What Makes a Hero

Chapter 25 - Whispers of Frost and Shadows

Bran found himself in the dreamland again. Only this time, he was in the godswood with no bow, no weapons of the sort, and no one around. Light winter snow had taken over the warmth of the summer green. The hawk man was not there, the spider lady was not there, the sleepless man was not there... the Stark man was not there. The face of the tree wept, and the Three-Eyed Raven crowed. Bran turned to face it. The bird perched itself on a mysterious handle. Bran walked up to it to get a better look. Bran brushed some of the snow off it with his fingers. The handle belonged to a weapon, a hammer as far as Bran could tell, firmly planted on the ground with intricate designs that reminded him of something ancient and something new. A giant stone sculpture of a muscular fist wrapped in green vines protected it. It was the only bit of green that thrived in this cold. Bran wondered how that was possible and reached out to touch the weapon when a voice stopped him.

"Don't," it said. Bran turned to face the source. A boy similar to his age with brown hair and low-born leathers stood before him. "It's not meant for you," he added.

"Then why is it here?" asked Bran.

"It's a sign, for two more yet to come," said the boy confidently. Bran turned back to look upon the hammer and the fist.

"Two more? How do you know?" he asked the mysterious boy. The Three-Eyed Raven crowed. The boy smiled.

"Because I've seen it, and so will you," he said. He was the only figure in his dreams that responded to him directly, as if he was actually there with him, unlike the other characters. Suddenly, Bran could hear the clashing of swords and the screaming of women. A part of the godswood opened up to something he had never seen before, something that did not belong to Winterfell. He could see men in black cloaks fighting off blue-eyed corpses just outside a rotten keep. The location was foreign to him.

"What's happening?" Bran asked, panicked. An old man stabbed another old man. Bran winced and backed away.

"You can't do anything. It's already happened," said the mysterious boy. Bran watched in horror as they fought when he saw a familiar face swing a sword and shatter one of the reanimated dead corpses.

"Jon!" he called out, but his brother could not hear him. Bran ran towards him when the Three-Eyed Raven crowed loudly, waking him from the dream.

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The cold stole their breaths. Ice crisped their beards and hair. Fires burned the bodies of their dead as well as the bodies of the undead. The men of the Night's Watch huddled together as Craster's wives kept to themselves inside the keep. The Lord Commander mended his wounds as best he could, but he was weak. Jon stayed close to his side until he gave him orders to question Craster, whom they had tied up. The young steward tried to hide his satisfaction, but seeing the daughter-fucker disabled gave him great pleasure, especially since he stabbed Mormont. Ghost panted by his feet. Edd approached him.

"Everything's gone to shit... What are we going to do with him?" he asked, nodding towards Craster. Jon sighed deeply.

"Lord Commander wants me to interrogate him," said Jon. He turned towards his friend, "Make sure he doesn't try anything." Edd scoffed.

"I almost hope he does... gives me an excuse to hit him," he said. Jon, Pyp, and Edd approached the old geezer. Ghost followed behind. There sat Craster tied up in ropes with bloody cuts across his chest, bruises on his face, and a wounded shoulder thanks to Mormont's sword. Craster looked up from the ground and chuckled.

"There's the pretty crow... come to finish me off?" he taunted. His breathing was heavy.

"You said the wildlings are joining up with Mance Rayder," said Jon.

"Oh aye," said Craster.

"Who's Mance Rayder?" asked Jon. Craster laughed.

"Your Lord Commander never told you? He used to be a crow like you, now he's King beyond the Wall," responded.

"Why are they joining up with him?" asked Jon Snow. Craster looked over at the wounded Mormont.

"Why don't you ask your precious Lord Commander," sneered Craster. WHACK! Edd gave him a hearty backhand. The old man spat out some blood.

"Why, you?!" snapped Craster. Jon gripped his handle firmly. An unsheathing metal sound rang true from Longclaw as Jon placed the sharp end dangerously close to Craster's throat. Ghost growled.

"Why are the wildlings joining up with Mance Rayder?" demanded Jon. Craster stopped talking to gaze at the metal tip. "Are you going to answer? Or shall we wait for more dead men to show up?" he threatened. Craster glared up at the pretty crow.

"Mance is gathering an army... and when you're all the way north, there's only one direction to go," he answered.

"Why?"

Craster laughed.

"You think those dead men are the only monsters lurking beyond the wall? And you... you caused this?" he snarled, moving his head and eyes around to gesture to the burning bodies. "If you had kept to yourself—" Jon pressed the tip of his sword to his throat, silencing him. A drop of blood leaked from his skin. Jon remembered the wight he saw take one of Craster's sons. A 'gift for the gods' his wives would chant.

"You know nothing, boy," Craster managed to whisper. Craster's taunting words echoed in his ears, a bitter reminder of the man's cruelty. Jon locked his eyes on the old man. They shared an awkward silence. Only his white wolf's growls could be heard against the chilling wind.

"Jon, we have to move," said Pyp. Pyp's voice brought him back to the present, and the young steward tore his eyes away from Craster. His friend's concern was evident, a reflection of the heavy burden they all carried. Jon's fingers loosened their grip on the sword's handle as he sighed softly and sheathed Longclaw before returning to his Lord Commander. Edd followed him and put a hand on his shoulder before he got to Mormont.

"Jon, I don't think he's got anything more useful to say. What now?" asked Edd.

"Whatever the Lord Commander decides," said Jon, attempting to move forward again, but his friend stopped him once more.

"Jon, he's not going to make it," whispered Edd, glancing in the direction of their Lord Commander. Jon looked towards Mormont, holding his wound. He could barely mount his horse.

"You don't know that," said Jon to Edd quietly.

"Jon..." his friend said more softly. Jon couldn't look at him. "If he doesn't make it... and Thorne doesn't return by the time we get back, who's in charge?" Edd meant well, he worried about Jon and wanted him to be well even if it meant telling hard truths. A mixture of fear and responsibility knotted in Jon's chest.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," said Jon, stealing one last glance at Craster. "If Mormont dies... so does he."