Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 138: The Wight Hunt (Part 2)

—Beyond the Wall—

Jon held Grenn's arm around his shoulder, carrying him as the expedition team continued venturing into forgotten lands with Mance and Tormund leading the front while Jorah and Jaehaegon covered the rear and Olyvar and Mya were in the center. All in all, Mya was busy planting torch-lit stakes into the ground to keep marking their pathway. Judging by the look on Grenn's face, Jon could instinctively tell that his friend was in a lot of pain as they were beginning to steadily fall behind. "How bad is it?" he pressed the issue.

Grenn groaned. "It hurts; everything hurts. But I'll live..."

Jon knew that was a lie. "Let me have a look."

"Jon..."

"Let me have a look."

Grenn slowly unveiled one side of his fur coat to reveal the mauling wound he received from where the undead snow bear bit him; although seared, the upper layer of his skin was starting to show signs of early infection. Burnt black layer skin and the smell... it looked bad.

"Grenn, this is getting infected," Jon tells him.

"Gah, I know, I know," he replied. "But we're too far from Castle Black, we're too far from Eastwatch... Fuck we're too far from the Wall. Besides, Jon, some of us knew this expedition was a one-way trip so we need to make it count when it matters most. I can—augh, I can... handle a little pain."

Mance instinctively raised his hand up in a closed fist with Tormund doing the same; that signaled the expedition party to stop moving, remain quiet and stay down. Jon, Olyvar and Mya looked up at the high-ranking wildling leaders and quietly made their approach.

"Hey why are we stopping?" Olyvar whispered.

Mance motioned for Jon and Tormund to join him in overlooking a steep cliff. Both followed close behind and poked their heads over to see what the former King-Beyond-the-Wall was trying to show them. Beneath them made their hearts froze: one... two... three... four... an estimated ten reanimated wights were being led by a single White Walker lieutenant down a nearby trail near a frozen lake. Olyvar, Mya, Grenn, Jorah and Jaehaegon silently approached and noticed them as well.

"I-is that...?" Mya asked.

Grenn nodded. "Aye; a White Walker. I encountered one at the Fist of the First Men with the previous Lord Commander, and Jon saw them at Hardhome."

"Which one is—"

Jon points to the lieutenant. "There, the one at the very front," he says. "If we don't put our grievances aside, then that is the fate of every living person in the world."

"Shiiiiit..." Olyvar complained.

"Then I suppose you plan to capture at least one of them and bring it down south with us, right?" Jaehaegon implored.

"That's the idea," Mance confirmed. "The Free Folk have been getting slaughtered like animals for two decades because of them. There are only 15,000 of us left now. And ever since we've been trying to escape them because we knew we were no match for them. We weren't attacking the Wall just for the fun of it; we were trying to get away."

"You're safe with us," Jon mentions.

"For now, yes. But we need more than that."

"How many of them do you think there are?" asked Jorah.

Tormund continued staring at the undead. "Difficult to say, but if we wait long enough, we will find out eventually."

Jon nodded. "We'll need to lure them out in the open away from the others, set a trap in the canyon so we can outflank them." He turns to Mya. "Mya, how many torches do you have left in your pack?"