North of the Wall ( for seven_of_nine)

[Lovelickin]

Lothor pulled his cloak closed as he paced slowly to the kitchens, they were going out, going North. He had ventured as a ranger before, following Qhorin Halfhand on scouting expeditions to watch the wildlings. But this was different, in his years at the wall this had not been known, Lothor had been delivered, they said, with a wetnurse. A mere babe in arms given to the watch, but he grew strong and fierce. Far better with axe and sword than the boys who came to the wall after him, even the bigger older ones who had some experience.

Mallister, the commander had never spoken to him of his origin and in truth he had no reason to ask of it, but some boys teased him, referred to mountains and dogs. Lothor had no idea of their meanings, but he shut then up quickly if they crossed him.

His cloak was edged in a dirty brown fur, a bear he had killed three years before, and the warmth was needed now, some told of a long winter coming soon and the wildlings moving above the wall. The raven had come some three days before, Mallister had gone ashen, then nodded to Halfhand who simply accepted the decision of the Lord Commander. They were going to meet with men from Castle Black, track down the Wildlings and... Well they never said what next...



Lothor stepped into the kitchen, stooping slightly to pass under the door. 'Hornfoot!' he called 'is the wagon loaded?' the murmur of ascent coming from the darkness answer enough. Lothor stepped back out and walked the path back to Halfhand, astride his horse already, 'Hornfoot is drunk, Give me a moment and I will have the wagon moving'. He looked up into Halfhands face, 'we'll wait for you at Crasters' responded the ranger, 'do not be tardy Lothor, I may have need of your arm'

With that the main party left, leaving Lothor to rouse the sleeping Hornfoot, a task that took a couple of hours. When they left they guided the cart in the direction shown by the prints in the snow, into the wild lands proper...

 

[seven_of_nine]

Magda cursed for the thousandth time as gust of wind hit her full in the face, flinging snow into her eyes and blinding her. Her eyes were red rimmed slits peeking out between her hood and the coney fur obscuring her face from the nose downwards. She had been walking behind a stout man whose ponderous bulk had made him a convenient wind-breaker but every now and again she failed to follow his movements closely enough. Trust Mance to march them straight into gale force winds and a torrential blizzard. She had ceased being able to feel her feet hours ago and shuffled along clumsily. The air sliced into her lungs with every laboured, shallow breath.

"Still do not want to ride?"

She glared up at the Connor, whose leer was evident even though his face was as obscured as her own, making the double meaning of his words plain. Magda wasn't about to bargain her maidenhead just to ride pillion with him, even though she was suffering greatly on foot. In reply she tugged a wickedly sharp dagger half free from its scabbard beneath her 'armour' of boiled leather.

"I will ride this first."

"Be careful what you wish for, slut." He punctuated this comment by exposing his yellow teeth and unkempt beard for a moment and spitting in the direction of her booted feet. Connor heeled his exhausted mount and the brown cob gamely trotted a few paces until Magda was left behind.

They were heading south and no matter the hardship of the journey, Magda knew that Mance Ryder was right. The time for wildlings north of the wall was past. They had enemies now that they could not fight and regardless of the welcome they were likely to get in the Seven Kingdoms, they had no choice.

 

[Lovelickin]

The wagon lurched time and time again, Lothor sat, wrapped in his cloak, rocking with the motion. They had made slow progress, Hornfoot had drunk his share of wine and now was paying the price. Lothor had refused to stop the first time Hornfoot had asked, but when he vomited over the moving cart Lothor knew this was going to be difficult. The delay where Lothor made Hornfoot clean up had cost them a couple of hours. Lothor walked into the treeline as Hornfoot worked, watching he felt a presence there, something deep in the dark.

When he turned to return Hornfoot looked as bad, but was sucking on snow to ease the sickness. 'I'll not stop much' Lothor warned 'eventually you will be walking back'. Hornfoot grunted and pulled his clock back in place as Lothor stepped up onto the wagon.

Again they rolled, moving slowly on the rutted pathway. There were no good roads here and they both knew that once Crasters was reached the cart would have its wheels replaced with runners for the ice. Hornfoots delays became more frustrating and as the light faded Lothor knew they would need to stop and camp.

The fire warmed, but the space was not good. To approach would be easy and two men would be hard pushed to watch all night. Lothor sat, back to a tree as Hornfoot slept under the cart, the horses tied close to them. The fire spat, the wood wet and cold, and Lothor stared into the flames hoping they would reach Crasters keep in the morning.