You get used to it. You get used to people appearing out of nowhere. Charlie's carrying his sneakers by their laces and he drops them in the sand as he picks up speed and then he sees the blood.
The boy's accent was flat, something Jon had never heard even after three years on the wall with all sorts from Westeros and across the Narrow Sea ending up there as his brothers and he wondered where he was, where people spoke so strangely. He touched his side and winced when it came away sticky with blood. Ghost watched nearby, assessing but not attacking.
"Down, Ghost. He wants to help." He looked at the boy and realized he was probably of an age with him; the Wall made you grow up fast.
"I'll need a maester to see to them but I think I might be able to walk. Where are we?"
Charlie barely gives the direwolf another glance; he's so used to Honour that he barely registers. He's more concerned about the blood and he offers the guy his hand to help him up.
"Tabula Rasa," he says. "I'll explain that on the way. We can get you help."
Jon took his hand, slightly worried he'd drag him down into the sand along with him but he managed to stand, if only just. The wounds still wept blood and that was no good sign; it wouldn't take long for him to bleed out with the weather so hot.
"A maester, then?" Surely this Southron-seeming island would have maesters, unless he was no longer in Westeros at all. "Is this Dorne?"
"Tabula Rasa," Jon tried, the foreign words feeling strange on his lips. He spoke no tongue other than the Common Tongue and even if he had, he didn't think it was a word known to even those who lived across the Narrow Sea.
"How did I get here? I wasn't anywhere near the shore," Jon insisted, trying to remember what, exactly, had happened in those final moments at Castle Black. Ghost padded beside him, wary of both the surroundings and this new person.
"People wake up here all the time," says Charlie, his arm around his waist to support him as they walk towards the boardwalk. "I was in my underwear when I showed up here. True story."
He keeps his eye on the direwolf. The size doesn't both him but it never hurts to be wary.
Jon laughed but it was a short, sharp bark of a laugh and he almost regretted it when a fresh burst of pain blossomed as a result. "I have never been so hot in my entire life. I never knew the world could feel the way it does right now, even in high summer. It snows in the North even in summer."
"You want to get out of some of those layers before we go any further?" Charlie himself is dressed in light cotton and denim; it hadn't really occurred to him how hot it was. "Because the last thing we need is you fainting too, right?"
“It would be wise,” Jon agreed and while he didn’t want to lose the protection of his jerkin, he was already injured. It wouldn’t do much good to turn a knife or a sword away and it was excessively hot in this place. “I’ve never fainted in my life. My brother would call me a girl and ask if I wanted to join the Sept.”
Gods, Robb. He missed him so much and the last time they’d seen one another, they’d been little more than boys. Now he’d been a king and was dead and Jon had grown harder and colder on the Wall.
Charlie's actually used to clothes like this; Edmund still wears a leather jerkin when he's sparing. He pauses, supporting Jon as well as he can while helping with buckles and ties.
"Fainting's kind of weird," he admits. "I've done it once or twice because of the pills I've been on."
"Pills?" Jon asked, frowning. He wasn't familiar with the term and he didn't know if that had to do with this boy's strange way of speaking or a function of this place or both. "I've never heard that word before. You'll have to explain it to me."
"I don't think you're crazy," Jon said, giving him half a smile. "For what that's worth. I've seen men lose their sanity before and you don't seem to be one of them, even if you are a lot different than I am."
"Thanks, man. I don't think I'm crazy easy." He manages to strip Jon down to his bloody shirt. He leans back, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Better?"
"Much," Jon said, taking in as deep a breath as he dared with the wounds. "Is it a very long walk, where we're having to go? I'm well enough at the moment but if it's too far, the blood loss might become an issue."
He throws up sand as he skids to a halt.
"How bad are you hurt, man?"
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"Down, Ghost. He wants to help." He looked at the boy and realized he was probably of an age with him; the Wall made you grow up fast.
"I'll need a maester to see to them but I think I might be able to walk. Where are we?"
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"Tabula Rasa," he says. "I'll explain that on the way. We can get you help."
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"A maester, then?" Surely this Southron-seeming island would have maesters, unless he was no longer in Westeros at all. "Is this Dorne?"
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"A doctor," he says, gently. "And this is Tabula Rasa. I think...it's probably safe to say that it's no world you've ever been in."
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"How did I get here? I wasn't anywhere near the shore," Jon insisted, trying to remember what, exactly, had happened in those final moments at Castle Black. Ghost padded beside him, wary of both the surroundings and this new person.
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He keeps his eye on the direwolf. The size doesn't both him but it never hurts to be wary.
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Gods, Robb. He missed him so much and the last time they’d seen one another, they’d been little more than boys. Now he’d been a king and was dead and Jon had grown harder and colder on the Wall.
“Could you help?”
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Charlie's actually used to clothes like this; Edmund still wears a leather jerkin when he's sparing. He pauses, supporting Jon as well as he can while helping with buckles and ties.
"Fainting's kind of weird," he admits. "I've done it once or twice because of the pills I've been on."
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Maybe it would distract him from the pain?
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