Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #89

As Samwell Tarly trudged through the dim, frigid corridors of Castle Black, he rubbed his hands together, trying to dispel the numbing chill that permeated the air. His thoughts drifted to the unfortunate turn of events that led him to his current role as a man of the Night's Watch, draped in the solemn black garb.

He was the firstborn son of Lord Randyll Tarly, a renowned and skilled military strategist in all of Westeros. Lord Randyll had earned his acclaim as one of the realm's most accomplished commanders, notably delivering the only defeat Robert Baratheon suffered in his rebellion against the Targaryens at the Battle of Ashford. 

An astute tactician and formidable warrior, Lord Randyll had envisioned an heir who would uphold his prestige, carrying forth his legacy in the annals of history.

Yet, Samwell, the eldest, defied these martial expectations. A lover of books and intellectual pursuits, he struggled with weight issues, disappointing Lord Randyll immensely. 

The lord's disappointment ran so deep that he saw no heir in Samwell, for whom he had harbored high hopes. 

To salvage his aspirations for House Tarly, Lord Randyll gave Samwell an ultimatum: forsake his rights of inheritance or face death. Consequently, Samwell was coerced into joining the Night's Watch, relinquishing any claims to his birthright to his younger brother under the threat of his father's wrath.

Amidst the struggles at Castle Black, Samwell Tarly found himself ensnared in a relentless cycle of misfortune. His imposing size made him an immediate target for scorn and derision upon his arrival at the Night's Watch. Ser Alliser Thorne, in his unrelenting harshness, singled out Samwell to test his resilience. 

However, the young man's refusal to pick up a weapon and defend himself led Ser Thorne to label him as worthless—a judgment echoed by Sam's father, a constant reminder of his perceived inadequacy.

Ser Thorne's cruelty extended beyond mere words. He goaded other recruits into tormenting Samwell, rationalizing the abuse as toughening him up. Were it not for the timely intervention of Jon Snow, Sam's plight would have been even more unbearable. 

Recollections of Jon unleashing Ghost, his fierce dire wolf, on Sam's tormentor, Rast, lingered vividly in his memory. It was a moment when Jon's compassion shone brilliantly, halting the tormentors' actions. Yet, in Jon's absence, the harassment persisted, albeit with less intensity.

Despite the torment, glimmers of hope emerged. Samwell found solace in the companionship of Glenn and Pyp, two newfound friends who offered support amidst Castle Black's harsh environment. 

His fortunes shifted further when he entered into the service of Maester Aemon, the aged scholar appreciating Sam's curiosity and fervor for learning—an acceptance that eluded others.

The eventual demise of Ser Alliser Thorne beyond the Wall marked a bittersweet relief for Samwell. While he harbored no joy in the knight's death, it signaled the departure of one tormentor from his life, easing some of his anxieties.

Samwell shuffled through the narrow hallway, his mind laden with the weight of incessant bullying he endured from his peers. 

His thoughts meandered to a utopian moment where Rast and the others would cease their relentless torment, freeing him from the persistent misery he so often endured. Yet, aware of the improbability of such a scenario, he cast these fanciful thoughts aside, focusing instead on the matter at hand.

As he ventured further, his attention snagged on the door of a storage room at the far end of the corridor. 

It stood as his intended destination—a location that held both an unsettling allure and a tinge of trepidation. His curiosity about the captured wight propelled him forward, almost on instinct, despite the nagging unease in the pit of his stomach.

Standing before the door to the storage room, Samwell's hand hovered over the handle, ready to pull it open. However, the abrupt and piercing shrieks of the undead creature, muffled yet chillingly loud from behind the door, disrupted his resolve.

His fingers recoiled from the handle as if it were searing hot.

"Strange... I thought the creature would be in a dormant state..." Samwell muttered to himself, a perplexed furrow appearing on his brow. The unexpected clamor stirred doubts within him, an unwelcome shift from his inquisitive curiosity.

Samwell steeled his heart and pushed open the creaking door, bracing himself for what lay inside. A rush of horror engulfed him as his eyes fell upon Gale, gripping the head of Bowen Marsh, the esteemed first steward of the night. 

The young man unceremoniously shoved the steward's head forward, maneuvering it into the wight's cage. The creature, desperate for a taste, lunged viciously, aiming for Bowen's face while Gale deftly pulled it away just in time.

"Othell Yarwick! Besides him, there's no one of importance! Please stop!" Bowen cried out, his voice filled with terror and desperation.

Gale's twisted grin widened at Bowen's plea. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Bowen, eyes widened in horror, remained speechless, unable to articulate his terror. 

Gale taunted him callously, "What's the matter? Wight got your tongue?" His mocking chuckle echoed in the room, but Bowen was frozen in fearful silence. "Ah, whatever," Gale muttered dismissively, using the iron bars of the cage to slam Bowen's head, rendering him unconscious with a sickening thud. 

The cruel act left a chilling silence hanging in the air, broken only by Samwell's involuntary gulp that seemed to get Gale's attention. 

Gale pivoted to face Samwell, a twisted grin lingering on his lips, the eerie blue glint in his eyes sending an involuntary shiver down Samwell's spine. Instinctively, Samwell took a step back, almost preparing to bolt, his muscles tensed in alarm. 

But before he could react further, Gale spoke, his voice unnervingly calm given the gruesome scene that had just unfolded.

"Apologies for the unsightly display... questioning traitors tends to get..." Gale's words carried a peculiar weight, a chilling nonchalance as he glanced at Bowen Marsh's unconscious body before fixing his gaze back on Sam. "... well, unpleasant for all parties involved," he added, a faint shake of his head accompanying the statement.

A sense of foreboding settled over Samwell like a suffocating cloak. Witnessing such a grotesque spectacle involving Gale, of all people, dampened the faint glimmer of hope that had recently begun to flicker in Sam's tumultuous life at Castle Black.

Samwell cursed his luck inwardly. Just when he felt things might take a positive turn, fate cruelly threw him into this chilling encounter with Gale.

 Though Samwell had no personal dealings with Gale, the rumors circulating Castle Black painted an unsettling picture of the young man standing before him.

 Whispers from rangers and stewards had woven a tapestry of tales, few of them favorable. Some labeled Gale a traitor colluding with wildlings to dismantle the Night's Watch, while others whispered of him being a cold-blooded monstrosity born of ice, capable of decimating scores of men singlehandedly. 

The uncertainty of what this enigmatic figure might do, especially now that Samwell had inadvertently witnessed his heinous act against the first steward, gnawed at his thoughts with trepidation.

Samwell, his heart pounding, made a decision to take control of the situation in an attempt to secure his own safety. "I- I won't say a word of this to anyone... I swear..." His voice trembled as he tried to plead for his life. "I'm just—just a new recruit, a steward... no one would believe me anyway," he added hastily, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Gale regarded Samwell with a momentary look of confusion before a chuckle escaped his lips. "You needn't fear, my friend. I won't bring harm to you..." Gale's reassurance sounded almost genuine as he shook his head, then stooped to lift Bowen Marsh's unconscious body. "In fact, you are free to tell anyone about what you saw here... everyone will soon find out anyway," he added cryptically, carrying Bowen toward the exit of the storage room while Samwell nervously shifted to clear a path.

"I assume you came here to take a closer look at the wight?" Gale remarked casually as he walked past Samwell, who could only manage a hesitant nod in response.

"Well, he's all yours. Just, uh... mind your fingers..." Gale concluded with a chuckle, a hint of dark humor underlying his words, before he exited the storage room, disappearing into the shroud of darkness. 

Left alone with the chilling presence of the wight, Samwell couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that this wouldn't be his last encounter with Gale.