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Chapter 122

Jaime XLII

"Open the gates!"

Jaime glared at the doors to Castle Black. He'd never seen them before. The Night King had torn through the Wall before he'd even had a chance to make it to Winterfell, so there had been no chance for him to even defend the Wall. It loomed over him, gleaming brightly in the glaring winter's day. He hated how his fingers ached already in the chill and flexed them periodically to keep them warm and loose. As the doors were opening, Jaime turned to find Addam and Robb at his sides and was once more reminded that Brienne was not there. Neither was Pod.

She had, indeed, been pregnant when she'd gone to the maester after bringing justice to Ramsay and his men. He had immediately put his foot down about her accompanying him beyond the Wall, which led to a huge fight.

"This changes nothing! I'm not a delicate flower," Brienne insisted.

Jaime glared at her. "I suspected you were pregnant before the battle we were supposed to have at Winterfell. Did I stop you then? What about chasing down Ramsay? I did not stand in your way, but this is different altogether."

"How is it any different? We're riding horseback beyond the Wall. The wilderness is no different there than it is here."

Jaime stared. "It's very different! The Others are beyond the Wall! We're also meant to be negotiating with the wildlings. You may as well liken them to an entire tribe of brigands, murderers, and rapists, and not just a small group here and there. We don't even know how long it will take to reach them and settle the negotiations. It could take months! You are absolutely not going and I won't hesitate to tie you up if I have to."

"A child needs far more than three or four months to be ready for birth. We'd still have plenty of time," Brienne continued, stubbornly.

"Something could happen and there will not be a maester within easy reach," he snapped.

"There's a maester at Castle Black. I can stay there at least. There's no reason for me to not to go to the Wall," Brienne said, crossing her arms.

Jaime grimaced. "I'm sure Maester Aemon is a fine maester, but he is old and blind. Further, Castle Black is full of men. You'd be the only woman there. That doesn't sit well with me. I don't even like you staying here, in Winterfell, but you'd be safer here by far than up in Castle Black."

She raised her eyebrows, still glaring. "Where would you rather I go?"

"I think it wise for you to take a ship out of White Harbor and sail to Tarth. You can take the children with you; they need to be away from Winterfell as well."

Brienne frowned. "Who will watch your back?"

"Addam will. I'll be sending Pod with you as well. He still needs some training."

She rolled her eyes, but her face became clouded. "I … never mentioned Cassian to my father."

Jaime looked at her sharply. "Would he be … hostile to him?"

"I'm not sure."

Jaime began chewing on his lip and he asked, "You will protect him, won't you?"

This time it was her turn to look at him sharply. "With my life."

His eyes softened. "You … you don't mind him, do you?"

There was a beat of hesitation. "No, he did not choose his father or mother. It's hardly fair to judge him for that. But … for my father's sake, I would need assurances that he will not inherit in front of any children we have."

"Of course not," Jaime said. "I … I may make him a Lannister, but our sons will inherit. He at least deserves to live without the shame of his bastardy."

Brienne pulled her lips into a firm line and he thought he saw them tremble with a question, but she merely nodded and turned away.

It took two weeks to reach the Wall and he was fairly certain Brienne, Pod, the children, and several hundred Lannister soldiers would have left Winterfell by now. Only about twenty men were expected to accompany her onto the ship and the rest would march to Moat Cailin to begin repairs. Once Eddard Stark had been laid to rest, the rest of the Northern lords had begun their slow exodus back to their keeps to prepare for winter. The Keep, once so full and thriving, was now quiet and seemingly bereft of life. The only ones who remained were the new Night's Watch recruits and Lord Stannis Baratheon with his men.

The sour lord had left in the train headed north, but his party had been near the end and Jaime had no patience or care to bother with him. He was a man of his word once he gave it, so Jaime had little doubt that they would not have to contend with any mutiny. As sure as the sun rising in the east, Stannis and his men had made the march entirely without complaint. Before even going to Castle Black, Jaime had insisted on diverting a small party to inspect the Gift where Stannis was supposed to make his home.

There was a castle, but it was overgrown and crumbling, not yet suitable for living, much in the way Moat Cailin was. The wildlings were going to be put to work to rebuild it. Jaime didn't envy Stannis' position to whip them into shape, but he agreed with the King's logic. Stannis could manage. However, until the castle was ready, Lady Selyse was to spend her time at Castle Black. Given her gibbering, Jaime was even more pleased he'd managed to convince Brienne to take a ship to Tarth.

He made no mention of it, but her missing presence had left him restless at night. Every morning, he woke up and reached out to her only to land on air or the large body of Ghost. Much like the journey north, Ghost spent his days wandering the woods with his brother Greywind, as far as Jaime knew, but every once in a while the wolf would decide to lie in his tent with him. Jaime sincerely hoped Aemon wasn't behind Ghost's new behavior.

As they rode into the yard of Castle Black, Jaime couldn't keep his eyes from tracking the lift that went from the bottom of the wall all the way to the top where it disappeared into a mere speck. Having grown up in Casterly Rock, he normally had a head for heights, but he felt a tad dizzy craning his neck. He shook his head and made to get off of his horse. Addam and Robb followed suit.

"Welcome, lords, to Castle Black," a gruff, calm blue voice came from the old man standing in front. Despite the lines on his face, Jeor Mormont's back was straight and his eyes were clear. He considered them all and nodded. "My men will see to your horses and then we will see about a feast. Lord Robb Stark? You have my condolences on the loss of your father. I will never forget his honor nor his kindness. He was a true ally to the Night's Watch."

Robb drew his mouth into a line and nodded. "Thank you."

"Lord Commander," Jaime began, "we've brought supplies: grain, apples, assorted weapons. His Grace, King Aemon, has also gifted you a cart of Dragonglass mined from Dragonstone. Most importantly though, men. We have recruits. From seasoned knights to eager stable boys. I'm sure they will find a place here at the Wall."

"Indeed, I can find work for them. While I have sent parties to each of the castles along the Wall, most of them remain bereft. It spreads us too thin as well. I mislike it," Jeor said with a solemn shake of his head.

"With time, we hope that's something we can remedy. I can't speak to the possibility of new recruits, but I'm sure there are those of us who are not above stationing parts of our armies at the Wall for an extended period of time."

A shadow passed over the lord commander's face. "The Night's Watch is a neutral entity. To host any one army at any castle runs the risk of muddying those lines."

"This is about the survival of Westeros," Jaime said, narrowing his eyes. "We will do what must be done."

"To what end? Should the Armies of the Dead and the Night King be vanquished, there may still be suspicion and treachery."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Jaime growled. "Our focus is to defeat the Night King and the Long Night."

Jeor raised his eyebrows. "Some may deem it folly to think beyond the present, but someone has to."

Not yet they don't, Jaime thought sourly.

"Lord Commander? It's an honor, my lord. I'm Loras Tyrell. I intend to pledge my allegiance to the Night's Watch," Loras interrupted, his voice a pleased teal and he offered his arm in greeting.

Jaime was grateful for the opportunity to get away from the conversation, his eyes once more drawn to the enormity of the Wall. He saw a few figures had stepped away from the group and headed toward it: Bran Stark, Jojen Reed, Meera Reed, and Joffrey.

Much to Jaime's surprise, it hadn't taken much fight to get Catelyn and Robb to agree to release Bran. Lady Catelyn, of course, had screamed and cried, her emotions still raw from the death of her husband, but Jaime had remained stony and unmoved. He'd half-expected Robb to outright reject the idea, but he'd been thoughtful instead.

"But why? Why would Bran be needed beyond the Wall?"

"I believe King Aemon may have mentioned he was visited with a vision from the Gods."

Robb had raised his eyebrows at him, but he nodded. "That was some time ago and he hasn't suggested the old gods have revisited."

"They don't need to. In the vision, King Aemon saw Bran exercise extraordinary powers that will be important in the fight against the Long Night. The only known man who can train him lives beyond the Wall. We must see that he gets there," Jaime explained.

Robb wrinkled his nose. "Powers? What kind of powers?"

"I believe we both saw the crows swarm Roose Bolton once he shot your father."

"Yes, it was passing strange—" Robb's eyes widened, his voice orange with alarm. "You don't think Bran—?"

"No, not my baby! Bran wouldn't hurt a fly," Catelyn cried, her voice red with rage.

"I do."

They all turned to see Bran there. Though his eyes were unseeing, they somehow seemed to focus on Jaime. "I must go, Mother, brother. The Three-eyed Raven, he calls to me."

"And we will see you safely there. Your safety is of the utmost importance." He turned back to Robb and Catelyn. "We'll certainly not abandon him in the woods. He will have an escort to protect him," Jaime said.

And with that, Robb had assented. Catelyn continued to wail, but her screams had fallen on deaf ears. Jaime had then gone to the dining hall and asked for volunteers to serve Bran. To his surprise, Joffrey had leaped to his feet. When Jaime had asked him about it, Joffrey had said: "Because Bran's only ever seen the good in me. I owe him for that."

Jaime had raised his eyebrows, but he didn't inquire further. He insisted that they train so that Joffrey would be ready for such a task. Thankfully, Joffrey's skills with a blade were not as rotten as he had originally feared. While he still needed correcting with his grip and stances, the louse who'd actually trained him didn't deliberately sabotage him. However, Joffrey flinched every time Jaime came over to correct him. When it became clear that he wasn't going to be beaten for every wrong move, Joffrey had slowly begun to relax and he improved. His skills weren't on par with Podrick's, but Jaime was confident he wouldn't be the first to die in a battle.

"Bran, stay close," Robb shouted.

"I just want to see the Wall," the boy called back.

Not enough to feel it? Jaime thought. The North was cold, but he had noticed that as they had crept closer, it seemed to get colder. Now standing this close, he could be certain the chill was caused by the Wall itself. It cut straight to his bone and reminded him of his last year during the Long Night when the cold had stolen the very warmth from his blood.

"Bran"

Jaime turned away, his eyes looking over the yard, keeping his eye out for familiar faces. Much of the activity had stopped to watch them file in. He lingered here and there, but it was difficult to see all of the faces through the bushy beards that nearly all of the men grew to protect their faces from the cold. He thought he saw Ser Mandon Moore, but not Ser Boros Blount or Renly.

He returned to Jeor once more and asked, "Have you had much trouble with your more recent recruits?"

Jeor raised his bushy eyebrows. "No more than I usually have. Those banished to the Wall are not always the most cheerful or dedicated. The cold tempers their fury."

Jaime frowned at him. Aemon hadn't told him much about his time at the Wall, but many black brothers had relayed the rumors of the old man and his few loyalists perishing at Crastor's Keep after a mutiny. Samwell Tarly was one of the few survivors who escaped the massacre and he'd merely sobbed and whimpered when asked about it. His wife, Gilly, had been more forthcoming about the events that happened there.

"Don't hesitate to let the king know if you suspect mutiny and need more resources. You're our first line of defense against the Army of the Dead."

Jeor pursed his lips momentarily, but then nodded his head. "Very well. Seeing as you've brought me so many willing recruitsand such good fighters might I addI doubt I will have little difficulty keeping order. Now, let's get you all inside for a hot meal."

"At some point, I would like to visit the top of the Wall before the sun sets too low in the sky," Jaime said.

"That can be arranged. I'll take you up there myself."

Lunch consisted of stew and a batch of surprisingly soft bread. Jeor and Maester Aemon sat on one side of him with Addam on the other. It stunned him that a man who was seemingly so frail and pale as Maester Aemon could survive for over a hundred years, with most of that time being stationed at the Wall. Jaime was more than a little unnerved to be in such close proximity to the grand uncle of the king he had slain. He half expected the old maester to demand he justify himself, but he was unbothered by such questions.

Samwell Tarly sat near Maester Aemon and shoveled his food down like a man starved, though he was still just as bulky as Jaime remembered. King Aemon had a great fondness for Samwell that Jaime could neither understand nor appreciate. He had whimpered and moaned his way through most tasks he'd undertaken, though he had been smart enough to steal his family's Valyrian steel sword, Heartsbane, which they'd then handed off to the Hound to make use of. After a few moments considering him, Jaime tentatively broke the ice.

"You're Randyll Tarly's son, aren't you?"

Samwell started and looked over to him with wide eyes. "Err … uh … yuh-yes, I am," he said in a tremulous yellow voice. He was as anxious as a rabbit and had the same look of fear in his eyes.

"You seem a big lad and could make for a good fighter. I'm surprised someone like Tarly would let you commit yourself to the Night's Watch."

Samwell attempted to smile, but his laughter was a tad shrill. "Heheh … yes, well, I, uh, I don't much care for fightin'."

"No?"

"It, uh, it scares me," he finished with a whisper.

"Passing strange place to be if you want to avoid a fight then," Jaime muttered. He'd never bothered to ask Aemon why Samwell had ended up at the Night's Watch, especially given his typical cowardice. "What do you do then?"

"Oh, well, I serve Maester Aemon. I huh-help him write his letters, tend to the ravens, keep records. That sorta thing."

"Will you be, ahem, following in Maester Aemon's footsteps then?" Jaime asked.

Samwell squeaked. "Oh, uh, I duh-don't know if I can do that. My fuh-father would hate the idea of me being a maester."

"Your father is not here," Jaime said, a bit more sharply than he intended. He closed his eyes to reel in his temper.

"I don't like the sight of blood either. Makes me ill just thinking about it," Samwell rushed hurriedly.

Jaime turned to share an exasperated look with Addam. Even Samwell in the time before had tended to the injured, though he had looked miserable while doing it. Jaime wondered how in the Seven Aemon had managed to push him into attending the Citadel.

"We'll find a place for Samwell with time," Jeor interrupted.

"He's a good lad. It's not often we get someone so kind here," Maester Aemon offered with a crooked smile in his direction.

Nor so cowardly, Jaime mused moodily. It seemed impossible that Samwell had survived as long as he had in the previous life. Without Aemon's influence, Samwell was perfectly happy to rot his time away at the Wall.

"I know you intend to fill the other castles along the Wall here. Will they each be getting their own maester?"

"Maybe one or two more. It will be a challenge to fill them all. Our numbers are quite depleted," Jeor replied.

"Given the threat we're facing, I think it wise that we have more on hand than we think we'll need."

Samwell squeaked and Jaime narrowed his eyes at him.

"He's got all the spine of a worm," Addam muttered into his ear and Jaime inwardly sighed.

Once lunch was done, Jaime insisted on going to the top of the wall. Addam, Robb, Jeor Mormont, Stannis Baratheon, and Benjen Stark all joined him. The ride in the winch cage felt interminable. Robb and Benjen spoke in hushed voices, but Jaime couldn't hear them over the sounds of the cage. Jaime's heart pounded at every squeal and creak of the gears, wincing at the sharp white sounds that spilled from the mechanisms. He did not trust the platform to bear them upwards rather than plummet them to their deaths. He closed his eyes against the white glare, feeling his stomach churn with a nausea he hadn't felt since Riverrun.

Jaime exhaled as soon as the cage locked into place at the top. He was careful as he stepped out of the lift. He looked back down and swallowed upon seeing men the size of ants scurrying about the yard. Then he walked over to the forest side and similarly peered down. He noticed that the ground was cleared for some ways until the forest started.

"Have you seen any of the wildlings?"

"None so far. They've been keeping their distance. They seem to trust Benjen but no one else. We've long been at odds with each other, so I think the mistrust is mutual," Jeor said.

Jaime frowned at him. "Are they not nearby then?"

"They aren't comfortable in one spot for too long," Benjen added, his voice a deep melancholy blue. "While their forces are large, so many of their numbers are women and children. Mance keeps them on the move, though for what reason, I can't be sure. If I had to guess, he's concerned about being overrun by the Army of the Dead and the White Walkers."

Jaime nodded. "Are they … close at least?"

"When last we had contact, they were on the Frostfangs near the Fist of the First Men. With luck, they'll be within a 100-mile spread of the Haunted Forest," Benjen replied.

Jaime ground his teeth in frustration. He had been dearly hoping they would not have to spend more than a week or two scouring the woods, but given the vast distances, it would likely take weeks. "You will be joining our party," he stated.

Benjen's eyes flicked over to Jeor who gave him a terse nod. "Of course, Lord Lannister."

"Your catapults are half-frozen," Stannis growled, looking around. "You should be making every effort to make them worthy."

"We are working as best we can, Lord Baratheon, but our efforts have been put largely into training men and getting them kitted," Jeor replied. "When we took these apart years ago, we'd planned to repair them, but they were frozen over. It will take some thawing to free them from the ice. You'll see several catapults on the east side here are worthy. Just those on the westside are in need to be put back together."

Jaime frowned over the catapults. "If new catapults are needed, how do you get them up here?"

"The materials are loaded into the cage and then we assemble them."

Jaime peered back down on the fortside of the Wall. "There is a walking path up to the top, yes?"

"Of course. The cage can handle only so much weight. Some of our heavier loads, like ammunition for the catapults may be pulled up the side," Jeor explained.

Jaime cast his eye around. He could see some men doing their scheduled patrols, but few of them could turn their eyes away from them. Since most of them were previously smallfolk, he had a feeling few of them had ever set eyes on their liege lords before they were committed to the Wall. He leaned in closer to Jeor and muttered, "How much do your men know about this threat?"

Jeor raised his eyebrows. "They're aware that there are undead wandering the woods," he said.

"Not an army?"

"We've currently seen no such evidence of an army."

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "Have you?"

Jeor's shoulders drooped and he dropped his head with a sigh. "I've not sent out my usual rangers. And when I have, half of them never return. We're running blind here."

Jaime cursed under his breath. In a matter of years, we'll soon have Bran to be our eyes and no one will be at risk. "Do you have an idea of the riskiest parts beyond the Wall?"

Benjen answered, "It seems these undead are not yet proliferating the forest. There are … groups, here and there, but nothing that struck me as organized. The men you brought with you should be more than enough."

"That depends," Stannis said, his glare now set on Jaime. "You brought dragonglass for Castle Black but what of the rest of us? Few of us are so lucky to have Valyrian Steel at our side."

Jaime nodded. "I appreciate your concern, but plain swords or spears should be serviceable against wights. The White Walkers and the Night King himself are only vulnerable to either dragonglass or Valyrian Steel. Fire also works. It might behoove us to keep torches at the ready."

Stannis' lips curled at his answer. Robb saw and drew himself up, his hand going to rest on Ice's hilt, looking oversized and unwieldy on his back. "I don't want to risk my men anymore than Lord Stannis does. Torches are good, but hardly practical. Now that we have this dragonglass, perhaps we should consider outfitting ourselves for this venture."

"We have over a hundred men between us. That would take far too much time."

Robb gave him a wan smile. "I want to return to my wife and child, but I can't do that if I'm dead. I think it would be worth the effort."

Jaime scowled. He remembered the preparation for the Long Night, the smithies at Winterfell had worked clear through the final night and day to prepare as many dragonglass daggers as possible. It still left hundreds shorthanded. It would take days to outfit everyone.

"Half then. Remember, these daggers are a precious resource. Upon return, we deliver them back to the Night's Watch," Jaime said.

"I appreciate that, Lord Lannister," Jeor said. "I'll get the smiths working on that right away."

For the next week, the smiths were hard at work attempting to make dragonglass daggers. Jaime felt like the two smiths could have done it more quickly with less quality, but as the daggers were meant to be returned to the Night's Watch, the smiths did their best to make them sturdy.

Jaime took the opportunity to train in the yard with Addam and Joffrey. He was pleased to see that Joffrey had a better grasp of fighting than the new recruits. He saw first hand the sort of instruction Ser Alister Thorne used and scowled. His father would've had their master-at-arms' head if his own son had been treated like that. He pulled Loras aside and strongly suggested he offer his tutelage in training the recruits. While Loras hadn't been enthused by the idea, he'd nodded.

One night, Robb came to Jaime with a pleased smile. "The smiths are done. We have our daggers." Though Robb had Ice, he slapped a sheath in front of him. Jaime inspected it. The hilt was of average quality and the dragonglass had been winnowed down to a jagged point.

"You're taking a dagger?" Jaime asked.

"Of course," Robb said. "Ice is unwieldy at the best of times. Could be useful to have a shorter dagger on hand."

Jaime smirked up at him. "That's an answer I like to hear. Inform your men: we leave at dawn."