"What if you wish to break free of your fate? When something comes back to you, you may speak to me—or to Lady Erevi, the lady you just met."
"Believe me. I possess such power."
Kal reached out and patted Jojen on the head. He did not press him further. After leaving that promise behind, he mounted his horse and rode on ahead.
"Brother…" Meera Reed, who had been waiting nearby, stepped forward, her face troubled.
Meera was bright of spirit, a sharp contrast to Jojen's somber nature.
And the only thing that could make Meera unhappy or anger her was a matter concerning Jojen.
"His Grace said he could save me…" Jojen looked to his sister, and his eyes gleamed faintly.
…
The wind and snow beyond the forest had already ceased. With winter's coming, night seemed to fall ever earlier—even here, in the uttermost North.
Forest paths were ever hard to travel. With more than two hundred men, along with wagons and supplies moving together, speed was never possible.
Thus, under the gathering dark, this modest expedition could only choose to make camp.
"Where is this place?"
Kal's gaze rested upon the great weirwood standing at the heart of the village before him as he asked Benjen, who had come to his side.
"White Tree Village. A small settlement of the free folk… and plainly abandoned by its people."
White Tree Village consisted of four single-room houses set about a sheepfold and a well.
The houses were built of stone without mortar, their roofs laid with turf, their windows covered in tattered pelts.
Rising above the houses stood a massive, ugly weirwood. Its branches were pale, its leaves dark red. Most dreadful of all was the face carved into its trunk—its mouth gaping wide enough to swallow an entire sheep.
The golden-furred hound JJ was now bounding about the weirwood, leaping up and down. Erevi, at some point, had climbed into the tree as well; she stood there with her eyes closed, doing who knew what.
"It seems we have all the more reason to pay a visit to Craster's Keep."
Looking at the heart tree, Kal spoke slowly.
This was the fourth village Kal had passed that day. Like the three before it, it too had been wholly abandoned—its inhabitants vanished without a trace.
Time passed in a blink, and once more it was the following evening.
A party that had traveled all day with haste as its chief aim arrived, at a not inconsiderable pace, before a small hill.
Upon the hill stood a long, low hall built of branches plastered with mud. Its double doors, fashioned from two deer hides, were left half-closed against the cold wind.
An earthen berm encircled the wooden hall. To the southwest of the berm was a small gate, beside which a swift stream wound its way north.
Looking out across the grounds within the berm, one could see a midden heap, a pigsty, and a sheepfold.
As though it had already seen the army's approach, the hall now lay in silence.
"Your Grace, I will go and offer greetings first."
At last having reached their destination, Benjen let out a breath of relief.
The three villages they had passed that day—each likewise empty—had filled him with unease. They had not chosen to lodge in any of them, instead pressing on with greater speed toward Craster's Keep.
They had hoped Craster had not departed with the other wildlings. Fortune had not disappointed him.
Only, it seemed the master of this place did not welcome them.
Yet when Benjen Stark, Lord Commander, moved to step forward of his own accord, Kal raised a hand to halt him.
Then he turned his head slightly. Dacey Mormont, standing in attendance behind him, was the first to recover from her brief start.
"Take thirty men. Secure this place. Remember—no killing, and do not frighten the girls here."
Benjen's face changed at once, clearly not expecting Kal to choose such a course. He instinctively opened his mouth to speak.
But this time it was Robb who laid a hand upon him. "Uncle, for them this is the best way. The King is merciful. They will have a better life."
At Robb's counsel, Benjen paused, then could only sigh.
He knew Robb spoke no falsehood. Kal's command was indeed merciful.
Though the method was… unexpected.
Seeing that the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch did not oppose him, Kal then looked toward him.
"Under Heaven, all land is the King's. Within the borders, all are the King's subjects."
"The moment I set foot upon this land, it meant history had already changed. Lord Commander Benjen, one day you will understand the meaning of these words."
Kal smiled faintly and patted Benjen upon the shoulder in reassurance.
Faced with thirty armored riders bearing swords, the resistance Craster could offer was exceedingly limited.
He roared, brandishing the axe in his hand as he cursed and hurled abuse. Yet all his efforts came to nothing the moment Dacey struck him with a single punch.
The chaos within the earthen hall did not last long. Once the only man here had been subdued, Craster's wives and daughters could only submit under the threat of force.
"I recall we have maesters among our party. Theon, take some men and food. Go and settle these girls. Have the maesters look them over as well."
Looking at the girls—filthy from head to toe, ragged and unkempt to the point their sex was scarcely discernible—Kal seemed to remember something and turned to the stunned Theon behind him.
Having lost the name Greyjoy, Theon had not chosen to take another surname for himself. He kept only the name Theon, though he had already been knighted and had the right to style himself anew.
Yet now he wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard.
At the King's command, he bowed in assent and turned back into the ranks to summon men.
Just then, the tall and broad-shouldered Dacey strode forward, one hand gripping a wildling just as ragged as the rest.
"Bah! Cursed crows! You should all burn in the Seven Hells! I should never have trusted you!"
Bound with rope and dragged before them, Craster was tossed aside by Dacey as though he weighed nothing. He writhed in the mud like a maggot. Catching sight of Benjen among the crowd, he spat toward him and began cursing anew.
"Your Grace, this man is the master of this place."
The white-cloaked Dacey dropped to one knee and made her report to Kal.
Her words struck Craster at once. Like a quail seized by the throat, he fell abruptly silent.
Straining to lift his head, he looked at the King mounted before him, a white bearskin cloak draped across his shoulders.
"What did you just call him?"
Craster's voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide and round.
"Before you stands the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, the sole rightful heir to the Iron Throne, His Grace King Kal the First of House Baratheon."
"Craster, you will show the King the respect he is due."
Fearing that Craster might provoke Kal's wrath, Benjen quickly spoke up to make the introduction and remind him of what was required.
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