Northern lights

49. The right thing

Jon Snow

Jon Snow leaves the tunnel and walks out into the snow. Smoking dead bodies lie all around him. 

There is a silence to his soul; Jon feels as if he's become the fall leaves under frost. He feels the chill in his blood, coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a stand still. Part of it is a pain, yet one he can endure, one he can sleep through night after night without the anesthesia of false hope. This is his winter; he no longer waits for spring and the chattering of the birds.

He feels like a ghost, empty and tired of roaming this world. 

As he walks into the forest he becomes surrounded by Wildlings, yet he shows no fear. He has entered the Wildling camp unarmed.

Mance is waiting for him, "You're wearing a black cloak again."

Ignoring the comment, Jon decides not to waste time, "I've been sent to negotiate with you."

Standing, Mance heads inside his tent and Jon follows, remaining upright as Mance sits.

"It appears my trusting nature got the better of me. It's happened before. I was hoping your loyalty was real when you pledged yourself to us, Jon Snow, truly I was."

Keeping his head up high, Jon explains, "The Halfhand ordered me to join your army and bring back whatever information I could to Castle Black. He made me kill him so you'd trust me. I was loyal, to him and to my Night's Watch vows."

"All of your vows?" Mance raises an eyebrow, nearly smirking but that attempt at a smile fails as he realizes the truth, "She wasn't enough to turn ya, eh? Were you enough to turn her?"

Jon's jaw clenches, refusing to speak of the nature of his relationship to the redhead annoyance he had grown to care for in a way. "She put three arrows in me when I escaped."

"Did you see her again at Castle Black?"

Jon's response is quick and stiff, "Yes."

"And?"

Swallowing thickly, Jon takes a small pause to collect himself before speaking again, "She's dead."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Mance's eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Your doing?"

"No." Jon manages to respond, keeping his voice void of emotion. 

Nodding, Mance exclaims, "We'll drink to her."

One of the Wildlings gets two cups and fills them with liquid. Jon looks at Mance with suspicion, unsure if drinking it would be smart.

Mance sighs, "Of all the ways I'd kill you, poison would be the last."

They pick up their cups, "Ygritte." Mance raises his cup and Jon does the same.

"Ygritte."

'And I'm the reason she died', the thought crosses Jon's mind as he lets the liquid run down his throat.

As they take a sip, Jon begins to cough, knitting his eyebrows together as frown forms on his once boyish face, "That's not wine."

Smirking properly, Mance puts his cup down. "No, it's a proper Northern drink, Jon Snow. You did well. Fought hard. Killed some of our strongest men. One of our giants went into your tunnel and never came out again. Mag the Mighty."

Jon purses his lips as he remembers the carnage in the tunnel, "He's dead. He killed my friend Grenn."

"He was their king", Mance notes, "Last of a bloodline that stretches back before the First Men."