Jon tossed onto his other side, rucking the bedclothes up around him. His nightshirt stuck to his back with sweat. By now, he was used to the warmth in his chambers from the fire in the grid he had ordered the servants must never go out, and the extra heat that seemed to emit from the four stones themselves. The cold of the North was more a memory than anything, and the heat bothered him far less than he had expected. It was not the heat, he suspected, that had left him drenched in sweat and unable to get a wink of sleep. It was those nerves of his again, the knowledge that tomorrow night at this time, he would be in the bridal chambers with his Lady wife, and despite what Uncle Benjen had told him, he did not think he would have the faintest idea what to do with her. It was the thought of speaking vows that would hold until his last day, the terror that if he did something wrong, made her dislike him, the unhappiness could be lasting, for them both. The thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach.
He turned over again, stayed on his back this time and stared up at the ceiling, feeling infuriatingly awake. He just wanted to sleep. Then, for a while at least, he would not have to think on any of this, and time would pass faster. As much as he was frightened of tomorrow, he also could not wait to just get it out of the way, get all these strangers off his island and see
life go back to something like normalcy, whatever that would end up looking like. Besides, he had no wish to be tired and that much more miserable on his own wedding day.
At first, he was so consumed by his worries that he did not hear the knock on his door. Then it made it through the muck of his mind, and he shot up in the bed, sucking in a sharp breath of air as shock rushed through his body. "Who is there?" he asked.
The door fell open, and Uncle Benjen stepped inside. Despite the fact that Benjen, unlike Jon, had never grown accustomed to the Southron weather, he was dressed in Northern leathers and furs, looking more like how Jon remembered him from his childhood than how he had grown used to seeing him for the past three years. "Get dressed," Uncle Benjen said, before stepping back out and letting the door fall shut behind him.
Jon frowned, uncertain what was going on. Still, that had been unmistakably an order, and Uncle Benjen did not order him around much at all these days. He had best comply. And honestly, he was more than a little relieved at the thought of no longer having to toss and turn as sleep continued to evade him. He extricated himself from his damp bedding, stumbling a little as he made his way across the floor to his trunk. After a brief contemplation, he dug to very bottom and got out his own fur mantle, following his uncle's lead and dressing like a true Northman for the first time in years.
He made his way out the door and found not only Uncle Benjen waiting for him, but his father and his brother Robb, who was wiping sleep from his eyes, as well. Jon cocked an eyebrow at Robb, but only got a shrug in return. Seemed they were both being left in the dark, then.
Uncle Benjen led the way down the hallways and out into the cool night air. A breeze was blowing through the overgrown garden, and Jon sucked in a deep breath, still over-warm from his uneasy rest and the furs around his shoulders. Even the light rain was a relief. They made their way through the brambles and plants, cloaks snagging on the thorns of the old, unkempt rose bushes, until they finally reached the Godswood. They passed the sentinels until they stood before the small weirwood with its unblemished bark. It was meant to serve as the heart tree, Jon knew, but he had never felt any presence from it, never felt the sheltering and calm he had with its parent tree in Winterfell. It had not stopped him from coming to the Godswood, but more often than not, these days, it only left him feeling sad and empty.