Under the trees, Jon stuffed something into Alliser's mouth, completely ignoring the way Alliser glared at him like he was about to breathe fire.
Alliser had specifically picked a strong, well-fed horse for the hunt, hoping it would help him catch Jon. That horse had been getting proper feed the whole way too, with plenty of stamina left—more than enough to carry Jon back to Winterfell.
As for how Jon took Alliser down, it was actually pretty straightforward.
First, he had Ghost draw part of the group away. Then Jon set an ambush up in a tree. Once Jon realized how mobile Ghost was in the woods, he used skinchanging to have Ghost lure Alliser right into the trap.
After that, the rest basically took care of itself.
It sounded simple, but it really wasn't.
Without his "cheat" helping him, Jon might've run straight into that ranger head-on. Or he might've blundered into the eastern side where the numbers were thicker.
And there was no way he could've layered the trap on Alliser step by step the way he did.
Either way, he'd created an opening to escape, and he needed to move—fast.
Already in the saddle, Jon turned his head and looked back at Alliser, who was still struggling and glaring daggers at him. Then Jon seemed to remember something.
He swung down from the horse and walked back with his sword drawn.
"Mmm—mmm!"
Seeing Jon approach with a cold blade in hand, Alliser thought Jon was about to kill him.
It hit him like a bucket of ice water.
He shook his head like crazy and muffled desperate sounds that were half begging, half screaming. He fought the bindings harder, twisting like a worm dumped into salt.
For the first time, he regretted running his mouth earlier.
Jon wasn't going to kill him.
Instead, Jon used the sword to slice Alliser's cloak open, then pulled it over Alliser's head like a hood. It would help hide which direction Jon escaped.
Alliser, unfortunately, took it the wrong way and started shaking even harder, his legs going so weak he could barely hold himself up.
When Jon turned back toward the horse again, he spotted Alliser's two-handed sword on the ground.
A yellow amber stone was set into the hilt, and both the craftsmanship and the edge were clearly better than Jon's own sword.
Jon couldn't take his eyes off it. So he took it too, as loot.
By the customs of Westeros, if you defeat someone, you're supposed to return their weapon afterward.
But Jon didn't exactly consider himself a local—and, honestly, it felt like payback for everything the old Jon had swallowed over the years.
"Ghost. We're leaving."
With that, one man and one wolf vanished into the trees.
Not long after Jon left, Alliser heard people shouting his name.
"Ser Alliser! Ser Alliser!"
"Mmm! Mmm—!"
Alliser roared through his throat, trying to draw attention.
Two recruits soon found him tied to the tree. Even with the cloak covering his head, the clothes and build made it obvious who it was.
Just as one of them stepped forward to untie him, the other stopped him.
"What?"
"You forget how this bastard usually treats us?"
"Then what do we do?"
The second recruit leaned in and whispered for a while.
A moment later, the two split up to call in more people.
Pretty soon, more than ten recruits gathered not far from Alliser.
Alliser had no idea what was happening out there. He was still struggling, because as far as he was concerned, nobody could see him like this.
If they did, how was he supposed to train recruits after that?
Then he heard a messy, clustered set of footsteps creeping closer.
He thought they'd come to rescue him, so he started making muffled pleading noises again. He'd already lost face—he couldn't let Jon, the deserter, get away too.
What he didn't expect was a low, sharp "All together."
A storm of punches and kicks dropped on him like heavy rain.
The recruits stomped and swung with wild enthusiasm—people with grudges got revenge, and people without grudges had the time of their lives anyway.
Their eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement.
If you didn't know better, you'd think a pack of thugs had found someone helpless in a dark alley.
Then again, most Night's Watch recruits didn't exactly come from polite society.
Because of Aegon the Conqueror's decree centuries ago, criminals had become a major source of manpower for the Watch.
Most of these recruits were here to "earn redemption" for something they'd done.
Swallowing insults wasn't their style. If anything, this was the perfect moment to give Alliser the beating they'd been dreaming about.
"Let me get one hit in! Let me get one hit in!"
With ten-plus men piling onto one, a lot of them could barely squeeze close enough to land a blow.
Fists flew like they were free. Elbows jabbed wherever they could fit.
Alliser—hooded and helpless—got hit so much he could barely tell up from down.
That was when Pyp and Grenn finally arrived.
When they saw a crowd beating someone on the ground, they thought it was Jon, so they rushed in to pull people off.
But something felt off.
Everyone looked like they were holding back laughter, and they mostly just kept swinging without saying much.
"What—Ser Alliser?"
Once Pyp realized it wasn't Jon getting beaten, he finally relaxed.
Grenn, on the other hand, lit up with a grin.
He would never forget who had saddled him with that nickname in the first place.
"Everybody move!!!"
Grenn was bigger than most men to begin with, so when he charged in, the recruits surrounding Alliser hurriedly made room.
But the moment the circle opened, the cloak covering Alliser's head slipped off.
Alliser, bruised and dazed, opened his swollen eyes—and immediately saw an enormous boot coming straight for his face.
Furious, Alliser bellowed, "What do you think you're doing?!"
Alliser was practically smoking with rage.
First Jon ambushed him and stole his horse. Then a pack of recruits jumped him while he was tied up.
The worst part was he had no idea who hit him, so there was probably no way to punish anyone for it.
And now even that "dummy ox" Grenn dared to act up right on top of him.
Grenn froze with his boot hanging inches from Alliser's face.
The smile on his face turned stiff and awkward.
"Uh… sir, do you like my boots?"
The air was thick with schadenfreude.
But nobody dared "take advantage" anymore.
They rushed to untie Alliser, but after that beating, everything hurt. He could barely stand.
"Where's my sword?!"
Alliser snapped.
They scattered to search for it, but even after the ranger Qhorin arrived, nobody found the sword.
After hearing what happened, Qhorin said, "Ser Alliser, we should head back. Maester Aemon already wrote to Winterfell.
And at this point, we might not even be able to catch him."
Hearing that, Alliser's face shifted between pale and livid. He felt completely humiliated.
He was noble-born, and he'd been in the Night's Watch for over a decade.
And he'd been played by a kid—ambushed, robbed of his horse, and stripped of his blade.
To a noble, those two things were practically part of his identity.
Alliser knew that for a long time, he wouldn't be able to hold his head up.
Qhorin questioned a recruit and quickly pieced together the whole sequence of events.
His expression even carried a hint of approval.
It was a shame, really. If Jon hadn't deserted, he might've grown into an outstanding ranger.
That was when Alliser said something that made Pyp and Grenn's blood run cold:
"Robb Stark won't let this bastard brother of his walk away. He'll use the Starks' ancestral sword, Ice, and take Jon's head himself!"
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