Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 94: Ghost
The world was white, cold, and silent.
A vast expanse of frozen nothingness that stretched to the horizon and far beyond.
The sky had a light grey tone, the color of old bones, and the sun was nothing but a ghost hidden behind the clouds, offering neither warmth nor comfort.
The trees stood like frozen sentinels, their branches bare and black against the snow, their bark cracked and peeling from centuries of bitter cold.
Jon Snow ran through the forest, his paws pounding against the snow, his breath misting in the frigid air.
The trees flew past him in a blur.
The snow was deep here, past his knees in some places, but it did not slow him. He moved through it with an effortless grace, his body low to the ground, his muscles coiling and releasing with each powerful stride.
He could see them ahead...figures moving through the trees, their shapes dark against the endless white of the landscape.
He recognized them, knew them as surely as he knew his own name.
There was the father, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. There was the child, riding on the back of his sibling, his face reflecting his exhaustion.
There were three more humans he was not very familiar with...a woman with a babe clutched to her chest, and a large man wearing dark furs.
The large man was dangerous; Jon could sense it. There was a wildness to him, a fierceness that spoke of a life lived on the edge of survival.
Jon kept an eye on him, watching his movements, ready to protect his family if necessary.
He had promised to keep his family safe.
He had promised it to his-
No.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and clear.
This was wrong.
Jon stopped, his paws skidding in the snow. He looked down at himself, at the white fur that covered his body, at the paws that had carried him through the frozen forest.
He was running on four legs, close to the ground, his vision hazy and lacking in color. The world was a blur of grey and white, of shifting shapes and indistinct forms.
'This isn't me.'
His sense of smell was incredible...far sharper than anything he had ever experienced. He could smell the snow beneath his paws, the cold of the frozen earth, the trees around him with their scent of sap and frost.
He could smell the distant scent of smoke and ash, the lingering trace of a fire that had burned days ago.
He could smell the humans, each with its own unique scent...the father, the child, the woman with her babe, the dangerous man in the dark furs.
They were all unique and recognizable, as distinct as faces in a crowd.
And he could smell something else too...the lingering scent of blood that had been spilled at the Wall several days prior, carried on the wind from miles away. It was the scent of death, of violence, of a battle that had been fought and lost.
He knew the names of the people he was traveling with.
Eddard Stark, his father, the man who had raised him as his own son.
Bran, his brother, the boy who had been crippled and broken but had never lost his spirit.
Gilly, the wildling woman, who gained Sam's love.
And Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, whose cause he had once fought against and now fought alongside.
The one he had previously recognized as his sibling was not his brother...it was Ghost's brother, Summer, the direwolf who had been bonded to Bran since childhood.
The two wolves shared the same blood, the same bond with their human companions.
'Ghost.'
The name came to him in a whisper, a breath of recognition in the darkness of his mind.
He was in Ghost's body. He was inside the direwolf, looking out through his eyes, feeling the world through his senses.
The realization hit him suddenly, sending him staggering in the snow.
'How did I get here?'
He knew what this was...it was not the first time he had ended up looking through Ghost's eyes. In his dreams, in his moments of deepest sleep, he had sometimes slipped into the direwolf's mind, seeing the world through his senses.
But this time it was different. This time it was not a dream. This felt... real.
More real than anything he had ever experienced.
'How did I end up here?' He thought again.
The question hung in his mind, unanswered. And then, like responding to his call, the images came to him.
The accusations, the arrest, the cold eyes of Stannis Baratheon as he ordered the execution.
The rope around his neck, the sudden drop, the choking darkness that had swallowed him whole.
The last face he had seen before the rope had taken his life was Alliser Thorne's...the man who had accused him of treason with no evidence, who had seen his chance to be rid of the boy who had always been a thorn in his side.
'They hanged me.'
The memory was sharp and painful, like a blade being twisted in his chest.
He had been dragged to the courtyard of Castle Black, his hands bound behind his back, his feet barely touching the ground.
The brothers of the Night's Watch had watched from the walls, their faces a mixture of shock and anger and, in some cases, barely concealed satisfaction.
Some of them had tried to fight for him, had raised their voices and blades in protest, but Stannis's army had been too strong, too numerous.
Others had been happy to see him die.
'Sam.'
The thought of his friend sent a fresh wave of pain through him. Sam had been arrested too, had been thrown into the ice cells to await his own execution.
Jon could only hope that his friend had survived, that the Red Woman had not burned him alive in one of her pyres. But hope was a fragile thing in this world, and Jon had learned long ago not to trust it.
He looked around using Ghost's eyes, trying to understand his situation.
The group was moving through the frozen forest, heading north. He could sense that they were close to their destination, close to Hardhome. The scent of the sea was growing stronger.
Part of him was happy that his father and brother had managed to escape Castle Black, that they were on their way to freedom. Part of him was sad that he had not listened to his father when he had been told to come with them.
At the time, his oath to the Night's Watch had felt more important than his own life. He had not wanted to break his vows again, even though he had known the risks.
But now... now he regretted it.
'I should have gone with them.' The thought was bitter, laden with guilt.
'Sam should have come too. We could have escaped together, found a way south, found a way to survive. Instead, I stayed, and now I am dead.'
'Am I truly dead?'
The question hung in his mind, unanswered. He was in Ghost's body, seeing through his eyes, feeling through his senses.
Was this what death was? A second life in the body of a wolf? He had heard the stories, the old tales of the First Men and their bond with the beasts of the forest. He had learned from the wildlings that some of them could warg into animals, and they could live a second life in the body of their companions.
But he had never thought it would happen to him.
'But where is Ghost then?'
He reached out with his mind, searching for the direwolf's consciousness.
For a moment, he felt nothing but the cold emptiness of his own thoughts.
But then, deep in the recesses of the creature's mind, he felt it...Ghost's presence, sleeping like a pup curled in its den. The direwolf was still there, still alive, waiting in the shadows of his own mind.
Jon felt a pang of guilt. He did not want to take over Ghost's body.
He had never asked for this, had never wanted to steal the creature's life.
But he did not know how to leave, did not know how to return to whatever fate awaited him in the realm of the dead.
Suddenly, he began to hear a voice.
It was soft at first, barely audible over the wind. But it grew louder, clearer, until it filled his mind like the ringing of a bell. It was the voice of a woman...sweet as honey, and somewhat familiar.
He had heard it before, in the great hall of Castle Black, in the courtyard where he had been condemned to die.
'Lady Melisandre. The Red Woman.'
But why was he hearing her now? He was miles away from Castle Black, miles from the red priestess and her fires. And yet her voice was in his mind, calling to him, pulling at him.
His senses were becoming dull, the edges of his vision growing dark. The smells that had been so sharp were fading, the sounds growing distant.
Summer, Ghost's brother, seemed to sense that something was wrong.
The direwolf padded over, his amber eyes fixed on Jon, his head tilted in confusion.
Jon had no idea how to communicate with another direwolf. He tried to speak, but only a growl came out. He tried to reach out with his mind, but he did not know how.
'What is happening to me?'
His vision was starting to go dark, the world fading to black. He could no longer feel Ghost's mind, could no longer sense the sleeping presence that had been there moments before.
The voice of Melisandre was growing louder, but he could not understand what she was saying. She was chanting in some strange language, the ancient words flowing together like a river.
'Am I finally dying?' The thought came with a strange calm. 'Is this it?'
His other senses were diminishing now, the smells fading, the cold of the snow disappearing from his paws.
He was floating in a sea of darkness, the voice of Melisandre the only anchor to the world of the living.
And then he felt it...a heat that started in his chest and spread outward, warm at first, then hot, then burning.
It was like fire, like the fires that Melisandre had used to burn the wildlings alive.
And it was consuming him.
"It burns!"
The voice of Melisandre was louder now, filling his entire being. He could see a light in the darkness, a flickering flame that grew brighter and brighter until it was all he could see.
And then he was on fire, his body wreathed in flames, his skin blistering and cracking in the heat.
He wanted to scream. He needed to scream. So he did.
"AHHHHHHH!"
His scream echoed in the darkness, a sound of pure, animal terror. But as it faded, something else took its place...images flashing before his eyes.
A wooden ceiling, dark and old, lit by a single torch and a fireplace. The smell of smoke and ash. The sound of a woman chanting.
And then he was back.
He was lying on his back, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He lifted his head, looking around the room. It was small and dark, the walls slick with frost, the floor cold beneath his bare skin.
A fire crackled in a hearth at the far end of the room, casting warm light across the stone.
'I have a body.'
The thought was strange, almost alien. He looked down at himself, at his pale chest and arms, at the breaches that were his only covering. He was lying on a cold black table, his body bare to the cold air.
'I am me again.'
The realization hit suddenly. He was Jon Snow, not a direwolf. He was human again, and he was back in his own body, his own flesh. He touched his face, his chest, his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his fingers.
He was warm...too warm, as if he were standing next to a blazing fire.
Despite having no clothes and being in this frozen room with only a single fire for warmth, he felt no cold.
"Jon Snow."
He turned at the sound of his name, his eyes falling on the woman who had spoken. She was beautiful, with red hair that fell past her shoulders and eyes that burned like coals. Her robes were the color of blood, and a ruby glowed at her throat, pulsing with a faint inner light.
Melisandre.
"Y-you..." He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His neck hurt with a deep, throbbing pain that reminded him of the rope that had choked the life from him.
"What happened? Where am I? Why am I alive?" He managed to push past the pain and get the words out.
Melisandre smiled, a soft, knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine. "The Lord of Light has blessed you, Jon Snow. And he is not the only one."
The Lord of Light. The words were bitter in his mind. He had seen what the Red God's followers did to their enemies...burning them alive, sacrificing them to feed their god's hunger. He had seen the pyres in Castle Black, the bodies of the wildlings consumed by flame.
But he was alive.
He was alive, and he did not know why.
"How?" he asked, his voice stronger now. "I was hanged. I died. How am I here?"
Melisandre's smile widened. "The Lord of Light does not give up his champions so easily. He has plans for you, Jon Snow. Great plans."
Jon shook his head, trying to clear the fog that still clung to his thoughts.
He could feel his senses sharpening, growing stronger with each passing moment. The smells in the room were vivid...smoke and ash, the scent of the fire, the faint trace of something else, something he already knew.
He looked up, his eyes scanning the room. And then he saw it.
In the corner of the room, propped against the wall, was a sword. It was long and wide, its blade a dark grey. The pommel was simple, unadorned, brown and golden. But the steel was unmistakable.
"Ice."
The sword of Eddard Stark. The blade that had been carried by the Lords of Winterfell for generations, that had been used to pass judgment on the enemies of the North.
It should have been with his father, should have been carried through the secret tunnels beneath the Wall.
Instead, it was here, in this room, waiting for him.
"How did you get that?" Jon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Melisandre followed his gaze. "It was left behind when Lord Stark escaped. I thought you might find a use for it, so I told the brothers to bring it here."
Jon rose from the table, his legs unsteady beneath him. The warmth that had spread through his body was still there, suffusing his limbs with a strength he had never known.
The pain was quickly disappearing, being replaced by something more pleasant...a feeling of vitality, of power, of life itself.
He walked to the corner of the room, his hand reaching out to touch the hilt of the sword. The moment his fingers closed around the Valyrian steel, he felt a surge of power flow through him.
It was like nothing he had ever experienced...a connection to something ancient and powerful, something that had slept in his blood since birth and had now awakened.
He looked up at Melisandre, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion.
"What did you do to me?" he asked, his voice low. "What am I?"
A.N: - Remember to comment, vote, and/or leave a review if you have the time. Those things help me a lot and I would really appreciate it.
You can support me on P@treon if you like and get 10 advanced chapters. You can also find character images to view for free in Collections/Got: Sorcerer Prince Images
-patreon.com/Kriogenix
For donations and commissions, go to ko-fi.com/kriogenix