CHAPTER FORTYTWO
blood of the serpent
"BROTHERS."
Carsen glanced up, the hand holding her wooden spoon stilling. Jon stood at the head of the breakfast hall, hands behind his back, looking tired but driven. Behind him, Thorne watched him with bright, narrow eyes, and Slynt smirked into his stew. It made Carsen uneasy. Jon cleared his throat, but the chattering din continued, until Grenn rolled his eyes, seized an empty bowl and slammed it down on the table several times.
Quiet settled over the hall, and all eyes turned expectantly to Jon, who seemed to shrink a bit under the sudden scrutiny, but he squared his shoulders, swallowed, and spoke; "I'm going north of the Wall, to Craster's Keep. I'm going to capture the mutineers holed up there. Or kill them. I'm asking for volunteers to come with me. There's sixty miles of wilderness between here and Craster's, and Mance Rayder has an army bearing down on us, but we have to do this. Our survival may depend on us getting to these mutineers before Mance does. They know the Wall, they know our defences; if Mance learns what they know, we're lost."
The dark hall was silent - barely anybody seemed to even breathe. Carsen could feel the cold fear in the air like a fog, and bit her lip hard. Fear thrives in the blackness, she told herself, and the serpent does not shy from the dark.
"But if that's not enough, then consider this," Jon continued. "If the Night's Watch are truly brothers, then Lord Commander Mormont was our father. He lived and died for the Watch - and he was betrayed by his own men, stabbed in the back by cowards. He deserved far better. All we can give him now is justice. Who will join me?"
A ringing silence met the end of the question. A cough in the back of the room. A creak of wood as someone turned around to see if anyone was standing. And, just when Carsen's legs were seizing up, preparing to declare herself, there was a scrape of wood-on-wood, and Grenn stood up. He nodded at Jon, looking more sombre than Carsen had ever seen him. Edd stood next, and then a large man Carsen had no name for, and another, and Thorne's eyes were darkening, his horn of ale lowering incredulously, and Locke, the bearded man Carsen had seen Jon talking to. More and more stood, and finally Carsen found it in herself to do the same, pushing her chair back. Jon's eyes found her's through the dust and light, grey as soft rain, as smoke, and Carsen smiled a little. The pallid sunlight caught on his face as he did the same.
Jon looked at Locke. "I... can't let a recruit come north of the Wall."
Locke raised a dark brow. "But you'd take a woman?" he asked, nodding to where Carsen stood. She looked at him sharply, opening her mouth to retort, but Sam beat her to it.
"Carsen took her vows," he told Locke loudly. "She's a man of the Night's Watch, same as any of us, and she's... bloody well proven it."
Carsen blinked; Sam looked back at her nervously, and when Carsen beamed at him his pale face flushed under his dark hair; he smiled back nervously, then turned back around. Locke scoffed.
"Then let me take my vows. If it's a fight you're looking for, you need men that know how."
Jon acquiesced with a nod, then turned round to look at Thorne, who stared daggers right back at him. Carsen's skin prickled. If looks were knives, Jon would be dead in the snow by now. Carsen bit her lip, turning her gaze away from Thorne's cold, flinty eyes and outside the window; a snowstorm was whirling, the flakes dancing on the frosted-over window, white on white against a grey sky. Grey as the Stark banner, Carsen thought glumly, and then, winter is coming.
She looked away, hand drumming against the table. Her skin was cold, and somewhere in the tired haze of her mind, the thought surfaced: winter is here.
—
THE KNOCK SOUNDED lightly on her door.
Carsen frowned, straightening up from where she'd been bent over her boot laces, fingers stilling in the middle of unlacing them. Hours had passed, the clay sky darkening to ink-ball (yet the snowfall persisted), and she'd been about to set sleep for the night before she rode out with Jon and the others on the morrow.
"Come in," she called, somewhat apprehensively; there was a pause, and then the door swung open, revealing Olly. The boy had grown close to Jon since his arrival, trailing him like a second shadow, eyes bright and earnest, hanging onto Jon's every word. It was endearing, especially since he'd lost so much just prior to getting to Castle Black.
"Come in Olly, 's freezing out there," Carsen told him, poking her hearth with a rod. She'd been hurriedly shoved into one of the old tower rooms in a crumbling turret since she'd been back; Maester Aemon's idea, who clearly didn't need eyesight to know the looks her fellow brothers gave her these days, and though her new chambers were small and draughty, the hearth was large, and for that she was grateful. Olly bowed his head and heeded her words, stepping inside cautiously. "Is everything alright?"
"Aye, milady, only-"
"You don't have to call me that," Carsen interrupted in what she hoped was a gentle voice. "Just call me Carsen."
"Carsen." Olly's ears flushed pink. "Sorry, only - Jon sent me, asked me to check how you're doing."
Carsen frowned. "He couldn't come himself?"
"He wanted to, mil- Carsen. But he's talking with Ser Alliser," Olly countered, fidgeting.
Carsen nodded, smiling slightly. "You can tell him I'm fine, thank you."
Olly nodded and turned to leave - and as he did, his face turned toward the fire.
"Olly!" Carsen had sprung to her feet without meaning to, her heart suddenly hard and loud in her chest. "Come back here."
"Carsen?" The boy frowned, but obediently stepped back inside her chambers. The light shone on his face again, and beneath his furrowed brows, there glinted his eyes; blue as ice shimmering on a winter lake, pale and stoic.
"Come into the firelight," she told him, her mouth suddenly dry with fear, and when he dithered, uncertain, her hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him forwards. The bronze haze of the flames glinted bright on his skin, throwing his features into sharp relief; his snub nose, his scrunched forehead, and his blue eyes, ice-blue, the pale, frigid blue of the Wall, of the canal waters of Braavos...
Carsen's throat was beginning to close up, her hands beginning to shake. Her hand was still on his wrist. "Where are you from?"
"A - a village up north, remember?" he yelped. "Carsen, what-"
"What was your mother's name?" she pressed urgently. The fire was flickering on her face, hot and accusing,
"I - Lanna!"
"And your father, what was his name?"
"Drew, it was Drew - you're hurting me!"
Carsen blinked; her hand was gripping Olly's forearm so hard the leather of his sleeves was cracking, his face was alarmed and flushed, and subconscious tears had started to film over those blue eyes. Her breath left her in one stuttering gasp, and she stumbled backwards, her hand flying to her side, clenching uncontrollably into fists and back again. Olly staggered backwards as though burned, looking at her as if she were a monster. I am, Carsen thought wildly, I am the blood of the serpent, they are monsters and so am I-
"Olly-" Her throat was dry as ash. "Olly, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me, I-"
The boy's breathing had slowed. He's just a boy, thought Carsen, stricken. He only stands up to my throat. Just a child. Monster.
"I don't know what possessed me. Please, forgive me," she tried again, finding her gaze on the floor, finding it was hard to look at him. "You - you can go."
He didn't hesitate, turning on his heel and storming from the room. She was shaking, Carsen registered dimly, only second before her knees protested and she sank onto her pallet, staring into the fire. The light made her skin look ghost-pale.
What am I becoming? she wondered dazedly as she gazed down at her parchment skin. And then, The serpent does not shy from darkness.
With a hearth burning low and Olly's hurried footsteps in her ears, Carsen clenched her fist so hard her nails drew blood.