*JON SNOW — THE TURNED CLOAK*
FLASHBACK......
The snow didn't care who he killed.
Jon's breath came out in white clouds. Longclaw was still wet. Qhorin's blood steamed on it and then froze.
He was shaking so hard he thought his teeth would crack.
Ygritte was staring at him. Her red hair was full of snow. She wasn't laughing now.
"You did it," Rattleshirt — Lord of Bones — said, clacking. He kicked Qhorin's body. "Halfhand dead. Look, free folk! A crow killed his own!"
A hundred wildlings shouted. Some banged spears on shields. Jon wanted to be sick.
A big man pushed through. Mance Rayder. King-Beyond-The-Wall, in a plain black cloak with no crown.
Mance looked at Qhorin, then at Jon. His eyes were calm, too calm.
"Ned Stark's bastard, eh?" he said. "I knew your father at Winterfell. He was a man who would not kill a brother to live. What are you?"
Jon couldn't answer. His throat was ash. He thought of Robb. Of Winterfell. Of his vow.
_I am the sword in the darkness._
The words meant nothing with Qhorin's blood on his hands.
"I did what I had to," Jon said. Voice hoarse. "To live."
Mance watched him a long second.
"Good. That's the only true answer beyond the Wall. Come. You will keep that sword, Snow. If you can keep it."
They walked.
They walked for days south, away from the Fist. Jon with them, black cloak stained red, white wolf nowhere. Ghost had left him the moment he turned.
Ygritte walked beside him, because no one else would.
"You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered at night when they camped in a frozen gully. "You think we cheer because you killed a good man? We cheer because you finally chose to live."
"I broke my vows."
"You kept a different one," she said. "The one Qhorin gave you with his last look. I saw it. He told you to."
Jon didn't answer. The fire threw light on her face.
300 AC..... BEYOND THE WALL....
Mance called him to the big tent made of mammoth hide.
Inside, map of the Wall scratched on skin. Tormund Giantsbane laughing, eating. Varamyr Sixskins with his wolves snarling at Jon.
And on the map — a mark at Storm's End.
"News from crows," Mance said. "Heard it from a trader at Eastwatch. Boy calling himself Aegon TARGARYEN , bastard of Storm's End, has taken Meereen with six dragons."
Jon's head jerked up.
"Six?"
"That's what they say. Three the silver girl has — black-red, gold, green. And three more black ones that belong to him. But one of them..." Mance frowned. "Traders say one is wrong. Not like the others."
Jon's heart beat fast for no reason he understood.
"Wrong how?"
"Two legs on the others. They walk on their wings like bats. This one — four legs, two front two back, wings separate on back. Stands like a lion. Black . They say you can stand on its back like a horse. They call it Pure. Voidscale."
Jon felt cold that was not from the snow.
In his dream two nights ago — after Qhorin — he had seen that. Black scales. Four feet landing and cracking stone.
Ygritte squeezed his arm.
"What is it?"
Jon shook his head.
"I saw it," he whispered. "In a dream."
Mance laughed, but not unkindly.
"Dreams of dragons beyond the Wall. You Starks are all the same. Listen, crow-who-is-no-crow — if this Aegon Targaryen has a pure dragon, he will come for the throne. And when dragons fly over the Wall, what do you think happens to us? To all free folk?"
He looked at Jon hard.
"That is why I need you. You know the Watch. You know Winterfell. You know both sides."
Jon looked at the mark at Storm's End, then at the mark for Castle Black.
He was alone. Between two worlds. With blood on his sword that would never wash out.
He thought of Qhorin's last words: _Make them think you are one of them._
But who was _them_ now?
"Tell me about this Aegon," Jon said, and his voice didn't shake this time.
And beyond the Wall, far across the sea, Voidscale sneezed black ash and turned his four-legged pure head north, as if he heard his name spoken in snow.