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there is no shame in fear, what matters is how we face it.
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Jon Snow had never known a chill like this. The Wall loomed above him, a colossal mass of ice and stone that seemed to mock human endurance. It was a cold that clawed at the marrow of his bones, a bitter, unrelenting force that no man should ever have to face. The Wall, with its towering spires of blue ice, was a monument to the gods' cruelty, and no amount of glory could prepare a man for this.
In Winterfell, Jon had thought the sting of his bastard birth was the cruelest fate. To be relegated to the shadows, forever set behind his legitimate siblings, to be last in every line, every feast, every chance at legacy. To know that any children he might father would bear the same stain, the same burden of scorn—he'd thought that was the deepest wound one could suffer.
Yet, the harsh truth of the Night's Watch made Winterfell's cold and disdain look warm by comparison.
Jon's grip tightened around his dull training blade as he faced Grenn, the latest recruit to fall beneath his blade. The man was clumsy, his movements betraying his intent. "Grenn, show 'em what you farm boys are made of!" Ser Alliser Thorne's voice cut through the air, carrying a note of mockery. As Grenn stepped forward, swinging his sword in a predictable arc, Jon sidestepped effortlessly, delivering a flat, punishing blow to Grenn's face. The crack of impact was harsh, and Grenn collapsed, groaning as he clutched his bleeding nose.
"If that were a real sword, you'd be dead," Ser Alliser sneered, eyes sweeping over the gathered recruits as Jon waited for the next challenger. "Pyp, do you think Lord Snow bleeds like the rest of us?"
The next man stepped forward, younger than Jon by a year or so. Tall and gangly, with dark hair and fearful brown eyes, he looked at Jon with a mix of dread and determination. The two circled, and Pyp made a hasty swing at Jon's neck. Jon barely moved, jabbing the tip of his sword into Pyp's armor and watching him crumple to the ground.
"Next!" Ser Alliser's command was sharp, his patience fraying.
One by one, the recruits faced Jon, only to be bested in turn. Each opponent fell, leaving Jon standing amidst the wreckage of his comrades. "Go clean yourselves off!" Ser Alliser growled, turning on his heel and marching away from the training yard. "We're done for the day."
