A/N: Oh God. I'm so sorry.

Chapter 19:

The remainder of the battle was long and brutal, and lasted until mid-morning. Jon, Loras, and the men left on top of the Wall managed to down most of the rest of the giants and mammoths before Brienne and her band at the base of the Wall managed to break through the tunnel. The mounted knights then made short work of the first wave of Wildlings. Loras descended as soon as the tunnel was breached and led the rest of his men in a second wave. There was no way the Free Folk could withstand that kind of coordinated attack, and they were forced to surrender.

While Jon was glad that the battle was over, he couldn't help but worry about what would happen now. As grateful as he was for the Knight of Flowers' timing and the help of his men, he was annoyed that Margaery's cover was now completely blown. He'd seen the faces of the men in the courtyard when Ser Loras announced himself - they were all looking at each other in disbelief that they'd been sheltering a fugitive queen for months without knowing it. Worse, he was sure word of her presence would be on its way to King's Landing by now, and the last thing they needed was Cersei Lannister trying to get her claws in her daughter-in-law.

After having made sure his friends were alright - he'd seen Edd, but hadn't caught a glimpse of the others during the battle, and was glad to find that Sam and Pyp had made it, as well, even though he was grieved to hear that Grenn had died in the tunnel's collapse - he had finally given in to Loras' demands to see his sister.

Leaving Edd in charge again - much to the other man's chagrin - he let the Knight of Flowers follow him to his quarters, Ghost trailing after them silently. The first thing he saw when the door opened was Sansa wringing her hands nervously as she stood next to Margaery, who had grabbed one of the practice swords Jon kept in his chambers, ready to attack whoever was on the other end of the door.

"Jon!" Sansa called out, and rushed at him, throwing her arms around his neck. For a moment, Jon just pulled her closer, still unable to believe that he still had this small part of his family here. He and Sansa had never been very close - far from it, in fact, as children. But they were the only family they had left now, and he'd found he loved her more than he thought.

He looked over his sister's shoulder to the exiled Queen, who had lowered the wooden sword, and was smiling at the siblings. "Is it over, then?" she asked softly. Her hands were bandaged, and her hair was messier than he'd ever seen it. There were dozens of cuts and bruises on her skin, and she looked about as exhausted as Jon felt. But she was here, and she was alive. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and never let her go. Instead, he only nodded.

Loras hurried around him, rushing at his sister. "Margaery!" The Tyrell siblings now embraced as well; Jon heard Margaery give a small grunt of pain when Loras hugged her tightly. Still, he was glad she wasn't alone either. Sansa went back to where she had been standing, and Jon latched the door shut. "I missed you," Ser Loras murmured softly.

"I missed you too, brother," Margaery replied before letting him go. "How did you find me? Wait, don't tell me - Grandmother." Loras only nodded, even as his eyes raked over her, taking the injuries Jon had seen earlier. "I thought as much."

"Margaery, what in the hells has happened to you?"

Jon grimaced at Loras' exclamation. He couldn't imagine that the Tyrells wouldn't flay him for letting a gentle, highborn lady - and a queen at that - fight in a bloody battle. Never mind that Margaery was quite capable of making her own decisions, and Jon had about as much chance of stopping her as he did of being crowned King. He saw Sansa shift anxiously on her feet in the corner as Loras spoke, Ghost curling around her legs.

"This?" Margaery asked gingerly, looking down at her bandaged hands. No matter how much Jon might have been able to teach her, he was still chagrined that she had actually gone out there, especially in such brutal circumstances. Though, considering she was still alive when Grenn…no, now was not the time for that.

Before she could attempt to explain, Jon interceded. "Queen Margaery expressed to me a wish to learn how to fight several weeks ago," he said. "I chose to teach her how to use a bow, hoping it might satisfy her desire for knowledge while keeping her mostly out of the thick of combat. Without my knowledge," he glanced sideways at her, "she put those skills to use during the battle. I understand she may have even killed a Wildling or two over the course of the night." He may have been worried for her, but that didn't mean he wasn't also proud.

Loras was horrified as he turned to his sister again. "Is this true?"

It was only because of the months of close-quarters living that Jon caught the tiny quirk to Margaery's lips that meant she was suppressing a smile. She drew herself up. "It is." A mischievous glint entered her eyes, and Jon was entranced. "A fact you'll have the honour of explaining to Grandmother."

Jon had to exercise every ounce of restraint he was capable of not to burst into laughter at Margaery's faux-haughty gaze and Loras' horrified, almost confused expression. Don't look at Sansa, he thought desperately. Don't look at Sansa. In spite of himself, Jon caught his sister's gaze for half a second. It was enough for her to break into a quiet grin. Jon may have bit his lip to keep from laughing at one of the best swordsmen in the 7 kingdoms quaking in his boots at the thought of facing his own elderly grandmother. Even if said grandmother was more terrifying than a fledgling dragon.

"So the fighting is over?" Gilly interrupted. With how quiet she and the baby had been, Jon had almost forgotten they were there. "Sam?" she asked, looking worried. It was enough to sober him up.

"He's alright. If you want to return to your room, I'll ask him to stop by," he said softly. Little Sam was asleep in her arms, and she looked so exhausted she might join him then and there.

"You poor thing, you're exhausted," Margaery said. "You need to get some rest. I'm sure Sansa won't mind looking after the baby." She shot the redhead an apologetic look. "I'd take him, but I'm afraid I might need some attention myself," she said apologetically, raising her bandaged hands. "You don't mind, do you?"

Sansa agreed, albeit a little hesitantly, and Jon had to admire Margaery's ability to take charge of the situation. A Queen in title and countenance, he thought fondly. "And I should see to my men. Ser Loras, Your Grace," he addressed the Tyrells with an odd twist in his stomach, "I believe you have some catching up to do. I'll leave you to it."

He shut the door as he exited, heard Loras fasten the latch behind him, and thought his heart might break. He would certainly lose her now.

/*/

"Now, tell me everything," Loras said, sitting down at his sister's side. He eyed the direwolf as it put its head in her lap, and Margaery scratched his ears, but didn't comment. "Where did you go when you disappeared from the wedding?"

For the third time, Margaery sat in the Lord Commander's quarters to recount her story. She wept anew at the deaths of her guards, and the hardships she had endured since leaving King's Landing. The sting of it had lessened over time, but hadn't faded. She was still grateful for the sanctuary she had received here, of course, but it was still a cold, desolate place, filled with thieves and murderers. With the exception of Jon and their friends, of course. And Ghost, she thought affectionately as she petted the giant wolf.

She told Loras of the battle, too, and everything that led up to it. "I've killed men, Loras," she whispered at the end. She hadn't been truly aware of it at the time, too focussed on the battle, getting Pyp to safety, avoiding the redheaded archer… but some of her arrows had found their mark in more lethal places than the arms and legs she had hit before. Not to mention the ones that had bled to death from wounds she had inflicted.

But she didn't cry because she mourned them. She cried because the knowledge that she'd caused their deaths… it did nothing to her. Their deaths meant nothing to her, except the continued survival of herself and her friends and allies. What did that make of her?

"It makes you strong," Loras said, determined. "The loss of life may be regretful, but you need not mourn them, sister. You didn't know them, they were simply the enemy. That is one advantage of the bow; it's not as personal as a blade. You haven't lost your humanity, Margaery. Those very tears are testament to that," he said, gently swiping a thumb under her eyes.

Margaery managed a regretful smile. "Even so…no one ever told me how killing someone changes you."

Loras regarded her thoughtfully. "Change isn't always bad, dear sister. Look at how you've changed… You're different now." He smiled a little ruefully. "I can hardly call you The Rose of Highgarden anymore."

Margaery couldn't help but think of the blue winter roses that Jon told her grew in the glass houses at Winterfell. "I wouldn't say that. After all, roses have thorns." She smiled. "Shall I return to King's Landing a warrior queen, like the early Targaryens?"

"Gods protect us from more Targaryens," Loras muttered. "We'll have enough trouble getting you back south as it is, but I'm sure you're ready to leave."

South. Something about the word rang differently in her mind than it had before. Whereas before, it had meant home, safety, security, back to her life of luxury, now…

She had come to care for Gilly and of course, Sansa was dear to her as well. Edd, Grenn, Sam, even some of the other Crows were her friends. They couldn't come with her. And… Jon. And how could she leave Jon? She felt the tiny weight of the pendant under her dress, and her hand drifted up to the chain at her neck. For all his stoicism, she knew he cared for her as well. But he'd see her off, never breathing a word of his own desires, if he thought she was fulfilling hers.

"Yes," she replied absentmindedly. "We'll go home."

/*/

Loras was reluctant to leave his sister alone in this place, but he had more questions for the Lord Commander. His men were helping with the cleanup; it was a strange sight to see these southron knights doing heavy labor in a place like this. He shivered as another gust of wind went by - gods be good, how did they live in this abominable cold?

A quick inquiry and incredibly rude answer later found Loras trudging towards the collapsed tunnel underneath the massive ice wall, where the Lord Commander was directing his men. For all that he'd barely spoken to the taciturn man, Loras was impressed. Jon Snow might have been a bastard, but he led with a quiet confidence that made him seem almost larger than life. Even now, speaking to a man in full armour, towering over him, it never seemed as though he was cowed.

Then the armoured man turned - and Loras saw that he wasn't a man.

His vision turned red, and the world narrowed to a knife-point focus as he strode forwards. "You," he hissed. His heart was pounding, and his hand was already on his sword. "What in all seven hells are you doing here?"

Brienne of Tarth was reaching for her own blade when the Lord Commander placed a hand on her arm and stepped between them. "She rescued my sister Sansa on the road to Winterfell and brought her here," he said, his voice steady and commanding respect. "She's here as my guest, and you will remain civil. Both of you," he glanced back and forth. "I'll not have any more bloodshed in this courtyard today."

Reluctantly, Loras released his sword, but he would not back down. "She murdered my…King."

"I did no such thing," she snapped. "I served His Grace faithfully, just as you did, and would have gladly laid down my-"

"There were witnesses!" Loras interrupted her angrily. "Whom should I believe - my king's sworn guards, or the words of a traitor?"

"I didn't harm him! I would never-"

"His blood is on your hands!" he screamed. "You were the only one there, you fled-"

"I loved Renly," Brienne insisted, her volume matching his.

"I loved Renly!" Loras shouted, heedless of who could hear. Silence met his words. "I loved him," he whispered. "And you took him from me."

Small hands curled around his arm, and he looked down into warm eyes. Those eyes had always seen him, had known him throughout his life. Margaery moved to put her arms around him, pulling him into her embrace. Loras was vaguely aware of Jon speaking to the Tarth woman in a quiet voice, but not of what they were saying to each other.

"I knew you loved him," she was saying, "but I didn't realize it was… I didn't know. I am so sorry that you lost him."

What Loras wouldn't give to be able to break down into his sister's arms and just… grieve. But he was suddenly keenly aware that he was surrounded not just by strangers, but his own men, too. They were loyal men, and he trusted each of them, but there were things he could never show to anyone outside his family. He took a deep breath to steel himself, brushed an affectionate hand over his sister's messy curls, and stepped back, his eyes still miraculously dry.

"If it were up to me, I'd cut you down where you stand," he spat at the armoured woman. "But I have enough respect for the Lord Commander and my sister that I will not shed more blood this day."

"Thank you, Ser Loras," the Lord Commander replied in a stiff voice. He then nodded to the woman at his side to dismiss her and stepped closer to Loras and Margaery.

As Brienne walked away, a tense silence ensued. Loras wanted to speak, but his anger was still bubbling just below the surface. "How can you harbour that woman? Do you not know what she's done?" he hissed when he managed to unclench his jaw.

"Look around you, my lord," Jon Snow replied, gesturing wide. "Every man you see here has earned his place on the Wall, one way or another." He glanced at Margaery then. "Even your own sister is a traitor to the Crown. By all rights I should have sent her back to King's Landing. But the Wall and the wilds don't care about your past, or your crimes. We all live, eat, shit, and die here together. The Night's Watch - and any who live in the shadow of the Wall - owe allegiance to no one. Only to each other. As long as you can do that, any man is welcome here. Or woman."

Jon Snow really was a born leader. Loras' anger had not disappeared, but it had abated for now.

"Why don't we continue this discussion elsewhere?" Margaery interjected delicately. She was still dressed in rags, her hands bandaged and her hair more of a mess than Loras had ever seen. But she was still every inch a Queen.

Effortlessly, she led the men away from the courtyard. "I imagine Loras has questions, Jon. I know you have much to do, but discussing our plans for the next few days would be beneficial."

The Lord Commander inclined his head, the smallest of smiles on his face as he gazed at her. "I imagine you have some strategies in mind?"

She smiled back at him. "Naturally. But I wouldn't want to impose?"

"Impose away, Your Grace."

The couple had almost entirely forgotten about Loras' presence, and it threw the knight. He'd seen his sister with countless suitors, had seen her toy with men who thought they had the upper hand… But he'd never seen her like this.

Before Margaery could lay out her no doubt extensive plans, they were brought up short by men carrying stretchers out of the formerly collapsed tunnel. Her face fell instantly as she cried "Wait."

The men bearing the stretchers paused, glancing at each other, but Margaery paid them no heed. The Commander's direwolf appeared as if from nowhere, flanking her. The beast was silent as it stared the men down.

Loras watched his sister step towards the stretcher, taking the edge of a bloodied cloak into her hands. There was detailed stitching there, nothing like what he'd expect from the hardy men of the North. Had Margaery…?

Her breath hitched, the sound barely audible. But Loras knew what it meant. He'd heard it countless times since their childhood. But before he could move, Jon Snow had already reached her, winding his arms around her so she couldn't fall.

"I've got you," Jon said softly through her quiet weeping, nodding at the men to continue their work. "Shh. You're alright."

As he watched the Lord Commander steer her away, her hands firmly entwined in the man's cloak, Loras noticed something he hadn't caught onto before. They cared for one another. His first reaction was irritation - who was this bastard of the Night's Watch to be so forward with his sister, with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?

But then he realized. This wasn't just some commonborn Crow, sent to the Wall for one crime or another. This was Jon Snow, bastard Son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. More than that, he was the last Stark son that anyone had seen alive.

If he was seeing this correctly, this might work to their advantage.

/*/

(Bonus scene)

Smoldering fires still hissed everywhere around the courtyard of Castle Black. Night's Watchmen were still gathering the dead and wounded, sifting through the damage, trying to repair what they could. As Margaery stepped past her brother, she saw bodies being brought in from the far tunnel.

"Wait," she cried. She recognized that cloak. The men paused, glancing at her uncertainly. Ghost stood next to her, quietly surveying them. Margaery was suddenly, painfully aware, as the Night's Watchmen parted in front of her to let her pass, that they now knew exactly who she was. All the pretenses of Bethany Flowers were now gone.

She steeled herself and stepped forwards, Ghost at her heels and baring his teeth at anyone who came too close. Lifting the edge of the cloak, she found what she had been dreading. She'd always been a fair hand at stitching, so when Jon's friends had asked her to mend some clothes, she hadn't minded. There had been some threads left over, so, with Pyp egging her on, she'd added little feather details. Just simple stitches, really, nothing too elaborate. But Grenn had always seemed so fond of them, so she'd added them where she could. Sometimes she wondered if he was getting his cloak torn up on purpose for more of them.

And now, her fingers trailed over the little white feathers, contrasting against the black of the cloak, stained in red. The figure on the stretcher was in no way recognizable, but these…these were her stitches. She'd mended this cloak just last week.

"Grenn?" she breathed. The feathers became blurry, and suddenly her tears were freezing against her cheeks. Her legs buckled before she could control herself, and she braced for the pain of clashing against the hard stone.

But it never came.

Strong arms encircled her, and a familiar voice murmured comforts in her ear. "I've got you," Jon said softly. "Shh. You're alright."

A/N: I know, I know, it's been a hot minute here. A lot has happened - grad school, a pandemic, multiple jobs, and an engagement on my end alone! Stay tuned for Chapter 20 shortly!