Disclaimer : Every right goes to GRRM and HBO for the wonderful thing that is ASOIF and GOT! I do not own anything apart from the plot and maybe some inventions.
Jon stood frozen in front of the dragon. Because that is indeed what this magnificent creature seemed to be. His scales and thick leathery skin were made of the most creamy white color one could imagine. Gold and silvery lines that seemed like embroidery ran through the entirety of its visible body. It created shapes and refinery on the milky canvas that many men would love to admire endlessly.
The great horns sprouting from the top of its gigantic head looked like they were molded in a pool of pure gold, they gleamed in the frozen light of the North like fires bringing salvation. The same vivid golden sheen constituted the molten seas of his eyes. The orbs gazed at him appraisingly but unexpectedly he couldn't detect any particular danger aimed for him. His massive jaws opened slightly in a breath so warm it could heat the long nights on top of the Wall, letting him see the rows of black daggers he had for teeth.
He could observe that the dragon crouched even more in front of him to get near his face, but if it didn't Jon was sure he would be as tall as a house. His giant wings were flexed on the ground as if they were arms too. Claws of black stone decorated with golden ripples were so deadly it would easily cut a man in half with only a graze, sprouted from the giant appendages. Under his head a chain could be seen dangling from left to right slowly. The metallic gleam it led to was the proof this dragon had been collared and chained until recently.
A war rumbled in Jon, his emotions were contradictory. He felt worry like one akin to a mother's about her children for Ghost, he hoped that the direwolf he could already hear moving behind him wouldn't be put in danger by the mythical creature. Fear too. It was omnipresent. One couldn't stand in front of a giant white dragon and simply stare unemotionally.
Every part of the creature was made to be feared: gleaming sharp teeth, blade like claws, unnaturally piercing gold eyes, tall and pointed horns, massive jaws and torrid breath. Only a fool wouldn't feel the urge to at least squeak in fear.
However, Jon must be a somewhat of a fool, after all, Ygritte had indeed liked to tell him incessantly he knew nothing. Terror was there for sure. But, oddly, it wasn't consuming him whole, like one would expect. He thinks at that moment he had been more afraid the first time he encountered what seems now like only a mere wight.
It was as if he knew that while the dragon was fearsome, he wouldn't wound him. Danger rolled from the creature in powerful waves but it seemed to him that none was directed towards himself. It felt more like a warning to any other living thing in the frozen forest around them.
Jon slowly regained his composure. His breath calmed gradually to regularly powerful inhales and exhales. His racing heart gently slowed down when the initial terror passed away. The muscles and bones of his body gradually stopped clenching as if ready to bolt from the slightest movement of the white dragon. He straightened his spine in a nonthreatening motion. Finally he looked right in the unnaturally glowing golden eyes of the creature and set his face blank of any readable emotion.
All of a sudden, his arms and legs moved by foreign instinct. One of his hands grabbed the dagger he had fixed at his belt and slashed his right palm in a great slide letting his blood ooze from the wound.
His feet moved towards the dragon and when he was mere inches away from his gigantic head, he presented him his bleeding hand as if it was a precious gift only he could have.
Jon looked down, confused about the actions he just did. It felt like another entity, an ages old knowledge invaded him and made him move unknowingly.
His hand was still held in the air by an unseen force while the dragon appraised him silently. His snout approached the bleeding part of his body and sniffed it like it was a piece of meat. Maybe his ancestors made him cut his hand to die like he should have the previous night. What irony.
Suddenly, a mighty deafening roar was let loose from the great throat of the creature. Jon rationally would say if ever asked, that no dragon roar could be anything but a warning or expression of anger, but deep inside he couldn't feel any malign intent coming from him.
What happened next was something the "bastard of Winterfell" never would have expected. As everything else that has happened since he was betrayed by his brothers in arms the previous evening. The dragon licked his blood with its raspy and torrid tongue, a warmth so mighty that he could already feel the wound mending itself from the heat melting the sore skin. Next, he lowered his magnificent head until his snout touched the melting frozen ground, in a gesture of deference and subjection.
When he raised his head again, Jon could see that a connection was made and that the dragon was as much of a mindless beast as his intelligent direwolf Ghost. Which meant not at all. Feelings and reason could be read in the golden eyes. Next, the dragon mirrored his previous actions thanks to his sharp teeth piercing the thick and otherwise impenetrable skin of his right paw.
He guessed he should have felt disgusted by drinking a dragon's blood but the action seemed as natural and full of ancient instinct as his own self cutting. The dark red blood was so hot it almost burned the entire course it ran: from the mouth, passing down the throat, to the empty bowels of his gut. He knelt down in front of the mighty beast and lowered his head too.
As he tried to stand again, a surge of Power invaded his body and mind. His senses went erratic, his breath and pulse were never higher than at this instant. The nerves in his entire body sizzled and contracted painfully in a rapid tempo. The very core of his bones seemed to shatter from the inside and felt eroded as if they were exchanged with Old Maester Aemon's. His muscles seemed to liquefy and become useless chunks of meat. His legs couldn't support him anymore and he lied down on the cool soil in the same position as the previous night when blood was pooling around his almost lifeless body. His vision was crossed and his brain unresponsive.
His eyes closed swiftly again as if he didn't have a full night of respite mere moments ago and his mind went black.
Jon could still feel his body trying to regain normalcy after the powerful surge of foreign energy that had invaded him so brutally, that he fainted like an innocent maiden in front of her first cock. The state he was in was so indescribable it confused him, again. It seemed he really needed to get back what little intelligence he thought he perhaps one day had.
When wounds patterned his skin with gaping tender flesh and oozing blood during the fateful night, his mind was fuzzy and danced between consciousness and unconsciousness. Just as it did now. However, the previous time, it was due to shock, sorrow and loss of blood. Now that he had been healed from the numerous cuts, the deadly dance was even more questionable.
On the one hand, he felt like usual, well as much as it could be possible in the current circumstances, while recovering from the Power, in his own body, his eyes moving under his heavy lids. On the other hand, the very next moment, he saw his own body lying on the cold ground, being slowly moved by Ghost back to the cave he left earlier in the attempt to take a much needed piss.
The direwolf stopped at the entrance of the cave so that he wouldn't get too far away from the giant dragon that seemed to be dutifully guarding him, and protecting him from any creature of the Cold that was so common here, beyond the Wall.
The image of seeing his own self away from his eyes in itself was disturbing. But, what puzzled him the most was the strange visual. The precision of the details so much sharper and the colors varying saturation and tones becoming different. Also it seemed like they regularly changed. One instant he saw the entire scene in a multitude of greenish nuances, the next he and Ghost gleamed red like fires in the night, the surroundings a bluish white as if indicating the level of frost they contained; only small insects and animals living in the high trees punctuated the scenery with warm colors.
Then it brutally changed: the eyes he looked through shifted the aimed direction and gazed so far in the distance that Jon couldn't believe it possible. He saw the Wall, and a small garrison of Black Brothers heading towards the path he took with his ex companions the previous evening.
Furthermore, what also roused astonishment in him, which he didn't even believe possible anymore, was that the acuity of this new pair of eyes wasn't the only increased sense. He could smell a multitude of different odors: the strong wild scent of ferocity and blood lust for their enemies in Ghost, the insignificance of the critters and other small animals scurrying in the trees and small shrubs that could be found around, and also a foul stench reminding him of death and frost scattered on the entirety of the land nearby. Guess that last one could only mean that the presence of the Others was much more abundant in the proximity of the Wall than the Watch thought up until now.
The wind felt a lot more vivid and alive when it touches him than he ever recalled feeling in his life, not even when it was omnipresent on the peak of the gigantic wall of frozen stone the First Men had build. The frozen soil felt ambivalently alive and dead: the frost either killing or preserving what was in it.
It was unbelievable, the sounds he could hear. The scatters of prey running for their life, the slow crouch of the predators hunting their next meal, the soft rumble of a bear in its cave sleeping of the harshest of the cold time. His ears detected the powerful trot of a mounted horse in a long distance, the run of a small person crying in the frozen woods, and the solemn sounds and whispers of his Brothers.
No. Not anymore. Death relieved a sworn Crow from his careful watch. After such mutiny and betrayal, even if death hadn't claimed him for the shortest of moment he wouldn't consider them anymore his Brothers by Duty. They couldn't be trusted. At least not everyone in the Black Order. Poor realm of men, relying on thieves, rapists, murderers and mere children to protect them from the greatest threat against mankind.
All of the new information that could reach him now through the exacerbated senses caused an indomitable feeling of terror and panic to overpower his sanity.
This couldn't be possible! No man should ever experience this. It was impossible. Unnatural! He knew that the dead coming back was as unnatural and he did witness it, but he fought against it…
If he had been in his own carnal sheath, the air would have befallen him due to the collapse of his lungs. He was choking without even being in a body capable of it. None of the accrued senses were now registered as he was fear stricken…
"Calm down, Jon. Hush the unreasonable fear. It will all be alright. You need not fear what is yours since the first breath you took. Power is yours to wield. Calm down..."
The voice came out of nowhere. It seemed to be made of the smoothest silk wrapped around feminine hardness. It was low and almost had a raspy undertone, while still being seductive and soothing. He didn't know whom it belonged to, nor its intentions or even how the woman talked to him in his mind, but for now he would heed the advice and later mull over the consequences of listening to a ghostly voice. The slightly present accent it wielded with the spoken words helped him concentrate on the message. He couldn't concede to fear. The garrison was more important to uncover some much needed truths. He could further reason in due time. In his own body.
He dragged back his conscious to the sight he was offered and observed the troop of men carefully, trying to determine who was in the coup and who wasn't. Most of his now lost men wore a mixture of worry and determination on their grumpy faces. He assumed easily that while some were indeed genuinely concerned by his, the Fire Woman's and their brothers' disappearances, others probably were only anxious about the success rate of the planned murder on their young Lord Commander. Jon thought he saw some brief expressions of grief and culpability on a little few of the present crows. Those were the men he had already guessed would be against him, it wouldn't break the already established pattern: older members that disapproved entirely of his election as Lord Commander and the initiatives he took, such as allowing Wildlings in their midst to aid them in their fight against the Creatures of Winter, and thus undermining every one of his actions.
He saw them slowly getting nearer and nearer to the fatal place it occurred. If there had been any witness, it would probably be a remembered stone mark told to small children and studied by intellectuals in how the youngest Commander of the Night's Watch was betrayed by his own sworn brothers because he held compassion in him. And how the said young Crow rose from the cold hands of death as not an Undead Other, but as a Raging Fire.
As they reached the resting place of the garrison's and the Red Woman's ashes the men covered in black furs and leather looked frightfully at the small mounds of dark dust slowly being blown away grain by grain by the strong bone freezing winds north of the Wall.
The shapes of the monticules could only possibly be those of incinerated bodies. He heard many gulps of fear and sorrow as the watchmen realized what it meant. They were dead. After a few moments of mourning silence, a man spoke up.
"Ya think the wildlings burn'd the bods?" One of the crow asked. Probably one of the ancient thieves from the south judging by his lowborn manner of speech…
"Possibly. That is what I would have done, I wouldn't want the prowess of the Commander's sword against us for sure. But what wildlings are there still so close to the Wall? They are all either inside our forts or far away from the immediate proximity…" He recognized Arlan by the elaborate language and the slight accent from the Vale. The slight insinuation and intelligently introduction of his doubts also helped.
The man when he was a civilian had been assisting as per usual one of the smaller lords commanded by the Arryns, when the said lording saw his sister that came to deliver a letter, groped her with threats ushered in her ear and tried to rape her in front of her own brother. Arlan ended up killing him when the situation went out of hand and the arrogant male tried to cut his hand for interrupting him during "play time".
He was almost entirely sure that Arlan wasn't one of the conspirators. He spoke regularly with him, and the knowledgeable man understood the wisdom of the choice he had to make. What's more, he appreciated the ten years older Valeman for his sense of honor, worthy of a Stark.
"May be the Red Cunt made them all burn for her almighty God in the flames…" The mocking and anger could clearly be heard in the voice of a third man dressed in black.
Silence only met his supposition. Jon could see the older rangers that he suspected already shared frightened looks and silent whispers that even with the accrued hearing he couldn't hope to catch entirely. The only thing he decrypted was "the traitor", "think… he killed…" and "red whore!".
A smirk painted his lips. At least it could had he been in his own face. Nonetheless, it was a smirk of repressed anger and want for vengeance.
The man of the Night's Watch slowly recovered from their shock, and decided to retrieve everything they could from the remnants of their deceased brothers. Swords, furs and leathers along with pieces of gold and silver from the jewelry and pins were collected dutifully by the men. The gods only knew they needed it with the meager lives they had in Castleblack.
He could see as the group went back the way they came, that a few lingered to possibly see any evidence or sign. Some tried to find any little thing that could hopefully indicate that any of their comrades survived, or maybe the sign of a traitor and deserter. Others tried to find any possible proof that at least the aim of the conspiracy was a success.
Bitterness and pity melt together at the sight of their hateful faces shaking inside at the mere thought he actually killed them all. What a surprise it will be when he reveals himself in the future…
Jon could feel his mind slowly drifting away and liberating the host it burrowed for quite a bit of time now. The transition was odd, as he felt himself slowly changing and the capacities that went with each body moved accordingly.
Now, he could feel the reassuring yet confusing sense of his own human body. The tips of his fingers touching the cold stone he was laid on. The air shifting in his nostrils felt a tad cooler than before as well.
However, the harshest contrast was when he opened his eyes. The colors, the sharpness and the power of the previous eyes seemed like a mere memory or fantasy now. He could only see the smoothness of the polished stone, the frost attaching itself to it and the frozen moss trying to reach the slightly more comfortable end of the small cave.
He sat slowly and leaned against the cold wall supporting him. A forced big intake of breath and then exhale made him calm himself, and transition more into his real surroundings. As he let the light meet his pupils again, he observed silently the mighty white dragon laying at the entrance of the cave. His head slightly turned towards him, but still appraising the forest around them in search of an enemy to burn.
Jon quietly stood up and approached carefully the dragon. He could hear and sense Ghost following him with the eyes, the ever watchful direwolf always protecting his companion. The Northman knelt in front on the impressive head and slowly advanced his hand towards the thick skin between the closed eyes.
"It was you that shared your mind with mine, wasn't it?" Jon asked softly.
Slowly, the pale beast opened his golden pools and moved slightly forward with his snout to show the mere human it was acceptable to touch him.
As they skin connected, Jon could suddenly feel the throbbing link that attached him to the dragon. He could feel that it was pleased and complacent. No danger was in their vicinity. A slight hunger was present but he would hunt later with his bonded on his back.
"Viserion the Golden Ghost." The acknowledgment of his name pleased the dragon, especially the addition the white-haired female never found, he could feel it from the warm rumbled transmitting itself mentally in his own gut and the hazy feeling of a distant memory he couldn't recall.
The words left his mouth by themselves. No utterance of his felt as natural and fitting since he muttered Ghost's name the time he found him along with his litter and dying mother, Robb at his side. The bond he shared with his direwolf was exceptionally powerful, he barded into him regularly, had wolf dreams of the future and also shared the feral hunts in the forest in wolf skin.
He hadn't ever thought that it could possibly be found again, with the same strength with any living creature: beasts and humans alike.
He was proved wrong once again with the connection he instinctively secured with Viserion by the sharing of blood and mind. The bonds weren't different in their power, he felt as connected with the direwolf as the dragon, but the feelings the bonds evoked slightly varied from each other.
The wolf was more poised but feral, the dragon more prone to fury but reasonable. Similar but separated.
"You want me to become your rider, Great Viserion?" asked Jon.
The dragon responded by redressing itself and roaring joyfully. A small laugh escaped Jon's throat, and the feeling of the missed joy he hadn't felt for months, or years soothed the Man from the North of his sorrows and sadness.
He turned towards Ghost, the Silent, and pet his snow white head while gazing in his red piercing eyes. "Can you wait a few moments here boy? I promise to come back very soon."
The intelligent beast only sat down in the cave and sighed powerfully as if saying it would be a fine time to catch some sleep after watching over him for such a long while.
Jon chuckled lightly and kissed the top of his furry head while thanking the great white wolf. He turned back towards the opening of the stone and approached Viserion.
Slowly, he sat on the nape of his powerful neck and grabbed one of the protruding golden pikes. "Ready? Let's go Viserion!"
A cry full of enjoyment escaped him as the dragon slowly lifted up in the airs and began racing with the winds.
I hope that you all enjoyed reading the third chapter of this fiction! If so stay tuned for the next update!
As always, if you have any question, critiscim, suggestion, a grammatical or spelling error to point out feel free to so by the way of a review! Maybe you would just like to tell me your thoughts on everything you read so far?
Thank you and see you soon!
