Chapter 54

Tiresias entered the courtyard; his breath dense in the morning cold. The fog had finally cleared yesterday. As he craned his neck, he saw the the top of the Wall touched by the deep pink of the rising sun. It was a calming sight.

Certainly calmer than the bustle in the courtyard. Four dozen horses were assembling before the gate, preparing to ride south. After a week at the Wall, Lord Stark was heading back to Winterfell.

He had done as much as he could here. When they had returned from the summit, he, Jeor and Maege Mormont took Lord Umber into the Lord Commander's tower. He wasn't invited. For which he was grateful. Whatever they talked about, their conversation continued into the night. The next morning, Jon Umber had black bags under his eyes. And a permanent scowl on his face. Somehow he doubted even a spirited retelling of the Mountain's fall would soothe the Greatjon's temper. Indeed, the man looked at him differently ever since the summit. Just one more thing to make him feel uneasy.

However, despite his anxiety regarding the Umber lord, he took some relief in the manner of the man's departure. He didn't stomp out of Castle Black, swearing rebellion against Lord Stark. In fact, from a balcony, he witnessed the tail end of their last conversation. It was considerably measured. When it ended, the Greatjon nodded, albeit with a lined brow, and took Ned Stark's extended arm.

Tiresias sighed. It could have been much worse. His nerves weren't too tangled as the Greatjon rode away. He was angry, but he wasn't mutinous. Lord Stark had the right instinct, to bring him into the fold at this time.

But whispers would arrive at Last Hearth when the Greatjon and his men returned. And there were others who would not take kindly to these happenings. To put it mildly. He wondered whether or not Lord Umber could control his son, the Smalljon, at this time…

Just six months…just give me six months…a screeching wight would quiet those whispers. Plus, at least he didn't challenge you to a spar…

Lady Mormont rode out with no such dramatics three days later. Her brother joined Lord Stark in seeing her off. It was a small force that accompanied their lady and the gates soon closed on the departing green banner with the black bear.

Now, it was Lord Stark's turn. He had thoroughly exhausted every possible reason to keep on with the Night's Watch. Now there was no point. A rider came to the iron gate from the Haunted Forest every second nightfall with an update. Tiresias, along with the black brothers who volunteered, were to leave as soon as the White Walkers were found. So far though, the band of wargs had come up empty. They searched for hours on end, correlating their information as they worked slowly through the territory.

Essentially it was a waiting game. And though he could spend his time as such, it wasn't prudent for a Warden to do so. There was much to do in Winterfell, to prep for the oncoming storm. Far more difficult undertakings than increased crop returns or dragonglass trades from the south…

Lord Stark came out from the Lord Commander's tower with Jeor Mormont. They walked until they reached the head of the stairs. Tiresias didn't need his ears to understand the exchange of well-wishes as the two grim-faced men shook hands.

The Old Bear disappeared into the dining hall as Lord Stark came down the stairs. He spoke to Jory briefly, issuing a few final instructions. The young Captain nodded his head and walked off when the Warden dismissed him.

With that, Lord Stark met his eyes. Tiresias crossed to him and they walked slowly to his waiting steed. There were still a dozen soldiers bringing their mounts to the column.

"I wish I felt better leaving you here."

"It's been a few months since I risked my life doing something stupid. You just prepare to host the whole North for a horror show."

"I'll have some practice beforehand."

Tiresias eyed him. "What'd you mean?"

Lord Stark stopped, exhaling before lowering his tone. "You told me years ago how your vision began. A range beyond the Wall, led by Waymar Royce. He and another man of the Night's Watch were slaughtered. A third man escaped south of the Wall and I beheaded him."

He had forgotten about that. That he had spoken of that. It was several years ago.

"Aye?"

"Maester Luwin sent a raven. And the Lord Commander received a message from Runestone shortly before. Lord Royce will be escorting his son, Waymar, to Castle Black and asks if he may be hosted by Winterfell en route."

It was easy to forget the other kingdoms up north. Not just as far as Castle Black, but Winterfell as well. In between the spy, the dragonglass and the negotiations between the North and the Free Folk, he had completely forgotten about Yohn Royce escorting his son to the Night's Watch.

A glorious opportunity? A complication with disastrous consequences? He didn't know. Stannis' letter came back to him. The reaction of the southern kingdoms to the existence of the White Walkers worried him. A part of him hoped that despite the rumors and stories that would inevitably trickle south, they would be dismissed as nonsense. Leaving them free to bring the migrants past the Wall. And if the Wall did hold and the Night King had no dragon to bring it down…

Then again, it might benefit to have one powerful lord in the south who knew the truth. Yohn Royce was a friend of Lord Stark. And the Vale was a bit more isolated from the rest from the southern kingdoms...

It was a lot to consider, but he knew one thing he wanted.

"When are they arriving?"

"About two months from now."

"Keep him in Winterfell. Him and his son."

"You want them to see the wight along with the Northern lords?"

"I don't know," Tiresias muttered. "But whatever you present in Winterfell will be on your terms. If they arrive here and discover all this for themselves…"

He didn't need to outline that mess. Lord Stark's forehead furrowed at the thought of it.

But he didn't despair. It wasn't his nature.

"I'll keep him in Winterfell. If I don't hear from you before he and his son sail from Gulltown, I'll write Lord Manderly and have him feast the pair of them. Slow them down further. And when he makes to Winterfell, I'll keep the man there until you return."

They proceeded to the front of the line, passing the rest of the column.

"If you even do make it to Winterfell," he murmured, glancing over. He saw no confusion in the Warden's eyes. He knew exactly what he meant. They eyed the forest beyond the gate. A light intrusion of southern politics didn't erase the danger there.

"You should have left days ago."

Lord Stark didn't respond to that either. Tiresias glanced to the mounted soldiers, exhaling through his nose.

"You could at least take the other half of your men."

"Having them at Castle Black means I have a presence here, despite being in Winterfell. Jory will make sure my intentions are known."

"Again, if you even make it to Winterfell," Tiresias muttered. The Warden didn't respond, but he lowered his tone even further. "Roose Bolton knows you're here by now. Knows I'm here. He has more than enough men to overrun your band of fifty. What if you're paid a visit on your way home?"

"We'll ride fast," Lord Stark muttered quietly. "He has enough men to overrun the hundred men we brought. Leaving half here will benefit us all in the long run anyhow."

"How so?"

They had reached his steed, but Ned didn't mount quite yet. He gripped the saddle as he looked to Tiresias.

"When you come back…if you come back," he amended at the librarian's look. "You'll be bringing back something from a nightmare. We'll show the lords back in Winterfell, including Lord Royce evidently…but we'll need more than the eyes of the highborn. We need the men who'll be fighting to believe. Every soldier that sees you dragging back that creature will speak of it. When our armies come together, that talk will spread."

He gave Tiresias a look and the man knew to lean in.

"Besides," Lord Stark muttered. "You'll need a guard to escort you and that creature down. By the time you return from beyond the wall, Lord Bolton will know you didn't return to Winterfell with me."

Tiresias almost smirked. "Fifty men definitely won't cut it then."

"Then I'll send a thousand for your return," Lord Stark responded. It took Tiresias a full second to realize he was serious. "At that point, there'll be no point in playing coy. What you're bringing will be too precious."

Precious…a walking rotten corpse with an echoing screech…

He spoke truly though. Tiresias nodded and the Warden mounted his horse.

"I await your raven. Maester Luwin and I will have every summon written, sealed and ready to fly within a fortnight after my return. As soon as I get your word, I'll send them."

"And I'll send my word as soon as I'm through that ice tunnel," he responded before stepping closer to mutter. "Just be careful you don't lose any summons to the laundry, aye?"

That got a grim look in the Warden's eye as he nodded. As Tiresias stepped away, there was really only one other thing to say.

"I wish you good fortune out there, Tiresias." He glanced back to the Wall. "I wish I could give you more than that."

"It's all a man can give sometimes. 'Sides, I could always use more good fortune. You have some as well, aye?"

That prompted a small smile from Ned Stark. It surfaced very briefly and his lord's look was back.

"Farewell, Tiresias," he said quietly, before kicking gently. The horse began to walk slowly out of Castle Black and the soldiers followed. Tiresias stayed put, waiting for a certain rider in the middle to appear.

As the horse walked by, he began to stride alongside it, making eye contact with the rider. Jon looked absolutely exhausted. He couldn't blame him. The young man had had a terrible week at the Wall…

The courtyard in Castle Black consisted of the ever-present wind and the echoes from the dining hall. Tiresias stood before the dummy, his dragonglass dagger held up to his chest level. Crossing his feet, he prowled around the wooden figure, trying to imagine it moving with him. With blue eyes staring back at him…

Lurching forward, he brought the dagger up to the dummy's throat, before halting himself. Left arm up for protection. That one was dead.

Then he pivoted and struck again. One strike, pull out the blade, bring the dagger back into position as he turned…

He imagined one coming low. Jabbing it downward, he remembered his feet and adjusted.

Never lose your footing, he reminded himself. Keep your breath even.

He exhaled with the dagger thrusts.

And don't ever you drop your weapon.

Syrio Forel's words came to him as he finished thrusting. He had been here every night during supper to practice with his dragonglass dagger, to become familiar with the significantly lighter weapon. To correct his oversight. The snow beneath him was disturbed long before this latest round.

No one troubled him. He made a point to be as silent as possible in the yard. Not just for his own want of privacy. Battle cries were a luxury they couldn't afford up north. He was sure the White Walkers could find them easily enough without them. Still, didn't hurt to be careful. And to prepare as if he were already trekking beyond the Wall, in the deep cold.

Tiresias wiped the sweat from his brow. That was the reason he wore his fur jacket as he danced around the dummy, even though he was quite warm. He doubted the wights would courteously pause as he removed it.

They certainly wouldn't allow him a water break either. Nevertheless, he sheathed the dragonglass and picked up his waterskin, sauntering to the bench on the side. As he sat and lifted the skin, he heard the door to the dining room open. A single person walked out.

Recognizing the gait, along with the newly acquired weariness that had taken hold, Tiresias had another draught before lowering the skin to see Jon Snow descending to the courtyard. The lad found him instantly and walked over, halting by the brazier.

He regarded the young man bathed in firelight. After they returned from the summit, he spotted Jon carrying firewood to the lift. There were already dark circles under his eyes. Tiresias didn't bear too much of a witness to Ser Alliser's despotism, but it was certainly easy to hear of it. Particularly with the knight's vocal projection.

And he didn't intervene. Not once. Neither did Lord Stark. True to his promise, the Warden's bastard received no special favor at Castle Black and Lord Snow – Ser Alliser created that little moniker already – was left to his own.

Jon didn't complain. At least, not to Lord Stark. He stuck with Ser Alliser and his tyranny the whole time. He wasn't completely stoic, but he managed to bury his anger and continue with whatever tasks were at hand.

But now, those tasks were complete. Jon's tenure under Ser Alliser came to a close tonight at dinner. Pushing off the pillar, Jon joined Tiresias on the bench, a significant sigh escaping from the lad as he sat.

Tiresias offered his waterskin, which Jon took, gulping mouthful after mouthful. Resisting the urge to suggest sips would hydrate far better, Tiresias turned his attention to the night sky. The Crone's Lantern was prominent tonight. As were all the constellations. The skies were clear enough in Winterfell, but the added cold brought a fuller brightness to the stars.

He continued to gaze as he spoke.

"Relieved?"

A low laugh was his only response. It was enough. He resisted a smile himself as he turned to Jon.

"I'm suppose that's a yes. Do you have any desire left to break the promise to your father and pledge yourself to the Night's Watch?"

Jon scoffed again, but Tiresias didn't join him this time. Once Jon saw he wasn't laughing, he stopped as well, staring to the yard.

Tiresias leaned forward slightly. "Jon, are you still considering…"

"I'm riding out with Father tomorrow," Jon stated quietly.

That didn't quite answer his question, but Tiresias didn't push it. Jon will not become a black brother on this excursion. He believed the lad. Later though…

Well, that was another headache. He turned back to the Crone's Lantern. The star for the candle's flame shone brightest in the cluster. It was the easiest to find.

"Will you be riding out with us?"

Jon asked it quietly enough. In a way that said he already had the answer. Either way, Tiresias had no reason to deceive the lad.

Without taking his eyes off the constellation, he shook his head. "No, I'll be staying on here for a while."

"You taking the black?"

"No," Tiresias muttered. He reached for the waterskin, barely lifting to his lips before lowering it again. Jon's question…it felt rather contrived.

"What have you heard about what's going on here, Jon? With the Night's Watch? And the Free Folk?"

He turned to see that Jon had lowered his eyes. It was a few seconds before he answered.

"Haven't heard much," Jon muttered.

Tiresias laughed lightly. "Well I know that's a lie."

Jon raised his gaze to meet his. The lad seemed defensive.

"It's no lie," the boy said, his hackles rising.

"Jon, you've been shoveling shit, scrubbing floors and all else under the gaze of Ser Alliser. And that man loves to talk. So don't tell me you haven't heard much. You've heard plenty."

The eyes always gave it away, though Jon quickly averted his, looking back to the yard. Tiresias let him stew, not bothered by the lad's defensiveness. He recognized it for what it was; concern and helplessness. It was a torturous combination. Which only deepened his suspicion that Jon knew what he was going to.

Jon mustered up his gumption and spoke. "There's a massive wildling army beyond the Wall."

He turned to the librarian. "Isn't there?"

Tiresias exhaled through his nose. "Not exactly. It's a refugee camp for the Free Folk. It's huge, but only because it's comprised of dozens, if not hundreds, of tribes. There are warriors, certainly. But also elders and children. They're just trying to flee."

"Flee from what?"

He had to lie now. Jon had heard of White Walkers before. Old Nan was kind enough to provide that education for all the Stark children. But now…now wasn't the time. Not according to the plan.

"I don't know precisely, Jon. They hardly know themselves." He turned to the lad. "But it's bad. Bad enough they're willing to make peace with the Night's Watch and the Northerners to escape it."

"The Night's Watch, my father…are they going to grant them passage? South of the Wall?"

"Not without good reason." Tiresias lifted the waterskin and took a draught. "Not without something to sway the North to a peaceable solution. Negotiations are ongoing."

"Is that why you're staying on?" Jon asked. "Cause you speak the Old Tongue?"

He hadn't even considered that angle. Wouldn't be a bad excuse for why he stayed on. To explain his absence when he returned to Winterfell.

If he ever did return…

"Aye, that certainly helps." He smiled, but dropped it shortly when he saw Jon's face. He was peering steadily at the librarian. Tiresias met his gaze only briefly before standing and walking away. He stared up at the Wall. It still drew his eye automatically. There was a power to it.

"Are you going beyond the Wall?"

That was it. The question Jon was building to ever since he came into the courtyard. And he didn't mean to go north to translate for old Free Folk tribes. He could hear it in the lad's voice.

Still, Tiresias didn't answer right away. He couldn't. All he could do was lightly curse himself that he didn't prepare for this inquiry as soon as Jon appeared from the dining hall. Well aware his silence was an answer itself, he turned back to Jon, still sitting on the bench, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, Tiresias shrugged.

"I don't know, Jon. All I know is that I'll be away from Winterfell for…" After some consideration, he quietly sighed. "Quite some time. Several months. I can't give a precise count."

Jon didn't look satisfied by that answer. However, he didn't question it further. The frown only deepened on the boy's face.

"You should wash up and rest." Jon met his eyes. "You've had a terrible time here. And you have a long ride tomorrow."

On that, Jon nodded and stood. He walked up and offered his hand. Tiresias grasped it and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Barring any tragedy?" Jon said, a small light in his eye.

Tiresias smiled. "Aye, barring any tragedy, I'll see you in Winterfell. Not for a while, but I will."

Jon nodded, but his frown was still present. Eyes still suspicious. After he released his hand, they wandered down to his sheath.

"That's not your steel dagger."

"No," said Tiresias, as lightly as he could. "No, it's not."

He didn't know if Jon knew about his dragonglass dagger. He certainly wasn't as suspicious as Robb about the whole enterprise. He could see the lad debating whether or not to inquire further. Ultimately though, he decided not to. Swallowing his questions, he walked off to the barracks, where the Night's Watch had put them up.

"Jon."

The lad turned back to him.

"Whatever you've heard during your time here. Whatever you think is going on. Whatever we've spoken of tonight…keep it to yourself for now."

Lord Stark knew of the danger in Winterfell. He knew of Myranda. It was likely he would have warned Jon on the ride home to remain discreet about their time at the Wall. Nevertheless, he didn't take that chance.

"What's happening now is a very delicate situation for the North and your father. So please, don't tell Robb, Theon or even Arya what you've seen. Or heard. You went to see if the Night's Watch was a good fit for you. Please stick with that for now."

It wasn't an order, yet he tried to ask it as such. It seemed to have worked. Jon took it in and nodded, before walking away. And Tiresias breathed a little easier.

Jon gave no clue to this requested secrecy as he rode by. He merely locked eyes with Tiresias as the librarian walked alongside him to the castle gate. As Jon passed, he stopped just beyond the gate and watched the retinue ride away toward the forest.

As Jon reached his father, he turned and raised his hand in farewell. Tiresias gave a wave in return, dropping it as Jon turned back to ride south. His eyes went to the back of the accompanying Winterfell soldiers.

Nothing to stop them from gossiping though. From speaking of what they've seen here…they stayed here too long. They should have left after a day…or stayed here permanently until we returned with the wight…

Realizing his teeth were gritted, he relaxed his jaw and exhaled, his breath escaping in a thick fog. He lowered his gaze from the departing soldiers to the frozen mud. It was too late now. Whatever happens next, with Yohn Royce, Roose Bolton or the Night King…they would have to deal with it.

"Oi! You comin' in or stayin' out there?"

He turned to see the guard with his hands on the gate, waiting to close it. He heard the man beginning to shiver, itching to return to the brazier's warmth. He had no patience for the wistful brooding of a stranger.

Tiresias couldn't fault him for that. It was a freezing morning…so he assumed. With a quick nod, he turned from the south and stalked back to the courtyard. The gate moaned as it closed behind him.

Even with his aversion to the cold, by the way the wind cut across his face, the drop in temperature from Winterfell was obvious. Tiresias buttoned up his fur jacket and raised his hood. He didn't need to, but he wished to avoid any inquiries.

Though perhaps he wouldn't have received any. His party has just reached the Haunted Forest and there was something about the iron gate closing behind them that completely silenced a man. They rode slowly against the wind billowing the Wall. It was almost a relief to reach the treeline. To have some shelter from the wind.

Almost. After everyone exhaled, the mood shifted back to suspicion. It couldn't be helped. Beyond the Wall, they were vulnerable. It was a terrible spot for what he had planned.

But it couldn't well happen in Castle Black. He couldn't bring them through. Not yet.

They weren't going far though, thankfully. After ten minutes, they came upon a clearing where a group of Free Folk were waiting. Tormund and Karsi were there, along with others who had volunteered for the upcoming trek. Tiresias recognized Macha, and to his displeasure, Orell. He swallowed his disappointment though and nodded. Not recognizing the final Free Folk member, he brought his horse to a halt and dismounted.

Benjen, having led them, had already stepped forward. Behind him, Qhorin and Gared, along with one more black brother, Clatton, stepped up.

Thankfully there were no long silences. They had no time for them in this cold. Benjen stepped forward and Tormund met him.

"Tormund."

"Stark." Tormund turned to the Free Folk behind him and back. "Well, we're here. What do you want?"

"I don't know," Benjen replied, before turning to him. "This was Tiresias' request."

"All right." Tormund turned to him. "What do you want?"

With nothing else for it, he stepped forward. "Practice."

"Practice? Practice for what?"

He had to remember that the man wasn't friendly with him. Not yet. He was far from the loyal, jovial man that befriended Jon. And when Tormund gazed at him with suspicious eyes, it was difficult to meet them steadily.

"At any moment, the wargs will give us a location. And we'll be marching north to find a wight and capture it alive." At this point, he turned to the rest of the group. "You two hate each other. I don't care if that changes today or even during our mission. But before we march, we need to be able to work together."

"You think this will be the first time we've seen these creatures?" The nameless Free Folk man spoke up. "I've put down wights. Seen their blue eyes go out. Set them on fire. You're the ones that need practice. When's the last time you saw a wight?"

It's been years. The relief I felt when they all collapsed…

Tireisas looked to the man. It was easier than meeting Tormund's eyes. "What's your name?"

"Kober."

"When was the last time you captured a wight, Kober, instead of killing it for good?"

He didn't wait for the man to respond and continued on. He didn't even raise his voice.

"Any fool near a fire can end a single wight. If one came charging through the trees, I'd trust any of us could finish it."

That wasn't a lie. He eyed everyone as he entered the clearing. All had dragonglass within their reach.

"But that's not our task. We need to capture one and keep it alive. That's not simple. We'll need to find a small contingent, like us, scouting the land. Surprise it, kill all but one. Gag it before it screams and alerts the massive horde probably not that far away. Then we sling it across a horse and we hurry back to Castle Black with no other troubles."

He turned to address the Night's Watchmen. This was for them as well. They didn't know why he called for this gathering.

"We all need to practice capturing one. We need to get used to one another. We'd be fools otherwise. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling rather uncomfortable with the way you lot are all staring at each other. I'd rather work through that now than wait for 'til we're in the far north."

It was a vain hope that calling out the tension would somehow dissipate it. Both the Night's Watch and Free Folk alike regarded each other poorly, mostly glaring and they didn't relax. Tiresias held his breath as he waited, hoping they didn't trek all the way out here for naught.

But Karsi and Tormund shared a look. Resigned but determined. And his oldest acquaintance amongst the Free Folk walked over. Tiresias exhaled on a count as Karsi came to a halt before him.

"How do you propose we practice?" she asked. "Point of the mission is that we take one alive. Where's our wight?"

"We take turns."

"Turns?" Tiresias glanced to see Qhorin looking at him curiously. Not in the mood to stare, he nodded and reached for his belt, unclasping it.

"Aye. Turns."

If Karsi was unnerved by the sight of him removing his belt, she didn't show it. Nevertheless, he didn't stay in front of her for a powerplay. Walking to the horses, he pulled off both sheaths from his belt and placed them in the satchel.

Benjen walked over to him. "What are you doing?" he muttered.

Tiresias pulled the bow and quiver from his back and slung them on a hook. Going back to the satchel, he took out some supplies he had borrowed from Castle Black's stores. With a fortifying breath, he turned back to the group. He took it as a good sign that they had all stepped closer, to stare at what he had procured.

Twisting the ropes a little, he walked forward briskly in the snow, speaking as he handed everyone a strand of rope and a long rag each.

"We take turns being the wight. I'll go first. Each of us will try and fight as the others close in and subdue them."

"Now hold the fuck on." He turned to see Orell marching up towards him. "If you think for one second, I'm letting some crow tie me up, you're right fucked in the head…"

"Well, I suggest you resist," Tiresias replied coolly. "Put up a good fight. The harder you struggle, the better for all of us. We need the practice."

Orell's time on the show didn't endear him to Tiresias. He didn't even pretend to deny it to himself. It wasn't helpful, but at least it was one thing he didn't have to lie about.

Benjen stepped in, thankfully stepping over the warg's rebuttal.

"It's not just the Free Folk, Tiresias," he said, before dropping his voice. "We've been fighting each other for years. A sit down is one thing. Shared missions and all…but this? This exercise…"

His voice trailed. Tiresias saw the frustration in his eyes.

"You wish I'd cleared this with you."

It wasn't a question.

"Emotions could get the better of us." Benjen focused on the Halfhand. "Qhorin's killed many Free Folk over the years." His mouth thinned as he turned back to the Free Folk. "People that you knew?"

The answer was clear in their eyes, but nobody said a word. Benjen turned to the Night's Watchmen.

"And you men. You've all known black brothers who've disappeared in these parts. Felled by the wild…by the Free Folk."

Both sides were quite silent. Benjen seemed to see what he wanted though and returned to the librarian.

 "Tiresias, this could get out of hand. What you're asking…We'll be at each other's mercy. Are you prepared for that?"

"We have to be." Tiresias stepped away from the First Ranger. "We'll be at each other's mercy when we're out there. If all the dead were shaped like me, I'd volunteer every time. But we don't have that luxury, do we? Some wights are tall. Some are short. Some were old. Some were children. We need to be able to take any one of them down. So we'll need all of us to take turns playing dead."

Quell the jokes for a bit, mate. This is not the time…

"And since someone has to be the first idiot to trust the other side, I'll do it. I'm no Free Folk. I'm no man of the Night's Watch. So…"

His hands moved subconsciously to his shoulders, but his rucksack was not there. He'd left it at Castle Black that morning. Dropping his hands, he strode out to the center of the clearing and turned back to the group.

"Any other objections? If not, I'd like to get started."

The words barely escaped his mouth when Kober started to charge towards him. Though it didn't seem to be in the spirit of practice and team-building. From the look in the man's eyes, it appeared he simply wanted to pulverize him.

Which worked for Tiresias. As long as he kept his steel sheathed…

He sidestepped the charging wildling at the last moment. Kober tried to stop and turn with him, but his pivot left his left foot exposed for a few precious seconds. It took a light sweep there from Tiresias to send him to the ground.

Stepping away, he eyed the rest of the group. None had joined Kober in the first attempt. The Free Folk didn't even seem offended by the outcome, but they had thoughts and Tiresias guessed it.

"Aye, aye, I know." He was beginning to sweat in his jacket and resisted the urge to remove it. "They don't fight with fancy kicks. But it won't just be one of us charging it while the others watch, will it?"

His eyes went to the Night's Watchmen, pleading. After a brief second, Benjen and Qhorin walked to the opposite ends of him. Gared and Clatton followed them soon after, though their eyes were quite mistrustful. Once in position, they all looked to the Free Folk.

They didn't have to wait long. Karsi and Tormund shared another look before they walked out, Macha right behind them. They separated and filled in the gaps between the black brothers. Behind him, he heard Kober get up. There was a split second when he wasn't sure if the man would come at him again. But he marched off and took an empty spot.

Last one remaining was Orell. The incredulous warg looked about the circle surrounding the stranger, before calling out.

"So we're doin' this then, Tormund? Aye? We really fuckin' do this?! Standin' with crows? Playing in the snow?"

"Aye, I suppose we are," Tormund called back. He heard the snow crunch behind him. The burly redhead was getting ready to charge. "You don't have to be here, Orell. You volunteered like the rest of us. You can leave. Be a coward."

That sealed for the warg. Tiresias saw it clearly. Taking his eyes off Orell, he glanced to the others circled around him. All squatted and prepared to charge. As soon as Orell took his place, they'd come

Tiresias exhaled, trying to swallow discretely.

Perhaps this wasn't the best idea.

It was too late to consider alternates. He heard Orell throw down his bag and step in line. And then they came running.

He didn't expect to dodge fists and blunt objects, though perhaps he should have. Macha got to him first. He managed to avoid her spear-end and pull her around, crashing her into Qhorin. Tormund was on him the next second, pushing him to the ground. Rolling backwards, he hopped up right in front of Benjen, who grabbed his arms.

A real wight would be growling, biting and clawing to escape. It wouldn't know grappling. Or remember it from its previous life…

Instinct overran these thoughts and he twisted away, tangling his feet with the First Ranger and forcing them both to the ground. Breaking away from Benjen, he made to get up but Gared and Karsi landed on him. He managed to roll Karsi off him, but Gared was heavier and he had his legs.

He had barely pushed Karsi off when his arms were pinned by Qhorin and Tormund. Orell landed on his stomach. Hard. He squirmed and pushed but there was no struggling out of this…

What did the wight do then?

Opening his mouth, he yelled. The snow dampened the sound and he knew no one would hear outside of this grove. It was just an exercise. Just an exercise.

Thankfully, another remembered it. Macha appeared above him, holding the gag taut. His scream muffled as she brought it down forcefully across his mouth. He shook his head back and forth, resisting the urge to surrender.

The wight will not surrender. It will not just give up suddenly.

He kicked his legs, shook his arms, convulsed on the ground. Thankfully the others seemed to remember the point. Turned onto his stomach, his eyes in the snow, he felt the bounds around his feet and hands appear and tighten. Nobody talked though. He just felt their weight, the pressure from Macha's rough hands as she tightened the gag, halting his scream.

Staring down into the snow, his breath began to hitch, his hands began to shake and his throat…the Mountain's hand was there, gripping it tightly...

He was back at the White Knife, alone in the woods. A golden sky as the sun sank into the west. Hands holding him as he was subdued. Chains cut into his hands and feet. A filthy rag stuffed into his mouth. And laughter…he was a prize caught. And being hauled north to a torture chamber.

Did I truly escape? I killed them. I thought I did. I killed them all. Their blood is in the river…

"All right! Enough! Enough!" Benjen was shouting above him. The golden sky turned back to white snow. "We got him. It's done!"

All the weight disappeared and he rolled to his side. He was almost able to breathe properly. The rag was still cutting in his skull, his tongue forced against the cloth. He was very grateful he had cleaned these the previous night. They still tasted suspicious, but there wasn't anything that would kill him.

Not anymore. Disgusting thoughts ran through his mind as he considered what these rags in Castle Black could have been used for…

It was a relief when Karsi untied and removed the gag. Keeping his considerations private, he inhaled deeply as the rest of the bonds were loosened. Once freed, he stood and walked about.

I escaped. I wasn't taken. The Boltons wouldn't have untied me.

Benjen came to him with his waterskin. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Tiresias said hoarsely. The pressure on his throat was gone, though his heart still raced. Resisting the urge to gulp the water down, he took two moderate sips.

Looking to the group, he knew that some of them had noticed. Macha was definitely regarding him with a changed look. He sensed it from Benjen. As for the others, he didn't dare to look further.

There are more important things to consider now. We have a job to do.

He took a final swig of water before capping it off and looking to the group.

"Who's next?"

Trading off, they eventually made their way through the entire roster. They alternated between crow and wildling. Even Orell who went last had his turn. Funny enough it was the Free Folk who got him pinned down first. Maybe they realized he'd rather be wrestled down by his own. Maybe Tormund hated the man and wanted an excuse to throw him to the snow.

And through it all they learned. They began to speak on the third attempt, figuring out the best spacing. They even simulated the end of a fight, with chaotic placement and then fanning out to form a circle. By the time the fifth person was down in the snow being subdued, they had designated people better for holding the victim and people better for tying them. The gag was applied before most had gotten the chance to yell out.

It was an exhausting couple of hours. Tiresias removed his jacket by the second round. He just couldn't handle it anymore. Thankfully no one looked at him suspiciously for doing so.

Except for Karsi. He caught her eye before the exercise. Saw the question in her eyes. She remembered him by the fire, comfortable with the cold surrounding them…

But she didn't speak to it. Neither did Macha for that matter. And by the time they had gone through the whole roster twice, everyone was too busy panting to cast suspicious eyes on each other. By then, he wasn't the only one to have removed an article of clothing.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Benjen stepped forward.

"All right," he called out. "I think that's enough for today. It'll be dark soon and it's a much longer journey for you all back to camp than it is for us back to the Wall."

No one seemed inclined to argue. The Free Folk present kept straight faces, but Tiresias saw a shared glance between Orell and Kober. Caught a few skipped heartbeats, though it was difficult to tell. Everyone was exerted from the exercise. He doubted very much that this lot would march thirty miles back to the main Free Folk camp tonight. They were probably stationed in outposts only a short distance away. Within sight of the Wall. Keeping an eye out. Mance would be keeping his options open for alternate passages should they fail to bring a wight back and convince the Northern lords to cooperate. It was only logical.

It wouldn't benefit anyone to call them out on that. So Tiresias swallowed his spit and kept to the story.

"I don't think this should be the last time we do this," he said, coming to stand with Benjen. "If you're all willing, perhaps we could meet again in a few nights. Even if it's not all of you."

He turned to Orell. "I know you're probably busy looking with the rest of the wargs. But if the rest of you are available, should we reconvene in three days? Here at the same hour?"

There was no response for a few seconds. Tiresias caught Karsi's eye again. The gleam there looked quite familiar…

Standing out in the cold again with no jacket. The exercise was over. His heartrate was coming down. He should be feeling the cold numbing his fingers by now.

Without moving too quickly, he breathed into his hands and trudged back to the horses where his pack was stored. His fur jacket was slung across the saddle. Pulling it on, he heard Qhorin speak.

"It's a fair idea. We'll be here. What say you, Tormund Giantsbane? Will the Free Folk be joining us?"

Turning back, Tiresias saw the redhead warrior regarding the Halfhand slowly. In a thousand other scenarios, Tormund would have little objection to taking Qhorin's life. But he managed to restrain himself when they had to subdue the old ranger. And though Tormund put up a fight himself – he was by far the toughest one to restrain – he still submitted to the Halfhand, trusting him in this grove.

That trust was there now in Tormund's blue eyes. Still no friendliness. But he nodded.

"Three days. We'll be here. Put up a better fight next time."

Benjen almost smirked. "We'll do our best."

On that, Tormund turned and walked back into the forest. Kober, Macha, Orell and Karsi all followed him without a farewell. Karsi didn't look back to him, but Tiresias felt her questions all the same.

They were fifty feet away when Benjen turned and faced them.

"We should move now. They've turned their backs, trusting us not to attack them. We should return the favor. Not watch them go."

Qhorin and Gared exchanged a look but nodded, walking to their horses. Tiresias returned the two sheaths to his belt. He didn't need to look anyway. He could still hear their footsteps as they trudged north. After so long, he still remembered Macha and Karsi's footfalls from that night.

Not that he had much else to remember from that night. Those evenings by the stream were quite silent. With only a raven for company.

His mind was still on that night as they rode back. It was a bit of a start when Benjen pulled up beside him.

"You could have told me beforehand what you had planned."

"You're right. I should have."

"Why didn't you?"

The Wall loomed up before them. To be fair, they never lost sight of it. Still, it never failed to impress up close.

"I'm nervous, Benjen." He spoke softly, out of earshot from the other three. "What we're doing now is quite delicate. I feel like I can only stretch the sensibilities of crows and wildlings one bit at a time. Before it all just falls apart."

"I've been helping you ever since you first came to Castle Black. I got you through the damn tunnel. Did you forget?" Benjen muttered. "You don't need to worry about my sensibilities."

"I know," Tireisas said right away. "Forgive me."

The First Ranger waved it away and the matter was closed. He breathed a thick fog as they emerged from the Haunted Forest. A single horn blast sounded from the Wall. It echoed across the grey sky.

Benjen turned back to him.

"What happened back there when you were tied down? What was that?"

He had the good sense to keep his voice lowered, but Tiresias' heart sank. Benjen was an astute observer, but still…if he noticed, then others probably did as well.

A lump rose in his throat and he swallowed.

"I've never been restrained like that before and I didn't like it," he replied quietly. "My mind took me somewhere else."

"Where?"

Tiresias was silent for a while. They were coming to the tunnel. Even he was going to explain further, he would have to do so before they entered. He didn't want his fears echoing in the tunnel for all to hear.

"It's ridiculous, but…" He exhaled through his nose. "After you avoid something terrible…do you ever blink and consider the consequences if you hadn't? You consider that alternate future and then you start to think...you start to think that alternative was actually reality? And that all you lived since that incident was merely an illusion?"

He tried to speak sincerely, but when he turned back, he saw Benjen staring at him. Trying to understand, but not quite there.

Tiresias sighed. "Forget it. It won't deter us."

It wasn't worth it. Men like Benjen lived and suffered in the real world. They couldn't afford to indulge any alternates. This land of ice was their home.

They entered the tunnel, but not before Tiresias caught a slight change in the air. It would snow heavily this evening.

The blacksmith took his sketch with a skeptical glance. It didn't lessen as he examined the drawing.

Tiresias sighed. "Aye, I know. It's not to scale. When can it be ready?"

"When do yeh need it?"

"Not for a month, I think, but…" He made sure the blacksmith was looking at him when he said. "When I need it, I'll need it right then. No dallying about. No rushing to get it done. It must be finished. You understand?"

His only response was an affirmative grunt. Good enough, he supposed. Honestly his insistence wasn't necessary. This request came with the approved seal of the Lord Commander. The work itself wasn't complicated. It would be completed in time.

"Good. Thank you." He made to leave.

"What's this for?"

Turning away from the falling snow, he faced the blacksmith. The man traced his finger over the design.

"Iron braces…diagonal enforcements, corners as well, bar latch…double locked…" He eyed Tiresias. "Wood's strong enough to hold anything heavy enough to fit in here. What yeh need my iron for?"

His face was quite stoic. Jeor Mormont vouched for his skills. As for his attitude toward the Free Folk, to the rumors that floated about Castle Black…Tiresias tried to read it in his eyes. This man probably made many weapons that have killed wildlings over the years. How would he react to the migration?

It was safe to say not well. Tiresias could read that much.

"For someone very valuable." He couldn't help a small smile at the blacksmith's face. "Don't worry. They'll already be dead."

The man probably thought he was japing with him. But he didn't question it further. He set the sketch to the side and returned to the forge. His business done, Tiresias exited the smithy in the yard.

It had been two days of steady snow and Castle Black was blanketed in white. He left his hood down, enjoying the flakes that fell upon him. He didn't stop to take it in though. No one stopped working in this place and the snow certainly didn't change that. The smith's hammer was falling again behind him. He smelled horse's manure being shoveled out of the stables and the clashes of steel were heard to his right.

Ser Alliser definitely wasn't letting the new recruits off easy because of the weather. He understood. The snow wasn't going to disappear when they needed to defend themselves. It was better to learn that here than beyond the Wall.

Still, none of the recruits shared his tolerance for the cold. He heard many shivering breaths as they paired off. It was prominent even under Ser Alliser's shouted insults.

"You! Grip that sword properly, bastard, or I'll tar it to you! Break your fuckin' fingers while I'm there…"

The reason he exercised at night. Eyes forward, he headed toward the stairs. The library was a suitable sanctuary during the day. Perhaps he could write a letter to Mal. He wrote her when he arrived but not since…

"Oi, you!"

He didn't know how it worked. How one knew when one was being addressed when the back was turned. It didn't have anything to do with his gifts.

His sigh wasn't well-hidden. It escaped with a burst of fog. Still he stepped off the first step and turned to the banished, red-faced knight facing him.

Tiresias nodded. "Good day, Ser Alliser. How may I help you?"

"You're Tiresias, right? The one killed Clegane, the Mountain?"

Too many smartass retorts went through his mind. He shut them down. This wasn't the time or the man to say them to.

"Aye," he said quietly over the snow. It didn't escape him that all the recruits had stopped their swordplay.

Ser Alliser noticed too. Turning back, he yelled. "Did I say fuckin' stop?!"

The clashes quickly resumed, but Tiresias knew he wasn't dismissed. The knight came over to him. He had been fortunate not to draw his attention before this. But he supposed it was inevitable. Lord Stark and Jon Snow were no longer here to draw the man's ire away from him.

He inhaled on a count. One…two…three…

Ser Alliser halted in front of him. "You aim on taking the black?"

Tiresias exhaled. "No."

"Then why the fuck are you still sneaking around here? You took the books last time. Your master's gone. What business have you at this castle?"

"The business of the North."

It was a difficulty to keep his voice even. To not let on that he knew what this man was capable of. The corner where Jon Snow bled to death was to his right. His eye would drift there if he wasn't careful.

The knight scoffed. "You're no Northerner."

"That's true. I'm from Essos."

"I didn't ask where you were fuckin' from. I asked you what your business was. Here. In this castle."

He came very close to Tiresias' face. But he was only angry. Not murderous. Not yet. He heard his pulse. His fists were clenched but they didn't twitch to the blade on his side.

Tiresias met his eyes, forced his own to go soft. "My business here in this castle is the business of the North. And with the Lord Commander. If you have any questions about that, I suggest you take them up with him."

It was a fair wager in his mind that Ser Alliser had already confronted Jeor Mormont multiple times over the years about the changing relationship with the Free Folk. That he had, over the last fortnight, demanded to know why the librarian of Winterfell was still hanging about the castle. Along with the other Stark men.

"Tiresias!"

Speaking of which…

Despite his trepidation on turning his back to the would-be traitorous knight, he looked to see Jory Cassel coming down the stairs.

"A message from Winterfell."

Relief flooded him. Trying to appear neutral, he turned back to Ser Alliser and nodded.

"Good day, Ser Alliser."

That didn't help the man's temper. Tiresias swore his face turned even redder before he walked to Jory. But the man didn't stand staring at him. He heard the snow crunch as Ser Alliser stalked back to the recruits.

"Lars! Turn sideface and stop makin' yourself so easy to hit! I'll sic every last one of these whoresons on you, I swear I will!"

Tiresias sighed as he joined Jory. He may pay later for his obstinance later, but the lads in the yard would pay for it the rest of the day. He hoped none of them would make the connection of their punishment to him. Castle Black was tense enough already.

He followed Jory into the mess hall. It was empty now, except for two boys scrubbing the high table at the end. They didn't so much as raise their heads.

They made their way down to the other end, to the caskets and barrels. Jory picked up two mugs.

Tiresias glanced to the Captain. "Where's the message?"

"What message?" Jory said nonchalantly as he filled the two mugs. "Just thought I'd rescue you, is all. Didn't look like a conversation worth continuing."

The distant sounds of the two brushes filled the air for a second. Finally, Tiresias chuckled as he sat.

"Didn't seem like it." He sighed. "Thank you, Jory. That was quick thinking on your end."

The Captain handed him a mug and tilted back his own. However, Tiresias couldn't bring himself to drink. Whether it was nerves or simply the rancid taste, he couldn't swallow Castle Black's brew. He placed the full mug on the table besides him.

Jory grimaced as he sipped, nodding to the mug. "Not in the mood?"

"You could say that." He leaned forward and placed his face in his hands, rubbing his temples. "This place…it's just tension and not enough information to disperse it. I can't justify my staying here much longer. The Lord Commander certainly can't. It's just waiting…waiting…"

He sat up and caught an almost amused look on Jory's face.

Oh Jesus…

"Though I suppose it's nothing compared to you and your men," he conceded. "Can't be easy, be told to wait in a frozen castle. Not being told why."

Jory shrugged. "I'm a soldier. Most of a soldier's doing is just waiting without being told why. Waiting, waiting...and when battle comes, it's quick and you need to be ready. Least we have actual beds here."

On that, Jory took another draught.

"That's kind of you to say, Jory," Tiresias said quietly. "I can't imagine every soldier has that plucky attitude. Have the men complained?"

"Men always complain." The Captain shrugged. "But they love their lord. Lord Stark chose the men he left here well. It's only been a fortnight. We'll wait here for much longer than that. For the North. For the Night's Watch. For you."

The murmur was back. Tiresias was sure that the two boys at the other end weren't listening. Still, he lowered his voice.

"How much has Lord Stark told you, Jory?" he asked. He nodded to the bench opposite. After a glance to the hall's end, the Captain sat down.

"He told me that the Night's Watch officers were speaking to wildling leaders beyond the Wall. That there's something bad coming down on them. And…that he was going to seek the cooperation and blessing of his vassals to let them pass into the North."

Tiresias licked the back of his teeth. There were some oats stuck there from breakfast.

"When did he tell you this?"

"First night we were here." A ghost of a laugh came over his face. "The Greatjon had a…a spirited conversation with Lord Stark and the Lord Commander. I wasn't in the room but I heard enough to make a few assumptions. When Lord Stark saw my face, he knew. He told me what he could. Answered some questions. Didn't answer others. Asked me to keep that night to myself."

Jory leaned forward. "I haven't told anyone. None of my men know. They are making some close guesses though. The black brothers can open up after a few…but it's not the truth yet. They think we're here as a scouting force. To survey the Wall for a future attack. That's kept them busy enough."

Future attacks…that could still happen. Even if the Free Folk are allowed through.

He gauged the Captain. Jory didn't look angry. He looked worried. Tiresias couldn't blame him. But he still had one more question.

"Did Lord Stark tell you anything about me?"

Jory exhaled through his nose. "He said…when I asked about the Northern lords. How could he possibly expect their blessing and their cooperation…he said that's what you were here for."

Tiresias picked up the cup. He felt like a drink now, rancid or not. He poured the ale down his throat gingerly. He lowered his cup to see Jory peering at him.

"You're going beyond the Wall, aren't you?" he said quietly. "And before you say anything smart, no. I don't mean your little excursions every few days. You're going into the far North, aren't you?"

Tiresias swallowed, hissing at the aftertaste, before nodding.

"Why?"

"Me and a few others…we'll be hunting."

"Hunting for what?"

He stared down at the ale in his cup. It was almost clear.

"Something that will make Ser Alliser shut his fucking mouth. Everyone else too." Tiresias shrugged before taking another draught. "That's the hope, anyway."

Fortunately there were others tasks to veer his path away from the surly suspicion of Ser Alliser. It wasn't just the iron crate that Tiresias had to attend to. The following afternoon, he spoke to the stablemaster to find five suitable horses.

"Any of these would do," the man said as he led him down. "Born and bred here no farther south than the Gift. Each has been taken north of the Wall at least twice."

Tiresias paused to pat the spotted mare in her stall. She nuzzled his hand.

I'm sorry. But you'll have to wait a little longer at the Castle Black. You're not suited for the weather beyond the Wall.

Indeed she had two blankets on her at the moment. She seemed comfortable enough, so Tiresias gave her a final pat before moving on.

"This is yer usual mount, right?" They came to a stop to the winter beast before them. The man had a reliable memory. For the sake of familiarity, Tiresias chose the same horse to ride out into the Haunted Forest for hunting practices that he had for the summit.

Tiresias nodded. "Aye. Will he do for a long trek?"

The horsemaster shrugged. "As good as any other. Like I said, all them would do up there. These aren't the animals you lot brought from Winterfell."

The horse accepted his scratches quietly, not moving to or away from his hand.

"What else you lookin' for?"

"Temperament." He turned to see the man's questioning gaze. "I want calm horses. Those that won't be spooked easily."

Fortunately the stablemaster didn't seem to have any more questions. Quickly enough, they narrowed down the available mounts to five that would serve them well. Tiresias paused on the way out to give his burly Northern horse a final scratch.

Will you remain so calm when we strap a squirming dead man to your back?

He didn't wait for an answer. Giving the spotted mare a farewell scratch as well, he exited the stables.

Preparations for the trek didn't stop there. Memories of his first excursion beyond the Wall were flooding back to him. Not just the scene by the stream or Craster bleeding out. He remembered the hunger. The weakness that nearly finished him at the end. He may not have been cold, but there were other ways for one to die out there.

He had two things in his favor. First, he had far more experience surviving in the wilderness than he did previously. And second, he wouldn't be alone. He would be trekking with experienced rangers and Free Folk. He didn't anticipate starving.

But he didn't want to be useless. So he studied and practiced survival techniques from books and other rangers. Those that would talk to him. How to find food. How to conserve energy. He refreshed his memory of the stars and the directions they led.

Tiresias didn't plan on being the expert. He didn't expect to lead. But if worse came to worse and he was alone with their captured wight, running like hell back to Castle Black, he wanted to make it.

However, in between all this, he still found room for quiet. Relative quiet at least. Gusts of wind still sang as they rounded the corners of ice on top of the Wall.

The elevator cage was empty when he came to it. Tiresias latched it shut, pulled the lever and began to climb. He didn't go to the top often, but every few days when the sun peeked through the clouds as it set, he wanted a view. He could see more and more green farther to the south as he climbed higher. Snow still covered a good portion of it.

The cage halted and he stepped out to the walkway. He smelled the salt on the ground, heard it crunch beneath his boots. His wish for peace and solitude seemed a bigger ask than his last visit. Every observation post on the top was occupied by two black brothers. Occasionally he got a look back as he walked past, but all of them seemed quite focused on the Haunted Forest.

Tiresias cursed silently. He should have expected this. Jeor Mormont had to mitigate the rumors somehow. A full admittance to Castle Black about the plans for the wildling migration…he'd be dead before the next sunup.

So he played tough and increased the posts. Easy enough to pull back from when they needed to. They weren't going out on raids and while the massive wildling encampment was as far back as it was, it wouldn't draw notice…

That he hoped. But he had to see for himself.

Turning from the main walkway, he walked out onto an observation post, staying well behind the edge. This post was occupied by only one watchman, huddled by the fire. He jumped to attention as Tiresias came up, but relaxed as he saw whom it was.

"Afternoon," Tiresias nodded, before looking out. He did his best not to stare at the watchman. He had seen him around the castle before this. Recognized him but gave no sign. Where would Tiresias Mountainfall had ever seen this man before?

His hand gripped the rope bolted into the ice. He didn't trust the gusts of wind that billowed the Wall.

Will looked back to the walkway then to him. "Not here to relieve me, are you?"

He shook his head. "Just here for a look."

Not even bothering to hide his disappointment, Will slumped back on his crate, holding his hands out to the blaze. Comfortable with the slight hatred Will felt with him – the man still had his head after all – Tiresias focused on the far horizon. He was terrible with estimating distances by sight. What was thirty miles out? What was ten?

However far they were out, Mance was certainly being careful. He saw no huge swells of smoke from the Free Folk camp. Either they were spaced properly or they were all waiting for night to fall. In the darkness, smoke wouldn't be seen and the light would be far enough away.

Good, Mance, good. We don't need these lot any more on edge.

Nodding to Will, who completely ignored him, he turned back to the main walkway again. He wanted to gaze in the other direction. It was quite easy to find an unoccupied opening to do so. No one was looking for any dangers from the south.

With the wind now coming behind him, Tiresias took extra care. There were no ropes to grip on this side, so he sat and planted himself down on the snow. A fair distance from the edge.

He had come here a few times. The Gift was a vast area. If he couldn't see Mance's camp to the north, then he didn't even try to see to the end of the Gift. Though the distant greenery came more easily to his eyes here than from the lift. The setting sun helped as well. The snow reflected it, but the green welcomed it and it drew his eye.

I sure won't be seeing any of this when I'm far North. I hope I'll see it again soon.

Winterfell was hundreds of miles away. Still he looked in its direction. Word arrived a fortnight ago of Lord Stark's return. Along with Jon and all the soldiers. A boring return from the Wall.

Tiresias breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the news. It seemed that Roose would hold off a little bit longer before striking. But how much longer? The wargs were seeking constantly, so they were told, but they had nothing to show for it yet. Meanwhile, the longer they went without evidence of a greater threat, the more rumors could spread among the Northern lords. He doubted Lord Umber remained completely silent since his return to Last Hearth.

If a messenger came tonight with a location, he wouldn't hesitate to leave instantly. They were running out of time. If they didn't leave soon…

Tiresias exhaled slowly on a count of three. It was out of his hands. He was doing all he could at the moment. Time would pass regardless. He had to be at peace with that. Or attempt to be anyway.

He remained on top of the Wall for a couple more hours, watching the sunlight disappear only to be replaced with starlight. Now he could look at the snow-laden trees in comfort. He never grew bored. This view, this peace, was precious to him. He was well aware only a few in this world were able to enjoy it.