The wind, cold and cruel as it had been on dry land, was kind upon the open sea. After a journey of only twelve days, Jon's ship reached White Harbour, where he had given command for the dragonglass to be unloaded so that Lord Manderly's men could transport it thence to Winterfell. He had suggested sending Charleen with them, but she had refused, insisting that she would be safer at the Wall with Tormund's people than on the road with strangers.
And so, after another two weeks upon the ocean, Charleen stood on deck as the ship approached Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, a little jumbled keep that looked like it had been swept up by the waves and carried ashore at the foot of the Wall, which rose up behind it to a breathtaking height. A switchback stair made from strong timber led from the keep to the top of the Wall, its planks white with hoarfrost.
Dusk was beginning to fall when Jon and his party landed on the rocky beach below the castle. Daenerys' dragons were flying overhead, their silhouettes sharply outlined against the darkening sky. They were uncharacteristically silent; and Daenerys, too, seemed dumbstruck for a moment as she stood by the water's edge, gazing wide-eyed at the Wall that was looming above them like a vast cliff of ice.
A narrow path led from the shore towards the castle. Climbing up over the uneven ground with some difficulty, Charleen realized that Eastwatch, like Castle Black, was not fortified on the southern side. Only a gate made of wood protected the entrance to the courtyard, and on the walkway above it stood two guardsmen, who were dressed not in the customary black of the Night's Watch, but in furs and pelts of a much lighter colour.
"Halt!" one of them called out in a ringing tone. "Who goes there?"
Charleen heard Jon taking a deep breath as he stepped forward.
"I'm Jon Snow. I need to speak with Tormund."
GotGoTGoTGotGoTGoTGoT
"We've been waiting a long time," Daenerys said pointedly, drumming her fingers on the table. "Haven't we?"
They were sitting in the common hall of the castle, which was empty and quiet save for the rustling and snapping of the fire in the hearth. Jon had been taken upstairs to see Tormund in private, and Daenerys appeared rather unsettled by his absence. Her gaze kept wandering around the room, and she restlessly crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table, shifting uneasily in her seat. Beside her, Ser Jorah was sitting with his hand upon the hilt of his sword, and across from them, Gendry had an expression of mild impatience upon his face. Only Ser Davos seemed entirely at his ease, and Charleen, for her own part, had to stifle a yawn as the warmth of the fire slowly crept over her.
None of them gave an answer to Daenerys's question. Daenerys straightened up, looking to Ser Jorah for support, but he merely shrugged his shoulders.
A moment later, however, there was a sound of footsteps from above, and Jon appeared in the doorway beside the fireplace, followed by a big man whose flaming red hair and beard Charleen instantly recognized.
"Your Grace," Jon said, addressing Daenerys, "this is Tormund Giantsbane. He's in command of this castle. Tormund, you know Ser Davos, of course, and the Lady Charleen, who is now my wife."
Tormund nodded, a roguish grin spreading across his face as he raised his eyebrows at Charleen, and she smiled bashfully in return.
"Gendry is a friend of Ser Davos," Jon continued, indicating with his hand, "and this is Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and Ser Jorah, her advisor."
"Queen Daenerys Targaryen, eh?" Tormund rumbled. "How many queens are there now?"
Charleen quickly glanced at Daenerys, but to her surprise, it was Ser Jorah who spoke.
"Queen Daenerys is the one true queen of the Seven Kingdoms," he said evenly, though not without a hint of menace in his voice.
"Hm," Tormund grunted, evidently unimpressed. "So you need to convince the other queen," he said to Jon, "the one who fucks her brother?"
At this, Charleen heard Gendry stifling a snort of laughter. Jon, on the other hand, betrayed no trace of amusement.
"Aye."
He sat down on the empty bench at the head of the table, and after a moment's hesitation, Tormund followed suit.
"How many men did you bring?"
Wordlessly, Jon gestured around the table.
"I'll be staying behind," Ser Davos interjected quickly, "with Queen Daenerys and the Lady Charleen. I'm a liability out there, as you well know."
"You are," Tormund replied, unsmiling.
At this, Daenerys finally seemed to find her voice.
"We were hoping you could help."
"Hm." Tormund was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned forward and looked at Jon intently.
"Do you really want to go out there, again?"
"Want to?" Jon snorted. "No, I don't want to. But I have to."
Charleen heard Tormund exhaling heavily.
"You're not the only one who seems to feel that way."
GotGoTGoTGotGoTGoTGoT
The dungeons beneath the castle were gloomy and freezing cold. Charleen's breath formed little clouds of mist before her face as they descended the stairs and waited for Tormund to unlock a heavy wooden door at the bottom. Behind it, a narrow corridor separated two rows of cells secured with iron bars.
"My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall," Tormund explained as he led the way down the corridor. "They said they were on their way here."
He stopped before one of the cells, and the others drew in close to get a look at the prisoners. Charleen stayed back a little, craning her neck to see over Jon's shoulder.
There were three men in the cell. One of them, who was sitting with his back against the wall, had a patch over one eye. The second, a middle-aged fellow with thinning hair gathered into an untidy knot at the top of his head, huddled in the corner, his tattered cloak drawn close around him. And the third –
"You're the Hound," said Jon incredulously. "You were at Winterfell with King Robert."
He turned to look at Charleen for confirmation, and she nodded. There was no mistaking that face, disfigured on one side by gnarly scarring which not even a long mane of straggly hair fully managed to hide.
The Hound raised his head, glowering, but did not answer Jon's address.
"They want to go beyond the Wall, too," Tormund explained, somewhat redundantly.
"We don't want to go beyond the Wall, we have to." The voice of the man with the eyepatch was deep, his tone calm and decisive. "Our lord told us that a great war is coming."
"Don't listen to him," Gendry suddenly hissed. "Don't trust any of them."
He had been standing back a little, but at the words of the man with the eyepatch, he approached the cell and brought his face close to the bars.
"They're the Brotherhood," he said. "And their lord once told them to sell me to a red witch to be murdered."
"Thoros?" came Ser Jorah's voice. "Well, I hardly recognised you."
The man with the topknot slowly raised his head and turned towards them, though he kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself underneath his ragged cloak.
"He's a red priest, Your Grace," Ser Jorah explained to Daenerys, who had kept behind him. "He served in the court of Robert Baratheon."
"Ser Jorah Mormont," the man addressed as Thoros slurred. "They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself."
His voice trailed off pitifully, but no one paid any attention to his complaint. At the mention of Ser Jorah's full name, Tormund had turned to stare at the old knight, his expression livid.
"You're a fucking Mormont," he seethed, "like the last Lord Commander?"
"He was my father," Ser Jorah replied, lifting his gaze to meet Tormund's accusatory glare.
"He hunted us," Tormund bristled, "like animals!"
At this, Daenerys took a step forward, and Charleen saw her throat working as she swallowed nervously.
"Ser Jorah is not his father," she declared, but the two men ignored her.
"You returned the favour, as I recall," Ser Jorah challenged, not taking his eyes off Tormund.
A low snarling sound rumbled from Tormund's throat.
"It wasn't the free folk who killed your father, Mormont," he growled. "He was murdered by his own men."
The silence that followed was broken, unexpectedly, by the man with the eyepatch.
"Here we all are," he said calmly, "at the edge of the world, at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason."
"Our reasons aren't your reasons," Ser Davos interjected, but the other seemed entirely unperturbed.
"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are," he declared, getting to his feet. "There's a greater purpose at work. And we serve it together, whether we know it or not." He paced along the bars of the cell as he spoke, his tone growing solemn. "We may take the steps, but it is the Lord of Light who guides –"
"For fuck's sake, will you shut your hole?" the Hound finally interrupted, ending the other's oration. "Are we coming with you or not?"
The last question was directed at the men on the other side of the bars, but none of them gave an answer.
"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" Ser Jorah finally asked.
"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell," mumbled Thoros, "waiting to die?"
"He's right," Jon declared suddenly, jerking his head at the man with the eyepatch. "We're all on the same side."
He looked around at the others, challenging their disbelieving stares.
"We're all breathing."
And he held out his hand, took the keys from Tormund, and unlocked the cell.
