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I woke up cold.
Not the sort of cold you get when the blanket slips off your shoulder. The sort that lives in the stone. In the air. In your bones.
For a moment I stared at the ceiling beams above me and thought, Right. Castle Black. Again.
Then I sat up.
Rough wool blanket. Straw mattress. The faint smell of old sweat, steel, and smoke. Men snoring. Wind scraping against the Wall like a dull knife.
Last night I'd gone to sleep after finishing ledgers for Bowen Marsh. I'd been thinking about patrol rotations. About whether we had enough lamp oil. About whether I should speak to Donal Noye about reinforcing the eastern tunnel.
And about the vows.
Today I was supposed to swear them.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
Something was wrong.
Not wrong like "winter is coming." Wrong like… my thoughts didn't sit properly in my skull.
I remembered inventory tallies. I remembered Sam complaining about ink freezing. I remembered being irritated that Edd had eaten the last of the onions.
And I also remembered—
A desk. Electric light. A computer screen. My name on an email that did not say Snow. A different bed. A different world.
I froze.
Slowly, very slowly, I looked down at my hands.
Calloused. Scar across the knuckle. Familiar and not.
I whispered, "You're joking."
No one answered. The Wall rarely did.
It hit me all at once.
Yesterday I had been Jon Serkis.
Today I was Jon Snow.
Westeroes. The Wall. The Night's Watch. White Walkers. Red Weddings. Dragons.
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling.
"Right," I muttered. "That's inconvenient."
My heart started racing then. Proper panic. Breath too fast. Hands shaking.
You are in a medieval death trap. There are ice demons. You know exactly how badly this story goes.
I swung my legs off the bed and planted my feet on the cold stone.
"Calm down," I told myself quietly. "Panicking is for people without options."
I had options.
I knew what was coming.
That was something.
A rustle came from the next bed over.
"Jon?" Samwell Tarly's voice was thick with sleep. "Are you talking to yourself?"
I glanced sideways.
Sam was pushing himself upright, hair sticking out in odd directions, blanket tangled around him like it had tried to strangle him in the night.
"I was thinking," I said.
"That's usually worse," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Despite everything, I snorted.
Good. That felt normal.
Sam squinted at me. "You look… pale."
"I always look pale."
"More pale."
"Thank you, Sam."
He gave me a small, uncertain smile. Then his expression shifted, as if he'd remembered something important.
"Oh." He swallowed. "The vows. It's today."
Yes. It was.
I could almost hear them already.
'Night gathers, and now my watch begins…'
For life.
No wife. No lands. No children. No crown. No south. No Robb. No Sansa. No Arya. No Bran. No Rickon.
Just cold. And eventually a knife in the dark.
I leaned back against the wall and studied Sam for a moment.
He was going to swear them too.
And probably die here.
Or worse.
"Sam," I said slowly, "what would you do if I told you I wasn't taking the vows?"
He blinked.
"Is this a joke?"
"No."
He went very still.
"That's… that's desertion."
"I haven't sworn yet."
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Yes, but— you're here. You trained. You wear the black."
"By choice, everyone else here is being forced to join Sam, not me, I'm here of my own free will and can leave just like that, at least before taking any vows."
"Jon." Sam looked at me as if he was seeing a new person.
I looked at him properly now.
Samwell Tarly. Coward, supposedly. Soft, supposedly. One of the only decent men in this frozen ruin, absolutely.
I needed a maester. Or something close.
I needed someone who could read, think, remember things that weren't about stabbing.
I have no idea what I'm going to do but something tells me having Sam with me will help a lot.
"Sam," I said, lowering my voice, "Robb's going to war."
He frowned. "How do you know?"
"Because my father is in a cell in Kings Landing. Because the Lannisters don't forgive slights. Because the realm is a tinderbox and someone's holding a torch."
That much wasn't even meta-knowledge. It was obvious.
Sam swallowed. "Even so…"
"I'm not sworn," I repeated. "I am not of the Night's Watch. Not yet."
"You'd be hunted."
"Again Sam, I wasn't sent here, I came by my own accord, I can leave as long as I don't take the vows."
Silence stretched between us. The wind howled outside like it disapproved.
Sam looked down at his hands. "If you leave… where will you go?"
"South."
He stared.
"South?" His voice squeaked.
"To my brother."
"But— the Wall— my father—"
He quieted down, reflecting on his own situation.
He blinked at me.
I let the next words sit heavy.
"The Starks are not safe, Sam."
He went quiet.
"You care about them," he said softly.
"Yes."
That part was simple.
He hesitated. "What would you do? Arrive at Winterfell and… fix everything?"
"I'll at least try."
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You're being strange again."
"I'm always strange."
"That's true," he admitted reluctantly.
I leaned forward.
"I need someone who can read faster than me. Who knows history. Who understands laws, old and new. Who can keep records. Someone who won't faint at the sight of blood."
"I faint once," he muttered.
"Twice." I replied smiling.
He sighed.
"You want me to come with you."
"Yes."
His face went pale in a different way.
"My father—"
"Already hates you."
"That's not helpful."
"It's true."
He huffed weakly.
"Sam," I said more quietly, "you don't belong here."
"I know," he whispered.
"You belong somewhere that values your mind."
"That's not the same as running off to war."
"Isn't it?"
He didn't answer.
I stood and began pulling on my boots.
"Think of it this way," I said. "We're not deserting. We're redirecting our service."
"To whom?"
"To House Stark."
"And if the Watch comes after us?"
"They won't chase two men south when they can barely patrol their own woods, besides they can't force us to stay, we are free men Sam not criminals sent to the wall."
I hoped that was true.
Sam stared at the floor for a long time.
The room around us was beginning to stir. A few brothers groaned. Someone coughed violently.
Time was thinning.
"I don't want to say the vows," Sam said quietly.
"Then don't."
"That's not how it works."
"It is today."
He looked up at me.
"You sound very certain."
"I am."
He studied my face like he was trying to find the crack in it.
Finally, he said, "If I come… we'll need supplies."
I grinned. "Now you're thinking."
His expression shifted to something between terror and excitement.
"Food," he said faintly. "Horses. We can't just walk out the gate."
"No," I agreed. "We'll leave before the ceremony. Before they gather everyone."
He swallowed. "We'll be crimi-."
My angry glare makes him eat his words. I get he's nervous but he's supposed to be smart.
A long pause.
Then, quietly:
"All right."
I blinked.
"All right?" I repeated.
"Yes," he said, voice shaking. "I'll come."
I laughed under my breath.
"Gods help us." I nervously chuckled.
"That's not reassuring."
"Get your cloak," I said. "And anything you can carry that isn't nailed down."
Sam scrambled to his feet, then froze.
"Jon?"
"Yes?"
"If this goes badly…"
"It will," I said honestly. "Most things do."
He stared at me.
"But we'll adjust," I added.
That seemed to help.
As he began stuffing parchment and a small, battered book into his pack, I felt something settle in my chest.
Not calm.
Not yet.
But purpose.
I had woken up in a doomed story.
I had no intention of playing my assigned role.
And I certainly wasn't going to freeze to death reciting vows I never chose.
"South," I muttered, tightening my belt.
Let the Wall keep its watch.
I had other wars to fight.
We packed quietly.
Which, for Sam, meant knocking over three things and apologizing to all of them.
He stuffed parchment, ink, two books, a knife he clearly didn't know how to use, and half a loaf of yesterday's bread into his pack. I took my sword, spare clothes, flint, dried meat, waterskins. Nothing that would slow us down.
"You're bringing two books?" I asked.
"One is useful," he said defensively. "The other is… comforting."
I stared at him.
He hesitated. "It's about dragons."
"Of course it is."
He looked faintly embarrassed and tucked it deeper into the pack.
When we stepped out into the yard, the morning was still gray and mean. Frost clung to everything. The Wall loomed above us like it was personally offended by our existence.
I had to crane my neck to see the top which was covered in clouds. I have seen the wall before, but with new memories of another Jon or is it the same Jon in a new body, it's like seeing it again for the first time.
Men were beginning to stir, but the ceremony wasn't for hours yet. We had time.
"Lord Commander first," I said.
Sam swallowed. "We're really doing this."
"Yes."
"And you're going to tell him."
"Yes."
He looked as if he would have preferred we simply steal horses and vanish into the trees.
"I'm not leaving like a thief," I said. "I came here by choice. I'll leave the same way."
We walked toward the Lord Commander's Tower.
The guards at the entrance eyed us but said nothing. We were known faces. Two boys about to swear vows. Nothing suspicious about that.
Jeor Mormont was not yet awake.
We were told to wait.
So we stood in the corridor outside his chambers, the cold seeping through the stone walls.
Sam shifted from foot to foot.
"Perhaps," he whispered, "we could reconsider the part where we inform him."
"No."
"Just checking."
Bootsteps echoed down the corridor.
Heavy. Measured. Irritating.
I didn't need to turn to know who it was.
'Alliser Thorne'.
He rounded the corner like a bad mood given human form.
"Well," he said smoothly, looking between us. "The two heroes of the hour."
Sam stiffened. I kept my face blank.
"Ready for your grand vows, Snow?" Thorne continued. "Or have you finally realized you don't belong here?"
Sam glanced at me. I didn't rise to the bait.
"Ser Alliser," I said evenly.
He smirked, looking over to Sam. "Tarly. Try not to faint during the ceremony. It reflects poorly on the Watch."
Sam's ears went red.
Thorne's eyes lingered on me.
"You look… unsettled," he said. "Cold feet?"
Something like that.
"No, ser."
He studied me a moment longer, as if searching for weakness.
I gave him nothing or at least tried to.
After a beat, he snorted.
"Try not to disgrace us today."
He walked past, boots striking stone, cloak swaying behind him.
Sam let out a breath he'd been holding.
"You were very calm," he whispered.
"I don't want him in that room," I said.
"In— oh."
Yes. Exactly.
A few minutes later, a steward finally emerged.
"The Lord Commander will see you."
Sam looked like he was marching to execution.
We stepped inside.
Jeor Mormont was already dressed, though he looked as though he'd wrestled sleep and barely won. His dark eyes fixed on us immediately.
In another timeline, this man would have given me his family heirloom, Longclaw. He would have entrusted me to lead the nights watch...
No I can't stay.
"Snow. Tarly." His gaze flicked between us. "You're early."
"Yes, my lord," I bowed.
He leaned back slightly in his chair. "Well?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I won't be taking the vows today."
The words hung in the air like a drawn blade.
Sam made a small choking noise beside me.
Jeor's expression didn't change at first.
Then it hardened.
"Explain."
"I came to the Wall of my own will," I said. "No judge sent me. No chains dragged me. I have taken no vows. I have sworn no oaths."
"That's true," he said evenly. "And yet you've trained. You've worn the black. You've eaten our food."
"Yes."
"And now?"
"My father is imprisoned in King's Landing. My brother calls the banners. The North is marching to war." I met his eyes. "My place is with my family."
His jaw tightened.
"Your place," he said quietly, "is where you chose it to be."
"I chose the Wall before I knew the realm would tear itself apart."
"And the realm is always tearing itself apart," he snapped. "That is why the Watch exists."
I held his gaze.
"With respect, my lord, the Watch will not survive if the North falls."
He studied me carefully now.
"You presume much."
"I see what's coming."
His eyes sharpened at that.
"What do you see, boy?"
War. Betrayal. Butchery. Ice. Dragons.
"A long winter," I said instead. "And we are not ready."
He was silent for a long time.
"You would throw away your vows before you even speak them."
"I would refuse to bind myself where I cannot serve best."
He leaned forward.
"You think you'll make a difference out there?"
"I know I won't make one in here."
The room went still.
Sam was breathing too loudly.
Jeor's stare weighed on me.
"Your father would have wanted you here," he said finally.
My jaw clenched.
"My father would want his children alive."
That did it.
Something shifted in his expression. Not agreement. Not approval.
Understanding.
"You are your father's son," he muttered despondently.
"I am."
Silence again.
Then, grudgingly:
"If I allow this, you leave at once. No ceremony. No goodbyes."
"I understand."
"And if you ever take up arms against the Watch—"
"I won't."
He watched me another moment.
Then he gave a short, sharp nod.
"Very well. You are not sworn. I will not hold you."
Sam made a small, disbelieving sound.
Jeor's eyes slid to him.
"And you, Tarly? Why are you here?"
Sam swallowed. "I— I intend to accompany Jon, my lord."
"No."
It was immediate.
Sam shrank.
Jeor looked at me, he could tell that it was my idea.
"The boy was sent here. By his father."
"He was not sentenced," I said calmly. "He was forced."
"That is not my concern."
"It is if you value justice."
Jeor's eyes flashed.
"Mind yourself, Snow."
"I am, my lord."
I stepped forward slightly.
"He has taken no vows. He is not sworn. He is free."
"He is safer here."
"With respect," I said, "he is not."
Sam stared at the floor.
"He has a mind sharper than most men here. You know it. You've seen it. The North needs men like him." I paused.
Jeor rubbed a hand over his beard.
"You would take responsibility for him?"
"Yes."
"He will slow you down."
"Yes."
Sam shot me a look.
Jeor exhaled heavily.
"You are asking me to lose two men on the same morning."
"We were never truly yours," I said quietly.
That sat between us.
Long.
Finally, he stood up.
"You are both fools," he muttered.
That sounded promising.
"But you are correct. Neither of you has sworn."
He moved to a small chest, opened it, and withdrew two parchments. He quickly wrote on them and then sealed the parchments.
"Letters of release," he said. "Signed. Stating you left prior to taking vows."
Sam's head snapped up.
Jeor pointed a thick finger at me.
"If this leads to your death, Snow, I will personally drag you back from whatever hell you find yourself in."
"I'll try to avoid that."
His mouth twitched despite himself.
"I will have two horses prepared," he said. "And provisions enough to reach Winterfell."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Do not thank me," he said gruffly. "Win something worth the loss."
We bowed our heads and stepped back.
As we turned to leave, he added:
"Snow."
I paused.
"Do not waste this."
"I won't."
Outside the tower, Sam stared at me like I'd just performed sorcery.
"That… went better than expected."
"Yes."
"You argued with him."
"Yes."
"You won."
"For now."
Two horses were waiting in the yard by the time we returned from our quarters.
Sam looked between them and me.
"We're really doing this."
I tightened the straps on my pack and checked the saddle.
"Yes."
The Wall loomed above us, silent and ancient.
For a brief moment, I wondered if I was making a mistake. The King beyond the wall, Ygritte, Hardhome...
Then I thought of Robb. Of Sansa. Of Arya running through the Lannister camp. Of my father in chains in front of the sept of Baelor.
No.
I swung into the saddle.
Sam mounted awkwardly, clutching the reins like they might bite him.
We had just cleared the outer yard when I put two fingers in my mouth and whistled.
Sharp. Short.
A few heads turned. One of the stable boys flinched.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then I heard it — paws on packed snow.
Ghost came out of the treeline like he'd been carved from the winter itself. Silent. White. Eyes like banked embers. He ran straight for us and skidded to a stop beside my horse.
Sam nearly fell off his.
"Oh," he breathed. "I forgot about him."
"I didn't," I said, reaching down to scratch behind Ghost's ear.
The direwolf leaned into my leg, solid and warm and real.
If this was madness, at least it was consistent.
The guards at the gate stiffened when they saw him, but none dared challenge us. Not with Jeor's letter sealed and hanging from my belt.
The Wall receded behind us.
Ghost trotted ahead, tail high.
We rode south.
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