Sometimes, belonging is more important than loving.
You are the daughter of wolves and the breeze
Her hair is the wrong colour, Jon thinks, gazing at Ygritte as she lies asleep, her head nuzzled against his chest. It should be white, the white of new-fallen snow, the white of the northern sky, the white of Ghost's pelt. The white of the weirwood trees before which he made his vows to the Night's Watch.
I am the beast born of winter
The howling of wolves echoes in Jon's ears, and for a moment he's disoriented – is this a wolf dream, or reality? – before an arrow buries itself in the wood by his ear, and he jerks back behind the barricade, notching another arrow to his bow. As he leans out again, he sees her, flame-kissed hair in tight braids flicking behind her, darting from one dark place to another. He could hit her, the arrow is nocked, the string drawn, the bow ready. All that is left is for him to decide, to loose the shot. There is a war in his heart, between the love that could not give him a place and the vows that let him belong, and for half a heartbeat he falters. But Jon is a Snow, a bastard 'son of winter' who had no true home nor family until he joined the Night's Watch. The arrow flies true. After, when all is quiet and the wildings are dead, he gazes down dry-eyed at her body – twisted and broken, his arrow rising dark and hard from her throat – and turns away.
Lyrics are from "My Queen of Winter" by Cain's Offering.
Link: /watch?v=vZF6h9xQn0k