Author's Note: Thank you to the reviews and follows! I gave you another chapter since I decided on this plot on a whim and because it is set after the book and last season, I don't have much to work with after canon. So I have to create things and I have many ideas. I hope you guys stick around. ^.^
The first thing he could remember was the constant throes of pain of being stabbed repeatedly with the honess of what felt like a million daggers from a million men. Some of the blades would embed so deep in his flesh, that the hilt would hit him. Some aimed at the same spot as the one before while others had moved to a different place, ripping into his flesh anew and igniting the pain through him all over again and leaving him painfully breathless. It eventually became numb as the blades entered and left just to do the same dance again. It almost felt like it would never end and the torment lasted until breathing just overall felt impossible. He could never imagine a time where breathing, something so easy and essential for life, would feel so agonizing.
The flashes of memories he forced himself to remember came shortly after but were immediately dismissed when he realized he was not lying on the snow covered ground of Castle Black. Instead, he had felt something soft beneath him, and he instantly knew he was lying on a bed; a rather comfortable one at that. His body was in a dull-ache, especially around his torso but the overwhelming heat made him know that he was shaking with fever. There was a wetness of a cloth dabbing lightly his forehead, making him want to force his eyes open. Jon knew well enough that someone was taking care of him. They were not rough either and so he could only guess that this person was experienced in the arts of healing.
His eyes moved despite his eyelids being closed. They felt entirely heavy, almost akin to lead to be exact, but he had faced much greater obstacles: White Walkers and Giants to be exact. How could a simple task such as opening his eyes that even newborn babes could do seem so impossible? After all he went through, why was this so hard? It frustrated him. It frustrated him to the point that he eventually managed to force them open. A blur of white in black and brown glazing over his eyes. Jon had no idea what he was looking at, but it was something at least.
"It is about time you've awoken." The voice was in-and-out, but he was no fool to not hear the femininity of it. It was definitely a woman, that much was clear. For some reason, the image of colors distorted and he was unable to try to recognize who this woman was. Instead, he was gifted with a vision of Ygritte, who was being much more gentle than he could ever imagine her being. Ygritte and gentle? That didn't make much sense. Her name and that word could not even be in the same sentence. He knew he must've been worse for wear. Just the thought of that made him want to laugh as painful as he knew that would be. Yet a part of him wanted it to desperately be her. It could be the Stranger luring him to death, but a chance to see her was well worth it to him.
"Y...gritte." His throat was raw, hoarse, and just speaking was rekindling the prickling flames in his esophagus. He could ignore the pain, for now, to figure out how that unforgettable Wildling girl was still alive. He watched her die by an arrow ( quite ironic since arrows were her weapons of choice ). He had also watched her burn, her body reduced to ashes by the flames that sadly reminded him of her hair. A love that was forced upon him that he grew to nurture, try to ruin as well, and that he would never forget. That was what that girl meant to him. Since she died because of him, he would keep her alive in his memories since his death was no longer an option.
The mystery woman said nothing and the dabs of the wet, coolness of the cloth did not end until after she spoke. "Delirious." She muttered, which Jon assumed was meant to be unheard by him. "I should've expected that." His eyes fell close, he already used enough strength to open them halfway despite how fruitless it had been since he could not properly see. He was not blind but too tired to gather his focus.
"Who…" Despite the pain, he struggled to get his words across. He had to know who was taking care of him. How was he still alive? Why were they helping him? "are… you?"
The woman remained silent, her eyes studying him as he seemed to be content with lying down. Most people would be making attempt to lift themselves, but not him. He must've been in too much pain or knew the risks. He would be flooded with an immediate headache and dizziness if he even dared tried to to sit himself up. Maybe he wasn't as foolish as she expected him to be. He seemed like a fool. He nearly died like one. The many stab scars on his abdomen and torso seemed to prove that someone or others wanted to kill him, badly. And yet the woman in red wanted him desperately saved. What purpose did this man serve? If only she had his name.
"My name is of no importance." Her words came out slowly, letting them settle and resonate with him. "Who I am and why am I helping you, do not care. Do not mind. The only focus you should mind is getting better."
Jon was mystified by her. Why did she not offer her name? Would he refuse her help if he knew who she was? And what was her motive? Was she so kindhearted that helping a man who should be dead was something she would do for free and on her own time? Jon had trouble picturing anyone being that genuinely caring. This woman had a motive. What it was? He had no idea, but he would not think too hard of it. His brain would turn to mush if he did.
Lifting herself off the chair by his bed, she picked up the basin to refill it with fresh water from the well. It was clean, nearly pure. Never had she seen pure water like this since she left her home some time ago. It would do well for him to drink, to make broth, and to bathe his fevered head with. She assumed it would come back if she did not dose him timely and she was human. Time was never on the side of humans, especially the ill and the weak. There would be times where she need to eat, sleep, and rest. A healer cannot cater to their patient without time of their own because then both patient and the healer would be ill, or worse, die. And she fought the idea of him dying once she took this job.
Never had she ever had a patient die in her care. They would all live and she did not want to break such a record with this man. Her eyes glanced back at him as she walked towards the door, her blue eyes resting on him with a glimmer of fierce determination and diluted curiosity.
"Where…" Her body had frozen in place, her head slowly looking over her shoulder. The question was obvious, but she was debating if she should answer. Why did he know where she was going to go? It wasn't like she had no intention of leaving him here forever. "Where… are you…?"
Hearing him struggle to speak was enough to make her pity him. As if she already hadn't due to the state he was in, "I will return. You need water and broth." Feeling satisfied with telling him that and watching the tenseness of his muscles relax, she had left to journey to well after dumping the last bit of water she used to clean his head.
. . .
Two times had the sun rose and set before Jon felt the strength to open his eyes properly. His temperature had gone somewhat normal despite that he was shaking with light traces of fever and shivering from a sudden cold sweat that would come now and again. The tightness that he once felt in his chest dissipated completely and he could easily breathe as a human should once again. Just from the way the sunlight was seeping through the small window of the room he resided in, it alerted him that the time was mid-morning at the very latest. Although he wanted to get up from the bed, his strength had not came back to him all at once and so he settled for merely sitting up. He wore a loose tunic and the black breeches of his Night's Watch uniform still. There were no socks on his feet either, which allowed him to curl his toes and hear the bones pop from a much needed stretch. He hadn't smelled as badly as he would've thought, which meant he must've been lightly bathed. The thought of the woman having gone that far was enough to unsettle him.
Jon decided to take the time to observe his surroundings since he had nothing else to do. The bed he lied in was on the far left side of the room with a nightstand next to it. A lamp made of oil had been doused but he could tell it had been recently used, probably just an hour before sunrise too from how fresh it was. The room did not have much furniture, which led him to believe that the woman ( who he assumed owned the house ) must've been poor. Could she had been a village doctor? That would explain her mercy. If she lived as humbly like this and had taken him in when he had no money then he could no doubtedly believe that she was gentle at heart.
His sensitive ears twitched at the sound of slow and very light steps from the other side of the door. Jon believed that was the healer, possibly coming to check on him again. For some reason, he felt nervous. It had been a while since he been in another woman's presence since he encountered the Wildlings after they sailed back and came over the Wall as allies. His face contorted into one of sadness and anger; the betrayal of his brothers all coming back to his mind. How could he forgive them? He wanted to empathize, he knew why they were in such deadly anger, but he found it so hard to shake the grudge he wanted to so desperately have.
A mutiny against him, their Lord Commander, who wanted nothing than to save his people of Westeros as he vowed to do. He had given up everything. He had given up avenging his dearest brother, Robb, who was destined to be the King of the North. He had given up killing Roose Bolton, letting the Valyrian steel of Longclaw slice his head clean off, and letting the blade slide through the bastard son, the cruel Ramsay. He had given up searching for his sisters, Sansa, and the precious fire that was Arya. Jon could've saved Bran and Rickon as well. All those things he had given up for the Watch, and yet they betrayed him.
His regrets and anguish washed away once the door had slowly open, the creaking of it pulling him out of his thoughts. The eyes of the Lord Commander gazed up at the woman, the woman who had essentially saved him.
Jon was more than shocked by her appearance.
He hadn't expected her to be young and quite a breathtaking sight too. Her hair was as black as the feathers he adorned on his cloak, her skin so pale and free of blemish, but it was her eyes. Her eyes reminded him of the ocean depths. If he looked into for too long, they would show no mercy like the Mother sea and swallow him whole.
Her clothes were slightly oversized, so he could not tell much of her figure from them. It was a odd sense of clothing too, making her look more like a witch than a healer. Around her neck were bones hanging off a gold, and squared necklace. Around her waist, it was belted but forged nails seemed to hang from them, something she could probably slip onto her fingers and they act like sharp claws. Jon found her striking but also deadly, much like he thought of the Red Woman that had always been with Stannis. Yes, he had forgotten about her despite the tempting offer she tried to give him and her subtle warning too. Had her warning been about the Watch?
"You are able to sit up by yourself." Her voice tore him away of his thoughts of Melisandre. He had been alarmed by the sound of it. It was soft yet hard, teetering the balance between malevolence and benevolence. It suited her since her looks gave away the same feeling. "You will soon break free of what ails you."
"Thank you for taking care of me." Jon felt relieved that the burning sensation of his throat was gone. She must've constantly fed him water but sometimes water wasn't a quick solution to a sore throat. Maybe it was best to learn so he could learn how to cure himself whenever he was faced with it again, "My voice doesn't sound so ragged…"
"I put peppermint leaves in your water." Walking towards the small table near the door, her petite fingers picked up a peppermint leaf, revealing it to him. "It is best with tea but since you needed to lie down as much as possible, I could not give you scalding tea. It would've worked much faster but since you slept like a log, water did just fine."
He was surprised but also embarrassed. The sleep had been deep, he knew that much. For once in a long time, Jon could say that he was well-rested. "And here I thought peppermint's only service was to just make your breath smell nice." He joked, hoping to lighten the air between them.
The corner of her lips rose slightly, "It has other duties."
Seeing how receptive she was to it, he felt his bones and muscles relaxing. There was no need to be tense anymore. "Your name. Tell me."
"Amara." Her answer was swift, her eyes dancing across the different flowers and herbs scattered across the table, "And yours?"
Jon hadn't suspected that she did not know his name. It seemed as if everyone knew him as "Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell's bastard" but this woman had no clue. It made him feel oddly relieved, "Jon." He answered, "Jon Snow."
His dark eyes watched her eyes widen just a smidgen of a fraction as he revealed the bastard last name of those of the North. Jon honestly suspected for her to bring up his illegitimacy, but she said nothing. Did she not care? Her curiosity must've not bloomed for him. Instead, he found his blooming near fullness for her. "You're a healer of this village?" He then queried.
Amara's head shook calmly, "No."
Her one word reply left him curious and confused. "Then why are you here? Does this house belong to you? Why did you save me?"
"I know you are filled with many of questions, Snow." Her hands stitched themselves together before she slowly turned to face him. "But I want you to first answer me this."
"Ah, yes?" The tension came back, it had came back so much that this room could light a flame. However, Jon wasn't sure if that was the natural auras of themselves or if he was imaging it.
This woman was intimidating by sight. She looked as if she could cast a thousand curses with just glance of the ocean depth colors of her eyes. "Are you a fool?"
"A fool?" Jon echoed.
"Yes, I want to know if what I've done to save you was well worth it." The floor creaked with each step as she carried herself over to the wooden chair by his bed.
Awkwardly, he adjusts himself, slightly alarmed by the lack of distance between them now. Her eyes were even bluer up close, the light coming from the window making them reflect the ocean's surface than its depths. "Depends on what you consider the traits that makes a fool."
The smirk that graced her lips caught his eyes as her eyes slowly slit close, "So you're not a fool by nature but a fool by heart." Her eyes soon opened, a slender finger pointing to the scars of the stab wounds on his abdomen and torso. "You let someone stab you in the front and not the back. So it had to been someone you irrevocably trusted."
"It wasn't someone." He corrected her, "It was more than one person. People I thought to believe my brothers. I am a fool, I've realized that when it happened. I thought my brothers' faith in me would not waver but they quivered like a bowstring before they eventually snapped."
At least he knew he was a fool. Amara could admire that, "I can tell you're a man that puts honor on his blade and duty as armor. Your trust was a helmet, and now that is has been knocked off, you feel wary of all you meet."
"Is that wrong of me?" It didn't sound like a question towards her but more so to himself. "But this is more than me."
"Was it the Wildlings?" Amara asked, "That is who the Night's Watch protect us from, isn't that so?"
"It is more than just them." Jon wasn't sure if he should tell this woman of the White Walkers or much of anything at all. Would she believe him if he did? She might just leave, calling him crazy, and he wouldn't be brought back to complete health.
Taking his answer for what it was, her head gave him a slight nod. "I see." She would not investigate any further, for now. "I've made you broth. Would you like to eat or would you rather slick your thirst with tea?"
"I feel more hungry than thirsty." His answer was greeted with another nod and she had taken a stand. "Miss Amara."
It felt awkward to hear her name accompanied by Miss. Her brows scrunched together in discomfort and confusion and he could honestly say that threatening way of her wiped away. She looked more like a child that was asked a hard question and she had no answer for it, "Yes?"
"I am indebt to you." He made his words quick, "If there is something you need me to do then I will. It is the only way I can repay your kindness."
Her lips pursed, eyes glimmering with surprise. "I do not think there is anything you can for me, Snow. I will hold onto this debt for later since you've mentioned it."
Her back had turned and she left the room. Leaving him to himself and the quietness of the room.
Jon swung his legs over to the bed and made an attempt to stand. His legs felt as if they had disappeared, weightless, and he found himself falling back on his backside. He also felt woozy when he tried to stand, which alerted him that he was not far along in recovery as he thought. Sitting up was no chore, talking wasn't either, but standing and walking was not up to his speed just yet. Still, he would force himself to get better.
Maybe trying again wouldn't hurt. It was the first time he stood in a while. He hadn't know how long he had been out or ill anyway, so his body needed time but it also needed a little extra push. Jon tried to stand once again and he could feel a little weight of his legs, but not enough to call it stable. Anxiously, he made his way for a step and then another until he felt himself tumbling down on the wooden floor with a loud groan. His body slightly curled, knowing that standing wouldn't do him no good again.
The door opened and Amara peered down at him in mild amusement. "You tried to walk?"
"Tried." He said, lifting his head to look at her. "How long have I been like this?"
"Two weeks." She answered him, "You've been in my care for one week and traveled for one."
His brows knitted together, "Someone brought me here?"
"Yes." Amara answered as she walked towards him, putting the the tray of food on the desk away from his medicine. Her hands grabbed his left arm, draping it around her shoulders while her other arm wrapped around his middle.
Jon's eyes never left her form as she let half his weight lean onto her. She gazed up at him rather bravely, "Who brought me here?" He finally asked after the short silence of staring at her, captured by those odd eyes again.
"I do not know their name." It was true. The Red Woman never gave her, her name and she said she would come back when the time was ripe. And since then woman never returned, she knew very well that Jon would have to stay in her care until she had. "She wore red and had red hair."
"Melisandre…" Jon instantly knew. He also remembered that she had came back to Castle Black, telling him and Davros Seaworth of the death of Stannis and his family as well as the failure of his march to end the Boltons. "She brought me here. I thought I was dead."
"You were barely grasping the rope of life." Amara brought him to the bed, letting him sit at the edge of it. "You should've been dead." She nodded, "The scars prove it but I do not know what that woman did, but she brought you back and I only helped temper the Stranger."
Jon's eyes gazed up at her, he could tell that from the way her eyes held scared curiosity that she was telling the truth. "I was thinking you were a kind woman, taking me of your own volition."
"Had I seen you on the ground, I would've kept going." The corner of her lips rose, "I am a healer but I am no witch nor God. If I had found you as you were given to me, I would've took pity on you." Her head went into a slow nod as she admitted she would've helped him. "Though I am being paid for taking care of you."
He knew no person was that kind even though she admitted she would've helped him if he was far more than out of a healer's touch. Jon could've smiled at that but he chose no expression. Amara went towards the tray and brought it to him and beside it was powder on a white parchment, a bowl of what smelled like chicken broth, and a cup of water. "Broth and medicine."
"Thank you." His head lowered gratefully as he rested the tray in his lap. The spoon beside the bowl was soon dipped in the liquid food and brought to his lips for a sip. It immediately warmed him and his belly yearned for more. "You didn't look like much of a cook."
"I am a healer." Her brow raised, slightly offended by his words but staying coy. "Food also helps rid sickness. It is essential for healing too." His eyes smiled while his lips did not as he watched her leave the room. "You reek and the bed does too. I'll help you to a bath when you're done."
Jon nearly choked as she basically said that he smelled awful. Once she was gone and the door closed, he raised his arms to take a whiff of him. His eyes burned and his head turned away quickly. "Gods, I smell like a horse's ass."
