Work Text:
Jon stared into the distance, propped up in his childhood bed by a mountain of pillows; pillows which caressed his damp, curly locks. Cold sweat ran along his pale skin, shimmering in the pre-dawn light.
The sheets were stained a bright red, evidence of Jon’s resurrection slowly unravelling.
The only sound that broke the oppressive silence of the coppery-scented room was that of Jon’s rapid, shallow breathing.
There was so much red.
Frozen in the doorway, Sansa fought hard not to burst into tears as she took in the state of her brother, her last brother, lying in what was soon to become his deathbed.
“Sansa?”
Mindlessly turning toward the voice, Sansa saw that it was her sister, Arya, who had pulled her from her dark thoughts.
She could tell the exact moment Arya understood there was no hope. It did not take long at all for her to realise, for had any been capable of healing their sibling, they both knew she would not be alone.
“What’s that?” Arya said quietly instead, tilting her head at the blue flowers brushing her thighs.
“They– they are for Jon. I… A soldier- I overheard him speaking to someone about seeing them in the spot Jon slayed the Night King. Swearing by it. I asked for a volunteer to go out and confirm his claims and to collect a bouquet for me if Winter roses had indeed bloomed. They are the first flowers to grow since the Long Night arrived. And they did so in a single day. It must have been magic or, or perhaps the Gods had a hand in it, I don’t know but– but I thought...”
Sansa trailed off, forced in large part by the lump in her throat. “I thought they would be nice to place in here, for Jon to see, seeing as he will not get to see spring arrive.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, vision swimming in ripples. Her eyes flew open, startled from attempting to regain composure, when she felt something on her arm.
Arya stood there, understanding and grief written across her normally emotionless features.
“They are meant for him then,” Arya declared solemnly while tugging her over to the bed. She took the flowers, placed them on the nightstand, and retook her seat and her hold on Jon’s hand.
Kneeling on the fur rug, Sansa was close enough to see just how much Jon had deteriorated. When she took his hand in hers, she almost recoiled from how cold and clammy it felt.
“Jon? I am here, brother. And I brought you flowers. Winter roses.”
Jon hummed.
It took a good few minutes for distant Stark grey eyes to meet her own clear Tully blue, but when they did, they were rewarded with a wobbly smile.
Jon blinked in dull succession. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing one breathless word laced with confusion.
“Flowers?”
Sansa latched onto the question with palpable desperation and nodded vigorously.
“Aye. They are for you, Jon.”
Jon frowned.
A pained silence, filled only by laboured breathing, followed, until: “But…no…flowers, San…Gone. All…gone.”
“You made them. You brought them back. Here, look.”
She leant over Jon’s prone body and plucked a single rose from the nightstand, bringing it over to his clear line of sight.
“See?”
In awe, Jon sluggishly lifted an arm, reaching for the rose.
Sansa helped wrap his trembling fingers around it.
“We…won? Long Night…over? Others…gone? Safe? Everyone…?”
Jon spoke in such a fragile, almost childish voice, that it pierced right through Sansa’s heart like a dagger.
“Aye, Jon. Don’t you remember? You killed the Night King. The sky is already showing signs of the sun rising. Winter is over,” Arya prompted, in as gentle a manner as she possessed now.
“R’mem’er...?” Jon asked himself blankly before recognition lit up his eyes. “Aye. …Do. I did it.”
Arya smiled at him softly. “You did. You saved us. Saved everyone.”
Jon blinked again, many times, until Arya’s words registered and he smiled softly to himself.
“Jon–,”
But Jon shook his head weakly in a sudden burst of clarity, dropping the Winter Rose to slowly reclaim his sisters’ hands, bringing them to his stomach and forming a pile of blood-stained skin.
“…have…ta pr’tect…each ozer.”
He gasped and then groaned in pain, yet he forged on like the warrior he was, “You’re…all each ozer…has left…last of…pack. Lone wolf…pack su’vives. …Pr’mise me you will. Pr’mise me.”
“We will,” Arya reassured, voice cracking.
“Pr’mise me.”
Teardrops joined the red flow of dwindling life, mixing sorrow and grief into a pool of anguish and despair.
“We promise.”
Jon’s shaky smile dropped as soon as it appeared. He turned an ashen grey.
Wounds that had wept steadily now gushed a thick and heavy stream of dark crimson.
Dilated eyes rolled around, drifting in and out of focus.
Not a minute later, Jon’s limbs went limp, his face slackened, and his lips parted.
Glassy eyes locked on the ceiling, fixed wide open.
What was short, frantic breathing was now a wet and weak wheeze. Every inhale a fruitless struggle. His blue neck veins bulged faintly while his chest violently heaved for air that would not come.
It would all be over soon, Sansa thought with grim resignation. A cold comfort which was no comfort at all as she held tight to the brother who could no longer hold her back.
Had her faith not abandoned her long ago, she would have prayed until her knees ached for the gods to show mercy and save Jon.
But the gods gave no mercy.
Not to a little dove trapped in a gilded cage.
Not to a family of wolves who should never have lost any of their pack.
And not to her brother, a hero who saved the world, a good man who should have lived a long and happy life instead of dying in a bed of blood.
In a room that smelled of blood and roses.
Honorary Endnote (Because I don't know how to get a link to work in endnotes lol):
Link for Hemorrhagic Shock & Tamponade Table
This is a link to a table that tracks the stages Jon goes through from story’s beginning to its end. It’s for any readers who want to know more about the mechanics of Jon’s death, if for nothing else but to fact-check what I wrote.
My table offers a (hopefully thorough but brief) coverage of the stages Jon goes through. It lists the classes of hemorrhagic shock as well as the cardiac tamponade arrest that Jon experiences. It covers Jon’s wound status, the percentage of blood lost, minutes until final arrest, the timeframe for Jon’s window of speech, and how/why Jon’s body reacts.
A lot of research has gone into making everything as medically accurate as I can (with the knowledge that there is an element of magic to Jon’s death).
(Should you notice any medical discrepancies or incorrect facts in my story, please do mention it so I can go about fixing them.)