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Wherever he was, the dragons were here, too circling overhead in the sky in a dance of battle both terrifying and beautiful. Hard as he tried to evade the bursts of flame the great beasts were filling the air with, they caught him again and again, making heat surge through him from his shoulder to his toes until he wanted to scream. But then, when the flames subsided for a moment, he was surrounded by a cold deeper than anything he had ever felt. A cold ready to split bones and make castle walls burst.
Sometimes, he heard voices and once he thought he saw someone bend over him, felt a cool hand on his forehead.
“Mama?” his voice sounded not like his own, but rough, like that of someone who had been dying of thirst. The figure vanished for a moment and then returned, holding a cup to his lips. Then they and the cup were gone and he was alone again with the dragons. But now, there was another sound. One that had not been there before. He tried to focus on it as the fire resurged around him, almost making out the words. It was a song he had heard before, though he wasn’t sure where. Maybe he could follow it. If only he wasn’t thrown from fire into cold again and again.
*
“Look at us two Free Folk fools pining for Southerners,” Tormund heavily sat down next to him, carrying a mug of mulled wine. Paul could smell some of the spices that were added to this particular drink down here, cinnamon and cloves especially. “But it looks like you might be luckier than me.” Paul glances at him just to see his eyes flicker from Hugh’s sleeping form back to Paul’s face and hear him chuckle. But then he got serious again. “How’s he doing?”
Paul shrugged, trying to clear his head. The fumes from Tormund’s mug almost made his head spin and he briefly wondered how long it had been since his last meal.
“I think his fever will break tonight.”
“Hmmm,” Tormund took a long sip from his drink. And then one of his large hands dropped onto his shoulder.
“You should find some sleep.” Suddenly the mirth had vanished from his voice. “I don’t think I have seen you rest in the past two days. Really rest.”
Paul shook his head weakly, but before he could open his mouth to list his reasons for staying awake, Tormund spoke again.
“Go and lie down, Snow Fox, I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you if you’re needed.”
Paul stared at Tormund for a moment. Part of him wanted to object and stay right here, next to Hugh’s sleeping form to make sure that is fever didn’t get worse. But he had not really slept in so long and felt like he was dragging himself along at half his normal speed. So eventually he got up, trudged across the room to retrieve his bedroll and spread it out on the stone floor next to Hugh’s. Only when he stretched out did he realize that every part of his body was hurting and craving sleep. He glanced at Hugh’s face, almost calm after the high fever of the past few days and then at Tormund who nodded at him, and then his mind let go and dropped into the quiet of exhausted sleep.
*
When Hugh woke, he was looking up into the wooden rafters of a building that felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
‘Castle Black?’ he asked himself for a moment, but the ceiling was too high, the wooden beams more massive than in his former home. ‘No, Winterfell,’ he eventually concluded after blinking a few times and listening at the sounds around him. There was a fire crackling somewhere close by and he could hear people shift and sometimes a whispered word rippling through the silence. It was dark, but no longer fully night, maybe an hour or two before daybreak.
‘So we made it,’ the thought surfaced suddenly and almost managed to break through the weariness he felt. But only almost. Has limbs felt heavy, as if he was wearing a knight’s armor and there was a dull pain in his left shoulder. Slowly, his right hand krept over, across the rough tunic he was wearing and pulled it aside, brushing against the bandage underneath it. He remembered the wights blade, old and rusted, piercing his flesh and throwing him backwards, against the wall of the Burned Tower and then…..he shook his head.
He sighed and turned his head to his left, feeling as if that was the hardest thing he had ever done. A pale hand and was sticking out from underneath the mound of fur next to him, the finger curled up slightly and almost touching his own hand that must have slipped out from underneath his covers in his sleep. His eyes traveled a little further up and found a tuft of blonde hair sticking out at the top of the bundle. As he was still contemplating this, a low, rumbling voice close to him made him jump slightly, jarring his wound and making him draw a hissing breath.
“Aaah, finally, Crowsmith, he said your fever might break tonight.”
When he had managed to turn his head to the other side, he found Tormund Giantsbane hulking over him on a nearby bench, an empty mug by his feet.
“I had to promise to keep an eye on you to get him to go to sleep. It’s been hard to get him away from your side,” Tormund jerked his head towards Paul’s sleeping form. “We’ll let him sleep another hour, but let’s see if we can get something for you.” Tormund heaved himself up and Hugh followed his progress across the hall to the fire roaring in the hearth. Had Paul treated him? That would explain the faint smell of herbs that was surrounding him.
‘The Guard’s Hall,’ his brain supplied belatedly as he looked back up towards the rafters, his eyelids fluttering, suddenly heavy again.
*
When Paul woke again, his body still hurt everywhere, but at least his head felt clearer. He dragged himself upwards, looking over at Hugh immediately. He was asleep, his face completely relaxed for the first time in days. He reached out to confirm his suspicion and when his palm touched Hugh’s forehead, he let out a relieved breath. His fever had broken and while his temperature was still slightly elevated, but no longer threatening.
“He woke up a while ago but fell asleep before I could get food or drink into him.”
Paul tore his eyes away from Hugh’s face to see Tormund still sitting on the bench where he had seen him last.
“He woke? Did he speak?” Paul got up, stretching his sore muscles.
“No, but he knew where he was, I wager. And who was sleeping next to him.” Tormund winked and then got up. “Breakfast should be ready, let’s go, then you can check on your patient again.” He clapped a hand on Paul’s shoulder and steered him away from Hugh’s sleeping form.
Later, he’s busy changing a dressing at the other end of the hall when he looks up and his eyes stray over to Hugh, only to see him struggling to sit up. He checks ties off the dressing around a woman’s foot and then straightens up and hurries down the narrow corridor between the pallets that are still ranged along the floor in tight rows. When he gets to Hugh, one of the attendants is also approaching him, holding a bowl of soup.
“I’ll take that, thank you,” he says, plucking the wooden bowl out of the woman’s hand and rushing past her. A drop of the hot liquid spills over and onto his thumb but he ignores the sting, kneeling down next to Hugh.
“Here, let me help,” he says putting the bowl down and, sitting down close to Hugh, carefully pushing him upright and then allowing him to lean back against Paul’s shoulder.
“Paul….” Hugh looks surprised, but a small smile flits across his face as his weight settles against Paul.
“I’ve got you. Here…” Paul picks up the bowl and holds it out to Hugh. His hands shake a little when he wraps them around it, so Paul firmly puts his right on top of Hugh’s and helps him guide the bowl to his lips. After a few cautious sips, he lowers it, letting it rest against his thigh, which is still covered by the heavy fur that had served as his blanket. Paul reluctantly removes his own hand and glances away, trying not to stare.
“Thank you.”
Hugh’s voice draws his eyes back. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he shrugs but can’t help excitement rush through him at holding Hugh close and at the soft smile on his face. When he can feel Hugh relaxing against him a little more he asks, “Want to try some more?”
Hugh nods and for a while, they sit in silence as he slowly sips his way through almost the entire bowl. Paul notes his returning appetite with relief. It’ll probably be a few more days until Hugh can get up and walk without assistance, but he’s already looking a lot better than the day before when the fever still had its claws in him. When the bowl is almost drained and he can see Hugh struggling to keep his eyes open, Paul takes it from him and puts it down close-by.
“Let’s get you settled again, shall we?” He slowly guides Hugh down and then, pulls the furs back over him, making sure he’s wrapped up warmly. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on your shoulder, but you try and catch some more sleep until then.” Hugh’s eyes are almost completely closed, but he nods, and then, just as Paul is about to get up, his right hand darts out from underneath the furs and finds Paul’s, squeezing it weakly. Paul squeezes back almost immediately, and then tucks it back underneath the furs. He tears himself away before he can give in to his urges and reach out to run a hand through Hugh’s hair.
*
Hugh sleeps fitfully the following night, waking again and again. During one such short time awake, trying to blink away the blurriness of his vision and find a more comfortable position that doesn’t but too much pleasure on his shoulder, he realizes that Paul is sleeping next to him again. Something about this should bother him, but he can’t tell what. And Paul’s face is illuminated by in the pale moonlight that falls in through the halls windows and he is deep asleep. It’s the last thing Hugh says before his eyes fall shut again and he drops back into confusing dreams of dragons, swords, and screams. When he wakes next day, the first thing he does is turn his head, but Paul is no longer next to him. It is light already and he estimates that most of the morning is over already. He still feels like all the energy has been drained out of him and his limbs are heavier than he has ever felt them. But he manages to get up with the help of one of the smallfolk who have become orderlies and to go to the outhouse. He can see Paul out of the corner of his eyes as they slowly move through the hall, him leaning heavily on the young woman by his side, but he is busy changing a dressing. When Hugh comes back, already feeling unsteady on his feet, Paul has moved a few cots further down. But this time he looks up and turns, meeting Hugh’s gaze and he thinks he can see his eyebrows furrow and for a moment it looks like he will come over to them, but then the patient in front of him asks something and he tears his eyes away. Hugh settles back down onto his bed and gladly accepts the mug of steaming tea that the young woman gives him. He thinks he recognizes the taste, one of Paul’s mixtures, but there’s something underneath the herbs, something he can’t quite place. Once he has almost drained the mug, he falls asleep again lying on his back, staring up into the rafters and the dust whirling in the rays of winter sunlight that cut through the air until his eyes close.
When he wakes again, the sunlight has shifted and there’s voices close to him talking but he cannot follow them, his head still feeling like it is packed in cotton, and his shoulder throbbing painfully. He wants to sit up, but pain shoots through his shoulder like lighting when he tries to move and he hears someone make a pained sound.
A moment later, Paul is there. He seems a little blurry, too, but he’s there, one of his hands warm and strong on Hugh’s forehead.
“…you are. … slept a while….” Hugh’s blood is rushing in his ears and he focuses on a small smudge on Paul’s left cheekbone. After a few deep breaths, Paul loses some of his blurriness.
“…no fever,” he says with a reassuring smile. “Do you want to try and eat something?”
Hugh nods and allows Paul to help him sit up. He still feels tired and heavy, but sitting there, leaning back against Paul makes him feel a little more alive, a little more real already. A wildling he doesn’t recognize brings them a bowl of soup and like the day before, Paul helps him to finish most of it. Once they are done, they remain seated like this for a while and it is then that Hugh sees Tormund sitting close by, surrounded by several other wildling men and women. At the farthest end of the group he can see Jorkar and Harrik, but they’re both concentrating one of the others.
He can feel his eyelids growing heavy again now that he has food in his belly, but he fights to keep them open for at least a while, fights to stay conscious of Paul’s chest pressed against his back his arms around him.
“Why are you sleeping here?” The words are out of his mouth before he has really thought about them.
“What?” He can feel Paul shift and cranes his neck to meet his eyes. There’s puzzlement in Paul’s eyes and behind them hides worry.
“Your chambers, your bed….” Hugh says, too exhausted to fully put his meaning into words. But Paul seems to understand.
“It’s easier for people to get me when I’m here. They don’t have to run across the courtyard and up the stairs first. And….” He stops for a moment and squeezes Hugh’s right shoulder, “…you’re here. And I want to keep an eye on you.” His voices is lowered to almost a whisper when he says this. Warmth engulfs Hugh’s cheeks. He wants to protest and tell Paul that he needs a good rest, but something tells him that he wouldn’t be able to change Paul’s mind. So he simply nods and leans his cheek against Paul’s shoulder.