CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀thirty three

thirty-three. half-light, daylight

loc. the cave, the frostfangs. 300AC

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CARSEN'S BODY ACHED IN THE sweetest way possible, but inside was not as pretty.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As she lay on the cave floor staring up at the inner vector, her stomach twisted into knots, over and over itself. Ygritte was sound asleep, covered in her furs; beyond the sound of her snuffles, the only sound was the running waterfall. Carsen had redressed in her leggings, figuring the bandages would provide enough coverage for modesty in the minutes after—well, after. They were starting to fray and come loose at the ends, but she'd just have to make do until they got back to Castle Black. Gods, she never thought she'd miss that place.

⠀⠀⠀Outside, night was falling. The torch was burning low and the cave was lit only by prisms of moonlight shining in silver mosaics through the waterfall. Carsen rose, seized by a sudden urge to move, to quash the restless anxiety inside her. When she sat up, she found she was not the only one plagued by insomnolence. Jon lay on his side, eyes open and staring, a thousand leagues away—though they flickered to life when he caught Carsen's movement.

For a moment they merely looked at each other, caught, she thought, in equal amounts of terror. When she saw the mirror of her own fear play out on his features, it made her heart ease up. She gestured silently to the waterfall, and after a moment Jon nodded. He got quietly to his feet, dressed only in his smallclothes, and they both padded quietly over to the small spring.

The black water steamed hot, something volcanic in nature as Carsen sat upon the warm rocks and dangled her feet into the water. Jon hesitated, feet fumbling awkwardly before he took a seat beside her. For a good minute they both gazed solemnly at the endless spill of water that tipped into the spring from above, that gleaming fall of diamonds from some black fissure so many feet above their heads. Carsen breathed in sulphur and heat and rock and closed her eyes. The smells reminded her of home.

It was Jon who spoke, voice quiet and a touch hoarse. "Are you... alright?"

So bashful; it almost made Carsen laugh, after everything. "I'm alright," she answered quietly. "Are you?"

Jon went quiet, a small furrow between his brows. Carsen knew he had dreamed of joining the Watch for so long, since he was a young boy. Forsaking his vows could not have come so easily to him as it seemed to for her. And yet, after a minute, he replied, "I think. There is guilt, to be sure, but..."

"What was it maester Aemon said?" Carsen murmured. "After you returned from trying to run away that one night."

Jon closed his eyes as if in pain. "What is honour, compared to a woman's love?" he recited.

Carsen looked back at Ygritte, still slumbering soundly. "What we are doing is honourable," she whispered. "For the Watch."

"Aye." Jon looked pale. "For the Watch."

"Had you..." Carsen hesitated. "Done that before?"

Jon reddened. "There hadn't been anyone else, no." He cast a quick look at her. "And... yourself?"

"...There might have been," Carsen replied quietly. "But it never..."

Jon looked at her curiously. "Where are you from? I remember you saying that you're not Westerosi."

Carsen sighed. "I'm from a small island, between Dorne and the Summer Isles. You'll likely not have heard of it. It has its own culture, gods... everything, really. We call it the Summervale."

Jon shook his head, brown hair waving loosely. "You're right, I hadn't heard of it. Must be small."

"It is. But it's mine."

Jon did not quite smile, but his features softened. "Do you think you'll go back there someday?"

"No," Carsen said, surely as the sun rose in the east. "I don't suppose I will. I'm going to try and stay at the Wall for as long as they will have me. If they turn me out..." she trailed off, dread growing like a tar pit inside her. "Well. I'm not so sure. But I will never go home."

Jon's brows furrowed. "But why..." he trailed off only a moment later, shaking his head. "Never mind. Another thing that isn't my business, I suspect." He looked over his shoulder at the slumbering redhead. "She's something."

"Something," Carsen agreed hollowly. And she was—loud and lovely, kissed by fire. Jon was snowfall, was Ghost—quiet, and withdrawn, and occasionally frightening. It was him she found in the quiet lapses of the hours gone by, between Ygritte's soft noises, finding his eyes over her clouds of red hair. Wanting, in those heat-flushed, shimmering moments, to climb into his arms; watching when Ygritte had kissed his mouth and wondering how he would taste. What his hands would feel like on her skin. But soon, thoughts swept away in the haze of pleasure, in Ygritte's whirlwind of hands and tongue, and the bastard boy was forgotten once more. Eclipsed by Ygritte's sunshine.

But now night had fallen, leaving only them behind. The sun slumbered; the moon and stars came out to commiserate.

Did Jon... feel the same? Had he looked for her in the quiet gasps between skin and hair, seeking her eyes. Carsen felt warmth creep up her cheeks, wondering how she might have looked during. She had felt a mess. Surely she would look one too. Jon looked tousled and flushed, but no less handsome than normal. She caught her use of the word and cringed, but, yes, she'd always known Jon Snow was handsome, hadn't she? She just hadn't known the way the wiry muscles in his biceps flexed, or that his chest went pink when he blushed, or the pitch of his voice when—

"Do I have something on my face?" Jon asked. He raised a hand subconsciously to pet at his own hair. "Am I mussed?"

"No," Carsen said quickly, feeling hot and foolish. "No, you... I'm sure we both look..."

They both looked away, flushed like mallow-flowers.

After a moment, Carsen cleared her throat. "I'm going to... leave. I don't think I can be here when she wakes up." She stood, wandering to the pile of furs that lay discarded some feet away, finding a pelt and pulling it over her head. Jon followed after her, puppy-eyed.

"You're going?" he murmured.

Carsen shrugged. "Sorry. You stay if you want. I just... this was..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the words, but Jon seemed hurt all the same. His face tightened, and he averted his gaze from her.

Quietly, Carsen left the tent. The only evidence of what had occurred was the memory of Ygritte's smell in her nose, and the eyes of Jon Snow, forbidden to look upon for too long, caught betwee revolving columns of glimmering limbs.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀