They’re here.
Were they here? When would they be here?
Jon Snow could not remember the last time leadership disinterested him so. Since the time he had seen Samwell’s blank face, many had come to start conversation. Thoros, despite losing Beric to his Lord of Light, tried to pass the time with sorry japes. Edd tried to make his mind focus on the coming war, whenever he had the time. Even Tormund, a man not known for this form of camaraderie, chipped in with infrequent counsel. “We go on,” he told him, before being aware of his vulnerability, and awkwardly slinking back into the shadows.
Jon had ears for few of them. He spent most of his time with Rhaegal. Dragons were completely alien to him not many moons ago, yet here he was. The dragon reminded him of Ghost. Jon wondered how his direwolf was. Probably bounding in the godswood of King’s Landing. The capital was a dangerous place for Sansa to communicate from, which meant Jon had not sent ravens to her for ages. Jon did not worry for her. Between Daenerys and Littlefinger, her safety was assured.
The thought of Daenerys made his heart ache. What they briefly shared felt like a lifetime ago, yet he could still feel the southern wind carry her scents to the castle, the sweet air resting on his lips, as if she still kissed him from a world away. “I promised to do her my duty,” Jon told the dragon, “so why does my mind stop me?”
The words he had told her came back to him. Thank you of reminding me of my oath. He forced his legs to move inside the castle. “What is he doing?” Jon told Edd, when he went inside, pointing at Thoros.
Edd looked at him oddly, surprised he took an interest. “I told him to try bringing people back from the dead,” he said. “Hey, it’s twelve-thousand men against a legion of White Walkers. We can use every man, can’t we?”
The bodies were laid in line, covered with shrouds. Jon could still recognize Samwell from under it. His blue fingers poked from under the sheets. “We certainly can,” he said, grabbing his sword. “Mayhaps it’s time for me to pull my weight as well. I will patrol the Wall tonight. Tormund needs his rest.”
Jon Snow turned to leave, but his eye caught Thoros of Myr’s charade again. A lot of men were casting quick glances at the fire priest, Jon noticed, in hope that one of their mates would open their eyes, singing songs of the magic of the world beyond. Jon’s gaze was blank before Thoros approached Sam.
A flitter of hope danced in his bellies, but before he knew it, Thoros was done muttering his useless incantations, and had moved on to the next corpse. The gods are cruel, he told himself. Imagine giving Beric Dondarrion seven lives, all so he could stop a brief battle with White Walkers. It’s not as if he changed the outcome of the war, merely postponed it. He turned to leave into the bitter cold air.
A second later, when the scream filled the common hall with sounds familiar, Jon Snow turned in alarm. Staring back at him were the eyes of Samwell Tarly, shocked, naked but very much alive.
*
End of episode – S08E06 will be published on Sunday, 11th November 2018, 8:30 am GMT
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