GAME OF THRONES
JON
I am... an ancient thing.
Kind.
Something familiar to you... filled with wonders.
The voice speaking to Jon sounded garbled- as if it was crossing a wide and treacherous valley before passing through a swirling consciousness.
What is this?
Just a moment ago, Jon was breaking a morning fast alone in his chambers-
Now, he was met with nothing.
Jon's eyes fell upon blackness, while wind groped through his hair.
Jon felt as if he was moving- moving quickly, while still understanding that physically, he had collapsed upon his bed.
A wetness crept alongside Jon's legs- he imagined it was the bread soup he had been eating-
Jon struggled to breathe.
His nose pushed into the softness of the bed. Jon tried to rouse numb arms, lift himself up-
Nothing changed. His body did not listen to desperate command, and Jon panted through a slack mouth.
There was another sensation then.
Jon felt... it.
The clouds above, the wayward toss of air.
The rushing speed of water- then, the steps of those within Winterfell. The towering height of the oldest trees amongst the Godswood, the flying bird, high above all.
Jon retched- tasting vomit as it dribbled from lips.
I can hear things, too. I can hear everything.
However, the sounds were unintelligible. It was speech, human speech, but it was as if Jon was walking down a busy path, all the people upon it shouting at once.
There was something else- something heavy.
It gripped him, kept him in place.
Jon tried to relax the muscles he could feel, conscious not to make whatever condition afflicting him worse.
I can feel my arms, my legs. I can feel my head- but I can't move.. And I can't see.
He focused on trying to breathe.
I feel my bed. I can feel the soup I spilled. I'm home.
I'm safe. No one is in here... but me.
Then-
Jon heard something more- this time, it was far more clear, distinct.
It was similar to.. The scratching of metals, while a wetness splashed against his face.
He heard a roar, a sound that was deeper and louder than any engine.
"My Grace! They said… you died! The seekers, they couldn't believe it- when you broke from the clouds. My Grace!" A voice called.
Multiple splashes seemed to center in on where Jon felt himself- the sound of boots running over puddles of water.
Jon felt his head move, though he was not the one directing it.
There was another roar, more scraping. The wetness seemed to continue, growing harder.
Rain?
Despite Jon's terror, he felt a smile form at the corners of his mouth.
Though once again, the smile was not truly his.
"You have done well to gather the men to the coasts below. I saw them... Maegor, and his rebels."
The voice that spoke seemed as if it came from Jon's own body, though he did not recognize it.
He felt another sensation then- the tightness that gripped him lessened. Jon's muscles flexed as phantom limbs moved, before finally, he heard a further splash. His head turned once more, and a second, deeper smile painted itself on lips that gratefully absorbed the rain falling from above.
Jon's palm caressed something that was... hard, scaled- something that seemed to give way, as if it breathed.
He felt all these things, yet saw only darkness.
"I'm scared." The voice within Jon's body stated matter-of-factly.
"My Grace?" another intoned.
Jon could tell that he was moving now- moving upon his own legs...
Though they were taller than Jon was accustomed to. The blackness he saw seemed to lessen slightly, and now he saw bright flashes of light. These flashes however were indiscernible too.
"I should have listened to Lord Corbay."
The second voice Jon heard initially now scoffed.
"Lord Corbay is a traitor, My Grace."
A small laugh that wasn't Jon's traveled through his chest.
"A traitor yes, but no fool. I had the chance to defeat them. They were without allies for two days. I waited, I... did not order the charge."
It was then that a hair raising boom traveled between Jon's ears.
It continued on and on, and Jon could tell that it shook the eidolon world his dreams stood upon.
"Maegor..." the second voice hissed, fear palpable and dripping.
"It will be decided." The young voice said steely.
Silence met Jon's phantom speaker.
"Here, above and beside God's Eye." The voice that spoke from Jon's lips declared. It was brave, chivalrous and loud.
Though there was something that unnerved young Snow.
The voice was afraid, that was clear. Its speaker had admitted so earlier.
But here...
Tears formed within Jon's eyes. Somehow, he could tell that these too were not his.
The one talking-
Knows they're going to die.
Suddenly-
A clamorous bark, an explosion, rattled within Jon's ears. Dozens of voices suddenly yelled out in terror-
Just as Jon felt whatever he stood upon lurch to the side. A terrified roar that caused Jon's heart to fall into a thumping chest wailed-
"My Grace!"
"They shouldn't be able to fire upon us from our position-"
"Ships! Ships! Ships! Ahead, look at the curve of the black clouds!"
More and more overlapping speech overloaded Jon's senses- the roaring, the screaming, it all morphed into one concussion of noise, one that was joined by flashes of falling bodies.
Everything fell silent.
Jon's heart went still.
Then, his eyes opened.
He immediately rose from bed, panting as dark hair fell across his forehead. He wiped at his mouth with a waiting sleeve, frowning at the vomit he saw on it. Jon took off the over tunic worn due to the growing cold, balling it and throwing it to a nearby corner.
A whimper creased against Jon's ears.
His eyes leapt to Ghost, who huddled by the door of Jon's chambers.
Jon smiled sadly, one of his dimples forming against cheeks that still held fat from early youth.
He gingerly swung himself out of bed, short legs buckling before striding to where Ghost pitifully whined.
Jon looked down at the direwolf, his heart warming.
"I don't know what happened. Did you..."
Jon picked up Ghost, holding the wolf close to his chest as he caressed the back of the pup's head.
"Hear all of that too?"
The rain...
It felt almost as if it stung.
And those roars-
Jon furrowed his brows.
Maegor.
Snow's smile grew wider as he felt Ghost relaxing in his arms. He carried the pup as he walked back to bed, before sitting on it once more, careful to avoid spilled soup.
Jon knew that Maegor was the second Targaryen king, though not much else.
For a moment, Jon wondered asking Arya if he could borrow some of her books- perhaps look into the name Maegor.. Make sense of that horrid dream.
However, at the very second of that thought, a strange sensation swam through him- intrusive and alien.
Fear crept up and down Jon's spine, causing him such discomfort that Ghost peaked one eye open, letting out a curious and saddened whine.
Jon shut his eyes, trying to forget what he experienced just now.
It was nothing but a bad dream- nothing to look into.
As Jon pet Ghost, he knew the thoughts he conjured were not true.
Regardless-
I will not bother Arya with such things.
Jon crumpled his nose.
Besides...
Now my bed smells strange.
Jon dressed himself, putting on a familiar leather tunic and trousers. He gathered the blankets and fabrics of his bed, along with the sullied clothing in the corner of his room. Ghost watched him during this process, red eyes glowing from the shadow of Jon's meager haunts.
Jon collected the bowl he had been eating from, placing it on his bedside table. Outside, the late morning sun broke through a belt of clouds, and its rays left a bright square on the floor of Jon's chambers. Past the glass panels Jon saw Andal machines preparing to depart back to southron lands.
Apparently, the Hand was forced to delay his visit. Jon was able to glean that King Robert is stuck in the Riverlands, meaning that the King and his Lannisters would not be arriving until their business of war had concluded there. As Jon watched the ships slowly rise into the cold air, he wondered how close he was to the promise of conflict- the assurance of death.
Father told Jon early on that danger was everywhere, despite the peace they enjoyed now.
Jon understood that he had been born during the latter part of the Rebellion. His fourteen short winters were all that separated the realm from a conflict that nearly destroyed House Stark. Some time ago, when Father was instructing both Jon and Robb on how to properly wield a blade, Jon asked Father what the war was like.
He remembered how Father's eyes seemed to grow dark, how his skin, already pale from the cold, turned nearly pallid.
"War is nothing." Eddard replied simply.
From the tone of his voice, Jon knew not to pursue the question further.
Jon turned away from the window, closing his eyes while the horrid sounds of his dream resurfaced.
Ignoring the dark omens, he gathered up the dirty bedding and tunic into a sheepskin sack, hoisting it over his shoulder. His siblings had servants that cleaned up after them- however, Jon had requested that most things be left to himself. Father allowed this, on the principle that Jon ensured that he never let his chamber "Give way to disorder discernable to others,".
Jon smiled softly, exiting the roo-
Just as the door creaked open, Jon found himself looking up at Robb.
Without saying a further word, Robb stepped forward. Naturally Jon moved backwards, never once dropping his gaze from a distant brother.
NEXT TIME: JON IV
