The world was a vertical desert of weeping white ice.
Jon Snow took a ragged breath of the freezing air, his lungs stinging with every inhale. He ignored the icy water dripping down his neck and gripped the frost-slicked rungs of the ladder lowered by the Thenns. Two hundred meters of empty air pulled at his heels, a silent gravity that promised a quick end for any man who lost his focus.
Beside him, a young Thenn raider climbed with the agility of a mountain cat, glancing disdainfully at the "crow" in his black ringmail. Seconds later, the boy's hand slipped on a patch of frozen slush. A sharp, high-pitched scream cut through the wind, ending with a sickening, distant thud against the stone foundation.
Jon didn't look down. He couldn't afford the luxury of grief. He looked to his left instead, toward the fire-kissed hair of Ygritte. She was the reason he had broken his vows, the reason his heart was a tangled mess of duty and desire. He had told himself he was playing a part to gain Mance Rayder's trust, but in the caves and the snowdrifts, the lie had become his truth.
The mission was simple: climb the Wall, seize the undefended Castle Black from the south, and open the gates for the hundred-thousand-strong host of the Free Folk.
As they reached the summit near midnight, the stars above were like cold, watching eyes. Jon hauled himself over the lip of the ice and froze.
The top of the Wall was wide, wide enough for twelve knights to ride abreast. But it was not empty.
A wall of steel stood waiting in the starlight. Hundreds of soldiers in heavy, dark-enameled plate armor stood in a perfect, silent semicircle. Every man held a cocked heavy crossbow, the bolts aimed squarely at the heads of the emerging raiders.
Styr, the Magnar of Thenn, stood at the front of his men, his greatsword already drawn. He turned a murderous gaze toward Jon. "Chameleon," Styr hissed, his voice low but lethal. "I knew the crow would bring the hawk."
Jon stared at the soldiers, his mind racing. These weren't Night's Watchmen. Their armor was too fine, their discipline too rigid. He looked for a banner and saw the silver-and-black tower beneath a golden sun.
"Karas, check the edges. I don't want any stragglers falling off into my courtyard," a voice commanded from the center of the iron line.
"All here, My Lord," Karas Snow reported, his breath a white plume in the air.
The steel line parted. A young man stepped forward, draped in a massive bearskin cloak that made him look like a shadow cast by the starlight. His silver plate armor caught the moon, and on his hip hung a sword with a hilt shaped like a snarling beast.
"Jon Snow," the man said, a playful, familiar smile touching his lips. "You don't whisper as quietly as you think. I heard your little lover promising to die with you from ten yards away."
Jon's eyes widened. "Eddard Karstark?!"
Relief washed over him like a warm tide. The undefended castle was safe. The North was here. Jon stepped forward, Ygritte gripping his arm as if she could pull him back from the brink of a cliff.
"Ned... to see you here... I thought you were in the South with Robb," Jon said, his voice cracking.
"I was. But the South is full of liars and heat, Jon. I missed the smell of frozen piss and ancient ice," Eddard teased. He scanned Jon's ragged sheepskins. "What's this? Has the Night's Watch run out of black wool? Or have you become Mance Rayder's heir?"
"I'm acting on orders," Jon explained quickly, feeling the suspicious eyes of the Karstark guards on him. "Qhorin Halfhand's last command. I had to join them to see their strength."
Eddard shrugged, his gaze shifting to Ygritte. She had already pulled a bone dagger from her belt, her eyes wild with a hunter's instinct.
"A fire-kissed girl," Eddard mused. "Running Wolf blood and the True Dragon's spark... falling for a daughter of the frost. There's a song in that, Jon. But for now, your woman stays with me."
"No!" Ygritte lunged, her dagger a blur of white bone.
Eddard moved with a speed that Jon hadn't seen in the training yards of Winterfell. It wasn't a sword strike, it was a casual, heavy slap with an iron gauntlet. The blow caught Ygritte on the shoulder, spinning her around and sending her stumbling into Jon's arms.
"Watch your woman, Jon," Eddard said, the smile vanishing from his face. "The next time she draws steel on me, I'll let Karas show her what a Northman does to raiders. You're a Crow, and Crows don't marry. I need you in that black cloak for a while longer, so keep her quiet."
Eddard turned his attention to the Thenn leader. "Which one of you is Styr?"
The Magnar stepped forward, his bronze-scaled armor clinking. He stood tall, his gray eyes fixed on Eddard with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "Speak your piece, Crow-Lord. The Free Folk do not kneel to those who hide behind stone and ice."
"I'm giving you a choice, Styr," Eddard said, drawing Heartbreaker. The Valyrian steel seemed to hum, a dark, smoking melody that made the air around it turn frigid. "I know your people are running from the darkness. I know Mance Rayder thinks he can force his way through my gate. He's wrong."
Eddard pointed the dark blade at Styr's chest. "Here, under the stars, you and I fight. If you win, you and your hundred Thenns climb down and go back to your King. I won't fire a single bolt. But if you lose... you acknowledge me as your leader. You deliver a message to Mance for me."
Jon Snow's heart sank. He knew Heartbreaker. He saw the way the Karstark veterans looked at their Lord, not with worry, but with the boredom of men watching a foregone conclusion.
"What if I lose?" Styr growled.
"Then you serve," Eddard shouted. "And my first order will be to take your men back down that ladder and tell Mance Rayder that the 'Winter Wizard' is waiting for him at Castle Black. Tell him if he wants to survive the Others, he needs to come and talk, not climb."
Styr didn't hesitate. He let out a roar and swung his bronze-weighted greatsword in a massive overhead cleave.
Eddard didn't even draw his shield. He stepped into the blow, Heartbreaker flashing upward in a silver-grey blur.
DING.
The bronze greatsword didn't just stop; it shattered. Half the blade spun into the darkness of the gorge. With a lightning-fast downward stroke, Eddard sheared the remaining metal from Styr's hand, leaving him holding nothing but a hilt.
Eddard delivered a brutal kick to Styr's chest, sending the Magnar sprawling into the frost.
"You lost," Eddard said, sheathing his sword. "Go. Tell Mance my patience is shorter than this Wall."
Styr stood up, his face a mask of shock. He looked at his broken weapon, then at the young man who had dismantled his pride in three seconds.
"Wait," Eddard said, reaching back to his saddle. He pulled out the gilded battle-axe he had taken from the Twins, the one with the massive ruby in the pommel. He tossed it to Styr. "I don't expect my vassals to fight with broken toys. Take it. It's gilded steel, but the edge is sharper than your honor."
Styr caught the heavy axe, his eyes widening as he felt the balance of the weapon. He looked at Eddard, gave a single, solemn nod, and signaled his men to descend.
As the Thenns began the long climb down, Eddard turned to Jon Snow, who was still holding a trembling Ygritte.
"By the way, Jon," Eddard said, his grin returning. "Are you interested in a promotion? I think the 998th Lord Commander should be someone with a name the North remembers."
[System Notification: Vassal Acquired: Styr (Magnar of Thenn).]
[Quest Update: The Message Delivered.]
[Target: Mance Rayder.]
[Soul Power Gained (Duel of the Wall): 250 SP.]
Drop Some Power Stones Plz.
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