Sanna Black Slytherin: I know. I'm a bad GoT fan. I like guessing what'll happen next, but I don't like having things spoiled. Go figure. Also, I haven't read a GoT FanFiciton in recent…years.
Magnadroidz: Hopefully, as I move away from (what I'm calling) the rebirth, it'll become longer naturally. I can't promise every chapter will be longer, but I'll give it a try.
Chapter 3: Dires' Dirge
As the wolves' song reverberated throughout the Castle, Jon was struck suddenly by Ghost's howl. The dire wolf never howled. Jon had only imagined the wolf howling in his dreams—calling out for the other wolves or mourning his own death. Had Ghost cried in greeting or grief?
"Do we open the gates, sir?" One brave man finally broke the spell cast over Castle Black. His voice stirred the other brothers, like taking in fresh air after a night in a smoke-filled room.
"What do we do?" another man stuttered. And with his question, all of the Night's Watch erupted into whispered conversation, breathy mutterings of fear and awe.
"It's a woman and a child," called a guard standing at his post above the gate. Alisser Thorne tore his gaze from the very alive Bastard, searching for a touchstone among the other men of the Watch. He looked to the guard, who waited for someone's answer-his answer. Thorne opened his mouth to speak, nothing but air escaped.
"Raise the gates," he was quiet, but it carried. Jon Snow's voice alone stood out against the wind and the murmurs and the wolves. Those posted at the gate jumped into action after only brief hesitation. The hollow space between Snow's command and the Watch's action held a question: do we trust each other?
The gates opened, revealing a woman and a boy-Rickon. He looked so much like Robb. All Tully. He had been a happy baby, always smiling as he toddled after Bran or his mother. Now, Rickon was dirt-covered and frighteningly thin. A solemn line replaced the smile, twisting his young face into something far more mature than his ten years. In the eyes of his brother, Jon Snow reflected on his situation. He was naked, smudged with ashes, surrounded by the men who had attempted to kill him. And, against all odds-despite the stabbings, the fire-he had survived.
No wonder Rickon's face held no spark of recognition, Jon barely recognized himself. Somewhere in his past, at Winterfell, he must have met this woman. She seemed to know him, in spite of her obvious fear. But, she did not matter. His baby brother was still alive. And when Rickon finally recognized him, Jon Snow could have wept with relief.
"Jon?" Rickon said quietly, and then—with more force—he called out, "Jon!" Quick feet brought Rickon and his acceptance.
Rickon stopped just short of a hug. He instead stretched his hand out to the shiny, pink scars covering Jon's chest and stomach. Edd Tollett seemed to materialize at Jon's side, with an old cloak and an awkward shrug of his shoulders. Tollett would not make eye contact. Jon would worry about the men of the Night's Watch later. With his newly borrowed cloak wrapped around his shoulders, he knelt down to face the boy in front of him.
"Jon," Rickon started again, but his voice crumbled at the end. He had finally made it to Jon. He finally felt safe—even though he could tell something was not quite right here. Jon would make it all better. He and Osha were safe. Once they found Bran, everything would be okay again.
The fire of the hall at Castle Black crackled—a pale echo compared to the roaring flames that had brought Jon Snow back to life. Rickon slept in Jon's arms while the two dire wolves watched. Jon could feel another set of eyes spying the very small family reunion.
"He hasn't slept like that in a long time," Osha told Jon from across the table. She still viewed Snow with wary eyes and a decent amount of distrust—but it was to be expected. She heard the whispers of the other Crows. And she was Free Folk. They were naturally suspicious people.
"Huh," Jon responded with a non-committal grunt. Even as Rickon slept, his little fist gripped Jon's borrowed clothes as if Jon might disappear if he let go for even a second. They had traveled across the wall twice—and survived. Jon was indebted to Osha.
"We canna stay here," she began when Jon said nothing else. And, then, more quietly: "You canna stay here."
"I know," Jon said after a long pause. It was all Jon could think of after Rickon appeared. He would not live with himself if one of the Night's Watch were to hurt his brother—it hurt Jon that he even thought that they would. He figured that, even if he had not died in the fire, any obligations or oaths made to the Watch had.
The Red Priestess skulked out of the shadows before Jon or Osha had time to continue their conversation. Her red hair seemed to absorb the low light cast by the fire, glowing brightly in the otherwise dark room.
"Witch," Osha hissed under her breath. Jon Snow straightened his back and held Rickon a little closer.
"My lord," Melisandre said lightly. The men sitting on the other side of the hall grew silent, blatantly staring. Fear crept across many of their faces.
It appears we have an audience," she said before she sat down next to Jon Snow, "we must discuss your—" Jon Snow stopped the priestess short.
"Did you have anything to do with this?" even though his words were said quietly, they held as much steel as Fang.
"No, but I—" again Melisandre was cut off, but this time by Daavos Seaworthy.
"You have all you need to know," he called from across the hall, "stay as far away from that woman as is possible."