Chapter 47: Convincing the Black Brothers
Castle Black – The Shieldhall
Saelen and Eddard stood to one side, observing in silence.
All the brothers of the Night's Watch had gathered. When Lord Commander Jeor Mormont announced his intention to cooperate with the wildlings to resist the White Walkers, the hall erupted at once.
"Lord Commander, I must have misheard—cooperate with wildlings?"
"Cooperate how? Teach them to raid better?"
"Aye! What's next—sharing plunder and murder?"
Voices rose in disbelief and anger.
"Lord Commander, are you certain?" said Cotter Pyke, commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Watch's chief ranger. He had ridden hard after receiving Mormont's raven—only to hear what sounded like madness. "The wildlings are our ancient enemies. They're uncivilized savages. They cannot be trusted."
"Wildlings are raiders—thieves and killers!"
"They've shed black blood for generations!"
Several brothers voiced their agreement at once.
Then Ser Alliser Thorne stepped forward, his voice cutting through the din.
"For thousands of years, the Night's Watch has stood to guard the Wall and defend the realm against the wildlings. That is our duty. That is our tradition." His eyes flashed coldly. "And now you ask us to ally with them?"
He paused deliberately.
"Does that mean we must not only lay aside our hatred—but open the gates? Allow them to settle in the Gift? To live on land sworn to the Watch?"
His voice rose, sharp as steel.
"By the gods, that would be a betrayal of our oath."
Ser Alliser Thorne finished speaking, his face flushed crimson with fury. He raised his voice and roared:
"This is naked treachery! A betrayal of the Night's Watch's ideals and faith—and a trampling of our honor!"
"Aye! It's betrayal!"
"Ser Thorne is right! It's a betrayal of our oath!"
Most of the black brothers nodded in agreement. Only a small portion—new recruits and those who had not yet shed blood against the wildlings—hesitated in uneasy silence.
Lord Commander Mormont sighed heavily.
"Ser Thorne… brothers… I know the hatred many of you bear toward the wildlings. I do not deny that allying with them is a difficult decision. But difficult or not, it is one we must make."
He gestured toward Qhorin Halfhand.
"Qhorin has returned from beyond the Wall with grave news. The Long Night approaches. The White Walkers have returned. And when they come, it will not matter whether a man calls himself wildling or sworn brother. All of us will face the dead."
"White Walkers?"
"Do they truly exist?"
Only now did many realize they had ignored the most important part of the announcement.
Ser Alliser let out a scornful laugh.
"White Walkers? That ancient tale? A nursemaid's story to frighten children."
He folded his arms.
"If I must choose between ghosts and wildlings, I'll take the threat I can see."
Saelen could no longer remain silent.
"Ser Thorne, this is no child's tale. The White Walkers are real. Benjen, Qhorin, and I have all seen them with our own eyes. We have fought them—and the wights they command. More than thirty of our finest men now lie dead beyond the Wall."
He scanned the hall. Some faces showed doubt. Some showed fear. Others still sneered in disbelief.
"Brothers of the Night's Watch," Saelen continued, his voice steady but sharp, "have you ever asked yourselves what your true duty is? Is it truly to fight wildlings?"
He pointed toward the towering Wall outside.
"Our forebears built this colossal structure with ancient magic. Do you truly believe they did so merely to keep out raiders with rusted spears?"
"I have fought the wildlings. They are poorly armed, undisciplined. Give me two thousand armored cavalry and I could shatter Mance Rayder's so-called hundred thousand in a single charge."
"Now think of your oath. 'The night gathers…' 'I am the sword in the darkness.' 'The light that brings the dawn.' 'The horn that wakes the sleepers.'"
He shook his head.
"I may not be a learned man—but even I know those words were not written for wildlings."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
Ser Alliser exploded.
"You bastard whelp! You twist our oath to suit your southern politics! This is the Watch's affair. Go back to your castle and your women!"
Saelen's eyes hardened.
"Mind your tongue, ser. You insult the honor of a knight sworn by King Robert himself."
For a moment, killing intent flickered in his gaze. He almost wished Thorne would continue—almost wished for a formal challenge. But the North was not fond of trial by combat, and Lord Eddard would never permit it.
Ser Alliser's face darkened, but he said no more.
Qhorin Halfhand stepped forward, breaking the tension.
"I stand with Ser Saelen."
He looked around the hall, his weathered face solemn.
"I led ten of my best rangers beyond the Wall. Only three of us returned. I have watched brothers die—and rise again with blue eyes and frozen blades in their hands. I have slain men I once called friends… twice."
Silence fell.
"I know what waits for us. Against that, we must unite every living soul."
"For the living," one ranger muttered.
"For the living," others echoed.
Qhorin's word carried weight. Slowly, the tide began to turn.
Cotter Pyke scratched his beard.
"Seven hells… I never thought the old nursemaid tales would prove true. Dead men should stay buried. Let's hope they're not interested in women, eh?"
No one laughed. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
By now, at least half the hall seemed persuaded. Many of the rest no longer openly objected. Only Ser Alliser and a handful of hardliners remained defiant—men whose hatred of wildlings ran too deep to yield easily.
"When the wildlings come through the gate," Ser Alliser muttered darkly, "you'd best sleep with your throats covered."
A black brother raised his hand.
"If the dead are real… how do we kill them?"
"Aye. How do you kill a man who's already dead?"
Saelen stepped forward again and drew out a dragonglass dagger.
"With this."
He explained patiently—Valyrian steel and dragonglass. Fire. The weaknesses of wights and Walkers alike.
As understanding spread, tension eased. If the dead could be killed, then they could be fought.
Lord Commander Mormont saw the shift and pressed the advantage, outlining the conditions of cooperation with the wildlings, the defenses of the Wall, the discipline required.
The debate lasted for hours.
By the time the brothers dispersed, the Watch stood divided no longer—but uneasy, standing at the edge of a new and terrible war.