Hello everyone, welcome to United we Stand – Divided we Fall!
It will be a two or three volumes story inspired from A song of Ice and Fire and some aspects from Game of Thrones.
Although it seems more than obvious, let's say it once and for all: I do not own ASOIAF, nor GOT, it belongs to George R. R. Martin and David Benioff + D. B. Weiss respectively.
Benjamin Tulla, Mina, Jaremy, Harlan and other OC characters are my own little contribution to the Fanfiction's universes, as well as any deviation from the original plots.
I do not earn any profit from United we stand – Divided we Fall.
This is ASOIAF and GOT universes, so definitely M rated for violence and adult themes. Don't expect a lot (or any in fact) lemons however.
The mindsets and ideologies described in this story do not in any way reflect my own. I expect the readers to make their own opinion about what is right and what is not – as the adults they are should, this being a M-rated story.
Any resemblance with existing stories or real characters is fortuitous.
Enjoy and don't hesitate to review. All constructive comments are welcome.
United we Stand – Divided we Fall
Volume I Chapter I : I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore
Home is where the heart is. Pliny the Elder
When I was still called Benjamin Tulla, I remember people believing in a romantic, poetic and idealised Middle-Age. They would dress as they thought their ancestors did, simulate battles long past fought - won or lost - and celebrate merrily afterwards.
Knights and honour, fair maiden and happy ever after. Adventures, long rides on strong destrier, helping the victims from banditry, sleeping peacefully outside beside a bonfire yada yada yada.
Well, to be blunt, they could not be further from reality!
How can I affirm this?
Well… because I became part of a world where people fought with swords and bows, where noblemen and women lived in castles and where more than 99% of its population was living as farmers or craftsmen.
How did it come to this, you might ask?
Well, things back on Earth really went pear shaped in the 30s (2030 mind you): global warming and pollution were the source of food and water shortages, more illnesses, geopolitical high tension and wars, above all due to an energy crisis caused by the new technologies which needed a lot of electrical power and coveted resources. I didn't go well. Really not. The emerging countries, already with a more numerous population than Europe and the United States combined in 2020 wanted their share and not leftovers anymore – which was quite understandable if you looked at it from a democratic point of view. All these tensions made for multilateral alliances and several related or unrelated conflicts, without any clear winner at the end of the 20s.
The survivors had to re-learn how to live with less comfort, how to store and preserve food, how to build with less technologically advanced instruments - technology didn't disappear suddenly, we just couldn't throw away defective parts and go buy new pieces anymore. We had to find smart solutions. So, it wasn't a direct return to pre-industrial technology level … but we were on the wrong slope.
In fact, I barely saw how it went after 2030 because I died in 2045. But to be honest, I am quite happy to have lived when I did and I feel sorry for the next generations. It still saddens me to think about Nicolette, my niece, and the event that led to her disappearance, but a part of me feels that at least, she did not suffer.
My life was not the usual straightforward path some get to live – even before I was reborn in Westeros.
I was born in 1960 in Yellowknife, Canada, where you better had to be resourceful if you wanted to survive and thrive. My parents were from the working-class - my father was a carpenter, my mother while not working, took care of my sister Gwen and myself, tended to our garden, knitted some of our clothes… but they wanted a better life for their children. My mother originated from Russia – her own parents fled their country after the october revolution – and she incited us to study and to have office-jobs. I was however not made to live and thrive in big cities, something I realised very early when I went to University. I needed open spaces, forests, the noise of the wind in the trees… not to sit eight or nine hours a day at the office and go home in a tiny flat. So, I chose a profession where I could at least do both, work in an office and work outdoors. A work in which I could gain enough money too – I had seen my parents work hard their whole life just to barely stay in the green area of their bank account. I wanted more. For these reasons, I became a geologist engineer at the end of the 20th century, in 1983, at twenty-three. It was before the beginning of the "all IT" era, where you had to do it with a computer if you wanted to look knowledgeable, even when some things - in any case in my profession – still needed to be done on site. This was my first professional experience. I worked hard for big companies that paid very well talented people. I was quite good at what I was doing: gathering information first, then going on site to investigate thoroughly if the discovered deposit was going to be profitable – or not. For nearly twenty years, my job was my life. There wasn't enough place for a steady relationship – after one or two years of relationships, it always ended because I was not enough invested in my personal life.
I was already forty years old when Gwen, my sister was diagnosed with a leukaemia. She had lived in Yellowknife, most or her life, in the neighbourhood of a gas field – the first big operation I was responsible for and the one that launched my career. Guilty didn't even begin to describe how I felt - even though there wasn't any foolproof causality.
By that time, I was at the height of my career, known to be a very efficient geologist whose capacities in finding new deposit through conventional means – meaning by being on site - was unmatched. However, I felt I was responsible for her illness. I became suddenly aware how destructive exploitation was for the environment, for human's health, and so much more. I became aware of my lack of personal life too – my parents had died few years before. At that time, however, ecology was not a main concern until later, around 2010-2020. What happened in September 2001 in New-York was the main focus for North America, Middle East and Europe for several years at the beginning of the twenty-first century.
I was childless, Gwen was my sole family. I gave up my job to take care of Gwen and her two children, James and Nicolette. Her husband had died two years before her illness in a car accident. For three years, I tried to soothe her pains and to look after James and Nicolette. Then Gwen passed away and my nephews became my only family.
I had always been good carving wood and working with wood in general – my father had taught me the fundamentals. When the children grew, I took it as a hobby, beside my work. At the beginning, I only carved toys for Nicolette and James. However, when they grew old enough, I started carving more tools. James wanted to play cowboy, so naturally I carved bows and arrows. Practising archery became a second hobby for James, Nicolette and me – we went to several championships, the three of us, across Canada, the States and Russia – speaking its language had its benefits. Nicolette liked music, so I went into instrument carving too – I never was really able to produce a good enough guitar or any instrument, but it was not for lack of trying.
My skills in carving and my curiosity for history lead me to join a research group, the Cyrus Smith Association, in honour to Jules Verne's masterpiece, the Mysterious Island. The Association's focus was to re-discover how mankind build their tools, which techniques they used and so on. We built wooden ships inspired from Scandinavia and mills from the Netherlands, we forged, we worked leather. As the kids turned to adults, I was happy to work more and more with Cyrus Smith's members. Some were historians, the majority however were experts in their fields who, as a hobby, tried to re-discover how this was made, why this was done this way … It required a lot of research, more testing and quite a lot of beer – for the debriefing and the barbecues of course – but it gave me a purpose when James and Nicolette started their own life.
Gwen's illness had been a mind-opening slap to my face, and I became one of the first ecologist for North Canada, five years after she passed away. After a mastery, I went for a doctorate on reclamation of the natural environment in industrial wasteland. I worked half-time for the Environment ministry to reduce environmental impact or repair the consequences when possible - sometimes on industrial sites for which development I had taken part in.
Maybe it was being from the 20th century, maybe it was living in the North of Canada in a still rural society as a kid, but I had at any rate left more and more the modern society with its emails and smartphones – only using it to keep contact for my work and with James, Nicolette and Cyrus' members. Anyway, when shit really hit the fan in 2030 – it was latter called uncreatively the Fall, Cyrus Smith's members quickly decided to share as much as possible our knowledge between our group and friendly others, certain it was going to be quickly a necessity to survive – and not only just to entertain ourselves.
My death in 2045 was a stupid one. I fell in a frozen lake as I was fishing, slipping on the ice. The last thing I remember from Earth is being deathly cold and trying to find the exit from under the ice-covered surface. Then all went black.
I don't know how much time I remained in this state – if time had any meaning that is – it was like a very long sleep. The next thing I knew, someone was slapping me something fierce and as I took a spluttering breath, it took me several seconds before noticing several things didn't add up.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
Place unknown, time unknown
He was soaked.
He was on a shingle beach.
It wasn't freezing anymore – but not hot enough either to feel comfortable.
Around twenty dishevelled men were staring at him with a sneering look on their faces.
The young boy spluttered several more times before assessing his situation.
How does one go from a frozen lake in the middle of Canada to a shingle beach with what had to be an ocean in front of him? The salty water he spit out was a good pointer toward it being a sea or an ocean.
"Well, 'ooks 'ike de Drowned God accepted him!"
The men around the speaker - who seemed to be in charge - followed his example and roared with laughter. They were dressed in a grey robe or a gown, but the speaker wore what seemed like a crown made of wood intertwined with seaweed. The man was wet, barefoot and had a malicious expression Benjamin really didn't feel comfortable with.
Another man called out to him:
"What say you, lad? You liked the Kiss of Life?"
The crowned speaker grasped him more ardently.
"What ar' you waiting for? Or you need one more encounter with Him?"
He was trying to understand who "Him" was and it just came to him it had to be some divine entity before the crowned speaker proclaimed loudly, cackling with morbid glee:
"Anoth' encounter then! To His watery Ha's!"
Before he knew what was happening, the crowned speaker – that was quickly becoming a tiresome nickname - took hold of him and dragged him back into the water. Stupidly, he was wondering why the speaker was mispronouncing the letter "l" – a remnant of the boy's efforts back when he was eighteen and had to work hard to suppress his russian accent to show when he was studying geology and later during meetings with wealthy directors. Then, the fact the crowned speaker was able to drag him effortlessly and his much shorter height made him realize he wasn't nearly six feet and two hundreds pounds anymore. But before this fact really struck him, his head was – again, it seemed - plunged into the ocean forcefully and his lungs began to berate him for their treatment. He hadn't regained his breath enough to stand it very long and soon enough he inhaled water.
Then all went black and he lost consciousness – again.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
2 nautical miles north from Blacktyde, 196 A.C., one week later
End of Spring in the South
Inside a relatively small but well-built boat along dozen others, a young boy of seven nameday and two men were hauling up a fishing nest full of still living skrei or cod. Captain Hook and Harmond were both thralls owned by his father. Captain Hook had already been a fisherman when he had been captured by the Ironborns at ten and two off the coast of Seagard. Now almost forty, he was a non-nonsense man marked by his life at sea. His talent at fishing, sailing and maintaining a boat made him a very looked after profile. He had become part of his family's property – because that was what thralls were to Ironborns – four years ago, when his father had won a bet. Sun tanned and wearing an already grey beard, Captain Hook despite his status as a thrall was the figure the young boy was considering as a model. The elder had taken upon himself to teach him everything he knew.
Harmond was a small man, nimble with his fingers like no other. He came from the Westerlands if his features were to go by – blond hairs and blue-green eyes. He had been kidnapped when he was young, but old enough to still speak with the accent from his home country. Aged thirty and two, he never took part to any event or activity but the one he was ordered to partake in. He never spoke unless if someone asked him something he could not avoid answering.
For a week now, Benjamin has been stranded to this world of medieval mindset and technology level. He had awoken after his second drowning the day after, in a dark and dingy little shack. It smelt of unwashed bodies, dampness and dreariness. Water was leaking from what was used as a roof directly on its occupants: his father Seymon, his nine-year-old half-sister Mina and Captain Cook. Harmond and Harry Harlip, a miner from the Riverlands, kidnapped as a teenager, had to sleep outside and find shelter where they could, despite the bad weather.
Being young again was as much a blessing – no more osteoarthritis! – as a curse – small arms, small legs, nobody would take him seriously, he couldn't defend himself… After the first days of his second life, when it looked more and more like a permanent situation and not some weird dreams, he concluded it was a curse. In this place and time specifically, where there was no school or any place to learn about this new world – it seemed there was no book, at least where he lived. He had zero possibility to learn more about this place - he dreaded to think : about this world!
Winter was coming to an end and spring would come soon. It was the time for the cod to spawn in the somewhat warmer waters around the Iron Islands. After a mild winter that had been a year long, the return of the cods was an important event for the inhabitants of the smallest region from Westeros. It was a vital source of food – no trade was made of them however, for who would trust Ironborns? The fishes would be eaten fresh, or dried and stocked for next winter. Therefore, this was one of the most important events for Ironborns – outside wars, plundering and paying the iron price, that is. From what Benjamin had learnt in the last days, it was the only non-violent periodically event on these islands. For five days he had been doing the same movements, the same actions: sail, leave the nets in the water, wait, haul up the nets, leave the nets again while putting the fished cods in boxes and recovering them of ice, haul up the nets ... then sail back to port, unload the codfishes, and again sail to repeat the same ancestral movements. Harry Harlip and his sister were smoking the cods from dawn to dusk.
Thanks to the repetitiveness of this activity, Benjamin had been able to process what had happened. He had died and been somehow inserted in this body of a seven old - or seven nameday as they say here - boy. He had the memories of Lucas, the son of Seymon but also "his" own, as Benjamin Tulla. Was it dual personality? Well, he doubted he would be able to consult a shrink to confirm or deny it, so it didn't really matter. He had the knowledge of a resourceful engineer but was at the same time affected by the mental set of minds of his young body. He would dread puberty, but it was clear this would be a problem if, and only if, he was to reach this stage of life. Living conditions were indeed violent and rough. His body was small and weak, even for his age – clearly his body hadn't been used to a balanced diet. In the seven days he had lived on this island, he had understood that there was no love lost between Seymon – he couldn't call him "father", really – and his children. Thralls were useful possessions, but children? He had to content himself with his father's leftovers – who favoured alcohol over food… this body was used to feel hungry - and to Seymon's uncontrollable fits of rage. Twice in a week he had been beaten to unconsciousness by the man, completely drunk. He didn't look forward to tonight's feast, the first of many.
The Skreifeast was a three-day feast held a fortnight after the codfishes' return. It celebrated the end of winter and its harshness… and the begin of a new season of naval activities – piracy and plundering seemed more appropriate terms in Benjamin's opinion.
Benjamin hadn't decided yet what to do, nor how to do it. Sure, he had access to very modern knowledge, but he wasn't some sort of super-knowledgeable character like Cyrus Smith in Jules Verne's book. Besides, he had first to adapt to this new world before doing anything, even if this meant living several more weeks or months in this hell of a house.
His father hadn't noticed any difference in his son's behaviour. The same however couldn't be said about Mina and Captain Hook. Mina was a shy little girl whose mother had been Seymon's wife. She had died recently. Lucas' mother had been Seymon's Saltwife from an unknown origin. She had died from birth bed fever – not that it was surprising considering the lack of any concern regarding personal hygiene and how women in general were thought about.
Mina had looked suspiciously at him the first night when he had shared with her his evening meal despite it being so meagre. As a boy, he had had a lump – she as girl hadn't. More than twenty years of raising his niece and nephew made it impossible for him to eat and let this kid, his kin, starve. She hadn't said anything -not even 'htank you' but her eyes had been assessing him since. For several days now, he had always shared his meal – there was only one meal a day in fact – and when Seymon had come back at night drunk, he had voluntarily drawn his attention to avoid her a beating. Mina was by no mean stupid and wondered what had cause such a change of behavior in her little brother. His acts of kindness were discreet, but it made her feel better after a exhausting day or while doing grueling work.
Captain Hook, while not saying anything, had looked strangely at him from day two when he had made a tie without thinking. It seemed it wasn't one used in Westeros, despite it being a tie largely used on sailing ships, in his home world at least. The hardened sailor had noticed how silent and observant the seven nameday old had been since his double drowning. Lucas' status wasn't perfectly clear since he hadn't said the ritual words … but he had suffered it twice! Captain Hook was always keeping an eye on Lucas and what he saw was perplexing him. He was acting more maturely and seemed to look at everything with new eyes, like he was new on the island. Maybe the Kiss of Life had unsettled something deep within him? Or he had realised that life was never something to take for granted?
Later that night
The feast was in full swing since the sunset and it had to be the middle of the night. Benjamin, Mina, Captain Cook, Harmond and Harry Harlip were all in the dingy cabin. Thralls, women and children weren't allowed to partake. Lucas had however been able to surreptitiously acquire – turn away was too strong when you had worked for it and get nothing in return – pickled herrings and for once, they were all feeling satiated. Benjamin had invited the three thralls to their cabin as Lucas' memories had let him know the feast would last all night and Seymon wouldn't come home. Despite the music – if one could call shouting drunkards and grating instruments music – Benjamin finally felt just a bit less agitated. Harmond had been grateful. Harry however regarded him with suspicion.
The next day
The morning and the afternoon had been like the previous days: wake up – Seymon hadn't returned from the Skreifeast, probably too drunk to find his way back to his cabin, find some leftovers to eat – whatever, wherever it is, as long at it was edible – get on a boat, sail, leave the nets in the water, wait, haul up the nets, leave the nets again… and like yesterday, he had been able to acquire enough pickled herring for five persons. They had gone to sleep what seemed hours ago to Lucas' mind – or candles ago as he should probably now say – when the five of them were suddenly awoken by the slamming door.
Lucas sat up in time to see the outline of his father in the doorframe, illuminated from behind by a flash of lightning. A storm had broken and rain was pouring heavily. The music had stopped and the Ironborns had gone home, drenched.
Seymon looked inside with wild eyes, not understanding at first who these people were and why they were inside his cabin. Seeing the leftovers and recognizing his thralls and two spawns, he felt a cold rage take hold of him, fuelled by the alcohol. Who did they thought they were, to invite themselves in his home? His eyes were attracted to the youngest. He picked the poker up and went to release some irritation.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
Beyond the-Wall, 196 A.C., first moon
End of Winter
Jaremy
Second Ranger Jaremy Stone also known as Stalker for his skills in tracking, was the bastard son of Lord Martyn Melcom, Lord of Old Anchor. He led his exhausted and snow-covered Brothers to a cave located twenty miles south-east from the Fist of the First Men. The six rangers were all seasoned Brothers, men of the Night's Watch, except the younger one, Harlan Mormont, the fourth son of Lord Arthos Mormont. But the new member of the Night's Watch was no slouch and pulled his weight despite his inexperience. What's more, he was quite gifted with his war hammer. Jaremy was quite sure the young Mormont would rise to the top given enough time – and if they succeeded in returning alive from this perilous mission. Harlan had learnt early how to fight – not swordsmanship like a highborn – but the dirty and efficient skills one needed to survive a real fight, even more when residing on the shores from Bear Island where Ironborns - sorry rogue Ironborns - were raiding periodically. The brown eyed lad had already been blooded in combat despite being only sixteen. Like all Mormonts, his frame was large. And he was literate, which was quite a bonus.
"Alebelly, Len grab some wood and twigs for the fire. One-eye, Stenley prepare the meal. Stonyfist watch the entrance. Harlan, with me inside to check the cave."
Internally, he added "Don't want to be surprised by a napping bear, don't we?" but he was too tired to speak more than strictly necessarily. They had left their horses at the Keep, south of the Haunted River, with the rest of the men the day before and they had walked since well before first light. A light snow had begun to fall around noon .
The aim of the ranging was to scout for any evidence of coalition between the different tribes of Wildlings from the Skirling Pass and to access how much a threat it was to the men of the Night's Watch and the North in General. So far, there was no sign of any coalition. The only gatherings they observed were normal tribes composed of around four to five families, twenty plus people. They had carried on northward without interaction with them, wanting to stay unspotted as much as possible. So far, there was no sign of any new 'King-Beyond-the-Wall'.
The sudden halt and shove from Harlan forced him to crouch down. Before he was able to shout at the young man and berate him, he heard a little noise coming from his right side, like a rock being moved. Harlan's torch illuminated the first yards of a second tunnel, as wide as the one they stood and high enough for a man of Jaremy's frame to walk carefully – Harlan had to lean a bit. They stood up listening and waiting, their weapon raised defensively. Again, they heard something moving. Simultaneously, they raised their weapons. What come next was at the same time cuter and more worrisome than expected. A white bear cub was clumsily coming towards them.
Harlan and Jaremy exchanged a quick glance. If there was a bear cub, it's mother had to be nearby and would be most aggressive. The situation could very quickly go south.
Before they had pondered what to do, they heard an even stranger sound: a giggle, and more precisely, the giggles of a baby.
What was at the end of this thrice damned tunnel?
They decided without needing to speak that they had no choice but to investigate the source of the noises. Prudently, there blood pumping faster and faster, they went forwards, listening and scrutinizing every nook and cranny of the tunnel, the white bear cub on their heels, moving without making any noise this time, as though it understood the tension of the moment. Harlan stopped walking when his torch lighted symbols drew on the rocky walls.
"Runes of the First Men" whispered Harlan.
Again, they heard an infant giggling. After fifteen yards and what felt like hours to the two men of the Night's Watch, the tunnel began rapidly to become smaller, and they caught sight of its bottom before they illuminated an astonishing sight: at the bottom of the tunnel was a living female bear. And on its white stomach, looking at them with piercing blue eyes, laid a young baby, completely naked but seemingly in good health.
The bear was completely white, looking at them with its intelligent eyes, its teeth bared menacingly, its ears flattened on its head and growling. It was quite big, at least 750 pounds, maybe 800. Both men pull back a bit, still illuminating the three occupants of the tunnel. Again, Harlan's whispered something about runes and First Men. Jaremy was too focused on the fearsome beast and unexpected view to really care about all the parietal drawings. The bear stopped growling but didn't stop starring at them very intently, its teeth barred. After a moment or two, Harlan pointed his war hammer downwards and relaxed a bit, to Jaremy's shock.
"What are you doing?" It was said snappily, but quietly. The situation was not by any means safer. But the young black brother crouched down to Jaremy's continued astonishment.
"It won't attack us. Stop menacing it or it will attack. In close quarter and in this darkness, we wouldn't last long. It could have ambushed us when we were in the middle of the tunnel and making noise. It didn't. Now put down your weapon and do like I say."
"Boy, I'm the one giving orders here! Stand up!"
The female bear stood abruptly and began growling again. The baby who had fallen on the rocky ground began to hiccup.
"Jaremy! Stop threatening it! Crouch down, now!"
Despite himself, not understanding why he was following Harlan's command, he lowered himself and his sword – not the best weapon against a bear in any case. The beast stopped baring its teeth and receded back to the bottom of the tunnel and laid down, still keeping them in her field of view. The baby girl – Jaremy was able to discern the baby's gender in the torches' light now that she changed position – went back to ithe bear's stomach and to the men astonishment, suckled on one of its teats. The white bear cub ran to its mother and began suckling too, on another teat.
"Omarak's Daughter! By the Gods!" whispered Harlan, in awe.
"What are you talking about? How do you know it won't attack us all of a sudden? What is this Omarak?" whispered Jaremy.
Harlan's turned his head to look him in the eyes. Amazement, wonder and emotions were sparkling in the eyes of the normally stern Northman.
"You wouldn't understand. You are not of the North. We, of the North, remember. I will explain it to you, but first, we will go back to the cave's entrance. Don't stand up, keep facing them and slowly step back."
"Are you mad? We can't let it behind us! What will happen if it attacks us during the night!"
The younger man didn't answer. He grabbed several pieces a dried meat he had in one pocked and left it in front of him, never moving brusquely. His moves were slow and smooth. He began to step back carefully and smoothly. Left without real other choice, the First Ranger emulated him. Once they were five yards back, Harlan stood up slowly, turned and began walking back toward the fork and the entrance. Jaremy was quite angry but speechless. His logical side was shouting at him it was madness to let such a threat on their back, but the almost fervent look he had glimpsed in Harlan's eyes moment before had unsettled him. There was something otherworldly in what had just happened. They went in silence back to the entrance where Stenley had lit a fire and was heating some snow in a tiny pot with the wood and twigs Alebelly and Len had brought back. Both men had returned outside with their bow and arrows, having spot deer's hooves on the fresh snow. Fresh meat was always welcome, dried meat was best kept in case.
Jaremy took Harlan to a more secluded corner of the cave and turned to Harlan, set on understanding the young man's actions. Harlan was looking relaxed and sure of himself, smiling even, as if this was something to be delighted about. Quite a sight for someone as taciturn as the Mormont lad.
"Now, spit it! What was that all about? I expect logical explanations, not some half-muttered words." Jaremy couldn't contain his anger, now that the threat was less ominous.
" Before I explain this to you, First Ranger, let me tell you the legend of Omarak. Don't!" he added quickly when Jaremy opened his mouth to stop him. Legends were for children, gods be damned! He wanted to understand why Harlan had acted so strangely, as if an adult bear with a cub was a domesticated lamb! Not listen to some story about grumpkins and snarks!
"Without you knowing this legend, the most important one to Bear Island, you wouldn't understand this. Come, will we sit around the fire, it will take some time. Don't worry, we won't be attacked by the White Mother."
Jaremy followed Harlan to the fireplace and sat opposite him. Alebelly and Len chose this moment to come back with a dead deer. Stonyfist kept watching outside, his back turned to them and the fireplace, but it was clear he was listening carefully. The four other men began cutting up the carcass, saving the skin and not wasting any parcel of meat or bones. Life was hard, up here, in the North, and no one except a fool would waste any scrap - it could mean the difference between life and death.
"As you know" began the youngest Black Brother, "my family's coat of arms is a black bear in a green wood. Many bears live on Bear Island. However, never do we hunt them. And never do they attack us. The exact reason for this has been lost, even to my family, in the past millennia. What we do know, however…"
And Harlan began to recite one of the founding myths of the North, of which his people and his family were the centrepieces. It was a tale of life and death, of love and hate, of war and peace and of a coming War, where Omarak's direct descendant, this blonde babe or her own female descandent, would contribute to defeat the second Long Night, among other feats. Never had Harlan spoken so long, so passionately. Was he even aware of his companions, listening eagerly every word coming out of his mouth? It seemed he was moved himself by the story his voice and lips were reciting.
Point was, Omarak's legend foresaw the time when a descendant of Bear Island would find the White Bear also named the White Mother, with her bear cub and her human cub, Omarak's Daughter, resting in the First Men's shelter – as was evidenced by the runes on the wall.
Omarak's Daughter role in the North's destiny was substantial, but not very clear. But the myth didn't leave a doubt about two things: she would be brought up by men and any Mormont, should he find her, had to protect her with his life. She was that important to the Mormonts and the North in general.
When Harlan's tale ended, the night had settled and a snowstorm had been blowing for hours, burying the landscape in a thick blanket of snow now a foot high. The men stood silent and almost still for several moments, their stomachs full of the meat they had consumed. The hot blue flames of the fireplace gave birth to dancing shadows on the stony walls and put their faces in a play of dark and light befitting the situation. Jaremy felt for the first time in his already almost ten years of service to the Night's Watch that he was at his place. The right place. And we could not explain why.
The white howling wind was the sole sound heard beside the crackling of the flames for several minutes. They had all wrapped their blanket, which doubled as their mattress, around their body, despite the warmth generated by the now dying fire.
Then, a bit stiffly, Harlan stood up, bent down to pick a sizeable piece of meat and a foot and a half long log, threw the piece of wood on the now red ambers and went back toward the tunnel to feed the White Bear. No one said anything. They stood unmoving, listening to any sound.
After what seemed like hours, Harlan came back, whole and uninjured. Nobody asked him where he went, what happened, how it went. Harlan just came back and sat down as if had just gone to relieve himself. Harlan the taciturn seemed to be back.
They ought to sleep, tired as they were, but nobody spoke, nobody asked who would take first night shift, second or third. All were still repeating Harlan's last sentence in their head, again and again. Omarak's white coat will cover her kin and swallow her enemies. Was the unrelenting snowstorm outside her white coat? Were they her kin or were they her enemies? Harlan's presence gave weight to the first. But really? Were they going to sleep here, with a breathing white bear at their back, the sort that only lived North of the Wall, known for their power and lethality?
Had the snowstorm abated, the night would have been dark, the cold night being a new moon. Only after they heard the end of a wolf's howling did Jaremy break the somehow comfortable silence to announce he would take first shift with Stonyfist. One looking outside of the cave for any wildling threat, the other keeping an eye on the inside and its unusual occupants. Stenley and Alebelly would take second shift. Harlan and Len the third and final shift. One-eye was older and known to be unable to resist sleep. He had other qualities that countered this flaw, one of them being knowledgeable in some basic healing techniques, so nobody complained and five men quickly sunk into sleep, tired as they were - most having dreams related to Omarak's Daughter.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
The snowstorm didn't abate the next day, nor the day after either. The entrance of their shelter was now blocked by a three feet high wall of snow. The deer had been completely butchered and only the white cleaned-up, gnawed on bones remained. Len had asked if they really ought to waste good meat on the bear, only for Harlan to ask if he would rather be her meal. That had stopped any new complaint. And now everyone spoke of the bear as "her", not "it" anymore.
In the afternoon, the snow had stopped falling. The wind however was still making any trip outside impossible. It was weakening, however. Bad news was, they were now consuming their dried meat and One-eye had put the last logs in the fireplace three hourglass ago, a quarter of a day's ago. They knew they would have to decide soon enough what they should do, about the wood, the food but first and foremost, about Omarak's Daughter and the White Mother herself – nobody knew what was going to happen. Except Harlan, the six Black Brothers hadn't seen snout or tail of the female white bear, nor of the bear cub or the blonde baby.
That was about to change when their heard a high-pitched sound coming from behind them. Despite their watchfulness, the seven men jolted and nervously looked to the rear, only to feel their hearts became heavier as they spotted the majestic white bear observing them less than four yards away, seated on her rear. None had heard her coming this close. Her white cub was emerging from the shadow, playing with rocks it was moving with its front paws. Almost as one, they looked for the blonde baby, but to no avail.
The white bear stood and it took every control they had not to grab their weapons. Such beasts were not mean to be alive that close to men!
At that moment, they saw the baby, on the white bear's back, nested in her warm and thick coat, asleep.
The female bear calmly walked to the carcass of the deer and laid down, picked some bones and began gnawing on them, her powerful teeth breaking the bigger bones without difficulty. Never however, did her eyes leave the men and her cub.
When Harlan stood up, Omarak stopped eating and looked intently at him. He approached her calmy, fluidly, without any sudden movement. The White Mother let him approach, not even growling or baring teeth. It seemed human and bear had developed and odd sort of relationship. Harlan stopped one yard away and crouched down gently. After two or three heartbeats, the bear turned her big head, took delicately the human baby in her jaw – how by the Gods she was able not to bruise the baby's skin was a mystery - and put her down halfway between them. The youngest Black Brother took slowly the baby, still napping, and used the deer cleaned up skin to cover her. It seemed he had foreseen this as it was cut to the correct dimensions with the clever use of a carved bone used as a crude but working button – made without a doubt during his nightly shifts. Nobody commented on his knowledge about sewing – it must had been a sight, this big austere Northman sewing a babe's blanket!
After several moments, Jaremy took the opportunity to address his companions - careful to speak quietly.
"The snowstorm has ended. We must act now. We have already lost two days. We don't have any wood left, and we won't have enough food for our way back if we stay more than a day here. Our companions won't wait more than two days, three if we are lucky."
Nobody objected, they were all aware of their situation.
"We came here with one mission: determine if the rumours of a King-Beyond-the-Wall hold any truth. And if yes, how big a threat to the Wall he is."
He looked at Harlan, the baby, the white bear and the bear cub - they seemed to listen to what he was saying. Creepy.
"We now have a second, maybe more important mission: bring back this baby girl, South of the Wall. This will be Harlan's mission and our role will be to help him in any way. Are we clear?"
Alebelly, Len, One-eye, Stenley and Stonyfist all gave a guttural approvement. Jaremy had thought long and hard about this, the situation was too far-fetched. Some Gods – the New or the Old ones, it didn't matter, had to be involved. Jaremy was not a very pious man, but he wouldn't take any risk here, it stunk of myths and legends and the North was rich of story about what happened to people who ignored the Gods signs and will.
"One-eye, you will stay with Harlan here. Both of you will prepare our journey back by hunting any edible animal you can find, be it a hare, a deer or a squirrel. You will cook it and cut it for us so we will be able to eat it without stopping. The rest of us will continue to look for this King-Beyond-the-Wall. I will go with Alebelly toward the North-East. Len, Stonyfist and Stenley you go North-North-West. The day after tomorrow at the latest, we come back here before sundown and we will walk back south - during the night if necessary. The moon and the stars will have to suffice to guide us. We must catch up with our companions in three days, no matter the cost or we will all die north of the wall. Let me remember you this is a survey mission. You are to avoid any contact with Wildlings. If they spot you, all of us might end dead. Questions?"
There wasn't. Lord Commander had let him choose nine men and he had selected Brothers he could rely on. The three waiting for them at the Keep would wait for them, he had no doubt. But here, North of the Wall, any error, any misjudgement could be fateful.
They got ready quickly, put their snowshoes on and went their way, knowing time was of the essence.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
Three days later.
Stonyfist
Being the son of a quarryman in the hills between Stoney Sept and the Red Fork in the Riverlands, Stonyfist had worked from an early age as an apprentice, then an assistant before almost becoming a master quarryman. A fistfight an evening with a drunken guard annoying the waitress, his best mate's sister, ended in the guard's death when his head violently hit the hearth. It had been the block or the Wall – in either case it had meant living his wife and their baby girl to their fate – not one he wanted to think about. He had been less than ten and eight at this time but working all day as a quarryman had given him a powerful upper body. Now however, running for hours in this cold wasteland covered in snow and ice, using snowshoes, he didn't feel like his past as a quarryman gave him any advantage, on the contrary, seeing as he was more out of breath than even One-eye, the oldest of the seven men of the Night's Watch currently running southwards. He didn't know it, but the powder of stone he had breathed for years had caused irrevocable damages to his lungs and resulted in a more laboured respiration.
At first, everything had gone swiftly. With Len and Stenley, they had walked North, slightly to the direction of the setting sun and after almost a day, they had found a group of Wildings one could consider big this side of the Wall. Around four hundred men, women and children. They were not well organized, but things went smoothly in the camp. But there was nothing martial in their behaviour. It was, in fact, bigger than any gathering he had witnessed in his almost fourteen namedays at the Wall.
They had retreated and walked back to Omarak's Cave, as they had started calling it - with only very short breaks during the night. Harlan and One-Eye had caught some animals – they were too worn out to ask what it was before eating some of it and falling asleep around noon. The roundtrip had taken a day an a half.
A whack on the back after what had seemed to be only mere instants of sleep had awoken him – it was night-time. Jaremy and Alebelly had come back some candles ago and had been, too, sleeping on the floor. One-Eye had woken up the two sleeping men in the same abrupt manner and had told them some Wildling party was making their way towards them. It seemed they had found their trail. The seven men had to flee in all haste.
Since his waking, they were running southwards. Jaremy at the front, Harlan behind carrying the child in one arm, and he, Stonyfist, right behind. The sun was low on the horizon – they had been running south what had been left ofthe night and the whole day - the sun would set in three hourglasses more or less! He was exhausted.
At last, they emerged from the forest on the cliff above the Haunted River. The Keep and their comrades-in-arms were on the other side of the frozen river. The Spring was barely being felt here. The river was still frozen, but the ice wasn't as thick in the middle. Thick enough to cross though. Stonyfist was panting a lot – he was completely out of breath.
They began the dangerous going down of the slippery rocks which overhung the river. Alebelly, One-Eye and Harlan were going slower due to the former stoutness, the visual handicap of One-Eye and the baby in the arms of Harlan. Finally, they set foot on the bank. Just as they were about to cross the frozen river, Jaremy turned to cheer his men on when he caught sight of movement above them. He just had the time to throw himself at Harlan before an arrow sank where Harlan's head had been mere moments ago. His action led to Harlan being knocked over, his quick reflexes allowing the young man to protect the child from his crushing weight. The shield on his back protected him as two arrows hit it and embedded itself in the dense wood the North was so famous for. It didn't protect however his thigh and Harlan screamed as it went through it. Jaremy too was not unharmed as an arrow sunk in his right forearm, eliciting a muffled scream from the Second Ranger before his head hit a stone and the Jaremy lost consciousness – or worse, Stonyfist didn't know. Together with the four other men, he took shelter under the cliff. Jaremy laid unmoving, out of reach. Stonyfist used the seconds the Wildlings needed to reload to grab Harlan's free arm and pull with all his might the Mormont and the baby girl. Despite his injury, Harlan kept the baby out of harm's way.
Well, this sucked, thought Stonyfist as they heard the Wilding taunting them from above and two other arrows pierced Jaremy's unmoving body.
UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF |UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF|UwS-DwF - UwS-DwF
That's all for today - more than 8000 words, that's a good start! Please, leave a review!
