BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

XVI. HOME

XIV.  HOME

"YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU CAUGHT THESE PEOPLE TRYING TO GO NORTH OF THE WALL?" Jon questioned incredulously, striding through the dark corridor behind the Wildling Commander.

"Our scouts found them a mile south of here." Amodera stated, coming to a stop in front of a cell. Behind the thick, steel bars sat three men dressed in furs.

Jon stood beside her, glancing through the bars. "You're the Hound. I saw you once at Winterfell." Jon stated, catching the eye of a large man with harsh burns spanning the side of his face.

The man pulled a blanket tighter across his shoulders, sitting up on the table in the corner of the cell.

"They want to go beyond the Wall too." Tormund stated gruffly, looking between the three prisoners.

"We don't want to go beyond the Wall, we have to." One of the men, who had identified himself as Beric Dondarrion, began calmly, leaning against the cold stone walls. "Our Lord told us the great war is coming."

"Don't trust them. Don't trust any of them." Gendry, a man who had arrived at Eastwatch with Jon, cried out, clenching his jaw. He walked up to the bars of the cell, looking down at the prisoners in a blind rage. "They're the Brotherhood. And the last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a Red Witch to be murdered."

Amodera arched an eyebrow at the men inside the cell. It seemed that with each second her prisoners became more and more interesting. Glancing to her right, she met Jon's gaze. There was a look in her eye; a look that told her he'd already made up her mind about them. They needed all the support they could get out there.

"Here we all are at the edge of the world at the same moment heading in the same direction for the same reason." Beric stated coolly, ignoring Gendry's outburst as if he couldn't bear to care.

"Our reasons are not your reasons." Amodera retorted, her voice placid. "We are not following the words of some false God. We have a job to do."

"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are." Beric stood, walking to the bars and staring through Amodera's harsh demeanour. "There's a greater purpose at work and we serve it together whether we know it or not. We may take the steps but the Lord of Light--"

"For fuck's sake, will you shut your hole. Are we coming with you or not?" The Hound demanded, glaring at them.

Ser Jorah Mormont stepped forward. "Don't you want to know what we're doing?"

"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die?" The final cell-mate, Thoros of Myr, questioned, sarcasm laced through his voice.

"He's right." Jon stated abruptly, looking around at the group of misfits with a desperate hope. "We're all on the same side."

Gendry stepped forwards, eyebrows furrowed. "How can we be?"

"We're all still breathing."

《》

The cruel Northern wind greeted them with sharp kisses, like knives embedding themselves in their cheeks. Amodera trekked through the the jagged valley, a fur hood pulled tightly around her head as the snow lashed at her skin. An arm engulfed her, as Jon pulled her into his warm side with a gruff smile.