It was raining heavily again by the time the party reached Castle Black. After a half day of non stop riding, Jon was tired. The thought of a comfortable bed and a toasty fire almost sounded like a dream now. He would've voiced his discomfort, if Val and Tormund weren't present.
"This better be worth it," growled Tormund Giantsbane, his snow white beard and hair slick and dripping wet. "With the old gods pissing down on us, surely it's a sign all talks will fail. Raining with water now, it'll be raining with blood later. It is almost guaranteed."
Jon was too tired to respond. His uncle looked up sharply. "Better rain than an unexpected snowstorm, Tormund Giantsbane."
The Giantsbane snorted and spat. "Nothing wrong with a bit of snow, Stark."
Two black brothers approached the party. There was no sign of friendliness in their tired eyes. "Lord Commander Mallister's expecting you," one grunted. "He'll be in the Lord Commander's Tower. We'll take your horses and ensure they're all cared for if you wish."
"Thank you," said Lord Stark solemnly. "Has there been any more battles?"
The other black brother shook his head. "Seems that Mance Rayder keeps his word. No attacks for the sake of peace." His expression twisted into disgust. "As if peace will be achieved by a few pretty words uttered by powerful men who'll go back to their comfortable castles and leave us defending the Wall from wildlings again in less than a month."
Is he an idiot? Jon wondered as he watched Lord Stark's eyes narrow. Is he not aware that the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North is right here in front of him? Not only was that foolish, but that black brother might have also offended Val and Tormund – not good at all.
"Bread and salt first," Val spoke. "To my knowledge, the moment we hand you the reins of our horses and go through those tunnels, we'll be murdered. I know crows like you hate free folk like us and you have no desire to have peace."
"You want us dead too wildling," snarled the first black brother, his dull brown eyes blazing with anger. "Don't deny it!"
"Bread and salt please," said Jon firmly as Tormund opened his mouth. "Orwen isn't it?" The same black brother nodded suspiciously. "Do you remember that I'd fought beside you?" Another cautious nod. "Believe me when I say, that we're all tired. We had a long journey from Winterfell. This here's Lord Stark." Jon pointed at his uncle. "We are here to negotiate."
Orwen frowned. "I remember you," he admitted to Jon. His eyes narrowed. "It was you who was weak enough to let a wildling bitch go! What are you doing out here, Snow? You were sent away to Shadow Tower! You shouldn't be here. Last I heard was that you were a prisoner of wildlings or dead."
"Yet here I am."
"Planning to hand us over to wildlings are you, Snow?"
"Bread and salt," Lord Stark all but growled. "We are here to end this war. We are your last hope. I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North. In the interest of promoting peace for winter, I ask you to inform Lord Commander Mallister that we have arrived and will be in the common hall."
Jon bit his tongue in surprise. He had never seen Lord Stark bear a thunderous look on his face or hear him speak so harshly. Solemnly yes, harshly no, even to a deserter or a criminal. Was Lord Stark truly angry or was he pretending? If there was anything in the world Lord Stark despises, pretending was one of them. For years Lord Stark pretended to be your own father, said a coy voice in Jon's head. Is that not proof that he can lie quite well? Even the most honourable can lie and be a pretender if it comes down to it.
Whether Lord Stark was pretending to be furious or not, it worked. Within the next few minutes, Orwen and his fellow black brother led Jon and the others into the tunnels and to the common hall, a great keep constructed from timber. There were loud squawks from the rafters. Jon glanced up and saw three to four crows nesting there. How fitting.
The last time Jon was here, he was openly berated for being too honourable to a wildling. The black brothers and southron soldiers alike, did not hesitate to yell at him. "What are you, a fucking simpleton?" Ser Alliser Thorne had roared, anger flaring in his black eyes. "You kill wildlings, not let them go!"
It seemed even now, the brothers of the Night's Watch still harboured a hatred of sorts towards him. As Jon sat at one of the emptier trestle tables with his uncle Lord Stark, Val and Tormund, he felt many hard stares and the conversations had decreased to a faint, angry murmur like the buzzing of bees and wasps. Ignoring the unfriendly reception, Jon ladled a couple of generous dollops of some sort of brown stew into his bowl. After a long journey, he was quite ravenous and a bowl of stew sounded delicious. Besides, eating would refrain him from retorting to an inquisitive black brother. As other black brothers, northern lords and even a few southron men slowly joined the table, Jon hastily spooned stew into his mouth. It was cold, the rabbit meat tough and chewy and the soup thin and watery. Either the cook Three-Finger Hobb was losing his touch, or the black brothers were low on food supplies.
"Ned, it's been a while."
Uncle Benjen had sat down next to Lord Stark, heavy shadows under his eyes. His beard was tangled and his face was marred with scars both old and fresh. As he reached for the flagon of mulled ale, Jon noticed bandages around some of his fingers and dried blood on the back of his hand. Uncle Benjen met his gaze. There was the tiniest spark of warmth in his blue eyes. "Jon," he said quietly. "I heard a dozen or so rumours about you. You were killed. You were captured and killed in some place Beyond the Wall. You were tortured. You were dismembered slowly. You joined the wildlings. Here you are…alive."
"Uncle," said Jon stiffly. He still remembered the curt, cold dismissal his uncle had said to him all those months ago. "How is the situation?"
Uncle Benjen glanced warily at Val and Tormund before looking back to him. Suspicion had not left his gaze. "No attacks but there's been word that Rayder is on the way here with an army. A massive army to slaughter us all."
"No," said Jon swiftly. That cannot be possible. Mance Rayder swore by the old gods he wanted a long peace. "He wouldn't come here with an army." Recognising the mistrustful look on his uncle's face, Jon knew at once that the exhausted man sitting across from him was Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch and a soldier, not the jovial, good-natured uncle.
"Jon isn't a liar, Benjen," spoke Lord Stark.
"These are the wildlings we're talking about," retorted Benjen. "Jon's not a liar, but he did carry wilding sympathies in the past. Did you know he allowed one of the most notorious wildlings to escape? We're of the North too, Ned. My brothers and I remember what Ser Jon did. He's a fair fighter, aye, but his loyalties? A little dubious is the kindest I can say. Who allows a wildling woman to escape? Only a green boy who'd rather keep his honour than secure victory to his allies. Jon here is lucky he got away with his life. There were many that wanted him dead. Half of them died," he added, his gaze fixed on Jon. "Cut down in battle by wildlings a bit after you left for Bear Island."
"We will talk about that later," said Lord Stark firmly. "For now, peace must be secured at all cost. You said Mance Rayder is coming?"
"He's almost here." Garbed in plain black, Lord Commander Mallister stood at the entrance of the common hall. He was old – about fifty seven years old at least – and had lost all his hair, yet he stood as tall and strong as a robust man half his age. He strode towards Jon, his uncles and Val and Tormund, the latter two who were strangely silent. "Mance Rayder's almost here," the Lord Commander said a second time, his blue-grey eyes expressing calmness. "Some of the rangers said it will take him half a day to ride here on those little horses of theirs." He looked at Lord Stark. "You must be Lord Stark. I am grateful for all the aid you sent. If you'd not sent those troops here, the Wall would've long fallen."
"It is my duty to help the Night's Watch," said Lord Stark solemnly.
Lord Commander Mallister nodded. He turned to Jon. "Good to have you back with us, Ser Jon." There was no anger in his tone. "We need every able and skilled fighter we can get." He paused. "In case peace does not hold."
"He's a traitor!" snarled a black brother who had a magnificent black eye. "We don't need traitors here!" He spat.
Jon bit his tongue. That particular black brother's crime was working for Lord Bracken when he served as a stableman to Lord Blackwood. In Lord Blackwood's eyes, that was traitorous enough to warrant taking the black or death.
"How can you want peace when you fight amongst yourselves?" muttered Val, so quietly that only Jon heard.
"It's not as if your clans don't fight amongst yourselves," Jon hissed back.
"Enough." The Lord Commander's calm voice broke through the bickering. "It has already been agreed that we will discuss Ser Jon Snow at a later time. We are wasting time arguing like children as Mance Rayder advances. The Lord Steward Bowen Marsh, the First Ranger Benjen Stark, First Builder Othell Yarwyck and I'll be the delegates of the Night's Watch in the parley. Lord Stark, his son and a lord of the North will represent the northern party and three knights from the south will be at the parley to represent the south." He glanced at Val and Tormund. "To my knowledge, you two will be part of Mance Rayder's party?"
"Aye," grunted Tormund.
Lord Commander Mallister nodded. "Once you have satisfied your stomachs, it will be best for you to come to the Lord Commander's Tower."
Tension in Castle Black rose to simmering point when Mance Rayder arrived, two dozen of the free folk walking behind him. For a man who was keen on peace, he did not seem to believe he'd be safe without his own people around him. He is right to be suspicious, Jon thought. No one trusts wildlings here. If this isn't a parley for peace, Mance and the free folk will be dead by now. What civility had remained had dissipated in seconds the minute Mance Rayder entered Castle Black.
"Wildling."
"Murderer."
"Fucking traitor."
"Oathbreaker."
"Fucking wildling."
Disdain dripped like poison from the lips of passing black brothers. Even for a peace pact that might save their lives, they could not hide their hatred for Mance Rayder and the other free folk. Jon did not blame them, yet part of him wanted to shout at the black brothers, "Can't you hide your insults for an hour? For peace?" He knew there was no point. Northmen's words were never minced – better the harsh truth than pretty words.
"Jon Snow," acknowledged the King-Beyond-the-Wall, his shrewd brown eyes landing on Jon. He calmly removed his bronze and iron helm decorated with two raven wings, one at each temple. He nodded at Val and Tormund. "Val. Tormund. Safe journey I hope?" He looked away from Jon and gazed at Jon's two uncles. He smiled at Lord Stark, who did not return the smile. "It's been quite a while since I last saw you Lord Stark," Mance Rayder remarked.
"We have never met until now," said Lord Stark flatly. "It would be best for us to meet Lord Commander Mallister in the Lord Commander's Tower." He pointed at the large plate of bread and salt on the table beside him. "Bread and salt gladly given by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. You have our word that once you consume the bread, no harm will come to you or the other free folk men here at Castle Black."
Mance Rayder smiled again. "You're the honourable Lord Stark – I believe you will keep your word." His eyes slid to the gathering crowd of black brothers. "As for the crows…"
"There will be no bloodshed yet," spoke Uncle Benjen coldly. "Give us a cause, and we will cut you down."
"Unless we cut you down first," growled the Crowkiller. "I've cut many of you crows down and I'm itching to do so again." His eyes fell on Jon. His lips formed a loathing scowl. "I won't spare you either, Val's man or not."
Jon gritted his teeth as Uncle Benjen's frown grew. Not now, Crowkiller. "Bread and salt," he said to Mance. "now. We cannot keep the Lord Commander waiting. He's been expecting you for some time." He expected another argument to follow, one about the losing army having every right to wait. He was quite relieved when Mance silently stepped towards the table, sprinkle salt onto a piece of bread and eat it. Alfyn Crowkiller and the other free folk that accompanied him followed. It would not astonish Jon in the slightest if after peace talks the black brothers start complaining about the bread and salt wasted on the free folk.
Once all the bread was consumed, Jon fell into step with his uncles as the party of black brothers, northmen, southron knights and wildlings headed to the Lord Commander's Tower in utter silence. No one coughed, grumbled or laughed. The only sounds Jon heard were their own footsteps – oddly loud in the midst of this unusual quiet atmosphere – and heavy breathing.
"It has been quite a while since I was here." Mance's voice broke the silence.
Mance Rayder was here before? He was bold and clever enough to sneak into the Lord Commander's Keep? Over a dozen questions danced in Jon's mind. Before he could even ask one, his uncle Benjen strode to the door of the Lord Commander's Keep and rapped on it thrice.
Hesitation lingered in the strange party. Who was to enter first? Oddly enough, it was more a wordless battle between the black brothers and the southron men. Catching a glimpse of Mance's expression, Jon noticed he looked amused. Thank the old gods that Uncle Benjen was in a seemingly foul mood – without wasting a second, he pushed open the door and stalked in, the Lord Steward (a round man as red as a pomegranate) and the lantern-jawed First Builder trailing behind him. Lord Stark followed suit and Jon hurried after him. The chosen northman – Lord Umber's third son Harlon – walked behind them. The three southron knights that Jon didn't know well were next to enter and the free folk last.
Lord Commander Mallister was already seated, a stack of parchment, a couple of quills and a full bottle of ink efficiently placed on the table in front of him. Once the door closed behind Tormund, the Lord Commander gestured for everyone to sit down on the chairs provided.
"Mance Rayder," said Lord Commander Mallister civilly as if he was talking to a friend or fellow black brother. He studied Mance's slashed cloak of black wool and scarlet silk. His lips tightened.
"Lord Commander," Mance acknowledged. "Last I saw you, you ordered me to burn this cloak and replace it with one like your own."
"You deserted the Night's Watch, an act that will lead to execution."
"Yet here we are, negotiating for peace."
"What are your terms?"
"We are permitted entry to the Gift." Jon shot a warning look at Harlon Umber who made a noise of protest. "We will not be hunted down by northmen," Mance went on. "Fur and other supplies for winter such as food and wood will be traded between us, the crows and the northmen. If the terms are agreeable, all manners of fighting between us will cease. If word comes around that a man, a woman or a child of the free folk is dead at your hands or those of a northman, we'll demand justice. If one of our own kills one of your men, he or she'll be punished. Some of my allies think the terms are too soft. I think it's fair, don't you, Lord Commander Mallister?" He cocked his head challengingly.
"Your people refuse to swear fealty and allegiance to the Lords of Winterfell," Lord Commander Mallister said bluntly. "If we permit you entry, you are naught but a flock of rebels. You'll be executed on sight or forced to take the black. You'll die much quicker and live a short, unhappy life. Where will you settle? No lord of the North will want you loitering on his lands."
"They can settle in the Gift," said Jon quietly. He caught Lord Stark's gaze. Lord Stark gave him a slight nod. Now is the time to reveal what we had discussed, his nod advised. "My…father will appoint me Lord Protector of the Gift. The free folk don't have to swear allegiance to me. I'll be there as a peace keeper. I will ensure the food and material are shared between the free folk and the men of the Night's Watch. The grains and crops too."
"The Crowkiller and the Weeper will refuse," commented Mance.
"It's shelter House Stark is offering," retorted Jon. "It's a place for you to raise your children in winter. It's a place where you can live when you're old and tired. A haven of sorts if you like. If you want to raise your daughters to be spearwives, do so. The Mormonts will have no objections to that."
Lord Commander Mallister looked at Lord Stark. "You approve of this, my lord Stark? You fully approve of this?"
Lord Stark nodded. "A Stark will always be at the Gift to maintain peace. That I can promise you in the name of the old gods and new."
"We need more men." Lord Commander Mallister glanced back Mance. "If you agree to send a good portion of your men to join the Night's Watch each year, I'm willing to agree to the terms."
Mance shook his head. "We are the free folk, Lord Commander. I cannot force anyone to join the Night's Watch." He paused in thought. "I can persuade them to man the Wall for a year or two without taking vows. It'll not be easy – men of the free folk won't agree for the next twelve moons, but after that…maybe. I suppose only time will tell."
"Only time will tell," agreed Lord Stark.
The Lord Commander still looked doubtful. "We need more men," he repeated. "Not many younger sons of lords and knights take the black. Our largest numbers of men are criminals but even that is not enough. My predecessors often required more men – we did not receive many."
"No one wants to freeze their balls off at the bloody Wall," muttered Tormund. Jon shot him an exasperated look.
"We can make it a requirement for the boys." Surprisingly it was Mance who'd suggested it. "The other clan chiefs will argue against it, but it will give the young men an opportunity to test their skills. It will take some time for the other men of the free folk – and the women – to agree to it, but they might think it a better idea than serving as temporary men of the Night's Watch." He must have caught sight of Jon's astounded expression as he smiled dryly. "I am of the free folk Jon Snow, and I despise crows as much as the next man, but I'll not give up an opportunity for long term peace."
"The first step of peace between the North and the free folk is already set," Jon added, albeit reluctantly. I'm already hated by half the black brothers; they'll hate me more once they learn the news. "Set in the same method two noble houses may unite." He paused as he heard Lord Commander Mallister gasp. Was it in horror? Shock? Relief? Chances were it was a gasp of shock. "I married Val."
"I stole him," Val corrected.
"More marriages can be arranged," said Lord Stark smoothly. "That is more of a matter between the northern lords and the free folk though."
"No!" said Harlon Umber, visibly shaking with anger. "Wildlings take our girls as if they are pieces of fruit from trees! You want us to gladly give our daughters, sisters and female relations away to them? Never!"
"There will be marriages between the free folk and northerners in the Gift and the New Gift," Jon insisted. "However, with my lord father's permission, I wish to confirm something before this continues."
Lord Stark nodded. "Go ahead, Jon."
"We are in agreement for a long peace?" questioned Jon, looking at both Lord Commander Mallister and Mance Rayder. "The terms are satisfactory?" Both men nodded warily. "Then we are done," said Jon simply. "All we need to do is write it up, sign it and announce it to the others. Any additional conditions between free folk and the North can be discussed separately."
"Very true," acceded Mance. "Lord Stark?"
"Jon is correct," said Lord Stark, acknowledging Jon with a nod. "For now, we'll solely discuss the Night's Watch and the free folk. We will discuss our terms after the war between the black brothers and the free folk officially ends. We'll confer our conditions later – at Winterfell."
I decided to post a northern chapter as a 'break' from the southron situation. Benjen might be considered slightly out of character, but I wrote him like that in this chapter because he's been fighting against wildlings for months and is like his sworn black brothers - not 100% convinced peace with the Free Folk is a good idea as they don't trust the Free Folk would keep their word.
