Chapter 7 – Last Kiss

Westeros – The North
Castle Black, The Wall

Ghost howled in the distance as Dolorus Edd and Ser Davos dragged Jon’s body into the storage quarters of Castle Black. “We have to get him warm!” Edd was saying, panting as he dragged the dark, armorclad man through the snow and into the stone tunnel. He was frantic. Davos wasn’t… he had seen enough to know that the Lord Commander was surely dead.

He kicked down the door. “Grenn!” Edd shouted as dragged Jon into the room. “Howell! Help us!”

Together they pulled him onto a table, pulling the black cloak off his body, parting clothing one by one and revealing the wounds beneath. “He’s gone, lads,” Davos said quietly.

“It was Yanos, it had to be,” Edd cursed. “Damn his treacherous arse!”

“How many of your brothers can you trust? For sure?” Davos asked.

Edd laughed. “Trust? The ones in this room, Ser Davos. Who else?”

Davos grimaced, then narrowed his eyes in thought. “Does the wolf know you?” He asked, “We could use all the help we can get.”

There was a knock at the door. All four men had weapons in their hands and were facing the door before the third knock, and the door opened… revealing not a traitorous brother of the watch, but someone far worse… the red haired witch Mellisandre. She closed the door behind her, and Davos hissed in disgust, but walked back her to lock the door while the Red Priestess hovered over Jon.

“I saw him in the flames, fighting at Winterfell…” she said softly. Her voice carried none of its seduction, power, or arrogance now, Davos noted. She sounded tired, and pathetic.

“I can’t speak for the flames,” Davos spat. “But he’s done.”

“Right now, that bastard Slynt is making Castle Black his,” Edd spat.

“He’ll have seen that we didn’t come,” Davos warned.

Edd spat onto the ground. “I don’t care who’s sitting at the high table. Jon was my friend. And those fuckers butchered him. Now we return the favor.”

Davos shook his head. “Son, we don’t have the numbers.”

“We have a direwolf.”

“And is Ghost an immortal then?” Davos put a restraining hand on the angry man’s shoulder. “It’s not enough. I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t have wanted his friends to die for nothing.”

Edd laughed. “If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room ser knight. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Yanos with us when we go.”

An idea occured to him, and a small smile crossed Ser Davos’s face. “We need to fight, but we don’t need to die. Not if we have help.”

“Who is gonna help us?” Grenn broke in from the other side of Jon’s body, still looking down at his murdered friend.

“You’re not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow. Bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”


Yanos Slynt was having the night of his life. He had been set for the rest of eternity in the capital, a comfortable man, even before he had thrown in his lot with the Lannisters. After that, though… he had been given Lordship, rule over Harrenhal. Then dwarf fool had had him exiled to this hellhole. That would have been the end of the story of a lesser man… but not Yanos Slynt!

After Endrew had been killed in the Wildling attack on the wall, that piece of filth Jon Snow had risen to become Lord Commander… but his policies were unpopular with some of the older, more established members of the Night’s Watch, and Yanos’ gifts had always been in the art of treachery. With Maester Aemon dead, there was no one to council against what he whispered into their ears… and now Jon Snow was dead like the bastard of the north he was, buried in a pile of snow.

And now he was Lord Commander… and he and his most loyal men were celebrating with their pet whore… and they were going to thoroughly enjoy her.

Yanos watched thoughtfully as the gagged redhead was lowered on a tackle and pulley by her bound wrists towards the large man sitting on the chair beneath her. She had been hanging by her wrists for some time, to teach her a lesson after she’d head butted one of the younger brothers who had slid between her thighs to give her a hard fucking, and she’d almost broken his nose. After dangling by her wrists for a while, the next member of the group who knew about her had arrived, and had decided to leave her strung up, and simply drop her down onto his lap. Another of the men was manning the ropes and slowly lowered her down towards the waiting cock.

The seated one, a slimy rapist of a man from Kings Landing named Ebil, grabbed her ankles and moved her legs apart so she was straddling his lap as she came down. The pain in her arms had obviously taken some of the fight out of her for the time being, as she was only too happy to allow the hard cock to slide into her ginger twat, and sit her buttocks on the man’s lap, allowing her to take some of the strain off her arms and shoulders.

His large hands went up around her waist, up to her chest and began to grope her perfectly sized barbarian tits for his own enjoyment. He was playing with her nipples happily for a time before he decided it was time to get on with it. He grabbed hold of her hips and began to lift her up and down on his shaft, as he bucked his own hips upwards to drive his shaft into her.

Yanos watched her naked body as the large man she was sitting on was thrusting himself up inside her, violating her, as she had been violated many times since she had become their prisoner.

He could see the conflicting emotions on her face, relief for her arms, discomfort from having the large cock forcibly invading her pussy, and a mixture of anger and disdain for the situation in general. She looked up and made eyes contact with Yanos as the guy thrust his cock into her again, and she flinched slightly form the pain.

Yanos smiled at her, and she glared back, her fury undisguised. He walked over to her and grabbed a handful of her long red hair and yanked it back so her head tilted back to look up at him as he stood over her. “Your wildling friends will all be dead soon,” he whispered to her, as the cock continued to slosh in and out of her. “Now that I’m in charge around here, the barbarian masses the Stark bastard took pity on will be put to the sword, as they should have been… soon they’ll be just as dead as he is.”

Ygritte’s eyes were wide. She struggled to yank her head away from him, but he held it tightly and grinned maniacally down at her, moving his face forwards so he was staring directly into her eyes. “That’s right, slut. Your old lover is dead. We’re all your lovers now. Isn’t that wonderful?” Yanos smirked. “We’ll kill them all… except maybe the giant. Why waste a perfectly good giant cock? Maybe we’ll let it stay alive if it puts on a show for us… I’d like to see the look on your face when we lower your asshole down onto a giant’s cock and watch it tear you apart,” he giggled like a lunatic.

She tried to head butt him, but they were all aware of her tricks now and he moved his head back, and then returned the favor with a hard slap across her cheek, just as the guy under her pulled her hips down as hard as he could and he squirted his load inside her.

“Yes, yes… that would be fun,” Yanos turned and walked slowly back to his chair, idly stroking his unshaven chin, deep in thought.


Snow wouldn’t land on a Red Priestess. Scarlett hadn’t known that, but she had ample opportunity to find out as she rode from Eastwatch to Castle Black. They rode through a blizzard, and everyone was covered in slow… except for her. Her crimson cloak was as pristine and untouched by white as when she had first put it on, covering her against the wind and the cold.

Scarlett found she wasn’t cold. Maybe she should have been… but she felt confidence and purpose infusing every step forward. She felt nothing but the warmth of R’hllor’s light… except when she thought of how she had deceived the man riding beside her to get here.

“Is that the castle ahead?” Jorah answered, cold but tall and proud in his saddle anyway. No northerner would let himself appear intimidated by a little snow.

“What else could it be?” Daario said, huddled beneath his cloak. His attention kept turning to the massive form of the wall of his right, unable to quite believe the sheer scale of it. Scarlett could understand… she had seen it in the flames before, and she almost couldn’t believe it either.

“No…” Scarlett said, peering through the snow. “I’m not sure what that is… It looks like walls. Low ones, and tents. There’s smoke from a fire.” She peered harder, and she saw a dark-clad rider pelting through the snow… and two more riding after him. Her instincts suddenly flashed. He was being chased… she had seen this in the flames too, a flash of the an onion standard, the rider beneath a black cloak. “My Lord, that rider… Protect him.”

“Go!” Jorah yelled, kicking his horses into a run. Daario and a few others were just a few seconds behind. In the distance, Scarlett could see a fight… a brief one. Then Jorah began talking with the rider. She rode up herself.

“…is dead,” the onion knight was saying. “The men under his command murdered him. I was riding for help.”

“You found it,” Jorah said. “Mutiny among the Night’s Watch is punishable by death.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, his eyes drifting over to the Scarlett as she rode up. His face visibly fell as he looked at you.

“What troubles you, sir knight?” Scarlett asked, pulling her hood back from her head.

“Just had my fill of Red Priests,” he said, turning away back to Jorah. “Ser Davos Seaworth.”

“Jorah Mormont,” he said.

“I have a guess why you came,” Davos said, gesturing at Scarlett. “The same reason Stannis came. You’re going to have a hell of a time get any of the men here to fight for you against Ramsey Bolton… not without Jon Snow to lead them. And he’s dead.”
“So bring him back,” Daario said.

Everyone looked at him.

“She can bring people back from the grave,” he said, defensively, gesturing at Scarlett. “If we need the Lord Commander, and his body’s in the Castle like they say, bring him back. What’s the problem?”

Jorah and Davos both turned to look at her. Jorah had both eyebrows raised.

Scarlett swallowed.


Ygritte had refused to let them men see her cry… even if it mean that she hadn’t been able to cry for Jon. He was dead… she hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping to see him rescue her. How much she had been depending on it. How much she didn’t want him dead anywhere near as much as she claimed.

She had suffered in silence beneath the gag, unable to stop the men from having their fun, but now that they had left her alone she had begun crying almost immediately. She sobbed harder than she could have guesses, curled up in a corner, crying, until the tears had frozen on her face. Only after hours of crying and sleeping and crying and sleeping did she wake up when she heard the door open again.

Ygritte steeled herself, knowing what was coming… another round with the fat crow and his bastard friends… but instead a woman walked into the room. She was young, younger than the wildling herself, and with hair an even more vibrant shade of red. Not quite as tall as the Ygritte, she carried a candle in front of herself, casting most of her face in light and shadow as she entered, looking over at the bound woman.

She knelt down, just out of reach of where Ygritte could lunge. Took in the raped woman, her bruised and scratched body, the cum stains on her thighs, but most of all the frozen trails of tears on her cheeks. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Maybe it was her sadness, maybe it was sheer exhaustion, but Ygritte didn’t feel up to glaring right now. She just closed her eyes and looked away.

“I saw you two together in the Light of my Lord,” the crimson woman said, peering at the wildling through the candle. “And I know you… I know you better than anyone ever has… anyone but Jon Snow, who now lies dead on a table. What would you give to be able to tell him? What would you sacrifice?”

Ygritte was looking at the priestess again now, silent behind her gag. She had started crying again… she hated herself for that, but she couldn’t stop. She just nodded, not knowing precisely what she was nodding to.

“I’m going to set you free, Northerner. And together, we are going to find and bring Jon Snow back.”


The castle was their, in effect if not in truth. Yanos Slynt and his close followers had been captured, but no one had official authority to condemn them to death. There hadn’t been much to stop Jorah from doing it, save for his sense of duty and obligation… northerners were funny that way… but it had been enough. Instead of slaying them on the spot, they had been imprisoned. The Ygritte girl had been brought down to Jon Snow’s tomb to await the Last Kiss… waiting to see her lover again in this life.

If her mind wasn’t so busy racing, Scarlett would be in a panic. Lying to Daario had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a lie that she couldn’t be called out on. Why hadn’t she thought he might need her to bring someone else back? She couldn’t possibly refuse to try without revealing the deception, her lord’s need was obvious and genuine. Daario wouldn’t be fooled again… and if the Seconds Sons lefts them now, all could be lost.

She had to make it work. The Lord of Light was guiding her steps, that much had been obvious for months, even before she had followed the candle light to a lover of the dead man, here in this very castle for her to find. The Church of R’hllor maintained that the Last Kiss had once been used to bring those favored by the Lord of Light back to this world… she believed those words. It had worked before. It could work again.

As she walked through the courtyard, she almost walked right into Mellisandre where she stood, waiting for her. “It can’t be done, sister,” she said.

Scarlett looked at the taller woman. Mellisandre was another native of Asshai, with the same pale skin, the same accent. They had met before, in Essos, years ago. She had never liked the older priestess. Never trusted her. There was… darkness, in her. A fanatical, slavish devotion that destroyed rather than protected, and a desire for power over service.

“Was it not you that wrote of the priest in the Brotherhood performing the rite?” Scarlett asked quietly. “It appears it can be done.”

“Not with him,” Mellisandre insisted. “I tried already. R’hllor decides who returns, sister… not us.”

Scarlett looked over Mellisandra, noticing for the first time the exhaustion in the woman, the despair in her eyes. Noticing the ice and snow that clung to her cloak and hair. “I see no sister of mine,” she whispered to the other woman. Then, without a word, she walked through the door and left her in the snow.


“What must I do?” Ygritte asked as she brushed a lock of Jon Snow’s errant black hair out of his face.

Scarlett walked around Jon in a slow circle, lighting the dozens of candles she had had brought down. As soon as she was finished, she took the one she had been carrying and dropped it into the brazier of coal before his head. The oiled coal leaped into flame, and she could see the reflection of those flames dancing in the wildling’s eyes.

“Strip him,” she commanded, moving to assist, lifting the dark, bloodstained cloak off his form. Ygritte unfastened his armor, fingers pausing a moment over the patched arrow-holes in the back of the tunic before dragging it off his form. Soon Jon lay naked on the wooden table, lit by dancing flames from each direction.

This was going to work. It had to work. “Love is for the living…” she whispered to herself. Turning to Ygritte, she continued. “Now… you have lain with him before? Do so again, the best you can.” Men were able to get hard for hours after their death, she knew. It might work. “And when I saw, get away from his mouth.”

Slowly, Ygritte bent over and, already starting to sob, she took his cock in her mouth. Scarlett didn’t know exactly what the woman was doing, but she seemed to really be giving her all. She couldn’t focus on that. Instead, she began to chant a devotion to R’hllor in High Valyrian.

The flames flickered and danced and grew as Ygritte climbed up over Jon’s body. In the second before she sank down on him, Scarlett could see that the man was hard… then he disappeared into her pussy as the naked wildling lowered herself down, sobbing as she rode him. The flames leaped higher. “I love you, you stupid crow,” she sobbed out. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Isse se ōños hen Rullor, iksā sigligon. Valar dohaeris, yn aōha service iksis daor gaomagon,” Scarlett chanted as Ygritte sobbed.

The wildling woman bent down to kiss Jon fervently. “Please…” she whispered. “Please…”

“Ondoso se perzys ao henujagon bisa vys, se ondoso se perzys ao māzigon arlī. Māzigon arlī naejot ūndegon se ōños istin tolī. Jorrāelagon iksis syt se living, se ābrar iksis syt jorrāelagon. Dohaeragon se ōños hen jorrāelagon!” Scarlett’s changing reached a crescendo as she ended facing away from Jon and towards the brazier. “Now,” she told Ygritte. Then she breached in the scorching hot fumes and smoke of the brazier, turned, and kissed Jon Snow, breathing the flame into him, giving him the fire of life… the Last Kiss.

And Jon Snow’s eyes leaped open in a rush.

Ygritte gasped. Scarlett almost fell down in shock. Jon let out a small cry. And then Ygritte’s mouth was back on his, kissing him, loving him. His hands rose up to hold her. Scarlett sagged backward against one of the walls, careful not to knock over one of the half a hundred candles she had lit, exhausted and relieved and excited and stunned all at once.

“Ygritte…” Jon moaned.

“Shut up and kiss me you bastard!” Ygritte hissed, diving down to press her lips against his again. She hadn’t stopped fucking him, Scarlett noticed. “How dare you die and leave me alone!”

“I thought I’d lost you…” he moaned.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she chiding, smiling at him. Then she kissed him again, and neither said anymore as Scarlett slipped out the door, leaving the two lovers together in the light of the flames.

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