CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE LONE WOLF III
A choosing is held upon the Wall. Two strangers and a wolf arrive at the Wall, bearing ill tidings and secrets long since held. Benjen finds his world being shaken up, and he makes a choice, but not before sending word to anyone who will listen.
While he knows the men are itching to get a new Lord Commander, Benjen, as chief man in charge of Castle Black finds it also crucial to make sure his two current peers–that being Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke–are informed of what has transpired and that a new choosing is to be held, now that Lord Commander Jon Snow has gone south under the banners of his father. Unfortunately, this had to be postponed, as Benjen did spend two and a half weeks using all his time to get Castle Black stable, first. The Lord Commander being killed in the courtyard like a common traitor did not do much to promote stability here.
But Benjen has a headache even thinking about the two of them being in the same room, and he wishes he had someone around to preach his woes to, but all there is for him is Jon's friends, who still all step on eggshells around him. He's not certain their first proper meeting, where he executed multiple men for treason and was all around a little off, did anything to make them not afraid of him. And Jeor and all his old friends are gone. Yoren, dead in The South. Marsh and Yarwyck, traitors. Old Maester Aemon, gone.
Cotter Pyke gets to Castle Black first, laughing boldly when he sees Benjen. "Ben!" He says, clasping their hands together and smiling his crooked smile. Benjen smiles back, a little more subdued, and Cotter sobers after a moment. He had, in his normal fashion, little to say in his dictated letter back to Castle Black, but Benjen knows that the news he shared is troubling. As is Benjen's return. "Let's get some drinks, how about it?"
The second the door is closed behind them both, Cotter whirls on Benjen, all propriety gone from him and looking downright unhinged as he starts speaking, "What the fuck happened here, Stark?" Benjen sighs tiredly, running a hand over his face as Cotter continues on his tirade. "First you show back up–which, by the way, where the fuck have you been? The Watch needed you. Then you write and say that Thorne, Marsh, and Yarwyck are dead and so was The Lord Commander–by their hands–but he's now alive again? You know how this all sounds, right?"
"I do, and I apologise for the brevity of my letter," Benjen says, handing Cotter a horn of ale. The man takes it heartily, sipping longly from it as Benjen continues. "Your first question entails a long story, but to keep it brief, here is where I have been, and what happened to me. I encountered The Others beyond The Wall, some five or six years past, now. I was gravely injured, but came upon the Children of the Forest." The Commander of Eastwatch-By-The-Sea's brows are nearly to his brow now, but Benjen continues, heedless.
"They saved my life, and I spent many long years surveying The North and trying to get an understanding of what we fight. But then I heard of the mutiny at Craster's Keep, and Jeor's murder. I fled south, unknowing of the fate that had befallen my house, and with the intention to send word to my brother. I did not get the chance to do so." He goes quiet for a moment. Cotter need not know of Bran, not in truth, but Benjen has a deep desire to spill all to anyone who will listen. He does not do so.
"I did get South, though. I gathered news of The North, and when I heard of Stannis Baratheon marshalling at Winterfell, Jon's appointment to Lord Commander, and that my niece had been married to Ramsay Bolton, I rode in haste to The Wall, to return to my post at last." He balls his hand into a fist, aware of how Cotter's eyes dig deep into him. "I watched Thorne put a knife in Jon. I watched a boy kill him, and I stood, unable to do anything. He died in my arms, Cotter."
The silence hangs for a very long moment. At long last, Benjen clears his throat, blinks away the rising tears and says, voice rough and raw, "They were all in on it, and now they are dead. Stannis Baratheon's Red Woman brought Jon back using the magic of her god, and my niece arrived not two days later. Jon has fulfilled his oath, and rides south now, alongside his sister, hoping to reclaim Winterfell from House Bolton. I have heard naught of their journey."
Cotter takes a generous sip of his ale, looking troubled. He sets the horn down and crosses his arms over his chest, before beginning to pace. "I'm planning to throw in with you, and if that preening cunt Malliser can stop admiring himself for long enough, my bets will be he does the same. The dead can't cross the waters, your nephew learned that well enough at Hardhome. But… there are whispers. Of a Horn of Winter. A horn that can bring down The Wall."
"I heard of it, beyond The Wall," Benjen agrees. "And Jon and the Wildings who went South with him are firm in their beliefs that it exists. But if it truly does, it is not in friendly hands. The Lands Beyond The Wall belong to The Army of the Dead now, and we have likely less than a year before they march upon us and bring The Wall down. Once they have the horn, all we can do is flee south."
Cotter snorts. "Then let's fucking hope Winterfell falls back into your house's hands," he says, but his face betrays his worry. "I've started pulling my rangers back because they keep not coming back. We'll all need to come to Castle Black, at some point, abandon Eastwatch and The Shadow Tower. We have to marshall in one place."
Benjen nods along but says nothing more. Cotter Pyke finishes his drink and dismisses himself, leaving Benjen to brood. But it does not last long, as within the hour, Denys Mallister arrives, hurrying into Benjen's study before he even gets a chance to get down to the courtyard, looking harried and worried.
Benjen passes on the same story he gave to Cotter to Denys, who says little and drinks even less. When his story is done, the long since Commander of the Shadow Tower hums, and strokes his beard in thought. "You're a good man, Ben. And I'd like a Stark on The Wall when Winter Comes. I resigned myself to The Shadow Tower when your nephew took up command, and I do it again. You have my vote." His blue-grey eyes, hard as steel, meet Benjen's. "What chance do Lord Snow and The Lady Stark have against The Boltons?"
"I don't know," Benjen confesses. "I know the North and the Lords of The North. I have to believe Jon and Sansa will take our home back, because if they don't, when House Bolton hears of me here, they will do all they can to see me dead. And they will not listen to our warnings, even if we beg them to, show them undeniable proof. There has to be a Stark in Winterfell when Winter comes."
Denys looks at him strangely, a grim light in his eyes. "We're both sons of great Lords, Benjen. Sons who choose a life here, sons who choose the black and the cold of The Wall for all their days. House Mallister is one of the great houses of The Riverlands, but I am always awed by you Starks. You are truly the only hope The Wall, The North, and the whole of Westeros have left. That bastard Lannister king on The Iron Throne won't do anything. The Greyjoys are too busy reaping and raving in between trying to kill one another to do anything. The Baratheon Kings are gone. The Boltons…" he says nothing more of them. "The Watch needs House Stark, Benjen. And you are our boon."
Benjen nods grimly, and Denys turns and leaves without another word. With both of their support behind him, Benjen knows the title will fall to him, but all he can feel is fear and worry. He does not expect word from Jon and Sansa until after they have taken back Winterfell, and despite them having left a near month ago, now, he does not expect their word for another two or three months.
The choosing is held that night, presided over by The Maester of Eastwatch-By-The-Sea, Harmune, who Cotter brought along with him. Only a few bold men run against Benjen, their friends or once or twice, themselves, being the one to speak for them. Benjen is uncertain who will speak for him, and he finds himself surprised when Eddison Tollett rises to his feet, eyes cold and hard. He'd make a good First Ranger, Benjen thinks absentmindedly, Jon trusted him, and he knows what he's doing.
"I have not known Benjen Stark for long," he begins, voice dry but no less genuine for it. "But I've known Jon Snow for a good while, now, and I, like everyone in this room, know the stories about House Stark. I was at Hardhome with Lord Commander Snow when the Night King raised the Dead. I have seen what is coming for us all, and I don't know about all of you, but I surely have no intention to die without putting up a good fight first."
"Benjen Stark was First Ranger for years and is one of the greatest Rangers The Watch has ever known. He knows The North and has seen what lies out there, something very few of us can say. What none but he can say is that he has survived one of them, too. That he is a Stark of Winterfell. There is no one better suited for the role of Lord Commander than Benjen Stark. No one else can lead The Watch through what comes next half as well as he can." The man meets his eyes. "He's the only actual choice."
And the vote agrees with Tollett's words. Benjen manages to smile somewhat grimly as the votes come out in an overwhelming majority for him, and the men take up a chant of his name. He rises to his feet and goes to the High Table, which is empty, save for Maester Harmune. He looks out at the assembled men and clears his throat to silence their chants.
"I thank you, brothers," he begins, his voice stern and cold like his father's used to be. Like Ned's used to be. The thought of his father and his brother, of the family he long since lost, sends a pang through his heart, but he continues on despite it. "I was raised on three words, a simple promise: Winter is Coming. I nearly lost my life to The Others and spent many long months tracking The Dead through the cold. And all that I can say for certain is those same three words. Winter is Coming. It's coming for all of us, and no one in this world is ready."
"We are the shields that guard the realms of men," he continues. "Not The Seven Kingdoms. Not The North. All realms of men. Our duty lies with all peoples who are not within The Army of the Dead, and yes, that includes the Wildings. Our history is bloody, I know, but I have no intention to reverse my nephew's actions. It is all of us against the cold."
"I do not ask you to forgive, nor do I ask you to forget." Men exchange glances and murmurs. Both Cotter Pyke and Denys Mallister's eyes dig into him. "But we all swore an oath, and the hour in which that oath will be tested is drawing nearer. So I ask, my brothers, my lords, Men of The Night's Watch: what are you? Are you going to stand and fight to the bitter end, even if and when we are drawn from The Wall, or are you going to let the dead take us all? Do you still know your oath? Does it still matter? The Wall is the first and last defence for millions of people."
"And it is up to us to see that it stands for as long as it can."
—
Life goes on at The Wall for about three months, and then, at long last, word comes from Jon and Sansa. Benjen nearly weeps as he reads their words, smashed together on a single page, with a single passed-on hello from Rickon, whose contribution was a small drawing of what Benjen thinks is supposed to be a wolf in the corner. But despite what looks like a rush from Sansa and Jon to get as much information onto a small piece of paper as humanly possible, there is much for Benjen to unpack.
The Blackfish is missing, again. They're starting to look for Robb. Nymeria has, inexplicably, disappeared. Littlefinger is at Winterfell. They have Winterfell again. All of House Bolton is gone. They won. They won. That simple fact is possibly Benjen's favourite, his mind filled with memories he thought were long since gone, memories of his nieces and nephews in their youth, memories of all his visits to Winterfell, as few and far between as they became.
We're looking for Robb. Written in Jon's slanted hand, those are the words that rattle around his head as he goes about his duties in the keep, and it is thoughts of what that might entail that is cut short by the blast of a horn. He pauses, waiting for a baited breath, afraid of what he might hear next, but only a single blast sounds. Rangers approaching.
Well, more so, anything that isn't one of The Other's is approaching the Wall. Benjen makes quickly to the Courtyard, knowing that whatever awaits him is no ranger. He, and the new First Ranger, Eddison Tollett, haven't sent out a single ranger for longer than a day and further than ten miles since his appointment. They're already thin on men, and even with them slowly consolidating to The Watch, they cannot afford to lose one more man before The Dead arrive.
The first thing he sees is the wolf. He freezes where he stands at the top of the steps, staring at the wolf that lies bleeding in the snow, whimpering softly. He remembers this wolf, a few years past, in the company of two crannogmen, Hodor, and…Benjen sees him, and he's flying down the stairs in an instant, rushing forward to where his nephew is in a sort of sleigh.
Bran holds tightly to him as Benjen hugs him, shaking slightly as he does. Benjen glances around, meeting his sole companion's eyes, the girl who was with him at The Nightfort. Howland's daughter, Meera, Benjen remembers now. The lack of Hodor and the lack of her brother says enough. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he leaves Bran for a moment, going over to where Summer lies injured in the snow.
He shushes the pup as he whimpers when Benjen places his hand on his side, looking at the long slash. "What happened?" He asks, turning to look at Bran, who glances around with nervous eyes. Pursing his lips, Benjen gently pets Summer and tells the men around to take him to the Master of Horse and see him tended to. The men comply after a brief hesitation, and Benjen goes over to his nephew and Howland's daughter.
Bran lets him pick him up and carry him to his quarters, Meera following behind them both slowly. He sets Bran on the bed, closing and locking the door as the girl goes to sit next to his nephew. He takes a moment to breathe deeply in a vain attempt to calm himself before he turns to look at Bran, and with all the seriousness he can muster, says, "Bran. What happened? "
Bran exchanges a glance with Meera. They both look back at him with wide eyes. After a long period of silence, Bran clears his throat, and says, "I went North of The Wall. I was being led to a…an entity known as the Three-Eyed Raven. It was possessing the body of Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven." Benjen freezes in his boots, but Bran continues, heedless. "He taught me many things. I can see…see all of The History of Westeros, past and present and maybe even the future. But I travelled too far and too fast, looking for answers, and The Night King saw me."
Bran raises the sleeve of his jerkin, and Benjen draws closer, feeling a cold sense of dread crawl up in him when he sees the odd mark on his arm. Bran lowers it after a moment, looking at Benjen with a look that has his heart hammering in his chest. "That is his mark. He could break through the children's magic. The Bloodraven is dead. I now host the Three-Eyed Raven."
"What…" Benjen shakes his head, massaging his temple as he feels a headache come on. "Bran, I–"
"There's more," Bran says, nodding towards Meera. She pulls on something at her side, and Benjen notices at last the scabbard at her side, a sword in it, although the hilt is covered in some cloth as if to hide it. She pulls it free, and Benjen feels his heart stop in his chest when he sees the patterned steel. His heart only gets more strained when she reveals the hilt. "This is Dark Sister. The sword of Visenya the Conqueror. Thought lost, and now returned to fight the dead."
"Brandon Stark what the fuck did you do?" He growls out from between his teeth. "You carry one of the two Valyrian Steel swords of House Targaryen, thought lost for decades. You come to The Wall bearing a mark from an undead creature that seeks to destroy the world of men. Your wolf is injured. And what of Hodor? Lady Meera's brother?"
"Both are dead," She says, her voice flat. "Jojen knew that was what awaited him at the end of the journey. Hodor…he bought us our escape and paid the price with his life. Summer was injured when The Night King stormed the Bloodraven's cave, trying to kill The Three-Eyed Raven. We barely escaped with our lives, and only have them because some of the children aided us."
Benjen feels like the whole of his world is being torn apart and tipped on his axis. Bran's words of The Three-Eyed Raven and the Night King is worrying, absolutely, but it makes sense, he supposes. But every time he looks at the sword in Meera's hands or thinks about the fact that apparently, the former Three-Eyed Raven was Bryden Rivers, his head just starts spinning. This was not what he expected from today, and that thought reminds him of Jon's letter. He grabs it from his pocket and shoves it into Bran's hands.
"Word from your brother," he says, voice rough. Bran's face pinches and an odd expression comes across his face, but he reads the letter quietly. "And Sansa, and Rickon. They have Winterfell again. As soon as your wolf is on his feet, I'm sending you south. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and they will need you. Her brother said you were our greatest hope against The Dead. They need you. You leave as soon as you can–The Wall is not safe."
Bran says nothing, looking almost sad. Benjen frowns, straightening a bit when Bran looks away from him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "Bran, what is it?" He asks, crouching in front of his nephew, trying to make him meet his eyes, but he avoids his gaze with skill. Benjen feels his worry grow, feels his anxiety and nerves spike. "Bran, whatever it is you can tell me. Is there something more? Something else?
Bran seems to consider something for a long moment, before squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. Benjen rests his hands on Bran's knees, searching his face desperately, heart pounding in his chest. "Yes," His nephew breathes, face etched deep with grief. "There's more." He opens his eyes, and his Tully blue eyes meet Benjen's Stark grey eyes.
"Jon is not my brother. He's not the bastard son of Eddard Stark and some unnamed woman. He's the son of your sister Lyanna…" Benjen's world screeches to a halt, and Bran's voice darkens, eyes narrowing slightly as a serious and cold look crosses his face. "...And Rhaegar Targaryen. She went willingly with him, and died in childbirth."
Benjen throws himself back, stomach-churning, mind screaming with a hundred thoughts. Tears rise to his eyes, and they spill out of him with a great sob, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. Choking on his breaths, he leans over his chest and struggles to breathe, lungs aching with each breath he tries to take. He hears someone call his name, but he is a lifetime and a half away, he's a little boy in Winterfell again, and his sister isn't there and the world is about to end for him. For the whole of his house.
He'd suspected for years that there was more to it. No one in the world knows his brother and his sister half as well as he does, and he knows that the grief in Ned's eyes when he spoke of Jon's mother was something more than love lost. He could do the math, run the numbers and the timelines, but he never was going to ask Ned the truth of it, never going to try and make it a reality. Because knowing is eternally worse than simple suspicion. Knowing means everything has been ripped out from under him. His brother came home with two things. His sister's bones and a baby.
He sobs loudly. He was the one who raised the alarm, but now Bran means to tell him that it was all for naught, that Lyanna left them willingly? That their father and their brother died for nothing, that the horror that befell their house was based in his misunderstanding, his mistake, his flawed knowledge. Lyanna went willingly, she left them for her prince. And now he's the only one left of them all because of it, and all that is left of her is Jon.
Bran's voice calls his name and cuts through his haze, and he looks at his nephew with red eyes. His face is almost impassive, but Benjen can see a glimmer of something more, like he's just trying to hold himself together, but is still ripping at the seams. "She begged my father to protect him, to keep it from everyone. You know what this means. Her last words were ' Promise me, Ned.' "
Benjen screams, then, in rage and pain and grief. Ned's last request to him had been for him to look after Jon, Lyanna's son. He remembers what Ned said, now, his last words, and it's like a knife in the heart. Promise me, Benjen, he'd said, and Benjen knows he must have been thinking about their sister, the sister who died hundreds of miles from home, died afraid, died a girl, died with no one but her brother to know the truth of what had happened. Ned died with this secret. He'd roped an unknowing Benjen into their sister's deathbed plea.
"Lyanna," he hisses out from between his teeth. Lyanna, he prays, he begs, he tries to barter. Lyanna, who was as wild as a hundred wolves, Lyanna whose son died in her little brother's arms, Lyanna who was good and lovely and perfect and the whole of his world. Lyanna who is now only a statue in a darkened crypt, whose only son knows nothing of the truth. He gasps softly, chokes on air, and forces the words out. "We have to tell him. He has to know."
"This can break the realm–"
"Do you think I don't know that, Bran?" Benjen nearly shouts as he whirls on his nephew, and both he and Howland's girl freeze, looking at him like he's a stranger. "But he must know, because it changes everything, Bran. It will not be easy, but this is not a secret that we can hold onto forever. Ned probably meant for it to die with him, but it didn't, and Winter is Coming. The world is shifting. Go South, and tell your–tell Jon who he is. What he is."
"And you?"
Benjen looks away, and swallows tightly around the lump in his throat, scrubbing the tears from his face. "Winter is Coming. The Army of the Dead will come upon The Wall in time, The Horn of Winter in hand, and all will fall to darkness and ruin. The Night's Watch will break, and we know that is our doom. But Winterfell must prepare. I must buy time for that to happen. You are a Stark of Winterfell, Bran. We both are. Our family must stand together. Even Jon. Especially Jon. "
He runs a hand over his face, pausing as he feels it tremble. When he breathes in, that too shakes, and he suddenly feels wholly fragile, moments away from breaking. He looks to Bran, and crosses the room in a few short steps, hugging his nephew close. After a moment of hesitation, Bran reaches back up and hugs him back. "I'll…I'll set you both up in rooms and check in on Summer. Then I'll write to tell Jon you're on your way home." He nods and leaves without a word.
The work keeps his mind busy, keeps it off the truth that is rattling around his brain like an ill omen, like a promise of his demise. He closes his eyes for a moment too long and sees the stony face of his sister, lit by candlelight. Sees her face in life, her bright eyes, her hawking laugh. He's a boy and he's hearing of his father and brother's death. Ned, now the Lord of Winterfell, is coming home with bones and a child that he would give everything to protect. A child whom Benjen would fail, time and time again.
But soon enough, he is at his desk, trying to figure out what to say to his nephew. At least that hasn't changed. He hesitates on his name, hesitates on everything, feeling his heart hammer in his chest with every breath that struggles to come. His nephew is the centre of a secret that could break the realm, a secret that could destroy the world if allowed to do so. Jon is more than anyone ever could have thought. He has no idea what he is.
Benjen cries softly, holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he cries. He looks out the window and sees the softly falling snow, and then he glances back to his bed, where Meera Reed left Dark Sister. The Sword of Visenya The Conquerer. Jon's blood and kin, just as much as Brandon the Builder. A son of two of the oldest bloodlines in the world. A Son of Old Valyria, a Son of the First Men. A son born of both ice and fire. Jon. His Jon.
He wants to hate Ned, wants to hate Lyanna for this, but all he feels is a pit in his heart. He truly understands his brother's secret at last, understands why he so jealously guarded that secret from everyone. And Benjen wishes his brother could have told him, but what good would it have done? What would it do to Benjen besides eat at his mind for year after year, and make the guilt and grief of his role in it all drive him closer and closer to madness with each day?
And Lyanna…a girl promised to a man who would never have had the whole of her love. Entranced by a silver prince. Benjen was there, all those long years ago, when Rhaegar rode past his wife and stopped before the Northern Delegation and crowned Lyanna Stark The Queen of Love and Beauty. Who wouldn't be swayed, who wouldn't see fun in the secrecy, in the adventure? The Wolf's Blood ran hot in Lyanna. Perhaps Rhaegar Targaryen sang to it. Coddled it just right in a way Robert never did.
No matter how it all came about, all Benjen knows is that his heart can hardly take it. He misses his big sister, misses his home, misses the family he will never get back. He is a Lone Wolf here, and they are bound to die in the mythology of his house. But he's not ready to die, he's not ready to stop fighting, not ready to face everything he's lost. He feels selfish, but he wants to go home, see Winterfell, see his nephews and nieces and be at the home that was broken for him and not feel the chafe of a ghost at every turn. He wants to go home and be at peace.
He wants to go to the crypts, to where his father and all his siblings lie in stony graves with swords to keep them in their darkened tombs. One day, he will lie beside them all, likely. The Black Stark of the Wall, the wolf who ran away, the wolf who wails in the night, howls for a family he will never get back. The Targaryens took his family from him. They gave him Jon. The Rebellion ended his world. His world ended and he died with it, and now, he doesn't know what he is. A Lone Wolf? A Coward? A brother who will always sing for his family? Something between it all?
Jon, he writes at last. He can see Jon in his mind's eye, and now that he thinks about it, there is so much Lyanna in him. In his smile. In his eyes. Bran arrived at The Wall, and will be heading to Winterfell soon. I have no further news myself to share, or that I can share, but Bran has a story to tell. I love you all. Give my love, especially to the Wolves, Sansa, and Rickon. Winter is Coming.
Your uncle,
Benjen Stark
999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch
—
"The statues are up."
Benjen Stark turns around, leaving the letter he's writing and the words that threaten to blend together in lieu of looking at the speaker. His older brother, Eddard Stark, the second son of Rickard Stark, a man of two and twenty, stands in the doorway to the room. The second son, now The Lord of Winterfell, and Benjen's only family has left. He'd probably knocked, but Benjen hadn't heard. He turns and closes the door, and despite the near year since his ascension, Benjen thinks the titles still sit a little ill on Ned.
Benjen nods in mute acknowledgement of his words before turning back to the papers before him, pen clutched in a white knuckle grip. He hears his brother sigh from behind him before his footsteps echo in the room, and he comes to stand next to Benjen, resting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. His voice is kind but stern, as he says, "You should go down there and see them before anyone else does."
"Who else is left to see them?" He says coldly, and his brother's grip tightens a bit, like some sort of warning. He takes a measured breath, trying to calm his rolling stomach. There are plenty of people left who knew the three who are now dead, but Benjen feels a jealous surge in him at the thought of anyone thinking themselves entitled. "I'll go later."
Ned sighs as if Benjen's being insolent. He supposes his brother deals enough with insolence even beyond being Lord of Winterfell, he does have two young boys and a Southern Bride who is still adapting to the Cold North, never mind the presence of his bastard. Benjen glances at his brother just in time to see his brows furrow, and his hand reaches out to thumb the paper on his desk, saying, "What's this?"
"Nothing," He mutters, but he lets Ned take it anyway, knowing his intentions will not stay only to him for long. He watches his brother's face as he reads the letter, and sees the exact moment Ned falls away and the Lord of Winterfell takes his place. His brother's slate grey eyes harden and then narrow, his grip on the paper tightening imperceptibly as his lips purse together into a thin line. Benjen taps his fingers on the wood of his desk, waiting for Ned's reaction.
"Benjen," he begins, voice dark with something that he cannot fully name. Grief, certainly, coupled with fear, but also a hundred other things that are too blended together and thinly spread to recognise. He looks away to glare at nothing, and he hears his brother set down the letter and heave a great sigh before he reaches out and grabs his chin in hand, forcing their shared grey eyes to meet.
"Is this what you want?" He whispers, voice breaking on the words. Benjen inhales shakily, seeing the deepest thread of regret and fear stitch itself into the very set of Ned's face. His brother jerks his chin towards the letter on the desk. "To doom yourself to a cold life in black? To take no wife, have no children, marry yourself only to duty? Is that what you desire, Ben? A Cold exile at the end of the world?"
"What is left for me here, save for ghosts?" Benjen replies bitterly, and he knows it's the wrong thing to say when his brother's face crumbles in on itself, eyes filled with hurt. They're the last of their parent's children, the last of one another's youths, the last shred of the life that they can never return to. If he leaves for The Wall, he leaves Ned alone with the Ghosts that haunt them both. He turns his eyes away, even as Ned's hold on his chin tightens. "I'm sorry. That was unkind."
"You have not answered me, Ben," Ned says in reply, and he slowly turns his eyes to his brother's face. There is an uncrossable grief in the set of his face, an endless despair trapped in his eyes, but there is a sort of strength too. "If I could, I would keep you here forever, never let you be lost to me too. But if this is what you want, truly, what kind of man would I be to deny you? So, I ask you, is this what you want?"
"It is," he says, even as it makes Ned's face fall, even as it makes his brother look crestfallen. But he does not weep, he just sets his jaw and nods, releasing Benjen's chin before cradling the back of his head and pulling him close. Benjen's head rests against his brother's stomach, hands in his lap, throat blocked by a well of emotion that rises slowly within him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I cannot bear to stay."
Ned shushes him gently, crouching down to meet his eyes. "I would see you happy, Ben, happy and free to be your own man. I can hold Winterfell well enough, and The Watch will be happy to have a Stark on The Wall. Who knows–in time you may be First Ranger and maybe even Lord Commander. You on The Wall and me in Winterfell–not even the Wildings would stand against us."
Benjen smiles widely then, and Ned matches it. His brother departs before long, and Benjen follows him out after a few moments, heading silently to the crypt. He sees Lady Catelyn on his way over, and she nods at him, but they trade no words. Benjen suspects she has no idea how to interact with her Lord Husband's younger brother of nearly ten and seven, just as he has no idea how to interact with his older brother's wife, one who was vowed to his other older brother, once.
He lights a candle at the base of his father and Brandon's statues first, studying his face. Old Nan had said that he was starting to look a lot like his father, and he supposes he could see it, recognise some of himself in the cold grey statues and faces that will forever be in one expression. He whispers a few awkward things to their graves, but his awkwardness and burning face makes him turn away and go to Lyanna, at last.
One of her hands is open, with a candle already melting slowly in it. Benjen adds his own candle, reaching up to trace the curve of her carved face with his thumb, glove tucked in his belt. "I'm sorry I must go, but I will carry you with me to The Wall," he whispers. "I promise you that, Lya. I'll never forget you, even when I'm a hundred miles deep beyond The Wall. You're always going to be a part of me, you know?"
He smiles through falling tears. "I love you, Lyanna, and I miss you more than I can ever tell. But I know…in this odd, weird way, that I guess you're gonna be coming with me. I'll always have some part of you out there. I'll try to visit and see you as much as I can."
—
He, Bran, and Meera eat dinner together a few nights after their arrival in Bran's quarters, saying very little between the two of them. Benjen finds himself watching Bran, looking at his nephew and all the ways he looks like this strange blend of his mother and father. His hair is darker now than it was, but still red in tone, and his eyes are still blue as summer skies, but there is a quietness to him now that reminds Benjen of Ned. Bran's eyes are trained outside, watching the snow fall.
"Bran," Benjen breaks the silence at last, and his nephew's eyes turn to him slowly, and Benjen is struck by the feeling that it's not just Bran who is looking at him like that. The Three-Eyed Raven, he'd called the entity possessing him, the entity that allowed him to see the secret that is reshaping the foundation of the whole of Benjen's world. "What else have you seen?"
Bran gets this sort of faraway look, but there's also a bashfulness in his voice as he says, "More than I can understand. There's so much to sort through, thousands of years of history to try and understand, and it hurts my head when I spend too long doing it. But I've seen a few things–Lyanna and Rhaegear. Jon's death." Benjen hesitates, the memories of that day horrid and dark in the back of his mind, and Bran's face softens. "You did what you could. And you avenged him."
"I would avenge them all if I could," Benjen finds himself saying sharply, his voice as bitter as the frost. "I would ride south and kill Aerys myself. I'd kill that bastard King, I'd bring Ned home, I'd save your mother. I'd do anything to keep my family alive, do anything to bring them back. Jon was the only one I ever got the chance to do so for." He remembers the weight of Jon's sword in his hand, how his breaths had become pants, how his heart had been filled with nothing more than burning hatred for the people who butchered Ned's Son–Lyanna's Son–like a damn dog.
"I think we all would," Bran says softly, glancing up when Meera dismisses herself quietly. She seems subdued, quieted by all that she has seen, and Benjen does not miss the look in his nephew's eyes, but he chooses to say nothing about it. "I saw…I saw what Aerys did to them, too. He laughed…it is hard to feel emotion, sometimes, as The Three-Eyed Raven, but that was the closest I came to anger."
Benjen is silent for a long moment, watching the snow instead of the crackling fire in the corner or Bran's face. He'd thrown up when he'd heard what had happened, when he heard what The Mad King did to his brother and father. There hadn't been any bones to bury for his father, just dust and ashes, and still, that is all that lies in his nearly empty tomb. And imagining Brandon, bold, unbreakable Brandon, dying like that…Benjen seldom lets his thoughts dwell too long on it, for fear he might go insane.
"Uncle Benjen?" Bran asks, and he looks to his nephew again. "Would you take me up to the top of The Wall, to see it for myself before I go home? Please?"
For a moment, Benjen wants to say no, wants to deny his nephew that sight, but he remembers what it was like to see it, remembers how it seemed to shift his whole perception of the world out from under him. The Wall is the end of the world, or so Ned had called it all those years ago. Bran said he can see all of Westeros's history. What is the end of the world against that? So, against his better judgment, he agrees.
Bran's legs hang over the side, and for a moment, he looks like the boy of ten and six that he truly is, and Benjen is reminded that he was only a little older than he is now when he joined the Watch, same as Jon. Benjen, heedless of how it might look, sits next to him, the cold Winter air crisp and sharp. Bran is smiling slightly, and Benjen can't help but smile too. "I've seen this view in my visions before," Bran whispers. "But there's nothing like seeing it with your own eyes, is there?"
"No, I suppose there isn't," Benjen agrees, picking up a small pile of snow and letting it be stolen from his hand by the wind. "When your…when your brother joined the Watch, I made sure I was here the first time he saw it. He kept trying to be very serious and grown up, but he was like you are now–just a boy again, seeing a sight that you can never forget. I was only a little older than you are now when I saw it, and I remember feeling like I could jump off and never touch the ground."
"He's still my brother, I think, in all the ways that matter," Bran says after a moment. "He was raised as my brother and I can't ever really stop thinking of him as that." A soft smile flits across his face. "Robb said, once, that we'd come here. He said we'd ride for The Wall, him and me, and we'd see Jon. He said we wouldn't even tell him, that we'd just show up and surprise him. I still remember that. We never got to do it."
"Jon would have nearly throttled Robb for it," Benjen says with a laugh. Bran's eyes twinkle with a light that makes Benjen's heart soar in some shade of hope, some hint of something better than the cold that awaits them all. But he sobers after a moment. "He has a temper. You know this as well as I do. I suppose you've watched his early days here?" Bran nods.
"Your brother is a good man, Bran. He always has been, and yet, he is also a Targaryen, and you know what they say about them. Jon isn't mad, no, but that temper of his is a dangerous thing. When you go south, try and do what you can to keep it in check. Jon stands alone as the eldest of you all until Robb comes home, and he has a pension for making himself a lone ranger when it comes to things like this. Don't let him push you away. You know what both our fathers have said."
"The Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives," Bran echoes, eyes closing as he takes a deep breath that seems to rattle in his chest. Bran turns his eyes to him after a moment, a sharp look in them. "You're not a Lone Wolf, you know? You may be the only Stark at The Wall, but that doesn't mean you're alone. You're surrounded by your sworn brothers. That counts for something, doesn't it?"
"The Wildlings call me The Black Wolf," he tells Bran with a quirk of his lips and a tired sigh. "The Wolf's Blood runs hot through Jon and I, and it ran hot in your namesake and our sister. I was alone for a long time, Bran, knowing nothing of the world, ignoring the ache in my heart for my home. And by the time I saw you, by the time I learned, I was too late. I have always been too late. But I stopped being alone–I suppose you're right."
He should have died in that forest, died by the merciful hands of those two Wildlings, all those years ago, but against all odds, he didn't. The Children found him, and saved his life, and while he barely knows who he is in this ever-shifting world, he knows that the man he was when he left The Wall all those years ago is gone. He died in the snow. And now, The Black Wolf of The Wall is back. The bane of The Wildlings is willingly allied with them.
"Have you looked for your brother at all?" Benjen asks after a moment, thinking of Robb, all those miles away, somewhere hidden away in The South, prisoner and prize to a Lion. The King in The North, The Young Wolf, in chains made by his enemies through betrayal and blood. "Tried to find Robb?"
"Not yet," Bran says, tracing a pattern into the floor of The Wall, eyes clouded with grief. "I've been trying to focus on figuring out how to fight The Others, how the first Long Night ended. And…I do not know that I have the heart to see what has become of him. I love my brother, and I don't know how to bear seeing him beaten down. I'm trying to be the Three-Eyed Raven, the keeper of the history of men, but sometimes it feels like Bran Stark is all I can be."
"It's not a bad thing to be Bran Stark, sometimes," Benjen says gently. "He carries a good name and the honour of a Lordly and Ancient House. Three-Eyed Raven or not, the blood in you will always be the blood of the North, Stark blood, wolf's blood. Do you remember what I told you before we departed at the Nightfort?"
Bran smiles as if to say, of course. Even then, he dutifully echoes Benjen's words back to him, " You are a Stark of Winterfell. Your father was Eddard Stark. The blood of the First Men flows in your veins, Bran. Never forget that. I haven't forgotten that. I haven't forgotten who I am."
"Good," Benjen says, voice dark as the night. "Winter is Coming. My father said much the same to me before he left for The South, and he died. I was the Stark in Winterfell once. Our blood protects the North, and our platitudes are more than that; this we both know. We are not like the South, and we never have been. The North must stand together under one banner and one pride if we ever hope to beat the Winter, beat those Southern fools who think they have the right to call themselves our king back again, as we did for centuries. The North Remembers."
"We know no king but the King in The North, whose name is Stark," Bran continues quietly, almost melancholy. "I can't be the Lord of anything, not anymore. Not with what I have in my mind. But I trust The North in the hands of my brothers and my sisters. We're all coming home. That I know. I know I'll see them all again, someday. I have to believe that."
"Even Arya?"
Bran nods. "I haven't tried to spend much time in Summer, given his injuries, but he knows Nymeria lives, and thus, I know that Arya does as well. They seem to each have a sense for each of us. Should one of us die, our wolves would be the first to know."
"Ghost howled like nothing else when Jon died," Benjen says, remembering the chilling noise. "It was the first time I ever heard him make that much noise, the first time his name didn't fit. If I die never hearing that sound again, it would be far too soon."
Bran gives him a sideways look, pausing awkwardly. "I'm sorry about…about your sister," He says after a moment, and Benjen gives him an incredulous look. "It couldn't have been easy to hear."
"It wasn't," he agrees, mind a thousand miles away. "But I suspected in some part, for some time. Knowing wasn't easy, no, but at least I had some inkling of the truth. I like to think that I'm not a fool. I knew my brother and I knew my sister, and I could figure out some things well enough for myself." He sighs heavily. "It will not remain a secret for long."
"No, it won't," Bran agrees. "Daenerys Targaryen sails for Westeros, with an army of Unsullied and Dothraki at her side, and three dragons. She has half the Greyjoy fleet and Tyrion Lannister is her hand. I saw that, in my visions. She is coming for The Iron Throne, and she will not suffer others with claims to her throne. She will hear of what Jon is, before the end. And we must be prepared for whatever comes next."
"She will want the North," Benjen says, snorting softly. "And she will do whatever it takes to get it. But let her. Winter is Coming, and she'll need us just as much as I think we might need those three dragons of hers. No matter how many great houses she courts and gains, she will always be an outsider leading an army of foreigners. But if she can get the oldest of the Seven Kingdoms behind her, truly become Aegon reborn…"
"She might have the power to topple King's Landing," Bran finishes. "I have not spent as long as I would like watching The Dragon Queen, but she is going to reshape Westeros as we know it, I think. But Jon will be a threat to her, even as a bastard son. I have not been able to tell if Rhaegar took Lyanna as another wife, but even then, many will believe him to have the better claim."
"He won't want it." Jon was always ambitious, but never above his station. His heart had lied in Ranging and The Wall for so very long, because it was all he could see for himself, a Northern Bastard as he was. And now he and Sansa are holding the North in an iron grip, waiting for their king, unknowing of a single truth that could tear the stability they're trying to get apart in a single instant.
"It doesn't matter what he wants to The South," Bran says, and Benjen is struck by how unlike the boy he truly is he sounds now. Is it my nephew who speaks to me, Benjen wonders, or The Three-Eyed Raven? "If they want him on The Iron Throne, Jon will find himself on The Iron Throne, even if he has to be dragged to it. Winter is Coming, indeed." They both laugh slightly.
"I will have to beg the South for help," Benjen laments, running a hand over his face. "When Jeor sent out the letters, or so Jon tells it, no one but Stannis Baratheon paid them any mind. And now Stannis is dead and while I am certain The Northern Lords will send what men they can spare, we cannot draw too many from the holdfasts here. They're the only defence we have past The Wall. Our arms must come from The South…or That Dragon Queen. And the price she will demand will be high, especially if we have no proof beyond our word."
"You have to get that proof, Uncle Benjen," Bran reminds him, smirking slightly when he sighs loudly. "Let us do the politics for you, and hold The Wall. We're family, no matter what, and she can't tear us apart with her demands. The North is stronger than most know. I have faith in that. And no one but Robb has the power to bend the knee to her, to give her our kingdom. And I suspect he'll be disinclined to ever bend to a Southerner, not after all that we have suffered at their hands."
Rhaegar may not have kidnapped Lyanna, and there may have been something real between them all. But unlike Robert Baratheon's telling of the story, her kidnapping wasn't the true reason most rode out in force. It was damn near all the Northern Lords that rode South with Rickard to save Bradon who The Mad King killed without any rhyme or reason. It was the butchery of Benjen's father and his brother and the near ruin of their House. There is more blood between them and The South than any of them want to acknowledge.
"No," He agrees carefully. "Your brother will be far from inclined to bend The Knee. Let's hope this Dragon Queen can take no for an answer." He watches Bran's for any hint as to whether or not that rings true, but he betrays nothing, and before long, Benjen takes him back down to his room and goes to check in on his direwolf.
The Lady Meera is there when he arrives, looking up with wide eyes from where she was gently petting Summer. "Are you alright, My Lady?" He asks, coming closer and crouching down next to Summer, giving him a pet on the snout. She says nothing, and he rubs between Summer's ears, saying, "I am truly sorry about your brother, Lady Reed."
"Jojen knew his fate," she says, voice hoarse. "He knew. I suppose I did as well. But…that is not what bothers me, Lord Stark. No, no. I am troubled by the knowledge your nephew shared with you. That and the fact that the only other living man who knows it is mine own father." Benjen goes still once again. Howland. "He knew your sister. He kept her secret. He travelled with your brother to The Tower of Joy. He was there when Lady Lyanna died. He has hidden himself Greywater Watch for so long because what he knows is so…so very dangerous."
"Many will know before long," Benjen warns. "The Dragon Queen is coming, and if I know how secrets like these work once more than, say, two people, know them, she will learn of Jon's heritage before long. And it will be up to her and her alone to prove that she is more than her father's daughter. It will be up to her to prove why she deserves The Iron Throne."
"I'm going to Greywater Watch, after Winterfell," she says softly, burying her hand in Summer's fur. "My journey with Bran is coming to an end, at least for now. The Banners are being called to Winterfell, as much as The North can do so while our Lords are in chains, but The Crannogmen and House Reed are not amongst them. My father is no coward, but he…our people are not ones to go easily off to War. But the horns call us to it, and it is our duty to answer. It is my duty to tell my father as much."
"He is also the only living person who saw Lyanna before her death," She adds, a little softer now. Benjen feels himself pause, looking at her with a look he cannot begin to name. She purses her lips and nods. "He can back Bran's story. And perhaps give you some closure, as well, my Lord. If you would so like…"
"Before I left for The Wall, I visited her tomb," He says, voice soft and far away as he remembers that day, remembering Ned's voice, saying I would see you happy. And yet… Am I happy now, Ned? Is living without any of you possible for me, or this is all borrowed time? I have tried to do what you want, but you all were ripped from me before I was ready, and now, nothing is left of us save for me and the ghosts I've been trying to outrun for over twenty years. "I told her statue that I would always carry a part of her."
He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. "You carry Jojen with you, as do you carry your father. I carry my sister and my brother and my own father, along with all of my family, every day. They live on through us. Your father could give me closure, aye, and I would not say no to it, but it does not bring my Lyanna back to me. Speaking to Sansa of Ned didn't sew his head back onto his body. The past is the past. And the future is ahead." He smiles wanly at her. "You are the future of your house, My Lady. The future of The North. Do not forget that."
She smiles back at him, a little hesitant, and a little wane, but it is a smile. "I bid you good travels, My Lady. And know that you will forever be a friend to House Stark, and will always be welcome in Winterfell for what you have done for Bran. Thank you, My Lady."
They leave the next morning with an escort of some three less crucial Night Watchmen who carry some news and reports for Jon. They'd fashioned something workable for Bran for the ride south, and Summer is still a little slow going, but Benjen has full confidence in them getting home. He watches them go from the balcony, smiling when Bran looks back only once and waves, raising his hand in a simple goodbye.
Eddison Tollett comes up next to him after a few moments, sighing noisily. Benjen sends him a sideways look that doesn't seem to cow him in the slightest as he crosses his arms over his chest and says, "Is there something about this damn Wall that draws you Starks to it like moths to the flame? You and your wolves."
"Afraid of a little direwolf, First Ranger?" Benjen says with a sharp smile. Edd mutters something under his breath and Benjen laughs freely then, patting him on the shoulder. "I tease. Come with me, Tollett. We need to get word to anyone who might just listen. Even The Citadel. They may be contemptuous assholes in their Ivory Tower, but if we annoy them enough, maybe they'll listen to us just so they can get us to shut up. Any word from Tarly, down there?"
"Nothing beyond the first letter saying he got there," Edd tells him, walking with Benjen to his quarters. Samwell's Tarly letter saying he'd arrived in Old Town had come about a week and a half ago, and Benjen hates to say it, but he's already itching to get a Maester up here. But with how much he's about to start annoying The Citadel, the chances of them taking pity and sending someone is thin. So, they'll have to make do with what they've got and pray Tarly's mind gets him through The Citadel quickly.
Benjen nods, opening his door and letting Edd file in before he does. He stands above his desk for a moment, looking over the maps that are spread out all around, the scribbled notes on tens of sheets of paper. Edd seems to be examining it all too, but his eyes snap to Benjen when he sighs and runs his hand over his face. "We have to assume The Horn is in The Night King's hands by this point or is soon to be in his hands. We have not the strength to withstand him, and for many of us, our final stand will be here or as we flee to Winterfell."
Edd looks at him oddly. "You're going to abandon The Wall?"
"No, not quite," Benjen says darkly. "I know my oaths, and I mean to uphold him. But if– when –The Wall falls, we must all choose our doom. Many will be lost in the fall, and the rest of us will likely be forced to try and outrun the dead. But I will not abandon the Wall, not until it is the only choice I have left to me. I swore myself to this Wall, and I will defend it until there is nothing left of it."
He must look fearsome, if the look on his First Ranger's face is anything to go by. He's held many names in his life here on The Wall. Benjen Stark, the Black Wolf of the Wall. The First Ranger. Bane of The Wildings, The Stark on The Wall. And even before this all, when The Rebellion swept through The Seven Kingdoms, he was The Stark In Winterfell. The Young Pup. But never a lone wolf, like Bran said. The Lone Wolf dies, but the pack survives.
He meets Eddison Tollett's eyes, one of the men who saw The Night King raise the dead at Hardhome. His First Ranger nods, and they say nothing more of it.
notes:
-yall this one just flew by. I knew what i wanted and i am so happy at how quickly it came about. no promises because the next week is pretty busy, but i am gonna try to get the next chapter out by the end of the weekend :)) its gonna be a party, and then it becomes a full blown rager. the next chap really signifies the start of what imma call act two... (of three or four)
-no way benjen was made lord commander what a surprising thing that absolutely no one saw coming.
-im gonna be very honest for a second-dark sister and it's inclusion is still a bit of working idea. to make a long story short, i am playing with another idea for a supplementary fix that would be written after this one is finished and cover a plotline that involves targaryens and maybe some missing swords. I'm still playing with it and its at LEAST a year out, so DS is not gonna be too crucial to what comes next, but it does open some opportunities for intrigue when the sword distribution game is played...
-but also. think about what r+l=j would mean for benjen, esp when he realises lyanna went willingly. problems w that aside, it changes EVERYTHING. I've already set up that benjen suspects, but knowing, as I said, is eternally worse than just suspecting. imagine his guilt, as the one who reported lyannas disappearance. idk. i had a lot of fun diving into his reaction, but honestly it also just made me so much more excited for jons reaction. because i promise he's going to take this about ten times worse to this than benjen did, and benjens already losing it. so. yeah.
next up, to quote the summary for the next chapter, The Winds of Winter arrive at the doors of the Lords of the Crossing. I am. very excited.