BLACK WOLF - GoT [s1 - s4]

013 - cowardly tarly

"the sharpness of the sword is not the edge of the blade, but in the hand of the warrior."
- martin aquino

——

    Jon was exceeding expectations in Castle Black, becoming an instructor. Aloy, however, was struggling with the Lord Commander. No matter what she did, how many peers she took down or how many bowls of moldy stew she served. They never saw her as good enough.
Another negative was that Uncle Benjen left beyond the Wall to attend matters Aloy was not told about. All that was left was Jon and the occasional conversation with her acquaintance, Erik.
    The night was approaching, a night like no other. Jon and Aloy were set to say their vows. Aloy worked on her cobblestones panelled wall, marking down the days till she ventured outside into the polar abyss.
    Aloy currently stood with a handful of other soldiers, watching carefully as Jon worked with another man.
    A man called Grenn busied himself with Jon was hunched over, a leather body cover assuming the role of armour. His hair was thin from the top till his beard. Jon advised the man on his footing, ordering him to pivot his left foot.
    All of the sudden, Grenn stood up tall. He held a strained expression. The group followed his hardened gaze. Jeor Mormomt was storming steadily towards them with a bumbling round man staggering close on his heels.

    "What in the seven hells is that?" Grenn barked.

    His greasy friend commented rudely on the poor man's body image to the enjoyment of his friends. Aloy examined the man. He avoided everyone's gaze, bashfully staring down at his large feet.
    He had a dark brown mop of hair with a patchy beard. He was plump, plump enough to be noticed in a sea of underfed bodies. Aloy suspected him dead in a weeks time, maybe less. The man was introduced to the group as Samwell Tarly of Hornhill, although he was no longer a Tarly nor of Hornhill.

    "Come to take the black pudding?" Another jeered, balancing his sword behind his shoulders. His friends cackled.

    "You couldn't be any worse than you look." Jeor Mormont stated, looking ashamed to be in Samwell's presence. "Let's see what you can do."

    Aloy stepped forth, finding an open challenge in the Tarly man as no one else bothered. Aloy entered the small circle with pride. Samwell stepped forth, his hands trembling in holding the practice blade. Aloy balanced her feet, clutching the blade with determination and power.

    Samwell stuttered out, "I...I can't hit you—"

    Aloy let out a small cry, striking down on Sam. He let out a yelp similar to a maidens squeal, collapsing to the ground in a huff.
    She whacked him with the flat side of the sword repeatedly. Aloy was stuck in a daze, taking out her silent rage on the backside of the Tarly.