While the Seven Kingdoms were caught in civil war and the continent of Essos had its eyes on the treasures of the Valyrian ruins, far to the north at the Wall, the Night's Watch was growing increasingly troubled by events beyond the Wall. Every patrol unit had been placed on high alert. Watchmen stood guard day and night atop the Wall, keeping a constant vigil on the movements in the far North. Beacon fires were lit at every watchtower, stretching like a string of pearls from the eastern shore to the western coast—a sight as breathtaking as it was ominous.
Old Bear Jeor Mormont sat tensely signing order after order, passing them to his steward, Jon Snow, to deliver to the rookery. From there, the assistant maester overseeing the rookery would send them on to the various castles along the Wall.
Maester Aemon sat quietly beside the hearth, always ready to offer advice or insight to the Old Bear when needed.
Meanwhile, Ser Alliser Thorne paced restlessly around the room. The moment Jon left, he spoke up.
"Lord Commander, you shouldn't keep Jon Snow as your steward. He's got the blood of a traitor in his veins. That could draw unwanted attention from King's Landing…"
Jeor Mormont rose from his seat like a furious brown bear and bellowed, "Enough, Alliser! How many times must I tell you—leave the southern power games where they belong. We don't bring that nonsense to the Wall. We don't take sides. Our only duty is to guard the realm. Whatever a man's past, whatever blood he carries, here he is a brother of the Night's Watch. Nothing more. You understand me, master-at-arms?"
Alliser didn't back down. Meeting Jeor's gaze, he said, "Even so, a man with rebellious blood might not be worth the risk. What we need most right now is support from King's Landing. Without it, we'll run short on men and supplies…"
"Enough!" Jeor snapped. "You know as well as I do that King's Landing has never given us much. The Reach and Summerhall—that's where our real support has always come from. It's the same now. So what if King's Landing doesn't like it? It won't change a damn thing."
Alliser fell silent, because he knew the Old Bear was right. Nearly half of the men on the Wall were there thanks to Summerhall's support, and the food and provisions were also being supplied from there. As long as Summerhall stood behind them, King's Landing's opinion hardly mattered.
Jeor stepped closer, glaring at Alliser.
"I know why you hate Jon so much. You've dumped all the bitterness you felt for Lord Eddard onto his bastard son. You've never forgiven Eddard Stark for convincing King Robert to send you here."
Alliser said nothing. He didn't agree, but he didn't deny it either—just turned his head away to avoid the Old Bear's gaze.
Jeor continued, "You ought to thank Lord Eddard. Without him, your head would've been on a spike more than ten years ago, and your bones long since picked clean."
"I would've preferred the axe," Alliser muttered through clenched teeth.
Jeor frowned. He could see there was no use arguing further. With a tired sigh, he waved it off.
"There's another batch of new recruits coming in soon. Likely the last of the year. You'll take charge of their training. I want them ready to draw their swords and fight—not cower in the bushes like that fat one did last time. Speaking of which, what happened to him?"
A flash of shame passed across Alliser's face. That "fat one" had been the greatest humiliation of his career. If not for the Night's Watch vows forbidding violence between brothers, he might have hacked the boy to pieces himself.
"His name is Samwell Tarly," Maester Aemon interjected calmly from his seat. "He's been reassigned as one of my stewards."
Jeor blinked. "Tarly? As in Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill in the Reach…"
"The eldest son," Maester Aemon confirmed. "He is Lord Tarly's heir."
Jeor muttered, "A warrior like Randyll Tarly ending up with a son like that… no wonder he was sent here."
Realizing he'd just insulted someone behind their back, he gave an awkward cough and gestured for Alliser to take his leave.
After Alliser left, Old Bear returned to his desk, picked up a document, glanced through it, and said, "We're short at least five thousand men, and our food stores will only last another two months. Things are getting difficult." He looked to Maester Aemon. "What's the situation on Bear Island and the Iron Islands?"
"Lady Dacey Mormont has joined the Northern coalition, and Bear Island is supplying them now—there's not much left to spare for us. As for the Iron Islands, there's still no word. Rumor has it the Three Kraken have been assigned a secret mission by Prince Lynd and won't be able to support us for the time being," Maester Aemon replied promptly. Despite being over a hundred, his mind remained sharp. "I've already written to Summerhall. Prince Lynd should be able to find a solution."
"Let's hope so," Jeor Mormont muttered with a sigh. Though they were discussing matters concerning the Wall, his thoughts were with his niece, Dacey. He could only hope she would survive the war safely.
Just then, the sound of hurried, uneven footsteps came from outside the door, followed by a knock. Moments later, Benjen Stark burst in, snow clinging to his cloak. He spoke without delay.
"I spotted a large number of wights near the Frostfangs. The wildling tribes beyond the Wall have banded together under the command of Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. They've formed a unified army, with major camps at the south bank of the Antler River and at Hardhome. They'll reach Whitetree Village by tomorrow at the latest."
"What?" Jeor Mormont's face darkened in an instant. "Were the rangers on patrol blind? A force this large gathering and no one noticed? And now they've already formed a coalition army, and we're only discovering it when they're practically on our doorstep?"
"It's not the rangers' fault," Benjen said grimly. "Mance Rayder is clever. He used small scouting parties to draw our attention. Our men were focused on those trying to scale the Wall. We didn't have the manpower to send patrols farther north, so we missed the movements of the other tribes. Honestly, if I hadn't taken on Lord Lynd's task to investigate reports of wight activity near the Frostfangs, I might not have noticed anything either."
He paused briefly, then added, "I think things are even worse further north. The White Walkers and wights have become increasingly active, frequently appearing near the edge of the Land of Always Winter. Wight hordes have already pushed south to the Frostfangs. It's likely that these wildling tribes were driven down by the wights and forced to unite. I suspect they'll try to storm the Wall before the White Walkers make their full descent—just to escape whatever's coming."
"How many are there?" Old Bear asked, his voice low.
"At least a hundred thousand," Benjen replied.
"A hundred thousand?" Old Bear blinked, struggling to believe it.
"That's just the minimum," Benjen said grimly. "The real number could be even higher."
Old Bear's face turned grim. He turned to Maester Aemon. "What should we do? Should we contact Summerhall?"
"Not yet," Aemon said, shaking his head. "Let's try to manage it ourselves first. If it proves impossible, then we can ask Summerhall for help. But for now, Commander, you need to gather the commanders of each castle and draw up a comprehensive defense plan. If we act separately, we'll just expose weaknesses for the enemy to exploit."
"Yes, yes. We must gather the commanders." Jeor Mormont nodded rapidly, then sat back at his desk, writing summonses with urgency. He stamped them with the commander's seal—not to be sent by raven, but delivered by rangers in person.
Once the orders were issued, Old Bear suddenly remembered something important. He opened a drawer and took out a communiqué from King's Landing, then handed it to Benjen, who was drying his clothes near the fire.
"Take a look at this. There's been trouble with Lord Eddard in King's Landing."
Benjen froze. A terrible feeling settled in his gut. In his memory, both his father and his eldest brother had met misfortune after traveling south to King's Landing.
He took the parchment quickly and read it carefully. As he finished, his face went pale. He hadn't expected that so much could happen in the short time he'd been away on a mission.
King Robert was dead. His brother had been arrested for treason and attempting to usurp the throne. His sister-in-law had seized the heir to Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin, Warden of the West, was attacking the Riverlands. The Reach and the Stormlands had risen in rebellion against the Iron Throne.
It was all too much. Benjen felt as though he hadn't been gone a few months—but several years.
In shock, Benjen didn't hesitate. "My brother loved His Grace Robert like his own blood. He would never commit treason, let alone usurp the throne."
"It's true," Maester Aemon said, breaking the illusion. "Prince Lynd has confirmed it himself—Lord Eddard did alter King Robert's will, changing the heir from Prince Joffrey to Lord Stannis."
Had it been anyone else making the claim, Benjen might have suspected bribery or manipulation. But it was Lynd Tarran who confirmed it—Benjen had no reason to doubt.
He looked down at the communiqué again, then asked, "My brother's been taken... What about his daughters? The two nieces who went with him to King's Landing—are they safe?"
Jeor Mormont answered, "Lady Arya Stark disappeared the day Lord Eddard was arrested. Lady Sansa Stark is with Prince Lynd. It's said Lord Eddard entrusted her to him."
Worry flickered in Benjen's eyes, but he forced himself to stay calm. He looked between Old Bear and Maester Aemon.
"You have my word—I won't do anything reckless. I'm a ranger of the Night's Watch now. I won't do anything to dishonor that."
"We don't doubt you," Jeor said. "But it's Jon we're worried about."
"Jon doesn't know yet?" Benjen asked, surprised.
"No," Jeor replied with a shake of his head. "We've kept it from him—and ordered the others not to speak of it. We were waiting for you to return. You're his uncle. You'll be able to reason with him better than anyone."
Benjen gave a small nod, glanced down at the communiqué one last time, then turned and left the room. Out in the courtyard, he stopped someone at random and asked where Jon was. A few moments later, he made his way to the library that had once been the Silent Tower.
Originally, the books had been stored underground along with food supplies and other stockpiles. But years ago, after something Lynd had said, Old Bear realized how valuable those ancient texts were. He had the Silent Tower renovated, converting its upper floors into a proper library. The lower floors were then given to the maesters as offices and living quarters, with Maester Aemon moving his quarters there from beneath the rookery.
Inside the library, Jon was flipping through an old volume. Each day around this time, Old Bear allowed him a little space to read. Today's book, handpicked by Samwell Tarly, was on the dragons of Valyria.
Lately, Jon had felt the way people looked at him had changed—strange, wary stares that he couldn't explain. So whenever he had a spare moment, he'd retreat to the library, away from their eyes.
"Uncle Benjen! You're back!" Seeing Benjen walk through the door, Jon immediately put down his book, stood up, and walked toward him.
Benjen opened his arms and pulled Jon into a hug, then ruffled his hair and smiled. "Only a few months, and you've already shot up again. Looks like you've filled out too."
"Can I be a ranger now?" Jon asked hopefully.
Benjen's expression turned serious. "Jon, whether you can be a ranger isn't up to me. That's the Lord Commander's decision. You're a steward now. Be a good steward. Don't worry about the rest."
Jon frowned. "Why can't I be a ranger? No one in Castle Black can match my swordplay—not even Ser Alliser. Why should I—"
Benjen cut him off firmly. "Jon. Do you remember what I told you?"
"Obedience. A man of the Night's Watch must obey," Jon muttered, his shoulders slumping.
"Exactly. Obedience. That's what keeps the Watch alive. It's a tradition that's lasted for thousands of years. I told you this the very day you took the black," Benjen said, sternly.
"I know, Uncle Benjen," Jon said, head down.
"Knowing isn't enough. You have to live by it. Before you act, before you even think—you're a brother of the Night's Watch first. Always," Benjen continued.
Jon sensed something off in his uncle's tone and glanced up at him.
Benjen's face was more serious than Jon had ever seen. "What I'm about to tell you—you need to listen carefully. And you need to think. About what you should and shouldn't do."
Then Benjen told Jon what had happened to Lord Eddard.