CHP 61: Lord Snow (Patreon)

I was led past shoddy stone towers and timber keeps as passers-by watched on in curiosity. I even saw a few familiar faces from Winterfell who looked as though they had seen some ghost. There was recognition in the eyes of others, followed by doubt and confusion.

It was quite entertaining when I suddenly jerked and the men holding me 'prisoner' almost ran away. They led me down a broad, snow-coated road rife with footprints from both men and horses. The brothers of the Night's Watch were far and few in-between, but that wasn't odd.

The castle's own garrison was barely a few hundred men, the force they were hosting now bordered on thirty thousand, where a significant majority of them were war veterans and nearly two-fifth were mounted knights courtesy of Stannis.

I was presented to a tall, fiery-eyed man with weathered skin in a brown studded brigantine, a dark cape patterned with white sunbursts of House Karstark hung from his shoulders. Strands of grey were littered throughout his long dark hair and his thick beard was tied into three braids that fell down to his broad chest.

He was glaring at a stubby youth, fat-lipped and long haired with ghostly pale eyes that none could mistake. He was a Bolton. Roose Bolton's progeny considering his shorter stature and pink, blotted skin.

"You craven bastard," Harrion said, calm but furious. "You Boltons forget prisoners are men. And I am in command. Next I hear of your little games, I will have you hunted down like you did that girl."

Harsh insults considering their society.

The Bolton recoiled and clenched his fists, but expressed no other displeasure, "They're savag-"

"You may do as you wish when you are in command, bastard. But not while I draw breath."

He'd probably done something 'dishonourable', like torturing a prisoner, a girl from the looks of it.

The Bolton smiled a thick, ugly smile, "That could be arranged."

"Draw your steel then," Harrion put a hand on the sword hanging from his belt. "I'll cut you down right here."

Just when it seemed as though it would come to blows, the Bolton raised his hands and took a step back, still smiling, "I've clearly overstepped. Forgive me. I was oblivious to how sensitive you could be." Before Harrion could rebuke him, he turned to me. "Why have you brought this man to me?"

"He was snoopin' around, milord."

He looked me up and down, then turned to the soldier that spoke, "Idiot. Don't you know who this is?"

Oh?

"I hope you'll forgive the insult, my Lord. I'll have him punished proper."

"It's alright," I waved my hand. "He was only doing his job."

"If you say so."

He looked back to Harrion, "Harrion. This is Lord Karl. You remember the ravens we received, yes? From Lord Robb Stark?" Then, he offered a deep, polite, bow. "Ramsay Snow, my lord."

"Not Bolton?" I cocked my head. 

"Regrettably."

So the insult hadn't been just heated words. I offered him a hand, even if I could sense the cruelty and hate boiling just under the surface, "I can see the resemblance."

Ramsay was polite and eloquent, but his eyes were a tad worse than even his father's. There was an edge to every word that left his lips, and clearly, he planned on making Harrion regret the insults he'd levied.

Harrion sized me up quietly, as grim-faced as his father, and held out hand in greeting, "It is an honour, Lord."

"Your father's a fierce man."

I remembered Rickard Karstark outright challenging Robb on his decisions at Riverrun.

"He values his honour too much," Harrion cracked a smile as we shook hands. "I fear he is too old to let go of his ways."

"I see no wrong in them."

Standing up for what one believed was admirable.

Harrion cast a glance at a hundred foot tall round tower next to the Wall. It looked well-maintained, and I could see lit candles in the windows at the top, just below the merlons.

"So then, my lord," He started, "can we finally kick Wylis Manderly out of the King's Tower?"

Manderly... The house with the green merman sigil if memory served as well as it usually did. They were one of the most loyal Houses in the North... but then again, all the Houses in this cold and dreary place had served loyally from long before even the Targaryens and they would continue to do so provided Robb didn't do something exceedingly stupid.

"Go nuts, man," I nodded. "Stannis should be here in a day or two."

He glared at one of the men that had been watching him fight Ramsay, "You there! Go inform our guest that the King is coming!"

The youth jerked, bowed, and ran off, stomping through the snow. Embarrassingly however, he slipped and ended up nose diving into a wall.

"Ouch," I recoiled slightly. When I saw that none moved to help him without explicit command, I sighed and made my way over to do it myself. "It happens," I said, helping him to his feet, then dusting his clothes. "Now, off you go."

He nodded confusedly before taking off.

"Now. Somebody take me to whoever's in charge."

I had no intention of sitting around looking pretty. I wanted to meet these Wildings and decide for myself whether they deserved what they had coming their way.

-

I found myself in a barracks, and the man that led me there quickly ran off, claiming he wanted nothing to do with the one I was meant to meet. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was occupied, and so my queries would be answered by the master-at-arms.

He was sitting alone at the end of a long plank table, near the fire. A longsword rested on the bench beside him and his onyx eyes seemed distant as he chewed on the bone of a pheasant's leg.

"I hear the Wilding force is a hundred thousand strong."

"Hogwash from a boy so green he pisses grass in ice," He said harshly, not looking my way. "Our Lord Snow can't tell his cock from a nail, much less a soldier from a servant."

I never could quite grasp why many of these older humans thought they could learn nothing from their young when their whole lives were like the blink of an eye. And he wasn't even that old, all he had to show for his age were a few streaks of grey.

"And how many do you think are there?" I strode over with a neutral smile.

He tossed his bone into the fire and turned to look up at me. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly put on an unimpressed face.

"No more than half that number. Less with those blasted things the lads saw prowling about last week."

Oh?

My crow companion had disappeared somewhere along the voyage too, so I had no more visions of the icy creatures and their undead forces to go on.

"What things?" I asked, sitting down next to him.

He furrowed his thin brow, "Why should I tell you?"

"Makes for good conversation. Karl."

"Alliser Thorne," His brow furrowed further. "The White Walkers. The Others. Whatever the bloody hell they are. About two weeks back. One of those things cut down two dozen lads like it was butchering some chicken. Of course, Lord Snow escaped with not even a bruise to show for it."

There was a fair chance those things would turn up during the Wildling attack too. Prophecies took years, decades, even centuries or millennia to break into motion but... everything seemed to be spiralling. 

He was afraid. Any would be. But he was also frustrated. And he seemed to hate this... Lord Snow.

"And I don't suppose you've got a man to spare for a scouting party?"

My words frustrated him more, "No, I don't have som-... Wait," His dry lips curved into a smile, one of malice, one that he forced away. "Lord Snow is free. He knows the land well. He can show you the way."

"Well then, tell him I'll be waiting."

He bowed his head low, "Of course, my lord. I'll do it at once."

If he thought I couldn't smell the ulterior motive in handing me this 'Lord Snow', then it appeared those grey streaks really were all he had to show for his age. He probably wanted to be rid of the guy, out of some personal prejudice, an irrational one based on his origins from the look of it, and a dumb noble looking to get himself killed sightseeing was the best opportunity he had.

Nonetheless, I exited the barracks. From there, it was a walk through a narrow street out onto a main road that led up to a black iron gate built into the wall. It was open, but I noted three individual grates sealing the path shut.

I leaned against the ice wall, "I miss having women around."

From Storm's End till now, I hadn't gotten one single opportunity to mess around because of the religious context of my presence Melisandre had built up. It felt cowardly to take advantage of their religious views to sleep around.

Maybe the Wildlings had some wom-

My thoughts were interrupted when a young man walked up to me, leading a grey shire by the reins, with an albino direwolf like Robb's trailing behind him. It took a mere moment to connect the dots.

Black hair. Steely grey eyes. A long face like Arya's. A face of stone like Robb's. A direwolf.

Lord Snow was Jon Snow. The bastard of Winterfell.

I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I'd missed such a thing.

Jon didn't share my enthusiasm. He cast a subdued glare as he bowed his head, "My Lord."

"None of that," I shook my head. "I take it you're my guide."

"...Yes," He looked around confusedly. "Your steed, my lord?"

"Give me a sec." I whistled loudly before turning back to him, "You don't seem very happy about this journey." I asked as though he wasn't just ordered to accommodate the whims of some aristocrat and venture into freezing cold and wilderness with undead going about solely because of me.

"Apologies, my lord. Alliser has been looking to be rid of me for quite some time now. You've just given him the opportunity to do so without shouldering any blame," He said plainly, making no effort to hide what the journey meant.

"Well now. We'll see about that, won't we, Jon Snow?"

Quietly, Jon mounted his steed.

These Night's Watch folk were quite the mean bunch.

-

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