Skepticism #58

The meeting hall in Castle Black lay dim and dreary, barely illuminated by scattered torches and the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the windows. It was furnished with worn wooden tables and chairs, and there, Lord Eddard Stark and his companions awaited the arrival of the Night's Watch Lord Commander. 

They didn't have to wait for too long.

Entering the hall, trailed by Benjen Stark, the First Ranger, and Qhorin Halfhand, a respected senior ranger from the Shadow Tower, the Lord Commander promptly greeted the guests. "Welcome to Castle Black, my lords. I had hoped personally welcome you at the gates, but an urgent matter demanded my immediate attention," he explained. 

Behind him, Benjen nodded at his kin but remained silent. Eddard returned the nod before addressing the Lord Commander.

"We're grateful for the warm welcome. Please don't concern yourself over such trifles-- we wouldn't wish to keep you from your duty in any way," Eddard responded calmly, acknowledging the pressing responsibilities of the Night's Watch leader.

The Lord Commander accepted their reception with a nod. "I appreciate your understanding, and I apologize for our meager hospitality," he remarked, noting the simple offerings of bread and boiled water before the guests. "Securing provisions has been a challenge since our recent increase in numbers," he explained, a hint of worry shadowing his features.

Shaking his head in a reassuring manner, Lord Stark responded, "We've noticed the increase in the Night Watches recruitment effort." His tone shifted slightly to a thoughtful frown. "May I inquire if this is connected to why you've summoned us here?"

Ser Barristan Selmy, adding to the conversation, interjected, "Not that I'm not grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling air of King's Landing for a while... but I am curious about the reason for requesting a royal representative..."

"Not that I'm not grateful for the chance to escape King's Landing's stifling air, but I must ask why you asked for a representative from King's Landing?" Ser Barristan Selmy interrupted, his tone carrying a trace of skepticism. "Lord Stark and his vessels could surely handle any wildling threat without the need for involvement from the royal house of Berathion," he continued a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Aye, there's no doubt about that," the Lord Commander nodded, acknowledging Selmy's concern. "Though numerous in numbers and fierce in nature, The wildlings wouldn't stand a chance against a northern cavalry charge."

"However, Wildlings are not our main concern at the moment," he explained, his tone growing grave. " In fact, we're considering an alliance with the wildlings to fend off a larger threat, hence the necessity for a royal representative," he added, glancing toward Selmy.

Those words prompted visible reactions from everyone present, particularly Eddard Stark and Robb Stark, whose expressions shifted noticeably.

Lord Stark's voice resonated in a harsh tone, slicing through the air like an unsheathed blade. "Do you understand the weight of your proposal...? The implications of aligning ourselves with the Wildlings?" His questioning held an edge of disbelief. 

It was an open secret that northerners, both highborn and smallfolk, harbored a deep-seated hatred toward the wildlings that was reciprocated by the Free Folk clans. 

The Wildlings, due to scarce resources, often trespassed beyond the Wall, pillaging Northern territories for sustenance. This conflict had persisted for countless years, with the North defending its lands against these raids.

The bitterness between the factions ran deep, and Lord Stark, like most, if not all, northern lords, developed a personal disdain for the wildlings and their savagery over the years. 

An alliance with them would mean permitting their passage through the Wall, potentially unleashing chaos in Northern lands-- not to mention the repercussions from Northern lords for such an arrangement, which would be severe, to say the least.

Much to Lord Stark's surprise and bewilderment, the Lord Commander didn't yield as he had anticipated; instead, he simply nodded in solemn agreement. 

A furrow etched deeper across Lord Stark's brow at the unexpected response. "And what, precisely, is this threat that would compel you, of all people, to consider consorting with the savages beyond these walls, Lord Commander?" His voice was edged with suspicion, his gaze piercing.

"Winter is coming, Lord Stark..." The Lord Commander's tone carried a weight of inevitability. "It comes for us all, bearing untold horrors in its wake..." he added, his voice weighed down by the gravity of his words. 

Without allowing room for anyone's suspicions to surface, the Lord Commander embarked on a detailed exposition, relaying every fragment of information gathered from Benjen, Qhorin, and Dolorous Edd upon their return. 

He spared no details, revealing the sheer magnitude of the wildling army's gathering, the group's encounters with the undead beyond the Wall, and the ominous warnings given by the Three-Eyed Crow. 

As the revelations unfolded, a heavy silence enveloped the room, each person displaying a distinct reaction. Lord Stark and his sons appeared both apprehensive and incredulous simultaneously. 

Ser Barristan Selmy maintained an inscrutable expression that defied interpretation, while Tyrion Lannister, with a mixture of disbelief and skepticism, wore a dumbfounded expression that he didn't hesitate to vocalize.

"So, you're suggesting that the undead, the giants, and even the children of the forest are real..." Tyrion said, furrowing his brow. 

"And that they've all decided to appear at this particular time for some inexplicable reason?" His tone carried hints of ridicule that he attempted-- albeit unsuccessfully, to mask out of respect.

Lord Stark spoke, a somber tone lacing his words. "Tales of the Children and the Undead were part of my upbringing. I won't dispute their existence," he admitted, his brow knitted in contemplation. "But they've long since been nothing but myth... it's difficult to accept your words," he expressed, his skepticism evident as he turned to his brother, Benjen. 

"What's say you, brother? You were part of the group that arrived about such fantastical truths..." he probed, seeking a more concrete understanding.

Benjen exhaled wearily, burdened by the weight of his knowledge. "Indeed, I've encountered these truths, though I wish they were as fanciful as they sound," he acknowledged, the gravity of his words echoing in the room. 

"The reality, unfortunately, is neither fantastical nor fanciful," he revealed, his voice filled with the grim weight of experience. Eddard, eager for insight, silently encouraged Benjen to share further.

"The wights, those undead creatures, I've faced them myself. Nearly seventy of them ambushed us," Benjen disclosed, the memory etched on his face. "I had to put some of them down myself," he admitted, a hint of concern touching his words at the recollection.

Hearing Benjen's words, Ser Barristan Selmy finally broke his silence. "Seventy of these creatures, you say? Yet all four of your survived the ordeal?" he asked with a frown, his skepticism evident in his tone. "If these wights are so frail that a handful rangers can dispatch seventy of them... then I don't see the need for even Lord Stark's involvement, not to mention King's Landing..." he added, crossing his arms in disbelief.

Benjen shook his head, a grim expression on his face. "The wights are far from frail. Nothing short of severing their heads or setting them ablaze can halt the damned creatures, and it's no easy feat," he explained, his voice filled with a sense of urgency. 

"If not for our fourth companion, none of us would have survived the encounter. He was the one who slew most of the wights, and he's currently with the wildlings, attempting to find common ground for us to work togather," Benjen elucidated, hoping to convey the gravity of the situation.

His words hung heavy in the air, causing a momentary silence to envelop the room as each individual grappled with the daunting reality of their discussion.

Qhorin seized the moment to speak before anyone interrupted. "It's not the wights themselves that are the gravest threat, it's those who command them—the White Walkers," he asserted, his voice grave. 

"They possess the strength of twelve men and wield ice blades that can shatter steel with a mere touch. Only weapons made of Dragonglass can harm them," he explained, emphasizing the severity of their danger. 

"I faced one and nearly met my end with a single swing of its blade," he continued, beginning to remove his leather armor, perplexing those present.

Soon, Qhorin bared his chest, revealing a colossal scar running down from his chest to his lower abdomen. "My blade shattered on impact, and I found myself bleeding on the ground before I could react," he disclosed, pointing to his scar. "If not for young Gale slaying the White Walker soon after, I wouldn't be standing here today," he concluded, gratitude lacing his tone.

"This Gale you speak of... is he the fourth that Benjen mentioned?" Lord Stark inquired, his expression filled with curiosity and concern, glancing at both Qhorin and Benjen as the nodded. "Could you tell me more about this... youn man?"

...

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