ASOIAF/GOT: The King in Black

The night before the recruits took their vows, the barracks were restless.

Some of the men were excited, others anxious. Becoming a brother of the Night's Watch meant leaving behind everything you once were. For some, that was a relief. For others, it was a death sentence.

Daniel sat on his cot, rolling a small knife between his fingers, listening to the murmurs around him.

"I hope they send me to the rangers," Clydas muttered, stretching his arms. "I didn't come here to shovel horse shit."

"You're lucky if they don't send you to the latrines," Rask shot back.

Jace, sitting beside Daniel, let out a nervous chuckle. "What do you think they'll do with us?"

Daniel didn't answer right away. He had been watching, listening. The Watch didn't hand out assignments randomly. The strong became rangers, the clever were made stewards, and the dependable were sent to the builders.

"It doesn't matter," Daniel finally said. "Whatever we get, we'll make it work."

Jace exhaled, clearly unconvinced.

Daniel glanced across the room. Jon Snow sat in quiet frustration, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor.

He already knew why.

Jon thought he would be made a ranger. He had trained for it, fought for it. And yet, Mormont had assigned him to the stewards.

To serve.

To follow.

Daniel smirked. 'He doesn't realize yet—Mormont's preparing him for command.'

Not that Jon would accept that answer right now.

Daniel shifted his gaze to Sam, who sat beside Jon, nervously pulling at the sleeve of his tunic.

Tomorrow, they would take their oaths.

And for better or worse, they would be bound to the Watch for life.

—

Daniel caught up to Rask, watching as the man adjusted the straps of his pack.

"You're actually coming?" Daniel asked.

Rask smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Didn't seem like the volunteering type."

"Didn't," Rask admitted. "Then you spoke to Mormont."

Daniel didn't deny it. He had made sure Rask was chosen for the expedition. The man was a survivor, a fighter, and more importantly—he wasn't loyal to the Watch.

Daniel needed people like that.

Rask shook his head. "Could've let me rot in Castle Black."

"You would've been wasted here."

Rask snorted. "And here I thought you just wanted company."

Daniel didn't smile. "You'll see soon enough why I wanted you."

Rask studied him for a long moment, then chuckled. "Shit. That's not ominous at all."

Daniel smirked. He wasn't lying.

They weren't here to die.

They were here to take the first steps toward something bigger.

—

The next evening, they gathered before the heart tree.

The others had taken their vows at Castle Black, before a septon. But Jon and Sam chose the Old Gods.

Daniel watched from a distance as the two knelt before the ancient tree, speaking the words that bound them to their new brotherhood.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins…"

It was strange. A part of Daniel still felt like an outsider here, like none of this was real. But as he watched them rise, watched the way the cold wind carried their words into the night, he realized—this was real.

They weren't just playing at being warriors in the snow.

This was their life now.

Daniel had made his decision days ago—he was going on the ranging. But for the first time, he wondered… how long would any of them actually survive?

The thought lingered in his mind as Jon and Sam turned to leave.

And then Ghost appeared.

Daniel frowned as the direwolf stepped out from the trees, his white fur blending into the snow. His jaw was clenched tight around something.

Something blackened. Rotting.

Jon's expression darkened as he knelt beside his direwolf, prying the object free. The other recruits leaned in, murmuring among themselves.

It was a hand.

A severed, blackened human hand.

The fire crackled beside them, its light flickering against the frozen fingers.

Jon rose, eyes locked onto the trees beyond.

The silence that followed felt heavy.

Something was wrong.

And Daniel could feel it.

---

They brought the hand—and the bodies it had belonged to—back to Castle Black.

Two rangers, dead in the snow. Their corpses too pale, too still.

Daniel stood among the gathered men as the Lord Commander examined them.

"How long have they been dead?" someone asked.

"A day?" another guessed.

Sam shook his head. "They don't smell."

Daniel glanced at him. The steward's face was paler than usual, but there was something in his eyes—a realization that none of the others had caught onto yet.

Mormont turned to Maester Aemon. "Have them examined."

The old man nodded. "Of course, my lord."

Daniel knew the truth.

These men weren't just dead. They were waiting.

---

The wight came in the night.

Daniel was jolted awake by the sound of crashing wood.

A commotion outside. Shouting. Steel clashing against something.

Something that wasn't human.

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his cloak, rushing toward the noise. By the time he reached Mormont's quarters, the fight was over.

The Lord Commander stood over the burned remains of a body—a thing that had once been a man, but was now nothing but charred flesh and broken limbs.

Jon stood beside him, Longclaw clutched in his hands, his chest rising and falling heavily. The sword's edge still glowed faintly from the heat of the fire.

Daniel took in the scene, his mind already piecing together what had happened.

'It rose. It came for Mormont. And Jon killed it.'

His eyes flicked to Sam, who was watching the corpse with wide, fearful eyes.

"They don't rot," Sam muttered. "The White Walkers… they wake them."

Jon turned to him. "What?"

Sam swallowed hard. "I read it in an old book. The Walkers… they sleep beneath the ice. For thousands of years. And when they wake up…"

He trailed off.

No one spoke.

Finally, Sam exhaled. "I just hope the Wall is high enough."

---

The next morning, Jon was called before the Lord Commander.

Daniel didn't hear the conversation, but he didn't need to. By midday, the news had already spread—Mormont had given Jon Snow Longclaw.

Daniel saw the sword gleaming at Jon's hip as he left the hall, his expression unreadable.

A Valyrian steel blade.

One of the few things in this world that could kill a White Walker.

Daniel exhaled slowly. This changed things.

Because if Jon had Longclaw…

It meant there was one less weapon in the world for Daniel to claim.

---

That night, Jon received word of Eddard Stark's death.

Daniel didn't need to hear the details—he already knew what would happen next.

Jon would try to leave. He would ride into the night, intending to join Robb's war.

And then he would come back.

Because the Watch was his duty.

Because it was who he was.

So Daniel didn't stop him.

Instead, he watched as Jon rode off into the dark.

And when Sam, Pyp, and Grenn followed after him, Daniel smirked.

'They'll bring him back.'

By morning, Jon had returned.

And that was the end of it.

---

The next day, the Great Ranging began.

The gates of Castle Black groaned open, revealing the vast white beyond.

Daniel adjusted his cloak, stepping forward with the column.

Jon rode ahead, Ghost padding silently beside him.

Sam rode further back, already looking exhausted.

Daniel exhaled, gripping the strap of his pack.

This was it.

Beyond the Wall, everything would change.

And if he wanted to survive what was coming, he needed to find dragonglass.

Before it was too late.

—

The Wall was gone.

For the first time since arriving in this world, Daniel felt the full weight of the wilderness pressing down on him. Castle Black had been cold, but it had still been a place of men. This? This was something else entirely.

The wind howled through the trees, sweeping over the frozen expanse of the Haunted Forest. Endless white stretched in every direction, broken only by skeletal trees and jagged peaks in the distance. The Watch moved in a long, dark column through the snow, their black cloaks blending into the shifting gray sky.

Daniel kept his head down, his hood drawn against the cold. There was no warmth here. No safety.

Just the weight of something unseen watching from the dark.

---

By the second day, the silence had settled over them like a second cloak.

No one talked much.

Even the rangers, men who had spent years patrolling beyond the Wall, kept their voices low. It wasn't just the cold—it was the feeling.

The Haunted Forest was named well.

Daniel had spent his whole life surrounded by civilization, even in its ugliest forms. Cities. Roads. People. This was different.

There were no birds. No wolves howling in the night.

Just the wind and the distant groaning of ice.

He adjusted his grip on the reins of his borrowed horse, keeping his movements slow. He wasn't a rider. None of the new recruits were. But they had been given horses anyway—not out of kindness, but because this journey was long. Too long to be done entirely on foot.

Jon rode ahead, his expression grim, Ghost padding silently beside him.

Further back, Sam looked miserable, hunched into his cloak as his horse plodded along.

Daniel exhaled, shifting his gaze forward.

They were heading north.

Deeper into the unknown.

---

That night, they camped in the ruins of an old wildling village.

Daniel crouched near the fire, watching the flames flicker against the frostbitten wood. Around him, men ate in silence, their breath curling into the night air.

The village was abandoned, but it hadn't been empty for long.

Snow had settled over the collapsed huts, but beneath the white, Daniel could see the remains of old campfires. Scattered bones. Signs of people who had been here not long ago.

"Another one," Jon muttered.

Daniel glanced up. "Another?"

Jon nodded, tossing a twig into the fire. "We've passed three villages already. All abandoned."

Daniel studied the darkened huts, the way the wind carried the scent of old ashes. "Think they ran south?"

Jon exhaled. "They ran somewhere."

Daniel didn't push the conversation further. He already knew why the wildlings were gone.

They weren't running from the Watch.

They were running from what was coming behind them.

---

The fourth day, they found tracks.

Qhorin Halfhand dismounted, kneeling in the snow as the column slowed behind him. Daniel edged closer, glancing over Jon's shoulder.

"Wildlings," Qhorin muttered.

Mormont rode up beside him, his expression unreadable. "How many?"

Qhorin ran a gloved hand over the snow. "A large group. They passed through here days ago."

Mormont frowned. "Heading where?"

Qhorin rose, looking toward the distant mountains. "Further north."

The Lord Commander's expression darkened. "They're gathering."

Daniel exhaled slowly. 'They know they can't stay here. They know they have to run.'

But there was nowhere left to run.

Not when the dead were already coming.

---

That night, Daniel stayed awake longer than he should have.

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the trees. The others were asleep—or pretending to be. Only the sentries were still awake, their dark shapes barely visible against the snow.

Daniel sat up, stretching the stiffness from his legs. He had chosen a spot near the edge of camp, just outside the ring of warmth from the fire.

Jon was nearby, wrapped in his cloak, Ghost curled beside him. The direwolf's eyes glowed faintly in the dark.

Sam wasn't far either, his breath coming in slow, steady puffs as he slept.

Daniel turned his gaze to the treeline.

The feeling hadn't gone away.

Something was out there.

Watching.

---

The fifth day, they found bodies.

Daniel smelled it before he saw it.

The column slowed as the first rider raised a hand, signaling a halt. The horses shifted uneasily, their breath misting in the frozen air.

Daniel pushed forward, slipping past the line of men until he had a clear view of the carnage ahead.

A dozen corpses. Wildlings, half-buried in the snow, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles. Some had weapons still clutched in frozen hands. Others had been torn apart.

Jon dismounted, his face grim. Sam made a sound in the back of his throat but said nothing.

Mormont surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes. "Not a fight."

Daniel agreed. There was no sign of a struggle. No arrows. No defensive wounds.

Whatever killed them, they hadn't fought back.

Jon knelt beside one of the bodies. His fingers brushed against the torn furs, then stopped.

The flesh beneath was too pale.

Too cold.

Jon exhaled. "They didn't die here."

Daniel frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jon's eyes met his. "They weren't killed by men."

A chill ran down Daniel's spine.

He already knew the answer.

But he asked anyway.

"Then what did?"

Jon didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

They both knew.

---

The sixth night, Daniel dreamed of ice.

He stood in the darkness, the snow falling in thick, heavy flakes around him. The air was cold, so cold it burned his skin.

Ahead, something moved.

A shape, just at the edge of his vision.

Tall. Thin. Wrong.

Not a man.

Not anymore.

The wind carried whispers, voices in a language he didn't understand. The same one he had heard before—on TV, in books. The tongue of the White Walkers.

Daniel took a step forward.

The shape moved.

Its eyes glowed blue.

A sharp pain stabbed through his chest, spreading like frost. He gasped, looking down—his skin was turning pale, ice creeping up his arms.

He tried to move.

Tried to scream.

But the world turned white—

And he woke up.

---

Daniel sat up, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The fire was still burning, casting long shadows over the camp.

He exhaled, rubbing his face. 'Just a dream.'

But the feeling remained.

The cold.

The whispers.

He glanced toward the treeline.

Ghost was awake, his ears pricked, his gaze locked onto the darkness beyond the fire's reach.

Daniel followed the direwolf's stare.

And for a second—just a second—he thought he saw something move.

---