The sudden arrival of the Crown Prince and the son of the Warden of the North caused a great stir in Castle Black, but the brothers of the Night's Watch still managed to prepare for a proper welcome and for the evening feast in honor of the visit of such high guests. A raven from Winterfell had preceded the company of young men by only a couple of days, during which the watchmen tried to put the castle courtyard in order and prepare guest rooms in advance. Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, saw the Prince's arrival as a wonderful chance for the Black Brothers. Perhaps they could convince Prince Joffrey to influence the King to agree to help the Watch, which was suffering through far from the best of times.
The guests were met with all honor and respect, after which stewards led the horses to the stable and housed the guardsmen in one of the towers, though they would have much preferred to go to the same Mole's Town, but they did not dare leave the Prince alone in Castle Black. Queen Cersei was surely already in a rage that her son had not yet returned, and if she somehow found out the guardsmen had left their post, her wrath would truly know no bounds. And King Robert was unlikely to be pleased, and no one wished to fall under the monarch's heavy hand.
"Troubling days have come, Your Highness," Mormont said when the ceremonial part of the meeting had ended and only the Lord Commander himself, a couple of high officers of the Night's Watch, and the guests remained in the great hall. "The Free Folk are gathering strength beyond the Wall; their tribes are assembling in unprecedented numbers, and I have no doubt their intentions are anything but peaceful. Something is coming, mark my words."
"Words!" a raven sitting on the Lord Commander's shoulder screamed loudly. "Words!"
"You believe they will move on the Wall, Lord Mormont?" Joffrey asked.
"I have no doubt of it," Lord Jeor nodded. "Mance Rayder, their new leader, was once one of us, but then he deserted and joined the Free Folk, as they call themselves. He knows perfectly well that most of the castles on the Wall are empty, and also that very few Black Brothers remain. If Mance moves against us with the Free Folk, we are unlikely to be able to hold out."
"But that's madness," Robb Stark, who had been listening intently to Mormont, decided to voice his opinion. "If the Wall is attacked, all the houses of the North will immediately come to your aid; the Free Folk have not a single chance of victory. Does Mance really not understand this?"
"He understands everything perfectly, Lord Stark, you can believe me on that, and that is exactly why the future frightens me," Mormont admitted. "I have known Mance for many years, and I can assure you that he was certainly never stupid. He knows well what the Free Folk will have to face, and yet he is bringing the tribes together."
"How do you know this?" Joffrey asked.
"Our rangers have been busy," the Lord Commander replied. "They captured a group of Free Folk who were trying to cross the Wall west of here and brought them to Castle Black. Under torture, they told us everything they knew."
"What else did they say?" Robb asked. Very soon, all responsibility for the North would fall on his shoulders, and it would be up to him to resolve the issue of the Free Folk.
Jeor Mormont frowned and fell silent. He didn't think he would be believed; the words of the captive Free Folk, looking with hatred at their ancient enemies, seemed too wild. But they themselves had begged to have their bodies burned after death, unless, of course, the "crows don't want to fight them again." In the end, anxiety outweighed the Lord Commander's doubts, and he said:
"They said the dead are rising under the howl of icy winds. The White Walkers have awakened and are gathering an army."
Theon Greyjoy, who had been silent throughout the conversation and constantly smiling, laughed. Robb gave a short grunt. Sandor Clegane, silently drinking wine in a far corner, spat loudly. Joffrey Baratheon's eyes darkened, as if a shadow had passed over his face. The Prince did not smile and, as it seemed to Mormont, took the words spoken very seriously. Finally, he asked:
"Do you think the Free Folk could have been lying?"
"Of course they could," Mormont admitted the obvious. "But the fear in their eyes told me everything. There was something else, too."
"What exactly?"
"I'll tell it as it is, Your Highness. Three of my rangers disappeared beyond the Wall; your father later sent me the head of one of them," the Lord Commander turned his gaze to the young Stark. "Gared was an old man, like me; he had seen much beyond the Wall, and there is no one on earth who could make him run without looking back."
"He was terrified," Robb said suddenly, recalling the execution of the deserter, and the attention of those present immediately focused on him. "Terribly terrified. He had almost lost his mind from fear."
"Of course he was terrified!" Theon snorted. "Your father was going to chop off his head, Robb!"
"We all walk on the edge of the abyss here, young Greyjoy," the aged voice of Maester Aemon silenced everyone. "Death has been a long-time companion to us, and we have long since ceased to fear it. Not like the inhabitants of the southern lands."
Mormont glanced at the old man, who was being led into the hall by his assistant. The Maester was old, exceedingly old, and he could see almost nothing, but the sharpness of his mind would be envied even by the sword at the Lord Commander's belt. When the old man opened his mouth, everyone listened without exception, even Alliser Thorne, whose foul temper had long been known to all. Mormont was only glad the ranger was not in the hall right now.
"And yet something frightened your ranger very badly," Joffrey noted. "And frightened him so badly that he preferred to die on the block rather than beyond the Wall. Anything else?"
"Beasts have appeared in the surrounding forests that no one has seen in these parts for a long time," Mormont replied. "Direwolves, mammoths, giant bears that have never been in these lands. Troubling dreams visit me almost every night. Fishermen even report that they have allegedly seen White Walkers at Eastwatch."
"And I, having had too much wine, once saw a mermaid looking at me from a barrel of herring," Theon snorted. "No one believed me."
At that moment, the Lord Commander felt a burning desire to hit the young Greyjoy with something heavy on the head, but he didn't decide anything anyway. The word was with Baratheon and Stark.
"The Night's Watch is dying, Your Highness," Mormont continued. "There are fewer than a thousand of us left, and even if we take the stories of the Others for fairy tales, we will not hold out if the Free Folk come for us. We need help."
"Winterfell will help you, Lord Mormont," Robb assured him. "As will all the North."
"House Stark has always been a loyal ally of the Night's Watch," the Lord Commander nodded gratefully.
"And what does the young Prince say?" Maester Aemon asked softly. Silence hung in the hall; everyone waited for Joffrey's answer. Even Clegane set aside his wine cup and stared at the Prince with curiosity.
"I need to go up the Wall," Baratheon announced unexpectedly.
"Why?" Mormont was surprised.
"I want to see everything for myself," came the reply.
"You're unlikely to see an army of Free Folk or White Walkers from the Wall," Maester Aemon smiled.
"To see the truth, sight is not always necessary," a thin smile lit up the Prince's face. "Moreover, sometimes it only gets in the way, doesn't it?"
"Good words, Your Highness," the old man nodded. "Truly, so it is."
They crowded into the lift cage, a bell clinked, the winches creaked, and the guests, accompanied by Jeor Mormont, began the ascent up the Wall. Maester Aemon, meanwhile, went to his rooms.
"My uncle plans to visit you shortly," Joffrey said.
"I assume you mean Tyrion Lannister?" Mormont clarified.
"Exactly," the Prince nodded. "He will arrive with Benjen Stark."
"Good," Mormont nodded. "We will be ready for their arrival."
The ascent to the very top was long, but finally the lift stopped, and the Prince and his friends found themselves on the summit of the Wall. The icy wind blew right through them, but the young men didn't care. Theon gasped in admiration; Robb looked around in silence. The sun was at its zenith, and a breathtaking view of the wild land where there were no laws or rules opened before the travelers. No castles were built there, no roads were laid, and no inns were constructed. Only the strongest survived there, and one law reigned over all: "Fight or die."
"Holy shit," Theon whispered, and Robb nodded in agreement. Mormont smirked into his beard; he had managed to make an impression on these youths. After that, the Lord Commander's gaze shifted to the Prince. The boy stood still, arms crossed over his chest, the wind ruffling his long hair protruding from under a fur cap. Joffrey's gaze, far too heavy for his years, was fixed on the distance, as if he were trying to see something unknown, hidden from prying eyes. But then he took a deep breath and turned to Mormont:
"Lord Commander, you shall receive all the assistance you require."
By the very next morning, the riders set out on their return journey.
***
"Do you think this is a good idea?" Crush asked, watching the road from the bushes. "There's a whole squad there, and they're all armed to the teeth."
"The Bone-setter doesn't care what you or I think," Cleaver snapped, cutting his partner off. "He's already decided. We grab these young gents and take everything they have. Maybe we'll get lucky and one of them turns out to be the son of some wealthy pig. Then we'll demand a ransom. And then, with new Arms and Armor, we can raise such hell that everyone from the North to Dorne will have to reckon with us."
"You talk a good game, but who told you it'll go that smooth?" mocked a bandit sitting a little further off, checking the edge of his pig-sticker. "Did you see that squad? I did. Three youths, clearly sons of some lords, and they're taught to fight almost from birth. A massive brute with a burned face and a long sword. And for the finishing touch, nine soldiers with swords, shields, and spears. They'll gallop right over our heads without noticing a thing."
"There are twice as many of us, Nigel," Cleaver countered timidly. This Outlaw, whose mere gaze sent a chill to the bone, was rumored to be feared even by the leader. He was the only one in the gang without a nickname; everyone called him exclusively by his name because they very much wanted to stay alive.
"Yeah, a crowd of idiots armed with whatever they found," Nigel smirked. "Slings, a couple of lousy bows for hunting rabbits, and carpenter's axes. I'm sure the soldiers will shit themselves with fear and just strip everything off for us."
Silence fell; Crush and Cleaver exchanged looks but said nothing. They were afraid. Staring back at the road, they began waiting for the appearance of the squad traveling from Castle Black. Upon the riders' appearance, they were supposed to signal the rest of their accomplices. Not daring to look toward Nigel again, they didn't immediately notice how he quietly slipped away, and later they were simply too afraid to raise a fuss. Nigel himself was hurrying to meet the mounted squad, as the bandit had no intention of dying here at the whim of one idiot.
***
"Do you think the King and Father have already left Winterfell?" Robb asked, slipping a nosebag of oats over his horse's muzzle.
"Who knows," Arthas merely shrugged, staring into the campfire's flames. "We'll get to the castle and find out everything there."
"Agreed," Stark nodded, sitting down on a thick blanket. "We'll need to inform Father about everything happening beyond The Wall. I don't particularly believe the stories about the dead and the Others, but the Free Folk worry me much more. Upon our return, we'll need to immediately send out orders to all the houses of the North so they can prepare for war."
"Right," Menethil agreed, "though I wouldn't completely dismiss Mormont's words. The old man is troubled; he doesn't want to believe the Free Folk's words himself, but he can't ignore them either, which means we shouldn't either."
"Are you serious?" Robb asked, sitting down beside him.
"Absolutely," Arthas nodded. "It would be great if all these tales remain just stories, but I'd rather blow on cold water than have to put out a fire in my own home later. Mormont is right. Something is coming. Something very bad."
Arthas had no intention of telling them that he had effectively seen The Darkness swirling behind The Wall. Its heavy clouds, filled with an icy threat, were slowly crawling South, threatening to cover everything and everyone, to shroud all known lands in its shadow. He didn't know where this insight had come from. Never in his life, his past life, had Menethil possessed the power to see The Darkness so clearly, to feel its presence. Naturally, he should have been concerned about this back in King's Landing when he felt the breath of Death, but at that moment, the Prince had decided not to overthink it.
But now everything was different. That dream Arthas had seen on the way to The Wall had changed everything. Something had happened when he escaped the Shadow Lands. Whom had he met in the Beyond-Darkness, and what had that meeting turned into for him? Perhaps it was no accident he ended up in this world? Perhaps he was given a chance to atone for his old sins? Who could give the answer. Especially since... the Prince felt no remorse for his deeds and had no intention of pouring ashes on his head, begging for forgiveness.
That life was over, and all his sins remained there, on Azeroth. Now he lived a new life, starting it with a clean slate. No one would ever know how many lives Arthas had cut short, how many humans and non-humans he had destroyed. To someone else, his attitude toward what happened might seem inhuman, immoral, but it didn't bother Menethil in the slightest. Yes, he killed his father. Yes, he destroyed his own kingdom. And yes, he was effectively one of those who brought the Burning Legion to Azeroth once again. But all of that stayed there. There was no point in thinking about it, for otherwise, one could easily go mad. For his mistakes, Arthas Menethil paid with his freedom and his life. All accounts had long been settled.
Menethil shook himself and returned from the past to the present. Something very, very bad was happening behind The Wall; a threat deadly to the whole world was growing there, one that needed to be dealt with before it was too late. But this time, the Prince did not intend to charge forward blindly. He needed information, precise data upon which to act. He had learned the lessons of the past, when he had been led by the nose for a long time; Arthas remembered how it ended last time. He would not repeat that mistake a second time.
Quite soon he would meet his father and please him with good news. There would be war. Yes, to most, this news would hardly seem joyful, but Arthas hoped that the upcoming battles would finally pull King Robert out of the quagmire he was stuck in up to his crown. There was still hope to return Baratheon to his true self, and the Prince intended to take that chance. The Seven Kingdoms would once again clench into a single fist that would descend upon their enemies, and such would always be found. Someone might tell Arthas that war is a costly business, but sometimes it was exactly what enriched entire states best. One just had to choose a fat enough target.
A running guardsman distracted Menethil from his rather bellicose thoughts and reported:
"Your Highness, we've caught a scout!" the guardsman reported.
"Where would he have come from here?" Robb asked with unconcealed surprise, standing up from the blanket. At that moment, two guardsmen led a short man with thinning straw-colored hair toward them. His face, pitted with smallpox, was framed by a thin beard that did nothing to hide his sharp chin. The man's brown eyes were set close together, and the tip of his nose was missing, as if someone had bitten it off.
"He only had this on him," the captain reported, handing the Prince a pig-sticker.
Arthas turned the long knife in his hands, checking its edge with a finger. Robb, Theon, and Cleaver gathered around Menethil, scrutinizing the man.
"An ordinary robber," The Hound rasped with a smirk. "I've seen plenty of his kind."
"Hang him and be done with it," Greyjoy suggested.
"He must be tried first," Stark countered sternly.
"A waste of time, Robb," Theon grimaced. "He doesn't deserve a sword anyway; the gallows is the only place for him."
"I have information for you, milord," the robber finally spoke up. "My name is Nigel. I'll share everything I know if you spare my life."
"The only thing you can tell us is where the rest of your gang is," Arthas countered. Seeing the surprise on the robber's face, Menethil continued: "People like you don't wander alone, especially in these parts."
"It's obvious enough where they are," Robb leaned forward. "We've already passed Queenscrown, and the lands of the Umbers and the mountain clans begin ahead. In those parts, only a complete psycho would risk robbing; the Umbers are cruel, and the highlanders are even worse. In some settlements, rumor has it they still hang the entrails of enemies on the branches of weirwoods. That means they're waiting for us almost at the very borders of the lands."
"Who are they even robbing in these parts?" Cleaver wondered. "They should have all starved to death by now."
"The gang only gathered recently," the prisoner replied. "This is our first big job, after which the leader, Bone-setter, plans to make a few raids on villages and then move south."
"But you, apparently, decided to ditch them," Cleaver loomed over the robber, his terrifying face capable of turning any brave man into a stutterer. "Why is that? Maybe because you're trying to lie to us and lure us into a trap? How many of you are there total?"
"Almost two dozen," the bandit replied, swallowing hard. "And I'm not lying to you."
"What weapons do they have?" the captain of the guards asked.
"Only enough to scare peasants," came the reply. "Hunting bows and slings, a few carpenter's axes. For you, they're nothing."
"We can't leave them alive," Robb declared. "I cannot allow a gang of outlaws to roam our lands. Sooner or later, they'll grow bold enough to start attacking villages. Of course, one fine day they'll be slaughtered anyway, but by then, blood will have already been spilled. They must be destroyed."
"Agreed," Theon nodded, "let's slaughter them here and now."
"Your Highness, I've already broken all orders by going with you to The Wall," the captain of the guards said worriedly. "If something happens to you, the Queen..."
"Enough, Captain," Arthas cut him off. "Stark is right; we can't allow a robber gang to wander these lands. Ready for Combat, that is an order."
"Yes, Your Highness," the captain was displeased, but he began giving the necessary instructions nonetheless.
"And what will happen to me?" Nigel asked.
"You have a choice," Menethil replied. "After you tell us exactly where the rest of the gang is hiding, you can stand trial before the Starks, who are the Wardens of the North. Perhaps you'll even be acquitted, though unlikely. Or you can join the Night's Watch. A squad heading to Castle Black should already be moving toward us; you can ride to The Wall with them. Choose."
The man scowled and crossed his arms. He very much wanted to live, so he weighed all the pros and cons. Arthas waited patiently.
"And if I say nothing?" Nigel asked, purely out of interest.
"Then we hang you here and now," the Prince shrugged.
"Then I'd rather go to The Wall," the robber smirked.
"A wise decision. So, where are the others?"
***
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