JON
"They've been fightin' all day."
It was said with such annoyance mixed in with the slightest bit of relief. Jon was well aware that Grenn had no real problem with this spar, he just had to pretend to be for Ser Alliser. Jon hadn't cared though. Why would he? He was actually faced with a challenge for once since he first began practice. It was only unexpected because it was Aza that was his opponent since Thorne only held practice for the recruits in their respective groups. It was by some off chance that they saw Aza carrying a barrel towards a stack. Just the sight of the Summer Islander made Ser Alliser call him over to practice for reasons quite unknown to Jon. For one, they were both the best fighters of their groups, but Jon had no doubt in his mind that Ser Alliser was trying to get a kick out of making them beat a number of hells out of each other.
Aza was nothing like anyone in his group or anyone he ever fought to be exact. He was a mercenary, his swordplay was what kept him alive for protection and putting food on the table. Jon could freshly remember the stories they both shared in the common hall about their sword training. He talked about Ser Rodrik Cassel and Aza talked about Hadrian Rivia, his former leader and mentor. Hadrian Rivia had been a Dornish man with an unpredictable style that Aza admired and shaped into his own swordplay.
His blood began to beat an erratic tattoo in the tips of his fingers, and his nerves were constricting his throat. Aza swayed and spun, so unpredictably that it made him woozy as the finesse of it all was so foreign. It was already so strange to fight someone who used their left hand instead of their right. Aza told him it was called the "power hand' or at least that's what he had been told. Jon always thought the right one was strongest, but with the way Aza could make the steel whip around and clash against his, he couldn't call him a liar.
Aza stalled Jon's strike, but it hadn't deterred him from pressing on. Jon's sword was practically shivering upon the weight he put on it, which made Aza grin instead of growing frustrated. His temperament was better with a sword in his hands than he was without one. Strange, really, Jon would've thought it'd be the opposite.
"Is that all you got, Snow?" Aza had managed to match his strength, getting the dull blade nearly pressed to his face.
The taunt made him smile, but it didn't make him stupid. "Only if that's all you can throw."
"What you two gonna do? Kiss?" Ser Alliser commented as Jon's own cold, rough steel was nearly pressed to his face with Aza's coming much closer. "Make Lord Snow yield and let us be done with it. We don't have the time nor the care for your childish games. I told you to fight, not to play like a bunch of mangy boys." Jon nor Aza were Thorne's favorite, but it was obvious who he loathed more.
"Hey," Aza whispered, eyes suddenly paying attention to something over his shoulder. "What's that over there?" Curious, Jon slowly moved his head to look over his shoulder, just to feel a hard kick to his side that knocked the wind out of him and brought him down to one knee. "How you let yourself fall for the oldest trick in the book? Idiot."
"That was a cheap shot!" he shouted, laughing as he held his throbbing side just to wince seconds later. A hand stretched out before him for him to take, his eyes glanced at it with the briefest of observations of how small it was compared to most men. Without second thoughts, he took the proffered hand and hop himself back on his feet from the mighty pull of Aza's grip.
"You think these Wildlings are gonna be fair, Jon Snow?" Aza lowered his sword, signaling that the spar was over. "Think they're gonna yield to you when they're beaten or disarmed?" Aza eyes glanced at the group, who were watching them with mixed reactions, before looking back at him with a slight cant of his head. "You wanna be a ranger so bad, yeah? Then you better start thinkin' like one and let that code of honor of yours get a lil' loose from here on out." For the first time, Jon thought he caught a look of approval come across Ser Alliser's face. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, almost making Jon believe he might've imagined it.
It wasn't like Aza didn't tell him a point, a very valid one at that. Wildlings and yielding? All his life he heard of them to be savages, but that didn't mean they ( the Night's Watch ) had to echo them. Jon believed in honor. Honor was everything important to the Starks. He wasn't a Stark though, at least not by name, but he was by blood and that mattered enough. That mattered enough to live his life as honorably as his father did.
One of the recruits came running down the steps and into the courtyard, most of them watching as he made his way to Thorne. Whatever they spoke about was done in low voices, making both the group curious as Ser Alliser looked them all over. "Keep on practicing," he demanded, "I'll be back to train you misfits."
Jon and Aza glanced at one another, their curiosities written all over their faces. "I didn't know anyone was scoutin'." Aza finally broke the silence, pressing the blunt sword's tip into the ground for him to lean on. Jon remembered when he first did that and got scolded for it, but Ser Alliser freshly left them and he doubted that the former mercenary would care if the Master-At-Arms would be infuriated about that or not.
"I didn't either." Yoren had left yesterday to King's Landing with Tyrion Lannister going with him. He remembered because Tyrion had promised Aza to tell a few of his friends that he was still very much alive. There was no way Yoren was back already, so who else? He decided not to think too much on it. They'll know soon anyway. "Another round?" he suggested, his pride still unfree of its wound. He also didn't like the fact that Aza had won over such a unsavory trick.
"No." Frowning, he watched Aza yank the sword from out of the ground and casually place the flat side of the blade against his shoulder. "You told Grenn and Pyp that you were going to help them, yeah?" It was one of the ways Jon said he was going to try and redeem himself. Aza had been all for it when they discussed it in the common hall just the other day. Giving a slow and reluctant nod, he watched the Summer Islander give him a lazy salute before turning his heels to head his way towards the armory.
"Wouldn't it been better if the both of you give us lessons?" Pyp suggested, saying it loud enough since Aza was still within earshot.
"The fuck I look like?" Aza stopped in his tracks and looked at Pypar from over his shoulder. "Jon Snow has more patience than I do and I enjoy beating the shit out of people, 'specially you, Monkey. Think I forgot how you stole my bread? Would you rather I get my vengeance and break your skinny, lil' legs or would you rather my pretty friend give you some pointers?"
Snorting, Jon watched Pyp's look of hope turn into one of fear. He quickly shook his head and then turned away, showing what his answer had been.
AZA
"Your Valyrian surprises me. Tell me, child, who was it that taught you?"
It was not the first time she heard that and Aza doubted it would be the last. Normally she would take offense to such words, but Maester Aemon was a kind man. He offered words of wisdom whenever he could whether you asked for it or not. He did it because he thought you needed them because he genuinely wanted to help. She ultimately knew better than to take his words as a slight. In fact, she actually found herself smiling and was more than happy that he couldn't see it. It was such a childish display on her part, at least she thought so. "Most Summer Islanders are taught Valyrian when they are small," she explained for what felt like the thousandth time to the thousandth person. "I learned most of it from my mother and my uncle."
"Oh?" Genuinely surprised, the old man turned to face her since his eyes could not.
"Dragonlords once looked to the Summer Isles for slaves. The princes of the Summer Isles were more than willing to give them their own people for a price." The knife in her hand sunk down to cut the raw slab of meat. After practice, you had to work and her work was to help Maester Aemon for the day. "There are no more Dragonlords, but slavers still remain." She used the flat side of the knife to slide the meat slices aside once they began to pile. While she worked without effort, Aza was really trying her best not to let her emotions get the best of her as she spoke. "A potential slave ought to know the language."
Knowing that silence would let her mind wander to depths she didn't wish to remember, she kept up the sound of the knife to the board. She wanted a distraction for she regretted in allowing herself being so open at that moment. Without thinking, she feared she gave a reason for Aemon to wonder. To ask.
"I take it slavery has affected you as well," he said to her just as she feared. Aza knew there was no way she could brush it off without being rude.
"It has," she told him, her head imploring her voice to be even toned.
"Does being near me make you uncomfortable, child? I imagine it would." Puzzled, Aza hovered the knife over the next portion of meat she was about to cut.
Looking at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw him stalling himself from finishing his task at the table. He was fooling around with herbs for what she assumed was used for medicine. How could he differentiate one leaf from another while being blind made her curious, but not enough to ask. "Why would I feel uncomfortable, Maester?"
"You cannot tell when you look at me?" If there was one thing Aza hated, it was being confused. Old people had a habit of being vague or talking in riddles, acting as if they wanted you to think and figure it out on your own. Why not just be upfront? Why not just make it easy for someone who didn't understand? "Has my age made me that unrecognizable?"
"Just spit it out, old man." Annoyed, she sighed and looked away from him. "I don't have the patience to think of what you mean."
Why he chuckled was unknown to her and she wondered if she should think it was because he thought her stupid. Why else? Old people always thought their youngers were stupid and that they knew everything because of the many years they lived. The man was older than most elderly she came across, he probably did know more than she ever could, but he didn't know everything. Only the gods were supposed to know everything and Aza had reason to believe that wasn't always true.
"Such a brazen child you are. I've met so many like you." Her brows began to knit together and twitch, showing her obvious frustration. He was basically implying that she wasn't special. He met hundreds like her and he'll meet another hundred more if time allowed it. "That rage inside will get you killed… If you let it." Before she could warn him to stop trying to tell her about herself, his next words quieted her down. "My eyes must've lost their purple once I went blind. That's what happens when you're old, you lose things."
"You have Valyrian blood?" Her grip on the knife became like a vice. Her anger had it trembling within her grasp. "Dragonlord blood."
"Targaryen to be exact." He knew she held a knife in her hand. He knew she could very well let her anger and prejudice towards Dragonlords get the best of her, but he told her anyway. "Does that bother you, child?"
It should. It very well should have bothered her, but Aemon was not the Dragonlords that thrived on slavery. He did not steal her ancestors or the people that were taken from the Isles today. He was not the reason why—
"No," she spoke softly, much more softly than she had even realized. "You're you," Aza found herself saying, "not them."
She hadn't caught him smile, having already looked away and kept her eyes trained back at the task before her. Aza let the knife glide and slice down at the meat, the repetition and her focus having calming her cloudy ire.
"Within you lies a good heart," Aemon said. "I hope you intend to keep it."
"That's enough out of you, old man," Aza playfully threatened, her face heated from the unnecessary compliment as she thought it to be. "Mercenaries don't have good hearts. If they did then they wouldn't be mercenaries."
"You are a mercenary no longer," he insisted, telling her what she already knew but chose to ignore. "You must let that part of your past go."
"You must let that part of your past go." His words echoed in her head, bringing a numbing sort of pain that was thin and the length of a needle that's only purpose was to pierce her. It wasn't fair that she had to keep letting things go. Just when she finally learned to love a part of her life that she fought so hard for, she had to let it go. Just when she on the verge of loving who she was becoming, she had to let pieces she attached to the unshaped identity go. Her eyes stung with hot, angry tears but she did well enough to not let them take form enough to fall. In fact, she blinked them away and swallowed her words and hurried to finish her task before the ravens squawk for hours on end due to their hunger.
Once finished, she began placing the chopped meat into a bucket, remaining quiet since her feelings were all over the place. Whenever she found herself in those moods, she either lashed out or kept pulling herself in. She wasn't Jon Snow. She didn't brood and she didn't pout. Just thinking of her friend, who could very much be a very pouty and petulant boy, made her lips tremble as she had to swallow her laughter. Sometimes when she needed herself a pick-me-up, she thought of arbitrary things; Pyp's flailing his arms in her headlock, Grenn laughing and then running when she told him that he was next, Rowan's stupid stories, and Jon Snow's broody faces.
"I will feed the ravens." Aemon's voice practically rattled her out of her thoughts, making her blink and stand there rather dumbfounded. "You are free of me today, Aza. Dähna hun."
"That was…" Arching her eyebrow, she canted her head and smiled without putting too much thought into. "…Actually pretty good, Maester."
"I have been practicing." He sounded genuinely pleased with himself and Aza couldn't stop herself from chuckling.
Using the washing basin to rid her hands of the smell and blood of raw meat, she rinsed and rinsed until she felt satisfied and her hands didn't feel slimy. As she left the Rookery, she knew it was time for supper in the common hall. She felt more tired than hungry, like she worked herself a lot throughout the day more than usual.
"Aza." Pausing her stride, she looked over to see Jon Snow, who seemed troubled by something. It shouldn't have came as a surprise. The boy was always troubled.
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in the hall eatin' sup'?" His eyes looked away from her and then at the doors of the common hall, almost like he was unsure. He then gave a slight nod before walking alongside her and opening the doors, letting them in and taking a seat with Grenn and Pyp, who were already stuffing their faces.
"Where have you two been?" Grenn spoke up, eyes finally away from his bowl and up at them.
Aza shrugged her shoulders, pinching the rim of a bowl at the end of the table and pulling it towards her. "I had duties with the Maester."
"I was on Watch duty…" Jon said, his eyes looking at her to pass him a bowl. She glanced at him, nearly on the edge to tell him to get up and get it himself but sighed and passed him her bowl. "With Sam." He finished his answer, mouthing a thanks to which she rolled her eyes to.
Pyp rose his brows, his usual smile on his face as he spoke. "Prince Porkchop. Where is he?"
Aza hadn't met this Sam yet, but he seemed to have laid quite an impression on people. The name Porkchop for one and by the look on Jon's face, he hadn't been too pleased by the nickname. He didn't even like his own, but Lord Snow was better than Porkchop. Seven hells, Yearling was better than Porkchop. "He wasn't hungry."
"Impossible!" Pyp shouted. From what she could gather, this Sam must've been a big fellow. Then again, everyone was bigger than Pyp ( except for Maester Aemon, but he's old and has an excuse ). He was all skin and bones, hardly had a bit of muscle or meat on his body. She could snap him easily despite being much shorter. Her body was cultivated for killing, even though with her size and build, she was best much more for swiftness and small places but her fist were nothing like feathers. Her arms and legs were toned enough to show she did not punch or kick lightly unless she wanted to.
"That's enough. Sam's no different from the rest of us. There was no place for him in the world, so he's come here." Aza wasn't sure if her preaching was rubbing off on him or this Sam person was just that spectacular to get Jon so worked up. She looked down at her food, all grey and reminding her of some sort of gruel with strange meat. 'What the fuck was Hobb thinking when he made this?' Considering she usually ate anything, even a bowl of brown, she didn't find this worth the risk. Aza slowly pushed the bowl back to the end of the table and took a piece of bread, settling on that for the evening. "We're not going to hurt him in the training yard anymore. Never again, no matter what Thorne says. He's our brother now and we're going to protect him."
His words touched her, just a little. More than she was willing to admit. Before she could tease him for being so sweet on this Sam, Rast interrupted her. "You are in love, Lord Snow. You girls can do as you please, but if Thorne puts me up against Lady Piggy, I'm gonna slice me off a side of bacon."
Raising a brow, Aza inspected Jon's reaction, to see a very much vexed look come across his face. He was plotting something and she was curious to know what it was.
"Rast, you're not so thin yourself," she quickly countered for Jon, mouth full of a bread piece. "If you can make bacon out of Sam then I can make me some pigeon pie out of you."
Grenn and Pyp's snickers made Rast's face red with anger, glaring daggers straight at her as she performed a toothy grin. Rast was nobody's favorite. He enjoyed being mean just for the sake of it. There was something about him that always made Aza keep an eye on him, but she was never sure what it was. Call it mercenary instincts that allowed her to be able to tell that you shouldn't keep your back towards him for very long. "You can't protect Sam forever, Jon. He's gonna need to thicken his skin to survive here." Aza said with a mouth full of food.
"He's thick enough," Grenn mumbled, making Pyp nearly spit out his food as he was brought to a raucous laugh. In unison, both Jon and Aza narrowed their eyes to give them both a glare of two vastly different degrees; Jon's was cold and hard while hers was hot and unrelenting. Pyp and Grenn straightened up and looked down, quiet now. Actually, they were quiet as Grenn and Pyp could ever be in any given situation.
"I know." Jon Snow sighed, finally tearing his eyes away from his friends. His spoon was hovering over the gruel as he stared at it in such a distrait manner. "I tried to tell him that but… he's just not cut out for it. I have to protect him. Nobody else will."
For fuck's sake… Do I have to take another child under my protection? They're supposed to be older than me… Aza thought, mentally exhausted already. Her body was already itching to lay down and have a good night's sleep. She was glad she didn't have watch duty tonight or else she'd probably fling herself over the Wall just to escape all of this.
With the way Jon was speaking and how Grenn and Pyp seemed so moved by his words, she knew how this was going to go. Aza knew firsthand that this Sam was going to be another idiot under her wing for her to watch over. First Rowan then Grenn and Pyp then Jon Snow and now this Sam. This Sam she never even met. Just a litter of stupid, teenage boys. But they were hers. They were her stupid, teenage boys now.
"What are we going to do about Rast?" Keeping her voice low, Jon slowly smiled at her suggestion, making her want to gag and roll her eyes to keep up her tough façade. Aza hated to be perceived as nice, she hated when Jon Snow looked at her as a good person. She wasn't a good person. She was a hired killer, a former one, but a hired killer nonetheless. Hired killers weren't nice and they definitely weren't good.
"We're going to convince him. Really convince him." Aza slowly began to frown, brows scrunched together.
"Is this going to have anythin' to do with Ghost?" she whispered, praying she was wrong.
"Who can say no to Ghost?" Jon had such a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Grenn raise curious brow as Aza could feel her unease rising. She hadn't like being around the wolf, no matter how friendly or aloof it was. She was always scared that one day it might want to bite her for just any reasons its canine mind could conjure up. Now she would have to team up with it just get Rast off of Sam's ass and she began to wonder just what did she do to deserve such an uneasy life.
JON
"Back off, mongrel." He could hear Aza say and Ghost whimpering because of it. The funny thing was, was that Aza was using him as a shield while pretending he wasn't. He wasn't sure why Aza couldn't admit his obvious fear of the direwolf, but what man likes to admit their fear of anything, even more so around friends or foes? "Jon Snow, if you don't get your beast away from me—I have nothing you want!"
"Quiet down, Aza." Jon had stressed, his eyes looking around to show the severity of the situation. They couldn't let anyone, especially the senior brothers, know what they were up to. "Ghost is just curious of you is all. He isn't going to bite."
"You say that…" Since the Summer Islander was too short to peer over his shoulder, he had to keep an watchful eye from Jon's side. "You say that now and then he bites me and I die."
"He isn't going to bite you and you aren't going to die." He found himself sighing, knowing that Aza wasn't going to believe him either way. It was a headache really, trying to figure Aza out. One moment, Jon could swear Aza was leagues older with his wisdom and experience, but now? He could most definitely tell that Aza was sixteen, barely a man grown.
It was still hard not to laugh though. His eyes kept watching as Aza would point, threaten, and then tremble at Ghost all at once. It was probably the funniest thing he had ever seen. Just to see someone who acts so tough and brave, practically fearless, was actually shaking in their leather boots at the sight of a wolf. Ghost was a pup no longer, but he was domesticated around the Watch like a regular dog.
When he figured that Aza could control his outbursts and they could move forward with the plan, they quietly headed their way to the Flint Barracks. Grenn and Pypar should already be there by now, waiting for them. This was all happening after they carefully watched Rast announce and head himself to bed after supper in the common hall. Pypar had done the spying, following Rast around until they were sure he was truly heading for bed.
Surprised by the sudden silence, his head swiveled to face Aza, who kept eyeing Ghost from the corner of his eyes. "He's not going to bite you." Jon insisted, mainly because it was easy to rile Aza and because he genuinely knew Ghost wouldn't harm him.
"Shut up and keep movin', will you?" Trying his best not to laugh, he said nothing and looked away from him before he wouldn't be able to contain himself. "I swear, you Westerosi bunch are somethin' else."
"What about the Summer Islanders?" Jon queried. "I'm sure your people have their faults and did things nobody considered the norm."
"I never said my people were perfect." Aza let out a long sigh, mostly out of irritation. "They sell their poor and fuck for any occasion. They fuck when somebody dies, they fuck when a child is born, they fuck because the moon is full. They just really, really like fucking and wine. I still don't get it to this day."
"I bet you weren't complaining when you had yourself a pretty girl in your bed." He felt jealous, just slightly. He felt jealous of anyone that could lay with a woman without their mind always shoving the possibility of a bastard child being born because of it. Aza was pretty young to be fathering a child, a bastard no less, but if his people didn't care about the repercussions, it didn't sound too far-fetched. After all, the king had his first child when he was just a teenage boy.
Aza let out something that was like a scoff. "I was too young to partake in such customs and then I left…"
Before he could actually learn something more about Aza, Grenn and Pypar came to view, standing before the door of the barracks. They were shoving one another as usual, most likely arguing. The two always played around and argued like they had nothing else to do. "What took you so long?" Pypar asked once he saw the both of them; "We've been stallin' the rest of the people tryna get in and they're getting antsy about not getting any sleep."
"Doesn't matter, we're here." Aza went to the tip of his toes, walking towards the stained window to take a peek of who was inside. "Rast is fast asleep, yeah. You three go in and do what you have to do. I'll be on the lookout."
"But…" Jon thought Aza would be another intimidating face before Rast. Rast couldn't and wouldn't dare fight Aza, so to have the best fighters and Ghost to make a stronger point would've been better. He had every reason to believe that this was Aza keeping his distance from the direwolf, so he knew that trying to convince him would lead into an argument. "Alright," he settled, looking to Grenn and Pypar, who nodded to say they were ready. "This is for Sam."
AZA
It made her feel uneasy when Rowan came tapping on her shoulder, informing her that Lord Commander Mormont wanted to see her. She hadn't spoken to him since the first day she arrived and now, after all this time, he found her of some sort of interest. Did he find out about how they threatened Rast last night? That would mean he would've already gathered Jon, Pypar, and Grenn already. She silently prayed to the Seven that wasn't it since she knew well-enough he hadn't figured out that she was really a girl. There was no way he'd send Rowan to her about that nor would he not make a big deal about it. Besides, Rowan didn't think the news was dire and tried to soothe her by saying that the Lord Commander wasn't as scary as he seemed. She brushed it off with a 'what do you know?' and hurried her steps to the Commander's Keep.
Aza stood in front of the door rather awkwardly, trying to think of what sounded like a good excuse. 'We didn't do anything' or 'Rast is a liar', maybe a 'We're boys, that's how we play, yeah?' It all sounded so juvenile. She was a mercenary, she definitely could come up with something better than those three lines. More than anything, Aza didn't feel like getting into trouble for something so stupid. She had enjoyed not being in trouble at all for the past couple of weeks. She couldn't fight or else she'd either be thrown in the dungeons or be forced to clean. It was either cool her temper and just deal with being berated or cleaning. The Night's Watch had made her hate dealing with old men in general these days.
Without a way out, she gave the door two knocks with her bare knuckles and stood in front of the door. "Enter," Mormont said shortly after not giving her time to think just a little time more. She opened the door with trepidation and lead-footed steps.
Out of respect, she bowed her head to him and then looked around, seeing scattered parchments on his desk. He was standing in the middle of his quarters with a horn of ale in his hand. This place felt cozy and looked befitting for someone of his ranking. It made her feel so jealous since she had to sleep in a cell within a tower she wasn't sure that didn't feel like collapsing today but could possibly do so tomorrow. "You wanted to see me, Lord Commander?"
"Take a seat."
This didn't bode well.
Aza still played the obedient role and took to the chair opposite of his large seat. She could feel his eyes take note of every movement she made as he decided to take a seat as well. Her hands laid atop of her thighs, unsure whether if placing on the table would've been more appropriate.
"It has been a while, Yearling."
Tension began to sing through her gums when she clenched her teeth. "It has, Lord Commander," she practically spat, feeling all her efforts of being civil melting away.
"And you still hold animosity towards me." There was a hint of a smile in his voice despite it not being on his face. "I thought time would've changed that."
"Funny thing about time, Lord Commander. Time hasn't taken the name Yearling away from me." Aza's dull look made him crack a smile, much more visible than it was in his voice.
"I didn't say it out of offense." The man sat himself straighter in his seat before folding his hands and laying them atop of the surface of the desk. "I never quite explained it. I will, if you'd like to hear it." He was the Lord Commander, so why was he being so nice? Why did he care if she took offense or not? Any other lord wouldn't give a shit. She wouldn't even give a shit if she was in his place.
Swallowing any sort of piece of wounded pride lodged in her throat, she found herself speaking like an affable person again. She was quite sure that the Lord Commander wouldn't like her lowborn speech, he would rather her speak high and prissy like the highborns who said everything out. Aza had the luxury to speak how she wanted any other time, but if he was aware of her extensive vocabulary, he wouldn't like to be given the lesser. At least, that was what she thought. "You don't owe me anything, Lord Commander… But I would like to hear the explanation."
"You're stubborn and quick in temper, like a yearling. From the day I first saw you, I knew you'd be straightforward and that first impressions meant a lot to you." Trying her best not to frown, she wondered why someone like the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had been so observant of her. What was it about her that made him look, remember or even care? She was foul-mouthed and bitter about her circumstance. She disrespected him when she first met him. She loathed being here at the Wall. Why would he care about someone like her? "You are young, still a yearling, but you will eventually become more. Horses are reliable, cunning, and inclined to do well by others once you've proven loyalty. I can't trust half these new recruits, but I know that I can trust you."
"I can't believe you think it's a compliment to be compared to an animal." She was joking, of course. These Westerosi loved their animals and held them in high regard. The corner of her lips were slightly upturned, lighting the air and her mood. He noticed and she thought she caught a glimpse of a smile as well. When she blinked, however, she saw the stone face of a serious man.
"You and Jon Snow are the future of the Night's Watch," he further elaborated, answering all the questions she asked herself mentally. "The fact that you two have made quite a friendship eases me. What I truly need is for you both to keep each other on the right path. You are more honest and seasoned than Snow and he's more rational and forgiving than you. Dark times are ahead and I need you two prepared and ready to lead."
She watched him stand up from his seat, walking towards a shelf from the corner of her eyes. Aza then looked down at her hands, thinking more about what the Lord Commander told her. The future of the Night's Watch, huh? That doesn't sound promising or desirable. She couldn't help but think. Her heart, however, felt light and her adrenaline was coursing with erratic speed. It was a challenge she was willing to accept since what else could she do here? She could clean the floors forever since the Wildlings weren't her enemies as she claimed, but the thought of doing something worthwhile kept lingering and lingering.
"I believe you missed this." Settling on the table was her sword and just the sight of it had heart nearly leap out of its cage. This sword was like family. In fact, you could say it really was since it was an ancestral blade and passed down to each male member of her mother's family. She received it as a gift from her mother since her uncle couldn't wield any weapons and would likely sell it despite the sentimental value as well as tradition. It was a beauty, holding age and history along with its sharpness and its strength. To have been parted with it for so long made her sick and empty.
Her hands immediately went to touch the steel and wood covered brass that was the handle. It was a heavy sword that was the light as a cloud to her. It was exactly 38 inches long and made with Valyrian steel that was older than just about every single person here. "Thank you, Lord Commander." For once, she gave the man something close to a smile and he returned it with a knowing nod.
"Just…" He let out a long sigh, like a father who just wanted to make his child acquiescent. "Just don't kill Thorne."
Aza brightened, mouth parting into a grin. She played right into the role of the bad child. "Now that, Lord Commander, I cannot promise you. Now that you told me not to, I want to even more."
Although they were amicable, for now, he still proved that he was a senior and some things weren't just allowed. So he inclined his head to give her a warning look and she gave a nod, showing she would not seriously kill Ser Alliser. It just meant that she would have to save such a luxury for her dreams.
"You may leave, Aza." Sliding the chair back, Aza sheathed her sword and strapped it across her back. The feel and the weight made her somewhat feel like her old self. As she placed her hand on the handle of the door, Commander Mormont had a few more words to say; "I hope your fun last night came to be well worth it." Freezing, her eyes widened just slightly. "I never liked Rast."
Flabbergasted, she turned to look at him, but he was too busy reading through the many letters on his desk. Blinking rapidly as if to wonder if she had misheard him, she fought not to laugh as she left the Commander's Keep. She wanted to tell the boys how they even got approval from the Lord Commander for their prank on Rast and wouldn't have to fear getting themselves in trouble. Then again, she doubted that those three were finished with practice so soon.
But they weren't there, at least, Jon wasn't.
She saw Grenn, Rast, and Pypar and a few others, but she didn't see Jon Snow. Scrunching up her brows, she wondered where he could've been and then it suddenly dawned on her. Did Ser Alliser catch him? Did Jon take the blame for what happened last night? If she were to ask Thorne, no doubt she'd receive some nasty remark or even a lecture. He was either whetting the swords, polishing the armor or cleaning the common hall. The last one seemed more likely and that's where she fixed herself to go.
All she heard was talking from the other side of the door. One voice belonged to Jon, but the other? It was unfamiliar. Looking over to where Thorne was loudly instructing the recruits and back at the door of the common hall, she slipped her way in. "Don't you think it's a little bit unfair? Making us take our vows while they sneak off for a little sally on the side?"
"Sally on the side?" Jon echoed, astonished, but Aza broke out in a fit of laughter.
"That's a new one," she said rather breathlessly. "Sally on the side~" Aza repeated, feeling like she rather liked how the boy said it.
"Aza!" Jon called her name, more than surprised that she was here. She walked further in, boots clambering against the wooden floor as she looked down at the cleaning salt that they were made to brush on the table surface. "This is Sam."
Sam immediately put down the brush, trying to wipe his hands by using the sides of his clothes and only making a mess on them instead. She supposed he hadn't cared since who was he trying to impress really? Who were any of them trying to impress? They were all men or so they thought.
"I heard a lot about you." He was fidgeting, his head lowered and his eyes trying to look at her long enough out of courtesy but would eventually look away. Aza never thought of herself as intimidating on sight, considering that she was probably the shortest recruit here. "Jon speaks very highly of you."
"Really now?" Arching her brow, she saw Jon roll his eyes and then look at the table, almost like he knew she was going to tease him. "You're making me blush." Cackling at his short-lived glare, she took a few steps until she was standing before their table. "I heard a lot about you too, Sam. Tell me about yourself."
"Well, my name is Sam… Well, actually it's Samwell, Samwell Tarly," he tried to clarify, smiling as he did. "I'm from Horn Hill, which is very much south of here."
"The Reach, yeah?" Both Jon and Samwell seemed rather surprised by her knowledge of that. "It's not too far from King's Landing. I've touched a little of your grass."
"How about you?"
Aza glanced at Jon from the corner of her eyes, seeing him pay attention at the task before him. He was courteous like that. He was always quiet whenever the conversation didn't involve him until he thought he had to interfere. Perhaps he was so mannerly because he was a lord's son. "I'm Aza and I'm from the Summer Isles. I spent most of my years in King's Landing working as a mercenary or as you Westerosi say, a sellsword."
"A sellsword?" he repeated, eyes nearly bulging out their sockets.
"Yeah, a sellsword. You know, people pay me to kill people and all other sorts of things. If someone were to put some coin your head, I'd kill you in a heartbeat." Samwell gulped, loudly, and she felt a sharp nudge to her side. "Hey!"
"You're scaring him." Pouting, her eyes looked back up to Samwell, who looked to be sweating. What for, really? Who would hire her? How would she be able to spend coin? "He was only jesting, weren't you, Aza?"
Who was he? Samwell's father? Aza gave him a long, hard stare before rolling her eyes. "I won't hurt you, Sam. I promise."
"I'm sorry…" His voice was quiet, becoming rather mousy in stance. "I'm just… I'm not a fighter and I'm used to people—"
"That's alright." Now she felt guilty for what she said and did. Samwell was a weak boy, which was why Jon was so protective of his well-being. She had no right teasing him. He didn't know her well enough to be able to tell if she was serious or joking. "What were you two talking about before I interrupted?"
"Girls," Samwell answered shyly, "and how silly it is that we can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate. It's absurd."
Boys, she couldn't help but think. Girls were always on the forefront of their mind after power, glory and coin. They were so easy, which was why women could easily manipulate them half the time.
"I didn't think you'd be so upset about it," Jon replied.
"Why not? Because I'm fat?" Samwell asked, a bit of offended. Aza withheld her laughter, clamping her hand over her mouth. "But I like girls just as much as you do. They might not like me as much. I've never… been with one. You've probably had hundreds."
"'Cause he's so pretty, yeah?" Aza tilted her head. "If they can get past how stupid and grumpy he is…"
Both Sam and Aza joined in laughter at the angry pout they received from him. "I'm not stupid and I'm not grumpy…" he mumbled, "but I've had the same as you, Sam." The both of them were now looking at her, making her a bit shell-shocked.
"I'm not a maid like you two since the both of you are so nosy." Taking a seat at the bench of the table, she enjoyed how the both of them looked at her as if she was all-knowing. She really wasn't. She had been with no one whether it was a boy or girl. It could never be a girl anyway unless she wanted her cover blown since whores in the brothel like to talk to whoever paid them. You could hardly trust your own circle, most of the time.
"What… what was she like?" asked Tarly, looking every bit as curious with wide eyes, completely like a child. How men became boys upon the mention of a girl was really strange in her eyes.
"Well…" Aza tried to to think of a woman that she thought was beautiful and there had been many. There were beautiful girls in the Summer Isles, beautiful girls in King's Landing, and other beautiful girls in the South and that she seen on her way up North. "She had yellow hair…"
"Yellow hair…" Samwell repeated, closing his eyes as if he were trying to imagine her. Aza found herself frowning, nearly disgusted but knew she had to play this part if she wanted to never elude she was a girl.
"And blue eyes that were really, really blue… Kind of like the ocean. She was very scrawny…" She mentally slapped herself. Scrawny was not how you described a girl, especially a pretty one. "I mean slender. She was slender, yeah. The wind could knock her heels up, though." It made her laugh because she couldn't believe what she was spewing but Samwell was eating it up, even Jon Snow.
"Did you love her?" Jon suddenly questioned, stopping mid-scrub so that he could steadily look at her.
That made it hard to answer. Love? Mercenaries didn't love. They didn't have the time for it. Lowering her eyes, she slowly shook her head. "No, I didn't. Love is rather messy for mercenaries, y'know." Not wanting to talk about herself anymore, she had every intention to solve her own curiosities. "I find it curious that the pretty Jon Snow is a maid."
"I came very close once," he said rather defensively, almost to prove that he could've been with a girl had it not been for a circumstance. "I was alone in a room with a naked girl but…"
"You didn't know where to put it?" Aza snorted, loudly, and felt her eyes ready to pool with tears as she tried to choke back her laugh. Samwell was smiling, knowing he had made quite a good jab at him.
"I know where to put it," Jon stressed, very much annoyed.
"Was she… old and ugly?" Aza rose a brow, her head canted as she waited for him to answer Sam's question.
"Young and gorgeous." He smiled, slightly, almost like he was picturing the girl in his head. "A whore named Ros."
"What color hair?" Samwell must've had a vivid imagination to want to know everything, she thought.
He probably wants to think of her when he's alone at night, she couldn't help but think. She even began smirking as she thought she believed herself to be right.
"Red," answered Jon.
"I like red hair." Sam nodded before raising his hands, making a very provocative motion of a pair of breasts. "And her… her….?"
"You don't want to know." Aza rolled her eyes, losing all interest now. She closed her eyes, leaning against her fist as she propped her arm on the table. She decided to think about other things while the two of them went on and on about Ros with the perfect breasts. If she had Jon Snow so stunned then Aza was sure she was a beauty. Then again, boys were stunned by anything young and naked.
"What's my name?" That drew her out of her head, seeing how the tone of the conversation had taken on a rather serious air.
Samwell hurriedly answered, even nodding his head. "Jon Snow."
"And why is my surname Snow?" Aza straightened up in her seat, her eyes looking solely on Jon.
"Because… you're a bastard from the North."
"I never met my mother. My father wouldn't even tell me her name. I don't know if she's living or dead. I don't know if she's a noblewoman or a fisherman's wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes, but I couldn't do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child? Another bastard name snow. That's not a good life for a child."
And he went on, scrubbing the table like he didn't pour out his heart. As if he didn't just give a sad and selfless speech that was true because it was his life. She wanted to say something, but she felt too cowardly. She didn't think anything that would leave her mouth now would console him. So she looked to Sam, who was looking at her, trying to figure out how they could bring Jon out of that sad mood.
With a quick idea, Samwell decided to tease him. "So… you didn't know where to put it."
That made Jon Snow smile, dropping the brush on the table to roughhouse with Tarly. Aza sat back, watching and smiling, that is until she felt him. She felt him right at the door. "Enjoying yourself?" Both Sam and Jon halted and immediately went back to the table to pretend to be cleaning again. "You look cold, boys." Thorne fully entered the common hall, closing the door and walking in, making her groan since she knew what was to come.
"It is a bit nippy," Samwell commented, rubbing his arms, and she shot a glare at him. He just didn't know what he started. He gave bait to a whole, lengthy lecture.
"A bit nippy, yeah, by the fire, indoors. It's still Summer. Do you boys even remember the last Winter? How long has it been now? What, ten years? I remember. Was it uncomfortable at Winterfell? Were there days when you just couldn't get warm, never mind how many fires your servants built?" Aza wasn't in the North or Westeros when the last Winter was around. She was in the Summer Isles, which were still warm and very much like Summer; humid in the day with a touch of cold winds late into the night.
Snow had narrowed his eyes, looking every bit as annoyed. "I built my own fires."
"That's admirable," said Thorne, mostly to mock him. "I spent six months out there, beyond the Wall during the last Winter. It was supposed to be a two-week mission. We heard a rumor Mance Rayder was planning to attack Eastwatch. So we went out to look for some of his men… Capture them, gather some knowledge. The Wildlings who fight for Mance Rayder are hard men. Harder than you'll ever be. They know their country better than we do. They knew there was a storm coming in. So they hid in their caves and waited for it to pass and we got caught in the open. Wind so strong it yanked 100-foot trees straight from the ground, roots and all. If you took your gloves off to find your cock to have a piss, you lost a finger to the frost and all in darkness."
All three of them were staring and Aza thought of the Lord Commander's words to her: "Dark times are ahead and I need you two prepared and ready to lead." He couldn't have meant the coming Winter, did he? It felt like he meant more, more than what he was willing to share. It was like he knew for sure that they would know soon and she hadn't like that thought at all.
"You don't know cold. None of you do. The horses died first. We didn't have enough to feed them, to keep them warm. Eating the horses was easy. But later when we started to fall… That wasn't easy. We should have had a couple of boys like you along, shouldn't we?" He stalked over to Sam, leaning towards him, threatening like he always did. "Soft, fat boys like you. We'd have lasted a fortnight on you and still had bones leftover for soup. Soon we'll have new recruits and you lot will be passed along to the Lord Commander for assignment and they will call you men of the Night's Watch, but you'd be fools to believe it. You're boys still. And come the Winter you will die… Like flies."
"I'm sure you'll hold a banquet for when we do." She wasn't going to just take what he said. Aza never took what he said unless she knew she was to get in trouble for it. What trouble would she get over a measly opinion? An opinion she thought to be more like the truth with the way he talked to them. "If we die, we die. I really don't care. You've been telling me we'll die since we came here, so what do I look like getting scared now?" Lifting herself off the bench, Aza adjusted her sword strap. "I just hope you die with us, Ser Alliser." She saw him sneer and she gave him a smirk before turning on her heels and leaving. Aza knew well enough she reserved herself for cleaning duty for that last bit, but she was all the more satisfied with getting under his skin to care.
A/N: Wow, I hope she fit in rather easily. I wasn't sure how I was going to go with this canon, but I'm pretty content with how I made it.