Updated Jon Snow

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***

The Wildlings and the brothers of the Watch eyed Jon with disbelief, stepping in front of him. Ser Davos, walking beside Snow, stared anxiously into the bastard's face, trying to remember if there had always been that cruelty in his eyes. Ruthless, cold as ice. Jon clutched the hilt of his sword with one hand, the other resting on Ghost's withers. The direwolf walked silently beside his master, fangs baring menacingly.

Tormund stepped forward, standing in Snow's way. He, in turn, stared at the wildling, and Davos was surprised to realise that Jon did not recognise the red-bearded warrior. The ghost, sensing the man's displeasure, bared his fangs again, but Snow's face smoothed and he spoke:

- Tormund.

Was it Davos' imagination, or did the air really hum as Snow opened his mouth?

- They think you're a god,' Tormund said, nodding at the wildlings and the sentries.

- I'm not a god,' Jon snorted.

Tormund leaned close to Snow's ear and said something quietly, to which Jon laughed. Davos noticed the change in the young man again. Normally stiff, Snow felt more and more free every minute, and he was surrounded on all sides, but he only smiled and answered questions. Then his face became rigid again and in a cold voice he asked:

- Where are they?

It was not necessary to ask about whom he was talking about. The traitors awaited their fate in the cold cells, but they could hardly expect to be sentenced by the man they had killed. It was all the more gratifying to see the horror on their faces when they saw the resurrected Lord Commander. The traitors didn't understand how it was possible, but here stood Jon Snow, alive and well, and the sentries were already preparing the gallows.

He didn't give them the right to have the last word. He didn't ask why they did what they did. And he wasn't going to forgive them. And there was that cruelty in his eyes again, the cruelty that made his spine stiffen with ice. Jon Snow had never been more true to his name than he was now - there seemed to be nothing but snow in his soul.

- What's next, Jon? - Mournful Edd asked when retribution had been served and they had moved into the Lord Commander's chambers.

Snow was silent, standing at the window and gazing at the swaying bodies. It was the look of a man who had seen death more than once, who had looked it in the face. What did he see when he looked at the slain traitors? What did he feel at that moment?

- We need allies,' Snow finally answered. - We cannot stand alone.

- And where will we find them? - Tormund asked, scrutinising the bastard's face.

He too had noticed the change in the young man, Davos realised. So the Onion Knight had not imagined it; Snow had indeed lost something since his resurrection. Or maybe he had gained something. Or maybe he had always been like that, just hiding his true nature for the time being, but now he had finally decided to throw off the mask? Who can answer that?

- We sent out a call for help to every known house in Westeros,' Edd reminded him. - Only Stannis Baratheon responded. No one else.

- The Southerners don't care about us,' Tormund snorted contemptuously.

- And the North won't help us as long as the Boltons are in Winterfell,' Davos said. At what point did Jon Snow's war become his war? He didn't know.

- Then we have to overthrow the Boltons,' Jon said firmly. - We will have to unite the Nords, if necessary by fire and sword. The stakes are too high, and we have to play big.

- The Nords? - Tormund asked.

- Exactly,' Snow nodded. - No matter what anyone says, Northerners and Wildlings are one people. We have common ancestors who fought together against the Night King and won. If we are to survive, if we are to win, we need to become one again, one people. I think the name Nords suits us just fine.

- Nords,' the wildling repeated thoughtfully, as if rolling the word on his tongue. - I like it.

- Good,' Jon smiled. - I have a task for you.

- What is it?

- Convince the Free Folk to join us. Explain to them that we're doomed if we stand alone. The Boltons won't leave you alone, and when the Walkers come, and they will, they'll kill everyone. Us, you, anyone who gets in their way. If we don't unite, we die.

Tormund, listening intently to John, was surprised to find how deeply the words of the young raven boy, whom he had once wanted to kill with his own hands, penetrated his soul. He did not understand at what point Snow had changed so much. Had he really been so affected by death? What had he seen out there, beyond, from which there was no return? Why the power in the voice of one who had only recently risen from the dead?

And why would he want to obey his orders?

- Edd, you're to prepare the defences,' John continued to give orders. - I don't know how the walkers are going to get past the Wall, but I believe the Night King has a plan. He's not just raising every dead man he sees to stay behind the Wall. He's planning something for us.

- What are you going to do? - Tollett wondered.

- I'm going to start gathering allies,' Snow answered, then grimaced and pressed his fingers to his temples. He was silent for a moment, then continued. - We'll have to run all over the North and beg the lords for help. If they're not out of their minds and want to live, they'll have to help us. Together with them, we will defeat the Boltons and throw all our forces into the defence of the Wall. Tormund's right, there's no hope for the South. The Lords of the West or the Commonwealth don't care about us, they only care about fighting over the throne. I'm afraid we're on our own.

- There is one problem you may be missing,' Davos interjected. - The Lords of the North have no reason to listen to you. You're not a Stark, you're a Snow. A bastard.

- And I am also Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,' Jon countered. - It's from that position that I will speak to them. I don't care who rules Winterfell, our survival is at stake. I'd go to the Boltons, but somehow I don't think they'd listen to us. After I let the wildlings beyond the Wall, negotiation is probably impossible for us. Plus, the fact that we actually hosted Stannis plays against us. Gods only know what they think of us now.

- Wait, Jon, we need you here! - Edd exclaimed. - You're the Lord Commander, not me!

- After what happened, it would be better if I left here for a while,' John said. - What if someone gets the morbid idea to stab me in the heart with a dagger or two again? I don't feel like it, thank you. Besides, you don't know the Lords of the North, they probably won't even listen to you. You'll stay here, commanding the Watch in my name.

Mournful Edd didn't know what to say. He wasn't ready to command, he didn't know how to do it. When he realised the responsibility that would soon fall upon his shoulders, he shook his head.

- I know it's hard work,' John put his hand on his friend's shoulder, 'but I can only entrust it to you. This will be the last fight for the Night's Watch. Either we will win, and then our watch will be over, or we will die, and no one will remember us anymore. We have no margin for error. We are the shield that protects the realm of men.

- We are the Watchmen on the Wall,' Edd whispered.

- Exactly, my friend. It's time for the Watch to show what it's really for. Not to fight the wildlings, but to fight the dead.

***

The fear of the chase didn't let up until the towers of Castle Black loomed ahead. It seemed as if the horns would sound at any moment and the pursuers would come at them like a pack of wild dogs. Last time, Sansa had been saved only by the timely arrival of Lady Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. Ramsay will not make the same mistake the second time - he'll send as many men as it takes to kill the knight girl and her squire, and then they'll bring the fugitive back to her monster husband. He will find a way to punish the runaway wife.

- We're almost there,' Brienne tried to reassure her, seeing the girl's anxiety. - It won't be long now, and we'll be safe.

- What if John isn't there? - The thought crossed Sansa's mind for the first time since her escape. Ramsay might have lied about her half-brother to give her false hope and then take it away. That sort of bullying was in Bolton's nature. - What if he's dead?

- We don't know that,' Paine replied. - There's no point in guessing ahead.

- I agree with Podrick,' Brienne nodded. - We'll get there soon and find out for ourselves.

Sansa wanted very much to agree with Lady Tarth, but her fear of the unknown kept her on her toes. What awaited her at Castle Black? And even if Jon is alive and well, how will he greet her? Would he care about a half-sister who had always looked at him as if he were nothing? Will he not care about her troubles and send her back to Winterfell himself?

- You have to pull yourself together,' Sansa whispered faintly to herself. - Everything will be all right. Jon is just like his father. He won't leave me in the lurch.

Drawing strength from those words, she looked back at the castle, where the Wall loomed behind her. The ancient structure was enormous and made an incredible impression on the unprepared traveller, but, strangely enough, Sansa didn't care about the Wall. She cared about more important things, and Jon Snow was at the centre of them. I wonder if someone had told the late Catelyn Stark that her daughter would seek help from a bastard she hated so much, would she have treated Jon better?

The moment the castle gates opened, Sansa nearly lost her breath. Fear gripped her throat with an iron hand. If her journey was in vain... She would rather kill herself, but she would not return to the Boltons alive. No way in hell.

The bearded men on all sides of the travellers looked on as if they had come from the fearsome tales of Old Nan. Their menacing appearance was frightening to the knees, and even Brienne gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, especially when the man with the red beard and the skins began to devour her with his eyes. The number of men in black was not to say large.

The travellers got off their horses and looked around, unsure of what to say. Sansa should have been the first to speak, but the words were in her throat when she saw Jon on the small balcony. Her brother was looking at her, head slightly bowed, obviously trying to figure out who it was that had brought them here.

He doesn't recognise me, ran through Sansa's mind. Had she really changed that much? Was there anything left of the Sansa who loved embroidery and dreamed of a noble husband? Probably not. She's been different for a long time. Jon had changed, too. She could see that even from here.

The boyish features of his face had become harder, harsher. There were scars. His black hair had grown longer and was now gathered into a ponytail. A short beard framed his face, adding years to his appearance. Or perhaps he had indeed grown older, if not in body, then in spirit? His attentive gaze scrutinised the travellers, and Sansa flinched when he reached her. Had he always been so cold? The girl did not know; she had paid too little attention to her half-brother.

All Sansa could do now was stare at Jon, holding her breath.

The young man looked away and stared somewhere else, but after a moment he looked at Sansa again, more intently. There was a look of confusion on his face, as if he was trying to remember the man who stood before him but couldn't. And then his eyes widened in amazement. John walked down the wooden stairs and stood a few steps away from her. After which he asked quietly:

- Sansa?

Forgetting everything, the girl threw herself into her brother's arms. Feeling his strong arms squeezing her and pulling her off the ground, she finally allowed herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, Sansa felt truly protected.