CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀thirty seven

thirty-seven. burning clues into this heart of mine

loc. deep lake, the wall. 300AC

⠀⠀⠀BY THE TIME they finally stopped riding, night had come and gone, and the day had dawned clear and cold.

⠀⠀⠀Carsen was so weary with exhaustion that she almost fell off the horse several times. If Jon can stay awake, you can too, is what she told herself, but felt disturbed at how little she believed it. Finally, Jon pulled on the reins, and the horse slowed gently to a stop. Carsen looked blearily around. They were in a large, hilly field, surrounded by nothing but dull blue sky. To their left, a pond of water. Water, not ice, not frozen. It made her want to weep.

⠀⠀⠀Jon dismounted first and helped Carsen down, but her legs gave way as soon as she hit the ground. She pulled her way over to the pond and sunk a hand in. It was searingly cold, but it felt clean, lifting the dirt from her hands and from under her nails. She sluiced the travel stains from both her hands, then cupped some water in them and splashed her face. It felt sweet, like being cleansed, so she kept at it, dabbing at her face with cold water until she felt as scrubbed as a newborn babe in summer.

⠀⠀⠀"Catch."

⠀⠀⠀Carsen looked up as Jon threw her an empty skin. She unscrewed the top and sniffed gingerly, and the thick scent of wine met her nose. She washed it twice thoroughly before filling it with water and taking a long swing, and passing it back to Jon. He stood and looked around, wary, but Carsen felt oddly at ease.

"You should wash at your face," Carsen advised him. Jon huffed.

"Being pretty is not my largest concern of the moment."

"You can't see yourself. You look like a ghoul." She patted the spot of brittle grass beside her. "Come sit."

Jon sighed, but lumbered over. He ducked his hands into the water and pressed them to his face, hissing at the cold sear over the fresh cuts. They had stopped bleeding sometime in the last few hours, but were starting to scab over unattractively.

⠀⠀⠀"We can stop here a few hours," Jon said eventually. He was not looking at her. "Get some sleep, if you can."

⠀⠀⠀Immediately the urge to protest rose, and died in her throat. "Alright," she agreed weakly, then turned away from him. She propped her head on the skin, water straining gently against the leather, in lieu of a pillow, and curled into herself in lieu of a blanket, curled into her exhaustion and wariness and ever-present disquiet until she assumed a fetal position. And then, she slept.