The ice is Hell, the groans of the pressure ridges as it formed a coffin around them. Not the fire, not this warmth.

He meets Jopson's gaunt stare with a sharp inhale.

He's alive.

"Thomas." His voice is watery as he pushes himself forward, sitting on his knees in front of his former steward. He doesn't take him into his arms, not yet, afraid that he's not quite real. He's hallucinated Thomas Jopson before. "Thomas, you're..."