Kissed by Fire, Killed by Ice

BY : AryaStarkNaked
Category: G through L > Game of Thrones
Dragon prints: 4844
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones, nor any character created there. I make no money off of this work. Enjoy, constant readers!

Ygritte gave a low moan as her mind and eyesight swam back into focus. Unfortunately for the redhead, consciousness brought with it a dull, throbbing pain in her side. Her pale blue drifted down to her side, and stared in dull unrecognition at the arrow-hole in her milky pale side. It took her drowsy mind a few heartbeats to remember the little worthless archer that hit her, and thank the old gods that his aim was shit. A few inches to the right and she would have died there in the courtyard of the battle. But something was wrong, nagging at her.


She was cold. Bitterly cold, a fact that the pebble hardness of her nipples could attest to.


It took her another handful of heartbeats to realize what it was, and she cursed, muffledly swore, and started to struggle when she did. She was naked and bound by rope. Her lean, athletic arms were stretched by rope over her head to hang her from the imposing ceiling made of ice, while her fit and firm legs were secured with pitons and ropes to a similarly icy floor, spreading her thighs wide. Her toes slipped and slid against the ice, barely able to gain any purchase. A thick length of leather had been wrapped around her mouth and head to gag the fire-haired wildling, muffling her screams of rage and vengeance.


A chillingly familiar voice from behind her spoke and she cut off her cries to try to squirm around  to see the speaker “Do you remember when I told you I loved you?”


She couldn’t turn around her head enough, but the wild woman didn’t need to. Jon Snow’s gloved hand touched her back and caressed around her hip as he circled her to stand before her. Her rage-filled eyes shot daggers at the man, but he ignored her impotent glare, “You know, when you shot me?”


He traced his hand up her clearly showing ribs and cupped one of her tiny breasts, cruelly molesting it with lecherous squeezes, “I’m sorry, I lied. Everything I did with you, to you...everything I said was to get me alive back to the Watch.” His voice was laced with only a touch of sadness as he continued, “I was hoping you would bleed out there in the courtyard after you got hit. But you clung to life.”


Ygritte suppressed a moan of pleasure at her ex-lover’s touch, which turned to a gagged hiss of pain and deep hurt as the bastard from the south captured and squeezed the hardness of her nipple as he spoke. “So...something else had to be done to you. You’re in an ice cell. A small room dug into the side of the Wall. And here, Ygritte, you will be entombed for all time for your crime of attacking the Night’s Watch.”


Ygritte struggled and bucked from Jon’s touch, and her nipple slipped out of his pinched fingers. Jon Snow’s face could have been carved from ice for all the expression it showed as he watched the woman shake her mane of fire-red hair back and forth in desperate rage. The wildling tugged at the rope holding her arms up, and the rope burned into her wrists.


The bastard before her lifted his gloved and slid it through her hair. In disgust she turned her head away, causing him to retract his hand “Kissed by fire, you said. You’re going to see what happens when Fire meets Ice.”


Ygritte can’t see to whom he nodded to behind her, but her muffled screams turned to an anguish cry of surprise as a massive bucket of cool water splashes onto her. The water causes her hair to cling to her naked form and runs rivers down her lean body. Comprehension dawns in her eyes as they widen and stare at the man before her. Her cry takes on a frenzied tone as the strong, once-proud warrior breaks and begs through her gag for mercy.


Jon’s face held no mercy as he nodded again, and another bucket of water crashes upon her from behind, this time drenching down her shoulders and soaking her breasts. A shiver was already upon the wildling’s small and naked frame as she continued to stare into the eyes of her executioner.


It wasn’t much of a surprise to Jon to see Ygritte still struggling, using all her lean strength to pull and tug at the ropes binding her to her death, doing anything to survive. After all, he did everything he could do to survive once too. Even fuck this whore. This time he spoke the command aloud.




The third bucket splashed over her lower half, and her strong leg muscles tensed, pulling ineffectually at the ropes that constrained them. Her small, almost boyish tits heaved with her breath as her struggles started to, slowly, diminish as the water did its inevitable march to become ice. Her breath started to become laborious as the chill seeps into her lungs.


Jon’s pitiless grey eyes watched as the wildling woman trembled in her freezing bondage, her breath spilling cold fog out of her mouth. His gaze left her briefly as he nods again to his brothers behind her.


This time she barely twitched as the bucket of water splashes over her. His gaze bore into hers as he watched the exact moment the last of her hope and will seep out of her, as the once proud wildling woman began to cry. Her lower lip began to tremble against the gag, and the tears left a wake of ice crystals down her cheeks.


He watched as blueish color  began to creep over her skin as the flow of her blood struggled against the ice-cold temperature. Her eyes slid away from his, to stare sightless at the icy floor to await her demise. She barely clung to consciousness as the nearly frozen piece of leather was pulled away from her mouth, and the dying wildling barely even twitched as long strips of her cheek’s skin were pulled away with it.


She heard a voice say, as if from far away in some distant cave, a cave from so long ago,  “I know my father taught me, ‘the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, look into their eyes, and hear their last words.’ Do you have any last words, Ygritte?”


Her teeth began to chatter as her eyes lifted, only remnants of life remaining at this point, staring at the man standing before her. Her lips, covered in sparkling ice crystals quivered, and she attempted to whisper something. Her once-lover, now executioner stroked her fire-red hair out of the way to better reveal her blue face, before leaning in to hear her.


“You know nothing, Jon Snow…”, she sighed, dying.


The Night’s Watchman leaned back to stare at her face, and saw that there was a film of ice over her eyes, and her lower lip’s quiver was slowing. Her hair, he remembered, once brilliant in the the light of that hidden warm spring, was now frozen solid above her blue-tinted face. A final series of foggy exhales wheezed out of her blue lips, and her body shuddered in final death.


At last the cold, merciless chill of the ice overcame the woman kissed by fire, as a thin layer of frost began to spread on her creamy white skin. Jon Snow stared at the beautiful frozen corpse a long moment, before leaving the ice cell and ordering the makeshift door sealed forever.

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