CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀fourteen

fourteen. a traitor's bastard

loc. castle black, the wall. 298AC

⠀⠀⠀Jon Snow was the talk of Castle Black.

⠀⠀⠀It was just one more thing for Carsen to worry herself over. There may have been a wedge between the two of them now, but the affection she felt for him hung on with iron fingers around her heart, refusing just yet to let go. Every time his name was passed around in low tones or with an accompanied snigger, Carsen felt that knife twist brutally in her stomach again.

⠀⠀⠀But there was another thing clouding her head that day that left scarce room for anything else . Rogon.

⠀⠀⠀His visits were becoming far less frequent. He was there, standing above her and dripping blood that she couldn't feel on the skin of her face, but she scarce saw him in the day. It unnerved her as much as it had when he'd very first appeared. Why was he disappearing now? Had the Gods simply gotten tired of torturing her?

⠀⠀⠀It was almost a relief—albeit a guilty one—to think about someone else for a while. Jon Snow's father, the Hand of the King, had been seized for treason against the new King, Joffrey Baratheon.

⠀⠀⠀Nobody had seen Jon since the news first spread. Some wondered if Jon had deserted the Wall to spend time with the rest of his family, but Carsen knew better. Jon was quick-tempered and reckless, but he was clear-headed. He wouldn't go tearing off to King's Landing when he knew what he could lose—his head, his sisters.

⠀⠀⠀When Carsen saw him again, he was in the kitchens.

⠀⠀⠀She was ordered there to help prepare dinner for the sworn brothers. Pyp and Grenn rinsed beans in the tin pails, but it was the sight of Sam and Jon that made Carsen's heart falter.

⠀⠀⠀They were flaying what looked like onions when she walked in. They both looked up at her. It was all Carsen could do to force herself to stand opposite them on the worktable, pick up a knife in her trembling hand and start slicing up a radish. Her hands were shaking so badly, however, that her grip slipped; the edge of the knife cut painfully into her thumb.

⠀⠀⠀She squeaked loudly before she could stop herself, throwing the knife down as though it were a poisonous spider. She grabbed her thumb with her other hand, trying to staunch the bleeding. It was just a nick, and barely hurt, but Carsen found tears gathering in her eyes even as she desperately tried to blink them back. The rivulet of blood streaked down her thumb and collected in her palm like rain in a gutter. Why is there always blood on my hands?

⠀⠀⠀"Here."

⠀⠀⠀Gasping for breath, Carsen blinked the tears from her eyes and a dark cloth waving before her vision gradually swam into view. Sniffing, feeling the tears crack and harden on her cheeks before running anew, she clumsily wrapped the cloth around her cut and tied it, allowing the dark wool to soak up the material.

⠀⠀⠀Only now was the face of her donator taking shape; round, shiny and pale, Sam's tentative eyes floated above her. Jon stood beside him, watching Carsen with an expression that looked horribly like pity—or was it guilt? Carsen's lip wobbled as she attempted a smile at Sam—the boy beamed genially back, and Carsen wanted to burst into tears anew. She wanted to wrap her arms around Sam's neck and draw him in, but restrained herself—both from the crying and the hugging.

⠀⠀⠀For the first time in days, when she looked at Jon, he looked back at her.

⠀⠀⠀She looked at his cheek - the flowering bruise had almost disappeared now, just a smudge of blue-brown where the bones of her hand had blasted against his skin. He crouched down before her, his eyes, warm like molten silver, searching her thoroughly. It was such a burning, intimate gaze that Carsen felt she was being stripped naked.

⠀⠀⠀Finally, he broke the shuddering silence with, "Has anyone ever told you you scream like a girl?"

⠀⠀⠀For one moment Carsen thought she was going to cry again—but then she realised the hysteria rising up in her like a hot bubble, fighting to escape her mouth, was laughter. She laughed, and Jon's hard, cruel, cold mask finally broke and he was laughing too, a warm, silk-soft laugh that felt as beautiful and fleeting as rose petals rushing past, carried by a wind so strong she lost sight of them in seconds, but they had been there, brushing against her skin, and that was all that mattered.

⠀⠀⠀There was no need for apologies—Carsen knew words of sorrow would just reopen the wounds she was trying so desperately to sew shut. Besides, she understood and he understood. She knew why he had said those things, and he knew—she hoped—why she had struck him. Both exchanges were wordless, and for a short while, Rogon and his pointing finger and the blood on her hands were forgotten.

⠀⠀⠀But like those rose petals, that blissful moment was fleeting. One moment there, the next, gone.

⠀⠀⠀As they continued to prepare food, Carsen noted Jon's natural sullen demeanour make a return. Faces of his demons swam in those pools of grey irises—the faces of his father, his brothers and sisters, of King Joffrey.

⠀⠀⠀Without long until supper, the door opened, and Carsen felt a dark cloud settle over the kitchens as Thorne strode in, accompanied by Lord Commander Mormont. His dark, cruel eyes swept the hovel of a kitchen before landing on Jon, and then they flashed with cold arrogance.

⠀⠀⠀"That's a rare sight," he said, loud enough to be heard over the boiling water and thudding of a knife hitting wood. "Not just a bastard, but a traitor's bastard."

⠀⠀⠀Jon struck out so suddenly Carsen barely saw it, lunging at Thorne's face with his knife. Carsen launched herself over the worktop, as Pyp and Grenn rushed forward. They grabbed an arm each and Carsen wrestled the knife from his fingers; it hit the floor with a clatter.

⠀⠀⠀Thorne was untouched, but his face was scrunched in fury. "Blood will always tell," he spat. "You'll hang for this, bastard."

⠀⠀⠀Carsen knew her blood would have chilled if anyone else had said that, but she knew an empty threat when she heard one. Pyp and Grenn released Jon, who seemed to deflate, but the loathing in his eyes as he glared at Thorne burned as brightly as ever. Thorne spat at Jon's feet and swept off out the door.

⠀⠀⠀Carsen exhaled and leant against the worktop, but no sooner had Sam opened his mouth to talk had Mormont stormed over. "I told you not to do anything stupid," he hissed at Jon. "You're confined to your quarters. Go."

⠀⠀⠀Jon looked for a moment as if he might argue, then cast a dark look around the kitchens and stormed out the door. It swung shut behind him, cutting off the pale light from the outside and the sound of her friend's receding footsteps.

⠀⠀⠀There was no snow where Carsen came from. In her land of always summer, snow became an omen among her people. They said that the day snow fell upon the Summervale would be the day the world would end. It represented something apocalyptic to them; they misliked the notion of it covering the world, hiding its blemishes and secrets behind a pure white blanket, sparkling new as though the filth below it had ceased to exist.

⠀⠀⠀Carsen wondered what falsehoods Thorne was hiding—he'd lived with the snow far too long to not have obtained any.

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