Shouting rages about their figures in the depths of the Castle Black hall, the elections bringing the worst and best to the table as Jon tries to sink into his seat, helped by the options splayed before him. Sam stares at him with wide and wild eyes, as shocked as Jon by the king's intention, asking with a harsh whisper, "He'll make you a Stark with the stroke of a pen?"
Jon nods at his friend, although his eyes stay firm in their embrace of the wooden table before him, the offer reminding him of all that he had and all that he lost since leaving Winterfell. Intentionally, he verbally reminisces, "It's the first thing I ever remember wanting. I'd daydream that my father would ask the King, and just like that I would never be the bastard of Winterfell again."
"You deserve this," Sam relents, Jon's eyes jumping up to the other man's with a hint of surprise to which the bookworm smiles. "You do. I couldn't be happier for you."
But all the same, Jon knows his duty to his family, shaking his head as he rebukes, "I'm going to refuse him."
"But you'd be Lord of Winterfell..." Sam's eyes reflect the confusion that Jon could expect from any outsider.
"I swore a vow to the Night's Watch. If I don't take my own word seriously, what sort of Lord of Winterfell would I be?" Jon asks, and Sam's eyes reflect this sudden understanding, although he can still see the envy in the offer made to Jon. "And besides, it belongs to Sansa."
Jon sits mutely as the election turns about his form, with men propositioning and Alliser Thorne appearing to be victorious as he grins crookedly. The bastard of Winterfell tries to keep his eyes away from the man and drone the rest out as he focuses on his breathing and the politics he thought were lost in the south. And though he'd never wish for it, and his eyes plead with Sam's to keep silent--please do not do this--before Jon can so much as shove Sam down, his own name's been thrown into the ring and the eyes of Alliser Thorne are then stuck on Jon.
"Whilst Lord Janos was hiding with the women and children, Jon Snow was leading," Sam begins as Jon stands to his feet, not looking like the leader he needs to be if he wants to win, and suddenly understanding all that he can gain from this position. "Ser Alliser fought bravely, it is true. And when he was wounded, it is Jon who saved us. He took charge of the wall's defense. He killed the Magnar of the Thenns. He went north to deal with Mance Rayder, knowing it almost certainly meant his own death. He has allies in the south who will prove vital in supplying more men for the Long Night. He led the mission to avenge Lord Commander Mormont. Mormont himself chose Jon to be his steward. He saw something in Jon, and now we've all seen it, too. He may be young, but he's the commander we turned to when the night was darkest."
A match is lit in Jon's veins as the men about the room cheer loudly like a campaign to rid the world of all the evils north of the Wall. The bastard's shoulders shift into firm formation and his neck straightens to meet the dictating eyes of Alliser Thorne from across the room, strong and certain like the Stark blood he carries. And though it's been many years since he realized the strategy, Jon's suddenly struck by Gabrielle's intent to connect with him, given his predictable future role as the Lord Commander. At the time, he had hated her for using his friendship, but now he understands it in simpler terms--she saw strength in him that no one else did at the time and recognized his worth when he thought he had none.
"I can't argue with any of that," Alliser responds to Sam's rather perfect speech, standing to his feet as his eyes beat into Jon's. "But who does Jon Snow want to command? The Night's Watch or the wildlings? Everyone knows he loved a wildling girl and spoke with Mance Rayder many times. What would have happened in that tent between those two old friends if Stannis's army hadn't come along? We all saw him put the King-Beyond-the-Wall out of his misery. Do you want to choose a man who has fought the wildlings all his life, or a man who makes love to them? Do you want a man devoted to his Watch, or a man devoted to his kingslaying friend?"
Jon does not respond to the taunts, even as they brand him with a vengeance to protect all those he holds dear, those that were verbally assaulted by a corrupt man. But with his aging, Jon knows it's better to ignore the man, watching solemnly and with great emotion as Maester Aemon takes the silence for the next move. The old man stands, and gestures to the voting tools, "It is time."
Minutes later, when Maester Aemon casts the winning vote in Jon's favor and the men cheer in great hope for the Stark son, the bastard of Winterfell becomes something more than just a bastard or a brother or a friend or a betrayer. He becomes the strength behind the Northern front, the leader that will take them through the Long Night, and the man that will hold the tool to defeat the Night King, even as the Winter rises and basks them in darkness.
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G—
So much has happened between our letters—most of it for the better, in a surprising turn of events. When all hope was lost in my talk with Mance Rayder and I was preparing to make my sacrifice, the man I never expected to contact, nonetheless see, rode upon the Wildling camp and slaughtered their soldiers. It was Stannis Baratheon and the remains of his army—not large and now contained entirely in Castle Black. He has brought with him his family, his Hand (Ser Davos Seaworth), and the Red Woman. She burned Mance when he refused to bend the knee, and now the Free Folk have scattered. But burning a man—I could not handle such a thing when he started to scream in agony. I shot an arrow through his heart to save him and the Free Folk the pain—and myself, in a self-centered action. Of course, Stannis was discontent, but he still proceeded to offer me the title of "Stark" if I gathered the North for his army. I could not do it—the one thing I prayed for as a child—since my duty is at the Wall, and Sansa is still alive.
I've been named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the youngest in a long time and a mantle I do not think I can fulfill. Alliser tried to turn the men against me by mentioning my loyalties to you—but he forgets our ranks are made of lawbreakers, men much like you (which I say in the kindest of ways). You are a strength I cling to—and I shall never forgo my alliance to you even if I should fall. I'd likely haunt you through your journeys, if only to lend my spiritual wisdom.
I look forward to seeing you in the unknown future, as I've come to miss you as much as I've ever missed my family. I send your companions my dearest thanks for keeping you safe (even if you can take care of yourself).
I've come across Summer in my journeys North, so he rests with Ghost and keeps him company. And as for Ghost, he was never this unruly before you came along and stole his devotion from me. You are a model of perfection and misbehavior, so I entirely blame you for his stroke of MIA.
J
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"I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days." His words harmonize with the lips of Margaery Tyrell before hers press into his and they share their first kiss in the Sept of Baelor, which will prove the death of both in the end.
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Sansa's well-constructed mask quakes with the information, and she's tempted to throw off the facade to reveal the child she left behind--pleading and wanting. But with this new identity--an identity Littlefinger can trust to be prudent--Sansa knows that she must hide her weaknesses, even as he tries to force her into a marriage with an enemy in her home. She supposes that--in the end--it is what she wanted: to return to Winterfell. But in the same boat, she does not wish to kiss or caress any traitor to her family, but murder them in their beds before taking back her birthright.
"You're not marrying Roose Bolton," Littlefinger appeases the stiff blue eyes of the girl he's come to love for her intelligence and likeness to Catelyn Stark. "No, you'll be marrying his son and heir, Ramsay. One day he'll be Warden of the North and you will be his Lady."
Sansa goes to protest the mere union, but that previous thought--revenge--strikes her in the gut like the rapists did in King's Landing, and she's nodding to Littlefinger's plan like the doll she tries to be. The words of Gabrielle Baelish flash in her eye as she tries not to flinch as he kisses her forehead: take him as your husband, and then feed him to his death. And indeed, it proves to be the convincing factor in her decision--that she can avenge her family--as Littlefinger remounts his horse and she stares into the distance...at her home. She follows him soon after.
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The door swings open into the room of the Lord Commander, and Jon's permanent quarters since a week prior in the wasteland of the North. With ink smudged into his right hand and his hair laying behind his ears, it is clear to the visitors that Jon Snow's been busy with paperwork, frustration clinging to his shoulders beside the spirit of deep thought.
"Lord Commander," Stannis Baratheon offers as he enters the room, Jon's head rising to meet the man's eye as he stands and offers, "Your Grace."
The king turns to the small boy at the door whose eyes echo a deep stubbornness that will lead to trouble in the following years, invoking to the boy, "I'd like to speak alone."
"Olly is my steward now, as I was Lord Commander Mormont's. I want him to attend my meetings, to learn from men with experience. One day, he might command," Jon reveals to Stannis with eyes that reflect a deep compassion for Olly, something that Stannis wants to warn him against but decides is rather petty with intent.
"Very well," Stannis relents as they take a seat at the desk of the new Lord Commander, the king's eyes shifting with intelligent analysis of the quarters and noticing a stack of letters on a corner of Jon's desk. He remarks, "You have a good hand for writing. Penmanship is said to be the key to leadership."
"Oh, these aren't mine," Jon responds, and Stannis's eyes narrow at the small smirk on Jon's lip and nervous quiver in his hand as he gently folds the letters and places them in the top drawer of his desk, shutting it closed. Stannis's eyebrows narrow, curious, before taking sudden recognition of whose letters those are, if only in recognition of the woman's handwriting.
His eyes turn to Jon who seems to have grown firm with the mantle of this new role, asking the pressing matter, "Have you considered my offer?"
"I have. And I thank you for it. You do me great honor," Jon reflects with a kind smile that Stannis recognizes as that of Ned Stark with all his foolish innocence. "All my life I wanted to be Jon Stark."
Not understanding, Stannis remarks, "Say the word, and you will be."
"But I have to refuse you," Jon drops with a sense of duty that Stannis should understand, given his likeness to the beheaded Stark of many years ago. "I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. My place is here."
But Stannis does not understand with the anger mounting in his veins, misunderstanding Jon's verbalized duty as something of ignorance, not intelligence. He almost hisses, "I'm giving you a chance to avenge your family. To take back the castle where you grew up. To rule the North."
"I wish I could fight beside you. Believe me, I do," Jon reminds him with a look of pity for Stannis's misunderstanding, something that the man thoroughly despises to have directed at him. And all the same, Jon's hiding his irritation at the man for assuming he is of little intelligence towards the possibilities--something too common in his youth and finally being changed in his new role. "But I swore a sacred vow at the Godswood. I pledged my life to the Night's Watch."
"You're as stubborn as your father," Stannis huffs with irritation, but with an understanding and slight appreciation for the characteristics of Ned Stark in this man, not something he wishes for at this time. "And as honorable."
"I can imagine no higher praise," Jon practically taunts the campaigning king.
"I didn't mean it as praise. Honor got your father killed," Stannis reminds him of the truth Jon knows from Gabrielle's letters, as the man stands and Jon's forced to follow. "But if your mind's made up, I won't try to persuade you."
Jon's brown eyes stare into the grey of the King, unsteady with this development but now mounted by his tasks and worries as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, as he feels forced to question, "May I ask, Your Grace, how long you plan to stay at Castle Black?"
"Are you bored of us already?" the man spats.
"You saved us from Mance Rayder's army. We will never forget that," Jon is thankful in his approach, something he did not inherit from the Stark blood but somewhere else altogether. It's an expression Stannis does not completely understand, although the notion is forgotten as Jon continues, "But it's a question of survival. The Night's Watch can't continue to feed your men and the wildling prisoners indefinitely. Winter is coming."
Stannis almost sighs at those Stark words that make Jon appear more like his father with each moment. But even he, a southerner, notices the increased winds and snows bearing upon them with each week spent in this fortress, relating to Jon, "I know it. We march on Winterfell within the fortnight. Before the snows trap us here."
"And the wildlings?"
"They'd rather burn than fight for me, so be it. I leave their fate to you. You could execute them. That's the safest course," Stannis relates to Jon, and is happy to not see the boy flinch, although he provides the alternative, "Or you could see if this Tormund fellow is more willing to compromise than Mance ever was. I assume the brothers of the Night's Watch would rather see the wildlings dead."
"Most of the brothers, yes. There's little love for the Free Folk here," Jon relents as the eyes of Olly dig deep into his facade, the Lord Commander failing to notice.
"You're the Lord Commander. Your decision," Stannis almost shrugs, turning on his heel and beginning to leave as Olly opens the door, and then he stops. His head twists back to Jon stiffly, incapable of hating this Stark son even with the denial. So, he warns him, "You have many enemies in Castle Black. Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere? Give him command of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."
"I heard it was best to keep your enemies close," Jon relates the insipid thought.
And Stannis has to scoff at that nonsense, "Lady Baelish mustn't have said that, as whoever did apparently had no enemies."
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"Ser Alliser," Jon calls from his perch above the hall in Castle Black, the removed man's blue eyes casting up to gaze in stubborn hatred at Jon, sound turning to silence. "You have more experience than any other soldier at Castle Black. You proved your valour many times over, while defending the Wall from the wildling attack. I name you First Ranger."
A shout of approval sounds from one and then many more at the rather surprised look on Alliser's face. Edd and Sam share a look at the absent notice of the others, equally wondering if Jon's potentially suicidal to place Alliser in such a position. But all the same, Jon's not there for democratic proceedings of opinion, then turning to the man beside Thorne, Janos Slynt. His voice loud, Jon commands, "Lord Janos. I'm giving you command of Greyguard."
"Greyguard is a ruin," Janos scoffs in a sorry state of misunderstanding and ignorance to the world of politics, even after his time in King's Landing.
"Yes, the fort is in a sorry state. Restore it as best you can. First Builder Yarwyck can spare ten of his--"
But Janos is not so inclined to hear hope above his irritated anger, "I was charged with the defense of King's Landing when you were soiling your swaddling clothes. Keep your ruin."
Sounds range from shocked surprise to deepset irritation for Janos Slynt, shouts echoing and people shuffling in their seat. Hearing enough, Sam calls for their silence--and is paid in thanks by Jon, as the Lord Commander almost growls, "You mistake me, my Lord. That was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and armour, say your farewells, and ride for Greyguard."
The man seems to have a penchant for suicide--much like Jon--as he stands to his feet at the table, red casting his face in angered proclamation, "I will not go meekly off to freeze and die! Give it to one of the fools who cast a stone for you. I will not have it. Do you hear me, boy? I will not have it!"
"Are you refusing to obey my order?" the Lord Commander asks with steep confirmation that promises punishment but offers forgiveness much like his father. It seems rather fair to the rest as their heads turn to face Janos Slynt who's so enraptured with fury that he cannot understand the warning in those brown eyes for what it is.
"You can stick your order up your bastard arse!" Sounds of deep set shock resound about the room as a rather pretentious smirk sets itself on Janos's face and Alliser grins with victory.
But with ignorance comes punishment for the traitors of his leadership, turning to some rangers with the command, "Take Lord Janos outside. Olly, bring me my sword."
The scoffs of Janos turn to nothing less than uncertainty as Olly grabs at the valyrian steel sword and turns to Jon in due acceptance of his command. From about the room, friends of Jon Snow stand to their feet, and Alliser Thorne gives Janos a contemptuous glare for leading them into this fray in the first place. But all the same, as Edd tries to approach Janos, the First Ranger steps in his way with the rather insurmountable height and hate for these men, a deepset thought in his eye. Jon watches it worriedly--and wonders if he's made a mistake with Alliser--before Alliser's eyebrows arch and he moves from the pathway, letting Janos be swept away by Edd and the others.
"You cannot do this! Get your hands off me!" Janos shouts loudly as the men tow him outdoors, the crowd following with eager anticipation of what will happen next. "Scum, all of you! If the boy thinks he can frighten me, he's mistaken. Yes, very mistaken."
Wood thunks on wood as a chopping block is placed upon the platform outside, Janos being dragged up the stairs closer to it as he faultily forgets of Ned Stark's prerogative to behead disobeyers of the Night's Watch. He continues his charade of shouting, "A disgrace! I have friends, important friends in the capital! You'll see!"
Jon's heart beats rapidly in his bones and lungs, breath paused as he takes that final sip of wine, stands, and marches out the door with the last of the Night's Watch. Grabbing his sword from Olly, he mounts the steps to the stand where Janos continues to struggle, now bowed over the chopping block. Around them, the company of the brothers and Stannis Baratheon watch with eager and contemptuous eyes for the plight before them, Jon unsheathing Longclaw with an arc of metallic light and placing it on the ground, standing firm like his father did many years prior.
"If you have any last words, my Lord, now is the time," Jon offers the man his final peace as those brown eyes stare unwaveringly upon the horrified and trembling Janos who's finally understanding his folly and Jon's intent.
"I was wrong. You're the Lord Commander! We all serve you. I 'm sorry. Not only for this, for all I've done and said. I was wrong!" Janos calls as Jon raises his sword above his head and eyes widen in all bodies across this sudden court. "My Lord, please, mercy! I protected the Mock Queen in the capital! I helped her! Mercy!" Jon stills at the man's regard toward Gabrielle, remembering how she never let anybody protect her, nonetheless a man she claimed to be an enemy. His heart accelerates in pace at the evident lie on this man's tongue, removing that small uncertainty in his actions as Janos continues his jaunt, "I'll go! I will! Please. I'm afraid. I've always been afraid."
The man sobs at Jon's feet, but the Lord Commander does not hesitate as he brings the sword down and levies the head of Janos Slynt off his body with the thunk of flesh and spattering of blood, hidden in black. Taking no time and showing no emotion, he hands his sword to a man nearby, turning to look at Stannis from afar as the king nods in agreement of his actions. But suddenly, with a look at the crowd, Jon regrets his decision to name Alliser Thorne First Ranger if this treachery is any sign--but there is no turning back, and that's one mark against him in the tally of fate.