Jon Snow was lying in a bed when he gained conciousness after days of a painfilled haze. Ygritte had shot him. Three arrows had ripped through his body, and he had somehow made it back alive to Castle Black on horseback. Jon's whole body ached as he slowly sat up. A warm furr was cast over his legs and bandaged chest. A fire was burning in the fireplace before him, and Samwell was sitting in a chair next to it. He was sleeping, resting his chin against his chest. Jon smiled. Seven hells, he had missed the other deeply.
"Sam." Jon croaked, his voice rough, and he could not speak as loud as he wished. But it woke the other man up. He could not have been sleeping very deep. Sam jumped a little at the sound of Jon's voice and blinked his eyes open.
"Jon, what are you doing sitting up?" He walked up to him. "Lie down, you dummy." He continued, and gently pushed at Jon's uninjured shoulder. Jon did as he said, still feeling tired from his long slumber. "You should rest now, my friend."
"What are you doing here, Sam? Should you not be with the maester?"
Sam smiled, a small tug of the corners of his lips. "The ravens have already been fed, and I wanted to be here when you woke up." The smile disapeared. "The maester got a raven, and I read it to him and-" Samwell choked on his words and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap.
Jon frowned. "What did it say, Sam?"
Sam took a deep, shaky breath before he looked Jon in the eyes again. "The king of the north is dead. The young wolf and his mother were killed at the twins." He put his hand on Jon's arm hesistantly. "Your brother is dead."
Time stopped. Jon could not breathe. He felt numb, and suddenly the fur was cold. He wanted to scream and cry, and stab and kill with Longclaw. Instead he just closed his eyes. His mind went back to the last time he saw Robb. To that warm, loving embrace, Goodbye Brother. Robb was supposed to come and visit him at the wall. Oh God, Jon should have left the crows and gone to fight with Robb when he had the chance. He should have been there, protecting him. Fighting by his side. "How did it happen?"
"Walder Frey had them murdured." Sam ran a hand through his hair and took a shaky breath. "There was a wedding. Edmure Tully was marrying one of his daughters. They didn't stand a chance. Most of the northeners were killed." Jon opened his eyes. They were glistening with unshead tears. "I'm sorry, Jon."
Suddenly Sam was struggling to hold him down, Jon was screaming and thrashing in his bed. In the midst of his screams and promises to kill every Frey that lives, he vaguely heard Sam trying to calm him down.
"You'll tear the stiches."
Jon sagged against his friend. A loud sob finally leaving his throat. He let his grief take over, and soon his whole body was conulsing with sobs and cries. His brother was dead. His best friend was dead. Robb was dead. He thought of the auburn curls, the charming smile. The contagious laugh, that used to make Jon warm inside to think about. Now it just made him ache. Everything came crashing onto him. They did everything together growing up, training, learning how to ride a horse. They pulled pranks on their father's men. They used to take a swim in the pond in the Godswood. Before when they were just boys, and there was no war to fight, no wall to protect. When all Starks were together and Winterfell was home.
Jon felt lonely for the first time since he came to Castle Black. He longed for home. He missed Arya and her jokes and pranks on Sansa. Oh, sweet Sansa, how he wished he could hold her right now. He wondered if Bran could handle the bow and arrow better now, and how much Rickon had grown. Hell, he even missed Theon teasing him a little bit. But most of all he missed Robb. Jon wondered how it would be to see him, just one more time. How much the war and responsibilities as a king had changed his brother. How fast did he have to become a man? Would he have smiled when they met? Would he embrace him? Would they have stayed up all night talking and talking until the sun started rising over the tree tops? It would be like coming home.
His face was wet with tears, and he was openly sobbing in front of one of his brothers, looking weak and probably sounding pathetic. But he did not care. He did not care about anything at the moment. He closed his eyes hard, and inside his mind he prayed to the Gods to turn back time. So that when he opened his eyes again it would be father holding him, saying it was all a bad dream. That Robb was still alive, so was Catelyn. That Sansa and Arya were home arguing as usual.
"I'm so sorry Jon. It's gonna be alright."
It was not father speaking softly to him. It was still Sam. And the cold in the room did not come from the winds of Winterfell. It was still the cold breeze from the wall. Life had changed so long ago, and it sure was not going to turn back because a bastard prayed for it.
Robb would stay dead. And Jon would stay lonely.