the wolves will come again

“Who… What are you?”

It was a defeated question, a tone of weary acceptance, almost as if he already knew what she was, yet wanted to hear the word pass from her own lips rather than give voice to it himself. The man frowned, eyes watching carefully as the albino wolf, every bit the embodiment of shadow but for its pelt, paced silently closer to her, nosing the air before her with a calm predation that unnerved her. Its red eyes seemed to glow in the scant light of the tallow candles, which sputtered and dripped hot wax over the piles of parchment and old tomes littering the table between them.

“Ghost, to me,” the man commanded, and the beast obeyed, although it gave Bonnie one last baleful look before padding away.

Bonnie sighed and relaxed a little, exhaling in a puff of steam as the bitter cold air captured her breath and whisked it away into the dark ether.

The iron in his voice glinted almost as sharp as the wolf’s teeth. “You failed to answer my question. What are you? A spy? An assassin, mayhap?” He heaved a sigh and shook his head, toying absently with the hilt of the wicked-looking sword strapped to his hips. “No, that’s not right. And you do not have the looks of a wildling. Your clothes…” He trailed off, seemingly at a loss as he gestured a gloved hand at her jeans, torn and bloodied, and her bare, shivering arms poking through her ripped tee shirt.

“Look,” Bonnie swiped a tired hand across her face. “My name is Bonnie. Bennett,” She added as an afterthought, not that her name held much quarter in these parts. “I don’t know who you are, where I am, or how I got here. I was trying…” she cut herself off. Somehow she got the feeling that this man would not be so tolerant of her magic. “…I was trying to get home,” she finished lamely, breaking eye contact. “Since you haven’t killed me yet, I’m assuming you’re a somewhat decent man.” The stranger’s face remained impassive, although his wolf’s ears pricked up. Bonnie hugged her arms to her sides. “Will you help me?”

“Bonnie,” he repeated slowly. His face softened just slightly, and something akin to a smile graced his lips. Bonnie’s mouth parted; this man truly was young, despite the hardened manner in which he carried himself. He might have been of age with her.

“Well, Bonnie Bennett. My direwolf seems to trust you, for some reason, and Ghost has never been a poor judge of character. I suppose I should trust his counsel. I have paid dearly for ignoring it in the past.” The tired smile found its way to his eyes. Something about them was so earnest, yet guarded, that Bonnie was at a loss for words when she raised her gaze to his.

His blacks swirled like ink at his feet as he stepped around the table towards her. The firelight cast his face into stark relief for the first time that evening and Bonnie flushed slightly, taking in the lengthy sweep of his lashes, his high cheekbones, his parted lips, his dark gaze.

“I am Lord Commander Jon Snow, nine hundred and ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He turned askance and gestured out the high-set window, towards the frozen, snow-strewn winds howling round the eaves of the castle keep.

“Welcome to the Wall.”