The following night, Ysilla climbed to the top of the Wall. She walked briskly for almost a half-mile away from the winch elevator in the darkness, holding her cloak close to her body. Her eyes drooped from being drowsy, but she continued nevertheless, searching for the familiar lump of black that usually leaned against the wall by a dying brazier.
She turned around to look behind her, but she was alone. Her mouth turned into a frown. In the darkness, the ice of the Wall looked like a rough stone, harsh and grey. As she leaned on the wall of the battlement, she stared into the North as she and Benjen had always done. Her gloved hands gripped the edge of the wall and the chill slowly bit her through the leather and fur.
Turning back, she returned to the winch elevator. With her arms around her, she licked her lips and took a step towards the warming shed. She poked her head around the corner to find two men sitting in the shed, dressed in black furs and leathers, huddling by a blazing brazier.
They glanced at her for a moment and snorted. "Is it that time already?" one of the men said with a laugh. "I suppose one good thing about these nightly walks is we know exactly what time it is."
Ysilla lowered her eyes and felt her cheeks blush. She was glad it was night and relatively dark on top of the Wall. Everything up here was black and white, except for the occasional glow of blue with the moon. Her cheeks must have looked barely pink in the firelight. Her eyes glanced over to another brazier and her heart raced.
Benjen stood on the edge of the Wall, staring into the darkness of the North without a word.
"Ben," she said in her low voice.
He didn't turn to look at her. "It's late. You should be sleeping," he said.
"I know," she replied, stepping closer. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked him in a whisper. She watched his face and saw a half-smile appear on his lips as he shook his head.
"You should be in the barracks," he said.
"Walk with me," she requested in a soft voice. "Please."
Benjen lowered his eyes with a heavy sigh. He silently turned and strolled slowly along the center of the battlement, his feet crushing the ice on the surface. Ysilla followed him quietly, keeping a few steps behind him until they were well out of earshot of the others.
"What is it?" he asked, stopping suddenly.
"I hadn't seen you all day… and you weren't waiting where we normally meet," she said. "I just worried."
"There's nothing to worry about," he said. "Is there anything else?" He finally turned to face her and in the darkness, his face looked angular and annoyed. His eyes narrowed at her as she stared into his face.
She shook her head.
"Very well," he said quickly, passing her to return to his post.
"I'm sorry," she said. She turned around to find him standing behind her, his body facing his men and the warming shed in the distance. "Benjen, I'm sorry about last night."
"There's nothing to be sorry about," he said. "You were right. It wasn't a good idea. It was just a momentary weakness." He sighed. "I can't look at you without wondering..." He sucked in the cold air and released a steaming cloud from his lips.
Ysilla shook her head. "Benjen," she said as she turned him towards her. Her gloved hand reached up to his cheek and stroked it gently as he closed his eyes. "I wonder sometimes as well… but it's just a dream. We can't let our emotions dictate our choices." She bit her lip when his hand held hers close to his face. Her heart pounded in her chest. "I just don't want to lose my only friend…"
"Is that all?" he asked coldly.
"Yes," she said in a quiet voice.
Watching him walk away from her, she suddenly felt colder than she had ever felt since she'd been at the Wall. Even with the howling winds, when she was with Benjen, she never felt discomfort. The temperature never bothered her until he walked away from her, taking the warmth with him. She held back her tears and returned to the barracks, crawling into the small space between two larger brothers. She didn't sleep, however. It was difficult to lull into a slumber when the other men were snorting, snoring, moaning, and drooling over themselves. She kept her eyes open and thought about Benjen.
What would have happened if we had kissed? She thought deeply about last night, almost convincing herself that she had in fact kissed him. Is that why he's acting so strangely now? He's keeping his distance from me because of what we did. She turned onto her side and avoided the little puddle of drool on the mattress, a gift from her neighbor. She used her arm as a pillow and sighed.
The next morning after breakfast, Ysilla went into the Armory and found the thinnest padded armor she could find. The other mail felt way too heavy for her frame and she always felt suffocated by the stench of sweat from the previous wearer. Her fingers felt the worn leather as she pulled it closer to her.
"That's going into the bin, rat," Harclay commented when he saw her examining the armor. "That's not going to protect you."
"Mind your business," she snapped sharply.
"Suit yourself. It's your funeral."
Waymar approached her quietly. "You really should wear something thicker," he whispered.
"Since when do you care?" she replied. "Or are you worried about father blaming you if I get hurt?"
Waymar's face turned red. "I'm just worried that if something happens to you, there won't be enough stewards to go around and they may make me one. Go put on something appropriate."
"Shut up and go away!" she growled at him.
"Fine," Waymar snorted and returned to his station where he fastened his padded armor and equipped his training sword.
Ysilla pulled on the armor and noted how much lighter it was in comparison to the thicker ones that the others were wearing. This mail had holes in it, where the stuffing had drained out, along the breast and the hem. She didn't care. She fastened it tightly against her body and grabbed her sword before rushing outside into the training yard.
Ser Alliser narrowed his eyes at her. "What the hell is that you have on?" his voice was a sharp-edged sword.
"It's my mail, Ser Alliser," she replied.
"No, the others have on the mail. You have on a tunic. Why do you have on a tunic, rat?"
"This is more comfortable, Ser. The heavy padding made it more difficult to move."
The muscle in Ser Alliser's neck twitched and his lips became a straight line on his face. "Luke!"
The skinny blond boy trembled at the sound of his name from Ser Alliser. He raised his sword and stepped forward, looking around for his opponent. The thick padded mail made him look like a stuffed doll. His skinny arms and legs stuck out like sticks, inflexible and stiff.
Ser Alliser pointed at Ysilla. "You get the rat!"
Ysilla stepped forward towards Luke. Her arm raised her sword and her eyes watched his movements. When he charged her, she quickly spun out of the way and smacked him in the butt with the flat of her blade. Luke wailed as he swung his sword at her in short, choppy movements that had no fluidity to them. His mouth was still open when she finally blocked his arm, twisted it and punched him in the face. Luke staggered backwards, half of his face covered with a bloody hand.
Ser Alliser growled, "Royce!"
Waymar took a graceful step towards his sister and raised his sword. He always seemed to hold back his aggression when he faced her, but today, Ysilla noticed her brother looked irritated. His sword sliced the air in a downward cut, grazing her on the arm through her woolen shirt. He blocked her thrust, knocking her sword out of her hand and pushing her to the ground. His next swing missed as she rolled on the ground and picked up her blade. With a wicked smirk, he stalked her, faking a lunge at her, which made her flinch backwards from him.
"We are not at a ball," Ser Alliser's face became pink. "This not a dance lesson!" He waved his hand at the other men. Harclay was the first to enter the dance, swinging his sword at Waymar, catching him in the shoulder blades. The hit wasn't very strong, only shaking Waymar's concentration. "Am I witnessing a group of little girls or men?" Ser Alliser growled.
Stiv shoved Ysilla aside and raised his sword upon Waymar with a maniacal grin on his red face. He swung up and Waymar hopped backwards, avoiding the blade. He swung back down, again missing the knight. He narrowed his eyes at Waymar and lunged forward only to have his blade miss and his arm caught by his opponent. His mouth opened as the knight twisted Stiv's fingers, forcing him to drop the sword to the ground with a painful groan.
Wallen jumped on Waymar's back, holding his sword to the knight's throat. Ysilla watched her brother toss the man over his shoulder and onto his back as Ser Alliser frowned. She stood up with her sword raised. Warily, she took a step towards her brother.
Waymar drew in a deep breath and swung his sword at her, missing her shoulder by a hair as she spun to avoid him. Their swords clashed and produced a grating scratching that irritated her ears. His eyes narrowed at her when she looked up into his face with an expression of determination. His hand flew forward and caught her in the nose, sending her backwards with tears welling in her eyes.
"It's only blood, rat," Ser Alliser said as she stared down at her red hand. "You'll be spilling a lot more of it in the weeks ahead."
She leaned on her sword and spat out blood as she held onto her nose.
"That's sword, not a cane, rat!" Ser Alliser snarled. "Respect it or it'll fail you."
"I'm still bleeding!" she said in a low nasal voice.
"In the battlefield, you'll have more than bloody noses. You all need to stop acting like little princesses and begin acting like men!"
"Perhaps the boy should see the Maester," Benjen Stark said from his position on one of the covered walkways around the yard. His blue-grey eyes stared down at them with a grim expression.
"He'll be fine, Stark," Ser Alliser raised his voice.
"It's not a suggestion, Ser," Benjen replied with a hollow tone to his voice.
Ser Alliser glared up at the First Ranger and turned to Ysilla with a scowl. Without a word, he flicked his head; his subtle signal that Ysilla should leave before he changed his mind. It was very small and almost unnoticeable. His face turned red and his expression boiled into a hostile scowl as he screamed at the rest of them. "Get on!" he shouted and the chorus of sword song began again.
Ysilla glanced up to the covered walkway, where Benjen stood, but he was already gone. She sighed through the pain as she entered Maester Aemon's chambers.
"My dear," the blind man smiled. "How may I be of service to you?"
"I had a little accident in the training yard," she said in her nasal voice as she closed the door behind her.
"Ahh. A little bump in the nose?" he chuckled.
"More like my brother's fist," she groaned. She sat beside Maester Aemon as his wrinkled fingers felt her face and delicately touched her nose.
Aemon smiled. "Brothers can be something wonderful to have, but sometimes they can be more trouble than they're worth."
"Do you have any brothers?" she asked curiously as his fingertips straightened her nose with a crack. She winced from the pain.
"I had several… blood brothers, I am speaking of, not the Brothers of the Night's Watch," he shuffled to small table, where he washed his hands in a basin of water. As he wiped his prune-skinned hands with a towel, he continued, "It's been years since I've remembered them… though I think of them when I can spare the time or the thought."
She watched him as he took a seat and leaned back to think.
"Your nose will be fine, my dear. Go clean your face, while I get the names straight…" he pressed his finger to his lips and began pointing into the air as though he was counting his brothers.
"Thank you," she said as she stood to wash her hands and her face with the pink water in the basin.
"Yes… Daeron, Aerion, Aegon V, and my sisters, Rhae and Daella."
"Aegon…" she repeated. "The King Aegon?"
Aemon smiled at her. "A fanciful historian, eh?" he chuckled. "It's been years, maybe decades, since I've talked about them. Not since Aerys II, have I spoken of my family. Of course, since joining the Watch, I've come to let go of my relations. Still, it is still hard sometimes."
Ysilla wiped her hands and returned to her seat beside Maester Aemon. "I don't want to pry, Maester Aemon. I know it must be difficult knowing that people speak of your family with such disregard."
"They are just words, my dear. Slinging names will not cause any harm to me or my family. But since I have been here so long and have not spoken openly about my family, it is just another shadow that follows me, nothing more." He paused for a moment. "You are troubled, I sense."
"Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"I may be blind, but some things are as clear to me as a warm summer's day. Does this concern Benjen Stark?"
She shrugged and sighed. "I don't know. He's acting so distant and I fear I've done something wrong."
Maester Aemon nodded. "You must understand, my dear, he is the First Ranger of the Night's Watch. He puts his oath first before anything else."
"We almost kissed last night," she blurted in frustration.
"Almost. Trying is not doing. Something stopped you."
"Yes. I did," she said in a low voice. "But I honestly didn't want to. I just couldn't let him break his oath and bring dishonor to his name." She sighed loudly. "Perhaps, I should go home and wait for my father to marry me off."
"I would recommend you let your heart lead you in the right direction," Maester Aemon said. "Letting others dictate your life will bring nothing but sadness and resentment."
Ysilla stared at the wrinkled face on the shrunken man. She wondered what would happen if she let things happen without trying to stop it. She stood up from her seat and squeezed Maester Aemon's hand. Returning to the training yard, she stopped short of Ser Alliser, who was still screaming at the men.
"Well?" Ser Alliser asked with his arms crossed. "Are you waiting for a written invitation?" He pointed at the others before screaming, "Get back in there and practice, rat!"
The day went on as usual with practice, then lunch, followed by more practice. But since she was wearing the lighter, thinner mail, her body wasn't aching as usual and she was able to move more freely during her marksmanship practice. After changing out of the armor and eating dinner, she returned to the barracks, where she was able to get a little bit of sleep before the others returned from drinking in the Common Hall.
When she reached the top of the Wall, it had begun to snow lightly, sending all of the men into the warming shed by their posts. She walked the half-mile along the battlement away from the winch elevator, hoping to see Benjen in his usual spot. A frown fell upon her lips when she found the brazier blazing, but no Benjen. She hung her head and leaned against the ice. Her lashes decorated by the light snowflakes that fell from the sky. With a sigh, she stared out to the North and wished she hadn't stopped him the other night.
"I'm taking you to the godswood tomorrow," Benjen's voice startled her.
She turned her head to see him standing a few feet from her. "Godswood?" she asked. "Why?"
"You'll be taking your oath soon with the others. I thought you'd want to pray to the Old Gods that the wildlings attack or something so you won't have to." He smirked.
"I thought you were upset with me," she said.
"I'm more upset with myself," he muttered as he joined her by the wall of ice and the brazier. "I shouldn't have… It's against my oath. And I put you in a difficult position."
"So you didn't want to kiss me…?" she asked, staring into his face.
He didn't look at her, but shook his head.
"I don't believe you," she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Now, you're acting like you wanted me to kiss you!" He finally turned his face towards her. The brazier lit his skin with a glowing bronze color that made him look like he was from across the Narrow Sea. His blue-grey eyes were aflame as he took a step towards her.
"You wouldn't have anyway, right? Even if I wanted you to?" She shook her head in disbelief. "You're unbelievable, Benjen Stark!" She turned on her heels and walked away from him, further along the battlement and away from the winch elevator. Her anger drove her as she stomped in the snow, shuffling the ice beneath her feet until she felt better. She finally stopped and took a deep breath as she hid her tears with her gloved hands. Choking back a sob, she leaned on the ice and held herself with her arms, trying to retain her body heat. She felt cold again.
She wasn't sure how long she stood alone before she felt his arms around her. She just knew that her feet and her hands felt the biting cold and she wanted to go back into the barracks before she froze to death. The warmth from his arms and his body was a welcome comfort.
He turned her to face him and gazed into her grey eyes. "Tell me what you want," he said in a low whisper. He was impatient and didn't wait for her answer before pulling her into his arms to hold her tightly.
She felt his heart racing beneath the leathers and wool as she pressed her ear against his chest and buried herself into his arms. She didn't have an answer for him. She didn't want to choose. Instead, she remained silent and wrapped her arms around his chest and sighed.
