The raven had come a fortnight past, its black wings beating against the chill of the northern sky. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch himself would ride south to meet me. I had expected an emissary, a steward perhaps, not the Old Bear in person. That he came himself told me two things: the Watch was weaker than I feared, and prouder than it had cause to be.
When word reached me that riders approached from the kingsroad, I went down to the yard to meet them. The men who entered Winterfell's gates were lean and hard, their black cloaks ragged, their horses gaunt from the long ride. At their head rode Lord Commander Qorgyle, his beard gone white, his eyes still sharp beneath heavy brows. He looked at me as though measuring my worth, and I returned the gaze in kind.
We met in the great hall, beneath the banners of House Stark. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the air between us was cold.
"By what right," the Lord Commander demanded, "do you claim to settle the Gift and the New Gift? Those lands were given to the Watch, to sustain us in our duty."
I did not flinch. "And by what right does the Watch let them lie empty? The Gift was given, aye, but with it came obligation. You were to keep those lands in use, to see them prosper, to feed your order. Instead they wither, abandoned. Any gift so scorned should be taken back, and shame on the receiver for neglecting it so."
His face darkened, his chest swelling with pride. For a heartbeat I thought he would roar at me, but then his shoulders sagged. "You are not wrong. Our numbers dwindle year by year. We can barely hold three castles. The rest fall to ruin. The villages of the Gift are empty, the fields untended. Perhaps it is fitting. An empty land for a dying brotherhood."
There was bitterness in his voice, and grief too. I felt a pang of pity, but I did not relent.
"Let us speak plain," I said. "The Watch has no friends beyond the Wall, and few enough in the South. You are dwindling, and the realm forgets you. But the Wall must stand. The Watch must endure. So hear me: I propose to return the Old Gift and the New Gift to House Stark. The Watch will retain the Wall itself, and the castles upon it, with a league of land about each for your use. In return, House Stark will see to your needs—food, arms, labor to restore any castle you man. You will be relieved of the burden of administering the Gifts, and we will see them settled anew."
The hall was silent save for the crackle of the fire. The Lord Commander studied me, his eyes narrowing.
"You would take the Gifts for yourself," he said slowly.
"For the North," I corrected. "For the realm. The Watch has had three hundred years, and in that time the New Gift has emptied. You cannot hold it. But I can. I will see it settled, its fields plowed, its villages raised. The men who live there will be sworn to me, aye, but their labor will feed you as well. You will have more support from House Stark than you ever had from empty fields."
He leaned forward, his voice low. "And what of loyalty? If the Watch depends on you for bread and steel, are we not then your servants?"
"You are the realm's servants," I said. "Sworn to guard the Wall. I would not command your swords, only see that you are fed and clothed to wield them. Better that than to starve in silence while the Wall crumbles."
He sat back, his jaw working. At last he gave a weary laugh. "You speak like a man twice your years, Stark. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we are ghosts already, clinging to shadows. If your plan gives the Watch life, I would be a fool to refuse."
We clasped hands across the table, the bargain struck. Yet as I looked into the Old Bear's eyes, I saw not triumph but unease.
"Very well," he said. "The Gifts will be yours to settle. But remember this, Lord Stark: the Wall is not as quiet as it seems. Strange things stir in the far north. If you fail us, it will not be lords or kings who pay the price, but every soul in Westeros."
His words lingered long after he left the hall, colder than the wind that swept down from the Wall itself.