Now his watch has ended

Send a 🎸 I will generate a number for what my muse says to yours. 

His chuckle was light, and laced with a heavy hum of amusement at the assumption. Funny how the grey-cloak, or anyone, would assume he liked Cotter. Cotter the liar and thief. Cotter the fucking wildling. He was a wildling for fucks sake, he would have slaughtered Cotter’s people without regret had the North Grove never happened.

Yet, without a doubt there had been obvious worry from Finn when Cotter confronted the wildling women. He had seen no reason to speak with them, a sword did better than any words a crow could have spoken. Only a fool would deny what they had felt in that moment; terror, despair, the overwhelming urge to grab his sword and defend one of the two men he considered a friend. 

Had Gared not told him to stay still and give Cotter a chance to defuse the situation, Finn would have rushed to defend his friend.

Of course, that had been before he’d learned the truth. Fucking Gared, fucking Cotter.

In his own denial was wanting nothing more than to protect what little tenderness he held to the world; the tiny shred of a boy who’d been happy, smiled, and wasn’t so fucking cold all the damn time. Still-- the truth was the truth, even if one wanted it not to be.