Chapter Text
It was too cold, too gloomy. Too…too…
Haunting.
Something hummed within the great wall looming over the creaking wagon she and other recruits swayed in. It made her stomach clench. Then again, her stomach always clenched, whether it be from fear or fury or both. But was she the only one who felt it? That ancient, frozen power that seeped into everything for miles? Its pulse, its breath, grew stronger with each icy wind that swept through her hunched frame.
She didn’t want to be here. Anywhere but here. This was one of the worst places to be. Even the people who already lived in hellish parts of the world thought to themselves, “Well, fuck, at least I’m not at the Wall.”
Why did she leave Braavos again? It was warm in Braavos. The people smiled more. Not that she smiled with them.
But she had departed from the Free City over a year ago, and now that she was here, amidst the Crows, she would never see it again. Being at Castle Black meant only two things: flee past the Wall, fight, and die—or stay here, fight, and die.
Except dying was an odd concept to her, now. Something almost unattainable. It should have been a standard, shouldn’t it? Even when she tried to force it upon herself, it didn’t grant her what it granted everyone else.
An escape from this world.
The rat-faced man with a scar uglier than hers was staring again. What was his name? She couldn’t remember.
You just remember him dying.
He examined her blunt features, the square jaw with too-high cheekbones, the broken nose, and the splotchy pink birth mark spanning across half her face with a lengthy scar stretching over it. He was trying to decide if she was just a dainty boy or a girl in disguise. She hoped that, like the rest of those who questioned her on the way here, he’d guess the former. Though, she had learned not to underestimate even stupid men—their violence made up for any idiocy.
The gates to Castle Black opened for the two wagons. It smelled like piss, blood, leather, and metal. She used to be nauseated by similar stenches but had grown used to it over time. That was just how everywhere in this world smelled. And with such cold temperatures, it wasn’t quite as bad.
“Alright! Get out, the lot of you!” a Crow ordered. She stood along with the rest of them and hopped out, legs and back popping from stiffness. They lined up in a row. The rat-faced man stood next to her. Two Crows strolled along the line. One loudly asked for their names, looked down at a scroll of paper, then listed their crimes to the other Crow. The one that didn’t speak was a hard man with eyes set too close together and a permanent scowl.
She imagined them different. Alliser and Slynt. But of course they looked different. Those she previously caught glimpses of in passing wore faces she had not been familiar with. Perhaps if she reached her hand out to them when she had the chance, maybe—maybe she’d be somewhere else. Somewhere better. Somewhere like a home.
When they came to her, she was ordered to give her name.
She didn’t. They waited impatiently for a few moments before the other one huffed and said, “I know this one. Bramble, Lord Thorne. Says here he’s a mute. A murderer and a mute.”
“Got your tongue cut out, boy?” Lord Thorne questioned. She gave her head a single shake. “Born without a voice?” A nod. He grunted and continued onto the next.
It was too cold. Unnaturally cold. Nothing like the winters back home.
Home is another world away. Remember that?
Bramble wished she didn’t have to. She wished—distantly, bitterly wished—that she was home again, instead of having to face what was coming for her.
How can you prepare for something like this?
By the time Bramble and the other recruits had been addressed and outfitted in black, warm clothing, nightfall bore upon them. She found a corner in the rowdy mess hall and kept her head down, eating tasteless, hot stew. And when Castle Black became shrouded in the pitch of lightless winter, Bramble stared at the dark ceiling that roofed the recruit barracks, clinging to the only thing she had known for the past three years.
Survival.