The Stark Shadow

The dawn broke over the Wall with a pale light, illuminating Castle Black in shades of frost and shadow. Talion and Benjen rode through the gates, their horses moving at a steady pace. Days of cold and tension weighed heavily on them, but the unease they felt seemed mirrored in the air at Castle Black. Eyes followed them—curious, wary whispers rising as the two dismounted and handed their reins to the stableboys. 

Rickard Stark stood near the entrance to the Lord Commander's chambers, his sharp gaze fixed on Benjen. As they approached, his expression hardened, his voice cutting through the chill. 

"Where is Mance Rayder?" Rickard asked, his tone clipped. 

Talion's expression remained calm, unyielding. "He fled," he replied evenly. "The fear in the wildlings' stories drove him to desertion." 

Rickard's face darkened, his jaw tightening. "And you let him go?" His voice carried an edge of anger. "You allowed an oathbreaker to escape?" 

"I made the decision," Talion replied, meeting Rickard's gaze. "He would have been more dangerous here—his fear would have infected the others." 

Rickard turned to Benjen, his brow furrowing. "And you, Benjen? What do you have to say about this?" 

Benjen straightened his shoulders, speaking with measured determination. "Mance was afraid, Father. The stories we heard… they weren't just wildling ramblings. Something out there is terrifying them, driving them south. We must prepare." 

Rickard's eyes lingered on his son for a moment before he exhaled sharply. "Prepare for what? Fantasies of monsters and the dead? We have real concerns, Benjen—wildlings, winter, and the survival of the North." 

Before Benjen could respond, Lord Commander Qorgyle appeared from the shadows of the keep, his eyes heavy with suspicion. He approached, his breath visible in the cold. 

"What is this I hear about Mance Rayder's desertion?" Qorgyle's voice was gruff, his gaze cutting between Talion and Rickard. 

Talion answered before Rickard could speak. "Mance deserted, fearful of what lies beyond the Wall. He fled into the wilderness." 

The Lord Commander frowned, shaking his head. "Wildlings always speak of ghosts and monsters. It's their way of sowing chaos and fear. We can't afford to waste resources chasing shadows." 

Rickard nodded in agreement, though his tone was measured. "Talion, we face enough real threats without indulging in superstitions. Bandits, wildlings, the harshness of winter—these are the enemies we know." 

Talion's gaze hardened, his voice quiet but forceful. "I've seen what happens when warnings are ignored, when fear is dismissed as folly. Beyond the Wall, there are signs of something greater than hunger or cold. If we don't prepare, Castle Black will fall. And if it falls, the North will follow." 

A heavy silence settled over the group. Rickard exchanged a glance with Qorgyle, who finally nodded reluctantly. 

"We will consider your words," Rickard said at last, his voice softer. "But without proof, we cannot act rashly." 

Talion inclined his head, though disappointment flickered in his eyes. "Let us hope proof does not find us first." 

-- 

As the sun climbed higher, Rickard stood near the stables with Benjen. His stern demeanor softened as he addressed his youngest son. "It's time to return to Winterfell. You've seen enough of the Wall, Benjen, and it's no place for you." 

Benjen shook his head, his voice resolute. "Father, I want to stay. I want to join the Night's Watch. I believe in their cause—I want to protect the realm." 

Rickard sighed, his expression a mixture of frustration and understanding. "You are too young, Benjen. The Wall is no place for a boy. When you come of age, you may make that choice. But until then, you belong at Winterfell." 

Benjen's shoulders sagged slightly, though the fire in his eyes did not dim. "When I am of age, I will return. I swear it." 

Rickard placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his voice softening. "We'll discuss it when the time comes. For now, your family needs you." 

-- 

The ride back to Winterfell was quiet, the frigid wind biting at their faces as the towering Wall receded behind them. Brandon rode alongside Eddard, his expression troubled, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. At last, he broke the silence. 

"It isn't right," Brandon said, his voice low but firm. "Benjen should be allowed to stay if he wants. He's not a child anymore." 

Eddard glanced at his brother, his tone measured. "Father knows the dangers. The Wall is no place for someone as young as Benjen. He has time to make his choice." 

Brandon's jaw tightened, frustration etched into his features. "Father doesn't understand. He thinks he knows what's best for all of us, but he doesn't see what we see. Benjen is ready." 

Eddard sighed, his voice calm. "Father isn't acting out of fear. He's acting out of wisdom. He's seen things we haven't." 

Brandon shook his head, gripping the reins tightly. "He's too cautious, Ned. Too willing to let others take risks while he holds back. I'm tired of being told to trust his judgment." 

Eddard opened his mouth to respond, but seeing the fire in Brandon's eyes, he paused. He recognized the anger in his brother—the same restless energy that had always driven Brandon to act. 

"Be careful, Brandon," Eddard said softly. "Father may not always be right, but he's trying to protect us. Don't let your anger blind you." 

Brandon didn't respond, his gaze fixed ahead as Winterfell's grey walls emerged on the horizon, rising like a fortress against the snow. His voice was low, almost to himself. "I just want to make a difference, Ned. I can't sit by and watch while others fight." 

Eddard gave a faint smile, touched with sadness. "You will, Brandon. When the time comes, you will."