Chapter Text
"Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night's Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The gods help us all if we are not ready."
The scent of winter on the air arrived the same evening the crows did, three men with black cloaks fluttering behind them like dark wings. The innkeeper had seen them gallop down the king’s road days before, but now that they returned north, they were not alone.
As he watched the men dismounting, their horses disturbing the thin layer of snow on the ground, they began spilling into the inn, two crows in black and other men arrayed in poor motley, thin and wilting.
The tallest of the crows ducked into the doorway last of all. “Could we have ale and a warm meal?” he asked. He was bundled in black, from his windswept hair to his worn boots.
“How many of you?” the innkeeper asked him.
“Eight,” said the crow.
The innkeeper brought out battered mug and plates from beneath the bar and swung the kettle of stew over the fire.
"I haven’t seen crows stopping in these parts since before the war.”
“Is the war over?” the tallest crow asked.
“Long ago, I think,” the innkeeper said, beginning to fill the first mug with ale. “But we don’t get ravens from King Joffrey up here.”
“What happened to the King in the North?” he asked. “I know that he was killed, but no one’s said how.”
"He…” the innkeeper focused on serving the stew into wooden bowls. “He was killed at his uncle’s wedding, him and his mother and his family that were there with him. And all their men. Joffrey’s the only king left.” He filled the bowls and handed them to the men at the table one at a time.
The crow said nothing to that.
“You mean to take these men to the Wall?”
“Yes. I’m recruiting for the Night’s Watch.”
“Travelling with criminals?” The innkeeper narrowed his eyes at the men sitting around the largest table. They wore no chains.
“These men joined the Watch freely.”
The crow picked up two of the mugs full of ale and brought them over to the table, and the innkeeper followed him with a plate carrying the rest.
“And who might you be?” he asked the crow, who was now seating himself at the head of the long table.
The crow smiled, skin crinkling around his bright blue eyes. “Renly Baratheon.”
The innkeeper felt laughter bubbling up from his stomach and did not stop the noise when it reached his lips. “Of course, Your Grace!” he said and snorted.
All of the men at the table were silent. Did they not appreciate the joke?
“If you want to be a king, call yourself Stannis – or one of the Starks!” The innkeeper walked over the kettle to stir it again.
“What are they saying about King Renly?” the blue-eyed crow asked. “We’ve all been at the Wall.”
“You mean the coward that had the biggest army in Westeros and when he went into battle, fainted at the sight of blood? His army changed sides overnight. Can you believe that was King Robert’s brother?”
When he turned back to face the table, all eyes were fixed on him without a scrap of humor.
“Bullshit,” one of the men muttered.
The blue-eyed crow held out his hand, and the man stopped speaking.
The innkeeper bit his lip. These were southron men, at least a couple of them. Some of them might even have fought for King Renly before they were sent to the Wall. He shouldn’t have said anything.
One of the recruits, a thin-looking creature in threadbare clothes, leaned across the table towards the blue-eyed crow. “You never said anything about that.”
“It’s not true, I promise.” The blue-eyed crow leaned towards him, almost extending his hand to him across the table. “We’re not far from Castle Black. You’ll hear all about what really happened when we get there.”
“And when we get there, you won’t let me leave. I got nothin’ left but my dignity, yer grace. I don’t need no southron liar’s charity.” He stood, spitting on the floor as he left.
The door slammed behind him.
“Someone should make sure he doesn’t steal one of the horses,” the blue-eyed crow said. The man sitting at his left side rose and followed the recruit out of the door.
“I meant no offense,” the innkeeper said.
“None taken,” the crow said, and smiled at him again. He turned his attention to his bowl of stew. The other men were already half finished with theirs.
“Four,” he said under his breath. “Only four left...” The man on his right took his hand. “To think... I said a thousand.”