Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or AGOT or Jon or Ghost or this or that or fuckin' anything! Why can't George just let me have one nice thing? *Cue tear.
A.N. Soooo... yeah. I was goin' to update weeks ago but then shit came up, you know how it is. We've reached over 100 followers so thank you. I don't know who was number 100 but whoever it was, (::) for you. I'm hopin' to update more often but let's be honest, my word on updates is to assurance, what a one-legged man is to an ass kickin' contest. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would prefer to the chapter, yes? Oh, and you lucky ducks, this is the chapter where all your Jon and the Wall related questions and hopes are either confirmed or crushed. What do you think? Will Jon have an alternative purpose, a different path, or will he become just... another brick in the wall? ALL IN ALL, YOU"RE JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL, WE DON"T NEED NO EDUCATION! Shut up, culture yaself you filthy peasants. Oh and majority of this chapter will happen at the edge of the Wolfswood on the Last River, lined up with Last Hearth, on the west side of the forest. Oh, and since I didn't think of sayin' it earlier, Jon looks like Kit Harrington, but with gray eyes, and not so fuckin' short.
Black Sheep, White Wolf
Chapter 4: Because Fuck It
Jon swore, the when he met Bran the Builder in the next life, he'd beat the elder Stark to death with his own fucking feet for building the Wall so fucking far from Winterfell. Of course, Jon had to take partial blame for the situation he was in, trekking on foot North, soles bleeding, or were bleeding before they froze. After all, nobody told him to leave, or to wake up late on the road one day and attempt to make up for lost time by speeding by, or to subsequently break his horses ankle in a hole on the path, having to slit it's throat to put it out of it's misery. But, Jon had liked that fucking steed, and was too angry to be calm and logical. Tripping over another root, the second eldest son of House Stark let loose a string of curses, words so heavy Jon fancied it was them he was seeing in the air rather than his own breath. He knew it was stupid to believe that, but it helped him to forget how cold it was, so he'd go with it. Attempting to resume his trek onward, he caught sight of Ghost giving him a seemingly exasperated look.
"Oh shut up you mutt," Jon demanded, staring intently into Ghosts eyes. In return, Ghost's look changed to the point that Jon could imagine he was questioning Jon's abilities due to him telling a mute wolf to shut up. "Oh fuck off already, you bloody cunt."
And so Jon continued picking up his feet and placing them forward, moving, slowly or quickly, it made no matter, it was a cold and dark night, and moving helped no matter how you did it. Not to mention, he had to make up time, considering his Uncle Benjen, Lord Tyrion, and the Black Brothers were mostly on horses and had already had a head start on him before he had the incident with his horse. In his attempt to make up for lost ground, Jon had decided to cut through the Wolfswood instead of staying on the Kingsroad to follow the curve of it. Now, however, Jon wished he had stayed on the road, for now, staring into the abyss that was the infamous Northern forest, rippling tree shadows made by moonlight, shaped both suspicious and completely irregular glancing past Jon and on and off trees, deadly silent, as if the whole of the woods was holding it's breath, Jon knew he was lost. He was traveling North, that much he was almost sure of, but where exactly he was in the forest he could not tell. How far West was he?
"Fucking Nights Watch, fucking Kingsroad, fucking North," Jon's ramblings of immature spite were cut short when he heard the river and saw the fire, up, not far from him, almost a dot to be sure, but close enough he could make it if he ran. There was another noise, multiple actually, but Jon didn't care, help was so close. Picking up speed, Jon began to sprint towards the light at the end of the forest, the sound of running water getting ever closer, and a grin broke out on Jon's face. Jon almost felt like letting his tongue hang out as he ran, like he imagined Ghost or a dog would, but he doubted anybody would want to help some raggedy wolf boy running from the woods. He was so close, and Jon opened his mouth to yell, excitement leaking from his very pores, only for Jon to stop in the middle of the action and freeze up mid stride when he realized what was happening. Metal on metal, yells of anger and pain, the very sound of blood being spilt on this, the land that his father ruled. Dropping behind a tree, Jon caught his breath, before peeking around, watching as two men threw each other into the large fire Jon had been running for. They both came up, screaming, running like chickens with their heads cut off, though soon enough the wails that pierced Jon's eardrums stopped as the air around the men was eaten up, devoured by the flames that covered each man, and before Jon could think further on it, he realized that while one man had dropped by the fire, trying futilely to put the flames out in the dirt, the other man was running in Jon's direction, sword still amazingly in hand, waving in some weird motion, arms back and forth, as if acting out the part of a monster in some child's tale would end the pain, the destruction of his very flesh, flames searing the existence of his body as it ever was. He finally dropped, hitting the river not ten feet from Jon and his tree, wriggling against the current, writhing in the hopes that something would end it, and soon enough the flames died out, unable to stand up against the coolness of the icy Northern water.
Jon moved forward, still crouched, unable to see if any other person was around to see him. Coming up on the body of the man, Jon heard a croaking noise. Deducing it was coming from the man, Jon hurried up, placing his hands on the ground near the body in order to examine the wounds. The smell of burnt flesh invaded Jon's nostrils, and he gagged for a moment, until he noticed the eyes staring up at him. Jon grabbed a handful of the cloak cooked to be entwined with the skin and meat of man, and pulled, dragging him out of the shallow stream, only for him to drag the man halfway out of the river before the skin fell off of the man, coming out in handfuls along with the cloak in Jon's hands. Hearing a moan emitting from the man at the feeling of such a terrible injury, Jon decided he was far enough out. Looking down to inspect what could be salvaged on the man, something caught Jon's eye. Inspecting a piece of the cloak that, miraculously, was unburnt, a cloud moved out of the way of the moon's path, allowing Jon to see, in the light of the moon, the gruesome sight of the body before him, as well as the Brothers cloak he wore. This couldn't be one of his Uncle's men could it? No, of course it couldn't. But, if it was, than his uncle was somewhere, in the battle. Realizing that this may be his chance to save his uncle, he reached for the sword in the Black Brothers hand, he clinched the hand of the man with both of his, hoping to manage to pry open the vice grip. After a second, a crack was heard, and the sword free. Looking down, Jon saw the Brother's hand broken almost in two, looking almost as brutal as the rest of his body. Jon stood up, quickly turning to leave for the skirmish, when he remembered, due to the moan of agony, that the man was in fact alive. Jon turned, gazing down on the man, and made the hardest decision he ever had in his life. Knowing fully well that nothing could be done for the man unless there was a Maester in the immediate vicinity, Jon placed the tip of his newly acquired sword at where he believed the heart of the Black Brother to be.
"I'm sorry," Jon expressed to the burnt man, before pushing all of his weight and force downward with the sword, killing the man, and extinguishing his light.
-Linebreak-
Catelyn was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she looked up from her zoned gaze on Bran in his bed to look up at her eldest son, Robb. His blue Tully eyes stared at her in concern, seemingly voicing the questions she knew he had for her.
"Mother you must leave, you need to eat and rest," Robb started before being interrupted by his Mother.
"No, I need to stay here with Bran. In peace," Catelyn retorted, before looking at her hands, realizing that while she was staring at Bran and talking to Robb, she had been spinning a prayer wheel for the son she had been thinking about, Jon. Catelyn did not need to tell Robb that she wanted to stay with Bran not only for Bran but also to pray for Jon's safety and forgiveness in quiet. Of course, that would raise the question from her eldest son as to why she would need to pray for Jon's, Robb's favorite friend and brother since they were babes, forgiveness. Catelyn hadn't the heart to tell her boy that she was the reason somebody so important to them both, as well as the whole family, had run off to God's know where.
"Mother, Bran will wake up, and Jon will come back. Please, come out of this room," When Catelyn shook her head again, Robb sighed, before turning to the men, Rodrik Cassel and Maester Luwin at the door, and leaving with them.
"Please Jon, my little silent wolf, please come back to me, safe. You can hate me, so long as you're okay."
-This Linebreak is brought to you by Fuck You, the pure product with none of the hassle-
Jon advanced through the darkness of the woods, heading toward the rocky clearing. Most men were dead by now, though some still continued to battle on, raging against the last light of life, refusing to go meekly. A large man stood in between Jon and the people left, Jon noticed, and as Jon snuck up behind him, he took in the appearance, or what he could see, of the man. A bald, scarred head, broad shoulders, bronze armor, and a huge, wicked looking bronze battleaxe. Stopping a few feet short of the monster like man in front of him, Jon eased the breath out of him, before gently pulling some air back in, quietly, so as not to alert the man of Jon's presence. He pointed his blade towards the man's upper back, so that hopefully the steel would sprout out of the man's chest, piercing as many organs as possible before doing so. Using all of the power in his legs, Jon sprang up and forward leaping at the man with his sword out, and Jon was met with the satisfactory sound, sharp as it was, of his new blade running through weaker bronze, and following through to exit the opposite side of the giant. Said giant fell to his knees, axe dropping from his hands, as he lets out a grunt of dissatisfaction, as though the sword in him was an unpleasant inconvenience rather than a life ending injury. Jon quickly released his grip on the blade, nervous due to the lack of a reaction by the man he had just stabbed, before quickly grabbing the axe from the ground and spinning with it to Jon's left and around the man's right side, from his back to his front. As Jon followed through with the spin, he swung the axe with all of his might at the man's neck, using the momentum of the spin as well as the strength of his arms to, hopefully, cut off his victim's head with the large axe.
Unfortunately, Jon had not trained in the axe as much as he possibly should have, opting to spend more time honing his forte, the sword, and so his aim was a little off. It hit the man in the neck, but due to the angle the blade was at going in, it went only halfway through before being wrenched out of Jon's grip. The man's eyes, cold and snakelike, glared at Jon as he choked on his own blood, falling forward and to his right, dying, slowly. Jon stared at the man for a second before he heard footsteps behind him, rushing towards him, and he jumped forward, foot on the nearly dead man's back as Jon grabbed the grip of his blade in the man's sternum, and used all of his strength to pull outward, managing to succeed before quickly ducking and spinning to his left again, stabbing his sword outward as he jumped again, though only forward instead of up. Jon looked up to find the eyes of the man he had skewered, who was wielding a war axe, staring at him in shock. Deciding he had no time to stop and stare as he had earlier, due to the distinct lack of sounds of battle, Jon spun out, pulling his sword with him as he spun, slashing at the man who had just arrived. The strike was parried, and Jon got a chance to look at his opponent. The man was about Jon's height, short for a full grown man, but stockier than Jon, if only slightly. Hateful black eyes glared at Jon, though Jon refused to back down.
"Crow," The man stated before charging forward, swinging downward at Jon who turned to the side, avoiding the blade, responding with his own slash traveling upward towards the head of his foe. His head jerked backward, safely dodging the bloody blade, before shooting forward with the Wildling blade coming from his right, slashing at Jon's left. Jon twisted, rotating on his feet, as he glanced the opposition's blade of his own behind his back, with both his arms above his head holding on to the longsword in his grip, before continuing with his movement, using all the energy in it to help him spin the blade above his head and bring it downward in a wide and quick arc, from side to side, and after following through, jumping back without staying to see if it was a success, to ensure he would not fall to the raider's blade. He looked to see the older warrior glaring at him again, standing on his own two feet, blade raised as if to hack at Jon, before a bright red line appeared on the Wildling's neck, speedily growing wider and brighter in the light of the large campfire. Blood started to spray and pour from the open wounds as his blade dropped, and his eyes followed Jon. The Stark looked up to examine the battlefield, and saw nothing until, THERE, a girl and a man stood by a man on his knees by the fire, and the girl seemed to be pointing in Jon's direction. Realizing she had a bow, Jon dropped, feeling the arrow fly past his head and rustle his hair.
"Fucking archer," Jon cursed through his teeth as his body seemed to move on it's own, pressing forward until he was right in front of the man he had fought most recently, who was still alive. Seeing the man's blade was out of his hand, Jon grabbed him by his furs and managed to get him on his feet, charging forward to close the fifteen foot gap with the meat shield in front of him. Blood spurted and poured onto Jon's face and hands, drenching him in almost no time, Though Jon didn't seem to care or notice. Hearing a thud hit by his feet, Jon leapt up shortly, momentarily, hearing the arrow hit where his feet once were, he picked up speed, rushing forward, hearing two more arrows hit the body of the now dead man in his arms before the body dropped and Jon was there, slashing and managing to cut the girl's bow with his first slash, ducking to dodge the axe hack of the last Wildling man, and bringing his sword across the man's belly, cutting through fur and all to pierce his skin, though only enough for it to be an inconvenience, neither a serious wound nor a fatal injury. Jon spun, putting his foot back to catch his balance before pressing forward, slashing downward at the axe, meeting it, then clashing from the side and meeting it again. Feeling a presence nearly right behind him, Jon turned sideways while putting his hand up, catching the archer girl's hand by the wrist as she was about to bring an knife down on him. Ripping the knife out of her grasp, he swung again at the axe man from Jon's left side with his sword, hitting it and knocking it to the man's left, if only for a second, so that Jon could leap in, stabbing the knife into the man's kidney and dropping into a crouch in order to dodge the backhanded slash that came his way, then jumping up while simultaneously slashing down ward with his sword, cutting through the Wildling's face and chest. Jon allowed the force of the swing, powerful as it was, to carry through as he stepped to the side, coming up to stop directly at the girl's throat as she was about to strike him down with an arrow in hand. She stopped and glared at him as he did likewise. Jon was tempted to force the blade through her jugular, but thought of what his father would say, and thought better of it.
"Sit," Jon commanded, before placing his blade to the side of her neck and shooting forward, folding his arm in as his elbow shot forward, crashing into her chin and effectively knocking her out. Taking a moment to admire his handiwork, Jon remembered the man on his knees and turned to find him now on his ass. He was large, stocky, and although old, he seemed to be in decent shape, with a Northern face if Jon had ever seen one. Gray white hair and beard framed a stern, hard look that can only come from a man that had seen more than his fair share of Northern winters. He wore a large, black, lordly looking cloak, with several arrows sticking out of it, and him, and in his right hand he held a beautiful blade, a longsword of beautiful design with a bear head pommel, the blade slightly bloody but beautiful nonetheless, rippling, looking as if the metal had been folded and reforged a thousand times in the hottest fires. Valyrian Steel.
"Who the fuck are you green boy?" The man demanded of Jon before coughing up a large amount of blood on to the solid Northern dirt.
"I am Jon Stark. Who are you?" Jon replied, irritated with being called a green boy, however true it may be.
"I am Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
"What happened here my lord?"
"We had heard that some Wildlings had gotten past the wall. With you're uncle at Winterfell, I decided I would lead the party to hunt them down. Unfortunately, they were waiting for us. They waited until we had made camp, then they dropped in on us. I sent a man North as soon as the fighting started, he should get to the Wall with the news. I don't think I will last that long however."
"No, my lord. You'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
"Boy, if you believe that, then you're so green that if you were to be any greener I'd grow fuckin' crops off you. Listen, that Wildling bitch there, either get answers out of her yourself and find your father, or take her to your father and let him get the answers. The lords of the North must know what is coming. Do you understand?"
"Aye, my lord."
"Good. One last thing, Stark. This, is Longclaw. It is the ancestral sword of my house. Take it with you, keep it, use it, but the old gods help me, if I ever see a man not of the North wielding it I'll fucking kill you twice. Got it?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good. Now, there's rope over there in the packs. Get it done." With that, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch died, unceremoniously, in a rocky clearing. Turning back to the girl to see Ghost nudging her unconscious form, Jon sighed.
"So much for the Night's Watch."
