CHAPTER FIVE: THE LONE WOLF II
Benjen scouts the South. Stannis Baratheon marshals at Winterfell. Benjen returns to The Wall, only to be faced with treachery, deceit, and knives in the dark.
Benjen does his best to try and not wear all-black everywhere he goes in The North, knowing that if the wrong person sees him, and recognises him in his all-black clothes, the game he's playing will immediately be up, no questions asked. He's closer to Last Hearth right now than he likes, and while the Umbers are bannermen to House Stark, he does not trust in that as much as he once would have. In the mythic before that has come to define much of how he views things, now.
He's gathered a lot of news in the time he's spent down here, but it's slow going, and Winter must be drawing near, with how many snowstorms have forced him to bunker down in whatever place he can find that will keep him. One of the first ones had forced him to stay in a village on the edge of The Gift for almost a month, and he spent the entire time gathering information and hoping no one would know who he was.
No one did, thankfully. And it had been a blessing in disguise as he was suddenly everyone's new friend, and the people traded stories like Southerners would trade gold. Stories of Wildlings South of the Wall, of the King in the North being killed or captured, of the traitors now roosted in Winterfell. Not a single story had pleased Benjen, of course, but they'd given him clarity in ways Bran couldn't.
The Red Wedding is the story that sticks in his head for the longest. A butchery, they'd called it, tsking over their food. Walder Frey brought the Young Wolf into his home, gave him his bread and his salt, and killed them all. The Young Wolf is a prisoner now. That had gotten arguments, and it had taken everything within Benjen to keep his cool as they discussed whether Robb was alive or dead.
But he can't blame any of them. None of them can really change the wars of Kings and Lords, none of them have a say in what happens. If they ever have a role in it, it will be as foot soldiers in a larger force, with no contact with the Lord and Kings who are playing at war. The war is as distant to them as The Iron Islands are to, say, Slaver's Bay. To them, these wars are still stories, conflicts between distant Lords over things that have no real bearing on their day-to-day lives.
It doesn't stop the images of Robb being killed or butchered from filling his mind. Everyone agrees that Catelyn and Robb's wife were killed in the fray, and Benjen mourns for his sister-in-law. She'd been a good woman, at the end of the day. Stubborn, with things he disagreed with her on, but she'd been a good woman. No one deserved what she got. Her death probably shattered Robb, if he lived to see it.
Benjen, himself, has to believe that he is. He has to hold out hope for Ned's eldest son, hold out hope that one day, Robb will ride home, root out all the traitors to The North, and the Grey Stark Direwolf will fly over Winterfell again. He has to believe that whether as King in the North, or Lord of Winterfell, or Warden of the North, the Stark in Winterfell will be Robb, one day.
It's the loss of Winterfell that really hurts, though. Roose Bolton betrayed House Stark, and there is a constant nagging voice in the back of Benjen's mind that drives him to ride to Winterfell and burn Bolton's world down. But he is one man with a single horse, a single sword, and a single name to him. Most of his money is stolen or earned on odd jobs from different villages he's spent some time in. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
But it doesn't stop him from imagining how it would feel to have Roose Bolton's throat in his hands, how it would feel to hear him beg for mercy, how it would feel to drag his blade through Roose's neck. The thoughts are dark and troubling, but Benjen does not feel ashamed of them. House Bolton has betrayed the North, and someday, someone will come.
He knows this: One day, one of the kids will come, The Stark Banner flying high in the wind, The North behind them. Roose has the North because Tywin Lannister gave it to him, and Tywin Lannister is dead, or so they say. If a Stark comes out of the woodwork, if a Stark finds a way home, The North will turn. The North Remembers, and they know their loyalties. Many other houses lost those they loved in The Red Wedding, and will not have forgotten what role House Bolton played in their deaths.
The North will rally around you, Bran had said. But they will not. Benjen will not be The Stark who comes crashing down on Winterfell with fury and force, because he is still, at the end of the day, a man of the Night's Watch. No matter how long he spends away, no matter what consequences await him when he does come back, he will hold to it. He never truly deserted. He has been doing his duty, in whatever way he can, while away. I am the Shield that guards the Realms of Men.
That is part of the secrecy, though. If Roose Bolton were to learn of him, learn that a trueborn and well-respected male Stark did truly live, he'd want him dead the second he could. And he would send as many men as it took until Benjen was dead in the snow, and his claim was still secure. Benjen knows the types, and he does not intend to die for who he is, for a threat he poses.
He just hopes Jon is safe at The Wall, hopes that Roose Bolton has overlooked the bastard, as so many others have. But he has his own bastard, or so I've heard, Benjen thinks, troubled, as he rides into a village for a night. A cruel bastard raised much like Jon was, raised in House Bolton, alongside the heir. And Jon does pose a threat, whether he likes it or not.
He purchases a room for three nights at the Inn, and gets some good Northern ale at the adjacent tavern while he's at it. Eyes rove over him, taking stock of him, but no one bothers him as he sits at a table and sips at his drink, listening to the conversation around him. Most of it is innocuous tavern talk, about girls they fancy, about who did what now, and the sort. But something else draws his attention.
Two men are speaking loudly and a glance around shows that Benjen's not the only one listening in. Half the tavern is, it would seem, and for good reason. "Stannis Baratheon's come off The Wall, finally, they say! He left that bastard boy commander behind, and now he's gonna root out that Bolton Bastard!"
Benjen frowns, leaning in closer as someone else speaks up. "Ramsay Bolton married one of the Stark Girls. He has claim to being Lord of Winterfell, now, really. Stannis Baratheon is rooting out the rightful Lord." Benjen's heart drops, his ale going forgotten. He looks at the person who said it, and sees a man in armour, and he just knows he's a Bolton Soldier. Benjen's hand balls into a fist under the table.
The first man spits on the floor. "There ain't no Lord of Winterfell who isn't a Stark. How do we know it's one of the Stark girls, anyway? Everyone's been saying they're both dead for years now, ever since good ol' Eddard Stark lost his head!" Benjen winces.
"I saw her," the soldier says, smiling viciously. "Pretty little red-haired girl. Sansa Stark, she is–the older one. Looks like her mother. I remember her mother well enough, I was there when she died. And Lord Bolton's her lawfully wedded husband, and the next Lord of Winterfell. What do you think he'd do to you if you spit like that in front of him, old man?"
The man stares at the soldier for a long moment, before curling his lip and spitting once again. This time he says, "Fuck your Lord Bolton. House Bolton killed the Young Wolf, The King in the North. Traitors, the lot of them." Benjen sighs, and takes a sip of his drink, before placing his hand on his pommel and getting ready.
The soldier does not look amused. He stands slowly, drawing his sword, face a mask of fury. Benjen looks up at him through hooded eyes, poised and ready to strike. Benjen knows to reward loyalty, and he wants to know what exactly that soldier meant by saying that Sansa, lovely, beautiful Sansa, had married Roose Bolton's bastard.
He forces himself to take a deep breath, to be steady. Recklessness will get him nowhere, and he needs this man alive, if he wants to truly know what is happening. Stannis Baratheon rides South. It sounds like there's a new Lord Commander upon The Wall. Sansa is married to a man whom Benjen has heard one too many stories about to feel anything less than terrified for his niece.
"What did you just say to me, old man?" The soldier asks, pressing his blade to the man's throat. To his credit, the man does not flinch. He just looks up at the soldier with an imperious and cold look that makes Benjen's lip quirk. Noble or Common, Northerners all share a few base traits, or so he's learned from the past months scouting his home.
"You heard what I said," the man says, and the soldier snarls, moving to kill the man. But he goes still as Benjen makes himself known, standing up and drawing his blade. The soldier turns to him, curiosity in his eyes, looking at Benjen with an amused expression that falters when he meets Benjen's eyes. Voice betraying his nerves, he says, "What's this? A hero?"
"No," Benjen says, shifting his grip ever so slightly on his blade. He's been mistaken for a knight many times, but next to this man, who probably is some form of knight, he knows he doesn't look like one. He looks like a ragged Northman with a few scars and a blade that is better than this knight's. The contradictions must be a lot to take in, Benjen presumes, given how the man looks at him.
"This has nothing to do with you, fool," The soldier says, removing his blade from the man's neck as he turns to face Benjen properly. The man gasps, scrambling back, his friend going with him, his hand covering his throat as he watches Benjen and the soldier face off. "Run away, now, and I won't have to kill you. You seem plenty fine a man. I'd hate to have you die because you're too big a fool to know when you've met a bigger fish."
Benjen just smiles, tilting his head. It's crammed in here, but he can make it work, he thinks, if it really comes to it. And he has a better blade than the soldier does, that much is obvious, and while he does not doubt that this maybe-a-knight-soldier is good, he was not made First Ranger for nothing. He has fought Wildlings and lived. He has survived beyond The Wall for two and a half years, and lived to tell the tale. He has seen the Army of the Dead, and here he still stands. A Bolton man does not scare him, does not make his heart beat any faster.
The soldier's face does a complicated dance of emotions. Everyone is watching them, these two fighters with their swords drawn, glimmering in the low light. If anyone gets too good of a look at Mikken's mark on Benjen's blade, he'll be done for, he thinks, but he has more pressing matters. Sansa married the Bolton Bastard. The man they say takes pleasure in other's pain. If he has laid a finger on her…
He pushes the thoughts of Sansa aside, as the soldier speaks again. "You do not want to do this, trust me. Walk away, leave me to my business, forget you were here, and so will I. I have friends, powerful ones. You do not want to make an enemy of me, you hear me?" Benjen grins again, and the soldier's face goes red. "You hear me?!"
"I do," Benjen finally says, and he slams his sword into the man's without another word. Pulling the knife from his belt, he lashes out, blocking the next strike with his sword. A sword in one hand, a knife in the other, in a crowded space. He can use his sword as a makeshift shield, but his knife is what will get him where he needs to be.
Throwing an elbow up, he knocks the soldier's sword hand back, sending an elbow into his face the second he's in reach. He plunges his knife into a gap in the soldier's armour, and he howls, dropping his sword. Wrenching the knife out, Benjen doesn't give him time to gather his thoughts, slamming a boot into the man's chest, sending him sprawling.
He crawls away, trying to get up onto his feet as Benjen comes over to him, casting his shadow over him. He sheathes his sword, flipping the bloody knife around in his hand as the soldier looks up at him with terrified eyes, lip quivering as he sees Benjen. Smiling, Benjen presses his boot into his uninjured off-arm, preventing him from doing much of anything with one arm injured and the other pinned.
"Now," Benjen says, wiping the blood off his knife with his black cloak. "I am going to ask you a few questions about what you told him." He gestures towards the man, whose eyes widen to the size of golden dragons. Benjen nods at him, and looks back at the soldier, a dark look on his face. "I would recommend honesty. It's polite, or so I've heard."
"Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter, and I am the one asking questions. Not you," Benjen says, smiling mockingly down at the man, who looks scared shitless. It's probably a little cruel, but Benjen knows he cannot rip House Bolton out of Winterfell himself, and this soldier is the closest he might get to having a role in their downfall. And if he gets more information, enough to have a true sense of The North…
"You are certain it is Sansa Stark that Ramsay Snow has married?" He asks, firstly, because while it's probably not the most important question to most, it is to him. Sansa is a good, kind, girl, and if she is in the hands of a monster like that–Benjen can barely stomach the thought.
"Yes!" The man shouts, sounding panicked. "She confirmed it, and so did that turncloak, Theon Greyjoy. He's a prisoner of Lord Bolton. She married Ramsay Bolton–he's been legitimised now, by King Tommen." Benjen's lip curls, and he holds the knife that much tighter, anger simmering under his skin, threatening to tear out of him.
"We know no king, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark!" Someone cries. Benjen's heart swells, but he largely ignores the comment and the raucous agreement it gets.
"Theon Greyjoy?" Benjen asks, remembering what Bran had said of the Greyjoy boy. But there is something unsettling about him being there to confirm Sansa's identity, and Benjen feels something tug in his gut. "Why was Theon Greyjoy there to confirm Sansa Stark's identity?"
The Soldier laughs then, a cruel look on his face. "Lord Bolton took him captive, after he took Winterfell from Robb Stark. Ramsay Bolton…taught him some lessons." The man grins, and Benjen feels his stomach drop. He doesn't like the boy, especially after what he did, but…but Theon, in the hands of a man like Ramsay Bolton, is never good. "Turncloak got what he deserved!"
And what was that? Benjen wonders, but he does not ask it. "He says Stannis Baratheon rides to reclaim Winterfell," he says, glancing again at the man. He looks even more afraid now, afraid of Benjen, and while it makes Benjen uncomfortable, he knows it is sometimes better to be feared, in moments like these. "Is this true? What chances does Stannis have of victory?"
"It is," the soldier grins. "And, like those Starks always used to say, Winter is coming. Stannis ain't no Northman, and there's a storm on the horizon, last I heard from Winterfell. He'll be swallowed by the snow, and Lord Bolton will destroy them all." The soldier's smile widens as he sees Benjen's face. "What, don't like it?"
Benjen just shakes his head, sheathing his knife, and pulling out his sword again. What he is about to do is reckless, yes, but there are things that people must know. Benjen Stark must come out of the snow and dark one day, and today will be that day. "Tell me. Does Roose Bolton think himself secure? Does he think that all of House Stark is gone or in his clutches?" The soldier frowns, looking a little more carefully at him. Benjen grins with all his teeth. "Does he think that just because he has Winterfell, Winter cannot come for him? Does he think he is secure? "
"Who are you?" The man asks again, and Benjen just laughs this time. Who is he? He is Benjen Stark of Winterfell, First Ranger of the Night's Watch. Son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark. He is the young pup, he was The Stark of Winterfell while his brother toppled a dynasty. He remembers the Wildling's words, from all those years ago, as he lay dying in the snow. The black wolf, we call you.
Benjen rests his sword in front of him, and he sees the moment the man seems to realise who exactly he might be. Benjen Stark was not nearly as well known to Westeros as his brother Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, was, but The North knows its Starks. They know, at least, who runs The Wall on a day-to-day basis.
"You serve House Bolton. House Bolton are traitors to the North, to their King and their Liege Lord, at the word of a Southern Bastard King. There is no king here–No king, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark. The Boltons are traitors, and that makes you one too." Benjen smiles grimly. "So, in the name of Robb of the House Stark, first of his name, King of the North and Lord of Winterfell, I, Benjen of the House Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, sentence you to die."
The death is easy. The body slumps to the floor, blood pooling under it, and Benjen sheaths his sword once more, walking out without another word. Word will travel. Roose Bolton will hear of Benjen Stark soon enough, and he will send all that he can at Benjen. He does not trust in Last Hearth. He does not trust in anything but The Wall and Castle Black, two hundred miles away or so, from here. Four or five days, if he pushes Faith. He can outrun them.
He saddles Faith quickly, glancing up as snow begins to fall softly all around. The Bolton soldier had said that a storm was coming, and that Stannis Baratheon was bound to die in it. Benjen cannot fully disagree on that part, but he is one man. He is a ranger of the Night's Watch, a Stark of Winterfell. A storm does not scare him, cannot scare him.
"Well, time to go, girl," he says softly, smiling as Faith knickers softly, nosing him. He's just about to get up onto the saddle when a voice calls from behind him.
"Stark! Benjen Stark! Lord Stark!" A voice cries from behind him, and Benjen whirls to see the man from before, the man who had started the conversation that had so interested him, rushing to him. He looks quite alright, thankfully, his friend following behind him at the same rushed pace. Benjen pauses, tilting his head at the two men when they stop in front of them. Neither of them are really that old, Benjen thinks.
"Thank you," the man stammers, wringing his hands in front of him. "Those Bolton men have been sticking around here, ever since The Red Wedding. Talking up our daughters and fighting our sons. He was just the newest one of a lot. You did us all a big favour, Lord Stark."
I'm not Lord Stark, Benjen thinks, but it will be lost on the man, he knows. He just smiles tightly and nods at the man, not sure what else to say. More will come, they must know it. Stories about wolves will only draw more Bolton men here, looking for a way to win favour with the new Warden of the North. Benjen's grip tightens on Faith's reigns.
The man glances around, lowering his voice. "What's more, I know who the new Lord Commander is. I don't know if you know, so I figured I'd tell you, but if you do know–"
"I don't," Benjen says, turning fully to the man. If this man finds it necessary to tell Benjen it must be important, so that's why he says, "Would you tell me?"
"Your brother's bastard. Lord Commander Jon Snow is atop The Wall, m'lord," he says, and Benjen gapes at him, jaw hanging on the floor. Jon is Lord Commander? The man nods, still wringing his hands nervously. Benjen can't say he blames him; that was one hell of a show he put on in that tavern. He'd say he feels bad, but honestly, he really doesn't. "Figured you'd like to know."
"I would," Benjen says, feeling a little untethered. Jon is The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. "Thank you, truly. And fare well, friend. A storm is coming, that soldier spoke truly on that, at least. Winter draws nearer with the day, and The Long Night is coming." He meets the man's eyes, and speaks in the most deathly serious voice he can muster. "I would go South, while you still have the chance. Winter is Coming."
And with that, he gets on Faith. His clothes are black as the night, and he wonders just how much he looks like a man of the Night's Watch to them now that they know him as one. He can get to The Gift before the storm truly hits, he thinks, and once he is there, he will be somewhat safer. No one could know The Gift like a man of The Night's Watch, like someone with as much experience as he does.
"Thank you, m'lord," The man says again. Benjen just nods at him, resisting the urge to say Don't thank me yet. Kicking Faith into gear, he gets out of the stables and out of the village, and only once he's out of the village does he look back at it. Night will be falling soon enough. Two hundred miles to The Wall, and it would be best to get there before Roose Bolton hears of him. A storm is coming.
It's all a little daunting. But Jon needs to know what Benjen has heard, or at least about Sansa. Benjen owes him that much, at the very least. Owes him, and owes Ned and Catelyn. So, with one last look back at the village, he gets himself into gear, and rides into the storm on the horizon.
As The Wall looms closer, and the night grows darker, Benjen starts to feel something like trepidation take root in his stomach. Faith knickers softly under him, and he gently shushes her, grip tightening on her reigns. They're about an hour or so out from The Wall, and the night feels oddly quiet. Something is wrong, he thinks, briefly, but he shakes the thought away before he can let it take root in him.
He tries to distract himself by thinking of Jon. He's Lord Commander, now! The thought does make Benjen smile with pride, because at the end of the day, he genuinely is proud of Jon, and he knows his nephew will be a good Lord Commander for The Wall. The whispers about him from the last village he'd been in will never be enough for Benjen to not be proud of his nephew, because he is, and will always be, his family. Nothing will get between that, no matter what oaths they've both sworn.
Jon will probably have a whole host of grievances to air out on Benjen, and he can't really blame him for that. And he'd take all of Jon's complaints and insults if it means he's finally back home, finally has some of his family in reach. If it means Jon isn't alone in the cold, alone in his watch any more. Starks should stay together, and Benjen thinks it's time one of them tries to make it that way.
He remembers the first time he came to The Wall, too. He'd been a little older than Jon was, wrapped up in his furs, snow making his cheeks flush red. It had looked unreal, all those years ago, but now it looks like home with every step closer he and Faith get to it. The Wall was his home, for so many years, and it's been too long since he last was upon it. But he swore an oath, and with Winter so close, it's time he returns to his post at last. I am The Watcher on The Wall.
His sense of something being wrong gets worse, though, when no one is atop the gate to see him in and confirm who he is. He frowns, dismounting Faith and stepping forward, pressing a hand against the gate. It swings open ever so slightly, and he frowns at the oversight, glancing once more at the empty post. Silently, he leads Faith in, and hitches her up in the stables, which are empty as well. Rubbing her nose, he feeds her some food, and glances around, on high alert now.
Voices outside draw his attention. Sticking to the shadows, he enters the courtyard to see Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh, and Othell Yarwyck standing around, a collection of ten or so men with them. He frowns, hand on his blade, something telling him that something is very wrong. And then he sees him, on the steps, coming down into the courtyard, eyes wide and curious, led by a young boy.
"Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome last full moon," Thorne tells him, and Benjen goes still. He hasn't been North of The Wall in months. He doesn't like that look in Thorne's eyes, and even as Jon points out that this man could be lying, Thorne presses the issue. "Could be. There's ways to find out."
"Where is he?" Jon asks, pushing forward through the crowd. Benjen sees it a half second before Jon does, and he's drawing his sword not a moment later, rushing towards his nephew, a single yell of warning on his lips.
A sign reading Traitor. That's what both he and Jon have seen. Jon whirls, and Thorne's got a knife in hand, moving towards him. Benjen shouts Jon's name, and his nephew dodges, but not fast enough. Thornes blade slams into his belly, and Jon makes a choked noise, but Benjen is there, now.
He lashes out at Thorne first, slicing his arm deeply. Thorne curses and turns away, disappearing into the fray, shouting orders. Benjen looks at Jon, and their eyes meet for a brief moment. Jon starts to say his name, but Benjen cuts him off with a single order. "Get your wolf!" Jon, looking dazed, nods, and starts to limp towards where Ghost is, but is blocked by one of the…the mutineers.
I will not let Jon die as Jeor did, Benjen vows. Surrounded by mutineers. He snarls, and rushes past where Jon is, slamming into the mutineer with full force. His blade kisses the man's neck, and he's on his feet a second later, blood all over his blade and clothes now. Thorne is nowhere to be found, Marsh and Yarwyck too. The Others take them all! Benjen thinks dangerously.
The mutineers beat him back, and Benjen grits his teeth against his onslaught, needing allies, and needing them now. He glances wildly around, and yells, at the very top of his lungs, "The Lord Commander is under attack!" Someone spits at him, and he is the next to fall, Benjen's blade having pierced through his chest.
The Wall is going to run with blood for this, Benjen thinks viciously. The snow is already being stained with it, and he will not let this all go unanswered, so help him. This is treason. This is mutiny. And Benjen will see them all dead before he lets any man who stood here and played a part in this mummer's farce go free. Again he thinks, The Others take them all!
More shouts join the fray. Some other black brothers come pouring from the main keep, eyes wild and wide. They join the fray next to Benjen, and he gets the chance to look for Jon. He's nearly to Ghost now, leaking blood all the way over, limping heavily, and bleeding more than Benjen likes, but he's alive. Shoving away a mutineer for the others to deal with, Benjen starts making his way to Jon.
But freezes as the boy who led Jon down cuts his path off. There's a cold look on his face, a look Benjen knows all too well. The boy hates Jon, in one way or another, and Benjen sees the knife a moment too late. He opens his mouth, trying to warn Jon again, but before he can, before he can save Jon, the boy makes his choice–
–And the boy shoves his knife into Jon's heart.
Benjen freezes. The whole world seems to hold its breath for a moment, and Benjen's vision fills with the sight of Jon's wide and terrified eyes, the betrayal and the pain on his face making him look just that much younger. The wolf is barking. His heart is hammering in his chest, drowning out all sound. The boy takes the knife out, and Jon falls to the floor, blood pooling out of him.
Benjen shouts, feeling entirely unlike himself. The boy looks at Benjen as he comes running towards him, and for the briefest moment, his vision fills with the sight of terrified eyes, before he slashes out with his own blade, and the boy falls to the floor, dead before he hits the white snow. Benjen heaves for breaths, staring at the blood-soaked snow for a moment before looking to where Jon lies, inches away from the door. He drops his sword and rushes to Jon.
His eyes are wide, unfocused, and darting around every which way as Benjen comes to his side. He tries to say something, but it comes out more like a gurgle, and Benjen sniffs, shushing Jon softly as he holds him gingerly in his arms. Jon scrambles for a hold on him, and even as shouts rise around him, and footsteps draw closer, Benjen's focus is only on the boy in his arms. The boy that Thorne tried to kill. The boy that was killed by another boy who lies dead in the snow, with no one left to mourn him.
"No, no, no, please," Benjen pleads softly, tears running down his face. No, no, no, how many times do I have to beg this world to let me keep someone before I actually get to? He's lost all of his siblings. He's lost his parents. Jon's going to be the first of his siblings to die, and it's all going to be because Benjen has never been fast enough to save the people he loves.
Jon is but a boy, really. He should have been allowed to live a life outside this decrepit wall. He should be with his siblings, laughing with snow in his hair, the wolves all around them. He should be at Robb's shoulder, smiling softly, watching the younger ones train and learn and grow. He should be home safe, but now he's dying in Benjen's arms as snow falls gently all around them. Benjen is half tempted to stay here and let the cold take him, let the snow become their shroud and bury them both.
They'd branded him a traitor, Benjen remembers. Slowly, he curls himself over Jon, holding him closely as Jon's life fades from him, as his nephew slips through his fingers and disappears into the wind. Benjen's whole body shakes, but from the cold or the grief, he does not know.
Jon breathes his last. Someone swears softly and Benjen sobs, holding Jon close, rocking him ever so slightly. His blood is on Benjen's clothes, hidden amongst the black, but he can see it glimmering ever so slightly in the evening light. Voices surround him. The door is rattling, and Benjen looks at it with red-rimmed eyes, body shaking violently.
"Get the wolf," he says, voice rough. The men do not move, and he looks up at them properly then. Five men in black, and a Southern-looking man in roughspun clothes. He vaguely recognises some of the men as the training recruits that had been in Jon's batch, men who had not liked his nephew and his…arrogance. And now they're the first to his defence. Benjen speaks again, words forced out of his chest. "The Wolf."
They comply this time, staring at Benjen like they've seen a ghost. And speaking of Ghosts, Jon's wolf bounds out of the pen the second he's let free, coming to Jon's side instantly. He keens mournfully, licking at Jon's face and Benjen's hand, and then he throws his head back and howls. The sound echoes in the night, and Benjen sobs again, holding Jon tighter. Something buts at his back.
Benjen turns, startled as he sees the other two wolves. He cannot be certain, having not spent much time with any of his nieces' and nephews' wolves, but the two of them look like the girls ' wolves. Sansa and Arya, who went South with Ned. Sansa is in Winterfell, a prisoner in her own home. Who knows where Arya is? And here are their wolves, a thousand leagues from King's Landing, whimpering mournfully around Jon.
Someone tries to draw closer, but Ghost stops their approach with a low growl. The girls tense, surrounding Jon and Benjen with their bodies, glaring at the men in black and the Southerner as they stare at them. They've no doubt recognised Benjen, recognised friend from foe. But the wolves do not seem keen on anyone else being around Jon.
Benjen sighs, and speaks softly. "Ghost, down," he says, and after a moment, Ghost concedes, circling around so he's crouched next to Jon's head, looking at the Southerner as he approaches. Benjen stares at the men with red-rimmed eyes, lip quivering with held-back anger. The man glances down at Jon, and then at Benjen, and he sees the pieces start to click in his mind.
"Ser Davos Seaworth," he says, nodding at Benjen. "I presume you are Benjen Stark, former and presumed dead First Ranger? The Lord Commander's Uncle?" Benjen nods, and he hears the men start to murmur. Davos, on his part, does not look comforted by the confirmation, glancing again between the body in Benjen's arm and his face. He knows how similar they look. How similar to Ned Jon has always looked. If he looks at Jon, Ned will stare back up at him, dead.
"We need to get him inside," One of the men says hesitantly, a dour-faced man with a pinched expression. Benjen vaguely recognises him as a ranger, but his name evades him at the moment. The Ranger meets Benjen's eyes, and with a surprising amount of mettle and strength, he continues. "Can you take him inside, Lord Stark?"
Benjen nods, and after a moment of brief hesitation, picks Jon up in his arms, and climbs the stairs, the wolves following behind him, silent and large.
It's a rush of noises as they get into Jon's chambers. One of the men, the dour-faced ranger, shoves everything off of Jon's desk, and Benjen puts Jon down then, standing over him, shaking in his boots from the force of the emotions he's trying to reel in. The man who shoved everything off the desk comes around, breath shaking as he brushes Jon's still bleeding wounds, before brushing his eyes closed, leaving a blood streak on Jon's face.
"Thorne did this," The man says, and Benjen nods, hand curling into a fist. He glances around the room, at the four other black brothers, at Ser Davos Seaworth, and then at Benjen. His lip curls, and he glances at two of the men again, the ones Benjen remembers training with Jon. He thinks he knew all of these men's names at one point or another, but they've escaped him now.
"Lord Stark–"
"Jon Snow was Thorne's Lord Commander," He growls, and the whole of the room goes silent. "He is a traitor to The Watch. Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck were there too. They are traitors too. They will die like traitors." Benjen closes his eyes briefly, thoughts of Ned crossing his mind. What had Howland's boy said? Your brother was arrested for treason against the throne, following the death of King Robert Baratheon. His son, Joffery, had him brought to the Sept of Baelor, where your brother was executed for treason against the realm.
They made a sign that called Jon a traitor. They tried to kill him, they did kill him. Traitor to the Realm. Benjen feels sick. His stomach is rolling, his vision beginning to swim with unshed tears. The men are looking at him for answers, but he's coming up empty. There are no answers for him to give. There's nothing left of him here.
"How many of your brothers can you trust?" Ser Davos asks the man, who looks around briefly, before scoffing loudly.
"Trust?" He frowns. "The Men in this room." He glances at Benjen. "Introductions are in order, I think. You are Benjen Stark, First Ranger, yes?" Benjen nods, and the man smiles grimly. "Eddison Tollet. This is Grenn, Pyp, Rory, and Horse. We're the last of the men loyal to him. Rest of 'em Jon sent away to garrison castles along The Wall. You've met Ser Davos."
"You were Stannis Baratheon's right-hand man," Benjen says. The man nods. "The Onion Knight. Freed Stannis Baratheon and Storm's End with your ships and your onions during the rebellion. My brother mentioned you, once. Heard more about you once Stannis started holding court up here."
"Stannis is dead, then?" Davos says, sounding grieved but unsurprised by the news.
Benjen nods. "Last I heard, he and his men got caught in the snow. Then those traitorous Bolton cunts finished the job. I've stayed far from Winterfell, though." He shakes his head, glaring at the wall to the room, trying to gather his thoughts. He'd spent one night in a village, after the first one, before he hit the Gift, but that had been enough for him to hear of the fate of the Baratheon King, and gossip about Jon. Stannis very well may have been dead when Benjen killed the Bolton soldier.
Not wanting to think more of Southern Kings or Winterfell and who lies there now, he glances at the three wolves in the corner. The girls are on either side of Ghost, a sort of protection for their older brother, and feels his heart stutter in his chest. That should be Jon, Sansa, and Arya.
He opens his mouth to say more, but a knock comes. The men draw their swords as Benjen whirls, glaring at the door as an unfamiliar, distinctly feminine, voice comes through. "Ser Davos," she says, and everyone looks at The Onion Knight. After a moment, he nods, and Edd goes to the door, opening it and letting a woman dressed in red come in.
She stands on the opposite side from Benjen, looking down at Jon with a sad expression. "I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell," she says softly, brushing her fingers over his wounds. Her face screws up in pain as they come away bloody.
"I can't speak for the flames, but he's gone," Davos says softly, glancing at Benjen as he does. He closes his eyes briefly, fighting back another sob as it rises, leaning heavily against the table. Davos glances around the room, eyes hardening. The men look back at him with the same expression, and Benjen furls his hands into fists, the silent agreement passing between them.
The Red Woman is looking at Benjen though, surprised. He meets her gaze, lip curling as she says, "You are Benjen Stark, son of Rickard Stark, brother to Eddard Stark. The Lord Commander's uncle. The former First Ranger of The Night's Watch." He nods to all of it, not trusting himself to speak and not sob as he does. "I am Melisandre of Asshai."
"Stannis Baratheon's Red Witch," he grinds out, teeth gritted against the tears that threaten to rip out of him. But there is no time for it now. The Wall is going to run with blood for this, he thinks again, and that dark promise is the only stability he has left. He will make them pay for what they did. He will coat his sword with blood. Suddenly, he remembers he left his blade out there. He dropped it after he killed the boy. It's probably been buried by the snow at this rate. "I know who you are."
She nods at him, and continues. "Thorne is holding court, right now. I do not know if he knows you are here, Lord Stark."
"He doesn't," Benjen promises grimly. "If he knew it was me who stopped him, he'd already be banging at the door." He curls his fingers in, and shakes, the sobs threatening to tear him apart.
"He'll have seen that we didn't come," Davos says darkly, glancing around the room with a tired look. "Thorne will have made it official: Castle Black is his. It will not be long before he is coming for all of us, demanding we hand Lord Snow's body over. What do you plan to do then, Lord Stark?"
Benjen doesn't answer. Edd does speak up though, voice dripping with utter vitriol. "I don't care who's sitting at The High Table." He glances at Jon's body, voice shaking. The rest of Jon's men, his friends, look just angry, just as sick at the sight. But it's Edd who speaks for them all as he says, "Jon was my friend. And those fuckers butchered him. Now we return the favour."
"We don't have the numbers," Davos says. Five men, a knight, and an old wolf will not be enough to stand against Thorne, against The Watch who has no leaders left but Thorne. This will throw The Watch into chaos, and Thorne seems to be trying to rise above it all. He always wanted to be Lord Commander. Benjen could never find fault with it until now.
"We have three direwolves," Edd says, jerking his head towards the wolves. At some point, Ghost had left his two sisters, and now he stands next to Benjen, whimpering softly as he noses Jon's hand. Benjen buries his hand in Ghost's soft white fur, and speaks up.
"It's not enough," he says coldly. All eyes look at him. "None of it will be enough."
"I didn't know Lord Commander Snow for long," Davos says after a moment. "But I have to believe he wouldn't have wanted his friends to die for nothing. His friends, or his uncle, or those wolves."
"If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room," Edd says coldly, voice bright with unrelenting anger. Jon's friends nod, and he continues. "We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go." The men nod, and Davos looks troubled, but they all look at Benjen. He says nothing, staring at the bleeding wounds.
"We need to fight, yes," Davos says in the silence, glancing around. "But we don't need to die. Not if we have help." Edd tilts his head at the man, and Benjen looks at him curiously. "You're not the only ones who owe their lives to Jon Snow." They all glance around, and again, everyone looks at Benjen.
"What?" He asks bitterly.
"You're the closest thing we have left to a true Lord Commander," One of Jon's other friends, Grenn, pipes up. His voice is hoarse, his eyes bloodshot. "You're more First Ranger than Thorne ever was. If we…do you know what Jon did? Why everyone was so pissed at him?"
"Jon brought Wildlings through The Wall," he says, looking away. He'd heard about that in the tavern, and spent the rest of the ride through The Gift trying to figure out how to ask why. "Yes, I know."
"They owe their lives to him," Grenn continues. Benjen nods, swallowing tightly. "If Edd brings them here, it has to be on orders. We can't throw our own revolt without someone of stable power backing us up. It has to be you, Lord Stark–"
"Don't call me that!" Benjen shouts. The Wolves whimper, and he inhales deeply, shaking his head and pursing his lips. "I'm not Lord Stark. That was my brother. That was my nephew. I am First Ranger, but just call me Benjen, please. My brother is Lord Stark. Robb is Lord Stark." And one's gone and the other is a prisoner, last I heard. He shakes his head again.
Grenn and Pyp exchange a look at that, and after a moment, Pyp speaks up, drawing closer. There's a nasty scar across his jaw, and a haunted look in his eyes as he stands over Jon. When he speaks, his voice is soft. "When Jon got the news of your brother's death…he tried to desert. He wanted to be with his brother, Robb, so badly. We brought him back here, where he belonged. But I've never forgotten how he looked, after he found out." He meets Benjen's eyes, and he knows, suddenly, that the boy is seeing Jon in him now. The same grief.
Benjen inhales shakily. It's the most Jon thing he thinks he's ever heard. But he should have been there. He should have been the one riding out after Jon, pulling him into a hug as he sobbed, holding his family close as Ned was torn from them all. He should have been there to stop Jon from doing something suicidal like that, been there to get him drunk so neither of them had to think about all that they'd lost.
But he wasn't there. He was dying in the snow. He was being told of wonders by The Children of the Forest. He was hunting the Army of the Dead. Surely Thorne has heard of them now? How could he have heard of what is coming and thought to throw The Watch even further into disarray? How could he betray Jon like this? How could he think himself better than all the rest, able to commit that treason and never have repercussions knock at his door?
He can picture how Jon would have looked. How hard he would have tried to fight, needing to be with Robb again. Maybe if Benjen was here, he wouldn't have tried to run. Maybe it would have been enough for him to not be alone, to not be trapped here with no one left to understand him. What would have Robb even done, if Jon showed up as a deserter who he'd be expected to kill? Could Robb have even done it?
He looks at Edd, and nods. "Go," he says. "Bring them here. We will hold The Wall until you return, as best we can." He glances at the door again. "But Thorne will not wait long for us. He will burn the dead outside, first, and then he will come to us. You must be quick. We have a day and a half, at most." Winter is Coming, he thinks to say, but he doesn't. It will mean nothing to them, really. It would mean everything to Jon. An unspoken oath has always lived in those words for their House.
Winter is Coming. The promise of the cold. The promise of something to stand against, to face, to beat. They were the Kings of Winter, once. The Wall was made by Brandon the Builder. Both he and Jon share the same blood. The Blood of the First Men. The Blood of Wolves.
He watches Edd go with unwarranted and selfish anticipation, knowing that Jon's friends will want to be at his side as much as he does, but not wanting anyone but himself here. He is Jon's uncle, his blood, his family, the man who failed to protect him. Just like Brandon and Father and Lyanna, he thinks, wishing not for the first time that he just hadn't raised the alarm. Maybe they all would have lived. Maybe Jon wouldn't be on this table, dead to the world but still so alive in his heart.
Davos seems to pick up on it, though, ushering Jon's friends and what few truly loyal men there are left to The Watch into an adjacent room, with a muttered, "Give 'em space" for explanation. Melisandre leaves too, silent as the grave. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Benjen wants to thank the man, but the words are stuck on his throat, now that he's alone with his nephew's corpse.
He looks so much like Ned. He's older than Ned was, even, when Robert's Rebellion came crashing through, older than Lyanna or Benjen or Brandon or any of them were when everything changed. He looks like Ned did, in those early years, when Benjen was still trying to survive the Ghosts of Winterfell, when there was only one heir and a single Bastard in their home. Jon's only…what…Twenty-Three?
The tears come quickly and hotly, and Benjen feels, more than anything else, the sob as it just about rips out of him, making him weak in the knees. He leans heavily on the desk that has become Jon's altar, the desk that holds his nephew whose father asked him to look out for. Ned had wanted to protect Jon, and Benjen should have wanted that too, but he let himself run wild, chasing nightmares.
Jon wants to join The Watch, Ned had told him, knowing that Benjen would already know, most likely. Even then, he'd continued on, looking haunted, and not for the first time, Benjen wishes his brother told him the secret he so desperately guarded. Look out for him, please, Benjen. He has his own suspicions, of course. But he doesn't want them to be true. Because that means he's lost her too, by his own mistakes.
I should have turned back the second I knew Jeor was dead, he thinks miserably, sobbing softly, heart hammering in his chest. I should have come home for him, I should have kept him safe. I should have done what Ned asked of me, I should have told him to never go South, like Father and Brandon and Lyanna did. I should have died instead of him. I should have had to shoulder Winter, not Jon. He's just a boy, and I let him die. I never should have left The Wall while he was still here.
"I'm sorry," he croaks out, brushing a curl from Jon's face away. He's so cold. Ned and Lyanna's bones lay beneath Winterfell, now, but there will be no crypt for Jon Snow, bastard as he is. Not with Winter coming. If this all fails, if there is no way to right this wrong, no way to get Jon back, Benjen will have to burn his nephew. All he wants to do is run away with him and never look back.
"I'm so sorry, Jon," he repeats, and then he's saying half a hundred apologies, cradling Jon's face as he leans over it and weeps. To Ned, and to Lyanna, and to Brandon, and to his father, to all the children, to Catelyn. In the corner, Ghost keens mournfully once more, and Benjen knows that he will never forget how the wolf had howled, so unlike himself, when he saw what had become of Jon. "I'm so sorry, Ned. I couldn't protect him. I'm so sorry."
Ned can't hear him. Ned is dead and gone, the last of his childhood ripped from his hands, like everything else. Jeor always let him go to Winterfell when he could make an excuse to, understanding Starks and their needs more than anyone else really ever tried to. He wonders what he did when Jon learned. What other foolish, reckless things Jon might have done, young as he was? He wonders if Jeor ever cursed him for not sticking around like he should have.
Sansa's wolf, Lady, gets up then, coming to press herself to Benjen's side. He buries his hand in her fur and weeps openly, shoulders shaking as he tries to look away from the horrible sight in front of him, but finds no strength to do so. If he looks away from Jon now, would he not be betraying him too? He should look upon Jon, let the sight of what they did to him drive him to vengeance, drive him to blood.
Lady whimpers softly. Benjen turns to her and buries his face in her fur, arms around her neck. She's gotten so big, and for not the first time, he wonders how the girls' wolves got here. He wonders if they know that their wolves are here, if they have the dreams. Bran had called himself a warg. Could that not have been passed onto all of Ned's children, a pack of young wargs with their wolves the size of horses? An army of fur and steel and flaming hair and dark eyes. The thought makes him smile, ever so slightly, buried in Lady's fur.
He does not know how long he stays there, face buried in Lady's fur, shoulder shaking, tears leaking out of him at a slow but constant pace. There's a hole where his heart should be. Something in him died when that foolish boy put a knife in Jon's heart. A boy no older than Bran, and only now does Benjen feel some inch of guilt for what he did, for how that boy had died in the snow like Jon. But why did he deserve to live when Jon didn't? What right does anyone have to live when no one else does?
Voices at the door float past him. Benjen is drifting between real and unreal, nothing keeping him here anymore. He thinks he hears Thorne, maybe, and Davos is speaking with him. The room is tense, but Benjen still holds vigil at Jon's side, dead to the world. The Day bleeds by.
But then there is a knock at the door. The wolves perk up, and Benjen comes back to himself then. Davos eyes it warily and glances at Benjen, who frowns. "It's me," Comes the Red Woman's voice, and Davos opens the door after a moment, and in she comes, looking haggard, looking as grief-stricken as she did earlier. Benjen curls his fingers into Lady's fur.
"May I speak to Benjen Stark alone for a moment, Ser Davos?" She asks, voice melodic and soft. Again, The Onion Knight looks at Benjen, and after a moment of deliberation, he once again nods. Her gaze scans him for a long moment, taking stock of him, and then she too pulls up a chair, sitting within his view on the other side of Jon.
"What do you want from me?" He asks, not in the mood for Southern Games or cryptic words. Lady licks his hand once, and then goes back to the pile that is her brother and her sister, fitting perfectly between the two. Benjen watches them with a pang in his heart, only half noticing how long Melisandre has stretched the silence. He doesn't care. Let her think. Let him suffer.
"I saw Jon Snow in the flames," she tells him, like he didn't already hear her say that, like he's not trying to ignore what that means for who Jon was becoming. Who he could have been. "A great battle in the snow, a battle outside of Winterfell. Fire and snow, a great darkness. A charging army, a wolf the colour of the night, The Stark Banner flying over Winterfell once more. I have never once been wrong. Everything I have ever seen has happened."
"Must be nice," He mutters. "To know what's coming. To never make a mistake. To never be wrong." He smiles ruefully. "Most men would kill for that chance. I know I would. If but just to try and change what I've seen."
"I have made mistakes," she confesses, after a moment, heaving a great sigh. He glances up at her, interest suddenly piqued. "More mistakes than I can count. They will come for me, someday, but I…I never thought that Jon Snow was one of those mistakes. For so long, all I have seen in the flames is Snow. Falling. Consuming. Burying the dead. Suffocating." My sword is still out there, he remembers.
Benjen hangs his head. Forgets how to breathe. Any proud father (or uncle) will always think that their children would change the world. And Benjen was no different, with any of them. He'd look at his nieces and his nephews and feel this tug in his gut that never failed to make him smile, because it told him that he was looking at world shapers. And now…
"There is a magic that some of us who follow The Lord of Light are blessed with," She tells him, closing her eyes as pain washes over her face. "The Magic to bring back the dead. I do not know if I have this power. But if I do…if by some chance I can bring Jon Snow back to you…"
Could Benjen do it? Could he bring Jon home, tear him from whatever lies beyond this world? Rip him from Ned and from Lyanna and from Brandon and a chance at some inch of happiness in a world outside of this? Some hint of warmth? Could Benjen take that all from him on the word of a strange priestess and the visions she says she has seen, and his own selfish desires to not have ruined everything in one fell swoop?
"I don't know," he says honestly, scrubbing his face from tears. He looks at the door, and for a moment, he's living in that fight again. His sword is carving space between him and Thorne. The coward is running. The Traitor sign is hanging. The boy is shoving his knife into Jon. The boy is dying in the snow, and Jon is dying in his arms, and he's begging Jon to stay with him, please.
He looks at Jon again, and smiles despite his tears. "He looks like Ned. It always shocks me how much he looks like my brother. For a moment, before Thorne tried to put his knife in his heart, I thought I was seeing my brother again, coming home from the war with our sister's bones and Jon as a babe. For a moment, I thought the Gods had given me my brother back. And then I saw the sign. They both died named traitors when all they were doing was trying to protect the realm."
He smiles ruefully, hands balling into mirrored fists. "I promised Ned that I'd look after him. I nearly died in the snow, but The Children brought me back. I know your Red God doesn't…but it was The Children of the Forest who saved me. I know that. They kept me here, and for their kindness, what did I do? Hide. Cower. Chase nightmares and chase dreams and never do what I should have. And right when I decided to, the Gods punished me for all that I had left behind."
"The gods seek to test us all," She says, softly, rising slowly and pressing two fingers to Jon's brow. If Benjen closes his eyes, if he squints, maybe he'll hallucinate a subtle rise and fall of Jon's chest. Maybe Jon will just be sleeping, and he'll open his eyes soon enough, and smile at Benjen. Then probably yell and sulk, because where the hell have you been, but Benjen would take Jon's shouts and his anger if it meant Jon was breathing.
"I don't pretend to understand. I don't know about the Children. I don't know half as much as I should about The North, and I see that now. But I know what I saw, in those flames. I know what I have always seen, I know what it might have meant." She looks at Jon again, a soft, gentle expression on his face. "Jon Snow was a good man. Better than anyone here deserved. Better than anyone could have ever let him be."
"He was," Benjen agrees, and he nods mutely after a moment as well, running a hand through his hair, and closing his eyes. His body aches, his heart is hammering, and nothing feels real anymore. He could have been faster. He never was fast enough to catch people as they slipped through his hands, never to come back to him. No one ever comes back, in the end. What could this woman do to rewrite that? To change it all? What can anyone do to turn over death?
And now his watch has ended, he thinks. He should just say the damned words. Make it real, once and for all. Stop holding onto his foolish notions of rebirth and red gods and a chance to right all that he ever did wrong. But it will not come. So Benjen lays his head against the wall, and thinks, Now my watch begins.
Sleep does not come easily. Melisandre sits in her own silent vigil. By dusk, Benjen has slept little, and his eyes are heavy with half-awake dreams, distant memories of warmth and laughter just around a corner, forever out of sight, eternally out of his reach, no matter how fast he runs to try and catch up to the sound. Benjen is always too late, in the end.
Footsteps outside the door. Benjen looks up.
"Ser Davos," a knock at the door, and a voice calls through the thick wood. Benjen goes still at the familiar sound, and after a moment, Davos comes into the room from the anteroom, followed by Edd and Jon's other friends and last remaining allies. Benjen vaguely recalls Thorne coming earlier, but his head had been abuzz. Now, he's all too well aware of who stands on the other side.
The Wolves are on their feet, growling. Every single person in the room is looking at Benjen, and he knows, remembers, suddenly, that Thorne hadn't gotten a good look at him. If he had, if he'd realised it was Benjen who cut through him like a wild beast, there would have been no false meetings. Thorne would have stormed in and killed him, knowing there was no winning a fair fight.
Benjen stands slowly. Jon's sword is leaning against the wall, where he left it last. He fastens it to his belt. Thorne is warning them all on the other side, and Benjen pauses for only a moment, to let it wash all over him. A sword at his side. Men behind him. Three growling wolves. There will be no fair fight for either of them. Benjen will not play fair, because Thorne never would have if he knew he was here. He will not give a man who tried to shove a knife in his Lord Commander's heart the mercy, the privilege, of that.
And so Benjen opens the door.
He'll wonder, later on, how exactly he looked in that moment, the light behind him, in black clothes as dark as night, with his Northern looks and Northern Cold. Did he look like a Wolf, snarling at the door, with blood already on his muzzle, guarding the last of his pack that was in reach of him? Did he look like a ravaged uncle, heartbroken but made better for it? Or a Man of the Night's Watch, loyal to the end? Was his expression angry, or just endlessly cold, and which would be worse to look upon?
Thorne takes a half step back. There had been no chance for him to get a good look at Benjen, and he knows that he's been thought dead for years now. That's why Thorne was named First Ranger, to replace Benjen, that's why he thought he had the power to do what he did, or so he thinks he heard Pyp whisper to his friends. But Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, lives, and Ser Alliser Thorne is a traitor. They both know who has a better hold on the title.
"Benjen," Thorne breathes, and he doesn't think he's ever seen that man so afraid. For a moment, it's disquieting, and there's the barest thought in him that he should stop whatever he's doing. But then he remembers Jon. Remembers Ned. Remembers how Jon had looked at that boy who stabbed him, before Benjen had killed the boy too. The utter horror and betrayal. Any sympathy he has is buried in the snow and dead. Winter is Coming. The weak and the cowardly will freeze. The strong outlast.
Benjen lunges, heart roaring in his ears, tears freezing on his cheeks. The snow is falling softly, and a thousand images are in his mind. Jon, with snow in his hair. Ned, smiling as they said goodbye, looking, for the briefest moment, like nothing more than Benjen's big brother. Lyanna, riding wild and free ahead, hair trailing behind her, snow on the ground. Brandon rubbing the snow from his hair and then from Benjen's. His father's voice. Winter is Coming.
Thorne shouts, followed by many others, but Benjen collides with him before he can grab his sword, raining down punch after punch, vicious kick after vicious kick, pressing Thorne against the railing to the balcony, against the wall. Anywhere he can get him. It's cruel. It's vicious. The wolf blood runs hot and wild in his veins, a hundred images flashing by him at breakneck speed.
Jon, atop The Wall, that quiet look of understanding dawning in his eyes. Ned, coming home all those years ago with a babe and their sister's bones. Lyanna, when he last saw her, smiling softly at him, like she knew some secret he did not, that he never could know. Brandon, looking up at Benjen from the courtyard and smiling widely, a promise that he'd return soon on his lips, father at his side. Three graves in a darkened crypt.
Bowen Marsh and Othell Yarwyck try to get to Benjen, but Benjen pulls out Jon's sword and slashes out at them, bellowing out across the courtyard a single word to condemn them all. "Traitors!" His voice shakes, but his conviction does not waver, as he finds the strength to speak, Jon's sword glimmering in the last traces of the evening light, voice a snarl. "You betrayed your Lord Commander! You are a traitor, and will die as one!"
"He would have led us to ruin!" Thorne shouts back, holding true to the last. That, at least Benjen can appreciate, somewhere in the back of his mind, but at the moment, all he's truly aware of is his anger. Half of Thorne's face is red, dripping blood, the colour of The Weirwood trees. Father, sitting at the base of one. Ned, too. The Knight of the Laughing Tree. Marsh and Yarwyck are yelling, so many people are yelling, the voices rush around Benjen.
"He was your Lord Commander!" Benjen shouts back, feeling wild, feeling untethered. Jon had been the one person whose location and safety he'd been sure of, and with Jon ripped from his hands by these traitors, all of Benjen's family are in the wind, gone for how long? He does not want to know. "Your Lord Commander! And you butchered him like a damned dog!"
"What do you know, Benjen?!" Thorne shouts back, eyes as wild as Benjen feels. "What do you know of his choices, his mistakes? What do you understand of The Wall, now? You both cut and run the second you could! You were dead, and now you aren't! That looks like desertion to me!"
"I know that Jon Snow was your Lord Commander, rightfully and lawfully elected. I know that to shove your knife in your Lord Commander's heart is treason, or was, once upon a time, when there was still honour and justice left in this world. I know that if there had been a Stark in Winterfell, you never would have dared to do this, and that means you know what you were doing was wrong, in some way." Benjen says, voice shaking more and more with each word, growing louder and louder until he's shouting.
"I know that Winter is Coming! I have seen what lies beyond The Wall, Thorne, and if you spend your time committing treason and murdering a man who has seen what I have, you will be the first to fall when Winter comes! None of this matters, Thorne! Wildling, Night's Watch, Northerner, Southerner. The Army of the Dead is coming, and it is you who has damned us all by killing your Lord Commander and throwing The Wall into disarray at the eleventh hour!"
And when Winter comes for us, there must be a Stark in Winterfell, his father told him once. He himself thinks, grimly, that when Winter comes, it will be another Hour of the Wolf. The Starks are the only power in Westeros that can lead the charge against the cold, for it is in their veins, in their blood. Just as Cregan Stark ruled King's Landing after the fall of Aegon, a Stark must rule the Dark as The Long Night casts its shadow over them all.
But Thorne, to his credit, was not raised on the grim platitudes of a House that had lasted a hundred generations. He was not raised here in The North, and Benjen will not deny his experience in handling Winters, but it is one thing to see Winter, and another to be a descendant of the Kings of Winter. And now it is coming, and the blood is spread far across The North, drenching the snow, making it all red.
Thorne squares his jaw at Benjen and glares with a level of vitriol that almost surprises him. Benjen's hand flexes on the pommel of Jon's blade, a shudder rippling through him as the wind picks up around him, sending his hair flapping. For a long moment, Benjen and Thorne stare off, anger saying all that they cannot for them.
For a moment, Benjen does not see the things he's lost. Brandon's laughter fades. Lyanna's smile does not fill his mind. Ned's weariness is not a barb in his heart. His father's voice no longer echoes in his ears. Jon's weight in his arms is forgotten. All he sees is the man who took something he cared about from him, the man who cannot see the true enemy. A man who doesn't understand what he's done.
Benjen raises his nephew's blade to kill Thorne. Something hammers in his heart, and over its roar, he hears his father's voice one more time, the voice of the Lord of Winterfell. He who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Benjen does not say the words, but calling Thorne a traitor is enough of a condemnation to him. But he does not get his chance, as a sudden pounding draws his attention away.
Benjen's breath catches in his throat as the gate breaks down and in pours the Wildlings, Edd at their front. Thorne snarls, and gets away before Benjen can stop him, flying down the stairs, even injured, and yelling at any man to listen to Fight, you cowards! But no one moves, and the two sides stare each other down. There's a giant amongst the Wildlings. Benjen feels a headache start to come in.
One brave man tries. He is dead not a breath later, and Benjen watches Thorne carefully then, watching as any hope he had fades like warmth in the dead of Winter. The men drop their weapons and back off, staring at the Wildlings with open apprehension. Benjen descends the steps, just as Edd comes up to Thorne, sword head steadily at throat height.
"You fucking traitor," Thorne spits, and Benjen stops in his tracks. Edd glances at him, a familiar look on his face. Benjen nods at him.
"The only traitors here are the men who shoved their knives into their Lord Commander's heart," Edd growls at Thorne, gesturing with his sword. Benjen squares his jaw as Grenn and Pyp take Thorne by his arms, and Edd steps back, giving Benjen the space to do what he needs to do. The Wildling at Edd's side, with flaming red hair, is looking at him with open curiosity but says nothing.
"Bring me a block," Benjen murmurs, his voice carrying over the deathly silent courtyard. He glances around and meets the Wildling's eyes for the briefest of moments. "Bind Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and Alliser Thorne's hands. I will not suffer traitors upon The Wall." People are murmuring now, and he hears his name multiple times, but he says nothing to it, resting on Jon's sword like he saw his father do with Ice a hundred times. It's The Mormont sword. Longclaw. He remembers now.
But his orders are not questioned. He is the closest thing they have to a Lord Commander now, with the rest of their leadership traitors, and their actual Lord Commander dead. Pyke and Malliser are miles away. No one here has half the experience he does. He is the obvious choice, even as Thorne struggles and curses them all out as his hands are bound.
They're hung, in most places. But Benjen wants to execute them in the Northern Way, execute them as he was raised to. He who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Thorne is brought forward first, and Benjen looks at him coolly. His struggling has let up, and while his face is fucked, his eyes still shine with anger. "If you have any final words," Benjen says, hands flexing, "Now is the time."
"I had a choice, Benjen: betray your nephew or betray the Night's Watch. He brought an army of wildlings into our lands. An army of murderers and raiders," Thorne says, heedless of how the Wildlings shift behind him. "If I had to do it all over knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choice again."
Benjen's lip curls. Thorne continues on. "I fought, I lost. Now I rest. But you, Benjen, you'll be fighting their battles forever."
Benjen nods, and says, echoing the words he's heard half a hundred times, "You betrayed your Lord Commander. You killed him. In the sight of Gods and Men, I, Benjen of the House Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, sentence you to die."
It's never been easier to put a sword through a man's neck. Marsh and Yarwyk are no less easy, and Benjen watches with narrowed eyes as the bodies are pulled away to be burned. Their blood is in the snow. Benjen's vision splits, and for one awful moment, he's holding Jon again. He's watching Ned come home alone save for a babe.
But the moment passes. The thoughts let him go. With one last long look at the blood, Benjen turns and climbs the stairs again, going towards where he left Jon. His nephew's friends and that red-haired Wildling follow silently, slipping past Ser Davos, who watched the proceedings from the Balcony. Once again, Benjen takes up his vigil next to Jon's body.
"Two knives," The Wildling murders. "I would have thought it would take more to kill Lord Crow."
"Well, next time I'll tell them to just keep shoving them in," Benjen mutters, glaring at the wall of the room, looking anywhere but the rest of the people in the room. The Wildling pauses, and Benjen can feel his gaze rake over him. He's probably been recognised already. It's just a question of what this man thinks of him. Of Starks.
"You're Benjen Stark. The Black Wolf, we call you," The Wildling says, voice gruff. Benjen nods, still glaring at the wall. Jon may have always been known for his bouts of brooding (always broken by Robb or Arya or even Sansa, on the rare occasion, but those days are long gone), but Benjen is no stranger to them either. The Wildling snorts. "You aren't half as pretty, but you look like him. Never expected The Black Wolf to be so…" he trails off.
"Don't call me that," he says, voice sharp, but lacking enough volume to really make it stick. The Wildling's eyes don't leave him, and he does not stop staring at the wall. You aren't half as pretty. Benjen's heart is seizing in his chest, tears springing into the corners of his eyes. Twenty years gone, and all the old wounds have been ripped right back open. He's on his feet a moment later, brushing out without a word.
For a moment, no one follows him, and he's free to lean against the railing and gasp into the frigid air, body shaking, grip on the railing white-knuckled. He's shaking very hard, and he knows that if any Maester saw him like this, he'd be dragged out of the cold and forced to breathe. But the cold forces him to face the facts, makes him remember that he is still alive, that he's living this nightmare.
But suddenly, he's not alone. He stares at the Wildling as he comes to stand next to him, arms crossed over his chest, looking out at the falling snow. "The first time I met your nephew," He says, and Benjen's face screws up, inhaling sharply, "He was our prisoner. And then he was one of us. And then he betrayed us and ran right back here."
Benjen nods. The Wildling continues. "He killed Mance, you know? That Fiery Southern King was burning him and Lord Crow put an arrow through his heart. He went with my people to Hardhome, saved what he could, and brought us South because he knew what was coming. He betrayed us, fought against us, and still, he let us through. He died for it. He died for us. That means a lot, you know?"
"I know it does," Benjen says, voice rough, hanging his head and wiping away a tear as it comes. "He's–He's so much like Ned, sometimes. He's always trying to do the right thing, always trying to save as many people as possible. But it falls apart when he loves someone. It all falls apart whenever one of us Starks loves someone too much."
"He loved a girl," The Wildling says, and Benjen stiffens, face screwing up in pain. "She died in his arms. He took her beyond your Wall, to the True North, where she belonged. Ygritte was good. When he betrayed us, it took everything in me to keep her back from him, to keep her away. I don't know what they had, but they loved each other." The Wildling looks at him oddly. "That doesn't bother you?"
"I know Jon was with you for a time," Benjen says, running his fingers over the railing, thinking of the three wolves in the room, holding their constant watch of Jon. "His brothers saw him. Sicced their wolves on you so Jon could leave, or so I heard from one of them." The thought of Bran is painful, too. He should have kept Bran here, dragged him back home, never let him go. But Benjen can't rewrite the past.
The Wildling makes a noise of surprise at that, and then laughs, the sound booming across the silent courtyard. A small smile graces Benjen's face, and he feels somewhat lighter. Tilting his head, he says, "You know my name. May I know yours?"
"Tormund. Tormund Giantsbane!" The Wildling, Tormund, says. Benjen knows that he'll certainly be regaled with the story of how he got that second name someday, but for now, Tormund continues on in other places. "We hear much about you, you know? The Stark of The Wall. You were a vicious beast, and then one day–" he snaps. "Gone. No more black wolf. Where did you go, crow?"
"I met the dead," Benjen says somberly. "I met Winter. All my life I have been raised on the same three words: Winter is Coming. And it nearly killed me. I ran into two of your folk, and they were gonna give me the mercy of death but…fate, it had other plans. The Children of the Forest found me. Nursed me to health. I hunted The Dead, hunted rumours, and once Stannis was gone, I decided it was time to come home with what I knew. And all I found on my homecoming was knives in the dark."
"Jon…he was strong," Tormund says, after a moment, voice much more subdued. "He could have had a good life with us. But I've learned that was never for him. He believed in you crows. He believed that there was a way to see Winter through, and he believed that there was a future to be made. And what did that get him? All his strength, his belief, his hope…traitors. Murder." He snorts. " Knives in the Dark. "
"I promised Ned I would protect him," Benjen says softly. "Look out for him please, Benjen. That's what my brother said to me before he went South to die. They're all dead, they're all gone. They all went South, and they all died. I have outlasted my father and my mother and all my siblings. My brother's children are scattered, maybe lost forever. I thought I could have Jon back. I couldn't. Winter is Coming, Winterfell is in the hands of traitors, and I will face this alone, it would seem."
The Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives, Benjen thinks. But what if there is no pack? What if it's all gone to the wind, what if none of us have anyone? Are we all fated to die, then, fated to be swallowed by Winter's second coming? What happens to the rest of Westeros, the rest of the World, if House Stark is extinguished by the season we were once Kings of?
Tormund glances back. "That Red Woman…They said she could bring Lord Crow back. I don't believe in Southern Magic. She burned Mance. But Jon Snow is our last hope against what is coming. We both have seen the Army of the Dead, have we not, Wolf? I think we owe it to him to try. Owe it to whatever guilt is rattling around in you."
Benjen hesitates. Will Jon forgive him, if he succumbs to his own selfish desire and brings him back? He knows part of it is his own selfish need to be able to think of his brother and not think of all the promises he's broken, all the ways he's failed the one thing he should have guarded above all else. But Jon…is Jon. He's got a role to play in all of this. The Red Woman said so herself. Benjen cannot refuse to try. He's not ready to let go.
So, with nothing left to say, Benjen nods, and they get to work.
The Red Woman orders them around. Benjen tries not to let his hammering heart distract him, doing what he's told with a single-minded focus. The Wolves are in the corner, their red and yellow eyes digging into him. He wonders where the girls are. He wants them to come home, wants to be able to wrap all his nieces and nephews in hugs and never let go. Benjen Stark knows he is a selfish man. There's nothing left to stop him from denying it, now.
She cuts Jon's hair. Benjen feels something twist in his stomach at the sight, remembering a younger boy who hated having his hair cut, whose older brother always poked at that and got an elbow in the gut for it. Laughter would ring and all would be forgiven, and soon enough, Jon's hair would be back to normal, and he'd look like himself again.
Let this work, please, Benjen begs to any god who will listen. The Red Witch tries, says words that mean nothing to him. They all stare at Jon, lifeless on the table. Tormund is the first to leave. Then his friends. With one last look at Benjen, Melisandre leaves too, looking defeated. Davos is the last to leave, saying nothing like all the rest, Benjen resumes his vigil, bowing his head and letting the tears come. In the corner, Ghost perks up…
notes:
-time skip again, lol. it's a little unclear, but the brunt of benjen's first chapter takes place around the end of s3 start of s4, and this chapter starts around the end of s5. so, a little under two years since the last chapter, but we're on the main timeline now. all other chapters have been filling the time between the two chapters, so now that it's over, everything is happening pretty much linearly. (for those wondering, it's been a little over 5 years from Robert's arrival in Winterfell)
-I was torn between when i wanted Thorne to kick the bucket, but i think it worked out, while still giving Benjen the time to be a little emo about Jon. Their relationship was obviously the real crux of this chapter but thorne and benjen have their own complex little thing going on too, which is fun
-but really, ben and jon. just. going insane! the guilt and the grief and the subtle little things. while obviously, benjen doesn't know the full truth about r+l=j, he's not an idiot. that little fact just added so much more to it all when i was writing this
-i use memory A LOT in my fics. it's one of my writer quirks, i'd say, but writing all those memories of benjen's, of his family of jon of everything, was one of the most rewarding times I've fallen back on that. past influencing the present, if you will.
-tormund and benjen was a TREAT. there's a lot more I've got left with the two of them, definitely, but i think its important that we show that tormund and benjen are both not the men they've been in the past. they're allies now, whether they like it or not, and id say that tormund likes jon enough that it'll extend to benjen in some way shape or form