Falling Like ✸ Jon Snow ✓

33| 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢

castle black, the wall

— NIGHT HAD FALLEN AT CASTLE BLACK. Alliser Thorne had given the men defending Jon Snow's body an ultimatum; surrender and live in peace, or fight and die. Now their time was up, and it would seem that aside from one angry direwolf, they were on their own.

An axe struck at the door, again and again. As soon as that door came down, they would be dead men.

Then a loud bang caught their attention, making everyone freeze in place. The gate. The archers readjusted their position as something slammed against it again. Again, and again... and finally the gate was smashed open, and the wildling giant charged through, followed by a slew of wildlings, and Nymeria Mormont looking like vengeance given form atop Koda's back.

"Attack!" Alliser yelled.

One man stupidly obeyed, only to be cut down quickly and viciously by Tormund.

"Fight, you cowards!" He screamed as the others backed fearfully away.

"I am your Lord Commander in place of Jon Snow!" Nymeria snarled. "You will stand down!"

One of the archers on the walkway above shot a crossbow, the bolt embedding itself in the fur of the giant's coat. With an angry grunt, he grabbed hold of the man easily, swinging him in a wide arc and slamming him against the stone wall, probably shattering every bone he had and killing him instantly before dropping him into the snow.

Nymeria raised a brow. "Or face a similar fate."

That was all it took. Every last one of them dropped their weapons, practically cowering before the small host of Free Folk. Only Alliser, a few of the officers and – much to Nymeria's dismay – Olly still held their swords fast.

"You fucking traitorous whore," Thorne spat.

She stared at him with the fire of a thousand suns. "The only traitors here are the ones who put their daggers in their Lord Commander's heart."

"Mormont should've never brought you here," he hissed. "For thousands of years the Night's Watch have held Castle Black against the wildlings."

Tormund smirked. "Until you."

Olly charged with a yell at that, both he and Alliser swinging their blades only to be grabbed and restrained by Tormund, Arryk, and a few others.

Nymeria sneered. "Take the traitors into custody. Throw them in a cell where they belong."

Once they were gone and Arryk had gone to organise the Free Folk they brought, she led Tormund back up to the room where Jon lay.

Even still, the sight of him had her swallowing back a lump in her throat. If not for the stillness of his chest, she could almost deceive herself into believing he was only asleep.

"Took a lot of knives," Tormund observed, watching Jon with a mixture of sadness and respect. He nodded. "I'll have my men get the wood for a fire."

Nymeria tensed visibly at the words, her face twisting with misery.

"Bodies to burn."

She bit down on her lip, holding back a shaky breath as she leaned down on the table, a hand ghosting just over his heart where a particularly vile stab wound lay.

"We got them," she whispered before closing her eyes, shaking her head. "You idiot. You should've listened to me." Her voice was rough with the threat of more tears. "I told you not to give him any power, I-" she cut herself off, sucking in a deep breath as she straightened, then turned on her heel to step back out into the cold air.

She didn't go far – she couldn't make herself leave him – just to the rail of the walkway, which she gripped with desperation, as if it was all that grounded her to reality.

°

"I don't believe you!" Nymeria snapped.

"Look... at least let her try," Davos attempted, but the Lord Commander was a stone wall.

"And what if she fails?" She demanded. "I don't want hope, Ser Davos, so don't give it to me. I'm done with hope, I've abandoned it. All it's ever brought me is more pain."

He took a step towards her. "Nymeria, please," he took a breath. "I've heard much about you, the things you've done... I can only imagine how much suffering you've been dealt to become the legend that you are. But Jon Snow also did great things. He also suffered. Don't tell me, don't tell yourself... that he did all of that just to be stabbed in the heart by scum like Thorne. That he should never get the chance to live to see what his great deeds brought."

She swallowed hard, silent for a long moment as she fiddled with the pommel of Longclaw.

"Alright," she whispered finally. "The Red Woman may try."

°

Nymeria watched intently as the Lady Melisandre worked, removing Jon's clothing piece by piece, running water through his curls, washing the blood from his torso bit by bit until even the wounds themselves were completely clean. They could have been standing there for hours – they probably were – but it's not like Nymeria wanted to be anywhere other than his side anyways.

Moving back to the head of the table, the Red Woman began chanting softly in Valyrian, snipping off little bits of Jon's hair at a time and dropping them into a brazier.

Davos and Tormund exchanged glances before Tormund shot Nymeria a nervous look, but her eyes didn't once leave the scene before her.

The fire squealed and crackled softly as it burnt, and Melisandre took a large pitcher in hand, running more water through Jon's hair as she continued her chants. Slowly, she placed her hands on his chest and stomach, her words becoming repetitive. The more she repeated them, the more desperate she sounded and the more Nymeria's throat tightened.

Finally, she lifted her hands, backing away a step.

Stone-faced, Nymeria turned and left, the door standing slightly ajar behind her. Tormund wasn't far behind her, though to his confusion, he didn't see her anywhere when he stepped outside. He didn't have to walk far along the walkway, though, before he heard her.

Peering through a doorway, he found her in a dark and empty corridor, leaning back against the wall, hands on her knees in an attempt to keep herself from falling as she cried.

"Nymeria Mormont."

She looked up at him, mask broken, face tearstained and devastated.

He shook his head, stepping closer. "It's not your fault."

"No," she whispered. "But that doesn't make it hurt any less."

He offered a hand, and after a moment of hesitation she took it, her own shaking slightly as she did. The Huntress was a wildling's worst nightmare, and Tormund Giantsbane was the best Crow-killer the north had seen. But he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into a half-embrace and keeping her standing.

"I know."

A/N:
My sad little badass... </3