rge as he thought - barely rger than an average castle like Cerwyn’s and made from stone as well as Ice, yet with a queer design that was both sharp and elegant. He wondered if there were more castles and settlements, hidden by the inhospitable nds of always winter?

  Benjen shook his head. Such thoughts could wait for ter.

  The skies were bright with northern lights, a beautiful sight that was rare in the North, yet he had learned it was the norm in the Lands of Always Winter. The nd was covered in snow and rocks, but there was a surprising amount of woodnds and vegetation.

  He tried to figure out where he was, yet the consteltions were difficult to see from the northern lights. Benjen needed to return to the Wall. Whatever the Others were up to, he had no idea, but he needed to report that they existed and were active.

  Nyra fidgeted in his arms but continued sleeping as she snuggled deeper into his embrace. He had no idea how she would react once she awakened, yet he would cross that bridge when they arrived. Sighing, he nudged the horse away down the hill and towards the distant mountains.

  He had a long journey ahead of him. He just hoped those were the Frost Fangs.

  Bub3loka