CHAPTER 23 | THE RECREANCE
A mess of beautiful contradictions make her whole, she wears fire for skin but a storm lives in her soul.
The climb back down the other side of the Wall was just as nerve wracking, perhaps even more so as she had to make sure that every backward step she took was secure before removing her axe. When they started walking along the rocks, she realized for the first time in at least a month she was seeing grass again. The air was different south of the Wall, sweeter than she remembered, more earthy and lively. Everything beyond the Wall was frozen and hard to swallow, the trees were solid stalks of wood with glazed leaves dangling from the branches and the ground was thick with ice and snow, locking away the life that festered beneath. The trees south of the Wall were emboldened with pride and rooted by the soil that she had longed to see ever since she got a taste of the cold. Crouching down, she pressed her palms into the soft dirt, grass and dead leaves sifting between her fingers. She let the air of the North fill her lungs. She was so close to home.
"Your air is weird," Clay scowled as he walked past her, carrying his axe heavily by his side. He was on alert, his eyes sweeping the area ahead of them as Tormund led them deeper into the forest to rest for a minute as they had been travelling on foot for a few hours now.
Wren rolled her eyes while standing back up, "because it's filled with living things," she spoke.
Clay spared her a small glance as she quickened her steps to match his long strides, "no, it's because it's full of stinky southerners," he clarified. One of the Wildlings walking by overheard him and laughed.
Wren glared at him, "as if you're any better."
Clay shrugged, "whatever makes your pretty little head happy."
She wanted to argue more with him but she saw Jon and Ygritte pass her from the corner of her eye and she felt a bucket of heat filling up her stomach and chest. She didn't understand the emotion that pulsed through her core when she saw them together. She wanted her best friend to be happy, so she would remain silent and stay out of his way. To protect them both she would ignore her feelings. She could tell Ygritte appreciated this from the stares she could feel when Ygritte thought she wasn't paying attention. If she stayed away from Jon she would be okay, he would be okay.
Clay slowed down so she could walk at a normal pace, his empty hand brushing against hers that hung by her side. A blush grew to her cheeks and she averted her gaze from his. He grabbed her hand and she let out a small gasp, the toughness of his hand and the way his skin felt against hers was enough to quiet the thoughts of Jon and Ygritte for now. "Is this okay?" He whispered to her below the voices of Wildlings. They were far behind the pack.
She nodded, her heart thumping a little bit more in her chest than usual, "yeah, yeah it's good."
They walked in silence like that until they reached the group, their hands slowly parting from one another. Her palm was left cold once more as she sat on a fallen tree, peering up to see leaves rustling and the dead ones falling down to the ground to partake in a delicate dance with the wind. She always loved nature, she saw beauty in what the world around her created. Nature was a gift that needed to be cherished, it bloomed and sprouted into winding and ethereal masterpieces that eventually died into ashes, only to be reborn again. She could rely on nature because even when it brings death, in its place the foundations of more life is sprung. Life brings death and death brings life.
Tormund called everyone to start moving again, heaving his weapon over his burly shoulder while walking through the forest once more. Wren stood up, walking with them. Clay fell back by her side and instead of taking her hand, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. It was slowly growing out again, the edges brushing her shoulders. She worried that when—if she made it back to Castle Black, they would notice she wasn't who she said she was. They would kill her. It wasn't safe for a woman to live in a place full of rapists and thieves. Some of the men weren't bad, but many still carried that dark gleam of evil within their eyes. Those who are brought into the darkness have a hard time finding the light again, if they ever so wish to go searching for it.
Wren wasn't sure what they were doing as they were crouched down behind a low stone wall, until Orell came to the group relaying information: "only one old man and eight good horses." She let the realization sink in and she suppressed the thoughts she wished to say to the group of Wildlings. She looked over to see Jon quietly by Ygritte. He met her eyes and said nothing, but she knew him, she knew he was thinking the same thing too.
"What's one old man doing with eight horses?" Tormund asked suspiciously.
"He breeds them for the Watch," Wren answered. She was a steward for a short time but she learned enough to know how things work at Castle Black.
"How's he keep folks from stealing them?" Ygritte asked.
"The Watch protects him," Jon replied to her before Wren could.
"Not today they don't," Orell spoke lowly, "stealing horses, he's got some gold in there."
Tormund grinned, "a proper steal."
"Lets count them up," Orell made to move but Jon cut him off—"we just take the horses and go."
Wren shifted beside Clay who as always, was watching the events of the conversation unfold in his stony silence. She was jealous at how no matter the words that were said he wouldn't make a noise or react in any way until all that wanted to be said was spoken, and then like a true leader, he would do what needed to be done. Unfortunately, others did not follow the same principle.
"The man's no threat," Jon tried to persuade them.
Orell looked to Tormund, "I keep tellin' ya."
"He's an old man, " Ygritte told Jon, "it's fair through the heart, it's a better way to die than coughing up your last with no one but your horses to hear."
Wren's nose wrinkled and she tried to hold her tongue, she really did try, but she couldn't let them go through with murdering an unsuspecting man who was just doing his duty. "Why determine when his last breath is, why not let fate decide?" She asked, and she swore Ygritte was imagining cutting her throat in that instant. Jon gave Wren an appreciative look.
"Watch might send a few men looking for a horse thief, they'll send a lot more down for murderers," Jon cautioned.
Then, Tormund leaned in closely to Jon, his eyes darting between him and Wren with a dangerous hopefulness in his gaze, "I hope so, killing Crows in their castle is tough; killing them out here in the open, that's what we do." He leaned back to the Wildlings behind him, "spread out, round out, move in," he ordered gruffly.
Her stomach sank as she spared one last look with Jon as they all started to hop the stone wall, their shoulders hunched and their knees bent as they began their raid. Before she could find the courage to jump over, a hand pulled her back harshly. She peered up at Clay who's grim expression was settled into the fine lines of his face. "Do not," he warned lowly, a plea at the tip of his tongue, "be a hero."
Many scenarios ran through her head. She pictured her kissing him, slapping him, crying while he hugged her tightly; but she did none of those things—the old Wren would have, she would have let her emotions get the best of her, but not today. She would not be a hero, she knew how their stories ended; their heads stuck on spikes with their brains rotting away for the maggots and ravens to feed on. She would not be like the others, she would fight and play the game, but on her own terms, her own game. Staring at him with her jaw titled up in defiance, she spoke in a gravelly tone that sent goosebumps up and down her own arms, "I'll try."
He held her gaze before dropping her arm and swiftly hopping over the stone wall. Wren gripped her bow in her hand and mustered up the strength to jump the wall, the healing wound where she was shot by Clay and Balik in the forest still burning in her shoulder whenever she moved. Nocking an arrow into the bowstring, she felt the stretch of the material bend to her will underneath her fingertips, daring to let the arrow fly. She stayed low to the ground while running across the dark patches of grass. The texture felt foreign underneath the soles of her boots and the wind that grazed against her cheeks distracted her for a blind moment until the sound of a loud clang sharpened her senses. Whipping her head up to the noise, she saw Jon lazily holding his sword out and low to the ground. She heard horses neighing louder, rousing them, and then the emergence of a dark figure from the inside of the simple house was in her line of sight. His pale and bleak face was in great contrast to the clothes he wore but she could not mistake the grave expression of fear that fell over him as he saw them hurdling towards his home. He jumped onto a horse and Wren was almost relieved if it wasn't for Ygritte who was stringing her own bow and pulling back the arrow.
Jon fell beside her, "Ygritte," he tried to stop her but Wren watched as her arrow flew through the air and found its mark in a tree, missing the old man by a few inches.
Wren jogged past them, slowing her pace when she couldn't see them and trying to shake Ygritte's drilling stare from her back.
* * *
It began raining as it grew later into the day. She took the food Clay gave her and ate it, knowing that it was the old man's but knowing that she would starve if she didn't. The rain was freezing and soaked her to the bone, unable to help the shivering that shuddered throughout her body as the water rolled over her face and plastered her hair to her neck. Clay's presence felt closer, the warmth of him easing her slight discomfort. Unfortunately, the old man didn't get very far and was now sitting in the mud before them, shaking from much more than the cold that nipped at their noses. Dread sank within her belly.
Orell twisted his body to the tower nearby, "I heard shouting up there," he said over the lulling of the rain.
"Thunder," Tormund replied.
Orell looked at him, "I know the difference between shouting and thunder."
"Maybe it's ghosts," Tormund mused before approaching the old man who's head was hung in defeat. Wren bit the inside of her cheek as the old man pulled out a knife, waving it in front of the giant Wildling. Tormund crouched down to meet the man's eyes, "that won't help you grandpa," he took the knife from the old man and threw it out of reach into the brush, "where were you riding?"
"Doesn't matter now does it?" The old man bitterly asked.
"No," Tormund agreed, "it doesn't matter now."
Orell wandered over, "cut his throat or he'll tell the Crows we're here."
Tormund stood and unsheathed his blade and Wren took a small step forward as he said to the old man with a shrug, "you understand."
The man held up a hand, "let me stand at least. Let me go with a bit of dignity."
Tormund pulled the man up and was about to swing when Orell, much to Wren's annoyance, spoke again: "Let the Crow kill him."
Jon and Wren both looked to Orell in that moment, watching stiffly as the warg approached Jon and then slowly crossed over to Wren, a devious gleam in his eyes as he looked her up and down. "You're one of us now, prove it," he ordered.
She felt her fingers itch to lodge an arrow into his face, to find satisfaction in watching the blood pour from the wounds and to hear him cry out in agony; but instead she settled her mouth into a firm line, her eyes growing hard. "I don't have a sword," she coldly stated.
"I'll do it," Jon pulled out his sword, Longclaw, the steel glinting in the dull light.
"Somebody kill the old fucker," Clay's deep voice made Wren jump in surprise. She turned to look at him from over her shoulder and his eyes, that barely reflected beneath the stormy clouds of the sky, told her to let it be. To let the man die. She felt a heat growing inside of her that had her hands aching, itching in a way in that she could only find relief in the water droplets that fell over her skin and sunk below to quell the flames that raised within her.
Tormund grunted in agreement and Orell said nothing more as Jon raised his sword to the old man's neck. The old man nodded to the sword, "she looks sharp." Jon nodded back at him, pressing the edge of the blade against the man's neck. Wren realized in that moment that she had never seen death, never seen someone die before her feet that wasn't an animal. She assumed it would be the same, it was just a cut, just a tiny incision in their biological makeup to disrupt the system. She thought it would be the same—but the animals she's killed never begged for their life, never held true fear in their eyes. She didn't like killing animals, but killing someone was just as bad because the person at the other end of the blade knew it was going to happen before they were ready to die.
Wren knew Jon had never killed anyone who was innocent, she knew he was a good person, and that was why he took so long to swing the sword. Ygritte was close to him then, her jaw tight as she urged, "do it," and when Jon wouldn't budge, "do it," fell from her lips again. Jon looked at her and then to Wren, who bit her lip and clenched her hands. She hadn't a clue as to what he was thinking, and she usually took pride in knowing.
"Told you," Orell said, "he's still one of them."
Wren felt the mood in the air change; not that it was anymore pleasant than it was to begin with, but there was something wrong in Tormund and Orell's eyes that she didn't like.
"Come on, boy, or I'll make your pretty Crow friend do it instead," Tormund shouted over the rain. Jon looked at them all and then back to Wren again, and she was confused. What was he doing? "Come on!" Tormund pressed.
Jon gritted his teeth and raised his sword high behind his head, and Wren didn't care if Clay saw, but she nocked an arrow into her bow as Ygritte pulled her own arrow and shot it into the old man's chest, setting everyone off. Wren backed away from Clay as everyone unsheathed their swords.
"They're both Crows and they'll always be Crows, they'll stab us in the back first chance they get," Orell spewed.
Wren panted as she felt her body fill with panic, meeting Tormund's angry eyes as he ordered, "kill them."
She felt Clay shove her to the ground and he growled over her, his face dripping wet and full of betrayal and anger, "stay down or I'll kill you."
She gave him a deadly stare as his words painfully hit her heart, watching as Jon fought with Orell and Ygritte with Tormund. Clay's tall figure approached the other Wildlings who were trying to get into the fight. She saw a Wildling approaching Jon from behind and she threw herself up onto her feet and picked up the arrow on the ground, fumbling for a moment before it was nocked and she drew it back, watching as it landed into the Wildling's neck. Blood spurted from the area as they staggered back to the ground where they fell dead, their hands falling from where they clutched at the wound.
Ghost and another wolf ran past her to attack a few other's who were trying to get to her and Jon. She ran towards him just as he stuck his sword into Orell's chest. She watched as Orell's eyes became fully white. Suddenly, a bird swooped down and began scratching at Jon's face, screeching as it made its cuts. She nocked another arrow but knew it wouldn't do any good at the close proximity that the bird and Jon were fighting at. Jon rolled and threw it off of him, climbing to his feet to find her standing a few feet away.
She couldn't even muster up a smile at him as she ran with him over to the horses, heaving herself up onto the back of the animal. Jon followed suit, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and hugging her from behind. She kicked off and made the horse run as fast as it could, not looking back to see if Clay had noticed her absence. Surely he knew that if she stayed they would kill her. She gripped the horse's mane as it galloped, careful not to throw herself and Jon off as they left. The feeling of Jon's arms around her should have comforted her, and it did for a few minutes, but she knew they weren't out of the clear yet. She knew there was much more to come.
A/N: i haven't written a chapter this long in awhile so i hope you all enjoyed it! can you tell i wrote a lot of this chapter on my computer? i never usually do but i've found that i type more out when i'm on it, plus it doesn't take as long. which do you prefer to write on your phone or your computer?
a lot happened in this chapter, let me know what you thought about it! i love hearing your guys' feedback and it always warms my heart to know that reading my work gets you excited. also, have you guys been picking up on the hints i've been slowly dropping in the chapters? if not then you should probably keep an eye out for them. xx
what do you think of jon and wren being reunited?
do you think wren loves clay?
and how would you all feel if i changed the ending to game of thrones for this book? that is, if wren is alive by season 7 and 8 lol