The Bastard Wolf: Reborn Chapter 4 – Southbound Schemes
Jon's breath turned to mist as he stood at the gates of Winterfell, staring at the carts and riders preparing to depart. His hands were gloved in thick leather, but it wasn't the cold that stiffened his fingers. It was the weight of the game beginning.
Ned Stark, his father—not father—mounted his horse with the gravity of a man walking to war. Sansa sat in a covered cart nearby, lips parted with nervous excitement. Arya stood beside Jon, scowling like a caged wolf.
"You sure you're going to the Wall?" she asked.
Jon didn't answer right away. He watched Ned give final orders to the guards, then looked down at Arya.
"I go where the shadows are," he said. "But I'll be watching you. Keep training. Syrio's coming soon."
"You said that a week ago," she grumbled.
"I'll say it again until he shows. That's how fate works. Sometimes you speak it into the world until it shows up."
Arya rolled her eyes, but her grin peeked through. "You're weird, Jon."
Jon bent down and kissed her forehead. "And you're a killer. Just don't forget to smile before you strike."
---
Benjen Stark met him at the edge of the party. His face was carved from ice and war.
"You sure about this, Jon?"
Jon slung a satchel over his shoulder. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Benjen narrowed his eyes. "You don't talk like a boy."
"That's because I'm not one."
Benjen grunted. "Then let's ride."
As they rode out, Jon looked back one last time. Winterfell sat behind him like a fortress of memory and warning. It was where the game had started. But it wasn't where it would end.
He sang softly as they passed the tree line:
"I'm not afraid of dying, I've been afraid of not trying…"
"Every day hit every wave like I'm Hawaiian…"
The men around him didn't understand the words, but they felt them. That's all that mattered.
---
The Wall.
Jon had seen it in visions, in memories. But standing before it again, it still knocked the breath out of him.
It rose like a mountain of frozen death, stretching across the world, guarding nothing but forgotten truths and whispered nightmares. The cold clawed at his bones.
Benjen led him through Castle Black. The black brothers eyed him curiously, their faces hard from life, not birth.
"This is Jon Snow," Benjen said. "He'll be joining the Watch."
"I'll be training them," a voice said.
Ser Alliser Thorne stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed like a man who thought he was important. Jon's eyes met his, and he already knew he'd hate him.
"Another lordling come to play crow," Thorne sneered.
Jon didn't blink. "Another washed-up knight playing teacher."
The other recruits snickered. Thorne's lip curled.
Benjen chuckled. "Good luck, Alliser. This one bites."
---
Training at the Wall was brutal. Not because of the swords or the cold, but because Jon was holding back. Every swing he pulled. Every insult he ignored. He had to. Couldn't reveal too much.
Still, it didn't stop the whispers. The boys noticed how fast he moved. How cleanly he struck.
"You fight like you've done this for years," Grenn said one evening, nursing a bruised arm.
Jon sat on the ground, sipping broth. "Maybe I have."
Pyp raised an eyebrow. "How old are you again?"
Jon smiled. "Old enough to know the world ends with ice and fire."
They thought he was weird. Let them.
---
Night fell, and Jon slipped out past the gates.
Ghost followed, silent as a secret. They moved beyond the firelight, into the trees. Jon reached a clearing and knelt, eyes closed. He focused.
A whisper, soft as snow, moved through him. Magic. Ancient. Cold.
"I know you're watching," Jon said to the dark. "Come out."
A figure emerged from the shadows. Pale skin. Black eyes. Wrapped in black.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," the figure said. "There are worse things than cold."
"I'm not alone." Jon nodded to Ghost. "And I've met worse things."
The figure—one of the First Men's remnants, a shadow of the forest—studied him.
"You are not what you seem."
Jon stood. "Neither are you."
They stared at each other.
"You'll need power to survive what comes."
"I know."
The figure reached into their cloak and dropped a blade into the snow. Dragonglass. Black and sharp.
"You'll know when to use it."
Then they vanished.
---
Back at Castle Black, Jon returned to his room and locked the door.
He lit a candle, pulled a piece of parchment, and wrote.
To: Lord Eddard Stark
King's Landing is dangerous. You're being watched. Don't trust the queen. Watch Littlefinger. The boy Bran—do not let him fall.
Burn this letter after reading.
He handed it off to a raven the next morning, sealing it with wax.
Then he sang again, this time louder, on the Wall.
"They gon' think I won a Grammy… they gon' think I won a Grammy…"
"Put my soul in the melodies…"
The brothers stared. Thorne cursed. But Jon didn't stop. The Wall needed music, even if it came from another world.
---
First Person
Sometimes I miss Earth. Not the people. Not the cities. But the freedom. Here, everything is layered in duty and blood.
But I'll burn through it. Like wildfire. Like prophecy.
I've died before.
This time, I live on my terms.
And if the world doesn't like that?
It can go fuck itself.
---
Meanwhile, far to the south, King's Landing brewed in shadow.
Ned Stark stepped into the Red Keep like a man wading into a swamp. Cersei watched from a balcony, eyes cold. Littlefinger smiled with secrets behind his teeth. And Varys? Varys already knew something was different.
"There's a wolf in the North," the Spider whispered. "And he's not playing the game."
The queen tilted her head. "Then we teach him the rules."
---
Back at the Wall, Jon stood atop the battlements, eyes on the distant trees. He felt it. A shift. The game moving faster.
"I need more time," he muttered.
But time wasn't kind.
The next morning, a rider came.
Benjen was missing.
The Wall had begun to stir.
---
End of Chapter