first we'll live


Raphael checking out Simon because this is very important.


— Swimming? In the storm? She laughed at the notion. Is this a trick t’ get the clothes off me, Jon Snow?“
— Do I need a trick for that now? he teased. Or is that you can’t swim a stroke? Ygritte punched his arm. 
—You know nothing, Jon Snow. I’m half a fish, I’ll have you know.


Maybe we’re in emergency mode, reacting instead of acting.

first we’ll live || jon+ygritte

He loved her. 

He had never stopped loving her, even when he shed his crude sheepskins for his old black cloak. He had remained loyal to the Night’s Watch in vows, but in his heart he still belonged to her. As she stood under the moonlight, pulling her arrow back, flaming red hair shimmering in the night, he knew she wouldn’t kill him.

And she had not. Instead she had been roughly captured and dragged off; to what end Jon Snow could not tell.

Now the battle was over. Jon stumbled through the courtyard of Castle Black, limping from the pain that seered through in his leg and side, He found himself staring across the sea of bodies that lay scattered in crimson blood. Maimed bodies of his brothers mixed with the bodies of wildlings; one in death. The wounded were among them, groaning and screaming in agony. 

    They would need to burn the bodies before nightfall. 


It was the dawn of early morning when Jon found her, bound and chained in a prison cell. Alive. She was alive. He would have dropped his torch and ran to her. Instead he stood still, watching the light of flame fall on her hair. 

“Ygritte,” he whispered, daring to hope that she still loved him.