Game of Thrones Iron Stark

The new brothers of the Night's Watch were gathered in a dark storeroom, whispering like the criminals they used to be. Most had been pirates once. They'd joined the black only because they heard there was a legendary horn beyond the Wall that could shake the world.

They had asked to range outside and hunt for it. The old crows told them no. Only real rangers went past the Wall. So tonight they were doing it anyway.

Edward, the black-bearded captain who used to sail the biggest pirate ship in the Stepstones, grinned in the gloom. "Brothers, we didn't come to this frozen shithole for the view. We came for the Horn of Winter. It's out there. Tonight we open the gate and go get it."

The men around him laughed low and ugly. They were his old crew. Hard bastards who had fought sharks, giant squids, and each other for years.

One younger pirate shivered. "It's colder out there than anything on the sea. You sure we can take it?"

Edward slapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. "We've danced with sharks, fucked mermaids in our dreams, and bathed in schools of man-eating fish. We're still breathing. A little snow won't kill men like us. If you're scared, fuck off now. The rest of us are going."

They waited until the guards on the gate were drunk and sloppy. One of the pirates had "accidentally" spilled good wine near their feet so it looked like they'd passed out on duty. Easy.

Edward led them through the open gate into the pitch-black night beyond the Wall. The cold hit like a hammer. Every man started shaking inside his black cloak.

"Seven hells," one muttered. "One wall between us and this? The Wall really is magic."

Edward's voice cut through the wind. "Keep moving. Stop and your blood freezes. We head for the Haunted Forest. Craster's place is close. He trades with the Watch. He'll have fire and food."

They rode hard through the snow. The Haunted Forest rose ahead of them, every tree dressed in white like some fucked-up fairy tale. The only sound was the crunch of hooves and the wind screaming through the branches.

One of the pirates stepped wrong and vanished into a hidden pit. Wooden stakes punched through his leg with a wet crunch. He screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

"Shut the fuck up!" Edward snarled. They hauled the man out. The wound had already frozen shut in the cold, but he was pale and shaking.

While they argued about what to do with him, a wild wolf came out of the trees. It moved low and silent, eyes glowing in the dark. It went straight for the bleeding man on the ground.

The pirates scattered for a second, then Edward roared and charged with his axe. The others followed. They fought like the sailors they were—dirty, fast, and together. No one got left behind. Not even the wounded.

The wolf took a couple of deep cuts before it finally backed off into the trees, snarling. The men stood panting, steam rising off their bloodied blades.

Edward wiped his axe on his cloak. "This place is worse than the sea. We almost lost a brother in the first hour. But we don't leave our own for the sharks. We keep going. The Horn is out here somewhere. Move."

They limped on toward the distant glow of Craster's keep, a crude wooden hall half-buried in snow.

Inside, Craster sat by his fire with a skin of sour wine and a haunch of meat. A sudden gust of freezing wind blew through a crack in the wall. He stopped chewing and stared at the door.

"Bad wind," he muttered. "Means bad luck coming. Looks like I'll need another offering for the Night King soon. Night King watch over me."