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Darkness.
Nothingness.
Jon had been killed by his own sworn brothers. His face was one in the same with the man who'd taken him under his wing, Lord Commander Mormont. Each had done what they thought right, and each had failed. The cold that Jon felt, even as he sat next to a fire, had little to do with the chill of the air.
He'd failed as well. Failed Ygritte, the girl he'd betrayed. He'd thought himself in love, no, he knew himself in love, but the Wall and his oath had been more important to him than the girl. It was as she'd said. He knew nothing and his actions proved as much. He could've done something different, something better, but she was dead. Most of her people, enemies from whence first he'd arrived until the time he'd had a dagger put through his heart, were dead too.
It was all his fault.
Jon leaned back in his seat, the fire all but forgotten. Ghost, faithful, loyal Ghost, was laying right by his side. It'd been like that since first Jon awoke, Ghost had stuck to him like ink to parchment.
The fire burned down to nothing, yet Jon didn't move. He sat there, watching the night sky. It was cloudy, no stars in sight and nary a person that wasn't a Wildling milling about.
Jon sighed. It'd be a long, sleepless night.
As the sky grew brighter, the clouds dissipating as the sun rose in the East, the door to his chambers burst open.
"Lord Commander, the red woman is here to see you." One of the few loyal brothers he'd trusted to sit by his door, said.
"The red woman?" Jon questioned; she'd been the one to bring him back. He supposed, in a way, that made him beholden to her.
There was a silence for a second or so. "Aye, Lord Commander — want me to send 'er in?"
Jon stood up, his legs shaky from the lack of sleep. "Yes. I'll speak to her."
A couple of moments passed, and the woman in question stepped into his room; Gods, he didn't remember her beauty being as great as it was. "Jon Snow." She'd greeted him with a smile, one that he did not return. There was a power to her he'd not initially recognised, and he swore the fire crackled the closer she grew to his person.
"You saved my life." Jon stated. "Brought me back."
"That I did. You are not yet done, Jon Snow, I saw your purpose, your destiny. It did not end here."
"I can't just abandon the Watch, if you have not forgotten, I am its Lord Commander." Jon had to cling to something, lest this woman, this red witch, be his undoing.
Melisandre blinked at him, and slowly, peeled off her gloves, setting them aside. "Your purpose lies beyond these ruinous walls, I have seen it." She stepped closer still, and the fire popped, sending a shower of sparks flying out.
"If what you say is true, then what is my purpose? Where do I go? The Wall is all I've known since I left Winterfell, all that I know." Jon shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lady, but there's nowhere else for me to go."
"Home, Jon Snow. You must return home, and I must accompany you. You are a man of importance, and your place is not here." Her hands wrapped around his neck as her body pressed against his. "Do not doubt the words of the Lord of Light. Your place is not here. There's much the Lord has in store for you. Much and more."
Her heat was otherwordly. It made no sense how one woman could fill him with a warmth the fire hadn't managed to in hours. Her hands moved from his neck and began to work at his laces.
"What are you doing?"
She said nothing, but continued, undressing him with a slow, sensuousness.
It felt like it'd been years since Jon had felt another person's touch, and the last time was so different from this. Ygritte had been fierce, her touches filled with passion, desire. Melisandre, this red witch, was different, her touch was slow, methodical, as if she was trying to commit to memory every detail of his person. With such a covetous nature, maybe he was her Lord's chosen...
Jon closed his eyes as Melisandre finished undressing him. His hands, in turn, worked on freeing her from the dress that covered her as lust and desire won out.
He was a free man. His life had been given to the Watch, and now, he had a second.
One in which he could have the woman in his arms.
She was not a substitute for the woman he loved. She wasn't a replacement, but rather a reminder. He was alive, and his duty to the Watch was done. He could leave.
"I shall make preparations for our departure." She whispered. Her breath was hot on his skin, the softest of moans escaped her lips. "But you must promise me one thing."
"Anything." He replied, his voice heavy with lust.
"Your purpose is to rule, my Lord." Then she whispered words that left him confused. "My King."
Nary a question could be asked before her hands took hold of something she'd awakened.
This time, instead of darkness and nothingness consuming him, it was fire and the flames of desire.
Jon blinked at the woman by his side.
Melisandre. He'd come to know her very well in the moons she'd served him. Some of her sorrows, her failures, were shared with him just as his were shared with her. She was an amazing woman, a powerful priestess and an incredible lover. Mayhaps whatever she'd done to bring him back had enthralled him to her, but he thought not. That was all her doing, and to a lesser degree, his own.
He wondered, would their journey continue to go as it had?
Would her Lord's powers allow them to travel unhindered and unmolested?
"You worry, my king."
"How can I not?" Jon ran a hand through his hair. "Your... sacrifices saw us defeat the Boltons as much as our forces did. 'Tis you that I can thank for winning over many to our side. I did little to see us to where we're standing."
Melisandre cocked her head at him, a sly smile on her face as she pressed into his side. "You need not flatter me, Jon Snow, nor should you undersell yourself." One hand ran down his chest. "I did as you commanded and kept hidden my priestess' apparel. Were it any other that commanded me to act in total secrecy, to change as I look for the sake of others' opinions, I would not have heeded. Yet you're the Lord's chosen. I'll do whatever your heart desires." Her tone and wandering hand were telling. "And it was you who led the army. Not I. Men speak of your prowess in awe, in wonder. Your sword and your leadership are legendary."
Jon tightened his hold of her. "Now you're the one flattering me, are you?" There was that warmth that spread from her to him, one he'd still yet to tire of.
A knock sounded at the door to his chambers — Robb's old chambers, given he'd insisted Sansa take Father's — and with a teasing kiss to the edge of his mouth, Melisandre moved away, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and folding her hand, the image of a proper, demure lady. It made a little grin come to his face.
"Sansa?" Jon called back; she was the only one who wouldn't call out his name before entering. On occasion, she'd simply enter and make to speak with him; her desire for propriety wasn't half as high as it'd once been. They were family, they'd gone through so much apart from one another, but now, what remained of House Stark was back together.
"It's me." The door creaked open and a familiar head of red hair poked through.
Jon nodded to the empty chair by the fireplace, and Sansa closed the door behind her and took a seat. "What brings you here? You usually announce your intentions to speak with me when we break our fasts." He couldn't help but tease.
Sansa's nose crinkled as her face twisted up. "I'm still trying to get used to this, being the Lady of Winterfell, but it's..." She spotted Melisandre, and with a hesitant smile, gave the woman a polite nod. "Lady Melisandre."
Jon snorted; it was always a gift to witness these two interact with one another — fun as it was, Gods, they were important to him. They grounded him.
They gave him purpose.
"Back again." Jon couldn't find it within himself to hate Castle Black despite all the negative memories.
"Indeed." Melisandre murmured. "We knew we'd return here eventually. There is still work to be done."
"There always is." Jon looked up to the wall, then back to the courtyard. The yard was filled with Wildlings, ranging from those that had been at the battle of the Bastard's army to those who'd arrived in recent days, weeks, or even moons. As it'd turned out, much to his surprise, not all had been felled at Hardhome, and so Tormund has brought what he could find, back.
Melisandre pulled on his hand. "We should view beyond the Wall. I wish to see if my Lord has any messages for us."
"Lead the way." He smiled, letting her pull him along.
When they reached the top, he couldn't help but think back. It was here where he'd met with Mance for the final time. Here where he'd held Ygritte as she passed.
"I feel a chill, Jon Snow. It is not just the cold of the wind." Melisandre's eyes were wise. Knowing.
Jon shook his head. Her gaze was piercing. "Aye. This place... it's had so many memories, most of them unhappy."
"You are not alone, not anymore." She pressed a kiss his cheek, and when she withdrew, so warm was it that the feeling persisted. "Look to the horizon. Do you see?"
He looked, but couldn't make out anything specific. "What is it?"
Melisandre pointed. "Beyond the sea of trees is where my Lord's enemies live. A land of ice and snow. A land where winter is always present, and where only unlife persists."
The hairs on the back of Jon's neck stood up as the flames of the many torches around them brightened, seemingly in anger at the mention of the Lands of Always Winter. The Lord of Light seemed so ever-present whenever flames were near and Melisandre put word to the thought of their great problem.
Even when she simply... joined him, there was a crackle, a pop, and a roar, a sound akin to that of a dragon; she would claim it was her Lord's will for him to hear what he did when he listened to the flames.
"Do yo—"
There was a great, terrible roar that halted his words. One that came from south of the wall; with snowfall and darkness, he had nary the chance to see what was, but dread crept in.
"You heard it, didn't you?" Melisandre spoke up, and Jon couldn't help but turn back to look at her. "Our Lord's favour has come."
Again, the torches flickered, and this time in-sync with the next roar that came.
Whatever creature it belonged to was nearer, far nearer than it'd been but a few seconds ago.
A burst of wind came then, yet with a raise of her hand, Melisandre saw the area near to them left unaffected; the torches of the area outside of her little barrier remained, stubborn in their burning, but much and more was sent forth from the top of the wall. From wood to errant cloaks or loose stones from those that were brought up top for the sake of ease of walking.
Jon pulled at his cloak, suddenly hotter than he had any right to be atop the wall.
As it fell to his feet, he saw two orbs, large and glowing as bright as Melisandre's flames, peering at him from only some distance away; they were big as a man.
Was this the power the Lord of Light wielded?
One look from Melisandre told him; yes.
He pulled her close, and heat overwhelmed him.
Life would win.