𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ

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Torsten's cell was quiet that night. He couldn't handle the silence that swept over his cold dark cell. He was used to Jon's company and Ghost's warmth. The boy had found himself walking aimlessly around Castle Black. He couldn't sleep. When Torsten passed Jon's cell he heard the pained howl of Ghost.
As Torsten approached he noticed Jon's guards, sprawled bonelessly across the narrow steps. "Jon, you in there?" Torsten called, as he pulled the door open Ghost slipped past him, out the door. The wolf stared up the steps, stopped, looked back towards Jon and Torsten. That was when they heard it. The soft scrape of boot on stone, the sound of a latch turning. The sounds came from above. From the Lord Commander's chambers.
A nightmare this might be, yet it was no dream.
The guard's sword was in its sheath. Torsten watched as Jon knelt and worked it free. He moved up the steps. Jon was hot on his heels. They moved further, Ghost slowly padded before them. Shadows lurked in every turn of the stair. Jon crept up warily, behind Torsten, probing any suspicious darkness with the point of the sword.
Suddenly Torsten could hear the shriek of Mormont's raven. The bird was screaming.
Ghost bounded ahead and the boys scrambled after him. The door to Mormont's chambers was wide open. The direwolf plunged through. Torsten stood in the doorway, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. Heavy drapes had been pulled across the windows, and the darkness was black as ink. "Commander!" Torsten called out into the darkness. But all that answered was silence.

"Stay." Jon ordered his direwolf.

"Maybe he's sleeping?" Torsten continued in a hushed whisper. "His bedchambers are up ahead." Torsten pointed towards a closed door at the far end of the room.
That's when they saw it, a shadow in the shadows, sliding toward the inner door that led to Mormont's bedchambers, a man shape in all black, cloaked and hooded. But underneath the hood, its eyes shone with an icy blue radiance. The door slammed and Ghost was left behind, howling.
Torsten felt as blind as Maester Aemon, his feet stumbled him backward while the monster of a man grabbed Jon and lifted him into the air by the collar of his surcoat. Jon had no time to be afraid. Keeping the wall to his back, Torsten slid towards the window and ripped down the curtains.
Moonlight flooded the solar. He glimpsed black hands buried into Jon, swollen dark fingers tightening and snapping, legs flailing in the air, but Jon couldn't break free.
Torsten threw himself forward, shouting, bringing his dagger out he repetitively dug it deeply into the man's back. The smell that engulfed them was so putrid and cold Torsten almost gagged. Steel sheared through sleeve and skin and bone, yet the sound was wrong somehow. Jon wrenched free of him and dropped.
The hooded man lifted his pale moon face, and Torsten slashed at it without hesitation. The dagger laid the intruder open to the bone, taking off half his nose and opening a gash cheek to cheek under those eyes, eyes like blue stars burning. Torsten knew that face. Othor. Reeling back, his eyes felt like they were about to bulge from his skull.
Jon put all his weight behind his blade and swiped at Othor. His arm dropped as his fingers scratched at the wooden floorboards.
Torsten felt something scrabble at his ankle. Black fingers clawed at his calf. The arm was crawling up his leg, ripping at wool and flesh. Shouting with revulsion, Torsten pried the fingers off with his dagger and flipped the thing away. It lay writhing, fingers opening and closing.
The corpse lurched forward. There was no blood. One armed, face cut near in half, it seemed to feel nothing. Jon held the longsword before him.

"Stay away!" He commanded, his voice was shrill. Dead Othor slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. Jon's breath went out of him as the fallen table caught him between his shoulder blades. He'd lost the sword. "The damn sword!" Jon yelled out.
Torsten's eyes searched for it. While the dead man grabbed for him. He tried to shove him off but he was too heavy. Torsten's loud choking filled the silence and Jon became desperate.
His hands clutched the longsword tightly in his shaking hands, he hesitated before plummeting it through Othor's back and out his chest. The corpses weight was gone and it's body dropped.

"Torsten? Jon?" The Lord Commander called, standing in the doorway with an oil lamp in hand. Torsten was quick to grab a hold of Jon's hand as the older pulled him to his feet.

"It's Othor." Jon said, slightly out of breath. His eyes beamed towards the Lord Commander. The soft scrape of a boot on stone made the three of them stop dead. They watched as Othor rose up, blue eyes glaring into their souls. "What do we do?" Jon whispered. The corpse pulled Jon's longsword from its back and let it drop to the stone ground.
Torsten tried to shout, but his voice was gone.
Staggering forward he snatched the lamp from the Old Bear's fingers. The flame flickered and almost died. Spinning, Torsten saw the drapes he'd ripped from the window. He flung the lamp into the puddled cloth with both hands. Metal crunched, glass shattered, oil spewed, and the hangings went up in a great whoosh of flames. The heart of it on its face was sweeter than any kiss.

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