Ceremony || SerWaymarRoyce
Starter for @serwaymarroyce || The Next Logical Sequence
How simple the entire plan had seemed when spoken aloud in confident, unabashed tones with his fellow Rangers the morning theyâd set out. Waymar had even joked with the senior fellow of the expedition that a venture into the gift ought not be called a Ranging at all. That such a thing should be reserved for a journey beneath the Wall and into the Haunted Forest, into the realm of ice and danger that the singers in the north, the few that existed, ever so loved to devote their lyrics to.
How wrong Waymarâs assumption of a swift, eventless ride through the snow dusted plains and back would be.Â
Yet the peril they faced was not as fearsome as what lay beyond the Wall. The foe they faced was one that no steel could cut nor arrow, no matter how true the shot, would strike home. For they faced the wrath of nature itself.
Even in this long summer a gale of wind from the north could bring with it blinding cold, encumbering snows and a wind that built drifts taller than a man atop a horse. The plans to camp in place and weather the storm proved impossible, as the heavy summer snows convinced their tent by the first night. Forcing the party to make for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, an instinct from the senior Ranger of their group that such storms tapered off the closer one came to the water.
As luck would have it, it was an instinct that proved true.
The ranging party found as much comfort as brothers of the watch could expect from their eastern brothers, given sanctuary until the storms passed.
Hours turned into a day. Then another. And another. For Waymar it may as well have been an eternity. For heâd sworn to be in a certain place at a certain time. That was a vow in itself. He would see his beloved comrade, as promised. He would be there for Margaery, come snow or the fires that consumed Valyria themselves.
Waymar burst through the door of the main hall with an urgency that earned him alarmed looks from those nearest, the sky that filled the open doorway already turning purple as night descended, already threatening to fall entirely. The time when the vows would be spoken, as every brother on the Watch knew. How integral those words were with the passage of dusk becoming engulfed into the darkness.
The look of exhaustion across his face, a darkness beneath the eyes and a loss of color despite the chill, could not be hidden away as much as Waymar willed it so. The smile that rose at catching sight of Olen across the hall, however, melted the fatigue from his bones and sent a lightness through his step, for he ran, damp cloak dragging behind, in the pursuit to embrace his companion.
This, too, earned him glances and mumbled japes from those occupying the hall. Waymar showed an utter lack of concern for such a thing, even as hurried words past his lips. âI havenât missed it, have I? There was a storm-â Such a thing was obvious, by the white that had filled the courtyard and claimed the rooftops of Castle Black. âOnly made it back just now. Tell me Iâm not too late, my dear Olen.â
That was all he managed to get out before the need to catch breath overcame whatever words lingered on the tongue. How much heâd missed them being the paramount of those unspoken things.Â
There would be time to tell them that. Waymar told himself, of that he was certain. he hoped. He certainly hoped.
In truth? By then Margaery had been worried Waymar just wouldnât return. She had to cover her mouth to make sure a sound too feminine didnât escape when he burst in the door. Her smile, she hoped, did not betray that. Or if it did she hoped they were just too desperate for help here on the wall too care.
Even if the fact that Olen wasnât going to be a brother of the wall but a sister came out, that didnât reveal who she was.
Olen was up in an instant to meet Waymar across the floor and embrace him tightly. This wasnât that unusual. Sheâd seen other brothers be just as relieved to see each other again. The only oddity might have been that Waymar had preceded Olenâs time there by a bit. Soon theyâd both be sworn, however, and that wouldnât matter, either.
âNever too late, Waymar,â Her voice cracked with relief as she held him tight, âYouâre safe. Thatâs all I really needed.â
âBut no, you havenât missed it. Thereâs some talk about doing it this evening. The plan was tomorrow but that weather may be coming in with a vengeance, so they want us sworn in before-â
But heâd still made it, hadnât he? And that made her heart swell. She didnât even care that she was probably getting damp because he was.
âYou didnât miss it,â She added resoundingly, reluctant to let go of her companion, but eager to see his face and smile brightly to him.