CARPE NOCTEM, jon snow

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀thirty nine

chapter thirty-nine. the trial of carsen sage

loc. castle black, the wall. 300AC

          AS CARSEN STOOD BEFORE THE clan of men behind the long table, she wondered why she felt, above fear and anger, boredom.

          Alliser Thorne had his place in the centre of the table, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his wry mouth. Carsen picked out Janos Slynt and Maester Aemon beside him. The elderly man sat hunched and pale, skin as white as his hair. His eyes were cloudy with his blindness.

          "Ceria Sargen," Ser Alliser proclaimed. "You stand accused of murder and treason. How do you answer these charges—my lady?"

          "I deny them not," Carsen answered quietly. The two wounds dotting her body were writhing in discomfort. "But I know my good ser will hear me out before my sentence is sealed."

          Alliser and Slynt exchanged glances, before the latter stood. His bald head gleamed like an egg in the candlelight. "You murdered Qhorin Halfhand. You abandoned your vows, you turned in your black for pelt. You broke bread with the enemy." He smiled nastily. His teeth were very yellow. "The sentence is execution, Sargen. Or do you deny it?"

          "Ser Janos, it seems you are hard of hearing." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I have told you once already I do not deny these charges. Next time I will write it down for you, lest you become confused again and must refresh your memory."

          "How dare—"

          "I'm sure Jon has told you already, but it seems I need to reiterate. Mance Rayder marches south with an army of a hundred thousand wildlings. I'd put it at half a moon before they arrive. It won't even be a battle. We will fall like flies, Rayder overpowers us a hundred men to one. We sit here bickering like children, deciding whether my head should stay on my shoulders, and all the while the wildling army grows. So, execute me if you will. String me up, hang me high, let my head roll over the courtyard. I'll see you in the hells soon enough anyhow."

          A pregnant pause swelled in the air, and a silence so fragile Carsen fancied she could prick it with her finger and it would shatter settled over the room like early-morning dew.

"Do you have friends in Braavos, Lady Sargen?" Thorne asked abruptly, and Carsen blinked, wrong-footed for a second.

"Braavos, ser?" A cold prickle slid over her skin. She swallowed. "No. Why do you ask?"