Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all rights for character, plots and settings belong to GRRM. I have no ownership.
Jon Snow
???
The pain of steel still lingered where the knives had found him. For the Watch, they had said. Each blade a betrayal.
Jon blinked against the dim light, disoriented. Stone walls surrounded him, and the musty scent of earth and age filled his nostrils. Not Castle Black. Not the Wall.
The crypts beneath Winterfell.
His fingers instinctively sought the wounds that should have killed him. Instead, he found only scars beneath torn fabric, strange and unfamiliar beneath his touch.
"I should be dead," he whispered, his voice echoing against ancient stone.
The chill that had been his constant companion at the Wall was absent here, replaced by a warmth that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth itself. Jon pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as his body relearned its balance.
Before him stood the statues of the dead Starks, his family... or what he had always believed was his family. Lord Eddard's stone face gazed down at him, solemn and unyielding as in life. But it was the statue beside his that drew Jon's attention.
Lyanna.
He had passed her likeness a hundred times before, yet never had he seen it weep. Stone tears trailed down carved cheeks, impossibly real in the flickering torchlight.
"This is a dream," Jon muttered, though he did not believe it. His dreams of the crypts had always been different—darker, filled with voices that reminded him he did not belong.
The statue's lips did not move, yet he heard her voice all the same.
"Go deeper, seek the truth that lies beneath, my sweet Prince."
Prince. The word struck him like a physical blow. He was no prince—he was a bastard, a Snow, a man of the Night's Watch. Or had been, until the knives.
"I don't understand," he said to the weeping stone, feeling foolish even as the words left his lips.
"Deeper," came the whisper again, and Jon felt himself drawn forward as if pulled by invisible threads.
He took a torch from its sconce, the familiar weight steadying him. Ghost would have been a welcome companion now, but his direwolf was nowhere to be seen. Jon was alone with the dead and their secrets.
The passage narrowed as he ventured further than he had ever gone before. The rough-hewn walls no longer bore the marks of human tools; this was a natural formation, ancient beyond reckoning.
Jon's hand went to Longclaw's hilt, but found only empty air. Of course—he had left his sword behind when... when what? The memory slipped away like water through cupped hands.
The tunnel opened suddenly into a vast cavern, and Jon stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.
Seven hells.
A dragon lay before him, its scales black as obsidian, its body massive and powerful. Four limbs supported its bulk, with great wings folded against its back. Not like the dragons in the books Sam had shown him, with only two legs.
Its eyes opened—red as Ghost's, as the weirwood's, as the comet that had blazed across the sky when the direwolf pups were found.
Fear rooted him in place, his breath turning to frost in his lungs. I am dead, he realized, the thought settling over him like a shroud of snow, heavy and smothering. What more can it do to me?
As if in answer, the dragon shifted, its scales rasping against stone. It regarded him, inscrutable, its gaze seeming to pierce the very core of his being. And deep within, Jon felt an answering call, a tug of recognition that defied reason.
Drawn by the inexorable pull, he stepped forward, one hand outstretched, fingers splayed. The heat of the beast washed over him, a furnace against his palm as he laid it upon the obsidian scales. Power surged through him, raw and ancient, searing his veins with liquid fire.
Pain lanced through Jon, a searing agony that threatened to unmake him. It was a pain that transcended the physical, a torment that reached into the depths of his soul. Even in death, it seemed, there was no escape from the suffering that had defined his life.
He wanted to let go, to surrender to the oblivion that beckoned, but something held him fast. A purpose, a destiny, a fate that refused to release its grip. He was Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was the shield that guarded the realms of men, the sword in the darkness, the fire that burned against the cold.
And now, as he stood before the dragon, he felt the weight of that destiny pressing down upon him. The beast's eyes bore into him, ancient and knowing, as if it could see the truth of who he was, the secret that had been hidden from him for so long.
The prince who was promised, a voice whispered in his mind, a voice that sounded like Melisandre, the red priestess who had brought him back from the brink of death. The one who will bring the dawn.
Jon shook his head, trying to clear the fog that clouded his thoughts. He had never put much stock in prophecies and visions, preferring the cold hard truth of steel and blood. But now, faced with the impossible, he found himself grasping at straws, searching for meaning in the madness.
The dragon's scales were hot beneath his palm, pulsing with a life force that seemed to mirror his own. He could feel the creature's heartbeat, strong and steady, a rhythm that echoed the pounding of his own blood in his ears.
And then, in a flash of blinding clarity, he saw it. The comet, streaking across the sky, its tail a banner of crimson fire. The bleeding star, heralding the coming of the change. A tower surrounded by red mountians, a bed of blood, my girl's whispered "Promise me".
Jon felt the weight of that destiny settling upon his shoulders, a mantle of fire and blood. He knew, with a certainty that defied reason, that he was the one. The prince who was promised, the last hero, the sword in the darkness.
And as he stood there, hand pressed against the dragon's scales, he felt the pain recede, replaced by a sense of purpose, a clarity of vision that he had never known before. He would fight, he would bleed, he would die if he must. But he would not let go, not until the dawn had come, and the world was saved.
For a single, crystalline moment, the dragon's eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. In that moment, they were one mind and all Jon felt was the need to be free and take to the skies. Then, as quickly as it had come, the connection shattered, and the world fell away, plunging Jon into a sea of endless flames.
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Eddison Tollett
Castle Black
A hue of red washed over the world as Eddison Tollett stood in stunned silence, his eyes wide with awe. The comet above radiated an eerie ambience, casting an otherworldly glow across the snow-covered landscape.
Edd's reverie was shattered by an earth-shattering sound that echoed from the Wall, its icy surface trembling beneath his feet. He turned, his heart pounding, and froze at the sight before him.
Jon Snow's lifeless body had become an inferno, flames engulfing his still form. The fire roared, melting the snow around him in a widening circle of destruction.
"Seven hells," Edd breathed, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames.
Beside him, Melisandre stared at the conflagration, her red eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Edd grabbed her arm, pulling her back as the heat intensified, scorching their faces.
"We need to get away from here," he shouted over the roar of the fire.
Melisandre nodded, allowing Edd to guide her through the panicked crowd that had gathered. Men of the Night's Watch scattered in all directions, their faces etched with fear and confusion.
As the flames consumed Jon Snow's body, Edd turned to Melisandre, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief.
"What in the seven hells happened to him?" Edd demanded, his voice shaking.
Melisandre stared at the inferno, her brow furrowed in confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She shook her head slowly, her red eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
"I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the fire. "I've never seen anything like this before."
Edd grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You're supposed to be the one with all the answers," he shouted, his voice rising with each word. "What did you do to him?"
Melisandre pulled away from Edd's grasp, her eyes never leaving the flames. "I did my duty," she said, her voice distant. "But this, this is beyond my understanding."
The fire continued to rage, the heat intensifying with each passing moment. The men of the Night's Watch and the Free Folk stood in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the eerie red glow. No one spoke, no one moved. They simply watched as the flames consumed their fallen Lord Commander.
Edd felt a sense of helplessness wash over him. He had seen death before, had watched men fall in battle and succumb to the cold. But this was different. This was something he couldn't explain, something that defied all logic and reason.
He turned to Melisandre once more, his eyes pleading for answers. But she had none to give. She simply stared at the flames, her face a mask of confusion and fear yet awe still prevalent.
The flames grew, consuming everything in their path. A firestorm raged, its intensity building with each passing moment. Edd shielded his eyes against the blinding light, his skin prickling from the searing heat.
Questions raced through his mind as he stumbled backwards, half-dragging Melisandre with him. What had caused this? Was it the red woman's doing? And what did it mean for Jon, for the Night's Watch, for all of them?
But there was no time for answers. The inferno raged on, and all they could do was run. The firestorm grew in intensity, its flames reaching ever higher, licking at the icy surface of the Wall. The blaze seemed to challenge the very height of the colossal fortification, as if seeking to melt and consume the ancient barrier that had stood for millennia. The night sky glowed an eerie orange, the heat and light a terrifying spectacle that threatened to engulf everything in its path.
Edd and Melisandre raced through the chaos, their hearts pounding in their chests. The men of the Night's Watch scattered around them, their faces etched with fear and confusion.
Suddenly, a terrifying roar erupted from the heart of the firestorm, causing Edd to stumble and fall to his knees. He looked back, his eyes wide with horror, as others around him froze in fear.
Through the raging flames, a pair of massive red eyes glowed menacingly, piercing the smoke and ash. The eyes seemed to be looking directly at them, filled with an otherworldly intelligence that sent shivers down Edd's spine.
Melisandre stood transfixed, her mouth agape as she stared into the inferno. The heat washed over them in waves, but she seemed oblivious to it all, her gaze locked on the eyes within the flames.
As quickly as it had begun, the firestorm began to dissipate, the flames dying down to reveal a sight that left them all speechless. In the sky above the scorched earth hovered a dragon of immense size, its scales a deep, obsidian black that seemed to absorb the light around it. The creature's eyes glowed a fierce red, like burning coals in the darkness.
The dragon roared again, its voice shaking the very foundations of the Wall. The sound was deafening, a primal cry that echoed across the frozen landscape.