The Evil in My Heart

The Evil in My Heart

Rose Road

The Northern Camp

It had been ten days since the Northern troop left the Capitol and was making their way towards the realm of Reach on horsebacks. The party was joined by two (un)expected Valemen – the Pryor siblings. Ser Hugh and Lady Madelyne had met with the Four once they had returned from the hunting trip with the King and asked to accompany them once they were to leave for the Oldtown.

The Four were aware of this proposition, mayhaps even before the Pryors knew themselves. Following Jon's lead, they appeared surprised but welcoming nonetheless. It also allowed the others to have some amusements at Jon's expense, much to his annoyance.

About four days away from the Capitol, they had come across two travellers who had stopped to rest. Unsurprisingly, one of them was Gendry Waters, the brilliant apprentice of blacksmith Tobho Mott, and unknown bastard, at least to the lad, of King Robert Baratheon. Gendry appeared to be quite aggravated that Master Mott, all of a sudden, had made him leave Kings' Landing behind and go on an excursion to find his prospects in the broader world. Although Gendry was accustomed to Master Mott's eccentricities, what he didn't expect was to quite literally be chased away by the man. Granted the lad had no family to speak of, but he had to leave behind the city, the land he was born and grew up in, which made him quite resentful towards Master Mott. It was only Gendry's immense respect for his master that he left without any argument, but he was disgruntled all the same.

The most surprising issue was Gendry's companion. It appeared that Lord Arryn had chosen Thoros of Myr to escort the King's bastard safely till they meet with the Northern party. Jon was wary of the red priest. Since the day of the melee, he had seen him lurking around the feasts, always in the shadows and always seemed to be watching him at every step that he took. There was also the fact that Jon was quite sure he heard the priest muttering about Azor Ahai when he lost his bout to him. Thus, he was most definitely on his guard when the priest approached him and asked for his permission to accompany them on their journey. Jon had heard from the others that the red priest normally didn't like to venture too far from the Capitol, but here he was, willing to travel across kingdoms. The Wolfpack kept close eyes on the man after reluctantly agreeing to his request.

[CotW]

The Northern lords were concerned for their friend, nay, brother. They knew many could cause the White Wolf distress, but neither had been aware of such occurrences. The siblings from Vale, Ser Jon had welcomed to their party with opened arms, nary a frown marred his visage. The ever-lively Lady Madelyne, the young woman who had been trying her best to get close to their brother, for they had seen Jon enjoy her company as well as enduring the remarks from his brothers with a stride. The shy and grumpy bastard blacksmith of the King, the lad they were asked to take care of by the Lord Paramount of Vale. The Wolfpack had taken in the unaware fawn as one of their pack. His companion, the red priest… aye, Jon had told them about their first encounter during the melee. All of them were keeping watch over the man, it wasn't him either to cause the White Wolf to brood.

The knight could have been worried about the fate of their missing companions – Ser Arthur had gone to Dorne with a missive that could endanger their very lives. But Jon was adamant that it was necessary. Still, he had not deviated from his way of thinking. Wade had gone back to the North with the lad, Kurt. Though none knew about their journey to White Harbour from Kings' Landing, it didn't make their way any safer. They were to cross the water of Three Sisters – known for their pirating scums, or the way to Winterfell from the port city of White Harbour – full of bandits who prey upon small groups of travellers. They were carrying quite a fortune with them. None of them wanted the lad to come to any harm in the hands of those fucking cunts. But Jon was quite sure in his trust of Wade – the somewhat insane Northern warrior.

Lords Robb Stark, Asher Forrester and Torrhen Karstark had talked among themselves. They were confused about the reason which caused their brother to change his demeanour quite suddenly. Robb had told the others that it was the Jon that had been missing since the day of their childhood. A lonely, brooding lad who skulked around Winterfell, bitter to the world. But that boy had vanished since they left their home for their fosterage. Torrhen and Asher had never even seen this side of Jon. Aye, he was prone to take the burdens of all their failures on his lone shoulders, but this was not it. Granted, they had no way to communicate with their missing packmates, but Jon was always of the opinion that no news was good news. As such, they truly were out of any notions whatsoever about their brother's sudden bout of surliness.

[CotW]

Silent as the shadow, he made his way through the darkness of the small woods. He could hear the people he had been tracking. Foolish two legs who never understood the laws of the jungle. They thought of themselves as the predators, but in truth, it was them who were the prey tonight. And he couldn't wait to tear them apart.

A fluttering sound in the wind alerted him about the presence of…her. He didn't know how she found where he was, but she was here. He looked up to the trees from where he had heard the sound and let out a low growl. He had come out alone only because he thought she was back there with him…not out here. He didn't like her because of her closeness with him but had accepted her presence, because of her closeness with him. Grudgingly, he had accepted her place as a packmate. But it never meant that he trusted her because she was there leaving him alone, without any protection.

A scream that came from the group of two legs made him turn his focus away from her. Through the dense bushes, he crept closer to where the screaming was still coming from. Soon enough, he came close to observe that one of the two legs was carrying another one on his back. He threw the screaming one to the ground, from where he was hiding, he could tell that the one on the ground was a female. He could smell her fear from the distance. He watched on as the male two legs pounced on the female one and ripped off the false skins that the two legs wear. The female was screaming more. Another growl escaped his throat. He could remember his words – we do not hurt the female packmates, we protect them. He wanted to run out of the bush and tear the two leg's throat open. But he had forbidden him from attacking two legs when he was not around. He said something about him not being big enough yet. He had seen his mother, neither he nor his brother was as big as her. He would wait, there would be other two legs to hunt.

He huffed once again as the male two legs sank his long claw into the female two legs and she stopped moving or screaming. He slunk back further into the bush. He could feel him, he had seen everything. Quietly, he turned back and started to run towards him. He stopped for a moment to look over his shoulder, only to see that she had left her hiding spot as well. He once again looked where the group of two legs were before resuming his run.

Ghost and Gale were needed to get back to their agitated brother as fast as they could.

[CotW]

Jon Snow laid upon his bed. To the world, it would have appeared as if he was sleeping, but he was walking under Ghost's skin, and sometimes – flying under Gale's skin. He didn't expect to find anything when he decided to warg into his companions that night, but it seemed that there was no rest for the wicked and thus, there was no rest for Ser Jon the White Wolf; Protector of Innocents, the Sword of Justice.

He sprang to his feet and strode over to the chest at the corner of the tent. He took out his hooded garb and started to change from his nightwear. The past few days had been very taxing for Jon's emotional state. He had been dreaming about the Champions who had carried the mantle before him. So far, he had seen three such Champions and their quests – Theon Stark; the Hungry Wolf. One scout from the Neck and a daughter of House Reed. The first two he had seen, were already somewhat proficient with their Champion's abilities or duties. But the Girl, Mary. She was young. A little bit older than when Jon himself had earned the title.

For the others, Jon saw them only when they were carrying out their duties – Theon throwing off the Andal invasions and the Scout putting the fear of the Old Gods into the hearts of those Southerners. They were grown men. Grown men with families. Theon had a wife and children. As for the scout, granted he was not married, but he was older than Jon was… older than Mary was. The girl was no more than thirteen name-days old when she became a Champion. She was not older than seventeen when she died. The same age as his mother – Lyanna Stark.

For as long as he could remember, Jon had craved a family. He used to see his cousins rush towards their parents and felt envious. In those days, he thought of himself as an unwanted child of Lord Eddard Stark. A bastard son who was nothing but a dark stain in his otherwise immaculate cloak. He craved for a mother's touch, he craved for a father who would place a hand on his shoulder and would listen about his day…as he saw Lord Stark did with Robb. He used to hide behind the doors to the nursery when Lady Catelyn would sing to a fussing Arya or Bran. He loved to imagine that it was for him that Lady Stark was singing her lullabies. He wanted a mother to sit beside his bed when he was sickened with a fever, not the old Maester Luwin.

He still remembered the day when he was awakened by the roaring thunders and ran to find solace from Lady Catelyn. Her harsh rebuke changed Jon that day. The moment Lady Stark went back to her room, he had sneaked out of his own. His heart was hammering away in fear from the thunderclaps. He had made his way out of the keep and in a desperate bid, ventured down to the Crypts of Winterfell. He had curled up at the foot of a statue whom he later came to know was of the Lady Lyanna – his mother. Jon had taken an oath that day, he would make himself better. Better than everyone, even Robb, so that someday in the future, Lord Stark would pay the same amount of attention to him as he did to Robb, Lady stark won't be looking down at him with contempt. Since then, the more he was ridiculed, the greater his resolve had become stronger. Childish follies – Jon snorted to himself.

When he found those bracers, and the incredibly incomprehensive abilities that came with them, Jon was ecstatic. He thought that at last the Gods had heard his prayer and gave him the tools to make his dreams come true. Then he came to know about his parents, his real mother. He knew that he should be scornful towards Lady Catelyn for all the abuse he had to endure. He knew that no child should experience what he did at their own home. But he couldn't. He couldn't look back at the Lady with the same hatred as she did to him once. For all his vaunted skills, for all the praises and accolades he had earned, Aemon Targaryen was still the scared little lad, Jon Snow deep within his heart, who had run to find safety in a mother's arms when the sky seemed to break down on their heads. He still wanted a woman to caress his cheeks or place a soothing hand on his forehead with motherly affection, a mother of flesh and blood, not only memories. He didn't know if he was showing disrespect towards his birth mother with these thoughts, but when Lady Catelyn came to know about the truth of his birth and apologized to him, he wanted to latch onto her and never let go.

Although he wanted a family, people to call his own, he had sworn to himself that he would never beget any bastards. For he didn't want to give any child of his the fate of a bastard. He had lived the life, he never wanted his blood to lead a cursed life. So when Lord Karstark's sons – Harrion and Eddard, would bait him and Torrhen to accompany them to the whorehouses, he adamantly refused each time. A small spark of hope ignited itself deep within Jon's mind – someday, somewhere, he will meet a lady with whom he would bring the Targaryens back. But then, he went beyond the wall and met with the Bloodraven, and through him, with Lady Minerva. He came to know about his purpose in life, the burden of a Champion. For the first time in his life, he started to doubt that he would find peace in his own life.

The three Champions he had dreamt of so far, their quests had taken them far and away from their respective homes. Two of them always returned, back to their loved ones, except Mary. The young lass, not much older than him, had lost her life to fulfil her quest. She was on the cusp of motherhood when she died. There was a life that was growing inside of her. For all intents and purposes, she had sacrificed two lives to see through her duties. The burdens on Jon's shoulder were much greater than her's was. She was fighting against an institution, age-old arrogance that was eating away at their lives from the inside. Jon had to face the fucking Nightking and his armies – legends from which nightmares were made of. What would his sacrifice entail? Was he to see his brothers – Robb, Asher or Torrhen to die? What about Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Alys? Would he only meet people just to see them torn away from him brutally? People such as Uncle Arthur? What about Viserys and Daenerys? He was almost certain that he wouldn't live for long to have a family to call his own. But to lose everyone else he held close to his heart? It was unacceptable. He would fight with the last breath in his body to protect them, to save them all.

He wanted to lash out in anger, wanted to scream at the injustice since he had those latest dreams. He knew his brothers and their men were worried about him. He knew they were concerned about the suddenness of his brooding. But he couldn't help. Numbing helplessness had rendered him incapable to communicate with others. He wanted to strike out, unhindered. So when his companions came upon a group of bandits, men who had raped and killed, even earlier that very evening, in front of Ghost, Jon's blood had begun to sing, a chance for him to let go of his anger, a chance for him to calm his turbulent mind.

Finished dressing up, he went out of his tent, a quick look around told him that he had emerged from his tent just in time for the change of guards. He could slip away from the camp without alerting anyone. Jon pulled the hood up to hide his features in the shadow of it and turned away from the tents, ready to blend in with the shadows.

"It is quite late for a leisure stroll, don't you think?" A voice stopped him in his track.

Jon slowly turned around, his eyes found the owner of the voice who had been sitting on the ground, leaning against a boulder. In his hurry, Jon had not spotted Asher, he mentally cursed himself for the mistake.

"Evening, Asher. What are you doing out here?"

Asher shrugged as he got up to his feet, "I came out to take a piss when I heard movements inside of your tent. At first, I thought about calling out, but then I decided to wait and see what it was about. And what do you know, Ser Jon, the White Wolf is absconding from his own camp, in the darkness of the night."

Asher slowly approached Jon as he kept talking, he stopped right in front of his friend and peered into his hood-covered face.

"Now, if you don't mind, care to shed some light on your sudden urge of going out of the camp in the dead of night, dressed as you are?" He indicated at his garbs.

Jon sighed and lowered his hood, "I…I need to think of things, Asher…things I am not yet ready to share. I need to…" He helplessly waved his hands, not finding the words to put on his feelings.

Asher raised his eyebrows at that, he hummed as he scratched his chin.

"And you are quite sure that whatever it is that made you brood for days on end, you can't share with us?"

"Forgive me, brother, but no, I can't."

Asher sighed, "Very well, Jon. I won't pester you. But know this, if you want to talk, we are just a shout away."

Jon gave him a wan smile and put a hand on his shoulder, "Thank you, Asher."

He pulled his hood back up and gave a curt nod to Asher before turning away and melting into the shadow.

[CotW]

The difference between woods in North and the South was that, back in North, the ground was always covered in snow – even in the days of summer. Whereas, the Southern forest grounds were littered with dried leaves, fallen twigs and branches. In North, footsteps were muffled in the snow, only made a sound when and if a foot stepped on the odd ice crystals or two. But in the South, one had to be always aware of their surroundings if they intend to hunt in the silence, since a misstep could break a twig with a startlingly loud noise, making the prey aware of the hunter's presence in their vicinity.

Jon hadn't even contemplated these facts when he went into the forest for his hunt. By instinct, he had climbed atop a tree and started moving inwards by traversing through the branches or swinging from one to the next, rushing towards the bandit camp like the shadow of the Stranger – set on to spill blood on this moonlit night.

After running through the shadowy tree branches for a few minutes, Jon stopped to orient himself. Both his familiars were aware of his presence and were coming for him. Gale, for obvious reasons, was ahead of Ghost. Jon closed his eyes and concentrated on his link with the bird to set his course right. Opening his eyes, he started to climb upwards – scaling the branches with inhuman ease. Within moments, his head broke through the leafy ceiling of the wood. Crouching on the topmost branch, Jon looked around to spot the bandit camp. The orange glow of the campfire among the silvery shadows of the night was quite a glaring display.

A falcon's cry made Jon aware that Gale had reached him. True to his prediction, the bird landed on his leather-clad shoulder and nudged to the side of his head. Both he and Asher had commissioned for the shoulder pads to be made the first day they stepped foot at Kings' Landing. Back in the North, they always wore thick cloaks made of animal hides and furs. So whenever Gale landed on his shoulders, her talons didn't cause any wound. But the Southorn climate was not suitable for such thick cloaks, hence, with Lord Howland's insightful instruction, Jon had designed the partial armour from leather to protect himself from unwanted injuries. Asher too had opted to have a set of armour made for himself once he had adopted Munin. None had ever seen either of the birds in their company, and almost everyone was accustomed to the knowledge that folks who had taken up falconry, wore gauntlets made from thick hides. The armourer who had made the armours, mayhaps thought them to be some queer Northern style.

"Hello, love." Jon smiled at his companion, "Now, where have you left Ghost?"

Gale ruffled her feathers at that and clicked her beaks in clear annoyance. Jon chuckled at her behaviour, since the day the pup Ghost had licked her to make acquaintance, there had been a mock rivalry between the two animals. At times, it was downright hilarious by the way they treated each other.

It didn't take long for Jon's other companion to find him. Ghost emerged from the dark undergrowth and sat down at the foot of the tree, silently looking upwards. His white fur appeared to be glowing in the moonlight. Jon stroked the feathers of Gale's chest, "It is time for us to hunt, love."

Jon dove down from his perch, aiming towards a pile of fallen leaves under the tree which he had spotted earlier. Arms spread wide, wind whipping about his ears, he heard Gale's cry as the pile of leaf rushed in closer to his falling body.

[CotW]

Farlen had ambitions since his earlier days. Born in the gutters of Flea Bottom, he had spent his childhood sneaking looks at the noble lords and ladies. He wanted to live life as a noble. And when he grew up, he wanted to drown in wine and women. He had seen the whorehouses and the patrons that visited there, he wanted to become the same as them. But he lacked the coins. He lacked the name those nobles were born with. But what he didn't lack was his ambition. It was the very same ambition that made him leave his tiny hovel at the Bottom behind and go out of the sprawling city where you either beg for food or work from dawn till dusk to earn a meagre living. Farlen didn't want to work.

He had joined a group of bandits who roamed the roads around the Kingswood and prey upon the settlements scattered about the area or the small group of travellers, easy prey with small bounties. At times, they found an odd trader or two who would carry more valuables than any of their other victims. When they found such men, they found themselves to be in a festive mood.

That day they had found one such group of victims. By the wares in the small cart, it appeared to be a family of traders who had ventured to the Capitol for the King's tourney. Five men on mules and three women in the small ox-drawn cart were returning to wherever they had come from. The scout of their bandit group, Lyman, had spotted a larger group passing by earlier. This smaller one was part of that group, but from their conversations, it appeared that they fell behind because of a broken wheel. The others didn't wait for them to repair it and continued on their way, making the family work as quick as they could to resume their journey. The dwindling light of the day made them edgy as they meandered their way onwards.

Even with all the cautions the traders took, they were not warriors, as such, they were no match for the group of twenty men who descended upon them. The men on muleback fell down on the ground in shock while the womenfolk started to wail from within the cart. Farlen and his mates didn't waste time to put the men to the swords, the women they would take with them, their night was seemingly bright with the promise of women flesh.

The three women were of the same trader's family – two good-sisters and one young lass, no older than ten and three name-days. They decided to scratch their itches with one of the older women and kept the other two alive for later. Farlen was last to dip his cock in that abused cunt. The whore was unconscious from her ordeal, thus she didn't put up any fight when Farlen pawed her. It wouldn't do for the man, for he preferred his conquests with a bit more life in them. The more they screamed, the more they struggled and begged, the better he enjoyed himself. Pissed at the woman's lifelessness, Farlen ripped the remains of her garb and turned her over. The woman woke up with a guttural scream from the sudden pain, making Farlen shiver in pleasure. As he reached his peak, he took out his dagger and sunk it to the hilt in the woman's neck. Satisfied, he stood back up and shoved his cock back in his breeches and wiped the blade off of the blood with the torn clothing.

They spent the next few hours sorting through their loots while eating and drinking. Farlen chose to seat near their captives. He pawed at their teats between swigs from his bottle, waiting eagerly for their leader to signal the start of the rest of the festivities. When the leader got to his feet and dragged the older woman away by her hair, Farlen jumped up and divested of his own britches. He grabbed the mewling little whore by her hands and forced her down on her knees.

"If ya bite me, I'll cut yer teats off." Farlen growled down at the lass.

He was only started to feel the pleasure when a pain burst from his neck. Something pushed through from the back of his neck to the front and making it quite hard for him to breathe. Disoriented, he toppled over, clawing at his throat, but his hands came out bloody. Disbelievingly he looked up to the lass in front of him only to find her staring at him with fear. He tried to speak out to her, but that was when darkness took him.

[CotW]

Jon followed as Ghost led him towards the bandit camp. He had seen the spot where those reaving cunts ambushed their victims. Five corpses of the said victims laid bare, those bandits didn't even leave a thread of cloth on their bodies. The familiar red haze was back in his vision. His blood was screaming for vengeance on behalf of these men. He had offered a short prayer to the Gods and left the spot in pursuit of their assailants.

Ghost led him further into the forest. They stopped behind a copse of trees to revaluate their position. From the sounds that escaped from the camp, Jon could understand that the bandits, quite assured of their hidden heaven, were indulging in leisure activities. He jumped up and started to climb up a tree as Ghost darted forward to a dense bush. Slowly and silently, Jon made his way to the camp. From his perch atop a tree, he could see the bandits, about twenty in the count, were sorting through their loots and drinking merrily. Two women lay bound a little aside under the guard of a bandit, who had been pawing at their bodies. A corpse of another woman laid bare a distance away. From the looks of it, Jon could understand the horror she must have endured before finally finding release in death. He gritted his teeth and started to form a plan of attack when suddenly a man, who seemed to be the leader of this group, stood up from where he sat and went over to their captives to drag the older woman away by her hair. The one who was guarding them stood up and dropped his breeches in front of the young lass. Whatever plan Jon started to form, had gone up in smoke right at that moment.

He nocked an arrow and aimed for the man who stood before the young lass and let it fly. It struck the man in his throat and he toppled over clawing at his throat. In his fall, he had trapped the girl beneath his body who had thought her death was imminent as she started to wail anew. Jon shot a few more arrows that fell bandits all around the camp. The leader became alarmed and struggled to get his breeches up while barking orders to his men to search for whoever was shooting the arrows.

Jon dropped down from the tree and crouched low, hidden in the shadowy bushes. A bandit passed him by to search for the assailant when Jon quietly got up to his feet and clamped his hands around the head of that man, cutting off his wind and preventing him from alerting the others by pressing a hand covering his mouth. He dragged him down within the bush and sunk his hidden blade into his heart. Jon slowly crept away from his hiding place.

He hid behind the trunk of a tree and took out Rose from his belt, the Valyrian steel weapon glinted ethereal blue in the moonlight. A sound of a muted thump came from behind him had Jon whipped about and raise his axe for an attack. He stopped himself when he saw another dark-clad, hooded figure crouched low before him, in his hand glinted an axe just the same as his own, but made of castle-forged steel. The arrival nodded his head at Jon and hurried away to hide behind another tree – a few feet away from where Jon had hidden himself. They peered from their cover and saw two of the bandits were quite close to them, searching around for the killer. Jon let out a low whistle, making them alert and confused, lured away from their searches. As the bandits neared their hiding spots, Winter Rose and Freedom flashed in the moonlight and sliced through their necks. The bandits crashed down on the ground making a gurgling noise. The two shadows gave another nod to each other before darting into different directions.

[CotW]

The bandit leader looked on horrified as one after another his companions fell dead on the ground. He couldn't see who was killing them, nor he could discern how many were out there. More of his brethren bit the dirt before his unbelieving eyes. He snarled and unsheathed his sword.

"Come out from the shadows and face me, ye fucking cowards!" He yelled at the shadows. Only three remaining bandits besides himself out of a group of twenty stood by his sides, trembling in fear from the unknown death.

A dark-clad, hooded figure came out from behind a tree. Another jumped down from a tree in the opposite direction. Slowly but surely, they strode forward, blood dripped from the weapons clutched in their hands – a short axe for each. Their garbs were wet from blood, none of it was their own but their victim's. The bandit on the leader's left let out a whimper, for those two figures appeared as the Stranger himself had split into two and came for their souls. The one on the leader's right broke rank and turned away to run. One of the hooded men's weapon hand flashed and a blink later, his axe was buried into the skull of the one who tried to run. The leader looked back disbelievingly at the man. He had unsheathed his own sword by then and beckoned the leader with his other hand. Neither of the shadowy men had uttered a single word till now.

With a yell, the four remaining bandits rushed towards the two men. A feeling of dread rose from their guts as they clashed their weapons against the shadowy figures.

[CotW]

Even as the bandit leader was armed and armoured, he was nothing in terms of skill against Jon. After the first few strikes, he started to toy with the man, parrying his strikes and giving him nicks and cuts here and there. Nothing too painful or life-threatening, but they bled all the same. Jon wanted the man to feel despair as his strength and lifeforce slowly left him, the same despair that his victims felt in their last moments.

He watched from the corner of his eyes that Asher had already dispatched his opponents and was trying to calm the captive women. Jon decided it was enough and Frost sang in his hand as it cut through the leader's gauntlet and severed his fingers. His armour couldn't withstand the sharpness of the Valyrian steel sword.

The leader screamed in pain and doubled over clutching his bloodied stump of a hand. He looked up at Jon with fearful eyes.

"Who are you?"

"For you…I am death!"

He raised Frost over his head and brought it down with force, beheading the leader in a single swing. He put his sword back in its sheath and picked up the severed head. He hurled it upwards with all of his strength and quick as lightning, took out his Weirwood bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed for the head and let the arrow fly. It cut through the air and pierced one of the eyes and embedded into the trunk of a tree. Jon let out a strangled yell and crashed down on his knees, panting heavily.

The sound of footsteps alerted him of Asher's presence before him.

"Do you feel better?"

"Aye…just a bit…"

Asher nodded, "Good. Now you need to make your presence as calm as you possibly can. The women back there are already scared out of their minds from their torments. They do not need to be alarmed any further."

Jon nodded and slowly got back up. He took down his hood and shook his head tiredly. He looked up to see that Asher was observing him closely.

"What are you doing here, by the way?"

Asher snorted, "Did you truly think I was just to let you run off alone in the woods? In your current state?"

Jon gave him a look of gratitude; he didn't need to say the words out loud for Asher to understand him.

Asher turned around and looked back at him over his shoulder, "Come on then, the ladies there need to see that the White Wolf has come to their rescue. They need the assurance that they are indeed, safe."

Jon shook his head sadly, "If only I could save the others also…The bodies of their family are a distance away in that direction. We need to see that they receive their last rights properly."

"Aye, and they will. We will also need to take care of these slain bandits. I am going to send Munnin back to our camp. We need help with these here tasks." Asher stopped walking and turned back, "Oh, and Jon…" Jon looked up to see the serious visage of Asher, "Robb and Torrhen are going to expect some explanations, just as I."

Jon nodded his head in resignation.

[CotW]

About an hour after Munnin flew off with Asher's missive, Robb had found them with a dozen Northmen at his back. Torrhen had stayed behind at the camp because of the absence of Ser Arthur and Wade. The fifteen of them worked methodically and with honed precision which they had earned due to their experiences on the battlefield. In no time, they had gathered all the corpses of the bandits and piled them together to be burned. The head of the bandit leader that Jon had stuck to the tree was left there as a sort of macabre warning to the other bandits.

Afterwards, they escorted the two rescued women with them to the spot where they were attacked and gathered the bodies of their families. The Northmen arranged for pyres for them to send them off properly and escorted the broken women with them to their own camp. They would travel along with them till they reach their home in the Reach.

The three – Asher, Robb and Torrhen gathered together at Jon's tent and just sat there looking expectantly at their brother's face. Jon squirmed under their gazes and finally, with a sigh, he started to tell them about the reason he had secluded himself from the others.

They listened carefully as Jon told them about his dream of the Reed Champion. They didn't ask any questions or voice their opinions when Jon told them about his fears of failure. They just let him talk, they let him divest all that had been sitting heavy in his chest. When he finished and looked up to them with a question in his eyes, Asher rose from his seat and went to the corner to pour them all a mug of ale each.

"Help me understand something, Jon. Who or what were you before you became the Champion?"

Jon looked at him with confusion, "I do not understand…"

"Don't think too deeply, just answer whatever comes first to your mind, who were you before you became Champion?"

"I was Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell."

"What were your prospects, if you had stayed the so-called Bastard of Winterfell?"

Jon looked at Robb for a moment, took a deep breath and said, "I would have stayed ignorant of my parentage. Probably would have grown up believing myself as a stain on Lord Stark's honour. Would have resented Robb for his status but my sense of duty and justice would have made me spend my life as a captain of guards in the Stark household. Or mayhaps I would have joined the Black Brothers, trying to earn my niche there…" Jon trailed off uncertainly.

"Thank you for being honest to us, and to yourself." Asher handed him a mug of ale, "A rather bleak look of a future that will never come, if you ask me. I rather like what we have here if you'd ask me." Asher took a drink from his mug.

"What are you trying to say, Asher?" Robb frowned at him.

"Everything we have done, everything we have earned together, it turns out that all became possible just because Jon here has become a Champion of the Gods. Think closely, brothers. Think very carefully of all that we have experienced."

Robb pondered on his words, "It was Jon who convinced Father to send us off for fosterage. Else, I don't think we would have set foot outside of Winterfell other than lordly businesses."

"Precisely," Asher pounced on Robb's answer, "every little detail, every decision that we took, could be found its way to the moment that Jon has become a Champion. Robb cementing the Stark ties with the Manderlys. Jon doing the same with the Karstarks. Robb became aware of the trade deals of the North, earned first-hand experience as the future Lord Paramount of the North. Jon and Torrhen formed a friendship, our meeting afterwards and bonding over shared battle scars. Everything came to be because of you, Jon."

Jon looked on dumbfounded at Asher.

"Think about it. You made these all possible. Would the Skagosi have invaded our homes? Probably, or probably not. The North is a vast land, anything could have happened to the invaders. Or the Mormonts would have driven them out of their lands. We would never know. But some things would have never happened if it weren't for you, Jon. We became aware of an ancient danger that still haunts us. We are preparing for such confrontations. That is our biggest concern. Correct?"

The three nodded their heads in assent.

"Then let us look at all the rather smaller concerns. We know how a bastard is looked upon in our society, you have escaped that life, Jon. Pardon me for saying so, but Lady Stark has accepted you in her home. We have saved Lord Umber's daughter from a fate worse than death. We have stopped that cunt at Whispering Waters from hurting the smallfolk any further. Only Lady Minerva knows what he would have done in the future if we didn't stop him when we did. Jon slew the monster, Gregor Clegane and cleared the White Lion's name…and above all, we fucking brought magic back to this world! The proof is in front of us – in Ghost, Gale, Grey Wind and Munnin. In that egg that Jon carries with him. We all have felt its warmness to touch when it is in Jon's hands. The fucking dragons could once again roam this sky. We made it possible."

Asher stood in front of Jon and placed his hands on his shoulders, "Would these things have been possible if you have accepted your lot in life and lived as you were? Possibly. We all can agree that the Gods or fate work in mysterious ways. They would have found another road to take. But no, they have given you a chance, Jon. They have given all of us a chance to live life the way we are meant to live.

You say that you worry about what the future holds for you, for all of us. I say that it is brighter than what it would have been earlier. You are given these visions…these dreams for a reason. I don't pretend to know what Lady Minerva had in her mind. But I think it is safe to assume that she wanted you to learn from your predecessors. Not only from their successes, but also from their failures. You have seen what this lady Champion had to do with her life. I say you are already better off than her, you are prepared, for you have learned from her mistakes and won't do things the same way as her.

I am not trying to say that you are infallible, Jon. No, none of us can claim that to be. You will certainly make mistakes. But they will be your own. You will make them and then work harder to set things to the right. That is who you are, Jon. We are all mere humans who dance to the tunes of the Gods, but you, you have a direct link to them. In a way, you are the master of your own future. Only you can direct it to follow whatever way you choose for it to go."

Silence descended upon the tent. Three of the four occupants sat there pondering Asher's words.

"When did you become so wise, Asher?" Torrhen was the first to break the silence.

"Fuck if I know." Asher's reply made them all snort. "I only wanted to stop whatever the fuck Jon is thinking and get his head out from his arse. And to tell you the truth, the is a shitty experience for me too. I am a cocky fucker, not a wise Maester. Please, do not make me sound like one, I beg of you all. For your sanity and my own, let us all become normal and act the proper way that we should."

As their chuckles died down, they all got up to get back to their tents for a little rest. Asher stopped before exiting, "Sleep on it, brother, and think on what I have said."

Jon gave him a nod.

[CotW]

Jon spent the rest of the evening lying on his bed. They had decided to stay put for another day to acclimate the rescued women somewhat to their new surroundings. He kept thinking about what his brothers had told him and all the things that they accomplished, all the differences that they made. In the end, he decided that Asher was right. He would learn from his predecessor's mistakes, and make a few of his own. But it would not mean that the White Wolf would stop his fight and lay his neck bare for others to strike him down. He was a warrior, the Gods' chosen, he would fight back till there was a breath left in his body.

Decision made, he slept peacefully for the rest of the night, a first in a while. It broke from a series of loud caws. Jon hurriedly sat up on his bed to see that Munnin had found his way inside of his tent and perched himself atop the back of a chair. First rays of the rising sun could be seen through the flaps of the tent.

"Jon! Jon! Jon!"

Jon chuckled at the bird, "Aye, Munnin. I am Jon. I am glad to see that Asher is teaching you words."

"Fuck you!"

Jon's jaws dropped in disbelief, he looked on as the raven winged his way out of the tent. When his head caught up to him, he scrambled out of his bed.

"Forrester! I am going to fucking gut you!"