The next morning Jon awoke to a commotion in the yard. He got up and checked the window, seeing a strange-looking group of travelers unloading a wagon and their mounts. He felt terrible about the previous days' events, but knew that was his burden to carry now. He must use that hate to fuel his own purposes, wherever they led.
By the time he was dressed and made his way down to the dining hall, one of the new arrivals, an old, bearded and bald fellow was arguing loudly with Lord Mormont over their breakfast. Seconds later, the old man clapped his hands quickly, a snap-crack that almost sounded like thunder it was so loud. The hall instantly quieted, all eyes turning to the man.
"Enough of this blather. Consult with your Maester if you don't believe me - either way, I don't really care - the fact is I am taking over this joke of a garrison you have here. My companions and I have much to do, so you will start behaving like a man and quit mewling like a babe before I get irate." Mormont looked furious, but held his tongue. "Maybe you do have some sense," the old man went on, "Ok everyone, listen up. I am Bayaz, First of the Magi. And I have come to save your worthless selves."
Sam blinked. I blinked? I have no eyelids anymore, how can I blink? He tried to glance down, but he wasn't in control of his eyes, or anything else it seemed. His hand raised to his field of vision of its own accord. It was hardly more than a bloody cudgel, fingers twisted and broken, bone sticking out, dried blood everywhere, and what ragged flesh the Others hadn't merrily feasted upon just barely clinging on to the arm. Oh my gods. What.. what happened... Jon. As the memories slowly reared their ugly head, Sam whimpered in his mind's eye, his third eye, the only place he had left. His body sat up, his mouth opened and a low cough barked out. I thought I was in hell before, how could I have been so wrong?
His broken body stumbled off the rack and made its way outside, Sam helplessly trapped and unable to do anything but watch in horror at the sights, one after another. Thousands of wights were gathered in ranks, an army... a cold, dead army. Most were grouped into small clusters around tents. Strange that, Sam thought... why would these dead things ever need a tent?
"Ahhh, our guest of honor has arisen! Good morning fatman! Care to break your fast?" The cripple giggled manically and held out a plate filled with... sausages? Sam tried to reach, but nothing happened. Even trapped in my own mind, after all the horrors, I still need my morning meat... how proud my father would be, he sobbed inwardly to himself. "These are choice morsels, harvested just this morning from your former cellmates... no? Hm... all the more for the named men," Glokta turned and took one of the fingers to munch on for himself while the camp arose.
A short time later, a handful of large men made their way to a battered old table someone had set up and took their seats, Glokta and Sam remained standing. These ones were different, Sam could instantly see. Not mindless creatures like most of the wights, these men had their faculties about them still. And he knew them. Gods, did he... just a fortnight ago he had seen their faces while researching for Maester Aemon. How though? These men were ancients, legends, dead for thousands and thousands of years. He tried to look and study them closer, but his body still would not respond. Nevertheless, he could see them. Black Dow. Dogman. Harding Grim. Tul Duru Thunderhead. Shivers. They all frightened him, which is funny, why be so afraid after all I've just been through?
"Well, let's not waste time gentlemen. We have a long march ahead of us today, and I just can't wait to get moving!" Glokta cackled. He tossed the rest of the fingers to the table and they all grabbed a few to snack on, all but Shivers. He just stared at Glokta with his one good eye and said nothing. "This lovely lad here beside me is the new vessel. I trust you all will not let any harm come to the host? Well.. any more harm. We had to have some fun, and his boy lover got a bit carried away," he laughed and poked Sam near the chest. The body looked down and Sam was finally able to see the dagger Jon had driven into him, straight into his soul, still sticking out awkwardly from his chest.
"That fat tub of lard looks like a bigger coward than Forley the Weakest. How could he ever act as the vessel?" Dow growled. The others inspected Sam more closely. Thunderhead just made a low deep noise, maybe a cough. Dogman and Grim both looked skeptical themselves. And the one called Shivers still just gave that blank stare with his one remaining eye. "Nononono, how many times do I need to tell you dolts? It's all about emotional trauma. The host body doesn't matter, I just need their broken mind. It's taken a good while to find the perfect one this time, and I have him centered now, his pain and suffering in perfect balance, and just enough of his mind left to realize what is happening to him. And not being able to do a thing, it makes the connection that much stronger. Do I need to go over this with you every damn time?" Dogman grinned at the once-mighty Black Dow being lambasted by the cripple. Dow snarled and made to reach for a knife, but a hand grasped his arm stopping him dead. Shivers just stared at him and pulled him to his feet, pushing him off a ways. "Enough talk. Let's move," he flatly stated.
Glokta sighed as the others started gathering up their various weaponry and wares. The march to the wall would take a few days at least, plenty of time to figure out the details along the way. Still.. he thought to himself, Why do I do this?
Maester Aemon was the only one who seemed to garner any respect from Bayaz. The others he just ordered around like dogs. Mormont had assigned Jon to steward for Bayaz's needs while he did whatever the hell he was planning on doing. "I believe in many of the old tales and legends, but the Practicals? Even I find it hard to believe the black brothers are descendants of such a mythical order," Aemon said. Bayaz and his bushy eyebrows glanced around at him, "It's true... as true as anything is in these times. Thousands of years ago I built this wall to keep out the riff raff, once I saw where they were heading with their new supposed leader."
Jon said, "Brandon the Builder built the wall, everyone knows that. He was a Stark, mine own blood." He didn't want any part of this Magi's lies. Bayaz turned to him and gave Jon a scrutinizing look, "Of course he did... one of my many faces. Now, why don't you make yourself useful and shut your face, bastard?" Flustered, Jon was about to draw steel before Aemon gently placed a hand on his arm. "Do as he says Jon. We need to know what is happening, don't act the fool," he whispered to him.
Bayaz began circumnavigating the room, picking up various baubles and potions, putting them down, occasionally secreting one about his person. While he gathered up the various supplies he filled them in, at least with what he wanted them to know.
"The Practicals used to be simple thugs and torturers, but after that damn cripple's wife was murdered, he started looking into the dark arts. Breaking the Second Law. His own mind broke generations ago, yet he maintains an aspect of his former self and is bent on revenge. I don't know who killed his lady wife - one of the few things I can't claim knowledge of - but he does and, ever since, he and his black brothers - as he used to call them - started consuming the flesh of men. He is set on bringing about the old legend. The Night of Long Winter, where the Summer never returns and cold reigns supreme for all times. He even has brought back many of the famous named men of old with his dark art, some you may know of Maester. Everyone throughout the land used to know their names, but I made sure that ended long ago. Now only the most dedicated might find a reference or three of them. I had scrubbed their names from the world, just like the cities that used to stand here... but it doesn't matter now. All ancient history. They are coming soon, a few days at the most and they will be here."
A sharp knock at the door and a young man entered. He addressed the Magi, "The others have arrived sir. Ms. Maljinn is causing quite a ruckus with the one they call Ser Alliser. She bit off his ear when he suggested something rather crude she should do with her spear." Bayaz chuckled and they all made their way out to the yard. Ser Alliser was rolling around on the ground, screaming curses, "Fucking cunt ripped off my GODS DAMNED EAR. She needs to be in a fucking cage!" Ferro just stood there and laughed, giving him an occasional sharp kick to his feeble manhood.
"Ferro dear, how lovely of you to join us. I wasn't sure the calling would have worked." Bayaz gave a querying look. Ferro turned, her nostrils flared. "Pink. Should have known this was your doing. Bald bastard. I dislike being summoned, especially by the spirits. It stings, and not in a good way. And you know how he feels about all this shit."
"I had no choice..." Bayaz seemed unsure of himself for the first time Jon could remember. "He did come didn't he?"
A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. "I came old man. You know my thoughts on such things... and once you've got a task to do, it's better to do it than live with the fear of it."