Chapter 22: The black bird on the Wall.

"Winterfell,

Last Week of the third Month of the Year 298

To Jon Snow

Castle Black

Brother,

You will never guess what is happening here!

The King is coming! Father said he would be there in a sennight! That is the most exciting thing that ever happened in Winterfell! Can you imagine, brother? I will be meeting knights! Real knights of the South! I can't wait!

Father said they were going to stay at least for a moon turn, and I will definitely have the time to get every story I can think about. Maybe the King will come with Ser Barristan! Did you know I thought of naming Summer after him? I wasn't overly fond of it; I thought it sounded weird. Kyria said maybe it wasn't the best way to show my admiration for Ser Barristan and I think she was right.

I really wished you were still there, instead of the Wall. The wall is a very impressive place though, and I wish I could see it too. But the knights! Would you like me to ask questions for you? I would you know!

Mother made me promise not to climb anymore, especially once the royal family is there. It's unfair, she never asked Sansa to stop sewing or Kyria to stop reading, why would I have to stop doing my thing?

I'll do it anyway. I don't know why I should stop; it's not like I would fall or anything…

I hope you are well and that you're not too cold up there.

With love,

Brandon Stark of Winterfell."

Jon smiled and dropped the already well-read letter against his chest. Gods, it felt good to know how well they were all fairing back home. He didn't get as many letters as he would have liked. But he had learned to make do with what he had. And he was one of the only Brothers who received letters from home. He shouldn't be greedy, he was already seen as a privileged little lordling as it was…

The Wall was a good place to take all kinds of lessons. Like, how he should stop being so bothered by everyone's opinion of him. Regarding his letters if nothing else. He had a large family and hadn't been exiled from his home to the Wall to wash off some dishonorable deed. He was there by choice, ready to serve his entire life to protect the North and the family he'd left behind.

And yes, maybe he hadn't thought about it that way when he first came here. But after spending almost a year guarding the Wall, he liked to think his opinion on his own situation had matured a little bit.

Jon sighed, shivered, and turned on his side. The letter found its place back in the little drawer with all the other letters his siblings had sent him faithfully. He curled tighter under his blanket, warmth spreading through his limbs at the unmovable knowledge that despite the distance, he wasn't forgotten by those he loved.

His mind briefly jumped back to the first days spent here, and the freezing disappointment that had coated his throat painfully at the realization of what he had truly signed up for. Only the knowledge of Kyria's burning disappointment, miles away, had kept him going some nights, when everything he had wanted was to take Ghost, his horse, and race back home tail between his legs.

He didn't do it. He couldn't. Out of stubbornness at first, and then…well then there had been uncle Benjen.

Benjen had been his greatest support from the first day he stumbled on the dirt of Castle Black's yard. The voice of reason. Despite the support he received from home, only Benjen had known how to truly calm him down the day he faced what it really meant to be part of the Watch.

Coming to the realization of who would be his brothers was a shock. In all his–admittedly rather short–life Jon had never truly resented his father before this day when he faced this reality. Traitors, thieves, murderers, rapists…

He had known of course–more or less–that things would not go as he imagined them at the Wall. He was lucid enough to understand the difference between a childhood fantasy colored by his uncle's fantastic stories and Jon's own dreams of adventures and–dare he say it–glory.

But nothing prepared him for the deception.

Jon closed his eyes and smirked, despite himself. One thing was sure, there was no quicker way to cure one's naïvety than to lose, even for a short time, all faith in one's father.

He remembers feeling dejected even before seeing the Wall. The first time he met the boys Yoren brought from the villages near Last Hearth and learned who they were. His disillusion started then.

He remembers spending hours watching those men–boys really, they were even younger than he was–and wondering if he should do something. Speak up.

Now that he thought about it, that moment was the first time his inner Kyria manifested herself.

Go talk to them, Jon, they won't bite you. You'll have to interact with them at some point anyway.

It wasn't wrong, of course. These boys were about to be his sworn brothers; who was he to judge them? Or keep his silence?

Thinking about it had been one thing. Doing it was something else. It took him a while to gather the courage to dare to talk to one of those boys first.

"I'm Jon," he had said softly one night, while they were all resting, the wall huge and looming at Jon's back.

The three of them had looked at him owlishly, silently. Jon had felt ridiculous, but he held on. He had to start somewhere right?

And if things went south, at least he could say he tried.

"I'm Tehn," answered one of the boys.

A skinny lad, with sandy blond hair, thin and ratty-looking, falling around his long face like he carried all the misery of the world.

The other two stayed silent. But Jon still considered it a victory–he and Tehn had talked a bit that night. Nothing much, really, but it was more than what Jon would have done without his annoying sister's voice in his head.

As it turned out, he didn't regret talking to them that day. It allowed him to make his first tentative friend, and as it turned out Tehn was far from the worst kind of person he could have found on his journey as a future brother of the watch.

He wasn't the most joyful or easy guy to be around, but he was honest to a fault and loyal. The most important thing, if you asked Jon. He had been his greatest support the first day he finally saw Castle black. Or what was left of it.

A ruin, manned by a handful of starved criminals and bitter old knights. And a blind ancient Maester. So far from what it once was, the comparison couldn't even be made. Seeing this had been hard. Realizing that his uncle–who'd lived here for years–knew where he was going and didn't stop him had been harder. But the part that hurt the most had been his father. Father knew too, he even confirmed it. Yet he let his son, bastard or not, condemn himself to a life in this cold wasteland.

The letter he wrote Lord Stark was maybe the most bitter thing he ever did. His sibling's furious anger had been his reward. With the sole exception of Lady Sansa of course who would have never done such a thing. The rest of his family stood up for him, raining the storms of winter on their father's unsuspecting head like vengeful spirits of those legends Old Nan enjoyed telling. He wished he could have seen this.

Of course, as always Kyria had been the loudest when it came to sharing her disappointment. She had a tendency to do that a lot, he noticed. Attack people with disappointed looks and long silence full of meaning until they bowed to her will or pushed her away.

Kyria didn't like not getting her way, nor did Robb who had thundered over the revelation with the fury of an entire army. They were very much alike in that aspect. The sole difference was that while Robb cooled down quickly, Kyria's anger lingered. Lingered and often came back with a vengeance.

Always thinking too much.

This was why he loved to receive those letters. It helped him remember the world outside of the Watch. Even if with every day here his memories of Winterfell felt more and more like a dream from another life, he knew it had been real. He knew he still mattered to them. He wasn't just a bastard, or a brother of the watch now. He was more.

There is more in you than you know. Than the Snow of your name, the Sand of your birth. More. So much more. More than a hundred bastards of the North could ever be.

In the darkness, Jon suddenly opened his eyes.

This again… why couldn't he forget this? Those… weird things Kyria whispered to him that day. No matter how much time passed, it was as if she said it yesterday. Turning and turning inside his head. What does this even suppose to mean? He was nothing special. No hero, no… nothing. A bastard. And now a Sworn Brother of the watch. How could he be anything of the sort? It didn't make sense.

Half of his blood may come from a good family, but the other half was unknown. And, to be honest, bastard or not, he had learned the hard way that growing up with his father, in a castle and being trained with his brother, had given him more advantages than most of the men coming here. He foolishly thought his birth had him at a disadvantage and pushed him to live a harder life than his siblings. Sweet summer child…

He never went to bed cold or hungry. He was well-dressed and educated while most of the brothers didn't even know how to read…

More than a hundred bastards of the North could ever be.

Maybe this was what she meant. Maybe it was a warning. Against the arrogance of thinking himself better than his sworn brothers because he grew up in a castle. But it didn't make sense. Why say it like that? Like he was-

Ugh. He shouldn't lose himself in yet another attempt at understanding what this was all about. He should resign himself and give up. He really should.

He had enough on his plate as it was; fighting his brooding nature to actively talk to people was difficult, far more than he expected it to be. Robb always made it sound so easy. Theon was even worse! But when it came to social interactions, Jon was hopeless.

He had tried though. Still did in fact, a little bit every day, to his new friends of course, whom he gained by making an effort at actually talking full sentences to people. But to the others too, strangers he barely knew. Those he wouldn't automatically interact with.

The first days had felt like torture. He was self-conscious, uncomfortable, and as awkward as one could humanly be without self-combust.

The barely veiled animosity pouring out of Alliser Thorne the Master at Arms of the Watch was quick to spread like a disease among the brothers. To his shame, it did discourage him at first. Fortunately for him, uncle Benjen had been there.

"Stop that,"

"What?"

Both of them were on the Wall, where Jon had found a secluded place to brood peacefully on the unfairness of his life.

"I know this place is not what you expected. I can understand your disappointment, but honestly Jon, what did you expect?"

"Something else." he had said somberly.

"Aye maybe. But it is what it is. You can still leave, Jon. No one is forcing you to stay here."

"I'm not a deserter."

"You're no brother yet; you can leave. Hells, no one would blame you. I bet half those boys around would die to have the chance to leave."

"Well I-"

"But," interrupted Benjen sternly, "if you choose to stay, you become part of this place. Do you understand? You can't survive here alone–the Wall would eat you alive. And I will not spend my time holding your hand like a little boy. You come here, you're a man. That's it. If you want to have a place here, earn that place, or leave. There is no other way Jon, if it is glory you seek, you'll have to search elsewhere, there is a whole world to look for it you know."

He'd sounded like he was pushing Jon away, all but daring him to leave and escape the restriction of a vow taken for life when he was so young, but Jon didn't feel that way. On the contrary, far from scaring him or convincing him of how wrong he had been, the words lit a fire under his arse and pushed him to do better, be better, and finally earn that place.

He stayed.

He stayed and he tried again. Kyria's voice in his head, and her interminable lectures still fresh in his mind, he tried again. All those things she tried to push into his head, those books, those games. She did it for a reason, and not using any of that was… well, it was pretty stupid of him really. So he took a breath and actually opened his mouth.

His easiest target and very first real friend here–uncle Benjen didn't count–had been Tehn, the boy who arrived with him. They had had the pleasure of sharing an entire conversation together on the way here, so for Jon, it was the easiest person to go back to. To his astonishment, talking regularly to another human being wasn't so hard once you tried it a couple of times. And said human beings didn't ignore him or shoo him away like an annoying bug.

Talking allowed him to learn that Tehn had been sent to the Wall because the daughter of a merchant–one rich enough to be an annoyance–had accused him of stealing. He had ended in front of the guards of Last Hearth, being asked if he preferred losing his hand or freezing his ass. He chose the wall. This conversation and the compassion growing within Jon for his companion achieve their path into friendship.

Strong with his first experience, Jon had expanded his limits and pushed himself into more conversations. He met a brother, a seasoned old ranger who had seemed as silent as Jon was.

When Jon asked, it took a while for him to answer. But answer he did. He said one day his wife decided she had enough of him, packed up her stuff, and left. With another man, or back to her father's house, he never knew. But days later his father-in-law chased him out of his own home, the farm he had gifted them for his daughter's wedding, and, with nothing else to do, the old Ranger came to the Wall.

Jon's heart broke for the man, soft-spoken and surprisingly nice in such a harsh place. He had laid a hand on his shoulder and the man had smiled. It was a nice smile.

Days later, the old Ranger went out for a mission beyond the wall with two other rangers. He never came back.

Another lesson to learn.

Jon had been surprised by the number of people who came to the Wall because they didn't know what else to do. Sometimes, he wondered if he wasn't one of them. He didn't like that question.

He met Kevlar days after the old ranger. Another seasoned man, who didn't know what to do with his life. He had lost his entire family to a raid of Iron born during the Rebellion of Ballon Greyjoy. His wife and kids were raped and killed as well as his mother and younger sister. When the war ended, he had no one left. Not knowing what else to do, he came to the Wall.

Kevlar was not a ranger. He never went beyond the wall. Since he didn't disappear, Jon came back and talked with him again. In less than a moon turn, he would receive a smile each time he came close to the man, and he would smile in return, warmth growing inside his chest with each new friend he manage to make in this cold place.

And then there was Edd, of course.

Unfortunately, not all of the brothers were like Kevlar or Tehn. The majority of them were criminals, and though their crimes were forgotten once they took the Black, in some cases, the darkness in their eyes remained long after they swore their vows. Swearing didn't mean forgetting what they were before, just like he couldn't forget who he was before his vows.

And then there was Edd, of course. Edd was… well, Edd. Dolorous Edd. Whining Edd. Bitching Edd.

Simply Edd who grew on Jon and his friends like fungus. Persistent cold-resistant and oddly endearing fungus.

Jon sighed and rolled over in his bed. He couldn't sleep. They gave him a room for himself when it became obvious that he and Ghost were a package deal. The barracks he stayed in at first had been full of other brothers, sworn or recruits. After the third time in a week Ghost had followed him in, and slept in his bed, Thorne had wished to lock him up. It didn't work. For a mute wolf, his Ghost knew how to make a nuisance of himself when the situation asked for it.

In his wolfy opinion, being locked up in a room far from Jon had been such a situation. Lord Commander caved after two days and ordered Thorne to leave Ghost alone. The following sennight, Jon had been moved to one of the empty barracks. It had the inconvenience of being far colder with only him and Ghost–when Ghost was not out hunting of course–but at least it was quiet.

And, once things were well enough with Tehn, he offered to share the room with him. Having seen him since the beginning, Tehn was not bothered by Ghost and accepted easily. Kevlar had been a little bit harder to convince. And Edd of course had complained for days. But had moved his meager belongings into the room with the rest of them.

Tonight, however, he was alone. Tehn and Edd were down in Mole's Town, doing who knows what, and Kelvar was on the Wall. On duty.

For this night and all my nights to come...

He needed to sleep. His day was going to be busy tomorrow, all his days were.

Follow if you want to learn to lead Jon, said his inner Kyria.

"Yeah I know…"

Ghost pushed the door with his nose, tilting his head at his companion's voice.

"Nothing boy, forget it."

His big white tail twitched behind his back as he pushed his way inside the room. He clicked his way through the room and Jon pushed himself up on an elbow.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

Ghost blinked. Cocked his head on a side, curiously.

Jon looked at him. Ghost blinked again, looked behind himself, and finally seemed to understand. Dutifully, he trotted back to the door and pushed it close.

"Good boy."

Ghost huffed and pushed Jon with his nose, wishing to take his rightful place by his side and finally get some warmth back in Jon's bones. Jon grunted and shifted his weight until he was halfway on top of Ghost's back. There was barely any space left on the bed but he didn't care. He was warm. Jon closed his eyes, and finally, sleep claimed him.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Days were often monotone at the Wall. They blend in with each other, coiled in a thick well manage routine one had to get used to quickly to thrive and hope to survive. Everyone had a role to play. Most had two due to the lack of new recruits to man the wall. Always too little, always too poor, too young, or too old.

Jon, as one of the most trained and apt men on the watch, had once dreamed of being a Ranger like his uncle. This was not due, and now, almost eight months since his discovery of the wall, he had learned to content himself with his position, as hard as it had been in the beginning.

If he was a steward, at least he was one working directly under the Lord Commander. Where he was guaranteed to learn as much as possible. This peculiar piece of wisdom had been hard to swallow, and Jon tried very hard to remain in the same spirits every time he grew even a little frustrated with his position.

Learn to follow if you want to lead, mocked a voice inside his head.

An advice Lord Commander Mormont himself had gifted him when all he could think of when faced with his duties as a steward had been rage.

As always, he started by cleaning around Lord Commander's office, leaving what he had been instructed to leave where it was and putting away everything else. He glanced at the empty desk in the Lord Commander's office, and tried his best to tidy it all up, cleaning the little things that were out of place since the last time he'd done so. The few books he needed to bring back to the Maester's tower were pushed in an empty chair and he promptly moved the dead ashes within the fireplace.

"I need more wood…"

Lord Commander Mormont wasn't there yet. He never was so early in the morning. Jon never asked where he was, not wishing to stumble upon the Lord Commander's business. He had been noticed to often already for his tastes, whether by the Lord Commander or by Thorne. Or Maester Aemon, as much as he liked him. He'd rather spend a couple of more months hidden in the shadows of the watch.

The trip to fetch the wood wasn't that far but in the quiet morning, it was refreshing.

The silence of course, didn't last, and by the time he had what he fetched, brothers were already moving around, training or working like a buzzing of black-clothed bees. Jon took care to avoid anyone for now, not wanting to lose too much time going back to the Lord's office.

Like often, on his way back, he tried to avoid the training yard where Thorne was already barking at his men. The master at arms of Castle Black had taken an immediate dislike to him, and his assignment as a steward was one more reason to mock him daily and try to humiliate him. Jon pressed himself against one of the dangerously rotting beams supporting the upper hall. No one used the upper hall, for fear of the entire structure collapsing, so Thorne was unlikely to look his way.

The feel of the cold, rotten wood against his cloaked back made him shiver, and Jon instinctively looked to the training ground below, where new recruits were being verbally abused into order by Thorn. And as he watched, it hit him–why did this whole part of their training have to happen this way? Why was there only one brother assigned to train the recruits? Most of which had never been trained with any kind of weapon beyond a sickle? There were never more than twenty truly new recruits at a time, but most of the newer ones kept the same training schedules even after taking their vows. Training all those people with different skill levels exactly the same… how could this even work? The clumsiest and least experienced would feel humiliated by their betters, and those with some training would feel humiliated by being stuck with the raw recruits, and no one would progress past those very basics.

Jon sighed and ducked behind the beam, absentmindedly pulling the corner of his cloak to detach it from the old wood. Despite himself, his mind started to work. He listened to Thorne's barking voice and- yes, this was the exact same lessons the old master at arms gave on Jon's first day at the Wall as a recruit. And, as he squinted, he could recognize Tehn and two other brothers in the crowd, who had been in that same lesson with him.

"Pointless…" he muttered in a breath.

It wasn't even the first time something like that happened. And for as much as he despised the man, he couldn't fault Thorne for this. How was he supposed to work when new people with no training kept coming his way? He had to train them too, but there was only so much time in a day and so many ways to manage those training sessions with everyone's duties. Especially with so few brothers available to work.

Jon watched a moment longer, sighed, and returned to his duties.

He walked quickly to the Lord Commander's rooms, eager to avoid any tardiness, especially with the weight of the letter he wished to send in his pocket. He had yet to answer Bran's last raven and planned to do so later that day.

But before that, he had things to do.

He pushed the door and sighed in relief. Lord Commander Mormont was still out. Perfect.

Lighting the fire was a quick affair, Jon being used to lighting his own fires even back in Winterfell. He had been trained to make as little of a fuss as possible after all. Lady Catelyn wished to forget his existence as often as humanly possible.

He then went out again, this time to fetch the Lord's breakfast, which he always took in his office. The kitchens were huge and always felt empty, no matter how many brothers there were working there. Jon assumed it was a leftover from when 10,000 of them lived in the keep. A long cry from the shy of 1,000 they could maybe reunite between the three castles still standing along the Wall.

A warm plate of boiled meat and just-cooked bread in hand, he went back up.

This time the Lord was here.

"Lord Commander."

"Snow," grunted the man without looking up.

Jon put the plate in the table between the Lord Commander's desk and the burning fire, and put away the sack of ashes he had cleaned up earlier. The sight of the aging man on his desk brought back the tentative idea that had started to take roots in Jon's mind.

Should he…? No. No, not now. It was barely an idea, there was no point in annoying the Lord Commander with something like that.

Know your place, Lord Snow! echoed the memory of Thorne in his head.

No, don't say anything now Snow, he added, quietly to himself.

Without a word, he took the books, the ashes, and climbed down the stairs separating the Lord Commander's office to the catwalk leading to the Maester's tower.

"Maester?"

Silence.

He looked around but the dusty library seemed completely empty… Well then. Jon pushed the heavy books in an empty corner of one of the two tables in the room, and left it as soon as he entered.

An hour later, hands red and painful from scrubbing the tables of the hall, he suddenly remembered the other things he had wished to do in the Maester's Tower.

"Y'alright Jon?" rasped Tehn from his own table on the other side of the room.

"Aye, I just- Forgot something?"

Then stopped his own motion on the used wood of his table.

"Forgot what?"

"Nay, 'tis nothing. A letter."

Tehn rolled his eyes but said no more. Jon's letters were a famous topic among the brothers.

Jon resigned himself to his task and swore to take care of his letter before night. As he lost himself in the rhythm of his scrubbing on the table, his thoughts rolled back into the training session he witnessed earlier in the morning. One look up and Tehn was still there, a fresh bruise on his cheek, no doubt from the said session.

"Tehn… do you still… train with Thorne?"

"Aye, as often as I can. Not much progress to make with everyone around but I don't want to end up gutted by a wildling ya know?" he said emphatically, pushing a strand of thin dirty blond hair away from his pale eyes.

"Aye…" said Jon pensively. "Isn't it… always the same, though?"

Tehn stopped and looked back up, thoughtful. "Maybe… never thought about it. Why?"

"...doesn't it brother you? You've been training for a while now, ya should- I mean, it should be different?"

"Should it? I don't know, it's still swinging a sword around, not that hard to do."

He left the conversation there and Jon's mind worked harder. No, it definitely shouldn't be like that. Not after seven months of training.

This whole situation… he couldn't stop thinking about it. Was there really no other way? No solution, nothing? There had to be!

Jon sighed, frustrated and threw the scrubber back into its bucket.

"Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," he answered, "They wanted me to take Ghost out today."

"What for?"

He didn't answer, already too far for anything but a shout he definitely didn't want to make.

He joined the other stewards in the kitchens, just as empty and wide as they were this morning, and put the bucked and scrub back in their proper places.

"Snow! Where's your beast? We need some meat for tonight!"

"Going!" he said back with a wave of his hand.

A sharp whistle called Ghost to his heels and the two of them walked out of the yard for the stables.

It was a day like many others, with the sole exception of his mind, going back again and again to that idea he couldn't forget.

By lunch he had something akin to a plan, gently building itself up in the back of his brain.

Could it work? Or even be made possible? To his knowledge, no one ever tried it before, ever. But then again, he knew he wasn't as apt of a reader as his sister or even Robb, and it was possible that somewhere in the wide world, it had been done before.

Lunch passed and he walked back to the Lord Commander's office and quarters, to carry on with his duties. He remained unsure of himself, thinking in circles around his own head and looking back furtively to Lord Commander Mormont's wide back when the man was in the room.

You have to build your own story, brother, taunted Kyria's voice inside his head.

Yes, I suppose I could try… he pondered distractedly.

He wasn't a ranger. He wasn't anyone of importance in the brotherhood; how could his opinion be of any weight in such a matter? But could he truly remain silent while there were so few of them?

It is a dying order, some say, whispered Kyria's voice, this time a memory of brighter afternoons in Winterfell's library, every day, more people lose sight of what it stands for. I hope you know what you are doing, Jon.

Yes, thought Jon with yet another look at the yard and its fumbling brothers, I don't think we would lose much in trying something else anyway…

Decision made, Jon almost dropped everything and blurted his idea directly into Lord Commander Mormont's face. But then…

Think before you speak brother. Especially if what you want to say is important to you.

Think, yes… Maybe he should. This was definitely important to him. Consideration, Jon, don't be daft.

"What do you want, Snow?"

Jon jumped and looked back down awkwardly.

"N-nothing Lord Commander."

Shit. So much for not catching any attention. Well done Snow.

Lord Commander Mormont grunted but said nothing more, thank the gods.

Jon fidgeted with the pile of documents the old bear had asked him to put away and contemplated his options. Maybe he should talk to uncle Benjen before anything else. It wouldn't hurt anyway, right? And uncle Benjen was far more experienced than Jon; he would know if what he had in mind could even work.

Yes. Caution. Caution and strategy. Maybe because it was so close to what Kyria would have no doubt done, and what Jon would have usually ignored.

As Jon turned his back on Lord Commander Mormont, he could have sworn he heard his sister laugh somewhere inside his mind. Gods he was losing it…

Maybe hearing voices in my head is more troubling than simply my imagination telling me things…

Exasperated and tired, Jon abruptly decided to leave his duties for later and made his way to the Master's tower. He had a letter to send after all.

On the way there, he was pleasantly surprised to find Uncle Benjen, walking somewhere.

"Uncle Benjen!" he breathed with a smile. His cheeks hurt with the movement.

The man looked up, a crooked smile immediately pushing the apple of his cheeks up under his eyes.

"Hello Jon," said the man.

He cupped the back of Jon's head affectionately and squeezed shortly.

"I wanted to talk to you about something."

Benjen blinked, looked somewhere behind him, and turned his torso so he would face Jon completely, giving him his entire attention. Jon tried to ignore the bubbles of warmth that popped into his chest at the gesture.

"What is it?"

Jon worried a moment, eyes escaping his uncle's.

"Jon?"

He blinked and breathed deeply. No need to hesitate like that, he had been wishing to talk about what was on his mind since the morning.

"I watched Ser Thorne train the brothers this morning, and… I thought of something."

"What about it?"

"Why are we training brothers like that?"

Benjen frowned and moved Jon out of the way, further under the catwalk leading to the Lord Commander's office.

"What do you mean?"

"Why is there only one man training all the brothers? Not just the new recruits, but everyone? At the same time?"

"It is the way things are, Jon. The duty of A Master at Arms is to train the men. And the Watch-"

"Aye, I know how it is supposed to work. But since being here I can't help thinking that it doesn't actually work. As in it's not- I don't mean that Ser Thorne isn't good at his job or anything. But I feel like it's not enough. He constantly has to do the same lessons again and again with each batch of new recruits and those who… who never had any training before can never progress beyond those three first lessons he does." explained Jon nervously, "not like high borns could in their castles."

"But we don't have the same luxuries as high-born nobles in their castles here Jon, I thought you knew that already."

"Aye I know, but that's the thing. You and I aren't the only ones castle-raised uncle Benjen, there aren't as many of us as there are… others, but there are a few who come here already knowing how to fight."

"What is your point Jon?" cut in Benjen and Jon felt his cheeks heat.

Was he rambling?

"My point is that maybe we could… help train the men. Those who already know how. Maybe we could… make groups or something? Thorne would still be the Master at arms of course but he could… supervise? It would allow him more time for more… in-depth training of some brothers who need it? We are here to defend the realm of men and I feel like we're not… prepared for that."

Jon closed his mouth abruptly, cracking his jaw, and waited for Benjen's reaction.

"Groups, you say?"

"Aye, smaller groups. If we always put the same people together with the same levels they'll grow used to fighting together."

"They could also grow used to making mistakes that could have them killed."

"That's why Ser Thorne would be there for." pushed Jon, his plan evolving inside his head as he talked about it. "Other people like you or me know some things about fighting with a sword but I- I would think-"

"Thorne would be better at it, anyway. He has years at the Capital as a knight to talk for. And even more, years here occupying the place he has now," finished Benjen for him, now seemingly deep in thought.

Jon nodded, suddenly tongue-tied.

"It is… intriguing. It would certainly be different than what we do now. But something like that…"

"Do you think it is possible?"

"Maybe."

Benjen rubbed a finger on the point of his bearded chin, contemplative.

"Did you talk to the Lord Commander about any of this?" asked Benjen after a while.

"No. I thought about it this morning. You're the first one I spoke to about it."

Benjen nodded and thought some more. "I don't know if this is even possible, or viable in the long run. But it would certainly help us train more efficiently. Smaller groups, hm…"

Jon kept his mouth shut.

"I will talk about this with Lord Commander Mormont. And Alliser certainly," decided Benjen with a short smile, "do not trouble yourself, Jon. You had a good idea. Maybe it will go somewhere."

Jon wanted to ask if he was going to say whose idea that was, both dreading the idea and wanting him to do so. It was his idea, after all, his contribution. But on the other hand, if Thorne ever knew it came from him, the man wouldn't accept it. He had been very difficult regarding Jon after all… But he refused to appear whiny or proud in front of his uncle. He trusted the man to know what to say. Besides, as he pointed out, his little idea was bare that, an idea. Half formed and barely cooked long enough to make sense once out of his brain. "Thank you uncle, for listening."

Benjen smiled and slapped Jon's shoulder. "Don't trouble yourself, Jon. Your idea has potential, but it is something to be discussed."

Jon nodded.

They were interrupted by a nervous steward, one of the two working alongside Maester Aemon.

"Jon Snow. Maester Aemon wants to talk to you."

Jon looked at the man, reminded once again of what he had intended to do.

"Aye, I'm coming."

Benjen smiled and pressed his hand still on Jon's shoulder.

"Go on then, you have work to do. And so do I."

"Thank you uncle," repeated Jon smiling one last time.

"Don't mention it. That's what I am here for Jon." smiled the man in return.

He always seemed happy to see Jon and even more to give him advice. Jon would never have been able to survive this place without him. As a rare show of affection, Jon allowed himself to press Benjen's arm in his hand, once, briefly. The warm fondness in the man's eyes made it worth it.

Satisfied, and surprisingly relieved, he turned around and followed the brother fetching him, his hand going to his doublet, where his answer to Bran's letter had been sitting for the entire day now. And the one before.

I really need to send those quicker…

He found the old Maester in his tower, his blind eyes looking vaguely around him and his old hands twisting the corner of a rolled raven in them.

"Maester Aemon".

The man smiled, his almost bald head and fragile neck half eaten by the weight of his heavy dresses and cloak under which his weakened body hid all the time. Jon didn't know how old the man was, or for how long he had been there, but there was a certain… something about him. Something endearing he couldn't place but always made him want to talk to the man. To learn what he knew, or simply to hear what he had to say. Maybe it was because he reminded him of an odd mix between Maester Luwin and Old Nan? Who knew…

"Jon Snow… I assume you would know why I summoned you by now?" giggled the man.

Jon smiled.

"I do Maester."

Maester Aemon hummed and pushed the sealed raven from the tip of his finger. Jon took it and exchanged it with his own letter.

"I wish to send this to my brother, Maester."

Maester Aemon's fingers tapped the wood to find the paper.

"Of course, you do Jon Snow. You always have something to say to your family."

"Aye. Do you think I shouldn't? Should I write less?"

Maester Aemon giggled again.

"Why would you? A family is the most precious thing to have. You should cherish it while you can."

Disturbed by the ominous words, Jon hummed and opened the raven.

Arya?

Why was she writing li-

"Last Week of the fourth Month of the Year 298

Winterfell

To Jon Snow

Castle Black

Jon,

I don't even know what to say about-

Something happened. To Bran. Something Bad.

I don't know much, nobody wants to tell me. Kyria said Bran promised not to climb anymore. He was punished for that. But today he-

He climbed and then there was a fire or something. Close to the outer walls and Bran was climbing and I don't know if he fell or if he was too close or if it is something else but Robb said he was burned and Hodor took him to Maester Luwin's tower and nobody is telling me anything and I don't know what to do now!

Jon, I don't know what to do! Why aren't you home?

I wish you were home.

Arya."

…

…

"Well what is it? You are awfully quiet Jon Snow."

Paper crumbled in his hands. Fingers shaking.

"I-"

Nothing came. No word no-

Nothing.

Bran…!

TBC.

NOTE: Well then? What do you think?

I added this chapter in my plan when I realized how the previous mash plan for Jon's chapters wouldn't work anymore. And, I mean, a little bit of worldbuilding never hurt anybody!
I hope you liked this chapter and Jon's life at the Wall ^^ I'll try to post another chapter before Christmas, but life is complicated these times and I don't have as much time to work on this as I would like. I try my best guys!
As always you are welcome to join me on Discord, there is very few of us there so those who join will be very well welcomed! discord. gg/9MH AEYcv you ,know the drill, remove the spaces and you're good!
Fav, and reviews are food! And I'm starving!
See ya!
Rubyy.