SovereignOfHeaven
patreon
Raiden's Storm Chapter 93: Reflection
🕑 Added 2024-10-17 23:09:07 +0000 UTC[Edric’s POV]
With things settled down, I got a proper headcount of the number of ex wildlings under my banner. Less than five thousand were battle ready warriors, with the rest being children, youths, women and elders. In total, there were a little over forty thousand. I decided that the best course of action would be to split them up. Having them separated makes a potential uprising all the more harmless.
A decent chunk of families would disperse to join the northern lords returning home. As for the leaders of warbands, most of them were convinced to join the Night’s Watch alongside their men. The rest would be split down along the Realm or serve directly under me. I decided to entrust Robb Stark and Tyrion Lannister with making sure the former plan doesn’t go awry.
…
“Sending me away already?” Robb made a slight smile.
He would be the last of the lords to leave, standing outside of Castle Black with all of his men.
“You and Tyrion are the only ones I can entrust this duty to. As lords paramount, you have the authority to execute my plan effectively. I would do it personally, but, alas… my place is here for now.” I smiled, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s a shame I can only be at one place at time.”
“The Gods had to make it fair to everyone else.” Robb chuckled. “Do not fret, Your Grace. I will act out your will as best as I am able.”
“Good man.” I nodded, embracing him. “This will be farewell for some time, brother.”
“Don’t do anything too reckless.” Robb patted my back before withdrawing. “... Like venturing north of the wall on your own.”
“I’d never do something like that.” I smiled reassuringly, yet my words came out rather sarcastic.
“I’d prefer if my sister wasn’t marrying a corpse… or King stitchface. In the end, if you decide to do something rash, no one can stop you.”
Robb helplessly sighed.
“Harsh.” I laughed, touching the wound on my cheek. “This will be the last wound the Others get on my handsome face. I have too many things worth fighting for to die a needless death.”
That seemed to reassure him as he made a slight smile.
“Thank you for coming all this way and going so far for the North and Night’s Watch, Your Grace. No other King would’ve bothered.”
“Mayhaps my father would’ve.” I mused. “He loved few things more than fighting… if anything, for that matter.”
“I doubt he would’ve considered the wildlings worthy of the long journey north.”
“Suppose we’ll never know," Jon remarked, joining in. "You didn't plan on leaving without saying your farewells, did you?"
"You were taking quite a while." Robb smiled.
"I was preoccupied with my duties."
"And... not something else?" Robb questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"I am Lord Commander of the Night's Watch before anything else, Lord Stark," Jon replied solemnly.
"Hm... I see." Robb nodded, patting his shoulder. "You will serve them well, brother. Better than they know."
Not wanting to get in the moment, I turned to Arya. "If you want, you could go to Winterfell."
"And why would I do that?"
"Castle Black is hardly a place fitting for a lady." I shrugged. "Truthfully, I'll be wholly focused on my goals, which means I won't have much time for you. Jon will be too..."
"I'll find something to do." She smiled, her eyes shining with adventurous spirit. "Besides, it's the North. Every place here is fitting for me."
"... A Stark, indeed." I chuckled. "So be it."
"Winter's Queen," Jon added, smiling. "The less fitting the place is for a lady, the more fitting it is for Arya."
Eventually, Robb Stark would indeed depart, and my plans for the Night's Watch would properly kickstart.
...
My curiosity would take me underground to the vaults where the food stores and library were located. The library was surprisingly vast, the echoes of a once great Night's Watch. During Aegon's Conquest, they had numbered ten thousand... and many more before even then. With a simple glance, one could see how ancient some of these records truly were.
I took anything that was of great interest to me, including the history of the Night's Watch, myths, the language of the children of the forest, books about architecture and scrolls from Valyria. While I was scavaging, I suddenly heard a low descent of steps and chains clanking against each other. I paused when the steps neared.
The door would slowly open as Aemon stepped in, walking stick in hand.
"Greetings, Maester Aemon."
"I had not expected to see you here, Your Grace."
I walked closer and helped him make his way to a seat. He looked bald, wrinkled and shrunken - ancient. Watching his frailty made me quite... sombre. Once, he was youthful and full of life, like any other person. Yet now, he looked only a step away from death.
"Books are my guilty pleasure." I smiled, looking over at my collection.
"And why guilty?"
"While sometimes I read for knowledge, other times... it is a form of escape. I've read countless tales of legendary figures, heroes, kings, warriors. Some lived, some were exaggerated, and others were no more than another's story given form in words. In a way, I've lived a hundred lives... yet won no glory in them - taking joy in another's victories, critiquing their flaws and watching safely from afar. Only time passed, in the end, and I remained largely unchanged."
He had listened patiently, breaking the silence with a soft voice. "Yet, you took inspiration from these stories, did you not?"
"... Yes," I admitted. "When I was given the name Baratheon, I had to apply quite a lot of theory into practice. I always knew what to do, yet I lacked the courage and will to act it out. Soon enough... I was backed into a corner and had no choice."
"Only under the depths of desperation does a person's true self emerge." Aemon remarked.
"That is not entirely true, Maester. To survive - I had to be someone I wasn't. As I kept treading that path, the act became less so... before I entirely became that person. The more powerful I become, the more fragile and insignificant other men seem by comparison. All the while, Winter lurks, and with it come mightier foes."
"In the pursuit of absolute victory, I fear I may forget myself and make decisions I would not have before."
There was a strange solace in speaking my thoughts to him. He was courteous and patient, especially for a man with so little time left. Perhaps, given his age, I had hoped that he would have the answer.
"The world is a cruel place." Aemon broke the silence. "With Winter upon us, the Realm needs not an indecisive boy, but a King capable of making difficult decisions... decisions that no other can make. The path to victory will be paved by sacrifice, your own and that of others."
"Your great power is both a gift and a curse to you. Your awareness is the same. It guides you from overstepping your bounds, yet it might just be the very thing that hinders you from your duties. Balance, Your Grace. Somewhere between those two sides, you will find it."
"... Balance," I remarked, shaking my head. "It's not a thing I find often."
"Such is your blood," Aemon remarked. "Your father was a man of great extremes in whatever he did, from sleeping to drinking to fighting. In your own ways, you share in his passion and wild spirit. It is how you inspire loyalty in those around you... with might, courage, will and ambition that eclipses their own."
"You have the makings of a king who may be the greatest of any who ever lived... yet the burden that comes with it will be no lesser. I can only hope that you find the strength to persevere through the darkness and make the right choice, for I will not live to see that fateful day."
It seemed like he knew even more than I thought.
"... I wish we could have you for a couple more years," I said, frowning slightly.
"Death... is not the terror you think it is." Aemon made a slight smile. "I long to be freed of this frail body, to open my eyes and see the sun again. To read all the books I could not. I spend many nights with ghosts of fifty years past as it is. It would be liberating to meet with them after all this time."
"Yet you remain steadfast in your duty, despite every waking day being full of ills," I replied, feeling moved by his speech.
"I have planted and tended to seeds that I will never see blossom..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "If those seeds blossom into the men who triumphantly guard the realms of men against the darkness, then all the ills would have been worthwhile... and I would have fulfilled my duty."
"You already have," I spoke solemly, gently holding his hand. "Your words will not be in vain, maester Aemon."
"If only I could see your eyes, Your Grace. I imagine them to be... bright."
"They are brimming with determination," I spoke reassuringly.
"Good... good. Alas... I've grown... weary. The journey to my chamber is a rather long one..."
"Rest." I came to his side. "Rest easy and well, maester. I will aid you on the morrow."
Before long, he fell into a deep slumber. I double-checked if he had kicked the bucket and found that he, fortunately, had not. I sat in silence for a bit, observing his frail physique with pity... and a sense of admiration. Though his body was weak, his will was strong, and his wits sharp.
"Did you know that he could've been King once?" I glanced at Raiden. "A King's son, a King's older brother, a King's uncle... a great man who rotted away in the North for most of his life. He sacrificed so much for his duty, having rejected the crown and later on helplessly watched from afar as his family fell from grace and into exile."
"I don't know if I should admire his honour and long-standing duty or pity the tragedy that is his life. What joys did he have here, freezing away for all those years? His duty had drained his entire life, leaving nothing behind."
"You were once treading on the same path... perhaps you still are," Raiden remarked.
"Mine is not near as grim." I shook my head. "If I win, I will have endless glory. A name that lives on. What songs will be sung of him? Besides... I have more freedom than he ever did. If I choose to go on vacation tomorrow to, say, Braavos, who's going to stop me?"
"Only yourself," Raiden replied.
"Heh." I chuckled. "Yes, only me."
"If no songs will be sung of him, and you find that wrong, then you have the power to change that." She added.
"No song could compare to all those years he missed with his family." I sighed. "Alas... that's not something I can give him."
'The last dragon hadn't fallen in the Trident. There was always another, forgotten under the snow.'
I thought to myself, turning to all of the books.
He was a reminder that duty, while ever important, was something that I shouldn't allow to consume me completely. If it did... I'd end up quite like Aemon—a joyless old man dreaming of the past, of things that could've happened differently.
~
Days swept by as I planned the restoration of the Night's Watch. Before the abandoned castles could be repaired, it was clear that the builders needed far more manpower. To bolster their ranks, the rest of the Night's Watch was placed under their wing. Each builder would have a group of black brothers under them to learn their craft.
The first two castles to be prioritised were the Nightfort and Sable Hall, west and east of Castle Black respectively. They weren't the closest ruined castles, being further along the Wall, yet not too far from the centre either. The idea was to have a more balanced garrison across the Wall initially and eventually expand out to the rest of the ruins.
Though the wildlings were rather clueless initially, and tended to get frustrated in their own lack of proficiency, they began learning their crafts. Woodsman duties came to them rather naturally as they had little trouble cutting down trees. The rest, such as mining, carpentry, and
masonry, were learned over time.
...
I rode into the Nightfort, the largest and oldest of the Wall's castles, seeing it in person for the first time. If memory served right - this had once been the home of the Night's King - who had his name wiped from every record I could find in Castle Black. Though it wasn't likely that he was the Night King, his story that grabbed my interest... alas, this curiosity would not be quenched. There was also the story of the Rat Cook... for that matter, quite a number of old Northern stories revolved around the Nightfort.
A coincidence? Probably not.
The place seemed... haunted. A darkness loomed over the castle. Though I could not see it, I felt it. The deeper in I went, the stronger it became.
Half of the builders and a thousand ex-wildlings would soon walk over, inspecting the ruined castle. Its towers were broken, the library was entirely empty, the dungeon was full of rust, and winter plants sprouted from the bathouse. The forge looked like it hadn't been touched in a millenia, a relic lost to time.
The yards had turned into small forests due to a lack of maintenance, trees were growing in the stables, and there was even a twisted weirwood tree that grew out of a hole in the kitchen's wall.
When I made my way into the great hall, I was bewildered to find only one wall standing. Upon my appearance, a swathe of rats scattered into the darkness. I reached my left hand out and shot out a chain of lightning.
I watched all the rats light up across the ruined hall, collapsing to the ground. Some further out still shook a little. Those closer to me were all but scorched.
I glanced back, observing some of the men behind me. A good portion of them looked spooked. I smiled.
"Who's feeling hungry?"
The jest certainly lightened the mood. Tormund laughed, stepping forward.
"I am!"
"..." I blinked bewilderly as Tormund walked over and grabbed one of the cooked rats.
When he picked it up and turned back to see my expression, he broke into laughter.
"Who do you think I am, an animal? You lot think too little of us freefolk."
"You never know." I shrugged, chuckling.
"What fed all these rats? The castle was abandoned well over a hundred years ago." Loras questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"The Rat Cook." I jested, making ghost sounds after. "Wooooo"
"That is no more than a tale, Your Grace."
"Every tale has a bit of truth to it." I shrugged. "Anyway, the castle won't repair itself. Time to get to work!"
