Thyrsa was still shaking hours later.
"Thank you," she murmured as Tormund offered her some mead. She took a sip and coughed. "Fuck, that's disgusting."
"It'll wake you up," he said, sitting beside her. "We lost a lot of good men back there."
Her hands trembled as she held the cup, "I'd heard stories, I even saw drawings from the First Men's records. But I never... never saw something so awful. The way they just kept coming back. Swords... did nothing. Jon's was the only one that did anything. Gods." She held her head, then took another sip of the mead. "I can't burn that image out of my mind."
Tormund was quiet, watching as she massaged her own hands. "Would you like to meet my girls?" he asked, figuring this would distract her. "They're eager to meet the only female crow that's ever been at Castle Black."
She smiled weakly. "Of course."
He stood, beckoning across the deck at the girls, who had been kicking a chunk of ice with their friends. They ran up, skidding to a halt beside her. "Hello there," said Thyrsa, offering her hand. "I'm Thyrsa. You are... Maja and Munda, yes? Your father's told me a lot about you."
"Papa likes to talk a lot," said Munda honestly. "He is never quiet."
"Papa, look," said Maja, pointing at Thyrsa's cloak, which still rested on the shoulders of one of the elderly wildlings. "She has a crow's cloak. It's very strange."
"I told you," said Tormund. "A female crow."
"And a bear and a giant," said Thyrsa, kneeling down in front of them. "Your papa doesn't believe me, but my father was part giant and my mother was a she-bear. Hardhome is something House Umber and House Mormont would enjoy. My mother's family lived on an island in the Bay of Ice, south of the Frozen Shore, among many massive bears, gnarled oaks, tall pines, and very steep hills with streams that contribute to the water that flows into the Sunset Sea. They fish often there, and all the women are taught to hunt and fight. My sisters and I were, too. I come from two long lines of warriors. Your papa says my family is a lot like the wildlings. Is it true you two are already learning to wield swords?"
"Yes!" said Maja. "Look, I made a pretty belt for my sword..." she showed her a leather belt wrapped in cloth that kept the sword tight and dry, and also had hints of color, most likely from berries.
"I like it very much," said Thyrsa. "Perhaps you'll show me how to make one."
"No, I can!" complained Munda. "I'm little but I can make it if I tried!"
"I'm sure I have much to learn from each of you. I may need a new cloak. Perhaps you can teach me to make the holder and Maja can teach me to make the cloak?"
"She knew!" squealed Maja, clapping her hands at Tormund. "I love to make cloaks!"
Tormund smiled. "I told her, little one. She will need a cloak just like ours if she will one day join the wildlings. Go on, return to your play. And make plans for that cloak."
"But I want to stay with Thyrsa!" said Munda. "Maja can play." She patted her head, then pointed at Thyrsa's. "Will you braid my hair? Maja only braids her own."
Thyrsa smiled. "But of course. I admit, I'm not as good at this as my sisters, but I've gotten used to doing my own hair. Sit, go on." She sat on the floor alongside Munda, beginning to run her fingers carefully through her tangled locks, working to smoothen it out before she began.
Tormund sat with them, polishing his sword while Munda told Thyrsa all about daily life in Hardhome, and how good she was at fishing compared to her sister. She sat patiently until Thyrsa had managed two braids, then shot up like a bird to rejoin her sister's game.
"They are sweet girls," said Thyrsa, on her second cup of mead. It wasn't so bad. Maybe it tasted different because she was in a better mood. "I can't imagine being away from them."
"It's never easy," said Tormund. "But they were in good hands. Karsi took care of all the children. She was a spearwife and chieftess to our people. She cared for the little ones deeply. I saw it... wights with the bodies of babes... they overtook her. She couldn't bring herself to kill them."
Thyrsa shivered. "That's awful. I don't want to imagine what the Long Night will be like... a war with all of them."
"We'll fight those fuckers just as we did today," said Tormund. "You could have jumped onto those boats much earlier. Saved yourself trouble. But you didn't."
"I'm a sister of the Night's Watch. Jon is my friend. I wouldn't abandon him when he needed me most. Besides, if I jumped onto the boats, who would have stopped that wight from getting its disgusting claws in your neck?"
"Can't quite blame them," said Tormund. "I have a beautiful neck."
"No one can even see our necks on most days. Too fucking cold."
"Aye. But I still have a beautiful one and they know it."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. You know, those Walkers wouldn't be so bad if their faces were less... sunken in. reckon they still have cocks?"
"Only you would ask that."
"You act as if you weren't thinking of it."
"If I found out a White Walker had a cock... and his pecker happened to be bigger than mine... I think I'd die willingly."
She made a face. "Well, it seems I should have let it kill me. His pecker is definitely loads bigger than mine."
He smirked, clapping her on the shoulder. "I tell you, Thyrsa, you're a true wildling woman with words like that."
She knew the compliment should make her happy, yet she couldn't help but think about all the children here who had lost their mothers to the White Walker army, women who had died protecting their people.
She was lucky to be alive.
They finally docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and made their way to the tunnel at Castle Black, the large group (significantly smaller than expected) waiting for the men of the Night's Watch to let them in.
When the tunnel opened, they made their way in, Jon leading the way in for the women and children. Maja and Munda clung to Tormund, little feet tired from all the walking.
"It was a failure," muttered Jon to Sam as the wildlings marched through the castle, out the gates that led into the Gift.
"It wasn't," said Sam, thinking he was being hard on himself.
"I went to save them, I failed," he said.
"You didn't fail him," said Sam. "Or him. Or her–" he counted the heads, "Every one of them is alive because of you and no one else."
Thyrsa smiled weakly in agreement. But Jon was still disappointed, "I don't think that fact's lost on them." He noticed how the men of the Night's Watch glared at the wildlings, seeing them as dirty, as invaders, and wanting them out as soon as possible. The giant that'd come with them attracted the most stares, particularly from Olly, who didn't smile at Jon in greeting.
Ser Allister Thorne came up, a permanent sneer still etched on his face. "You have a good heart, Jon Snow," the man muttered as Edd and Sam walked away. "It'll get us all killed."
Thyrs glared at him as he left, barking for the wildlings to get out of his way.
They met with Samwell the next morning once the wildlings had been made for the empty villages in the Gift, led by Tormund and a few other wildlings who had explored the area when they crossed the Wall before the Battle at Castle Black. Thyrsa had left Maja and Munda each with a kiss on the cheek, promising she'd visit soon and ask them about their plans for her new cloak and holster. They vowed to have designs ready and waiting for her.
Samwell told them how Maester Aemon had died the day they left, calling out for his brother, Aegon. It was still strange to Thyrsa to think a Targaryen had been among them, so different from the stories she heard. In the end, they were all just people, weren't they? People with different stories, with different perspectives, with different trials that tested their patience. Anyone could be bad or good. They all made choices.
Maester Aemon had treated her kindly. He'd vouched for her.
Who aside from Jon on the panel of officers would do that now?
Jon was solemn as he told the story of Hardhome, of how the elders opposed them at first, how only five thousand were planning to join them. How the snowstorm swept over the village and claimed most of the wildlings for the army before they were forced to fight their way out.
"...he raised his hands," he finished. "And they all stood up at once. Tens of thousands of them. The biggest army in the world."
"So what are you gonna do?" asked Sam.
"I'm gonna hope they don't learn how to climb the Wall," said Jon. "We don't have enough dragonglass to stop them. We need a mountain of it. A weapon for each of our fighters."
"Something did happen, though," said Thyrsa. "Your sword, Jon, it killed a White Walker. Maybe we don't need dragonglass. His spear shattered axes like they were glass but Longclaw shattered him."
Samwell realized something, "Longclaw is Valyrian steel. How many Valyrian steel swords are left in the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Not enough," muttered Jon.
"Hopefully enough for me to have one," said Thyrsa. "We'll figure something out, won't we? We know what we're facing. We will prepare accordingly."
Jon gulped. "The first Lord Commander in history to sacrifice the lives of sworn brothers to save the lives of wildlings. How does it feel to be friends with the most hated man in Castle Black?"
"To save the lives of fellow men, women, and children," corrected Thyrsa. "You did the right thing. You accepted me into the Night's Watch even though centuries of tradition would've seen me thrown out."
"You were friends with me when I first came here," added Sam. "And I wasn't winning any elections back then."
Jon sighed, "Here's to us, then. Long may they sneer."
Thyrsa smiled, holding up her cup of ale to tap it against theirs. Samwell cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you something. To ask something of you, Jon. Send me, Gilly, and the baby to Oldtown so I can become a maester. I know they'd be safe at Winterfell but they want to be with me. I know I'm meant to be a maester... not this."
"I need you here, Sam," said Jon quietly. "You and Thyrsa, Edd, three good voices to give me advice I trust. I need all of you."
Samwell sighed, "I'd be more use to you as a maester. More use to everyone now that Maester Aemon is gone. The Citadel has the world's greatest library. I'll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things, things that will help when... when they come. I want to be able to save Gilly and little Sam... I don't want the last thing I see to be the look in their eyes as I fail them. I'd rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that."
Jon knew he couldn't say no, not when Samwell truly wished for it. "You know at the Citadel, they'll make you swear off women, too?" he tried to joke.
Sam smirked. "Oh, they'll bloody try."
Thyrsa raised a brow. "Does that mean what I think that means?"
He blushed. "Sam," said Jon, smiling. "I'm glad the end of the world's working out well for someone."
"I'll come back," he promised.
Jon raised his cup. "To your return."
"To my return," agreed Sam, tapping his cup to Thyrsa's.
They gave him a cart and horse with supplies that he took out of Castle Black toward Winterfell, where a raven had already been sent telling Gilly and baby Sam to prepare themselves. In their absence, word had arrived from Smalljon letting them know all was well there, except that Stannis's men had found themselves trapped in a snowstorm that came out of nowhere.
For some unknown reason, more than half his men had deserted him. Many others had starved or were now frozen at his feet. No one was sure where he'd go next, but he sure as hell hadn't yet made it to Winterfell, and Smalljon hadn't risked any men to rescue them, knowing how badly they needed to hold the castle.
Ser Davos arrived the following morning, having been sent ahead by Stannis to ask for supplies. By now, it no longer mattered; their army was as good as dead. Not long after his arrival, another horse arrived carrying the Red Priestess, Melisandre.
"What happened?" asked Jon, Thyrsa following at his heels as he and Ser Davos went to ask her why she was here. "Stannis–?"
She shook her head. "Shireen?" asked Ser Davos. "The Princess?"
She shook her head again, looking up with empty eyes. Thyrsa was sure the girl had starved. Such a little thing, it was probably so easy to get cold. "Come, Ser Davos," she said gently as Melisandre strode away. "Let's get you something to eat."
"I'll be in my chambers," muttered Jon. "I'll send ravens to see if anyone out there is still left alive."
Thyrsa kept Ser Davos company as he ate, neither speaking but finding comfort in each other's presence. She led him to his room for the night then went to her own quarters, unable to sleep.
Then, she heard a thump outside.
When she tried to open the door to get out and investigate, it wouldn't open, as if it had been barred from the outside. "Oi!" she yelled, pounding on it. "Someone help me open this stupid thing!"
She heard Ghost howling outside, the way he usually did when there was something dangerous on its way. "Let me out!" yelled Thyrsa, not sure why no one was listening. "LET ME OUT!"
Suddenly, the door gave way. "What is it?" asked Ser Davos. "I heard the wolf."
"Something is wrong," she said. "Jon– we have to find Jon." She made toward his chambers but skidded to a halt when she saw a dark patch in the snow. "Oh gods– oh gods!"
She sprinted down the stairs, approaching the body that lay in a large pool of blood. "Jon– JON!" she cried, feeling for a pulse. His skin was pale, body stiff, eyes wide open. "HELP! HELP!"
"It's coming from the courtyard!" one of the brothers called, hearing her shouts.
"Jon, Jon, wake up," said Thyrsa, shaking him roughly. "Wake up, wake up!"
Ser Davos reached over her to lift out of the snow a cross where the word 'TRAITOR' had been carved. Thyrsa's hands roamed over Jon's chest, feeling where his shirt was torn from several stab wounds, the cleanest one lowest on his belly and the worst– as if done by someone who had never used a knife before– over his heart.
"Jon, Jon," cried Thyrsa, starting to sob. "Jon, what did they do to you, what did they do?"
Another brother lost.
"Help me get him inside," Ser Davos told Edd, Todder, and two of the other brothers who had come to their aid. He pulled Thyrsa back, covering her mouth as the men carried Jon to his chambers, clearing off the table and laying his body down.
"Sam just left," said Thyrsa, pacing back and forth in front of the door. "He'd know what to do, Sam always knows what to do. Gods, what did they do to him?!"
Edd slowly reached over to close Jon's eyes. "Thorne did this," he said, sure of it.
"How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?" asked Ser Davos.
He snorted. "Trust? The men in this room. And Thyrsa."
"Does the wolf know you?" Edd nodded. "We need all the help we can get."
He was just about to go out to fetch Ghost when there was a knock on the door. They all drew their swords, but heard a woman's voice, "Ser Davos."
"It's Melisandre, let her in," said Thyrsa.
Edd opened the door, allowing the Red Woman to come inside. She stepped in slowly, staring down at the body while Edd rushed to bring Ghost over. Melisandre examined each cut, then his face, murmuring, "I saw him in the flames sitting at the great table of Winterfell," murmured Melisandre.
"I can't speak for the flames," murmured Ser Davos, "but he's gone."
Melisandre touched Jon's face, listening as the shouts outside grew louder. More men had women up and everyone knew that Jon was dead. Thyrsa could hear Ser Allister calling them to the hall, his voice muffled as Edd returned with Ghost.
"We need a raven," muttered Thyrsa nervously. "Or two. I need to send word to Smalljon and Tormund... they'd send reinforcements... but I don't even know how a raven would find the wildlings. Ghost... oh, Ghost..."
Ghost was whining, pressing his nose to Jon's arm. It broke Thyrsa's heart, and she could scarcely bring herself to look in Jon's direction.
Why is it everyone I care for? My father, Hother, Aspen, Arnal. My King, Robb, his mother, Lady Catelyn. My friends for only a small while, Grenn and Pyp. Now Jon. A friend, a brother, a leader I trusted. A Stark, my King in the North.
"I'm going to kill Ser Allister," said Thyrsa venomously as Ghost laid himself down, whimpering. Melisandre had gone, and no one was sure what she was thinking about all of this. She wasn't talking much.
"He'll have noticed we didn't attend his meeting," said Ser Davos. "Thorne will have made it official by now. Castle Black is his."
"I don't care who is sitting at the high table," said Edd. "Jon was my friend. And those fuckers butchered him. Now we return the favor."
"We don't have the numbers," Ser Davos reminded him.
"We have a direwolf!"
"Ghost can't take on that many men alone," said Thyrsa quietly.
Ser Davos agreed, "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."
Edd huffed, "If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go."
Thyrsa shook her head, sitting beside the table and caressing Ghost's head. "If... if we had a way to contact Tormund, I know he'd answer our call. They're the closest, far closer than Winterfell."
"She's right," said Ser Davos. "We need to fight, but we don't need to die. The wildlings owe their lives to Jon Snow. Lady Umber is right, they will come to our aid."
Edd relented. "Bolt the door," he told Todder. "Don't let anyone in. I'll find Tormund. I'll be back as soon as I can. And you–" he grabbed Thyrsa's shoulder, "If you have an opening, you kill Thorne, do you hear me?"
"I will," she promised.
They were there the whole night with nothing to eat. Ser Allister came in the morning, pounding on the door. They unsheathed their swords immediately when Ghost growled.
"Ser Davos," said Ser Allister. "We have no cause to fight. We are both anointed knights."
"Hear that, lads?" said Ser Davos. "Nothing to fear."
"I will amnesty to all brothers and sisters who throw down their arms before nightfall today. And you, Ser Davos, I will allow you to travel south, a free man with a fresh horse."
"And some mutton," said Ser Davos. "I'd like some mutton."
"What?"
"I'm not much of a hunter. I'll need some food if I'm gonna make it south without starving."
Ser Allister was quiet for a moment. "We'll give you food. 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. That includes you, Lady Umber."
"Thank you, Ser Allister," said Ser Davos, warning Thyrsa not to respond. "We'll discuss amongst ourselves and come back to you with an answer."
They waited until his footsteps faded. "Lady Umber, you hear?" said Thyrsa. "He's not going to let me walk out of here and rejoin the Night's Watch. He'll either kill me or send me back to Last Hearth. This is a trap, it has to be."
Ser Davos agreed. "I've been running from men like that all my life. In my learned opinion, we open that door..."
"And they'll slaughter us all," said Todder.
"They want to come in, they're gonna come in," said Halder.
"Aye," said Ser Davos. "But we don't need to make it easy for them.
"Edd is our only chance," said Matthar.
Todder huffed, "It's a sad fucking statement if Dolorous Edd is our only chance."
Ser Davos hesitated. "There's always the Red Woman."
"What's a redhead gonna do against forty armed men?" asked Halder.
"You haven't seen her do what I've seen her do," said Ser Davos quietly.
Thyrsa feared asking what the bloody hell that meant.
They didn't know if Melisandre would answer their call.
-
Ser Allister came back at nightfall with his men, the same mutineers who helped him kill Jon. "It's time, Ser Davos," he called. "Open the door and the men and woman inside can rejoin their brothers in peace. We'll even set the wolf free north of the Wall where it belongs. Nobody needs to die tonight."
They weren't buying it. Thyrsa peeked out a crack in the dirty window and saw men below the office pointing crossbows up.
Ghost growled, not trusting Ser Allister. "I've never been much of a fighter," said Ser Davos, taking Jon's sword and offering it to Thyrsa, beckoning her to trade swords with him. "Apologies for what you're about to see."
"Whatever happens, we die before letting them take his body," said Thyrsa as an axe was blown against the door, wood beginning to chip. "We take down every man we can–"
Suddenly, there was a loud rumble outside. The chopping stopped, and Thyrsa heard the gates blowing open, the same muffled thump from the gates that fell at Hardhome. She heard the familiar roar of a giant and the shout of wildlings, causing her to smile when she realized Edd had succeeded.
As soon as they heard the hallway clear, she opened the door, commanding Ser Davos to stay with Jon as she led Todder, Halder, and Matthar out to meet the wildlings. They'd surrounded the mutineers quickly, and it seemed that the men of the Night's Watch weren't willing to challenge Tormund and his men, especially not when a giant had come to join them.
"You fucking traitor!" snapped Ser Allister to Edd.
"The only traitors here are the ones who shoved their knives into their Lord Commander's heart," sneered Edd.
"For thousands of years, the Night's Watch has held Castle Black against the wildlings," said Ser Allister.
Tormund smirked maliciously. "Until you."
One of the men cried out, and tried to attack him, but the wildlings easily subdued them, yanking Ser Allister's hands behind his back. "Throw them into the cells where they belong," said Edd.
Thyrsa rushed down once she realized the mutineers (including Olly, who had apparently dealt the killing blow) were dragged off. "You did it," she said, hugging Edd tightly.
"You were right," he said, pulling away. "Tormund turned right around the moment I told him what happened."
She faced Tormund, hugging him, too, much to his surprise. She drew away, glad the night shielded how red her face was when she realized Tormund was staring at her so strangely, eyes wide in ways she'd only ever seen her siblings look at their spouses. The awe of seeing a beautiful, strong person. Maybe she'd just caught him off-guard. Maybe she was interpreting that all wrong.
She cleared her throat, "Come, he's over here."
Thyrsa led him into Jon's chambers. Tormund looked down at Jon sadly, "I'll have my men get the wood for a fire. Bodies to burn."
She refused to leave even after Ser Davos went to speak to Melisandre, even after Edd tried to get some order back in the Night's Watch. She and Ghost stood watch over Jon, the two huddled beside the table and staring blankly at his body, growing ever colder.
She couldn't cry anymore. She was tired, so tired, of losing everyone, of seeing pain and suffering, of knowing there were so many things she couldn't control. She hated it.
How many more would she watch die before the Long Night? After? What did any of it mean, what was left if Kings died left and right, if visions were nothing, if family never lasted.
Jon had been a good man. A good leader. It was always the very best of people who lost their lives.
Thyrsa realized she must not be a very good person.
When Ser Davos returned with food for her, he brought Melisandre with him. The Red Priestess was going to try something, a spell that might bring Jon back to life. Only Edd, Tormund, and Thyrsa remained with Ser Davos to watch as Melisandre cleaned Jon's wounds, his body bare except for a cloth laid over his groin. Melisandre cleared off all the blood, left his body as close to brand new as she could, the gaping wounds all that remained.
She began to chant in High Valyrian, cutting Jon's hair and trimming his beard. She tossed the bits into the fire, Tormund and Thyrsa sharing a nervous look because this didn't feel right, it didn't feel possible.
But if Ser Davos believed it, so could they.
Melisandre poured water over Jon's head, the water dripping onto her feet. She put her hands over his chest, chanting louder, the fire flickering behind her just as weakly as it had since she started. If he was meant to awaken, he didn't.
"I can't watch this anymore," said Thyrsa, turning away. Tormund inched closer, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Melisandre stopped chanting, the spell having done nothing.
She looked so broken, whatever power she'd had now seemingly lost forever. Thyrsa put her head in her hands, stifling a sob when she realized it really was over. This was the end of Jon Snow.
Edd walked out once Melisandre left. Then Tormund. Ser Davos went to sit in the corner, watching Thyrsa as she sobbed and hugged Ghost, muffling the sound in his fur.
And then, Jon gave a loud gasp.