"Hold the people..."
A pair of gray eyes watched Gryn's profile as Lord Eddard murmured the words back to him.
Gryn turned his brown eyes toward him. "But we have to wait for Tyrell's reinforcements. Without fresh troops, the force covering the retreat will only die and become fresh Wights."
At Gryn's grim joke, the corner of Lord Eddard's mouth twitched. "If I become a Wight, Your Grace will have to trouble himself with that spear." Gryn tipped his head back and laughed. "You and I are each other's best choice for the job."
With that, he rose slowly. "By the way, did Lady Stark blame me?"
Lord Eddard shrugged. "She didn't. She hopes to thank you herself when the time is right."
"She'll have the chance."
Gryn paced a few steps, then faced the tall Lord Eddard. "This isn't fleeing the battlefield. Choumu Village will soon become the next front line. Send your family to Winterfell, along with the other women and children."
Lord Eddard opened his mouth, but Gryn cut him off with a pat on the arm. "You and I will do our best to keep the fighting from reaching Winterfell." That same day.
Darkness poured down, swallowing the last glimmer of light.
"Enemy attack!"
A horn blared, tearing through the silence.
Wights surged through the breach in The Wall once more, hundreds upon hundreds of them. They did not roar or carry torches. They simply advanced in silence.
Atop the wall.
The soldiers were already moving, making their preparations for battle in orderly fashion. No one shouted, asked questions, or looked back. Their movements were so practiced they were almost instinctive.
After more than ten days of continuous fighting, the soldiers had grown numb enough to forget fear.
Still they moved. They were guardians at the