To epitomize the world in which we live, we must first step back and remember that we are flawed.
But to understand the world in which we live, we must recognize that man realizes just this: the good exploit the flaws and the wicked jeopardize their...
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"I'm ordering you not to bring me back," Jon commands of the Red Witch as she sits upon the hearth of her tent and gazes into the flames, her eyes twitching to his.
She reminds him, "I am not your servant, Jon Snow."
"You're in my camp," Jon presses stiffly and with strong feeling in his heart, "I'm the commander."
"I serve the Lord of Light. I do what he commands."
"How do you know what he commands?"
His voice is harsh in her ears as she turns back to the flames with a rather unsure look about her features, admitting, "I interpret his signs as well as I can. If the Lord didn't want me to bring you back, how did I bring you back? I have no power. Only what he gives me and he gave me you."
"Why?" that question from his resurrection repeats again in his throat with the same burning aftertaste of wanting to know...like all humans desire.
She sighs helplessly, "I don't know. Maybe you're only needed for this small part of his plan and nothing else. Maybe he brought you here to die again."
"What kind of god would do something like that?" Jon asks pointedly.
And she smiles softly all the same, "The one we've got."
His breath echoes through his nose and into the fire before opening his eyes from frustration to gaze into the red glow, seeing nothing of worth. Jon turns on his heel and makes to leave the tent before the woman calls him back by his name. Turning with firm expression, Melisandre asks as she gazes in the red embers, "Lady Baelish...she's a woman of great power, a woman I've seen in the flames. Where does she come from?"
"King's Landing," Jon's voice wavers with uncertainty at this woman's intention. "Daughter of a whore and a brothel-keep."
Melisandre looks at him and then back to the flames before muttering under her breath, "No, no, I don't think that's right." But of course, Jon still hears it.
When Jon enters her tent, Gabrielle still sits in her daily dress, brushing her comb through her own hair, and then alternating between the wolves that sit about her feet. Freezing in his step for a moment, Jon watches the rather strange incident before barking loudly in laughter and tying her tent shut behind him as the girl turns her playful eyes to him. He steps forward, remarking bluntly, "You've become like their mother."
"Westeros won't know what hit them: the Mother of Dragons and the Mother of Wolves on one continent. Do you think they can handle it?" Gabrielle grins back with her response as Jon's eyes crinkle with his chuckling, watching her pass about the room.
Placing her brush back on the small table near her bedside, she soundlessly moves back over to him, pressing the latches on his armor and releasing him of their rather tense hold upon his body. He looks down at her as she quickly moves, responding to her question, "I don't know about the country, but I can barely handle you."
