Chapter 114: You Know Many Things*
Winter's Heaven glowed beneath the vast northern night sky like a beacon of defiance and hope. Thousands of electric lights illuminated the winding streets, casting warm golden halos against the gently falling snow. Music surged through the kingdom like a living heartbeat—fiddles, drums, and voices blending into raw, triumphant songs. Steam trains hissed into the grand station, carrying visitors from the newly built towns along the frontier. Food stalls filled every avenue with the rich scents of roasted meats, spiced cider, and honeyed pastries. Children ran laughing through the snowdrifts, while soldiers who had faced weeks of tension at the borders now drank together, clapping one another on the back in shared relief.
For the first time since the brutal attack on the stations, the kingdom felt truly alive again. Whole. Breathing.
Jon Snow walked slowly through the upper district, his heavy coat hanging loosely over his broad shoulders. The cold northern wind brushed his face, carrying the sharp bite of pine and frost. For once, there were no reports in his hands, no council meetings, no military maps marked with threats. Just a few precious hours of peace.
A familiar voice cut through it immediately.
"Hiding from your kingdom again, Lord Crow?"
Jon sighed without turning. "Ygritte."
"Aye." Her tone was pure mischief.
He glanced back and instantly regretted it. Ygritte wore dark leather clothing fitted for movement, the laces at her collar deliberately loosened. The supple material clung to her form, and as she moved, it offered teasing glimpses of smooth, flushed skin. Her red hair flowed freely over her shoulders, snowflakes catching in the strands like tiny jewels. That dangerous grin curved her lips—the one that always promised trouble.
Jon narrowed his eyes. "You're planning something."
"Maybe." She fell into step beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm with every stride. Entirely intentional. Jon noticed. Ygritte noticed him noticing, and her grin widened.
The streets remained crowded with celebrating citizens. People greeted their king warmly. Jon returned the nods calmly while Ygritte watched him from the corner of her eye.
"You really don't notice it, do you?" she asked.
"Notice what?"
"How women look at you. Like they're wondering what's beneath that coat."
Jon nearly rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."
"I'm serious."
"No, you're bored."
"A little," she admitted with a smirk. "But I'm also right."
Jon chuckled softly. Ygritte's eyes sparkled triumphantly. "There it is. That smile."
They wandered into a quieter market street where the festival noise softened to a pleasant hum. Snow drifted lazily. Ygritte paused at a wooden stall displaying hunting knives. She leaned forward to examine one, bending at the waist with deliberate slowness. The leather stretched across her body, and the loosened collar gave Jon a generous view of her cleavage. Her "melons," as his distracted mind unhelpfully supplied, looked soft and inviting in the firelight. He stared longer than he should have.
Ygritte straightened slowly, catching him. The smug grin was waiting. "You stared."
"You did that intentionally," Jon said, keeping his face calm even as heat rose in his neck.
"Did what?" She blinked innocently, tilting her head so more red hair spilled forward.
Jon snorted. "You are absolutely impossible."
"Aye." She looked proud of it. "And you like it."
They continued walking. Ygritte stayed close—too close—her arm grazing his repeatedly. Later, as they passed another stall, she bent again to inspect some furs, offering another deliberate cleavage show. Jon's gaze lingered. Nice melons indeed, he thought, before forcing his eyes away. She straightened and shot him a knowing look, clearly pleased with herself.
The streets thinned as they reached a stone balcony overlooking the city. Electric lights stretched endlessly below. Steam rose from factories like dragon's breath. Trains crossed glowing rails like rivers of light. Everything Jon had built stood thriving.
Ygritte rested her arms on the railing, leaning forward enough that her leather tunic again offered a tempting view. Jon joined her, hyper-aware of her presence.
"You still blame yourself," she said quietly.
"People died."
"Aye." She turned to him fully. "And if you carry every death forever, there won't be anything left of you." She stepped closer, her body heat cutting through the chill. Then she moved behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist, pressing tightly against his back. Her curves molded firmly into him—soft, warm, and impossible to ignore. Her chin rested on his shoulder, lips brushing his ear.
"You think too much," she whispered. She shifted deliberately, pressing even closer.
Jon exhaled shakily, gripping the railing. "You're causing problems again."
"Aye." Her voice was low and pleased. The warmth of her body, the subtle movements as she held him, made concentration nearly impossible.
"Gods, Ygritte…"
She laughed softly near his ear. "Nervous, Your Grace?"
He turned slightly in her arms until their faces were dangerously close. Her eyes were dark with heat. "No."
"Liar." Her fingers traced slow patterns along his chest. Jon's gaze dropped briefly to the generous swell of her breasts visible in the loosened leather. When he looked back up, her expression had softened into something warmer, hungrier.
"You know nothing, Jon Snow," she murmured.
He leaned in. "Oh, I know many things."
For a moment, she looked genuinely flustered. Then she laughed—loud and real. Nearby guards suddenly found the opposite direction very interesting.
Ygritte narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're enjoying this too much."
"You started it."
"And you're learning fast." Her hand pressed flatter against his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
"I had a good teacher."
She stared at him, then muttered, "Oh, he's dangerous now."
Jon laughed. The weight in his chest had grown lighter these past days. Ygritte's wild chaos helped.
She grabbed his hand suddenly. "Come on."
"Where?"
"You ask too many questions." Her grin was wildfire.
Despite every instinct, Jon followed. They reached a private residential building in the upper district. Ygritte pushed open the door and glanced back, eyes gleaming. "You coming or not?"
Jon paused, then sighed. "I've made worse decisions."
She laughed and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut behind them.
Outside, the festival continued—music swelling, laughter echoing, snow falling gently. But from within the building, a woman's moans could occasionally be heard between quieter moments, low and unmistakable through the night. Ygritte's voice, filled with pleasure, carried on the cold air now and then.
---
The next morning, Jon walked through the upper district looking far too calm and satisfied. That alone made Tormund Giantsbane suspicious.
Ygritte appeared several minutes later, smug and victorious, though she kept rubbing her jaw with a slight wince while shooting glares in Jon's direction.
Jon sipped hot cider, the picture of innocence.
"You are never allowed to look smug again," Ygritte declared, pointing at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Liar." She stepped closer, voice dropping with double meaning. "Your mouth still sore from last night?"
Jon's smirk widened slightly. "You seemed very enthusiastic. Couldn't get enough, apparently."
Ygritte's eyes widened in disbelief before she threw a piece of bread directly at his face. Jon caught it effortlessly and took a bite.
Tormund looked between them, then grinned like an absolute menace. "Oh-ho. Finally."
Jon stood abruptly. "I'm leaving."
Ygritte burst into laughter while Tormund nearly choked on his drink.
And for the first time in many long days, Jon Snow truly felt alive again—body, heart, and soul lighter than they had been in far too long.
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Author's Note:
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