"...This scheme is madness." Crowfood's face pulsed almost purple with energy as he finished speaking. Mors and the Mountain Clan chiefs of the North had come to meet and speak strategy with their King in the ruins of Mole's Town. In truth, it had been Mors who had talked the most and the longest. Words were wind, and Mors was a storm.

"Then you have a madman for a King," Jon replied, his as steady and hard as a stone. He met Mors' gaze directly, daring the big man to defy him. Arguments had flown like darts between them for most of an hour, but it must stop here. Mors would happily rule the North through the king he had made, but Jon did not mean to be a puppet. He alone knew the face of the North's true enemy, and despite his experience, Mors could not be trusted. Another word from Crowfood would be treason, and blood would follow. Jon prayed that the gods would still Crowfood's tongue. The chiefs of the Wulls, Norreys, and Burleys had little love for Mors or his house, and they would support Jon if it came to a fight, but even a victory could still become a defeat.

Mors opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. The grim Mountain Clan chiefs ringed the table like a circle of stone statues, regarding him coolly. The big man laughed. "Others take me, these are mad times," He shook his head, "Perhaps a stab of madness is what we've been missing. I've said my piece, I'll say no more."

"Your concerns are mine as well," Jon replied, schooling his features to be calm and unreadable. "But these are dark days and we will not survive them without risk. I depend on you to do your part, now more than ever. I depend on all of you."

Gruff murmurs of assent answered him, and the meeting dispersed. As the men left, a great sigh escaped him. It had been folly to meet with them here, in the ruins of Mole's Town, surrounded by the butchery of the Wildlings. He did not much like what they would think, looking at the burned sticks that had been the smithy and the tavern. Jon regarded the ruins himself as he left the tent. Ygritte and the others had done this, had burned the houses and the brothel. Even the sad little outhouse with the red lamp had been razed.

Not for the first time, doubts gripped him. A year ago he had not been fit to eat with the lords, how was he to gain their respect now? His thoughts went to Robb, went to father. Robb had been handsome, quick to laugh, and strong. People were drawn to him, and fully returned the affection he freely gave. Father had been quieter, more thoughtful, but full of confidence and wisdom. Jon grimaced. Men said he looked like his father, but he knew that could not be true. Father had smiled more. Father had been warm, and Jon felt nothing but the cold and the throbbing pain in his leg where Ygritte had shot him.

Warm or cold, it made no difference, he must press on. They were on the road to the Wall within the hour, a thousand infantry behind them. Something in Jon's heart hurt to see them. So many, it seemed, more than he had ever hoped might ride to the Wall's defense, and yet so few. How many of these would die for his throne? But no, that was not a thought a king could think. A king who did not care for his people was a bad king, but a king unwilling to see his servants die would soon be no king at all. Jon steeled himself. Men would die, but not for him. They would die for House Stark. They would die for the realms of men.

He distracted himself as best he could by talking to his commanders. The Norrey, the Wull, the Burley, and Mors too. A King should know his vassals. Had his father said that? He might have. Lord Stark had always been asking questions, of his children, his vassals, his servants. Hugo Wull spoke in glowing terms of 'The Ned,' would his son speak the same of 'the Jon' three summers from now? Would any of them still be alive by then?

The Wall loomed huge in the distance as they approached, more like a range of mountains than anything made by man. Jon felt its approach weigh his mind as he drew near. While at Last Hearth, he had sent ravens the Wall, but he did not yet know how they had been received. The North might have an oathbreaking bastard for a ruler, but the Watch had no leadership at all. Jeor's death had left a void that few could fill. Jon prayed that the Old Gods would give the Watchmen better wisdom than to put Thorne or Slynt in command.

"Tell the men to make camp," Jon ordered Mors as they drew near to Castle Black. "We cannot risk our men mixing with the Watch. The Mountain Clan champions are too proud by half, and there's too great a risk of a fight breaking out."

Mors grumbled agreement and turned aside to bark at one of his riders. Jon clenched his jaw. Insolence. It seemed that Crowfood had not forgotten the insult he had been paid that morning. Well, let him remember, Jon thought bitterly. Perhaps he would think before challenging his king again. For the moment, Jon had other matters with which to concern himself.

Builders and stewards of the Watch came out to take their horses as they rode in. Jon spared a kind word for Halder and a pat on the back, but the big man just shook his head sadly. Jon swallowed the pain that rose in his throat and hid it deep. A King could not be a Brother of the Watch.

One-armed Noye stood at the front of the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard, clearly the leader of what remained of the Castle Black garrison. By itself that did not surprise Jon. Noye had never been merely a smith. His experience and strength made him a natural for leadership, especially in dark times like the present. But would he be too humble to truly seize command outright? He had been quick enough to order Jon to break his oaths. What could be more audacious than that?

The eyes of the Watch regarded him with expressions ranging from indifference to open malice. The Umber men were there, newly arrayed in the Black of the Watch, standing well and apart from Slynt and Thorne. Whoresbane himself sported a cruel smile and a few new scars and Jon looked away from him as quickly as possible. But not every face brought unpleasant memories to the fore. Pypar grinned and wiggled his ears when Jon caught his eye, and it was only with effort that Jon restrained himself from smiling. Not for the last time, Jon reminded himself that this had been his only choice.

"We are grateful for the help of the King in the North during this troubled time," Noye stated, giving a shallow bow.

Jon merely nodded in reply. Noye deserved more respect than that, but a king could not bow to a smith. "I would be a poor King in the North if I did not ride to the defense of my lands," Jon said. "I am glad that it is the Watch who greets me today, and not Mance Rayder."

"If you want Mance, he's near enough at hand. There's been no word from his camp since their first attack a few days back. But I expect you heard of that." Jon had. The attack had been little more than a feint, a test of the Castle's garrison. Mance must have hoped that Ygritte and the Thenns had killed enough of the Black Brothers that the few remaining Watchmen would scatter like leaves. Instead, they had been met by hundreds of sharp spears.

"I take it that you have command here?"

Noye's silence said enough. The manner in which the men of the watch exchanged questioning glances said more. Noye had not taken command, not formally. He could speak for them in a moment of crisis, but once the threat of the Wildlings disappeared, so would his authority. Jon grit his teeth. He could not accept that.

"Mormont hasn't returned," Noye said after a moment has passed, "And neither has Marsh or half the rest of the Watch. We've written to the Shadow Tower and to Eastwatch but they'll not arrive for weeks yet." he paused, "With these you've brought to our aid, I'd wager we can hold."

"The Watch will not fall while I am King in the North," Jon stated firmly. "And I will treat with the King beyond the Wall soon enough. But first we must ask for your hospitality. My men are tired from a long march, and they need be fed and their horses watered." Jon dismounted from his horse, wincing as the pain from the arrow flared again.

The stewards surged forward to care for the horses, and the rest of the Watchmen separated from the main group to talk amongst themselves. Jon limped forward to speak with Noye while the others were distracted.

"Donal Noye," Jon said with a smile, "There is a small matter I would speak to you about in private."

Noye flexed his jaw, and then nodded and turned away to lead him further into the castle's yard. Jon felt the presence of Ghost and his guards following not far behind, and he allowed them to follow for a time. But when they drew near Noye's forge, he turned and told them to stand guard outside the door.

Noye's forge never went dark, never went cold. Heat, after so long in the cold, was enough to make Jon's eyes water as he entered the forge. Embers lit the room with a dull-red glow and long shadows. Noye absently moved to the anvil and leaned over it to look Jon in the eyes.

"So what is it you wanted to speak about, boy?"

Gone was the deference Noye had shown him before the men. Once again Jon was a green recruit of the Night's Watch, someone to be guided and counseled and shepherded. How many months ago had Jon been Noye's assistant here in the forge? Three? Five?

"I need you to hold an election," Jon stated flatly. "I need you to be officially recognized as acting Lord Commander."

"Heh," Noye laughed, "No. I don't think so. I'm a smith, not a lord. I've no interest in sending boys to die, or in sending men to kill. I came here for a simple life and I'll not have you taint that."

"You're already leading them as it is."

"So why would I trouble the men with a vote? Because you say so?" He grunted. "I'm not your man, King Stark, grateful as we all are for your aid."

"It's necessary," Jon insisted. He was a Stark of Winterfell, and he would be obeyed. "When Mallister and Pyke get here, every decision the Watch has made in defense of the Wall will be called into question. Any deals the Watch has struck will be challenged. The Watch needs to stand as one, with clear leadership until those two arrive. The Watch needs to have one clear voice, and it has to be you."

"You need someone to take the title of acting Lord Commander so you can have him sign his name to a slip of parchment," Noye stated, frowning. "You want me to put my name to some cursed bargain."

"It's less than you asked of me," Jon stated, with venom that surprised even him.

"Heh," Noye laughed again, "You've done more than I asked, King Stark," he said, simply. "The Watch has been well and saved by your actions. Mance can't get through the Wall while it's held by a thousand strong spears, not if he had ten times the host he does. His men will break on these walls, his host will scatter, and the rest will go back to their old ways or starve."

"That is precisely what I fear."

"Ah," Noye said, growing quiet. "Ah, I see. The writhing hand."

"Indeed." Forty thousand souls counted themselves among Mance's host, and if they fled or starved, the Others would take them and raise them again as unmoving corpses. "The Wights won't break on our walls, Donal. They'll keep coming, and coming, until every last one of us is dead, and when they're done… You heard the tales Buckwell told."

"The Others," Donal replied. The word was a curse in the North, the name of a monster from legend.

"I mean to let Mance and every last barefoot Wilding that follows him through those gates, Noye, and I need you to sign the damned parchment. If you won't call for a vote, I'll make Whoresbane do it."

Noye's expression twisted angrily, but Jon cut him off before he could speak. "You told me I had to break my oaths to keep them, Noye. I'm not asking even half that. You said you'd protect the realms of men? You know what that means, now. The Realms of men don't start at the Wall. They never have. Mance is as much a king of men as I am, I know that much."

Jon stopped himself from saying more. Noye's dark eyes held him, judged him, weighed his soul. King or steward, it made no difference to Noye.

"I'll do it, boy," Donal replied a moment later. "But don't think for a moment that Mance won't gut you and steal your castle if you show even a moment of weakness."

"That won't happen," Jon insisted, and he wished his heart held half as much confidence as his voice.

***

"...is an outrage!" Slynt screamed, "Ridiculous! This oathbreaking bastard filled the Watch with his own men! No party should recognize this vote!"

"Those men who voted are your sworn brothers, Slynt." Donal's voice was as flat and as hard as an ax's head. "If you want them to leave, you're welcome to tell them so."

Slynt scowled. A few such as Thorne had backed him in the vote, but Slynt had come to the Watch only recently and had too few friends to carry even a tithe of the vote. Noye had trained most of the builders and the stewards at one point or another, and his wisdom and leadership had earned him more respect than Janos' faraway titles ever could. Jon had not said anything to the Umber men that had joined the Watch, not officially, but any man could see why they had decided as they had. Slynt had been ranting about mutiny for half an hour.

"Acting Commander Noye!" Pypar called, stumbling out from the crowd, "King Jon! The Wildlings have responded to our offer of parlay! They've raised half a tent into the wind, and it's nearly the right color. I think they have agreed to speak with us!"

"Then we had best be ready," Jon replied. "Lord Mors, prepare your guard. Commander Noye, I suppose you'll need to arrange for a guard as well."

Jon held his heart in his throat as they rode down the great icy tunnel through The Wall itself. He half-imagined the colossal weight of the thing bearing down upon him. Did the Watch defend the Wall, or did the Wall defend the Watch? Superstition was strong amongst the builders and the stewards alike. They thought the Wall to be a living thing made of ice and snow instead of flesh, a thing that loved and cherished the Black Brothers who spent their lives under and atop the block of ice. Once Jon had scoffed at such notions, but as he looked up into the glistening dark of the curved ceiling, he could not wonder if there was some truth to the myth. Might the Wall be alive? Might it be angry with him, for what he had done, for what he was about to do?

A thought of red hair in the snow flashed before his mind and he stilled his fears. He had broken oaths, broken trust, broken Ygritte's heart, and become accursed before gods and men but he could not turn aside. For the sake of the Watch and for all the realms of men, he had to succeed.

Mance and Tormund and Val and Varamyr and half a dozen others were gathered there in the shadow of the Wall, and Jon could not help but think how much smaller they looked from the back of a horse.

"Young Jon Snow the Crow," Mance called, his voice rich with false mirth. "Or is that King Stark? Lord Stark? How is it that you style yourself these days? And what is old one-armed Donal doing here?"

"Show some respect, wildling! He's a King, wilding, a real King, not that you'd know aught of that." Mors' horse rocked forward as if the big man meant to charge Mance's little party.

"I know more of kings than you," Mance replied, "I've seen old King Robert, young king Robb, and Jon Snow as well. Between the lot of them, I've not been impressed." Mance's eyes tightened as he turned to look at Jon. "I don't know what deal you mean to strike here, King Stark, but your word doesn't count for much with me. Where is Ygritte, Jon?"

"Dead," Jon stated, letting the cold wind blow through him. "If I could have kept her alive and kept my oaths, I would have, but you know I never had that choice."

"You broke your oaths anyway, Varamyr tells me."

"I broke my oaths to save my brothers, you broke yours to come to destroy them. You guilt me for betraying a lover? How many of the men who raised you were you planning on killing?"

Mance laughed, "I didn't leave to kill my brothers, I left because I was sick of killing my own kin in the name of the realms of men. I don't bear any of the Crows any grudge, but by the Old Gods and new I'll kill every last one of them to save these gathered behind me."

Tormund had been growing redder and redder by the minute, scarcely able to restrain himself, but at last he could restrain himself no longer. "You think I came all this way in company with the Great Walrus and worse because I wanted to kill a bunch of crows? Har! I thought you were a callow boy, Snow, but I did not think you a fool. It's the dead that's chasing us into your loving arms, as you well know!"

Jon drew in a breath. "Yes, let's talk of what we know. We both know there are forty thousand or more in your host. Some of them are women and children, but others are mammoths and giants and wargs and all manner of creatures of legend. Against that, I have less than a tenth that number, but they're atop the Wall. Every card you had, you've played, and there's nothing left but a desperate, half-starved charge. You cannot win, and even if by some miracle you got past us, you'd just find cold bare lands, hard stone castles, and sharp steel lances.

"But I've no more interest in your death than you have in mine. I have seen the dead walk and I have no desire to see you walk with them." Jon nodded to Donal Noye, who urged his horse forward.

"The brothers have voted me to the position of acting Lord Commander of the Night's' Watch," Noye stated, grimacing as he did as though acknowledging the title cost him somehow. "And as King Stark is prepared to offer you all a place in his lands, the Night's Watch sees no reason to keep you from passing through Castle Black into the North."

Mance took the proclamation calmly. He must have expected an offer like this. "Under what conditions?" he replied.

"Every one of your chieftains has to give me a hostage," Jon said, joining back into the conversation. "They'll be kept under lock and key here at Castle Black to begin with, then later at Last Hearth. Those who don't mind being under the watch of the Crows can settle here in the Gift, and as for the rest, I'll make room for you in my own lands further south."

Mance smiled then, and this time it reached his eyes. "Might these lands you're offering be full of rebels and ironmen?"

"You had planned from the beginning to carve out for yourself a new kingdom for your people. ?"

Val's eyes flashed. "Most of the free folk had no plan of kneeling, Snow."

"Kneel, or bleed, the choice is theirs," Jon retorted. "The time for pride has passed. Every one of you will be dead in a month if you do not take my offer. As for me, my brothers are dead and my sisters have been stolen from me. Half the men who promised to serve my brother are now serving his killers and the dead that walk are as much my enemies as yours. I need your warriors to fight my enemies, your chieftains to hold my castles, your men, your women, and your children to bring in the last harvest before the snows come in. I need all of you." He paused. "And you need me."