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A girl was singing a haunting song by the fire. The camp was spellbound. But Jon couldn’t understand her.
Jon had spent enough time with the Free Folk to know that the common tongue was by no means their only tongue. Mance had once said they spoke seven different languages in the Free Folk army, and throughout the years Jon had often heard snippets of unfamiliar phrases and words he did not recognize.
But common was still widely spoken, and there had been the Nights Watch and the Boltons and the Dead to fight. So Jon had never found time to learn the Free Folk languages.
But now, the evenings were quieter. Jon’s life was quieter. And as he listened to this strange song, as the girl drew out the last note and Tormund sprang to his feet to give her praises in her own language, Jon found himself wanting to know.
He was going to spend a lot of of time with the Free Folk, he should know how to speak to them.
A small guilty voice in his head said, ‘You don’t need to learn, because you really should head back to the Wall soon.’ But Jon forced that voice down and went to sit beside Tormund.
Tormund smiled and put a hand on Jon’s knee. “Like the music, little crow?”
Jon nodded. “It was beautiful, even though I didn’t know what she was saying.”
Tormund hummed in agreement and threw an arm around Jon’s shoulders. Jon leaned into the warmth.
“You speak her language?” Jon asked quietly.
Tormund smiled softly. “It was my first language. Spoken by the Antler River clans.”
Jon looked up at him, surprised.
Tormund chuckled at the look on his face. “So shocked little crow? I didn’t learn your so-called common tongue until I started raiding as a teenager. I’m just a good learner.”
Jon considered this, sitting quiet for a moment. “Do you think you’d be a good teacher?”
Tormund turned his head and stared down at Jon.
“I mean, I’d like to learn, if you’d be willing to help me.”
Tormund said nothing for a long moment, and Jon worried suddenly he’d somehow offended him. Then Tormund laughed and a fire lit behind his eyes.
He spoke, and his voice sounded like music.
“Thenyáshme shilikéri ila.”
He didn’t translate and Jon sat for a moment in confused silence.
“Does that...is that a yes?”
Tormund laughed again and squeezed Jon’s shoulders tight.
“Of course it is, little crow! I’d like nothing better than to teach you. We’ll have our first lesson tomorrow.”
Jon smiled, and when Tormund passed him fermented goat’s milk, he drank it gratefully.
They did indeed have their first lesson the next morning as the group made its way across the frozen terrain. It was a clear but cold day, and Jon welcomed the distraction from his freezing fingers.
“Now, little crow,” Tormund declared, a smile in his eyes, “one of the most important words in the Antler River language is tare.”
“Tare,” Jon repeated.
“Good! Very good! Again.”
“Tare. What does it mean?”
“Let’s get your pronunciation down first. Say it with me, tare.”
As they said the mysterious word in unison, Tormund’s eldest daughter approached them. She snorted a short laugh.
“Papa, what are you doing?”
Tormund’s eyes were full of mischief. “Teaching dear Jon our language.”
“And you’re starting with that?” she asked, voice full of amused disbelief.
Jon was becoming a bit alarmed.
“Tormund, what does tare mean?”
“Well technically,” Tormund replied with a growing smile, “technically it means ‘little knife.’”
“Tormund.”
He burst out laughing. His daughter was giggling along. Jon rolled his eyes.
“I’d prefer not to only know the dirty words. Feel as though it’d be hard to carry on a conversation.”
“You’d be able to have the most important conversations,” Tormund said with a grin. Jon just looked at him in silence.
“All right, all right little crow. I’ll teach you another word.”
Tormund paused dramatically.
“Gyondurǝ.”
Tormund’s daughter started laughing again. Tormund joined her and, despite himself, Jon felt a smile tug at his lips.
Tormund did actually prove to be a fair teacher. Soon, Jon knew how to ask for dinner and say goodnight and talk about the hunt. He’d repeat Tormund’s words, over and over, as they hiked together, as they ate together, as they huddled together for warmth at night.
Jon was a bit of a slow learner. Sometimes Tormund would get softly irritated, saying things like, “ruvúva rizeigyíla,” which Jon was almost certain was an insult.
But much more often, Tormund was patient, and kind, and encouraged Jon at every step. He showered Jon with compliments, and reminded him of words they’d learned before. “Núba nála!” he’d say, and Jon would beam. Not just because he knew what it meant, but because Tormund was giving him praise.
Once, they were practicing in the furs at night and Jon was struggling to describe his day without using common. Tormund looked at him tenderly, playing with a lock of Jon’s hair, and said, “Thebonggur abishiha thwelbe twalǝ uwel lila.” He then said, more quietly, almost to himself, “Titiz nuzeme patheinggurtwe.”
Jon knew enough of what this meant to blush deeply. Tormund seemed to come back to himself and sat up, apologizing for stepping over Jon's boundaries.
But Tormund kept teaching Jon. He kept teaching Jon as they traveled further and further North. He kept teaching Jon as he slowly replaced his black leathers with furs. He kept teaching Jon after they became aware of each other in new ways, after they no longer shared a tent just for warmth, after they fell into each other passionately.
Jon could now hold entire conversations in Tormund’s tongue, could sing Antler River songs, could whisper things in Tormund’s ears as they kissed in the firelight.
One night they lay beside each other, bare under furs, warm from the afterglow. Jon realized he had never felt this content, this at home with a person. With a people. He wanted to lie here forever.
Tormund was stroking Jon’s shoulder, smiling, saying sweet nonsense.
“So pretty, but so strong, my little crow-”
“Kithi ume meme,” Jon said suddenly, sharply.
Jon paused, almost startled. He had no idea what made him say that. No idea why he’d said it in Tormund’s language. Jon was honestly quite fond of Tormund’s nickname for him.
But Jon also knew, in the core of himself, that he was no longer a Crow. He was no longer a king, no longer a Kneeler, no longer of the Seven Kingdoms. He was Free Folk, and he never felt so free as when he lay in Tormund’s arms.
He was not going back. He was never going back.
Still, an apology was bursting from his lips, but Tormund quieted him. He looked at Jon, suddenly serious.
“Me. Meme ila.” Tormund sighed and continued in common. “I told you before you weren't a Crow, and I meant it. You haven’t been one of them for a long time now.” He smiled sadly, “You haven’t really been a Crow since you stole Ygritte and climbed the Wall with us. Since you honored her by laying her to rest in the real North. Since you freed me from my chains and led our people to safety.”
They lay together, quiet, thinking of all they had endured, of all they had yet to endure.
Tormund cleared his throat. His voice was cautious as he continued.
“I don’t know how you feel, here with me. I don’t know if you plan to go back to the black castle. And I know you still mourn the people, the world you lost. But if you stay here with me, beyond the Wall...I’ll show you everything. I’ll show you the ice rivers and the deepest caves and the green lights that soar through the sky. I’ll show you the grand beasts of the ocean and the old places of magic and the village where I grew up. And we’ll rebuild the Free Folk, rebuild the clans, remake the people again. I can teach you the languages, traditions, everything. If you stay with me beyond the Wall, I’ll show you a world beyond imagining.”
Tormund stopped, breathing a little heavy, seemingly overcome.
It sounded wonderful. Like a life Jon had never dared dream of. A life he still wasn't sure he deserved.
But it was a life that could be theirs.
So Jon leaned over and stole Tormund's breath with a kiss.
“I’ll stay,” Jon said after he pulled away. “Ugbame gyi ila.”
Tormund’s eyes shone in the firelight. They snuggled together under their furs, and just before Jon fell asleep, he heard Tormund whisper.
“Lemak ewei, little wolf.”