Titans (A Game Of Thrones Fanfic)

Kenopsia

Cold wind whipped at his face, his beard crystallized from the sub zero temperatures. A storm had settled upon the wasteland, snow and graupel alike pelted down from the darkened sky, thrashing the frozen ground. The wind howled through the open scape, slicing through the lands of always winter. Well, that's where he thought he was at least. 

It was hard to count how many days it'd been since he'd last seen his wilding caravan. Here, it seemed as if the days were endless, and scoured in darkness. Storms barrelled through this place tumultuously, a constant tempest of ice and snow. Its name suited it well, though he thought if they added 'dreaded' in front of the name, it would deter most from ever wanting to venture here.

After being exiled from Westeros, he and Tormund decided that the best place to be was beyond the wall. They'd begun a long and arduous mission to reclaim and rebuild the few free folk villages like Hardhome, working hard to bring them back from the wreckage the Night Kings army had made of them. Everything was going well of course- but.... Ever since the battle at Winterfell, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind that he needed to quell. He wanted- no, he needed to be sure that all the Wights were indeed defeated. 

And so, after sitting on it for far too long, he convinced Tormund to gather a few men and venture on towards the lands of always winter with him, to look for any evidence that might put him to ease. It took them weeks to reach Skirling pass, and then another to travel through it. It seemed that beyond the wall, the weather had become far harsher than it had been previously. It was as if the land itself was resurrecting the Night Kings will. The Free Folk, who had lived in this region for countless generations, were uneasy about the now ever shifting climate. As they crossed into the abyss of eternal frost, the ground began to crack and crumble, splitting apart, swallowing some of his group and separated Jon from his crew.

He was trying to find a way to regroup with them by going around the crevice when a storm rolled in and misled his steps. 

The frigidity of the wind swept through his cloak, even if it had been thick enough to keep him warm before. The fur around his neck was becoming knatted and gnarled by the wet snow that was freezing to it. 

The sky above was becoming darker by the minute, signifying that the daylight that had been keeping the worst of storm at bay, was quickly retreating. It was already hard to see what was in front of him as his feet sunk into the unstable ground before him, but now, it'd be impossible.

The ceiling above thundered with tumultuous force. 

Jon knew that if he were to survive this night, he'd have to find some kind of shelter, and soon. He shivered, his arms wrapped tight around him as he tried desperately to conserve his body heat against the piercing squalls. He forced himself to continue onwards, but he accepted the fact that eventually he'd have to stop. 

He squinted against the sheets of white, trying to make out what was in front of him. He grunted as the squalls strengthened and rushed against him, threatening to throw him over. That's when he noticed it, the small spec of black in the distance. What could it be? A rock maybe? Though he didn't know what it was, the thought of potential cover drove him forth.

Heavy footfall after heavy footfall, inch by inch he made his way towards the spec. As he approached, the spec grew into a massive glassy mound. It cut through the wind, the harshness of the weather making way for the barrier that projected upwards. His steps grew with vigor, this would be his chance to take cover.