Benjen
He didn't stay long at the Wall when he returned from his journey south. It had been nearly four months of travel, a month to Winterfell, then five weeks of river and horse travel to and from White Harbor then six weeks back to the Wall. Benjen was there for less than two days before being sent on a mission past the Wall to track a raiding party that was spotted coming back over the Wall from terrorizing some villages somewhere in the New Gift. Benjen was sorry to part from Samwell Tarly, the boy was sharp, and if he wasn't terrified, which was rare, he had some humor under all the fat. The young boy from Reach had been a bright spot of conversation since they had met on the docks of White Harbor.
The boy was not a warrior, that much was obvious, but the Watch needed every able body, well, every body that they could find, able or no. Benjen worried how Sam would respond to training under Ser Alliser, who was not known for his patience or his compassion for raw recruits. However, that was pushed to the back of his mind as he left for his ranging.
Now, one month later, he was finally returning. He had lost three rangers; Red Bill, Old Allred, and Cayde. Cayde had only been only twenty and showed a lot of promise for the next generation of rangers, maybe even capable of being put into a leadership position. However, the wildling spear through the throat had ended Benjen's hopes for the young man. Three rangers dead, out of the twenty-five that he led, it would usually be acceptable, but they had lost so many recruits to his brother. Absentmindedly he gripped his reins tight, the leather of his gloves creaking as his fists closed. Benjen's garron, a stout mare named Grey Spot by the stablemaster, whinnied in protest to Benjen's thoughtless pull. Benjen immediately let up and patted the neck, calming the best, and trying to calm himself.
He couldn't think about Ned. Worse, he couldn't even think about Jon. His nephew, always his nephew, but no, Benjen could only hold his regret. How many times had he visited Winterfell over the years, how many times had he spent more time with Ned's children than he did with Jon? How many days and years wasted at the gods-forsaken Wall instead of spending time with him? Regret gave way back to the anger.
How could have Ned done this to him, how could he have hidden the truth of Jon through all of these years? Benjen did the math in his head, nearly four months since that day in Ned's solar. Jon had gone missing, five or six months ago now. He was probably dead now. How...how could Ned let Jon get away from him? How did he...how could he have allowed Jon to disappear?
The punch felt good, Ned had always been bigger, but he had gotten slower the older he became, while Benjen spent most of his time tracking and fighting wildling raiders. Ned had got the worst of it, but Benjen still took a couple of solid blows. Still, his anger was getting out of control, his focus was starting to slip, and Benjen needed to find a way to keep it manageable. It was what made him take this assignment so soon after he returned, it was also what got three of his men killed.
If he weren't so focused on killing the wildlings, he would have been better at defending his brothers, would have stopped the spear that took Cayde. Benjen shook his head, focusing back onto the moment, pushing the past deep down where he buried the rest of his grief, rarely to be dug back up and revisited.
Benjen turned to Thoren Smallwood, the man was an arrogant fool, but his skill with the blade was useful and his ability to track raiders even more so. "Thoren, how's the prisoner?"
"She ain't talking," Thoren said.
"Well you did knock out her teeth."
"Three teeth, and considering she had just gutted Red Bill, I consider it light punishment."
"True. Still, she didn't say where Giantsbane was?" Benjen asked.
"No, but we can't question her too hard, she still needs to walk, and she won't survive being dragged back to Castle Black."
Benjen turned to Rory, who held the rope that was tied the spearwife's wrist. The spearwife, who had refused to talk and remained nameless, had to be watched at all times. She was as tall as him and weighed a stone more. Regardless, Benjen still had to have more than one watcher as she had nearly killed Lark, although Benjen thought it was more likely Lark tried to rape her, and it almost cost the little shit his life.
Benjen took a deep breath, his merry band of thieves and rapers, and rarely there was someone like Thoren or Cayde. Good men. No, not good, but decent, with the potential to lead one day. Thoren would still need some more work, much like he did when he had first come to the Watch, but there was still potential there.
Benjen looked up, and on the horizon, he could see the Wall starting to tower over them, even from this distance. They were still probably four or five leagues away, and with every trot of the horse, the Wall grew more imposing.
They were quiet for the next hour, or so, a month-long ranging usually wasn't so draining, but they all felt tired, and the garrons left behind by their three brothers were carrying all the items taken by the raiders. Furs and some stolen weapons would serve the Night's Watch well, and the few possessions of any value, amber, and a small chain of silver would help purchase food and other provisions.
Suddenly, Benjen felt an arrow fly past his ear, and then there were a few cries of pain from his men. Benjen turned and saw a wildling knocking another arrow, hiding behind a tree. "Archers in the woods! Form up!" Benjen grabbed his shield just in time for the arrow to bury itself in it. His men were able to form a decent shield wall, and Benjen, Thoren, and a few other rangers charged the archers, and their men started to return a volley. Two wildlings fell from the barrage, and Benjen charged another one, an ugly fellow who aimed the arrow, but Benjen got there quicker and slashed his sword, a splash of blood covering the grass.
Thoren had taken care of another, and Benjen wheeled around as another arrow flew past him. Benjen saw two wildlings, and Benjen pushed his garron towards them. Suddenly, Grey Spot whinnied and stumbled, and Benjen threw himself from the saddle. He rolled onto his feet, just in time for one of the archers to rush him. Benjen feinted right, and the wildling fell for it, and Benjen stabbed him through the mouth. As the man fell, his comrade charged him, and Benjen tried unsuccessfully to remove his sword from the dead man's corpse. Benjen let go, taking the first blow on the shield. He unsheathed his dagger in a smooth motion and struck back up. The blade sunk into the man right above the clavicle and then Benjen kicked him to the ground. Benjen lifted his shield and drove it into the man's skull and battered him until the man was still.
Benjen got to his feet and looked around, Benjen had gotten separated, and couldn't see Thoren or his men, though he did hear them. Pain suddenly pierced him, and the force of it threw him to the ground. Benjen looked and saw an arrow had pierced his mail and was sticking out of his left shoulder. He tried to raise himself, but a knee hit his head, and Benjen sprawled out. A wildling stood above him and raised his spear.
It was over, but Benjen would see her again, would see Jon again. Father, Mother, and Brandon. He simply smiled.
The man grunted, and Benjen felt the splash of warm blood as goose fletching protruded from the wildling's throat.
Two men appeared above him, both with their black cloaks dragging in the dirt. Benjen recognized them, "Gods above Benjen, I taught you better than this." The man on the left stuck out his hand, Benjen lifted his good arm and grasped it.
With a groan of pain, they lifted Benjen to his feet. He felt light-headed, then felt only one finger slap him.
Benjen smiled, "Good timing, Qhorin, you still hit like a whore, though."
"Well you visit the wrong whores, Stark." Qhorin gave a hint of a smile then as Dalbridge laughed.
"Thanks Squire, I owe you one," Benjen thanked the archer.
"Aye, you do. The one that almost gutted you was Orand. We've been hunting him, what? Almost five, six weeks? He is one of Mance's war chiefs."
Benjen looked from Qhorin to Squire, both didn't seem too upset, but Benjen knew better, "Fuck."
"Aye," Qhorin said. "It's our own fault though, we surprised the party four weeks ago and have hunted what remained of Orand's war party since. Must have pushed them into your men. But where the fuck are your scouts, Stark?"
"We aren't more than half a day from the Wall."
The veteran gave him a disappointed glare. It was the wrong thing to say to someone like the Halfhand who, even on the Wall was fully armored and ready for a fight at all times.
Benjen blew out a breath of frustration of pain, "How are they?"
"Two more dead, eight wounded."
Benjen swore again, "Alright, how many wildlings?"
"It was a party of twelve. They are all accounted for. Even your prisoner caught an arrow through the skull."
"Shit."
"Aye, tough luck all the way around. We are only four leagues from Castle Black, though, can you ride?" Qhorin asked.
"Well enough."
"Good, take your men and get going, we will bring the dead and your prisoner in the morning." Qhorin said.
"You're coming with me to help explain all this shit to Mormont," Benjen said, then added, "and bring a few of your party to make sure everyone gets back if I drop beforehand."
"As you say, First Ranger, Squire, you're in charge, bury the dead and get the rest of our men and what you can salvage to Castle Black in the morning."
"Yessir," Dalbridge responded.
Benjen found a horse, and all but two of the wounded men were able to ride, albeit in pain, back to the Wall. Thoren was unhurt thankfully and rode next to Benjen to make sure he didn't fall off the horse. Qhorin, though, kept him talking.
"I heard you, and Jeremy Rykker nearly came to blows when you first got back."
Benjen groaned a bit, "Old family loyalties die hard."
"Still I thought he hated his cousin for turning coat on the Targaryens." Qhorin asked.
Benjen chuckled, "Apparently the nephew my…" Benjen stopped for a moment, "my nephew beat, was the son of the dead cousin he liked."
Qhorin and Thoren looked apologetic before Qhorin spoke again, "Sorry about the lad Benjen."
Benjen grimaced from the pain, not sure if it was the shoulder or from somewhere else, "Me too, still angry at my brother. For that and poaching some of our recruits, thinking gold could replace them. ' A strong North means a strong wall.'"
Qhorin spoke again, "He has a point though Benjen. For the first time in decades, we were able to purchase quality steel from the south, hell, I even heard talk that Mormont wanted to start setting aside coin to help fortify one of the castles between Shadow Tower and Castle Black."
"With what men?" Benjen said.
Qhorin raised his hands, "You're not wrong Benjen, but if the Watch is in a better position, we may be able to recruit more brothers."
"Or it will keep more men away."
"Could be, but the Watch was slowly dying long before your brother was warden." Qhorin said.
Benjen was silent at that. He knew where his anger stemmed from, but enjoyed letting it fester to whatever it could.
A horn blast made them look to the Wall, now forcing them to crane their necks to see the top, Their group of injured rangers made their way to the gate, already opening into the tunnel underneath. Benjen led them forward with Qhorin as Thoren waited until they all had entered before bringing up the rear.
Benjen reached the courtyard, and the black brothers soon rushed to him, the Lord Commander, who was watching from one of the walkways, came rushing down.
"Get them to the maester!" The Old Bear bellowed. Benjen felt faint, the arrow still lodged into his shoulder, and the blood had clotted and dried up and down his arm. He got down from the horse and stumbled to his knee, someone tried to lift him, but Benjen waved them off.
"I'm the least injured, get the other men situated." Benjen grit out.
The Old Bear was in front of him, "Gods, Benjen, what happened?" Only then did the Lord Commander notice Qhorin, "Halfhand? What are you doing here?"
"My fault, Lord Commander, we were hunting a large war party led by Orand, killed some and have been chasing the last remnant for a week or so. Drove them right into Benjen's men," Qhorin finished.
"How many?" Mormont asked. When Benjen told him Mormont swore, "Where are their bodies?"
"My men have them, four leagues north, should be here sometime tomorrow."
Mormont shook his head, "Rykker!" Mormont yelled, and Jeremy Rykker came quickly, refusing to look at Benjen, "Get five men and go North, ensure the rest of the men get here tomorrow."
"Aye, my Lord. Happy to clean up Stark's mess."
"Enough of that!" Mormont shouted, and Jaremy left chastised with four men. Mormont turned to Benjen, "Well, let's get you and your men to the maester."
They helped Benjen up to Aemon's quarters, the usually ample space was now crowded as Aemon and his men tended to the injured rangers. Benjen noticed Samwell Tarly on a table, unconscious and his face badly bruised. Benjen was about to ask when Aemon came over, his hands working deftly, even without his sight. "Brother Benjen, it seems you have an arrow in you."
"I am well aware, Maester."
"Well, yours won't kill you in the next few hours, I'll have Chett bring you some tea made from willow bark to ease the pain."
"Thank you." Aemon turned away, but Benjen reached out, "Maester, what happened to Samwell?"
Aemon's face darkened, "Best to speak about that in private."
Benjen nodded, they brought him his tea in a simple mug and Benjen down the whole bitter-tasting thing. The pain was still there, but the edge was soon rounded, and he was able to sleep for a bit.
Benjen awoke later, maybe late evening, and Hobb brought some stew for them all, Benjen was about to eat, but Aemon stopped him. "Usually I would have you eat, but our work on your wound will be a little more difficult."
"How so?" Benjen asked.
"Usually, we push the arrow through, but that isn't an option, so we will have to cut around it, it will not be pleasant, but if we do this right, your shoulder shouldn't lose any mobility or strength once healed."
Benjen nodded. They gave him leather and Benjen bit in deep as the Maester started his work. The pain was excruciating, and he needed a couple of the men to help hold him still. The sightless maester with the help of Chett and Clydas was able to get him through it. Aemon gave him some sweet sleep and more willow bark tea, and soon Benjen's pain faded, and he drifted gratefully.
He awoke the following morning and felt very weak. He looked at the rest of the injured men. Most would recover, though one, Jaron, had bled out. Six men dead on one fucking ranging. Benjen cursed himself for his foolishness, and Aemon sent for some food, and after he had eaten, Aemon took him to his private quarters where Aemon sent Chett for another bowl of stew. Once it arrived, Benjen started again, "What happened to Samwell?"
Aemon shook his head, "The boy is not martially inclined, a disposition I can relate with. Ser Alliser is not a patient or empathetic man, Samwell was berated and beaten every day, and was mended in here most nights." His face darkened, "Two days ago, Hobb found him in the middle of the night in the courtyard beaten within an inch of his life."
Benjen's feelings soon matched the old Maester's mood, "Who did it?"
"No one would come forward."
Benjen put his head in his hands, "Will he recover?"
"Physically? Yes. Though I don't know if he will trust his brothers again."
"Can you just make him your steward?" Benjen asked.
"It will take him at least a few weeks, if not longer, but yes, I'll request Mormont allow him to help me around here. Though the others don't see it, there is value in an educated mind such as his"
"How did the Old Bear take it?"
"Each initiate received twenty lashings. Not the best decision, but there are no good choices when something like this happens," Aemon said.
Benjen thought for a moment, "It will be good for Samwell to be your steward, he is a bright young man."
Aemon smiled, "It would be nice to have someone that can match my wit. Believe it or not, you rangers and the stewards are dull-minded."
Benjen feigned a scoff, "I'm sure with your training, he will be a maester in no time." Benjen laughed but noticed Aemon had become pensive. "What?"
"You're right," Aemon said.
"About?"
Aemon just gave an incredulous look, "Let's just say you are in the right position as trying to make you a maester would be a waste of time."
Benjen snorted out a laugh, "Who do you want to make a maester then?"
"Samwell."
"I was half-joking," Benjen said.
"And I am fully serious. I am almost a hundred years old. I have only a handful of years left in me. When I die, the Citadel will replace me with someone from the dregs. Someone who has only enough links to make a bracelet." Aemon took a deep breath, "I have been a member of the Night's Watch for longer than many men live their lives and want to make sure when I finally pass that there is someone competent to take my place."
Benjen's cheerful mood sobered as the Maester spoke with authority, "Do you think you can do this? Will Mormont even allow it?"
Aemon smiled, "It will be easy to convince Mormont, Samwell would be a capable steward, but getting a maester and an intelligent one who is still in his youth is more useful than forty of you rangers."
Benjen rolled his eyes, "And the Citadel?"
"I am the oldest living maester in the world, the last member of a dynasty, but more importantly, I will be doing them a favor. No maester wants to be sent to the Wall, as it is considered a punishment."
Benjen felt his mood improve, "We should tell him, Sam, I mean."
"We will, but we will first need to convince Mormont then get confirmation from the Citadel. Which, as with all things concerning the archmaesters, will take more time than is proper. Once that is done, we can tell Sam."
Benjen smiled then. He could help save at least one boy's life.
(A/N): Thanks everyone who has favorited, followed or commented. Mostly, just thanks for reading! Shorter chapter than usual, but hopefully the next chapter (or two) will make up for it, just trying to find time to actually write!