CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀seven

seven. rapprochement

loc. castle black, the wall. 298AC

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       THE ARMOURY WAS dank and smelled like sweat and metal and timber, and yet, ironically, it was one of the only places in Castle Black Ceria felt comfortable.

⠀⠀⠀Jon hadn't returned to Castle Black for dinner, and now, as night settled over the area like ink staining water, Ceria had begun to grow restless despite herself. She had dined with Samwell that night, because even though Grenn and Pyp made her smile, her heart ached for the large boy hunched, solitary and reeking of loneliness, at one of the benches, toying with his food.

⠀⠀⠀When Ceria joined him, Sam forgot—and then remembered very quickly—that she was mute. He talked about himself, his life before the Wall. He talked about the fields by his castle and the pretty servant girls and the pear trees and the books in his father's library. He talked about everything but nothing, because when he'd finally subsided, Ceria still had no clue as to who on earth Samwell Tarly was.

⠀⠀⠀After dinner, she felt her food churning in her stomach. She headed back out into the courtyard and saw the armoury door hanging open. Warily, she approached, hearing the sound grinding metal before she cautiously pushed the door open.

⠀⠀⠀Jon sat with his back against the axe cupboard, a flat rock in one hand and a blade in the other. He glided the rock up the length of steel again and again, almost obsessively, and all the while it made that dreadful sound, like a heard of shrieking crows. He looked up when the door closed, and didn't look down again until Ceria had sat down next to him, silent as ever.

⠀⠀⠀"Shouldn't you be dining?" he said, eyes still upon his sword.

⠀⠀⠀Ceria only looked. It frustrated her more than anything, only looking. She hadn't realised how much she'd miss her own voice—it was maddening, trying to convey her feelings through gestures and expressions, especially as men were so inept at picking up on them.

⠀⠀⠀Jon sighed, tilting his head back. "I didn't mean to be cruel. I just...a boy like him grew up just like me. Born into a highborn family, sounds like his father despised him as much as my stepmother and half-sister despised me. And yet..." he shook his head tiredly. "He just sat back and soaked it up. He let himself be consumed, distracted by his riches and food and nice clothes, and he never bothered."

⠀⠀⠀Still, Ceria could only look. Her eyes burned into the side of his head, until finally, he swallowed and met her gaze. She saw the ice he held in his eyes earlier had thawed completely, leaving only the soft vulnerability of a child, let down by the world again and again.

⠀⠀⠀"When you have the life I do, you have to make yourself matter," Jon said quietly. "Or you don't. You don't matter to anyone."

⠀⠀⠀And in that moment, he looked so lost. Strong Jon Snow, the best fighter at Castle Black, tactical and powerful and stern, looked so completely lost. He looked like a boy aching for human touch but pushing it away when he got it, and for that reason, Ceria reached out and laid her hand over his. The skin she found was warm and shivering.

⠀⠀⠀Jon looked at her sharply, and then back at his sword. He didn't throw off her touch, and Ceria took the small victory.

⠀⠀⠀His eyes flickered down and he frowned. "You're bruised. Did Rogon hit you?"

          Ceria touched her jaw, wincing at the ripe bruise that was flowering there, and nodded. Jon shook his head.

          "Not so bad as the bruise you gave his pride, I should imagine," he said wryly. "Um... I didn't get a chance to say, earlier, but you put up a very good fight against him. Well done."

⠀⠀⠀Ceria smiled, pleased and somewhat amused at how nervous Jon sounded. It seemed that praising did not come naturally to him, and he flushed in the awkwardness of delivering it.

⠀⠀⠀Jon sniffed and stood up. "Um, I have to go. I'm on watch duty tonight. Are you going back to the dining hall?"

⠀⠀⠀Ceria hesitated, then shook her head again. She had something else she needed to do tonight.

⠀⠀⠀Jon nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Carsen."

⠀⠀⠀After he had left, Ceria picked herself up and walked outside. The courtyard was completely deserted. The time was now.

⠀⠀⠀Ceria walked over to the oaken gates and shoved one open. The wood arched against the black sky, spiked like spearheads, but she wasn't headed for the wood. She was headed to the huge, frozen lake she knew lay just twenty minutes walk from Castle Black in an open field.

⠀⠀⠀She set off, jumping at the slightest of sounds. As silly as she found it, she kept half-expecting a wildling axe to come hurtling out of the woods and bury itself in her chest, or a white walker to stick its hand out from the snow and drag her down.

⠀⠀⠀When she arrived, she walked over to the frozen surface. Dimly, she saw her face peering back at her, hollow and dirty and gaunter than she'd ever seen it. Sighing so loudly that her breath turned ice-white in the crisp air, she reached into her pocket and drew out the flower.

⠀⠀⠀It was the very one she was named after, the flower named cerialis. It was a pink, four-petalled thing that had the shape of a bluebell and was spotted with purple freckles. Slowly, she lifted one leg up and brought it down on the thick ice of the lake. The impact sent a jarring through her leg and a crack on the surface. She repeated herself again, and again, until a small gap opened up, revealing the black water churning beneath the thick frozen crust.

⠀⠀⠀Ceria held the ceralis over the gap between her thumb and forefinger, gathering herself before letting it drop. The fragile flower was immediately pulled under the black tides, and Ceria exhaled.

⠀⠀⠀"Rest in peace, Ceria Sargen," she whispered, and her voice was rusty and alien after a fortnight of not using it. "You are Carsen Sage now."

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