Love is the Death of Duty

Chapter 6

Eastwatch was a haphazard old castle that stood on the junction where the wall met the icy sea. Dawyn Mollen, son of Derwyn Mollen, had joined the Night's Watch at the age of five and ten, his head filled with high expectations and dreams of valor and honor: the unbridled joy he felt when he said his vows undoubtedly made it the happiest day of his life. Overtime, the excitement that he felt dwindled, and when Jeor Mormont had him sent to serve as a steward at East Watch, he had begun to loath his miserable existence. During his time at Castle Black, he had silently cursed the builders for the poor job they had done at keeping the cold at bay; now, at the age of thirty and two, he would have given anything to go back. The "Castle" here was no more than a few creaking old wood buildings and a series of unstable stairways that carried you to the top of the wall. On this frigid night, dense grey clouds hung in the air, obscuring the stars. Dawyn was sat atop the wall, neglecting his patrol duty, staring out over the edge, his vision blocked by the dense snow fall. Nothing ever happened here, and the air around him felt so cold that he didn't know if he could move, even if he tried. The wind began to pick up, the snows swirling around him biting at his unprotected face. Grumbling to himself, Dawyn pulled his legs into his chest, his frozen joints complaining as he did so.

The first blast of the horn sheared through the sounds of the gale and the snow buffeting against his shivering form: Rangers returning. Dawyn's eyes had just slipped shut when he heard second blast. Wildlings. Heart racing, Dawyn pushing himself to his feet and began to stumble towards the staircase leading down to the castle below. The wind was now a roaring cyclone, the snow blinding him as it fell thick and fast. Dawyn tried to remember the last time that there had been wildlings at east watch, but his thoughts were cut short, and his heart froze as a third, wailing note pierced the frigid night sky.

….

Walking down the path from the castle, Davos stared suspiciously at the scroll in his hand. The direwolf impressed onto the grey wax seemed to snarl up at him, its grin full of malice and ill intent. There had been little contact with the North since they had arrived on Dragonstone, the only letter they had received arriving on the second day of their tenure. Dark wings, dark words, he thought glumly, hoping that his intuition was wrong. He found Jon where he knew he'd be: the King in the North, aided by three other stark men, was carrying a heavy wooden chest brimming with Dragonglass to the row boat that was pushed up on the beach. The young man's face was red from exertion as he and the others let the crate drop into the boat with a heavy ka-thunk. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Jon turned to face his advisor, his features immediately apprehensive when the older man offered him the scroll.

"From Sansa?", he asked, glancing at Davos.

The former smuggler shrugged, "I don't know your grace. This letter wasn't meant for my eyes." Worry evident in his face, Jon broke the seal and unfurled the yellow paper, eyes scanning the words in front of him. A joyful smile began to work its way across his face as he read, and Davos felt a rush of relief at the implication that the news was good. That feeling was short lived, however, as Jon's smile fell. He tore his eyes away from the message, and handed it to Davos, his eyes turned downwards. Gingerly, Davos took the delicate scroll from Jon's hand a held it up.

Jon,

I hope this message finds you in good health.

Bran came home. He was brought to the gates of Winterfell last night by men from Castle Black. To see him again after so many years...I went to talk with him in the morning, and he barely seemed to recognize me at first. It's been so long since we've all been together, I know he'll be glad to see you.

The men who brought Bran home were asking for you. The Lord Commander was with them, a man by the name of Eddison Tollett. Their news was grave Jon; East Watch was attacked. The Castle was destroyed, and Tollet said that they found no signs of any survivors. The most disturbing thing, however, was the discovery of a tunnel leading straight through the wall. The Others did this Jon. I'm sure of it, and The Lord Commander was sure of it. We need you with us now.

Sansa

"We need to leave today," Jon said, his voice rough. Davos nodded slowly, rolling up the paper.

"You should write back to her," he said, looking at Jon, "any message you send today would still arrive at winterfell before we do."

"I agree," Jon said, his grey eyes meeting Davos's, "If the Walkers got past the wall, I need to know how. I need someone who knows the true north."

...

Hours later, as the sun began to set, Jon and his men set the last chest of Dragon glass down in the rowboat. He could see Daenerys and Tyrion approaching, accompanied by the Queen's Herald and two of the soldiers that Jon had come to know as the Unsullied. His relationship with the Dragon Queen had completely changed since their conversation in the cave; he knew that she trusted him far more now about the existence of the Others.

"How do you know it wasn't just a dream," Jon had asked, captivated in that moment by the beauty of the woman who stood in front of him. Daenerys's soft gaze met his own. "Because my dreams come true," she had whispered back.

He found himself wishing that he could spend more time with the Daenerys, but knew that time was short, and that he had to return to his people. Jon thought back to the letter he had written to Sansa, instructing her to send Tormund and a large host of Wildings to Eastwatch, under strict instructions that they were to look for what could have caused the damage to the wall and the destruction of East Watch, not fight the walkers on their own. Jon knew it was a risky thing to ask for; if Tormund and his men stumbled upon the Walkers in the exposed, open wastes of the True North, they were as good as dead. That being said, Jon needed to know how the Walkers possessed the capacity to tunnel through a mile of ice unnoticed, and there was no-one who knew what lay beyond the wall better than Giantsbane; if anyone could find out anything, it would be him.

When Daenerys and her party were within earshot, he waved his arm and called a greeting. Even though they were a hundred feet from each other, Daenerys's smile warmed his heart. Silently cursing himself for being so susceptible to this woman's charms, he walked towards them, the two monarchs stopping a few feet from each other. Jon met Dany's smile with his own, whilst Tyrion looking between the two with a knowing expression on his face.

"This is it then," the Hand of the Queen said, breaking the silence, "It has been ever so good to see you Jon. I'm sure it won't be another eight years before our next reunion." The small man took a step forward and offered his arm to the King in the North, who grasped it firmly in his own. "I'm hoping it won't be, my lord of Lannister," Jon said, his smile now turned towards Tyrion. Withdrawing his arm, he straightened up and looked at Daenerys. "I'm sure that we will be seeing eachother soon enough, your grace," he said, "and until then, you won't have to worry about the King in the North anymore." Dany's eyes softened as she held his gaze. "A shame," she said, "I was growing used to him."

Jon knew what she was saying. In that instant, he understood that his feelings of attraction towards her were not unrequited. Jon also knew that if he gave in to those feelings, he was lost. Maester Aemon's words echoed in his ears; Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. For what is honor compared to a woman's love? Jon knew that his duty was to his people, to the North. He had been brought back to life to lead the war against the long night, not to love a Southern Queen. His face now an emotionless mask, he nodded his head at her. "I wish you all the best in the wars to come, your grace," he said. Her smile dropped a bit, her eyes betraying her emotions. Holding her gaze for a moment longer, Jon turned and walked towards the row boat when his men awaited him. Taking up his position at the bow, he called for the others to push. Wading into the water, the king in the north knew he had done the right thing; Jon Snow knew his duty. He didn't look back.

…

Daenerys stood on the beach in silence, watching the Northerners ship disappear into the setting sun. The Dragon queen wondered if she would ever see Jon again; she wondered if she would ever get the chance to express how she felt about him. She left her heavy heart on the beach, striding back towards the walkway with purpose, determined not to be weighed down.

"Come," she called to her hand, "there is much to prepare for."

Tyrion stood for a moment longer, his eyes trained on the blood red sky. He thought it was rather appropriate, given what they were about to do.

A cold northernly wind blew along the waters edge, causing him to shiver. "Yes," he murmured, "I do believe there is."

None of the portions of this story are what I would call "filler"; every moment that Jon and Dany experience is of varying degrees of importance, but these past two chapters have been my least favorite to write so far. Ironically, they might be my best work yet. Funny how that happens, eh?

Dawyn is and OC, and his inclusion in this story is to offer a limited personal account of the attack on Eastwatch. I thought that hearing about it, or at least the moments before hand would be more interesting than just having it mentioned in Sansa's letter.

This chapter is the peak of Jon's feelings for Dany; remember, my Jon knows that his duty is his subjects, and he places their interests above his own. Please continue to follow, favorite and review! If you want to know the approximate date of publication for Chapter 7, see my profile.