It was a cold and bitter experience, standing atop the wall which stretched from one end of the world to the other. Lann stood on the ice separating the civilised lands of the south to the north where the savage wildlings resided in the darkness, in their caves and hiding behind snow covered trees. Always watching for the first sign of weakness.
The wall was the only thing protecting the civilised lands and Jon fucking Snow had let them all in.
He hated it up north, away from his home and family in Oxcross. The last time he saw them was when he was tried by his lord's men. The Westerman had been given a choice between the rope or to take the black and freeze his balls off. He picked wrong.
Even underneath his black leathers and stinking furs, he was freezing. Especially his face – the one thing exposed to the elements. Every breath was painful, the cold froze his tongue and made his chest hurt with every puff.
The former poacher turned watchman stared down at Castle Black, the darkness being held at bay by the light of a dozen braziers and standing beside them were the black figures who were his current brothers. The brothers he never wanted and didn't like. Lann preferred his blood. Little Harry and Rennick who were little when he poached that blasted deer. From what he heard of the battle, Lann knew in his heart that his brothers were killed by the Young Wolf at Oxcross.
Lann hated the Starks, the house that rose up against the rightful king and killed his family. Traitors. The wolves are traitors. Worshipping trees like those wildlings. They should all be on the other side. Snow even had that wolf following him around. The red eyed demon was silent as a ghost and always looks to kill anyone who disagreed with its master. One who breaks the traditions of the Nights Watch, breaking his vows and allowing the hordes in to pillage, kill and rape. He even allowed those demon worshippers to eat our bread and sleep in our bunks.
The gods have already cursed the Baratheon and his family, he was sure of it. The girl was infected with greyscale, a curse which was sure to spread. "Wash yourself in vinegar and eat cloves of garlic," Jeren once advised in the common hall. "Either that or coat yourself in something to counter the evil smells." Or better yet, just kill the girl and be done with it.
The watcher turned to look down at Castle Black. The streets between the various structures were empty, with most preferring to use the underground tunnels. Icicles hung like silver spears from the overhanging roofs of buildings – each filled with a mixture of Black Brothers, Queens's men and Wildlings. The torches and braziers were alight but provided little warmth in the worsening winter. Soon enough we'll be eating leather, all because Snow decided to throw away traditions made to keep the realm safe. Him and his fellow stewards knew it. The more people there were, the more food was consumed. Supplies were limited even before the Wildlings came through but now the granaries were going to be empty before the winter was up.
Not that he minded wildlings heading south, as long as they remained above the Neck. The northerners deserved it all. They were goddess heathens who made blood sacrifices and refused to worship the true seven. The three different groups had been having a fair share of fights even before the Lord Commander made enough enemies to be stabbed. Good riddance. Now the Old Pomegranate himself is Lord Commander, with Ser Thorne supporting him. He liked neither, but they promised to remove the consequences of Lord Snow's failures. Many stewards and builders supported the new regime and plans were being set in place to barricade the entrances and clean up the Wildling and the supporters of the Red God. The Night's Watch was meant to be neutral to conflicts south after all, aiding Stannis was going to turn the Iron Thrones eyes to the wall and not for the best.
He rubbed his gloved hands together and spread them above the brazier. Lowering himself to the flames and letting the warmth touch his face where it felt like a lovers kiss. What I wouldn't give for a women.
"Lann, you bloody bastard," came a familiar voice. The watcher turned around to see Gendry, a large man covered head to toe in thick padding and fur. "The Lord Commander requests everyone comes to the common hall. Every man of the watch needs to be present."
"Aye, what reasons, may I ask? Why would I wish to leave my spot overlooking everything in the blasted cold and instead go somewhere warm and dry?"
The man shrugged. With long limbs, he strode to the fire. His breathing heavy and white. Frost covered his greying beard and his eyes were weepy. "Because you won't freeze your bloody cock off. Not like we need it, bloody oaths." He forced a smile. Gendry always tried to make the best of it.
He couldn't stand standing up in the wall so he took the excuse and followed Gendry into the common hall where most of the remaining brothers were. All in thick coats to ward off the cold and black mail underneath. Few people went around Castle Black unarmed and unarmoured now. Melting snow and mud covered the rush covered floor and a fire burning with a thick boiling stew hanging above it. A former mole threw more and more logs into it, making the fire grow larger and roar.
Atop the dais sat the commanders of the Night's Watch. Ser Allister Thorne, an aged knight who was as slender as a birch, with black eyes and hair lined with grey. Lann never had the misfortune to have him as master-at-arms but heard that he was a harsh taskmaster. From what Lann knew, Ser Thorne was a Targaryen loyalist. Fighting at the siege of King's Landing when the Lannister's attacked under the peace banner. During that time, Lann had been a child who had been busy running across the brook and playing with the other children of the village when he wasn't helping his mother in the tavern, serving food and drinks to his lord's men-at-arms on patrols or serving knights. The old knight had come back from his ranging with the few others who made it. Ambushed by wildlings most likely.
Sitting beside Thorne was the new Lord Commander, the Old Pomegranate himself whose face was round and red, shrivelled like a raisin. There were other commanders as well, ones Lann didn't know or care about.
He took a seat as close as he could to a roaring hearth. The hall had been split ever since the mutiny. Lord Snow's supporters on one end, mostly made up of rangers; detractors on the other, mostly made up of builders and stewards. The bastard's body had been placed in the ice cells, guarded by that whore of his and his personal wildlings. That red eyed demon was still locked up, too fierce for any of the brothers to open the door and kill it. So they just decided to let it starve. Its howls kept up Castle Black through many nights.
"Fucking cooks," Ronnet complained as he pressed his wooden spoon into the porridge. He was a Stormlander, with a mane of orange hair and the shoulders of a horse. His face was like a horse too. "You'll think with how ancient they are, they'll least know how to cook a decent meal."
"Still better than me moms," replied Mikken the builder who had thin grey hair and enough wrinkles on his face to look like a screwed up parchment. "Seven bless 'er, she was a terrible cook." He chuckled. "I put this at second."
"If this is second, how are you still alive," Ronnet continued, screwing his face up and letting the grease slide off and fall into the bowl with a plop. "I can swear that a bowl o' brown in King's Landing is better than this."
"Depends what they have in it," replied Robin who tore off a chunk of black bread stuffed with sawdust. "They say that people go missing only to be found in the tubs. They say its fish or pork, but people occasionally pick out fingers or toes."
"Wouldn't surprise me," said the bastard of the Reach named Axell, a comely seed of a knight. Gifted with his father's looks as well as his father's debt when his sire fell from his horse during a tourney. "People say that many went missing when the dwarf became hand. He served bards who didn't sing well enough and whores who failed to satisfy his lust. He gets his own wildlings brutes to hunt people down through the streets of Flea Bottom and turns men into eunuchs."
Lann shook his head. "Nothing like cannibalism to ruin this perfectly fine meal." He pushed the bowl away and stared longingly at the lords and the food they were served. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite." At least for this.
"Wouldn't advise that," Madden said through a stuffed mouth, spitting food everywhere. "The Lord Commander has plans for us. I overheard him speaking while on guard duty. He says we're to deal with them wildlings soon."
"What," Lann's interest sparked. "How's that going to happen?"
His companion rise a hand out to calm him. "It's secret, only the commanders can know, but the old man wants to remove Stannis and his fire worshippers as well. There is no way the Lannister's are going to keep the peace here if it continues."
"Baratheon's," Lann corrected, if unsurely. "They're Baratheon's. Robert was one and if me memory works, surely his seed are too." He heard the rumours of them being bastards born of incest, but he doubted it. They were rumours created by the ambitious uncle who took his army to Castle Black and the Young Wolf.
The others exchanged uneasy glances. "Does it matter which one of these fuckers wears a crown," Ronnet muttered, lazily stirring his food still. "Stag, lion, wolf. All the bloody same. Highborn and stubborn and don't give a shit 'bout us. We're ants to them, them and their wars."
"Aye," Robin agreed, smiling. "Synt was the worst of the lot. The only good thing Snow did was kill the bugger. That was funny, the way he squealed like a pig."
"Pig? He looked more like a frog," Ronnet laughed.
"You could say he croaked."
They all shared a laugh before they heard a thump and turned to the new commander. The old man stood up. "Brothers," he said, his voice low and sounded like it was about to go any second. "I have called you all here now because we're serving the Watch at the worst moment in its long history. For eight thousand years we as a brotherhood have guarded against the Wildlings. We have been following our duty all whilst the Seven Kingdoms are divided by war and too busy to aid with the likes of us. Wildlings sweep through the walls under the foolishness of our former commander. Now the fruits of his labours have sprouted. They are busy looting and raping the lands to the south, regardless of the vows they said. Lord Snow promised them the Gift, but they are drifting further down, towards the lands of the lords who in their past had supported us. Isn't that we vowed to stop? We vowed to protect the realms of men—"
"Aye, to protect the realms of men," shouted one brother, a false one from the other side of the wall. The men around him – rangers – clapped and roared their approval.
"We never elected you," shouted another ranger who stood up on the table. He was all in black, but like the other, he was a wildling through and through. "I heard that the Night's Watch elected their leaders. But who elected you, old man?"
A few laughed, others cursed and others clapped in agreement. Marsh reddened further at those words. "What I do, I do for the realm. To protect her against the hordes who pillage her lands and children—"
"What about the white horde!" Leathers shouted, standing up once again. "Would you let women and children starve and be prey for the others?" There were a few mutters, mostly among those who doubted the creature's existence, or didn't believe them much a threat. Lann was the former.
Marsh didn't answer the wildling and continued with his speech. Not liking that, one of the rangers grabbed a piece of black bread and chucked it at the old man. Old Pomegranate reddened further. "What I do, I do for the realm. To protect her from those who seek to pillage her land and children. We've been keeping the Wildlings at bay for eight thousand years, eight thousand years of tradition being thrown away by some green blooded boy. I'm protecting Westeros!"
That caused an uproar among supporters of the previous commander. One of his detractors stood up, spat at the ground and left. One soon turned to two and then more. It turned into a steady stream as they left the hall, leaving the larger part of the remaining watch.
"Seven hells, that was . . . interesting," Gendry muttered, looking concerned.
"What do you expect," Flowers muttered, his eyes watching the commander's converse. "Many seem to be on the verge of rebellion. Sooner or later, the watch is going to collapse. One way or another. When it does, I'm heading back home to the Reach, at least it'll be warmer then here."
Everywhere is warmer then here. "But we'll be seen as oath breakers, you get killed for that," Lann responded, his voice hushed. But they'll likely have bigger problems when a few missing crows. Lann was sure he could loot the kitchens before heading south and pray to the gods he doesn't freeze to death.
After smashing his fists on the table, Thorne stood up, taking Marsh's place. "Men of the watch." People stopped their muttering and turned to him. None liked Allister, but he commanded their attention regardless. "We as an order can only survive if we clear out the Wildlings from the south. I never liked Lord Snow, I will admit. But I followed his orders, as moronic as they were and did it to the best of my abilities. Now the seeds he has planted are beginning to sprout. He may have kept them in line, but no longer. The wildlings migrate, looting and pillaging. The castles they once manned under a deal are now abandoned once again."
Another commanders stood up. "Aye. It is our duty to defend the realm. To do so, we need to continue our oath." He pulled out a sword, glowing besides the raging hearth behind him. "Who stands with me. We're the watchers on the walls, to shield the realms of men. We all pledged our lives for the watch. Oaths that no man can break. Who stands with me!"
The rest of the black brothers glanced at each other before one shouted, "FOR THE WATCH!" Then others took up the chant and soon the whole hall was.
Author notes: A shorter chapter to give an introduction of what happens at the wall. I wanted to do it from the perspective of a common crow and also highlight how people view Jon Snow and what he had done, especially when many still doubt the Others existence or are just too set in their ways. It is a bit of foreshadowing on how the people below the Neck think of the north, especially as the faith of the seven is getting increasingly zealous. The North is going to have a hard time with religious fanaticism from the seven, the winter and the war.
I plan on Jon Snow resurrecting in the next chapter at the wall.
Next chapter will the taking of Storm's End and a major battle.