Cambrian
patreon
[BONUS] Winter Comes Pt. 11 (GoT SI)
🕑 Added 2017-09-30 07:32:25 +0000 UTC A/N: BET YOU ALL DIDN'T THINK THERE WAS A NEW CHAPTER TONIGHT! Tbh, I didn't think there'd be one either, what with my new computer (and my new monitor, new keyboard, new mouse, new headset and new wifi extender) yesterday and having to write over 13,000 words for work today. And yet... it called to me, this story did. It called to me.Hope you all enjoy this bit of late night tom-foolery~
-x-X-x-
The first sign that something was wrong was definitely the moment the scout came back with strange tidings
“Come again?”
The aged Lord Commander couldn’t help but wonder if his hearing was failing him. But no, as the young brother of the Night’s Watch spoke in a confused tone, he heard the exact same thing fall from the man’s lips.
“Sir... it’s the wildlings. They know we’re coming… and they’re waving a white flag.”
The Night’s Watch’s leader was flabbergasted. In the end, it was his Master-at-Arms that spoke from his side, sounding as incredulous as the Lord Commander felt.
“… A peace banner? They’re truly flying a peace banner? It must be in jest… how do they even know the significance of the white flag? They’re wildlings! Their very existence is without honor!”
The young scout could only shrug his shoulders. He’d given his message, but that didn’t mean he had the answers they sought. Seeing that the boy was staring at him expectantly, the Lord Commander finally spoke.
“You may go son. And tell no one of this, not yet.”
The brother bowed his head low and left the group of old men to discuss this development. The Lord Commander couldn’t help but blanch a little whenever he looked around at his fellows. When did the Night’s Watch’s leadership get so damn aged? He’d known he was on his last legs, but his First Ranger, his Master-at-Arms and even his Commanders were all getting to that point as well. For many of them, most of all himself, this would be their last ranging.
“The wildlings are asking for a parley… might be good for a lark, but it could also be a trap. Mayhap we should ignore it and attack as planned, yes?”
The Lord Commander was of a mind to agree with his Master-at-Arms, but then the First Ranger spoke up with a shake of his head.
“Nay. I know wildlings, even if I don’t know them as well as my long-gone predecessors. They don’t understand our honor, to be sure, but they have their own sort of honor. If the scout speaks true, and I don’t think any of us are calling the boy a liar, then this is an offer in good faith. It may be that we should hear them out… with the full force of this five thousand man ranging at our backs. We can wipe them out after we hear what they have to say.”
Looking to the Master-at-Arms, the Lord Commander found nothing but a shrug. The man wouldn’t go against the experience of the First Ranger. They were all old friends after all, of a sort. They’d grown up in the Watch together and now they led the Watch together. They bowed to one another’s experience in matters that each of them HAD more experience in.
In truth, though the Lord Commander did not know it, the last few decades had been the strongest, most unified leadership the Night’s Watch had had in a long time. Made of bastards, they’d all had something to prove and they’d proved it by growing into their own and becoming leaders of men. Unfortunately, the writings of their predecessors had kept them afraid and wary of the wildlings beyond the Wall.
Now here they were, about to unknowingly walk into the maw of a waiting beast that would swallow them whole.
The Lord Commander knew none of this and simply nodded in agreement.
“Very well. The ranging shall move to the wildling’s encampment tomorrow morning and we shall find out what these savages have to say for themselves.”
With the Lord Commander’s words final, the rest of his men nodded. That was that and that was it. Everyone moved off to get as best a night’s sleep as could be expected in the frozen conditions beyond the Wall. The old men of the Night’s Watch already missed their castles and hearths. But they were ever so slightly warmed by the thought of regaining lost glory and reversing the decay of respect in their declining organization.
-x-X-x-
The next morning, the Lord Commander led his host to the build site where the wildlings were said to be waiting with their white flag. The Night’s Watch refused to call it a build site though of course, instead referring to it as an encampment. As they left the tree line and came upon the rather large ‘encampment’, they found a massive force of wildlings waiting for them, armed not with weapons or leather, but with furs and tools.
The wildling at the head of the group held the flag and after a moment’s pause, he took a step forward. The Lord Commander and the leaders of the Night’s Watch did the same, until they stood within shouting distance of each other. It hurt his aged throat to do it, but the Lord Commander spoke first, hoping to take some measure of authority in this exchange.
“Well? You called for this parley wildling! Speak and tell me who you are! Tell me what you and your ilk think you’re doing, attempting to circumvent the Wall like this!”
“I am the King-Beyond-the-Wall! My name does not matter, nor does yours in the end! We are leaders of men Lord Commander, and while your men have killed many of mine and my men have killed many of yours, I had hoped we could talk peacefully, before this ends in bloodshed.”
The Lord Commander glanced at his comrades and found them just as incredulous as he. Looking back at the ‘King-Beyond-the-Wall’, he shouted once more in response.
“Do you hope to convince us to leave? Do you expect us to allow you to complete your work, so that you can launch ships and bypass the Wall to attack the south? We do not defend the Wall wildling! The Wall defends Westeros and we are but Watchers atop it! We would be very poor men indeed if we allowed you to pass us by without an attempt at stopping you.”
At his side, his Master-at-Arms muttered under his breath.
“What kind of King-Beyond-the-Wall doesn’t want to attack the Wall? The man is a craven Lord Commander. Push him and he’ll fold. If we force him and his ilk to leave now, we can take some of these supplies back with us without risking damage to them. Those tools they’re holding look surprisingly well-crafted.”
The Lord Commander tilted his head towards the Master-at-Arms to show he’d heard the man’s words, even as the wildling yelled out again.
“I hoped to avoid bloodshed, yes! Our God has told us what he intends for you! I do not wish that on any man, neither Free Folk nor kneeler! I begged him for this chance to ask you to turn around and go back. Go back Lord Commander! Go back to your Wall! We do not intend to attack Westeros! We have no desire to raid any of the lands south of the Wall! Our way of life does not threaten yours, unless you threaten our way of life!”
There’s a pause as the men of the Night’s Watch digest this. There’s some confusion thrown around as everyone looks at each other and realizes they have the same question on their minds. The Lord Commander gives voice to it in yet another shout. This exchange is beginning to leave the old man hoarse and short of breath. The abnormally cold air even for this far north that’s causing every last brother to shiver in their heavy furs is not helping.
“You say God. I was under the impression that the wildlings worshipped the Old Gods still. Do you not still sacrifice to the godswoods and their heart trees?”
The wildling shakes his head at that.
“We do not! We have not for generations! The Free Folk have long had a new god Lord Commander! Your information is out of date and you would do well to heed my words! Our new God is powerful and ruthless, but he is also kind and merciful! We destroyed every last weirwood beyond the Wall on HIS command, but he has not sent us further south to destroy your godswoods as well! He offers a gentle hand and a closed fist! Choose the former, lest you feel the terrifying bite of the latter!”
“Destroyed every last… they’ve gone too far. We must attack. We must cleanse these so-called men from the face of this world. Please Lord Commander, give the order and we will attack. The Night’s Watch cannot let this stand.”
His Master-at-Arms was right, at least in his opinion. This was blasphemous in the extreme. And when none of his other comrades spoke up, the Lord Commander nodded and drew his sword from its sheathe. Holding up the bronze blade, he shouted and every brother of the Watch arrayed behind him heard.
“Night’s Watch! Attack!”
The charge began, but the so-called ‘King-Beyond-the-Wall’ did not move and neither did the tool-wielding wildlings behind him. Instead, a moment after his cry went out, an inhuman screeching sound filled his ears. The Lord Commander’s eyes widened and he along with every other member of the Night’s Watch on the ranging spun to face the sound. The only problem was, it came from all around them.
A moment later, a tidal wave of reanimated corpses washed out from the forest edge behind them and to their sides in a half-circle that swiftly cut them off and transformed into a full circle. The last thing the Night’s Watch’s aged Lord Commander saw before he was fighting for his life against the lifeless was the wildling who had begged him to turn back, staring with regret in his eyes.
Then the King-Beyond-the-Wall turned and began to walk away, and the gaps closed. From that moment on, all the Lord Commander and every man under his command saw was death until the darkness took each and every last one of them.
The Night’s Watch was dead.
-x-X-x-
“The King is dead, long live the King.”
I couldn’t help muttering that under my breath and giggling to myself as I watched my new army of dead crows strip themselves naked and hand their black cloaks and clothing off to the waiting, nervous Free Folk. I sat upon Snowy X, because Snowy 10.0 sounded stupid. The largest alpha shadowcat I’d ever found easily dwarfed most of my previous snow bear mounts, but I kept the name instead of switching to Shadowy, mostly because Shadowy sounded fucking stupid.
Beside me, bereft of such an amazing mount, stood the Free Folk’s current King-Beyond-the-Wall.
“Thank you, Your Grace, for saving us in this dark hour. Without your intervention, they would have done untold damage to my people and our work here. We cannot run and hide among the trees when we’ve cut them all down after all.”
“Of course. What kind of God would I be, if I did not save my people from their enemies?”
I give the Free Folk man my best smile, but given the way he averts his gaze, I don’t imagine its having the effect I want it to have.
“Indeed, Your Grace. I only wish… I only wish they’d seen reason.”
This King-Beyond-the-Wall had to be the biggest pansy to ever hold the position, in my humble, long-lived opinion. But then, that was my fault, wasn’t it? I’d essentially pacified the Free Folk. This man was a product of my actions. Oh sure, he and his people would have fought if I hadn’t helped as I did. They would have defended this project with their lives. But the Free Folk no longer lived in conflict, and that meant they no longer lived FOR it either.
They had other things they wanted to be doing, besides fighting and killing and dying. Unfortunately, the Night’s Watch, may it rest in peace, hadn’t understood that.
“Some men are incapable of seeing reason my good man, even when it’s right in front of their face, staring them in the eye. Some men must be removed for reason to prosper and flourish. Now that these men HAVE been removed, we can move on with our plans. The Harbor City will be built… it will simply be built a little slower with the absence of five thousand working souls.”
The King-Beyond-the-Wall nodded at that, swallowing thickly as he watched a section of his workforce dress in the clothing of dead crows.
“How long… how long will you require their service on the Wall, Your Grace?”
I consider the question for a long moment, a smile on my face at the mere mention of my hilariously evil plan.
“Mm, a while at least. Long enough to settle in, long enough to train the new castoffs that Westeros will send our way. Still, they’re in the middle of a war with foreign invaders. I suspect it will be a very small trickle of recruits for a long time to come. Plenty of time to change the Night’s Watch as a whole. Not to worry. Your city will never be threatened by those atop the Wall again. From this day forward, the Watchers will be your kin.”
That was what finally got a smile from the King-Beyond-the-Wall. I smiled too. It was a pretty fucking awesome plan if I did say so myself… and I did. It was also a plan I hadn’t intended to implement for another several hundred years or so, slowly but surely infiltrating the Night’s Watch with my Chosen over the course of generations, until I could get all my people into the right positions and then slowly use them to effect minor changes atop minor changes.
It would have been the longest long con to ever long con, spread out over centuries, possibly even millennia. I’d been rather excited about it, as the first group of five Chosen had managed to take their oaths only a few months ago. It was the start of a masterpiece that would be built across the ages.
I’d underestimated the inherent stupidity of man.
And now, here we were, with Free Folk dressing as crows, preparing to go serve atop the Wall at the behest of their God. Speaking of which, it looked like the majority of them were finished dressing. I supposed now was as good a time as any too begin. Sliding off of Snowy X’s back, I plod through the snow towards the mass of black cloaks and raise my hands into the air and my voice right alongside them.
“My children! Line up and bare your right arm to me!”
They did so and one by one, I gave five thousand new ‘brothers of the Night’s Watch’ my mark. It was the largest conversion of Free Folk to Chosen that I’d ever done and when it was finished, I was ever so slightly off put by the mass connection to humans I had now in my head. I was able to quiet the deafening cacophony of emotions and thoughts to a dull roar after a moment though.
Once I was sure I was composed, I smiled and lifted my arms up once again.
“Now go, brothers of the Night’s Watch! Go and take your place atop the Wall! You will find open gates and open arms waiting for you back at the Nightfort!”
The mass of Free Folk-turned-Watchmen bowed low and then turned and went. The ranging reversed course and headed back to the Wall it had come from. I had not lied either, when I said they’d find open arms. The only people left alive on the Wall at this point were the five young Chosen I’d sent to infiltrate the place. Poison and treachery had seen to the deaths of the Stewards that had remained behind to manage the castles. The Wall was veritably empty.
But it wouldn’t be for long.
-x-X-x-
Rickar hadn’t expected to find a literal war at the end of his journey. He didn’t honestly know what to expect to be fair. A war camp perhaps? Battle lines drawn up and two armies facing off, just like in his father’s stories. Except, the Northmen weren’t that civilized and while the Andals might have claimed to be, neither were they. This was a fight for survival and the Northmen were in a constant struggle just to keep from being drowned in the bodies of their enemies.
This was the scene that Rickar arrived to. Bodies being piled up into two categories. Foreign, or Northern. The Northmen were eventually carted off for burial once their identities could be confirmed. The Andal piles just got burnt one and all. The smell of burning human flesh was surprisingly not too bad to Rickar’s senses, but the sight of it was still rather grotesque.
As their cart pulled to a stop and they were ushered off of it, Rickar went where he was told and soon found himself standing in a line. He and every man he’d traveled with were armed with a weapon and a small piece of wood with a strap on one side. That was it, no armor, no training… it drove home just how desperate the situation was. Rickar eyed the maul he’d been given. It was more of a stick with a stone tied to its top then a proper maul, but it looked well-crafted enough to hold together for a few swings.
From his father’s writings, Rickar knew the Andals would be wielding iron. He wondered where that was, until he saw the actual Northern soldiers and their armaments. There were more piles further in, this time of weapons. The Northmen were a hardy lot and not as foolish as some might have liked to believe. A man would deposit his weapon in a pile where it would then be given to a newly arrived warrior. That man would then go to the next pile and choose from among the weapons of the fallen Andals.
It became quite easy to tell the veterans from the rookies in this ragtag army. The veterans were decked out in Andal gear, as well as blood. The rookies were looking enviously at the veterans, like they couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or jealous. Rickar’s little line up was brought to a man wearing a dire wolf’s pelt over his shoulders. A cleared throat saw him turning around and facing them all.
His eyes were a striking blue that Rickar recognized immediately. The pitch-black hair and beard would have been a dead giveaway as well. Theon Stark stared at all of the new arrivals, Rickar included. He looked them up and down and gave off the impression that he was not in any way impressed with the sight of them.
“Do you know who I am?”
His voice was quieter than Rickar expected, but no less menacing. There was an air of authority to the Hungry Wolf that caused all lesser men to straighten up just a bit more. Rickar joined them slightly belatedly as everyone, himself included, nodded or gave some sort of affirmation. Once they’d done so, Theon nodded back.
“Good. It’s important that you know the man you fight for. Will you all fight for me?”
There’s a chorus of aye’s in response, Rickar’s included, but then one of the fuckers tries to throw him under the bus, pointing him out and speaking in a mocking tone.
“Don’t rightly know about this one my King. Been told he got caught hiding in the godswood by your Lady Sister and had to be dragged by the ear to the cart. Think he’s craven King Theon.”
Rickar stayed stoic outwardly, while inwardly he cursed the man with every expletive he could think of. As Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, approached him where he stood, Rickar felt with his mind for the undead lurking just out of sight even now. If he needed to, he would attack in order to retreat. Luckily, no man, not even the Lord Stark himself, seemed to carry dragonglass on their person. The White Walker threat was too far removed it seemed.
“Is that true? Were you hiding in the godswood to escape the war? Are you craven?”
Pulled from his thoughts, Rickar stared into those striking blue eyes. Personally, he thought they looked better on Theon’s sister, but he wasn’t about to make THAT his answer. Instead, he spoke truthfully and hoped that the current King in the North was the kind of man who could read such a thing in another’s gaze.
“No, your Grace. I was not hiding from the war. I am not craven.”
Theon believes him, Rickar somehow knows it, feels it almost instinctively. The King doesn’t let up easily though. He asks a follow up question instead and his stare feels a lot more personal now.
“Then why WERE you in the godswood, alone with my dear sister?”
Now EVERYONE within earshot had their eyes on him and the Hungry Wolf. And despite just moments before passing up an answer that would have been foolhardy and moronic… Rickar can’t resist giving one equally as stupid now.
“I wished to see one last beautiful sight, before I went off to fight and possibly die in war. Your sister is gorgeous when angry, your Grace.”
Dead silence reigns across the camp/battlefield as everyone stares in abject disbelief at Rickar’s brazenness. Theon’s own face has shuttered, the man is the kind who hides behind a blank mask when he’s processing insanity. Rickar waits patiently, resigned to fight his way out of this mess if need be. He’ll go back to Winterfell, he’ll kidnap the Lady Stark, and he’ll- wait… is Theon laughing?
The King in the North is actually busting a gut, right before Rickar’s eyes. The Hungry Wolf is nearly doubled over as he belly laughs, and with his humor filling the otherwise silent air, those around them begin to join in as well, as if only now is Rickar’s spur-of-the-moment jape suddenly hilarious to them. Of course, they laugh nervously while Theon Stark can’t seem to STOP laughing.
Finally though, the man does manage to contain himself. He straightens up and gives Rickar a lopsided smile as he plants a hand firmly on the disguised White Walker’s shoulder.
“My good man, I’m going to make sure you survive this war, solely so that I can have you give that line to my sister’s face when we return to Winterfell. We’ll let HER decide your fate from there, sound good?”
Rickar isn’t sure whether Theon is truly this kind of man, behind the ‘Hungry Wolf’ or if he’s just putting a stay on Rickar’s execution because he needs every body to throw against the Andals that he can get. Either way, Rickar now has an image too maintain. Smiling cockily, the disguised White Walker gives a half shrug with the shoulder Theon isn’t currently gripping.
“Sounds great, your Grace.”
Theon is probably the only one who immediately understands the underlying tone in Rickar’s message, because he’s the only one who starts laughing all over again. Once he’s calmed down, he turns his shoulder grab into an arm around Rickar’s neck and leads the man away from the rabble.
“You… I like you. Let’s hope my sister DOESN’T decide to have me kill you, when all this is said and done, eh? For now though, what’s your name man?”
… So that worked huh? Mentally commanding the undead to pull back a little way from their readied positions just outside of the camp, Rickar walks along with the King in the North, wondering how his father would react if he could see him now. Hell… how would his mother react?
“Rickar your Grace. My name is Rickar.”
Theon stops for a moment, surprised.
“Rickar. That’s a Stark name, if I’ve ever heard one.”
Rickar just smiles wanly, his response falling easily from his lips.
“My mother always spoke well of the Starks your Grace.”
It wasn’t a lie after all. Theon just laughed.
“A good woman! A good woman indeed! Come Rickar, let’s get you something better than that stick and rock. These foreign bastards have the best toys.”
Apparently, this was his life now. Fighting a war against the Andals on a Northern Beach alongside the Hungry Wolf himself.
… On second thought, Rickar didn’t mind this being his life now one bit.
Comments
KnightofMor
Ah, nothing so wonderful as having your enemy deliver themselves to their death for you.
