𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑰𝑰𝑰: 𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑭𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔

꧁~~~𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌~~~꧂
꧁~~300 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕~~꧂

꧁He had never been as tired in his entire life than he was in that moment. He had walked a thousand miles through snow, mud and sand, trained with the many of the greatest fighters in all of Westeros until his knuckles bled. Fought in battle after battle, and yet still, Benget had never felt the sheer exhaustion he was feeling now. Dawn, still covered in mud and blood, was again sheathed at his waist once more. His entire being now was covered in mud and blood, cuts and bruises, adding more to the list of many scars.

Around him, Black Brothers, the few that remained sat about, some sleeping while others staring off at nothing. From anyone's perspective, they should all be dead, Ben himself included. Barely twenty men held the tunnel against hundreds of Wildlings. Or, maybe it was only a hundred instead of plural, it was hard to tell in the darkness and through the screams echoing throughout the long amd narrow tunnel. Nobody was counting them anyways. From his count, he had lost nearly sixty men defending the Wall in just one night. And a quarter of those men died this very morning from grievous wounds that would never mend and fix, no matter the efforts of Maester Aemon.

Ben stared with tired violet eyes across the courtyard to where he had ordered the Woldling prisoners to be held. He would not throw Val or Tormund in the ice cells, he would not do that with anyone. He gazed out, and his eyes met with Val's from across the way. She had never been an easy person to read, Ben knew, but he was able to read her anyways. But now, he did not know what was going through her mind. He would not blame her if she still hated him with passion. If he had anyone's perspective, he'd hate him too.

"Ben.."

The Stark barely turned in acknowledgement to Sam as he approached, blood covering his hands as well. Not as craven as he always said, he thought to himself as he stared at the Tarly with a sigh.

"Yes?"

His voice was raspy and broken, not at all fit for a song. Not that there would he anything to sing of this day, or the next. Or the next many he'd wager.

"We held them off, didn't we?"

Sam spoke, almost as if he was unsure what to ask to begin with. Any other time, Ben would have chuckled or snorted, knowing damn well that it was a fool's hope to believe in such a thing. But he did not smile, nor did he chuckle. He just shook his head.

"For a night, Sam. For a night.."

"But Stannis-"

"You think Stannis is coming anytime soon? The snows hit hard last night, he's bogged down."

Ben looked across the courtyard yet again, this time, his eyes landed on Jon, who after many hours, did not move from the ground. He still held Ygritte in his arms, even as she was long gone. He sighed once more.

"Even if Stannis did come now, he doesn't have the same army he did on the Blackwater. And Mance has the coverage of the forest. Face it, Sam, Stannis can't help us here and now."

"So what do we do, then?"

He asked, and Ben just shrugged, shaking his head as he pulled his leather gloves just a bit tighter on his hands.