The noise of the courtyard was fading as the crowd dispersed, laughter and chatter carrying faintly into the cool night. Gadriel stepped away from the spot where the duel had ended, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel. The torches along the walls burned lower now, throwing long shadows across the yard as people drifted back toward the Great Hall, eager for drink, food, and more tales of the fight.
He scanned the dispersing crowd and caught sight of Jon Snow walking a few paces ahead, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes fixed on the ground. Gadriel lengthened his stride and fell in beside him.
"Jon," Gadriel said in a steady, almost casual tone, "what did you think of the duel?"
Jon startled a little, clearly not having noticed Gadriel approach. After a pause, he glanced up, and though he tried to sound even, admiration colored his words.
"It was… amazing," Jon admitted. "I knew you were good when you beat me, but I didn't realize just how good. Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Gadriel gave a small smile, faint and reflective, as if the question pulled him backward through time. "I've been fighting for a long while now—since I was ten, I'd say. Mind you, back then it wasn't anything serious. Just a boy learning how to hold steel without dropping it."
Jon studied him closely, his brow furrowed with curiosity. "And how old are you now, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I believe," Gadriel said, tilting his head thoughtfully, "you'd count me as twenty-two name days old. Twenty-three soon."
Jon blinked, surprised. The thought lingered in his mind unspoken: He's only seven years older than me… and yet he fights like that? The weight of that realization pressed against him, but he said nothing.
Gadriel noticed his silence and changed tack, his tone gentler. "If you don't mind me asking—why did you leave the feast so soon?"
At that, Jon's gaze drifted ahead, his expression tightening. He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice carried a faraway quality.
"Nothing really… it's just, I was speaking with my uncle Benjen. I asked him if I might join the Night's Watch. He said some things that… unsettled me."
Gadriel regarded him quietly, his eyes soft with empathy. For a moment he said nothing, letting the boy's words settle in the air. Then curiosity flickered across his face.
"What is the Night's Watch?" he asked plainly.
Jon stopped and turned, surprise written across his features. "You don't know what the Night's Watch is?" he asked in a tone caught somewhere between disbelief and bewilderment.
"I'm afraid not," Gadriel said with a small shrug.
Jon exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "The Night's Watch guard the Wall. They protect the realm from what lies beyond it."
Gadriel's brow arched. "The Wall… I've heard it mentioned in passing, but in truth, I don't know what it is."
Jon's surprise deepened. "You don't know the Wall?" His tone was incredulous now, as though he couldn't fathom the ignorance.
"I do not," Gadriel admitted evenly. "Not truly."
Jon sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck before answering. "Let's just put it this way. It's a wall unlike any other—a mountain of ice, taller than any castle, stretching across the north of the realm. It's meant to keep out… the things that dwell beyond it. Wildlings, mostly. And worse."
At that, Gadriel's expression sharpened with interest. He nodded slowly, committing the words to memory. "I see. That is no small thing, then. Thank you for telling me, Jon."
Jon shrugged, the weight of his earlier thoughts pulling him back inward.
The silence stretched for a moment, comfortable in its way. Then Gadriel drew a steady breath and offered a polite nod. "Well, I've taken enough of your time. Today has been long enough for both of us, I'd wager. I think it's time I get some rest."
Jon gave him a small nod, still thoughtful, and watched as Gadriel turned and headed off toward the inn where he had taken lodging.
The streets were quieter now, Winterfell settling into the slower pace of night. Gadriel entered his room, the familiar scent of parchment and leather greeting him. He set aside his gear and lit a small candle, pulling out the journal that had become his constant companion.
Seated at the table, quill in hand, he began to write.
Tonight I learned more of this land. A brotherhood called the Night's Watch, sworn to guard a wall of ice against threats in the far north. I know little of these threats, but Jon spoke of them with weight. His uncle's words cut him deep—enough to drive him from the feast. He is young still, yet already feels the pull of duty. It is… admirable, though I wonder if he truly knows what he would give up.
His quill scratched on.
He leaned back for a moment, staring at the page, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. Then he bent forward again, finishing the entry.
For now, I rest. Tomorrow will bring more questions, and perhaps more answers. This land reveals itself piece by piece, like a puzzle I must solve. But tonight, I sleep.
He closed the journal gently, set it aside, and blew out the candle. Darkness filled the room, leaving only the quiet of Winterfell's night.