[When Jon awakens, with his back to the cold stone ground, they are underground, in a small tight tomb, with stone walls and tunnel openings that lead off into the dark. There is an eerie, pale, greenish light around them, seemingly coming from nowhere.]
[They have been placed side by side, wrapped tightly in white burial shrouds, adorned almost lovingly with gold and jewels. Circlets ring their heads like they're honored royalty. Around them are mounds of gold and jewels and other grave offerings. A sword lies at each of their sides, like they're fallen warriors, buried together, and a shield lies at each of their feet.]
[A long, cold, unsheathed sword has been placed across both of their necks. Waiting.]
[Harper lies cold and deathly pale next to him. Only the lightest stirrings give clues that he's still alive. His eyes are flickering around under his eyelids, like he's deep in REM sleep, and his lips occasionally move with unspoken words. His dreams are blending things that were and things that weren't together. He sees the enemy coming at night, dreams of having a spear pierce his heart - except it wasn't his heart, was it? He thought it was a pain in his gut instead.]
[They worsted him and pierced his stomach, the men of Carn Dûm - no, the Magog. The Magog of Carn Dûm, screeching in the night, serving the Witch-King and the Dark Lord.]
[His lip move as he tries to call for the warrior that was supposed to be at his side, but two names are on his tongue: Tyr and the name of another, someone he's never met, one of the Dunedain. He finds a name that's true, one he can actually untangle from his dreams of fighting the Witch-king's men. It's almost inaudible, him rasping out:]
Rom. Rommie.
[He has no mother to call for like many dying men do, because he watched his die a long time ago in a pool of her own blood. But Rommie, she's protector, friend, healer, the air he breathes, the embodiment of home. She'd come for him when he'd been stuck to the wall of the Worldship like a prize. She'd come for him and carried him away, and brought him back home where he was safe inside her walls.]
[But she doesn't answer. She isn't coming for him this time.]
[Tears stream from the corners of his eyes as he dreams of Men - Magog - Men of the East crowding him, biting him, clawing him, spearing him in the gut, dragging him back down, down under the Earth, just like before.]
no subject
[They have been placed side by side, wrapped tightly in white burial shrouds, adorned almost lovingly with gold and jewels. Circlets ring their heads like they're honored royalty. Around them are mounds of gold and jewels and other grave offerings. A sword lies at each of their sides, like they're fallen warriors, buried together, and a shield lies at each of their feet.]
[A long, cold, unsheathed sword has been placed across both of their necks. Waiting.]
[Harper lies cold and deathly pale next to him. Only the lightest stirrings give clues that he's still alive. His eyes are flickering around under his eyelids, like he's deep in REM sleep, and his lips occasionally move with unspoken words. His dreams are blending things that were and things that weren't together. He sees the enemy coming at night, dreams of having a spear pierce his heart - except it wasn't his heart, was it? He thought it was a pain in his gut instead.]
[They worsted him and pierced his stomach, the men of Carn Dûm - no, the Magog. The Magog of Carn Dûm, screeching in the night, serving the Witch-King and the Dark Lord.]
[His lip move as he tries to call for the warrior that was supposed to be at his side, but two names are on his tongue: Tyr and the name of another, someone he's never met, one of the Dunedain. He finds a name that's true, one he can actually untangle from his dreams of fighting the Witch-king's men. It's almost inaudible, him rasping out:]
Rom. Rommie.
[He has no mother to call for like many dying men do, because he watched his die a long time ago in a pool of her own blood. But Rommie, she's protector, friend, healer, the air he breathes, the embodiment of home. She'd come for him when he'd been stuck to the wall of the Worldship like a prize. She'd come for him and carried him away, and brought him back home where he was safe inside her walls.]
[But she doesn't answer. She isn't coming for him this time.]
[Tears stream from the corners of his eyes as he dreams of Men - Magog - Men of the East crowding him, biting him, clawing him, spearing him in the gut, dragging him back down, down under the Earth, just like before.]