The officer, eager to earn distinction, had made up his mind. The three foot soldiers had no choice but to follow and suffer the consequences.
Will, formerly a poacher, was highly skilled at stealth and tracking.
It didn't take him long to deduce the opposing party's number and condition, about ten people, a mix of men, women, and children, likely a wildling family.
To the people of the Seven Kingdoms, wildlings had a reputation for being fierce and savage. In many parts of the North, they were used by adults to frighten children.
But the Night's Watch, who dealt with them regularly, weren't fooled by such tales.
The men in black knew the truth: wildlings were, at their core, free farmers who refused to pay taxes or obey lords and called that "freedom."
Their own side was different, believe it or not, even in decline, the Night's Watch remained one of the largest standing forces on the continent. In more modern terms, they were professional soldiers.
In this era of feudal lords, nobles couldn't wage war without summoning their bannermen, who then rallied peasants to put down their hoes and take up arms under the command of knights.
Only then would a proper army take shape.
But the Night's Watch was different. Their sole mission was to guard the Wall. They were always at war, always prepared.
Their food and supplies came from the people of the Gift and the donations of Northern houses. Even in times of peace, they produced nothing themselves.
Though the quality of their recruits was lacking, a force that trained daily still counted for something.
In this backward world, picking the tallest among dwarfs, they could at least be called elite.
Among them, the rangers were the true combat soldiers.
Compared to stewards or builders, who were more support personnel, rangers didn't bother with chores like cooking or laundry.
Their only duties were training and patrol.
Against wildlings who mostly carried sticks or stone axes and spent their days surviving rather than training, the rangers held a decisive advantage in combat capability.
Save for a rare few wildling warriors who were the stuff of legend, most wouldn't dare confront trained, well-armed rangers in even numbers or without a solid ambush.
At least, not the small group Rynar and his companions were now pursuing.
This group had first been moving westward, roughly parallel to the Wall. Once they noticed they were being followed by four rangers, they veered north and fled at full speed.
Ser Waymar Royce was leading his first patrol and wasn't about to give up easily. So began a relentless marathon across snow and ice, two groups, one chasing, one fleeing.
…
By day, Rynar and the other three rangers hounded their quarry. At night, they wrapped themselves in thick blankets to rest and recover.
With the advantage of horses, they managed to stay close, tracking the wildlings northward for three days, then northwest, and after two more days, back to the north.
Luckily, there were no storms or heavy snowfall, and Will never lost the trail.
"Nine days now, ser."
"Nine days, is that long?" Waymar asked.
"Not very," Gared replied evenly.
"But we only brought enough rations for a little over ten days.
Even if we ration carefully, we can last twenty at most. And we still need food for the return trip. If we keep chasing, we won't have enough to get back…"
"I heard Ser Alliser say," Waymar interrupted, voice laced with sarcasm, "that last winter a group of rangers brought a month's supply and survived beyond the Wall for six. How do you suppose they managed that?"
Will and Rynar exchanged glances, coughing to hide their discomfort. Waymar's sarcasm might have sounded sharp, but he'd picked the wrong target.
"If you really want to know how, I could enlighten you," said Gared, who had long lost patience with the pampered noble.
"I was on that mission. After the food ran out, we ate horse meat and dog meat. Then we dug up roots, raided mouse nests, hunted anything that moved.
Toward the end, when there was truly nothing left, the commander ordered us to carry our fallen brothers' bodies... Luckily, we never had to go that far.
We weathered the storm and made it to Craster's Keep, and with help from that daughter marrying wildling bastard, we made it back to the Wall alive."
"If you want to try that, ser, I promise I'll do everything I can to get us home alive," he added, watching Waymar pale with delight.
"But the Lord Commander did warn us not to seek help from Craster if we're less than ten men. And the roots and horse meat aren't exactly easy to digest."
The young noble's expression twisted a few times. Rynar half expected him to explode in rage, but to his surprise, Waymar calmed himself and even made a rare concession.
"Very well. No matter what happens, tomorrow we turn back. But for this final day, we take the initiative.
We try to capture a wildling alive, someone who can talk. Whether we succeed or not, we head home tomorrow."
"Take the initiative?" Will, no longer content to stay quiet, grew visibly uneasy. "But… Lord Benjen ordered us to investigate the wildlings' movements, not to, "
"And in these nine days, what exactly have you found?" Waymar cut him off. "Another nine days wouldn't be as helpful as interrogating a single living wildling. Gared, what do you think?"
Gared, old and experienced though he was, still had to obey.
Despite his dislike for Waymar, he couldn't disobey a noble and his superior officer. He curled his lip and muttered, "As you command, ser."
Waymar smirked. He enjoyed seeing people resent him but still obey. With a cold snort, he turned to Will.
"You. Scout ahead. Report back with details. Then we'll decide how to strike."
Will cast a resigned glance at Rynar and Gared before setting off. The three remaining rangers dismounted and found places among the trees to rest.
…
Rynar climbed onto a half-buried rock to survey the area.
The weather was getting colder by the day, which made sense, geographically, they were more than a hundred leagues north of the Wall.
But what unsettled him wasn't the cold. It was a person.
More precisely, Ser Waymar Royce.
Not that he feared him. Though a bit pampered, the young noble didn't quite deserve the label of spoiled brat.
Aside from some arrogance born of status, he hadn't done anything particularly vile. No, what worried Rynar was the plot.
If he had known he'd one day cross into this world, he would've rewatched the show and reread the books thoroughly. But there are no do-overs in life.
Back in his original world, he'd only skimmed the story, barely retaining any details. Still, there was one thing he couldn't forget:
Waymar Royce was the unlucky sod who got killed by a White Walker in the prologue.
As the first named character to die in both book and show, his death revealed the greatest threat of this world and set the tone for the entire saga. He was the crucial "hook."
But damn it, Rynar hadn't transmigrated into this world just to die in the opening chapter as background filler!
So when he heard ten days ago that the patrol was to be led by Ser Waymar Royce, his gut reaction was absolute refusal.
Unfortunately, as a criminal sent to the Wall, he had no say in who led the mission or whether he participated. So he gritted his teeth and rode north into the haunted forest once more.
The Haunted Forest. If it wasn't haunted, it wouldn't live up to its name. The wind beyond the Wall never ceased, making the trees sway like sinister, living things. That's how this black wilderness earned its name.
Rynar still remembered his first venture beyond the Wall, the legends and plot details had come flooding back.
Every tree shadow looked like a White Walker waiting in ambush. Every weirwood face startled him.
When that first patrol ended and he dismounted, his legs were so weak he could barely stand. Embarrassing in hindsight.
Now, he'd been beyond the Wall over a dozen times. He'd even stared down wildlings a couple of times. The cold, dark woods no longer frightened him.
But traveling with Waymar again reawakened his hidden dread. The clustered trees around them felt like curtains hiding an unspeakable terror.
It was a primal fear, like prey sensing a predator.
He circled the area but found nothing suspicious. The icy chill stabbing at his back, maybe it was just nerves triggered by Waymar's presence?
After all, what were the odds this spoiled lordling would run into a White Walker on his first patrol?
Still… once he got back to the Wall, Rynar would have to figure out how to avoid ever patrolling with this Royce again.
He shook his head and rejoined the other two. Under their curious gazes, he found a spot and sat down, waiting quietly for Will's return.
…
The cold wind howled. The horses snorted and shuffled in place. Rynar kept alert, listening for strange sounds and watching the dark forest.
His mind kept drifting, to plans for escaping the Night's Watch, and especially to escaping Waymar.
After about an hour, Will returned.
"Hm?" Waymar looked up, his expression casually haughty as always. "It's nearly dark. I assume the wildlings have stopped to make camp and light a fire?"
Will dismounted and staggered over to them. He swallowed hard, face pale and dazed.
"I know you won't believe me... but something happened up ahead. I, I don't know what… But the wildlings… they're all dead."