章節 64: Schemes and Machinations #64
Sitting at the table opposite Tormund and chewing through his stale piece of bread, Gale's mind drifted to the events of the past week. He had managed to persuade Lord Stark of the imminent danger posed by the White Walkers.
Even Ser Baristan seemed poised to journey back to King's Landing, determined to implore King Robert for troops to bolster the Wall's defenses. Despite this progress, Tyrion's reactions and motives remained elusive beyond his apparent shock and disbelief, leaving Gale perplexed about the dwarf's thoughts and intentions in being at Castle Black.
Before Gale could revel in his success or strategize his potential ascent into a leadership role within the defense forces, the arrival of two ravens abruptly shifted the atmosphere at Castle Black.
One was addressed to the Lord Commander and Lord Eddard Stark, bearing news of Jon Arryn's untimely demise. The second was meant for Ser Baristan, its contents veiled in mystery to Gale.
However, if he had to hazard a guess, he suspected it directed Ser Baristan to persuade Lord Stark to journey to King's Landing and take up the position of Hand of the King, judging by the many arguments between the two and the words that would fly out of their mouths such as duty and what not.
With the weight of potential political upheaval looming over the gathering, Gale pondered the implications of Jon Arryn's death and its ripple effect throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
Gale felt a surge of frustration at the sudden news, an urge to pound his head against the Wall until either the colossal structure or his own skull gave way. The prospect of a civil war breaking out, akin to what had occurred in the show's history, loomed over his thoughts.
Such a conflict could shatter any chance of halting the White Walkers with minimal losses, rendering many of his painstakingly laid plans futile.
Amidst the turmoil in his mind, Gale tried to grasp onto a sliver of hope. If Lord Stark and the Night's Watch were already aware of the looming White Walker threat, perhaps it would dissuade Lord Stark from departing for King's Landing and risking his life.
Even if Lord Stark did leave, the growing number of individuals rallying against the undead menace might ensure a more coordinated defense, potentially minimizing casualties in the final battle.
A victorious stand against the White Walkers would not only preserve countless lives but offer Gale the opportunity to distinguish himself as well, securing a future he envisioned for himself, one of comfort, luxury, and the occasional adventure.
The echoing thud snapped Gale out of his thoughts, drawing his attention to Longspear Ryk sprawled on the ground while Threya stood tall over him with scornful glare in her eyes.
A chuckle escaped Gale as he watched Threya assert her dominance.
"If I catch you snooping around my room again, I'll cut off that long spear you're so proud of and stick it where the sun don't shine, boy," Threya threatened before striding away, leaving Ryk to gingerly pick himself up, wincing as he rubbed his aching back.
Turning to Tormund, Gale couldn't stifle his laughter at the ginger wildling's evident bemusment.
"So, that's your son-in-law, huh..." Gale remarked, drawing Tormund's attention. "How in the hell did that even happen?" He asked, genuinely puzzled by the union between Tormund's daughter and Ryk.
Tormund shook his head with a wistful sigh. "Don't let his meek looks fool you, lad. The little bastard stole my daughter, Munda, my little autumn apple. Took her right out o' my tent with all four o' her brothers about..."
He explained, a hint of resignation in his tone. "Toregg slept through it, the great lout, and Torwynd... well, Torwynd the Tame, that says all that needs saying, doesn't it? The young ones gave the lad a fight, though..."
Intrigued, Gale leaned forward, eager for more of the story. "And Munda?" he inquired.
"She's my own blood. She broke Ryk's lip for him and bit one ear half off, and I hear he's got so many scratches on his back he can't wear a cloak," Tormund replied with a proud, fatherly grin.
"She grew to like him well enough, though. And why not? He doesn't fight with no spear, you know-- never has. So where do you think he got that name?" Tormund added, his eyes glinting with a knowing look.
"She decided to take that Longspear for a husband, if you'd believe it..." Tormund chuckled, shaking his head in a mix of bewilderment and amusement. "The boy's got more cock than sense if you ask me, but he treats her well enough..." He continued, observing Ryk's slow retreat with a faint expression of pain.
"I told him if he ever hurt my Munda, I'd yank his thing off and beat him bloody with it, though, so that probably made it easier for him to behave," Tormund concluded, a hint of a threatening tone underlying his humor.
"That's wildling romance for you, I suppose..." Gale said, shaking his head in bemusement. "Personally, I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole..." He grimaced, imagining the situation.
Tormund grinned knowingly, enjoying the banter. "Says you... I've seen the way you look at Val when you think no one's looking. I'd wager Threya did too. It's why she's in such a bad mood lately..." He teased, implying something between Gale and Threya.
"Will you quit it with the Threya nonsense, you ginger fuck..." Gale retorted, rolling his eyes at Tormund's insinuations. "I'm still a man, you know? A grumpy, pessimistic one, but functioning and hot-blooded all the same..." He chuckled, not shying away from the topic.
"That said, I'd still steer clear, even with a ten-foot pole. I fancy a woman who isn't keen on maiming or dismembering me," he quipped, a wry grin playing on his lips as he poked fun at wildling women's formidable nature.
...
Inside a secluded, empty storage room within Castle Black, the atmosphere was tense and grim. Ser Alliser Thorne, alongside a dozen senior rangers who shared his sentiments, sat gathered with sullen expressions etched on their faces.
Their dissatisfaction brewed from the Lord Commander's recent actions—keeping them in the dark about the white walkers and conducting clandestine meetings with other rangers stationed along the Wall.
Presently, the Lord Commander's welcoming embrace of a group of wildlings into Castle Black fueled their discontent. The wildlings were treated as honored guests, granted their own quarters, and protected by a contingent of rangers who maintained a vigilant watch, warding off any potential troublemakers.
Among those assembled, including Ser Thorne, resentment simmered deeply against the wildlings. Some bore grudges for having lost their homes to wildling raids, while others mourned lost comrades, slain by these very outsiders.
The presence of the wildlings within the confines of Castle Black agitated them profoundly, their patience wearing thin by the passing moment.
The rangers were gathered in tense anticipation, their silence heavy with brewing dissent. Abruptly, the door to the storage room creaked open, admitting Bowen Marsh, the Night's Watch first steward.
As he entered, Ser Alliser Thorne rose to his feet, his expression grave. "Well? How did the meeting fare? What have you discovered about these wildlings?" Thorne's voice resonated with concern and a tinge of frustration.
Bowen Marsh's countenance soured at the inquiry. "It's not merely these few wildlings that should concern us," he remarked, shaking his head in dismay. "The Lord Commander plans to forge an alliance with tens of thousands of savages assembling near the Frostfangs... he's lost his mind," he declared with a sense of resignation.
"What?!" Ser Thorne erupted, his disbelief palpable at the notion of joining forces with the wildlings. "Do you even grasp the gravity of what you're saying?!" he demanded.
"Aye," Bowen Marsh responded with a solemn nod. "The Lord Commander means to have us stand alongside the savages atop the Wall... 'tis the unfortunate truth..." he added, his face contorting with disgust.
"We... we cannot permit such lunacy. We must take action!" Thorne declared, his eyes widening with urgency. "We must rebel! Even if it brands us as mutineers, we cannot allow these savages to breach the Wall!" His words rang out forcefully, his teeth clenched in determination.
"We cannot act hastily," Bowen Marsh cautioned, his expression reflecting deep concern. "From what I've gathered, Lord Stark seems to be in favor of this decision. If we rebel now, he'd raise a force to see us all hanging before we achieve anything," he explained, shaking his head at the risky proposition.
"However, there's a fortunate turn of events. Lord Jon Arryn's recent passing has led the small council to nominate Lord Stark to succeed him," he added thoughtfully. "Once he departs for King's Landing, we can make our move... House Stark has many enemies, even within the North."
His words hung heavy in the air as the group of dissatisfied rangers exchanged guarded glances, contemplating the gravity of the situation.
The idea of leveraging Lord Stark's absence for their uprising seemed to sow seeds of reluctant agreement among them, although the weight of their planned actions bore heavily on their consciences.
...
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