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loc. castle black, the wall. 298AC
⠀⠀⠀"Carsen, isn't it?"
⠀⠀⠀Ceria glanced up, her hands stilling around the laces of her thick, leather boots that somehow did nothing about the cold lurking between her toes. She was dimly surprised to see Jon Snow above her, wearing dense gloves and an unreadable expression.
⠀⠀⠀Abandoning her laces momentarily, she stood up to meet his height—although didn't, as even standing her head barely brushed his chin—and watched him with what she hoped was a questioning expression.
⠀⠀⠀"I um - I wanted to apologise," Snow said, wincing as the words left his lips as though they were bitter on his tongue. Ceria frowned slightly, momentarily unsure what he meant. The two hadn't exchanged any sort of communication since Tyrion Lannister's visit—in fact, Ceria had deliberately avoided most of the men and boys at the Wall. If Tyrion had put two and two together so quickly, how long until one of her brothers found out? How long until Lord Commander Mormont?
⠀⠀⠀Spotting her frown, Snow quickly added, "For training. I—I bruised up your face a bit."
⠀⠀⠀Ceria found her hand subconsciously moving to trace the jagged bruise streaking her skin. It had flowered into a collection of bruises the colours of sour grass and mould. Her gaze flitted momentarily to Grenn, who could still be heard nursing his broken nose at night. Snow caught the look, and pressed on, seemingly becoming more comfortable in his apology every second.
⠀⠀⠀"I hit you the hardest. It—it wasn't an accident. You watched me, when you were sitting there. You knew what I did, you knew how to beat me, and that—that unnerved me. I'm sorry." He stuck out his left hand, and she blinked, momentarily wrongfooted. Where Ceria was from, people did not shake hands so easily.
⠀⠀⠀Snow's hand dangled awkwardly—in her surprise, she had quite left him hanging, and an expression of embarrassment was starting to steal over his face. Just as he began to retract his hand, Ceria clasped it, gripping his palm and shaking it briefly.
⠀⠀⠀Jon Snow nodded at her then, shoulders untensing fractionally, and she saw for the first time his eyes. Grey like skimming stones or swordsteel, set in a long, gloomily handsome face. He made to turn away and walk back to his cot, but an idea struck Ceria as suddenly as a bolt of lightning, and her hand shot out again, grabbing his arm.
⠀⠀⠀As he turned back in surprise, Ceria grabbed the slip of parchment, quill and inkwell that Mormont had let her keep with her, and began to write. When she handed it back to Jon, his eyes flicked over her curved, sloped writing for just seconds before he looked back up, surprise gracing his tired features.
