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SLW Chapter 17 : The Monarch's Servants.
🕑 Added 2025-02-01 20:00:41 +0000 UTCThe fire crackled in the heart of the camp, its warmth barely holding back the biting cold of the North. The night stretched endlessly above them, the sky dark and empty, as if the gods themselves had turned their gaze elsewhere.
Aeron sat apart from the others, leaning against a frost-covered log, his breath curling in the frigid air. His fingers traced absentmindedly over the hilt of his sword, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
‘The feeling was gone.’
No unseen eyes bore into his back, no unnatural presence lurked just beyond his senses. Whatever had been watching them before had withdrawn—or perhaps, was never truly there in the first place. ‘Wights, but no Walkers.’ That alone was strange. He would have expected more… unless they were waiting.
His jaw tightened slightly.’ Are they wary of me?’ The thought gnawed at him. He should have been relieved that nothing more had come. Instead, frustration prickled under his skin.
‘It would be nice to finish him off now, but if I go deeper, the cold alone could kill me. And I have no idea where that bastard might be.’
He exhaled slowly, shaking the thought away. ‘No sense in dwelling on it now.’
The men of the Watch were scattered around the camp, some sharpening weapons, others nursing wounds. Their movements were slower than before, more hesitant. He could see the glances they cast his way when they thought he wasn’t looking. They didn’t trust him.
Not that he blamed them.
A heavy thud pulled him from his thoughts. Jeor Mormont had settled himself on a stump nearby, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes sharp despite his age. He studied Aeron for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.
"Now, lad," Jeor finally said, his voice low and firm. "What the hell was that?"
Aeron met his gaze, lifting a brow. "What was what?"
Jeor snorted. "Don’t play dumb with me, boy. You know damn well what I’m talking about. That wasn’t swordplay, nor anything I’ve seen in all my years on the Wall. So, tell me. What are you? Some kind of sorcerer? Blood magic? Dark magic?"
His accent thickened as he spoke, the northern suspicion seeping into every word. Around them, a few of the rangers had gone quiet, listening.
Aeron only smiled, tilting his head slightly. "I learned it in Essos."
It was a lie. A blatant one.
Jeor let out a low hum, not looking entirely convinced but not pressing the matter either. "Figured as much," he grunted. "That place is the source of all sorts of shit. Wouldn’t surprise me if you picked up something foul over there."
Jon, who had been listening in silence, stepped closer and clapped a hand on Aeron’s shoulder. "So that’s how you won against me."
Aeron smirked, rolling his shoulders. "I did say I cheated."
Jon let out a huff, shaking his head with a half-smile before returning to his seat.
The conversation drifted after that, but the tension never truly left. Even as the fire burned low and exhaustion pulled at the men, Aeron could feel the weight of their gazes.
They feared him. Respected him, perhaps, but mostly feared him.
The fire had burned low, embers crackling softly beneath the weight of the cold northern air. Most of the men had settled into an uneasy rest, but Jeor Mormont remained standing, ever watchful. He turned to his men and spoke with the gravelly authority that only came with years of command.
"We move at first light."
Aeron stood from his spot near the fire, rolling his shoulders as he stepped closer. "We’re heading to Craster’s first, then?"
Jeor turned his gaze on him, bushy brows lifting slightly. "Aye, of course." He paused, tilting his head. "Strange that you know that." His lips curled in a dry chuckle. "Is that magic as well?"
Aeron only smirked. "I’ve heard stories about the Wall."
Jeor let out a huff, but his eyes remained sharp. He was an old man, but not a fool. He was testing Aeron, pushing to see what he would reveal.
Aeron knew better than to offer more than necessary.
After a beat of silence, he added, "I need to stop for a moment before we continue. You lot go ahead, I’ll catch up."
Jeor narrowed his eyes slightly. The Old Bear wasn’t one to trust easily, and Aeron could see the suspicion creeping into his expression.
Finally, the Lord Commander shifted his gaze to Jon Snow, who had been quiet throughout the exchange. "Stay with him," Jeor ordered, his voice firm. Then he turned his sharp eyes back to Aeron. "You don’t mind, do you?"
Aeron’s smirk didn’t falter. "Not at all."
Jon gave a small nod, stepping closer, Ghost padding silently at his side. The direwolf’s pale fur stood in stark contrast to the dark, frozen woods around them, his red eyes glowing like embers in the night.
The rest of the Night’s Watch began to move, gathering their gear and preparing to march toward Craster’s Keep. Jeor cast one last glance at Aeron before turning away, leading his men forward into the cold, leaving only the two of them behind.
Jon adjusted Longclaw on his back, watching Aeron carefully. "What is it you need to do?"
Aeron exhaled, glancing toward the distant treeline. "Just something I have to check."
Ghost let out a soft growl, his ears twitching as if sensing something unseen.
Jon frowned. "Let’s make it quick, then."
Aeron smirked again, stepping forward into the shadowed forest, Jon and Ghost following close behind.
Aeron waited, his sharp eyes scanning the treeline, ensuring the rest of the Night’s Watch had disappeared into the distance. The silence of the Haunted Forest wrapped around them like a living thing, thick and watchful.
Satisfied, he turned to Jon, his purple eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"Don’t be afraid," he said simply.
Jon frowned, confused. "Afraid of what—?"
Before he could finish, the shadows around Aeron began to ripple. A chilling presence filled the air as dark figures emerged from the ground, twisting and reforming into the unmistakable shapes of armored warriors. Their glowing eyes flickered like embers, their weapons gleaming ominously under the pale light of the stars.
Jon’s reaction was instant. He took a step back, unsheathing Longclaw with a sharp rasp of steel. His grip tightened as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Even Ghost, usually unshaken, lowered himself into a defensive stance, baring his teeth with a low, warning growl.
"By the gods…" Jon breathed, his voice laced with disbelief. "What is this…?"
Aeron smirked, unfazed by the tension. He crossed his arms and let the shadows swirl around him like a living cloak. "I told you not to worry, these are my servants." He glanced at Ghost and added, "You too."
Ghost didn’t stop growling, his red eyes darting between the shadowy warriors, his fur bristling.
Jon's gaze flickered between Aeron and the silent, kneeling figures. "Servants?" His voice held both panic and awe. "You’re saying these things serve you?"
"That’s right." Aeron’s tone was casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "And they’re very loyal."
Jon didn’t lower his sword, but he didn’t move, either. His mind was racing, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.
Aeron, unbothered by Jon’s shock, lifted a hand. "Go. Spread out. Search for the White Walkers. Do not venture too far, and return if you find anything."
The shadows responded immediately, dispersing into the night like wraiths, vanishing between the trees. The eerie stillness of the forest returned, but the sense of unseen movement lingered.
Only few remained.
Garm and his wolves.
The massive shadow direwolf stood beside Aeron, its size dwarfing even Ghost. It was a hulking specter of darkness, its glowing blue eyes fixed on Aeron, awaiting his command.
Jon, still gripping Longclaw, barely found his voice. "What… what in the hell is that?"
Aeron smirked at his reaction. "That’s Garm. He’s different from the rest."
Jon looked between the two direwolves. Ghost remained on edge, his growl quieter now but still present, as if sensing that Garm was something unnatural.
Aeron turned his attention back to the beast. "You have a different task," he said, his voice cool and deliberate. "Go north. There’s a wildling homestead, Craster’s Keep. Kill the man that lives there. Do not harm the women."
Jon’s eyes widened. "Craster? Why?"
Aeron met Jon’s gaze, his expression unreadable. "I don’t like that man."
Jon swallowed hard, watching as Garm dipped his massive head in understanding before vanishing into the darkness.
The night felt colder.
Jon exhaled, still staring at Aeron as if trying to figure out exactly what kind of man or thing stood before him.
