CHAPTER 4
Arya at the Wall
Nymeria had been missing for three days by the time they reached Queenscrown. The direwolf would often leave Arya's side during the day, to hunt or seek out other wolves, but she had always returned by night-fall. Yet, three moons had passed and there was still no sign of her. Nymeria was a fierce beast, and could handle herself, but Arya couldn't help but worry. The day of her disappearance, she'd been frantic and restless, barking at shadows and tearing chunks of bark from trees with her claws. She'd dashed off north, into the morning mists, yowling at some phantom scent that only she could trace. Arya could no longer sense the direwolf's presence, and she felt strangely empty inside.
The journey from Hurrik's Perch to the New Gift had been tough. The snows were mercifully light, but the night air had become bone-chillingly cold. And during the day, their path was dogged by a dense, silvery mist that obscured anything ten feet from one's face. Every few hours, Tormund would need to halt their march to make sure they were following the map correctly, and hadn't gotten turned around in the fog.
Of the three thousand wildlings who had settled in the western hills, a little over half had agreed to march north with Arya and Mance, though many of them were spearwives, or children of twelve and thirteen. Fortunately, the mountain clans had fortified their ranks with a further one-hundred axemen. June and the other Dreadfort survivors had stayed in the hills. June had begged to come, but Arya could not have beared losing her again, and so the mountain men promised to keep her safe. Most had survived the trek, though at least three dozen had deserted them on the second day. They arrived at the abandoned village of Queenscrown to find another five-hundred wildlings waiting for them. Five-hundred wildlings, and one giant, that is. Arya and the mountain men had never seen a giant before. One of the axemen had almost loosed an arrow on the shaggy creature, but Tormund had stopped him. Arya had always thought the giants were just make-believe, or had been gone so long as to make no difference. But there it sat, as real as rain. Tormund had announced the giant's name to her, but she'd forgotten it already.
"Wun Wun will be fine," he'd told her. "He's peaceable enough, as long as he's left alone. Best not to get too close. He could swat your head clean off, as you might swat a fly." Arya had obeyed.
Queenscrown was a slightly eerie place. Even with their enormous host, the ruins felt dark and lonely. A frozen lake bordered the village, with a single tower rising from the centre of it. Arya wondered what might be inside it, but there didn't seem any way of accessing the holdfast, short of braving the thin crust of ice. The shadow of the Wall looms large here, though she could not see it through the dark haze.
The wildling captains gathered around a fire, in the middle of the village. Arya and two clan chiefs were also present. Tormund stood over a crudely drawn map of the Wall, etched into the snow.
"Now… the Shadow Tower lies here by the Gorge, at the far west end of the Wall." Tormund prodded at the snow with a stick. "Denys Mallister has already taken what few crows he can spare, and is making his way east. Mance will march the main part of our army, and meet him here,"—he traced a line along the map—"at the Nightfort. I will lead a small force to Castle Black, a few leagues east, and assault Bowen Marsh and his men directly. I'm sure Wun Wun will come in handy there." Wun Wun looked up at the mention of his name, and grunted approval in some strange tongue. The giant was leaning against a huge tree, slurping at a skin of wine.
Mance stepped forward. "With no blockades facing south, Castle Black will have to summon all of its forces against Tormund and Wun Wun, allowing Mallister and I to storm them from the west, unaware." The wildling lords nodded in approval. The plan seemed sound enough, but Arya was not convinced.
"We shouldn't give up our position so easily," she said. "Mallister writes that Marsh has at least four hundred men inside Castle Black."
"Minus the ones he's locked up, or put to death," a captain interjected.
Arya continued, "True, the keep is vulnerable from the south, but not from the west. Marsh isn't stupid; he knows Mallister will attempt an assault. The western gate will be the most heavily guarded, and while Mance may have the greater numbers, the top of the Wall is far too narrow and slippery. Your host will be funnelled into ranks of four or five men, while Marsh pummels you with arrows and spears and burning oil. You will have no siege weapons or battering rams." Arya rubbed her forehead. "No… surprise is our best weapon. We can't let him know what is happening until the last possible moment."
"What are you thinking?" Mance said, raising an eyebrow.
Arya thought for a moment, examining the map carefully. "Here," she prodded at the fort beside Castle Black.
"Oakenshield?" Mance replied.
"Yes. Marsh will have all of his sentries watching the west, waiting for Mallister to strike. It wouldn't surprise me if he's raised some barricades facing south, as well. But with Cotter Pyke lost somewhere in the Shivering sea, the east will be lightly guarded. If I ride ahead, to Oakenshield, I may be able to enter the castle from the east, under cover of darkness. I could try and open the western gate. Once you're inside the castle is yours."
"My lady…" Mance said, his tone slightly anxious. "It isn't… It's too big of a risk. Stannis needs you to unite the North. Without a Stark in Winterfell, the North will be plunged back into chaos."
"Oh, leave off Mance," Tormund boomed. "This is Arya Wolfspawn, conquerer the Dreadfort. I'm sure she can handle a few crows."
"Alright," he said. "But if there is even a whiff of danger, you must retreat, and we'll resume with the original plan. Promise me." Arya nodded. "Alight, good. Come sunrise, I'll march our host north-west, to the Nightfort. We should be there within two days. On the fourth moon, we will attack Castle Black, whether you are ready or not. Arya, you will go with Tormund and Wun Wun." She nodded. "We need to make sure Stannis' wife and daughter are rescued as well."
"They'll be in the ice cells, most like," a wildling said. "Best you send some men there as soon as you've breached the gate, Mance. Men you can trust." Mance nodded and adjourned the council.
As the wildlings captains returned to their camps, Arya wrapped herself in a great fur coat, and nestled into the roots of an oak tree. She could hear Wun Wun snoring and growling in the distance, and she thought of Nymeria, somewhere out in the frozen wastes. She could not feel her anymore, or slip into her skin. I hope you're okay girl. I couldn't bear to lose you as well. She watched Tormund's map of the Wall slowly melt away, as the last few embers of their fire dwindled in the breeze. She thought of Jon, and the last time they'd been together. It was the day he'd given her Needle. She thought of her sister Sansa, wherever she was. She thought of her little brother, Bran, and her heart ached. She thought of Winterfell, and the old Hart Tree. Soon… she told herself, feeling exhausted. The world faded, and she dreamt of sharp, icy fingers, clawing at her face.
Mance had already left by the time she woke up. There were only a few hundred wildlings who had remained in camp. She and Tormund broke their fast on some warm honeyed oats, while the horses were roused and fed. Arya could not stop brooding over the horrible dream she'd had the night before. It'd felt so real. She'd woken to find her wrists all scratched and bloody, but it was her own fingernails that had done the damage. As the morning mists settled over Queenscrown, the wildlings mounted up for the last stretch of their journey.
"Two days at the most, I'll wager," Tormund was telling someone. "Two days and we'll be drinking mead from Bowen Marsh's skull. HA!" Arya wished she was that confident, but a horrible thought was growing in the pit of her stomach. The Shadow Tower continued to send disturbing reports. No contact had been made with Castle Black for over two months. Ravens had been sent, but none returned. One of the last ranging's had spotted a strange black flag flying above Queensgate, but it had vanished the following day. Mallister deployed several envoys to treat with Marsh. One had been found last week in the Gift, his head missing and his entrails smeared across the snow. It may have just been wolves, but then why didn't they eat the rest of him. And where were the other envoys? Something wicked was happening at Castle Black and Arya would soon find out what it was.
As they rode, Arya spoke with some of the other wildlings. Most were spearwives or men grown, but she met a boy around her own age, named Finn. His people were from the Frozen Shore, though he had lived most of his life in the Frostfangs, under Mance. She asked him of things beyond the Wall, of mammoths and giants and White Walkers, and he asked her of Winterfell and the direwolves she and her siblings had discovered so many years ago. He even asked of Dorne, which some wildlings called the "Lands-of-Always-Summer". They made their way along the bogs, eventually turning north-east as the sun went down. About a mile from the Kingsroad, they stumbled across some caves, and decided to make camp there.
Finn used some red stones in the cave to draw a direwolf's head on Arya's shield. He even mixed chalk from the fire with some water, to paint a white field around the head. Arya's offered him a stag for his troubles, but Finn blushed and said it was a gift. Arya gave him a kiss on the cheek in thanks, and he turned an even brighter shade of red than the rocks. Tormund laughed at the exchange.
"Careful boy," he bellowed. "That's Arya Wolfspawn. She'd sooner open your throat with her teeth, than wed you." The other wildlings laughed, and Arya gave Tormund a punch in the arm.
The next day, Arya woke before the sun was up. She'd dug fresh scratches into her arms during the night, after the ice demons visited another nightmare upon her. She fed Snowball and then herself. Tormund woke just as she was leaving the cave.
"Remember, little Arya," he said, wearily. "If something goes wrong, get out of there as fast as you can. I could not forgive myself if Jon lost his little sister, along with his own life." He smiled warmly, and squeezed her shoulder. "He loved you, you know. And he would have been proud of you." Arya nodded, unable to respond. "I will attack the castle in the two moons, and then Mance the following day."
"I'll be there," she replied. "I might even leave some crows for you to fight." He laughed at that.
"Good luck…" She nodded, and urged Snowball into a canter.
Arya struck out across the winter wastes like a falcon in pursuit. She had been in the company of others so long, that she'd forgotten how fast and lean Snowball was. Now she was alone again, with the wind whipping through her hair, and the frost spraying up around her. Arya rose in her saddle and kicked again. Snowball nayed, hammering the white earth, as she raced across the Kingsroad. The Wall rose up before them, sheer and unflinching; a curtain of hard ice and rock that made Arya gasp. This is truly the end of the world. She knew it wasn't of course. She knew there were trees and mountains and cold rivers beyond it, but that didn't make it any less breathtaking. As the Wall grew before her, she slowed Snowball to a trot. She was riding parallel to it now, keeping a fair distance, less sentries spy her approach. Surprise is the key. Surprise is our greatest weapon. That had always been Arya Stark's advantage. No one expected a little girl to fight back, but fight she did. From King's Landing to Harrenhal; from the Trident to Braavos; from the Dreafort to the Wall, she had fought. And while all the great warriors and knights and kings lay rotting the earth, she had survived.
Day became night, as the towers of Oakenshield finally emerged from the horizon. Arya ached all over. She couldn't imagine how tired Snowball must feel. She stroked the destriers mane, and kissed him lightly. "Good boy," she whispered. "We're almost there. And then you can rest, and eat grain and barley till you heart's content." Arya had not considered what to do with her horse once she ascended the Wall. Snowball was a White Harbour mount, and was trained for snowy terrain, but there was little in the way of grass this far north. Perhaps he would wander back to Queenscrown, though she doubted it. Hopefully she could return before the horse became too hungry.
It was pitch black by the time they arrived at the fort. From afar it looked an impressive fort, with tall grey spires and thick oak gates. Up close, however, it was sad, old keep; its walls cracked and crumbled across the snow. The smell of damp wood and rotting cinder clung to the air. Exhausted, Arya practically slid off Snowball. She opened a sack of oats for her loyal horse, and watched him wolf it down eagerly, before collapsing on the ground himself.
"Now you go easy on those," she told him. "That's your only food until I get back, unless you've taught yourself to hawk." She scratched him along his mane, just like he liked, before kissing him goodbye. "I'll be back in a few days," Arya promised. She hoped it wasn't a lie.
Oakenshield was not difficult to get into. A few harsh kicks split the small gate open. With Castle Black so close, this fort had never seen much use. Even at the height of the Night Watch's power, Oakenshield was only ever utilised as a watch tower. It hadn't been manned in over a five hundred years, and she could see why. Rats and ravens staffed the tower now, and they did not take kindly to this stranger from the moors. Arya climbed the spiral staircase at the rear of the keep, and found a descent sized room to spend the night. It was dark and damp, but wrapped in her furs after a long ride, sleep came easily to Arya.
Arya had her first wolf dream in over a week. She was running through a strange field. Fierce storm clouds were galloping across the sky, and the icy landscape was bathed in an eerie shadow that made her fur bristle. A strange smell filled Nymeria's lungs, and she ran faster. The snow was falling thick and fast now. What was that smell? She knew it… She knew it…
Arya woke with a gasp. Impossible, she thought. She reached up and felt her brow, slick with sweat. The room had not changed since she fell asleep several hours ago. The walls creaked and peeled, while rats scurried to and fro across the wet floor boards. She heard a dripping sound from somewhere down stairs. Outside she could feel the winter winds howling with menace. A storm is coming, she realised. A bad one. They must take Castle Black soon, or they would all perish on the Wall. At least Nymeria is still alive. But where is she? And where is she going?
Arya made her way up several more sets of ladders, before finally emerging at the top of the Wall. The night air hit her like a wave of ice. She could feel her joints clench and stiffen; her blood freezing beneath her skin. Shivering, she approached the edge of the Wall, and looked out over the edge of the world. Far below lay a dark forest. It stretched out towards a row of pale mountains. The trees shook and swayed in the violent winds, and Arya took several steps backwards. She didn't know what she expected of the world beyond the Wall, but this was not it. The lands were so bleak and lifeless. It filled Arya was a sense of impending dread. She was still half a sleep, and the wolf dream had rattled her nerves. Shaking, she climbed back inside the tower to regroup. I just need some food in my belly, she told herself, but it didn't help. The smell in the Oakenshield was terrible, but at least it held some semblance of warmth.
She waited until the sun had risen, before she resurfaced again. The chill was no less brutal, but at least she could see properly now. Pulling her furs up over her chin, Arya began the slow trek westward, towards Castle Black. The top of the Wall was wide enough to fit four men abreast, with stone walls on either side. But from this height, Arya felt as though she stood upon the edge of a knife. A knife that carved through the realms of men; with a dark, swaying forest to her right, and a sea of snow to her left. The wind howled and slashed at her face, and a great panic seized her mind. I am on the edge of oblivion, she told herself. Terrifying thoughts coursed through her, as her feet scrambled across the icy surface of the Wall. She could see Castle Black in the distance, cutting through the white haze like a dagger. No, not a dagger; a noose, hanging from the grey clouds. A noose, let down by the Gods to end her misery. A gallows, like the one they made for her father. Stop it, she told herself. You are not some scared little mouse. You are Arya Wolfspawn. They are the ones who should be afraid; not you. Syrio Forel's words echoed in her mind: Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Mance had been right; winter changed the way she saw the world. At her darkest moments, Arya would often whisper that revenge would warm her soul, and fill the place where her heart had been. But she knew that was a lie. Killing Ramsay did not bring back her mother, and killing Marsh would not bring back her brother. She had to keep her nerve, and remember her training. She had to remember her father's words—winter is coming—for their way was the old way. Planning and discipline won battles, not anger; not hatred.
As she drew closer to the winch above Castle Black she spotted someone leaning over the edge of the Wall. He was cloaked in black from head to toe, and his breath painted the air white. A horn was strapped to his belt. I must not let him use it. She crouched low, her footsteps as light as snowflakes. The man was staring out beyond the Wall, and Arya could see that beneath his hood, his head was shaved down to the scalp. A dagger appeared in her hand as she approached the Night's Watchman. As silent as a shadow. She paused. There were tears in the man's eyes. He was crying. Quick as lightening, she slashed the horn from his cloak and snatched it off him.
"Wha—!" he cried, turning. He reached for his sword, but Arya brought the dagger to his throat, pressing hard.
"Quiet," she whispered. He released the hilt and took a step back.
"Please…" he managed, wiping the frozen tears from his eyes. "Please, have mercy."
"Mercy!" Arya shot back. "Why should I show you mercy? You killed Jon."
"No," he stammered. "I never… Jon was my friend. He was my brother."
"He was my brother!" she spat, pressing the blade deeper into his flesh. A trickle of blood rolled down his neck. "And you betrayed him; all of you. I should slit your throat right here." The watchman stared at her, unblinking. Finally, he sunk to his knees.
"You're her… You're Arya Stark… Jon; he tried to save you. He did. But Marsh… Marsh and the others…"
"I know what they did. Why didn't anyone stop them?"
"Some tried, but… but Marsh had too many men. The wildlings fled; the Kings men fled… Anyone who fought back was killed or locked up. It was… a bloodbath." The man was shaking now, and not from the cold. "Marsh… he said it was for the good of the Watch. He said Jon was a wildling now, and was handing the realm over to our enemies; that he was threatening to lead an attack on Winterfell." He fell into the ice and curled up in a ball. "Marsh says that the Wall is his now, and that we are… his slaves. He says he is the Night's King reborn." Fresh tears rolled down his face, and froze to his cheeks. "I didn't want this!" he screamed. "I didn't want any of this!"
"Quiet!" Arya hissed, but the man shoved her away, and stumbled to the edge of the walk-way.
"I should have fought back, like Pyp and Grenn. But I… I was… so afraid." The man climbed up onto the ledge overlooking the Haunted Forest. "Jon was my friend."
"What are you doing?" Arya cried.
"I can't go back down there. Marsh sees everything. He knows you're coming. He knows about you and the wildlings…" The man stared into Arya eyes, and an age of sorrow passed between them. "You are all going to die…" And then he was gone. Arya ran to the edge of the Wall, just as his body vanished into the dark forest below. Terror coursed through Arya's body. Marsh knows.
She turned her head south, and saw the faint glow of Tormund's host through the winter fog. They are marching into an ambush. She leaned over the edge of the winch and opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. It was no use. She was trapped a league above the world, with no way to warn them. Below she could see the spires of Castle Black pointing up at her like charred blades. Barbed iron barricades had been raised all along the castle walls, braced with large wooden beams and ice-sacks. Arya could make out a wide moat dug along the gates' perimeter. Marsh had turned Castle Black into a fortress, protected from every angle. The wildlings would crash against it like waves on a cliff. They would freeze before they broke into the keep. It was protected from every angle… except from above. Arya opened the cage, and climbed into the winch. She grasped its gears, and began to heave with all her might. The machine groaned and cracked, breaking loose from the morning frost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Slowly, the machine began to move, clicking as it descended along the face of the Wall. The wind howled with eerie menace, as Arya lowered herself into the bowels of Castle Black. How did it come to this? She asked herself, as the turrets of the Night's Watch closed around her like the icy claws of her nightmare.
