Chapter 57

He didn't feel the cold. That hadn't changed. But there was still something in the fresh morning air that filled his lungs and opened his eyes, despite their protest. It was still dark when they set out from Mance's tent, the King himself leading them to the northern edge of the camp. Morning grey was just beginning to dull the eastern sky.

There was no sudden stop to the encampment. Tents and firepits slowly became more scattershot and the morning mist hung heavy. Tiresias had kept an eye out ever since they departed, trying to see possibilities for any defenses that could built up.

But it was no good. This wasn't Hardhome and there was a clear difference building a wall for a narrow beach versus a whole range in the Haunted Forest. Perhaps when they moved closer to the Wall, narrowed their field. Maybe then…

They'll just be easier to attack. Concentrated even further. Trapped against the Wall. They won't even be able to escape to the sea…

The group came to a halt and he followed suit. Mance spoke to Tormund at the front, issuing last instructions. Tiresias didn't bother to eavesdrop. It didn't matter. Besides, Benjen was right next to the Giantsbane. If Mance said anything of importance, he'd pass it on.

He looked around. They had passed the last tent about ten minutes ago. There were still stragglers, but there were few. All concentrated on their group from a distance. Tiresias ignored them and listened to the forest.

It had been years since he'd been here. He couldn't say with total honesty whether or not he'd seen this part of the forest when he departed for Craster's, but he likely did. He just couldn't remember. He wondered if they would pass through the remains of his keep. If any of the charred walls still stood.

Up ahead, Mance gave Tormund a final handshake before the redhead rode on ahead. He offered Benjen the same and the First Ranger took his hand. As each member of their band rode past, Mance gripped their hand in farewell, crow and wildling alike. A few brief words he offered to each.

Near the rear, Tiresias was one of the last to face the King beyond the Wall. He reached out and gripped Mance's gloved hand with his bare one, waiting, but Mance didn't seem to have much to add to what he said last night.

"Farewell, Tiresias." His weary smile was back. "I hope you don't die."

"Aye, me too," Tiresias responded quietly. His voice didn't seem his own. He hoped to see Mance and the others they passed this morning, walking through the tunnel at Castle Black. He tried to say so, but it wouldn't come out.

Mance seemed to understand. He nodded and released, giving his bare hand a pointed look. Tiresias turned and rode away from the implication, following Macha and the others.

They heard Mance and the others turned about face to return to camp. No one looked back, but Tiresias tried to follow them with his ears. It was ten minutes or so before he finally left them behind and focused on his front. It was dangerous to do otherwise out here.

There was no incentive to talk. Tiresias was grateful for it. The line of horses adjusted naturally as they rode on, but he remained in the middle of the retinue, following whomever deigned to lead. At the moment, it was Macha.

He thought back to his last trek in these parts. Trying to find his way. He found it eventually, but there were points when that was an uncertainty. Now, unburdened by those who actually knew this land, and with the snow-laden silence, he opened his ears and listened. To the forest. For anything unnatural. Or just anything he hadn't heard before.

What did a White Walker sound like? Does his armor clink? Ice cracking as he walks? Does the world go truly quiet before they arrive?

It was sure quiet enough as they rode. And it made for a long day. However, they came to a river crossing just before the sun began to set.

Tiresias turned to Benjen. "Forgive a stupid question. That can't be the Milkwater, right?"

"Good guess." Benjen looked to the sky, red with dusk. "That won't be sighted for another three days at least."

The line of horses came to the water. Macha took the lead, steering her mare to the shallow flatbed. Tiresias felt his horse shiver as he stepped into the water, but he held strong and calmly walked across the river.

They circled up after crossing, Qhorin bringing up the rear. Macha muttered to Tormund before speaking up.

"We should camp here. Rest and warm the horses. Set up while we still have the sun. Set out tomorrow before it rises again. We'll try and fish tonight."

No one objected. After dismounting, everyone went to work. Tiresias' knowledge of fishing extended not much further than gutting them. So he remained to build the camp. Karsi and Kober went to fish.

Macha eyed him as he laid the foundation for the fire. "Don't build that too high, ye hear?"

"Don't worry," Tiresias murmured, his eyes on the tinder. "Don't want any visitors this time."

A low but sustained fire meant it had to be tended carefully for the remainder of the evening. Tiresias had embers in his eyes when darkness truly settled. When Karsi returned with three grey trout. As they ate dinner.

Tired of sitting, Tiresias volunteered to dispose of the fish bones and skin. Stepping to the river, he tossed them into the gentle current, dipping his hands after to rinse them clean. Glancing over, he saw the trap the Free Folk had laid out. By dawn, they should have enough food for the whole day.

He took his time returning to the fire. It was the end of the evening and there were no more distractions to help the time pass. Thankfully no one tried to make small talk. Tiresias barely sat down when Tormund spoke up.

"We should rest now while we can," He took a moderate pull of his sour milk. He only carried two skins of it and that had to last for the whole trip. "Who wants the first watch?"

"I'll take it," Tiresias said. It wasn't entirely altruistic of him. First watch got the benefit of uninterrupted sleep for the rest of the night. They worked out a system beforehand where only four of them would watch per night, leaving half of them undisturbed, rotating each night throughout the trek.

No one objected, so Tormund assigned the rest. Tiresias would wake Karsi. Karsi would wake Clatton. Clatton would wake Tormund who would see the predawn and wake them all.

With that, everyone pulled out their skins and coupled up for warmth. Before settling in with Karsi, Macha handed him the sheepskin.

"Remember; don't let the fire get high," she warned before lying down.

Tiresias nodded and wrapped the sheepskin around himself, not bothering to turn it down. His bow laid ready at his feet as he settled in. Looking to the glowing embers, he listened as everyone's hearts took on the steady rhythm of sleep.

With only one draught of the sour milk, even Tormund avoided snoring. He was grateful. Kober would probably strangle him to keep silent. He wasn't worried about it attracting unwarranted attention though. Any passersby would see the glowing embers before hearing any of them.

When he was sure that everyone was asleep, he removed the sheepskin. He also pulled off his jacket, leaving only his woolen shirt. He breathed deeply and stretched his upper body in place, feeling a right amount of the brisk night air. Afterwards, with still nearly two hours to go on his watch, he added a thin log to the fire, stroking it gently with a stick.

In between tending the flame, he closed his eyes, breathing in on a count, holding…and then exhaling. He felt a humorless smile form. If not for the company, this could have been years ago. The first time he was out here in the Haunted Forest...

In on one…two…three and hold….one…two…three…

His heart didn't beat quite as slow as his companions, but after it calmed significantly, he listened. As well as he possibly could. He had no idea what his limits were, considering his senses. It wasn't something he could test on his own. Not really.

Nevertheless, he didn't detect any danger. Dead, undead or alive in their vicinity. So he listened to the trees and after a while, he detected the wood contracting ever so slightly from the increasing cold.

He went to the river. It took patience but he found the difference between the gentle splashes hitting the rocks and the odd trout that escaped their trap, breaching the surface. His heart leapt when he heard someone downstream dragging sticks to the river, but then he heard the flat tail dragging, the gnawing of the wood. It was just a beaver building a dam. Returning to the trees, he found a nest. A mother rested on her eggs. He found her heart, resting but still fluttering much faster than any of his companions. He came down and exhaled, his ears back on the forest floor…

His eyes shot open and he stared to the northwest. Something was coming from there. Something large. Something he hadn't quite heard before.

Nocking an arrow, he kept his bow lowered as he stood. Quietly as to not wake his companions. Sleep was precious and the creature was not an immediate danger. It walked naturally. Not like a wight, or he guessed. Still, he didn't break his gaze. He stared into the trees past the firepit, his ears perked. The forest was dark outside of the firelight, but there was still the moon and it reflected upon the snow. Tiresias focused on that moonlight. Whatever was coming would cross there. He could hear it breathing. Smelled it as it approached. He raised his bow, but did not draw…

Far off, a large wolf came from the right, crossing in the moonlight. He almost missed it, catching the tail, and finding the rest of the creature, its fur grey and white, invisible in the snow.

Once he caught it, he followed it with his bow as it prowled past. It was large. Larger than any wolf he had ever seen.

A direwolf…

The symbol of the Stark house, it showed no interest in their fire. Tiresias continued to follow it as it went. It crossed southwest and he pivoted slowly. Away from the fire. Coming to the stream, it halted and stooped to drink, its tired pants coming between the gulps. It must have been traveling for a long time.

Once it was sated, the direwolf lifted its head, shaking it. It didn't move after, staying by the stream. It stared to the moon…and then it looked back. To their fire. To him…

Tiresias didn't move right away, meeting the direwolf's eyes. Slowly he lowered the bow, though the arrow stayed nocked. He heard the pants, the sniffs and he reciprocated. Not taking his eyes away, he sniffed. He had smelled wolves before. This was similar, but there was something about this creature that stood out. It was familiar though…

Before he had another chance to figure it out, the direwolf turned and crossed the stream, continuing south. Its snowy, giant figure disappeared into the dark and he could no longer follow it. The sound of its paws faded away as well. And quickly after, its scent.

He stared into the dark for a bit more before turning back to the fire. After a quick check to make sure nothing else had snuck up while he was fascinated by the direwolf, he settled down and put the bow aside.

The rest of his watch dragged on as he continued to listen to the forest. However, he didn't neglect his duty. He opened his eyes on occasion. Tended the fire, glanced to those sleeping, looked into the shadows beyond the glow of their camp.

When he was sure that at least two hours had passed, he stood and stretched, stifling the moans of relief. He had sat for too long. The cracks from his back popped in the quiet. After pulling his fur jacket back on, he bent down to Karsi, shaking her shoulder gently.

Her hand went to her sheath before her eyes opened. Tiresias stood back, but once she saw who it was, she dropped her hand. No one wants to be woken from a deep sleep, but she took it well. Not making a noise or even whispering a swear, she rubbed her eyes and exhaled briskly before getting up. Macha stirred, but Karsi put the skin back and their tracker settled again.

She took a pull from her waterskin. "Anything?" she murmured.

"Large wolf passed by. Went southwest."

Karsi looked in that direction. As tempted as Tiresias was to keep that bit of magic to himself, as sure as he was that the direwolf would not be returning, it was stupid to chance that. He could never know. It was a wild animal after all.

She turned back to him and he exhaled.

"Aside from that, nothing." Tiresias glanced northwest where they were headed. "I would say silent as the grave, but I don't think that's very fitting."

Not so much as a smirk escaped the two of them. Tiresias handed her the sheepskin, which he had hung by the fire. Karsi didn't say so, but he saw the relief in her eyes as she draped it around her shoulders. They traded places. Karsi took the seat next to the wood pile and Tiresias laid down next to Macha, slipping under the skin, pulling it up to his chest.

He didn't close his eyes right away. Setting her short spear to the side, Karsi pulled out a root from a pouch and started chewing it carefully. She spotted him watching her and pulled it out to show it.

"Mothsbane." She shrugged. "Nothing to do with moths. You can't eat it, but you can chew it. It's bitter. Wakes you up."

She popped the root back in and chewed slowly, looking out. Tiresias settled in, staring to the forest floor. He wished he had something for the opposite. Sleep was going to come slowly to him tonight. He could tell. It meant a long day tomorrow.

In his periphery, Karsi looked to him. Saw he wasn't asleep. She gestured to the sheepskin.

"You didn't need this, did you?".

Was there any point in denying it? Karsi didn't look away from him as he considered it. Finally, he shook his head. There was no surprise in her eyes as she stroked the embers.

"That night…" she whispered, under their sleeping companions. "Part of me thought it was a ghost or a spirit we came upon. Alone, unfeeling to the cold with a strange song…"

She slowly rotated her obsidian short spear in her hands.

"But this is real. I've seen those bright blue eyes you spoke of…and you're real enough. Pulled you down into the snow enough times to know that. You're no spirit."

The spear stilled as she met his eyes.

"So how?"

She didn't need to elaborate. Tiresias averted his eyes, looking back to the forest floor, to the patches of bare earth. Everywhere else was just snow.

"It was a gift," he breathed. "I don't know who gave it or how…but I'm not bothered by it. I haven't felt a chill in years."

Slowly…his chest grew a little lighter. Ever since that night in Winterfell, when he stepped into the snow in the yard, he hadn't spoken it out loud. No one in Westeros knew. He supposed that was still true in a way. The Seven Kingdoms were behind him at the moment. Tonight, he was in the wilderness beyond them.

"However…that might change when we meet them. When we see a horde of blue eyes through the mist."

Karsi didn't respond. When he looked to her, she was regarding him with that piercing gaze. He met it as well as he could. But sleep was actually beginning to come to him. He blinked slowly as he exhaled. A dense fog escaped from him.

"I suppose it's very cold tonight?" he whispered.

She looked to the fire and nodded. A part of him wanted to ask if she'd keep the secret. But it was a futile request. The Free Folk he encountered that night, Macha, Boren, Collum and she…they all talked to Mance and the others. Spoke all they could of the stranger who gave them dragonglass. The rumors were out among the Free Folk. And once they were let past the Wall, it would spread to the North…

Assuming they would actually take the time to gossip about you when they're fleeing for their lives…Jesus Christ, man. It's not all about you.

He shut his eyes. It took a few minutes before the admonishment in his head cleared up and he could sleep.

Any worries he had about gossip filtering down to the North abated shortly. Karsi didn't mention it to him again. None of the other Free Folk looked at him any differently. And to top it off, their journey didn't seem to allow it. As they rode farther north, silence became quite natural. Even the horses were discreet, emitting low neighs and grunts that the snow quickly quieted.

The three days to the Milkwater were uneventful. On their third day out though, Tiresias found a landmark that led to his former target years ago.

As he turned back, he saw Benjen looking at him.

"Don't worry," he said. "We're not passing it."

That drew a few curious looks, but Benjen didn't elaborate. He was grateful for that. The First Ranger even waited until they rode side-by-side before mentioning it further.

"We ranged there once after. Saw the remains." he muttered, looking straight ahead. "Must have been four months or so after you paid a visit. We had just sent his wives and daughters off to Bear Island."

"Did they ever said who killed him?"

He shook his head. "Not one. All they said was that Craster was dead."

Tiresias glanced to the north. "Is there anything left?"

"The cold will keep what's left for many years." Benjen spat. "But the people that live here have long memories. They'll leave a cursed spot well enough alone. Allow the forest to take it back."

They didn't say anything for a while, taking in said forest.

"Well, no one lives anywhere else around here anymore. This whole place is now cursed." Tiresias shrugged. "Or will be shortly. Who knows? Maybe if they're ever able to return, they'll see it in a new light. It's a good spot."

He looked over to see Benjen staring at him oddly. Tiresias sighed.

"Forget it," he said. "I don't know what I'm talking about."

Giving his horse a gentle kick, he rode ahead, hoping none of the others had heard that nonsense.

He was near the front when they came to Milkwater. Though he had heard it miles back, he kept his face neutral and let Macha tell the group. They came to a rushing river. Tiresias could see that there was no crossing here. The currents were too strong.

Macha turned to them as they circled.

"There's a calmer part downriver where we can cross," she called over the currents. "About a halfday's ride south. We should camp here. If we set out now, it would be dark when we arrive."

No one argued. Travelling at night was not their preference. But there was another reason Tiresias suspected. He flinched at first when Macha called out. It was the loudest any of them had spoken in days.

But here under the rushing currents…it was safe. Or at least safer than usual. The waters here would mask their noises.

Tiresias looked to their rear. It would deafen him significantly as well. The forest will be a lot more difficult to read tonight.

Still it was a good spot. They also had a natural barrier to the north and west. No wight would cross the Milkwater here. As they set up camp, their eyes kept to the forest behind them, to the south and east. He waited until the fire was going before he looked to the river.

"This flows into the Gorge, yes?" he asked no one in particular. "Right past the Shadow Tower?"

Turning back, he caught the eye of Qhorin, who nodded. Tiresias picked up a stick, tracing in the snow, trying to remember the map. He felt the Halfhand's eye on him, sensed his mounting impatience. His hand must have hesitated too long, because Qhorin took the stick and began tracing himself. Tiresias didn't protest.

Finally the Halfhand finished and pointed with the stick.

"We're here," he said rather impatiently. "Farther downriver than when we'll cross is a fork. It splits into this and another river we'll meet in a day and a half. We'll follow that river up to the Fist of the First Men. We'll see the Frostfangs from across the Milkwater. Cross into them there and leave the forest and animals behind."

He looked to Tiresias. "You got that?"

"Aye," Tiresias said softly. "Thank you."

Qhorin scoffed, tossing the stick in the flames. "Don't thank me. I don't want any idiots on this trek."

"Too late for that. Besides…" He turned to the Halfhand. "This whole expedition is idiotic."

"It was your idea."

He shrugged. "Well, it's the best idiotic idea I had. By far."

That didn't get a laugh out of the veteran ranger. But he did hear a hitched breath. That was one victory he clung to. Tiresias and Qhorin sat in silence; the ranger cleaning two rabbits caught that day while he constructed a spit. The flayed rabbits were rotating slowly when he spoke again.

"The Northern lords, the Night's Watch…they need something, Qhorin. They need to see it. Otherwise it'll be…"

"You don't need to waste your strength or words trying to convince me," Qhorin interrupted, his eyes on the meat. "I'm already here."

It was his turn for a hitched breath. "Aye. Silly me."

It was the most efficient expedition he had ever been a part of. The Winterfell hunters couldn't compare. The militaristic Lannisters would have been a poor fit with the snow. With four Free Folk and four veteran rangers, Tiresias was easily the lag of the group if they had to choose one. If it wasn't for his imperviousness to the cold, it would have been more obvious.

At times, he forgot where he was and the actual danger they were in. Not for long, thankfully. Only in moments when they crossed the river with little trouble and steady calm. Or when the camp was broken down and hidden in minutes in the morning. Or when no one grumbled when they were woken in the blinding darkness for their watch.

They proceeded northwest after the crossing. Benjen suggested finding the Milkwater again and following it. But he was overruled. The trail by the river was relatively well worn by generations of Free Folk. If the wights were looking for any fresh recruits in these parts, they'd stick to that. The obscure paths were safer. Not safe. Just safer.

And so, bidding farewell to the rushing waters and the foothills on the other side, at least for now, Tiresias found himself listening to the Haunted Forest for several more nights. They proceeded at a moderate pace, conserving their strength. Fresh water was easy enough to come by. Game was in fine supply. With every Free Folk gathered just north of Castle Black, the animals had a small reprieve. No one said anything while the meat was cooking, but Tiresias saw it in their eyes: the main camp needed this bounty far more than they did. They couldn't hold out much longer.

However, guilt and anxiety were not helpful here. He bolted down his breakfast as quickly as anyone and started overturning the camp. No one noted yet that he was quite comfortable with the heat of the flame. Not that he made a big show of it. Or took any unnecessary risks.

As he saddled up, Benjen spoke to him. "Do you know where we'll end up today?"

"Besides more north?" Tiresias shook his head. "No. Should I?"

He saw Macha and Karsi giving him side glances as they mounted their own horses. Benjen shrugged.

"Didn't know if you came this far north last time. Maybe I just wanted to see if you're truly a soothsayer."

"Didn't venture this way before." He nudged his steed as they rode on. "I was on me own. Only on the hunt for Free Folk. Not the dead."

"And Craster too," added Benjen quietly. Tormund was ahead of them. He didn't turn around, but Tiresias heard his pulse quicken.

"That was a different kind of hunt," he said softly. Far as he knew, none of the Free Folk had even mentioned Craster's, let alone his killing. It was as if he was simply swallowed by the earth.

Benjen projected normally when he spoke again. "Should I tell you then? Where we're going?"

"It's no danger, me not knowing?"

The First Ranger shrugged. "Not that I can think of."

Tiresias smiled humorlessly. "Then let's keep it a surprise. Might make the day last longer."

It didn't really. Besides the days were long enough already. The careful progress, the quiet of the group – Benjen fell silent after they set out – and the possibility of danger coming through the trees stretched each day where the evening felt more and more elusive. It was some trick, not letting it burrow under one's mind. Tiresias wasn't sure how he fared. It certainly wasn't his first experience traveling under dangerous circumstances. At least this time he wasn't alone.

Still, he nearly forgot about Benjen's question as the day progressed. It was only in the midafternoon when he spotted what seemed to be a wall of snow through the trees. Just as he heard the gentle rush of a river. He blinked and saw a hill. He turned to the First Ranger who smiled grimly.

"Aye, that's the Fist there."

A relic of the Dawn Age, built by the First Men. As they came out of the Haunted Forest, Tiresias regarded the hill with equal parts curiosity and dread. He had no idea how long it took the Lord Commander and his great ranging to reach this area. Or how long they stayed.

But he remembered certainly what happened to them. Decimation. A lopsided defeat as the dead came crashing down on this ancient ringfort.

"We can't camp here," he said to no one in particular.

"We have to. For one night," said Tormund, as he pointed to the west. "Unless you want to go charging into those right now."

He followed Tormund's gesture to a great range of mountains. The Frostfangs were finally visible. These weren't the western foothills he gazed upon after they crossed the first river. These were proper mountains and the easiest part of their journey was over.

His horse followed the others, allowing him to gaze unabashed. Tormund was right. They were all tired and needed to rest. The Fist of the First Men would do for one night. As they rode up the hill, he looked for any sign of a disturbance. Severely hoping that the dead had already covered this territory and found nothing.

Nothing indicated so. The only marks in the snow were the ones they were making at the moment. Coming to the south side, they rode to the top to the ruins. They dismounted and tended to the animals before exploring. All that remained was the ring wall. Most of it anyway. Ancient grey stone that rose to their chests.

They all turned to the west at some point. The Frostfangs shone golden in the afternoon light. Tiresias looked to the foot of the mountains and saw the source of the rushing water. The Milkwater flowed freely. Not quite as hurried as it was further downstream. It looked freezing. At least to his eyes. He followed it north and saw it disappear into the Frostfangs. The Milkwater Valley.

Ignoring the commanding views for a moment, Tiresas gripped the stone wall and peered over. The slope was quite steep and dangerous to the west. And to the north too as he discovered. It didn't look much better east.

The dead scurried over these slopes. A sea of blue eyes and screeches crawling up to swallow the Night's Watch…

Macha spoke, interrupting the memory of a voided future.

"All right. We go without fire tonight. It's too high and we'll have no trees to obscure our camp. Anyone say otherwise?"

No one objected. So she continued.

"Karsi, Kober; take two others with you when you fish. You'll cook the meat on the riverside and bring it up here. Turn over the fire there before you go. It's got to be gone before sunset."

The two Free Folk plus Gared and Clatton went down the path to the Milkwater without further ado. Sunlight was precious this time of day. Without a fire though, camp was easy enough to set. No one bothered to question how they would best keep from freezing. They all knew. Pairing up under the skins. Hiding from the wind under the stone ring. They couldn't double down on the skins. The horses would need the extra blankets tonight. Even when they huddled.

So Tiresias assumed. So far the cold hadn't penetrated whatever protection he had. Though he didn't miss Karsi sending him a side glance at the mention of no fire earlier.

As he gathered the horses together to huddle them, he glanced down the bank where they climbed. His memories of the story were foggy in some areas. As he surveyed the Fist of the First Men, he wondered where a latrine would be best dug.

He hadn't forgotten that somewhere, hidden on this hill, there was a cache of obsidian daggers and arrowheads. There wasn't much to do before the sun set. After the horses were taken care of, he could go and look. Perhaps gain a little more ammo against the dead before they entered the Frostfangs.

The idea died in his mind quickly. That was just it. It was only a little more ammo. They already had dragonglass. Daggers that were hilted. Arrowheads already strapped. Even they were lucky, they would expend too much energy looking for it before they likely found anything. Then they would be exhausted, freezing and overburdened.

So Tiresias let the cache go and continued to tend the horses. That mystery will remain buried for another thousand years.

It's all right. Not all mysteries need to be brought to light.

The horses were quickly taken care of. With the sun quickly setting, they took advantage of the light and checked the equipment and supplies. Tiresias smelled the woodsmoke and the fish down by the Milkwater. So far on their trek, they had great fortune hunting small game and fishing. Their dried foods were barely touched and would be needed in the Frostfangs.

The fishing party brought up their cooked supper right after the sun had set, steaming in the cold. They ate in the dark, their eyes not quite adjusted yet. Except for Tiresias. He chewed gingerly, spitting out the bone.

"Will this be the last fresh meat we catch 'til we leave the mountains?"

He muttered low. He had listened before. There was no one coming. No one within range. Still his heart couldn't settle in this darkness. It didn't matter that he knew they were safer without a fire.

Macha responded next to him.

"Small game, maybe. There are some lakes in those mountains. Waterfalls." She spat out her own fishbones. "Not many are on our way. Not where Orell flew."

By the time the covert meal was over, the stars were bright and everyone's eyes had adjusted. They licked their fingers and threw the fishbones into a prepared shallow hole. Tiresias drew more than one bewildered look when he poured some water on his hands. Freezing water that didn't numb his skin, only cleansed it.

Thankfully it was time for bed and no one would push away valuable rest for a line of questioning. After the fish remains were buried and the watch rotation was decided, Tiresias tucked against the grey stone, sharing a skin with Qhorin. The old ranger said nothing to him and he returned the favor. Thankfully Qhorin didn't need much contact and fell asleep with his back against his.

He had the second watch tonight. He eyed the first watch huddled under the sheepskin. Tormund would wake him. Assuming he could even fall asleep. He normally did, but tonight was a restless night. It didn't help that he had to lay still. He couldn't move much without disturbing Qhorin.

Perhaps it was the Fist itself. He remembered what happened here. The screech of the White Walker after it regarded Sam. It echoed in his ears, through the snow…

Tiresias blinked. He had woken from a memory. It wasn't snowing tonight. The stars were quite clear. Qhorin was still sleeping besides him. All heartbeats pulsed slow enough. There were no White Walkers. And the only thing that sounded in the air was the eastern wind.

He tried to fall back asleep. Nothing doing. Hoping Qhorin would survive a few moments without his heat, he slowly got up. He crept away from his sleeping companions, over to where their current watch stood.

The man said nothing when he first joined him. He came to the grey stone, staring out to the west. With the immense starlight falling on the snow and ice, the Frostfangs were quite illuminated. Even a man without his eyes would see them easily.

Sure enough, Tormund was peering to the shimmering mountains. A dragonglass axe in one hand and his sour milk in the other.

"I'm still on watch," he muttered. "You should sleep more."

"I should," Tiresias agreed softly. "But I can't. Not tonight."

"What's keeping you awake, Mountainfall?"

"That's not my name."

"Your true name has too many sounds in it."

Tiresias smirked. "You and many Northmen share the same thought."

"Hmm."

He was sure Tormund didn't appreciate being lumped in with the Northerners. But the man didn't seem to take too much offense. He raised his waterskin as Tormund raised his sour milk. Wiping a trickle from his chin, he sighed.

"Besides Mountainfall has nearly as many sounds in it as Tiresias."

Tormund looked to him. Away from the Frostfangs. "Tell me more about him. The Mountain."

Tiresias met his eyes only briefly before returning to the Frostfangs. That same question encountered such resistance in him before. Not just with Prince Oberyn. With many a soldier in Winterfell. With a Stark child or two. All eager for a good story.

What Tormund asked…how he asked. It was similar to Tyrion in Casterly Rock. There he just needed to talk…

Tormund spoke. "Whenever someone says anything about it…your eyes get sad."

That settled it for him. Tiresias took a breath.

"The last thing he did before I managed to put my dagger in his eye…he had his hand around my throat and he squeezed. It wasn't for long. I know that…but it seemed so. Never felt anything like that. Another few seconds and I'd have…"

He exhaled. "After I healed, I thought it was over…few months after though, I felt his massive hand on my throat again. It wasn't there, I know. And it wasn't even during a fight or a spar…I was surrounded by people who made it sound like a jolly thing and I just felt it again. I couldn't breathe."

"The first day we practiced…when your eyes went wild?"

Tiresias cursed silently. He hoped Benjen was the only one who noticed. It was a futile hope but still…

"No, that wasn't the Mountain. That was…an active imagination."

Thankfully Tormund didn't ask him to elaborate. To fill the silence, Tiresias took another draught from his waterskin.

"Do you feel his hands on your throat now?"

He shook his head. "Nah…it's easy to breathe out here. So far. I can still fight and all, but it's just there." He gestured to his throat lightly. "Lurking. Always will be, I suppose."

"Need a pull?"

The smell of the sour milk hit him before he turned to see Tormund offering the skin.

"No, thanks. Like I said, I can still breathe easy. Thank you though."

Tormund shrugged and lifted the skin. He sighed as he lowered it.

"Years of fighting them, watching our families fall to them, rise again with them…" he said quietly, looking to the Frostfangs. "It's made the nights worse for us. That large camp we came from…you stay for more than one night and you can catch the echo of a man screaming in his sleep. Or a woman. Children aren't the only ones cursed with nightmares."

"No, they aren't." He tuned back to the west as well. "But this is a lovely night so far. I know the Frostfangs are dangerous. I'll hate entering them…but they looked beautiful from far away, under starlight."

Tormund spat. "Beautiful from here. It's not just the dead that prowl there." He lowered his voice even more. "Dark gods live under those mountains."

In his old world, such words wouldn't have affected him. Gods didn't have much to contribute there, from what he remembered. But here, after what he'd witnessed from the story…the hair stood on his neck. And the starlight on the Frostfangs suddenly didn't seem quite so majestic.

"What happened to their worshippers?" He matched Tormund's mutter.

"Some are in the big camp. Others stayed." A fog escaped the man as he sighed. "Best if we not meet them on our way. Alive or dead."

They sat in quiet for a bit. Tiresias was still staring straight ahead when he spoke.

"My wife is pregnant."

In his periphery, he saw Tormund turn to him, felt his eyebrows raised.

"Wot?"

"My wife…she's pregnant."

"You have a woman?"

"Aye…" he said softly. In case the mountains were listening. "I heard just before I left Castle Black. She's in Winterfell. She's a seamstress. Makes clothes for the Starks. She's good at it. Very skilled. And she's pregnant. I haven't told anyone."

He swore he heard the man blink.

"So why'd you tell me?" Tormund asked, incredulous.

"I don't know…sometimes, I completely forget about it. Other times, it's all I can think about. We're going to have a child and here I am. Out here."

He sighed. "It's for the best. I know. I don't need to be reassured. What we're doing out here will save my child and her and many others…I just needed to say it all out loud. My wife is pregnant. She's waiting for me at home. I'm going to be a father."

Tormund turned back to the mountains. "Hmm…well, good for you. And her."

Tiresias smiled. "Thank you…not sure I'll believe it until I make it back to Winterfell. Maybe I'll make it back in time for the birth."

His smile faded as he observed the Frostfangs. "We'll just need to make it out of there alive."

"We will. We'll be entering those mountains just as the sun hits them on the morrow." Tormund stretched. "Til then, I'll go and sleep if you're so determined to be awake."

"Fair enough," Tiresias murmured as the man slipped quietly behind him. He was about to concentrate and listen to the surrounding area before Tormund spoke again.

"You should have stayed across the sea, Mountainfall," he whispered.

"Why? Cause of the Walkers?"

"That. And there…you see the sun before we do. The day comes quicker."

Tiresias smirked humorlessly. "So does the night."

Tormund nodded at that, conceding the point and trudged quietly to the group. Soon enough, he was asleep. Tiresias heard his easy pulse. The eastern wind must be a lullaby to the man. It hit the Fist and continued to the Frostfangs. He listened to it, cursing it lightly for keeping him awake.

Though admittedly, it wasn't the fault of the wind. He didn't think so. The sight of the Frostfangs, kissed by starlight, unnerved him as well. Maybe Tormund was right. Maybe there were dark gods under those mountains.

Something else carried on the eastern wind. Something far away but it carried. He turned his ear away from the Frostfangs and the Milkwater…heard the howling of wolves in the distance. It made him smile. The distant pack howling at the night sky. Together. Unafraid.

Tiresias glanced to his sleeping companions. They weren't wolves. They weren't unafraid. They had no reason to be. They couldn't howl at the moon and announce themselves. They were in enemy territory.

He dropped his smile and looked back to the Frostfangs. He wondered, despite their silence, if the dark gods could see them from under that chilled rock.