Note: Last one.
Chapter 14: Jon Snow.
Eira was left there for the rest of the day, she cried for the little princess, for herself. She tried to yank herself out of the metal cuff on her ankle to no avail. She touched her flaming cheeks, and felt raised lines of flames across them both, so everyone would know her God. That she didn't mind, though it brimmed her with shame to be marked in such a way, like property. Eira had never met a slave, or known anyone who had one, it wasn't common up North, the Starks were heavily against it, assumingly so was King Baratheon, but things in the South always seemed more savage than they liked to let on.
She expected Melisandre to come back to gloat but it never came. Outside the tent Eira could hear shouting, marching and horses being led through the camp. She assumed that they'd be marching further south, eventually someone would have to come pack the tent up, Melisandre or not there were provisions in here, clothing, maps and the like.
A man stumbled in near mid day, he ignored Eira and darted towards a small open chest shoving jewelry into a sack.
"Oi!" He froze, "What's going on?"
"Fucking leaving what does it look like? That mad bastard got 'is bird to kill Shireen! Then Queen Selyse was found 'anging in the trees! Fuck that." He continued to shove Melisandre's things into his bag. "That witch too ran off this mornin' so this is all fair to take"
Melisandre ran? After everything she did for this bloody false King and she runs away? Eira couldn't believe it. For someone to preach about faith and to trust in her visions, to flee the moment she was wrong.
"Well don't go without letting me go, I'm not getting punished anymore for her choices" Eira spat. The man stopped and turned to properly look at her.
"Fucking Hell Love, you look like shite" A shrug, "No offence."
"Oh shut up and grab the keys" Thankfully, he complied, throwing it at Eira before heading off to raid for more loot. She wrenched her foot out of the chain, and did her own mad dash around the tent for supplies. Inside a box, lined with a silk bag were several dresses. Eira took the lot, then threw in some oils, a handheld mirror, nuts, and whatever coin was lying about, tightening the strings of the bag tight.
Outside, soldiers were fleeing left and right, it was easy to get lost in the chaos. She kept her sack close and headed to where several men were gearing up to steal some horses to flee. One even helped her up onto her own stolen horse, and pointed her way to Castle Black.
In the chaos she didn't notice that the snow had begun to melt, the sun breaking in the sky for the first time in an age.
The journey took two days. Eira wasn't a confident rider, she rarely had reason to be near a horse, let alone on top of one, but the horse was fast and gentle with her. It stopped whenever it wanted for rest, but that usually coincided with Eira's own needs. On her journey she passed a few of Stannis' soldiers fleeing back to Castle Black; they couldn't face their homes in the South now after joining up with an attempted usurper to the throne. Life as a Crow was now their best bet.
Seeing the dark Castle up ahead spurred Eira onwards. A bright smile on her face. She burst through into the courtyard with little care towards the guards at the open gate. Ignoring their shouts and thundering footsteps after her. She scanned the crowd for red hair, but it was his eyes she caught first.
"TORMUND" She near screeched, throwing herself off the horse and running to her Giant, who stood dumbfounded. She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed his head, pulling it into a passionate kiss. He didn't respond for a beat, then large arms wrapped around her, lifting her up and twirling her like a little girl. Breaking the kiss he stretched his arms out to get a proper look at Eira, smiling up at him.
"Oh my sweet, my wife who did this to you?" He traced her healing tattoos, in the excitement of escape she'd forgotten about them. Her fingertips rested on Tormunds.
"Oh, um.. A punishment. You rubbed off on me too much, tried to kidnap my own Southerner y'know" She gave a light laugh, he tried to copy but Eira could see grief on his face.
"You're not all upset over my face are you? What happened?"
The Giant sighed, "Jon he uh, he was killed. Last night. You're a light to fall onto this dark day." He smoothed her hair, fiddling with a curl then landing back on her cheek, tracing the crude flame, "Oh my wife of wine, it's been shite without you." She smiled into his hand, kissing his palm.
"I missed you too. I never want to be apart from you ever again."
He took her back into a hug, stroking her back. "Come on lass, let's get you inside."
It was odd seeing Tormund on a bed. An actual, grand four-poster bed, not a bed mat, or some furs on the ground. He'd set a bath for her, an easy feat when heat isn't required. She showed him the oils she stole from Melisandre, and let him wash her hair with them. Occasionally his large hands would dip into the water to tweak a nipple teasingly, but the Giant insisted on nothing more until she was out of bed.
"I've gone long enough without you, I can wait a bit more. Want to do this properly y'know" He said with a cheeky wink.
She was wrapped in a towel, her hair patted dry, and more oils popped open and poured onto Eira's skin. Strong hands rubbing it in as she spread out on the bed.
"I could get used to this" She stretched like a cat.
"Is that aye?" The Giant laughed, "Well you can make up the most tonight and relive it in yer memories, we're only in this blasted Castle for tonight, the.. Jon's send off is tomorrow."
Eira sat up in surprise, "You didn't burn him straight away?"
"No.. He is, was a good lad. Good kid. You'd have liked him. Went with me to the skeleton wearing cunt, get the rest of the Wildings down here, we're up to 5000 people safely behind The Wall."
Eira put a hand on top of his, "I'm sorry about Jon. He was kind. Had kind eyes… He's with Ygritte now." She smiled sadly,
"Aye, bet she's giving him an earful."
They laughed quietly, sadness permeating the air of the room. Eira leant back in to kiss the Giant, for someone so big and beastly he had very soft lips, she imagined him using the fancy oil on himself whilst she had her back turned. The Giant deepened the kiss, laying her back onto the bed.
It was gentle, he stroked her lovingly, soft nips at her neck, tits and waist. Always coming back to kiss her after every moment. He worked her slowly, pumping slowly, snickering at her whimpers and yelps. The Giant curled his fingers, making her shudder.
"Oh my little wife," he growled into her ear, nipping at her neck once more. A few more thrusts of his fingers, curling oh so sweetly at a spot inside, until he removed them and lined himself up. The stretch hurt still, it had been a long time, but faded quickly.
The Giant lifted her legs, wrapping them around him as he pistoned into her as she attempted to meet him in the middle, lifting herself up off the bed, gasping.
It didn't take long for either of them, it had been too long, too emotional a day. All it took was her Giant to rub firm but gentle circles around her clit for her to transform into a cat, yowling and scratching at him as each wave pulsed through her. His hips got faster, thrusts stronger, she feared they may break the bed but fuck it she hoped they did.
Her Giant groaned sweet nothings into her ear, bent over and stuttering hips, finishing inside her. Eira chose to ignore that for now, nothing a special tea couldn't help. She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to rest on her, his beard scratching at her bare tits. He was heavy, crushing her chest but she didn't care, it was a welcome weight. She wanted this moment to last forever.
A knock.
Fuck off.
Another knock.
The couple stared at each other.
"I know you're bloody in there you're not exactly subtle, now be thankful I decided to knock after you's were done and open the blasted door!" A familiar voice called. Tormund shrugged at her, and opened. It was Davos, the man who'd argued to Stannis about returning to Castle Black. Eira wondered if he'd left before or after the murder of the little princess.
The man straightened up at the sight of the two of them, "Ser Davos, though we've met before miss…"
"Eira." She tried to school her face into something neutral, praying that her burning cheeks weren't too visible.
"Eira. You're needed in the.. resting room"
"What's that-"
"What the fuck do you think she's gunna be able to do?" Tormund cut in, eyes fierce, hand on her shoulder protectively.
"The priestess, Melisandre, she thinks she can do a resurrection, but needs help."
"She's HERE?" Eira shouted, vision red, stomach churning. She ran away here? After what she did? They let her back in? "Don't you know what she did? To that little girl!" Davos looked down at the floor in shame, a deep, tired sigh escaped him.
"I do lass, I do. And if were any other time, if war wasn't on the horizon, if countless men hadn't spoke of seeing the Night King himself, I'd have run her through me'self." He paused for a moment, then gave a low bow, "She told me what you tried to do, escape with Shireen. Thank you."
"Fat lot of good it did" Tormund rubbed comforting circles into her shoulder, her tattooed cheeks burning in shame.
"Wife.. We need Jon. If there's a chance you can bring him back.." Her Giant turned her around to face him, pleading, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, eyes sad like a giant puppy. She couldn't say no to that.
"Fine."
She was led by the two men to Jon Snow's resting place, inside a dark room on a stone slab. Melisandre was already there, she bristled as Eira came in, Tormund placed a warning hand on her shoulders, a firm warning to start no fights until the ceremony, whatever that would entail, was over.
"Eira." The red witch said in a soft voice, eyes not fully meeting Eira's own. She had the gall to act meek in front of these men, who didn't worship at her feet like that idiot Stannis, and his cunt wife.
"Shut up." She snapped. "You are to say nothing except instruction on how to bloody raise this Crow from the dead. No apologies, no regret, no excuses. You may be able to bat your fucking eyes and look all sad to get these idiots to let you live but I am fortunate enough to think with my brain and not my genitals." Her voice got louder and louder, the shrill scoldings of a worn out mother. The red priestess stayed silent, so did the men. Eira rounded the table, assessing the Crow, who was shirtless, with a sheet covering his lower half. He'd been stabbed many times it seemed. An ambush.
"We must wash him." Melisandre spoke, "Offer locks of his hair to the fire. Everything else will come naturally to you. It's instinct." The woman passed her a flagon of water, scented with the same oils Eira had stolen from her tent. She wondered if she chose them knowing Eira now had them hidden away.
They wiped off the blood and grime, Melisandre washed his hair gently, almost lovingly, muttering in old valyrian. Eira didn't know that language. She felt awkward, inexperienced. From the dark corners of the room. Tormund caught her eyes, he nodded encouragingly.
"You can do this, my little priestess." fire spurred in her heart, she turned towards the fire and with a clean blade, not her own, it had been long lost in the battle of The Wall. She sliced her wrist and let the blood fall, silently apologising to the God, she'd been away for so long. She told him everything, how she'd been taken by Stannis's men, tried to steal away the girl, Shireen, who was sacrificed to him, the apologised about it, but insisting that she would never, ever, burn a human like that. He was God of the light, death had no light. It didn't make sense to her for him to want to snuff out the flame of a living person. She traced her tattoos, she told her God she had come to like them, liked how everyone now knew who she served.
That's when it came, the instinctive knowledge on what to do. She figured this sudden burst of confidence, as she rose from beside the fire to face the Crow, that this was her God's blessing. She picked up a brush made of animal hair that Melisandre had amongst her tools, it was probably for brushing oils, but Eira was sure it would work the same. She smeared her blood onto the brush and painted mystery sigils on the Crows chest, where he was hurt the most. She muttered pleadings and devotion to her God, as Melisandre cut off locks of the Crows hair to be burnt. Her voice was hypnotic in old valyrian, whatever spell she was setting had a great effect on Eira, she felt woozy, her eyes unfocused and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.
The two priestesses, one established, respected, revered across R'hllor's temples,, the other a novice, stumbling their way through their new power, met in the middle. Two pairs of pale hands rested gently on top of the sigils painted on the dead man. Hushed whispers commanding him to rise. They spoke in unison, Melisandre in an ancient language, long forgotten by many, yet Eira understood every word.
"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon."
"We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness."
"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."
"We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out."
" Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson."
"From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life."
The Crow remained unchanged, Eira watched Melisandre who's brow wrinkled with concern, clearly something should have happened after the prayer. She repeated herself, "from darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life." Squeezing her wound over the flames to emphasise the prayer. Melisandre's pleas became louder, desperation dripping from her voice but nothing changed.
Tormund walked out.
Eira's trance broke at the sound of the door, the familiar presence of her Giant gone. She froze and looked down at the unchanging body, she felt weak, and had to steady herself on the table. Melisandre also looked peaky, she'd stopped chanting and was now slowly murmuring apologies to a saddened Davos, sometimes her Lord didn't answer her prayers. Her visions of seeing Jon Snow fighting in Winterfell must have been false, wishful thinking rather than prophecy. She left the room with her head hung low, if she had a tail Eira knew it would be tucked tightly between her legs.
She left the dark, dank room. In an alcove her Giant was stood, glaring into the stone floor.
"I'm sorry Tormund." He replied with a gruff grunt,
"Fucking magic, it's a pisstake."
Eira sighed, and stood at his side, she could hear him grind his teeth in frustration. "Maybe there was something, someone, keeping Snow from coming back to us." the hint of Ygritte softened the man, who turned to look at his wife, her face pale and clammy, a sheen of sweat, weary eyes draped by deep purple bags.
"If it were me you were calling to, in that sweet little voice, I'd be jumpin' back to the land o' the living in no time," She laughed lightly, leaning into him for a hug. He squeezed her tight, his chin resting on the crown of her head.
"I'm glad." She spoke softly into his chest, being cocooned in his arms, hidden from his face made her feel braver, "I can't imagine you being dead. I don't know what I'd do, they'd have to drag me away, I'd demand my God to bring you back to me until I died myself of starvation." Her words made something well up in her chest, as if the words came from her heart, and her brain was only just catching up on what was spoken.
"I- I love you Tormund." The statement hung in the air for a moment, " I'm glad I'm your wife."
Her Giant squeezed her, she felt him kiss the top of her head, leaning back so he could bend down and kiss her fully. It was hard, passionate, filled with heavy emotions. A large paw threaded in her curls, the other clutching her waist. It stole her breath away, she feared she'd faint.
"I love you too, my sweet little wife of wine." She giggled at the words, even now after so long since she'd tumbled out of that barrel, he insisted on calling her those damned words.
The two lovers stayed in the alcove, in a close embrace.
In the next room, dark and gloomy, lit by a single dying flame, Jon Snow opens his eyes.
Note: And that's the end of the main fic, of Eira's journey of love and religion. I could keep writing all the way up to the finale, but I don't really want to. The occasional one-shot is in the future though, don't think I'd write out Tormund's crush on Brienne. Eira would be soooo jealous. Eira would also LOVE Dany and her dragons.