Please bear with me, I will try my best to catch up by the end of the month. Thank you.
He couldn't piece together that smile, no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't remember it. Instead, he unconsciously thought of the deserter his father had beheaded the day they found the direwolf. "You took an oath," Lord Eddard told the man, "You swore it before your brothers and the old and new Gods." Desmond and Fat Tom dragged the deserter to the block. Bran's eyes were wide as saucers, and Jon specifically reminded him not to let the pony move. He remembered the expression on his father's face when Theon Greyjoy handed him Ice, and then he remembered the blood splashing onto the snow, and Theon kicking the head with his leg to his feet.
He couldn't help but wonder what he would do if the deserter were Lord Eddard's own brother, Benjen, instead of a tattered stranger. Would it make a difference? It must, it must, it must... Without a doubt, Robb would also welcome him. How could he not welcome him? Unless...
It was better not to think too much. He gripped the reins tightly, his fingers aching slightly. Jon urged his horse forward again, galloping along the Kingsroad as if to drive away the doubts in his heart. Jon wasn't afraid of death, but he didn't want to die bound hand and foot, beheaded like a common bandit for all to see. If he had to die, he would rather die with a sword in his hand, in a duel with the one who killed his father. He was not born a true Stark, never was... but he could die like a Stark. Let everyone know that Lord Eddard Stark had not just three sons, but four.
Ghost ran alongside him for a mile, his red tongue hanging out of his mouth. He spurred his horse to go faster, man and horse galloping with heads lowered. The direwolf slowed down and stopped, looking around, his eyes glowing red in the moonlight. Soon, he disappeared behind them, and Jon knew he would follow at his own pace.
Ahead, on both sides of the road, flickering lights shone through the trees. This was Mole's Town. He galloped past, hearing a dog bark and a donkey braying from the stables, but otherwise, the village was silent. A few faint glimmers of hearth fire shone through closed windows, or leaked through the planks of houses, but there were very few.
In fact, Mole's Town was much larger than it appeared at first glance, with three-quarters of it underground, consisting of deep, warm cellars connected by a network of intricate tunnels. Even the brothels were underground; from the surface, they were just small wooden huts not much bigger than privies, with a red lantern hanging on the door. The guards on the Wall called them "the treasures underground," and he couldn't help but wonder how many of his black brothers were digging for treasure down there tonight. This was, of course, a form of breaking their oath, but no one seemed to care.
Jon didn't slow down again until he had left the village far behind. By then, both he and the mare were covered in sweat. He jumped off the horse, feeling his whole body tremble, and his burned hand ached even more. There were large piles of melting snow under the bushes, reflecting the moonlight and glistening, with trickles of water flowing out, forming shallow pools. Jon knelt down, cupped his hands together, and scooped up the snowmelt. The snowmelt was bone-chillingly cold. He drank a few mouthfuls, then washed his face until his cheeks were numb. He felt dizzy, and his fingers hadn't ached this much in days. I did the right thing, he told himself, but why do I feel so bad?
The horse was still panting, so Jon led her for a while. The road was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to ride side-by-side, and its surface was cut by small ditches and covered with gravel. Galloping like that just now was foolish, clearly asking for trouble; a slight mistake could break his neck. Jon couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him. Was he so eager to die?
From the distant forest came the startled cry of an animal. He immediately looked up, and the mare also whinnied uneasily. Had his wolf found prey? He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ghost!" he called. "Ghost! Come to me!" But the only response was the sound of an owl taking flight from behind him.
Jon frowned and continued on his way. He led the horse for half an hour until she was dry. But Ghost still didn't appear. Jon wanted to get on the horse and ride, but he was worried about the wolf's whereabouts. "Ghost," he called out again, "Where are you? Come here! Ghost!" There shouldn't be anything in this forest that could threaten a direwolf—even if this direwolf wasn't fully grown yet—unless... No, Ghost would never be foolish enough to attack a bear, and if there were wolves nearby, Jon would definitely be able to hear their howling.
Finally, he decided to eat something first. Food could soothe his stomach a bit and give Ghost more time to catch up. There was no danger yet; Castle Black was still asleep. So he took out a biscuit, a small piece of cheese, and a shriveled brown apple from his saddlebag. He also had some salted beef and a piece of bacon he had stolen from the kitchen, but he wanted to save the meat for tomorrow. Because when the food was gone, he would have to hunt for himself, and that would definitely delay his journey.
Jon sat under a tree, eating the biscuit and cheese, letting the mare graze along the Kingsroad. He saved the apple for last; although it felt a little soft, the flesh was still sweet and sour and juicy. When he heard the sound, he was gnawing on the core: hoofbeats, coming from the north. Jon jumped up and ran to the mare. Could he get away? No, the distance was too close, and it would definitely give away his position, not to mention if they were from Castle Black...
So he led the mare off the road and behind a thick clump of grey-blue sentinel trees. "Don't make a sound," he whispered, crouching down and peering out through the gaps in the branches. If the Gods were willing, they would just ride past without noticing. They were probably farmers from Mole's Town, returning to their fields, but why would they be walking in the middle of the night?...
He listened quietly. The hoofbeats came rapidly along the Kingsroad, steady and growing louder. Judging by the sound, there were probably five or six people. Their voices carried through the trees.
"...Are you sure he came this way?"
"Of course not."
"Maybe he went east. Or left the road and went through the forest. That's what I would do."
"On a night this pitch black? Don't be silly. Even if you don't fall off your horse and break your neck, if you wander around without knowing the way, you'll probably end up back at the Wall by the time the sun rises."
"I wouldn't," Grenn sounded angry. "I'd ride south, I can tell which way is south by the stars."
"What if they're covered by clouds?" Pyp asked.
"Then I won't go."
Another voice chimed in. "If it were me, you know what I'd do? I'd go straight to Mole's Town and dig for treasure." Todder's sharp laughter echoed through the forest, and Jon's mare snorted.
"All of you shut up," Hoder said. "I think I heard something."
"Where? I didn't hear anything." The hoofbeats stopped.
"You can't even hear yourself fart."
"Yes, I can," Grenn insisted.
"Shut up!"
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