Warg Maiden

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones


Chapter 35: Resurrection and Execution

Imogen's POV

I stared at those dark eyes, realizing they were not a dark shade of brown but gray on the cusp of being black, like iron—something that could not bend yet could break. Jon stared back, panting, as his chest heaved, indicating he was alive and not a wight. I stumbled back, securing my dirk for protection.

I know little about the Lord of Light and how the dead respond to resurrection.

Slowly, Jon sat up; he took deep breaths, staring at his surroundings. Cautiously, I moved around to his side. His head shot in my direction, and I saw many emotions in his eyes as water glazed over. Ghost stood up and made his way over to me, giving a whimper, unsure what to do with a resurrected person.

Jon stared at Ghost, still panting, as he looked down to see all the stab wounds on his body. Especially the ragged ones that ensure death. Horror covered his face as he touched the one on his ribs, then gasped in pain. He started to hyperventilate, staring at me.

Not sure what to do, I called out, "Somebody, help!"

Jon leaned forward, reaching out, only to fall. Quickly, I rushed in, grabbing Jon so he wouldn't injure himself. His arms wrapped around me, yet his legs gave way as he collapsed on the ground.

Panic sank into him.

"Breathe," I told him. "Breathe."

Still, his breathing was not even. Adjusting him, I rested my forehead against his so our eyes could meet. I took a deep breath, staring into his eyes.

"Breathe," I murmured. "Follow my breathing."

I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. Jon watched this as he tried to mimic my actions. We stayed like this for a moment when footsteps could be heard. The person came over, draped his cloak over Jon, and helped me to get him on a stool to sit on. It was Ser Davos.

The shock had taken over Jon as he sat there, comprehending everything.

Melisandre entered the room, amazed and in disbelief.

Ser Davos glanced at her before turning his attention to Jon, "What do you remember?"

Jon continues to breathe, getting his bearings before answering, "They stabbed me…Olly…he put a knife in my heart."

"Oh, Jon," I whispered.

One of Jon's objectives was to make Olly his successor. To make him a great leader. He didn't make the boy take the black, and he made him a steward to allow the boy a chance to change his mind. We all knew Olly held resentment towards the Free Folk, as the Thenns and my group attacked his hamlet. Even I grabbed the boy, forcing him to watch the Thenns slaughter his family, yet sparing him to send a message to the Crows. I had a part in this.

Jon shook his head, "I shouldn't be here."

He looked confused.

"The lady brought you back," Ser Davos explained.

Melisandre came over, getting into Jon's space, kneeling before him, "Afterwards, after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go? What did you see?"

Ser Davos and I glared at her. For now, it was not time to discuss the afterlife.

Jon stared at her with empty eyes, "Nothing. There was nothing at all."

"The Lord let you come back for a reason," She explained, resting her hands on his chest. "Stannis was not the prince who was promised, but someone has to be."

"Get out," I told her.

She looked at me in question as if I dared challenge her. Seeing Jon was in no condition to talk about religion, I adjusted my dirk to warn her to leave. Ser Davos noticed the situation.

"Could you give us a moment?" Ser Davos said.

She hesitated but nodded.

Ser Davos gave me a look, silently asking me to go. I hesitated, yet I knew Ser Davos was not a fanatic like the Red Woman and even risked his life to protect Jon's body.

"I'll let Edd and Tormund know," I said.

Ser Davos nodded in appreciation.

Sheathing my dirk, I made my way out with Melisandre. Ser Davos followed, closing the door. We made our way outside, stopping at the steps when Melisandre grabbed my arm.

"What was that symbol on his head?" She asked calmly. "What did you do after we left?"

I yanked my arm away from her, "I did my duties as a Priestess's daughter. I gave him the rune of the warrior."

"What else?" She demanded.

"Nothing… just sang to the dead," I spoke.

"Sang to the dead?" She asked. "What song?"

"It does not matter," I answered as I descended the steps.

"He is the prince who is promised," She proclaimed.

I stopped turning around to face her. "His name is Jon. He is not a prophecy, not a king or a prince."

I made my way up to standing in front of her, being a few inches taller and looking down. "He is a warrior. And nothing more."

She stared into my eyes as a dark glint flickered in her eyes like amber. A smirk graced her lips, "You care for him."

I glared at her, "He is my comrade. Nothing more."

With that said, I left to find Edd and Tormund.

.o0o.

Moments Earlier

Jon's POV

Jon was still taking deep breaths. It burned as if he was drowning, and someone brought air back to his lungs. Jon had wounds where his lungs were struck, yet Imogen's voice continued to repeat in his head to breathe. He was utterly confused.

All he could remember was Ser Alliser, Yarwyck, Marsh, and Olly stabbing him. There were others, yet their faces were far sharper than the rest. The pain and the sense of drowning as blood seeped and filled his lungs. Lying on the snow, staring at the sky, seeing the moon and stars while the direwolves howled. That is the last thing he remembered.

Then his vision faded, leaving Nothing but darkness. A void of Nothing. Not the New Religion, where he could have gone to the Seven Heavens or the Seven Hells. Not the Father's Golden Halls. Or in the Old Religion, where his spirits are one with nature. A spirit within the winds. Instead, it was nothing. Just a dark, empty void in which all of his senses were drowned, and time seemed to vanish.

Until he heard voices. Another language. And then heat consuming where his wounds were as if a fire was burning them. Then nothing. Back in the darkness.

Once more alone.

Then, all of a sudden, he heard another voice—a singing voice. All the energy he had lost returned made him want to open his eyes.

As if life was breathed into him, he gasped, opening his eyes to see Imogen with a clean face and her hair in a simple braid. Bewilderment in her gray eyes as she stepped away.

Everything was still spiraling after Ser Davos and Melisandre came into the room. As he tries to comprehend what was going on. This was not right. He should be dead. The wounds said so. So how was he still alive? The rune on his chest should have kept him dead.

At first, he thought he had become a wight, yet he was still alive, and all three people were talking to him as if he was still alive. Even Ghost hasn't attacked him.

Melisandre mentioning the Lord of Light irked him, and Ser Davos was wise to get the women out of there. He needed to think. He needed to understand.

Something was missing.

Some part of him was gone, and he couldn't understand what it was.

Ser Davos pulled up a stool and sat across from Jon.

"You were dead," Ser Davos confirmed.

Jon looked at him, still overwhelmed.

"And now you're not," Ser Davos added, still in disbelief as him. "That's completely fucking mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you."

"I did what I thought was right." Jon tried to form words. "And I got murdered for it. And now I'm back." A sob escaped him. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ser Davos answered, staring into his eyes. "Maybe we'll never know. What does it matter? You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can."

Yet the emptiness confused Jon.

"I don't know how to do that," Jon replied. "I thought I did, but…I failed."

He bowed his head in defeat.

"Good," Ser Davos said. "Now go fail again."

Jon stared at Ser Davos, not expecting that.

The Onion knight helped Jon get dressed. However, Ser Davos mentioned that he had blood on his forehead. Looking at a worn mirror, Jon saw a rune on his forehead. Jon sighed, knowing it was Imogen's doing. Then, he stopped as he wondered why he was still alive, spotting that the rune on his chest was still intact. Sighing, he took a damp rag to wipe the marking off.

Meanwhile, they could hear a gathering forming in the courtyard. Once dressed, Longclaw strapped to Jon's side, with Ghost, and Ser Davos made their way out. Jon stopped at the rail, catching himself to see what remains of the Night's Watch of Castle Black. Seeing how the Wildlings came to his rescue. All these men fought for him, even when he was dead. They came to give him justice.

Still weak, Ser Davos helped Jon down the steps to face his allies. Once on ground level, Jon independently made his way through the men. Although he wasn't sure what to do. What to say, as they looked at him in amazement and fear. Halfway through, he saw Tormund standing there.

The Red Wildling cautiously approached, "They think you're some kind of god. The man who returned from the dead."

Jon scowled at that, "I'm not a god."

"I know that," Tormund murmured as he came over and whispered into Jon's ear. "I saw your pecker. What kind of god would have a pecker that small?"

Both chuckled weakly at that.

Tormund then gave Jon a hug. Although Jon didn't have the strength to return, he leaned into Tormund to let him know he appreciated him. However, he winced from the pain in his chest and torso. He had not fully recovered.

Staring ahead, Jon spotted Edd.

Jon made his way over to his trusted brother and gave him a hug. Edd hugged him back. Though Jon winced as pain shot through him again. Realizing this, Edd pulled away, staring Jon in the face.

"Your eyes are still brown," Edd noted, then caution. "Is that still you in there?"

Even though Jon wasn't sure, he replied, "I think so."

Edd nodded.

"Hold off on burning my body for now," Jon tried to jest.

Though exhausted, Edd couldn't help but laugh, "That's funny." Then he got serious, "You're sure that's still you in there?"

Wanting to reassure his friend, Jon smiled as he laughed as well.

Jon looked around, noticing Imogen was absent. He needed to give his thanks to her.

"Where's Imogen?" he asked.

Edd gestured to the gate. Jon frowned, wondering if Imogen had left. Slowly, he made his way out of Castle Black, where more of the Wildlings were. He glanced around, until spotting Wun Wun petting Skadi. Knowing Imogen wouldn't leave without the black direwolf, he made his way over. Careful not to offend the giant.

Once he was over, he spotted Imogen sitting on Wun Wun's lap, who had a hand around her to prevent her from falling. She looked so exhausted that even her hands and tunic were covered in blood. His blood. She was dozing off, appearing vulnerable, and preferred to be protected by a giant than comfort in her room.

A free spirit that can't be caged, Jon thought.

A cage he and the others had put her in.

A cage he put himself in.

Uncle Benjen, Ser Jaime, and Lord Tyrion had warned him that the Night's Watch was not what it used to be. Even his father, Ned Stark, tried to direct him into a different path. All he wanted was to be honorable. To make a name for himself. And to escape from judgment.

Lord Snow.

Bastard of Ned Stark.

Steward.

All these labels men who despised him called. All because his father fought alongside Robert Baratheon during the War. Targaryen supporters. Yet many saw him differently.

Jon.

Brother Jon.

Crow.

Little Crow.

Lord Crow.

Mormont saw promise in him. Sam, Grenn, Pyp, and Edd saw something in him. Even Mance Rayder. There was something that more saw in him. Yell, all but two died because of him. Somehow, he became the 998th Lord Commander, and even then, he had failed, for he was doing something right.

He learned the truth. He learned the origins of the Wildlings. He realized that there were more Starks out there in the wild. How the wildlings were descended from White Walker hunters. Ygritte said they were born on the wrong side of the Wall. All fighting a war that had never truly ended, only dormant until the last three hundred years.

All his hard work to do what is right…only to be betrayed. To be stabbed constantly, "For the Watch."

All of this means nothing anymore.

How can he lead, never knowing which brother he needs to trust?

He was done.

As Jon realized, the part of him that died was the boy who wanted to be a member of the Night's Watch.

Kill the boy, and let the man be born, Maester Aemon once said.

Yet the man was not born. Only a shadow of him.

Skadi made a whimper that woke Imogen up. She adjusted her head, opening her eyes to stare at Jon.

"You should be resting," she mumbled with sleep.

A soft scoffed escaped him, "And I thought you didn't like me."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm stuck with you. Like a thorn in my thigh."

A small smile quirks his lips.

Wun Wun spoke in the old tongue, which Etain countered before climbing off the giant.

"What did he say?" Jon asked.

"It's nothing," Etain assured.

Jon only nodded as exhaustion took over him.

"What are you going to do with Thorne and the others?" She asked.

Jon sighed, for Ser Alliser, Yarwyck, Marsh, and Olly betrayed him. If only he could remember the rest of the men who stabbed him. As much as he wanted to spare Olly, the boy committed a crime. The same goes for Yarwyck and Marsh.

For the Watch.

This was treason. The honorable thing would be to have the men executed by the sword. However, these men did not kill him honorably. They tricked him. They used deception about his uncle and then stabbed him repeatedly. Refusing to take his orders. Refusing to believe the terrors on the other side of the Wall.

Being a member of the Night's Watch, he can't pardon them for this.

In other words, they will have to be hanged.

Jon couldn't give Imogen the answer, as he excused himself to deliver the order.

.o0o.

Later in the day, those loyal to Jon had set up the stands for a short drop. Jon couldn't watch the setup as he stayed in his room contemplating his decision. Not pardoning the men who betrayed him but something else. Something selfish. Edd took the lead, knowing Jon needed a break.

Jon sat on a stool in front of the fire, holding the bloody leather jerkin. Since joining the Night's Watch, his uniform was now covered in holes and blood. The part of him that was naïve.

This choice he is about to make may cause him to lose all respect.

There was a knock on the door, and Edd came in. "It's time."

Jon nodded as he stood up, tossed the jerkin onto the desk, and secured Longclaw to his waist. Edd led the way to the courtyard, as the Free Folk and Brothers had gathered around to see this. As he passed, Imogen and Tormund observed this event. Jon used to hate the execution. At least when he had to do it. Yet the words of his father told him echo in his head.

The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword.

He was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; he had to pass the sentence and swing the sword.

He climbed onto the platform where the lift was, Seeing Marsh, Yarwyck, Ser Alliser, and Olly standing on a makeshift platform with a simple mechanism holding together for the rope to be cut. He stared at each man—members of the Council and his steward—men who were supposed to cooperate to serve the Wall and the Realm.

"If you have any last words, now is the time," Jon announced, allowing their rites.

"You shouldn't be alive," Marsh said, his voice trembling. "It's not right."

Jon looked at him sternly, "Neither was killing me."

Marsh panicked as he stared at those empty eyes.

Jon then moved to Yarwyck to hear his last words.

The man was in tears as he said, "My mother's still living at White Harbor. Could you write? Tell her I died fighting the wildlings."

Jon didn't say anything as he moved to Ser Alliser. The man who has been tormenting him since arriving at Castle Black. He stood there calm and collected.

"I had a choice, Lord Commander," Ser Alliser said. "Betray you or betray the Night's Watch."

Jon continued to stare at him.

"You brought an army of wildlings into our lands." He said, staring at the wildlings in the courtyard. "An army of murderers and raiders." Then back to Jon. "If I had to do it all over knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choice again."

"I'm sure you would, Ser Alliser," Jon agreed.

"I fought, I lost. Now I rest," Ser Alliser conceded with a nod. "But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."

With Nothing else to say, Ser Alliser stood tall.

Jon then moved on to Olly, the one person he did not want to see. Slowly, he lifted his head to stare at the boy. Olly did not say anything, only glared at Jon because of his fate. Jon expressed his disappointment, wishing he could take it back—to have taken Imogen's advice and sent him away—somewhere safe, not corrupted by bigotry and hate.

This made Jon's decision, as he unsheathed Longclaw and made it to the rope that held the mechanism for the drop. He glances at the rope, knowing four lives will be dead from execution. He didn't want to do it, as the pain in his upper body vibrated through the core. The trauma of that night lingers in his head.

For the Watch.

Those three words tormented him.

For the Watch.

For the Watch.

For the Watch.

For the Watch.

Breathe.

The first words someone told him when he was resurrected.

Breathe.

Jon took several deep breaths.

Breathe.

On the final breath, Jon swung his sword, cutting the rope. The mechanism released, pulling the barrels from underneath the men, dropping the plank to the floor, and falling in a short drop. Choking and gasping escaped their mouths as the noose tightened around their neck. The short drop was not meant to snap the neck. No. The short drop was to ensure strangulation.

Jon turned around, watching as the four traitors were strangled. All of his emotions consumed him. The hurt, anger, and rage filled him inside. Seeing their legs kick and twitch, trying to find stability as their weight dragged them down on the rope.

Two men he trusted.

A boy he tried to raise.

And a man who despised him.

It wasn't long before death claimed them. As they dangle there, their mouths open while their eyes are glossy, if not bloodshot.

Jon stared at Olly, for he never thought he would have to kill a boy.

A boy younger than Bran.

Jon had enough as he sheathed Longclaw.

With a final glance at these men, he made his way over to Edd.

"We should burn the bodies," Edd advised.

Jon stared Edd in the eyes, "You should."

Afterward, Jon removed the cloak that signifies the title of Lord Commander. He then presented it to Edd, handing over the responsibility to his friend. Edd has proven himself time and again. He represents the true Night's Watch. He knows the Wildlings are not a threat and that the Night King, with his army, is the true enemy.

Edd was confused as he held the cloak, "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Wear it," Jon suggested. "Burn it. Whatever you want."

Edd was dumbfounded by this.

"You have Castle Black," Jon announced.

Edd's confusion dropped as he stepped down, walking through the crowd, passing his once brothers and the wildlings. Passing by Imogen and Tormund.

"My watch is ended," he said so everyone could hear.

His death revoked his oath to the Night's Watch.

He was a free man on borrowed time.


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