"Coming of the Ice King."
Chapter 6
"M: Gets into a spat and is going to fight in a duel.
Denner, more commonly known as Frostfinger, was cursing under his breath as he passed by the training grounds, and saw the new Night Watch recruits clumsily swing around their practice swords. Nearly knocking themselves over in the process.
"What the Hell are you doing, you bloody idiots?!" He snarled at them. "You're supposed to hit the mannequins, not yourselves!" After saying that he marched up to the nearest rookie, and brutally took the wooden weapon away from him. "I'm placing you three imbeciles on wash-up duty until I'm sure you won't end up decapitating your fellow brothers in the nearest scuffle, is that understood?!"
"But-"Of course the little shits tried to argue. How…predictable.
Using the insubordination as an excuse to justify what he was about to do next, Denner cut the brat's shins from behind making his victim land flat on his arse with a, rather undignified and feminine sounding, squeak. A sound which almost made the grumpy overseer smile, after all…if he was going to be stuck training those pathetic fools, he might as well have some fun while doing it.
Mere seconds later the unfortunate man found his own practice sword being pointed at his unprotected neck.
"Anyone else wants to voice his complaints?" Frostfinger asked, his sharp brown eyes jumping from one youth to another.
After seeing what happened to their companion, combined with the man's firesome reputation of a man that can make life hell for any recruit foolish enough to anger him, the rest of the brats made the wise choice of keeping the mouths shut.
"I didn't think so." The officer responsible for training nodded and threw the stick of a sword back at it owner. "Now…off you go. The dishes aren't going to clean themselves." He grumbled back at them as he walked away to continue his search, smiling when their angry whispers reached his ears.
Ah…how he loved ruffling their feathers…
Abusing his power over the new recruits to vent his frustrations, while highly unprofessional, helps make his own situation a lot more bearable.
After all…whenever he himself feels aggravated by his higher-ups or simply has a bad day, he can make sure those under him feel just as horribly as he does.
The fact that he looks like a typical Night Watch veteran: medium height, broad shoulders, long greasy black hair, his chin sporting a small beard, and a permanent angry scowl stuck on his face; only helped fulfil his endeavors. As even the newest arrivals to the camp could immediately tell what function he's going to have in their new lives.
Given his position it must come with no surprise to anyone that Denner hated tardiness with a fiery passion, especially if it was practiced by idiots that just happen to serve under him.
"Did Snow return from gathering supplies, yet?" He barked at the two dolts, he didn't bother remembering the names of, standing guard at the entrance to the camp.
His normally pissy mood was not helped by the fact that he was informed rather late that the Lord Commander, Alliser Thorne, sent John Snow along with some of the newer recruits: Finn, Gared Tuttle and Cotter to gather supplies. Resulting in him wasting most of the early morning searching for the tree bloody fools, before somebody finally took pity on him and informed him of their whereabouts.
Once he was enlightened in that matter, he shrugged accepting his superior's decision and returned to oversee the training of the others under his wing.
All this happened five hours ago.
Snow should be patrolling the Wall for an hour now and, instead, he was God knows where.
"We don't know, Sir." The red-head of the guards answered, head low. "We just took over from Riven and Samuel. It's possible he came back while they were here, but you'd have to ask them to be sure, Sir."
Frostfinger didn't dignify that with a coherent answer, leaving the poor sod to be satisfied with receiving mere grumpy noises for all his troubles, as the elder continued down his path.
The news, though seemingly helpful, did nothing to help Denner in his search. As he never bothered to remember the names of all his underlings (unless they happen to be particularly annoying), leaving him with nothing but his eyesight to find the quartet of idiots.
Just as he was about to result to yelling Jon Snow's name over and over again, until either the man answers or someone else tells him to 'kindly shut up and go there, please', Frostfinger heard sounds of an argument happening somewhere outside the camp fences.
"Please, Mycroft, be reasonable!" Came the smooth voice of the source of all his current problems, who seemed to be talking to someone called…Mycroft? Strange name that. "Going beyond the Wall is suicidal! The forest is filled with wildlings!"
Frostfinger nearly rolled his eyes at that.
This is why calls them all idiots, they always state the absolute obvious.
"While I admire your…concern for my wellbeing, Jon." A voice one he couldn't recognize, obviously belonging to the mysterious 'Mycroft' fella, stated calmly. "I'm afraid this was never up for debate." The man added sternly. "I am going over to the other side, and nothing you'll say will change my decision."
Unfortunately for 'Mycroft' Jon, it seemed, wasn't the only one willing to argue with him.
"But…But only Night Guards can go over the Wall!" Ah…good old Finn, with his good old pea-brained arguments. "How are you going to go there without being one of us?"
Denner can hear the only non-Night Watcher snort, and frankly can understand.
Apparently the concept of 'sneaking out without everyone noticing' is temporarily escaping the sandy haired man.
"So say the rules of your country. I don't come from your country, therefore those rules don't apply to me." The newcomer countered, the response sparking Frostfinger's interest as the rules regarding the Wall apply to everyone in Westeros.
Did this mean that the mysterious stranger was some kind of demigod that came from the high heavens?
"Even if that's true, we can't just let you go!" This voice belonged to another of Denner's newest sources of aggravation, Gared Tuttle. A born troublemaker, that one. Just you wait until he ends up getting one of his fellow brothers killed, in his schemes.
Well, in any case, as interesting as this conversation was, it's about time Frostfinger butted in and punished the tardy for their…tardiness.
"There you are, Snow!" He called out, walking around the wooden wall he was hiding behind and making his way towards the arguing group. "About time you showed up, Thorne was getting worried about the food." Denner stated with narrowed eyes, as he looked at his sworn brothers.
Jon and Gared were standing to his left now, with Cotter, who hasn't said anything yet to Frostfinger's amazement, and Finn being on his right. The lot of them surrounding a man he presumed to be the for-mentioned 'Mycroft'.
The man, for a lack of better words, stood out like a sore thumb at the moment.
Not only was he the tallest of the group, standing an inch or two taller than the already pretty long Finn, but he also wore clothes that were a lot lighter than the standard Night's Watch outfit, their dark brown color refreshing among all the black and white around it.
Everything else was pretty standard in Denner's opinion.
Sharp ice-blue eyes, short auburn curls and a pair of hunting knives hanging from each side.
A hunter? The elder soldier thought, still looking the red-head man up and down. No…looks too well fed to be relying on forest rodents, to be his main source of nourishment. Especially in theses dire times.
Interesting…Denner thought, locking his brown eyes with the stranger's icy-blue ones. A man with hunter knives that doesn't hunt.
For a second he could swear he saw the sharp orbs narrow, as if the man knew exactly what he was thinking.
"We're sorry for being late, Sir." Cotter's voice made Frostfinger break the eye contact with 'Mycroft' and turn to the ex-thief. "But we had a…situation along the way that delayed our return to the camp."
Frostfinger allowed his cold glare to slide away from Cotter's soft gray eyes, and land on Jon's brown ones.
"What kind of 'situation'?" He asked the young ranger while crossing his arms on his chest.
He watched as Stark's bastard son opened his mouth to reply, but got intercepted by 'Mycroft'.
"Ambush." The fox-haired man answered curtly. "I am lucky they came across me when they did, or that marry gang of robbers would have been the death of me."
Denner narrowed his eyes at the stranger, and received a raised eyebrow in response.
A likely story, considering Snow's soft heart and overall will to help those in need, but…there was something in the way Finn and Gared exchanged glances, that told him this wasn't exactly the whole truth.
"Is that so…" He finally murmured, after a few minutes of silence. "Nevertheless, I can't let this go unpunished." Denner turned his icy glare at the quartet of brats before him. "Recruits, report to Carter in the kitchen. You'll be helping the other three dolts clean it up for the next three week, after every single meal." His eyes then landed on Jon. "Though it's not my place to decide your punishment any more, I'll be speaking about it with the Lord Commander next time we see each other."
He was about to say 'dismissed' when the word 'Preposterous' reached his ears.
"Excuse me?" Frostfinger whispered, his tone low as he turned to fix the red-head with his most intimidating glare.
'Mycroft' didn't even flinch.
"Punishing loyal soldiers for tardiness, while blatantly ignoring the fact that they saved a man from certain death…" The not-hunter shook his head. "I doubt this was a proper show of military discipline, especially when we take to account the fact that they are being reprimanded for things completely out of their control."
Denner rounded on him immediately, enjoying the unspoken challenge.
"Who the Hell asked you for your opinion, Big Boy?" He asked through clinched teeth. "Unless you occupy a higher rank than me, I don't see how anything you say can be taken into account."
'Mycroft' looked at him with cool eyes, not raising to the bait.
"I would tell you the extension of influence that comes with my job description back at home, if I wasn't worried I'd end up completely ruining your self-esteem." Came the icy response.
"Oh ho ho." Frostfinger grinned. "Feeling brave now, are we?" He unsheathed his long sword and moved the tip dangerously close to the taller man's neck. "Perhaps we should check if you're as good with a sword, as you are with words, Big Boy?" He grinned. "Or are you just a big fluffy couch dog? All bark and no bite?"
Frostfinger could see, in the corner of his eye, the man fingering the hilt of his right knife.
"I wouldn't want to hurt you, Old Man." The fox-haired man said, voice still icy. "It would be a real shame of you ended up pulling a muscle, trying to wave around that massive sword of yours."
Denner grit his teeth.
"Now you listen to me you-" He started but was cut off by Jon.
"Stop it, both of you!" The young man pushed the two men apart and placed himself between them. First he looked at Mycroft. "While I'm sure the rest appreciates your effort as much as I do, Mycroft, it really wasn't your place to intervene, no matter how good your intentions where."
The red-head wanted to argue but ended up biting his tongue, and looking away angrily.
Denner still counted that as a victory.
Jon then turned to Frostfinger.
"Sir, while I don't fully agree with your disciplinary methods, you have every right to punish your underlings however you see fit, when they do something you deem as wrong." He then bowed his head to him. "Finn, Cotter and Gared will do as you please, while I wait for my own punishment from the Lord Commander."
With that he walked away towards camp, the rest of the dolts following close behind, to attend to either their punishments or Night Watch duties.
Once they were out of sight the remaining two returned to glaring at each other.
"Today, training grounds, after dinner." Frostfinger placed his sword back it its sheath.
'Mycroft' nodded, eyes grim and filled with determination.
"I'll be there."