The Cold

The ground rose, and the ice wall pressed further and further away. Benjen squinted his eyes, the coldness pressing against his only bare skin. He was close now; he knew it, dreaded it. The Dream was waiting for him out there; he paused enough to get his mind clear. At the same time, he planted his feet firmly forward. Figures spied him in the distance; he could barely make anything out now since the snowstorm worsened.

When the drop in temperature gnawed through his bones, he felt a strange uneasiness pass through him. The storm suddenly subsided, the summit in front of him split into two, revealing a narrow symmetrical way through. The queer circles of tall stones pillars watching him Pointed the way back. Benjen shivered at the crowned statues of men long dead; they were old, deformed, with a long look of hatred that seemed unnatural.

As the hills drew nearer, one statue heeds their sword more than their expression for him to go back. The sides loomed up so darkly and horrible that one wished they would keep their distance, but there is no road to escape them, only forward.

"What horrors await me," he breathed and moved down the uninviting way forward. It seemed to get darker now. The tunnel wasn't anything like he traveled before. It was like entering another world with its light source. Benjen could make out what looked like a small village huddled between a frozen stream and the vertical slope of the round mountain he was inside of; Benjen wondered how and why a town would nestle itself here. On a closer glance, it is not reassuring to see once he passed a crude wooden bridge that most of the houses are deserted and frozen to ruin.

Another bridge. Benjen fears to tread upon, yet there is no way to avoid it. Once across, it is difficult to prevent the impression of a faint odor about the village, the massed mold, and the decay of centuries of abuse. Benjen knows he cannot go back and invites himself into one of the houses. The place was dark and half-lost to coldness, Reeking of strange things brought in from the snow, And with queer curls of fog that the soft winds tossed around. Small lozenge panes, obscured by frost, Just shewed books, in piles like twisted trees, Rotting from floor to roof - wooden chairs and makeshift beds of crumbling weirwood. Benjen turned his face around the house; it was foreign to him; nothing seemed to stick out in coldness that had taken over this village. He pulled out a chair that suddenly fell to pieces, and the creepily insistent rhythms of stridently ice spiders scurried away from the broken pieces. That is not dead can reap with eternal lies, And with strange eons, death may die. Benjen knew that the tale of the others with massive ice spiders might be accurate after all, seeing them scurried alive like that, and he had a good reason for shunning that stupid tale old Nan told him when he was a little boy.

The Land of Always Winter, the tales were heard but never seen by any living man, yet he defied them all and knew he was further north than any man that lived. Benjen wondered how long it had been since he saw another man, years or months he didn't know. He longed to see his brother Eddard; he had many nightmares about wandering the crypts of Winterfell and seeing his brothers and sister watching it burn itself from within and Jon. 'Jon' he sighed; the boy was too green; Benjen had hoped when he returned Jon would be a man of the night's watch; ever did return, Benjen tried to breath hot air on his cold hands heading out the door and went into the untrodden waste of this lost village. When he looked up, he came upon it in the unnatural stillness. It looked at him, chilly rays of a cold blue moon amidst death. The wind bristled suddenly, and Benjen heard its faint laugh like a hundred icy needles; he jerked forward and tried to pull his sword fourth.

It was frozen in his scabbard as he peered down and wrenched it free, he looked back to the spot and frowned. It had disappeared or never had been there in the first place, this frightened him, yet he did not dwell on it. Benjen stumbled forward, out of this ghost town. The high hill hung over the old city, A precipice hidden within; grey, tall, and white, looking darkly down upon the village at the bend of a crooked tower, broken, weeping. It reminded him of Lyanna, the years of whispers heard About what had happened on that fateful day -Tales of an unspeakable sin made by a prince, yet he had promised her. He shrugged it off and followed a path forward, bending through a pit of dead trees on either side and out into a hole with a frozen lake down in the middle. A small opening in the rock was on the other side; light peered from it and reflected down on the lake with a thousand different colors. It was beautiful, yet one small step could meet his doom. Carefully, Benjen hugged the wall with his sword in his hand and slithered around to the opening.

Benjen was sweating now, and his arms and legs were troubled with stiffness, he was so close now, yet one miss-step and he was gone. He tried not to look down, yet when a gust of wind protruded from the wall, his leg slipped, and the rock plummeted down, cracking the ice. Benjen closed his eyes and gripped the wall tightly and calmed himself down, collecting himself. His brother was leaning against the opening in the rock. "You're getting old Ben," he laughed and cocked his eyes down to the pit, Benjen's eyes followed them. 'It's a long way down, don't fall, little brother", he japed. Benjen slowly smirked, "Thanks for the reminder, old man; give me your hand," he shivered out. "I would if I could, brother, don't forget that," he said thoughtfully, and Benjen opened his eyes and sighed, slowly shuffling further to the opening.

Benjen gripped the opportunity to free himself from falling and pulled himself slowly in front of it, Benjen felt a severe vibration off the stone wall, and rocks and snow fell from above him. He looked through the opening and saw the sun on the other side, another powerful vibration distracted him, and he almost slipped.

Pulling himself into the opening, he looked up before entirely retreating inside the narrow opening and noticed red eyes looking down at him. Benjen didn't move but kept looking; it was hidden at the top, covering every inch of the peek. Its skin was pure white with a tint of blue running through its body, it ever slowly released some kind of ice from his belly that stuck to the top, and dropped fast. Benjen didn't hesitate to react with the same reflex and crammed himself through the hole in the wall that seemed to get smaller and smaller as he burrowed further and further through it.

Benjen couldn't turn his head around but felt a commanding presence on his back; it stopped him from moving any further. He struggled and gripped his hand on the jagged stone, and the other side seemed so much further away than before. Benjen was starting panic and sweat when he thought this was the end; he felt a savage powerful blow to his shoulder that flung him forward, scraping his face against the rock and tumbling out into the snow. Benjen breathed in relief and turned on to his back and looked up to the clear skies.

The winter sunset touched Benjen's face after laying the snow trying catch up to his mind, he turned his body, and his eyes caught a glimpse a beyond massive wintery spire far away in the distance. Expectant wonders burned in Benjen's eyes. Benjen stood, Adventure-fraught, and not untinged with fear; A row of beautifully carved creatures of stoned ice watched him from where the way leads clear. It is the land where beauty has lost its meaning to men. Down the vast void in the starlit streams of the lands of always winters, Benjens Dreams had finally borne true - but the ancient saying of 'winter is coming' did not repeat in his thoughts. That Winter lived here, and the others had come for him.

Benjen still had his sword out when they rode down the wintery blue iced road, four of them riding horses long dead and one without a rider set in stone that they were waiting for him. White mist raised alongside them, following them down the path. The nightmare he once denounced was almost upon him. They stopped, and a cold, bitter wind chime sounded between them; one by one, they dismounted from their horses. They were all holding beautifully carved swords made from ice; he thought about fighting them but remembered that he always lost in his Dream.

It took no excessive sensitivity to what strange beauty they held; it made Benjen stand in cold silence at the unusual, unearthly splendor of this otherworldly beings that stood there on the cushion of snow that left no prints to mark their passage. Even now, he could hardly describe what he was seeing. They were tall, gaunt, with flesh pale as milk and with an extensive set of eyes that burned blue with curiosity as they watched him fall to his knees. Benjen's eyes forced out tears, and he dropped his sword out to them. The Other cackled something in a language that Benjen did not know; its voice was like the snapping of ice on a winter lake, and the words were soft and elegant, then the wind crackled like a sharp whip he looked up. The reflective, camouflaging armor that clung to their icy blue skin danced between grey and black colors when one of them picked up the sword.

One of them glided effortlessly over to where he knelt and lifted him without harm, Benjen scowled, knowing that in one instance, he could be dead. The Dream always ended when they touched him; every time he would wake with a cold sweat and see the searing blue lingered in his vision. Once, he would have fought when he was young and able; now, his bones ached with pain at the thought. No, he would not give them a chance so easy; he would wait and see where they would take him and hope this nightmare would end sooner.

Benjen felt his stomach twist and growl violently; he pressed his hands to stop the sound from escaping, but they heard it and laughed at him in their strange tongue. He hadn't eaten for days and could see his skin had tightened around his exposed wrists; the other pulled him to the dead horse that had no rider and nudged him to get on it.

Benjen struggled to lift himself upon the horse and felt a cold hand push him up. "In that darkness, the Others came for the first time," click click click "They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the men's swords could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests and fed their dead servants on human children's flesh." click click click. Old Nan's tale crept upon him when they ushered his horse down the path; that tale seems so harsh and violent yet, what he had witnessed spoke differently. Were they miss understood or were they hiding their true nature from him. Benjen felt uneasy; everything pitted them with death and violence; he had witnessed none. Now they had his sword, which was a dire mistake; he should have handled it better. "Gods, he was the first ranger, not some green boy," he thought firmly.

Benjen felt week and looked at one of them; they talked to each other almost silently, but Benjen could see the mist of coldness fill the air. Blue eyes turned and looked at him unemotionally. They moved slowly through the looming path; the creatures were craved elegantly and represented everything the cold gave power.

When they passed through gates as high and sharp as ice, Benjen felt something odd, yet he could not place it. He felt at home, and that suddenly turned to horror when he saw them. Dead or sleeping, they did not move or look up when they passed. One of the others spoke mockingly through the wind, making Benjen feel uneasy. He did not know what to think; many of his brothers were in there. Brothers, he grew up with. How many generations had they been adding to the dead army because he did not see an end to it.

Dread turned to curiosity when they came upon another gate; this construction of weirwood and ice intertwined with a face bord in the middle. It opened when one of the others lifted its sword, and a sharp and clawing sound began when the gate untwined and left an opening into their kingdom made of ice. Benjen could not believe that he was not an enemy here; he had not seen many others on their way, but how his leaders had kept looking at him made him question if he would make it out alive. Then, they came upon it. One of the other hissed at him and pointed his sword to the ground; Benjen quickly worked it out and jumped sorely of the horse he had forgotten. It was dead and frot of personality, the other swiftly and elegantly jumped from their steads and pushed him forward.

The tall curling tree made of ice, once a thriving weirwood sat a throne, the long-dead leaves of blood were crystallized a way it seemed still alive. Benjen glanced at the figure sitting upon it; each step he was awaiting his final glance before a long night would undertake him. Closer now, his breathing quickened, and for a moment, their eyes burned bluer than anything he had ever seen.

"Stark," its voice cold and silent, like a snowflake touching the ground. They had lifted him in front of the throne " My sons think I'm a fool for bringing you unharmed before me," her voice strung a lovely tune, then she spoke in their language, and the others laughed with her.

Benjen kneeled before her. "I Honour their restraint," he breathed. Benjen lifted his head to get a better look; her face was pale and young with a straight nose and eyes of a blue that held his from looking away. She wore a blue dress that clung to her figure with jewelry around her neck and white hair.

"Yes, Honour," she chuckled " You've traveled far and wide to reach us. Dreams take the furthest leaps in men's short lives; I wondered if I didn't give you more clarity on the situation you would find yourself in, " she divulged and moved a loose bit of hair around her ear " come closer Benjen," she requested with a beautiful smile.

Benjen struggled to his feet and slowly approached her, " I need to know how it ends." he admitted sadly " I did everything, everything the Dream wanted me to be. I'm here at the end of the world witnessing legends come alive," he whispered, not believing what he saw. Maybe it was the fever of not eating, filling his head with a vision he wanted to see, or dead.

"Benjen, your everything I expected you to be. The dreams did not shape you; it was you. Now I know this must be surreal for a man of your stature. My sons did not agree with my expectation of you and what you could bring to our kingdom. Yet here you are and not in our dead army. " She spoke so softly, and elegantly it was hard for Benjen to concentrate; he could feel his muscles loosen at every word.

She touched her stone blue amulet on her neck and smiled, " Come, The long night awaits us."