Hey, looks like I'm back! And I didn't stay up till 2am on a Monday this time! Huzzah! To those who Followed, Favorited, and Reviewed...thank you. Seriously. It really, really means a lot to me to see (not to sound pretentious) my work appreciated, but enough of that. Notes at the bottom. Onto the story!
Jon called it Tumbledown Tower. He did not know if it had a proper name, but it was a rather fitting title, given the state of the old watchtower. The stones that formed it had fallen from their places and it was overgrown with moss and ivy, although the vault still stood. What he did know was that it had been abandoned for a long time and there were no villages nearby, which made it a perfect place to hide. It was still within the borders of Stark land, so he was still close to Winterfell in case of...well, he just wanted to stay close to his family if he was being honest. To Sansa, Bran, and Arya. To Robb, Rickon, and...uncle? Father? Jon's mind was still torn in two over what to call the Lord Stark. Part of him wanted to scream, rage, and cry at the Lord of Winterfell for his lies. The other wanted to ignore it all and embrace the man who had raised him.
Jon pushed past his warring emotions and just focused on climbing.
The night was moonless with the stars in abundance overhead. His hands, colder than the Wall itself, froze and stuck to the stonework to help him climb the inner wall of the tower up to the loft. The stairs had rotted away and there was no ladder, so Jon improvised. From there, he hauled himself up and carefully walked towards a gaping hole in the wall that had once been an arrow-slit, and stared out into the night. From here, he could see nothing but the shadows of treetops stretching out into the dark, but when he focused inward, deeper, and let that blizzard of cold and dark power fill him, he could see so much more. The night hid no secrets from him. It was his ally, now, and every shadow yielded their secrets under his blue gaze. He saw, more than felt, the heartbeats of animals in the surrounding woods; saw the flame of their life-force and fought back the twisted urge to extinguish it all. He had been fighting the urges that came with what he now was ever since he came to in the hall with bloody wounds from the future as his body began to age.
"Look further."
It was not so much a voice that reverberated in his skull, but more of an intent. Out of the many he felt, it was one of the few he complied with. Jon narrowed his eyes, and the horizon jumped towards him. He looked beyond the forest and saw the many flames of the North's hearts and hearths alike. If he looked west, he could see the outline of Deepwood Motte within the Wolfswood. To the south was Winterfell, Crofters Village, Castle Cerwyn, and even Torren's Square if he looked hard enough. North showed him the Northern Mountains, Breakstone Hill, the Long Lake, and the powerful magic of the Wall that was like a beacon to his eyes. Eastward lay the White Knife, the Lonely Hills, and the Dreadfort. He could see the great keeps and castles from his decrepit little tower as if they were just on the horizon with every single village and hovel in between. He also saw the roaming guardsmen, the caravans and travelers that braved the road at night; the light of their beating hearts and the warmth of their souls. Some lights were brighter and warmer than others. Some were dull and dim. It was how he'd been able to spot and intercept whatever cutthroats roamed the night before they carried out dark deeds. All he needed to do was watch and wait. Jon idly wondered if being the Three-Eyed-Raven was like this; to see past the mortal coil and far into beyond.
"Look further!"
"Any further and I'll make it snow over the tower again. I'm not drawing attention to myself. I'm staying hidden, here." Jon argued against the voice with an annoyed scowl. The intent did not vanish entirely, but it did abate to his will. Jon inhaled a deep breath. The remnants of the Night King inside him were a constant storm of memories, urges, actions, and raw magic over eight-thousand years old that Jon could barely keep contained.
-Bran," Jon panted, "What does he want?" His sword was clutched tightly in his hands and he winced against the burns dotting his arms. He'd lost Longclaw long ago. Bran lay against a tree with burns on his legs. Jon had pulled him from the pyre before it had consumed him, and the two had flown away on a warged Drogon. The Red Priests would soon be at their heels. Jon knew they had to have seen them fly into the woods. Bran's old and depthless eyes stared into the endless blue of the horned Enemy standing not two yards away, watching them silently. Bran and the Night King locked eyes, communicating in a way Jon could not begin to comprehend.
"He wants to make a deal." Bran said listlessly, "The past in exchange for the future."-
Jon stood his watch for most of the night, watching for craven men who would do evil against his homeland. After the wars Westeros had faced in the time he hailed from, highwaymen, soldiers turned bandits, and all sorts of craven men looking to kill, rape, and steal ran rampant in the vastness of the North. What he did every night, hunting down the evil men he saw with his Other eyes, was a preventive action as well as a duty to his homeland. If his plans failed and the North went to war...well, there would be fewer men that took advantage of an unguarded country or joined up with the likes of Ramsay Bolton.
After many hours Jon closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Sleep had become an option for him. He did not need to rest or even eat. He felt no hunger or cold. The cold was another of his allies; his cloak, his guard, and his weapon all at once. When he opened his eyes again, his sight was mortal once more. He stood there for a moment longer before turning away and headed back inside the tower. There would be no killing of evil men this night. Jon walked towards a broken patch of floor that opened up to the bottom of the tower, and jumped. Pain had dulled as well, to the point he barely felt anything. He was faster, stronger, and harder to break than the ice on the Wall. Nothing seemed to harm him, although he suspected Valaryian steel, fire, an dragonglass would do the trick. He perceived the world differently. Some things moved faster, other slower, and some things he just knew were there, even if he could not see them. All of these were 'of the Night King's power; the product of their deal.
-"Bran, this is madness!" He had shouted at his little brother (cousin, a part of him hissed) and he jabbed a finger at the silent, unmoving demon across from them, watching them with unblinking blue orbs. "He is the Enemy! Kill him!" The dragon loomed behind them, eerily still with the occasional twitch against Bran's control. However, neither the Night King nor Drogon moved to attack.
"The Red God must not win, Aegon." Bran said. Those dark eyes turned on him. "Westeros will burn. Invaders come from across the Narrow Sea. More of R'hllor's faithful are coming by ship with help from the Slave Cities. They will invade, and burn, and take everything they can. More will come and more will die. We have lost."
Jon lunged at him, then. Not at Bran, not at the little boy he remembered who had dreamed of becoming a knight, but at the Three-Eyed-Raven; this cold, calculating thing that had become his brother. He hauled him up by his shirt and screamed, "We cannot give up! Everyone who died-"
"Is dead." Bran cut him off in that dead tone of voice, "We must think of the future."
Jon struck him across the face. Bran's head whipped to the side, his expression unchanged. Jon stared at him, lips pulled back into a snarl. When Bran turned to look at him, Jon spat, "Everyone who died for us, you would spit on their sacrifices? Sansa and Arya, our sisters, our family, died because of HIM!" Jon glared with all the hatred he had at the Night King. The horned demon still had not moved and just stared. Jon stared right back "I'm ending this!" He hissed and dropped the greenseer he held in his grip. Bran slid against the trunk of the tree and hit the snow covered ground. He watched as Jon yelled up to the last of his aunts children.
"Drogon!" He pointed at the Night King "Dracarys!"
The dragon did nothing.
"Dracarys!" Jon screamed himself hoarse in desperation, rage, and grief "DRACARYS!"
Drogon still did not move.
Slowly, Jon turned to look at Bran, the only one who controlled the dragon. Bran stared right back. Jon said to him, "If you truly were a Stark, you would kill him...and end this." His words were hollow and empty.
"I'm not a Stark. I am the Three-Eyed-Raven." Bran said-
Jon's landing kicked up leaves and dust. When he rose to his feet, he turned and was met with a fearsome growl that reverberated through the whole tower. A direwolf stood in the entrance. Yellow eyes bored into his, lips pulled back in a snarl, and Jon stepped out of the way. The direwolf stopped growling and padded past him to the end of the tower vault where she sniffed the ground in a quick circle before gently laying down and falling asleep. She wasn't as large as Grey Wind or Ghost had been, but was still the size of a large pony. Oddly enough, she seemed to possess all the coloring of all her pups at once. Her shaggy hide was a patchwork mix of tan, grey, black, and white. Jon eyed the swell of her belly. The she-wolf was the mother of Ghost, Grey-Wind, Nymeria, Summer, Lady, and Shaggydog. Or at least, she would be, given time. He hoped so, at any rate. He would rather her fate not to be gored by a stag's antler and give birth before she died.
"I still do not know what to name you." Jon told the she-wolf. She gave no response and stayed content with staying asleep.
They had first met in the Wolfswood. A full three months had passed since he left Winterfell. He'd already began his practice of hunting evil men in the area, and his prey that night had been a pack of killers camped on the Glover's land. Word of him must have spread, for the cravens fled when the air chilled around them, when the freezing mist rolled over their camp and their fire died. He ran down and slew the first two easily enough, but he never got to the third. That honor belonged to the she-wolf he found gnawing at his throat beneath a great fir tree. For a moment, the two had just stared at each other, blue eyes looking into yellow. Then she had bolted, and left Jon alone in the woods with another corpse.
Since that night, and every night since, he'd sometimes see the she-wolf watching him from the cover of the thick brush as hunted down men with dark hearts. Sometimes she would drag away one of the men he'd slain and feast on manflesh. Other times she would be at his side as Ghost did and attack with him. She would never let him get close to her and would growl and dart away. Once, she had snapped at his fingers when he tried to touch her. Despite her skittish behavior and the odd way she followed him, Jon had never felt threatened by her. She must have followed him one day, because one night he had returned to Tumbledown Tower and found her laying inside. She had growled at his approach but did not leave, and had stayed with him ever since. He had no idea why she stayed. He felt no connection with the she-wolf like the one he'd had with Ghost, up until the Night King took his direwolf from him. Jon missed his companion even now.
-Bran had described R'hllor as a god obsessed with many things. The first being light and fire. The second being the Others. There was no Great Other, the evil god of cold and death R'hllor apparently fought against, only the Night King; who R'hllor saw as his ultimate enemy given his nature. He told Jon that the Red God wished to rid all cold and darkness from the world, and by that, he meant ALL cold and darkness. From the shadows at night to the shade of a cloudy day. Everywhere that was remotely cold, from snowflakes to an evening breeze, he wanted warmed. He wished to rid it all with his light and his fire. Bran also explained that R'hllor hated all magic but his own, and will burn away everything that was not of him. To do that, Bran had said, he must burn the entire world, and will use his priests and worshippers to do it.
In short, R'hllor was mad.
"R'hllor has named you his chosen, Aegon. You are the only one who can defeat the Night King. You and only you. Even if you die, R'hllor will bring you back again and again until you fulfill his prophecy of Azor Ahai." Bran looked to the Night King and said, "He knows this, but even if you succeed, the suffering will not end. This winter is the Long Night come again. Westeros is lost. He is offering to change your fate."
Jon stared at the Three-Eyed-Raven. He felt cold and bleak; empty. "In exchange for what?" He rasped.
Bran looked into his eyes, "Let him win. Willingly stand aside, stop fighting him, and let him win." The bleakness turned to rage. Just before Jon could snarl and spit that he would never stop, that as long as he drew breath, he would not rest until the Others were defeated, Bran spoke again. "If so, he would send you back. Back to the beginning, before this all began."
Jon glanced between Bran and the Night King. "What?" Was all he said.
"A second chance at life. A chance to change the song of Ice and Fire. If you cease to be, here and now, the world may have a chance."
"What are you talking about?" Jon croaked.
"Better a world of ice, than a world of fire. The War for the Dawn may happen again, but at least I see a chance for all men to live in that."
Jon felt sick. "A chance? You'd let the White-Walkers win based on a chance?" He rasped.
Bran stared at him with those horribly empty eyes and said, "A chance is all we have left, Aegon."
Jon collapsed to his knees as the last bit of hope drained from his heart, along with what fight he had left in him. For a long moment he had just kneeled there and let the snow melt and soak into his clothes, drowning in hopelessness. Then, in a small, croaking voice, he asked the question.
"What must I do?"
Bran said "R'hllor's fire burns in your heart. It is how the Red God has marked you as his Champion. He needs that fire. The Night King will take that fire to sever your fate, and in turn, he will give you ice."
Jon did not begin to understand the terms, nor did he care. He felt cold. So, so cold. Cold in a way that had nothing to do with the falling snow.
"Will I die?" He asked into the quiet.
"No. You will be reborn."-
Nearly a full year had passed since he'd run from Winterfell. Jon knew better than to think too much of the past, but he couldn't help thinking that he had abandoned them again. His family; Robb, Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa...father. Hells, even Lady Stark and Theon, too, and everyone else in that castle. On how things might have changed if he had stayed. If he had not been so consumed by his own bitterness for being a bastard that he ran for the Wall. Ran away from all the grief being called Snow caused him. Things might have been different if he had stayed.
And here he was; running from his pain once again.
Even if he returned to Winterfell, what then would he do? Face the uncle he had called father? The siblings that were his cousins? See the faces of men and women that he remembered to be dead? How could he face Sansa, innocent and unmarred, still so naive with songs and stories of knights and ladies still dancing in her head, knowing of the countless horrors that had befallen her? How could he look at Arya and not see the Bloody Wolf and her List of Names? How could he see Bran and not the Three-Eyed-Raven? How would he look to baby Rickon and not see Ramsay Bolton's arrow in his back? How could he begin to explain the fate that befalls their family? How would he make them believe him?
Furthermore, how could he explain what had happened to him?
-The Night King took a step towards him. Then another, and another. Jon did not look up. He felt. Empty. Empty, empty, he was so empty and cold inside that it hurt. He had no hope left. No family. Nothing.
The next thing Jon knew, he was staring into the endless blue of the Night King's eyes as the creature kneeled in front of him.. Jon stared right back. He was not afraid of those eyes, not anymore. He'd cut down so many with the same eyes that he'd lost count.
"I hate you!" Jon snarled instead, "I want to you know that; that I hate you!"
The Night King said nothing, instead he reached out and placed his hands on either side of Jon's head. His skin felt like it was made of solid ice, and the sharp nails pressing against his skin were so cold they burned.
The burning intensified. Jon felt every single one of the scars on his belly feel as if they'd been reopened as a cold so powerful it whited out all sensation flooded him. He tilted back his head and screamed as his life seemed to flash before his eyes. The Night King was screaming too; a sound like the sky was tearing open. He was cold. Cold, cold, cold, coldcoldcoldcoldCOLD...
Cold.
Ice. Frost. Snow.
Crystallizing. Preserving. Entombing.
Forever cold.
It was perfection.
It was their purpose.
Ice and cold wiping out the destructive, burning heat that inhabited the world.
With each flame snuffed, cold could rise in place.
The storm will rage, the snow will fall, and warmth will freeze over and become eternal.
It was perfection.
It was their purpose.
Cold.
Ice. Frost. Snow.
Crystallizing. Preserving. Entombing.
Forever cold.
On and on it went in a never-ending cycle. He did not know how long he knelt there. The cold was creeping into his heart, his mind, and his very soul. Ice crackled and fires burned. Wolves howled, dragons roared, ravens cawed, and voices screamed. Oh, the screams! Jon was screaming. the Night King was screaming. It seemed like the whole world was screaming! Winter was here yet winter was burning, as flashes of memory flared before his mind. Some were his, and some were not.
"First lesson, stick them with the pointy end."
"It was always my color."
"The next time we meet, we'll talk about your mother."
"Sometimes there is no happy choice, only one less grievous than the others."
"You know nothing, Jon Snow."
"Kill the boy, and let the man be born-"
"FOR THE WATCH!"
"If I fall...don't bring me back."
"Let's do this the old way. You and me."
"THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Your Grace."
"Not Dany. How about, my Queen?"
He was tied to a tree with a gag in his mouth as the Child of the Forest approached with the black stone in her hand. He screamed and writhed, trying to beg for mercy, to cry for help. Something! Anything! The tip of the stone pressed against his chest and went in through his ribs, through his heart, through his SOUL! It burned with hatred. Burned with malice. Burned with an icy disgust and evil that just felt WRONG! WRONGWRONGWRONGWRONGWRONG!HEWASSOCOLDCOLDCOLDCOLD...
Cold.
Ice. Frost. Snow.
Crystallizing. Preserving. Entombing.
Forever cold.
It was perfection.
It was their purpose.
Ice and cold wiping out the destructive, burning heat that inhabited the world.
With each flame snuffed, cold could rise in place.
The storm will rage, the snow will fall, and warmth will freeze over and become eternal.
It was perfection.
It was their purpose.
Cold.
Ice. Frost. Snow.
Crystallizing. Preserving. Entombing.
Forever cold.
Cold.
The voice broke him from the cycle.
It was the Night King's in a voice that was so quiet, haunting, and hoarse. A voice no man was ever meant to hear.
"The...pack...survives."
And Jon's world exploded.
The pain broke him from the cycle. He came to, staggering forward through a pair of heavy doors and into somewhere that was warmer than the cold he felt inside. Jon looked up, and saw the face of the man who haunted his dreams.
"Father?" He croaked out?
And then he had collapsed-
The truth was, Jon knew he could not tell the Starks anything. It was a lost cause to try. He should have known it would be so when Theon's sword froze and shattered against his arm, but the night in the crypts destroyed any chance of that. Jon should not have gone there that night. The tomb of his mother, the arrival of Lord Stark, the memories hammering at his mind, and the changes happening to his very being had been too much. He had lost himself; snapped and exploded like a cask of wildfire as the power of the Night King flowed freely through him for the first time. Bran had been right when he said the Night King needed his fire in exchange for ice. Whatever power R'hllor had over him had been frozen over and replaced by the icy power of the Other. That ice had not melted when he awoke in Winterfell. It clung to him like frost and spread throughout him until he was as cold as the White Walkers themselves, but his heart and mind was still sound; still his. With the Night King's memories, along with whatever else was left inside him, he'd been able to harness that power and wield it as his sword.
And that was exactly what this power was; a weapon. One he planned to use.
Jon did not know if there was another Night King in this world. He could not see anything past the protective magic of the Wall, nor any sign of their power. He intended to find out. He would venture beyond the Wall to the far North, and if there was a King of the Others out there, he would find him and kill him.
But first, he had to make sure his family was safe. He did not know if Ned Stark heeded any of the warnings he had given him that night in the crypts. King Robert was still coming to Winterfell with the bastard children of incest, the Mad Queen, and her brother the Kingslayer; the man who crippled Bran and set him on the path to become the Three-Eyed-Raven, and certainly not the man Jon associated Jamie Lannister with. No, there was no Ser Goldenhand the Just in this life. Nor a Mad Queen, now that Jon thought about it. Cersei did not have the power to become the threat she had been to all of Westeros...yet. Like the scum that roamed the vast North, Jon planned to eliminate threats before they became larger ones.
Speaking of threats...
Jon's eyes burned blue as he looked towards the Dreadfort and the town of Weeping Water where he knew a Mad Dog roamed. This time, Jon was the one with a List of Names and it was a long list indeed.
Ramsay.
Winter was coming for the Bastard of Bolton, and Jon intended to make sure he would never hurt anyone ever again.
I cannot believe how many of you like this. I mean, 50 followers in 5 days? I cannot believe it! I am also not entirely happy with this chapter. I planned to have Weeping Water and Ramsay next, but it turned into this. The flashback sequences are not going to be a running theme and I didn't mean to have the bulk of this chapter be as such. There will be flashbacks to showcase events that happened in Jon's life before his Deal with the Night King at key points, but I wanted to write what exactly the deal was and what happened when it was struck. I don't know if it flows together too well, but I'll leave that for you to decide. I'll probably make a few changes once I've reread it a few times and found mistakes I missed lol. Weeping Water will definitely be next, however.
Also, you would not believe how hard it was to describe the Mother Direwolf! I wanted her to be the one portrayed in the show, but all I had to go off of was the puppet itself, and I can only get so much off of a corpse portrayed from 3 camera angles. I do not have a name for her in mind, but I'd like to see if any of you have a suggestion. If so, drop a name in the reviews.
It was very fun to describe how a White Walker might perceive the world. Since their eyes are such a prominent part of them, I figured that their eyes are magical as well. They can see the flames of life (and fire in general) as well as great distances, and things the human eye cannot. Magic for a start. As well as other things.
"Jon, what do your Other Eyes see?"
"They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!" (Drop the beat)
Yes, Jon has the powers of a White Walker, if not the Night King himself. Truth be told I'm still discovering what he can do as I go along. You will see more of them soon enough, don't you worry. Or maybe you won't. HEHEHEHE...no, you will.
Fun fact, Tumbledown Tower is a location in the book for those who didn't know. Bran, Hodor, and the Reeds stayed in an old Watchtower on their way North. Bran names it as such for the reasons Jon does here.
Thank you so much for reading, everybody. Constructive criticism is welcome, as well as suggestions and ideas, and just plain old support. Thanks to all of you who reviewed. I'm glad you find it interesting so far and I plan to keep the intrigue flowing. This took all week to write so I hope it satisfies you...for now. I'm going to bed. Peace!
Also, 1 review=1 Bandit killed by Jon. Support the North, everybody!