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JON
The wildlings came through the tunnel and walked over the yard out of the gate. Jon could not bear to look at them anymore. His mission at Hardhome was a failure. How many did he save? How many had died? The number of wildlings that now marched in the Night King's army was enormous. Only a handful of people were glad that he returned. If he hadn't been so angry, he would have wept like a child.
He went to his chambers, where he could escape all those spiteful looks from his brothers. The place was cold and dark, but Jon made no effort to light a fire. Sitting in his chair, he stared at a scratch on the table while banished every thought from his mind. There were new messages right in front of him which he should have read, but he never wanted to do anything less than to pick up his work as Lord Commander again.
His head ached horribly.
Jon didn't reply to the knock on his door, not even after the second time. He didn't look up when it opened, and someone walked in. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the seam of a dark grey dress, which had not seen around here before. Curiously, he now raised his head and saw Myriah, who gave him a pitying look. She held a jug of water in her hands and carried a fresh cloth over her arm.
"I saw you in the yard. I saw you were hurt." She said in a low voice, to what Jon only nodded.
Myriah placed the jug and cloth on a free spot on his desk before she began to clean up the mess on the table. Clumsily, she built a fire in his heath, then filled the water into his washbowl. Jon saw steam coming from it.
First, she soaked the cloth in the warm water so she could start cleaning the dirt and blood on his face. Her hands wiped the curls out of his face. "Did I not tell you not to do anything stupid?"
He didn't answer, only pulled her between his legs. He wanted to feel her closeness, which he had been yearning for during the month beyond the Wall.
Very carefully, she washed off the blood, while Jon watched her.
Though her brows were narrowed in concern, she seemed to glow. She was just stunningly beautiful.
Myriah came to the most sensitive spot of the cut on his brow. The warm water burned in his wound and he inhaled sharply. That caused her to stop. "Will you tell me what happened?"
"We got ambushed," Jon told her. "While we helped the wildlings into the boats to get them in the ship. They came."
"Who?" Myriah asked as she leaned against the table behind her, pulling her dark green plaid, which matched her eyes so perfectly, around her shoulders. The cloth was so huge that it even fell to her knees.
"The White Walkers and their army of dead men." He said and swallowed. His voice was shaking when he continued. "They killed so many of them."
"I am so sorry." Her words sounded like she meant them.
