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Jon Snow knew cold. He had spent years of his life beyond the Wall. He was no longer given to shivers or teeth clacking. The chill in his bones was almost an old friend.
But in this moment, as he struggled to light a fire with snow dampened wood, Jon missed warmth. True warmth, the warmth of laying out in the grass on a hot night, of swimming in streams, of being barefoot or shirtless or naked without frostbite.
Jon loved the lands beyond the Wall. But a small part of Jon longed for summer.
Tormund returned to the tent with some wood. “I think this is slightly less wet, it might catch more easily.”
It did, and soon the fire was built. It chased the worst of the cold from Jon’s bones, but still he thought of warmth…
“Tormund?”
“Hmm?” Tormund said around a mouthful of drink.
“Is it ever truly summer here?”
Tormund let out a great joyful laugh and put down his drinking horn.
“Oh little crow, I could tell you some tales about the summers we have in these lands."
“The hills turn green and the plains are dotted with little flowers of purple and yellow and white. The weirwoods turn from death to life, even the caves seem to breathe again.”
“Animals come out of their hiding places, deer and elk and great bears. We have grand hunts that last for days, where we feast and drink and build bonfires so high they touch the stars. The fish return to the rivers, so many you can put one hand in for a moment and grab ten of them.”
“On the warmest days we swim, the water clear and still freezing cold. But there’s nothing more exhilarating than that shock of going from hot to cold, nor nothing like the feeling of laying out afterwards and letting the sun dry your skin.”
Jon breathed out slow. “It sounds beautiful.”
“It is.”
“I would love to see it someday.” Jon poked at the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks to the sky.
Tormund moved next to Jon. So close they were sharing heat. He put a hand on Jon’s knee.
“You will, little crow. We’ll hike through the living caves. We’ll go to the grand hunts and chase down elk and dance around the bonfires. We’ll pick yellow wildflowers and braid them into each other’s hair. We’ll swim naked in the bay with that wolf of yours and dry out together afterwards, side by side.”
It sounded wonderful, like dreams that kept Jon warm on cold nights.
Jon recognized that at some point he should probably ride back to Castle Black, that he’d spent much too long away already. It was his honor, his duty, his punishment. A punishment he well deserved, a punishment he must face. I will start back tomorrow he kept saying or I will start back next week. He knew he should go back, return to that grim life, and yet -
Jon truly wanted to see this lovely summer with Tormund. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer. Before he was condemned to spend the rest of his days in harsh stern blacks, he could have one season of life.
Jon grinned and looked into Tormund’s bright eyes.
“Do you promise me these are not just tall tales? That we’ll see this grand summer together?”
Tormund placed an arm around Jon’s shoulders and he found himself leaning into the touch. He nestled his head up to Tormund’s side, and the free man played with a lock of Jon’s hair.
“I promise you, little crow. I promise.”