The icy wind swarmed around Benjen, occasionally jabbing him through his black furs as he stood on the Wall. He watched the sun's golden fingers slowly creep up from the horizon against a canvas of pink, orange and blue; it was not any warmer than at midnight. Underneath the thick fur, Benjen wore leather and wool, a scarf wrapped around his mouth and the hood of his cloak pulled over his face. His sword hung at his side in a leather sheath and across his chest was a gleaming black warhorn banded with silver. Grasping the shaft of a tall, heavy spear tipped in iron, his fingers were stiff and frozen from the merciless pokes of the cold breeze throughout his watch.

Yet to swear his solemn vows, Benjen Stark had been assigned night guard five times already. Considering himself as green as some of the young recruits Yoren had collected during their journey from Winterfell to the Wall, Benjen enjoyed battling the harsh winds every night.

After a supper of hot pork pies and warm ale, Benjen would clamber inside the iron cage and yank on the bell rope thrice, hard. The ground slowly fell away as he ascended higher and higher…he was above the towers and still inching his way upward. Looking down, the starkness and emptiness of Castle Black was more than clear; windowless keeps, crumbling walls, courtyards choked with broken stone…the cage jerks to a sudden stop and Benjen would step down onto the crushed stone across the walkways of the Wall. Usually he would chat to two of his future sworn brothers, one leaning on the winch and the other holding the cage, before beginning his night guard.

Benjen watched the sun sluggishly rise before trundling to the iron cage, his legs as stiff from the cold as his fingers. Reaching the bottom, he headed to the common hall, his hood falling down. A ray of sunlight hit the back of his mop of dark hair as he pushed open the door of the great timbered keep. He made his way to the front of the large hearth – accommodating a small, crackling fire – and sighed with a relieving shudder as the frostiness melted from his fingers and his toes. If the Wall was this chilly at the beginning of spring, he could not help but wonder how cold it would be in the heart of a long winter.

His stomach yowling with hunger, Benjen accepted a bowl of thick cream of wheat with a generous spoonful of butter melting in the middle and a dollop of honey from Castle Black's main cook, Three-Finger Hobb. Only a couple of men had appeared for breakfast – no doubt other men who served night guard – and Benjen chose to sit at the bench with the best view.

As he ate, he heard cries and squawks from the crows nesting in the timbers of the lofty ceiling. He smiled. It reminded him of Winterfell's rookery. Spooning up more of the cream of wheat, a broad-shouldered man sat down opposite him with his own bowl of breakfast. "Nice, eh?" he said, nodding at the big spoon of butter and honey. "You don't get this in winter."

Benjen looked at him and his eyes widened. "Jeor Mormont."

The former Lord of Bear Island chuckled whilst maintaining a stern gaze. "I'm pleased you already know me by sight, Benjen Stark."

"I…I heard of your…your reputation, Lord Mormont."

"Lord Mormont?" Jeor Mormont snorted. "I have not heard that in years! Call me Jeor or Mormont, whichever you prefer."

Benjen smiled. "Very well…Mormont."

"How is Ned?"

"Well. He is now a father as well as the Lord of Winterfell."

"Mmm. Congratulations. I will instruct my son to send your nephew a gift from Bear Island. Do you think a small spiked mace will be too much?" He chuckled as he swallowed a spoonful of his breakfast. "No doubt my sister Maege may deem it an appropriate gift for the heir of Winterfell."

"If Robb's mother was Catelyn Tully, she would be shocked. As it is Ashara…I will be interested to hear her reaction."

"Aye. Have you heard the news? Catelyn Baratheon had recently given birth to a stillborn son. Our king is devastated." You do not sound upset. Then again, men of the Night's Watch do not take part in the intrigues of the south. "Some have already begun saying it is a mistake for King Robert to take a trout as wife," Jeor Mormont continued, "Lord Tywin Lannister one of them. I suspect he desired his own daughter to be King Robert's queen."

"Poor Catelyn."

"Poor Queen Catelyn indeed," Mormont agreed. "I met her lord father before; a clever and ambitious man. Oh, Lord Tully may not look ruthless like the Lord of Casterly Rock, but he is one determined trout." He chortled. "Catelyn Baratheon would've been happier the wife of a highborn lord rather than queen. So much for the Tully words when the chance of being good-father of the king was in Lord Tully's grasp. If that was not all, he married his younger daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather!"

"You are quite well-informed, Mormont."

"Everyone knows about it, Stark. Even here at the Wall. Some of the younger, more uncouth men were laughing about it. Of course a young maiden wedding an elderly lord has been done before, but do you not find it strange Lord Tully will agree to it when he is the king's good-father?"

"It is no longer our concern, Mormont. I thought men of the Night's Watch no longer keep an interest with matters of the south."

"Very true, Stark. However, you are not a man of the Night's Watch yet." Jeor Mormont looked at him intently. "Do you still desire to be a man of the Night's Watch, Stark? It is not too late to leave and return to Winterfell as Lord Stark's brother and the little lordling's uncle."

"Why do you ask, Mormont?"

Mormont shrugged. "A few nobles have changed their minds in the past. You have seen your future brothers; criminals, the lot of them. Are you still willing to embrace them as your brothers once you say your vows?"

Would it surprise you if I tell you I already befriended a few? "Yes." Benjen scraped the remains of his breakfast and swallowed it.

"What of those who raped and killed the innocent?"

Wouldn't those type of people be hanged? "Nothing you say will make me change my mind, Mormont," said Benjen coldly. "I will be a fool if I decide on a whim to return to my former life."

"You remind me of old Rickard Stark. Once he decides upon something, he will not change his mind." Mormont finished his bowl of cream of wheat. "Ah, before I forget, Lord Commander Qorgyle wishes to have a word with you."

"Now?"

"It is never good to keep the Lord Commander waiting, Stark."

Benjen stood up. "Very well. I will see him now." He paused. "Out of interest, what order are you in?"

"Ranger," came the swift response. "What did people call you when you were a son of Winterfell? The Wolf Pup? A pup no longer, eh? I wager you are like all the other knights and lesser nobles, wishing to be rangers?"

"I am content with whatever order I am placed in."

Mormont snickered, sipping ale. "Even a builder? I must say, I am quite eager to see you a builder." Benjen stared at him. He always expected Jeor Mormont to be a more…stern man who did not laugh once every few minutes. Stammering farewell, Benjen hurried out, feeling like an idiot. He made his way to the Lord Commander's Tower as more black brothers headed to the common hall for a spot of breakfast. He quickly climbed up the tower steps and knocked on the slightly ajar oaken door.

"Come in."

Benjen entered. "Lord Commander Qorgyle," he greeted. "Jeor Mormont said you wish to see me?"

The old lord commander glanced up from his growing mountain of papers in front of him. "Benjen Stark," he acknowledged with a slow nod. "Please, have a seat. How is your brother?"

"He is well," said Benjen cautiously. Why were both Jeor Mormont and Lord Commander Qorgyle interested in Ned's wellbeing? "Lord Commander Qorgyle, please forgive me for my ah, bluntness, but I doubt you summoned me here just to discuss Lord Eddard Stark."

"True. From what I heard, you are one of the most eager recruits the Night's Watch received in years."

"A Stark is always manning the Wall."

"Is that why you enjoy freezing your balls off every night?"

Benjen raised an eyebrow at the Lord Commander's words. "I enjoy the view, Lord Commander," he said stiffly, "and a chilly breeze does not bother me; even at night. In fact, I am eager to face the snowstorms of winter."

Qorgyle snorted with laughter. "Ha! We shall see when it is winter again, now won't we? Anyway, that is not the point." He was stern again. "I saw you train in the training yard with the other recruits yesterday. You fight well, Stark. Quite well indeed. Did Lord Stark teach you?"

"No, Lord Commander. I learnt from Winterfell's master-at-arms. Sometimes my late father would instruct me, as would my brother Brandon. During Robert's war, I was the Stark at Winterfell and I practiced every day with any man willing to spar with me." He paused. Qorgyle nodded and motioned for him to continue, a look of interest appearing on his face.

I also sparred with Lyanna. "That is all," said Benjen uncomfortably.

"I see." Qorgyle peeled a boiled egg on his plate. "I think your skills are wasted patrolling the Wall rather than training your fellow recruits. The Night's Watch is currently lacking a master-at-arms. Perhaps you will consent to fill that office for a short time? Mayhaps a day or two?"

"Why me, Lord Commander? Surely there are more capable and experienced soldiers willing to instruct a band of recruits."

"Do you know any that are not too valuable to waste?"

"To waste, Lord Commander?"

"Ser Denys Mallister is one of our best men, but he is better suited to the office of Commander of the Shadow Tower than master-at-arms. Call me a weary old man, but I rather appoint men I know than strangers. After Robert Baratheon was crowned king, a number of knights were sent here as punishment for siding with the dragons. Surely they are all seasoned warriors and commanders who are more than capable of training recruits. However, I rather keep an eye on them for the time being than give them positions."

"I am only a recruit; I have not even said my vows. Lord Commander, what can possibly qualify me as acting master-at-arms rather than any man already sworn in as a man of the Night's Watch?"

The Lord Commander looked at him and said simply. "You are a Stark."

Benjen frowned. "If that is all Lord Commander, I think I will go. I'm afraid I must decline your request."

"You think I want you as acting master-at-arms due to your House name?" He stared at Benjen incredulously. "You fool! I am only fulfilling an order." Catching sight of his confused expression, Qorgyle added, "You know your letters, yes?" He pushed a folded piece of parchment towards him.

Cautiously, Benjen reached for it and read. Swear in Stark as a sworn brother and acting master-at-arms. If you do, more able men will be sent to the Wall.

Benjen looked back at the waiting Lord Commander Qorgyle. "You cannot give me my vows yet," he said, alarmed. "I have been here for less than a month and my training has not finished yet." This is all wrong! "What will the other recruits say?" he continued, panicking slightly. "The other black brothers will object to it surely! Lord Commander, you cannot swear me into the Night's Watch and make me the acting master-at-arms now!"

"I thought you want to be a man of the Night's Watch?"

"Well yes, but-"

"We need more men, Stark." Qorgyle wearily sighed and consumed his second boiled egg. "What else can I do? This…this person, promised men – able men. It arrived last night and I showed it to Mormont. He advised me to agree to it as the need for more men is quite dire already.

"Every second day, I send patrols east towards Eastwatch-by-the Sea and west towards the Shadow Tower every second day. Imagine how efficient and easier it would be if there are more men of the Night's Watch to cover patrol between the castles! Who knows? Perhaps in five years, there will be enough men to hold and patrol even the Nightfort."

Benjen arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me Lord Commander, but I cannot see how a few dozen more men will revive the Nightfort in five years."

"Stark, a few dozen more men will be a large difference to the Night's Watch; subduing wildlings will be simpler with more men."

"I see."

"Will you say your vows?"

Benjen shook his head. "It is not right. It is not honourable. I chose to be a man of the Night's Watch, not to ascend in the ranks by my name or orders and bribes written by shadows. However, as a favour to you, Lord Commander, I will help instruct the other recruits as much as I can."

Qorgyle sighed again gloomily and nodded. "You are an honourable one, are you not? I always thought Mormont was a man of honour, but after speaking to you in person…I will speak bluntly, Stark. I liked you more when you were the excited lad shooting volleys of questions at me on paper."

Benjen chuckled. "Aye." You did not sound so desperate for men in the letters you sent me. "Will that be all, Lord Commander?"

Qorgyle nodded, "There should be a couple of recruits heading to the training yard as we speak. Perhaps you should go and instruct them. There is one rather young recruit who is quite…ah, ill. He is only a young boy, but his carer assured me he will be a sworn brother when he is ready."

"A young boy?" Benjen could not hide his surprise.

"Aye. A Dayne of High Hermitage. A simpleton by the sounds of it. Honestly it would be a blessing for him to die, but we cannot be…selective of the number of men we need. Maybe you can turn the Dayne boy into a future sworn brother of the Night's Watch."

"I will try, Lord Commander." Curious, Benjen left the Lord Commander's keep and descended the stairs. As he walked to the training yard, he wondered who would possibly be bold enough to send that letter to Lord Commander Qorgyle. A man of the Night's Watch gets what he earns, Benjen recalled from Mormont's letters. I will earn my due; I will never be bribed. The sound of singing steel was music to his ears as he came upon the beginning of a sparring session. Two men – roughly his age – laughed raucously as they clashed swords. Benjen surmised them to be the younger sons of knights or lesser lords. Their boiled leather must have costed a fortune – if they were farmers or miners. Before he could approach them, he caught sight of the boy Qorgyle mentioned.

Standing by the training yard stairs was a small boy of about eight years of age with silver-blonde hair and the distinctive purple eyes found in Houses Dayne, Velaryon…and Targaryen. The young boy's lips tightened into an expression a cross between a pout and a scowl, his eyes narrowing. Benjen walked up to him. His complexion was too fine to be a Dayne of High Hermitage. He looked…almost royal. Could he be…? No, Benjen dismissed. Ned said all the Targaryens except Daenerys were murdered. He would never lie…would he?

"Who are you?" Benjen said gently.

The boy lifted his head and said proudly. "Viserys Targaryen the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Prince of Dragonstone, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." One of the other men nearby snorted and guffawed.

Benjen frowned. "No…Lord Commander Qorgyle said you are a Dayne of High Hermitage. Is your names Viserys?" The boy may be a simpleton, but surely he would know his own name!

"I am not a Dayne of High Hermitage!" said the boy hotly. "I am the king! I am Viserys Targaryen the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Prince of Dragonstone, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! I am your rightful king!"

"And I'm King Robert," snickered another recruit.

The boy swirled to him and shouted. "Usurper! Traitor! I AM THE KING! I WILL HAVE YOU EXECUTED!" It only caused more laughter amongst the recruits and black brothers.

"You are a Dayne of High Hermitage," Benjen repeated, ignoring the smirks of amusement. "You are Viserys Dayne of High Hermitage. Who sent you here? Was it your father? An uncle? Brother?"

"A cloaked man," the boy said grudgingly. "And I am Viserys Targaryen, not Viserys Dayne. My father was king but he died; I am now king." By the gods, a stronger man will break you into submission.

"You never saw his face?"

"No. It was always covered. Why does it matter?"

"What did he sound like?"

The boy glared at him disdainfully. "I cannot remember! The journey to this horrible place was long, cold and tiring! I slept most of the way and he did all the talking. Why do you care? Why am I even here? I should be at home with my little sister! Where is she?"

"Little sister?" Benjen frowned and slowly veered the boy away from prying eyes. "Who? Do you remember her name?"

He shook his head. "Our mother never named her."

Benjen pressed on. "Why didn't she name her?"

"She died." The hatred and insolence melted from his tone. "My mother died giving birth to my sister. When I carried her, I sometimes called her Rhaella, after our mother. Other times, I called her Alysanne."

Rhaella...

Queen Rhaella Targaryen.

By the old gods and new…the boy is no simpleton and he is not mad, thought Benjen, as he listened to him – no, Viserys – rattle on about some storm and his mother's death. Ned told me in his letters that there was a dangerous storm in Dragonstone when Stannis Baratheon launched an assault there at the end of the king's war. If Lord Commander Qorgyle told the truth, this boy should not know all this. This boy is Viserys Targaryen. What is he doing here? The time of the dragons is over; it is now the reign of the stags. All the Targaryens should be dead or hiding in the Free Cities – except Daenerys of course. If the king catches wind of a Targaryen at the Wall…

"You are unwell," Benjen lied, the guilt of telling a falsehood twisting in his stomach. "You were knocked unconscious many months ago. You are Viserys Dayne of High Hermitage, not Viserys Targaryen."

The boy frowned. "You are lying!" he accused.

"I am not." Even a boy of eight can tell I'm lying. "You are Viserys Dayne and your father has decided that as a younger son, you will be of more use here at the Wall rather than at your home in Dorne." Before the boy could snarl back, he went on. "Lord Commander Qorgyle told me everything. After your accident, your father did not know what to do with you and sent you here. It will be in your best interest to remember who you truly are – Viserys Dayne. Qorgyle had asked me to help you improve your swordplay. Will you be a good boy and learn to be a noble man of the Night's Watch? Or would you rather be sent beyond the Wall and…killed by wildlings?"


I never really enjoyed reading the chapters involving the Wall and the Night's Watch, but I thought it would be interesting to experiment with writing a chapter of Benjen there. It was not my favourite chapter to write, and I did not write Jeor Mormont as well as I hoped. I doubt I'll write many chapters in POVs at the Wall. Well...I probably will after the big time jump when Viserys grows up a bit more.