Dagger In The Back

Now

Keeping a careful distance from the Lord of Bones, Jon trudged through the snow, all too aware of Ygritte's mocking gaze burning into his back, but he just ignored her, pulling the black furs of his cloak tighter around his shoulders instead. He had set his face against all his father had taught him, all but turning traitor, and if he looked back now, he would be lost. So he bowed his head, trying to ignore his cracked conscience, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, each step taking him away from all he was and would be.

Soon the sound of voices bled into the silence, making Jon raise his head in surprise. As they crested the hill, the first signs of strange civilization started to appear; a single pillar of smoke rising above a series of makeshift domed dwellings made of hide and branches, surrounded by various animal carcasses hung out for cleaning and cooking. This was life beyond the Wall; ruthless and raw, with winter's blade at your throat, the cold cutting into the flesh.

Without warning, the ground began to shake, making Jon slow to a confused stop, only to see a giant striding towards them, shouldering several tree trunks for firewood, its vast body wrapped in grey furs. For Jon, such beings only existed in the stories Old Nan had told of grumpkins and snarks. He took a terrified step back, unable to fathom how such fables could be true, accepting the existence of the Others but not this. As he did, it was only to collide with somebody unseen, Jon being knocked sideways, Ygritte grabbing his arm, stopping him from falling facefirst onto the snow.

"Watch your step, wench," Ygritte spat, making Jon dazedly raise his head, only to see his assailant appeared to be almost made of ice, her face as pale as parchment, her long pallid limbs curiously exposed to the elements. "You nearly knocked his Lordship here onto his arse!"

"The Crow should watch where he unfolds his wings," the girl said coldly, her dark gaze travelling over Jon with untrammelled disgust, before turning and leaving, slinging a bow over her bare shoulder as she went.

"Fuckin' wight bitch," Ygritte hissed, spitting on the snow, contempt making her lips curl downwards.

"What?"

"Freya Rayder," the Lord of Bones said lazily, "half ice, half flesh. Winter in woman form."

"Rayder?" Jon said, brow furrowing.

"She's Mance's niece," Ygritte explained, glancing carelessly over at the giant, "s'only that stoppin' her from gettin' a dagger between the ribs."

"You don't really believe she's a wight, do you?" Jon said scornfully, only for a note of trepidation to creep into his voice as he followed Ygritte's glance.

"Wight or Walker, it doesn't matter," Ygritte said firmly, "mark my words, she's one of them."

As Jon studied the giant, he remembered Old Nan's other tales; of how the Wildling women lay with the Others during the time of the Long Night, siring terrible half human children, reminding him of Craster leaving his sons in the snow for the dead to take, flesh turned to ice, blue-white eyes blinking into existence, conflicting with the memory of Freya's scornful dark gaze. Some of Old Nan's tales might be true, but life could not possibly mate with death, birthing beings caught betwixt heartbeats.

"She was born in bloodshed, on the battlefield," Ygritte said quietly, reading the disbelieving expression in Jon's eyes like a manuscript, "Mance cuttin' her from her dyin' mother's womb. Nobody knows who her father is or was. She walks with winter as an old friend" -

- "There's the dead and there's the living," Jon cut across her, "and then there's them – but there's nothing more than them. That's just stories to scare small children with on cold dark nights."

"Did the stories of the giants scare you too, Jon Snow?" Ygritte said mockingly, not missing how he was still staring at the giant who had now dumped its load onto the snow, making the ground shake again.

Jon just bit his lip, his hand unconsciously finding the hilt of his sword, his heart now thudding like a drum beneath the black.

"I wouldn't stare too long," Ygritte said, knocking his hand aside, "they're shy."

Jon did a double-take at her words, making Ygritte throw her head back, laughter escaping her lips.

"Word of warnin', Crow," Ygritte said, placing particular emphasis on the inflection of 'Crow', making Jon flinch, "when they stop bein' shy, they get angry. So I'd watch where you walk, just in case the last thin' you see is the sole of a big boot comin' down on your thick skull."

"Enough," the Lord of Bones said, barging Ygritte aside, tired of her loose tongue, "bring the bastard forth. I'm done with freezin' my arse off out here. My buttocks are just beggin' for a nice warm fire."

Rolling her eyes, Ygritte shoved Jon on, making him stumble. As she strode ahead, Jon shot the giant one last nervous glance over his shoulder before following Ygritte and the Lord of Bones, all too aware each step might be his last. Whilst they walked, a cry of 'Crow' rippled through the camp, several stones suddenly sailing past, one catching Jon on the shoulder, sending him staggering sideways, the sight amusing Ygritte no end, before she just as suddenly struck the closest of their assailants with her staff - a young boy, tousle-haired and taunting - knocking him onto his behind.

Still grinning, Ygritte then led Jon towards the largest of the domed dwellings, the Lord of Bones girding his sizable rump in anticipation of the warm fire within. Barging the Lord of Bones aside this time, Ygritte went inside first, Jon hesitating before ducking under the low-hanging entrance after her, his eyes adjusting with some difficulty to the darkness, rubbing the back of his head as he went, ruffling up his dark curls.

"There's no need to primp, Crow," a harsh voice said, making Jon glance up, only to see several men standing scattered amongst in the shadows, with another sitting before the fire, his back turned to them, repeatedly wringing and warming his hands in front of the flames. There was also a woman present, standing in a far corner away from the others, her face obscured by onyx light, her thin frame wreathed with gloom. Then the man who had spoken stepped forwards, the dim light striking his weathered face like a blow, blue eyes cold above his red beard, his powerful build exaggerated by the swell of furs slung across his shoulders. "Why have you brought this bird into our camp?" the man asked the Lord of Bones, barely sparing Ygritte a glance.

"We killed his friends," the Lord of Bones replied roughly. "Thought you might want to question this one."

"What would we want with a baby Crow?" the man said, brow furrowing.

"This baby Crow killed Qhorin Halfhand," Ygritte hissed, making the man glance sharply at her, suddenly having his undivided attention. "He wants to be one of us," she continued, stepping forth, exploiting his attention, "to turn traitor against those who take the black."

The man studied Jon, his blue eyes suddenly blazing, Jon fighting his first instinct to seize his sword hilt again. "That half-handed cunt killed my friends who were twice your size," he snapped, "so how be it that a bird may take down a beast?"

"A bird can peck out the eyes of such a beast," Jon said coldly, standing his ground, making the other man by the fire lower his hands to his lap. "Victors dwell in many disguises."

The man's gaze travelled over Jon again, his jaw tightening. "What is your name, boy?" he asked abruptly.

"Jon Snow."

There was then a long silence, Jon staring at the man, who stared at him in turn, something akin to anarchy sparking in his blue gaze, sending a sudden shock through Jon's heart, making him suddenly realise who and what the man was.

"Your Grace," Jon choked out, sweeping an awkward bow before kneeling down before the man, who just looked at him as if he were mad.

"Your Grace?" the man said in disbelief, making Jon raise his head, looking bewildered. "Did you hear that?" he then said, turning to the other men who were roaring with laughter at Jon's mistake. "From now on, you better kneel every time I fart."

"Stand boy," the man by the fire said to the still startled Jon, getting to his own feet, "and for the love of the old gods, lower your bow, Freya," he fired at the woman in the far corner, making Jon whirl around, only to observe his assailant from earlier with an arrow nocked and aimed in the direction of his backside, "we don't want to turn our princelin's arse into a pin cushion."

Unperturbed, Freya stepped forth as her uncle then hauled Jon to his feet, lowering her bow as she moved, ignoring Ygritte's antagonistic gaze.

"As you can see, winter is fierce but our women are fiercer," Mance Rayder said to Jon, looming over him, sending both Freya and Ygritte a warning glance. "We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall, Crow," he then said, his face thoughtful as he studied Jon, his green gaze dwelling on Jon's black furred cloak for a long moment. "So you're Ned Stark's bastard?" he asked, making Jon instantly stiffen, the old insult never losing its sting. "Leave us Lord of Bones," he said suddenly, not waiting for Jon to answer, turning away from him in turn, "warm your fat arse by some other fire."

As the Lord of Bones took his leave, Ygritte lingered, before reluctantly following, casting Jon a glance over her shoulder as she went, looking as if she might say something before thinking better of it.

"The girl likes you," Mance observed, before glancing at Freya, who stood there, ready to draw the darkness around her like a cloak again, "unlike this one of mine. His pretty face not to your pleasin', princess?"

Freya just looked coldly at her uncle before turning and retreating into her corner again, setting her bow aside as she sat down.

"Why was she going to put an arrow in me?" Jon asked Mance incredulously, losing all caution, making Mance raise an amused eyebrow at him. "All I did was kneel."

"What did I say, boy?" Mance said. "We do not kneel before anyone beyond the Wall. The gesture itself is almost heresy. Do not do it again. Our ways are not your ways. If you wish to become one of us, then you must learn our laws."

Jon bit his lip, not knowing how to answer this, knowing he couldn't, sensing traps within Mance's sentences.

"Don't look so nervous, baby Crow," the man with the red beard drawled, "this is not the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls. But if you value your tiny pecker, I would avoid Ygritte altogether." He snapped his teeth for extra emphasis, making Jon flinch, Mance rolling his eyes.

"This fool you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane," Mance said, clasping Tormund's shoulder with a large hand, making him stagger slightly, "the best of my best men."

Jon just looked at Mance, knowing that behind the friendliness were blades waiting to cut him down like winter slaughtered summer.

Shrugging off Mance's hand, Tormund then circled Jon, assessing him from every angle, looking unimpressed. "I just can't believe this pup killed Halfhand," he said in disbelief, before suddenly slapping Jon across the backside, making him start violently.

"It is no matter," Mance said quietly, something in his face stopping Jon from retaliating, as if Tormund's bizarre behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary, "Halfhand was our enemy and now he is dead. I am glad he's dead." To Jon's surprise, he held out his hand, Jon hesitating before taking it, Mance suddenly yanking him forwards, his grip like death. "He was my brother once," Mance hissed, "back when he had a whole hand." Jon tore his own hand away. "What are you, Crow?" Mance asked, looming over Jon again. "Why do you drag your dark wings here?"

"My Lord Commander sent me to Halfhand for seasoning," Jon said simply, keeping his cool, despite being baited.

"Why?"

"He wants me to lead one day."

"Yet here you are," Mance said with a frown, "standin' before me as a traitor – kneelin' in front of the King-Beyond-The-Wall" -

- "If I'm a traitor, then you are too," Jon said, making Freya rise to her feet, unable to stand this insult to her kin.

Mance halted Freya with his worn hand. "Why do you want to join us, Jon Snow?" he asked curiously.

Jon glanced around at the others before dropping his gaze to the ground, looking strangely self-conscious. "I... I want to be free," he said with some difficulty, struggling to create a credible facade, knowing his whole life hinged on a lie.

"No," Mance said, shaking his head, "I don't think so." There was a silence, only broken by the crackling of the dancing flames. "I think what you want most of all is to be a hero," Mance then said, face oddly thoughtful again. "So I'll ask you one last time, Jon Snow, why do you want to join us?" As Mance spoke, the other men stepped out of the shadows, armed with axes and brandishing blades, Freya stepping forth as well, her hand resting on the hilt of the dagger on her hip. The threat was for all to know now, Jon tilting his head high, knowing he had been right not to be fooled by Mance's display of apparent equanimity.

"We stopped at Craster's Keep on the way North," Jon then said slowly, not allowing himself to be intimidated, holding Mance's gaze, "I saw..."

"You saw what?"

"I saw Craster take his own baby boy and leave it in the woods," Jon said, glancing involuntarily at Freya. "I saw what took it."

Mance also glanced at Freya, suddenly aware of everyone within spitting distance, reinforcing the threat to his family evoked by Jon's words, the Crow's very glance an accusation. "You're tellin' me you saw one of them?" he said, his nails digging into his palms. "So how would that make you desert your Black Brothers? Or were you the only one to piss yourself?"

"I told the Lord Commander," Jon said coldly, "but he already knew."

Mance just stared down at him, green eyes glittering oddly, so different from Freya's dark as night gaze.

"Thousands of years ago, the First Men battled the Night Walkers," Jon said, his voice cracking, "and defeated them. I want to fight for the side that fights for the living." Another silence span out, the conviction in his words lending truth to the lie, Jon fiercely wishing to fight the dead even as he wanted to wage war against the Wildlings. Mance just stood there, still staring at him, mouth a mocking line. "Did I come to the right place?" Jon then said, his jaw tightening, silently daring Mance Rayder to defy him, as if he had an army behind him instead of before him.

Mance studied Jon for a long moment, his gaze taking Jon in from top to toe, not missing anything, from the smears of dirt staining his skin to the tears in his tunic. "We'll need to find you a new cloak," he said abruptly. "That black is very unflatterin' to the complexion."

"Black was always my colour," Jon said dryly.

But if your strife strikes at your sleep
Remember spring swaps snow for leaves...