Gemma

It is hard to keep my identity hidden when surrounded by 250 men out in the bleak wilderness. I hold my water all day, and use the cover of night fall to hide myself away from the eyes of my brothers. Even worse still, Jon is by Lord Mormont`s side for every breath it seems, catering to the Old Bear`s every whim. He is far too close to me to stay in comfort; every time he is near a heavy guilt pulls on my arms and legs, dragging me towards the dark depths of hell. His brown pools never meet my grey anymore, for which I am thankful, though any warmth Jon gave me left when we last parted, and hastily so. My insides feel as frozen as the Frostfang Mountains around us while being as unmovable and unbreakable as the frigid rocks would be underneath the soft tips of my fingers. My mind tells me this is unwise, without flexibility I will break and shatter into a thousand pieces. If I let myself feel for an instant I will give my entire dream up, an act I shall not stand for. I have come too far to let some boy steal everything away as most women let boys and men do. I will not be some groveling wife whose only duty is to pleasure her husband and bear children: My heart belongs to me and no other, especially not some boy. However, this great opposing strength that focuses my traitorous mind is lacking the might to chase my guilt away.

I force my gaze down to Mira who snorts beneath the soft saddle she carries me in. The horse supporting my small frame is the last part of my life that is still Gemma`s, not Glenn`s, and in her eyes I see her sizing up my confusion. My sweet friend is the only one who is familiar with the determined girl from Lanka`s Falls and the small boy of the Night`s Watch. I fear she understands each better than I do.

. . .

I am blessed to be seen as a boy when we arrive at the broken down stone fortress of Craster`s Keep. Craster`s wives slink away from all the men, eyes brimming with silent fear, two with bellies swollen with kicking infants. Their hair is wild and unkempt with dresses made from animal skins and old rotten clothing. I long to comfort the women, to be acquainted with the poor souls that are lovers to their own father, but all I can muster is pity for them and the girls who clutch to their mother`s skirts.

With this in mind, I come to a great surprise to find a wife following me one particularly frigid afternoon. After Pyp and I have delivered a message to the Old Bear, I notice her blond halo trailing after us while blending into the shadows of each corner, so as not to be seen. I have seen her often, but only now does it occur that she has been keeping tabs on my whereabouts. As soon as Pyp leaves my side, I turn towards her, apprehensive of the stalking girl.

"You can come out now," I say with eyes fixed on the dirty stone beam she conceals herself behind. She slips her toes out from behind the rough pillar, her step shaky. An arm follows, a thin pale limb outstretched towards the rock for support. The rest of her appears, clad like the rest of the women in dirty patched dresses. Around her shoulders is a small cloak of silken rabbit fur, which the girl clutches with bony fingers. "I won`t hurt you," I say in a quiet voice. "On my honor as a man of the Night`s Watch."

"You are no man," says the girl pulling her matted golden hair from her face. Anger flares inside me, climbing up my throat with threats prepared to spring: I turn to leave so it does not consume me. My brisk footsteps carry me away but the girl runs after me, no longer skulking in the silent dark.

"Forgive me for being so blunt, please, I need to you to help me!" The girl`s shrill voice rings louder in the corridor with every word and I spin around at her and wrap an irritated hand around her mouth.

"Calm yourself friend, before you kill us both!" I glance around us checking for any unsuspected eavesdroppers. After checking the hall next to us, I come to the conclusion that there are none. My eyes reach the trembling girl again. "Now tell me, what is your name?" I ask trying to sound soothing.

"It`s Gilly," she whispers after a pregnant pause. "And yours?"

"Glenn," I say nodding. Her green eyes narrow as if she is expecting my real name. I do not offer it. "Tell me Gilly, what is it you need of me?" She looks down at her grimy shoes as if overwhelmed with a peculiar anxiety on the subject she was so desperate to expose only minutes ago.

"I am with child, as I`m sure you`ve noticed. Everyone`s sure it`s a boy and I can`t let him . . . give it to them," tears form in her eyes but her meaning is lost on me.

"Give it to who?"

"M`lord keeps the girls his wives bear but them boys, our boys," she chokes back a painful sob, "t-they go to the lords of the Land of Always Winter as sacrifice, to keep the Others away." The new knowledge stuns me, taking the pity I previously felt away, and leaving in its place the desire to save this poor girl and the child within her belly. Footsteps sound in the corridor behind us, waking me from the thoughts inside my head. She runs towards the opposite and empty hallway while I make a hasty exit from the large hole in the stone wall.

I snatch my bow and quiver from their place at my fire pit and hop onto Mira. Having missed the feeling of Mira`s coarse hair and warm body when I ride, I skip her saddle for today. We walk past the other fires and men that gather around them towards the sloping hill covered in snow. Many ask where I am going and I tell them that I wish to hunt. Grenn offers to go with me, but I tell him I need peace from this crowded place. He nods, agreeing with my remark, and lets me on my way. We break into a fast trot towards the hill, and then to a canter heading into the open tundra on the outskirts of the Fist of the First Men. My friend and I fly into the snowy horizon, wishing we could escape the chains that bind me to this place. White cold dust tears against my flesh yet the freedom pulls my heart from its long hard damper. I see a figure moving fast in the trees ahead and quietly steer Mira towards the movement`s source. A small group of deer dig at the snow in search of the grass that lies beneath. A fleshy stag snorts while his hooves plunge into the soft ice, he is by far the meatiest, making him my target as well. I draw an arrow to my bow and pull the string back to my cheek, ready to release. I pray to the gods that the clouds part and reveal the precise moment to strike. I wait a moment, my arm straining and hand shaking with anticipation, when the gods grant my wish and the sunlight glistens against the stag`s brown eye. The arrow expels from the bow in a fast spin, silent as death. It slices through the frostbitten air until it meets the stag and continues through my dinner to connect with a tree behind the animal. The other deer look up at the resounding twang my arrow makes as it enters the wood and lurch away in confusion and fright. Mira and I trot towards the lonely stag, blood stretching across the snow in the darkening evening. After pulling the arrow from the tree, I sling the animal over my horse`s back and tie it tight with a flourish. We slowly trot back to the camp at Craster`s Keep. A few men give cheers as we proudly walk into camp, followed by a thin trail of blood leaking from the deer`s eyes. I pull the deer off Mira and tear the skin from the animal before gutting it. I split it up and set an enormous spit up to cook the meat, while saying a prayer to the nameless gods among the woods for my supper. As the fire crackles and moans, I wash the gore from my new deer skin blanket and my own body. I turn to see a pudgy man with black hair staring with longing at the deer roasting over the fire.

"I`m going to share Sam, no worries," I chuckle, flashing a smile at him.

"Ay, I`ll be happy to help you eat that beast Gem-glenn, but first I need to speak with you about some things," he says glancing around nervously. We sit on logs around the fire and I nod for him to continue. He places a razor sharp knife of glass in my hand with careful precision. "Take this as a gift from me. It is dragonglass: a weapon of the First Men."

"Where did you-"

"It doesn`t matter where they were found, but I have a few of them and I have a feeling it might do you good in the future." I gaze down at the mysterious knife watching the blade glisten in the firelight before placing it in my belt. "And Gilly said she talked to you; do you have any ideas on how to help her escape?" Sam says breaking into a whisper. I stare openmouthed at him.

"You sold me out! You told her my secret. Sam I trusted you! I thought she had just figure it out herself," I say trying to be quiet.

"She did figure it out, we`ve just became friends and I wanted to help her and I thought you could talk to her being a girl you might understand her problem. . ." he rambles on and trying to calm the storm of anger brewing inside of me.

"We can`t get her away now; I`ll be ranging around the Fist soon and she can`t be with us when we journey north," I sigh with irritation.

"The baby will be here soon she can`t wait!"

"Then she will have to hide him! Gilly and the boy will die for certain if she goes north with us Sam. We may be able to sneak her out after we head back through here but now means death for her and us," I manage in a harsh whisper. He is silent after that, although a hungry smile graces his face when I hand him a large chunk of meat off the stag`s thigh. After awhile, he quietly speaks up again.

"You`know, the wives don`t get fed enough around here, that`s why they`re so thin." Sam leaves, having eaten enough to go tend to the ravens.

When my stomach is full to bursting of the venison I hand most of it off to my friends among the watch. I bring a hefty bone covered in fat and meat to Ghost who looms around Jon`s empty campfire for my wolven friend to gnaw on. My feet lead me to the back of the broken keep, staying in the shadows. When Gilly comes up from the kitchens I place a greasy hand over her mouth to silence her scream. In her hand I place a large cut from the best part of the deer, the back strap. She smiles at me and begins to tear at the meat with eager greasy bites. When she is finished I rush off with a wave, wishing not to be seen with the girl.

. . .

The atmosphere is the coldest I have ever felt at our lookout at the Fist of the First Men. I am never warm or even comfortable, I fear that I will still be cold even if I step into the flames of the broad fire my brothers and I huddle around. The cold seeps into my bones, keeping my fingers a painful red all the time, until the occasional moment when they turn a dark purple and feeling ceases altogether. There is no food so men will eat a horse from time to time and I go hungry many days because I refuse to add Mira to this desperate act of killing. She is all I have left of home; the only memory of my childhood that I will ever come into contact with for the rest of my days most likely. If she is lost than I will fully become the man of the Night`s Watch named Glenn, a stranger even I do not know. I still want a little piece of Gemma to exist within me no matter how far I have to bury it in my heart. I hug the sweet horse and pull the deerskin around her back as I lead her to the fire. I pray she is warm.

Jon left a few days ago to join Qhorin Halfhand on a mission up the Frostfangs. I yearned to join my brothers when they departed, but I fear Jon would have distracted me too much. I will be fine by myself anyways, beside the Lord Mormont, who keeps me close to him at all rangings. I remember the look Jon and I last shared: Was it goodbye? His dark pools seemed to pierce my soul as if he knew in that gaze that neither one of us would forget, yet I still don`t understand it. I want to forget us and this affair that nearly cost me all that is important in my lowly life. I think opened his mouth to say something, but turned on his mount as if he was some vexed reprobate, upset that he couldn`t voice his own deep dark thoughts plaguing every moment, as my own voice does. Ghost turned back and met my gaze, I remember. As the team climbed the hills and we left the area the direwolf let loose a great howl, resounding with a sadness that still haunts me in the depths of my belly. A fortnight later, many claim the troupe dead but I refuse to believe it, lest all my emotions come pouring out in an embarrassing tumble. A horn sounds in the distance, and I smile thinking that rangers are returning until the next horn sounds. My spirits plummet in terror as a third horn sounds in the distance. Every man stops, eyes widening in horror and realization. Three blasts of the horn can only mean that the dead walk. An army of White Walkers are coming for us.

I tear on my armor and strap Durandal to me, my bow and quiver already on my back. "You and I will make it through this; we will survive Mira," I say grasping her great face. She neighs against me, fear clouding her eyes as I`m sure it does my own. I move to put the saddle on her but she shakes it off. The leather seat falls to the snowy ground with a soft thump. "So be it then, I imagine we`ll move faster without it," I mutter and lift myself onto her back. We sprint through the petrified masses searching for the Lord Commander among my desperate brothers. When I find the man, the silvery army of wights is stretching over the land, preparing to strike. The Commander speaks of flaming arrows and torches but my mind drowns out sound as I view the vast army. I don`t know how the Watch can win this battle. A massive roar echoes throughout the mountains and rings in my ears. A dead white bear has joined the army, risen from its grave to wreak havoc upon the land. My brothers and I light our arrows on torches and send them loose with hopes that they will strike true. Many white figure catch fire and fall, but more move and fill in their places. Mormont begins the charge with me not long behind and the white and the black mix together on the battle field. I find a torch that miraculously appeared in my hand and swing it at the dead men with my sword in tow. I take out many of the wights, but there are too many for me to keep up with; even before a dead man is done burning, a new one replaces them aiming to kill me. Soon a sea of black and red litters the grounds, with a few charred bodies of a White Walker among them. I cannot tell how much time has passed; an hour, a day, or only minutes? Screams of dead men fill the air, whether it be the shrill haunting screech of the White men or the death of a brother I can tell no difference any more. The air smells of blood, defecation, and sweat: Truly the scent of death. I slash at a White Walker and he and the wight horse burst up in flames. A shout next to me pulls me from the sight. Grenn urges me away from the battle and back towards the safety of the Wall.

"The Lord Commander has called a retreat, we have to run now!" He shouts over the screams. Mira races off the field of battle with me cradled on her back, retreating from certain death. Grenn keeps up well and unfortunately so do our enemies.

"Go to Lord Mormont!" I yell to him pointing to the mass of black in from of us. He chances a look at me, eyes full of confusion. I hand him my torch, and turn Mira abruptly towards a large group of trees, away from my brothers. I pray the riders will follow me, not Grenn. For some reason unbeknownst to me, they do, and when I glace back, there are three riders. Three too many to kill without a torch. I hear the hoof beats behind me getting louder as they gain on us and I spur Mira on faster in hopes of getting the riders farther away from my brothers. It is all in vain. White faces appear next to me, swords raised to strike the head from my shoulders. I wait for the sharp cold impact of metal slicing through my skin but it does not come. A great lurch comes from under me, throwing my body from Mira`s back. I fly through the air and land in the snow, rolling on impact. Yet the swords continue their downward arch and plunge into the oldest friend I have left. The dark blades make no sound as they slice through her, three swords peaking out of her belly dripping with red. Mira`s eyes meet mine before they empty and go blank. She falls into a crumpled heap on the ground, soul gone from the body. Rage pulses through me as it never has before and I heave Durandal at my nearest foe. He knocks it from my hand and it flies away hidden in the snow. I grasp for anything on my belt until my hand finds a sharp dagger tucked away neatly. It cuts my hand, but I feel no sting as it cuts, I only swing it again at my enemy. It slashes through the wight horse`s neck, but I refuse to stop there. I dodge a sword before plunging the knife into the heart of its rider until it screams with the last breath in its lungs. I rip open another horse and jump to slice open the throat of another rider, but not before it thrusts a sword through my leg. I fall to the red snow, blood spurting out of my wounded limb. The last wight lifts its blade to strike a death blow when a large dark figure leaps from the shadows knocking it away and tearing at the dead flesh. A screech echoes throughout the wood as the dead knight passes, then another follows when the wight horse dies. A dark figure crouches over me and looks into my face. The face I cannot recognize but the eyes are a pair I could not forget. They are my eyes; the eyes of any who have Lanka`s blood. They are the eyes of the waterfall. A grey silver, harsher than I remember but I know they are the eyes of my brother: Daniel Amador, the young explorer.

Author`s note:

Whew! That was hard to write. I`ve been waiting to get to this part since I started so yay! The next few chapters are mostly going to be about Gemma, because we know what happens to Jon but I will leave a few paragraphs from his POV. Also, the war with the White Walkers was not in the show if I remember right, it`s only in the book. The show replaced the scene with Sam killing the White Walker/ being ignored by the other. Tell me what you think about this chapter and thanks for reading!

Sarah