Chapter 10: Looming danger

Standing in a place that stank of rot and roots, air so thick with damp it stuck in his throat. Trees loomed around him, gnarled and twisted, their branches clawing at the dark like they'd grab you if you got too close, and right there, stuck in the middle of it all, was that old man, roots wrapping him up like he'd grown into the damn tree himself.

Arrax blinked hard, gut twisting, curiosity itching like a rash he couldn't scratch—those white eyes boring into him, same as Ghost's, like they'd seen every bloody thing he'd ever done and then some. The Three-Eyed Raven, he thought, memory jolting sharp, tying it back to that book he'd read 'til his eyes burned, the one that'd kept him sane when his legs were gone. This was the memory of the Seven Kingdoms, the one who saw past, present, future, all at once—and here he was, staring at Arrax like he'd just walked in on a feast he wasn't invited to. So that's warging, he mused, piecing it together, Jon's wolf linking him to this creepy old bastard, pulling him here like a rope jerked tight.

The Raven's lips twitched, cracked and dry, voice creaking out like a branch bending in the wind, "You don't belong here," and it hit Arrax like a slap, low, raspy, cutting through the damp air. He shifted, boots sinking into the mushy ground, armor creaking loud, "What's that mean?" he growled back, voice rough from the cold and the weirdness, "Here I am, ain't I?"

The old man's eyes stayed fixed, white and unblinking, roots curling tighter around his bony frame, "You're a crack in the weave, a stone in the stream, time bends around you, breaks," he said, voice dropping colder, "I see the past, the present, I saw the future, clear as water, now it's mud, chaos, churning, because of you." His head tilted, just a bit, like a bird sizing up a worm, "You're not of this thread, Arrax, you bring the storm, you unravel it all."

Arrax's gut flipped, hard—like he'd swallowed something sour and it was fighting its way back up. He squinted, trying to grab hold of it, "Chaos, huh? Have been dealing with that since birth," he muttered, half a laugh, half a grunt, but it didn't land funny—not here, not with those eyes drilling into him. His mind raced, piecing it—he'd read this story, knew where Jon's road twisted, where the wolves howled and the knives came out, but him being here, that wasn't in the pages, not one damn line. He rubbed his neck, stubble scratching his glove, snorted soft, "Didn't ask to crash your little show, old man, I got dumped here, not my call."

The Raven didn't blink, didn't flinch, just kept staring, "Leave," he rasped, voice slicing through the damp, "go back where you came, or stay and drown us all, the future's blind now, threads snapping, disaster I can't see." His roots creaked, like they were squeezing him tighter, "You're not meant, not woven, leave the seven kingdoms, leave, leave, leave…."

Arrax stood there, boots sinking deeper, the cold seeping up his legs like it wanted to claim him, and his gut churned harder—leave? Back to the Warp? To red claws and yellow eyes, to a life where he was meat rotting slow? Nah, he'd clawed out of that, landed here, this was his shot, chaos or not. He grinned, faint and crooked, "Think I'll stick around, old man, see where this storm blows, you're blind now? Tough shit, figure it out." His voice rumbled low, daring, like he'd spit in the wind just to see it fly back.

The Raven's stare didn't waver, white eyes glinting like ice, "You'll break it," he murmured, softer now, "you'll break them," and Arrax's chest hitched—Jon's face flashing in his head, Ryk's dumb grin, Edd's steady grunt, Sam's shiver—what if he did? He shook it off, grunted loud, "Maybe, maybe not, but I'm here, ain't I? So, what's ya gonna do?" He stepped forward, boots slurping in the muck, ready to pull away, but those eyes stayed on him, heavy, like they'd follow him out.

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Jon crouched there, eyes wide, staring at Arrax—this giant slab of a man, standing stock-still, hand locked on Ghost's head like he'd turned to stone, those white wolf eyes glinting eerie in the dark. Jon's gut twisted, sharp and cold—what the hell was this? "Arrax?" he called, voice scraping out rough, low, half-expecting an answer, but nothing, just the wind howling back, cutting through the trees like a pissed-off blade. He tried again, louder, "Oi, big man, you in there?"—still nothing, Arrax steady as a mountain, unmovable, his face blank like he'd checked out mid-breath.

Jon stood up fast, boots crunching frost, heart kicking up a notch, "Hey, snap out of it," he said, stepping close, shoving at Arrax's arm—felt like pushing a damn boulder, didn't budge an inch. Panic crept in, slow at first, then clawing, "What the fuck's wrong with you?" he muttered, voice wobbling, hands grabbing at that armor, cold steel biting his fingers, but Arrax didn't flinch, didn't blink, just stood there, a wall of a man gone stiff. Jon's chest tightened—something bad, real bad, was happening, and he didn't know shit about fixing it.

He spun around, eyes landing on Ryk, sprawled out like a drunk hog, snoring loud enough to wake the dead—but not this dead, apparently. "Ryk!" Jon barked, stomping over, dropping to a knee, slapping the squire's face hard—once, twice—til Ryk jolted up, eyes popping, "Oi, what the—fuck's your problem?!" he yelped, voice cracking high, rubbing his cheek like Jon'd branded him. "Get up, you lazy shit," Jon snapped, grabbing his arm, yanking him to his feet, "Your damn knight's gone weird, look at him, he's not movin'!"

Ryk blinked, bleary, stumbling over, "What, he drunk or somethin'?" he mumbled, shuffling to Arrax, knocking on that armor like it was a door—thunk, thunk—and his grin faded quick, "Oi, big man, you… you alright?" Nothing, just the wind whistling through, Arrax standing there like a statue, hand still on Ghost's head, the wolf calm as death, staring blank. Ryk's jaw dropped, "Fuck me, he's… he's out cold, standin' up, how's he even doin' that?" Jon shoved past him, "You're useless," he growled, "help me figure this shit out!"

He spun again, looking for Edd—steady old Edd, who'd know what to do, right?—but the grizzled bastard was nowhere, "Edd?" Jon called, voice cracking sharp into the dark, no answer, just the howl of the wind and some rustle out there that made his skin crawl. He'd thought Edd was just off taking a piss beyond the firelight—hours ago, though, hadn't it been hours? His gut sank, cold and heavy, "Where the hell'd he go?" he muttered, turning back, kicking a rock hard into the trees, watching it vanish with a crunch.

"Sam!" Jon barked, stomping over to the fat lump curled up under his cloak, shaking him rough, "Wake up, damn it!" Sam jolted awake, eyes popping wide, "Wh-what, Jon, what's—" he stammered, voice high and wobbly, sitting up fast, cloak slipping off his shoulders. Jon grabbed his arm, "Look at this, Arrax, he's… he's stuck or somethin', and Edd's gone, tell me what's happenin'!" Sam blinked, bleary, squinting at Arrax—big bastard still standing there, hand on Ghost, white eyes glinting—and his face went pale, "Oh… oh no," he whispered, voice trembling, "It's… it's like he's possessed, Jon, like somethin's got him."

Jon froze, staring at Sam, "Possessed?" he rasped, voice low, rough enough to scrape wood, "What the fuck does that mean?" Sam swallowed hard, hands twisting his cloak tight, "I—I dunno, just… look at him, he's not here, not really, somethin's holdin' him, like the old stories, greenseers, wargs…" Jon's stomach flipped, cold sinking deeper, he turned back slow, Ghost's white eyes catching the last flickers of firelight, Arrax standing there unmoving, a mountain caught mid-breath, and Ryk just gaping, useless as a sack of turnips.

The wind howled louder, clawing through the trees, carrying that rustle closer—wolves, maybe, or worse—and Jon's hand gripped Longclaw's hilt, knuckles whitening. "You hear that?" he rasped, voice scraping out rough, flicking his eyes to Sam and Ryk, huddled there useless, wide-eyed like rabbits caught in a snare.

"Arm up, now," he barked, low and steady, hand tightening on his sword, "Sam, Ryk, grab somethin', anything!" Sam fumbled, cloak slipping off his shoulder, grabbing a stick like it'd do jack, "W-what's out there, Jon?" voice wobbling high, hands shaking so bad you could hear 'em rattle. Ryk blinked, still half-asleep, snatching his dagger from his belt, "Fuck me, wolves again?" he grumbled, stumbling to his feet, rubbing his slapped-red cheek, "Can't a man get some shut-eye?" Jon shot him a glare, "Shut it, move," and they shuffled, clumsy, eyes darting to the dark where the rustles grew louder, closer, snapping twigs and crunching frost.

Then—thank the gods—Edd stepped out, grizzled old Edd with his gray-streaked beard, steel glinting at his hip, trudging back from the shadows, and Jon's chest loosened just a hair, "Edd!" he called, voice cracking with relief, "Where the hell you been, man?" But then he froze, breath catching hard—shadows moved behind Edd, one, two, three, creeping out slow, then more, ten, twenty, thirty, fuck, too many, black cloaks flapping ragged, faces hard under the faint moonlight, eyes glinting like steel. Jon's gut sank, cold and heavy, "Edd, what… what the fuck's this?" he rasped, stepping forward, Longclaw half-out now, his brothers of the Night's Watch spilling from the trees, swords drawn, creeping in like they were here to kill.

Edd's face was tight, jaw set, "Jon, I—" he started, but then Tormund burst out front, red hair wild, stump of an arm swinging, eyes blazing rage, "You fuckin' bastards!" he roared, voice shattering the quiet, sword in his good hand shaking with fury, "That little shit cut me, Jon, gut him, gut 'em both!" Jon's stomach flipped harder—there he was, Tormund, the friend Ryk'd left bleeding, stomping forward, brothers fanning out behind him, steel glinting sharp, ready to slice, ready to end it.

Jon spun, eyes darting to Ryk, who'd gone pale, dagger dangling loose in his hand, "Oi, I… I didn't mean—" he stammered, voice cracking high, stepping back fast, bumping into Arrax, still standing there like a damn rock, unmoving, hand on Ghost. Jon grabbed Ryk's arm, yanking him close, "Stay sharp, you idiot," he hissed, voice low, rough, "you fucked us good, didn't ya?" Ryk blinked, swallowing hard, "He… he swung first, I just—" but Jon cut him off, "Shut it, not now!"

He turned back, Longclaw out full now, frost crunching under his boots as he stepped toward Edd, "Edd, talk, what the fuck's happenin'?" he barked, voice trembling just a touch, eyes flicking from Edd's tight face to Tormund's blazing one, then to the brothers—his brothers—creeping closer, swords up, faces he'd fought beside, laughed with, now twisted with something dark, something ready to spill blood. Edd's mouth opened, slow, "Jon, they… they heard Tormund, they're pissed, they—" but Tormund roared over him, "That giant and his fuckin' squire, they're dead, Jon, you hear me? Dead!"

Jon's chest burned, hot and tight, his grip on Longclaw shaking now, "Stand down, all o' you!" he bellowed, voice cracking through the wind, stepping between them and Arrax, still frozen like a damn statue, Ghost's white eyes glinting calm beside him. Ryk shuffled back, "ehh, I… shit, what do we do?" voice high, wobbly, dagger up like it'd do anything against thirty swords. Sam whimpered, stick trembling in his hands, "Jon, they… they mean it," eyes darting wild, fat fingers clutching his cloak like a lifeline.

The wind howled louder, rustling the trees like it was laughing at them, shadows shifting closer, steel glinting sharper, Tormund's stump swinging wild as he raged, "Move, Jon, or be moved!" Jon's throat tightened—brothers, friends, turning on him, on Arrax, on Ryk, all 'cause of blood and a bad swing—and he stood there, boots planted in the frost, Longclaw steady, eyes flicking from face to face, heart pounding like it'd break his ribs. "Back off," he growled, voice low, rough, "we're not doin' this," but the shadows kept coming, slow and sure, the night pressing in cold and angry, no way out, just the mess and the steel and the waiting.

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