The Watchers on The Wall
Droplets splashed down from the cracked ceilings above, the only sound to grace the quiet of the Winterfell crypts. Torches lit the path towards the end, though it seemed like there was no end, looking from here…only darkness, ready to swallow up anything that dared venture near it.
But there was an end, a light splicing through the void of black, Jon could see it. He followed, on all four legs. He could smell rotten bodies and old, old bones, buried beneath the stone Starks, with their rusting swords. Jon didn't feel them eyeing him so sourly now, perhaps they had forgiven him, maybe even accepted him among them, or they simply did not care from the beginning. Either or, he didn't feel the despair he did as a boy being down here. I'm not a boy, nor man. I am a Dire wolf, a Stark, as much as them. I am Ghost, he realised.
Bran had said as much in a place just like this, many moons ago, he remembered, vaguely. Jon knew of Wargs from the Wildlings; he'd even killed one, once. It seemed odd, did they remain in the animal if they were to die? Perhaps one day, I'll find out. Yet, he found himself padding down through the dark, underneath his home.
The light neared and grew bigger, brighter. He began to run, an eagerness glazed over his fears, marshalling him to go on. How could he not be curious at least? If this is truly happening, if father, and Robb, and Bran are truly in here, somewhere, them I must find them. The light opened up to him, as he passed through it. He half expected to see the Wolfswood, yet a cold wind crept through the exit, clawing against his fur like an icy flurry of swords.
Sniffing around, Jon could only smell blood, a scent that lead him across a snowy moor, through a wood of astoundingly tall oaks, then a clearing that caught the attention of the sun. One weir-wood, pale as milk, stood solitary in the basking sunshine that rained down between the gaps of the larger tree's canopies, drowning it from top to bottom in light. He knew then, that his dreams had taken him up beyond The Wall.
He snooped around cautiously, daring not look at the face in shame. It happened to be the great weir-wood he had sworn The Black to, the vowels he was a abandoning. Have I been brought here as a reminder? He mustered a glance, eyeing the red bleeding from its eyes, below that, a wide-open, hollow mouth that almost screamed at him when he looked. 'Traitor,' he thought he heard it say. Traitor. I'm sure of it. Had he betrayed the Nights Watch? He may have sworn loyalty to The Watch but he was sympathetic to the Freefolk's cause, and his house, and true family were in dire need of saving. Was helping the people you loved such a sin? Perhaps that's why they swore away their families, their unborn children and the women they could have loved; because they taint you away from your duties.
He pressed on, away from the judging eyes of the now silent face of his gods. After some time, he'd found The Wall, not a particularly difficult task, just a single look to the sky from at least ten miles in any direction and you could spot it. The trees died down in numbers and Castle Black neared on the frigid horizon. He ran, faster than he'd ever run before, a strange, but refreshing feeling. As he got closer, Jon noticed the gate was open, both sides, leaving the castle exposed to all. Is this what I have done to The Watch…opened their gates to the world?
The tunnel was just as cold as it had ever been, even with thick layers of fur guarding him from the frost in the air. No torches were lit, the only light came from the other side. The yard was empty…deserted almost. It was as if his mind was trying to trick him with guilt, showing him the true consequences of his actions. This couldn't be real, even if it felt as much, it had to be dream. Sometimes it's oft hard to tell, Jon thought. He smelt venison cooking in the kitchens, but when he snuck inside, nothing. He padded back outside, going across the ramparts of a ghost town. Night had crept up on him, and black had been painted across a red sky.
In the corner, near the armoury, Jon eyed a cluster of men in black cloaks huddled underneath a torch, all armed with dirks and daggers. Queer...he thought to himself, as he watched his brothers. He did all he could to stay hidden, all the while watching and trying to gather up the words being muttered. The voices were quiet and hard to hear but the word 'traitor' echoed from man to man.
A straggler, he strangely recognised, joined the party, shunting his way through the crowd, looking for something, almost desperately. The group split apart to allow him through, growing silent as they did so, then merged back together, almost as if they were surrounding the man. That man seems oddly familiar. He couldn't be sure, it was dark and he could barely make out the faces of most but some he knew all too well. Ser Alliser and Bowen Marsh were amongst the crowd, shadowed by First Builder Yarwyk.
Ser Alliser went to him, announcing 'for The Watch,' before driving his dagger deep into the belly of the black haired man. Bowen Marsh stepped forth next, echoing the knight. 'For The Watch,' he said before stabbing the victim of this relentless ambush. The rest queued forward, spilling the blood of the defenceless man, all to the song of 'For The Watch.'
After the last man pulled his blade from the heart, the litter scattered like spooked crows, pouring back into their quarters as if it were any other night. When the yard was clear, Jon scurried over to investigate. The black haired man lay in a pool of his own, cold blood, like spilled wine in the snow. An ambush, murder, a voice spat in his mind. A typical deed from Ser Alliser, but the others…what had that dead man done to deserve being slaughtered like an animal.
As he neared the man, Jon recognised him with sore eyes…it was him, laying there, with dead open eyes, staring deep into nothing. He woke in that moment, sweating through his bedsheets, Ghost stood over him, leering into his eyes, looking curiously at him. He felt his heart was beating itself out of his chest, whilst Ghost sensed the anguish within him. He ushered the wolf down, threw off his sheets and rubbed his hand across his body, feeling for wounds. His skin was cleared, and untouched, bar his burnt, scarred hand. But I saw…I saw them…all of them. For The Watch, they said, whilst branding me a traitor. I saw it through Ghost's eyes.
He wondered whether he was foreseeing his own destiny, perhaps a fate for the nights to come. Whatever answers he could conjure his head, none made him feel safe in this place. The Wildlings presence caused too much discontent amongst the brothers, and Jon had heard what distraught men of The Nights Watch were capable of, during the mutiny at Kraster's. Another Lord Commander felled by his own men, it was a sickening sight for sure.
Daylight cracked through the creaky wooden shutters, paired with a howling wind forcing its way through the gaps in the window. Jon got up and pulled them open, letting the cool wind brush against his warm body, ever reminding him how far north he was. From his window, in the Lord Commander's chamber, the majority of the yard was in view, except the armoury, where the knives were dropped. He dressed, in his all black leathers, and his crow feather cloak, as custom. I am still Lord Commander, whether they want me or not, Jon thought bitterly.
Longclaw hung in its sheath, on a rack. He strapped it to his waist, just as a precaution, before gracing his men for the last time. The day was not as harsh as the last, the sun shined through a cloudless blue sky, sparkling beams off the crevices of The Wall. It basked tall in the sunlight. It looked the same, though; it all looked the same, The Wall, the yard, the stables, yet somehow he saw it different. This place isn't my true home…I won't ever miss it as I have Winterfell, he thought, mournfully.
The morning busy was loud and stressful, as men loyal to The King readied themselves, and their horses for the long awaited march south. The last of the Freefolk traveling from the Hardhome ruins, had long passed through, and moved on to join the other clans settling on lands of The Gift. The brothers drank deep during those nights, making them rowdy and boisterous. Trouble had been brewing for days, yet despite his doubts, most kept in line.
Not a word was said to him as he paced over towards the armoury. It was empty, but he had no interest in steel. The ground in which he saw himself murdered was deserted, unscathed, and leaked no signs of mutiny. It was all just a dream…a nightmare, he thought to himself, but he wasn't convinced this was all in his head. He remained there for some time, simply looking, thinking about all the wrongs Ser Alliser had slandered his way, what tales he could of told to turn the men sworn to serve him against him.
His thoughts were disturbed by an ambush from The Red Woman. 'Do you see yourself, lying in the snow, surrounded by your own blood, blood your so called brothers spilled in weakness.' Once more, she had surprised him, and he'd given up guessing how she knew the things she did.
'It was just a dream, nothing more,' he replied bluntly, his eyes not leaving the empty spot on the ground. It was all he could say to convince himself, yet he wasn't. It all felt too real, like a vision of sorts.
'Is that what you truly believe? What you saw may not be true in this life, Lord Stark, but in another world, where you would have made other choices, your fate has been laid out before you. Or do you deny what your own eyes scream out at you? Dismiss the truth, brave man, it makes no matter, it is still a truth, one of many. Everyone will know the truth, someday, when you and Stannis take The Seven Kingdoms, with a trail of scorched noble houses left in your wake and our Lord of Light will bestow his true powers onto you both.' She approached him, cupping his cheek in her hand, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Glares of red shone from the ruby stone, around her neck. Her hand was hot, burning almost, against the harsh northern weather. She stared, the same intriguing way she often stared, as if she was listening to his thoughts, the stare that gave Jon chills. Ironic, for a woman so committed to fire, he mused.
Jon snatched up her hand, and threw back his coldest stare, yet only to yield a smile from her.
'These men are my brothers, in another life, they would have betrayed me a thousand times over for the things I've done, the gods too. One day they'll catch up to me for my sins, when this is all over.' He was sceptical about the Gods in truth, all of them, even despite the things he'd seen. Explaining it all would take a lifetime, and querying the mysterious goings on would not help them with the wars to come.
He threw down her hand, and paced off to finish up his business. She could only yell 'think on your sins, Lord Stark. The Lord of Light will not punish you for acts done in his service, but many others will try to…your brothers included.' He didn't grace her with a reply.
He really didn't like the priestess, and he trusted her less than that. Silently, he thought her a fanatic, obsessed with the flames that spoke to her. Yes, she knew things that no ordinary woman could luckily guess, but it didn't make her magic.
Bowen Marsh crossed his path, in the yard, blankly passing him, looking at anything that was not his face. You were the second to sink your knife in my heart, saying For The Watch like it was a prayer. Jon gave him a courteous nod, but got no response from the man. His mind snarled traitor, like venom. He felt himself looking over his shoulder, now, with not anyone in sight he could truly trust. Countless likely hated him, but how many would let that stew into murder?
As he opened the door to the mess hall, wondering what hassle waited for him, the brothers were deep in chatter, but fell quiet upon his arrival. Lord Commanders rarely ate with their men, but Jon had laughed into his cup numerous nights with these men. Those days have long passed. I've lost the support of my brothers. Hobb brought over a boiled egg, two bits of bread burnt black and salt pork to break his fast, all without saying a word to him. Jon wolfed it down quick, barely tasting his food and left his men to fester in their words about him.
As he sulked down the steps, the front gates opened to allow another garrison of calvary and foot soldiers south, to get a head start setting up The Kings camp. Ser Davos Seaworth, The King's own Hand, was the overseer of this operation, sitting atop his horse with a sack of his own finger bones dangling around his neck. An odd notion, Jon thought, to wear his punishment so boldly.
He went over to The Onion Knight, who struggled to keep horse settled as the gate cranked open. Ser Davos wasn't a particularly tall man, nor did he seem to don a high borns swagger, which was refreshing to see in this time of carnage where nobles preyed on the weaker. He seemed an honest, loyal man, but in truth, better men had served his role, nobler men. Perhaps that's why he is the best man for the job…he knows of the powerless so he can appreciate their needs.
'She doesn't like me very much,' Ser Davos spoke up. Initially Jon thought he meant the priestess, but he was speaking of his spooked horse. 'She knows I'm supposed to be on a boat. The sea was always a simpler world than the land. You had less men to question the one in charge, less egos trying to stir up trouble.' By the sounds of it, Davos tried to speak higher than himself, but his low born accent shone through like silver in the mud.
'Ay, the mainlands politics cause chaos. I always preferred to stay out of the politics,' he proudly claimed in reply.
Davos wheeled his horse, losing control once more. He brushed behind the mares ear to soothe with not much success. He replied anyway, 'so did I. Too much ruckus for my liking. But he is the one true king of Westeros, so I'm as much a part of it as you, despite our reluctance.' Then the knight checked over his shoulder, minding his voice as he went on.
'There's something else, Lord Stark. I heard some things from your men…it is likely Ser Alliser Thorne will take over command upon you leaving, and his first order of business will be a suicide mission to deal with the Wildlings you let south. Your brothers are behind the decision, despite them being fully aware they won't come back. They feel The Watch is a lost cause with The Freefolk being allowed through and will happily allow Castle Black to become a ruin.' Three brothers paced passed, silencing him. Jon didn't know what to say in response though, what could he do?
When they were alone again, the knight spoke on, ever serious. 'This cannot happen, Lord Stark. Being a southerner, my opinion on the matter means very little, but even I recognise the importance of The Nights Watch. Ser Alliser will burn it to ashes to see a fraction of those Wildlings into the dirt. With whatever power you still have here, you must stop this. Reason with him, stray the others from doing this, just do something or this order will be lost.' Ser Davos scrunched his face into a frown similar to the one Stannis wore.
Jon didn't take the man for a liar, but Ser Alliser, despite being an arrogant prick, was devoted to The Watch. Would he really see it destroyed just to deal a final strike against the Wildlings? Then again, his hatred for the Wildlings was no hidden thing, and he'd pulled petty stunts like this before to spite Jon. No, this is too far, even for him.
'I'll talk to him. He must know the Freefolk are not our enemy, and we need them if we are to survive the long night.' Jon would say what he could, but Thorne had a renowned stubbornness about him, it would be a hard task for sure.
Knights, infantry and the rest lapped out of Castle Black as the gate opened, all passing their Lord Hand, without a twitch. They don't respect him, Jon sympathised, saddened by the notion. But Stannis does, and that's what's important. The Onion Knight dipped his head, courteously, leaving Jon with a polite 'I'll be seeing you, Lord Stark.' He cantered off after his men, riding his unnerved mare. Jon went to prepare for his own departure. I have till dusk to soak up the last of this place. Strangely, he started to miss The Wall already.
Jon spent most of the day trying to say his farewells, but most had none of it. Edmund Tollet had been the least unpleasant, and more surprisingly, not at all sarcastic. He'd given Jon a firm handshake, wished him luck on his journeys and made him swear he would return with support, and he vowed just that.
Since Stannis agreed to give Sam leave to join the order of the maesters, he hadn't set foot out of the library. A wise decision, Jon thought, many were bitter to see them both abandon, but he knew it was for the best. Though he had yet to handover his command to Ser Alliser, so just before sundown, after Jon had readied his things, preparing for the long march ahead, he had the knight summoned to the Lord Commander's chambers.
Ser Alliser Thorne presented himself just as the sky turned as black as his cloak. Jon stood from his chair to greet him. 'Ser Alliser, I'm glad you could join me,' Jon lied. He poured two cups of wine and gestured him to take a seat. Thorne didn't move.
'Isn't it time you deserted, Lord Snow.' The words he'd hated for so long, now meant nothing to him, for he was a Stark now. Lord Snow had been a pet name Jon looked forward to losing.
'As I have said, when the North is won, I'll have enough men to march back here to fight in the Long Night. Even as Warden of The North, I will support my brothers.' He meant every word, but his nemesis spat at them all the same.
'They stopped being your brothers the day you opened the gates to the enemy. You go, Lord Snow, but when you return, you'll be met with closed gates.' Ser Alliser stepped forward, edging closer. 'When you take back your traitor fathers seat, do you think we care what you do? Stannis can grant you all the pardons in realm, Tarly too, but you still will always be a deserting bastard son of a traitor.' For a long time, they had despised one another, and no love would be lost between them now. The words stung him, yes, but Jon rose above it, for the last time.
Jon tried to make him see, reasoning with him, as a last stand. He felt his voice grow bolder as his frustration flared. 'The Wildlings are not our enemy. When The Wall was first built, all those years ago, by The First Men and The Children of The Forest, do you really think it was to keep out Wildlings? We are supposed to guard the realms of men, from what is really up there, not people with the same blood as our own ancestors. That wall is there to stop one thing…The Others. And if we don't unite, we will all die, they will all die, everyone will die.' Jon's voice croaked with anger, as he slammed a fist onto the table.
'Words are wind. For thousands of years, The Watch has battled with The Wildlings, and for thousands of years, we've held this castle. They've murdered and raped and pillaged our countrymen, they've killed more of my brothers than I can count, and I will not let them settle below our lands.' Jon realised in that moment, Ser Alliser would be the death of The Nights Watch, without the Freefolk having to lift a finger. Barely fifty brothers remained at Castle Black, and all of them would die under the command of Thorne. He'll kill them all, and then we will lose. He could hope for another man to be elected in his place, but Thorne had spun a web the rest couldn't escape. Ser Alliser became Lord Commander when Jon had set off to Hardhome, he knew that much. He couldn't just leave his brothers in the company of this madman though, who hoped to kill them fighting terrible odds, but there was nothing to be done. He simply had to persist.
'Ser Alliser, you're here so I can hand over the castle to you. My horse is waiting on me, and I shan't keep The King waiting any longer.' Jon was eager to end his last conversation as a Brother in black, after this, he would immediately venture south, to catch up with Stannis's garrison before midnight, and take his fathers place as Warden of The North.
'The moment you range south, Lord Snow, me and my men will light our torches, sharpen our blades and kill those goat fuckers, or die trying. They are our fucking enemy, and I don't take orders off of the bastard of a traitor and a whore!' My mother was no whore, nor my father a traitor you treacherous cunt. Jon's anger flared through him, and he could not find it within him to rise above it, this time. He found his blade before he could find his senses, and soon after, Jon's dagger had Ser Alliser Thorne's blood trickling down it, sticky and warm.
'For the Watch,' he muttered, as he felled the one thousandth Lord Commander.