Eight thousand years had passed since the Long Night swept across the world, a darkness so profound that a generation knew nothing but winter. When at last that ancient disaster subsided, the Wall rose in the far north of the Seven Kingdoms.
Built of ice and massive stone, it stretched for hundreds of leagues across the northern border, soaring seven hundred feet into the cold sky. It was said that ancient spells were woven into its foundations, that the children of the forest had helped raise it with magics now forgotten to the world of men.
From that day forth, the Night's Watch had kept their vigil upon those frozen battlements.
The Wall became the realm's greatest bulwark against what lay beyond—the wildlings who called themselves the free folk, and the Others whose very existence had faded into legend.
As all men knew, or thought they knew.
The journey from Winterfell to the Wall was no simple undertaking. More than six hundred miles of harsh terrain separated the two, and the farther north one traveled, the more severe and desolate the land became. The winds grew sharper, more eager to steal the heat from living flesh.
Joffrey's party of nine had been traveling north along the Kingsroad for twelve days.
At the outset, they had numbered only six: Joffrey, Tyrion, two attendants, Jon Snow, and Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch.
Then Yoren had joined them, bringing with him two sullen rapists bound for the Wall.
Yoren's duty was to wander the Seven Kingdoms, seeking recruits for the Watch. In these latter days, when the order had fallen so far from its former glory, he found few volunteers of noble character. Instead, he gathered criminals from dungeons across the realm, men who chose the black over the headsman's axe or the noose.
The two rapists hailed from the Fingers in the Vale. They were ragged and filthy, and every movement they made betrayed a nature both brutish and cruel.
Yet these men were but typical examples of the recruits who now replenished the Watch's dwindling ranks.
Jon Snow felt a renewed sense of gratitude after observing them.
So the Night's Watch had truly become this wretched. Fortune had smiled upon him when he accepted His Highness's invitation to King's Landing—what hope for a decent life would there have been otherwise?
Though they had yet to glimpse the Wall's imposing silhouette, Jon had already sensed the grim reality of the order's decline.
King's Landing would be infinitely preferable.
Jon could not help but glance at the Crown Prince, who rode comfortably atop his massive lion, enjoying the northern landscape with casual appreciation. A twinge of envy passed through him.
Joffrey suffered none of the journey's hardships.
He had Rain as his mount, magic to keep him warm and to hunt with ease, servants to attend his needs, magnificent vistas of snow-capped mountains and ancient forests to admire, and Tyrion's wit to pass the long hours on the road...
The only blemish on this idyllic scene was the unfortunate company they were forced to keep.
Jon's gaze drifted to the rapists, and whatever small hope he might have harbored for the discipline and integrity of the Night's Watch withered completely.
It was no wonder that in thousands of years, no Others or monstrous threats had ventured south of the Wall. The legendary foes had become nothing more than fireside tales told to frighten children.
Without the Others, the only threat beyond the Wall was the backward wildlings. And the immense barrier was more than sufficient to prevent any large-scale crossing. The scattered few who managed to slip through were rarely able to venture beyond the North's borders. Small wonder, then, that the Seven Kingdoms no longer supported the Night's Watch as they had in millennia past.
An order deprived of fresh blood and proper resources could only decline, growing more corrupt with each passing generation until it faced extinction.
Yet Joffrey understood a truth that others did not: the Others were no myth, the Long Night would come again, and the Night's Watch would soon face its true purpose.
He knew he must take their plight seriously.
When he ascended the Iron Throne and stabilized the realm, the Night's Watch would be reborn under his patronage. The criminals who now comprised the brotherhood would find themselves assigned elsewhere.
Benjen Stark pulled on his reins, and the sturdy garron beneath him reluctantly approached the fearsome lion.
"In a fortnight, we shall reach Castle Black," he said, his voice as cold as the northern wind. "It's not too late for His Highness to reconsider this journey. The brothers of the Night's Watch have little use for empty condolences. Bread, wine, steel, men—what can you truly offer us?"
Perhaps due to his distrust of House Lannister, Benjen had maintained a frosty demeanor toward Joffrey throughout their journey.
Joffrey met the First Ranger's scrutinizing gaze without flinching. "The Others have long since vanished, and the wildlings pose no significant threat. The Night's Watch should express gratitude for whatever support the realm provides, rather than complain that it falls short of your desires."
"Besides," he added with a hint of steel in his voice, "I remain the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Does my personal visit count for nothing in your estimation?"
Benjen snorted, preparing to offer a sharp retort.
Joffrey raised his hand in warning. "How interesting. A pack of rats has come to scurry through our forest."
The prince's keen perception had already been demonstrated on multiple occasions during their journey. At his words, everyone drew their swords and peered into the dense woodland to the left of the road.
Amidst the subtle rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs, shadowy figures materialized between the ancient oaks and towering pines.
Joffrey glanced to the opposite side. "There are more approaching from this direction as well."
Benjen pivoted, pointing his sword's tip toward the right side of the road.
After what seemed an eternity, though it was merely the space of a few dozen heartbeats, thirty or forty disheveled figures had surrounded them.
Most were men, armed with a hodgepodge of crude weapons: short knives, spears tipped with bronze, notched longswords that had seen better days, and bows fashioned from green wood. They wore the standard garb of wildlings—furs and hides stitched together with varying degrees of skill.
A low, rumbling growl split the silence.
A snow bear, its massive form rivaling that of Rain, padded onto the road. Upon its back sat a gaunt man whose eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. The bear's gaze glinted with an unnatural intelligence.
A skinchanger.
The two rapists betrayed their fear openly, while the remaining attendants gripped their short swords with trembling hands.
Joffrey's expression grew serious. The situation was more complex than it first appeared. Wildlings were to be expected in these northern reaches, but how had a skinchanger and his snow bear crossed the Wall? Such a thing should have been impossible.
Tyrion attempted to defuse the tension through diplomacy. "Free folk," he called out, "with such numbers at your command, surely you could live peacefully. Why resort to such base actions as highway robbery? No one need be harmed here today."
A bald man barked with laughter.
"Half-man," he sneered, "you dare speak thus? Your pathetic band is outnumbered five to one. We could destroy you with a single breath. Who, precisely, do you imagine will be harmed?"
Tyrion committed the man's face to memory, saying nothing.
Joffrey studied the bald man's attire with narrowed eyes. Though filthy and worn nearly to rags, the garment had once unmistakably been a black cloak.
Black. A deserter from the Night's Watch.
The prince's gaze swept across the assembled wildlings. At least seven or eight wore the faded black of the Watch. Most of the others were clad in mismatched leathers, crude and irregular. A few wore garments clearly originating from the Seven Kingdoms—stolen from travelers less fortunate than themselves, no doubt.
Another man, this one sporting a matted beard, stepped forward. "We seek only coin and valuables. Lay down your weapons, and we shall spare your lives."
Not a man among Joffrey's party believed such hollow assurances.
The prince quickly assessed their situation. Five archers, thirty-two armed men, a snow bear, and its skinchanger master.
The odds were decidedly not in their favor. They could not hope to survive through intimidation alone.
That left only one option: combat.
"Hold!" Joffrey shouted with feigned desperation. "I am the heir to Winterfell! Spare our lives, and any amount of gold or silver can be negotiated!"
All eyes turned toward him, momentarily distracted by the prospect of greater wealth.
In that instant, Joffrey's hand moved with blinding speed, drawing seven throwing knives and launching them in rapid succession at the wildling archers.
The air sang with their passage. Five archers dropped their bows almost simultaneously, Joffrey's blades buried deep in their skulls. They collapsed to the frozen ground, their eternal rest beginning before they even understood what had occurred.
The wildlings erupted in rage. "Kill them all!" came the cry from dozens of throats.
The clash began in earnest.
"Jon, Benjen—charge to the right!" Joffrey commanded.
Rain carried the prince and Tyrion into the forest, massive paws crushing the undergrowth as the great beast tore through half a dozen wildlings who stood in their path.
The lion's attack created a momentary gap in the encirclement.
Jon, Ghost, Benjen, and Yoren instantly seized the opportunity, spurring their mounts after the prince.
The remaining members of their party, slower to react, were overwhelmed in seconds. Blood and flesh scattered across the snow-dusted road as the wildlings fell upon them with savage fury.
A dozen pursuers crashed into the forest, following their prey for several hundred yards before losing sight of them among the trees.
For a brief moment, it seemed the danger had passed.
The wildlings who remained on the road scrambled to claim the spoils of their victory—horses, wagons, provisions, and other treasures abandoned in the hasty retreat.
Those who had given chase soon returned, eager to claim their share of the plunder.
Then came a low, rumbling growl.
The snow bear crushed a human skull between its massive jaws with a sickening crack.
The skinchanger opened his mouth, but the voice that emerged seemed to belong to the bear itself.
"Find them," he commanded, his eyes vacant as his consciousness rode within the great beast. "Find that lion."
The wildlings, suppressing both their anger and their fear, reluctantly returned to the forest in search of their escaped prey.
==============================================
Support me at p@treon.com/goldengaruda and check out more chapter of this or more early access chapter of my other fanfic translation.
=============================================