Viserys slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over the empty stone coffins on either side of the Crypt before finally settling on Ygritte's face.
Her lips had turned faintly blue from the cold, and her skin was rather pale, but her light blue eyes were still bright, and her grip on her dagger had never loosened.
"It's time to go. We've learned what we came to find out." Viserys sheathed the Blackfyre Sword. The faint metallic scrape of blade against scabbard sounded unusually clear in the silent underground Crypt.
They retraced their steps, passing the empty stone coffins and rough, dust-covered statues. The faces of these statues on the lowest level had been worn indistinct by time, leaving their features impossible to make out.
They passed the spot where Benjen Stark had shattered into ice. The fragments were still there, untouched, reflecting tiny glints of cold light in the faint firelight and radiating a bone-piercing chill.
As they passed through the Ironwood Door Viserys had pried open, he paused. Its two panels still leaned askew against the wall. The edges of the frame bore black scorch marks and indentations left by the crowbar, the grain of the ironwood warped within the burns.
Still, Viserys had no intention of touching it. He merely glanced at it before continuing onward.
Once they were out, he would have to ask Robb to send men to repair the door. After all, the Other on this level was still rather important.
The narrow passage was quiet, with only their footsteps echoing through it. Ygritte followed close behind Viserys, no more than an arm's length between them. Neither spoke.
Ygritte could feel that her legs were still a little weak, every step as unsteady as walking on cotton. Yet she never fell even half a step behind,