"The realm will curse us all for this," snarled Ser Alliser Thorne from atop his horse. "Every honest man in Westeros will turn his head and spit on the ground at any mention of the Night's Watch."
What would you know of honest men? Jon thought but didn't say. Ser Alliser had grown quieter since Ser Janos had lost his head, but the undercurrent of malice still lingered, evident in the corners of his mouth and the dark onyx of his eyes. None of the men had been very happy at what the last few days had forced them to do. Making nice with wildlings, ensuring they were settled and that everything was smoothed over; it was no easy thing for them to do. Assisting those they had sworn vows to defend against would not sit well with any of them, especially when the one who had made such an act necessary had long ago left the Wall and returned to Castle Black.
"These wildlings..." Bowen Marsh began, pulling up his mount beside Jon, his hair thinning and greying, his red, round face seemingly lopsided and unbalanced by the absence of an ear. "Do you think they will keep faith, my lord?"
"Some will and some won't," Jon answered. "We have our cowards and knaves, as do they. We also have our honourable men. So do they."
"Yet our vows... We are sworn to protect the realm..."
"Once the wildlings are settled in the Gift they will be tamed and become part of that same realm," Jon pointed out. "These are desperate days, and likely to grow worse with every passing week. We have seen the faces of our real foe, dead and cold. The wildlings have seen it as well. Stannis is not wrong, in that respect. We must make common cause with the wildlings whilst they still live, or else we will face them in battle once they die."
"Common cause against a common foe is all well and good," Bowen agreed. "But letting tens of thousands of half-starved, half-crazed savages beyond the Wall does not seem right to me. Let them return to their villages and fight and die there. We will use the time to seal the gates and fill the tunnels. The Wall should do the rest. It stands tall and thick and strong, making it easy to defend against climbers and miners alike. Mance Rayder's bowmen must have loosed thousands of arrows at us. Mayhap a hundred actually reached us, and those were carried by errant gusts of wind. Whether we face a hundred foes or a hundred-thousand, once the gates are sealed it will not matter. So long as we are atop the Wall and they are below they cannot touch us. So what reason have we for this?"
He's not wrong, Jon thought, but that thought went against his every instinct. Jon racked his mind for a retort, but came up short of anything he could say to Marsh. King Tommen says Bran is beyond the Wall. Safe, for now, but not if we block his way back down south. Not that he had any proof. Like all the others, that letter had gone straight into the hearth the moment after it'd been read. And after Arya, Jon knew better than to doubt the Boy King's word. "If we seal the gates we cannot send out rangers," Jon said, rather lamely. "We will be effectively blind."
"Each ranging costs us valuable men, my lord," Bowen pointed out. "Even with the flow of crownlander boys coming in, we still need to preserve our strength. The lives lost ranging beyond the Wall could be better spent patrolling the top of it."
"And if ever we should leave the enemy beyond the Wall enough time alone for them to plot and plan a way to bring the Wall down? I don't trust that the horn the Red Woman burned was the right one. Or what if the swollen ranks of the Others should find a way to pierce our defences, or else keep winter alive for far longer than it is possible for us to survive?" Jon asked. "It's a moot point either way. Stannis has promised every man who comes through the gates food and shelter. He'd never permit us to seal the gates."
Marsh hesitated. "My lord... I am not one to tell tales, but there has been talk that you are becoming too... friendly with Lord Stannis."
Jon scowled. When were the Lannisters ever going to stop causing him trouble? Even when they offered their aid it always seemed to find a way to ail him. "I know all too well what men say," he growled. "What would you have me do? Lord Stannis has thrice our numbers, and is our guest besides. We cannot take up arms against him."
"That we cannot," Marsh agreed, "but we can stop harbouring him. His cause is doomed. As doomed as us if we keep helping those the Iron Throne deems a traitor."
"It is not my intent to choose any side," Jon said. "And I have been writing the crown, and have received assurances that we will not be punished so long as we do not actively aid Stannis in any military campaign. King Tommen does not mean to punish us for our desperation. He is a boy besides. I doubt he'd have the stomach for it."
"A boy he may be, but King Robert was well loved, and Lord Tywin is still widely respected for a reason. Most accept him as the legitimate heir to the throne. The more the men see of Lord Stannis, and particularly of Lady Melisandre, the more they complain. They mislike serving a false king and his false god."
"I mislike it too," Jon confided, not quite believing himself as he spoke, "but I must work with what I have. Men love to complain. They complained about Commander Mormont too. So long as they continue to do their duty it is of no concern to me what they whisper to themselves."
Bowen frowned, but accepted Jon's words for what they were and fell silent. Soon enough, the Wall grew small behind them and Castle Black burst into sight behind slowly falling snows, busy with life. Men seemed in a bit of a furore, hurriedly preparing for a march. Jon quickly dismounted his horse when he arrived, dusting off his shoulders and arching his spine to relieve the aches of riding. Having sighted his arrival, Samwell rushed over to greet him.
"His Grace wants to see you," he blurted out.
Jon shot a baleful glance towards the Lord's Tower. "Aye," he said with sigh. "Say, Sam, what do the men say about him?"
"Stannis, you mean?" Sam asked, frowning. At a nod from Jon he looked briefly away.
"Not good?"
"They say Lady Melisandre made the wildlings burn their weirwood branches. They say that she sees the gods - both old and new - as false. I'm inclined to agree."
"Religious tensions can be smoothed over," Jon said with a grimace. "Anything else?"
Sam shrugged. "They also say that the King-Beyond-the-Wall died craven. That he died screaming and denied he was ever a king."
"He did," Jon said stiffly, marching onwards, Ghost rushing to his side and matching his stride. Or at least that is what I saw. "Stannis's sword - Lightbringer - was brighter than I'd ever seen it. Like the sun." Ghost shivered beside him, his white fur shaking off snow till he settled.
"His Grace is not an easy man," Sam said.
"Still 'His Grace', is he?"
Sam shrugged. "I won't deny I have my reservations. But Maester Aemon said that many good men have been bad kings, and many bad men have been good kings. I won't gainsay him. At his age, he would know."
"That he would."
Sam placed a hand on Jon's arm to slow him. "There was one thing I wanted to ask before you went into that tower."
Jon stopped and turned. "What?"
"I've been going through the annals, like you asked, and whilst I have yet to find much on the Others, I did find a bit about Lightbringer, and the hero who once wielded him. Passages about Azor Ahai. Tell me, when Stannis wielded his sword, did it feel... warm? Hot? Because that's what the records describe."
Jon cast his mind over his memory and came up short. "It was bright, but I don't remember anything besides light. No warmth." Sam frowned. "Why, are you saying the sword Stannis wields is not the one the Red Woman claims? That it's a fake?"
"The records may be wrong," Sam said, though Jon knew he did not truly believe himself even as he said it.
"You think the Red Woman may be leading Stannis on?"
"I couldn't say," Sam said. "It seems clear to me that she has her own plans..." Sam trailed off, and then shook his head. "What I will say is that I don't think it's a good idea to keep His Grace here much longer. Whispers will become words before too long, and the discontent is sure to grow if nothing is done. It's best to face the threat before it can become dangerous."
...
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