THE DEAD WOLF
Ghost.
He was in darkness.
In a moment he felt the life draining from him as his last breaths clung to the shreds that kept his conscience alight, the skies seemed to gaze down upon him. The eyes of the Ice Dragon were like blue fire piercing the clouded sky until a cloak of shadows seemed to fall over his vision.
It could well have been the blink of an eye or an eternity, and he wouldn't have known. There was only him and nothing, and darkness, caring like a mother's hug, taking the weight of the world off his shoulders.
The shadows made everything okay. So he let himself there, listening to muffle songs of dead pasts, he was cozy and they were sending him to sleep.
Next time I see you, you will be all in black.
Next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother…
Laughter echoed from all around him, breathless with childhood dreams, entangled into stone walls proper for climbing and wooden swords, playful and safe.
Stick them with the pointy end.
Suddenly he felt like crying, but he knew nothing of how to do it. Tears would not come, the darkness was not soothing anymore, instead, it felt like a prison and the sounds of a distant feast were far away and close, just beyond a door, yet when his hand reached out to open it, it came back burning cold.
For the Watch.
He saw their faces, felt again the bite of cold steel plunging into his body, repeating their chant. For the Watch, they claimed and the pain in his heart was only ended by the dagger that found it, but then the stabs never ceased, they never stopped, they kept going and he cried out.
You have to fight.
The darkness left him in a storm of red and white, of blood and bone and soft whispered pleas from more than one voice.
He smelled woods, and snow and meat and tears in the air, he was warm and hungry and in pain, but he watched on as the one with red hair, the sweet one, cradled the one he was bonded with, asking for help in harsh despair. Towers of black rose at their sides and disappeared in a storm of white.
I'm not a Stark.
His paws were firm and steady upon the ice, he could smell the apprehension and hesitation of the men all around him, but none there dared to go against her, none there dared to speak, hopes and fears made them living stone, and only the red one worked with strength from the heart.
My father used to say that there is no shame in fear, only in how we face it.
He saw faces, faces he thought long gone and that he aimed to forget.
Why do you imagine that they need your help? Are you such a mighty warrior, or do you carry a grumkin in your pocket to magic up your sword?
He disappeared just as he came, his crow chanting. "Corn!Corn!Corn!"
Next came a deep voice, speaking from over a fire.
We can only die. Why else do we don these black cloaks, but to die in defense of the realm?
He was right, he thought. He died in defense of the realm, realms of men. That was all he could've hoped for.
We should have stayed in that cave Jon Snow
Her fire flared and disappeared as suddenly as a summer rain and his fingers were left to trail wisps of ashes turning to snow, white snow, cold. Winter is Coming. He saw their faces like dreams, and their names were like a prayer.
The Old Bear, Qhorin Halfhand, Donal Noye, Ser Aliser, Stannis, Pyp, Green, Ygritte…. Father, Robb, Lady Catelyn, Bran, Rickon and Sansa and Arya.
The forest opened, and he felt the chill in the air and the eyes of the trees, but they were friendly and sad and they wanted to help. They seemed to have all the same faces though, a face that was familiar and it stirred something in his heart. He loved to climb, he thought, as the people spread around, and the red one kneeled by his side, the other one, the one that was only red and nothing else asked and whispered the sounds they used to say things he never had to.
Around them the wind sang and leaves danced.
No. He thought in sudden panic, feeling the pull, the darkness was moving away. No! He cried, he didn't want to. To go back, to go back was to suffer, was the weight of the world, of grief of guilty. He was at peace and he felt everything coming back to him, blue eyes that never wanted him there…
I'm only a bastard.
But a voice was singing, a soft plea, pulling him back.
"… ber home? Winterfell? Everyone there? Do you remember? It's our home, please, come back to me Jon. Remember the grey walls and the great towers, the people and the godswood with the big weirwood? Remember our family? Robb, he would fight you in the courtyard and you were always close, remember him? And Bran and Rickon laughing and throwing snowballs? And Arya? I know you must remember her, always d-dirty a-and… They are out there… They are out there and I'm here… I don't know if I'm who you wanted, but I hope you give me a chance. Please, Jon…"
Jon… My name is Jon.
He saw her cradling him, his vision changing, he bent his head back and howled into the sky, the howl of a Ghost, and himself and he felt the soft voice stopping with a gasp, before her hand came to the chest of the man on her lap and he felt it there, soft fingers, and the tears falling from her eyes burned, as warm as the smoke of her breath.
The memories flooded him like the warmth of a snowball fight amongst summer snows and the laughter of Winterfell's people… Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest.
I'm not afraid to die.
Nor live, I hope. Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger
He remembered of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself, and suddenly he was not a wolf anymore, there was no more shelter, but she was really there, and he found her eyes, blue and deep, blazing with life and fresh tears.
Jon Snow blinked in wonder, hearing her gasp clear in the night, his name a soft whisper on her lips as her arms embraced him, and his hands felt her frame as if on their own.
Hope everyone enjoyed this short beginning, please red and review. XD