"For as long as he had known it, Castle Black had been a place of silence and shadows."
Marq couldn't breathe; all he could do was thrash about and struggle in a vain attempt to force Redbeard off of him. Dimly a part of his mind recognized couldn't be real. He had killed him and won; he had saved himself, Crow, and Torrhen. However, the rest of his mind was busy. He screamed in terror, rage, and defiance as he vainly struggled against Redbeard. Blue eyes, ice blue eyes stared back at him. It shouldn't be like this; it was too early. He shouldn't have had to worry about them at all in his life. Slowly his struggle stilled as inky darkness crawled in from the edges of his vision. Eventually, it claimed him.
Marq shot out of his straw bed and started to gulp down breaths like a drowned man. The room was dark, and he could not make out any details of the admittedly empty chamber that served as his temporary lodgings. It was still the hour of the wolf; few in the castle would be awake at such a time.
He shouldn't be alive. In the eyes of gods and men, he had been bested; Redbeard could have killed him, would have killed him. Worse than that, he would have killed Torrhen. Dumb luck was the only reason either of the two was alive right now. For all his supposed might, his training, none of it mattered. He had almost died twice in just a few weeks since his adventure had started, and god knows he wished he hadn't gone off on it now. He could have turned down the King and reached some form of agreement, but he hadn't. And now he and Torrhen had almost lost their lives four times between them.
He climbed out of bed, the cold chilled him to his bones, as he walked over to gaze at his equipment, or what remained of it after his misadventure so far. The helmet had been ruined. Its faceplate was dented and destroyed under the sheer might that Redbeard had been able to bring to bear. His once proud surcoat had been torn, bloodied, and ruined, forcing Marq to toss it. His shield had been cracked and broken, which Marq had only realized after the duel had ended, likely due to his fool attempt to intercept Redbeard's strike head-on. Each piece of broken and ruined equipment showcased how Marq had barely been scrapping by in his fights.
He wanted to go home, he realized. Back to training with Daemon and Ser Quentyn, to quietly ignoring and being ignored by the world. Away from him and Torrhen being threatened at every turn.
Then again, home would likely be just as deadly at this time—court politics, backstabbers, and magics he could barely comprehend. He'd likely be trading one death for another. He walked back over to his bed and sat down on its side, letting his head fall, resting in his palms. Tears begin to flow freely like a breached dam.
He doesn't know how long he stayed like that. Long enough that, eventually, the tears stopped flowing. Long enough that his back began to feel stiff. Long enough, light finally began filtering into the room from the window.
Eventually, he had to force himself to stand and straighten his back. He had no choice but to stand again. War wouldn't wait for any man, and war was coming for him one way or another. Be it from beyond the wall or from within the heart of the realm itself. But more than that, Torrhen counted on him. So he changed into his simple doublet and pants, took a breath, cleared his throat, and walked out of the room.
The keep was already bustling with life, Black Brothers going about their lives as usual. However, the air around the entire keep was thick with tension and grief; the news of the slaughter at Eastwatch hadn't been received well when they had arrived last night. One of the officers had outright tried to claim he was lying.
He makes his way down the tower. Lord Commander Musgood had given him and Torrhen leave to stay in the King's Tower for the duration of their visit, however long that would be. Though he assumed it wouldn't be long, given the Lord Commander had said he had a favor to ask of the pair.
It didn't take him long to reach his destination, another room in the King's Tower. He gave several solid knocks on the solid oak door and a thump and a tired groan to sound from behind the door, which gave Marq no small amount of amusement.
Soon enough, a disheveled and tired-looking Torrhen opened the door, immediately wrinkled his nose, and stepped back. "You smell like a wet potato."
"That tends to happen when one hasn't gotten a chance to bathe in weeks. You don't smell much better yourself." Marq pointed out.
"Nonsense, I always look great," Torrhen responded without skipping a beat.
"Right, well, can you look great while you get dressed, and we get breakfast? The Lord Commander wants to meet with us." Marq sighed. "And I'd prefer if we did it before your normal noon wakeup time."
"Alright, you cunt, I'll be out in a few minutes." Torrhen sighed and slammed the door shut in Marq's face.
He scoffed and leaned back against the tower wall, and waited for Torrhen to finish readying himself. A mean feat considering the amount of time the other boy takes to get ready, Marq had questioned him about it once, and all he had gotten in response was some rant about hair. The long-haired boy eventually exited the room, brushing past Marq as if he hadn't waited several minutes for him.
The two walked silently for a few minutes toward the common hall before Torrhen broke it. "I meant what I said earlier; you need to bathe. You look and smell like some common hedge knight."
"Is this really necessary? We'll be back on the road after noon again today; I can bathe at some inn on our way to…." Marq stilled for a moment. "On our way to wherever we are going next."
"We're going back on the road so soon? We only just got here." Torrhen complained in a whiney tone.
"I thought you'd be happy. Aren't you all about wine women and song and such? Night's Watch doesn't have much of any of that." Marq questioned.
"Well, yes, but it takes forever to get anywhere up here. I want to sit on my ass and do nothing for at least another day."
"Torrhen, it was your idea to start traveling in the North; you have no one to blame but yourself."
"I just didn't know it was this big; come on, who would live up here willingly?" Torrhen came to a stop and opened the door to the common hall. Which was mostly empty at this hour, save for Lord Commander Musgood and a few brothers.
The Lord Commander stood, ale in hand, and loudly welcomed the pair as they entered. "Ser Mudd! And his friend."
"My name is Torrhen," Torrhen noted, biting his tongue to prevent a less polite response.
"Right, right, of course. Come join me at my table; I have need of your help." The Lord Commander sat down again and made a gesture of having men come set two tankards of ale and a plate of some stew down, presumably for Marq and Torrhen.
Marq sat down, but before he could even touch his food, Commander Musgood held out a letter sealed with the sigil of the Night's Watch. "This is what I needed you for. I want you to deliver this personally to Lord Stark if you are willing. Get him to rally the lords of the North and help us send this wildling King back to the seven hells."
"Why do you want me to do this? Surely a raven would deliver it much faster than I could." Marq's eyebrow rose at the older man.
Commander Musgood chuckled nervously and leaned forward to whisper near Marq. "No one but senior officers know this, but we have. We've sent a dozen ravens to Winterfell and at least that many to the other Castles on the wall. None of them seemed to have ever reached their destination." The man sighs. "We are cut off, and I don't have the men to spare to send messengers, not if my worries are founded, and we are as cut off as it seems."
"How many wildlings do you think there are between here and Winterfell?" Marq felt a chill travel down his spine as he asked, had he brought him and Torrhen to a castle under siege?
"Dozens, if not hundreds," Musgood admits. "I haven't been able to send scouts out to get a headcount, thought it best to keep panic to a minimum, keep eyes focused beyond the wall until aid from House Stark arrives."
"You mean to tell me the whole of Castle Black is under threat, and most of the people here don't even know?" Marq all but shouted incredulously.
Musgood raised his hands and gestured at Marq to keep quiet. "Quiet. I understand the situation isn't ideal, but as I understood it, this was the only way to make the best of a bad situation."
Torrhen spoke up before Marq could. "You just want to send Marq and me because Marq was a bastard, don't you? You think he is more expendable than your men."
"Of course not!" Musgood seemed offended. "Bastard he may be. He is a royal one. I just need someone who I can spare from the defense of the Castle, and you are not vital to its defense."
"Fine, I'll do it." Marq nodded in acquiescence. "But would you please just let me eat before I have to go on a suicide mission?"
"Of course, fear not. I have the utmost faith in your ability to complete this mission." Musgood claimed with all the sincerity of a merchant who claimed his silk was top of the line. The Lord Commander stood and left with the rest of the officers following suit. Leaving Marq and Torrhen alone in the common hall with their mystery stew and ale.
Marq sighed and leaned back slightly. "We are so fucked aren't we?"