AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hey everyone, so the story is beginning to draw to its completion in its first volume, the equivalent of "A Game of Thrones". But I will continue on with the story and make it a relatively long one, I have planned.
BUT: Here comes my question to you my readers. Should I continue on writing in this, the same story/document or should I write the "A Clash of Kings" part in a new story labeled "The Reign of the Wolves: A Clash of Kings" or something similar? To me, it simply feels more manageable to part it up that way.
But what do you say? Would you look up the new story and find it if I included a link to it among these later chapters or would you prefer that it remains updated in the same story?
Please comment and/or write to me and tell me what you think. All the best / Adam Targaryen
...
JON II
"The cold winds of winter were blowing from the north, as Jon Snow stood on the top of the Wall facing the unknown wilderness that lay beyond. Here, at the edge of the Wall, on the top of Castle Black's fortifications, the borders of men ended. Beyond there was only hundreds of mile after mile of wild forest, stretching on forever, as far as anyone had ever ventured out, along with the savage wildlings, the howling of wolves and screeches of night-owls and eagles, the tales of the giants and ghosts and worse from Old Nan's stories, and the relentless howling of the northern wind.
He had been at Castle Black for near four moons now, but he still felt himself half a stranger. True, he had found his brothers, his friends, among the other recruits – Grenn and Pyp, the great and slowish of mind one that they called Aurochs, and little quick Pyp, who had been sent up for stealing a wheel of cheese to feed his starving sister, as well as the fat and craven but kindly boy Samwell Tarly, who he had just begun calling Sam. But the elder men and brothers of the Night's Watch were still far above them, and they held their heads slightly down when they saw them coming. None so more than the one he had known all the time that he might come to meet. The man who his uncle the King, King Eddard, had sent to the Wall all those years ago, when he himself had barely been born, for putting his golden sword into the back of the Mad King. The Kingslayer. The Lion clad in Black. First Ranger of Castle Black: Ser Jaime Lannister.
He was walking across the Wall, deep in his thoughts, as the sudden sound of another living soul came, as unexpectedly as a summer ray of sunlight.
...
"Hello, Stark.", a male voice to his side suddenly said.
Jon turned to his left, trying his best to see past the whizzing whirling of snow, as he spotted the tall and muscular shape of a black brother coming up towards him.
He could make out the shape of broad shoulders wearing a large black cloak about them, and what seemed like a blonde head of hair, a large aquiline nose that soon appeared itself above a scruffy blonde beard, and a weathered face that wrinkled into two eyes that at first seemed dark and sly, but then appeared to gleam like two ancient green emeralds in the otherwise white world around them.
It was indeed the First Ranger. Ser Jaime Lannister himself.
"First Ranger...", Jon sputtered.
He did not know what else to say; could not come up with anything. And so, he simply bowed and held his tongue.
Ser Jaime took another couple of steps, weathering the wind that was beating at his face for every second, and came close enough for them to be at a talking distance to eachother, though each man held his distance still, simply facing off eachother.
Jon had not known how he would react when he met him. He still did not know what to say, how to be, what to do. He looked up to the man, but at the same time he knew that his uncle King Eddard did not. He had deemed him an oathbreaker, an unjust man who had broken and wronged his vows and shown treachery.
He trusted in his uncle's judgement, but he also had heard the many legends and stories of bravery about the First Ranger of Castle Black. From the reluctant praise given by Ser Rodrik, or the snarling comments from the Hound, who knew most there was to know about Lady Cersei and her brothers, and from some of the guardsmen and visitors from the Last Hearth and elsewhere.
The stories would come from many a mouth, of how many wildlings he had beaten back, how fiercely he would fight, how he could strike down four foes without looking and with one hand back-bound, and how skilled with the blade he was. Better than Qhorin Halfhand, even, some said. All of it great praise. Even coming from his own lord father himself at times.
Lord Tywin's exiled son. The Lion Clad in Black. A legend already at Castle Black, as much as any man of his age could be.
And so, Jon Snow did not make a judgement of him, and simply stood waited for the older man to make the first move.
"You are a Stark..., are you not?" The First Ranger asked with a questioning yet smiling look.
"I am... I'm..." Jon stuttered. "Lord Benjen is my father."
"You are Jon Snow."
"Yes."
The First Ranger beheld him for a moment, as they both stood there, two men atop the world so far below them, two black shapes standing on either side of the pathway, with the entire world grey and white in an eternity around them.
None of them said a word for a while. The Black Lion smiled, though. His teeth were as flashing as they had been in that brief moment when he saw him at the feast at Winterfell.
Jon recognized him very clearly now indeed. He recalled all of it, of him greeting Lady Cersei, briefly speaking with his lord father and then meeting up with Lord Tyrion and young lord Joffrey... Yes. He recalled it now. Ser Jaime had only been present at the feast for a shortly time, but he had made an impression enough.
The First Ranger looked at him enquiringly again, not giving him time to reminisce in the cold.
"So... You are his bastard from the war? Yes, I thought I heard so from my dear sister when I was at Winterfell. I might even have seen you there, now that I think about it. So many of you to look at, to greet, to recall your names. It's almost tiring. But here you are... A Stark... No, not a Stark in truth, then, or so you say... A Snow... A bastard Snow..."
Jon went to fuming again, despite the wise words from the First Ranger's brother, little Lord Tyrion.
"I am a brother of the Night's Watch to be sworn in. What I was before is of no consequence."
The First Ranger observed him for yet another time, and for a minute Jon sensed that they would be coming to throes. He clenched his simple sword in his right hand, feeling it where it sat in its sheath.
He of course knew that he could not take down the First Ranger, neither in arms nor in his heart, for a black brother did not ever slew another brother based on a simple slight, or for any other reason, for that matter, but he simply had to protect his honour against any insults, or else he would never last up here, he felt. The Starks had manned the Wall for thousands of years, his father had told him, and he would not let anyone take that away from him. He would make Lord Benjen proud.
He did not need to hold his sword, however, as it turned out. The First Ranger simply leaned to his right against the crenellations of the Wall and yawned deliberately, holding his moleskin glove up over his blonde beard that was frosted with snow and ice. He looked truly like a lion giving a lazy roar in the winter storm, Jon thought, equal parts anger, fascination, and reluctant impressiment.
"Do not fret, Stark. You will fit in here in no time.", Ser Jaime said with a tone of bored resignation.
"My name is Jon Snow.", Jon said again.
The First Ranger studied him for a while more, before turning to face the cliff in front of them, and the great white nothingness that went on for mile and mile beyond the snowy white horizon. The wind lashed at their faces as they stood there, the two of them, two horselengths apart, saying naught.
Finally the First Ranger spoke up, with a wry smile.
"Snow... Stark... It is the same. You are a wolf, a northern son of Winterfell,are you not? … Yes. You will do well up here. I am certain."
Jon studied him warily. Finally, he decided to say something back.
"They say that you are as good with the blade as Qhorin Half-hand. Is it true?"
"They? Where do they say that?" Ser Jaime glickered with his frothing beard-covered lips.
"At Winterfell. Everyone says so. They say that you are the best fighter the Wall has seen for a generation. Is it true?"
Ser Jaime waited for a while before replying, clearly basking in the glory of his words, what little effect they might have in this harsh world where oaths and oats were everything, and honour most of all.
"It is quite possible", he allowed. "I have never tried to fight him. He is my mentor, you see. And any good man does not pick a fight with his mentor. Nor does a black brother of any kind fight with his brothers. It is a sacred vow of brotherhood. When you wear black... All of our hearts are one."
"You killed your king, though.", Jon said, and regretted his words the moment he said them.
The First Ranger gave him a dangerous look, as sharp as steel, but more penetrating even so.
"Yes... I did... "
The Black Lion swayed from left to right, investigating Jon's face predatorily as he enclosed.
"Your honourable uncle had me see to the consequences of that heinous crime. A Lannister always pays his debts, as they say. Do you think I have paid it back yet? My terrible crime... Have I served his northerly realm enough now? Would I be allowed back?"
Ser Jaime Lannister swerved his black gloves like a lion tending to licking its paws nonchalantly.
"You had sworn to protect him", Jon urged. "You had sworn a sacred vow to keep him safe, King Eddard told me. And yet you killed him. You killed your own king when the tide of the war turned."
He would have to confront him with the statement as soon as he could, even though he shook in his entire body from even daring to speak the words to the face of his superior, the First Ranger, this man, this living legend, this... Lion in black that stood before him. The Kingslayer...
"Yes", Jaime finally said. "I did. "
Jon said nothing, as Jaime took off his gloves for an instant, to feel the cold of the wind above his head, as it whizzed past them both like a stream of water running straight from the Heart of Winter down south all the way to Winterfell and beyond. He paused for yet another couple of seconds before putting his glove back on again, his pale skin almost turning reddish pink in the light.
"I killed him. The king. My king.
… And what a great king he was. King Aerys the second. Second of his name. Lord protector of the realm, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Wielder of wildfire and murderer of fathers and sons… I wonder if he could remember all of his titles as he lay clutching the edges of the iron throne, writhing in his own shit and blood..."
"You are an oathbreaker!" Jon shouted.
"Such a surprise... Did you think I went up here for the company? Your nothern comrades are not the best people to converse with, I am afraid.
Though I have made many friends here over the years. Some from my own home lands, many from yours. They were not all so quick to judge me as you or your uncle. King Eddard Stark... The silent wolf. His heart as cold as the Wall I have and serve as my home. Well, I assure you, Stark... I can be as silent and brooding as a wolf's cunt as well. When I care for it."
He pulled out his sword now, a grey blur that went up faster than Jon could fathom it, and the First Ranger handled it like it was part of his own arm, part of his very mind, a flash of lightning in a silvery suit, letting it slide saliciously in the air as he chopped straight, hard yet so effortlessly, cleaving large thick snowflakes clean in half, creating clear paths in the very air itself. Jon looked on in absolute shock.
He was dangerously close to Jon's forehead once. If he wanted to, he would have cleaved Jon right in two just like a snowflake. But he did not, as Jon tried his best to stand still and not fall forward on the uneven footing of the snow and ice beneath both of their boot-clad feet.
Then suddenly he stopped, flashed his sword around in a final extrasaltular motion that Jon could barely comprehend how any man could achieve, even if it were a man armed with three hands, and put down the blade into its sheath before he could as much as blink.
Jon stood staring at him. Then the First Ranger took to word one final time.
"When you will take your vows here, if you indeed choose to do so, you will find that they are many. So were the vows of the Kingsguard. They make you swear and swear...
Protect the weak. Protect the innocent. Uphold justice. Do the king's bidding. Heed his command. Keep his secrets. Protect your king. Protect the kingdom.
Well what if the king kills the innocent? What if the justice that the kingdom needs is something that goes against the king's command?
When your uncle and his friend Robert Baratheon chose to go against the king, it was considered an act of treason. An open rebellion towards the Targaryens, who had ruled over the Seven Kingdoms since any man can remember. The Mad King called for their heads. The Hand, Jon Arryn, got the order to deliver them both to The Red Keep to answer for the crimes of their kin. They were outlaws. ... All of that changed when Lord Robert killed Prince Rhaegar on the Trident.
I knew him. The Prince. Far more than I ever knew Robert Baratheon, or anyone else of the rebels. He would have been a good king. Far better than his mad father. But so was it not to be... The stag brougth down the dragon at the battle of the Trident, and the realm was never the same again. Then suddenly justice was what Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon made it to be. … And yet I was still made a traitor. Funny how the world works... "
Ser Jaime angled his face so close to Jon's that he feared he might kiss him. Instead, he only spoke.
"Tell me, bastard... By what right does the wolf judge the lion? … By what right?
Jon said nothing, as Jaime Lannister, the Lion Clad-in-Black made for a final mouthing.
"… Go down to the Common Hall, boy. Your friends will no doubt be waiting for your strong and noble judgement. Winter will be here for all of us before long. Take care to heed next time I roar."
...
The dining hall was warm and pleasant, though almost empty at this time of day. Samwell Tarly was scrubbing the tables in the dining hall as he came upon him.
"Hello, Jon." He smiled, his teeth carefully lighting up his chubby face, that was as pale as the moon.
"Hello, Sam", Jon replied, grabbing a wet rag of cloth to stand and scrub beside him.
"Was it awfully cold up there? It looks very cold."
"You should go up there for yourself, and see it."
"Oh... No... I don't think so." Sam waved away the thought. "I can barely get by down here."
"It's not going to get any easier, you know."
Jon put down his rag, and made to focus on Sam's face as he spoke the ancient words of his father and house.
"Winter is coming."
Sam slowly ground to a halt with his own rag, before turning to Jon, and doing his best to look as if he were understanding the severity of it.
Of course, he could not. He was from The Reach. And highborn and trueborn as well. He had been brought up inside a warm castle in the flowery and bountiful south his entire life, and had his appearance and temperament to show for it.
Jon liked his newfound friend, but he would not be doing him a service if he did not prepare him for what was to come. He decided to tell him so right at the moment.
"You think this is cold now, Sam? This is still summer. When winter comes, we will have a hard time just making it home to the sleeping barracks and back again. The snows fall deeper than a man can stand tall. Food grows scarce. There comes days when you don't see the sun coming up. ... Do you understand?"
The fat boy seemed to swallow hard, as he nodded, his double chin quivering beneath him.
"I-... I, I... I do."
Jon sighed, and put to scrubbing the table again.
"I met with the First Ranger", he said.
Sam was still for a moment, before reacting.
"You what?"
"I said I met him."
Jon griped his mouth together, and scrubbed as hard as he could, hoping that the reveal would go as painlessly as possible. So far, though, it had not. And it would be far worse when Grenn and Pyp came to hear of it. Pyp could make a jape about anything. And if anything Jon said came to the ears of the Black Lion, it would be too late to heed his roar.
"Well... Wh-... What did you say to him?"
They looked at each other for a long while, as Jon contemplated whether he should tell of how it had truly been.
"Nothing", Jon lied. "I only greeted him, as we both stood up there, looking down on the sight beyond the Wall."
Sam was intrigued nonetheless.
"Oh my... My father always said that he was the greatest knight the Lannisters had ever brought forth. It is high praise. My father does not like the Lannisters particularly much, you see."
"I understand", Jon only said.
He knew little and less about the conflicts between all of the southern houses, be it Lannister or Tarly. And Lady Cersei had never told him much of it either, least of all, whether she would have wanted to or no. Only the stories that she would tell Willam when they had all been little, the stories and songs about the Rains of Castamere, of her father, the great Lord Tywin, and his legendary grandsire Gerold the Golden, and the old Kings of the Rock... Jon had liked those stories, even if they were not meant for his ears. She had still told them, to all of them, even to Theon and Jon too, as he sat close by, hearing every golden word.
"To think, that we shall be serving under the Black Lion..." Sam said again.
"We won't be serving under him very much, though", Jon said sourly. "He is to leave for another ranging before the next moon, they say."
"Well, still... One day, we'll all be... We'll be..." Sam treaded on a thought, far too excited by it to believe it, but dared not speak it out loud.
"I mean..." He continued, softly. "We will... When we are true men of the Night's Watch, in another year or so, we will be..."
"...-Stewards", Jon finished.
"You won't stay a steward", Sam said. "Not after how you saved the Lord Commander."
Jon thought about it. He had not thought back particularly much to that fateful day, even though he still flexed his sword hand every day to try and get the flexibility back into it again after the fire. He preferred not to think about it. Though perhaps Sam was right.
"I only did what I had to do. Those... Those things...-" He styvied off the thought, and became numb.
"Wights, they call them", Sam said, enthusiastically. "That's what Grey Garth told me. Garth Greyfeather", he clarified again. "Ice wights, risen up by the dead."
"It is not good fortune to speak of it where others might hear", Jon cautioned.
"There is noone else here to hear us", Sam said, brave for once. "I'm just saying, if it is true, that there are... those... things out there... Well then surely someone will have to go and fight them. Keep the Wall safe from them. And who better than someone who has seen them himself? Someone who has fought them off?"
"I did not fight them because I wanted to. I came here to fight the wildlings, to serve and to protect the Wall, as my family have done for generations."
"But you saved the Old Bear's life...!" Sam praised him. "You did. Only you. Well, you and your wolf, of course..." He gave a little nervous smile. Thankfully, Ghost was still chained up by the sleeping barracks where he would not bring harm to anyone nor to himself. Jon thought at times he could sense his boredom from afar.
"I thank you, Sam", Jon said. "But it's no use in discussing the-..."
Just as he said the words, Ser Alliser Thorne came breaking in through the door, both sides swaying angrily as he torned his way up to the counter for a word or two with Three-finger Hobb.
Jon and Sam became quiet again.
...
"I told you, it's not good to speak of it again", Jon whispered.
"Speak of what?" Ser Alliser said, his hearing and eyesight in those onyx chip eyes of malice as sharp as an eagle's.
"Nothing", Jon said.
"I was only telling Jon how...-"
Jon punched Sam on his arm for him to quiet.
"About the steward's position, aye", Ser Alliser interrupted. "I know you think it some great honour from the Lord Commander. But best you not get some ideas. You are both as useless as nipples on a breastplate, as far as I'm concerned. Worse than blind. If it were up to me, you would not have sworn your vows so soon."
He took another four or five threatening steps, looking down on them from across the table with a sight of contempt.
"Alas... Here we are. And feeble boys like you will man our proud Watch before long. Old Qorgyle would have turned in his grave."
Sam did not understand when to keep quiet, though. He spoke on again, asking about the First Ranger.
"Ser Alliser... Is it true that the First Ranger will be out on a mission again soon? Within the coming moon?"
"What else should he be doing? Having a quiet lie down near the hearth, like you useless mouths and fat bellies?"
He came close to Sam, baring his blade as a threat.
"You know, perhaps he would do well to take you with him, now that I think about it... We could all use a couple of fat boys like you come winter. To keep us warm at night. To light our fires, when the wood just won't take to burn. ... To keep us fed."
Sam looked as if he would be crying, and Jon did his very best not to take out his own blade and charge at Thorne.
...But just before he neared to it, the ill-made old knight sauntered off with a dry and bitter laugh in his tone.
"You wouldn't make it a day out there", he promised. "You're both better off staying here inside, where it's nice and warm for the moment. That goes for you as well, Lord Snow."
Jon wanted to say something back, but knew that if he went that way, noone would be able to stop him from either killing Thorne or getting killed himself, with his new blade, Longclaw. Valyrian steel was said to cut deeper and sharper than anything. Perhaps with the blade, he could take the knight down.
But the Lion clad in Black's words came back to him, strangely, absurdly, and his father and the king's words on honour.
It is not honourable to kill one's mentor. I cannot kill Thorne, Jon realized with a sudden pang of emotion and regret.
Sam took his hand on Jon's shoulder, stymying him further from the thought, as he bade him to breath and think. Jon was grateful for it.
...
But just as he were about to exit the door, Ser Alliser gave one final remark.
"No, you boys just stay here inside... The Lord Commander will have no use for you now, Lord Snow... And neither will the First Ranger, with any of you. He is off soon, within the month, as you say, to see what's out there.
... I only pray that he will have wits and strength enough to return to us safe and sound again after he finds out."
...
Jon could sense Ghost howling from the barracks at the words from Ser Alliser. And a premonition of shock, just like ice, shook him to his core."
...