This chapter follows the events of the show very closely. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!
The following evening, darkness had just fallen over the Wall and over the castle cowering in its vast shadow when Charleen stepped into her chamber, closing the door behind her. Her face was still glowing with the heat from the kitchen fire, whose hearth she had just left, but the icy air had already begun to claw at her body, sending shivers down her spine. She stuck the torch she was carrying into the sconce on the wall next to the door, sat down on her pallet, and drew her cloak close around herself in an attempt to trap the remaining warmth. Since Gilly had left for Oldtown with Sam and her baby, the evenings at Castle Black for her had become lonely and miserably cold.
"Where was Gilly now? Charleen wondered. Had she and her companions reached Eastwatch-by-the-Sea? Were they perhaps already aboard the ship that would take them south?
Wherever they were, Charleen hoped, they were more comfortable than she was now, sitting alone in the shadowy room, her breath freezing in little clouds before her face.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps in the passage outside broke into her thoughts, followed by a loud knocking on the door.
"Lady Charleen!", came Ser Davos' voice, "Lady Charleen? Are you there?"
"Yes," she called, alarmed by the urgency of his tone. She jumped to her feet, crossed the room in two strides and opened the door.
"What is it?"
Instead of an answer, Ser Davos grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out into the passage.
"You've got to come with me," he ordered, "quickly. It's not safe."
Cold dread gripped Charleen's heart. "What's happening?" she asked, instinctively drawing back from him.
Ser Davos paused, listening intently for a moment, then, he turned to look at her.
"They've murdered the Lord Commander. Who knows what they might do to those who are loyal to him, especially a lady. Please, you've got to come with me."
"Murdered – ?"
"Come, mylady, please!"
Dazed, Charleen followed him along the passage, out into the courtyard, and up the steps to the King's Tower. Her limbs seemed to have turned to water and her mind was completely blank, unable to process what she had just been told. Ser Davos led her to a chamber on the first floor, where a small group of Black Brothers was gathered. They were standing with their backs to the door, but when Charleen entered, they moved aside to let her pass.
On a table in the middle of the room lay Jon, the front of his clothes torn and soaked with blood, his face a ghastly white, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling.
"Jon – !"
Charleen wanted to cry out, but her breath caught in her throat. Unable to make a sound, she stood rooted to the spot, staring transfixed as one of the Brothers stepped forward and shut Jon's eyes.
"Thorne did this," the man said, his voice filled with pain and loathing.
There was a moment's silence, then Ser Davos asked quietly: "How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?"
The other gave a brief reply, but the meaning of his words did not reach Charleen's consciousness. Her whole body had begun to shake, and she seemed unable to avert her gaze from Jon's lifeless form.
Suddenly, there was a tap at the door, and Charleen started up as the men drew their swords.
"Ser Davos."
It was the Red Woman. Pale-faced, she stepped into the room and stood beside the table upon which Jon's body was laid out.
"I saw him in the flames," she said in disbelief, her voice barely more than a whisper, "fighting at Winterfell."
At these words, a sudden rush of fury rose up in Charleen's chest. How she had wished that Jon might indeed one day fight at Winterfell, and win it back for the Starks! It was as if the Red Woman were mocking her. For all her sorcery, her fire-gazing and her spells, she had no power to make her visions come true, and yet here she was, reiterating her prophecy for Jon's future in the very presence of his corpse. How dared she even so much as show herself there, fraud that she was!
For a brief moment, the Red Woman looked up at Charleen and caught her gaze. Then, she lowered her eyes, turned away, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
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The first light of dawn found Charleen slumped against the wall by the fireplace, listening with an odd feeling of detachment as the others discussed their situation. It seemed a foregone conclusion that the men who had killed Jon would eventually break down the door and slaughter the little group that had remained loyal to him, and what would happen to her then, Charleen could only imagine. A few weeks ago, a similar prospect had precipitated her headlong flight from Winterfell; now, however, she found that she did not care. The shock of Jon's death had rendered her completely numb, and all that she felt was emptiness.
"We all die today," she finally heard one of the men say. It was Edd Tollett – she had learnt his name in the course of the night, and also that he had been with Jon at Hardhome.
"We need to fight," Ser Davos replied, "but we don't need to die. Not if we have help. You're not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow."
For a moment, Edd simply stared at him, then, understanding suddenly dawned on his face.
"Bolt the door," he said. "Don't let anyone in. I'll be back as soon as I can."
GoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoT
Edd had not been gone for very long when a loud thumping on the door once again made the men draw their swords.
"Ser Davos." It was a man's voice this time, and Charleen realized with a shudder that this was one of the traitors who had driven their blades into Jon's heart.
"We have no cause to fight," he continued. "We're both anointed knights."
"Hear that?" Ser Davos said, addressing the little group inside the room, "we've got nothing to fear."
His voice was thick with sarcasm, but the other seemed not to notice.
"I will grant amnesty to all Brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall," he promised, "and you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south, a free man, with a fresh horse."
"And some mutton," Ser Davos demanded, clearly playing for time. "I'd like some mutton. I'm not much of a hunter. I'll need some food if I'm going to make it south without starving."
There was a pause, no doubt as the man outside tried to decide whether or not he was being mocked. Then, he answered as if Ser Davos had been in earnest.
"We'll give you food," he said. "You can bring the Red Woman and the girl with you, if you like, or you can leave them here with us, whichever you choose. But surrender by nightfall, or this ends with blood."
"Thank you, Ser Alliser," Ser Davos replied lightly. "We'll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer."
Another pause followed. Finally, however, the sound of heavy footsteps was to be heard going down the stairs, and Ser Davos let out a long breath.
"I've been running from men like that all my life," he said, turning back to the little group inside the room, "and in my learned opinion, if we open that door, they'll slaughter us all."
"They want to come in, and they're going to come in," one of the Brothers interjected.
"Aye," said Ser Davos, "but we don't need to make it easy for them."
"Edd is our only chance," the other insisted.
Ser Davos looked away. "There's always the Red Woman," he said softly.
The other gave a snort of disbelief. "What's one redhead going to do against forty armed men?"
For a brief moment, Ser Davos remained silent, then, he raised his eyes to his interlocutor's face.
"You haven't seen her do what I've seen her do."
GoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoTGoT
Ser Alliser remained true to his word. It was barely dusk when he returned, knocking on the door with an armour-clad fist.
"It's time, Ser Davos," he announced. "Open the door and the men inside can re-join their Brothers in peace. Nobody needs to die tonight."
From where she was sitting, Charleen could see Ser Davos' grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to face his companions.
"I've never been much of a fighter," he admitted, looking directly at Charleen. "My lady, apologies for what you're about to see."
With these words, he drew his sword from its sheath, and after a split second, the others followed suit, burnished steel flashing as it caught the light from the fire.
Instinctively, Charleen rose to her feet. She envied the men their weapons – they, at least, could prove their loyalty to their Lord Commander in one last act of resistance, whereas she was condemned simply to endure whatever was going to happen to her.
"Stand back," Ser Davos warned, and as she retreated behind the table on which Jon was lying, she could feel her legs beginning to shake.
From outside came Ser Alliser's voice murmuring a short command, the sound of shuffling footsteps, and then the heavy thud of some sort of implement against the door.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The slats began to break, splintering inwards, and the thudding became louder.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The wood finally gave, bursting open to reveal, for a split second, a gleam of metal.
But when the next blow fell upon the door, it was echoed by a resounding crash in the distance, beyond the courtyard, and for a moment, silence fell.
Then came another crash from outside, and another, and finally, a many-voiced roar of grief, of rage, of battle-frenzy: "Attack!"
The men inside the room stood frozen, their swords raised, eyes fixed upon the battered door.
"Edd…", one of the Brothers finally whispered, lowering his weapon, and the others followed suit.
In the courtyard, a brief noise of fighting had given way to silence once again, and at the sound of weapons clattering to the ground, Ser Davos opened the door and stepped outside. The Brothers followed him, but Charleen remained where she was. There were tears burning in her eyes, tears of shock and relief, but also of pain as the fear left her body and the full consciousness of Jon's death came flooding back.
She moved to his side and grasped his cold, stiff hand in both of hers, but almost immediately, the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made her draw back once again. A moment later, Ser Davos stepped into the room, followed by Edd Tollett and the red-haired wildling whom Charleen had seen talking to Jon on the day after his return from Hardhome. The wilding's eyes travelled down the entire length of Jon's body, coming to a rest on the blood-soaked tears in his jacket.
"Took a lot of knives," he said quietly. After a long moment, he raised his eyes, and his gaze fell on Charleen.
"Who's the girl?"
"Charleen of House Wollard," Ser Davos explained, before Charleen herself had time to find her voice. "She was raised by Jon's family and came here as a last resort to ask his help against their enemies."
"Charleen of House Wollard," the wildling repeated. "My name's Tormund. I first met Jon north of the Wall, a long time ago." He looked at her fixedly for a moment and then lowered his eyes to Jon's corpse once again.
"I'll have my men get wood for a fire. The body's to burn."
