CHAPTER 9:
I AM
JEOR
The world came into view slowly. Well, if the world was a sparsely lit room with stark features. At first he was groggy and confused, where was he? Why was the Maester at his bedside and why was there what felt like bandages wrapped around his midriff?
He touched the bandage with his hand and felt a shooting pain go through his ribs and he grunted and bit his tongue.
'Fuck!'
He cursed in his head. He was wounded somehow, wait… he was wounded, yes, the memories started returning steadily. There was an attack, a defence, a surrender and… betrayal. His fists curled in anger and shame. His own men, treacherous scum, what is it they thought they would gain with such a stunt? At such a time?
The battle was already lost, they already all but surrendered officially. Though, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. These were not learned men in deception, they were common criminals. And they were going to be criminals. That's what he got for being in charge of snakes and cravens.
The wildlings… Oh no! the fucking wildlings. What state was his castle in? Was there even anyone still alive out there? He had to rise from this damn bed, he had to know.
"I know that I'm blind, my boy. But I can see you working yourself up into a needless worry." he heard old Aemon's voice. In his panic he almost forgot he was in the room. He took a deep breath to steady himself, suddenly feeling the room spinning, he coughed and grunted from the pressure of getting himself into a sitting position.
"Needless, Maester? What's happened since I've been bedridden? How long has it been?" Jeor asked, trying to get his bearings.
"It's been a fortnight. We weren't sure you would make it, you woke up delirious a few times in between, raving about bears and the lot."
"… Bears?"
"I am as confused as you are, my boy." the Maester replied amusedly. Jeor was indeed confused, how could the old man jape at a time like this? No doubt they were two of the only ones left living in the castle.
"I know what you're thinking. No one else has died since the battle. After that girl saved you, the men officially surrendered. The king he… he is extraordinary. He accepted the surrender and commanded the hostilities to stop and stop they did. Not one of his people have stepped out of line, as a fact they have been the most orderly lot I've ever heard walk these halls."
The former commander couldn't believe his ears. Wildlings? More orderly than the brothers of the night's watch? Maester Aemon has been here longest of anyone living, he's seen more commanders than Jeor has seen winters. That was a heavy thing that he had just said, most in the order ran with the notion that they were better than the wildlings because they were savages and uncivilised. What a slap in the face it must have been to not only lose to them in battle but also in poise and decorum.
He shook his head, these were strange days. Then he remembered the rest of what the Maester said.
"Extraordinary? That's what you call the man that took castle black?"
"For that alone he could be called such. But no, that's not all, I met him, personally, and Jon did not do him justice with his words. Hear what I tell you now, he is not a man, not truly."
"… What does that mean? What is he?"
"Something more my boy. Being in his presence is what I've always imagined it would feel like to stand before Balerian himself."
"By the Go-"
"Do not finish that statement."
"…Why?"
The Maester just raised his eyebrows but didn't reply.
"You can't mean?...You really think? That's not possible!"
"As possible as dead men coming back from the dead I'd wager." There was something pointed about the way he had said that, it brought the commander up short. Well, he supposed he was no longer a commander. His point was made though, impossible things seem to be tripping over themselves to happen of late. Now, if the Maester were to be believed, a literal God had come down, presumably to save the wildlings from whatever it was beyond the wall, waking up the dead. A nighttime story if he ever heard one.
"What has the world come to Maester?"
"It is balance, as far as I understand it. An enemy has awakened, an old enemy, one humanity hasn't a chance against. At least not at first, but now, we have more than that."
"So now we have the help of a God? Which God is he? The Wildling God?"
"It is interesting of you to word it like that but… you would have to ask him yourself. I have my suspicions, but they are only that."
He took another deep breath and pulled the furs from himself to reveal his bandaged torso. The events surrounding and causing it, playing over in his mind.
"What happened to the one who did this?"
"Ones, plural. Tanner had allies, for as much as you can ally with cutthroats."
"What were they planning? They must have known it would serve no purpose at that point?"
"They are common criminals at best Jeor, Their thought process, I doubt, were any shade of sensible. No, the way I heard it they were betting on earning good will from the attacking force by taking out the commander, which is you. What they weren't counting on was the type of man leading them."
"What has he done with them?"
"Nothing. They are in the cells." Jeor looked at him surprised for a while, wrapping his head around the idea. Prisoners?
"Yes, the cells. He declared them turn cloaks and untrustworthy but left the sentencing and justice up to you."
"Me?"
"You are the betrayed party and their commander. He felt it wasn't his place to carry out justice."
The old bear just thought on that for a while. This was not how he expected the enemy to act. So far, he sounded honorable and gracious. Not the traits one would expect from a savage, but mayhaps he was too quick in his judgement and was running off of prejudice.
"Would you send for him Maester?" he said after a moment of contemplation and steeling of his nerves.
"I don't believe I have to."
"What do you mean?"
"He knows, I think. He has a way of knowing."
Jeor made a face and was about to retort, but then the door to the room was opened and in came Jon Snow. There was a look of expectant shock on his face as he seemed to have known Jeor was awake somehow. He rushed to his side immediately.
"Commander, I am so sorry. I tried to warn you, but I was too late. I should have said something earlier, or mayhaps I should have just killed them from the start, I- "
"Peace lad, what's done is done. I am alive, do not blame yourself. This was not your doing." The old bear's eyes darkened when he said that, and he could see Jon looking at him in adoration. A weight visibly came off of the boy's shoulders, this was clearly bothering him this entire time.
"Now, what has become of my wall?" he fished for information.
"It…has been put to order, commander." The boy said haltingly, as if he wasn't sure his words wouldn't offend him.
"Put to order you say?"
"Aye, it is…cleaner than I remember it ever being. The Wil-sorry- Spartans have been well behaved, I've even spoken to a few of them. They are not the wild beasts I was made to believe they were, I think I prefer them to most of the brothers." He answered, honestly Jeor thought.
"They are more than I thought they were as well, it seems. Though, I have dealt with some nasty ones. No, if what you say is true then they've changed."
"Aye, Ygritte said as much. Said they were scattered, even while gathered at the same place." He said, his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to recall what was said to him. "That they were more likely to kill each other than work together. Until HE showed up, made them into one people…or close enough to it anyway. Now they valued things like warriors and discipline above all else." The lad finished.
"HE?"
"The king, Kratos. He somehow feels…more than when I first met him if that is even possible. Being around him now feels like being at home in Winterfell. It feels safe, I-I_ I can't explain it." He stuttered out with confusion and intrigue colouring his features.
"I'd say you explained it perfectly my boy." Maester Aemon added as concurrence.
Alright that was it, Jeor had to meet this man himself. He had to take the measure of him.
"Where is he? I would like to talk to him."
"He's not fa- "
"I am here." Jeor heard someone say. His voice sounded like if a mountain could speak. Jon's eyes widened and he stood back and inclined his head, a show of obvious respect but not quite yet deference. Not that odd if what they've been saying held any truth to it.
Jeor removed his eyes from the boy and swept them to the man standing in the doorframe and his breath hitched. The longer he stared at him the more he didn't want to look away. He was Weirwood made flesh, as imposing as the wall and looked just as firm. To Jeor he exuded the warmth of a hearth after a long day in the snow. The feeling was so overwhelming that he felt a single tear escaped his eyes and ran down his cheek.
He was suddenly revitalised and an urge to stand and lift his head proudly overtook him, but he controlled himself. Was this what Jon felt when he looked at him? Forcibly tore his gaze from the man and looked to Jon, to see him studying his reaction with a look of understanding on his face. That's when he knew, that's when he became certain, this was no man that stood before him.
"Give us the room boy." he heard the man say. Absolute authority, that is what his voice sounded like, disobey at your own peril. Jon didn't, he just nodded and left the way he came. The man watched him go, then closed the door and turned back to Jeor and the Maester.
"How is the wound?" He asked.
"It was cleaned and freshly wrapped just before he woke up my Lord. It seems to be coming along nicely" The Maester provided in the way of an answer.
"Hmmm. Jeor Mormont, I am Kratos." An introduction was not what he was expecting but it was only polite he supposed.
"…Well, you know my name it seems."
"Yes"
"…A-Are you a God?" he asked after much time looking anywhere but at the man.
"Yes" A succinct and honest answer, not a surprise, why would a God need to lie or hide his nature? Not that he could, they could feel him coming from a mile away. He wanted to ask one more question though, for clarity.
"Which God?"
"Immaterial, but I do not believe you have to ask." He folded his arms and stared unblinkingly at the old bear, and he was certain. He looked to the Maester and only saw him nodding to himself in what might have been resignation.
"No, My Lord, I do not believe I do." He admitted.
"Then trust yourself." He stood with his face to the fire, just watching it and not saying anything for about five minutes. Jeor was beginning to wonder what was going on in his head, when he spoke suddenly.
"Can you make it to your feet?" he asked in that deep rumble he called a voice.
"If that is what's needed of me." Jeor answered after shaking off his surprise.
"It is. Your men are becoming restless, restless men do reckless things."
"But…I don't understand My Lord. Are they not captives? What can they do? Wouldn't your presence be deterrent enough?"
"They are not captives. Your men have returned to their duties, though are not given leave to just do as they please. I was advised to not exacerbate the situation, however, I have put your betrayers in your cells, to await your judgement."
"Yes, I heard that. Why did you not just kill them?"
"You are of the Old Way Jeor Mormont, you tell me." And Jeor understood then, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, and it was he who was wronged and should pass judgement and see it carried out. Of course, an Old God would prefer it that way, it is HIS way.
"…Not all here follow the Old Way. They do not see me as you do, to them I am only frightening. When men give in to their fears they become foolish and impulsive, criminals and cowards more so."
"Aye My Lord, that is true enough." Aemon pitched in. Jeor heard the God grunt but didn't respond otherwise. His eyes seemed to glow a golden colour for a split second before he looked alert and his continence became serious, well, more serious than it already was.
"I will send the boy, your steward to aid you in getting to your feet. You will come to the hall when you have gathered yourself." He said, then turned and left the room in a brisk stride, taking his ocean of a presence with him. The former commander just sat there watching the door he went through.
"You can breathe now, my boy" The Maester said, amusement colouring his every word.
ROBB
It was quiet, a welcomed respite given the circumstances one Robb Stark, was forced to endure ever since conflict shrouded the land. He needed this silence to get his mind into some semblance of order, preparing for the next emergency bound to come. It was all going to shit despite the momentum they generated. He's not lost a battle yet, but seems to be losing the war.
'And so much more.'
The young wolf lost his father to southern cowards, the same cowards who now held his sisters hostage. He lost his home to someone he considered a brother once, the same man who also killed two of his actual brothers and invaded his lands, and now he's lost the hostage he was planning on bartering off for his sisters' lives.
Sabotaged by none other than his own mother no less, his mind still couldn't make sense of the notion.
She made him look weak in front of his own bannermen, with her reckless behaviour. Anyone else would have been executed in the Old Way for such an act, but he could not kill his own mother, forcing him into a precarious position. Slowly but surely, he was losing his influence and control over his bannermen. Even if he led them to a few victories and they may have put a crown on his head, they were still hardened men of the North. He would have to earn his crown every day, lest he finds himself bereft of allies.
His people respected ability above all else, and recent happenings were too close to him for him to act objectively. It was he who made the decision to send Theon Greyjoy for aid from his father, it was him who kept his mother around, fawning at her skirts for guidance like some green boy.
These decisions did not reflect well on his ability to lead, and now being unable to carry out justice how he was supposed to, was another strike against his image.
He sighed and felt the wind ruffle his hair, the soft rustling of the leaves, the only sounds around him. There was always a calm sensation and a sense of home he felt when he was in a GodsWood, having taken to the Old Gods rather than the southerners' seven, as his father before him and as a Northern Lord ought to. Half of his blood may have been from where he was in the Riverlands, and if his mother had her way he would have had a life filled with septons and seven pointed stars.
But he was a Northman, mayhaps not at first glance because he had the Tully colouring, but in heart and mind. Jon always had been more northern than him, taking after their father.
His brother…he shook his head as he was reminded of another one of his failures.
Robb Stark wasn't so hopelessly thick-headed for he knew why his brother felt like he needed to join the Night's Watch. He had failed him as a brother through and through. Robb knew he should have made it clear, Jon had a place by his side, then, now and always. Not just with words but with actions as well. He didn't care what his 'station' was, Jon was his brother, plain and simple. Instead, he had put his trust into someone who, as it turned out, Jon was always right about.
Aye, his decision making had proven to be less than was expected of him so far. Not for the first time did he wish he could turn back time. Had the Gods abandoned his family? Now that he thought about it, he can't remember praying often.
Perhaps it wasn't too late to start?
Robb got up from the root he was sitting on, turned to the Heart tree and took a deep breath, placing his worries aside for this fleeting moment. He knelt and closed his eyes, trying to fall deep into the feeling of peace he was experiencing.
'Old Gods if you can hear me…help me, please.' The wind blew, but nothing else happened as the face etched on the tree remained motionless.
'I need guidance, I need help…I need my brother.' Undeterred, He tried again, without an answer still.
Robb didn't know what he expected, the Old Gods have long been silent. He sighed and got up and was about to walk away. He heard a sound like feathers fluttering, not strange, there were birds in the woods, so he paid it no heed. Then he heard a caw and stopped in his tracks, his face shifting in slight surprise. A raven?
That, he had to admit, was a bit more strange. Turning back to the tree, Robb saw the raven looking straight at him unblinkingly. His mild confusion twisted into shock when he took a closer look at the bird, blinking repeatedly and even slightly pinching himself in disbelief.
It had three eyes!
He felt like he was in a fever dream, how could such a thing exist? A freak of nature? He was not sure he wanted to know, or if he was beginning to lose his mind.
'Tree!' As if its presence wasn't frightening enough the damn bird just suddenly talked out of nowhere. 'Tree' there it was again. It was saying tree over and over.
"Tree?" he asked hesitantly, if anyone were to see him now, talking to a bird, his bannermen would surely desert him by the morn.
'Tree, touch!' It cawed loudly. Robb tried to understand what it wanted of him and repeated the words to himself before realisation dawned on him as his eyes stared directly at the weeping face of the Heart tree.
"You want me to touch the tree?" He asked the bird, his face incredulous. It didn't reply with words, opting to stretch its wings as it cawed, he figured that was as much confirmation as he was going to get. Should he do what the bird wanted? What was its purpose in doing this?
Robb stood there for a while contemplating the state of his sanity before he decided he would lose nothing to just touch the tree. Taking a deep breath, he approached the tree, laying his hand on it and…nothing happened. Feeling quite stupid, Robb shook his head and was about to walk away, only to panic when his hand wouldn't move. Fear began to grip his heart when he felt lightheaded, a sensation akin to falling overtaking his senses as the world darkened around him.
When light started to return to his vision, he spotted an old man draped in black garbs standing in a forest of Weirwoods. The elderly man was just staring at him, with a solemn look in his one visible eye. Robb waited for him to say something, but he remained silent, so he decided to ask some questions instead.
"What is this place? Who are you? Why am I here?" He asked in quick succession, not really leaving any time for answers.
"Calm my boy, it was you who asked for help, yes? For guidance?" The old man asked back, his wizened voice echoing unnaturally throughout the forest, as if all the trees were talking.
Slowly but surely, realisation came to him as the young Stark remembered where he was and why he was there. He looked around the woods, as if just now realising that it was made entirely of Weirwoods. He had asked for help, yes, from the Old Gods. He did not expect an answer really, the Gods have always been silent. Yet looking at his surroundings now and at the…man? standing before him, it seems he did get an answer.
"A-are you an Old God?" He asked, his voice cracked, like the boy he was.
"Oh no, not me my boy, I am but a conduit."
"Conduit?" he asked in confusion. He knew what the word meant, having received a lord's education but what confused him was what the old man was a conduit for? Surely if there were Old Gods they would look like this man before him? He was indeed old, and the feeling Robb got from him was unnatural enough. So, wasn't he?
"Yes, young wolf, a conduit…for HIM." he said and gestured off to the side. Robb followed with his gaze towards the direction the old man was pointing and froze. He felt something warm and liquid running down his cheeks and belatedly realised that they were tears. He was crying, huh, he couldn't stop them from falling.
He had no doubts, no questions, no need for clarity on WHO it was he was standing in the presence of. He berated himself mentally, how could he have thought that the old man from before was an Old God? Strange was his aura yes, but that should have been his first clue.
Stood before him now was a man, a man who looked to be molded and carved from the North itself. Robb had always thought his father was the most Northern person he knew save mayhaps the Umbers but how wrong had he been. This man's face was as stern and unforgiving as winter, his gait as sturdy as the walls of Winterfell herself and his aura as warm and homely as the hot springs that ran through the walls of his home and provided him with comfort and shelter from the elements. His skin and furs were as white as freshly fallen snow, the markings on his body as red as the leaves on the Weirwood, with blue veins of ice running through them. His eyes glowed a molten gold and the sheer power that was falling off of him made Robb cave. The only thing he could think to do was to prostrate himself, for he was not worthy, he knew.
"To your feet boy." He heard those words as the earth itself beneath his feet threatened to give way and he knew disobedience was not an option, no matter how many of his bones were telling him to stay kneeling.
He did eventually get to his feet, however slowly and painfully. He refused though to raise his head and meet the eyes of HIM. He, Robb, has been a failure and he would hate to see disappointment reflected in HIS face.
"Look to me." again he could not imagine disobeying, so he did. He looked to HIM. "You will hold your head high, with pride." And so, he did, and he felt the pride of the North well in his breast, and he knew.
"Who are you?"
Robb was taken aback and very hurt, for his Lord to not know him, had he failed so spectacularly? He didn't cry, he swallowed the hurt and answered.
"I am Robb Star- "
"That is the name your parents gave you, I asked who you are."
"I-I am lost, Lord."
"Hmmm. Are you a fish with claws and fangs or a wolf with scales?"
"…Neither…I am a Direwolf."
"You do not behave like a wolf that stalks and outwits its prey. No, I see a fish swimming into the fisherman's net blindly. The hunting ground is controlled by the wolf, a Direwolf more so. You win battles but your enemies out manoeuvre you even now. War is more than just armies, it is about strategy, on and off the field. Your allies lose faith because you lose faith, and you are alone, wolves do not hunt alone."
"I have failed." Robb said in a sob, and tears started pouring from his eyes ever more. But he did not drop his head or hide his shame, his victories were his and his failures would be bored with the same pride.
"No, you have lost sight of what you are fighting for, of why you fight. Remember your purpose and regain your will." He then turned to walk back into the forest, but Robb needed to know.
"What is thy name O' Lord?"
HE stopped and looked over his shoulder to answer. "…KRATOS"
Then he was gone, it was like he was never there to begin with. His presence simply vanished, and Robb wanted to shout his gratitude, but he held himself together. He just stood there and basked in the aftermath of meeting and being advised by his God. His faith was firm before but now, it was as strong as the wall itself.
He heard the crunch of leaves behind him and turned swiftly to see the old man looking at him. Yes, the old man, he had almost forgotten about his attendance.
"Extraordinary, isn't it? To stand in the presence of such might?" he asked with a little knowing smirk on his face.
"Aye, it is indeed. I shall never forget his image…or his words." He replied looking off to where his Lord had just vanished.
"Good. HE would want you to remember, to have learned. Now, I will send you back, but I would like to issue my own piece of advice, if you'd permit me?"
"Of course, Of course."
"Sensible. Now listen, for I will only say this once, Men who wear not their skin cannot be recognized, and thus should not be trusted."
And then Robb felt his hand spring free from the Heart Tree and he was suddenly right back where he started. He stood and looked around and the woods were just as normal and unremarkable as they were before, and he sighed.
Was that all a dream? Was any of it real? Was he finally losing his mind? Robb Stark the mad wolf, the bards would make buckets of coin with that one. He shook his head, his melancholy taking over again, when he heard a caw and looked up in a hurry to see a three eyed raven looking at him and he knew.
He rolled his shoulders and nodded at the raven then turned towards the castle proper. There were things that needed clearing up.
KRATOS
The hall was not very large, at least not to Kratos. He was sure this was the largest single room any of his people had ever been in.
'His people'
A foreign thought. He had been a captain, a general and a worshipped God, but even that position felt like just leading armies. Battles were the only time they knew his name and being so consumed by rage as he was, so happy was he to wreak havoc and chaos.
These people, they look to him for strength and stability. They prayed to him for more than just the ability to defeat their enemies. They wanted blessings for their children so they may live to see above five years of life, guidance on the hunt so they may feed themselves, patience so they may continue to survive and thrive.
He was more than just an instrument of destruction and violence to them, and he felt it as well. With every whispered word of gratitude, with every praise he could feel himself. It felt different from when he was the God of War under his father's pantheon, the Ghost of Sparta. He was already a God, a birthright, but the genuine worship he garnered from these people made him truly a God now. He was more connected to these and the general people of the North after the events that took place immediately following the taking of The Wall.
He raised his hand to look at the glowing blue veins that now ran through the marking he had gotten in memory of his brother. A symbol of his chosen path, a decision he never had as an option for himself. A hope he never allowed himself to hope, even when… others hoped it for him. A goal he never knew he desired, was suddenly attainable and his desire for it was suddenly insatiable.
To be more… than the monster he was made to be, more than the lone warrior fighting against whatever world he ended up in next. But maybe, maybe he had found something here, a home and a people to look over, a people to call his own and who call him their own as well. His new Spartans, but less a mechanism of war and more a nation.
To protect them now and to become and be what so many of his kind before him failed so miserably at being, seemed his purpose. Only question now…
'Am I going to accept it?'
He pondered but he didn't really have to. 'YES'
If only…no he wouldn't go down that hole. He could not look back, that was not the way he was going.
VAL
Quite an atmosphere. To see her people so filled with life, to sit around an actual table and drink from a cup made of wood and eat from a bowl, food that had more flavour than she'd ever tasted. She had hoped of course, but never had she truly believed that these days would come to pass. Many a night she laid sleepless on her furs filled with paranoia. At any moment they could be attacked by the dead, at any moment their future could be ripped away from them.
Her sister's babe may not have lived long enough to be named and that more than anything had weighed very heavily upon her.
Now, it not only looked like they would survive the days to come, but they mayhaps have a real future as a real people. United as one under the gaze and tutelage of one, her Lord. It was funny to think that, about a year ago he was nothing more than a strange man that came out of the Haunted Forest, remarkable yes, as a first impression, but now she could no longer doubt her own eyes or her own instincts.
Now it was plain for all who lay eyes upon him that HE was no man. At first people were sceptical of his intentions, his promise to see them across the wall. Not her, she never doubted his conviction from the moment she saw it in his eyes. HE wasted nothing, not movements or words. If it can be done HE would do it and say nothing, if it couldn't be done, just the same. He simply embodied the Northern ideal. How could they have ever doubted?
He was practically made from their very minds, he was so in place. They took The Wall, a task that seemed so insurmountable to her people. It was not even challenging in the least. What she had imagined as a great battle for her people's salvation was reduced to a strategic masterstroke. Val was truly content.
She looked to her left and saw Tormund and Styr, drinking and laughing with a few of their men. A camaraderie that in regular times would never have happened, not in the thickest of snows. But now, it was expected, based on the amount of time they spent in the Haunted Forest with only each other to protect the other. Her Lord's methods of training were cruel to some but it was incredibly effective, the results spoke for themselves.
She looked to her right and saw HIM, the Lord in question, his posture even while sitting, screamed of a preparedness for action that none would ever achieve. He seemed to have changed slightly in appearance ever since they crossed the wall. His eyes now flash a strange colour at times and some of his veins seemed as if ice ran through them.
He also felt different as well, he felt … more somehow. He was as stern as ever as he surveyed the hall before him, which while generally calm, was obviously divided.
The few crows who could hold sat to one side of the hall, while the Spartans sat wherever else. While the Spartans made merry and drank and laughed and told stories the crows ate in relative silence with a few sparing poisonous glances every now and then. Some looked as if they were itching for a fight but held back because they were outnumbered.
Tch. She'd like to see them try, they'd die before they got to land a punch. Violence, however, was strictly forbidden. None dared to go against this command, so for now, they could only throw scathing looks. That was fine, all would come to respect and revere he who sits on high.
She was stuck in her head, thinking about what would happen now that they had The Wall. She noticed sudden movements from the crow's side of the hall and thought that someone finally broke and was about to be dealt with. But that wasn't it at all, they all seemed to be standing and looking alarmed. She followed their line of sight and saw the reason behind their actions.
The Snow crow was helping their lord crow into the hall, holding him up by the shoulder and steadying him. When they entered they stopped and the lord crow took his first good look at the hall, she reckoned. She looked to her own Lord and he carried his gaze to her and gave her nod and she stood immediately. Her fellow warriors noticed this and in quick succession all stood as well.
Kratos seemed to respect this lord crow and anyone HE respected was due their respect in turn, it was that simple. Though, he himself did not stand to greet the man, a necessary show of station.
The lord crow realised what was happening and stood a little straighter as he hobbled into the hall proper. After a tedious walk, filled with winces and grimaces, he eventually made it to the high table and stood before her Lord. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one saying any words before the lord crow dipped his head in deference and Kratos nodded in acknowledgement.
He then gestured to the free seat to his right and Jon Snow, who seemed to understand the implication, helped his lord to the seat then returned to his place at the table nearest to them. Val liked the boy enough, not in a, she wished to steal him away, kind of way, but he was bearable, the most bearable of the crows in fact. He was prettier than most of the women she knew but he was also a formidable fighter, enough so that Tormund who was the strongest of the captains currently could only fight him to a stand still. That earned him Tormund's and many of the others' respect.
Ygritte, she noticed, had taken quite the interest in him. She was not a shy girl, if he was too thick to see her interest and make a move, she'd just steal him herself and be done with it. Good for her, Val wished she had the strength to take who it was she wanted, but how was she to measure up? She would be better served forgetting those desires.
She heard the lord crow and Kratos speaking and focused her hearing to get a better listen.
"Snow told me your people are mostly still beyond The Wall, why?" she heard him ask.
Her Lord stared at him for a moment as if to decipher if the question was genuine or not. He must have found him true because he just grunted and opted to answer him, at least in part.
"We are waiting." always of few words.
"Waiting? On what? Wasn't the point of your attack to get them across the wall? To save them?" His voice was one of immense confusion. She could imagine what was going through his head, thinking his men died in vain. How short sighted, but she didn't have room to judge. She had initially been confused as well, until it was explained to her by Mance, who, it seemed, was right on time to answer the wounded crow.
"The Wall's been taken, Mormont, no doubt you sent ravens before the battle. No doubt the news has travelled to at least Last Hearth by now, not to mention the other manned castles on The Wall." Mance said, stepping around the high table to stand at the front.
The lord crow looked momentarily stunned then sheer disgust took over his features. Right, to these people Mance was a traitor, a selfish point of view. To her, and her people, he was once the only person who chose to help them, who saw them as people and not just wildling savages, but actually living breathing beings who had no hope of survival in the environment they previously were.
"Mance Rayder, you should be beheaded for abandoning the Watch, for forsaking your vows!" The half dead man said in what she was sure he thought was righteous anger.
"I swore a vow, yes! Same as you! To protect the realms of men, ALL men! Look around you man, what do you see? Look beyond your precious walls, at the faces of women, children and the elderly. Do they not deserve to live? Do their lives not matter? Do you truly believe that this, this wall, built with magic and the sort, larger than anything else in these lands, was made to keep out a few raids? From people who had no real weapons?"
They were speaking very loudly and it drew the attention of everyone in the hall to the high table. All were listening keenly. The crow noticed this and didn't seem to like it.
"That is your excuse then? How you justify betrayal to yourself?" he asked.
"You feel he had turned his back on his words, I can understand that. But do not be so blinded by this that you do not see the point." Kratos came to Mance's defence, sort of.
"And what, exactly, is the point?"
"At this moment, the only enemy is undeath. The living must remain alive or become the very thing they fight against. Each to die is a soldier gained for the Great Foe."
The man paled, but did not concede. He seemed to have come to some decision in his mind for he said nothing more but neither did he look pleased. A silence fell over them as Mance looked at his former commander with contempt.
"As i was saying," he said "It won't be long before a retaliation is mounted. Ravaged as they are, the North would not take the news of the wall being taken by Wildlings lightly. That is why the people are still behind the wall, we would not have them cross only to become casualties."
He then shook his head and turned to Kratos, not waiting for the former commander to answer, although she figured he would not have.
"I've brought them, as you requested." he said to him. Val was a little confused, she was not privy to this particular event and she didn't like not knowing what was happening. She sat a little straighter, more interested now in what was taking place.
Kratos grunted at Mance and he turned and whistled behind him and three crows were led into the hall by two Spartans. Suddenly she understood what was happening and berated herself for ever feeling left out of such a…small thing.
These were the men who had betrayed and wounded the lord crow in an attempt to appeal to them. Her blood churned in disgust. She had always held a strong dislike for treachery and men who were too craven to look in your face with their disagreements. But ever since she had accepted Kratos' teachings and his position as her God, she noticed that feelings of strong dislike became pure hate.
The ideals they were adopting from HIM made certain things seem so extreme to them now.
The three crows finally made it to the front of the table and stopped with their heads down, as cravens would.
"Our way is the Old Way. Jeor Mormont, I will not rob you of these customs. The choice is yours, justice is yours." Her Lord's voice shook the room slightly, those words becoming law, ingrained in the minds of all who heard them. The wounded crow looked shocked for a while before he nodded at Kratos then took a deep breath and used the table as support to raise himself to his feet.
He looked down upon his former charges and waited for them to react, but they did not raise their heads still.
"Look at Me!" he shouted at them and it took a minute but they eventually complied. He must not have liked the look of pathetic fear he saw on their faces, he snarled.
"Fetch blocks!" he demanded and one of the various crows in the hall went about carrying this out. "Outside." he said and the Snow boy came to help him as everyone seemed to be moving towards the courtyard.
A crowd was made, everyone wanted to see the outcome. Three stumps were placed a few steps from the other and the three crows were led there and were made to hang their necks over the edge. It was the first she, or any of her people would witness anything like this. These men were awaiting their deaths, willingly, no struggles, no curses being thrown around and no fight so the strongest or cruellest could be the one to walk away.
No, this was what they called justice. The ones being judged knew it, and so they accepted their fate even though she was certain they did not want to die. A strange event to her, very strange. She looked to her right to see Her lord had finally made it, the lord crow, being helped by Snow, right behind him. Val walked closer to them so she could listen to what they were saying.
"I…I… am in no shape… now to swing the sword." The wounded man said between wheezes.
"That is clear." Kratos responded simply.
"I… would like …Jon Snow to carry out my justice in my stead." The boy looked surprised by this and tried to protest but his lord would hear nothing of it. Kratos nodded his understanding and consented.
"Snow, do this for me, and rid yourself of the guilt you carry around."
"...I will, Commander." the boy replied and handed off his lord to the crow nearest to them then rolled his shoulders and strode to the men kneeling over the stumps. He stopped at the first man and flexed his sword arm before drawing his blade, which was a marvel to see, and held it in front of himself.
"Do you have any last words?" another strange custom. Why would you care about what a dying man had to say? She would ask these questions to someone who could answer them another time, for now she observed.
The first man did nothing but started crying like a babe, tears and snot dripping from his face. Snow nodded and said. "In the name of Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch, I sentence you to die." and took his head from his shoulders in one clean swing. The other two saw this and immediately started begging for forgiveness and their lives, cravens to the end, but, end they did.
When the entire ordeal was over she saw Snow knelt to one knee and whispered a prayer and to everyone's surprise, tiny orbs of light left the mens' lifeless body and flew straight into…Kratos' chest? His eyes flashed for a split second then he nodded and turned and walked away. She was filled with questions, as she was sure everyone else was, but there was no rush, she would ask them when she got her chance.
She glanced back at the bodies which were now being pulled away and contemplated on what just happened. This event would redefine what the word justice meant to her people. Change, they changed more everyday, and they will continue to do so until they died.
UPDATED AUTHOR'S NOTE:
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Fear not, I have not abandoned you. I was sick and then I was distracted, but I will not leave this story unresolved so always expect an update, regardless of how long it takes, because life is still lifing.
I ask nothing of you that I, myself, am unwilling to give.
-The Basilisk
P.S. I have noticed the complaints that the point of view changes were confusing and at first I was bewildered. I've only recently noticed that my line breaks are scrapped when I upload on the site and for that I apologise. Anyway I fixed it! Enjoy!