Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #83

Laying Threya's lifeless body on the snow against the rough bark of a tree, Gale steeled himself to commence the grim task of preparing a pyre for the fallen. 

However, as he attempted to take the first step toward gathering the necessary resources, a surge of searing pain shot through his injured ankle, causing him to wince and falter. 

The battle's aftermath had brought with it the harsh realization that his body now grappled with the consequences of overexertion, the dissipating adrenaline leaving him to confront the harsh reality of his injuries. 

He sighed heavily, his resolve momentarily faltering as he lowered himself to the ground.

"Hey, you there..." Gale addressed the nearest wildling, turning to them with a tone that brooked no argument. "Help me start a fire, and fetch me something to drink," he commanded, the weight of exhaustion evident in his voice. "The stronger, the better," he added, a note of assertiveness cutting through his weariness.

The wildling hesitated briefly before darting away, leaving Gale to wrestle with his discomfort. As he sat there, Tormund approached, settling himself beside Gale with an inquisitive look etched on his weathered face.

"It's too soon to be drowning your sorrows in drink, lad..." Tormund began, one eyebrow raised in concern as he attempted to console Gale. "I know losing can be--"

Gale interjected swiftly, his words clipped and edged with bitterness. "Let me stop you right there," the young man interrupted, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "I'm not so weak as to rely on drink to cope with loss," he retorted, his tone tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. 

"I need the alcohol for my wound... and to dull the pain a bit," he clarified, shaking his head wearily.

Tormund nodded in understanding, his expression softening slightly at Gale's explanation. He recognized the profound toll the recent events had taken on the young man. The towering wildling chose to say nothing back but lingered all the same. 

Gale leaned forward, bracing himself against the pain throbbing through his injured ankle. The weight of loss and exhaustion bore down heavily on him, but he remained resolute, knowing there was still much to be done.

In the distance, the wildling Gale had sent scurried back, carrying a bottle of strong spirits and a bundle of wood to start a small bonfire.

Gale acknowledged the wildling's gesture with a nod, taking the bottle of alcohol from the man's hand before turning to Tormund. "Help me start the fire, will you?" he requested, the weight of weariness evident in his voice. 

Without a word, the ginger wildling obliged, moving swiftly to begin building the fire. Meanwhile, Gale began to take measured sips from the bottle.

By the time Tormund successfully kindled the flames, Gale had already consumed half the contents of the bottle. As the fire crackled and flickered to life, Tormund observed Gale with a furrowed brow, puzzled by what the younger man intended to do next. 

His confusion deepened as Gale extended his injured leg and removed the cloth covering the wound.

His bewilderment peaked when Gale poured the remaining alcohol directly onto the injury before reaching toward the blazing fire, snatching a flaming branch. 

Tormund's eyes widened in alarm as Gale used the ignited branch to set the spilled alcohol ablaze along his legs, causing a brief eruption of flames before swiftly extinguishing them with an icy blast from his hand.

"What the hell was that, lad?" Tormund exclaimed, incredulous, staring at Gale with a mix of surprise and concern.

Gale let out a weary sigh, tearing a new piece of cloth from his garment and starting to dress the wound. "I can't have afford to get an infection... the fire won't hare me, but it'll help clean the wound," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone, rising slowly to his feet as he completed the makeshift dressing. 

He took a tentative step forward, grimacing at the lingering pain, but the alcohol was already beginning to take effect, offering some relief.

"I'll have someone who knows what they're doing look at it later, but for now, this will have to suffice," Gale added, trying to mask the discomfort in his voice as he tested his leg.

Tormund blinked, still somewhat bewildered by Gale's actions but choosing not to probe further. "Whatever floats your boat, I suppose," he remarked with a shrug, not particularly keen on unraveling the mysteries behind Gale's unusual treatment methods.

Gale didn't offer a response, diving into the task at hand despite the throbbing pain in his ankle. He methodically began dragging the fallen warriors, gathering them into a space cleared of ice by the wildlings. 

With each body he maneuvered, a heavy weight settled on his shoulders - a weight of responsibility and guilt. These were individuals who perished while following his commands. His mind drifted as he worked, lost in a sea of unanswered questions.

Had he devised a better plan, could he have prevented these casualties? Would killing the Weeper before the battle have saved lives, perhaps even Threya's life? These thoughts echoed within Gale's mind, haunting him with uncertainties. 

He knew deep down that dwelling on these questions changed nothing. What was done was done, and the battle's outcome couldn't be altered. He struggled to let go of the past and shift his focus to the future, but he understood it wouldn't be easy. This day would forever remain etched in his memory for a long time, maybe even for the rest of his life. 

As time passed unnoticed, the seconds melted into minutes, and the minutes stretched into an hour. Gale continued to wrestle with his thoughts, lamenting over the events until everybody had been carefully arranged atop one another. 

Kindling and wood were set around them, the structure forming a pyre. It was time to honor the fallen, to send them on their final journey, sparing them the cruel fate of becoming wights.

Gale reverently lifted Threya's lifeless form, placing her gently atop the assembled pyre. Stepping back, he observed as the wildlings began to gather around the somber scene. Among them emerged Val, carrying a torch as she approached Gale.

"Would you like to do the honors?" Val inquired, extending the torch toward Gale as a gesture of respect.

Gale shook his head, a bitter tone lacing his words. "I've had enough 'honors' for one day... I'll let you have this one," he replied with a hollow chuckle, his emotions still raw.

Val acknowledged his response with a solemn nod and turned toward the pyre, preparing to light it as a tribute to the fallen.

With a steady hand, Val ignited the kindling, causing the flames to dance and grow. As the fire spread and enveloped the structure, she raised her voice to address the gathered wildlings, her tone carrying a blend of reverence and determination.

"Today, we honor our fallen warriors," Val began, her voice resonating with the strength and resilience of the wildlings. "They were fighters, fierce and unyielding, their spirits as unbreakable as the Northern ice. Each flicker of flame, each flying ember represents their bravery and dedication to the survival of our people."

She paused momentarily, the crackling of the flames filling the silence. "As we watch these flames ascend, let us not mourn merely for what has passed but also celebrate the strength of our people and their unwavering bravery."

Val's speech resonated with the crowd, invoking a sense of unity and hope among the wildlings. She continued, emphasizing the wildling's determination to fight and build a better future, a future they would forge with the strength of their hands and the sharpness of steel.

The flames grew higher, illuminating the solemn faces of those gathered around the pyre. As the fire consumed the structure, sending embers spiraling into the night sky, the wildlings stood united, honoring their fallen comrades while looking towards a future they hoped to shape with resilience and unity.