Imagine Jon leaving you to attempt to kill Mance after the wildlings attacked.
Notes: Tbh this sucked and I really don’t even know but I really loved the idea. I just kept imagining it while rewatching the end of season 4 so... It’d be better if a better writer wrote it (no shit) but I mean I decided to just kinda do it.
There’s so many commas lmao how do I even.
This was maybe the coldest you had ever felt, and you had felt real icy temperatures many times before. But this cold didn’t only effect your skin, it didn’t only make your eyes water from the sting of the wind, it didn’t only make your toes numb, it didn’t only make you want to bundle into something warmer. No, you could feel this cold on the inside.
It chilled your bones and made your muscles ache, the kind of cold a fire didn’t help.
Mornings always felt different when you had been awake all night, and you were used to it, but it still left dark circles under your eyes as if you were used to getting your rest.
Castle Black was stained, everything covered in blood. It wasn’t a new look to you, but it still caught you off guard to see the crimson puddles left in so many different places.
The wildlings had attacked last night. The largest portion came from the north, but they had sent enough over the wall already to attack from the south, which made a big dent in the forces at the nights watch.
You had been fighting for a while, imagining you were simply back in time when you would train with Jon, the thought keeping you from panic. Although you weren’t as good as Jon was with a sword, you certainly had skill and you weren’t afraid to brawl with the men. When things had started to die down you turned to helping the injured, which was the main reason they even allowed you at Castle Black; to assist maester Aemon with the wounded.
So there you were, inside the main hall which was littered with broken things and loose weapons, tending to those who had managed to stay alive.
You still had some armor on, not taking any time away to take it all off, and you sat next to one of the men, his face lost from your mind along with the so many who had died or been hurt. He was unconscious, so you took the chance to deeply clean an arrow wound he had suffered, hoping his being asleep would cover the pain a bit.
You were thinking of nothing in particular, and only reacted to your name being called when a hand was set on your shoulder.
You tensed; standing and turning quickly, your hand on your sword in a heartbeat.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Looking at his familiar and warm eyes, you found yourself exhaling worry that had formed inside your chest from being snuck up on. Jon kept his hand on your shoulder, his hair scattered about and messy, his face painted with bruises and blood. It hurt you to see him like that, he was so tired of fighting, and what hurt you was knowing he wouldn’t have time to rest, no matter how tired.
“Jon” you sighed softly, tilting your head slightly and giving him a sad smile. You already knew he was okay after the battle had ended, but even so it took a weight off your shoulders to see him, to physically be able to touch him.
“You’re okay?” He said, a concerned look lacing into his expression. You gave him a single nod, and he glanced around to see who could see the two of you quickly. He would’ve done it no matter who was watching, but being cautious was a habit of his.
He stepped closer, pulling you into a tight hug. And you smelled the blood and sweat on him, but you didn’t mind it. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you returned the gesture, arms up around his neck and on the tips of your toes to reach your face to his neck so you could feel his skin against yours.
“I wanted to check on you, love.” He stated, pulling away but keeping his hands on your waist. You nodded, being comforted by only his gaze on you.
“I have to go back out to help, though.” He reminded, “I will be back.” The remark was slightly strange. Why wouldn’t he be back? You assumed he was just to help with the bodies outside. But you didn’t worry in that moment.
“I know.” You said, standing tall again to kiss his cheek.
With that he nodded to you again, offering a small smile, and he turned to return outside. You sat down again, soaking a rag in a dish of water and going back to the wounded.
“You’re going to kill him?”
“They’ll never let you within a hundred yards of him. And even if you did, even if you managed to kill him-“
“They’ll kill me?” Jon cut Sam off, “If I don’t go they’ll kill me anyways, kill the rest of us too.”
Jon didn’t turn around to have an actual discussion with Sam until he brought up your name “And what about (Y/N)?” At that Jon stopped and looked him in the eyes.
“They’ll kill her if I don’t go.” A sad look washed over his face. “I have to keep her safe, Sam.” He almost pleaded. If it was a choice of dying to keep you safe he wouldn’t have to think about it for a second, the choice would always be you. The choice, to him, was obvious.
“Sam” You called, jogging to catch up to him as you wiped off your blood stained hands on a rag. You had taken your armor off now, replacing it with a simple dress, the only ones you agreed to wear. You had on some warm coats, but only a few because you had been indoors for so long. “Have you seen Jon?” you asked, catching up to him and walking alongside him. Ghost trailed you, panting loudly; he’d been following you even while you were working on the wounded.
Sam gulped, afraid to answer. He kept walking, but you didn’t catch onto his silence at first “I thought he was out to help with the dead.” This time, when Sam didn’t answer your eye twitched and you suspected he knew something unpleasant. You moved in front of him, keeping him from moving forward, and as just as you thought he averted his eyes from your gaze. “He was helping with the dead, right?” You questioned, raising your eyebrows.
“He’s- he’s gone, uh, well…” he trailed off, still not making eye contact.
Your mouth hung open a bit. He wasn’t here.
You inhaled quickly, a mix of rage and worry filling your lungs, and you swept forward, grabbing your knife from your side and setting it snuggly to Sam’s throat, pinning him against the wooden panels.
“Samwell,” You said lowly, listening to Ghost growl behind you from the sudden situation “Where is Jon?” This time, he answered.
“H-he left to kill Mance.” He whimpered out, knowing you wouldn’t hurt him but worried for you.
You furrowed your brows, leaning back and pulling your knife away from him.
“He left?” Sam nodded in confirmation, and you ran your hand through your tangled hair, eyes flickering around while you thought.
You registered exactly what it meant. Jon left, went beyond the wall and into the camp of the hundreds of thousands of wildlings, probably unarmed, and was on a suicide mission to kill Mance.
You had heard of Stannis before, but didn’t expect him to visit the wall, bringing with him an army. They poured into Castle Black, filling the main hall and stables. But what was odd was that most of them flooded in from the gates that lead beyond the wall.
You stood in the yard, in front of the creaky contraption that made it possible to get to the top of the wall, watching the men work around and force their way in. Your expression was grim and depressed, it was an instant sign you didn’t want to be talked to at all. Ghost sat right next to you, he had never left your side for a moment. He was the only one you allowed to sit with you anyways. You’d heard what Stannis did, taking control over the wildlings from horseback, and the thought that you might get Jon’s body back crossed your mind, which made your mouth instantly turn sour. You cleared your throat, pretending you didn’t have that thought at all.
You let a small gasp leave your mouth as Ghost bumped into you, running down the stairs and off into the crowd for no reason you could see. You quirked your head, oblivious to why he would suddenly leave you unattended after all this time. But you followed the white haired beast with your eyes, and you saw a mop of curly black hair moving in with the crowd.
First you didn’t want to believe it, just in case it wasn’t him, but after a few seconds of watching you wasted no more time to sprint into the crowd, pushing past people.
Finally when you were close enough you yelled “Jon!”
Movement seemed to stop. Your loud cry didn’t fit in with the murmuring that had been going on, and so everyone stopped, looking to see who broke the regular noise.
A path cleared finally, black cloaks and armored men all moving to reveal him standing there, very much alive.
You gasped loudly, eyes watering as you watched him gape at your figure.
Jon never forgot what you looked like, and any time he couldn’t he longed to see you again, but today he truly thought about your beauty. You stood there, your attention on nothing but him (just the way he liked it), strong and gorgeous as always, your expression softening in a way it only did for him, although it didn’t stay soft for long.
As quickly as you had felt relief, you felt a hot flame light inside you. It found it’s why into your breath, spilling out in short and angry gasps.
And you picked up the access of the plain dress you were wearing so you could take long strides towards him, heat radiating from you. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as if a hundred archers were all aiming at you.
He didn’t have much time to respond before you were in front of him, and you stopped, giving him a horrifying glare. He opened his mouth, “I-“
You punched him. It wasn’t a slap, no, you punched him in the face. Your shoulder ached from the sudden force and your hand stung from the impact.
Jon stumbled slightly, covering the left side of his face with his hand. He stood back again quickly, the blood from his nose obviously fresh from the other dried blood he had on him, standing out in a brighter red.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yelled, hands forming fists and nails cutting into your palms
Jon opened his mouth again, holding his hands out to rest them on your shoulders, trying to calm you “I didn-“
You cut him off again. This time though, you surged forward, grabbing around his neck and pulling yourself up with a small jump, legs quickly around his waist.
Again he stumbled, but recovered even quicker, one arm tucked under your own and wound around you to rest on the back of your neck, the other under your butt to hold you up against him.
“Seven hells” He breathed out quickly, the only thing he had time to say before you slammed your lips against his, kissing him furiously.
Whistles arose from the crowd along with laughs, and you smiled into the kiss.
He held you tighter, as if you could slip, and pressed against you with pressure to match yours. You could taste blood on his lips, but they felt just as right as they always did against yours, perfectly working between yours.
After minutes you pulled away, lips swollen from the long kiss. He had the nerve to grin, resting his forehead against you as he continued to hold you. You closed your eyes shortly, attempting to exhale the emotion he had caused you, and then opened them to look directly into his dark eyes.
You breathed out, only loud enough for him to hear,
