Falling Like || Jon Snow

37| 𝔞 𝔤𝔦𝔣𝔱

castle black, the wall

— NYMERIA GOT MORE TIRED OF THE NIGHT'S WATCH WITH EACH PASSING DAY. Not the Wall, not the Castle with its familiar rooms she'd practically grown up in, not the cold that nipped at her cheeks until they were flushed pink. It was the men she took issue with. She was good at commanding, and she liked it alright. There was certainly something poetic about lording over men who'd once sneered at her, insisting that she'd become nothing and die amongst the Night's Watch. But they were boring. Boring little men who wasted away boring lives at the edge of the world because they'd been caught in crimes committed in the service of boring aspirations.

When she got sick of them, she turned to training. She missed riding, but it was a bad idea to stray off from the group with all that was happening at the moment. She missed ranging, but she couldn't think about that without thinking about the rangers who'd been her friends whose faces she'd never see again. So she didn't think about it. Eventually, though, the training dummies got boring too. Edd had suggested at one point that she could train recruits to occupy her time, but they were about as exciting as the straw man she'd just effortlessly decapitated.

"You're going to run out of those." Tormund joked from the edge of the yard.

"Well the only person around here who's actually any fun to train with was just recently dead." she sighed. "And I'd hate to put him back out of commission." She looked him up and down, then after a moment said, "You're a good fighter. You know how to spar?" He arched a brow. "Fight without actually trying to kill one another." She explained, amused. "It's fun."

"Ah, yes." He nodded with a smile. "Spar. Very nice."

She picked up a pair of batons from a rack of training weapons and he followed suit, both of them falling into fighting positions. Tormund struck first, and she blocked easily, backing away a step and forcing him to follow her. Next time he struck twice and she blocked both again.

"Come on," she teased. "You can hit harder than that."

"You're small." he pointed out.

"I'm also fast. Come on, don't hold back on me."

She came at him next in a quick flurry of strikes, illustrating her point as he rushed to block them all. She landed one against his calf, and that was apparently enough proof for him. He lunged, striking hard with both batons, and this time when she deflected with both, she stepped aside, letting his weight carry him past her. He wasn't slow though; faster than what she would have expected for someone his size, and he whirled on her, their strikes becoming blurs as they fully engaged now. He landed a hit to her arm and she responded with a quick spin around him, throwing him off and allowing her to land one against his arm in return. The others in the yard backed away as the two moved in wide arcs, taking up the majority of the space. Several watched with rapt interest. This was probably the most exciting training session they'd witnessed in a good while. Finally, Nymeria made the mistake of leaving herself open on a swing and Tormund took advantage, stepping swiftly past her side and hitting her right in the back of the ribs with a quick strike of his elbow.

Immediately, a wave of ice flooded Nymeria's veins, her nerves. She fell forward with a cry, barely catching herself on her elbows. Her vision was blurry for a second and her fingers trembled, though she could barely feel them.

"Nymeria?" Tormund frowned, stepping towards her. Knowing her, there was no way he'd hit hard enough to do more than knock the breath out of her. Something wasn't right.

She held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks as she took a deep breath. She rose up to one knee, pressing a hand to her side, right where the wight's claws had gouged into her flesh. "I'm alright. It's just not fully healed." she huffed, smirking a little. "My own fault though, I guess. Stupid, leaving myself open like that."