Ebrose
The Maesters of the Citadel had all gathered in the largest lecture hall on campus, typically reserved for formal occasions such as graduation ceremonies and speeches by visiting dignitaries. Ebrose sat on the stage next to a number of his fellow Maesters, waiting for Seneschal Meadows to step up to the podium and deliver the most important address in a century. The oldest Maesters sat up front, with the youngest in the rear and in the upper levels. All told, there were over a thousand of the world's greatest minds assembled in one room... and they were all about to be told that an army of dead men had just annihilated Branton and Higgart, and that Old Town would be next.
The murmuring and side conversations all suddenly stopped as the Seneschal entered the stage with the Grand Maester. The two men approached the podium, with Gorion taking his place just behind the Seneschal. As the leader of the Citadel raised his hand, the lights dimmed, and the projectors began shining images onto the blank, white screens hanging around the room. He tapped the microphone gently to ensure that it was active before leaning in slightly and speaking softly and as soothingly as possible.
"Fellow Maesters," he began, nodding slightly in respect. "Let me thank you all for coming on such short notice. It is no secret that this meeting has been summoned as a result of a dire situation that will most certainly become worse before it gets better." The screens showed a pair of graphs, one labeled Branton and one labeled Higgart. The two pie charts were separated into three colors; Blue indicated Healthy, Yellow indicated Missing, and Red indicated Dead. Branton's chart showed 25% Dead, 25% Missing, and 50% Healthy. Higgart's was much more pronounced, with 50% Dead, 40% Missing, and 10% Healthy. The murmuring continued, now louder than before. A younger Maester near the rear raised his hand.
"Seneschal," he loudly called. The Seneschal pointed to him as the room quieted down. "Is this why there's been a communication blackout? And if so, what is the root cause?" With that, he returned to his seat. Meadows turned back to Gorion, who closed his eyes and nodded.
"What we are about to tell you may be... uncomfortable. Certainly, it is unbelievable," he began to answer, turning back to the audience chamber. With a click of the button on his remote, he sent his presentation to the next slide. The Seneschal and Grand Maester spent the next hour explaining the history of the Long Night, the Night King, and the modern plague sweeping through the major urban areas of Westeros. Most of the Maesters scoffed openly, but by the end of the presentation the snickers and giggles had stopped, leaving only uncomfortable, terrified silence.
As the presentation ended and the men and women filed out of the room, Ebrose joined the Grand Maester, the Seneschal, and a few of the other Archmaesters as they departed for the Seneschal's office. As they departed the building, they encountered two rough-looking men, armed, standing just outside. The Seneschal nodded to them, and they wordlessly followed the group. Ebrose glanced at them – they were clearly military, with black and grey camouflaged uniforms adorned with rank and insignia. Their weapons were rifles, customized to suit each man's individual needs and tastes. Curious, Ebrose mused to himself. The Seneschal must have noted his reaction, as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Do not be alarmed, gentlemen," he assured them. "These intrepid young men have deigned it necessary to protect us from harm." Still, they said nothing. Ebrose studied the uniform closely, unable to identify any national marker. Even their ranks seemed foreign. One of the men made eye contact with him, grimacing. Ebrose turned back to the group of Maesters.
"Only two men to protect the Citadel?" he pondered aloud. The Seneschal hummed in agreement.
"They're not necessarily here to protect the entire Citadel, Maester Ebrose," Gorion answered, never looking back. "They're here to protect us and our knowledge. These men have a rather fitting pedigree in this regard. You see, these are Men of the Night's Watch." Ebrose was stunned.
"The Night's Watch?" he blurted. Gorion hummed in confirmation. "The Night's Watch was disbanded hundreds of years ago," he reasoned.
"Reformed and reorganized, but not disbanded entirely," Gorion corrected him. "They operate entirely under the command of the North, but King George has seen fit to loan us these two until the Night has passed." Ebrose looked over at the men again, who were snickering as they walked.
"We used to joke about Northerner's believing in all sorts of fairy tales," Meadows mused. "Now, we must be thankful they kept the stories alive. If they weren't so superstitious, we might not have stood a chance."
"Quite right," Gorion agreed. "Even with the records we keep, books and scrolls can turn to dust as easily as they're written. So as long as humans tell their tales, the oral history can manage to survive. Understanding this, they're here for us."
"Tell me, then," Ebrose began, turning to the two Black Brothers. "What are your thoughts on this ordeal?" They glanced at each other before one spoke, his thick, northern accent contrasting their own.
"You boys should have behaved for your mothers," he snickered. "Else this might have all been avoided." Gorion snorted loudly. Meadows seemed unfazed. Ebrose frowned.
"I ask you to speak truly," he urged. The man shrugged.
"For thousands of years, the Night's Watch was tasked to fight dead men. They trained for it, and trained for it, and after centuries, they'd forgotten all about it," he explained. "When it finally happened, they failed."
"It could be argued," the Seneschal retorted. "The Night's Watch didn't forget. There are numerous references to advanced knowledge by a few of your members from that period." The soldier grunted.
"And nobody listened until it was far too late," he doubled-down. "That's why they failed."
"And you?" Ebrose asked. "You two have both trained for this very eventuality?" The two men shook their heads.
"No," they replied bluntly. "Since the War, the Night's Watch has conducted guerilla warfare against nations and cities. We're more of a special forces division than experts on the White Walkers."
"Do you believe us when we say that it was true all along?" Ebrose continued as they walked. They both shook their heads.
"Haven't seen any yet," the other one declared. "We'll let you know then."
"Have no fear, lads," the first one placated them as he patted his rifle. "Sure as the summer snows, we'll keep you safe." The men seemed to find that answer acceptable, as the conversation ceased. As they approached their destination, a faint sound echoed through the air. The Seneschal stopped, causing their group to join him.
"Do you hear it?" he murmured, pointing up. The men strained their ears.
"That's an air raid siren," Ebrose's young assistant piped up, looking over at his tutor with fear across his face. The Black Brothers racked their rifles.