The moment Jon had decided to ignore his legal punishment of rejoining the Night's Watch, he had also silently vowed to himself that he would never again go further south than the Fist of the First Men. And for five years now, he had kept that vow. In some ways, it was a fairly easy vow to keep. He had been banished from the south anyway, and there was no reason for him to return to Castle Black. He did not even go back for supply runs, he let others handle those.
In other ways, it was on of the most difficult vows he had made. As much as he convinced himself that this life, his life of isolation beyond where the wall once stood, was what he deserved, what he wanted, sometimes there would be a quiet but strong voice in the back of his mind that would whisper to him, come home. It sounded very much like Sansa's voice, and Sansa's voice was one he had become accustomed to not ignoring.
At first he had been angry with her. He had been so bloody angry with her, that he had made no move to even take her into one final embrace when he last saw her on the docks at King's Landing. She had not given up quite so easily and the moment she had gently wrapped her arms around him, he froze.
He had known he would probably never see her again, thought about it almost the entire time he was locked up in his cell. For weeks, he did nothing but try to fan the flames of his own anger toward her, trying to convince himself that he did not love her. That he hated her. He had killed his own kin, a woman he once believed could help the realm, to protect Sansa. Aye, it had been to protect everyone, but it wasn't until Tyrion brought up Sansa and Arya that Jon had known he had to kill Daenerys. And when he had been thrown in the cell, knowing his only two possible fates were death and banishment, he knew that he had to kill the love he had for Sansa, or he would spend the rest of his life feeling like his heart was outside of his chest.
When he held her on that dock, he never wanted to let go. He couldn't even bring himself to look back after he had walked away. All of the time he had spent trying to convince himself he hated her was a waste, for as he sailed away from her, he knew for certain he would be in love with Sansa Stark for the rest of his days. It was a gut-wrenching, soul crushing thought, and one he had spent years trying to forget.
Beyond the wall he distracted himself with the tasks at hand. Ranging, hunting, building, all of it. He threw himself into the work and any time thoughts of her would enter his mind, he would shut them out immediately. He'd found a Wildling woman to share his bed on occasion, but he felt nothing while doing so. The women didn't either, so that was a consolation he supposed. For years, he had done an alright job of keeping Sansa out of his mind…until the dreams started…then she was all he could think about, even in his waking hours.
And now, here he was, the towers at Castle Black coming into sight like black spots on a large white sheet. A pit formed in his stomach and he pulled on the reins of his horse to slow the animal to a stop. He glanced down at where Ghost was looking up at him, confused.
"This is a mistake," he told Ghost who just continued to stare back at him unwavering.
"I'm being stupid," he mumbled, more to himself than to Ghost as he looked back up and ahead.
Truthfully, he had left without giving it much thought. He and Tormund went back and forth on why he should go (Tormund) and why he should not go (himself). He knew Tormund was trying to be a good friend, but Gods, he had gone to great lengths to get Jon to go.
"But what if she isn't married yet, and then you don't go, and she marries some…little southern prick?"
"It's none of my business," Jon had mumbled.
"You're in love with her!" Tormund had bellowed back. Not accusatory, as though he were just stating a fact.
"Would never work," Jon mumbled again, avoiding eye contact. Tormund had been silent for a moment after that.
"What about everything that cunt did to her? What was his name?" At the mention of Ramsay, Jon had felt his entire body tense. His hands formed fists and he glared at Tormund.
"Ramsay Bolton. How did you know about that?" Jon asked through gritted teeth.
"When I was at Winterfell…people talked. The people who served the Boltons before the Wolves took it back," he grinned at the last part, but Jon's mood was not so easily lifted. He hadn't realized everyone knew. He hated it for her.
"Sansa's smart. She's the Queen. She's not going to be forced to marry anyone she doesn't wish to," Jon replied. It was the only thing giving him comfort at the moment.
"What if she wants to marry the King Crow?" Tormund asked. A sharp pain shot through Jon's chest.
"She doesn't," he replied gruffly.
"How do you know?" Tormund asked patiently.
"Because, she doesn't! We took back the North together and that was…but we were never close as children and up until five years ago, she thought of me as her bastard half-brother. We were both broken, we needed someone, needed family and-" Jon started, spouting off the same rhetoric he had been telling himself for years, before Tormund cut him off.
"She cried over you," Tormund interjected. Jon paused, thinking he must have misheard at first.
"What?" he asked, exasperated.
"It was a couple of days before we fought the dead fuckers. When we all walked into the war room to plan, you and the Dragon Queen were whispering and laughing like a couple of girls. Your cousin looked…sad. She left the room and when we were about to start I went to go get her. She was crying," Tormund explained, voice low. Jon's breath hitched in his chest for a moment.
"Could have been about anything," he replied, trying to sound like he believed his words.
"It wasn't though. It was about you," Tormund replied and for the first time in the entire conversation, Jon detected a trace of irritation in his friend's voice. He knew Tormund was right. Somehow he knew.
The shouts of the gate guards snapped Jon from his daze as he approached the gates of Castle Black, Ghost keeping pace with his horse.
"Who goes there?" One of the guards called out, squinting as the wind blew a wave of snow in front of his face.
"Jon Snow," Jon replied, louder than he had meant to. Both guards straightened up upon hearing his name and gave one another bewildered glances.
Jon just stared back and forth from one man to the other. Part of him had expected to get some sort of reaction like this one.
"Open the gate!" one of the men's voices boomed out. Jon sighed and looked back down at Ghost once more. His direwolf was already looking at him, red eyes a comfort in an otherwise less than desirable situation.
As the gate slowly raised, Jon urged his horse forward and he and Ghost made their way into the courtyard. The same courtyard where he had first seen Sansa again all those years ago. He could still feel his heart sink when he thought about how scared and small she looked. It was the location of where his second chance at life started to make sense. He stopped his horse in the middle of the courtyard and looked around. It felt as though a thousand eyes were all on him.
Lord Commander Paxter, a tall sinewy man with golden hair, who reminded Jon of Jaime Lannister, approached Jon's horse and bowed.
"Lord Targaryen," he greeted Jon, and Jon swore he sensed a bit of bite to the Lord Commander's tone.
Jon dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to the stable boy waiting by his side. He turned and tried to keep his voice measured.
"It's Jon Snow. Same as it always has been," he informed the Lord Commander who simply smiled back.
"Right, of course. Hard to keep your names straight," he replied. Jon was confused. He had found Paxter to be a reasonable man the last time they had met, although that was some time ago. Still, Jon found the encounter strange.
"Might I have a word in your solar?" Jon asked. Paxter nodded and motioned for Jon to follow him. Jon and Ghost started to follow but Paxter glanced down at Ghost.
"Does it need to come with us?" he asked. Jon sighed and looked at Ghost.
"Aye, he does," was all Jon said back. He was quickly growing weary of this new Lord Commander.
"Fine," Paxter replied and he and Jon made the walk to the Lord Commander's solar in silence. Once they were inside, he motioned for Jon to sit in the chair at the desk. Jon did so and Ghost sat by his side. Paxter took his seat across from Jon and his sour disposition seemed to fade a bit.
"What are you doing here, Snow?" he asked with a sigh.
"I'll only be here for a night. I ride for Winterfell on the morrow," Jon told him. Paxter just stared back at him, blinking slowly.
"You know I can't let you do that, Jon," Paxter sighed begrudgingly. Jon frowned.
"Why not?" he asked.
"The deal we made," Paxter replied.
"The deal we made?" Jon asked. Paxter look at him as though he were an idiot.
"In case you've forgotten, Lord Snow…you were banished to the wall by King Bran. You should have been here for the past five years. But when you got here, and you told me you wanted to go North with the Free Folk…I let you. Because I respected Lord Commander Tollett and he spoke highly of you before his death. But before you left, I warned you…I'd have to report back to the king that you'd escaped…abandoned your post. I warned you that if you went north, you'd have to stay north. And you agreed," Paxter explained.
Now it was Jon's turn to sigh. Of course he had remembered their deal, he had just been hoping Paxter wouldn't. Truthfully, when he had set out on this journey, he had been so consumed with thoughts of Sansa and Winterfell and home that he had forgotten about the deal until he had already been on the road for some time.
"I assume you remember the punishment for abandoning your post at the wall?" Paxter asked, raising an eyebrow. A quiet rage started to simmer in Jon's belly.
"Aye, Lord Commander. I remember," he replied, his voice strained.
"I'm sorry, Snow. I can't let you pass," he replied. For a moment, he did not know what his next move would be. And then, in a split second, it occurred to Jon.
"Has…has the Queen sent any pardons?" he asked hopefully. It was a long shot, but just maybe…
"Aye, a few actually. But it doesn't matter. You broke your vows. That's a crime against the Crown of the Six Kingdoms, not the North," the Lord Commander explained, and although he did not want it, Jon could hear the sympathy in Paxter's voice. The anger grew stronger and he felt his fists clench under the desk.
"I can let you stay the night with the men, but I need you out of here by morning. You can't be here. You need to go back north again, Snow. I'm sorry," Paxter continued. Jon nodded as if he understood. He swallowed the outburst threatening to make the situation worse for himself and stood slowly.
"Thank you for your time…Lord Commander," he rasped out, and then turned to open the door. And then…it hit him. He turned and looked over his shoulder at Paxter.
"You say I'm wanted for abandoning my post…that it's a crime against the Six Kingdoms?" Jon asked.
"Aye," Paxter replied, eyes narrowing at Jon.
"So if I were to leave…right now…who would swing the sword that took my head? That responsibility used to fall on my fa…on Ned Stark, did it not?" Jon asked, the unspoken word burning in his throat. Even after all this time. A look of realization crossed over Paxter's features. He looked both angry and impressed.
"That would be the royal executioner," Paxter answered. Jon grew irritated with him once more.
"Southern or Northern?" he asked. Paxter stared him down for a long moment before he finally spoke again.
"Northern," Jon bit back the smile threatening to pull at his mouth.
Paxter glared at him and stood up, towering over Jon who did not back down.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, and for a moment, just a brief moment, Jon could have sworn there was a fear in Paxter's eyes. A Fear that didn't make sense.
"I just want to go home," Jon replied vaguely.
"But why now?" Paxter challenged. Now it was Jon's turn to study the man across from him, silently. He knew Paxter was only doing his job, but could not shake the feeling that something was amiss.
"I heard the queen was to choose a husband soon," he replied gruffly. Paxter looked perplexed.
"You…you're going to risk your head…to attend your sister's wedding?" he asked, confused.
"She is not my sister," Jon said under his breath. Paxter's confusion seemed to deepen before his mouth formed a silent "O" shape. It was the first time Jon noticed how young he looked. Far younger than Jon. Maybe he was scared…of what though, Jon did not know.
"What?" Jon snapped. Paxter shook his head and cleared his throat, an uncomfortable look on his face.
"Nothing. I had just…I'd heard rumors…the whores in Moles Town talk. A lot about the Queen. The men talk too, although I suspect it has more to do
with the Queen's beauty and their imaginations more than anything else," Paxter said.
"What rumors?" Jon asked, never breaking his stare away from the Lord Commander.
"There are…whisperings…that the reason the Queen has remained unmarried is because…because her heart went Beyond the Wall," Paxter replied, and although nervous, he held Jon's eye contact. Jon said nothing. He knew of Sansa's feelings for him the last time they had spoken, but that was five years ago. Five years after he had taken off without a word, not giving her a way to contact him. The silence in the air hung between them, thick and unrelenting for what felt like hours. Jon knew what he had to do. But he would have to wait for nightfall to do it. And so he put on his best fake smile, a feat he had not learned until he had to convince Daenerys he was in love with her, and tried to seem friendly.
"Does the ale here still taste like piss water?" he asked. Paxter chuckled and shook his head.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"I think I'll see for myself," Jon replied. Paxter nodded and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something else, then decided against it. Jon opened the door to the solar and Ghost rose from his spot next to the chair, as eager to leave the room as Jon was.
"Snow?" Paxter called out as Jon had just stepped out into the hallway. Jon paused and looked back over his shoulder.
"You ride North in the morning. Understand?" Paxter asked. Jon nodded.
"Understood…Lord Commander," He gave a final nod and then turned down the hall and began his way down toward the dining hall. He needed to gather some strength…he would be continuing his ride to Winterfell that night.
