Marina's green eyes filled with tears as the truth picked apart her mentality, shattering the very beliefs she thought she understood. It had been them all along, everything that has lead to this moment was planned. Every word that slivered past the...
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JON SNOW AND YGRITTE BASKED IN THE AFTERGLOW OF THEIR NIGHT OF PASSION.
The steam from the bubbling pools created a secret pocket of tranquility as they lay a little away, wrapped in one another's arms. Jon had long since given up trying to leave and return to Tormund and instead chose to enjoy the bliss that surrounded him, if only for a moment.
"That's a fancy necklace you've got there, Jon Snow. Did your mum give you that as a present for good prince behavior?" Ygritte quips.
Jon rolled over on his back, throwing his arm around the wildling woman as they settled into another comfortable position. He wasn't surprised to find Ygritte smirking down at him.
"I never met my mother or father and I'm no prince." Was his reply. "But you knew that."
Ygritte frowns, "I thought you lived in Winterfell with the Starks. Weren't they Princes and princesses?"
"Aye, but I wasn't one of them. Their mother was the Lady of the house and her children were princes and princesses, but I'm not her child. I'm a bastard."
Jon could remember a time when saying such a thing would have hurt him, especially when others used the term to make him feel less than a human being. Catelyn Stark was the worst, followed by Theon and sometimes Sansa. No matter where he went or who he spoke to, even in the markets, they never let him forget who he was.
His hand unconsciously moved to grasp the pendent on his chest. The dim light from a deeper part of the cave gave the stone a soft hue, as if it were pulsing with light at the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Marina had been the one to tell him that being a bastard wasn't all that he was. She believed in him to no end, and would often say that he could be anyone he wanted to be. When he'd enter his chambers, bruised and beaten from other kids, Marina would be there while he sobbed. Always.
"Jon." Ygritte calls, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Are you still here with me?"
"Aye."
The wildling woman settled onto his chest again, placing her chin on her hand to support her head. "Your mind was elsewhere. What were you thinking about."
"Do you know someone named Marina?"
"If I did that'd be my business wouldn't it?" Ygritte narrows her eyes at the man underneath her. "Why are you bringing up another woman right now?"
Jon moved to sit up, and Ygritte didn't stop him this time. There they sat, bare to each other, though neither of their eyes wandered further than their faces.
"Tormund said you knew about her and a necklace like this one." Jon says after a moment.
"And since when do you listen to what Tormund has to say?"
Jon sighs, realizing what she is trying to do. He had noticed that the wildlings had a way of deflecting a question they didn't want to answer with another. He had tried talking to others of the free folk to see what they knew about Marina— or the "Red Witch" as they called her here in the North. Only a few dared to speak about her and the ones that did told tales of her "righteous fury" and "glorious magic".
