14
Chapter 14 – Battle of the Wall
The sun set slowly against the stormy sky with a growing sense of doom as the Northmen, the Night's Watch and their Free Folk allies stood ready to meet the Wildling army that was over four times bigger than their own. The fact that the battle would be waged at night only seemed to make the men and women feel a greater sense of anxiety. The Free Folk tied black bands of cloth around their arms as they stood with the men of House Flint and House Manderly so that they could be told apart from the Wildlings that were attacking. For the older and more experienced men there it was a daunting prospect, the battle they were about to fight but not one that terrified them to the extent that they should run. The younger people at the Wall however for whom this was their first actual taste of proper battle, their stomachs were knotted with fear and anticipation as the start of the battle grew closer and closer.
The current heir to Winterfell Robb Stark was in the latter category. As he stood there in his armour, ready to meet the approaching Wildlings he had to do his utmost not to tremble in fear. He did not feel ready for this, to face a fight to the death in the freezing conditions of the Wall. As if the gods were seeking to mock him it then got colder as snow began to fall. His hand on his sword tightened its grip, its weight oddly reassuring as he tried desperately to suppress his nervousness. At his side Theon was doing his best to present his bravado of cool confidence but the tenseness around his eyes and the slight tremor in his hand gave away his true feelings. Nearby the young blacksmith Gendry was not able to cover his own fear at all, with his blacksmith's hammer in hand shaking and his eyes ablaze with fear. Something that made him feel better slightly was that the other young men around him were looking just as scared as Robb himself. Feeling the need to ease their fear, Robb managed through sheer force of will to plaster a smile on his face and turned to his men and give a reassuring nod.
He was suddenly broken from his thoughts by a warm hand on his shoulder and the smile slipped from his face. He looked and saw his father standing there with a small but warm smile on his face which soothed Robb's nerves slightly, re-enforced by the words that were then spoken.
"Take a deep breath and keep yourself in the moment, do not allow your mind to drift towards what might happen. Focus on what is happening at this moment." Ned Stark said to his son and Robb felt his lips turn upwards into a slight smile again, this one more genuine. His father nodded slightly and said with pride. "I am proud of you Robb and the man you have become, whatever happens remember that."
While the words of his father brought Robb a great sense of pride to know that his most cherished dream, that his father would be proud of him had come true, it also brought a feeling of concern too. Like his father was preparing to say goodbye. Robb knew the odds against them were large but he still held out hope that they would both come through this alive and go back home where they could spend their time with the rest of their family.
Ned himself was praying silently to the Old Gods that his son would make it through this battle and return home. Ned was not afraid to die, he had faced death many times and if the gods were going to call him to the next life then there was nothing he could do about it although he would do his best to ensure that this day would not be the day he died. For his sons, for his daughters, for his nephew he resolved to himself that he would fight his hardest to be here to protect them from whatever threats appeared on the horizon.
Not too far away Ned could see the GreatJon standing shoulder to shoulder with his sons and the rest of his men as they prepared for the battle to come. Some way apart from them was the Mormont forces led by Dacey Mormont, the daughter of the she-bear as Maege Mormont was known had little fear in her eyes that anyone could see. The very tall woman who stood nearly at the same height as Ned himself was looking right at home in her armour from hours and hours of not only training but actual fighting against the same foe that would be challenging them today much like her uncle Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont who had spent decades fighting against all manner of foes. They had all tasted battle before and learnt to control their fear, but his son was struggling from the looks of it Ned realised. So was his ward Theon and the bastard son of Robert that he had saved.
He was disturbed from his attempts to reassure his son by a loud horn that came from the top of the Wall. Ned did his best to draw on all of his experience and courage as battle was finally upon them.
At the top of the Wall with the snow and biting cold winds whipping around him and his men, Eddison Tollett or Edd as he was known to his friends was confronted with a scene that chilled him more than the cold around him. The sight of the Wildling army, illuminated by the forest they had set ablaze behind them, marching towards the Wall. The sheer size of the wildling force was enough to unsettle him. A veritable sea of savages coming towards them like a tidal wave and it was not just the wildlings but the large mammoths and other beasts they had with them that made the sight frightening to the men on the top of the wall. Despite his fear Edd rallied his courage and told his men.
"HOLD THE BARRELS. ARCHERS…DRAW." The barrels containing oil that they could set alight when the wildlings were closer were loaded into place for use later. The archers with flaming arrows drew their bows back and aimed as the wildlings came closer and closer towards the Wall. Around him Edd could see the nervousness in the men around him, echoing his own feelings but he tried his hardest to keep his face from showing the fear inside and called out in as loud a voice as he could manage.
"LOOSE!"
The men let their arrows fly, sending the flaming projectiles straight down hundreds of feet at the enemy. The arrows seemed to have little effect on the wildlings' moral and there were too few archers to stop the enemy's advance as they continued to bellow out war cries and as they moved forward as the archers reloaded and fired again. But like before there were too few men on the Wall to make a significant impact on the wildlings. But then Edd realised something.
"Why aren't they charging?" He said quietly to himself. They clearly were confident at victory from their continuous jeering which they could just about hear given the large number of wildlings making the disheartening sound, but as of yet they had not started attacking the Wall, just moving slowly forward, like they did not care.
Hundreds of feet away and below, Alfyn the Crowkiller the leader of the attack stood with his spear in his hand and feeling supremely confident told his men.
"SEND FORTH THE BEASTS!" The men were apprehensive but did as they were told. Using spears the men began herding creatures that were vaguely human shaped towards the Wall. The men held their weapons close, feeling the smallest amount of comfort at having them in hand.
The seven or so creatures were twelve feet tall each, about the same height as a giant but had a grey coloured skin that stretched over a large fat belly with a large rough club in their hands. They had large oval shaped ears and a rather vacant look in their eyes showing they had little intelligence but the fierce anger on their faces was more than enough to scare the men around them who kept them under control by the chains that bound the necks and arms. The wildlings released the chains on the creatures who bellowed it anger when they jabbed them hard with spears and charged forward towards the Wall.
Up on the top of the Wall Edd was stunned at the sheer size of the creatures for a short time and he hesitated but only for a moment before turning to the men around him and said loudly.
"Draw…loose."
The men aimed their small arrows at the large, hulking beasts but all the small projectiles seemed to do was drive the creatures on faster. The men on top of the wall honestly started to fear that the creatures were unstoppable until one of the men manning a ballista managed to hit one of the creatures with his large steel bolt that impaled one of the creatures in the chest killing it immediately. Seeing the weapon's effectiveness against the creatures rallied the men and they renewed their attack with the men manning the ballistas using their best aim to try and halt the creatures before they could reach the Wall. They did not have it easy as the creatures were so far away but they did not seem to move faster than a horse, allowing them to pick them off but despite their best efforts one managed to reach the wooden gate and with a mighty swing smashed its large club straight threw the gate…shattering the barrier and allowing it to duck inside, making a clear path for the wildlings that now began charging straight for the opening that the beast had made.
Edd felt a strong sense of anger at this…he felt like a failure for letting these creatures breach the wall on his watch. But he resolved to himself that the savage cannibals were going to suffer for every yard. So he shouted out to his men.
"ARCHERS…DRAW AND LOOSE! BARRELS READY…AND DROP!" He ordered and the archers resumed pelting the charging wildlings with flaming arrows while the rest of the men lit the barrels and launched them down at the enemy hoping to thin them out enough to give the men in the castle at chance.
All along the Wall at the five castles being attacked, it was the same story…the wildlings using those grey beasts to break open the gates into the castles while the Watch and any North men on the top of the Wall rained down fire upon both them and the charging Wildlings.
Queensgate…
In the now reoccupied castle, Lord Galbart Glover stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother Robett and their men with swords, shields and spears in hand. The nervous tension was thick in the air as they heard the rumbling coming from inside the tunnel in front of them. Galbart turned to the Forresters who were at his right side and the Whitehills who were at his left. The reasonably large courtyard and the raised areas all around the area were full of men. Galbart could feel the nervousness of the men around him and he called out to rally them.
"FOR THE NORTH!" He somehow managed a confident voice despite his own fear of whatever was making that fierce banging on the other side of the large gate. The men seemed to soak up his confidence and repeated his battle cry.
"FOR THE NORTH!"
Then the large and heavy wooden door was bashed open by an enormous beast with grey skin and a large club that was bigger than Galbart himself. Behind the beast the wildlings came screaming out of the long tunnel, the North men charged themselves to meet them at the tunnel and try to push them back to where they had come from.
It quickly descended into a chaotic melee with no clear battle lines as the men clashed in a brutal display of bloody combat. The North men were better trained and determined but the wildlings were fierce and unrelenting in their attacks. A man with strange lines on his skin was matching sword blows with Galbart while at his side Ludd Whitehill was fending off a particularly vicious spearwife who was wielding a rough looking axe with a complete lack of restraint forcing him back on the defensive. Robett had become separated from his brother and was now fending off two bearded wildlings with all the skill and speed he was able to muster. He however was able to hold his defence while the wildlings threw everything they had into the offense and soon began to tire. Then Robett went on the offensive and cleaved one of the wildlings across the chest causing him to cry out as his fell to the ground dead with blood splattering against the snow and nearby wall. The other wildling had little time to react before Robett plunged his sword into the wildling's belly and pulled it out, leaving a gaping wound. On the other side of the courtyard Gregor Forrester was swinging Ironrath, his great sword cutting any wildlings in half that were foolish enough to cross his path.
Gregor had not felt the rush of battle for so long it was like an alien feeling he could not describe. The blood pumping through his heart so fast, his muscles straining from the effort, the sharpening of his senses, it was something he had strangely missed although the fact that he could not see his son Rodrik anywhere worried him more than anything else in the world. With the sobering thought that something might have happened to his son he carried on fighting, trying desperately to either see him through the chaos of the fighting in the courtyard or hear his voice above the screams, clashing of blades and shouts of battle.
Elsewhere the Glover and Forrester soldiers were trying their best to fight off the huge hulking beast that was bashing three or four men aside at a time with its enormous club. Ludd Whitehill as he cut the spearwife's head off saw the creature and its great club bash his youngest son Gryff and crush him, splattering blood and bits of brain all across the yard. Ludd was silent for a moment as he took it all in and his anger rose…but not at the creature, at the Starks for bringing them here. His son would have been safe at Highpoint instead of lying there his head split open. In that moment he made his decision, one that he made in a sea of anger and one that would come to haunt him in the near future.
"WHITEHILLS! RETREAT! THERE IS NO POINT DYING ALONGSIDE THE REST OF THESE PRICKS!" And at the command from their lord, the Whitehills and their men began retreating back south through the still open gate much to the horror of the Glovers and the Forresters who suddenly found themselves very exposed as the wildlings jeered at the cowards fleeing and turned their attention to the Northmen who were brave enough to stand and fight. They had to push themselves to their very limits as wildlings struck from every direction. Their muscles burnt with exertion as they pushed on trying to move as fast as possible to match the blows that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
Galbart Glover could feel the sweat coming off his brow as he pushed his aching body further than he ever had before, he grunted as a spear from a spearwife glanced his right arm and he managed with supreme effort not to drop his blade as he impaled the spearwife before resuming his duel with the man that was known as Styr, the god of the Thenns. His bald opponent sensing his weakness increased the ferocity of his attack which with his arm injured Galbart could not keep up with. Styr plunged his blade straight into Galbart who felt the sharp pain immediately but with his last breath managed to stab Styr in the gut as he fell, joined only seconds later by the would-be god of the Thenns.
From his position on the gantry above the courtyard Robett was horrified to see his brother fall. He was paralyzed for a moment but had to defend himself from an axe wielding wildling so had no time to even cry out at his older brother's death. Still his anger grew hotter and he renewed his attack with increased fury, despite his muscles aching his hatred and need for revenge drove him on, allowing him to knock the axe from the wildling's hands and cut him down before moving on to another not far away, intent on making them pay.
The death of Galbart Glover also motivated Rodrik Forrester to do something that many would consider completely crazy. The heir to Ironrath had found himself fighting on the gantry just above the gate where wildlings were still pouring into the courtyard below him and as he peered down he saw the troll (although he would not discover this name until after the battle) which was still bashing its way through their men. Not bothering to think through what he did next as surely common sense would have stopped him he got onto the wooden railing and with his sword angled down leapt off the railing and onto the creatures back, plunging his sword straight through the back of the troll's neck.
The creature's reaction was immediate, through the gurgling of blood as it started flowing from its mouth the troll cried out in pain and desperately tried to shake Rodrik off but the Northerner held on for dear life. The creature's shaking only made the gaping wound in its throat worst and soon the blood that was now flowing down its front made a pool at its feet. The creature had lost too much and it soon fell forwards as death came upon the troll, the wildlings were astonished at the death of Styr and their enslaved troll while the deaths of two worst threats in the castle rallied the North men to renew their attack. Sensing that the battle was turning against them, the wildlings began retreating back down the tunnel that they had come through and as the last of them was chased in, Rodrik with troll's blood all down his front, raised his sword in the air and cried out in victory which was echoed by the men in the yard who were covered in sweat, mud and blood but their mood soared as they realized that against the odds they had somehow driven the enemy back…they had won. Rodrik with his sword still raised looked around and saw his father smiling broadly at him with relief and pride which brought a smile to Rodrik's own face.
Shadow Tower…
The troll that had broken through the gate at the Shadow Tower roared in anger as the men of House Bolton, House Karstark and the Night's Watch attacked, while fighting the wildlings that had followed the dumb creature. It swung its club and knocked three Bolton men aside who had been trying their best to creep up on the creature from behind. While it was distracted by them however Harrion Karstark rallied his men with a spear in his hand.
"CHARGE!" The men ran forward brandishing their spears, the creature did not have much time to react as the Karstark soldiers ran at their fastest speed and impaled the stupid creature in the belly. It howled out in pain and swung its club again. Harrion ducked to avoid the wild swipe but two of his men were caught by the heavy blow and sent flying back where those nearby could hear the sickening crack of bones breaking at they hit the walls of the castle they were defending. Harrion with his heart thundering in his ears took a firmer hold of his spear, which was still imbedded in the side of the troll and twisted the sharp weapon around inside the troll as its blood flowed out of the wounds he and his men had made. The troll cried out and slammed its fists down, crushing two more of Harrion's men leaving only the son of Rickard Karstark as the last man still attacking. Harrion desperately tried to find a weak spot as the troll stumbled slightly from the loss of blood and other wounds it had suffered, but despite Harrion's best efforts he could not bring the creature down on his own.
Lord Rickard Karstark who was cutting his way with expert precision through wildlings, suddenly noticed that his eldest son was in dire trouble. His other sons Torrhen and Eddard where busy fighting off a number of wildlings themselves and had yet to notice their brother's predicament, so Rickard fearing for his son's life ran as fast as his old body could carry him. But as he got closer to his son, wildlings kept getting in his way so Rickard slashed and stabbed his way forward but getting slower and slower. Then to his horror he saw the wounded troll smash its large meaty fist into his son's side, sending him flying across the yard into a stationary cart. Rickard saw the creature stumble forward towards his wounded boy and he honestly thought he was about to see his oldest son be killed by the horrid creature in front of him, until he saw Qhorin the Halfhand as he was known charge at the slow creature with an enormous double edged battle axe in hand. The cry alerted the creature to him although that was undoubtedly the intention and before the troll could react Qhorin swung his large axe at the creature's right leg, severing it below the knee. The creature howled in pain and toppled over which allowed Qhorin to swing his axe again and this time took the troll's head off. Rickard finally managed to get through and saw when he knelt next to his son that although injured, Harrion was not dead. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to turn and thank the Halfhand when he realised the man had run immediately off into the fray and swinging his axe like a mad man, scaring the hell out of the wildlings who were confronted with a man that had been their bane for many years during his time as a ranger.
But as Rickard went to help, he saw that the man had suddenly found himself surrounded by a large pack of wildlings. Qhorin swung his axe around in a wide arch, cleaving several wildlings across the chest before he felt a sharp pain in his back. One of the wildlings had stabbed him while his back was turned, however Qhorin refused to simply keel over and die without taking the rest of these fuckers with him. Through sheer force of will and his last burning embers of energy, he swivelled around and with blood flowing out of the gaping wound in his back, smashed his axe down into the offending wildling's head and without missing a beat despite feeling weaker by the swung his large axe and cut down two more before he felt another pain, this time in his side. He put his hand down and felt the warmth of his blood as it flowed out of the new stab wound in his side. With his vision now starting to dim he focused his every breath on attacking the wildlings that had enveloped him, cutting them down left and right as they thrust more of their blades into him until finally with his vision nearly black one of them planted their axe firmly in his head.
One the other side of the yard, Roose was cutting through the wildlings with ruthless efficiency, learnt from fighting in Robert's Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion years before. His face was a mask of calm and grim determination, while not too far away his bastard son Ramsay could not have been more different. His eyes were near wild with enjoyment at his slaughtering of the wildlings that had followed the troll into the keep. His swung his sword with a near complete lack of abandon as he enjoyed the fear on the wildlings faces as he approach. He was just finishing off one young woman with a stab to the belly when he saw the leader of the attackers coming towards him. She was a very squad looking woman with a rounded belly and was wielding a spear that had a real dog's head mounted on it. Ramsay was amused at the woman and said with a sneer.
"Have a thing against dogs' hag?" His eyes were cold and yet they seemed to sizzle with an almost manic energy that unnerved those who saw it although the woman if she could be called a woman was more insulted at his disrespect and showed it with a purple colour coming to her big cheeks as she snarled at him.
"How dare you speak to me kneeler! I am Harma the Doghead and I have been killing whelps like you since before you could draw milk from your mother's teats." Harma sneered at Ramsay who was not fazed in the slightest by her boast and said back calmly with a disturbing assurance that immediately put Harma on her guard.
"You certainly are ugly enough to be called dog…but I think that is an insult to such loyal beasts as my own pets. Perhaps you would like to see them?" He said smoothly and he whistled. There was a second of nothing happening and all that could be heard was the sounds of battle but then there was a fierce and near frenzied barking as several large and nasty looking hounds came running into the yard from the outside door. Harma was instantly frozen at the sight of the creatures she feared so much that it gave her pleasure to kill them and these beasts were particularly frightening; they were muscled, as black as the crow's banner and their mouths were near foaming. Harma's hesitation was deadly as the creatures leapt on her and began tearing into her overweight body. Her screams echoed even around the fighting in the yard and the sight of their leader being torn to shreds by the terrible hounds especially after the death of their enslaved troll, made the wildlings rethink continuing their attack and groups of them began to run back down the open tunnel and return to where they had come from.
While Ramsay looked on with fascination and excitement as his hounds tore the wildlings leader who was still alive to pieces as she screamed, the Karstarks looked on at Ramsay with a look of great concern.
Woodswatch-By-The-Pool…
In the castle that the Free Folk had taken as their own, the trolls that had smashed open the gate found themselves wrestling with the dozen or so Giants that had allied themselves with Mance Rayder. The trolls might be strong, but the giants were their equals in raw physical power and far smarter. The giants led by Wun Wun worked as a team to disarm and kill the stupid beasts that had been set against them. Wun Wun dodged a wild swing of a club from one of the stupid trolls and grabbed the offending weapon and yanked it out of the trolls grasped before smashing in the troll with its own weapon.
At the same time the Free Folk and the Northmen fought against the wildlings. Ser Wylis Manderly and Lord Flint found themselves fending off a pack of men decorated with what appeared to be human bones over their rough animal skins.
Their leader in fact had a set of armour made entirely of bones with a broken giant's skill as a helm. The clattering he made as he moved had earnt him the name Rattleshirt by both Wildling and Night's Watch alike. He was not a tall man and was actually smaller than he first appeared once you got over the bones that made up his armour, with a knobby chin, thin moustache and pinched cheeks. His reputation as a sly, cruel and treacherous man had elevated him to become a feared leader amongst the wildlings. However his skill with arms helped too as he duelled with both Lord Flint and Ser Wylis at the same time, made worst given that Ser Wylis was rather overweight, much like his father in that regard Lord Flint thought mockingly only to regret it moments later as Wylis was cut across the throat and fell to the ground gasping as blood filled his lungs and he then found himself trying desperately to hold off Rattleshirt alone. It was in vain as with a quick slash to the arm, Lord Flint dropped his sword and was then knocked to the ground by the pommel of the wildling's blade being slammed into the side of his skull. Dazed he looked up and saw Rattleshirt about to finish him off and before he could even think of saying a prayer to the Old Gods as they took his soul, an arrow flew through the air and struck Rattleshirt in the eye through the gap in his skull helm. Lord Flint looked over and saw the red haired wildling girl that had accompanied Mance Rayder earlier with her bow in hand shooting down her targets with an accuracy that would surely have won her the top place in any archery contest should she ever compete. But hoping that he might have time to admire the girl and her incredible skill later, Lord Flint got to his feet and picked up his sword before charging into the fray again.
Tormund Giantsbane nearby was in his element as his fought off the enemy wildlings. His sword arm was skilled enough and strong enough to match even the best and most powerful men south of the wall and it was showing tonight as he cut down men right, left and centre. Nearby he could see Osha with her spear stabbing up any wildling that came close to her. She flashed him a smug grin which he eagerly returned, admiring the warrior woman's spirit. He admired those that could fight their own battles rather than rely on others to do it for them, Osha was one of the former and he would eagerly drink with her to toast their victory when this battle was done. He had no doubt that they would win, their cause was just…to fight for the sake of life itself, everywhere. The cowards who had sided with the Others only delayed the inevitable and had no stomach for a true fight to the end. However the grins he had been sharing with Osha were suddenly wiped from their faces when she was suddenly impaled from behind by one of the cannibals from the Ice River Clans.
The sight of the blood caked savage sneering over Osha's corpse made a powerful rage begin to boil up from deep inside Tormund, he would not let this disgusting fiend eat Osha's flesh, he refused to allow it. He let out a rage filled cry as he charged straight at the cannibal who looked up and was still sneering despite the intimidating sight of Tormund coming straight at him and raised his rough iron sword to attack Tormund only for Tormund to smash it aside with his greatsword and carve the cannibal in half before he went on to the rest of the Ice River clans who were not too far away.
Mance Rayder however was fighting a personal duel of his own against the man that was known to the Night's Watch and Free Folk alike as the Weeper. Mance had a particular score to settle with the thick blond haired man who swung his large, curved scythe with ease, trying to cut Mance in half only for the leader of the Free Folk to deflect the strike away thanks to his steel bastard sword and years of training, both curtsy of the Night's Watch. The Weeper was the one that had struck that deal with the White Walkers and prevented him from rallying the Wildlings into his Free Folk army to try and cross the Wall and Mance could not wait as he gritted his teeth to cut the man's fucking balls off. The Weeper only stirred his anger more by sneering at him as he swung again.
"The-Would-be-King-of-the-Free-Folk is sure a big disappointment if this is all he can do." The man sneered as Mance was forced to duck and roll to avoid the latest cleave from the vicious looking scythe. Mance however struck back with a series of jabs and thrusts that wiped the smirk off the Weeper's face as he was caught in the leg and then Mance before he could recover quickly jabbed his sword into the crotch of the Weeper who immediately cried out in agony. Mance was then the one to smile and said with relish.
"Better to die a free man, than kneel to the Others!"
Castle Black…
In his room Maester Aemon could hear the sounds of battle as keenly as if he had been out there with the rest of his black brothers. He would have once been out there with them, maester or not he was still a member of the Night's Watch and he had a duty to defend the Wall at all costs. Although now he thought as he lifted his weathered hand although he could not see it as his eyes had long failed him, he was old and frail. He only wished he might have had a chance to see dragons just one time before his sight had deserted him. He put his old thin hand to his mouth as a wheezing cough erupted from his chest, making him pitch forward and his body shake. After the cough passed Aemon pressed his fingers to his palm and felt warm liquid there, something that he had been fearing for some time. His health had taken a turn for the worst of late and had shown no signs of improving. As he felt another coughing fit come on he took a sip of water to ease his throat and got up from his desk to head over to his bed, feeling suddenly very tired and was thinking over how he would explain the situation with Shaena, his several times great niece to Lord Stark. He was sure that the identity of the man who had saved her would be worthy of the conversation alone. As he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes his thoughts began to drift backwards into the past and much warmer memories.
He saw his father and his siblings, who were all long dead. They were safe and happy, despite all the darkness of the world, they were safe. It brought a smile to his face, all his colleagues at the Citadel when he had been forging his chain, the people he had known at Dragonstone when he served there as maester and at the Citadel after he had returned there for a time. More recent memories that came back to him showed Prince Rhaegar, who had only corresponded with him but all the same Aemon could see Rhaegar and his family…safe and happy. A smile came to his shrunken face as he saw his siblings beckon to him with wide and happy smiles, his old colleagues at the citadel that had long since passed, even Rhaegar was beckoning to him too. He walked to them and into their arms as they welcomed him with joyful words and praises. In the waking world as his breathing slowed and eventually stopped Aemon passed alone but the first time in a very long time, he felt not only warm but happy.
Outside those rooms, unaware that their maester had finally joined his family in the afterlife after nearly a century of service in the Order he had been sworn too, the Night's Watch and the Northerners fought on against the Wildlings.
Castle Black was filled with the sound of clashing metal and the screams of men as the battle raged. The ground was already growing slick with blood and entrails as limbs were hacked and blood spilt on both sides as they fought viciously with the fate of the North if not the entire Seven Kingdoms hanging in the balance.
Lord Stark was holding his ground near the southern gates with his sword Ice firmly in his hands cutting down any wildlings that came across his path. Despite the freezing cold air around him, Lord Stark was sweating profusely with the effort of wielding his overly large great sword so energetically in a battle. Although he was proud to wield his ancestral blade, he wished it had been something more manageable at times like this. That being said he could not help but admire how easily it cut through the wildlings' crude swords, spears and axes and their armour however much he disliked fighting and in particular killing. Despite however much his late best friend Robert had liked hunting and fighting, Ned had never enjoyed such activities himself, going along with them for the sake of his friendship with Robert. He saw them as a necessity that must occasionally be endured for the greater good and was all too keen to get them over with when he had too. He took no pleasure in what he was doing, unlike the GreatJon and his son who were openly laughing with excitement as they cut their way through the Wildlings. While he did frown at such relish at killing, he understood that sometimes killing was necessary and focused his energy on bring the fight to a swift end by pressing his attack, cutting the wildling he was facing down before moving on to the next. Ned hardened his resolve as he cut down another axe wielding cannibal from the Ice Shores and kept on fighting, the only thing in his heart…the protection of the North and more importantly to him at least, his family.
The SmallJon was swinging his strong greatsword with ease as he admired the impressive swordsmanship that Dacey Mormont was showing. She might be taller than most women at six foot tall and lanky but her form was elegant and graceful and she moved almost like it was a dance between her and their enemies. It was flawless, the SmallJon realised with a slight awe, not a single movement wasted and much to his embarrassment she noticed his staring.
"Watch your eyes Umber, or I might be tempted to discover if the name 'SmallJon' is accurate." She said with a wicked grin as she cut down a wildling that tried to smash her head in with a club. The SmallJon was taken aback for a moment before answering back with a smirk, intrigued that the Mormont lady had a playful side.
"I can assure you Lady Mormont that after this battle I will show you that my name could not be more misleading." His eyes dancing with lustful intent as he imagined having Dacey Mormont's long legs wrapped around him. She was not fazed slightly at his words and if anything her smirk only grew bigger as she said teasingly with a hot glint in her own eyes.
"Promises…promises."
Robb Stark was using every single bit of skill that he had picked up from lessons he had received from Rodrik Cassel and the hours spent training just to stay alive. The pace of combat was nothing like he had expected, there was not a single moment to be wasted on anything other than surviving and taking down your opponent. The moment he defeated one wildling, then there was immediately another one there trying to kill him just like the one before. Theon was at his side with his sword in hand in much the same mind as Robb concerning the battle. The frenzy and chaos was nothing like he had expected in all his lessons at Winterfell. He was glad to have left Greywind at Winterfell, some of these Wildlings had direwolves pelts stitched into their rough clothing and he did not want to imagine someone doing that to his wolf Robb thought with a slight dread. That did not stop him however from running the offending wildling through with his sword.
Only a short distance away Ser Allister Thorne was feeling a grim sense of satisfaction as he cut his way through a pack of wildlings with brutal efficiency. After supporting the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion and being forced to take the Black by Tywin Fucking Lannister, killing Wildlings was the only kind of pleasure he got anymore, so he intended to enjoy this opportunity to the full he thought angrily to himself as he stabbed one wildling through the eye.
He was so caught up in this that he failed to notice a large wildling with dried blood over his face like war paint, standing at nearly seven foot seven which came up behind him (partly given to the usually tall man's surprising stealth). No close enough, the tall wildling with an enormous and gruesome looking double edged axe, slammed the blunt side of it into Ser Allister's back. The southern knight was immediately knocked to the ground by the hard blow which winded him but more importantly he lost his grip on his sword which fell out of his reach. Before he could regain his bearings the wildling picked him up like a sack of grain and with a disturbing sneer pressed his thumbs into Ser Allister's eyes. The knight struggled despite the immense pain he was feeling and hit his fists with all his might against the wildling but to no avail as the thumbs pushed deeper into his eye sockets and blood ran down the side of his face. Ser Allister cried out in pain as the wildling increased the pressure of his vicious assault until the knight's cries and struggles against the wildling ceased. Satisfied the Wildling released his grip on the dead knight and turned around, picking up his overly large axe and stalked off into the battle looking for fresh prey.
The tall wildling then saw Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy, who were cutting down a pack of his fellow cannibals and he snarled in anger at the death of one of his sons who had been amongst them. He stalked over to them and focused in on the young wolf who was distracted by two of the cannibals and unable to see the brute that was approaching him, intent on murder.
Theon however as he relished in taking down another savage cannibal did see the brute approaching, but only at the last second as he loomed out from a blind spot near them. Acting without thinking as he was gripped with fear for his best friend seeing the wicked looking axe move almost in slow motion, Theon pushed Robb away from the swing of the axe. While Robb stumbled clear of deadly strike, Theon was not as lucky as the axe plunged straight into his head.
Robb could only stare as the world around him seemed to slow down as the body of his best friend with an oversized axe buried in his head fell to the ground. Robb felt immediately like someone had punched him in the stomach, a dead cold weight settled there as he witnessed the death of someone that had actually counted at least to him as a member of his family. Ever since Theon had arrived at Winterfell, he and the Greyjoy heir had been close. The older boy had brought a lot of fun and laughter into his life which although warm and loving had lacked humour to some extent. His crude talk did upset people from time to time but Theon had been someone that Robb could count on to stand at his side, it had been hoped by his father certainly that when the two of them had taken their rightful seats in the North and Iron Islands respectfully that it might bring peace and friendship between the two kingdoms that had long been at odds.
But that, Robb realised with a great sense of despair would never happen now. Theon had indeed stood at his side when he needed him, and he had led him to the grave. He was so gripped by shock that he failed to even respond as the brute came towards him, still like time had slowed down to a crawl. He saw the axe rise to strike him and Robb closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.
But the blow never came, instead all Robb heard over the sounds of battle that echoed all around was a loud crack and then a heavy thud. Daring to open his eyes Robb was astonished to see that the young blacksmith, Gendry was standing over the brute with his large hammer in hand looking incredible shocked himself as he stared down at the brute beneath him. The brute's skull at the back was caved in from a blow that would have been beyond the strength of some men. Gendry himself was astonished that he had managed to do it, after all this was his first fight. Coming to his senses despite the shock over killing the brute, Gendry offered his hand to Robb who now managed to get his faculties together enough to take it.
Unaware of the fall of the young Kraken's and his own son's brush with death, Ned Stark fought on. His sword was now very bloody from all the wildlings that he had slew that day so far and looked to be covered in yet more blood before the day was out. Not far from him Ned could see the Lord Commander Jeor Mormont wielding his own Valyrian steel blade, Longclaw with a skilled and experienced hand. Not far from him was Ned's own brother Benjen who bashed a wildling over the head with his shield before impaling him with his sword much to Ned's relief that he brother was alright. However a new threat suddenly came into view from near the stable.
A man wearing rough leathers and animal skins, wielding a spear with a skill one would associate more with a castle trained soldier than a wildling from the Beyond the Wall was moving like the wind around two members of the Night's Watch, Bowen Marsh one of the Stewards and Aegon Frey, a former brigand who had been sent here for killing his own family in the halls of Casterly Rock. The result was clear from the moment the fight started as the two Night's Watch were impaled or slashed by the spear wielding wildling who then turned his attention to Jeor Mormont who gave a hateful stare in return.
"Alfyn the Crowkiller." Jeor said darkly as he rounded on the wildling who was leading this attack, who was known for killing many members of the Night's Watch. At his side the name alone made the already cowardly Janos Slynt, the once commander of the Kings Landing City Watch blanch with fear and run rather than stand at his Lord Commander's side. The sight of the fleeing man made Alfyn smile.
"I see that you crows have truly lost whatever backbone you might once have had. Care to show me otherwise?" Alfyn challenged with a sneer that got the hackles of Jeor raised immediately and who took his ready position.
"And I will show you how little you know about the Night's Watch." Jeor said with a strong certainty that was typical of the man. Alfyn responded without another word and began his attack, his spear a blur of motion as he twirled, slashed and stabbed at Jeor who with a speed that defied his age managed to deflect the assault away from himself. Alfyn however kept up his brutally fast pace which soon began to take its toll on the older Jeor who was near twenty years his opponent's senior. Age surely worked its horrible magic on Jeor who began to slow down as his muscles and bones ached from the exertion of the fighting he had already engaged in before this particular duel. Alfyn who was more or less fresh took the upper hand slowly from Jeor and stabbed him in the thighs, the forearms and finally in the shoulders and calves bringing Jeor to his knees as Longclaw fell from his hands. Jeor looked up angrily as Alfyn stood smirking over him, daring him to end it only to be distracted by a cry from nearby.
"Lord Commander." Benjen rushed over with his shield and sword ready and Alfyn quickly evaded before surprising everyone who was watching, dropping his spear and held his hand by his waist.
"I surrender Crow." The surprise was enough to get Benjen to lower his shield slightly, leaving him unprepared when Alfyn pulled a dagger from his sleeve and threw it straight into Benjen's throat.
"NO!" Ned yelled out surprising everyone who had not realised he was nearby. He saw his last remaining brother's body fall to the ground and a rage gripped him unlike anything he had felt in a long time. His reason and calm disappeared in an instant only to be replaced with white hot anger that burned through his entire body like wildfire itself. He became numb to the cold, to his aching muscles and to his concerns for anything beyond his rage. He lifted his greatsword and charged straight at the man that had just killed his brother in such a dishonourable way and swung Ice with an anger fuelled swing that Alfyn barely avoided.
The Crowkiller was astonished and more than a little afraid of the ferocious looking Lord of the North. He had faced dangerous opponents far taller and stronger than the Northerner before but something about the sheer ferocity that had been awakened in the Quiet Wolf as Ned Stark was known made a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Stark's eyes were ablaze with a grey fire that seemed to radiate outward like it was trying to burn his enemies and his face was an almost frightening mask of anger and hatred being directed solely at him. Alfyn fell back his experience to prevent him being cowed by his fear of the Stark lord and began twirling his spear and tried to block a downward strike from Ned Stark, trusting his spear to stop the blow. The reason being that it was made of a type of wood known in the south as Ironwood, it was nearly as strong as iron itself hence the name. Strong enough to withstand most steel based weapons but Ned's sword was no normal blade and it cut straight through the ironwood shaft.
Alfyn was wide eyed at the destruction of his favoured weapon, Ned however did not care in the slightest and with another great swing of his blade he cut Alfyn the Crowkiller's head clean off his neck with an almost primeval roar of rage.
The roar was so loud that it attracted the attention of everyone in the yard for the briefest of moments. The sight of Lord Stark killing their seemingly unbeatable leader was a shocking one for the wildlings and it instantly brought fear of them being beheaded by him and his greatsword much like their leader had been. That fear was strong enough to make their resolve waver and they began in droves to abandon the fight and retreat down the tunnel that they had come from. As the last of them disappeared through smashed gate there was cheering throughout the castle from the Northerners and the Watchmen alike at every castle where there had been fighting as the sun finally peered out over the horizon.
The battle was over, they had won.
The day after the battle was solemn as those who had survived the battle took the time to mourn those that had given their lives for the North. The cost of victory had been high; nearly twelve thousand dead across the Wall although the Wildlings had suffered maybe three or four times that many. Among the dead there was Ser Allister Thorne, Maester Aemon, Othell Yarwyck, Bowen Marsh, Qhorin Halfhand from the Night's Watch, while on the Northern side Lord Galbart Glover, Ser Wendel Manderly, Lord Medger Cerwyn, Lord Halys Hornwood and Roger Ryswell listed as causalities.
While the bodies of the Watchmen that had perished were given the traditional cremation that the brotherhood had practiced since they were first established and the Free Folk did the same with their own dead, the lords of the North prepared the bodies of their own family to ensure they were given the proper rights at their home castles.
Ned himself in a private room was looking down on the bodies of his brother Benjen and his deceased ward Theon Greyjoy. Seeing the cold, damaged body of his last remaining sibling brought a tear to Ned's eye. He was now the last of his generation, the only surviving child of Rickard Stark and for the rest of his days, he would never get to speak to his brother again…never hear his laughter, talk about Brandon, Lyanna or their father. So many things that he never seemed to have the chance to say, the opportunity was lost now Ned reflected sadly. His hand gently rested on Benjen's shoulder, Ned silently wished his brother well in the next life as he went to leave only to see his son slowly enter the room. Robb's gaze however was on the body of Theon Greyjoy and his eyes spoke of his inner turmoil over his friend dying so he could live.
"Father…." Robb struggled and failed to find the words to express how he was feeling at that moment, the grief that was ready to swallow him up whole, the anger at how it happened, his hatred of himself for not being able to stop it, for not watching his surroundings closely enough to see that brute coming. As if sensing his feelings his father put a comforting hand on his shoulder and said gently to him.
"Life is unexpected my son. You can never tell which path you might find yourself travelling down, regardless of what goals or intentions you have. Theon fought for what he believed in and fell where he stood. He made his choices and they led him here, just as I have made my choices, Benjen made the choice to join the Watch and you made your choices." Robb absorbed what his father was telling him and despite the small comfort the words brought, the gnawing guilt he was feeling was still there. He tried to explain to his father what he was feeling, hoping that there was some insight he could share to ease the pain he was experiencing.
"But I…I…feel responsible father. Theon died to save my life, if I had been more attentive…" He started saying only for his father to interrupt him.
"And he might have died falling off a horse, a fever could have taken him, he could have been fighting alone and been struck down by his enemy. Life is never certain son, you never know when your time will come, all we can do is live our lives…and carry on. The pain might never fade or it might disappear with time, you can dwell on the past like Robert Baratheon did and waste away." Ned said feeling disloyal for insulting his friend's memory like this but it was true and he wanted to help his own son if he could with the example. "Or you can look to the future. You can never know what might be in wait beyond the next sunrise, all you can do is live son and keep on living until you feel alive again." He told him, the same thing his old mentor Jon Arryn had told him when he had first heard that he brother and father had been murdered by the Mad King, hoping that it would help his son now.
Robb tried to accept his father's words although he still felt the pain inside. He nodded to his father who pulled him into a hug which Robb returned quickly, glad beyond belief that his father was still here to talk too.
After the men were through with remembering the dead, the celebration of their incredible victory began. In the halls of Castle Black the north men met with the Watch and the Free Folk as the ale flowed. There was music and much laughter and cheering as the men revelled in their achievement and Ned sat at the table with the still recovering Jeor Mormont and other Northern lords toasting to each other and their fallen dead. The smoke filled room with a roaring fire in the hearth and the singing and shouting was typical of a Northern meeting that usually ended in a massive brawl. Ned was already getting a headache from all the noise but he firmly fixed a smile on his face and played his part as Lord of the North. He felt slightly bemused as he witnessed the SmallJon and Dacey Mormont sneaking out looking very carefully to make sure that Jeor Mormont and the GreatJon were busy looking elsewhere. Ned thought about bringing it up with the two men but decided against it and made a mental note to suggest a betrothal between the two younger nobles to their houses when he next had the chance. Also amongst the crowd he saw his oldest son Robb sitting with Gendry and several other younger Northern nobles and laughing slightly causing Ned to smile as he saw some life back in his son alongside the red haired Free Folk archer he remember had the Ygritte. The rather fierce young woman was in some kind of drinking contest with Lord Flint and the Flint was losing rather badly Ned realised with a smile. It was also strange to see Robb with Gendry, in many ways echoing him and Robert in their youth although he hoped that the young men in front of him would show more restraint than Robert had. Tormund was arm wrestling with the GreatJon and the two men appeared locked in an impasse which Ned hoped would be broken soon or they were likely to dislocate their own arms.
He then turned to the new lord of Deepwood Motte, Robett Glover who was sitting there slightly aloof from his surroundings, probably mourning his own brother Ned realised and Ned asked him quietly.
"Have you thought about what you will do about the Whitehills abandoning their posts during the battle?" Normally he would never ask such an insensitive question at a time like this but given it was concerning his bannermen, Ned felt the need to know what the new Lord Glover intended. His question was answered with a cold fury by Robett but it was not directed at Ned himself.
"The Whitehills cowardice led to my brother's death Lord Stark. What do you think I am going to do about it? Highpoint will be stripped from them and awarded to the Forresters, who stayed at my side after my brother was killed and fought on like true Northern men. The Whitehill's daughter Gwyn will be held by the Forresters as a hostage to ensure they do not cause any future trouble. I believe the girl was in love with Lord Forrester's son Asher, if he returned to the North they can rule Highpoint and the matter will be closed." Lord Glover said with an edge to his voice that stopped Ned enquiring further. He respected the man's desire to mourn his brother in peace and nodded before turning to Lord Rickard Karstark who was especially merry given that his son Harrion had escaped major injuries and would fight again once he had recovered. Seeing that the Karhold lord was not yet deep enough into his cups that he was drunk, Ned spoke about something he wanted to propose to one of his strongest bannermen.
"Rickard? I was wondering if tomorrow we could discuss a betrothal between my son Robb and your daughter Alys. I was meaning to arrange it before but matters in the south took my attention." He said coming straight to the point which definitely caught Rickard's attention, who turned around looking very surprised but eagerness soon took over and he eagerly nodded, loving the idea Ned knew of his daughter being the future lady of Winterfell.
Ned meanwhile then turned his thoughts to another piece of unfinished business…the Free Folk. They had fought alongside the men that had been killing them for years and defended the North from the Wildling invasion although it had cost them dearly too. He would allow them to settle in the North. There was more than enough unused land for them to set up their own settlement without encroaching on the other northerners. Beside Ned thought darkly, he could hardly expect them to return north of the Wall now that they had sided against their own people and worst that the White Walkers had awakened. The North needed to be ready and although he knew not everyone would be happy with this, but he could hardly send them to their deaths.
He would do his best to support Jon when he came to take his rightful throne but his attention now had to be on the threat that was north of the Wall, the enemy of all life in the world and his people would be the first ones to face them.
He would do his best to make them ready…he swore it.
Roose Bolton sat alone that night at the end of the table, he was being slighted again because of not only his family's reputation but because of what his bastard son Ramsay had done. Setting those dogs on that wildling had been foolish and he would make sure to box the boy's ears next time they were alone. But still he had hoped that his service might have warranted some mention but it seems he had been forgotten again, Roose thought bitterly. He deserved more than this life of being looked down on by the other Northern houses and yet it was all he was ever likely to receive he thought to himself, putting his tankard down and walking out of the hall without anyone noticing.
He would get what he deserved, Roose swore to himself as his temper rose. Whatever else happened, the Boltons would one day rule the North.
In the Far North beyond the Wall, the Wildlings that had fled the battle with the crows, traitors and kneelers were licking their wounds on the Icy shore. They were so caught up in this that they failed to notice movement in the snow covered forests behind them. Had they done so they would have seen that these interlopers were no normal men, their skin was rotting or worn away, bones visible and animal skins hung loosely from their skeletal frames. Nor where those who directed them normal men. Skin that was grey and stretched over bones with eyes of a strange frightening blue and ice in their very bodies. The snow around them seemed to escalate to the levels of a blizzard which was the only real warning that the wildlings got about the threat before it struck.
Trapped against the shore and the Walkers with their wights, the Wildlings never had a chance as the slaughter began. Within an hour there was only silence as thousands of lives were snuffed out and the ranks of the dead rose. Now the Night King realised as he dispassionately watched the slaughter was not the time to strike, that Wall would come down on its own.
All he had to do was wait.