Jon Snow had thought he had been doing the right thing. Winter was upon them and with it a darkness that would kill each and every one of them. He had thought that the Night's Watch understood what was at stake; he had thought they understood why he had done what he did. They had voted him Lord Commander; they had wanted him to rule them; they had wanted to follow him and his commands. He had thought they supported him.

He had thought wrong.

The Wildlings weren't their concern anymore. Things were coming-things from nightmares and legends and myths. Things that would kill and slaughter until there was nothing but snow and blood on the ground. Winter was coming, and with it the Walkers. The Wildlings were men and women as much as they were. They lived and died and survived just as they did. The only difference was that they had been stuck on the wrong side of the Wall when it came up. Now they were the first to be attacked-the first to die-if Jon didn't act.

If Jon hadn't done what he did, the Wildlings would have all been slaughtered and have joined the army of the dead. They would have given the Walkers the strength they needed to march on the Wall and take the South. Jon thought that if he got to the Wildlings first, that maybe he could spare a couple of human lives, and in doing so have a greater strength in arms when the Walkers came.

Only, winter had come before he could complete is mission. The Walkers had ambushed them and the storm of snow and the dead walking took them all by surprised. Half of the Wildlings had been slaughtered, and those that had managed to get to the boats could do nothing but watch as the Walkers killed their brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers-daughters and sons.

Jon had wanted to save them, had tried to, but no one really knew how to kill a White Walker. Sam had said that Dragonglass was able to kill them, that it had been what he had used to kill the White Walker that had gone after Little Sam. But all the Dragonglass had been lost in the ambush. When the Walker came at him from the fire, he thought he was going to die. He was a skilled swordsman, but nothing could kill a Walker. He lost Longclaw; he lost hope as he laid in the snow, listening to the screams of the Wildlings and the snarls of the dead.

He wouldn't die there. He had pushed himself up and had ran to his sword in a last attempt to defend himself. He hadn't expected anything to come out of it-only his sword had managed to stop the blow of the Walker's weapon, and the shock on the Walker's face was clear that something like this had never happened before. A White Walker's sword was made of ice so cold that it could slice through any metal-except Dragonglass. Longclaw was made of Valyrian steel, yet it had managed to stop it. After the split second hesitation, Jon pushed the Walker back and in one clean slice had shattered him.

Yet, all of that no longer mattered. Winter was here at last and the Walkers had an army the size Westeros had never seen before and no King or Crow would be able to stop them. Yet, that didn't matter. It had been the fact that Jon Snow had allowed the Wildlings through the gate and into the south that seemed to concern the black brothers. They didn't agree with him-they didn't understand.

"Wait-! You don't have to do this! You can't do this! He's the Lord Commander!"

"Not anymore!"

Jon was thrown to the ground, snow being pushed into his mouth and nose. He had to blink pass the flashing white lights behind his eyelids from the punch he had received. Before he could even move, hands were grabbing at him and yanking his hair back; he felt kicks to his ribs and stomach, and another to his head.

"You've doomed us all, Snow! The Wildlings are our enemies! You've laid with one and now you've become one!"

"Traitor!"

"Bastard!"

"Kill him!"

"Burn him!"

"No! Stop! Please!"

Sam's cries were muffled by the shouts of the other black brothers. Jon couldn't even get a word out before another punch or another kick to his face or ribs had him stammering and gasping for air. His cloak was ripped from his back and his leathers were pulled, being used as a hold for the crows to grab him. Ghost had been locked up in the kennel and Jon could hear him scratching and banging against the doors, the other hounds howling with distress.

Arms wrapped around his arms and chest and he was being dragged through the front gates, down the Kingsroad and towards an empty clearing. All the while the shouts for his death never ceased, and the punches and kicks made sure he stayed down long enough for them to drag him there. He was pushed down onto his knees in the snow, the bitter cold a welcome relief from the pulsing pain in his body.

"You're going to burn, Snow." Allister Throne said from behind him. He was the one holding him down now. "I alway knew you'd be a traitor, bastard."

Dark eyes narrowed and Jon had to swallow his comments. He watched the men he had called brothers begin to pull dried wood from the trees around them to place them on the snow. They were building a pyre.

"Stop it, Allister! Please! He's the Lord Commander! He's-"

"He's a traitor to the Night's Watch and a bloody Wildling Lover and if you don't want to join him in the fire I suggest you shut your filthy mouth, Piggy." Throne snapped, and Sam's mouth slowly closed, the fear clear in his eyes.

"You're all mad!" Jon finally said, his voice loud and cut deep into the night. "This is madness! Stop!"

"Shut your face!" One of the black brothers snapped. "You've brought them Wildlings down south! Whattya think they gonna start doin'? They raid and kill and rape our women! That's what they do! That's what they've always done!"

"Yeah! That's what they did to Ollie's parents! What do you think they're gonna do now, now that you've let them all bloody through?"

"The Wildling are not the problem! The Walkers-"

"Enough about the blighted Walkers! There's a Wall between them and us! There's suppose to be a Wall between the Wildling's and us too! I would've let the Walkers kill them Wildlings, made our lives a whole lot easier!"

"The Walkers have an army of dead! If I hadn't brought them across the Wall there would have been another two thousand dead men and women and children joining that army!" Jon snapped, struggling against Allister's hold. "Be reasonable! The Wildlings have sworn to aid us in the battle to come! They won't attack villages or raid them!"

"Piss on a Wildling's word!"

"They'll kill us all if they get a chance!"

"Shut him up," Throne said as he shoved Jon froward. "And strap him in."

Jon was quickly grabbed and dragged across the snow once more. He was lifted into he makeshift pyre, rope quickly tying him to the large bark from a fallen tree. One of the brothers pulled out Longclaw.

"Whatta we do with this?"

"Leave it there with him. That blade is cursed."

The man tossed Longclaw back at Jon's feet. Jon continued to struggle with his ties, wanting to undo them. The black brothers were now all gathered around him, surrounding the pyre. Allister Throne was the one who held the torch. "Farewell, Snow."

"Allister, by the old gods and the new, please don't do this!" Jon cried, dark eyes wide as he continued to fight against the rope. It was useless. Allister walked forward and brought down the torch, letting the wood catch fire in three different spots before he stepped back. Jon could feel the heat surrounding him, the smoke was burning his eyes and lungs.

"Night gathers, and now my watch begins." All the brother's suddenly began to speak in unison. "It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all night's to come."

Panic filled Jon the closer the flames licked at him. He was struggling, his heart beating so fast he was sure it would kill him before the fire. There was no one here that would put an arrow through his heart as a mercy. No one here but Sam, and Sam was never good with weapons. It wasn't the pain that caused Jon to scream, it was the fear. The flames now consumed every inch of his body, burning hotter and brighter until it lit up the night sky.

Jon's screamed echoed for miles, but it was the final words that broke through the terror. "And now his watch has ended."

The crows slowly began to scatter, going back to Castle Black as the silence that followed after the words filled the air. Jon Snow was dead-the Lord Commander was dead. Sam remained long enough to watch the flames reach as high as the tree tops. "I'm sorry, Jon..." His whisper was drowned out by the crackling of wood. The black brother turned and hurried to find the rest of his family.

Jon Snow had always believed fire to burn and kill. He had always believed that it was hot, that it would hurt. That had been the reason for his screams. But after he was consumed in it, after he was surrounded by the flames and could no longer see pass them, he realised that it did not hurt. It did not burn as it should. He stared in bewilderment as his clothes burnt off, as the ropes caught fire and fell. When he was free he slowly walked out of the flames that continued to consume the wood of the pyre.

He was alive; and he was naked. All his clothes had burnt off, leaving him wearing nothing but the ashes and soot from the fire. Confused, Jon turned to stare up at it, his heart continuing to hammer against his chest. That's when he noticed Longclaw. The blade hadn't melted, since it had not been directly on the fire. Slowly, he reached towards it and pulled it out of the flames that were beginning to consume it. The metal was hot, but it did not hurt to touch.

He heard movement from behind him and his first thought was that they had returned to finish the job. The fire hadn't killed him, so a sword will. Quickly, Jon moved through the trees and continued to run-he ran and ran until he could no longer breath because the cold was too bitter. He ran until his muscles ached and his feet would no longer carry him. He ran until he reached Mole's Town.

There he hid, knowing that some of the Black Brothers would be here. He sneaked around, hiding in the shadows, until he found clothes left out to dry. He was quick to snatch them and run into the woods once more. Pulling on some trousers and a tunic that was far too big for him, Jon thanked the gods for this bit of luck. He puled on a wool coat and strapped Longclaw into the belt of the trousers. He still didn't have shoes, but now that he had stopped running and had a moment to catch his breath, he noticed that it was as if he could no longer feel the bitter cold of winter. The fire was inside him, he realised, still burning.

Jon didn't linger in Mole's Town. He left quickly, not daring to steal a horse. He walked and ran and walked but he never stopped to rest. His vision blurred as the sun took hold of the sky but made the chill of Winter no better. His body wanted to give out on him but he did not let it. There was only one place this road would lead him to and that was Winterfell. The enemy held his home, but he could no see any other destination. If he could die seeing Winterfell again, he'd die happy.

Day turned to night and night turned to day and before long the moon had taken its place in the sky once more. That's when Jon spotted the fires of the towers in Winterfell. He spotted the brick walls and could smell the horses and metal and shit. His vision blurred once more as he walked up towards the gate, but he could no longer stand. His legs gave out under him; collapsing into the snow, Jon saw nothing and heard nothing but the deafening high pitch squeal of the fire.