The attitude of the Northern lords toward the Gift resettlent plan was crucial, but at least for today, Aegor had no need to be overly tense. Nightfort was not part of the resettlent sche. Its reactivation had occurred before the acceptance of the surrendered Wildlings and had been approved by the entire high command of the Night's Watch.
The reason for choosing this place as the first stop after leaving Castle Black was not because of how many people from Beyond the Wall now lived here, or what potential threat they might pose to the North should sothing go wrong, or what needed special attention... but for another reason: Bran Stark had disappeared here. With Robb's own heir not yet born, this ant that the first in line to inherit the North had vanished at this very place.
The residents within Nightfort's walls were the Flint Clan from the mountains. They had been invited by the Night's Watch to co down and garrison the Wall, but legally, they still belonged to the North. Though their Lord Flint had no castle and was nearly destitute, his rank was equivalent to that of an earl. Though their clansn neither fard nor paid taxes, they were still considered citizens of the North.
...
To Aegor, the mountain clans were a patch for manpower shortages on the Wall, cheap labor, and the first wave of new residents in the developnt of the Gift. To the Night's Watch, they were hard-won reinforcents, the key to forcing the Wildlings to surrender, and reliable allies who would soon be standing with them against humanity's true enemy. And to the North, they were nominal vassals, mostly ignored and considered "semi-outsiders"... Now that they had voluntarily co down from the mountains, unbidden, to help defend the northern border, there wasn't even ti to properly thank them—let alone drive them away.
The special status of the mountain clans made them nearly untouchable. Even the most stubborn of conservatives wouldn't dream of going after these people to make things difficult for the reformists. Besides, Aegor had already notified Nightfort to prepare for the arrival of the Northern inspection group. Even if sothing went wrong, Robb would not place the bla on these mountain folk, much less turn against the broader resettlent effort.
---
When two parties who seldom et, bear no grudges, share no conflicting interests, yet are tied by a lord-vassal relationship, et face-to-face, they will naturally be inclined to politeness... At that mont, Lord Flint of the Flint Clan was enthusiastically engaging with Robb Stark, offering a warm welco to the honored guests, expressing sorrow for the late Lord Eddard Stark, and reporting the recent developnts of this "revived" ancient stronghold.
The courtesies didn't last long. Once the small talk was complete, Robb set aside his smile and asked solemnly about the matter he cared about most: the circumstances of his brother's disappearance.
...
"The Night's Watch entrusted the critical duty of garrisoning Nightfort to the Flint Clan, and we do not dare take it lightly. Our sentries and patrols remain vigilant at all tis, ready to detect threats from either the North or the South. A few months ago... a young man on watch atop the tower spotted suspicious movent in the bushes near the outer walls. We imdiately dispatched a search party and captured a large man and three children," Torghen Flint said gruffly. "They didn't look like Wildlings at all, so we proceeded with caution. After questioning, it was confird—Bran Stark, the Reed siblings whom Castle Black had warned us to be alert for, and a stable boy from Winterfell. We took the matter seriously, gave them rooms in the main keep, assigned guards and caretakers, and notified Commander Mormont."
"We are already aware of the general circumstances," Roose Bolton interrupted coolly. "Tell us specifically how they mysteriously disappeared while under the so-called 'care' of the Flint Clan, and have remained missing to this day."
The tone in Bolton's voice made Lord Flint visibly displeased, but he knew he had no grounds to show temper. After all, it was under his clan's watch that the Warden of the North's brother had vanished without a trace, despite more than a thousand people garrisoned here.
After a mont's hesitation, he continued bitterly, "Commander Mormont's reply at the ti was to keep a close watch over Lord Bran and wait for soone from Winterfell to retrieve him. We did as instructed... But not long after, Lady Reed was harassed near Nightfort. Commander Mormont changed his mind and decided to co personally to resolve the incident and escort the three young nobles back to Castle Black. The disappearance happened then."
"Commander Mormont arrived the afternoon before the incident. He rose early the next morning. It was lightly snowing... so he decided to first visit the New Gift settlent just outside the fortress to address the attack on Lady Reed. He planned to return to Castle Black after noon. As instructed, we carried Bran from his room and had him, the Reed siblings, and the stable boy, Hodor, pack their belongings and wait in the great hall," Torghen Flint continued, a look of regret on his face. "Just before noon, the Night's Watch brothers who had accompanied the Commander ca back carrying Lord Mormont—covered in blood and unconscious—shouting for a Maester or healer... It was chaos. Everyone in the great hall, including myself, ran out to see what had happened. No one thought to stay behind and watch over the three children who were waiting to leave with the Commander. In the blink of an eye, they were gone."
Old Flint was clearly not skilled at presenting information clearly. His explanation was vague and poorly structured. Even Aegor, let alone Robb Stark, found the account dismissive and disrespectful. He couldn't sit idle while his rough ally bungled the matter, so he quickly stepped forward and reminded him, "Lord Flint, please tell us about your investigation afterward."
"Uh, of course." The mountain man wasn't exactly slow-witted and quickly followed up. "By then, the wall that Castle Black had asked us to build was essentially complete. Considering the young lord's difficulty walking, it's unlikely he could've climbed the wall to escape. That ant there were only four possible routes to leave Nightfort: the east and west gates, the tunnel leading beyond the Wall, or ascending to the top of the Wall via the stairs and walking to another fortress with a stairwell to descend."
That explanation finally drew the attention of the Northern lords. They listened silently.
"The tunnel leading Beyond the Wall had been blocked off long ago when Nightfort was abandoned by the Watch. We were told not to unseal it. As for the other three paths... we sealed the gates and posted guards as soon as we discovered Bran was missing. After carefully questioning every guard and sentry, we confird that on the day of the incident, no group resembling 'a big man with three children' passed through any of these routes."
"Maybe they split up?"
"Uh... no. There aren't many children of that age at Nightfort. The guards confird that no unfamiliar group or child left the fortress that day."
"So what? The Warden's brother just vanished into thin air?!" Lord Karstark glared at Flint. "I heard there are thousands living here. Don't tell every last one ran off to look at Jeor Mormont when he was brought back. He's an old man, what's there to see!"
"Lord Karstark is right. We later expanded the investigation and soon found clues. At the ti of the incident, several won drying laundry saw Bran and his companions leave the great hall and enter the kitchen once used by the Night's Watch during their station here."
The "Old Kitchen" was an octagonal stone building. Though its vault was damaged, it remained in relatively good condition. Oddly, compared to the rest of Nightfort—where Mountain Clanspeople could be seen everywhere—this area was eerily deserted.
Robb studied the exterior of the Old Kitchen with puzzlent and asked, "If this place were slightly repaired, it would be better than most of the other buildings and tents. Why is it unused?"
"My Lord, you'll understand once you follow inside."
Aegor and a group of Northern lords followed Lord Flint through the worn threshold into the kitchen once used by the Night's Watch over two centuries ago.
The large chamber was mostly empty. Only the massive brick ovens lining the walls, a few scarred butcher tables, and rusted at hooks hanging from overhead beams remained. The space exuded decay and desolation. In the geotric center of the room was a massive well. A crooked tree had broken through the floor next to it, pushing up the floorboards. Its main trunk slanted toward the ceiling, and the upper branches reached through a hole in the roof, stretching skyward. Whether the tree had broken through the roof or grown into an existing hole was unclear.
At first, Robb was confused. But after a few glances at the tree beside the well, he quickly understood why the Mountain Clansn had abandoned this otherwise sound kitchen.
"This... is this a weirwood?"
Hot air rises. Along the freezing length of the Wall, no building with a hole in the roof can be considered truly habitable. As a kitchen, this space would require extensive repairs. But to do that, the tree growing in the center would have to be cut down.
Weirwood has deep religious aning in the faith of the Old Gods. Here, whether Northn, Mountain Clans, or newly settled Free Folk, all believed in the Old Gods. Their unwillingness to cut it down was understandable.
But... was it truly necessary?
The faith of the Old Gods was a natural religion. Even the devout acknowledged that weirwood was only a symbol of the gods—not the gods themselves. It wasn't worshipped as a deity. In fact, weirwood was prized throughout the Seven Kingdoms as durable and rot-resistant, perfect for bows, shields, and furniture. Even in King's Landing, the Kingsguard council chamber boasted a weirwood table.
Weirwoods were usually massive, with thick trunks and gnarled roots. But this one was slender and crooked, its bark pale and ghostly. Without its red, hand-shaped leaves, it would look like a bony arm. It wasn't old, couldn't even bear a carved face. This was clearly a malford sapling—unworthy of being called a heart tree. What sanctity did it hold that made the mountain folk willing to live in broken-down hovels and tents rather than use a good building?
Robb couldn't speak for others, but if a sapling sprouted in Winterfell's main keep, even if it were a weirwood, the Starks would pull it out and fix the floor—certainly not vacate the entire keep for it.
"My Lord, you must be thinking it's just a little sapling, not worth such reverence," Torghen Flint said, reading Robb's expression. He smiled. "No, this is no ordinary weirwood. It might be the oldest heart tree in the Seven Kingdoms."
"It needs a face to be called a heart tree. Don't tell the Flints are carving masters."
"No, what you're seeing is just one tiny branch. The size and span of its trunk beneath the earth is beyond imagination."
"It's buried underground. No matter how big it is, how would you know?" Mors Umber snorted. "Besides, aren't we here to investigate the disappearance of Lord Robb's brother? You think we'll get distracted just because we all believe in the Old Gods?"
"Of course not! But this massive heart tree is directly related to Bran's disappearance." Lord Flint pointed to the well in the center of the room. "Everyone who saw the three children and the stable boy go in here said the sa: they never ca out. We searched the room thoroughly. There's no second exit, no secret passage... That's when we thought of the well."
Could it be that Bran Stark had jumped into the well?
Many present felt a chill and glanced at Robb but dared not speak, until Lord Flint perford an unexpected act. He walked toward the well and, under everyone's shocked gaze, stepped over the rim and into it.
"What are you doing?!" Arya shrieked, thinking the old man was about to commit suicide over guilt. But halfway through her shout, she paused. "Huh—?"
That's right. Under everyone's watchful eyes, Old Flint was "standing" in the well. Arya, along with many others, had been about to pull him back, but when he placed his second foot in, he didn't fall. He stood firm on the inner wall of the well and shrugged at the onlookers.
Arya shook off Robb's hand and was the first to run over. Everyone else quickly followed to examine the well.
It was enormous—four ters wide. The interior walls were thick, damp, and lined with moss. A soldier from House Bolton handed over a torch. In its glow, they saw the truth: stone steps extended along the inside, forming a spiral staircase leading into the darkness below. The bottom was still out of sight.
Everyone stared in silence for a mont, as if beholding treasure. Arya finally gave in to her curiosity.
"A well... Why does it have stairs?"
Soone guessed, "Maybe in this cold, the water freezes, so they had to go down and break the ice?"
"Oh," Arya blinked and didn't question the absurd logic. "So Bran went down these stairs?"
"That's our best assumption," Old Flint nodded. "Would you like to take a look?"
She did, but with Robb there, she knew better than to act rashly.
Arya held back and changed the question. "There's no water down there?"
Roose Bolton said nothing. He silently took the torch from his soldier and tossed it into the well.
The fla plunged downward, shrinking to a speck. After two or three seconds, it struck the bottom with a faint puff of sparks and disappeared.
The sound of impact and the flash confird what Torghen Flint had said. There was no water below, and people could move about freely.
Concern for his brother overca Robb's slight unease. Besides, according to Old Flint, the Mountain Clansn had already been down there. They had no reason to harm him, the Warden of the North. After a brief pause, Robb nodded.
"Lead the way. Let's go down and have a look."
(To be continued.)
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