Westeros's Angel

Night fell hard, dark as shit, the Wall hogging what little light the moon coughed up, swallowing the last scraps of day as the forest thinned out. Arrax's boots crunched through the snow, slower now, each step kicking up little puffs that glittered faint under a sky pricked with stars. Torren trudged alongside, hood pulled tight, dragging Ryk by the arm now that the redhead was awake and stumbling, his breath puffing out in ragged bursts.

They'd been at it all day, pushing through the last stretch of trees, and there it was—the Wall. It rose up like a damn monster, a sheer slab of ice cutting the night in half, glinting cold and pale under a sliver of moon. Arrax stopped short, boots planted, just staring. It was bigger up close, dwarfing the scraggly pines, its top lost in shadows like it didn't end. His chest tightened—not fear, not awe, just… something. Like seeing a ghost you'd only heard about.

"Shit," Ryk muttered, rubbing at his eyes with a mittened hand. "That's a wall alright. Looks like it'd laugh if you tried to climb it."

Torren let go of Ryk's arm, letting him stagger a step, and brushed snow off his coat. He turned to Arrax, dark eyes glinting under the hood. "Well, there it is. End o' the line for me. Promised I'd get you here, and I did. You're on your own now, big man."

Arrax nodded, slow, still stuck on the Wall's icy glare. "Yeah. You did good, Torren. Didn't think we'd make it without one of us strangling him." He jerked his head toward Ryk, who grinned like it was a compliment.

Torren snorted, a quick huff of air. "Tempted, believe me. But I'm done. Headin' back come dawn—got no business this close to the crows."

"Wait, what?" Ryk piped up, stepping forward, snow crunching loud under his boots. "You're leavin'? Nah, nah, I'm stickin' with the big fella here. Ain't no way I'm trudgin' back through that shit just to freeze my balls off with you lot."

Torren rounded on him fast, grabbing his coat collar and yanking him close. "You're done, Ryk. Shut your damn mouth and quit actin' like you've got a say. You're comin' with me, or I'll knock you out again and drag you."

Ryk squirmed, but his grin didn't fade, all teeth and stubborn. "Oh, come on, Torren! What's the harm? Big man's got stories—killed orcs, whatever the fuck those are! I wanna see what he does next. Punch a crow, maybe?"

"Shut it," Torren growled, shoving him back hard enough that Ryk stumbled into a drift, landing ass-first with a muffled thump. "You're a pain in my arse, and I'm not leavin' you to piss him off 'til he guts you."

Arrax watched the two of 'em, arms crossed, the armor creaking faint as he shifted. Ryk was a loudmouth, sure—grated on him like a bad itch—but there was something about the guy's dumb grin that didn't make him wanna punch it off. Yet. Torren, though—he'd hauled them through this frozen nowhere, kept his word, didn't flinch. That stuck with him.

"Hold up," Arrax said, voice cutting through their bickering like a dull blade. He reached under his cloak, fumbling with a gloved hand, and pulled out a small amulet—metal, worn, the sigil of the God-Emperor stamped rough on it, an Aquila wreathed in sharp lines. Caught the moonlight just right, glinting cold. He held it out to Torren, who squinted at it like it might bite.

"What's that?" Torren asked, not moving to take it.

"Somethin' from where I'm from," Arrax said, rolling it between his fingers. "God-Emperor's mark. You don't buy gods, fine—take it anyway, luck or some shit. You earned it, dragging us out here."

Torren stared at it a long beat, snowflakes catching in his hood, then reached out slow, like he wasn't sure he wanted it. He took it, turned it over in his palm, the weight of it heavier than it looked. "Luck, huh? Could've used that when this idiot—" he nodded at Ryk, still sprawled in the snow—"decided to yap the whole way."

Ryk scrambled up, brushing snow off his coat with a laugh. "Oi, I'm a delight! You'll miss me when you're back with the boring bastards."

"Like I'd miss a hole in my head," Torren shot back, but he tucked the amulet into his coat, fingers lingering a second before letting it drop. He looked at Arrax, eyes steady. "You're a strange one, big man. Hope the Wall's worth it."

"Me too," Arrax muttered, turning back to that towering slab of ice. It stared down at them, silent, cold as a grave, and he felt that itch again—like it knew something he didn't. Maybe it did.

Ryk clapped his hands, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Right, so I'm comin' with you, yeah? No point arguin', Torren's already lost this one."

Torren glared, fists clenching, but Arrax just shrugged. "Let him tag along if he wants. I can handle him. Worst case, I'll toss him over the Wall and let the crows deal with him."

"Ha!" Ryk crowed, pointing at Torren. "See? He likes me!"

Torren shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a curse, and turned away, kicking at the snow. Arrax watched him for a second, then shifted his gaze back to the Wall—just a big dark shape now across the clearing. The amulet was gone, but it left a mark—something small, something real—between him and Torren. Ryk was still yammering, but it faded into the wind's low howl, and Arrax just stood there, the cold seeping in, heavy.

He stood there a sec, then fuck it, he ran. Legs pumping like pistons, snow spraying wild under his boots. The ice stretched out endless—cracked drifts and frozen ruts—but this Astartes body, it didn't give a damn. He blitzed through it, wind roaring past, hitting the base of the Wall so fast his breath snagged. Up close, it was a beast—ice stacked jagged and sheer, glinting like it was alive under that pale moonlight. His ears twitched, sharp even without the helmet—he'd left that damn thing back at that makeshift grave, a cracked shell for the marine who'd owned this skin first. Voices drifted down, faint but there, not Torren's gruff growl or Ryk's yap—something else, accents thick and strange, rolling off tongues he didn't know.

"Oi, you hear that up top?" one voice muttered, muffled by the wind. "Fuckin' wind's playin' tricks again."

Arrax ducked around a corner, pressing against the Wall's base where the ice curved rough and shadowed. Safe enough, he figured—nobody'd spot him down here. His chest hummed, that old itch to move kicking in, and he flexed his shoulders, feeling the thrusters built into this armor spark to life. A low whine cut the quiet, and then—shit—he was up, blasting off the ground, snow swirling in his wake. The Wall rushed past, a blur of cold and gray, his speed climbing fast, the wind clawing at his face like it wanted to peel it off.

Then—"AAAH! FUCK ME!"—a scream, loud and right behind him, damn near in his ear. Arrax twisted midair, heart slamming, and there was Ryk—red hair flapping wild, arms locked around his neck, clinging like a damn leech. How the hell—? That bastard must've bolted after him, jumped on when he wasn't looking. "You crazy shit!" Arrax roared, voice lost in the rush, but Ryk just kept howling, half-laughing, half-screaming, like a kid on a busted ride.

No time to shake him—Arrax cranked the thrusters, speed spiking, and they shot up, overtaking the Wall in seconds. The top flashed by—a jagged lip of ice, a flicker of black cloaks up there gaping down—and then they were over, moon lighting them up like a spotlight. The world flipped—white to green, snow to grass—and Arrax cut the thrust, dropping fast. They hit the ground hard, a thud that rattled his teeth, skidding across a patch of frost-kissed green way past the Wall's shadow.

He stumbled to a stop, boots digging into soft earth—actual dirt, not ice—and spun around, chest heaving. Ryk slid off his back, hitting the ground with a groan, sprawled out like he'd been punched drunk. His face was pale, eyes wide, an inch from passing out, red beard twitching as he sucked air like a drowning man.

"What the fuck, Ryk?" Arrax rasped, voice scraped raw from the wind. He loomed over him, hands on his knees, staring down at this idiot who'd somehow hitched a ride. "You got a death wish or just too dumb to quit?"

Ryk coughed, a wet, wheezing laugh, rolling onto his side. "Shit, big man—I—I wasn't missin' that! Told ya I'm stickin' with ya—fuckin' hell, that was—" He trailed off, sucking in another gulp of air, grinning like a fool who'd won a bet.

Arrax shook his head, half a laugh slipping out despite himself. "You're a lunatic, you know that? Shoulda left you with Torren—least he'd knock you out proper."

"Yeah, well," Ryk wheezed, pushing up on an elbow, "he's borin'. You—you fly over fuckin' walls! Who does that?"

"Me, apparently," Arrax muttered, straightening up. He glanced back at the Wall—smaller now, a dark line against the sky—and then down at the green stretching out around them. Grass crunched under his boots, patches of frost glinting like spilled glass, air smelling sharp and alive, not dead and frozen. His ears still rang with those voices from the top—crows, maybe, Night's Watch—whoever they were, they'd be scratching their heads tonight.

Ryk dragged himself up, swaying a bit, brushing snow and dirt off his coat. "So, uh—what now? We're over the damn thing—where we goin'?"

Arrax didn't answer right away. He flexed his hands, this damn frame still ain't his own, and Ryk was here—stupid grin and all. He kicked at a tuft of grass, watching it scatter, then looked out at the green rolling under the moon.

"Dunno," he said finally, voice low. "Figure it out as we go, I guess."

Ryk nodded, like that was good enough, and flopped back onto the ground, staring up at the stars. "Fair. Long as I don't gotta walk back through that ice shit."

Arrax snorted, turning away, the Wall a silent giant at their backs. They'd crossed it—him and this idiot—and landed somewhere new, somewhere green. What it held, he didn't know, but his gut said it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

****

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