Thorin

He hadn't remembered feeling this miserable in years. Rainwater sloshed around the dirt of the ranger's road, making it more mud than anything and the horses moved slowly down the muddy path. The rain pouring from above combined with ice and snow and no matter how hard he tried, Thorin failed at keeping water out of his boots. Soaked to the bone and shivering, they tried in vain to move under the cover of trees but it proved fruitless in keeping them dry. Thorin swore to the Old gods. Perhaps they didn't hear him. Or didn't care to.

His sister once said that the gods were cruel. Or they wouldn't be gods.

So they poured ice and rain and snow upon them.

Thorin buried his nose deeper into his soaked fur cloak. It was beginning to smell like wet dog and weigh down his shoulders heavily but he was still rather thankful he had it at all. Three days journey from Castle Black has proved far difficult than Thorin's initial journey to the Wall itself. But the weather beyond the Wall was far colder and far less predictable. Not the mention the numerous dangers posed by the inhabitants of the Wilds. Thorin growled. They had passed 5 villages and numerous camps now, deserted of all life and the Lord Commander had bid them stop at each one to investigate.

Thorin was always weary but the results were always the same. Long burned out fires. Abandoned tents and shacks left in disarray. No one in sight. And when Thorin should have felt relief at not having to fight, his unease only grew. The Wildlings seemed to be fleeing SOMETHING. Yet at the moment, it was unclear as to what. He could have guessed though.

It was mere weeks ago that their dead comrades have tried to kill the Lord Commander. Thorin would not have believed it if it had not happened before his eyes. He had been tending to the fires in the Lord Commander's chambers when two corpses shattered through the wooden doors and tried to strike him down. He had called for his direwolf and set one ablaze while the other managed to stab him in his upturned hand. It took far longer to dispatch of the shambling monstrosity and even now Thorin's hand throbbed dully. And those eyes. They were the iciest of blues yet as dead and cold as a crypt and the memory of them sent shivers down Thorin's spine.

They had sent Gloin to King's Landing with the Wight's severed hand in hopes of finding more men for the Watch. With luck, the King would see their plight. After all, the plight of the Watch, was the plight of all in the end.

Wights. Others. White Walkers.

Thorin had to stop thinking about them. He hoped his family was safe. The thought of ...THEM beyond the Wall... in Winterfell. It was too much to bear. The glum wasn't helping him any so Thorin distracted himself.

He still remembered the day he left. No one forced him into taking the black. No one twisted his arm or sent him there from some dungeon. Thorin had asked to go.

Voluntary exile, he called it.

Voluntary idiocy, Dis had called it when he finally told her.

"This is pure madness, Thorin!" She had raged, rustling about the room in a fury while Frerin sat aghast beside her.

"Dis..."

"You?! Of all people?! You would take the Black and join the ranks of criminals and rapists?!"

"The Watch is an honorable job, Dis."

His sister scoffed. Quite loudly. "Oh yes, and you would leave Winterfell in FRERIN'S capable hands?" Frerin tried to protest but Dis overrode him. "He isn't ready for lordship!" She barreled on as if Frerin wasn't in the room. Thorin frowned deeply.

"In your eyes, sweet sister, he will never be ready." As Dis opened her mouth to protest, Thorin stopped her with a gesture. "Frerin is more than capable." He continued sternly, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "As are you, if you wish to aid him. However, this decision is mine and I have decided long ago."

"But...think of what you'd be giving up." Frerin tried, in a vain attempt to help Dis' cause.

"What of your children, Thorin?" Dis demanded.

"What children?" Nearly 40 and graying in hair Thorin had been wifeless and childless.

"Fili and Kili, for one!" His sister insisted.

"They are old enough, they will understand."

"But..."

"No." Thorin cut them both off, tone hardening. "The matter is not up for discussion. I have no wife or heirs to speak of. I am almost middle aged and soon enough, no one will want a childless, wifeless lord. Whether I leave for the Watch will not drastically effect what happens here. You are both still young and Dis has heirs to carry on our name. I have faith that you will do much good here. Just as I have faith that I can put my talents to better use on the Wall. They always need men for the Watch."

They had spent another two hours trying to talk him out of it before finally relenting.

It was odd, Thorin decided now just as he had when he first gazed upon the Wall. Odd to think that he had given up so much. And even now, 2 years after joining the Watch, Thorin felt a strong pang of home sickness.

Oh, Dis made sure to send ravens. Filled with the expected amount of snide commentary but Thorin could always feel how much they missed him. And occasionally, when lying awake, staring at the ceiling of his cell, he wondered if this had been a giant mistake. But, Winterfell was in good hands, he was sure of that. And if the Gods were good, Dis would teach those menace sons of hers to be proper lords when the time came.

Two years.

Thorin buried his nose deeper into his cloak collar. The rain was starting to get heavier and the snow thicker and if there was ever a time to wish for a warm fire and a roof over their heads, this was it.

"Thorin, a word if you please." Came the Lord Commander's voice from the front of their column and Thorin spurred his horse into a light trot to catch up.

"Word, word." The raven on the Lord Commander's shoulder cawed loudly, ruffling its feathers unhappily and sending water flying into his owner's face. Thorin caught up and couldn't hold back a faint chuckle as the bird got swatted at.

"Gandalf?"

"What do you make of this?"

"Too empty and too wet for my liking." Thorin grumbled while the raven cawed "Wet, wet" and hopped about Gandalf's fur clad shoulder. The Lord Commander tutted loudly at it.

"They ran too quickly and took little with them." He pointed out.

"Winter is coming." Thorin muttered into his wet beard. Gandalf nodded faintly.

"And something is coming with it. Those Wights... we have no seen the last of them. Nor what made them. I fear there will be more. The Wildlings must know this, so they flee beyond the wall."

"Or further North."

"That is part of my fear as well. The King Beyond the Wall must be calling all to him." Thorin frowned at those words.

"All this talk of them being free people, yet they have a king?" He asked slowly.

"King, king, king." The raven mocked.

"Not in so much pomp and circumstance."

"Yet a king?"

"Don't be so shocked. The Wildlings don't have banners or sworn lords and they come and go as they please." Gandalf shrugged a shoulder. "If they are massing in great number, there must be something large and dangerous brewing." He added. Thorin didn't like the sound of that at all. It was his great fear that Gandalf was right. Winter was coming after all, and may have already come for some.

He fell into silence and thought while Gandalf's raven begged loudly for corn. Gandalf ignored the bird, as did Thorin.

When they finally made camp and raised cover to start a fire, Thorin was tasked with checking on the ravens that they had brought with them from Castle Black. The birds sounded as unhappy about their conditions as Thorin felt. He sloshed around the mud and the snow and fed the birds to keep them quiet before returning to cover where they had managed to get a fire going. He wished he could try and dry his feet but the rain and snow had not let up and most efforts in that direction proved futile.

The rest of the night was spent huddled around the fire, cursing the weather and bouts of fitful sleep. Thorin was lucky to get a solid 4 hours before they were off again, chewing on a hunk of salted pork. Oh how sick he was of salted pork. As the day passed however, the rain began to slacken and turned slowly to a light snow that speckled Thorin's already white speckled hair. There was no stopping it, the hood of his cloak was too wet to pull over his head.

But even the snow was a respite. Even though it would be hours before their clothes dried. And it was after those hours when they found their next village. Thorin could already see something was different and spurred his horse along to catch up with Lord Commander Gandalf once more. Gandalf was squinting while his raven flapped nervously on his shoulder, cawing for corn.

"Thorin, take 30 men and scout ahead. Signal if there's trouble."

"Aye, my lord." Spurring his horse around, Thorin quickly gave instruction before they broke away from the main company.

The maps called the village Whitetree. A name that did little to endear itself to Thorin once he saw the village itself. Abandoned like all the rest they had come across and the only visible face was that of the giant weirwood in the village center. Its white branches spread over all nearby houses, covering them with crimson leaves. Thorin motioned for the group to spread out and search while he trotted up to the tree to investigate.

By the time the Lord Commander was notified and the rest of the company had flooded the village, Thorin was inspecting the mouth of the tree intently. All Northerners had a deep respect for the weirwood and Winterfell had its very own Godswood in which Thorin had spent many a day.

He could see something within the gaping maw of the tree's mouth and as Gandalf trotted up behind him, Thorin's hand disappeared inside the gap.

"Thorin?"

"There is something in here, my lord." Thorin filtered with some effort before managing to grab what he was rooting around for and yank it free. A skull. Thorin held it aloft, frowning and shaking some ash from its surface. A look inside the gaping maw of the weirwood revealed another skull, ashes and a few charred bones.

"...Interesting..." Gandalf muttered behind him before Thorin trudged the skull over. Yanking off one of his gloves, Gandalf carefully ran long, wizened fingers over the skull's surface, as if hoping it would give him answers. "We know the Wildlings burn their dead. And now because of past events I think we know why."

Thorin looked uncomfortable. "Dead, dead." The raven shrieked loudly, flapping its wings and trying very hard to peck at the skull. Gandalf shooed it off.

"No signs of life?"

"None that we could find. It's just like the rest. Possessions and animals gone. No signs of attack. Just...empty." Gandalf's frown remained.

"Our theories are starting to look more and more real." He grumbled under his crooked nose before motioning for them to move out once more. One of the scouts had gone ahead, reporting they had a few hours of daylight left and Gandalf aimed to get as far North as he possibly could before day's end.

6th village found, Gandalf had written to Maester Oin as they rode, Whitetree. Empty like the others. Wildlings are gone. As the raven went flying, the Lord Commander rubbed idle fingers through his beard, his own raven loudly demanding corn. Thorin wished for a bed, a fire and a bowl of hot stew. Anything to beat the cold back.

The snow had grown thicker throughout the day and Thorin's only consolation was that his cloak was now dry enough to make use of its hood and wrap tighter beneath it. All this time on the road, and there was still no sign of the reason why they had journeyed from Castle Black to begin with.

For over a year, groups of Rangers had ventured beyond the Wall, never to be seen again. At first, nothing came back of them. Until two corpses were discovered, left over from a party of 5. The rest were not to be found and the corpses came to walk again that night. Those events spurred the Lord Commander into action. They could not just sit idly by while the dead walked and their numbers dwindled. What manpower could be spared for this venture was emptied from Castle Black. Thorin half wished they had sent him to King's Landing in place of Gloin. This was just miserable.

But there was no good in drowning in self pity. He was next to take over for the Lord Commander and it was a job he took with the utmost seriousness. Ahead, Gandalf's raven cawed for corn.

It was going to be a long night. The snow continued.