He thought he was dreaming.
After Styr jostled him around, and had thrusted his head down onto the anvil, he had seen her. Icy, cerulean hues were focused on his, and anger pierced her glare. She was upset. She was fucking upset, and she had a right to be.
Yet, so did he.
The dreamiest of smiles flushed across his face, and all the pain from moments before flooded away. The feeling of blood upon his chin and across the lower half of his face was gone. He felt warm all over, simply because she was there, looking at him, and alive. Though he was daunted by the arrow that remained notched, and the way she stiffened with rage and as tears pooled in her eyes, he knew she wouldn't hurt him. Not like this.
She looked at him, and he could see love glistening in her cool, beautiful gaze. He hoped his own reflected it. His heart pounded in his throat. He wanted to reach for her, and to draw her familiar body against his own, but he held still, aware of how much danger he was still in. Jon wouldn't go near her until that arrow was lowered. They had to be on level ground; they had to work this out with each other with no weapons involved. Their love needed another chance to pick up where it left off.
So when her face contorted into a mask of shock, and her upper body jostled forward with the arrow that pierced her heart, he assumed he was dreaming.
This was a dream.
This was a nightmare.
This was a fucking nightmare.
No. No. No! They hadn't gotten a chance to repair their lost relationship! He still needed her!
Rushing forward, his limbs feeling like jelly, Jon wrapped his arms around Ygritte's waist, pulling her into his lap. He could feel the arrow brushing against his leg, and feel her blood seeping out onto his armor. She was dying. He could feel it deep within his bones.
That's when he knew that he wasn't dreaming.
This wasn't a nightmare; it was damn well reality.
