The Wall 1
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(circa 295AC)
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As I looked around the yard of Castle Black, I suppressed a shudder at just how shabby the place was. While that’d been hinted at in the books, the show had given it more life. Yet to see it for real was, in all honesty, a disappointment. Men were moving around, with a group of black brothers coming over to help our party with their horses and the carriage that the Greatjon had brought along, but the overall feel of the place was a dilapidated mess.
“Jon! Good to see you again,” I turned my head toward the voice after sliding off my horse to see a large man with greying hair watching us from a ledge on one of the larger towers in the castle. “What in the hells did you bring this time?”
The Greatjon laughed loudly and waved his arm at our party. “Visitors to the Wall, Jeor. All the way from Dorne.”
Even as Jeor – likely Mormont, the Lord Commander – looked at us more carefully, I saw the heads of a few in the yard snap our way. One set of eyes in particular narrowed as they focused on me. “It isn’t often we get visitors from south of the Neck. Hells, I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen Dornishmen here that hadn’t taken the Black.” Jeor said slowly as he moved toward the stairs leading down to the yard.
Oberyn chuckled and spread his arms wide. “I enjoy seeing new places,” he said with a laugh before slapping the Greatjon on the arm. Though given the height disparity, it was closer to the Greatjon’s elbow than his shoulder. “This great lump of a man insisted on joining my party when we stopped at Last Hearth.”
Jeor smiled at the dig at Lord Umber but stayed silent as he descended the stairs. When he stepped into the yard, a large raven, one that looked larger than normal, came and landed on his shoulder.
“Jon,” Jeor greeted the larger man by clasping arms and then pulled the Greatjon into a brief hug. “Been what? A year?”
“Aye.” The Greatjon indicated the wagon, where a few Umber guards were helping the black brothers unload chests. “Got some fresh supplies for you and your men. Though if not for this cunt, I’d likely have waited a few more moons before coming.” He slapped Oberyn hard on the back of his shoulder, though my father was used to Jon’s behaviour and had already braced his feet to avoid stumbling from the massive slap. “May I introduce Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell of Sunspear. Prince Oberyn, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night’s Watch.”
“Lord Commander,” Oberyn began as they clasped arms, “a pleasure to meet you, though I do hope we’re not too big an inconvenience.”
Jeor chuckled as they broke the clasp. “Nay. While more mouths to feed might be an issue, Jon’s come prepared. For once.”
Jon’s booming laugh filled the yard. “That wasn’t my fault! And we got to kill some Wildling fuckers afterwards.”
“I sense a story there, one that, mayhaps, we could hear over some ale?” Oberyn suggested. Jeor nodded and waved toward a small group of black brothers even as the Martell guards moved closer. “Perhaps somewhere my guards don’t look like they’re about to fall over from the cold?”
“Of course. I’ll have bread and salt brought to you now while the cooks get to work preparing a meal.” Jeor’s eyes drifted from Oberyn to where I was standing. He smiled at the Umber boys, though they widened at seeing Robb and me. “Have you been hiding more sons I didn’t know about Jon?”
The Greatjon’s booming laugh once more filled the yard, managing to beat out the wind as it whistled around us. “Nah. While you know Jon and Howar, the other two ain’t mine.” He waved at us to approach, one hand coming to rest on my and Robb’s shoulders. “This here’s Ned’s boy, Robb, the Heir to Winterfell.”
Jeor grasped Robb’s arm, though my cousin seemed a little unsure of himself. That was understandable as he wasn’t used to being placed in a position of having to represent House Stark. Which, the more I thought about it, might be why Ned had allowed Robb to come with us as he trusted Jeor Mormont and the Greatjon to not harm his firstborn and heir and it helped Robb meet a few people of importance in the North for when he’d one day become Lord Stark.
“Lord Robb,” Jeor said with a smile. “Nice to see a trueborn Stark at the Wall. Had a few bastard uncles of yours somewhere, though none since Egdar passed a decade ago.” I wondered who Egdar was, and given the confused look that flashed over Robb’s face, he didn’t know the name either. Meaning it was likely a distant grand-uncle at best.
“Thank you, Lord Commander. My father sends his regards and asked me to give you this.” Robb pulled a sealed note from within his furs and passed it to Mormont. Jeor took the note and slid it into his furs before turning his gaze to me. “And who might you be?”
Jon squeezed my shoulder, though I held my ground, not wanting to appear weak. “This here’s the bastard son of Brandon Stark.” He flicked his head toward Oberyn. “This fucker’s been raising him and done a good job it seems, and while he’s got his mother’s eyes, this one’s got Stark blood for sure.”
“Aye, I can see that in the face,” Jeor grasped my forearm and squeezed, which I returned in equal measure. “There’s a few brothers of the Watch who might not like having the Bloody Wolf with us, but I’ll keep them in line.”
“I’m sure my son can more than handle himself,” Oberyn offered, drawing laughter from the other two men.
“Aye, if the stories I’ve heard about him are true, then I’m sure he can.” Jeor offered as his eyes searched my face. “I only knew your father in passing, boy. A good man, if hot-tempered.”
“Something I inherited, Lord Commander.” I glanced at Oberyn. “Though that might just be the Dornish blood playing up as well.” That drew laughter from all three men, along with Robb though he looked less sure of if he should laugh.
“Now there’s something…” Jeor was cut off as the Raven on his shoulder cawed irritably. It then took off and flew back toward the room the Lord Commander had come from. Jeor followed it with a confused expression. “Odd.” He muttered; however, my attention was taken from him as a faint whistle came from the skies above us.
I slid from the grasp of the two men, turned and looked up into the cloudy sky as another whistle came upon the wind. A moment later Rian swooped low, breaking through a cloud. Several people tensed as he dropped low, though even as I raised my arm for my companion, I heard Oberyn saying Rian was with us. Even though the thick furs I was wearing, I could feel the pressure of Rian’s claws as he landed, which made me thankful I was wearing those furs as the gauntlet I’d normally wear to hold Rian was stored on a bag on my horse.
Rian tilted his head and spread his wings as he looked at me. Almost as if I’d done something to annoy him. He then looked past me, first at the Lord Commander and then toward where the raven had flown.
“My apologies, Lord Commander. It seems Rian has grown tired of flying.” I explained as I turned back to the group. Rian whistled at my words, and then spread his wings again, almost as a statement that we should acknowledge him.
The Old Bear laughed heartily even as his eyes stayed on Rian. “It’s fine, lad. A bird like that likely enjoys the attention, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen one with such markings.”
“He’s a Sunfyre eagle from the Red Mountains,” I explained as Rian folded his wings, seemingly happy to be acknowledged. “I found him injured and nursed him back to health myself. Since then, he's been my constant companion.” Rian leaned closer and tapped the top of his beak against my skull. “Even if he’s a needy little bitch at times,” I added, drawing some amusement as I lifted my other hand and gently stroked him under his neck. When I looked back at the Lord Commander, I saw more people in the yard looking our way, though the one who’d glared menacingly at me earlier was gone.
“I feel there’s more to the story than that,” Jeor offered as a black brother raced out of a nearby building with some bread. “Perhaps you might tell me the full story over a warm meal?” I agreed with a nod as my mouth was full of bread. Rian leaned close and nipped a piece off for himself as well, which drew another chuckle from Jeor. “And explain how he knows of guest rights.”
Jeor turned, the Greatjon and my father falling in step beside him, and started moving towards the common hall. I started to follow along with Robb only for a hand to clamp down on the shoulder of my free arm. Rian snarked at the sudden change in my movement even as the Smalljon leaned close.
“Trying to one-up the Lord Commander, eh?” He asked with a large smirk, even as I frowned. “Your bird landing like that and making the Commander’s raven scarper sure was a statement.”
My frown deepened as my eyes drifted back to the Old Bear. He was chuckling with the Greatjon and Oberyn about something as they reached the door to the building. “I, uh, I didn’t mean for it to look like that.”
Smalljon clapped my shoulder. “Aye, sure you didn’t.” he walked forward, moving to catch up with his brother and Robb as they followed behind the men, guards from three houses forming a loose escort on either side.
Before I followed, I looked up at Rian. I hadn’t commanded him to land when he did, yet playing it back in my head it was easy to see how, to others, it would look like I’d arranged that to show him off. While not intended this time, I wondered if doing that in future might be an interesting thing to do. Making impressions mattered, and having a bird that was already large for its breed – something I felt came from our bond – land like Rian did certainly would make a mark. Doubly so as most lords, according to Doran, struggled to raise eagles as they were notoriously prickly birds of prey.
A none-too-subtle cackle from Rian, along with a gesture toward the others, had me moving again. I’d have to think more about using Rian like this later on. For now though, with my stomach grumbling as the faint smell of a warm meal reached my nose, food was the top priority.
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About an hour later I emerged from the hall, my stomach feeling better after a warm meal. The Lord Commander had been a pleasure to speak with, same for the few members of the Watch that’d joined us, but I’d been trying to get out as quickly as I could – without it looking like I wanted to go – for about half the time. While speaking with the members of the Watch was interesting, I was more focused on meeting one particular member of their order: Maester Aemon.
As the door closed behind me, Rian flapped his wings and took off. I watched as he climbed rapidly into the clouds before resuming my walk. The Lord Commander had told me which tower housed the Maester and after picking it out easily – mainly as the faint cawing of ravens came from the top – I headed toward it.
“Well, look what we’ve got here boys,” a voice streaked with malice remarked when I was about three-quarters of the way across the quiet yard. “A Dornish bastard who thinks he’s something special.”
Four black brothers emerged in a rough arc in front of me with the one who’d spoken directly blocking my path. I shifted my stance at once, feeling this situation could easily turn sideways, and one hand drifted to the hilt of Red Rain. “And who might you be?”
The leader snarled, making the scar that marred his face right across the nose darken. “Roryn Drumm.” I snarled back at hearing the name even though I remembered that Oberyn had said while House Drumm was gone, some had taken the Black. This fucking prick in front of me was one of those lucky enough to escape House Martell’s vengeance that day. Now I wanted him to attack so I could correct that error. “That blade you’ve got belongs to my family. To me!”
“It did. Right up until I killed that prick of a lord who’d held it before and his dumb fuck of a son,” I shot back as my fingers closed around Red Rain’s hilt. While the blade was too wide, too broad and too short for my liking, it was Valyrian steel, and I trusted myself to take these four fuckers with it with little difficulty. Hells, the one to my far left still hadn’t adopted a fighting stance. “I paid the Iron Price for it,” I added, making sure to rub his culture in his face. I wouldn’t be the one to start this, not when under Guest Rights, but the moment any of them attacked I planned to end them all. “King Robert named it as mine.”
“I don’t give a fuck what that Lion-loving cunt thinks! That blade is mine!”
Roryn was all but shaking with rage, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “If you think that, come and join your former lord in the seven hells.”
As Roryn’s blade rushed from its sheath, the other three also drew theirs, though the blade on my far left emerged last. I enjoyed the way Roryn’s eyes narrowed as I drew Red Rain, taking pleasure in the fury that made his blade shake slightly. I slid back slightly, wanting to keep all four in front of me. While I’d never sparred with more than two – and those had been fellow squires – I’d seen Oberyn and Daemon do so. The trick, he claimed, was to never lose sight of any for more than a moment, to stay mobile and to make sure they weren't able to bring the weight of their numbers to bear. There was also the fact I was wielding Valyrian steel, which was a massive advantage against any weapon not also made of the steel of the dragon lords. Or from a fallen meteor.
The four moved slowly, trying to see what I’d do when challenged, yet I stood my ground, keeping the distance between us. As much as my blood screamed for vengeance for my lost sibling, I knew I needed them to strike first; needed them to break Guest Rights instead of me.
“What the fuck is going on here?!” The shout had come from somewhere behind and to my right and seemed to make the three with Roryn tremble. All three quickly sheathed their blades though the Drumm fucker chose that moment to advance.
“Roryn! Sheath your bloody steel or I’ll fucking remove it myself!” Someone in the furs of the Night’s Watch stepped between us, making me almost lash out at his sudden appearance near my blade. “Do it now before the fucking Lord Commander hears us or Gods help me, I’ll send you on a solo ranging for a moon!”
“That little prick stole my family’s sword” Roryn shouted, his sword jabbing toward me as he raged like a moron. Which was true as I was at least a quarter-head taller than him already.
“I don’t give a fuck! Nor does it fucking matter! You swore an oath to the Watch and he’s under Guest Rights from the Lord Commander himself!” The black brother between us moved toward Roryn, a hand drifting toward his blade. “Now sheath your fucking blade before I remove your fucking head!” I snarled in anger. This prick was my kill, and this newcomer was threatening to steal it?
“Arrgh!” Roryn growled though it was hard to see what he was doing as the newcomer was blocking my view. Though I did hear him, much to my disappointment, sheath his blade and then watched as he began to pace from side to side, his eyes burning with a fire I longed to put out.
“Get the fuck out of here before I make it a two-moon's ranging!” Roryn kept his glare on me as he paced. Quickly, the three who’d threatened me with him reached his side and all but dragged him away. My eyes tracked him until he disappeared around a corner, his gaze remaining locked on me as well.
Once he was gone, fighting to not charge after him as my soul sang for his blood to grace my blade, I slowly relaxed my stance.
“And you! Sheath that thing before you fucking hurt yourself!” The snapped order came from the newcomer as he turned to face me. My blade lowered even as my slowly ebbing anger returned in full force, not liking this dumb cunt for giving me orders. The man, who looked worn with age, though that might just be what years serving on the Wall did to someone, rolled his eyes. “Ah, the bastard. Can’t say I’m surprised you’re the reason for this bullshit!”
An urge to attack, to teach this fool some manners raged with a need to respect customs within me. “You… have me at a disadvantage, Ser,” I slowly said as the latter desire won out, yet the anger was still there, still demanding blood even as I reluctantly sheathed Red Rain. Giving me more proof that mixing Wolfs-blood and Blood of the Dragon’s Flames might’ve been a mistake.
“Alliser Thorne, Master-of-Arms here at Castle Black. Though I know damn well who you are.” He all but spat as his black eyes tried to burn a hole in my face. “The bastard son of the prick who started the whole damned war.” As he spoke, the name clicked with memories of the book and show. Of course, I’d get saved by a prick who hated my father.
“I’m not the son of Rhaegar Targaryen,” I shot back, my anger returning in spades as I wanted to make clear who I blamed for the war. Yes, Lyanna deserved some blame for running off as she had, but to me, most of the blame lay with Rhaegar for acting as he did and not speaking with my father and grandfather before running away with my aunt.
Thorne snorted. “Prince Rhaegar did what he was allowed as Crown Prince. Your dumb fuck of a father, Brandon Stark, started the war by riding to the Red Keep and demanding Rhaegar’s head.” My vision narrowed as Alliser insulted my birth father. I knew I shouldn’t feel so angry about it, but the residual anger of discovering a Drumm still lived was clouding my thoughts just enough to cause an issue. “And of course, he defiled your dumb cunt of a mother. Shame she didn’t have the good graces to drink some tea instead of birthing you.”
The flames in my blood demanded vengeance for that insult. I rushed forward, one arm sailing through the air to smash Thorne’s face in. Yet, as the punch sailed toward its target, the man moved, and it sailed wide. As it passed his head, he grabbed the arm and twisted. I was sent flying onto my back, staring up at the Wall.
I snarled as I rolled around in the muck, trying to get back to my feet. As I reached my knees, something silver flashed into my sight and then everything went dark.
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I groaned in pain as light slowly seeped into my vision. A hand moved for my blade, only to find it wasn’t there. A second later, I realised I wasn’t lying in the muck. I tried and failed to sit up when a firm hand pushed down on my chest.
“Calm yourself, Cregan. Let the Maester check you over.”
Oberyn’s words confused me, and I blinked trying to settle my head. “What?” I muttered as my eyes adjusted to the light to discover I was lying on a bed of some form in a building. Oberyn was sitting next to me, his hand on my chest and a slightly concerned smile on his face.
The anger that’d been almost overwhelming me around Alliser Thorne was all but gone, replaced by irritation at a blinking blue notice that revealed I’d gotten another mild concussion. While Westeros had anti-concussion protocols, they weren’t as advanced as those from Earth - which was hardly a surprise - and other than rest, relaxation and some pain-numbing medicine, there was little they could offer. Hells, I’d already had a handful since my training had started using blunted steel. I still had to pay Daemon back for the one he’d given me a year ago, but I felt it wouldn’t be long until I’d be able to beat the prick in a duel.
Oberyn chuckled in response to my groggy question even as an old man shuffled over – the jangle of his chain letting me know he was a Maester, which tickled something in my memory that felt important. “That should be my question for you. You leave the meal and not long after a runner comes to say you have been taken to Maester Aemon after having been knocked unconscious. What happened?”
My eyes shot to the Maester at the confirmation it was indeed Aemon. Any annoyance at the mild concussion, for making me forget who he was, vanished as I looked at him. He was undoubtedly old and the milky-white of his eyes confirmed this version of the person was blind like I’d expected. Yet, even without his sight, his touch was gentle and careful as he wiped a warm cloth on my forehead before his fingers started running over my skull.
“I cannot feel any swelling, my prince. However, I’d suggest he rests for a few days to ensure there’s no damage that I can’t find.”
“Thank you, Maester. And again, there is no need for you of all people to call me Prince.” Aemon chuckled at what I assumed was a private joke; one based around him being a former Targaryen prince. After the moment passed, Oberyn turned back to me, the humour falling from his face. “Cregan, what happened?”
I stared up at the thatched roof, noting the thick planks with some looking far newer than others. In one corner of the room, there was a gap as stairs rose to the next level, which given the faint cawing emanating from there, lead to the rookery. After taking a few slow, calming breaths to ensure any residual anger toward Roryn Drumm and Thorne was gone, I detailed what had happened.
I made sure to explain about there being a Drumm at the wall, something Aemon commented on as it seemed Roryn was a problem among the Ironborn recruits and if not for most of them being sent to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Aemon felt Roryn would be a larger problem for Commander Mormont and Ser Alliser than he currently was.
When I’d gone over my reaction to Ser Alliser's comments on my birth father and mother, Oberyn’s face had hardened. While he wouldn’t care about the comments about Brandon Stark, Ashara was his wife and thus Ser Alliser’s words were an insult to his house.
“I know I acted rashly, father. But his words about mother…” I filtered off after finishing my recounting of events, still annoyed at myself. Both for losing control of my anger – a result of my Wolf and Dragon perks mixing, even if up until today I’d felt I had a handle on them – and for how easily I’d gone down.
“Yes, that would anger all but the most craven of men.” Oberyn stood suddenly. “Maester Aemon, I’ll be leaving my son with you for a while longer. It appears there are a few matters of importance that I need to speak with the Lord Commander about.”
“Of course, my prince. Though I would advise that you avoid seeking revenge. Enough blood has been shed over the actions of the dragons that it would serve us all best if any anger around them stayed in the past.” As Aemon spoke, Oberyn moved for the door, and while he walked quietly, the blind Maester was still able to track the movements.
“We shall see.” I couldn’t see my father’s face, but I knew he was quietly stewing. It was a semi-running joke that while I wasn’t born of his loins, I was Oberyn’s son due to our shared anger and how easily – and in Oberyn’s case, dangerously - it could be invoked. While he’d likely not make a huge scene regarding Ser Alliser’s words about my mother, he wouldn’t let the matter rest. As much as I’d enjoy seeing my father beat the ever-loving piss out of the man, I knew in the long run, that’d only cause issues for the Night’s Watch. Ones compounded by Jon Snow and Benjen Stark not joining their ranks.
Aemon sighed as the door closed and shook his head. “Young and foolish. Like so many men I’ve known.” His eyes drifted to me, which was a touch disconcerting given the empty glassiness of them. “And boys.”
“He insulted my mother.”
“Yes, he did. But did you ever consider why he might do that to one under Guest Rights from the Lord Commander?” Aemon waved a hand in the air, dismissing my reply before I could make it. “Bah. I suspect that even if you knew, you would not care. Thinking more about protecting the honour of your mother and the glory defeating a brother of the Night’s Watch would bring you. Another flaw of the young.”
I opened my mouth, wanting to reply, only to close it as I pushed aside the growing anger at Aemon for not caring about my mother’s honour. As I did, I knew he was right. I’d rushed into things, and not just because my traits made me aggressive. I’d enjoyed combat in my former life, and while the emotional connection to my memories of working inside the wire was gone, I found myself reviewing those more than any others from my life back then.
Instead of thinking about why Alliser was angry, my mind turned back to what I knew of him from the book and show. Quickly, I found my answer. “He fought for House Targaryen in the Rebellion, did he not?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Yes, he was in King’s Landing when it fell to Lannister forces.” Aemon sighed as he spoke, and as he shuffled around using a cane made of a dark wood, he shook his head as if remembering more of the event than I felt he’d tell me. “Lord Tywin Lannister gave him and others that surrendered a choice. Their head on a spike or to take the black. Ser Alliser and about a dozen others took the black.”
“Ah.” I couldn’t think of any way to continue the conversation on its current track, and seeing how I was in the Maester’s room, I figured to change tracks. “I, um, was on my way to see you when everything happened.”
Aemon looked back at me, his eyes finding mine even if they shouldn’t have been able to. “Oh?”
Even though he couldn’t see it, I smiled at the faint spark of curiosity his voice contained. “Aye. While I enjoy training in the yard as much as the next man, I like to read and learn when I can. I’d hoped you might have some books on the history of the Wall and the castles along it. Mainly ones detailing how old they are, or when they were built.” It was a specific request, but one that shouldn’t arouse too much suspicion as no one would know I was actively looking for a way to strengthen the Wall for when the Others came.
Aemon looked as if he was staring off into the distance. “Hmm. I am not sure such books exist or are in any condition to be read. The Great Book of the Watch details records of each Lord Commander,” he glanced my way, once more showing more understanding of where I was than I’d expect of someone without their sight. “However it has been some time since I looked at it,” he chuckled at his joke about his lack of sight, “or any other book going back to the building of the Wall.”
I shifted in my cot, moving the fur cover from over my body. I was still dressed in my lower garments though I’d been stripped to nothing more than a tunic on my upper body. With how thick the furs had been, I’d not noticed the gentle chill in the air until I’d pulled back the covers.
“I may be blind boy, but this is my domain. I know every inch of it, and the sound it makes.” He waved his free hand in my general direction. “Now, pull those furs back over your body and let me have a search for some of the older books I have.
“Sorry, I just wanted to help,” I said rather meekly as I did as he instructed and pulled the furs back over my chest.
Aemon chuckled as he moved over to a chest in the far corner of the room, his chain chinking as he walked. “It is kind of you to offer, lad, but I would rather focus on this interest you have in the history of the Wall and the Watch. It is something that sadly, many of my brothers care little for.”
As he knelt, leaning his cane against the wall and then fumbling with the latch on the chest, I pulled myself up, making sure the cloth stayed on my head. The bed I was in, well a cot really, was a simple thing which made sense. As gruesome as it might sound, anything more than a minor wound at such a remote and cold location carried the risk of amputation or death unless the Maester was particularly skilled.
Now, it would be wrong to say Westeros was primitive, as some of the remedies I’d seen in various Maester’s quarters appeared to be – from descriptions given of them by the Maesters – basic versions of medicines I’d not expect a world akin to Earth’s Dark Ages to have. Oh, they had some odd notions about how the body worked and the functions of a few organs, but generally, their understanding was closer to, in my opinion, the Renaissance than the time of the Vikings.
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However, the issue was the Watch was so underfunded that I doubted Aemon had even a third of the supplies a Maester in a minor keep south of the Neck would have. Nor a chance to get supplies as easily.
“If I might ask,” I said as Aemon managed to work the latch and lift back the chest’s top, “why did my father say you of all people don’t need to call him Prince?”
Aemon chuckled. “A private joke between us, though one I might explain if you understand why it exists.”
I stayed quiet for a few moments, making it seem as if I was collecting my thoughts as he searched in the chest. I already knew the answer, but to just blurt it out would seem odd, so I did what I often did in such situations and laid out my ‘thinking’ on the matter. “The only clue I might have is your name, which, if I may be so bold, is an unusual one. I’ve not encountered any with the name Aemon in Westeros. Though I admit I am not the most well-travelled.” Aemon laughed softly though made no move to interrupt, so I kept going. “Hmm, now that I think about it, I can only think of one place I may have read the name before. In works detailing the history of House Targaryen.” I watched Aemon tense, though if I’d not been waiting for it, I’d have likely missed it. “There were three if I recall, though the youngest was born a hundred years ago.”
“It is an unusual name, one not many would not comment on,” Aemon offered, making me hope I’d done enough for him to reveal the truth. “Ah, yes. This is the book I spoke of. And those under it feel just as old.” He pulled three books from the chest, and while I was disappointed he hadn’t confirmed he was Aemon Targaryen, my interest shifted for the moment to what I might learn from the books.
While it was unlikely there’d be much if anything, there to help with the A Wall Empowered objective, learning more about the Wall, and details of the forts along it might be of some use in the years to come. Both the Wildlings and the Others would have to get past the massive slab of ice that split the Far North from the rest of Westeros.
And while I read and talked with Aemon, I could gently probe further about his name. While I knew I didn’t have much time here, learning the truth might be of some use when it came time for Alysanne to discover the truth of her heritage. After all, a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.
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The winds whistled around me as I stood on the top of the Wall looking north. Near the Wall trees dominated; their green tips breaking up the white of everything else. Be it the ground, the hills and mountains or the skies above.
A glance over the edge had brought on the familiar sense of vertigo that always existed when one looked down from high above, yet it didn’t bother me. While I’d served in the SBS, we’d trained in HALO drops and jumping over the side from large container ships. There was always this moment of concern when you looked down, but you learnt to both ignore it and refocus it toward a determination to do what was needed.
That said, standing on the Wall, which was wide enough that at least four, possibly more, fully armoured knights could ride along the top side by side, was something else entirely. The tingle of magic made me glad I was wearing thick furs over everything bar my face, which was covered by a thick cloth with only my eyes exposed. It felt as if every hair on my body, from my head to my shins, was standing to attention at the power that coursed around and through me.
The Wall was a masterpiece of engineering, yes, but its true beauty lay in the magic embedded in it. Magic that reacted to me with a sense of something akin to joy. Whether that was because I had Stark blood, could use magic or a combination of the two, I couldn’t say, but it was a rush that made everything else pale in comparison.
“Over there, far in the distance, is Hardhome.” The words came from Ser Mallador Locke who was acting as the guide and escort for Oberyn and me as we stood upon the Wall. “The Wildlings once tried to make a settlement, but it failed. While some of my brothers think it failed because of infighting, we honestly really cannot say for sure.”
His arm was pointing to the northeast, and at the mention of Hardhome, my mind drifted back to the episode of the same name, causing a shiver to run up my spine. I knew I’d have to fight the Others and their minions at some point – likely in the next decade or so – but knowing it was coming and dealing with it were two entirely different things. I just hoped when the time came, I and the Kingdoms were ready. Otherwise…
“And up there, you shall find the Frostfang mountains. Those mark the line between the Haunted Forest and the Lands of Always Winter.” Mallador continued, pointing out the lands where the Others slumbered, unintentionally playing into my concerns.
“Truly an incredible sight,” Oberyn offered, though this was semi-ruined by the fact he’d decided to – unintentionally – mimic Tyrion and piss off the end of the world.
“Aye, though I think Ty might kill me if I tried to show it to her.”
Oberyn laughed, though it was hard to hear it as the wind whistled around us. “Yes, she likely would. As would almost any lady, save perhaps, one born for adventure or in the North. While I doubt I shall ever forget the view, I don’t believe my women or daughters would be happy if we suffered frostbite.”
“I’m not the one who pissed off the Wall,” I shot back, making him and Ser Mallador chuckle.
“We are standing at the end of the world, Cregan! We must make the most of it.” Oberyn turned as he spoke, moving back to the central channel that ran along the Wall. As we walked along the wide path, the lack of manpower was evident. Near us were four watch points, yet only one was manned. At their peak, I suspected the Night’s Watch would’ve rivalled any southern army for size. Yet now it was nothing but a collection of the dregs of Westeros and a few who, like Jeor Mormont, saw honour in the posting. “While it is not a story I feel your mother will enjoy, it is one few can say they have done.” Ser Mallador seemed to nod his head as he walked a few paces in front of us, though it was hard to tell with the thick furs we all wore.
I stayed quiet as we walked toward the massive lift – which was another marvel of engineering, and also downright terrifying to travel in – that would take us from the top of the Wall down to Castle Black. The faint cawing of a crow drew my eyes to the Haunted Forest, where somewhere in its depths the Three-Eyed-Raven and any remaining Children of the Forest were hidden. My eyes then drifted back to the Lands of Always Winter, wondering if the Others had started to stir, or if they’d stayed silent due to my presence. While that latter was unlikely, one could always hope.
However, the more immediate problem was that with no Jon or Benjen in the Watch, then things would likely get far worse long before the Others came. Now I could, if I wanted, join the Watch, and try and make a difference here. However, that felt like the wrong path to take. Even ignoring how my joining the Watch wouldn’t return events to their canon occurrences, wasting my life away on the Wall, and likely dying in either a Wildling attack or when the Others came, would be a waste. Better to be further back, take time to earn a name for myself and gather some forces for when shit did hit the fan. Yes, it might look like I was holding back so I could ride to the rescue, but with the sheer number of Wildlings, to say nothing of the size of the Others force, it was simply the practical choice to make.
And that was without considering that if I joined, I’d have to go celibate. Well, bar the whores in Mole town. And frankly, having Ty waiting for me in Winterfell, and likely her sisters and friends in Sunspear, was all the reason I needed to toss the idea of joining the Watch off the damn Wall.
No, it was better to let the Gods and chance decide how the story would play out here and be ready to move from further back, where I had time to prepare and train, once chaos had descended.
“Cregan!” I stopped in my stride and turned to see Oberyn and Ser Mallador standing at the lift. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I’d walked right past them.
“Sorry, was just thinking about things.” I moved over to them, even as Oberyn looked me over.
“Good. For a moment I feared I may have to tell Tyene that you decided to forsake her for a career in the Watch.” He shook his head as we stepped into the deceptively solid – even if it didn’t look like it – lift. “Or Gods forgive, your mother or my niece. I feel both would demand I return with a host to drag you back to Dorne kicking and screaming.”
I laughed as the lift jerked, letting us know it was about to descend. “While I would love to see that, it is probably for the best if you not do so. I’m unsure how Lord Eddard would react to a Dornish host landing near White Harbour.”
The sounds of Oberyn laughing at the image were lost as the lift creaked downward, letting the wind’s volume rise and drown out everything else.
… …
----------------------------------------
… …
I struggled to stay on my horse as it rode through the tunnel in the Wall. While standing on the top of the Wall had felt incredible as the magic in it reacted to my presence, currently, I was within the thing, making the experience a thousand times stronger. What I’d felt earlier today up on the Wall had made the general tingle in Castle Black feel like a gentle stoking of my arm, but going through it blew even that sensation out of the water. Right now, my entire body felt alive as the magic in the Wall seemed to use me as a conductor to move through the massive ice barrier.
Since Robb who was riding in front of me seemed unaffected, it all but confirmed that the Wall knew I was a magically active Stark and was reacting to me and giving me a boost in ways the Interface was failing to process. Thankfully no one tried to speak to me as we rode, or at least I don’t think any did, as I’d never be able to respond.
I blinked hard as sunlight suddenly flooded my sight and it took a moment for me to realise the sensation from the Wall was fading and see that we’d arrived in the Far North. The sensation of magic returned to the gentle tingle I’d felt in and near Castle Black, though it was different. As if something was heating the magic as it warmed my skin. Before anyone could speak to me, I opened a notice that had appeared.
Magical Area Entered!
The Far North!
Ancient magics permeate the land, granting boons to all magic.
Those magics linked to the First Men and Children of the Forest gain 150% boosts.
All other magics, bar fire and its subcategories gain 100% boosts.
Fire magic and any magic evolved from it, gain 50% boosts.
...
Note!
These boons only last until the ********* event occurs.
After which, all boons will decrease by a factor of 5.
...
Warning!
Several strong magical presences exist in the Far North.
Depending on the magic you use, they may be able to sense your presence.
And may, perhaps, investigate the source of the magic.
...
Huh. That explained why magic felt different here. Unlike, as far as I knew, in the rest of the planet – I was assuming that since there’d not been any change in magical restrictions or boosts when I’d been in Braavos – here magic was still strong. That made sense since the Others and the Children lived here. That fire magic was penalised also made some sense and might be why the Valyrians had never bothered with Westeros. I suspected that either the Others or the Children had ways to interfere with magics harmful to them, though without further proof or unlikely confirmation, that would remain a theory for a long arse time.
The warning was expected, though knowing that other magical users in the Far North might sense me was a concern. I’d eat Red Rain if the Three-Eyed-Raven wasn’t watching me, or soon to be, but learning that the Others, Children or – Gods help me – something else might also be watching was slightly terrifying. So long as I stayed close to the Wall though, I doubted I’d have to worry about those other threats, which they’d be until I could be sure of who was watching and their intentions. Hells, even the Three-Eyed-Raven was in the threat category barring a bloody miracle.
A faint pipping from above had me looking up. Due to his markings, Rian was easy to spot against the clouds, even given how high above he was soaring. Some of that likely came from the strengthening bond I had with him, as thanks to the boosts to First Men magic in Winterfell and at the Wall, I’d managed to push the bond up to level 7, which was a two-level jump from what’d been when we’d arrived in White Harbour.
The boosts offered by being in the Far North weren’t enough to entirely overcome the penalty that, unless I missed my guess, would be lifted by the Red Comet, but it certainly helped. Though when the comet came, it would likely remove the penalty from not just me but anyone else with the potential to use magic. Now, I suspected most wouldn’t realise this, or dismiss it as something wrong with them, but for people like Arianne, my sisters – step and half – and the Stark children, it would be a massive boon for them as well. As it would be for any Wildling that could skinchange, as the odds that none could, was, in my mind, slim.
I looked at my party to see everyone gathering around. Oberyn was talking with the Greatjon, Robb and the dozen brothers of the Night’s Watch who were escorting us. There were also a dozen Stark men led by Ser Rodrick Cassel, though only one knight from Dorne had been brave/foolish enough to escort his prince through the Wall, and that poor fool looked more likely to die of the cold than offer any help if we were attacked. Now, I knew we were going to head to the weirwood grove, and since the objective The Far North hadn’t yet been completed, I wondered if that was where I had to head for it to do so.
Honestly, when I’d first brought the matter about heading through the Wall to Oberyn after we’d left Winterfell, I’d half-expected him to deny me. Instead, he’d agreed and promised to come with, provided the Lord Commander allowed it. Robb had also wanted to come, and once the Umbers knew, they’d declared they were coming and made it clear they’d fight any who tried to stop them.
Slowly the large group started moving, headed for the weirwood grove that was supposed to be half a league north of the Wall. Seeing everyone, even the members of the Watch, pull their furs tightly around them, I knew I wouldn’t be bothered for a while. As such, I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind.
Normally there was a brief moment of confusion when sliding into the minds of my companions, yet there was none this time. The shift was so sudden, that I felt my body shift suddenly on my horse before I found myself high in the skies above.
Rian’s/my eyes looked down, making sure my/Cregan’s body hadn’t fallen from my/his horse. Seeing it hadn’t, Rian/I looked around as the cold wind pushed against me/him. While he/Rian would rather be back in the warmer airs of my/his nest, I could manage this. My brother/Cregan down below was somehow shielding me/him from the worst of the cold.
A gentle tickle from inside made Rian’s/my eyes scan the trees below, looking for something to eat. While I/Cregan often gave him/me parts of his/my meal, Rian/I savoured the hunt. Enjoying it almost as soaring through the clouds.
… …
----------------------------------------
… …
Standing in the weirwood grove of nine trees was an odd feeling. Magic was clearly at play here, as the tingle I’d felt near the Wall had grown stronger as we’d approached. Yet, once we’d entered the grove, magic had felt different. That was probably due to this being a place of worship for the Children and the old Gods first whereas the Wall was built by man, however, I couldn’t be sure of that. Though the odd sensation of something alien and ancient at the edges of my mind watching me certainly added credence to my theory.
I’d gotten a notice from the Interface when I’d entered the grove, just before I’d knelt alongside Robb and the Umbers within the grove in front of the largest of the tree, which I’d unexpected. Plus, from the way the eyes on the faces of each weirwood seemed to follow me as I entered the grove, I knew we weren’t alone.
The cawing of ravens from the branches all but assured me the Three-Eyed-Raven was watching us, but that odd alien sensation had me wondering if the Children, or perhaps even the Old Gods, were also watching us. Watching me. I couldn’t be sure though, even if this place felt both like returning to some long-forgotten home while standing in the sight of a predator of unimaginable power.
Unlike the others, my eyes hadn’t stayed closed for long as I’d been trying to work out just what the fuck I was sensing. Plus, my mind was constantly distracted by the notice that’d popped up once I’d stepped foot inside the grove.
Objective Achieved!
The Far North!
Completion of this objective grants you the favour of the Old Gods, something that will be known to all.
You also gain a small boost to all magic linked to the Old Gods.
...
While I’d not expected much for completing the objective as the last one – A Friend for Life – had only granted a small help to skinchanging, the reward for this one felt weak. Though that might be because whatever the favour of the Old Gods was, I hadn’t yet received it. Plus, there was the issue that if the gods of Planetos were anything like some of the older pantheons on Earth – with the Greek one especially coming to mind – then their favour might very well be fickle. Of course, the other issue was that completing The Far North had resulted in two new objectives being generated.
The first was Old Gods Re-established which wanted me to somehow spread the worship of the Old Gods across all of Westeros to the degree that it wasn’t limited to the North and a handful of houses south of the Neck. Possibly even supplanting the Faith of the Seven as the dominant religion of the continent. Yet, to me, there were two large issues with this objective.
The first was that while I suspected that I’d have to plant weirwood trees around Westeros, the issue was that I knew nothing about the trees. I assumed they generated seeds, but I’d never seen, read or heard of such things. Nor was there anything in this grove, at least that I could see, that would help with the objective.
The second issue was linked to the first in that if I was somehow able to find and plant weirwoods, then the Three-Eyed-Raven would, in theory, be able to use those to watch the goings on over all of Westeros. Now, in the show, it appeared that he could already do that, but I wondered if that was true as I’d had little interaction with the man, save the odd feeling of being watched while in the North.
Together it felt like an objective that I’d likely never complete, even if it might, given the apparent difficulty of it, have an impressive reward.
The second new objective, A Lost Child was more doable, and at the same even more troubling. Somehow meeting a Child of the Forest should, in theory, be easier to manage, yet why the Interface would suggest for me to do that, I couldn’t say. Nor if I wanted to meet them myself. They were linked to the Three-Eyed-Raven, and bar the threat of the Others, I was feeling that he wasn’t going to be an ally. Though if, by some measure, I did meet a Child, then I’d be asking them about their magic.
If the stories of them flooding the Neck and shattering the Arm of Dorne were indeed true, then there was much they could teach me. Plus, their runes were all over the bronze shield and dagger found in the Winterfell crypts, and Lord Royce’s bronze armour was said to be able to withstand even castle-forged steel.
A grunt from my side brought my thoughts back to the grove. A glance from the corner of my eyes showed the Umber boys were still currently kneeling with their eyes closed. Looking the other way, I saw Robb and the Greatjon were doing the same. The group seemed deep in thought or prayer, so as I stood to leave the grove, I stood slowly, making sure to watch my step until I’d exited the grove to where Oberyn, Ser Rodrik and the black brothers were waiting around.
“Finished your communion?” Oberyn asked in a softer voice than usual, showing some deference to how Northerners and myself – though to a far lesser degree – regarded the Old Gods. While he’d gone to the Septs in various locations, he never behaved nor acted like a devout follower of the Seven.
“If the Gods, be they old or new, ever deigned to speak to us, I doubt any would understand their message without going mad.”
My reply drew a chuckle and as I came closer, he placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me away from the others. “Wise words for any, never mind one so young nor one overcome with blind belief in a faith.” He shook his head as he continued. “If only many Lords, Ladies, Septons and Septas could hear and understand your words, surely the world would be a better place.”
“Best not let Ty hear you say that,” I countered with a chuckle even as just mentioning her name had my thoughts drifting back to the beautiful young lady waiting for me in Winterfell.
“I doubt she would mind,” Oberyn replied, stopping me from getting lost in my memories. “Since we entered the North, I cannot recall having seen her step foot inside a Sept. Hells, any moment of hers not spent with you, or around the Stark girls, has been spent in Winterfell’s Godswood. If I was not aware she still visited the Septs in Sunspear and Gulltown, I would swear she worshipped the Old Gods.”
I blinked at Oberyn’s words. While I knew Ty had grown more open to the Old Gods – mainly because of me and my magic – I hadn’t realised the effect had become so pronounced that her father had seen the changes. “Really?”
Oberyn nodded. “Yes. Ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion,” he paused for a moment which allowed me to see I wasn’t the only one with an aggressive reaction to what’d happened back then, “I have seen her questioning her faith. Since Gulltown,” he gave me a wry smile, “Well, let us just say she found something else to believe in.”
“Huh.” I walked to my horse slowly, processing that I’d already managed to convert someone away from the Faith of the Seven. Yes, there were extenuating circumstances, and it was just one person, but it proved it could be done. As Ty had been, for the longest time, very devout in her worship. While it was unlikely I’d ever be in a position to convert the masses, the fact I could just be doing what I felt was right… Well, that was something to be proud of I guessed.
For a moment, I wondered if converting enough people to the Old Gods would grant them some sort of boost in power. They were real, or at least the Interface and everything I’d just experienced in the grove hinted they were but was restoring their power truly something I wanted to do? I certainly held no love for the Seven, elements of it reminding me of the worst parts of many modern Earth-based religions, but did I want to empower Gods in a world where magic existed?
Yet any further thoughts on the matter, or on taking the reins of my horse, were pushed from my mind as I felt the presence of another mind entering it. An insistent sensation that I somehow immediately knew was Rian. I’d felt something like this before when he’d wanted to draw my attention, yet it’d never been this strong nor as potent as it felt now. That was likely an effect of being north of the Wall and the boosts to the magic of the First Men that it brought.
My mind drifted through the link, and I found myself a mile above the forest, yet I chose not to take control. Rian had reached out through the link, so I felt it was better to let him guide me.
We drifted high on the winds, gliding just under a large white cloud that blocked out the sun. I saw myself far below, standing still with one hand close to my horse. Oberyn was a few steps behind, returning to a conversation with Ser Rodrick while the rest were waiting on the Umbers and Robb to exit from the grove.
Rian’s focus shifted from that scene to somewhere northeast; a fact I’d not have picked up on easily if I’d taken control of his mind. There, on the ground, was something that I’d have failed to spot without Rian’s eyes to guide me. in a spot where the tree broke just enough to reveal the snow-covered ground, a faint trail of red led away from the grove. At first, I thought Rian was indicating a deer we could eat, which would’ve been a weak reason for his insistence I slide along our bond. Yet as his eyes followed the blood trail, I saw it was no deer he’d spotted and a new tingle, one reminiscent but stronger than those I’d felt from Rian and Kaa before I bonded with them buzzed within my head.
My mind slid from Rian’s as my hand brushed up against the side of my horse. “It cannot be,” I muttered to myself as I processed what Rian had discovered. My hand moved along the horse’s neck, toward the saddle as I wondered if what I’d seen was what would mark me as favoured by the Old Gods.
The blood trail was perhaps half a league away, and I knew I could reach it easily with the map provided through Rian’s eyes. Yet, I doubted Oberyn or the others would let me ride further north once the others had finished in the grove.
As I moved next to the saddle, my eyes wandered around. No one was on horseback, with the Night’s Watch members and Stark guards' gazes turned away from the grove, watching for threats from the forest. Oberyn was speaking with Ser Rodrick and Ser William Sand, the lone knight brave/foolhardy enough to escort Oberyn through the Wall. None were looking my way. Movement from inside the grove meant the Umbers and Robb were beginning to move, which meant if I wanted to find the blood trail, and what it led to, I needed to go now.
With ease coming from years of riding, I slid onto the horse quickly and quietly, my feet finding the stirrups even as I pulled the reins and turned my mount away from the grove. The direwolf at the end of the blood trail hadn’t been moving when Rian had shown it to me, but I had to be sure. Yes, there was always the chance other direwolves were around, but Rian had dropped lower when I’d slid into my saddle, and I trusted him to warn me of any threat as I chased the blood trail.
“Cregan!” Oberyn called out as my horse took off quickly, though I didn’t bother to respond. The tingle in my skull was drawing me toward the blood, toward the direwolf. I knew where I needed to go, and for this, it was better to beg forgiveness afterwards than seek permission.
Only a few seconds after the horse had moved off, the wind was rushing past us; draining the heat from my face. As we vaulted over a fallen tree, the presence from within the weirwood grove seemed to spike, as if pushing me on, then fell back. Though I could still feel it around me as I raced past a large tree. Even without the map in my head from Rian, the itch in my mind was drawing me toward it, guiding me to the downed wolf.
Above the trees, I heard a faint whistle, and I knew Rian had dropped lower still, moving into an overwatch position above. My hands were tight on the reins, willing the horse on as we slid between and around the trees of the Haunted Forest. As we raced, I felt the sheath of Red Rain banging against my thigh, granting me some comfort if there was anything around that could or would attack as we neared the direwolf.
Thrice as we surged toward the direwolf, the horse tried to pull to one side. Either because it smelt the predator, the blood or possibly both. Each time I kept it on track, yet it was growing harder to do so. My mind slid into the horse’s, finding it easier to do than when I’d trained with Rowan years earlier - the horse having gone with Obara to Moat Calin – and eased the beast’s fears, pushing it onward toward my goal.
As we slipped past another tree – one was starting to merge into the next as the forest grew denser – we emerged into a small clearing and I spotted the blood trail. The horse reared up, the smell likely overwhelming any control I’d have to push it on further. After getting it under control, I slid from its back, which was a good choice as the trail led into the underbrush that the horse couldn’t follow through without giving itself away.
After tying the reins to a branch nearby, I knelt next to the blood. One hand, after removing my glove, touched the blood, even as the other settled on the hilt of Red Rain. I frowned when I didn’t feel any heat rising from it. That wasn’t encouraging yet the tingle was still strong and pulling me toward the north.
I stood, and then after re-gloving my hand, started following the blood trail deeper into the forest. I moved slowly, watching my step, and avoiding making as much sound as I could. While the direwolf may be badly wounded, it was an alpha predator and not something to be trifled with.
The direwolf had made no effort to hide its trail, meaning the wound was bad, but I already knew that from what I’d seen through Rian’s eyes. Even without the blood, I’d have been able to follow the trail, and as I slipped through a large hole in one bush, my heart raced as I found my target.
The thing was lying on the ground, making a true comparison hard to make, but just by its length, it looked close to my horse's size. As I watched its massive, muscular chest fail to rise, my heart sank, fearing the great beast the tingle was coming from was dead before I could bond with it.
I circled slowly, wanting to see its snout, and my heart sunk further as I saw no steam rising from the mouth or nostrils. Bar wounds along its torso, the beast was as black as a moonless night as its eyes failed to track me as I came into view.
Even though I felt the great beast was dead, I pulled Red Rain from its sheath. There was a chance the giant hunter still had enough strength for one last, desperate attack. I moved closer, being careful of my steps as I approached the symbol of House Stark, yet no movement came even when I was within arm’s length of its nose.
Part of me wanted to fall into the snow, feeling I’d missed the chance to bond with such a powerful and impressive beast, yet I didn’t. The tingle still pulsed in my head, pulling me closer. I reached out one hand cautiously, placing it on the beast’s snout, only to slump as it made no move. A look at the largest wound near its back legs showed no steam rising, and a gentle starching of the nose drew no reaction from its lifeless eyes.
I stepped closer, sure the magnificent predator was dead. “May the Gods watch over you,” I whispered into its ear as I closed its eyes.
“By the Gods!” The shout drew my attention and I stood, Red Rain at the ready. “A direwolf!”
From the way that I’d come, emerged men. “Cregan!” Oberyn called out as he entered the small clearing. Yet even as I saw his relief at finding me alive, the tingle returned, pulling my attention away from my father. Toward the north.
The tingle was stronger than anything I’d felt before, yet at the same time, pitifully weak. As if whatever was drawing me to it was slowly feeling its life slip away.
Turning, I peered into the trees, trying to find where exactly the tingle was coming from. In the shadows, I felt it, a darker place than anything around. I hurried toward it, the sounds of shouting behind me failing to matter.
Quickly I found myself at a cave entrance, though it took all my strength to not fall to my knees at the sight that greeted me. Just inside the entrance, five small creatures lay motionless on the ground. Pups that had joined their mother with the Gods. Yet before my hopes were extinguished, I felt the tingle one last, pathetically weak time. And it was coming from deeper within the cave.
I rushed forward, making sure to avoid the dead pups, and stepped into the darkness of the cave. I pulled one of my gloves off and called forth a flame. The light danced around the cave, generating odd shadows on the wall as my footsteps echoed around me.
Behind me, I heard others approaching. Snow crunched underfoot and voices called out even as I moved deeper into the cave. Once I was deep enough that no light reached me from outside, I heard a faint, pained, vulnerable, whine. The flame in my hand dimmed as I fell to my knees and scurried around a large boulder.
There, cuddled together for any faint hint of warmth, were two small, barely moving direwolves. One had fur that seemed to shine under the light of my flame, while the other had fur as black as its mother, and as our eyes met, the tingle pulled my thoughts from my skull.
Pain.
Hunger.
Cold.
Mother.
Why.
Red Rain fell to the ground as I returned to my mind. They were incredibly weak, barely hanging on to life after their brothers and sisters had died after their mother hadn’t returned. The flame in my hand died as I reached for both. Faint, pathetic squeals came from them as I picked them up as if picking up my sisters, and then pulled them into my furs.
Once they were secure, I gripped Red Rain carefully and slid it back into its sheath, though that took a touch longer in the dark of the cave. As I turned, I opened the notice from the Interface, confirming that I had bonded with the pup. However, my heart sank at the warning it gave.
Skinchanging Instinctual Bond Formed!
Bonded animal: ??? [Direwolf]
Level 1 bond
Bonds remaining: 0
...
Congratulations, you’ve formed your third instinctual bond.
…
WARNING!
Your new bonded companion is very weak. If they die, the bond-slot will be lost.
...
I stood carefully even if I wanted to rush to the cave entrance and get help. I feared too much sudden, jarring movement might be what killed the pair. I moved as quickly as I dared in the now pitch-black cave, my pace increasing as light from outside began to seep in. My eyes drifted between the pups, who’d gone silent against my furs, and the ground beneath my feet.
“Cregan!” looking forward, I saw Oberyn. He’d entered the cave, though not particularly far, and had drawn his sword. “What in the name of the…” the words died in his throat as the black pup which I now saw had bright blue eyes, the one I’d bonded with, moved around and whined. “By the… are those…?”
“Direwolves,” I finished with a nod. From behind Oberyn, another figure came forward, cutting off some of the light entering the cave. Robb moved forward, the sword in his hand drooping as his focus was on the pups.
His free hand came closer, as he moved as if in a trance, and his gloved fingers gently touched the other pup – who I now saw had silver-grey fur that seemed to catch the light. Robb tensed as the pup lifted its head and nudged his finger, and for a moment, I saw a light glimmer in his eyes. That had me wondering if he’d just formed a bond with this pup as I had with the other.
“They are so weak,” he muttered as he pulled his fingers back. I opened my mouth to reply, only for nothing to come out. My fear that the pair would soon die prevented me from voicing confirmation. “Come on.”
Robb pushed past Oberyn, who looked confused at what was going on. I followed in my cousin’s steps, ignoring the way those at the cave entrance watched us. He led me to his horse and for a second, I thought he was going to go for dried meat. I opened my mouth to say they were too young, too weak, for solid food, however, his hand reached for his waterskin.
He turned back to me as he pulled the top off it. After taking a mouthful, he moved closer. “it may not be that warm, but it shall do.” I shifted my arms, lifting the pups so it’d be easier for him to let them drink. He poured some water onto his glove and then held it close. We both watched with bated breath for either of the pups to drink.
Slowly, weakly, first my pup, and then his, moved their heads toward the water. Their tiny tongues licked feebly at the glove. Robb, likely fearing the water was already growing cold, poured more over his glove.
Seeing the pair drink the water, even if it wasn’t as fast as I’d have liked, filled my heart with some hope that they’d survive. However, the big issue was going to be the fact they were likely too young for anything but water and milk; and I doubted the former would do much beyond keeping them alive for a short time.
“That shall not be enough.” I looked over my shoulder to see Oberyn had moved closer, though not close enough that he was invading our space. “Judging their size to their mother, they need milk, which may be an issue.”
“Are there hounds at Castle Black?”
“No.” The answer came from Ser Mallador who was commanding the black brothers escorting us as he came to stand next to Oberyn. Just behind them, I saw the Greatjon talking with his sons while the others stayed further back. “We should kill them.”
“No!”
The shout came from Robb and me together even as Oberyn turned to glare at the member of the Night’s Watch. “You seek to kill a direwolf, the symbol of House Stark, in the presence of the heir and nephew of Lord Eddard?” My father’s tone was calm, but I heard the challenge within it.
“They are weak and small.” Mallador shot back, his body tensing as Oberyn turned to face him. “If allowed to become fully grown they are a threat to my brothers north of the Wall.” My eyes narrowed at the man’s words. While I knew he was speaking the truth, I’d kill every member of the Watch before letting them take my pup. Thus, it was probably a good thing my arms were focused on hiding the pups so I couldn’t draw Red Rain.
“We will be taking them with us,” Robb called out, his words carrying an unexpected amount of finality to them for a boy of ten and four.
“Why should we listen to you?” That challenge came from the group beyond Oberyn and Mallador, and before any response could be called, the Greatjon grabbed the offending brother and hoisted them into the air.
“You dare threaten a Stark?” He growled as his sons drew their blades. Further back, I saw Ser Rodrik and the Stark guards do the same. The other members of the Night’s Watch didn’t draw their blades, though many had their hands on their hilts.
The stupid fool who’d opened his mouth looked around, and seeing he lacked support from his brothers, shook his head. “N-no, my lord. I-I was just thinking to spare the beasts a slow death.”
The Greatjon dropped the man and I smirked as he hit the ground arse-first and hard. As two other members of the Night’s Watch came over to drag him away – and I hoped, to beat some common fucking sense into the prick – Robb moved between me and everyone else.
“These pups are the symbol of my house. Of the North. They will be coming with us to Winterfell and any who dare stop us will be considered an enemy of House Stark.” Robb called out, his voice breaking even as I saw one of his hands shaking. That made sense as this was likely the first time he’d ever been forced to act as a lord, and certainly outside the walls of Winterfell.
Ser Mallador lowered his head. “Yes, my lord.” He turned and walked away, making a beeline for the dumb fool who’d spoken up moments ago.
Oberyn approached and clasped Robb on the shoulder. “At last, there’s the Northern spirit.” He said with a smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you were more trout than wolf.” I couldn’t see Robb’s face though whatever expression he made, had my father laughing. “Speaking of your parents, I am unsure how they will react to this decision, nor that you went north of the Wall with your cousin,” he glanced my way, letting me know I was going to get a bollocking for my actions today, if not some form of physical punishment. Yet, as the pups in my arms moved around, I’d consider even sparring in a handicap against the Kingsguard worth it for what I gained today.
“All that remains now is what to do with their mother.” Oberyn turned, leaving me and Robb to consider that even as my eyes drifted past my father toward where I knew the adult direwolf lay. The body would have to be burned, as I didn’t want the Others raising it as an ice zombie (was it even called that if it wasn’t human?), though that felt like a waste. However, skinning the symbol of House Stark felt wrong.
As much as I hated the idea, I knew that Robb would have to be the one to make the call. He was the heir to Winterfell and the North. As he looked back at me, colour draining from his face, I suspected he’d realised that as well and was already dreading the decision he’d have to make. Oh, I’d offer ideas and opinions, but in the end, the call was his alone.
… …