Chapter IX: Dire as a Wolf
"He pulled out that sword
And out the blood flowed
He gripped that red sword
And down the tears poured
He swung that fiery sword
And his cries he ignored
He clenched that bright sword
And the daaaaaay was hiiiiiis rewaaaaaaard," Aegon finished, drawing out the last bits of the song, as was his wont. He let the silence sit for a moment; Lemore always said that a song was most effective if the listener had some time to reflect on its words, and he agreed most heartily. His mount continued to trudge through the snow, and he heard the creaking of carts and wheels all about him. Finally, he turned to the man he was riding alongside.
"You're good," Dareon said, tone appreciative. "Damned good, even. You said you been singing since you were a child?"
Aegon nodded.
The black brother scratched his chin, nodding as well. "Well it's clear to anyone with an ear. That's natural talent that is. But what is that song? I've heard a thousand songs, and never heard nothing about no fiery sword."
Aegon was taken aback. He looked to the other nearby black brothers with a questioning glance. There was a similar lack of recognition amongst their gazes as well. "You've never heard of Azor Ahai, truly?"
"A zor a what now? Is that the name of the sword?" Calum, an older black brother asked with half a chuckle. "Stupid name for a sword."
Aegon sputtered. "No! The sword is called Lightbringer, Azor Ahai is the man's name. He's…" he paused, struggling to come with a concise explanation. "… Everyone in Essos knows of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer, even those who don't pray to Rh'llor. He's the most esteemed hero there is on the other side of the Narrow Sea."
Dareon suddenly smacked a fist to his palm, "Ah! So a bit like the Last Hero you mean."
Thinking back to his lessons with Haldon, he vaguely recalled something about a legend of the First Men, but not enough to truly say, so it was Aegon's turn to shock the sworn brothers. He shook his head.
Calum roared and Dareon struck his side half-heartedly. "What do they teach you in those frilly Free Cities?" Calum shouted. "Not knowing the Last Hero! Bah!"
Dareon smirked, but offered up an explanation "He fought the Others, it's said, and turned back the Long Night. But I like this Azor Ahai too. Stabbing his own wife to save the world from darkness. Very dramatic!" He laughed.
Dareon was a trim and handsome youth, with flaxen hair shorn short and hazel eyes that glittered with laughter. He filled the air with songs as often as the other brothers would let him, and Aegon had approved. Calum, meanwhile, was as dark and hard as most of the other black brothers, but beneath that exterior, he was as prone to japes and jokes as any man was.
Most of the men of the Night's Watch Aegon had stricken up conversation with seemed decent enough men, truthfully. He had known better men and he had known worse men. They were men with all of their sins and all of their virtues.
The Wall glittered in the sunlight as Aegon and Dareon swapped the tales of the respective heroes. The brothers liked to say that the Wall "wept" on warm days, and it was a good description in his opinion. Despite the snows that had marked the beginning of the journey, the weather had been remarkably sunny and warm (or as warm as it got at the Wall) since. The Wall had been dripping glittery blue tears near every day.
Their path from Eastwatch to Castle Black had never wound far from the Wall itself. Conditions forced them to take somewhat less direct paths at times, but the Wall was so massive that it was always in view. It was such a constant that Aegon eventually began to forget it was even there. He'd spend some time riding and singing or trading stories, then turn, and realize once again that the Wall was there; it was there and absolutely tremendous. It was like living with a bear or some other great beast, as many wealthy magisters did. After a while, you forgot that it was strange in the first place, until you gave it some thought and remembered that a man-killing beast was sleeping on your expensive rug.
As it turned out, there were more than a few similarities in the stories of the Last Hero and Azor Ahai. Both featured swords in some capacity, though the Last Hero's was broken in two, and Lightbringer was aflame.
"Personally, I'd chance it with the fiery sword," Calum had said, chortling.
The circumstances of the great darkness were somewhat different (and much more detailed in Dareon's telling of the Last Hero), but they both featured prominently. Rh'llor himself featured in the story of Azor Ahai, but no god or gods made themselves known to the Last Hero or his companions. All told, it was a grim tale.
Aegon had spent a bit of time teaching Dareon the words of Azor Ahai's song, but had mostly wiled the day away talking of this strange Essosi tradition, or that odd personage from the Free Cities, and listening to Calum and Dareon's tales of Westeros in turn. The sky was beginning to darken when they finally caught sight of Castle Black.
Like Eastwatch before it, Castle Black was something of a horror. No walls protected it, but Aegon knew the stories as to why this was the case. It was ramshackle, even from a distance. A handful of towers rose from its sorry collection of old stone keeps and halls. One tower reached near a third of the way up the Wall but was in visible disrepair. If this was the state of the headquarters of the Night's Watch, then Ser Alliser's grim outlook seemed more reasonable than ever.
Dareon took a deep breath, inhaling the chilly air with apparent relish. "Ah, Castle Black," he said. "Feels like I'm coming home. Assuming that it's home if I hated every minute I spent there o' course."
"So just like home then, eh?" Calum said with a snort.
Aegon smirked despite himself.
By the time they were nearly upon what passed for a gate to the castle itself, Aegon had pulled to the front of the line of carts. Jon and Lemore had spent much of the journey at the fore, while he and Duck had ventured up and down the line freely. Duck met them there shortly. Jon's face betrayed a worry not unlike Ser Alliser's, and Aegon saw a similar emotion in Lemore's face as well.
He knew what Jon was thinking. 'This is a fool's errand,' I'd wager. But a king had to be foolish at times. They had to be everything a common man was and more, and if that meant he must needs take risks, then so be it. The Night's Watch was in a pitiable state, that was certain, but there was a reason his dreams had called him here.
"They appear understaffed," Jon said, his tone flat.
And it was true, there were few men in the yards. Braziers burned here and there; most of the visible movement in the castle seemingly came from the smoke wafting up from the fires.
"It only stands to reason," Lemore replied. "Half their men went out on that ranging, or so they told it."
"Aye, but to see it as it is," said Jon, shaking his head, "I never would have thought this possible."
The Night's Watch had been an afterthought in his learning. He had learned much and more of the history of the Seven Kingdoms. He had learned of these kings and those kings. The Kings of the Rock, the Gardener Kings, even a handful of the Kings in the North to some extent. He had learned much and more of the Blackfyres and their six rebellions, and which lords and lands had been more likely to stand for one side of the other. He had learned much about the Dornish and their wars against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, as well as Daeron I's final incorporation of Dorne into the realm, and the aforementioned Blackfyre Rebellions that followed. He had learned of Blacks and Greens, and the horrors that dragons wrought on man and dragon alike, as the Targaryen dynasty tore itself to shreds in the brutal Dance.
Haldon, Lemore, and Jon had taught him so much of the realm that was his. It had filled his years easily, and he knew there was yet more that could fill it long into his future. But what he had belatedly realized was that precious little had been taught about the Night's Watch. Everyone knew of the Wall, and everyone knew that wildlings lurked beyond it. Giants had lumbered about in the lands north of the Wall once, though they were long dead. The Night's Watch did little, if their exclusion from most of his lessons was a commentary on their importance. Every so often, there was a King-Beyond-the-Wall, and every so often the Watch aided in putting them down.
Otherwise, he only ever heard them mentioned when a rogue knight or lord was not simply killed for his treasons. Those lucky ones would be sent to the Wall, and most oft, there their stories ended.
But beyond those skilled, if traitorous, few, what went to the wall was thieves, poachers, rapers, smugglers, and whatever else.
"How often did you hear of men going to the Wall voluntarily, father?" Aegon asked, his meaning clear.
"Without threat of death or mutilation?" Jon asked, to which Aegon nodded. Their horses took tired steps toward Castle Black. "Rarely. Most knights and lords would rather have served the rest of their days as a master at arms, steward or some such."
"Did anyone in your family ever serve on the Wall?" He asked.
"No. Not in my lifetime at least, and probably my father's as well," answered Jon.
Aegon frowned. "Then if knights and lords are the best of us, how could the Watch do anything but decline if none will go?"
Jon hadn't gone to the Wall. He'd been exiled when he had failed to eliminate the Usurper. He would have been allowed to join the Watch had he demanded it, but he had chosen to go to Essos. Jon was a mighty knight and an able commander; he would have served the Watch well, but he had not gone. Aegon glanced sidelong to Duck.
"Don't be sore," Duck jeered, though there was a decided lack of venom. "I didn't go either, Griff." Duck had risked his life escaping the Reach and fleeing to a foreign land. He hadn't had the security of a former king's Hand or a lord. He hadn't been formally exiled. Near every man had the option of joining the Watch when they committed a crime, but he too had chosen exile. And he certainly hadn't been among the best of men then.
If Aegon wasn't who he was, would he go the Wall? Would he raise his sons and see his daughters wed, tend to his family and have it flourishing if he could help it, and then, when he should have the time to enjoy the fruits of his labors, instead spend the rest of his days here in this cold? Would he have done that?
Eastwatch had not been hellish, and Castle Black did not truly look it either, but the conditions were undoubtedly poor. And he had seen and talked to men who had spent years here. He witnessed and felt what the Wall did to men.
But even after all these considerations, if he, in his twilight years, went to join the Watch, how much of a boon was an old knight or lord, truly? Disquieted, Aegon fell in alongside the man who had been his father. It was hard to blame him for choosing Essos.
A lone black rider met them as they passed onto the grounds of Castle Black. The black brothers among them must have been plain enough to the men stationed within to signal that they weren't a band of brigands or raiders. Still, he was glad they at least sent a man out to make sure. He was a small man, with common brown hair and great big ears. He looked about Aegon's own age, though he might have been north or south of it with the boyishness of his countenance.
"Who goes there?" the man asked, back straight in an attempt at appearing imposing.
By then, Calum had made his way to the front of the column as well, being something of a senior brother among the batch that had been sent with them from Eastwatch. "Come off it boy, it's plain that they're with us," the older man growled.
"Aye, shove off Pyp," Dareon called from further back.
'Pyp's' eyes flicked back and forth from Calum to Dareon and all between, clearly nonplussed. "You know how the Ol' Pomegranate is, he likes to know the goings-on!" He said, mastering his tone.
"Old Pomegranate?" Calum asked. "I haven't been back here in years, how should I know how some man likes it?"
"The Lord Steward I mean; the Lord Commander made him castellan before he left. And he's been right edgy since–"
Jon finally cut in, his voice easily projecting authority, "We are friends to the Watch. The Lord Steward has nothing to fear; we come bearing goods and seeking news."
The man called Pyp appeared quizzical, "News? Well we got plenty of that."
"Really, what?" Aegon asked, unable to contain his curiosity. It earned him a somewhat reprimanding stare from Jon.
"Well, I s'pose plenty is the wrong word," Pyp said, unbothered by his interjection. "But we have news, and I'm afraid it isn't good. The great ranging has been attacked."
It was no time at all before they were brought before the Lord Steward himself, a man named Bowen Marsh. Having partaken in a pomegranate or three in his time, Aegon found that it was an apt moniker for the castellan of Castle Black. Round, red, and flustered, the man appeared about ready to burst, though Aegon wasn't especially keen to discover what juices would spill out.
They had been ushered through a large oaken door, studded with bolts that showed clear signs of age. Pyp (Pypar, in truth, he had told them) himself had brought them up the winding tower's stairway and into the warm solar. Rolls of parchment and countless bottles of ink seemed to cover every surface of the room, as if it were a bizarrely academic moss on an old rock. There was some order to it, but Aegon could not decipher it.
Bowen Marsh sat behind a large writing desk, his face near as red as the fire that roared in the hearth.
"Thank you Pyp," the man said. "Return to your duties."
The younger steward made a face, but duly acquiesced and quickly shuffled out of the room.
The Lord Steward cast aside a parchment and stood up from his desk. He gestured to the number of chairs that had been set out. "Please, sit," he said. It was not an unkind voice, but there was some steel beneath the pleasant hum.
Haldon sat near Lemore, while Jon took the seat closest to Bowen Marsh. Duck sat in the furthest seat, and Aegon took the one next to him. It was only appropriate that a knight's squire sat beside him, after all. As the foremost of their party, Jon offered introductions.
"I am Griff," he said. "And the boy is my son." Aegon bristled a bit. He had been a man grown for well over a year now… "His instructors: Haldon." A nod. "And Septa Lemore." A smile and a brandishing of her pendant (as if her habit wasn't enough). "And Ser Rolly Duckfield, who is teaching my son in the ways of knighthood." Aegon laughed internally, though Duck played the part well at the moment.
The Lord Steward looked from one to the next, taking in each of them. "Cotter Pyke had word sent ahead of your coming," he said, once Jon was done. "And as the Lord Steward, I would personally thank you for your contributions to the Night's Watch. I know better than near any man how direly the Watch lacks for supplies." Bowen Marsh inclined his head to Jon, and then his eyes scanned over each of the rest of their party. He lingered on Lemore. "It is not often we have women on the Wall, as I am sure you noticed at Eastwatch."
Marsh let it linger, but they all caught the underlying message. Lemore would have one of them nearby during their stay here, that much was certain. While Aegon didn't think the sworn brothers likely to assault her, Jon thought differently. He was always wary, but Aegon supposed that was what had gotten him through the turbulent years of Aerys' reign.
"Might I ask of the news of the ranging?" Jon asked. "Your men made mention of it, but I would hear it from a high officer. Tales have a way of growing in the telling."
Aegon saw the red of the Lord Steward's face pale to a dull pink and the firm line of his mouth fall slightly. "We received the ravens soon after you left from Eastwatch I'd gather. The men had been camped at the Fist of the First Men, far to the north, for some time. There had been some word of further expeditions with smaller parties, but we had not heard anything definitive as to the wildlings' intent... Then a raven arrived with news of an attack upon the Fist."
They had heard all of this in one way or another (Pyp was talkative), but it was still something of a shock. Haldon leaned forward. "Were the wildlings making their move?"
"We know little and less of who led the attack… or how many now lie dead for that matter," Marsh replied grimly. "Maester Aemon believes that the message was written long before the attack, so that in the event of an engagement, ravens might be dispatched at once. As such, the letter is vague."
The mention of his distant relative nearly made him jump. He's alive, he thought, I will meet another Targaryen then. He knew he would one day meet his Dornish family, but after the disappearance of Daenerys, Aegon had thought he might never meet a living Targaryen until he had his own children.
"And there were no further messages?" Jon asked, jogging Aegon from his thoughts.
Marsh began to shake his head, but stopped suddenly. "It could be said that we received more messages…" He chuckled darkly, with no trace of real humor. "The ravens came to us in force only a short time after the first raven had arrived. But the messages they bore were blank. Naught a word on any of those godsdamned birds. We have received nothing else."
The great bulk of the Watch's fighting men might already be dead or dying then. This… this was somehow worse than he'd been expecting. Alliser had impressed upon Duck the Night's Watch's need, he knew, but in that village on the Bay of Lorath, even with bright blue eyes boring into his brain, he had not thought it could be as bad as it had turned out to be.
As a squire, he knew most here in the Seven Kingdoms would look less kindly on him speaking out of turn. He could play roles, for he'd played them all his life, intentionally or not. I came here for a reason. Aegon spoke up. "So, it could be the Others, then? And not the wildlings?"
The Others were used frequently as a curse word by men and women from Westeros. He'd seen the way men of Essos would stare unknowingly at their mention, but even among Westerosi, it was something of a lesser curse, at least in his experience. But here and now, with the men of the Watch, the word was almost never heard. Here it wasn't just a curse anymore, here it was a reality. And men seemed to fear that speaking their name might turn the Others' blue eyes to the one whose lips the word had escaped. Aegon's question hung in the air like a miasma.
Finally, the Lord Steward stood, almost laboriously. His brown eyes bored into Aegon's own. "Aye. It could be."
Aegon traded glances with everyone else in the room. Haldon was calculating, Duck nervous, Lemore worried, and Jon… Jon he couldn't define. There was a bit of everything in his sharp blue eyes. But Aegon could see the man he'd grown up idolizing. He could see the mighty warrior and the loving father. He could see determination.
"Did you see them, Lord Marsh?" Jon asked. "The Others?"
"Others? No." The Lord Steward took lumbering steps out from behind the desk, stray parchments fell as he squeezed his way past. "But I saw the wights," he said as he neared the fire. "Or what remained of them, at least. I had known the men they'd been before, too. Othor and Jafer. Good men they'd been, and able rangers. Jafer killed five men before he was brought down and burned. Othor would have killed the Lord Commander if it weren't for Snow and his wolf."
Wolf?
"Othor…" Duck said, trailing off. "I saw his hand in Braavos. It still moved. It clawed and scraped and twitched all about in that cage." He shivered. "It gave me nightmares that did."
"And half the men of Castle Black as well," Marsh replied. "I'm sure you heard from Ser Alliser himself about his sojourn to Kings Landing. Aid from the capital is more sorely needed now than ever before." He spat into the fire. "Five kings, and not a one lifted a finger for the Watch."
One did, Aegon thought.
"This is the matter that has drawn us here, in truth," Jon said.
"The five kings?" Marsh asked.
Aegon caught Duck's quick smirk, but Jon managed to keep his face straight. "No. Aid for the Watch."
The Lord Steward turned away from the fire, meeting Jon's gaze and arching an eyebrow. "Beyond what you have already brought then, you mean?"
"While the Night's Watch lacks for much, by both Cotter Pyke's measure and my own observations, what it lacks for most is bodies," said Jon. "Is that a fair estimation?"
"The greatest defenses in the world mean little if there are no men to man them," Marsh answered. "Aye. Our foodstocks are low, and much of our steel is of poor quality, and more men would only compound these issues, but still, we need the men. Even if every man of the ranging returned alive, we would still need for able bodied defenders."
"… What if I told you that twenty thousand skilled swords could be brought here?"
Marsh stood straighter, his eyes wide. "I would ask who? What army, and why?"
Jon's eyes flicked over to Aegon's. Aegon smiled.
"Because this is the war that matters." He saw Haldon, Lemore, and Duck all glance his way, nodding. "If the Wall falls, it will not matter who sits the Iron Throne. And as to who and what army?" Jon took a deep breath. "I speak of the Golden Company."
Bowen Marsh stared. Shock, then comprehension, then confusion all washing across his red face in quick succession. "You said your name was Griff? Who are you, really, Griff?" His eyes seemed to take in Jon anew.
"I am a retired sellsword, and nothing else," Jon said with practiced ease. "…But I have very powerful and influential allies. Allies that would see the realms of men guarded, rather than overtaken by monsters and savages."
Marsh fumbled his way back to his writing desk, his gait somehow even more ungainly than it had been before. When he sat, he took several deep breaths and went about reshuffling some of his parchments, as well as picking up the ones that had dropped to the floor. Suddenly, he jerked. "They would need proof, surely? Else you would not speak in hypothetical."
At that, Jon grimaced. "We had hoped to find that proof might be readily at hand when we made it here. We had heard of the great ranging even in Braavos, but now…" He trailed off.
The Halfmaester took the silence as on opportunity for input. "I admit, I had been skeptical at first," Haldon said. "But I see the fear in which your men have spoken of these wights. The villagers near Eastwatch… they spoke of Others. And they did not lie. These are not the drunken sailors' stories or children's tales. …Perhaps if we saw them ourselves, or better still, if we could get ahold of one of these wights, or even a part of one…" Haldon said, "Surely, it would persuade even the most skeptical of men."
"And the men who wield the greatest influence, veer the most toward skeptical, as your Ser Alliser discovered," Lemore said.
"You mean to range beyond the Wall yourselves?" Marsh shook his head vigorously. "No. Most definitely not. The wildlings might be anywhere in these woods, and even veteran rangers perish routinely north of the Wall. No."
"But–" Aegon started.
Marsh rounded on him, "No. Not until the ranging, or whatever is left of it, has returned, at the earliest. You would not survive without seasoned rangers at your side. Your chances are better if you wait. And I would not have this chance slip through my fingers."
Aegon clenched his teeth. He looked over to the rest of his party. By their unshaken reactions, they seemed to have expected this. If the Father was just, Aegon would never become so jaded.
"In the meantime, I would have you stay here in the King's Tower, as it is fitting for honored guests. There are rooms that have scarce been used in years that I will have made ready."
Jon stood, gesturing for the rest of them to follow. "Thank you, Lord Steward, for your hospitality. With good fortune, the ranging will return soon, and the Golden Company will be fetched while there is time."
Bowen Marsh bowed slightly. "Make yourselves comfortable where you can, I will send for you when your rooms are prepared."
When they left the Lord Steward's solar, Aegon noticed that Lemore had stayed behind. He looked to Jon in askance.
"She has another matter to discuss with the Lord Steward, she will be along shortly." He said, always quick to ward off Aegon's questions.
Later, Aegon managed to peel off Duck for a time, and found Dareon next to a brazier in the primary courtyard, Pyp at his side. Warming their hands at the fire, they seemed surprisingly somber. From what he'd seen of Pyp, he'd seemed amiable enough, and Dareon was ever a conversationalist.
"What's got you so quiet?" Aegon asked as he sidled up.
Pyp looked over, and something flashed over his face. "What's your name again?" he asked.
"Griff," Dareon supplied. "Though everyone calls him Young Griff, on account 'o his father bearing the same name."
"Y'know Young Griff, you look a bit familiar to me," said Pyp.
Aegon froze. Surely Maester Aemon was far too old for there to be any obvious resemblance? Surely! Was there someon–
"Yeah, I know who it is," Pyp continued, "you remind me of Satin." He chuckled.
Aegon breathed more easily. It was just some joke he wasn't party to.
Dareon's face scrunched up. "Who's Satin?"
Pyp rounded on Dareon. "You don't know Satin? W–Oh… Right. He got here after you left. He's the pretty one, with the curly hair. You'll see him around before you leave."
Aegon turned his hands against the fire. It was delightfully warm in the now chillier air. He wasn't looking forward to being here when winter truly arrived… Hopefully by then, they'd have taken care of everything here.
"But to answer your question. We were talking about the ranging."
"Several of our brothers were on that ranging," Dareon added.
"Aren't they all your brothers? Sworn brothers of the Night's Watch?" Aegon asked.
Pyp gave him a hard look. "They're all our brothers, o' course. But some of them were our brothers. Lord Snow and the Aurochs and Ser Piggy."
"We were trainees together," said Dareon. "So if any o' them died on that ranging, I'd think it'd be them. Green boys always go first."
Oh. "Wherever they are, I hope they return," He said in commiseration. It was the best he could do. "…This Lord Snow, is he the one with the wolf, who slew the wight?"
Pyp smiled. "That's him. He's not a real lord. We just call him that because his father was Lord Stark."
"Before they cut off his head." Dareon shook his still attached head.
That Aegon had a harder time sharing in their reverence for. Lord Stark was one of the men who had helped bring about his own family's downfall, however terrible a king his grandfather had been. "So, he's a bastard then?"
The two brothers nodded.
"Like half the Watch," Pyp snickered, "We got Stones and Flowers and Pykes and Snows. Can get 'em ten a penny here at the Wall." He sobered quickly. "Lord Snow was the best of our bunch though, except in singing." Dareon bobbed knowingly. "and he's got a great big dire wolf at his side. Silent as a spirit with red eyes. A good dog that Ghost is."
Aegon supposed it wasn't much different than an average magister with an exotic pet. Many even had whole menageries, really. But here, it definitely felt strange for there to be a man with a wolf. Especially a Stark by blood if not name.
"What is a dire wolf, exactly? I've never seen one." He knew of them. Heraldic symbols of the houses great and small were drilled into him by Haldon, Jon, and even Lemore.
"Most haven't, don't feel bad about it," Pyp said, smirking. "They're just overlarge wolves, if I'm honest. As if wolves weren't big enough as is. Fiendish smart too. Jon could near have conversations with that wolf."
"Jon Snow's his name, then?"
"Uh-huh. And Ser Piggy is Samwell Tarly, and the Aurochs is Grenn."
"I hope I get to meet them all," Aegon said, truthfully. Dareon and Pyp seemed good men. Any friends of theirs could just as easily be friends of his. Even Stark's son.
Without warning, Dareon jolted. "Hey, Griff, tell Pyp that mad story." At Aegon's questioning look, he continued, "The one with the sword, the Lightbringer and all that!"
And so Aegon spent his hours. He knew that Pyp and Dareon were most likely dodging some duty or another. But the Night's Watch was their lifelong duty. They'd have years upon years to fetch this or that, and tend to that crumbling building or leaking wall. If he could be their excuse to have a reprieve for a night, he was happy to provide it. It was the least he could do.
If he could help it, he'd do much more for them. He'd make sure they'd have those years and years to tend to this, or fetch that.
