Chapter 40 - the 30th day of September, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
Maester Aemon opened his eyes, and for the first time in many a year, they saw.
He blinked back from the glare, as if staring at the noonday sun, but it was just a flickering candlestub. He was still lying in his bed, having fallen asleep after the visit of the flying men the day before. In truth, he did not fully understand what they had done. Phrases like 'cataracts' and 'intraocular lens' were meaningless to him. He had felt some drops of water on his eyes, falling like a woman's tears, then some gentle prickles on his cheeks. He had not quite believed them when they said they could 'fix' his eyes. As his face had gone numb his speech had slurred.
"Tell me, could you 'fix' an old man? Make him young again?"
The doctor's tone was sympathetic. "I'm afraid not sir, no one can."
"Then forgive this old man for asking" Aemon had said, with a chuckle.
Now he raised stiff fingers to a wrinkled face. The numbness was gone. His eyes felt no different, but the world around him had returned to focus. He saw.
He dressed himself. Somehow he managed to slip his leather shoes onto the wrong feet, something he had always successfully navigated by touch alone, but in his haste this day he did not notice. He opened the door of his chambers and walked down the wooden corridor. A minute later he emerged into daylight proper. Above was a pale blue sky, still reddish to the east.
He had missed the sunrise, he thought, somehow feeling a pang of regret. There would be another tomorrow. Still, I must rise early. How many more would these eyes chance to see?
Castle Black looked much as he had last seen it, sometime in the reign of Aerys. The King's Tower sat squat and strong, guarding the tunnel he knew lay behind it, as well as the long wooden stair beside. Nearby the Lance learned dangerously, ready to topple, but Aemon remembered it appearing the same when he had arrived sixty years and five or six kings ago. Smoke was rising from the common hall where the brothers would soon be breaking their fast. Looming above it all of course was the Wall itself, glimmering orange and red in the morning light.
Aemon felt a tear freeze on his cheek. He just stood there for a moment, watching the world.
Somewhere above him he heard the ravens cawling in the rookery. Shortly there were footfalls, but almost as slow and tiresome as his own. He did not need his eyes to recornize Clydas's steps. He turned as the steward came into view, carrying his morning soup.
"Maester, you're awake…" he began, then did a double take. Aemon looked him up and down.
"Clydas…you got old."
The steward started to laugh, and then Aemon did as well. It went on for an unusually long time.
Shortly Aemon let himself be escorted back to his quarters. He spooned the soup himself, as had long been his habit, but with his free hand he placed the candle on the table in his chambers and began shuffling through the piles of letters he kept there. Normally Clydas, or perhaps Samwell would read them to him. He soon found himself blinking back more tears. A few dropped onto the parchment, smearing the tiny letters.
There were more footsteps, this time too many for Aemon to recognize. Clydas had returned, but with Bowen March and several others in tow.
"My lord" Aemon said pleasantly. Mormont had left the Lord Steward as castellan of Castle Black.
"Maester…you can see?"
"I can…tis a mighty gift, is it not?"
A different voice answered. Beside the Lord Steward, Aemon could have recognized Septon Cellador even without the seven sided crystal around his neck. He was clutching at it fiercely now. In contrast to the others he was looking at Aemon with some concern.
"Are you well, maester?"
"As well as I have been in many a year, thank you."
"Your eyes…" the Septon held a candle up close to Aemon's face, frowning. "Aye a mighty gift…but is it wise to restore what the gods have chosen to take away?"
Bowen Marsh blinked. "Do you intend to blind the man again, Septon?" he asked, incredulous.
Cellador let the candle drop to his side. "There is always a price to pay, for sorceries such as this. The book of the Stranger is full of such follies."
"I have healed many a man, Cellador, from many an ailment" Aemon said, his joy fading all too soon. "It is news to me if a maester's healing hands offend the gods."
"They are no maesters" Cellador spat, his anger clear. "There are no miracles except via the Seven, only lies and tricks, and they know nothing of the Father's judgement, or the Mother's mercy, or the Crone's wisdom…"
"I will meet the Seven soon enough ser, even the flying men cannot help in that regard." Aemon elected to stand, ignoring the septon's warnings. "Now, there is a great deal to do, isn't there? I would dearly like to see these wights that were captured. Where have you put them?"
The party soon made their way back out into the yard, the others matching pace with Aemon's wearied steps. Castle Black had been bustling the last few days. The Lord Commander and most of his ranging was yet to return, but a few of the black brothers had enjoyed the privilege of flying back over the Haunted Forest instead. Even as he watched, a small plane was taxiing to a stop in the field half a mile from the castle now marked for that purpose.
Ser Ottyn Wythers had returned a few days earlier, with their two 'captives' in tow. As for the flying men, it seemed they were no longer mere visitors. A more permanent delegation had arrived and taken up residence in the Grey Keep. Two burly soldiers stood outside its entrance, clutching their 'rifles' closely and watching all passersby with grave suspicion.
The prisoners had been placed in separate ice cells, still chained and bound. The party made its way down a narrow passage. Half their number took torches off the brackets by the entrance, lighting them along the way. Bowen meanwhile was able to pull out a lightning torch more luminous then the rest combined. Solid Earth gave way to rock and ice as they moved beneath the wall, the sounds of the castle falling away. More black brothers and a pair of flying men stood guard here. They parted to allow the officers through.
The ice cells were sealed by thick oaken doors, but a small hatch could be slid back to view the interior. Bowen opened it and shone the torch in for his benefit.
It was the one-legged one for some reason called 'Butters'. The wight continued to struggle against its restraints. Reportedly, they had stopped moving for a time as they flew over the wall, but their ceaseless motion had resumed thereafter. From what remained of its garments it was recognisably a wildling. Its jaw continued to open and close, clack-clack-clack, but no words seemed able to come out. Its eyes were glowing an unnatural blue, even absent the torch light. As Aemon looked in, they swivelled around, boring into his own.
The maester frowned at this. The body had clearly been made animate again, but what of the mind? Was it the wildling who stared at him now, or something else?
They moved on the second cell where 'Eric' was similarly bound. It stank of cold and death, but the wights seemed to make no excretions like a man would. After a while, Bowen snapped the hatches shut again, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Monsters" he opined. "To think, the Lord Commander says there were thousands at the Fist? Fortunately the creatures burn to ash if touched even by a small flame."
Aemon turned to the flying men. "May I ask, what do you say of them?"
The nearest soldier shrugged. "It shouldn't be possible. Nothing can bring back the dead, at least not in our world, but apparently you've got some magic bullshit happening in yours."
"Then you know no tales of the Long Night? The War for the Dawn?"
The flying man seemed to give this question a moment's thought. "Well I think we had an ice age about twenty thousand years ago, but no monsters came out of it, if that's what you're asking."
Aemon turned back to Marsh. "There are books in the castle library, accounts written down thousands of years ago, copied and recopied since. I would like to search it thoroughly, see what knowledge we can find. I will need help."
"I will see what literate men we can spare."
"The creatures are raised by the Others, that much is clear" Aemon said. "Men and beast alike. Oh, what terrible luck. To live long enough to see the Long Night come again!"
"You think that is so, maester?" Cellador asked.
"I very much fear it. All from legend appears to be coming true."
As they were talking, there was a commotion further down the corridor. A black brother Aemon couldn't immediately recognize hurried over to Bowen.
"My lord, beg pardon, there are visitors from King's Landing seeking you out."
"Visitors? Who?" the castellan asked, but at that moment a larger party swept into view. The group fell silent. There emerged down the passageway a woman of striking beauty, covered in red silks from head to toe. Around her throat was a gold choker, ornamented by a single great ruby. It seemed to pulse red in the dim light.
Even this far north there had heard whispers of the red woman, the one who held the king's secrets, and some said his heart, but it was still a shock to see her in the flesh. Her eyes seemed to glow red as she approached. As unnatural as the wight's Aemon thought uncomfortably. She was flanked by a pair of knights and half a score of men-at-arms, though she was taller than all of them. Most were dressed in similar red garments, but one knight bore the unmistakable white cloak and shield of a Kingsguard, albeit Aemon noticed a tiny red sigil pinned to his chest.
Bowen stiffened at their approach. "I am castellan here. Who might you be?"
The red knight took a step forward, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. "Do you not recognize the King's royal Mistress of Whisperers?"
"I'm afraid I have never had the pleasure" Bowen replied, he seemed to take a moment to compose himself. "Beg pardon, we rarely receive visitors from King's Landing this far north."
The knight nodded. "I am Ser Brus Buckler, of Bronzegate. This is Godry Farring, one of the king's chosen seven, and loyal men of the King's Flames" he waved a lazy hand behind him. "We escort the Lady Melisandre of Asshai, on an urgent duty as commanded by the king."
Bowen introduced himself in turn. "We are loyal servants of the realm, and friends of the flying men" he said, gesturing to the soldiers nearby. "May I inquire as to your urgent duty?"
The red woman stepped forward between her guards. "Be at ease sers. We had the great benefit of flying here on the blessed machine Queen Selyse, far faster than any raven could herald our arrival. We will not require your hospitality long. The king simply bid me to observe these captives for myself, and report back to him. May we do so?"
Bowen kept his voice courteous. "Of course, my lady, I wish we had the chance to prepare for your arrival, else our hospitality may be lacking. But I urge you to keep your distance" he said, standing aside. "They are cursed creatures, and most offensive to the senses."
Lady Melisandre led the party down the passageway. She opened the hatches herself, looking at each wight in turn.
"Blue eyes…dead flesh" she said softly. "It is as I feared. These creatures are animated by necromancy, the servants of the Great Other, the one who is marshalling his forces to the north." She turned to her escort. "Look for yourselves good sers; it is as I have told you."
The knights did so, then the footsoldiers. The last came away gaping, open mouthed. Several were staring at the lady Melisandre in utter reverence, like she was the Crone reborn.
Perhaps it was his newly restored vision, or the refuge one could take in being a hundred year old man, but Aemon found a certain insolence come over him at this intrusion. "We had heard you were an advisor to the new king, my lady" he found himself saying. "May I ask, Asshai is a long way away, how is it you know so much of the peril we face?"
"Even in Asshai we know of the long night, maester. The same tales are told all over Essos."
"Tales that have been reduced to myth and legend after so many tellings, wouldn't you agree?"
Melisandre smiled at him. "We have long memories in Asshai. Knowledge remains there that has been forgotten elsewhere." Aemon thought he might welcome a woman's smile, after an absence of so many years, but something about it disturbed him just so. To his surprise, she walked over to him, a bounce in her step like that of a young maiden attending her first castle ball.
"Come, Aemon Targaryen, walk with me. We have much to discuss."
"It is simply Aemon, my lady" he began to object. Before he could ask how she knew him, he found the red woman's arm intertwined with his own. With surprising strength, she led him back up the tunnel. Her escort and the officers of the Night's Watch fell in behind them. In short order they were back above ground. In the pale sunlight it was noticeably warmer, but the lady's arm seemed to give off more heat than it had any right to.
"What do you know of the long night, maester?" she asked him lightly, as if they were discussing the passing of the weather.
"It is said to have occurred thousands of years ago…" Aemon started, thinking back to tales told to him as a child, or else an account he had read in a book, half a lifetime ago. "Some say six thousand, or eight thousand according to the True History. Long before the Andals came to Westeros there was a night that lasted a generation. Lords and kings froze in their castles same as the common man, and the Others came from the far north, overrunning cities and kingdoms."
"And what ended it?"
"There are tales of the last hero, one who sought refuge with the Children of the Forest, and finally defeated the Others with their help."
"Azos Azai, he is called" the Lady Melisandre agreed. "And perhaps your Children did help him, but he was surely guided by the Lord of Light. He was his champion againt the foe, and has long been prophesized to return. I have spent a lifetime searching for him."
"Do you think you have found him?"
Melisandre paused, she gave a laugh that was almost a giggle. "I assure you my dear maester, I have. He is the king! Do you think I would cross half the world for anything less?"
They had stopped halfway between the armory and the rookery. A score of black brothers were practicing with spear and shield. Several gawked at the sight of Melisandre, but their instructor quickly restored their attention with shouted threats and several thwacks with the flat blade of his sword. Aemon did not recognize this man either, but he suspected he was new to the position.
The usual trickle of new recruits had quickened in recent months, though it was not quite the flood they may have hoped for. Yoren had returned from the south with a party of two dozen, including prisoners from the Red Keep's dungeons and an assortment of gutter rats from the city's streets. More promising were the three ships that had docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea a moon later, carrying prisoners taken after Stannis' great victory. A dozen knights were among them. It seemed Bowen had seen fit to appoint one as the castle's new master-at-arms, given the continued absence of Ser Allister Thorne.
Melisandre looked upon the drilling men impassively. She took the shoulder of the kingsguard for a moment, whispering something in his ear. Ser Godry did not visibly react.
"You believe King Stannis is the prince that was promised?" Aemon pressed.
"I know it to be true, maester" she said, smiling another crimson smile. "It was years ago when I first saw visions of Dragonstone in the flames. I saw it each night, clearer and brighter, the last great fortress of the Valyrians, built on a mountain of fire on the edge of the known world. I knew I had to come myself to make sure, but in his grace the prophecies are fulfilled. The red comet blazed across the sky to herald his coming. He bears Lightbringer, the red sword of heroes, and he is uniting the kingdoms against the darkness."
"And where do the flying men fit into these prophecies of yours?"
Melisandre's smile flickered a little. "I have faith the Lord opened this great ring, I know of no other power that could."
"Hmmmph" Aemon replied. "You do not happen to see any Children of the Forest in your flames?"
"I cannot say I have" she admitted. "In all like they are gone from the world."
"As was thought true of the Others. I must ask again, why now, my lady? Why would they return after so long?"
"I admit I cannot say. Perhaps they feared the dragonlords, and now the dragons are all gone. Perhaps the ten year summer you have enjoyed heralds an even longer winter, and the time for their invasion is ripe. Perhaps there have been many cycles, and will be many more. I'm afraid the Lord only grants me glimpses."
She turned to him suddenly. Aemon felt warm fingers brush against his brow. She drew a little halfcircle around his restored eyes. "You are blessed, Aemon. The lord has returned your sight, one way or another. You have seen many seasons, but it is not too late to embrace him."
"I fear I am a little old and stuck in my ways, my lady" Aemon chuckled.
"You have eyes again, use them maester, I beg you" she smiled again, even deeper this time.
From behind them there was a sudden commotion. A shouted warning, then a loud thunk of metal striking metal and Aemon saw something silver spin across the edge of his vision. He turned just in time to see Ser Godry Farring unsheathing his sword. Already his shield was held aloft, mere feet behind the backs of Aemon and the Lady Melisandre. It took him a moment to process what had just happened.
A knife. Someone had thrown a knife.
Opposite the kingsguard was the castle's new master-at-arms. He wore a black cloak now, so there was no telling his previous masters. One hand was still raised where he had thrown the blade, the other was grasping his sword. Aemon saw sweat on his brow as he confronted the kingsguard. The recruits were looking up from their drills in confusion. The King's Flames meanwhile, were springing into action. Ser Brus Buckler leapt to the lady Melisandre's side, almost knocking Aemon over in his haste. Meanwhile the men-at-arms were swiftly surrounding the attacker, spears and swords raised, hollering for blood.
"Witch!" the man was screaming, and Aemon detected the accent of the Westerlands. "Witch! Witch! She killed the king! She killed the king!"
"Traitor!" Ser Godry Farring boomed, advancing swiftly. Before anyone else could intervene the two blades were singing. His opponent lacked a shield however, or a helmet. It took only four or five strikes before the burly knight had knocked his opponent to the ground. Ser Godry kicked his sword aside. He held his own blade to the man's unarmoured neck, a boot on his heaving chest. Several of the King's Flames leapt forward to hold down the struggling assailant. He was still protesting, even as a barrage of gaunleted fists converged on his face. It was soon left a bloody ruin.
Aemon felt more hands reaching for him, but it was only Clydas, looking down on the scene in shock. He started to lead Aemon away. Melisandre, meanwhile, had walked over to her would be assassin. Her ruby was shining red, gleaming even in the daylight.
"Such a pity ser" he heard her say, loud enough for the whole yard to here. "The king offered you mercy, and this is how you repay it?"
She turned back to the gathered officers of the Night's Watch. Bowen Marsh was already sputtering apologies.
"Good lord, would you please have your men gather some wood?" She asked, with practiced politeness. "We need to prepare a pyre."