"Why would a woman want to go to Castle Black?" Orivel spoke through a loud laugh. The way he spoke made it seem that he guessed her answer would be just as stupid as the thought of a woman roaming Castle Black was.
"Because it is the last place any...
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It is always winter now.
Somewhere in the North of Westeros, 301 AC
When Elyana twisted her head in either direction outside the tavern, and she spotted where the wheel tracks dug into the mud. They were from Ser Orivel and his recruits, and they were heading in the direction of the Wall. She almost set off immediately until she felt her hair sway against her back, and her heart sank at the thought of cutting it all loose.
Better than starving or freezing to death once winter hit, she convinced herself. It would be easier to convince herself once she was sleeping in a warm bed—or rather, a bed, from the stories she heard of Castle Black—and eating a hot meal.
The nameless woman who ran the inn had left clothing to dry outside, the owners being herself or her guests not mattering. Elyana grabbed the largest, white, cotton tunic and quickly felt it under her gloved fingers. Come winter, it would be too cold to wear anyway, and she needed it much more than the owner did. She only hoped that the woman wouldn't come to any harm from her thievery.
Then she moved into the tree line, rushing far enough in to be far out of sight of anyone. She shivered from the cold as she tore off her cloak and placed it on the ground, dropping the white tunic overtop to spare it from any dirt. She removed her gloves next, and then the rest of her top layers until her chest was bare and her nipples grew hard in the wind.
Her teeth chattered and she released a string of curses as she kneeled on the dirt and grabbed the tunic. She took her knife and began to alter the fabric, cutting it just below the belly and above the neck. She brought it around her chest twice and tied it tightly in the back, her breathing uneven from the difficulty of the task, the coldness, and strain against her breasts. It would be worth it.
She waited before redressing herself, instead grabbing at her dagger again and bringing it quickly through her hair. She ripped away the dark brown locks, not carrying of how it would look or how straight the ends would be. She made sure not to cut herself and tried not to dwell on the sadness that crept into her chest. During cold nights, her hair would keep her neck warm, and when she had it braided it was a little piece of her home. Now it would be above her ears and unkept, but she would have a chance to grow it back.
After brushing and shaking the excess hair from her shoulders, she pulled the layers back over her chest. She ran her hands over her ribs and found that the chest appeared flat from under her leather tunic, and for once she was glad that she had a smaller chest. Breathing proved to be harder, and she was sure she would have bruises from how tightly she tied the fabric. Then she moved her gloved fingers over the mud and rubbed a thin layer over her face to disguise any of her feminine features. She would grow used to the sensation.
She was quick to set out for the Kingsroad, her hood down for the first time in ages. For once, it was safer to have it so, though it didn't stop the feeling of uneasiness. She remained in the trees and off the road, speeding up when she found the moon to be in the middle of the sky. She jumped over roots and ducked below trees, finding the four men sat around a fire with their wagon pulled off to the side of the road.
