Chapter Twenty One
A/N: Thank you to xenocanaan, Guest, Mira Black-Snape and Guest #2 for reviewing the last chapter.
Vorsannys scarcely managed a few hours of settling in before she left her chamber, in search of something to occupy her mind. Each time she closed her eyes for a second, she saw her mother on dragonback, flames searing the ground far beneath her. Not a minute went by when the princess did not wish to be fighting beside her queen; mayhaps if she found something to do, it would make her entrapment easier to bear.
She wandered for a few minutes, avoiding the training grounds as if they were plague-ridden. She was a strong young woman, her mother's daughter through and through, but a score of leering men was too much for even her to bear that night.
"Are you lost, princess?" came a voice from behind her, and Vorsannys shuddered with surprise. She looked over her shoulder to find the Lord Commander staring at her.
"I was looking for something to do." she answered honestly, almost wincing at her own words. It sounded like a child's excuse, not befitting a princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Great Houses lived and died by reputation, or so her mother said. The Targaryens' reputation long preceded them, and weakness was not a part of that.
"I'm afraid there is not much by way of leisure activities at the Wall, princess." Jon reminded her, his kindly tone suggesting he was not deliberately trying to make her look a fool. "Our role here is an important one, it leaves little time for relaxation."
"In fact, I was looking for a library." Vorsannys claimed. It was a half-truth. For all the tales that Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan had told her over the years, she still knew so little of her mother's birthland. If she was not permitted to fight, then at least she could learn.
"The library at Eastwatch is limited." Jon explained. To his credit, he did not seem phased in the least by the idea of a woman educating herself. Mayhaps he had seen enough of the world to know there were far bigger threats lurking in the darkness. "Most of the Watch's records are kept at Castle Black; we'll be headed there at dawn. I can find you something, but I can't promise the most tantalising reads."
"I appreciate your efforts, Lord Commander." Vorsannys painted a gentle smile onto her face. "With the Seven Kingdoms at war, it must be frustrating to be faced with mundane tasks. The Great Houses slaughter one another on the battlefield, and yet you must patrol the Wall as if none of it exists."
"The Night's Watch vow to take no part in the conflicts of men." There was a defensive edge to Jon's voice as he spoke, though his eyes glittered with pride. Among the hordes of murderers and rapists, it seemed that a scant few believed in the cause they fought for. "It makes no difference to me, who sits the Iron Throne. My role is to guard the Wall, nothing more than that."
"But do you never worry?" Vorsannys could not help but ask. The man frowned back at her, confused. "Men die by their thousands in the South, fighting under one banner or another. Do you never wonder if the conflict might come to you?"
"Trust me, princess, there are far worse things beyond the Wall than there are behind it." Jon Snow stated, with a shiver down his spine that could not be concealed even by his cloak. "However dangerous the men, and women, at the heads of the armies might be, at least they can be reasoned with. The same cannot be said of the threats the Night's Watch face."
"Do you mean the wildlings?" the blonde girl pressed, feeling rather more ignorant than she would have liked. She ought to have asked more of Ser Jorah before they were parted; after all, he was born a Northman, and his father was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch before Snow. "I thought you'd made a pact with them. You offered them shelter behind the Wall, in return for their word that they would be peaceful."
"The pact still stands." Jon sighed, his eyes flitting to the watch window at the end of the hall, overlooking the white-blanketed wasteland beyond. "There are far greater threats than them."
"Like what?" Vorsannys asked, but this time, the Night's Watchman seemed to have reached his limit, answering only with a shake of his head.
"It's nothing to concern you, princess." Jon attested, his voice intended to be a comfort, and yet just firm enough to prevent her asking again. "Besides, have you no worries of your own about the battles in the South? I understand your mother will lead the charge herself."
"On the back of a dragon." Vorsannys pointed out, allowing herself a gentle smile. "I worry more for her enemies. My mother has the Dothraki and the Unsullied at her back, not to mention my three brothers. Victors have emerged from far worse odds."
"Indeed they have." The slight slip into a friend-like tone had fast gone away, as if the Lord Commander was only now realising he was growing too comfortable with the girl who was fairly unlawfully under his protection. The Night's Watch and its codes were so often on his mind that the words of the oath were all but seared across his skull; neutrality in war was most often among his thoughts, given the ongoing conflicts in the South, and yet he had disregarded that entirely. For her.
Sensing the iciness growing between them, it was Vorsannys who chose to retreat. "I should retire to my room, Lord Commander. I have journeyed long to reach the Wall, and I do not have long before we journey further still. I ought to rest a little before then."
"Very well, princess." Jon spoke, in a voice that was all authority and no man. "I will have one of your own men wake you a little before dawn; I imagine you would be more comfortable with them than with mine."
"Thank you." And then she turned on her heel and fled, blushing a crimson so furious it almost matched the wool of her gown. She could almost hear her mother's admonishments in her mind; she was a princess of the Seven Kingdoms, heir to the Iron Throne, and yet she simpered like a lowborn maiden at the attentions of a Night's Watchman, a man bound by oath to never love a woman.
Vorsannys scarcely slept that night, so intense were the thoughts battling in her mind. She thought of her mother and her bloodriders, her councillors, all those who had been around her as she had grown. She wondered how many were dead already.
When the knock came at her door at dawn, the princess had already risen and dressed for the day, steeling herself in her armour of wool and silver chain. Down the edge of her white gold hair, she fashioned a small braid, the sign of strength amongst her father's people. She knew that she had earned no such privileges yet, but if she had her way, it would not be long in coming.
Even a thousand miles from the battlefield, Vorsannys had no intention of whittling her days as a captive away watching the skies for a raven. She was a princess by birth and a warrior by blood. One way or another, she would find a way to fight.
A/N: So, a little hint of the future for you. Please review!