So is fanfic just starting one wip, only to have an idea for another wip pop into your head and not leave you alone until you write it, and then another one does the same, before you realise a plot point for the first so go back to that, and then second, and so on?
How do you all write anything?
Anywho, have a teaser for another possible story that might get written, if I can try and get more of The Ripple of Time done. This was inspired by Charmiton’s Shelter As We Go, which is the first wilding!Jon I’ve read (and OMG it is soooooo good, if you aren’t reading it, stop right now and go and read it, link is in the name (and bolded), I absolutely love it, Charmiton’s writing is just *chef’s kiss*!).
**
It’s the scream that has his head snapping up, Ghost’s doing the same.
He knows that the other raiding parties sometimes do it, steal more than the weapons and resources they’re sent to gather, steal women. But the party that raid with Jon know that he doesn’t like it, won’t tolerate it.
Mance had sent some new men with them, to test them out he’d said, and clearly these ones had not heard the rules that Jon’s men followed.
Some of the Freefolk won’t raid with him because of it, have tried to have him punished and exiled because of it. But he’s the best fighter they have and he’s quick to show those who would question and punish him why it’s not a good idea. Mance just grins at every idiot that challenges him, Dalla and Val both giving him nods of approval.
The people have started to call him the Wildling Prince now. He glares whenever he hears it, Val taking delight in it and laughing at him whenever they are together and they overhear it.
One of the new men, Daran, pulls the girl into their camp, the girl struggling against him, trying to pull herself out of the man’s grip as he lets her down.
“Found a lucky one.”
And even though he hates it, part of him can see why the man grabbed her. This girl with fire kissed hair, pale white skin, and blazing blue eyes that glare something fierce at the man holding her, before she leans forward and bites the man hard.
Daran yelps, loosening his grip enough that the girl is able to pull herself away, but tripping as she tries to run. He’s on his feet and catching her before he’s even realized, something sparking between them as their eyes meet. He feels almost lost when her eyes dart away, taking in the rest of their camp, the fire in her draining out as she takes in the party, her body almost collapsing in his arms.
“Oi, that’s my woman, go steal your own.”
Jon’s sword is drawn and pointing at the other man before he even thinks, Ghost’s low growl echoing around the camp they’ve made.
“Or yours,” Daran says, holding his hands up.
He can feel the girl’s breath hitch, something in him twisting when he turns back and sees the glassiness in her eyes, a tear escaping and running down her cheek. He can’t stop himself from wiping it away, the girl flinching, the movement making his chest ache at the sight. He can see Tormund’s smirk out of the corner of his eye, the big man clearly enjoying what was happening.
“Where are you from, girl?” he asks quietly, not lowering his sword. The girl stares at him for a long moment, before taking a long shuddering breath.
“Winterfell.”
The capital of the North, and if Jon had to guess, looking at her dress, she was likely more than a servant in the keep.
“Do you know your way home?”
He can feel some of the men about to object, all of them freezing when Ghost let’s out another low growl, the threat behind it clear to hear. The direwolf would rip apart anyone who crossed him, and right now, Ghost and Jon were both feeling the same level of protectiveness for the girl that was kissed by fire.
Mance will have his head for this, even more if he ever finds out who they had. Because Jon has only heard of one young Northern lady with fire kissed hair. The daughter of the Lord of Winterfell himself.
He’d heard about her beauty, Winterfell’s winter rose, the most beautiful maid in the North. He’d scoffed at it, but seeing her, holding her close, her warmth pushed up against his body, he realizes that the stories were true.
She’s staring at him in shock, disbelief in her eyes.
“Well?” he growls, eyes flicking up to take in his men. Tormund is full out grinning now, eyes flicking between him and the girl, and he knows that his friend will have something crude to say when this is all done.
She nods her head slowly.
“Ghost will see you home.”
He can’t help the small smile when the Lady doesn’t even flinch when the direwolf moves forward, noting that there’s no fear or worry on her face like there is with others who have known the wolf for a long time. She gives Ghost a small smile, the sight of it making his heart clench, wishing that she was smiling at him with that kind look.
“Thank you,” she whispers, looking up at him, eyes darting to the other men, before running off into the woods, Ghost following her.
