Chapter 11: Serendipity

The Wall

Jon could stand it no longer.

"Enough!" he said. There was training, and then there was just pointless cruelty. The boy from Horn Hill had probably never actually held a sword in his life. Elena was wrong; not all lords' sons had the benefit of learning from masters-at-arms like Ser Rodrik from the age of eight or five. "He yielded, Rast." The rapist glared at him, but as Grenn and Pyp closed in, he stepped away from the cowering boy. He knew he couldn't beat Jon alone, let alone all three of them at once.

Jon hauled Tarly to his feet. Ser Alisser smirked. "Well, well," he said. "Looks like the bastard's in love."

Jon had to remind himself to not react. He was illegitimate, and if Tyrion Lannister could own a name like 'the dwarf' or 'the Imp', he could own the name 'bastard'. The fault and dishonour, after all, were not his.

"You'd best get ready to defend your Lady Piggy," said Ser Alisser. He turned to the remaining three. "You three ought to be sufficient to make the pig squeal. All you have to do is get past the bastard." There was one thing to be said for Ser Alisser. He didn't vary his insults very much. "Lady Piggy" was the highest point his creativity had ever reached.

Grenn visibly grimaced at the thought of having to fight Jon when the latter was on a mission, no matter how pointless said mission seemed. But he had no choice. Ser Alisser ruled this little kingdom of recruits with a hard fist. They had to do as he commanded.

Rast lingered behind as Grenn and Pyp rushed at Jon. At the last moment, Pyp hesitated, leaving Grenn to face him alone, not that it stayed that way for long. Metal clashed as Jon blocked the strike and forced Grenn's weapon to the side where it would be out of the way and useless before shoving his elbow into his chest and forcing him backwards. Pyp charged. The slighter man was better at dodging Jon, and it took another two exchanges before he, too, staggered back. As he did so, Rast saw his chance to strike Jon from behind. He did not hold back; all his hatred and disdain was put into that one blow. His only regret was probably that it had not been a real sword. Jon grunted and then swung around to engage him, kneeing him again and again in the stomach before he fell to the ground in a heap, much like the Tarly boy a few moments ago. He might have missed the stomach a few times and struck lower accidentally. His aim couldn't possibly be that accurate.

Ser Alisser scoffed at their efforts. "You think you can protect him? He'll be watching your back out there, and a fat lot of good that'll do you."

"I saw what happened," said Elena. Jon looked up from sorting through the pile of sweaty practise armour and setting aside the pieces that needed repairing or replacing. It was mind-numbing work, leaving him plenty of space to think. Only, he didn't really want to think. The future held too many possibilities; too many uncertainties. "It's a brave thing that you did, defending that boy."

"And a lot of good that will do him once we're out there in the wilds," said Jon.

"He doesn't ever have to set foot beyond the Wall," said Elena. "There are plenty of mundane tasks that need doing. God knows I see more than enough of them." She paused.

"What is it, Elena?" he asked. "You didn't come here just to talk to me about Tarly, did you?"

"It's going to sound stupid," she said.

He laughed. "I spent a whole morning with Ser Alisser and Rast. I think I can handle it."

"I was wondering if you could teach me how to use a sword," she said.

It was his turn to be silent. "Why?"

"I thought it would be useful to know," she said. "This is a dangerous place, and you're a good teacher. I mean, we'd have to do it in secret, of course, and it would take up your time…never mind. I'm sure−"

Jon reached out to catch her arm. "I'd be more than happy to," he said.

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "There's a courtyard behind the kitchens. No one ever goes there after dark."

"Tonight, as the moon rises," he said. It might not be dishonourable or against the rules of the Watch, but somehow, it seemed deliciously forbidden.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds like a great pale eye, surveying everything in its silver gaze. Nothing escaped it; not the man watching on the Wall, not the brothers sneaking off to Mole's Town to dig for 'treasure' –read: whoring− and certainly not the young recruit trying to dart from shadow to shadow from the sleeping quarters to the kitchens, with a white wolf trailing him.

But the moon had seen thousands upon thousands of years of secrets and it had never betrayed a single one of them, so Jon felt safe.

The courtyard behind the kitchens was usually used for offloading goods coming north to the Wall. Crates were stacked by the side next to the storage sheds, ready for re-use if necessary. Most of the time, they ended up as emergency firewood. Dark lichen sprouted up from the cracks between the flagstones. At first, Jon couldn't see Elena, but in the silence of the night, he heard her breathing, and as he looked around, he found her hanging by her fingers from the door frame of one of the storage sheds and pulling herself up again and again. It seemed to be some sort of uncomfortable and odd exercise.

When she saw him, she dropped down. "Hey," she greeted him. She greeted Ghost much more enthusiastically as the wolf bounded up to her. He knew who was in charge of all the meaty bones and the animal knew exactly how to get one.

"Sorry, boy, no bones tonight," she said as she ruffled his ears as if he were a dog.

The first thing Jon noticed that was different about her than during the day was the usual twist she wore her hair in was gone. She'd tied her hair up with a leather thong tightly at the top of her head, letting the gathered strands hang down like the tail of a horse, but in a much prettier manner.

The second thing he noticed was that she was wearing a leather jerkin and an ill-fitting quilted gambeson like the boys usually wore when they were practising, but in her case, it only drew attention to her womanly curves and made him wonder about what she looked like without all these bulky layers.

Dammit! Honourable men didn't think about such things!

"I brought the swords and armour," he said. He sounded pathetic, like a little boy who was too scared to speak because he liked a girl.

"Great," she said. "Um…shall we start?"

Starting seemed like a good idea.

He helped her tie on the cumbersome armour and handed her one of the two practise swords. It looked awfully big compared to her, but there was something very alluring about a pretty girl trying to hold a sword.

"Now, try to hit me−Ow!"

She'd struck him on the leg before he'd even finished his sentence. A woman who showed no uncertainty; he liked that.

"I'm sorry−" she began, but before she could finish, he lunged. She dodged, and he barely maintained his balance as she hooked her foot around his leg and tried to pull it out from beneath him. She was fast, and there was something very familiar about her fighting style, although he just couldn't remember where he'd seen it before.

Well, at least he knew she was more than capable of hitting –although he'd known that already. That was a better start than Tarly ever had.

"Your grip on your sword is too tight," he said after they had exchanged a number of blows and parries. Her technique was far from excellent, but somehow he only got a few hits in because she was so damn fast. No matter how much he sped up or slowed down, she could always keep up with him or simply dance out of the way. And her flexibility was phenomenal, achieving moves that most normal men wouldn't have. At least not without dislocating a limb. Not that she managed to hit him now that he was blocking her blows. She wasn't quite that good yet.

He set aside his sword and moved behind her, with his arms on either side of her body, to help her correct her stance and reposition her hands on the hilt. "You want your grip to be secure, but not so tight that you are stiffening your wrists. They need to move. Think of a sword as being an extension of yourself. It's part of you."

He was leaning in so close that her hair brushed his cheek. It really was as soft as he had imagined it to be, and he took the chance to breathe in her scent of wood smoke and something entirely alien; something soft and feminine. He moved with her as she swung the sword, guiding her movements as she went through the different sets of moves Ser Rodrik had taught him and Robb when they had been boys.

"You're doing well," he said once they'd gone through all the sets. "Now, remembering what I've taught you, try to hit me after I finish speaking."

"Are you done now?"

"You just want to hit me, don't you?"

"I have to say there's something very entertaining about it."

They exchanged a few more passes. Elena was a quicker learner than most, and her speed worked to her advantage.

"Are you sure you've never held a sword before?" he asked.

"The only time I'd ever held one was when I was bringing stray practise swords back to the armoury," she said. "You have no idea how they seem to grow legs and go wandering."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret, so long as you don't tell anyone I said it," he said. "You fight better than many of the men."

"Really?" She turned around. "You're not just saying that because I'm actually crap and you want me to feel better, are you?"

"Have you ever heard me dole out undeserved praise?" he asked.

"You're not a bad teacher, you know, Jon Snow," she said. That smile made spending a night out in the cold and missing out on sleep and dirty banter completely worth it. "All joking aside, thank you. I don't know of anyone else here who would give up their evenings and nights to teach me sword-fighting. If you ever need my help, just ask. I'll do what I can."

Jon thought for a moment. "Well, there is something you can do for me," he began.

Sam groaned as he sank onto the hard narrow cot that served for a bed for recruits. His bones ached. His joints ached. His muscles ached. Even his stomach ached after a less than satisfactory meal when Rast had taken his oatcake. He closed his eyes and prepared to go to sleep. Why couldn't they have mattresses? After all, straw wasn't all that expensive. Perhaps he should just go sleep in the stables. The horses had straw.

"Sam," said Jon.

He sat up immediately. Was someone actually talking to him? He knew Jon had been trying to look after him in his own way, but he'd never actually spoken to him before outside of practise. Jon stood above him, his eyes dark and unreadable. "What, what?" asked Sam as he began to panic. He didn't know why. After all, Jon would never hurt him.

Would he?

"Come with me," he said.

Sam hesitated, but he desperately wanted to be Jon's friend. He was so good at everything. Everyone respected him, or at least were afraid of him, and he wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, not even Ser Alisser. So he followed Jon as the other boy led him through the maze that was Castle Black, keeping to the shadows all the time with his wolf trailing behind. The animal made Sam nervous too, but he was too scared to say anything about it.

Samwell Tarly was a coward.

"Where are we going?" he whispered to Jon as the two of them peered around the corner to make sure no one saw them. He kept a tight grip on the three practise swords and the three suits of practise armour Jon had made him fetch.

"You'll see," said Jon.

Sam slowly realized that they were heading for the kitchens in the most roundabout way possible. Jon liked midnight snacks? Who knew? And who knew one could get midnight snacks on the Wall? But then, Jon seemed to get along very well with the second cook; the pretty one. The girl.

When he had first come to the Wall, he had never thought he would ever see a girl again. He had been quite sad about it. But then he saw her; a glorious vision appearing from the steam of the kitchens, ladling out stew for the hungry and tired recruits. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen from a distance. He'd never actually seen her up close because he was always too afraid to look up when she was around, much less say anything to her. It was as if his throat dried at the very sight of her.

They finally came to a courtyard hidden behind the kitchens. A lone sack of something hung from the winch used to haul large animal carcasses up into the air so their blood could be drained for blood sausages.

"There you are," said Elena, emerging from the shadows. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I said I'd come," said Jon as he took the swords and armour from Sam and handed one set to the girl. Sam simply looked at the ground. Wasn't it interesting how the lichen looked in the cracks in the stone?

"You're Samwell, right?" said Elena. Oh dear seven! She was talking to him! Girls didn't talk to him, apart from his mother, and she didn't count. Gods, gods, gods, gods, what was he supposed to do?

Jon nudged him.

"SamwellImeanyesmynameisSamwell," he blurted out.

"I think he means to say, yes, his name is Samwell," Jon translated.

Sam nodded. It seemed like a safe thing to do, and he was capable of doing that much at least.

"Don't be mean, Jon," said Elena.

"I wasn't!" protested Jon half-heartedly. Jon could as mean as he liked. At least he could do all the talking and Sam could continue examining the lichen. Was it just him, or did the lichen look like thousands of tiny little swords all stuck together?

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Elena continued, ignoring Jon for the meantime. "I'm Elena Gilbert."

"I don't know how to talk to girls," Sam mumbled. He thought he'd said it too softly for anyone to be able to hear him, but Elena chuckled.

"It's just like talking to boys," she said. "Air comes up through your voice box, you make sounds, and your lips move to shape those sounds into syllables which you then combine to form words…you get the idea."

"He doesn't know how to talk to boys either," whispered Jon so loudly that everyone could hear him.

Hey! That wasn't fair! "I talk to you," he said, finally looking up at Jon. And then he looked right back down because both Elena and Jon were looking at him. Jon thrust a sword and a set of armour at him.

"Suit up," he said. "We are going to make you into a brother of the Night's Watch."

His breath sounded harsh even to his own ears. The cold air burned as it went down. His heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he felt as if it would burst out through his ribs at any minute. He swallowed as he clenched his fists and confronted his opponent's blank face.

"I don't like hitting things," said Sam.

"Just hit the damn sandbag, Sam," said Jon. "It doesn't have feelings!"

Obviously it did, because the sandbag hit back harder than he did.

His stomach burned. He couldn't breathe; not really. It was as if there was a great weight crushing him and he was fighting futilely against it.

"You can do it, Sam!" called Elena. "Just pull yourself up into a sitting position. That's it! That's it! You're almost there!"

Sam fell back flat onto his back. The moon and stars were probably all laughing. Jon certainly was.

They had to know what was going on. Pyp pretended not to notice as Jon and Sam sneaked outside. As if Sam could sneak. Although, lately, he had seemed much improved and Pyp wasn't sure that it had anything to do with them threatening to have Jon's wolf bite off certain parts of Rast's anatomy in the middle of the night if he didn't leave Sam alone. After all, that would not account for Tarly suddenly growing a set of his own. Why, he'd even threatened to hit Rast in the practise yards today if he didn't stop calling him 'Lady Piggy', and then he'd actually gone through with the threat. It wasn't a bad punch either; a quick jab, short and sharp. It had certainly stunned the lot of them into silence.

He nudged Grenn's leg beneath the table and the two of them followed Jon and Sam. It was hard to see outside. It had begun to snow, and the Night's Watch didn't have the budget to light the necessary lanterns. Most brothers carried their own torches if they wanted to wander outside after dark. Of course, the brothers sneaking off to Mole's Town never did, for obvious reasons. Sam and Jon hadn't been carrying a torch either. Were they sneaking off to Mole's Town? Well, if they were, then Jon had a lot of explaining to do. Why didn't he bring him and Grenn as well?

However, the two seemed to be creeping towards the kitchens. Typical Sam. But why was Jon going there?

Grenn bumped into him from behind and they almost fell down in a heap on the flagstones which were slowly becoming white. They found their balance just in time. Even if Jon didn't hear them, Ghost would.

Jon and Sam went behind the kitchens into the courtyard where goods were offloaded. Sam was beginning to grumble about why he had to come even though it was snowing and no one with one ounce of sense would train in the middle of a storm. Then they heard her voice. They just had to see this.

Sam continued to punch the sandbag in the background while they had their own lesson. Their practise swords had long been abandoned as they faced each other in the moonlight.

"One step forward, one step back," Jon was saying to Elena as he guided her through the moves.

Elena giggled as she stepped on his feet again. "God, I'm a terrible dancer," she said.

"I'm not disputing that," said Jon. "And again."

There were no lights save for one dim lantern, and no music save for their voices and the sound of the wind, but somehow there was more beauty in this bumbling dance than any of the feasts Jon had been to. He certainly enjoyed this dance more than any other. Elena's eyes shone, and she probably didn't know it, but she was biting her bottom lip in concentration. It did something to Jon, even though he wasn't exactly sure what it was that it did.

Without realizing he was doing it, he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Elena's ear. It did no good, as the wind was howling and determined to blow her hair out of place. They didn't say anything to one another. He simply smiled. "Shall we start again?"

"My goodness, Jon Snow," said a voice that really oughtn't be here. "You certainly have done well for yourself."

"Pyp, Grenn," said Jon. He turned around slowly to face them. "What are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same thing," said Pyp.

"We're training," Sam panted as he came over. His hands were wrapped in bandages and the sandbag he'd been hitting was still swaying. "Well, I'm training, and they're dancing. I've never seen such bad dancing in my life."

"Training," Grenn repeated, looking at Elena and seeming a little dazed.

"Yes, Grenn, training," said Jon. "There's nothing against that, is there? In fact, now that you're here…" He turned to Elena. "Mistress Elena, I am intrigued by your unarmed combat methods and I have no doubt that we would benefit from some instruction."

"You want me to teach you to fight?" said Elena.

"Would you not be willing to do so?" asked Jon. "After all, I have been training you in the art of the sword."

"Fine, since you asked so nicely," she said as she rolled her eyes.

The snow had stopped when Benjen Stark rode through the portcullis of Castle Black, more dead than alive. Behind him, being dragged on a makeshift sleigh, were the bodies of Othor and Jafer Flowers, two of the other rangers he had ridden out with.

Jon pushed past the crowds of brothers who had gathered around as Benjen was being helped off his horse. "Uncle Benjen!"

"Blue ice in the dark. Blue ice. Blue ice," Benjen kept saying no matter what anyone said to him.

"What's he talking about?" Jon asked Yoren, probably the only person who would answer him.

"He's been saying that ever since he rode through those gates," said Yoren. "They say the cold and the dark, it sometimes does something to your head."

"Blue ice," whispered Benjen. "Cold." His skin was almost the colour of snow and he shook. Mormont ordered him to be taken to the infirmary. Jon followed, but was stopped at the door by the Lord Commander himself.

"He's in capable hands, Snow," he said. "Maester Aemon will take care of him." He turned to Elena. "The maester has asked for your assistance."

"Of course," she said, and then she, too, disappeared inside the dark confines of the infirmary, where even the roaring fire in the hearth could not completely banish the chill emanating from within.

The Riverlands

Spears of grass gleamed silver in the moonlight by the side of the road. Her feet made little imprint in the dirt, which had been packed down by centuries of hooves and feet and wheels. Horses' hooves thundered down the road, drawing closer and closer. Riders at this hour? She kept walking. They would catch up to her sooner or later, and she wasn't afraid. If they were hostiles, she'd take care of them. If they were friendly…

Well, she liked having friends.

She glanced backwards as the riders came around the corner, banners flying. Trout. Tully men. Their armour gleamed and it was well made. Certainly not just Tully soldiers, then.

They made to ride past her, but then the lead rider reined in his horse.

"It is a rather late hour to be wandering the roads, mistress, is it not?" he asked. His copper hair, now greying, was beginning to recede.

"But with lords such as yourself patrolling them, surely the roads would be safe regardless of the hour, Ser?" she said.

"You have the honour of speaking to Lord Edmure, of House Tully," he corrected her. "But you are correct. No bandit would ever be brazen enough to accost travellers this close to Riverrun."

She curtseyed to him. Lord Edmure Tully? Hmm…he was a little weathered for her taste –she liked smooth skin− and she couldn't exactly eat him because then she'd have to kill him and all his men. Right now, it would not benefit her to draw attention to her existence by killing important lords. "Are you trying to frighten me, my lord, with all this talk of bandits?" she asked.

"Well, we cannot have that, my la− mistress. If you desire it, mayhap you could accompany myself and my men back to the city? For your own safety."

"Thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but seeing as you are on horseback, I am afraid I would only slow you down."

"Have no fear, mistress, for I have a spare horse," he said. He motioned for his squire to dismount. The boy did so with a scowl in her direction. She smiled prettily and allowed him to lift her onto the horse's back. She sat side-saddle, even though the saddle wasn't made for it. But no proper lady would straddle a horse. Not like the way she would straddle a man.

Edmure looked her up and down appreciatively as he fully took in her appearance for the first time. He seemed a little dazed. Men usually were by her beauty. "Is it safe to sit thus on a horse?" he asked.

"I have had some experience with horses," she replied. "My skirts do not allow me to ride properly."

"We will go slowly, then," he said.

Had she ever mentioned she loved chivalry?

The Wall

She came and found him on the battlements at night, keeping watch over the vast blackness below. The wind had picked up again, and little twisters of snow formed along the length of the Wall every now and then before disappearing as suddenly as they had come into existence. They weren't very different from the lives of men, really. The Wall had seen eight thousand years. How many men must it have seen come and go? Their lifespans must seem to it as the snow twisters seemed to him.

"He's sleeping now," said Elena as she came to stand beside Jon. "Maester Aemon says he should recover in the next few weeks. Apart from the cold and lack of nourishment, he seems fine. There were no injuries that we could find apart from a few fading bruises."

"He wasn't fine, Elena," said Jon. "I've never seen him like this before. This is Benjen we're talking about. He's not afraid. Not like this."

"Maybe he simply never let you see him afraid," said Elena. "Parents do that."

"He's not my parent," said Jon.

"They don't have to actually have taken part in creating you to be your parent," said Elena. "He might as well be just another father to you."

"We've known each other for a little more than a month, and yet there seems to be nothing I can hide from you," said Jon. He finally turned to face her. "And sometimes, I don't think I want to−"

He didn't get to finish. Ghost began to snarl.

The howl on the wind was most definitely not the wind.

From the dark haze a white figure emerged. It was more like an outline of a man than a man, and the only feature Jon could make out was its glowing blue eyes.

He unsheathed his sword. "Get back behind me, Elena!" he shouted. The figure charged. Jon thrust his sword into Jafer's stomach, but it did absolutely nothing to deter him. The man, if he could still be called that, wrapped his fingers about Jon's neck and slammed his head onto the stone. Stars burst in his vision. Jafer was so strong. His fingers were slowly crushing Jon's windpipe and nothing he did could dislodge the man's icy grip.

And then Jafer released him. He saw a shadow pass before his eyes and the ice-man was bowled over. Jon scrambled to his feet only to see Elena lunge at Jafer. Her back was to him, but he knew, at that moment.

He knew she was no mortal woman.

Jafer charged at her, but she was faster and stronger. Dodging his icy outstretched hand with movements so fast that she just seemed like a blur, she wrenched his arm behind his back. As she did so, she turned around so Jon could see her face.

That face.

Gone were the soft beauty and the large shining eyes. Instead, her eyes had become pools of black. Her veins, like cracks in marble, were showing prominently around them.

And her teeth.

She sank her fangs into Jafer's neck. One hand kept a hold of his arm as the other reached beneath his chin.

And then tore his head off. Just like that. The head rolled a few feet and stopped; the eyes were still blue and glowing and the mouth agape in a silent roar or scream. It was hard to tell what it was trying to do now that it was separated from the voice box.

The body staggered about. Jon snatched up the charcoal brazier with his bare hands, not caring if he got burned or not, and flung it at still moving but headless and harmless wight. As the body became ash, the eyes ceased to glow. He threw the head into the flames anyway, just in case.

And then he turned to Elena; beautiful, dangerous, otherworldly Elena. At that moment, everything made sense. Dracula, the beast in Winterfell, Damon's stories…

"You're a…you're a…a vampire," he whispered. "You're Damon's Elena!"

Review replies:

JordieFan: 'Awesome chapter, as usual. Now that Damon's a knight, I wonder what he'll choose as his personal sigil? It'd be funny if he chose something like a pair of bloody fangs on a black background. Though, that might just make Ned slightly suspicious, haha. "The bloody fangs of House Salvatore."'

Thanks! We have planned Damon's sigil. It's not quite as obvious as a pair of fangs, but it does have something to do with Damon's life back in the USA and Mystic Falls. It'll be appropriate, but very Damon. Ned's not going to suspect a thing.

Guest: 'Omgg love when you update. I am falling more in love with Damon. If that's even possible :)'

We're glad you're enjoying it! Yes, Telcontar believes it is possible to fall more in love with Damon! You're not alone!

Guest: 'This story is pure brilliance, all the characters are well written and I can't wait for everone to start interacting. You've certainly taken on a lot of povs and I can't wait to see how they really start changing the game. Just wanted to say thanks, this is probably one of the best stories in this section and I hope that you can maintain your brilliant update rate. :D'

We're so happy that you like it. All the characters are keeping a low profile (sort of) for now, but they will be changing the game once everything gets into motion. We have several chapters drafted and several more planned. They all just need writing/editing.

A/N: We know, we know, this chapter is mostly Jon/Elena-centric. Other people will return soon!