A/N: Hey look, we updated again before the end of the year! Sorry for ending the last chapter on a cliffhanger...but we hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter 22:

Margaery didn't hear the Watchmen approaching behind her. She didn't hear Pyp swear, nor Sam directing them all to go inside. It was only when someone pulled her back that she responded. Her hands reached back to Jon, and she struggled against the hold on her waist. "No!"

"We need to go, milady," Edd hissed in her ear. "Someone did this to him and we need to get out of sight!"

The fight drained out of her and Edd set her back on the ground. Her legs were still shaking, but with Edd's help she managed to follow the men inside. She watched Pyp gently lay the body on a table.

Jon was dead.

How could he be dead? Just hours ago he had been the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, leading them against the Wildlings…kissing her…

Another sob heaved out of her at the memory, and this time, Edd didn't stop her from taking Jon's hand in hers. The lock slid into place on the door behind them. "How did this happen?" Edd hissed.

"I wish I knew," Pyp replied. "Even if they were angry about what he did for the Wildlings…" the ranger trailed off, glancing between Margaery, Edd, and Sam. They were clearly just as blindsided as she was. A clandestine assassination attempt was the sort of thing that was supposed to happen in places like King's Landing, not at the Wall. These were brothers, as Jon had often said, and if they couldn't trust each other… "I'm going to get the others," Pyp nodded, abruptly leaving the room.

There was a moment of silence, then Sam spoke softly as he examined the body. "He was stabbed multiple times, and clearly not by the same person." Quietly, he closed Jon's eyes. Margaery held back another sob and squeezed her own eyes shut, pressing Jon's hand - cold, far too cold - against her cheek. Silently, Ghost nuzzled close to her back, a quiet comfort, even if she wasn't in the right state to appreciate it.

"Whoever did this, they didn't plan it alone. Someone must've led them," Edd snarled from behind her.

"But who would have done it? I know Jon wasn't always the most popular, and most of the men were upset about him letting the Wildlings pass south. But to kill the Lord Commander…" Sam said. His voice was soft and tremulous, like he was holding back tears. After all, Margaery wasn't the only one who loved Jon.

"Thorne did this, he must have," Edd replied. "And there's a good chance we're next if we don't get help." The Night's Watchman huffed out a frustrated sigh.

"But… Everyone we can trust is in this room," another voice spoke up. It was likely another of Jon's supporters, but not one Margaery knew well.

"I'm going into the Gift. Those Wildling bastards had better be willing to help us, after what he did for them," Edd said. "Anything happens while I'm gone-"

There was a series of sharp raps on the door. "Edd, open the fuckin' door!" Pyp hissed.

She heard the sounds of quick footsteps, the bolt being moved, and more footsteps - from more people. "Pyp, language!" Sam chided, and Margaery looked up in time to see him glance at her. A Tarly through and through.

"I don't care about his fucking language," she snapped, only vaguely aware that her brother had put an arm around her shoulders, despite the presence of an upset direwolf. "I care about making them pay for what they did." The bolt slid back into place, and only now did Margaery realize that Loras, Sansa, Gilly, Brienne, and Podrick had now joined them. "Can't Jon-?"

The realisation - his cold hand still in hers - hit her anew. Jon was dead. "No," she breathed, and let go of his hand. It wasn't Jon's hand; it couldn't be. Because Jon couldn't be dead. Her chest was too tight, her lungs too empty. She stumbled to her feet - Loras tried to steady her, but she swatted his arm away. The last thing she needed now was someone touching her, someone who wasn't Jon. On the opposite side of the table was Sansa on her knees, crying silently next to- No, it wasn't Jon. Jon couldn't be dead.

Desperate to look somewhere else, anywhere else, Margaery took in the newcomers in the room. Most of the Night's Watchmen were looking at her with a mix of grief and concern, and it all felt suffocating. She didn't need their coddling; she needed something to do or she'd go mad. Gilly had come to stand by Sam, her baby in one arm and Margaery's bow slung over her other shoulder. Perfect.

With teartracks still fresh on her face, Margaery approached the other woman, silently accepting the bow from her and stringing it. "There are traitors in this castle, and we need to deal with them. Edd, you were going to collect the Wildlings?" The dour Watchman gave her a curt nod. "Go. Don't let anyone notice you're gone." She turned to her brother. "I presume we can also count the men of House Tyrell?"

Loras nodded. "Garlan led about half south with the Wildlings to ensure their…cooperation. But we do have a contingent remaining here at our disposal. They'll keep to themselves so long as they don't receive orders from me, but they'll know to be ready. That Alliser fellow won't want to antagonise them if he can avoid it."

"Good," she nodded. "Pyp, go to the armoury. Take a few men and gather as many weapons as you can carry - to deprive the traitors of them if nothing else. You," she pointed to another Watchman whose name she didn't know, "go through the kitchens and bring back enough supplies to last us at least a week. Hells, bring back Hobb if you can drag him out of hiding. Once we're stocked up and have reinforcements, we can make a plan. The turncoats will be brought to justice."

"A sound strategy," Loras affirmed with a nod. "It seems command comes naturally to you, Your Grace." He spoke with sincerity, and under normal circumstances, Margaery would have glowed with pride. As it was, all she could do was nod.

As the appointed men swiftly left to follow her orders, Margaery felt any of her remaining energy slipping away. But she couldn't stop now. She refused to sit down or take a moment for herself, because if she did… Instead she counted the arrows in her quiver, and checked the fletchings and sharpness of their points. Anything to keep busy.

She could grieve later. For now, she would forge ahead and get justice. Or vengeance - whichever came first.

/*/

Command had indeed come naturally to his sister - Loras wondered if they would have given any such attention to another Watchman who had tried to take charge as she had. She gave them orders as though she had been born for it, and the men respected her enough to listen without question. Would that this realm could accept a reigning queen - the game of thrones would be over in a heartbeat, and his sister would no doubt find that monstrosity of a thone a comfortable seat. And Jon Snow would have let her have it. Not many men would ever accept being second to a woman, but from what little interaction they'd had, Loras could tell that the man was not only smitten, but he had a healthy respect for Margaery. More than Loras himself had had in their youth.

Gradually, the ones who had been sent out to gather supplies from around the castle filtered back in, the door quickly unlocking and relocking behind each of them as they returned. Pyp and the few men he had taken came back from the armoury with enough weapons for everyone - including the women - to carry a sword and a bow each, with plenty to spare. The one Margaery had sent for supplies - he gave his name as Damman - brought back not only most of the contents of Castle Black's kitchen, but also Hobb the cook, who was clearly none too pleased about being locked in with all of them. All the while the Lord Commander's body was still lying on the table, out in the open.

Loras thought it almost disrespectful, leaving him so exposed. In the absence of any makeshift shroud, the stab wounds were all too visible. Angry, deep red gashes all over his chest, his shoulder, his abdomen…Loras knew all too well that cuts that deep required significant force, especially to pierce through any sort of armor. Thorne and his men had done this with anger and hatred.

As Margaery made yet another round of the room, he put a hand on her shoulder. "You should rest."

"So should you." Her voice was curt and tired.

The Knight of Flowers shook his head. "I've learned to do without over the years. You-"

A heavy banging sounded on the door - louder and more aggressive than that of their own men. The direwolf growled, hackles raised, and Loras could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the sound. Was that beast even fully grown?

"Ser Loras." He realized this must be Ser Alliser Thorne, the First Ranger, and the leader of the mutiny. "We've no cause to fight. We are both anointed knights."

Loras slowly got to his feet, gesturing for his sister to stay back for now. "Is that so?" He kept his tone guarded. "You killed your own Lord Commander; what's to stop you from harming me or anyone else in this room?"

"I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall," Thorne replied. "And you, Ser Loras - I will allow you to travel south with your men, and your sister. All of you free, with as many fresh horses as we can spare."

He considered. "And what of our supplies? The ride south will take a long time, and my men have no rations left from our journey here."

"We'll give you some food," Thorne affirmed. "But surrender by nightfall, or this ends with blood."

Loras could see his sister seething - he knew she had the good sense not to antagonise their enemy just yet, but it would be best to draw this to a close quickly. "Thank you, Ser Alliser. We'll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer."

Multiple footsteps retreated from the heavy door, and he could hear crossbows unloading as they did. Margaery's hand twitched at her side, as if itching to draw her bow. "You can't be dreaming of negotiating with him," she breathed, voice shaking with anger. "With the men you brought - trained men - we have the advantage, Loras; we should-"

"No, Margaery," he replied. "Thorne only came to negotiate now because he knows a good number of my men are gone. We open that door -"

A watchman cut him off. "And they'll slaughter us all."

"Indeed. Margaery and I might be safe, if Ser Alliser wants to avoid fighting my men, but I'm afraid everyone else's life would be forfeit."

"If they want to come in, they're gonna come in," another agreed.

"True," Loras nodded. "But we don't need to make it easy for them."

"Edd's our only chance," the second man insisted. Loras nodded. If Edd's arrival with the Wildlings and the rest of the Tyrell men could create a distraction, they would be able to subdue Alliser much more easily.

"It's a sad fucking statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance," the first one muttered, rolling his eyes.

"We have to give him time," Margaery insisted. "As much as we can. We hold the line until he gets back, or until all of us are dead. And I don't intend to die today."

/*/

It was quiet, but the men were clearly unsettled after Thorne left. They drifted into small pockets, whispering amongst themselves, eating from the barebones rations Hobb was able to prepare, and sharpening their blades. Sansa and Gilly spoke softly to each other, the former still drying tears from her cheeks. Lady Brienne stood guard by the door with Podrick, one hand on her blade. Margaery had only been in one battle - barely - but waiting on the edge of one she couldn't escape seemed so much worse. She prayed Edd would return before nightfall, and that the Wildlings would agree to fight for them.

Loras settled next to her after having spoken to Lady Brienne - at least they seemed to have buried their past animosity. "Rest, sister," he urged gently. "Everyone in this room is looking up to you - you need your strength and your wits about you."

Feeling drained, Margaery finally sat down. She reached out and ran a hand through Ghost's coarse fur. The direwolf placed his muzzle in her lap and let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh, his red eyes surveying the room. "I don't know what to do." She wondered if her brother knew what she wasn't saying.

"You will." Loras's words were encouraging, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "It will take time, and there will be days when you don't think you can go on. But eventually… you'll be able to breathe." Of course Loras had heard her. He'd always understood her better than almost anyone else.

What breath is there to be had when the man I love is taken from me? she thought. Her gaze shifted around the room and caught on Jon's body again. She bit back the bile in her throat, the tears that threatened to overwhelm her yet again. "Was this how it felt for you?" she croaked, still looking at the body. "When Renly…?"

Her brother's breath hitched, and tears lined his eyes. "I've…been told it gets easier. I'll let you know when that happens for me," he said, huffing out a sad chuckle. For a moment, neither said anything, just sitting together in their grief. "I think… it might have been a little different for me. I always knew Renly and I had no future. No real future, at any rate. And he… I believe he loved me, but…" Loras dried his eyes. "But I still wonder if his love was equal to mine."

"It was." Margaery tore her gaze away from the table and looked down at Ghost, trying to memorize the texture of his fur. "He never discussed it with me, but…I know he loved you, Loras."

"And Jon loved you. He was a stoic man, but the way he looked at you…" He sighed. "I hate myself for it, but I can't help but compare. Being with Renly was… Fun. It made me feel alive in a manner I had never felt before, and have not since. He was so intelligent, he was even capable with a sword, though he took no joy in it. But even if a future had been possible, I find myself wondering if it would have lasted. I hope it would have." Loras swallowed, but no more tears came to his eyes. "I didn't know Jon that well, but I do know you, sister. I know you protect your heart, but he managed to break down your walls. He loved you, and you him. I could see you together, even years on."

Margaery felt a gripping in her chest, as if around her heart - so tight it was almost painful. Jon had loved her, and someone else had seen it, too. She blinked away her tears and thought of the kiss Loras didn't know they had shared, the confession of the Lord Commander that had only been for her ears. "I…I did," she whispered. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. "I did love him. I still do." Admitting it aloud to another person - someone who wasn't Jon…gods, she wondered if this pain would ever ease. "I love him, but he could never be mine. And all I can do now is avenge him."

Loras wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "And you will, sister. As you said before, the turncoats will be brought to justice. And then we can leave this place behind us."

She didn't answer. Margaery already knew that even if she went south with Loras when all of this was over, she would never be able to truly leave Castle Black behind.

/*/

It was a quick, quiet journey to the stables, where he saddled a horse and quickly rode South. Every nerve in Edd's body was alight with rage. His Lord Commander, his friend, had been butchered by his own brothers. A new low, even for the likes of Alliser Fucking Thorne. The men were undoubtedly in good hands with Lady Beth - no, Queen Margaery - in the room, but he knew their numbers were too few with just the brothers that had been loyal to Jon. They needed all the help they could get if anything was to be done about the mutineers.

He was braced for a lengthy negotiation - even significant resistance - but when Tormund Giantsbane heard what had happened to Jon, Edd could see that the darkness and anger in the Wildling's eyes were not meant for him. Killing Crows was nothing new for him, Tormund had said; plenty of little men had tried to put their swords through his heart. And there were plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods beyond the Wall.

Thankfully, the Wildlings were able to marshall a force quickly to return to Castle Black; Ser Loras's own men were slower to prepare, but they were ready to ride out within the hour. He was almost surprised, but he wasn't about to question their efficiency - even as he itched to ride faster on the way back. Though Loras's company kept their mounts, only a few of the Wildlings still had horses; the majority of their fighters were on foot.

Edd heard the sound of horses long before he saw them, as they approached the main road. He quickly brought his makeshift company to a halt, hiding in a small copse of dead trees to watch the host go by. There must have been thousands of them - the galloping hoofbeats rumbled in his chest like thunder, the ground shaking beneath them. A banner caught his eye, bearing an unfamiliar sigil - a red heart in flames, with something in the center…a stag? His eyes widened as the breeze changed directions, and he clearly saw the stag of House Baratheon, a crown encircling its neck. A branch of a Great House was marching north - undoubtedly to the Wall - just when they desperately needed allies.

Perhaps they stood more of a chance than Edd thought.

/*/

Anne also had a great idea for a third-person POV depiction of Marg rallying the men, so here's a bonus scene of that:

Lady Margaery strung her bow, hands still bound from the battle, and doled out orders to the hardened men. Her hair a mess, tears still rolling down her cheeks - though she paid them no notice - she commanded the room. For a brief moment, they could all feel it, that this was no mere woman. She was vengeance, anger and grief. She was the Mother, the Maiden and the Crone, and she had set her gaze on those who had wronged her. With her love's cloak encircled around her, like a crow's wings in mourning black, it almost looked like she had a crown on her head, and the Father, the Smith and the Warrior at her back. A Queen in title and countenance, Jon Snow had once thought, and it was an image that now haunted all those present. Before the fight was over, she would send all of her enemies to meet the Stranger.

/*/

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We'll see you soon with Chapter 23!