The Desire of a Crow
She was running when they first saw her. Her hair streamed behind her like a golden waterfall, her pale complexion was flushed from exertion, her blue eyes bright with terror. Her breath came and went in short panicked bursts. Branches had clawed at her clothes, tearing at her breeches and leather jerkin. Her hands and face were covered in blood and grime. The thick, well-worn boots she wore were covered with snow and forest mulch.
She tripped over a fallen log, became tangled in a gorse bush and began to scream and struggle. The barbs clawed at her skin. The three rangers atop their sturdy dark mounts were shocked at the sight. She was too slim, too delicate in figure to be a wildling, but what was she doing above the Wall? How did she get here? Only three of the original nineteen castles originally raised by the Night's Watch were still manned. The unused gates had all been blocked up hundreds of years ago.
That was when they noticed the lone, pale white figure, with abnormally blue eyes, moving silently towards the girl tangled in the barbs. The white walker moved through the trees, like a phantom, those dead eyes filled with bloodlust.
One of the men dug his heels into his garron, and drew his sword. The song created when steel scraped against steel filled the muffled silence of the snow covered forest. The three men, dressed from head to foot in black furs, headed towards the white figure in the trees, torches blazing, steel ringing in their ears, the snorting and thumping of their mounts adding to the music. One notched his bow with a black feathered arrow. The twang of the string as he released joined the chorus spreading through the trees. The arrow found its mark, driving hard and deep into the pale white flesh of the walker's chest, but the creature kept moving.
The leader of the three men reached it first, slashing at it with his sword. The walker blocked his swing with its rusted dirk, knocking the man off his mount. The sound of the wind leaving his body could be heard as he crashed to the ground. Blood spattered over the pale ground as his garrons head was cleaved off, its final cry of terror filling the night. The ranger scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword just as the creature turned on him, its blue eyes nearly causing him to soil his breeches. His companions reached the clearing. One swung his torch at the walker, causing it to cower from the flames. The first ranger, regaining a little composure, swung his sword at the creatures frozen neck. He felt his sword hit frozen sword, felt the scrape of steel on frozen bones as he sliced off the walkers head. The corpse crumpled, falling down into the snow. Black congealed blood oozed from the neck, the stale stench of frozen, half-rotted flesh filling their nostrils.
"Put it to the torch. Make sure every piece of that damned thing is turned to ash", said the ranger, wiping the dark blood of his sword using the tail of his cloak.
"Aye, Bjorn" the two men replied in unison.
Bjorn Rivers, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, once a bastard son of Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, turned to face the girl, who had detangled herself from the gorse, replacing his sword in the scabbard that hung from his hip. The only skin visible on his face was weathered, hard and speckled from old age. His salt and pepper beard covered his chin, mouth and cheeks, his dark hair, full of grey streaks, was tied at the nape of his neck.
"S'all right lass, we're of the Watch. We wouldn't 'urt yah. Come here," he said, removing his heavy dark cloak and offering it to the girl, "take this. You have a name, Lass?"
The girl, moving cautiously, her face covered in garrons blood and grime, grabbed the cloak and put it around herself.
"Juliette. My name is Juliette"
"I dislike your decision, Snow. A woman cannot join the Watch! She may be skilled with a bow, and I know you need more men, but that does not give you the excuse to allow her to join the ranks"
Stannis Baratheon stabbed his dagger into the ancient maps that lay splayed across the table in the centre of the room, a gloved hand covering the gold filigree inlaid on the handle. There was a dull thud as the point collided with the aged wood underneath.
The Lady Melisandre stood beside the hearth, watching the flames dance and lick at their stony surroundings, the light causing shattered beams of red light to emit from the ruby pendant around her neck.
Jon rounded on the king, his white dire wolf, Ghost, growling, malice seeming to fill his red eyes.
"I was not under the impression that you had command of the Watch milord. That duty lies me and I have made my decision. The men have taken their vows, they know the penalty"
"But do you?" retaliated the king. Melisandre looked up from the flames to watch the two men.
"What are you proposing, milord?" said Jon, perplexed by the kings words.
"I have seen the way you watch her in the yard. I may be a king but I am not a blind one. Even then, you could tell you are attracted to her" Stannis folded his arms across his chest, a cold look in his grey eyes, rimmed with crow's feet.
Jon turned to the door, pulling on his black fur lined gloves. Ghost trotted at his heels. Icy air blew into the room when he opened the door. Stepping out into the cold, Jon pulled up his hood, retrieved his sword, Longclaw, from the queens men guarding the entrance to the Kings Tower. He strode across the yard towards the long hall, where the men were supping until the Cook Tower could be remade. The smell of Three-Fingered Hobb's famous three-meat stew wafted from the building, making his stomach growl. He shoved open the snow dusted door, and there she was. Her hair was in a long braid down her back; her hands were covered in cuts and bruises. Her perfect face was lit up in the most beautiful smile.
No Jon, you mustn't think like that. Stannis is well aware. He made that clear. If you get caught you'll both be killed. What happened the other night was a mistake. Get over it. You can never be with her. You cannot change laws that have stood strong and undamaged for so long. You may have fallen for her, but you need to pick yourself up again. You cannot afford Stannis to wage war. He is giving you men. You need men, Jon. Not a lover. Men. Men. Men.
He shook Juliette from his mind and walked over to Bjorn Rivers, who was sitting by the fire, talking to Dolorous Ed and Bowen Marsh. They stopped their conversation and looked up at Jon when he stopped beside them.
"Bjorn, the watchers up on top have spotted unusual movements within the trees. I want you and a few men to find out what it is. Take some of the new brothers. See what they are like above the Wall. If you find nothing, return back by dusk. Otherwise, follow the trail until it runs dry or you find something. You have four days"
"Aye milord. Any suggestions on whom I am taking with me?" the First Ranger replied, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. Ed and Marsh stayed where they were, but did not resume their conversation.
"Walk with me and I will explain" he turned away from the fire, Rivers following him, and headed for the door again, avoiding Juliette's gaze. Jon felt as though a cold knife had been rammed in his heart, but it was the only way.
There has got to be another way. By the Gods, why did it have to come down to this? You could go with them. You were a turncloak before, you could be one again. Take Juliette and live like wildlings, you know the area well enough, and there is plentiful of the dragon glass blades that Sam found on the Fist of the First Men.
The idea that he and Juliette could elope, that he could have the only thing he desired in life, was so incredulously tempting. It physically killed him, knowing what he was going to do. He had to. He needed Stannis' men, desperately needed them. Attacks from the others were becoming more frequent.
Winter was coming.
