The room in castle black was cold with biting air. Tormund and the Red Witch had left when Jon did not breathe. Ghost lay curled on the wooden tiles, red eyes burning. Jon's skin was pale like any dead body should be. The wounds on his chest where Olly and his watch's brothers had stabbed him were still there - dark red to black now. Mere moments of long silence pasted. Everyone had left the room now. Even Davos, who had had faith in the Witch's spell.

You hadn't. No faith, and not left either. The only one still in the room. You had travelled North to seek refuge in Castle Black, which was perhaps the only place you had allies, with Jon as Lord Commander. When he died, Ser Davos made it to keep you safe. Now, you hadn't left his side.

Jon's body lay on the table. You knew you shouldn't be here. Should've left when the others did. But you couldn't. The floorboards creaked as Ghost moved in his sleep. Outside the wind howled and snow fell in flurrying storms. The fire from the Witch's spell crackled. You watched his body. Tormund had offered to burn him. Davos had stopped him. The Red Witch had not wanted to bring him back, and you had not let her. When she did, he did not come back. Now, he was there, lifeless like he had been, white as the snow of his name and cold like the storm outside. Winter was here, you thought. The Starks had always said that.

Another floorboard creaked. Wind howled. And then - almost like you imagined it - Jon gasped. Rigid, he moved up as if he were still being stabbed. The sound was grating and cut through the air like swords.