Castle Black hadn't changed much since Jon had left almost two years ago. There were still wisps of smoke rising from the castle and the buildings looked as run down as ever. The sentries on the walls looked half-frozen and miserable. Everything about the castle was black. The wood, the stone, the men, it gave the castle a depressing feeling. As soon as it came into sight, Jon wondered what he had been thinking about wanting to spend the rest of his life there.
"I can see why you left," Smalljon grunted, stopping beside Jon.
The heir to Last Hearth had somehow heard of Jon's task and he, along with his new betrothed Alysane Mormont, had elected to join the lord of Long Lake. The two men had become decent friends during the war, but it was Jon's first time getting to know Maege Mormont's second-oldest daughter. Alysane reminded Jon more of Maege than of Dacey.
Dacey was elegant, if a little lanky, who still had a womanly grace to her. Alysane was shorter with more muscle and not a lot of beauty. She, like Maege, was extraordinarily blunt and gruff, which Jon was used to after spending so much time with her late mother during the campaign against the Boltons in the North. Like all Mormont women, she wore leather and ringmail and wielded a weapon. While Dacey preferred a mace, Alysane had a hand-and-a-half sword slung across her back, its pommel decorated with a roaring bear head. The first night all three had camped, Alysane had shown the sword to Jon, explaining that it was a valyrian steel sword called 'Longclaw'. It belonged to Lord Commander Jeor before his untimely death.
"It's not the most hospitable place." Jon agreed. "Come on. Let's go see how many remember me."
The trio rode towards the castle at a casual trot, easily gaining access through the main gate. Ghost trotted ahead of them, earning a lot of strange and fearful looks from the members of the Watch. Jon, Alysane, and Smalljon also got their fair share of looks. They certainly weren't recruits who had been sent to join the Watch, so others were naturally curious to know why the former bastard son of Lord Stark had come back to Castle Black.
As soon as Jon was through the gate, he looked up at the platform that held the winch that led to the top of the Wall. Standing at the railing, not looking any different than the last time Jon had seen him, was Ser Alliser Thorne. The two men locked eyes and the same hatred that had developed between them when Jon was last at the Wall quickly reignited.
"Who's the stick?" Alysane asked quietly.
"Ser Alliser Thorne," Jon answered, still looking at the man. "Master-at-arms."
"Lord Snow." Ser Alliser sneered, walking down into the yard and approaching the three northerners as they dismounted. "It's been a while."
"It's Lord Stark now," Smalljon grunted. "Show some respect."
Ser Alliser scowled at Smalljon before looking back at Jon. "How convenient. Your brother takes the throne and now you're an actual lord."
"I'm not here to swap insults, Ser Alliser," Jon said firmly. "Who's the new Lord Commander?"
"You're looking at him." an annoying, pompous voice said from behind Thorne. The owner of the voice was a stout, frog-faced man who had an aura around him that made Jon instantly despise him.
"Who the hell are you?" Alysane asked bluntly.
"Janos Slynt." The man answered. "Former commander of the watch of King's Landing."
"Who gives a fuck." Smalljon grunted. "So shut it until you have something useful to say."
Janos Slynt turned red with anger, a hand drifting towards his sword, but Smalljon saw the action and glared at the man. The heir to Last Hearth towered over Slynt, and all it took was the glare.
"Congratulations, Ser Alliser," Jon said, trying to sound sincere. "My brother sent me to see how bad the situation here was."
"You mean the wildling host?" Thorne asked.
Jon nodded. "Is there somewhere private where we can talk?"
Thorne's sneer lessened slightly before motioning for Jon and his companions to follow him. "Come on."
Jon, Smalljon, and Alysane followed Alliser and Slynt into the castle and towards the Lord Commander's solar. It was a decent-sized room that was mostly dominated by a single desk with a single chair behind it and in front of it. Other than those three items, all that was left was a small table holding a pitcher of ale as well as a platter of bread and a small bowl of salt.
Thorne took his seat behind the desk, Janos instantly appearing right behind him, a smug, arrogant look on his face.
"The king has been made aware of the situation here," Jon said, starting the conversation as soon as he sat down, his friends standing just behind him. "Now I need specifics."
Thorne shook his head. "All we know is that they're assembling in the Frost Fangs along the Milkwater River about twenty leagues to the northwest of here. We don't know the exact size of their host."
"Give me an estimate," Jon said.
"Fifty thousand, maybe more," Thorne answered grimly.
"Fuck me," Smalljon grunted from behind Jon. "How many men do you have?"
"Between here, the Shadow Tower, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, about a thousand," Thorne answered. "The prisoners of war in the south helped replenish our numbers."
Jon nodded. "What happened to Lord Commander Mormont? I know he died, but how?"
"The old fool was assassinated by a wilding," Slynt grunted.
"Watch your tongue!" Alysane growled, grabbing Longclaw. "That's my uncle you speak of."
"Apologize Slynt," Thorne said, not looking at the man.
Janos looked between Thorne and Alysane before clearing his throat, looking a little embarrassed and angered. "I'm sorry….my lady."
"Damn right," Alysane grumbled. "Say something like again and our swords will cross."
"We also lost a few men to mutiny," Thorne growled, continuing. "They stole out in the night and reports are that they have taken Craster's Keep."
"Who's Craster?" Jon asked.
"A wildling who helps the Watch occasionally," Thorne answered. "He's been known to help the Watch on occasion, whenever he's in the….giving mood."
"Why would the turncloaks take his keep?" Jon asked, wanting more information.
"The man has all daughters who he makes into his wives." Thorne scowled. "He lived in a fortified hall with them all."
"Why have the mutineers not been brought to justice?" Smalljon asked.
Thorne shook his head. "I've been reluctant to send men beyond the Wall. With the threat of the wildling force, I need to keep every man I can."
"What's Stark going to do to help?" Slynt interrupted rudely. "Or has he sent his bastard to do his work?"
Jon glared at the man. "I can leave," he said calmly. "I can tell my brother and father that the Watch has declined our help and plans to hold the Wall with less than a thousand men against an army of fifty thousand."
Smalljon grinned fiercely. "Or more."
Slynt's look of arrogance faded slightly. But Jon wasn't done.
"Since my friends and I have been here, you've done nothing but insult us. You disrespected my friend's uncle, who was a respected member of the Watch and throughout the North. You've disrespected my family, which has always supported the Watch, even while your 'southern friends' disparaged it time and again. Without my brother, the Watch wouldn't have the supplies or the men it has now." Jon continued with an edge in his voice. "You speak ill about anyone again and you'll cross swords with me. Am I understood?"
Slynt looked ready to shit himself, glancing at Thorne for protection, but Thorne simply gazed back at him. The message was clear. He got himself into this mess, he had to dig himself out.
"I'm…..I'm sorry, my lord…." He stammered.
"Leave." Jon snapped.
Slynt, looking very terrified, bowed slightly and all but ran from the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Idiot," Thorne muttered. "What does the king plan to do?"
"He's asked me to report the situation," Jon answered. "That means I need to know enemy movements and their numbers. Where's my uncle? He should be able to help me."
"No one's seen the First Ranger for months," Alliser said grimly. "He's presumed dead."
Jon frowned. "Have you looked for him?"
Thorne nodded slightly. "He was tracking a band of wildlings that were heading towards the Frost Fangs, but somewhere between the Fist and the mountains is where we lost him."
Jon held his anger and sadness in check. "You think he's dead."
Thorne nodded again. "Your uncle was the best ranger we had, but he's been gone for months. Unless he's a prisoner of the wildlings, who hate the man and would gladly see him dead, he's probably dead."
Jon sighed in annoyance. "Very well. What preparations have you made to repel the wildling host?"
"We have reserves of arrows, boulders, and scorpion bolts. The gate under the Wall has been strengthened, but there's not much else we can do. What we need are men." Thorne answered honestly.
Jon nodded, standing up. "I'll see what I can do. Is Maester Aemon here?"
"He's in his quarters," Thorne answered, looking a little confused.
Jon bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said walking out. Before Jon left, he looked back over his shoulder. "Ser Alliser, we don't like each other, but I am here to help."
Line Break
Jon had left his friends to find their rooms so that he could speak privately with the old maester. Jon knew so much more than the last time the two men had spoken. He knew the sword Robb now carried. He knew about his father and mother. He knew who he was, even though he was still trying to figure out who he was meant to be.
Jon slowly entered the room, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Maester Aemon was leaning back in his chair as his steward read quietly to him. He went quiet when he saw Jon.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Jon Snow." Maester Aemon answered.
Jon smiled slightly. "Hullo Maester Aemon."
"Leave us, Chett," Aemon said, laying a weak hand on the steward's forearm.
Chett bowed slightly, closed the book, and left, leaving Aemon and Jon alone. Jon shrugged off his cloak and took a seat across from the old man, who had a curious look on his face.
"It's been a long time," Aemon said quietly.
Jon nodded. "My brother sent me to see how bad things were."
"It has been a long time since we've had a king who cared about the Wall."
"We've never had a northerner sit on the Iron Throne."
"We almost did. I believe your father was the first to enter the Red Keep after Ser Jaime slew Aerys." Aemon said.
"My uncle." Jon corrected.
Aemon raised an eyebrow. "So you know then."
Jon nodded. "Aye, I've been told. How do you know?"
"A little lizard from the Neck told me," Aemon said with a wheezing chuckle. "That's why I gave you the sword."
"Howland was the one who told me as well," Jon replied. "Samwell and I were traveling south to join my brother and he approached us as we rode down the Kingsroad. He took us to Greywater Watch and told us the tale."
"So what are you called now?" Aemon asked.
"Jon Stark," Jon said. "Lord Stark gave me a small keep along the shore of Long Lake."
"So you have chosen your mother's side." Aemon mused.
Jon hesitated. "My father is Eddard Stark. I do not know my mother."
Aemon looked surprised, then nodded, realizing what Jon was getting at. "Ah, I see. It seems that there is only one Targaryen left in the world once again."
"Daenerys is the remaining member of House Targaryen," Jon confirmed.
"I believe our new king spared her life and granted her Dragonstone," Aemon said. "He began his reign by sparing his enemy."
"Daenerys wasn't his enemy," Jon said. "Those on her side acted without her knowledge and she defended herself. She wanted peace as much as Robb did."
Aemon nodded, his hand feeling around the desk until he found what he was looking for. He handed the raven scroll to Jon, who took it and unrolled it. It was from his father.
Jon,
Wildlings have reason
Meet with Mance Rayder
Find peace
E. Stark
Jon looked confused. "My father wants me to make peace with the wildlings? He said they have a reason. A reason for what?"
"A reason for coming south," Aemon answered. "But you will not get the answer you seek until you talk with Mance Rayder."
Jon nodded slowly. "So it seems."
Benjen Stark
Benjen felt relieved to finally be heading home. According to both Bloodraven and Bran, there was nothing else for Bran to learn, at least nothing that the Three-Eyed Crow could teach him. Neither Benjen nor Meera understood what the two had been talking about, but they had accepted the decision and were ready to travel south as fast as possible. They were aware of the threat to the north and wanted nothing more than to get on the other side of the Wall.
The only person who didn't seem excited to be heading south was Meera's brother, Jojen. He was an odd lad who was close and very protective of Bran.
Bran's sled had been laden with food, and Coldhands had even 'found' a horse to pull it. The Children had gifted Benjen and Meera with weapons tipped with dragonglass. Benjen had a dagger and a spear was given to Meera, along with a dozen arrows. Leaf promised that, should they ever come across an Other, they should use the weapons tipped with 'frozen fire'.
The First Ranger ducked into the cave, where Bloodraven and Bran were in the middle of one of their 'lessons'. Both their eyes were milky white, which had worried Benjen at first, but now he was used to it. In the corner of the cave, Jojen sat huddled next to Hodor, both of whom were covered in furs.
"It seems you must go." Bloodraven wheezed, his eyes returning to normal as he turned them on the ranger.
Benjen nodded. "It is time. Hodor, grab Bran, wait outside."
The massive simpleton nodded a lot and scooped up Benjen's nephew as easily as if he were an article of clothing or a book. With Jojen shadowing the giant, the three left the cave, leaving Benjen alone with the Three-Eyed Crow.
"What will happen to you?" Benjen asked.
Bloodraven gave Benjen a ghost of a smile. "I am old. I will die."
A grim smile twitched at the edge of Benjen's smile. It was exactly the sort of joke he would expect from a brother of the Night's Watch. Or at least a former member. "Is there anything we should know before we leave?"
"You must move quickly," Bloodraven advised. "Here, you are protected by the gods. They shroud you from the eyes of the enemy. Once you pass beyond the edge of the lake, they will be made aware of your presence and will send their minions after you, if not one of their own."
"You mean the Others," Benjen said.
"The crippled wolf knows much," Bloodraven said. "They have reason to fear him. He now has the ability of flight, and they will clip his wings if they can. He must be protected at all costs."
"They fear Bran?" Benjen said, not sure if he heard the old man correctly.
"Sometimes the mind is more dangerous than the blade," Bloodraven said tiredly. "I will do my best to protect you. To draw the enemy away, but I am not sure if they will fall for my tricks. The boy's power has grown mightily, and they will be drawn to it."
Benjen laid a reassuring hand on the new dagger he wore at his side. "He will be protected. I swear it."
"At all costs," Bloodraven repeated. "Now go, Benjen Stark, and be swift. The new Three-Eyed Crow must get south."
"I thought…." Benjen started.
"Just as the title of 'Lord' passes from father to son, my title has passed to your nephew," Bloodraven explained.
Benjen nodded. "Very well. Thank you for your protection and guidance."
"Be swift, First Ranger, and see the crippled wolf south of the Wall," Bloodraven said again. "And may the gods keep you safe from the darkness that haunts this land."
After Benjen's strange goodbye with the man once known as Brynden Rivers, the last Great Bastard alive, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and Hand of the King, the man known as Bloodraven and the Three-Eyed Crow, the strange party set off towards the Wall, led by Coldhands.
Benjen watched with narrowed eyes as they passed the frozen lake, not feeling any different after they had taken a hundred paces past it. But Coldhands had felt something, as his gaze was set firmly north.
The first two days were uneventful. Coldhands, Benjen, and Meera kept watch all day, and Coldhands, who never seemed to sleep, kept watch during the night. As they traveled south, Jojen Reed seemed to get worse. He had gotten paler and always had a terrified look in his eye. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was with a trembling whisper. Benjen had seen scared boys before, but the son of Lord Reed looked like he had seen the face of death.
It was on the third day that everything went to shit. Coldhands had mentioned that they were three days from the Wall, just north of the Fist of the First Men. The news made Benjen extraordinarily happy. This was land he knew, and he was confident that once they reached the ruined outpost, he would be able to guide the group the rest of the way.
Everything changed in moments. The temperature dropped to a point that Benjen thought that his blood would freeze in his veins. Although it was not a sunny day, the world seemed to go dark, as if the sun behind the clouds had been turned off. The wind picked up and swirled snow all around them, creating a frozen haze. Benjen could feel it in the pit of his stomach. The fear and uncertainty that he rarely ever felt.
Summer turned and looked north and snarled. He, like the rest of them, sensed danger.
"They're here," Coldhands growled, drawing his sword. "Protect the Three-Eyed Crow!"
Benjen and Meera both placed themselves in front of Bran and Jojen. Hodor's eyes turned the same milky white that Bran's were as he stepped forward, the large branch he used as a walking stick held like a club in both hands.
Coldhand's elk threw its head back and whined, clearly wanting to run away from the danger it sensed. The horse pulling Bran's sled would have run away, but Jojen had a firm hand on the creature, though he was visibly frightened and shaking where he stood.
Just like the change around them, the enemy's appearance was sudden and nothing short of terrifying. One second, the woods were silent and empty, the next, skeletal beings burst forth, crude, rusty weapons in their hands and blue, glowing eyes in their skulls. Benjen froze for just a second. He had seen dead bodies before, but the snapping teeth and black, decaying bones were enough to make any man doubt his courage.
"Into them!" Coldhand's roared, charging the enemy.
Together, Benjen, Meera, and a possessed Hodor held off the wave of undead. Benjen tried not to focus on what he was fighting, only that it was trying to kill him and that he needed to kill it first.
"Cut off their heads!" Coldhands called. "Dismember them! They do not die like normal beings!"
After a few more moments of fighting, the ranks of undead finally thinned and there were fewer and fewer to fight. Coldhands finished off the last one, hacking off the creature's arms before taking its head as well.
Benjen leaned on his sword. It had taken more effort to dismember the blood things. With a mortal man, he didn't need to die to take him out of a fight. Benjen learned quickly that these things would continue to fight even though it had lost a leg or an arm.
It was terrifying.
"Well done," Coldhands said, approaching Benjen as Meera checked on Bran. "We need to take the head of one of these south with us."
Benjen nodded. "It's the proof we need."
Their conversation was cut short by a cry followed by a grunt of pain.
"Meera!"
Both Coldhands and Benjen turned to find another wight who had appeared out of nowhere, its dagger shoved through Jojen's chest. If the young lordling hadn't been there, then Meera would have died. Her back was turned and she never saw the creature.
Benjen quickly cut down the wight, its blue eyes going dark as Meera sunk to the ground, cradling her brother's lifeless body. Tears streamed uncaringly down her cheeks, cutting trails through the snow and frost that covered her face.
Benjen kneeled next to the girl, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Even Hodor, no longer possessed by Bran, whimpered.
"Hodor," he said sadly.
"He saved my life." Meera sniffled. "He knew he would die here."
"It's a hard land…." Benjen tried to explain, but Meera shook her head, looking up at Benjen.
"He had greendreams," Meera explained bitterly. "It's what led us to Winterfell and Bran. He knew he would die today."
"That's why he was afraid," Benjen said, realizing why the boy had been so scared the last few days. He knew that he had been moving closer and closer to his death.
"Yes." Meera cried softly, putting her forehead against her brother's.
"We need to burn him," Coldhands said sadly, cutting into the conversation. "Or else he'll become one of them."
It took an hour to collect enough wood and create an area where the body could be burned. Summer and Hodor protected Bran while Coldhands, Meera, and Benjen worked. Finally, a pyre had been built and Jojen's body, covered by his green cloak, had been laid in the middle.
To make sure that the pyre burned, Coldhands produced jars of oil, pouring half of them on the wood and body before placing the rest inside the structure. When that was done, he placed his hands over the boy's body and muttered a few words under his breath before stepping back, nodding to Benjen.
"Do it," he ordered.
The First Ranger stepped forward and used his flint and steel to get a spark. Once it caught the oil-soaked wood, it wasn't long before the pyre was engulfed in flames.
The small, odd group stood around the pyre, watching the fire. Benjen kept an arm around Meera, who tried her best not to break down in tears.
They stood there for half an hour before Coldhands was forced to break the silence.
"We need to keep moving. We can rest once we reach the Fist."
Benjen nodded. "Good idea," he said wearily. "I'm sorry, Meera."
The girl stared at the fire before shaking her head and wiping her eyes. "Jojen can't die in vain," she said quietly, but fiercely. "He can't!"
"His death won't be," Benjen promised, leading her over towards the sled. "Once we get Bran back to the Wall, we can prepare to fight back. We will make sure that your brother is avenged. I swear on my honor."
"Thank you," Meera said. "Let's get to the Fist."