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***The following takes place during the final scene of Game of Thrones Season 5 Finale, Mother’s Mercy.*** In the dark of night Jon Snow wrote by candlelight, his fingers stiff from winter’s cold. “Winter is coming.” Those were the words of his house, the Starks of Winterfell, to which he was born a bastard and lived until his 14th name day. The son of Lord Eddard Stark, affectionately known as Ned to those who loved him most, Jon was a man whose honor had held to that of his father. A shame, he once thought to himself, how he was then born of his father’s disgrace with a maiden, his desire having overtaken his marriage oath if only for one night. Maybe that is why I broke my oath as well, he thought. I am my father’s son. Jon laid down his quill and breathed into his hands, flexing the joints of his fingers. It wasn’t until he heard the screaming outside that his spirit stirred, longing to leave his body. He had done it before – frightening at first, yet becoming easier each time he left his own body for that of Ghost’s. He felt the grit of ice and snow against his four feet as he peered around the corner of Castle Black to see the commotion. He saw the men; he counted a dozen of them, or thereabouts, huddled outside his tower.
Ser Darryl gestured wildly in the middle of the pack, arguing with – is that Ser Alliser Thorne? Ser Darryl had been sent to the Wall after being falsely accused of theft in Deepwood Motte. Ser Darryl was one of 2 men in Westoros with skin of teak, a…
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Meet the author
Jordan Calhoun
Jordan Calhoun is a writer in New York City. His forthcoming debut book "Piccolo Is Black" is a celebration of the common adaptations we made while non-diverse pop culture helped us form identities. He holds…
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