A/N: Cap 16 review responses are in the Infinite and Divine forum like normal. Thank you all for reading.
Chapter Seventeen: To Bloody End
The newly elected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Gellip Qorgyle, strode through Castle Black with a curse on his lips and a cold shudder down his spine. Not for the first time since he arrived at this barbarian back-country, he cursed his own virile manhood and a beauty that was so striking not even princesses could resist him.
Sadly, the Prince of Dorne did not have the same appreciation of Gellip's virile manhood and good looks as his married sister did. Hence the Dornishman's arrival in the brutal, unloved North. But at least he was alive, he told himself. Cold, miserable and sober far too often, but alive.
It was only his third day in the dour Castle Black. He'd found some solace commanding Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. A few of the captains of his acquaintance were willing to risk the cold seas during the summer to bring pretty girls and fine Dornish wine. But the cockless bastards of the Watch decided to elect him Lord Commander after barely a fortnight commanding Eastwatch. He was so beautiful and strong, the poor bastards of the North could not resist him either!
So much for the pretty girls.
He finally made it to his quarters, as cold and barren as any northern barbarian could ask. Oh, how he hated it!
His attendant took his heavy furs and then quickly got a fire going as the newly elected Lord Commander sat down to the morning's correspondence. He glanced up from the modest pile when Eggert brought in food to break the night's fast, following the Lord Commander's morning spar with his men. He always suspected that Adrick had given up all duty in his last decade or so, and the poor state of his men confirmed it.
He ate the cut of bacon and honey-sweetened porridge absently as he read through the correspondence, until he came across one that bore the seal of Winterfell. Frowning intently, he lifted the narrow, unfolded parchment that was obviously delivered by raven.
His door opened while he was reading. "Eggert, where is that Maester of mine?"
"Why, right in front of you, Lord Commander."
Gellip looked up to see that indeed, Maester Aemon had in fact joined him. He lifted the parchment. "Did you read this?"
"I received a missive of my own, Lord Commander." Aemon was a vital man of nearly eighty years, though it was hard to tell from the look of him. His hair had thinned, but the old Maester regularly exercised.
"Would your missive have given any hint on why Lord Stark is traveling to Castle Black?"
"I can only guess, Lord Commander."
"Would your guess have anything to do with that blasted Woods Witch you sneak out to see every few years?"
"My lord, I have never bothered to sneak. I leave quite openly."
"Unescorted, into wilding land."
"With respect, I am far safer in the lands north of the Wall than I would be to the South."
Gellip frowned; he had only known the Maester for a few days, now. But he now suspected the man had gone native.
"We'll know soon enough," Gellip declared. "The Lord of Winterfell is three weeks away."
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
His spotters warned Gellip of Lord Stark's approach an hour before the man arrived. As the train drew closer, the new Lord Commander felt a surge of concern when he saw just how large the train was. His newly appointed head ranger, a scarred but tough man named Ser Stoic Cerwyn stood beside him.
"Four thousand men?"
"Five, Lord Commander," Storic said. "He's called his banners. A third of the houses of the North march with him."
"By the Seven, we don't have food for…ah. Supply trains. What in the Stranger's name is that man coming for?"
"I'd hazard a guess, Lord Commander," Storic said, dryly. "You have ten thousand wildlings living within two weeks from the wall, and more coming every day."
Gellip couldn't help but scoff. "Ten thousand? Man, they can't even feed themselves."
"So you say." Those three words of casual dismissal sparked a surge of anger, followed by a more simmering concern. Storic was a ranger, with nearly twenty years of experience beyond the Wall, man and boy. He was the former Lord Commander's nephew, and a respected fighter among the brothers. The only reason he wasn't Lord Commander himself was because of the laws regarding heirs of former Lord Commanders.
Gellip was sure of many things—of his judgment, his beauty and his sword. But he also knew that his brief post at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea did not give him opportunity to travel beyond the Wall. "Very well," he said. "It's a foolish commander who dismisses the word of his veterans."
Storic rose one scarred brow over the white-blue eye that lent him the nickname "Wolf-eye". "There may be hope for you then, Lord Commander. My own father could never accept what has happened since Telos arrived. It appears Lord Stark can, though."
The northern army arrived at the castle and immediately began to set camp. Lord Stark and his retainers entered the castle proper, where Gellip awaited with Storic and Maester Aemon.
The maester was not smiling any more, he noted.
Stark was a vital, striking man with black hair pulled back in a wolf's tail. His beard was thin and well-trimmed, his face flat and as hard as his cold gray eyes. He wore heavy wolf's fur over mail and leather, and across his back he carried the Stark ancestral sword, Ice.
He dismounted and virtually stalked across the grounds until he reached Qorgyle. He glanced at Storic. "It's a good thing your father's dead, Storic. It saves me the trouble of beheading him."
"Aye, m'lord." No heat, nor argument.
Gellip's sense of unease grew deeper. "Lord Stark. I'd say welcome, but not if you're going to behead us all. What is your purpose here?"
The Warden of the North regarded him squarely. "Lord Commander, as we speak, Lord Steffon Baratheon sails the king's fleet past Eastwatch-by-the-Sea," Lord Stark declared. "I understand you were only there for a fortnight before your election, so I accept none of this is your doing."
"None of what, Lord Stark? You've yet to tell me why you are here!"
"The Night's Watch has allowed the wildlings to restore Hardhome. The Wildlings are mining iron, man. They're working it, producing weapons and armor. They have a trade delegation in Braavos that King's Landing learned about before I did! They're massing by the thousands just north of the Wall, ready to work their evil."
As Stark spoke, Maester Aemon looked as if he were shaking. There came a point he could not hold his anguish in. "For shame, lord!"
Stark's entire party, and the lord himself, turned and stared incredulously at Aemon. "What did you say to me, Maester?"
"Telos saved your life!"
Gellip had not known Aemon long enough to know if the man's angry outburst was normal. Storic, however, looked surprised.
"For which she was paid handsomely," Rickard noted cooly. "And in return, she's quietly established herself as the queen beyond the Wall, with iron production. She has men trading with the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea, and is building an army."
Aemon shook his head. "Lord Stark, I have traveled extensively beyond this Wall. You will not find armies. You will find towns with happy people raising families. You'll find schools teaching children to read and write. Telos does not name herself as queen, and she poses no threat to the South."
"The king, your great nephew, thinks otherwise," Lord Stark said. "It is by his expressed orders that I am here. These wildling villages are to be razed to the ground, and the wildlings scattered back into the woods. Lord Baratheon will handle Hardhome. I have no pleasure in it, but upon my life, that is my charge."
"Then you shall have the Night's Watch at your side, Lord Stark," Gellip said without hesitation. "Our numbers do not compare to yours, and I regret to say that I've found the men in a poor state of readiness, but our Rangers know the forest. I can muster five hundred men to accompany you."
"As it should be," Stark said. "We leave in the morning."
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
It was at Stark's insistence that Gellip personally lead him into the edge of the Haunted Forest to the Godswood there. Many of the northern recruits made their oaths before the trees. It was difficult for the Dornishman to understand how or why a man would pray to a tree, even one as odd and disconcerting as a carved Weirwood, but he'd given up trying to understand the North long ago.
He stood back a respectful distance with Stark's retinue as the Warden of the North knelt down before the five carved trees. Because of that distance, he wasn't absolutely sure if the tall, ethereal figure stepped out from behind the trees, or directly from them. Stark, who was kneeling with his Valyrian sword across his knee, jumped back in alarm.
The figure did not move, even as Stark's men and Gellip himself rushed forward to protect Lord Stark.
She was a striking figure. A thick woolen skirt hung low on her hips to her ankles, with a short linen blouse under a woolen vest. The outfit left the woman's midriff bare, revealing detailed shapes tattooed around her navel. Those same shapes continued up and down her long arms, ending in blackened fingertips and toes on her bare feet.
She held a weirwood staff in hand, lined in silver inlays that made shapes that caused Gellip's eyes to ache a little, as if he could not quite focus on them. Long, curling dark hair fell about her shoulders, held back from her face by a woolen blindfold. Despite over two decades among the Wildlings, Telos looked like a young maiden, not even twenty if that.
"Telos!" Stark shouted the word in surprise as he lifted his greatsword. "What are you doing here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing, Rickard," the woman said.
"I am Lord Stark."
"You're not in your lands, Rickard Stark. There are no Lords north of the Wall. No kings, no nobles nor smallfolk. Just people. I know why you came. I've watched your army march. But I wished to see myself if the young boy who laid against the god tree to be healed is the same man that would betray the hand that saved him."
Gellip received the full story from Aemon, but it was one thing to hear an old man speak the story as if a myth, and another to see the actual actors in the thing speak of it as fact.
Lord Rickard shook his head angrily. "You've gone too far, Telos. Rebuilding Hardhome and trading with Braavos was a mistake. Word reached King's Landing. My eldest boy is held at the king's pleasure until I've proven my loyalty to the throne with your death, and the scattering of the Wildlings."
Telos held her staff with both hands, as if leaning on it. With her blindfold it was hard to tell, but Gellip guessed the woman looked sad. Heartbroken, even.
"I made a mistake," she said finally, softly. "I saw your king when he took his throne, Rickard. I considered sending a delegation to him, to establish peace and trade. But his soul was twisted by corruption. A seed of madness was planted in his mind by the enemies of creation, and I thought it a waste of time. But I wonder, now, if it would have been better to take that time, heal your king's mind, just like I healed your body."
This barbarian woods witch spoke so casually of kings that Gellip could see Stark's bannermen bristled.
"By the king's law, you and your people are to die," Stark said. Though he spoke firmly, there was no heat in his words. "We will raze Hardhome to the ground, and the forest will be cleared for fifty leagues."
Telos did not seem to care about the threat. "Will he kill Brandon, Rickard? If you fail and return, will your son suffer?"
"If I do not succeed in destroying you, then it will be because I died. Anything less will be treason in the king's eyes."
The seemingly young woman, who had to be older than Gellip himself, bowed her head in sorrow. "Hardhome will not fall, Rickard. I saw those ships coming, twenty of them, each filled with a hundred fighting men. Four of them are now docked at Hardhome under the flag of the Free Peoples. The rest, and all the crew, were destroyed."
Several feet behind Stark, Gellip Qorgyle felt his stomach drop. Lord Umber of Last Hearth shouted a curse.
"A lie!" Gellip blurted the word. "Hardhome is a month's ride west. You could not know a thing!"
For the first time, the Lord Commander felt the weight of her hidden gaze on him. It felt as if somehow, through the blindfold, she was taking an accounting of his very soul. "I see all things in my forest, Gellip Qorgyle. The ships were lost because I destroyed them. The four I saved had floundered under the waves; I just caused them to resurface. I am the sea, as much as I am the forest. And none shall do harm to my people and live."
That painfully heavy gaze fell back upon Stark. "If you lead your army beyond the wall, you will do so in rain so heavy you cannot see the men that kill you. You will not find a single one of the Free People. Yet they will be dry, and will see you. They will strike your men down, arrow by arrow, without having to draw a single blade. No matter how you search for an enemy to fight, you'll never find them. Until you, yourself, are the last of your forces. Understand, Rickard. Your father was honorable, and you were kind. In yours and his memory I do not wish you to die. This is not a threat. I am telling you what will happen."
For the first time since meeting the man, Gellip saw doubt on Rickard Stark's face. "My son, Telos. My family. For their sake, I must do as my king commands. Even should it be my death."
"And what of your other children, Rickard? I can see them writ large in your soul. What of Eddard, Lyanna or Benjen? Do they not need their father as well?"
"I must obey my king!" With that ringing declaration, Rickard Stark swung his mighty Valyrian sword around in a strike that could have taken the head off a horse.
It struck Telos' staff with a loud ring, and then a piercing snap. Every man there stared in horror as the ancient Valyrian sword broke. The narrow half of the blade swung and impaled itself in the bark of a soldier pine. Stark himself stared at the shattered sword as if he'd just killed his own child.
"And so the Starks are broken," Telos said. She actually sounded heartbroken. "I'm so sorry, Rickard. I promise you and your men won't suffer long."
Abruptly she faded back into the very bark of the heart tree itself. As if released from a spell, Stark's men rushed forward to search for her, but Gellip knew she was gone. Stark himself fell back to one knee and stared at his shattered blade. Tears hung on the man's cheeks in the late afternoon sun.
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
That night, Stark wrote two letters. One he sent by courier back to Winterfell with his broken sword, presumably for his wife, the Lady Lyarra Stark. The second was addressed to Aerys II Targaryen himself. When the second letter was gone and away by raven, the Lord of Winterfell took mulled wine in Gellip's quarters and stared into the fire.
"Find a hundred of your worst men," Stark said. "The rapists and murderers. They'll come with me. No more."
"You're so sure of your defeat?"
The northman laughed; never in Gellip's life had he heard a sound so utterly devoid of humor, or even hope. "What a fool I was, to think I could live in both worlds."
He regarded Qorgyle coolly. "You must come as well, man. If a Lord Commander does not accompany Lord Winterful against the Wildlings, your own men will kill you. Make peace with your gods. Tomorrow, we die."
~~Voluspa~~
~~Voluspa~~
Five thousand, five hundred and fifty men began the long march through the gate of Castle Black. They traveled two-abreast, Qorgyle at the front next to Stark himself. Soric Cerwyn rode ahead with a body of twenty scouts. The dawn illuminated a cloudless, cobalt sky.
It took half an hour for the column to clear the gate. Once they did so, Stark arranged them three abreast, five hundred mounted cavalry, the rest afoot. The spears of the levies rose hearteningly above the coned helmets, while the wolf banner flew at the top, followed by the other banners of his men.
Stark kept his head high, his eyes clear and his face as cold as granite. They did not speak, sing or express pleasantries. They rode in silence. Gellip looked back occasionally, until the column was lost in the curving road of the forest.
For two days, they rode without any sign of trouble, until the rain started. At first it came with just a drizzle. Gellip felt the first few drops with a sense of confusion, since the sky was so clear. But as he looked up, he saw a cloudbank so dark it looked as if night was sweeping across the sky. Never in all his years, even during the worst of the storms of the Narrow Sea, did he ever see clouds cover a sky so quickly.
"Lord Stark…"
"She warned us," was his only response.
The drops turned into a patter, and then a steady rain, and then into a gale that blew so hard Gellip had to lean forward over his saddle. Their mounts protested and screamed at the impossible, almost side-ways wall of water that suddenly blinded them to the world.
Rickard Stark continued to ride, his head held high even if his eyes were closed against the rain. Feeling like he had no choice, Gellip fought with his mare until she complied and they continued forward. Over the roar of the rain, he thought he heard the sound of fighting, but the visibility was so low he couldn't see anything behind him.
Still they rode.
Abruptly, something hit Gellip's helm with a sharp ring. He stared in dismay as a large, jagged ball of hail struck his hand in a stinging blow. The sound of hailstones ringing against helmets ran down the column, loud enough he barely heard the scream.
"Attack! Attack! Archers in the trees!"
The desperate cry came from a horseman just four rows down. Gellip turned just in time to see an arrow take the shouting man in the face. Horses screamed and whinnied as they fell under arrows that seemed to fly in from the rain as if they were part of the storm.
"Stark!"
The Lord of Winterfell held his head high, and continued to ride forward. Gellip Qorgyle, on the other hand, was far too beautiful to die. "Shields!" He screamed at the top of his lungs to be heard even as he drew his arming sword and rode back down the line. "Shields! Make a shield wall!"
An arrow struck him in the center of his back. It felt like a large man punching him, but his mail gambon held. "Shield walls! Form up!"
The Stark men were so desperate for leadership that they began to obey despite Qorgyle not being their commander. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch ignored four more arrows against his heavy mail, and the constant drum of hailstones against his helmet, as he directed the men.
Suddenly his horse reared and he fell backward with a startled cry. He had a brief glimpse of the poor beast running into the forest with an arrow in its flank before it was lost to the rain. He picked himself up out of the mud and fell in with the men he'd been directing.
"Shields up high, boys!" he shouted. "Any sergeants left?"
Over the din of the rain and hail, no one answered.
Abruptly, the shield wall formation beside him collapsed as a huge barbed bolt as long as a man's leg punched through the shield, and then the mailed chest of a man, and sent him flying backward into the other side of the shield formation.
"By the Seven, they have war engines," he muttered. "Retreat! Back to the Wall!"
Another ballista bolt shattered the shield formation ten rows down. What came next shattered Gellip's control over his bladder. Through the hole the huge projectile made came an impossible sight–a wolf larger than a horse flew in from the rain and charged right into the middle of the formation. With a deep, primordial growl the giant beast ripped one man's head off and threw another screaming into the shadows of the storm.
The shield formation broke beyond repair. Men screamed and ran as arrows picked them off one at a time with terrible precision despite the rain. Throats and faces were violated again and again as the men of the North fell to gurgling deaths.
Arrows began hitting Gellip's mail as often as the hail. He tried running, but his boots slipped in the mud. As he fell, an arrow found his hand. He cried out as his sword fell from numb fingers. He pushed himself to his knees, and biting back a scream, broke the long arrow and pulled the end through.
Bobkin point. He looked around, but the rain fell so hard he couldn't see his sword. Instead, he began crawling over the bodies. There were so many, he could not count. Some were still gasping for breath, or calling to their mothers. Some grabbed at him with their last strength, desperate for some human contact before the Stranger pulled them into the dark.
He found himself screaming as he scrambled over the dead under the heavy rain and hail.
Suddenly, inexplicably, the rain and hail ended. The clouds boiled away as quickly as they came, leaving a clear blue sky. Gellip slipped on a dead man and went face-first into the bloody mud. He lifted himself up, spitting the foulness from his mouth and wiping it from his eyes. Blinking, he looked south down the length of the trail.
Thousands of bodies were laid out in the mud.
The wildlings emerged from the forest. He thought there would be many thousands, but he saw only a few hundred. They held bows as long as a man was tall across their backs, with heavy quivers that were mostly emptied. Some carried spears, others steel axes. More than a few carried swords that looked as if they were castle-forged.
"Another live one."
Gellip Qorgyle, 996th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, forced himself to his feet and turned to face his death as a Dornishman. His death appeared in the form of a somewhat petite woman with alabaster skin and hair as dark as his own, though streaked with gray.
"Oy, you're a strange one," the woman said. "Pretty, though. Come on, then. Unless you want my man to cut your throat for you, healing's this way."
"I…what?"
"Do ya want healing or no, you daft sheep fucker?"
Confused and hurting from his hand, the ringing in his head from the hail, and the bruises from the beating he took, Gellip found himself following the woman while other wildings policed the bodies. They walked for only moments until they left the mud behind and he found himself walking on dry soil between the trees.
"How?"
"Telos called the rain, now, didn't she?" the woman said with a laugh. "You southerners and your stupid gods. They don't call the rain, or bless the babes, or make the crops grow. Our god does, now, doesn't she?"
God?
They emerged into a clearing not far from the road that saw the slaughter. To his surprise and shock, a large number of cowed soldiers had been stripped down to the skivvies while women in woolen dresses passed among them. They were far from unguarded, though. The wildlings stood with the man-height bows knocked, if not drawn. Three of the wildlings stood nearby for each captive. And prowling before them was the horse-sized wolf.
Nearby was one man not spared. Gellip missed a step when he saw Lord Stark laid over his own cloak, his face painted with the pallor of death. Black blood welled out from a wound in his throat.
"He didn't suffer," a familiar voice said.
Gellip spun around and saw Telos there, just as she was at the tree. She stared sadly down at the dead lord of Winterfell. "He was a kind boy," she said softly. "Studious and generous. Somehow, your world hardened him too much."
This close, in the clear light of the sun, Telos looked like a child.
"I do not age as a mortal does, Lord Commander." She answered as if she heard his thoughts.
"Oh, this one's so important he's not just a commander, but a lord too?" The petite woman looked far older than Telos. "Come on, Lord Commander sheep-fucker, let's get your hand cleaned and bandaged."
Gellip followed in a daze; when he glanced back he saw Telos kneeling beside the fallen lord.
The women were treating their captives better than most maesters might have, he realized. He saw them expertly cleaning and sewing wounds. Where men were so badly hurt there was no hope for survival, they fed them a clear drink that quickly took them into a deep slumber.
The woman he faced quickly and efficiently cleaned his hand with a distilled substance that burned bad enough to make him wince. She then packed it with swabs of boiled linen before wrapping it in more of the same.
Suddenly a near giant of a man stood before him. A rich dark beard was touched with gray. The giant wore mail, and carried a sword at his belt. "You are the Lord Commander?"
"So he said," the woman declared. "Lord Commander Sheep-Fucker himself."
"You'll be given a horse," the giant said. "Ride back with Stark's body, take him back to Winterfell. Tell your king that the Free Folk will not kneel. We won't raid any more, and we won't let others raid either. You stay on your side of the Wall, we'll stay on ours. But if that king of yours wants a fight, we'll give 'em one."
"The king could muster an army of a hundred thousand men," Qorgyle said. "He commands the entirety of the southern kingdoms."
"Good for him," the giant said. "You tell him. The lands north o' the Wall are Free. We'll not bend knee, and we'll fight to the man against anyone who tries to make us."
"And these men?"
The giant looked around him. "A choice," he said. "I know how you southern lords build armies. They owe us five years at the mines for attacking us. After that, they can stay and be free, or go back to your lords. But that's not something you need to worry about. Go back to your castle, Lord Commander. And tell your king that we are free."