Lost beyond the wall, Jasmine Otherys and her twin Isabelle encounter creatures they've never seen before looming their surroundings, killing their companions, and leaving them all alone, stranded in a harsh environment.
Their flee ends them right o...
JUST LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY, Jasmine and Isabelle sat watching the men train. Despite the persistent looks Ser Alliser directed at them, they remained seated, refusing to turn away. Lord Mormont hadn't asked them to leave either, as they had grown accustomed to answering only to him and no one else. In their minds, they believed they were committing no wrong, but the attention they attracted was impossible to ignore.
"Shoulder, legs. Leg, shoulder, leg. Left foot forward. Excellent," Jon shouted as he guided his comrades through the training. "Now pivot as you deliver the strike. Put your weight into it."
Jon was a natural, adept at training, much to the amusement of the two girls who had spent their childhood honing their skills alongside the finest swordfighters their father employed.
"What in the seven hells is this?" one of the lads named Grenn muttered, observing as Ser Alliser led a portly young man toward them.
"They'll need an eighth hell to accommodate him," Pyp quipped, inciting laughter from his companions.
"State your name," Ser Alliser commanded the young man.
"I am Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill... well, I used to be of Horn Hill. I've come to join the Night's Watch," the young man said timidly.
"Come to join the black pudding," Rast taunted, earning chuckles from the men.
"Well, you couldn't look any worse than you do. Rast, assess his abilities," Ser Alliser ordered.
After a few initial strikes, Samwell Tarly found himself on the ground, whimpering like a child. Even Jasmine and Isabelle, despite their smaller statures compared to his, could have defended themselves better. "I yield. Please, no more," Samwell cried out.
"Get up," Ser Alliser's command was sharp, but the young man remained sprawled on the ground. "Retrieve your sword."
"Keep striking until he's on his feet," the Master-at-Arms instructed, and Rast eagerly complied, repeatedly swinging his sword at the defenseless young man.
"It appears the South is running out of poachers and thieves," Ser Alliser commented to his men, who seemed dissatisfied with the brutality unfolding before them. "Now they send us squealing, bloody pigs."
"Jon!" Pyp managed to restrain his comrade from intervening on the young man's behalf, and the girls took notice of this.
"Once again, with more force," Ser Alliser's voice echoed through the air.
"I yield!" Samwell screamed.
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"Enough! He yielded!" Jon couldn't restrain himself any longer and shouted, which somehow compelled Rast to halt his cruel actions.
The two girls watched with empathy as Jon rushed to Samwell's aid, helping him to his feet before giving him a not-so-gentle push. "Looks like the bastard's fallen in love. Very well then, Lord Snow, if you're eager to defend your lady love, let's turn it into an exercise," Ser Alliser proclaimed.
"You two," he motioned for Pyp and Grenn to step forward, which they did more out of obligation than desire. "Three of you should be enough to make Lady Piggy squeal. Your task is to get past the bastard."
"Are you sure about this?" Jon questioned the two, standing before Samwell, prepared to protect him.
"No," Grenn shook his head, while Pyp seemed determined to carry out the command, charging at Jon after Rast, yet Jon skillfully deflected both attacks, swiftly incapacitating them.
Grenn took his turn, but after a few exchanges, he too was thrown back by Jon's prowess, and Rast met a similar outcome as he attempted another attack.
"Yield, yield, yield!" Grenn cried out, with Jon poised to engage him once more.
"That's enough for today," Ser Alliser declared. The girls sensed his dissatisfaction from their vantage point. "Go clean the armory. That seems to be the extent of your usefulness."
Then, he shifted his gaze to the girls, who had been observing the scene. "Don't you two have anything better to do?" he addressed them with his customary irksome demeanor, prompting them to rise and depart. They had no desire to stir up trouble, after all. They were guests.
☽
"Where were you?" Grenn inquired as Jon joined him and Pyp at the dining table.
"Watch duty. With Sam."
"Ah, Prince Porkchop. Where's he now?" Pyp remarked.
"He didn't feel like eating."
"That's impossible!"
"Enough of that," Jon intervened. "Sam is no different from any of us. He didn't fit in out there, so he's come here. We won't subject him to the training yard torment again. Never again, regardless of Thorne's orders. He's one of us now, and we'll protect him."
"You're quite smitten, Lord Snow," Rast quipped from a nearby table. "As for you girls, do whatever you want. But if Thorne pairs me with Lady Piggy, I'll carve myself a slab of bacon."
Yet, his attention quickly shifted to the girls, who entered the room—unfortunately—only to find all the men gathered there.
"Hey, sweet thing, where are you headed? Come here!" one of the men called, eyes fixed on the girls, who walked past him without acknowledging him.
"You, girl," another called out, and though Jasmine paid him no heed, Isabelle was prepared to throttle the man.
"Fuck off!" Isabelle retorted, before joining her sister's stride.
"That's quite unladylike," a man remarked, eyes on the two girls as they filled bowls.
"I said fuck off!" Isabelle reiterated. By now, about four men had converged around them, looming over the diminutive pair.
"Leave us be," Jasmine spoke up for the first time. She had always been the quieter twin, while her sister handled the verbal sparring. However, this time, she found herself compelled to speak out as a man grabbed Isabelle from behind. Isabelle acted instinctively, pushing the man away, causing him to collide with the one behind him. "Take your hands off my sister!" Jasmine declared, her anger evident as she stood her ground, arm raised and plate in hand, prepared to confront any man who dared touch them again.
"What are you going to do, little girl? Huh? Hit me with that plate?" Rast taunted, eliciting chuckles from a few men. He loomed over Jasmine, obstructing their path.
"Enough of this!" Jon's commanding voice resounded through the hall, prompting him and his friends to rise. "Leave them be. Now!" The mere command seemed to disconcert the men, who finally retreated from the girls and returned to their dining tables.
With a quick grateful glance at Jon, Isabelle and Jasmine left the room.
☽
Night had descended, yet the gaze of Jon and his companions—the ones he regarded as true friends—remained vigilant as they carried out their preconceived plan.
With his direwolf Ghost positioned above the sleeping Rast and a gag in place, a message was conveyed.
"No one lays a hand on Sam... Or the girls, ever again."
