It felt…lighter in some ways, heavier in others. What should have felt normal to him now seemed alien. Jon raised his hands up to examine them and curled his fingers into fists before relaxing them, almost like a child exercising their motor skills for the first time. It is as I said: you are barred from death…Jon Snow." "Suspended in the thin void between the worlds of the living and dead. "Trapped between two states." The bright thing said. "Where…" It felt strange, to say the least, being unable to draw breath and yet speak perfectly as if all was normal. It was during this reflexive moment that Jon noted the absence of something else. Gloved hands padded around his chest, tracing the fresh stab wounds which he had incurred.
He tried to draw breath, but couldn't feel the familiar rise of his chest, nor the hungered ache of his lungs. Trying to perceive anything was like trying to see through turbulent waters while submerged, and yet…something stood constant in the heart of the storm. He was standing in some void, vast and incomprehensible in scope, filled with chaotic, incoherent masses that shifted in and out of perception. Trained him, loved him like one of his own brothers- the real ones, in Winterfell, not these…shadows…where were the torches? He felt the snow compressed beneath his back, saw the distant glimmer of stars overhead…then nothing.
He'd taken Olly in when he lost everything. The Dead marched against them and these traitors would focus on fighting the Free Folk! He had to breathe, he had to live, to rise…to fight… What would happen next? The White Walkers marched against them. These aren't my brothers…Robb…oh Robb…I shouldn't have left… Was that not what brothers did for one another? He had just made the mistake in believing others would follow him, however begrudgingly. When Jon saw the boy's expression falter he suspected that he had succeeded in at least mouthing his message. He could only stare, stare into Olly's furious eyes. Jon felt his lips move, but there was little if any breath left in him to form words. "For the watch." Olly declared, tugging his arm back and taking his place among the other cloaked figures surrounding Jon, staring down at him in a silent mixture of remorse and resolve. Were he not the one to have received the blade's kiss he would have found it almost, perhaps morbidly, amusing that it would be the young boy standing before him, tears welling in his eyes, to break his heart both figuratively and literally. A cold breath was expelled from Lord-Commander Jon Snow's chest as the knife slid between his ribs, striking true where the others had just barely missed their mark.
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