Author's Note:


George R. R. Martin's work has always been one of my favourite literary worlds. After I read A Dance with Dragons, I looked forward to the sequel. I must admit that I grew impatient as time passed, and a few months ago I began writing my own fan interpretations of the next book in my downtime. I cannot say that my work is even a fraction of George R.R. Martin's brilliance, and I know that he personally does not encourage others manipulating his world. I therefore cannot claim that this writing can be a true continuation to canon, as I am not a professional writer. This is only a hobby that I hope would be free for other readers like to read, enjoy, and criticize.

It is preferred that a knowledge on the main ASoIaF books, from A Game of Thrones to A Dance with Dragons, is known. This book takes place right after A Dance with Dragons, and aims to provide a conclusion to A Song of Ice and Fire. A Dead Man's Honor is the first of a four-part series that will cover The Winds of Winter.

I am not a perfect writer, though I try my best to convey GRRM's sense of characterization, plot, and worldbuilding in my writing. I would be glad if criticism is offered, so that I may know what is thought of my work.

Enjoy!


PROLOGUE


The wintry winds of Castle Black would often freeze a man to the bone, and many a dawn the Watch would find the night's guard dead at their posts. Yet in all the sorrowful years of the Old Ranger's life, he never tasted the cold that bit into his skin this very morning.

Even those fifteen long years ago, when he had delivered those winter rations in the dead of the cold, when he was still Derryk Rivers, he had warmed at the prospect of his waiting family and reward from his liege lord. That optimism was ill-founded then, as half the supplies were spoiled by the accursed winter winds and his lord gave him the choice between death and the Wall. Even then, his hatred and anger disguised the cold that stemmed from his fear of the unknown North.

Thinking back, he wondered what became of the little girl left behind with her mother. His daughter had only three namedays when he departed for the Wall. He was shocked, after a moment in thought, that he could not remember what he had named her. He had never ventured South in all his years in the Watch to visit, though he had a chance to become a recruiter. The pain was simply too great to look upon what he had forsaken. Most like his daughter was dead, from what he had heard from the Riverlands, dead in the King in the North's war. Like a thousand times before, he silently berated himself," I have no daughter now, no more than I have a name. I have only brothers, brothers of the Night's Watch that share in my cold."

Rising through the Watch's ranks as one of the Wall's most skilled rangers, he shared in the warmth and camaraderie of his comrades-in-arms. Kind old Lord Mallister, who had been visiting Castle Black at the time of his initiation, had demanded that the new recruit be assigned to the Shadow Tower. In the Night's Watch, he found the pride that he had never known as the lowly servant of a Riverland lord. No man saw him unworthy upon his bastard birth, the baseborn child of a common smith. In his rangings beyond the Wall to the frigid lands of the wildlings, he could as easily find a wildling whore to warm his bed for a night as flipping his hand.

But now, despite the roaring heat of the torches in the courtyard and his heavy furs, he felt uncannily cold, a frigidness that he had not felt in all the dreadful winters of his life. A torch of righteousness had warmed him all his life, yet that was gone now, and only cold remained.

Last night, when he had held one of the accursed knives, when he had thrust it in the back of the Lord Commander, he had told himself repeatedly in order to do the deed, that it was the right thing to do, a noble act to take, as Jon Snow had deserted the Watch and abandoned his brothers for a petty dispute down south.

When Lord Mallister had first received the missive that outlined Castle Black's dire need of men, he volunteered to serve the new Lord Commander. Both his sword and his knowledge would be invaluable to Lord Snow. The boy required guidance, and he was there to give it. Though when he arrived, he found that Jon Snow had lost his way, had betrayed all they stood for, had betrayed his brothers. He knew of the boy's honour, his sense of duty, his great feats, yet to uphold the oath of the Watch, the order that had cherished him more than his own mother, he did what he must do.

"For the Watch ," he had said as he withdrew his knife. His gloves were coated in warm liquid, though in the dark of night he did not know whether the gleam was the shimmering reflection of blood or his tears. If it was for a righteous cause, he did not feel any less guilt from becoming a traitor and a mutineer. He felt.. emptiness that continuously gnawed on his inside.

Jon Snow's body lay on a pyre now, ready to be burned in the manner befitting a Lord Commander. Bowen Marsh, acting Lord Commander until a new man could be elected, presided over the proceedings. Lord Marsh, who had found him and told of Lord Snow's treachery. He had thrust the first knife. He wondered if the steward felt the same remorse over betraying their lord. He supposed so, as the boy was a deserter and would not deserve such a grand funeral worthy only of the best of the Watch, yet Marsh insisted on it.

"Jon Snow came to the Watch as a boy," the steward began," the bastard of Winterfell, the wolf lord's son. I thought him at the beginning no more than that, a pompous youngster who would flaunt his status to gain power within our ranks. Lord Snow proved me grievously wrong. Lord Commander Mormont saw something of himself in the young man, a capacity to not only fight, but to lead. Young as he was, he gave everything to serve the Watch. Alone beyond the wall, in lands treacherous and barren, Jon Snow proved his valor by infiltrating the wildling camp, who had then thought of us as their bitter enemies. This he did in service of the Watch, a feat few would have the courage or strength to attempt and succeed. Lord Snow did, to gain us crucial tidings in defending the Wall. He led the defense of our castle when Lord Mormont fell and none other would take the helm. And now, when faced with the threat of the true enemy, he put aside his enmity with our wildling brothers, who had slain many of his friends and fellow Watchmen, and welcomed them to bolster our otherwise meagre defense. He became a true man of the Night's Watch. It was for these deeds of courage and leadership that we chose him as our rightful Lord Commander, as the man that could lead us in all the nights to come. His desertion does not make any of his accomplishments any less the tale of heroes. And now his watch has ended."

"And now his watch has ended," the Old Ranger and his brothers echoed. Silence followed, and possibly by a trick of the eye, he caught a glimmer of a white blur move among the opposing battlements. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The figure disappeared.

First Builder Yarwyck handed Bowen Marsh the torch, and the steward, after a moment's hesitation, lit up Jon Snow's pyre. He unconsciously felt the caress of hot tears down his cheek. Whatever he chose in his last days, he was at one time a true man of the order. One, if the tales be true, of their best men.

"The best men sometimes turn out to be the worst," he heard Qhorin Halfhand's voice echo. He remembered the time when he had served with the man at the Shadow Tower. A mentor of sorts, and the best of their fellowship, the Halfhand had led some of the Old Ranger's first rangings. He knew who Qhorin spoke of truthfully. Mance Rayder was as dear a friend as any to him. Though many thought Mance had turned his cloak for a wildling woman, he had known the truth for more than ten years. His friend had discovered the growing threat in the Lands of Always Winter, and deserted to save his people. His cause was honourable, while Snow's was selfish. The Night's Watch took no part in the squabbles of the realm. When Bowen showed him the letter, he mourned for his former friend. Mance was ever a brother to him, yet mourn was all he did. He would never march south and desert his cloak, even if he had an army ten thousand strong. Though if he received a letter that threatened his daughter, would he ride south? He did not wish to answer that question.

The Old Ranger glanced side to side. Many of his brothers were sharing his sentiment for Lord Snow. Their tears froze to their cheeks by the winter cold, mirroring the glace of his own. He stared back at the pyre, and watched the blaze slowly spread from the steward's torch to engulf the body.

The late Lord Commander looked strangely at peace. He wore only his Night's Watch undershirt, as every extra fur was precious for the Watch. His skin shone blue from the caress of the piercing breeze. Men had cleaned his body, so the wounds from their blades were hidden. Much as the wounds that the winds would make upon a naked man, the six treasons were concealed.

He stared in a trance at the flame that spread along the dry branches, consuming Lord Snow in its blaze.

The Red Woman had claimed that she could see visions her god granted her, visions of the future in the fires. He was never a godly man, for what god would have abandoned a child to fend for himself, as he did when he was young. But the Red Woman's words left a queer taste, and though only recently acquainted with this foreign god, he felt more penchant to her teachings than he ever did with the septons of the Seven.

The Red Woman was not here, nor were the men that King Stannis had left at Castle Black. Only black cloaks attended to Lord Snow's passing.

He sought to see whether the Red Woman's words rang true. Yet when he stared at the roaring flame, as he watched the corpse crumble into ash, he saw only what was plain to see. Fire... and death.