Serra
It seemed every member of the Nights Watch had wanted to crowd into the Lord Commander's chambers, curious about the First Ranger's supposed wildling sister. It was only after strenuous coaxing, cajoling, and finally threatening that the door finally closed on the assembled throng. Now the room's sole occupants were four humans and one big dog.
Benjen offered Serra a chair, but she declined, preferring to sit on the large fur in front of the hearth with Garick's large body wrapped around her knees, his big shaggy head in her lap. He sighed contentedly and she stroked his long dark fur as her bones warmed by the fire, momentarily forgetting the black clad men that surrounded her. Benjen cleared his throat and she shook away her reverie to look up at him. She smiled softly, amazed at the look of wonder in his eyes. She had known she would be returning to the family she had been born to, and while she had certainly been curious about them, she hadn't realized the depth of emotion seeing her own kin would bring. Her own eyes, her own face, looking out from another; it was more than she had expected. It was all she could do to keep those emotions carefully schooled and buried. Then, to see them reflected in her brother's eyes...it was almost too much.
She averted her gaze momentarily to compose herself, and then looked back at the man who was her brother. "I suppose you want answers." she said simply.
He pulled his chair closer, reached out as if to touch her and then pulled his hand away. It was as if he feared the contact would cause her to dissolve, as though he doubted her reality. "If it's not too much trouble." he finally said.
She looked up at the others in the room. There was a large man with the strong demeanor of a battle hardened warrior, who had introduced himself as Lord Commander Mormont. His eyes were wary, as though he wanted to believe her for the sake of his man, but at the same time searching for any sign that she played them false. She liked him right away. The other gave her no look at all, at least not with his white, unseeing eyes, but somehow she could feel him burrowing into her soul. Maester Aemon, he called himself. She knew from her studies that Maesters were wise and learned men, and he certainly had the look of one. She had learned about the chains they wore, how they were forged during their learning and each type of knowledge brought a different type of metal to the chain. Most Maesters, she knew, had tight chains around their neck, but Aemon's was loose, bespeaking many links, and a great deal of knowledge. He also had a kindly aspect to him, not unlike her dear father Bael. She nodded, feeling that she could speak freely in front of these men.
"Brother," she said finally, "Do you keep to the old gods?"
Benjen looked at her curiously, then inclined his head. "Of course sister." he answered. "All Starks do."
She nodded. "But do you believe, brother. Do you truly believe and listen? Do you simply pray at the Godswood, or do you listen for the answers? Our father did. He heard the voice of the gods, and he obeyed them. That's why he gave me over to the Free Folk." Benjen shook his head slowly and Serra knew he didn't understand. She sighed. "Let me explain."
And so she did. For the next hour she told the men assembled what she knew of the command her father had been given, of his secret mission to fulfill the will of the gods, of her upbringing among the Free Folk, and of what she knew of her destiny. There were things she omitted, of course, things they wouldn't believe, and things they didn't need to know, but for the most part she was honest and forthcoming and they listened without judgment, only interrupting her occasionally to ask questions. She ended her tail with her trip south to the wall, and the rest they knew. When she was done, all were quiet for a few long moments.
"That's quite a tale." Lord Commander Mormont said finally, when no one else spoke. "What do you make of it Aemon?"
The old Maester was silent a moment longer, his unseeing eyes open to the blackness around them. When finally he spoke his voice was almost a whisper. "What is it you Starks say, Benjen, winter is coming? Before I came to the wall I had very little use for gods, old or new. But having been here for so many years...I have seen things, heard things that other men have forgotten. Are the old gods real? Perhaps they are at that, and perhaps they did speak to your Lord Father. The Starks are correct, winter is coming, a winter such as we have not seen since ages past. I feel this to be true, and I believe the girl's tale."
Lord Mormont seemed to consider this a moment. "Then what should we do with her?" he asked.
"If she speaks truly then she must be sent on her way to Winterfell, as she was instructed" the old Maester replied.
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then she is but one girl, what harm can she do?" With that he stood, making his way toward the door. "I wish you good luck, child. I believe you have a hard road ahead of you, and I pray your old gods keep you safe."
"Thank you, Maester." Serra answered him. As he opened the door no one heard his final words. "Indeed, I pray they keep us all safe."
Serra spent several days on the wall, resting from her long journey and getting to know her brother. She found him to be pleasant, even funny, for all that he was a kneeler, and certainly brave and honorable. To her astonishment she found that she was proud to call him brother.
The men here were certainly not used to having a woman around, a fact that she knew made the Lord Commander and her brother quite nervous at first. But when they discovered she was quite capable of shutting down the leers and bawdy talk of the men around her, they seemed to relax.
Her weapons had been taken from her when she first arrived, but on the third day the Lord Commander decided she could be trusted enough to have them back. Benjen approached her as she was leaving the quarters she had been given for the duration of her stay. "The Lord Commander says I may give you back your weapons." he told her.
She laughed. "Not expecting me to gut him in his sleep anymore, eh?" She gratefully took her sword belt and strapped it around her waist, feeling fully clothed for the first time in days.
Benjen laughed as well. "I'm not sure if you could manage it with that terrible sword." he answered her. She narrowed her eyes and unsheathed the sword quick as a flash, pressing the blade against her brother's throat. "I've killed many a man with this blade, brother. It may not be Valeryan steel, but in the right hands its no less deadly." With that she pulled the sword away and re sheathed it.
"Care to put that to the test?" he asked her, eyes glinting with mirth. Clearly, he had not been cowed by her show of aggression. How could it be he was getting to know her so well already? She wasn't sure if she was pleased by that or annoyed.
"What have you in mind, brother?"
"Come with me to the training ground, let's see if you can take a ranger of the Night's Watch." he said smirking. Then he turned toward the training ground, where already there were young men slashing at each other with blunted swords.
"Clear these men out, Ser Alistair, my sister and I wish to spar." Benjen shouted.
Ser Alistair Thorne pushed his way through the newest recruits and spat on the ground at Serra's feet. She had already met the man, and already wanted to bury her blade in his smug face. She had known men like this before, and she had killed them. For her brother's sake she suffered the pig, though for the life of her she didn't understand why the Lord Commander allowed him to train his new recruits.
"Sparring with your sister, eh Lord Stark? "said the odious master at arms. "Have you gone soft, now, that you have to resort to training with women?"
Benjen made to speak, but Serra stepped in front of him, inches away from Ser Alistair's face. "Perhaps I'd rather spar with you." she said, teeth bared in a quiet growl.
Ser Alistair laughed. "She certainly has the look of a direwolf, Stark." he grunted. "But I'll not fight with a wench. I wouldn't want to hurt such a pretty thing." His eyes cast down and back up, leering over her body as though she had no clothes on.
Serra's hand clenched at the hilt of her sword, knuckles turning white. Give me a reason. Please, give me a reason to cut you down. Then she turned back to Benjen who appeared ready to jump between them at any moment. "I told you that one was craven." she told him, though in truth she had said no such thing. "He only fights with green boys and old men, he's too afraid to face a true wildling."
"Craven?" Ser Alistair shouted. "I'll show you craven!" She heard his sword come loose of its sheath, and loosed her own weapon. Without turning back to face him she blocked the attack that she knew was coming behind her back. Pivoting, she jumped out of the way of another blow, using his forward momentum to throw him off balance. As much as she wanted to kill him, and as easy as it would be, she resigned herself to playing with the fool. Using the flat of her blade she struck him in the back of the head while he fought to regain his footing. He wobbled dazedly while the recruits cheered. She noted with a smile that it was her name they were chanting.
She circled him as a hawk circles its prey, allowing him to get his senses back. She was toying with him, and she could tell he knew it. His face clenched in rage as he raised his long sword and came at her with another brutal attack. Again she side stepped him easily, parrying the blow and bringing the flat of her blade to his kneecap. He stumbled, bellowing in pain, but kept his feet. Not quite as useless as I thought. She stepped back again, awaiting his next move. He flourished his sword, no doubt planning and attempting to find a weakness. It was no use, for she had already found his: pride. Finally, he lunged again. At the last minute he ducked below her sword arm and brought his blade upwards, a grim smile on his face. That's cute, he thinks he has me.
At the last second, Serra jumped, leaping over his sword and turning so that she landed behind him. As he stood in confusion she grabbed his mop of sandy hair and yanked, putting her sword edge to his throat. Suddenly the cheers of the men went quiet, and stillness settled over the keep. From the corner of her eye she saw the Lord Commander standing just outside his quarters, watching the scene curiously.
Serra badly wanted to draw the sword across his neck, to feel his lifeblood spill upon her blade and her hands, but she restrained herself. "Do you yield, you craven pile of mammoth dung?" she whispered in his ear. He growled, and she pulled the blade tighter against his flesh. She smelled the familiar tang of copper as tiny droplets of blood sprang along the edge of her sword.
"I yield!" he finally shouted, and she dropped her blade to her side. The yard erupted in cheers, not just from the recruits but from all of the crows who had stopped to watch the action unfold. Several of the younger men ran and lifted her up, carrying her over their shoulders chanting "Serra! Serra!" Then Garick joined in the chant "Woof! Woof" he called. She laughed and held her sword aloft, eliciting another round of cheers. She watched Ser Alistair throw his sword in the dirt and stomp away, and laughed even harder.
At last the men set her down in front of the dining hall, and Lord Commander Mormont approached her. "I hope you're happy." he said with a slight smile. "These men have lost all respect for Ser Alistair."
Serra laughed, putting her arm through the Lord Commander's and led him toward the hall. "Did you hear who they were cheering for? He never had their respect in the first place. Come, have a drink with me."
The Lord Commander shook his head and sighed. Then he placed his had over hers and escorted her into the hall as though she were a grand lady. As they sat at the table, Benjen pushing his way to sit at her other side, Mormont leaned in to whisper "Well fought, by the way."
The days went by quickly after that. Alistair Thorne kept to his chambers and Serra found herself sparring with recruits and blooded brothers alike. She bested them all, even Benjen, but didn't humiliate them the way she had Thorne. She gave them instruction where she could, and was proud to see improvement in most of them.
In the evenings she ate and drank with the men, getting to know them and enjoying their company. No longer did they leer at her as some had done in the first days, but treated her with the same respect they showed their brothers. It was a pleasant time, but she knew it couldn't last. At sunrise on the eighth day she knocked gently on the Old Bear's door.
"I must leave on the morrow." she said simply.
"I knew it would be soon." the Lord Commander said. "The Wall is no place for a woman; still, I hate to see you go. You're as fierce a warrior as any here, you would be an asset to the black."
Serra smiled. "You've shown me a kindness I didn't expect to find here, my lord." she told him. "I almost hate to leave."
The Old Bear pulled her in for a hug, surprising even himself. "If I had had a daughter, I pray she would have been like you." he said, kissing her temple. He made to let her go, but she pulled him in tighter. "I fear I will not see you again." she whispered. "Let me hold on to this moment." He held her tightly then, and when they finally parted they both had tears in their eyes. Without another word she turned away. Will my life be full of partings?
The rest of the day was spent making preparations for her departure. Mormont had given Benjen leave to accompany her to Winterfell, and a raven was sent let them know he would be coming, though no mention was made of Serra. A garron was loaded with supplies for the journey, and she had been loaned a fine bay courser. "I wish I could make a gift of it." the Old Bear had told her, "But we have too few horses as it is."
The next morning she and Benjen rose before dawn to set out on their journey. Even so, a large company of brothers came to see them off, and to wish her well. She felt a swelling of sadness in her chest, knowing that many of them would die before she saw the wall again. She waved a solemn goodbye, and spurred the courser on down the Kingsroad toward Winterfell, and her destiny.