20

Chapter 19: To The Wall and Beyond

So, wow. This story has crossed the 1k likes threshold. That's pretty cool, if you ask me.

Anyway, unto the story.

Andrin, third son of Damian the cobbler, was regretting every single decision that had led him to where he was today.

His legs were shaking under the weight he was carrying up the mountain. His lungs were burning up, and despite the chill in the morning air, sweat was pouring off his back. He looked up the path he was on, only to see a line of similarly unfortunate souls groaning up the mountain, struggling to keep the pace.

He stopped himself from looking behind him; 'It would do me no good', he thought to himself, wiping the sweat out of his blue eyes.

"You're slowing down, maggot! Are you tired?" The harsh voice caused him to wince. This man has made his life a living hell in the past eight weeks. At the sound of his voice, fear gripped his loins, and he unconsciously straightened his posture, all signs of fatigue pushed far to the back of his mind.

"No, sergeant! he all but yelled, his voice shaky with fear and exhaustion, adressing his superior.

"Why are you yelling at me, maggot? You think you're a man because you made it this far?" The gruff man said, from the top of his horse.

"No, sergeant!" he repeated, eyes fixed to a nondescript point in the horizon, exactly as he had been taught.

"What are you, maggot?" the man yelled, thunder in his voice.

"A maggot, sergeant!"

"I can't hear you, maggot!"

"I'm a maggot, sergeant!"

"Keep crawling then, maggot! I forbid you to fall behind, do I make myself clear?!

"Y-yes, sergeant!" Andrin replied, stumbling a bit over his words, not expecting his superior to really care whether or not he actually collapse on the way up the mountain.

Andrin had been excited when he had first enlisted in Lord Beor's "Northern Legion". His family and him came from the Riverlands in the hopes of a better life, though at the time he believed it to be absurd that his father and most of his village would settle in what used to be a swamp as they arrived at Sea Dragon Point.

They settled in a new village three miles south of Sea Dragon Port, the main city that was growing off the shores of the peninsula.

As they arrived, the village was still expanding, with a new fancy looking road cutting right through it. Like him and his family, most of the inhabitants were not from Mormont lands, or Glover, for that matter. Many were clanfolk from the mountains, southerners from the Westerlands, even a few smallfolk from Kingslanding itself.

People were warm to each other, it had seems, even though they had come from vastly different places. Andrin himself had befriended a few mountain men, as he discovered that they had a common interest in the bow. Beyond that, everyone seem to love the local Lord Beor Mormont.

Andrin had heard from him, of course, he was a big name in the Riverlands for his actions in the Greyjoy Rebellion. His friends, who apparently had seen the man spoke of him as if he were more than a man. Some said he had giant's blood coursing through his veins, or that he was a more bear than man, due to Mormont women ability to lay with some Bear spirits deep in the Bear Island forests.

He, of course, was skeptical of all this, chalking it up to the man being adored by his people.

That is, until he got to meet him, around two months after his arrival.

With little fanfare, the man came in riding on the biggest horse Andrin had ever seen, dark as night, with devious malice in its eye.

With him were a small cadre of riders, who seem to keep their mounts at a prudent distance from the beast.

As he dismounted, Andrin could've sworn he heard the lord talk to the animal, saying : "Be good, and don't eat anyone." He would've chuckled if the horse didn't let out a disappointed huff.

The lord had approached the crowd, easily dwarfing his audience, before announcing that this was just a routine visit. Apparently it was his normal routine to go meet the new residents of his lands, and welcome them as his new people.

Andrin had never heard of noble man acting in such ways. Down in the Riverlands, the highborn seldom mingle with the small folk. He had come to understand that the further South you go the more the demarcation between low and highborn could be felt. In the North, costums were different, but he had a sense that even for here, this was an exception.

"I welcome you all to your new home", he had said. "More than anything, I praise your courage and determination to leave the lands you knew to brave the unknown in pursuit of a better tomorrow for you and your families. Trust in me, trust in yourselves, and together, we can make this hope, this dream a new reality."

After that, he went on to stake the land as he wanted to build an apothecary and a learning house in every towns, villages and hamlets on his lands.

Andrin had believed that the man was a bit of a show off, maybe trying to be cozy up to the small folk for some devil of a reason. An apothecary? in a village like this? No chance.

He was proven wrong again, of course. A small group of young folk, men and women- among them his own sister- chosen for their brains and behaviour, were sent to First Light and Sea Dragon Port to be taught in the healing arts.

Some came back, having failed to meet the requirements to go further in their learning. They talked of great things, fearsome things, such as ways to bring the living back from the dead, by some power called Seepihar.

But soon enough, there was a running apothecary, which also doubled as a healing house. They also taught the young ones to write, read and count, in a small learning house.

Life was good in their little village. The swamp had been drained- by what sorcery, he did not know-, new fields were being plotted in the fertile lands. And above all, they were safe. A "sheriff" was chosen from the village to enact the Lord's law. He was an older man, who had served under the lord and fought by his side.

Small local matters, such as petty theft and a scuffle, he could adjudicate on, but his main task was to maintain the peace in the name of his lord. If any large issue presented itself, they could count on the reinforcements or help from the nearby city.

Andrin could hardly believe how good life had gotten. His father's cobbling business was doing pretty well, his mother was happy. They even had cows now, he had thought happily, two of them.

Then one of his friends mentioned that he was thinking about enlisting in the lord's legion. "The legion?" he had asked.

"Yes, the lord is making a corps to protect the land and its people. Anyone can enlist. they say."

That night he dreamt of glory and gold. serving under the Red Bear himself. He had seen the guards and soldiers when he visited Sea Guard Port to sell their products. Whether they did it by sea or by land, they commanded respect for their role in maintaining order and peace in the name of the lord. "Maybe I could be one of them one day.", he had thought, imagining himself in the black and green, carrying the bear of house Mormont.

A few weeks later, his friends and him kissed their loved ones goodbye before heading out to "boot camp", as the gruff looking man at arms had called it.

They were taken on Bear Island itself, although away from anything remotely resembling civilization. As he arrived, they were given one last night to make up their mind before being properly unlisted. He had to admit, the whole thing was bizarre. It was as if they actively wanted you to leave.

He should've know then and there. He probably knew deep down, maybe. But he should've known. The next day, he was read the contract he had to abide by. He was basically offering himself as property of the lord for a period of no less than four year, after he can leave with great honour or re enlist.

What a fool he was. He signed the contract, with a innocent looking cross. The quill might as well been deep in blood.

The first two weeks were the worst fourteen days he had ever lived. One the first day they shave his head bald. To show committment, they said. Of course, one was free to refuse, the door was always wide open.

Then came the physical test. He had thought he was a strong, fit lad, what with all the farmwork and all that. But he struggled. With the running, the climbing and whatever torture they thought of next.

Those first weeks saw most of the dropping out. Roughly four out of every ten men gave up and went home. But Andrin stuck around. He stuck around because he still dreamt of the black and green. And also he could not stand being called a coward by his friends if he did.

Then came the training. He woke up everyday before sunrise, made his bed neatly and waited for inspection alonsigside his barrack mates by the man he came to fear more than death itself.

Commandant Erik the Bull, they called him. He was built like an ox, and had the temper of one too. He was the member some small house from somewhere on the Mormont's lands, hand picked by the lord himself to rule the camp amd make sure all the operations went smoothly.

He rarely involved himself in training, but when he did, one could expect pain. When a recruit would do something out of line either by speaking out of line or cursing, his whole barrack was made to stand in the sun with a heavy log balancing on their shoulders. The punishment could go on for hours, until the man believed them punished enough. Needless to say, less and less were willing to do something stupid from fear of recieving the ire of the whole group.

Hell on earth continued unimpeded for the next eight weeks, bringing him to where he was now. Walking about fifteen miles in the unforgiving wilderness of Bear Island, carrying a heavy load for the fun of it. Up and down mountains they went, with out rest, at as brisk a pace as they could maintain.

He had thought of giving up once or twice, to his utter shame. He thought about quitting when the weight in the sled he was pushing felt uforgivingly heavy, as his arms and legs burned with fatigue. He almost did quit when he felt homesick, yearning for his fathet and mother, adventures and glory be damned.

But he held on, thanks to the support his friends and comrades in arms gave him. They had all grown really close in the past weeks, having suffered through hell and back together. He had been pushed to the brink and pulled back with these men. He could not see himself disappointing them.

So he walked, crossing, rivers and thick forests until he made it back to camp, legs shaky. but proud of himself for accomplishing such a monumental task.

When arrived that evening, he felt relief as he crossed the line. He had not failed himself nor his fellow felt his chest swell with pride when the sergeant called him a man for not quitting. He didn't cry was sure of it.

A week later, he was officially made a member of the Northern legion. "I was right", he said to himself, standing proudly, polearm in hand, clad in all green and black like his brethren, as Lord Beor Mormont himself congratulated them for their success, "Damn, I look good in green and black."

"Look at these men, Robb", Beor said to his ward as they appraised the new troops, "they all went through what might have been the worst months of their life, yet they stand here, proud of it. Proud of having accomplished this, why is that?"

Robb thought deeply. Lord Beor always asked questions about small things like that, just to see what he would answer, as a mean to teach him.

"Because it gives them purpose?" he answered, unsure of himself.

Jon and him had been with Lord Mormont now for almost three months now, and every day was something different. He had been sorely mistaken on his opinion of the lord.

The stories had made him to be a great warrior, and that he was. He could attest of it, having seen him spar with the other soldiers. What the stories didn't tell was how cracked in the head the man was.

He was always cooking some crazy thoughts in that big head of his, only for him to run off to his "Laboratory" as lady Mormont called. Once there he would coop himself up for days on end, until he was physically dragged out by his mother.

Robb had even seen the man break out in mad giggles as he was presented some sticky sap from dandelions. Of course this was followed by another few days locked away in that madhouse of his.

Most of his formal education was handled by Maester Lowry, an older man with a balding head of salt and pepper. When Robb had attempted to ask the elder man if the lord was always so... different, all he was met with was a look of thinly veiled disdain.

"The line between genius and insanity is very thin to the untrained eye, indeed." the man, had said, before coldly moving back to their lessons.

The old maester- who most of the time was not wearing his chain, Robb noted- seem to have most complete in blind faith Beor Mormont.

"When he goes in that room, things most people imagined to be impossible suddenly become images and numbers." the old man had said, adressing Robb and Jon, " I have assisted him more than once in his endeavors. It made me believe that maybe the power of magic is not all gobe from this world." Lowry finished, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Where Robb saw madness, the others accepted it as method too high for the lowly intellect.

The servants, the guards and soldiers also seemed to be ensnared by the man's aura, Robb realized, as his name was always spoken with a hint of fearful reverence, similar to how septa Mordane would get when she spoke of the High Septon in Kingslanding.

The only person that seemed to escape the spell was his mother, lady Maege Mormont. The woman did not seem to care that here son was almost twice her size, or that he was the most powerful man in the North.

When she thought he was mistaken or misguided, she would not hesitate to reprimand him, especially when they were in private settings. She had a special club made just to hit him when she realized her fists couldn't do the job adequately anymore.

"Behind every great man must be a little woman with a big stick", she once told Robb, in a loving mother's voice, "Otherwise he'd magnificently walked himself off a cliff.", she concluded, swinging wildly at her son, who did not seem all that bothered by the clubbering.

"...obb? Robb Stark? Are you listening?"

The voice of his mentor snapped him back to reality.

"Apologies, lord Mormont, I've let myself wonder again." Robb said, sheepish.

Beor hmm'ed at that, looking slightly miffed. "As I was saying..."

He stopped for a second, attempting to gather his thoughts, before seemingly just giving up.

"Uh... I guess it wasn't that important after all", he said, shrugging non committaly.

'There it was it again', Robb thought, perplexed. 'One moment he was the charismatic leader, the next, he was the old forgetful maester, as if he were two men in one body.'

"My lord", Robb asked timidly, "May I ask a question?"

"Go on", his mentor said, as they resumed their walk towards the Lord's palace, away from the ceremonial fields. Jon and two guards were following a few steps behind them.

"Please forgive my rudeness, but you are not at all what I expected."

Beor smiled at the boy. "You are forgiven, but this was not a question now, was it?

Robb chuckled at that. "That is true. You look like the stories, but you don't act like the stories. Why is that?"

"Oh, I see. Is that why you've been so scatterbrained those past weeks?" the Mormont asked, snark sneaking into his tone of voice.

"Are you disappointed that the famous Red Bear is not all that he was cracked up to be? He asked, mock hurt on his face.

Robb stood there, a horrified look on his face. "No! no, Lord Mormont!" he exclaimed, alarmed, "Far be it from me! It is an honor to learn from you!

His horror was soon replaced with confusion when Beor Mormont started laughing.

"You may have your mother's look, but you are your father through and through", he said, between chuckles.

"I understand, however". "You came here with dreams to be fostered by the Greatest warrior the North as seen in generations", he said, making weird faces to emphasize his words.

"Yet all you find is a man who by all intents and purposes is no different from you and others. Did I get it wrong?" he finished, his gold amber eyes resting on his interlocutor.

Robb had the decency to look away, as his face reddened. "Never meet your heroes, they say", he heard Lord Mormont whisper to himself, chuckling lightly.

Lord Beor sighed loudly. "Robb, Jon... with me." He said categorically, turning to walk towards the castle yet again, the boys running after him to catch up.

"What does it mean to be a highborn?" He asked no one in particular, as the boys finally caught up to him.

"It means you have been blessed with duty to the lands and the people", Robb answered, almost as a reflex. Jon didn't answer, but a short nod conveyed his agreement.

"Oh, that so? And do tell, who blessed you, young man? Beor asked, his patented soft smile brightening his face.

Robb moved, as if he was answering only to stop, mulling over his thoughts.

"The Starks have protected the North for millenia." Jon piped in, as if that ended the debate.

"And so did the Targaryens... They ruled and" Beor looking at the boys pointedly.

"Until the people didn't trust them anymore", Robb muttered, coming to a realization.

"Aye, Stark. Power resides where man believes it resides. People believe the Stark name has power, so it does. People believed the mad king to be unworthy, then power was stripped from him.

Your father knows that too. He didn't send the two of you to become little red bears running around bashing skulls, though you will have to, unfortunately.

But I don't intend on teaching you how things have been done in the past millenia. I think it's time for a new North. And you two will be the first step toward that dream.

For the next year or so, training and studies were intensified for the Stark boys.

Mathematics, economics and finances, anything Beor could remember from his old life to mold the boys into learned forward looking men was employed.

This did not mean that their physical education was neglected. Far from it. Beor quickly ran in the obvious issue that he made a horrible sparring partner for boys thirteen years of age.

In turn he delegated their swordmanship training to other master at arms whilst personally taking care of their physical training.

Soon enough, grappling and boxing became an integral part of the training, the Mormont being acutely aware of how much these skills were transferable in a medieval battlefield. He just so happened to be the one person in this world that had practiced MMA professionally, however long that was.

At around the same time, ravens from Kingslanding started popping up more and more. Jon Arryn was getting antsy from the lack of northern response, it seemed.

The Hand of the King was aware the Mormont of Sea Dragon Point had the better position in this instance, explaining the lack of heavy handed actions from the Crown.

They still needed his ships to facilitate trade with the cities in the East, and now House Mormont held the keys to the Jade Sea, Yi Ti and The Black City.

Beor had long made up his mind that he would not be going to Kingslanding, at least not now.

For all of his advantages, he knew that even a bear was in danger in a den of vipers.

No, the North is where safety was for him, at least for now. Going to the capital would only spell disaster, he knew. He could make power plays with the Master of Coin or whoever else, he had dirt on the lot of them. But how long can you keep that up with people that are used to get what they want on their turf?

When they realize that they can't by his loyalty, they'd attempt to buy his silence with a bolt in the heart.

Some idiot was bound to try something and he knew he wouldn't hesitate to rip some throats out of their natural packaging. It would be the irrational thing to do, but he never seemed to be able to control himself when physically challenged.

Something deep inside him wouldn't let him see such an affront unpunished. His "gifts", as it were, also came with a double edged sword.

He had long stopped caring to figure out where said gifts came from. He wasn't stupid, however. He was part of House Mormont, was named Beor. He had bear-like strength, abilities and temper.

It didn't take a chemical engineering to figure out the theme here. He had read J.R.R. Tolkien's writing, and was well aware of Beorn, the Bearman of the Misty Mountains.

He could've spent countless sleepless nights wracking his brain about how this happened, why him or other deep metaphysical questions, but he felt better being grateful to whomever had the decency to sent him to a zombie apocalypse setting with a tank.

Beor also found some poetic irony that he was in this cynical world with what amounted to Tolkien's ultimate Deus Ex Machina. Surely there's a joke somewhere. he concluded.

And honestly, he tried not to care too much. He was living in the Song of Ice and Fire, the least of his problem was being gifted some supernatural abilities.

If anything, Beor understood that it was probably one of the only reason why no real military action was taken openly against him. The statement he made during the Greyjoy Rebellion had gone a long way to make people think twice before aproaching him with ill intent.

But of course, he wouldn't just bash his way into power or whatnot, though he could, if he put his mind to it. There's only so much a man however strong can do on his own.

He rarely wanted to see it as that, but every single one of his actions had one goal: to give him an advantage, however big or small.

He had managed to make himself indispensable to powerful people on both sides of the Narrow Sea, whilst staying as far as geography would allow it. His business with the Iron Bank had made organization see him as a man who had at least the knowledge to help them better their business.

He had helped upgrade their accounting system and had put his own money forward- with their blessings- in investing in ventures like fishing companies, or mining around Essos. He was a key holder in all but name, at this point. From a certain point of view, the name Mormont had more influence overseas than in Westeros itself.

The Crown was indebted to him, and for a while, he even let the Small Council believe that they had just obtained a new cash cow.

But he played the long game, planning his moves carefully. Make the North wealthier, stronger, less relient on the Southern kingdoms. At the same time, tie their prosperity to you and your House.

And above all, be a God to the smallfolk.

That one had work well, perhaps a bit too well. He already recieved reports a small cult of personality building around his person.

The poor Northerners, who have only been surviving those past millenia have found a new symbol to rally around. A great knight, a great leader, a provider who would never let them freeze during winter.

Sea Dragon Point seemed to be the breeding ground for those beliefs. Southerners coming North hadn't wasted time to syncretize some parts of the Faith of the Seven and that of the Old Gods of the forest, with him as the lynchpin.

Beor understood that this probably would come to bite him in the arse if left uncontrolled. Cults of personality have the bad habit of taking a life of their own once a certain threshold is crossed. But that will be an issue for another time.

'Transcontinental gang warfare to the South, apocalyptic ice zombies to the North. What kind of mad world is this?'

The Others were the ultimate threat, beyond petty politics and power struggles.

He had five, maybe ten years before they become an issue that will be world ending.

He had thought of nipping the problem in the bud.

He could take on the Wights by himself, create weapons of dragonglass or bombs full of obsidian to shred the bastards to pieces. It could work, he had thought, maybe.

But the logistics would make no sense. moving a sizeable army in the True North would mean taking on the Free Folk, all one hundred thousand of them. With no allies and no lay of the land, it would be a miracle if his men didn't die much before they reached the White Walkers. No sense in offering the cunts more bodies to feed their apocalypse machine.

So he had done the next best thing. Whilst Jon the sailor was gallivanting in the Sunset Sea, he had not stayed idle

With the aid of House Wull, wh claimed possession of the mountains near the Shadow Tower, he had made contact with the Freefolk in order to initiate trade.

The Freefolk traditionally avoided raiding on Wull and Flint lands, preferring to harass lands further South or East. There was an uneasy but tacit agreement of non agression between the groups.

It made the Mountain Clans the perfect middleman between the Bear Island and the Wildlings. The Wulls would trade with the nearby Wildling villages from across the Gorge via the Bay of Ice, where they would exchange furs, grains, sheep and beer. In return the Freefolk of the Frozen Shore and the Bay of Ice would offer whale skin, blubber and oil, alongside seal furs.

Of course it wasn't as easy as it would on paper. Some Freefolk bands saw the idea of trading with the kneelers as a sign that they had gotten soft.

It wasn't.

Armed with Mormont steel and with the help of the Northern Legion, the Wull brutally put down any wannabe King Beyond the Wall who felt man enough to attack them.

And with time, violence, and a good dose of natural selection, most of the hostile tribes had been chased from the Bay of Ice, or killed to the last, leaving only those that were willing to live peacefully alongside them.

Beor had also asked for permission to man Westwatch-by-the-Bridge to both Lord Stark and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. his uncle. The former had needed a lot of convincing and reassuring. The latter not so much.

Jeor had been more than happy to help his nephew, especially since he had been the single biggest contributor to the Night's Watch, with foodstuff, steel weapons, horses and fur being only some of the gifts House Mormont had given to the organization.

Thanks to this, Westwatch-By-The-Bridge had become a decent trading hub with villages of Freefolk popping up around the newly manned fort.

As to be expected, not everyone was happy. The First Flints were opposed to the trading, as they arbhorred anything wildling, ever since the barbarians had stolen a highborn lady of theirs. The continuing actions of House Mormont and Wull obviously did put some strain on their previously amicable relationship.

Beor couldn't bring himself to care enough about the wounded pride of some mountain men when the survival of humanity hanged in the balance, though they themselves did not know that.

Roose Bolton had also taken this as a chance to rally some of the more Southern Lords around him.

Since they scarcely had any dealings with the Wildlings, they likewise didn't feel any of the benefits the more Northern Houses, such as the Umbers or the Karstarks, now enjoyed.

The pale lord didn't care that GreatJon Umber reported a drastic fall in the rate of raiding in his lands; the mere idea that a Northern Lord would now be trading with their ancestral enemy was enough to sway a few Houses away from the Mormont sphere of influence.

The big players stayed with him, Beor thought with a sigh of relief, but he was unnerved by the actions of House Bolton.

Though they were mostly disliked, they were nonetheless a powerful foe to contend with.

Beyond this, the settlements near Westwatch had reported small raiding parties from the North and the West, mainly frol the Ice River men and the Thenns.

This, Beor had anticipated. With him lessening the effects Mance Rayder would have had beyond the Wall, the Freefolk tribes still warred amongst each other. The Ice River Tribes, especially Beor despised as they were somewhat famous for their practice of cannibalism.

The Thenns were the biggest threat to his entreprise, however, as they were the most numerous and organized of the freefolk, thus making the piece to knock over to really bring these people to the fold.

The Freefolk around Westwatch had become almost fully sedentary, as the area around the tower had plenty of hot springs, making the area's climate milder in winter than the surrounding lands.

Beyond that, they were safe both from starvation and violence and quickly came to see the Symbol of the Black Bear that hung on the Wall of the Fortress as a synonym of good luck.

Beor didn't ask them to bow to him, or even pledge fealty to King Robert Baratheon, as that was not needed to pacify them. He understood that the idea of food, safety and shelter was more than enough to calm some the most barbarian tendencies of the people.

He still made it clear that in order for them to be allowed to trade, some behaviours would not be allowed in these lands.

Thievery, rape and murder were dealt with brutal efficiency, both by the Freefolk themselves and the Wull-Mormont garrison that served as peacekeepers in the region.

He estimated that he had about a year at least until the hostile forces made their move. He was not worried at all, if he were being honest.

"Let them come" he thought. " Whether they join me or they burn, it'll be less men in the ice zombie's army."

"Now to deal with the Thenns", he said out loud, peering over maps offered by the Freefolk and the Black Brothers alike. "Funny, he thought, if this works out, we would've accomplish in a matter of years what the Realm couldn't have done in a thousand years.

"Anyway" he thought, reigning in his thoughts. "Dealing with those Thenn bastards shouldn't be too difficult, but it will still take a show of force. Why do you think, Robb?

The boy had grown much since his arrival, a year and a half ago. Rigorous physical training and diet had transformed the fifteen years old into a miniature version of Beor. He had also shown a keen mind with insight beyond his age, even impressing Beor at times.

"He is a born general. Shoddy politician. still however", Beor thought, smirking.

The teen frowned deeply, absorbed in his thoughts.

" A show of force would leave no hope of success for your foes", he said, "which would have been impossible before."

Beor smiled at him, montioning at him to continue.

"The wildlings were not united. Fighting an enemy here or there, would only be a small victory, in a defensive war. Fighting a war of attrition beyond the wall would be suicide. even for you, my lord.

" Very good, very good", Beor said, patting him on the shoulder.

"You gave them a target", a voice to his right said.

Jon was looking at the map of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, a slight disapproving look on his face. The bastard Stark had broken out of his shell his time here, encouraged by his mentor. He was taller too, taller than the books said.

"Probably the results of a richer diet", Beor had assumed.

He also shown sparks of leadership, especially on the field. He had grown to be a terrifying fighter, Beor importing different sword masters to teach them as much as they could learn.

Though like Robb, he was not the best at politics. They were by no means amateurs when it came to it, but their Stark upbringing had embedded principles in their core.

They'd never be masters like Baelish or Varys, and Beor was quite alright with that.

"Go on", Beor said, turning to the teenager who was looking more and more like Eddard Stark himself.

"You knew the Wildlings would not all accept your rule, too much bad blood between our people. But they are getting desperate.

My Lord, Westwatch is a bait, isn't it?", he asked, almost accusatory in his demeanor.

"Yes, and no." Beor said, turning back towards the maps.

"I hate that close to one hundred thousands men, women and children are our enemies just because they so happened to be born on the wrong side of a wall.

I genuinely want them to be safe and happy. Westwatch is for many the only chance they'll ever have to have warm food and shelter during winter. And that makes me happy."

Beor then smiled sinisterly, his golden eyes glowing in the dark room. "But I won't deny that with so much resources in one place, the more belligerant parties wouldn't be able to resist.

We can't pacify them tribe by tribe. We don't have the time, means, and frankly, nor the desire.

They'll attack the town, and for once, they fight us on our terms."

"The Thenns are walking into a slaughterhouse", Robb said, a small smile on his face.

"If it fails, we are putting countless lives in danger", Jon interjected.

"Then you'll have to make sure you don't". Beor said, leaning against the table, arms crossed.

"I beg your pardon, lord Mormont?"

"You'll be part of the pacifying force, so make sure they don't fail."

"But my lord, I..."

"It's alright, Jon, you're ready." Beor said, smiling softly.

"And you", he said, turning his gaze towards Robb, will lead the troops. Jon will be your second in command. I will accompany you, but only as an advisor.

"But my lord, you should lead", Robb said.

"This honour ought to be yours." Jon nodded vehemently at that.

"You two are the future of the North, in one form or another", Beor said addressing the boys, as he drew them near him.

"You will be Warden of the North some day, and you, Jon, you will do great things, I know it.

My legend is already made. Let the two of you be the ones that brought peace beyond the Wall.

The Wildlings respect strength more than anything. Be their saviors, show them that you two are men worthy of being their leaders.

I know you will make me proud." he finished, a soft smile on his face, as he look down at the two young men who look u at him with equal measures of admiration and respect.

"My lord", Robb spoke up, chuckling, "you are ten and eight, why do you speak like an old man?"

"I do not speak like and old man", Beor said, offended.

He looked at Jon, for moral support, only to see that the twat wouldn't look at him in the eyes.

"Oh, you cheeky brats!" he said swiping at them, both of them escaping neatly.

"Wait, what about father?" Jon said. "Does he know of this?", after creating enough distance between him and the giant.

"Of course!", said Beor, fixing his collar. "He signed off on it rather quickly, might I say."

""But he doesn't know about Jon and I going beyond the Wall, does he?"

"Err... Let's say he is not interested in the finer details. The Lord Paramount is a busy man, after all. And besides, what your father doesn't know can't hurt him, right?"

The two young men seemed unsure at that, looking at the Mormont lord with worry on their face.

"Oh, enough of that, you 'll be fine."

"I wonder what lady Maege will think of this", Jon said, a smile on his face.

Colors drained from Beor's face, at these words.

"You wouldn't dare."

"No", Jon answered, dead panned, but mirth was clear in his voice. "It was just a joke".

"You little shit! Come here!"