~ 💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 60→1ch | 100→2ch | 200→5ch ⏰ Resets Monday!
Thanks!
Not only Leon, at this moment, Jon too felt waves of regret rising in his chest, doubts gnawing at him over his impulsive decision to join the Night’s Watch.
“Come on, let’s head to the mess hall.” Jon patted Leon on the shoulder, signaling him to follow.
“Heard someone hunted a wild boar last night.
Wonder how much is left.” He didn’t bother looking back at Edd.
A thought flashed through Leon’s mind.
He couldn’t remember who Alliser Thorne was, but Jon was the male lead of this whole story.
If anyone would know, it was him.
“Jon, do you know who Alliser Thorne is?” Leon asked.
“Well…
not really, no.
Do you have business with him?” Jon’s steps paused for only a beat.
The wild boar meat waiting in the mess hall held far more appeal.
The answer left Leon conflicted.
What was he supposed to say?
That he needed to borrow this man’s head to complete some task?
“N-No…
it’s nothing.”
“Then let’s keep moving.”
Dolorous Edd caught up from behind and chimed in.
“You’re asking the wrong man if you’re asking Jon.
He’s always indifferent to these things.
By now he probably can’t even recall the Lord Commander’s name.”
Jon shot back, “Nonsense.
How could I not know Lord Commander Jeor Mormont’s name?”
“But you and the other recruits don’t even know the name of our master-at-arms, Alliser Thorne.” Edd pressed on without mercy.
“Jon, you actually know nothing.”
As they talked, a Night’s Watch brother nearby seemed to catch Edd’s voice.
He turned, casting a look full of contempt in their direction, scanning for whichever insolent new recruit had dared speak his name aloud.
Leon saw a familiar face.
A thought hit him immediately: So it’s him.
This was the man who had a tense relationship with Jon in both the books and the early seasons of the show.
The one who had betrayed Jon in the plot and caused his first death.
His portrayal was complex and shifting, selfish, arrogant, despicable, yet also loyal, admirable, principled in his own way.
But all of that was context.
Right now, he was standing 20 feet away and staring straight at them.
“Heh.” The man’s eyes swept over the group.
“I was wondering who had the nerve to call my name in public.
Turns out it’s ‘Lord Snow.'”
Jon recognized him now.
Ever since his first day at Castle Black, almost every encounter with Lord Thorne had come loaded with sarcasm and unearned contempt.
Jon’s pride burned hot, but he was new here, and the man outranked him by a wide margin.
So he had swallowed it.
Every time.
But Thorne’s mockery only kept escalating.
And finally, Jon had nothing left to swallow.
He didn’t confront the man with words.
He didn’t demand an explanation like some wronged maiden.
He simply drew the sword at his waist.
“Heh.
Lord Snow is angry?” Thorne’s voice was almost amused.
“You actually dare draw steel on me?
Do you know what that means?”
The contempt in Alliser Thorne’s eyes pulled back.
What replaced it was something colder.
A killing intent sharp enough to make the air feel thinner.
It was a look found only on men who had survived mountains of corpses and rivers of blood, and Jon felt it land on him like a physical weight.
The cold spread through Jon’s entire body.
The sword grip went numb in his hand.
The fury that had driven him to draw was already more than half gone, but his pride wouldn’t let him sheathe the blade and pretend nothing had happened.
The Night’s Watch brothers around them and the common folk of Castle Black formed a loose ring, everyone watching, no one stepping forward.
Some brothers who had old grievances with Jon crossed their arms with expressions that said they were enjoying every second of this.
Their bodies sealed off every avenue of retreat.
Seeing the crowd close in, the rage in Alliser Thorne’s chest burned hotter.
He began walking toward Jon.
No sword drawn.
He didn’t need one.
His presence alone was enough to keep anyone from interfering.
It was only then that Leon realized the 3 of them were completely surrounded, like an island swallowed by the tide.
No allies.
No exits.
Up in a loft not far away, Jeor Mormont and the Imp stood at the railing, watching the scene below with quiet interest.
“Aren’t you going to go down and stop this?” the Imp asked, his voice perfectly calm.
“I suspect someone might end up dead before long.
More specifically, I suspect a wolf might lose its life.”
The distant confrontation didn’t so much as disturb his wine cup.
Ever since curiosity had driven him north to the Wall, the cold had left him shivering without end, and strong wine had become his only defense against the weather.
He’d formed a decent enough impression of Jon back at Winterfell.
Not decent enough to go down there and pull him out of this, though.
Even sober as he was right now, the Imp could see that Jon was deeply unpopular here.
And going down there himself — a dwarf against Alliser Thorne and however many brothers surrounded him — the outcome of that was anyone’s guess.
“Whether Alliser Thorne is a charismatic master-at-arms or not, I couldn’t care less,” Jeor Mormont said.
“But he is the finest master-at-arms under my command.
He alone can keep a steady stream of new recruits trained and shaped into real brothers of the Night’s Watch.
Only him.”
The trust in his voice had not been built overnight.
Whatever Thorne did, however far he pushed it, Mormont believed he would back him in the end.
He had seen the way Jon was being pushed to the margins here.
If Jon couldn’t survive that — if he couldn’t endure it, or ended up dying because of it, that was still preferable to the alternative: a man like Jon one day becoming a liability that damaged the Watch’s honor.
Though to be fair, the Watch’s reputation across the Seven Kingdoms had long since crumbled.
One look at the latest crop of recruits said it all.
Bandits.
Murderers.
Swindlers.
Conscripted men who’d rather be anywhere else.
“To be honest,” the Imp said, “I don’t agree.
You might want to start thinking about what you’ll say to Benjen Stark when he comes back.
Specifically, how you’ll explain to him that his nephew died at the hands of your finest master-at-arms.”
Jeor Mormont said nothing.
He kept his eyes on the scene below and watched in silence.
➤ Next: Young Jon, No Match!