Jon jolted his ears irritably as the booming sound of several thick iron cauldrons crashing down onto the wooden floor followed by the nasty high – pitched sound of shattering glass assaulted his hearing. He still hadn't quite got used to his newly acquired direwolf sensitivity and couldn't help being annoyed by lights too bright, sounds too loud and smells too strong. And right now the maester's apartments seemed to be filled to the brim with all of them as Clydas, maester Aemon's old steward, and Arne, the former hedge – wizard sent by Thorne to replace Sam as the maester's second steward, were busy tidying up and rearranging the little wooden keep to its new master's satisfaction. But those nuisances were nowhere near annoying enough to make Jon leave the warm sanctuary of the little old keep. He wanted… no… needed to stay here for at least a little while. From the earliest days of his service, the maester's chambers had been a heaven of welcome warmth and wisdom for Jon. An island of calm and propitiation among the gloom, filth and treason of Castle Black, where he could always find genuine, heartfelt friendship and wise council. Although none of his friends were there anymore, the warm and dusty air of the little keep filled with happy memories seemed to calm him down. And calm was what Jon needed most at the moment as his heart and mind were drowning in a vicious concoction of pain, anger, hatred, guilt and regrets… Pain of loss of his brothers, who'd escaped the traitor Greyjoy only to be murdered by the Ice demons just like hundreds of his wildling friends … anger towards Thorne for betraying him not just through mutiny, but by concealing vital information that was alas proving to be crushingly correct… but worst of all, hatred towards himself for being a fool so blinded by his feelings for Ygritte, Mance and Val and Tormund and every other wildling he used to call a friend, he didn't even think of wondering what their quarrel with the White Walkers and the South might really be about… How could he not have thought to ask himself and them what really happened between the wildlings and the Walkers to breach an eight thousand year old peace? How could he not have tried to see things through the eyes of the outsider he was? He didn't know what he could possibly have done differently as there was no question of him abandoning the wildlings to slaughter, and yet… If only he had had the sense to use his head instead of just his heart, he might've come to the same conclusions Thorne did. And if he hadn't been so vain and stupid, he would've learned and listened more instead of playing the hero, who at all times knows best. Ygritte was right… he knew nothing! Now thousands, including himself, were dead because of his ignorance and stupidity and the White Walkers were less than a few days away from the Wall… A barrier that could not stop them…
What in the world was he going to do, Jon thought grievously. He had to do everything in his power and much more to fight the darkness of the Ice, to make amends for his mistakes and to avenge his friends and loved ones… but what could a wolf really do? Fight? That went without saying… Scout? That would be brilliant, except he had no way to really communicate with anyone…
Jon sighed heavily as his stomach sank with a hollow feeling of being all alone without a friend in the world to turn to for council and comfort… How he wished Sam and maester Aemon were still here to guide him! How he yearned to sit down with them in front of the giant stove which provided most of the heat in the maester's chambers and feel the soothing warmth of fire and friendship… But they were gone… and he was dead… and the normally tidy little keep filled to the brim with colored bottles, dried herbs and queer devices was at present being rapidly transformed into a complete mess that looked like a battlefield after a hundred years war. The air was filled with old dust flying out of goodness knows where as beds were being moved, cupboards emptied, instruments revised and every last corner of the keep cleaned and cleaned again on the new chief surgeon's orders. Willem himself was presently scouring the larder, which was just next door to the workroom, taking stock of all the dried herbs and powders and throwing out quite a few, claiming them to be too old, too useless or too something. One huge pile of what Storm deemed to be junk was already sitting right in front of Jon waiting to be thrown away.
Is there going to be a single thing left alone in here, or is he going to throw out everything, until there's nothing left but bare stone walls, Jon wondered with a low angry growl as he watched yet another bottle fly out of the larder, hit the wooden floor with a clang and roll through the doorway. What did the man think he was doing?! Had he no honor or respect?! Seizing control of the measter's keep, uprooting everything and everyone in it, completely disregarding the old routine and previous inhabitants… Of course war, especially a war with the Others was no time for sentimentality, but Jon was still enraged to see many of the old bottles and strange contraptions that used to lie about the apartments when they belonged to maester Aemon being thrown away. Perhaps they really were junk, but to Jon, as well as many others, they were memories. Precious, warm memories of an old, beloved teacher, a mild and quiet hero who'd devoted his life to the Watch and a dear, dear friend…
As if he hadn't lost enough already, it seemed that even memories were to be taken from him, Jon thought bitterly.
"Seven hells" - grumbled old Clydas as he traipsed across the room to fetch a small cauldron that was quickly rolling towards the corner as if trying to escape being stacked and stashed into the cupboard again – "The smallpox on that bastard!"
"Be quiet, you old bat" – hissed Arne, who was busy sweeping the floor.
Well that certainly seems accurate, Jon huffed to himself.
Clydas really did look like an old bat. Or a mole. Ugly as sin, he was short, bald and fat. He had a big round belly, small rounded shoulders, no neck and no chin. His face was all wrinkled with a few warts here and there. His eyes were small and pink, his beard and mustache sparse, his head big and bald, save for a few grey hairs sticking out. Arne, on the other hand was a tall, skinny and reasonably good-looking man in his early twenties. Huge light grey eyes dominated his long, narrow and clean-shaven face. His dark red bushy hair fell messily down to his shoulders.
"Who does that whelp think he is, swaggering about as if he owns the place" – Clydas continued grumbling, completely ignoring Arne as he picked up the little cauldron and slowly made his way back to his cupboard – "Coming in here, making us turn the place upside down..."
"He is the Chief Surgeon of the king's armies" – replied Arne, shrugging his shoulders - "Apparently he's to be in charge of all our maesters as well"
"King's armies, my arse" – the old man huffed irritably – "Our maesters've always been brothers of the Night's Watch. What business does some fuck – knows – who have being in charge?"
Although Jon was grateful to Storm for healing him and didn't doubt his talents, he couldn't help agreeing with old Clydas and wondering if Stannis'd made the right decision in trusting a young man nobody really knew with strange and strong powers no one could understand. Why was he here? What was he truly after? Where did he really learn his craft? Whose was the fire, flowing in his veins? Did Stannis even ask himself those questions? Or did he decide to use the sorcerer's powers to his advantage and just go with the flow? A foolhardy decision… to say the least… One would've thought the king had learned his lesson with the Red Priestess!
But then again… who was he to criticize, Jon thought maliciously. The king was presently alive, with the Red Sword of Heroes in hand and an entire army behind him and Jon himself was dead, treacherously and foolishly murdered by his own men. And although he still had no doubt most of the Red Woman's words and visions were nothing more than lies and smoke and mirrors, she did turn out to be right about Stannis in the end… which made Jon wonder, what would have happened had he heeded her warning instead of thinking he knew best… Or Stannis' warning for that matter…
"Well, times've changed" – Arne sighed heavily as he leaned on his broomstick – "If the Lord Commander says he's in charge, it's not for the likes of you and me to question. We may not like it, but we are men of the Watch and we must obey. Besides, you know as well as I do, we'd all be dead without Stannis and his armies"
"Changes, changes…" – grumbled Clydas - "There's too much damn changing of things that don't need changing around here if you ask me. First that damned king comes with all them foreign sell – swords. Then that wildling – loving little bastard Snow gets the Commander's cloak for no good reason…"
"Hey, Jon was elected fair and square. Maester Aemon himself voted for him. And he deserved it much more than Thorne did!" – Arne replied angrily. He'd always been one of Jon's friends and loyal supporters, from his very first days as a brother of the Night's Watch.
"Aye, and next thing ye' know, he's got himself stabbed to death. Fair or not, the bastard wasn't much of a Lord Commander. And maester Aemon, may he rest in peace, really ought to have known better. Fetching the damned wildlings from Hardhome and letting that damned king do whatever he wants…"
"What was Jon supposed to do, just let the Others take them all?! And Stannis is the rightful king by every law of Westeros, he saved us all and…"
"And no sooner than we got rid of Snow" – Clydas continued his rant, completely ignoring Arne's arguments – "We get ourselves another weird little bastard! That half – maester or whatever he is… coming in here with all them fancy foreign notions, ordering us about, throwing away maester Aemon's stuff and callen' it junk… We've used those herbs for years and we've never needed more than three cauldrons on that damned stove. But no, he's gonna change everything"
"Ssshhhh! He will hear you" – Arne hissed cautiously, turning his head to make sure Storm was still safely in the larder and too busy to listen.
"I don't care if he does!"
"You will care very much when he turns you into a fat old hop – toad. Wouldn't take too much work…" – Arne warned quietly.
"Oh, shut your trap you pea - brain lummox" – huffed Clydas.
"I'm serious" - Arne whispered cryptically – "Have you heard what the sell – swords say about him?"
"No. And I don't want to" – Clydas snorted – "I've got better things to do than waste time on a lot of horseshit those foreign mercenaries spew. Don't trust any of 'em"
Suddenly the sound of floorboards creaking quietly and soft approaching footsteps caught Jon's ear. Storm was obviously done with raiding the larder and decided to eavesdrop on his new stewards, Jon thought and decided to give Arne and Clydas a warning.
"Nothing's been right since that fire - king came to the Wall. And Snow should never have…" – the old man continued, completely oblivious to Ghost's growling.
"Well if you're so smart, how do you propose to fight the Others without the king's help?" – snapped Arne his patience with Clydas growing thin – "Haven't you heard what happened to the poor wildlings? And the rangers believe that it was the Others that caused those storms last night"
"Ain't natural, none of it" – the old man hissed fearfully - "And that red bitch… Locking her up was the smartest thing Thorne ever did in his life. But now that king o'yours is gonna let her out, is he?"
"I don't know" – Arne whispered cautiously – "Lemm the jailor said that Stannis and the maester went down to see her this morning. They didn't leave her cell and Lemm didn't dare to even peek in, but he said they were with her for a while and at the end of it she screamed like she was being tortured."
"Thought you just said they didn't leave the sell" – Clydas replied quietly – "How did they do it, with a rope?"
"No, that's the point" – said Arne, his voice so low it was barely audible – "They had no ropes or anything. Lemm thinks they did it with magic. He thought he saw strange flashes of light that didn't look like fire at all come from under the door as she screamed"
"Serves her right! Burning that wildling to worship that fire – god of hers. I don't like 'em, but if you want 'em dead, hang 'em or chop the damn head off. But where the heck did that…magic thing come from?"
"Remember that shiny sword Stannis had when he first came? Made quite a show of it when they burned the horn. Lightbringer, Lord of Light and all that shit?"
"Aye"
"Well apparently, it was a fake. Now he's found the real one in the old crypts of Winterfell. It shines so brightly it can turn night into day and its fire was strong enough to melt down the whole damn castle. Not burn it out, mind you, melt it. Eight thousand year old solid rock gone to dust in a matter of hours. Not to mention a whole field of frozen corpses at the wildling camp. And as if that wasn't enough, the sell- swords say that the new maester is also some kind of a sorcerer"
"The Seven protect us!" – the old man muttered superstitiously – "First that red bitch and now this. What happened next?"
"No one knows really. After they left, the king ordered that no one was to go down into the dungeons until the priestess came out and Lemm's too scared to disobey" – Arne murmured fearfully – "What did they do to her, I wonder…"
"If you're so curious, would you like me to do the same to you?" – suddenly came the soft, cattish, playful voice of healer Storm.
Jon wished he could laugh out loud at the horrified grimaces the stewards' faces contorted into as they jumped with fright.
Well, he did warn them…Serves them right for not paying attention.
"Don't worry, Arne" – Will continued genially as he sauntered into the room with a cheeky gleam in his eye and a vaguely goofy smile on his face – "You're safe… for now…"
"Apologies, ser" – the young steward muttered, lowering his eyes and trying a little too hard to concentrate on his broomstick. Clydas mumbled something into his little beard and buried his head inside the shelves of his cupboard, also pretending to be very busy.
Who are you really, Jon thought mistrustfully as he watched the healer out of the corner of his eye. He seems a good - natured, jolly, clever young man with the laid – back confidence of a true master of his craft, but there is something strange and rather ominous about him, Jon's direwolf instincts told him. As though he has some part to play in a story that is not yet known to anyone, possibly even him.
What could his role be, Jon wondered. For good or evil? Since Storm was a healer the answer to that might seem quite obvious, but Jon somehow knew that there was more to his apparent open – hearted kindness and healing power. Something illusive and barely detectable even to a direwolf, let alone a human. Something very dark and very powerful… A shadow hiding in the flickering of his light…
As if in response to his silent questions, Jon suddenly began to feel a gentle and rather familiar presence. It was soothing and caressing and warm, as thought the chamber was suddenly being heated by more than just the fire from the ginormous stove. Magic…
"Never mind the 'ser'" – Storm smiled affably as he sat down onto the dusty floor next to Ghost and started stroking his head – "Just plain 'Willem' will do"
Jon wanted to jump up and growl or even bite as Ghost would have done normally. Who the hell did Storm think he was, a little puppydog?! He was a wild direwolf, the king of the forest and the spirit of freedom. No one was allowed to touch him against his will, especially a man he didn't trust or even know. But astonishingly, he didn't even move.
The healer's touch felt strangely comforting and tender, yet firm and sure. The very first stroke of his fingers sent a wave of soothing and invigorating warmth through the wolf's body, calming him, making his muscles relax and his tail wag. And before he knew it, Jon was lying calmly on his belly, almost wanting to whine with pleasure as all the hurt and worry in his heart and mind melted with every stroke of Willem's hand. He felt himself enveloped in an invisible light of safety, sympathy, understanding and tranquility, all his resistance and mistrust dissolved into nothing in a mere blink of an eye. A worrying, but very welcome relief of all his grief and anger…
"Has the priestess' chest been brought up yet by the way?" –Will asked as he scratched Ghost's ear.
"Not yet, maester Willem. Shall I go fetch it?" – Arne replied rather cautiously.
He was obviously still feeling a bit nervous around his new master, but Jon could sense both his and Clydas' tension subsiding and was rather glad to see that Storm's soft and relaxing aura didn't affect him alone. Jon had no doubt the humans could not feel the gentle magic as he did. But it's effect on them must've been quite similar.
Is this is why the normally cold, composed, snide and impenetrable Stannis was so quick to trust the young healer he barely knew, Jon mused as he stretched his paws out comfortably and tilting his head to allow Willem better access to the fur behind his right ear. He didn't feel any magic when he listened to their conversations, but then again, he might have not been used enough to his direwolf senses to detect it. And what of the priestess? Jon doubted Melisandre's powers were anything like Will's, but he remembered all too well how she was able to call Ghost to her.
This should be frightening, he thought lazily as he continued to wag his tail, basking in the delight of the silent power. This weird, ancient force that can do anything it seems, from raising the dead, to healing the wounded and manipulating men's hearts and minds. No wonder the maesters try their best to deny its existence and make the rest of us forget it ever was. It is too strong and we are defenseless against it…
"It's too heavy for one man. We'll go together after you've dealt with that floor"
"And what in the seven hells do you need that abomination for pray?" – grumbled Clydas, who'd grown bold enough to peek from out of his cupboard.
"That abomination contains some very rare and valuable ingredients. Which is more than I can say for that larder" – Will chuckled pointing his thumb at the numerous herbs and bottles, piled up next to him and Ghost.
"Well, what did you expect to see at a godforsaken place like Castle Black?" – Clydas snorted – "This ain't the Citadel, you know"
"Speaking of godforsaken places, I believe there's an abandoned old infirmary on the other side of the castle" – Storm asked as he leaned on a completely relaxed Ghost to make way for Arne who'd gathered a pile of dark – grey dust off the floor and was heading towards the window.
"Aye" – Arne nodded as he opened the shutters – "It's been locked up for many years"
"I'd like to see it. I was told maester Aemon had the keys, but I can't seem to find them anywhere"
"Probably threw 'em into that pile you've got there" – Clydas huffed grumpily – "Think they were somewhere up in the rookery last time I saw 'em. I'll go look for 'em then, shall I?"
"Thanks" – Will nodded affably.
Huffing, puffing and muttering something indistinguishable, old Clydas traipsed slowly out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
"So, what do the sell – swords say about me?" – Storm asked curiously, turning his attention back to Arne – "Oh, come on. I'm sure I'm not half as scary as they describe"
"Well… they say you know how to get rid of bloodpoison. And that you can heal a wound with a single touch" - Arne answered with a curious smile on his long, narrow face, all fear and apprehension obviously gone from his voice and posture – "Some even say you're a skinchanger…"
"Of course I am. I also sprout horns and fur and like to howl at a full moon…" – laughed the young healer.
But the rest of his joke was lost on Jon as a rush of icy wind suddenly swept into the room from the window Arne forgot to close, bringing a faint sound of footsteps creaking in the snow and a whiff of familiar scent. It was strong and earthy, metallic and bloody and leathery. The smell of a ranger. A smell Jon remembered so well, he could hunt it down across time itself. And mixed with it was another odor, still unfamiliar – soft and young, yet with notes of steel and fear…
Calm as he was from Storm's spell, Jon still felt a jolt of deep, primal rage stir in his heart as he realized that the new Lord Commander was walking across the courtyard and his young protégée was with him. Immediately Jon uttered a low growl. Part of his reason for coming to the maester's chambers was to try and avoid Thorne as best he could because the urge to kill was very strong and yet the old bastard seemed to always be too near. Jon felt his direwolf blood stir and speak to him, begging him to attack. To jump out of the window, run his enemies down, bury his fangs in their throats and taste the salty, metallic warmth of life in their veins. They were so near… so oblivious to his presence… the perfect opportunity…
But the serenity of Willem's hands seemed to give his human spirit strength and help restrain the wild wolf's body. He couldn't possibly attack now. He'd most likely die for the second and final time since Thorne was armed and there were plenty around to fight for him. But more importantly, Jon knew he couldn't kill the old ranger. Not with the Others marching on the Wall. Not when Thorne had the wit to present the king with horribly correct and now rather obvious ideas that both Jon and even Stannis had failed to come up with…
"Off with you" – suddenly came a faint sound of the old ranger's deep, rough, husky tones from across the courtyard.
"Aye, Lord Commander" – Olly replied with a slightly bitter note in his voice.
What're you up to now, you scheming bastard, Jon wondered, pricking up his ears.
"And tell Storm that he can do whatever he likes with the old death - house, but he'd better be fully prepared to treat the wounded when we return tomorrow. And you'd better be working your hardest to help him"
Is Olly to be the maester's third steward, Jon thought with surprise. This was certainly a rather unexpected turn of events. Olly'd always been a very observant and capable lad, so why wouldn't Thorne want him as his personal steward? Did he decide an older and more experienced man would be better suited for the job? Was Olly tasked to spy on Storm, whom Thorne knew to be one of Stannis' advisors? Or was it simply that the old ranger didn't trust the little backstabbing bastard, Jon thought maliciously. After all, if the rascal was capable of betraying and murdering a man who'd saved his life and loved and nurtured him like a brother, there's no telling what else he was capable of. Only a fool would trust him and keep him close. And, sadly, ser Alliser was no fool…
"I'll do my best to serve, Lord Commander" – Jon heard Olly mumble.
"Wipe that scowl off you muzzle and be grateful" – rasped Thorne - "It is a privilege to serve as the healer's aid and learn from him"
"I want to fight" – Olly hissed defiantly and a bit resentfully.
Their footsteps stopped and for a moment the courtyard went quiet. Jon pricked up his ears even more, expecting ser Alliser to fly into one of his usual tempers Jon was so familiar with or just order the lad away… But to his surprise after a moment's pause the ranger replied.
"Tell me something, boy" – he said calmly, even affably – "Do you agree with the late lord Snow that the wildlings are the same as us?"
"Of course not, Lord Commander" – the boy answered, his voice angry, but unsure. He seemed taken aback by the question. As was Jon.
"Why are we different?"
"They're thieves and murderers!"
"Look around you" – Thorne replied with a cold chuckle – "Most of our brothers are thieves and murderers. Most of the lords of Westeros are thieves and murderers too. They're also liars, traitors and schemers, who care about nothing but stuffing their pockets with gold and their bellies with wine"
"But…The wildlings're our enemies" – Olly protested – "Have been for years"
"Aye, but that doesn't make them any different from us, does it?" – ser Alliser replied deviously.
If the nasty scraping sounds of Arne's broom sweeping the wooden floor and the thick smell of dust mixed with herbs weren't proof enough that he was awake, Jon'd be biting himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Was that really Thorne outside, calmly talking to a recruit who was questioning his orders instead of just cracking the whip? And explaining what he believed the Night's Watch was really fighting for instead of snarling and insulting everyone around him?
"But… the Wall was built to keep them out" - Olly muttered, not really knowing what else to say.
"Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't" – ser Alliser replied musingly. After last night he wasn't sure what to believe anymore...
"Well?" – the old ranger asked sternly – "Anything else you can think of?"
"No, ser" - Olly replied reluctantly.
"I'll tell you. The answer is simple. It is 'Choice'"
"Ser?" – Olly asked confusedly.
"The choice most of them have been making for thousands of years to do whatever they want whenever they want to do it. As long as they are strong enough to get away with it. Every single wildling believes himself to be too smart, too good and all – sufficient to answer to anyone, so they respect nothing but strength, follow no laws and have no discipline. That is why each one of their little tribes is at war with the rest of the world, why their women have to fight as well as their men, why in eight thousand years they haven't developed any skills to speak of and are still living off raiding villages, killing better men and stealing what they had made. We, southerners have chosen a different way of life. We have cast aside that stupid, unearned pride and embraced the fact that a man can only be good at so many things. It takes all kinds of men to make the world and to succeed we have to work together. Lords, warriors, peasants, clerks, maesters, merchants and all the rest have their different duties, but all of us, even kings, answer to one thing – the law. And law ensures that every single one of those different men is protected and respected. Regardless of where his strengths lie. At least that's how it's supposed to be. This is called teamwork. And it is a truth tested by time that a team will accomplish things that no man could ever do alone. Our ways and laws may not be perfect, but throughout the centuries we have built up a commonwealth in which every man and woman have their own purpose and their own role and value in the balance of life. That is how every great civilization, from Old Ghis and Valyria to Westeros was built. That is also how the Night's Watch works. Stewards, Builders and Rangers work differently, but together we provide protection for the realm and for each other."
Well, if that what you truly think how come you've always treated Samwell Tarly like a pig, Jon huffed with both contempt and curiosity, wishing dearly he could ask.
"But any team is only as good as it's weakest man. That's why in a perfect world every man should put the good of the team before his own wishes and work his hardest not only to perfect his strengths, but to break down his weaknesses. Which, sadly, few are willing to do. That's why both Westeros and the Night's Watch are such a bloody mess. Do you understand what I'm saying, lad?"
"I think so, ser" – Olly answered meekly.
So do I, Jon thought gravely, hardly believing his ears and cursing Thorne for never having taught all of that to his recruits. He may not have agreed with everything Thorne said, especially about the wildlings' pride and supposed delusions of grandeur, but Jon could not deny that there was a hard core of truth in the old ranger's words. And had he heard and understood the former Master at Arms earlier much would've been different. For both of them…
"Well, good for you. It's more than Snow ever did" – Thorne continued solemnly – "The Night's Watch doesn't defend the Seven Kingdoms just to save the lives of men. What we're fighting for is our chosen way of life. That is why the wildlings are just as much a threat as the Others are. How in the Seven Hells anyone including Snow and Stannis Baratheon could trust them to settle down on the Gift and embrace the Southern way of life after eight thousand years of doing whatever they please and running roughshod over everyone and anyone is beyond me…"
Trusting them was entirely beside the point, Jon wanted to scream. You said it yourself, the wildlings aren't that different. They are men too. And men do not just fight, they also talk. It may not come natural to them, but the wildlings are capable of parlay with their enemies and reaching an understanding. They've proved that by uniting under Mance, by following me through the Wall… They never stopped thinking of you as enemy, yet they found it in their hearts to come to Castle Black and tell you what their warg scouts had seen beyond the Wall. Val never stopped hating Stannis and defying him with every chance she got, but she was still prepared to kneel before his queen… Even you, ser Alliser, were prepared to work with them when you decided to let us through the Wall, you said so yourself… How do you explain that?
Oh, how he wished he could ask and hear the answers, Jon thought, letting out a quiet growl of frustration. How he wished they both hadn't been so stubborn and would've got to know each other better…
Whether it was Thorne's words or Storm's hands or both Jon didn't know, but somehow, he didn't hate the old ranger as much anymore…
"Why did you let them pass, then?" – Olly interrupted impatiently. He obviously wasn't too pleased with Thorne either, Jon noted with a contentment he didn't really want to admit.
"In times of peace I wouldn't have. But when you've got ten thousand men up against millions of wights and goodness knows how many walkers even a couple of thousand wildlings are better than nothing. Not nearly enough to make a difference, but still… worth risking the mayhem they no doubt would cause. And since winter is coming, there's no too big a threat to the Gift"
"Ser?"
"Ask again when you've learned some basic arithmetic" – Thorne said dismissively – "But the Others've seen to them, so…"
"The rumors are true then?" – Olly asked excitedly – "Are they really are all dead, ser?"
"Yes" – ser Alliser sighed heavily – "But that is none of your business. Right now, your concern is to learn everything the maester chooses to teach you. And to do your best to be more of an asset than a liability to the Night's Watch, understood?"
"Aye, ser" – Olly replied spiritedly – "I will work as hard as I can"
"That you will, boy. And you will stop when you're done, not when you're tired" – Thorne added firmly, but rather affably – "Now, scram"
Next thing Jon heard was the sound of snow creaking gently as Thorne turned on his heel and walked away, heading north, most likely towards the Wall, his stride light, but sure, the well – practiced motion of a ranger. A few seconds later came Olly's quick and careless footsteps, running towards the keep. Jon growled and bared his fangs as he heard the heavy doors open. His animosity towards Thorne may have somewhat subsided, but the hurt of Olly's betrayal was still fresh and bleeding and even Willem's spell was not enough to make it better.
Thorne, at least, had been honest in his disdain towards Jon… But Olly… Jon gave the boy everything he could and did the best that he knew how to do for him. He'd loved the little bastard like a brother and was even willing to groom him for command as Mormont had done him… and what was his reward? A malicious lie, a deadly ambush and a stab in the belly! Suddenly Jon wondered whether Olly's affection for him had been fake all along. The boy's devotion had at first seemed to be so genuine and natural, given everything he'd been through in his short life. But then again, as Thorne was no doubt well aware, it was way too easy to feel compassion for a poor orphan, especially one as sincere and single – minded as Olly appeared to be…
The wild urge to kill reared it's ugly head again and was getting stronger by the second as Jon listened to the boy's footsteps drawing closer and closer.
"There, there boy" – Willem said kindly - "Someone is coming to see us, huh? Who is it?"
Jon's answer was a growl that coincided with a quick knock.
"Pardon me, maester?" – Olly said in a quiet, but firm voice as he poked his head in the door – "My name is Olly, ser, the Lord Commander has assigned me to be one of your stewards"
"Yes, he told me about you" – Storm replied with a welcoming smile – "Come in, lad"
"Yes, ser" – nodded Olly as he slowly made his way into the chamber, but decided to stay in front of the door, all the time looking at Ghost fearfully.
Jon bared his fangs and stared intently at the boy, fighting the direwolf killer instinct with all his might. His prey was so near, so defenseless and so afraid, his blood was running wild with thirst…
"Ghost, calm down" – Storm told him soothingly – "What's wrong with you?"
The flowing sound of Willem's voice felt like a cool compress on Jon's feverish forehead. It seemed so soft and gentle, as though woven from silk and velvet, but there was something else hidden in those tender and rich tones, thought Jon as his rage slowly subsided and his human mind was in full control again. It was steel. Hard and cold and merciless. Like a sharp sword, hidden inside a beautiful, velvet – covered scabbard, the healer's voice, so full of wise sympathy and kindliness, was no less commanding and compelling than an officer's roar.
"There's nothing wrong with him, maester Willem" – Arne replied resentfully – "It's only natural for the wolf to hate the scum that killed it's master"
"Excuse me?" – Will said, looking up with surprise.
"That little bastard was one of the traitors that killed our chosen Lord Commander" – Arne said maliciously – "He lured Jon Snow out into the courtyard on Thorne's orders and stabbed him to death with the rest of them"
"Really?" – Will asked, eyeing the boy curiously.
"Yes, maester" – Olly replied defiantly – "And I'd do it again. Snow was a traitor to the Watch and unworthy of the Lord Commander's cloak"
"Why you…" – Arne hissed angrily as he lifted up his broom threateningly.
"Alright, calm down, both of you" – Will intervened evenly. The notes of cold sharp steel in his velvety voice were more obvious to Jon than ever – "I understand your feelings, but I'm afraid you two will have to work together weather you like it or no. So it's best for all of us if you find a way to do so. Don't forget, in a few days or weeks we're going to be looking after hundreds of injured warriors and I will not have your animosity interfere with our work"
"Yes, measter" – both watchmen answered reluctantly still glaring daggers at each other. And Jon knew right then and there that they would never disobey him.
Could they hear what he'd heard, Jon wondered as he watched Arne take up his broomstick again. Could they sense the quiet but powerful command in Storm's voice or would they attribute their obedience to his words of wisdom and their own decision?
"Good" – Will nodded approvingly.
"The door isn't going to fall down lad" – Will added with a cheeky smile as he turned his attention to Olly again – "No need for you to prop it up. Don't' be afraid, Ghost won't hurt you, will you boy?"
Jon really wished he could tell Storm exactly what he wanted to say, but all he could do was growl angrily.
"The Lord Commander ordered me to remind you that the king and the scouting rangers are leaving Castle Black shortly and we're expected to be ready to treat the wounded when they return, maester Willem" – said Olly, slowly and carefully making his way past Jon.
"Aye, I remember" – Willem nodded musingly as he resumed stroking and scratching Ghost's head, trying to calm the edgy wolf – "We'll be ready for them, but we've got a long night of cleaning and brewing potions ahead of us. It's the rest of the soldiers I'm concerned about… Hopefully Clydas will find the keys…"
"Ser?" – Arne asked, bemused.
"Nothing" – Will replied cryptically – "Can either of you read?"
"No, maester" – Arne and Olly replied simultaneously.
"Pity" – Will sighed as he suddenly got to his feet – "Alright then. Olly, go get yourself a broom and help Arne clean up this mess. After that I want you two to get water for at least five large cauldrons. I'm going to have to go to the kitchens and see if I can find anything that could be of any use to us"
"Yes, maester" – Olly said respectfully.
"Well? What're you waiting for, you little shit?" – Arne hissed maliciously.
Olly nodded and, throwing Ghost a fearful and nasty look scampered away.
"Maester… I know it's not my place to say, but you'd better be careful with that little bastard" – Arne said gravely – "And his master"
"I'll bear that in mind" – Will replied absently – "Which potions have you brewed, Arne?"
"Just the usual ones, Maester. Firemilk, dreamwine, moontea…"
"Right. What about Clydas?"
"I can't say, but I think pretty much every potion measter Aemon used"
"Well then, you're going to see some pretty interesting stuff tonight" – Will replied with a rather smug smile on his face, making Jon wonder if he should give the young healer a little bite just for humility's sake – "Come on, Ghost. I'm sure we'll find something tasty for you down there"
Jon got up, stretched his paws and trotted towards the door. He certainly wouldn't mind stealing a chicken or two from the cooks. Besides, if Stannis and the rangers were leaving soon, he'd be damned if he stayed behind. He wouldn't miss this scouting mission for the world.
Brienne's heart was pounding wildly against her ribcage as, treading slowly and lightly, she followed her companions through the thick and ancient trees of the Haunted Forest, keeping seven paces from the man in front, her eyes boring into the darkness. She could hardly even breathe as the cold of the forest mixed with fear and anticipation and her entire being concentrated on every barely distinguishable shadow looming between sparse, thin and flickering silver rays of moonlight that were able to make their way through the thick web of branches above. It was near midnight and they were deep in enemy territory. Four men, a woman and a direwolf brave enough or foolish enough to walk the edges of the world of men...
This mission, even a small part of it was truly an eye - opening experience. How different it was from what she'd imagined only this morning! Nothing at all like the slow and clumsy march, called the Great Ranging the men at Castle Black told her about or the long fight – packed missions she had always imagined.
When the king told her she was to accompany him beyond the Wall, Brienne was over the moon with excitement. Her very first scouting mission! And not just any old scouting mission… a real ranging with the legendary members of the Night's Watch! With "the purpose of locating and observing the ice – demons' scouts" as Stannis'd put it. Of course, the Lord Commander had been against her joining them and insisted she give Oathkeeper to one of his rangers, claiming it was difficult enough to have one man with no experience along, let alone two. But, to her eternal joy, Stannis had decided to bring her anyway since she was the only person at Castle Black ever to hold her own against a White Walker. And she was the only person Stannis could really trust, though that part was obviously never said outloud.
What else could she expect from a man like Thorne or indeed from any of them, Brienne huffed to herself proudly as she rode through the passage under the Wall next to king Stannis and the rangers. No one ever believed she could be as good a fighter as any man and she'd always proved the naysayers wrong. And, no doubt, she would do so again. Besides, what could possibly be so difficult about this ranging business?
As their small party rode on through the day and into the night, the happy excitement in Brienne's heart was slowly replaced by perfect concentration and a calm clarity of what needs to be done and how they were going to do it. She kept her mind alert and busy by remembering all the rangers'd taught her and Stannis about hand signals, formation and motion and when she was sure she knew it all, Brienne revised her newfound knowledge again and again and again. It would never do to forget something at a time like this…
After what seemed like hours of riding in the dark, they stopped near an abandoned old wildling village, dismounted and left the horses at a secret hiding place that was often used by rangers. According to the Smallwood, it was too dangerous to go on horseback any further so they'd continue their journey on foot. And they would have to do so in complete silence.
As both Brienne and Stannis had no ranging skills, it was decided that Thorne and Buckwell'd go ahead to scout while Smallwood leads the rest of them to a certain rendezvous point. Although Brienne had no idea where or when they were supposed to meet, the two rangers'd been gone a while and she was watching and listening intently for any kind of movement or sound that would indicate their return. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same. Everyone except the direwolf Ghost, who'd also trotted off into the darkness, no doubt bored by the slowness of their pace.
Brienne'd always wondered why men of the Watch wore black. It seemed such a ridiculous camouflage for men who live their lives in the snow. But now, she understood. It was obvious. As soon as Brienne saw Thorne and Blackwood suddenly melt into the darkness of the night, she knew that rangers of the Nights Watch were no ordinary soldiers. Slick and stealthy they seemed to appear and disappear at will like shadows. Invisible, yet ever-present and ready to attack at any moment. Black and lethal. Swift and silent and deadly…
Suddenly Brienne gasped. Concentrated and alert as she was, she couldn't help being frightened when, quite unexpectedly she saw Thorne materialize from behind a tree right next to her. She'd looked his way no more than a moment ago and yet she never heard a noise out of the ordinary or detected any movement. Never in her life could she imagine that darkness could conceal a man so well. Both her companions immediately turned around.
Well, at least she wasn't the only one to miss him, Brienne thought, embarrassed.
The ranger glared at Brienne and gestured to be silent, inwardly cursing Stannis for allowing the girl to come along instead of making her give up her sword. Brienne raised her hand apologetically and felt her blood freeze with fear for the first time tonight as she saw Thorne signaling them to follow him. He had found what they were looking for…