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Chapter 33: Glad You Could Make It
Growing up in Winterfell, Jon had thought he knew what cold was. There were years at a time where the sun did not rise, and the entire world was blanketed in snow. He had shared a bed with Robb during those long months, the two boys trying to stay warm under thick fur covers, even with a fire and the hot pipes that kept Winterfell from freezing entirely. There had been howling blizzards that lasted weeks, but during those dark days Jon and Robb had still had one another, and had played together or with their parents or younger siblings, or even Theon when he wasn't too busy being older than them.
Now, Jon knew that he had not known true cold. Here, at the top of the world, Beyond the Wall, it was cold as death herself. And this was when it was still light for at least half the day, as they were only in Autumn. Before long, true Winter would descend, and all the light would fade.
Through snow, rapidly freezing tundra, and woods with small trees that were already drawing back into themselves for winter, the Brothers marched, along with an increasing number of Wildling warriors. There was hostility between the groups, but no fighting. If anything, the Wildlings were grateful to have the well armed and trained Brothers alongside them.
"Never did like you Crows, but I'd rather have you at my back than one of them," Ygritte told Jon and Sam. She had been the fiery haired archer that had tried to kill Vanir, but now walked alongside them, even joining Jon and Ghost on scouting missions.
"Aye, I'm starting to think you Wildlings were never the enemy," Jon agreed.
"Oh, we're enemies sure enough," Ygritte told him with a feral grin. But then she sobered, looking over to where a smoldering pile showed where wights were being burned. "But you're alive. That counts for somethin'."
Despite the increasing numbers of the undead, and even several encounters with the Others, the band of the living had stayed mostly safe. Wiz had provided large numbers of dragonglass arrows and knives from her shop (Vanir had attempted to charge a modest fee, but Wiz would have none of it) for the mortals to defend themselves. Of course the real defense was Wiz and Vanir themselves.
Growing up with his sisters, Jon had seen odd things, such as their ability to see in the dark, Yunyun's propensity to make friends with anyone, Megumin's theatrics and at times odd near prescience, and of course Komekko's inhuman hunger. He had never seen anything like what either of the immortals could do. Wiz could make ice flow like water, summon a storm from a clear sky, rend the ground asunder, and make an absolutely delicious bear pie. Jon had seen her duel two of the Others alone, and it had been like the time Theon had agreed to duel Megumin; completely one sided and utterly unfair. Wiz had ripped the two beings to shreds in a hurricane of ice shards the size of a grown man.
As for Vanir, he seemed to make a sport of finding new and creative ways to destroy wights and their masters. From opening up a literal portal to Hell in the ground and dragging his victims to their destruction, to sending waves of exploding dolls, to the most bizarre, where Vanir threw red and white balls that imprisoned the wrights. He claimed he would "beat those foolish goddesses in a duel" but what that had to do with imprisoning undead Jon had no idea.
After sixteen days of marching over rough terrain, each of them marked by encounters with the undead, the company encountered Tormund Giantsbane and his scouts another day's march from the Fist. Instead of attacking, the Wildlings had made themselves known to the Rangers, then came to confer with Commander Mormont and Wiz.
"You're a sight for sore fuckin' eyes, you old bastard," Tormund said, clasping Mormont's arm. "Never thought I'd be so relieved to see a Crow."
Then Tormund turned to Wiz, bowing at the waist and looking deeply relieved. "Lady Wiz. We all feared for you when none of our parties returned from your shop. Have you come to help us drive the cursed White Walkers back?"
"Yes. And I have brought a friend as well. It is good to see all my friends making peace and standing together at this time," Wiz said with a sad smile, clasping Tormund's mittened hand between her bare fingers. Apparently, as a lich she did not feel the cold. "Would that we could always live in peace."
"Yes, well, I'll not trouble the Crows until the spring at the very least. What of your supplies?"
"We've provisions for ourselves, and brought what remained at the Lady's shop," Mormont said, gesturing to the baggage train and heavily burdened Brothers.
Tormund grunted. "Well, at least yer not more hungry mouths to feed. We've too many of those as is."
"Just how many people have you gathered at the Fist?" Mormont demanded.
"Every last living soul north of the Wall, unless I miss my guess. Every man, woman, child, giant, and more." Tormund stood silently for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Too bloody few. Perhaps 10,000 fighting men. We've sent a good number of those who can't fight to Hardhome, but we've thrice the number of men who aren't fit to hold a spear with us yet."
"An army in truth," Mormont agreed. He looked to Wiz. "Will it be enough, my lady?"
"With Vanir here, I am certain I can defeat the Death Knight I faced," Wiz said with a bright smile.
"Moi is a Duke of Hell! Pathetic miscreants such as these shoddy constructs are no match for one such as moi!" Vanir laughed, bowing to Tormund with a flourish.
Tormund grunted and shrugged. "I don't care if you're a damned Kneeler or one of those southron gods. If ye can fight, yer welcome here."
As they made their way on the last day's march to the Fist of the First Men, Jon saw more and more signs of heavy activity. There had been little game on their journey, most of it having fled the coming of the undead or the large group of humans, but now there seemed to be nothing at all. Trees and bushes had been stripped bare of anything that was even remotely edible, and what root vegetables were around for the early fall season had been dug up and taken as well. The ground was churned and muddy in places, and there were blackened areas where fire had been used to ward off wights.
"You Crows must have drawn off the wights, they've hardly bothered us the past week," Tormund remarked as they marched.
"Not all of us wear black, Giantsbane," Ygritte snapped, glaring at the older man.
Mance glanced at her, then laughed and shook his head. "I suppose yer no a Crow with those tits of yours. How many of you travel with them?"
"Not more than two score," Ygritte said quietly. "Many took the Crow's offer of succor in the Southron lands, and few fighters survived the flight to the Witch's Shop. But those of us that remain will fight for our freedom."
"Can't say as I blame those that went south," Tormund said with a grunt. "I won't kneel meself, but if it were a choice between that and turning into one of...them...I'd think about it."
"They shall be kept safe, then sent back North when the danger passes," Mormont stated. "Save those few who will kneel, and take oaths to serve either in the Watch or the Gift."
After that, Jon was sent off with Ghost to screen their flanks, and Ygritte tagged along with him, nominally to "Keep an eye on you, Crow."
"D'you think the ones who went South will be well treated, Snow?" Ygritte demanded of him. "You're supposed to be some kind of Lordling, what would you do if the Freefolk showed up at your doorstep?"
"I'm just a bastard," Jon said, though he knew that the Wildlings had no real concept of what that meant. "And right now, Komekko is the Stark in Winterfell. She'd probably put them all to work growing food for the Watch so she didn't have to send so much in tithe."
"Komekko? What kind of a name is that? I've heard some queer names from you Crows but that takes the-"
The next thing Jon knew, he was on top of Ygritte, his knee on her chest with her flat on her back, a snarl of anger on his lips. "My sister's name is an honorable one. My father named her himself, at the behest of his lady wife in honor of the Goddess Aqua. Komekko is a kind girl, who treats all fairly no matter their station or birth, and has a keen eye for judgement."
Actually, Jon thought Komekko was a strange name and his sister an odd little girl with a bad habit of tattling unless you bribed her with food. However, while he could make mock of his sister in private with his other siblings, or perhaps Theon, what he would not allow was some stranger to belittle his beloved little sister.
"Well, didn't realize the bloody lady of Winterfell was your sister. M'sorry, Snow. I want no feud with you," Ygritte managed to wheeze after catching her breath.
Feeling a bit ashamed of himself, Jon let Ygritte up, giving her a helping hand back to her feet. "Right, well, she is my half sister. A lot of people thought to mock her growing up, even if she was the Lord of Winterfell's daughter, but I didn't stand for it then, and I won't now."
"I know what it is to stand up for kin," Ygritte agreed, eyeing Jon appraisingly. "You move fast when you need to, Snow."
Jon nodded, trying to keep a stoic expression as he inwardly winced at having mistreated a woman so. Not that he hadn't played roughly with his sisters at times, especially Megumin who thought she ought to be able to wrestle Jon into submission despite him being five years her elder.
Thankfully, the woods were empty and silent, the only animal around being Ghost, though Jon was fairly certain he only partially qualified as a beast.
By sunset, they arrived at the Fist of the First Men. It was a broad hill, about 500 feet high with a gentle slope. However, this position had been reinforced, with work going on to build a stone wall around the base of the hill, and a series of ramparts around it. The trees around the Fist had been cleared for over a mile, both as a source of firewood and building material and to deny the undead and their masters any cover from arrow-fire.
The entire hill was now covered with wooden shelters and hide tents, though the great numbers of the Wildlings spilled out beyond the hill and along the river behind a barricade of sharpened stakes. The fortifications were crude, and Jon wasn't certain they would do much good against the wights. Several large pyres at the base of the hill showed where attacks had been blunted however, so the defenses had to have some effect.
Jon went with Commander Mormont and the other officers of the Watch towards the gates of the makeshift fortification. To his surprise, several Wildlings raised fists to the Watch in salute, apparently heartened to see more fighters joining them. The real cheers came when they saw Wiz, with cries of, "The Witch lives!" being taken up and spread throughout the camp.
"Technically speaking I don't," Wiz told Jon quietly. She had declined a horse, and was walking along beside him. "But I appreciate the sentiment."
"You give them hope. They know you have ever been a friend to the living," Jon told her, and Wiz blushed and smiled.
"I try to be. I was never a very good general for the Devil King, but I like to think I'm still a good person."
As they approached the gates, Ghost suddenly darted forward. He ran up to a low mound just before the base of the hill, a barely perceptible swell of the ground, then looked to Jon. To his astonishment, Ghost let out a sharp bark, the first loud sound Jon had ever heard from his normally silent friend.
"What is it?" Jon asked, hurrying forward.
Ghost suddenly shifted, taking on his human form, which caused cries of astonishment from both Wildlings and the Brothers. Jon ignored them, noticing the look of pain on his brother's face. Kneekling, Ghost rested a hand on the ground, then on his breast, closing his red eyes and bowing his head. Jon copied the gesture, uncertain what it meant, but it was obvious that this place had some deep significance for Ghost.
"Then the legends are true. There are gods buried here."
Jon looked up to see Ygritte, who slowly knelt on the other side of Ghost, looking thoughtful. "I didn't realize your wolf, I mean, that you were his...is he a god?"
Ghost didn't open his eyes, but he nodded once. Jon spoke for his friend, saying, "He is a Child of the Forest. His mother is Holo the Wise Wolf, guardian of House Stark and the North. And… he is my brother."
Ghost nodded again in the affirmative, opening his eyes and smiling at Jon. He put his hand over Jon's, then pointed to Jon's lips, then his own, making a circling motion.
"You...wish me to speak for you?" Jon surmised.
Another nod, and Ghost rested his hands on the low mound, where Jon guessed an Old God lay buried after some ancient battle with the Others.
"Goddesses of Old, Gods of my Forebears, hear the plea of this son of Winter," Jon said, remembering prayers his father had taught him in the Winterfell Godswood long years ago. "We ask now for guidance through this coming night. Bring us the heat of Summer to warm us, Steel to ward us, and Strength to keep us against our foes of old. We honor now this ancient one, who gave their blood that Men might live. As you give us strength, so we give you strength."
Jon took out his dagger, removing one of his gloves, then cutting a shallow gash in his palm. Making a fist, Jon squeezed out a few drops of blood over the old grave, then passed the knife to Ghost, who did the same. Ygritte quickly copied the gesture with her own knife, her eyes very wide as she stole a quick glance at Jon.
Bowing his head, Jon knelt in silence with Ghost for a time. At last, he sensed a change, and looked to see a wolf sitting beside him. He stood slowly, wrapping a bit of cloth about his hand, then putting his glove back on.
He turned to find most of the Brothers kneeling, along with many of the Wildlings, who looked shocked to be doing so.
"Goddesses be good," Commander Mormont groaned, getting slowly back to his feet. "You keep odd company, Snow. A demon lord, and now an Old God? The son of the Wise Wolf? You Starks are a breed apart."
"I am just a bastard, Commander," Jon said, blushing and looking down. "Robb is the true son of Winterfell, not I."
"I'll believe that when I see him next to an Old God as well," Mormont said dryly.
Which was when Vanir ruined the mood with a loud guffaw. "The young wolves have all been given these foolish gods as playmates, this boy is merely the one they picked to send here. They are not so impressive, these young gods. Moi is far older than most of them, even dear old companions such as Hoost and Chomusuke."
"Oh, they're here too? Oh, I do so hope I can visit them!" Wiz said with a happy sigh. "But I'd have to go South of the Wall for that. Perhaps I can send letters. I would like to visit all our old friends again."
"Moi merely look forward to reminding the foolish goddesses of their pathetic natures," said, gleefully rubbing his hands together.
"Be nice to Aqua. She's gotten a lot better," Wiz scolded.
"So it is true, then," a new voice said, and Jon turned to look as the Wildlings parted for a hatched faced man with deep set eyes and long hair turning to grey, dressed in leathers and furs, and bearing a winged helm under one arm. "The Witch has returned to us."
"Mance!" Wiz cried, and hurried over to take his hands. "Congratulations! I heard you were made King Beyond the Wall. I'm sure you'll do an excellent job."
"You honor me, Witch," Mance said, bowing his head slightly to Wiz. Then he turned to regard Jon and Ghost, who had planted himself next to Jon, his tail curled about his forepaws.
"It has been long since a god lived beyond the Wall. What brings you here, Child of the Forest?"
"We are here to face the Others, and drive them back along with the rest of the Night's Watch," Jon answered.
Mance frowned slightly, stepping past Wiz to regard Jon somberly. "You speak for this god, boy?"
"He is my brother," Jon said stubbornly. "As he lacks a voice of his own, I would speak for him."
Ghost nodded once, looking up at Mance with unblinking red eyes.
"I lived once in the land of the Old Goddesses, but they did not seem overly potent to me then. Now I make my camp upon where they are buried. Your kin gave their lives to stop the White Walkers once. Would you do the same, Wolf?"
Ghost let out a single bark, then looked to Jon. "We stand beside the Free Folk, as the gods and First Men did of Old, as the Night's Watch is sworn to do."
Mance grunted, then turned to Mormont. "What of you, Old Bear? Does this boy speak for you?"
"Jon Snow is the son of Eddard Stark, and my personal attendant," Mormont said, coming over to put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "While he has not the authority to speak for the entire Watch, he speaks true."
"Well. Then I suppose we should all be grateful." Mance's face took on a haunted look. "It is bad, Mormont. The Others come from their frozen lands in numbers greater than I have ever seen. We will need all the help we can get."
"If it is so dire, perhaps we should consider retreat," Mormont replied, his tone too low to carry. "The Wall was built to hold back such horrors."
"We cannot flee fast enough, too many of the young, the old, and the sick would be left to them, and I will not leave them for the Others, nor burn them alive," Mance said firmly. "We fight here. This is an old place. A strong place. And the Witch and an Old God fight with us."
"And moi! Always mortals give the foolish gods credit while ignoring the Infernal Realm," Vanir sighed dramatically, popping out of the ground next to Mance and making the Wildling leader start in shock.
"Ah yes," Mormont said, a smile creasing his lips. "Vanir, I think you should acquaint yourself with Mance. Did you know, he fancies himself a bard? I am certain you would enjoy critiquing his performance."
"A bard you say? Why, moi is a music aficionado! Come, moi would hear the quaint melodies of this forsaken land. Tell moi, have you mortals here ever heard of musical theater? Moi has simply been dying for a proper performance of West Side Story. If thou art a bard, Moi has some ideas of how we can put these miscreants to use."
Mance had time for a terrified look over his shoulder as Vanir put an arm about him and guided the King Beyond the Wall back towards his dwelling, waxing rhapsodic about things that Jon had certainly never heard of.
"Never did forgive that bastard for deserting. Serves him right to suffer the attentions of the Seven Hells for a few hours at least," Mormont muttered. Then he shook himself. "Come, Snow. I would learn more of your latest revelation. Tell me, do you happen to have one of the Seven hidden in your back pocket? No? A shame. I never worshiped them, but I can't help but think we could use all the help we could get for now."
For the next few days, Jon and the Night's Watch settled into the encampment, making a wary peace while surrounded by Wildlings. They were given a place along the North Eastern section of the lower wall, which they began to reinforce.
Strangely, Ygritte seemed to decide that she was to stay with the Watch, having become fascinated with Ghost and Jon. She spent long hours sitting in silence with Ghost, or talking to him occasionally.
"Never had a god before, but he seems a proper enough one. Doesn't order you about like I thought a god would," Ygritte observed one evening to Jon as they returned to camp from scouting at Mormont's behest.
Ghost wagged his tail, giving a doggy grin as Ygritte scratched behind his ears. For some reason, Jon felt terribly jealous. They were making their way past a wildling cookfire when Ghost suddenly growled, then sprang forward. The Wildings let out an oath when they dropped their pot into the flames, which hissed and sputtered as the stew ran out and snuffed the flames.
"Damned beast, I- Oh! It's the god-thing. What the bloody hell does the beast want?" the man demanded, then coughed into his fist.
Ghost ignored their anger, sniffing at the stew, the growling again.
"Ghost?" Jon asked, kneeling beside him. "What's the matter?"
The wolf shifted to his human form, causing the wildlings to sputter and let out more oaths. He ran over to a bag hung from a nearby tent, pulling a handful of grain from it. With a cry, Ghost sprang away, dropping the grain. He made a strange shape in the air before him, and fire suddenly shot forth, consuming the bag of grain and what was spilled on the ground.
"What is wrong with him!?" one of the women around the fire demanded, reaching for a spear. "God or no, that's some of the last food we have!"
"Ghost does not act for no reason. Where did you get the grain?" Ygritte demanded.
"From those Thenns that came in yesterday. They shared out a few sacks for those of us running low on food," the man from before responded, then stopped, coughing and hacking into a fist.
Ghost turned to Jon, his hands moving in a sign that Jon had learned. "Bad."
"Bad? The grain is bad? It's making them sick?" Jon demanded.
Ghost shifted back to his wolf form and ran off, barking at Jon and Ygritte, who sprinted after them to angry cries behind them, demanding they replace the grain. As they ran, Ghost grabbed another bag of grain in his teeth, dragging it along as he raced to the top of the hill, where Mance was staying along with Wiz and the other Wildling Leaders.
Without pause, Ghost burst into the wooden hut, Jon and Ygrette hard on his heels. Mance looked up from speaking to Lord Mormont, and Wiz glanced up from a ledger of supplies she had before her. Without pause, Ghost ran up to Wiz, planting the bag of grain before her.
"Ghost?" Wiz asked. "What is-" With a sudden cry, Wiz pointed a finger at the grain. "Consuming Flames!"
Everyone piled out of the hut, which was rapidly filling with smoke. Ghost and Wiz were the last out, and they turned, both hurling more fire at the building.
"What in Seven Hells was that for?" Tormund coughed, glaring at Wiz.
"That grain. It was… it was Plagued," Wiz panted, her skin far paler than normal. "Ghost. Where did you get that?"
"It was in the camp, some people had it, they said some Thenn's gave it to them," Jon supplied.
"Oh no," Wiz whispered, turning to look down the hill, her eyes wide. "Oh no."
"What? Plagued?" Mance demanded, going red with anger. "That's impossible. The Plague was the Kinslayer's doing. It never made it north of the Wall."
"That was the Plague of Undeath," Wiz said quietly. "Whoever eats that grain will die. Then rise again, as a servant... as a servant of... They will be bound to the Frozen Throne."
"Goddesses preserve us," Mormont breathed as the flames crackled behind them. They turned to look down at the camp, as a crowd of Wildlings ran up.
Half of them were coughing as they did so.