Chapter 8 - Decision & Stranded Dragons
The Wall looked larger with every step Matt took towards it. By the time they reached the foot of the giant structure, it felt as if the sky itself leaned on the top of the frozen cliff. Castle Black sat just beneath the Wall, looking small in front of the massive sheet of ice behind it. The wooden buildings seemed old and weather-beaten. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. Men dressed in black cloaks walked across the yard carrying firewood, training with swords or dragging barrels from the storage sheds.
Benjen Stark rode at the front. Matt followed him closely. The rest of the Night's Watch brothers stayed behind them in a neat line. The yard near the gates had several guards on duty. They watched the riders approach with careful eyes. Their hands rested on their weapons. Castle Black always checked everyone who came through the gate, even in peaceful times.
When the guards recognised the First Ranger, their expressions changed at once. A few straightened their backs. Some gave stiff nods of respect.
"First Ranger Stark," one of the guards said loudly.
"Open the gate!" another called.
The wooden gate groaned as it was pulled aside. Matt watched the chains move and heard the heavy creaking as the door allowed them into the yard.
Benjen greeted the guards, "Good to be back."
The men saluted him. Matt saw the relief and respect on their faces. Benjen Stark was respected here, maybe even loved.
He nodded at Matt, "Come. We go to the Lord Commander first."
The brothers behind them went toward the stables and their own barracks. Matt stepped off his horse and followed Benjen across the yard. The ground was packed dirt mixed with frozen patches of snow. Cold wind blew constantly, sharper than anything around Winterfell.
They reached the base of the Lord Commander's Tower. A wooden stairway climbed in a spiral along the outside. Matt and Benjen walked up together. The wind grew stronger the higher they climbed.
Benjen knocked on the door.
"Enter," came a deep voice from inside.
Benjen opened the door and stepped in and Matt followed.
Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander, stood behind a rough wooden table. He had a massive frame, a bald head, and a grizzled beard. His eyes were sharp but tired. Letters and maps were spread before him.
"Benjen," Mormont said. "You're back sooner than expected."
Benjen handed him the scrolls. "My lord, these letters come from Winterfell and from the Council of the North. You will want to read them."
"Council of the North?" Mormont took the scrolls and opened the first one. His eyebrows pulled together as he read. He reached the second letter and frowned even more. By the time he finished the last one, he looked displeased.
He exhaled sharply. "You want… the wildlings to be settled in the Gift?"
Benjen said, "It is the decision and request of the Northern Lords. And they ask for your support."
Mormont stared at the signatures and seals. There were many. Ned Stark. Manderly. Umber. Karstark. Bolton. Reed. Mormont. All of them.
"It is not easy to deny this," Mormont muttered. "But this is not a simple request. The Wall is under my command."
Benjen stepped back. He gestured for Matt to speak.
Matt met the Lord Commander's eyes. "We cannot let thousands of free folk stay outside the Wall. They will die. And if they die, they will rise again as wights."
Benjen added, "The lords did not like the plan. They hate the wildlings. But they accepted the truth."
Mormont still looked unsure. "Even if I agree, how will you convince the wildlings? They do not bend. They do not kneel."
Matt said, "They do not need to kneel. They only need to live."
Mormont did not answer. He reached for a bell on his table.
"Send for Maester Aemon," he ordered.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Maester Aemon stepped inside. The old man walked slowly with a cane. His blind eyes were pale and clouded. But despite his age, his presence still felt steady.
"You called for me, Lord Commander?" Aemon asked gently.
Mormont handed him the letters from Lord Stark and the North. Meanwhile he read the letter written by the Lady of Bear Island, his sister Maege Mormont.
Aemon held the parchment close. Though blind, he read by touch and memory. His fingers brushed the signatures present. He recognised the seal of the lords
Aemon said softly, "They give their full support. We should try this diplomatic approach once. Maybe it will cease the unending war from thousands of years."
Mormont closed his eyes. That was the last piece of advice he needed.
"If the North believes this must be done," Mormont said finally, "then the Night's Watch will not stand against it. I will speak with the wildlings. But I doubt they will agree."
"I will make them agree," Matt said.
Mormont raised an eyebrow. "You speak with strong confidence."
"The Walkers gain strength with every dead body. We cannot give them thousands more."
The Lord Commander nodded slowly. It was decided.
"You, Benjen, and ten men will ride with me at first light. We will speak with them together," Mormont declared.
Benjen bowed his head. Matt did the same.
"You are dismissed," Mormont added.
Benjen turned and left the room. Matt walked behind him. But when he reached the hallway, he turned back.
Maester Aemon was just stepping out of the Lord Commander's solar.
"Maester," Matt called quietly. "May I speak with you? Alone."
Aemon paused. He tilted his head slightly. "Why?"
"It is important."
Aemon studied his voice for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Follow me."
They walked slowly to Mester Aemon's chamber. It was a small narrow room with shelves of scrolls and books, a simple bed and a single fire burning weakly in a brazier.
Aemon sat down with effort. "What is it you wish to speak about?"
Matt closed the door.
"I wanted to talk about the Targaryens with one of the most senior Targaryens alive," Matt finally answered.
Aemon froze. For a long moment he said nothing. He was shocked by two things.
Then he whispered, "How… do you know that name?"
Aemon's breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled on his cane as he continued.
"And you said 'One of the most senior'? Boy, do you know what you are saying? I am nearing a hundred years. There is no Targaryen older than me. No one is even left in the whole of Westeros. Only two orphaned children remain stranded across the sea, roaming like beggars. All the others are dead."
"That is not true," Matt said softly. "There is another child. Alive. Here in Westeros."
Aemon's face lit with sudden, pure hope, something he had not felt in years. It warmed his old features like a soft light.
But then the hope dimmed. He lowered his head.
"If a Targaryen child lives here, he will be hunted," Aemon said. "The realm fears our name. They will kill him."
Matt stepped closer. "I will let you meet him. And I will bring the other two children back home one day. Not now. But soon, when the time comes."
Aemon looked up with shock and his voice shook. "You don't know what you are speaking. Its madness. They will all be killed by those beasts in the Capital."
Matt was firm, "Forget about those beasts from the King Landing. The realm needs them and they will be protected."
Aemon was still shaking his head in denial, "Madness."
Matt continued, "You asked why I called you one of the most senior. There is someone older than you."
Aemon stared into the darkness. "Who? Who could have lived longer?"
"Brynden Rivers, who came with you to take the Black."
He was also known by his nickname, The Bloodraven. He carried Dark Sister, Targaryen's ancestral sword. He was once the Hand of the King. And them he became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, long before Jeor Mormont.
Aemon's cane slipped. It nearly fell from his hands.
He whispered, "Great Uncle Brynden…? Alive? That cannot be. He vanished beyond the Wall. And now he would have been nearing one and a half century. He should have died long ago."
"He lives. And he has waited for this time. The time, the reason for which you both came to the Wall."
Aemon's face grew pale. "You speak as if you know our purpose."
"I know the prophecy of Aegon. The cold grows day by day. The long night is coming again. You know that from the letters itself. And preparation for it has already begun."
Aemon's lips parted, but no sound came out. He sat in silence, overwhelmed with part hope, part fear, part disbelief.
He whispered, "The prophecy is true?"
"Yes, the reason you both came here, your belief in the prophecy. The time has come. The Long Night is coming. And the one who would save the realm, by Blood and Fire, the Prince That Was Promised, will come."
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End of Chapter 8 - Decision & Stranded Dragons