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"Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel, the same counsel that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved.
Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born. You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueller one, I fear.
You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."
Aemon Targaryen, Son of Maekar (The wisest of the Maesters)
Aerion Sand/Jon Snow
Having made some necessary purchases and gathered new information, Jon decided to take some time and rest in the Church of Elleh. Not that he was tired, as that would eliminate the Site of Grace, but the mental imprint left on him by the last 24 hours spent in the Lands Between would drive many mad.
It's true that the previous events and the hardships he faced in Westeros had also severely strained his mind and emotional state. However, perhaps the biggest reason for taking a break was the fact that, next to Melina, Kale was one of the few genuinely kind people he'd met so far.
He simply wanted to enjoy the presence of someone who wasn't trying to kill him, that's all. He leaned against the church wall, near the merchant himself, and closed his eyes, listening to the nomad's calm voice, recounting the wonders he'd witnessed during his travels.
Suddenly, however, the warmth of the blazing fire and Kale's pleasant voice vanished, and Jon felt a chill and something wet on his face, and a cacophony of sounds filled his ears. The shouts of people, the roars of some creature, and the howling of a wolf... Ghost. His connection with his animal companion, practically nonexistent moments before, returned in full force.
Opening his eyes, he leapt to his feet, looking around his surroundings in shock and disbelief.
"It's impossible," he whispered. "I... How?"
He found himself just as he had at the moment of his first death in the courtyard of Castle Black. An enraged Wun Wun still held the mutilated corpse of Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, and the courtyard itself was filled with Queen Selyse's men, Northerners, Wildlings, and Brothers of the Night's Watch, ready to throw themselves at each other's throats at any moment.
However, it was the few "brothers" standing closest to him, including Bowen Marsh and Wick Whittlestick, who were now the focus of his attention.
"Traitors! MURDERERS!" he roared in fury, recalling the daggers piercing his back.
Everyone in the courtyard froze, likely surprised by the sight of the recently murdered Lord Commander standing there as if nothing had happened. However, Bowen's and the other traitors' eyes wet with tears, expressed pure disbelief and horror.
Jon's body was naked, and the clothes and wounds that had covered him moments before were gone. With a single thought, he summoned Godrick's Knight Set, which in a second transformed from the golden mist that had enveloped his body into an elaborate suit of armour.
The Lordsworn's Greatsword appeared in his hand, and a moment later, it struck the ground with tremendous force, cleaving Wick's body in half.
Jon activated Storm Stomp, slamming his right foot into the ground, and the winds of Stormveil instantly gathered around him, knocking aside any traitors within a five-metre radius of him.
Shouts echoed around him again. From "Lord Commander" and "King Crow" to "magic" and "sorcerer". He didn't care, however, for at that moment his sole goal was the extermination of those ingrates who had dared to murder him.
The Lordsworn's Greatsword in his hand gave way to Ornament Straight Swords, which appeared in his hands. Sliding their blades across each other, he activated their ability, and both glowed with the golden light of Holy.
The next moment, he was upon his former brothers, slashing left and right, but not blindly, for each blow found its mark, easily dismembering flesh, chainmail, and hardened leather.
Finally, Bowen Marsh's head flew into the air, separated from his body, and all of this couldn't have lasted longer than a breath.
Jon glared hard at the stunned men staring at him. Those he caught his eye involuntarily took a step back, likely not only from the brutal display but also from his own appearance. He knew his new eye didn't look natural; moreover, it was magical, if he could say so. And the swords, blazing with golden light, added to the effect.
"Sheathe your weapons, fools," he ordered, his voice echoing throughout the castle. The effect was immediate, and many of them even dropped their weapons to the ground. Only a few of the queen's men hesitated, Ser Axel Florent, queen uncle among them.
Jon saw fear in their eyes, but also defiance. "We take no orders from you, Snow, or whatever you are now," the knight said with a hint of anger in his voice, stepping forward. "Moreover, we demand justice, for this wild, overgrown beast killed Ser Patrek, a worthy knight in the service of His Majesty Stannis Baratheon."
Jon glanced at the traitor corpses lying around him, then returned his gaze to the knight, who shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Then he glanced wordlessly at the rest of Stannis's men.
He remembered how disrespectful Selyse had been to him, as if she were already Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No, she wasn't, and especially not after the letter he'd received earlier from Ramsay Bolton.
He tensed his muscles and, faster than any human could, crossed the distance between them in second and and dropping his swords, which immediately dissolved into a golden mist as they returned to his equipment, he grabbed the man by the throat with his left hand and lifted him easily, then struck him in the stomach with his armoured fist.
The impact threw the knight into the air, and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath. The steel breastplate had been crushed inward where he'd been struck, likely pressing against the man's stomach.
Jon looked coldly at the other knights, who were looking at him uncertainly, understanding that they were no longer dealing with the young Lord Commander of the Night's Watch but with something entirely new and dangerous.
"Your king is dead," he spoke, his tone piercing the silence, broken only by Axel's grunts and gasps for breath. "The Boltons have defeated Stannis, shattering his army. Earlier, I received a letter from Roose Bolton's bastard son, which contained too many details to be a lie."
Like it or not, your fate and your survival are now tied to me, and my patience is sorely strained by the betrayal you have witnessed, so I would advise you to think twice before raising your swords against me and suffering the same fate as those desperate fools who have just lost their lives."
But before the Stormlands knights could do anything, Melisandre descended the steps leading to the tower and, with a leisurely, elegant stride, walked toward him, drawing everyone's attention to her, and Jon sensed a certain unnatural charm in her presence.
The beautiful priestess of R'hllor surprised everyone, including him, when she stopped before him and gazed for a moment into his eyes, especially his left one, which burnt with the light of the Great Rune of Life. Then she fell gracefully to one knee and, taking his armoured hand, placed it against her forehead.
"Azzor Ahai. The Prince Who Was Promised, blessed and burning with the light of the Lord of Light," she called out, her voice full of fervour, as when she had repeatedly spoken of Stannis as the Chosen of R'hllor.
Her words made little impression on the Northerners or Wildings, but the knights who remained at Castle Black with the queen were all devout followers of the Red God, and unlike many of Stannis's men who had journeyed with him, they held Melisandre in far greater esteem.
Looking at each other uncertainly, they finally sheathed their blades. Jon breathed a sigh of relief, as if they had irritated him many times before, and he wasn't about to simply murder them for it. His earlier fury began to fade, and his mind began to clear.
He didn't know how, but somehow he returned to his world, retaining the strength and items he had gained in the Lands Between. This, combined with the fact that he was alive, confirmed that what he had experienced wasn't simply a dream.
'Hmph. Unless I'm actually dreaming?' he thought, but immediately dismissed the thought. It was all too real.
He wasn't about to deny Melisandre's words either, for though she had confused her god with Greater Will, he understood that the misunderstanding and the red priestess's blind faith were useful to him at the moment. As the Lands Between had shown him, he had to be more cunning in his actions.
Followed by everyone's gaze, he directed his steps toward Wun Wun, who, somewhat calmer, stood staring at Jon, covered in slashes on his hairy torso and arms, still holding Ser Patrek's body by one leg, blood dripping from his crushed head onto the snow below.
"Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, my friend. Can you please release this fool's corpse?" Jon asked, oblivious to how contemptuous his words sounded towards the dead knight.
He disliked Ser Patrek, and the time for tiptoeing around people whose only advantage over him was their birth was over. What he had experienced over the past twenty-four hours had turned his perception of the world upside down. The Others were clearly not the most dangerous beings in existence.
Wun Wun slowly nodded his massive head and released the knight's leg, his body fell to the ground. Jon, approaching, paused over the corpse, then raised his head and glared at the queen's men.
"The only reason I can think of for this man being here was to try to reach the tower behind Wun Wun, where the Wildling Princess, Val, resides," he said with audible contempt in his voice. "For what purpose? I suspect that too."
With these words, he spat on the knight's body and kicked it away from under his feet, then looked back at the Stormlands knights with one thought: 'Just try drawing your weapons again.'
Jon then examined the giant's wounds and then held out one of his three Flasks of Crimson Tears, which he then uncorked.
"Wun Wun. Drink," he said, gesturing with his hand and pretending to drink something.
Was it logical to give the giant a priceless remedy when it might prove necessary in the future? Maybe? But Jon had factored two things into his calculations.
First, the powerful effect the giant's healing would have on everyone gathered, making him appear either a divine chosen one or a powerful sorcerer.
And second, he was convinced this wasn't the last time he saw the Lands Between. Greater Will certainly wasn't finished with him yet, not after investing in him. The very fact that he still possessed the Great Rune embedded in his left eye was perhaps the best proof of that.
The giant eyed his outstretched hand, holding the flask, warily, then carefully took the flask in his massive, hairy hands, careful not to damage it, though Jon knew they were practically indestructible.
Wun Wun tipped the Flask of Crimson Tears and poured its contents into his mouth, and almost immediately, his wounds began to heal, a second or two later leaving no scars.
With a single thought, Jon's now empty flask vanished from the giant's hands, returning to his equipment. Wun Wun himself, with a child's wonder, gazed at his healthy body, which was likely in better condition than ever, healing even previously poorly healed fractures and erasing scars.
Whispers and murmurs spread around him. Words like "champion of R'hllor", "sorcerer", and "champion of the Old Gods" echoed, spoken with both admiration and fear.
Tormund emerged from the crowd of Wildlings and approached him, though with unusually cautious steps for the fearless Giantsbane.
Seeing this, Jon smiled involuntarily, and Tormund, no doubt interpreting it as a sign that he might return to his former self, stepped closer and slapped him hard on the back, laughing heartily.
"Snow, I don't know how you did it, but it's good you're alive. And you found yourself some fancy magical armour and swords. And you must have drunk giants' milk to grow so strong," he said, lightening the mood somewhat.
But something else caught Jon's attention, for Val emerged from the tower guarded by Wun Wun, in her inhumanly northern beauty, her pale blue eyes scrutinising him.
The thought that this woman could be his, if only he agreed to Stannis's proposal, had kept him awake at night many times. Perhaps she would be, but this time on his own terms. It was enough that the gods were interfering with his own fate; he was no longer willing to let other people dictate his actions.
He looked back at Tormund, then at the others present, especially the leaders of Wilidings and the surviving key brothers of the Night's Watch.
"Those who were present at our council before this whole mess, return inside, for we have much to discuss. The rest of you, to your duties," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
His gaze fell on the knights in Selyse Baratheon's service, and he added, "This also applies to Ser Narbert and Ser Benethon. You are welcome as well, but as for the rest of you... You ignored my invitation earlier, so now you may go to Lady Selyse and inform her that she is a widow and now holds absolute authority here."
As if to emphasise this, his golden eye flashed, suddenly illuminating the entire courtyard. It had an immediate effect, for if any of them had thoughts to object, they held their tongues.
Jon approached Val, a rare sight, with a faint smile on his usually brooding face. "Lady Val," he greeted her, eliciting the reaction he'd expected.
"Fuck off, Jon. Just because you've grown a bit and have a fancy new magic eye doesn't mean I won't shove a spear up your ass," Val replied, her voice fiery, though a small smile played on her lips.
She then turned to the giant, "Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, thank you for protecting me from that kneeler." He only responded with a grunt of satisfaction, then replied, "Val. Protect."
"Yes, you protect Val well, Wun Wun," Jon admitted, then turned back to Val. "My Lady, I invite you to join our gathering."
Though being addressed this way clearly irritated her, Val was clearly surprised enough by his proposal to ignore it. "Are you sure, Jon? Kneelers and your brothers won't be happy about this."
He just shook his head, then replied in an irritated tone, "Fuck them, Val. I've experienced a world shattered by the gods and their offspring and the sheer desperation it brought. I don't care what people think or what they consider right or proper. They either adapt or perish."
The woman regarded him silently with pale blue eyes, as if searching for something. After a moment, however, she replied, "I don't understand anything you're saying about this shattered world, but I see that something has changed you, Jon Snow, and I'm not talking about what's on the surface. I'll gladly go with you to that meeting."
Jon smiled faintly and extended his hand as if to a lady, "My lad..." but Val cut him off mid-sentence, pressing a finger to his lips and glaring at him, "I don't even want to hear that Southern term."
"Forgive my mistake... Wilding Princess."
The look he received in response should have turned him into a frozen statue, but he only laughed, feeling freer than he had ever remembered despite all the divine machinations, for he realised one thing: true freedom reflected one's personal strength.
Jon glanced back, spotting Ghost's silhouette lurking in the doorway to the keep. He felt an immediate surge of happiness, for his direwolf was undoubtedly his most loyal friend.
As if summoned by a glance, Ghost moved toward Jon, and he could feel the joy radiating from his companion through their bond. He knelt on one knee, waiting for the direwolf to trot toward him, and something caught his eye. 'Is it just me, or has Ghost grown?'
He had seen him just today, counting the time in Westeros, and it seemed to him as if he had gained a good few centimetres in height.
Ghost, having reached him, began to lick his face, clearly happy, and although for the direwolf their suppressed bond was only for a moment, he must have sensed that something was wrong.
"Good boy," Jon said, scratching him behind the ears and cradling his massive head against his chest. "But I have a feeling this won't be the last time we'll be separated like this, my friend." And looking into his blood-red eyes, he added, "While I'm gone, you and Wun Wun will protect Val, okay? Can I count on you, boy?"
Jon knew that as soon as he was out of sight, the dissidents would raise their heads again, and he could only hope that Ghost and the giant would be enough to dissuade Selyse's people from any more foolish ideas.
Thinking of the hairy giant, he remembered another one, clad in golden armour and riding an equally large horse. This gave him an idea and also a theory he wanted to test.
Getting to his feet, he approached the giant, extending his hand, in which the Golden Halberd appeared, and although still a bit heavy, he could probably now fight with it quite effectively.
"Take it, Wun Wun." He turned to the giant, who was looking at the shimmering gold weapon with obvious interest, and then took it in his hand.
A sign appeared before Jon's eyes, reading:
Do you want to bestow your weapon to your servant?
'Yes,' he replied in his mind, and the halberd in the giant's hand turned into a golden mist, and then, only a moment later, it grew to its former size and even more, measuring over four metres, and its metal shaft was as thick as his own arm.
You lend your weapon to your servant Wun Wun. The Golden Halberd will return to you at your express request or upon his death.
Val approached him and, standing to the side, watched with him as the giant was delighted with his new weapon.
"Jon, where did you learn this magic? What happened to you…? Is this ability truly divine?" she asked, her voice carrying a grain of wonder, but also a bit of... envy? Did he have to acquire a weapon for her too?
But he immediately thought back to her questions, unsure how to respond. Finally, he simply replied, "The gods have their own plans for me, just not the ones everyone thinks of. I'm just a pawn in their game, but I intend to live to see it through."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Westeros, Wall
Year 300 AC
Tormund Giantsbane
Tormund watched thoughtfully as the remaining leaders of the Free Folk, the Northerners, the two knights, and the most important members of the Night's Watch, or at least the surviving ones, began to fill Shieldhall again.
The last hour had been pure madness. First, Jon had decided to convince those willing to march south with him against the Boltons, only to have this whole mess with Wun Wun begin outside.
When those damned crows betrayed Jon and plunged their knives into his back, Tormund had been blinded by rage. Not only did he consider Jon Snow a friend and respect him for what he had done for the Free Folk, but he also hated cowards and traitors.
This, combined with kneeler, whom Wun Wun had nearly reduced to mush, and the anger of his comrades, would likely have led to a bloodbath, and Tormund would have decimated the ranks of the Southerners.
But of course, Jon, being Jon, had to pull off the impossible and return to life with an incredible-looking magical eye that Tormund could only envy. Yes, indeed. He also had magical armour and swords and was as strong as Snow Bear and as fast as Shadowcat.
Tormund would gladly have known the secret of this strength, perhaps even let himself be killed?
In any case, he felt that perhaps things would finally start to fall into place. After Jon had slaughtered the traitors and brought the rest of them to heel, along with the knights serving their queen, no one dared stand up to him. Not after he had healed Wun Wun's wounds with some magical elixir.
Maybe Snow really was some kind of chosen one of the Old Gods, or even that god's red priestess.
He glanced again at the assembled gathering, particularly his fellow Free Folk leaders, who were remarkably quiet, not like them. Not only them, but two knights, who were generally more tolerable than the other southerners, appeared to have had their entire world turned upside down.
"Well, perhaps it was," Tormund reflected. In the end, they discovered that their king had died and that a new predator had emerged in the "forest" and was now in control. Despite his own cockiness, he was apprehensive about this new Jon, feeling as though he was not dealing with something natural and human, but he couldn't find a good word to name it.
The quiet murmurs and conversations ceased as Jon Snow, with his white direwolf at his side, entered Shieldhall, followed closely by Val, who, upon spotting him, gave him a cocky smile.
Jon took the Lord Commander's seat, and the woman bluntly took the absent First Ranger's place, which would normally have drawn angry glances from those present, but at the moment their full attention was on their young leader.
Jon, however, remained silent, and Tormund didn't know whether he was considering what to say or whether it was simply a means of putting pressure on those present. The concentration in the hall was so intense that when Snow finally spoke, several people were startled by the sound of his voice.
"The plans we discussed earlier... are no longer valid. Before we head south, I will go to Hardhome myself with a hundred men, while the rest of you, not counting the brothers of the Night's Watch, prepare to march south. I should return before the Boltons can make any move."
Here Jon paused, clearly waiting for objections, but none came. And that was good; otherwise, Tormund would have had to break a few bones.
"Tormund," Jon said to him, "you will choose one hundred of your swiftest warriors and then set out for Hardhome at dawn, keeping as close to the coast as possible… I, however, will set out alone within two hours, for the Others will not wait."
Tormund frowned. He didn't think it wise to travel alone and at night, even with his friend's new magical powers. However, he wasn't about to question the young man's authority. Jon had never let him down so far, and his plans were somehow succeeding. In fact, this fucking man had even cheated death.
So he just nodded and replied, "Aye."
He already had a few names in mind for the people he would take with him. Toregg and Harle the Huntsman and Harle the Handsome, both. However, he couldn't forget that he had to leave a few of his trusted men behind.
"Lord Commander," said one of the Crows, whom Tormund didn't recognise at all. "But what about the Wall? We don't have enough men to protect it ourselves."
"We will not protect it," Jon replied, shocking everyone present. "The Wall, whether guarded by 300 or 10,000, must fall… So when that moment comes, the Night's Watch will also withdraw south, abandoning the Wall."
There were murmurs of discontent from some of the Crows around them.
"THUD! CRACK!" Jon slammed his fist down on the massive oak table, breaking it in the process and reminding everyone that they were no longer dealing with the same young Lord Commander but with something much more.
"This may seem incomprehensible to you, but the Others are no ordinary army but death itself, and with them comes the frost and winds of the harshest winter." Jon continued, his tone calmer, as if he were explaining something to children. Seeing how meekly they listened, Tormund couldn't help but smile.
"You speak of defending the Wall, but what if the sea freezes over and our enemy simply bypasses the only barrier that protects us from them? Neither Castle Black nor any of the other Night's Watch strongholds are adequately fortified to defend from the south."
"Lord Commander. But if the enemy can bypass the Wall, then no place in the North will be safe, and considering how large it is, our forces could easily be encircled," Ser Benethon said, his tone, though harsh, carrying a distinct note of respect, and perhaps even fear.
Jon glanced at the knight, then swept his gaze over the others present, and Tormund felt in his bones that the young man was preparing further shocking words.
"Yes. The North is indefensible against an enemy that does not eat, sleep, or tire. It disregards morale and logistics. Therefore, we will not defend the North but will withdraw below the Neck... Between the Cape of Eagles and The Bite, and there we will defend ourselves. What we need is time."