A Crow Come Over (Unfinished)

The journey was far from a quiet one, to say the very least, but for Jon Snow it might as well have been. He heard none of the laughter, not of the jesting, none of the arguments that were going on around him within the group of Wildlings. He heard nothing that was spoken to him either, appearing to ignore all those who tried. It wasn't rudeness on his part, but rather that he had long since fell into his own little world, absorbed in his thoughts, memories, worries and now regrets. What have I done…? he couldn't help but think.

He, along with the help of Ghost, had slain none other than Qhorin Half hand - the famous Ranger of the Night’s Watch. He had split the blood of a fellow Black Brother, turned on his own kind, and killed him. It was of little comfort to him that it had been Qhorin who had attacked first, that he had only defended himself from what would have no doubt been a fatal attack. You did what was asked of you, he heard a voice in the back of his mind whisper. You did what you had to. and though there was truth in those words, it didn’t help to make the burden any easier.

How would he explain all this to his fellow Black Brothers, if he ever managed to get back to them alive? The honest answer was he had no idea. He had broken his oath, went against the words that all sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch said, but he had done so to protect the Night’s Watch, as Qhorin had commanded of him…a deserter was a deserter though, and he was like to receive the death penalty upon his return. He didn’t want to die though, despite what he had done. All these thoughts caused nothing but turmoil within his head, and knowing it would not help he finally pushed them all aside and took in his surroundings.

He was still garbed in the black of the Night’s Watch, the enemy of the Wildings, so it was lucky that Wildlings were both in front him and behind; at least he wouldn’t be attacked and killed. To his immediate right he noticed that Ghost padded silently along beside him. He was glad to have Ghost back with him once again, as he never felt as at ease or safe as when the Direwolf was there. Turning his head the other way Jon was surprised to see Ygritte walking at his left. He found himself feeling glad that she was there with him. It had been her who had made sure he was spared when the Wildlings caught him; she claimed that they were even, but Jon would clear that mistake up when they were next alone.

Just then the Wildlings in front of Jon slowed and stopped, the Bastard of Winterfell following suit, moving up behind them to see what the issue was. He wasn’t bound and he had been given back his weapons, but they still didn’t trust him; it was understandable, and in their position he wouldn’t have trusted him either. However, when he moved to the edge of the hillside that they had stopped on, he could not hide a single ounce of the shock and awe he was suddenly feeling; they had reached the Wildling camp, and it was larger than any host he had ever seen.

It made some of the forces of Westeros seem like a poor mans army, it was so large. Tents scattered the ground within the valley as far as the eye could see, with men, women and children alike, moving between them and dealing with their day-to-day tasks. What was even more astonishing were the gigantic creatures he saw amongst the tents. Huge four legged creatures with long trunks, white tusks and covered in what appeared to be thick brown fur. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before.

He could only imagine how his expression looked to the Wildlings, like a child seeing and experiencing something for the very first time; though thinking back to Ygritte, he became aware that there was plenty he had never experienced. Straightening his expression, Jon Snow cleared his throat and looked at Ygritte. In the light of the day, with the wind blowing through her fire-red hair, he could not deny her beauty. It was far from the beauty songs would be sung about, but as he looked on at her he realised that didn’t matter. The thoughts of their time together caused his face to momentarily flush, though through his growing stubble and the cold weather it would hardly show. Nevertheless he quickly looked away from her, reaching down to Ghost and stroking the Direwolf behind the ear.

“Everything’s about to change.” he muttered absentmindedly to himself.

Word Count: 810.

Ygritte's Post

Ygritte looked to the young crow as he gazed out over the vast movement of Free Folk. A grin cracked its way across her face as she lowered her hood, letting her hair spill out behind her like an orange tide lapping against her cloak. Staring out over her tribe again she finally felt at home. The sun was setting slowly after having warmed the day a little more than usual. The oranges and reds cascaded across the ice and tent tops, like a blazing fire that went on for miles. She could not wait to see Mance again either. Though she would never tell, he was like a father figure to her. Ever since the tribe had stolen her to bring them luck, she had never been happier learning from a great warrior such as himself. And he was a turned crow, a thought which gave her confidence in the young Snow lad as well.

She had grown quite fond of the boy in these passing times. The free folk took what they wanted, it was a notion she had treated as scripture since her birth. The lad was sweet and adorably confused as he had made his passing from crow to free man, and even had the potential to even one day be clever. The most frustrating bit about the whole matter was that Ygritte wanted him like crazy. There was no rational thought for it, maybe it'was how he resisted her so. After their night huddled together the thought kept creeping into the back of her mind, like an itch she could not scratch. She had learned of his oath the morning after, silly words made true only by sillier men. Who had heard of a group of men who chose not to copulate with any such likes? The thought was baffling and could nere've been true. Despite the given knowledge, she had not given up her efforts, trying time and time again. But Jon Snow had stuck to his old ways, leaving her a wee bit more desperate than she cared to admit.

Rattleshirt appeared as quick as you will, stalking his way towards Snow. Despite the lad's efforts, the old Lord of Bones had yet to accept him, something she had a hard time understanding. "Mance has called for him," the man said sharply, gesturing to Snow with a glare and a rude hand gesture. Jon looked hesitant and Ygritte stepped in front of the lad. "Then I'll be joinin' ya," she spat, looking up at the tall masked man. "He did not call for the likes of ye" was the venom filled response she was met with. He's in no condition to meet with Mance, the boy has no way with words. He'll never make it out alive... she thought herself. "I be a free woman and I go where I please," she told him in a hushed tone, getting up on her tip toes to level with him. Rattleshirt stared her down and his eyes were met with the daggers that shot from her own. He was hers to claim and she was not ready to feed him to the Lord of Bones' axe just yet. Finally he broke her stare and turned, walking towards the camp. She turned back to the lad before following. "Come along Jon Snow. It's time to meet the King Beyond the Wall...."

Jon was still appreciating the grandeur of the Wildling forces, though inwardly worrying about how the men of the Night’s Watch could possibly defend the Wall against such s force. There was no doubt in Jon Snow’s mind that Mance Rayder, the so called King Beyond the Wall, had put together an invasion force - there was very little else a group of such size and magnitude could or would be used for. The only solace he could cling on to was that the Wall had never been breached since it had been erected, and that as long as the Night’s Watch had the Wall, it would be nigh impossible for any force, even one of this size, to get past it.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jon did not see the Wildling they called ‘the Lord of Bones’ making his way towards him, not until he had stopped in front of him and directly spoke to him. "Mance has called for him." Rattleshirt, the other name he went by, had an extremely gruff voice, one which went with his appearance almost perfectly. Jon looked at Rattleshirt somewhat dubiously. This one still didn’t trust him, he was very suspicious, and Jon didn’t like the prospect of being alone with him; perhaps he would be able to best him, if it came down to it, but he would never make it out of the camp alive. Suddenly Ygritte stepped in front of Jon, a barrier to protect him; it took Jon back a little.

"Then I'll be joinin' ya." Ygritte stated in defiance. Rattleshirt had both the height and weight advantage over the smaller woman, but at that moment, with her squaring off to him, Jon couldn’t help but think that perhaps she would be the victor if they both began to fight; it was a surprisingly worrying revelation.

"He did not call for the likes of ye." Rattleshirt clearly didn’t like his authority being challenged, as his voice was thick with malice upon his reply. However, this just seemed to edge Ygritte on, who pushed herself up onto her tiptoes.

"I be a free woman and I go where I please." the two simply stated at each other in silence after that, perhaps summing each other up. Eventually Rattleshirt broke the stare, grunted something and stomped off; Ygritte had prevailed. As she turned back towards Jon, the young ex-Crow couldn’t hide that he was impressed. "Come along Jon Snow. It's time to meet the King Beyond the Wall...." and with that she began to move through the camp, Jon hot on her heels - and Ghost on his.

The ex-Crow, still dressed in the Night’s Watch black garb, received more than a few jeers and cold looks. He was not surprised, in fact he had expected as much. But when they saw the rather large albino Direwolf padding along just behind him, they were all quick enough to look away and fall silent; Jon stifled a satisfied smirk at that. Jon Snow wanted to thank Ygritte for standing up for him, especially when she truly didn’t need to, but he could not find the words; though in truth he felt stupid saying them. However, before he could say anything they reached a considerably larger tent with two guards holding spears standing outside. It obviously belonging to someone of importance, and here that meant it could only belong to one person.

“That beast stays here,” one of them demanded in a low voice, pointing a fat finger at Ghost.

Jon wasn’t entirely happy with that prospect, he always felt better with Ghost by his side, but he was in no position to argue. Looking down at his friend, Jon pointed a finger at the ground. “Ghost, stay,” and as asked, the Direwolf sat on the floor. Before Jon knew it, Rattleshirt pushed into the tent, with Ygritte not far behind. With little other options, Jon followed.

The inside of the tent was far more lavish than Jon had expected, but not so much that it did not look humble. There was a hint of strange red smoke in the air that made it hard to see, but nevertheless Jon could still make out several people within the tent, including a pregnant woman who was cooking something that made his mouth salivate. The next person he noticed was a grey haired man, sitting crossed legged on the floor to his immediate left. He wore a tattered black and red cloak, and he played the lute while he sung a very familiar tune.

“Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,
the Dornishman’s taken my life,
But what does it matter, for all men must die,
and I’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife!”

As the song came to an end a bald man, oddly enough with no ears, looked up from a table with maps and scowled in Jon Snow’s direction. “Who be this one? A crow?”

“Aye, this black bastard slew the Halfhand. Reckons to come over.” Rattleshirt said, making his distrust of Jon Snow clear as day.

The earless man’s face seemed to tighten in disgusted even more. “The Halfhand should have been mine. You have a name, Crow?”

Jon tensed; he was up. Jon Snow, your grace.” was he expected to be so formal to the King Beyond the Wall, to bend the knee as well perhaps? He had no idea. However the tent erupted into laughter, which didn’t help to settle Jon’s nerves. Suddenly, a voice rang out from his left.

“I’m Mance Rayder,” the voice said. Jon turned to find the singer, who Jon had thought no more than that, standing from his position on the floor. Jon could not hold the momentary feeling of shock. “And you are Ned Stark’s Bastard, the Snow of Winterfell.” Things had just taken a strange turn, and Jon realised he had never felt more unprepared and out of his depth.

Word Count: 988.
Total Word Count thus far: 1,798.

Ygritte's Post

Ygritte stood to the right side of Jon Snow, slighting behind him as the entered the tent. Leaving his beast behind seemed to almost cripple the lad. It was the last piece of taking away everything familiar to him. She knew Rattleshirt well enough. The Bone Lord was sending him into the real wolves den without a scrap to protect himself with. She knew she should hold truer with his ideas of the crow. She had been taught since she was a wee thing the the men of the Southerner's Wall were ne're to be trusted. Kneelers who devised the cruelest of punishments for the Free Folk to keep them in the barren waste that was the white. The stories told portrayed them as bone eaters, thieves, savages and rapers who were forced to man the Wall with all their malice. As she had grown, the fire kissed lass learned of course that they were just men, not actual monsters. But they could be if you let them. It was kill or be killed if you came to face them in the wild. She had met Mance Ryder with more hesitance than she had met Jon Snow when she was told that he was once a Watcher from the Wall. But Jon Snow had spared her. They had no real sense of code or honor, the Free Folk, but Ygritte knew in her heart what was right and wrong. He had spared her and she had spared him on thier journey in kind. Her debt was paid in turn, Ygritte did not know what compelled her forward to keep watchin' out of the lad. But watch she would. The lad's word would fail him, as they usually did, and gods help him if he lied in front of Mance. She normally found his poor verbage endearing, but that view would not be shared by all. Jon Snow's posture was that of a warrior but his face screamed of his inner nerves. As the fur flaps closed behind them Ygritte stood, watching the room as the lad continued to make a fool of himself. He was out of his depth, this one.

She immediately recognized the sound of Mance's voice coming from the fire. Looking over she saw him at his lute, singing one of the many songs he had brought to the tribe. She smiled softly. It was good to hear his voice again. He was the same as ever. The sound of the song lilted through the air, as thick as the stew that was being made in the corner of the tent. The fire glowed and the shadows of flames danced along the sides of hide. Smoke and spice, reds, oranges and whites and blacks, the ocasional blue.... the smells, colors and sounds washed over her and Ygritte took a deep breath, bringing all the long awaited sensations in at once. T'was this feeling that she had truly missed during her raid into the white. It would be nice to bed down amongst her own furs tonight. Look out over the sky and be able to hear the familiar sounds of her people as she drifted towards her dreams. No fear, no pain, just the bliss of being home once more. For to Ygritte, home was never one place. T'was always with her people, wherever they be.

Snapping back to the task at hand, the red head registered immediately that of course Snow managed to make a fool of himself once more. For being the son of a highborn lord, the lad knew nothing. Your grace? she thought to herself. She thought the lad would have learned by now. At his words she closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side. At least they would merely find this humorous. Perhaps even a way for everyone to break the ice at the young former crow's expense. But when Mance finally introduced himself and stood to meet the lad, Ygritte felt her throat tighten its way through a hard swallow. It was the moment of truth for Jon Snow. He had killed the Halfhand, he had traveled with them and learned what it meant to be one of the Free Folk, now he had to prove that he was ready to embrace his own freedom. And all of a sudden, for the first time in a long time, possibly in her whole life, the lucky lass, kissed by fire and revered spearwife, had no idea what she should do. It was up to him now.

“How…how could you know…” his surprise wasn’t well hid, but would it have done him any justice to have hidden it? He doubted it. Mance Rayder clearly had the advantage in this introduction.

Mance merely smirked mischievously and brushed himself down. “Does my Lord of Bones speak true? Did you slay my old friend the Halfhand?” it was a subject change, but Jon went along with it nevertheless. In response the young Bastard of Winter simply nodded and waited for Mance to continue. “The Shadow Tower will never again seem so fearsome…” it surprised Jon to hear what appeared to be genuine sadness in Mance’s voice. “Qhorin was my enemy. But also my Brother, once…So, shall I thank you for killing him, Jon Snow? Or curse you?”

Jon paused in thought, realising that all the eyes within the tent were now on him. It sounded like a trick question, a test of sorts, but Jon could not be sure with these ‘Free Folk’; they did and said things in ways he did not quite understand. However, Mance had been a man of the Seven Kingdoms and the Night’s Watch at one point. Jon slowly looked around the tent at everyone, and then down to the floor, before looking up at Ygritte, and then back to Mance. The King Beyond the Wall was grinning, almost mockingly, at the young Bastard; it was then that Jon knew how to answer the question.

“You should thank me for killing your enemy,” Jon finally answered. “but curse me for killing your friend.” for once, since entering the tent, Jon seemed sure of himself.

A white bearded man roared with laughter, and Mance’s smirk turned to a smile. “A good answer.” he responded in kind, and with that Mance beckoned Jon closer. Jon turned and looked at Ygritte, though he wasn’t sure why, before he moved next to Mance, who put his arm around his shoulder and turned him to face the rest of the tent. “If you would be one of us, first you should know us!” Jon nodded as he followed Mance’s gesture towards the earless man at the table. “The one you mistook for me is Styr, Magner of Thenn.”

Mance turned Jon to the next individual, the white bearded man. “Here we have Tormund Giantsbane, devourer of chickens.” everyone laughed, including Tormund. “And the good woman cooking the chickens for him is Dalla,” Mance turned to look at Jon at this point. “Treat her as you would any Queen, for she carries my unborn child.” Jon looked at her, noticing that she was indeed pregnant, and he bowed his head at her - despite the laughs it received. “And of course, you know Ygritte.” Jon immediately turned to look at her.

“Yes,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “I do.” When Jon looked back to Mance he noticed that he was grinning again.

“So there you have it, Jon Snow. The King-Beyond-the-Wall and his Court, such as it is. And now some words from you, I think. Where did you come from?”

“From Winterfell, via Castle Black.” Jon stated. He had been preparing certain lies since he had killed Qhorin, and now it was time to see if they worked and if he was half as clever as he believed himself to be. “We were only four and the Halfhand; the Halfhand was worth twenty men, on his own. The Wildling villages were empty, as if they’d all just vanished, so we went ranging to investigate. Craster sent us in this direction.”

For the longest moment Mance studied Jon Snow in silence, the rest of the tent following suit. Jon felt uncomfortable in the silence, but he felt that may have been the point; was this Mance’s way of studying Jon under pressure, to see if he was telling the truth? Finally Mance spoke. “I would speak with Snow alone, all of you leave.” after exchanging looks with each other, everyone did as they were bid; all except Dalla, who remained without having to be told to. Jon immediately turned and found himself looking at Ygritte, and Mance must have noticed this. “Ygritte, you may stay.”

When the four of them were alone, Mance gestured for Jon and Ygritte to sit, while he brought over some chicken and two horns of mead. Jon accepted them kindly. In the Seven Kingdoms it meant you had Guest Rights if you shared food and mead with your host, though Jon was unsure if Mance followed such ways anymore. Nevertheless, Jon was starving. “I know your face, Jon Snow, because I have met you twice previously.” Jon considered this carefully, trying to think back.

“When you were a Brother of the Watch…” it had to have been.

“Yes! At Winterfell, when you were no more than a child. You and your brother, Robb, had built a mountain of snow above the gate,” Jon started smiling widely, like a kid.

“And a Black Brother caught us. He vowed never to tell.” Jon said with a startled laugh.

“And I kept my vow. That one, at least.” he finished, with a cheeky grin; Jon couldn’t help but mimic it. “The second time was far more recently, when King Robert Baratheon came to take your father as his Hand.” Jon was astonished. “It’s true. You’d be surprised how quick and easy it is for one man to climb the Wall, buy a horse and ride to Winterfell. You were apart from your family on that day, because you’re a Bastard - no doubt. And that night, when your father feasted Robert and his family, I sat at the back of the Great Hall and supped on meat and drank my fill of fine wine, while playing the lute for everyone’s entertainment.” Mance chanced a glance at Dalla, before turning back to Jon. “So tell me truly, Jon snow. Are you a craven who turned your cloak from fear, or is there another reason that brings you to my tent?”

Weigh every word before you speak it, Snow. the young Bastard reminded himself. He was treading on extremely thin ice, and the slightest slip-up would no doubt ruin everything, or worse it would get him killed. “You tell me why you turned your cloak, and I’ll tell you why I turned mine.” Mance grinned, just as Jon hoped he would.

“Surely you’ve heard stories of my betrayal?”

“Some say it was for a crown. Some say it was for a woman. Others say you have Wildling blood within you.” Jon explained.

“The Wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows through the veins of the Starks. As for a crown, do you see one?”

“I see a woman.” Jon replied. At that Mance raised a hand to Dalla, who moved to him and took it, he then pulling her playfully onto his lap.

“Ah, true enough, but I met Dalla on my return from Winterfell after seeing King Robert. You must guess again, Snow.”

“It was said you had a love for the Wildlings, especially their music.” Mance’s face lit up.

“Ah, better. Closer still. Indeed I had, do have a love for their music, but that’s still not quite it. I turned my cloak, quite literally, for my cloak.” he said, looked at the cloak that fell over his shoulders. He could see that Jon was somewhat confused by the revelation, and so Mance explained. “While on a range I was attacked and badly wounded by a Shadowcat. It tore through my cloak and my back, and by the end of it my Black Brothers did not think I’d survive. A Wildling healer nursed me back to health, and when I awoke she had sown my cloak back together, covering the rips and tears with scarlet Asshai silk; her most treasured position.”

“Well, when I returned to the Wall my cloak was replaced with a black cloak, with a black pattern and black trimmings. It matched my black boots, my black breeches, my black doublet and my black mail. I was forcibly reminded that the Night’s Watch only ever wore black.” Mance scoffed at that, and Jon continued to listen. “Well I left the next morning…for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he wanted.” Jon could hardly believe it. It sounded more akin to the sort of story a bard would tell, but was there truth to it? Mance had no real reason to lie about it. “And you, Jon Snow?”

Jon knew it was now or never. There’s only one thing he may believe. Jon thought, as he took another swig of the mead. “You say you were at Wintferll, that night my father feasted King Robert?” Jon began, seeming very relaxed despite his true feelings.

“I did say it, for I was.” Mance responded.

“Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the centre aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the King and Queen were seated.” Jon continued, explaining in great detail, clearly leading up to his reasoning.

“I remember.” Mance leaned forward, drinking in the anticipation.

Jon turned towards Ygritte, staring at her silently for a few moments before looking back at Mance. And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” Jon leaned forward, his head now whispering distance from Mance, though he would not lower his voice. “Did you see where they put the Bastard?”

Mance Rayder held Jon’s unblinking expression in silence for the longest time, Jon holding it in return, before suddenly Mance grinned. “I think we had best find you a new cloak, Jon Snow.” he finally said, holding out his hand to the Bastard. Jon felt a huge wave of relief flood through him, though he tried not to show it. Briefly looking down at Mance’s hand, Jon then took it and shook it firmly.

“I guess we should.”

Word Count: 1,686.
Total Word Count thus far: 3,484.

Ygritte's Post

The girl was in awe. Jon Snow was actually talking to Mance Ryder like, well, an equal. The idea that they would actually get along have never occurred to Ygritte, though of course it made sense. Jon Snow was just.... well he was him! The lad could barely talk to the likes of her! Let alone the King Beyond the Wall! She sat listening to the two men, picking at her food and intently watching the two of them. She had heard Mance's story many times before, but listening to those of the lad were quite different. She had always assumed that the men of the wall were all Lords of sorts, but hearing how the Lords of his own house, his own father had treated him due to the rules surrounding his bastard birth... it was heartbreaking to her. Children were born with no marriage involved amongst her tribe all the time. It mattered not to anyone. It did not make them any less of a warrior, gather, cook or shepherd. She had misjudged the lad and for that she felt terrible. Just as he had assumed her a savage she had assumed him as something he was not. She would have to make it up to him some how.

Ygritte also found that complete ease that the young Snow exuded was nothing less than astounding. She had wanted to show him what it was like to be free, but here in this tent at this moment was the first time she saw his duty, his Lordly demeanor, all that melt away and he was just himself. A friend talking with another about days past. Ygritte could not tell if he finally felt like a part of her world, or if she was slowly slipping into the comfortable nature of his. In Mance's tent, lines like that were always bent or curved, twisting like smoke in the wind. He was their leader, their brother and their friend. It was so easy to forget that he was once a crow. But that was the beauty of Mance as well. None of that mattered when you were with him. He brought out the comfort and the love in everyone, from the sickliest child to the mightiest warrior. But what Ygritte found most strange was how in that moment, she saw a lot of Mance in Jon.

At his mention of a new cloak, she smiled. "I think I can help with that," she chirped, joining the conversation. Mance looked at her and smiled. "Aye," he replied. "This lass has a pile of skins worthy of such a task. Ygritte your camp is where you left it, I have made sure that a fire had been lit when I heard you had returned." A kind gesture. At that he stood, towering before them and extended his hand to Ygritte. It was one of the habits that have never left him from his past, the courtesies. The petite girl took his hand and let him help her rise to his feet, her lips parting into a smile to match. "Take care of the lad, he'll need help adjusting here." His statement was simple. Mance knew he could be a man of few words with Ygritte. "Go on Jon Snow," he said turning to the lad, "I promise she doesn't bite." With that he flashed her a wink and she turned to look to Jon. "Follow me," she said.

As they walked back out into the night, Ygritte turned to the young man. "Well you two seemed to get along quite well," she said at a near whisper and a sparkle in her eye. The moon was bright and shone down on him as if to single his face out against everything else in the world. She watched him scan the camp and she could feel her smile broadening. "You're a pretty one Jon Snow, when ye ain't scowlin' so much". The words slipped out of her mouth before she could fully register them. Ygritte wasn't even really sure why she had said them. His reaction however was adorable, so she did not feel bad for letting them slip. The night was thick and a chill ran through her. She could feel it climb her spine. She looked forward to sleeping against her own furs. But for now she merely took the lad's hand in hers and started to lead him through the camp.

They made their way past the large gathered groups and families to a small area near the edge of the woods. It wasn't so separated from the rest of the camp but it was just enough to give them a certain amount of privacy. In such dark times it would have been mad to be too far back. A fire was burning and there were furs and a few pots slung around it. She went over to one of the groupings and lifted the pile of hides to make sure it was still there. A bow and quiver of arrows sat snuggly underneath. Ygritte breathed a sigh of relief. She knew it would still be there, but the weapon meant too much to her for her not to worry. Placing the grouping back down, the redhead looked back over her shoulder at the lad. "So Jon Snow," she flashed him a grin, "See anything ye fancy?"

"I think I can help with that." Ygritte suddenly stated cheerfully. Ygritte had remained so quiet that one could easily have forgotten that she had even been there to begin with, though Jon was not one of those people. Turning to look at her at that moment, Jon noticed that she was truly smiling; he didn’t remember seeing her so happy.

"Aye," Mance then responded, through a smile of his own. "This lass has a pile of skins worthy of such a task. Ygritte your camp is where you left it, I have made sure that a fire had been lit when I heard you had returned." Mance explained to the young Wildling woman. He then stood, signifying that this meeting had officially come to an end. Jon stood too, as Mance held a hand out to Ygritte and helped her up; it appeared not all of the Seven Kingdoms customs had been lost beyond the Wall, and Jon was glad for that.

"Take care of the lad, he'll need help adjusting here." Mance wasn’t wrong, Jon knew, though he doubted it would be as simple as the King-beyond-the-Wall made it sound. However, Jon suddenly felt a little dubious about Ygritte being named the one to look after him. He knew no one better amongst the Free Folks, but…keeping his oath, he feared, was about to become increasingly more difficult. "Go on Jon Snow," Jon returned his attention to Mance. "I promise she doesn't bite." Mance flashed the young Bastard a wink, and Jon felt his cheeks flash red.

"Follow me.” Ygritte said simply.

However, before Jon turned to follow her he once again regarded Mance and gave him a curt nod of the head, a show of respect. He then turned to Dalla, bowing far deeper. “Your grace, it was an honour.” Dalla gave Jon a queer look, but smiled genuinely. It may have been far too formal, perhaps even ridiculous looking to the Free Folks, but Jon wasn’t about to forget his previous life so entirely. With that done he turned and followed Ygritte from the tent.

Night had snuck up on them while they had been inside, but the cool nights chill was welcomed against his skin. Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the cold numb his throat; there was no feeling like it. When he opened his eyes again he noticed Ygritte looking straight at him.

"Well you two seemed to get along quite well." her voice was a low whisper, and there was something in her eyes that Jon couldn’t quite place. It brought an involuntary smile to his face that he could not hide or stop.

“Mance is…quite a man.” Jon admitted. It was true, Mance Rayder was an intriguing man, to say the least, nothing like what Jon had assumed he would be. Jon, with some difficulty, tore his eyes from Ygritte and scanned the camp immediately around him. He couldn’t describe it exactly, but there was something about the Wildling camp that was very appealing to him. There was a sense of calm, of surprising purpose, even a sense of home about it. Jon could very easily see the appeal of being one of the Free Folk.
"You're a pretty one Jon Snow, when ye ain't scowlin' so much." she said through a wide smile, her voice still a low whisper. The comment caught Jon completely off guard. He opened his mouth but the young Bastard found that he didn’t know how to respond. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, though all it seemed to do was cause her smile to stretch further across her face. Without him managing a response Ygritte grabbed his hand and began dragging him through the camp, and without argument he followed.

Though they moved past other Free Folks, families and groups of men, women and children all enjoying themselves and going about their business, but Jon didn’t pay a huge amount to all of them, for he was watching Ygritte as she pulled him from in front. There was something about the way that she moved, the sway of her hips that was near hypnotic, so much so that he could barely bring himself to look away. However, before he knew it they had stopped moving and they had reached what Jon could only guess was Ygritte’s personal tent. She released her grip on his hand, which Jon then lifted and looked at, and as he slowly wriggled his fingers, Jon began to struggle with the realisation that he already longed to feel her hand in his once more.

"So Jon Snow," Jon lowered his hand and looked up at Ygritte. She was now standing on the other side of the fire, her back facing him while she looked over her shoulder in his direction, a sweet grin spread across her face. "See anything ye fancy?" in the orange and yellow illumination of the fire Ygritte’s red hair looked alive, as if she truly was kissed by fire. Jon looked on at her, his eyes unblinking; he truly believed she was beautiful, he realised, but that just made it all the harder.

Like an embarrassed child, Jon lowered his eyes to the ground. “There’s a lot that I see that I fancy…” he began, honestly. “…but a Bastard isn’t often granted such luxuries.” how would he deter her without blowing his cover, especially when some primal force within him didn’t want to deter her? Out of the corner of his eye Jon noticed Ghost, his white form illuminated by the flames, silently stalk towards the fire, where he laid himself down. Jon moved towards the fire, bending down next to Ghost and rubbing his hands across the Direwolf’s side. His mind full of conflicting thoughts and feelings, Jon looked up at Ygritte through thicker flames; at that moment he was unsure if he had ever seen anyone so stunning.

“So is this what it means to be one of the Free Folk?” he asked, his voice low. It was a poor attempt to stir the conversation in a different direction, but it had been all he could think of considering his state.

Word Count: 1,035.
Total Word Count thus far: 4,519.

Ygritte's Post

Ygritte watched him delicately as he responded to her. The lad seemed to be crawling back inside himself again with his thoughts. Any ease that Mance had instilled in him was gone now as Jon Snow stood before her, awkward as a child once more. Her head cocked slightly, chuckling internally at his words. Still ever the gentleman in his manner, treating her like she was some highborn lady of the south. Those habits would be the first to go, she hoped. The spearwife was no lady, nor did she care to be treated daintily like one.

The enclosed space was growing warm with the heat of the fire and their two bodies filling it. Ygritte removed her gloves and reached for the top of her own cloak and undid the fastens, letting it slip from her shoulders before finally tossing it into a corner. Underneath her cloths were just as bulky, but at least they were lighter than the cloak. Her fur liked trousers met her tan hide shirt at a skinny waistline. The hide had been stripped of fur to keep it light and moveable and well as being a little tighter to trap in heat. The girl had also dyed it dark grey to mark it as her own. She rarely removed her cloak but on warmer days where the sun bore down sometimes she would undo the front, however still insisted in blending in as much as possible. A small V sat in the material right below her neck, dipping down revealing a peek of the line between her breasts, and laced with a bit of hide string. The coolness of the night hit her skin the moment her cloak was removed causing her to prickle ever so slightly before adjusting to the temperature of the tent. T'was nice to feel at home and at ease. The weight of the journey was lifted off of her shoulders and she smiled.

She made her way around the fire and back to his side. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. Ye be a free man now." At that she moved back towards him, passing his front in favor of shadowing behind him. Innocently she began to remove his own large black cloak. Mance was right, this would never do here in the camp. The lad however jumped at her touch, an action that confused her greatly. She immediately halted her actions and waited to see what he would do next. Suddenly the lad spun around as if to speak and their eyes met, seemingly leaving them both speechless. It was then in the light of the tent that she saw how beautiful his eyes were, a cool soft grey, as light as fresh snowfall. Ygritte could find no words, but she found her jaw was dropped ever so slightly. Color and light flickered across his face from the fire and the girl just wanted to reach up and touch a cheek. She hesitantly brought her hands back up but diverted to his shoulders again rather than his face, knowing too well that the crow turned free was on edge enough as it was. Now face to face, he seemed more comfortable with her gently removing the cloak. As her fingers brushed over his shoulders she felt him shudder, but at least he did not jump this time. Not wanting to push his over the edge, she took the cloak and moved to the other side of the tent, placing it next to her own before continuing.

"Here, bastard is just a word. And with that freedom ye be worthy of anything within your sights. Tis your own choice what you be deserving of." She paused for a moment, thinking back to what she had learned in Mance's tent about the lad. "I um, I am sorry. For some of the things I have said on our journey here. They were unkind." She ran an awkward hand through her hair, pushing strands out of her face and giving herself an excuse to look down in slight embarasment. Ygritte never liked apologizing and rarely brought herself to do so, but she did feel guilty. "I didn't know how they treated ye before joining the crows. I assumed Lordship ran in your blood like most Southerners. But know this Jon Snow..." She walked back towards him, stopping to pick up a white and grey pelt out of a smaller pile. T'was same colors she had fashioned her own cloak out of when she was named a spearwife of the tribe. The girl walked towards him until they were a mere foot apart and held up the pelt between them. "I'll never let anyone treat ye like that again."

As Jon continued to watch Ygritte through the fire, from his bent down position next to Ghost, he noted how she moved. She wasn’t dainty and elegant like most women from South of the Wall aspired to be, instead she carried herself with purpose, as a warrior would; straight and strong, despite her feminine figure. In many ways she reminded him of Arya, who was no different in her attitude. The thought of his little sister caused him to miss her, she had been the sibling he had truly felt closest too. However, his thoughts of his sister soon vanished from his mind as Ygritte began to remove items of her clothing.

Before Jon knew it, Ygritte had removed her thicker cloak at to reveal a much thinner tan-hide shirt. This was the first time Jon had seen her outside of her thick cloak, though he had felt through it while sleeping against her, but the young Bastard now knew that the thickness of it had deceptively hidden just what sort of figure she truly had. His eyes scanned across her body, drinking the sight of her in like a sweet Dornish wine, though when they fell on the cut V in her shirt, just underneath her neck, he found himself staring at the slight hint of cleavage beneath. Jon gulped, unable to even consider thinking about something else to take his mind off of what he was seeing and his desires. It wasn’t until she began moving around the fire towards him that he snapped out of it, standing straight and watching her movements.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow. Ye be a free man now.” she began. It was not the first time she had said this to him; it was almost becoming a motto of his.

Perhaps, if I ever have a House of my own, I can adopt it as it’s motto? he thought in jest. I am of House Snow, and We Know Nothing. the thought almost made him laugh aloud, though when Ygritte suddenly touched his shoulders from behind him, it startled Jon to the point that he span around to face her. He hadn’t noticed her move behind him, having been so involved with his own thoughts, and the unexpected contact had caught him off-guard. However, now that they were face to face, Jon found that he could not stop staring into Ygritte’s eyes. Seemingly depthless pools of sapphire that sparkled in the light of the fire. As she held his stare with one of her own he caught himself feeling, if only for the briefest of moments, that he might lose himself within them.

When he noticed that she was slowly raising her hand, he broke eye contacted with her and looked down at it. He could remember how holding her hand had felt, his hand tingling at the mere thought of it. Slowly she reached to his shoulders, unfastening his cloak before removing it completely; this time he did not flitch or jump, but instead let her do what she wanted. His body shuddered as her hands moved over his clothing, a feeling that he was quickly beginning to associate almost entirely with her. He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, but when he opened them again Ygritte was gone from his sight. He turned to find her moving across the tent away from him and gently placed his cloak on the floor beside her own, and Jon found that his mood had somewhat dampened with her departure.

"Here, bastard is just a word. And with that freedom ye be worthy of anything within your sights. Tis your own choice what you be deserving of." that was pretty much the philosophy of the Free Folk, Jon had quickly discovered. The concept was so alien to him that it almost seemed as if he had imagined it. It would take some time to get used to, that much he was sure of. "I um, I am sorry. For some of the things I have said on our journey here. They were unkind." this surprised Jon, openly so. Ygritte brushed a hand through her fire coloured hair and looked down, abashed.

“It’s fine.” he simply stated. He wanted to say more, but the words just didn’t come to him.

"I didn't know how they treated ye before joining the crows. I assumed Lordship ran in your blood like most Southerners. But know this Jon Snow..." she paused as she moved towards him. He was captivated by her yet again, hanging on the silence and waiting for her to finish her sentence. She stopped briefly, only to pick up a cloak, before continuing to move towards him. Jon noted that it was the same as what she wore. When she stopped she was a foot or so away from him, raising her hands and holding the pelt out to him. "I'll never let anyone treat ye like that again."

Jon’s found himself taken back, again, and there was no way it was hidden at all this time. Not only had she apologised to him, something he did not expect to see her doing, but then she had…got protective of him; it had been the last thing he had expected. The moment had been surprisingly tender and had showed a side to Ygritte than Jon hadn’t seen up until now, and one that he honestly hadn’t expected to see. Still surprised, Jon took a few hesitant steps towards Ygritte, stopping when he was relatively close to her. He was partly looking down at her now, silently looking into her eyes again, and her into his. Jon lifted his hands to take the cloak from her, but without looking his hand instead moved too far forward and fall atop Ygrittes.

Jon immediately looked down upon feeling her skin rather than the cloak beneath his fingers. She felt so warm, despite the bitter coldness outside the tent. His instant thought was to tear his hand away. It was wrong, against the oath he had taken, but despite knowing this Jon felt his fingers gently stroking across the smooth skin atop her hand. “You would protect me?” Jon asked, his voice a low whisper. It was a strange concept to him, but right now he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, she could protect him, if she wanted to. “That…is a new concept for me.” he admitted slowly, still looking down at their hands. “Why would you do that?” the question was genuine, though he could hardly tear himself away from her touch.

Word Count: 1,098.
Total Word Count thus far: 5,617.

Ygritte's Post

At the touch of his hand, the girl's breath hitched for reasons unknown to her. She had been bold enough in her attempt to seduce the lad when she thought they would freeze to death. She was normally quite bold. But something about the gesture was different. As the pads of his fingers lightly brushed the back of her hand she found a rush of feelings speed through her brain, as well as other regions. This was not what she was used to, this kindness, tenderness, whatever you called it. Suddenly she was not in control and if was frightening. "Well," she replied, slipping her hand away and taking a few steps back, leaving the pelt in his hand. "It seems like ye ain't a might good at takin care of yourself, else ye probably would've killed me back on that ridge," a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. "Either that or ye fancy me a bit more than ye care to let on." The last words slipped out and Ygritte's eyes grew big upon the realization. She had to get a hold of herself and get the control back. She was one of the Free Folk. The choice was hers to make in the hazy light of the tent. Fella's follow me, she thought to herself. I don't do the followin'.

Standing back had been a bad idea. Now Ygritte was able to gaze over the whole of him, boots to whiskers. He stood tall, and the black leather that bound him suited his frame good and well. His longer hair bushing his shoulders ever so slightly against his shoulders. She just wanted to rush forward and run her hands through it. The fire was starting to die and dressed so darkly it was almost as if he flickered in and out of the shadows at will, like some ethereal creature from an old woman's story. His eyes caught the light though and they sparkled like stars in the night sky. She found herself staring again and her brain brought her close to panic. It was warm in the tent. Too warm now, despite the soon to be embered logs. She had to find something to busy herself.

Moving over to the nest of furs she normally slept on and attempted to awkwardly kick off her boots facing away from him as she continued. "Ye think that one'll suit ye then? Ye can have the pick of whatever you want in here. Tis a shame they haven't been put to better use yet..." she trailed, unsure of what to do.

“Well,” Ygritte responded, retreating a good few steps away from him. He was sad to lose the feel of her hand underneath his, and despite looking up at her now, his fingers absentmindedly continued to rub the cloak in the absence of her hand. "It seems like ye ain't a might good at takin care of yourself, else ye probably would've killed me back on that ridge," she laughed at that, somewhat nervously he thought - though he couldn’t be sure. She was right though, he couldn’t have killed her. It had felt…wrong, and his honour wouldn’t have allowed it. Then again, he knew deep down that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Just then, as if reading his mind, she spoke. "Either that or ye fancy me a bit more than ye care to let on."

The instant dread on her face was enough for Jon to know she had spoken before thinking, much as he had continuously been doing since having first met her. He was surprised by the statement, but found that he could not deny it either. “Perhaps.” he simply said, his face giving nothing away either way. Keeping his answers short helped him avoid stumbling over his words or making a mistake, as he believed he would no doubt do while in her presence. There was something about Ygritte that made him fall apart, and it wasn’t a feeling he was used to experiencing.

Another moment of silence passed between them again, something that was becoming an occurrence between them, though he did not mind one bit. He felt as if he could gaze on her for hours, day, and even longer still and never bore of her sight. Though eventually she turned on her heel and moved away from him, stopping by the pile furs, where she removed her boots. "Ye think that one'll suit ye then? Ye can have the pick of whatever you want in here. Tis a shame they haven't been put to better use yet..." she asked, her back to him.

Jon looked down at the pelt in his hands. “It’s like yours,” he stated, running his palm across it before looking up at her. “I like it. Thank you.” As he finished he found that he was moving towards her, though he had no idea why, each step steady and quiet. He rested the fur over his left shoulder, and when he reached her he stopped directly behind her. Would he have been able to think of some sweet words that even a poet would have been envious of, he would have spoken them to her then, though a part of him felt she wouldn’t appreciate such words as much as women South of the Wall might have.

Instead he raised his hands and gently lowered them onto her shoulders. He could feel her skin beneath her clothes and he was very aware of how much closer he was to her skin, than when they had slept together for warmth; it sent a tingling sensation though his fingertips. “You still haven’t explained why you want to protect me.” his voice was quiet, a near whisper against the hair that fell past the back of her neck.

He knew not why he asked. He knew not why he had moved towards her and touched her shoulders. In fact so much within him screamed out to him that he was making a mistake, that he was only making it harder on him for when he finally realised he had to keep his oath for as long as possible. Mance’s words echoed through his mind, like a devil on his shoulder against the angel of his honour; “For a place where a kiss was not a crime.” However, at that moment a small yet resounding voice spoke up from the back of his mind, the words echoing through him until it felt as if there was no part of him that it hadn’t touched.

What if you don’t stop? and with that, the seed was planted.

Word Count: 674.
Total Word Count thus far: 6,291.

Ygritte's Post

At the single word Ygritte froze from her task. Perhaps. It danced across her mind like a bird skipping back and forth upon a branch. This was the same lad who had to be convinced that the mere idea of laying next to a woman was a good idea. Now he was "perhaps" interested in her? She had assumed that she would just have to work harder to seduce the lad. He had come across so stubborn, this Jon Snow. He WAS stubborn. Lost in her thoughts, she missed the sound of him approaching behind her. Suddenly though, she sensed his warmth and slowly curled her spine back up to standing. Her finely tuned senses kicked back in, almost predatory. Unsure whether or not to turn around, she heard the soft rustle of leather as the lad lifted his arms and felt the sensation of his hands softly lilting their way onto her shoulders. At that moment a gasp escaped her.

His touch sent her senses into an overload. She could feel the callouses of his hands through the leather that covered her. One index finger grazed lazily but dangerously close to where her neck joined her collarbone, an area that just so happened to be exposed. Ygritte could feel her head drift to the side, letting her skin enjoy the sensation of his slight touch. She felt his face brush dangerously close to her hair and she closed her eyes for a moment, a futile attempt to contain herself. As he whispered in her ear, the girl bit her lip to stifle a whimper from escaping. The heat of his breath was pressing on her neck like an unbearable weight. His words barely processed and she felt light headed. She was done. Done with this game of back and forth and waiting for him.Ygritte took a final deep breath, making her choice. She grabbed his wrist behind her, ducking under his arm and using the limb to propel herself to spin around to face him. She stood for a moment in the stance of a warrior before rising herself to her full height. Granted that was still a good length shorter that he, but it mattered not.

The action put them inches apart. Good. she thought. "You want an answer?" she said defiantly, looking up to stare him right in the eyes locking her gaze to his. Keeping a firm grasp on his wrist, she spoke one final time. "You know nothing Jon Snow." And with that she brought her other hand up behind his neck crashed her lips into his.

Even with her back turned to him, Jon Snow could feel the movements that her body was making, if only slight. It was likely a good thing that she had her back turned to him. Would he have been able to have been so bold with her if she had been looking him in the eyes? He doubted it. Whenever she looked at him he felt as if he had no control, as if nothing else existed, not even his will to think straight or talk properly. Jon Snow, a man of the Night’s Watch and Bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, was standing within the tent of a Wildling woman, his hands rested on her shoulders, with less than innocent and honourable thoughts flooding his mind; how far he had come in such a short time.

While waiting for her response Jon felt Ygritte’s body move as she reached up and grabbed hold of his wrist. Before he knew it she had ducked underneath his arm, and span herself around to face him. The sudden flurry of movement surprised Jon, but when he was left standing face to face with Ygritte once more, this time their bodies near pressed together, it was nothing less than a pleasant surprised, to say the least. She stood in front of him, standing strong as if ready to attack him, and for the briefest of moments Jon was unsure if he had done something wrong or not. However, when she relaxed and stood to her full height, her face moving ever closer to his own, Jon was suddenly teeming with mixed emotions; panic, want, lust, need, and even something…more, that he did not truly understand.

"You want an answer?" she asked boldly. She had asked in such a way that Jon was sure she had meant the question rhetorically, but he couldn’t stop himself from responding.

“Yes.” he stated, almost as defiantly as she had spoken. She still had a grip on his wrist, but he hardly noticed it now - all that he could focus on was her eyes, while he waited for a response.

"You know nothing Jon Snow." Jon immediately opened his mouth to respond. That wasn’t an answer, he wanted to know. But before the words could even form in his throat, Ygritte’s other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his head down towards her, and her lips rushed to meet this own.

His eyes widened and remained open at first, his mind near blank from the absolute shock of what had just happened. She had kissed him. No, she WAS kissing him. A kiss isn’t a crime. the familiar voice said to him, now louder than ever, but Jon could not hear it - he couldn’t hear anything. Almost as quickly as everything had happened, he felt his body and mind drift into a state of complete bliss. His eyes drift shut as he allowed himself to become fully immersed in the passion that he felt for this woman, this free woman.

Jon’s free arm stretched around Ygritte’s side and wrapped around her waist tightly, as he pulled her body against his own with a sudden jolt, allowing him to kiss her that much more passionately. Her lips felt softer than any silk he had ever known, moist and with a taste that would have rivalled the sweetest of honey; he had never felt this way before, never been in a situation like this before. He knew that he was out of his depth and getting deeper with every passing moment, but by this point he just really wanted to see how far down he could go.

Word Count: 614.
Total Word Count thus far: 6,905.

Ygritte's Post

She could feel the hesitance in his touch when she first pushed herself against the lad. A tremor ran throughout his body and Ygritte thought about pulling away. But as soon as the thought crested within her mind it was swiftly pushed aside as she took pleasure in the feel of his lips against hers. Chapped from the cold of the wild, it was a man’s kiss she felt against her own. The feel of his beard against her skin thrilled her. Her head tilted ever so slightly, she could almost feel the cheekbones she had so longed to touch moments before. He was warm and she could feel the skips of his heart through the blood pumping through his wrist and the feeling gave her hope that her impulsive action would not be rebuked right away. Jon Snow would have to be the one to pull away, for now she found herself completely incapable of anything more than relishing in the moment.

All Ygritte had wanted was a chance to show him that the lad was truly a free man now. Or at least that’s what she was telling herself now. The fiery lass would never admit that at this point it was pure animal attraction. She was no better than the white wolf that waited outside the tent, pawing and pacing, waiting to pounce on its prey. She was not beautiful, but the girl had never lacked whatever bed company she desired. Of course it wasn’t even very often she desired anyone. But there was something about Jon Snow, this crow turned free, this lad who had never known the touch of a woman before… She didn’t know why but she was drawn to him and wanted more than anything to claim him.

Suddenly Ygritte felt an arm snake around her waist and before she knew what was happening Jon Snow had pulled her flush to him and his mouth opened to hers with a ferocious passion. It was all the permission she needed. The girl smiled against his kiss, releasing his wrist and bringing that hand to the lacing of his leather jerkin while the other way up his neck to run her fingers through his hair. Slickly slipping her tongue past his parted lips, the redhead set to the task of fumbling with the strings at his chest, finally bringing her other hand down to aid the first out of frustration. She took no time tearing her way down the leather obstruction, finally breaking the kiss to slip the piece over his shoulders, dropping it to the floor.

The embers of the fire were almost dead beside them. The dark of the night had set in within the tent and all that could be heard was the heavy breath of the lass and the lad intertwining. Her sight would fail her but her hands would not. Jerkin removed, Ygritte placed a small hand on the lad’s chest, only the thin layer of his white under shirt between her and the smooth skin of his chest. Her head was swimming but she was able to regain enough of herself to give him this one final chance to back away. It was the last chance for the virgin Jon Snow to decide if she was worthy of claiming his manhood.

Had it suddenly got hot inside the tent? The temperature had risen, though in truth it was the heat from their combined bodies, pressed so close together, that Jon could feel. Though the passionate kiss that they were sharing, Jon felt Ygritte’s lips curl against his own, into what he believed to be a smile, before finally letting go of his wrist. He instantly moved his now free hand down to her hip, and as his other hands moved to the opposing side he continued to make sure that he held her close. Jon couldn’t think straight, his mind was a muddle of emotions and thoughts, none clearly standing out from the next. There were only a few select things that Jon could make out through the turmoil, pure needs and emotions that almost had a primal feel to them; unadulterated want and complete need of her. Though she was in his arms, her body pressed against his own as they shared a fervent kiss, it felt as if she could never be close enough to him, and it was a disconcerting feeling for the young Bastard.

As her free hand moved to his chest and began tugging at the lacing of his black, leather jerkin, Jon suddenly felt Ygritte’s tongue slip between his lips. The sensation sent his senses spiralling out of control and he found himself leaning into the kiss even more, his own tongue cautiously edging forward into the unknown and caressing hers. She tasted so…like…he didn’t have the words or images to describe it, but whatever the sweet nectar could be compared to, he doubted that there could ever be something to rival it. The entire experience was unlike anything he had ever remembered experiencing, and now that he had he found that he hoped this would not be the last time.

He could feel her slender figure through the material, his fingertips pressing against her hipbones. Actually feeling a woman’s body, even through clothing, as an entirely different experience than looking on at one from afar. He wasn’t even sure what he was meant to do in this situation. Yes he knew what to do, how to have sex with a woman, but it was an entirely different thing to actual do it; perhaps Ygritte had been right? Perhaps he did know nothing. However, now using both of her hands, the fiery Wildling woman in his arms finished undoing his jerkin, pulling it up and over his head. He had to reluctantly break his hold on her hips, raising his arms into the air to allow it to pass over him, and once it heard it fall to the floor he found his arms had lowered to his side, as he looked on at her.

The light was fading fast within the tent, the fire having almost died. In the dimming light Jon Snow looked on at fire-haired woman that stood in front of him. Her hand moved through the space between them, her palm gently pressing against his chest. He closed his eyes briefly and took several long and deep breaths. He could feel the slight weight of her hand against him as his chest slowly raised and fell, and when he opened his eyes opened again he could hardly see her; he found that that saddened him.

With her hand still against his chest, Jon took hold of his shirt and lifted it up and over his head, breaking her contact with him as he removed it. The cold bite of the air was far more apparent without anything covering his upper-half, enough to send a noticeable shiver through his body. Reaching out he tenderly cupped her small and soft hand, which was still held out in front of her, and gently pressed it against his chest once more. The touch of her hand against the skin of his chest caused his skin to tingle uncontrollably. Leaving his left hand atop her own, Jon steadily raised his right hand out to where he knew her face to be, though in the dark he could barely seem more than a silhouette of her now. Suddenly his hand felt skin beneath it, as his palm cupped and caressed her cool cheek as he let out a content sigh.

Things had slowed down somewhat, but Jon’s heart was racing faster than ever below the touch of her hand. With the gentlest of encouragement, Jon began to move her head forward, a silent plea of need for her to be close to him once again. The young and inexperienced Bastard didn’t know what to do, but he knew that he wanted to be near Ygritte, to touch her and feel her touch in kind. The Wildling woman was in control, Jon knew this now, and though it was a feeling he was unaccustomed to, the desire for her was far more powerful, overpowering all other thoughts, feelings and emotions.

Word Count: 822.
Total Word Count thus far: 7,727.