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Chapter Text

Tuttle lay on the cold stone floor with a head full of chaos and a body full of wounds. Imprisoned for his crimes.

He hadn't meant to kill him. He really hadn't. Gared had ignored the man's cruel words and chose to try to talk him down rather than cutting him down. Which ultimately failed.

Britt attacked him and after many failed attempts to stop the Bolton, he was forced to either kill the man, disable him or get killed himself. He chose to disable him, maybe that way no one had to die and he wouldn't break his vows. With a clean swing he took off his attacker's hand.

Finn found them then, Bolton missing a hand and Tuttle filled with gashes at the edge of the Wall. He hadn't had time to explain before his brother ran off, leaving them alone on the icy cliffside.

When he turned back to his disabled peer he found that the shock and blood loss had been too much and Britt was now just another corpse they needed to burn. He cursed the old gods and the new as he stood over his victim. He had failed his brothers. He had failed the Night's Watch. But worst of all, he had failed Jon.

Now, he was locked in an old storage closet awaiting his execution in the morning, mulling over and over how things could have gone differently. Finn and Jon had tried to help but Frostfinger wouldn't have it. No one believed him. Why would they? He was a brother killer.

Around midnight the guard at his door disappeared, deciding their prisoner wasn't worth missing out on his nightly drinking games. And despite Gared’s best efforts there was no means of escape in sight. He sighed and settles himself against a wall. Listening to the uncharacteristic, eerie silence of Castle Black.

He is beginning to fall asleep when he hears a very quiet exchange just outside the door. After a moment of silent eavesdropping he discovers they are two of a larger group of Wildlings. "C'mon, the conscious ones'll be in their slop house. We need to get them first so they don't alert anybody.", a grave voice muttered quietly back to his companion. 'Shit! Our best soldiers are gone and everyone's asleep or on the wall... Gods, what can I do?' He looks about desperately until he finds a rusty hand spade among pile of onions and crab apples. 'Maybe...' He stares at a loose stone near the base of the storage room door.

A few minutes pass and he is free of his cell, quickly jogging to the practice sword rack. They are dull but will have to do for now. 'I could leave, go to the Northgrove and avoid my execution!' He thought But then my brothers would be easy targets for the wildlings..' He cursed, he couldn't betray his brothers again. He snatched up a crossbow and slunk after the two spys before him.

Sh-nk! Shunk! Two bodies fall to the ground with bolts peeking out of their hair. 'Two down.. Four more.' He jogged to the front gates and spins about to face the dormitories when a sword swings up to meet him. Gared flings himself into the wall next to him as he dodges the blow.

"Coward!" The wildling hissed as he swung the sword down again. Tuttle struggled but managed to parry the attack and catch the other man's leg with the edge of his blade. "Ah!! Ya' cunt!" This time the wildling gave the lucky blow and sliced a deep gash in his left shoulder.

"Fuck-" He lurched forward, "-you!" The blade burst out the other side of the man's chest. Gared gasped as he tried to catch his breath when he saw the last three wildlings run to the officers' quarters.

"Gared? What're you doing?" Gared jolted up, driving the blade of his sword about himself and at the newcomer. Stopping mid swing as he realized it was only Finn. He began to relax a little.

"Wildlings," was all he said, and Finn needed nothing more than that. He pulled out his own sword and followed close behind his friend.

"Shit. That's Frostfinger's room up there..." He eyed the door ahead of their targets warily.

"Doesn't matter, worry about the Wildlings for now." They charged forwards and metal met metal as the fighting began. Two attacking Gared and one tried her luck with Finn.

"Gared!" Finn yelled from behind the wild woman he fought. His voice panicked.

Tuttle had successfully disabled one person but the other took advantage of his distraction and ran towards their commander's dorm armed with Gared's own crossbow.

He didn't think, he only did. The short brunette slammed into the invader, taking a bolt to the leg as he struggled to take the weapon from him. Gared's foot slipped and the wildling slammed him into the door he protected. "Gah-!"

"Feckin' crow! Move!" The night's watchmen spat in his face and felt two more bolts enter his side and hip. He let out an irritated growl and wrenched his uninjured arm free of the wildling's grip, took the other man's blade and bore it through his skull. Spattering his face in the other man's blood.

Gared stared at the body at his feet in a daze, his legs shook and gave out before him.

"Heh... Guess I should've eaten first, ey?" He slurred as he laid heavily against the wooden door. His vision blurred as adrenalin faded and pain replaced it. He now noticed the red stain spreading along his right side. Coloring his black leathers a darker, gruesome shade.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" Frostfinger's voice boomed as he whipped the door open. Gared's half-conscious figure fell backwards and landed at his commander's feet.

"S-rry, ser. We'll be quieter, righ' Finn?" Finn glowered at his friend with bloody streaks smearing his face and arms.

"Yeah, you useless ass, that's right." He stepped over the bodies between them and crouched in front of the older night's watchmen and began lifting up his short friend. Frostfinger's furious and confused gazed ordered him to explain."Buncha wildlings got in, planned a surprise attack or somethin'. I'm not sure. I just found this idiot chasing after the lot that came here and went with. I'll go put him back in the storage or somethin' now if that's alright." Frostfinger's scowled at the delirious soldier.

"Bring him in here and go get the maester. We can't have him dying before we ask him a few questions." As ordered, Finn placed his friend on the commander's table and ran to the elderly maester's chambers.

"Guess I'm ahead of schedule, huh?" He chuckled before groaning as it irritated his wounds. He was so tired he could barely stay awake despite sudden smacks from Frostfinger to keep him as such, the pain and blood loss-born delirium left him a drunken fool. "Fixin' me up just to chop me t'morrow? Seems like a waste." His brown eyes opened slightly to look at Frostfinger, an innocent sort of curiosity in his eyes.

"Hm." Was all Gared got in reply. Gared suddenly sobered as he opened his eyes to look at the ceiling.

"Even if you don't believe meh, I just wanted to say.. I may have killed those men before I came but unlike them I hadn't meant to kill Britt. He was a pain in the ass and he killed my family, but I made a vow to the night's watch and to Jon that I wouldn't do anything. I tried to talk him down but he wouldn't let up. He gave me a good few gashes before I fought back. Even after that I only cut off his hand because it was the only option besides outright murder. I didn't realize it'd kill 'im." His voice was full of shame, not for killing the vile man but rather for breaking the trust others held for him. He scratched at the scabbed and bleeding gashes on his chest without thinking. Frostfinger said nothing, which Tuttle took as him saying he still doesn't believe him. Tuttle sighed in defeat and closed his eyes again.

Smack! "Gods!" Gared's eyes flung open in surprise. Frostfinger smirked at him, amused. He was enjoying his current task of keeping the bleeding kid awake a little too much. Tuttle himself didn't feel quite the same way about it as his cheek stung badly. "Do you gotta hit so damn hard?" He mumbled like a pouting child.

"Yes, because you'd be dead if I didn't. Suck it up you pansy, a smack in the face is nothing like what rangers like your sweet little Jon deal with every day." He growled, "At this very moment your brothers are fighting scum like you out at Craster's Keep, risking life and limb to clean up their mess for the Watch. And here you are whining about a few slaps. Grow some balls, Tuttle."

"..." Gared ignored his comments as three newcomers entered the room.

"Sam, please remove your brother's armour carefully where there are wounds and bring my supplies to me." An old man, the maester, instructed quietly.

"Yes, Maester Aemon." The light voice of "Sam" chirped. Gentle hands began to untie the knots holding the leather to him. Piece by piece each garment loosed. "Sorry about this.." Gared was about to ask why when Sam jerked his pants away from him. He cried out in agony as the shortened bolt was torn with it, although still managing to stay embedded in his thigh.

"Shut him up. We can't have him waking up half of the watch." Finn nodded and with an apologetic glance, stuffed a nearby glove into his brother's mouth.

Gared was thankful in one part of his mind for Sam's consideration when, after he removed his pants, he quickly placed a cloth over his groin, saving the rest of the group from having to be scarred. Mostly he didn't care though, he was rueing the idea of what was to come next as they removed his tunic. "Could you help me, Finn?"

"Yeah, sure. What do you need?"

"If you could lift him up as I pull this off, that would be lovely." He smiled gratefully as Finn nodded. "Wonderful, just lift that up-. Perfect." Gared groaned loudly beneath the glove, trying to twist away from the hands enveloping him. His escape attempts ended up only introducing a new set that shoved his shoulders painfully down and kept him stiff as a board while the last of his clothes were taken from him. His superior's hands were inescapable and their owner's eyes stern as he focused on Sam and the maester's work.

"Now, Gared, we are going to give you milk of the poppy for the pai-" Frostfinger cut him off.

"Not happening, we are in short supply already. We mustn't waste it on our prisoners, maester." Aemon seemed to disagree with Frostfinger’s decision but remained silent.

"Then you will probably want to get a better grip on him, both of you. This will hurt a lot and we can't have him tossin' himself about while the maester works. He'll be dead for sure if he does." The heaviest brother warned as he put some of his weight on Gared's calves. The other two adjusted their grip on the now-nervous Gared and readied themselves for what was to come.

Gared lifted his head slowly, the soft pressure of one wrinkled finger slide across his injured leg until it reached the wooden bolt. He accessed the wound with small, careful prods and pulls. Happy with what he was able to gather, he removed his hand for only a moment before returning it, a small curved blade held firmly in his grasp. His patient's eyes narrowed before the blade's swift cuts stole away his focus. Aemon carved away pussey, splinter-filled tissue, expertly removing each section from the deep gash. Tuttle's breathing quickened and he clenched his eyes and teeth, trying his best not to move more than an occasional flinch.

"Ready yourself," the ex-farmer wasn't sure to whom he referred but as he saw a pair of old, iron pliers replace the small blade, he couldn't help but tense up. A cold sweat forming over him.

Immediately as the instrument gripped the sharp wooden peg, Gared's body tried to lurch away. He heard the others over him breath harder from exertion as they were forced to use their full strength to restrain him. Blood welled up and poured out of the wound quicker now, a now constant thick trail made a puddle on the tabletop and floor beneath him.

Aemon made a small pull first, measuring his patient's reaction. A whimper escaped from the young man’s lips, his body trembling."As I thought, it is one of our own. Especially made to embed itself in the flesh. Spikes and spines were formed to hold it in place. I will need to do this in one attempt or it could cause further damage, so you must keep him still."

The old man squared his arthritic shoulders and with one sure tug, ripped the bolt out. Blood and skin falling away from it.

"Wha-..?" Finn was confused as his job suddenly became an easy one, the writhing body beneath his hands suddenly limp and still. He looked up at the maester, panicking.

"Worry not lad, he merely fainted. I am surprised he held on this long if I am true with you, Finn. It's almost astonishing in a way that he had." His voice calmed the blonde's nerves, letting him settle enough to release his friend and sit in a nearby chair. Only his eyes remained anxiously upon the pale, unconscious form of his brother. "His fainting is most fortunate for him in all actuality, for we still have much work to do." Finn and Sam nodded as they adjusted their aching limbs. Frostfinger merely stood in the same spot, crossing his arms in contentment. Waiting patiently, like a viper ready to strike, the man watched. Looking for any sign of the boy’s stirring.

~

It was in the early hours of the morning that Gared began to come to, a low groan seeping from his lips as the throb of newly mended wounds plagued his every region. He slowly sat up, careful to not disturb his wounds any more than he had to. “Where am I..?” He wondered aloud, there was a vast hearth on the other side of the mostly empty stone room. Waves of heat flowed past and relaxed him.

“Maester’s quarters!” A voice answered cheerily behind him, making him jump and ultimately cringe in pain from doing so. Sam wandered from behind him, rolls of parchment in tow. “How are you feelin’?”

“Like shit, but I’d be dead if not for you and the maester. So thank you for that,” he chuckled slightly then, “Even if it’s only until I get my head taken off later…” His laughs couldn’t hide the darkness in his soft, brown eyes.

“Frostfinger’ll be by in a couple hours, wants to interrogate you about the wildlings.” Tuttle couldn't help but sigh at this, his last day was not going to be a pleasant one. “I’ve heard alot about you y’know.”

“I’ll bet.” One hand covered his face in shame before covering up the action by running it through his tangled hair. “Killing a brother… It makes you well known.”

“Well, yeah that..” Sam conceded, “But also from Jon.” A new wave of guilt went over him at the mention of his friend, his broad shoulders slumped as he looked away from Sam’s gaze. Tarley smiled sadly at the cowering night’s watchmen, he was a gentle lad just as Jon said. But unlike Sam's gentleness, he had strength and courage enough to fight and win against both a group of wildlings and another black-clad fighter on the wall and survive. "He spoke of you often. He's quite fond of you y'know?"

After the 19 year-old had arrived, Jon taken him under his wing and guided him through the precarious steps to becoming a great ranger. Snow was proud of him to say the least, he would talk about him as if he were his true younger brother and not just a brother of the night’s watch. About the boy's skill in combat or his newfound friendships. Sam had never met him before the night prior but already felt as if he knew him and began to feel the same way. He needed only to postpone Gared's execution. Just long enough for Jon to return and help him prevent it from ever happening. The wounded boy before him did not deserve to have his life cut short just yet if they could do anything about it.

"Could I ask you about-? I mean, ...do you mind talking about yesterday? When you killed Britt?"

"...No. No, I don't mind." He didn't know why but he felt that he could trust the older man. Gared readjusted the too-big tunic someone had dressed him in and began to talk. Memories replacing the sight of the large man before him with the slowly lowering wooden platform as it eased its way down the side of the Wall, losing himself in the day he lost everything he had left. All for a Bolton.

Chapter Text

“The wildlings..” A tall shadow loomed intimidatingly over him. Its form flickering with the flames of the hearth, growing, shrinking and jumping towards him. “How did they get in?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Gared said in a steady voice, keeping his eyes on the shadow before him rather than its caster. Like a wild dog, Frostfinger’s wrath only worsened if you met his gaze.

“You don’t.. Know..? Tuttle.” His voice was calm yet threatening as the shadow fell over him and a hand gripped his jaw, jerking it upwards painfully. “You should look a man in the eye when he is talking to you. Especially one in your situation.” The hair on the back Gared’s neck stood on end as his warm, brown eyes met the other man’s icy gray ones.

“Yes, sir.” He said quietly.

“Now, humor me won't you? How could they have gotten in?”

"They... They could have climbed over the eastern wall when the watchmen changed shifts and passed by my holding cell on their way across the training grounds." The hand on his jaw released him before grasping his shoulder instead, the already irritated wound cried out in defiance at the touch but he did his best to ignore it. "-But if that was true then they would have to have some way to see inside our walls and know our schedules.. An informant maybe."

"That sounds very probable..." His eyes squinted slightly as he studied the boy's reaction, "How am I to know you aren't in fact that very informant? You have already proven yourself ready to turn on your brothers if it best suits you, and either way you would be in the clear in your mind, right? If the wildlings are successful they would free you in exchange for your assistance and if not you would "save" us and earn our sympathy and free you, 'ey?" Fingers dug deeper into him, blood blossomed through his bandages, he couldn't help but let out a small groan. "Is that right?" Frostfinger growled.

"No. It is not, sir." He managed as he kept his face blank, "It would take planning for that sort of thing, the type that lasts many a night before going into affect. All of that supposed time that I had spent with you or my fellow brothers. You already know that it wasn't me so I don't understand why you are accusing me." His voice remained calm, reflecting nothing but a slight impatience. "You also know perfectly well that I could have escaped that night if I wished and I chose not to. I am done answering these meaningless questions, if you don't have anything more important to ask, I suggest we stop drawing this out. If you are going to kill me than do so, if not then don't. Just get on with it, sir." Frostfinger stared at him a moment longer before suddenly standing and adjusting the heavy fur cloak on his shoulders.

"Fine, Tuttle. We shall do as you wish." The older man opened the old door, letting in a chilling gust of wind as he beckoned for Sam to come back inside. "I will send some of your brothers for you at dusk." And with that he disappeared into the black and white landscape just beyond.

The door closed with a quiet creak after Tarley returned. Sensing that the danger was past, he relaxed back onto the hard wooden slab that acted as his bed. "Ah shit that hurts.." He groaned as he rubbed his shoulder. " He has a damn good grip, I tell you." Sam chuckled at that lightly before he changed to a more serious topic.

“What did he say?” Sam’s curious and uneasy eyes met his.

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I am to die at nightfall.”

"Gared, I-"

"I think I am going to rest my eyes for a bit. Is that alright? I want to be rested for later." He was grateful for Sam's friendship but he did not want to acknowledge the night's events until he had to, and Tarley's condolences would ruin his only chance at doing so.

"Yes, of course." Gared nodded in thanks before closing his eyes. He let his mind drift back to a time before that day, before the wall, before everything went to hell.
~
"Big Brother!" A small voice yelled excitedly. "Gare'!"

Gared dusted off his sooty palms on his pants and leaned on his shovel. "What is it, Ana? Something the matter?" His sister shook her head quickly, the mud on her face cracking as she smiled.

"Pa wants you! Says its some important " adult matters"' Her brown brows furrowed as she took on the serious demeanor of her father, her small voice creating a very strangely accurate imitation of the old man's. She then shook her head in annoyance at her exclusion until she remembered something and she stuffed her hand in her dress pocket. Ana pulled out a single red flower blossom at full bloom and held it out to him in her small hands. " I got it for you, 'thought it'd look nice in your pretty hair."

"..." He remained silent and gave her a stern look, her heart dropped and she looked down in shame.

"I-If you don't like it tho-" She wasn't able to finish because she was suddenly airborne as Gared lifted her up into the air. A playful grin on his lips.

"Of course I love your flower! I was merely toying with you. It's beautiful, you silly thing." He hugged his small sister tightly to him and she laughed as well, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Oh, here!" She leaned back and tucked the flower behind his ear and grinned proudly.

"Thank you! Now! I need to go see Father about these "adult matters" but afterwards do you want to go with me to find more flowers? I could show you how Mother used to make princess crowns from them." The young girl's wide, brown eyes lit up with delight and she hugged him again.

"Yes please!" He set her down and with a small wave jogged about their small house to where his father tended their pigs.

"Father?"

His father stood up quickly from his work and turned to his son, beaming widely in a way he hadn't seen since their mother's passing. "Gared, wonderful news! Lord Forrester has accepted my request and has offered you the honor of being his squire!" The younger Tuttle was taken aback, he couldn't believe it.

"Truly?" His father handed him a letter with a broken seal. The seal of House Forrester, a white ironwood surrounded in darkness with the silhouette of a sword in its trunk. Inside, sure enough, it said the same as his father had relayed. He was to be the northern lord's squire. "I could become a knight as I have always wished with this! I can not thank you enough, Father!"

"Gared-..." He continued to stare at the parchment in awe. "Gared! What are you doing here?" His father rasped, fearful.

"What do you-?" He was no longer at the pig stalls, he stood now before their front door, looking about desperately.

"Gared, go! Run away!" He found his father then, laying next to the doorway with blood coating his torso and lower half. Trying desperately to hold his organs within himself.

Gared yelled and ran forwards. He needed to get to him before it was too late. Before his father- He lost his footing and fell forwards landing heavily on a nearby log, he shuddered as he noticed a spear jutting out of a knot in the wood. 'It couldn't be..' "An'..?" His voice broke and he peered inside one of his sister's favorite hideouts. "Oh gods.." He gagged. Inside his sister was curled in a ball as if she were asleep, nothing but her small dirty feet poked out from beneath her. Her small eyes were half open and slightly pink from the blood trickling down from the spear imbedded in the back of her head.

"Please, that can't be.. This can't be real... Father?" He turned to look at his father but found he too was gone. The only thing left of him was the accusing gaze carved into his features. Tears stung in his eyes as he tried to slid away from the bodies of his family but something stopped him.

"It's your fault, y'know?" A familiar voice sneered. Gared looked up to see Britt leaning over him. "It's your fault, Gared. There should be something worse than death for people like you." He hissed, wrapping a bloodied arm around the younger man's neck, choking him. The flower behind his ear fell away from him and landed at his feet, its delicate petals curling and wilting as it aged and died as he watched.
~
"Your fault.." The words echoed in his thoughts as he opened his eyes to a very worried but increasingly relieved face. His brother in arms was shaking him awake.

"I said, are you okay, Gared?" His voice was soothing and patient. The smaller boy nodded and adjusted himself suddenly uncomfortable. "You were having a nasty dream, I think. You were screamin'.. I'm sorry, I knew you where trying to sleep."

"It's fine." His previous coolness was now replaced by a sudden, now-overwhelming exhaustion. Gared's stomach growled quietly, he flushed slightly.

Tarley smiled meekly. " Do you want something to eat or drink?"

"Yes, thank you. That would be greatly appreciated, it has been a while hasn't it?"

"It has, and you have about an hour or so until.." He trailed off as he retrieved the refreshments.

'How long had I been screaming? My throat is raw..' The wine Sam brought to him was a welcome relief as he took in a small, careful sip.

He had just lifted up the almost-stale bread to his mouth when two large men barged in. "Gared Tuttle?" One asked, his angry eyes staring down the other pair. Tuttle raised his hand to identify himself. " You have one minute to get ready, then we are leaving if you are dressed or not. And you, no helping the Brother Killer." Sam dropped his hands to his sides, watching his friend struggle with the simple task.

Desperate and fumbling, he managed to somehow get on a pair of pants beneath the much-too-large, black tunic he borrowed from Sam before he was grabbed roughly by each man and dragged forwards by both arms. Gared cried out in anguish as pressure was placed upon his leg and soon found the only thing keeping him up were his guards. They didn't seem to notice, or care, they just continued on. Dragging his useless legs behind them as they trudged out into the thick snow.

-

Change in POV

-

The remaining members of his brigade marched on through the last leg of their long journey from Craster's Keep. Unlike many of the night's watchmen, Jon did not look forward to their return for when they did, he would be the one to share the harsh news of their Lord Commander's passing as well as many others. And he too would find the home he returned to now missing one of his closest brothers who was to be beheaded the night prior. He pushed these harsh thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on the small flurry of snow coming down over them as the sun settled to his right.

"There she is..." One of his brother's breathed out a misty sigh of relief.

"Home sweet home." Another laughed as they neared the endless heights of the Wall. A large wooden gate carved into one small area along its base. Once they were close enough a signalling yell echoed down and the wooden doors slowly creaked and wheezed as they were dragged up and then slowly lowered behind them.

Inside the dark cavern of the Wall there was only one lone brother to greet them. Sam, bearing a small torch and a distraught gaze.

"Jon, you-"

"Where is everyone?" He looked past his friend to the desolate grounds at the end of the shadowed pathway. Usually there were three or more Watchmen who greeted you in the inner gates to confirm your identity and eligibility to enter and a few others mulling about doing there daily tasks. But today no one, Jon dusted the snow from his clothes and hair as the others passed them, uninterested.

"In the courtyard. It's Gared, they are to-!" The sheepish brother paled as he found himself at a loss for words. "I tried to push it off as long as I was able-. I know you are probably tired but we've got to do something!" He considered his proposal a second before nodding and following him out of the hallway and into the gathering crowd.

They pushed through dozens of grumbling others before finally managing to squeeze their way to the front.

"What can we even do, Sam? Killing a fellow brother, that's not something you can just erase from people's minds."

"It's not that simple, it never is." Sam sighed. "I honestly wish it were..." He looked despondently up to the right of the cement stairs. "He's there." Jon's eyes widened as he found his friend, he didn't look at all like he expected nor recalled.

The younger man had never looked so fragile, so helpless as he did now. He stood between two much larger men at either side wearing nothing more than a too-big shirt that Jon immediately identified as Sam's and a pair of old pants with soggy cuffs. The tunic drooped off of him no matter how he adjusted himself, exposing one of his shoulders and neck to the icy wind that made his every limb shiver uncontrollably. Most all was badly bruised and bloodied. The dark bags under his eyes only seemed to make his black eye more prominent upon his pale skin. And yet, Gared stood tall, his messy hair and wounded body did not take from his contented smile that he wore now. He smiled not in eagerness for his demise nor rebellious pride for his actions. Rather he smiled in a way that said he had accepted what was to come next.

His father would have liked him, Jon was sure, this boy who stood before Death's door with more dignity than a hundred of the King's Guard. A quiet dignity he withheld as Frostfinger strode past. And he kept as he was dragged forwards and thrown to his knees before the bloodstained stone that had led to many other's deaths before him. Jon could have sworn he even heard him thank his departing guards as he leaned heavily on his right side.

"What the hell happened to him? He didn't look like that when I left." He whispered.

"Wildlings. They tried to raid Castle Black while you were gone and most everyone else was asleep. Somehow he escaped from the storage closet he was held in and managed to take down 5 of the 6 before they killed their target or took the hold." He responded loud enough for only Jon to hear, "If it weren't for him, many of our own would be dead right now. Including the man who is about to execute him."

Sam was right, there was a lot more to this than just Gared's killing of Britt. He had to know more, and to do so he had to save his friend. He just couldn't figure out how.

"Gared Tuttle, you have been accused of the murder of a fellow Brother of the Night's Watch. What say you in this regards?"

"I did kill Britt, but it was in se-" Frostfinger silenced him. He merely stared ahead in silence once more with the same expression all the while.

"The punishment for this is beheading. Lay forwards." Before Gared could even begin to lean down, a foot slammed him forwards and his face hit the block painfully. With one cheek pressed against the smooth rock and his eyes studying the crowd, he spotted something  that made him freeze up. His careful gaze had caught sight of Jon's horrified figure.

"Jon!" He mouthed as the man above him raised his sword, a wide grin stretched across Gared’s face with true joy at seeing his friend. Jon's eyes widened as dread filled him, he was too late.

The great sword’s shimmering blade glinted with the last of the sun’s ebbing light as it swung downwards.

“WAIT! Wait a moment!” The executioner’s blade hesitated mere inches from the still-smiling man’s neck. Cotter, Jon remembered him vaguely as one of Gared’s friends, jumped forwards. “It was me, I let the wildlings in!” The narrow blonde dropped his sword and raised his hands up in surrender.

“Why..?” Frostfinger narrowed his eyes, this wasn’t the first of the brother’s to attempt to cover their friend. How could he trust this one more than the last?

“Because.. I am a wildling, myself. I was left during a raid and pretended to be a simple thief instead.” Tuttle’s smile faltered, worry and panic replacing his previous joy. He shook his head desperately trying to get his friend to shut up. “I was brought here and decided to make use of my opportunity. If it weren't for him, you’d be dead yourself ,Frostfinger. I promise you that.” Gared tried to get up now as his own guards went to fetch his friend but the cool, sharp metal edge pressing into the back of his neck pushed him back down against the stone.

“Cotter-!” His friend shot him a warning glance as he was kneeled next to him. Nothing he could say would help, if anything it would probably make things worse. Gared understood and tried to calm his growing nerves.

“Seems we have a change of plans then, two beheadings today. Not one.” Frostfinger said in an uninterested tone.

“Frostfinger, enough.” Jon strode forwards, a cold and silent anger radiating off of him. “There is no meaning anymore to killing, Tuttle. Free him, he doesn’t deserve to die. He saved countless lives and only took one in self defense. He has paid his dues.”

“Ah, Snow.. What are my men to you? Don’t forget I am their leader, not you.” He would not be ordered around by a man over 15 years his junior. “ Someone fetch me the Lord Commander. He will settle this.”

“We cannot, the Lord Commander died honorably while clearing Craster’s Keep.” Frostfinger seemed taken aback a moment before quickly collecting himself. “All we is ask is that let him go. There don’t have to be any more casualties today, we have already lost too many as is.”

“Fine, have your pet back. Make sure to keep him on a shorter leash this time.” He warned, with a wave he had his two men lift up their prisoner and tossed him aside. Jon and Sam quickly made their way up the stairs and to his side while their injured brother eyed Frostfinger skeptically. It wasn’t like the commander to give in so easily. “Although, to be clear, I will still be taking the head of one traitor this day.” Gared sat up immediately and tried to get to his feet as Cotter took his place on the chopping block. Frostfinger stared at him with his cold eyes. ‘This is the price you have to pay for keeping your head. His death.’ They hissed.

“Cotte-!” The air whistled about the sword as it was thrown down and met its mark. Cotter's body jolted upon impact and relaxed instantly as it was relieved of its top. The thin, blond head of his friend rolled drearily along the stone until it stopped before his feet, its dead eyes staring at something far in the distance. Gared stood on his trembling leg in a daze. He stared at his friend’s lifeless corpse; completely unaware of the hands dragging him away nor the familiar voices calling out his name. He could only see one thing and nothing more, those pale blue eyes.

-

“Damn… Do you think he will be okay?” Finn asked as Sam wiped Cotter’s blood from Tuttle’s face and arms. He had fallen asleep shortly after being returned to his old room. At first it took all three friends’ help to keep him from going after Frostfinger as the blind rage of grief overtook him, but with Jon’s soothing words and a little help from some of the milk of the poppy that the maester had provided, Gared finally fell asleep.

Finn himself was still in shock from the whole thing. He hadn’t known about Cotter being a wildling and even if he had, he wouldn’t have particularly wanted him dead. They all knew the man had died an innocent one, or innocent in this particular case. He and the weasle-like blonde never got along as well as they both did with Gared, especially after he stole his prized blade, but that fact didn’t make facing his friend’s death any easier. He too needed some consoling to keep him calm and collected rather than attempting to make his superior repay his debts. Frostfinger was not a favorite among any of the group's members at the moment.

“Yes, he will.” Sam was sure of that, something told him this man had seen much worse than today’s events and that this wouldn't be the day that would unravel him. He finished rebandaging Gared's wounds and with a little help, was able to find warmer clothes within Jon's own wardrobe. His short stature and thicker build was the closest to their friend’s. The clothing and a few blankets helped to bring color back to him and prevent the inevitable frostbite that would have taken his feet if not for their swift actions. “That should be everything, we should let him rest for now.”

“I will do the first shift.” Jon volunteered wearily, they had agreed it’s be best not to leave Tuttle completely unsupervised until they were sure Frostfinger wasn’t going to change his mind and take him in the night. That sort of thing wasn’t unheard of in the Night’s Watch. The other two nodded and shrugged on their cloaks. It was almost comical, the vast difference between the two. Finn’s tall, muscled form compared to Sam’s short, pudgier one. Jon would have said as much if he wasn't so filled with worry.

“Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?” He leaned back in the old wooden chair, closing his own eyes.

“Mm…” Gared murmured in reply before turning over in his sleep. Jon smiled.

“I agree.” Settling himself in the place he would remain for the remaining four hours of his rounds, Jon relaxed and fell asleep alongside his friend.