Falling Like || Jon Snow

04| 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡

castle black, the wall

— JON WAS IN THE TRAINING GROUNDS WHEN THE HORN ATOP THE WALL BLEW ONCE. "Riders returning!" a few of the men shouted. They heard the clopping of hooves before they saw the riders, and then they trotted in, the horses looking a little skittish, but not off too bad considering where they'd been the past two weeks. Nymeria looked like a vengeful spirit of the North atop her large stallion. Her face was smudged here and there with dirt, there was a bruise on her jawbone on the left, and there were strands of hair falling from a braid into her face. Her expression, though, was both sharp and proud at once, and for good reason.

Her horse was carrying the extra weight of a wildling on its back, his arms tied down against his sides, hands clutching at the saddle for dear life. She slid from the saddle and helped her prisoner half-jump, half-fall to the ground as Lord Commander Mormont emerged into the courtyard. With a beckoning nod, Nymeria passed the wildling off to some of the other men. "Take him to a cell. Bring him some water." They obeyed without question, and Nymeria caught Jon's staring eyes and flashed him a small smirk before turning to speak with the Lord Commander.

"You're a day late."

She nodded. "I am. Wasn't expecting the extra weight on the ride back, or the delay he gave us before we subdued him."

"Should I be sending anyone to Maester Aemon?"

She shook her head, gesturing at the bruise on her face and a shallow cut on her left arm. "This is the worst of it."

Mormont nodded. "Come on. We'll get you four some food and water, and you can give me your report." he turned, and the four rangers followed him into the Main Hall.

°

Nymeria sat in her bath, scrubbing the flakes of dried blood from her arm. She pressed her fingers gently to the flesh around the cut on her bicep. She'd have a brand new scar soon enough. She cupped water in her left hand and poured it gently over the red mark. The water had been hot at first, but had now turned lukewarm with time and the Northern cold. She sat there in the silence for another long moment before hauling herself up, trailing water behind her as she made her way to where her towel and clothes lay on her bed. The sky was dark and star-filled when she finally crawled under the fur blanket and closed her eyes. In her mind, she could still hear the wildling yelling senselessly about the white walkers, and about Mance Rayder. She wondered how much of it was true, how much if it could be true.

She fell asleep quickly that night, as she always did after returning from beyond the wall, and blissfully dreamless darkness was there to envelop her.

°

Three days came and passed as they always did at Castle Black, allowing Nymeria to return to the comfort of routine, and she found herself back in the courtyard again when Ser Alliser brought in their newest recruit. She paused mid-spar as they approached, not really wanting to smack Grenn's face and break his nose again when he blinked and froze. "What in seven hells is that?" he demanded.

"They'll need an eighth hell to fit him in." Pyp snickered, eliciting laughter from the others too. It was true that the young man was notably heavier than the rest of them, but Nymeria doubted he would remain that way, between the terrible food and harsh circumstances at the Wall. This place either toughened them up fast, or killed them off faster.

"Tell them your name." Ser Alliser instructed gruffly.

"Samwell Tarly." he said. "Of Horn Hill.. I mean I was of Horn Hill, but... I've come to take the black."

"Come to take the black pudding." Rast piped up, bringing another round of laughter. Nymeria blew harshly through her teeth, making a sharp hissing noise like you would with a misbehaving cat, shutting them up instantly.