K, so the real narrative of the story, really starts here, we start to see things from character perspectives and time will slow down to a more manageable level, after this chapter. I'll place some warnings here, since this is where it really starts to become apparent, but this story will be dark and twisted. Harry and Lilith are both evil, through and through. They are both sick and depraved, and willing to do horrible and twisted things to innocent people, so just prepare yourself for that going forward.
People always ask about harems when they're mentioned in stories, like how it's gonna be, how many, what goes on. I'll just explain right now, that the main pairing is gonna be Jon/Lilith, there will be others as slaves and concubines.
I'll leave a question here for you, in regards to warnings for things that might be considered extreme, do you want a warning at the start of the chapter? Or as a scene break? Or would you rather no warnings at all? I'm happy with whatever, but I don't really intend to hold anything back in this story, since we are dealing with two of the most evil entities here, so a lot of terrible and nasty stuff is gonna go down. Let me know.
Darkness Reborn
Chapter 5: Flesh and Bone
Jon Snow. That was the name that Eddard Stark had given him. Aegon Targaryen, that was the name Lyanna had whispered to Eddard, moments before her death, a name he desired far more. Aegon, same as the conqueror. Such a title would lead to great fortune in the future. The Dark Lord was indeed quite happy to receive it. Less so to hear what had befallen his siblings in the capital. Poor, sweet, Elia Martell and her children, butchered and wrapped in Lannister cloaks. Those two children could have been useful, they could have made powerful allies, the blood of the dragon was strong in them. The order of birth didn't matter, the Dark Lord would have risen above them, dominated them, and bent them to his will.
Sadly that would not come to pass. As he was carried in the arms of the captured wetnurse away from the Tower of Joy, he felt the shadows of the Nazgul follow. Three of them, followed in secret, trailing them as they delivered Ser Arthur Dayne's body and sword to his family. Harry sent a mental command to one of the trailing Nazgul to steal the body when the opportunity arose and take it to Lilith where it could be brought back from the dead and used for a special purpose. One of the greatest sword fighters in all of Westoros. Now that would be a useful servant to have.
Being in the body of an infant, was like floating within a cloud. Everything was light, and you seemingly shifted with the passing breeze.
Little at all could be done in such a body, other than think. And that is what the Dark Lord did. From the ruins of the Tower of Joy, back to the North in the hands of his uncle Eddard Stark. Thinking, pondering life, pondering the future. The body was stable, the Dark Lord's power contained. Now it would only be a matter of years before he could actually start to use it.
The childhood he was subjected to, brought back terrible memories. It wasn't nearly as poor as his first childhood, but the anger and resentment shown to him by Eddard Stark's wife, Catelyn, while understandable, did nothing but remind him of his dearest aunt and uncle from during his life as Harry Potter.
For four years, power flowed through the boy's little body, working it, and tempering it. Hardening it for future use. This often left him exhausted and appearing to be quite sickly. Often times he would be bedridden, but that was fine. In the dark of the night, he would continue to channel great magics through his new body, ensuring that when the time came, it could be used to unleash his full power against the armies of men and elves.
During that time he got to enjoy the distasteful presence of Eddard Stark's wife, Catelyn. In the beginning, the woman would whisper quiet prayers for her gods to take him in his sleep. He was a bastard to her knowledge, born of her husband's infidelity, and she would rather see him dead, then have him live as a threat to her true-born children.
One day, near the end of his preparations, she was struck with a bout of guilt. He remembered her kneeling next to his bedside while he feigned slumber, swearing and promising to the old gods and the new, that if he were to live, she would raise him as a mother should. She would no longer treat him so poorly.
Low and behold, when he had finished his preparations, he had gotten better. He no longer was sickly or weak. In fact, by the time he was five, he never got sick again.
Lady Catelyn didn't hold true to her word. Nothing much changed between the two. She still treated him with open resentment, and would rarely allow her own children to associate with the black sheep of the Stark household.
That didn't matter much. The black sheep was fine to spend time alone. It was in his moments of loneliness that he'd often be sought out by Robb Stark the eldest, True Born son of Ned Stark. The boy was always curious about his half-brother, and Jon Snow was willing to entertain his presence.
Despite the so-called bonds he slowly formed with his Brother, and his Father, Jon Snow never forgot what he was. A king. A Targaryen. A lord of Darkness and Terror. Fire and Shadow. His destiny, outweighed something as small and pitiful as Winterfell.
When Jon was six, the Greyjoys rebelled against King Robert, the Usurper of his family's throne.
And with that rebellion, Ned Stark marched off to war. And later he would return, victorious and with a new ward for the family house. Theon Greyjoy.
By the time Jon was eight, he was spending every day in the training yards, honing his muscles and reteaching his body to wield a blade.
Every night he would enter the crypts of Winterfell and whisper to the ancient dead. There in the shadows he would practice his magic, deep below the castle.
As the years went by, Jon Snow would plot and plan, always appearing stoic, quiet, and brooding, but with an almost unnatural form of grace that drew people's attention.
During long mornings, a gentle singing voice could be heard traveling out of the godswood. Where within, Jon Snow would sing to himself, often times his voice trailing into songs from his childhood as Harry Potter, lullaby's and the like, things he had sung to his sister when they were both young.
Harry Potter had always been decent at singing, though shyly he often wouldn't. By the time he'd gone to Hogwarts he'd stopped singing to himself, and would only sing on occasion to his twin, whenever she was feeling down, or lonely.
Not many people had known that about him. It had even come as a surprise to many of his friends at Hogwarts, who had once heard him singing down at the edge of the lake, near the castle.
After all these years, his singing had improved vastly. Learning songs of the elves, and men of Middle-Earth. Songs he had come up with himself on occasion whenever he was bored. In fact, even as Annatar he would sometimes sing, letting his smooth and often sorrowful and lonely voice carry gentle tunes that filled peoples hearts with quiet contentment and sometimes even humility.
Singing was almost all that remained of the man who had fought for the Light so long ago. He had changed so much since then, his heart became cold, from battle and betrayal. He became uncaring to the plight of others, and would often find enjoyment in their suffering. During his long time as Sauron he had almost never sang. And the times that he did, was often only to honor the memory of his lost love.
With a new body, and a new voice, he taught himself how to sing again, his hope was to one day sing to his beloved sister again, and see her smile, a genuine smile, as she so rarely did.
Sometimes his gentle, childish voice would draw others to his singing, and they would stand and listen, as he sung songs that they didn't fully understand. Gentle melodies of returning home, to that which was most precious, and to finding love once more.
He cared little for their staring, and often ignored them, never really answered when asked where he had learned such songs, or when he had become so good at singing. Robb and Theon teased him about it, and at times it would draw looks of concern and sorrow from Ned, it was in those moments that Jon knew he was seeing Rhaegar Targaryen in him.
One day upon his singing, his younger sister, Sansa Stark came upon him, she stood and listened to his song. At thirteen his voice was light, and still filled with childish youth, yet his song carried a gentle beauty to it. A beauty that had brought tears to her eyes, just as her aunt Lyanna had wept for Prince Rhaegar's song at the tourney of Harrenhal.
The two siblings had always had a strained relationship. Jon was distant and Sansa was Catelyn's precious child. She often filled Sansa's head with nonsense, in regards to Jon, and how a bastard was supposed to be.
After the first time she had heard him sing, Sansa started to spend time around the godswood, listening to Jon whenever he would go out and sing.
Having her often appear to listen to him sing, often reminded him of his past, and of his true sister, that he would return to one day. But of course, beyond the comfort of an audience, there were other benefits in gaining the adoration of the Stark's eldest daughter.
Jon started to slowly pay more attention to Sansa, staring at her from time to time, which would startle her and send her scampering away whenever she would be caught listening to him, or watching him. He'd began to sing more about the things that he knew Sansa liked. Songs about great knights. About kings and queens, and love. Songs that would make her blush and smile.
When he was fourteen, he approached where she was hiding, listening to his singing, silently handing her a flower and offering her a charming, and handsome smile. She couldn't bring herself to look at him for two days.
As he grew older, his ability to manipulate his handsome looks, and mysterious allure, drew the gazes of many an interested suitor. He had grown handsome, carrying the same wolfish features of his Stark Siblings, but with the beauty of a Targaryen added into the mix. He was quite good looking, well built, strong, lean, and carrying an allure that drew others' attention.
Jon never payed his potential suitors any mind. He had only eyes for one woman in this world. Everyone else, was simply a pawn. Friends, family, bed partners, all just tools to achieve his goals.
At fifteen he began to tease his younger sister, by leaving her secret gifts in places he knew she would be. Flowers, touching poems, and when he would sing, it would be about love, affection, romance. Things he knew would send her heart aflutter.
He was always aware of who was nearby whenever he worked his charms on Sansa. He never allowed Catelyn, Ned, Robb, or anyone in the castle to catch him. Sansa herself did her best to pretend like she wasn't thinking about him, like her beautiful, noble, and talented bastard half-brother wasn't constantly on her mind.
One time, he had been questioned by Theon about his apparent disinterest in the swooning women that would come to listen to him sing, or to watch him train in the yards. The Greyjoy lordling liked to make insinuations about Jon, that would often earn playful laughter from Robb who joined in on the teasing banter. Finally Theon demanded to know what kind of woman Jon was interested in.
Jon knew that Sansa was nearby and overheard their teasing, so Jon had smoothly countered that there were plenty of beautiful birds that he found interesting, but be they dark, light, or red of hair, he would never tell either of them. Unlike Theon, he wouldn't dare dishonor a fair maiden by boasting of his conquests in bed.
Theon chided him, while Robb let out a laugh at his overly honorable nature.
Jon had simply smiled, and said that when he found the beauty he was looking for, he'd never take his eyes off of her.
Theon offered him a bit of teasing at that, but Robb had defended him, admitting that, that was the noble way of going about it.
Theon simply shook his head, muttering that the two of them were still to young to understand but that they would one day. Women were fun, if you knew how to play their games.
Jon agreed that it could be fun to play such games, but he was far more interested in the chance to lay with his chosen woman, and spend his nights bedding her, honoring her, and running his hands through her hair.
Theon conceded then that Jon was a hopeless romantic. He suggested that maybe if he came out of the Godswood sometime, he'd actually find the woman he was looking for.
Jon had replied, that maybe one day she'd find her way to him.
Quickly the conversation turned away from love to more vocal pursuits, such as an upcoming hunt, Jon half payed attention as he caught out of the corner of his eye, Sansa walking past, playfully petting at her hair with a smile on her face. He knew exactly what she was imagining as she moved towards the castle.
His eyes tracked her for a moment long enough for her to glance back at him and notice him staring.
She looked away immediately when she met his gaze, hurrying away before he could spot the blush he knew would spread across her face.
Jon smirked, and chuckled to himself, neither Theon or Robb noticing what had happened, both busy poking fun at each other's abilities with a spear.
In the days that followed, Sansa started watching him more and more. And he began to reciprocate her curious gazes.
Her blushes, and her inability to stop herself from turning away, spoke volumes.
The eldest daughter of House Stark was quickly falling under his control. His conquest of the Stark household was a subtle thing, his friendship with Robb, Sansa's adoration, Arya's affections, little Bran and Rickon caring for him as their older brother.
Lady Catelyn was right to be worried about him. If she had any indication of his intentions for her children, she would have had him killed as a baby. More than likely, so would honorable Ned.
Not long afterwards, Jon cornered Sansa in her bedroom, late one evening. Having snuck in through the window and waiting for her to come to bed.
When she had arrived she nearly screamed in fright when she spotted him.
"What are you doing here?" She inquired, shyly, and wracked with nerves.
"This game we've been playing… it's been fun. But I've been growing restless watching you." Jon replied, causing her to blink and turn away from him, her cheeks flushing red.
"What… what are you talking about?" Sansa asked, as he approached her.
"Your affections for me, mine for you. We've been playing this game for a long time Sansa. What would your lady mother think if she knew all the times you've thought about me?" Jon responded, stepping in front of her. Sansa's eyes went wide at that and she tried to muster her courage, ready to counter his words, call him a liar, but just as she turned to face him again, he caught her face in his hands, and gently pressed his lips to hers.
Tingling excitement danced across her flesh, and butterflies swarmed her belly as she felt herself melt into her first kiss.
With no experience or any idea of how she was supposed to respond, all she could do was lean into the kiss, returning it.
The two remained locked together for several long moments. When they parted, Sansa had her eyes closed. A smile danced across her face, as fantastical images played through her mind. Her noble, kind, beautiful brother. So handsome, and charming, gentle and skilled. Everything she had ever dreamed of, in her knight in shining armor. For over a year now, her dreams of her charming prince, had always been of him.
In her eyes, his only fault was that he was a bastard. But in that way, it made it better, her affections for him. He was only her half-brother. She was young, and despite knowing it was wrong, and taboo, and would absolutely drive her mother crazy, slowly but surely, Sansa had found that she was only ever able to think about her bastard brother in that way.
Slowly, her eyes opened, and she found his silvery gray eyes staring back at her, that ever charming smile, spread across his lips.
A smile he reserved almost exclusively, for his family, and for her in particular. People called him brooding, and moping, but Sansa could see through that. He was such a kind and gentle soul. Peaceful, and shy. And slowly she had come to adore him, and now he had kissed her, confirming beyond any of her doubts that he felt the same way about her.
"Why did you do that?" She couldn't help but ask. The question needed to be out there, despite how much she wanted him to kiss her, and keep kissing her. Like in the story books, with the knights and their fair ladies.
"Because I wanted to. We're wolves, and wolves take what they want. Like I said… I'm tired of playing this game. I want you to know how I feel about you, so that there can be an understanding between us." Jon responded. Sansa's eyes fell to the ground, as her smile grew larger.
Jon stared at her, his gaze cool, and passionate. Such things, easily hid the raw power, and malice within him.
"Such an adorable little thing, Sansa. Lilith always did love her playthings. And more than that, she loved her depravities. A half-brother and sister, engaged in an incestuous affair, how scandalous, and utterly depraved." Jon mused to himself.
"Wh-what happens now?" Sansa asked, eyeing him curiously.
"Such innocence…" Jon thought to himself he reached up and cradled her face.
"I could kiss you again?" He suggested, earning a blush and a quick nod.
With a smile he leaned in and kissed her again. As their lips tentatively danced, the Dark Lord filled his mind with images of this pure and innocent thing in his arms, and what he would do with it, when he presented it to his beloved twin.
This was new territory for him in this regard. He hoped that when they saw each other again, she may have regained some of, if not all of her memories from reading through his diary and drinking in the memories he had filled it with.
There was a distinct difference between Lilith and Morgoth, and that difference had to do with the physical. Morgoth had only known existence as a higher being, and didn't truly understand the pleasures of the flesh. In an odd way, that made her 'innocent'. In fact such physical things were a rarity on Middle-Earth. Things like Rape, Molestation, and Incest, were rarities. Despite the war torn nature of things. People were far more innocent on Middle-Earth. Less… real. Obviously that had been part of Eru's design, diminishing the sex drives of his creations, to help keep them in line. That's not to say such things didn't happen, because they most certainly did, but a look at Middle-Earth compared to Westoros or even his own world, and one would find a notable difference in the statistics.
Morgoth certainly didn't care for such things, in fact she was far more interested in the scandal and taboo of the acts, rather than the depravity and twisted nature behind them.
Lilith had such interests in the physical. Her various concubines, during her time as the Dark Lord, had proven such things in her past. It would be interesting to see. Either he would offer the innocent Sansa Stark to Lilith and she would twist her into a servant, or she would regain some of her more twisted tastes from her first life, and take Sansa for much more than just her servitude.
Which ever way it went, the loyal little wolf would accept it. He had secured her affections now, and when the time was right, he would secure her undying loyalty and devotion.
For now, she was good practice. This body was still new, and relearning his old tricks would be fun. Either he'd return to his sister, and she'd remember enough of her past to regain some of her old desires, in which case he and Lilith would be able to do more than just kiss, or she wouldn't in which case, he would have the perfect little plaything to handle those physical needs.
He would secure Robb's allegiance through friendship, and hold it, with Sansa as his.
The following nights saw a repeat of their kissing games. He would sneak into her room late at night and the two would kiss. During the daytime Sansa would avoid him, taking on more of her mother's disdain towards him, but it was all just a ruse. Sansa would practically leap into his arms some nights, as they kissed and hugged, and engaged in very light petting.
The Dark Lord was patient, especially when it came to twisting the minds of his servants.
Time passed, Jon was sixteen now. With each passing day he spent his time improving his skills. During the day he would train in the yard, improving his weapon skills. It didn't take him long to get used to the weight and shape of his new body. Whether with a sword, a bow, or a spear, Jon practiced his skills, reteaching his muscles how to move. In the light of day he worked on his form. In the shadow of night, he would vanish into the crypts and practice his full abilities, magic, swordplay, and now that his body was reaching maturity, he began to get reacquainted with his shape-shifting abilities. First was simple things like hair and eye color. Than it became full body transformations.
When he was fourteen, a servant from Moat Cailin traveled to the woods outside of Winterfell where he left a magical chest that only Jon could open. Within said trunk were several items that had been placed there in advance to be returned to Jon after taking his new body.
These items were the three Deathly Hallows, as well as several personal items that had been kept for years, in a safe place, including Lilith's staff from her first life, her original wand as well, Harry Potter's original holly, and phoenix feather wand, his faithful wand holster, and his own two-way mirror for connecting with Lilith.
Two swords lay crisscrossed inside, the Sword of Gryffindor, and a black steel sword, inscribed with ancient red runes, the sword had been wielded by Lilith during her first reign as dark lord, and it had presumably been forged by her as well. It had been named Ira, meaning Wrath in Latin.
Each one of these items would have been easily recognized by Eru if seen so he had kept them hidden. Here in Westoros though, he was free to use them.
Retrieving his old Holly wand and holster, he had tested it to make sure it still worked with him. He had then retrieved the Cloak of Invisibility and then shrunk the chest and had it on his person at all times.
Often it would be kept in a satchel that was warded with magic so that only Jon could remove items from within it. He could also summon the satchel if he needed too from nearly anywhere.
That had been nearly two years ago, and since then he returned to form, reteaching his body all of the wand movements and the like, that made spells easier. With the Cloak of Invisibility, he easily slipped around the castle, leaving when he wanted to, to return to Moat Cailin to check up on his servants there.
It wouldn't be long until he would head north to return to his beloved Twin and see what she had gotten up to in the last decade and a half. Despite desperately wanting to, he kept himself from contacting her on his two-way mirror. He wanted to see her in person, show her his new body. If there was one thing that had him giddy and nervous, it was how she would react to his new body.
Now he was sixteen. His skills with magic had returned to their original levels. His body showed no signs of degradation or decay from his magic. He had regained his martial skill and reflexes and was easily the best fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. Everything seemingly, had worked perfectly.
He was very close to the future lord of House Stark, Robb. He had Sansa wrapped around his finger. Arya adored him and wanted to be just like him. Bran treated him like a brother and looked up to him, and so did Rickon. He had most definitely fostered good relations with the Starks, despite Catelyn's best efforts. Even Theon wasn't so bad when you got past his arrogance. After all he was the heir to the Greyjoy lordship, which was another ally to add to their cause.
All and all, things had worked out splendidly so far.
One day, seemingly out of nowhere, Lord Stark had called for Robb, Theon, Bran, and himself to join with him as he went to deal with a captured runaway from the Night's Watch.
Jon could barely contain his giddiness as the captured Black brother, uttered terrified warnings of monsters beyond the wall. Horrible misshapen, flesh-eating, monsters. He did what he could to warn Lord Stark of a horrible evil beyond the wall. The haunted look in his eyes, and his ghostly pale visage was enough to unnerve Lord Stark.
Regardless of the warning though, Eddard executed him as a deserter. On their way back to Winterfell, they came across a dead stag in the road. It had been torn to pieces by something. Down in the forest, not far from the corpse, lay the body of a mother direwolf. An antler having pierced her throat, killing the mighty beast.
Five direwolf pups were found with the body. Jon was able to save their lives by reminding lord Stark that the Direwolf was a sigil of House Stark, and there was five of them, one for each of the Stark children. A sure sign from the gods, that they were meant to have them.
Ned accepted that. Before they could depart though, a sixth pup was found, pure white, and the runt of the litter.
Theon had jokingly proclaimed that, that pup belonged to Jon. While Jon pretended to be annoyed, on the inside, he found himself pleasantly surprised and took in the pup to raise.
Unlike the other pups who were noisy and loud, his was quiet, almost silent most of the time. Rarely did he howl, and beyond that, he almost never made a sound. Jon had decided to name him Ghost.
Having his own direwolf to raise, encouraged Jon to enter the next stage of his transformation training. Regaining his Animagus abilities. In his youth, he had the ability to shape shift into a snake. The addition of basilisk venom, phoenix tears, and a bite from a werewolf, altered his Animagus form. He had two different primary forms. One was a Basilisk, and the other, was a werewolf, but unlike normal werewolves, his wolf form was different, far stronger, and more controlled, and he could turn at will. The phoenix tears were what allowed him so much control over the inner beast, and the latent Basilisk venom, negated the worst affects of lycanthrope.
His ability to assume these shapes was tied to the mutations to his magic, caused by these powerful magical agents, and those alterations remained, even without the agents still in his body. With great difficulty, he was able to work his body into those shapes, regaining his Basilisk form first, and then taking on his werewolf form.
Once able to change into a wolf at will, he began to run the forests with Ghost, pack bonding with him.
It was these short few weeks of additional training that sparked an idea in the reborn Dark Lord. Stark's had the dormant blood of the wolf in them. What better way to ensure their loyalty, then to awaken that blood, making werewolves of the lot of them, reforging his ancient pack.
Not long afterwards, word reached Winterfell that the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn was dead, and that the king was now riding north. It didn't take a genius to guess what he wanted from this cold, desolate part of the world.
It would most definitely be of interest to see how this played out. For now though, he had work to do.
A month passed before the king arrived Jon was thankful for Lady Catelyn's resentment for him, as it meant that he didn't have to present himself to the fat king. He watched the King's arrival from one of the towers, his eyes alight with anticipation and rage. Robert Baratheon had stolen the throne that rightfully belonged to him, now he had to kill the overweight fool, and take it back.
That night, a feast was held in honor of the king's arrival. Jon was persona non grata, thanks to Catelyn, but again, it was of no real issue. He spent the night, training in the yard, pretending to be upset by the slight. In reality, it just gave him a good reason to hit something that wasn't the King. If Jon had wanted to, he could have stormed the great hall, and murdered King Robert with ease, the only weapon that had any sort of magical properties was Ice, but there was no one with the skill to wield it efficiently enough to put up even a fighting chance against him.
No. He wouldn't be rash about this. He'd take his time, have his fun. He'd make the Stag King suffer before the end.
"And what are you doing out here?" Came the question from Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.
Jon was busy practicing, hearing the little lord disturbing his practice, he let out a sigh, and turned to face him.
"I'm training." Jon said to the little man.
"I can see that. I'm more so interested in why you're training when there is food and wine to be had?" Tyrion responded, eyeing the bastard of Winterfell with a curious gaze in his mismatched eyes.
"Bastards aren't welcome at a king's feast." Jon replied, a dangerous glint in his eye as he turned back towards his training post.
"Did I offend you? Sorry. So you're the Stark Bastard." Tyrion stated, eyeing him curiously.
"I am. An interesting title. Not the first bastard of a Stark, and I wont be the last." Jon replied, his gaze focused on the training dummy.
"May I offer you some advice, bastard?" Tyrion inquired.
Jon glanced back at him, his wintry gaze, piercing and mighty. Had Tyrion not been drunk already, perhaps he would have noticed.
"Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you." Tyrion offered.
"I guess a dwarf would know best." Jon responded, earning a rueful smile from Tyrion.
"And we do." Tyrion confirmed as he turned and headed off, leaving Jon to continue his training.
Later that night, he waited for Sansa in her room, she entered and when she saw him, she tensed, and her eyes fell to the ground. Jon knew immediately that something was wrong. She was nervous, upset, doing her best to cover it up and pretend that she wasn't.
"What's wrong?" Jon asked, crossing the room and placing his hands on her shoulders.
"Father… Father says I am to marry Prince Joffrey." Sansa said to him, tears beginning to build in her eyes. It was apparent that she'd been holding this back all night.
"You don't want to marry him?" Jon inquired.
"No." Sansa replied, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him as tears began to fall from her eyes.
"He's a prince." Jon noted.
"He's not you." She muttered quietly.
Jon was silent for several long moments as he stared down at her. Slowly, he brought a hand to her chin, raising her face so that she could look him in the eyes.
"It's alright, Sansa. Everything will be alright. Do you trust me?" Jon asked, his eyes locked with hers.
"Yes." Sansa replied, her voice quiet and filled with adoration and affection.
"Foolish girl." Jon smiled as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. She returned the kiss, far more hungrily than she ever had. His hands slowly drifted to the clasps on her dress, unhooking them, loosening her outfit.
"Jon…?" Sansa whispered, fear, hesitation, and excitement, echoing through her voice, across her face, and in her gaze.
Jon smiled, grinning a wolfish grin, as he placed his lips back to hers, his hands slowly pulling at her dress until it loosened and fell free, leaving her only in her small clothes. She was tense, her body shaking, she definitely wasn't ready for where this was going, but she couldn't stop herself.
She felt his hands unclasp her undergarment. As he slid it off of her, revealing her bare flesh, he felt her shaking grow more severe.
He began to trail away from her lips, kissing across her cheek, and then down to her neck. Her breathing began to grow more rapid as his arms slid around her. One hand was placed on the middle of her naked back, the other rested on her bare hips. She felt him moving her as he kissed at her neck, walking her away from her clothes towards the center of the room.
"Do you trust me?" She heard him whisper as he continued kissing her.
"Ye-yes." Sansa whimpered, pleasure dancing across her body like lightning.
"Good… I promise you Sansa…" He began, a smile started forming on her face, as fantasies filled her mind. Oaths of love, declarations of undying affection. Perhaps they would run away together, live in love and bliss. She'd take care of him, and he would love her, and protect her, and shower her with affection.
In was in that single moment that a dozen different fantasies played out in her head. She felt the hand on her back rise up, gently taking strands of her hair, pulling them aside, so that nothing was between him and her neck, where he trailed kisses from her jaw to her collarbone.
"…This is going to hurt more than anything you could possibly image. But… afterwards… you'll know what it means to be free." He whispered in her ear.
He didn't need to see her face, to know that she had been broken out of her fantasies, confused by his words.
Jon grinned devilishly, as she began to speak.
"Wh-" Sansa didn't make it past the first syllable, as Jon barred his teeth, and bit deeply into the flesh of her neck and shoulder.
Sansa let out a cry, her body now shaking as she felt burning hot blood erupt from her shoulder, and pour down her flesh.
She felt Jon pull back, his face coming into view. His eyes lit up like Emerald flames, blood dripping from his lips.
He smiled at her, a ravenous, monstrous grin. Before leaning in, his lips, meeting with hers.
She was in shock, her mind in disbelief. She felt herself growing weaker and weaker, her vision fading. The thick taste of blood on his lips was sickening. She wanted to vomit.
Her mind was breaking in two, disbelief, heartbreak, anger, pain. All filled her body, but none more so than sickening pleasure. The sparks of electricity that danced across her body, were utterly amazing, it built and built dancing rapidly, building in her chest, and then exploding outward across her whole body, only to bounce back to her chest once more to repeat.
To her disbelief, she moaned into the kiss, and felt him grin, her blood still hot on his lips.
She felt her vision fade more and more. His face became blurry, her room faded into colors of gray and brown. The only thing that remained clear, was the burning green flames, that were his eyes.
After only a few seconds, Sansa passed out, her body going limp in his arms.
Jon slowly lowered her to the ground, setting her on the floor of her room, where he knelt down beside her and stared at her seemingly lifeless body, as blood flowed freely from the deep wound on her shoulder.
For nearly a full five minutes she continued to bleed, growing paler and paler, until slowly, color returned to her.
Jon smirked to himself, as he saw her wound begin to heal over, morphing into a twisted scar.
Sansa laid there for several moments, when suddenly she took in a sharp breath of air, so hard and gasping that her back arched and her body began to spasm painfully.
Jon remained quiet as he watched her thrash about. A smirk spread across his face as she began to calm down, her eyes beginning to glow, a cerulean blue.
Slowly, sickeningly, she sat up, her eyes locked straight ahead of her, she was breathing heavily, as if tasting the air. Then she breathed in through her nose, her eyes widening.
Silence filled the room as her gaze slowly turned to him. Jon smirked, Sansa's eyes flashed with anger, betrayal, and lust.
With an animalistic snarl she leaped at him, trying to claw at his face, and bite at his exposed throat. He caught her by the throat, still smirking.
"I told you it would hurt." Jon noted, letting out a chuckle, as he locked eyes with her. He could see the changes already taking hold. Her wolfish blood activating. She was slowly changing, right before his eyes. Her teeth elongated, her features grew sharper and more feral, her strength increased far beyond human levels.
Jon let out a snort of amusement, as she snarled at him, like a wild animal.
Without fear or hesitance, he leaned forward and planted his lips on hers. She retreated for a moment, her face filled with disbelief, confusion, and shock.
He smiled, that charming gentle smile of his.
She lunged forward, her lips crashing into his. She ceased her attempts to claw at him, instead grabbing his shoulders, and holding him tightly as they wrestled for dominance. Suddenly, Jon Apparated them out of the castle using the cover of night to transport them deep into the nearby forest.
As soon as they arrived, Jon shoved Sansa off of him, rising to his feet and backing away, his smile morphing into a devilish grin, as his emerald gaze grew more intense.
Sansa pursued him, stalking forward like a beast. Despite being completely nude, she seemed unaffected by the cold night weather.
Jon continued to back away from her, leading her further and further into the shadow of the forest.
She followed him, quickly catching up, grabbing him and kissing him, only to be pushed back again. She let out a snarl of frustration and stalked after him, her features growing more wolfish as she did.
Jon backed up into the shadow of a large tree.
Sansa pursued him, only to stop when a monstrous snarl emerged from the shadows.
Broken from her lustful trance, she backed away, startled and fearful.
Out of the shadows, emerged a wolf-like creature. Standing on all fours he was six feet tall, covered in raven black fur, Jon's werewolf form was a sight to behold. Large, muscular, agile in appearance. It walked on all fours, with wider, longer, wolfish hind legs, while it's front legs were more like human arms. He had five fingers and on each one was a claw, each claw nearly as long as a hunting knife.
His wolfish maw was filled with razor sharp teeth as long as Sansa's fingers.
Even on all fours, he towered over the young girl. She continued to back away from the beast as it stalked towards her. Suddenly the beast stopped it's advance, it snarled at her, it's glowing green eyes, piercing right through her body. The beast suddenly reared back, squatting on it's hind legs like a man could.
Standing up right, the beast further towered over her, making the young girl appear even smaller than she had been before. Suddenly the beast through back it's head and howled at the moon.
Sansa slowly raised her head towards the sky, her eyes finding the crescent moon, hanging high in the heavens. Without realizing it, she found herself howling as well, howling at the moon like a wolf.
Within Winterfell, almost in unison, the Stark Direwolves began to howl as well. They were soon joined by every canine for miles, all howling into the heavens.
Were the feast not still dragging on, more would have taken notice of the strange and sudden event, but they didn't notice. None noticed that Sansa Stark was no missing from her room, and none noticed the dread aura that began to permeate the forests, as the Lord of Wolves, claimed his first pack mate.
-To be continued-
*1: His form and the form of all future werewolves, will be similar in design to the Scourge Beasts from Bloodborne, with only a few noteworthy differences such as size, speed, or special characteristics.
Alright, how was that, hope you all enjoyed the fun of this chapter, and seeing Jon/Sauron begin to reform his private forces and mold the Starks into his servants. I hope I got across here how dark, and demented and manipulative, Harry/Jon/Sauron is. Playing at being the kind brother, all the while seduce Sansa and ultimately turning her into a werewolf. I hope everyones having a good time, and I hope to hear what you all thought. Any questions or concerns, feel free to leave a review or send me a pm, will happily clear up anything you need me too, or answer any questions.
