Catelyn
The enemy surrounded White Harbour by land and by sea. Long trenches and earthworks divided the enemy camp from the city, while at sea Stannis' great fleet rested at anchor. Every day galleys would dart off in small packs to hunt the fishing fleets and merchant ships that sailed The Bite. Nearly a week passed before the siege began in earnest. Three of the enemy ships had drawn as close to the shore as they could before smaller boats came up alongside them. What had followed took the better part of a day as smaller ships, able to beach themselves, travelled back and forth from their larger allies to the shore. When night fell nothing seemed to have changed to make everyone worry as Catelyn did in her heart. When the next day broke, and the sun rose, she was proven right. Horses and oxen worked for hours to pull six long objects that looked to be made of iron and bronze to their appointed places on the field. Catelyn watched it all happen from the top of one of the New Castle's towers, wrapped in a blanket and a cloak against the cold north wind.
"What are they?" Ser Marlon Manderly asked.
"I fear I know," Catelyn said.
When noon had passed by hours beforehand, and the others on the tower top had come and gone and come again, Catelyn found that she was right. A roar like thunder, a belch of smoke that hid its creators from sight, then a second of nothingness as something moved across the field faster than the eye could follow. Then, at last, a terrible crash that sent dust and chunks of stone high into the air as the dragons found their mark. At the center of a long stretch of wall between two towers, one of the weakest parts of White Harbour's defences.
All six of the dragons had fired nearly simultaneously. Their fury crashing into the stone walls of White Harbour and for a few short seconds afterward, the normal sounds of the city were utterly silent. To a man, the nearly four thousand warriors defending White Harbour were quiet and still. From the tower, Catelyn could see the men on the walls slowly stand back up, as the shock and terror that had sent them sprawling dissipated. A few, Catelyn saw, turned to flee outright, but were stopped by their sergeants and forced back to their posts.
Slapping feet on stone steps told Catelyn that others were coming before she saw them. Robb, Ser Marlon Manderly, Ser Helman Tallhart, Lady Wynafryd, and Queen Wylla came bound to the tower top. Robb, his commanders, and Lady Wynafryd rushed to the ramparts to see the field.
"Lady Catelyn, are you hurt?" Wylla asked. Catelyn's green-haired gooddaughter rushed to her side.
"I'm not made of glass," Catelyn replied. "But thank you."
"What was that?" Wylla asked.
"King Stannis' dragons," Catelyn answered, loud enough for Robb and his lords to hear.
Robb turned slightly, a frown on his face and lines above his brow. "They aren't what I imagined," he said.
"Nor I," Ser Marlon agreed. "They're not even as big as some of the scorpions I've seen on ships."
"Strange that such small weapons can cause such havoc," said Ser Helman Tallhart.
"We should examine the walls for damage," Lady Wynafryd said to Robb.
Robb nodded. "Of course, I'll meet you there my lords, my lady."
Lady Wynafryd and the two knights turned to leave. Wylla hesitated but at a word from her sister and Catelyn's quiet nod she left as well.
Robb was leaning against the ramparts and looking out across the town, the wall, and the fields to the drifting cloud of smoke. He turned back to Catelyn. "Tell me what happened again, please, what happened at Storm's End?" He asked quietly.
Catelyn closed her eyes as she remembered. "Four thousand or more mounted knights charged across a field into a cloud of smoke, there was the flash of fire and roars like thunder. The only men to come back were wounded, bloodied, or in an utter panic." Robb's face was like stone. "Then the dragon's roared again and," Catelyn sighed and looked at her useless legs.
Robb left the rampart and put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Then he left to survey the damage.
Catelyn later heard from Ser Helman Tallhart that the damage was even more terrible than it had seemed from the tower. The walls of White Harbour were made of strong stone blocks and possessed an inner core of rubble twelve feet thick. The outer stones had been shattered, and the rubble had spilled out, but a hole was simply a hole Ser Helman claimed. Still, the damage from one volley was worse than what a greater number of catapults or trebuchets could have done in a whole day. The dragons roared many more times that day, so many time that Catelyn lost count. By evening they had blasted a small hole straight through the walls, with rubble spilling out of both sides of the wall. The defenders spent all night repairing it with wood, stone, and rubble. In the morning the repairs were torn away with a single shot. The bombardment continued. The outer layer of stone had been peeled away by the dragonfire, and the core of rubble had spilled out to make a rough ramp.
Three days after the dragons had first began to roar the attackers launched their first assault. Catelyn had been asleep when it happened. The first she learned of it was at breakfast the next morning.
"Twas merely a probe," Ser Marlon assured her through a mouthful of sausage rolls. "A test to see the readiness of our defences. A few hundred men, nothing to be concerned of."
Lady Wynafryd nodded her head. "That was King Robb's opinion as well."
"Where is Robb now?"
"With Wylla, visiting the injured," Lady Wynafryd answered. "Letting them know that their king and queen haven't forgotten them."
The rest of the day was quiet, save for the occasional roar of the dragons, which they seemed to do less often now. The day after was much the same, the dragons roared once every few hours, their fire striking sides of the increasingly wide breach. Catelyn spent most of her times outside her rooms, atop the highest tower of the New Castle watching the enemy. She spent most of her time alone, for she made others feel uncomfortable. They couldn't help but stare at her legs and her chair. The conversation was slow, halting, and awkward if there even was any. Only her green haired gooddaughter, Wylla, could speak to her for any length of time without the conversation inevitably dying or turning toward concern for Catelyn's injuries. Wylla, whose indifference to a lady's traditional arts reminded Catelyn of Arya, often joined her.
The green-haired girl would spend her time reading and pacing around the tower, chatting amicably with Catelyn as they watched the lines of trenches and mantlets draw ever closer to the walls. Though the dragons did not roar so much anymore, the enemy now had catapults and scorpions to shoot missiles at the defenders.
"Perhaps they've run low on feed," Wylla japed one evening as they walked through the halls to dinner.
"Perhaps," Catelyn said.
"How do they work?" Wylla asked. "When those foreigners, the Beikango, came to White Harbour Ser Marlon convinced them to demonstrate some of the smaller dragons, though they refused our offer of silver and coin. I saw one the size of a short spear make a hole the size of my fist in a shirt of mail," she smiled as she walked beside to Catelyn. "Don't tell Wynafryd that, I was supposed to be doing my needlework."
Catelyn laughed, recalling the many times Arya had snuck off for the same reason, it had made her so frustrated then. What I wouldn't give to hold her in my arms, she thought. "I don't know how the dragons," Catelyn admitted. "At Storm's End, the smoke was too thick to see anything but the flames."
"A pity," Wylla said.
Catelyn spent most of her days with Wylla, atop the tower, and then they would retire to the small hall where Lady Wynafryd hosted her sister, Catelyn, and her king. Each night the four of them would eat. In silence usually, save for the questions Wylla often asked of the three of them. To which she often received only terse replies.
Four days after the breach was made the enemy, at last, launched an attack in force. The assault began at noon. The enemy advanced in a rush, archers ran forward, bringing pavisses to defend against the volleys raining down from the walls and then began to send arrows of their own flying back.
Behind them came a mass of men on foot, Boltons, Freys, Karstarks, Ryswells, Dustins, Mootons, and more. Even men from King Stannis' fleet had joined the assault beneath banners of crabs, swordfish, black ships, and the ever-present black stag on gold. They carried mantlets, hide frameworks, and even overturned rowboats above them as the rushed forward. Mixed among the first ranks of men were tall ladders to scale the walls and the rough ramp of rubble.
Arrows from the walls reaped a bitter harvest from the attackers, but momentum and weight of numbers soon saw them reach the walls. Wylla leaned dangerously far forward over the tower rampart as the first ladders clattered against stone. The clash of steel and the roar of fighting men followed not long after. The assault hadn't lasted for long, within half an hour the attackers were already retreating toward their camp.
"Hah!" Wylla shouted and laughed. "Hah! See how true northmen fight!"
Another hour passed and the barrage of from the catapults began again, interspersed with the occasional roar of the dragons.
At dinner, she asked Robb about the assault. Her son chewed slowly before answering. "It went as well as I could hope. They were beaten back, and we suffered few casualties."
"How many did you kill?" Wylla asked.
Robb put his knife down. "A few hundred at most, likely less," he admitted. "Lord Roose is cautious and has been careful not to spend the lives of his men frivolously."
"Surely this is a victory is it not?" Wynafryd asked.
"Of course it is," Robb said quickly, his hand tight around his knife. "But this will be only the first of many attacks."
Robb was right of course. Within three days another attack was launched at the breach. This one was larger, better prepared, and facing defences that had suffered further under the barrage of catapult stones and dragonfire. Just as before, the enemy rushed forward, fought their way onto the walls, and into the breach itself. This time, however, they managed to push through the breach. For a few desperate minutes, there was furious fighting inside the city walls. But before long warhorns bellowed and the enemy retreated. Hundreds of enemies had fallen, to half barely that number of defenders, but Robb was displeased. "I cannot afford to lose more men. Lady Maege and Lord Galbart must return quickly," he said at dinner. There had been no word of the two loyalists since they departure. No ravens had come to White Harbour since the siege had begun.
Another attack was launched two days later in the evening. Beneath the cover of darkness, the enemy snuck close to the walls before attacking. With the element of surprise they were able to force their way through the breach and into the streets but quickly found themselves trapped among the fortified buildings, and mobile barricades the defenders had readied. Trapped on the streets and assaulted by arrows, crossbow bolts, dropped rocks, and burning brands they were easily outflanked by Robb's small reserve of mounted knights. Robb lead his men on the inside loop of the city walls through the widened boulevards and then they struck like a thunderbolt upon the rear or flanks of the enemy. Unable to advance farther into the town but too strong to be pushed out the battle descended into a stalemate until, as the sun began it's swift descent, the enemy retreated, and retreated unmolested for despite their victory today the defenders were exhausted and in no shape to mount a sortie against the attackers.
Despite his military successes, not all was well for Robb. Many of House Manderly's servants had departed with Lady Maege Mormont when the Lady of Bear Isle had led the exodus of much of White Harbour's population. Those that remained served everyone who had stayed in the castle. In her chair and in her room it was easy to be forgotten even by the servants, so Catelyn quickly overheard the rumours that spread among them. That Robb cried near every night, that he sometimes woke screaming, and that last night after the enemy had retreated he had nearly strangled Wylla in his sleep. That henceforth king and queen would sleep in separate beds. Idle gossip she thought and hoped, but when Wylla came to the tower top later that day she was wearing a scarf around her neck.
"What happened," Catelyn asked.
"Hmm? Nothing Cat," Wylla said. "It's just a little chilly is all."
"Wylla, please."
Her gooddaughter sat down beside Catelyn and let her fingers twist nervously around the scarf before she took it off. The purple bruises stood out starkly against her pale skin. "He was growling in his sleep, like some kind of animal. I thought he was having a nightmare, so I tried to wake him up and he…" She reached up and rubbed her neck.
Catelyn took her hand. "I'm sorry."
"I think he thought I was attacking him, so when he woke he just… just grabbed me and started choking me. I hit him and kept hitting him until he woke up. Then he just ran away." Wylla shook her head. "What's wrong with him?"
Catelyn closed her eyes. "I wish I knew. I will speak with him on your behalf," she promised. But Robb avoided Catelyn and refused all her summons. For the next week, she did not even see him at dinner, nor catch him in the halls, and she only sighted him from afar during the day.
After the vicious fight on and within the walls, the enemy did not attack again. They rested in their camp, and save for the occasional rock sent by a catapult, made no move against White Harbour, but they were not still. Their camp was always moving, soldiers going from here to there about their tasks. The ships took their bounty of merchants, less now than when the siege had begun.
"Why haven't they attacked again?" Wylla asked.
Catelyn tapped her fingers, from her perch on the tower she could see movement at the edge of their camp. Cavalry and infantry going and far more returning. She was too far away to see the heraldry on the banners, but their colours were bronze and yellow. The colours of House Ryswell, and House Dustin. "They're waiting for more men, enough to overwhelm the defences," she said.
But when morning came, the camp was abandoned, and no enemy fleet waited at sea. The enemy had departed in the night, and before the edge of the sun had even left the horizon, a new host was approaching White Harbour. Above them on broad sheets of dyed wool flew the direwolf of House Stark. Servants dressed and bathed Catelyn quickly, removing the filth from the night before. Within the hour her guards were pushing Catelyn's wheeled chair down the halls and carrying her down the stairs to the New Castle's courtyard.
"Why leave?" Catelyn heard Wylla ask Ser Marlon, at the bottom of the stairs. "Why did the rebels abandon the siege?"
Ser Marlon rested a great meaty hand on his queen's shoulder. "Bolton is a traitor, and all traitors are cravens at heart," he said. "He likely feared being trapped between Lady Mormont and the walls."
Wylla spoke more, but Catelyn's guard had wheeled her too far away to hear.
Lady Maege Mormont entered White Harbour at the head of thousands of warriors, many of them were men from the Mountain Clans armed with stout staves, slings, clubs, and the greatswords of their clan champions. Ill-armed they might be, but Catelyn had met them often enough when they had travelled to Winterfell for Ned's judgement or mediation. Every man among them was a stout warrior who would rather die fighting than run. Two of their lords, who Catelyn recognised Hugo Wull and Torren Liddle, rode beside Lady Maege Mormont on shaggy little ponies as they entered the city.
Robb, Catelyn, Wylla, and Lady Wynafryd awaited them in the courtyard of the New Castle. Lady Maege dismounted and knelt before Robb, after a moment the clan lords did the same. "Your Grace," the Lady of Bear Island said. "I bring with me the strength of the Wolfswood and the Mountain Clans and volunteers from across the North. Willing and able men to defeat the rebels and news of the defeat of the Ironborn at Deepwood Moat."
Galbart Glover smiled. "My seat is restored to me, Your Grace."
Catelyn let her eyes wander over the gathered soldiers. The men of the Mountain and Wolfswood clans had little armour and were armed with staves, clubs, and bows. Most of the rest were smallfolk with spears, axes, knives, clubs, shields, and armour of padded leather and ringmail. A small core of men had had mail armour, steel helms, and steel blades. Men with the heraldry of Hornwood, Cerwyn, and even Stark on their surcoats, survivors of the Ironmen and the Boltons. They were joined by the greater strength of House Manderly, thousands of more men well armed and well armoured. The cavalry was a mix of knights and lancers sworn to many different houses, most to House Manderly, and clansmen on shaggy ponies.
Robb clenched his jaw. "How many?" He asked quietly.
Lady Maege and Galbart Glover shared a quick look. "Two thousand horse, more than three times that in foot," Lady Maege said quickly.
Robb nodded. "Good. Where has Bolton marched?"
Hugo Wull rose to his feet. "The Robb," he called Robb by the styling used by the Mountain Clans. "My son's boys followed them in the night. They're goin' northeast into the Hornwood."
Robb nodded again. "Please my lords, my ladies, let us break our fast, there is much to discuss."
Robb turned on his heel and returned to the New Castle.
Arya
The sound of tramping feet filled the air. Thousands upon thousands of men and horses marched through the gates of King's Landing, and into the fields beyond to disappear past the horizon.
Arya leaned out of the window high in the towers of the Red Keep. Far away she could see the columns of soldiers leaving King's Landing through the Gate of the Gods, the Lion Gate, the King's Gate, and the Mud Gate. Once they left the city, they marched southeast, past the tourney grounds, and then they combined into a single mighty column that shadowed the Blackwater Rush. A few dozen miles or so upriver and King Stannis' army would cross the river and travel south. Arya didn't know who or what Stannis were marching against, though she'd overheard two lordlings saying that the Stormlands were being invaded by a huge host of sellswords paid with Lannister gold. I hope Stannis wins, for all that he kept her prisoner here Stannis was still better than the Lannisters.
Arya narrowed her eyes against the glare of the noonday sun shining off of the Blackwater and the tiles roofs of King's Landing. Somewhere in that mass of men, horse, and steel was King Stannis. As she watched Arya's mind turned back to the last time she'd seen the king in person.
Arya had been taking a lunch with Shireen and the creepy fool Patchface when Stannis had come to them. He had been dressed for the road, in plain riding leathers adorned only with a pair of golden stags to keep his gold and black cloak pinned in place. It was the first time Arya had met the king when he was anywhere but atop the Iron Throne. Arya's first impression had been of the king's sheer size. King Stannis was as tall as his dead brothers and though he was far thinner than either he still seemed to have a fearsome strength about him, like an eagle or a shadowcat lean and powerful. If had Arya been standing she wouldn't have risen higher than his waist. As it was, she stood and curtsied after waiting for Shireen to do so first. The princess' movements were slow and awkward, for she was still not used to the cast that kept her broken arm immobilized.
"Your Grace," Arya repeated, a moment after Shireen.
Stannis spared Arya a quick look but otherwise paid her no attention. He balled his fists, and as the seconds of silence began to stretch awkwardly, he finally spoke. "How is your arm?" He asked.
"It's feeling better," Shireen answered quietly.
Stannis ground his teeth. "While I am gone you'll be expected to sit the Iron Throne again."
"Yes, Your Grace," Shireen said solemnly.
Stannis continued to grind his teeth. "Lord Alester told me of your accomplishments during my absence. I am pleased with how you performed, and I expect you to do your duty again."
"I will, Your Grace."
Stannis simply nodded once and then turned to leave.
"Lady Arya," the weary voice of Maester Cressen called, shaking Arya out of her memory. "Please sit down the lesson is about to begin."
Arya turned away from the window, made her way across the room, and took a seat next to Edric Storm, Shireen sat between Edric and Maester Aemon. The lesson today was about the Dance of the Dragons, specifically about Blood and Cheese, and the murder of Prince Jaehaerys. When the lesson was done the three children retired for their dinners, while they often ate together, tonight Shireen felt too nervous so, instead they all ate alone. With little else to do Arya went to sleep early.
Her dreams were odd and disjointed she scrabbled in the dirt on four paws and rushed this way and that alongside her little grey cousins. Together they brought down a huge deer and feasted. She could feel her muzzle pressed against the deer's ribs as she licked blood and juice off the bones. Then the bones began to press back, pushing against her muzzle and holding it shut as she struggled. She twisted and turned, but couldn't get free. Arya opened her eyes.
A hard hand pressing down on her face stopped her from screaming. She kicked and thrashed against his strength, all for naught.
"Quickly," a man said in hushed tones. "Get the ropes, tie her up."
Arya bit the man's hand and tasted blood. The man gurgled as he cut back a cry of pain, he pushed harder on Arya's face. The man's blood started to flow out of her mouth. She could feel it trickling into her nose. He hit her with a closed fist. Arya saw stars spring to life in the darkness. The man ripped his hand from her teeth, but Arya lacked the wits to cry out. He hit her again. A second passed, and a rag was quickly forced into Arya's mouth. Still stunned, she lay there helplessly as thin ropes were wound around her wrists and ankles.
"Damn! The little wolf-bitch bites," the man hefted her onto his shoulder.
"Lady Arya?" Her guard asked from outside her room.
Arya cried out through her gag.
"Lady Arya!" The door was opening. "M'lady!" Torchlight shined off a sword's blade.
The man dropped Arya back onto the bed and charged the door with his shoulder. It slammed shut on the shining steel. The other man took Arya under his arm. She kicked and struggled, but all she managed to do was dig the pommel of his dagger into her ribs. The man ran, not to the door, but to a dark passage that had formed in a corner of her bedchamber. Inside, a boy perhaps a year younger than Arya, with dark hair, and dirt on his skin and clothes, waited in the darkness.
"Run!" The man carrying Arya screamed to the man at the door.
"I'll hold them off. Get out of here!" He planted his feet against the ground as the door bucked open slightly as her guard slammed against the door.
The man carrying Arya turned and ran into the passageway. He ducked under the stone and hurried along in a crouch. Arya felt her back scraping against the stone. The child led them further into the passage, a tunnel inside the walls of the Red Keep. The passage sloped downward and ran along narrow twisting staircases, and in one place dropped down five feet. The worst came when the man had to climb down a ladder. "Don't struggle he growled. "It's a long fall and your too precious to die." He wrapped her bonds around his neck and shoved Arya's back against the rusty iron bars of the ladder, using his body to support her as he descended. When they reached the bottom, Arya's back had been scraped raw by the rusty bars.
The man hoisted her onto his shoulder again. "Where now?" He gasped at the boy. The echo of bare feet in the stone tunnel was the only answer. The boy led them through twisting and turning tunnels until at last, they came to what seemed a more open place. Though Arya could only tell because the echoes seemed more distant here. With a grunt, the man threw Ayra roughly to the ground, which was hard, cold, and slightly damp. There was a scrabbling sound, quickly followed by the strike of flint on steel and then a torch sprang to fiery life, illuminating a small part of the darkness.
"Do you have Lady Stark?" Someone asked from the darkness.
"Yes," her captor answered. "And the princess?" He asked in turn.
The same voice hmmd and stepped into the light, it belonged to a short broad-shouldered man, with a paunch, and a bald head. A white ram with golden horns was blazoned on his chest, and a seven-pointed star had been sewn over his heart. The other man, the one who had carried Arya through the hidden passages of the Red Keep, was young and fit despite his silver hair. He had strong arms, and moonstones at his wrists, fingers, and throat. His cloak bore seven seven-pointed golden stars and on his surcoat was an eighth, over his heart. He gently put Shireen down beside Arya. A third, younger man, with a plain face and brown hair, followed him.
"Where is my son?" The bald man asked, worry plain on his face.
"I'm sorry Hubard, the guards heard us and… and Howel. He stayed behind so that I might escape."
"There is nothing to forgive Guncer," Hubard said mournfully. "This is the Seven's punishment for my sins. For letting a heathen priestess infect Stannis and his court," he wiped tears away from his eyes. "I will pray for him."
The boy in the dirty clothes returned from the darkness. He said nothing as he waved an arm for the three knights to follow him.
"Come on Hubard, Ser Triston," Guncer said to the other men. "The others are waiting." With a grunt, the silver-haired man picked up Arya while his bald companion lifted Shireen onto this shoulder.
They travelled further down the tunnel, torchlight flickering off wet walls of carven stone. The tunnel twisted, turned in the rock. The weight and power of the Red Keep seemed to loom above them.
A light appeared ahead of them, too dim to be daylight, and grew stronger as they hurried toward it. They stepped through an arched doorway of carven stone and entered a small round chamber. Five other doors opened off the room, each barred in iron. There was an opening in the ceiling as well, and a series of rungs set in the wall below, leading upward. An ornate brazier stood to one side, fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head. The coals in the beast's yawning mouth had burnt down to embers, but they still glowed with a sullen orange light. Dim as it was, the light revealed the image on the floor of a three-headed dragon wrought in red and black tiles. Four other men waited inside each armed and ready, their surcoats all bore a seven-pointed star above their hearts. There were three more children as well, a boy and two girls, standing quietly away from the adults.
Hubard gently put Shireen on the ground by the brazier a moment later Guncer did the same to Arya.
Hubard approached the other men. "Horace, did you find Lord Alester?"
"No father," a young man red hair answered. "He wasn't in his room, so we waited, but then we heard the alarm," he shrugged. "So we left."
Guncer shook his head. "Killing him was more than we could have hoped for."
"Mi'lord," said a tall thin man with white hair and a stern face. "Perhaps that is for the best, the Seven frown on kidnapping as it is, but murder in the night," he shook his head. "We would surely lose their blessing if we did that."
"Mayhaps you're right Ser Bonifer," Guncer said. "But we must hurry, we can't tarry any longer." He turned to the children. "What way will take us out of here?"
The four urchins turned to each other and silently looked at each other. After a moment one of the girls pointed at one of the iron-barred doors, seemingly at random. A boy then produced a key and unlocked the door.
"Creepy little buggers," a tall man with a hook nose and big black eyebrows said. "Let's go."
"What about your brothers Ser Osmund?" Ser Bonifer asked.
"They're already waiting for us at the beach," Osmund said. Frozen hinges screamed in protest as he pulled open a long-closed door. Flakes of rust drifted to the floor. "This will take us out to the river," he glanced at the boy. "It should, shouldn't it?"
The boy nodded, took a torch, and turned to lead them deeper into the tunnels under the Red Keep.
Guncer picked up Arya again, but the younger man with a plain face and brown hair stopped Hubard from taking Shireen. "I'll take her."
"Thank you Triston," the older man said.
As one they turned to follow the boy into the tunnel. Twice, the torch carried by the boy seemed to disappear, but both times Guncer kept walking without hesitation, and both times the torch reappeared after a sudden turn around a tight corner or at the top of steep, narrow stairs, the torch reappeared glimmering far away. He hurried after it, down and down, deeper into the darkness. Once he stumbled over a rock and fell against the wall, sending Arya's head straight into raw earth supported by timbers. Before now, the tunnel had been made of stone. She felt like she'd been carried for miles and miles, though it must have been far less. At last, they emerged from the close confines of the tunnel. The stars were shining in the black sky above, though the moon was hidden by the walls and towers of the Red Keep.
"Douse the torch!" A man whispered as he rushed out of the dark. He was dark haired and hook-nosed, he looked much like Osmund. He was dressed darkly and had a sword at his side. He grabbed the torch out of the mute boy's hands, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it with his boot.
"What's happening Osfryd?" Hubard asked.
"Quiet!" He whispered again. "The city watch and Alester's men are out in force. There are hundreds by the river."
"Did you get him?" Osmund asked.
Osfryd turned back as two more men came closer. One looked like Osmund and Osfryd, dark-haired and hook-nosed. Arya couldn't see the other, but she heard him walk confidently toward Arya's kidnappers. "So you're who I have to thank for my release then?"
Arya kicked and struggled, for she recognized that voice. Guncer cursed, took her off his shoulder, and laid her on the ground. Arya twisted around to get a better look at the man. He was tall with long blond hair, matted with dirt, and he was dressed in dirty rags. He pushed his hair out of his handsome face. The Kingslayer. An old sword was in his hand.
"Yes, we are," Ser Bonifer said.
"Get down," the third dark haired and hook-nosed man said. Flickering torchlight revealed the presence of a marching troop of guards on the riverbank.
Osmund moved snake quick and put a dagger at Arya's throat, he leaned in close and whispered. "Don't make a fucking sound." Arya could feel her heartbeat and hear the blood rush in her ears. She could see Osney had done the same to Shireen. Everyone fell to the ground, hiding behind rocks and within shadows. The dagger at her throat was wavering in Osmund's hand. She felt it nick her skin and let blood trickle down her neck. Slowly, the flickering light of the torches passed them by.
They all stayed quiet for a few minutes more before the Kingslayer broke the silence. "Fuck me," he whispered, then he turned to look at the other men. "Who do you work for? My sister, my father?"
There was a moment of silence before Ser Bonifer answered in hushed tones. "We serve only the Seven, though we have been fortunate to be aided by others."
"Fine don't tell me. What now?"
"Is there another way out of the city?" Triston asked the children.
The tallest boy nodded. "Then lead us," Ser Bonifer said. The boy shook his head.
"What are you saying you mute bastard?" Osmund growled. "You know the way, but you won't take us?"
The boy shook his head again.
"He must not know the path," Hubard said. "Stannis and his witch expelled most of the old servants from King's Landing." He leaned down before the boy. "Even some of you were forced out weren't you?"
The boy nodded.
"I have a man at a postern gate on the southern walls," Osfryd said. "Do any of you know of a tunnel that would take us there?"
One of the silent girls stepped forward and nodded.
Ser Bonifer shrugged. "Then lead on child," he said not unkindly.
The party of four silent children, nine men, and two kidnapped girls returned to the tunnels. Guncer, Triston, Osmund, Osfryd, and a single silent boy took up the rear, while the rest walked ahead of them in the darkness. Long minutes passed by in shadows, and the gap between the rear and the front grew wider.
"We should cut their throats," Osmund growled as they walked deeper into the tunnel. He glared darkly at Arya and Shireen who whimpered in fear.
"Are you stupid?" Guncer asked as he pulled Arya tighter into his shoulder. "Kill them and then what? Then what? We need them!"
The mute boy glared at Osmund, reached to his waist, and pulled out a scrap of paper.
"Yes, boy," Osmund said harshly. "I know the Spider doesn't want either harmed. But that won't matter if they make such a racket to wake the guard or if we get caught." He spat on the ground and looked away from the boy to his brother. "Osfryd, are you sure your men will be in place?"
"Absolutely certain brother," Osfryd replied. "They don't make mistakes, and neither does our father. The ship will be ready to take sail the second we reach the docks."
Osmund smiled but said nothing more.
The tunnel stretched onward, twisting in the bedrock beneath the Red Keep. Gradually, it began to slope upward. Long minutes passed and at last, they emerged from the darkness. The tunnel entrance was hidden beneath a boulder in the side of Aegon's Hill, and it emerged into a small shadowy alley.
Hubard strode ahead and peaked his head out of the alley. "Which way Osney?"
"Left. It's the postern closest to the hill, tiny and forgotten in an alley. My man's been there since the Mad King's days."
"Which king was that? Stannis, Joffrey, or Aerys?" Osmund japed.
"Be cautious," Ser Bonifer said. "The gods frown on a man's arrogance. Stannis might be an apostate, but I do not think he's mad."
Osmund grumbled something Arya didn't catch, though by the Kingslayer's laugh and Bonifer's frown she thought she could guess. They moved quickly onward, staying in the shadows, and darting between alleys. The city watch and Lord Alester's men were out in force inside the city as well. Arya saw two men in white cloaks riding quickly through the streets as well. The people of King's Landing were all inside or hiding. Even the beggars were nowhere to be seen.
"I don't like this," Guncer said to Triston. "It feels wrong."
"Yes, mi'lord."
The moonlight was shining as they approached the postern gate. A guard stood in the shadows, but as they he hefted his spear and left the shadows. He was a young beardless man with a hard face. Osfrey raised a hand. "That's not Berry," he said.
"Lord Davos told me about this gate half a dozen years ago," Ser Rolland said as he stepped out of the stairway. "He said it was one of the best ways to sneak in and out of King's Landing." Over a dozen men of the watch armed with spears, glaives, and cudgels followed him. "I see he was right. Give up Princess Shireen and Lady Arya, and your lives will be spared."
Guncer swore and drew his sword, holding Arya awkwardly under his left arm. The others did likewise.
"Our lives are a small price to pay for the Seven," Ser Bonifer said proudly.
Ser Rolland pushed his white cloak back over his shoulders and drew his sword. "I doubt the Seven care much for kidnappers." He raised his sword, and a moment later a crack of sound and a streak of fire shot up from behind the ramparts above the postern gate.
"Seven Hells!" The Kingslayer hopped back half a step. "What the fuck was that?"
"Dragonmen," Hubard shouted. "We have to run, now!"
"Run?" The Kingslayer was confused.
"Run!" Osmund, Osfryd, and Osney shouted as one.
With a shout Ser Rolland and the city watch charged. The conspirators turned and fled, though the Kingslayer hesitated a moment, but when more flames crackled from the rampart, he turned to flee as well. They ran back down the alley, but instead of the street, they turned up a narrow set of stairs that led to an alley higher on Aegon's Hill. The alley itself twisted between tall stone houses and the hill's rocky bluffs. Another set of stairs led them down to a wooden door that Osmund and the Kingslayer smashed open with their shoulders. They ignored the shrieks and screams of the people inside and ran through the building. Arya could hear shouts and tramping feet behind them. They burst through another door and into a narrow street that ran down the hill.
"There!" A voice on a roof cried, a moment after another crack of sound and a streak of flame erupted into the night.
"Fuck!" The Kingslayer shouted. "What the fuck are those?"
The others ignored him. "Here!" Osney yelled as turned down another alley. This one was so narrow they could only run one abreast. More dragonfire crackled behind them. Another turn, another set of stairs, another alley, again and again.
At the summit of a set of narrow stairs the young red-haired man turned and shouted. "Go! I'll hold them off!"
"Horace!" Hubard shouted and grabbed the younger man by the arm. "Don't please! I've already lost one son today. Please," he begged.
Horace pushed Hubard, his father, away. "I'm with the Warrior now," he said. Then, with a scream, he charged down the twisting stone steps and set upon the city watch with a terrible fury.
"Hubard!" Bonifer pulled the old bald man by the arm. "Come on, go!"
"No," Hubard said. "I'll give my life with my son he won't die alone." The old knight drew his sword and charged after the younger man.
Guncer kept running, and they quickly turned around one of the tight corners of King's Landing's web of alleys, a moment later Bonifer ran after them. They ran and kept running, it seemed like they ran through the alleys, narrow back streets, and twisting stairs, and roofs for an hour. At last, the sound of dragonfire and shouting began to grow distant.
"We need to hide," Guncer said, pausing for breath in the shadow of a doorway. "Where did the mutes go?"
"Fled," Osmund spat.
"We need to hide," Guncer repeated.
"I know a place," the Kingslayer said.
"Is it safe?" Triston asked. "Hidden?"
"Very," the Kingslayer huffed. He pushed against the stone wall and stood up. "Follow me." He led them half a block north and then down an alley to a set of stairs hidden between a small sept and a tenement. The stairs were carved from the rock of Aegon's Hill and were so narrow and steep they were practically a ladder. Into darkness they walked, at the bottom was an oak and iron door, that rested slightly open. Flames flickered within.
The Kingslayer kicked the door open, his sword drawn, there was a brief scream, and then nothing. Guncer and Triston carried Arya and Shireen into the room. It was a chamber carved from the stone itself it was perhaps twenty feet wide, and only slightly longer. The ceiling was barely six feet high, so the Kingslayer and Osmund had to duck their heads. A fire crackled in an alcove with the smoke sucked up into a hole above it. There were some stools, a chair, a table, and a bed in the corner. Two corpses laid on the ground, an old man in rags, and a boy in rags. Shireen cried into her gag.
"You didn't need to kill them," Bonifer protested over the bodies of the two vagrants.
"We didn't need to not kill them either," the Kingslayer said as he stepped over the corpses.
"What is this a featherbed?" Osfryd asked with a crooked smile. "Is this where the Kingsguard went when they wanted a night with their mistresses?"
The Kingslayer said nothing but glared daggers at Osfrey. He sat down on a stool, his bloody sword resting on his knees. The three brothers sat down next to the fireplace. Bonifer sat quietly, leaning against a wall.
"Put the girls on the bed," Guncer ordered. "We'll sleep in shifts, and make plans. We can't stay here for long."
"Aye," Osmund agreed. "We need to leave the city."
Arya and Shireen were tossed onto the bed without ceremony. Their captors turned their backs and began to plot. Shireen's eyes were wide with fear and red with tears, snot ran from her nose. Arya shimmied over to her and took her hand in hers.
Tyrion
The hall was packed full with black brothers when Tyrion entered. The men of Castle Black who Tyrion recognised without hesitation, and more. Ser Alliser Thorne and several dozen brothers Tyrion didn't know, though he thought he recognised a few from his short stay at Eastwatch, were in the hall when Tyrion waddled inside. "Ser Alliser," Tyrion said as he took a spot beside Lancel. "I'm surprised to see you here without your shadow Janos Slynt."
"Cotter Pyke thought it best not to put the two of you in the same castle," Ser Alliser sneered. "He called it an extension of the Pyke-Mallister rule."
"Then he's smarter than most Ironmen. Why are you here?"
"I don't answer to you Imp. This isn't King's Landing."
"Still sore about that? Perhaps you need a better bed?" Tyrion japed.
"You humiliated me and left me with nothing to take back to the Wall but dungeon dregs and empty promises. As far as I'm concerned you're half to blame for what's happening." Dangerous muttering rose from Ser Alliser's men from Eastwatch. Lancel covertly put a hand on his sword, as equally dark grumbling began to rise from the Castle Black brothers. Men that Tyrion had fought beside for weeks now.
"Quiet! All of you!" Donal Noye roared as he limped his way into the hall, his one arm wrapped around Jon Snow's shoulders. The blacksmith's leg had grown worse as time had passed and now he could hardly bear to stand on it at all. With a gasp, he fell down on the closest bench.
Ser Alliser glared at Jon. "You let a turncloak walk free Noye?"
"Shut up Thorne the lad's no more a turncloak than you or I."
Ser Alliser scowled. "We'll see."
"Why are you here Thorne?" The smith asked, pounding his fist on the table.
"We beat back attacks by the wildlings at Eastwatch. Half a thousand of the bastards led by Harma Dogshead and this one." An Eastwatch man pushed a small man in chains to the floor.
"Rattleshirt," Tyrion heard Jon mutter in surprise.
"I am the Lord o' Bones!" The little man proclaimed. "All men fear the Lord o-"
An Eastwatch man kicked him in his ribs. "Shut up!"
The wildling growled at his captors but said nothing more.
Ser Alliser stepped around his men and glared at the wildling. He pointed at Jon. "Is he the one?"
"Aye," the wildling growled. "He's the craven that killed the Halfhand. Up in the Frostfangs, it was, after we hunted down t'other crows and killed them, every one. We would have done for this one too only he begged f' his worthless life, offered t' join us if we'd have him. The Halfhand swore he'd see the craven dead first, but the wolf ripped Qhorin half t' pieces, and this one opened his throat." He gave Jon a crack tooth smile then and spat blood at him.
Ser Alliser Thorne's lips twisted in vicious glee for a moment. "Murderer," he accused. "Turncloak, deserter."
"No," Jon said. "No. I did as Qhorin commanded. Our garrons were failing, and Rattleshirt was close behind us. Qhorin told me to pretend to join the wildlings. 'You must not balk, he said, whatever is asked of you. He knew they would make me kill him. Rattleshirt was going to kill him anyway he knew that too."
"I knew Halfhand for a dozen years, and he never feared scum like Rattleshirt. You murdered Qhorin just as you fellow turncloaks did Lord Mormont. It would not surprise me to learn that it was all part of the same fell plot. Benjen Stark may well have a hand in all this as well. For all we know, he is sitting in Mance Rayder's tent even now."
Jon peeled off his glove and showed them his burned hand. "I burned my hand defending Lord Mormont from a wight, and my uncle was a man of honour. He would have never betrayed his vows."
"No more than you?" mocked Ser Alliser. "You should be in a cell."
Jon growled like a wolf and seemed about to do something foolish. Some of the Castle Black men stood as well, hands on their swords. Lancel was among them. The Eastwatch men responded in kind.
"Enough!" Donal Noye roared as he came to his feet. He forced his way between Jon and Ser Alliser, his jaws clenched, and his leg trembled in pain. "Enough of this! I am in command here, and I say Jon fights." Ser Alliser opened his mouth to speak, but the one-armed blacksmith ignored him and kept talking. "Once the wildling horde trying to kill us all has gone back to their shacks and their tents," his hand leapt out to take Ser Alliser's shoulder as his leg briefly failed him. "Once the battle is done we can have your trial. Until then, Jon keeps fighting. We need every sword we can get. Understand?" Ser Alliser grimaced as Donal squeezed his shoulder. "Do you understand Thorne?" He shouted.
"I understand," Ser Alliser said with ill grace.
"Good!" Donal Noye let go of Ser Alliser and stumbled back to a bench. He breathed heavily and glared at the black brothers. "What are you staring at? Get back to the Wall we've got wildlings to kill."
Jon said nothing as he stormed out of the hall. Slowly, the rest of the black brothers relaxed. Lancel put both of his hands on the table and sighed. "That could have gotten ugly," he said to Tyrion.
"It would have if it weren't for Donal," Tyrion said quietly.
"What about this one?" An Eastwatch man kicked Rattleshirt.
"Throw him in a cell," Noye said, his voice dripping with exhaustion.
Despite the reinforcements and new supplies morale quickly dropped in Castle Black. None of it was enough to stop the wildlings, and tensions between Ser Alliser Thorne and Jon Snow had spread to the Eastwatch and Castle Black men. Donal Noye did his best to keep things calm, but his leg wound was swollen red and black with purulence now. Maester Aemon did his best but the blacksmith's strength was fading fast, his fever was quickly growing worse. Each day he spent more and more hours in bed, sweat soaking his bed and small clothes.
Jon spent almost all of his time atop the Wall now, if they'd let him Tyrion thought he would sleep on the ice. As it was Jon had spent the last part of the night on the Wall. Tyrion and half a dozen other brothers on the dawn shift were now sent to replace him and the others on the night shift.
"Quiet?" Tyrion asked as he leaned against the icy rampart of the Wall. He turned slightly and peered over the edge, far beneath him the remains of the wildling turtle appeared to have been hauled away in the night.
"They didn't attack," Jon said. "But they were busy." Jon pointed at some ill-defined shapes in the darkness. "They built something." The swiftly rising sun quickly revealed what had been built. A pair of shelters had been built from rough cut timber, mammoth bones, hides, and packed earth. The first was five hundred yards from the Wall the second was four hundred yards away.
"Fuck me," Tyrion muttered. "They're getting smart now."
By the end of the week, a dozen more shelters had been built, covering the ground between the Haunted Forest and Castle Black. Each of them could shelter perhaps a few dozen wildlings at most, but together they made a series of shelters that would let a war party get within fifty yards of the Wall without exposing themselves to the arrows of the Night's Watch.
During that time the wildlings continued to make attacks on the gate, small attacks in the night with axes, hammers, and small rams to batter it down. Attacks that were quickly driven back by arrows and rocks from the murder holes above the gate. But that took their toll in time and energy on the Black Brothers.
"Mace wants to exhaust us," Donal Noye had said to Tyrion, Jon, and Maester Aemon one night, not in the hall but in his own rooms behind the smithy. He was nearly bedbound now, and it was only his iron will that kept Alliser Thorne and Jon Snow from each other's throats. "Get us tired, make us make mistakes, drag us through the mud. Fucking Tyrells."
Tyrion frowned and looked to Maester Aemon. The old man dabbed a cold compress on Donal's forehead. "The infection has spread to his mind," he explained.
Tyrion shook his head. "Well, in any case, he's right. We're getting worn down. We can't last much longer."
"We need to last," Jon said. "We can't lose the Wall, not with what else is out there."
Maester Aemon sighed sadly. "I'm running out of bandages, and my stores are almost empty. Soon I'll be down to boiled wine and nothing else."
"We have to last," Donal Noye groaned. "We are-" He groaned again, and a bout of shivering overtook him.
"Go," Aemon said. "There's nothing your sword and your wit can do for him."
Donal Noye survived the night but didn't wake when morning came.
Things only got worse from there, Thorne began to push harder for Jon's arrest and for command over Castle Black itself. Twice Eastwatch and Castle Black men came to blows over some whispered word or another. All the while, the wildlings built more shelters, and more rumours trickled in, by rider or by raven. Attacks at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, raiders climbing the Wall at Greyguard, Icemark, Torches, and Woodswatch-by-the-Pool. One morning the sun revealed the presence of a second turtle at the edge of the Haunted Forest. It looked bigger and bulkier than the first, perhaps to ward against the barrels of ice and stone that had crushed the first. They needn't have worried, Tyrion thought, we're almost out of barrels.
It inched its way forward over two long days and nights, hauled forward on logs by ropes pulled by wildlings, giants, and mammoths. Ser Alliser took command of a small party of Eastwatch men and led a sortie in the night to disrupt the attack. They killed eight wildlings, lost two men, and delayed the advance of the turtle by perhaps an hour.
Slowly but surely it pressed forward, growing ever closer hour by hour. The Black Brothers readied the last few barrels of ice and gravel. When the turtle reached the base of the wall, they dropped the barrels and other pieces of rubble over the side. Two hit the Wall and broke open, scattering shattered ice and gravel across the ground. Two others hit the turtle with a resounding thud, and the third broke straight through. But despite the damage, the turtle still covered the wildlings as the set to work on the gate with rams, axes, and hammers. Although the Night's Watch dropped more barrels and rubble as the sun passed overhead, the wildlings broke through the oak and iron gate by nightfall and began to rush into the tunnel.
Tyrion could only imagine the brutality of the tunnel fight. Men grappling in the dark with fists, daggers, knives, hatchets, and swords. Without the room to even swing their blades, they would be reduced to smashing at each other with pommels and hilts. Thrusting with half-sword style and sliding the long edges against flesh. Those that fell to the ground would have equal odds of having their throats cut or of being crushed to death beneath the weight of friend and foe alike. Slowly, the weight of wildling numbers took its toll, but the discipline of the Night's Watch held, and the wildlings broke ranks and fled out of the Wall's northern gate.
But the damage was done, nine of the Black Brothers' watch had ended, and a dozen more were too injured to fight. A third of the garrison's strength had been taken in a single afternoon. In solemn silence, the black brothers gathered in the courtyard of Castle Black. Ten bodies were laid down, the nine men who had died in the tunnel, and Donal Noye. The arrow wound had killed him at last. Septon Cellador dabbed each on the forehead with his crystal, even Hallard from the Wolfswood who'd kept the Old Gods, and Ivir an Ironman. Ser Alliser glared at Jon and Tyrion as the funeral continued.
"And now their watch is ended," the small crowd said as one. Far above an eagle cried almost mockingly.
"The smith's not here to protect you now turncloak," Ser Alliser said icily as he walked past them. Jon's hand clenched in anger. "You won't last long either Imp," he sneered.
Tyrion got no farther than opening his mouth to launch a counter when Lancel interrupted by punching Ser Alliser in the face. His mailed fist landed on Ser Alliser's jaw and sent the older knight stumbling backward. His legs gave out, and he fell onto his back without a word. Lancel didn't give him a moment to recover, he rushed in and beat him with both fists. Shouts and swords quickly rose from the other black brothers. A few ran away, and some Eastwatch men rushed to Ser Alliser's defence, while the Castle Black men did the same for Lancel. Jon drew his own sword and moved to cover Lancel's back. The two armed groups then stood apart, each ready to fight, but neither willing to attack first and start the killing that would tear Castle Black apart.
Lancel stood back up, his mailed fists red with Ser Alliser's blood. Ser Alliser himself was almost still, only turning his head to spit out blood and teeth. Lancel's chest heaved in pain as he took long slow breaths, and cradled his broken wrist. "No more," he said. "No more." A few of the surrounding men, from Castle Black and Eastwatch, relaxed but only slightly. Everyone kept their hands on their swords, fingers flexing in dangerous anticipation.
"What is this?" Maester Aemon's wizened voice asked. The old man was standing in a tower door, leaning on Satin. The maester's appearance cut the tension like Valyrian steel. Suddenly all the armed men looked at each other like so many red-faced boys caught by a parent in the midst of doing something stupid. "What is this?" Aemon asked again. "You'd fight each other while the enemy is at our door? What young fools you all are. Who was attacked?"
"Ser Alliser," Grenn said quietly.
"Speak up! These ears are old you know."
"It was Lancel," an Eastwatch man shouted. "He attacked Ser Alliser." Muttering and dark looks quickly began to spread again.
"I did not ask that." Maester Aemon said firmly. "Bring Ser Alliser to me, and I will treat him. The rest of you will return to your posts. I will have no more of this nonsense, from anyone. Bring him," he waved a hand, and two Eastwatch men sheathed their blades, took Ser Alliser by the arms, and dragged him into the wooden keep that housed Maester Aemon's quarters. The rest of the crowd quickly dispersed.
"That was stupid," Tyrion said to Lancel at the top of the Wall. "That was very stupid."
"He threatened you," Lancel said as he nursed his broken wrist.
"I've been threatened before," Tyrion said harshly. "We both have," Tyrion left unsaid that he had been one of the ones to threaten Lancel. "Castle Black is one insult away from ripping itself apart."
Lancel stayed sullenly silent for a time, and Tyrion did the same, pacing across the top of the Wall, kicking at random pieces of gravel. Tyrion turned at the click, clack, and bang as the iron door of the cage opened, to let Jon, Grenn, Pypar, Satin, Zei the Moletown Whore, and the twins from Fair Isle Arron and Emrick, walked onto the Wall.
"M'lords," the twin Westermen bobbed their heads to Tyrion and Lancel.
Zei, Satin, Grenn, and Pyp took their crossbows and longbows to the rampart and looked over the Wall. Grenn slapped Lancel on the back as he walked past him. "Hell of a beating," he said.
"Thanks," Lancel said quietly.
Jon sat down beside Tyrion. "Ser Alliser's asking for both our heads."
"Asking not calling?"
"Maester Aemon gave him milk of the poppy. He's barely awake right now. Only Maester Aemon, Satin, and I heard him say it."
"Right now," Tyrion repeated. "And when he wakes up? When he starts to roar at his men to kill us?"
Jon's hands shook a little. "I plan to surrender," he said. "For the watch. I won't have Castle Black tear itself apart on my account."
Tyrion fixed Jon with his mismatched eyes. "I'm not so eager for death as you Jon."
"I don't know what else we can do."
"Cut his throat tonight, or take some of Aemon's herbs and drugs, and make a poison for him."
"You'd have me save myself from a false crime by committing that crime?"
"I'd have us both live."
Jon shook his head. "It would tear the Night's Watch apart."
"Alliser's already tearing the watch apart."
Jon clenched his fists. "It's not right. It's not honourable my father wouldn't have done such a thing."
"He wouldn't have," Tyrion admitted. And look where that got him.
Before they could say anything more, Grenn shouted from the rampart. "Hey! Looks like they're getting ready for another attack." The big man pointed north. Tyrion and Jon stood quickly and joined the others in watching the great mass of wildlings that was boiling out of the Haunted Forest.
Tyrion blinked. "There hasn't been that many at once since the first day."
Zei leaned over the rampart and shot a bolt at the approaching horde.
Lancel squinted north. "Do they know something? Why now?"
"It could just be as simple as wanting to attack while we're still recovering."
"Maybe," Jon said, though he looked worried. An eagle cried from a perch on the Wall, and Jon started. He turned and looked suspiciously at the bird.
"Look there," Pyp shouted. "To the south!" Tyrion looked to where Pyp was pointing. Far beyond the towers of Castle Black, a loose column of men was approaching from the south in the light of the afternoon.
"Brothers from the Shadow Tower?" Lancel asked.
"Or more from Eastwatch," Jon said.
"Or have the lords of the North decided to pay us a visit and accept our hospitality?" Tyrion japed.
They were all wrong. The men rushed in from the south, spreading out to enter Castle Black from all sides. Some shot arrows as they approached, killing a few unaware black brothers and scattering the rest. In small bands, the wildlings entered Castle Black and began to kill. From the north the wildlings attacked as well, the few arrows and bolts from the men on the Wall did little to stop them. The wildlings reached the turtle and the base of the Wall and charged into the tunnel.
I think we all knew, Tyrion thought, there were too many men, not enough horses, and their cloaks were only black with dirt. "How did they come here?" Tyrion asked as the wildlings from the south overran Castle Black.
"They must have climbed the Wall," Jon said numbly. "Just as I did with Ygritte."
The wildlings smashed their way into the towers and before long ravens began to billow from Maester Aemon's chamber. Some were shot down by arrows before they went far, even more, were killed by eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, and other birds. None of the birds stopped to eat instead, they rose to kill again and again. Tyrion leaned over the edge of the Wall, to look far below to the gate. A knot of Black Brothers was in the gate, attacked from the wildlings charging up the tunnel in the Wall and from those that had swept in from the south. A wildling cut his way past the black brothers at the gate. He made it three steps before a blade felled him, but another followed him, and another. Within seconds a dozen wildlings cut through the guards. Seconds later the guards were dead, seconds after that the wildlings had doubled in number. Within a single minute Castle Black was overrun from both sides, wildlings had smashed the doors of every tower. Jon and Pyp stared down in shock. Nearly a thousand wildlings now darkened the yard of Castle Black. Horns and cheers rose and roared on both sides of the Wall. The Wall had fallen.