Chapter Text
He had no lands, no crown, no throne and what men he had were thieves, rapists, murderers, dregs and scum. Scum ridden filth, scraped from the disgusting, shit-filled bottom of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, the Six Kingdoms plus the North he corrected himself. What he did have was his sword, his wits, his strength and his duty. His duty to do as he was charged to do. Which wasn't very much now that the White Walkers and the Night King had all buggered off.
But the 1000th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch would never let himself be accused of shirking his duty. Even if that duty was not as a ruler and more as a builder and keeper of the piece between fractious traders these days. Although he had to admit that his years on his brother's small council had stood him in good stead for settling the trader's petty disputes. Said traders had him grinding his teeth and rolling his eyes on a daily basis in a similar fashion to the way that the members of the small council had done. He wondered if it was some sort of punishment? A punishment that some bloody useless god or gods had decided to lavish upon him: that he was to have to endure such ceaseless childish bickering in one form or another for eternity.
Trade between the wildlings and the citizens of Queen Sansa's kingdom or one of the Lord's from further afield, from King Bran's domain, was brisk. His liege reaped the benefits of all the customs taxes that he was charged to collect. Another of his duties. He sighed as he saw from his vantage point on the balcony he stood upon, that another one of the hagglings between traders was turning into a fight. They oft times did. Especially when the goat beverage brewed from milk, that the wildlings preferred, was involved. He waved at one of his underlings to go and sort it out as he sighed and made his way back into his office.
Policing these brawls in the trading post and revenue gatherer that Castle Black had become was something that the Lord Commander and his men could do in their sleep now. Rebuilding the Wall and the castles that lay along it were another matter entirely. Although under his guidance, the repairs had turned the corner from being 'too many to count' to now landing at 'almost complete'. He should have been pleased by this, his great achievement, maybe even his greatest? But the nagging feeling of 'what now, what do I do when I am done?' fluttered around his mind, pecking at his thoughts.
He sighed and pinched his nose as he looked at the map in front of him. It detailed the Wall, stretching from one of its ends to the other. From the Bay of Seals, to the Bay of Ice. The various castles that squatted in its shadows along its length had annotated descriptions declaring the size of their garrison and the repairs that needed doing. Most of those repairs had been crossed out, as those were the tasks his duty bade him complete first. Just a few small repairs to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and a stubborn roof on the Shadow Tower remained for him to cross out as being complete. He had decided that sound and safe lodgings for his men were needed before they started repairing the Wall. All of these notes and annotations were in his neat, orderly and finely sculpted handwriting.
He had also added to the map details of where the Wall had been breached by the Night King and his minions and what he needed to do to remedy these chasms. They were gaps where traders could wander through without paying customs taxes. And that did not suit the Queen in the North's needs. Most of the smaller gaps in the Wall's defences had been repaired, it was just the largest gap by Eastwatch and less than a handful of minor ones scattered along the Wall's length that remained to be completed. The large chasm was nearing its closing, he could cross that repair off the list soon. But to do so, he needed more tools, the steel chisels his men used would soon not bear any more sharpening. He was also running short of men.
He was no Bran the Builder. He was just a man. And now he was a man who had to write another begging letter or he would miss the next harsh deadline that he had set for himself.
His men grumbled and huffed at the strict regime their Lord Commander set them. Complaining that with the Night King gone, what was the point in fixing the Wall, there was obviously no need for it. Their Lord Commander countered their arguments by asking how many of them had even heard of white walkers or the raised dead before the battle for the Dawn? After no answers to his question appeared, he had put it to them that what if there were other things, worse than the Night King that they didn't yet know of? Then they'd grumbled some more but had set about doing their job. Carving the ice blocks to rebuild the Wall.
He lifted his hands from the map in front of him and let it curl in on itself as he strode to his desk and reached for a blank sheet of parchment. He paused, frowning down at the empty page that glared back at him.
He had never been blessed with the gift of having the ability to form flowery words, either on the page and especially not uttered ones. Being Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he had never thought he would need them. Not with his vows preventing him from having any dealings with women. Or so he had thought. Queen Sansa seemed to respond better to his requests when he used his crude approximation of courtesies instead of his usual brash, grunted orders. It was a hard lesson for him to swallow. That he was in charge, but not. That his liege was but a slip of a girl. That the former Lady of Winterfell was his superior now.
Although she was no longer as frightened as she was when he had first encountered her, when he arrived at Winterfell with her in charge there. A stand-in for her brother, the absent King in the North. Now, she no longer jumped at her own shadow, or leaned away from any man that dared to get too near to her person. He remembered how Lady Brienne would glare at any would-be suitor who dared to touch her Lady's person. Her glare at them was even sharper than the ones she threw his way. He studied these interactions from afar as Lady Sansa would freeze when she felt the idiot man's touch. Staring at the hand that had taken one liberty too far, saying nothing until Lady Brienne whispered what he supposed were calming words to her Lady after shoving the idiot away. He watched as Lady Brienne's words calmed her, seeing how Lady Sansa's clenched fists slowly unfurled and her whitened face showed a rosy glow once more. He would always make a note of the idiot boy that had startled her. Delighting in personally making sure that the fool ended up with either his arse sent sprawling in the mud. Or that he ate a faceful of the same gelatinous stuff that made up Winterfell's training yard. The same training yard that he had been in charge of back then.
Nowadays though, Queen Sansa threw insults back at him as good as the ones he barked at her. She wasn't afraid of him or of any man now. She had grown into her duty most beautifully. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing as far as he was concerned though. On the one hand, he knew that familiarity bred contempt. It would do him well to remember his place and keep his aloof distance. But on the other hand, he was pleased that she seemed to appreciate the fruits of his labours, the results of his duty towards her and her Kingdom.
He found himself puffing his chest out like a midnight hued peacock when she showered praise upon him for each time he completed a task, for each time he showed her around a renovated castle. One half of him railed against her visits to his domain, the way she elbowed her way into his strict routine. Not demanding, but beseeching and insinuating that she would greatly appreciate it if he would please arrange a feast for her arrival at Castle Black. Frivolities! Not that they were in any way short of food up here. But the waste still rankled with him. He couldn't help but remember eating rats and gnawing on shoe leather during that seige. The other half of him enjoyed her company. She would invite herself into his office and they would spend quiet evenings discussing his work and her Kingdom. He didn't get much chance for an intellectual conversation up here in Castle Black, so he would latch onto and be grateful for any opportunity that came his way.
He dipped his quill into the inkpot and sent it skittering across the page. He decided that he would be as blunt and to the point as he dared to be. He needed to get this letter off as soon as possible as the light was fading. He was sure that if his Queen wanted a flowery fop as her Lord Commander of the Night's Watch then she wouldn't have persuaded his brothers to appoint him. Even so, his bluntness always seemed to have a softened edge these days. But only for her. And so far, she had not complained or disagreed with any of his policies, either by letter, or in person when she visited here twice a year.
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Your Grace,
I once more request that you send me more men and also the list of tools enclosed in this letter. We are almost finished with the repairs on the Wall, the task you set for me, but there are yet another three minor breaches to mend and the men tire of the tasks I order them to do when they see easier work elsewhere, away from the Wall. The numbers absconding as they have found wives that do not wish to have their children named as bastards has increased, as you can see from the figures I enclose for your perusal.
Your loyal servant,
Stannis Baratheon, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
-
He did not have to wait long for his reply to arrive. He frowned at it, thinking that she must have replied as soon as his letter hit her desk.
It was not what he was expecting. It was a summons to Winterfell. And she required his presence there as soon as he was able to manage. Why did she need me there, when all I want is clearly in my letter? He paused, stilling as another thought hit him. Does she want to have some ridiculous celebration of the repairs compliation? No. That can't be so. I've not bloody finished yet! He shook that ridiculous thought from his head. He frowned. It was one thing for her to visit Castle Black, another for a condemned criminal such as he to visit Winterfell without good reason. But if her summons was not about the Wall, then what? He read the letter again, trying to garner some clue. Two short lines, ordering him to attend her court as soon as he was able. Nothing! It must be about the Wall then. Probably some error he had not seen. If not a celebration, then the more likely scenario he was facing was a reprimand. He sighed and began packing, it didn't take long, he didn't have many personal belongings. He was already wearing his prize possession: his sword.
Samwell Tarly, Jon's Maester had confirmed what he already knew, when he had spoken of what Maester Aemon had told him. That the real Lightbringer sould radiate heat as well as light. He sat in his corner, on the eve before battle, silently contemplating on what he already knew. All while polishing the false sword to a bright sheen, using the finest whetstone to hone its edge to the sharpest point. He knew now that Melisandre had lied - that he was not Azor Ahai and his sword was not the one from myth. That his daughter had been sacrificed for naught and his mission, his kingship, had failed was enough to inform him of the red witches' fakery and lies.
He had gone into battle against the Night King's hoard armed with a Dragonglass blade and dagger. He left the steel sword behind, polished, sharpened and sheathed, as it was not needed. It would be no use against this enemy. He had wavered upon keeping the false sword while he was at Castle Black the second time. It had kept him alive, after all, and although it was not a Valyrian blade, it was strong castle forged steel. He would not waste such an expensive thing. So he had the red ruby from its hilt removed, using it to pay a blacksmith to replace it with a piece of Dragonglass and had renamed it 'Shadowheart'. It was now a permanent reminder of his failings. He would do well not to forget them. Once the ruby was removed, it no longer glowed. Melisandre's glamour was gone from it. It was a blade he could now trust.
Once done, he poked his head out of his office door, asking the guard stationed there to fetch his junior. He had no idea how long he would be gone, so he wanted to make sure that everything he planned would still get done in his absence, however long that would be. The brief letter gave no clue as to that detail. He would leave at first light tomorrow, so he only had this afternoon and evening to tutor his underling in the tasks at hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind racing as to what the hell was going on at Winterfell, that he would be summoned in such a fashion. He sighed and shouted 'Enter!' in answer to a knock on his office door.