ASOIAF/GOT: The King in Black

Daniel sat in silence long after Mormont had left.

The words still lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Get back to work."

Like it was that simple.

Like he could just pick himself up and pretend the last few days hadn't happened, that Lena and Kain's deaths weren't weighing on him like chains.

His fingers curled against his knees, nails pressing into the fabric of his pants. His body ached from the march, from the fight, from the cold stone beneath him, but the pain barely registered.

Across the cell, Jace was still staring at the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes dark and unfocused.

Rask, on the other hand, was studying Daniel.

Not speaking. Not pushing.

Just watching.

Daniel exhaled slowly and forced himself to stand. His limbs felt stiff, his muscles sore, but he ignored it.

It wasn't about what he felt.

It was about what came next.

"Come on," he muttered. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "Let's go before they change their minds and hang us anyway."

Rask chuckled but got to his feet easily, rolling his shoulders. "Took you long enough."

Jace hesitated before rising as well, moving like he wasn't sure if his legs would hold.

The door was still open.

Waiting.

Daniel stepped through first.

---

The air outside felt colder than before.

Maybe it was just the weight of everything settling in.

Maybe it was being back inside these walls, knowing they had been so close to leaving them behind forever.

Castle Black was as he remembered it—dark stone, freezing wind, the sounds of men at work. The same recruits they had passed earlier in the yard were still training, their wooden swords clacking together in awkward, clumsy strikes.

Some of them stopped to watch as Daniel, Jace, and Rask stepped out of the cell, whispers already spreading.

"Those are the deserters?"

"Thought they'd be hanging by now."

"Guess the Old Bear's feeling generous."

Daniel ignored them.

He didn't care what they thought.

He didn't care about anything right now.

But there was one thing he knew for certain—he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

He had tried to run.

He had failed.

Now?

Now, he needed a different approach.

He needed time. Power. Control.

Running wouldn't work.

But taking the Wall from the inside?

That was another matter entirely.

---

Ser Alliser Thorne was waiting for them.

The moment they stepped into the training yard, his voice rang out, sharp and cutting.

"So, the cowards return."

Jace flinched beside him.

Rask just smirked. "Nice to see you too, Thorne."

The Master-at-Arms narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky the Lord Commander is a merciful man. If it were up to me, I'd see you all swinging from the Wall as an example."

Daniel met his gaze evenly. "Good thing it's not up to you, then."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then laughter.

Not from the recruits—from the veterans. A few of the older men watching from the sides, men who had seen more winters than the boys swinging wooden swords.

Ser Alliser's face darkened.

"You think this is a joke, boy?"

Daniel didn't answer.

But Rask? Rask grinned. "I don't think he does, but I sure as hell do."

A muscle twitched in Thorne's jaw.

He turned sharply. "Back in line. All of you. You think you can run from this life? You think you're above your vows? Fine. Then you can work twice as hard to prove otherwise."

Daniel expected as much.

They wouldn't just be welcomed back.

They would be punished.

And that was fine.

He'd take their punishment. He'd take whatever they threw at him.

Because the only way forward was through.

---

They were put straight to work.

No rest, no food, just orders barked at them like they were dogs needing to be broken.

Daniel spent the next few hours hauling barrels, chopping wood, reinforcing the palisade. His muscles screamed from exhaustion, his body protesting every movement, but he didn't slow.

Neither did Rask.

Jace, though?

Jace was struggling.

Daniel noticed it out of the corner of his eye—the way the younger man's hands trembled when he lifted a log, the way his steps wavered when he moved across the yard.

The way he blinked, slow and unfocused, like he wasn't entirely there.

Daniel set down the barrel he was carrying and walked over to him. "Jace."

Jace didn't react at first.

Then, slowly, he looked up.

Daniel frowned. The kid looked pale. Too pale. His lips were cracked, his eyes hollow.

"You need to eat something," Daniel muttered.

Jace's mouth twisted. "Don't have anything."

Daniel hesitated, then glanced around.

No one was paying attention.

Rask was near the forge, arguing with one of the blacksmith's apprentices. Thorne was berating another recruit, too busy to care what they were doing.

Daniel reached into his satchel, fingers brushing against the stolen bread he had taken from the kitchen earlier.

He handed it to Jace.

Jace stared at it for a long moment before taking it.

"...Thanks."

Daniel just nodded.

He didn't know why he bothered.

Maybe because he still felt responsible.

Maybe because, after Lena and Kain, he didn't want to lose anyone else.

Maybe because Jace was just a kid who didn't deserve to die out here.

But he cared nonetheless.

Maybe–just maybe–he still had some empathy left.

---

By the time night fell, Daniel could barely stand.

His body was a wreck, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't shake.

But the worst part wasn't the pain.

It was the way Castle Black felt smaller than before.

Like the walls were closing in.

Like he was trapped.

Because he was.

There would be no more running. No more easy ways out.

If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to win—he would have to play the game from the inside.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers curling against the rough fabric of his cloak.

Fine.

If this was where the game was played, then he'd play.

And this time, he wouldn't lose.

—

The next morning came with pain.

Daniel woke to the deep ache in his muscles, the soreness settling into his bones like the cold itself had taken root inside him. Every movement felt sluggish, his body protesting as he sat up in the dim barracks.

They had worked him to exhaustion the day before.

Today would be no different.

He glanced around. The other recruits were already stirring, pulling on their furs, preparing for another day of training and labor. Some moved without thinking, their bodies following routine like they had already been broken into the Watch's rhythm.

Daniel was not broken.

But he wasn't the same man who had run days ago, either.

His stomach twisted as flashes of the past hit him—Kain gasping for breath as the sword ran him through. Lena's eyes wide with shock as blood spread across her stomach.

Gone. Because he failed.

He pushed the memories down, buried them deep. They weren't useful.

What was useful was survival.

He stood, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

Today, he would watch. He would listen. And he would begin what needed to be done.

He would start taking Castle Black for himself.

---

The morning air was sharp, biting at exposed skin as they filed into the yard.

Ser Alliser was already waiting, his expression sour as always. The training grounds were lined with recruits holding practice swords, their breath fogging in the frigid air as they awaited orders.

Daniel barely paid attention.

Castle Black had its own laws, its own balance of power. The men here weren't just soldiers or criminals or bastards thrown into a frozen prison. They were players in a game of survival.

Some held power through rank.

Some held it through fear.

Some held it simply because no one dared to challenge them.

And Daniel was learning who fit where.

Mormont, The Old Bear had authority, but he wasn't a tyrant. He wasn't the kind of man Daniel needed to fear—but he was the kind of man Daniel needed to convince.

Ser Alliser ruled the training yard with sharp words and sharper punishments. But he wasn't truly respected—he was obeyed out of necessity, out of the recruits' fear of what would happen if they defied him.

The veterans were different.

Donal Noye had the smithy. The one-armed blacksmith was gruff, but men listened to him. Even some of the officers.

Bowen Marsh handled provisions. He wasn't loved, but he controlled the food, and that made him powerful.

Jon Snow was there too, though Daniel hadn't given him much thought before.

The Stark bastard trained on the other end of the yard, surrounded by Grenn, Pyp, and the other recruits who had already fallen into their own circles. He moved through his drills with quiet focus, his strikes precise in a way the others weren't.

Daniel had heard the whispers.

Some said he fought like a knight. Some mocked him as "Lord Snow," the highborn bastard who thought he was better than the rest.

Jon ignored most of it.

And Daniel?

Daniel had been too busy trying to survive to care.

Then there were the recruits. The ones Daniel had to work with, the ones he had to shape.

A few stood out already.

The big, broad-shouldered boy who had called them cowards the day before. A smug, arrogant look on his face even now, standing too straight, his grip on the training sword too tight. Someone who thought himself important.

Daniel hated him immediately.

Not just because of the sneering remarks, the casual cruelty, the way he picked out weaker recruits just to humiliate them.

But because Clydas was the kind of person Daniel knew would rise quickly here.

And if Daniel wanted to carve out a place for himself?

That meant knocking him down first.

The scrawnier one beside him, eyes sharp and darting, shifting his weight too often like he was nervous. A follower, not a leader.

People to watch.

People to use.

Ser Alliser's voice snapped him back to focus.

"You lot have work to do."

---

They were split into groups—half to train, half to the yard for repairs.

Daniel got training.

Rask was with him, rolling his shoulders as he stepped onto the packed dirt, his smirk never quite leaving his face. Jace wasn't far behind, quieter than usual, but moving better than he had yesterday.

The recruits were handed swords—real steel today, not blunted wood. A step forward, even if they wouldn't be fighting to kill.

Daniel was not ready.

He had watched fights. He had studied techniques. He had spent hours going down rabbit holes of medieval combat, watching HEMA breakdowns, reading discussions on historical dueling.

But that was theory.

This was real.

The sword felt wrong in his hands—heavier than he expected, the balance throwing off his movement.

His opponent, Clydas, grinned. "Try not to fall on your ass, deserter."

Daniel didn't answer. He just raised his sword, trying to remember what he had seen, what he had read.

Weight on the balls of the feet. Stay light. Keep the blade in front of you.

Ser Alliser's voice rang out. "Begin."

Clydas came in fast.

Daniel tried to react, to block, but he was too slow.

The impact rattled up his arms, nearly knocking the sword from his grip. He stumbled back, trying to regain balance, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Clydas laughed.

"You fight like a baker."

Daniel gritted his teeth.

Clydas lunged again, and this time Daniel moved—not well, not smoothly, but enough to avoid a direct hit.

The sword grazed his arm instead of landing full force. Pain flared, but it wasn't enough to drop him.

He could see the openings, but his body wasn't fast enough to take them.

'I know what to do, but I can't do it.'

That realization made something tighten in his chest.

Clydas swung again. Daniel blocked—but poorly, his stance breaking under the force.

He tried to strike back, but it was slow, sloppy. Clydas easily knocked his sword aside.

Another hit. This one caught Daniel's ribs, forcing the air from his lungs.

He staggered, but he stayed on his feet.

Clydas raised his sword again, but Ser Alliser's voice cut through. "Enough."

Daniel let out a slow breath.

He had lost.

Badly.

But he was still standing.

And that was enough—for now.

---

By the time training ended, Daniel had learned one thing—he was not ready.

Clydas had beaten him easily. Too strong, too fast, too confident. And Daniel? He was too slow, too clumsy, too unfamiliar with the weight of steel.

The others had seen it.

They still saw him as the deserter who failed.

But that was fine.

Because while Daniel had lost, he had also watched.

He had seen how Clydas left himself open after overcommitting, how his anger made his swings wilder than they should be. How arrogance made him predictable.

Daniel wasn't a warrior.

Not yet.

But he could learn.

It wasn't much.

But it was a start.

---

That night, Daniel sat in the barracks, watching the room.

Jace was asleep, exhaustion pulling him under. Rask, on the other hand, was awake. Watching, waiting, just like Daniel.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Rask broke the silence. "You got a plan yet?"

Daniel exhaled slowly. "Not yet."

Rask smirked. "Liar."

Daniel didn't argue.

Of course he had a plan.

Not a full one. Not something concrete. But the beginnings of one.

He had lost his first gamble, had underestimated the Watch, underestimated how powerless he really was.

Now?

Now, he would stop running.

Now, he would learn. Adapt.

He would play the game from the inside.

"Give it time," he murmured.

Rask chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. "I've got plenty."

---

That night, Daniel didn't dream.

When he closed his eyes, he didn't see Kain or Lena.

Just the Wall stretching into the sky, cold and endless.

Waiting.