New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 70 The Council at Castle Black

Word of Joffrey and Tywin's deaths had not yet spread across the Seven Kingdoms, but Castle Black was about to receive a far more terrifying visitor—a wight from beyond the Wall.

"Woo...."

A horn blared above Castle Black. Every man knew: their brothers were home.

The tunnel gates beneath the Wall creaked open. Night's Watch rangers escorted over a dozen women through the passage, back to Castle Black.

Ser Alliser Thorne, the master-at-arms, stood in the castle yard with the remaining few score brothers to greet Jeor Mormont and Owen's party.

"What's this? Why have you brought back so many women? And is that... Craster?" Alliser frowned, eyeing the bound figure in the group.

"Thorne, have the men settle these women first. Then gather everyone in the yard—there's something we need to share with the brothers," Jeor said, his voice steady as he addressed the master-at-arms.

"You heard the Lord Commander! Move!" Alliser snapped. His gaze then fell on Samwell Tarly—the portly boy he had long scorned—who was holding a swaddled infant and chatting softly with a woman. "Samwell! Is that your child?"

"N-no, Ser Alliser!" Sam stammered, jumping at the sharp tone.

"Then give the babe back to its mother. And fetch Maester Aemon. What do you think you're doing, dawdling here?" Alliser roared.

"Y-yes, ser!" Sam hurried to hand the baby back to Gilly, then waddled off toward the castle to find Maester Aemon, his heavy steps betraying his anxiety.

"Harris!" Owen dismounted and waved to one of his Northmen.

"My lord!" Harris rushed over, standing at attention.

"Tell our men to join the gathering—all except those on essential watch duty. Stay sharp. If I give the word, step in and take control of the situation," Owen whispered, his voice low but firm.

"Aye, my lord." Harris nodded and turned to head for the Northmen's barracks.

Soon, the women from Craster's Keep were all settled, and every Night's Watchman had assembled in the yard. Maester Aemon, supported by Sam, was also brought out, wrapped in thick furs against the cold.

Meanwhile, Northmen stood guard on the castle's platforms and parapets, their hands resting on their sword hilts—silent sentinels.

"Brothers of the Night's Watch," Jeor began, stepping into the center of the yard. "I know many of you are wondering why we've brought Craster's women back... and why we've brought Craster himself, bound."

"Let me set one thing straight first: these women are not here to be your servants," Jeor added, a dry edge to his voice. The men chuckled, the tension easing for a moment.

"Before we talk any further, I want to show you something," Jeor said. He waved Edd Tollett and Grenn forward; the two men carried a heavy wooden crate between them.

"Open it," Jeor ordered.

Edd and Grenn pried the crate open carefully, their movements hesitant.

"Screech!"

A shrill, inhuman wail cut through the air. The wight inside lunged out, its limbs twitching as it staggered toward the crowd. The men froze, then stumbled back in terror.

"Look out!" Alliser shouted, drawing his sword and driving it straight through the wight's chest. The blade pierced the creature's torso—but it kept reaching for him, its jaws snapping wildly.

Just as the wight was about to clamp down on Alliser's arm, Edd and Grenn grabbed the ropes binding its limbs, yanking it back and pinning it to the ground.

"You all saw that!" Jeor boomed, his eyes sweeping over the shocked faces. "That is a wight—a corpse controlled by the White Walkers. Ordinary steel barely slows it. To kill it, you must cut off its head, burn its body... or use weapons made of dragonglass. Valyrian steel works too."

"We faced dozens of these things at the Fist of the First Men. We even fought a White Walker. If it weren't for Lord Owen and his men, we would all be dead—turned into wights like this one, coming back to kill you, our own brothers," Jeor continued, his voice heavy with gravity.

"On this mission, we also fought the wildlings. Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, was cut down by Lord Owen's sword. The wildlings' threat to the Wall is gone—for now. But a far greater danger is coming."

"The White Walkers are hunting the wildlings. They want to kill the ten thousand Free Folk beyond the Wall... and turn them into an army of wights. When that army marches south, we cannot stop them alone."

"So I propose we open the Wall's tunnels. Let the wildlings who wish to flee south pass through. It is a chance for the living to survive—and a way to weaken the White Walkers' forces," Jeor said, addressing every man in the yard.

"I support the Lord Commander," Edd spoke up first. As a seasoned ranger, his word carried weight. "We don't need more enemies."

"I support him too," Grenn added, stepping forward without hesitation.

The rangers who had traveled with Jeor to the Fist followed, one after another, voicing their agreement.

"I agree with the Lord Commander as well," Maester Aemon said, his thin voice quiet but clear. He sat at the edge of the crowd, his eyes clouded but sharp with wisdom. "The hatred between us and the wildlings runs a thousand years deep—too deep for words. But when the White Walkers come, it will be the living against the dead. We must gather every sword we can."

Aemon's words swayed many who had hesitated. Most of these were Alliser's loyalists—men who dared not speak up until their leader made his stance clear.

All eyes turned to Alliser. The pressure weighed on him; he had a bitter, personal hatred for the wildlings, one forged in past battles. He knew he had to speak.

"Lord Owen, what is your opinion?" Alliser asked, clinging to a last hope that Owen would oppose the plan.

"Ser Alliser, I've spoken to the wildlings," Owen replied. "If they swear allegiance to the Warden of the North—if they agree to live as farmers or hunters in the North—I will persuade the northern lords to accept them."

Owen's words crushed Alliser's last hope. He stared at the crowd, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles whitened. He hated the idea of making peace with the wildlings more than anything—but over half the hundred-odd brothers present already supported Jeor. The rest stayed silent only out of deference to him.

"I will not make peace with the wildlings. I will not let them pass through the Wall," Alliser said, his voice loud and unyielding. "As a brother of the Night's Watch, I cannot accept it. But as a living man... I will not stand in your way."

With that, Alliser turned and walked away. He strode back to his quarters and slammed the door shut behind him— a final, angry gesture.

"And the rest of you?" Jeor asked, looking at the men who had not yet spoken. "Any objections?"

They shook their heads— a silent agreement. None were fool enough to oppose the majority now, not when the threat of White Walkers loomed.

"Then let it be done. Starting today, prepare to welcome the wildlings south," Jeor ordered. "Send word to the brothers and settlers in the Gift—tell them not to fear. We will keep the peace. No wildling will harm them."

"Lord Owen, might I ask you to handle Craster's fate?" Jeor suddenly said, turning to Owen.

"Of course," Owen smiled, nodding.

"Let me do it," Sandor said, stepping forward before Owen could respond.

He grabbed Craster by the scruff of the neck and hauled him up onto the nearest platform. Snatching a sword from a nearby ranger's belt, Sandor held it high, his voice thundering.

"You filthy cur. You betrayed the living. You fed babies to White Walkers," Sandor roared. "In the name of the Warden of the North, I judge you."

He swung the sword down in a single, brutal arc. Craster—his mouth gagged—could not utter a word. His head tumbled off the platform, blood pooling on the stones below.