Sanna Black Slytherin & Rhaegar: I didn't realize this was something that already existed n the fandom—I had to Google RLJ. But, I should have known.

The Miss America: Good point! I have added their perspective in this chapter. Thank you (:

To everyone else that reviewed/commented: Thank you! I appreciate the feedback and interest. Keep on letting me know what you think. I had originally thought that the first chapter would be my last. But, I keep worrying the edges of the story and more seems to unravel—and your positivity is making it seem worthwhile! Also, I have a quick question for y'all: I'm thinking of keeping all posts relatively short, but do you think that this might (ultimately) result in a slow read?

Chapter 2: (Fun)eral

Half of the men hated Jon Snow; it was only a matter of time before their hatred bubbled over. Looking back, it seems the other half had underestimated the hatred their brothers had for Snow—or overestimated their loyalties. But there was nothing anyone could do now.

A log gave a loud crack!, splitting open. Like so many stone gargoyles, no one flinched. What have they done? Tollett silently wondered, and he was not alone. For every snap and cackle of the flame, another lament for the lost Lord Commander went unsaid. Only the angry roars of northern wind and funeral pyre cried.

Fiery shadows painted a traitor's cross. The whole of the Wall was forced to bare witness to Jon Snow's funeral. And, when finally the fire died down, a man crawled from the ashes; a phoenix nakedly reborn from the embers, paralyzing all who had stood to watch a dead man burn.

The fire, a swailing of the underbrush that normally cluttered his mind, cleansed his thoughts. The icy cold of the North to which he had been born raked icy fingers across his naked body still hot from the flames. When finally Jon Snow looked around, Castle Black stared back in shock. They gathered around the charred remnants of what should have been his funeral pyre.

A small movement caught his attention in a dark corner. He saw the Red Woman as she watched from the shadows. He could hear an echo of the warning he had received on two separate occasions—you know nothing, Jon Snow. It seemed he really did not know anything. He was brimming with questions. Maybe the Priestess had answers. But, among the many questions he had, one thing was certain: Jon Snow did not feel welcome among his brothers anymore.

Before he or any of the men in the Night's Watch could think to speak, another howl ripped through the cold. And then that howl was joined by another, deeper cry. At the gate a woman called out for help and the sounds of a boy could be hear mixing with the dire wolves' duet.