Not only Leon, but Jon also felt a pang of doubt from time to time, questioning whether he had acted too impulsively in joining the Night's Watch. The Wall was a harsh teacher, and even a man as confident as Jon sometimes regretted his decisions, especially when he thought about the cold, unforgiving north and the endless responsibilities ahead.
"Let's head to the cafeteria. I heard someone hunted a wild boar last night. I wonder how much is left," Jon said, patting Leon's shoulder and motioning for him to follow. He seemed almost oblivious to Eddie, who lagged a few steps behind them. Jon's attention was clearly on the promise of food rather than the conversation that had just passed.
A sudden thought struck Leon as he adjusted his grip on his equipment. Although I don't remember who Alliser Thorne is, Jon—the male protagonist of this story—should know, right? He's lived through all of this before, after all.
"Jon… do you know who Alliser Thorne is?" Leon asked cautiously, his voice low enough not to draw the attention of the other Night's Watch brothers nearby.
"Well… I'm not sure. Why do you want to know?" Jon replied after a brief pause, his mind already wandering to the wild boar awaiting them in the mess hall. Clearly, meat was far more appealing to him at this moment than any discussion about instructors or politics.
Jon's casual answer left Leon tangled in thought. Should he explain that he needed to borrow Jon's knowledge to complete a certain task? Or would that sound too strange, even here at the Wall, where the extraordinary was ordinary?
"No… it's nothing," Leon said quickly, not wanting to reveal too much.
"Alright, then let's keep moving," Jon said, turning back toward the wooden walkway that led down to the mess hall.
Eddie finally caught up, huffing slightly as he joined their pace. "You really asked the wrong person, Jon. He's always indifferent to these things. He probably couldn't tell you the name of the commander if you asked him."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Nonsense. I know Commander Jeor Mormont's name. Don't underestimate me, Eddie."
"But you and the new recruits don't know our instructor, Alliser Thorne. Jon, you actually know nothing," Eddie countered, a teasing lilt in his voice.
As their conversation continued, a Night's Watch brother nearby seemed to hear Eddie's words. He turned sharply, scanning the area with contempt, looking for the bold recruit who dared speak his superior's name in such a tone.
Leon's heart skipped a beat as recognition suddenly dawned on him. It's him… it's Alliser Thorne!
The man standing there was exactly as he remembered from the early parts of the show and the original book. A complicated figure—arrogant, selfish, and despicable in many ways, yet also loyal, honorable, and principled. In the story, he had caused Jon's first death and had been a constant thorn in his side, often humiliating him in front of others. And now, he was right there, mere feet away.
"Oh? Who was calling me out in public? Lord Snow, was it?" Thorne said, his tone laced with mockery and a hint of dangerous amusement.
Jon's eyes narrowed. He recognized him immediately, and the memories of past encounters, the betrayals, and the insults flashed before him. Since arriving at Black Iron Castle, nearly every meeting with Thorne had been accompanied by sarcasm or contempt. Jon's pride, usually a steadfast shield, had been tested repeatedly. As a newcomer facing someone of high status, he had little choice but to endure the early provocations, but now… the patience was wearing thin.
Thorne's smile twisted, and the mockery escalated. Jon felt the familiar surge of anger rising in his chest. Without a word, he drew the sword at his waist, the metal whispering as it left the scabbard. He didn't shout or tremble like a wronged child; he merely stood firm, ready to assert himself.
"Heh, Lord Snow is angry? How dare you draw your sword at me? Do you even understand what that means?" Thorne's contemptuous gaze melted into something colder, darker. The eyes of a seasoned warrior, one who had survived countless battles, now bore into Jon with lethal precision.
A chill ran through Jon. His hand felt numb on the hilt of his sword. Half of his anger dissipated, replaced by the raw awareness of Thorne's dangerous skill, yet his pride refused to let him sheathe his weapon.
Around them, Night's Watch brothers and curious civilians began to gather. No one intervened. Some who bore grudges against Jon folded their arms, watching intently, clearly relishing the tension. They blocked any easy escape, turning the scene into a tense island in the midst of a sea of watchful eyes.
Thorne stepped forward, his posture radiating dominance. He had not drawn his sword, but the energy around him made it clear he could strike with lethal force at any moment. Leon's mind raced. They were surrounded. The three of them—Jon, Thorne, and himself—stood isolated, vulnerable, and outnumbered.
From a nearby attic, Jeor Mormont and Tyrion observed the confrontation with measured interest.
"Aren't you going to stop this?" Tyrion asked calmly, sipping from his glass. "I suppose someone might die next. More specifically… a wolf might die."
Despite the chaos below, the dwarf's glass remained steady. He had spent the entire cold journey to the Wall shivering, relying on strong liquor to keep warm. Though he had a good impression of Jon from Winterfell, he was not willing to risk himself to intervene. Jon was welcome in theory, but the dwarf's survival instincts, coupled with his assessment of the situation, made him cautious.
Jeor Mormont spoke with quiet authority. "I don't care whether Alliser Thorne is harsh or difficult. He is the best instructor I have. As long as he continues training new recruits, only he can transform these boys into true brothers of the Night's Watch."
His faith in Thorne had been earned over years of observation and shared experience. No matter how unpleasant his methods appeared now, Jeor trusted the results they produced. He also recognized Jon's dilemma. If Jon failed to endure this or, worse, died here, it would be better for the long-term honor of the Night's Watch than for Jon to challenge Thorne openly.
"The reputation of the Watch has already declined," Tyrion added. "These new recruits are mostly robbers, murderers, swindlers, and illegitimate sons. Don't forget that."
"Honestly," Tyrion continued, his voice calm but cutting, "I do not agree with you entirely. Perhaps you should consider how you'll explain to Benjen Stark if his nephew dies at the hands of your most skilled master when he returns."
Jeor remained silent, his eyes fixed on the unfolding drama. He understood the stakes and trusted Thorne's judgment to guide the recruits. For now, all he could do was observe and let events take their natural course.
Leon's mind raced. He was powerless to interfere, but he studied the scene closely, noting Thorne's posture, the gaps between the crowd, and Jon's stance. Every instinct from his previous life screamed that this confrontation could become lethal if mismanaged. He tightened his grip on his own weapon, ready to act if the moment demanded.
The tension was palpable. Each second stretched longer than the last, the cold northern wind cutting through the silent anticipation. Leon felt a mixture of fear, awe, and fascination. He was witnessing the complex interplay of pride, skill, and authority—an intricate dance he had only observed in stories before, now played out in real time before his eyes.