1. A Wish in Winter, Chapter 5
"I'd say one or two more days of this mess is enough for me," Tyrion said. He waddled beside Jon across the yard, looking a puffball in all his furs. A breeze blew by, and he shivered against it. "Yes, one or two more days and I'm riding south where the weather makes sense."
"I'm somewhat surprised you've spent as much time here as you did already," Jon said.
Jon and the rest of the recruits had been up for some two hours now, always woken as they were by a steward's bell before sunrise, so he'd had time to settle into the early morning air. The same could be said for the other black brothers out and about, the seniors long used to it and the recruits determined to survive the routine. Tyrion, however, still yawned after every other sentence.
"Yes, well, I've somehow managed to turn this pleasure trip into yet another business venture, little profit as there is in it," Tyrion muttered.
A laugh drew their attention, and both turned to see Kale and Pyp by the gate. Pyp said something that got another booming laugh from the large man, eliciting a round of ribbing and backslapping on the part of the former.
"Looks like they've hit it off," Tyrion said.
"Kale's the friendly sort," Jon said. He smirked. "And Pyp found himself a good way to skip out on chores."
Tyrion watched Jon's face carefully. "You're not doing the same right now?" The boy's smile slipped, and Tyrion allowed himself a chuckle. "I'm happy to provide an excuse."
"What did you have to tell me anyways?" Jon asked, ears burning.
The dwarf stopped, eliciting Jon to do the same. He took a second to rummage in his pocket, then drew a small, rolled up piece of parchment. A raven's message.
"Just came in today," Tyrion said, voice soft. "Apologies, but I took the pleasure of reading. It's about your brother Bran."
Jon swiped the parchment in a hurry, unrolling it with such force to almost rip it in half. Frowning in concentration, he recognized Robb's hand almost immediately.
Jon,
Bran woke up!
At this, Jon closed his eyes, sighing and releasing a breath he only then recognized for the pressure he'd been holding in his chest since leaving Winterfell. Bran was well. Bran was well. Thank the gods.
"My, what's this?" Tyrion said. "A happy Jon Snow? I'd lost all hope for it…"
Jon shoved Tyrion with his foot, ignored the following bark of laughter, and read on.
I'll not soften things. Maester Luwin says he's likely to never walk again. The bones are shattered beyond help. Now he rests on his bed day and night, has his meals brought to him, and I know it pains him to feel useless more than it pains any of us. But he's alive and awake, and I'm grateful for that much, as I'm sure you are.
Father's job is difficult but nothing I can't handle. Ser Rickard makes for a duller sparring mate than you, and Theon is useless with a sword as you know. Bran and I miss you, and are waiting for you and uncle Benjen to share some stories whenever you both come to visit.
Write back.
Robb
Jon's hands curled into fists, crumpling the paper. He looked at Tyrion.
"I… I've no clue where to find some parchment…"
Tyrion patted Jon's knee, tutting. "Worry not, Jon. In my great magnanimity, I'll make sure to send someone to bring you some. I'll even include some ink as well. And a quill pen. Aren't I just grand?"
Jon huffed, but despite himself, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. "Any bigger and your head won't let you walk."
"More room for the brain, cramped as it is."
Shaking his head, Jon looked down to reread the message, ach syllable warming him.
"Tyrion," he said, "thank you. Really."
Tyrion waved off the words. "No bother. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a Lord Commander to annoy." He walked away, towards the keep. "Watch for Morrec. He'll be the dunce in Lannister colors."
"That's no way to talk about yourself."
"Ha!"
Jon watched him leave, feeling a twinge at the thought that he'd not have such banter once the dwarf went back south.
"Oi, Jon!"
The voice came from his right. Jon turned and saw a crew of other recruits, some five or six, led by one of the builders, every one carrying a bucket and one of the small, worn pickaxes they'd all gotten used to handling over the previous two weeks. Edwen was among them, along with Grenn, who carried a second set of tools and marched up to him with one of them held out in earnest.
"You're with us today," Grenn said, shoving the bucket and axe into his chest. Jon had to catch them before they fell off, Grenn having let go as soon as they scratched his shirt. "Up and at 'em, Lord Snow."
Jon rolled his eyes, but joined the group on their way to the elevator, knowing the task would take all afternoon. He'd have to hope that Morrec would know where to find him.
They spread out over the Wall, chipping at the humps of ice which covered the stone battlements underneath like thick, spiked teeth. It was why they were there; without any maintenance, all the notches which could provide archers with a safe place to aim from would be similarly filled up with ice and snow. The walkway, usually accompanied only by open skies and the odd brother on patrol, now echoed faintly with the constant dink of iron.
Their group had been up there for hours, all under the watchful eye of Dyne, the builder charged with supervising them all. Even now he paced back and forth the walkway, rather bored like the rest, more there out of obligation than any real need.
Jon had by this point finished squaring out a few of the parapets. Grenn worked some ways down, but Edwen kneeled just an arms-length away, striking at the ice with the harshness of one content to leave the finer details to someone else.
With a heave, the man stood, leaning on the ice. Jon continued to work, noting the movement out the corner of his eye.
"Part of me still can't believe this place is real," Edwen said.
"Aye," Jon said. His head swerved to spot Dyne rounding back their way. "Don't get caught lazing about now."
Grunting, Edwen crouched, then simply sat. "It'll take all day to make as much as a on something so big."
It was true, Jon knew. Walk far enough along the walkway and one would be sopped by a hill of ice at least ten feet high, a result of unmanned castles without their own clean up crew. What little space they could carve out for themselves on the battlements was relegated to the space above Castle Black itself and a half a mile out, necessitating a constant patrol along the south side of the Wall to pick off the odd wildling brave enough to jump over. Lucky for them, in all the thousands of years that the Wall had separated the northerners from the wildlings, there had yet to be a whole invasion made up of expert and organized climbers, likely because what little chance there was of such a thing would be dashed the moment any wildling group tried to seriously organize.
Still, Jon had no qualms about the task. Its mundanity reminded him of the many hours he spent on the training yard, at times alongside Robb and Theon under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik, at times by himself in the evening and morn. Some of his fellows couldn't quite seem to settle into the routine; Grenn muttered complaints under his breath at any chore, Sam struggled with all from lifting to dexterous organization, and Pyp had practically skipped out on most of it.
Edwen, however, seemed more at ease than any other. Rather, his mind seemed always elsewhere, so that Jon thought him distracted even as he mechanically followed the instructions of their seniors. Even now, Jon could tell something rattled at the man's mind.
They'd not talked much over the previous days, and what little conversation they did have was rather strained on Jon's end, considering their past. Still, they'd be brothers for life soon enough, and Jon figured he'd already made some headway in salvaging his reputation with his peers, so he spoke up.
"Thinking about your family?"
Edwen perked up at that, twisting toward him almost as if struck. Then, slowly, he turned back around. He sighed, and Jon almost regretted asking.
Dyne ambled by, eyes passing lazily over them as they pretended at picking ice into their buckets. All the while, Jon thought over how to take his question back, and when he saw that the builder was out of earshot he made to do so.
"Sorry, that's not my—"
"I owe you an apology, Jon."
At this, Jon raised a brow. Edwen sighed again, slouching, pickaxe dropping to the floor. The man turned and leaned his back against the parapet, facing Jon, and Jon turned to face him, confused. Then, an idea struck him, and Jon rose in sudden fury.
"Don't tell me you lied—"
Just as fast, Edwen threw his hands out, eyes wide. "What? No! No, that's not what I… I mean, I did, but not about that… I…" He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. "Let me explain. It's not what you think."
More confused than before, Jon's glare softened, turning to a mild frown. He crossed his arms against the cold. "What is it?"
"Back in the forest. When you had your sword pointed at my throat, I used my family as… Well, as an excuse. I love them, I do, but if I'm honest, all I could think of in that moment was how I could escape with my life." Edwen shook his head, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. He looked back at the lands beyond the Wall, and Jon followed his gaze, if only to avoid the discomfort of watching another man's face look so raw. "Gods, it's pathetic, really. For a second, I truly thought you'd cut my neck open, you know that? I thought I was as good as dead, and the only thing I could think of weren't my wife or daughter. I didn't care to see them again. I only wanted to live. I wanted to run away. So I played on your pity. I'm sorry for that. As much as a coward like me can be sorry."
Jon listened and wasn't sure how to respond, so he stayed silent. What did it matter now? Coward or not, Edwen was a brother of the Watch in all but name, same as he. Jon couldn't find it in himself to feel angry at the man. All he could feel was that old shame, because in his heart he knew that what had stilled his blade was his own cowardice, and in that sense maybe they weren't much different. They looked out together at the true north, listening to the rising round of wind and the picking of ice.
After some time, Edwen spoke, voice soft.
"The wildlings call themselves the Free Folk. Did you know that?" he said. Jon merely hummed in response. "I heard it from a ranger during dinner last night. To them, people north of the Wall are the only ones truly free. Us southorns are the ones caged up behind a hunk of rock."
Jon scoffed. "And by contrast they're free to catch frostbite in all that snow," he said, voice low and sardonic.
"To be fair, it's not much better here when it comes to that," Edwen said, chuckling. He shrugged, pulling his cloak tighter around him. "Back in the rebellion—the Greyjoy's rebellion that is—I thought I might make some way for myself. If I killed a few of those whoresons and caught a lord's eye, or even a knight, or someone. At least I might come back home with some gold, I thought. Might make the whole affair worthwhile."
"Did you?"
"Aye, some. Enough to buy two-odd cows of my own. My good-father gave me his daughter's hand because of those cows."
"Not a bad deal."
"Not at all, no. And she's a good lass. I do love her, I suppose. But gold runs out, and winter always comes. And when I saw my daughter for the first time, I thought…" Edwen's voice cracked. He gulped. "I thought that she'd not live through the snows, and there were nothing I could do about it. "
And now, sent to the Wall, there really was nothing Edwen could do about it. The irony crossed Jon's mind, but he left it unsaid.
"I just thought it sounded nice," Edwen said. "Free Folk. No noble folk, no smallfolk. Just free folk."
It was getting dark. Jon's frown deepened against a sudden gust of wind. "Even the wildlings have their chieftains. And even the wildlings die in winter." he said. "No one's truly free."
"Mayhaps that's so," Edwen said. "Yes. Mayhaps that's so."
They finished an hour later with the darkening sky. What little progress they'd made, they knew, would be undone overnight. Come morning, another group would have to take up the task. Again and again, brothers would climb up the Wall and chip away at the battlements, fighting fruitlessly against the ice.
The hall was full. Brothers shared bread, passed plates, screamed over their own chatter, warmed only by their general huddle and the single fireplace crackling across from the kitchens.
"Your face, Lord Snow," Pyp suddenly said, sitting next to him. "It's as if it's made for bouts of depression."
"And yours is made for a gumkin," Jon said, shoulders straightening. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted Edwen making his way out of the hall, one of the first to leave even among the vowed brothers.
Sam, sitting across the table, peered at Pyp, nodding. "It does have that gnomish affectation…"
Pyp's permanent grin widened, curling at the edges. "Aye, I'll grant you all your wishes! What'll it be, Jon, a lovely wench under your sheets? A cauldron full of gold dragons?"
"I'd take a plug for that mouth of yours."
A round of laughs. Pyp joined in as he always did, even if it was at his expense. Next to Jon, Grenn sighed, spoon clattering against his now empty plate.
"Looks like it's another round of chores, then," he said.
"We've still got some time," Sam said.
"Aye, if you want Thorne to beat the slack off you tomorrow."
"Grenny's quite right," Pyp said, standing up. He pounded on the table rather dramatically, the sound eaten up by the general clamor of the hall. "It's about time we all stop our slothful behavior and finally act the brothers we hope to be! Gentlemen, I'll be getting an early start on our evening duties."
Grenn shot Pyp a glare. "You're just leaving to skip out with Kale again, isn't that right?"
Pyp was already walking away, moving backwards, face stricken in offense. "How dare you, you oaf? Why, I'd duel you at once if duty didn't call."
"Yeah, yeah…" Grenn sighed again, watching along with the others as Pyp disappeared behind the door. He turned to them, back straightening. "Well, we might as well join him."
Sam lumbered up, but Jon hesitated. His hand reached into his pocket, finding a rolled up parchment. Morrec had found him some time before, and he'd written his piece. He looked at the head table, finding his uncle feasting with the rest of the leadership. Breathing in, Jon stood up.
"I'll join you in a bit," he said.
At this, Grenn slouched. "Oh, no worry then. We'll wait for you."
"And you call Pyp the lazy one?"
The other boy punched Jon in the arm. It hurt quite a bit, but Jon only smirked in response, then strode over to Benjen. No one stopped him or even gave him much attention. Some days before, this might have surprised him, but now Jon knew whatever he did was the least of everyone's worries.
He reached the head table in little time, with Benjen and Tyrion raising their heads in greeting.
"Uncle," he said, voice low. "I need a quick word. Privately."
Benjen searched his face, then glanced around at the rest, then turned back to him.
"It'll be quick?"
"Aye."
"Very well. Follow me."
Benjen stood up, bowing a bit to Lord Commander Mormont, who only inclined his head in response. Jon followed his example, and when he turned to follow his uncle he could feel some eyes on his back. They walked not toward the exit but to another door, one which led to a dark hallway with only a single torch for light. The sound of chatter dampened behind the door, and Jon could only see a single other brother walking away before disappearing around a corner.
"What's the matter, Jon?" Benjen exhaled, brow furrowed.
"Nothing bad," Jon said. He smiled, taking out the parchment and presenting it to his uncle. "Here. It's a message for Robb and Bran and Rickon. I was meaning to have Lord Tyrion give it to them on his way south, but first I thought you might want to write them as well."
Benjen's shoulders dropped, and it was in that moment of instantaneous relief that Jon realized how tense his uncle had been. Had he truly thought Jon would approach him merely to complain? To have exceeded his expectations was both a pleasant surprise and a strange hit to Jon's pride.
"Give it to Lord Tyrion when you're done," Jon said, nearly shoving the parchment into Benjen's hands. "I trust you'll have ink and quill in your chambers."
He turned to leave, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Jon," Benjen said, voice hitched. "I… worried over you at the Wall, I'll admit. Not for lack of zeal on your part. Gods, you're as stubborn as your father. Mayhaps moreso."
Jon hadn't turned to face him. "Then what?"
"I knew you'd do well. Anywhere you went, you'd do well." Here, Jon could hear the smile in Benjen's tone. "But admit it, Jon. You've a habit of getting lost in your thoughts. I'm just glad for you."
Here, Jon couldn't deny his own smile, shy as it was. He looked at his uncle.
"Well… It's better if we all look after each other, right?" he said.
Benjen's smile widened. He took the parchment and threw an arm over his nephew's shoulders, leading the both back into the hall. "Gods be good, we'll make a ranger of you yet!"
They departed from each other at the head table, and as Jon made his way back to the other recruits—to his friends, for he now found he could call them that at least to himself—he felt an elation he'd only ever felt in brief, fleeting moments before. Arya grabbing his hand while learning to walk. He and Robb skipping out on their studies together. Being gifted his first sword by his father, the very blade which even now he had strapped to his horse's saddle. And Jon felt that all was good and fine.
"That's enough lazing about," he said, reaching Grenn and the others.
The big boy turned to greet him, and from behind his shoulders Jon could see another round of arm wrestling. This time some even seemed to be betting coppers.
"Where'd you all even get any coin?" Jon said.
Grenn shrugged. "Name me a place without coin and I'll give you all of mine."
"North of the Wall."
"Ha! I'd bet those wildlings hoard loot as much as anyone else."
"Anyway, come. Let's get to work before Thorne gets bored of stuffing himself."
Grenn slouched forward, looking away. "I've got money on this…"
Jon shook his head, looking toward Sam. "And you, Sam? Don't tell me you'll follow his example…"
"Since when are you the reasonable one…"
"I don't have coin anyway," Sam said, stainding.
"Come on, then. Maybe we can convince Pyp to stop being such a twat." Jon twisted on his heel, heading for the doors outside. Sam followed, walking around the table. "Grenn, I see you're unreachable."
By the time they reached the doors, Grenn had marched up behind them, grumbling all the way. Jon tried and failed to not let his smirk show. He reached up and pushed a door open, then immediately curled into himself, digging his chin into his furs.
Sam breathed out in slow wonder. "Would you look at that…"
It was snowing. Thickly too. The first snow in years, and any doubt they had of winter's coming arrival was now gone. The three stepped out into it, feeling the cold cling to their faces, the snowflakes drift softly onto their hair, and as Jon closed the door behind them the sounds of feasting dulled and were replaced by the still dripping of snow and the low groan of winter breeze. With every step, they heard the minute crunch of ice.
"I wonder if that goof would wait out here even if it meant skipping out on chores," Grenn mumbled.
"Doesn't hurt to check," Jon said. He led them down the steps and out into the yard. They walked toward the gate, hidden as it was behind the night and snow.
"I can hardly remember the last time I saw snow," Sam said. As they walked, the gate became clearer the closer they got to it, shadows slipping into detail. "It really is quite beautiful, isn't it?"
"Sure, if by 'b-beautiful' you mean 'b-bloody freezing," Grenn said, hugging his shoulders.
Jon narrowed his eyes. He figured he would've seen Kale's shape at least, large as the man was. His breath began to hitch, though he knew not why. Something rose up in his chest with every step closer. He could barely hear a low groan above the outdoors static, like a gurgling animal, and as he neared he could see that the gate was open.
"I do hope it doesn't carry on like this till morning," Sam muttered.
"You and me both, Piggy."
Jon dashed forward. The other two looked at each other, confused, before striding faster after him. They saw him slide to a kneel, hands brushing snow away from a rather tall mound of it.
Sam reached him first. "Jon, what's—"
His skin paled, so much so that Grenn could hardly separate his face from the snow around them. Grenn opened his mouth, but looking around Jon, his lips clamped shut at the sight.
Red on white, though in the nighttime dark it looked like ink. But Grenn could tell it was red. Only blood could ooze in such a way. It pooled out straight from the heart. Lying cold on the ground, Kale's body stared unblinkingly up at him.
"Oh, Mother," he said, the words coming out by instinct, though he'd never been particularly pious. He stepped back, hand reaching unconsciously up to cover his heart, and he felt it stomp against his chest.
Sam had turned away in a hurry, incapable of looking, shaking in place. Jon pushed down on Kale's chest helplessly, giving up after only a few tries. Even through the clothes and leathers, the body felt cold under his hands. His head snapped around, eyes searching.
"Pyp," he said. Then, louder, "Pyp!"
The low groaning grew louder. Jon dashed toward the sound and found Pyp sat against the Wall, breathing still. His hands went to the other boy's abdomen and were immediately coated in red. He pressed on the wound, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Pyp, who glanced at him with glazed eyes.
"Lord Snow…" Pyp said. His lips twisted into a strained grin. "It seems… I've been shot."
"Shut up," Jon said. Some strange energy had taken hold on him, and he could feel his eyes strain to focus against the dark. "Sam! Your cloak!"
When nothing happened, Jon's head whipped around, at the large boy, glaring fire at his shaking form. "Samwell! Now!"
Snapped back, Sam stumbled over, unstrapping his cloak and handing it over. Jon grabbed a handful of snow and crushed it against Pyp's wound, then held it hard with Sam's furs. As he did, his eyes caught two arrows on the ground nearby, almost covered under the falling snow. Judging by the amount of blood on one comparted to the other, an image came to mind: one arrow zipping straight through Kale, in and out in a second, crashing against the Wall, Pyp turning to look, another arrow missing its mark and striking him in the stomach, digging itself deep, Pyp falling to the ground and crawling up to sit, pulling the arrow out and tossing it away, the shooter flying past, not finishing him off, too busy escaping.
"You shouldn't have pulled it out," Jon said. "You fool!"
By now Grenn had neared, kneeling himself. "Gods, Jon, is he dying? Pyp, are you alright?"
Pyp's eyes slowly rolled over to him. He seemed to drift closer to sleep by the second. "Oh, Grenny… I pulled it out. Bad idea… Bad idea?"
Breathing in, Jon looked about him. Sam stood close, looking away still. He'd be no use here.
"Sam, get back and get help!" he said. "Get a Maester Aemon! Get a steward! Get anyone!"
The large boy nodded, hesitated and, at Jon's glare, dashed back toward the hall.
"Who'd do this?" Grenn muttered. "Isn't the Wall punishment enough? Who in the seven hells would do this?"
Jon furrowed his brow. "Someone with nothing to lose…" He looked back at the arrows, at the open gate. His blood turned to ice.
"Pyp, was he on a horse?" Jon said. He shook the downed boy. "I need you to tell me now! Pyp!"
"Horse… I heard it…"
Yes. A horse, out on the snow to cover his tracks. Jon's hand snapped to Grenn's wrist and brought it up to Sam's cloak, pressing it against Pyp's wound.
"Keep pressure on it," Jon said. "Keep him awake."
"Wh-What? Wait, Jon," Grenn's panicked eyes followed him as he stood. "Where are you going?!"
Jon was already running to the stables. "To catch him before he gets away! Tell the others to follow!"
He reached his horse in a minute, and the next he was saddled and whipping the reins down into a gallop. Whatever tracks had been left near the gate were long gone, but Jon had no need for tracks. This he knew in sudden frenzy, and along with it came the knowledge of Ghost hounding forth alongside him, white fur appearing as if out of the snow itself.
When he reached the gate, he rode past Grenn and Pyp and the few brothers who had made it outside. Sam was among them, as was Benjen. His uncle looked up as he passed, shouting something, but Jon did not hear. All he heard was the pounding of hooves.
Jon remembered his message to Robb, now snuggled safely in Benjen's pocket. Morrec had found him before dinner, looking rather annoyed at being used as a courier, and Jon had been forced to scribble something quick against the wall before the man got tired of holding up his inkwell.
Robb,
At least now you've fewer things to worry about. You're having enough trouble as it is, I know, so no need to lie, brother. In all seriousness, tell Bran how glad I am to know he's awake. Tell him not to be ashamed of anything. Tell him I love him.
I'm doing fine. Really. The Wall isn't quite the home of scum and villainy we were led to believe. Well, it is, but they're not all too bad. Some of them are highborn, more than you'd expect. And the ones who aren't don't deserve the contempt they get. Not all of them, anyway.
Though I can't say when we might meet again, I know I'll have many stories to tell. And I'll be clad in black.
Jon
Red clung to his clothes now, leaving a smear on his saddle and leaving a trail of droplets in his wake.
"Follow after me!" he screamed, eyes glaring forward. In a second he was riding through the tunnel, and in another he was out the other side.
The soft breeze turned into a howling wind. White filled his vision, an endless white interrupted only by the shadow of the nearing tree line. Jon glared into the thickening snowfall.
"Ghost!"
The direwolf ran ahead, leading the way, nose in the air. Jon could almost smell the blood himself.
As he ran, Jon could feel tears slipping out from the corners of his eyes, slipping cold down his cheeks. Rage powered his legs and his snapping arms, rage at death and at time and at himself. The longer he took, the less chance he had of finding Edwen. And when he did…
I'll finish what I started!
AN:
Next chapter will be the last on the Wall. Thanks for your support.
