Omake - Winter is Coming : Part II
Jon Snow had done hard things in his life before.Facing the Lady Stark day in - day out as she showered Robb and her trueborn children with affection and love, before turning as frigid as a Northern Winter when he walked in with them. " " " "
That had been hard.Leaving Winterfell, the only home he had even known, for the uncertainty of The Wall? Listening to the warnings from Theon -the man deadly serious for once as he packed- that once he took the black, he could never leave. His own family would have no choice but to execute him if he decided he didn't like it and wanted to run away...
That had been hard, but a decision he felt he needed to make; to make his own place in this world. A decision his father had supported in full, reminding he and everyone else of the long and glorious history of Starks serving the wall, from Brandon the Builder all the way to his Uncle right now.Then the day he learned his Father was dead and had to face the choice of what to do. Having to choose between the oaths he had sworn to the Gods and the blood screaming in his veins to leave and avenge his Father. With only the sage words of Theon breaking through in the end to remind him that Robb would not be able to accept his help. That Robb in fact would have no choice but to kill him … and the thought of forcing his brother into that position had put something of a break on his fury.
But it had been hard. So hard to not grab a horse and ride out of Castle Black anyway. To avenge his Father, even if he had to do it himself and it cost him his life...But sitting now in the refurbished Shield Hall of Castle Black as most of the senior Brothers present took their seats to hear his report? Feeling the weight of the responsibility the Lord Commander had charged him with?Jon tried not to dwell on it for now, instead letting his gaze wander around the room as tardy brothers continued to file in. The massive building had been used little over the last few centuries, a consequence of the slowly diminishing numbers of their order. Traditionally, Knights who chose to take the black would ceremoniously hang their personal shields in this hall before being issued the black shields of the Night's Watch - back when the Watch was an honorable choice of service for such people and not a form of internal exile anyway. The building had also served as the officer's hall when the order had been far larger - and as numbers had dwindled, eventually it had been more or less abandoned in favor of the cheaper to maintain Great Keep.
However like most of the other buildings at Castle Black, it too had felt the whirlwind of the Northern Guilds that swept through. Once a decrepit building poorly illuminated and filled with crows -the birds, not the Brothers- it was now well illuminated through glass windows during the day, or mirrored oil lamps high in the ceiling at night. The holes in the roof had been fully patched, tables remade and new insulation put in place that cut back on the cost of heating it considerably. Now the only crows who nested in the building were the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch while the swarms of new recruits had all but taken over the Great Keep. In here the 'serious' business of the order took placeIn a very real way, the Shield Hall was now the spiritual heart of the entire order. There were still a sad few dozen shields on the wall, a far cry from the hundreds upon hundreds once there, but now they were no longer the only color in the room. Facing the shields on the opposite wall was a 'gift' from the Builders of the order who had taken umbrage with the generally strictly functional restoration work, determined to soften the grim utilitarianism of the rebuilding. An impressive mosaic of color covered the entire opposite wall, made up ofhundreds of house sigils from across the Seven Kingdoms. It symbolically symbolized that from all over Westeros did the Brothers of the Night's Watch come - but Jon was half convinced that the Builders had done it simply to give many of the elder members of the watch -who viewed the use of any colors in their fortifications other than black as heresy- heart attacks.In the end though, the Lord Commander had approved of the symbolism of the gesture and so it stayed, no matter how much some might have grumbled. Right now though, the overly colorful wall seemed to mock the incredible seriousness of the situation and Jon turned away from it, focusing his attention solely on the High Table at the front of the room. Behind the table, into the new marble layer over the stone there, the names of all nine hundred and ninety seven Lord Commanders (minus a few left blank like the 13th) had been engraved and Jon took strength from their names and deeds.
He had never asked nor wanted this responsibility ... but he had sworn his oath to the Watch … and by the Old Gods and New he would fulfill it.As if in counterpoint to his determination, a door slammed open behind them and Jon stood, keeping his face blank as Alliser Thorne stormed up from the doorway to the high table without a word or a glance to anyone. Bowen Marsh, the Lord Steward and Othell Yarwyck the Chief Builder were already waiting for him, as was a third empty chair next to them reserved for the still missing First Ranger (who Jon tried hard not to think about). On the other side of Ser Allisers chair was that of the Lord Commander and next to that empty place were Maester Aemon and a scribe from the Stewards. Scattered around the flanks of the room were a further dozen members of the Watch including Donal Noye and Janos Slynt -for some reason Jon did not care to ask about- while others who should have been here such as Bowen Marsh remained at their posts; understandably preoccupied with the Wildling 'army' on the other side of the wall.Ser Alliser reached his chair quickly enough, the other brothers on the High Table sitting as the man currently technically in charge approached and waved them back to their seats, sitting down in turn and fixing him with a rather direct look.Or to be perfectly honest; a glare.Well, this glare certainly put the looks the Lady Stark had often given him into their proper perspective; he would give the man full credit for that.
Ser Alliser put down the message and focused in on Jon standing in front of most of the surviving group from the Great Ranging.
"And now after no word for all these weeks, you show up Steward Snow. Show up leading forty men - including several more senior Rangers" he added, his gaze switching to glare at said men in the rows behind him for a moment -who were senior enough to glare right back mind you and did so- before he turned his attention back. "Forty out of Three hundred - and in case we forget, with near twenty thousand Wildlings a few hours behind that you insist that we not attack until you have explained yourself. Would you say this is a correct assessment of the immediate situation, Steward Snow?"
Wind screamed and howled sending flurries of snow near horizontally, but the roaring din did not quite cover the screams and panic of people around the Fist of the First Men. Tens of thousands of men, women and children screamed and indeed even the occasional clash of swords could be heard as humans fought humans in the chaos; all trying to escape the advance of the ancient enemy.
But there was no sound from the approaching threat.
No battle cries.
No roars of defiance.
No drums or trumpets.
No gleeful cries of battle lust or shouts of command.
Silent and indifferent, the dead simply advanced out of the storm in ever greater numbers with the patience and inevitably of their masters.
"Lord Commander" Jon shouted over the icy wind as he made his way to where Jeor Mormont was conversing with the Halfhand, Ghost as ever at his side. "They're getting close - we need to leave now if we're going to get clear before we're cut off!"
"Aye" the other replied grimly, turning to Qhorin Halfhand and the three, near four dozen brothers standing grimly behind him. Every single one of the men Qhorin had brought with him had stepped forward when Qhorin had volunteered to stay behind and draw off as many of these enemies as possible. Jon had learned something about leadership in that moment; noting that the Lord Commander hadn't tried to talk them out of it or give any long speeches about glory or duty as all the children's tales would have one believe.
Mormont had simply grimly accepted their choice as a brutal necessity, shook the offered hand of Qhorin silently and that was that.
It wasn't that the Lord Commander was unmoved by the sacrifice they were offering - it was just that he clearly knew there was a time and place to mourn … and this was not it.
Their gruff farewells relayed along with pointless instructions to retreat once able, Jon followed the Lord Commander to their waiting horses. Behind them, the Halfhand and his men also started moving. Many of them grunting as they manhandled their Bolter and the last of its ammunition and crates of explosives into place, a small hill in the lee of the massive Fist, directly in the path of the thousands of figures silently closing in on them, the visibility currently down to only half a mile in the whipping winds. A few hundred wildlings joined Qhorin - Wildlings surprisingly well and uniformly equipped for folk beyond the wall. 'Thenns' he had heard them called - but whatever their name, he certainly couldn't doubt their bravery as they joined to form a rear guard to buy time for everyone else to flee.
"Mance" the Lord Commander yelled to the unassuming man waiting for them, who was frantically sending orders and runners of his own out as tens of thousands stampeded South with little control or coherency. "We need to move! Now!"
"I know damn it I know!" the other shouted back. "I'm trying to get the word out to head South for Castle Black and save as much as possible but it's chaos out there! Go with this group" he didn't quite order, pointing at the largest group still barely under control. "I need to try and get control of this disaster!" he stated and with that, the King beyond the Wall turned and hurried away with several of his men following.
The Lord Commander glared at his retreating back, but turned to face his group of Brothers on their own horses as he sought out and then found the larger figure of Sam Tarley among them.
"Tarley" he barked out, causing the other to look up, his expression and body language more than a little terrified from the way he was gripping his reins to the way his horse kept twitching in annoyance from the unconscious movements of the man on its back. "Did you send the Ravens?"
The other simply stared at him. A stare that would have been very familiar to a lot of Lannister soldiers in the South after somehow surviving their first meeting with industrialized warfare.
Pure undiluted terror.
"Tarley" the Lord Commander repeated, moving closer. "Look at me".
Not even a terrified Sam could fight the sheer command in the others voice and slowly, his head came up.
"Did. You. Send. The. Ravens?" The Lord Commander bit out, getting a jerky nod in return before his mouth finally moved.
"I … I did Lord … Lord Commander, but…"
"But what?" The other snapped harshly, clearly not in in the mood for any delays.
"He sent the Ravens Lord Commander" Green stepped in quickly as Tarley stammered, "but, well, they didn't make it. They barely flew half a mile when they seemed to hit -or be hit by- a gust of snow and fell out of the sky, dead. Frozen solid they were".
"They froze to death? In the air? While flying?" The Lord Commander repeated with a look that would have shattered lesser people.
"Aye, they fell out of the sky like stones" another Brother confirmed grimly.
The Lord Commander offered up a curse that would have made the most hardened veteran of the Watch wince, before he drew himself up as he hauled himself into his saddle.
"Alright" he barked. "We're heading back to the wall, with these Wildlings. We're going to escort them there and get them through the Wall to safety".
"Lord Commander" one of the older Rangers, Aethan Jon thought, spoke up quickly in protest at the order. "Can we trust the Wildlings? If we're letting them behind the wall-"
"We either get them behind the wall and hope they won't stab us in the back" Mormont snapped, "or we leave them to die out here knowing we'll be seeing them again - trying to stab us in our faces as part of that "he said, jerking an arm to point in the direction of the oncoming hoard, before turning to take in the entire group of grim - and scared - looking Brothers. "We need to get back to the wall - as the Greyjoy often says, failure is not an option. We have to warn them - warn everyone. Because if we fail to get back ... I promise you that before winter is done, everyone you've ever known from here to Dorne will be dead".
No-one disputed his claim - and the sudden cracks of thunderarms from behind them added a new urgency as the first of the enemy moved into range of the Half Hands men. The masses of Wildlings running away seemed to somehow speed up just a bit more at the noise, none daring to look back lest they see something was gaining on them.
"Move out!" the Lord Commander roared - and Jon started his horse moving, ensuring his sword and pistols were ready for use. Ghost silently fell into step alongside as they started their long retreat, the horses having long gotten used to the presence of the Dire Wolf as the sound of battle intensified behind them.
The last he saw of the Half-Hand was a group of men with a thin line of wildlings ahead of them, starting to shoot at lines of vague shapes materializing through the whiteout of the storm.
"You are trying to claim that the Lord Commander intends to let the Wildlings through the Wall?" Ser Alliser asked in pure disbelief. And Jon through his exhaustion fought hard to not roll his eyes at the fact the man had seemingly skipped past being told of an attack by White Walkers on the ranging to focus in on that fact.
"Yes Ser Alliser" Jon confirmed instead, marshaling his patience. "With the threat of the White Walkers verified, after a discussion with Mance Rayder, he agreed to let them settle onto The Gift so long as they agreed to stand with us and the Seven Kingdoms when the Walkers came-"
"And you expect us to believe this? You think we can trust them? Trust them to not simply run as far South as they can as soon as they're through the wall, killing and murdering their way across our lands?" the man almost exploded at him.
Jon saw the trap and neatly sidestepped it. Who'd have thought all those half drunken arguments with Theon and Robb about politics would come in so handy?
"It is not my place to question the orders of the Lord Commander Ser Alliser, merely to obey them" he replied levelly. That got nods from several of the Brothers on the high table - and a new glare from Ser Alliser at the not exactly subtle implication that neither was it his place to do so.
"Continue Jon Snow" the gravelly voice of Maester Aemon moved into the conversation, smoothly cutting off any rejoinders from the Master at Arms and drawing them back to the issue at hand. "You departed the Fist of the First Men in the company of the Wildlings…"
"Aye" Jon continued after a moment to collect himself. "We fled the Fist…"
The sound of gunfire had been decreasing Jon Snow noted, trying hard not to think about what that meant for the men they had left behind. The hundred thousand strong wildling camp had been scattered to hell in the panic of the attack and vanished into the snowstorm in a confused melee of various tribes following their leaders with little coordination. Mance had hurried off to try and regroup them - or at least pass on the message of where to reform- and had yet to return or send word. A number of the dead ...things... had attacked although not in any numbers - at least as best he could tell through the howling winds and relayed messages in their loose group. Coming singularly or in pairs they were relatively easy to dispatch by sword and spear - but not thunderarm. Their orders were to hoard their ammunition as long as possible. But so easily in fact in fact did the enemy fall that Jon wondered if he might have overestimated the threat. His hopes were dashed soon enough though as it became clear that these dead parodies of people were
His brooding was interrupted however as a loud tremor of thunder rumbled through the air. Almost at the same time, the howling gale seemed to slacken, the sky clearing up to let him get a glimpse of the remains of a massive explosion somewhere near the fist, now some distance away through the trees.
All of them knew what it meant and after several glances, they started moving again at their surprisingly brisk pace to keep up with the Wildlings. They had left most of their explosives with the Half Hand in their haste to flee and the cracking of grenades being used up had carried for some time even through the howling storm. But an explosion that big could only mean that their fifty pounds or so of dynamite - almost the entire stockpile the Night's Watch had- had just been set off. Probably by the last men left alive.
If nothing else, Jon supposed it would at least make sure their enemy couldn't make any use of their corpses, which he supposed was a victory of a sort.
The explosion also seemed to have somehow stalled their pursuit as they fled through the forest for the rest of the day at a punishing pace. The brothers on their horses didn't feel it near as much, using their mobility to maintain a thin perimeter around Wildlings, even gathering a few other small groups back to the fold who any other day would have attacked them without hesitation but today were far too terrified to care that they were supposed to be enemies. The Lord Commander later in the day, as they finally started to get a handle on this mess, had sent out a scouting force to try and see if they could swing south. But the scouts had come back quickly to report a storm in that direction that looked suspiciously like the one that had come upon the Fist - and unleashed hell upon them. Not one to take chances, the Lord Commander and the spokesman for the Wildlings, a huge man named Tormund Giantsbane had decided to make for a relatively nearby village that the Brothers had passed through on the way to the Fist. The clearing around the abandoned village was a decent size; enough at least to fit the Wildlings if they crowded a little, with some crude fortifications around the clearing they could improve on. Once there, they could catch their breath and wait out the night as best they could, see if their enemy was still following them or not and make their plans. Because anything was better than fleeing in a panic into the darkness where all you would need was one false alarm to scatter everyone beyond any control...and the predators silently waiting to pick them off one by one.
And one Ranger had sworn that he had heard faint screaming on the wind...
The lead scouts had reached the village in the late afternoon, with people staggering in after them, desperate to reach whatever shelter the village offered as the sun had slowly faded. Fires had soon been lit, the ruined rude buildings torn apart for dry wood. Theons new 'FireSticks' and 'FireStarters' had made starting fires casually easy to the astonishment of the Wildlings - or 'Free Folk' as they called themselves - and soon enough a wall of flame was fitfully burning in the deepening night around the camp as the exhausted wildlings who hadn't stopped running since leaving the Fist collapsed to find rest where they could. Personally Jon thought the wall of fires around the camp was a bad idea - it was ruining their night vision meaning that anything could be hiding just a short distance away and they would never know it. And it was giving away their position for miles and miles, even through the thick forest.
But then he reminded himself, these people had been living and fighting the enemy for a lot longer than they had. And if they were still alive instead of part of the growing army of the dead, it probably mean they were doing something right...
The Lord Commander, seemingly possessed of endless reserves of energy had stalked around the camp, allowing the diminished group of Brothers to break out only the absolute minimum of rations despite their hunger. It was an order that had not gone down well with some of the newer recruits like Rast, Karl and Ollo who were perhaps too used to their three good meals a day at Castle Black, but the contempt from the older rangers who had survived far longer beyond the wall with much less shut them up quickly enough. Seemingly as fresh as when he had awoken and unaffected by the horrors that had come forth the day before, Mormont had organized the watches, seen to their mounts and had other brothers start to take stock of their supplies before he finally taken his own rest. Jon had taken the first watch, sharing his meager ration with Ghost before the Dire Wolf went to sleep. Not that Ghost really
The pack looked after its own.
The night had, thank the Old and New Gods, passed without further attacks and the new day had brought clear skies and calm weather. It was slightly jarring to Jon that after the utter horror of the day before, everything was seemingly back to normal - except for the missing brothers they had left behind to die. They had not set out at first light though, instead taking time to take full stock of their situation. And almost immediately run into problems. Without Mance around to impose order, the 'Free Folk' seemed to revert to type all too easily. Some had been lucky enough to retain their possessions - others had fled from the approaching White Walkers with little more than the clothes on their back and most fell somewhere between the two extremes. Which meant their food state, always uncertain when on the move in large numbers, was now critical. But it was thought there was
If they shared.
And in the very best Wildling traditions, fights were on the verge of breaking out over that fact because few were willing to do so, at least without Mance glaring at them.
Tormund had intervened at that point, storming out to find the loudest troublemaker with the most supplies who refused to share. To the huge mans credit, Jon thought, he had triedto appeal to the blindingly obvious logic of keeping everyone alive and preventing internal wars that could kill them all as quickly as the White Walkers. Or 'Others' as the Wildlings called them. But instead the agitator had ranted at him, called him a traitor and mockingly starting to suggest that he and the Lord Commander were bedding each other. At which point Giantsbane, moving faster than anyone Jon had ever seen, had seized the others crude Warhammer and casually beaten him into a literal bloody mess before the assembled crowds of people. Even among the Wildlings, such a casual display of strength was intimidating and the people who had been agitating and sneering had gone silent, refusing to meet Giantsbane's eyes as he glared at them. With order temporarily restored, he'd tossed the hammer onto the corpse and ordered all the tribes elders to meet in his tent -
The situation then moved from bad to worse - it turned out their food situation was perhaps worse than they thought. Even if they shared out what they had among themselves evenly, it would be very much touch and go if they could reach The Wall. If they were delayed even a few days...
At that point the Lord Commander had made a decision.
"Snow" he asked softly while the two of them watched the Wildlings argue their situation from the back wall of the tent. Clearly without Mance around, the Wildlings were on the verge of falling apart. "What are our food reserves?"
"Each remaining man has sufficient standard food rations to reach The Wall, plus one moonturn extra in the pack animals" he answered promptly, having checked the supplies were still with their pack animals this morning. "We also still have the extra rations that were for the Half Hands men".
The other grunted in acknowledgement then stepped forward to the table, stopping the argument that had been getting more and more heated in its tracks.
A mixture of expressions came across the faces of the Eldars of the Free Folk at his sudden presence at their 'table' - a tree stump the tent had been erected around. Mostly sullen distrust, but under that Jon could see the fear and desperation. They had all seen the Night's Watch kill a thousand of their friends without loss -and a Giant to boot. They knew their power now, even those who had never ventured near the wall in recent years now knew the stories they had been told were true. And they also knew that it was the sacrifice of fifty Crows and a handful of Thens that had held back the Others and their hoard long enough for them to get clear. And that such weapons turned against their common enemy might just save them … if they could reach The Wall. And Because any dreams of forcing the wall had died a sudden death on the slopes of the Fist.
"We have some spare food you can have" Mormont bluntly stated, causing a ripple of utter shock to pass through the expressions of the Wildlings at the table. As they realized that a 'crow' was sharing food with them. Unasked and unforced.
"My ancestors would spit on me if I broke bread with a crow" one of the Wildlings growled, his one good eye glaring at the Lord Commander who met his gaze without the slightest flinch.
Fortunately, his opinion seemed to be rather in the minority of the desperate people present.
"So would mine - but fuck 'em, they're dead" another Wildling sneered back - getting a lot more nods of approval before she turned to face Mormont. "How much food are we talking about?"
"Enough to feed five hundred people all the way to Craster's Keep. We have enough supplies there to replenish our own men, then feed say a thousand long enough to get them to The Wall".
There was a rumble around the table, this time one of cautious optimism. If added to their own food supplies...
"Jon Snow" the Lord Commander continued and Jon stiffened on reflex at the tone of command. "Take charge of our rations. Leave every man enough to reach Craster's Keep, no more. Everything else, including the Half Hands supplies, bring them here to Tormund".
"Yes Lord Commander" he acknowledged the other, turning to leave.
"Ygritte" Tormund rumbled and Jon paused with a tilt of his head as the huge man turned and pointed to him. "Go with him. Make sure none of our people interfere or try to get at the food before we get it here and divide it up fairly. If they do, deal with them".
"Right" the other woman smiled and detached herself from the wall, reaching the door in two strides, shooting him an expectant look. "Coming Jon Snow?" she asked as she pushed through the tent's flap.
Jon bit back a reply as he followed her out, the two of them moving through the crowd around the tent and heading for where the corner the camp the men of the Night's Watch had claimed for their own.
"Snow. Jon Snow" the other tested his name on her tongue suddenly. "What a strange name that is for such a strange Crow".
"Well I'm sorry you don't like it" he said shortly as he tried to ignore the way her fiery hair bounced in the breeze as she kept pace with him, keeping a wary eye on the 'Free Folk' around him, most of whom were giving he -and the rifle slung over his shoulder- a wide berth. "And I'm sorry you don't like me".
"Who said I didn't like you?" she said, her smirk growing slightly. "I just find you strange - not many crows would spare a Wildling they had under their blade" she pointed out, Jon at once recalling their first meeting. The Halfhand had ordered her killed after it became clear she wasn't going to give up any real information - and they could hardly just let her go while they tried to move onwards and kill Mance. But something in Jon had balked at casually murdering a woman, a prisoner. And he had hesitated just long enough for more wildlings to arrive and force them to retreat.
Even so he could have easily killed her and, aye, most Rangers wouldn't have hesitated to kill her if only to make sure she wouldn't try and shoot them in the back as they ran...
Jon though had spared her and fled with the others, noting the shock in her eyes as he did so. And it seemed that for some reason she had become fascinated with him, always studying him from somewhere every time he looked around…
"There was no reason to kill you" he simply explained as he nodded to several Brothers at their not-an-encampment-inside-the-encampment as they approached, assuring them there was nothing to fear from the presence of the Wildling next to him
"Most Crows would say that there is no need for a reason for a Crow to kill one of the Free Folk. Or aye, most of the Free Folk would say that there is no need for a reason to do the same to you - I know that well enough" she scoffed.
At that, just before they reached the Black Brothers camp, Jon turned to fix her with a smirk of his own as a response came to mind. One that Theon -generally while drunk- had used annoyingly often on him.
"You know nothing, Ygritte" he retorted. "Wait here, I'll be back in a minute" he cut off any possible response, enjoying seeing the never ending smirk on her face vanish for a moment at his response before he started to round up some Brothers to gather their food supplies.
"So you made a Wildling friend Jon Snow, well that's just marvelous" Alliser snorted as he leaned back in his chair, regarding him with contempt. "Are we supposed to feel happy that you have a girlfriend - who probably has the blood of other members of the Watch on her hands?"
Jon Snow marshaled his patience, unable to help but marvel at how rapidly Ser Alliser had gone in his mind from him talking to Ygritte to apparently being in love with her. Anythingthat made him look bad in the eyes of his Brothers, true or false.
The others insults did grate a little … but Jon had spent many many long years with Theon who was the master of, among many other things, 'snarking'. Robb had been a very quick study in the art - as were both Bran and Arya come to think of it. To the despair of Lord and Lady Stark. But while the trueborn children of Eddard Stark could get away with a lot in terms of copying Theon's smirking countenance, the 'Bastard of Winterfell' had needed to hold his tongue much more than he opened it lest he be rounded on for not knowing his place by the Lady Stark or others in the Castle.
The end result of that was simply that he learned very quickly how to play the 'straight man' to Theon and Robb … and had become rather good at it.
And Alliser Thorne, frankly, had nothing on Theon Greyjoy.
This time however, Maester Aemon stepped in before Jon could take the bait.
"I am not very concerned about Jon Snow doing what the Lord Commander told him to do Ser Alliser" the ancient man gently rebuked, again gaining a few nods from the other Brothers in the room. "To surmise what you have told us Jon Snow; the Half-Hand and near forty men from the Shadow Tower were lost at the Fist, covering the retreat of the rest of the Ranging from a large White Walker attack? Then, the Lord Commander formed an alliance with Mance Rayder agreeing to safe passage for the Wildlings onto The Gift, if they agreed to stand with the Night's Watch against the White Walkers? I take if you have some … proof of these orders with you?"
"Yes Maester" he confirmed, reaching into his field jacket and carefully removing a wax sealed envelope. "The orders from the Lord Commander" he declared for the record as he passed it off to the Clark, who confirmed the authenticity of the seal and broke it open to read the orders, before passing it along and leaning in to whisper into the Maesters ear what the paper had said.
The orders were rather straightforward, if shocking in their implications. Demands to let the Wildlings through the wall as soon as logistically practical and organize for them to settle them on the Gift, providing what support they could. And to sound the alarm to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms that the White Walkers were indeed back, operating openly and gathering quickly in strength beyond The Wall.
It wasn't every day one received orders to make peace with your life long enemy and were told that a nightmare out of legend had returned and was set on destroying all life on the planet.
In Jon's opinion, they were taking it rather well. Even Ser Alliser seemed to have been shocked into something approaching calm consideration by the blunt handwriting of their leader.
Finally after the last had read the note, Bowen Marsh spoke up for the group.
"This note provides little information ... but it is from the Lord Commander, written by his hand" he stated, his opinion accepted without comment as the man who by far had the most to do with the paperwork the Lord Commander dealt with. "The first question I have is this Jon Snow; the Lord Commander speaks of wounded at Craster's Keep he is staying with for now - explain this".
"Yes First Steward" he nodded, drawing himself up as he cast his mind back to continue the story...
It had been two weeks since the horror at the Fist of the First Men and their Enemy had not attacked them since. At least not in force.
But clearly, neither had they forgotten them.
Perhaps it was the First Men blood in his veins sensing something he could not see and warning him that they were still out there. Perhaps it was the quiet alertness of Ghost at night, staring out beyond the bonfires into the forest at something too distant to see. Perhaps it was when the night's temperature dropped sharply and suddenly so that frost rolled in and fires started to splutter; when everyone seemed to feel a malevolent presence hovering in the night just wanting for the frantic efforts to keep the fires going to fail...
Or perhaps it was just plain military logic that a party moving this slowly and this large could not possibly have been lost by an enemy so powerful. At the very least, any half competent scout would be hard pressed to miss the enormous trail they were leaving behind them.
No. Jon was certain they were out there. Watching, waiting. Letting them exhaust themselves as they fled and simply biding their time.
After a few days the Lord Commander had donated most of their horses to the Wildlings, turning them into pack animals for their supplies and injured, to help the group speed up their movement. Again, some of the newer members of the Watch had sullenly complained at that decision and being forced to walk, the usual suspects like Karl and Dirk doing their very best it seemed to antagonize the Wildlings for taking their horses until the Lord Commander had stepped in and threatened to leave them tied to a tree for the Walkers if they didn't shut up. Things remained tense between the two groups, but luckily everyone was focused on surviving and most were too busy to fight with each other. They would be up moving as soon as sun rose and would march with scant time for rest until the sun fell, setting up camp and wondering if this night they would come. No-one - even the Brothers in their top quality field gear - was warm and everyone was scared, trying not to jump at every shadow, cold breeze or distant thunderclap.
A week past in a blur. Day folding into night and into day, interrupted by what little sleep they could snatch in the brutal pattern until finally they reached their first key objective ... another abandoned village.
This village straddled a river; a tributary of the river that wound its way into The Gorge and then the Bay of Ice. A narrow ford connected the two banks and a village or settlement had existed here in some form or another for thousands of years on both sides of the river. For tonight, the Night's Watch had moved across to set up camp on the Southern side while the Free Folk settled onto the Northern side. Ygritte had confided to Jon that some of the more superstitious Free Folk believed that the Others would be provoked into attacking when they crossed the nominal boundary - and so were perfectly happy for the 'Crows' to 'test the waters' and risk their wrath first.
It turned out they were only half right
It had been in the hour of the wolf when the alarm was sounded. Jon had rolled to his feet with hundreds of other brothers packed in a tight defensive position on the ford, shaking off his sleep as he hurried to the commotion, an icy chill running down his spine that had little to do with the freezing night air as he took in the situation as three horn blasts sounded.
A horde of dead men were silently hauling themselves out of the river onto the ford.
Apparently, they had walked along the riverbed unseen and undetected until they came upon the ford, breaching it in a great wave before turning to throw themselves at the wildling camp.
Whatever the reason for their choice of target, the few exhausted Wildlings who had managed to stay awake on guard duty were largely overcome in the first moments as the dead pressed their attack hard. The few that were left and the few who held their ground rather than fleeing into the camp in terror found themselves fighting an enemy pressing forward with an utter indifference to casualties and a complete lack of fear. Despite the steep banks of the river and relatively tight quarters they had to work with, the horribly outnumbered and terrified defenders were swiftly seized and torn to pieces as the wights reached the crude barricades guarding the path from the river to the camp. And as they started to hack and climb over the small barricade that the Wildlings had half-heartedly repaired on their side of the river, it seemed inevitable that they would break through to the camp and slaughter thousands. Perhaps tens of thousands.
Then the Night's Watch had entered the battle and the situation had changed.
The first thunderous volley from a hundred rifles ripped through the packed groups of wights, smashing limbs and tearing through bodies. Two more followed quickly after, focusing ever greater on the front of the enemy ranks and thinning them out, sending bodies falling down the slope and into each other, the seemingly unstoppable charge coming to a sudden tangled halt of limbs and bodies trampling each other and crushing each other.
A few of the more skeletal looking bodies rotting with decay had shattered or fallen to pieces when the heavy metal balls had smashed into them - but terrifyingly, the more 'fresh' looking wights seemed to simply ignore limbs blown off or torsos ripped open entirely and inevitably, they started to pull themselves back together to once again begin advancing up the slope. Arrows started to fly from the top of the banks into the Wildlings, tiny fireballs that arced into the mass of bodies clawing their way forward but through luck or design, the soaked clothing most of the creatures wore simply smothered the flames without effect and they started to push back even harder.
Then a second volley of firepower smashed into them and sent them again sliding down the embankment, apparently finally irritating them enough to cause dozens to peel away from the main group even as more continued to pull themselves out of the river. Their masters no longer amused it seemed by their interference.
"Fire by rank. Front rank ... fire!" Mormont roared and an explosion of gunpowder and hot lead smashed into the leading wave sending them reeling onto their backs and no few spinning off into the fast moving current to be washed downstream. Some stayed down, but most got back up - or even dragged themselves forward with their legs a ruin. One wight, a massive man who looked perfectly normal except for the blue eyes seemed to be stomping right towards him indifferent to its half missing arm and Jon froze for a heartbeat as it closed in raising an axe.
Then the years of practice with Robb and Theon at Winterfell's gunnery range took over and without conscious thought, he raised his weapon and sent a round straight through the huge man's face -
- and the wight dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
On pure automatic he was already working the bolt on the heavily modified whistler rifle; the weapon swinging around almost of its own accord after reloading to put a bullet through the face of a second wight getting a little too close for comfort. And it too was flung back dead as a bullet ripped through its head moments before the second rank volleyed at the Lord Commanders order, dropping some, staggering others...
Then it hit him.
"The heads! Aim for their heads!" Jon yelled, discarding his rifle for now and pulling his pistols, the twin snowstorm revolvers moving like an extension of his arm as he swung them around and made carefully aimed shots in between volleys from the Brothers, dropping a half dozen more between the two pistols before they ran dry. Another volley from brothers then rang out including near a hundred Viper shotguns in the third rank; their flayer rounds invented by Ramsey Bolton almost ideal for the task as heads exploded and bodies shattered into an orgy of gore and blood that sprayed into the river.
And then the Lord Commander was there.
"First rank, second rank; SWORDS!" He bellowed as he stomped forward and the brothers in the front two ranks stood as one, slinging or even dropping their thunderarms to pull any number of heavy swords, axes and hatchets with a grim determination as others readied their shields. Kingsguard they may not be, but none could doubt the courage of these men as they set themselves to advance against creatures of legend and terror both.
"Third Rank, hold and support. First and Second Ranks forward to the far bank! For the Watch!"
And with a war cry that would have impressed a Dothraki khalasar, well over a hundred rangers charged down the riverbank as one, smashing aside the wights climbing towards them like a sudden avalanche. Weapons swung and smashed aside the enemy, sending more than one 'corpse' spinning off into the river downstream to be swept away in the rapids as the black brothers fanned out and pressed forward. Feet kicking up a spray of freezing water as they charged across the river screaming their defiance into the night.
Yet the wights neither panicked nor hesitated in the face of the sudden attack, dozens reacting with chilling speed to simultaneously turn away from the massive heaving pile of corpses about to break like a great wave over the wildling defenders to intercept them. Swinging their weapons or fists even as yet more continued to pull themselves out of the river onto the ford. A non-stop string of orders from Mormont in the middle of the fighting had the rangers shifting and reforming all over the place, crushing and killing their way forward, but always as one group as they pressed onward with an almost suicidal courage towards the far bank, simply bashing anything in their way out of it.
It was in fact by all logic suicidal; launching themselves out of their defensive positions where they had the advantage of their thunderarms to charge into close range with a massive pack of dead things that didn't care about how many losses they took. So much so that any smart commander would have immediately asked why in the Seven Hells they had done so.
The wights didn't.
Their first mistake.
Instead they all but welcomed the charge into close range, until they were pressing up on the opposite riverbank, more and more wights crawling out of the water to try and come in behind and cut them off - despite many falling to renewed fire from Jon and the others remaining on the far bank. Clearly preparing to trap the fool humans between two forces and crush them.
Their second mistake.
If any of the dead saw a terrified Samwell Tarly in the middle of the pack, his hands filled not with sword or shield but a massive pack he struggled to haul across the river, none of them clearly thought it was of any importance, nor was the sight of Edd holding a flaming torch in one hand and a sword in the other. And certainly, when the wights saw the Brothers 'forced' to a halt, if the intelligence behind them noticed the Lord Commander gripping a thin tube like, but smaller than a thunderm the tip of which he put into Edd's torch setting it aflame - and the rear of which was connected by a flexible tube to the massive pack Tarly was manhandling forward ... again they did not think it worth any change in their tactics.
Their final mistake.
Because then the Lord Commander forced his way to the front ranks, aimed the flaming tube-
And he set them all on fire.
Where the fire arrows had simply fizzled out against the waterlogged clothes of the wights, the sticky fuel perfected by Ramsay Bolton ignited and sprayed out dozens of meters to coast the enemy like the breath of a dragon. It mattered not that they were covered in water; the flaming liquid flowed over them regardless and ignited them as if they were covered in chemicals; the fire spreading with a life of its own as Mormont systematically engulfed the mass of enemies in flame.
In seconds as the fuel was expended … and what had been a terrifying wave of dead things about to pour over the wildlings final defenses to kill everything in the area had been turned into an even more terrifying mass of writhing bodies clumsily and uselessly battering at the flames consuming them. So quickly did they burn that the Night's Watch in the ford were forced to run for their lives as the flames seemed to grow without limits and threatened to take them too - Jon able to feel the heat even from the other bank!
Cheers were starting to break out from the Free Folk on the far side of the river at their sudden salvation - even as the Watch reformed themselves to start dealing with the wights still trying to claw their way out the river and tear apart the living.
And to Jon's amazement the cheering started to coalesce into a chant he doubted any brother had heard a Wildling ever say.
"Lord Crow! Lord Crow! Lord Crow!"
Tearing his attention away from the cheering, Jon noted that fewer and fewer wights were appearing from the river now, a good thing too as far too many of the brothers who had been holding them off while the main group charged in were either down or being helped or dragged back to their camp, the stewards and men from the third rank who had been providing what fire support they could hastening down to help as others unpacked medical supplies.
Jon started to move to help - but came up short as a growling in his ear dragged his attention away from the events in the ford to his Dire Wolf.
"What is it boy?" Jon asked softly, frowning as he noted the white wolf was tensed up and staring downriver without the slightest concern for the battle winding down nearby. Without any more noise, Ghost started to trot away and Jon forced himself off his kneeling firing position to his feet, picking his rifle and pulling a fresh cartridge from his vest as he followed his Wolf upstream away from the camp. He kept a wary eye out for anything in the water below the steep bank as he reloaded his weapon, but saw nothing unusual in the bright light of the human bonfire playing out across the forested terrain.
Slowly, he let his eyes sweep the far banks further and further away, blinking to try and let his eyes adjust to the orange glow over everything as he followed the wolfs gaze-
And then he saw it.
Three, four hundred yards upstream from the ford, on the far bank of the river he could just barely make out something moving in the thick mists rolling through the trees. Something that caused a wave of pure dread to ripple through him despite himself and the horrors he had already seen. Taking a knee, he raised the thunderarm to his shoulder and flicked the scope back into line to bring the area into view …
And his arms froze as the magnified image came into horribly clear focus.
Human looking but somehow indistinct even in the scope, it stood with a mist that seemed to wrap and swirl around it like a living cloak. Its profile was jagged but symmetrical - very much like a man wearing heavy plate armor … and yet, it was barely visible when a man should have stood out like a sore thumb in the flickering orange light. Even as the fire danced and caused light to flicker around it, the silhouette seemed to vanish and reappear from blink to blink, vanishing into the massive dark trees behind it that seemed to swallow up its presence …
Except for the eyes.
Wights eyes were blue. It was the greatest indicator of what they were even if the corpse they turned into a puppet otherwise looked perfectly healthy. But it was a pale blue, little more obvious than normal eye colors until you looked into their eyes at night where only a faint glow would give them away.
But these eyes … these eyes burned.
Even as the rest of the creature seemed to fade in and out of existence, the eyes remained perfectly clear to him. They burned like two stars in the darkest of nights; coldly indifferent and infinitely distant. The night itself seem to drop in temperature as he took in their terrible, flawless beauty before, unexpectedly, those two indifferent blue eyes seemed to move with a subtle shift in profile in the figure.
For an infinitely long and short moment, Jon felt sure his heart had stopped as his conscious mind finally caught up with his unconscious mind. Telling him that what could only be a White Walker had turned its head and was now looking directly at him.
Jon may have stayed there, frozen in place for all eternity under that ancient malevolent gaze … if not for a sudden snarl from next to him. The sudden noise from Ghost seemed to reach through him and light a spark in that part of his mind that always seemed to somehow connect to the Dire Wolf on a level he didn't understand.
It was not words so much as feelings … but if he could put it into words…
It was telling him that wolves were no-one's prey.
Reminding him that they were the hunters.
And telling him -demanding of him- to be that hunter.
Jon pulled the trigger.
Fire exploded from the barrel of his weapon as the firing pin ignited the primer charge and then burned into a controlled explosion, sending a metal dart whipping out from the barrel of his gun faster than sound itself. Perhaps the enemy understood what had just happened, perhaps it did not … but in either case it had no time to react as it was flung back violently in a sudden shower and scream of sparks from the force of the impact.
Jon worked his bolt, loading one of his last ten rounds without hesitation as he snapped the weapon back into place, ready to follow up his shot … but there was nothing here.
Scanning through his scope, he only saw the mist, the trees and the river in the slowly (very slowly) dimming orange light.
More and more cheers were going up from the brothers behind him and he risked a look to see that the battle had apparently been won. No more wights came out of the river and the burning pile of corpses seemed to be being added to by both the Watch and the Free Folk, even as he heard someone bellowing for him to come back, no doubt the wounded needed help.
Safing his weapon, Jon rose and with a final hard look upstream, genuinely wondering as his exhaustion returned with the draining of adrenalin if he had simply imagined the whole thing.
Confused and tired, Jon slung his weapon and started to trudge back to the camp after one final look, wondering if he would get any sleep tonight.
Further upstream as the massive fire faded and night slowly returned, a terrible figure cloaked in thick mists moved away from the battlefield. As it did, a gaping wound convulsing on its chest spat out a lump of twisted metal into a pale white hand. Coldly with an inhuman intelligence it studied the tiny frost covered projectile with something approaching faint curiosity as the wound closed and knitted itself back together, an ice like armor reforming above it once again until in moments there was no trace left at all of the damage.
Then, with a sound like the grinding of ice the hand around the projectile closed and it shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments that blew away in the winds as the fog thickened … and then dissipated.
Leaving not the slightest trace of the figure of legend as it did so.
"Total dead from the engagement were ten Brothers. With another fifteen wounded, ten of those seriously" Jon finished.
"To be clear Jon Snow - you are claiming you fired upon a White Walker?" The First Builder Othell Yarwyck immediately got in first before anyone else to ask that question.
"Of course he is, next he'll be claiming he shot the Night's King too" Ser Alliser didn't hesitate to rebut, turning his gaze on the brothers behind Jon. "I don't suppose any of the rest of you can back up this claim?"
Jon saved them the trouble.
"None witnessed my actions Ser Alliser" he admitted without hesitation or emotion. "And I am quite sure I did not kill it either".
"Why are you so certain?" Bowen Marsh asked with a frown that couldn't hide his unease at the thought of a White Walker surviving one of the most powerful rifles they had in their armoury".
"Because when the next attack came a week later as we approached Craster's Keep that cost us a hundred brothers dead and wounded" Jon replied in a flat tone, "it was led by a White Walker who seemed to be extremely eager to kill me before anyone else".
