CHAPTER 17 | THE WILDLING
She's got fire in her veins, smoke on her lips, and blood staining her fists. But her mind is wrapped in chains, and scars mark her hips; sometimes she forgets she even exists.
Her shoulder burned as she tugged on a thick shirt made of animal fur and then a heavy jacket and pants made of rough animal hide, the lining consisting of random fur. Her short hair didn't help warm her face as she stepped back out of the hut, thanking Hanna. Clay turned to her with his arms folded and a stern look on his face. He was tall, a good few inches than her. It was strange, because even though Jon was taller than her, he wasn't as tall as Clay. She had to crane her head upward to look at him.
"Come with me," he said in a gruff voice while binding her hands together. She rolled her eyes at his statement. She had no choice but to obey him. She felt weak as she was behind Clay, the eyes of the Wildlings burning holes into her skin. The way the rope tugged and scratched at her skin caused her dignity to plummet.
They walked until they reached another hut, this one of medium size. Tree branches and hides covered the top for protection of the harsh wintry snow and brittle air of the North. Clay pulled her inside and made her sit down on a padded log, one of many that surrounded a blazing pit of fire. After hours of braving the cold, she welcomed the warmth. She scooted closer to its smokey wild arms and leaned in close enough so that her face was captured in a glow of heat. She let slip a small sigh as her body regained its strength. Her nimble fingers that were slowly turning blue burned as she put them closer to the fire.
Off to the side, Clay was fumbling with something. He pulled out a couple of rabbits and started skinning them, yanking the intestines from its body and throwing them into a bucket that made an uncomfortable slushing sound every time an organ met another. It was silent besides the low snapping of the fire that produced a woodsy scent.
Wren watched Clay warily. The way he used the knife he had, making quick sufficient lines in the animals' fur coat and flesh, had her feeling uneasy. He was skilled at what he did and was sure that if he had killed her he would've made her death quick and painless; if he had wanted it to be. And yet, he didn't kill her, much to Balik's dismay. Why? She questioned him. Surely he had killed women before, he was a ruthless Wildling. She remembered the stories Old Nan would tell them about the men of the far North and the man-eating creatures that lived there. But those were stories, they shouldn't be real. Yet here she was, sitting in a Wildling camp waiting to be fed by a Wildling.
It was moments like this that she yearned for someone to come save her, anyone. For a knight in shining armor to come down the top of a hill on a brilliant steed, a sword as sharp as ice waving in the air, prepared to cut down anyone who stood in their way. She dreamed like a princess stuck in chains. She dreamed that someone would save her, but as her eyes adjusted back to the room she was sitting in, she realized no one was coming. Not a knight with a horse and sword, not even a stranger traveling on their own. It was unlikely.
In that moment alone, as she had done already, she realized the only person who could save her was herself. She had done it when she temporarily lost Jon's companionship, and even though her predicament was much greater this time around, she knew she could do it all over again. Wren knew she was a survivor at heart, perhaps not the most strong or brave, but she was smart and had a good heart — for the most part.
Mustering up the courage, Wren cleared her throat. "Hanna said she's your mother. Who's your father?" Wren pushed at him. She thought maybe if she got to know him a little better he would create a connection with her and untie her bonds. It was a fickle idea but she had to at least try.
Clay didn't answer. She thought he didn't hear her. She opened her mouth to repeat herself, but then his heavy voice filled the room. "That's none of your business," he said while skewering the animals and placing them above the fire to roast them. As the flesh cooked, Wren's stomach couldn't help but growl.
Wren shrugged as he sat across from her, the shadows the light of the fire created casting against his rugged features. "I just figured since you know so much about me that I should know something about you," she replied smoothly.
Clay scoffed and gave her a dirty look, "I know nothing about you Crow," his eyes darted down to the meat before training his eyes back on Wren. "You're an outsider, a murderer, and a girl dressed as a boy."
Wren's wrists itched against the rope and she tried adjusting them so they wouldn't hurt as much, but it was useless. She would have to grit her teeth and deal with it. She addressed Clay again, "I may be most of those things but I am no murderer. I've never seen a Wildling before in my life until just recently when you decided to kidnap me."
"I didn't kidnap you," Clay responded, flipping the meat over so it cooked evenly, "we're borrowing you."
Wren laughed, "yeah, for ransom." She thought back to what Hanna had said. They were going to try to lure the Night's Watch into their camp, but Commander Mormont wasn't a fool. If anything, they would assume she was dead and think that the Wildlings were lying about her captivity. And if that happened, Mance would surely kill her.
Clay said nothing as Wren dug a little deeper into the hole she was creating for herself. "I'm bait for Mormont and when you all see that he won't come, because he's not a fool, you'll kill me," she summarized for him.
Leaping up from his seat, he swiftly pulled out the knife he was using to skin the rabbits and pressed it up against her throat. He stared at her with ice in his eyes, the walls of betrayal and rivalries instilled within him, blocking her truths from penetrating his mind. He was a pillar of hailstone and she was the fire between them, attempting to burn him down to nothing.
Wren didn't move as she stared up at him. He was a wild man, a beast hidden in human skin.
"Listen very carefully," he started to say, "you are nothing but a Crow in every mind here. Your kind is monstrous and evil, and you bravely claim that you are not one of them, but all I see now is a scared little bird. I have killed your brothers hundreds of times with the same look on their faces you have now, so do not think I won't hesitate to kill you too. And if we are both lucky, someone will do it for us by the end of the night."
Wren glowered up at him, her emotions controlled and strong-willed. The feeling of her heart beating against her chest had her wanting to scream at him, but the cool metal of the bloodied blade pressed against her throat had her temper simmering.
Clay sat back down once he felt that everything that needed to be said had been said. Wren's plan didn't go as planned and it angered her. Glaring at the fire before her, her eyes watered and burned from the smoke, yet she didn't care. She wished that the flames would lick up the walls and the floor and engulf the camp. She wanted to burn everything to the ground. As she looked up at Clay, he was staring at her with a look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She couldn't help but grin.
He frowned and silently plucked the rabbit from the fire, handing it over to Wren. "Eat," was all he said to her.
She took it, eating it quickly as the taste of warm meat against her tongue made her stomach ravenous. She sucked on the bones until there wasn't anything left on them and tossed them to the floor. She didn't care if she made a mess, she was a prisoner, not a guest. A small burp tumbled through her as she carelessly threw the stick into the fire, sending tiny sparks everywhere. Clay didn't move and she found it amusing as he brushed the tiny sparks off his pants.
"Where's my bed?" She asked abruptly.
Clay stood up, towering over her like a tree as she sat on the log of wood. He pointed to the single bed in the corner. It looked uncomfortable. Low to the ground, the bed was covered in all types of furs and very few pillows. She assumed Wildlings were poor but she didn't think they didn't have any quality resources. She had to remind herself she wasn't at Winterfell anymore yet again.
She gave him a quizzical look. "And where will you be sleeping?" She asked. When Clay's hand lifted and he pointed in the direction of the bed, she laughed. "I don't think so," she shook her head.
Clay shrugged, "you can either sleep outside where you'll likely freeze to death or be murdered or you can sleep in here where it's warm. I am under orders to keep you alive, unfortunately."
"Or you could sleep outside," she offered.
He didn't find her bargain amusing.
"Fine," she growled, her temper glaring again. She stood up with her hands tied and walked over to the bed, ungraciously falling into the pile of furs. It wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, but it wasn't even close to the comfort a mattress brought.
Clay took off his jacket, revealing a thin long sleeved shirt. Wren could see the muscles of hard work through it as he stepped over her and laid down in the bed behind her. Wren immediately remembered how innocent she was in the aspect of physical relationships. She had never slept near a man before. Her cheeks heated up and prayed that the fire was far away enough to hide their blushingly pink color.
"Why do you get to be behind me?" She questioned, trying to take her mind off of the idea of his body being so close to hers.
"So you won't strangle me in my sleep," he answered honestly.
Wren rolled her eyes. "I could just turn over and do it, it's the same thing."
"No," he argued, "I sleep lightly."
Wren bit her tongue from saying anything else, afraid that she would say something that would anger him and cause him to do something drastic. They were a little ways away from the fire but close enough still that she could feel the warmth of the flames. Her heart was still beating erratically and a random thought of what Jon would say about this popped into her head. They had made up, so would he be jealous of her sleeping with another man? She wasn't doing anything sexual and they weren't touching, but there was something intimate to Wren about sleeping in the same bed as someone. She wanted to call herself delusional for thinking about Jon. He was probably off searching for White Walkers, not her. She needed to accept that she may not ever see him again as much as it stung.
After ten minutes, she couldn't fall asleep. She tried counting to one-hundred, control her breathing, anything to help her sleep that involved her mind. She couldn't do much with her wrists bound, not even scratch her nose. She wiggled her body in frustration, a cry at the top of her tongue.
A hand landed on her hip, immediately ceasing her movements. "Why are you moving?" Clay asked in a deep voice.
Wren swallowed, her face reddening all over. "My nose itches," she admitted. She heard Clay sigh in annoyance. She saw his hand reach over in the dark and brush over her nose, his short nails scraping lightly over her skin. "A little to the right," she mumbled.
"Don't push it," he replied strictly, bringing. his hand back to himself. "Now go to sleep."
"I can't," she said with her eyes closed.
"Why? What's wrong now?" He asked in an agitated voice.
She couldn't tell him it was about Jon. The less he knew about him the better. If she couldn't keep herself safe she had to keep him. He was her secret. So she lied to Clay. "I'm cold," she fibbed.
It was a weak lie. The fire was still burning at a sufficient amount and she could feel the waves of heat rolling towards her. She wasn't sweating, she embraced the warmth, but it wasn't freezing in the hut.
His hand pulled her back to his body before she could take another breath, the firmness of his body flush against hers. If there wasn't a good amount of clothing between them, she was sure she could feel everything. Clay's chin rested on top of her head at a slightly odd angle, but she didn't mind. Wren gulped as thoughts of sexual acts raced through her head and she had to remind herself, as she always seems to do, that he was her guard. He was her guard because she was being held captive in a Wildling camp. Not only a Wildling camp, but Mance Rayder's. That seemed to settle her nerves, as much as it could for the situation she was currently in. She fell asleep, not dreaming about someone coming to save her, but about the fire that seemed to find her even in her darkest of moments.
A/N: it's been awhile since i've updated and i'm extremely sorry. let's just say that college is a hell lot more work than i thought ahaha. thankfully i managed to write this. i hope it doesn't suck and that those of you who are still reading are interested because i know this story is very slow, but if i have you all the important parts of the book it wouldn't be a book, would it?
with that, thank you to all of you who comment and vote, it means the world to me and fuels my passion for writing. i'll try to update faster haha. until next time, stay positive. xx