Final Rewrite + Commentary

Commentary:

A Song of Ice and Fire, by George R. R. Martin is an epic medieval fantasy series which has attracted worldwide audiences through both written literature and television.  I chose to use it as the subject of my rewrite because I believe it to be rich in matters of humanity and the struggle for power.

Despite being a fantasy, certain aspects of the plot are reflective of British history, and therefore relative to colonialism. Slavery is a recurring issue in the stories, as is civil war. However, in order to portray the difference in culture and hierarchy, I decided to focus on the Wildlings and their tale.

The Wildings are a native people who reside in the frozen desolation of the North. The story portrays them as savages, who are forbidden from crossing the border and associating with the people of Westeros. Just like European conquerors, the royalty and high lords of Westeros are oblivious to the Wildlings’ feelings, and see them only as “half educated-ruffians”. The simple, “hostile neighbours” that the realm could do without. The Wildlings are a threat to their lifestyle, and their inability to be in control is a source of unease. The Westerosi share the same “self-serving parochialism of Europe” (Achebe, 1995), disliking practices that differ from their own. They possess the “New World mentality” that colonists once did; a narcissism that that allows them to perceive their own greatness and little else. (Walcott, 1974).

In the story, Jon Snow is a point of view character, and he is in close proximity with the Wildlings for a period of time. The son of a high lord, Jon sees himself as superior, meaning that for the reader, the Wildlings’ motivations and feelings are somewhat limited. In my story I took the minor character of Styr, and retold a section of the original narrative, altering it slightly. I wanted to show the complexity and personality of the people, without the limited biased view of the “hero”.  Through Styr’s eyes, I managed to give a voice to the Wildlings, hopefully proving that they are capable of being humble and compassionate.

Rewrite – The Journey

The snow continued to fall, swirling about them as they trudged through the ankle deep sludge. Clogging their hair and beards with a thick white coating, soaking through their furs and chilling them to the bone. How long they had walked Styr didn’t know, but he was determined to hide his discomfort from his men.

                “Come on lads, another mile and we’ll be over that ridge. We’ll rest then”, he barked over his shoulder. His order was met with little more than a few grunts, and the continued shuffling of weary feet.

Despite the cold and exhaustion, Styr felt a certain sense of eager anticipation. A few days more and they would reach the Wall. Miles long and hundreds of feet high, the huge mass of ice that was both beautiful and menacing to any who looked upon it. Just like his men, he’d grown up hearing about it, the barrier that prevented their freedom. On the other side of the Wall lay the Seven Kingdoms; a land of royalty, riches and knights. He imagined himself in fine clothing, relishing in the company of lords. He fantasised of feasting in a grand hall, glowing with candlelight and ringing with jolly laughter. It was as foreign to Styr as any alien land, yet he longed to behold it. The thought was enough to warm him from the inside out, even if it was short-lived. The frozen wasteland surrounding him now provided no pleasure, only freezing death and hopelessness.  

Already, a number of his men had collapsed into the snow, unable to carry on. The biting cold and the malnutrition weakening them with each passing moment. Styr felt for them. He knew they longed for their cosy huts with their roaring fires. And the kind of warmth that only a wife can provide. But the horrifying truth was that wilderness was no longer safe.

                A tinkling laugh somewhere behind made Styr turn, distracted from his thoughts. Ygritte. He could distinguish her even through her furs, that confident gait and flame-red hair swirling about her hooded face. There could only be one person making her smile that way. Styr felt a surge of distaste as he glimpsed Jon Snow, a few paces behind her. Although his men may have learned to accept the turncloak deserter, Styr was struggling to trust him. In his opinion Jon was a coward and a fool. Leaving the Night’s Watch was punishable by death. The black-clad warriors who defended the Wall were generally unyielding when it came to loyalty. Styr had no allegiance to the Watch, but even to him their unwavering honour was something to be respected. And if this green bastard boy was to be believed, he had turned on his brothers without a backward glance.  

               

The weak grey sun had almost disappeared now, turning the brilliant white around them a dark, icy blue.  Just ahead the shelter of the trees was a welcome sight; Styr knew exposure could be just as deadly as any man’s weapon. He thought fleetingly of his wife, hoping she was safe and warm, before setting to work creating his shelter. He unravelled his enormous mammoth skin and secured it to a sturdy branch using thick twine, letting it fall on an angle to the damp forest floor. Two carefully positioned rocks kept it from flapping. Crude tents just like his own were beginning to appear all around him. Although the trees prevented the snow falling too heavily, a bitter breeze still crept in amongst the men, howling menacingly through the branches. The light was quickly fading now, soon the dark would engulf them.

               

                “Snow, reckon you can find some dry wood for a fire”.

                “But..”

“But nothin’. Off with you. Don’ wander too far mind”, Styr said, cutting off Jon’s retort. “I’ll take the first watch”.

As he watched Jon’s retreating back, Styr knew he was perhaps being a bit unfair. But if the lad didn’t pull his weight, there was no point having him along. Styr felt a sense of unease whenever the boy was near, those dark grey eyes of his always seemed to know too much. He had heard of the boy’s father. Ned Stark, Warden of the North. Honourable, just and loyal, a true warrior. Styr spat aggressively into the snow. He would bet his battle axe that Ned Stark had no idea the true cruelties of battle. No idea what it was like to feel a cold so unbearable. To witness the fear as it crept up your spine, knowing that with the cold comes death. But no doubt his bastard son would soon find out.

                “The way you watch him, anyone would think you’ve got a soft spot”, Ygritte grinned as she walked towards Styr. Her eyes glinting in the dim light.

                “Soft? The only one that’s soft ‘round ‘ere is you, girl. Shouldn’ you be huddled up mendin’ socks or somethin’?”

                “I’m tougher than most of the men out here and you know it old man. If you want proof, I’m more than willing”, Ygritte said, reaching for her blade.

                Styr couldn’t help but smile then. She was fearless for certain, and wild. But his affection for her was level with what he felt for his own children. Seeing her with Jon Snow only heightened his feelings of hostility.

                “Run along after yer lover boy then, you’ll want him in your bed tonigh’ an’ all”. He sighed as he watched her bound off into the trees, whistling as though everything in the world was merry.

Some days he wondered whether this ranging mission had been a mistake. Could they really make it over the Wall? Endless tonnes of unstable ice, enemy soldiers attacking from above, and even if they did make it over, what awaited them on the other side?

The darkness had become thick and impenetrable when  Jon and Ygritte returned empty-handed. Styr was huddled beneath his furs, chewing a strip of salt beef.

                “Nothing around here seems dry enough to burn my lord”, Jon said. Styr swallowed, and looked up.

                “Jus’ like I thought. An’ I ain’t no lord”.

In truth, a fire probably wasn’t safe anyhow, Styr thought bitterly. The flames would act like a beacon, drawing unwanted attention. He knew what was lurking just out of sight. He shuddered at the thought. Eventually he drifted into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt he was surrounded by faceless figures. Their skin was as white as the snow around them, dead flesh showing beneath their torn rags.  Fiery blue eyes shone from inside empty skulls, glowing brighter as the beasts descended upon him.

*

As the first morning rays peeked around the edges of Styr’s mammoth skin, he woke stiff and unrested. His hands were clammy inside his bearskin gloves and he felt claustrophobic despite the open air.

Styr was sharpening his blade with a small flat stone when Jon approached him.

                “Sir. Two more didn’t make it through the night”.

                “Who?” Styr asked.

                “Gunter and Ike, frozen where they lay”. The boy at least had the decency to look saddened. Ike had been a brute, rough and ill-mannered. And Gunter looked for a fight any chance he got.

                “They belong to the Gods now, not us” grunted Styr. “Leave ‘em. We can’t waste no time farewellin’ ‘em.

               

                As they gathered their meagre belongings and set out once more, Styr couldn’t help but feel a little dismayed. At this rate, they’d be lucky to have five men left by the time they reached the Wall. At least it would be the strongest that remained, he thought grudgingly.

Talla, his wife, had a way of making him feel as though everything would be fine. She’d hold his hand and whisper in his ear, remind him that he was brave and strong. Styr longed to hear her voice, and wondered whether he would ever get the chance to again.

A lone eagle soared above them as they trekked tirelessly across the frozen plains, almost as if it were watching over them. The ferocious wind blocked out its cries, but Styr was sure the bird was calling for its home. Just like them, it was lost in the endless wilderness unsure which way to turn next. Instinct told Styr they were still heading in the right direction, but the unforgiving environment made him question himself.

Days continued to pass in whirl of falling snow and bitter winds. The quiet determination of his men urged Styr to continue on. A young boy became a victim of a violent fever one night. He lay drenched in sweat despite the below freezing air, and screamed deliriously into the early hours of the morning. With the rising sun came an eerie quiet. Jon Snow wrapped his cloak tightly around the frail body, and but Styr couldn’t shed a tear for the lad whose name he’d never learnt. The endless battle had hardened him. More long nights brought with them more deaths, and the despair was starting to destroy the optimism. Styr could see no light in the eyes of his crew, even Ygritte’s smiles were becoming rarer.

“Right, everybody listen to me”, Styr only just managed to make himself heard. His voice felt weak, and the elements weren’t in his favour. Before him stood his small but strong-minded army. Their faces gave nothing away, hidden beneath their unruly beards and thick fur scarves. Here and there he glimpsed a woman among their ranks, but many of them had perished.  

“This could be our last night on this side of the world. The Wall is no more’n  a day’s journey. You’ve bin’ fearless. You’ve bin’ strong and you’ve bin’ willing. The worst is nearly over, I promise you”.

A roar of approval met his words, his men stamping and cheering, elated that they were so close to their goal. Styr looked from face to face, his heart warmed by the sparkle of hunger he saw in their eyes. If they made the climb tomorrow, they would be heroes. Stories of them would be told far and wide. Styr and his crew, the men who conquered the Wall. He couldn’t help but notice the look of unease upon Jon Snow’s face. Was he nervous? Did he think his sworn brothers would recapture him, make him pay for his desertion?

*

The forest was thickening as the men marched on. With every step they had to dodge snow-laden branches. Yet Styr felt sure the air was getting warmer. He’d removed his cloak, yet felt no chill as he walked. They must be getting close.

All at once the line of trees became sparse and the forest opened up to reveal a wide open space, littered with snow covered boulders and what looked like roughly sawn tree stumps. The rangers emerged warily from amongst the trees, crouched low, weapons at the ready. But shortly after they’d left the shelter of the trees, all signs of stealth disappeared as they stared in awe at the structure before them.

The Wall rose magnificently, kissing the clouds hundreds of feet above their heads. It was a cold, steely grey, reflecting the hue of the sky surrounding it. Here and there the Wall sparkled as trickles of water were caught in the dim sunshine.  The men looked left and right, gaping at how it spanned the length of the land, seemingly endless. Styr felt their amazement, and couldn’t help smiling, he was just as captivated as they were.

That night they made their camp in the trees, only a stone’s throw from the clearing. After determining that this section of the Wall appeared unmanned, Styr made the order that the climb would commence at first light.

“So have yerselves a good rest, I won’t have nobody climbin’ who’s not up to it!”

                Styr lay on his side on the lumpy forest floor, gazing in the direction of the Wall. The clouds had parted just enough to bathe it in a soft moonlight glow. It looked eerily beautiful, and Styr felt fortunate to be here witnessing it. The wind had dropped now, a peaceful silence descending over the camp. He watched Jon in the flickering glow of the fire for a moment, before his eyes slowly closed and he drifted off to sleep.

                He woke with a start, tangled amidst his blankets. The grove remained silent, but it had an eerie feel about it now. Styr shivered, his breath swirling and misting in front of him. The tree beside him had a thin layer of ice upon its branches, thickening as the air grew colder still.

                On his feet now, Styr listened intently to the sound of his men’s snores. But there was something else, a shuffling sound, coming from deep in the forest.

               

                “They’re coming!” he bellowed, arming himself with axe and dagger.

The camp site erupted around him, as men leapt to their feet , still slightly dazed and half-asleep. From among the trees, shapes started emerging. Figures, as bright white as the moon in the sky, their blue eyes glinting. It was just like one of Styr’s nightmares, only this time he couldn’t escape it. One of the creatures already had Ygritte by the hair, sniffing grotesquely at her face, dead hands closing around her throat. There was no time to be afraid.

                Styr launched himself at the nearest enemy, colliding with a bare chest that felt hard as stone.  Struggling to breathe, he gathered all his strength and drove the dagger straight into the belly of his foe. The creature seemed surprised, but didn’t fall. Instead it leered down, in what Styr could only assume was puzzlement, before grabbing the hilt of the dagger and pulling it back out with ease. Styr glimpsed a sticky black substance tarnishing the blade, before it was thrown into the trees out of reach. It was only then that Styr recognised the face. The bushy eyebrows were thinner, as were the once plump lips, but there was no doubting it. Gunter had risen from where they left him frozen in the snow, and in death it seemed his bloodlust had intensified.

                Ice cold hands reached for Styr’s neck and lifted him off his feet. Flailing uselessly, he glimpsed his men falling around him, becoming victims just like himself. He had failed them. It was a cruel fate, to get this close to the Wall only to be ambushed by the very creatures they fled.

                Styr felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, when out of nowhere rushed somebody he didn’t recognise. The figure was silhouetted in the darkness, curly hair bouncing about his face as he dragged the demon away from Styr. Falling to the ground in a crumpled heap, Styr saw as Jon Snow held down his attacker, and plunged a small glinting object right through its heart. The creature stilled, and Styr gave in to the creeping blackness around him, closing his eyes and slipping into oblivion.

*

               

                “How’d you kill it?”

Jon held up the small, smooth object. It looked like an arrowhead, forged from glass not steel.

                “Obsidian. Some call it dragonglass. It’s the only thing that kills them. That and fire”.

                “How d’you know all this then”? Styr asked. Jon shrugged as if to say he didn’t know. “I have just picked up on things, I suppose”.

                “And the rest? They gone? Ain’t no more of our dead men comin’ back for us?”

                “We burned the bodies, all of them”, Jon replied.

                “How many we lose?”

                “Six, sir.”

                “Well. Thank you”.

                Jon had saved Styr’s life, he knew. And without him they all would have become worm food, or worse, White Walkers. Soulless beings in search of blood. Yet still, there was a certain smugness about the boy that Styr didn’t like.

                “Right, all of you know how it is. You slip, you cut yourself lose. Before you drag some other poor soul down with ya”.   

Styr’s best climbers were lined up before him. Ten of them, including himself. Tied waist to waist with thick rope, pick axes at the ready.

                “Once we’re over, we head for Castle Black, wastin’ no time”.

The Wall stood behind them, dancing in the shadows of the nearby forest. Ygritte was flushed with excitement, her hand grasping Jon Snow’s as they stood side by side. Jon looked faintly sick.

                Styr was to lead them climb. With one last look at his comrades, he turned his back and took his first step towards the mass of ice they must conquer.        

                Styr was fit for his age, he knew. He had no trouble hauling his own weight, but nothing had prepared him for the treacherous climb. He dug his axe deep into the ice with each upward thrust, but once or twice he lost his footing and was left legs dangling as he clung on, desperate to recover his grip. The higher they got, the stronger the wind blew. Before long they were too high to think of turning back, and Styr felt himself tremble unwillingly as he looked at the ground far below. Rock hard ice scattered with sharp rocks. To the men on the ground, the climbers were nothing but distant specks above their heads.

At first Styr thought the high-pitched scream was only the whistling of the wind. But then he felt the unwelcome tug of the rope on is waist, and he knew someone had fallen. The scream was too shrill to be a man. Ygritte, he thought with a jolt. Styr pressed his body against the Wall, it took all his strength to resist the downward pull of the rope. Far below, Ygritte swung helplessly, unable to regain her hold. His men were yelling incoherently as they too struggled to hold on.

“Cut ‘em loose!” Styr bellowed down, hating himself but seeing no other option. “You heard me. Cut the rope”.

                He gritted his teeth as the pressure around his waist was released. Looking down, he counted only eight men.  A single tear fell, hot and salty, before it froze instantly on Styr’s cheek. He wondered whether Jon held Ygritte’s hand as they plummeted to their icy death.