To epitomize the world in which we live, we must first step back and remember that we are flawed.
But to understand the world in which we live, we must recognize that man realizes just this: the good exploit the flaws and the wicked jeopardize their...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jon had never thought the gate leading North could be deafened by anything—for indeed it spelled out both danger and sudden realization that all forms of protection were gone. But to this end, he knows that the danger that now befalls their ranks of one dozen men is the greatest men have faced in a millenia. And maybe that is why the winds screech louder than the opening door which reveals nothing but a blank slate—whiteness. His heart hammers upon his sleeve and he tries to keep his shoulders from crumpling at the sudden blow—this is the enemy they now face. And never had Jon been so afraid as in that moment, a moment where Winter met men and monster was made real.
But she felt it, and suddenly Gabrielle was there, at the front of the company and grasping his hand in her own with the perception of flesh beneath many layers of leather. Looking over, he tries not to let feeling overcome him, to turn his judgement—and he fails at the strength she shows, the only one—the only woman—whose perceptions did not mark potential failure—but Hope.
Looking back on the men that will follow him into the greatest reaches of civilization, Jon locks eyes with his father and Tormund, Jorah and Gendry, Beric and Thoros, and finally Sandor Clegane. None show as much emotion as him in that one glance, but the winds have the ability to freeze away the masks over their eyes, and he sees the acute fear in all of them but Gabrielle. Finally turning back to her as he takes a deep breath of cold air, he feels the need to ask one last time, "Are you sure you want to do this?"
Her eyes flicker and blink as snow is lodged in light eyelashes, gazing out into the storm with a comfort of warmth over her skin. And then she turns back to Jon, unable to feel the fear these men possess, "This is my home. And I will save it."
She's the first to step forward, and then Jon as he feels his hand lock with hers—refusing to be lost from the strength that fell into his lap, the reign that could not be made possible without her. And perhaps because she is a step ahead of him—the front against White Walkers—but Jon Snow suddenly feels his heart beat heavier, more convincingly as they lose sight of the gate and enter the realm of pure Winter.
Gendry has never been this cold, and it's not just his Southerner blood that makes it so, for indeed even Ned Stark appears to be frozen in part from the howling winds and dropping temperature. Certainly, the others do a better job of hiding it, though—as Gendry finds himself hopping in place and running his hands down his arms with any hope of finding warmth that can diverge from movement. He shoots a glance at Tormund beside him, "How do you live up here? How do you keep your balls from freezing off?"
"You got to keep moving. That's the secret. Walking's good, fighting's better, fucking's best," the wildling responds, sending a pointed look at the King in the North beside him who shows little worse for wear in the cold. "Just look at this one, not even shivering—" Jon rolls his eyes at the presumption of Tormund but cannot help the grin that quivers across his face, "—We have to make do with what we've got."
