A/N: I'm not sure what I have here. But I like it. Written on a whim and also my first attempt at a GoT fanfic. These books are just so complex and have so many characters and plot twists that it's hard to think of something that Martin hasn't already done!
I do not own "A Song of Fire and Ice" series. That belongs to the wonderful George R. R. Martin.
It was dark. Very, very dark. The flames pushed back the night only so much, and then their firey shades were whisked away, either extinguished from a lack of fuel or to be used to light another arrow, another cask, another wildling. The moon did nothing to combat the darkness. Gods, what moon? Could something so familiar, so needed, be gone?
Not gone. Hidden. Hiding behind that wall. The Wall. Massive and solid, the curtain of ice gave off a ghostly light. Clearly defined craters punctured its glassy surface from where the heat of flaming pitch had weakened and collapsed the ice. The jagged remains built up on the earth below, melting on a mixture of buys and giants, Black Brothers and Free Folk. The Wall defended its own, she remembered him telling her one day – so long, long ago, when the days were cold and the nights colder but so warm under their shared sleeping furs. It certainly seemed to stand true as the weeping Wall towered above the battle scene, daring the next to climb her heights.
Ygritte leaped back from another assault and her short blade flashed bright as starlight as she yanked it from its sheathe. It entered the crow with a sigh as soft as a woman's kiss and blood as warm as one's heat seeped between Ygritte's fingers. She didn't dare stay and watch the fear and pain in his eyes slowly dim, afraid of what she might feel if she did. He was one of them, she reminded herself. He was a crow, a Black Brother. He had run away, betrayed, back-stabbed, and broken her heart. But she still wanted him.
The whoops and cries and jests of her own brothers and sisters sent her blood singing and hardened her heart once again and she attached herself to the nearest enemy. If they could reach the castle maybe she could find him. She jumped over a slash to her ankles. She responded with a cut to his brow. If they killed the Lord Crow maybe she could have him again. Blood welled into the man's eye, making his next blows clumsy and slow. She easily danced away while he lumbered from side to side. If they killed all the crows, nothing and no one could keep from staying, from keeping his vows. It was an awkward dance. Steel screamed against steel. And then he tumbled and she had him.
The sound of a mammoth's trumpet sent her ears ringing, only to have the blast of a giants wounded screaming shake her eardrums. The ground beneath her feet rumbled as the poor creatures fell to the earth and only the noise of the shaking bricks reminded her of where she had taken cover. Ygritte rolled out from the corner of some smashed building and the walls fell with a cloud of snow and ash.
The Free Folk were running back now, she saw. Not in a panic she told herself, and that calmed her racing heart. They couldn't be done yet. The battle was as new as the night! But instead, they were gathering, ordering. Another strike. The Wall would be a little weaker after.
Ygritte ran out toward them, to play her own part in taking Castle Black. The cold wind clawed at her face, making her eyes water and goosebumps to cover her flushed and sweaty skin. It ripped at her clothes and made her shiver. She leaped over the corpses of the Black Brothers, scattering scavengers early for the feast. She darted around blades and jumped away from arrows and stayed away from the fires. The night was her best friend.
And suddenly she couldn't run from the fire any longer. It was no longer on the Wall or the arrows, or in the barrels or held by the crows. The flames didn't lick at flesh or earth or trees. The heat was inside her, consuming her. No matter how fast or far she ran, it stayed within, searing and hurting.
It spread from her stomach, to her chest and to her arms and legs. She fell to the ground, her chest heaving, as her fingers circled around the wooden shaft of an arrow. Blood, wet and warm and sticky flowed from the wound in her skin. The black feathers slowly turned red.
Ygritte's wide eyes flew to the top of the Wall. They searched the tops of every tower in a fevered pace and examined every face that flew past her. Where was he? What had he done to her? She shivered as the cold ground drank up her lifeblood. How could he have done this? Didn't he know she loved him? Didn't he remember? Didn't he share it?
There were screams and shrieks, roars and shouts, a flood of noises and movement that her fading vision couldn't even begin to take in. The cold was entering her now, the ground now taking her heat as it quickly as it took her blood, chasing away the warmth of life. The Free Folk. What was happening? The strength to lift her heard was gone. She couldn't think of why she would even want to move. Because of him. That was why. She wanted to see him. In the morning, though. The battle was quickly leaving her behind. The light was slowly growing. In the morning, she would find him. Then. Then she would remind him of everything he had done wrong.
"Because you know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered. Her breath was a white cloud in the fading night, freezing on the air.