Jon

Jon wakes up to the sound of howling. Convinced that Ghost has returned from the dead, Jon bolts out of his bed and stands in the moonlight dripping through his window, completely nude and layered in sweat, listening to the howling continue from somewhere down below. That's no wolf—that's a person screaming, but why? Snatching his small-clothes off from the chair beside the bed, Jon dresses himself swiftly, growing more and more disconcerted by the screams. It sounds like someone—a woman maybe—is being tortured. I have to hurry. He makes sure to take Longclaw with him.

The castle of House Mallister is still foreign for Jon, but he remembers the way downstairs and walks as fast as he can toward the screams. The closer he gets, the louder and clearer the screams become. It's definitely a woman—it sounds like an elderly woman, though… What the hell is going on?

Bursting through the doors to Jason Mallister's dining hall, Jon finds himself amidst a group of people—all of them standing in a circle around Lord Mallister himself as well as the old woman Jon remembers passing by when they'd first arrived. Thirty heads spin to look at the newcomer in their midst, and Jon freezes with surprise. "What's going on here?"

Lord Mallister turns his eyes on Jon, leaning over the old woman on her knees with a hand on her shoulder. He appears tired, and if the old woman wasn't screaming in his ear, he might've heard Jon's question. Jon gets closer, and finally takes in the old woman's appearance.

Her face is more of a toad's than a human's—eyes spread wider apart than natural, with a short, pug nose and white, fragile strands of hair. Her jaw is stretched apart and an endless, horrified scream floods out, making Jon wince just to be near her. The others are all staring sadly at her, though some appear nervous. Lord Mallister stands and beckons Jon to follow him. He does so, and they go to a corner of the room so that they can hear each-other speak.

"Forgive her, she does this from time to time." says Jason Mallister with a prudish frown.

"What's wrong with her?" Jon asks.

"We don't know. We found her in High Heart a year back. She was the only survivor from a battle that took place there. Still don't know her real name. The men say she's a witch—the Ghost of High Heart. Whenever she does this, the men like to watch and see if she'll deliver another premonition."

Ghost of High Heart… Why does that sound familiar? Jon can't help but wince as the old woman shrieks up at the bannisters. She hurls herself forward and a storm of coughs interrupt her, causing everyone to fall into anticipatory silence. The doors groan and Davos enters wearing his sleeping-clothes, his eyes wide with confusion as he takes in the room. Thoros of Myr is right behind him, half-naked, wielding an axe. The Red Priest's cheeks give up that he's still drunk from the night before, and the way he swaggers around as he enters the room confirms it. When Davos finds Jon, he calls, "What's going on? We heard a commotion and feared the worst."

Before Jon can answer, the old woman rounds her eyes on Jon—and suddenly Jon sees nothing, nothing but endless darkness. A moment of sheer panic nearly suffocates him—but then he blinks, and everything returns to normal.

"Jon?" Davos repeats his name, standing much closer to him than he was a second ago. Jon backs up, his face covered in sweat, gawking at the old woman who was now watching him in reserved silence. She lifts a bony finger up and points at him.

"She wants to speak with you." Lord Mallister mutters, and he barks at the men to get out. They do, until it is only Jon, Davos, Thoros, Lord Mallister, and the Ghost of High Heart in the hall. "We can leave as well, if she wishes?" The Lord asks the old woman, but she doesn't respond. She might as well be a statue now, perched on her knees between the tables like she'd taken a spill and couldn't get up.

Jon decides to approach her but with caution. When he kneels down in front of her, the Ghost remains frozen, her eyes lingering on the floor—lost in thought. "Do you know who I am?" Jon asks her quietly while Davos and Thoros gingerly approach them.

Nothing. The old woman doesn't even breathe. Jon glances nervously around at his comrades before going on. "My name is Jon Snow."

The old woman's lips part to crack a small smile. "Jon Snow." She repeats in a croak, "No. Not Snow…" She lifts the finger she used to point at him and strokes Jon's cheek with it, her nail as dull as a training sword. "You are the blood of the Dragon."

"I guess that confirms it then." Lord Mallister grunts with a grin, crossing his arms over his mailed chest. Davos just scowls while Thoros tilts his head back and chuckles. Jon ignores them, feeling a strange sensation in his chest. The old woman narrows her aged eyes at him and coughs again, spilling saliva down her chin and onto the clean floor.

"How do you know?" Jon asks her when she's finished.

"Jenny… my poor Jenny…" mumbles the Old Ghost.

"She says that often, it means she's lost her clarity." Lord Mallister sighs with disappointment, "I thought for a moment we might see something interesting."

"No. When she looked at me, I—I saw something." Jon insists, taking the old woman by her hand and clutching it tightly with both of his. She looks at him with bewildered eyes, searching his face. "Tell me how you know who I am. Tell me."

"Jon…" Davos mutters.

"She knows me. She knows something about me—I can feel it." Jon argues, blinking furiously at her now, "Tell me how you know, woman. How do you know who I am? Please, I need to know."

"Jenny…" The old woman mutters feebly, "My poor Jenny…"

"Whose Jenny?" Jon asks angrily, letting go of her leathery hands.

Lord Mallister answers, "We think Jenny was someone related to her a long time ago. Jenny's dead, that's all we know for certain. Nobody around here knows which Jenny she could be referring to. Might be the Jenny that married a Targaryen before they all died out."

"Targaryens." The Old Ghost grumbles, spitting more yellow phlegm across the floor. "Targaryens… ride dragons… Fire and blood…"

"My true name is Jon Targaryen." Jon says to her then, unable to give up. "Did you know my real father?"

"Targaryen... Father?" She blinks at him, and he can tell something is working in her brain—something is connecting… "The Prince that was Promised... Born of Ice and Fire, a savior will rise and fall three times to bring balance to the world. Three Heads of the Dragon must deliver the Light to the Darkness. The past is written and the ink is dry, but the future is an endless storm." Jon's head is spinning from everything she's saying—but she doesn't stop there, "With red hair, she will receive Winter's Kiss, and the God of Death will know love once again—and his love will be the ruin of mankind. Only the Prince that was Promised can save the world from darkness, with a sword of fire… and a heart of ice."

An hour later, and Jon is sitting with Davos in Davos's room drinking a mug of hot tea to calm his nerves. Davos sits across from him with his fingers crossed on the table, glaring at his mutilated finger-tips in reflection on the evening's events. Jon drinks his tea, feeling strangely upset. Davos clears his throat finally and says, "Would you like to know what I think of all this?"

Jon nods somberly and sets his mug down.

"I think it's all shit. Fuck this Lord of Light. Fuck this God of Death. Fuck the magic that brought you back to life. Fuck it all, Jon."

"You don't believe in magic now?" Jon asks him.

"On the contrary, I believe in it with all my bloody heart. Didn't used to, but I've seen too much. Just because I know it's real, doesn't mean I want anything to do with it. I've seen what happens to men—they grow corrupt over it, they think they can—can harness it like it's their weapon. Stannis burned his own daughter alive because he believed the Lord of Light told him to."

"And now you're worried because of what the Lord of Light told me to do?" Jon asks, though he knows already what Davos will say.

"Yes. I'm sorry, but I am worried. I saw you walk through fire—and I can't say I know how or why that's possible, only that it is. Just because you can do that, and just because you came back to life twice—doesn't mean you should start listening to voices in the flames." Davos casts him a hard glare, and Jon can't help but agree. But…

"What if I am the Prince that was Promised, Davos?"

"I don't believe in the ramblings of old women. Prophecies are lies."

"But what if this one isn't? You know the reason I know I'm a Targaryen is because my little brother had a vision and I believed him."

"And if I'd have been there, I'd have advised against believing him." Davos argues. "Turns out he is probably right. The longer this goes on, the more inclined I am to believe you truly are the blood of a dragon…"

"The Old Ghost's prophecy said the Prince was born of Ice and Fire. If Fire is Targaryens, then Ice must be Starks. My mother was Lyanna, my father Rhaegar. Asking her about my father somehow made her remember the prophecy, I think…"

Davos groans, "I beg of you, Jon. Please don't read into this…"

"I can't help it, Davos. You don't understand what it's like, being alive when you're not supposed to be. When she looked into my eyes—for a second, all I saw was absolute darkness. It was the same thing I saw when I died—and it was just as fast as both times—almost like I'd died and come back again just by looking at her. She's not some old hag, she's just as real as the Red Woman."

"Except the Red Woman had the Lord of Light. This Old Ghost doesn't believe in any Gods that we know of." Davos grunts, "I think this is a bad idea… I'm sorry, but I can't participate in a conversation about magic and prophecies."

"Then I'll speak to Thoros about it." Jon snaps, standing up, leaving his tea half-empty. Davos suddenly looks like he realizes he's made a mistake and jumps up after him.

"W-Wait, don't go, My Lord. Not to that man! He'll fill your head with—"

"I'm not a child, Davos. I'm not Stannis, either. Goodnight." Jon says, and he closes the bedroom door behind him.