A Warmth in the Snow, CH:07

This is a crossover story between ASOIAF and LOTM, you can read chapters 1 to 6 on Spacebattles or AO3

...

Nara had always been aware of her size. Among the Free Folk, where height meant a longer reach with a spear and bulk meant better warmth against the cold, she was small. It was a weakness, a fact she was constantly reminded of by the world around her. She couldn't draw a bow as strongly as the others, she couldn't carry as heavy a load, and in playful brawls, she was always the first to fall. As a result, she was so dependent on her friends, a group of young warriors who, despite their relentless teasing, were still kind enough to form a protective circle around her when danger threatened. They protected her, and she both hated and was grateful for it.


She had always hated physical labor. While others boasted of the calluses on their hands, Nara would hide her relatively smooth ones. Deep in her heart, in a place she never admitted to anyone, she thought she was different. She didn't feel the same joy in the hunt or the thrill of a fight. Instead, she found wonder in quiet things: the way a certain moss could soothe a burn, or how a bitter root could ease a fever. A few times, when there were exaggerated stories about the south, Nara would listen intently. Stories of women who wore soft fabrics, who read from scrolls, who lived within warm stone walls. She truly wanted to live like them, though she never admitted it aloud. To say such a thing would have disgusted them all. It would be seen as a weakness, a betrayal of everything the Free Folk stood for. It might have gotten her killed.


So, Nara channeled her longing for a different world into the only avenue available to her. She became a forager. While others trained with spears, she would wander the hills and forests, gathering herbs. She would try different plants, crushing them, boiling them, studying them herself in the silence of her hut. She would make poultices, salves, and teas. Since she couldn't fight, at least she could be useful for something else. She would be a healer.


"You're going to die."


Tormund's blunt voice broke her reverie. She looked up to see her friend, whom she had known since childhood, leaning against the frame of a house under construction, his thick arms crossed over his chest. He was a man of only twenty-five name days, same as Nara, but he was already a formidable warrior, with thick blond hair and blue eyes that always seemed amused.


Nara just shook her head, her short, practical brown hair fluttering in the spring breeze. "The Fool will protect me," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "And I'll be going with several others who are good fighters." She was going on a long journey south, or rather, out of the valley. She was joining the expedition crew.


Tormund snorted, looking up at the bright blue sky as if searching for sanity there. "Just make sure you don't get left behind. You're a slow runner, let alone a walker. The thought of it makes me shudder. They'll leave you for the wolves to eat."


"Say that again and I'll hit you," Nara hissed, though there was no real threat in her voice.


Tormund burst out laughing, a deep, cheerful laugh that always annoyed Nara. "I can say it as often as I want! Your punches wouldn't leave a mark!" He pushed himself off the wall and began walking beside her. "Seriously, Nara. Why are you doing this? You hate the cold. You hate walking. It's warm here. There's food. For the first time in our lives, we're safe. Why would you want to go back out there?"


"Because there are people out there who need help," Nara answered quietly, as they walked through the center of the valley. "People who are sick, injured. People like us before Gehrman found us. If I can help even one person..." She shrugged. She couldn't explain the longing inside her to be more than just a burden, to be essential.


They passed the now-finished 'town hall,' a large wooden building that loomed in the center of the settlement. It was already inhabited by many families, needing only a few finishing touches. The empty windows still awaited the 'glass' that Anderson Hood had promised, whatever that was. Then, they arrived at a magnificent tent, set up on slightly higher ground. This tent was different from the others. The material was high-quality, thick and weatherproof, and its poles were carved with strange patterns. This was the nerve center of their new community, where Wyr and sometimes Gehrman Sparrow himself gathered to discuss their matters.


Tormund stopped at the entrance. "Alright, great healer. Don't let the Walkers bite you." He grinned, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. He clapped Nara awkwardly on the shoulder, then turned and left.


Nara took a deep breath and went inside alone.


The interior of the tent was spacious and dim, with the scent of leather and dried herbs. A long table dominated the center of the room, and around it stood about a dozen people. They were tough warriors, men and women whose faces were hardened by wind and battle. And at the head of the table, stood Wyr. It seemed Nara was the last to arrive.


Wyr nodded at her, his expression serious. "It seems everyone has arrived," he said, his deep voice filling the tent. "You who are here are the ones who volunteered before. Make no mistake, your task will not be easy. You will be returning to face the long winter, the Walkers, and of course, man himself—raiders, cannibals, and desperate people."


A heavy silence settled over the room. Everyone there knew the dangers. They had lived them.


"But remember," Wyr continued, and his voice softened, "that Mr. Fool is always with you. 'His' light will be your guide in the darkness." He paused, his eyes sweeping over each face. "First of all, the most important. I will call the names for those who volunteered to care for the sick. The names I call will step forward."


Nara straightened her back, her heart beginning to pound faster.


"Ryk." A burly man with a red beard stepped forward. "Emmeth." Another man, older and thinner, joined him. "Rhae." A tall woman with long black hair stepped forward, her face calm.


Then Wyr looked straight at her. "Nara."


With slightly trembling steps, Nara stepped forward and stood beside the other three. Two men and two women. Only four people. Very few had volunteered for healing. It wasn't something the Free Folk delved into; it was a skill viewed with suspicion, often equated with weak magic.


Wyr looked at the four of them. "You will be the hope for those who have none. Your work is the most important of all." He then picked up a leather pouch from the table beside him. He opened it and took out four small boxes, each carefully wrapped in leaves and tied with string.


"I know that you have your own medicines and knowledge," Wyr said as he placed one box in front of each of them. "But Gehrman Sparrow, in his generosity, has given us this. This is medicine 'made' directly by him." He paused, letting the weight of those words sink in. "It has magical properties that no ordinary medicine possesses."


Nara stared at the small box in front of her, her breath caught in her throat. Her hand trembled as she reached out to touch it. The leaves felt cool and smooth under her fingers. Medicine from Gehrman. A medicine made by the man who could summon the sun and turn winter into spring. Her chest felt tight from the pounding of her heart. Could it be? After witnessing those miracles from afar, could she now hold them in her own hands? Could she use them? This was more than just herbs or salves. This was power. This was hope. This was the answer to everything she had ever wanted.


Wyr allowed a moment of silence to settle over the four healers, letting them fully absorb the gravity of their task and the wonder of the gift they were about to receive. Nara held her breath, her hand hovering hesitantly over her small box. It felt like a dream.


Then, Wyr began to explain, his calm and steady voice cutting through the tension. He took one of the boxes and opened it, revealing several small, dark green pellets wrapped in dried moss. "This one can stop bleeding and accelerate the healing of wounds," he said, his tone like a patient teacher. "Crush one into a paste with a little water and apply it to the wound. It will close the flesh in seconds. If the wound is deep, have them swallow it. It will work from the inside."


Nara stared at the pellets, her mind racing. Her whole life, she had used spiderwebs to stop bleeding and bog moss to prevent infection. It was a slow, uncertain process, and it often failed. The idea of something that could close flesh in seconds... it was pure magic.


Wyr pointed to a second box, which contained soft, pale yellow capsules. "This one, meanwhile, can stop internal illnesses. A burning fever, a twisting stomach ache, a cough that tears the lungs, whatever it is. This medicine will immediately address their pain, and slowly it will heal the source of the illness."


Ryk, the red-bearded man, let out a low whistle. The older Emmeth just shook his head in amazement. This was the answer to their greatest scourge besides the Walkers—sickness. A simple fever outbreak could wipe out half a clan during winter. This medicine was life itself.


"And this one," Wyr continued, opening a third box containing a thick, dark purple liquid in a small clay vial, "is to stop poison. So far, it is effective against snake venom, poison from frogs, and other deadly plants."


"The last one," Wyr said, and this one he took from a separate pouch, a single, bright red pill that seemed to pulse with its own light, "is a pill to increase stamina and endurance. If you give it to someone severely ill or injured, their body will immediately recover its strength, enough to walk or even run. While if a healthy, normal person takes it, they will feel their strength multiply. They can fight without fatigue for several minutes." He looked at them sharply. "Use this only in an emergency. This pill is very precious."


He paused, letting them absorb all the information. "These medicines only have a shelf life of three years," he added in a serious tone. "After that, their power will fade. Keep them safe."


One by one, Wyr filled a small leather bag for each of them, giving a generous portion of each medicine. Nara held her bag with both hands, as if it were a newborn baby. It felt heavy with responsibility. She never expected to be given something so powerful, so magical. Every description Wyr explained, she immediately believed without needing to process it through a filter of skepticism. She had seen Gehrman change the seasons. Of course he could create these magical medicines. This was real. And it was in her hands.


"Now it's your turn," Wyr said, turning his attention from the healers to the rest of the room. "Those who specialize in fighting."


The air in the tent crackled with anticipation. The warriors straightened up, their previously curious eyes now blazing.


"Oriel." "Gon." "Edrick."


Nine names were called, and nine warriors stepped forward, forming a loose line in front of Wyr.


Wyr bent down and lifted a long, cloth-wrapped object. "This is a sword made of iron and forged by Gehrman Sparrow's own friend. He lives in a place called the New City of Silver, and his name is Arthur."


Nara tried to imagine such a place. A new city made of silver. It sounded like a song, not a real place.


Wyr unwrapped the bundle, revealing a sword in a simple black leather scabbard. A real warmth emanated from it, like the heat from dying embers. Then, with a smooth motion, he drew the sword.


The entire room held its breath. The blade did not shine like polished steel. Instead, it was a dark red, like dried blood, and it seemed to absorb the firelight around it. Faint, intricate grooves were etched along the blade, pulsing with a dim red glow.


"This sword has the heat of a fire," Wyr explained. "Arthur has inscribed it with a spell and infused the power of what is called the Hunter Pathway." Nara didn't understand what the last part meant, but she saw Gon's eyes widen, completely mesmerized by the weapon. "This means this sword has the characteristics of fire and can glow in the dark. This sword can also cut through any ordinary object in front of it as if it were nothing. And most importantly..." He paused, looking straight at the warriors. "It is suited for fighting the Walkers."


The Walkers. The word echoed in the silence. Nara nodded seriously, feeling a cold shiver down her spine. This was what they needed most in the outside world. Not just medicines to heal, but a weapon to fight the nightmare itself.


"But remember," Wyr warned, his voice becoming sharp. "The more you cut with it, the more energy it will consume. Generally, this sword can be used for two years before its power runs out and it must be recharged with his magic."


So there was no way to use it permanently. Nara nodded to herself. That was a clever lesson. It meant they had to come back here, no matter what happened later, if they wanted the weapon to be usable again. It was a tether, an anchor that bound them to this valley.


Wyr gave the first sword to Gon, who accepted it with hands trembling with reverence. He gave one to Oriel and Edrick as well. Three swords of fire for the three foremost warriors.


For the others, he had different weapons. He gave a large war axe to a giant woman named Bruna. Its handle was made of black wood, and its blue steel head was carved with symbols of lightning. "This axe can make the sound of thunder when swung hard," Wyr said. "Enough to scare wild beasts or make an enemy hesitate."


And for the three archers, including an old man with one eye named Kael, he gave bows made of a strange, pale wood. "Arrows shot from these bows will fly straighter," he explained. "And when you draw the string, your vision will become sharper. You will be able to see an enemy from a distance you could never see before."


The room was filled with newfound power. The warriors held their magical weapons, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and pride. They were no longer just a desperate group of people. They had been armed by a god.


After all the weapons were distributed, Wyr looked at the now-complete expedition party. Thirteen souls, equipped with magic and sent into brutality.


"This is a difficult thing," Wyr said quietly, and for a moment, he sounded like a man of thirty name days who had seen too much death. "And I hope you all come back alive."


With those final words, the meeting was dismissed.


One by one, they all filed out of the tent, stepping from the dim light into the bright afternoon sun. As Nara stepped out, the spring air felt sweeter, the colors of the valley seemed brighter. She clutched the leather bag at her side tighter. It no longer contained just herbs and hope. Now, it contained miracles. And they were hers to give.