The Stark Shadow

The night enveloped Castle Black in a heavy, oppressive silence, the flickering torchlight casting restless shadows across the ancient stone walls. The wind howled beyond the Wall, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice, chilling even the sturdiest of men. Inside the Lord Commander's chambers, Rickard Stark stood by the frost-laden window, his gaze fixed on the impenetrable blackness of the night. Behind him, Lord Commander Qorgyle sat at a weathered table, his face weary, etched with the weight of years. 

Qorgyle broke the silence, his voice low and resigned. "You wanted answers, my lord. The truth is simple—we're barely holding on. The Watch lacks men, food, and supplies. Those we do have are criminals and castoffs. They came here to avoid the headsman's axe, not to fight. And they're all we've got." 

Rickard turned, his expression as cold and unyielding as the Wall itself. "That's not good enough, Qorgyle. Wildlings crossed the Wall and reached Winterfell's doorstep. Your watch failed." 

The Lord Commander sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and defeat. "You're right—it did. But this isn't just a failure of the Watch. It's the failure of a kingdom that forgets its walls when the threat seems distant. We're not just short on swords; we're short on hope. If a real enemy comes, we won't stand a chance." 

Rickard's sharp eyes studied Qorgyle for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "I'll speak with my men, and with Talion. There may yet be a way to fortify the Watch before it's too late." 

Qorgyle's eyes softened, gratitude flickering in his tired gaze. "Your help may be the difference between holding the Wall and losing everything, Lord Stark." 

-- 

In the shared quarters of the Stark sons, Brandon paced restlessly, the dim light of a single torch casting long shadows across the room. Benjen sat quietly on the edge of his bed, his hands clasped tightly, his gaze fixed on the floor. 

"This is madness, Ben," Brandon snapped, his voice low but tense. "You're a Stark of Winterfell, not some criminal who belongs here. You're throwing away your future—your family, everything—for what?" 

Benjen lifted his head, meeting his brother's heated glare with calm determination. "Because it's my duty. If we don't stand for the Wall, who will? Father says the Night's Watch is the shield that guards the realms of men. How can I sit by a fire in Winterfell while others freeze here to protect us?" 

Brandon's jaw tightened, frustration mingling with the beginnings of reluctant admiration. "Do you even know what you're giving up? Once you take the black, there's no going back. No wife, no children, no Stark name to carry on." 

A small, sad smile touched Benjen's lips. "I know. But if it means protecting Winterfell, protecting you and Ned, then it's worth it." 

Brandon stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. "If this is truly what you want, then I won't stop you. But know this—you'll always have a place at Winterfell, no matter what." 

Benjen's eyes glistened in the dim light. "Thank you, Brandon. That means more to me than you know." 

-- 

In the cold, barren council chamber of Castle Black, Rickard Stark stood by the hearth, his arms crossed as the fire sputtered weakly against the chill. Talion entered silently, his dark armor catching the faint light, his cloak trailing behind him. 

"You asked for me, my lord?" Talion's voice was steady, his piercing gaze meeting Rickard's. 

Rickard gestured for him to approach. "I did. I need your counsel. You've seen the Wall, the men, the state of this place. What's your judgment?" 

Talion's eyes flickered to the fire, his expression thoughtful. "The Watch is weak," he said bluntly. "They lack discipline, training, and leadership. These men aren't warriors—they're broken. But broken things can be reforged. What they need is guidance, and they need it quickly." 

Rickard's brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a grim line. "And how would you provide that guidance?" 

"They need soldiers," Talion replied. "Not just more men, but men who know how to fight—leaders who can teach discipline and strategy. Bring men from the North, from Winterfell. Show these recruits what it means to stand together." 

Rickard considered his words, a flicker of approval passing through his stern gaze. "You've thought this through." 

Talion nodded. "If the Wall falls, the North will follow. We can't allow that." 

Rickard's hand clapped firmly on Talion's shoulder. "Then we'll act. But I need someone I trust to go beyond the Wall, to see what's truly out there." 

"I'll go," Talion said without hesitation. "Whatever lies beyond, I'll find it." 

Rickard nodded. "Good. Be careful, Talion. Report back on what you find—and what we should prepare for."