The next few Jon chapters will follow the plot of the book and show, albeit with a twist.
The eyes of the training yard were constantly on Jon. Despite Tyrion's genuine desire to see the wall, he knew the imp was here to spy on him, although he wasn't sure why. This meant Jon needed to act the part of a despondent husband, missing his loving wife. Of course, it wasn't entirely without a fraction of the truth. He was missing Sansa, but also Arya as well. And if there was one thing Jon was good at, according to Tyrion himself, was brooding.
Sitting alone eating his breakfast, he was deep in thought about some of the strange instances which had taken place since he'd returned to Castle Black. The first thing he noticed was Ghost's uncanny knowledge of Castle Black, as if he'd lived there for years. They both seemed to have an aversion to going near the spot where Jon died, avoiding it at all costs. Jon had even caught Ghost staring at it, baring his teeth. He was still trying to piece together the puzzle of Ghost and Castle Black when Tyrion joined him at the table. This was the imp's last day at the wall and he wanted to break his fast with Jon.
"Leaving so soon?" Jon asked.
"Well, the company is a little bleak for my liking. Yoren is scouting in Kings Landing, and I'm going to accompany him on his journey south. He seems like the only cheerful one here." he looked Jon up and down. "I mean, look at you, little over a sennight here and you are as dour and miserable as the rest of these sullen peasants, debtors, poachers, rapers and thieves. Not that I blame them, there's not a lot to do here except freeze your balls off, but since they're not allowed to breed anyway, I don't suppose that matters."
"Mayhap they have other reasons." Jon said.
"You're a smart boy. Surely you don't believe in gumkins and snarks and whitewalkers, and all of those horror stories that your wet nurse told you about. The only thing north of the wall are people like us who were born on the wrong side of it." Tyrion said.
"I don't know what to believe," Jon lied. "What I know is there's an increase in attacks in the north and more Night's Watch deserters than usual. All telling us the same stories of whitewalkers. The Lords aren't happy about it and the Night's Watch don't have enough men to deal with it. So someone has to talk to Mance Rayder and find out what to do about it. If they are telling the truth, we come to an arrangement to help the wildlings while we fight the whitewalkers. If they are lying, then the north goes to war with the wildlings themselves. I hope it is a war with the wildlings, and not the whitewalkers, because they sound even worse than the wildlings do." he took a swig of ale.
"And how will you know Mance is telling the truth?" Tyrion asked.
"Proof." Jon said. "I will want proof, and will need it for the northern Lords to believe what the wildlings say is true. If Old Nan's stories are to be believed; every man who dies becomes another soldier in their army. I don't know about you, but I don't want to add the wildlings to their army. The bigger the army we have to fight, the harder for the rest of us to defeat them. If the wildlings are on our side, we get that one hundred thousand soldier advantage."
"Just wait for them to give up." Tyrion said, but Jon could see he wasn't taking it seriously, which was pissing Jon off.
"I'm glad you find this amusing, Lord Tyrion, but unlike you, I grew up in the north. You don't know the tales of the north and long night. We can't wait out the army of the dead and the winter storms, because they bring the winter storms. They won't give up unless we are all dead. They can wait until we all starve or freeze to death to add us to their army. And if you think this is a northern problem, you are very much mistaken, my lord."
"I'll suppose I'll have to take your word for it." Tyrion said. "And what do you propose to do if you meet one of these so-called whitewalkers?"
"Without the right protection, there isn't much I can do. I can only hope we don't come across them until we reach Mance." Jon admitted, still hoping he would get hold of a wight so that he could get his hands on Longclaw.
Tyrion stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to take the cage to the top of the wall and piss off the end of the world. A promise I made to myself when I came, which I intend to fulfil before I leave. Would you care to join me?"
"Aye, uncle Benjen is up there right now. I want to have a word with him. Although I won't be joining you in a pissing contest." he shook his head in disgust. "I don't fancy a frostbitten cock, and I doubt Sansa would be happy about it either," he said, getting up and setting off for the winch.
"I take it you miss her?" Tyrion asked as they climbed into the open air lift.
"I thought you were a clever man. Of course I do. She is my wife."
"Being your wife doesn't mean you miss her." Tyrion said, raising an eyebrow. "Not being able to fuck your wife because you are in a place like this is a far better reason to miss her. Of course, that is you genuinely love her."
Jon followed Tyrion to the winch. "Of course I do." He wasn't lying. He loved Sansa, but he also loved Arya, Robb, Bran and Rickon. "Why are you so interested in my marriage?"
"Because I still find it very difficult to believe the story you have told me of how your marriage came about." Tyrion frowned. "If something smells like a pile of shit, it usually is a pile of shit."
"Why we would lie to you?"
"Alas, that is a question I cannot answer. Although I do suspect time will tell." Tyrion looked Jon up and down. "And I believe that time will come sooner rather than later, even if you are not in the mind to tell me yet. You are a young man with an old mind, not a foolish man. I look forward to discovering your little secret." he smiled as the winch reached the top of the wall with a jerk. They got off in silence, while brother, huddled up in a large black cape, helped them out of the cage.
"Come to take one last look?" the man asked, and Tyrion nodded. "Just don't fall off, don't want to piss off the Queen."
"I think she'd be most happy if I fell."
"You're not taking the black then?" Jon said, as he followed Tyrion to one of the empty parapets.
"Would you forsake Sansa's warm cunny in Queenscrown for this freezing hellhole?" Tyrion asked.
As much as Jon hated it when Tyrion spoke like that, with hindsight, Jon understood where Tyrion was coming from. "Do not speak of my wife like that again. But no, the thought of spending one minute here longer than I have to fill me with despair."
"Sorry for disrespecting your lovely wife. I promise to give her your regards on my way back," he said as Jon looked away while Tyrion lived out his fantasy of pissing off the edge of the world. He wondered what new role the imp would play in the wars to come, for his future would differ. He would never marry Sansa; the accusations of poisoning Joffrey would never materialise, which meant he'd probably be on the opposite side to himself. More's the pity, Jon thought. Tyrion had a useful mind and could have been a great asset to them. Tyrion finished pissing, put his glove back on, and turned to Jon to shake hands. "Good luck Whitestark."
"Good luck Lannister." Jon replied, and with that Tyrion waddled off back to the winch, and Jon turned to find Benjen to discuss the upcoming ranging trip.
He finally found Benjen standing alone on a parapet, next to a burning brazier, which offered little heat, but it was better than nothing. "Has he gone? The imp." Benjen clarified. Jon nodded. "And I bet he's still asking questions."
Jon shivered. "Aye. He knows something's up. We always knew he'd be the hard one to fool. But as long as the story was good enough for the King, that was all that mattered. Tyrion won't find out the truth before we decide to make it known."
"What will happen?" Benjen nodded his head towards the Haunted Forest. "Out there, when Othor, Jafer and Thorne go north on the morrow; what will happen to them?"
"I know the wights attacked you and were going to die. The Children of the forest saved you. They stuck dragonglass..." Jon started and looked up at Benjen. "They stuck dragonglass in your heart, just like me, Sansa and Arya. I believe the same method was used to create, the Night King, according to the Three-Eyed-Raven."
"Do you think the Children will save Thorne?" Benjen asked.
"Not sure if I want to stick around and find out." Jon shook his head. "I wonder what magic is in dragonglass. It kills whitewalkers, it made the Night King, it can turn the dying into something halfway between a man and a wight, and it can take someone back in time."
"Is that what really happened?" Benjen asked. "Ned said they were green dreams."
"We lived it." Jon shrugged. "None of us survived, not that I can tell. Sansa, Arya and I were the last three. Well, there was the Three-Eyed-Raven, who was Bran, yet he wasn't Bran. The last part of Bran died north of the wall." Tears pricked his eyes. He had barely interacted with Bran since they returned, unsure whether he would find the Three-Eyed-Raven pretending to be Bran.
"What was the hardest part?" Benjen asked.
Jon thought for a moment. "Feeling helpless. That is why I couldn't take the black again. I felt helpless when everyone was going off into battle or dying. My sisters were stuck in Kings Landing after they beheaded my father, I mean Lord Stark. My brother, his wife and mother were all murdered. Too busy to worry about Ramsay Bolton and Sansa. Instead, all my efforts concentrated upon trying to free the Freefolk. I should have known. I should have saved her." he shook his head.
"Hey lad. Don't be too hard on yourself." Benjen rubbed his back. "Is that why you married her, to protect her from anyone else?"
Jon nodded. "It is part of it. Guilt, I mean. I feel responsible and I need to protect her. But what if I become like every other man around her?"
"I suppose the most husbandly thing you can do is to be kind to her. Although not having married meself, I might not be the best person to ask." Benjen clapped him on the back. "Right so, dragonglass. What else kills these bastards?"
"Fire kills the wights, as does dragonglass. To kill the whitewalkers, only dragonglass and Valyrian steel will work." Jon was glad about the change of the subject. He didn't want to talk about Sansa. Being back here had made him feel guilty about her plight.
"Dragonglass is on Dragonstone, is that right?" Benjen asked.
"Aye. But we need to get rid of all Baratheons and Lannisters before we can mine it. Preferably before my aunt comes to Westeros with her three dragons." Jon felt a pang inside. It had been the first time he'd thought of Daenerys in weeks.
"You still love her? Your dragon Queen?"
Jon nodded. "Aye, I think so. It doesn't hurt so much now, though." He turned to Benjen and smiled. "Wait until you meet my first love. She's one of the Freefolk."
"You broke your vows with a wildling." Benjen shook his head.
"I was proving I wasn't a man of the Night's Watch. I was infiltrating their camp." Jon insisted.
"Well, that tactic won't this time, that I can assure you." Benjen warned.
Jon nodded. "I know. I'm a married man now. But I know Tormund and Mance and Ygritte. I know how the Freefolk work. I can negotiate with them. Mance made his requests and boundaries quite clear. I've just got to negotiate the finer details."
"Well, good luck with that." Benjen nodded. Jon looked back towards the winch.
"I best get back down. It's time for me to put the lads through their paces." Jon sighed; he and Benjen hugged and Jon made his way back to the winch and down to the training yard.
It had been a sennight since Thorne, Othor and Jafer had gone north of the wall. Jon was out in the training yard, with Pyp, Grenn and Edd; they were already better than they were the first time Jon met them, simply because Jon was training them from the beginning instead of Thorne, who was just a bully. Despite the normality of the day, Jon had noticed Ghost had been acting strange all morning. He had been pacing and scratching at the main gate and getting under people's feet, something he rarely did. That was why Jon knew something was afoot, as Ghost had never behaved like this before. It was as if he knew something was going to happen. Mayhaps Thorne had come to a gruesome end. Jon could only hope.
It was Grenn who spotted him. "Seven hells," he murmured. "Would you look at this, Jon?"
Jon turned and saw his best friend, Samwell Tarly. Well, that explained why Ghost had been acting strange, because as soon as Sam arrived, the direwolf pup calmed down and wandered off.
Sam looked around nervously. "They … they told me I was to come here for … for training," he said to no one in particular.
"A lordling," Pyp observed. "Southron, most likely from near Highgarden." Pyp had travelled the Seven Kingdoms with a mummers' troupe, and bragged that he could tell what you were and where you'd been born just from the sound of your voice.
Benjen ran his eye over Sam. "It looks like they're running short of poachers and thieves down south. Now they send up the firstborn Lords themselves to man the Wall. Is fur and velvet your notion of armour, Lord Tarly?" Sam shook his head, so Benjen sent him to change into something more appropriate. Jon had already told Benjen all about Sam, but Jon knew his friend would need some way to bond with the brothers. Which meant his uncle was going to have to go a little harsh on him, although not quite the bullying Ser Alliser would have given him. "Let us hope you are better than you look," Benjen sighed. "Halder, see what Lord Tarly can do. His father is a renown commander," Jon winced. Halder was tall and muscular and Jon had seen this fight before, and knew the outcome. Benjen wouldn't be as cruel to Sam, but he wouldn't go easy.
The fight lasted less than a minute before Sam was on the ground, his whole body shaking. "I yield,No more, I yield. Don't hit me." Rast and some of the other boys were laughing.
"On your feet, Lord Tarly," Benjen called. "Pick up your sword." When Sam continued to cling to the ground, Benjen gestured to Halder. "Help him find his feet." Halder took hold of his longsword with both hands and brought it down so hard the blow split the leather, even on the flat. Sam screeched in pain.
Jon took a step forward. Halder lifted the sword for another blow. "Cut us off some ham!" Rast urged, laughing.
Jon stepped forward. "Halder, enough." Halder looked to Benjen.
"Lord Whitestark, may I remind you, while Ser Alliser is out ranging, I am the temporary master-at-arms here." Benjen said coldly. Jon could have found his uncle's words offensive, but this was for Sam's own good and there needed to be some sort of mummer farce. Even if that included pain, as Jon already knew. All the same, Jon couldn't let Sam suffer.
"Look at him, Benjen," Jon said. "There's no honour in beating a fallen foe. He yielded." He knelt beside Sam.
"Do you think the wildlings or whitewalkers yield?" Benjen asked, as Jon helped Sam to his feet. "Show me your steel, Lord Whitestark." Jon drew his longsword. Benjen smiled. "it seems Lord Whitestark wishes to defend Lord Tarly, so we shall make an exercise of it. Rast, Pyp, Grenn, over here with Halder." Benjen beckoned them toward him. Rast eagerly moved to join Halder, while the other two edged over reluctantly, fully aware of what Jon was capable of. "The four of you ought to be enough to make get past Lord Whitestark."
"Stay behind me," Jon said to Sam. Despite his skill being that much greater than the other four combined, he knew he might incur a bruise or two, but he'd had far worse. He braced himself for the assault.
The yard had grown deathly quiet. Jon could fight them in his sleep, but this was a training session, so he had to fight like it was a training session. "Why are you waiting?" Benjen asked Rast and the others, but it was Jon who moved first. Halder barely got his sword up in time. Jon drove him backward, attacking with every blow. Halder was brutally strong but short of patience, useless in defence. The clang of steel echoed through the yard as the others joined the surrounding battle. Suddenly Jon was back on the field outside Winterfell, fighting against the Bolton's. Jon's instinct changed from training into that of a seasoned warrior, blocking every move, even when swords came at him from different angles. A sword hit him on the head, cutting him. He slammed a sidestroke into Halder's ribs, and he was unbalanced. Jon cut his left leg from under him, and he fell with a curse and a crash. That was on less to deal with. Rast came next, Jon rang the raper's helm like a bell, and Rast went reeling. Jon elbowed Pyp, who slipped. Jon knocked him down and levelled a blade at his throat. By then, Jon had moved on to face Grenn, who didn't want a broken nose.
Grenn backed away. "I yield," he shouted. Benjen surveyed the scene and gave Jon a tired look. "The mummer's farce has gone on long enough for today." He said, walking away.
Under his mail and leather, Jon realised his shoulder was throbbing. "Did he hurt you?" Sam asked.
"I've had worse." Jon said.
"My name is Samwell Tarly, of Horn … I mean, I was of Horn Hill until I … left. I'm here to take the black. My father is Lord Randyll Tarly." he said.
"I'm Jon Snow, Brandon Stark's son, the bastard of Winterfell."
Samwell Tarly nodded. "You can call me Sam. My mother calls me Sam."
"You can call him Lord Snow," Pyp said as he came up to join them. "You don't want to know what his mother calls him."
"These two are Grenn and Pypar," Jon said.
"Grenn's the ugly one," Pyp said. Grenn scowled.
"You're uglier than me. At least I don't have ears like a bat."
"My thanks to all of you," Sam said. "
"Why didn't you get up and fight?" Grenn demanded.
"I wanted to, truly. I just … I couldn't." He looked at the ground. "I … I fear I'm a coward. My lord father always said so." Jon knew Sam would become more courageous with time, but it would take patience. Besides, Sam had other useful qualities. "I … I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to … to be like I am." He walked toward the armoury.
Jon called after him. "Tomorrow you'll do better."
Sam looked back over one shoulder. "No, I won't. I never do better."
When he was gone, Grenn frowned. "Nobody likes cowards," he said, uncomfortably. "What if they think we're cowards?"
"You're too stupid to be a coward," Pyp told him.
"I am not," Grenn said, and Jon left them there arguing as he returned to the armoury, hung up his sword, and stripped off his battered armour.
The evening meal was almost done by the time he and Ghost reached the common hall. A group of the black brothers were dicing over mulled wine near the fire. His friends were at their usual bench, laughing. Instead of joining them, he turned away and went to the end of the bench, where Sam sat alone, as far from the others as he could get. He was finishing the last of his supper when Jon sat down across from him. Sam's eyes widened at the sight of Ghost.
"Is that a wolf?" he asked.
"A direwolf," Jon corrected him. "His name is Ghost. The direwolf is the sigil of my father's house."
"Ours is a striding huntsman," Samwell Tarly said. "Do you like to hunt?" he shuddered nervously. "I hate it." He looked as though he was going to cry again.
"What's wrong now?" Jon asked him. "Why are you always so frightened?" Sam stared at the last of his pork pie and gave a feeble shake of his head, too scared even to talk.
Jon stood. "Let's go outside."
Sam looked up at him suspiciously. "Why? What will we do outside?"
"Talk," Jon smiled. It was time for his best friend to get to know him, and vice versa. "I won't hurt you, I promise." he looked down at Ghost. "Neither will he. He'll make sure you're alright. I don't like people being scared." He glanced over towards Rast and Halder. "There are more ways to fight a battle than with a blade," he said, making his way to the door as Sam joined him. "You should meet my wife. Delicate as a flower, yet her words can kill more men than any sword. Do you have other skills to offer instead of a sword?"
"I'm good with books. More of a scholar, really. I like art and music." Sam said.
"Art and music might not have a place here, but neither do you. But if you are the scholar you say you are, you might have a place with me."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
"I'm not a man of the watch, despite me wearing black. I've got another task, and I might need someone with your skills to help me. Of course, the journey will be dangerous, but I don't need you for your swordplay. I might have need of you for your mind,"
Sam shook his head. "Father said I must take the black."
"Lord Stark can override that, as long as you refute all claims of you and your heirs to Horn Hill. I'm sure we can find you a suitable northern house. Lord Commander Mormont has given me a pick of the new recruits to help with my task."
"I... I don't know." Sam shuddered as they made their way to the winch. "Why are we here?" he asked.
"I want to show you the mission. But I also want to know more about Samwell Tarly, and tell you more about Jon Whitestark, also known as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell."