A low-groaning frosty wind from the far North shrieked past Styr in the cold of the night. The moon was nowhere to be seen, plunging the icy lands leading to the Wall into darkness. The sole specks of light only existed far at the top of the Wall where the Night's Watch stood guard.
High in the trees beneath the Wall, Styr, the Magnar of the Thenn clan, studied the towering sheet of ice stretching endlessly into the sky. Beside him stood Jarl, the restless climber whose pride was taller than the wall of ice before them.
"I think it's time." Styr muttered before climbing down from the tree.
He was followed by Jarl, who climbed down from another tree nearby.
"The night is perfect for our plans." Jarl said, his voice brimming with confidence.
While Styr considered Jarl a young upstart who thought too highly of himself, he had to give the lad some measure of consideration in this particular matter. Jarl may be young, but he was one of the few wildlings who scaled the Wall and raided the lands beyond with the likes of the Weeper and Alfyn Crowkiller.
The sound of snow crunching under the boots was heard, attracting the eyes of both men towards the newcomer.
Styr found Mance Rayder walking out of the darkness dressed in his furs.
"So, what do you say?" Mance asked, looking straight at Jarl.
"The moon is nowhere to be seen, and the winds are favourable. We can do it tonight." said Jarl, tapping his foot restlessly against the ground.
"In that case, you each take a company," Mance murmured, looking between the two men. "One hundred with you, Jarl. One hundred with you, Styr. You will climb the Wall and cross over to the other side, silent as weasels before the first light. Then strike Castle Black from the rear."
Jarl whistled appreciatively at the prospect of a daring mission like this, while Styr remained serious, as they had no idea what the Watch had in store for them on the other side. It was not as if the Night's Watch was ignorant of their movements.
"I assume you'll be doing something to keep the crows' attention on the far north." Styr said with a grunt.
Mance smiled thinly.
"Oh, they'll be looking north. They will not be able to ignore the greatest fire the North has ever seen." Mance said with a cold chuckle.
Styr was confused at Mance's claim, but he ignored it in favour of trusting the man to do what was necessary. Soon, he took up the eastern side of the Wall while Jarl took the western side after they carefully reached the base of the Wall without getting noticed by the watchers perched on top.
Styr and his men began climbing the Wall with ice hooks, coils of rope, and crude bronze crampons. Though he couldn't claim experience climbing the Wall, he and his fellow Thenn had enough courage in their hearts to give their best effort. He chose the gap between the towers to avoid the eyes of patrol guards nearby.
The climb was agony. The Wall was slick and cold, cracking beneath shifting winds and their hooks. Snow blasted their faces. Twice, ropes snapped—once sending a raider screaming into the abyss below.
To make sure no one else made a sound, even if they were to fall to their deaths, they were all biting down on pigskin as they climbed the Wall.
The treacherous wind howled in Styr's ears as he made the climb. The wind was fierce and laden with frost that it pierced into their bones like the steel swords of the crows. It was as if the wind was trying to blow him and his men away. When it became too difficult, Styr stopped his ascent and stayed put, hugging close to a sheet of ice for dear life.
Styr looked down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men following him. But all he saw was darkness and the howling snow that whipped past his body. He couldn't help but grit his teeth and think this was nothing but suicide. He also started to suspect whether Mance Rayder sent him out here to die. He suspected Mance used his dislike of Jarl to goad him into agreeing to this madness.
'The Wall didn't look this unassailable from a distance.' Styr grouched in the privacy of his mind.
He shook his head and cleared such defeatist thoughts from assailing his confidence. Besides, it was a little too late for second thoughts and suspicions. There was only one way before him - Up!
Styr looked up and saw lights in the distance atop the towers where flames burned despite the fierce northern winds. He clenched his fists around the ice hook and smashed it against the ice wall, renewing his efforts to climb the Wall. To his relief, he saw some of his fellow Thenn join him as the winds receded a bit. This emboldened him to continue the journey.
Styr and his disciplined Thenns ascended in relentless pursuit to reach the top.
Hours dragged by as they carefully made the climb. The first light of dawn had not yet fell upon them when Styr's glove touched frost at the Wall's top. He hauled himself over silently, rolling behind an ice crenellation. He saw a lone crow trudging along the walkway with a torch in hand, half-asleep, unaware of death crouching behind him.
Styr rose, seized him, and slit his throat before the man could breathe a cry. He held the man's mouth as he bled to death. When the crow stopped struggling, he slowly withdrew his hand and pushed the crow down the other side of the Wall.
Styr watched the man fall, but it was not the only thing that caught his eye. When he looked at the lands south of the Wall, he saw a long line of fires burning in the distance close to where he thought Castle Black ought to be.
He gulped nervously, realising it was a war camp.
'The banners of the North.' Styr thought as worry settled in his mind about the degree of success he and his men could achieve in their task.
The tower light flickered in the distance—but no alarm bells rang.
One by one, his men crested the Wall. It didn't escape his attention that the hundred-strong group was now short a few.
"Mance will be launching his distraction. We need to climb down while the crows are busy with their eyes set on Mance." Styr said to his men.
They started the long and dangerous climb down the Wall on the other side, all the while Styr's mind remained troubled by the sight of campfires. He forced himself to believe those men would never expect an attack from behind while Mance launched an attack on the Wall from the north. He just hoped everything went according to plan.
At some point, when they were halfway down the Wall, Styr started to hear bells and horns blaring off above the Wall. He stared up where he saw the tips of the watchtowers gain a yellow hue all of a sudden.
'It's starting.' Styr thought with a grin.
"Let's speed this up, men. The crows are distracted. We'll not let this chance go to waste." Styr yelled for his men to hear as he renewed his efforts to climb down faster.
*******
Jeor Mormont found himself awake despite the night being one of harsh winter and cold. The cold of the North had not bothered him for a long time. He had grown comfortable with the ever-present cold of the Wall.
But for some reason, sleep eluded him that night.
So, Jeor lit a lamp on his table and pulled up the parchments Samwell Tarly delivered from Maester Aemon about the inventory of grain and other food stocks. The times when the brothers of the Watch barely scraped by to put dour soup or half-baked potatoes on their plates were long gone. On a good day, their tables were abundant with oranges and apples. They even had a monthly delivery of peaches for the Old Gods' sake. He doubted even the lords of the South dined as they do here at Castle Black.
All of it came from Avalon, the newest city of the North, now shaping up to be a priceless jewel. The wealth of Avalon was known even at the Wall, and Harrion Stark was one not to hold on to all that wealth. The lad shared his wealth with his neighbours, taking great care to elevate even House Mormont, which was far away from Avalon, separated by the Sunset Sea.
And yet, House Mormont had risen all the same with Houses Glover, Fisher, Frost, Tallhart and even the Mountain clans teeming with wealth from trade. But they all rose thanks to the generosity of the Black Wolf. The last he heard from his headstrong sister, her eldest daughter had become betrothed to Jon Stark. A match Jeor thought far above the station of his House, considering the lad is a prince of the North and a dragonrider.
That generosity was not contained in the western shores of the North. The Wall had been steadily supplied with food and weapons from Avalon ever since the Mountain Road was completed. Even some of the men manning the towers along the western parts of the Wall were volunteers provided by Avalon, rotated every quarter.
Even now, with the threat of a wildling attack, Jeor was not so concerned as he would've been a decade ago. The banners of the North were assembled behind Castle Black under Prince Robb Stark. The word he received from Westwatch-by-the-Bridge and the Shadow Tower suggested Prince Jon Stark had arrived atop his dragon and set the wildlings trying to cross the Gorge ablaze.
With the two princes and the Northern houses assembled at the Wall, Jeor believed there was nothing to worry about.
A knock on the door broke his musings.
"Come in." Jeor said.
The burly form of Samwell Tarly waddled into his room carrying a stack of parchments.
"Lord Commander. These are the reports you asked for, my lord." Samwell said, placing the parchments on his table.
"I'm no lord, lad." Jeor said with a pointed look.
"Forgive me, Lord Commander." Samwell said with a bashful look.
"You've been spending too much time with Maester Aemon in his library. You seem to be losing touch with the rest of the world." Jeor said, sweeping the parchments to the side of the table near the candlelight for inspection.
"Sorry." Samwell squeaked.
"Stop being sorry, lad. I'd start spending more time in the training yard if I were you. When the wildlings come, and they will come, they won't spare ye because you smell of parchments." Jeor said with a sharp smile that set Samwell on edge.
"Will they try something, Lord Commander? The Wall stands between them." Samwell said with a sliver of fear creeping into his voice.
"Mance Rayder has not gathered most of the wildling clans under his control for a leisure stroll in the woods, lad." Jeor said without looking up from the numbers on the parchment in his hand.
An audible gulp was heard in the room, making Jeor sigh.
He looked up to meet the fear in the eyes of Samwell Tarly. For a fraction of a second, Jeor felt a twinge of pity for the boy, but he smothered it in favour of the harsh reality that was before him as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Emotions like pity, mercy or even love were the bane of duty. In that moment, Jeor's mind went to his son, who shamed him and his house, all for misplaced love over duty.
Just then, a warhorn blared from atop one of the watchtowers of the Wall, striking a cold shiver that Jeor felt in his bones. He stood from his desk in haste and rushed out of his modest room past Samwell Tarly. He was greeted by the sight of the night sky shining with streaks of gold and red. The watchtowers lining the Wall lit their beacons while bells tolled relentlessly to call the attention of the Watch.
"What is happening, Lord Commander?" Samwell asked, his teeth chattering with fear and the biting cold of Northern winter.
"War!" Jeor said grimly.
******
Styr led his hundred warriors carefully through the snow-covered plains leading to Castle Black. They melded into the darkness and moved silently, covering the distance towards the castle on foot. They were exhausted after climbing the Wall, but Styr saw the opportunity for what it was.
"We should rest, father. The men are weary after the climb." Sigorn murmured, after making sure they were out of everyone else's earshot.
"Don't you think I know that already, Sigorn?" Styr asked with a huff. "The Old Gods know my soul is shaking from the climb."
"Then why rush the attack on Castle Black? You told us you had another plan, one that doesn't involve following that idiot Jarl's plan." Sigorn whispered.
"Yes… the plan." Styr snorted. "The plan was to attack Mole's Town, pulling some of the crows there. But you saw all those lights when we scaled the Wall."
"Those lights were from the people of Mole's Town." Sigorn said with a frown.
"Don't be daft, lad. That ghost town doesn't have that many people living there."
"But we saw so many fires." Sigorn argued as the snow crunched under their boots.
"That was an army camp." Styr said grimly. "The Northern lords have come to aid the Watch. Our only chance is to strike fast at Castle Black and disperse before they realise what is happening."
Above them, horns wailed, and fires flared as the brothers of the Night's Watch rushed to take up stations along the towers lining the top of the Wall, blind to the wolves already nearing their strongholds behind the Wall.
The barracks lay ahead—long stone halls built into the ice, their windows glowing faintly with lamplight. Most of the brothers who slept there were now atop the Wall, answering Mance Rayder's challenge.
Styr raised his axe.
"Burn it down." Styr thundered to his men before charging straight ahead with weapons at the ready.
They carefully took the oil lamps hostage without getting caught and set the barracks on fire. Pitch-soaked rags struck the walls and roofs, blooming into hungry orange flame. Smoke poured into the yard. The wind caught the fire and drove it along until the whole barracks crackled like a funeral pyre.
A few black brothers burst from side doors, coughing, half-armoured, only to be cut down by Thenn spears. One tried to ring the yard bell—Styr split his skull with his axe before a sound could be heard.
"Fan out!" he commanded. "Kill any crow that breathe!"
Chaos erupted within Castle Black as the Thenn warriors spread out with bronze swords and spears in hand.
As Styr fought through the crows in the castle, he finally saw someone who ignited his ire. It was none other than Waymar Royce, the traitorous crow. Smoke stung his eyes as he led a dozen brothers into the yard. Flames leapt high behind them.
The two locked eyes across the yard.
Waymar drew his longsword.
"Traitor!" Styr bellowed, charging head-on with his axe raised.
The sharp edge of Runsetone forged steel flashed towards Styr's throat. He twisted aside and answered with an overhead chop. Waymar barely caught it with his sword, the impact jarring his hand to the bone.
Styr circled his opponent, looking for weaknesses like a shadowcat. But Styr was forced to abandon his forward attack when, all of a sudden, Waymar lunged with his sword. He reeled back in surprise, but he expertly parried and blocked a rain of blows from his enemy.
Styr hissed when one of the slashes managed to nick his thigh.
He roared and surged forward, battering Waymar's shield aside and driving him back toward the burning barracks. Sparks swirled around them, and ash started to fall along with the snow.
The battlefield around Styr disappeared as he focused his being on the traitor. Though his limbs shook with fatigue, he pressed on. Still, he could feel himself slowly running out of breath.
At a critical moment, Styr's axe came in low—Waymar leapt back, but the blade still tore through his shield rim, splintering wood. Waymar countered with lightning speed, plunging his sword into Styr's shoulder, biting through the flesh of his shoulder.
Styr bellowed out a cry, but he did not fall. He wrenched himself free, spilling fresh blood on the snow, grabbed Waymar's wrist, and hurled him into the snow.
Waymar rolled and rose again, coughing, sword still in hand with blood clinging to the steel.
Around them, the Thenns and the Night's Watch clashed in savage battle—steel warred on bronze, screams swallowed by the howling wind.
"Ahhh!" Waymar yelled and lunged with his sword.
Styr caught the blade between his vambrace and chest, then slammed his helm into Waymar's face.
Waymar staggered, blood streaming from his nose and mouth.
Styr smiled wickedly and lifted his axe for the killing blow.
Then a horn sounded from the south, which gave Styr pause.
Waymar choked out a laugh even as his face bled.
"What are you laughing about, traitor?" Styr asked gruffly.
"I'm laughing because you're about to be acquainted with the wolves of the North." Waymar said.
Styr sneered at the traitor's face and made to swing his axe.
An arrow punched straight through his right hand, making Styr howl in pain. Suddenly, Waymar rolled away from the Magnar's reach.
Styr broke off the arrow that punched through his hand, but he paused as the ground trembled beneath his feet. In the distance, he heard thunder rumbling steadily.
Slowly, he turned south and realised it was not thunder rumbling in the sky. Instead, from the snowy road beyond Castle Black came the thunder of hooves. Direwolf banners snapped in the wind, flanked by the finest of Northmen. Hundreds of mailed horsemen poured into view, swords drawn, shouting battle cries.
"For the North!"
"House Stark!"
The Northmen smashed into Styr's men like an avalanche from the southern gate, cutting down Thenn warriors before they could reform. Arrows from northern archers cut through the yard. The wildlings, trapped between the Wall and fresh foes, began to falter.
Waymar saw it and laughed, despite being bloody and breathless.
"You wanted a war with the wolves. Well, you've got one."
Styr turned, eyes blazing, taking in the sight of armoured riders flooding the yard, his men dying around him, the burning barracks collapsing in showers of sparks.
For the first time that night, doubt flickered across Styr's face.
He looked back at Waymar. His grip on the axe tightened before his fingers slacked.
Then he lowered his axe.
"Enough," Styr growled. "My men die for no gain. If we surrender, do I have your word you'll not harm my people?"
"I can't promise that." Waymar said truthfully. "But I can speak on your behalf and your people to the Starks. They might spare you and your people if you bend the knee."
Styr closed his eyes and let out a breath. He drove the axe head into the snow and raised his hands.
Waymar stared, stunned, then lifted his sword toward Styr's throat.
"Tell your men to surrender."
"Thenn!" Styr shouted. "Drop your weapons! We surrender."
Around them, the surviving Thenns followed their Magnar's lead, throwing down spears and axes as soon as they heard their leader.
Northern riders encircled them with more and more troops riding into Castle Black.
The yard fell slowly quiet, broken only by crackling fire and the groans of wounded men.
Waymar stepped closer, chest heaving.
"You fought well," he said grudgingly.
Styr met his gaze, eyes firm even in defeat.
"So did you, crow. Remember that when your wolves chain me."
Styr was immediately bound in chains and led out of the castle towards the war camp.
"Father." Sigorn said with worry as they were led out of the castle in chains.
"You keep your head down, boy. We are in the wolf's den now." Styr grunted as the soldiers pushed them along.
He chanced a look further west, wondering what had happened to Jarl and his group.
'I'll find out soon enough.' Styr mused as he was led to the war camp that loomed ahead.
AN:
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