Not far away, a group of Night's Watch brothers were swearing their oaths beneath the weirwood. Even though the distance was considerable, Domeric seemed to catch their voices carried on the wind.
"Old gods, hear my oath and bear witness to my words."
Their recitation echoed along the Wall: "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."
"Ser Domeric, so this is where you were!" a familiar voice called out.
Domeric turned his head. It was Jon Snow, wrapped head to toe in furs, looking like a little bear.
"What are you doing here?" Domeric asked with a smile.
He had heard that ever since Jon arrived at Castle Black he had thrown himself into training: riding and archery by day, swordplay matches at night. He had vowed to become a ranger of the Night's Watch, to venture deep into the Haunted Forest, clash with Mance Rayder's wildlings, and protect the realm from the threat of the Others…
"Ser Domeric, I heard the wildlings defeated you in the Haunted Forest. Is that true?" Jon asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, so what? The wildlings are a lot tougher than you imagine."
Domeric said it in the same casual tone one might use to say "I just went out to buy a packet of salt."
"Ser Domeric, I came here to tell you that one defeat is no reason to lose heart. We still have the Wall to hold. And I—Jon Snow—am willing to fight to the death alongside you, to battle the wildlings until one side or the other is destroyed!"
With that, Jon struck his right fist hard against his chest in salute.
"Admirable courage!" Domeric couldn't help laughing. "Jon, why do you want to fight the wildlings? Aren't you afraid?"
Jon Snow's eyes lit up and he spoke quickly: "I am afraid, but we absolutely cannot let the wildlings break through the Wall, invade Winterfell and the North, the barrows of the First Men, the Gift, White Harbor, the Stony Shore… even down through the Neck. For thousands of years the House of Stark has fought bravely to protect its people from raiders, generation after generation… Besides, my family is in Winterfell: Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, stablemaster Farlen, blacksmith Mikken, cook Gage… Everyone I know and love is there. That is why I would fight to the death!"
Though Jon was a bastard, he firmly believed the blood of House Stark ran in his veins, and so his words rang with passionate conviction, leaving no room for fault.
…
"Master!"
A woman dressed in black robes, hooded, her entire form shrouded in shadow climbed up from the wall tower. It was Benita Antaryon, Ser Domeric's bodyguard. Jon recognized her.
Thinking she might have urgent business, Jon tactfully withdrew. "Ser Domeric, then I'll take my leave. Please remember what I said."
"Hm." Domeric gave a slight nod, watching Jon's back until he disappeared. The boy who had been the protagonist in the original story truly possessed an unusual charisma.
"Where are the wildlings now?"
Benita held a raven in one hand and drew out a secret letter. "Three days ago the wildling army overran Ser Jorah's second camp. Yesterday they took Captain of the Guard Igor's third camp. Now they are heading toward the fourth camp, which is held by Roy Reed of the mountain clans…"
"Looks like these wildlings are sweeping forward like wildfire—unstoppable," Domeric laughed.
A string of victories had not only greatly boosted the wildlings' confidence, but also raised the prestige of the "King-Beyond-the-Wall," Mance Rayder, to new heights. More and more wildling tribes were flocking to join him, ready to follow this king and fight for the future of their people.
When Mance first launched a night raid against Domeric, he had at most twenty or thirty thousand wildlings. By the time they assaulted Jorah's second camp the number had grown to fifty thousand. When they hit Igor's third camp the wildling force had swelled to eighty thousand…
There was little doubt that by the time the wildling host reached the foot of the Wall their numbers would easily exceed one hundred thousand.
"The mountain clansmen are too weak in a fight. Send word to Roy Reed: hold for half a day and then withdraw."
"Understood."
Benita glanced briefly at Domeric. "Master, the wildlings are now less than fifty miles from the Wall…"
"Yes, they're moving faster than I anticipated," Domeric sighed. "Go and summon Ser Jorah and Lord Commander Mormont to the council chamber in the King's Tower…"
…
In the King's Tower's council chamber, six people were present. Domeric, Ser Jorah, Lord Commander Mormont, and Benita Antaryon standing behind Domeric serving as his aide. Captain of the Guard Igor had just returned with his troops and managed to join the meeting. Also present was Halion Karstark of House Karstark, temporarily summoned by Domeric due to his strong performance in the previous night raid.
"Ser Domeric, are you truly set on abandoning the defense of the Wall and evacuating Castle Black? Even if it's bait, isn't the price far too steep?"
Though he already knew Domeric's plan to lure the enemy, Lord Commander Mormont remained deeply uneasy.
"Only if they cross the Wall will they truly lower their guard."
"But…" Mormont hesitated. "But they are said to have gathered nearly one hundred thousand men. Without the Wall to stop them, can we really defeat them?"
"The wildlings bring their families to war; the number who can actually fight is far smaller. They only know how to win when they're winning. The moment things turn against them they'll scatter like rabbits… You need not worry, Commander Mormont."
"And if we fail? If the wildlings pour south, won't we become the greatest criminals in the Seven Kingdoms?"
The Seven Kingdoms couldn't care less about a handful of wildlings, Domeric thought wryly to himself. Across the entire North, apart from him, only Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had ever truly paid attention to what lay beyond the Wall. Even if the Others really came, most nobles of the Seven Kingdoms would plug their ears and go about their lives—as long as the dead didn't come knocking at their own doors.
"I support Ser Domeric's decision!" Igor, who had been silent until now, spoke first.
The wildling army was like an overinflated wineskin: it looked huge, but one good jab and it would burst. Igor had held the third camp for a full day with a thousand men. Though he had ultimately "lost" and abandoned the position, the experience gave him a much clearer picture of the wildlings: outdated equipment, no discipline, chaotic command, unclear signals… they simply charged forward relying on numbers. A rabble!
Ten thousand or a million—what difference did it make?
"I also support Ser Domeric's decision!" Jorah Mormont added, giving his father a reassuring "trust him" glance.
"Me too!" Halion quickly declared his loyalty.
"Where are Ser Wendell and old Karstark now?" Domeric asked, turning to Benita behind him.
"This morning's raven said they are traveling by sea, passed Storrold's Point, and reached Hardhome yesterday."
"Tell them to hurry. As soon as the wildlings cross the Wall, they must swiftly block the retreat path behind them…"
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
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