DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Jon IX

Benjen carried the bag of iron spikes and a small hammer, its head wrapped in thick felt. They both carried a long coil of rope, and Benjen took the lead. The rising moon painted the mountains in silver, while casting shadows amidst the rocks, making the trail difficult to see. They worked their way up a steep, twisting trail, which was hard going, and slow, but to hurry would risk a broken ankle. Jon's time with the Freefolk gave him the confidence and instinctive knowledge to know where to put his feet; he'd made many nighttime climbs like this.

The Frostfangs were a cruel place, but Jon minded not. The ice-cold wind, which cut like a knife, was far kinder than the deathly cold brought by the Night King and his army. For safety, he carried Longclaw, sheathed, across his back, a dirk and dagger for closer work.

Sometimes, the mountain would fold back on itself, and they would lose sight of the fire, but always reappeared. The climb was as treacherous as Jon remembered. In places, Jon had to flatten his back against the cold stone, inching along the ravine sideways. When the track widened, it was no less treacherous; huge cracks, big enough to swallow a leg, and rubble littered everywhere. Two hours into the climb, a fierce wind so wild that it was all he could do to cling to the rock, and hope he would not be blown off the mountain. They resumed their climb once the gale subsided. Looking down, there was nothing below but a black pit, and above him were the moon and stars. The narrow track eventually ended with a massive block of black granite thrusting out from the side of the mountain.

"Straight up there," Benjen said in a quiet voice. "We best get above them." He pulled his gloves off and tucked them into his belt, before tying one end of his rope around his waist, the other around Jon.

Benjen started climbing upwards. Jon watched closely, making note of each protruding rock, each hole in the cliff face, and every handhold Benjen could find. When the last of the rope uncoiled, Jon removed his gloves and followed him. Once Jon reached him, he took out his felt-headed hammer and drove a spike into a crack in the stone, soft as he could, so as not to alert the wildlings.

When the spike was secure, Jon started after him. Up they went, crossing the moonlit wall of rock. Anyone below would easily see them, but the mountain hid them from the wildlings. Jon knew the wildlings were close by. It wouldn't be long before he saw his ex-lover.

After it felt like they'd been climbing for an eternity instead of hours, Jon was crawling on his hands and knees behind Benjen along a rocky shelf. They crept along on their bellies until they were looking down on their prey. The obvious way to seek help from the wildlings would be to keep all three alive and parley with them, but Jon knew that wasn't the wildling way. As much as he'd once loved Ygritte, he knew she was as fierce as the fire-kissed hair on her head. That plan wasn't an option, instead a Watcher needed to die as a show of strength, allowing the others to be controlled.

Jon scanned the three Watchers to decide on which one to kill. One man sat near the fire, feeding it twigs and branches. The second watched the pass, either for crows or whitewalkers, most likely the latter, for the Night's Watch rarely ventured this far north. The third Watcher was asleep under the furs. Jon would leave that one for later.

Jon touched Benjen's arm, pointing at the wildling under the furs, and shook his head. That one was to be left alone. Benjen nodded, giving a thumbs up in understanding. They had already discussed who would kill the unlucky wildling Benjen had willingly volunteered. Jon had spent too much time with them and was too sympathetic to their cause to murder a man in cold blood for no reason, save that he was the unlucky one. Benjen had no such problems. He hated wildlings and was only agreeing to Jon's suggestion because it was the lesser of the two evils.

The obvious choice was the man watching the pass who had a horn around his neck. Should he live, he would alert more wildlings and they would all be dead. Jon pointed the man out and ran a finger across his own throat. Benjen nodded, pulled out his dirk and jumped down to the shelf where the wildlings were guarding.