Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and elements from A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R.R. Martin. No copyright infringement is intended.
The red woman had taken to standing sentry most nights. She'd light her fires and lead her followers in praying to her god. Then she'd climb to the top of the Wall and stand there, staring north. Jon knew that view well. By day there were ancient trees, and snow storms blowing south, and ragged wildings coming to beg the protection of the crows who'd so recently been their enemies. By night there was nothing but darkness.
Perhaps the view was different for Melisandre of Asshai though. "A raven has come from Lord Stannis," Jon told her.
"He has taken Deepwood Motte," she said. She had not turned at his approach. She watched the darkness still, the wind whipping her long, red hair behind her. She wore no cloak despite the bitter cold. Snow melted the moment it touched her and dampened her robes.
"Did you see it in your fires?" Jon could not keep the edge out of his voice, but Melisandre smiled when she finally turned to face him.
"Yes," she said simply.
"Mayhaps your fires will show you where we can find food for all these mouths."
"R'hllor will provide."
"Is that why you burned those men? So we could eat their roasted flesh? You should have spoken up soon. We disposed of all that good meat."
"You're still angry about the wilding king," she observed. "Why?" She reached over his shoulder and grasped Long Claw's hilt. "You would have cut off his head with this sword and he would be just as dead."
Jon wrenched her hand away. "There was no need to make him suffer."
"If R'hllor's holy flames had claimed him I could have given you a dragon to fight this war."
"Me? It was Stannis you made your promises to."
She voiced no reply to that, instead reaching for him again. Jon allowed her to touch his cheek. Her hand was as hot as he remembered. Unbidden the thought came that there would be no need for a fire if a man had her to warm him. Those red eyes of hers were watching him; Jon would have called them unnatural if Ghost's eyes had not been the same.
"I am not your enemy, Jon Snow. How can you hate me and yet mourn for her?"
Jon jerked back.
"She slit a helpless man's throat for nothing. I am helping you hold back the darkness."
"Shut up."
She smiled suddenly and one of those looks came into her eyes, as if she knew something he didn't. Jon had never wanted to strike a woman before.
"Sleep well," Melisandre said. She turned back to the northern darkness and the horrors that waited there. "R'hllor will see us safe through this night."
It rankled to be dismissed from his own wall, but it would be absurd to stay longer merely to be contrary. Jon bowed stiffly and headed to a bed that was never warm enough.