The Night's Watch Couldn't Save the Seven Kingdoms

The Wall, this miraculous structure, had stood for a thousand years.

Its western half stretched straight ahead, like a gleaming blade of snow cleaving the earth.

Its eastern half curved like a silver serpent as it plunged into the sea.

Together with the Night's Watch, the Wall guarded the northern gateway to the Seven Kingdoms, keeping out the Wildlings and the legendary White Walkers.

And inside Castle Black, which stood alongside this wall of ice and snow, a graying, middle-aged man sat facing an old man with snow-white hair and beard.

The middle-aged man was none other than the current Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont.

A burly man from Bear Island, he had a pet raven perched on his shoulder.

The old man seated across from him was named Aemon, a surviving member of the fallen Targaryen Dynasty.

He was so old that even the new king had forgotten him.

Besides, the old man was both elderly and blind. His eyes always stared vacantly upward, and he posed no real threat to the new king's position.

There was also a young man of about sixteen or seventeen standing beside the two men, waiting on them.

He was rather plump, his belly nearly touching the edge of the table, and he was reading them a letter.

...Dear Maester Aemon, from the first moment I saw you, I felt a deep connection with you, as if I had met a relative I had never known.

I don't have the same resolve you do. Perhaps it's because I haven't yet sworn the Night's Watch Oath.

As a son, I can't ignore the news that my father has been framed...

When the Targaryen Dynasty was overthrown and its members slaughtered more than a decade ago, Maester Aemon had been consumed by grief and wanted to do something.

But in the end, he had decided to remain at the Wall and honor the oath he had sworn.

As the plump Night's Watchman read the letter in his hands, he carefully watched the expressions of the two men.

Both looked grave.

His name was Sam, and he was a good friend of the letter's author.

Although his friend had never sworn the Night's Watch Oath, in honor-bound Westeros, what he had done was little different from desertion.

If he was caught, he would very likely lose his head.

Perhaps his status as the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell would give him some leeway, but who could say?

"...Dear Lord Commander Mormont,

Although I haven't been at the Wall for long, I can feel how much you've looked after me and how much you expect of me.

I don't want to make excuses about not having sworn the oath and become a true brother of the Night's Watch.

I promise that one day, I will return and fulfill my duty.

—Jon Snow, a bastard from Winterfell.

Sam finished reading the signature and looked at the two old men.

One was the Lord Commander, the man with the most authority at the Wall.

The other was the Night's Watch maester, the most respected man at the Wall. Their decision would determine his friend's fate.

Life,

or death.

Lord Commander Mormont snorted coldly and said,

"I'll have Alliser take some men and bring that little bastard back! Send Qhorin, too."

Hearing Mormont's decision, Sam's heart sank. His lips moved, but no words came.

He wanted to plead for his good friend, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

The Lord Commander's anger was understandable. The old man, whose words and expression were always cold, had been grooming Jon as his successor.

Jon's "desertion" had naturally enraged him.

Alliser had always been at odds with Jon, taking every chance to humiliate him.

Qhorin was a Ranger of the Night's Watch, accustomed to roaming Beyond the Wall and living among the brutal Wildlings.

If Jon fell into their hands, he would probably be half-dead before they even got him back to the Wall.

Sam instinctively turned to the old maester, hoping he would plead for Jon.

But he didn't dare speak, and the blind old maester couldn't see him trying to catch his eye.

After a moment, the old maester pursed his thin lips and said,

"I'll write to Winterfell."

Sam's mind rang like an explosion. That meant they were even cutting off Jon's escape route.

Mormont said nothing and got to his feet.

Now only Sam and the old maester remained in the room.

"Maester Aemon..." Sam began meekly, but the old maester interrupted him.

"Sam, just write that Jon has left the Night's Watch. And send the letter he left behind to Winterfell, too."

The Kingsroad had been built during the Targaryen Dynasty.

Though it was called a great road, many stretches turned muddy whenever it rained.

Still, it connected most of the Seven Kingdoms.

On that road, a lean, dark-haired young man rode south, foam gathering at the corners of his horse's mouth.

The relentless gallop had pushed it close to its limit.

A snow-white direwolf followed behind the young man.

He was Jon Snow, a deserter from the Night's Watch—but he was no longer the Jon Snow he had once been.

He knew his father was actually his uncle, and that his real father was Rhaegar, a prince of the former dynasty.

And he wasn't a bastard, either.

His true name was Aegon Targaryen.

But none of that mattered now.

In the original story, Jon had only hesitated about riding south to join the force seeking revenge for Eddard after swearing the Night's Watch Oath.

As a transmigrator, he had already decided to head south, so he had waited for his chance, left a letter, and slipped away.

As far as he knew, as long as he hadn't sworn the oath, he wasn't a true member of the Night's Watch.

At least morally, there was some room to maneuver.

Then he had chosen his moment, taken a horse, and left the Wall at night, intending to support the Young Wolf, who was about to raise an army to save his father.

But the Jon of now knew that there was no way to save Eddard Stark.

In a few months, he would die at the hands of King Joffrey.

Worse still, the armies of the Westerlands were already ravaging the Riverlands, and Jon had no troops at all. He couldn't even get through.

So Jon's goal now was to find a way to get the Starks out of the war unscathed.

In the original story, the Young Wolf would die in a conspiracy.

But before then, he still had many chances to turn the tide.

Jon's bare minimum goal was to get Robb to keep it in his pants and retreat safely to the North. Then the full strength of the North could support the Night's Watch, making things far less desperate for them.

With twenty or thirty thousand soldiers guarding the hundred-foot-tall Wall, the Night King would have no way through.

As long as Daenerys didn't mess things up, Jon couldn't imagine how the Night King would get past.

Of course, if the Night King had some other trick up his sleeve, they could deal with it then. That would still be better than leaving the handful of men at the Wall to face an uncountable army of White Walkers.

"No matter what, the Night's Watch can't save the Seven Kingdoms. To fight the White Walkers, I have to take part in this Game of Thrones!"

Jon glanced at the direwolf beside him and thought in silence.

Just then, Ghost suddenly pricked up his ears and looked behind them.

His crimson eyes were filled with wariness.

Jon sensed something was wrong, too, and looked back. More than a dozen black-clad riders were rapidly closing in on him.

"They've come to collect me."

A bitter smile spread across Jon's lean, dark face. The cold reality pulled him back from his fantasies.

He raised his whip and urged his exhausted horse onward.

The horse had been traveling for three days straight, eating nothing but a little grass along the way.

Meanwhile, the riders behind him had two horses each. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.

The land around him was flat. There was only one way to lose his pursuers... Jon looked around and spotted it: the Wolfswood.

"Ghost! Into the woods!"

At Jon's command, the direwolf, nearly as long as a grown man, blurred into a white streak and raced toward the Wolfswood.

Seeing Jon head for the woods, the riders behind him sped up to catch him.

"That little bastard!"

One officer-like Ranger pursued him more fiercely than the rest.

He chased Jon as if his quarry weren't a deserter from the Night's Watch, but a naked noblewoman.

His name was Alliser, and he was the Night's Watch's master-at-arms.

Just as Sam had feared, Alliser and Jon had been at odds even back at the Wall.

He liked giving people nicknames, calling Jon things like "Lord Jon" or "my lord."

Jon was still a bastard, so there was no way he could be called a lord or a knight.

Those nicknames were obviously meant to mock him.

When Alliser learned that the Lord Commander had assigned him to capture Jon, he was overjoyed.

He swore that once he caught Jon, he would humiliate him thoroughly.

Even if Jon somehow escaped execution, he would never be able to hold his head high again.

When the pursuers reached the edge of the vast Wolfswood, Alliser turned to a man as silent as a stone wall and said,

"Ser Qhorin, why don't you take a few men and get ahead of the boy to block his way?"

Qhorin tugged on his reins and said coolly,

"No need."

With that, he rode straight into the forest.

Rangers were used to working alone. Roaming Beyond the Wall was as natural to them as breathing, and finding one man in the Wolfswood was nothing to him.

As the Ranger rode away, Alliser's expression shifted. Without turning around, he said,

"Idiot... Pyp, take your friend and go 'ask' our Lord Jon to come back.

"If you don't bring him back, he'll have nothing left to look forward to but the headsman's axe."

At his words, two young Night's Watch recruits rode out from the group.

The young man named Pyp was small and thin, while the recruit with him was tall and broad.

But his size gave him the air of a big, dumb oaf.

The big man was named Grenn. Alliser had nicknamed him "Dumb Ox" because of his build.

He had used the nickname so often that he'd even forgotten Grenn's real name.

Neither man said a word. They hurried into the Wolfswood.

Alliser knew that the two were Jon's friends and that his threats would make them search hard for him.

To be safe, however, he sent someone else after them as well.

Many of the men he'd brought were recruits. He wasn't popular with them, so Jon was a perfect opportunity to make an example of someone.

He turned to the men behind him and said,

"If we catch that deserter, fine. But if we don't, you'll spend a whole month on night patrol!"

Beyond the Wall, it was already cold, and the Wall was colder still. At night, the wind atop the Wall could cut right to the bone.

The Night's Watch took turns patrolling and standing guard. A whole month of it would leave anyone with a lingering illness.

At Alliser's words, most of them shrank back in fear.

A few, of course, looked at him with resentment and hostility.

But they all did as he said.

Alliser was a nobleman by birth, and he knew how to deal with runaway peasants and soldiers.

The best thing to do now was seal off the area, not pursue Jon.

He believed there was no way Jon could escape.

And things were going just as he had hoped.

The shouts echoing through the Wolfswood sent every bird and beast fleeing into hiding.

"Jon! Come back with us!"

"Jon! Come back! At least you won't get your head chopped off!"

"Come back, Jon. If you do, the Lord Commander won't kill you!"

"..."

In the woods, Jon listened to the voices calling for him to surrender, and his anxiety slowly mounted.

The warhorse beneath him stumbled and fell, panting heavily.

Jon looked at the horse, its head pressed to the ground and its eyes closed, and sighed.

"I'd planned to save this for the battlefield, but I guess now's not the time to be stingy."

As he willed it, lines of text in different colors appeared before his eyes:

[Swordsmanship]: Blue

[Archery]: Green

[Horsemanship]: Green

[Gods' Eye]: Green

[Skinchanger]: Green

Upgrades remaining: 1