8 A New Beginning
I have exams this week i finish on Friday 10pm so i wont release a chapter i have to study. This chapter is longer than usual i think. Enjoy :) join the discord if u want to talk. https://discord.gg/F7G3mA7Y
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Third person POV
North, The Wall, 289 AC
After a grueling twenty-day journey north, Cregan and his uncle approached the looming shadow of Castle Black. Throughout their travels, Benjen had tried to prepare Cregan for what lay ahead, describing the castle not just as a military outpost but as a refuge, a place of exile, and for some, a point of honor. It was a stark bastion against the dark, wild forces beyond the Wall and a testament to the resilience and determination required to endure the long, harsh winters.
As they neared the immense structure, Cregan was awestruck by the sheer scale of the Wall—it stretched as far as his eyes could see, a colossal barrier of ice and ancient stone. The prospect of seeing the world from atop this formidable barrier filled him with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
The guards atop the Wall noticed their approach and shouted orders to open the gate. Riding through the massive iron-bound doors, Cregan's initial thrill faded to disenchantment as he surveyed the castle grounds. Unlike the noble castles of the south with their grandeur and pomp, Castle Black was starkly utilitarian. The grounds were muddy, churned by the boots of countless men of the Night's Watch. The clang of blacksmiths hammering, the shout of men sparring, and the pervasive cold biting at every breath made it clear that this was no place of comfort but one of grim duty.
Their arrival caused a stir among the black-clothed brothers, a murmur of curiosity and speculation rippling through the ranks. It was rare for new faces to appear at the Wall, especially in the company of the First Ranger.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont emerged from his quarters, his stern expression softening slightly at the sight of Benjen. "Benjen Stark, as silent as the snow. And who might this be?" his voice boomed, echoing slightly off the stone.
Benjen introduced his nephew, briefly explaining Lady Stark's hopes that a stint at the Wall might temper the young man's spirit. "Catelyn thinks some time spent here could do the boy good," Benjen remarked with a wry half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Lord Commander Mormont nodded, understanding the subtext of the situation. He turned to Cregan, who stood slightly behind Benjen, looking more a highborn lordling than a recruit of the Night's Watch with his finely made clothes and proud posture.
"Welcome to Castle Black, young Cregan," Mormont said, his voice resonant with the authority of his position. "You will be treated like any other recruit here. This is not a place for lords and princes, but for men of the Watch. You will train, work, and eat as they do, and in time, you will learn what it means to be one of us."
His gaze, as piercing and cold as the Wall itself, seemed to measure Cregan's worth. "Life here is tough. It will test you, shape you into a man, if you have the mettle. The Wall does not brook weakness."
Cregan met Mormont's gaze, his initial resentment at staying melted into a mix of apprehension and resolve. This was a new beginning, whether he wished for it or not, and the Wall was known to either break men or forge them into something stronger and he was here for just that.
Benjen's reassuring touch on his shoulder grounded him. "Listen, learn, and stand firm, Cregan. That's what we Starks are made of," he whispered, a reminder of their enduring family creed.
With that, Cregan was led away to begin his unexpected new life among the brothers of the Night's Watch, each step taking him further from his past and deeper into the stark realities of the black-clad brotherhood.
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3 months later
Three months had passed since Cregan's arrival at Castle Black, and the harsh training had become his new norm. Unlike at Winterfell, where he felt stifled and restricted, here he thrived, embracing the rigorous demands of the Night's Watch. Back home, his training had been sporadic and undermined by guards who feared his potential, limiting him to brief, exhausting sessions that ended with menial chores meant to sap his strength.
At Castle Black, Master-at-Arms Alliser Thorne initially treated him with the same harsh skepticism he showed all new recruits. However, the ample, if stark, meals and the grueling routine filled Cregan with a grim satisfaction. For the first time in a long while, he slept with a belly full of food, however plain, and a body tired from honest effort.
Benjen Stark, noticing his nephew's frustration with the standard training regimen, took it upon himself to teach Cregan the fundamentals of swordsmanship. Under his uncle's guidance, Cregan quickly mastered the basic techniques, his skill growing by the day. This rapid improvement stirred resentment among the other recruits, who jealously noted Cregan's superior abilities and his noble bearing—which they mistakenly thought would attract the attention of women, though he wasn't attracted to any near the Wall.
What these recruits failed to see was the determination that drove Cregan. Unlike them, who trained merely to avoid punishment, Cregan practiced with a relentless, consuming purpose. He wasn't just training to survive; he was training to excel, to ensure that no one could ever challenge his strength or threaten his future again. From dawn until dusk, he wielded his sword, taking breaks only for the bare necessities.
Benjen advised him to temper his intensity with wisdom, to seek friendships among his fellow brothers. "Life at the Wall isn't just about surviving the cold or the foes beyond," Benjen would say. "It's about finding strength in brotherhood, learning the value of allies. You have the freedom here to become more than just a warrior. Don't waste it isolating yourself."
Cregan took these words to heart, slowly opening up to those around him. As he adjusted to life at the Wall, he began to see it not just as a training or a challenge, but as an opportunity—a chance to forge himself into the man he wanted to be, surrounded by those who could teach him not just how to fight, but how to live and lead.
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MC POV
Night had fallen over Castle Black, casting long shadows down the dimly lit hallways. Having just finished dinner, I made my way to the library, a sanctuary of ancient books that I had grown to cherish. Despite the cold that clung to every stone of the Wall, the library offered a different kind of chill—the thrill of secrets waiting to be uncovered.
The shelves were lined with texts on subjects that many dismissed as mere children's tales—magic, rituals, and the arcane. Initially skeptical, I had been drawn into their depths, finding detailed accounts and procedures for mystical arts. It was astonishing to realize that what I once considered myths were documented with such precision and seriousness. According to Maester Aemon, even the Starks might have hidden or destroyed their arcane texts during severe winters to prevent their dangerous misuse.
Walking through the library's entrance, I moved to an empty seat by the only lantern that provided a feeble glow against the encompassing darkness. Here, surrounded by the scent of old parchment and ink, I felt a connection to the past that the frozen exterior of the Wall could never offer.
These books held stories of giants, ice spiders, children of the forest, and dragons—creatures thought to belong only in the fanciful tales of nurses. Yet, here they were, described in the same tones used for historical accounts of kings and battles. The Night King's tales were particularly meticulous, filling me with a sense of foreboding about the powers that once roamed the world.
As I settled into my reading, the quiet was broken by the soft shuffle of footsteps. Maester Aemon, guided by his young assistant, entered the room. His presence was a comfort; his knowledge, a vast well from which I hoped to draw.
"I see you are already here, young lad. It was dreadful to think all these books were going to waste. It brings me great joy to know they aren't gathering dust," he said, his voice as brittle as the air outside but warmed with genuine pleasure.
I couldn't help but tease him a little. "Why don't you come over here by yourself then,?"
He chuckled, a sound that seemed too lively for his frail frame. Then he walked skillfully around all the objects in his bath towards me "I might believe you're dabbling in the magic from these books yourself," I responded playfully. "When you're blind, your other senses sharpen. I can hear better, smell the ink on the books you've left open on the floor. Just remember to clean up this mess when you're done, or you won't be allowed back."
My joke about my magical dabbling made him smile, but his words also carried a warning—magic, like the icy winds beyond the Wall, was not something to trifle with carelessly. He settled beside me, his blind eyes seeming to look right through the night that filled the corners of the library.
"These texts could hold knowledge lost to time," he murmured, gesturing towards a particularly ancient-looking scroll. "Use them wisely, Cregan. Magic is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it."
His words echoed in my mind as I turned back to the pages before me. Here, at the edge of the known world, I was beginning to understand that knowledge could be just as powerful—and dangerous—as any sword or spell. As the night deepened, I dove deeper into the mysteries, each scroll unfurling new layers of the old world that awaited my awakening.
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A few days had passed since my last deep dive into the ancient texts of the library. Now, I found myself in the same quiet corner, pondering over the path I should choose in life. My swordsmanship had surpassed most at Castle Black in less than six months, and my skills as a blacksmith were unrivaled here. My knowledge, augmented by a previous life where I held a PhD in chemical engineering, felt wasted among the simple pursuits of a brute.
In my past life, I was a researcher, but the consequences of my work—twisted and exploited by others—had perhaps led to my untimely death. The loss of all I had achieved, money, power, and a legacy unclaimed, haunted me more than I cared to admit.
As I sat scribbling aimlessly, trying to envision myself as a lord, a king, a merchant, a doctor, or even a knight, none of these futures stirred any desire within me. Lost in thought, I barely noticed Maester Aemon entering the room until he took a seat across from me.
"From what I used to hear, you stopped frequenting this place after your blindness. What brings you here so often now?" Aemon asked, his blind eyes somehow capturing the essence of my turmoil.
"Through you, I can start 'seeing' again. Knowledge is a joy, an endless wonder," he continued, his voice a mix of nostalgia and sadness. "Read as much as you want, but share with me. Let me live through your eyes."
Ignoring his request for a moment, I pondered whether to confide in him further. Over the past months, we had debated various theories, always skirting around anything too controversial that might endanger me. "Maester Aemon, if you were in my shoes, what path would you choose?" I finally asked, seeking the counsel of someone who had lived through loss and regret.
He was silent for a long time, reflecting deeply before responding. "I can't dictate your life's course; every path has its perils. Whether you choose to be a lord, a merchant, or any other, challenges will arise. Life is fraught with difficulty, but enduring it for something you love—that is what makes it bearable."
Aemon's voice grew heavy with his own reminiscences as he shared the deep regrets that had shaped his life. "I chose my love for knowledge over action, and it led me here, to the edge of the world," he said, his tone thick with sorrow. "I avoided conflict, hoping it would spare my family from the brutal games of power. Yet, despite my absence, they were not spared. They suffered, were schemed against, and ultimately murdered while I rot away in this icy outpost."
His words resonated with me, stirring a mix of respect and pity. I knew of his family's tragic history, how they were decimated and scattered, details I had learned from stories and TV shows from my previous life. Now, hearing him share his regrets, I felt a kinship in our shared sense of loss, albeit for very different reasons.
"What should I do, then?" I asked, more to myself than to him. The Starks had lost their crown as the Targaryens had lost their dragons, each family will reclaim some semblance of their former glory at the end.
Sitting there with Aemon, I realized that my path wasn't just about reclaiming or avenging my past life—it was about forging something new in this one. Maybe here, at the Wall, I could find a way to meld my knowledge with the needs of this harsh, unforgiving world. Maybe, just maybe, I could carve out a destiny that would leave no room for regret.
"What will you do, young Cregan?" Aemon asked, his voice a soft echo in the quiet of the library.
"I suppose I'll start by cleaning up this mess," I said, gesturing to the scattered books and papers around us. "And then? Then I'll find a way to leave my mark on this world, good or bad. I promise to leave this world with no regrets."
And with that, I began to organize the chaos I had created, each book and each thought carefully placed, a metaphor for the order I was trying to impose on my own turbulent thoughts and feelings.
