𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙄𝙊𝙍𝙎 (Game of Thrones)

𝙫𝙞𝙞𝙞.

They burned the bodies the next morning. In the training yard, the heat of the flames melting the freshly fallen snow. Vickon watched with a knot in his throat. Had Jon not been there, he might have died. 

He didn't look away from the smoldering corpses, even as Sam spoke and earned everyone's attention. "They were touched by White Walkers. That's why they came back. That's why their eyes turned blue. Only fire will stop them."

"How'd you know that?" Jon asked.

Sam shrugged. "I read about it in a book- - a very old book in Maester Aemon's library."

Jon took a deep breath. "What else did the book say?" he asked.

"The White Walkers sleep beneath the ice for thousands of years. And when they wake up- -" Sam stopped.

"When they wake up, what?" Pyp pressed.

It was Vickon who answered the question. "They kill."

Sam nodded. "I hope the Wall is high enough," he mused.

The day's activities were slow. Jon was no use in the training yard, not with his hand burned the way it was. Maester Aemon said it would be better soon, but Vickon could see the frustration in those gray eyes as Jon watched the others spar.

Ser Alliser had gone to King's Landing. Yoren was still not back, though they'd received no word on his whereabouts. Lord Commander Mormont had given Ser Alliser Jafer's hand. He hoped that he would be able to convince the new king, Joffrey Baratheon, of the Night's Watch's plight.

Jon was all smiles as he entered the great hall for supper. Everyone knew that Mormont had given the boy his ancestral family sword, a blade of Valyrian steel called Longclaw. Vickon straightened in his seat to look as Pyp grinned, "Go on, let's have a look."

Vickon got up from the table with Grenn. "At what?" Jon said.

"The sword!" Grenn said with a laugh. "Show us the sword."

Grenn began the chant. "Sword! Sword!" Vickon joined with a smile, as well as Pyp. "Sword! Sword!" Slowly the others joined.

Vickon saw Jon's stony facade crack. He chuckled, handing the sheath to Grenn before he drew the blade. Cheers escaped the small crowd that had amassed around him. "An impressive weapon," Vickon said as Jon handed it Grenn to be returned to its sheath. "You deserve it, Jon."

"Let's have a look," Pyp said, reaching to grab at the sheath.

"Piss off," Grenn said, backing away. Pyp reached for it once again. "Get off it," Grenn urged. "Piss off." He backed up further before he broke into a jog, trying to escape the group who laughed as they pursued him.

"Come on, I want to have a look at it in the light," Grenn said, moving toward the window.

"Give it here!" Pyp cried, and Vickon saw him jumping up to try and take hold of it.

He rolled his eyes, settling back at the table across from Sam, who kept his head bowed. Jon joined as well. "What is it?" he asked Sam.

"I- -" Sam began.

"Look at its eyes," Pyp was saying to the group as they admired the wolf's head pommel.

"Give it," Grenn said, pulling the sword free of Pyp's grasp.

"I can't," Sam concluded.

"You can't what?" Jon asked.

"I'm- - I'm really not supposed to say."

"And yet you really want to say. You want to say that...?"

Sam let out a sigh. "There was a raven," he said. "I read the message to Maester Aemon. It's your brother Robb."

"What?" Jon asked. "What about him?"

"He's heading south," Sam replied. "To war." At Jon's expression, he continued. "All his bannermen have rallied to his side. They'll keep him safe."

"I should be there," Jon said. "I should be with him."

Vickon reached to squeeze his arm. He half expected Jon to pull free, but he didn't. And so Vickon lowered his voice. "You can't leave, Jon. You've taken your vows. If you leave, you lose your head."

To that, Jon had no reply.

Vickon cut his hair that night. He stood before a cracked and dusty mirror, hacking away at the fine silver locks with a pair of scissors. He'd rather have not repeated Othor taking hold of the long hair. 

It pained him to do it, even still. The hair had once hung down past his shoulders, sleek and straight. By the time he was done, it barely came past his chin, the cuts jagged. He looked a fool, but it was better than taking any more risks. 

He tied it back with a strip of leather, examining himself in the mirror. A sigh left him as he said, "Good enough."