Chapter 9: The Wall
"The fields have eyes, and the woods have ears."
Marq hadn't expected a screaming wildling with a giant axe to rush him the moment he stepped off The Soggy Crow and onto the docks of Eastwatch. He also hadn't expected to see the castle grounds on fire. Some context might be needed here.
Most of the rest of the trip had been uneventful. However, the entire boat stunk of death the whole time. Torrhen composed a new song about it. The Ballad of the Soggy Crow. Something that made him immensely popular with the crew.
As for their current predicament, in their defense, it was a stormy and foggy day. You couldn't see more than three feet in front of your face. Hell, they damn near beached themselves on the docks on their way in.
Marq didn't even have the energy to be shocked about the situation, only to react. Time seems to slow as his body moves. His shield arm lashed out, slamming the edge of his heater shield into the screaming man's jaw, shutting him up instantly—a quick follow-up with his war hammer's spike to his neck.
Two moves are all it took to kill a man. He can't even feel bothered to feel disgusted about it. Nor did he have time to really, given the situation.
It doesn't take long for the rest of the crew to start disembarking and seeing the situation. Torrhen takes precisely two seconds to look at the dead wildling before simply walking back up the gangplank to The Soggy Crow.
Once all the men are disembarked, it's far from a significant relief force: Captain Crow, a few other Night's Watch brothers, and Tybolt and Addam. That was all they had against an unknown number of Wildlings, or free folk, whatever, with an unknown number of defenders left alive. Marq already wishes he had never left the Red Keep, but it's a bit late for those thoughts now.
Calling Eastwatch a castle was generous. It has no walls, like all the other Night's Watch castles, as they were supposed to fear no attack from the south of the wall. This wasn't supposed to happen. The next major Wildling incursion on Raymun Redbeard isn't supposed to happen for forty years, and Marq knows he hasn't caused enough butterflies to reach beyond the wall.
He's torn from his thoughts by Captain Crow speaking up. "Stay close to me, everyone. We'll make our way into the castle and try and regroup with any survivors."
"How did this happen?" Marq asks. It'd be mentioned at least once if something like this had happened historically. This is entirely new, as far as he knows.
Crow scratches his chin. "They must have managed to sneak around the galleys. We've had to fight for Skagosis at sea for a while now, and our ships may have been distracted dealing with that."
Putting the theories to the side, Crow begins to move ahead, and Marq has no real choice but to follow or sit alongside Torrhen on the ship. For some reason, he can't even fathom. His legs start moving him forward, following behind Crow.
Marq can smell it before he can see it—the stench of the dead and dying. It only gets stronger the closer he walks towards the castle proper, leaving behind the docks. Eventually, they come across the source of the smell.
The leftovers from a battle, free folk, and black brothers lay dead on the ground, with far more black brothers than wildlings. In stark contrast to what he can see and smell is the sound of feasting from inside the nearby great hall. Given the raging wildling that greeted them at the docks, it can only be assumed that it's the wildlings inside, not the watchmen.
Not a word is uttered at the sight. The only sounds are the crunching of snow under boots, a few shuddering breaths, and the rasp of blades sliding out of their scabbards as they continue onwards, avoiding the celebrating in the great hall.
Walking out of the courtyard and into the barracks, they are met with a similar grisly sight. The entire barrack is filled with dead watchmen, killed in their sleep before they could even arm themselves. The only signs of a struggle are at the end of the hallway, where a few must-have awoken and tried to fight off their attackers.
Crow doesn't linger for long in the barracks, swiftly leaving after checking if any of the black brothers still drew breath. None of them did, prompting some muttered curses from the aged bravo.
The next checked building was the armory. Unlike the courtyard and the barrack, there were only a few fallen black brothers in this building. All the weapon racks were stripped clean, and in the corner lay a pile of discarded stone and bronze weapons that the wildlings must have discarded in favor of the steel.
Marq privately wonders how long they are going to stay wandering around before leaving the castle. The garrison seems to have been entirely overwhelmed, and the longer they stay, the more likely they are to be spotted. However, he isn't willing to interfere with the search on the off chance they find someone who lives.
Unfortunately, it seems his worst fears have come true. As when they step out of the armory, they come face to face with a drunk wildling who has stepped out of the great hall.
The world seemingly freezes for a few moments as everyone in the party suddenly rushes at the one wildling to prevent him from raising the alarm. However, they are all a moment too slow as the man opens his mouth and shouts.
"SOUTHRONS!" The man bellows out. His throat is cut by Crow not a moment later, but the damage is already done. For a brief moment, the entire castle grounds goes silent, even the feasting within the hall.
The brief silence is shattered by the deafening noise of weapons being drawn en mass inside the hall. Too many to distinguish from one another, enough to overwhelm the group even if each of them were all piss drunk.
All hell breaks loose as the door to the hall is thrown open, revealing dozens of wildlings inside the hall, all streaming outside with the intent to kill whoever just interrupted their feasting.
It happens all too fast for Marq to keep up. Crow scores the first hit, skewering a raider as fast as lightning. He doesn't have any more time to look at the other's fights as a trio of raiders sets upon him.
Focus. Letting out an exhale and allowing his muscles to relax for a moment as he did in the tournament. Muscles and instincts that were honed through years of training acting on their own.
Marq sees their limbs twitch, and he swings his hammer, cracking it against the side of the skull of the first of the three. He falls after bits of flesh and bone fly off his unarmored head. His shield arm isn't idle during this, moving to intercept an incoming stab from a spear as the following raider nearby darts toward him.
The spear slides off his shield with the hair-raising sound of metal grinding against metal. He brings his hammer down onto the handle of the spear. Wood snapping and breaking as the spearhead comes flying off. Then it comes back up, the spike of the war hammer being driven under the jaw of the raider who had attacked with the spear.
Someone shouts, and Marqs' neck snaps towards it expecting a threat from another angle. Instead, he sees an impact hit Addam. A thrown axe lodged into his chest. Addam's knees buckle and give out, and a giant laid low.
In better times, a better man would realize the situation is untenable and that they needed to leave lest they all die. A better man would recognize where he is and what's happening and go to help his allies leave.
But Marq is not a better man. The fried nerves in his brain make a single conclusion. Kill, rend flesh from bone. It's the only that will get them out of here. The only thing that will make them safe. The hammer goes down, and a body goes down.
It could have been years or only minutes for him to be snapped back to his senses. He dimly realizes that in that time, Tybolt had joined his larger friend on the ground, along with the few black brothers that had accompanied them. Only Crow and Marq remained, and somewhere along the fight, they ended up back to back, surrounded by wildlings.
"I demand single combat!" A scratchy, torn voice speaks up. It takes Marq a few seconds to recognize it as his own. The wildlings pause for a moment, more than a few of them chuckle to each other as if he just said a particularly humorous joke.
However, they fall silent as a man with a mane of red hair and the barest hints of a red beard walks to the front and speaks in a booming voice, making Marq seem like a child in comparison. "I accept."