Will

Will is a poacher-turned-hunter of the Night's Watch whose keen senses and woodcraft make him the first to discover the Others' return, and whose terror-driven silence during Ser Waymar Royce's fatal duel defines the opening chapter's atmosphere of dread.

Identity and Background

Will had been a hunter before joining the Night's Watch—or, more precisely, a poacher. Mallister freeriders caught him red-handed in the Mallisters' own woods, skinning one of the Mallisters' own bucks, and he was given the choice of putting on the black or losing a hand. No one could move through the woods as silently as Will, and it had not taken the black brothers long to discover his talent. By the time of the ranging, he was a veteran of a hundred rangings, a man who had laughed about his first terror beyond the Wall and who believed the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.

The Ranging and the Discovery

Will rode at the front of the party, his shaggy little garron picking the way carefully through the undergrowth. He had been four years on the Wall, and his woodcraft was unmatched. When he scouted the wildling camp, he got close as he dared and observed eight bodies—men and women both—lying so still that no living man ever lay so still. He noted the absence of blood, the presence of weapons including a heavy double-bladed axe, and a woman in an ironwood tree who did not move. He took care she never saw him. When Ser Waymar Royce pressed for details, Will provided them precisely, though he admitted he saw no blood.

The Encounter with the Others

When the party reached the ridge, Will slid under a sentinel tree and looked down on the clearing—only to find the bodies gone. His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. When Ser Waymar commanded him to climb a tree to look for a fire, Will obeyed wordlessly, slipping his dirk free and putting it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort. From his perch, he saw the Others emerge: pale shapes gliding through the wood, a white shadow in the darkness. He saw the Other's armor change color as it moved, white as new-fallen snow, black as shadow, dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. He saw the Other's sword, alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on, with a faint blue shimmer. When more Others emerged silently from the shadows—three, four, five—Will knew it was his duty to call out a warning, and his death if he did. He shivered, hugged the tree, and kept the silence.

Aftermath and Flight

After the butchery, Will stayed in the tree, scarce daring to breathe, while the moon crept slowly across the black sky. Finally, his muscles cramping and his fingers numb with cold, he climbed down. He found Royce's body facedown in the snow, one arm outflung, the thick sable cloak slashed in a dozen places. He found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end splintered and twisted like a tree struck by lightning. Will knelt, looked around warily, and snatched it up, thinking the broken sword would be his proof and that Gared would know what to make of it. But when he rose, Ser Waymar Royce stood over him—his fine clothes a tatter, his face a ruin, a shard from his sword transfixing the blind white pupil of his left eye, the right eye open and burning blue. Long, elegant hands brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. They were gloved in the finest moleskin and sticky with blood, yet the touch was icy cold. Will's fate is left unknown, but the implication is clear: he did not escape.