"L-Lord Commander."
The voice wavered softly, timidly, nothing like a man's voice should. A soft tap of fingers against the stone walls of the tower, begging for instant action and attention. Jon Snow gave a short sigh and looked up from the letters only to find young Satin, his Steward, standing in the doorway, dark eyes apprehensive and his teeth sunk in his bottom lip. Blood stained his gloveless hands, a crimson smear coloured his bearded cheek. Jon took more attention to the ruckus from the snow laden grounds below, noises that he often tried to faze out as he took to his duties as Lord Commander, looking through the books and answering the ravens. Jon sighed again, clasping a hand over his eyes and shook his head, "Is it Val?"
"She's injured one of the brothers, m'lord."
As Jon rose from his seat, the ears of the large direwolf in the corner pricked gently and without a sound, Ghost stood from his rug and followed after his master. He took his cloak from the hanging on the wall and threw it over his shoulders before clasping his sword belt around his waist. "Clydas says he'll live m'lord." Satin spoke quickly, hurrying after Jon as he took to a stride down the stairway, boots loud against the stone floors. "He snuck into the princess' quarters while she bathed. She sliced his thigh good enough, and there'll be no more sneaking in for him."
The snow of the yard held a bloody smear where the men must have dragged their brother, somewhat haphazardly to the maester's quarters. A large group of them, the new recruits stood disgruntledly in the middle of the grounds, dressed in their training garbs and yelling between themselves. It was not the first time a man of the watch had tried to force themselves upon Val, sneak into her quarters and have their way with her, and it certainly was not the first time she'd injured one of them. The men refused to understand the wildling way, and every time she'd almost brought one of the brothers to death there was an uproar amongst them.
"Make sure they get back to training, Satin. I shall speak to Val."
His steward nodded and hurried off in the other direction, leaving Jon to himself with Ghost padding closely at his heels. The wildling women occupying Hardin's Tower paid him little attention, tending to themselves and forever on the lookout for a sneaking wotcher crow. They knew Jon was not the type of man to bother them, he had been one of them, lived with them, understood their ways. The walk up to Val's solar seemed longer than usual. It did not sit well in his stomach. Women of the free folk breathed independence and ferociousness. They weren't like women south of the wall. And Val was a spearwife, in every sense of the word. Was she wrong to defend herself from a man who had intent to harm her? Jon knew she wasn't, but he was the 998th Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, he had to at least make it seem as though he'd reprimanded her for injuring one of his men.
He gave a quiet knock to the large door, it took a few moments before one of the young spearwives from the floors below opened, peering at him angrily for the moment before she recognised him in the low light of the hallway. "Jon Snow." She greeted quietly, before turning back into the room and leaving the door open for him to enter. When he did, he found Val sitting in a chair by the large, roaring fireplace, wrapped in furs and her honey golden braided over her shoulder. She looked over to him, her grey eyes were dull and tired, almost defeated but he refused to let himself believe that. Val looked to the young wildling woman, kneeling in front of her, tending to her marred face, and gave a small smile, "I'll be okay with Lord Snow, Ara. Eat and take some rest."
Ara nodded and rose from the floor, dark hair flowing behind her in strings of messy braids. She gave Jon a smile before ducking out the door. Ghost crossed the room to Val who held her arm out of the furs, and the white direwolf nuzzled his head into her fingers before curling himself in front of the fire, giving a soundless sigh. Jon followed his wolf's lead, removed his cloak and sat himself in the chair to Val's right. She said nothing, simply watched the fire in front of them. His eyes gazed at her stoic face, but still lovely nonetheless. It was when he noticed the abrasions on her skin, a cut along her cheek and another down her neck and if Val's demeanour wasn't enough of an indicator, those certainly were. It was not any normal attack.
"Satin's informed me that the man will live."
"He may live, but he'll never go near a woman again." Val replied, the fire was burning in her eyes, "I made certain of that."
Jon gave a quiet sigh and shook his head, when he looked back to her she was positively glaring at him. If she wasn't surrounded by so many furs and throws, Jon would have been worried he was next. "Val," He began, in the most stern voice he could muster without faltering- it was hard however to do so under the wilding girl's strong and fierce gaze. "You cannot do this. You cannot injure any more of my men."
"Was I wrong?" She gave a gentle scoff, though it was more of a laugh and shook her head, "Should I have let him rape me? Is that the kneeler way, Lord Snow? Should I have let him climb into my tub and let him touch and pretend to enjoy it?"
"You did not have to injure him so-"
"He snuck in here and put a knife to my neck while I bathed. He cut my skin and my hands when I grabbed the blade. And he sliced my cheek and I gathered my strength and tore the blade away from him. I hit him in the head with the hilt and sliced his leg open, among other things." She pushed her hands through the furs and held them out for him. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent, marred with bloody cuts that were wrapped in bandages. He extended a hand and took her fingers, giving a small sigh. "What if I was one of your sisters? Would you want me to defend myself or just let a man take me?"
When he said nothing, she continued, "I've had my fair share of 'wildling' men trying to steal me away into the night. But these- kneelers- your 'brothers'- they make me feel sick. They don't understand-"
"Do you truly expect them to understand, Val? They weren't born your side of the Wall, they think your way of living is as primitive as you think mine." He let her hands fall to her lap, and gave another sigh, more agitated than the last and pushed a hand through his dark hair. The wilding woman wrapped herself back in her furs and stared once more into the fire. Despite the heat, she was all ice. Cold and beautiful. Jon fell back in his seat, frown sinking deep into his forehead.
"I could have killed him and you would be down a man," Her voice was as strong and unwavering as it had ever been, her face expressionless and lit with licks from the flame, "Next time it happens, I will. I do not care if it is one of your stupid brothers, or one of the moustached queen's men or even Stannis Baratheon himself. I will slit their throats so deep it brings them to the brink of death and throw them from my window so they die mangled and bloody." It seemed wrong to hear such vicious words slip from the mouth of a woman so lovely. Words so full of malice and animosity. And Jon knew it unwise to disregard them.
She looked to him again, her face softened and she shook her head, "Sometimes I fear you are the only kind man south of the wall." Her grey eyes were troubled, that was plain to see, and she seemed so young- it was a side to Val that Jon had seldom seen before. "The only man south of the wall I wouldn't castrate."
Jon's cheeks burnt red, memories of that one night often ran through his mind. Tangled with his thoughts as he attempted to perform the duties required of him. On his umpteenth mug of sweet wine, sitting in the warmth of Val's chambers, she brought a laughter from him that had been lost since the death of his fire kissed Ygritte. He was overcome with memories of Winterfell, of Arya's sweet smile, of finding Ghost as a pup, the walks his late father took him on- just the two of them, where they could be father and son out of the watchful eye of Lady Stark. And Val, she'd looked so lovely, and her hair was honey cascading over her shoulders, he rarely heard her laughter, but that seemed to be all that came from her blushed lips. He was well and truly in his cups, and she seemed to have been too, and Jon could not remember the last time he'd felt so warm.
Her long body was draped across her bed, she'd been laughing so much her hands were clasping at the sides of her belly. He'd taken her wine, to stop a red stain marking her furs, but before he knew it both cups were empty and he was feeling lightheaded and fighting the urge to lie down next to her. His grin was wide, and his laughter seemed foreign. He'd been telling her a story of his childhood, but that was quickly forgotten when she was suddenly closer, and she had a hand on his knee. He didn't know how to take it- It had been so long since Ygritte, but there was no fire in Val's stare, she was happy and drunk- but the memories of his vows were ebbing away quicker than ever, and Jon had kissed her anyway.
He blushed again at the memory alone, wringing his hands together somewhat nervously. Ghost stood then, and walked back to Val, sitting at her feet and left his head to rest upon her knee- a welcome distraction. Val looked away from Jon, and to the albino direwolf, lacing her fingers with his white fur.Like she had with Jon's tangle of dark hair that night. "I'll warn my men not to come near you again." He coughed, standing up and placing his arms behind his back, "You've made a sufficient example of what you'll do to them should they come near. I am sure they'll not bother you anymore."
She nodded, halting her strokes of the wolf and looked to him again, "Thank you, Jon."
Val gave a warm smile, he had to hold himself back from kissing her, the aftermath of the last kiss had been more than enough. The sleeves of her dress had bundled around her shoulders, baggy at her wrists as she helped him with the laced ties. Her breasts swelled in her silken small clothes, and he could feel himself swelling too. She'd been smiling and laughing in his lap, with the skirt of her dress all around him and his tunic was discarded at the foot of her bed when he remembered that it was not right. He'd eased her down gently, he'd grabbed her hips and no matter how lovely they felt in his hands he moved her from his lap and slipped his tunic on without another word.
She'd been irate. Ready to either slit his throat or castrate him. And she'd simply told him to leave, to leave her alone, to never return to her chambers again. Duty and honour, she'd spat as left her. The words hadn't ceased running through his mind. He'd been offered her once before, his father's name and seat, offered to one day hold a child of his own, to reunite the North and remaining children of the Stark family. Looking at Val, he could see it all, why hadn't he said yes? Why hadn't he stolen Val on the back of his horse when he had the chance? What was the title of Lord Commander to that of Warden of The North and a family of his own?
Jon's steps were quiet, and the tension unquestionable. He stopped behind her and gave a sigh before he curled a hand around her small shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, gentle, soft. Her hair smelt of the sweet honey it so closely resembled. Val's weakened fingers grazed the back of his hand, and Jon thought, despite the night he'd almost taken her, it was one of the most intimate touches they'd shared. He cleared his throat some as he stood straight and looked to the direwolf at her feet.
"Come Ghost."
Ear's pricked, and Ghost strode beside him across the chambers. Val's furs ruffled quietly as she wrapped them around herself, and she watched her friend as he pulled open the door. Jon looked back to her, grey Stark eyes in hard thought, and his chest fell with a sigh.
Maybe one day he'd have her