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lunagb · 9 months

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A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

Chapter 11: Just a boy

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, Jon x Andrea, Jon x Beth Greene

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon heads out on an expedition to the McMillian farm to scavenge sheets of tin roofing, a material needed for the construction of their wall. All should go smoothly. That is, unless the dead have nothing to say about it.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - Original Variation

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Bowen Marsh, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver,

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

Off in the distance, faint voices kicked up unrelenting pandemonium.

“Beth, the plastic bag!”

“Got it!” A faint figure scrambled in the corner of Jon’s eye.

A broad chest pressed against Jon’s back. Two huge arms squeezed the air from Jon’s lungs. Jon didn’t need air. Just his feet to close the distance and his arms to swing the blade. Nothing else. The dead-eyed coward couldn’t manage so much as to look him in the eyes. His tangled, greying hair dangled over his round, wrinkled, red face. The hair hid him but it couldn’t protect him. Jon drove his elbow into the chest behind him and the heel of his boot into a shin.

“Mother fucker! Fuck off, you crazy asshole!” The huge arms crushed him.

Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw and drove the pommel into the other side of the chest. Somewhere far away, someone grunted. The arms didn’t let go.

“Fuck off, Jon!”

“Let him go. It’s okay,” the dead-eyed coward said.

“Fuck you both!”

Another distant voice shouted. “Wrap it around, all the way, nice and tight!”

Another sobbed. Another pleaded.

Andrea’s face filled Jon’s vision, sporting the scorn of a winter’s storm. “Cut this shit out, now!”

She needed to move. They all needed to move. They were in his way. They were in Longclaw’s way. None need die. Only the coward. Jon saved her from Longclaw’s wrath. A clean headbutt to the forehead sent her staggering out of his path. He couldn’t reach the boy with the glasses. He’d have to move on his own. Sam’s arms crushed Jon again.

A fire raged deep inside his chest. An inferno coursed through his arms. He’d have broken free if the world didn’t flip onto its side.

The ground raced to meet him and hit him like a battering ram. Everything warbled; the distant voices, the stench of rot, the chilled touch of grass and earth, the metallic sting on his tongue, even sight itself. The fire died. Blood filled his nose and gushed down the back of his throat. His stupid, fingers released Longclaw. He snatched for it but Andrea’s kick sent the valyrian blade skidding across the grass. A knee dug between his shoulder blades and the weight of the world pressed down on him. The warbling stopped.

“Don’t hurt him you fucking asshole!” Andrea’s voice shouted as loud as if she were inside his ear.

“Fuck off, he’s out of fucking control!”

“Get off him!”

The weight of the world shifted ever so slightly.

“Crazy bitch, don’t push me! He just headbutted you! And he’ll do fucking worse to them!”

Jon turned his head. The grass and mud shifted from his face and forehead to his cheek. The coward’s dead eyes had vanished. Tears streamed rivers down his wrinkled cheeks.

“No right,” Jon wheezed. “You have… no right.”

The coward buried his face in his hands. “I know…”

“Shut up!” The boy with glasses yelled. His grip on the blood-stained axe tightened. “Leave him alone, asshole!”

“Get him under control!” Hershel shouted. “We need to get her back right now!”

“You hear that, kid?!” The weight of the world drove between Jon’s shoulder blades. “Calm the fuck down!”

“He needs to die.” Jon fought to rise but only managed to jam Sam’s knee further deeper.

Glenn crouched before him, blocking the coward from sight. “Jon, look at her, man.” Glenn’s voice wavered. “She’s dying…”

Jon turned his head. Grass and dirt scraped his face.

Tape bound a plastic bag to her stump. Blood soaked a damp towel within the plastic bag. Hershel held her twig-thin arm up in the air. Her dark skin was turning the colour of ash and rot. Two glassy eyes gazed at nothing. She trembled all over. A mountain of a man knelt over her. For all his muscle and strength, while confronted with horror before him, he wielded as much power as Jon did beneath the weight of the world. Stroking her thick, black braids, he stared at Jon with pathetic, teary eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “Whatever this is, can’t it wait? Please…”

“Wait?!” The boy with glasses shouted. “He wants to kill him, Tyreese!”

Tyreese’s face turned to murder. “Shut the hell up, Chris! This is my fucking daughter!”

“And she’s my girlfriend!”

As their arguing roared, Beth knelt before Jon. “Whatever this is, it can wait, right? We can discuss it with the others, back at the farm, where it’s safe. Please, Jon. She’ll die if we don’t get her back. She’s only our age. She’s only a kid.”

The weight of the world squeezed the strength from Jon’s body. Pain seized all that strength once occupied. It took hold of him, squeezing and twisting his chest, stomach and side, his cuts and scrapes, his bruises and scars. It caused tears to fill his eyes. “Aye… okay.”

Hershel’s voice dominated all. Yet, for all its force and presence, it faded off into the distance once again. The world blurred. Hard-packed ground returned to his feet and moved beneath them of its own accord. Sam’s huge hand dragged him by the arm. Through the haze, the coward remained clear. Him and the boy. Another stupid, naive boy.

***

They sat around the living room. All of them; yammering on about nothing at all. Jon sat in the corner, wiping his dagger with a cloth and trying to ignore his pain. It wouldn’t stop. Always stabbing. Always nagging. It played games. It would fade, provide a heartbeat of relief only to return with a vengeance. Pain was a petulant child and Jon wouldn’t pay any mind to its tantrums. Ghost lay at his side, watching them all. When Jon ran his fingers through his shaggy, white fur, the pain dulled. If only for a moment.

“Will she stabilise?” Rick sat on an ordinary seat like everyone else, not at either head of the group of chairs, but amits the group in an ordinary spot. As if it would somehow make him less of a leader.

Hershel wiped his face. “I’ll be straight with you, without antibiotics, this girl won’t see the end of the week.”

Every single pair of eyes snapped to Hershel and the living room plunged into silence.

Shane’s voice rose. “The hell you mean, without antibiotics?”

“Dad, we ain’t out. Are we?” Maggie leaned forward and gripped her father’s arm.

Hershel and Rick’s joined silence spoke volumes. Glenn shifted in his seat and Maggie glared at him.

“For how long?” she snapped.

“A couple days…”

Lori’s balled fists. “I thought we were done with secrets?”

“It wasn’t meant to be a secret,” Rick said.

“Bullshit, man,” Shane said.

“Shut the fuck up, Shane! It wasn’t a secret. We… we were waitin’ on the right time to tell y’all. That’s all.”

“That’s what you said last secret,” Dale muttered.

“You should have told us right away, man! What kind of leader lies like this?!” Shane said.

“What possible reason could you have had to not tell us right away?” Maggie asked.

“Because you’d react like this,” Jon said. “Like a group of petulant children throwing a bloody tantrum.”

They all gawked at him, stunned by the truth, affronted by reality. So be it. I’ll coddle them no longer. May Culver snickered and smiled at him.

“All Jon means is- well, we didn’t want to cause a panic,” Rick said.

“No, I meant what I meant. Here we sit, arguing about nothing while my fucking murderer still breathes.”

Rick’s jaw clenched. He turned a smile on the others. “Perhaps we should discuss the topic at hand? The medicine problem can wait, can’t it?”

Lori folded her arms. “Whatever…”

“Fine,” Maggie muttered.

Dale gave a nod and Shane rolled his eyes.

“Ain’t much to discuss is there?” Daryl said. “We can’t throw ‘em out to be eaten by the dead for no good reason. They stay here.”

“Even if it’s a unanimous decision, it should go to a vote,” Dale said. “For democracy’s sake.”

“No, Daryl’s right,” Rick said. “I ain’t about to make a habit of votin’ on people’s lives. Once is plenty.”

Randall shifted in his seat and stared at his shoes.

Rick cleared his throat. “Besides, Hershel helped my son in his time of need and here we still are. I don’t see why it should be any different for these folks. Surely, none of y’all disagree?”

Again, silence spoke for the group; the silence of children.

Jon opened his mouth to speak.

“I do,” May Culver said. “Fuck ‘em. They should fend for themselves.”

“Oh, would you shut the hell up?” Andrea said. “This is a serious discussion.”

“I am serious!”

“Well, then you’re a fucking psycho!” Maggie said.

May raised her hands. “Whoa now! Ain’t this a democracy? Where’s my freedom of speech?”

“You’re free to shut the hell up!” Andrea yelled.

“They’re fucking freeloaders!” May grinned. “Is that how we work here? We just give handouts to whatever sorry shits crawl out of the woods with their tail tucked between their legs and a change cup rattlin’ in their hands? And here I was thinkin’ that shit died when the world fell apart!”

“We ain’t a fucking charity!” James Culver chimed in.

“Damn right!” Pete Culver elbowed Randall in the ribs.

Randall’s eyes fluttered wide as if waking from a deep sleep. “R-Right! Half of ‘em ain’t even white!”

The Culver whooped and cheered. Pete and James showered Randall with pats on the back, and the stupid boy grinned for the first time in a week.

“You sound like cats fucking in an alleyway,” Sam said. “Be quiet.”

Pete and James shot him glares. May reclined in her seat with a grin spread across her face. Randall flushed and his grin wiped clean.

Rick kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Anyone else have a problem with letting the new arrivals stay on the farm.”

“Aye.”

“Jon… we’ll discuss that later.”

“Later. Now. It makes no matter. The coward dies.”

“This vote only concerns the other three. Do you have a problem-”

“Fuck your votes. He dies. Tonight. By my hand. With or without your fucking permission.”

The same group who, a moment earlier had gawked at him without shame now couldn’t bare to meet his eyes. Except Rick. He stood and bore down on him.

“I’ll give you one chance to take that back, Jon.”

“I can take it back. Would you like that? Sweet words to put your mind at ease?”

“Hand over your weapons, Jon.”

Jon shot to his feet. “Okay, fine. Have your-” He began unclasping Longclaw’s scabbard. “Have your fucking weapons! Here! Here!” He threw Longclaw to Rick’s feet, and Needle and his dagger.

Ghost rose alongside his hackles. His fangs showed and a silent snarl crept across his muzzle.

Rick took a step back. His paled to the colour of a sheet. “Jon, control him.”

“He doesn't get angry without a reason.”

All eyes locked on Ghost, wide and bulging.

“C- Come on, man. That ain’t funny!” T-Dog pushed himself as far back into his chair as he could.

“He’s not a bloody pet. He won’t stop being angry because I tell him.”

Carol glared at him with her arms folded across her chest. “How ‘bout you try? For his sake?” Her eyes went to Carl.

Rick had Carl behind him. The boy gawked at him as if his skin were rotten and his eyes were a shade of piss yellow and vomit green. His hand hovered over his empty holster.

An invisible hand gripped Jon’s chest. “Ghost… to me.” The words came out thin and wispy.

Ghost blew air from his snout and lay back down. The moment his belly touched the carpet, the tension in the room melted away.

Rick took a deep breath and stepped towards him, hand extended. “The other dagger too, Jon.”

Jon stared at him. For a moment, he thought him mad. Until he remembered. Bile burned the back of his throat.

“Gladly. Take the coward’s dagger and ensure I never lay eyes on the fucking thing again.” Jon whipped the dagger from beneath his belt and shoved it into Rick’s hand. “Bury it in his ashes.” Jon stormed from the room, away from all the folly and bleating of children and fucking stupidity.

“Jon! Get back here! Jon!” Rick shouted.

Jon slammed the front door behind him. The setting sun painted the farm in a fiery orange glow and gleamed orange off of the wall’s tin sheets. Tyreese and Chris stared at Jon from opposite ends of the porch. Chris stood on the side closest to the graves, cast in the glow of the summer sun while Tyreese stood closer to the gravel road, cast in shadow. They both gawked at Ghost. Jon made for the steps.

“Wait!” Tyreese called after him. “Have you made a decision?”

“No.” The steps creaked beneath Jon’s feet.

“Then where are you going?!” Chris yelled.

Jon put them to his back. Padding at his side, Ghost looked back and showed his fangs. They stopped yelling for him after that.

A chilly breeze whistled across the fields. In spite of his cloak and layers, the hairs on the back of Jon’s neck rose and goose flesh covered his arms. Death’s stench remained in the air around the barn no matter how much they cleaned it.

Beside the unmarked grave full of strangers, two shovels stuck out of the earth. Jon pulled the left shovel free and got to work. His aches and pains complained to no end. It’s all his body seemed capable of now; complaining. He ignored it. Grave digging is work no one likes to do, and it’s hard on top of that. No time for dawdling. Let’s get it done quick and save the others the hassle. Children shouldn’t dig graves. Ghost lay atop the grave full of strangers, watching the house. The setting sun glimmered in his red eyes and warmed the pale tones of his fur. He looked golden. The wind whistled. Jon stabbed the ground with the shovel.

The whistling wind carried a conversation. Andrea waved Tyreese and Chris off as she made her way down the porch steps. The wind caught her tied hair and flapped it like a banner. It glowed golden in the setting sun. Compared to such warmth, the purple of her forehead’s bruise stood out like a crow in a snowstorm.

“Are you my guard now? Is that the way of it?”

Andrea crossed her arms. “Supposedly.” She held the coward’s knife.

Bile stung his tongue. “Take that away. I’ll not see that again.”

“No.” Andrea held it out to him. “Take it.”

“I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m not allowed any weapons.”

“Take it. This is your business, not ours and certainly not Rick’s. I don’t know this asshole. If he did what you said he did, this is your call and your call alone.”

Jon leaned on his shovel and raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have snuck out my dagger?”

“Take it or leave it. Or use the fucking shovel. I don’t care.”

The dagger tumbled out of her fingers and hit the earth. She scowled at him and left for the tents.

Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “I’m sorry for headbutting you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jon picked up the dagger. He’d do it in the dead of night when only the nighttime watch would be awake. He’d take a hand axe – or hatchet as they called it in this land – from the barn’s storage for his weapon. The coward could have the dagger. He wasn’t a murderer. Justice. Not murder. Justice. He’d let him die on his feet like a man. It was more than he deserved. They wouldn’t care. They’d admonish him for it anyway. They’d hate him for it. They’d call him a murderer. Fuck them and fuck what they think. He wasn’t a murderer. The coward is the fucking murderer. It isn’t murder to avenge a killing, even if the victim is yourself. Will I be the first person to ever avenge themselves? Jon hid the dagger in his boot and got back to shovelling. The whistling wind pulled on his hair and kicked up his cloak. It brought him voices once again. A lot of them. The Culvers spilled out of the farmhouse. Tyreese tried to say something to May as she passed him by and James shoved him back.

“Fuck off nigger!” He shouted in Tyreese’s face.

Tyreese face dropped. He gawked at him, slack-jawed.

“God fucking dammit, boy! What have I fucking told you?!” Sam marched up the stairs and clouted James over the back of the head.

James tried to back up but Sam gripped his arm so tight that he wailed. He continued carrying on as Sam dragged him across the yard to their camp.

“Assholes!” Chris yelled once their backs were to them.

May whipped around. “Fuck off, beta boy!”

“May, to your tent! Now!” Sam bellowed.

May held up her middle finger and headed in Jon’s direction.

“May! Get back here, girl! May!”

“Can’t hear you, bitch!”

A howling gale swept over the farm. It whipped strands of her long, hair into a frenzy. The colour of raven’s feathers and rotten blood, her hair swallowed the warmth of the summer sun.

“What do you want?”

“We got kicked out. The asshole with shitty buzzcut wanted to discuss something that Culvers aren’t allowed to be privy to.”

“Is that so?”

“You gonna dig graves all night?” She asked.

“Aye,” Jon added more dirt to his pile.

“Really? Come on, I thought you had more guts than that.”

“I’m no murderer.” The lie, as practical as it was, left a sour sting on his tongue.

“Why not? Who’s gonna stop you? Not those pussies, that’s for sure.”

Jon paused. “You’re telling me to kill him?”

“Fuck yes, I’m telling you to kill him. Oh, have him do it.” She pointed at Ghost. Ghost bared her fangs at her and she beamed like it was her nameday.

“You don’t even know what he did.”

May shrugged and gestured to Ghost again. “What’s that matter? Do you think he only kills prey that has wronged him? No, he kills because he can, because he’s strong and they’re weak. And do you know what happens after he kills?”

“He eats them.”

“And then what? Nothing! Absolutely fucking nothing! That’s the way of things now. The strong kill, the weak die and the world keeps on turning. It’s been that way a lot longer than it hasn’t. It’s how it should be.”

Sam appeared behind May as if out of thin air. The setting sun cast him all in shadows. He loomed two heads over her. His huge hand rushed to clout her ear. She ducked and sidestepped him while keeping her eyes locked on Jon.

“Get to your tent! Now!” Sam shouted.

“This is a golden age, Jon Snow! Don’t fucking waste it!” May laughed and ran off towards the Culver’s camp.

Sam sighed. “The hell did she say to you?”

Jon got back to shovelling. “Nothing, just crazy nonsense.”

Sam shot a glare in May’s direction. “She don’t know what she’s talking about, you hear?”

“I hear.”

“You don’t gotta kill him.”

“Aye.”

“You don’t.”

“I hear you.”

“Look at me.” Sam loomed over Jon with a scowl sharp enough to crack stone. “You so much as try to kill that man, I’ll hurt you, kid. Don’t think I won’t.”

“My back tells me you already have.”

“And I’ll do it again.”

Sam turned and hurried after May. He balled his hands into fists; big fists like a pair of stones on his wrists. The wind’s whistle filled Jon’s ears. What’s the sharp sting of a beating compared to the sweet kiss of justice?

No sooner than Jon had gotten back to shovelling the whistling wind brought him yet another voice. A soft voice, gentle and patient. Beth stopped to talk to Tyreese. Whatever she said got him and Chris to leave. They hurried to Jenner’s tent, the place they were keeping the girl, Julie. After some arguing, Tyreese entered the tent while Chris waited outside, sulking.

Beth headed Jon’s way, and by the determined look on her face, she harboured yet another opinion on Jon’s justice. I swear if one more person tries to give their bloody take on how I should feel about my murder, I’ll go and kill him right now just to be done with it.

“Can I help?” Beth pointed to the other shovel.

Jon lifted a heaping mound of dirt from his hole. “No.”

“I don’t need your permission. They ain’t your shovels- if anything you should be askin’ me.”

“Then why’d you go and ask for?” Jon stabbed the hole.

“Well- I-… I’m gonna pray to my brothers then. Without your permission.”

“What a slight. I’ll never live that one down,” Jon muttered.

Beth knelt at her brother’s grave and whispered barely above the wind. “Asshole…” She clasped her hands together, shut her eyes and bowed her head.

Different worlds. Different Gods. Yet, the same prayer. Is the God of this world also as cruel as mine? Jon looked at the row of crosses along the bottom of the barn’s hill. He smelt the everlasting, lingering smell of death on the wind. He heard Beth’s choked sobs. Aye. Just as cruel.

By the time Beth finished her prayer, Jon stood knee-deep in the grave and a sizeable mound sat off to his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beth lift her head and wipe her eyes.

“Why did you leave early?” Jon asked.

Beth scowled. “Shane… he… he proposed that we betray the Culvers. He wants to kill them once we deal with the horde.”

Jon leaned on his shovel. “Why?”

“Says we can’t trust them, that they’re- God, no.” Beth shook her head. “I couldn’t stand it. I- I had to leave. What he was sayin’ was- was- fuckin’ evil.”

“And they’re discussing it? Even Rick?”

Beth turned from him and nodded. She adjusted the crosses of her brothers’ graves, smoothed over the dirt and stared at their engraved names. Tears welled in her eyes.

“What were they like?” Jon asked, despite himself.

“Why do you care?” Beth sniffled and scrubbed her eyes. “You would have thought they were stupid like the rest of us.”

“Mayhaps. Or, they might have been the only pair of you with some sense about them. Who knows? They died before I could meet them. They could’ve been anything.”

“They…” Beth smiled. “They were a little dumb. I mean, not any more than boys tend to be. But still, a little dumb.”

“I knew a boy who was a little dumb once. He thought himself invincible. He’d spend his days climbing walls and turrets and roofs and whatever he could find. If you told him not to, that he would fall and hurt himself, then you’d discover the next day that he’d climbed higher than the last.”

“Sounds like he had a curious soul.”

“Aye, and a good heart.”

“My brothers were the same. Every chance they got, they were out in them woods, gettin’ themselves into some sort of trouble. They’d come back with scrapes and bruises, and when Daddy patched ‘em up he’d warn ‘em that one day they’d hurt themselves so bad he wouldn’t be able to fix ‘em. He always fixed ‘em though… Always…”

“What were their names, again?”

“Jimmy and Billy. Jimmy was a little older than me but younger than Maggie, and Billy was about Carl’s age. What about your brother? That was your brother you were talkin’ about, right?”

“Bran. He was eight.”

“And he’s…”

“Aye.”

Ghost rose, shimmering gold and orange beneath the setting sun. He lay his head in Beth’s lap and shut his eyes.

Beth stroked his fur. “Was he – the man you tried to kill – was he the one who-”

“Killed me?”

Beth nodded.

“He is.”

“He gave you all those scars?”

“No. Just this one.” Jon touched his belly.

“Who did the others?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why’d they do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, it was a murder? Like they just decided one day they’d like to kill you and did?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that but, aye, it was murder.”

“How was it more complicated?”

“I- I don’t know. It just was.”

“Did they have a reason to kill you?”

“Aye, most likely they harboured some half-baked grievances. But who knows what goes on in the minds of fools?”

“So, it wasn’t like what you wanted to do to Randall?”

“What?” Jon snapped.

“You wanted to kill Randall ‘cause he was a threat. Were you a threat?”

“No! They killed me because they were afraid and stupid and- and fucking out of their minds!”

“You said you didn’t know why they killed you.”

“Don’t fucking turn my words on me. This isn’t your concern. They took my life. So it’s my concern!”

“Is that man, uh, Bowen Marsh was it? Is he a threat?”

“Aye, he’s a bloody threat! He fucking killed me!”

“Will he kill you again?”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“It does.”

Jon threw down his shovel and climbed out of the grave. “Why?” He marched up to Beth. “Why? Tell me right now why it fucking matters.

“Because he’s here isn’t he? How do you think he got here?”

“Because- because he- he must have… someone could have…”

“What if you’ve already been avenged? What will that make you if you kill him a second time?”

“You!” Bloodbeak descended from the roof of the barn and perched atop a grave’s cross. “You! You! You!”

Ghost bore his fangs at the raven.

“All I’m sayin’ is, that you don’t want to kill him for any practical reasons. You just wanna do it because you’re angry.”

Jon drew a long, trembling breath. “And… And when did you suddenly become such a fucking pragmatist?”

“Well, you weren’t gonna listen if I said you shouldn’t do it ‘cause it’s evil. Which it is by the way. It’s evil and wrong, and if you do it you’re just as bad as him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

“No, it’s justice. Not murder. Justice.”

“You don’t know that.”

“For all I know he fell off his bloody horse to end up here!”

“And you won’t know unless you ask him.”

Jon hopped back into the grave. “Go away. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. Leave me be.” He took up the shovel and thrust it deep into the dirt.

“Rick told Andrea to watch you all night. Don’t make her have to stop you, Jon. Do the right thing and let it go.”

“She won’t have to.” The clouds are out. It’ll be a cloudy night too. In my blacks, no one will be able to spot me in the dark. “You have my word. But I won’t let it go.”

“Okay…” Beth slowly got to her feet. “Uh, good…”

Bloodbeak cackled. “Good! Good! Good!”

***

Rick put him on the nighttime watch tonight. A smart move, if he hadn’t done the same with Andrea too.

“Go on then,” Andrea muttered once Twilight's gloom had well and truly vanished.

“Thank you.” Jon handed her the rifle and hurried for the RV’s ladder.

“He’s in Jenner’s tent, with the girl.”

“What? How am I supposed to-”

“Not my fucking problem. Now go, before I change my mind.”

“Seven fucking hells…” Jon slid down the ladder.

His mind raced as the hurried to the barn. I can try and make him understand. No, no Jenner won’t understand. But he isn’t strong. Tyreese is, at least from the looks of it. He could stop me. But not if he’s asleep. He’ll be asleep. He must be. It only takes a moment to slit a throat or stab a heart. I’ll be quick. Yes, I can make it happen in a moment. Burst in, stab the coward and it’s done. Whatever happens after is of no concern. They can rant, they can cry, they can attack, it makes no matter, he’ll be dead.

Jon decided on a hatchet over an axe. If only we kept knives in the barn too. A hatchet was smaller - more nimble - better for a quick job. An axe would only get in his way. I’ll bring it down on his head and split the fucking coward’s head in two. The huddle of tents beneath the wall were as calm as still water, and as silent as a graveyard. All were asleep. Even the wind. The only sign of life was the golden light pouring from Jenner’s tent. It beckoned to him like a signal fire admits a winter storm. Jon heeded its call. With hot blood pumping through his veins, Jon crept between the rows of tents and approached the tent’s flap without a sound. He paused a moment. No talking. No movement. Only gentle snoring. Good. Jon readied his hatchet.

He knocked the tent flap aside and burst inside. He found no coward. Only Jenner and Tyreese. And the dying girl. Tyreese remained fast asleep at his daughter’s side. Jenner, however, gawked at him and the hatchet he brandished. At once, Jon lowered it but, too late. Jenner shot to his feet and took a step towards him.

“Wait-” was all Jenner managed before Jon had put the flap behind him.

He stood outside the tent. I need to run. But he couldn’t. Away. Far away. But to where? I need to find the coward. Before Jenner tells Rick. I need to find him and kill him and get my justice before they rob it of me!

Jenner emerged from the tent. “Jon, wait,” he hissed.

Jon pointed the hatchet at him. “Stay there,” Jon whispered.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I am. Stay there.”

Jenner took a step. “You aren’t gonna kill me, Jon.”

“No, but I might hurt you. I might knock you out.”

“So, you are here for that, then? You would really go this far? And for what?”

“For justice!” Jon hissed.

“For murder.”

“It’s not-”

“What happened to hope for the future? To not rolling over and quitting just because all seems lost?”

“What? That’s not the bloody same. You wanted to kill everyone with you. I only want the justice I’m owed.”

“Oh, you’re owed it are you? Do you even hear yourself?”

“You’re all children. You can’t understand. None of you.”

Jenner scowled at him and stared for far too long.

“What? Out with it.”

“Well, go on then. Knock me out. Do it.”

“I will. If you don’t get back in that tent.”

“I won’t so, you’re gonna have to.”

“This is no time for games. I’ll do it and it’ll fucking hurt.”

“I’m a doctor. I know the risks. Go on.” Jenner opened his arms. “Knock me out.”

Jon ground his teeth. “Stop acting like a-”

“What, a child?” Jenner snapped. “That’s rich. You don’t have the balls. He’s behind the wall, crying. That’s all he’s been doing all night, crying. Whether it’s for you or her, I don’t know. Go to him and realise what a titanic fucking idiot you’re being. You won’t kill him. You’re a scared, snivelling little boy who’s lashing out because he’s afraid. You can’t kill him and you can’t hurt me.”

Jenner ducked back inside the tent, leaving Jon to gawk at the closed tent flap.

“I- I can.”

Silence answered him.

“I will.”

Silence.

“I’m not afraid! I’m not a boy… I killed him years ago. I had to. For the Watch. For the Realm. For my men and for my friends.”

When more silence answered him, Jon stormed towards the wall. Ghost had left to hunt. Impeccable timing as always. The pest landed atop the wall, as if out of nowhere. Feathers as dark as the cloudy night sky fell around him.

Jon rounded the wall. In all his blacks, doused in the darkness of a clouded night, the coward appeared almost as if he wasn’t there. But, there he sat. Muffled sobs filled the night’s silence. The coward appeared like a trembling black ball with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Grey, stringy, hair hung past his chin, obscuring his round, red face from the world.

Jon slipped the dagger from his boot and tossed it to his feet. “Go on then, pick it up. You can die a man’s death.” Jon readied his hatchet.

The coward. lifted his eyes. The dark turned his tears black – black like rotten blood – as they filled the wrinkled grooves of his cheeks. Words refused to leave the coward’s mouth as he choked on his sobs.

“Pick it up!” Jon hissed.

“It- It’s more than I deserve… Don’t bother.” The coward showed Jon his neck. “Go on.”

“I will.” Jon raised his hatchet.

The coward closed his eyes in a pathetic display of utter… utter cowardice. Bowen Marsh looked like her - when she… the night she… before the cold claimed her.

Jon squeezed the hatchet’s handle with all his strength. “I will!”

“Aye, and this sorry world will be better off for it. A second life is wasted on a man like me.”

“S- Stop that.”

“What?”

“That. Being so pathetic. You’re not a boy. You’re a killer, a murderer, a traitor – not a boy – a killer, not a boy.” Marsh’s tears swelled. “Stop fucking crying!” A trembling plagued Jon’s burned, hatchet hand.

Marsh buried his face in his hands.

The hatchet lowered. “What do you have to be sad for?”

Marsh sobbed. “Just do it.”

“Answer me. Why were you crying?”

“Pleeease… please do it… it’s too much, please.”

“Why?! Why were you crying?! Why did you do it?! You tell me and you tell me now!”

Marsh’s eyes snapped to him A scowl stormed his face. “You would have ruined us! You and your pride! Is that what you want to hear you- you bastard!”

That word hung in the air. Once, it would have blared with all the might of war horn. Now? Now it lingered like a sour squeak from a mummer’s flute.

Marsh got to his feet. His scowl wavered, turning his lips to two, wriggling worms. “We killed you because we wanted to. Because we liked it. Because you… because you deserved…” The tears returned. “Because you... I… come on… wasn’t that enough? I called you bastard. What else do you need? Lord Snow? Is that it? Lord Snow. Bastard of Winterfell. Wildling fucker. Traitor. Deserter. Wh- Whoreson.” Desperation infected Bowen Marsh’s teary eyes like a plague.

“You can’t want to die. That’s not fair… That’s not justice…”

“Who cares what it is? You’re here. You’ve got a blade. So – fucking seven hells – stop thinking and just do it already!”

“Seven hells?”

“Aye, seven! There aren’t fucking eight are there?!”

“Not one? Seven. Seven hells for seven gods?”

“Are you mad?” Marsh’s voice waned. “What the blazes are you on about boy?”

Marsh bore the markings of home. Uneven stitches bound his clothes. A lordly, firm accent free of slurred r’s and forgotten g’s painted his tongue. He possessed the harshness of The North and the softness of The South. Even his eyes – his woeful, teary eyes – spoke of home. They were a grey so dark they seemed almost black. Deep in those homely eyes, admits pools of black, lived an ounce of warmth.

Jon dropped the hatchet, slumped against the wall and held his head in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Bowen Marsh dropped to his knees beside Jon.

“Who killed you?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Answer my bloody questions. That’s an order, Marsh.”

Marsh sat. “It’s the how that did it.”

“How then?”

Marsh pulled down the collar of his cloak. “Can you see it in the dark?”

Jon squinted. The flesh around his neck looked like The Hound’s face. It took a moment for the pieces to click together.

“They hung you?”

“Aye… Me and the other survivors.”

“Survivors?”

“It’s a long story.”

“The night is young.”

Marsh wrung his hands. “Those friends of yours – they… they loved you – after you died and we took command of Castle Black, they fled for the Shadow Tower. Once Mallister caught wind of what we did, he rallied East Watch by the Sea and brought the full might of The Watch down on our heads. Thorne died in the fighting; Edd Tollet rode him down and skewered him on a spear to hear it be said. Most joined Throne. Not me. I… I hid – me and Wick and some others – we hid in the wormways. They found us soon after the fighting men had fallen and hung us in the same place we killed you.”

Off in the forest, cicadas began to buzz and chirp. Birds took flight. Some sort of animal raced across the fields. Ghost burst from the woods. In half a heartbeat he had the animal between his jaws. He put an end to its squalling and struggling with a single bite. Blood oozed between his teeth, staining his fur red.

Bowen Marsh gawked at Ghost. “He’s here?” he whispered.

“You fools…” Jon muttered. “You fought over me? The Wights and Others were on their way and you fought a bloody civil war over me?”

“They loved you… And what is love compared to honour, Snow?”

“Words and wind.”

Ghost padded over with a possum between his jaws. He lay at their feet and dug into his meal. Tears lingered in the corners of Marsh’s eyes as he watched the direwolf eat.

“What of the freefolk?”

“Some fought for you. Some fought for us. Most ran off into The Gift.”

“And Melisandre?”

Bowen Marsh wrung his hands and stared at his feet.

“You killed her,” Jon said.

“Thorne did. Not me. He killed her and… I was against it – told him I’d geld him – but-”

“You killed her. You all killed her. Their crimes are yours and yours are theirs.”

“Aye… they are. Her followers put up a good fight and screamed half a hundred bloody curses on us but in the end, she wielded only words and… what are words compared to blades?”

“Did you say, Thorne?”

“Aye.”

“But I sent him-”

“Impostors, Snow; impostors. We thought you were trying to get him – a man of high birth – killed. So, we hid him and sent fakes in his and the other six’s places. From afar, all clad in black with hoods raised, any man can look like another.”

“That was your idea, I suppose?”

“Aye…”

“Look at me, Marsh. Scrub away those bloody tears and look at me.”

Marsh scrubbed his eyes. They met Jon’s, red and raw; as red his face.

“You answer me, and you answer me true. Why did you kill me?”

Marsh’s eyes searched Jon’s face, darting like mice caught in a trap. Eventually, however, he uttered a response barely audible. “The vows, Snow. The vows. You commanded The Watch to march on Winterfell. Thorne was calling you the Night King come again and well, he weren’t half wrong was he?”

“No. No, I never commanded The Watch march anywhere. I gave them a choice is all. A choice. Not a command. A choice.”

“They loved you and – damn fool – they’d have followed you anywhere if you’d asked it of them. North, South, The Lands of Always Winter, Essos; anywhere. What choice did you leave them? To let their Lord Commander march on Bolton’s army by himself? Their Lord Commander and a boy no less. There was no choosing in it. They’re men, Snow. Men. And men – especially men of The Watch – hold little dear but their pride. You were their Lord Commander. You were a boy, j- just a boy.” The tears returned. “You march. They march. It’s as simple as that.”

“Fine.” Jon clenched his fists and grit his teeth. “mayhaps that was a… a mistake. But why kill me? Why not talk to me? I’d have stepped down if you’d only asked it of me. I’d have deserted if that’s what it took. I’d have marched against that Bolton bastard’s army with little more than Ghost, a blade and the clothes on my back if I had to.”

“But why, lad? Why did you have to go?”

“Because it was my home! That Bolton bastard turned my home into his plaything; a torture dungeon. My family's home!”

“Winterfell was not your home! You were a brother of The Watch. Castle Black was your home. The Wall was your duty. We were your brothers. Not the Starks! Us!”

“You were. I know. Castle Black was my home but, so was Winterfell. The wall was my duty, but so was my family. You were my family, but so were the Starks. That’s the truth of it. We may say pretty words to fool ourselves into thinking otherwise but, at the end of the day I…” A strange urge to check over his shoulder nagged away. Jon fixed his eyes on Ghost. “I… despite my name, am a Stark. You are a Marsh. Samwell was a Tarly. Edd was a Tollet. Aemon was a Targaryen.”

Ghost lay his head in Jon’s lap. Blood matted his jaws. Jon stroked his fur.

“Stark!” Bloodbeak cried from atop the wall. “Stark! Stark! Stark!”

“I was no one. I am a brother of The Watch.” Marsh said.

“You were. But also, a man of House Marsh.”

“No. Only a brother of the night. A sword in the darkness. A watcher on the walls. A fire that burns against the cold. A light that brings the dawn. A horn that wakes the sleepers. A shield that guards the realms of men. I pledged my life for the Night’s Watch, for this night and all night’s to come. My whole life – not just from the age of ten and six – my whole life. And so did you. From birth to death we are brothers of the night.”

“And where did it get us?” Jon kicked the dirt. “Here, beyond the reach of light and dark, family and friends, the realm and her men, the wall and her watch; duty… In the sunset days of an age of rot and decay”

They stared at the dirt. Jon’s scars burned. His ribs stabbed. His arms moaned. His back groaned. His chest ached. His arse whined.

“This world has Julie,” Marsh whispered. “And Chris. And Tyreese.” Marsh looked at his hand. “Your maesters say she’ll live, most like; that because I cut off her hand, the rot couldn’t spread further to claim her mind and soul. I know it doesn’t make up for what I’ve done but, if the same hand that took a child’s life from them can save another’s then… well… maybe… that means something.

They lied to him. Jenner and Hershel. They told him sweet words… sweet lies…

“Marsh, Julie, she-”

The desperation in Marsh’s eyes gave Jon pause. “What about her?”

“She’ll… she’s in good hands.”

Marsh nodded. “Good… good.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me, Marsh? I would have stepped down. You could have been Lord Commander, or Thorne, or fucking Wick Whittlestick for all I care.”

“We were going to but then, the giant kicked up all that chaos and Wick cut you and gave it all away. What would you have said then, after the plot became clear? No man, no one could be reasonable after an attempt on his life. He left me no good choice. I only wanted to stop you... But I didn’t want… It wasn’t meant to be like… You weren’t meant to die…” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “You’re just a boy… just a boy… but there was no good choice… murder or dishonour… what choice is that?”

Jon stroked Ghost’s fur. “You could have tried to stop them.”

“If I didn’t do it, Thorne would have or somebody else. When Wick cut you-”

“You could have fought them.”

“And do what? Die?”

“Aye. I did, didn’t I? Had it been you in my shoes, I would have fought them off. Me and a hundred other men. We were brothers.”

Marsh sniffled. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re you and I’m me. You’re a bloody hero and I’m a fucking coward.”

Ghost retrieved Bowen Marsh’s dagger and dropped it into Jon’s palm.

“Here,” Jon said.

“No. It’s yours.”

“No, it’s yours. I found it in the head of a corpse. One of the walking ones.”

Marsh took the dagger with trembling fingers. “That corpse carried this all the way here?”

“Aye.”

Marsh cracked a smile. “What are the chances?”

“About next to none.”

“I suppose we’ve been dealt a lot of next to none lately, aye?”

“That we have.”

Marsh slipped the dagger back into his scabbard. “I have no right to ask this, but I will anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Can you forgive me? Can you find it in your heart?”

Jon picked up his hatchet and stood. “No. Mercy, that I’ll grant you but, I won’t forgive you.”

“I suppose, that’s more than I deserve.”

“No… it’s all you deserve.”

Jon offered his hand to Marsh. Marsh accepted and Jon helped him to his feet.

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nightingaelic · 2 years

Note

Companions react to reload dashing.

"I don't know, I kind of like it," the courier said, turning the latest addition to their weapons stash from side to side in the sunlight of Primm. "It's a little... flashier than what I usually go for, but it's compact and in good condition."

They fished around in their pack and withdrew a couple of .357 Magnum rounds. "'Lucky.' Yeah, I'll keep the name. Lucky I have some ammo for this old girl, that's for sure. What do you think, regular or hollow point? We're probably more likely to see coyotes than Powder Gangers from here to the NCR outpost, but you never know."

The courier started down the main street of Primm, trying to do three things at once as was their habit- swapping out the ornate gun's ammo, talking nonchalantly about their fragmented memories of the area, and stepping gingerly around the remains of the escaped prisoners that had sent all the locals scurrying to hole up in the Vikki and Vance Casino. They had just pulled up their Pip-Boy to confirm their route while stuffing the revolver into their holster when some invisible force flung them down the street and straight into one of El Diablo's rickety support beams.

Arcade Gannon: "Six!" Arcade yelled, immediately taking off after them. "What in the... what did you do?!?"

"Nothing," came their faint reply, from under some newly-shattered lumber. "I'm okay, though."

Arcade descended on them anyway, looking them over for broken bones and splinters. They had a lovely bruise flowering on their right shoulder and forearm which he deemed less than life-threatening, but their eyes were a little glazed over.

"Six." Arcade snapped his fingers in front of their face. "Stay with me. I think you might have a concussion, so we're going to set everyone at the casino loose again and then beg some local to let you use their bed for recovery."

"I don't know what happened," the courier mumbled.

"Not important right now," Arcade said, flinging their arm around his shoulders. "Okay, on three, we stand. One... two..."

Craig Boone: Boone's rifle flew up, pointing at each of the nearby buildings' roofs in turn, searching for any convicts that might have laid a trap for the town's liberators. He wracked his brains for anything in his years of service that might explain what had just happened: Heavy artillery fire, explosive devices, mysterious scientific tech left over from the NCR-Enclave War?

One by one he crossed the options off and realized his sweep was fruitless. There was no one in the street but them, and the courier was already struggling to their feet. "Fuck," they said fervently, as Boone approached them. "What was that?"

"You tell me," Boone said with a frown. "Let me see that revolver."

The courier handed it over. Boone popped out the cylinder, took each bullet out of its chamber and peered at the gun's guts. Aside from the black metal, gold etching and ivory handle, it looked like any other .357 Magnum he'd laid eyes on.

When he closed it up again and tried to hand it back, the courier waved him off. "Keep it. That thing's cursed."

Lily Bowen: "Pumpkin!" Lily bellowed, charging down the street toward where her surrogate grandchild had fallen. "Pumpkin, are you okay?"

"Fine, Lily," the courier replied shakily from under some rotten wood. "Little bump on my head, maybe."

Lily extracted them easily and hugged them to her chest. "Don't do that again," she scolded. "Grandma can't keep up with you if you go so fast."

The courier chuckled. "Yeah, I... trust me, it wasn't intentional, whatever it was. Whew."

"The last time someone moved that fast around Jacobstown was when a caravanner tried to pet the bighorner ram," Lily said with knowing smile. "Marcus had to help him down from the tree he landed in."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Híjole!" Raul looked around, but the source of the mysterious wind that had carried the courier into the rollercoaster was nowhere to be seen. "You okay, boss?" he called.

The courier's groan was audible, even from two blocks away. "Not really. What in the ever-loving fuck..."

"Must've angered un aparecido," Raul offered, begrudgingly breaking into a jog to rejoin them. "Maybe that gun's name is a warning."

"Ugh." The courier pulled themselves to their feet and looked around, bewildered. "Ever seen anything like that before, viejo?"

"Seen it? No." Raul shook his head. "There's an old Mexican legend, though, about a soldier somehow teleporting from Manila to Mexico City, way back in ancient times. Always thought that one was mierda, personally, but here you are breaking all the rules, Six."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass let out a hearty guffaw and slapped her thigh. "And just what dust devil did you piss off, before you wandered into town?" she asked, rushing over to where they had fallen.

"Fuck you," the courier replied, picking an impressive shard of wood out of their coat.

"Eloquent as ever." Cass grinned and helped them extricate themselves from the rollercoaster's wooden beams. "Seriously though, how'd you do that? The only things I've seen move that fast are NCR trains and missiles that come courtesy of angry super mutants."

"If I knew, I'd tell you." The courier shook some final splinters loose. "If only so I could dare you to try it next."

"Think it was the gun?" Cass suggested, eyeing the revolver at their hip. "Might be where it got its name."

The courier pulled the .357 Magnum out again and flipped it around to offer her the handle. "All yours. Be my guest."

Veronica Santangelo: "Whoa." Veronica stared after them. "You didn't tell me you could outrun cazadores, Six!"

"I can't," the courier replied crossly. "Or I couldn't, until just now. I'm just as surprised as you are."

"Fascinating." Veronica meandered over to their resting place, watching the ground as she did. No fragmentation mines, no tripwires, no sign of technical tampering whatsoever that might have sent the courier flying. She shrugged and knelt down to offer them a hand. "Here. Help you up?"

The courier took it, and Veronica freed them from the pile of firewood they'd inadvertently assembled. "My head feels funny," they muttered, once they'd gotten their hat on straight again.

Veronica put her other hand out. "Can I see that gun?"

"Nope." The courier wound up and chucked the old revolver as far as they could into the rollercoaster's support structure. "I know bad luck when I see it."

ED-E: ED-E beeped and scanned the rollercoaster. The support beam the courier had hit was holding firm, but several of the boards above them had been shaken to the point of detachment and were hanging on by one rusty nail. ED-E zoomed to the rescue, covering the distance to its companion in a heartbeat and buzzing loudly in alarm.

The courier looked up and spotted the problem. "Shit," they said, and scrambled to get out of the way just as the rotten lumber began to fall. They took great, heaving breaths as El Diablo rained its pieces down, and they reached out to pat ED-E's dome affectionately. "Let's just pretend I meant to do that," they said.

ED-E let out an inquisitive chirp. "Nope," the courier replied. "But we should try it again, when there are fewer buildings around."

Rex: Rex whined and trotted after the courier, clearly confused by their sudden departure. The courier, for their part, just lay on the ground, wondering what mistakes they'd made to wind up angering the Mojave gods.

"Don't tell anyone about this," they joked, once Rex drew near. The cyberdog licked their face and laid down next to them.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv companions #fnv companions react #fallout new vegas companions #fallout new vegas companions react #reload dashing

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