Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 339 339: I Hear the King-Beyond-the-Wall Sings Well

Craster looked as though he had already entered the final stretch of his life; his hair had turned from gray to white.

His already flattened nose and drooping lips, after taking a punch from Dacey, gave his face an even more vicious cast.

When he heard that the man before him was the king of these southern kneelers, Craster was stunned.

He often dealt with the Night's Watch and was no ignorant fool.

He had not expected the king of these southern men to be so young, nor had he imagined that a king would come to such a place.

The wildlings mocked the southerners as kneelers, meaning those who knelt before the man standing here. They could not bend the knee, so they called themselves free folk.

But Craster's surprise lasted only a moment. When he came to himself, he spat once more in Kal's direction.

He opened his mouth, ready to curse again.

Yet Dacey had already failed once in allowing him to spit toward the king. The instant he opened his mouth, an iron fist crashed into his face, smashing a hole through his front teeth.

Still not satisfied, Dacey rose, drew the dagger at her waist, and seized Craster by the hair, forcing his neck bare. She set the blade against it and sought leave from Kal.

"Your Grace, grant me leave to punish this man who has dared offend your dignity."

Craster could make no sound now. With the cold edge pressed to his throat, he did not even dare cry out.

His spittle, of course, had not touched Kal.

Seeing the old man in such a state, Kal drew back the cloak from his shoulder, revealing the hand clad in a soft sheepskin glove.

"I will give you a chance to live."

He did not immediately answer Dacey's request, but raised one finger toward Craster instead.

"Kneel before me and tell me where the free folk beyond the Wall have gone, and you may live."

At his words, Craster showed only disdain, especially when he heard him demand to know where the free folk had gone.

"My knees do not bend. You may have this woman cut my throat."

At that, his face showed no change. Calmly, he lowered his hand.

Then he gave a slight nod.

"Very well. As you wish."

With that, he turned and walked away.

All that was left was Craster, with a dagger still held to his throat, and Dacey—both of them momentarily stunned.

But the next second, before Craster could even get out a plea for mercy, the newly recovered Dacey decisively ended his life with a single stroke.

Benjen, who had been about to say something as well, had not expected the negotiations to collapse like this. Craster's death was all the more worthless.

Watching the wildling lying there in the mire mixed with animal filth still twitching, Benjen parted his lips, only to find he could not speak a single word.

Dacey casually wiped the blood from her dagger and sheathed it again.

As she passed Benjen, she only flicked a glance at him.

The air fell utterly silent.

Yet at this moment, Kal strolled unhurriedly up to Craster's wives and daughters.

They had watched with their own eyes as the man who was their husband and father was killed by these southerners. Some were shrieking now; others had gone quiet.

"Your Grace," seeing the king approach, the maester who had come with the expeditionary host and Theon both hurriedly rose and bowed in salute.

Kal did not spare them a glance. His gaze settled instead on a girl who looked seventeen or eighteen, with black hair and a haggard face.

She had a pair of innocent brown eyes. Even watching Craster die, she showed no extra expression—only a faint, lurking fear in her gaze.

Kal's eyes dropped to her belly.

"It looks like your child is due soon. It is a boy."

The crowd, already too frightened to make a sound after Kal's arrival, went even quieter the instant they heard him say that.

Craster's wives-and-daughters all turned their eyes to Gilly, then to the man on the ground, eyes wide open and wholly dead.

"Can you tell me your name?"

In the eerie hush, Kal spoke again.

Learning that what she carried really was a boy, Gilly's face changed at once, panic flashing over it.

But after she looked at Craster's corpse, that fear suddenly gave way to resignation.

"Honored King, I… I am called Gilly."

"Gilly. A very pleasant name," Kal said with a smile. "You are very young. You look as though you are Craster's daughter."

Faced with the question, Gilly pressed her lips together and did not dare speak.

But whether she answered did not matter in the least.

"If your child is a boy, your father—your child's father—Craster would kill him. No. To be precise, he would sacrifice him. Is that so?"

As Kal spoke, his gaze swept in a slow circle. Everywhere he looked, there were only women.

"He sacrificed all his sons to the White Walkers."

"He was a kinslayer."

"You should count yourselves fortunate that he is dead."

"Disaster has fallen beyond the Wall. Countless free folk have gathered in search of a chance to live. I know what has happened there. That is why I have come, and I will save you."

"South of the Wall shall be your refuge. There lies warm and endless land enough to sustain your lives."

"Go. The Wall was not meant to be the abyss that divides you. In my name as king, I give you this promise."

Kal's voice was not loud, yet in that confined place it struck the ground like iron, making hearts tremble.

Gilly held her belly and looked up at the man before her, radiant as the sun.

After a long moment, she knelt.

But by the time she bowed, the king had already turned and walked away.

…

Deep in the night, Benjen came to the king's tent.

"Your Grace, the women have spoken."

"Oh? And what did they say?" Kal carefully turned the snow fowl roasting over the campfire.

Meera was a very skilled hunter, and Theon had a fine hand with a bow.

This evening's meal had been brought by them.

"They told me the reason the wildling villages were abandoned is that Mance Rayder is gathering the free folk in the Frostfangs, intending to march south and attack the Wall, just as the wildlings of old once did."

When Benjen spoke, his tone was heavy with complexity.

At present, the Wall could be said to stand at the height of its strength in all its history. Holding fast in defense, Benjen was not truly concerned that this so-called Mance Rayder would succeed.

Kal continued to roast the snow fowl with care, brushing it with spice as he did so.

He drew in the scent of the roasting meat and then spoke.

"That is no surprise."

"Had this not been an organized withdrawal, we would not have found seven villages in a row standing empty."

Hearing the certainty in the king's voice, Benjen's agitation eased.

"Then, Your Grace, what are your plans?" the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch asked.

At that question, Kal suddenly smiled.

"It is said this King-Beyond-the-Wall plays the harp well and sings well too. I mean to go and see for myself."

As he spoke, Kal tore off a drumstick and handed it to Benjen.

"Taste it. It is just right."

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