Black Wolf, Golden Soul
Chapter 3: The Flames We Make
The Wall stood behind him, a towering sentinel of ice and old oaths. Jon Snow rode south now. A rare thing—leaving the Watch, even temporarily. But Lord Commander Mormont had made it clear: Jon would deliver a message to Winterfell. An update about the rising threat beyond the Wall. The dead. The wights. The silence of the true North.
But Jon had a different plan.
The world was spinning faster than anyone realized. The story wasn't waiting for heroes to become ready.
So he'd decided to get ahead of it.
He wasn't just Jon Snow anymore.
He was Jordan, too.
He remembered.
Earth. Music. Rage. Dreams. Pain. All those voices that lived inside him.
He couldn't save Earth. But this world? This one still had a shot.
And he was going to set it on fire if he had to.
---
He sang as he rode. Low. Like a growl under his breath.
"I've been through mad different phases, like mazes to find my way...
And now I know that happy days are not far away."
– Nas
Ghost ran ahead, fur catching what little sunlight the cloudy sky offered. The trees opened wider. The frost began to soften. They were nearing Last Hearth.
Jon pulled his cloak tighter. The cold never truly left. Not even down south.
He arrived at the gates of House Umber before sundown. The guards recognized him instantly. He was the Lord Commander's proxy. The bastard of Winterfell. The one with the demon-eyed wolf.
He was let in without a word.
Lord Umber was a loud man with a thick beard and thicker ego. He welcomed Jon with meat, fire, and loud laughter.
"What brings you from the Wall, bastard?"
Jon took a bite of roast boar and looked him dead in the eye. "Death."
The hall quieted.
Lord Umber swallowed. "Come again?"
"I came from a massacre," Jon said, his voice steel. "Wights. A dozen of them. A whole wildling camp torn apart. We killed what we could. Lost men. Almost lost more."
A silence fell.
Jon leaned forward. "Winter isn't coming. It's already here. You need to prepare your lands. Your people. Arm them. Now."
The Lord narrowed his eyes. "And who are you to command me?"
Jon stood, pushing his chair back.
"I am the sword between the darkness and the light. I am Jon Snow. I am Death's nightmare."
He walked out without waiting for permission.
Behind him, he heard a murmur: That boy's got fire.
---
Two days later
He was back on the Kingsroad. Riding hard. Winterfell was next.
As he passed a group of smallfolk traveling south, he slowed his horse. The people looked at him with tired eyes. Hollow bellies. Chapped hands. Fear behind every glance.
He gave them dried meat and bread. Nothing much. But enough.
A child tugged on his cloak. "Are you a knight?"
Jon smiled. "No. But I can still kill monsters."
The girl looked up. "Can you sing?"
He blinked. Then nodded.
He pulled out a soft rhythm with his gloved fingers on his saddle.
"I've been thinking 'bout forever... ooh..."
– Frank Ocean
The small crowd quieted. Even the wind seemed to hush.
He sang them hope. Then left without a word.
---
Winterfell
The gates opened slowly. The sigil of the direwolf flapped high. The snow crunched beneath Ghost's paws as Jon dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy.
Maester Luwin greeted him first. "Jon! You've returned. The Lord and Lady Stark will be pleased."
Jon gave a nod. "Is Robb here?"
"In the Great Hall. Preparing for war."
Jon strode inside. The warmth of the keep seeped into his bones, but it did nothing to melt the tension in his chest.
Robb stood at the high table, flanked by bannermen. Lady Catelyn stood behind him, her gaze sharp. When she saw Jon, her face pinched.
Robb smiled. "Jon! You look... different."
"I am," Jon said simply.
He walked up, eyes sweeping the room. "We need to talk. Alone."
Catelyn stepped forward. "You don't command here."
Jon turned to her, calm and cold. "With respect, my lady, if you'd rather talk while your halls burn, be my guest."
Robb raised a hand. "Mother. Please."
He led Jon into a side room. The moment the door shut, Jon dropped the formality.
"You don't have time, Robb. None of us do. The dead are moving. I saw them. Fought them. Lost men to them. They don't stop. They don't sleep. And your banners won't mean shit when they get here."
Robb exhaled. "Gods, Jon... Are you sure?"
Jon nodded. "I'm not a boy anymore. I know what I saw. And if you don't listen, you're going to lose everything."
Robb sat. He looked tired. Young. But he believed him.
"What do we do?"
Jon's eyes glinted. "We get ready to burn the dead. We train every man, woman, and child. We forge dragonglass. We send ravens. We unite the North."
Robb nodded slowly. "And if they laugh at us?"
Jon smiled darkly. "Then we let them die first."
---
Later, in the Godswood
Jon sat under the weirwood, back against its old roots. Ghost rested nearby, ears twitching. Jon plucked a tune on a carved wooden flute he'd found.
Then he sang, soft, low.
"We gon' be alright... Do you hear me, do you feel me? We gon' be alright..."
– Kendrick Lamar
The red leaves rustled.
He closed his eyes.
He wasn't afraid. Not of the dead. Not of the war. Not of the future.
He was fire now. He was rhythm.
And he was just getting started.
End of Chapter 3