sixthiterationlogs | i was following the pack all swallowed in their coats

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i was following the pack all swallowed in their coats

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: Woods, village, along the road
WHEN: 4 November, before Finnick's post
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None at this time.
STATUS: open.

The weather had turned sharply cold in the last fornight or so and ever since Sansa's arrival, the winds had been bitter and snow had fallen. It had melted quickly, as autumn snow often did, but there was no denying that winter would soon be on its heels. Jon had been hunting and preserving as much as he could since he'd arrived but now, with the bite in the air a sharp reminder of just how ill-prepared they were in some ways, his need was a little more urgent. He spent longer in the woods hunting each day, fighting the low light to bring back everything he could. He gathered berries and herbs, knowing that the green things would be hard to find once the snows fell thick.

Winter is Coming. Those had always been the words of House Stark, understood by few outside of the family and none outside of the North and here in this place, Jon thought he might have found some that could understand it. They would all need to work together in order to survive this winter, however long it ended up lasting, and while he knew that he, Ygritte, Robb and Sansa could make it through relatively unscathed he worried for the others. What did they know about a harsh winter, about snows that did not break? What did they know about how to survive when the sun barely rose above the horizon for days on end, when you rose in the dark and went to bed in the dark and the only light was from the fire crackling and popping in the night? What did they know?

It was not as cold here as it was at the Wall by any means and not even as cold as it could get at Winterfell in the summer and autumn and, yet, Jon was worried. He did not know if their clothing would carry them through, if it would be warm enough, and not everyone was as lucky as he to have someone to share their bed and keep them warm. Today, he'd spent long hours in the woods and was coming back to the village with less game than he'd like; he would clean it and give it over to Kate to cook and hope that he'd do better later. It would have to be better later.

As he walked, snow began to fall from the sky, the light flakes bright against the dark of his hair. They melted almost as soon as they touched him but, still, given how heavy and gray the sky was and the way the wind had turned, there was a chance they were in for yet another storm. Jon tucked his head down and walked a little faster, trying to make it to the Inn and then back to the house before the true snow began.

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"I have born worse and less deserved," she said with a shake of her head. "Still, I do feel badly about what happened. I spoke out of anger and didn't think."

Giving a small shiver as snowflakes melted against her skin and hair, she pointed towards the sky. "I should have remembered that we don't have the luxury of divisions in this place. We are stretched thin as it is. Further discord will only harm the village." Every person had worth. She had said that once, so why did she forget it with Ygritte.

"May I walk with you?"

"You may, though I only intend to go to the inn and drop these off," Jon said, nodding a bit in that direction to indicate his purpose. He did not wish to make Margaery feel any worse than she did already, no, but he was not pleased with her actions, especially when Ygritte had no fault in anything that had transpired in the village thus far.

"I was just trying to do what I could before we had another storm. The weather seems crisp and cold again, the sky heavy. Snow might waylay us again."

"What are we going to do if we are snowed in?" Margaery asked softly, rubbing her arms once more. The snow had been unexpected thus far, as had the dropping temperatures, she would need to construct a wool cloak for herself and quickly. "Do we have anything in reserve if that should happen? Do we have enough firewood?"

She had never experienced winter before or had to worry about these sort of matters. It struck her quite suddenly how badly prepared she was for this sort of life. It must be normal for Jon. It left her feeling ridiculous, as though she were nothing more than an uneducated southron lady. There was a reason the Stark words were "Winter is Coming". It was a warning, not some gloomy sentiment.

"How can I help?"

"Well, there's plenty of woods. I think we'd be all right for firewood, though if you're truly concerned, I could teach you how to gather kindling. It's not the thick logs you'd chop for overnight," Jon explained, "but you need smaller bits and moss to help start the fire. Do you mind going back into the woods with me?"

It took a lot for him to be cordial considering her fight with Ygritte but Jon wanted to make the effort since it appeared Margaery was contrite and wished to make amends. Besides, it was a task that needed to be done. It would be good to show her how.

"No, not at all. I should like to learn." She had made promises not to venture into the woods again, but considering it was Jon leading her, it didn't seem as though there would be much of a problem. He was a skilled tracker, hunter and survivalist. He would see her safely home.

She didn't expect anything from him, but felt grateful that he was willing to teach her and allow her to spend time with him. She could only hope that he would eventually warm to her again.

"It isn't a difficult task but it is an important one," Jon said, motioning for her to follow him back into the woods. The snow was still light, a few flakes dusting his cheeks and catching in their hair, and Jon hoped it would remain that way while it was still daylight. Once the sun went down, they'd have to head indoors anyway without a moon to light their way.

"You want to find small bits, very dry, so they'll catch fire quickly. Bits of moss work too, or bark."

She pulled her jacket tighter around her, feeling a shiver run up her spine from the melting snow in her hair and skin. She trusted him as she followed him into the woods, pausing only to touch and search around for dry twigs and branches. The pickings were a bit sparse. "Did you learn this at Winterfell?"

Between the Wall and Winterfell, Jon was more than prepared for this sort of life. She envied his abilities and his intelligence in these matters. Whenever she was around him, she felt pampered and spoiled, struggling to catch up.

Jon laughed hollowly. "I was a bastard son, yes, but they didn't have me out in the woods gathering firewood. I learned more at Castle Black," he explained.

When he'd first gotten to Castle Black, he'd been referred to as a green boy, as Lord Snow. It had smarted but it had been rooted in truth - he'd been reared gently and knew little of the world. He learned very quickly.

"I didn't mean it like that," she said softly. "Your upbringing is different than mine. I'm not exactly certain where you learned to manage all of this so well." She tried to offer him the compliment.

"Considering the snow, perhaps you could give me some advice to weather these storms?" She gave a small laugh. "I have never seen it before in my life."

"You have to be careful to have enough supplies. Snow like that, you can't walk through it easily. Sometimes it won't melt in just a few days or, if it does, it will refreeze into ice and harden. You can make shoes to walk over it, though. The Wildlings do."

Jon had seen them when he was beyond the Wall and he knew, in theory, how to make a set himself.

"Do you think it will become that deep here?" She asked, a measure of concern in her voice. Snow always seemed like an eventuality, but a far distant one. She never intended to travel North and winter was not yet upon them in Westeros. She never thought she would see it so soon or face what she was clearly not equipped for.

"Perhaps whoever sends us these gifts will also give us some of these shoes."

"I hope it doesn't get that cold," Jon said. "Keep in mind, it would have to stay that cold for a long while for the snowpack to last so long. It only does that in the North, far north like Winterfell."

Jon had no way of knowing if it would ever get that cold in this place. He knew much less about it than he knew about his own home; he hadn't even been through a winter yet.

"Tell me about Winterfell?" She asked, pausing to collect more kindling, holding them close to her chest. "Your sister spoke of it fondly, but I could never picture it in my mind. Is it beautiful?" A part of her wondered about the North, a place of wildness and severity. Yet, there had to be something that would inspire such loyalty and strength.

"Were there gardens?" It was a small thing, but she couldn't imagine being in a place without flowers to help sweeten the air.

"It's too cold at Winterfell to have a proper garden. There's a glass garden where the maesters grow things," Jon explained. It was kind of a silly thing, to want a garden or to think of a place as beautiful but he guessed that Winterfell was beautiful, in its own way. It just wasn't how he thought of the place.

"I thought of it more in terms of it being a large castle, of a place that was easily defensible. Sansa would think of it in terms you like."

"High Garden is defensible as well, Jon." She told him with an amused smile. "We may not have a castle built by a legendary hero, but we have a brambles and thorn maze surrounding ours. For soldiers, they would have to battle their way through." Beauty didn't have to exclude safety.

"Though I suppose there is something that could be said for the old ways."

"Since I have no intention of leading an army south of the Neck, I will never know what your castle looks like or how it would be defended," Jon said. That much, at least, was very true. He never intended to leave the North if he could possibly help it; all of his political concerns and needs lay in the North.

"The North has concerns that the South would not be able to aid with or care about. I think it is time for the North to become its own kingdom once again."

"You could always visit for-" she broke off, the thought hitting her forcefully and painfully. He would likely never visit for pleasure, not unless it was to oust the Lannisters. Cersei would have control of the Reach and their resources. There was no going home for Margaery, she would never see High Garden again, if there was even a High Garden left.

"Forgive me," she paused, struggling to cover the dismay that rushed over her face. "Perhaps we could speak of happier subjects?"

"Have you spotted anything you think could be used for kindling?" Jon did not want to speak of politics, not when his politics lay north of the Neck and lay with the threat beyond the Wall and not anything to do with King's Landing.

Besides, what did it matter in this place? They needed to survive the winter here.

"Do you remember what I told you about the type of branches you needed for kindling versus a large fire?"

She nodded, holding up a few twigs and scraps of bark. Without her pack or basket, she had to construct a makeshift one with the hollow of her shirt.

So long as she could get them inside before they became damp from the snow.

"Dry, small branches. You said moss and bark could also be used." She repeated it back to him.

"See, not so bad. You might make a man of the Watch yet," Jon said, shaking his head a bit. He doubted that Margaery would do that, all told, but at least she was learning some things here that she'd never get a chance to back in Westeros as a lady of the Court.

"You could cut your hair and try to pass as a boy but I think they'd find you out. You're too pretty to pass for long."

They both knew that she wasn't cut out for that sort of life, but the image he painted was enough to make her laugh. "Can I expect lessons in swordsmanship next? I fear that I will make a poorer student in that than I do in foraging."

She grinned, "So you say, but it seems there are prettier men in the Night's Watch than me. I should make a rather paltry man next to you."

"There were prettier. Mostly boys, though, for all Tormund claimed I was prettier than his daughters," Jon scoffed. Being pretty had no bearing on how well he could shoot a bow or handle a sword, after all, and he imagined the walkers didn't care what his face looked like.

"Though they used to call me Lord Snow, long before I was ever Lord Commander. It used to grate."

"You are prettier than most women, Jon." She teased him, pulling a long strip of moss from the side of a tree. "You and your brother." She couldn't hide the grin on her face.

"And now? Do such things trouble you now?"

"No one bothers to call me Lord Snow so no, it doesn't grate," Jon said, shrugging a bit. It wasn't an issue any longer. Now he was the King in the North, technically, though he hadn't worn a crown long enough to be called Your Grace or be considered anything other than a king crowned on a battlefield.

"Here I am nothing but Jon Snow."

"So it is for all of us."

She was not a queen here, only Margaery. "Perhaps for the best?" It only further reminded her of the mistake she had made with Ygritte. She paused in her work, reflecting on the matter with obvious regret. "Thank you, Jon." She said softly. He had at least driven the message home.

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tooktheblack - 2016-12-15 00:44 (UTC) - Expand

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