Well, here's a fourth chapter! I fear I might've made leaned too much on the lightness, given what all is happening but sometimes you just need to move forward, you know? Anyways, thanks again for all the kind words and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what y'all think!

"So, to get this right," said Tormund as he sat on the bench heavily the next morning, "You're headed South…"

"Aye," said Jon, already fighting exhaustion. He and Sansa had talked late into the night and he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"... To fight those dickless soldiers from the East…"

"Aye."

"... Who mean to kill you and Sansa and everyone else they think their old Queen would've wanted to kill…"

"Aye."

"...Because the salty queen in the West is upset and probably wants to kill you, too…"

Jon threw the words around in his head a second, "Aye."

"... And you mean for me to stay here and take care of this camp."

Tormund glowered at Jon and he found himself questioning for a moment why he had even attempted to have this conversation on so little sleep. "The camp needs a leader-"

"The camp could be run by the grandmothers at this point," Tormund said, and he had a point, they had all worked hard to get it this far. It was mostly just making sure all the daily jobs were taken care of these days. "I have to tell you, Little Crow, you try and cut me out of a fight like that again, and your Queen will have to go elsewhere to get her heirs."

Jon found himself fighting off the reddening of his cheeks, "You and the Freefolk didn't march on Kings Landing because it wasn't your fight, I didn't think this was your fight either."

"For the first time in our lives, the Free Folk are living peacefully, a Queen to the South that doesn't mean to have us wiped from the earth, and you think I'm not interested in this fight? I've seen the other lords that might take over if Sansa finds her head on a spike-"

The mere mention of the possibility had Jon's heart rate picking up.

"-And I'm not keen on them getting a chance at ruling."

Jon deflated, knowing that arguing with Tormund was a fruitless undertaking. The big wildling would be coming South with him. Part of him was relieved at the thought, the other part was dreading the possibility of losing one more of his closest friends, possibly the last one.

At that moment, the door to the hall opened and Sansa walked in. Even though she must have felt as tired as Jon had, while Jon's face was marked with exhaustion, Sansa's was radiant. Her simple presence lifted Jon from the fog he had found his mind in all morning.

She spotted Jon and Tormund and began walking toward them. Jon must've sat up a bit straighter because Tormund only laughed as she walked closer. As Jon hurried to stand, Tormund only took another draft from his ale.

"Tormund, I trust you'll be going South with us."

"Of course, your Grace. I wouldn't imagine anything else," Tormund said, affecting his best Southron Lord farce. "Would you believe Jon here wanted me to stay at the camp?"

"I'm not surprised, Jon is a protector, after all. He wouldn't want to risk your life, especially over a Southern war."

"And you?"

"I'm pragmatic, I knew you'd be coming the moment Jon told you why he was going South with me."

Tormund smiled, he had liked this flame-haired Stark girl the moment he had met her and every interaction with her since had only gone to prove his initial estimation of her correct. He took a large bite from the cold venison he had scrounged from the night before and smiled a greasy, toothy smile at Jon - it was decided.

Sansa turned her icy blue eyes toward Jon and he could feel the weight of them settle on him. "There's no time to waste, we'll have to leave the camp by noon."

"The Night's Watch doesn't exactly allow you to abandon your oaths whenever you'd like, your Gra-" Jon caught himself as her look intensified, "Sansa. I had to get stabbed the last time."

"Having second thoughts, Lord Commander."

"Absolutely not," Jon took Sansa's hand in his own. "Only that it could take time to settle the affair."

"If it's a prick you need," said Tormund, slamming a large knife into the table. "I could cut you up a bit."

Sansa nearly fell from the bench in laughter and it was only Jon's grip on her hand that prevented it. Jon cleared his throat, "That won't be necessary, Tormund."

Later, after assigning a Brother to control of the Night's Watch element of the camp, Jon went back to his hut to finish packing his provisions thinking of what else needed to be done. While he could go South to help Sansa under the guise of protecting Night's Watch interests, too long an absence would be harder to explain away. He thought of Sansa's words the night before, about becoming King and what the implications of the offer meant. He thought of Tormund's playful threat to make him like the Unsullied and deprive Sansa of heirs and he felt the sluggishness of lack of sleep slow his thoughts like a horse traveling through thick mud.

The process of gathering his things for the trip helped him focus, though, and he set to the task like a soldier. He was surprised by how little he had brought with him, so focused on what was in front of him was he that he had left almost all of his past behind him.

He grabbed Longclaw and strapped it to his side before exiting to find the Queen's party, along with Tormund and a handful of other Wildling warriors, mounted and waiting, and Ghost quietly waiting by his horse. He threw his bag behind the saddle and knelt down to scratch Ghost behind his good ear and to feed him a piece of cold venison. The direwolf accepted the gift eagerly.

When everything was prepared and the goodbyes were said, the group set off just after noon and would be at Castle Black by nightfall. As the camp fell behind the group, Jon rode up next to Sansa, "I suppose Bran'll have to write me a pardon."

Sansa merely looked at him with a conspirator's smile and Jon found that he quite liked it. "Bran might have nominal lordship over the Night's Watch, but it's the North that supplies the most men, the most provisions."

"So I suppose you'll be the one writing the pardon?"

The smile only intensified, showing off her teeth and Jon wondered what he would need to say next to keep it that way. "Bran and I agreed that you would be needed back in Winterfell at some point. Arya insisted that you be given the time you needed, I agreed, but we decided to take care of the formalities then."

Jon merely looked at her and she added a laugh to her smile.

"You were pardoned before your boat even made the North, Jon."

"So you wanted to give me a year?"

"I wanted to give you two weeks, Arya convinced me to give you two years, and Greyworm forced me to only give you one."

Jon fell back on his horse and Sansa trotted off to confer with Meera, Tormund eventually taking her place. Jon didn't quite like the exchange of redheads, but there were worse riding partners than Tormund.

The Wildling gave Jon a look, "Eh? Something wrong?"

Jon shook his head to clear his thoughts and smiled, "I don't know anything, Tormund. That's all."