Author's Note

I seriously can't thank any of you enough, seeing you following/reviewing just gives me so much confidence to keep writing, as well as motivation! I must admit I did like writing this chapter but also hated it. I find Jon a very difficult POV to write, alas he is a pretty important character to the story.

So here's the next chapter for you all! I don't have faceclaims in mind for my original characters but I do imagine Tom Hardy as Jasper because he's such a rugged bae.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my character's, everything else belongs to George R.R. Martin and HBO.

Chapter Two: Kissed By Fire

Jasper Waters

Dragonstone

Eighteen years ago

Fuck Robert Baratheon.

Fuck the Mad King.

And fuck the Lannisters.

If there was one thing that Jasper Waters wanted most of all, at that moment, it was to kill every last one of those bastards. He was consumed with a raging anger. The kind that was deep and formidable, like the smoke that came after dragon-fire. Smoke that could burned lungs to ashes – the kind which suffocated you whole and left nothing but the deep urge for whatever could quench the scorched pain of one's throat, whether it be air or the blood of one's foes. Jasper needed it all. He lusted for the honour to watch them all die, to do the honour himself and gaze as his own booted foot crushed against their skulls.

Jasper hated them with every fibre of his being. They had taken the soul of the one person he had ever cared for.

Rhaella Targaryen had faded away because of them, because of their war.

Others would have placed their blame to the children Rhaella had just borne, to the child that was nestled within his arms – but he didn't fault innocent children like lesser men. The war brought on Rhaella's early labour, the deaths of her family and son had caused her stress, a labour that he and Ser Willem Darry had known she wouldn't survive. Birthing one child had been hard enough for the Queen's body, the first girl having torn her way out of her mother so badly that the Queen had bled severely. By the second babe her body had been too weak to fight on. He would always blame them; the stags, the lions and wolves.

The babe – Elaenys – was silent but he could feel the child squirm lightly in his arms. He knew she was more than likely hungry and that her hunger would be the reason behind her irritated squirms. The bastard man had no children of his own. He never had any younger siblings to offer him the knowledge of how to care for a child, but he knew the smell of her mother's milk wouldn't help the child's thirst. As he looked down at the flushed face of the girl he felt immediate worry, the anxiousness he hadn't yet dwelled on when it came to how exactly he would care for the child. Jasper turned a corner as he followed along the cold halls of Dragonstone. He didn't know where they would go either. Darry would have taken the other two children east to throw the monster's trail off, far enough that no lord would be able to touch them. It would be some time until any of the idiots realised where Darry had taken the children. But if Jasper were to follow it could risk Rhaella's other children of being found earlier. He would have to find a sanctuary elsewhere.

He turned another corner but had his path blocked by another's body. On reflex, Jasper reached with his spare hand to unsheathe the knife which was tucked into the back of his trousers.

"Don't—" a feminine voice hissed but he grasped the blade in his hand anyway.

"I'm a friend," the woman's voice was thick with a Dornish accent, "I was to be her grace's wet-nurse, before I was a handmaiden for Queen Rhaella."

Jasper clutched the baby tighter in his arms as he looked at the brown-skinned woman in her nice silk dress – except what had once been just purple silk was instead splattered with blood. Clutched in her hands was a bloodied dagger each, her dainty palms marred in scarlet red. The mute raised an eyebrow at the strange woman but her response was to stand even taller than before. He admired it, the woman's stubbornness to not back down, even in a dangerous situation like this – yet he still wasn't sure if he could trust her. The baby girl in his arms wasn't some ordinary child. There was a price on the princess' head and people would do anything for gold and lordships, even turn in the baby of a mad king.

The Dornish woman however, wouldn't give up.

"I killed the men from here to the room that Queen Rhaella stayed in. We grab what we need or could use and we run, we run North. No one would ever think to look for a dragon in the snow."

Jasper still hesitated, even as the baby started to whine.

"We have to hurry, now," she hissed as her eyes glared at him with annoyance, only to shift to sympathy when they flickered to Elaenys.

She took a few steps backwards but didn't turn her back to him until she saw that he had stepped forward to follow after her. He knew nothing about children. He knew he wouldn't be able to look after the child by himself. This foreign woman had killed for Rhaella's daughter, the evidence proven when they passed the dead men she had spoken of, their bodies oozing blood that ran down the hallways. When they entered the room appointed to Rhaella during her stay at Dragonstone, a room that had once been hers as a child, he placed Elaenys on the bed. He and the Dornish woman were then quick to raid the room for whatever they might need. He grabbed one of Rhaella's cloak with the Targaryen sigil upon it, only then quickly clean the baby with a sheet from the bed before he wrapped her into the warm black cloak. He turned to see that the tanned woman had stopped before a dresser, a knapsack held in her hand as she looked at an object displayed on the wood top. Jasper went to take a few steps forward to have a closer look at what the woman was so fascinated about, but instead she answered his silent question for him.

"Queen Rhaella loved to look upon this as she bathed. She told me that her mother had passed it down to her to give to her own daughter one day…" the woman trailed off at the end of her sentence. A moment passed before she quickly grabbed the object and placed it in the bag.

When he grunted with disapproval but she simply glared back at him, pushing her way pass him and to the baby. He grabbed hold of her hand harshly before she could reach Elaenys and aligned his body in front of the baby for added effect.

"Let me pass you brute, the baby will freeze out there with no clothes on," she rolled her eyes and forced her way pass him and to the princess.

As she fixed what he had started, Jasper continued to scour the room as quickly as he could. He took silver and gold that the Queen had left lying around her room, as well as the jewellery they could sell without notice. When the princess was dressed, rewrapped into the black cloak and in the Dornish woman's arms they both left with their knapsacks in hand, they quickly made their way down the halls which weaved throughout the keep. The sound of their footsteps was all that could be heard. Many of the soldiers had left to meet the Baratheon army ahead of the stronghold and the servants had fled not long after. They had known that it wouldn't be much longer until Dragonstone was taken too, they knew that it would be their blood and their family's blood that would spoil the ground next.

They were met with no resistance as they escaped to the stables. All the horses had been taken except one, whose reigns were held in a middle-aged servant man's hand. The man looked at them with wide eyes that were filled with fear for who they might be. But when he saw the two, and their un-knightly attire, he relaxed and continued to pull on the reigns of the horse, a horse that they needed.

The Dornish woman, whose name he had yet to learn, stepped forth.

"That horse is not yours, boy."

"And it ain't yours either miss."

Her glare darkened, "No, but we need it more."

The servant man seemed to have grown balls in the short time that he had realised they weren't knights or lords who had come to kill him.

"Yeah? Why don' ya come an' take it from me then bitch?"

Her dark brown eyes flickered to Jasper with a pointed look in them. He knew what her dark eyes were demanding him to do because he had already come to the same conclusion. This man was a liability to them and tongues were always loose when gold was in the picture. They couldn't afford letting this man go, not when there would be a wild hunt for the last living Targaryens when it comes forth that some still live. His eyes notice an axe to the side and with a speed he hadn't known he possessed, he grabbed the weapon and rushed the servant man. With a throw of his arm he delivered the axe into the man's gut, a scream tore from the man's throat but Jasper ignored it as he watched the servant fall to the ground bleeding. The horse neighed and reared backwards but calmed when the Dornish woman pulled it away by the reigns to settle it. Jasper strode closer to the man who continued to wail on the ground and brought his foot down on the man's neck, breaking it and diminishing his screams.

Jasper had never killed anyone before, yet it had been so easy.

A hand grasped his shoulder and squeezed tightly.

"I know – but we can't stay here any longer. We have to go or we will die, she will die."

Jasper let her pull him away and to the horse. He lifted her, with Elaenys in her arms, onto the saddle then lifted himself on behind her.

Jon Snow

North of the Wall

When the Targaryen Queen finished her talk with Jon, he was led out from her tent by the wildling Tormund Giantsbane and to one of many communal areas of the camp. Most of the wildlings seemed to have retired to their own tents or furs for the night, a group however was still awake as they laughed around a single dying fire. All of them acknowledged the giant wildling beside him with respect, most of their eyes then straying to Jon expressing their clear distaste for him. Wildings didn't trust easy – or much at all really. He was lucky as it was to have not yet meet the end of any of their blades. With Tormund's guidance, they continued further in the direction of the wildings still awake. Amongst the group, Jon noticed the familiar red strands of hair and husk of Ygritte's voice. He couldn't fool himself into believing that he could trust the wildling girl, he however couldn't help but feel relief at seeing her there. Tormund shoved him forward in the direction closest to her, Jon's huff of annoyance drawing her attention to their approach.

Her hard-cold stare pierced at Tormund as she raised an eyebrow at the man. It reminded Jon of the stony look he had seen already, but in a pair of lilac eyes instead. The women beyond the Wall weren't like the maids and ladies he was used to. These women were wild, they possessed cold stones for eyes. The majority are fighters like their brothers and fathers. It was unnerving to Jon, particularly when his communication with the opposite sex had never been successful to begin with. He grunted in annoyance as he felt his body propel forward, a curse silent on his lips as he glared at the wildling man responsible.

"You wanted the crow?" Tormund was the one who kicked him to the ground so that he was now on his knees, "Here. 'ave him."

No other words were spoken between the two red-haired wildlings, no fighting like he expected. It shouldn't surprise him, she had fought for him to be where he was now. Jon could only assume that it meant she didn't hate him half as much as the others did.

A life for a life.

A debt.

"C'mon Jon Snow, I'll show you where we'll be sleepin'," Ygritte smirked as she stood from the fallen tree she'd been sitting on.

The red-haired girl walked away with a skip to her step. Jon couldn't help but imagine what it would like to see her hair fall between her shoulder blades, to sway with each skip she took. To see her in a dress like the girls wore in Winterfell… Jon immediately shook the image away and followed her. Thoughts like those were treacherous and, ultimately, too dangerous to fantasize over. He had to remember the vows he took. Already he had broken so many, he couldn't – wouldn't break more. Ygritte came to a small tent that he assumed to be hers. She passed him a change of clothes more suited for the free-folk and a small pile of pelts. He ignored the red head's smirk as he made his makeshift bed as far away from hers as he could, albeit due to the size of the tent it wasn't very far.

The last thing he had expected was to see a bloody Targaryen north of the Wall. But there she had stood, a beauty in all white furs with vibrant violet eyes that burned into your soul. Jon hadn't realised there had been another Targaryen, he never had the time to ask her the questions that she promised he could. Instead Elaenys had been pulled away by Mance to deal with clan fights amongst her garrison.

So here he was – Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark and a member of the Night's Watch now turned deserter – lying on his wildling pelts in a camp full of wildlings who wanted him dead.

"Don't you go pull a knife on me again, Jon Snow."

To say he found it hard to sleep that night was an understatement.

The next morning Jon was woken up along with all the other wildlings in the camp at first light. The Queen wanted to double their speed and lessen the time it would take to get to the Wall, or so he was told by Ygritte. The information left a bitter taste in Jon's mouth. Half of his brothers had been North of the Wall last time he saw. He could only hope that they were on their way back to Castle Black by now or were already there. He didn't doubt that the wildlings would kill them if they were to catch the Men of the Night's Watch still on this side of the Wall.

When Jon had finished getting ready he made his way out from the tent and towards the communal area where Mance and the rest were eating. There were ninety wildling clans who were apart of the garrison, almost every clan of the free-folk was a part of the Targaryen Queen's army. Jon had heard whispers around the campsite that the Queen could turn herself into a dragon and eats the flesh of men. Others say she burns her enemies at the stake. Jon wasn't sure which rumour made him sweat more. Dragons had been dead for centuries and no Targaryen in history had ever physically turned into one themselves. Something told Jon that the second piece of gossip could have been the truth. Their Queen, while she physically looked delicate to one's eye, was rather a force not be messed with. Her cold stare was enough to send chills down Jon's spine and having been raised as one of the wildings, Jon imagined that her skill base to kill and fight would be much like Ygritte's.

Speaking of, Jon's eyes made contact with the red-head. Her back was to him as she worked on arrows for her bow. Her fiery hair was blowing in the morning wind, and Jon couldn't help feeling enticed by it.

"She likes you, you know."

Jon startled when the voice of the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall spoke from behind him. He turned to face the smaller girl, her lips stretched into a smirk as she looked at him.

"Don't deny it, wolf. You're pitching a tent all for yourself."

Jon's cheeks flushed immediately, his head snapping downwards only to be met with nothing besides Elaenys' laughter. He looked at her and still managed to glare despite how pretty she looked smiling without a trace of anger on her face. She was beautiful like every Targaryen was and it was nice to see her not so intimidating like usual.

"You make it too easy Jon," she smirked as she laughed.

She pushed back her hair, straightening herself before she motioned for him to follow her.

The night before, after he had told her all he knew about the Seven Kingdoms, they had spoken of his journey to her campsite; what he did and why. When he had told her he wanted to be free she had scoffed in his face. So he told her about Craster and his sons, how Lord Commander had known. Jon wasn't sure how convinced she'd been, their conversation had been cut off before he could say much else to her. But he was still here, dressed in the garb of the wildings, a good sign if Jon had ever seen one.

"We'll be marching soon. Eat something before we go, you'll be walking most the day with little stops," she said with stoic eyes, "You're going to need your strength to survive out there."

She sauntered off, leaving him by the fire with only himself for company and protection. The others didn't trust him. Their queen had allowed him to stay but the scepticism was clear on their faces, they didn't like him and they probably never would. Resting next to the fire were skewered pieces of rabbit meat, at least what Jon assumed to be seeing as there wasn't much game to be hunted this far north. It hardly mattered to him what kind of meat it was, the wildlings were eating it without a problem so it meant the meat was safe at least. Jon grabbed one for himself and sat away from the others, he wasn't welcomed and he didn't care. He was used to being scorned by everyone's eyes, first at Winterfell by Lady Stark and then at the Night's Watch when he first arrived. It hardly surprised him to be on the other end of disdain, Jon was simply used to it by now.

The only people who had ever treated him with genuine kindness had been his siblings. To them he had simply just been Jon – Jon their brother. Sitting in the cold by himself, Jon couldn't stop his thoughts from straying to them for the hundredth time since he left them all in Winterfell and on the King's Road. In the depths of night when Jon allowed his doubts to surface he often thought about how he wished he could be with his siblings again. They all needed him when their father had been killed. Robb needed him when he first raised his and the North's banners against the South, and would still need him now as he continued his march. Arya and Sansa needed him to aid in their rescue from the Lannister's clutches, to bring them back to the North where they never should have left to begin with. Bran and Rickon needed him to protect them, to look after them like a big brother should.

He missed them.

He longed to be back with them but in his heart, Jon knew he couldn't live with being Jon Snow. His name made him feel inadequate, undeserving to revel in the warmth of his siblings who shouldn't have to feel like they had to accept him.

"You going to mope the whole time, Jon Snow? 'ere, eat this."

The curt and rough tone of Ygritte's voice broke Jon from his thoughts, only to pass him a makeshift bowl of what looked to be some type of soup. He hesitated at first which earned him a scornful laugh from the red-head, who found his hesitance both amusing and idiotic. It annoyed him greatly, but at the same time it was refreshing. Her blunt and witty attitude was uncommon south of the Wall. Many girls would take to blushing before ever calling him out on his nervousness. Ygritte didn't care. She was free to think and feel however she wished. She was fierce and didn't cower away from death. Not to mention that not once did he ever see disdain in her eye when she looked at him. Ygritte never sneered down her nose at him because of his birth. While she did at his title of "crow", she still found him… well Jon thought she almost found him amusing in a sense, an interesting amusement she wasn't accustomed to amongst her own people.

Taking the food she offered him, Jon began to eat as he ignored her comment. While the red-head was interesting, Ygritte still didn't know anything about his life to judge him. She didn't understand what it felt like to be scorned as he had. Being the bastard of an honourable lord was more painful than if he had been the King's bastard. Everyone knew that late King Robert had whored his whole life, that he had plenty of bastards running around Storm's End and Flea Bottom – more than likely stretching across all of Westeros too. She could poke fun at him all she wanted, but she would never understand what it felt like, how it feels to be a Snow.

"Awh – have I upset you, your lordliness?"

"I'm not a lord," he grumbled with annoyance.

"No," she smirked at him, "you were a crow and now you're one o' us, Jon Snow."

He looked up from his makeshift bowl so he could look at her instead. He was met with hard eyes, fierce and stormy blues that spoke volumes. They said everything that didn't need to be spoken aloud. He was a part of the wildlings now. He was no longer Eddard Stark's bastard son, nor was he a brother to the Night's Watch. Ygritte's eyes told him that if he wanted to live here with them – to survive – then those parts of him had to die, that he had to embrace this new self and become a part of the free-folk. Her eyes were so hard – ruthless – but beneath them he could see a pleading he never thought he'd ever see in her eyes. They were warning him of what would come if he didn't give in, if he didn't assimilate into the lifestyle of the free-folk. Jon couldn't answer her or acknowledge what she had said. It felt wrong to say anything when he knew that the first chance he got he would leave, run back to Castle Black and tell Lord Commander everything he knew.

That's if he even gets that far.

He could feel eyes on him wherever he went. If it wasn't the general population of wildlings, it was Ygritte and the three men who had been in the tent yesterday. Almost always it was the huge man who the Targaryen princess had called Jasper Waters. Waters. The name given to bastard children of King's Landing. It was strange to be so far north of the Wall and yet still be surrounded by reminders of home.

Jon looked back down at his bowl, avoiding having to answer as he let himself be consumed by his own self-loathing.

Five hours had passed since they had set off marching. Five long hours that Jon could feel bearing down on his shoulders with each step he took through the thick snow. Their marching had yet to stop, all of them travelling together at a steady pace that shocked him. No one seemed to be struggling as much as he was. This was their land and they knew it extensively well, so well that it sent a bead of sweat down the back of his neck. They had one-hundred thousand able people marching against the Wall, knowledge of the vastness that was this North and giants. Many had marched against the Wall before and while Jon didn't think they would win, they would however take many men with them. The Wall was already struggling when it came to numbers and supplies. If the wildings were smart they would wait them out.

Jon's eyes casted around to the people walking beside him as well as in front. It's been hours since he had last seen a familiar face. Shortly after they had started walking Ygritte had disappeared much like Elaenys Targaryen had. Tormund Giantsbane, Mance Rayder and the Queen's guard dog had also been missing. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He had expected them to follow him wherever he went. Looking at the swarm around him he guessed it hardly mattered if they were watching him or not. If he were to run now, then any one of the wildlings around him would put an arrow or sword through him as quick as they could. The thought left him in a bitter mood once again. Escaping back to his brothers at Castle Black wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped.

It was another hour of trekking through the snow until he was approached by Mance Rayder.

Mance's face was set into the same scowl Jon saw last night, a look that seemed to be permanently etched on the man's face. His dark, oily hair was tied back from his face yet strands still blew across his face with the bitter wind. He was in the same wilding garb as Jon, the one thing which he could appreciate about the wildlings; their furs were much warmer than that of the Night's Watch.

"We're about to stop to eat and rest before we march on again."

Jon wasn't sure what to say, instead he continued to look at Mance and nodded his head as answer. He thought that Mance would leave him like he had at the start of their marching, instead he stayed and walked beside Jon in silence – a silence that ended too quickly for Jon's liking.

"Was it hard for you to kill the Halfhand?"

Jon pursed his lips in aggravation, "Yes."

"You liked him?" Mance questioned with Jon nodding in answer, "Elaenys likes you, but if you're playing us false, it won't be hard for me to kill you. I've got wildling blood in my veins, she was raised by wildlings. These are our people."

He could feel Mance's eyes on him like a hot poker, assessing every move that he made. Jon knew that Mance didn't trust him, yet was willing to give him the benefit of doubt – they all were. None of them trusted him and yet he was still here, still breathing because their queen had decided he was useful to her.

"I understand."

Mance scoffed, "Well, how could you understand?"

They both stopped as Jon turned to face Mance, annoyed at the patronising nature of the older man. He sighed inwardly before he spoke, "You want to protect your people."

He watched as the wildling man pursed his lips, his dark eyes flickering to the people around them before he looked back to Jon.

"Do you know what it takes to unite ninety clans, half of whom want to massacre the other half for one insult or another? They speak seven different languages in this army. The Thenns hate the Hornfoots. The Hornfoots hate the Ice-River clans. Everyone hates the Cave-People. So, you know how one girl got moon-worshippers, cannibals and giants to march together in the same army?"

Half-way through the man's speech, Jon's eyes had drifted away to look at the men and women who were slowing their pace to start the short break they were being given. He knew there was an extensive number of clans and people banded together, yet hearing the words come from Mance's mouth made it more surreal. What they had achieved should have been impossible. But here he stood amongst what had once seemed impossible, he was marching along with a seemingly coherent body of soldiers.

Jon looked back up at Mance and shook his head with genuine disbelief, "No."

Mance inclined his head for Jon to follow him. Both trudged through the snow together until they were walking slightly away from the mass of people. Mance turned his head to Jon but didn't stop his walking, probing Jon to walk beside him.

"I remember the day that Elaenys Targaryen and her guardians crossed the Wall and into wildling country. I was still a part of the Night's Watch then, you see. The moment they arrived they were taken to Maester Aemon – you can guess why – and then by morning they were gone. No one knew who they were, no one cared to know. Eight years later I deserted my brothers while ranging north of the Wall. The clan that found me was the exact same that had found them years before. I recognised them when I saw them, it was when I saw her that it all made sense. With reason I lived with them, the free-folk had accepted me into their ranks but I was still a crow to them. It was four years later that a neighbouring clan tried to do anything about it. By then we were all living in a small wooden house, Elaenys was twelve and learning to fight like all the other children at that time. She was raised along with them and yet was still an outcast because she was a southerner. One day she didn't go to training like the other children… when we heard what had happened we were too late. The house was burning and little Elaenys was inside."

Jon's dark eyes widen with shock and confusion, his lips parting as he went to question what Mance meant. Mance stopped him before he could say anything with a sharp look, continuing his story.

"You've seen Jasper Waters, seen how much he loves that girl. It took ten men to keep him from running into that burning house, eleven before he killed a man. We all watched as the house burned, watched until it was ashes. It was then as the flames burned out, when there was only ashes remaining of our home that we saw her. There, in the midst of ashes, she sat naked as the day she was born and unharmed."

He hadn't thought he could feel any more shock than he already had. But Jon stood still, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Mance with more shock than he could comprehend. The man in return simply smirked at Jon, but he hardly cared, his mind was still stuck on the new information he had been told.

"The fire hadn't touched her. Not a strand of her white hair had been burned by the fire. That's what it takes to unite ninety clans, Jon Snow. That and the promise we'll all die if we don't get south. Half of this army thinks her a god, some think she's a witch or demon. Then there's the few who know the stories like you and I. The Targaryens… dragons made flesh."

"It didn't hurt her? At all?"

Mance chuckled deeply in his throat, "Aye, not a single mark was on her."

The older man licked his lips and glanced briefly up at the air, almost like he was expecting something to be there. They had stopped sometime during Mance's story, now with the story untold Mance began to walk forward again. He beckoned Jon to keep following, Jon could only assume that there was somewhere they needed to be as they passed the resting soldiers.

"She wasn't the only thing that came out of that fire."

Jon looked at Mance, brows furrowed deeply as he openly questioned what the man was saying. What else could have possibly survived such a thing? To most, fire was lethal.

"What do you mean?"

He needn't the answer from Mance. A chill hollowed his stomach leaving him empty as a large shadow casted over them all. Jon's eyes slowly trailed up to the sky, his eyes blinking slowly as they tried to grasp the image he was seeing.

All he could make out was silver and white, wings that stretched on and a tail.

Perched on its back was the Queen-Beyond-the-Wall.

Author's Note:

It might be a cliche, BUT COME ON. HOW COULD I NOT, I LIVE FOR THESE DRAGONS AND DIREWOLVES.

More Elaenys to come in next chapter!

I'm also very curious as to what you guys would like to see Jon do in this fic. I have a few ideas that I'm tossing up since this is obviously AU and is going to stray a lot from the ending of season three. I'd love it if you reviewed what you would like to see Jon do!

~ Mika