Chapter 52

Lifting his skin from the small river, Tiresias remained squatted as he glanced about the surrounding forest. This was the same junction where they made camp several years ago when he and Lord Stark first journeyed to Castle Black.

However many men were with them then, they weren't nearly as many as now.

A hundred soldiers and ten stewards, roused from their sleep, accompanied them out of Winterfell, along with Jory Cassel and Gord. Ser Rodrik stayed behind as Winterfell's castellan to assist Robb, who now held the castle. The old knight was awake though to see them off. He took one look at Tiresias saddled and hooded before shaking his head.

"Why am I not surprised?" he grumbled.

Tiresias didn't respond. There was no malice in the man's tone.

Aside from that, no one said a word of his departure. The general plan was that no one would speak of his absence from the castle. As Myranda never entered the library, he hoped it would be a few days before she realized that he had departed with the Warden and his soldiers. At least as long as Theon could hold out from indirectly telling her.

She wasn't in the yard when they set out. There was no way that she could quickly inform Roose Bolton of his whereabouts. If all went to the plan, that fresh batch of hunters from the Dreadfort would still be waiting for him on the road to Goldgrass. They'll wait there until it was too late.

Still, Tiresias scanned the forest and after he was done looking, he closed his eyes and listened to it. One hundred soldiers traveled with them. It was a formidable group. To take any more would raise suspicions. But Roose Bolton could easily call a force big enough to overcome them.

Essentially he was relying on two things. First; ignorance from the Dreadfort that they were traveling this way. And second; hesitance to attack him while he traveled in Lord Stark's company.

So far he heard nothing. They passed the path to the Weeping Waters days ago. And the further north they rode, the less anxious he felt. The subsequent evenings, he heard nothing nefarious; no approaching horsemen, no sneaking through the greenery, no withdrawing of flaying knives. Just the forest.

It was the same tonight. After combing the surrounding area, he opened his eyes and walked back to camp.

They departed from Winterfell with no wagons. Supplies were minimal and essential. Therefore there was not much to do in the evenings. Tiresias found an open fire and sat down next to Gord.

Neither was on cooking duty that night. And without a book, Tiresias could do nothing more than sit by the fire. Gord, more than comfortable, ever amiable, was fine with his whittling.

Good for you, mate. Not having a sociopathic lord on your case. You don't see the dangers in a quiet wood.

He scoffed lightly. No, that mess was his doing. He deserved to be paranoid.

"What?" asked his friend, eyes still on his whittling.

"I don't know," Tiresias responded dully. "Just have a feeling like something's out there. Closing in."

"Can you hear anything coming?"

"No."

Gord glanced to him. "Then I'd say whatever you think you sensed is no big bother."

"I didn't say I sensed it," Tiresias retorted, his murmur harsher than he intended. "Said I had a feeling."

His friend looked at him for a few seconds before returning to his knife.

"What?" Tiresias asked.

Gord shrugged. "I was gonna ask for a song, but you seem too grumpy to sing, mate."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gord. I traveled before at night. Just now, it's…it's something else."

"Everyone's got a bad ride somewhere." The soldier put his whittling down. "Escorting the Warden's loud work. It's not a quiet job. Like your rides for tomes or your library. Bound to make you uneasy."

Whether there was any truth to that or not, Tiresias appreciated it. He nodded slowly.

"I suppose so."

Gord looked off to another campfire. "Besides, you're not the only one having a tough go-of-it tonight."

Tiresias followed his gaze over to Jon Snow. It was the lad's turn to cook this evening. Much to the displeasure of his fire mates. Tiresias could easily smell the meat from where he was sitting. It wasn't inedible. But he would wear out his jaw chewing it.

Jon Snow's presence with them was perhaps evidence enough that he didn't see this journey as too perilous. Why else would he speak up on the lad's behalf?

Tiresias wished for the first time in a while he could feel the cold properly. He needed the chill to help wake him up. Instead he stumbled from Mal's side in a warm haze, into his clothes and out into the corridor, hoping he didn't forget anything when he packed the previous night. Only a few hours prior…

He found the courtyard bustling with quiet activity. A stablehand brought him the same spotted mare that he rode from King's Landing to the Westerlands and back. He still didn't have a name for her, but she remembered him. She nuzzled his neck as he led her to the soldiers, stood still as he strapped his pack and supplies to her side.

"Still happy to have me?" he murmured as he pulled the straps tight. Gently so she wouldn't be startled. He stroked her side. "Hope you'll feel the same at the end of this…"

His rare moment of animal connection was severed when he noticed an animated discussion by the brazier, back by the Great Hall. He saw Lord Stark's back framed by the flame, conversing tersely with Jon. The lad held his own pack…

Tiresias rested his hand on the saddle as he pondered. There was a line that he never crossed in public. Lord Stark raised his children. He merely assisted them. But something spurred him…

Besides he was the only one who heard their whispered argument. It wasn't public yet. The soldiers and the stewards were tired themselves and were only concerned with a yawning departure. 

He patted the mare. "Wait here, please."

The horse blinked, but stayed still. With the air of a simple, unrelated inquiry, Tiresias walked toward the Warden and his bastard son. He caught them in the middle of a stubborn silence.

"Lord Stark," he greeted quietly, before looking to the lad. "What are you doing here, Jon?"

As he looked at him, with his heavy fur and a full pack, his question seemed to be answered. Nevertheless, Jon answered him.

"I want to go with you. I want to see the Wall."

"We're not going sightseeing, Jon," Lord Stark said with all his quiet authority. "As I told you and your siblings last night, it's my duties as Warden that propel me to the Wall. I don't have time to tend to you."

"I'm not asking you to tend to me." Jon's voice rose, but he lowered it again under Lord Stark's stern gaze. "I've ridden with the men before. I've hunted. And I will go north someday. I'm just asking to go with you. Now."

"Are you planning on joining the Night's Watch, Jon?" Tiresias asked quietly.

Jon met his eyes but didn't answer. Lord Stark stepped closer.

"Jon…is this true? Are you planning to swear yourself to the black brothers?"

"I'm not planning anything," Jon muttered. "I know I'm not a man yet. I won't join. But I want to see it. I won't be a burden, I swear I won't."

He could see in the lad's eyes, it would have to be a stern order from his lord father to send him away. The rational part of him thought he should. Jon didn't know what they were riding towards. He was too young.

But the crazy part of his mind told him not to be too hasty. And it wanted a say.

Tiresias turned to the Warden. "Lord Stark, may I have a word?"

The two walked away from the brazier, leaving the lad with his pack. They didn't have to walk too far. Jon didn't have his ears.

Still they lowered their voices.

"You think he should come to Castle Black?" Lord Stark asked.

"I don't know," Tiresias admitted. "But I do know he's itching to make something of himself. The Night's Watch looks alluring to a bastard boy with nothing to inherit, with a mind for duty. To the North. To you."

He looked back at Jon. "He won't be going with us beyond the Wall. He won't be meeting Mance. Castle Black would be safe enough. Difficult, but safe. Maybe it's better for him to see it for himself. Get a taste of what he'll be resigning himself to for life."

Lord Stark looked to him. "You think our time at the Wall will dissuade him?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It might. Or it just might strengthen his decision. He's a stubborn boy."

Tiresias turned back to Lord Stark. "Either way, he'll be better-informed to make that choice when he inevitably does."

There wasn't much time to mull it over. The soldier escort was nearly assembled with everyone in line. The Warden only had a short time before the delay became noticeable.

But he did make a decision. Seeing he was no longer needed, Tiresias returned to his spotted mare, but he kept his ears pointed to the brazier. Past the murmurings of soldiers. Where Lord Stark rendered his decision.

"If you truly wish to see what life at the Night's Watch entails, you'll see it," he said. "As long as we are there, you'll serve, clean, train, do whatever the officers instruct. Your status as my son will not matter. Do you understand?"

Jon must have nodded. The Warden lowered his voice.

"And when it's time to leave, we both will. Castle Black is not your home yet. And I'll not have you pledge yourself to the Watch while you're still a boy. This is just so you'll understand better what you're aiming towards.

"Do you swear, Jon, not to pledge yourself? Not this time?"

Another pause meant a nod, but this time, it wasn't enough.

"I need you to say it, Jon. Promise me you won't."

"I won't pledge myself to the Night's Watch, Father. Not 'til I'm a man. I promise."

Tiresias patted his mare's neck, but didn't mount up. He would give the creature a little reprieve while Hullen fetched a horse for Jon Snow.

Lord Stark didn't wait until they reached Castle Black to put Jon to work. To be fair, everyone worked. But so far, the lad didn't complain. And this evening, he took the grumbles about his cooking in stride, dividing out the meat stoically.

Tiresias turned back to his own fire.

It's fine. Roose Bolton won't attack the Warden just yet. Lord Stark is still too popular. And no rumors from the south have reached us yet. Not of the Free Folk and the Night's Watch…

It was a comforting thought, he supposed. But still he found himself listening to the forest more than usual that night. His stomach didn't unwind. And he couldn't bring himself to sing.

The wind stilled on the day they arrived. A dense fog permeated the forest and they didn't see the Wall as they approached. Tiresias sensed it though. It wasn't just the chill from a massive wall of ice or the sounds of Castle Black in the distance. His hair stood on his arms and neck as he rode on. The same feeling when he walked through the ice tunnel or the secret way through the Nightfort. Something ancient in the ice…

Looking around, he saw his fellow riders blissfully ignorant of that element. Though they did feel the cold as they rode. Scarves were tightened. Soldiers breathed into their hands.

Jon Snow bore it as gracefully as he could. He seemed more frustrated than cold, his eyes scanning the front.

Reining in his spotted mare, he fell in besides the lad.

"All right there, Jon?"

He looked to the librarian. "How far away are we?"

Tiresias took a covert sniff, the chill entering his nostrils. "Quartermile, I'd say. Usually you'd see it by now, but…"

Gesturing towards the front, he could only shrug. Jon swallowed a groan.

"Is it always this foggy?"

"No," Tiresias murmured, keeping his voice low. "No, this is unusual."

He didn't like the fog himself. Though it didn't hinder his other senses. There was just something about the way it clung to the air…

But it was no good to voice his superstitions. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Jon.

"Don't worry, Jon. We'll be here a few days or more. In between moving haypiles and scrubbing latrines, the fog has a good chance of lifting. You'll see the Wall soon enough."

Jon didn't respond, setting his eyes forward once again. Tiresias followed suit. The last quartermile was ridden in silence. Castle Black emerged from the fog, along with the Wall behind it, though they couldn't see the top. A black brother on watch announced their arrival, shouting down below to open the gate.

As they were already riding slow through the fog, Tiresias didn't notice any decrease in their speed as the Stark party entered the courtyard. As he rode under the wooden gates, he casted his ears out behind him for a final listen. No one stood hidden in the forest watching him. And he sighed in quiet relief, the knot in his chest lightening for the first time since they departed Winterfell.

And then he looked to the courtyard. Perhaps it was only because he heard it directly from Benjen, but the tension was palpable. Half the black brothers in the yard gazed upon their arrival with suspicious eyes. Most of them focused on the front. Tiresias dismounted his horse to see Lord Stark greeting his brother with a firm handshake.

On his second look, he saw a couple banners of House Umber. Along with a dozen or so burly soldiers that didn't wear all black. Lord Umber must have heeded the Warden's call and arrived at Castle Black before he did.

He didn't see the Greatjon though or the banners of House Mormont. Hoping Lady Maege was well on her way, Tiresias brought his eyes to the main keep.

Like his last visit, Lord Commander Mormont emerged from the dining hall immediately. Followed by a few officers. His eyes quickly scanned the yard and he muttered to a lieutenant who stepped forward and whistled, piercing the air.

"Oi! Ya fuckers as useless as yeh are ugly?! Tend to the horses! Come on!"

Tiresias held his reins waiting for a Watchman to come fetch them and focused forward. Lord Stark greeted the Lord Commander, speaking to him softly. Jon Snow, having handed off his horse, made his way to the pair of them as instructed. And so about a year or two earlier than before, Jon Snow met Jeor Mormont. Introduced by Lord Stark, the Lord Commander shook the boy's hand.

A boy, not much older than Jon, appeared at his side and gestured for the reins. Tiresias gave them over without a word. It wasn't meant to be impolite. The lad had tired eyes and didn't seem like he'd appreciate conversation.

The spotted mare went with him calmly though. Reminding himself to decide a name for the creature, Tiresias hitched his rucksack and wandered over to the sides to be out of the way. He wasn't told explicitly by Lord Stark to join them and he wanted to keep his distance for now.

Another man had no such notion. Ser Alliser Thorne passed about twenty feet in front of him, entering the courtyard from the armory. Tiresias leaned against a post and began a light stretch, as the Master of Arms approached the Lord Commander.

He didn't need heightened senses to see the confrontation. Or hear it for that matter. Fortunately, Ser Alliser only got two demanding questions out of his system before the Lord Commander shut him down. Lord Stark and Benjen peered at Ser Alliser, their expressions impassive, but Jon looked a little alarmed. The southern knight was left breathing for all of two seconds, before Jeor Mormont motioned him toward the lad and clapped Jon Snow on the shoulders.

Tiresias sighed. Oh Jon, for your sake, I hope we're not here too long. You're going to be so thoroughly miserable…

Ser Alliser seemed as opposed to the idea of Jon being his assistant as the boy was. More so even. However, he wasn't going to oppose the Lord Commander. Not yet. Not this one. So, after Jeor Mormont reiterated his command, Ser Alliser gave the angriest nod Tiresias had ever seen and stalked away.

Jon Snow looked to Lord Stark. To his Uncle Benjen. It had no effect. They were not lenient. Not that the lad had much time to do anything else. Ser Alliser, upon seeing he wasn't being followed, turned to Jon, yelling for the whole courtyard to hear.

"So are you a spoiled bastard? Or just a bastardin' dullard? Fuckin' move!"

He started stomping off again, and this time Jon had the good sense to follow. Tiresias stood stock still as Ser Alliser passed by him, back to the armory. Jon meet his eyes briefly and Tiresias had only the time to shrug helplessly at him.

Sorry, Jon. It's out of my hands.

Jon seemed to get the message. He still looked scared, but a sliver of determination came into his eyes as he passed the librarian. Tiresias turned to see him disappear into the armory. A sense of unease crept into him. Certainly, this stint under Ser Alliser could sour the whole idea of joining the Night's Watch very quickly. On the other hand, Jon was just stubborn enough to become even more determined under the knight's cruelty.

At least he's not in danger of losing his life. Ser Alliser would berate an underling 'til he's blue in the face. But he'd kill a lord commander.

Turning back to the courtyard, he forgot Jon's misery. His own idea to remain inconspicuous failed much more quickly than he had hoped.

Lord Commander Mormont's gaze fell on him. Tiresias met it as evenly as he could. Much like with Jon Snow, Benjen and Lord Stark stood silent, waiting for the Old Bear's decision.

Not afforded the luxury of time, Jeor Mormont quickly raised his gloved hand and beckoned. Tiresias exhaled through his nose. He wasn't sure if that afforded him more dignity than being yelled for across the courtyard.

Stepping off the post, he walked forward, swallowing his spit before he could be seen doing so. He inclined his head as he approached.

"Lord Commander."

He was more than tall enough to meet Jeor Mormont's eye. Still he steeled himself as the old man stared him down.

"I heard from the wildlings that you killed Craster. Is that true?"

Straight to it then. He made the decision beforehand not to lie here. At least not too much. This is a fight that wouldn't work on faulty information. Still, that decision was quite difficult to stick by.

He kept the Lord Commander's gaze.

"Aye, I did. I passed the Wall and killed him at his place."

There was no surprise on Mormont's face. Though his gaze did harden.

"We didn't see you when his wives and daughters arrived here, seeking asylum. Eastwatch and Shadow Tower didn't report any sighting of you either. I assume you had another way through."

"Aye."

"Would you care to say how?"

"No, I wouldn't."

Tiresias heard Lord Stark's quiet exhale. The smartest move? Definitely not in the short term. As for the future…well, he just wasn't prepared to surrender the knowledge of his secret passageway. Who knew when he'd have to sneak beyond the Wall and back again?

Something in the Lord Commander's eyes seemed to indicate that he suspected Tiresias' reasons. Still, his eyes didn't soften and he stepped forward. It was a real effort to hold his ground, to hold his gaze.

"We gave you tomes, protection and hospitality, Tiresias of Essos," the Lord Commander said quietly. "And in exchange, you used our tunnel to sneak beyond the Wall. To seek our then-one ally in our struggles against the wildlings and kill him. You eliminated that outpost, stunting our ability to range."

These weren't questions. He didn't need to answer them. Nor did Jeor Mormont want him to. He knew that.

The Lord Commander lowered his tone further. No passing black brother could hear him.

"I was told what Craster did. By his wives. By Benjen. I was told what you gave the wildlings. The dragonglass that ships north is because of your meddling."

With all the sensitive parts whispered, Jeor Mormont raised his voice just enough for Lord Stark and Benjen to hear. Though his eyes still pierced him.

"My First Ranger speaks for you. That matters to me. He says you've been acting in our interest and I accept that. Fullheartedly. But know this, Tiresias. If you ever go behind my back again or undermine my authority while at Castle Black, I'll hang you. Understand?"

Tiresias expected far worse. He hoped his face didn't betray him as he nodded.

"Aye, Lord Commander. I do."

He must have said it honestly enough. The Old Bear didn't bother to stare him down. He nodded once and turned back to Lord Stark.

"We've received a runner from House Mormont yesterday. My sister's band is expected to arrive here this evening. If they're not slowed by this damn fog…"

Jeor Mormont gave the sky a distasteful glance.

"It's short notice, Lord Stark. But our friend beyond the Wall has been settled for a full three days."

"Have you seen him?" asked Lord Stark.

"Nah," Benjen answered for him. "He's keeping in the camps, but his emissary's only a few miles out. I'll ride out now and tell him you've arrived. What of Qhorin?"

Jeor Mormont shook his head. "We've sent a rider, but we can't wait. The parlay needed to take place yesterday. If he arrives in time, he arrives in time."

"And Lady Mormont?" Lord Stark asked.

"Even with this weather, my sister will arrive before then. We'll ride out from the Wall together. Mance will ride south from his post. All ready for us."

The Lord Commander looked to him again.

"That includes you, I'm told. You have anything besides that jacket?"

"I have what I need, Lord Commander," Tiresias answered evenly. "Thank you."

Whether it was because he had survived beyond the Wall before or because there was no time to debate the point further, Jeor Mormont let it go. Tiresias swore he nearly rolled his eyes.

"Fine. After breakfast, we'll ride." His eyes narrowed at the librarian. "I don't suppose you need directions to the tunnel, Tiresias?"

Swallowing a smartass remark, Tiresias shook his head.

"No, Lord Commander. Thank you."

That got a humorless and small smile out of the Old Bear, before he turned to the Warden.

"I'll see you in my tower before dinner, Lord Stark. Welcome to Castle Black."

Lord Stark nodded as Jeor Mormont walked back into the castle. He turned to Tiresias, who hitched his rucksack up.

The librarian shrugged. "I'll try and contain my sigh of relief if you do."

No humorless smile, but a light did enter the Warden's eyes. However briefly. Tiresias stepped forward, dropping his tone.

"I don't see the Greatjon here."

"He's on top of the Wall," Lord Stark muttered back. "Word was sent. I'm sure I'll be speaking to him soon."

"Best of luck with that." Fog escaped his mouth as he exhaled. "Tomorrow morning, aye? Finally happening."

Ned nodded, exhaling as well as he looked to the Wall. He was quiet for a few seconds. Benjen shot Tiresias a look before stepping forward.

"Brother?"

"I've never been beyond the Wall, Benjen," he muttered, before looking to his brother again. "Been south more than I like. Never in the true North."

Benjen sighed. "Well, it's cold. Even for the summer. Even for a Northern summer. Not that that's a bad thing. Cooler heads might prevail tomorrow."

"Shouldn't count on that, Benjen." The Warden gazed out at the courtyard. At all the suspicious faces. "Doesn't seem to be tempering anyone here."

He didn't sound scared. Tiresias, on the other hand, felt quite light in his arms. But there wasn't anything more he could do here. And there was plenty of time to fill before they rode out tomorrow. He inclined his head to the two Stark brothers.

"Well, Lord Stark, Benjen," he said. "It's a thin disguise at this point, but I think I'll play the librarian for the remainder of the evening. Try and distract myself."

Lord Stark nodded. "Very well. On the morrow, then."

Tiresias gave a grim smile, before turning for the library. Just he reached the stairs, he heard the gears grinding in the ice right by the Wall. He glanced up to see the elevator coming down, emerging from the fog. Even from this distance, he saw the Greatjon, front and center in the cage.

He turned away and continued on his way. Call it cowardice, but he didn't wish to be present when the Greatjon confronted the Warden for his summons, for the rumors concerning the wildlings. A small part of him feared a physical confrontation.

It was also likely he'd be bombarded as well. Not for the wildlings. But for his name. The Greatjon was an eager warrior and he thought it more than likely that the halfgiant would care to test his mettle against Tiresias Mountainfall…

And frankly, he wasn't in the mood.

Tiresias reached the library with only a few stares following him. Which didn't surprise him. The knowledge of Craster's assassin wasn't widespread among the lower ranks. And while the Mountain's death had well likely reached Castle Black, he doubted enough people recognized his face from the last visit.

The library door opened with a solid creaking echo. He sniffed the air. He wasn't alone in here.

But he wasn't in danger. He recognized the scent, turning the corner to see Maester Aemon sitting by the hearth, framed by a gentle fire. The old man didn't turn to him, but he saw him smile.

"Tiresias, Warrior Librarian," Aemon muttered.

He smiled, in spite of himself. "Hello, Maester. Did you recognize my footstep from so many years ago?"

Maester Aemon chuckled. "No, just a guess. A retinue from Winterfell arrives and the library receives a visitor immediately."

Tiresias took the obvious in as best he could. "Oh."

Deductive reasoning. A far more likely explanation than exemplary hearing. Sometimes Tiresias forgot his capabilities compared to others.

Maybe I'm also just overly reliant on them. They could disappear at some point.

Maybe so, but for now, he stepped forward to the hearth, focused on the elderly Targaryen. The maester was one of the few welcoming faces he saw here at Castle Black.

He gestured to the chair opposite, out of habit. "May I sit?"

"Please do."

Tiresias set his rucksack and supplies down, sinking into the chair. It was unpadded, the wooden frame hard. But it was quite comforting after the road.

"I'm afraid no more tomes of the Old Tongue have come our way, Tiresias," said the old maester. "Not since your last visit."

"That's all right, Maester." Tiresias looked to the hearth. The fire was rather low. "I'm just here for some quiet before the morrow."

"Ahh…the summit beyond the Wall. This will be your first time riding through the tunnel. Not sneaking through it in the night."

There wasn't much of a question there so Tiresias turned to something he could fix.

"Fire's a little low, Maester. Would you like me to feed it?"

"That would be appreciated."

Tiresias squatted before the hearth and placed a log gently on the grate, leaning a few small sticks against it to encourage the flame. Before long, the fire grew to a medium blaze. Sitting back, he saw Aemon Targaryen visibly relax as renewed heat washed into the library.

He returned to his seat and the two of them sat silently for a while. It may have been ten minutes before they spoke. It was Tiresias who broke the silence.

"I wasn't lying to you. All those years ago when you asked…I mean no one no ill will. I'm on the side of the living. That's includes the Night's Watch."

"And it includes the wildlings." Maester Aemon sighed. "Or the Free Folk, as Benjen Stark told me they prefer."

"They do," Tiresias confirmed quietly. "This is going to become very complicated."

"Peace is always complicated," Maester Aemon said. "War's simple. Fighting is easy. Sitting down to avoid that…it's hard enough when it's just two people. There are several thousands of people on either side of this Wall, who wish nothing more than harm and death to the other side."

Tiresias watched the fire dance, waiting for the old man to ask his question.

"How are you going to encourage peace, Tiresias?"

"I'm not," he responded dully. "I'm coming up here to give the two sides a different villain to fight. A bigger one. That's why I'm here now. The Free Folk know about the Army of the Dead. It's now the Night's Watch's turn. It's the North's turn."

The old Targaryen has long been blind. He didn't even look to the librarian out of habit. Yet Tiresias could tell the old man was focusing on him.

"I wish you good fortune, Tiresias," Maester Aemon said. "Though I do hope you are riding north tomorrow with something more than my well-wishes."

Tiresias exhaled through his nose, looking to the fire.

"I hope so as well, Maester."