Man of the Night's Watch

Man of the Night's Watch

Jon POV

The rain had finally stopped after so long. Days went by as I rode. I was tired. I was confused. Everything happened too fast, and I could only remember everything like it was in a thick coat of mist. One moment I was ordered to kill an old man by the fire, and another lightning struck, blinding everyone.

Did Ghost feel my distress, or did he think it was my only chance to run? How was he even there? Have I not left him outside the Wall? I hoped Ghost was fine. He should have slipped away in the darkness. How many did I kill? I remember three men closest to me. I remember feeling Longclaw in my right hand as I cut them down. Then it became murkier.

I remember the Thenns trying to take control of the mare. How many of them did I kill before I freed the horse and got on it? I couldn't tell. I felt weak. My mind was blurry. Was I even riding in the correct direction? Maybe part of me decided to return home to Winterfell. Where Robb, Arya, and others would wait for me.

The pain kept me awake. And I hoped I was riding north to the Wall. Otherwise, Qhorin would have put his hope in the wrong hands. His death would have meant nothing. I had to warn the Night's Watch. I had to do my duty. How much more? How much time has passed since? I could feel my strength leaving me.

Ygritte, I hope she won't hate me much for this treachery. But I had my duty. I hope she will come to understand that one day. The answer came from throbbing pain in my thigh and shoulder. Even on dark and rainy nights, she was a good shot. I shouldn't have expected anything else. I should count myself lucky for her missing my vital points.

Was I losing too much blood? Even if I did, I couldn't stop to patch myself up. I don't think I could get on the horse again if I did. I had to warn Lord Commander, and I could not rest. The faster I got to the Wall, the longer we would have to prepare for the battle. I lacked the strength to lift my head, look up, and see the Wall.

The thunder was far behind me; the rain had stopped, or I had outrun it. Yet I was soaking wet and could feel my limbs numb under the cold winds. It was hard to breathe. My throat was in pain from the cold wind I inhaled. My chest was tight. How much longer? Was I even riding in the right direction?

I couldn't question myself. I had to stay focused, or I would fall from the mare. All I could see was the road beneath me. Kingsroad, I hoped. It was too well maintained to be any other road in the North. I could feel the mare getting tired, but I couldn't let her go. I had to reach the Wall before Magnar.

I had to tell them what I saw. The hundred thousand wildlings. The mammoths and the giants. Lord Commander needed to know. I couldn't let down Qhorin, not after I killed him. He was counting on me to sneak into the Wildling army. Yet with these thoughts came Ygritte to my mind.

I could smell her red hair. I could feel the warmth of her body. I could see her crooked white teeth I fell in love with. And then the image of her cutting the old man's throat by the fire came to me. As blood spilled and the man fell to the ground. I knew it was the only time I would get to escape. You were wrong to love her, a voice whispered. You were wrong to leave her, a different voice insisted.

I wondered what my father would have thought. Was he torn like me when he had to leave my mother and return to Lady Catalyn as he was promised to her? As I was pledged to the Night's Watch. Or did he not even think twice before leaving my mother? Did my mother hate him for it? Did she hate me for being the son of my father?

I woke from his questions when I saw the red lanterns of Mole's Town. The lights reflected on the water on the ground. From memories, I rode to the stable, unable to look up. Two stable boys were still awake and came to me, running. I fell from the mare but had to force myself to stand up. The stable boys lifted me and gave me a skin of wine. I refused, even though I knew it would lessen the pain, but the pain was all that kept me awake.

"Wake the town!" I shouted. My voice was harsh, and my throat hurt with each word. "Warn them. There are wildlings south of the Wall. Gather your goods and make for Castle Black. Give me a fresh horse with a saddle."

"My lord, you are bleeding," One of the boys said.

"Do as I say!" I didn't leave them any room for argument.

The boys had to help me on the new horse and direct me toward the Wall. The fresh horse didn't resist me, and I forced him to gallop as fast as possible. Fastened to the saddle, I had no fear of falling. Yet it didn't help me to stay awake. I didn't know when, but at some point, darkness engulfed me, and I passed out. But not before I heard a blow from a horn.

…

I stirred awake at the smell of medicine. Once I opened my eyes and saw a faint light through the window, I tried to stand up. Even if the pain in my leg and shoulder protested. A frail hand fell on me, and I looked at the side of the bed I was lying. Maester Aemon sat next to me. The one-armed blacksmith Donal Noye stood by the doors.

"You should not stir yet," Aemon spoke softly. "Your wounds are not severe, but you lost too much blood, and there is a chance of infection."

"We don't have time for it," I said. "I need to talk with Lord Commander."

"You are not going anywhere. You're white as milk and burning hot beside," Noye told me. "The wounds from the wildling arrows will reopen if you move."

"We have heard that you joined hands with Mance Ryder," Aemon spoke. "Some scouts saw you with the column of the Wildlings."

"You heard right, Maester," I said. "I was following the last order of Qhorin Halfhand. I infiltrated the Wilding Army to find more information on them. I lived with them and climbed the Wall with them."

"Yet there you are, injured and on the verge of death," Noye stated. "Where are the wildlings?"

"South, Queenscrown, last I saw them," I replied. "We don't have time for this. I need to talk to Lord Commander."

"Jon . . . it grieves me to say, but Lord Commander Mormont was murdered at Craster's Keep at the hands of his Sworn Brothers."

"Brothers? Our men?" I asked, shocked, and he sadly nodded.

Maester Aemon's words hurt more than the arrows. They cut deeper than any blade. I still can remember the old bear the last time I saw him. He was standing by my tent at the Fist of the First Men with his raven on his arm, croaking for corn. I have feared such fate after I heard of the Battle of the Fist. But it hurt even more when I knew that old bear fell from the blades of his brothers.

"Who did it? Who betrayed him?"

"Garth of Oldtown, Ollo Lophand, Dirk... Thieves, cowards, and killers, the lot of them. We should have seen it coming. The Watch is not what it was. Too few honest men to keep the rogues in line." Donal Noye answered me. "A dozen true men made it back. Dolorous Edd, Giant, your friend the Aurochs. We had the tale from them."

"Sam, what of Sam?" I asked.

"Your friends will know better than us," Noye told me, but I could tell he was hiding the truth.

"What about the garrison?" I asked.

"They have gone to fight the Wildlings," Noye answered.

"Where?"

"Everywhere, Harma Dogshead was seen at Woodswatch-by-the-Pool, Rattleshirt at Long Barrow, the Weeper near Icemark. All along the Wall. They're here, and they're there. They're climbing near Queensgate, hacking at the gates of Greyguard, and massing against Eastwatch. Yet one glimpse of a black cloak and they're gone. Next day they're somewhere else."

"We need to call them back. Mance is trying to thin out our men," My voice was hoarse, but I forced the words to come out. "How many men are left."

"Abou forty, sick and old, some green boys who haven't finished their training yet," Noye answered. "How many of your wildling friends did you bring with you."

"Hundred and twenty," I told him. "Armed better than most, with bronze armor and steel bits. Who is the castellan of Castle Black?"

"Ser Wynton, gods preserve him—the last knight in the castle. The thing is, Stout seems to have forgotten, and no one's been rushing to remind him. I'm as much a commander as we have now—the meanest of the cripples. Yoren, the White Crow is here too, trying to beat the green boys into somewhat shape."

"I have sent messages to all who could listen to us," Aemon said. "With hope, some will answer and be on time to help us."

"House Umber is closest to us," I said. "But even then, it would take them a month or so to arrive."

"That may be," Aemon said. "But the wildlings aren't here yet. So, rest. You need it."

I wanted to argue and tell them we needed to prepare for the battle. But I lost my strength once Noye pushed me back to the bed. How many days and nights have I been riding from Queenscrown? I have forgotten—days and nights blurred in one mess of trying to stop bleeding, of eating something dried up.

When I closed my eyes, I dreamed of woods. I dreamed of the wildlings setting camp. I dreamed of seeing Moletown and the wildlings preparing to attack it while I was hiding in the woods, hungry and weak. I could do nothing to save the town and hoped they had listened to me and left for Castle Black.

…

The room was dark when I opened my eyes again. I was wrapped in a thick layer of wool and couldn't move. Under the blankets, I could feel the burning pain in my leg and shoulder. I had to swallow the scream of agony. At least I could feel my leg and know I haven't lost it yet. A burning candle revealed a familiar face before me.

"Pyp? Is that you?" I asked.

"Jon, I thought you were dead," He told me. "Then I heard you were with the wildlings."

"I'm here too." Grenn stepped to the other side of the bed.

"Sam, where is Sam?" I asked.

"He killed one of the Others, Jon. I saw it. He stabbed him with that dragonglass knife you made, and we started calling him Sam the Slayer. He hated that," Grenn looked away after he finished speaking.

"What happened to him?" I asked and could hardly imagine a less likely warrior than Sam Tarly. I barely could believe someone would call him Sam the Slayer.

"We left him." Grenn sounded miserable. "I shook him and screamed at him, even slapped his face. Giant tried to drag him to his feet, but he was too heavy. Remember in training how he'd curl up on the ground and lie there whimpering? At Craster's, he wouldn't even whimper. Dirk and Ollo were tearing up the walls looking for food, Garth and Garth were fighting, and some others were raping Craster's wives."

"Dolorous Edd figured Dirk's bunch would kill all the loyal men to keep us from telling what they'd done, and they had us two to one. We left Sam with the Old Bear. He wouldn't move, Jon," Pyp added.

I couldn't hear it any much. Sam was smart. Once he left his stupor, he would think of a way to run away. I had to believe that Dirk and Ollo didn't bother to kill him as they saw him as a pathetic weakling. Once a chance showed, Sam would run to the Wall. Even if he wasn't strong, he was brilliant. He would think of something. He had to. I had to believe him.