cowt 12 sett 2 M2: the long walk (asoiaf, jon, bran, pg13)

[janie_tangerine]

He can’t remember the last time he ate something, but it’s not like it matters.

 

He hasn’t needed it much since he came back to life, after all.

 

He takes a good look around — the Wall is half-standing but it’s empty.

 

He thinks of the times he spent in the yard with the others, teaching them to use those damned swords.

 

The yard is empty, the Wall is half-crushed down, and there is no wight on the horizon, but of course there isn’t, they’re all in Westeros now.

 

Jon sighs, takes a breath he doesn’t need and moves his burned hand over the sword on his hip.

 

He takes it out of the scabbard. It’s burning bright. Of course it is. He’s hated it since it started, but — well.

 

Fuck that. He walks on. He needs to be way beyond the damned Wall in order to do what he has, and he just wishes he knew exactly what instead of going off that stupid prophecy, and yet.

 

He walks on. It’s so dark.

 

Not that he needs it. He’s been able to see pretty damned well, since he died in the yard he’s just passing by.

 

He leaves the wall behind and walks on.

 

—

 

It was different, the last time he took this path.

 

He also was with people and Ygritte was still alive and no one in between the wildlings taught him a traitor and he wishes he had just stayed there. He wishes he knew how much fucking longer he will have to walk, but the prophecy was nowhere near clear on that, and so he takes another step and then another, brushing snow from his hair.

 

—

 

He sleeps after three days, he doesn’t need to do it that much either. He has a dream where he hears Bran telling him to move forward and when he wakes up he does. He’s been hearing Bran a lot, since — well. Since the Wall fell. He knows he’s around here. He just has to find him.

 

He walks forward some more.

 

His legs don’t even tremble even if he’s been walking pretty much without a stop since — well. Since he left Winterfell.

 

He’s not even tired.

 

He hates it.

 

—

 

“It’s been a long time,” Bran tells him. Jon can’t stop staring at his legs.

 

“It has,” he says. “Should I cut those off?” He nods towards the vines circling Bran’s legs.

 

“Please,” Bran says. “It’s been a long time since I was anywhere else.”

 

Jon cuts the vines off, moves Bran on his shoulders and heads out of the cave.

 

The world is still pitch black when he walks out.

 

“Oh,” Bran says, “I missed it.”

“What,” Jon says, “freezing air?”

“Air at all,” he says, sounding sorrowful. “Can you walk ahead?”

 

“Of course I can,” Jon says. “Winterfell, or the other way?”

 

“The other way,” Bran says.

 

Jon had figured that one out.

 

He breathes in, hoists Bran’s legs around his arms better, and walks again.

 

—

 

It’s been two days, he thinks.

 

“How long do we have left?” He asks.

 

Bran’s fingers wrap around his shoulders tighter. “A while yet,” he replies. “Jon.”

 

“Yes?”

“You know we’re not going back, don’t you?”

 

“I knew from the moment I heard that stupid prophecy.”

 

“Oh,” Bran says, “then — well. Then you should go on. Or you could go back.”

 

“And let everyone else live in perpetual darkness?” Jon shakes his head. “Not like I care either way. I’ve seen enough. And I don’t want to live with — whatever this is. Also, I already died. I’m more worried —”

 

“I can’t live like this either, Jon. Just — go ahead, won’t you? I think I could think of worse ways to go.”

 

“Yeah,” Jon replies, forcing himself to smile. “Me, too.”

 

Fine.

 

He breathes in again.

 

He walks on. He knows he’ll stop soon and whatever it is they will have to do will be clear, but.

 

But he thinks he can handle that.

 

He smiles a bit wider.

 

He keeps on walking.

 

 

End.