Author's note: Jon Snow and ser Alliser Torne have been my favorite Night's Watch characters in the show since season 1. I love the chemistry between them and the complexity of their relationship. Although there is bitterness between them , there is also admiration, respect and trust, especially on Jon's side. Ser Alliser has obviously been a big influence on Jon and I think it's pretty significant that Jon resigned as Lord Commander after Thorne's and Co betrayal although he knows that the walkers are coming and Jon was never one to run away. If things'd been a bit different I think he and Thorne could've become friends for life and taught each other a great deal. But... anyway... I hope you enjoy the story and feedback is always welcome.

A heavy sigh escaped Jon's lips as his fingers touched the dried up blood that framed the holes in his old doublet. Fatal blows delivered not by foes, but by brothers. And meant as punishment for doing what he thought was right.
It had all been so sudden, the memory of the night he died was now nothing more than a blur of pictures and feelings… White snow falling heavily onto the crowded courtyard, sharp piercing pain in his chest and belly, his breath caught up in his throat, the flickering light of torches dancing on the grim faces of men, his knees buckling and the numbing cold of the snow slowly turning into the dark, merciless cold of death...
But there was one thing Jon still remembered clearly. A memory that, he knew, would be forever branded in his heart and mind and was a thousand times more painful than the feeling of a thousand cold blades piercing his flesh. The strong, deep, husky voice, saying "For the Watch!" and the deadly resolve, burning icily in the depth of two crystal – clear blue eyes, which belonged to the man Jon had truly, sincerely trusted.

How could he have done this, Jon thought, feeling the bitter desperation of a question with no good answers course through his blood like poison. How could Thorne, of all people, have betrayed him?!

Jon gasped and let out the air slowly as he thought of the old Master – at – Arms. A man he'd hated at first, but in time grew to respect and admire. A man he'd looked up to and could never forget even if he tried. Hard, selfless, brave and honest, ser Alliser, in Jon's eyes, was the embodiment of a true man of the Night's Watch. Someone, who always put his vows before any personal feelings. Who led and bled when he was needed and stepped down and accepted the will of others when he wasn't. Who despised Jon for being a Stark bastard and a friend of the wildlings, but still obeyed him. And whose opinion was more important to Jon than anyone else's. Not just because many brothers followed the old ranger… but because of who he was…
It cut so deep to know that the trust and understanding Jon hoped they'd finally built when Thorne opened the gates of Castle Black was nothing more than an illusion.
Was all the rest of it a mere puff of smoke as well?! The brotherhood of the Night's Watch, the very man Jon thought Thorne was… Was all of it just in his foolish head that, once again, knew nothing ?

A rush of wind raced through the crowded courtyard and threw a handful of snow in ser Alliser's face. He closed his eyes and tried to shake off the large, white snowflakes stuck on his eyelashes. He'd be damned before he let those bastards see any drops water on his face. Even if they really were just melted snow, he had no doubt they'd laugh and make up stories of how he wept with fear.
But weeping was the last thing on his mind. In fact, he rather felt like laughing. Because his fate did have a rather cruel sense of humor, Thorne thought as he felt the thick and prickly rope tighten its grip around his neck. Once again he was standing beneath the gallows, just like he had twenty years ago in King's Landing. Branded a traitor for staying true to his vows and about to be executed by a man who was truly guilty of treason. Only this time there would be no choosing service at the Wall… Thankfully...

"You'd better start praying, you cunts" – suddenly came the high – pitched voice of Eddison Tollett – "The Lord Commander'll be here soon"

Pray, Thorne huffed as he watched Tollett walk towards the keep out of the corner of his eye. What did that boy know of true prayer. He had no need for 'holy' words, whispered quietly, in fear never to be answered. Life was the prayer he offered to the world. The life of a knight, sworn to protect the week and helpless. The life of a ranger, sworn to protect the realm and teach the youngsters to be men. A life with every day spent honoring those vows and suffering for it. Pushing through never - ending cold and pain and fear, moving on from one mission to the next, giving his very breath and blood... only to end up here.

Ser Alliser sighed painfully as he turned his gaze back to the courtyard. The crowd of onlookers was growing larger by the minute. Most of them were wildlings, amused and obviously looking forward to seeing a few crows get their neck wrung. There was Tormund Giantsbane, pleased as punch, his thick red mustache pricked up in a smile.
Well, he may have his last laugh, Thorne thought bitterly. Winners can do no wrong.
The watchmen, however, especially the rangers, looked quite grim, Thorne noted with satisfaction. At least there were some men in that crowd whom he could call his brothers. Who were the only family he had since his wife and children were murdered by the usurper's dogs along with the other courtiers who'd refused to leave princess Elia's side.
Somehow it made it easier to know that he wasn't alone. That at least some of the men he'd shared blood, sweat and tears with were still walking the earth and standing near at his last moments. But there were so few of them left, for most were killed in the battle for Castle Black and during Mormont's foolish folly, known as the 'great ranging'.
So many gone… good men, strong and true… men who never quit and never surrendered…men he loved and fought to the last breath with… And now their sacrifices were made meaningless, their lives thrown away.

A wave of whispers rustled quickly through the crowd and died down slowly as Jon came up the shaky wooden steps of the newly constructed scaffold. He could feel the curious, fearful gazes of a hundred eyes boring into his back, but they were nothing to him. The crowd, the snowy courtyard, the battered walls of Castle Black had all fallen away like a dream within a dream, leaving only the faces of four men and the ropes that would soon send them into the cold nothingness of death.
But they would not die easily by a broken neck, Jon thought vindictively as once again he felt the bitter taste of hurt and regret, burning and lasting as gall. He wanted them to feel at least some of his own pain before they died. The choking grief of loss and treason that filled his blood and clenched his throat…

"If you have any last words, now is the time" – he said calmly as he looked up at the condemned men.

Marsh and Tarwick were staring down at him their eyes wide and shifting with fear and disbelief. But neither their fear nor any of their words held any interest for Jon as there was no doubt that they were mere sheep. Thorne was the shepherd...
Young Olly's eyes were fixed upon him too. But they were filled with rage and loathing. Jon sighed as he held the youngster's gaze for a moment. He'd loved the boy as well as one of his own brothers and got nothing but hatred in return. But Olly's feelings he could understand…
At last Jon turned his gaze on ser Alliser Thorne, his First Ranger and former Master – at – Arms of Castle Black. But he did not look back. The man was staring calmly into the distance, as if he was looking down onto the Haunted Forest from the Battlements of the Wall or eyeing a line of new recruits. There seemed to be no fear and no anger in him. As always, he looked strong, present, fearless and… indifferent.

"You shouldn't be alive. It's not right" – Bowen March, First Steward of the Watch uttered fearfully. He sounded confused and dumbfolded, as though he still could not believe his eyes that told him Snow was really back.

"Neither was killing me" – Jon replied bitterly as he walked on to the next man.

"My mother's still living at White Harbor" – said Othell Tarwick, the First Builder.

"Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the wildlings" – he pleaded drearily. But Jon did not care to listen or deign to answer. It was not Tarwick's words that he was waiting for… and praying they would prove that Thorne was not worth sorrow…

Oh, why can't the bastard simply cut the rope and have done with it, Thorne thought angrily. What was the point in wasting their last breath?! No words they could possibly utter would change anything or lessen anyone's regrets. And at this point, Thorne wasn't sure if he had no regrets or whether his regrets were too many to count.

He was only a little older than the Bastard when he decided to stay true to his oath and remained loyal to his king. There was no other way for a loyal knight of the crown than to stand against the enemies of his king, no matter how small the odds or how terrible the consequences. And so, he fought to the last drop of his blood and did all that was in his power to defend King's Landing with just five hundred men. All of them knew their cause was hopeless when the gates were opened, but they fought anyway, trying to save who they could from the crazed Lannister dogs that murdered thousands of innocents, pillaged the capital and then called it heroic.
Every loyal man thought he would die that day. And many did. But Thorne was not that lucky… Wounded several times and bleeding out, he was saved by some poor stranger only to watch the Red Keep fall and later see the bodies of his wife and their two children laid out beneath the castle walls along with the royal family and several hundred other butchered courtiers.
Alliser's throat tightened and his heart twisted in agony when once again that image sprang up before his eyes as it had done countless times before. His little daughters… So small and fragile, only three and five years old... Their pretty little faces still and pale, their dresses soaked in blood, the youngest still clutching her favorite doll. And next to them their mother, his wife and the love of his life… her blood – stained dress ripped open and her thighs covered in blood and bruises…

He should've ended it that day, Thorne thought with grief, blinking back tears that mixed with melted snow. He should've chosen death right then and there. Why could he not have refused to serve the realm and just given up?
He knew the answer and it was painfully simple… Because it just was not in him to quit. Because he was a man who gives up when he dies and not before. And there was no other way for him, but to keep fighting as long as he had any strength. But, most importantly, because death would've been far too easy an atonement for his failure to protect the ones he loved… Their deaths may not have been his fault, but they were still his responsibility.
Yes, serving in the Night's Watch, guarding the realm from the eight thousand year old threat beyond the Wall was the right course. He believed it then and, he could safely say, believed it now. So he became a ranger and spent his life beyond the Wall fighting against all odds and pushing himself far beyond his limits. Limits that have never really been set...
For twenty years Thorne though he'd never find his breaking point, but now, facing death, when there was nothing else worth saying but the truth, he knew he did. He broke the moment he let himself betray his vows and let the wildlings pass through the Wall.
That was the point when, once again, all that he lived for and held dear was destroyed by the decree of a traitor. But this time he could not accept it... couldn't get up after the blow... Perhaps, after twenty years of doing more than was humanly possible, watching the people he loved die and living with the guilt of being the one to survive, his strength was not what it should've been... But it didn't really matter, since from that moment the only thing he wanted was to die and take the bastard with him… And he almost succeeded, had it not been for a foreign fire - witch and a faithless smuggler both of who'd forgotten all about the man they claimed to love and serve as soon as things went sour...

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorne watched the Lord Commander draw his sword and approach the gallows. And suddenly he felt incredibly tired and weary. Thorne's senses registered Marsh and Othell saying something, but he didn't listen or even care. He felt nothing except unbearable lassitude. The whole world seemed blurred and hazy, like being in a dream. And at that moment there was nothing that ser Alliser wanted more than to lie down onto the snow - covered stony floor and fall asleep. To dream of something good and quiet and peaceful… The home he'd left so many years ago and the pinery around it, filled with sunlight and birdsong and the bitter smell of rosin. To hear the laughter and happy squealing of his daughters as they ran around, playing a game of tag with their nurse and feel his wife's small hand upon his arm, her head resting on his shoulder as they walked slowly away from the castle, taking a stroll through the woods…

But from a cold, hard and far away world came the sound of slow, even footsteps that stopped right in front of him.
Was Snow truly expecting him to say something?
Reluctantly, ser Alliser looked down to face the young man. He half - expected Snow's large, dark eyes to be filled with malaise, scorn and triumph. But to his surprise, what he saw in them was pain. The bitter pain and confusion of a man betrayed, mixed with grief, reproach and a silent, torturous, but not dared to be asked question…
This was no vengeful Lord Commander standing before him, Thorne thought, feeling a sudden and unwelcome warmth towards him. This was a boy with no hope or direction, who was still wandering in the darkness that the Red Witch had pulled him out of. In desperate need of just a small and flickering light of understanding to help him find his way.

"I had a choice, Lord Commander" – Thorne replied calmly – "Betray you or betray the Night's Watch"

"You brought an army of wildlings into our lands" – he continued as he saw Jon was hanging on his every word - "An army of murderers and raiders…"

Snow huffed with scorn as Thorne looked up to face his foe. He'd hoped to die defending Castle Black from them as he knew they'd attack when they learned of Snow's death. But it was just his luck to be hanged for their amusement like a criminal. Or perhaps it was merely a fair punishment for his failure to make Snow understand that it was not just men the Night's Watch was defending. It was the Sothern way of life. The way of law and progress and respect for everyone. The way of life that Snow's beloved friends were out to destroy…

"They were born north of the Wall, but that doesn't make them monsters" – the boy had said. And he was absolutely right. Choice was what made them monsters. The choice most of them and their ancestors have made for thousands of years. The choice to respect nothing but strength. To follow no laws and develop no skills. To kill rather than learn and steal rather than earn.

Some might say that since the wildlings were left to bear the hardships that lay north of the Wall, they had no real choice but to stay savages, who lived off raiding villages, killing better men and stealing what they had made. But that was not true. The Thenns did no such thing…
It was very revealing and rather ironic that the tribe that lived farthest to the north should be the most developed one. While the rest of the endless wildling tribes dressed in skins and stole or traded their weapons for eight thousand years, the Thenns'd used that time to learn to mine for metal and forge their own arms and tools. They made bronze helms, axes and short stabbing spears with leaf-shaped heads. They'd learned to weave cloth from wool, sew shirts and decorate them with bronze discs. To boil leather and make boots, doublets and casing for their shields. All that was possible because, just like folk down south, the Thenns have chosen order and development over anarchy. They chose to work and learn where all the others chose to raid and pillage.

That is why the wildlings are just as much an enemy to the Seven Kingdoms as the White Walkers were. Because they threatened not just the lives of men, but the very way of life that Westeros had chosen and built for thousands of years. Could anyone seriously expect them to settle down on the Gift and embrace the Southern way of life? To live by law and respect order after eight thousand years of doing whatever they liked to whoever they liked as long as they were strong enough to get away with it?!

But it was all too late now, Thorne thought sadly as he looked back down at the young man, who was watching him intently. Jon's face was passive, but his eyes screamed of hurt and grievance.

I understand your point of view, but how could you do this to me? – Jon asked him silently – You should have told me… I trusted you… It was unfair to stab me and it's unfair to let me kill you now. Because then all my efforts will have been in vain.

Yes, boy, the world is unfair, ser Alliser's eyes replied. And it is time you learned to live with that.
Many men can't accept that all their efforts will have been in vain. That no matter how hard they tried, none of their work brought them success. But if you mean to keep on fighting you cannot be one of them. Because there will be countless times when no matter how good you are and how well you perform, you will still end up fucked. There will be times when you will fail. And it will be painful. And it will test you to your very core. But that is nothing more than life. Get over it and keep moving forward.
It will be hard to choose the right path and follow it wherever it might lead you, make no mistake about that… So hard there'll be many times you'll wish to fuck you'd chosen the wrong one… Much harder than you can ever bear…

"If I had to do it all over again, knowing where I'd end up… I pray I'd make the right choice again" – Thorne continued sincerely, as a new wave of deadly tiredness crushed down upon his shoulders.

"I'm sure you would, ser Alliser" – Jon replied no less sincerely as he understood everything the man had said. And much, much more of what he didn't.

"I fought. I lost. Now I rest. But you, lord Snow… You'll be fighting their battles forever"

Jon felt his stomach turn as Thorne finished his final speech. Because, deep down, he knew that he was right.
But I don't want to fight anymore, Jon wanted to scream. All my life I've never done anything, but fight. Fight for the right to be accepted in my father's house, fight for the watch, fight for the wildlings… If you've given up how can you expect me not to?!

But Thorne wasn't looking at him. He looked up at the courtyard, taking one last look at Castle Black and the small crowd of wildlings and rangers, standing silently around the scaffold. None of them looked amused anymore, Thorne noted contentedly. Even Giantsbane. The wildling chief whom he'd fought so many times with varied success was staring at him with nothing but solemn respect.
Perhaps there was hope for them after all, Thorne thought as he held Tormund's gaze. A man who can respect his enemy even in defeat must not be all that bad.
But that was not for him to know, he sighed, lifting his gaze to the horizon, ready and waiting for the final blow.
The circle was complete, he thought as the saw Snow walk towards Olly.
Once he'd refused to be a traitor and he paid for it with everything he held dear. And now he was a traitor and was going to pay for it with his life. A well – deserved and welcome ending…

Suddenly Thorne felt the bench on which he was standing collapse under him and the burning grip of the rope violently clench his throat. His pulse throbbed in his temples and his body spasmed desperately as he tried to gasp for air, but the hold of the rope was too strong. Finally the world began to turn into blackness around him. The need to breathe became unbearable and the thirst for life all – consuming. And then, all of a sudden, he felt the same crushing tiredness fall onto him a thousand times heavier than before. But that didn't matter anymore, because now, at long last, there were no battles to fight and no duty to fulfill. Nothing, but peace and silence… and a long, long rest…

Time had stopped for ser Alliser as the blackness around him suddenly faded, turning into a thick and familiar pine forest, filled with warmth and sunlight... and a small, babbling stream running cheerfully under a hill. Still feeling deathly tired and somewhat confused, Thorne looked up and saw a wide paved road leading uphill to a beautiful old castle with five spiky towers and flapping red and white banners. Two little girls were running down the road towards him, skipping and shouting happily. He couldn't understand their words, but that didn't matter. Fighting off the tiredness he took one step, then another and before long he was running up the hill to meet them. To finally be in a place where there was nothing but summer and love and happiness…

A hollow and painful silence filled Jon's soul as he watched that elusive thing called life slip away from the bodies of the four men he'd punished for treason and murder. He was sure there were more of them on that fateful night, but he didn't remember anyone, but Thorne and Olly. The rest of the Watch, according to Davos and Edd, knew of just two other mutineers – Marsh and Othell. None of the Watchmen confessed to taking part in the conspiracy and the four convicted didn't betray any more names.

But that doesn't matter, Jon thought grievously as he slipped Longclaw back in its scabbard. He could've killed a dozen men or just Alliser Thorne alone, the end result would've been pretty much the same. He couldn't wear the Lord Commander's cloak anymore, vows or no. He couldn't lead the Watch after he'd killed the man who embodied its soul. Because no matter what his faults might be, he had every single one of the best qualities a Watcher on the Walls could have. A man, whose understanding and respect was more important to Jon than anyone else's.

Now I've truly failed, Jon thought grievously as he took a last look at the blank, dead eyes of his greatest teacher and, next to him, the lad he'd loved like a brother.

"We should burn the bodies" – Edd told him gravely as Jon turned to walk down the snow-covered wooden steps of the scaffold.

"You should" – he replied painfully as he removed the heavy woolen cloak and placed it in Edd's arms.

"What do you want me to do with this?" – his friend asked, looking up at him with surprise.

"Wear it. Burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black"

Ignoring the pop – eyed stares of the bewildered crowd, Jon ran down the stairs and headed towards the keep, feeling nothing, but the hollow pain of grief and the bitter stinging of failure.
Was there a choice for him to do what he did, he felt his mind race frantically. Could he have spared those men, or even forgiven them? Jon didn't know, nor did he care. What is done is done and there is no going back, no matter how much he might wish it...

There will be times when you will fail and it will hurt you deeply, hurt you to the core. But that's just life, he thought he'd seen Thorne tell him. Well if that was life, he didn't want it, Jon thought angrily, hating whatever force that brought him back and wishing to goodness he could just lie down onto the thick white snow and close his eyes for good.

But it would never do to end the fight, a strange, quiet voice inside told him. It is not in you nature to give up, you know that, boy…
No, it is not, Jon answered sadly. And one day I will find the path I am supposed to follow and walk it to the very end, no matter what it takes and where it might take me. But not now… Now is the time to go away and rest. To grieve for all that was lost… To find my strength again. For the next fight and all the fights to come…