Westeros: Shadow Beyond the Wall
The blood of kings holds a great power within. The Others know this. They did not know just what power Jon Snow's held when it was spilt by his own brothers, accomplishing through blind idiocy what they had failed to do for so long. Winter is coming, carrying death with it.
I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own the Middle-Earth video game series or Lord of the Rings.
In regards to all those who thought that the Bright Stranger is Bran the Builder…pardon me as I commence with the laughter of a thousand mad scientists.
Xxx
Chapter Three: Thus Always to Traitors
Ser Alliser Thorne had loathed Jon Snow right from the very moment the bastard had strutted into Castle Black, showing off his superior training and pet Direwolf. He'd hated the boy before he even met him without truly knowing it, simply for being the spawn of the twice-traitor Ned Stark. He'd hated how Snow had dared to look him in the eye after murdering Qhorin Halfhand, a brother to him in every way that mattered, and claim he did so at Halfhand's command.
He hated him…and yet he felt no pleasure when he sank his knife into the lad's chest, watched the shattered expression on his face as Olly finished the job or waited until the Lord-Commander drew his final breath.
He felt nothing. There was only his duty to the Night's Watch that would keep him through this crisis now.
The speech in the mead hall had been almost as hard as the assassination. He'd had to stand up and confess to breaking his vow of fealty, of shoving his knife into his superior's chest and leaving him to die in the snow. But somehow the others had come around, most of them anyways. They loathed his decision, but it made it easier for them to focus on the true enemy that now roamed unchallenged south of them.
But first…one last matter had to be attended to.
Archers and Arbalists were dispersed across the yard and the wall, in case the last holdout of loyalists thought to charge out for one last show of defiance. Thorne could have sent anyone on his behalf, but he'd stained his own hands and his own soul with blood and treachery up to this point and saw no point in changing that now.
"Brothers." He spoke after rapping upon the door with his fist. "We've no cause to fight. We are all loyal to the Watch."
He was met with silence, but he could hear the sing of castle forged steel being drawn and shuffling foot steps.
Alliser did not let this deter him. "I will grant amnesty to every brother who throws down their arms before nightfall."
Initially the plan had been simple: take the Queen and Princess hostage, give her men a choice to leave, secure Alys Karstark as added insurance and deny Stannis the use of Eastwatch by threatening his wife and heir until his fleet withdrew, letting him starve and freeze so the Boltons could ride north to wipe out every last Wildling roaming in the Gift.
But by the time his power base was secure the Queen and her men had gone, Alys Karstark had gone with Tollett and a dozen loyalists were barricaded in the second floor storage rooms with Snow's wolf and the Red Woman – strangely enough. He was pressed for time and needed to have the castle secured against the inevitable retaliation by the Wildlings and Stannis' forces.
"If the Red Woman is there, she is free to leave." He offered. "We'll grant her a horse, food enough to ride east or south as she wishes. I'll even some of you to escort her if you doubt my word."
More silence, save for soft foot steps across rickety wooden boards.
"My thanks for your generous offer, Ser Alliser." The Red Woman said. "However, I stand right where my Lord requires me to be."
Give him a thousand Jon Snows, a thousand Davos Seaworths, even a million Mance Rayders to deal with, but Alliser never liked talking with Septons, Priestesses or any zealots of any faith. The gods had left him here long ago to freeze and die and he cared not for whatever price they'd reap of him in the next life.
"My offer stands: surrender by nightfall, else this will end with blood." He declared and stormed back to the staircase.
Xxx
Jon waited until Thorne's steps had receded. "I think we've made him mad, lads." He whispered.
The night had been wasted, even though he'd been back in little over an hour after leaving for the Nightfort. The Augur, some black crystal orb, had required the hand of an elected Lord-Commander to function in its full capacity, and while the men around him might know him as the 998th of his position, the Augur knew better.
His vow was fulfilled, he'd given his life to the Watch and was free.
He was Lord-Commander no more.
"If they want in, they're going to get in." One of the Men, Garett, said while keeping his sword half drawn and his eyes fixed on the door.
"Tollett's our only hope now."
"Tis a sad day when Dolorous Edd is our best hope."
"He'll pull through for us." Jon rubbed Ghost's ears and made his way to the door linking to the next room over. "If they start to break in, fall back into here."
"Another door won't hold them much longer than the first would." Garet pointed out. "Why do you not reveal yourself, Lord-Commander?"
That had been Jon's first instinct. Confront the traitors, reveal that he had survived in spite of their actions after Thorne had already confessed…
And trust the rest of the Watch to act accordingly?
Jon was ashamed to admit it, but that kind of thinking was what had gotten his family slaughtered time and time again. He was not Robb Stark, he would not suffer for thinking too much of someone simply because they were sworn to his service. Nor was he Ned Stark, who walked into a pit of vipers so woefully underprepared that he was executed with his own sword less than a year into his tenure.
He would not fall like them. He not trust so casually again.
"Because I'd rather wait until an army stands beyond the gates, ready to break in and slaughter every last mutineer in this castle." Jon replied. "If I appear now there is nothing stopping Thorne from killing me again. You've all told me how easily the rest of the garrison sided with him."
"They all believed you dead-"
Jon strode forward and hissed. "And when Lord-Commander Mormont was murdered we did not reward his killers. We did not elect Karl Tanner or Rast. This is not some Dothraki Khalassar and my being dead should not have stopped every one of them from falling upon Thorne with sword in hand if they stood by the oaths they took."
"To be a shield for the realms of man." Garet nodded slowly, remaining calm in the face of Jon's simmering rage. "And how many outside of those who went with you to Hardhome know what they are defending from? Lord-Commander, we all saw the enemy and gods help us, we can't ever forget them. That is why we supported your decision, but many of these men…the only enemy they know are the Wildlings."
He was right. Damn him.
"That is why I won't have every one of their heads." Jon took a step back, feeling Ghost move up to his side. "Just those who aided Thorne. Then I'll show the rest what we saw at Hardhome and there will be no claims of ignorance to defend further treachery. We wait until the Free Folk arrive, or until that door falls in before I reveal myself."
Jon nodded towards the open doorway. "That's why I want you all back in there if the worst happens. If help doesn't come…"
He would cut down anyone who tried to keep him from Ser Alliser, further depriving the Watch of badly needed manpower just so he could sate his thirst for vengeance.
"…I'll have no one die for my sake." Jon said, resolute. "Not today."
Xxx
"You know that blood will be shed, no matter what you do." The Stranger's stare reminded Jon so much of his father, calling him back to the lessons where the Lord of Winterfell personally took to tutoring him and Robb on the intricacies of ruling, be it a grand castle, humble holdfast or all of the North.
Ned Stark never had the patience to mince words or cast a world tinted by roses. The Quiet Wolf only ever spoke the blunt and honest truth, and damned however bad it might be.
If this man was who Jon thought he was…or once had been, that trait was undoubtedly hereditary.
"But I can make sure that as little as possible is shed." Jon countered, able to speak with impunity in the howl of the not-winds, assures by his passenger that in the confines of what they knew to be the Wraith World only they would be audible to one another. "The Watch is already undermanned."
"And ill equipped." The Stranger snorted, gesturing to the outlines of racks of weapons surrounding them. "Steel. Forged by the hands of ignorant Andals. Made for killing other men, not for slaying the dead. No dragon glass, no protective runes, no Augur, three of nineteen castles manned…dare I even wonder what this order has done to misplace everything else that was gifted to it? They've done a
marvellous job of squandering the lion's share so far."
"Save your resentment for another time." Jon glowered and tapped one gloved finger on the black crystal laying on the table between them. "The Augur. With no Lord-Commander, how do we make it work?"
"Without one, its power is limited." The Stranger replied. "But…not all of its functions are dependant on a Lord-Commander's presence. There is one way that it may aid us."
"How?"
"It may appoint an interim commander until a true successor is elected." The Stranger held out a hand towards it. "Do as I do, Jon Snow."
Xxx
It was a sign of the world going mad that Eddison 'Dolorous' Tollett could walk into a Wildling camp filled with all manner of savages, giants, wargs and feral beasts not seen south of the Wall in centuries and walk back out at the head of an army. Any fears of being cut down upon approaching the encampment were put to rest when he recognized that the Thenn were maintaining order.
Nobody liked them north or south of the Wall, but they were the closest thing to an organized group with a leader akin to a Lord, and the Magnar of Thenn's word was not easily challenged, even when it was to prevent any Wildling with half a grudge and half a bottle of liquid blind courage from sticking the first Crow they saw. Edd and Alys were brought to Tormund Giantsbane and Magnar Sigorn where they told of what happened. The mutiny, the attempt on Jon's life, his miraculous survival in spite of severe wounds, his orders.
Sigorn, shown to be as reluctant as Alys was with the arrangement, quickly came to like how fierce his betrothed turned out to be, particularly when she took a knife to the knee of the first man who tried to touch her on the way through the camp. He required little convincing in honouring his pledge to marry her and grant her the aid of every fighting man and spear wife under his command. Tormund had already gone about gathering (or clobbering) as many war chiefs as he could into forming an army and marching north as fast as possible.
And now Edd marched with five giants, two hundred Thenn warriors, another hundred of their spear wives and five hundred others from assorted tribes who agreed only on one thing: they owed the King Crow their lives and were set on repaying that debt. He had no worries about overwhelming Castle Black's southern facing (and he tried not to chuckle every time he thought about it) defences, not when one giant could knock down every wall and demolish the castle with its bare hands.
They were close now, just waiting for when the sun dipped down far enough that it wouldn't give their approach away too far in advance. There were no fires, no boasting or fighting, just a grim silence as they remained out of view from the Wall, concealed in the forests near Castle Black.
"Six, you said?"
"At least." Edd nodded. "All in his chest, blood still fresh."
Tormund snorted. "That pretty little bastard's sturdier than he looks then." He returned his attention to a flask of wine, kindly donated by the Thenns currently occupying Karhold in the name of King Stannis, but found that it didn't quite match up to his preferred drink: good old fermented milk of a mammoth or genuine northern mead. "You southrons have shite tastes."
"From what I'm told, that was some of Cregan Karstark's." Edd took the flask from him and tipped a mouthful down his throat and grimaced. "…who had shite tastes even by my standards, apparently, and I've been living off mottled goat's milk for gods' sakes."
Tormund snorted out a soft laugh. "Walk with us long enough and we'll show you some fine drink, make a real man o' you yet."
Before Edd could find what would pass for a polite refusal among Freefolk, they were interrupted when a man scrambled through the bushes, shaking snow off of low hanging branches as he stopped next to the small gathering. "Giantsbane! Something's got the skinchangers acting up." Hissed the man, one of the forward scouts assigned to escort the precious few wargs in their company. "Talking something about a tree."
Tormund gave the man an unimpressed stare, looked around and gave an exaggerated wave of his arm at their surroundings. "Which one?" He grunted, eliciting some chuckles from those sitting close by.
The scout realized his mistake and shook his head. "They're saying they see a Heart Tree sticking right up out of Castle Black."
This got the warchief's attention. "I've been there, there isn't." He said bluntly, but was rising to his feet. "Show me."
Edd followed them to where the trees began thinning out, just within sight of the castle. From here Edd could identify the familiar shapes of each tower and storehouse, even spot the elevator being lifted up towards the fortifications atop the Wall…but he could plainly see nothing to suggest that a godswood had sprung up all of a sudden.
"I can see it through my hawk!" One of the wargs insisted. "Great and tall, green and blazing with life!"
"I could hear them." Another said wistfully, tears brimming in her eyes. "The gods, I could hear their song. But only through my other skin!"
All of them made the same claim with no differentiating details: a great Heart Tree was visible through the eyes of their partnered animals, towering over the highest structures of Castle Black. Several who had been scouts in Mance Rayder's army insisted they hadn't seen it before their attempt at breaching the Wall.
"What do you make of it?" Edd asked after Tormund, sick of hearing the same thing over and over, stormed away.
"Make o' it? I don't fuckin' like it, that's what I make o' it." Tormund growled. "Used to be you'd never find me with a Skinchanger, 'less they had breasts too big to fit in one hand. We never trusted them, then Mance brought them all in and made them useful. It's magic, and I've had my fill o' magic since before Hardhome. It changes nothin', we storm the castle by night."
Edd had no cause to complain, but had intended to ask more. His words died in his throat as he felt a warmth spread outwards from his heart and all throughout his body. Tormund sword and recoiled away from him, drawing his jagged sword as other Freefolk exclaimed in shock. Edd tried to ask the, what was wrong, but he could not move his lips nor draw breath…
Brothers of the Watch! The time has come for one to lead you once more!
"Tormund! The crows! They're all- gods, what the fuck?!"
A new Lord-Commander must be chosen to spearhead the fight against the true enemy.
"What's happening to him?!"
"His eyes!"
Edd couldn't see them anymore. His hearing went next. All was drowned out by a thousand voices clamouring over one another, crying out in disharmony.
Alliser Thorne! Cotter Pyke! Denys Mallister!
What has happened?!
But we have a Lord-Commander!
Knives flashed in the dark. Edd was face to face with Jon, holding one.
"For the Watch." He said in a voice that was not his, tears spilling down his cheeks.
TRAITORS! OATH BREAKERS!
They had to! He let the Wildlings through!
They aren't the real enemy you stupid whoresons!
I was at Hardhome! I saw the enemy, and I saw the Lord-Commander face them!
They're raiders! Reavers! Little better than the Ironborn! They'd pillage and murder for a thousand miles!
He betrayed the Watch!
He was saving it you damned fool of a cunt!
Silence, all of you!
A voice of reason and seniority. Edd had never met Cotter Pyke in person, but he knew for a fact who was calling for order.
Lord Cotter, what is this sorcery!?
I can't block it out…so many voices! I keep seeing things, hearing them!
I was holding the knife…but I couldn't have. I'm in the Shadow Tower!
Silence! Cotter Pyke thundered. Where are Alliser Thorne and his conspirators to account for these actions?
A thousand harmonious voices answered him.
No oath breakers may be included in this gathering. They have forsaken their vows, so too have they forsaken any right to take part. The time for judgement shall come, but first you must appoint a new Lord-Commander. Be swift, else we shall choose for you. We have bridged your minds to allow you all to be informed of relevant facts surrounding these events
Lord Cotter. Edd managed to make his voice be heard and made sure to conduct himself as befitting one addressing their superior, even if they were somehow communicating form hundreds of miles away. I am Eddison Tollett of Castle Black. Lord-Commander Snow lives, and the Free Folk have leant us aid in bringing Thorne to justice.
He could see himself, standing upright and staring vacantly at Castle Black. His eyes emitted a silver glow and several Free Folk surrounded him, trying to shake him awake. The rest were flooding over the paltry battlements of Castle Black while Wun-Wun was pushing the gate open with casual ease.
Wildlings!
They're taking the castle!
I can't move! I can't get back to my body!
We're all stuck here until we choose, it would seem. Cotter Pyke said grimly. But if Lord-Commander Snow lives, why must we appoint a replacement?
He who is known as Jon Snow was Lord-Commander, but is no longer. His watch has ended, though he draws breath in spite of this. He is now beyond life and death and cannot continue his service.
Many clamoured for answers, and even Pyke could not bring them to be silent this time.
Edd couldn't believe it. Jon was alive, the picture of health despite his brush with death. He wasn't a Wight either, Edd had the image of blue eyes burned so coherently into his mind that he'd never fail to spot one from a mile away until his dying day.
Yet when he found himself viewing Castle Black's interior as a disembodied observer, Jon looked as if he was a torch of wild fire when he stepped into view.
And with the look of murderous rage he had in his eyes, he may as well have been a demon straight out of the lowest of the seven hells.
Xxx
"What's happened to them?!" Bowen Marsh looked frantically around the yard at the rest of the assembled Brothers, all of whom were staring ahead with a ghostly sheen emanating from their eyes, totally unresponsive.
"Forget that!" Thorne snapped, hurrying up the steps towards the gate house. "We're under attack!"
They could hear hundreds of battle cries out beyond the wall. He risked glancing out and barely pulled back as a dart sang through where his head had been. He'd done a quick count and found that he now had fewer than ten men, including himself, to call to arms.
They were all the men who had helped him in assassinating Snow.
"What do we do?!" Yawryck cried out.
"We fight to the last!" Thorne barked, drawing his sword and spotting young Olly with a bow in hand, arrow nocked and drawn back.
The boy might have been more than a good shot, but he made the mistake of exposing himself to a number of archers who had decades of experience over him and didn't hesitate to put it to use in clearing the walls, covering those who hurried up ropes secured by hooks tossed up over the palisades. Olly was riddled with five arrows in short order, releasing his own far off target as he was thrown back and tumbled back over the edge, plummeting to the yard below with a strangled cry.
Something was banging against the gate below. Forms were already flooding over the battlements, cutting down the few who stood to meet them. Thorne cut down one on his way back down, beating a hasty retreat to regroup with his few remaining comrades, including Yawryk and Marsh.
The gates swung in, the beam dropped across them snapped like a delicate twig. A Hiant stormed through with a roar and brought with it a larger crowd of Wildlings. They stopped short after cornering Thorne and his co-conspirators on the central platform where the elevator was. Weapons were held up and snarling faces shouted threats and insults, yet they were held back by a single gesture from the leader of this rabble: the Giantsbane himself.
"You fucking bastards." Thorne hissed. "You fucking Wildling bastards!"
Tormund cracked a ghost of a smile. "You've got a real thing for bastards, Crow."
Thorne bristled. "Castle Black as stood for thousands of years against you and yours. You'll never hold it!"
"It did stand." Tormund agreed. "Until you. And I think we'll manage, with or without spilling a little more Crow blood."
He wouldn't surrender. He couldn't. Not after everything he'd done, nor would he dignify this with a mummer's farce of a trial, if there even was one.
"I'll never-"
"Alliser Thorne!"
Silence fell over the yard, and Thorne felt his heart skip a beat.
There's no way. He's dead. We saw him die.
His eyes slowly wandered to the staircase to the second floor of the store house. Standing at the top, he saw Jon Snow glaring at him with an intensity which made him think of the ferocious wolf packs he'd encountered beyond the Wall over the course of his service. A burning, ferocious rage was concealed behind the younger man's dark eyes and stoic expression, manifesting more visibly in the slow, deliberate steps he took down to the yard. Each foot fall echoed through the yard as all eyes remained locked on him, some only breaking this stare when they took notice of Ghost following his master down.
Yarwyk's lips quivered open, half formed words and questions spilling out only to be lost amidst stutters. Thorne heard at least two of the men behind him drop their weapons and another whisper a prayer to the Seven.
Jon stopped in front of the mutineers, Longclaw held at his side. For a few moments there was total silence all throughout the castle.
Then, Jon held his arms out to his sides. "Perhaps one of you might wish to try again?" He invited.
"How?" Thorne couldn't bring himself to say anymore than that, and he could barely gather the breath for the single word.
"No?" Jon slowly lowered his arms. "Then let's put an end to this. Throw down your weapons or be cut down where you stand."
There was a clatter of swords against the ancient wood planks behind Thorne before he felt his fingers go limp, dropping his blade at his feet. Several hands grasped each of the mutineers and held fast, though none of them offered resistance.
Tormund emerged from the sea of fur and leather clad figures. "Snow!"
"Tormund, have them taken the Ice Cells." Jon commanded, finally turning away from Thorne.
"What of the rest?" Tormund motioned to the immobile black brothers.
"Leave them." Jon shook his head. "They remained true to their oaths, and now they need a little time."
Some more than others, but now he would have a way to identify the direct participants of Thorne's mutiny.
"If you find any other brothers who are not in this state, assume they're in league with Thorne." Jon added. "Give them one chance to surrender."
"And if they don't?"
"Then they've wasted their one chance for mercy."
Once, Tormund would have grumbled and griped over being given orders, least of all from a Crow younger than his own sons and prettier than his daughters. But this was no ordinary Crow, so he relayed the orders and set his people to work on manning Castle Black.
It never occurred to him to even feel pleased at how much easier it had been to take the ramshackle fort than his first ill fated attack.
Xxx
He's alive!
Such light…everything else- everyone else looks so dim.
Did you hear him? He knows about…whatever this is!
Did he make it happen? Is this his sorcery?
Would you thick headed fools hurry up and vote already?! I was taking a piss off the wall when this happened and I'm not letting my cock freeze off!
Gods, seriously?!
Just fucking vote!
Who do we vote for?
Cotter Pyke, who else?!
What about Denys Mallister?
I don't care who, just vote!
What if I want to throw my name in?
Fucking. Vote. Now!
Oh gods old and new, my balls are probably about to fall off!
Eddison Tollett had already cast his vote, yet it appeared that he was still doomed to remain party to this debate.
He just prayed that someone remembered to keep him warm until he was released.
Xxx
Thousands of miles away, one Samwell Tarly was briefly awoken by strange, fogged dreams and sent running to the edge of the ship ferrying him south. With some help from Gilly he was able to get back to sleep in spite of the constant rocking.
When Gilly woke him the next morning, excited at the prospect of sighting Oldtown, he didn't even remember his restless dreams at all. He prepared himself for what awaited him on shore, knowing that his task would not be as easy as it might sound.
Information on dragon glass deposits, texts concerning the White Walkers and the Long Night. He recited in his head. All this while studying to become a Maester.
On their own these tasks would have hardly been trouble for him, but they brought him so close to home. Too close for comfort. He didn't relish the idea of being anywhere near is father after how they parted ways, even after facing things far more terrifying than Randyll Tarly and his petulant pride. But the mere memory of that utter monster of a man was still enough to make Sam want to go back and face White Walkers, dragon glass be damned.
The things I do for the-
Samwell felt a pulsing ache in his skull and reached up to rub his temple as he emerged onto the deck of the ship.
For…the Watch.
Xxx
End of Chapter