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CHAPTER 11: The Second Fun Part
Janessa the Red had not been welcomed with much warmth to the Wall. But she had all the warmth she needed from the Lord of Light, and the coolness of the Night's Watch did not bother her.
It had taken her a fortnight to travel from Riverrun to Castle Black, for she had traveled quite slowly. Perhaps she could have made the trip in as little as a few days, but she hadn't felt the need to hurry. And it was then another week before the purpose of her visit arrived. She had watched as Jon Snow arrived on the Wall to shouts. His face was as she had seen in the flames. Donal Noye had threatened first to hang him, then to behead him. Jon had been fierce, defiant. He'd been escorted into Castle Black and Noye's chambers with two men's hands on his shoulders should he attempt to flee. That had only seemed to inflame his anger and once or twice he stumbled as he tried to throw them off him. She wondered, when she saw this, if there was something wrong with him. His walk was unsteady, but before she could scrutinize him much he was gone. Perhaps an hour later Ser Allister Thorne, a man who had protested her stay on the Wall heavily joined them with Jonos Slynt.
She had worried for him them. But Noye had stayed his hand and talked down the others as well it seemed. He and Jon emerged again hours later, speaking calmly and relaxedly. Jon was limping heavily, something she had barely noticed the first time she saw him. He went for the maester then, and she still was not needed.
She was needed the morning of the day after he arrived. Janessa was breaking her fast in her chambers when she heard men outside shouting.
"Fetch Aemon and Clydas! Fetch them now! Come quick, they've just found him! Where in the bloody Seven Kingdom's IS NOYE?!"
"Don't know what they need Aemon for," she heard a man mutter as they walked past her chambers. She didn't hear the rest of what he said. Then she was on her feet, curiosity getting the better of her.
"What is it?" she asked a young brother of the Watch she hadn't met before. He was standing outside her doors, looking startled by the sudden noise when she opened it.
"Jon Snow is dead," he said to her, grief marring his face.
Her stomach dropped, and Janessa knew then why her Lord had showed her Jon Snow's face and why he had sent her to the Wall.
She had seen a resurrection performed only once, when she was a very young girl on the streets of Asshai. It had been that act that had converted her to the faith of the Lord of Light, and from then on, she had stayed with the priestess who had performed the great act.
Melisandre, the Red Woman, had first protested she was far too young to join the priestesses. But Janessa had clung to her fervently. Such an act as recalling the dead to life once more had inspired devotion, and Jynessa could not let her go once she found her. Finally, the woman had relented. Janessa had taken the red robes that day and hadn't taken them off since.
She remembered the ritual now.
Janessa took large strides, following where the voices were loudest. Her cloak billowed behind her, and she took the smallest bit of pleasure in knowing she must look impressive. She emerged in a courtyard by the southern gate and saw immediately what had drawn most of the men in Castle Black to see.
Jon Snow had bled out, it seemed.
Blood was pooled around him on the ground, some of it still only semi-coagulated. It was over his front and soaked into the portions of him that touched the ground. It was matted in his hair and on his face.
Janessa walked closer than any of the others had dared and saw he hadn't bled out as she had first suspected, but that there was a large gash directly over his heart. He wouldn't have lived after taking that wound, not even for a second. Janessa the Red had been crouched by him, and now she put a hand to his white face.
"Cold," she murmured to no one and closed his eyes for him.
Then she stood up and looked around. "I will need someone to bring him to my chambers," she ordered. They looked at her blankly. "You and you," she said finally looking to the two brothers closest to her. "You were his friends, weren't you?"
The large one nodded and said hoarsely. "Aye, ma'am."
"Then I for need you to take him to my chambers."
"Why?" Another man from the crowd stood forward. It was Donal Noye, she saw, the temporary commander of the Wall. He turned to the crowd and yelled, "Jon Snow is dead and I'll have the HEAD of the man that KILLED HIM!" He was white lipped and furious, but also mournful, she saw. He turned to her and said, softly, "But, my lady, Jon Snow is dead. There's nothing to be done except write to his brother and pray he doesn't march an army here to kill us all."
She pressed her lips together and said stiffly, "There's always something to be done, Donal Noye." Janessa motioned impatiently to the two men and they gently picked Jon Snow up between them. One of them inhaled sharply when his head rolled in the limp fashion of the dead, but neither said anything.
As they walked from there, no one asked her why again and no one followed them.
They laid her on her bed, and she began by cutting his hair. Jynessa paid no mind to the copious amounts of blood that soaked into it.
"What are you going to do?" asked one of the men anxiously. His eyes were red rimmed.
All she replied was, "Shut the door."
The Red Priestess cut Jon's hair first. Then she cut his fingernails. Both his hair and nails she tossed into a fire. As she did, she took up an odd chanting incantation.
She took his sword from the scabbard at his side (he hadn't even been able to draw it before the animals cut him down, Gren thought, stricken). He watched wordlessly as she drew it and examined the Valerian steel closely. Then, she lowered it carefully to is wrist and cut vertically down one arm, then other. Elbow to wrist, she cut.
"What is this?" Pyp asked, aghast. He'd asked her what she was doing before, but she'd been less than forthcoming. She was the same now. The Red Priestess didn't even look at him. Her chanting didn't waver for even a moment.
Gren wished he wasn't in the room. He wished he was on top of the Wall, away from this mess.
Blood was sluggishly coming from the cuts she'd made. It dripped to the floor. The woman took a shallow silver bowl from a shelf nearby and held it under each arm in turn. Then she dumped the bowl on the same fire she'd fed with his hair and nails. It burned purple for a moment, then black and red at once.
Gren and Pyp back away until their backs hit the wall, staring.
She continued to chant. A minute passed, then another. Her eyebrows drew together and a sweat broke over her forehead, but still her voice did not falter. The room had an air of waiting, but they were not sure what for. The fire burned black and red still, before it suddenly went out. The Red Priestess's voice faltered, and she stared at it with wide eyes.
The door burst open as her voice was revived. Still chanting, she looked at the newcomers. Then she restarted the fires and bent over him to cut more hair.
"What's going on here?" Ser Allister demanded, looking unnerved as he took in the scene before him.
No one answered. Donal Noye at his side looked equally disturbed, while Jonos Slynt merely looked cowed at her chanting.
"Well?"
She didn't deign to stop chanting and answer them.
The room, captive by intrigue and held by horror, watched in silence as she collected more of his blood on the plate. Since his heart didn't beat and the blood didn't flow, she had to use her other hand to squeeze his blood from his arm.
When the fire burnt purple as before, Jonos Slynt cursed.
"Be quiet!" Ser Allister barked, and the man fell silent, though his face remained horrified. "Go fetch the Maester! Now!"
Jonos hurried from the room. Ser Allister's eyes didn't move from Jon Snow, and his face was almost fearful.
The fire turned black and red again in equal measure as she continued to chant and poured blood on it. Ser Allister and Donal Noye both flinched slightly as it did.
The Red Priestess's voice grew louder, and the fire burned brighter suddenly. The room took on a different quality; something changed in a second. Everyone felt it; it was as though something had entered the room that had not been there before. Something unquantifiable.
The Maester entered the room then. Jonos Slynt was not with him.
"Show me the body, then," he said, and his voice was hoarse. His eyes and the skin around them were tinged a glistening red, and it took Gren a moment to place what it was. Then he realized with a jolt: the man had been crying. Was still crying now.
Noye took the Maester's outstretched hand and reluctantly guided him gently to the bed Jon Snow lay on.
"Put my hands on his chest."
Noye did so, then scurried backwards.
Aemon swallowed as his hands rested on Jon Snow. The farthest finger on his left hand brushed a deep wound in Jon Snow's abdomen and he cringed. He moved his hand quickly.
"What are you doing, my lady?" he asked in a quiet voice.
Predictably, she did not answer.
The strange, new force in the room seemed to flicker for a moment. Something was happening, Gren knew immediately. He wished his legs would obey them when he told them to leave, but something held him in the room.
Maester Aemon felt it as well. He pushed his hands on Jon's chest.
"Bring me a torch!" he said in a sharper voice than Gren had ever heard from him before. "Now!"
Noye shuffled over, snagging a torch from the far side of the room as he did. Aemon took it from him quickly, and Noye backed away.
The Red Priestess seemed to know what the maester was going to do. Her face took on a slight smile, and her eyes burned in her face. She raised her voice, yelling now with horrible intensity.
Gren shrunk back against the wall.
Aemon brought the torch down and spilled it over Jon Snow. The Red Priestess's voice tilted upwards for a moment, and it was loud and bright, the fire flashed black and red and seemed to burn nothing at all—Jon was unburnt below it—and then fell to nothing. In the same instant, the woman's voice fell to nothing, and the room was still.
They were waiting, all of them. But Gren didn't know what for.
Then Jon Snow gasped into the silence, and he sat up, eyes wild. Blood gushed out of the long slits carved into his arms with abundance. He looked there, then his chest. He looked around wildly, his face alive.
Aemon grabbed his arm and threw his other around the newly living man's shoulders. He spoke to him soothingly.
Jon Snow looked around wildly still, his face confused and eyes searching. "Aemon!" he gasped. "What—? I.. I don't-" He took a moment to gasp, ragged still. "I… I was dead, wasn't I? What—what is this?"
"It's the fun part," said Aemon. He had a tight grip on Jon's arm, and Jon in turn raised a hand to Aemon, still dripping blood heavily as his heart pumped once more. The Maester was grinning wide.
"You… Aemon, I don't-"
"Don't worry, Jon, everything is okay."
Jon nodded and his face suddenly cleared. "You must come with me to Riverrun, Aemon. You must."
To Gren's shock, Aemon nodded slowly in agreement. The grin was yet to fade from his face.
When Jon left the Wall that night it was with Aemon at his side.
