Chapter Text
Jon Snow was many things, but he never thought himself a quitter. However, when he was stuck in that cell, he couldn’t help but long for the peace that would come if the Unsullied just killed him. Unable to hide from his thoughts, he replayed everything that had happened.
A few of the most prominent being Ygritte dying in his arms, his brothers’ deaths, all the comrades killed either by others or by his own hand, being brought back to life, watching as a million people burned to ash with his help, killing his queen, and being locked away in a cell.
He couldn’t help but wonder why he was still alive.
Why did he deserve to live? Of all the people who deserve another chance, why him? Robb and Rickon were gone too soon. Shireen, a sweet girl, was burned at the stake. More friends than he could count, good people killed for the cause.
He died, and of all the other people who deserved a second chance, he was given one. Some benevolent force, for whatever reason, decided he needed another chance at life. But he never wanted that. He was content in his rest. Let better men and leaders find a way to protect them from the dead.
Whatever purpose the red woman's god had for him, he didn’t care. Whether he fulfilled it or not, he wanted peace. He couldn’t help but long for the glimpse of death he saw. Nothing was much better than everything.
He would never end his own life. Too many have died for him. He couldn’t throw away their sacrifice. Still, as he sat in that cell with nothing better to do and no one to distract him from his mental anguish, the thought of killing him was more appealing than he’d care to admit.
But he supposes death would be too good for him. Instead, the gods mocked him. How ironic it was to be sent back to the Night’s Watch. Swearing his life to the cause once again, as if having lost his life once for them wasn’t enough.
Once he was sent back to the wall, no longer stuck in that cell. He realized he still had one important task he had been too preoccupied to give his attention to.
Returning the Free Folk beyond the wall.
He had taken them from their homes, away from danger. But now that the danger was gone, it was only natural that they would want to return.
Almost immediately after arriving at the wall, he searched for Tormund, learning that the man was with his people living on the land Jon had provided them. No longer seeing any reason to watch over the wall.
Now that there's nothing to protect the wall from. The Night’s Watch was just a glorified correctional camp. Though Jon supposes that’s what it’s always been to those who didn’t believe in the dead, and never paid any mind to the wildlings.
When Jon arrived at the Free Folk’s camp, he wasn’t exactly happy, but he definitely felt some kind of anticipation at seeing Tormund again. He was one of the few people alive who knew Jon for who he really was. Not the idea of him or who his family was. Everything Tormund thought of Jon was what Tormund saw of him.
Mixing that with the charm the large, sun-kissed man has made it almost impossible for Jon not to enjoy his company. Or at the very least, relax around him. It’s easier to get out of his own mind when the other man is around. To Jon, it always felt like there were a thousand variables to every decision that needed to be thoroughly thought out and carefully planned. It was his responsibility to prepare for everything that might happen. Even though he never wanted that responsibility, he owed it to the people. This mindset just made his overthinking worse, and feeling uncertain about his decisions, sticking with them nonetheless. It hurts to think that he did everything the best he could, and still it wasn’t enough. How he could do it differently if he only knew what he knows now. Hindsight is a cruel joke.
Tormund found him immediately upon entering the camp, dragging him off his horse before he had time to dismount. Though the man is large, the weight of Jon, mixed with not expecting to be pulled off his horse, led to him making Tormund stagger and fall, Jon landing on top of him.
He tries to get up, but Tormund pulls him flush to his body, squeezing tightly. “My little Crow.”
Jon snorts, embracing him back for a short moment before quickly pulling away to get up. Offering the man a hand. “I guess I am a crow again. They sent me back to the watch after…everything.”
“I heard you killed the Dragon Queen.” Tormund says, not one to beat around the bush.
Jon’s good mood quickly sours. “Yes. I did.”
Tormund huffs, “Pretty big balls on this bird.”
“After what happened at King’s Landing, I felt I had to.”
Tormund nods. Jon knows the man’s not questioning his decision. He’s simply curious about what happened. “So what are you doin’ here?”
“Now that everything’s over, I would like to escort the Free Folk back north of the wall.” He pauses, wanting to stress his intentions, “-this land is yours, Sansa made sure of that. However, I know many of your people would want to go back to the land they lost. Those wanting to return will be given supplies and horses by the Queen of the North. As a gift for the support the Free Folk gave the kingdom during the war.”
“Not many elders or chieftains left after the battle with the dead.” He grimaces slightly, continuing, “-but those of us left have been thinkin’ about it. It’s a nice setup, but it’s not home. It smells like pig shit here. Most of ‘em miss the land.”
Jon nods in understanding, “I’ll give you two months to prepare your people. The journey should be easier now that the real threat is gone. Figure out an estimate of who’s all returning so I can send word to Winterfell.”
Tormund nods, smiling and throwing a hand over his shoulder. “There’s time for that later. How was prison?”
“I was locked in a cell.”
“Did they hurt you?” He asks, looking over Jon. Tormund starts touching him, lifting his arms, and checking to see if anything is missing beneath his layers of clothing.
Jon can’t deny how good it feels to be fretted over like this. How nice it is to have someone touch him, especially someone he trusts. He already was a man who craved affection, though he seldom asked for it. Almost a year in prison didn’t help matters. “No, they didn’t.”
After Tormund decides he’s checked well enough, he backs up. Jon immediately misses the larger man's touch, internally scolding himself for feeling that way. “Well, crow. Do you have time to do a little catchin’ up, some drinkin’?”
He smiles brighter than he has in a long time, glad the man wants his company. “Maybe not the drinking.” He has drunk with Tormund before, multiple times upon request. He’s never enjoyed the sour milk, nearly throwing up every time. Whatever the Free Folk put in it definitely has a harder kick than anything he’s tried before.
The man laughs, throwing a hand over Jon’s shoulder and moving them farther into the camp. “I’ll take what I can get.”
—-
Two months fly by, and Tormund has almost three thousand wildings returning to the North. Jon, as promised, escorts them back to their land, helping them set up camp. Doing what he can to assist the Free Folk in creating a memorial for their loved ones. Very few bodies were left after the fight with the dead, but those left, he helped gather and burn. He keeps busy trying to exhaust himself so thoroughly that he has no chance to dwell on going back to the wall. The thought of returning to the place he was betrayed at, killed at, sends shivers down his spine.
He’s sitting in his tent the night before he’ll begin his journey back. Trying to mentally prepare himself, when Tormund enters. “We’re havin’ a gatherin’ to celebrate our return, you should come join us.”
Jon smiles despite the mental turmoil he’s facing. “I don’t know if it’s my place to do so.”
Tormund shrugs, walking over to pull him out of his tent. “Sure, it is, you killed for us, helped us. You returned us to our home. You’ll break bread with us.”
“If you insist”
“I’m insistin’.”
He drags Jon into the large gathering tent set up in the middle of the camp. Upon entering, the Free Folk welcome the two of them. He smiles, passing through, stopping when Tormund talks to the others, sitting through a few stories. Not one to comment, but definitely one to listen, especially when it’s Tormund talking. It’s so enchanting listening to the man tell stories. He can’t help but be fixated on his enthusiasm and the carefree way he expresses himself. The man is so naturally charming it’s surprising none of the women here are swooning over him. Jon would be.
The thought makes Jon flush, quickly willing the idea out of his head.
Eventually, Tormund breaks out of the group, Jon following behind. He tries not to leave Tormund's side if he can help it. The large man makes his way to the waterskins, chugging some before handing it to Jon.
He takes a swig, grimacing and puts a hand to his mouth trying to keep it down, before handing it back. Tormund snorts at his reaction, “Definitely better than any of that pussy shit you lot got down south.”
“Define better.”
Tormund laughs, throwing a hand over his shoulder and plopping the two of them by the fire. “This will actually get you drunk.”
“Or throwing up your whole stomach.” He sighs, chuckling.
Tormund grabs his cheek, pulling hard, “My little crow and his weak stomach.”
Jon bats his hand away, amused, turning to look over everyone. People laughing and celebrating, sharing tales. A few kids are running around playing. He can't help but enjoy the atmosphere. Nothing in Winterfell was like this. There was always a proper way to act, a house to represent.
They truly are free here.
It reminds him of what’s to come, he motions for the waterskin before downing more of the… substance. It definitely doesn’t get any easier the more he drinks it. He hopes it’ll help relax his mind, racing a hundred miles a minute.
Tormund must have noticed, shaking Jon lightly with the hand around his shoulder, “What’s ruffling the crow’s feathers?”
“Thinking of returning to the wall.”
“Missin’ it?”
Jon sighs, debating whether to comment on how he’s actually feeling. Not really wanting to talk about something he cannot change. But he’s not one to lie, and he guesses there’s no harm in sharing this with Tormund. “No. No, not really.”
“Why's that?”
“I don’t want to go back there, that place. I-“ He pauses, thinking of everything that’s happened. “I’m dreading it.”
“Then why go back?”
“Because I have too.”
“Says who?”
”The king of the Six Kingdoms,”
“I don’t see 'em out here makin’ you do anythin’.”
Jon opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He thinks it over, how does he explain to Tormund that he’s obligated to? That he’s been sentenced to it. That he deserves this. “It’s a punishment for the wrongs I’ve done.”
Tormund scoffs, “The wrongs you’ve done? You did what you had to. There’s nothin’ wrong about that.”
“It’s an obligation.”
“What about you? Are you to spend the rest of your life watchin’ a wall that doesn’t need watchin’? ”
“Someone has to do it.”
“You don’t”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Tormund.” He says in warning.
“Jon.” Tormund says just as severe.
He sighs, sadness lacing his voice, “I don’t belong here, Tor.”
“Non of us do, boy. We choose to be here. We’re Free Folk, we returned here cause it’s where we wanted to be. No one would have an issue with you doin’ the same.”
“No one?” Jon scoffs.
Tormund grins slightly, “Alright, maybe a few, but everyone’s gotta problem with someone.”
Jon supposed more people at the wall would have a problem with him than the people here. No matter how far the North has come to accepting the Free Folk, many at the wall still believe they are better than wildlings. Thieves and rapists have few to look down upon. A wildling lover is just a cherry on the top, not that Jon ever cared, even when he was killed for it. At least here, they would have a problem with him to his face instead of stabbing him in the back.
But how could he stay here? After everything he’s done, does he deserve this? To be free?
Tormund flicks him in the head, causing Jon to curse, asking what his problem is. Tormund ignores him.“You think too much.”
“I can't help it,” he groans.
“What’s goin’ on in your head?” He says, pushing the spot he just flicked.
He can feel himself shake slightly, feeling the emotions rise to the top of his throat, like bile threatening to spill out. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s because he’s rarely talked about the things burdening him. He’s spent so long pushing through everything in hopes of coming out on the other side. At some point, he stopped hoping, instead just wishing for it to end. Now, having to face everything head-on, it gets harder and harder the longer he lets his emotions build up. Shakily and quietly, the words escape him, “I don’t deserve to be free.”
Tomund grabs him by the shoulders, turning Jon to face him. He can’t bring himself to look at the man. Too afraid the feelings are going to spill over and make him look weak. “I’ll put this simply, something you southerners need practice at…Jon Snow.” He says his name so sternly that he can’t help but look up and meet Tormund's eyes. He can see the fierce blue staring through him. “You have done enough. You’ve fought for the good of other people. You’ve killed those you loved for the good of other people. If anyone deserves to be free, it’s you.”
Jon grimaces from the truth lacing Tormund’s face and voice. It’s everything he wanted to hear, and it hurts because it’s so hard to believe. Knowing someone thinks of Jon the way he wishes people would. That Jon's done good enough. That he deserves to be happy.
He has his head in his hands, trying to stop his eyes from watering. Not in front of people, not now. He’s stronger than this.
But then Tormund is hugging him, and he can’t help but latch onto him, burying his head into the man's chest. A single silent sob leaves him before he can stop it. “You need to stop thinking about others and start thinking about yourself, my little crow.”
“I don’t want to leave Tor.” He says, pushing down his tears.
“Then don’t.”
—-
Thinking back on that day still brings a sting to his chest. He’s grateful he stayed with the Free Folk, away from gossip and responsibilities. Here, he gets to live his life freely.
He’s started teaching the young folk how to read and write. It’s not a skill necessary out here, but a few of the children wanted to learn how. Along with all those supplies sent were books. Some survival guides, cookbooks, stories of the past, etc. He’s used them to educate the few children interested in reading.
Besides that, he teaches how to fight, alongside Tormund. They use their size differences to teach the children how to overpower an opponent larger than themselves. Free Folk like to fight, and it’s always best to be prepared. Many are interested in fighting, who would have guessed? He enjoys his time teaching. It helps give him a sense of purpose, something he hates lacking.
Jon sits down on the field of soggy grass, still cold from the melting snow. He looks over the hilltop he’s upon, gazing out at the speckles of green that are becoming visible as the day gets brighter and brighter. He was told as a child that north of the wall was infertile land, made up of thousands of feet of snow. No greenery could ever thrive in such a harsh environment. However, like many stories from his childhood, it wasn’t true. The trees are beginning to lose the layers of snow covering them. The frost that has kept the plants alive under snowy weather is beginning to melt off, revealing the beauty beneath.
He’s been with the Free Folk for what must be a few years at this point. He's beginning to grow white hairs on his beard and hair, though he doesn’t know if it’s his age or genetics. They have their own calendar based around the wind, snow, and stars. He’s tried to understand how it works, with little success. There are many things about the Free Folk that he has yet to understand. He’s often curious, but even with how long he’s been here, he doesn’t feel like intruding on their customs. Many welcome him with open arms, but it feels like some are still hesitant of him. He can’t blame them. He can’t blame anyone for being hesitant around him. Crows were the Free Folk’s enemies for a long time, and not everyone can just look past that. On top of that, it’s not like he’s the easiest guy to get along with, too silent for most.
Rarely does he join in during festivals, and when he does, he makes his leave sooner than later. He still feels like an outsider of sorts. The people have done little to warrant the way he feels. Above everything else, he knows most appreciate him for the help he provides, but he doesn’t exactly give them a chance to get to know him. He thinks it’s something that he’ll always have to deal with, not ever truly fitting in anywhere. He knows he’s intentionally distancing himself from the Free Folk.
Jon tries to convince himself it’s because he doesn’t want to force his way into their lives, having already done that time and time again. But a small part of him knows that’s not really why. He knows he’s just scared. Scared of messing something up and being rejected. Of losing the only place that’s felt like home since he was a young boy. It’s better to keep them at arm's length, to stop him from hurting and to stop him from hurting them. He can’t lose his home again.
There’s only one person whom he can’t seem to keep away from, who he doesn’t feel the need to. Every time they talk, he can feel the snow melt away, unable to stop from walking into the living fire, that is, Tormund.
A man blessed by the sun, he’s never felt the way he feels about Tormund about another man before. Tormund makes him feel safe, cared for, and catered to. He’s always had an attraction to women, but this was completely different from that.
He’s deeply in love with who the man is as a person. Having spent every day with him for years. He knows him inside and out at this point.
He tries to convince himself it’s just platonic.
But at night, when he can’t stop his mind from wandering, it’s always Tormund. Tormund mouth on his. Touching, caressing, taking care of him. Until he’s aching hard and can’t stop from taking care of his problem.
A wave of guilt hits him every time. His friend has no idea he thinks of him that way. He has no business doing so. Sure, Tormund jokes around here or there, but that’s all it’s ever been. He’s never shown any interest in Jon.
Jon knows Tormund's taken a few lovers over the years they’ve been out here. But it’s only ever been women. He knows Free Folk are freer about their affection for the same gender. He’s seen it at gatherings, almost always becoming flustered at their public show of affection and excusing himself if he can’t calm down.
Not that he’s interested in those men, it just puts thoughts in his head about Tormund, and he can’t help the ache in his chest and his trousers.
Jon breathes, trying to stir his thoughts away from that topic. Being around Tormund was a different experience entirely. It felt like happiness was something that he could have every day. Instead of something he had to chase and catch. Every moment he spends with the man, he falls for him a little harder.
He’s happy he’s capable of feeling like this after everything he’s been through, even if nothing could come of it. He knows someday he’s going to have to get over it, if that’s even possible. But for now, while he can, he’ll hold onto the feeling. He’ll let it consume him completely.
He’s lying on his back in the dewy, snowy grass. The cold is a pleasant contrast to the heat of the sun beginning to beat down upon him.
He’s drifting off when he hears footsteps, already knowing who it is. Only one person knows where to find him.
“What are you doin’ up here?”
“Enjoying the warmth.”
Tormund joins him on the ground, lying close enough that the heat isn’t just coming from the sun anymore. “There’s no denyin’ summer's here.”
“I didn’t think it’d be so green.”
“I’ve only ever seen it like this once in my life, when I was a boy. Summers come and go, but the snow rarely melts like this.”
Jon huffs, “I was told it wasn’t possible, but I guess everything has to change at some point.”
“Change is the only thing that doesn’t change.” Tormund muses.
Jon smiles. The man can be pretty poetic without even trying sometimes. Jon doubts he realizes what he’s saying sounds straight out of a book. ”I guess you’re right.” He turns to his side to look at Tormund. “So what are you doing here?”
“I was lookin’ for you. We’re having a gatherin’ tomorrow. Wonderin’ if you wanted to help set up.”
Jon nods, “Of course, what’s it for?”
“To celebrate the beginnin’ of summer. Fertility, growth, and whatnot.”
“I’ll be there.”
Tormund smiles at him, “Good. It’s a big thing for us. Lots of drinkin’, and lots of fuckin’.”
Jon snorts at Tormund's vulgarity, “I can imagine.”
“I’m not askin’ you to imagine, I’m askin’ you to join in.”
Jon can’t help the flush that spreads across his face. “What?”
“There will be plenty lookin’ for a good time. I’m tellin’ you, you should try to have a good time as well.”
“I don’t think that’s really my thing, Tor.”
Tormund shrugs, “Suit yourself.” He changes the topic, “Did I ever tell you about me fuckin’ a bear?”
Jon laughs, “Yes, many, many times actually.”
Tormund smiles, “Well, you’re about to hear it again-.”
—
The next night, everyone gathers together in the middle of the camp. To celebrate, burning a statue of a bear? That’s what it seemed like. Dancing and drinking commenced not long after. Once the sun begins to set, the children are sent away with the older folks to watch as their guardians.
Jon lost Tormund to the crowd of people at some point and decided to make his way back to the tents. He told Tormund he would be here, so here he will stay. He hoped that the inside of the gathering tent would be calmer, the loudness outside becoming too much. Immediately upon entering, he sees multiple couples shamelessly having sex by the fire. He supposes there’s no avoiding it. Still, he averts his eyes, making his way to the waterskins to grab something to drink.
He lies on some furs, resting his eyes. The noises in the room are filthy, but he manages to preoccupy his mind with other thoughts. Thinking about Ghost waiting in his tent for him. What Bran and Sansa are up to running a kingdom. Anything but whatever’s happening close by.
He’s almost completely blocked it out when he feels someone’s presence over him. He opens his eyes to see a wildling couple naked before him. Before he can say anything, they're lying on either side of him.
”Hi, crow.” The woman smiles, placing her hand on his chest.
He looks at her curiously, “Hello?”
The man begins to kiss his neck, and he is frozen still, unable to fathom what’s happening. The man murmurs in his ear, “Is there a reason why you’re by yourself over here?”
“I-“ the woman begins climbing onto his lap, he can’t deny it feels amazing to have someone on top of him. “-I thought I might just rest for a bit.”
“Rest?” The woman questions.
The man begins opening his shirt to kiss down his chest, making him breathless, “Y-yes.”
“Wouldn’t this be a lil more fun?” She questions, grinding down on his lap, he’s quickly becoming hard under all the attention.
He should have expected this to happen, all things considered. “I suppose it would be.”
She laughs as the man looks up into Jon's eyes. “Then why don’t we get this off you?” He says, pulling at the string on Jon’s waistband.
Jon is about to comply, his arousal quickly getting the better of him, when his mind flashes to Tormund. Suddenly, his only thought is the larger man. He wanted him to have a good time, right? He’s probably off having the time of his life.
But Jon quickly realizes he doesn’t want to do this with someone if he’s going to imagine it's Tormund. It wouldn't be fair to them, to Tormund, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be fair to him. He’s already having a hard enough time with his unrequited feelings. Jon knows this would only make it worse. He’s not the kind of person who gets under someone to get over someone.
He puts up his hand, “As lovely as the two of you are, I just can’t.”
“Someone else?” The man questions.
He nods, confirming with a small smile, “Someone else.”
The girl stands, “No problem,” she smiles down at him, winking, “If you change your mind, let us know.” She grabs her lover by the hand, dragging him over to another couple across the tent from him.
He takes a deep breath, sighing. He wishes he could just be like the rest of them, fucking so casually. But unfortunately, that’s not who he is. The emotion behind intimacy means everything to him, and he’s not very good at showing his emotions to just anyone.
He decides he can’t be in the room anymore. Too much is going on, and he’s aching because of what just happened to him. He needs to go outside where it’s cooler and walk a bit, clear his mind.
Jon leaves the tent, the cool summer breeze immediately calming him and his erection. A few couples are outside, also partaking in the ‘festivities’. He guesses the cool air is a pleasure to some.
He goes for a walk, passing couples on the way, not paying much attention to them. Tormund occupying his mind. He really needs to get over this sooner rather than later. It’s been years of feeling this way about his friend, and it hasn’t gotten any better. You’d think his heart would have moved on at this point, but you’d be mistaken. If anything, it’s only gotten worse and worse as time passed. His heart, much like him, doesn’t know when to quit.
He’s lost in thought when a loud groan catches his attention. Jon knows that voice, he knows who’s making that noise. He shouldn’t look, he shouldn’t search for the sound, but he has to know. It’s pathetic, but a small part of him thinks maybe, just maybe, if he sees it. He might finally realize he doesn’t have a chance. So despite it all, he looks in the direction he heard it.
He sees Tormund standing with his back against a post with a woman kneeling in front of him, sucking his dick. Jon sighs, the pain in his chest soaring, yet he is unable to look away. God’s how he wishes that could be him. That Tormund could want him.
Upon closer look, Jon realizes something that makes his heart jump and his stomach lurch. It’s not a woman, it’s a man. With long, dark black hair.
He knows if Tormund wanted Jon, he would tell him. Tormund’s never shied away from making his intention known before. He’s seen him proposition women enough times to know. Jon’s brain quickly comes to the most probable conclusion.
Tormund does want men, he just doesn’t want Jon.
He shouldn’t take it personally, he knows this. But fuck, the realization hurts worse than he ever thought possible. He can feel his eyes begin to wet, how fucking pathetic. Crying over something as simple as an unrequited crush.
But it’s not that simple. He’s been in love with the man for years.
He watches as Tormund throws his head to the side, catching his eye. The blissful face he just had falling into something Jon can’t quite place. He stares at Jon, and Jon doesn’t know what to do.
So he looks away quickly, scurrying off to make his way back to his tent. Once alone, everything hits him full force. Nauseous, he put a hand to his mouth, then the other. Hiding his face in his hands, trying to swallow back the sobs threatening to escape his mouth. Jon feels so weak and wrong. The sensation overwhelms him, and he rushes to a bucket, throwing up. He’s unable to stop the shame coursing through him. It’s unbelievable that he’s allowing his emotions to get the better of him like this, but he can’t stop it. He’s thinking of everyone he’s lost, and of losing the one person he has left, because he’s just not good enough.
He’s crying and dry heaving when he feels Ghost lightly nudge his arm. He turns, holding the wolf close. He rarely gets up or moves much anymore. He’s getting old, and the thought makes Jon sob harder.
Fuck change, fuck everything!
-
He wakes the next morning on the floor with Ghost lying on top of him. He’s in such discomfort that the night before doesn’t register until he sits up to assess the state he’s in. His face is dry from the tear streaks. Throat hurting from throwing up.
Reality hits him hard. What is he supposed to do now?
It’s not Tormund's fault that he’s hurting this badly, but how is he supposed to stay around the man? He’ll have to sit with this feeling in his chest for the rest of his life, unable to escape the cause of it.
He can’t imagine leaving the man, though. He’s stuck in a stalemate between packing everything and going, and sucking it up and dealing with this feeling for the foreseeable future.
A few days go by, and he avoids Tormund. Staying where he thinks the man won’t be, working around him. Eventually, Tormund finds him when he’s helping a kid read. “Can I steal you?”
Jon stands murmuring, “I’ll be back, Inera.”
He follows Tormund out of the tent. They don’t make it far before Tormund turns around, “Where have you been?”
The accusatory tone immediately agitates Jon. “Why does it matter?”
“I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy enough that you haven’t spoken to me once?”
Jon sighs, “Yes, Tormund. I’ve been helping around camp. There were a lot of supplies used during the festival, and I’ve been trying to help restock.”
“That does little to explain why I haven’t seen you.”
“Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough to look for me.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, I’ve been lookin’ for you everywhere.”
“Well, I’m right here, aren’t I? What do you need?”
Tormund takes a step closer, sizing him up. “Why are you actin‘ like this?”
Jon holds his ground. “I’m not doing anything. You're the one bothering me.”
“Botherin’ you?” He says, hurt, clearly lacing his voice, “I just wanted to talk.”
“Why don’t you go talk to someone else? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would enjoy your company.” He knows he sounds jealous right now, he is jealous.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I’m busy.”
“Then let me help you.” He reaches as if he wants to touch Jon.
He steps back away from the man, “I don’t need your help.”
“But I want to.”
“If you want to help someone so badly, go see your little friend from the other night. I bet he needs something.” He scoffs, “Or at the very least keep you out of my hair.”
“When did you start bein’ such an ass?”
“When did you become such a pain in my ass?” He bites back.
They stand in silence. He can tell the man's patience is wearing thin. He’s so angry at himself for being this way, but he can’t help from lashing out.
“Look, I don’t know what the fucks goin’ on with you, but I’m not gonna keep tryin’ to talk to you if you're gonna act like this.”
“Then don’t, no one’s stopping you from leaving.”
“What’s wrong with you? I’m just tryin-”
He cuts the larger man off, “What’s wrong with me? I’m not the one going off and fucking anyone I can get my hands on. I’ve been trying to help, there’s shit that needs to get done around here, and someone has to be responsible.” It’s a low blow, Tormund does plenty around here, and he knows it. This is exactly why he didn’t want to have this conversation. Why he’s been trying to keep away, he knew this would happen, and he would say something he didn’t mean.
The man stares at him, hurt clearly written across his face. Jon turns his head away, he can’t keep looking, knowing he’s the cause of Tormund's pain.
“Fuck this.” The man shoulder checks him, leaving Jon alone.
–
He’s on his way to the hilltop the next day. Hoping the fresh air will give him some much-needed time alone, not cramped inside a tent.
Unfortunately for him, on the way, he sees Tormund speaking to the dark-haired man from the other night.
Something snaps, and he realizes he can’t stay here anymore. He should have known that this wasn’t going to work. He doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t belong anywhere. Jon’s always known this, but he hoped that he could belong with Tormund. Maybe he had finally found a time and place where he could have someone be his without losing them.
But he’s a fool to have ever wished for something that unattainable. Everything and everyone he’s ever loved has been stripped from him. It seems the gods intended for him to be alone. For him to stay as he is, and those around him to die or eventually outgrow him.
He goes back to his tent, deciding to grab what he can and leave. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go. He wonders if the FrostFang mountains are beginning to melt away like it is here. He hopes they aren't. He’s always meant to be in the snow.
He doesn’t know how long he’ll last out there, but he doesn’t care at this point. If he’s meant to survive, then he’ll survive it.
He’s packing away extra furs when he feels Ghost nudge him, always keen on when Jon’s upset. He turns, petting the only loved one he has left, “I’m gonna leave, boy. I’m sorry, but you can’t come with me,” Ghost whines, nudging his way into his chest. Jon knows he’s too old now, he’d never make it out there. The wolf has done enough protecting him, he deserves to rest with the little time he has left. “You’re better off here. Where Tormund can take care of you.” He tells him, not doubting it for a second.
He sits hugging the wolf and petting him for a while before deciding he needs to finish packing. It’d be better to get a couple of hours out before it gets dark. It doesn’t take him long, and before he knows it, he’s heading out of the camp. Leaving North without a word.
At this point, it doesn’t matter if this is a good decision or not. He's done trying to do things right. He’s done with caring.
When he’s almost to the top of the hill, the one he and Tormund would meet at, he turns around to take one last look at the camp. The green is becoming more visible day by day.
Change is the only thing that doesn’t change.