Chapter Text
Samwell
When he'd first arrived back at Castle Black and told Maester Aemon everything that had happened - from the start of the Great Ranging to the battle at the Fist of the First Men and finishing with the mutiny at Craster's - Sam foolishly thought that would change his lot here. Three days after sending the ravens south, pleading for aid, soon quashed those hopes. No one believed him, why would they?
White Walkers? They were supposed to be stories to tell the children to scare them into behaving well, a superstition of the North. And he'd killed one. That was probably the bit everyone was having trouble believing, 'Piggy' killing an ancient ice monster? As if. The mockery got so bad that he'd taken to hiding in the library, they were calling him Sam the Slayer now not that it had any good meaning behind it.
Gods curse Ser Alliser Thorne. If he had any sort of bravery, he'd say as much to the surly man's face. But he wasn't and so he didn't.
The former knight had returned shortly after he had, bringing new recruits all the way from Kings Landing and an even worse temper. They must have laughed him out of the capital when he said they needed men, considering their own war was going on right now. Still some were better than none, Sam had wanted to believe, but it became clear very quickly that all that had come were criminals looking to escape the gallows.
Except for one man, an unpleasant looking fellow, big, broad and jowly with an air of pomposity. Sam knew the sort, people who liked to think the world owed them everything and that it should just be handed to them. His father despised those kinds of people. Not so much Ser Alliser however as they seemed to quickly form the new ruling pair in the Night's Watch. Unpleasantness attracts unpleasantness, Sam supposed, and quite the unpleasant place it had become. No one would ever mistake Castle Black for being a comfortable abode but at least under the Old Bear there had been some control, now he feared for his life every time he went to get supper from Three Finger Hobb.
Gods curse Sers and their Lords! Ser Alliser Thorne and Lord Janos Slynt! He wanted to be brave enough to say it. Gods curse them all! But he wasn't and so he didn't.
Worse still were the other rumours that followed him around now due to who he'd brought back with him from the lands beyond the Wall. Gilly and her baby boy. He'd seen the looks the men gave her when they first arrived and heard the talk that came after. Even Maester Aemon had to question him on that even though he had to know the baby wasn't his, the timing didn't add up at all for that to be possible, and only let it go when he explained that Gilly was one of Craster's daughters.
Not so for the rest of them, every mocking word under the sun had been thrown at him for supposedly breaking his vows. If Jon was here...
And then the guilt hit him again. Jon. What was he going to tell him when he got back? He and Gilly had run right into his brother and helped him go beyond the Wall with his only help being two other children and a simple giant of a man. Oh and a Dire Wolf as well, couldn't forget that. But that just made Sam feel even more guilty. When they ran from Craster's they'd left Ghost behind.
Was he alright? Did he manage to get away too? Sam hoped so because he had no idea what he'd say to Jon when he got back only to learn that the white Dire Wolf was dead.
All this worrying couldn't be good for a person though and so he went back to what he'd been doing all day for the last week: Reading. Books were safe, they didn't hurt you unless someone was throwing them at you, and there were so many of them. So much to learn, so little time to learn it.
"And what tome are we reading today, Tarly?"
The voice, though filled with amusement, still had Sam leaping from his seat to face his new company. Clad in black robes with his forged chain wrapped around his neck, the man should look the epitome of discomfort yet he stood as straight as his years would allow him and smiled straight ahead courtesy of his blindness.
"Maester Aemon!" Sam still squeaked out the maester of Castle Black's name, shuffling away from the book he'd been reading as if it were diseased. "S-sorry, I didn't see you there."
"Nor hear me, I imagine, so engrossed as you were in your latest study." The old man noted, still speaking with a ring of mirth in his otherwise slightly chiding tone. "Your friend missed you at supper, Tarly. Surely these old books can spare you a few minutes of your time to eat with her."
With her? Gilly? She'd missed him? "O-oh, I'm sure she had her hands full with her baby, Maester. Surely she didn't need me for that."
Oh, why were his cheeks heating up so suddenly? He was a man of the Night's Watch, women were forbidden to him as well as children.
"A woman names her child after you, Samwell, and you believe she doesn't wish your presence?" A thin eyebrow raised on Aemon's face as his smile slipped some.
"She didn't know any boys' names." It was a weak argument, he knew that, but he still couldn't work out why Gilly had gone and named her baby after him. If someone was going to name their child after anyone it ought to be for someone wise like Aemon or brave and strong like Jon.
Clearly though the Maester believed his words as little as Ser Alliser would, unlike that man though he let it go in favour of the previous topic. "Well then we must see to these books at once, what could Samwell Tarly find so interesting that he forsakes his duties as a Steward of the Night's Watch? The ravens are most upset."
Oh, was it his turn to feed them today? Oh dear, he didn't like what he was going to end up doing to make up for that oversight. Probably make him dig a new latrine pit. Sam hated latrine pit duty. It stank.
Well he'd done it now so he might as well own up to the act. "The Jade Compendium." He told Maester Aemon, moving aside some as the old man made his way over to inspect the book for damage. "There are some fascinating passages in it, as well as stories from Essos regarding the Priests of R'hllor. Did you know, the Red Temple in Volantis is three times the size of the Sept of Baelor in Kings Landing? I've never seen either, but Starry Sept in Oldtown is quite big itself. Imagine how big the temple must be then..."
"Ah yes, the Red Priests." Aemon murmured, sounding to be speaking more to himself as his fingers danced along the open page before running a bony finger down the side until they rested on a specific page. For a moment Sam thought he might turn the book to it but then a shadow seemed to fall over his features and he let the book go. "There are many stories and legends that can be found in this tome, Tarly, but if it is knowledge you seek I suggest you look elsewhere. No good has ever come from trying to understand such things."
That...was a confusing statement. "But Maester...the Others, White Walkers, whatever we call them...they're legends and stories too. Maybe we ought to be looking there for answers."
"...Perhaps." Aemon conceded, though it looked as if he truly didn't want to entertain such an idea. Maybe it was because he was a maester that he disliked such, after all such things resided outside of the world of fact and reality that the maesters of the Citadel sought to understand.
Sam was about to question him further on such thoughts when suddenly a horn blast echoed throughout Castle Black, freezing him solid. Not now, surely they couldn't already be here! He held his breath, waiting to hear the other two blasts. Two for wildlings, three for...them.
But no other blast came.
"Rangers returning." Aemon stated with certainty, though Sam noted he too seemed to relax some at the lack of additional horn blasts. Although he was frowning some. "I believe that was the southern horn though...Ser Alliser made better time than I'd hoped for."
Ser Alliser...from the south... Oh no.
The moment he'd returned, Ser Alliser had demanded an update on the goings on of the Great Ranging. Not much had reached him on that front considering everyone save him was probably dead...but then two nights ago a lone rider had made his way to Castle Black, shouting that there were wildlings south of the Wall and heading their way. At first no one had cared much for such words, what would it matter anyway? They were unwashed savages, surely their walls would keep them out.
But then the rider had described the likeness of one of their party that had matched that of Jon Snow and suddenly everything changed. At once Ser Alliser had gained an ugly look of triumph which, after explaining that he was Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son, Lord Janos Slynt soon shared and all but demanded Jon be found and hung as an oathbreaker.
Madness, Sam had thought to that, Jon had sworn the same vows as he had under the same Weirwood Tree on the same night. Everyone knew that he would never break his word, he was too good of a person for that. He couldn't say it though, and had cursed himself for his cowardice. In the end it had been a combined effort of Maester Aemon and the blacksmith Donal Noye that had lessened Jon's fate to a hearing once he was brought back to Castle Black alive.
That had left the Lord and the Ser with sour looks but when half the remaining brothers of the Night's Watch echoed their statements - many voicing how the Lord Commander had chosen Jon as his personal Steward - they'd had no choice but to accept the demand. Ser Alliser had left with a group of men, none of which particularly liked Jon, leaving First Builder Yarwyck in command although he was just a mouthpiece for Lord Janos.
To his shame, Sam had prayed that Jon would get back first and they could have rallied some sort of defence for him, maybe even forced Ser Alliser and Lord Janos out of their supposed command. He ought not to think such things of his fellow brothers, but Ser Alliser didn't like him and Janos Slynt hadn't even sworn his vows yet. But to hear the horn blast now...
Fear filling his belly, Sam abandoned the books and the library as quickly as his large mass would allow, running through the corridors of Castle Black and out into the yard in time to see the gates open and Ser Alliser's party return. Seven men they totalled, accompanied by a new black horse without a saddle...and chucked over its back, hands tied and an arrow in his shoulder was the face he'd hoped they hadn't found.
"Jon!"
Not caring for how it sounded, Sam rushed down the steps into the yard where a crowd was already gathering staring up at their brother. Oh it didn't look good, where was his black cloak? Why was he wearing sheep skin? Where was Longclaw? Oh there it was, held by one of Ser Alliser's men who tossed it to someone in the crowd.
"Oh, and here he comes." Sam did his best to ignore the former knight, he really did, but then he stepped in between him and Jon to sneer down at him. "Lord Snow's darling Piggy, Sam the Slayer, come to protect his fellow oathbreaker."
He's not an oathbreaker! He wanted to shout, even as some in the crowd began to follow the knight's jeering with their own. He's a better man than you'll ever be and you hate him for it!
Instead he just tried to get around Ser Alliser but the taller man cut him off at every try. "Where are you going, Piggy? Going to whisper your conquests in Lord Snow's ear? I think not."
"He needs help!" Was that him? Didn't sound like him. Still the strange voice that couldn't be his went on. "He's got an arrow in him for the Gods' sake! Let him see a healer."
"And why would we waste our time with such nonsense?" Oh there was that new voice he was starting to hate and he turned around to face the jowly smirk of Janos Slynt as he too turned hateful eyes on Jon. "The bastard's broken his oath, clear enough if you ask me. Look at him, he's even dressed like them! Not surprising really, given the treacherous nature of his father."
There was a round of 'ayes' from some following that, Ser Alliser's sounding the loudest.
"But...but he was supposed to get a hearing!" Sam squeaked up, wherever that brave need to shout had come from it was going away as he slowly realised just how many people who didn't like him or Jon there were surrounding them. "He's a brother of the Night's Watch!"
"Was a brother." Lord Janos stated with finality. "Why waste time on a hearing? Let his precious tree gods decide if he's of any worth."
"That is not for you to decide, Lord Janos." Suddenly the clamour died as Maester Aemon, help by his aide Clydas, made his way down the steps into the yard. His presence had an odd effect on all the men, both for Jon and against him, and they parted like waves to let him through though angry glares were still fixed on each other as he passed by. That, Sam realised, was the power of a Targaryen; far from home, no real power, and blind to boot...yet still people deferred to him.
The man who could have been king patted his aide's hand once and immediately Clydas let go, his hands trailing along the horses and then Sam's shoulder until he stood facing Ser Alliser. "Brother Thorne, I believe it was decided that Jon Snow would speak for his actions, was it not?"
"Yes Maester." The man answered, though his glower was now growing stronger at having to be reminded of that. "However I think that-"
"And was it not decided," Aemon Targaryen cut him off, voice sharp and authoritative, "that he should be brought home to us unharmed?"
"Yes, Maester." He was practically grinding his teeth now at this reminder. It'd be funny if Sam didn't feel so afraid for his and Jon's lives. "But considering his attire-"
"Tarly." Aemon cut in, not turning his unseeing gaze from Ser Alliser for a moment. "Bring Jon Snow to my chambers at once. With some luck his wound can still be treated without any permanent damage done to him. He will face the justice of the Night's Watch and no one else's."
Sam got started the moment he heard the maester's instructions, not daring to look at the men around him lest he see some intention to slit his throat as they'd tried to do to his friend. That arrow had black feathers, he saw as he tried to get Jon down from his horse, who was to say they hadn't tried anything on the ride back?
He tried to be careful in getting Jon off the horse, but a small shake was all it took for him to come sliding off and he nearly went face first into the mud but then another arm reached out and grabbed his wounded shoulder causing him to groan in pain.
"Easy there, Snow." Pyp muttered, shifting his grip under Jon's side as another pair of brothers came around to help him off his horse.
By the time he was off Jon was being carried by eight men all of whom hadn't gone looking for him, his own personal guard it seemed. Still they could be a little more careful and Sam said as much as he went with them up the steps to Maester Aemon's study. He barely heard the sharp words Ser Alliser had with Maester Aemon nor the scathing yet polite retort the wise man had for him, his friend was hurt and he'd be damned if this lot hurt him further.
Maybe it was his words that did it or the pain was finally too much for him to sleep through it, but as they entered the study and lay him down on the operating table, Jon's eyes slowly pulled open and he looked right up at him.
"Sssam?" His voice was barely more than a whisper and a pained one at that.
"It's alright now Jon," He told him back, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder and pushing him back down, giving him a reassuring smile. "Maester Aemon'll be here soon. We'll have that arrow out in no time. It's alright. You're home."
Did he hear his words? Sam hoped so. Soon enough Maester Aemon joined them and tossed them all out so that he could work on Jon. Most of them decided that was it and went back to doing what they'd been doing before the party returned. Sam however stayed by the door to the maester's study, Pyp too though he barely noticed him.
"He'll be alright." He told himself again, hoping that he believed it this time. "Jon's always alright."
"He better be." Pyp muttered, smiling a deprecating smile at him. "Wouldn't do for Ser Alliser to hang a cripple."
Jon
Maybe it was the arrow in his shoulder that triggered it...or the fist to his face after he tried to rip half the fucking Crows apart...or maybe just the fact that he'd been awake for nearly two days straight due to the longest and most dangerous act of warging he'd pulled to date - whatever it was Jon was dizzy as a green boy after his first swig of ale.
That's probably why he found himself sitting in a wooden chair staring at a flaming hearth, the rest of the world around him shrouded in mist. He was dreaming again - of a celebration of the living triumphing over the dead, of Tormund singing his praises...of his Queen being ignored. Part of him had wanted to seek her out, to say...something...but instead he found himself here staring into the fire.
He should be happy that it was over...and yet, with what he knew now, it felt like the world was still beating out a bloody rhythm on is skull.
I'm not a Stark. All those times he'd said it had been carried with a silent 'it is what it is, nothing more' but now those words carried another meaning. And it broke his heart. I'm not a Stark because I never was one to begin with. How was he going to explain this to the others?
Sansa...well she was pretty obvious in her inclinations, no question how she'd spin such information. But Arya...his little sister...he was going to lose them over this, Jon just knew it.
Gods but he hated Sam right now. Why couldn't he have left it alone? Couldn't he just have one night, one minute of peace and quiet before the world demanded things of him again?
"Are you drunk?"
And there she was. When did she come in? He didn't know but he still rose on dizzy legs to greet her all the same.
"No..." But then his head dipped just a tad to the right and he nearly missed a step. Seeing the slightly amused look in her eye he couldn't help a tiny bashful smile before conceding. "Maybe a little."
The look only lasted a moment for it fell away, her gaze holding other feelings besides mirth. Chief among them being grief.
Say something you bloody idiot!
"I didn't know Ser Jorah well," he began, watching her face with every word he spoke, praying that he didn't offend "but I know this: If he could have chosen a way to die it would have been protecting you."
Her face shifted some and for a moment he could just hear Ygritte in the back of his head whispering 'You know nothing, Jon Snow.' So what if he'd died the way he wanted? Of course she would rather he was here.
But what a way he had gone; they'd found them amongst a pile of wight corpses, easily more taken down by that one man than anyone else had managed that night save perhaps Theon, all for the sake of keeping their Queen alive. She'd been distraught however, sobbing into his chest and begging him to stand again. Jon hadn't seen the Mother of Dragons then, just a girl who wanted her loyal Bear back.
That girl was on display again for a moment at his words.
"He loved me." Of course he did, that had been obvious from their first meeting. She took a step forward, then another, until she was well within reach of him, that red Targaryen dress awakening...something in him that he couldn't name, that always woke when she was present. "But I couldn't love him, not the way he wanted. Not the way I love you."
She loves me... It was the first time she'd said it...for a moment everything fell away with that simple statement. She loves me!
"Is that alright?" She asked, no trace of a Dragon Queen anywhere in her words. Gods, she was almost trembling...
His lips were on hers a moment later, fuelled by a need that always came when they were alone together: a need to see her, to feel and please her, a need...just a need! It burned in him as his kiss was met with hers, that equal fire burning just as brightly for him.
Backwards, she was directing him backwards towards the bed, just a few steps more - Gods his world was aflame again! Flames within and without, kissing and licking him...they were her flames. Her Targaryen flames...
Just like...his...
With a force equal to the burning that called them, ice froze his lust and pulled him away from her, his Queen, his love...his Aunt.
She saw what he'd just remembered before he could say anything, the girl disappearing behind the Queen, and she put those steps between them again now with her back to him. "I wish you'd never told me. If I didn't know I'd be happy right now."
Her words echoed his wishes. Why couldn't he forget? Why just for a moment couldn't it be the way it had been before? Wasn't he allowed to be happy? Wasn't she allowed it? Weren't they both well overdue some fucking peace?! Why couldn't he let it go?
Because it's wrong. A voice so like Lady Stark's, taunting him beyond the grave, whispering in his ear. Aunt and nephew, brother and sister. Just like the Mad King. Just like the Lannisters...just like you.
She was saying things to him but he didn't hear, finally turning to face her as the words of the woman who turned out be his other Aunt ran on a loop in his head.
"I don't want it." He never wanted the Iron Throne or the title of King, none of it! Just her...and that was wrong.
His statement however seemed to fuel the frustration mounting up in her own gaze as she finally turned to face him. "It doesn't matter what you want! You didn't want to be King in the North and they still made you their leader!"
Yes, and I gave it up! For you! It would do him no good to say that, he knew. The look in her eyes, exasperation hiding something else...fear. Gods she was afraid. Of him. "Once people know of your true heritage, they'll press you into taking the Throne."
They would press him? She was pressing him now! So much so that, as she fell into the chair at the foot of the bed, he was down in his knees staring up at her. "I'll refuse. You are my Queen. I don't know what else I can say."
He would dip his head but her hands reached out and grabbed his face, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Fingers burning with her Targaryen heat etching their mark in his skin, she commanded fearfully "You can say nothing!"
But he had to, Sansa and Arya deserved to know. He couldn't keep the truth from them, he couldn't!
And then the warmth slipped away though her hands remained, the near panic in her gaze also washing out until her composure was as blank as winter snow.
"But you did." Even when she spoke it was cold, colder than Sansa's iciest tone, dead and empty. "You told them...you made me beg...and still you told them. And because of that..."
No...no not again! Jon tried to pull away but those cold hands kept him firm, forcing him to watch as the purple eyes turned blue, the heat freezing out of her save for the tiniest trickle of blood from her lips, his dagger once again in her heart. Cold. Too cold. Winter winds bit at his flesh, sharper than any blade, cutting him to his soul. Where was the fire? Where was his fire?!
"Because of you..." the corpse that wore his Queen's face whispered, heedless to his pleas as he had been to hers.
"No. Dany please no!"
"Winter is coming." Wrong. It was wrong! She should never say those words. Not her!
"Dany please!"
His voice was lost in the snow.
"Jon!"
He barely heard the call over the winds but he lashed out for it all the same, desperate for any kind of heat. A voice met life, life meant warmth. He needed the warmth!
"Agh!" His head slammed against something cold and hard and he went back down, not quite sitting but not standing either. Where was he? Nowhere good, it was too cold, where was that voice? That voice meant warmth, where had the warmth gone?
"Jon!" The voice called again, right in front of him it sounded like. "Jon it's alright, you were only dreaming! It's alright, I promise you're alright now."
That voice...friendlier than any other he'd known, even beyond the Wall with Tormund, braver than he would ever admit...and the beginning of Jon's destruction. Breathe! Taking his own advice, he took in a breath of cold air and let it out, repeating it two more times, and finally properly opened his eyes to look upon his host.
"...Sam." In ten years, he'd almost forgotten what his old friend looked like. Odd, his memories always painted him as fatter than that.
The portly man grinned back at him from beyond the frozen bars that separated them, relief seeming to pour from his very being. "I was afraid we'd lost you. Maester Aemon barely finished working on you before Ser Alliser threw you in here."
Maester Aemon? Ser Alliser? He had a vague memory of that cunt standing over him before he passed out from the arrow in his shoulder. But if Maester Aemon had worked on him... "I'm in Castle Black?"
"Th-the Ice Cells to be exact." Sam confirmed, his smile dropping for a worried stare as he looked him over. "We heard you'd gone over to the wildlings. Rubbish of course, but Ser Alliser's wanted an excuse for as long as we've known him."
Rubbish, eh? Jon barely concealed a smirk, covering his snort for a cough which of course put his friend in a worrisome state again that he in turn just waved off. Well at least he knew why he was so cold now. The Ice Cells were often used to store meat for the Crows, and every now and then as confinement for prisoners. Naturally Alliser Thorne would seek to make him as uncomfortable as possible, good to see his memory of the bastard matched with reality and...wait a sec...
"You were told I was with them?" That hadn't happened last time, he was pretty sure of that.
"Oh yes," Sam nodded, "a rider came from just north of Queenscrown a week ago, said wildlings had raided his home and taken his horses, painted one of them as looking like you. I told them of course that..."
But Jon had already tuned out his words, a rider from Queenscrown? The man who...No, that was far too fantastic, he didn't get breaks like that...if this could even be called such. And then it hit Jon just how long ago it had been since this mystery rider had arrived. A week...he'd been out for nearly as long then, which would be more than enough time for...
"Sam...Sam!" He raised his voice some to silence his friend who was going on about the new recruit, Janos Slynt, and other such things. "Has any news come from the South?"
At his question, Sam's face went blank. Not uncomprehending or guarded, more concerned...as if he knew a truth that Jon needed to hear but was unsure he should say it. Gods it would have been nice if that had been the Sam who'd known the truth of his birth...but for him to look like that now...Jon's heart plummeted before his friend even began to speak.
"Jon...I..." He started and stopped a number of times before breathing deep and just going for it "we received a raven from Dragonstone two days ago...saying that...your brother...that is...Robb Stark is..."
"Dead."
He'd failed.
All that work, warging beyond anything he'd ever done in a body that wasn't used to it, enlisting Nymeria, finding Lady, freeing Grey Wind and then storming the hall itself...and it had all been for nothing. His brother, Robb Stark, the King in the North was dead again...and this time there was no going back. He'd had one chance, and he'd failed.
Odd. Jon thought he'd be angrier.
"Jon..." Sam's voice pulled him out of his wondering at his own apathy, "I'm so sorry."
Sorry? Why was he sorry? He never knew Robb, never played with him, never trained with him, was never jealous of him, had never been so blase in their parting not knowing that they would never see each other again. What the hell did Sam have to be sorry about?
Instead then, he merely asked. "How did it happen?" What had happened after the connection failed, when the fucking Crows he'd once called brothers had shot him with an arrow?
"I..." he was hesitating again, but again Sam managed to get it out, "he was betrayed by Walder Frey at the Twins, under a banner of peace...they slaughtered him and his entire army at his own uncle's wedding...people are calling it the Red Wedding now."
So it was still the Red Wedding...he hadn't changed a thing.
"But...well, ravens get things wrong all the time!" He was trying to reassure him... "I mean, he could have escaped! He had a Dire Wolf too, right? Ghost saved my life at the Fist and it's not like a castle is that hard to navigate!"
Oh, sweet naive loyal Sam. Jon had missed him. Ten years and not a word spoken between them and now here they were, talking as if Sam had never ruined his life. His best friend trying to assure him all was well like always.
But there was no time for false comfort. The reality was that Jon had failed, a possible ally and any number of soldiers lost to the scheming Freys and treacherous Boltons; an entire wolf pack decimated out of his stupid desire to mess up the Lannisters' plot, Gods he might even have gotten Arya killed! He'd acted like a stupid little boy, thinking he could write the course of the world to his tune and look what it had gotten him!
Kill the boy, you fool! He snarled in his own head, blocking out Sam's words that were still spilling useless relief. Kill that damned boy before you get everyone else killed too!
A boy would mourn, he didn't have time for that; a boy would scorn the southern shits and wish them all dead, he didn't have time for that; a boy would want to pull the fucking Crows that ruined his work apart, piece by fucking piece and feed them to Ghost, and he didn't have time for that.
The Long Night. That is the enemy that matters. The only enemy that matters. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy right fucking now!
"Sam." His calling his friend's name silenced him with its firmness. "The Free Folk south of the Wall, what's being done about them?"
Once again Sam clammed up, answering him better than any words, and Jon let out an annoyed sigh at the stupidity of Crows. Prior warning from this southern rider and still the black bastards didn't do a damned thing. Probably wouldn't until the Thenns set fire to the Gift and burned Moles Town to the ground. Would that he was still their Warg King, he'd have half a mind to open the gates and let them at Thorne just for laughs. It'd certainly make his job easier.
But he was the Shield that Guards the Realms of Men. The realms of Men, not just the lands beyond the Wall, no matter how much he despised the lands south of it. So for now he'd have no choice but to make these dumb fuckers listen himself.
Sighing, he rubbed his face and tried unsuccessfully to make himself comfortable. "Right, go find someone, tell them I'm up."
"Jon?"
"They want to execute me, yes?"
"No-not everyone!" Sam protested, seemingly shocked that he was giving in so easily. "There's a hearing first! Maester Aemon made sure of that! You just need to prove to them you've done nothing wrong!"
Oh, Sam. This time he couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up his throat, probably unnerving his friend but he couldn't help it. The list of wrongdoing on his part was...well they'd need more ink than they had to spare to write it all down.
Shaking his head, Jon forced himself to stop laughing lest Sam really think he lost his senses north of the Wall and focussed on the information he'd been given. A hearing, good. Best chance he'd get to making these fools listen. Now how best to go about this...
"I...I'll just go and tell someone then." Sam murmured, his trudging away echoing his uncertainty of how well he thought he was right now. Then he stopped, turning back to speak to him again. "I nearly forgot to say, welcome back Jon. Welcome home."
And with that said, he left Jon to his thoughts. Not that his thoughts had anything positive in response to that implication.
Home. Jon snorted in derision at such a statement. Castle Black was not home, the Crows were not his family, and anyone who told him otherwise was either craven or foolish. And seeing as Sam was no fool...
Sighing Jon tried to rid such bad thoughts of his one-time friend, any chance at knowing what home was to him had been lost the moment Sam told him the truth of who he was. The closest he had to that now was the Free Folk who took him in and loved him as one of their own.
But such thoughts weren't deserved of the Samwell Tarly of here and now. And the Free Folk he belonged to were coming to kill him along with all these men that he hated. Funny old world.
Shaking that off, he tried again to think. Running off and rejoining the Free Folk wouldn't serve him anything, Ygritte would shoot him full of arrows and that was if Tormund didn't rip him open with his bare hands. Mance was north of the Wall and nowhere near Castle Black yet.
So Jon had no choice. If he wanted even the smallest chance of saving Mance Rayder's life, first he'd have to help the Crows. It was the only option open to him.
So be it. Looking down at himself for the first time since waking up, Jon finally noticed how he was dressed. Gone was the sheepskin that the Free Folk had garbed him in, and in its place was a black doublet "to go with my black breeches and black boots..." he could hear Mance's retelling in his head even as he stared at the oppressive colour "the men of the Nights Watch dress in black..." his old clothes must have been burnt by now.
And just for that, even as the doors opened somewhere beyond his sight to admit one of Alliser Thorne's creatures, Jon thought he might just push someone off the top of the Wall.
And so my watch begins.
Aemon
Black. It was the colour many associated with the Night's Watch, most commonly these days marking the shame of the people sent to take the vows of brotherhood. What foolishness, once upon a time that colour, he was sure, would have symbolised the darkness the brave men who swore themselves to this order faced beyond the Wall every day and every night in the name of men and women who would never know theirs.
For Aemon Targaryen though, black had become something of a state of being. He woke to it in the morning and returned with it to sleep. It was his reality. All black. A younger, more foolish version of himself might have marked that as his being the truest black brother of them all. Age had taught him otherwise. He was just an old man who had learned some things of use.
When he'd first realised he was going to lose his sight, he'd locked himself up in the library much like young Tarly often did and read every single book he could get hold of, trying to memorise every word, analyse every possible meaning. It had not been until his dear friend Brynden Rivers had finally broken the door off its hinges to chastise him that he even realised he'd been crying, for surely once he lost his eyes he would be useless.
"I see at times with a thousand eyes and one," he'd told him, "but does that make me all knowing? No, my friend, I know nothing for I only see the world with eyes. You soon will see it with everything that I cannot."
At first he hadn't understood and when the day came that his sight finally did fail he'd screamed and cried and cursed his friend for his pretty words, useless as they were. Brynden gone on a ranging, taking his bow and the ancestral Targaryen Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister with him.
For all of a moon's turn he acted a petulant child, preparing any number of speeches of retribution against his bloody Lord Commander and his talk of seeing the world differently - he saw nothing! - and then word came. Brynden's bow had been found by another ranging party out of Eastwatch, but there had been no sign of Brynden himself. Soon enough, he was declared dead and a new Lord Commander was chosen.
That, Aemon now knew, was the turning point in his life. The moment when he followed his own advice and killed what little remained of the boy in himself, becoming a man in full. After that he worked tirelessly to adapt to this new dark reality he inhabited, how to make his way about the castle with the least amount of help, how to properly listen out for approaching brothers so as not to impede them nor let them impede him, and more besides. Slowly he did adapt and, just as Brynden had prophesied, a new world that only he could see opened itself to him.
His ears heard deceit in even the most convincing of lies, his nose smelled out the concoctions he kept in his chambers even though they were bottled, his tongue tasted the richest of flavours in even the most stale of food...even objects he touched felt more real, imprinting a memory of what exactly they were on his mind so that he might never forget again.
Truly, he was a privileged man.
His ears now served him again as Clydas helped him to his seat on the high table, the brisk steps of their new recruit Janos Slynt skipping past him to take a seat further along, next to Brother Alliser Thorne. This arrangement was not one he approved of, especially not the recruit, but what was there to do? His world was not theirs and in their world he was but an old man who talked a lot.
Pushing the issue would serve no one, not least the brother whose fate depended on his hearing, and so he merely waited patiently until Brother Thorne finally called out for Brother Jon to be brought in.
To his left he heard the door of the common hall open and close, three sets of footsteps walking until they were centred in the hall then two sets walked away leaving only one. Jon Snow to be sure.
"This hearing" Brother Thorne grumpily began, "is called to ascertain the guilt of Jon Snow. He is charged with deserting the Night's Watch, joining the wildling raiders, aiding and abetting the enemy and the theft of Night's Watch property."
The way he talked revealed his desire for Jon Snow's death, not a surprise but it disappointed Aemon all the same that brothers would bear such ill will against one another. Thorne had disliked the boy from the moment he came to Castle Black, the son of Eddard Stark who had aided Robert Baratheon in the defeat and near destruction of House Targaryen.
"How does the accused plead?" Thorne asked, his desire to get to the hanging dripping from his lips.
His question however was met with silence. That silence said mountains worth though and Aemon resisted the urge to sigh, this mutual enmity between Snow and Thorne had to end lest it tear the Night's Watch apart.
"Did you not hear me, Snow?" The latter asked "What is your plea?"
Still silence.
"Perhaps he knows he's guilty and thinks his silence protects him." Recruit Slynt, a fulsome tone likely matched with a smile of the same kind. "Not a chance of that, I promise you that bastard. Your father tried the same before he got what he deserved."
Still silence. And then a screeching of wood on stone.
"Speak up now Snow!" Thorne was on his feet. "Your silence serves you nothing but a certain death! Have you nothing to say for your wildling friends? Any pretty wildling whores we should know of? Well, bastard?!"
And still, at that insult, Jon Snow remained silent. What did he hope to accomplish with this? A last act of defiance before the noose? What foolishness!
"Jon Snow." Aemon took it upon himself then and there to get this going, hoping that the boy would at least speak to him. There was no cause for dislike between them, surely. "Is there nothing you wish to say before we carry out your sentence?"
A pause...and then finally there was a breath from ahead of him. "There is much I must discuss, Maester Aemon, but first may I ask where is the judicial panel?"
"What game is this, Snow?" Thorne spat, his anger at Snow's behaviour vibrating through the table and up through Aemon's fingers. "We stand before you right now!"
Frankly, Aemon was of a mind with the Master-at-Arms. What was Jon doing? Such behaviour wouldn't save his life, indeed it would only make his chances worse. Still, he would do what he could for the lad. "The judicial panel consists of Alliser Thorne of the Rangers, Othell Yarwyck of the Builders and Janos Slynt-"
"Lord Janos Slynt!" The aforementioned recruit snapped, his voice now pointed towards himself rather than Snow. "I was made a Lord by the King himself!"
"Of course, my lord, my apologies." Oh the tiresome game of southern politics, would that all would leave such behind but it was what it was, "Lord Janos Slynt of-"
"My apologies Maester Aemon." Jon Snow now interrupted though his voice was most certainly not apologetic. Indeed it sounded just as annoyed by Recruit Slynt's attitude as he felt. "But I do not know this Janos Slynt. To what order has he been appointed?"
"Lord Janos Slynt!" The recruit barked again, his words echoing off the walls as he now stood up from his seat, Aemon could imagine that the man's face must be puffing with anger at being so easily written off. He seemed the type. "I was the commander of the City Watch of Kings Landing, boy! You answer to me!"
"Am I to assume then," Jon Snow went on seemingly unfazed by the man's ire, his voice still directed at Aemon only "that this man I do not know has yet to even take his vows? And you would place such a man on my judicial panel?"
Interesting wording that, especially when coupled with that tone. Usually when a man talked about something that was his there were more words to back it up, a product of highborn attitudes believing they were entitled to certain rights. Every recruit from a highborn family started this way at the Night's Watch, Jon Snow himself had been guilty of such attitude...but what Aemon heard from Jon Snow now wasn't entitlement. No...he heard fact. As if Jon owned them and not the other way around. Most peculiar.
Curious enough to hear more from this new voice, Aemon leaned forward. If Jon Snow would only speak to him, whether out of pettiness or some other reasoning that this new voice he'd developed had concocted, then he would get this farce going. If nothing else they could learn more of what happened on Lord Commander Mormont's Great Ranging.
"Tell us then, Jon Snow, in your own words: How did Brother Qhorin of the Shadow Tower die?"
"Well, if memory serves," was that...whimsy he heard in the boy's voice? "it was a sword through the belly. Quick and relatively painless compared to what some would have done to him."
"So you admit to murdering a brother of the Watch!" Thorne again, triumph booming off the walls now.
Aemon however remained focussed on the voice straight ahead of him. "And...why was he killed?"
Another round of accusations were thrown at Snow to which the boy remained silent over, remarkable restraint he'd developed in his time away. Finally when there was a lull in the verbal abuse, with any luck Thorne and Slynt realising that wouldn't work, Snow replied. "The Half Hand believed the best chance we had at countering Mance Rayder was from within. To do so one of us had to kill the other so the Free Folk would trust the survivor. And seeing as the Half Hand had too many enemies within their camp to ever be trusted-"
"'Free Folk.' Listen to him!" Oh, it would seem Slynt still had a few salvos left in him. "He even talks like one of them!"
"Aye!" The sharpness Snow suddenly snapped back with silenced all but it put Aemon's back up. That voice...that was not the voice of a boy. "I talk like the Free Folk! I broke bread with the Free Folk, fought with the Free Folk! I did all that was necessary to guard the Realms of Men!"
'You stupid southern shit' went unsaid but Aemon heard it, heard the spite, the derision. Beneath that self righteous speech was a man with far more to do than play this ridiculous game. But he also heard the rest, that word he'd heard before from another of their brothers who had returned to the Wall. The Realms of Men. Realms. Plural.
You have seen them too then, Jon Snow. That would kill a boy to be sure...and yet...
"And yet you break your vows to the Watch that guards the realm to do it." Thorne, it appeared, had not gotten the message. "What, exactly did you gain by running, raiding, and raping with the wildlings?"
"Information with regards to Mance Rayder's plans on the Wall." It would appear Snow's silence towards the rest of the panel had been broken with his outburst, though Aemon would not mistake the tone he spoke with to be conciliatory. "He marches south with an army a hundred thousand strong. He's united every clan from the Haunted Forest to the Valley of Thenn."
"Impossible." Thorne snapped immediately. "You can't get fifty wildlings together without them trying to kill each other."
That seemed to stop the conversation flat...except for a low laugh rumbling over from Jon Snow's position. "Then my eyes must have stopped working when I first saw their camp. He's gathered every village in the forest, brokered peace between the Thenns and the Cave Dwellers, negotiated a ceasefire between Hornfoots and Nightrunners, got the Ice River Clans and the Frozen Shore Men work together. Even the Giants are with him."
A formidable host indeed, Mance Rayder all the more so if he'd truly managed all that Snow was telling them. But for Thenns and Giants to be headed south...
"Giants?" The question was followed with a jowly scoff. "Just how much more are we going to hear? Grumpkins and Snarks? The White Walkers perhaps?"
His mockery however was met with silence, not just from ahead but here on the table as well. A chill had descended on them all, Aemon could feel it even as his own Dragon's blood did what little it could to warm him against the cold. Dark things were moving now and to mock them, even if it came from a recruit, was the height of foolishness.
Finally Snow went on, though his tone was pointed to the man who had jeered at their work, a glare clear in his words. "The band your rider spoke of is led by Tormund Giantsbane, I killed their warg and three others when I broke from them. I was on my way to Castle Black to warn the men here when you shot me. The signal to begin the attack will be a bonfire, the largest the North has ever seen.
Was it just him, or was the North Snow was speaking of something different to the one Aemon knew?
"Believe me or not, that is the truth." This new Jon Snow stated. "Now, unless you mean to take my head First Builder, Maester Aemon, I wish to return to my duties."
"You wish?" Thorne again. "I have given you no such leave, Snow."
Snow's voice turned away from Aemon, and a moment later he was glad for it because the tone he used with Thorne was colder than the Wall. "And with what authority do you hold me, Master at Arms?"
"I am acting Commander in Mormont's absence-!"
"A position you lost the moment Lord Commander Mormont died." Snow stated shortly, still in that cold tone. "In such times, authority passes to the First Ranger. Maester Aemon, was Alliser Thorne made First Ranger in my absence?"
"He was not." Oh, clever boy. Would it pay off?
"Well then," Snow went on, was that a smirk he heard in the lad's tone? "until such time as a new Lord Commander is chosen and names you First Ranger, Ser Alliser, I believe the Maester of the castle has the final say on my life. So, Maester Aemon, am I free to go?"
Who was this person before him? It sounded like Jon Snow, had the same foot falls as Jon Snow...and yet the attitude was completely reversed. What had become of the sullen, somewhat aloof boy who had come to Castle Black? This was not that boy, he was assertive, firm, and chose his words as well as he might swing his sword...and he knew it. Why else would he speak in such a manner to them all?
And now the rod had been passed to him, a blind man, to decide what was to be done with him. What a curious young man.
"None of us are free." Aemon presently stated, his fingers breaking away from one another to point his left digit in Snow's direction. "But we will not be taking your head today, I believe."
He could feel the discontent come at him in waves from his right, that would certainly cause some friction. An unfortunate part of this play, to be sure, but of them all who else knew what was truly coming for them other than Samwell Tarly and his friend Gilly? No, Winter was on the way and right now they needed Jon Snow. So he merely waved Jon Snow out with a light 'Off you go.'
There followed a firm set of footsteps, again unlike anything he'd heard from the lad before, the scraping of the latch on the door and then a rush of cold winds blowing in from outside only to be cut off as the door slammed shut again.
Well...much to be thought on.
"How dare he?" Ah, Recruit Slynt again, certain to go on about his position in the Capital any second. "When I was Commander of the City Watch I hung men for speaking such ways to me." And there it was.
Closing his eyes was a pointless act but it did allow Aemon to roll them, clearly he'd get no thinking done here. Therefore he gave a gentle tap to Clydas arm and his aide quickly stood from his seat to help him up and towards the steps down to the hall.
"He can't escape it forever." Brother Thorne growled, though his voice was clearly pointed at his back. "Regardless of how you think it works, I am acting Commander here."
"Yes you are." Jon Snow's words wouldn't save him twice, he must know that as well as they did. Gods help them all if Thorne didn't start listening though.
"And I don't trust the bastard."
In addition to the obvious, I am blind. But he stayed his tongue there, feeling his way until he felt the banister and took his first careful step downwards. Ser Alliser however was a different kind of blind, the kind most were afflicted with: he saw only with his eyes. But for a man who saw the world the way Aemon did he could say with certainty regarding the report on the wildlings, "He told the truth."
There was a scoff for his trouble. "You can always tell when a man is telling a lie? Where did you acquire this magical power?"
People had been asking him that since before he lost his eyes, how fortunate then that he had the perfect response to that. Therefore without even bothering to turn away from his simple journey downwards, Aemon tossed back over his head. "I grew up in Kings Landing."
And because of that upbringing, the lessons he'd learned at the Red Keep and the Citadel and all this time in the blackness that was his world, Maester Aemon also knew something else: Though he told the truth with the wildlings, when it came to the people around him Jon Snow had lied.
He said he didn't know Janos Slynt...but the sheer disgust he spoke with carried the wretched taste of experience.
Much to be thought on indeed.