Beyond the Wall, the world did not care about kings.
Snow buried the past just as easily as it buried the tracks of wolves, and the wind carried no whispers of thrones or crowns. No banners flew in the frozen valleys. No lords argued in warm halls about power or loyalty.
Here, men survived, or they died.
Nothing else mattered.
Morning came slowly to the wild lands beyond the Wall. Pale light stretched across endless snowfields while thin mist rose from frozen rivers and jagged forests of dark pine.
The cold bit deeply into the air.
Jon Snow walked through the snow with steady steps, his cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders. Beside him moved Ghost, silent and watchful, the great white direwolf blending so perfectly into the snow that he sometimes seemed more spirit than beast.
Ahead of them, a group of hunters knelt beside a frozen stream.
One of them stood much taller than the others.
Tormund Giantsbane.
He was arguing loudly with a young hunter while pointing at the snow.
"I'm telling you those are elk tracks."
The younger man shook his head stubbornly.
"Elk do not run like that."
Tormund snorted.
"Perhaps the elk learned to run differently."
Jon approached quietly.
"What are we hunting today?"
Tormund turned and grinned when he saw him.
"Food."
Jon crouched beside the tracks in the snow.
"These are reindeer."
Tormund scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"That was my second guess."
The hunters laughed.
Life beyond the Wall had become simple again.
The Free Folk moved with the seasons, hunting where the animals traveled and building camps where the land allowed it. There were no castles here, no permanent settlements.
Only survival.
And freedom.
Jon had not expected to find peace in such a place.
Yet somehow he had.
No one beyond the Wall cared that he had once worn a crown.
No one cared that he had killed a queen.
Among the Free Folk, a man was judged only by what he did today.
Not by what he had done years before.
One of the hunters suddenly raised his hand.
"Riders."
Everyone turned.
Far across the white valley, three dark figures moved slowly through the snow.
Visitors.
Tormund frowned.
"We do not get visitors this far north."
Jon stood.
"Let's see what they want."
The riders reached the camp near midday.
They were traders from the south, men who occasionally traveled north of the Wall to exchange steel tools and cloth for furs and ivory.
But their faces carried tension.
One of them climbed down from his horse and studied Jon carefully.
"You're him."
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"I'm many things."
"The crow who killed a queen."
Behind Jon, several hunters shifted uneasily.
Tormund stepped forward.
"Careful with your tongue."
The trader raised both hands.
"No insult meant."
He turned back toward Jon.
"We bring news."
Jon's expression remained calm.
"What kind of news?"
The man hesitated.
"The kind that travels faster than truth."
Tormund grunted.
"That usually means trouble."
The trader nodded slowly.
"Rumors are spreading across the Narrow Sea."
Jon said nothing.
The trader finally spoke the words.
"A dragon has been seen."
The hunters murmured among themselves.
Tormund laughed loudly.
"Dragons are dead."
"That's what people said."
Jon felt something tighten in his chest.
"What else did you hear?"
The trader hesitated again.
"Some say the dragon does not fly alone."
The wind moved suddenly across the valley.
Jon's voice lowered.
"What do you mean?"
The man looked directly at him.
"They say the Dragon Queen may still live."
The valley fell silent.
Tormund looked toward Jon.
Jon did not move.
But the past had just returned.
Night came early beyond the Wall.
The Free Folk gathered around several fires in the center of the camp, roasting meat and sharing stories beneath the dark sky. Laughter rose into the cold air as hunters drank and celebrated another successful day.
But at the edge of the camp, Jon Snow stood alone, looking across the frozen valley.
Behind him, heavy footsteps approached.
Tormund Giantsbane stopped beside him and crossed his arms.
"You're thinking too loudly."
Jon did not look at him.
"I didn't realize thoughts made noise."
"They do when a man stares at snow for an hour."
Jon exhaled slowly.
"You believe the trader?"
Tormund shrugged.
"Rumors grow bigger than truth."
Jon nodded.
"Yes."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"If the dragon lives," Tormund said eventually, "what does that mean?"
Jon's voice came quietly.
"It means the world is changing again."
"That is not what I asked."
Jon finally turned toward him.
"You know what it means."
Tormund scratched his beard.
"Yes."
They both understood the unspoken part.
If the dragon lived…
Then perhaps Daenerys Targaryen lived as well.
The thought hung between them.
"When you stabbed her," Tormund said bluntly, "did you think she deserved it?"
Jon's jaw tightened.
"I thought it would stop more deaths."
"That is not the same thing."
"No."
The wind howled faintly through the trees.
Tormund studied his face.
"You loved her."
It was not a question.
Jon's voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Yes."
Tormund nodded slowly.
"I could see that."
Jon stared toward the distant mountains.
"I still do."
The fire behind them crackled softly.
After a moment, Tormund spoke again.
"If she lives… what will you do?"
Jon did not answer immediately.
Because the truth was not simple.
Finally, he said quietly:
"I don't know."
Tormund laughed softly.
"That may be the wisest thing you've said in years."
Jon glanced at him.
"You find this amusing?"
"No."
Tormund looked toward the dark sky.
"I find it terrifying."
They stood together in silence.
After a long moment, Jon spoke again.
"The rumors will spread."
"Yes."
"And the truth will disappear beneath them."
"That is what rumors do."
Jon tightened his cloak.
"Then someone needs to find the truth."
Tormund frowned.
"And who would chase dragons across the world?"
Jon did not smile.
"I might know someone."
Tormund stared at him.
"You're serious."
Jon nodded slowly.
Somewhere far beyond the Narrow Sea, a dragon had been seen in the sky.
And for the first time in five years…
Jon Snow wondered if the past had truly died.