A/N from MaryEvH: Yeah...okay...again, it's been WAY too long since we've updated. Life has been really crazy since Chapter 16 went up, but don't worry - we haven't abandoned this wonderful story we love so much! Without any further ado, enjoy our take on the Battle of Castle Black.

Chapter 17:

The wind clawed at his face as Jon tightened his cloak. His entire body thrummed with anticipation, with dread. All this waiting for something to happen was the worst part of a battle, Ser Rodrik told him once. As soon as the actual fighting began, your training instincts took over and you could only focus on the next enemy, and the next after that. This…this was the deep breath before the plunge.

"Anything?"

Jon looked up at the surprisingly tall woman. "Lady Brienne," he said in greeting. "Nothing yet. But they're close."

She nodded curtly. "Do you know how many there will be?"

Jon grimaced. "One hundred thousand."

Brienne didn't reply at the insurmountable number, but Jon could feel her dismay. "I should have gotten your sister out of here."

"Too late now." It was a morbid conversation, but Jon knew it was the more realistic one. He glanced at his companion. "Still, I'm glad you're here."

"We can't win this," the Lady said without preamble. "That number, no matter the fortifications we have…they'll overrun us."

For a long moment, neither spoke as they looked out over the black forest below them. "At least we'll die with honour." It was meant as something of a jest, but he could hear the bitterness in his own voice. There was far worse beyond the Wall, and dying here, fighting to no avail, was a waste. If and when the Others came, they needed all their strength, not what few would survive this massacre.

"I assure you," Brienne interrupted his macabre thoughts, "I will fight to the end. And, if possible, I will get your sister out of here."

"And Bethany," Jon said, without thought. Luckily, the icy wind was enough to hide any blush that might have surfaced. "Bethany Flowers. And Gilly, the Wildling girl. If the fighting takes a turn for the worst…" he trailed off. Getting them out of there would be impossible now.

Even so, Brienne understood his unspoken wish and gave him a single nod. "I swore an oath to protect Sansa. I can protect them all."

"Thank you."

Something flickered at the edge of Jon's vision. As he focussed on that part of the forest, he saw what he assumed was torches. And then more flames joined the first. In a matter of seconds, an enormous swathe of forest was ablaze, smoke towering into the sky. That was the signal.

Before he could shout out a warning, the horn blast twice. "It's time," he said, more to himself than Brienne, though she nodded in response anyway.

The battle was about to begin.

/*/

It had been a while since they heard the horn sound, in blasts of two. The Wildlings had arrived. Hours or days could have passed, and Margaery would not have been able to tell the difference. She more than once caught herself drumming her fingers impatiently on her knee - rather than going to the new pendant now around her neck- as if she expected Jon or Sam to walk in. Or, more likely, for a Wildling to break down the door.

"They'll be fine," Sansa broke the silence. Margaery wondered if she was speaking to them or to herself. "Jon's one of the best swordsmen I know, and Brienne might even be better. They'll be fine."

"Sam's not much of a warrior, though. He's too…soft," Gilly commented. The other two women in the room turned to look at her. "But he's very smart." Margaery chuckled softly, despite herself. She expected her friend hadn't completely grasped the thoughts behind Sansa's words. At least it had lightened the heaviness that permeated the room. But maybe that's exactly what they needed.

"Jon is a good warrior. He even has a sense of humour, buried somewhere beneath that frown of his," she joked. It was difficult to put aside her fear for his life, but what was needed now was levity, not the despondency that was threatening to take over. Out of the corner of her eye, Margaery noticed a small smile at the corner of Sansa's mouth.

"I'm not sure," the redheaded girl said. "I've heard him try to make a joke…"

"Sam, too," Gilly agreed, and that was all Margaery needed to let out a soft laugh.

A crash interrupted their cheerfulness, their smiles melting away. For a moment no one dared breathe.

"I think I hear them," Podrick said, his hand going to his sword. Margaery was almost tempted to retrieve her bow and quiver from where they hung by the door. A muscle in her leg twitched, as if urging her to stand.

In the few moments of silence, the sound of fighting gradually got louder. Podrick kept one hand on his sword, while the other moved to the door. "Wait, we can't-" Sansa's cry was cut off by a muffled scream.

Margaery would wager that the fighting had moved to the central courtyard by now. Would Jon be there? Or was he manning the defences on the Wall? Why hadn't she asked him? This time, when the urge to grab her weapon arose, she didn't deny it. She felt calmer with the bow in her hand, and hung the quiver from her waist.

"Margaery!" Sansa hissed. "You can't go out there; you'll be killed too!"

"Margaery? Her name's Bethany."

The Lady of Flowers ignored Gilly's question and turned towards her other friend. "I can't just leave him out there to die! I-" she cut herself off abruptly, but the look in Sansa's eyes told her it had not been soon enough.

"You love him," she whispered, barely audible with the sound of the battle raging outside. Margaery didn't deny it.

"I have to get out there. Even if it doesn't change the tide of the battle, every arrow counts. And every Watchman saved is another who can keep fighting. Stay inside, Podrick and I will hold the door." The squire looked surprised to even hear his name mentioned, but nodded in acquiescence. "We'll be back," Margaery said firmly.

The moment the oak door thudded shut behind them, her stomach dropped. Podrick relocked it, looking to the lady as if waiting for orders. She straightened her shoulders, hearing her grandmother's admonishments in her head. Then, she turned and walked down the hallway. "As I said, we hold the door. But there's no reason we can't also help out there. You guard the entrance to the corridor, I'll find higher ground to take them out from a distance."

Podrick stopped her before she could run off. "Have you used that bow before?"

"Of course." Not on people, but he didn't need to know that. "Have you used that sword?"

He hesitated. "Of course." She wondered if his swordplay bore the same caveat as her archery.

Margaery paused for a moment, wondering if she should say something else. But then she shook her head. "Good luck." And then she was off.

She couldn't believe her eyes when she made it outside. This was Castle Black as she had never seen it before - in utter chaos. Even through the flames that illuminated the courtyard, it was hard to tell who belonged to which side. The only clues were the armour. If they had any, they were most likely Crows, if not… shoot them.

"What am I doing?" she whispered to herself, frozen in place. What could she, a highborn lady who had barely held a weapon before, much less been on the edge of battle, do here? What difference could she make? She tasted bile, and realized her stomach was rolling with anxiety.

A scream tore her attention to a man a few yards to her left who had gotten an axe in his chest. She didn't hesitate. The arrow left her bow before she even realized that she'd taken aim. And, though the bolt only hit the Wildling in the arm, her spirits were bolstered. She might not be able to save everyone, but every arrow counted. And Jon's tutelage wouldn't be for naught.

She made her way to the roof, staying in the shadows as much as possible. She had a job to do.

/*/

Pyp had no idea what he was doing. He'd fired arrow after arrow, Sam handing him reloaded crossbows, but he'd yet to hit a target. "I got one!" he said. Finally! "Right through the heart; he's dead!"

"Oh!" Sam replied, pleasantly surprised. "Is it over?"

Pyp looked at him uncertainly. "No…?"

"Well, then..." Sam handed him a fresh crossbow. Pyp had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

He only had time for his eyes to widen as he noticed an arrow whizzing towards him. He was going to die. And then it thunked into the wooden banister he was crouching behind. Shocked, he looked up at the Wildling who had shot at him, but the woman - a woman? - was glaring at something up over his right shoulder. He followed the livid gaze to see someone crouched on the roof, completely in shadow, a bow in hand. Who… "Bethany?" he whispered, before Sam forcefully pulled him down behind their barricade again.

"Oi! Pay attention! Do you want the next one to hit you in the head?"

"It's… I saw…"

"I don't care what you saw, keep shooting!" Sam shouted, already reloading the next crossbow.

Part of Pyp wanted to protest again and tell Sam who it was, but he relented. If they lived, he could always nag him about it later.

/*/

"NOCK!"

The archers stationed along the top of the Wall followed his command, though in something of a ripple. The wind often carried his words away, and the further archers had to rely on what they saw their comrades doing.

"DRAW!"

A loud, uneven creak sounded as several hundred bowstrings pulled back across the Wall.

"LOOSE!"

This time, Jon used Longclaw to gesture forward, and all the archers fired at once. He couldn't follow all of the arrows as they flew into the darkness, but he could see dark forms of Wildlings falling as the bolts met their marks. He said a brief prayer to the Old Gods that they would have enough arrows to even make a dent in the Wildling horde that assailed them. The mammoths roared as they lumbered towards the Wall, giants atop their backs.

As he gave the commands, he tried not to think about the battle raging on the other side. By now, dozens of Wildlings had probably breached the castle. He only hoped that Margaery and Sansa were safe. Unbidden, his mind wandered to Ygritte, and he started to wonder where she was among the combatants. Looking for him, most likely.

Alarmed shouts from the archers jerked his attention back to the present. The Giants were breaking down the outer gate, and even with their mammoth out of the way, they might be able to break through. He almost felt sick at the possibility.

"Grenn!" Jon shouted into the wind. Soon, the ranger was at his side. "The outer gate won't hold. Take five men; hold the inner gate," he ordered.

"Right," the other man breathed uneasily.

But the Lord Commander grabbed his friend's arm before he could turn away. "Hold the gate," he repeated grimly. "If they make it through…" he trailed off. No Night's Watchman needed to be reminded of what would happen if the Wildlings - especially ones with giants riding mammoths - breached the Wall.

"They won't," Grenn replied, his voice firm and his eyes determined. Briefly, Jon wondered if this was the last time he'd see his friend, but quickly shook off the thought. It would do him no good in a battle like this. As he watched his friend walk away, he tightened his hand on the pommel of his sword. He couldn't worry about anyone except the men directly around him. And the Wildlings below.

"Throw the barrels!" he commanded, returning to his perch. He still had a battle to win.

/*/

All she wanted was to kill Jon Snow. That was her whole reason for joining in on the battle. But the blasted Crow was nowhere to be found. Ygritte cursed to herself, nocking another arrow. As much as she hated the Thenns, this was the one time she wished so many of them hadn't fallen. Regardless, she raised her bow and-

Thwack!

Another bolt buried itself into the roof ahead of her, throwing off her aim. Whoever this other archer was, they were as carefully hidden as she herself was, and rapidly becoming a thorn in her side.

So far, the other archer seemed to be splitting their attention between keeping Ygritte from actually hitting anyone and shooting down at the men in the courtyard, though they weren't having much more luck than the Wildling in that regard. It was doubly frustrating to be so waylaid by such a poor archer; Ygritte knew she was one of the best in Mance's whole army.

In frustration, she raised her bow again and shot towards the shadow where the last arrow had come from, only to see the shape jump back. They were each just beyond the other's reach, serving more as a distraction than anything. But to herself, Ygritte was not too proud to admit that her unseen rival had hit perhaps more targets than her. They had yet to kill a man, though, hitting arms and legs more than torsos or heads. Inexperienced, then, but not stupid. They knew they wouldn't be able to help much down there, so they did their best to ensure that Ygritte didn't hinder too much. She shot one last glare at the shadow before returning to her search for Jon Snow. This other archer could wait until she took care of that damned Crow.

/*/

Margaery braced against the roof, catching her breath. The Wildling archer's last arrow had only missed her by inches; she was accomplishing her goal, but unsure how much more she could do to help without actually getting shot. Thankfully, though, the redhead below seemed to have moved on from her. She allowed herself a slow exhalation of relief. It could have been much worse.

She focussed back on the men in the courtyard, trying to distinguish between the black cloaks of the Watch and the rougher furs of the Wildlings. At that moment, the lift opened and Jon Snow stepped out, his longsword in his hand. Margaery had never seen his face like this before - covered in sweat and dirt, his eyes almost wild with the energy of battle. She found herself almost paralyzed as he immediately began cutting down any Wildling that engaged him; he was a master of single combat.

Focus, Margaery! She chastised herself for getting distracted and dragged her attention back to the battle. Ser Alliser Thorne was fighting a huge Wildling man with fiery hair; it seemed to be going badly for him. Quickly, Margaery nocked an arrow and aimed for the man's leg. She waited until they had come to a halt; once they were fighting in a single place, she released her arrow.

Finally, her aim was true. She struck him in the thigh, and even from her far distance she heard the man let out a roar of pain. She could see Ser Alliser looking around for his rescuer, but Margaery had already retreated to the shadows, even as other Wildlings dragged the redhead away.

She watched as Sam shot down a charging Wildling with terrifying scars all over his head and face. She even managed to hit another one herself. He looked up, and she offered a quick nod, before the next arrow was notched. She was running low, she'd have to go down and collect some. How, exactly, in the midst of battle…she sighed. She'd figure it out.

/*/

"Come on, men!" Grenn shouted over his shoulder at the recruits who had accompanied him. Their eyes were wide with the terror of their first battle; Grenn was thankful he'd been beyond the Wall and knew how to control his nerves. The torchlight flickered off the solid ice walls of the tunnel that led beyond the Wall, casting eerie shadows across their faces. One moment they looked like the youths they were; suddenly Grenn was surrounded by ghosts with twisted, frightened faces.

"How are we supposed to hold them off?" One of the men cried. "It's no use!" They could see the giants coming now; the mammoth legs nearly blocked the view from the portcullis.

Grenn grabbed the young man's shirt before he could run away. "Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow!" He barked. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death."

Gradually, the others started to join him as he set the young boy down. "I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post."

The mammoth continued lumbering towards them as their voices grew louder. "I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."

The gate crashed in, and the giant ran towards them. "I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come!"

The tunnel crashed around them, and Grenn knew no more.

/*/

Pyp felt his confidence had increased tenfold since hitting his first target - and since the redheaded woman fighting for the Wildlings had moved on to another part of the castle. He'd had to abandon his crossbow a while ago - had it been hours? Minutes? - due to the close quarters fighting.

It was pure chaos.

All Pyp could really do was slash his blade at anything that wasn't a Night's Watchman, and hope that the wound would at least slow the other down. It was almost mechanical at this point.

Feeling a presence behind him, Pyp brought his sword down without bothering to look and-

His blow was barely deflected by a bow. "Mind where you're swinging that!" a familiar, feminine voice panted, almost scolding.

"Miss Flowers?" he exclaimed incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Gathering arrows," she replied, holding up the handful she'd already collected. Then, her eyes settled on something behind him, and she nocked an arrow, stepped aside, and shot it. A scream heralded a hit, and Pyp whirled around, bringing up his sword in time to finish off the wounded Wildling. "Wha - how? When?" he stammered.

The lady looked as though she might roll her eyes at any moment. "Jon's been teaching me," she said, taking aim at another Wildling. "For a few weeks now."

Pyp hardly had time to be shocked that the woman in front of him had gone from a haggard Night's Watch refugee to an archer in their defense before he noticed another Wilding running towards them. "Move, Bethany!" he barked, swinging his sword between her and a man with an axe. He was able to parry the first blow, but not the next. The side of the axe head struck him hard, banishing the breath from his lungs.

"Pyp!" she shouted. Bethany promptly shot down the Wildling, quickly grabbing the Ranger's collar and dragging him along through the battle. She had to stop often to fend off Wildlings, and it was slow going. "Come on, I need you stand, I can't carry you, and I can't fight them all off. Please, Pyp, I need your help!" she pleaded as she nocked another arrow and fired it, hitting a Wildling almost purely by chance. Her arms, shoulders and back burned from exhaustion, and all this death and screaming was beginning to get to her.

The young Watchman's eyes drooped, but he seemed to be looking at her. "Come on, Pyp! Just a little further!" she shouted at him. They'd skirted around the edge of the courtyard, but she'd lost track of the other archer, and there weren't enough Night's Watchmen to keep the attention of all the Wildlings anymore. Where do they keep coming from? she thought as she released another bolt. Her newly regathered stash was already diminishing again. "Pyp!" she cried again.

The ranger stirred a little and managed to support his own weight. He raised his sword a little, though he was clearly still in a daze. With an effort, Margaery was able to open the door and drag Pyp the rest of the way inside, slamming the door shut. The horrific sounds of battle were slightly muted through the oak door, much to her relief.

Now that they were out of immediate danger, Pyp's legs began to wobble again. Thankfully, Margaery managed to steady him. "Come on, I'll get you somewhere safe," she grunted. "You'll be alright."

/*/

It must have been hours later, judging by the light, when Margaery was once again stalking the rooftops of the castle, bow in hand. She'd managed to salvage more arrows from the battlefield, and had found some fresh ones when she'd taken Pyp to Gilly and Sansa.

Dawn was approaching, and the battle was starting to wind down. At least, that's what Margaery thought. There weren't as many Wildlings in the courtyard as before, and, though the tunnel had collapsed, the gate had held. The Wildling army was still out there, but they had no way of getting in now. All that was left was to get rid of the Wildlings who had climbed the Wall before and had breached the front gate.

Margaery loosed another arrow into an unsuspecting Wildling intent on charging one of the Night's Watchmen. Her fingers were bleeding, and she had trouble even lifting her bow. Exhaustion tugged at her eyes, but she couldn't give up now. A moment of inattention could be her death. The other archer was still out there - probably, since Margaery hadn't seen them in a while, but had still seen men getting felled by arrows. She scanned the courtyard, saving her arrows only for those duels that seemed to be going badly for the Watchmen.

Sam dragged a wounded comrade away from the remains of the battle on her left, and Margaery grunted as she lifted her bow and shot the Wildling who had noticed him.

She turned the other way, where Jon was still killing every Wildling who got too close with a remarkable grace. Out of the corner of her eye, she finally spotted the archer from earlier - in the torchlight, her hair was just as fiery as the man who'd been dueling with Ser Alliser - making her way towards where Jon's back was turned. Panic overtook Margaery, erasing any trace of her exhaustion. Before she could even think, she'd jumped down from the low roof onto one of the parapets. She raced down the stairs, panting with exertion, her eyes continually seeking out her- Jon. He's not mine. But I have to get to him.

/*/

Finally, the knot of Free Folk around him was gone. Jon took a deep breath, scanning the courtyard as he turned. The battle would be over soon at this rate.

He finished his turn, and his stomach lurched. She had found him after all. Ygritte was on one knee in front of him, an arrow pointed directly at his chest. Her face was pure focus and fury. Yet all Jon could do was smile.

Suddenly, her composure was broken with a harsh, wet gasp; her posture fell as Jon saw a bolt sprout through her chest. He left his body momentarily as he closed the short distance between them, catching Ygritte just before she fell. He looked up to see Olly, his face streaked with blood, holding a longbow at his side. The boy only nodded.

"Jon Snow…" she murmured. He'd almost forgotten the sound of her voice.

"Hush," he murmured back, "don't talk." Olly's aim has been true; the arrow punctured the center of her chest. She wouldn't make it much longer.

Her breathing grew labored. "D'you remember that cave?" He only nodded. How could he forget? "We shouldn't have left that cave…"

Gods, she was right. What comfort could be bring her now? "We'll go back there," he said, as if she would make it out of this moment alive.

Ygritte knew just as well as Jon did that they wouldn't; he saw it in her eyes. "You know nothing… Jon Snow…" she said softly, her voice growing even weaker as she trailed off. Jon could only watch in horror as they grew darker, staring off somewhere past him, past all of this, before her chest fell a final time.

A wave of grief he hadn't expected washed over him. The world seemed to slow, the battle around him to grow quiet as he cradled her in his arms. His forehead fell to hers as tears rolled down his cheeks. For all the difficulties that had befallen them, all that had come between them, he'd loved her. And now she was gone.

/*/

Margaery had an arrow nocked almost before she'd come to a complete stop. She took aim, and-

Jon was smiling. He was looking at the redheaded wildling woman and smiling. And the other woman hesitated, fighting the upturn of her lips herself.

Margaery lowered her bow, ignoring the stinging in her fingers. Who was this woman? And, more importantly, who was she to Jon? She looked from the man to the woman and back and fought an unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy was an ugly thing. It made her want to raise her bow again and strike down this person still pointing an arrow at her… friend. Someone I care about, she amended.

Olly, Jon's young steward beat her to it. She watched the arrow pierce the woman's chest, saw Jon catch her before she hit the ground. Margaery checked to make sure she was well-hidden enough that a Wildling wouldn't immediately notice her, then lowered her bow to watch what would happen. They were exchanging words; she could see the woman's lips moving.

Suddenly, she remembered when she met Jon, not long after her arrival at Castle Black. They had talked through the night, drinking wine in his chambers. She'd told him about Renly and Joffrey; he'd told her about…

A Wildling woman who'd shot him full of arrows when he left her. Gods above. That's her.

Margaery was somewhat shaken at that realization. She looked closer; Jon was now rocking her back and forth, his back and chest expanding with sobs. So she was dead, then. As much as she wanted to hate the woman, now that she was dead, she found herself unable to. Instead, her heart broke for Jon, for the pain he must be feeling. The jealousy was still there, but it was muted, hidden behind the sadness she felt for the man she…for the man she'd given her heart to. There was no denying it now, whether she wanted to or not. She loved him, just as Sansa had observed.

As she was about to step from the shadows and go to him, a loud sound to the south caught her attention. It was a horn, and one she knew well. A Watchmen ran to the top of the gate, crossbow raised. "Incoming riders!" he shouted from his post. "Identify yourselves!"

Margaery scarcely dared breathe as the riders replied. "Ser Loras of House Tyrell," a clear, familiar voice called out, "come to claim my sister Margaery from the custody of the Lord Commander."

Margaery's heart nearly stopped. She scrambled up to the top of the gate, hardly able to stop her shaking. A golden rose banner flapped gently in the breeze that came up to meet her, and her breath was gone. Here was a sight she thought she'd never see again - her house sigil.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and then a darkness swallowed her.

/*/

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