Despite the early morning lighting of the skies in the far off distance, Castle Black was still cloaked in darkness. The wall of ice shimmered in the last vestiges of moonlight, like the stars above. Amidst the crisp air, wisps of smoke spiralled from the chimneys and braziers, a feeble attempt to ward off the fortress's chill.
A profound eerie silence blanketed the castle, broken only by the haunting howl that pierced the frigid air, its mournful cry echoing across the desolate courtyard, coming from the Lord Commander's chambers. Ghost, the enormous white direwolf and faithful companion of the Lord Commander, Jon Snow, released a sorrowful lament into the abyss. His mournful wail served as an eerie omen, alerting those, who were unaware, of the tragedy that had unfolded within the ancient stronghold's walls.
The previous night, Davos Seaworth had fallen asleep early on his tiny cot in the small chambers appointed to him. The bed wasn't particularly comfortable, nor were the quarters grand, however the fire was warm, and that was all that was needed to send him to sleep. Yet he was a light sleeper, and the smallest sound easily woke him.
The solemn echoes of a howling wolf stirred him from his light slumber. Although he'd never heard Ghost howl before, nor any direwolf for that matter, Davos knew from whose maw made the sound And if Ghost were howling, something dire must have happened to the Lord Commander. Rising from his cot and exiting into the night, Davos' eyes, still adjusting to the darkness, gazed upon the tragic scene below him.
Down below, amidst the snow-covered expanse, lay the lifeless form of Jon Snow, erstwhile Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. A damning sign, emblazoned with the word "TRAITOR," loomed ominously overhead, casting a pall of betrayal upon the scene. With unseeing eyes turned towards the heavens, Jon's stillness spoke volumes to the cruelty of his fate.
With a heavy heart, he descended the steps, his pace quickening as he approached Jon Snow's fallen figure. Behind him, brothers of the Night's Watch followed. Ghost's eerie lament had raised the castle. The brothers gathered around the dead body of the young Lord Commander, Hushed murmurs passed between the men, questions of who would do such a thing to their leader.
"It's the Lord Commander!" One of the men exclaimed.
"Help me get him inside." Davos said hurriedly, he and Edd were known confidants of Jon Snow, and Davos knew the situation was likely to turn volatile towards those who valued the Lord Commander's company.
Dolorous Edd and his three fellow watchmen rallied around Davos, their loyalty to their fallen leader still unwavering. Together, they lifted Jon Snow's body, and carried him back to his chambers behind the armoury.
Davos and Edd were momentarily left behind in the wake of their departure. Edd led the way and Davos followed, but not before he gave a quick glance at the snow, which was now darkened with the large amount of blood, drained from the body of the young man, who he barely knew, but held a lot of respect for. Swallowing hard, he made his way to Jon's chambers.
Edd ran his hand along the wooden desk in the middle of the room, pushing aside every parchment, quill and candle, indifferent to the clattering sound on the floor. Only when the desk was clear, did the men laid Jon Snow's lifeless body upon it.
For a moment, Edd stood beside the lifeless body of his friend, Jon Snow. Out of respect, he ran his hand over the Lord Commander's dark grey eyes, closing them off to the world forever. His hand touched Jon's brigandine, the sticky blood coated his fingers. Edd swallowed down the bile which rose in his throat.
"Thorne did this." Edd declared, his voice heavy with accusation, sorrow, but most of all, anger.
"How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?" Davos asked.
"Trust?" Edd looked around at the three other men. "The men in this room." He replied.
Davos glanced around the room. "Does the wolf know you?" he asked, noticing the lack of howls from the large direwolf. Ghost seemed to be settled by the knowledge his master was in safe hands.
Edd looked over his shoulder at Ser Davos and nodded. "Good." Ser Davos said. "We need all the help we can get." Edd moved towards the door, presumably to fetch Jon's wolf, when someone knocked on it from the outside. The crisp sound of steel being drawn from their scabbards, rang out, as the Night's Watch brothers drew their blades, ready to fight whoever was attempting to gain entry. However, their efforts were in vain.
"Ser Davos." Came the foreign tones of the Lady Melisandre.
Edd exchanged a silent look with Davos, questioning her trustworthiness. With a reluctant nod, Davos signalled his acceptance, granting entry to the Red Woman."
The door creaked open to reveal the figure of Melisandre. Her usually confident demeanour, was replaced by a rare sight: she was bundled up in thick red robes and a deep red scarf, a stark contrast to her usual indifference to the freezing temperatures that gripped the fortress.
As Melisandre approached Jon's lifeless body, Davos couldn't help but notice the devastation etched on her face. It surprised him; she barely knew the man, yet she grieved for him as if he were family. But beneath her grief, he detected something else - shock and fear lurked in her eyes, betraying her outward composure.
"I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell." She confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty.
"I can't speak for the flames, but he's gone." Davos replied, his words a stark reminder of the harsh reality they faced.
With a gentle touch, Melisandre caressed Jon Snow's cheek, her actions resembling those of a lover but serving as a silent prayer for his departed soul.
When Edd departed from the Lord Commander's solar, to fetch Ghost from the nearby armoury, next to Jon's chambers, it was already daylight. By the time he returned with the distraught, white direwolf in tow, the Red Woman had already departed. Most likely retreating to her own chambers, seeking solace in the depths of her own grief, haunted by the weight of her mistaken visions.
Edd bolted the door behind him, sealing the room from intruders. The five brothers of the Night's Watch and Ser Davos, stood witness as the chest height, red eyed, white direwolf, Ghost, typically an imposing and fearsome creature, tenderly nudged Jon Snow's hand and emitted soft whimpers of sorrow. The wolf's mood mirroring Jon's brothers.
"Thorne called for a meeting in the common hall," Edd informed the group. "They're in there now."
Davos weighed in, his voice tinged with concern. "He'll have seen we didn't come. Thorne will have made it official by now. Castle Black is his."
"I don't care who's sitting at the high-table," Edd retorted sharply. "Jon was my friend, and those fuckers butchered him. Now, we return the favour."
Davos countered, his tone sombre. "We don't have the numbers."
"We have a direwolf," Edd persisted.
"It's not enough," Davos replied, shaking his head. "I didn't know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn't have wanted his friends to die for nothing."
"If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room." Dolorous Edd declared grimly. "We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go."
"We need to fight, but we don't need to die." Davos insisted. "Not if we have help."
One of the brothers in the room, whose name eluded Davos, interjected, "Who's gonna help us?"
"You're not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow." Davos replied cryptically.
A wave of realization washed over Edd's expression, his eyes widening. He turned to the Night's Watch brother beside him. "Bolt the door," he commanded. "Don't let anyone in. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Edd bid farewell to the five remaining men, who stood vigil over the lifeless body of their fallen Lord Commander, Jon Snow, in the confines of his former solar. The room was cold and silent save for the occasional whimper of the distraught direwolf curled up in front of the dying embers of the hearth.
The bellies of the men inside the room rumbled with hunger. None had eaten since the meal after the meeting in the Shieldhall, where Jon had announced his intentions to ride south, less than a day earlier. The memory of the Lord Commander, full of life and resolve, now laid lifeless on a wooden table, a victim of his sworn brothers' betrayal, Ser Davos lamented. If there was anything to suggest the world was a shit place, this was it.
Despite the hour being close to lunchtime, the pale sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick, grey clouds that hung low in the sky, casting a dismal visage over Castle Black. The smell of Hobb's unidentifiable cooking wafted in through the gap under the ironwood door, as they remained barricaded inside, guarded against the traitors who had murdered their leader.
While gazing out of the window, Davos observed an unkindness of ravens taking flight from the rookery into the grey skies. Ser Alliser was swiftly spreading the news of the demise of the nine hundred and ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Whether the truth behind the cause of death would be revealed seemed irrelevant. Within two days, Ramsay Bolton would inform Jon's brother and sister of his demise, and not in a kindly manner, from what Ser Davos had heard.
Davos suspected the meeting was over, and with the serving of food imminent, expecting a visit from Ser Alliser, his intentions veiled in false goodwill. The offer to release them in exchange for Jon Snow's body would be a hollow gesture, for whether or not they surrendered, they faced dire consequences. Their only hope lay in Edd, reaching the Freefolk in time, but the odds seemed grim.
Outside the barricaded room where Davos, Jon's stalwart direwolf Ghost, and the Night's Watch brothers loyal to Jon Snow had sought refuge, a group of men aligned with Alliser Thorne stood firm. Their allegiance to the acting Lord Commander remained steadfast as they braced themselves for what appeared to be an unavoidable confrontation. Ser Alliser, flanked by several men, approached the door with purpose, delivering a commanding knock that reverberated through the tense atmosphere.
Inside the room, the Night's Watch brothers stood ready, their swords drawn, and Ghost stood by their side, a formidable presence with lips curled back, teeth bared, and slaver dripping from his maw as he emitted a low growl of warning. Sensing the urgency of the situation and the need to delay the inevitable, Davos rose from his seat and moved towards the door as Alliser Thorne knocked once more. He understood the importance of buying time; Edd needed more time to summon the wildlings to Castle Black.
"Ser Davos, we have no cause to fight. We are both anointed knights," Thorne declared.
Davos responded calmly, "Hear that, lads? Nothing to fear."
Thorne continued, offering terms of amnesty. "I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall," he announced, his voice carrying across the room. "And you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south, a free man with a fresh horse."
Davos, never one to miss an opportunity, seized the moment to address a more practical concern. "And some mutton. I'd like some mutton," he interjected, his request drawing a surprised reaction from Alliser Thorne.
"What?" Thorne's expression betrayed his confusion at the unexpected request.
"I'm not much of a hunter. I'll need some food if I'm gonna make it south without starving," Davos explained, his tone matter-of-fact as he clarified his need for sustenance.
Thorne, though caught off guard, quickly regained his composure. "We'll give you food," he assured, his voice carrying a note of concession. "You can bring the Red Woman with you if you like. Or you can leave her here with us, whichever you choose. But surrender by nightfall or this ends with blood," he warned, his ultimatum leaving no room for ambiguity.
"Thank you, Ser Alliser. We'll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer," Davos replied, his tone respectful yet unwavering as he accepted Thorne's terms, leaving the door open for further negotiation.
After Alliser Thorne and his men departed, their heavy footsteps echoing down the stone corridors of Castle Black, the room fell into a heavy silence. The Night's Watch brothers, left to contemplate their grim predicament, exchanged sombre glances.
"Boys, I've been running from men like that all my life. In my learned opinion, we open that door," Davos began, his voice laced with a sense of urgency, but he was swiftly cut off by one of the brothers, who Davos had learned was called Raffer.
"And they'll slaughter us all." Raffer interjected, his words carrying a grim acceptance of their dire circumstances.
"They want to come in, they're gonna come in." Added Wyllan, one of the other brothers in the room.
"Aye, but we don't need to make it easy for them," Davos agreed, his voice steady as he acknowledged the necessity of resistance.
"Edd is our only chance." Wyllan reiterated, his gaze flickering with a glimmer of hope amidst the prevailing despair.
"It's a sad statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance." Remarked Raffer bitterly, his words tinged with bitterness at their seemingly hopeless situation.
"There's always the Red Woman." Davos suggested, his tone contemplative as he considered their limited options.
"What's one redhead gonna do against forty armed men?" Raffer questioned sceptically, his doubt palpable in the air.
"You haven't seen her do what I've seen her do." Davos responded. He's seen the Red Woman birth a shadow baby and survive poison. That was all Davos needed to know, to scare the living shit out of him.
The air inside the dark tent was chilled, the soothing scent of snow outside failing to calm Sansa's restless mind. She awoke with a start, sweat dampening her brow despite the furs that surrounded her. It wasn't the warmth that troubled her; it was the nightmare that had jolted her from her slumber. Its vividness was unnerving, bringing tears to her eyes as she grappled with the fear it instilled. Sansa desperately hoped it was just fear, not a premonition of tragedy unfolding hundreds of miles away from their camp.
Memory of the dream stubbornly refused to disappear, as they usually did within moments of waking. Sansa had been standing outside, unnoticed in the darkness of night, pierced by the flickering orange flames of braziers scattered around the courtyard. They cast dancing shadows against the black walls and wooden stairs, illuminating a grim image in front of her.
A wooden cross stood tall, its surface marred by the word "TRAITOR" carved in red paint. Underneath, a young man in black lay motionless, betrayed by his comrades in a brutal display of violence. The final blow, delivered by a boy not much older than Bran, piercing his heart. The expression on the face of the boy was such pure hatred, Sansa shuddered at the thought, unable to reconcile the image with her gentle brother.
"Ghost..." The man whispered his final words, a reference the his white direwolf with red eyes, which to most outsiders were terrifying. To those who were close, he was soft and comforting. Maybe Jon had hoped his wolf would save him, but Ghost did not come.
The man now lay in the snow, blank grey eyes staring up to the skies. Blood oozed from his wounds, smoking like the braziers. Both had been snuffed out without a single thought. The snow surrounding him was as red as the eyes of his direwolf. The expression on his bearded, yet familiar face, was sadness, presumably at the betrayal at the hands of those he trusted.
"Jon," Sansa whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Not you too." Those familiar Stark eyes, just like her father's and Arya's, but now strangely different. They were blank. The brightness which once shone from those kind eyes, was now gone.
Sansa's heart broke at the possibility of losing another member of her family. Even Jon, the boy she had been so indifferent to as a child, yet had been such an inspiration over the past year. Her time in the Vale, pretending to be a bastard called Alayne Stone, had been no mean feat. Sansa would never have known how to portray a bastard if it hadn't been for Jon Snow.
The experience had an been eye-opening one. A bastard was no different to any other highborn, yet they were met with disdain, through no fault of their own. They had the same dreams, but experienced different lives to their siblings. Sansa's mother, and Septa Mordane, had taught her to feel nothing but contempt to her own half-brother. Of course, she didn't, she could never be that cruel. Instead, Sansa had acted indifferent towards him. In truth, she never viewed him as a brother, yet he was still part of her pack. And pack was just as important.
The body laying behind her stirred. "Who's Jon?" came Harry's deep voice from the darkness. Sansa's nightmare must have woken him from his slumber. "Should I be jealous?"
"He's the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." Sansa replied, a shiver coursing down her veins. She didn't want to face the husband she didn't particularly care for. "My brother, I dreamt..."
"Bastard brother." Harry reminded her. "Leave it be and go to sleep. The man is of little consequence, other than to keep the wildlings at bay."
"He's my brother." Sansa reiterated.
"And from what Lord Baelish has told me, a man your mother despised. I'm sure you weren't too fond of him either, erstwhile you would have spoken of him before now." Harry yawned. "It is hours until dawn, get some sleep. We have a battle to fight in less than a sennight. I need my sleep to keep sharp." He spooned his body close to her from behind. "Unless you want me to fuck you." Harry snaked his hand between her legs, which fortune favoured her, by being protected by her nightshift.
Bile rose in Sansa's throat. Harry never purposely hurt her, but she didn't like him being inside her. He made her prepare him, but expected her to be ready to take him when she wasn't. Sansa knew a woman had to be readied, Myranda had told Alayne, and even gone into details of what a man should do to make it pleasurable for a woman. Harry did no such thing. He would climb on top of her, grunt, rut, sweat, go red in the face, and spill his seed. Only then would he roll off, leaving Sansa rigid and disappointed.
"I'm still tired." Sansa faked a yawn. "We should sleep more."
Harry huffed, but said not another word. Instead, he removed his hand and turned over. Within moments, his soft snores once more echoed around the cold tent.
As soon as Sansa, Littlefinger, and the knights of the vale had taken back Winterfell from the Boltons, not only would she be rescuing Arya, and if reports were true, Rickon; but Sansa would write to Castle Black. She wanted to know for certain Jon was alive, because in the pit of her stomach, she had a feeling he was gone.
Wolves grieve when a pack member is lost to them, and regardless of whether she viewed Jon as her brother, Sansa and Jon are both wolves, she thought. She would contain her grief for now, it still might only be a dream, despite its realism. Sleep did not return to her that night.