A/N: Happy Friday and happy Valentine's Day, lovely readers! Anne and I have a special Valentine's gift for all of you, so I won't stall any longer. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 24:

The knife was buried deep in his chest as soon as he faced Alliser Thorne again. "For the Watch," the man sneered.

The First Ranger yanked his blade free, and Jon gasped in pain. Bowen Marsh stepped forward and stabbed him in turn. "For the Watch," he whispered in Jon's ear.

Othell Yarwyck followed suit. "For the Watch."

A fourth brother, a fourth stab. "For the Watch."

A fifth, before Jon fell to his knees, struggling for breath. The pain now blinded him as he clutched his abdomen, where Yarwyck's blade had cut the deepest. Jon knew he was dying. He could feel the life draining out of him, taking some of the pain with it. He couldn't see the snow anymore. Was Ghost there? A flash of brown in his vision, the twist of a woman's lips into a mischievous smile. Margaery…she wasn't here, was she? She couldn't be.

Jon blinked and there was snow again. Footsteps shuffled, the small crowd of mutineers parting, and Olly now stepped forward. Olly…the boy had known he was leading Jon into a trap. And Jon had followed him blindly. His steward now stood over him, face twisting with emotion even as he tried to stay stoic. Jon swallowed hard. "Olly…" he croaked.

The boy drove his blade into Jon's chest and withdrew it. "For the Watch."

He never felt the final knife. Only the cold. The next thing he knew, he was wide awake on a table in Castle Black - no black brothers or blades to be seen. Blades…there had been so many of them…

The door opened. He looked up and saw Sam carrying a spare black cloak. His friend's eyes widened as he stepped inside. His head still spinning, Jon looked down at his torso and counted the marks. Six. Six Watchmen had stabbed him - no, it was five; Olly had been the last to…

Jon touched the wound on his abdomen, glancing up at Sam again. He didn't notice he was shaking until he started to get up. He felt like a newborn calf, wobbling on unfamiliar limbs. He would have hit the floor, had his friend not raced to him and wrapped the cloak around him. "Catch your breath," Sam managed to say, his voice shaking, as he led him to sit in a chair. "What do you remember?"

The door opened again, and Jon heard rapid footsteps as Sansa appeared in his line of vision. "Jon," she whispered, grabbing his hands in hers as tears spilled from her already reddened eyes.

Jon was still gasping haggardly, eyes wide. "They stabbed me." He could see Sansa's hands around his, but he almost couldn't feel them, like he was removed from his own body. "Olly, he…" Gods, his mouth was so dry. He swallowed and wet his lips to speak. "He put a knife in my heart…" His eyes trailed from his sister's hands to Sam. Sam was real. Sam had to be real. "I shouldn't be here." Gradually, he started feeling again. Sansa's hands, warm as he squeezed them back. Ghost nosing gently at his feet, the hard wooden chair beneath him.

"There's a woman here, brought you back," Sam said, still in disbelief. "She came to the Wall with -"

As if on command, the door opened again. An unfamiliar woman in a red dress, a large jewel at her neck, stepped inside. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jon sitting up, supported by Samwell and Sansa. She rushed forward and knelt at his feet, speaking to him without preamble. "After they stabbed you, after you died…where did you go? What did you see?"

Jon shook his head; "Nothing. There was nothing at all."

"The Lord let you come back for a reason," she insisted. "He sent me visions in the fire. The King in the North fighting at Winterfell. The Prince who was Promised victorious against the icy horde, driving back the Long Night…"

What Lord? What Prince who was Promised? Robb was King in the North, but Robb was… Jon felt dizzy; his eyes squeezed shut. "Could you give us a moment, my lady?" Sansa asked gently. Her voice sounded distant in his ears.

The Red Woman hesitated, but acquiesced. Samwell secured the cloak around Jon's shoulders, reassuring his friend that he would return with some clothes, before following Melisandre out. Silence pervaded the room. "You were dead," Sansa said softly. Jon looked up, but didn't answer. "I know you're here, and you're alive now, but… For almost a day, you were dead. And I was all alone. I was the last Stark in the North."

Jon shook his head. "I'm not a Stark."

"You are to me." Sansa's affirmation sat heavy in his heart, but it was a good weight. "Father always said you have our blood. That isn't any less true now that he's gone."

There was a brief pause. "We can't stay at the Wall much longer," Jon said. "Not now that my own men have killed me. You're not safe. Margaery's not safe." His stomach dropped at the thought.

"You're not safe," Sansa said adamantly. "But…where can we go? Aunt Lysa's mad and completely controlled by Littlefinger, the Tullys have their own battles to fight, and Winterfell…" A light entered his sister's eyes. "They don't know…"

"Sansa?"

"The northern Lords don't know that I'm here, that I'm alive. They wouldn't support the Boltons if the Starks could come back to rule Winterfell again. The bonds of loyalty run deepest in the North."

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," Jon recited, sighing. "Sansa, we haven't the numbers."

"But we must-"

The door creaked open again, and Sam's head poked through the door frame. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think you might be more comfortable in some clothes."

Sansa sighed. "We'll talk about this later." There was steel in her eyes that hadn't been there before everything. She was a little girl when he'd first left for the Wall, but she was a woman of the North now.

"Aye," Jon nodded. "Later." As Sansa left the room and Sam placed the spare clothes on the table, he let out a sigh. "I was dead, Sam. I did what I thought was right…and I got murdered for it." His breath hitched as he thought of Margaery, of his sister. "And now I'm back…why?"

"Because a mad woman brought you back from the dead?" There was a tentative smile on his friend's face, and Jon managed a weak smile in return. "I don't know why you're back, Jon. I'm just glad that you are. Wouldn't have known what to do without you. All you can do now is…just keep going, I suppose."

Jon lowered his head. "I don't know if I know how. I thought I did, but…I failed."

"Then…you just keep failing. I've failed loads of times, and I'm still here, aren't I?"

His smile grew - only slightly - and he put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thank you, Sam."

With another nod, Sam left again, and Jon was alone with his thoughts. Sansa was right about the Northern lords, but even with all of the armies at Castle Black, Jon knew it wouldn't be enough to take down the Boltons. Putting aside the fact that he, Sansa, and Margaery wouldn't be safe at the Wall any longer…he let out a heavy breath and picked up the shirt Sam had brought. He had traitors to deal with before anything else.

/*/

Dressing as quickly as he could, he joined Sam outside, leaning on his friend when his balance failed him. He felt weak and light, like his own body was still unfamiliar to him. He stopped at the balustrade and looked over the courtyard of Castle Black - Wildlings, Watchmen, and two southron armies had congregated below. Jon scoffed out a laugh. "Baratheons, Tyrells, Free Folk - not enough men for centuries, and now Castle Black is overrun."

With a chuckle, Sam helped him down the stairs until Jon was steady enough to walk on his own. The men slowly parted in front of him, forming a path directly to his old friend Tormund Giantsbane. The tall Wildling looked down at him. "They think you're some kind of god," he murmured. "The man who returned from the dead."

Jon shook his head. "I'm not a god."

"I know." Tormund slowly grinned and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I saw your pecker. What kind of god would have a pecker that small?"

He managed a small smile, wincing slightly as his friend embraced him. He spotted Edd as Tormund released him, quickly hugging his fellow Watchman.

"Your eyes are still brown," Edd observed. "Is that still you in there?"

"I think so," Jon replied, finally feeling more secure on his own legs. He frowned contemplatively; "Hold off on burning my body for now."

Edd chuckled once; "That's funny." Then his grin melted into a frown, eyes narrowing to study Jon. "You sure that's still you in there?"

Both of them chuckled - the first time Jon had done so since… well… He clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, and turned to look around. "Where's Margaery? Is she alright?"

Edd nodded in the direction of the lift; "She rallied the men while I went for the Wildlings, but I think after all that…she needed to be alone."

Jon sighed. He could only imagine what the emotional turmoil of the last few days had been like for her - the battle, reuniting with her brother, their admission of their love, only for him to die…"I can't say I blame her."

His friend managed a wry smile. "You'd have been proud of her."

"I didn't need her to prove herself a queen to be proud of her," he said with a soft smile. He knew he was showing too much, too openly, but… He could still feel the healing wounds on his torso pulling on his shirt, and he rubbed at his chest. "Where are the…others now?"

"Below, in the cells."

Jon nodded, letting out a slow breath. "Set up the gallows."

/*/

Jon Snow was dead.

That truth sat like a heavy stone in Margaery's chest, threatening to pull her under. It took everything she had just to keep functioning. To breathe. When she blinked, she was on the lift, heading up to the top of the Wall. She had no recollection of deciding to come here, nor of walking the path.

She pulled the cloak tighter around herself as the lift wobbled closer to the top of the Wall, for the first time aware of the cold. As much as she wanted to focus on anything else, all she could remember was the first time she had made this journey with Jon and Ghost, mere days after her arrival at the Wall. "And what's up here, Lord Commander?" she remembered teasing him, as though he were any other man.

His smile was the only thing she saw as she closed her eyes. "The edge of the world."

Margaery opened the gate and stepped onto the parapet, and all she could remember was standing by Jon's side, watching the sun come up in this very same spot. Now, she could see a handful of guards interspaced along the edge.

But the only man she wanted to see would never again stand here, taking in the edge of the world. She had been a naive girl to even dream of marrying him; she berated herself for it now. But for just a moment, she had held onto that hope. For that moment, she had dreamed of Jon Snow - a man she would marry, a man to father her children, trueborn heirs to Winterfell. Now…he was gone.

Margaery stared out at the forest that was only just visible in the dark. The sun was about to come up. Her silent tears froze instantly on her cheeks, and she could feel the cold threatening to claw its way inward, to her heart.

Let it, she thought bitterly. Jon was dead - there was no more hope of resurrection, no more hope of defying the Gods or cheating death. Loras had told her that it would get easier, that she would be able to breathe again someday. The yawning chasm in her chest seemed to suggest otherwise.

She jumped at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. A man was standing behind her - older, with receding gray hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. He had blue-gray eyes and a kindly face, lined with concern. "Forgive me, my lady; I - I did call your name…once or twice," he said.

"I…I apologise; I…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say. I apologise, I was contemplating the death of the love of my life? Perhaps not the best conversation starter.

"I didn't mean to disturb your solitude."

"It's quite alright, Ser…?"

"Davos, milady," he inclined his head politely. "Ser Davos Seaworth, I'm King Stannis' Lord Hand."

Margaery managed a small smile. The Onion Knight, she believed he was called. A lowborn smuggler who had helped Stannis survive his brother's rebellion. "A pleasure, Ser Davos. Your journey North was not too difficult, I hope?" she asked. The habitual politeness she had learned from her grandmother was still intact, then.

"It was…a journey," he replied - she had a feeling that was the diplomatic answer to her question, not necessarily the true one. "But certainly worth the view."

Pushing back the burning in her eyes, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Something about the wind was colder without Jon here. "I've never seen its equal, anywhere in the world."

"Almost makes you think the gods really did create this place," Ser Davos agreed. "If there are any."

Margaery turned away from the breeze to look at him. "You don't believe?"

The Onion Knight shook his head. "Never did fancy the idea of some all-powerful beings sitting up there in the clouds judging us, or telling us how to live. If there are any gods, I imagine they don't pay any mind to our daily lives as much as everyone thinks."

"I believed. I went to the Sept, I prayed to the Seven…They always felt very real to me," Margaery said, turning her gaze back to the lightening forest. Only a few more minutes until the sun would break over the horizon. "But now it feels like they've abandoned me. It makes me wonder if they were ever really there at all."

Davos nodded out to the trees beyond the Wall. "Out there, they still keep the Old Gods. Every rock, tree, and stream is its own spirit. If you want to pray, all you have to do is look around. If I were a religious man…" he shrugged. "I suppose that's the kind of faith I would prefer."

Margaery remembered Jon telling Loras how dangerous it was to speak for the gods, how his Old Gods were more steadfast than the Seven. An oath once sworn was sworn until death. Another small piece of her heart broke; perhaps she should have entreated them during the Red Woman's ritual. "I wonder if they would listen."

"I was born in Flea Bottom, milady; I never had any faith to lose," Ser Davos replied. "When all you can see around you is filth and starvation while those above you feast on the finest delicacies in the realm, it's hard to imagine the gods are real." He seemed like a very unpretentious sort of man - a rarity in King's Landing. "But I've also seen men gain strength or comfort from their faith. My own son prayed for my safe return every time I sailed off." He shrugged. "Perhaps the gods are real, and there's some plan that can't be seen. I don't think it really matters if they're real. If your faith gives you comfort or meaning in life, wonderful. Keep it. If not, find something else - family, your House, the bloody tides, if you like. I doubt torturing yourself over it will make a difference." He paused. "If you'll pardon my language."

Margaery chuckled, looking out at the trees again. Colors were slowly blooming in the shades of grey that preceded the dawn. Her smile was slightly stronger when she looked at him again. "Thank you, Ser Davos."

"My pleasure, my lady." He glanced back towards the lift. "I think I've enjoyed the view long enough - I'll leave you to it."

As he turned around the corner a few feet away, Margaery let her shoulders sink slightly. The last time she had watched the sunrise atop the wall, Ghost had been sitting at her side. She had known his master would be back to get him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she had nothing left to give. The wind blew past her, blowing her hair back from her face. The sun was rising on a world without Jon Snow.

As the sun finally crested over the trees, there was a familiar, coarse texture under her hand. Direwolf fur. Ghost's fur. She looked down, and as if her thoughts had summoned him, the beast was at her side, tilting his head at her. She frowned down at him. He'd refused to leave his master through the Red Woman's ritual - even when the Free Folk arrived to fight Ser Alliser's mutineers, he'd stayed behind. Why…? She looked up to the direction of the lift -

And there he was.

Margaery thought her heartbeat may have stopped for a moment, before it was thundering in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come forth. All she could do was obey her own body and move, go to him, even as her legs wobbled. He caught her before she could stumble, and she cradled his cheeks in trembling hands - warm. He was warm again. She huffed out an incredulous breath. "Am I dead? Or am I dreaming?"

Jon's forehead gently rested against hers. "If this is a dream," he whispered, "It's one I don't want to wake from."

Her lips found his almost before he could finish the last word. His mouth was warm and soft against hers - just as it had been before. It couldn't be a dream. She let her arms wind around his neck as Jon pulled her in closer, securing his arms around her waist as though he never planned to let go. She wasn't about to let him.

For the span of a single breath, he pulled back to look her in the eyes, his gaze so filled with love that she wouldn't have been able to catch her breath regardless. A tiny shake of her head and he was back in her grasp, her hands now tangled in his beautiful curls. She was not finished with him yet. His grip around her waist tightened further - it seemed he agreed. Good.

Margaery wasn't sure how long they stood there at the edge of the world, wrapped up in each other, before they finally broke apart for air. "Jon…" her thumb stroked his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. "How? I - I saw the Red Woman fail; you were -"

"I know." His voice was pained as he held her close. "I don't understand it, but somehow…something she did - it must have taken a moment, but she brought me back." He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I'm here now, Margaery. And I will not let you go."

Gods, her name sounded like music on his tongue. "Promise me," she murmured, leaning in and pressing her forehead to his.

Jon met her there, their breath mingling in the cold air. The feeling was somehow just as intimate as their kiss had been. All was now laid bare. "I swear it. If it is within my power, unless the Gods themselves decide to interfere… Margaery Tyrell, I will stay by your side for as long as you'll have me."

Tears welled in Margaery's eyes again as he sealed his vow with a kiss.

/*/

Never in his wildest dreams had Jon Snow thought he would have to confront the men who murdered him. Yet as he climbed the short steps of the gallows Edd and the men had assembled, Longclaw in his hand, he felt their stares boring into him.

The steps up seemed impossibly far. Each one felt like it added a weight to his shoulders as the men who had betrayed him finally came into view. He couldn't look at them. He had not considered any of them his friend, but they were his brothers, and the treachery had cut deeper than any blade.

His eyes briefly flickered up to Olly, but he quickly averted his gaze again. Even now, part of him wanted to spare the boy. For all that the mutiny had broken their vows and hurt him deeply, he understood his steward's actions. The men had done it out of conviction, but Olly…Olly was a boy - younger than Bran - not thinking with his head, but with his heart. He had wanted revenge, not justice. He was no sworn Brother, but Jon was still bound by the law of the Watch. His hand tightened and loosened around Longclaw's hilt.

"If you have any last words, now is the time," he said, before turning to Bowen Marsh, the First Steward.

"You shouldn't be alive," the man exclaimed, eyes wide with fear. "It's not right…" He was shaking, but Jon felt no sympathy as he looked at him.

"Neither was killing me."

Another step put him in front of Othell Yarwick. The First Builder had stood witness when Jon swore his vows, and now he was a traitor. "My mother's still living at White Harbour." He, at least, seemed somewhat remorseful. "Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the Wildlings."

Jon nodded once.

Alliser was next. Jon stood expectantly, not hiding any of the coldness he felt from his stare. "I had a choice, Lord Commander. Betray you, or betray the Night's Watch. You brought an army of Wildlings into our lands," he said. Alliser looked out into the faces of those gathered in the courtyard - Wildlings and Crows alike. "An army of murderers and raiders. If I had to do it all over, knowing where I'd end up, I pray I'd make the right choice again."

Jon could argue with the man, could point out once again that their true enemy wasn't the Wildlings - who were no different from Alliser than any other Westerosi - but the White Walkers. But Alliser would never hear it, and it was pointless arguing with a dead man. "I'm sure you would, Ser Alliser," Jon said calmly.

"I fought, I lost." He nodded once. "Now I rest. But you, Lord Snow…you'll be fighting their battles forever." For all that Jon disliked the man, and that he couldn't seem to grasp the reality of the situation, Jon couldn't help but admire his composure and conviction in the face of his death.

Olly was the last one left. The knot in Jon's stomach twisted tighter. He had no desire to do this - to face the child who had shot Ygritte and then driven a blade into his heart. But he was still the Lord Commander, bound to enforce justice on the Wall. With a soft breath, he met Olly's gaze. The boy only glared at him with hatred and rage. No blubbering, no sniveling, no fear - there was only anger. He said nothing.

So that was it, then. Jon took another step forward, his hand still flexing around Longclaw's hilt. He could feel a few of their gazes watching from the crowd - the Red Woman, Edd, Sam. He caught Margaery's blue-grey eyes and her stony expression softened minutely, her lips pressed in a sympathetic line. There was more than love - it was empathy he saw, an understanding that this was by no means easy for him.

She gave him the strength he needed. He turned back and swung his sword down resolutely, sealing the mutineers' fate. It was over quickly, their bodies shaking in the brief moments it took them to die. Soon enough, their glassy eyes stared out past the courtyard into nothing.

Sheathing Longclaw again, Jon walked over to where Edd stood waiting at the edge of the platform. "We should burn the bodies."

"You should," Jon replied, taking off his heavy cloak and presenting it to his friend.

Edd seemed confused. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Wear it. Burn it. Whatever you want. You have the Wall."

Edd just stood there with the cloak in his arms, confusion melting into baffled understanding. He would do a good job. Edd was a loyal Brother, and more than smart enough.

As Jon descended the stairs again, the weight he had felt before gradually lifted off his shoulders. His work here was done.

"My Watch has ended."

/*/

A/N: Davos be like "My dad-sense is tingling, there is a child in need of advice!"

Us: Yeah, that tracks.

Also, y'all should've heard me victory screech when we wrote the kiss. That's now my favorite moment of the entire fic. Leave your thoughts below - we'll see you soon with Chapter 25!