The sky above Castle Black had turned the color of a bruised plum, and heavy, wet snowflakes had begun to spiral down through the freezing night wind. Below the massive shadow of the Wall, the black brothers had lit a dozen bonfires. Men huddled together in the flickering orange light, their breath forming thick white plumes as they whispered about the sudden arrival of the Karstark host.
Castle Black sat at the center of the Wall, the destination of the King's Road. It was here that Eddard had chosen to plant his banner. He needed the gates, the only two functioning tunnels through the ice to manage the coming tide of Mance Rayder's people. If the negotiations succeeded, these gates would be the threshold of a new North. If they failed, they would be the mouth of a tomb.
Inside the King's Tower, the air was stagnant and cold. Eddard sat sprawled in a heavy stone chair, his silver plate armor reflecting the dim candlelight. Before him was a rough-hewn table made of oak planks, devoid of the carvings or silks one would find in the South.
He raised his grey-blue eyes, scanning the senior officers of the Night's Watch.
To his left sat Carter Pyke, the Commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. He looked every bit the Ironborn raider he had once been, small, close-set eyes full of a feral ruthlessness, a broken nose, and a face so pockmarked it looked like it had been peppered with buckshot.
Opposite him was Dennis Mallister, the Commander of the Shadow Tower. He was a knightly figure, his long white beard neatly groomed despite the conditions. His blue-grey eyes were soft with age but sharp with the wisdom of a man who had seen too many winters.
Then there was Janos Slynt. The former Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing was a man who resembled a toad stuffed into black wool. He had a double chin that quivered when he breathed and a bald head that caught the light. He was Tywin Lannister's creature, sent here to ensure the Lion's influence reached the ends of the earth.
Beside them were Bowen Marsh, the "Old Pomegranate," red-faced and round; Alliser Thorne, the master-at-arms with eyes like chips of obsidian; and Othell Yarwyck, the First Builder, who seemed more interested in the moldy ceiling than the conversation.
At the far end of the table sat Maester Aemon. Though blind and over a hundred years old, the Targaryen prince smiled gently toward the space where Eddard sat.
"My Lord Karstark," Aemon said, his voice a soft, melodic rasp. "The duty of the Watch is to be the shield that guards the realms of men against the Free Folk. Now you come to tell us that we must hand over the Gift, the lands given to us by Brandon the Builder to those very same raiders. I fear many of my brothers will find this... difficult to swallow."
A murmur of indignant agreement rippled through the room.
Eddard shook his head slowly. "When the First Men raised this Wall, their enemy was the dark. They fought the Others. Later, when the Others became ghosts of legend, you turned your swords against the Free Folk because there was no one else left to kill. But the world has changed, Maester. The legends are walking again. Should the Watch not remember its original vow? The Free Folk are still men. They breathe. They bleed. I would rather have them tilling the Gift than marching in a white walker's vanguard."
Bowen Marsh gritted his teeth, his face turning a deeper shade of red. "The Gift belongs to the Night's Watch. It is ours by ancient law."
"It is a wasteland," Eddard countered, his tone turning icy. "Your farms are ruins. Your apiaries are empty. You have enough men to garrison three castles out of nineteen. You are a skeleton holding a shield too heavy for your bones. The only reason my three thousand soldiers haven't cleared this room is because King Robb still values your tradition."
"King Robb would not order a massacre of the Watch," Aemon said, his confidence unshakeable.
"No, he wouldn't," Eddard agreed. "But he has given me the authority to secure the North. My plan is simple: settle the Free Folk who will submit, hire them to clear the Dreadfort, and use them to bolster the Wall. I need a Lord Commander who sees the future, not just the mud at his feet."
Carter Pyke stiffened. "That is for the brothers to decide! We choose our own leader."
"I am not depriving you of the vote," Eddard said, a predatory smile touching his lips. "Let's choose now. Immediately. But consider this: I have nominated Jon Snow. If he is elected, the King in the North will provide three hundred fresh recruits and a year's worth of grain and salt-beef. If you choose a man like... Lord Slynt..." Eddard glanced at the toad-faced man, "...then you are choosing the Lannisters. And the Lannisters are very far away, while my three thousand 'Winter Guards' are standing right outside your door."
Janos Slynt lowered his gaze, his face turning a sickly grey. He knew the stories of "Heartbreaker." He knew Eddard Karstark had beheaded six lords in a single morning at the Crossing.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
"Maester Aemon," Eddard said, standing up and retrieving Heartbreaker from where it leaned against the wall. "I will give you your privacy. Debate. Argue. But do not forget that the Night is coming. I expect a result by dawn."
Eddard walked out, the heavy thump of his boots echoing in the stairwell.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Janos Slynt exploded. "He's a tyrant! He's trying to force a turncoata, man who murdered Qhorin Halfhand into the highest office of the Watch! We cannot allow this!"
"Now you find your voice?" Carter Pyke sneered. "You looked like a roasted quail while he was sitting there. You were practically hiding under the table."
"It doesn't matter," Alliser Thorne hissed. "We can tell the brothers to exclude Snow. Karstark can't kill us all."
Dennis Mallister shook his head, his white beard trembling. "Can't he? He is the 'Winter Wizard.' He destroyed the Reach vanguard in ten minutes. If we defy him and he orders us into a 'decisive battle' against Mance Rayder's hundred thousand, who do you think will die first? We will be the front line. We will be the meat. And after we are dead, he will simply appoint Jon Snow anyway."
"They're too strong," Othell Yarwyck muttered, looking at the door. "Every one of those Karstark men is an elite. They look at us like we're already corpses."
The argument raged for hours, circling between honor, survival, and fear. Janos Slynt barked about Lannister gold, while Bowen Marsh whined about the sanctity of the Gift.
Finally, Maester Aemon spoke. He sat forward, his blind eyes seeming to pierce the very souls of the men around the table.
"Gentlemen," Aemon said softly. "The Old Bear is dead. The Fist was a slaughter. The brothers are terrified. In this darkness, we need a name that brings light. Jon Snow is a son of Winterfell. He has seen the dead. He knows the Free Folk. And most importantly, he brings the strength of the North with him."
Aemon stood up, his frail frame suddenly imbued with an ancient gravity. "Do you remember the words? We are the fire that burns against the cold. The light that brings the dawn. If we choose to spite a Karstark for the sake of a tradition, we are choosing to let the fire go out."
Othell Yarwyck was the first to stand. He began to recite the vow, his voice low and rhythmic. One by one, the others joined. Even Janos Slynt and Alliser Thorne were forced to stand, their voices bitter but present.
"I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."
Maester Aemon nodded. "The meeting is concluded. Spread the word. The 998th Lord Commander will be chosen tonight."
[System Notification: Political Influence triggered.]
[Target: Night's Watch Leadership.]
[Current Favor: Jon Snow (75%).]
[Status: The long-standing opposition is crumbling.]
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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