Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 85: Reinforcements
Ned Stark looked down at the sea of wildling torches and doubted he would see the dawn.
The Lord of Winterfell stood atop the Wall, his hands frozen around the hilt of his sword, his breath misting in the frigid air.
Below, the forest teemed with fire...tens of thousands of torches, stretching as far as the eye could see, a river of light that marked the greatest host the North had faced in eight thousand years.
The wildling army had gathered at the edge of the tree line, and for hours they had hurled themselves against the Wall.
For hours, the black brothers had thrown them back.
But then the giants came.
Ned watched as one of the creatures lumbered toward the gate, a massive ram of iron and wood clutched in its hands. The mammoths followed, their tusks wrapped in chains, their hides thicker than boiled leather.
Arrows bounced off them like straw. Even the catapults, hurling jars of pitch and flaming oil, seemed only to annoy the beasts.
"The gate will not hold much longer," Jon said beside him. His nephew's face was pale beneath the grime, his arm still in a sling from the arrows that had nearly killed him. "There are too many. If we lose the tunnel, we are doomed."
Ned looked down at the courtyard. The south gate of Castle Black had been breached. Wildlings poured through the opening from the south, shouting and screaming.
Black brothers met them with steel and arrows, but for every wildling that fell, two more took his place. The snow was red, and the bodies were piling high.
"Father." Bran's voice came from behind him. The boy stood with his bow in his hand, his quiver nearly empty. Olly was beside him. "We cannot hold the top much longer. They are climbing the ice. Hundreds of them."
Ned turned. Along the eastern face of the Wall, dark shapes crawled upward...wildling climbers.
The archers were doing their best to pick them off, but there were too many, and the arrows were running low.
"How many arrows remain?" Ned asked.
"Enough for perhaps an hour," Bran said. "Maybe less."
An hour.
Ned looked back at the forest, at the endless sea of torches, at the giants pounding at the gate with their massive ram.
'We will not last an hour,' he thought of Winterfell. Of the ravens he had sent two days ago, begging for reinforcements. There had been no answer.
That was the strangest thing. He knew his son Robb would have acted immediately upon reading that letter. The boy was eager for battle, eager to prove himself.
Perhaps the birds had been lost. Perhaps the wildlings south of the Wall had shot them down. Perhaps the message had never arrived.
'If we die here,' Ned thought, 'the wildlings will pour south. Thousands of innocents will die.'
He drew his sword. The steel gleamed in the torchlight, and the weight of it in his hand steadied him.
"Men of the Night's Watch!" His voice rang out across the Wall, carrying over the wind and the screams. "We have held this Wall for eight thousand years! We will not let it fall today! Fight with me! Fight for the North! Fight for—"
Horns.
Ned stopped.
The sound came from the north. From the forest...from behind the wildling host. They were the horns of heavy cavalry...hundreds of them.
They echoed across the frozen field, a sound that seemed to shake the very ice beneath his feet.
The wildlings turned. And then the trees erupted with steel.
Men on horses, armored in plate and mail, poured from the forest.
They hit the wildling rear like a hammer striking an anvil, and the wildlings' formations broke apart.
They had come expecting to kill a few hundred black brothers, not to face a proper army.
Screams filled the air, but they were not the screams of the dying Watch.
They were the screams of the free folk, cut down by the hundreds, trampled by the thousands.
On the Wall, the black brothers stared in disbelief.
"Reinforcements!" someone shouted. "The North has come! The banners have been called!"
"Winterfell! Winterfell!"
Ned did not join the cheering. He was watching the banners...the standards carried by the horsemen as they cut through the wildling host.
They were not the direwolf of Stark. They were not the moose of Hornwood, nor the bear of Mormont, nor the chain of Umber.
They were stags. Golden stags on a field of green, surrounded by flames.
'Stannis,' Ned thought. 'Stannis Baratheon has come north.'
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
The battle ended within the hour.
The wildlings broke and fled, scattering into the forest, pursued by Stannis's knights.
The giants fell, one by one, brought down by arrows and spears and the sheer weight of numbers. Their massive bodies crashed to the ground, shaking the earth.
The mammoths stampeded, crushing their own, their trumpeting cries fading into the distance.
The climbers on the Wall were picked off by archers who had found new heart, their frozen bodies tumbling down the ice like broken dolls.
By the time the sun broke over the horizon, the field before the Wall was carpeted with corpses.
Thousands of wildlings lie dead. The survivors had either disappeared into the trees or been captured by Stannis's army.
The ground was covered in blood, and the air was thick with the smell of death.
Ned descended from the Wall, his legs aching, his heart heavy. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, after spending the entire night under siege.
Every muscle in his body screamed, and his hands were raw from gripping his sword.
"Father." Jon approached, his face pale beneath the grime. "It was Stannis. He saved us all."
Ned nodded. "I saw the banners. A flaming stag. The Night's Watch owes him a great debt."
Jon frowned. "He does not know you are here. Perhaps it would be best if-"
"I will not hide from him." Ned knew what Jon was thinking. As the Lord of Winterfell, he had greatly offended Stannis by refusing to call the banners in his name after receiving a dozen letters demanding it.
He had also given refuge to the children of the Regent Queen Cersei and had once more refused Stannis's demand to turn Tommen and Myrcella over to him.
But running away was not an option, and Ned was sure that Stannis would soon learn that he was here from the mouth of the black brothers.
"Listen to me, Jon." Ned's face was stern. "Whatever happens next, I do not want you to do anything."
Jon flinched. "But—"
"You are a man of the Night's Watch. You swore an oath not to intervene in political matters. This is between Stannis and me. You will stay clear of it. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Father."
"Just keep an eye on your brother, Bran. That is all I ask. When a chance appears, send him back home." Ned did not think Stannis would harm his son.
The Baratheon middle brother was many things...cold, rigid, unforgiving, but he had always been a fair man. Or so Ned had believed.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ned watched as they approached.
The men of the Night's Watch had opened the gates for Stannis and his army. They cheered, shouting his name with joy, waving their swords and torches. They had been saved, and they did not care who had saved them.
Stannis Baratheon rode through the chaos, his horse picking its way through the mud and blood with the air of a man who had never doubted the outcome.
He was thinner than Ned remembered, his face more gaunt, his eyes shadowed by lack of sleep.
The crown of red gold sat heavy on his brow, and his black cloak was trimmed with the yellow of House Baratheon.
Behind him came a beautiful woman with red hair...Melisandre of Asshai, the red priestess. Her crimson robes were draped over her horse, and her striking pale eyes were fixed on Ned with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
Beside her rode the Onion Knight, Ser Davos Seaworth, the smuggler turned Hand of the King. His weathered face was lined with worry, his eyes darting between his king and the Lord of Winterfell.
Ned stepped forward to meet them. Around him, the black brothers watched in silence. Jon stood near the stairs, his hand on Bran's shoulder.
The Stark veterans had formed a loose line behind Ned, their hands on their swords, their eyes wary.
"Lord Stannis," Ned said, inclining his head.
Stannis stopped. His eyes, dark and cold as the Wall itself, studied Ned for a long moment.
"I am a king, Lord Stark." His voice was flat, devoid of warmth. The deep frown on his face showed his offense. "You will address me as 'Your Grace.'"
Ned held his gaze. "You are not yet king, Your Grace. I recall there is a ceremony for that. We had one for Robert."
"Ceremonies can wait until the war is over and my enemies are buried." Stannis's jaw tightened. "But you have not bent the knee. I sent you letters. A dozen of them. I called on you to fulfill your duty as Warden of the North, to rally your bannermen to the rightful king. You did nothing."
"I did not sit idle, Your Grace." Ned kept his voice steady. "I kept the North safe."
"Safe?" Stannis's eyes narrowed. "You sheltered the Lannister children. The spawn of the woman who murdered my brother, who stole my throne. You gave them refuge in your own halls, treated them as guests, while I fought and bled in the south."
"They are children," Ned said. "They had no part in their mother's schemes."
"They are bastards." Stannis's voice was cold. "Born of incest and treason. And you, Lord Stark, have failed in your duty by protecting them."
Ned felt the weight of the men's eyes upon him. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
"I have learned that duty is not always simple, Your Grace." He kept his voice calm. "I went south to serve Robert. I trusted the wrong people. I said things I should have kept silent. And I almost lost my head for it." He paused. "I am being cautious now. One does not bend the knee to a king without considering the consequences."
Stannis stared at him. Melisandre whispered something in his ear, too soft for Ned to hear.
"What are you even doing here, Lord Stark?" Stannis's tone was grudging. "Even the Red Woman did not see you in her flames."
Ned glanced at the red priestess. "I know nothing of the magic of the Red Temple. But I imagine she does not know everything either."
"Lord Stark is an honorable man," Melisandre said. Her voice was soft, almost musical, but there was a power beneath it that made Ned's hair stand on end. "He came to defend the Wall. That is more than most southern lords have done."
"What about you, Your Grace?" Ned forced the title out. "I did not expect to see your armies this far north. Last I heard, you were still on Dragonstone."
Stannis exchanged a look with Melisandre, then turned back to Ned. "The true enemy is not in the south, Lord Stark. The true enemy is beyond the Wall. Or so I have been told. Winter is coming. The Long Night comes with it. I have been chosen to save Westeros from this plight."
"Chosen?"
"By the Lord of Light, of course," Melisandre answered.
"The Lord of Light." Ned muttered the name of the eastern god. It was not commonly mentioned in Westeros.
"So you see, Lord Stark." Stannis straightened in his saddle. "I came where I am needed, as a good ruler should. Unlike the Lannister whore who sits on the throne, or her supposed husband, or the new spawn she has brought into the world. I presume you have heard about that last part."
"I have." The news of Cersei giving birth to a boy after her prompt marriage to Loras Tyrell had traveled across the continent and reached his ears. The Lannisters had a new heir to the throne.
"Another bastard, no doubt. Like the ones you are hiding in your castle." Stannis shook his head. "After all, everyone knows that Loras Tyrell has no interest in women. The realm is ruled by usurpers, liars, and the depraved, Lord Stark. I mean to change that."
Ned said nothing. The rumors about the true parentage of Cersei's children were hardly a secret. Everyone had heard them, from commoners to lords.
"For the sake of the love that my late brother had for you...I will give you one last chance, Lord Stark." Stannis stepped closer. "Bend the knee right now. Swear fealty to me as your king. Rally the North under my banner. Help me reclaim my throne, and I will allow you to keep all your titles and lands."
Ned met his gaze. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you will be arrested for treason." Stannis's voice was flat. "Your lands and titles will be forfeit. Your sons will be attainted. And the North will be given to someone who knows how to obey."
The Stark veterans stirred behind Ned. Hands tightened on sword hilts. Jon took a step forward, but Ned raised his hand.
"No," Ned said. "There will be no bloodshed."
"Father—" Jon began.
"I said no." Ned turned to face his nephew. "You are a man of the Night's Watch. You will not break your oaths for me."
Jon's jaw tightened, but he did not move.
Ned turned back to Stannis. "I will not bend the knee to you, Your Grace. Not today. Perhaps not ever. There may be someone better suited for that throne. Someone who has not yet arrived."
Stannis's eyes narrowed. "You speak of the dragon queen. The girl who hatched monsters in the east. Is she the one who is better than me? Is she the one you are waiting for?"
Ned remained silent.
"You would wait for a Targaryen?" Stannis's voice rose. "After what they did to your father? To your brother?"
Ned looked at Stannis. "I am sorry, Your Grace. I cannot give you what you ask."
Stannis stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned to his knights. "Fine then...have it your way. Arrest him."
The guards moved forward. The Stark veterans drew their swords, but Ned raised his hand again.
"No," he said. "Stand down. All of you."
"Father—"
"That is an order." Ned's voice was hard. "You have fought enough. You have bled enough. I will not have more men die for my sake."
The veterans hesitated. Then, slowly, they lowered their swords.
Stannis's men took Ned by the arms and removed his sword. They were not rough, but they were not gentle either.
They led him across the yard, past the black brothers who watched in silence, past the wildling captives who stared with empty eyes.
"Take him to the cells," Stannis commanded. "You will remain there until I decide what to do with you, Lord Stark."
He turned away. Melisandre followed, her red robes trailing in the snow.
Ser Davos lingered for a moment, his weathered face troubled.
As Ned was led toward the cells, he saw Mance Rayder among the captives. He had never met the man, but Jon had given him a detailed description. He could also tell that the King-beyond-the-Wall was an important prisoner by the way he was being handled...bound with heavy chains, surrounded by guards.
Mance knelt in the snow, his hands bound, his face bruised and bloodied.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, Ned saw something in the wildling's gaze...not hatred, not fear, but a kind of primitive understanding. They were both prisoners now. Both at the mercy of a man who would not be denied.
The cell was cold and dark, and the door closed behind Ned with a sound like a tomb sealing shut.
He sat on the stone floor, his back against the wall, and listened to the wind howl outside.
'Catelyn,' he thought. 'Robb. Arya. Sansa. Bran. Rickon.'
He did not know if he would see them again.
But he had done what he thought was right.
And that, he had learned, was sometimes the only thing a man could do.
A.N: - Remember to comment, vote, and/or leave a review if you have the time. Those things help me a lot and I would really appreciate it.
You can support me on P@treon if you like and get 10 advanced chapters. You can also find character images to view for free in Collections/Got: Sorcerer Prince Images
-patreon.com/Kriogenix
For donations and commissions, go to ko-fi.com/kriogenix