GOT : Chapter 71

( Rickard )

Rickard Karstark tapped on his knees, silently appreciating the aftermath of the battle at Castle Black. As expected, the wildlings had broken and run the second the northern cavalry appeared, and their assault on the Wall had been repulsed with heavy losses.

The Greatjon came to find him, clearly tired after little Alys' wedding, the ride to Eastwatch, another to Castle Black, and the final confrontation against the wildlings at the Wall. However, his voice boomed as if he never felt better.

"The young lad awake yet?" he asked

"Aye, been moody as well," Rickard answered. "Battle left some scars, and the lad played midwife during our entire assault."

"And to a wildling, no less!" the Greatjon scoffed. "Well, it's not the worst thing he's done, if you take into account all the rumors circulating 'round here."

"Bah." Rickard shook his head. "Seems to have his head on his shoulders and that's the only thing that counts."

"Pretty face and Stark looks, too." The Greatjon sighed. "Ned's get to be sure. Let's just hope he does not fall like his kinsmen before him…"

Rickard nodded sombrely, remembering the flames of the funeral pyre that took their king only a few weeks prior.

"Well, we've yet to announce he is to be our king." Rickard stood up. "Let us, friend?"

"After you, Karstark."

The Greatjon entered the small room first, Rickard in tow, while their newest king stayed seated, rummaging through a couple of scrolls. Indeed, he was Ned's get.

Dark grey eyes that looked almost completely black, and dark hair. If he remembered correctly, only Arya Stark had these typical Stark features, the other having inherited the Tully looks. He looked pretty for a Stark too, a shame his daughter was already wed…bah.

"Lord Snow." They both nodded as the bastard stood up.

"You mistake me, my lords." Jon Snow shook his head. "I am no lord. I am just a brother of the Night's Watch. Though it is me who would have needed to come to you, to thank you for your help against the wildlings. I thought we would have to face them alone."

"We were glad to be of help. I hadn't slaughtered that many wildlings in ten years!" Umber boasted while Rickard's stare kept him from doing anything else.

"You might be aware of the death of our King, Robb Stark, the first of his name, slayed ignominiously by the turncloak." Rickard spoke.

The bastard stayed silent, but Rickard could see something light up in his dark grey eyes of his. A flash of light that called something greater…rage, disappointment, sadness. Something, at least.

"I am aware of my brother's death." He nodded simply.

"Since his grace died with no trueborn heirs…" Rickard continued before being interrupted.

"Sansa and Arya are dead?"

"Fortunately, not as far as we are aware." The Greatjon came back into the discussion. "But they are Lannister hostages, and his grace has removed them from the line of succession out of fear that they might use that position to forcefully marry them and thus gain Winterfell…"

"What Lord Umber, means, Jon Stark." Rickard cleared his throat, "Is that his grace, gods rest his soul, has designated you as heir. He has signed your legitimization, and you are to be king after him."

The bastard stayed silent, the sudden revelation coming as a complete and utter shock to him. For a brief moment, no words were spoken, but he still had the courage to ask to see the legitimization papers for himself.

Rickard could see a small tear form in the bastard's eye as he read the paper, disappearing as it hit the icy ground a few moments later.

"I…am at a loss for words, my lords." Jon Stark blurted out. "But I cannot accept…I…I would be an oathbreaker. My life is sworn to the Watch."

"And a king's word may break these vows, your grace." The Greatjon spoke up. "These things have been done before, albeit rarely. But King Robb has also issued a decree freeing you from your vows. You would not be breaking any oaths."

The bastard-turned king looked at the both of them in disbelief and once again asked for proof, which Rickard handed him as well.

"I…still…the Watch needs me." The Stark boy shook his head. "We need every man we can get and…"

"Two hundred men." Rickard Karstark spoke up, slamming his fist on the table.

To his credit, the Stark boy didn't flinch and just looked at him, dazed.

"I'm sorry?" he asked.

"Two hundred men are waiting in our host, ready to take their vows, if you consent to be our king." Rickard Karstark announced. "And we will lend fifty more per head you may need to drag south with you."

He could see that their newfound king was now completely stuck. On the one hand, his vows to the Watch, and on the other…a letter breaking these vows and offering two hundred men to bolster the Wall's defences…and more if needed.

"Two hundred…" Jon Stark whispered. "Two hundred…"

Rickard nodded back.

"Fine." The bastard finally relented. "I'll accept your crown."

"I'm afraid we didn't bring it with us." Rickard shook his head. "But we aren't big on coronations at the moment."

The Greatjon chuckled, as they both rose from their seat.

"Is there anything else?" his grace asked.

"No, that would be all, your grace." The Greatjon nodded. "Oh, perhaps the election of the new Lord Commander, I thought it would be best to announce that Janos Slynt is no longer a candidate."

"Oh?" King Jon looked surprised. "Did he forfeit it?"

"Erm…not exactly." The Greatjon laughed. "He forfeited his right to live. Some sentries found him in several pieces at the bottom of the Wall. Apparently, he had boasted about our regretted Lord Eddard Stark being a traitor, and some members of the watch had come to some men of our host saying Slynt had bragged about arresting him."

"Any word on who did the deed?" his grace asked.

"Might've just slipped and fallen off." Rickard shrugged.

"Aye, ice is slippery and people don't pay a lot of attention." The Greatjon laughed.

"This will make the election a much more complicated matter…" the king shook his head. "I need to talk to Noye. In the meantime, you may have your leave. We must speak about the wildlings soon enough."

"As you say, your grace."

Rickard took the rest of the morning organizing his cavalry for the journey back to Last Hearth. Something they could probably undertake in the next two to three days if everything went according to plan.

His beard twitched. Rickard had served three different Starks, all of which died after going south at some point in their lives. Could he prevent a fourth from wasting his life south of the Neck? But the realisation that his remaining sons were still fighting alongside the Rivermen put an end to these thoughts.

They had a sacred duty to help their allies and liberate the king's sisters.

Still, getting out of this gloomy place would do him some good. The Watch was in dire need of repair, that much the king was right about.

With about a hundred men at Castle Black, the Wall might've fallen if not for their intervention. After a quick meal and three glasses of ale, Rickard came to find the king again alongside the Greatjon.

The king had tired eyes, no doubt spending the entire morning trying to find a successor to Lord Commander Mormont, which wouldn't have been an easy task.

"What do you mean to do with the wildlings, your grace?" the Greatjon asked.

"I'll ask for every tribe in Mance's army to give hostages to ensure their good behaviour. I'll spread them out through every castle in the North, from Bear Island to Greywater Watch if necessary. Children, women, sons ... anything to dissuade them from turning their swords on us." Jon Stark started.

"They will also surrender whatever meager gold or silver they have in order to rebuild the Watch. In return, I will agree to let them settle the Gift provisionally."

"You mean to give the Gift to the wildlings?" the Greatjon felt as if he was about to jump from his seat.

"I am not giving the Gift to them, I am merely allowing them to settle it, should they swear fealty. Besides, the others will be settled on my lands, and the Bolton ones which have now been attached to them. You do not have to worry about any wildlings on your lands, besides the ones you will have as hostages." The king countered.

Rickard Karstark couldn't help but frown.

"I need them to hold this damn Wall, my lords." The king caught Rickard's stare and turned it against him. "They will have a choice to either accept this offer of fealty or die beyond the wall."

"Hah!" Rickard scoffed. "I bet most of them will just die in these frozen wastes."

"I wouldn't be so sure." The king shook his head. "Something bigger is coming."

"Yes, yes, grumpkins and snarks…" the Greatjon chuckled. "Rumors and…"

The king smashed his fist on the table.

"One more word, Lord Umber, and I'll delegate you to lead a vanguard to the Fist of the First men so that you may see for yourself!" the king grit his teeth.

"Most of these men have survived encounters and they will tell you their tales. Listen to them if you shan't listen to me. But the threat we face is very real, and the wildlings know it too. And right now, the best thing we have to face them is Dragonglass given to us by a Dornish prince of all things!"

"Wildlings…" the Greatjon sneered.

"If any tribe raids, you have hostages." The king countered. "I will accept further discussion about the disposition and conditions of living of these hostages, but right now I will need to send an offer to Rayder."

Rickard slowly followed his king down the steps of Castle Black, seeing the courtyard bustle with excitement.

"You've remained quite silent, Lord Karstark." King Jon observed as the Greatjon left to pout somewhere. "I expected more resistance from you at the idea of letting wildlings flood our lands."

"I can't say that I'm happy about it, your grace." Rickard shook his head. "The wildlings are a treacherous bunch, but I am also inclined to believe that a lot of these men are experienced, and wouldn't make up stories of old monsters just to get a few more men and resources plunged into the Watch."

"You believe me, then?"

"Let's just say that I don't think you are a liar." Rickard shook his head.

"Something is definitely hunting the wildlings and killing your men, else the entire wildling clans north of the Wall wouldn't have assembled, most of them shaking in fear at the mention of these monsters, whose reports are corroborated by your men. But I don't believe in a new Long Night.

Something else is out there, and until we can know what it is…"

The king nodded, as a man with a southern complexion approached him.

"Jon!" he quickly approached. "I'm sorry for…"

"Don't mention it." The king frowned. "Don't fucking mention it."

"I…sorry." The man shook his head. Considering his darker complexion, he was most likely Dornish. "I didn't mean to…"

"Yes, I know." Jon nodded. "But the wound is still fresh and I don't want to think about it anymore. What is done is done and we must all move on. But where is my decorum? Lord Karstark, this is Ser Daemon Sand."

"Ser." Rickard coldly nodded.

"My lord." He nodded back.

"Ser Daemon will accompany me south."

"South?" the man looked confused.

"This lot have named me their king."

"King…but…our oaths?"

"Two hundred men for the Watch…it's too much for me to refuse. And fifty for you…" King Jon shook his head. "You know we need the men to face what's coming."

"You've seen them too?" Rickard asked.

The Dornishman nodded.

"Oh yes, my lord. Wights. Dead men risen from the grace, attacking us. They came from all sides, and are invulnerable to almost anything but fire and dragonglass, else you need to destroy the entire body for it. But the most terrifying ... are the cold shadows.

They are beings as white as the snow you are stepping on, covered in an invincible white armor and a crystal sword that emits an otherworldly screech when it meets steel, and whose blue eyes seem to pierce your soul. Almost nothing can stop these creatures.

Not steel, not fire. Only one has died, in front of my eyes.

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