𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙄𝙊𝙍𝙎 (Game of Thrones)

𝙞.

Vickon Waters had kept his mouth shut at the sight of the newcomer. A young man, hardly anything more than a boy. The twenty-six-year-old had seen plenty of men like him. They came and they went, freezing to death beyond the Wall or losing their lives to a wildling's arrow. That was what became of little boys looking for glory in the Night's Watch. Vickon knew that well.

But this boy already seemed to have an advantage. The friendship of First Ranger Benjen Stark.

Or perhaps not friendship. The boy had Benjen's dark hair, his gray eyes. The strong jaw. A Stark? Vickon couldn't be sure. 

At the boy's side was a man that Vickon had never met, but he knew who it was. That golden hair and those emerald eyes were enough to tell him. Tyrion Lannister. The Imp of Casterly Rock. Tywin Lannister's son and heir.

Vickon learned the boy's name in due time. Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, and a lad of seventeen years.

There wasn't very much time to get to know him, however. Because the moment Jon Snow had settled in to Castle Black, Ser Alliser Thorne called the new recruits out to spar. Vickon was hardly a new recruit, but he followed along to watch. He liked to see the possible new compatriots that would join him beyond the Wall.

He stood and watched as Jon Snow readied himself with a sword, waiting as Alliser called, "Grenn, show him what you farm boys are made of."

Grenn was a bulkily built young man, no older than twenty. He took a few steps forward, bracing himself as he gripped a sword. 

Grenn was the first to charge.

It was hardly a fair fight. Jon caught him on his first swing, the flat of his sword hitting Grenn in the nose and earning a cry of pain. Vickon winced at the stream of crimson that began to pour down his face. "If that were a real sword, you'd be dead," Ser Alliser stated. "Lord Snow here grew up in a castle, spitting down on the likes of you." He turned to survey the group of recruits. "Pyp," he said. "Do you think Ned Stark's bastard bleeds like the rest of us?"

Vickon guessed the boy to be eighteen. Small, scrawny. He could have been quick, but a position as a ranger was certainly not in his future.

He stepped toward Jon, blunted sword held tight in his hands. They circled each other, eyes locked. Pyp charged, letting out a shout. He swung. Jon dodged swiftly, bringing his knee up and hitting Pyp hard in the stomach. The smaller boy flew back, hitting the ground. He dropped his sword, clutching at his stomach.

Ser Alliser rolled his small blue eyes. "Next!" he shouted.

The next lad came forward. He was dealt with quickly.

"Next!"

The next man was older, named Rast. He swung first, but Jon parried. Knowing that Rast was going to lose this fight, another of the recruits joined the fray. Jon kicked the newcomer out of the way, punching Rast hard in the face.

"Well, Lord Snow it appears you're the least useless person here," Ser Alliser said.

Vickon chuckled despite himself, earning a look from Ser Alliser. "You think you can do better, Waters?"

"Aye, I do," Vickon replied. "But I'm not a recruit, Ser Alliser. It wouldn't be fair to him."

A chuckle left the older knight. "Let's see how he fares, then," he said. "Get a sword, Waters."

Vickon sighed but did as told. 

Jon Snow watched carefully as the man approached him. Tall, strong. Older than him. His hair was long and silver, his eyes amethysts set in pale skin. He offered a hesitant sort of smile. "My name is Vickon," he said. "Welcome to Castle Black."

Jon couldn't help but snort at that. A cordial introduction. Interesting. "An albino?" he asked.

Vickon laughed. "Something like that."

Ser Alliser's voice dragged Jon back to reality. "Are you ladies done with your gossip? Yes? Then have at it!"

Jon braced himself, scanning the older man for weak points. His legs would be a good target. Manage a hit to them and his weight would drag him down. He was stood fast for now, but Jon would get him. He knew he would.

Vickon smiled. Jon was concentrating. Focusing. He saw gray eyes settle on his legs. 

Vickon charged.

Jon dodged the first swing of Vickon's sword, ducking around behind him. He swung out with his own blade, aiming for the back of Vickon's knee.

His sword didn't get a chance to connect.

Vickon spun, bringing his sword down hard on Jon's arm. The younger boy stumbled backward, eyes widening. He hadn't expected that maneuver. Taking advantage of the boy's shock, Vickon ran at him, narrowly dodging the attempt Jon made at a swing. 

Jon was good with a sword, that was for certain. But Vickon had the advantage of sheer mass. He slammed into Jon with the force of a blacksmith's hammer on a sword, elbow connecting with his chest. Jon flew backward, hitting the ground hard, gasping for air. Vickon stood over him, a sorry smile on his face as he pointed the blade of his sword at Jon's throat. "I win," he said.

"It seems Lord Snow can't best the albino," Ser Alliser said, his voice harsh. He looked at the other recruits. "Go clean yourselves up. There's only so much I can stomach in a day."

Vickon held a hand out to Jon. "Sorry," he said. "I really didn't want to do that."

Gray eyes met amethyst ones and Vickon smiled. But then Jon's gaze fell and he braced himself on one hand, refusing Vickon's help as he got to his feet. He said nothing as he made for the armory, leaving Vickon in the middle of the yard.