Disclaimer: I do not own "Game of Thrones" / "A Song of Ice and Fire" or any of it's characters. I am not making any money with this story.
Information: In this story Melisandre does strongly suspect that Jon Snow is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, but she does not think that he is Azor Ahai.
The cold cut his cheeks merciless as he stared down from the wall. There was nothing but snow as far as the eye could see, but Jon knew what was hiding behind the trees. Wildlings raising their weapons after the death of their king, wielding them with deadly force – against the Nights Watch or against the White Walkers, this was the question yet to answer. Jon was not naive enough to believe that the wildlings would ever bend the knee, but they would not want to die outside the wall either. Maybe the red woman had been right, when she talked about the war of life against death.
Something shifted behind him. Jon wanted to turn around, but she already stood beside him. She must have approached him silent as a cat. Her long, flaming hair whirled in the icy wind like the fire she was so fond of. She wore nothing but her red dress that left a huge part of her décolleté unprotected from the cold. Jon froze to the bone. If because of her dress or her radiance, that he did not know.
"Lord Commander", she greeted him with that mysterious voice of hers that sounded suggestive and scary at the same time.
Jon managed to clear his throat. His body already stiffened because of her presence. "Lady Melisandre." He thought about offering her his help, but didn't after remembering what she demanded from him the last time he had asked her.
"I came to speak my goodbyes. I'm riding to Winterfell with Stannis."
"Your God will protect you on your journey, my lady, I am sure", stated Jon, slight sarcasm in his voice.
"Oh, the Lord is with me. That is not why I am here." She drew closer to him. Her red eyes tried to fixate his, but Jon strictly kept staring at the snowed in lands. "I am here to make sure that you are with us, as well."
"I already told you. My place is here, at the wall."
"You needn't be so modest, Lord Snow", the red witch whispered seductively. "The wall is no place for a man of your significance."
Jon almost snorted. "A man of my significance? I am honored, my lady, but if you are looking for a man of significance, you should probably bet on your king."
"The Lord chooses what we become. We all have our roles to play, some minor ones, some great ones." Her eyes refused to let him go. A shiver crept down Jon's spine. "We all play these roles the Lord has designed for us, regardless of our birth."
She scrutinized Jon slyly, but he refused to react. Her presence made him somehow uncomfortable. "You and I, we are the same", Melisandre stated mysteriously. "Unwanted children, designed to accomplish great deeds. What do you know about my childhood, Jon Snow?"
"Well, you made it clear enough that I know nothing."
She granted him a small, amused smile, but her eyes did not stop to glow dangerously. "My mother never wanted to have me. My father was gone long before my birth. It was impossible for my mother to feed me, so she sold me to the temple at a young age to buy herself bread."
Jon did not like the red priestess, and yet he pitied her in this moment. "I'm sorry", he said honestly and risked a look at her.
"Oh, don't be. This was the way the Lord chose for me", she confessed calmly. "R`hllor brought me to his temple and put his light in my life. I learned to serve my Lord, with body and soul. As will you."
"Forgive me", Jon contradicted, "but I will never serve your God."
"Oh, but you already do. By building resistance against the Great Other. Now come with me and follow your king to Winterfell."
"I'm just a bastard", Jon replied hoarsely, even though it pained him to speak the bitter truth, "what use would King Stannis have of me? Or you?"
"You're not just a bastard." Melisandre grabbed his cheek forcefully. Involuntarily Jon leaned in to the warmth of her touch. Her red eyes fixated him, sending chills down his spine. "You are more important than any of your brothers will ever be." Her words could be so sweet, could soothe his soul, weren't she the uncanny witch he feared. "The Lord needs you. So do his servants."
She was way too close now. Jon could've counted every last of her eyelashes. The heat radiated from her body and when she laid a hand on his chest, directly over his wildly beating heart, the warmth crept through all layers of cloth directly to his bare skin. Her naked breasts which he touched merely two days ago crept back into his mind. He somehow wanted to touch her again, and exactly that made him whisper: "Don't."
"You would deny me? Again?"
Jon swallowed hardly. He felt guilty for wanting her in a twisted way, this terrible woman whose intentions he would never understand. It would feel like he was betraying Ygritte, like he would wrong her worse than he already had.
"I'm scared", he managed to breathe hoarsely.
The red witch gave him a cocky smile. Her breath ghosted over his face. "Oh, don't worry", she whispered and leaned in even closer. "You can consider me an expert."
"Not that!", Jon exclaimed nearly offended and grabbed her forearms to push her away. He didn't do it, though. "I am scared of your magic and your schemes, I am scared of what will become of me if I disregard my morals!"
"Of what will become of you?" Melisandre raised her perfectly curved eyebrows. "I can tell you. You will be a great man…" Her hand slid from his cheek to his thick, black hair, "… a prince." Jon wanted to ask her what that meant, but he was given no chance. Her lips crushed his before he could even think, her hot tongue invading his mouth before he could protest. She tasted of wine and smoke and fire, strange yet intoxicating. Jon found himself kissing her back and didn't know why – maybe it was because he hadn't kissed a girl in ages, maybe it was because her fiery hair and the act of kissing made him feel like he was still in that cave with Ygritte, if only for a second. Melisandres firm breasts pressed against his chest while her tongue massaged the inside of his mouth, sending entirely different shivers than before down his spine. It was not until her hand slid down his torso, dangerously close to his groin, that Jon felt himself harden and pushed her away.
His breathing still went hard. "You should go, my lady", he mumbled broken up, "your king is waiting."
Melisandre looked slightly disappointed. With a perfectly steady hand she adjusted the front of her dress. Her red eyes bored into his. "We will meet again, Jon Snow", she predicted. "Beware while I'm away. Beware of daggers in the dark."
She turned around without another word. Jon watched her while she walked away over the white snow, the red prominent like blood upon it. He had none of her magic powers and yet he shared her feeling that this was not the end of their story.