"Keep it up, keep it up or I'll ring your head like a bell!"
The practice swords swang, and swung hard, clashing, the echo ringing out in a circular arc; starting at the base of the yard and rolling off the rooms, the stone, the ice and then sung free outwards into the chill. The second blow hit the shield, now kept up, a bass resonation replaced the high-pitched singing of steel, yet it followed its high-pitched cousins contours up and around the yard before the echo was diluted by the winds.
"Good, good!"
It wasn't good, Jon wasn't ready and if he wasn't ready then these lads certainly weren't. Yet three days time and they rode out. He would do what he could. To keep himself and his brothers alive.
"Keep going, come on! Remember your training," he encouraged the newest recruits as he swung his sword at them with the patterns which Ser Rodrik had instilled in him since he was young. Brothers shared knowledge did they not and he was finally finding his brothers here. Finally he was becoming accepted and new friends were such a thrill to Jon that he wished to return the gift of their friendship with the only gift he could possibly give. That of violence. An unfortunate skill, but a skill nonetheless.
They trained. Hard. Receiving and delivering hard blows, giving and taking bruises and scrapes and minor cuts. It was all in good spirits. After a couple hours of this, Jon was ready for food and rest but despite this he was content. Too tired to be fearful of what was about to happen, and so pleased to share companionship. He was content. Leaving to go to the mess hall they laughed and japed about the training his heart froze as the call rang out.
"SNOW! Come 'ere."
The other brothers were used to this now. Since he killed the wight. Since he was given Longclaw. Jon still loathed it and yet panicked at the same time. He could be in trouble or worse yet. Ill news from the South. Whatever it might be he was being singled out again.
Entering the chambers of the Lord commander he felt the illness of the situation. The grave faces and conciliatory smiles. Ill news was afoot.
"My lords?!" Jon spoke first, hiding the tremor in his own voice. Prompting an end to the silence which was so disconcerting. Bad news was better than waiting.
"News from the South Jon," Maester Aemon spoke up in his trembling, yet still powerful voice. "Bad and good I would say," the elderly maester held up a piece of paper with his wizened, arthritic hands.
Jon took it and opened it; his own hand trembling somewhat. He read quickly, his heart beating. Robb. Defeated. Sent to the Wall. Northern Lords and Men-At-Arms to accompany him. Bran the new lord of Winterfell. Peace. Lannister victory. The letter fell from his hands. Unable to hold it still.
His half-brother he was... Jon's head began spinning unable to process this information. Faintly he stumbled out of the Lord's hall and to the wall and held onto an unlit brazier to steady himself.
Robb lived that was good. Yet Robb and many of his banners would come to his place soon, and once again Jon would play second fiddle… As far as Jon had progressed as much of a home as he had created for himself, Robb would come and take that from him… As good of a warrior as Jon was, Robb was battle-hardened. A killer. A successful one at that. Jon wondered how many men Robb had left hewn; whether it be twenty or a hundred it was more than him.
He slapped his cheeks with his gloved hands.
Your brother is alive. That is what matters. He is your brother.
The hug they shared was meaningful. It was tight and Robb clearly held him dear searching for a comfort he had long since lost. Jon's doubts and misgivings were forgotten as he saw his brother's face. As his brother's arms wrapped around him and their bodies pressed together. It meant something. A deep familiar and fraternal love.
"We ride tomorrow!" The Lord Commander called down from the mezzanine to the yard just as Robb and Jon broke their embrace; still clutching at each other's forearm. Robb looked up to listen. Jon looked at Robb. His brother was there, but there was a darkness in his eyes which Jon couldn't place. Perhaps the coldness from war and battle and death. Yes, that must be it.
"I've brought you something," Robb told Jon. He turned his back and walked to his horse. He came with two hundred and fifty riders whose loyalty to him took them with Robb to the Wall. Lords and retainers from the Last Hearth to White Harbour accompanied the former King in the North. Robb fetched a leather cuirass, similar to the one he used to wear, and their father wore. Complete with the metal protector for the neck; which was emblazoned with direwolves of House Stark. "You've never surrendered, so you might as well wear it."
"I'm sorry," was all Jon could muster. As they embraced again.
Jon was dead on his feet, gritting his teeth he forced himself to keep moving. Grunting he fell in the deep snow.
"Shit!" He exhaled out in between exertions of ragged breaths. Stinging icy winds ironically burnt the back of his throat like so many white and blue embers.
"Just leave me!"
"Never! If we die we die," Jon repeated the same sentiment in different words to Robb over and over on their slog back to safety. The snow would be a hard obstacle to pass alone, but dragging his half-brother behind him made it Herculean.
"I'm already fuckin' dead, that fuckin' thing," Robb cursed, his voice close to a howl. "That fucking thing cut me deep. I've seen a lot of a death, a lot, a lot of battle…" He paused to grunt and suck in some air through gritted teeth. "A lot of battle and when people are wounded like this they…"
"Oh shut the fuck up Robb!" Jon snarled. Tired of this. "Stop talking about the war for once, for once, we're thousands of leagues from it. I don't give a shit what you saw, what happened. Right now I care about one thing!" He bellowed; finally relieving the value on the pressure that had been building up inside him since their fraternal reunion.
"What?"
"Getting your arse back," Jon puffed and he gripped the scruff of Robb's and began dragging him again. Walking backwards in the thick, high snow. The former King in the North moaned with pain at first but kept himself in check after Jon's outburst.
They got closer and closer as time passed, Jon's eyes were drooping and a small, but growing, voice in his head, was telling him to rest in the snow. The cold stung his face, drying his eyes and cheeks out, his lips now hard and screaming in agony; had hardened like frozen blood.
"There it is brother, there it fucking is," Jon cried out in happiness as he saw the dim light in the distance. The dim light, a tiny candle covered in a shroud of orange then grey, then black but that orange glow was certainly there unless his eyes were being fooled by tiredness.
The screech changed his sudden positive mood to dark once more.
Wights.
Jon wrenched Longclaw from his hip. Most blades stuck in the ice but the valyrian steel slid out with ease. He couldn't see shit in the hail and gale and tundra. Just noises. The harrowing cry from dead, rotten lungs, through broken long dead yellowed teeth.
He turned and swiped in a long arc where he thought a scream was coming from and connected. Bones flew everywhere, the sharp jagged parts flying over him as whatever necromancy weaved them together was undone. It was Jon's turn to join his brother in agony, as the spear tip like shards of bone cut his face, blinding him in his left eye, as blood flowed into it.
The blood cooled and froze quick. As it had with Robb. Probably the reason his half-brother was still breathing.
He tilted, in a fighting stance waiting for disturbances to attack in abyss of these lands. The crumpling of snow came from behind him and Jon span and swung at what looked like nothing but the impact and connection which rang through his blade told a different story. He was waiting breathing even harder than before, no more noises, except Robb who was coughing now.
"Come on!" Jon grabbed his brother and kept dragging him. "We're almost there!" His voice cracking with desperation.
"Leave me or carry me brother."
Jon thought about arguing, if he carried Robb his wounds, which had frozen closed, might be reopened up on his shoulders. More cries in the dark prompted him to follow his order and he hauled Robb up on his shoulder and started jogging as well as one could in the deep snow towards the light.
When they were spotted by sentries men rushed out and Robb was helped in and Jon collapsed and was helped too into the outhouse away from Craster. The elderly wildling's cruel words and provocativities would surely lead to blood with tensions so high.
"Where are the rest?" Jon asked looking at the smattering of broken and bent brothers left.
"You're first back… The rest? Fuck knows," the ranger raised both his palms upwards showing he had nothing to offer. "I hope he's alright," he pointed to Robb who was now placed against Craster's palisade by the outhouse, his eyes closed and his head lolling.
"He will be. Starks are hard to kill," Jon mumbled, the utter exhaustion kicking in, he had no more energy. "I've dragged him miles he better fucking survive," he said to himself so quietly even he barely hear it.
"Then what happened?" Grenn asked. He was almost bouncing from one foot to another with excitement.
"Well then, well then the exciting stuff happened," Robb drawled out, clearly enjoying the captivated audience.
"That shit you just said weren't the exciting stuff? The fuck!" Pyp slapped his leg, extremely pleased as he spilled some of his water in his happiness.
"Ser Jaime was in chains, my infantry arrived and took him. So I carried on, with my heavy horse, covered in blood, my arm, my sword, my whole right side!" Robb sounded like a mummer to Jon but to his brothers he sounded like The Warrior of the Seven Gods himself. They, his brothers, were completely captivated by his actual brother. "Down to Riverrun. The Lannisters had spread themselves over three islands and we fell on them hard!"
"How did you ride through the water?" Sam asked. He instantly looked self-conscious as the group's attention turned to him. "I mean, if they, I mean if they were you know? Separated… Over three," Sam's confidence died in awkwardness. Jon slapped him on the shoulder, and the son of Horn Hill took a deep breath, nodded to himself and continued. "How did you attack all three islands without boats?"
"They did the work for us," Robb replied kindly, not making an issue of Sam's nervousness and smiling reassuringly at him. Jon felt jealous. The smile Sam returned, one of returning and re-established confidence, used to be reserved for Jon and Jon alone. Robb had taken it from him.
Jon felt jealous.
"How so?"
The entire group of rangers and stewards who were sitting around a small fire on the peak of The Fist Of The First Men; captivated by Robb's story jumped in their seats. Lord Commander Mormont stood above them. A sincere look of interest on his face as he looked at Robb. A look of respect and deference. Jon again felt incredibly jealous. So much so he felt sick, and had to concentrate very hard on trying to look as if he was normal and enjoying the tales as much as anyone.
The beat of his horse's hooves became one with heart, he had never felt so amazing before. Never. It was better than sex and hunting and… And any pleasure he had known before; even combined.
Robb's arm was slick with blood. As was the neck and flank of his horse.
It was incredible.
He had killed, then killed, then killed and then killed once more. Four kills of armoured Lannister knights. Now he was winning. He was less than thirty seconds from the treeline. Then victory.
He almost resented the distance between him, his horse, and his heavy cavalry from the treeline as it held him back from the enemy.
As he burst through the treeline the Red Cloaked soldiers who were standing casually around fires and tents panicked.
As they rushed for their shields and spears he was on them. Cutting down, cocking his arm back and swiping low, slicing left and hammering right as the euphoria reached a rapture.
He killed, then killed, then killed, then killed, then killed, then… missed a downward strike but on the backswing killed again.
"Drive them to the river!" He bellowed. His heart beating like a hummingbird but each frantic thump was one of utter glee.
His men drove the Lannisters to the river and cut them down. The men on the third island were attacked by the Tully garrison who sullied forth during the chaos. The Lannister's on the second island, the middle island, attempted to cross the river to relieve the third island but the…
"...ir barges and rafts capsized," Robb finished. "It was the first time I'd killed someone," Robb added as there were several moments of silence as the audience took in what he said.
"What's it like?" Dolorous Edd asked in a small voice after many moments. Moments which passed slow as they were each packed with pregnant gravitas as those who heard the tale appreciated the first hand account of a major battle.
"It's hard going, real fuckin' hard going, when you stab a man, even through the chest, they don't die, they don't fall over and sleep forever, no, no, no fucking hell no," Robb explained. "They holler and moan and writhe and weep until the end comes after minutes maybe hours of misery. It isn't like when you play soldiers as a kid."
"I never played soldier as a kid," Grenn replied wistfully. "
"Me n'ither," Pyp added.
"My niece?" The Lord Commander asked.
"Caved a Lannister knight's chest in with a bearded axe!" Robb said cheerfully. The Lord Commander beamed at him and squeezed the decrowned King's shoulder. Jeor Mormont opened his mouth, surely to say something to Robb which would make Jon's jealousy more severe but he was stopped by the blast of the horn.
"I've been called many things in my life, but I think that's my first 'lord,' Qhorin," the legendary ranger laughed. "I'll take the lad. Come on Snow!" He waved Jon over. Accepting his offer. Jon had been terrified asking if he could leave with the Half-Hand, if he was refused he would feel rejected and unwanted. That would do little for his current mood. At last he wrestled some control back from his half-brother.
"You need anymore men?" The Lord Commander asked. "Lord Stark brought many retainers to bolster our numbers, so I can spare another one or two Qhorin."
"Excellent! Well Lord Stark then, do wish to come?"
"Of course," Robb strutted forward and shook the hand of the Half-Hand as the Lord Commander patted his back encouragingly.
Jon's feeling of sickness returned.