Jaime knelt on the viewing platform as the defenders unleashed another night of hell on the enemy. Arrows of dragonglass had been replaced with ones tipped with iron and bronze. Lord Tarly and the king had not wanted to waste precious steel or dragonglass on the enemy, not when bronze had worked so well in the past. The defenders also hurled rocks and barrels of oil down on the army of undead, destroying dozens at a time.
Robb Stark, once again, had proven to be extremely shrewd and efficient. He was using as little manpower as he could get away with as well as lesser materials against the enemy. He knew that this would be a long war and there was no way that he could retrieve supplies from the battlefield or loot an enemy camp. He had to stretch what he had and preserve what he could for when he really needed it. He had even spoken about sending word for wildfyre, wondering if that would have a greater effect at keeping the enemy at bay for a few days.
Then there were the dragons, which were the deadliest arrow Robb Stark had in his quiver alongside valyrian steel. They torched the enemy ranks, destroying hundreds of wights a night. The enemy would have broken through the first gate weeks ago if Jon Stark hadn't continued to scatter the enemy night after night.
Even still, the first gate was on its last legs. The enemies' constant scratching and hacking at the wood and iron for months had done enough damage that the king suspected that it would fall in the next week. The king, however, wasn't too worried. He had set the builders to reinforce the second gate two weeks ago and the defenses for the second gate were already in place.
Robb Stark was many things, but he wasn't lazy or careless. He was prepared for every possible scenario and had men in place to counter anything the Others might try.
Jaime wondered what his father would be thinking about if he was in Jaime's position. He knew that his father would have scoffed and waved aside the idea, calling anyone who mentioned it an idiot or a madman. Words like 'snarks' and 'grumpkins' would have been spat with haughty amusement. But if the great and powerful Tywin Lannister looked out beyond the Wall and saw a sea of wights, what would he have thought?
Jaime could only wonder.
"Master Jaime, how goes it?" Commander Brienne asked, kneeling next to the former knight.
Jaime glanced at the warrior woman. He sparred with her a few times whenever they both happened to be in King's Landing. She was good, better than he originally thought. She was unnaturally big and strong for a woman, and even most men for that matter. She, however, was not a brute. Her technique and decision-making were both above average and the power she put behind her strikes would make most men think twice about picking a fight with the Commander of Robb's kingsguard.
When talking to Ser Rolland and Ser Balon, both men Jaime had some respect for, they had praised Commander Brienne's character to the stars. Although she was not a knight, she still held all the traits and ideals that were expected of knights. She was honorable and courageous, courteous and kind. She fought for what was right and stood up for the defenseless. She led the elite group of warriors with decisiveness and honesty, making sure that every man could speak their mind when they wanted to.
Needless to say, Brienne of Tarth was a much better kingsguard than Jaime ever had been. At least she had been able to protect her king from a mad septon and a few rogue watchmen.
"As well as can be expected," Jaime replied, knowing that the large warrior woman wasn't with him by choice. "The Others keep trying to send giants towards the gate, but the Targaryen girl has burned everyone that gets close."
"And the spiders?"
Jaime gestured to the ground below them. While there were hundreds of wights, there were also almost a hundred giant spiders with their bodies riddled by arrows. Based on the position of the bodies, they had fallen from a distance.
"Squashed," Jaime said simply. "If the king should know anything, then he should know that they're almost through the first gate."
"They managed to break through with their nails and teeth alone?" Brienne asked curiously.
Jaime shook his head. "The men have spotted something new. Wights are carrying knives, hatchets, things of that nature. No swords or spears."
"The weapons of peasants," Brienne commented.
"They belong to peasants, but they're in the hands of wight," Jaime said. "We don't know what sort of damage they can cause."
The two warriors watched the battle rage for a time. There was something monotonous about it. There was no one fighting, not like a normal battle where the fronts of two armies were clashing in a mob of humanity. There were no heroic deeds occurring. No knights battling with their legacies on the line. There was no Daemon Blackfyre battling Gwayne Corbray or Robert Baratheon bashing in Rhaegar Targaryen's chest.
There were just…arrows. That's all Jaime heard was the twang of bowstrings and the occasional explosion from when an oil barrel hit the enemy. It wasn't the usual sounds of battle or even a siege.
It was the sound of slaughter, but it didn't feel like it.
"The enemy may try to kill us with boredom," Jaime said, flexing his sword hand. "We have thousands of soldiers who are doing nothing but helping haul arrows to the top of the Wall. Eventually, they'll want to go home."
"They can't," Brienne replied. "They'll never abandon the king."
"No, he's too inspirational for that," Jaime agreed, "but inspiration can only get him so far when their love for him is tested by the cold and a daily meal of bread, salted meat, and terrible ale."
Brienne tilted her head but didn't disagree. Jaime knew that she understood his skepticism, even if she didn't agree with it. She had spent the better part of a year in Robb Stark's war camp and had observed soldiers who had nothing to do, especially when Robb and the Targaryen girl were in peace talks.
However, the only difference between then and now is that men weren't at risk of losing an ear or a nose from the cold and had constant wagons of good food coming from the Reach.
Jaime sighed when he heard a resounding crack. The first gate sagged open, barely hanging onto their frozen hinges, but then the strangest things happened. The wights didn't enter the tunnel. They just looked at it before turning around and retreating. Their behavior was so bizarre that most of the men stopped shooting.
"Keep firing!" Brienne snapped. "Remember what's down there!"
Immediately, the defenders renewed their attack. The wights stayed put for a few moments before slowly turning around and walking back towards the treeline. There, just at the edge of the forest, was a group of horsemen. Jaime didn't need to be told who they were.
"Others," Brienne said grimly. "The king needs to know about this."
"See if the Green Man or Mance has an answer for what just happened," Jaime added. "The wights had been attacking every night, the entire night, for the past three months. There has to be a reason they've stopped."
Brienne nodded. "I will mention it to the king."
"I'll move defenders to the defenses for the second gate," Jaime promised. "I'm not sure if they'll attack again or wait until tomorrow, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Do as you see fit, Master Jaime," Brienne said. Jaime nodded as the warrior woman walked away. When she was a few feet away from him, she turned back. "It seems the men won't have a reason to be bored soon."
Jaime looked at her and cracked a smile. "Commander, was that a joke?"
Brienne shook her head, still completely serious.
"No, Master Jaime," she said. "A prediction."
Gendry Baratheon
"Gendry?" Garlan asked again, snapping the young man from his thoughts.
The company of riders were huddled around three fires. Men from the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne all mingled with each other while the leaders of the group sat together. Garlan sat on Gendry's right while Oberyn sat across from him and Edric Dayne sat on his left.
"Yes, what?" Gendry said distractedly. Garlan smiled sympathetically.
"Your head was lost in the clouds, lad," he said before glancing up at the heavy grey clouds that rolled over them. "I hope your clouds were better than this depressing lot."
"He was probably thinking about a woman," Prince Oberyn commented, pulling his thick cloak tighter around his lean frame. "Whoever she is, she's got her claws in him. I've seen that look in many young men."
"I don't…I mean…How…" Gendry stuttered.
Prince Oberyn merely gestured towards him. "I rest my case."
"Leave the boy alone, Prince Oberyn," Garlan scolded lightly. "He might be thinking about the impending battle."
The dornishman rolled his eyes. "Impending battle!" he scoffed. "He's a growing boy, Garlan. He's bound to have some…appetites. Do not forget who his father is."
"Saying Gendry is like Robert is like saying you're like Doran," Garlan countered. "Besides, whatever his appetites may be, they are none of our concern."
"We're going off to war, Garlan," Oberyn argued. "I say it's natural for a young man to crave the touch of a woman. I certainly did."
"It's natural, but it's not our place to ask," Garlan said. "What…"
"What's her name?" Oberyn asked, addressing the question to Gendry and cutting off Garlan.
"I…" Gendry said, his voice failing him as he turned bright red.
"It's Arya Stark, isn't it," Edric Dayne said calmly, causing three pairs of eyes to turn in his direction. The young man merely shrugged and looked at Gendry. "You always looked at her whenever she was around."
"Arya Stark?" Prince Oberyn smiled. "Irony, isn't it, Flower Knight?"
Garlan frowned, still not happy with the nickname Oberyn had come up as they rode north. Most of the dornishman's whip-like humor had been frozen by the cold, but the name he had given Garlan had somehow stuck. Nevertheless, Garlan nodded.
"It's…interesting."
Prince Oberyn looked ready to throw his hands in the air. "You take all the fun out of things! The boy is a spitting image of Robert Baratheon and the girl he likes is said to be…her come again!"
As Oberyn spoke, Gendry noticed that he intentionally skipped over Lyanna Stark's name, and even when he referred to her as "her", there was some venom in his tone. Gendry knew the story of his father and his rebellion, as well as the claims made against Rhaegar Targaryen. Gendry had also been told that the dornish had fought for the Targaryens during the war and that Elia Martell, Oberyn's sister, had been Rhaegar's wife when he had run off with Lyanna Stark. Whatever the Red Viper felt about Robert Baratheon wasn't clear. What he felt about Lyanna Stark was.
Thankfully, Gendry wasn't the only one who saw through the prince's words.
"We're done talking about this," Garlan said, attempting to move the conversation back to safer ground, but Prince Oberyn was not going to be diverted.
"Do you love her?" he asked bluntly.
Gendry shook his head slightly. "I…"
"Do you?" Oberyn pressed.
"I don't know," Gendry replied. "I don't think so."
"But you like her," Oberyn said.
Gendry hesitated before nodding. "I do."
"Prince Oberyn…" Garlan said, trying to intervene again.
"Many men have trouble coming to terms with their feelings," Oberyn said, turning to Garlan. "To get them to admit anything takes a bit of pressure or else they'll continue to hesitate and won't make up their damn minds," the dornish prince turned to Gendry. "You are the master of your mind, boy. You know your feelings better than anyone. Do not feel the need to hide them."
"Yes, my lord," Gendry said, nodding to the dornishman. "Thank you."
Oberyn waved aside his words. "You'll thank me when you admit your feelings to the girl. They hate it when you hesitate, you make them doubt their own feelings then. Say what's on your mind and do it with confidence." Oberyn gave Gendry a fierce smile. "Women love confidence."
"That's enough of the love lesson, Prince Oberyn," Garlan said, still trying to divert the dornish prince. "Lord Dayne, how does Dawn feel in your hands?"
The young lordling rubbed his hands as he answered. "Different, Lord Garlan. Feels like it should be in someone else's hands."
"You handle it well," Garlan said respectfully. "I look forward to seeing you in future battles with it."
"Should I live to see Starfall again, Dawn is being returned to the Palestone Sword tower," Edric replied firmly. "I have not earned the sword yet, and I may never earn it. I wield the sword because the Green Man said that it will be needed on the Wall. I wield it out of necessity. But I have not earned it."
Gendry couldn't help but respect Edric for his decision. During his years working in Master Mott's shop, he had spoken to dozens of blacksmiths, and more than a few had spoken openly about their desire to touch and examine the famed sword of House Dayne. Dawn was unique because it was only passed down to those who had earned the right to wield it, and because there were few times in history when someone was worthy of carrying the blade, it just made blacksmiths all the more hungry to see the blade.
Gendry glanced at Garlan and Oberyn. Both were much more surprised by Edric's answer.
"Edric, I understand where your mind is…" Garlan went to say before Edric cut him off.
"Then you know why I must return it to the tower after the war," Edric said. "I have not earned it. Tell me, Lord Garlan, do I have at least a fraction of the potential my Uncle Arthur had?"
"No," Oberyn said bluntly before Garlan could respond. "You fight well, but there are very few Arthur Dayne's."
"But surely not all Swords of the Mornings were as skillful as Arthur Dayne," Garlan argued. "Arthur Dayne was one of a kind, I do not dispute that, but if you have to be as skilled and as honorable as Arthur Dayne to wield Dawn, then there won't be another wielder for another three hundred years!"
Edric shrugged. "Then I'll need to tell the head servant to dust the sword more often."
Oberyn chuckled while Gendry ducked his head and smiled. Garlan, after losing two arguments, simply shook his head and reclined back on his makeshift chair. There was, however, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"He may not be the Sword of the Morning, but I think he'll be a fine Lord of Starfall," Oberyn chuckled, bringing the conversation to an end.
The Green Man
The Green Man leaned on the railing as he looked over the lands south of the Wall. Truthfully, there's wasn't much to see besides miles and miles of snow. There was the occasional grey or brown from stone and wood, but there were no other colors. No green trees or blue skies. Just white and grey.
The man wished that he could see the isle one more time. Look at his reflection in the waters of the God's Eye. Listen to the rustle of the branches as the wind rushed through them. Feel the soft earth beneath his boots. See the ring of heart trees that surrounded the clearing. He wished he could feel home again, but he knew that his time was coming to a close.
The Green Man cracked a smile. He had spent nearly eighty years as the leader of the Green Men on the Isle of Faces. He had seen great kings and insane kings. He had witnessed war and peace, great tragedies and great fortune. He had been a silent observer to mankind and knew more about the minds of men than most men knew of themselves.
"Are you ready?" Bran Stark asked as he was rolled over by his giant helper.
The Green Man shook his head. "I wish I had an answer for you," he replied. "It's funny, isn't it? Everyone else sees us as more than human because we can hear the whispers of the gods, and yet we still feel all they do. We still feel fear and joy, sadness and sympathy. That's never changed."
He looked down at the crippled young man. "But you and I are in very different circumstances, aren't we, Bran Stark? I do not carry the burden you bear nor do you carry mine."
"No, I don't," Bran replied. "Has Benjen Stark spoken to you since you've arrived?"
The Green Man shook his head. "He arrived at the Wall before I did. Our paths briefly crossed in King's Landing, but we never spoke."
Bran nodded. "As I thought. I have something to tell you, though you may not like it."
The Green Man raised an eyebrow. "You understand why I find that hard to believe."
Any other man would have cracked a smile at the Green Man's dry humor, but Bran did not. He merely held the Green Man's gaze, waiting for permission to say what was on his mind.
"What is it?" the Green Man asked, gesturing for Bran to continue.
"How much do you know about the second branch of House Highsmith?" Bran asked.
"The last member died more than three hundred years ago north of the Wall," the Green Man replied immediately. "Harren the Black enslaved his sons and they died building Harrenhal, ending the branch."
"What if it didn't die?" Bran asked. "At least, not fully."
"Speak plainly," the Green Man grumbled. "What information do you have about my family?"
"When Meera, Jojen, myself, and Hodor when north of the Wall, the last part of our journey was guided by a warrior known as Coldhands. A half-wight who was once a man of the Night's Watch," Bran explained. "He died when he went with my uncle to collect a wight for Westeros. Out of curiosity, I began to trace the man's journey so that I could find out who he really was. I found the time the Children found him half-dead in the snow, where he was chanting the two words that would eventually become his name; cold hands. I went back further where he was ambushed by an Other. I then went to the Wall and found where he had been stationed. His name was Aden Highsmith, the First Ranger of the Night's Watch."
"My ancestor lived then," the Green Man said, stunned.
Bran nodded. "For another three hundred years, Aden Highsmith wandered the lands beyond the Wall, helping both the Brothers of the Night's Watch and the wildlings, hunting wights and protecting the Children and Bloodraven."
The Green Man tugged on his beard. "I am glad to hear that the Others did not make him one of their slaves."
"He was a good man to the last," Bran confirmed before glancing up at the sky. Although clouds obscured the light of the moon and stars, it wasn't hard to tell that it was late at night. "You should get some sleep."
The Green Man shook his head. "Plenty of that later. I will stay up a little while longer."
Bran nodded his head and said something to his helper before he was rolled away, leaving the Green Man alone for the night.