UNSAID
Do you remember that cave?
Jon slowly gazed to the whisperer. This night, like any other night, she was looking down on him with sun-kissed hair unbound, and he liked it that way: no braids nor clips adorned; no jewels nor pretty roses. She would have liked it that way then. Ygritte smiles, but his lips remained a straight line.
He knew and swears by the old gods and the new, that his mind was playing a sport of his vision. He was trapped in his own illusion, and is living in a metaphor where only he was able to access. This world was now looking down on him lying on the cold piles of straw. His face remained in apathy, and his creative artistry made her smile. He was dreaming, imagining, indulging in the pleasure of the unseen.
Why he had to let her ghost him, he doesn't know. In fact he can see her jeering, reading the expression on her lips which says he doesn't know because he knew nothing. But now he knew. He knew there were things left unsaid, emotions left shackled, and words left imprisoned. And all of those reappear wanting to be freed when there were no more chances left. To him she remained everywhere, inquiring and haunting; and every night he feels the ice on his cheeks in the form of her fingers, whispering in a touch of frost and ash:
"did you love me, Jon Snow?"
Unlike the other nights when he was imbecile in terms of not being able to have an argument to give, this time, this time for sure he has the answer.
"Did you...?"
"You know I did." He pursed his lips to swallow, whispering in assumed madness, talking to the apparition invented by his mind. "And I still do. And I do not remember that cave, I remember you."
Her silence reigned, and he was sure she was a false image but somehow he let his damned mind play with his consciousness, continuing in whispers.
This time he saw light crystals on the rim of her eyes, looking down, and her face becoming disoriented by attempts to stop the crying. He never saw her cry, until her last breath he saw no streaks of tears on her cheeks despite the arrow stuck on her body and blood freely oozing from the pierce. He laughed silently at the thought of her crying, which his imagination is now witnessing. Ygritte was a woman who never cried. She had the face as rigid as marble, words sharper than Valyrian steel, skills of a dozen veterans, and the weakness of a princess. He loved her misunderstanding of a few things, her ignorance, and her manly imposition. He loved her, but could not choose her, and still he loved her from a distance.
Jon held himself back and willed his mind to stop the delirium. But still his lips left the continuation of his heart.
"It was right to leave that cave. What wasn't right was when you left me."
First Game of Thrones fic. Reviews are love. ~ aa