Chapter 12 – The Wall and More
Castle Black- 6th month of 273 – Week 4 – 4th day
Lord Commander Qorgyle and Maester Aemon Targaryen
The Lord Commander of the Nights Watch looked out of Castle Black's windows towards the training grounds. Inept, was a kind word for those so called recruits training in the yard. A group of 10. Cutthroats and rapists for the most part. He sighed and turned to the Maester who stood in chains before his desk. Beyond him, the Watch's Maester Aemon sat silent, his face in disapproving lines.
Qorgyle took a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink into the man before his desk. Lord Stark had sent his maester to the wall for crimes against the children of the house of Stark. He was well within his rights. "Maester Wayls, you know why you are here."
"Yes" The maester stated coldly. It had been drilled into him over and over again by the Stark Soldiers as they had brought him to the Wall.
"And now we have a couple of choices. One you can remain a maester and I send you to one of the other castles, or you take the black and become a solider."
"I am no solider Lord Commander."
"No indeed. And the men in these castles are not children."
"I did what I thought was right." Wayls replied calmly.
"Yes, striking the children of a Lord Paramount is just the best way to maintain your position" Aemon replied sarcastically as he thumped his walking cane. He got to his feet, and looked at Qorgyle. "Send him to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He is not staying here."
Wayls gave Aemon a glower but he could see that it was a wasted effort. Maester Aemon was blind after all.
"Agreed Maester Aemon." The Lord Commander replied and then studied Wayls for a moment. "Given your belief that you did nothing wrong, Maester Wayls, You will find your time at the wall, most uncomfortable." He went to the door, summoned in two of the black brothers and gave orders for Wayls to be taken to Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
Once they were alone, Qorgyle sighed and sat down in his chair. Aemon looked at him. "What is on your mind Commander?"
"Another maester is always welcome, but that one will be a problem." Qorgyle replied to him. "But we will watch and see won't we."
Aemon nodded. "So any more news from Lord Stark?"
"Queenscrown is to be the initial point of contact for our new recruits…I highly doubt we will get the number needed but, the Northern Lords are rallying to make sure they have enough when they get to the New Gift. I am sending 10 men to Queenscrown to meet with Lord Byron Bolton to discuss training, as well as to assist with choosing new recruits to be trained."
"A wise choice." Aemon approved. What he did not approve of, was his relative's action in sending thousands of unprepared smallfolk north. He, himself had received a raven from Prince Rhaegar detailing the events that led to the decision. Aemon had raged and ranted for hours in his private space about the stupidity of his great nephew sitting on the throne. He wondered in part how the young Stark girl had handled what her father's letter had wrought. Having met her a few years before shortly after the birth of the last Stark Child, he figured she would have been hit hard by it. "That said, we are hopefully going to be able to rebuild the other castles on the wall."
"True, And I would like you to assist with selecting people to be trained as healers, maybe we might even find some boys who may like to train as maesters." Qorgyle suggested.
"When do you want me to leave for Queenscrown?"
"Not for a while, old friend. We have months before that is required." He pushed paper around on his desk absently as they spoke. "Wildling attacks are increasing. We need to start patrols from all castles but…"
"We are lacking the men." Aemon finished the sentence. "How long?"
"Start of next year we should have enough people to open another 3 castles. The rest… depends on how many pass the recruitment at Queenscrown. We could have all castles open within five years"
Aemon nodded as he stood. "I shall send a raven to the Citadel for more Maesters. We will need them."
Qorgyle nodded. "I will be writing to Lords Umber and Glover about their mines. If some of the new smallfolk are capable craftsmen, we may be able to get more weapons and supplies."
Aemon smiled at that. "May the gods grant us that" He said as he slowly moved to the door. "I will let you get started Lord Commander."
The Lord Commander watched the aged Maester leave his office, and marvelled that the one Targaryen who should have sat on the throne, chose the life at the Wall and the Maester's chain.
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Queenscrown- 6th month of 273 – Week 4 – 4th day
Byran Bolton
They had ridden like the wind. Stopping only to sleep. Lord Byran Bolton reigned in his tired horse at the sight of Queenscrown. His original orders had changed a lot since his father's return from Winterfell. Originally he was to set up a training place. But now, he was going to have to rebuild the village and the holdfast.
He dismounted at the edge of the lake and studied the tower. The stone holdfast tower stood upon a rocky island in the middle of the lake, and the shore of the lake was thick with oak trees. A stone causeway lay beneath the water of the lake, leading to the island, and he knew it started as a stone pathway three feet wide, leading right out into the lake and were the path of the causeway comes climbing out of the water onto they island it turns into a short flight of stone steps that lead to the holdfasts door. Path, steps, and door are in a straight line, which made a person think the causeway runs straight, but that is not so. The path under the water is not straight instead it ziggs and zaggs going a third of the way around the island before jagging back. The turns are treacherous, and the long path means that anyone approaching would be exposed to arrow fire from the tower for a long time. They would need to mark it somehow and he looked at the group of men who had come with him. And their train of supply horses, loaded down with equipment.
"We set up camp here today" He said, even though it was only an hour past the middle of the day.
"Tomorrow, we will mark out the path to the Holdfast, and begin cutting down the trees. The oaks will provide us with the lumber we need." He looked around again. "Lord Stark's raven said for us to start rebuilding the Inn. So we will. Let's get the camp set up." His men nodded and they spread out to make camp.
Byran Bolton looked at the area. Maybe with luck they would have the basics in place before the first smallfolk arrived. By the old gods let it be so. His gaze then swept back to Queenscrown. He had been here two years before. The Round tower Holdfast had always drawn his gaze. He remembered the interior. When entering the tower true, by the stout oak door with a low lintel, there is a small gloomy strongroom with a murder hole above it. From there steps built into the inner wall of the tower curve away upward to the left to the upper stories, and downward to the right into a under vault, both directions are locked behind iron grates. The second floor of the tower is a maze of small cells. The third floor of the tower has arrow slits, while the fourth has windows. The fifth floor is a large round chamber with arched doors on three sides opening onto small stone balconies, and along the fourth side is a privy chamber perched above a sewer chute that drops straight down into the lake, the north-facing balcony looks out toward the village. There is access to the roof, and the tower's merlons where painted gold, but they have since faded to yellow. It was not a place to house a family. It was really a scout's tower. But, Byran could see its potential. Maybe, if he proved himself to Lord Stark, the Stark would allow him to claim it for his own? Sure, it would not do for a wife and family, but it would be good for a single lord with no desire for such.
Shaking off his thoughts, Byran moved to assist his men setting up camp. Dreams could wait another day or two. And the sooner they got their training area set up and the trees chopped down, the sooner they could start. Byran had planned it carefully. He would set watchers in the tower to watch for the caravans of smallfolk and then they would be funnelled through the inn and each family and person named and given a place to sleep and if they were suitable, and this meant male between the ages of 15 and 45, they would be sent to the training area for assessment. He would not send incapable men to the Nights Watch. The Watch needed men, and he would make sure they got trained men. If they were not good at fighting perhaps they would be better at farming or a craft to support the watch. Maybe, he and Lord Stark could discuss a rotation of men through the Watch as well, without them having to take the Black, until they had enough willing to take it.
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Moat Cailin - 6th month of 273 – Week 4 – 5th day
Brandon Stark
Brandon and his men had ridden hard, and had, pressed themselves to make it to Moat Cailin in as short a time as possible. Brandon knew that his father had sent to Greywater Watch and Barrowton for men and craftsmen to meet him there. Moat Cailin. He and his brother had a fascination with it. Though Ned's was more consuming. He wanted to rebuild it.
Moat Cailin, sometimes called the Moat, is an ancient stronghold of the First Men on the northern edge of the great swamp known as the Neck, in the south of the north. It is less than twenty miles from the headwaters of the Fever River. Moat Cailin is one of the north's most important strongholds, though much of it now stands in ruins. It commands the causeway, the safe route for armies to travel through the swamps of the Neck. Moat Cailin is an effective natural choke point which has protected the north from southron invasion for thousands of years. The crannogmen of the Neck know unmapped routes through the swamps, such as narrow trails between the bogs and wet roads through the reeds that only boats can follow. Moat Cailin was once a great stronghold, with twenty towers, a wooden keep, and a great basalt curtain wall as high as that of Winterfell's. Today, only great blocks of black basalt lay scattered about, half sunk in the ground where the wall once stood, and the keep rotted away. The remaining three towers, which are covered with green moss and white goatskin, command the causeway from all sides so that enemies must pass between them. Attackers face constant fire from the other towers should they attempt to attack any one tower, wading through chest deep water and crossing a moat full of lizard-lions.
Brandon and his men dismounted, their Wagons were days behind them, but the supply horses were with them and for now that would suffice. "We will make camp in the Gatehouse Tower." Brandon said to Rodrick and Vayon who had accompanied him. The Gatehouse Tower, was the largest of the remaining towers, and was squat and wide. It was the only tower which still stands straight, even retaining some of the walls around it, although a tree grows through its northern side. The tower's hall of dark stone is spotted with lichen and has a high, drafty ceiling. But it would do for their purposes.
Leading their horses, Brandon and his men moved into the Moat's rocky courtyard. They would set up camp, and see what the next few days would bring. He knew it was going to be a rough few weeks. And he had no expectation that the Smallfolk coming by land would be in any great condition. He would have to set up a proper camp, just north of the Moat, for them. And he knew it was likely they would need to rest, once they crossed the causeway.
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At Sea- 6th month of 273 – Week 4 – 5th day
Ships by the score plunged through waves heading to White Harbour. On board thousands of Smallfolk cowered in terror and seasickness below decks, clutching loved ones and prized personal possessions. Sailors ignored the smallfolk except to make sure they still lived and ate what food was supplied. White Harbour was still a week or so away, they just had to make it there. The first fleet numbered 24 ships. More followed the days after them. And more after that. Once they delivered their cargo to White Harbour they would turn back to Kings Landing, and see if there were more to go.
Leading the fleet was a sleek vessel under the captainship of Maxir Lynderly, a commoner from the Westerlands. He had been charged by Lord Lannister, to deliver these people safely and that was what he was going to do.
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By Land - 6th month of 273 – Week 4 – 5th day
Nearly ten thousand smallfolk walked north, surrounded by Lannister and Targaryen Guards. It was slow going, and hard for them. Some had no shoes and some had very little in the way of clothes. Old rickety wagons carried those too frail to walk or too young. The Lannister contingent was led by Ser Damon Lannister, Good-brother to the Hand of the King. And he was under strict orders to make sure all made it to the north hale and whole. So his men took extra care of those unable to care for themselves. They had been given the destination of Moat Cailin as a half way point. They were still two to three weeks away at their slow pace. They were barely doing 2 miles an hour. Ser Damon was anxious to get this done however. He had a feeling more people would be sent from the capital now that the king had come up with a great idea to 'clean his city' as Damon had heard put about. Which meant that, more homeless, more people who may be able to work in different areas. He knew that among his charges he had two blacksmiths, three seamstresses, and a number of other craftsmen. There was even two bakers and a couple of fishermen. Such talent, surely would be wasted north of the neck, but he, like his Good Brother, dared not divert any smallfolk from the path the King had put them on. Mad king indeed.