Chapter 59

The pile of ashes at my paws were still smoldering when the silence of the Lord Commander's solar was shattered.

From the courtyard below, frantic, panicked shouts of men pierced the night air. A moment later, a sharp, chaotic blare cut the night.

Jon Snow pulled himself off the floor, his breath hitching as he stared at the shattered door. "There were two bodies."

Ghost let out a low growl, his hackles raised as he stared out into the dark hallway. The scent of rot was no longer confined to the solar. It was drifting throughout the castle.

There was no time to wait for Mormont to issue orders. I bounded out of the solar and hit the wooden stairs, taking them three at a time. The stench of the undead was a beacon in the dark leading me to Jafer Flowers.

I burst into the lower courtyard with Jon and Ghost right on my heels.

Near the armory, a dozen black brothers had formed a desperate, terrified circle. In the center, Jafer Flowers was tearing through them. The wight's skin was milk-pale, its eyes burning with a terrible, sapphire light. A seasoned ranger drove a spear squarely through the dead man's chest. Jafer did not bat an eye. He grabbed the wooden shaft, snapped it like a twig and backhanded the ranger so hard the man's jaw shattered with a sound crack.

Another brother swung a broadsword, burying it deep into Jafer's neck. There was no blood. No pain. The wight simply pulled the blade free and lunged.

The men were getting disheartened. The men of the Night's Watch had realized that their sword, their training, and their courage meant absolutely nothing in front of this fiend.

I stepped into the light of their dropped torches.

I opened my jaws and unleashed a concentrated stream of [Flamethrower].

The white-hot fire washed over Jafer Flowers. The unnatural cold binding the corpse violently combusted, turning the wight into a screaming pillar of fire. The dead man thrashed against the frozen mud for a few agonizing seconds before collapsing into a heap of charred bone and ash.

The courtyard fell dead quiet, save for the crackle of the dying flames. Dozens of black brothers, including a wide-eyed Ser Alliser Thorne, stared at the ashes.

They had all seen it. Swords failed them. Pain failed them. Only the beast’s fire was the answer.

...

Morning broke over the Wall, but the emotions inside the Great Hall was unrecognizable. There was no boasting, no bickering between highborn knights and baseborn recruits.

Lord Commander Mormont sat at the head of the heavy wooden table. Robb Stark, Jon, and his senior men flanked him. I lay near the hearth, the heat of the fire feeling dim compared to my own coat, while Ghost sat silently beside Jon's chair.

No one argued. Even Alliser Thorne stood quietly in the corner, staring at the floor, his usual venom thoroughly drained by the terror of the night before.

Maester Aemon sat near Mormont, his blind, milky eyes staring straight ahead. His old trembling hands rested on his chain.

"The tales were true," the old maester whispered, his voice carrying clearly through the silent hall. "The Long Night... the dead that ride on the winds of winter. We thought them legends to frighten children."

"We have spent eight thousand years manning this Wall," Mormont said heavily, rubbing his scarred face. "We built our entire order to watch the woods... and we have been preparing for the wrong enemy."

Mormont looked toward Robb Stark. The Young Wolf sat tall, his face grim. He had seen the ashes. He knew what was coming.

"My Lord Commander," Robb said, his voice steady. "My place is in the North. Winterfell is my home, and I must hold it for my father." Robb paused, looking around the room at the shaken faces of the black brothers. "But the Watch will not stand alone. I cannot leave you my entire vanguard, but fifty of my best mounted men will remain here. I leave you builders, surplus steel, and twenty draft horses."

Mormont bowed his head deeply. "The Watch accepts this gift with the utmost gratitude, Lord Stark. Your blood runs true."

"What is our next move, Commander?" a ranger asked from the back. "Do we seal the gates?"

"No," Mormont answered, his voice finding its iron once more. "We do not cower while the dead amass. But we do not march blindly, either. We prepare. Send ravens to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower. Gather every ounce of salted meat, grain, and oil we have. Empty the armories. See if the maester's records hold anything on undead. When we are ready, we will launch a Great Ranging. We will find Benjen Stark, and we will find the source of this rot."

...

As the council dispersed to begin their frantic preparations, Mormont called Jon Snow to remain behind.

The Lord Commander walked over to a heavy wooden chest near his desk. He opened it and pulled out a bastard sword. The scabbard was fine leather, but it was the pommel that caught the eye, a piece of pale stone carved into the likeness of a direwolf, with chips of garnet for eyes.

Mormont held the blade out. Valyrian steel rippled darkly along the metal.

"Longclaw," Mormont said softly. "It has been the ancestral blade of House Mormont for five centuries. My son brought dishonor upon it, and it has sat in the dark ever since."

Jon stared at the sword, his eyes wide. "My Lord... I am not a Mormont. I cannot…"

"The reason we argue now is cause you charged in while I lay in my bed. You charged a monster in the dark," Mormont interrupted, his voice firm. "When grown men fled, when steel failed, your courage did not. You saved an old man's life, Snow. Take it. It is meant for a wolf now."

Jon slowly reached out, his gloved hands gripping the heavy hilt. He drew the blade an inch, the dark, magical steel singing softly in the quiet room.

Mormont nodded, satisfied. Then, the Old Bear turned his gaze down to me.

He didn't offer me a vow, and he didn't name me a brother of the Watch. I was not a man, and Jeor Mormont respected the traditions too much to cheapen them. But he understood power, and he understood debt.

"And you," Mormont said, his voice dropping to a tone of respect. "The Watch owes you a debt no man can repay."

The Old Bear placed a hand over his heart. "So long as I command here, no man of the Watch will raise steel against you. And Castle Black will always have meat enough for you."

As the words left his mouth, a subtle, cold chime rang in my mind. The System interface flickered, shifting from its warning blue back to a victorious gold.

[Sub-Quest Completed: The Dead in the Dark]

[Reward Issued.] [New Passive Unlocked: Scourge of the Dead]

Description: The user’s elemental fire attacks deal massively increased damage against undead entities. The Night King’s magic cowers before the Sun.

I let out a soft, warm huff, resting my chin on my paws. Ghost stepped forward, bumping his white snout gently against my shoulder before taking a seat perfectly in line with Jon. I shifted slightly, taking my place on the albino’s right side.

Mormont watched the three of us, the bastard with the Valyrian steel, one of the last direwolves and the strange beast of fire.

A faint, tired smile touched the Lord Commander’s lips.

"Seems the wolves have chosen their leader," Mormont murmured.

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