For all the strangeness he spewed, Benjen could not mistake that there was a certain sincerity in his startling blue eyes. Like sapphires from the east, they twinkled a deep blue. Stones wrought from the sea. Mayhaps, he too came from the east, Benjen thought.
There was nothing to be found when one looked west from Westeros, his ancestor Brandon the Shipwright had sought to prove that wrong and never returned. And certainly, he was no wildling. His manner of speech was foreign to the First Ranger. Even though they both shared the same language, it was still hard to understand the man. Often, Benjen had to lean in and ask him to repeat himself. And when he looked back, Bruce's expression was stern and unflinching. He was clean-cut, though still he managed to look rough and worn like a battered shield. His black, sweaty hair swept along his brow and was kept short around his ears and neck. His eyes were sunken, and so dark they looked like jewels peering through a cave. His cheeks were hard and hollow, his jaw wide and kept tight. With all he could see, still his face seemed false. Like how when one wears a mask, a shadow appears beneath. The face that is true is hidden. That is how the man who called himself Bruce Wayne appeared to be. What was true, was that he could fight. He stood perhaps a foot taller than Benjen, though larger and more brawny by far. When they fought, Benjen had felt that kick through the layers of leather and mail he styled himself in. He was no Sword of the Morning, but he had fought wildlings for half a lifetime and rose to the rank of First Ranger yet still he was rendered dull like a pointless blade.
By any normal man, the embarrassment he held now would be rare. So who are you, Bruce Wayne? House Wayn had been a name he had heard long ago, a small southron house but the lands they claimed he could not recall. When he asked if he meant himself as Bruce of House Wayn, he was given a prompt no. Then a "I don't think so." The man pestered him with questions as they continued back to the Wall, he felt obliged to provide answers. But the questions were like those his nephew Bran would ask him, or worse a fool. Had it truly been a fool who put Benjen Stark on his knees so easily? In truth, it were almost as if he were a child again. Where many a time he would raise a wooded blade against his elder sister, only to be thrown aside with finesse and ease. She danced around his childish attempts, swatting him on the bottom with her own stick. Oh, Lyanna. Watch over me. The thought of his sister always put him in a sullen mood. Men thought him strange for abandoning House Stark and taking the black after Robert's Rebellion. Aside from Benjen, what remained to the once mighty house of the North was three sons. His brother Lord Eddard Stark, his infant nephew Robb Stark and the bastard Jon Snow. Though he could not stand to stay in Winterfell any longer. Where men would see the setting snow, Benjen saw ashes. His father, brother and sister dead. All he could feel was shame. Shame.
Duty was all he knew now. It shall not end until my death. He had sworn to defend the realms of men, sworn it before the heart tree of the Old Gods. And now an ancient enemy marches out of the cold storm beyond the Wall. But why did it seem so wrong? This odd stranger, Bruce Wayne. His appearance was as sudden as the supposed resurrection of the Others. Was this a ploy? Benjen had mulled it over numerous times. Who would seek to fool the Watch? They had no qualms with the realms of men, and sought no part in their petty politics. The wildlings do not play tricks. But it was hard to singularise a people so wild and colourful. The free folk (as Benjen had heard them say) were not of one mind. One body, like the Seven Kingdoms. He had heard rumours and scufflings though. Tribes were gathering and Benjen had noticed unnatural migrations from the people of the wild. Perhaps they have that sort of cunning yet. A tale is told, sweet as summerwine. The watch drinks and drinks until we are too drunk to realise the spear sits between our ribs. It rang true. Benjen had only heard similar tales of the Others from wildlings. You may not sound familiar, but the songs you sing are very much so. He decided he would keep an eye on this Bruce Wayne.
When they made it to the wall, Benjen had left Bruce to face the Lord Commander. He sat close to the fire, and supped upon a fine meal of pork pie and mulled wine. Shortly followed by a course of mutton, mutton and mutton. Hobb's specialty, Benjen smiled. The Watch was his comfort now. Winterfell was a distant memory, though he would visit from time to time to visit the brother left to him. And of course, the children. Robb and Jon are growing into fine men, I wonder how tall they will stand the next time we meet. After his meals, he clambered his way to the Lord Commander's Tower.
The sun was low, casting a bronze hue across the great and vast sky that faded out into a midnight blue. The evening was when night and day war for control over the sky. To his right, the Wall glowed in beautiful shades of pink and purple. Teeming with cold ice, wet from the sun's lasting embrace. Benjen felt his muscles ache, his legs were heavy but they carried him still. He had been riding for most of the morning, ranging beyond the wall. Looking for his missing brothers. He had never found them, Ser Waymar Royce, Gared and Will. From what Bruce had told him, there wouldn't be anything left. So all he could do was remember them. On the way, he would speak with the brothers who missed him. Though, they would not admit it. He sent warm regards and continued onwards. He saw Ser Alliser Thorne, the Master-At-Arms, at work in the courtyard. He was drilling the watchmen, beating them tough like oaken shields to protect the realm. He began his climb. As First Ranger, it was customary of Benjen to serve as Lord Mormont's close advisor. With the severity of Bruce's claims, it was best he was present. No matter how false they seemed. He could hear the murmurings of voices past the door. As he entered, Lord Mormont raised his head and spoke in a gruff voice.
"Ben Stark." He nodded. "Is it true then? Others sighted in the Haunted Forest?"
"I myself, have not seen as such, Lord Commander." He replied honestly. Lord Jeor Mormont was a pale and burly man, with a bald spotted head and a great wispy white beard. To his right was Bowen Marsh, the First Steward and also present was Othell Yarwyck, the First Builder. Both were dutiful and sturdy men. But wholly different, Othell was stolid where Bowen was gregarious. Othell, thin where Bowen was thick and plump like a pomegranate. There were other brothers in the room also, stewards, builders and rangers that Benjen recognised. But he had been fixated on Bruce, who stood silently in the centre of the room.
Lord Mormont turned his head back to Bruce, "You are a brave man. To murder watchmen and lie about it so brazenly in front of their Lord Commander."
Bruce replied quickly, "I have no lies for you. Only what I've seen with my eyes."
"So you say. But I would remind you, the Others have not been seen in more than a millenia. How do you expect to prove such a thing?" Lord Mormont was reasonable.
Bowen Marsh cut in, "I mean for gods' sake, you say you fought the Others and survived!"
"I have means. Though I did not escape so easily." He pulled apart his sleeve, and revealed a gash in the side of his arm. A shallow cut, from a sword most-like. From Benjen's thinking, it could have not been more than a day old. "This wound, would you take a moment to feel it?"
Benjen stepped forward and removed his glove. He put his hand over the wound, it was an instant cold rush that ran along his arm. "It's freezing." He affirmed. He felt the skin around the cut and knew that it was warm.
"Their swords cut through my suit… armour, I should say." Bruce said in his strange manner of speech.
"So what? It is a cold place, the Wall." The First Steward huffed. The First Builder hummed and nodded in agreement.
"Cold blood is a strange thing." Benjen said. "The man seems warm enough. Though, I would agree. What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Lord Commander, let's be done with it and hang the man. He takes you for a fool." A brother stepped forward, and more vocalised their agreement. Bowen Marsh said as much but Othell remained impassive and only looked to the Lord Commander. The Old Bear himself was still, looking Bruce up and down.
"This was no proof of mine. There is more concrete evidence… but I fear you will not be able to understand it." He never looked away from Lord Jeor Mormont. "You may take it as sorcery."
His fingers fondled his shaggy beard as he stared at the stranger in front of him. A brother, a ranger Benjen realised, stepped up to Bruce and pointed at him. "Sorcery?" He scoffed, and drew a dirk from his belt. "Lord Mormont give me the word and I shall have this man dead and dead." A few cheered at his gall. Another turned to their neighbour, "We have gathered to entertain a madman."
Bowen Marsh clapped his hands together, "We should wash our hands with this folly, my lord." The tower grew louder, men leapt forward to grab Bruce, by the arm or the shoulder, however he remained still. Lord Commander, Lord Commander, like a war cry was the only word Benjen could make out through the din as the voices mixed together.
Finally, Lord Mormont spoke. "Enough." The men did not settle, "That will be enough!" The Old Bear boomed over the other voices. They hushed and looked for his next words. "I would hear more." They erupted once more, but the Lord Commander forced them into silence again. "Everyone, out!"
Bowen Marsh nodded, "Come, brothers. The Lord Commander has this matter well in hand. It is not such a threat that we all need be huddled in this cramped place." With that the men saw themselves out of the tower, with distant angry murmurings that became clearer as they passed by Benjen.
The Old Bear is mad. The Others? The fool should swing.
Perhaps he will after all. Behind them all was Orthell Yarwyck, his mouth did not even twitch but his eyes had all the words he lacked. What do you think, Ben? Orthell patted him on the shoulder as Benjen also began to usher his way out.
"Not you, Stark. You'll stay." Benjen drifted back into the fleeting light that crept in through the windows. Lord Mormont stood up and laid a large sword in a scabbard banded by silver on the table. Benjen knew it at once, Longclaw. His own family had a similar blade, Ice, wielded by his elder brother Lord Eddard Stark. Where Ice was a greatsword, Longclaw was a bastard sword. Shorter by far, but they shared the same deadly Valyrian edge. It was said Valyrian blades could cut through any armour and then more. Gliding through skin, flesh and bone as easily as one would cut through cheese. Lord Mormont unsheathed it, and brought it into the air. Dark steel glimmered, with ripples in the blade like smoke in a black abyss. "Ben's blade is fine steel. But this here is a sword you would not block so easily." Benjen watched Longclaw whirl around in the air, he remembered once wielding Ice back when it was his father's blade. Its weight did not match its size, he was sure back then that when he became a man he would be able to wield it. Longclaw looked the same, a blade such as that could make the worst of fighters feared across the Seven Kingdoms. "Sorcery you say? This is the finest magic of them all, Valyrian Steel. It will cut through anything."
"I have no doubt." Bruce said. His expression was unchanging but complex like the ripples folded into the dark steel of Longclaw.
"There will be nothing but the truth from you. If it is a game you play… I assure you Longclaw will have your head." Bruce unfastened the cloak from around his shoulders, he held it like a bag and placed it gently upon the creaking wood floor at the opposite end of the solar to Benjen. He unwrapped the sable cloak, its contents were dark but he could see a faint shimmer like that of metal. Through the light of the window, he could make out a broad sigil. A dragon?
Bruce picked up a particular item, a helm of sorts. It were black and moulded from the night, with two spikes that thrusted up from either side and another two holes poked out for the eyes. The helm seemed as if it would fit perfectly around the wearer's head. It had a missing chin-guard though, so Benjen wondered what sort of protection it would bring. Bruce seemed to stare at it for a moment, before turning it around and slotting it over his own head. The First Ranger stood astounded, as Bruce turned to stare at him. The receding sunlight wrapped around him, casting him in a black shadow. Bruce seemed to grow larger, the spikes grew to be long and twisted ears. His eyes flashed a bright white and Benjen felt himself tremble. His hand slithered to his belt, where his sword hung. He looked unholy, a demon. Am I afraid? He steadied himself, he is naught but a man. Benjen was the First Ranger, he reminded himself.
"Are you ready?" Bruce asked in a gravelly voice.
Lord Mormont looked at Benjen who was the one to answer, "Well, on with it then."
Bruce held a finger to his gauntlets, thick and sturdy. Benjen hadn't had time to notice them before, but he had never seen its like before. He tapped it twice and began to speak,
"With the resources of this place, I won't be able to do this more than a couple of times. My cowl will show you everything as I saw it. It may be a shock but you must pay attention, so prepare yourselves." His eyes, still white seemed to now flicker like a grey and white flame. A sudden blue glow started to fill the room, from it formed images and things that Benjen was trying to make out. Lord Mormont stepped away from his table and cursed. Benjen saw trees and grass, but they would disappear as quickly as they came. More followed, they were hollow, he could see into them and beyond. His fingers spread forth, but he did not feel anything and they passed right through. Benjen circled the room, and ended at Bruce's side. The visions made more sense now. It was Bruce, running through the Haunted Forest.
"By the gods…" Benjen did not know what to say.
The view shifted to him leaping to a branch, and peering into the forest. There they were, sickly beings, intimidating in their stature. Fixed in their icy grip were long blades. "'The Others', as you called them." Bruce confirmed. They looked how Benjen pictured, in those stories he was told so long ago. The images shifted again, their blades swung overhead and Benjen almost ducked had he not better sense. The swords swung through once more, and sliced Bruce across the arm. The wound on his arm. The fight dragged on, Benjen and the Lord Commander watched on as Bruce put down the white walkers and each time they rose anew. He threw daggers made from fire that set them ablaze and still they continued marching.
"How do we know what we see before us is real?" He saw Bruce tilt his head towards him as he continued. "The world has not seen magic in close to three hundred years. The magic may be real, but for all we know you have conjured up lies and fed them to us, laughing that we know nothing of right from wrong."
The fight with the Others raged on, and before Benjen and Lord Mormont stood the corpse of Ser Waymar Royce. Vile and rotting, but the undead knight was heaving itself towards them.
Lord Mormont nodded in agreement, "True enough. If you killed Ser Waymar Royce as some suggest, you would know what his corpse looked like."
Bruce made a sound that seemed like a grunt. He turned to face Benjen, the images vanished and the room seemed darker than it had begun. Bruce's eyes flickered again, this time only once. He performed the same procedure, blue light once more spilling into the room. However, the form of the First Ranger appeared before them all. As he stood, his hand tucked against the hilt of his sword. It was odd to see himself as he did, his lips twitched. Lord Jeor Mormont glanced between Benjen's eyes and his belt,
"Steady yourself, Stark." And Benjen did as he was bid. The Lord Commander threw Longclaw onto his table and exhaled deeply as he sunk into his chair. "What am I to make of all this… I took you for a liar and a craven."
"I do not blame you." Bruce said coolly.
"Maester Aemon had the right of it. This long summer is ending, and winter is coming." Lord Mormont said darkly. The words of House Stark, winter is coming, echoed coldly in his head. "A winter the likes of which this world has never seen." A winter threatening to damn us all to hell.
Preparations had to be made, though in the waning hours of the evening only words could be put forth. They needed to fortify, Castle Black was more ruin than castle and Benjen could say the same about the other forts on the Wall. The Night's Watch was far weaker than it had been at any other point in its history, and they sorely needed men. The Lord of Winterfell was always a friend to the Watch, and at this time was also the elder brother of Benjen Stark. They would start there. The First Ranger would need to go beyond the wall once more, it was the wildlings who had told him of the Others before. This time he would listen and perhaps, he could learn of the threat they posed.
"And what of you?" Lord Mormont asked Bruce. "Would you join the Night's Watch? Men like you come rare." Bruce detached his helm from his head, and held it at his side. Lord Mormont took one glance at his helm, "Rare indeed."
"I must learn more… about this place, these Others. I have a home I intend to return to." He said firmly, as if he would speak it into existence.
"I see. You would consult our Maester, perhaps." He sighed. "For now, these old bones grow weary. This talk of magic and demons… We should rest in the normality we have at this moment. I fear what we will wake up to on the morrow." Lord Jeor Mormont dismissed them both. Benjen exited the tower, with Bruce in tow. The sun was much lower now, it still held a firm amber aura but was quickly encroached on all sides by the blue of midnight. They did not talk as they descended the steps but there was something burning Benjen, and he had to ask.
"You would not stay with us? After what you saw?" He said with a hint of scorn. The Night's Watch of old was an order built on honour and duty, that meaning meticulously kneaded into its oath. The watchmen of old gave their life to the Watch. Nowadays, Benjen would brush shoulders with traitors, rapers and murderers too craven to die. In death's stead they hurry themselves to the Wall. Should they find death again, where next would they run to? Did the man behind him have no sense of duty either?
"I'll make a stand when all possible options are exhausted." Benjen did not understand. "With what you told me of your Night's Watch. You have no hope of defeating this enemy… I have to move on and find someone or something that can." He put it grimly. He asked after Maester Aemon next.
"He is wise, yes. His blood is an old and royal blood. Maester Aemon has lived and seen much, and experienced more than any normal man should. I believe he may be of use to you." No hope. It lingered on Benjen's mind, even as they descended the final stair. They knew so little of this enemy, fire did not seem to hinder them. He found himself thinking of Aegon and his dragons, with dragonflame they bathed Black Harren in his castle along with his sons. And fire is more deadly than steel. But summer is at an end, the cold winds gather and even fire dares not burn where it is so cold…
They stood in the courtyard, amidst the cool purple of the sky with only the whispering wind as company. Benjen surmised that his brothers had gathered in the common hall.
"What did you think, Benjen?" Bruce asked him.
"Of what?"
"Your brothers wanted me dead. What did you believe?" Bruce asked, seemingly out of curiosity. It did not have a simple answer.
"If it is as you say… you are not of this world. I find that hard to believe." His blue eyes bored into Benjen's own. "I suppose that it does not matter. If we held you, it wouldn't have been for very long, I imagine." Back in Lord Mormont's solar, Bruce did not even flinch when apprehended by the watchmen. He fought those creatures for half a night. The absurdity of it all made Benjen laugh. When Bruce asked him what was so funny, Benjen resolved that henceforth it should be he who asked the questions.
There was so much this dark knight had left unsaid, his helm, the armour… the lands from whence he came. Benjen asked about it all. He had heard of blades made of Valyrian Steel, was there such a thing as Valyrian Steel armour? The sigil he saw bundled in that cloak… It was a dragon, was it? Was the man himself from Valyria? It would never have been a likelihood before this day, but the world seemed to grow larger overnight. Bruce replied as if he had never heard of the place, but instead he told him of his world. Benjen could scarcely believe it as he listened, towers he said that pillared off into the clouds. Lights with no flame illuminated the sky. No man travelled by horse, but instead boats that moved on land. And yet his people seemed restless still, and ventured out into the stars upon iron winged donkeys that ran along fire. That made him look out to his own sky. He could see the stars aligned as the Sword of the Morning, its silvery point glittering in the early night. Could I walk out there and forge a blade of my own? Bruce continued on, the wonders and horrors of his world were beyond any tale Old Nan had told him as a child. He heard of men of steel and beings of emerald light. There, gods walked among men. There was a melancholy hidden behind Bruce's words, he could tell that if such a home existed he surely missed it. Though, upon his face he could read no such sadness.
"Are you a god too?" He asked.
"Do you think I am one?" Bruce replied deftly.
He thought about it. "If you were, I would be duly disappointed." Benjen laughed again.