Winter is Coming (A Game Of Thrones Fan-Fic) (ON HOLD)

3. Winter Is Coming

A-N- Hey guys! I'm sorry I've been MIA for a while :( I had been working on this chapter for the longest time and then stopped because I got into other stories. But I'm back and have updated because this story has been a big hit! You guys are devouring it! And for that, I thank all of you who read and comment- it means a lot to me. Another thing that spurred on my heated desire to finish this chapter was the fact that I finished reading Game Of Thrones. I am devastated by that! But I have A Clash Of Kings up on my bed and ready to be devourd (:

Please enjoy this and comment- longest chapter so far. Favorite chapter so far. Favorite character by far :D

Picture on the side is Jon SNow, Samwell Tarly and Ghost (Because Ghost is awesome!)

Jon Snow, age fifteen, was running from a family that he could not escape. The Starks had been all he'd ever known and all he'd grown up with. But he was not one of them; his siblings, with the exception of Arya, made sure that he knew that and so did Catelyn Stark. The only one who seemed to see past his being a bastard was his father- Lord Eddard. Lord Eddard treated him just as another son and as a Stark, yet his Lord father didn't have the decency to tell him where he came from, who his mother was...
Jon Snow was just a bastard trying to escape his father's identity; he knew there was no room for him at Winterfell, especially since his father left for King's Landing to be the King's Hand... so he went North to the Wall and took the Black.
That pleased Lady Stark and it pleased Jon as well though it was an adjustment. Those alongside him, training, were also bastards; or rapists or rejects, or criminals trying to escape death. Almost none of them did it for the honour that Jon Snow did it for- but none of them had Lord Eddard for a father.
At first, they all were bound only by two things: first, they all CHOSE to take the Black. And second, they were all in some way broken- Jon was a bastard surrounded by broken things.
Life at the Wall was hard and everyday life became an adjustment. Jon had wanted nothing more than to be a Ranger to ride out beyond the Wall with his Uncle Benjen. Uncle Benjen was a Stark; but he was one of Jon's favorite Starks because Benjen did not let the Stark name define him. Benjen Stark had been the man that sealed Jon's commitment to take the Black. Ben was a hero to Jon and made him strive to be a better person. Most people coming to the Wall don't know what they are in store for or what they want out of it- since all that anyone ever wants is to live- but not Jon. Jon continued far North with Benjen knowing very well that he wanted to be a Rider like his uncle. And everyone who knew Jon knew that he would be the best Rider. Rider's are the ones who go beyond the wall. They make sure that the solid ice Wall doesn't crumble and do forest sweeps. No one knows how big the forest beyond the Wall is- because everyone who has tried to see it has died.
For so far as anyone still alive could remember, the only thing that far North were the Direwolves and Mance Rayder's army of Wildlings.
But none of that was any concern to Jon- what was his concern was the dead man who had almost killed him...
... And that his uncle hadn't come back yet.


"You fight like a girl, Lord Snow," Ser Alliser Thorne shouted at Jon. Sweat dripped down Jon's face as he moved the large blade in his left hand and swung at his opponent. Grenn hopped back as Jon missed widely.
"Snow," Alliser Thorne's voice boomed, "You are-"
Jon grew angrier and angrier with each name that the commander called him. Eventually it just became too much. He shoved his blade in its sheath and turned away. The snow crunched under his boots and his breath came out in short, angry whisps that mixed with the cold air. Ghost was waiting right behind the door to Jon's room. Jon didn't even do so much as ruffle the fur behind Ghost's ear; he just stormed over to his bed and sat down. He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed. Ghost whimpered from the corner, one of the few times that he had ever made a sound.
"I'm sorry," Jon said huskily, "To me, Ghost."
The white wolf obeyed, coming and standing directly in front of Jon's knees. Jon reached out and stroked his wolf's soft white fur as he looked into his red eyes. The direwolf in front of him was his best friend, life saver, and a reminder of the family he had left. The Direwolf is the sigil of the Stark house. And his own wolf had been found almost two years ago along with those of the rest of his siblings. Jon nearly didn't have Ghost, but then a guard of Lord Eddard's had spied the albino bastard and handed him off to Jon. An outcast for an outcast.
"I'm angry with myself," Jon confessed. He looked longingly at his right hand- the burn scars still visible and his flesh still tight. Images from that night loomed in front of him, just as they did in his dreams.
Ice blue eyes. Hands black as coal. And a body that would not die. Jon could still feel the stiff, blackened fingers forcing their way into his throat- forcing away the breath which kept him alive. The feel of the fire licking his fingers as he sought to destroy the monster was still there too. The man who had tended to his wounds said that they were called phantom pains- feeling the pain even long after it had occurred.
Jon re-gained use of his right hand, but swinging the large blade given to him by Lord Mormont with that hand still didn't feel as right as before. He decided to use his left hand for the time being, in order to strengthen his fighting skills and the chances of surprising an opponent in battle.
But talking about it and actually doing so were quite different. The large blade, Longclaw, was one which he would've had to practice with using his strong hand; but training his weak one to wield a sword meant for a many-years skilled warrior was proving to be impossible. Jon tried to work past the pain, pain was something that he could handle, but that was proving difficult too.  Sometimes the flesh was so taught that he couldn't even close his fist completely, and other times the newly grown flesh was so fresh that it tore from all his practice. It was seeming to Jon that maybe the Gods didn't want him to fight. And it was that one simple thought that gave fruit to a dozen more complex ones. Was it because of what he might find beyond the Wall? Or because he would die out there? Maybe someone was coming to the Night's Watch to attack the sworn brothers and Jon was needed here.
There was a soft knock at his door. Ghost twitched his ear before leaning against Jon's knee, as if saying that the person on the other side of the door was no threat.
The door opened inwards and the round face of Samwell Tarley peered around the frame.
"There you are, Jon," his breath turned to fog in the cold air. It was definitely getting much colder here than when Jon had first arrived at the Wall.
"What is it, Sam?" Jon asked a little too coldly.
"I heard about your practice with Grenn and Ser Alliser Thorne," his friend said timidly as he closed the door to Jon's room, "You stormed off, Jon. Are you alright?"
"Fine," Jon sighed, "I would be better if people stopped asking me how I was though."
"Oh, yes. Of course," Sam sat himself in the chair at the opposite wall of Jon's small room, "You mustn't give up hope, Jon. You're the best swordsman I know; if anyone can teach themself how to fight with their weak hand its you."
Jon Snow tried to seem as optimistic as his friend was but, truth be told, he just wasn't. It was as if nothing had been going the way Jon wanted it to lately- the practicing, his brother's revenge on the Lannisters for his father's death, the attempt at running from The Night's Watch...
And there wasn't a single thing he could do about either of those things except to just wait. And patience wasn't a virtue of which the Gods had seen fit to bless Jon with.
"Lord Mormont is asking for you," Sam said meekly.
Jon's grey eyes flicked to Sam's face. This was it, Jon sighed and stood up, the Old Bear was undoubtedly going to ask of Jon's improvements before telling him that he would await their return to this side of the Wall while the rest of them ventured off to the far North to find his uncle.
Ghost followed dutifully at Jon's side as they approached the guard outside of Mormont's room.
"Stay, Ghost," Jon said huskily as he walked into the Commander's quarters.
He was seated at his great oak desk scrawling a dozen different letters.
Jon cleared his throat, "My Lord, you wished to see me?"
"Ah, yes. Come in, Snow."
"Snow, snow, snow," his raven squawked as it walked over to the Lord's right shoulder.
"How is your hand, Jon?"
"Fine, my Lord," he replied as he flexed his scarred, and useless, right hand.
"And your practice? How does it fare?"
"As well as it can when I'm being re-taught how to fight." That was perhaps an over statement of Jon's latest feats. Images of how clumsy his footing was and how over estimated his swing was from his earlier practice clouded his mind.
"It doesn't sound as if its going well."
"And I'm sure Ser Alliser told you that," Jon snapped, his temper flaring. Ever since he first set foot on these grounds Jon had always found a quarrel with the elder trainer. Everything that Thorne said or did rubbed Jon the wrong way and vice versa as well.
"In his own blunt way, yes, he did tell me."
Jon didn't want to believe it but he also wasn't shocked that Alliser Thorne would do this to him.
"Snow," Lord Mormont snapped, "I need to know where you stand with your training. We're going beyond the Wall into dangerous, unknown land and I need someone beside me who can fight- someone who I can trust to tell me the truth always."
"Truth, truth, truth," the black raven cawed, staring down Jon.
"I can do it. You gave me this blade for a reason," Jon urged, clasping the handle of Longclaw.
"I did.  But you can't fight every battle, Jon. Fight this one when you are not ready and you might not ever fight another one." The Lord's eyes were soft, trying to urge Jon to just accept his fate.
But strong headed Jon Snow would not have any of it. He switched to a new approach- what could be to logic.
"My uncle is out there," Jon growled, "I should be the one to help find him. He's my blood."
"Does it matter who finds him so long as he is brought back to us?"
"But you need Ghost to track him. We could get you to him faster," Jon pleaded. He was almost starting to feel pathetic from it.
"I'm sorry, Jon. We'll talk about it in another few days."
Jon took a deep breath and stuck out his chest, "It sounds like you've already decided."
Lord Mormont slammed his hands on his desk, causing his raven to take flight.
"I have," he thrust a pile of letters towards Jon. The one on top was opened and Jon read the signature: Maester Luwin. He gazed at Mormont in confusion before looking at the name scrawled on the top sealed letter- Robb Stark, King of The North.
"I'm going back to-"
"Winterfell. Yes. You leave before dawn on the morrow, Snow."



"Good luck, Grenn," Jon clasped his friend's shoulder. Had Jon been traveling beyond the wall, Grenn would have been with him. He had been feeling a mix of things since Lord Mormont told him that he would be returning home for a short while. He was angry that he wouldn't be traveling beyond the Wall as was his rightful place, but he was also happy to be returning back to the walls of his home, Winterfell. But one seemed just as dangerous as the other. If Lady Stark didn't know of his plans to visit Winterfell, his stay would be colder than the nights farther North than anybody could survive.
"You too, Jon," Grenn gave a weak smile as Jon mounted his horse. He clicked his tongue and spurred his horse into a gallop. Just as he passed through the gates, Ghost darted out of the forest with blood on his muzzle. Jon's horse side stepped the albino creature and snorted in complaint. Behind him, Jon could hear Grenn's uproarious laughter. He snapped the reins and the beast under him took off down the well traveled path.

Jon was poised behind a bush, taking shallow breaths and preparing to fire at a deer feasting on shrubbery. Just as he was about to release the arrow, a streak of white flashed in front of him. A few strangled cries escaped the doe as Ghost tore at her neck and clawed at her belly.
"Ghost!" Jon complained, "I almost shot you!" The beast didn't pay any attention to Jon's frustration. "You get all the good stuff," Jon grumbled. He heard a loud crack as his Direwolf broke the doe's neck and then dragged her to Jon's feet. Licking the blood from his muzzle as he sat back, waiting to be praised.
Jon scowled for another moment before he laughed and rubbed his friend behind the ears, "Good boy, Ghost." Jon dragged the deer back to the fire he had made and started skinning it. Before he tied it over the fire to roast, he chopped off a limb and gave it to Ghost. The wolf busied himself tearing muscle, flesh and sinew alike from the skinned limb. Jon ripped the cooked flesh from the bone and placed it in his mouth, chewing hungrily. Whatever he didn't finish he gave to Ghost who devoured it all from the pride that he had killed the animal- not from the fact that he was hungry.
Jon and Ghost fell asleep beside the fire, watching the smoke drift up to the starred heavens. While Ghost slept in peace, Jon wondered what kind of welcome awaited him at Winterfell now that Lord Eddard was dead and gone.

As the gate opened and Jon trotted through it, he saw Maester Luwin and his younger brother, Bran, awaiting his arrival. A grin broke out on Jon's face as he sent his horse into a gallop.
"Jon!" Bran yelled excitedly.
"Bran, how are you?" Jon asked as he clasped his brother's shoulder and then pulled him close for a hug.
"Fine. I'm happy you're back!"
"You look well," Jon commented as he hopped down from his horse and the stable master led it away.
"Jon Snow," Maester Luwin said stiffly.
"Maester Luwin," Jon nodded his welcome, "Its good to see you again." He handed the Maester a letter and the Maester walked off, chains around his neck clinking lightly.
"Jon, I have so much to tell you! I missed you! How is it at the Wall? What's it like?"
"I have business to take care of first, but after that I promise we will talk, Bran." Jon clasped his brothers neck playfully before stalking towards the main hall.
Ghost's nails clicked against the stone floor as he followed alongside Jon. The large wood doors parted to an empty stone belly. Fire bounced off the walls and the sound of pages turning echoed loudly through the room. Jon added the sound of his boots against the floor to this quiet melody.
His brother, Robb Stark, looked up. His brother had definitely aged but he still looked just as much a Tully as ever.
"Snow," his brother greeted him.
Grey Wind's head lifted from the floor and he trotted over to meet his brother. The two nipped each other playfully.
"My Lord," Jon bowed slightly, "Or is it King of The North now?"
Robb laughed with Jon.
A throat cleared and Jon looked over to Catelyn Stark. She seemed to have aged years, weighed down by the sadness of her beloved husband's death.
"Lady Stark, my sincerest apologies," Jon bowed to her.
"Thank you," she said politely.
"Robb, I bring you these from the Wall," Jon crossed the long stone floor and relinquished the letters to his brother's hand.
"How long are you with us, Snow?" Robb asked absentmindedly as he tore open the seals.
"Until my Lord Commander says otherwise and until the Lord of Winterfell feels my stay is over."
"Your welcome to stay, Jon. Your room is just as you left it. And Bran will be grateful for the company."
Jon bowed in thanks. The doors behind him opened. Ghost stood up from his brother's embrace and looked towards the person who had entered.
"Ah, there you are," Robb called.
Jon turned around to see the light from outside silhouetting a woman. She stepped closer and Jon took in her wavy brown hair and large brown eyes, her grim but slightly shocked face. She stood tall and entered in an burgundy gown. She was the most beautiful girl whom Jon had ever seen.
The girl gasped and brought her hand to cover her mouth.
"Good grief, Jon! Your appearance has frightened the lady. You should've thought to freshen yourself up, you look like a savage," Robb chastised.
"Brooke, this is my brother, Jon Snow. Jon, this is Lady Brooke Frey. My fiancée."
Jon turned back to look at Lady Frey, her brown eyes were soft and her lips were quirked into a sort of smile. He couldn't believe that someone so beautiful had come from Walder Frey.
"My apologies, My Lady," he bowed low to her.
"Its fine," she breathed. Her voice was low and raspy and beautiful and two perfect dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled.
This wasn't the first time that he had wanted something his brother had- but now he wanted this girl more than he wanted acceptance as a child of Lord Eddard's.

Jon was in love.

But he was a Sworn brother of the Night's Watch- forbidden to love.

And even if he wasn't, he was in love with the one woman who he never would have been able to have.