"The more you give a king, the more he wants. We are walking an icy tightrope here. Pleasing one king is hard enough. Pleasing two is scarcely possible. One day a letter will come, mark my words, and in it will be orders for me to slit Stannis open. And then chaos will consume the Night's Watch."
...
Sam looked down at the letter and frowned. "He keeps mentioning dragonglass," Sam noted. "And there's more here. Burn the horn. How does he know about that?"
Jon met his question with a silence. What else does he know? Jon wondered, and not for the first time. What else does he have? The pit in Jon's gut deepened slightly.
Samwell shook his head, and turned to the stack of books he had piling high on the table. "I've gathered all I can carry."
Jon licked his lips, suddenly eager to change the subject. "Tell me something useful."
"The Others," Sam said. "Their mentions are scattered through the annals, infrequent. The one's I've looked at, at least. The older ones are all crumbly, liable to turn to dust if disturbed too much. They're mentioned mostly in the old histories - about Brandon the Builder and Garth Greenhand - detailing the Age of Heroes and the Long Night. It was all written thousands of years afterwards, though, so I don't know how much use any one text can be."
"The Others," Jon cut in. "What about the Others?"
"Dragonglass," Samwell simply said. "There are details of obsidian daggers during the Age of Heroes. The Others are creatures of cold, most legends agree. Creatures of night as well - they hide from the sun, it burns them. There are stories of the wights as well. Dead animals for mounts - giants, mammoths, bears, direwolves. We know that part, at least, is plainly true. Another common thread are men. Those who fall in battle must be burned, else the cold will claim their corpses."
"We knew all this," Jon said, impatient. "The question remains: How do we fight them?"
"Dragonglass," Samwell said again. "Regular steel shatters in the cold. And I've seen mentions of dragonsteel as well."
Jon frowned. "Valyrian steel?" he asked.
Sam nodded. "Most likely."
Jon sighed again. "Who are the Others?" Jon asked, frustrated. "What do they want? Why are they here?"
"I don't know, my lord," Sam answered, "I haven't finished yet. But if King Tommen's letter is to be believed..."
They want the world. Jon gathered himself and nodded, dismissing Samwell to his work. I'm tired, Jon thought. Sleep had evaded him the past few nights, true rest replaced with wolf-dreams. He'd spent the whole morning reading letters, poring over maps, planning. His day was not done, however. He knew what he'd have to face today, and found himself tense as he brooded on Tommen's words.
They want the world. They want the Long Night to come again. They want to wipe life and light from the land.
From the armoury came the clatter of swords and shields, noisy as the new southron recruits armed themselves for practice. He could hear Alliser's voice barking as he walked, telling them to be quicker about it. His guardsmen's boots thumped on the stone behind him as he glanced at the yard. He hated having guards - hated the necessity of it all. This castle had once been his to move about as he pleased. Yet somehow, in gaining power he'd lost freedom. Wandering eyes followed him everywhere he went.
Castle Black seemed a bleak place in the pale, overcast light. The Lord-Commander's Tower was still a shell, the Common Hall a blackened pile of cinders, and the whole place seemed like a strong gust of wind might blow it over, though it had looked like that for years now. The Wall loomed in the distance, silver ice glimmering and weeping cold tears in the low light. Scaffolds rose near the base, building the steps he'd ordered. The winch was no longer enough.
And then there was the King's Tower. The black and gold standard of the crowned stag hung from the roof and flapped with the icy winds, occasionally cracking against the stone. Two guardsmen stood flanking the door, shivering on the steps, hands tucked under their arms and spears nestled in the crooks of their elbows. Their breaths emerged from between their purple lips in clouds of mist.
Jon moved between them, and began the long climb up the winding steps. They want the world. Tommen's words haunted him like a shadow. Jon prayed he wasn't speaking the truth. But if he is, a traitorous part of his mind said, then what else does he say?
Arya...
Jon listened to his steps echo off the stone walls as he climbed. Stannis, and his red witch, would be awaiting him at the top. Could she see it, in her flames? She certainly had that air about her - that kind of air that spoke of the arcane and dark and terrible. If Ygritte had been kissed by fire, then the red witch was fire, her hair the colour of blood. She always wore that same ruby choker around her neck.
Outside Stannis's solar, a few more guards were stood waiting. When Jon reached the top of the steps, he wordlessly undid his belt and handed his blades and other weapons reluctantly to them to keep safe. If he dared march in with a weapon, they'd cut him down, Lord Commander or no. It was pointless to resist such a request.
Inside, the solar was warm. The rest of the castle had caught the winter chill, but Stannis's rooms were always warm, almost sweltering under his furs. The work of the red witch. Stannis himself was stood by an old wooden table, hastily repaired, with a worn and tattered map of Westeros laid out on top. It wanted to curl up, Jon could tell, the edges making ears, held down by a heavy candle and His Grace's hand.
Jon kneeled, lowering himself in supplication. Stannis rarely had patience for such formalities, but with Tommen's reach growing at the Wall, Jon figured he might accept the gesture as assurance.
"Twoscore ravens sent out," the king grumbled, "yet we get naught but silence. Are the Karstarks the only men with honour in the north? Fealty is the duty every lord owes to their king. Yet your father's bannermen all turn their backs on me."
The Karstarks have no other choice, Jon wanted to say as he stood. They'd betrayed Robb and killed the little lions. Jon shuddered to think what men like Roose Bolton or Tywin Lannister would do to Lord Arnolf. Stannis Baratheon must have seemed a far safer choice by comparison.
But that bitter truth would only anger Stannis. Jon bowed his head, glancing at the map, and offered a more diplomatic response. "These are troubled times, Your Grace. Even men of honour will wonder where their loyalties should lie."
Stannis shot Jon a pointed look. "I am beginning to think you are one of these men," Stannis said with narrowed eyes. "Or have you forgotten that of all the kings you beseeched for aid, I was the only one who came and answered your call?"
"I remember," Jon insisted.
"Yet you lap the Lannisters milk," he spat.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Jon said. "And the Wall takes no side in any war in Westeros. You know this."
Stannis's eyes flashed a with dangerous fury. Without Longclaw bouncing against his leg, Jon suddenly felt naked. "Does my aid mean nothing to you?"
"It means a great deal," Jon objected.
"Then give me the castles."
Jon shook his head and braced himself. "They are not mine to give," he said. "You ask too much. I have already ceded you the Nightfort."
"I asked you to be a Lord of Winterfell and a Stark," Stannis said, voice thickening with spite. "I am not asking now. I need these castles. There are nineteen of them, and only three are manned. What does it cost you to say yes? I merely mean to man them."
You mean to hand them to your banners as gifts, Jon thought. "Those castles belong to the Watch, Sire. And men of the Watch will man them. We are already preparing to send some men out to garrison Greyguard. Others will soon follow." Stannis scowled. "As for Winterfell... It belongs to my sister Sansa."
"You mean Lady Lannister," Stannis said. "Are you so eager to see the Imp sit your father's seat? Not while I draw breath, Lord Snow."
Jon clenched his teeth, and then with a silent breath unclenched them. Why did Stannis rankle him so? "She is Lady Lannister no more," Jon said. "She has fled Kings Landing, and remains yet a maiden. Tommen has annulled the marriage, apparently, as they never consummated. The Imp apparently was unwilling to rape her."
"Ha!" Stannis let out a rare breath of laughter. "Never a more lust-filled or shameful creature have I ever met than the Imp. A likely story. Tommen lies."
Jon knew better than to press the point. He pursed his lips and kept his peace.
Stannis tapped the table, fingers beating a drumbeat into the wood, on the part of the map where the New Gift lay.
"Your Grace," Jon said, his voice cold in spite it's courtesy, "I have offered you all the aid I can. I have lent you hay for your horses and food and shelter for your men - at dire cost to our winters stores, I might add. I have given you the Nightfort and agreed - in spite of stiff resistance from my sworn brothers - to let you settle the wildlings on the Gift. I cannot give you more."
Stannis scowled again even as his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Cannot," he said, "or will not? I offered you a name, Snow, and you spurned me. What did the bastard boy on the Iron Throne offer you?"
Arya... "Nothing but his aid," Jon lied, his gut twisting with guilt.
Stannis's hand strayed to his sword-hilt. "Just who do you think you are?"
Jon stiffened and stood his ground. "The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Stannis gripped his hilt tightly, but made no move to draw his blade. "Only by my sufferance," he said. "Remember that." And with a wave of his hand, Stannis dismissed him and turned back to his table.
Jon breathed a sigh of relief and turned sharp on his heel, descending the steps of the King's Tower. At the bottom, he was accosted by the red witch. She stood in her red silken dress, arms bare to the wind, though she showed no signs of feeling the bitter cold. The true queen, Jon thought. Stannis had left his real wife to suffer in Eastwatch alone. Jon pulled his furs tighter over his shoulders, his breath emerging from his lips as moist mist. Night was beginning to fall, the moon sitting level in the sky with the shadow of the sun.
"You might want more than that," Jon said as he walked. "Wind's rising."
"I have my faith to warm me," Melisandre said.
They want the world. "I wish I could say the same," Jon replied. Tommen's letter had cast his whole world into doubt. The Lannisters had killed his family, slaughtered Robb and Catelyn. They'd killed his father. The Lannisters had lied time and again. They want to wipe life and light from the land.
Tommen never did any of that, Jon reminded himself. He never lied. So why should he be lying about Arya?
Jon sighed. The Lannisters or the Others? My choice is between the lesser of two evils.
Melisandre laughed. "You lie," she noted, "but not with ill-intent."
Jon shot her a side-eyed glance and kept on walking.
"I can see through stone," she said, "you think I can't see through snow? The Lord of Light guides me to the truth."
"Are your fires never wrong?" Jon asked.
"Never," she insisted. "Though we priests are mortal and sometimes err, susceptible to misinterpretation and mistakes."
Jon could feel the heat radiating from her as she drew nearer to him. No matter what tricks she used, there was true power there, somewhere. "What do your flames show you of Tommen?"
Melisandre blinked, a flash of genuine confusion crossing her visage. "R'hllor sends us what visions he will," she said after a moment. "We can look, but we may not always see. And Tommen, it seems, is not one for flames. He remains beneath a shroud." Her lips curled from a sour look to a smile. "But I have seen you, Jon Snow."
"Oh? And what did you see?"
"I have seen your Wall," the red woman began. "Battered by winds and rocks and ice and fire. I have seen you blown by the gale, hard-pressed, hemmed in by your enemies and pushed to a bitter fate. But I see a few friends as well, if you choose to have them."
"Friends?" Jon asked. Arya was my friend, he thought. "You mean Stannis?"
"He is growing fond of you," Melisandre assured him.
"I can tell," Jon said, a tad incredulous. "He only threatened me twice."
"I meant me," she demurred.
Jon turned away. "The Wall is no place for a woman."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Melisandre laughed a final time. "Then you know nothing, Jon Snow."
...
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