Disclaimer: This fanfiction is a work of fiction created by a fan of the Game of Thrones series and is not endorsed by or affiliated with George R.R. Martin, HBO, or any other entities associated with the original work. All characters, events, and settings depicted in this fanfiction are entirely fictional and should be regarded as such. The views and opinions expressed within this fanfiction are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the official policies or positions of the creators of Game of Thrones. Reader discretion is advised as this fanfiction may contain mature themes, violence, and explicit language consistent with the tone of the original series.
—
With practiced stealth and a careful eye, Jon navigated the corridors of Castle Black, his every movement calculated to avoid detection. Drawing upon his warging abilities, he maintained a mental connection with Vermithor, guiding the Night Fury through the shadows with silent grace.
As they slipped unnoticed through the dimly lit passages, Jon's heart raced with adrenaline, his senses sharp and alert. With each step, he remained vigilant, ensuring that they remained undetected by the watchful eyes of the Night's Watch.
Finally, they reached the relative safety of Jon's chamber, where Ser Arthur awaited his return. With a sense of relief, Jon released his hold on Vermithor, allowing the Night Fury to settle comfortably in the confines of the room.
Ser Arthur's eyes widened in astonishment as he beheld the sight of Vermithor, the Pitch Black Dragon, nestled comfortably within the confines of their chamber. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the majestic creature's imposing form, its sleek scales shimmering faintly in the dim light of the room.
For a moment, Ser Arthur was rendered speechless, his mind struggling to comprehend the presence of such a mythical beast in their midst. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Jon, his expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"By the Seven," Ser Arthur finally exclaimed, his voice tinged with wonder. "I never thought I would lay eyes upon a creature of such magnificence. How did you come by this dragon, Jon?"
Jon recounted the story he had decided upon with Maester Aemon, detailing how the old maester had revealed a trunk containing treasures from Rhaegar Targaryen, including the sword and shield. He explained how the dragon's egg, now hatched into Vermithor, had been nestled among those artifacts, and hatched when Jon touched it.
"I couldn't believe it myself," Jon admitted, his voice filled with wonder. "But there he is, Vermithor, the Night Fury. A dragon reborn."
Ser Arthur's eyes widened in amazement as he took in the sight of the majestic Night Fury. "Truly remarkable," he murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "To witness the hatching of a dragon... it's a sight few have ever seen."
Jon nodded in agreement, a sense of pride swelling within him at the sight of the dragon he had bonded with. "Indeed," he replied, his voice tinged with reverence. "It's a sign of the changing times, and perhaps a harbinger of hope in the darkness that lies ahead."
As they stood together, gazing at Vermithor in silent awe, Jon couldn't help but feel a surge of determination coursing through him. With a dragon at their side, they would be better equipped to face the challenges that lay ahead, and perhaps even turn the tide in the war against the encroaching darkness.
With renewed purpose, Jon turned to Ser Arthur, his gaze resolute. "We must prepare," he said firmly. "There's much to be done, and little time to spare. The Night's Watch may not be ready for what's coming, but we will do everything in our power to ensure that the realm is protected."
Ser Arthur nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Jon's determination. "Aye," he replied, his voice firm. "We will stand vigilant, and we will not falter in the face of adversity. For the Night's Watch, and for the realm."
With their resolve strengthened, Jon and Ser Arthur turned their attention to the tasks that lay ahead, ready to face whatever challenges the future may hold. And as they stood together, united in purpose, the shadow of the Night Fury loomed large behind them, a silent sentinel watching over them as they prepared to confront the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
As they are talking, they hear a rumbling coming from Vermithor's stomach, indicating he's hungry. Jon fetches a piece of jerky from his pack, and offers it to Vermithor.
"Hungry, Vermithor? Here, have some jerky." Jon says, placing the jerky before the dragon
Vermithor roasts the jerky with his fiery breath and devours it eagerly, then looks at Jon expectantly, as if asking for more.
"Seems like our new friend has a healthy appetite. We're gonna need a whole lot of meat to keep him satisfied." Arthur states, with a wry smile upon his lips.
Jon chuckled at Arthur's remark, realizing the truth behind it. "Indeed," he replied with a grin, "feeding a dragon is no small task."
Jon rummaged through his pack, searching for more provisions to satisfy Vermithor's hunger. As he produced another piece of jerky and offered it to the dragon, he couldn't help but marvel at the bond they shared, forged in the fires of destiny and bound by a common purpose.
—
Jon meets up with Uncle Benjen the next day. Meanwhile, Ser Arthur had decided to stay in their room with Vermithor, ensuring the dragon's safety and comfort.
"Good morning, Uncle Benjen," Jon greeted warmly as they met. "I'm ready to head to the Weirwood Tree whenever you are."
"Morning, Jon," Benjen replied with a nod. "We'll set out shortly."
As they walked together, Benjen glanced around to ensure they were alone before speaking. "You know, Jon," he began casually, "I'm glad your father told you about Lyanna and Rhaegar. It's important that you know your true heritage."
Jon's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of his parents. "You knew?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Benjen nodded solemnly. "Aye, I did. Lyanna had told me the truth before she left with Rhaegar. I tried to tell the others the truth, but I was too young at the time, and was easily dismissed."
Jon's surprise deepened at Benjen's revelation. "Lyanna told you?" he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief. "And you tried to tell the others?"
Benjen nodded, a somber expression crossing his features. "Aye, she did," he confirmed. "But the truth was too dangerous to speak of openly in those days. The realm was in turmoil, and anyone associated with Rhaegar or the Targaryens was viewed with suspicion."
Jon's mind buzzed with new questions, but he pushed them aside for the moment, knowing they had a journey ahead of them. "Thank you for telling me, Uncle Benjen," he said earnestly. "It means a lot."
Benjen offered Jon a reassuring smile. "You're a Stark and a Targaryen, Jon," he said firmly. "Don't forget that. Now, let's head to the Weirwood Tree. I'm sure it'll be a sight worth seeing."
Jon returned Benjen's smile, feeling a surge of gratitude for his uncle's words of encouragement. "Thank you, Uncle Benjen," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "Let's go see what the gods have in store for us."
With that, Jon and Benjen set off towards the Weirwood Tree, their footsteps echoing in the crisp morning air. As they walked, Jon couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within him, knowing that this journey would bring him closer to uncovering the truth about his heritage and the path that lay ahead.
As Jon and Benjen approached the ancient Weirwood Tree, Jon felt a sense of awe wash over him at the sight of its gnarled trunk and blood-red leaves shimmering in the sunlight. It seemed to stand as a silent sentinel, its presence both imposing and comforting at the same time.
"It's... magnificent," Jon breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. He could feel a strange pull emanating from the tree, as if it were calling out to him, beckoning him closer.
Benjen placed a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder, nodding in agreement. "Aye, it is," he said softly. "Just like the heart tree of Winterfell, this tree has seen countless generations of men come and go. It holds the memories of our ancestors, and perhaps, it has something to reveal to you as well."
With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Jon stepped forward, drawn towards the ancient Weirwood Tree. He could feel its presence enveloping him, filling him with a sense of belonging and purpose that he had never experienced before. As he reached out to touch the rough bark, he felt a tingling sensation coursing through his veins, as if the tree itself were speaking to him, whispering secrets of the past and visions of the future. And in that moment, Jon knew that his journey was only just beginning.
As Jon's fingertips brushed against the ancient bark of the Weirwood Tree, he felt a sudden rush of energy coursing through him, engulfing his senses in a swirling vortex of light and shadow. When the world around him finally settled, he found himself standing in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of age and mystery.
Before him, nestled within the gnarled branches of an immense Weirwood Tree, sat an ancient figure, his body fused with the trunk of the tree as if they were one. The man's features were weathered and worn, his eyes milky with age, yet there was a keenness in his gaze that belied his frail appearance.
"Welcome, Jon Snow," the man intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber like the rustle of leaves in the wind. "I am the Three-Eyed Raven, keeper of the ancient wisdom of the Children of the Forest and the greenseers who came before me."
Jon's breath caught in his throat at the sight before him. He had heard tales of the Three-Eyed Raven, a figure of legend said to possess the ability to see through time and space. And now, here he stood, face to face with the living embodiment of that legend.
"What... what do you want from me?" Jon asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as he cautiously approached the enigmatic figure.
The Three-Eyed Raven regarded Jon with a steady gaze, his expression inscrutable. "I know what you are, Jon Snow," he said solemnly. "I know that the man standing before me is not just Jon Snow anymore, but a soul from another world that has merged with Jon Snow's being, a soul with strange and interesting powers."
The Three-Eyed Raven's words sent a shiver down Jon's spine, his heart pounding with a mixture of awe and apprehension. He had suspected that his journey had somehow connected him to forces beyond his understanding, but to hear the Three-Eyed Raven speak of it so plainly filled him with a sense of wonder and dread.
"You speak the truth," Jon admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I am not just Jon Snow. I am... something more."
The Three-Eyed Raven fixed Jon with a penetrating stare, his ancient visage betraying a depth of understanding that sent shivers down Jon's spine. "Truly," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of centuries past, "you wield powers beyond mortal comprehension. The whispers of the Old Gods reveal to me the significance of your abilities in the impending battle against the encroaching darkness. They've bestowed upon Jon Snow the loyal companion of a Direwolf, and now they intend to offer a gift to the other soul residing within you."
Jon listened intently to the Three-Eyed Raven's words, a sense of both awe and trepidation washing over him. He had long suspected that his newfound abilities were linked to a greater purpose, but to hear the Three-Eyed Raven speak of it so directly filled him with a profound sense of responsibility.
"The Old Gods..." Jon murmured, his mind racing with the implications of their words. "What gift do they wish to bestow upon this other soul within me?"
The Three-Eyed Raven's ancient eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as he spoke. "The gift they offer is one of knowledge," he explained, his voice echoing with the weight of centuries. "A glimpse into the mysteries of the cosmos, the secrets of the past, present, and future. With this gift, you will be able to unravel the enigmas that shroud our world, to uncover truths that have long been hidden."
Jon's heart quickened at the prospect of such a gift, his mind ablaze with the possibilities it presented. But even as excitement coursed through him, he couldn't shake the nagging sense of foreboding that lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
"And what must I do to receive this gift?" Jon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The Three-Eyed Raven fixed Jon with a penetrating gaze, the intensity of which sent shivers down Jon's spine. "You must venture to the cave beyond the Wall, not distant from where your physical body lies," he intoned, his voice laden with the gravity of prophecy. "There, within the cavern's depths, your gift awaits."
Jon nodded, his determination firm. "I will find this cave and claim the gift the Old Gods have bestowed upon me," he vowed, his voice resolute.
The Three-Eyed Raven inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Remember, Jon Snow, the fate of the realm rests upon your shoulders. Embrace your destiny and wield your gifts wisely."
With those words lingering in the air, Jon felt himself being pulled back to the physical realm, his mind buzzing with anticipation and purpose.
Jon's eyes fluttered open, his senses slowly returning as he found himself back in his physical body. He blinked up at the familiar sight of Uncle Benjen standing over him, concern etched into his features.
"Jon, wake up," Benjen urged, his voice urgent. "You were out for quite some time. Are you alright?"
Jon pushed himself up into a sitting position, feeling the lingering echoes of his encounter with the Three-Eyed Raven reverberating through his mind. "I'm fine, Uncle," he replied, his voice steady despite the lingering sense of awe. "I just... had a strange dream."
Benjen's brow furrowed with concern, but he nodded understandingly. "Dreams can be powerful things," he remarked cryptically, offering Jon a hand to help him up. "Come on, we should head back to Castle Black."
As Jon rose to his feet, he couldn't shake the feeling that his encounter with the Three-Eyed Raven was more than just a dream. It felt like a glimpse into his destiny, a path laid out before him by the gods themselves. And he was determined to see it through to the end.
"Uncle Benjen," Jon called out, halting his uncle's steps as they began to make their way back to Castle Black. "Is there a cave nearby?"
Benjen paused, casting a curious glance at Jon. "A cave? Aye, there are caves scattered throughout the region beyond the Wall. One of them is not far from here, just at the edge of the Haunted Forest." he replied, his tone thoughtful. "Why do you ask?"
Jon hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much he should reveal. But something inside him urged him to trust Benjen, to seek guidance from someone who had always been a mentor and a protector.
"I had a... vision," Jon began tentatively, choosing his words carefully. "The Old Gods told me to seek out a cave beyond the Wall. They said that within its depths, I would find a gift."
Benjen's expression shifted, his gaze sharpening with interest. "The Old Gods, you say?" he repeated, his voice tinged with reverence. "Well then, it seems we have a destination to explore."
With a sense of purpose now guiding their steps, Jon and Benjen continued their journey, their path leading them deeper into the wilderness beyond the Wall. As they ventured forth, Jon couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation that gripped him. Whatever awaited him in that cave, he knew it was a part of his destiny, a piece of the puzzle that would help him understand his place in the world. And with his uncle by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, trusting in the guidance of the Old Gods to light their way.
As Jon and Benjen ventured deeper into the cave, their torches casting flickering shadows against the rocky walls, they stumbled upon a heartbreaking scene. A shadowcat, her once sleek fur now matted and stiff with frost, lay motionless on the cold stone floor. Beside her, nestled in a patch of frozen moss, were her cubs, their tiny bodies still and lifeless, preserved in death by the icy grip of winter.
Jon's heart sank at the sight, his breath catching in his throat as he surveyed the tragic tableau before him. Amidst the lifeless forms of the shadowcat's offspring, one small cub stirred feebly, its fur ruffled and coated with frost. With gentle hands, Jon reached out, his fingers trembling as he cradled the fragile creature in his arms, feeling the faint beat of its heart against his palm.
"We can't leave it here," Jon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze lingering on the fallen mother and her lost brood. "We'll take it with us, try to nurse it back to health."
Benjen nodded in silent agreement, his expression somber as he surveyed the grim aftermath of nature's cruelty. Together, they continued their solemn journey through the cavern's depths, the faint echoes of their footsteps mingling with the hushed whispers of the icy winds that swept through the darkness, carrying with them the weight of loss and the fragile promise of new life.
With a sense of purpose stirring within him, Jon cradled the small shadowcat cub in his arms, feeling the weight of responsibility settle upon him like a mantle. Gazing into the creature's dark, unblinking eyes, he knew in his heart that this tiny being was the gift the Old Gods had spoken of.
"Midnight," Jon whispered softly, his voice carrying the weight of reverence as he bestowed upon the cub its name. "Your name shall be Midnight."
As the weight of the cub settled against him, Jon felt a strange connection forming, a bond that transcended the boundaries of flesh and blood. Closing his eyes, he focused his mind, allowing his consciousness to merge with that of the cub, his spirit reaching out to intertwine with Midnight's own.
In an instant, Jon felt himself transported, his senses sharpening as he experienced the world through Midnight's eyes. The darkness of the cave seemed to fade away, replaced by the keen awareness of the shadowcat's instincts and instincts.
With a surge of exhilaration coursing through him, Jon embraced the connection, knowing that together, he and Midnight would embark on a journey unlike any other, guided by the ancient wisdom of the Old Gods and the unbreakable bond forged between man and beast.
—
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