Of Tomes and Rapers (Unfinished)

Ser Nash,

It pleases me to find that my previous missive has found you sound of body and still pursuing your reading with the same passion as always. Indeed, I myself have sought the Compendium you named during my time at the Citadel, but the librarian knew, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that it could only be found at Castle Black, by the Wall. It pains me to admit that I never pursued this further when I was younger, but I will spare you the laments of an old man. I would like to know more about the sculpture you mentioned in an earlier message; might you, perhaps, be as graceful as to trace it with charcoal and send me the result?


Always your faithful friend and servant,

Aeldfrith, maester of Hornvale


By then, Nash had learned the words in the letter by heart, but they still provided respite, as meager as it may have been, from the inane chatter that accompanied his long ride up north. He had, finally, decided to go to Castle Black when a distant relation of his by way of his mother, the third son of some unimportant branch of the Hamells, appeared at his doorstep accompanied by three of his friends, seeking shelter. As they managed to explain, they had forced themselves upon a few girls of higher birth after an evening's worth of bitter ale and cheap wine and, as soon as their wits came back to them, they had fled for King's Landing, looking for him, for fear of their fathers' wrath. As it were, they didn't wish to hide there, but to do what was right and take the black, but, never having journeyed much beyond that time, they didn't even know what they had to do and just how far they had to travel.

It was so that he took it upon himself to clothe, arm and feed the addled little snots, as he so gracefully called them, getting them fresh horses and setting off in the wee hours of the morning, not before sending a raven to announce their arrival, to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings when they finally reached their destination (and to solemnly request permission to enter the library as soon as his duties as their guardian were done). Now, while he himself hadn't seen much of the lands they covered, the joy of travelling on his spotted palfrey, Ahead, was severely hurt by the fact that he was supposed to look after his unexpected charges - and that particular chore demanded that he remain around them at all time, enjoying the scintillating conversation they offered with a passion he never knew he had. Of the four future recruits of the Night's Watch, his nephew, a craven and a half if one was gentle in his assessment, was the most aggravating.

"There're things around here, there are, I saw them! Something moved over there, it had two legs, I think it looked at me!! Ser Nash, what was that?

With a great sigh, the knight gently returned his letter to one of the smaller bags on his saddle and pulled on the reins of his steed, turning him as to block the path they'd taken. "One more word out of you," he began, with a calm and even voice, his cold eyes sparking like steel on flint, "and I'll tear your tongue out... through that tight little arsehole of yours." Pleased by the look of flabbergasted dismay his words had caused, he pressed on, the final hours of their journey spent in truly blissful silence; since the lad might well have truly seen something, Nash did keep a careful gaze on their surroundings as they advanced, but, thankfully, the first living creatures they saw were the inhabitants of what his map called "Moletown". There were those who stared at them, of course, but he had larger concerns; aside from the cold, there was the matter of finding someone who'd let them through the castle gates.

"Well met!" he called, finally spotting a man in all-black garb and rushing his steed toward him, his charges right behind him.

"Where'd you come from?" asked the Black Brother in what must have been his most polite tone of voice.

"Recruits for the Watch," the knight explained; "the ugly one over there's a cousin of mine and I couldn't well let him brave the journey alone."

"Innit the truth! 'E looks like 'e's seen a White Walker, that 'un. Eh, 'e'll get 'is chance soon enough." At that, the two older men joined in a bout of mirthless laughter. It almost felt like it was an entirely different world so far out in the North and, although the thought of Winter was frightening for any man, Nash was feeling rather exhilarated about finally seeing the lands he'd read so much about. He dismounted with a visible shiver, drawing in a deep breath of fresh, ice-cold air, instructing his charges to do the same, and they followed the Night's Watchman up the road and, eventually, through the gate of Castle Black. "They're all yours," he told his latest acquaintance, who was still eyeing him suspiciously after having heard that the knight wanted to spend time in their library, but he still ferried the freshmeats away just as well.

Amidst the Black Brothers, Ser Nash Lydden did not stand out much. He had garbed himself in mail and studded leathers, with a padded doublet against his skin, together with black fur-lined boots and a similar travel cloak with a large clasp bearing the arms of his House - the single sign that hinted at his noble birth. He stretched, muttering some choice words aimed at whatever god had created that sort of weather, and took the sight of the Night's Watch citadel in for the first time, with a little smile starting to thaw his features. He casually put one hand on the pommel of his sword and tensed his left calf muscles, feeling the familiar resistance of his dagger's scabbard; little comfort, but in lands like those beggars couldn't be choosers.

Word count: 1020

“So tell me what you think about it all then, Snow? Since you seem to have such a strong view on it all.” the Old Bear was not one to mince his words, and Jon had come to understand that about the Lord Commander.

Jon Snow put down the flask of spiced wine that he had been holding and moved towards the table that Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was standing behind. Maps of the North, both below and beyond the Wall, were scattered across the table, along with letters and reports on the wars that were being fought across the Seven Kingdoms. Despite what many thought within the Night’s Watch, the Old Bear had started to understand that some of Jon’s less liked theories and worries potentially held some stock to them.

“Supplies and new recruits have been in short supply since the war between the North and South started,” Jon began, pointing towards the Neck on one of the map; it was where both armies were basically at a stalemate with each other, thanks to House Frey at the Twins. “And what little we have received has been from the North.” Jon looked up at the Old Bear. “That means that we are either directly being effected by the war, by no longer being properly supplied by the realm, or we are affecting the outcome of the war, by draining the resources of the North and weakening them against the South.” As unbiased as Jon was trying to remain, it was clear to him that he would never be truly be neutral in this confrontation; not after what his family had suffered at the hands of the Lannisters and their supporters.

The Old Bear looked down at the maps once more, contemplating what he had just heard. “Aye, I don’t believe you’re wrong lad.” he finally replied, openly surprising the young Bastard. The Lord Commander looked up at his Steward. “Don’t look so surprised. Why’d you think I picked you as my Steward? It wasn’t for your good looks, boy. You’ve got a way of thinking that is lost in the seasoned men of the Watch, and the new recruits alike.” the Old Bear moved over to one of the nearby windows, looking out into the Courtyard below. “The Night’s Watch is a dying order, and it will like take some fresh blood and some new ideas to bring it back from the brink. Because, as you Starks would say…”

“Winter is coming…” Jon mumbled to himself, the Old Bear turning to face him.

“Aye, winter is coming lad, but not today it isn’t.” he nodded towards the door to his room. “We received word from the South that some nobleman would be shepherding some new recruits, fleeing justice for the safety of the Wall.” the Old Bear gave an abrupt laugh at that; the Wall was the furthest thing from safe. “But men are men, and the man bringing them here to us - of House Lydden - has requested to view our library, and naturally you’re going to make sure it happens. Take him to see Tarly.”

“When is he due to arrive?” Jon asked, feeling somewhat indifferent about a nobleman from the South being this far North.

“How about now? He’s just arrived in the Courtyard.” It had not been a question, nor had it been a request.

Jon glanced at the window, though he was not even nearly close enough to see down into the Courtyard from his position, before looking back to the Old Bear and nodding his head. “Yes, Lord Commander.”

Almost as soon as Jon moved through the door of the Lord Commanders chambers, Ghost stood and moved to his side. As much as Jon liked him by his side at all times, there were just some places that he was still not allowed to bring his Direwolf; the Old Bears chambers were one of those places. The walk down into the Courtyard of Castle Black was a short one, and as Jon moved out into the bitterly cold weather he pulled his cloak even tighter around his shoulders; though a man of the North, he was not immune to the weather that was associated with it.

As Jon stood there in the cold, the dismally grey sky high above threatening to snow at any moment, it did not take the young Bastard to noticed the stranger amongst the men of the Night’s Watch. Though dressed in black, this man of House Lydden was not garbed in the same attire, and the green and brown sigil of his House stood out like a brown bear on a field of untouched snow. Jon wasted no time in moving towards the man, Ghost stalking silently beside him. He only stopped once he stood in front of him, his hand absentmindedly resting on the top of Longclaw’s pommel.

“Of House Lydden, right? To view the library?” Jon asked, though he was quite positive he already knew the answer that he would receive. Jon knew all too well that House Lydden was a Southern House, but even worse, they were a House who swore fealty to House Lannister as well, and that did not sit well with Jon.

Word Count: 872.

It wasn't long until the cold started to make itself more and more easily felt to the bones of the Southern knight, his disposition taking a turn for the worse along with it. Eager to move, at least, he looked around for an older member of the Watch, not trusting the fresher faces to know the layout of the place, and went after a grey-haired man of rather slight build after noticing that he'd been looking at him for a while.

"Could you tell me where your library is?" he enquired, becoming more and more aware of the fact that, even with his choice of clothing and armour, he had never felt colder in his life.

"You're that nobleman from the South," the man replied, giving him a good once-over and stopping to peer at his clasp. Judging by his tone, the Lydden heir believed that the Black Brother thought him to be not slightly addled - which was something he could understand more and more with every passing second he spent outside. "The Old Bear'll likely send someone for you, if he hasn't frozen solid already in that tower of his." While it wasn't at all surprising to find people with bleak ideas about life in a place like the Wall, Nash still arched a sleet-covered eyebrow at him, but he put the Lord Commander's nickname to memory for the future and was just about ready to thank him for his help when he found himself submitted to another darkness-encrusted gem from the fellow.

"Don't know why someone would want to see the library. Full of rats, I've heard. Likely they've eaten through what you can't already find in the South by now." The remark was frightening, to say the least, and the young man had to admit to himself that he had never taken that particular idea into account, but the Night's Watch, as far as he'd seen it, was far from the large and prosperous order he had read about. Indeed, it was common knowledge that less and less people of worth - much less those who were taught to fight by masters-of-arms - came to join the Watch. Things did not look good at all if they were as many as they seemed to be and enough Wildlings put it into their heads to have a go at them, he mused, suddenly beginning to understand the Black Brother's way of thinking - but he was far from done.

"I wish I could be one of those rats. Spend all my life inside, die with a full belly..."

"A sobering thought, friend," the visitor replied, clapping him on the shoulder with a curt nod and going to see to his horse before the Night's Watchman could be able to continue his idea, as he'd seemed to want; he didn't hear his ending remark due to a sudden gust of wind that made him openly curse the aforementioned god responsible for the wintry onslaught around them more loudly and with much more zest. If that kind of weather did come to the South during his lifetime, the knight told himself, he would have to research the possibility of becoming one of those library rats - or leave Westeros altogether, duty and wealth be damned.

The appearance of a young man with a rather large white wolf by his side stirred him from his thoughts, however; it wasn't hard at all for him to put two and two together and recognize the Bastard of Winterfell, as some called him, as the man Lord Commander Mormont had sent to guide him. That made things even more unpleasant, since he was a Lannister retainer and a king that was at least half-Lannister had executed the fellow's father, but he had no quarrel with him, personally, even if he appeared willing to unsheathe his sword.

"Nash Lydden," he replied, with an affirmative nod, "and you're Jon Snow." Sighing, he felt as if he couldn't look the younger man in the eye and bowed his head somewhat, deciding to attack the problem head-on and hope he wouldn't have to defend against a direwolf. "Your father was a good man, lad. Better than we deserved." As he spoke, he forced himself to lock gaze with the Black Brother, his eyes burning with unbridled rage: they had an unneeded civil war on their hands and he'd always had to stay one step ahead of any skirmishes or bands of men belonging to one side or another with a group of raw children to care for throughout his journey, all thanks to their King. The Lannisters could be many things, but that sort of foolishness was unheard of until Joffrey, First of His Name, who seemed to want to make sure he'd destroy everything his grandfather had built.

"Yes," he added, "I have requested to see the library. Could you show me the way?" From time to time, he looked at the direwolf that stood by Ned Stark's son, curious to see how the two acted together. Archmaester Perestan had written a passionate and lengthy treatise on the legends about wargs and diviners and the reasons why they were nothing but tales, but he wasn't so certain: there were things in the strange stories about his own ancestors that the treatise didn't even mention. "And what's your name?" he asked the beast, turning toward it and looking at it as if he was expecting an answer.

Word count: 910

"Nash Lydden," the man replied with a nod of the head. Jon knew of House Lydden well enough, though he couldn’t say he had known the names of any men or women of that House; now he did. "and you're Jon Snow." Nash Lydden added, lowering his head and looking down at the ground; Nash had him at a clear disadvantage, though it was not surprising that the famed Bastard of Winterfell was known beyond the regions of the North.

“I am him.” the young Bastard stated, somewhat colder than he had intended to. It surprised Jon to see Nash lower his head, almost as if he were ashamed, unable to look him in the face.

"Your father” the mere mention of Lord Eddard Stark caused Jon’s sword hand to tighten around Longclaw’s pommel until his knuckles whitened. He didn’t like to talk about his father at the best of times, with people he liked and trusted, but with someone who supported the House who were directly responsible for his death? It was like salt rubbed into the wound. “was a good man, lad. Better than we deserved." Nash forced himself to look on at Jon, looking up at the man he was speaking to. It was clear that the words had not been easy to speak, yet he had done so anyway.

The words spoken had greatly shocked Jon, more than he thought they would or could have, perhaps in part because they had come from a Lannister supporter. Jon Snow opened his mouth to speak, but the young Bastard found he did not know how to respond. Slowly his grip on Longclaw’s pommel started to loosen, Jon Snow finally releasing it completely and allowing his hand to fall down by his side. Though Jon remained silent, his eyes and expression softened somewhat, which likely said more than any forced words could have, given the situation.

However, after some silence between them both, Nash continued to speak. "Yes, I have requested to see the library. Could you show me the way?" he asked, a certain amount of uncertainty still in his voice.

Jon nodded. “The Lord Commander asked me to escort you there personally. Samwell Tarly will likely be waiting for us there - whatever you’re looking for, he’ll no doubt know where to find it.” He had noticed Nash glancing down at Ghost, off and on, throughout their meeting. It was not unusual for those who did not know the Direwolf to feel somewhat uneasy around him. Just then, much to Jon’s surprise, Nash looked directly down at the Direwolf.

"And what's your name?" he asked Ghost.

The albino Direwolf simply looked up at Nash in complete silence, his ruby eyes unblinking. Jon chuckled and shook his head. “His name is Ghost.” Jon had decided it best to answer for the Direwolf, else Nash would have been waiting there for an incredibly long time for a reply; even if Ghost could have spoken, Jon somehow doubted he would have been a Direwolf of many words. “Just be careful you don’t make any fast movements.” Jon warned, in jest, though not so obviously that Nash would notice. Finding himself rather humorous, Jon turned and gestured towards the castle. “So if you’d like to follow me?” and with that Jon turned on his heel and began to make his way back towards the Castle.

Word Count: 564.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,436.

The young man was Eddard Stark's blood, of that there could be no doubt. Easy to read, possibly honourable to a fault, far more able to trade blows than japes and unlikely to be capable of intrigue and deceit. Even a man more accustomed to reading tomes than people, as Nash was, could see the words his mouth would not utter. "Surprised, lad? I'd have had a few Ironborn axes up my hairy arse if not for your father and his men," he growled, with a rather derisive snort. If many of the lords and lordlings he knew would never see a field of battle or a foe ready to cut them down in a moment's notice, the Lydden heir was built from a different mold. He and his men had covered the area his liege lord and his people demanded them to, but, while they had abandoned them to their fate, another commander and his men moved out of formation to cover an exposed flank and save the few defenders it had against the spearhead the Iron Islanders had formed without giving it a second thought.

As young Jon Snow slowly released the grasp he had on his sword, Nash sighed and shrugged; the Black Brother was a bit too quick to trust for his taste and he was rather willing to show him just how wrong he was, even if he had neither need nor reason to do so. He left his hands to dangle freely around his body swiftly afterward, without losing the young Stark and his animal from sight for as much as the blink of an eye. If anything, the Starks were a rare and odd breed; he hated to think that the one who would be holding the Wall against whatever horrors lied beyond would be an easy kill for some Wildling with few scruples or some cutthroat who had taken the Black to avoid a hangman's noose that he rightfully deserved. Even so, he had no place speaking to young Jon Snow about what he should and shouldn't do; doubtlessly, there were people who had filled that role one time too many, as was the way of the world he knew only all too well.

"Pleased to meet you, Ghost," the Lydden heir stated, with an odd smile lighting his features up. "You're a rare being of an even rarer breed, did you know that?" he enquired, without looking the beast directly in the eye; if dogs attacked for that kind of behaviour, he trusted direwolves to do no less. He followed its master without another word, but there were still things that made him feel uneasy. "I'd still keep my sword at the ready, Jon Snow," he began, with a drawl that suggested there would be more such words headed his way. "You know me for a Lannister man and we are, usually, monsters," he added, not with some degree of irony, spicing his statement with a mirthless chuckle. Nevertheless, he did follow the Black Brother right by his side, framing Ned Stark's son between him and his direwolf.

"if I don't freeze to death by then, I would like to join your watch for a night," he added, half-amusedly, after a while, eyeing Snow with a rather weary gaze; at that kind of temperature, no louse could hope to survive as much as a night, but Nash was far from willing to simply sleep his nights away while spending time at the Wall. If he didn't spend his nights in the library, perusing the forgotten tomes that had, doubtlessly, escaped from the assaults of the rats, he wanted to see a glimmer of the lands beyond the Wall and he was going to earn his upkeep, as much as possible, by helping the Black Brothers who could benefit from his skills with their duties. Unfortunately, it sounded as if the one called Samwell Tarly - of House Tarly of Horn Hill, no doubt - was the one who would benefit the most from his knowledge and abilities, unless he was one of those wizened old men who appreciated their filing systems and solitude more than anything in the world; he wouldn't have been the first.

The self-proclaimed monster sighed and admired the areas they were passing through without a word more. Actually, that was a lie: beyond the tomes he wanted to get his hands on, he was interested in the man assigned by the Lord Commander to guide him, at that point. "So, what do you make of this entire royal conundrum?" he asked, scratching his few-day-old beard with a gauntlet-clothed finger. "A godly arsefuck for any of the poor bastards defending some side or another, if you ask me," he casually added, his words heavy enough to depict a certain uneasiness.

Word count: 802
Total word count thus far: 2732

As the two men and the Direwolf began to make their way across the Courtyard towards the Castle, Jon considered the unusual position that he had yet again be placed in. He, a Bastard of House Stark, was escorting man who was loyal to House Lannister, the very same House who had murdered his father and gone to war with his House. To make matters worse, he wasn’t allowed to touch the man, let alone seek vengeance, because he was a man of the Night’s Watch, he had spoken the words, taken an oath. Then again he couldn’t hold everyone in the South accountable for the crimes of the Lannisters.

"Pleased to meet you, Ghost," Nash said to the Direwolf, once again catching Jon’s attention. The young Bastard glanced to his side, looking at Nash Lydden as he looked down at Ghost as he spoke. "You're a rare being of an even rarer breed, did you know that?" Nash spoke to Ghost in a way unlike anyone else Jon had ever noticed, outside of the Stark children that was. It was peculiar to see.

“Ghost is one of six brothers and sisters,” Jon began, but almost as soon as he had spoke Ghost looked up at him and Jon realised his mistake. “Five now. Originally one for each of the Stark children.” Jon explained. He had never received word of Lady’s death, but Jon had dreamed it, felt it even; it was difficult to explain, but he knew the loss pained Ghost, and by extension him too. Jon feel silent after that, his thoughts lingering on Ghost’s brothers and sisters, as well as his own. They were all so far away, their safety uncertain.

"I'd still keep my sword at the ready, Jon Snow," Nash stated. The words once again drew Jon back to his surroundings, his head glancing ever so slightly at the man that he was escorting. "You know me for a Lannister man and we are, usually, monsters.” he added, a stark laugh following his words. Jon made such laugh, showed no such emotion on his face, and instead looked forward once more as he continued to walk.

“Can the claws of a wolf be blamed for that which the teeth bite?” Jon asked bluntly. If his father had taught him anything besides being honourable, it was to use his mind in as many situations as he could, for a man who did not use his mind may as well have been blind to the happenings around him. “And anyway, I don’t need Longclaw for protection from monsters,” he glanced back at Nash again. “Ghost is far more efficient than any blade…and quicker.”

The two continued to walk in silence for a little after that, though Nash was once again quick to shed it in opt for conversation. "If I don't freeze to death by then, I would like to join your watch for a night." Jon let out a gentle sigh, hardly believing he was considering the thought, but before he could voice it Nash spoke again. "So, what do you make of this entire royal conundrum? A godly arsefuck for any of the poor fucks defending some side or another, if you ask me." it was plain for any man to tell that Nash meant the words he spoke. Though a Lannister man, he did not appear to be pleased with the war; Jon could relate.

“The war is more damaging for the realm than most understand.” he began, referring to the issues beyond the Wall; not that Nash, or anyone beyond Castle Black would know or believe this. “The Lannisters need to pay for their crimes…but the Night Watch take no part in the issues of the realm.” he stated, reading the sentence off as is he were reading it from a book. He had said the words, and the last thing he needed was to goad this Lannister supporter into a fight for honour; the Old Bear would kill him for it. Remembering what Nash had mentioned previously, Jon changed the subject slightly.

“It’s mine and Samwell’s turn at lookout on the Wall tonight,” he explained slowly. “he wont mind passing it up to you, if you want the job.” the land beyond the Wall as a sight to behold from atop the gigantic structure, one that Jon could hardly believe when his eyes first beheld it. It was truly something that any visitor of the Wall had to see, and seeing as Jon had been commanded to see to Nash’s needs while he was at Castle Black, he felt obliged to offer.

Word Count: 770.
Total Word Count thus far: 2,206.

There seemed to be some queer link between the Black Brother and his direwolf; if Nash hadn't known any better, he would have believed that the creature understood what Jon Snow spoke when he noticed the exchange of glances between the two that had made him recant a statement about their respective families. Eyebrow arched, he questioned himself about ever hearing of such beasts aside from the stories frightened Lannister soldiers brought their lords, who were more than eager to tell them to anyone willing to listen when they were well in their cups. "I have seen none of his kind in the capital," he replied, eyebrow arched, making his words as neutral as he could manage. If Snow's half-sisters, did, indeed, have such companions of their own, they hadn't made the journey to King's Landing with them - which was an odd thing in itself, but the lands they were in seemed to be governed by other ways and laws. The North was a place where the First Men and the Old Gods still held sway; to someone like him, it was fascinating beyond end. There was an odd affinity Nash felt to those lands, too - as if he'd found one of his older, larger roots in ground far from his trunk, so to speak.

Ned Stark's sapling wasn't an easy man to startle after all, he noticed; hearing his metaphor made the knight wonder just how much the Bastard was his father's son. A silent nod of approval was all Nash gave upon hearing his metaphor; nevertheless, as much as his new companion may have been a man of honour, it would still be interesting to see just how much he was willing to take his rage out on the first Lannister man he saw, as so many in his stead probably would have, but he still didn't see why he had to hold his hand on his sword if Ghost was, and there was no doubt he was, far more effective than any blade. Intrigued, he spied Snow's sword, admiring its delicately-ornate pommel and endowed scabbard; that was no pig iron blade and it may very well have been older than the two of them, by the looks of it. Had Ned Stark entrusted his Valyrian steel blade to his bastard son? He couldn't have; he'd had it with him in King's Landing. "Nevertheless, that looks like a fine razor," he commented, off-handedly.

Regarding the civil war, they seemed to be somewhat of a mind. Of course he was opposed to the Lannisters - who couldn't have been, after what they had done to the man's family? - , but Nash felt that his companion sounded more like a child parroting a maester's lesson when he quoted an ideal of the Watch. "I wouldn't have faulted you if you disagreed with that," he replied, his words honest, but that particular subject didn't seem to appeal to Jon that much, so he changed it rather quickly. "I would be honoured," or so he stated, his stealthy tread bringing him closer to what may well have been their destination. "There's some Myrish firewine that I'd be glad to share," he added, not knowing how much of a drinker Jon Snow was, but, even if he shunned booze altogether, Nash was going to take the skin and enjoy most of it during the watch, if the Tarly fellow agreed to switch places with him; come nightfall, it was bound to get even colder and the sky seemed willing to gift them some drizzle, at the very least, if not a nice little blanket of snow.

"When did the South abandon the Watch, Jon Snow?" the knight enquired, with a deep sigh and another once-over of their surroundings. He was quite certain about being able to cut the people he'd seen in the courtyard down without much effort and they weren't too many, either; perhaps things were different with other citadels along the Wall, but Castle Black provided visitors who knew its history with a depressing sight. The state of disarray in which the citadel was and the few defenders it seemed to have were far from the valiant knights of yore. Even the thought of the recruits he'd brought, who knew how to hold a sword, at the very least, was not one to make him feel easy about the fate of the Wall if the untold horrors of Winter decided to have a go at it.

Word count: 748
Total word count thus far: 3480

"I would be honoured." Nash responded in kind to Jon’s offer. Jon merely gave a nod of the head in response. Samwell was like to jump at any chance to flee the cold and dizzying height of the Wall, he always seemed more than uneasy when up atop the Wall, never venturing near the edge like Jon loved to; the sight was unmatched, not to mention it was their job to make sure nothing suspicious was happening below, and you couldn’t do that while hiding away from the ledge. "There's some Myrish firewine that I'd be glad to share."

“I’ll share your firewine with you.” Jon replied. In truth the spiced wine wasn’t too bad, it was warm and it tasted nice enough, but when it was in large supply with little other choices available, the taste became a little bland after a while. “It’s like to taste better than the spiced wine we have here.” The young Bastard had never tasted Myrish firewine, though he had heard stories of its full taste and its near unmatched spicy kick. Spices in the North were few and far apart, so Jon wondered just how spicy this firewine could be.

"When did the South abandon the Watch, Jon Snow?" Nash suddenly asked, the subject reverting almost back to their previous topic of conversation.

“Before I joined the Watch,” Jon replied. “though some of the North aren’t totally innocent from the neglect.” he admitted, honestly but almost begrudgingly. “The Night’s Watch is not the order it once was. Too long has there been quiet beyond the Wall, besides the Wildlings, that the realms has started to forget. But I doubt that will be the case for much longer, Winter is Coming.” he mumbled. The Starks family motto had become second nature to him over the years, and sometimes when he spoke it he didn’t even realise that he had.

At that point they approached a door, their destination. It was an unassuming door, no different from any of the others that they had passed, but beyond the wood resided the library of Castle Black. With little effort Jon pushed on the wooden door, opening it with a heavy creak. As Jon stepped inside the dim, candle lit room, row upon row of bookshelves came into view, each packed with dust covered tomes. When Jon had first been shown this place by Sam he had been shocked to learn of it’s existence, and even more shocked that it was so well stocked. At the far end of the room was a dark stairway, which Jon knew lead down into the basement of sorts, filled with even more scrolls and tomes; Sam had made it his task to organise all below, while searching for information on the dreaded White Walkers.

“Jon, what a surprise!” Sam exclaimed, his rotund form raising from behind a table at the sight of his friend. Ghost was next to walk in, who soundlessly stalked over towards Sam and gave him a silent look before sitting beside the table; Nash Lydden was last to enter the library, at which point Sam fell silent.

“Sam, this is Nash of House Lydden. He’s been given permission to search the library, and the Lord Commander felt you were the best suited to help him find what he is looking for.” Jon explained to the craven man. With that explained, Jon moved and took a seat at the table, beside Ghost, signifying that he would be remaining; Sam seemed to calm down at that.

“Wha-what is it that you’re looking for?” Sam asked Mash, his voice meek and spineless. Jon rolled his eyes.

“He’s here for a book Sam, not to slit your throat.” the young steward stated coldly, chastising his foolish friend.

Word Count: 628.
Total Word Count thus far: 2,834.

While he was quite fond of drinking, Nash kept his supply of firewine nearly untouched; the slightest hint of it in the blandest food made it interesting and a sturdy gulp burned his gullet like nothing else, so it was quite likely the single truly useful thing he'd been able to bring with him ever since leaving King's Landing, given the way in which it had managed to keep him warm during his ride. Indeed, it tasted better than spiced wine (and it burnt like wildfire), but he wasn't willing to share that particular secret just yet; let Jon Snow cough his lungs out and look for the smallest case of the accursed thing afterward, like every other denizen of Westeros who'd had the honour up to that point, it would prove to be more satisfying. The playful glimmer in the Westerner's eyes spoke tomes, but he spoke nothing of it; there would be time for such things as well if the librarian agreed to relinquish his watch for his sake.

"What will we do if something decides to make its way over the Wall, I wonder?" the knight ironically asked, addressing himself as much as the Black Brother and attempting to spit sideways for a few moments, until he realized that he'd send out a raspy sling bullet if he even tried. The words of the Starks rang far less hollow in the North than in King's Landing; as close to the unexplored wilderness beyond the Wall as he was, Nash wasn't yet willing to believe in grumkins and the other creatures in children's stories, but he had, probably, seen some things that had sparked the legends related to wargs and other skinchangers. Nevertheless, that which he faced was far from fantasy, so he banished those thoughts from his mind and focused on some truly pressing matters. "Thieves, rapers and unwanted sons make for a poor main force, however one looks at it." His tone was stern and not slightly concerned, his body tense and his gaze fiery as he spoke. "I can only pray that Winter spares us for another few generations - maybe it will give you time to rebuild the Order."

As they went ahead and Jon opened one of the large doors from within the Keep, Nash allowed him to step ahead and, as soon as he entered, his tread slowed and his eyes widened, an expression of pleasureful surprise quite obvious on his features. "Smith bugger me with a pair of red-hot tongs..." he growled, looking at the shelves upon shelves of tomes with the same hungry expression that a child may exhibit before a room laden with sweetmeats. The air smelled of parchment and wax and it seemed that the Black Brother he'd met before had some false concerns; judging by the covers, at least, there were enough old opuses to keep a man for years inside the large room - and there were certainly more, not yet labeled and shelved, just like the library in Oldtown had in throngs. The librarian, a rotund young man with rather familiar features, greeted the Bastard of Winterfell in a way betraying care and curiosity; it was good that he wasn't one of the aforementioned old men who treated the libraries they were tending to as their personal kingdoms, but Nash still had a surprised look when he recognized the former heir of the Tarly estate in the large, unshaven man before him.

"Samwell Tarly!" he almost bellowed, much like the fellow's own father may have had, measuring him from the boots up and nodding his head in honest surprise. "Your father nearly left me without a head some years ago," he stated, amusedly, although his face betrayed little of it; Randyll Tarly may have been a smaller sort of man, but he was a match for Jaime Lannister in the fray and a dangerous man to cross in any situation. "I would be in your debt if you found me the Compendium of Valyria and that which Happened to It, belonging to Archmaester Roysten, and allowed me to look through it," he stated, rather shyly, hardly able to take his eyes off some of the titles he'd managed to spy just around them. "Are you a student of the past, Jon Snow?" he asked his companion, looking him straight in the eye. It would have been a pleasant surprise to find a kindred spirit.

"Smith bugger me with a pair of red-hot tongs..." Nash grunted in less than articulate astonishment as he entered the library, to which Jon let out a short laugh at. It seemed as if Nash was as big on books as Samwell was, and then, much to Jon’s surprise, he also seemed to know Samwell. "Samwell Tarly! Your father nearly left me without a head some years ago!" Jon cocked an eyebrow at that.

“Well you know, Sam is quite the swordsman too.” Jon suddenly added, much to Sam’s clear horror. The larger brother of the Night’s Watch turned to look at Jon with a terrified expression, almost as if he expected Nash to challenge him.

“Jon, no.” he whispered frantically, but Jon laughed as he folded his arms and shook his head. Sam looked back to Nash, terror still stuck in his expression, though Jon wasn’t what terrified Sam more; the thought of being seen as a warrior, when he wasn’t, or that Nash Lydden knew his father. “I’m really not.” he meekly informed Nash with a sigh.

"I would be in your debt if you found me the Compendium of Valyria and that which Happened to It, belonging to Archmaester Roysten, and allowed me to look through it." Nash then asked. Jon wad curious at the specific tome that Nash had asked about, for it wasn’t a topic that he expected many noblemen would be overly interested. Maesters perhaps, but not noblemen. Nash Lydden was perhaps not the usual nobleman that Jon had pinned him for. However, despite Jon’s thoughts, it was clear that Sam’s earlier worry had completely vanished at the specific mention of a book.

“G-good choice!” he explained, a somewhat goofy, yet cautious smile spreading across his face. “I think I remember seeing it downstairs…and old copy, very cold…but in good condition, I think…I know exactly where I think it is…” mainly speaking to himself, towards the end of his sentence, Sam was already on his way towards the stairs at the far end of the room, now muttering to himself. Jon watched as his friends large form vanished into the darkness of the stairwell, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing down into the depths of the castle.

"Are you a student of the past, Jon Snow?" Nash suddenly asked. Jon turned to look at the man he had been escorting, who was now looking directly at him. He held the stare for a moment or two, before looking around the room at the countless copies of books and scrolls that littered the place.

“I am, more so than most.” he said, answering honestly. “I was always taught to look back at where we came from, but to not forget to look ahead - else you’re like to trip over or walk into something.” Jon couldn’t help but smile at that, remembering both his father and Maester Luwin teaching him that very same lesson. “Though I doubt there’s a person alive who’s more fond of reading that Sam,” Jon said with a slight chuckle. “He’d spend every waking second in here, reading everything in sight, if the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon would let him.” Jon then looked back to Nash. “An unusual book you’ve requested.” it had not been worded as a question, but it underlining question of his words was clear enough.

Word Count: 560.
Total Word Count thus far: 3,394.

Clearly, Nash's previous assessment regarding the quality of the recruits the Night's Watch had on its hands hadn't been far from the truth as far as the former heir of the Tarly estate was concerned; the rotund young man had the look and the ways of a genuine craven about him, but he wasn't about to speak up about it; no doubt he'd heard plenty of opinions on that matter from his fellow Black Brothers. "Neither of us would even dream to endanger the treasures here," he told Jon Snow, as if to explain his comrade's frightened reactions, and he hadn't even told a lie about it; as it seemed, they shared an undying love for the written word and a certain sort of stigmata that came with it; indeed, the likes of them had no business troubling themselves with matters like those when there were still beasts to hunt, people to slaughter and fellow noblemen to outsmart and defeat in tourneys, if one asked the typical man of gentle breed - a thought that made the knight's expression darken.

At his companion's remarks, however, Nash could do nothing but smile and chuckle. "I can understand him," he replied, pensively, while throwing a look about the chamber they were in that seemed to want to devour every sentence written in its remarkable contents, "and yes, it is - although it's just for the desperate attempt of some men, myself included, to better understand how our world works." He felt the need to explain himself, however, so he drew in a deep breath and looked Jon in the eye, readying himself to speak much more than he usually did. "There are those blacksmiths who weave enchantments in their best weapons," he began, "and they have always done so. As soon as rumours about dragons being hatched emerged, blades they made in the very same way shattered others that were just days older."

Nash paused, rubbing his chin while giving Ghost a solid once-over. "You and your brothers and sisters didn't just fall from the sky, either," he stated, addressing the majestic creature as if it could understand him once more, "and you won't tell me that he's just like any guard dog," he added, focusing his intense gaze on Jon Snow once more. "What made some Targaryens able to control dragons? How is it that there were those of the First Men, whose blood we share, seemingly able to coordinate among themselves while hundreds of miles apart?" To further emphasize his point, he removed his gauntlets, dropping them on the floor, in order to gently take a nearby tome and tap on it with the tip of his finger. "Many of the people who write these things," he began, his tone taking a note of annoyance, "speculate about what they have never experienced or fabricate with the lack of shame befitting a harbour whore who's just had her every hole properly fucked in the Great Sept of Baelor, in front of the entire kingdom. However," and his eyes glimmered as he spoke, returning the tome to where it belonged, "in every few dozen there is one that can shed some true light on whatever it's talking about. It takes time to sift through the hogwash, but those gems are there - and there are some who believe this Compendium to be one of them."

The Lydden heir felt surprised and not slightly ashamed about having talked the Black Brother's ear off in a manner that he hadn't seen from himself before - even in the company of people who dedicated themselves to similar pursuits. Oddly enough, it felt as if he had lacked the words to do so until that moment, when every stone of the edifice he'd built for the sake of Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly, whom he'd heard returning at some point during his peroration, had seemed to be well within his reach and quite willing to set itself where it truly belonged. Dumbfounded by the realization, Nash sent another glance toward Ghost, as if expecting an explanation from him, and waited to see just how addled they thought him to be.

Word count: 693
Total word count thus far: 4913

"I can understand him," Nash said in reference to Sam. "and yes, it is - although it's just for the desperate attempt of some men, myself included, to better understand how our world works."

Jon could understand this, as it had been breed into his education back at Winterfell. “Yet it is one thing to read of how the world works, and another to live it.” Jon responded; it had always been a philosophy of his, and in part why he had journeyed to the Wall. However, Nash was not yet finished explaining.

"There are those blacksmiths who weave enchantments in their best weapons, and they have always done so. As soon as rumours about dragons being hatched emerged, blades they made in the very same way shattered others that were just days older." it was an intriguing tale, one that Jon couldn’t help believe held some truth to it. "You and your brothers and sisters didn't just fall from the sky, either," Jon noticed Nash was now looking at Ghost, though he quickly turned back to Jon. "and you won't tell me that he's just like any guard dog."

At that Jon looked down at Ghost and ran a hand across the Direwolfs back. “No, he’s much more than that.” he was a friend, a companion, a brother; he was family to Jon.

"What made some Targaryens able to control dragons?” Nash then asked. “How is it that there were those of the First Men, whose blood we share, seemingly able to coordinate among themselves while hundreds of miles apart?" Nash removed one of his gauntlets and let it drop to the floor, grabbing a nearby tome and holding it up. "Many of the people who write these things speculate about what they have never experienced or fabricate with the lack of shame befitting a harbour whore who's just had her every hole properly fucked in the Great Sept of Baelor, in front of the entire kingdom. However," he placed the tome back where he had found it and turned to Jon once more. The young Bastard could see a burning passion in the Knight’s eyes. "in every few dozen there is one that can shed some true light on whatever it's talking about. It takes time to sift through the hogwash, but those gems are there - and there are some who believe this Compendium to be one of them."

Jon had continued to watch Nash intently, through the mans explanation of his love for books and the knowledge within them, so much so that not even he had realised that Sam had returned. The larger Black Brother wore a goofy smile on his face, no doubt having heard what Nash had said. Sam was covered in dust and panting quite heavily, and though it was still cold within the library there was no mistaking the beads of perspiration that speckled Sam’s forehead. Nevertheless, he held a relatively large book under his arm.

“W-well then,” Sam began. “it’s quite a nice change to have someone here who’s as passionate about knowledge as I am.” he added, his plump form jiggling slightly in his merriment. Remember himself, Sam held out the book to Nash. “Well, here it is; Compendium of Valyria and that which Happened to It, just like you asked.” as Sam held it out to Nash, Jon couldn’t help but notice how old the book was; he had seen far younger books turn to decay in the depths of Castle Black.

“There is much of the old ways that have gone from this world,” though he could not help but glance at Ghost as he paused. “and perhaps much that remains. But is there something specific you hope to find revealed within the depths of those pages?” Jon asked curiously. “Or have you travelled all this way just to read a book?” there was more to this Nash Lydden that meets the eye, of this Jon had no doubt, but what was it? Or perhaps the Bastard of Winterfell was merely suspicious of Nash’s Lannister ties, he was not sure yet.

Word Count: 684.
Total Word Count thus far: 4,078.

"That's the true goal, lad," the older man replied, an honest smile softening his features, as he heard young Snow's rather astute reply. Indeed, he wasn't simply hoping to acquire solid knowledge - his burning desire was to use it to the benefit of his realm. With so much lost, there was no telling what good could come out of slowly piecing together what men generations before their own knew; it wasn't just a question of bringing back weapons, artifacts and riches or rediscovering the art of forging Valyrian steel, as many of those said to have gone there after the Doom seemed to want. As for Ghost, a being which seemed to be more steeped in areas and traditions far harder to read about, especially since the people legends tied to his breed weren't at all fond of the written word, he wasn't entirely certain what to believe, although there were some rather odd things that seemed to be going on between him and his companion.

When he did, finally, notice Samwell Tarly and how he'd returned with a book under his arm, however, Nash's heart began pacing. It was rather unusual for someone who managed to keep his cool even in battle to be thus affected by a find that might very well have been yet another dead end, but Maester Aeldfrith was right: he was young - the youngest of their little informal group and the sole one with no ties to the Citadel - and, if he lost that burning enthusiasm of his, there would be some time before anyone else decided to try and do some research beyond what they could find in the nearest library. "Thank you, Samwell," he spoke, his eyes radiant and his voice cracking with anxiety and anticipation, as he took the book into his hands much like others would have done with a sort of holy relic. It was clear, judging by the appearance of the Black Brother and the tome he had brought with him, that the Compendium had spent much time within the bowels of Castle Black, undisturbed by rats or fumbling acolytes from Oldtown. With the movements of a man dreading to wake up from a dream and find that his prize had disappeared, he set it on the middle of the nearby desk, where it could be opened without its covers rubbing against the roughened leather of its younger brethren.

One couldn't help but wonder exactly what and how much was Jon Snow aware of when he spoke of the Old Ways as he did; Nash peered over his shoulder at him with the accusing gaze of a lover betrayed by his paramour when he even considered the fact that Ned Stark's son might have been hiding that kind of thing in that head of his. It was one thing to find out about Valyria, a nexus of knowledge, magic and technology that dwarfed anything they had in Westeros even to that day, but the secrets of the First Men, or even those of the Children together with whom they came to live on those lands were something else altogether. Without a maester or any way to locate them by raven, the ones most likely to know something in that regard - House Reed of Greywater Watch - were, quite sadly, somewhat beyond his reach. Nevertheless, that was no time for him to be lost in thought; it seemed that the Bastard of Winterfell had some curiosities that he felt quite willing to put to rest. "I have not journeyed here due to my liege lords and I have no quarrel with the Watch, if that's what you're asking," he began, "neither do I intend to steal or harm anything or anyone here." Both of the young men he was conversing with came from lineages that opposed the Lannisters, at the very least, so he wanted to distance himself from them as much and as swiftly as possible.

"The Doom of Valyria, lads," he began, his voice singsong and his gaze fiery, leaning against a nearby wall as he spoke, "is something that a few Maesters and myself have tried to understand. We wish to see if there are ways to explore the Valyrian Peninsula - if there truly are any dangers to that, of course." He paused, throwing a hungry glance at the book the young Tarly had brought for him. "That tome may hold some hints," or so he stated, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand, "or it may not. Until I can find a manned vessel with a captain willing to take a few people there and retrieve them - as well as some other men who can accompany me there - , I can mostly seek out knowledge from the written word, going after tomes my acquaintances tell me about. Right now, I brought the Watch some addled little snots - and they can hold a sword, I've seen them - just for the chance of going through the Compendium Samwell brought me and whatever else the two of us can find." His final few words, addressed to the rotund Black Brother directly, had the warmth of gratitude to them.

"Nevertheless," he went on, "unless the prophecies of the Red Priests come true and another Azor Ahai emerges, the arsefucking we're going to get from the Others is going to make our screams heard all over the world. If you can believe me, Jon Snow, I care little about who, why and how sits the Iron Throne and who prospers from it as long as we can make it through what the white ravens in the Citadel will soon announce." As he spoke, his expression grew steelier, his voice closer and closer to a growl. "Winter is coming, lads, and it's not even going to spit on its prick when it buggers us. The Watch won't just bend over for it, but can you face what lies beyond the Wall in the state you're in? Mayhap so, but I'd still like to find something that can stop those things."

"Thank you, Samwell," Nash reached out and took the large book with the slow and gentle movements of a mother holding her baby. His movements unhurried and deliberate, Nash turned and delicately placed the book in the centre of a nearby table, making sure there was more than an adequate amount of space surrounding it; only then did he open the book.

“Oh, well, you’re very much welcomed.” Sam said in a jolly tone, much of his earlier nervousness having now vanished. As the larger man turned to smile at Jon, the Bastard couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Though as Jon’s eyes moved back to Nash, he noticed that the nobleman was now glancing over his shoulder at him.

"I have not journeyed here due to my liege lords and I have no quarrel with the Watch, if that's what you're asking," Nash stated firmly in response. Jon was still not completely convinced, unable to totally look past the mans Lannister ties; it was tougher than expected to remain impartial. "neither do I intend to steal or harm anything or anyone here."

“No one claimed you had.” Jon replied with, his arms folded. It seemed that Nash was as quick to defend himself as Jon was to be suspicious of him. Was this what it had now come to between people of the North and South? With his defence sated, Nash turned back to the book, running a hand over its leather cover.

"The Doom of Valyria, lads, is something that a few Maesters and myself have tried to understand. We wish to see if there are ways to explore the Valyrian Peninsula - if there truly are any dangers to that, of course. That tome may hold some hints, or it may not. Until I can find a manned vessel with a captain willing to take a few people there and retrieve them - as well as some other men who can accompany me there - , I can mostly seek out knowledge from the written word, going after tomes my acquaintances tell me about." Nash started to explain.

“Oh no, that’s a terrible idea.” Sam nervously stated; Jon had to agree.

“Even in the North we’ve heard tales of men and ships venturing to the ruins of Valyria, never to return. A fools errand, they call it.” fools errand ot not, Jon couldn’t help but wish he could take part in such an adventure. Valyria, home of the Targaryens, had always interested him. Nash continued.

"Right now, I brought the Watch some addled little snots - and they can hold a sword, I've seen them - just for the chance of going through the Compendium Samwell brought me and whatever else the two of us can find." Nash turned to Sam at that point, directing his words at him specifically; that seemed to please Sam.

“And the Watch appreciates it.” Jon added, doing his bit for Night’s Watch-to-realm relationships.

"Nevertheless," Nash continued. "unless the prophecies of the Red Priests come true and another Azor Ahai emerges, the arsefucking we're going to get from the Others is going to make our screams heard all over the world.” Jon sat up at the mention of the Others, unfolding his arms. What did Nash know of the Others? “If you can believe me, Jon Snow, I care little about who, why and how sits the Iron Throne and who prospers from it as long as we can make it through what the white ravens in the Citadel will soon announce." it was hard not to believe Nash meant the words he spoke, his face and voice hardening with each passing second. "Winter is coming, lads, and it's not even going to spit on its prick when it buggers us. The Watch won't just bend over for it, but can you face what lies beyond the Wall in the state you're in? Mayhap so, but I'd still like to find something that can stop those things.”

“Winter is coming.” Jon muttered, in a near automated response. “As long as The Wall stands, the realm will be safe.” Jon added, but his voice lacked stern conviction. It was something he had often heard the veterans of the Watch, though it sounded almost recited from some script, though he knew not where from; Sam likely knew. “Threats of a Wildling attack, Others, ancient myths and stories threatening to come to life; with only enough men to barely keep three of the nineteen castles along The Wall manned, the Night’s Watch is a shadow of the order it once was.” there was no use in denying it.

Jon turned his head to look at Sam, who he noticed was looking nervous once again. “Sam, you won’t be needed for our watch tonight,” Jon began, his plump friend turning to regard him. “You can stay here and read, I’m going to take Nash instead..” Sam’s face lit up, clearly thankful that he no longer had to brave the cold and the heights of The Wall and the. “Who knows,” Jon added, glancing back towards Nash. “You might get your wish and get a taste of the truth, of what lays beyond The Wall.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Sam responded, in a hushed whisper. Warning Jon superstitiously. “Lets hope The Wall has an uneventful night…for both of your sakes.”

“Old Gods be good.”

Word Count: 897.
Total Word Count thus far: 4,975.

It was a sad thing, really, seeing what they had come to for the sake of a child who'd been given too much power way too early on. While it may have been true that the three major Houses represented by the men presently in the library at Castle Black always had separate agendas and different ways of going about things, but it seemed that not all men of the Watch had the same ease when it came to dealing with outsiders - but Jon Snow was no ordinary man from that angle of view, given what had happened to his family at the hands of the Lannisters, so it was understandable that he would hold a considerable grudge when it came to those in Nash's position. "Indeed," he softly replied, "I understand that the brothers of the Night's Watch abandon their previous families and allegiances; we can both see why." His searing gaze stopped to catch that of Ned Stark's son for a few moments before returning to caress the book that had emerged by aid of young Samwell. The royal family were the ones young Jon had to have a go at if vengeance was what he sought, but he would get his chance against a Lannister bannerman, at least, when the two of them stood watch on the Wall, if he really wanted to. Even with that razor of his and the terrain on his side, Nash still felt confident about being able to kill him if it came to that, but he wholeheartedly wanted to avoid even the thought of it.

That being said, however, it was still better to explore a different subject, as the two younger men had seemed willing to. Indeed, they had formulated opinions that our hero had heard many-a-time before, so he decided to counter them with a rather crude metaphor that swiftly came into his mind. "Lads, the last time someone tried to scare me from going somewhere, it turned out to be the larder," he amusedly stated, recalling the event with a wistful smile. He was far from home and even further from the boy he used to be, however, so things may well have been different, but that had never stopped him up to that point and he wasn't about to allow it to do so then. He didn't fail to notice Samwell's apparent look of satisfaction when he'd mentioned him, in any case; indeed, he looked like one of the more unlikely men to carve out a name for themselves on the Wall, but Nash could only appreciate the fact that he might have been willing to help him look through the shelves of the extraordinary collection he'd been tending to; it was good to see that some of his concerns might have been unfounded.

Disbelief - that was what the rather queer gaze that Nash sent toward Jon Snow spelled out when he quoted what seemed to be another ideal of the Watch. With what he stated about their order in mind, it seemed to the older man that hollow words were one of the few things the guardians of the Wall still had to cling to; he sighed and made a fist, troubled and annoyed to think that the one bastion Westeros had against the horrors of Winter had fallen thus gravely, but there was little he could have done to improve their situation. "After I leave," he began, pensively, "I will try to find more recruits and a team of builders to send here." His father, who was well aware of his exploits, had never objected to funding his son's rather idealistic endeavours, especially since he had been responsible for the growing stream of resources the Lyddens had at their disposal. At the very least, it may well have proven to be simpler to find people for the Wall than to discover some able, willing and insane enough to be added to his expedition.

It then came to the things that had to be said about the visitor being allowed a watch on the Wall that night, so Nash was understandably - and rather visibly - grateful to see that Sam had no objections about switching with him. The librarian seemed rather troubled by the grim joke Jon Snow had made, but the Westerner felt that his worries were unfounded. "It's not the Others' time yet, if we're to believe the Maesters... and we'd have heard from your sentries if there were other threats within sight," he told him, in an attempt toward reassurance that he couldn't well understand himself. "Nevertheless, for as long as I remain here, I vow upon the gods old and new that I will aid the defenders of this Wall in any way that I can," he added, the heaviness of his words and the intensity of his gaze increasing sevenfold as he spoke. "If something does happen during our watch or throughout my stay at Castle Black, my blades will be ready."

With that being said and done, taking a seat before the desk where he'd previously put the Compendium, Nash drew a deep breath and retrieved a piece of parchment from a pouch attached to his belt, drawing his dagger from its sheath and clasping it like he would a writing implement of some sort, as he opened the tome and began to delicately page through it, scribbling on the parchment with the tip of his weapon from time to time. "Lads, if you wish to help me, I require quill, ink and fresh parchment. Samwell, if you know of any works related to this one, find them and feel free to join me." Taking his nose out of the proverbial book, he looked at the two Black Brothers with hope and anticipation. "Let's find ourselves some Valyrian secrets."

Word count: 972
Total word count thus far: 6906