Chapter II – An Oath From Ice.
…
Mygon's eyes glanced over the Last River.
The water seemed to be as frigid as the air surrounding it, and the edges of the lake had already turned to ice. A frozen forest provided a minimal shelter from the cold, unforgiving weather of the far North, but only minimal, and the entire place had a distinctly desert feeling to it. Mygon couldn't see men or beasts anywhere, barring a few unnerving howls in the distance. He had seen his fair share of Direwolves for an entire lifetime, and facing them again was an experience he wished not to repeat.
But a figure disturbed the feeling of silence and loneliness, a sleek wooden ship, crossing the frozen waters as fast as possible. Black sails, black wood, and a few hard men guiding the helm. Mygon recognized the design as a raiding ship from the Iron Islands, but he also openly wondered what on earth a raiding ship from the Iron Islands would be doing in the Last River.
The ship slowed down as it passed him by. "Who goes there?" Asked a man clad in a filthy black coat with black-colored teeth in his maw and a bald head full of scars. Mygon noticed he was carrying a small battle axe on his hip, as were most of his crew mates, who looked similarly grim.
Mygon took a bow. "I am Mygon, of the Night's Watch. I seek passage to King's Landing, or perhaps to the Shivering Sea."
"I am Darren Left-foot, this is my crew." He nodded to the men behind him, "And this is the Sea Lady, my ship." The Captain smiled a terrifying black-teeth grin to Mygon in a failed attempt to look friendly. He then mused Mygon's request for some seconds, licking his blackened teeth nervously and answered "Well we can take you there, for a price. We happen to be headed to King's Landing."
"Wonderful." Said Mygon, smiling in gratitude to Darren. Mygon turned around and whistled to his faithful steed. The horse turned around and ran at full speed towards the North. Mygon knew the horse would find his way to Castle Black.
He climbed aboard the Sea Lady as quickly as a cripple could do it, and soon he found himself walking among the suspiciously looking Ironborn. He saw a few of them transporting wooden crates from one side to another of the deck, and analyzing its contents and noticing the wood craft and symbols belonged to varying lands.
Mygon rationalized that crates of every part of Westeros plus a few from Essos could be found in that ship. They were either very extensive merchants or, more glaringly obvious, pirates. But if they were pirates, why pick up an unremarkable Wandering Crow? Would that not only provide further attention? And then he realized: Not pirates. Smugglers.
They were merely transferring the stolen cargo safely, and decided to carry a man for some extra payment. Clever, thought Mygon.
His conclusions only proved to be more correct when Darren introduced him to three other figures: A nervous looking young man, glancing over his shoulder periodically with the distinctive air of a man running from something, an old man clad in ragged Maester clothes with a lost gaze in the horizon and a small child, just cheerfully playing with a wooden toy.
Darren produced an onion from his sleeve and took a large bite of it as he explained, calmly "This is Mott the Farmer" He pointed to the young man, who looked at Mygon nervously and weakly smiled. "This is Maester Aerys and the boy is his protégé, Robb."
Mygon's face shifted to a frown, "Aerys, as in the Mad King?"
The Maester chuckled, "What can I do, my Lord, I was born during the reign of Aerys the First and my mother saw fit to homage him. A man does what a man can." And he shrugged with another hearty chuckle. Young Robb laughed along, despite Mygon being near-certain he was not paying attention to this entire conversation.
"They're all headed to King's Landing?" Asked Mygon towards Darren, who took another massive bite off the onion.
"Yes. A remarkable coincidence, is it not?" Darren grinned with some malice and turned around, heading for the helm without saying another word. In no time he was barking commands and mild threats to his shipmates over the control of the Sea Lady's movement.
The journey across the Last River proceeded calmly. There were no storms or ship-wrecking waves on the Last River, the only obstacles being frozen pieces of water that deterred the ship's movements for a few moments before the ship's hull shattered them apart.
And yet, there was something uneasy in the air for Mygon. The silence of the Last River unnerved him, the deep woods ever unmoving, staring back at him in every corner. Mygon felt something was watching him all the way. Perhaps the old gods were alive after all, lurking amongst the lands of the Umbers with their ever-watchful eyes staring from the trees. Or perhaps the wolves eagerly waited for prey, and were merely biding their time until the Sea Lady was forced to make a brief stop to restock its supplies. Or perhaps river thieves lusted for their gold and silver.
That utter silence seemed to open Mygon's mind to a thousand possibilities, each more grim and threatening than the last. The mind of a wandering crow often reaches dangerous places when the air is still enough, thought Mygon, remembering of what he once said to Mormont when questioned why so many wandering crows deserted.
To avoid going mad over the paranoia of his mind, Mygon took some time to analyze his ship companions. He soon noticed Mott avoided him at all costs out of sheer terror, and never even looked at him unless strictly necessary. Why, thought Mygon, what would he have to fear? Mygon kept studying him across the trip.
After analyzing the manner he rubbed his hands, Mygon stumbled upon a curious discovery: Mott's hands were actually not at all like a farmer's. He had thin, nimble hands that moved quickly and stealthily through the air. Mott had probably never picked up a shovel in his entire lifetime, much less worked as a farmer. That man was a thief.
A thief who seemed mysteriously afraid of a wandering crow, wanted to go to the other side of Westeros for no reason and lied about his past. Mygon sadly concluded that Mott was also a deserter of the Night's Watch. Mygon's duty would be to kill him there and then, to end his life as an oath-breaker, but the One-Winged Crow knew that smugglers do not play by the rules of the Watch, and killing one of their passengers in the middle of the trip would probably spell a gruesome death for Mygon.
Knowing he was sharing the boat with a damned oath-breaker of the Watch only made Mygon more unnerved by the trip. He turned his eyes to the Maester and the boy, and what he found was equally disturbing, if somewhat less rage-inducing; in the Maester he noticed the horrible state of his clothes and his skin. Judging by the charred pieces of cloth in his robe, the Maester had recently been caught in a fire and for some reason, chose not to change his clothes. Most likely, someone was chasing him, thought Mygon.
Why would someone try to kill a Maester? Mygon figured the answer would probably be found on the boy, but much to his surprise, he saw nothing unusual about that child, a black-haired, strong-jawed orphan child in ragged clothes like many others Mygon saw in his lifetime. The best explanation the Wandering Crow could come up with was that the Maester had broken his vows of chastity and sired a son, for which he was persecuted.
So, much to Mygon's chagrin, he discovered he was sharing a boat with not one, but two oath-breakers running away from their responsibility. "Marvelous." He stated dryly to himself as he discovered that the ship and the forest were both equally unnerving and full of terrifying possibilities. He sighed as he realized a wandering crow's mind never rests.
The Sea Lady was eventually stopped at Darren's command when the ship came across a portion of the lake that happened to be entirely frozen. Darren and his men got down, and wielding pickaxes broke the ice apart blow by blow in a slow and tedious process, while Mygon and the others waited in the ship. Mygon reflected how unusual it was for a portion of the Last River to be fully frozen in such time of the summer.
"Winter is coming, as the Starks say." Maester Aerys concluded, looking at the frozen river. "The air is getting colder as the days pass us by, Sor Mygon."
"Indeed." Mygon ignored the royal title given him again and merely agreed. "And this has been the longer summer of history. I believe the winter will be longer still and as unforgivable as the executioner's hand."
The Maester laughed, "Men of the Wall, always so grim and somber. Always going on about the Wall, the winter, the Others and the things that lurk in the dark."
"And that amuses you?" Inquired Mygon, intrigued.
Aerys shrugged, "We are both of an ancient order, Mygon, and we both cannot father sons, inherit lands, or feel a woman's embrace. We both dedicate our lives to protecting the Realm, and we cannot take parts in the quarrels of Kings. The Maesters and the men of the Watch are not so different, after all." Analyzed the Maester with a thoughtful stare to the horizon. "And yet, we heal, help in birthing, enlighten men and dress ourselves in white. We are guardians of knowledge and life. You kill, bind and fight while dressed in black. You guard over a realm of myths and death."
Mygon had never thought about it that way, but now it seemed so clear. "Two edges of the same knife." Concluded Mygon.
Aerys nodded in approval. "And that, my friend, is what amuses me."
The One-Winged Crow however, remembered what he found out about Aerys. He cautiously commented "But only one of us knows what it means to break an oath."
Aerys frowned in bewilderment, staring at Mygon with his eyebrows burying into his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"
Mygon turned his head to face the Maester, and prepared to give a proper answer when Mygon noticed something in the forest behind him. He squinted his eyes, noticing a flock of ravens taking flight in the nearby trees. Mygon turned his head around to face the other side of the river, and saw more ravens taking flight in unison. Worry grew in his soul and his expression as he realized what this meant.
"Disturbed ravens." He muttered to himself.
"Darren!" He desperately shouted to call the captain's attention, but in the following moments, when Darren turned around to face him, he had an arrow sticking out of his neck and blood gushing over in the snow. Darren Left-foot crumbled over, dead. A barrage of arrows followed from both sides of the river, piercing many of the Ironborn with uncanny skill.
"Oh by the Seven!" The Maester gasped, eye-widened towards the rain of iron that now fell over the ice-covered river. Many arrows hit their targets, but a multitude just lodged into the ice, sticking out like tombstones in a cemetery, slowly gathering a field of arrows over the ice.
"Take cover!" Shouted Mygon as an arrow flew past his head, narrowly missing his hair. Mott, Aerys and Robb hid behind the Sea Lady's thick wooden carcass and laid in waiting. Mygon stuck his head out periodically, glancing over the place the shots came from. He counted about two dozen archers to the left, and twice that number on the right.
"And?" Asked Mott desperately, looking at Mygon. Over the screams of the dying crewmembers below, the Wandering Crow noticed Mott, Aerys and Robb were all looking directly at him, depositing all their hopes of survival in his person. Mygon nervously clutched the hilt of his blade and cursed the Seven in his mind, wondering just how rotten his luck could be for him to stumble upon a band of river thieves so far up North.
But blasphemy didn't help him think faster, neither did gripping his sword, a useless weapon to this situation. Mygon's eyes ran over the ship's hull as fast as humanly possible, memorizing every single item in his sight: Crates, torches, a few pickaxes and spare swords, lanterns and a dozen barrels of wine. Nothing of immediate assistance.
An arrow landed an inch away from Aerys's leg as he shouted "Mygon!"
"Mott!" Mygon shouted in return. "Check what's in those crates!"
The supposed farmer stubbornly shook his head, paralyzed in fear.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Mygon sighed in a mixture of exasperation and hatred as his eyes ran over Aerys, who was clearly too old and Robb. With a hint of regret in his voice he called out "Robb! Check what's in those crates!"
The cheerful child nodded proudly and ran, dogging a multitude of arrows to reach all the wooden crates, knocking over the lid of one after the other in quick succession and loudly announcing its contents. Mygon was disappointed to learn that all the crates contained were a variety of foods and plants. But his mind clicked when he heard the child shout one of the crates contained several flasks of a substance he could not identify.
Mygon rolled over to the crate, bypassing several falling arrows. One look and he identified the substance as Sweetsleep. In small amounts used to relax, but in higher doses enough to kill a man. Mygon smiled when he saw that for the first time, the gods smiled to him.
Not for long, thought Mygon, when an arrow grazed his coat and narrowly avoiding his skin. He grasped one of the flasks and tossed to the child, who caught readily. Mygon mentally noted how the child seemed more loyal and willing to listen than most of his sworn brothers. "Three drops in each barrel of wine. Go!" He shouted.
The nimble child did not need to be told twice. With the flask in hand it jumped and leaped away from each falling arrow until he reached the barrels, and faithfully obeyed to Mygon's request. With the wine now poisoned, Mygon could see that the arrows had stopped falling. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the attackers were now advancing on foot towards the ship.
Mygon quickly stood up with the aid of his cane. He first sealed the crate of Sweetsleep and kicked it into the ship's cargo hold. Thinking on his feet he shattered several lanterns with his cane, allowing the tar to drip over the deck of the Sea Lady until it was almost overflowing with tar. The attackers climbed aboard the very moment Mygon light up a torch and menacingly moved it towards the tar ridden ship.
"If any of you lifts a finger I'll burn us all like offerings to the gods." Stated Mygon.
One of the attackers, a thin man with an even thinner moustache, nodded to his fellow men in a command to stand down. All men lowered their weapons. Mygon noticed they were very different people, containing both of old and young, lame and healthy, and their ranks seemed to contain Westerosi from all corners of the Realm. These were no ordinary raiders, thought Mygon.
"Very well." The man with a moustache spoke in a Northern accent, a local from the Last River if Mygon had to guess. "We can see that you are a Crow, and we assure we mean you no harm. Just drop the torch and we'll grant you safe passage over the river. Our business is not with you."
Mygon arched one of his eyebrows. Business? They were not thieves, these men were assassins, hired specifically to attack that vessel. It was not happenstance that Mygon thought he was being watched. A crew of assassins had been following the ship the entire journey. But why? "I don't care. Let the Maester, the child and the man go and I'll drop the torch and you may have me as a hostage."
The man with the moustache chuckled "That is the exact opposite of my proposition, Crow. Please don't make this difficult."
"Oh but I am." Mygon grinned with audacity. "I am the shield that guards the realms of men, and it just so happens you seem to be attacking the realms of men. Let them go or we'll burn like a roasted stag."
The man glared at Mygon with impotent rage for several seconds, until he nodded to his men and spoke, rage bleeding through his words "Let them go."
And thus his attackers let the master, the farmer and the child jump off the ship and run through the ice until they vanished in the thick trees in the distance, vanishing from Mygon's line of sight.
The leader stared at Mygon anxiously. "What now, crow?"
Mygon briefly stuck his head out of the ship's deck to look at the ice below. Mygon was not a gambling man, but at that particular time of his life, he discovered he had no choice but to gamble with the Seven. He looked at the man and grinned, saying "Now we burn."
He dropped his torch in the tar. With a loud roar the fire expanded over the deck, clinging to the wood and spreading ever-faster, licking the sky like a snake's tongue and consuming the mast with increasing hunger. The attackers backed away in horror and dread from the flames, while Mygon watched the fire run up to him.
Using all the strength of his last working leg he leaped away from the deck, falling into the ice below. The combined momentum of the fall added to his weight caused the ice to shatter, as Mygon predicted, and the one-winged crow was soon swallowed by the frosty waters of the Last River, sinking below the deep, blue and still water with no sign of coming back.
Of course, none of the attackers saw this chain of events. Most were blinded by the fire, running away from it, or screaming loudly as their bodies were consumed by the flames. In their eyes Mygon just vanished out of the thin air after a few moments, probably burned to a crisp by the flames. As he sunk further into the depths, Mygon saw their despair did not proceed for long. The tar was not enough to produce too much fire, and soon it died down.
The last things Mygon heard before closing his eyes was the muffled sound of leader of the attackers barking his men to find the targets and eliminate them. The One-Winged Crow did not move his wing for several moments, letting the water carry him below, ever darker, ever colder, like the hands of the Old Gods dragged him down to Hell with each second. Down there, Mygon thought for what it seemed an eternity if it wouldn't be better to just let himself sink and die. To let his watch end there and follow to the halls of his fathers, having fulfilled his purpose.
So many had died under his watch, so many would die. He had seen so much suffering, and would see so much more. Mygon reflected that no matter what he did, the suffering would continue. For fifty years he stood with the Watch, fulfilling his vows without a fault, and yet winter was on its way, a war gathered across Westeros and the Others crawled their way to the Wall.
It all seemed fruitless to Mygon. Pointless. To let eternity embrace him seemed so much simpler. He was ready to let himself fall into the darker waters when something echoed in his mind, something from five decades ago, when he was nothing but a child pretending to be a man. "Night gathers, and so my watch begins." He heard his young voice again, joined by a thousand others. "It shall not end until my death."
Mygon opened his eyes, still sinking. The words continued: "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children." Mygon searched is memory for these words he knew as well as his own name, and remembered the very first time he spoke them, under the Sept of Castle Black, guided by the voice of the Septon. "I shall wear no crown and win no glory."
"I shall live and die on my post." Mygon glanced around, as if realizing this wasn't his post. The bottom of a frozen river was not the post of a ranger of the Night's Watch. The very concept seemed like a cruel joke to Mygon. "I am the sword in the darkness."
Mygon looked at the Snowstorm in his hip, seeing it amidst the darkness of the lake. "I am the watcher on the walls." Once again he noticed he was not in his post. He was not in the Walls. He was in the Last River, fighting bandits and allowing himself to stupidly die in a river. What would Mormont think of this stupidity? "I am the fire that burns against the cold." And by the Seven, it was cold. And yet, Mygon felt warm. A warmness that hadn't come over in his soul for many years, the warmth of life, of the will to live.
"The light that brings dawn." And yet there he saw the sun light escaping by the water surface as he sank ever below. It's almost if he had been trying to contradict every piece of the oath, thought Mygon. "The horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of Men."
And yet, he was about to let the realms of Men unguarded and the Wall unmanned. What was wrong with him? Inquired Mygon mentally, why was he allowing himself to sink? Had he no shame? "I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch." And then he realized. Then everything made sense.
Mygon's limbs started to move, his body began to rattle, and soon he swam as fast as possible, above and away from the ship, when he finally realized: His life was not his to give away. It was not his choice to let himself die, just because of something as futile as a loss of hope or will. He did not have the right. He left the depths renewed in body and soul as his purpose re-stated itself in his mind while the surface came ever closer. He felt as young as ever, and more determined than he ever felt.
"For this night, and all nights to come." And thus, for the second time, Mygon's watch began.