ASOIAF/GOT: The King in Black

The morning cold bit into his skin. Not the kind of cold he was used to—the brisk chill of a late autumn morning or the artificial blast of an air-conditioned room. This was something deeper, more primal. It settled in his bones, clawed into his muscles, and reminded him that this was not the world he knew.

Daniel kept his head down, his breath fogging in the air as he trudged forward with the rest of the prisoners. His legs ached from a night spent on frozen ground, his wrists still rubbed raw from the rope binding them. He didn't complain. Complaints drew attention, and attention got you killed.

The caravan moved in a slow, steady rhythm. The horses snorted, their breath coming in thick clouds as they pulled the supply wagons forward. Guards rode on either side, eyes heavy with disinterest, but their hands still rested on their weapons. They weren't taking chances.

Daniel kept count. Nine guards on horseback. Four walking along the wagons. Five at the rear.

He was already making plans, though they all ended the same way—failure.

Running would be suicide.

The Wall was still days away, and between here and there was nothing but open land, patches of sparse forest, and the bitter chill of an early northern winter. Even if he got away from the guards, even if he slipped into the trees without an arrow in his back, he wouldn't make it far.

He needed more.

More information. More leverage. More time.

For now, he watched.

The way the guards moved, the shifts in their formation, the way some held their weapons out of habit while others carried them like dead weight.

One of the men near the front was young—barely out of his teens. His armor didn't fit properly, the leather straps hanging too loose at his sides. His grip on the spear was awkward, like someone who had never been in a real fight.

A weak link.

Daniel filed it away.

---

The road stretched on, winding through patches of frost-covered grassland. The trees had thinned out hours ago, leaving them exposed under the gray morning sky. The sun was low but bright, its pale light bouncing off the frost that clung to the ground.

No one spoke.

Most of the prisoners were too tired, too cold, or too beaten down to bother with conversation.

Daniel studied them as they walked.

The scarred brute from last night walked near the front, shoulders squared, his gaze sweeping over the guards every so often. A predator sizing up his cage. He wasn't just some common thug.

Further back, a thin, sharp-faced man with narrow eyes kept adjusting his bindings like he was testing the knots. Not trying to escape—just checking. Feeling out his limits.

There were others, but most had the same look—defeat.

Daniel wouldn't end up like them.

---

By midday, the caravan stopped near a shallow stream. The prisoners were given water and a half-rotten loaf of bread, tossed at their feet like scraps for a dog. No one complained.

Daniel chewed his piece slowly, his teeth grinding against the hardened crust. It tasted stale, old, like something that had been left out for too long.

He forced himself to swallow.

The guards milled around, stretching their legs, muttering among themselves. Some took long drinks from their flasks, their laughter drifting through the air.

Daniel shifted closer to the stream, letting his hands dip into the icy water. The cold stabbed at his skin, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he flexed his fingers, working blood back into them. The ropes had loosened slightly from the journey, but not enough.

A shadow loomed over him.

"Don't get any ideas," one of the guards muttered.

Daniel looked up, meeting the man's gaze. He was older, weathered, with a thin layer of stubble covering his jaw. His nose had been broken once, maybe twice. His black cloak was heavy, thick with fur at the edges. A veteran, then. Someone who had seen enough to know when a man was thinking too much.

Daniel didn't speak. He just nodded, eyes lowered in submission.

The guard lingered for a moment before moving on.

He let out a slow breath.

'Too soon. Not yet.'

He needed patience.

---

By the time they set off again, the wind had picked up. It cut through his clothes, dragging an unnatural chill across his skin. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the rhythm of his steps.

Hours passed. The sky darkened.

A distant howl echoed through the air, faint but unmistakable.

Wolves.

Daniel glanced toward the treeline. Nothing. The woods were still, the shadows unmoving. But he knew better than to assume they were alone.

He wasn't the only one who noticed.

One of the younger guards pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "Shouldn't we camp somewhere else?" he muttered to his companion. "If the wolves are close—"

"They won't come near the fire," the older guard grunted. "And if they do, we'll deal with them."

---

They stopped for the night near the base of a rocky hill. The wagons were pulled into a loose half-circle, and a fire was built in the center.

Daniel sat near the edge of the group, arms wrapped around his knees. His muscles ached, his body stiff from the day's march, but his mind was still working.

The guards had relaxed. Not entirely, but enough. They weren't worried about an escape.

They thought no one was dumb enough to run.

For most of the prisoners, that was true.

For Daniel?

It was only a matter of time.

–

The fire crackled, sending flickers of orange light dancing across the gathered men. Smoke curled into the night sky, carried away by the wind. The flames barely did anything to warm them, the cold creeping in like a living thing, sinking into their bones.

Daniel sat with his back against one of the wagons, watching the flames through half-lidded eyes. His wrists still ached from the ropes, but the bindings had loosened over the course of the day. Small mercies.

Around the fire, the prisoners sat in uneasy silence. Some stared blankly into the flames, while others gnawed on the last scraps of their stale bread. The scarred brute from earlier sat across from him, sharpening a piece of bone against a rock. Slow, deliberate motions. He wasn't doing it out of boredom.

Daniel glanced at the guards. They stood in loose formation around the camp, some closer to the fire, others near the wagons, shifting their weight from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm. A few drank from flasks, sharing quiet conversations, but their hands never strayed too far from their weapons.

A pair of them moved toward the prisoners, eyes scanning the gathered men.

"On your feet," one of them barked.

No one hesitated this time. They'd learned that lesson the hard way. Daniel pushed himself up slowly, careful not to move too fast, not to give them any reason to single him out.

The guards watched them for a moment before one of them spat into the dirt. "You're a sorry lot." His gaze swept over them. "Piss-poor thieves, whoresons, and bastards. The only thing keeping you alive is the Watch needing more bodies. If it were up to me, I'd let the wolves have you."

The other guard smirked, nudging his companion. "Easy now, Hobb. Some of 'em might live long enough to swing a sword."

Hobb snorted. "Doubt it."

Neither of them seemed particularly interested in doing more than making their presence known. It was an old trick—reminding the prisoners who held the power.

They moved off soon after, disappearing toward the supply wagons. The moment they were gone, Daniel exhaled slowly, shifting his stance.

His legs were sore. Not the deep, searing pain of injury, but the dull ache of exhaustion. The kind that settled in when a body wasn't used to walking all day with barely enough food to sustain itself.

He rolled his shoulders, stretching as much as his bindings allowed.

Movement caught his eye.

The scarred brute had finished sharpening his bone fragment. He turned it over in his fingers, testing the point with a press of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitched in something that might have been amusement, then he tucked the makeshift shiv into the sleeve of his ragged tunic.

Daniel met his gaze.

A long moment passed between them. Then the man smirked, like they were in on some unspoken joke.

Daniel looked away.

He wasn't the only one thinking about escape.

---

The night stretched on, and the camp settled into uneasy stillness. The fire burned lower, its embers glowing red in the dark. The wind howled through the trees, distant but growing closer.

The wolves were out there.

Somewhere beyond the edge of the firelight, beyond the reach of their weapons, watching.

Daniel lay curled against the cold ground, wrists still bound, listening to the sounds of the night. The shifting of the guards. The slow, steady breaths of the men around him. The occasional crackle of burning wood.

His fingers twitched.

The ropes had loosened again. A little more, and they might be loose enough to slip free.

Not tonight.

But soon.