Chapitre 16: Tavern Tricks #16
As the four men approached the northeastern edges, they walked through the snow in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The revelation of Gale's unique circumstances had left Qhorin and Edd grappling with the unfamiliar and extraordinary situation.
They were steadfast members of the Night's Watch, ready to sacrifice themselves to carry out the Lord Commander's orders, yet they required time to come to terms with the bizarre reality.
Breaking the silence, Edd couldn't resist his curiosity any longer. "So... you won't suddenly snap and turn us into ice sculptures, will you?" he asked, directing a skeptical look at Gale.
Gale halted his steps and turned to Edd, carefully examining him, much to Edd's bewilderment. "You'd make for a miserable ice sculpture, so I think I'll refrain," Gale replied with a chuckle.
Edd protested, "Hey! I'd make for a glorious sculpture! I imagine my dying face will strike many a maiden with lovesickness!"
Gale retorted, "I think it will be plain sickness that strikes any such unfortunate maidens."
Edd persisted with his curiosity. "Still... you're either the funniest White Walker in all of Westeros, or just a regular human being..." He muttered, not sure which was which.
Gale shrugged, unsure himself. "Who knows, really? In any case, I do lose control when I have an episode and end up attacking anything that might be a threat, but I can hold back from attacking allies," he explained.
"All that power, and you can't control it... shame, really," Edd mused, scratching his head. "Imagine what you could do if you mastered it," he added, giving Gale a thoughtful look.
Gale sighed in response. "There's no need to imagine... I saw firsthand the aftermath of my first outburst," he admitted. "It wasn't pretty."
Edd pressed on, "So you really can't control it at all?"
Gale shook his head. "Not exactly. I have some control over my power, but it amounts to tavern tricks at most," he explained. "Look behind you." He gestured toward their tracks in the snow, prompting Edd to turn around.
For a moment, Edd couldn't see anything unusual. Then, after several seconds, realization dawned on him, and his eyes widened. "Wait... our tracks?" he said hesitantly.
Gale confirmed with a nod. "That's right. I can cover our tracks in the snow, chill a glass of hot water, and..." He extended his arm, palm open, demonstrating his abilities.
As he did, ice began to form around his palm, slowly taking the rough shape of a jagged, icy dagger. It held its form for only a moment before shattering into pieces.
"Some bloody neat tavern trick— that," Edd remarked in amazement as he watched the icy dagger disintegrate into a shimmer of blue particles in the air.
Gale couldn't help but grin at Edd's reaction. "Well, I can keep a crowd entertained, if nothing else," he said with a chuckle. "Though, I reckon the ensuing group of the Seven's priests dragging me out of said tavern and burning me at the stake will be even more amusing," he added, shaking his head wryly.
Edd laughed heartily. "Do tell if you ever plan to perform in public then... I imagine it will be a sight to see," he said, clearly enjoying the unexpected talents of his new companion.
...
The wildling woman, nursing her injured thigh, finally caught sight of Craster's keep in the distance. Gritting her teeth in pain, she hobbled toward the keep, aware that it was her only chance for survival.
Though it pained her to admit it, even more than the gaping wound on her leg, she knew that the rations Gale and the others had left behind were the reason she had made it this far. Being defeated by Southerners and spared by their grace was a great shame, one for which death would have been preferable. But she had a mission to accomplish.
The survival of her tribe and her people might depend on the success of her mission. She would have to cast her pride aside and endure the shame, for she was determined to live, even if it meant doing so in disgrace.
The woman didn't have much time to wallow in self-pity as Craster noticed her approaching his home and went out to meet her on the steps of the keep.
"And what do we have here? I didn't think I'd see you again so soon..." Craster said, his brows furrowing as he glanced at the bloodstains on the woman's leg. "And in such a miserable state to boot..." he added with a scowl.
"Fucking crows got me—killed the other two," the woman explained with a grimace. "Now stop gawking like a fool and help me out. I don't have much time," she added through gritted teeth.
Craster couldn't hide his displeasure. He had always considered himself the king of his little domain, his own piece of the world he had carved out for himself. Suffice to say he didn't appreciate some wildling woman ordering him around in his own home.
"Watch your tone, girl," Craster warned, his eyes narrowing, his voice carrying a threatening weight. "I have an agreement with your people, but I'm under no obligation to offer more than supplies and shelter," he added.
The wildling woman clenched her teeth, suppressing her frustration. She chose to maintain her composure. "I'll ensure fair compensation upon completing my mission and returning to the main camp," she replied.
Craster couldn't resist a chuckle at her words. "Let's suppose I believe you, which I don't," he said, a sly grin playing on his lips. "There's no guarantee you'll survive on your own," he continued, shaking his head with a twisted amusement.
"If you require my assistance, you must provide compensation in advance," his gaze lingering from her face to her body. Despite the layer of dirt and grime concealing most of her features, the wildling woman couldn't evade Craster's lecherous intent.
Her eyes widened with the immediate understanding of his proposition. The woman's initial impulse was to unsheathe her weapon and put an end to this old lecher's life, but the second glance she cast at his imposing figure made her reconsider.
Despite his age, Craster exuded a an aura vitality, and with her current wounds, engaging him in combat was out of the question.
Realizing there was no other viable option to survive and achieve her mission, the wildling woman let out a resigned sigh. "If that's what it takes, then so be it..." she uttered, her voice laced with weary resignation.
"Assist me inside, and I'll provide what's rightfully yours," she added, maintaining her composed façade, though Craster could easily see through the act, which only seemed to heighten his perverse excitement.
"I knew we'd come to an agreement... I've always been a generous man, after all," Craster purred with a lascivious grin as he approached the wildling woman. His hands reached out towards her, eagerly closing on her shoulder.
He clamped down firmly, assessing her with a demeaning scrutiny akin to a farmer inspecting his livestock. "You'll suffice... indeed, you will," he crooned, his hands sliding down her neck as he maneuvered beside her.
"Now, lean on me..." he urged, and the woman reluctantly complied, a rising disgust hidden behind her stoic exterior. "One fair warning, though... you might not wish to leave once you've—"
Craster's words halted abruptly as a cold, wet sensation spread across his stomach. His eyes widened in shock, his gaze locking on the knife embedded in his gut. "You... you bitch," he gasped, his tone filled with disbelief.
The wildling woman didn't respond with words; instead, she spat in his face and twisted the blade, causing Craster to crumple to his knees.
"I told you I'd give what's rightfully yours, you fucker..." The woman hissed through gritted teeth as she planted a kick squarely into Craster's head, sending him sprawling.
With a determined grip, she pried her knife free from his gut. "A wretched death befitting a wretched man," she stated coldly, lowering herself upon him and driving the knife into his throat.
Her cold, unflinching gaze followed the gruesome spectacle, watching him gurgle and choke on his own blood with grim satisfaction.
"I've wanted to do this ever since I set foot in this filthy pigsty you call a keep..." she remarked, a touch of grim irony in her tone. "And now, you've given me an excuse to do it... a generous man indeed." She flashed a triumphant smirk and left Craster to his fate as she headed into the log hall.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone