"Winter's Wail"
Disclaimer: 'A Song of Ice and Fire' is owned by George RR Martin.
A/N: This may or may not be a one shot.
"For the Watch." [Bowen Marsh] punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it. Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. 'Stick them with the pointy end.' When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold…"
~A Dance with Dragons
The cold burst like grapefruit in Jon's veins, its sharp flavour splashing through his blood and chilling his body until he was no longer aware he had one. Light, like a thousand diamonds woven together on a patchwork field of crystal, was all he could see until the shimmering tapestry cracked and splintered, a horrendous wail of thunder emanating from its dark, burgeoning fissure. The split that formed shook and trembled, devouring its glacial diamond cliffs and swallowing Jon's world whole.
A frozen wasteland of darkness reigned supreme in his sight, the dying embers of a winter wind's last howl the only sound to comfort him. He felt a cold sigh against his soul, and then remembered the taste of salty tears on his tongue as he thought of all the goodbyes he had tasted and all the more he had missed.
The regrets burned inside him sweeter than a summer's kiss and warmer than the Dornish sun. They swirled around the frigid obsidian air like tendrils of flame whispering to one another before he was consumed by their eager prose. Their voices gathered and bubbled within him until they sang a song of hope and promise, light and love.
He raised a hand out to touch the flames and they cooled, his flesh pale and white like the snow he was named for. Steam and smoke rose from his skin as the flames melted around him. The darkness that had ripped the world in two was fleeing now as the fire flickered and showered the night with stars.
Jon watched them spark, one by one, as he sat up in this new blazing world, a searing heat radiating up from the core of his being. His blood was hot and humming as it sung through him, the melody of life.
He stood in the fire, the long summer of doubt at his back, the dream of spring stretched forever before him, elusive and seductive. To either side lay only the wails of winter, the song inside him trembling at their screech.
Jon embraced the cold.