"Can't you resurrect him?" Dolorus Edd questioned hesitantly, looking at Harry like he was a god or something. Ser Davos stood next to Edd, along with the other members of the Night's Watch that were loyal to the man lying on the table. Tormund Giantsbane stood in the corner, his head propped up by his hands.
Harry peered up at the other man and shook his head blearily, stroking Ghost's fur as the direwolf walked over to him and plopped his head on Harry's lap. "I can't. It's not within my job description… Not even if it's… Jon."
His black wings rustled and curved back into his shoulders, drooping slightly.
"But you're the Master of Death! What is in your job description?" Ser Davos asked. "You know what Jon's seen. We need him, now more than ever."
"I just supervise Death," Harry muttered, turning to look down at Jon. The man he had fallen in love with. The man who had been murdered by his own brothers, just because he did the right thing. "Make sure everything's running okay… I didn't… I can't visit him in Death even. That's… I have to get special permission. Melisandre's still here, right?"
"I didn't even tell him that I know who his parents are," Harry whispered, reaching out a hand to stroke Jon's black curls. Jon's body was cold and turning blue, the only thing marring were the stab wounds and the bad burn on Jon's left hand. It just looked like Jon was sleeping but Harry knew he wasn't. Another tear fell down his cheek, trailing down to his chin and falling onto Jon's chest. "I didn't even tell him I love him…"
"His parents?" Ser Davos repeated, raising an eyebrow. "His father is, was, Lord Stark."
"No. Lord Stark doesn't have a bastard child," Harry grumbled. Ghost nudged his hand again and Harry let out a choked sob, looking into Ghost's red eyes. "You think we'll work well together, Ghost?"
Ghost blinked then nudged Jon's cold hand, where it had fallen off the table.
Ser Davos watched as Melisandre prepared Jon for whatever ritual she was about to do, cleaning his body of any blood or dirt. She then looked up at the surrounding men, Tormund, the men of the Night's Watch and Ser Davos. Ghost was lying down under the table that held Jon and Harry, the strange but powerful man that he had come to know, was standing outside. Harry hadn't thought that anything would work, much less the inferior black magic that Melisandre practiced.
Had said something about being there just in case Jon came back and he wasn't Jon.
And mayhap Harry had been right as Melisandre laid a hand on Jon's chest and started to chant in Valyrian. The red lady chanted for hours, the sky turning to dusk beyond the walls and the chill in the air growing. There was something in the room though, some foreign power, that wasn't even similar to when Davos had witnessed Melisandre give birth. This wasn't a shadow demon and it wasn't Harry's power but it was something else, something old and ancient.
But it all was for naught, as finally Melisandre gave up two hours after she had begun. Davos sighed and he heard Dolorus Edd and the others shudder and sigh then walk out, after giving Jon's body sorrowful looks. Ghost wasn't even awake, yet another signal that Jon was not back. Tormund dipped his head in a nod then walked out, following the men of the Night's Watch.
"We will go build a pyre," Tormund spoke quietly as he left.
Davos nodded, unwilling to go just yet. Melisandre looked to him sadly, her eyes shaken and confused. He had never seen her like this, with lost confidence and shaken pride. But she left too, after whispering a word or two in her own language.
He was left alone with Jon's body and stood there for a few minutes, feeling oddly lost, before turning and heading to the door. He opened it only to see Harry's cautious green eyes and shook his head. Harry sighed and wiped his eyes then turned around. They were about to walk off when Harry stiffened, his hand dropping to the blade at his waist.
"Ser Potter?"
Harry glared at him for that title then stalked back, his wings moving up to hover over his body. Davos blinked and followed, stepping through the doorway and just about walked right into a mass of feathers.
"What?"
It was the breathing that gave Jon away, loud and harsh. Davos' eyes widened and he watched as Harry's knees buckled, a sharp gasp forcing its' way out of the man's throat as Davos stepped out and beside the other man to look into the room.
Ghost was awake and peering up at the man on the table. The man on the table that had recently been dead and now was not. Jon was sitting up, his grey eyes wide with panic and fear. He was breathing shallowly, like he didn't believe he was alive.
"Jon?" Harry croaked out, standing up on what looked like shaky legs.
Jon immediately peered down at Harry, his breathing sharp and quick. "...Hi?"
Harry let out another bemused sob, this one shaky and wet, as they locked eyes, green to grey. Jon broke off, starting to peer down at his chest, at the still open knife wounds, and began to breathe even faster, thin, shallow breaths.
Davos nudged Harry towards the other man, hearing Harry snort, and watched as the winged man quickly closed the distance between him and Jon. Davos watched as Harry reached out an arm to gently pull Jon into a hug, whispering soothing nonsense and curling his wings around them both.
Davos was about to walk out of the room, give them both privacy, when he realized that one of Harry's wings wasn't black anymore. It was red. One black wing and one red wing, wrapped around Jon Snow.
"You're okay," Harry whispered, one arm around Jon's waist and one around his neck, anchoring. "You're safe. I'm here. I love you."
"They killed me," Jon muttered, disbelieving and burrowing even more into Harry's arms like he was trying to make himself smaller. "Did you… bring me back?"
"No." Harry shook his head, sighed. "I don't know what brought you back. For all I know it was Melisandre's god that did. But in general, I cannot bring people back from the dead. You know that."
"Wait a minute," Jon spoke, finally pulling back and looking him in the eyes, as his breathing finally slowed down. "Did you say you love me?"
Harry snorted, dipped his head in a nod. "Yes, I did. Thanks for noticing."
Jon's lips twitched up into a small grin.
"Love you too, idiot," Jon retorted.
"I'm your idiot though," Harry muttered. "And you're mine."
"Harry…" Jon trailed off, color coming back to his face as he looked him over. His eyes were lit up with interest at something, maybe it was just happiness at being back with him. "Your wings… One's turned red."
"Yes," Harry remarked, turning to look at his wings and seeing that Davos had left the room. "One red and one black. I… realized something when I saw you, dead on the table."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Red and black are Targaryen colors. Do you have something to say about House Targaryen?"
"Well, more like who your father is," Harry replied, as Jon reached out to entwine their hands. Jon's hand was still a little shaky as Harry squeezed lightly in reassurance.
He watched as Jon's eyes widened.
"You mean Lord Stark was not my father?"
"No. He was not."
"Then who was? And my mother?"
"Lyanna Stark was your mother," Harry commented. "And… Rhaegar Targaryen was your father."
Jon blinked and stared as Melisandre pushed open the door behind them.
"You have a claim to the throne," Harry whispered. "If you want it, anyway. No peer pressure from me."
Jon snorted and leaned down to place his head on Harry's shoulder, wrapping his other arm around Harry's waist briefly before turning to look at Melisandre.
