The Direwolf Unleashed

The gate of Castle Black loomed behind him, creaking shut with a finality that echoed through Jon Snow's bones. He had heard it close before, many times, but now it felt different—like an end, a door closing on the life he had known. There was no going back.

Ghost padded beside him, his silent, watchful presence a comfort. The direwolf moved like a shadow across the snow, his red eyes gleaming in the dim northern light. Together, they descended the worn path leading from the Wall, moving further into the wilderness. The biting wind stung Jon's face, but he welcomed it. The cold had always been his ally, and now, it was all that surrounded him.

Jon's heart beat with the resolve of his decision. He would return to the North—not as a lord's son, but as a Stark. The blood of the wolf coursed through his veins, demanding vengeance for Robb, for his family. Yet doubts gnawed at the edges of his mind. Would the North still see him as a Stark, or was he still only a Snow, a bastard bound by the vows he had forsaken?

He pressed forward, letting his determination carry him. He had spent years preparing to fight the terrors of the North—the wildlings, the White Walkers—but now, his fight lay elsewhere. His battle was against those who had shattered his family. Jon had no illusions about what lay ahead. He would face armies, he would face traitors, and he would face the Lannisters.

But first, he had to survive the North.

By the time the Wall was far behind him, the sky had turned a dull gray. The clouds hung low, threatening snow. The path ahead was treacherous—stretches of frozen tundra and dense forests where anything could hide. His destination wasn't far—he knew of a wildling camp nearby. He had to move carefully. His time among the free folk had taught him much, but they wouldn't welcome him back easily.

As Jon navigated the landscape, his thoughts turned to the men he had left behind. He thought of Sam, who would surely be torn between duty and their friendship. Jon knew Sam would understand why he left, but that didn't make abandoning him any easier. He thought of Edd, loyal and grim, and the men who had come to trust him. They were brothers of the Watch, bound by oaths, but that bond wasn't as strong as the blood of the Starks. It couldn't be.

Ghost stopped abruptly, ears pricked, nose twitching. Jon drew Longclaw in one smooth motion, the weight of the sword familiar in his grip. He scanned the trees, listening for any sign of danger.

A voice called out from the woods. "Snow! I knew it'd be you!"

Jon exhaled and lowered his sword. From the shadow of the trees stepped Tormund Giantsbane, a grin splitting his bearded face. Behind him, a small band of wildlings emerged, all armed, but they made no move to attack. Jon had crossed paths with Tormund more times than he could count during his time with the free folk, and their alliance had always been one of convenience rather than trust.

"You've got guts, lad," Tormund said, coming closer. "Leaving the Wall like that. Makes a man wonder what's got you crawling back to us."

Jon sheathed Longclaw and met Tormund's gaze. "I'm not here to stay with the wildlings."

Tormund's grin faded, replaced with a more serious expression. "Then why are you here? This isn't your fight anymore. You left us, went back to your crow friends."

Jon hesitated. He had been prepared for this moment, but now, standing in front of Tormund and his men, the weight of his decision pressed down on him even harder. He squared his shoulders. "My brother is dead. My family has been torn apart. And the people responsible for it are still sitting in their castles, thinking they've won."

Tormund's eyes narrowed. "And what do you plan to do about it, Snow?"

Jon didn't flinch. "I plan to take back the North. I plan to start a war."

The wildlings around Tormund shifted uneasily, murmurs rising among them. Tormund himself seemed to be weighing Jon's words carefully. "A war? With who? The crows won't follow you, not after you abandoned your post."

"I don't need the Night's Watch," Jon said firmly. "The North still remembers the Starks. They won't follow the Lannisters, not after what's happened to Winterfell. They need someone to rally behind."

"And you think that someone is you?" Tormund scoffed. "You're a bastard, Snow. The North may remember the Starks, but they remember bastards, too. You think they'll fight for you?"

Jon met Tormund's skeptical gaze. "They won't be fighting for me. They'll be fighting for themselves. For their homes. For Winterfell. The North needs to rise, and I'm the one who will give them the chance to do it."

Tormund was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching Jon's face. Finally, he let out a harsh laugh. "You've got the fire of a madman in you, lad. But I'll tell you this—you've got bigger stones than half the men I've fought beside."

He stepped forward, his expression growing serious again. "But the North isn't what it used to be. You're talking about starting a war, and wars have a way of killing men like you. You'll need more than your fancy sword and a wolf to survive it."

Jon nodded. "I know. That's why I need the free folk."

Tormund barked a laugh. "The free folk? You want us to help you take back Winterfell?"

"Why not?" Jon replied. "You want to survive, don't you? The Wall's not going to hold forever, not with what's coming. The White Walkers are out there, and no matter how much the South ignores it, the North can't."

Tormund's eyes darkened at the mention of the Walkers, his face hardening. "Aye, the White Walkers are coming, but what does that have to do with a war in the South?"

Jon stepped closer, his voice low but determined. "Because if we win the North, we can unite it against what's coming. No one south of the Neck believes it, but we've seen them. We've fought them. We need to be prepared. And that means taking back Winterfell."

The wildlings exchanged uneasy glances, and Tormund looked torn. Jon could see the tension in his stance, the battle between survival and pride. But then Tormund sighed and ran a hand through his wild beard.

"You're a madman, Snow," Tormund muttered. "But I've followed crazier men into worse fights. I'll talk to my people. Some of them still trust you, even if you are a crow. Maybe we can strike a deal."

Jon allowed himself a breath of relief, though he knew this was just the beginning. "Thank you, Tormund."

"But don't think this means we're friends again," Tormund growled. "You still owe me for what happened at Hardhome."

Jon smiled slightly, but the weight of what he was asking hung heavy in the air. He knew the road ahead would be long and bloody. The war he was starting wasn't just for his family, but for the survival of everyone in the North.

The direwolf in him had been caged long enough. It was time to unleash it.