There were also ancient chisel marks here and there on the walls, resembling traces left by some tool, or perhaps some forgotten script.
Viserys reached out and touched them, and a chill instantly seeped into his fingertips. The stone in these walls looked denser than that on the upper levels, and darker, almost black, yet it was different from the blackstone of Valyria forged by dragonfire.
They walked for a long time, until even the flame of the torch in Robb's hand had gradually dwindled. At last, they stopped in the deepest level of the crypts they could reach.
Benjen Stark, the man they had come to find, sat cross-legged before the statue furthest inside.
Benjen still wore the black cloak of the Night's Watch, but it had grown rather shabby. Its edges were frayed, and dark stains clung to the fur on the outside. It was barely recognizable as the cloak he had worn before.
What has he been doing all this time? Viserys could not help wondering the moment he saw Benjen.
Benjen's skin had turned completely ashen, tinged with an unnatural blue, like a corpse that had been frozen for years, slowly losing every trace of its original color in the cold and gloom.
His eyes also looked much bluer than before, even bluer than those of the Others Viserys had previously seen. They gave off a faint glow in the darkness of the crypt, like a lit oil lamp.
Sensing the scent of the living drawing closer, Benjen raised his head in confusion. He had already warned the others at Winterfell not to approach his crypt unless there was an urgent matter.
During his time down in the crypts, he had discovered that his transformation into an Other was progressing. Though he still retained the thoughts