Watchers' Greeting
Twenty-Third Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
"Hail to the Sword in the Darkness, the Watchers at the Wall, and the Shields that Guard the Realms of Men," you call out at the approaching black-clad rangers, Soft Strider at your side, slightly away from the rest of her kin.
They halt a good hundred yards before you, more than close enough for you to see the men's eyes widen in shock. "Be ye living men or spooks come to trouble the living?" the bearded man with a heavy war-bow slung over his shoulder calls back, his breath shrouding his craggy features in a thin mist.
Under other circumstances you might have been annoyed to be asked that question, here and now riding steeds of shadow and smoke riding out of the North filled with strange and dark things you can hardly fault the man's caution. In truth you suspect that had it been evening, not morning, your greeting might have been the twang of bowstrings and arrows from among the trees.
"I am Viserys of House Targaryen, who sought passage at Eastwatch and passed northwards, returned with news of the Far North and company from those lands." You pause to let Soft Strider speak.
"Hail to keepers of the Wall, know that my will is my own and warm blood flows in my veins. I and those who follow me have no quarrel with you nor the realms you guard and would pass through in peace."
"Show me some blood!" the leader shouted, not making any other move.
Before you can react Soft Strider draws her small dragonglass dagger and cuts herself before casting the droplets forward in a wide arc. The ranger advances cautiously to pick up one of the stones stained red and walks back with it then sniffs it, a clever way of testing an illusion for those without sorcery to call on.
"It's still a trick I say," one of the other men says, a sharp-faced fellow with uneven whiskers. "Don't ye know he's a sorcerer?"
"If he's a sorcerer then he's who he says he is, idiot," the commander says with the air of exasperated habit. "Hail travelers and... friends to the Watch." He looks at the Children not quite knowing what to say to them. "Name's Garvin, yer grace. Ye'll be wantin' someone higher up than me ta talk to I bet, but I can get you through the Wall right enough."
Most of the rangers are too busy gawking either at the Children or Ser Richard's armor, and though a few glance at your mother none approach, likely because the knight is anything but subtle about hovering protectively over her. The simple ruse of having her wear another's face and bear Dany's ring of petty sorcery would not hold up long if she actually had to speak. "Wildling sorceresses" do not often speak with the tones of highborn ladies of the Crownlands.
Still, Garvin is not only as good as his word but quick about it, leading you past the outermost door of oak then beyond that on a long cold walk though the Wall lit only by torchlight upon ice. You pass three iron gates with murder holes above them and finally out the other side into a wide expanse dotted with stone and wooden towers. No sooner had you stepped over the final threshold and you feel the shadow of the looming Wall dispelled as though it had never been. Curious, you look back and see that from this side the radiance of the Wall is muted, its power directed ever northwards.
Castle Black, like Eastwatch, is in truth no castle. Rather it is a scattering of towers, keeps, even a sept, but no Heart Tree. O
f all the places for one to be missing... You idly wonder how the Black Brothers would have reacted to you dragging some monster of the north thrashing behind you to remedy that lack.
In the courtyard waiting for you are yet more men dressed in black, their cloaks are black also, but that is about all that they share: one is a lantern-jawed man of late middle years whose only weapon was a dagger, the second a Septon whose gaze is little more than surprise at the scene before him and you would wager his nose is red with more than the cold. The third however is an old warrior, tall and broad shouldered, though the hair of his beard as well as what little still remains upon his head is snowy white.
At the very least it is no hardship to pick out the Lord Commander in such company, even before he introduces himself.
"And here I was just wondering where the Children of the Forest had gone in this time of strange happenings," the man says, an honest smile upon his features. "Mayhap I should ask for marvels more often," He offers you a bow and says readily: "Your grace, I've heard from Commander Pyke, but truth be told did not expect you to return so soon..." From his tone you guess the more honest answer would be that he did not expect you to return at all. "I've many questions, but not so many that they cannot wait for you to warm up. The King's Tower is yours, if you need it. Mayhap not the finest of royal accommodations, but the best in a few dozen leagues at least." There's a sort of wry humor in his words that you do not imagine comes out often.
What do you answer?
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OOC: You almost had someone do something stupid there, but his commander stopped him before Viserys knew anything about it.
