Chapter Text
When Jon awoke he was back in his old room at Winterfell buried under blankets with Ghost asleep at his feet and a hot body pressed against his back. Laying on his side looking out the window as the snow fell, like when he was a child. Tormund’s snoring and the crackling fire tried to lull him back to sleep, as he felt it. Despite the piles of furs and Tormund’s ever-present heat, Jon felt the cold crawl around him seeping into his bones like he was back in the true north.
But he wasn’t. He was home. Jon rolled stiffly onto his back as his teeth started to chatter and his fingers went numb. He shivered violently as Tormund started to wake.
“You’re a hard man to keep warm, my pretty crow.” Tormund teased with a chuckle as if Jon wasn’t freezing to his death beside him. Tormund rolled on top of him, whatever warmth the blankets and the walls gave Jon were gone. It felt like they were making love outside in the frozen waste. Their lips met in a warm kiss, Tormund’s calloused hands caressed his body leaving a trail of heat. The wildling bit into his neck, nibbling and kissing as he went down to his collarbone freshening the marks he made last night. As he went farther south, Jon’s body felt a battle of hot and cold on his flesh, his hands tangled themselves in a mess of red, pulling Tormund down on him trying to capture whatever warmth he could.
Then he felt it a pain so intense Jon cried out for Tormund to stop but his cries were ignored. He felt old wounds reopen and blood flowed freely. Jon pulled at Tormund trying to get him to stop, as tears and blood ran together, crying “Stop, Stop!” and when Jon finally pulled Tormund up he saw the blood smeared across the other man’s mouth and instead of his green eyes, Jon saw white.
Tormund launched forward with an inhuman screech, Jon cried out again, screaming no over and over as loud as he could as Tormund tried to kill him. In a moment of luck, the white walker fell to the floor and Jon was on top of him, Long Claw in his hands and he stabbed Tormund right in the heart. Once he felt the blade slide through, Jon closed his eyes tight, holding back a sob as he sagged against the blade. With the white walker now dead, Jon climbed off the body, sobs wracking his chest and he struggled to breathe as he brought Tormund’s head in his lap. He looked down on his dead lover and saw that his blood was no longer on Tormund’s lips and that his eyes were green and wide with pain.
“Jon.” Tormund groaned and a hand latched onto Jon’s shoulder. They were both naked, Jon looked around trying to ground his thoughts when he saw it, a dagger stuck in Tormund’s belly. That’s when it all came back to him.
Jon was back in Winterfell, he took it back from Ramsay. He was named king in the north and last night Tormund had fucked him in a proper bed.
“Tormund. Tormund, no, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I didn’t mean…” Jon sobbed with guilt and terror. “Help, someone get a maester!” Jon cried out loudly, hoping someone would hear.
Jon kept screaming for help, he only stopped when he heard yelling from outside. He looked down at the wound he was pressing weight on.
“Jon look at me.” Tormund groaned, a hand trying to grab on to Jon. “My pretty crow.”
The name brought Jon out of his panic, the younger man looked up from the wound trying to catch his breath. He kept babbling, “I’m sorry.”
“Jon. I forgive you. I forgive you, Jon Snow.” Tormund told him, trying to put what every energy he had into forgiving Jon, as well as placing a kiss against the crow’s forehead.
That’s when the guards burst in with Davos and a maester. Someone pulled him away from Tormund as another to his place. Davos was next to him, covering him in a cloak and pulling him out the door. Jon tried to fight, he wanted to stay with Tormund, but the door closed in front of him and he fell against the wall.