Dragons of Ice and Fire

by Diablo Snowblind

There are things hidden in the far north, secrets buried under ice. Jon Snow faces the white walkers early, and stumbles upon a power that could change the world. It forges a new path for him and everyone around him - and a new journey south, a journey as a dragon. The world begins to change - with steel and snow, fire and blood…

20. The fall of the Night's Watch

The fall of the Night's Watch, and the deal of sworn brothers and free folk

---

Davos

When he first arrived, the Wall had been a towering, indestructible blot on the landscape. The castles were old and sturdy, the defences better fortified than any in Westeros. At the time, Davos had thought that it would take hundreds of thousands to breach the Wall from the north.

Apparently, it only really took a single dragon.

"You like it?" A free folk laughed, a hard, beefy man called Leathers. He clutched polished brass plate with guffawing smile, while wearing a satin drape, formerly a curtain, wrapped around his body as a gown. "Like what southron ladies wear, right?"

"Indeed," Davos replied, keeping his voice cautious.

"I hear that Two-Toed Dirk got a proper silk dress, found it in the keep," Leathers laughed. "Fucking silk dresses!"

Davos had seen that dress. It had been one left behind by the Queen in her rushed evacuation. The thought made his stomach clench.

"I mean, dresses," another wildling - called Lemmy - chuckled, as if it was the queerest thing the world. "Do you southerners all prance around in dresses and drapes?"

"Many do," Davos said, keeping his distance.

The two wildlings were often cheerful, sometimes even friendly. Davos expected that Jon Snow picked them especially for their temperament. Still, Davos was well aware that his guards were armed while he wasn't, and they were experienced fighters besides. Doubtless they'd be cheerful as they killed him too.

Eastwatch and the surrounding village had been a poor castle, but the wildlings still raided it dry. Davos watched as they laughed and joked, clutching metal plates and forks as if they were alien trinkets. Davos had seen a young wildling boy, barely thirteen, with a spear and holding an iron fishing hook as if it was the greatest treasure imaginable.

Jon Snow had apparently claimed much for himself to stop others from taking it, but there were still raiders walking away with everything that wasn't bolted down. One time, Davos saw a man peeling the iron bars off a window to make clubs.

More and more wildlings were coming every day. First there were hundreds, and then quickly thousands. The gates had not shut, and tide was not stopping. At one point, a queue formed for people to fit through the tunnel.

Davos had watched as the giants on mammoths came through. His heart had been in his mouth to see columns of massive woolly beasts trundle into the stone keep.

He tried to keep up with their activity from the bits and pieces he heard or saw. Jon Snow wasn't in Eastwatch anymore; he had already flown either west across the Wall or maybe he went back north to Hardhome. Davos did know that Sigorn of the Thenns had went west to take Castle Black, followed quickly by a force of another two thousand to hold the Wall itself.

There was little doubt that Castle Black would fall quickly, and then soon the Shadow Tower would fall as well. After that, all three gates would be open, and every wildling in the north would be coming south.

It could easily form a horde tens, perhaps hundreds, of thousands strong. A mass exodus from beyond the Wall.

For a while, the ugly man called the Weeper reigned at Eastwatch, but then he took a raiding party south to harry Karstark forces that were gathering. After that, it was the Lord of Bones who took control of Eastwatch. Rattleshirt was a mean, foul man, but he proved effective. Eastwatch was not easily defendable from the south, but Rattleshirt had built rings of sharpened palisades and fortifications all around the flooded wildling camp, with constant patrols across the perimeter. Davos had hoped that the unstable chain of command might leave an opening to retake control of the castle, but Rattleshirt proved as capable as he was ruthless.

Still, Rattleshirt also proved much laxer on the prohibitions against rape that King Snow had enforced. Within days of Rattleshirt taking control, the wildlings dragged two dozen village women into an outbuilding and raped them all half a hundred times. The eldest was a woman of fifty, the youngest a girl of eleven.

Jon Snow came back about three days later, flying on his dragon to check on Eastwatch. Davos heard that the king had been beyond furious upon learning about the rapes, so much so that he and Rattleshirt almost came to blows. Instead, King Snow took the twelve biggest conspirators of the mass rapes - the ones that had kept the women locked up - and tied them to a post and had them lashed more viciously than any Davos had ever seen. One of them was executed trying to protest.

The women were returned to their homes, beaten and trembling. To hear the rumours, Snow had threatened that anything that happened to more women would happen to Rattleshirt.

Davos had also seen the king's shadowcat pet, lingering around the castle more. The whispers said that Snow left his shadowcat behind to watch matters more closely.

The rumours circulated constantly. There was nothing Davos could do but linger and try to listen to make sense of talk.

The Weeper was fighting off Karstark and Umber forces to the south, while apparently Varamyr Sixskins led sorties beyond the Wall. Raiders led by Soren Shieldbreaker, Morna White Mask and Gerrick Kingsblood had left Eastwatch, but then King Snow had warned that any warbands that raided without his permission would face his dragon, and they had all returned. Many times, Davos questioned just how strong Jon Snow's control over the wildlings really was.

Still, there was no doubt the wildlings were in control. He had heard that a small fleet from Skagos tried to sail against Eastwatch, but the dragon had seen them away. The wildlings were even manning the Night's Watch ships and claiming fishing vessels, forming a fleet of their own.

A fat man - the Lord of Seals - sailed to Eastwatch with a ragtag collection of barges, boats and ships, and started calling himself the Admiral of Seals. Wildlings were poor sailors, but they were learning.

Fishing vessels went out constantly, trying to feed the growing host of men and women. At this rate, Davos suspected, they would eat the Watch's rations bare in a matter of weeks.

The sworn brothers themselves were kept locked in the main keep. The king had been keeping them alive with the other prisoners, but none were allowed to conspire or move freely around the castle. A few had been placed in dungeons.

Davos had better fare, as did Salladhor and a few select others. Davos received private guards, friendly guards, and his own private room in the Eastwatch's east tower along with other prisoners. His movement was still restricted.

"I hear Castle Black has fallen," the wildling Leathers said suddenly, causing Davos' heart to jump. "Sigorn took it. Expect the Shadow Tower won't be far behind."

"So soon?" Davos said with a gulp.

"Against a bloody dragon?" Leathers laughed. "Aye, not surprised."

"God," Lemmy said suddenly, causing Davos to blink. Lemmy wore a polished white stone on his furs. "Sonagon is a god, not a dragon."

Leathers just shrugged. "What's the difference?"

Outside, in the courtyard, Davos could look down and see the east wall was littered with figurines and statues of the dragon. The smallest were woodsman carvings, the largest a statue taller than a man. Some carvings were from stone, others wood, and more than a few were from weirwood. Frequently, free folk would come to place more carvings, or pray at the dragon statues.

Davos looked at Lemmy hesitantly. He dared to ask. "You really believe that the dragon is a god?"

The man just looked at Davos like he was stupid.

"It can fly, freeze oceans, and destroy forests," Leathers said with a snort, lowering the satin drape. "Aye, I'd call that a god."

"What of the Old Gods?" Davos asked.

"What about them?"

"How can you call the dragon a god when you already have gods of your own?"

"Who the hells said there can only be one or the other?" said Leathers. "I hear some say that Sonagon is an Old God given flesh. Others claim the dragon is a champion of the Old Gods, or a different god entirely. Doesn't really matter to me. I was born under a heart tree, aye, but I sure prefer to stand behind the dragon than a tree."

What did that make Jon Snow? A man who commands gods? A prophet? There were many upset with the restrictions that King Snow enforced, but he didn't think there was any real threat of dissent. Not when so many of the free folk would bow and pray to the dragon.

Davos honestly wasn't even sure if it counted as religion. There were no sermons, no religious texts, no commandments. Still, the faith was there. Sometimes, Davos saw a type of faith and dedication that matched or exceeded anything he had seen among the queen's men. Melisandre had stoked the flames of faith into an inferno, while Jon Snow's dragon seemed to exhume it naturally.

That type of faith was scary. It had been scary on Dragonstone, and it was scary here.

He heard the free folk scoff at 'kneelers', but Davos suspected there wasn't as much difference as many would like to believe.

Davos had heard one of the free folk mention that a few of the young girls who had been raped by the wildlings had converted to worshipping the dragon. Davos didn't believe it at first, but then he started to wonder. Maybe the girls had converted to improve their standing with the wildlings, or maybe they had just been so traumatised by the experience that they clung to the faith.

Leathers was looking at him curiously. "You know, whenever the king comes into camp there are half a hundred men flocking around him," said Leathers. "Raiders that give anything to try and get the king's attention. Hells, the only reason I took this boring guard duty is because I hear the king wanted it. Do you know why?" Davos shook his head. "Because anyone who is even close to Snow gets featherbeds and full meals every single day. I hear that even the king's guards get to bed a different woman every night. Imagine spearwives just opening their legs for you!" He laughed.

Lemmy's eyes flashed. "They are serving the dragon," he warned. Leathers was more pragmatic, but Lemmy really believed. "They are following the path to salvation, not serving selfish needs."

Leathers just grunted. Davos held his tongue.

The prisoners were fed together in groups of a dozen or so, at a small canteen in the Eastwatch tower. Everywhere Davos looked, he saw sunken eyes and dark expressions. Food was stew, on a good day, or a turnip and an apple on a bad. No spoons. The majority there were Night's Watch men, or captives from the battle at Hardhome. The wildlings barely tolerated them at the best of times; make any commotion and they could just as easily lock you in a cell.

Davos spotted Salladhor Saan slumped at the dining table table. Without his rings or silk or perfume the pirate just looked like an old, withered man. Davos had seen Salladhor occasionally, but they rarely had a chance to exchange words.

"Salladhor," Davos said throatily, limping slightly. The wound on his torso hadn't healed properly. He winced as he lowered himself down, feeling older than he ever had.

"Onion Lord," Salla grunted. No more 'old friend'. "Enjoying your stay?"

"They keep us alive." Davos had seen worse hospitality, in any case. "We get better treatment than most. Jon Snow must put value on us."

How many valuable hostages did King Snow have? Not many, actually. Salladhor was perhaps the most valuable, though few would pay to see the pirate returned. Davos was worth something to King Stannis, perhaps, but to little else. Ser Justin Massey… maybe, yet the knight had lingering been on death's door ever since the battle.

Davos glanced around the room. "I haven't seen Ser Clayton Suggs in here," he said slowly. "Has he attempted escape?"

"Hardly. Your Flea Bottom knight agreed to join the savages. He rides with the one called the Weeper, now."

"Clayton Suggs?" Davos said in surprise, remembering the landed knight. A short, burly man, who flew a winged pig on his surcoat. Formerly a hedge knight, he had grown up in the gutters of King's Landing. He had been one of the queen's men. "He truly defected from Stannis?"

"The winged pig knight always cared more for hurting people than he did for his king or god," Salla snorted. "I'm sure he gets on well with the savages."

Davos didn't reply. "Several of my men defected too. So have some 'sworn brothers'," Salla continued. The boats taken by the wildlings would need seasoned sailors, Davos thought, they must be willing to recruit prisoners as sailors . "Men are like rats, Onion Lord. They'll stay on a ship, but they have no loyalty when it goes down."

"Loyal men are different."

"Loyal men are rare," the pirate scoffed, staring down at his stew. Turnip stew. Davos doubted that Salladhor Saan, pirate prince of Lys, had ever eaten turnip stew in his life before his captivity.

Davos lowered his voice. "Do you have a plan?" he asked quietly. "If you've got men on ships…?"

"Hardly. Less than fifty prisoners, amidst three thousand savages?" Salla snorted. "Salladhor Saan has no intention of dying in a fool's escape attempt."

"I never expected Salladhor Saan to surrender so easily, either."

"Surrender? Oh no, you see patience, not surrender." There was a glint in his eyes. "I have too many enemies to kill, so many debts to repay."

Davos' hairs tingled. "King Stannis is not…"

"'King' Stannis ruined me," Salladhor snarled. Stripped off all the finery, there was nothing but vicious ruthlessness in the pirate's eyes. "He promised me much and gave me nothing but paper. He stole my ships and destroyed my fleet. I will see him burn for that, I think."

"You mean to join with Jon Snow and the savages?"

"Mean to?" Salladhor laughed. "Oh, I already have. Admittedly the hospitality is still lacking, but trust must be earned and so I will pay penance." He shrugged. "The savage king is a man desperate for allies. Perhaps he is not such a savage. But even savages have their uses. And Jon Snow has a dragon."

"If that dragon dies, then Jon Snow has nothing. His army will splinter."

"So then it becomes a question of whether or not anything is capable of killing it, then?" Salla mused. "Tell me, how would King's Landing fare if a dragon were to terrorise it?"

The picture of King's Landing covered in ice flickered before his eyes. Conventional armies couldn't stand up to a dragon of that size. He could quite possibly ruin any castle in the realm.

Salladhor smirked. "I think that I may even have a better chance of reclaiming what is owed from King Snow than I ever did with Stannis," he said. "You said once that I am good gambler, and yet it seems that only a fool would wager against a dragon."

"Jon Snow might destroy the realm, but he'll never conquer it."

"Are you sure?" Salla challenged. "I told you, men are rats. If Jon Snow destroys enough kings and lords, how long before the rats flock to him? How long before people decide they'd rather be a savage than fight against the savages?"

Davos hesitated. "Is that what you are then, Salladhor?" He asked. "Just another rat?"

The pirate laughed hollowly. "I am the prince of rats, Onion Lord. That's all I have ever been."

He finished his stew and stood up. "I will be moving out shortly, I think," Salladhor continued. "I have already negotiated with the Seal Admiral. They will give me a ship and a crew - at the king's approval I could be sailing away across the Narrow Sea. To Braavos, perhaps down to Lys if I can arrange it, to negotiate for supplies and sellswords. I think the Free Cities will be quite… excited to learn of a dragon in Westeros again."

Davos was left sitting quietly on the bench, wondering what would happen next.

The rest of the day was spent in cold quiet. Davos pushed his bounds as much as he dared, watching the men coming and going through the castle, trying to talk to the guards or washerwomen. The wildlings mostly left him alone along with the other prisoners in the tower. Davos might have tried slipping away and running at night, but then again where would he go?

He had access to the rookery with Maester Harmune, where he could sometimes peek in on the ravens being delivered, and to a couple of the other prisoner's rooms. Rattleshirt and several others distrusted the maester and his ravens, often not letting the man tend to them, but Jon Snow had insisted that the birds be used. They received so few letters, all of them from the king, that each one was an occasion. When one such bird arrived, Davos lingered quietly by doorway as Rattleshirt and two dozen armed men stomped into the room. The maester had to read the words out loud. Underneath Rattleshirt's bone helmet, the man's eyes narrowed distrustfully of the writing.

The maester was practically trembling as he finished, mumbling so quietly Davos couldn't make out the words. "… So Tormund and Mance still live," Rattleshirt snorted. "Does that paper of yours say anything else?"

"The… um… the Magnar's father, Styr of Thenn, died from injuries during his imprisonment."

"It's Mance that I'm more wondering about. How does Mance Rayder feel about bowing to the new 'King-Beyond-The-Wall'?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, King Snow does not mention…"

The Lord of Bones waved his hand dismissively, so fast the maester flinched. "Get out of my sight," he snapped, causing the maester to squirm and bow.

The news that Mance Rayder still lived caused a ripple through the castle. Later that night, Davos asked if this meant that Jon Snow is no longer king, but Leathers just snorted. "Mance was never king. We followed Mance, but no one ever bowed or swore fealty to Mance," Leathers said with a shrug. "We swore to Jon Snow."

"So then what does that leave Mance?"

"Buggered if I know. It's your lot that tries to put titles on everything, not ours. Mance is just Mance."

All of the other answers he got over the next days were equally confusing. Still, the rumours persisted; some saying that Mance had been left crippled from his torture by the crows, others saying that he was fighting against Jon Snow. There were others who swore that Jon had fed the former King-Beyond-the-Wall to his dragon.

Still, Davos watched as the castle rippled. Many celebrated the news that Castle Black had fallen, but he could see others simmering. From the tower windows, he glimpsed quiet arguments in odd corners of the courtyard.

Rattleshirt started spending more and more time in the maester's rookery, demanding that the maester read him letter after letter. He had never seen a man as terrified or as harassed as Maester Harmune.

Davos would often linger by the doorway, and one day he heard frenzied voices from the rookery. He heard the maester being sharply dismissed and skittering out the room, while Rattleshirt and some others retreated to the upper levels. Something was happening. Davos took a deep breath, but decided to take his chances and crept forward to eavesdrop.

"–destroy us, you know he will," a man hissed. "We've got to do something now, before it's too late."

There was no response, only an exasperated sigh. The Lord of Bones was keeping quiet.

"He's a much of threat to us than anyone," another angry voice growled. "Have you seen the bloody courtyard - they're bowing to him. Bowing."

"I got eyes," Rattleshirt said. "I seen it."

Four men in the room. They were pacing at the top of the tower, in between the squawking bird cages. Davos crept quietly along the corridor, looking over the battlements and overfilled castle.

"We're already south of the Wall," a man grumbled. Davos recognised him as a raider, Ned Bearclaw, a bloated, powerful man with squinty eyes. "We don't need him anymore."

"Aye," another agreed. "And we've got support. The Walrus Men are with us. So is Baldr Boarhunter, Larrs Stonebrock, and Erikkson of the West River. Varamyr will support us too, you know he will. Gerrick Kingsblood, Aki Twentysons and Broqq Big-Chin will likely be on our side as well. That's at least a thousand men right there."

"What of the Lord of Seals? Huh, the Admiral of Seals now, I mean."

"If we sell it right, he'll join with us," Ned Bearclaw said firmly. "He's got the boats, that's important. You've got the gate, that's all we need."

"We could easily be pushing two thousand supporters," another wildling hissed. "Think about it."

"Oh, I am." That was the Lord of Bone's quiet voice. Davos crept forward, towards the stairs. "I'm thinking. And what happens to Snow?"

"Crows should be shot out the sky," said Ned Bearclaw. "Next time he flies into Eastwatch, we'll have some good men with arrows waiting for him."

"And the dragon?"

"Let Varamyr take it. A group of skinchangers working together can overpower any beast. As soon as Snow's dead and his dragon's collared, any support he has is going to disappear."

"Hmm."

Davos' heart was in his mouth. Rattleshirt said something he couldn't quite catch, so slowly he crept forward a bit further.

"He's making you serve, man!" Ned Bearclaw snapped. "He's making us all serve. Telling us what we can and cannot do - he's going to destroy the free folk as sure as anything. Have you seen the courtyard? Are you really happy watching them bow to him?"

"No," said Rattleshirt. Davos was close enough to see the outline of his shadow scratching his chin. "I'm not happy."

Ned Bearclaw sighed a breath of relief. "Then we can do this," he insisted. "All of Snow's biggest supporters have either been sent away or are still in Hardhome. We kill the bastard, we force any coming through the gate to swallow it or stay north. One gate is all we need."

"Aye," Rattleshirt agreed. "We can do this."

A coup, Davos realised in horror. They're discussing a coup.

He listened for as long as he dared. They talked about who they needed to recruit, how to deal with the devotees, how to they could hold Eastwatch. Davos crept by the stairway, before the fear caught up to him. If they see me they'll kill me on the spot .

He very quickly and quietly left the rookery, taking care not to close the door behind him. A safe distance away, Davos stopped to take deep, calming breaths. A coup. They are going to kill King Snow.

He hesitated. He could have went and warned someone, anyone. Any of the true believers would do. Instead, he didn't. Davos returned to his quarters and retired for the night.

If the king dies, the host will surely fall apart. It will be bloody, and savage, but the wildling army will collapse under itself and the threat to the realm will disintegrate. I'm not likely to survive, but I won't stop it.

The next morning, Davos awoke to find the whole castle buzzing with news about the men that Rattleshirt had executed. The Lord of Bones had given the order, and the bodies of Ned Bearclaw, Baldr Boarhunter, Larrs Stonebrock, Erikkson of the West River and half a dozen others were swinging over the gates of Eastwatch.

---

Samwell

The siege of Castle Black didn't last long. The sworn brothers saw the wildlings coming, they simply didn't stand a chance to stop them. It was less a battle and more an argument.

They all saw Bowen Marsh and Ser Alliser Thorne screaming at each other in the middle of the courtyard. The tensions were so high that every man seemed crazed. Alliser wanted to stand siege in the castle, Bowen argued to run.

Sam felt the terror in his bones. Edd, Hake and Pyp both struggled as they hoisted a wooden table to barricade the doorway. They had been given orders to reinforce the towers, but Sam didn't know why they bothered.

"We should be running," Pyp hissed, his voice thick with fear.

"Run where exactly?" Hake muttered, wincing with his wounded chest. Hake had broken two ribs trying to fight the wights. Even over a fortnight later, the wounds from that night remained.

"Shadow Tower. Anywhere. Anywhere that is not here."

"There are no horses left," Sam said.

"We can still run." Pyp was shaking. Lots of people were trembling.

"Run," Hake repeated. "If we run, we have to run through a storm, on foot, past wildlings with horses."

"And if we stay we get crushed and slaughtered." Pyp gulped. "I was talking to Garth Greyfeather. He said that the wildlings have a dragon. He said those from Eastwatch saw it. Is that true?"

Sam paused, listening intently. "I don't know," Hake admitted.

Over a fortnight ago, no one would have believed stories of dragons. But then they had faced an invasion of wights, and now nobody in the castle was willing to disbelieve it.

Through the gaps in the crudely barricaded shutters, Sam could see the fires of the wildlings sitting right outside Castle Black. They were camped across the road. Not quite enough of them that they were willing to attack, it seemed, but enough that no one liked the castle's odds when it came to battle.

There were four hundred of them already, the ones who came first on horseback and established a perimeter around Castle Black. There had been brief scuffles, nothing major, but they were choking the Night's Watch. Ser Alliser had been readying a sortie to clear them out, when the patrols alerted the brothers to more marching west from Eastwatch.

Two thousand more wildlings coming along at the base of the Wall, and another two hundred moving atop of it. They were moving fast, only two days away.

Very soon, there would be two and half thousand wildlings against three hundred sworn brothers, with no walls to hide behind. Those weren't even slightly survivable odds.

And yet what chance do we have? Sam thought.

Castle Black was ruined. When Sam first returned, over a week ago, it had been in shambles. Coldhands had dropped him off at a secret passageway through a white weirwood door leading under the Wall, into the Nightfort. By the time Sam returned to Castle Black, he found a garrison left devastated.

Sam's return had caused some stirs. Everyone had expected that he had died. Sam had met up with a Wall patrol coming to recover the castle, and nobody was sure what exactly happened. When pressed, Sam had muttered something about escaping and running away.

There had been questions on how exactly he got away and back through the Wall, but fortunately everyone has been too distracted to really pressure him on them. What was I supposed to tell them, the truth? I had dream where I met a man in a tree?

In the middle of the courtyard, the gatehouse was wrecked. They had collapsed and blockaded the gate and tried to seal the tunnel with stone and ice after that night. No more rangings north of the Wall from Castle Black.

Seventy men died that night when the Other came through. Most of the survivors had been the ones barricading themselves in the towers, away from the fighting. The sworn brothers managed to kill the wights, eventually, but then everyone who had been trying to retake the tunnel had been slaughtered when the Other itself came through gate.

Donal Noye had been had been in charge of that force. According to the garbled witness accounts, Donal had even managed to land a blow on the creature before it skewered him. Something described as 'ice white and burned black' limped away south into the forest.

After that, the only way to describe the situation was pure panic.

"What happened here?" Bowen Marsh had screamed, face red, when the recovery force from Eastwatch arrived. "How did the wildlings got through? How many were there?"

"Just the one," Sam stammered. "One white walker."

"Don't be a fool, man."

"It was an Other," Sam tried to protest. "It cut through our men and it's out there! We've got to go after it, hunt it down now!"

Bowen Marsh's face flushed, shook his head. "We have too few men, we cannot waste them traipsing through the forest!"

"But it's out there!"

"And how do you know?" Bowen cried. "By your own account you were on the other side of the Wall at the time!"

There were a few corroborating witnesses, but most of those that had laid eyes on the Other had died. Ser Alliser Thorne survived, albeit missing his right eye, but he had been fighting the wights in the Flints Barracks when the white walker broke through the courtyard.

Bowen Marsh and the others from Eastwatch stubbornly refused to believe the story of the white walker, even despite Sam's protests and the evidence. They're scared, Sam remembered thinking. If they let themselves believe that an Other was out there, they'd break down in fear.

Sam didn't know what to do. Bowen took command and very quickly ordered the tunnel to be sealed and barricaded, as if that would make it all better. The castle became a simmering pot of fear and confusion. Everyone was panicked, shaken, and nobody knew what to do.

I know what to do, Sam thought. I just don't know how to do it. And nobody will listen to me in any case.

Castle Black's numbers increased to two hundred after patrols as well as reinforcements of Eastwatch and Shadow Tower men. There were even those who started to doubt that there had been wights there at all, once the bodies had been burned. Those who hadn't been present.

Sam's hands were trembling constantly. He had been treated like he was insane, or even a conspirator. He tried to do his duty. He tried to warn them, but no one listened.

Sam had also tried searching the library and vaults for any mention of a spell used to build the Wall, but found nothing.

Maester Aemon survived - the wights had targeted mainly fighting men, and the maester had been locked in his quarters - but the maester also knew nothing of any record of a spell from the children of the forest. Aemon questioned Sam about the details of his escape harder than anyone else. The maester was the only one who seemed to be really suspicious of Sam's story, while the rest had dismissed him.

But then wildlings arrived. A hundred sworn brothers fleeing from Eastwatch came first, followed by reports of wildlings on the Wall and south of it. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had fallen. Stories of massive hordes of wildlings, and giant dragons.

Sam had never known this type of panic before.

What am I going to do? The greenseer gave me a duty and I am failing.

"Answer me, Edd," Sam whispered, shuffling to one side. "What are our chances here?"

Eddison looked at him with a dark frown. "For what?"

"If we abandon the castle and run? How far will we get?"

"Maybe to Shadow Tower. We could rally with Denys Mallister."

"That's over a hundred leagues, across mountains and there's a storm brewing."

"I didn't say we'd all make it," Edd admitted with a grimace.

"And if we stand and fight? Barricade up and try to hold the castle?"

"Then maybe we'd last until reinforcements from northern lords arrive."

"How likely is that to happen?"

"Not very likely at all," Edd admitted. "Yet if we do nothing they'll kill us."

"But if we fight or try to run then they'll also kill us," Sam said shaking his head. "They will kill us no matter what."

"Yes. So isn't this a bitch of a choice?"

There was an emergency meeting in the Shield Hall that night. Bowen Marsh's plan won out, Thorne had too little support to fight. It was agreed that half the men would run to Shadow Tower, the other half would scatter south and flee to the nearest holdfasts. The Night's Watch would have to scatter and try to rally later if they wanted to survive. Orders were given to raze the castle, to spoil the food, to destroy the weapons - to burn the castle behind them before letting the wildlings take it.

The air was grim, terrified. Sam suspected that half the men there would have deserted if they thought they could get by the wildlings at the front. Even Bowen Marsh, the man in command, looked like he was barely holding together.

Sam was ordered to go back to the rookery and collect any tomes, books or messages of the utmost importance. All other books and parchment would be burnt. Scorched earth left behind them. Sam tried to protest, but nobody listened.

He felt hollow. Maester Aemon wheezed by the fireplace, quietly sorting through his herbs and medicines. Nobody said it, but the maester would certainly die trying to flee at night.

"Are you happy with this plan, maester?" Sam croaked.

"It is not my place to be happy with it or not," Maester Aemon replied. "The decision has already been made. I am nothing more than an old maester; I simply serve."

It's wrong, Sam thought. He remembered what the greenseer said. The strength of the barrier relies on the sworn brothers on the Wall. If they - if we - die or abandon our post, the barrier weakens.

But what can I do? Stop them from running and stop them dying? How?

They would dismiss it as a ludicrous dream if he told them about the greenseer. Perhaps it was. I'm useless.

"I'm a craven," Sam said out loud.

The maester looked at him. "Yes," he agreed. "You are."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I once knew another man who was a craven too," Aemon continued slowly. "Everyone else knew him as a great warrior, though. I always wondered how a man so cowardly could survive so many battles and so much deceit. It was only later as I got older and wiser that I realised that his cowardice kept him and everyone around him alive."

Sam looked at the maester, unsure how to reply to that. "Brave men die hard but die fast, Samwell," Aemon said, levering to his feet with cracking knees. "But the craven shall outlive us all. Whatever you are going to do, do it because you are a craven."

Sam stared at the fire. "Now, excuse me," Aemon sighed. "I feel like I should retire early for the night. Tomorrow will likely be a busy day."

Sam sat for a long time, thinking.

From the very first rays of morning onwards, the castle was hectic. They would light the fires and flee together come dusk. Thorne would lead a group of fighting men to keep the wildlings back, while all others fled from different directions. The idea was that the wildlings might not be able to catch them all.

Sam stopped and stared, watching the men run like ants. Sam saw Eddison bustling backwards and forth, moving kindling through the keep. "The prisoners," Thorne announced at dinner. "We're going to take the prisoners with us during the sortie. We'll put swords at their backs and we'll use them as hostages to distract the wildlings."

"We can't let those prisoners escape justice," Bowen warned.

"We won't. We'll kill them before we let the wildlings near them," Thorne grunted. "But we should at least get some use out of them. Have a steward check on them, make sure they're healthy enough to last one more night."

That steward would be Edd. Sam watched the steward finish his other tasks, until eventually Edd headed downwards into the wormwalks. Sam followed him down to the vaults, and through the twisty mazes leading towards the ice cells.

The cells were cold, but that wasn't the reason Sam's hands were trembling. He paused and picked up an unlit torch from its bracket and the wall, and clutched the heavy wood with both hands. His nervous feet skittered.

"Edd!" Sam shouted, wheezing. Edd walked fast. "Wait, hold on!"

"Sam?" Edd frowned. "What are you doing down here?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry about this," Sam admitted.

With both hands, he slammed the torch downwards onto Edd's head like a club. There was a dull thud.

"Bugger Sam!" Edd groaned in pain, clutching his head. "What the hells was that for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Sam grimaced, stuttering. "I thought if I hit you over the head, you'd get knocked out, and, well, I need to steal your keys."

Edd stared in admonishment and shock. "You need to steal my keys?"

"Yes. Really sorry."

Sam hit him again. Harder this time.

"Oww!" Edd cried clutching his forehead. "Have you gone insane?"

He tried to lunge at Sam, but Edd was short and scrawny and Sam was still much bigger and heavier. Edd tried to yank the torch out of Sam's grip, but Sam hit him again.

"Really sorry," Sam repeated dumbly. He wasn't quite sure what was happening anymore. By the Seven, I am trembling in my boots .

"Bloody! You bloody–" Edd cursed. Sam raised the club once more. "Here, take my bloody keys just stop bloody hitting me!"

He dug out of his pocket and threw an iron ring of keys onto the ice. Sam blinked, and nodded. "Um, thank you," he said, and then hesitated. "… And I need you lock yourself into one of those cells there?"

Edd's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

Sam gulped, and nodded. "Yes. Go into that cell and shut the door."

"Sam, you're out of your mind."

"Do it or I hit you over the head again."

He looked at Sam incredulously.

"This really isn't how I pictured this happening," Sam admitted. Edd tried shouting for help. Sam was so lucky that with everything else happening, there were no men to be spared as guards on the cells.

Edd tried to wrestle the torch off him again. Somehow, Sam managed to overpower him and whack him once more. "Bugger it!" Edd howled.

"I don't see another option here," Sam said with another gulp. "I think I have to keep on hitting you until you get in that cell."

He raised the torch threateningly. "Bloody, alright!" said Edd said. "Alright, I'm doing it, I'm going into the cell."

Edd walked slowly. Sam had to force him through the door. "Why are you…?" He asked, baffled. "What are you trying to do here, Sam?"

"I'm trying to save your lives." Sam slammed the door shut, and twisted the lock shut with a click.

Sam leant on the wall, and took a deep breath. He could hear Edd shouting and banging on the ice, but the cells were thick.

Maybe I didn't think that part through properly, Sam thought, taking deep breathes. His hands were shivering as we walked down the frozen corridor, by cell after cell.

When he saw the one that he needed, his courage almost failed him. Still, he unlocked the door and shambled in.

The cell was large, cold and empty. Sam saw two dark eyes staring at him from under a thick sheepskin cloak. The cell stunk of frozen shit and piss. Mance Rayder had been in here so long he wasn't even shivering from the cold anymore.

Sam stared. His mouth hung open.

"… The fat boy." Mance croaked. His voice was so weak and raw. "Tarly, wasn't it? What are you doing here, Tarly?"

Five months. He's been in here five months.

They had been hard months. Mance Rayder's arms were still chained to the ice, his wrists chafed bloody. His fingers had been broken and hadn't been set properly, leaving his hands looking twisted and mangled. His skin was frighteningly pale and his bones almost protruded through his skin. Like a skeleton that still had just bit of meat left.

They hadn't fed the prisoners much, Sam remembered. For a while after the attack, the sworn brothers had been too distracted to feed them at all.

The plan had always been to execute then when Mormont returned, but then the Lord Commander never came back at all so the prisoners had just lingered. Half the prisoners had died in their cells and the remaining ones were so weak. Sam hesitated. How is my plan to work if he is this frail?

"… Excuse me, I'm unaccustomed to having guests," Mance muttered dryly, rattling his manacles weakly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Sam gulped. "I need your help."

"Oh, now this ought to be good." Was there a ghost of a smile on his sunken face?

No choice. Sam gulped harder. "A host of wildlings is camped outside Castle Black. They are waiting for reinforcements before they attack, but it's coming soon."

Mance's eyes widened. "There are? Truly? How many?"

"There will be thousands shortly."

Mance grinned. Sam had never seen a grin like that before. His teeth shone in the dark.

"Oh, now that's beautiful. Now I get to die with a smile on my face," he chortled. "I was ready to die months ago, but you bastards just had to keep me alive down here."

"Maybe you don't have to die at all. Maybe none of us do." Sam gulped. "The Night's Watch surrenders."

His head cocked. "They surrender?"

"Yes. They haven't realised it yet, but they surrender." Sam looked at him with all the determination he could muster. "And you're king, aren't you? You could convince the wildlings outside to accept our surrender and leave everyone alive."

"Maybe." Mance pulled himself up straight. His bones creaked. His eyes were sharp now. "Who leads outside?"

"I don't know. I've seen men with bronze disk armour, painted faces and pierced brows."

"Thenns." Mance sighed. "Oh, now that's unlucky for you. Their Magnar, my neighbour, passed away a few months ago."

"But you can deal with them, right?" Sam insisted. "Convince them to keep prisoners?"

"Possibly. But if the Watch tries to fight back then they'll get themselves killed."

"So we won't give anyone a chance to fight back." I'm a craven; I'll take the coward's choice. "The only way that we might survive this is if we lose. We let the wildlings in with such an advantage that nobody even tries to fight back. They take us hostage instead, but everyone lives."

Mance's eyes narrowed. "And what's to stop them executing you later?"

"Hopefully, you," said Sam. "These were your brothers once, you served for a long time. I have to believe that you don't want to see us dead either."

"Hmmph. I'm not sure if you're a fool or not, Tarly." Mance groaned in pain as he shifted position. "Alright, what's the plan?"

"I get you out of here, sneak you out of the Castle and over to their lines. You bring them terms, tell them the plan, and I'm going to light a fire in the main hall. During the distraction, the wildlings can swoop in and capture the castle."

Mance shook his head. "Won't work; the sentries will still raise the alarm and there will be fighting. If you could get the free folk into the courtyard undetected, now that would be a better chance of losing the castle bloodlessly."

Sam blinked. "What do you mean?"

"If you can distract the sentries enough to get a few dozen or so to one of the tower. They could make their way to Flint's Barracks and hold position near the Grey Keep. The trick is to capture the sworn brothers in small groups rather than as one force."

"You've been thinking about this already," Sam breathed.

"How else is a chained man to pass the time, but to dream of freedom?" Mance bit his lip. "Who has command in Castle Black?"

"Bowen Marsh."

"Ha, now who really has command that men will listen to?"

"Ser Alliser Thorne."

"Hmm… I know him. A hard man, aye, but he's not the most creative thinker. We could use that." Mance cast a worried look at the door. "How long do we have?"

"Probably not very long," he admitted nervously.

"Very well, so listen to me closely, Tarly," said Mance. He was still croaking, but his voice was hard. "Unlock these chains and help me to my feet. Then, go to the other cells and see how many prisoners are still alive and what state they're in. After that, gather them together and we can see about coming up with a plan to lose a castle."

---

Val

Castle Black wasn't as large as she imagined. Somehow, she had pictured the castle being some mammoth structure as gigantic as the Wall itself. It wasn't, but it was still the largest castle she had ever seen.

The walk through the courtyard seemed so strange, unreal. Val's muscles were tense, walking between stone towers that seemed so foreign to her. She had never thought she would end up here, walking in the crow's castle itself, except perhaps as a prisoner, or perhaps a head on a spike.

Above them, the white dragon circled the Wall.

The battle had been over by the time Val arrived with two thousand fighters. Castle Black fell quickly to the advance force by Sigorn and his Thenns alone. His instructions had been to wait for reinforcements and the dragon, but Sigorn had went ahead nevertheless.

"Val," a voice called. She saw Sigorn waiting for her with his arms folded. Very few of the Thenns looked bloodied. "You're late."

"You went ahead," she retorted, keeping her eyes cool. Next to her, a huge lumbering figure wailed, looking around the buildings in amazement. The giant kept close to Val constantly.

Sigorn's eyes flickered. "You brought giant."

"Meet Wun Wun," Val said with a smirk. Wun Wun cried with the mention of his name. He didn't know much of the Common Tongue, but he was learning.

The giant had travelled with her from Hardhome after the gates fell. Wun Wun was massive and very simple even by giant standards. He had been an outcast in the clan, but quite receptive when Val recruited him and brought him into camp. She made sure that he ate well and that nobody bothered him, and it helped a lot to have a friendly giant by her side when dealing with some of the giant clans. It also didn't hurt to have a fourteen foot tall bodyguard.

Wun Wun growled as Sigorn stepped closer. Val raised her hand and touched his fur to calm him. "He's protective."

Sigorn just grunted, yet he looked at her hesitantly. Sigorn wasn't sure how to act around her. He's a good man, Val thought. A bit simple and headstrong, but decent enough.

Val had slept with Sigorn a while ago, back when she needed to recruit his support for her host. She didn't regret it, and he had been kind, but it didn't become anything more than a few nights. Val had even been debating taking him for a time.

Still, despite his appearance the Magnar of Thenn had a soft heart; he had been looking a proper woman to hold and protect, while Val just wasn't. Their 'relationship' had ended very quickly, but for some reason the man insisted on making things awkward afterwards.

"How was the battle?" Val asked.

"Quick," he said sourly. He had been looking for a battle. She couldn't see any bodies littering the courtyard.

"How many casualties?"

"Of ours, five," he said. "Twenty of them."

"Now that's hardly a battle at all. So few?"

"One of the crows defected, opened for way for us and released the prisoners. We captured the castle quickly."

"The prisoners," she repeated. Her heart pounded slightly. "Mance? He lives?"

Sigorn just nodded. She took a deep breath. "And your father?"

He shook his head. Ah, no wonder he seems so bitter.

"I take you to Mance," he offered, pointing towards the keep. "Others are securing prisoners. You have time to talk, before Snow calls us."

She nodded. Mance, she thought with shock. Mance is alive. She had barely dared to hope.

Wun Wun wailed as she walked up the stairs to the keep. "It's alright," she reassured the giant. "You wait here, I won't be long."

The keep felt tense and quiet. Val saw some signs of fighting - half-made barricades, broken arrows littering the floor, a few blotches of blood - but it looked more like constant scuffles through the keep and corridors rather than any major fights. The stone corridors felt so confined that she tensed, but Sigorn pointed the way and she walked down into an old storeroom.

The first time she saw Mance again, he looked like a broken man. He was sitting on an old chair, and Val wasn't so sure if he could walk. His bloodshot eyes widened as she saw her. Val had never seen him look so frail. He's been in a cell for over five months, she thought. Malnourished and broken.

"Val," Mance croaked quietly. His voice was raw. "Dalla? How is Dalla, and…"

"Your son," Val whispered, watching Mance's eyes bulge. "He's fine. So is Dalla."

With that, Mance almost collapsed onto his chair. She saw tears in his eyes.

His fingers had been broken, and hadn't quite set properly. His hands looked broken and malformed. Mance struggled to hold a cup as he drank a deep gulp of warmed tea.

The stone room was quiet and empty. Val opened the shutters, and paused to stare outside down at the courtyard. She could see more and more free folk milling through the keep. She watched as men dragged dead bodies out of the towers, and dumped them unceremoniously onto the fire. Twenty dead crows.

She wondered briefly how many of those corpses had been Jon's friends.

"My wife," Mance said after a pause. "Where is she?"

"Hardhome. Or perhaps moving towards Eastwatch by now."

"Is she safe?"

"She's with twenty thousand free folk. As well defended as they could be. She might already be south of the Wall. The gates at Eastwatch were wide open, and last I saw, they were bringing as many through as possible, as quick as possible."

"I see," said Mance quietly. "So it's true then? The Wall has truly fallen?"

"They'll be opening the gates at Castle Black right now. The Shadow Tower still stands, but I doubt it will last any longer than Castle Black did. The Night's Watch is broken. They could never stand against a dragon."

Mance nodded, closing his eyes quietly.

"You saw it, haven't you?" Val asked. "The dragon?"

"I saw it. I thought I was dreaming. I'm still not sure if I'm not."

"Aye." Complete disbelief, shock, horror and awe were all reasonable reactions to that sight. "It's real, believe me."

"Where did it come from?"

"Buried under ice, to hear the tales. Others say it fell from the moon, or burst from the ocean. I know a few claiming that it grew from a weirwood tree, a gift from the Old Gods - white bark given flesh."

"And yet Jon Snow controls it?"

"King Jon Snow now." Val nodded.

Mance smiled humourlessly. "… So I hear… I wonder if I will have to call him 'Your Jon', now?" He muttered, almost to himself. "I didn't believe anyone could make the free folk kneel."

"I didn't believe in dragons."

"True."

There was a pause. "I remember Jon Snow," Mance said. "I remember a young, scared little boy coming into my tent, kneeling… he hadn't really defected, you know? I suspect the Halfhand ordered him to infiltrate our camp. Qhorin probably ordered the boy to kill him too, the stubborn fool."

"I always thought as much."

"Oh, I was pretty certain. Jon agreed too quickly, he kept his words too vague and his hand didn't go far from his sword. I've seen defectors before; Jon Snow was not one. He probably thought himself so cunning, telling the tale he thought I wanted to hear."

"If you knew, then why didn't you just kill him?"

Mance shrugged. "I was curious."

"About?"

"I wanted to see how long his vows would last. I knew he would probably return to the crows given a chance, but I figured he was no threat. I knew that girl Ygritte was warm on him, and perhaps if he had a chance to live among us…" Mance shrugged. "I wanted to see whether or not even a bastard lord of Winterfell could grow to like the taste of freedom."

Val smiled softly. The room felt cold. She didn't like stone rooms, they made her uncomfortable. "I saw Jon Snow again earlier," he continued. "White hair, gaunt face… I didn't even recognise him from the boy I once saw."

"Aye," Val agreed. "I didn't either."

"And he controls that dragon?" Mance said. "He actually commands it?"

"He's a warg."

"A warg with a dragon…" Mance shuddered, wincing slightly. Gods, he looked so starved and frail. "I've seen plenty wargs before," Mance murmured. "Worked with them. Rode with them. Never trusted them. It goes both ways, you know? I've seen a man that skinchanged with a bear that ended up absolutely feral and living in a cave, or a man that couldn't talk - only hoot - after warging with an owl for too long. The animal takes on traits of the human, but the human takes traits of the beast too. Men who start thinking more like animal than man… I shudder to think what a man shaped by a dragon could become…"

"What about the sort like Varamyr? The skinchangers that have multiple skins rather than just one?" She asked curiously. She knew that Jon Snow kept a direwolf and a shadowcat too.

"Oh, they are even worse. Controlling many bodies like that, living and dying in different forms - they forget what shape they are meant to be. Even on his best days, Varamyr was always half-insane."

There was a long pause. Val didn't know how to reply.

"How are you, good-brother?" Val said quietly. "My sister has been missing you dearly."

"Not as much as I've missed her," he muttered. "They locked me in a cell and forgot about me. Five months in that ice cell… I didn't know if she still lived or not. I would have dreams about Dalla dead in the snow, or rising up with blue eyes. Dreams so vivid I wasn't sure if…" He gulped. "I didn't know what happened to her, and now you tell me that the Wall has fallen, and I have a son?" Val nodded. "I've been in a cell for five months," Mance said. "Tell me everything."

She did. Val told him about the fallout after the Frostfangs, the free folk gathering at Hardhome. Jon Snow and his dragon appearing, the battle against the Night's Watch and the Others in the forest and against the king's ships in the bay. Jon demanding fealty, and then taking Eastwatch with his dragon. Mance didn't speak, he just listened intently.

"I see," he said finally.

She hesitated. "There are many people wondering, Mance," Val said carefully, "whether or not you'll swear to him as well?"

"Why? Will King Snow take my head if I don't?"

"I have no idea what King Snow will do," she said honestly.

Could Snow do that? Probably could. Mance had been well-respected; Mance been a good leader to the free folk for a long time. Still, Jon Snow had broken the Wall for them. Jon Snow had a dragon. There were a large and increasing number of free folk worshipping King Snow and his dragon as a god and prophet.

If Snow wanted Mance dead, he would be dead. A few people would grumble, sure, but not enough to break King Snow's reign.

Would he though? Val didn't think Jon a cruel man, but she didn't think that the current King-Beyond-the-Wall would look kindly on the previous one.

Mance sighed, with a humourless laugh. "Oh, how things have changed."

Val hesitated. "Tell me about the battle," she said, changing the subject. "I heard you had a part."

"Aye, a crow took me out of my cell. The most spineless man you'd ever seen, but he was smart enough," Mance explained. "There were enough strong prisoners to send someone over to the Thenns, and we barricaded the doors to the barracks and locked the crows inside. It didn't last long, but it was enough of a distraction for the Magnar to…"

His voice trailed off as he heard footsteps outside. A free folk with a gruff, greying beard, clad in chainmail and leather hauberk stepped into the room. Looks like they had been looting the crow's armour and weapons.

"Mance," the wildling said with a nod. "Should have known you're too stubborn a bastard to die."

"Wulf," Mance greeted with a sigh. "It's been a long time, friend."

"Aye. A good day. We've taken the Wall, just like you gathered us to do," Wulf said with a rugged smile. "Come. King Snow wants to see both of you."

"King Snow?" Mance's head cocked. Wulf was a seasoned warrior and raider - a true free folk. They have known each other for years, Val recalled. "You kiss his arse as well?"

Wulf just shrugged. "If you had a dragon, I would have called you king too. Now come on."

Mance's jaw tightened. He struggled to stand. His legs were trembling, Val noted. He was a strong man, but after five months of muscle deterioration, cold and untreated injuries his body was failing him. "You can't stand, Mance," Val said. "Here, let me…"

"Bugger that," Mance grimaced, gasping weakly as he clung to the chair with a pained wince.

"I could carry him if I have to," Wulf said with a shrug, but Mance's eyes flashed. There was no way that Mance would let himself be carried. Stupid male pride, Val cursed. Had Jon Snow done this deliberately, just to shame him? Summoned Mance like a dog, just to parade him around as a weak, broken man?

In the end, Mance's arm wrapped over Val's shoulder and she had to hold him as they staggered out of the room. The stairs proved difficult, and Wulf walked impatiently behind them with every strained step.

It was night outside, but the campfires were burning and free folk were celebrating throughout the castle. Snow drifted gently from the sky, and they trod through the crowds towards the oak and iron door of the King's Tower. The King's Tower, Val thought. Of course Jon Snow would take the King's Tower as his quarters.

The King's Tower was a hundred feet high, broad and circular. The stairs were nightmarish for Mance, he refused to stop even despite gasping and wincing in pain. The solar was a broad, stone room on the third floor, and it was full of people. There were four free folk guards standing outside, but they parted to let Mance past. Val could hear angry yelling from within.

"You fucking traitor bastard," a man snarled angrily. "I should have gutted you when I had the chance."

The room was on edge. Val saw Sigorn, Soren Shieldbreaker, Harle the Huntsman, Gerrick Kingsblood, Ygon Oldfather - every wildling leader and warrior crammed in the room, all tense with their hands on blades.

In the centre of the room sat half a dozen crows in black. None of them were armed, surrounded by angry free folk. Val could feel the tension with every step.

And there was King Snow, sitting behind the desk, staring at the crows with cold eyes. He wore his thick giant's hide cloak, even despite the warm fire burning in the room. Now what is he thinking when he stares at the crows? Val wondered. Is he seeing enemies who would have him killed, or men who used to be his friends whom he betrayed?

The room hushed as Mance staggered through the doorway. Mance's body was trembling, but his eyes were sharp. She heard the breath hiss as they stared upon the state of the man who was once their King-Beyond-the-Wall.

Still, the first person who spoke was one of the crows - a slim and sinewy aging man with grey whiskers and a bloody missing eye. The crow's gaze darkened as he stared at Mance Rayder limping through the door. "Another one I should have killed," the crow growled. "You proud of yourself, 'King Snow'? You murder good men and let killers and traitors walk free?"

Val was half-surprised that nobody in the room killed him for that right there and then. She could see some free folk came close. "You forget your position, Ser Alliser," Jon said coolly. "I'd advise you to restrain yourself."

He paused, and then stood up. "Mance," Jon said, with a respectful nod. "It's good to see you again. Please, take my seat."

The room shuffled slightly, but Jon didn't seem to notice as he carried his chair away from the desk and placed it for Mance. Then he turned back to the crows. The one called Ser Alliser was almost fuming with rage.

"You happy, traitor?" Ser Alliser growled. "You bring savages into the realm? I'll see you hung for the men you murdered."

"You were the ones insisted on deaths, not me. I gave you every chance to surrender."

"Surrender to wildlings? I'll fight you to the last, I swear it."

"Let me kill this one for you," Sigorn said suddenly, stepping forward, clutching his blades. His eyes were dark with intent. "Let me do it. I'll cut off his head and feed it to the nearest pig."

Alliser nearly jumped up, before three big men pulled him down. Ser Alliser had lost his right eye fairly recently, Val noticed. The ugly wound was still raw, as if it had been clawed out of his skull. He still bore wounds of battle, but he was defiant. Jon just shook his head.

"As bull-headed as always, Thorne," Mance muttered, his voice croaky.

He was trembling. "Against traitors? Always."

"That one should die," a deep voice grumbled. Val saw a white-haired giant of a man looming at the far end of the room with angry eyes. His skin was paler, clumps of hair were missing, and his broad chest was gaunter, but there was still raw strength in his voice. Even after months of imprisonment, Tormund Giantsbane made an impressive sight. Gods, how can Tormund even stand up straight? "That crow likes to torture his prisoners. Likes to hurt people, that one. I'd like to hurt him too."

Sigorn's eyes were vicious as he stared at Thorne. "Was this the man that tortured my father? Was this the man who left Styr, Magnar of Thenn, to die in a cell?"

Ser Alliser is going to get himself torn apart, Val thought. Limb by limb.

"Aye. Your father died a wailing old man," Ser Alliser growled. As brave as he is stupid . "I wish I had swung the axe myself. One less wildling."

Sigorn roared in fury. He would have lunged if Jon Snow hadn't have snapped, "Enough! Ser Alliser here is trying to provoke us. You will not let him succeed" His eyes glared. "Perhaps he will die, but not like this. Not tonight, or not in this room at least."

"Why not give me a sword and try to kill me yourself, Snow?" Ser Alliser challenged. "One on one. Or are you not man enough to beat a one-eyed fighter?"

"The realm would come off worse if you did kill me, ser," Jon lowered himself to glare into the crow's eyes. "As bad as you think I am, it would be so much worse if I did die. I'm the only one who can control the dragon. Kill me, and Sonagon rampages wildly instead."

That caused the room to pause slightly. Ser Alliser's eye twitched. "Jon," another crow said quietly. It was a fat, pudgy boy cower into the corner. The fat crow's face was filled with fear rather than anger. "Please, Jon, don't do this…"

Strangely, those words seemed to unnerve Jon more than any of Ser Alliser's threats or taunts. Val looked at the fat boy curiously.

"I do not want to do anything," Jon said, stepping backwards. "Mindless slaughter serves no purpose. Ser Alliser, you are here because you are the most seasoned ranger left in Castle Black." He turned between the other crows. "Bowen Marsh, Lord Steward." A round, red-faced man with a balding head. "Cotter Pyke, Commander of Eastwatch." The broadstock captive they had brought with them from Eastwatch. "Othell Yarwyck, First Builder." An old, white-bearded lantern man jawed with a stony face. "Maester Aemon, Maester of Castle Black." An incredibly old, crooked man with a grey, blind gaze, but who still seemed strangely at ease. "And Sam Tarly. Steward." The fat boy, he was the odd one out. Jon's gaze flickered as he turned to him.

"You are here because you are some of the most respected men in the Watch," he continued. "And you are here because together I wish to negotiate a truce."

"A truce?" The crow, Bowen Marsh, squeaked.

"I have no wish to destroy the Night's Watch." His voice was firm. Some of the free folk shifted slightly. "I want the Night's Watch help to defend against the real threat: the white walkers. Your rangers fought the dead in the forest. They killed Lord Commander Mormont. They are the real threat, not us. And I propose a deal to work together to beat them."

Nobody said a word. Jon kept on pacing the room. "The terms are simple. We agree to a ceasefire between sworn brothers and free folk. The Night's Watch continues to man the Wall, with the condition that any refugee is allowed free passage, so long as they keep the peace. The gates stay open." Ser Alliser's face twitched. "The free folk are allowed to settle in the Gift. In return, they will agree to aid and reinforce the Night's Watch against the Others."

"You're talking about stealing the Wall," Bowen Marsh said, aghast.

"I'm talking about coming to the best arrangement anyone is going to get. There are forty thousand free folk. Good men, strong men - well-motivated to fight against the Others. The Watch had less than a thousand and I don't even know how many still live. You need more men to stop the Others, and we can offer you that."

"The Others," Ser Alliser spat. "You're bargaining to fight against fairy tales?"

"You've seen the Others yourself, ser."

"Oh, I've seen corpses move. I've seen corpses kill good men. That doesn't mean I believe every load of horse crap around, though. For all I know, it could have been wildling sorcery that raised them. They could be working for you. I don't know what the Others are, but I know the threat in front of me."

"Then you are a fool," said Jon. "I've seen the army of the dead. It is coming. Right now, this is just the beginning, their skirmish forces; they haven't even started their main assault yet. The white walkers will build up strength, and they will not stop. Not unless we stand together to stop it."

"It is treason," said Bowen Marsh. "It is pure treason, to stand aside and let you…"

"I could take the Wall," Jon said simply. "I don't have to offer you this deal. I could quite easily just kill you and take it. I don't want to, though; it would be a waste. The Wall needs every good man it can get. The living, rather than the dead."

Ser Alliser won't yield, Val thought. Too much pride. Bowen Marsh was a weaker sort, but she didn't think he would concede either. He might be cowed, but he would always look for a chance to betray. The others though… the ones called Othell Yarwyck and Cotter Pyke were both frowning, thinking. The ancient man, Maester Aemon, hadn't said a word, just listening intently.

"Let's say I buy it," Cotter Pyke said after a while, his jaw clenched. "Let's say we sign a piece of paper or whatever. The wildling have been raiding, raping and pillaging the north for centuries. Hell, there's even been peace before, but it's never lasted. How do we know that they won't just start pillaging and raiding all the more freely?"

Oh, now he's a different sort. Raiding and stealing is our culture, true enough. All eyes were on Jon Snow.

"The wildlings can keep their culture," Jon said. "But they will also keep the peace, I will ensure it. The stakes are too high, I will not tolerate anyone - on either side - who might threaten the real battle."

His eyes gazed around the room, waiting for the objections. "You'd stop us free folk from taking vengeance against the kneelers?" a wildling growled. "After what they've done to us for centuries?"

"And after what you've done to them? Aye, I'd stop you, in the same I'd stop any who'd take vengeance against you." He locked eyes with the man. "You swore fealty to me, Haldur Bullspear, and that means respecting my peace."

You're taking a treacherous stance, Jon Snow, Val thought to herself, but stayed quiet. The free folk happily followed him when he brought them south, but to tell them that they couldn't raid or take vengeance? Free folk wouldn't like that.

"Do you see why any peace is doomed for failure?" Othell Yarwyck spoke up in a lumbering voice, shaking his great mane. "Others have walked down the same path. We've reached out to the wildlings in the past, they've even reached out to us. It always ends the same way; one side has to make concessions they don't want to make, and bad blood rules."

"Then we draw the line in the snow and we keep it," said Jon. "The free folk get their own land, land gifted to them by the Night's Watch. On free folk land, free folk culture rules."

Ser Alliser snorted. "Don't bother trying to wrap it up," the knight sneered. "We all know that you're going to take everything you want no matter what you say. There's no deal here, not really. You won't respect any terms we make, and no one else will either. The north will still raise banners to throw you out, whether you have the Night's Watch's 'gift' or not."

"He has a point," Cotter Pyke said with a grunt. "It seems to me that you're negotiating with an axe in your hand while we're in chains. That's a hostage situation, not a negotiation."

"If that's what it takes for peace." Jon seemed irritated, pacing the room. "We have either a chance for peace, or a certainty of war. Which one would you prefer?"

"I know which one is going to happen," Ser Alliser scoffed. Brave man. Stupid, but brave.

Jon glared at him, eyes narrowing. He paused for a few seconds, staring around the room.

"Ser Alliser," said Jon, loudly. "Do you agree to a ceasefire between Night's Watch and free folk? Will you agree to do your duty, happily or not, to continue to man the Wall, while the free folk settle in Gift?"

"Never," Ser Alliser spat. "I made a vow, boy."

"So did I, ser," Jon replied, almost sadly. His hand went to his sword. "Very well. Fetch a chopping block, and take Ser Alliser down to the courtyard."

Bowen's Marsh's face went pale. Ser Alliser bared his teeth and snarled. "You don't have the spine, boy."

Sigorn reached out to stop him. "No," the Magnar growled. "My father dead, my vengeance. I kill him."

Jon hesitated, but then nodded and stepped back. "Take his head, but make it quick."

The Magnar of Thenn grinned toothily. Ser Alliser screamed, lunging at Jon. It took five men to restrain him. Ser Alliser didn't go quietly - he went kicking and screaming to the last. The free folk had to beat him on the floor of the king's solar, before dragging him physically out the door and down the steps. Sigorn was already clutching his swords.

The fat boy, Sam, cowered in the cower. Cotter Pyke averted his gaze. Othell Yarwyck stared at Jon. Jon's hand was trembling slightly.

"Cotter Pyke," said Jon, loudly, turning to the man. "Do you agree to a ceasefire between Night's Watch and free folk? Will you agree to do your duty, happily or not, to continue to man the Wall, while the free folk settle in Gift?"

He snorted. "Do I have a choice?"

"There's always a choice, ser."

"If that's how you want to play it, then fine." Cotter nodded. "I'll do my duty, I'll protect my men. If bending the knee keeps more of my brothers alive, then I'll bend." He stared at Jon intently. "But when the bodies start stacking up, the villages start burning, and the woman start being stolen, I want you to look at your actions, Jon Snow, and I want you to really think, 'Am I doing the right thing?'"

In the courtyard, there was a shrill scream, followed by a slice of a blade as Ser Alliser lost his head. It didn't sound like a clean kill. The free folk cheered.

The 'negotiation' ended quickly after that. Jon forced a promise out of each of them to respect his law. It was a promise that was worth less than dirt, Val knew.

The fat boy, Sam, looked at Jon wide eyes as wide as saucers. "Jon," Sam whispered, pale faced. "We need to talk…"

"Not now, Sam," Jon snapped. His shoulders tense, as free folk escorted the crows out of the room.

"But…" Sam tried to protest, yet the free folk pushed him roughly out the room.

If they were lucky, the crows would be locked in some tower for the night. Otherwise, they would likely spend the night in the dungeons.

"Jon Snow…" Maester Aemon mused slowly, running the name over his lips. It was the first thing he had said. A raider went to pull the old man out, but he held up his hand and walked. His voice was quiet as he paused, limping towards the door with a crooked back. "Jon Snow… Tell me, Jon, were you perchance born under a red star?"

Jon blinked. What sort of question is that? Val wondered. "I have no idea how I was born, my lord."

"I see," the maester said without another word, hobbling out of the door.

Nobody left the room happy. Jon had ordered that the crows who agreed to the truce would remain unharmed, but it made Val wonder. The crows wanted to kill them, and the free folk wanted to kill the crows. That truce was little more than wind.

Now how does King Snow expect this will end? Does he really think any sort of peace is possible? Val wondered. Or is he just afraid to kill men who were once his brothers?

Tormund Giantsbane was the last one out of the door. "Har! Jon Snow! You have a member larger than my maul, boy!" He exclaimed, grasping Jon's arm in a hearty handshake. "I thought you were goner, but no! You were just out digging up a dragon to fly back!"

"Tormund," Jon said wearily. "How are you, the ice cells…?"

"Oh aye, the crows captured me and tried to freeze my member off. But some things are too big to freeze, anyways," Tormund grunted, yet there was a dark edge in his voice. The jape didn't reach his eyes.

Jon hesitated. "Your daughter," he said slowly. "Munda. She was captured at the same time."

Tormund nodded, his jaw tight. "Aye. They took Munda to try and ransom her. Of course then, some crows must have gotten bored, because instead they snuck into her cell at night, raped her, and then slit her throat. Then they raped her again, I think. She was in the cell next to mine. I heard it all." Oh. "Now, fair warning, boy, because you rescued me and everything, but if I see those crows who killed my little girl, I will be butchering the bastards, no questions asked. Understood?"

Jon blinked. Val remembered Munda. She had been a sweet girl; she used to play the harp beautifully around the campfire at night. Jon looked lost for words. "Tormund, I'm…"

The broad man just waved his hand. "Forget it. I get it; these crows were once your brothers, and I'm sure there's some good ones among them. You don't want to kill the lot of them, and you did save me - so I can forgive. Mostly." He paused. "But not the crows who hurt my Munda. Those scunners will die brutally, alright?"

Jon just gave a stunned nod. Tormund flashed him a toothy smile. "Har! Jon Snow - King in the North and dragon rider! Never would have guessed it!" Tormund laughed, limping out of the room.

The other free folk trickled out, but Jon motioned towards Val and Mance to stay. It sounded like there would be a party in the courtyard. A great bonfire, while they raided the crow's supplies and slept in their beds.

When everyone left, the room went quiet. Jon looked towards Mance, eyes turning wary. He looked tired.

"Jon Snow," Mance said finally. "I didn't think I would ever be in this room again. Not like this. How many sworn brothers still live?"

"Not many," Jon admitted. "Mormont, Smallwood, Locke, Buckwell, Hobb, Dywen, Black Jack, Noye… They all died in one battle or another."

"I see. I've known some of those men half my life. I was born in the Watch, my brothers were the only family I had," Mance said sadly.

"And then they captured and tortured you."

"They were doing their job. I knew the stakes when I defected. It was the price I paid for my red cloak."

"Tell me something," Jon said, sounding genuinely curious. "Let's say your plan worked perfectly. You marched down the Frostfangs with the Horn of Winter. You forced the Watch to open the gates and you captured Castle Black. What would you have done to the sworn brothers?"

"Honestly? I don't know," Mance admitted. "I didn't want to, but I suspected that I would have to kill them all. All who wouldn't turn, in any case. I would have held a bonfire in the grounds and burnt every black cloak I could find. More likely or not the men would have died wearing them."

Jon grimaced. "I don't want to do that."

"You had the choice between saving either - what? - thirty thousand men, women and children behind the Wall, or five hundred men on the Wall. You chose to save the thirty thousand. Like I did." Mance nodded. "I wasn't there to see it, but you have my lifelong thanks for that."

"Maybe. But they're not safe yet."

"Nobody is."

Jon paced across the room, quietly closing the door. "Some of the free folk will try to demand to kill the crows. They'll demand their right to raid."

"They're free folk. They don't like anyone telling them what they can or can't do."

"If they want to survive, they'll have to learn," said Jon. "No needless deaths."

"There's always a need for some people."

"And what about you?" Jon pressed. "Are you going to let them go wild, or will you help keep them in line?"

He didn't reply. Jon folded his arms. "I could use your help keeping control. You have more influence than anyone."

Mance snorted, staring at his crooked hands. "Ah," Mance said after a long pause. "Is this the part where you threaten the lives of my wife and son unless I support your claim?"

Jon shook his head. "No, I promised Val that I would keep Dalla and her babe safe. They have nothing to fear from me, in any circumstance."

Val allowed herself a soft smile. There were times when Jon Snow talked and she found herself believing him. Mance didn't twitch. "And if I decide to retake my title of 'King-Beyond-the-Wall'?"

"Then you're welcome to try," Jon said with a humourless smile.

"You know, I spent eight years fighting to unite the clans into a single host," said Mance. "Eight years. Hardest eight years of my life. You did it in five months."

"Yes," Jon agreed.

Mance just scoffed under his breath, taking a deep breath. "And what would you have me do?"

"Actually, I was planning on giving you command of Castle Black."

Mance blinked. "You'd make me Lord Commander?"

"Not Lord Commander, no. The brothers need to elect their own Lord Commander, as it should be. But you'd be in command." Jon nodded. "You're the only man who knows the Night's Watch and the Wall as well as he knows the free folk. The Others attacked once, they could easily attack again. They were testing the Wall, trying to break through. Sooner or later they'll find a way. I need someone to get the Wall into a better state, as quickly as possible."

"And yourself?"

"I suspect I'm going to be busy. Ser Alliser was right; the northern lords won't accept wildlings through the Wall. I need to convince them otherwise."

Mance scratched his chin. "And then what?"

"We evacuate the lands north. All of it. There will be no more living for the Others to kill, and then they run out of corpses for the army. We stunt the growth of wights, and we force them to attack the Wall. And when they do, they will find thousands of free folk and sworn brothers protecting the Wall to repel them."

"Standing side by side?" Mance said with doubt.

"Eventually." Jon nodded. "We convince the Night's Watch that their vows command them to fight white walkers, not the free folk. We make free folk a part of the realm, not a threat to it."

"And afterwards we'll all ride off together into the sunset, to live long lives in the land of eternal summer, I suppose?" He snorted.

Jon just smiled. "Why not?"

Mance thought about it for a long time. "I will sleep on it," he said. "And I suggest that you sleep with your doors locked and really, really trustworthy guards outside."

"I think I will," Jon agreed, heading towards the door. "But these quarters are yours, my lord."

"Excuse me?"

"You can take the King's Tower for yourself," Jon offered. "I wouldn't subject you to climbing those stairs again, and I doubt I could sleep soundly on a bed that soft in any case. I've grown accustomed to sleeping next to Sonagon - I'll be staying in Hardin's Tower."

Hardin's Tower was a stout tower, but still one of the biggest and with a broken battlement spilling stone into yard below. The tower had a lean, but it would still be a good place for a dragon to roost on the top. Jon intended to sleep right underneath the watchful gaze of the dragon itself. Clever boy.

Jon nodded and bade Mance goodnight. Tomorrow, he said, they would see evacuating the tunnel, about resuming patrols, as well as organising the march to the Shadow Tower. Val said goodnight the same, leaving Mance bemused in the suite built for a king.

"May I walk you to your quarters, my lady?" Jon offered, like a respectable southern lord. Val could have snorted. He does that deliberately, she thought. He calls commoners and free folk 'my lord', 'ser', or 'lady', just to catch them off-guard. He even said it so earnestly that sometimes she believed it.

Val scoffed, stepping down the stairs. "You may, King Snow."

"Many of the men will have to camp in the courtyard until the castle is secure. There will be space for you in either the Silent Tower or the Guard Tower. I could arrange for some guards for you, if you wish."

"Don't bother," said Val. "I sleep with a dagger under my pillow - as any 'respectable lady' should."

"As you wish," he said with a nod, holding the door open for her into the courtyard. She could have rolled her eyes.

"So why are you walking with me… ahem… 'Your Grace'?" She said, taunting. "Do I need my dagger?"

"I just wanted a word. You are popular with the free folk. They respect you."

She shrugged. "I'm no raider."

"No, but you're popular among smallfolk - farmers, fishermen, the refugees. After the Frostfangs, many would have kept to the fighters, warriors and spearwives, but you treat them all equally."

"So I did. I stuck to Mance's rules. What of it?"

They passed the bonfire in the courtyard. Val noted how Jon averted his eyes from the bodies littering the snow.

"What if I were planning on assigning titles, rank and land to free folk that have proven themselves?"

"Then I would say you mistake us, Snow. It's you southrons that need fancy names, not free folk," she said curtly.

He just nodded. "As you wish, my lady."

They approached the Silent Tower, an old, dusty structure swarmed by rats, but it would be warm enough inside. Many of the spearwives had already made their camp. She would have to see about finding a place for Wun Wun and the others who had come with her, but right now she just want to reserve her bed for the night. Likely it would be a patch of floor somewhere until she could scrounge a bunk. Val simply nodded at the doorway.

"Good night, King Snow," she said, before turning and walking away.

Only when she was inside did she allow herself a small smile.

End of Part 1