4
JON
After the third knife, I rolled onto my back, feeling nothing but the cold, and seeing nothing but the icy pinpricks of stars. Words raced through my mind - Betrayal, traitor, I'm dying, brothers, Walkers, hold the Wall, dying, Ghost! - but I couldn't seem to speak or move, nor put any of these words together into a single coherent thought, much as I wanted to. I did not feel afraid. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. Lying there in the snow, I gazed at the sky, as though hoping for a miracle, a magical creature swooping in from overhead to attempt a last-minute rescue. I knew better, though - the world just didn't work that way. I rested my head against the ground and waited for nothingness. I thought I heard a few scattered sniffles and perhaps a bit of weeping, but as though from a long distance, and perhaps I was only imagining that my "men" felt even a fleeting sense of remorse for what they had just done. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children, I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.
I heard footsteps in the snow, moving further away; they were satisfied, finally, that I was dead. Left alone in the snow, I listened to the wind howl and thought of how I had listened to that same wind on my first night at Castle Black, with Ghost at my side, wondering if I would find the courage to survive here. I shall live and die at my post. I felt the strength in my body depleting, could hear my heartbeat slow. I am the sword in the darkness, I am the watcher on the walls. Dully, I felt glad that Sam wasn't here to see me die, that none of the few I loved or who loved me could see this. There was one thing to be grateful for. I am the light that brings the dawn. By the time Ghost padded over to me, whining high in the back of his throat, I could only move my eyes towards him. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. He licked my face, then paced anxiously, as though he knew I was beyond his help. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.
As I exhaled a last breath, Ghost howled with such sorrow that my final thoughts were not of myself, but of him. Darkness swallowed me, and I was submerged in nothingness - no fear, no White Walkers, no treason, no bastard status. And then, suddenly, I was running, sprinting faster and faster, snow spitting up around me, and I could feel the wind ruffle my fur as I approached a throng of weirwood trees. I am no longer Jon Snow. My thoughts narrowed down a single, animalistic goal: blood ... and I ran, faster and faster, until the woods, wind, Wall and sky were but one mere colorless blur, falling fast around me on every side.
Common Westerosi knowledge suggested that most of the Starks could warg, but since I'd never considered myself among the Starks, I wasn't sure I'd be able to successfully enter Ghost's mind. It was something that I barely comprehended, but considering all of the things I'd seen when I was Jon Snow, finding myself in a different time and place didn't surprise me. As Ghost, crouched within a stand of trees, I was able to remain hidden as I watched the girl with dark hair and sad gray eyes watching a joust on the outskirts of a great castle looming in the background. As I took in the trees and lush greenery, I realized with some surprise that I must be in the Riverlands, hundreds and hundreds of miles away from The Wall, and that the castle, as beautiful and stately as it appeared to me now, was Harrenhal, which had been ruined and was considered haunted. Still, at this moment there were no signs of its eventual destruction. It was a lovely day, sunny and mild, with a light breeze brushing away the falling leaves.
"He's unseated them all!" a man cried with excitement, his voice augmented by Dornish red. "Yohn Royce, Arthur Dayne and Barristan the Bold!" The crowd roared its excitement. I wanted to see the man everyone cheered for, but was concerned about giving myself away. Surely a direwolf this far south - and a pure white one, at that - would alarm people, not to mention put my life, or Ghost's life - or whatever it was - in danger. None of this made sense, but I didn't even truly understand who I was any more, and a strange, calming sensation overcame me. This is important, a little voice whispered to me. Whose, I did not know. You need to see this.
I only needed wait another moment before the crowds parted, and another man I had never seen before stood before the crowd. His sword had already been dropped to the ground. There was something in his stance that was proud, but modest. His light hair flowed over his shoulders, which were still ensconced in armor. In his hands was a wreath of delicate blue flowers, and it seemed as though all the women in the stands held their breath as he approached the area where they all waited tensely.
"Now," boomed a voice, "Your new champion, Rhaegar, will now name the Queen of Love and Beauty!"
Once I heard that announcement, I knew I was having a vision of the past. Not only was I a week's ride from Castle Black, I was watching a tournament that had occurred before my birth. Father - Ned - had told me before about this tournament at Harrenhal, in which Rhaegar Targaryen had, in a wondrous surprise, unseated the best swordfighters in Westeros in a competition that lasted days and days. It was also, according to Ned, the day that his sister Lyanna caught Rhaegar's eye, prompting him to kidnap her and ultimately, ignite Robert's Rebellion. Why am I seeing this? I wondered. Is Ned here? Ghost's eyes scanned the crowd, but I did not see any familiar faces, save for the dark-haired girl who slightly resembled Arya. Well then, that must be Lyanna. She was watching Rhaegar approach the stands, her eyes full of laughter. She was definitely beautiful, though her likeness in the crypts of Winterfell did her little justice. Beyond being lovely, though, there was something about her that made me want to talk with her, to know her.
"My lady," Rhaegar said, meeting her eyes with his own before kneeling before her and offering her the crown of blue flowers. Gasps and then silence came from the crowd, but Lyanna reached out and accepted the wreath with a little smile. I could not imagine why this particular vision had been shown to me, but I suddenly felt fate pulling me away, again, to another time and place. Ghost's ears flattened, he turned around in a single circle and then shut his eyes, as if for a nap.
My next vision was far less benevolent. Again I saw the young girl Lyanna Stark, but this time, she was not smiling. She was lying in a massive oak bed, her dark hair splayed out on the pillow supporting her head and her forehead damp with sweat, in a circular room with unforgiving stone walls, and her weeping and moaning echoed off of them as though they would never cease. It took only one look at her face to know that she was dying, and there was a river of blood seeping out from underneath her body. Her breath came quickly, her chest rising and falling. What has happened to her? In the last vision I'd had of this woman, she was so blissful and self-assured. What had gone wrong?
From outside this castle, I heard low voices, then yells, then the clang of metal against metal. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and I, as Ghost, moved back into the shadows to avoid detection. The room was stuffy and unbearably hot, and I inherently knew that we were even further from the snows of the North.
The footsteps approached, and Ned Stark appeared in the arched stone doorway, blood on his armor - though he did not appear to be injured - and a stricken look upon his face. "Lyanna," he cried, rushing to her side. "I'm so sorry I could not get here sooner."
"Ned," she managed, her face straining with the effort. "You're here."
My father, seeing the severity of her condition, began to weep. "I would've fought one hundred Kingsguard until I saw you. Can't we get a maester for you?" He stood and began to pace around the room. He stared in Ghost's direction for a moment, and I froze, certain he had seen me. I didn't breathe. Finally, Ned turned back to his sister and knelt next to her bed, taking her porcelain hand in his.
"Ned, I ... need you to help me. There is no time for a maester."
"Who did this to you?" he whispered, taking a cloth from beside the bed and blotting her forehead with it.
Lyanna weakly raised her hand and shook it, signaling the word no. "No one hurt me, and you know it, brother."
Ned's voice broke. "Then why have I found you in such a state?"
"Ned, I need you to promise me." She reached over to her side, struggling a moment, and then handed Ned a small bundle, which Ned awkwardly wrapped his hands around. His honorable face was stolid, set, and I knew he would keep whatever promise she was asking of him, would say it without another word. "Promise me, Ned." Just then, the baby began to cry, and so did I, because I knew in that moment that the baby was me.
I felt the wind knocked out of me. It was the feeling of every hateful glance from the dark, distrusting eyes of Catelyn Stark; it was every ignorant muttering of "bastard" that had ever been thoughtlessly flung in my direction; it was the walking away from Arya and Ned and Bran and Rickon for the Wall, my legs like iron; it was Ned's unfulfilled promise to tell me about my mother; it was the feeling of always being on the outside of things; it was the loving of Ygritte and standing with her atop the Wall and seeing her die in my arms all at once; it was a horrible feeling and a wonderful one, because it was, finally, the truth.
And then I opened my eyes - mine, not Ghost's - and looked up, and what I saw rendered me speechless. I saw the Lady Melisandre, I saw flames, and I saw Ghost, watching guard over me. Further back in the shadows, I spotted Ser Davos, looking on with what appeared to be a mixture of horror and awe.
"Lord of Light!" Melisandre cried, "Come to us in our darkness. We offer you these false gods. Take them and cast your light upon us. For the night is dark and full of terrors. Bring back the light."
I wasn't sure I could speak, and I was shocked at how strong I sounded when I did. "I'm back," I managed, sitting up, and looking from Ghost to the Red Woman and back.
Melisandre smiled. "Rise, Jon Snow! And do you still know nothing?"
Feeling stronger by the second, I rose to my feet, gingerly felt my body and realized it was free of the wounds that had felled me. Had the sorceress actually healed me, brought me back from death? Before coming to the Wall, I had never believed in magical things, good or evil, but I had seen so much, I thought now I could probably believe anything. Was I still Jon Snow, now that my true parentage had been revealed? My identity had always been intertwined with, as Tyrion Lannister once said, "bastards and broken things." My outsider status dissolved, I wasn't sure who I was now, nor what my name should be. "I'm Jon Snow," I repeatedly slowly, "and I know everything."