Post by Stigz on Nov 20, 2018 10:34:10 GMT
Having seen what happened to their brothers down south, the Northerner's were well prepared when Argos Sevenstar landed his ships along the Weeping Water, meeting a lined defence of the aligned armies of Stark and Bolton. King Theon "the Hungry Wolf" would go on to achieve many more accountable feats in his hunger for war; such as invading the Andal homeland, defending the North from an Ironborn attack, warring with the Andal's of the Vale and destroying a wildling invasion that would shatter the Freefolk for a generation.
Beyond the Wall
Beyond the Wall: Storrold, Amathe, Asger
In the Vale of Thenn: Magnar Bjalner, Bjorn, Rorik, Toregg, Ygwyn, Maror the Mangler, Skyrnor the Schemer
The North
In the North: Lord Eddon Frost, Torv, Rose "The Black Thief", Jesse
In Winterfell: Prince Harmund Stark, Wulfgar Snow, Queen Helia Stark, Haymitch Woodfoot, Edmund the Beast, Prince Edrick Stark, Prince Tristram Stark, Prince Ivan Stark, Martena Rivers
In the Dreadfort: King Rogar Bolton “The Huntsman”, Carver, Rechar Greenwood, Lord Adam Locke, Lord Duncan Hornwood, Dormund Bolton, Elena Rivers, Catlina Glover, Maggot, Leech
In Barrow town: Lord Adrien Amber
In Forrester's Hyde: Steffon Cale, Gareth, Lord Yoren Forrester, Lady Gylda Forrester, Trysta Forrester, Thresh Forrester, Thermund Forrester
In Torrhen's Square: Lord Samwick Tallhart
The Frost Keep: Rondon Frost, Dalara Frost, Nyla Frost,
The Neck: Lord Roran Reed, Brigitte Reed
The Rills: Emma Snow, Edrick,Lord Teran Woodmill
At Bear Island: Ravos 'the Raper' Hoare, Erza Nightwood, Artigas Pyke, Jarod Greyjoy, Arika Goodbrother, Guthred 'Ghastly' Hoare, Edgar 'the Archer' Hoare, Harlie 'Berserk' Hoare, Lady Claire Woodfoot, Lord Kober Goodbrother, Tanner, Andiron Quarter-Iron, Korb the Pirate
In the Wolf’s Wood:
Alright, so it has been a long wait, and I do apologise for that. With everything that has transpired over the last few months, I've found a lot of time for thought, but little time and motivation to actually write. Fortunately I've managed to keep my ideas interesting for the Invasion, but there'll still be a bit of a delay for White Night until I get back on track with it all. I am sorry.
I'll be starting Book 2 in this thread, beginning with the prologue and then the first part shortly after that. As I mentioned on the Telltale forums, I have split up the chapters to be in sections of the world so that I can cover a handful of PoV's in a thorough manner rather than going through a yearly cycle to get through a part with each character. In a sense it will feel like six mini-stories in one which will slowly begin to connect as the climax of the Invasion is reached by the end of this book. For the beginning of Chapter 1, we'll be seeing the PoV's of the North, which will introduce new storylines on the Wall and beyond it, as well as cover all the PoV's currently based in the North or from the North. I'll also cover some storylines in Andalos which are related to the North, such as Alara and Davios later on.
Anyway, allow me to post the prologue to the second book!
Prologue: Blood on the Wall
Warren
“Open the gate!” the distant cry of a guard called, attracting the old maester’s gaze from his tower. Warren lifted himself from his desk, feeling his ancient bones creak and crunch with every movement, and in the corner of his eye he could see his steward eager to run to his assistance. Warren lifted his hand in dismissal, guiding himself to the small window that overlooked the castle.
The sky was shrouded in dark clouds, leaving a dark eminence on a place once considered a great honour. Now look at it, Warren thought with a grouch, glaring up at the couple of hundred feet of frozen ice that stretched across the entire north; bordering the civil from the wild. Or so it does now, Warren reconciled memorably, being one of the few brothers of the Watch to remember its true purpose.
He averted his gaze from the Wall, glaring down to the Bridge of Skulls, where half-a-dozen riders trotted with caution towards the oaken gates of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. The gods forsaken castle was haunted, any of the men would claim it if asked, but the truth was it was only the most distant from the safety of the Wall. Westwatch guarded the ancient bridge of skull and bone, buried twenty feet beneath ice and snow, and the only crossing to the lands beyond the Wall without sailing or passing through the great ice blockade itself.
“Rangers, only three,” Warren muttered to himself, recounting that more than triple that had left three sunrises ago to scout the edge of the Haunted Forest for wildling activity. They found it, Warren assumed, watching as brothers quickly rushed to their aid once they entered the safety of the castle. I will be expected down there, Warren reconciled with a grudge, now looking to his squire.
“Which foolish man decided we old crones should be nested atop the tallest tower of each castle and city?” Warren grumbled to the child, in part with a light tone; but bearing genuine irritability. He grew humiliated having to be assisted by his steward up and down the hundreds of steps that spiralled up the Maester’s Tower, albeit he did enjoy the boy’s company. "The greatest fool of them all,” the boy recited, as he had sympathetically ever since he had grown the confidence to speak before Warren while in his service. Warren only smirked, nodding to the boy as he pushed himself away from the window.
The young steward came to his assistance, taking Warren’s friable state into his care, wrapping the old man’s arm around his shoulder. “Ready?” he queried, to which Warren rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter me, princess. Just get me down,” he grumbled, to which the boy smirked and nodded, leading him down the first step.
Before they were even half way down the tower, Warren could hear the cries for the maester, and as they passed one of the tower windows, Warren spotted that all the rangers had suffered wounds. He frowned, knowing this would be a tedious task for his old hands. Thankfully his steward had learnt much in his stead, but there were still some things the boy did not know. Like the loss of life, Warren though grimly as he gazed at the boy.
He was fifteen years of age, but still quite small despite being in his adolescent years. His short black hair was thick and coarse, and his eyes a pale green. Like all the brothers of the Night’s Watch, he was donned in black, with a black vest and charcoal black shirt beneath it. Still, despite his size, Warren saw great potential in him, and had requested for him specifically to be his scribe when he visited the Nightfort to assess the new recruits.
“How fares your progress with that book I loaned you, Robett?” Warren queried, intrigued to know if the boy had indeed been studying in his off-time. His immediate reaction spoke more than the masked words that followed. “Good,” the Weasel mumbled abruptly, to which Warren only chuckled. “I didn’t study much at your age either,” Warren reconciled, to which Robett raised an eyebrow.
“Really? I thought you maester boys were all knowledge or nothing folk,” Robett stated, in which Warren nodded. “Aye, but I was never interested in being a maester as a boy,” Warren revealed to him, causing Robett to raise his eyebrows. “I’d have never figured,” he admitted, to which Warren smirked. “It was always my brother’s interest to read. I always preferred to venture and explore, and I did. I probably learnt more than he did from all his books, its experience which got me so far in life,” Warren stated, and Robett nodded.
“So what changed?” the boy questioned, to which the old maester felt his chest sink as he frowned. “My brother died,” Warren stated forlornly, and Robett’s expression glowered. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but Warren only shook his head. “We always had our fights, but I love him as much now as I did then, it’s why I took up his true interests in life rather than his titles and blessings. That’s why I’m an old grouchy maester on the Wall, and my nephew is the King of the Seas,” Warren muttered playfully, to which Robett chuckled.
“Ever regretted that choice?” the boy then asked, to which Warren shook his head. “To become a maester? No. To leave my family? No, they’re fine without me, I have no doubt been forgotten by now,” Warren answered sternly, yet there was a feeling of loneliness in the truth of his words, but he continued for the boy. “To join the Watch? Despite its growing influx for criminals, no, it still holds the great traits I joined for. My only regret is growing so old that a child has to carry me down my own tower and harass me with questions,” Warren chuckled, to which Robett gulped awkwardly with a smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled, to which Warren shook his head, messing the boy’s hair. “Don’t be, it was a joke,” Warren smiled, but it was quickly lost as they listened to the steps echoing up the tower.
When the two brothers had reached them, Warren recognised them to Victor and and Connin Whent, a ranger and builder stationed at Westwatch. “Maester Warren, we have a situation in the courtyard,” Victor stated, to which Warren rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Son, with the ruckus I can hear from atop my ravenry, I’d say the boys at the Shadow Tower could tell you have a damn situation in the courtyard,” Warren grumbled, causing Victor to frown awkwardly and Connin to chuckle, gaining him a stern glare from his ranger companion.
“We’re here to assist you down,” Victor stated, to which Warren looked at the two men sternly for a moment before responding. “What are you waiting for? A signed petition?” Warren grunted, to which Victor sighed, taking hold of Warren on one side while Connin attended to the other, and the two hoisted the maester off of his feet. Warren rolled his eyes as he looked to Robett, who only grinned at the old man’s displeasure. Little shit, Warren thought to himself before disappearing down the steps.
The two brothers placed Warren down before escorting him outside the tower and to the courtyard, where the scene unravelled. Warren’s eyes fell onto the two unconscious rangers being attended to by some of the brothers, identifying them to be George Rivers and Howard, while the other was Sacharia Snow. Warren pointed Robett over to the unconscious while he approached the bastard ranger, beside him stood First Builder Jorrel, who had only recently rode in with some builders to construct a forward base of operations across the bridge. These rangers were sent to scout for a secure area to do so.
Jorrel was the first to notice Warren, giving the maester a nod before approaching him. He was a younger man compared to Warren, perhaps on his early fifties, and easily half of Warren’s age. His long curly hair was beginning to grey, but still dominantly black, along with his coarse black beard. His brown eyes voiced concern which Warren didn’t need to hear, and his frail hand grasped the rough robust grip of the First Builder.
“Jorrel,” Warren bluntly greeted, to which the First Builder nodded. “Go easy on the boy, he’s barely any better than the others,” Jorrel warned him, to which Warren flashed him a fake smile before nodding. “I know my job well enough, brother,” he muttered, pushing passed the man to come to the ranger’s side.
Sacharia lifted his gaze to Warren, a look of paranoia and panic touching him as Warren lifted the boy’s chin. “I had to keep the alive,” Sacharia mumbled, quickly jerking back and scanning around him. “I have to go back,” Sacharia added, trying to pull away from Warren, but quickly two brothers came to assist the old maester by calming the panicked ranger. “Sacharia, do you know where you are?” Warren began simply, trying to connect his gaze with the young man’s green eyes.
The ranger glanced around with jerky eyes, taking in his surroundings before uttering his answer. “Westwatch,” he answered prominently, to which Warren nodded. “What happened?” Warren then asked, grabbing Sacharia’s attention. The ranger gulped, gazing into Warren’s turquoise eyes uncertainly. “We were attacked,” he answered vaguely, to which Warren pressed on. “By who? Wildlings?” the maester questioned, but Sacharia shook his head.
“They came out of nowhere. We were minding our own business, looking for good land, and then it happened. So fast, so damn fast. Orrick didn’t even see it coming, and Garry…” Sacharia began to choke on his words, tears welling up in his eyes. “I have to go back,” he gasped, his sense of duty overwhelming his rationality, and again his brothers held him down. “Who ambushed you?” Warren asked again, this time his tone firm and dominant. He grasped the boy’s chin and peered into his eyes, causing the ranger to gulp.
“Wolves, bears, deer, rabbits, all of it. I’d never seen so many… It was like they were running from something,” Sacharia deliriously claimed, to which Warren frowned. He turned his gaze to the brothers by his side, giving them a nod. “Check him for any injuries then get him to his bed. He needs rest,” Warren ordered, to which the brothers nodded obediently, lifting the ranger to his feet.
Warren struggled to find his own feet, but as he did, he could hear the arrival of Commander Gale Woodfoot from his barking tone. “What in all the hells is happening here?” he growled, pushing past his men to Warren, who turned to meet him with a stern expression. “Your little ranging party just became littler by their return,” Warren bluntly exclaimed, causing Gale to scowl at him. “How?” he grunted, to which Warren gazed over at the unconscious brothers. “Your guess is as good as mine, Gale. We will have to wait until they’re recovered,” Warren stated, but Gale firmly shook his head.
“While our brothers bleed out somewhere beyond the Wall? Fuck that,” he grumbled, signalling the First Builder over. “This was your fucking idea, Jorrel, and my men are suffering for it,” Gale stated firmly, to which Jorrel only raised his eyebrows. “Lord Commander Connington ordered for that FOB to be constructed, not me,” Jorrel stated frankly, provoking Gale to take a step in Jorrel’s direction, breathing down each other’s necks.
“Ron isn’t here, so the way I see it, this is your mess. Pull together your best builders, I’ll supply you with a handful of rangers, and go and find my men and learn what the fuck happened out there!” he barked, taking Jorrel aback momentarily. Gale turned his attention to Warren, then glancing around the courtyard. “Get those men care and then get some information out of them. I want a report by supper,” Gale growled, to which Warren nodded. “As you wish, Commander,” Warren repeated nonchalantly, to which Gale took his leave back to his quarters.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Jorrel muttered, crossing his arms as he weighed over his new situation. “Back to his nephew undoubtedly. Haymitch Woodfoot and Wulfric Snow rode here expecting they could gain the support of the Night’s Watch to help them in taking back Bear Island. I suppose they’ve never heard our oath,” Warren suggested, to which Jorrel only shrugged. “Come, I will find you some suitable men to help you get to the bottom of this. If Sacharia’s words hold any sense, you’ll want hunters by your side,” Warren stated, guiding Jorrel away.
-
The mess hall was packed with the four hundred brothers that were stationed at Westwatch, a moderately less manned castle compared to the others among the Wall, something which Warren had always fretted about given their position between the wildlings and realms of the civil. However the distance of the Shadow Tower and Sentinel Stand from Westwatch gave Warren a little more comfort at night, even if it was only minimal.
Warren had always preferred to dine in the company of his own quarters in the Maester’s Tower, yet given Gale’s request, Warren found himself in the obnoxiously loud mess hall for the first time in months. Naturally given his position he sat at the Commander’s table, along with his honoured guests: Haymitch Woodfoot and Wulfric Snow, his nephew and the bastard brother of the Hungry Wolf. Not men I would welcome onto my table, Warren thought cautiously as he recalled all the claims of Theon and his ruthlessness. Bad blood is bad blood.
Naturally, Jorrel would have sat at the Commander’s Table as well, however given his leave shortly after the event that had transpired, Warren was isolated with the man he disliked the most in Westwatch. The only man he had to suck up to. Gale held a stern expression on his rough textured face. Having been a boy isolated on an island away from any knowledgeable person, the man had suffered terrible acne that had left its scar on him in his adult years. Something easily curable with the aid of a maester, Warren thought plainly, however he did not really care for Gale’s scars. He did care however for Gale’s lack of acceptance for a maester under his command, and thus Warren was under-utilised for the most part, but with his old age Warren tended not to mind as much. He considered it a kind of retirement, despite his sacred life-long oaths.
“So, Warren. What do you have for me?” Gale spoke up, taking a drink from his cup of ale before turning his attention to the old maester. Warren placed down his cutlery as he thought of how he would politely respond to the man. “I’m afraid I’ve been able to obtain little more from Sacharia. He appears to be delusional, perhaps due to dehydration or simply shock, but if we are to believe the incoherent words he is speaking then we are dealing with killer rabbits and other wild animals,” Warren exclaimed, evoking a chuckle from Wulfric Snow, who sat opposite him.
“Grumpkins and snarks, in other words? Typical of the brothers in black to be continuing such childish stories,” Wulfric remarked, causing both Warren and Gale to scowl at him. “That’s disappointing, Warren. I had hoped a maester of the citadel could have extracted a little more,” Gale stated coldly, to which Warren sighed. “We’re only human,” Warren remarked nonchalantly, but Gale smirked and shook his head. “Not all of us, apparently,” Gale stated, hinting at Warren’s merling blood, to which he only rolled his eyes.
Gale sighed, downing his cup of ale. “Well, so be it,” he mumbled, banging his cup on the table three consecutive times before arising from his chair. This brought the long-awaited silence that Warren longed for in his own quarters, but he could admit, he was curious as to what Gale was up to. “Brothers, hear me,” he called, gathering their attention entirely, before momentarily looking to his nephew.
“My honoured guests came to me to deliver some grievous news. My old home of Bear Island has been ceased by the Ironborn, my brother’s family slaughtered and raped, and my old halls are being defiled by their presence to this very moment. My nephew has come to me seeking the help of the Night’s Watch, he wants us to join Steffon Cale in flushing the Ironborn from the North,” Gale announced, and Warren heard murmurs amongst the crowd. The maester turned his attention to Gale, who had lowered his eyes, and Warren read a lot in his troubled eyes.
“I swore an oath, becoming a brother of the Night’s Watch, and I pledged my life to this order. I swore to be the shield that protects the realms of men, and I will uphold those vows. That is why I will ride south to support the Stark’s,” Gale announced, provoking the murmurs into an uproar of confusion and shock. Even Warren’s eyes widened, as he knew exactly what this meant. The maester found his feet quickly, his old bones cursing him for it, but the heart of the Watch demanding it.
“To become involved in southern conflicts is a violation of our code. Our place is at the Wall, Gale, we do not seek vengeance or glory,” Warren reminded him in a strong voice that all could hear, but Gale paid him no mind. “Brothers, I will only take volunteers, but I know many of you wish to stretch your legs. Join me, and we will rid the Ironborn from the North with ease, and once we are done, we shall return to our post,” Gale stated, putting emphasis on his final phrase as he side-glanced to Warren.
Silence fell over the brothers, and Warren’s gaze fell over them as he tried to read their expressions. They were distorted and unique, something which bothered the maester, but not as much as the first man to stand. Warren recognised this brother to be a ranger: Tylon, a sweet man, loyal to the Watch and not too talkative. He gave a nod to Gale, who reciprocated the gesture with a smirk.
Shortly following another brother stood, followed by another. All were loyal subjects of the Watch, and then a few who had been forced to take the black, which only left Warren with greater concern. Before long, more than half of the room stood in Gale’s support, greatly to his appease, and to Warren’s disappointment. “Thank you, brothers,” Gale stated warmly, taking his seat again, and the men in black all returned to their seats and returned to their chatter.
Warren stared at his feet with disbelief, while Gale’s gaze picked at his eyes with a disgustingly smug smile spread across his lips. Warren averted his gaze to his meal before shifting it to Gale and nodding. “Forgive me, I believe I’ve lost my appetite,” Warren excused himself, to which Gale nodded, returning his attention to Haymitch and Wulfric. He felt at a loss for air, and barely made it outside to the brisk coldness before losing his feet beneath him, and holding himself against the icy stone wall.
His chains weighed so heavy, and the snow beneath his feet sparkled at him under torchlight. How can so many brothers be misled? They’ll lose their heads, Warren thought, clenching his teeth as he did his fists. You fools! Warren wanted to shout, yet he didn’t want to further humiliate himself. Being proved wrong in front of the one man he despised the most was enough humility for one night.
Warren cast his gaze onto his tower, cursing the man that claimed maester’s should hold the highest point, and cursing himself for following that ideal through. His legs would curse him for climbing the tower alone tonight.
-
The night had fallen late in the hour, moonlight peering through the tower window, but Warren remained at his desk with candle light. He peered over the parchment scrolls that cluttered his desk, reports from the Nightfort, studies from the Citadel, and a letter from his nephew, yet not the one he had expected. While he had always loved Waldemar, his younger brother, Wylis, had always followed more in Warren’s boots than Waldemar.
He wrote from Dorne, speaking of the preparations the Dayne’s and Blackmont’s were making in regards to the Andal invasion they speculated would reach them soon. It crushed Warren’s heart that he could not see his family, and he cursed his family blood for making him live so long. Undoubtedly for another decade or two more, Warren thought grimly, fearing he would outlive his brother’s offspring if these Andal’s succeeded in invading all of Westeros.
Warren dipped his stylus in ink, pondering on a response he could give to his nephew in Dorne. He looked out to the moon for some inspiration, and heard some clashes of iron and steel down in the courtyard. Likely some of the brothers sparring, Warren thought, then recognising something. He thought on what the situation was like in the rest of Westeros, being stuck in the Bronze Age, while the Night’s Watch had imported iron and steel from the Andal’s generations ago.
The first word of a potential Andal invasion sparked curiosity and concern amongst the Night’s Watch years ago, and has standard protocol, envoys were sent to Andalos to explain the position of the Night’s Watch in Westeros. If the Andal’s could respect that, they would get along well, if not, the entirety of the First Men would rally into a great army to repel the Andal’s. It was a clear choice for the Andal’s to side with this mysteriously strong force, and thus they traded knowledge of iron and steel with the Night’s Watch in return for their alliance. An unfair trade, Warren thought, thinking of how the Andal’s had now used the Watch to send their prisoners and deserters to an unavoidable judgement.
Warren puts his thoughts down onto the parchment, the sounds of steel on steel fading away into white noise, until the door to his quarters clunked open and shut again. Warren lifted an eyebrow, turning his gaze to the door, where he saw his steward sprawled across the door, clearly exhausted but with something else troubling him. Warren rose to his feet, lifting the candle from his desk and approaching the boy.
“Robett, are you hurt?” the maester queried, to which the Weasel gasped and shook his head. His face was smeared with blood, as well as there being blood on his hands which marked the walls. Warren made sure to search him for any wounds, but he could not spot anything obvious or dire. “Why are you covered in blood?” Warren queried, grabbing a rag to help clean him up, but Robett slapped the old maester’s hand away.
“We have to get out of here!” Robett uttered, still at a loss for breath, but enough to make Warren raise an eyebrow. “Why, what’s wrong?” he questioned, to which the boy pointed at the window, meanwhile bending over to catch his breath. Warren’s curiosity led him over to the window, to which he peered out to the courtyards, yet what he expected and what he saw were completely parallel, and it left him in shock.
Brothers turned against each other, hacking at each other with swords and axes, torching the latrines, torching the mess hall. “Merman’s beard…” Warren cursed in disbelief, and as Robett regained his composure, he joined Warren’s side. “I overheard some brothers who didn’t stand for Commander Woodfoot earlier. They said they were going to arrest him for treason, but then this happened, I barely got out of there alive,” Robett exclaimed, and Warren’s eyes widened.
“This is Gale’s doing?” Warren asked in assurance, to which Robett nodded. “The man’s crazy! He said something about leaving no witnesses,” Robett mumbled, to which Warren gulped, then turning to his steward. “You need to go. Run to the stables and take a horse, ride for the Shadow Fort,” Warren advised him, but Robett shook his head. “I came here for you, we both need to leave, right now!” Robett argued, but Warren already had his own agenda.
“I’m too old to escape this. I know you can, so go!” Warren barked, and it pained him to see the boy process this, but eventually his instincts prevailed and he submitted, running for the door. “Goodbye,” Warren mumbled under his breath, returning to his desk. With both arms he cleared the desk of all the parchments, then unrolling a fresh new scroll. He grabbed his stylus and began to write.
Commander Peremore Peake,
Westwatch burns, brothers lay dead in the snow, and Gale Woodfoot leads a band of traitors south to support Steffon Cale in ridding the Ironborn of the North.
We need your help.
Signed,
Warren Manderly.
Warren’s fingers fumbled with the scroll, rolling it up hastily and grasping it firmly. At the bottom of the tower he could hear screams and more metal bashing on metal. Warren glanced up to the ravenry, beginning to climb the wooden steps to the cage of hungry birds that squawked in array. A conglomerate of footsteps began to rush up the tower steps as Warren reached the upper platform of the ravenry, resting on the wooden cage where the ravens pecked eagerly.
He lifted the clasp, grasping one of the black birds before shutting the cage again, and quickly tied the scroll to the raven’s leg. The door to his quarters flew open with a crash as a half-a-dozen traitors flooded into the room, spotting the maester and chasing after him. Warren gulped, opening the wooden doors, taking a step out onto the open frosted balcony, and setting the raven free.
“No!” the familiar voice of Commander Gale growled, which Warren turned to meet just in time for a strike to his cheek. He was lifted up quickly, and the edge of Gale’s blade was pushed against Warren’s throat. “Where did you send it?” Gale seethed, pressing the blade against Warren’s flesh. This only caused the old maester to smirk. “To your doom,” he stated, a chuckle leaving his lips, and a look of ire coating Gale’s expression.
“Get archers on horseback, I want that raven shot out of the fucking sky!” Gale barked to his men, who quickly reacted to his order. Gale then turned his gaze back to Warren, a malicious look in his eyes. “That was your last mistake, maester,” he growled, to which Warren smirked. “For the Watch,” he remarked, and with a swift push, Warren felt his feet slide on the ice beneath him, and the void of air embrace him as gravity brought him spiralling down.
Time felt to slow down, and while Warren had always been the pragmatist about death, he could not help but feel what all the others had claimed. He heard his sweet brother’s voice, he saw his nephews as young boys, and he felt the warm heat of Essos from his youth. I swore an oath to the Maester’s, I swore an oath to the Watch, and I swore an oath to you, brother. On this night, I see you again, Warren thought calmly, embracing his fate as he shut his eyes.
Beyond the Wall
Beyond the Wall: Storrold, Amathe, Asger
In the Vale of Thenn: Magnar Bjalner, Bjorn, Rorik, Toregg, Ygwyn, Maror the Mangler, Skyrnor the Schemer
The North
In the North: Lord Eddon Frost, Torv, Rose "The Black Thief", Jesse
In Winterfell: Prince Harmund Stark, Wulfgar Snow, Queen Helia Stark, Haymitch Woodfoot, Edmund the Beast, Prince Edrick Stark, Prince Tristram Stark, Prince Ivan Stark, Martena Rivers
In the Dreadfort: King Rogar Bolton “The Huntsman”, Carver, Rechar Greenwood, Lord Adam Locke, Lord Duncan Hornwood, Dormund Bolton, Elena Rivers, Catlina Glover, Maggot, Leech
In Barrow town: Lord Adrien Amber
In Forrester's Hyde: Steffon Cale, Gareth, Lord Yoren Forrester, Lady Gylda Forrester, Trysta Forrester, Thresh Forrester, Thermund Forrester
In Torrhen's Square: Lord Samwick Tallhart
The Frost Keep: Rondon Frost, Dalara Frost, Nyla Frost,
The Neck: Lord Roran Reed, Brigitte Reed
The Rills: Emma Snow, Edrick,Lord Teran Woodmill
At Bear Island: Ravos 'the Raper' Hoare, Erza Nightwood, Artigas Pyke, Jarod Greyjoy, Arika Goodbrother, Guthred 'Ghastly' Hoare, Edgar 'the Archer' Hoare, Harlie 'Berserk' Hoare, Lady Claire Woodfoot, Lord Kober Goodbrother, Tanner, Andiron Quarter-Iron, Korb the Pirate
In the Wolf’s Wood:
Alright, so it has been a long wait, and I do apologise for that. With everything that has transpired over the last few months, I've found a lot of time for thought, but little time and motivation to actually write. Fortunately I've managed to keep my ideas interesting for the Invasion, but there'll still be a bit of a delay for White Night until I get back on track with it all. I am sorry.
I'll be starting Book 2 in this thread, beginning with the prologue and then the first part shortly after that. As I mentioned on the Telltale forums, I have split up the chapters to be in sections of the world so that I can cover a handful of PoV's in a thorough manner rather than going through a yearly cycle to get through a part with each character. In a sense it will feel like six mini-stories in one which will slowly begin to connect as the climax of the Invasion is reached by the end of this book. For the beginning of Chapter 1, we'll be seeing the PoV's of the North, which will introduce new storylines on the Wall and beyond it, as well as cover all the PoV's currently based in the North or from the North. I'll also cover some storylines in Andalos which are related to the North, such as Alara and Davios later on.
Anyway, allow me to post the prologue to the second book!
Book 2 – Blood Boils
Prologue: Blood on the Wall
Warren
“Open the gate!” the distant cry of a guard called, attracting the old maester’s gaze from his tower. Warren lifted himself from his desk, feeling his ancient bones creak and crunch with every movement, and in the corner of his eye he could see his steward eager to run to his assistance. Warren lifted his hand in dismissal, guiding himself to the small window that overlooked the castle.
The sky was shrouded in dark clouds, leaving a dark eminence on a place once considered a great honour. Now look at it, Warren thought with a grouch, glaring up at the couple of hundred feet of frozen ice that stretched across the entire north; bordering the civil from the wild. Or so it does now, Warren reconciled memorably, being one of the few brothers of the Watch to remember its true purpose.
He averted his gaze from the Wall, glaring down to the Bridge of Skulls, where half-a-dozen riders trotted with caution towards the oaken gates of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. The gods forsaken castle was haunted, any of the men would claim it if asked, but the truth was it was only the most distant from the safety of the Wall. Westwatch guarded the ancient bridge of skull and bone, buried twenty feet beneath ice and snow, and the only crossing to the lands beyond the Wall without sailing or passing through the great ice blockade itself.
“Rangers, only three,” Warren muttered to himself, recounting that more than triple that had left three sunrises ago to scout the edge of the Haunted Forest for wildling activity. They found it, Warren assumed, watching as brothers quickly rushed to their aid once they entered the safety of the castle. I will be expected down there, Warren reconciled with a grudge, now looking to his squire.
“Which foolish man decided we old crones should be nested atop the tallest tower of each castle and city?” Warren grumbled to the child, in part with a light tone; but bearing genuine irritability. He grew humiliated having to be assisted by his steward up and down the hundreds of steps that spiralled up the Maester’s Tower, albeit he did enjoy the boy’s company. "The greatest fool of them all,” the boy recited, as he had sympathetically ever since he had grown the confidence to speak before Warren while in his service. Warren only smirked, nodding to the boy as he pushed himself away from the window.
The young steward came to his assistance, taking Warren’s friable state into his care, wrapping the old man’s arm around his shoulder. “Ready?” he queried, to which Warren rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter me, princess. Just get me down,” he grumbled, to which the boy smirked and nodded, leading him down the first step.
Before they were even half way down the tower, Warren could hear the cries for the maester, and as they passed one of the tower windows, Warren spotted that all the rangers had suffered wounds. He frowned, knowing this would be a tedious task for his old hands. Thankfully his steward had learnt much in his stead, but there were still some things the boy did not know. Like the loss of life, Warren though grimly as he gazed at the boy.
He was fifteen years of age, but still quite small despite being in his adolescent years. His short black hair was thick and coarse, and his eyes a pale green. Like all the brothers of the Night’s Watch, he was donned in black, with a black vest and charcoal black shirt beneath it. Still, despite his size, Warren saw great potential in him, and had requested for him specifically to be his scribe when he visited the Nightfort to assess the new recruits.
“How fares your progress with that book I loaned you, Robett?” Warren queried, intrigued to know if the boy had indeed been studying in his off-time. His immediate reaction spoke more than the masked words that followed. “Good,” the Weasel mumbled abruptly, to which Warren only chuckled. “I didn’t study much at your age either,” Warren reconciled, to which Robett raised an eyebrow.
“Really? I thought you maester boys were all knowledge or nothing folk,” Robett stated, in which Warren nodded. “Aye, but I was never interested in being a maester as a boy,” Warren revealed to him, causing Robett to raise his eyebrows. “I’d have never figured,” he admitted, to which Warren smirked. “It was always my brother’s interest to read. I always preferred to venture and explore, and I did. I probably learnt more than he did from all his books, its experience which got me so far in life,” Warren stated, and Robett nodded.
“So what changed?” the boy questioned, to which the old maester felt his chest sink as he frowned. “My brother died,” Warren stated forlornly, and Robett’s expression glowered. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, but Warren only shook his head. “We always had our fights, but I love him as much now as I did then, it’s why I took up his true interests in life rather than his titles and blessings. That’s why I’m an old grouchy maester on the Wall, and my nephew is the King of the Seas,” Warren muttered playfully, to which Robett chuckled.
“Ever regretted that choice?” the boy then asked, to which Warren shook his head. “To become a maester? No. To leave my family? No, they’re fine without me, I have no doubt been forgotten by now,” Warren answered sternly, yet there was a feeling of loneliness in the truth of his words, but he continued for the boy. “To join the Watch? Despite its growing influx for criminals, no, it still holds the great traits I joined for. My only regret is growing so old that a child has to carry me down my own tower and harass me with questions,” Warren chuckled, to which Robett gulped awkwardly with a smile. “Sorry,” he mumbled, to which Warren shook his head, messing the boy’s hair. “Don’t be, it was a joke,” Warren smiled, but it was quickly lost as they listened to the steps echoing up the tower.
When the two brothers had reached them, Warren recognised them to Victor and and Connin Whent, a ranger and builder stationed at Westwatch. “Maester Warren, we have a situation in the courtyard,” Victor stated, to which Warren rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Son, with the ruckus I can hear from atop my ravenry, I’d say the boys at the Shadow Tower could tell you have a damn situation in the courtyard,” Warren grumbled, causing Victor to frown awkwardly and Connin to chuckle, gaining him a stern glare from his ranger companion.
“We’re here to assist you down,” Victor stated, to which Warren looked at the two men sternly for a moment before responding. “What are you waiting for? A signed petition?” Warren grunted, to which Victor sighed, taking hold of Warren on one side while Connin attended to the other, and the two hoisted the maester off of his feet. Warren rolled his eyes as he looked to Robett, who only grinned at the old man’s displeasure. Little shit, Warren thought to himself before disappearing down the steps.
The two brothers placed Warren down before escorting him outside the tower and to the courtyard, where the scene unravelled. Warren’s eyes fell onto the two unconscious rangers being attended to by some of the brothers, identifying them to be George Rivers and Howard, while the other was Sacharia Snow. Warren pointed Robett over to the unconscious while he approached the bastard ranger, beside him stood First Builder Jorrel, who had only recently rode in with some builders to construct a forward base of operations across the bridge. These rangers were sent to scout for a secure area to do so.
Jorrel was the first to notice Warren, giving the maester a nod before approaching him. He was a younger man compared to Warren, perhaps on his early fifties, and easily half of Warren’s age. His long curly hair was beginning to grey, but still dominantly black, along with his coarse black beard. His brown eyes voiced concern which Warren didn’t need to hear, and his frail hand grasped the rough robust grip of the First Builder.
“Jorrel,” Warren bluntly greeted, to which the First Builder nodded. “Go easy on the boy, he’s barely any better than the others,” Jorrel warned him, to which Warren flashed him a fake smile before nodding. “I know my job well enough, brother,” he muttered, pushing passed the man to come to the ranger’s side.
Sacharia lifted his gaze to Warren, a look of paranoia and panic touching him as Warren lifted the boy’s chin. “I had to keep the alive,” Sacharia mumbled, quickly jerking back and scanning around him. “I have to go back,” Sacharia added, trying to pull away from Warren, but quickly two brothers came to assist the old maester by calming the panicked ranger. “Sacharia, do you know where you are?” Warren began simply, trying to connect his gaze with the young man’s green eyes.
The ranger glanced around with jerky eyes, taking in his surroundings before uttering his answer. “Westwatch,” he answered prominently, to which Warren nodded. “What happened?” Warren then asked, grabbing Sacharia’s attention. The ranger gulped, gazing into Warren’s turquoise eyes uncertainly. “We were attacked,” he answered vaguely, to which Warren pressed on. “By who? Wildlings?” the maester questioned, but Sacharia shook his head.
“They came out of nowhere. We were minding our own business, looking for good land, and then it happened. So fast, so damn fast. Orrick didn’t even see it coming, and Garry…” Sacharia began to choke on his words, tears welling up in his eyes. “I have to go back,” he gasped, his sense of duty overwhelming his rationality, and again his brothers held him down. “Who ambushed you?” Warren asked again, this time his tone firm and dominant. He grasped the boy’s chin and peered into his eyes, causing the ranger to gulp.
“Wolves, bears, deer, rabbits, all of it. I’d never seen so many… It was like they were running from something,” Sacharia deliriously claimed, to which Warren frowned. He turned his gaze to the brothers by his side, giving them a nod. “Check him for any injuries then get him to his bed. He needs rest,” Warren ordered, to which the brothers nodded obediently, lifting the ranger to his feet.
Warren struggled to find his own feet, but as he did, he could hear the arrival of Commander Gale Woodfoot from his barking tone. “What in all the hells is happening here?” he growled, pushing past his men to Warren, who turned to meet him with a stern expression. “Your little ranging party just became littler by their return,” Warren bluntly exclaimed, causing Gale to scowl at him. “How?” he grunted, to which Warren gazed over at the unconscious brothers. “Your guess is as good as mine, Gale. We will have to wait until they’re recovered,” Warren stated, but Gale firmly shook his head.
“While our brothers bleed out somewhere beyond the Wall? Fuck that,” he grumbled, signalling the First Builder over. “This was your fucking idea, Jorrel, and my men are suffering for it,” Gale stated firmly, to which Jorrel only raised his eyebrows. “Lord Commander Connington ordered for that FOB to be constructed, not me,” Jorrel stated frankly, provoking Gale to take a step in Jorrel’s direction, breathing down each other’s necks.
“Ron isn’t here, so the way I see it, this is your mess. Pull together your best builders, I’ll supply you with a handful of rangers, and go and find my men and learn what the fuck happened out there!” he barked, taking Jorrel aback momentarily. Gale turned his attention to Warren, then glancing around the courtyard. “Get those men care and then get some information out of them. I want a report by supper,” Gale growled, to which Warren nodded. “As you wish, Commander,” Warren repeated nonchalantly, to which Gale took his leave back to his quarters.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Jorrel muttered, crossing his arms as he weighed over his new situation. “Back to his nephew undoubtedly. Haymitch Woodfoot and Wulfric Snow rode here expecting they could gain the support of the Night’s Watch to help them in taking back Bear Island. I suppose they’ve never heard our oath,” Warren suggested, to which Jorrel only shrugged. “Come, I will find you some suitable men to help you get to the bottom of this. If Sacharia’s words hold any sense, you’ll want hunters by your side,” Warren stated, guiding Jorrel away.
-
The mess hall was packed with the four hundred brothers that were stationed at Westwatch, a moderately less manned castle compared to the others among the Wall, something which Warren had always fretted about given their position between the wildlings and realms of the civil. However the distance of the Shadow Tower and Sentinel Stand from Westwatch gave Warren a little more comfort at night, even if it was only minimal.
Warren had always preferred to dine in the company of his own quarters in the Maester’s Tower, yet given Gale’s request, Warren found himself in the obnoxiously loud mess hall for the first time in months. Naturally given his position he sat at the Commander’s table, along with his honoured guests: Haymitch Woodfoot and Wulfric Snow, his nephew and the bastard brother of the Hungry Wolf. Not men I would welcome onto my table, Warren thought cautiously as he recalled all the claims of Theon and his ruthlessness. Bad blood is bad blood.
Naturally, Jorrel would have sat at the Commander’s Table as well, however given his leave shortly after the event that had transpired, Warren was isolated with the man he disliked the most in Westwatch. The only man he had to suck up to. Gale held a stern expression on his rough textured face. Having been a boy isolated on an island away from any knowledgeable person, the man had suffered terrible acne that had left its scar on him in his adult years. Something easily curable with the aid of a maester, Warren thought plainly, however he did not really care for Gale’s scars. He did care however for Gale’s lack of acceptance for a maester under his command, and thus Warren was under-utilised for the most part, but with his old age Warren tended not to mind as much. He considered it a kind of retirement, despite his sacred life-long oaths.
“So, Warren. What do you have for me?” Gale spoke up, taking a drink from his cup of ale before turning his attention to the old maester. Warren placed down his cutlery as he thought of how he would politely respond to the man. “I’m afraid I’ve been able to obtain little more from Sacharia. He appears to be delusional, perhaps due to dehydration or simply shock, but if we are to believe the incoherent words he is speaking then we are dealing with killer rabbits and other wild animals,” Warren exclaimed, evoking a chuckle from Wulfric Snow, who sat opposite him.
“Grumpkins and snarks, in other words? Typical of the brothers in black to be continuing such childish stories,” Wulfric remarked, causing both Warren and Gale to scowl at him. “That’s disappointing, Warren. I had hoped a maester of the citadel could have extracted a little more,” Gale stated coldly, to which Warren sighed. “We’re only human,” Warren remarked nonchalantly, but Gale smirked and shook his head. “Not all of us, apparently,” Gale stated, hinting at Warren’s merling blood, to which he only rolled his eyes.
Gale sighed, downing his cup of ale. “Well, so be it,” he mumbled, banging his cup on the table three consecutive times before arising from his chair. This brought the long-awaited silence that Warren longed for in his own quarters, but he could admit, he was curious as to what Gale was up to. “Brothers, hear me,” he called, gathering their attention entirely, before momentarily looking to his nephew.
“My honoured guests came to me to deliver some grievous news. My old home of Bear Island has been ceased by the Ironborn, my brother’s family slaughtered and raped, and my old halls are being defiled by their presence to this very moment. My nephew has come to me seeking the help of the Night’s Watch, he wants us to join Steffon Cale in flushing the Ironborn from the North,” Gale announced, and Warren heard murmurs amongst the crowd. The maester turned his attention to Gale, who had lowered his eyes, and Warren read a lot in his troubled eyes.
“I swore an oath, becoming a brother of the Night’s Watch, and I pledged my life to this order. I swore to be the shield that protects the realms of men, and I will uphold those vows. That is why I will ride south to support the Stark’s,” Gale announced, provoking the murmurs into an uproar of confusion and shock. Even Warren’s eyes widened, as he knew exactly what this meant. The maester found his feet quickly, his old bones cursing him for it, but the heart of the Watch demanding it.
“To become involved in southern conflicts is a violation of our code. Our place is at the Wall, Gale, we do not seek vengeance or glory,” Warren reminded him in a strong voice that all could hear, but Gale paid him no mind. “Brothers, I will only take volunteers, but I know many of you wish to stretch your legs. Join me, and we will rid the Ironborn from the North with ease, and once we are done, we shall return to our post,” Gale stated, putting emphasis on his final phrase as he side-glanced to Warren.
Silence fell over the brothers, and Warren’s gaze fell over them as he tried to read their expressions. They were distorted and unique, something which bothered the maester, but not as much as the first man to stand. Warren recognised this brother to be a ranger: Tylon, a sweet man, loyal to the Watch and not too talkative. He gave a nod to Gale, who reciprocated the gesture with a smirk.
Shortly following another brother stood, followed by another. All were loyal subjects of the Watch, and then a few who had been forced to take the black, which only left Warren with greater concern. Before long, more than half of the room stood in Gale’s support, greatly to his appease, and to Warren’s disappointment. “Thank you, brothers,” Gale stated warmly, taking his seat again, and the men in black all returned to their seats and returned to their chatter.
Warren stared at his feet with disbelief, while Gale’s gaze picked at his eyes with a disgustingly smug smile spread across his lips. Warren averted his gaze to his meal before shifting it to Gale and nodding. “Forgive me, I believe I’ve lost my appetite,” Warren excused himself, to which Gale nodded, returning his attention to Haymitch and Wulfric. He felt at a loss for air, and barely made it outside to the brisk coldness before losing his feet beneath him, and holding himself against the icy stone wall.
His chains weighed so heavy, and the snow beneath his feet sparkled at him under torchlight. How can so many brothers be misled? They’ll lose their heads, Warren thought, clenching his teeth as he did his fists. You fools! Warren wanted to shout, yet he didn’t want to further humiliate himself. Being proved wrong in front of the one man he despised the most was enough humility for one night.
Warren cast his gaze onto his tower, cursing the man that claimed maester’s should hold the highest point, and cursing himself for following that ideal through. His legs would curse him for climbing the tower alone tonight.
-
The night had fallen late in the hour, moonlight peering through the tower window, but Warren remained at his desk with candle light. He peered over the parchment scrolls that cluttered his desk, reports from the Nightfort, studies from the Citadel, and a letter from his nephew, yet not the one he had expected. While he had always loved Waldemar, his younger brother, Wylis, had always followed more in Warren’s boots than Waldemar.
He wrote from Dorne, speaking of the preparations the Dayne’s and Blackmont’s were making in regards to the Andal invasion they speculated would reach them soon. It crushed Warren’s heart that he could not see his family, and he cursed his family blood for making him live so long. Undoubtedly for another decade or two more, Warren thought grimly, fearing he would outlive his brother’s offspring if these Andal’s succeeded in invading all of Westeros.
Warren dipped his stylus in ink, pondering on a response he could give to his nephew in Dorne. He looked out to the moon for some inspiration, and heard some clashes of iron and steel down in the courtyard. Likely some of the brothers sparring, Warren thought, then recognising something. He thought on what the situation was like in the rest of Westeros, being stuck in the Bronze Age, while the Night’s Watch had imported iron and steel from the Andal’s generations ago.
The first word of a potential Andal invasion sparked curiosity and concern amongst the Night’s Watch years ago, and has standard protocol, envoys were sent to Andalos to explain the position of the Night’s Watch in Westeros. If the Andal’s could respect that, they would get along well, if not, the entirety of the First Men would rally into a great army to repel the Andal’s. It was a clear choice for the Andal’s to side with this mysteriously strong force, and thus they traded knowledge of iron and steel with the Night’s Watch in return for their alliance. An unfair trade, Warren thought, thinking of how the Andal’s had now used the Watch to send their prisoners and deserters to an unavoidable judgement.
Warren puts his thoughts down onto the parchment, the sounds of steel on steel fading away into white noise, until the door to his quarters clunked open and shut again. Warren lifted an eyebrow, turning his gaze to the door, where he saw his steward sprawled across the door, clearly exhausted but with something else troubling him. Warren rose to his feet, lifting the candle from his desk and approaching the boy.
“Robett, are you hurt?” the maester queried, to which the Weasel gasped and shook his head. His face was smeared with blood, as well as there being blood on his hands which marked the walls. Warren made sure to search him for any wounds, but he could not spot anything obvious or dire. “Why are you covered in blood?” Warren queried, grabbing a rag to help clean him up, but Robett slapped the old maester’s hand away.
“We have to get out of here!” Robett uttered, still at a loss for breath, but enough to make Warren raise an eyebrow. “Why, what’s wrong?” he questioned, to which the boy pointed at the window, meanwhile bending over to catch his breath. Warren’s curiosity led him over to the window, to which he peered out to the courtyards, yet what he expected and what he saw were completely parallel, and it left him in shock.
Brothers turned against each other, hacking at each other with swords and axes, torching the latrines, torching the mess hall. “Merman’s beard…” Warren cursed in disbelief, and as Robett regained his composure, he joined Warren’s side. “I overheard some brothers who didn’t stand for Commander Woodfoot earlier. They said they were going to arrest him for treason, but then this happened, I barely got out of there alive,” Robett exclaimed, and Warren’s eyes widened.
“This is Gale’s doing?” Warren asked in assurance, to which Robett nodded. “The man’s crazy! He said something about leaving no witnesses,” Robett mumbled, to which Warren gulped, then turning to his steward. “You need to go. Run to the stables and take a horse, ride for the Shadow Fort,” Warren advised him, but Robett shook his head. “I came here for you, we both need to leave, right now!” Robett argued, but Warren already had his own agenda.
“I’m too old to escape this. I know you can, so go!” Warren barked, and it pained him to see the boy process this, but eventually his instincts prevailed and he submitted, running for the door. “Goodbye,” Warren mumbled under his breath, returning to his desk. With both arms he cleared the desk of all the parchments, then unrolling a fresh new scroll. He grabbed his stylus and began to write.
Commander Peremore Peake,
Westwatch burns, brothers lay dead in the snow, and Gale Woodfoot leads a band of traitors south to support Steffon Cale in ridding the Ironborn of the North.
We need your help.
Signed,
Warren Manderly.
Warren’s fingers fumbled with the scroll, rolling it up hastily and grasping it firmly. At the bottom of the tower he could hear screams and more metal bashing on metal. Warren glanced up to the ravenry, beginning to climb the wooden steps to the cage of hungry birds that squawked in array. A conglomerate of footsteps began to rush up the tower steps as Warren reached the upper platform of the ravenry, resting on the wooden cage where the ravens pecked eagerly.
He lifted the clasp, grasping one of the black birds before shutting the cage again, and quickly tied the scroll to the raven’s leg. The door to his quarters flew open with a crash as a half-a-dozen traitors flooded into the room, spotting the maester and chasing after him. Warren gulped, opening the wooden doors, taking a step out onto the open frosted balcony, and setting the raven free.
“No!” the familiar voice of Commander Gale growled, which Warren turned to meet just in time for a strike to his cheek. He was lifted up quickly, and the edge of Gale’s blade was pushed against Warren’s throat. “Where did you send it?” Gale seethed, pressing the blade against Warren’s flesh. This only caused the old maester to smirk. “To your doom,” he stated, a chuckle leaving his lips, and a look of ire coating Gale’s expression.
“Get archers on horseback, I want that raven shot out of the fucking sky!” Gale barked to his men, who quickly reacted to his order. Gale then turned his gaze back to Warren, a malicious look in his eyes. “That was your last mistake, maester,” he growled, to which Warren smirked. “For the Watch,” he remarked, and with a swift push, Warren felt his feet slide on the ice beneath him, and the void of air embrace him as gravity brought him spiralling down.
Time felt to slow down, and while Warren had always been the pragmatist about death, he could not help but feel what all the others had claimed. He heard his sweet brother’s voice, he saw his nephews as young boys, and he felt the warm heat of Essos from his youth. I swore an oath to the Maester’s, I swore an oath to the Watch, and I swore an oath to you, brother. On this night, I see you again, Warren thought calmly, embracing his fate as he shut his eyes.
