CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀twenty three

twenty-three. a bitter taste

loc. the first of the first men, beyond the wall. 299AC.

⠀⠀⠀JON HADN'T BELIEVED it at first.

⠀⠀⠀He hadn't wanted to believe it—something inside him curdled at the thought of the truth, nausea rolling in him like melting metal, and yet he was putting together the pieces against his will.

⠀⠀⠀His muteness. He never changed before other's eyes. How lithe he had been on his first day, his doe-eyes, his poorly hacked hair... Jon shivered, but it wasn't because of the snow. The cold of the hard truth finally hitting him like an icestorm was far more tremble-inducing.

⠀⠀⠀It was only when Carsen stepped back into the camp did he really believe the gossip spreading like wildfire around the Fist. It was like seeing him—her—for the first time. He saw her wide, dark eyes, full lips and long eyelashes; he saw her slender neck and lean legs even beneath her thick furs. He saw her hair, the hue of a doe's fur, growing slightly longer in wispy curls around her ears.

⠀⠀⠀She was trembling as a silence as heavy as ice descended upon the camp; the eyes of brothers and commanders turned to where she stood, quaking like a leaf. It was only when her eyes snagged his he could finally bear to look away. He felt sickened, nauseated to the core —Carsen had been the only person he could somewhat relate to on the Wall—he'd been his friend. A friend whose mouth drew no words in the air but talked more deeply than anyone he knew. A friend whose eyes, deep as wells, shone out of her thin face and illuminated the draughty corridors at Castle Black.

⠀⠀⠀"Jon?"

⠀⠀⠀He turned from his task of throwing the used and blackened firewood off the lip of the cliff; Sam stood behind him, shaking as much as Carsen. His pale eyes kept darting back to where she stood, frozen as the rock underneath them.

⠀⠀⠀"How are you?" his friend asked after a brief pause. Jon dropped his gaze.

⠀⠀⠀"Fine," he answered shortly. "Why shouldn't I be?"

⠀⠀⠀"Well, you know. Because of Carsen—"

⠀⠀⠀"She was your friend as well," Jon interrupted coldly. "Are you alright?"

⠀⠀⠀Sam blinked; there was something wounded in his gaze that made him look like a stag, and Jon the wolf. "Well, yes, but it seemed like you two were always closer than the rest of us—"

⠀⠀⠀"I'm not sure how close we could have been." Jon knew he was acting the moody young boy, but he couldn't seem to help it. Some part of a petulant child that still resided inside of him had dug his heels in and refused to move; he felt childishly, churlishly hurt.

⠀⠀⠀Sam swallowed. "Maybe—maybe she had a good reason?"

⠀⠀⠀Jon flinched; it still felt alien to address Carsen as she. He found himself absently wondering what her real name was, then squeezed his eyes shut and released his clenched jaw. "Maybe," he agreed hollowly.

⠀⠀⠀In truth, he was of equal mixture angry and hurt, but not for reasons he could ever tell Sam. The roiling anger in his belly and head came from the nights spent alone, looking up at the ceiling—different ceilings overtime, the beams of Castle Black, the wood of Craster's Keep, the open sky—wondering what in the hells was wrong with him. One night too many thinking, thinking of how warm Carsen's skin was, the sparkle in his eyes, the tremble of his hands. With Carsen, he hadn't once thought about what was between his legs, or his body under his furs—all he'd known was how warm his warm eyes and the way he moved, clumsy like a newborn doe, and the raw emotion that shone from his face.

⠀⠀⠀But Carsen Sage was not real; Carsen Sage was a ghost, a whisper of who she really was. Jon closed his eyes. I worried for a ghost, he thought, but the thought was hollow.

⠀⠀⠀They were prepared to leave within the hour; he had persuaded Commander Mormont to let him join the Halfhand's rangers, and after short debate, the Old Bear had relented and allowed it. But what little, dim candle of excitement about his first job as a Ranger was alight inside died in his belly, curdling like ash, when he saw her.

⠀⠀⠀She stood on the fringe of the rest of the group, shorter and thinner and paler, pale as the surrounding snow. The boys to the left kept casting looks at her—he noticed confused eyes and suspicious eyes and hungry eyes, and he didn't know which made him feel worse. Yes, he did. Hers.

⠀⠀⠀They were as brown as he remembered them, pools of hazel like rocks along a coastline. How such a tint could play with the light, like looking at the world through a glass of pinehoney. He found himself, against his will, searching for a sign of weakness in that colour, and was resentfully unsurprised to find none. Those eyes were like burning pits, each with its own sun crafted by the Gods themselves, punishingly bright and hot. It hurt to look at them, so he didn't. He found looking at the snow on the ground an easier task than gazing into two blazing suns, and so he did.

⠀⠀⠀There was silence, a heavy silence broken only by Carsen's shifting and stifled grunts of pain. Jon glanced at her through his eyelashes. Her teeth had sunk into her bottom lips, her lids had fallen over her eyes and she was leaning in a way that suggested she was in pain. Jon's eyes lingered upon the hem of her clothing, wondering about the stab wound that hid beneath them.

⠀⠀⠀Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered what Carsen was doing here with just a three-day-old wound, and who in seven hells allowed her to go. His gaze snagged Commander Mormont, hefting an armload of firewood to the blackened and curdled pile, and had his answer. Reviving his feet with reluctance, he trod over to where the rest of the rangers milled, awaiting Qhorin Halfhand himself.

⠀⠀⠀He felt Carsen's gaze on the side of his head, but he refused to look—the confused cocktail of emotion in his belly was controlling his every move. It was like a creature, a creature with as many hands as there were stars in the sky—hands that turned his head, hands that held his body stiff, hands that sent Jon's breath trembling in his throat because even underneath the coats of rage and hurt and fury, Jon missed Carsen. He missed her soft touches and half-smiles and bidden determination swimming in those doe-like eyes.

⠀⠀⠀He missed her, and that made him angriest of all.

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