Fandomweekly Challenge 42 - Out in the cold

[m_findlow]

Title: Out in the cold
Fandom: Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG.
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 42 - Winter nights at fandomweekly
Summary: Their first ranging is teaching them much about the harshness of the North and the value of friendship.

'I thought he was joking,' Sam said, struggling to pull the oilskin tight between the ground and the tree.

Grenn rolled his eyes. 'Since when has the Lord Commander ever made a joke?' He sighed as he watched Sam’s attempts at a shelter. 'You’re doing it all wrong.'

'I think I know how to make a tent,' Sam huffed, though he hated to admit he couldn’t remember if he was meant to use a fisher’s knot or a woodcutters brace to tie the top end properly to the tree.

Grenn snorted a laugh. 'Clearly not or you wouldn’t be making such a shambles of it now. Oi, Jon! Should we teach Sam how to pitch a tent or let him wake up buried in snow?'

'It wouldn’t snow that much, would it?' Sam sounded worried. 'I mean, you’d dig me out. You wouldn’t just leave me here. Would you?'

Grenn rolled his eyes at Jon, worn out by Sam’s incessant fussing. He wandered over, crossing paths with the Lord Commander’s steward and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Don’t suppose if we let all those ravens loose they’d carry him back to Castle Black, do you?' He cast a glance back over his shoulder and seemed to change his mind. 'Never mind. We’d need a lot more ravens for that.'

Jon watched Sam, feeling sympathy for the lad. He was of an age with Jon, but they’d come from two very different worlds. Sam didn’t belong out here. He was a steward and even though the Watch expected a steward to be able to wield a sword and defend against Wildings, Sam was barely capable of that. Had Mormont brought him out here to toughen him up, or simply to prove that only the strong survived?

Jon stepped closer, taking charge of his efforts to make a shelter for the night. 'It’s too high, Sam. Tie it off low, like this,' he said, redoing the knot and tethering the oilskin just three feet from the base of the gnarled tree stump. 'It’s just to keep the wind off.'

'Pip said you need a pitched angle to keep off the snow.'

'And Pip knows about as much about camping north of the Wall as you do.'

'How do you know so much?'

'My Uncle Benjen told us stories when he came down to Winterfell. He taught us how to survive out in the elements. How to make a fire, how to pitch a shelter.'

'Can’t imagine there’s much need for that when you’re the son of a lord in a castle.'

'I’m a bastard, Sam. The Night’s Watch is all I’ve ever been able to hope for. I’ve wanted to be a ranger for as long as I can remember.' He nudged at the snow with the toe of his boot. This was as close as he would ever get. Commander Mormont didn’t want him to be a ranger. He was grooming Jon for a command position but even that felt wrong. How many bastards had risen to Lord Commander? He’d just end up another steward like Clydas, an old man who’d never done more than empty chamber pots and pour ale for someone else.

'I’m not cut out for this,' Sam said. 'Grenn’s right. Might as well bury me in the snow now and be done with it. I don’t think I can take being much colder, or walk any further.'

Jon agreed that it had been a hard match north. As Lord Commander’s steward he was entitled a horse as were the best of the Watch’s rangers but they were the exception. Everyone else marched through the snow on foot. Jon joined them, preferring to have the horses put to use carting their supplies. He was tired. The further north they travelled, the shorter the daylight hours seemed to be. He understood now why they called winter the long night. It didn’t stop them marching ever northward, long after the daylight had ended. And when they broke for camp, he was expected to attend his Lord Commander, often long into the night, or else be expected to join the other men on watch duties. He slept less than most and felt the weight of every gruelling hour of it mounting on his shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, forgoing food and even the company of his friends.

'You’re stronger than you think, Sam.'

'I’m really not. I’m going to freeze to death out here.'

'Get inside and get some sleep. You’ll think better of yourself in the morning.'

Sam looked unconvinced as he studied his friend from his spot now huddled under the oilskin. 'What about you?'

Jon looked down at the great white direwolf that had come up and nudged his gloved hand with its muzzle. He could tell Ghost hadn’t had any luck hunting further afield. He had that same tired and hungry expression as many of their men. This far north everything living seemed to have fled and a direwolf couldn’t be satisfied by potato stew. Most nights he prowled around and beyond their camp, on the lookout for anything to eat. The men were slowly getting used to his presence, what little of him they could seen, camouflaged as he was against the white of everything else. He was huge now, twice the size of any normal wolf, but also twice as hungry.

Jon lay down close by and wrapped his cloak around him tighter. He didn’t care about shelter. He was so tired even a few feet of snow piled on top of him wouldn’t bother him. 'Get some sleep, Sam.'

Ghost came and lay down between the two lads, his fur coarse yet soft and his body warm despite spending all day tramping through the snow. Jon nudged closer, raking his gloved fingers through the warm fur. His red eyes glowed in the muted campfire and Jon felt safe and warm. They would find his uncle and return safely to Castle Black.