𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑰
300 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕
𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒕
It has been too many days of voting, of pickering and argument, back and forth and back and forth again and again. And the more time it took to vote, the more Stannis did grow more and more frustrated. Not that it really mattered to Ben. The King's frustrations were not his concern at that moment. What was his concern, was that the stubborn woman on the floor in front of him was being a drag.
"Eat."
He groaned once more, offering Val again a third bowl. This one would be the final. He would not go to the cook again to fetch another. Val was left in the room by herself throughout most of the days since her capture. She was separate from Tormund and Mance, of course, to have a woman's privacy. She had scarcely said a thing since what he did.
"Val..just fucking-"
She smacked the third and final bowl of stew from his hands, the wooden bowl clattering on the wooden floor, the stew that was made of mystery meat splattered everywhere. Ben just shook his head with a deep frown, groaning.
"You know, we used to have this mare in the stables at Winterfell, this beautiful white stallion my father rode. But no matter who approached it, the damned thing would buck and thrash. She nearly bit my ear off once. And the only person to calm her down was my father. And still, even while remembering her, that horse was never as stubborn as you are being right now."
"Go away."
"That's not going to be an acceptable answer, darling."
"Then what do you want me to say?"
Val glared at him, her voice booming with anger and hate, though he could tell that she struggled to maintain the two.
"You want me to suddenly come prancing back to you simply because you saved my life and my decency?"
"I want you to stop being an ass."
"Well, guess what, Ben? I've decided that I want to stay an ass! Perhaps my spite will drive you and your Crow friends to test your wings at the top of your Wall!"
Taking a deep breath, Ben closes his eyes and exhaled, sitting himself down in a chair, tense. He tensed his shoulders, his hands squeezing into fists before he released all tension. This woman would be the death of him, he knew. Opening his eyes once again, he was met with her glare, but Ben simply gazed at her calmly.
"You know what is going to happen to you, and to your people?"
He asked quietly, and Val looked away, spitting at the floor with further spite.
"That new king of yours ought to decide soon. I'm sick of sitting in this room."
"You sit in this room with that bucket in the corner and stew all on the floor because of your own damn decisions, Val, not Stannis, and not I."
Ben shook his head.
"Stannis Baratheon is at war for the Seven Kingdoms. He's been beaten bad already, but a wolf, or in this case, a stag, backed into a corner is when it's most dangerous. You thought his complete victory over your people beyond the Wall was something? Then perhaps hearing about the Battle of the Whistling Wood would suffice. Perhaps the Battle of Blackwater would top everything you've ever heard of before."
"What's your point?"
She just scoffed as Ben continued.
"My point, is that all you've known in your life is war. War and cold. And both are coming for you, for Mance Rayder, for your people..everyone. King Stannis aims to have Mance bend the knee."
"Yeah, like that's going to ever happen."
"And if he does not, he will die."
"I can promise you, Stark, that Mance Rayder isn't afraid to-"
"The Red Woman will burn him alive."
That is what silenced Val. Even now, both of them could picture the image of Mance tied to a post whole the timbers underneath burned bright and hot. Stannis did not say it, nor gave an inclination to the idea, but he didn't even have to for Ben to know it's what would happen. The Red Woman was a plague to all, especially on the King's mind.
It was the idea of fire for Mance that set a fiery chill up Val's spine as she closed her eyes, shaking her head.
"Even still..he will not kneel."
"And perhaps your fate would be worse."
"Burning? What could be worse than burning?"
Val again scoffed in disbelief, and Ben sighed heavily.
"Marriage."
If the mention of death by fire silenced her, this was what cut out her tongue. The expression on her face didn't reveal anything, but in the electric blue eyes of hers, showed that there was fear. Fear and something a whole lot different.
"You're a princess, darling. Stannis, his Red Woman, and his men all see you as such. As do the Free Folk. To gain support of them all, he would have Mance kneel before him, and he would have you be wed to whomever will become the next Lord of Winterfell."
Further silence followed as he finished. Her eyes lingered on him for a long time before they finally narrowed slightly.
"Are you not the Lord of Winterfell now?"
She asked, confused, and with a raised brow. Ben sighed once again, shaking his head.
"I am not lord of anything. Not since I took the Black."
"But both you and Jon had mentioned that you had been a king once. So are you King still?"
"I am not the King in the North."
"But you are a Stark. The eldest living Stark, right? So wouldn't that make you Lord of Winterfell and the King in the North? I thought the Starks were kings and lords and whatnot."
He couldn't help but smile a bit, chuckling lightly at the questions Val spouted. Despite how closed off she could be, how she'd spit and hiss about this and that, the Wildling Princess truly was always curious of everything around her.
"No, darling.."
He trailed off, losing his smile.
"Sadly, we're not Kings of Winter any longer, nor rulers of the North and Lords of Winterfell... The Boltons rule now."
"Why?"
Such a simple question, Ben thought to himself. Why? Anyone could ask why something is what it is. It was simple. Why?- he asked himself. Why? Because I ran away when my family needed me the most.
"Because.."
Ben sighed, shaking his head.
"There's so much to explain, Val. I've missed so much of what was going on south of the Wall...two years."
"Two years?"
"Yes, two years..barely. Barely two years since my father was executed, since Westeros has gone to war with itself, since everything. The game that is being played right now, Val, is too hard to explain all at once, and even I do not understand everything that is happening. Unlike you, I have a lot stacked in my bowl right now."
Ben leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees as he put his face in his hands, sighing oh so heavily into them with frustration. A frustration that was growing tiresome. So much has happened already without him or Jon there to watch, or to participate or guide. Ben wasn't there for Robb when he needed him.
Now, a king does call to him to make a decision that would re-do the one he had made before. It would turn back everything, yet change nothing, except for damn any honor he has left. Going with Stannis would leave his Black Brothers, even the ones that hate him, vulnerable. But if he didn't go, Stannis and his hosts, many of his men whom seemed like good men, would be walking into white winds that carries slaughter and death for them.
It was like a storm of swords raged in his mind, blades of chaos and revenge, of honor and duty, sacrifice and so much more clashed and danced in his mind daily. It was all too much, yet Ben always kept it to himself. But now, looking into Val's eyes, he cracked, though only a little bit more than what he should have allowed.
"Aye, if I broke my vows to the Night's Watch, I would be the rightful Lord of Winterfell. But you know as well as I that any war they fight in the South will be nothing compared to the true war that is coming from the North..the true North..."
Ben paused, looking into Val's eyes with pity.
"Some things are just out of our control, Val...but if it be some Baratheon bannerman, a son or father of a Northern House, or even another Wildling that Stannis sees fit to force you to wed...just know that if you ever need me, for whatever reason it might be for...I'll be there."
It was a promise both he and Val knew would be impossible to keep. Reality was, the life they lived in was not fair, for either of them, for nobody. Life wasn't fair, and yet life carried on like a leaf in the winds. He stood to his feet with a sigh as he turned his back to Val, making for the door before she stopped him.
"Ben?"
She asked, and he turned, seeing her blues that shined like diamonds stare right into his very soul gently.
"Could you bring to me another bowl?"
She asked quietly, and Ben just smiled with a nod, turning to make yet another trip to the kitchens to beg for more mystery stew.
𝑱𝒐𝒏
Olly was a quiet sort, rarely speaking. Sure, he'd smile every now and again, perhaps a laugh or two like most others, but overall, the boy from a little hamlet in the Gift was quiet. And Jon wasn't entirely sure why.
Perhaps it had been because of him. That's what Jon had first assumed when the thoughts of the boy's silence arose. Though Jon presented himself as best he could, trying his best to embody the demeanor of his older twin, a warm and welcoming sort of embrace. But then, seeing as Mance and Val and Tormund were their prisoners, and the fact Val and Tormund must've also had been on that raid on Olly's little village, he thought about how one of them must've done something.
❄️❄️❄️
❄️❄️❄️
"Pivot! Don't forget to pivot!"
He commanded once more, with Olly did as instructed, pivoting, allowing himself space to work with against the far older Black Brother he was facing. Jon knew he would not best him. And that was the point. Ben trained him exactly the same way, putting him against a tougher opponent with the expectation that he would lose. The lesson he learned then, and one Jon was ever greatful for, was that you must find the will to stand back up after getting knocked down.
"Good, good..keep it up, Olly! Let's go, come on!"
But of course, as Jon would figure, Olly did not keep up the pace much longer, and the Black Brother knocked Olly off balance with a heavy blow with his shield, sending the boy to the ground.
"Come on, up."
Jon stepped in, pushing lightly at the man's chest, as the fight was over. He then looked down at the salt and rock covered ground where Olly did lie. Cotter Pyke, along with men, had brought in barrels of salt from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. It had been in use to help melt away the almost constant knows at Castle Black. He of course had tasted that salt down there on the ground multiple times during training. But he always got back up.
"Damn it.."
Olly muttered under his breath as Jon just smirked, shaking his head as held out his hand.
"Come on, you did good."
"Not good enough."
Olly scoffed, brushing off Jon's attempt to help him up, the boy instead pushing himself to stand. This worried Jon a bit, concern etched in his Stark eyes.
"For now, it is good enough."
"How?"
Olly just scoffed once again, shaking his head with frustration.
"How? Olly, look around you. You're facing other men who are twice your age and strength, and yet you continue to stay standing against them longer and longer each time."
"But it's not enough!"
Jon backed off a bit at how aggressive the young boy was being. Olly shook his head with an angry look, throwing his sword down to the salt covered ground of the training yards before storming off. Some of the other Black Brothers chuckled and made jokes about how the boy was like a bee, a sharp stinger with an attitude and whatnot. And maybe they were right to an extent. But Jon just shook his head, turning to face them and the Baratheon bannermen that had seen fit to join the session.
"Knock it off, all right?"
"The little shit's got an attitude."
The one who had beaten Olly by knocking him off his feet spoke, earning a few laughs from his buddies. Jon just narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Enough. Move on from it. Get back to training in your pairs."
"Well, Dayne, if you could not yet tell, my sparring partner has taken his leave to cry in a corner."
"Then I suppose I should take his spot then, as your partner."
Jon lifted his training sword up with ease, eyes never straying from the Black Brother as the man scoffed a little bit, looking at his friends for a second before looking back at Jon.
"I haven't seen you hit the ground once today, Dayne. That'll change now."
"Mm."
Jon just hummed, barely moving into a stance to duel with the man. He didn't need to. The Black Brother raised his sword high and brought it down. Jon simply sidestepped with ease, swiftly tapping his sword hard down against the already fast moving blade, the momentum along with the sudden push knocked the training sword from the Brother's hands with ease with a wack!
"Wha-"
Jon raised the blunt tip of the training sword to the man's throat, shaking his head.
"You were holding it too loosely."
He shook his head, relenting his hold of the blade to the man's neck before walking away, leaving the men to train amongst themselves. Jon left his training sword on the rack with the others, and grabbed Longclaw, tightening the swordbelt around his waist before marching off to find Olly.
Castle Black was not that big at all, so it was no surprise to Jon that he found Olly so quickly. Its just where he found him that concerned him. Standing in a small back corner of the Castle that was pressed near against the Wall, Olly stood on the frozen blood stains that had not yet faded away.
"Olly."
Jon said, taking a step forward. The boy, however, shook his head, turning to him.
"There's people saying that he killed Black Brothers right here. The blood seems to confirm it."
Olly spoke, his words pointed to daggers, cold and slow.
"There was blood and bodies everywhere after the attack."
Jon tried to defend Ben, but it was evident there was no tricking or convincing Olly otherwise of what his twin had done. It was something Ben had mentioned when gathering the wood and timber for the pyre..for Ygritte. Kissed by fire, he thought to himself with a pang in his heart.
"Part of me doesn't want to know the reasons why he did.."
Olly started, sniffling just a bit as he wiped his eyes of anger and sorrowful tears, tears that Jon could tell were held back for too long. He'd seen it so many times in Ben's eyes, and yet still, the older twin rarely shed them, and Jon had only ever seen it twice.
"..but the woman he took captive, the tall giant of a man he spared..they're Wildlings. They're not civilized. They killed my family and people!"
Olly shouted, glaring at Jon as the tears continued to stream down his cheeks, soon to freeze from the cold chill of the air.
"T-This almost white-haired Wildling bitch killed my mother, and your brother just spares her! Not only that, but he killed Sworn Brothers doing it!"
"Olly-"
"And now he's whispering with this new king that has brought some foreign magic woman, turning half the people here at Castle Black into blind servants, no better than the old man!"
"Don't speak of Aemon like that, Olly."
The words were cold and dangerous. Even if Jon had the rare interaction with the blind Maester, he respected him greatly. He often found Ben talking with the Maester, others having mentioned if Ben had not been atop of the Wall, he was with Aemon. But they also say he was seeing Val and Stannis. "We continue to play the game, Jon." That's what Ben said to him out beyond the Wall, ready to kill off all of the mutineers.
Point being, is that Ben must've been planning something. He had to of been.
Olly shook his head, wiping away a few more of the tears as the young boy leaned against the Wall, slumping down against the ice and bloodstained snow.
"You don't understand... You don't understand what it is like to have your home and family ripped apart and slaughtered.."
Oh, but I do..Jon knew Olly was lost and confused still in his own mind, scared and afraid of everything and everyone around him. And there was nothing wrong in that.
"I need to be better..I-I can't let what happened happen again.."
Jon nodded with a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a long moment as he leaned back. Finally, he opened them again, and he reached for Longclaw at his waist, drawing the dark grey steel of Old Valyria, before twirling it once and stabbing the blade into the ground, the wolf's head and its red eyes facing Olly as the boy looked on in confusion, intrigue, and just a bit of fear.
"I've told you what it's name is?"
Olly sniffled, nodding.
"What's your point?"
"Longclaw. Before I was given this blade, Lord Jeor Mormont was the wielder of the sword. It belonged to his House for generations. And like my father's sword, Ice, and my mother's, Dawn, Longclaw has dispensed its share of rights and wrongs. No sword is clean in this world, Olly."
"So what is your point?"
Olly questioned, annoyed. And Jon just patted the pommel of Longclaw, wishing for the moment that it wasn't just a wolf pommel he had patted, but Ghost himself. He missed him. But shaking from those thoughts, he returned to Olly, and to his point.
"My point, is that I had to earn this blade. Given I had not even known House Mormont owned a Valyrian Steel sword, I still had no right to it, just as I had no right to Ice or to Dawn. And yet Lord Commander Mormont chose me to wield this blade with honor, to use it to strike true and honest, and for it to finally be laid to rest once it's work is done.
One day, Olly, I will not be here. I've spent nigh on a year with the Wildlings beyond the Wall, and what I've seen, no one else could imagine... Yes, your strive to be better is admirable, but you must be better in more ways than just with a sword and shield."
Jon crouched down, looking into the brown eyes of the young boy as he reached out, touching his shoulder comfortingly.
"You have to be better for all the right reasons. One day, you might wield this sword. And if that time ever comes, you must be better, Olly. The path of revenge..it's one I've often contemplated walking-hell, I've walked it before already-but the end of that path is just a dead-end... We must be better than that, Olly."
Even after finishing his speech, Jon knew Olly would not fully understand him and the meanings behind his words. But that didn't matter. Not yet, anyways.
Standing to his feet, Jon took the hilt of Longclaw, lifting the Valyrian blade out of the ground with a slight twirl, sheathing the blade one more at his waist before offering a hand to Olly. The young boy hesitated for a long moment, but finally, he took Jon's hand without a word, and the two made their way back to the trainingyards.
𝑺𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂
"When we left the Vale, the Maester had given you a raven scroll sealed with pink wax."
Sansa spoke calmly and quietly, legs crossed under the table of the inn. They had stopped to rest, for Lord Baelish's men to have drink. It annoyed her, but she had not said anything. He had mentioned how money can buy many things, even power. He later added the fact that men are still men, and needs drink and ale.
"What was in it's writings?"
Sansa asked, continuing as Littlefinger glanced up from his dish, a lowly smirk on his lips.
"You are becoming quite perceptive, my Lady."
"My mother always spoke of ravens and the words they carried as, "dark wings, dark words."'
"Not a term coined by your Lady mother, but wise words nevertheless. Inaccurate in this case. The news is quite good."
Lord Baelish mentioned, returning once more to his food. He ate delicately. A sort of style Sansa had grown to despise, really. She despised it in others, but mostly, she despised it in herself. She had dreamed of flowery dresses and shining knights, of nobility, honor and love and so much more. But the world was not so delicate, and Sansa felt as if everything had been a lie.
"The marriage proposal I've struck has indeed struck well."
"And here I was thinking you still mourned for your late lady wife. My Aunt Lysa."
She spoke with a narrowed tone. Part of her wonders why she thought to defend him. Then again, if she had not, Sansa could only imagine where she would be now. Most likely anywhere but at an inn at a crossroads.
Littlefinger said nothing. He gave no hint, and still wore that small smirk that Sansa had grown to know was a calculation.
"Ale?"
Sansa broke from her thoughts, looking to the innkeeper, or perhaps the young girl was the daughter of the innkeeper. Or maybe not.
"I'll have some..please."
She pushed her cup toward the girl, and the young one did smile politely as she poured the liquid into the mug before walking away to fulfill other participants.
"I did not take you one for a drinker of ale."
"I liked the wine in the Capital."
"Dornish or Arbor?"
"Arbor. The Gold."
"It seems in recent years that the Captial has grown a taste for gold. Yet in the last year alone, a rather great distaist for gold has grown as well."
Lord Baelish chuckled, shaking his head lightly.
"It is a good thing that I rescued you when I did, my Lady. Have you not heard?"
Sansa furrowed her brows slightly, shaking her head.
"No, of course I haven't... Is that where the raven was from? The pink wax?"
"It is not. But the news? Take it as you wish, good or bad, but it appears that your..Lord Husband, the Imp of Lannister, has committed a..horrific crime."
"Tyrion? They accused him of the murder of Joffrey, what else-"
"Tywin Lannister is dead."
Sansa's eyes widened greatly, her breath hitching in her throat without her control at all. The news..she couldn't tell if it were good news or bad. In a way, Sansa saw a dead Lannister as a good one. But there were..considerable benifits of having the Lord of Casterly Rock alive. Joffrey wanted his people starved and dead, Tywin wanted them starved and loyal. Dead men tell no tales, yet dead men do no work in the fields of which the lions feast from.
But now with Tywin Lannister dead, Sansa wondered indeed what Littlefinger was up to.
"They say the Imp shot him with the late King's crossbow whilst the Old Lion was on the privy..and they always said Tywin Lannister shit gold."
"And you believe what "they" say?"
Sansa questioned, which made Lord Baelish just chuckle with the shake of his head.
"Dark wings, dark words, my dear. Only a fool would trust all the words of a bird, the wine in his flagon, and the seed of his own, for each could be the end of his own making."
"Halt. That is far enough."
Sansa perked up just a bit, hearing the guards of Lord Baelish speak up, stepping forward with their shiny armor, stopping someone from approaching. Her back was to them, so she did not see who it was. But it seemed Littlefinger did.
"Lord Baelish. Lady Sansa."
How?- Sansa thought with worry, though she etched a stoney face onto her own.
"My name is Brienne of Tarth."
"Ah, yes. Brienne of Tarth, sworn Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon."
Littlefinger mentioned, and Sansa recognized now who was there. She met Brienne once, only mere months ago. Though to her, it felt like years. The woman was all right, but considering the events in King's Landing that occurred during her escape, and what followed, Sansa was worried greatly.
"What was it that the would-be King of Westeros say about you? "Her loyalty can stretch the Narrow Sea, yet always remains true and strong, free of charge." Though it seems a hefty price seemed to purchase that loyalty since then."
Sansa didn't look to her side as Littlefinger allowed the tall woman through to stand at the side of their table. The inn had grown silent, and Sansa closed her eyes, worry beginning to fill her lungs, drowning her.
The Red Queen- she thought. The Red Queen can see, she can hear. You are messing this up- she blamed Brienne silently in her own head as Sansa opened her eyes, watching as the tall blonde woman dressed in clean, slick black armor kneeled before her with a look of determination on her face. The determination was admirable, Sansa would give the woman that, but nothing else. She would not risk her safety here and now.
"Lady Sansa.."
Brienne of Tarth began.
"Lady Sansa, before your mother's death, I swore my sword and my loyalties to her."
"Which were previously sworn to Renly. Tell me, Lady Brienne; do your loyalties jump from person to person as if they were a spring fever?"
Lord Baelish spoke, shaking his head, which made Brienne glare at him for a lingering second before turning back and looking Sansa in the eyes.
"What happened to Renly..was a tragedy. But we cannot dwell forever on the past. And yet in the past, I swore to your mother I would find you and protect you. Ser Jaim...the Kingslayer, swore to your mother to return to you your family, to Winterfell. I am upholding his promise, and my own. And I promise you this, Lady Stark; I will die if it meant it would fulfill mine and the Kingslayer's oaths. I promise this to the Old Gods and the New. I-"
"The sword."
Sansa spoke once more with a narrowed tone, looking to the waist of the tall blonde, spotting the sword at her waist. She recognized the golden hilt that alone would have been worth a small fortune. But the blade was Valyrian, a courtesy of the Lord Tywin, a courtesy of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. And Brienne of Tarth now had this sword.
"My Lady-"
"Is it truly the Kingslayer and my mother's words that sent you here to find and "protect" me, or is it the Red Queen?"
"Sansa-"
"I believe you should find your way out, Lady Brienne."
Brienne glanced at Littlefinger for a second before looking back to Sansa. She could notice how there seemed to be a desperate look on the woman's face. A sad, desperate look that in all honesty, Sansa found quite sad. She appreciated the care Brienne has shown thus far, but Sansa, in the end, would not take the words of a messenger in black as true.
"Dark wings, dark words.."
"My Lady Sansa, please. I have traveled long and far to find you and your sister, to protect you."
"I ask one more time, and with respect, my Lady Brienne; leave."
Lord Baelish now warned, it seemed as his men stepped forward, tense and ready to fight. But Brienne shook her head, the desperation in her eyes shown, the worry.
"Sansa..please."
"Go."
Was all Sansa spoke, and Brienne stood slowly to her feet, almost on shaky legs it looked as she looked to the floor in defeat. But in one last attempt, it seemed, Brienne looked back into Sansa's eyes with determination.
"I found your sister."
Arya, Sansa thought. No, no, she's gone. Arya is gone. She couldn't believe it. Her eyes were widened now again, in disbelief. It was a lie. Surely it was... Is it?
"The man asked you to leave, so it's time to leave."
In one quick motion, Lord Baelish's men stepped forward, not taking any chances with the tall woman, and quickly wrapped armored arms around her, and Brienne was quick to struggle against them, but in vain as the knights of the Vale began to drag her out of the inn.
"Sansa, I swear! I swore to your mother to protect you! Sansa!"
She hollered and screamed, and eventually, the men were able to drag her out of the inn, and Sansa imagined the possible beating the woman would receive. Of course she had heard of what happens to the men that disappoint Littlefinger.
"We, too, should leave, my dear."
Lord Baelish stood, offering his hand to Sansa. The Stark noticed once again the letter with pink wax hidden away in his sleeve. She took his hand.
꧁꧂
Sansa wondered not what had come to happen with Brienne of Tarth. She already knew. Most likely, the woman was lying dead in a ditch now. The skies were a darker grey than usual, she noticed. It was going to rain soon, it looked. But with the way they traveled, the direction, Sansa believed that if they kept pace, the rain would soon turn to snow.
Coming to a stop up on a long, grassy hill, Sansa gazed out at the seemingly endless grey hills and bleak skies. In the distance, she was able to spit a castle, of sorts.
"Moat Cailin.."
Gazing out toward the North, everything seemed to click all at once for her. Sansa, sharply turning to Littlefinger, saw how he knew that she knew now.
"Why? Why would you do this?"
"Marriage is like a game of chess, my dear. You must protect the Queen at all costs. But the Queen cannot stand on the Pawns forever."
"Is that what I am? The Queen on the board or the Pawn?"
"Sansa—"
"No!"
She shouted, slapping away Lord Baelish's hand, tears stinging her eyes as Sansa began to break down in grief and fear. Grief for her brothers, her mother and sister, and fear for what now lies in her childhood home.
"I am not going back there!"
"To win a game of chess, the Queen must often play aggressive, for if she hides away for too long, the Pawns, Septons and Knights all begin to fall away until there's no one left to defend her. The Queen must be strong."
"I am not a chess piece to be moved! I refuse to go back to Winterfell! I'll starve myself before I go back there!"
"And why is that? Don't you wish to see your home once more?"
"Well, I-"
Sansa paused for a long moment, wiping away her tears as she sniffled lightly. I want to see it, she thought. I want to see home, more than anything. I want my brothers, I want my sister, I want Mother and Father, I want us all in our home, safe and warm. But Sansa knew there was nothing left in Winterfell now, nothing left to her family but white winds. The lone wolf will die alone. There was no longer a pack.
"I want to go home..more than anything... But the Boltons hold my home, they hold the North as Wardens as reward for stabbing my brother through his heart and cutting my mother's throat to the bone."
Sansa spit, shaking her head as she gazed still towards the North. It was right there. She could see it, in her mind's eye, she could see Winterfell. She could see her family, all warm and happy. But then she could see death and snow and cold. She saw that when looking at Littlefinger.
"My Lady.."
He began, stepping forward slightly with raised hands.
"You are wise and strong beyond your years. You have survived great tragedies no one should have to live with, yet you survived. You survive because of that drive in your heart. You are not the only Stark left in this world, but your the only one that counts."
Ben. Jon...Sansa had not thought of them for..so long. It hurt to think of them. In a way, she felt betrayed. Betrayed that her elder brothers just ran off to join the order of the Night's Watch.
"Benget Stark, Jon Stark..they could help us. But really? When the Lannister executed your father, the Stark twins ran back to the Night's Watch. The North and the Riverlands made the eldest their king, and he abandoned them. They cannot help me, they cannot help you... The only person that can help us take back the North from the ones who stole it..is you."
Us?- Sansa questioned, narrowing her eyes, glancing at Littlefinger.
"And the way we start, is by first moving the Pawns forward, cutting away a path to their Queen. To their King."
"Yeah? And what then?"
Lord Baelish simply smiled, offering his hand to Sansa as she gazed at it with a lingering stare of worry.
"And then...we play the Game of Thrones."
𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒕
He noticed how his Black Brothers, his superiors, the officers, were entering the King's Tower, beginning to climb the steps to meet the visiting king. But the longer Stannis Baratheon staid, the more it made Ben wonder if he was indeed just visiting, or if he had further plans for anything else. But that was not how place to intrude on such a meeting, even though he knew he probably could get away with it. He held the King's favor, but for how long, Benget could only guess.
The King was angery. That much was certain. He was angery that the Watch had not yet chosen one to take the place of the Old Bear. Since Jeor Mormont's murder, Ser Alliser had taken it upon himself to lead as acting Lord Commander. But in reality, hie grip on the men was torn, and so was Ben's. Half hated Thorne, while half hated himself. Part of his half liked Stannis, and the other the Lannisters. A storm was coming. It had been brewing for some time, and Ben could only guess when it would burst.
Benget glanced up one of the separate towers, a more of a storage room than anything else, but a tower nonetheless. He could see Val up there, peering at him through the window. He had given her that fourth bowl. She hasn't need any reason to thank him, let alone care for him in any way. Val didn't need to smile. Her eyes always expressed what her lips did not.
"Daydreaming, are you, Stark?"
Ben tensed only for a second, able to recognize the voice in the next as he looked away from the tower, down back to his level, glancing a little but below it to notice it was Maester Aemon who spoke, who stood before him there.
"You could say that, I guess."
"A great many things there are to dream of in this world. What's down in Dorne, the mystery beyond the Wall, what is west of Westeros, and the far expanding lands of the East and who lives there..so much. And yet I can see that your thoughts and dreams linger a little closer to home."
Home, Ben thought sadly. Winterfell. Winterfell always felt warm and safe. It had been built above a hot springs thousands of years ago by ancestor, Bran the Builder. And still, it's walls beat steadily with hot water that acts as blood being pumped from a beating heart. It was home. But it was gone.
"For a blind man, you can see a great many things, Maester. Have I ever mentioned that?"
"Once or twice, but mentioning it thrice now isn't an issue at all."
Ben smiled at the warmth that Aemon seemed to radiate. It was the old man's presence. It was soothing, and calm. A far cry from the storm of swords and dark words that has ripped through Castle Black like a plague.
Ben brushed his hand over his chin and cheeks for a moment, feeling the omce bit of stubble he always had grown more into a beard than he liked. He'd shave later. For now, he supposed it was fine.
"What are you doing out and about here, Maester Aemon?"
He asked, returning his attention to the old man once more. Maester Aemon pointed, and Ben followed his direction to the King's Tower. Ben chuckled a bit, finding the fact that Aemon knew where everything was in this castle was nothing short of something special.
"You see a lot for a blind men."
"And again, a fourth time mentioning it never hurt anyone before."
"Do you need help up the stairs?"
"Do you want to help me up the stairs? Or is it you want to listen to what the King might say about you and the offer he has given?"
Ben frowned a little at that. Winterfell, the thought rang in his head again. Winterfell, even if I am a Black Brother, is mine, by right. The North is mine, by right. But yet in a way, he no longer was Benget Stark. He was just Ben. Ben of the Night's Watch, the same his uncle had been before he went missing. Shaking his thoughts, Benget just nodded, knowing full well he'd never be able to get past Aemon and his sight.
Helping Maester Aemon along, the Stark and Targaryen climbed the stairs of the King's Tower together. Finally reaching the top, torches hung on either side of the wall, illuminating the door. It was of course not the same as the door in the Lord Commander's Tower, the building which he and Jon both burned respectively. Still, a heavy oak door studded with iron stood before them.
"Do you suppose the Red Woman is with him?"
Ben asked, the question really being rhetorical. Of course the Lady Melisandre was with King Stannis. She was his true Queen, not Queen Selyse.
"Come. Let us meet the King."
Opening the iron studded door, even more light was shown. The hearth at the end of the rather large solar burned brightly and warm, a stark contrast to the cold Black Brothers who found themselves kneeling before Stannis Baratheon. Edd of course was there as well. He had announced his running for Lord Commander just three days prior. Though only a select few did vote for him in those days, Ben was one of them. Five in total. The Lady Melisandre stood next to the King, whom sat behind a desk as if it were his throne.
"I see you've finally arrived, Maester."
"I have, Your Grace."
"Though I do not remember inviting Lord Stark here to speak with me."
"You did not, Your Grace."
Ben shrugged with a slightly mocking smirk.
"But according to my station here, my duty is to be the personal steward of Maester Aemon. My job is to be by his side, to aid him whenever necessary."
It was a slight towards Stannis, and Ben intended it to be that way. Janos Slynt, who still knelt with the others, scoffed with a bewildered look on his face.
"How dare you presume to think you could be privy to what the King has to say? You have no place here!"
"Someone had to help the Maester up the stairs. I do have a place here, my Lord."
"Leave it be, Slynt. The Stark can stay."
The King put a quick end to the gripes of Janos Slynt with his words and glare, and no one else made a motion to speak.
"Rise. Stand back to your feet and let us begin."
Ben gave a nod to Edd with a smile before turning to look back to Stannis, interested as to what the stag had to say. Stannis began.
"How many days has passed since you began your voting?"
Stannis questioned, though Ben knew that the King already knew. Of course he had. He watched the last two elections, and both times, he stormed out of the hall when nobody was chosen.
"Sire.."
Bowen Marsh began with a defensive tone to his voice.
"No one has yet to achieve two thirds of the vote. Besides, it has been twelve days."
"Eleven days too long. How much longer shall this folly last?"
Stannis scoffed, shaking his head.
"Choices, my lords. Choices shall be made. The choice of your next Lord Comamnder I have left for you to decide. And yet twelve days have passed, and I find no Lord Commander sitting here behind this desk commanding. If by tomorrow you do not yet choose who shall lead you, I will choose for you."
Ben's eyes only widened a little bit. Stannis choosing—a Southern king—choosing the next Lord Commander would break centuries—thousands of years worth of traditions. And yet even still, Ben almost wished everyone would shut up and have Stannis pick anyways. Likely speaking it would not be Dolorous Edd who shall be named. Ben knew that Edd already understood that fact, yet he decided to run anyways. Any are welcome to.
And the thought did cross his mind. But yet again, Ben was torn between what was coming from the true North, and what he could have back home, what Stannis offered him. Winterfell, his home, all of the North. It would all be his if he but laid down Dawn at the King's feet. He would rise again as Benget Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Our knees do not bend easy, the words spoke to him again. And even if he had never heard the voice of the late Sword of the Morning, his uncle, he could imagine it through the stories of his father still.
"Sire..you are not of the Night's Watch. You cannot—"
"If you do not choose, I will choose for you!"
Stannis cut off Ser Alliser, raising his voice in anger, slamming his hand down onto the table, making several Black Brothers jump. Melisandre smiled as if the action of her king amused her greatly. It probably did.
"Decide soon or you forfeit the right to decide. Dismissed."
"Your Grace.."
Cotter Pyke stepped closer to the desk, a frown on his face.
"What about your Wildling prisoners?"
"What about them, Lord Pyke?"
"Mance Rayder still lives. A turncloak still lives. What shall be done with him?"
Stannis said nothing. Turning away from Cotter Pyke, the Baratheon's eyes landed on Ben, narrowing slightly before shaking his head.
"Tonight, we shall see what will become of him. Now.."
He hadn't taken his eyes off of Ben, and Ben did not remove his violets from the King either. The officers of Castle Black and Edd too began to leave, with Edd patting him on the shoulder with that brooding frown he is so good at doing. Benget knew that the King was not dismissing him.
"And then there were the few."
Ben spoke with a joking tone, the Maester still standing beside him.
"Sit."
Stannis offered, though it were mostly to Aemon, who had come to be standing on shaking legs. Ben slowly helped the blind dragon sit down in a chair, right before the desk while he remained standing, standing back up straight to act presentable to the King and his..woman.
"You know why I asked you to stay?"
"I do."
"Have you spoken to him yet?"
Benget shook his head.
"I haven't spoken to Mance. Only Val and Tormund."
"This Tormund fellow..how what do you think of him?"
The King asked, and Ben just smiled a little with a chuckle, shrugging his shoulders.
"He would be a great friend and ally, and a terrible enemy. At one point, him and I were all three. We nearly killed each other."
"And why didn't you?"
Melisandre spoke for the first time, stepping forward, her fiery red eyes staring into Ben's violets with the same heat of a searing flame.
"Because winter is coming, my Lady, Your Grace. Thousands of Wildlings escaped during the battle, scattering beyond the Wall. I know that if I cannot convince Mance to join you, like I know you're going to ask me to, then Tormund would be a good runner-up."
Stannis almost smiled. And that alone was something. The King had a thin smile creep to his lips, an almost prideful smile, as well as an amused one. Of course that wasn't the reason at all for Ben sparing the giant ginger. Tormund was his friend. And now they might be enemies, but when the time comes, they would be friends again, allies at the very least.
"Very good."
Stannis nodded.
"Have you considered my offer?"
He knew that question was coming. Turning slightly to look down in the chair next to him, he could already see Maester Aemon looking at him through blind, pale eyes that showed like foggy milk. Yet there was no judgement within them. Like long ago, when he went off South to fight with his little brother, Aemon was giving the same exact advice as he did then.
"Of course I have, Sire."
"And have you also made your decision? I grow inpatient by the hour.."
The tone was warning, the same as before.
"Forgive me, Your Grace..but I don't think you understand the magnitude of the offer which you present to me... It's something I want, I know."
"Then you shall have it. Kneel before me, here and now. Lay down the your blade at my feet and I shall grant you the North, your home. You shall have Winterfell, your name back and all. The North shall kneel to you, if you but kneel to me."
Benget took a deep breath before shaking his head.
"You ask of me to break my oaths."
"Mere words, Benget Stark.."
The Lady Melisandre clicked her tongue with amusement, leaning on the desk as if to get closer to Ben, her red eyes on fire.
"They have been broken once before."
"Think about the last you broke your oaths, Stark. I received the news of the first battles of the War when my armies were garrisoned on Dragonstone. A great battle, the singers make mention. The Whistling Wood they coined it. You yourself led men to the greatest victory in the history of the Seven Kingdoms since the Field of Fire of Aegon's Conquest. Your lords had named you King in the North and the Riverlands. You had everything when you broke your oaths."
Stannis too leaned forward in his seat, the same as Melisandre, his eyes narrowed.
"I will give you much and more, Benget Stark."
He felt as if everything in his life had led to this here moment. And still, Ben was torn. He could have everything. Backing Stannis was a far better option than backing the Lannisters. If he kneeled here and now, the North would again be his. But it was never really his. The North was his father's. Ned Stark ruled the lands, and his name is still echoed in the white winds that have swept through since. Robb, he knew, did not live up to Lord Eddard Stark. It was a deeply terrible and sad thing. And Ben wasn't sure if he could live up to his father's name either.
"You shall have your answer in the morrow, Your Grace."
Stannis glared at that, but said nothing as he simply waved his hand in dismissal. Moving to help Maester Aemon up, the Targaryen's hand moved to the Stark's shoulder to help him stand. Before Ben could move, Maester Aemon began to speak for the first time.
"Might we see it, Your Grace?"
"Aemon Targaryen.."
Stannis shook his head.
"What is it you wish from me? Do you ask some sort of apology on the behalf if Robert for what he did?"
"Not at all. I ask simply to see your sword. The sword we brothers of the Night's Watch have heard much and more of since your coming here, Your Grace."
"Lightbringer?"
Stannis chuckled for half a second, shaking his head.
"You wish to see it? A blind man?"
"The Stark shall be my eyes, Your Grace."
"They'd fit well on you, old man. You are a dragon, after all. One could forget that fact when looking into your pale eyes."
Before, Ben had never really heard of the supposedly legendary sword named Lightbringer. But he had listened to Melisandre's speeches around her nightly fires, the parts that were not spoken in what Ben assumed were High Valyrian. She deemed that Lightbringer would cast light against dark, warmth agaisnt cold, and bring an end to winter's wrath. He didn't believe all that and more could be achieved with a single sword of fire.
The supposed Lightbringer hung on the wall above the hearth, stayed away in it's scabbard of wood and leather, hanging on a peg above the flames. Stannis sighed, nodding.
"Why not? Many have seen it before. I suppose it would do no harm to show to a blind man."
Stannis rose from his seat, marching to the hearth as he put on his leather gloves before taking the scabbard in his hands. In one moment, the room was calm and relatively bright, only enough to see and make Do, nothing more. But when Stannis Baratheon drew Lightbringer, Ben actually flinched a bit from the bright light that came from the steel blade.
❄️❄️❄️
❄️❄️❄️
"What do you see?"
Aemon asked, his hand blindly reaching out as if to feel the light shining brightly. Looking back at the blade with squinted eyes, Benget gazed at the near blinding light.
"I see light, Maester. It is glowing red, orange and yellow and gold, yet there are no flames. The blade does not bruned."
Ben had to admit, this was truly the first he'd ever seen of such a thing. Glancing slightly back to the Lady Melisandre, the Red Woman smile grew, and for a moment, his disbelief in her and her God wavered slightly for the first time.
"Can you feel its warmth?"
Aemon asked, and come to think of it, he could not.
"No. I feel nothing."
"That is because it is a mere illusion."
Aemon smiled, shaking his head before looking to the direction of Stannis.
"I thank you, Your Grace, for showing this wonder to me. My imagination is quite something, and I imagine Lightbringer to be quite beautiful."
"I am glad I could please you."
Stannis scoffed just a little, shaking his head as he sheathed the blade that did not burn, extinguishing the light almost immediately. Aemon stood beside Ben, an amused smile on his face as he bowed stiffly before the turned, having Ben help him leave.
"Oh, and Stark?"
Stannis spoke again, that warning kind of tone once again emanating in his voice.
"Do be sure to set aside time today to speak with Mance Rayder. Convince the King-beyond-the-Wall to bend the knee and swear fealty. If you are not able to persuade him by nightfall...he burns."
Ben didn't even turn to face the King, his heart beating heavily. His mind was now stuck on the possible image of Mance burning at the hands of the red witch.
꧁꧂
Queen's Men stood before the door. When Benget stepped to them, they moved their spears in front of the door, denying him access.
"Your king asked me to treat with Mance Rayder. Step aside."
He warned only once, but the men in their red armor refused to move. Ben sighed, shaking his head before sharply suckering one right in the chest. It hurt his hand hitting the chest plate the way he did, but the one on the right dropped, sucking in a harsh breath as he struggled to breathe. The second made no move, backing away from Ben as he glared at him, hand resting on Dawn with ease.
"Run along to your queen. I see now you don't follow him. You follow her."
"We follow the Lord's will. As should you, Stark."
"You know me? Then you know the Old Gods are my gods. I will not be sent astray by you and your fire magic. Now leave."
Scoffing, the guard shook his head with annoyance before helping his friend up, scattering away like rats as Ben sighed, turning back to the door. Opening it, Benget stepped inside, shutting it behind him.
It was cold in the room. Their was a point to that, though. The King had ordered Mance's cell, or room in this case, to stay cold. The Baratheon was a fool to think the cold would make Mance Rayder desperate enough to give up.
And the man himself stood before him now, breath showing in the chilled air of the room.
"You grace me with your presence once more, Benget Stark."
Mance joked, shaking his head with a frown.
"Come to treat with the King-beyond-the-Wall?"
"I have."
"Yes..treat. But you treat now for someone other than the Night's Watch."
"Aye. I do."
Ben nodded, stepping closer to the King of the Free Folk. Though from where the man stood, it would look like he was king of nothing and nobody. Not from here. Mance sighed, sitting down in a chair by the empty hearth that roared no flames or warmth.
"Have you visited her yet?"
"That's not the point of my being here."
"I can imagine she's part of Stannis' deal, his offering to whoever would take it. When I abandoned my black cloak for my freedom, Val was only a child then. She wasn't born a princess, but she is one now, just as I was not born a king."
"And yet here you are, King-beyond-the-Wall. King of the Free Folk, leader of an army a hundred-thousand strong."
It was aimed to mock and to slight the man before him. He wasn't leader of men from here, not in person. Mance's name still led others. It led Tormund, who remained only just a hallway away from Mance. But even still, if Mance kneeled, his name would mean nothing to the Free Folk, and both men in that moment knew it.
"Was it you he offered?"
Mance asked, though by the sound of his voice, the man already knew. Mance simply picked up his lute, the only luxury he was allowed to have here in this room, and began to strum the cords softly.
"Aye."
Ben nodded.
"And did he offer you to take Winterfell? To take the North back from those who stole it?"
Mance scoffed with a smile.
"Did he offer you her hand?"
"He did."
"And I can see in those violet eyes of yours that you want it. You want her."
Mance again chuckled, his smile growing by the moment as he turned back to Ben, still strumming the cords lightly.
"But you can't, can you? "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.""
""I shall live and die at my post.""
Benget followed the words of his oath, the words of the oaths of the Night's Watch. Both men knew the words quite well. Both regretted saying them, and both regretted breaking them for various different reasons.
For a long time, silence was all that was spoken between them. The only words that carried in the room were the keys and notes that were struck from the lute in Mance Rayder's hands. Ben smiled while listening, shaking his head.
"A sad song... The Song of the Winter Rose. But it's the one I had not known you knew that well."
"Lyanna Stark?"
Mance spoke, and Ben nodded.
"Of course I know her song. You know it too."
"That I do.."
Ben trailed off, sighing heavily as he leaned back in the chair of his own, looking to the cracked windows, watching as the white winds outside flew, the slow setting sun indicating that the time grew short.
"How many did die because of Rhaegar Targaryen, you think?"
"Many."
"Understatement of the century, that is."
Ben chuckled, smiling sadly as he shook his head.
"I never met my Aunt Lyanna. Never heard her voice. The same with my mother, Ashara Dayne, and my uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne."
"The Sword of the Morning."
"Aye. And yet still, their voices..their faces...I see them in my dreams. And the dreams are clearer than any memory. I see my mother's haunting violet eyes, my aunt's sad smile, my uncle's honorable face and all. I see my father in the Godswood of Winterfell, cleaning away the stains of crimson from Ice in the pond beside the Heart Tree... I see things."
"Me, too."
Mance spoke quietly, and just the same, finished the sad, quiet song on his lute, laying the instrument flat in his lap, sighing heavily before looking at Ben.
"I see a young boy before me who is torn between different paths. I see white winds blowing, coming for us..and the dead come with it."
Mance stood to his feet, shaking his head sadly once again as Ben also stood to his feet, his black cloak draping to the floor.
"You mustn't be a boy when winter does come, Benget Stark. You have to be a man. You must choose a path, before one is chosen for you."
"And what of you? What of the path you take from here?"
Both of them already knew the answer. And Ben knew there was no use in trying to persuade the King-beyond-the-Wall otherwise. He would not have it. His pride would not have it, his people..both of them knew what was to come that night.
"My song has come to end, Benget Stark. Yours is only beginning."
"Your life is worth so much more than a song." He heard her speak, and Ben closed his eyes for a long moment before nodding. He turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him, turning him around.
"Take this."
Mance offered him his own lute, and Ben frowned for a moment, carefully taking it into his hands as Mance nodded.
"History remembers names, not blood. They remember songs...do not let them forget."
"I won't..I swear."
And that was a promise Benget Stark would never break.
꧁~~~A/N~~~꧂
Ahhhh, is that another chapter done finally? Yes, yes it is. A really long one at that. Nearly 10,000 words in total, including this little authors notes.
So it seems Mance has decided his fate, which will be shown in the next chapter, as well as some other things as well. So as I mentioned previously, I will be splitting up povs for characters into groups. The Starks get the first three chapters, so Sansa, Jon and Ben, Tyrion and the Lannisters/Margaery get the next three, and then Daenerys. From there, it will cut between characters like before, mixing them together, depending on what I decide. Let me know what you think of this so far!
Thank you all for reading!