CHAPTER 8
THE WALL
Jon Snow. Snow. How that name haunted him. All he ever wanted was the Stark name, and to know who his mother was. Now, he'd never get any of those things. Lord Stark was as stoic and hard as the North itself, but he had been his father. He had raised him alongside his trueborn siblings in the halls of his own castle, even though he was a bastard, and his wife didn't want him there. Jon loved him, just as he did his brothers and sisters, and was there for him just the same.
Now he was gone, taken from him by Lannisters. His sisters, hostages to the throne, his brother, down South fighting a war and his childhood home being reaved by fucking squids. If he ever got a hold of Theon Greyjoy he'd rip his cock off and use it to strangle him. Not to mention his uncle Benjen couldn't be found and was presumed dead.
His family, the pack, was splintered and in disarray, fighting for their lives and here he was freezing his arse off at the edge of the world. The Night's Watch was nothing like he thought it would be, like he was made to believe it was. He was surrounded by criminals and stuck-up veterans, people of the worst sort.
Ghost, his loyal direwolf and the living sigil of house Stark, was curled up at the base of the bed, soundly sleeping. At least one of them was finding some comfort in this hellish place.
He did not belong here, he knew as such now. But he wasn't sure where else he did belong. All he knew was he'd rather be at his brother's side, fighting to free his sisters than staying here with his hands tied. 'Arya…' his mind whispered, his anxiety leaving him restless, yet he was chained, held in place by vows he swore when he thought he had no future. Jon tried to run away, but was warned against it by a friend. They'd behead him as a deserter, he had said.
He almost didn't care.
Lord commander Mormont had eventually talked him down, reprimanded him and restricted him to his room. As he thought about the commander, his focus shifted to the sword leaning against his bed frame, his chest filled with pride. This was the only good thing to happen to him here.
Forever grateful he would be, for the faith his commander must have had in him, to have entrusted him his own family's ancestral sword, a Valyrian Steel blade, and to have gone out of his way to change the pommel so it would suit him. Aye, he would never forget such grace.
The sword wasn't the only thing commander Mormont had given him though. His brows came together in concentration and displeasure at the recollection of his most recent bizarre encounter. Having fought the dead black brother himself, what he heard wasn't so unbelievable. The potential existence of more of those things out beyond The Wall? It wasn't as unbelievable as it was terrifying, but how was there anyone still left living out there, let alone enough to make an army capable of qualifying as a threat to The Wall?
The one he fought was hard enough to kill and he was using castle forged steel. How in the hells did the Wildlings manage to survive, with little to no access to weapons even half as good?
Now they were going to attack The Wall with their entire force? A desperate act, if he ever heard of one. He couldn't find it in himself to blame them, honestly. He too, would be trying to get as far away from such a looming terror as he was able, but as far as he knew there wasn't a single civilised person among them.
They were savages at best, if he were to take some of the brothers at their word, not capable of coexisting with regular men. Although, who these 'regular' men were, he didn't know. Certainly not the brothers of the 'Criminals' Watch'.
Jon scoffed at the thought and shook his head, trying to ignore the regret building in his heart.
He was always taught to never make judgments of someone he never met, so he'd hold off on measuring the wildlings until he saw them for himself.
He was asked to send a raven to Robb, pleading for aid. He didn't see how it would be much help as his brother could never fulfil such a request with him being half the continent away in the midst of his own war.
'Where I should be' But it cost nothing to send it, and so he did.
Castle black was currently in a frenzy. The commander had issued orders officially a few days ago of a possible attack and the preparations were to be made, lest they be caught unaware. Like most in the castle, Jon had seen the smoke rising from beyond The Wall. It was days before it finally stopped, and it was further out than he'd ever been, further than the Weirwood he went to say his vows.
A good distance away but if the fire meant there was an army of wildlings there then it suddenly didn't seem far enough, they were practically at the gates already!
It was good they had The Wall. It was a defensive marvel, thick impenetrable ice and large iron gates, a clear advantage. They were also better armed but that was the extent of it, for they had way less men and despite their proper arms, these men were craven and cutthroats. Not one competent fighter amongst them, and Jon would certainly not trust most of them with guarding his back when push came to shove. Ser Alliser did a shit job of training them, more focused on establishing himself at the top of the hierarchy than anything else.
Some Master at arms he was. Jon held no doubt Ser Rodrick Cassel would have been appalled by the state of things in this place.
Jon felt bile rising to his throat at the thought of his current superior, holding back the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. It seems no matter where he went, he wouldn't escape people who were all too delighted in reminding him what he was and how he belonged nowhere.
In Winterfell it was Lady Stark, and here at The Wall it was Ser Alliser Thorne. While Lady Stark hated his existence for being a bastard her husband had begotten with another woman, Sir Alliser hated him because he was a 'Stark' bastard, being a Targaryen loyalist from the last war and thus he was sentenced to The Wall. Jon lamented his decision to come here once more.
What was he thinking? He sighed, wishing he could take back his choice.
He sat there, lost in his head for the better part of an hour before he noticed Ghost's head perking up suddenly. He heard rushed knocks on his door, the faint sound of labored breath on the other side. He shot up and got to the door quickly, opening it to see who his visitors were.
A smile appeared on his face when he saw the few friends he had made here in this place. Sam, Grenn, Pyp and Ed. He was about to make a joke about them coming to save him from his cell when he noticed the look on their faces.
They all looked alarmed, and Sam was visibly shaking now that he was paying attention.
"What is it?" He asked when no one wished to explain, the group looking amongst each other before nodding.
"The Wildlings Jon, they've been spotted at the tree line. They're here!" It was Ed who relayed the news, looking as if he was also carefully weighing his options.
Jon didn't wait for any more explanations as he rushed back into his room to grab his sword and made for the door. "Ghost! To me." He hurried past his friends and took off to find the commander, his friends right behind him.
"Jon!...Jon! Oi Snow, ye curly haired fucker!" Ed's voice rang out again, only he was so brazen and crass. Jon stopped and stared at him. "What ye going that direction for? The commander is atop The Wall." He said pointing up above his head, a smirk plastered on his face. The others nodded their heads and Grenn was trying to hold in a laugh.
"You couldn't have said that earlier, Ed?" Jon asked, mildly annoyed but also amused. He turned back and walked swiftly in the direction of the lift, to make his way to the top. His heart was pounding in his chest, his apprehension making itself-known. This was it, if the wildlings had reached The Wall then the battle was finally here.
If he was being honest with himself, he didn't see why they were fighting them. Weren't they people as well? And if whatever it was they were running from could raise the dead and have them fight, then wouldn't killing the wildings only give it more dead to raise?
He tried to clear his head of that line of thinking, such doubts could prove fatal to his own life. Commander Mormont must have similar thoughts on the matter, and if he was still planning on fighting then he would have faith in him.
He has always been good with a sword, having taken to it from a young age. He'd beaten Robb more times than not in the yard, and he was quick to adapt, a natural Ser Rodrik had called him. He's never experienced true battle though, never killed a man. He was secretly dreading the idea, but he didn't let it show on his face.
The lift finally made it to the top of the wall where a whole line of brothers were waiting, staring down attentively. Jon searched for the Lord Commander with his eyes and found him standing with Qhorin Halfhand and Ser Alliser, the three discussing something. He approached them, his arrival going unnoticed as they were all gazing below and weren't concerned by his presence.
"Lord Commander!" He shouted to get the man's attention, getting Ser Alliser's instead, unfortunately.
"Ahh, Lord Snow. Finally graced us with your presence. Brought your lovers and the little pig have you? Oi! Piggy! You started pissing yourself yet?" Gods, the man was unbearable. Jon wanted nothing more than to kick him off the side of the wall but knew he'd be beheaded for it. Or would he? He doubted the others would be so overly appalled by his demise, given how he treated them.
"Mind yourself Thorne, and act your age!" The commander reprimanded, his face locked in a furious frown. He turned his solemn gaze onto Jon, and he could see the sheer weight pushing down on him.
"Snow, look down there. Tell me what you see." He commanded, and Jon obeyed. He hesitantly inched closer to where he could see over the edge and peered over. Down there he didn't notice anything at first, only some snow and trees. Then he started seeing little movements and realised that there were people down there. They were too high up to make out any features or see anything clearly but there were definitely people moving about. Scouts?
"I see movement, Commander." He relayed, hoping it was what he Mormont expected of him.
"Aye. They've been there since last night it seems."
"What are they? Scouts?"
"No, there are too many of them. They're likely setting up a camp. Close enough to see what's going on, but far enough that we can't hurt them from here and under the cover of trees, so we can't accurately estimate their numbers. Smart, do you know why it bothers me?" It seems this was to be one of the many lessons he has been receiving. Jon pondered about it for a beat but couldn't come up with anything, so he shook his head.
"Because wildlings aren't smart. They are brash, impulsive and savage. If they are developing tactical and strategic ways of thinking, then it means there is someone who is teaching them, and that someone is dangerous." Jeor concluded, his arms crossed as he sighed.
Jon didn't know what to say in response. A dangerous man? A dangerous man? He believed the situation was dangerous but what could a single man do? Mayhaps he'll learn more by just observing.
"Mormont, movement." He heard Qhorin Halfhand say, the man tensing in agitation. The commander turned from him and looked down as well. He followed their sight and saw three people come out of the tree line and approached The Wall. They stopped halfway to each point and just stood there. No one could make out what they were doing, it was too far down. No one said anything, they were all just waiting for something to happen.
Suddenly a raven landed on the wall in front of the Lord Commander, crowed, flapped its wings and offered its foot. There seemed to be a piece of cloth attached to its foot and the bird seemed to be waiting for someone, mainly the commander, to take it off. He did, after all it was just a bird, what harm could it do? At least that's what Jon thought his mind was saying. The bird flew back down immediately.
The commander took the piece of cloth, unrolled it and stared at it for a minute, without saying anything. It didn't take long before Halfhand seemed to have lost his patience.
"Gods man, what does it say?"
Lord Commander Mormont just handed him the piece of cloth and returned his gaze to the ground. The people were moving back into the trees with little fanfare.
"Is he serious?" Halfhand asked incredulously after reading what was on the piece of cloth. He stared at the commander, looking for a reaction, and when he got none his face scrunched up. "You can't be considering this, are you?"
"Aye, I am. We need to be sure what's happening." The commander replied, not taking his eyes off of the tree line.
"What's happening? How more certain can we be? He's brought them here to kill us and take The Wall!" Halfhand argued. Jon wasn't sure who they were talking about. Mayhaps it was this Mance Rayder character?
"I'd like to hear him say those words." The commander seemed to be firm in his decision, whatever said decision was. He stepped away from the edge suddenly and made his way in a brisk strut, to the ramps leading to the lift. It seemed he was going to make plans, but plans for what? Jon did not know. Halfhand and Ser Alliser followed after him with haste and Jon and his group just had to watch them go.
When they were out of sight, Pyp cleared his throat and asked a question they all would like an answer to.
"What do you think it said?" Sam denoted it couldn't be anything good, based on Halfhand's reaction. Jon nodded his agreement. He was about to say something when he heard Ser Alliser's grating voice.
"Lord Snow! You're the commander's steward. Kiss your boyfriends goodbye and get to his fucking side!" Jon bit his tongue and just decided a reply wasn't worth it. He made to follow and told his friends he'd find them later.
He got to the lift and saw that they were waiting. No one looked very pleased, but whether by his presence or the words on the cloth, he wasn't sure. The way down was quiet. Everyone skulked in some way and Ser Alliser was glaring at him, which was his favourite pastime.
He tried to not give him any attention. The lift got to the bottom, and they got off and started off towards the Maester's quarters. Seems a discussion was to be had, and he would participate in it.
Jon was hopeful this opportunity would provide valuable guidance.
—-
How did he end up here?
The question lingered in Jon's mind for a while now, his face pulled together in concentration as his stomach riled in terror. The light from the torches on the walls dancing over his expression with each step he took.
He was in the tunnel, right in front of the gate which led to the other side of the Wall. He looked behind him, somberly observing the path he just took and where he wished he could just turn back down towards. Drawing a slow breath to steady himself, Jon tried to think of the silver lining in his exceptional predicament.
His commander must have had a lot of faith in him, to have sent him in his stead, to parley with Mance Rayder, who he was told by a few of his brothers was the king beyond the wall. King. He had seen how kings were addressed, he could do this, there was nothing to worry about.
His little words of encouragement did nothing to ease the tension building inside him, which got worse when the large iron gate started to rise. It didn't go all the way as it was decided it would be a foolish thing to do given the unpredictable behavior of their foes. When it stopped just high enough for him to ride through, he gently urged his horse forward.
It was a calm day, he realised. There was no wind and no snow falling from the sky, you could almost see the sun. It's funny, the things one can notice and the way the world slows down when you think you're walking to your death.
As he moved further away from the gate and closer to the trees, he could see that there were a lot of people there, much more than he had initially thought. They were all looking in his direction, the collective pressure of their gazes making him swallow a lump building in his throat.
When he got to the tree line, he managed to make out the features on the people's faces, realizing they weren't overly pleased to see him. They were enemies he supposed, of course they would not like him. He noticed some of them had red markings on their faces and visible body parts, looking more serious than their peers, but also more neutral.
His horse cantered to a stop and looked around, trying to steady himself. He drew a shuddering breath, channelling all his courage to maintain a dignified disposition these people would respect.
"My name is Jon Snow, and I've come to parley with the King beyond the Wall." They all stood there silently, moving from one foot to the other and staring at him, no one answered. A slim, red-haired woman with a bow in her hand was the first to approach him, looking very annoyed.
"What the fuck does that mean, pretty crow?" She questioned, most politely. Jon was momentarily confused as he had never met a woman who behaved like her, and subsequently didn't know how to proceed. He tried his best to keep the lapse of focus from showing.
"I'm here to talk to your king." He rephrased, hoping to not offend them.
"Then why didn't you just say that the first time?" She asked with a genuinely confused look on her face. Honestly, Jon was at a loss.
Was she being serious?
"I did." He said seriously. She stared at him for a minute then scoffed and turned around.
"Come on then!" She beckoned over her shoulders, while slowly making her way deeper into the camp. He got off his horse after a man told him to, and followed after her. Walking through the camp was…an experience. He saw both men and women who looked like warriors, most of them bearing red markings of various styles over their faces and bodies, with a few having some blue ones.
They were approaching a tent and he could see some people outside it. They were sitting with their legs crossed, heads bowed, and their hands raised in prayer, towards the tent. He decided to not be quick with his assumption, fearing he was misreading the situation. He brought his gaze closer to the tent and saw that on either side there were
…Giants?
Giants! Gods, giants were real!
They were at least the height of two fully grown men standing atop each other, their shadow easily looming over the people around them. 'Amazing' Jon couldn't help but whisper, awed by the domineering presence they exuded, only to pale once he remembered they were going to have to fight these things. Overwhelming dread began to fester in the bottom of his stomach, his fingers beginning to twitch despite himself. How were they supposed to put up a fight with this? Could their swords even hurt them?
He must have stood there for minutes just staring at them. One of them let out a displeased growl and he took a step back, barely catching himself before his hand grasped his weapon. A chuckle broke his building tension, and he turned his head to see the red-haired woman staring at him amusedly, a wide condescending grin on her face.
"Careful you don't get eaten pretty crow, be a shame." She snickered. He didn't see how any of this was funny, his fear mounting at the thought those giants could be man eaters. He cleared his throat, schooled his features and headed straight towards the tent. The woman openly laughed as she pushed her way into the tent, with Jon following after her.
"They sent a pretty little crow." She relayed to the occupants of the tent, five of them Jon counted. The inside of the tent was very dark with only a fire in the centre as a source of light, but he could make out the features of the figures quite well.
There were two women and three men. The women to his left were like night and day, one blonde with obvious blue eyes and one who was dark of hair and eyes. They both held spears and seemed to stand straight and stiff, like the guards he would see at Winterfell. They were clearly warriors, Like all the women he's seen so far. Whereas one was composed and tempered, the other looked more wild and untamed.
To his right was an imposing man with red hair and a full red beard, mayhaps he was related to the woman who brought him here? Not important. This man was staring at him with wide eyes, sizing him up with no true malice, but he too shared the gait of a soldier. The man beside him was bald and had piercing narrowed eyes, sporting some blue markings like the ones he'd seen on a few of the men and women outside. Same clan then? His mind kept straying to miscellaneous details.
The last man he could see looked…distinctly Westerosi. So, this was Mance Rayder then. His suspicions were proved correct when the same man ordered the red-haired woman to wait outside the tent and she just nodded and left after sparing him a quick glance, her playful eyes making him slightly uncomfortable. His eyes followed her for a bit before he turned around and saw everyone staring at him. Realizing he was now in the presence of a king, he immediately knelt and bowed his head.
"King Mance, I've been sent by the lord commander to hear your words." He said, as he was supposed to as far as he knew, So why did he hear them laughing at him? Was this not their custom?
He kept his head down and waited for a reply. When the laughing eventually came to a halt he heard the Westerosi man clear his throat.
"What is your name, boy?" He asked, with amusement clear in his tone.
Jon's brows creased and his mood dipped."…Jon Snow." He bit his jaw and waited for the jeers and insults. Contemplating his situation, he knew it would be preferable to them feeling insulted by the fact they received someone like him for their message and murdered him.
"Raise your head, boy." It was not the reaction he was expecting, but he obeyed nonetheless. Jon raised his head, his eyes meeting the king's as the man studied his face. He nodded silently, seeming to have come to some sort of conclusion.
"You're Ned Stark's boy, aren't you?" Jon's eyes widened in surprise, his immediate reaction only confirming the man's statement.
"Aye, no doubt about that. You have the stark colouring about you." he nodded, more to himself than anything. "How old are you lad?"
Jon swallowed, managing his words as cordially as he could. "Ten and seven name days, your grace." He answered and the people in the tents snickered to themselves again.
"I'm no king, lad. You can stop kneeling." Mance explained, and despite his remaining confusion, Jon made to get up.
"No. He's in the right position. He just doesn't know who he is kneeling to yet." Abruptly came the voice of the blue-eyed woman, the sheer chill in her voice causing Jon to wince. No one disagreed with her, not even Mance, so Jon just kept kneeling.
He heard a building cacophony of murmurs and what sounded like cries of worship outside the tent. The flaps were pushed aside, and a little girl came in. She had a bow around her torso and wore white and grey furs. Her burnt brown hair fell in braids down to the middle of her back and she had steel grey eyes.
'Like mine.' He observed. When she entered, the occupants of the tent immediately put their right hand across their chests and stood rigidly. For the…however many times today Jon was confused, starting to feel somewhat annoyed by the trend. How could this child command such respect from such hardened looking warriors? Was she a lady or some other highborn? She looked no more than one and ten name days. Not even a woman grown. He was about to inquire when he heard the flaps move again and saw the occupants tense further.
He craned his neck to see who it was and saw only a silhouette, but what a silhouette it was. Tall, domineering and somewhat terrifying. The stranger just stood there for a beat then stepped fully into the tent, allowing Jon to get a good look at him.
His skin was unnaturally pale, and his tempered build screamed of power. His eyes were dark and harsh, and his body bore the same red markings as most in the camp, but his seemed to be more a part of him, as if it was how his skin grew.
Jon did not know what just walked through the threshold and he dreaded to find out. All he knew for certain is he finally met the king beyond the Wall…and never to trust the words of his brothers.
The man grunted as he observed Jon, moving to stand in the midst of the others before he crossed his arms. He exchanged looks with the rest of the people around him, receiving a nod from Mance, before he finally focused on Jon.
"Listen well, boy."
Line break-
"He looked like a man, but he didn't feel like one. His presence was overwhelming, as if he were too large to fit in the tent. It became harder to breathe for a minute after he came inside." Jon finished his description of the man, Kratos, who he found out was the actual king beyond the Wall.
The lord commander looked disturbed by the mention of this man, his countenance turning for the worse as he listened. Jon didn't blame him. He had actually met him, and it felt like standing at the base of a mountain, trying to look up at the peak.
Halfhand stood off to the side not saying a word, but not looking very surprised. Maester Aemon just stared blankly off into the distance as was his wont, before humming to himself then shaking his head.
"… and repeat to us again what he said?" The maester requested, his voice as calm and gentle as it always was.
"He said, he didn't want to fight us, but he would do what he must to give his people a chance at a future." Jon paraphrased. "Said he knew from Mance Rayder that the lands directly south of the Wall were underpopulated and that an agreement could be made for settlement, or he would take it by force. He gave us a week to decide." He finished reiterating. There was silence for a while before the maester asked him if there was anything else.
He shook his head but then he scrunched up his face at a particular recollection. "There was something else, but I wasn't sure it would be important to the topic at hand." He said slowly, unsure.
"All information is important in a battle boy, spit it out." Halfhand gestured for him to continue, his eyes narrowing.
"Well, when I was leaving the camp an old woman stopped me to say something. Something like, all people of the North were his people." Jon hoped he remembered correctly, the elderly woman's particular dialect wasn't the easiest to remember.
"Was that exactly what she said?"
"Y-yes maester." He stuttered a bit, taken off guard by maester Aemon's rather ominous tone just then. The old man wasn't one to speak in such a grave manner.
"Alright my boy. Commander, I think we have a few ravens to send." The commander looked hesitant but nodded his head and sat down.
Line break-
His nerves were getting the better of him, it's been a week and no reply was sent to the Wildlings, at least not to his knowledge. A battle was inevitable, and he was not liking their odds. He was walking to the hall when he saw Sam, looking frightened out of his mind. His hurried steps were quite unlike him, Jon thought. He kept looking behind him as if he was being chased, his eyes fearfully going back and forth as if the Stranger himself was hunting him down.
'What's wrong with him?' He wondered, his friend wasn't one who garnered such enmity after all. He stood and waited for him to reach him. When he did, he was out of breath and sweating profusely. Sam looked practically dead on his feet.
"Sam, what are you running from?" He whispered, looking around them for anything suspicious. His friend looked at him in urgency, pushing through the exhaustion through sheer adrenaline.
"Jon! We need to stop them, we need to warn the lord commander!" Sam did his best to contain his voice, fighting through his nervousness and stutters. Nevermind finding commander Mormont, his friend would be lucky if he managed to get past the door before passing out.
"Stop and catch your breath, Sam. Slow down and explain what's on your mind. Warn the lord commander about what? Stop who? Are the wildlings attacking?"
"No, Jon! I heard some of the black brothers talking. They were planning treachery, Jon. They are going to wait until the confusion of the battle to kill the lord commander then surrender and either join the wildlings or escape!"
"Gods…Which of these criminals was it? Tell me!"
"Was Tanner and Rast… and a few others." He said between deep breaths, coughing every so often as his heart banged against his ribs.
"I'll kill them first." His mind made up, Jon marched in the direction Sam came from. Anger boiled in his blood and blinded him, he could hardly hear Sam shouting for him to stop, but he refused. He couldn't allow the commander to be betrayed, someone who had trusted him so much. He was about ten steps away from where Sam was when he heard the alarm horns go off. The compound erupted in chaos and his stomach dropped.
"Sam! We need to find commander Mormont."
"I saw him coming out of the maester's quarters!"
He nodded and headed in its direction. On the way he passed many brothers standing around looking confused, until he saw the commander standing with Halfhand and Ser Alliser.
"Commander! What's happening?"
It was Ser Alliser who answered him. "Time's up Snow. You're about to be in a real fight, careful not to shit yourself." Jon mostly ignored him, his attention focused solely on Jeor.
"Commander, I have to tell you something." He tried to warn him, trying to get his commander away from Tanner who stood silently close to them.
"Not now, lad. Ser Alliser's right, prepare yourself for battle." He replied and walked off towards the lift.
"But it's important!" Jon shouted after him.
"Does it have something to do with the wildling attack?"
"No, Bu- "
"Then it can wait." That was final, Jon could tell. So, he went about to find Sam and the rest of his friends and do as he was told, giving Tanner a hateful glare.
—-
Jeor was atop the Wall, looking down on their foes. He saw two scores of wildlings down there, in symmetric groups. They were ordered and looked to have discipline, more so than the group of criminals he had on hand if he was brutally honest.
'This could be deadly'
"Archers? Get me archers along the edge here, and there. We still have a wall and heavy iron gates between us and them, we'll pick 'em off from above." He gave his orders and waited for them to be carried out, his eyes immediately returning to the approaching enemies.
He was approached by Ser Alliser, the man bearing a heated glare at the wildling group. "They may have learned how to stand in line and look like soldiers, but they aren't very bright. They're just sheep for the slaughter down there." He pointed out crudely, no doubt finding some twisted joy in killing them.
"Aye, that's true enough. If they ever make it pass the gates it'll be a bloodbath, but I don't see how they can." Jeor tried to convince himself, his mind remaining restless despite his best efforts. He didn't take his eyes off of them though, one thing was bothering him. He knew Mance Rayder to be smarter than this. What was he thinking having them attack the gates bare like that? What was his game? And why weren't they approaching? Were they waiting on something?
His answer came when he saw huge figures coming out of the tree line. He was at first confused, then realisation struck as the figures completely revealed themselves. Those were giants! Actual giants, it was beginning to look more and more hopeless. He noticed they were carrying something, but couldn't quite make it out from their distance. It became clear when the giants took up key positions in the legions and raised what they were holding above their heads.
'...This must be a fucking jape.' He thought, sinking into despair as he gripped his sword tightly.
"Shields? Are those fucking shields? Where would they even get shields so big?" Ser Alliser asked the questions in his own mind. They looked to be holding makeshift shields above the two groups of fighters. They were completely covered from view, now archers had no targets to hit.
Damn that Mance, this must be his idea, clever bastard.
They started marching towards the gates, slow and united. He didn't know how they were planning to get through, but he wasn't going to just wait and see.
"Archers! Light your arrows, burn those shields, come on!" He shouted his orders, the growing dread festering in the back of everyone's minds.
"Ser Alliser! I don't see them getting through the gates but in case they do, get the men ready for a fight."
"Aye commander, I'll see it done." He rushed off to go carry out his orders, a serious expression on his face for once. He saw Qhorin walking to him from that direction. Jeor glanced at the knight when he passed and looked back towards him.
"They are approaching the gate?"
"Aye."
"They'll hold. I doubt very much they have anything that can destroy such heavy iron gates." He said with confidence Jeor wished he could share. He didn't answer, not trusting himself to not say something negative and plummeting an already weak morale to begin with.
"Commander!" Jeor heard a brother shout, and he whipped around to see what the problem was. "They've reached the gates!" The newcomer screamed, and it was true. He looked down and realised that they had indeed reached the gates. And the shields seemed to be catching on fire very slowly.
Those fucking giants.
"Keep firing! Do not leave your post!" He rushed to the lifts to get to the tunnel, hoping the inner gates still stood. When the lift was almost on the ground he saw Ser Alliser running to him.
"Commander! We can hear them beating the gates through the tunnels. Real heavy hits, those giants must be as strong as fifty men." He said in hurried breaths, a hint of fear in his voice as he readied himself.
Before he could formulate a reply, shouts suddenly rang out, followed by a chaotic commotion coming from the southern gates. He saw black brothers running for their lives and wildlings chasing them.
…That can't be right, it should be physically impossible for them to be this fast.
"When the fuck did this happen?!" He heard Ser Alliser ask in shock, the familiar sound of swords clashing bringing the men to high alert. Jeor's eyes widened in realization as he remembered a peculiar detail.
"Bastards must have climbed the Wall! That week wasn't to give us time, it was to give them time to fuck us in the arse." A fucking ploy he should have seen coming. He had underestimated them gravely.
"Gather your wits, this is a fight for everyone's lives!" He shouted, and they rushed to intercept the invading group. His first enemy bearing distinct red markings attacked him, but he ducked, opened his gut with his sword and moved on to the next one. He felled three and it seemed, Ser Alliser and Qhorin were holding their own, but his men were dying twice as fast.
His eyes narrowed as he caught his breath, gritting his teeth at the sight of the wildlings working together to decimate his men. Not one wildling was on his lonesome, and any black brother who thought otherwise found himself chopped to pieces by a blade or gutted by a spear they didn't see coming.
Stepping backwards, Jeor avoided getting gutted by a spear, his own retaliating strike blocked by a woman covering for her comrade. He grunted as he pushed her into her fellow fighter, the man pushing them away before his sword could stab them both and a third man occupying his attention as they recovered. The trio disengaged once his men came to help, carefully circling them for the weak spot to exploit.
The old bear knew he wasn't getting anywhere as soon as an arrow sailed past his head, striking one of his fellows in the neck. His countenance paled once he failed to locate the hidden archer, already gone from the position they fired from. He watched as many of his men were picked off by arrows the moment they drew far from their group, their aim true and brutal.
'Hunters too, fuck this shit.' Jeor cursed under his breath as took cover from another arrow, his eyes focusing on the battlefield. His eyes landed on distinct wildling figures making terrifying headway in their advance.
There was a big red-haired man and a bald one with blue markings making training dummies of his charges. Who were they? They fought like demons, no wasted movements, no extravagance. Every swing was a critical strike, brutally efficient akin to butchers dealing with the livestock. Where had wildlings learned to fight like that? Were they smiling? It seemed this was sport to them, his men offered no challenge.
The big man was making his way to him, cutting a bloody swath through his men. When he was close, he raised his two-handed axe to attack him, but it was blocked by a Valyrian steel blade. Jon Snow winced as he fought to hold against the raw power of the strike.
"Go commander, I'll deal with him!" He shouted over his shoulders as he locked weapons with the man. He was bigger than Snow, but Snow was quick and was trained by a real master at arms. Their attributes seemed to cancel each other out so they looked to be evenly matched. He turned about to see what else was happening and it was complete irreparable chaos. His men were dying in droves, and the panic was continuously mounting.
It burned his chest to witness this failure. He was meant to keep these men alive, not send them to their deaths. Yet here they were, dying. Why was this happening?
"The tunnel!" His heart dropped, his jaw clenching tight. 'Gods, don't tell me they have gotten through.' It would spell total defeat on their part. They would have to surrender and pray for mercy to save what was left, no help was coming their way.
He heard a roar come out of the tunnel and the black brothers who weren't in active combat turned to see the cause of such a sound. A giant ran out of there and swatted away the closest person in black he could see. Everyone froze and some men even dropped to their knees in prayer. Who exactly were they praying to? A few arrows hit it in its shoulder, and it just got even angrier and threw the stump in its hand at the archers and they turned to a gory mush. It roared again and the fighting in the compound stopped, momentary shock ran through everyone.
Two more came out of the tunnel and just stood there, staring menacingly at everyone and daring them to try something. The wildlings in the compound shuffled and stood rigid at attention, with their right arms over their chests. A salute? But who were they saluting? Could it be these giants? It would make sense, they were imposing and commanded respect.
Jeor saw movements in his peripheral vision and turned his head to see the big red-haired man and the bald one with the blue markings walk towards the tunnel. When they reached about fifteen steps from the mouth, they knelt, with their hands over one knee and their heads held high.
"Their castle has fallen, the Wall is yours, Oh Lord!" The red-haired one shouted with a happy grin on his face, his eyes burning with unrestrained joy. Which of the giants was he talking to and why were they kneeling? He had thought wildlings did not kneel, ever.
The confusion lingered until he saw a few regular sized people exit the tunnel. A blonde woman, a dark haired one and…Mance fucking Rayder. So, this was who he was talking to. His blood boiled as he struggled to not get lost in his fury until something strange happened. Someone was coming out of the tunnel, he felt it before he saw him. It was invigorating, what person could possess such an unnatural aura?
He saw Mance and the two women stand to either side of the tunnel and a little girl came out after them. Was this who he felt? No, he could tell it wasn't, but who was this girl that walked with such authority. This must be the one Jon had told them about. Interesting.
She too came and stood a little to the side, but not completely out of the way of the entrance and a man came out behind her. Jeor could feel something in him reacting to the stranger, his heart thundering in his chest for a few brief moments.
Aye, he was definitely the one. The man looked like the North personified. Jon was right, he did bear the colouring of the Weirwood, down to his furs. He was what Jeor saw in his mind when he imagined what an Old God would look like.
He could feel the power in the man, who he wasn't even sure was a man, from where he was. 'We never stood a chance.' "By the gods.." The words left his mouth unconsciously, and he noticed the man's head turning to him, looking alert. Odd.
He said something Jeor couldn't hear, and he saw the little girl take the bow she was hanging upon herself, nocked an arrow and aimed it at him with surprising speed for someone her age. Was she going to shoot him? But the fighting was over. He was about to speak when he heard Jon Snow shout for him, and he looked to see him about to run towards him.
A piercing pain in his left ribs halted all his thoughts, the sounds around him growing more distant as he let out a pained grunt.
His mind ground to a halt and he put his arm to his side to find a knife sticking out of it. The commander looked down to the knife then heard something breeze past him, followed by the all too familiar sound of flesh being pierced and a thud. He looked to see one of his charges, Tanner if memory serves him, lying on the ground behind him with an arrow through his eye.
What had happened? Did he stab him? Why? Why betray him? Why now? His mind was in a frenzy, desperately trying to find reason or rhyme as adrenaline kicked in. He turned to see the girl had her bow down by her side and everyone was staring at him. The world started moving in slow motion and he could vaguely hear Snow calling his name.
The scenery began to shift around him, and everything was passing by too swiftly as he felt his body growing light, next he knew he was staring up at the clouds and the edges of his vision getting dark. The world was a blur now, unable to make out the features of the person he could belatedly tell came over him. Who was that?
The last thing he saw was blue skies then…nothing.
AUTHORS NOTE:
Hope you all enjoy it. Don't hold back on your thoughts. I've decided to start leaving some personal quotes of mine as sign outs.
We are often capable of much more than we estimate of ourselves.
-The Basilisk