Jon wakes

In his room in Winterfell, Jon awoke not in a cold sweat, but in a warm bed. The blinding pain he had felt only moments ago had vanished, replaced by an unusual clarity of thought so recently after sleep. Indeed, Jon felt better than he had in months. Years, even. Both his body and his mind felt less... burdened than they had been only yesterday.

Looking outside, Jon could see it was early morning, earlier than most would be up. Even Ghost was still asleep, curled at the foot of Jon's bed, guarding his master. Moving to sit on the small chair next to the roaring fireplace, Jon considered his dream. It had been no mere flight of fancy, of that he was sure. The pain had been real, and the voice... must have been real as well. 'Just a traveller', it had claimed, bearing a gift for Jon. Was his atypical clarity his gift? That seemed odd, but Jon could neither see nor feel any other obvious differences. If Melisandre were still here, perhaps she would know some magic or prayer that might reveal what had happened to Jon, but she was likely miles away by now.

Jon sighed. If his dream had been the intervention of some god or another, he would hardly be able to divine its meaning by staring into nothingness. It was probably best if he simply continued as he already had been. If he were to discover some godly boon, it wouldn't be by sitting around and guessing aimlessly.

Quickly dressing, Jon exited his room. Perhaps Sansa was awake. Now that he was King in the North, she would likely want to discuss their next steps.