"What's it like having a girl to yourself?"

Jon felt his jaw stop moving mid-bite, the bread in his mouth swallowed quickly and a little painfully. His eyes shot up to Grenn, nose still dark blue from his latest break. His eyes were wide and his voice was hushed, trying to keep the other men outside of their table from listening. Luckily for him, most of the men had retired to the barracks, leaving only a few left still eating the last remnants of food. Pyp seemed even more invested than Grenn, if that was possible. Sam blushed a deep red to the tips of his ears, burying himself in his stew. Edd elbowed him straight in the ribs, a gesture Jon appreciated.

"She's not my girl", Jon deadpanned, tired of explaining, "She's my steward. Lord Commander Mormont put her under my care."

"Yeah, you've told us that bit", Grenn groaned, leaning forward onto his elbows, "But what's it like being around a girl so much. I've nearly forgotten."

Jon shoved another bite of bread in his mouth. "Then keep forgetting."

"Oh, come on!" Pyp whined, tossing his spoon into the bowl of grey-colored stew in front of him, "You can't just spend all day with a girl and not tell us anything about her. I thought we were brothers!"

"As your brother, I ask you to both shut up and let me eat in peace", Edd grumbled, shoveling another helping of stew into his mouth.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell them a bit about Poppy", Sam mumbled sheepishly, "She's nice. To me, at least."

Jon snapped his head over to Sam. His eyes narrowed, daring Sam to keep speaking. Of course, his friend quickly flushed red again and turned his attention back to his food. Jon had no desire to feed into his friends fantasies about what Poppy was doing with him. Besides, the last word he would use to describe her would be nice. However, it seemed that the subject still wasn't dropped.

"Bloody hell", Edd spat, "Just tell them what they want to hear, Snow. Get the fuckers to shut it and leave the rest of us in peace."

All eyes turned on Jon. He could feel them boring into him, both Pyp and Grenn leaning so far forward he wondered briefly if they would break the table. Edd looked bored with the whole thing and Sam simply looked curious. The whole thing made his skin prick. His mouth flapped open and closed, words sticking in his throat.

"She's-" he grumbled, unable to find any words that made sense, "She's quiet. Sometimes. When she talks she'd rather insult you than say anything else. She's a pain in the ass."

The words felt half true on his tongue. Somewhat honest, in that she really was an insulting pain half the time. But he also briefly thought of how meekly she would hide her face behind her hair, hunch her shoulders to make herself small in the shadows. It made his chest clench slightly at the thought of it, pathetic and lonely.

"What about how she looks?" Pyp cut in, interrupting Jon's thoughts, "You must've seen her with a little less than a cloak on."

Jon felt his stomach turn at the thought of Poppy undressed. He gaped at his friend, disgust plain on his face. "That's none of your concern."

"Give us something!" Grenn pleaded, dropping his fists to the table like a petulant child.

"Gods, just look at her yourself", Edd spat back, seemingly too annoyed to finish his food, "It's not too hard to spot the only girl for miles."

Grenn and Edd continued to squabble. The sound grated against Jon's ears. Their voices rose, seeming to catch the attention of the men the next table over. The attention made Jon nervous, a scowl falling over his face. Turning to his brothers, he cut them off mid argument.

"She looks like a half drowned cat", he hissed, silencing them, "She looks like a skeleton with hair. And she's not here for you to stare at."

The men at his table fell silent, an awkward heaviness falling over them before they each turned back to their food. Grenn's eyes kept flicking up to Jon, clearly still wanting to ask more but too afraid to. Jon, however, couldn't stand it. He was sick of the questions, the discomfort. Pushing his bowl back, he stood from his seat and made his way out of the dining hall. He could hear Sam calling after him gently, but he continued out into the cold.

The frozen air immediately bit into his face, darkness having settled over the yard hours before. He'd left his cloak inside like an idiot, but he wasn't about to go back to get it. Instead, he stepped out, ice crunching beneath his feet as he wandered through the yard. He had nowhere to go and he had no desire to be asked any more questions about Poppy. He'd heard enough in the last few weeks. The silence was welcome. It was light, the only sound being the flickering of the torches along the walls of the castle.

Then, from some corner he hadn't been looking for, the sound of metal clattering to the ground cut through the quiet. Jon's head turned to see a shadowy bundle hunched on the icy ground beside the blacksmith's. Biting back the urge to groan, Jon made his way over to see what had happened. As he got closer, the light of the torches illuminated none other than the source of his troubles, Poppy. She lay grumbling on a patch of ice, rubbing her tailbone and surrounded by a bundle of dull swords. Her long limbs were scrambled around her like mismatched doll parts.

"What are you doing?" Jon huffed, standing over her.

The girl's green eyes went straight to him, her face it's usual sunken glare. Her hand snapped away from her back, embarrassed. She clumsily tried to bring herself to her feet but only managed to slip again, falling this time on her hip with a yelp she barely managed to swallow. She looked like a child, unable to find her footing. The whole thing made Jon laugh in spite of his best efforts. At the sound, Poppy glared up at him.

"What are you laughing at?", she demanded, trying to sound biting but only sounding petulant.

"You", he replied with a shrug, "Have you never walked through ice before?"

"I'm from King's Landing, we don't get ice there", she grumbled, eyes narrowing, "Now are you going to help me up or stand there laughing at me?"

With a roll of his eyes, Jon extended his hand towards the girl on the ground. She quickly grabbed hold of him as he hoisted her to her feet. As soon as she was up she pulled her hand from his grip, hand going back to her tailbone with a grimace. She looked slightly paler than usual, her breath a little more labored.

"You should have the Maester check on that", Jon suggested.

Poppy shrugged, retracting her hand. "I've had worse. No need for a Maester."

Unwilling to argue, Jon's eyes fell on all the dull swords. "What are you doing with all those?"

"Thorne told me to take them to the blacksmith", she griped, glaring down at the weapons, "I think he just wanted an excuse to order me to do something."

"And what did you say?" he inquired, brows raising, "I've never known you to be quiet when someone orders you around."

"I told him I only take orders from you."

Jon couldn't help but feel his eyes widen at that. His lips fell open, gaping at her slightly. "You never do what I tell you to do."

A little smirk grew on her face. It was small, but it reached her eyes, made them gleam with a sort of impish, angry light that made her look less hollowed out. "He doesn't need to know that. Besides, it got me out of the kitchens. My fingers had gone numb chopping all those potatoes, and the stew didn't even taste like anything for my efforts."

"It was rather awful", Jon relented, a little smile on his face, "Do you need help with the swords?"

"No, I should be fine", she insisted, already bending over to pick a few up, "They're not too heavy."

Jon might have allowed her to continue, but he saw the way her skinny arms sagged under the weight of only two sword. He wondered how she had remained so skinny. He'd never seen someone have so little muscle. Even Sansa had a little, her arms nimble from hours of embroidery. Humbly, he reached down and picked up a few of the weapons lying by his feet.

"It'll go quicker if I help."

"No need to be so damn honorable", Poppy said, clinging dumbly to her own bundle.

Jon chuckled, already having piled five swords in his arms. "Apologies, it's in my nature."

For the first time, he heard the girl laugh. It was ugly, a wheezing sound that was caught somewhere between a snort and a cry. It was more of a donkey's bray than the tittering giggles he'd heard Sansa and Lady Catelyn use at feasts and in conversation. Her face twisted into a smile that looked out of practice, like the muscles of her face weren't sure what to do with themselves. But all the same, her eyes lit up in a way that made the green of her eyes a little lighter. The crooked smile made her teeth bared in a way that showed the one crooked one towards the back. It was an interesting sight, to say the least.

The laughter, however, was cut off by the sounds of footsteps coming through the yard. Jon looked to see a small group of men, only three, half drunk on their way to the barracks. But they'd spotted him and Poppy, eyes red and lips tilted up into smiles. The sight made him nervous. The men's interest in the girl had not died down since the first day they'd seen her, and he knew a few of them were rapers.

"You should go inside", he said, not taking his eyes off the men, "Leave the swords here."

Smartly, Poppy didn't argue. She dropped the weapons on the ground and grabbed hold of his arm. "Take me back to my room?"

He nodded quickly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the staircase that lead to their rooms. However, it was through the men. Keeping his shoulders squared and his grip on her tight, Jon lead her across the yard. But luck didn't appear to be on their side. As they made their way through, a hand shot out and grabbed onto the back of Poppy's cloak. She yelped, the clasp binding around her throat from the force of the pull.

"Where are you going?" a man by the name of Oryn slurred, lips pulled up into an ugly smile, "We'd very much like to meet you."

Quickly, Jon pushed the man back as Poppy ripped her cloak out of his grip. All traces of her crooked smile were gone, her usual deep frown now set deeply on her face. The men laughed, all their fear of Jon and what he could tell the Lord Commander forgotten with their drunkenness.

"What's your issue, bastard?", another, Ilan, demanded, "Don't want to share your little slice with us?"

Jon stepped forward, face hard and hands curled into fists. "You'd do well to keep your hands to yourselves."

"We'd do well to keep our hands other places", Oryn chortled, taking a bold step closer to the girl.

Poppy quickly stepped back, her face pulling into a sneer that looked like a cornered animal. Her dark hair fell in sheets over her face, shoulders hunched up protectively. "You touch me and I'll cut off your cocks and shove them up your asses."

"Girl's got spirit", Oryn laughed.

Jon stepped up in front of her, keeping the men at bay.

"That's enough!" he barked, his words stunning the men briefly.

It didn't last. The third man, a younger one he didn't know the name of, had slid out of his sight when the other two had advanced. Jon tried to reach for him but was pulled back by Oryn. The sound of Poppy crying out angrily made him turn to see the third man grabbing hold of her hair. Jon quickly elbowed Oryn in the stomach and grabbed hold of the man's wrist, wringing it and forcing him to loosen his grip. But as he threw the man to the ground, Ilan grabbed the front of Poppy's tunic, his laughter ugly and bubbling as he tried to rip it open. Poppy let out a strangled cry, reaching out and clawing at the man's arms with little success.

"Let her go now!"

The bastard grabbed hold of Ilan's hair, but he'd already thrown Poppy in Oryn's direction. The ice made it impossible for Poppy to keep her footing or hold her ground. She landed in Oryn's arms, his ugly white-blonde hair falling in greasy sheets over his smiling face. He could hear her panting, breath wheezing and stuck in her chest in a panic. Her eyes were wide with panic, body going stiff. Jon desperately reached to pull her from his grasp but the blonde childishly giggled and threw her back to Ilan. He shook her, pulling at the back of her tunic through the top of her cloak.

"She looks like a little ragdoll", he giggled, laughter filling the air. He shook her harder, and she didn't fight back.

"I swear to the Gods I will-"

Before Jon could finish, he saw something that didn't look quite right. Ilan apparently noticed it too. His smile dropped from his face when he realized that he had stopped shaking Poppy, but the girl had continued to move.

Movement wasn't right. She was spasming. Seizing. Violently. Her back had gone stiff into an almost backward arc and her eyes had rolled back in her head. Spit leaked from her lips like an animal. Like she'd burned her, Ilan dropped her onto the ground in a shaking heap. She didn't seem to notice that she'd even dropped to the ground.

"I- I didn't do that", he slurred, stepping back in a panic.

Jon didn't listen, though. He fell to his knees beside her to see that blood was flowing out of her nose and the spit lining her lips was stained an ugly sick yellow color. His hands hovered over her, twitching and unsure what to do. Looking up, he pointed at Ilan.

"Call the Maester", he ordered, trying to gather the girl in his arms without hurting her.

"But- but I-"

"NOW!"

The men scattered as soon as the words left Jon's lips. They echoed through the yard along with their pounding footsteps. But the sounds were lost on him. Instead, he turned back to the girl seizing in his arms. Spit and sick stuck to her lips and fell down the corners of her mouth. Trying to remember anything he'd ever learned from Maester Luwin, Jon quickly turned her on her side in his arms. Her face crushed itself into his chest, the ugly yellow saliva smearing over his clothes. But it didn't matter. He quickly started running towards the Maester's chambers. As soon as he was at the door, he kicked it in and stumbled inside.

"Maester Aemon!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Help- it's Poppy! I don't- I don't know what-"

"That's quite enough", the old Maester's voice tittered, the man himself emerging from the shadows followed by the three men who quickly ran out of the room, "I've been told what's happening. What color is her saliva?"

Jon looked down, as if to check once again. "Uh- it's yellow. Clear yellow. And her nose is bleeding."

The old man's lips turned down, his sightless eyes seeming even farther away than usual. "I know what this is. Now don't waste time, lay her down on the table."

Clumsily, Jon quickly followed instructions and tried to get the seizing girl to lay straight on her back. But she kept shaking, kept pulling in and out of herself. The sight made all the air in his chest evaporate. He stood frozen above her, unsure of what to do or how to help. All he knew was that he needed to do something, help her in some way.

"Out" the old Maester said simply, already holding several herbs in his hands and beginning to pour them into a bowl, "I'll take care of this, Jon Snow."

Jon's lips flapped open and closed. "But I-"

"You want to help", Maester Aemon finished, a little smile on his lips, "And that's honorable. I'll be sure to tell her you refused to leave her side as soon as she's finished with this episode. But for now I need the room to care for her. I will call you when she's alright again."

Jon looked upon the Maester, knowing that he knew what to do. But he still didn't want to leave Poppy alone. Stepping back, he felt guilt eating up his insides as he stepped out into the night and shut the door behind him.

It turned out Jon only had to wait outside for less than an hour. He'd sat outside the chambers, letting the cold sink into him without a cloak. He wondered from time to time if he should go get the Lord Commander, but it was late and he didn't know what had happened. One moment she'd been fine, albeit pissed and scared. She'd been paler than usual, but he'd assumed it had been the cold.

The door creaked back open, the Maester standing in the frame calmly. Jon shot to his feet.

"Is she okay?" he asked, voice cracking from the cold.

"She's alright", the old man reassured him, waving him inside, "Do come in and see for yourself."

The man quickly followed Maester Aemon inside, shutting the door behind him before rushing to the table in the center of the room. Poppy lay upon it, flecks of bile still sticking to her cheeks and the barest traces of red clinging to the underside of her nose. But she simply stared up at the ceiling, seeming to not want to meet Jon's gaze.

"Are you alright?", he asked, standing above her worriedly.

Flicking her eyes away from him, the dark haired woman nodded. Her arms wrapped around her middle, head turning away from Jon. Worry wrung itself inside of Jon. What had she been told? What was wrong with her that made her not want to look at him?

"It's not fatal", Maester Aemon piped up, breaking the heavy silence, "Just to give you some comfort. It's not even new. Miss Waters has a birth defect. It gives her seizured from time to time, especially under stress. Of course, she knew about this already."

Jon snapped his head back to Poppy, his brows pulling together. "You knew about this? Why in seven hells wouldn't you tell me?''

Her throat bobbed from her swallowing, a grimace following. She must still have the taste in her mouth. "Would you have let me stay if you'd known?"

Jon opened his mouth to contradict her, but nothing came out. Mulling it over, he knew he or Thorne or even Mormont would have told her to leave had they known she was so frail. Slowly, he shut his mouth, keeping his eyes on her.

"I could've helped", he argued weakly.

"There's something we agree on", the Maester cut in, a little smile on his wrinkled face, "I've treated several of my family members for issues much like this. It's ongoing, it will never go away. But we can combat the symptoms. I've had much practice making the proper medicines. It's not too difficult, and you can find the ingredients in most wild places. Even in the winter. I made sure of that when I was young."

Poppy looked over at the old man, brows knit together. "Your family had this too?"

"Oh yes", he replied, "And various other things. I was among the luckier lot. But I promise we can alleviate the seizures. So long as you keep up with the treatment."

She nodded quickly, hair flying. "Yes! Yes, I'll do that. Thank you."

The old man's lips turned even further up, looking sweet and a little sad. "I used up the last of the ginger. I'll go off and fetch some to teach you both how to make the brew. Jon Snow, you're in for a little more work, if that's alright with you."

"Yes, it's alright", he insisted.

Maester Aemon nodded again before shuffling out of the room in search of the ginger. Once again, the room was quiet. Poppy pulled herself up with a groan and managed to sit up. Jon kept his eyes on her, feeling the panic fade away, replaced by concern and mild irritation.

"How are we going to keep you from having another…" he trailed off, unsure of what to call what had just happened.

"Episode?", she provided, rubbing at her cheek, "That's what my mother always called them. I don't know. The medicine should help. They've helped before."

"And what if someone attacks you again?" Jon asked as gently as he could, "It doesn't matter if you don't have another episode if you're still in danger."

Her face fell, eyes seeming to sink into her skull. She looked up at him, dark circles under her eyes and hair a wild mess. "I… you could…"

As she trailed off, he tried to keep her attention. "What is it?"

She swallowed hard, seeming to shake slightly. "When I was travelling here, two men tried to…"

Jon didn't want to know, but he did. He knew what happened to women alone on the road. It was sick. But thinking of Poppy alone out there made his stomach turn. She was small and visibly breakable. Brave, but breakable.

"The men tried", she continued, catching his attention again, "But I… I fought them off."

"How?" Jon asked.

"I had a hunter's knife", she muttered, eyes wide and ashamed, "I didn't mean to- to hurt him. But I did and… and they left me alone. I don't know how to fight. Not properly. But I heard that you're the best swordsman here."

Realizing what she was implying, Jon quickly shook his head. "No. That's not an option."

"Why not?", she pleaded, "I'll do whatever you tell me to."

"You heard what the Maester said", he implored, "Too much stress could send you back here again."

"I can handle a seizure", she insisted, scooting closer to him to look him straight in the eyes, "And I'm able to get medicine again now. I'll be fine."

"But you can't even hold up a sword on your own."

"I'll work up to it!"

"The Lord Commander will have my head."

"What about my head?" she cried, slamming her fist on the table beside her, "What about when you're not there? You think the men will just leave me be on fear of you alone? I have to be able to defend myself!"

The two stared hard at each other. Poppy's eyes didn't waver from his, sitting taller than she had before and keeping herself still. Jon ran through the whole thing in his head. She was small, weak. She would be left with many bruises in the process if she wanted to really learn. But she had spirit, too. More than half the men at Castle Black. And if he didn't tell the Lord Commander, perhaps he would simply allow it to continue. His eyes flicked between hers, feeling his jaw tighten before letting out a huff.

"Fine", he relented, feeling his words stick in his throat, "But you'll do everything I tell you. We'll train after both our duties are done for the day."

"Yes!" she said immediately, eyes widening, "Yes, I can do that."

"And you won't complain about bruises or sore arms or anything", he continued seriously.

"You'll never hear a complaint from me", she insisted, nodding her head along so fast he wondered if she would get whiplash from it.

Sighing, Jon leaned against the table, the night's anxiety finally catching up with him. "Fine. We'll start tomorrow."

"Thank you!" Poppy wheezed out, her voice cracking over the words.

Her hand shot out as if separate from her body and gripped his arm in thanks. Almost immediately she let go, her face slack with shock and discomfort. He watched her face pale, as if touching someone was completely foreign to her. But he did not ask about it. What would it have achieved, anyway? It was clear that there were alot of things Poppy did not want to talk about. Jon wondered if he would ever truly know who she was. But at the moment, that didn't really matter. What mattered was keeping her alive as long as she was at Castle Black.