Jon V

Jon V

From the darkness, Jon opened his eyes, a warped wood ceiling covered in layered grey soot loomed above him. The pungent smell of smoldering ash and charred wood hung heavy in the room. He was naked, awake. Sitting up effortlessly, his body felt unnaturally warm and feather light. Strange sensations, undulating pulses of warmth growing from his feet, his hands, through his chest, a fine sheen of sweat beginning to form on his skin. Jon looked around, eyes adjusting to a surreal swirl of light and shadows dancing around him, a sway of flickering candlelight with no candles. Ominously large shadows casting themselves on the walls around him, brighter than the light itself, they drank from its glow, holding the room in an uneasy purgatory of shifting twilight.

Jon heard a soft growl from underneath him, looking over the side of the impossibly tall table he was on, he met Ghost's intense red gaze. The wolf's eyes were burning hot coals, a furnace of fiery light reflecting off his brilliant white fur, he looked as though he was on fire. Jon moved to the edge of the table and swung down, the longer than expected fall to the floor was met with a hard thud, sending jolts of pain pulsing up through his legs. Jon doubled over in unexpected anguish but Ghost was there to steady him from the hard fall. Jon managed to stand up straight, noticing that his wolf was much larger than he remembered, the tips of Ghost's ears reaching to his chin now. He is enormous, strong and muscular. Quiet as a shadow, the wolf padded over to the chamber door, beckoning Jon to open it. Without thought to his current state of undress, Jon followed Ghost, reaching the door, pulling it open...

There he stood, in the doorway to his old chamber looking out over the snow-covered courtyard of Castle Black. Strong winds howling around him, crows chattering in the distance. Scanning the castle, there wasn't a soul to be had, empty as a graveyard. Jon knew he should be cold but he wasn't; the heat of his body radiating around him, keeping him gratefully warm. Grabbing the railing, Jon took mindful steps down the icy stairs to the courtyard below. And when he reached the bottom, he looked up, gasping in disbelief. The courtyard of Castle Black had become the training yard at Winterfell. He was safely back home. But in that moment Jon knew, this isn't real. am I dreaming, am I dead? No, there would be only darkness if I was...

And without warning, his body shifted from pleasantly warm and sweaty to unbearably freezing cold. Looking down, Jon saw he was wearing what he wore beyond the wall on the wight mission, a thick shell of ice crusted on his furs from head to toe. He struggled to pry off the frozen layers as the chill began to take hold in his bones, he was so cold, too cold. He stumbled forward, under the portcullis to the main courtyard until he found himself at the entrance to the crypts, two headless stone wolves standing guard. For the first time in all his dreams of this place, he could feel the heat coming from below instead of the usual dark chill he had always known. I need to get warm, to get these damn furs off me, he knew where he had to go.

Jon hurried passed the wolf sentries and down the narrow steps into the crypts, following the bright warm firelight that beckoned him from below. Hugging the warm stone walls for support, Jon began to melt away; the furs sweating off the icy layers as he descended into warmth, rivulets of water cascading from his shoulders, wetting the dark gray stones of the stairwell around him. His usual fear of the crypts was replaced with eager intention; I need to get rid of this cold inside me, needing to know what called to him from below for all these years. Maybe Winterfell's people are down here, maybe Father or Arya...

It was a never-ending descent, round and around, the stone stairwell went on for an eternity. Jon finally reached the bottom landing, a broken pathway strewn with tumbled stones and rotten wood beams. The Kings of Winter were down here, part of the ancient neglected crypts that had collapsed over the centuries from being built upon. His beacon of light flickered through the cracks of the crumbled wall, willing him into the hidden passage within. That's it, he knew. Jon began to break the barrier one heavy stone at a time; the floor beneath him shifted from stone to sand with each rock moved, from the crypts of Winterfell to Dragonstone's cavern of glyphs and back again. The oppressive weight of the wet furs slowed his pace, time shifted in the shadows, he wasn't sure where he truly was anymore, but he kept digging deeper. There were no stone guards telling him he didn't belong, no one around to stop him from unveiling whatever truth he was meant to find.

Jon carved out a section big enough to fit through, climbing over the rest of the stone pile, he entered the vaulted tombs for the first time since he dreamt of this place as a child. The oddly shaped stones were older than any he'd ever seen in the castle, the stench of fresh decay pungent in the still, humid air. It was as if the world below ground had suddenly woken up, slowly warming from millennia of chilled slumber. It smelled of ancient oaks and ironwoods of the godswood, the walls covered in lichen and thick, hanging moss. Jon's defrosting furs watered the floor beneath him, leaving puddles as he passed empty stone tombs, overgrown with muted greenery and humus. He made his way deeper, warmer, towards the only lit vault far to the back of the darkened corridor.

Jon's doubts began to build, Was he still an intruder in this place?

As he approached the glowing entrance, a low growl stroked the silent air around him. Jon could feel the deep rumble vibrate through his body, sending warm chills everywhere. Ghost, it must be, but in that thought Jon turned to see his wolf standing right behind him, appearing from nowhere, watching Jon in his usual silence. Ghost's eyes still a pair of glowing embers, his fur reflecting the firelight into the darkness around him. A flaming wolf.

The growl called to Jon again, fear creeping up in deep shivers, what was this place? He thought he knew what was happening, but he wasn't so sure now. With each tentative step forward, Ghost made no movement to come to Jon's side to protect him, it must be safe.

As he made his way to the tomb entrance and peered in, Jon could feel the warmth inside take hold, like standing too close to foundry furnace; his body felt alive, awake like never before. In the darkness of the deep vault, two huge eyes stared back at him, fire dancing within them. Impossibly large eyelids squinting with each deep breath of swirling smoke. Jon gasped in shock, staring in disbelief.

A dragon, here in the crypts of Winterfell. Eyes full of intention, just like Drogon that day on the cliff. He took a tentative step forward in curiosity, as the dragon huffed through the smoky darkness of the surrounding crypt. Jon looked from Ghost to the dragon and back again, and without warning, the dragon's mouth opened wide, taking in a deep inhale as a deafening roar filled the air, releasing a torrent of scalding flames in Jon's direction.

Jon's breath caught in his throat, the world around him was set on fire. The furs singed until they fell to ash at his feet, the walls melted away, the flames sung on his flesh but did not burn. Gone was all the pain he'd ever felt, doubts burnt away into fading memories. The flaming column of light enveloped Jon, his body being pushed upward through the air, closing his eyes, letting his weightlessness take over. Onward and upward, he could feel the fire become wind, rushing past him in a warm burn. Jon opened his eyes and looked down; the whole of Winterfell was beneath him, the heart tree in the Godswood looming larger than life, bigger than Winterfell's main keep. Its pale branches deep with crimson leaves stretching wide, hugging the walled fortress in protection. The chatter of a thousand crows muffled within its embrace.

Looking up, Jon saw the sun was hiding behind a pale silver moon, the brilliant corona of sunlight burning the night sky. The stars of the Ice Dragon pulsed brighter in unison with Jon's heart. A red comet streamed across the darkness, chased between silver clouds by three shadowed dragons, swooping and dancing high above. His heart soared, she was here, waiting for me. Jon willed himself forward, flying higher, shutting his eyes from the rushing cold wind that burned his skin, relishing the new sensations. Jon felt different, alive, with no fear. He inhaled deeply, soaring higher in the bright night of his dreams, closer to his happiness...

Jon felt the warmth of sunlight through his closed eyes, the ship's sway rocking him gently awake. Slowly fluttering open, he squinted at the brightness of the room around him. Where am I? He was half-clothed under these furs, his skin rippling with warmth from some heat source underneath him. His exhausted gaze shifted and caught a glimpse of a glowing silver silhouette next to him, am I dead?

His eyes opened wide to see Daenerys sitting quietly at his bedside. His heart lifted, she was here, looking back at him in all her beautiful, fierce splendor. The woman of his dreams, my white knight, my goddess...

His immediate happiness dimmed as Jon recognized the sadness she wore heavy on her brow, mouth parted in speechless words as her tears threatened to spill from her eyes; Her Dragon, Viserion, was dead because of me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Dany shook her head, holding back as she averted Jon's gaze, looking down almost shamefully in her show of emotion. Refusing to let her retreat into grief alone, Jon reached for her, pulling her hand into his, feeling her warmth as he begged for her forgiveness. He wished he had the strength to pull her closer and comfort her in some way to ease the pain of her loss, but Jon barely had the strength to hold her hand, let alone sit up or move around just yet.

But as she sat there, full of shock and sadness, the truth from beyond the Wall had become a hard reality. She pledged herself to destroy the Night King and his army. We will do it together. Jon finally understood her truth: Dany had found trust and faith in him, so much so that she had put her own life and the lives of her children in danger to save the mission and the North; to save me. She sacrificed her most precious treasure and Jon truly felt the weight of her loss; now the world was less one beautiful, mythical dragon because of him.

Jon never wanted her to doubt him again. On that barren rock surround by death, Jon promised himself that if given a second chance, he swore he would never take her for granted. She had changed him, made him feel whole, full of wants and desires that Jon never allowed himself to dream of. Jon didn't care about propriety or her not so subtle hints that she couldn't have children, none of it mattered to him anymore. Life was too short to waste on supposed circumstance and regrets. He wanted to cherish her, love her from head to toe, for saving him, for believing in him.

And I believe in her, in Dany.

And when Jon called her Dany, she laughed, her silver hair shining in the sunlight, smile beautiful and wide, catching him off guard. She reminisced about her brother, not exactly a fond memory for her, he didn't want that...

"Alright, not Dany. How 'bout my Queen?"

And with those words of allegiance, her face shifted in disbelief. Daenerys met his gaze, holding his unwavering stare, questioning his logic behind the sudden change but there was no changing his mind. Strong and willful, determined and fierce, she is my queen for always, no one deserved it more than her.

Jon watched her face as she let go of all of their disagreements and tensions, the awkward dance of diplomacy that kept them at separate ends of Dragonstone and the world for far too long. She knew what this meant, what he was giving up for her, but to him, it didn't matter. Despite barely surviving the mission, Jon knew the odds where still against them in the near future. Pledging loyalty wasn't going to fill the granaries at Winterfell or magically build a castle made of dragonglass. She was all he could ever want in this short life they might have left to live together. Dany deserved to be the queen and conqueror she was born to be for the survival of the Seven Kingdoms. She was his savior and together they will try to save their people or die trying.

And then she reached for him, slowly slipping her hand into his, fitting naturally within his grasp. She was warm and soft, brushing her thumb along his knuckles, warming his skin in an absentmindedly familiar gesture that made Jon's heart race with anticipation. There was nothing left to hide, as they held each other's gaze, neither wanting the moment to end. Daenerys was first to pull away but he held her tight, letting her know that he wasn't done with her yet, willing her to stay longer with him. This was the closest he'd ever been to her and didn't want the moment to end just yet. Dany's gaze slowly raised to meet his own and he refused to look away. He wanted her, all of her, and he wanted her to know.

Daenerys flustered for a moment and with slow reluctance broke their embrace, not knowing how to react to his forward gesture. Her eyes shifting to look anywhere else but at him, wringing her hands in indecision. As she implored him to rest some more, Jon held her gaze a moment longer before closing his eyes, exhaling deeply. He could hear the shortness of her confused breath and she stood and left the room. He watched her go, looking up at the ceiling before letting out a sigh of frustration. He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the faint smell of her lingering in the room.

As he was about to close his eyes, a quick knock came at the door, opening ajar without notice. Davos peered his head into the room, a wide grin on his face. Jon looked over at him, smiling faintly back at him.

"You don't disappoint, yer Grace," He jested, stepping in quickly and shutting the door quietly behind him. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you opened your eyes again. I think my faith is keeping ya alive."

Jon smiled at the remark, "Aye, might be. I thought I'd was dead the moment I hit the lake, it was so cold, colder than that day at Castle Black..." Jon trailed off, knowing that Davos would understand what he meant.

"Well, I won't bother ya any further, let you get yer rest. We have another week on this boat if the winds are fair, you need more sleep for now and a few big meals." Nodding at Jon, Davos reached for the door to leave when it opened all on its own.

Davos took a quick step back as Gendry and the Hound poked around the door, looking in and smiling at Jon. With a playful shove, Davos pushed them back out of the doorway, "Let the man rest, will ya? He'll be up'n about soon enough." He turned to Jon, "...and Tormund, Ser Jorah, and Lord Beric are all fine as well. I knew you'd want to know. Rest well, yer Grace, I'll be back soon with supper."

Jon felt an instant flush of happiness and relief take over him. They had mostly survived for now but not without great loss. Viserion, Benjen, Thoros...there will be more to mourn before this all ends, he knew all too well.

But right now, as he looked over at that impossible trio of people leaving his room, all his companions on the mission, even Daenerys herself, they were all here at the end of the world fighting to save it from certain destruction. They really were the Last Heroes of the second Long Night; living myths and legends, a dragon rider alongside resurrected warriors. And if the histories never remember their names, if their deeds fall from the memory of those who'd sworn to sing their songs in remembrance, Jon would never forget them.

He settled back into the warm feather bed, hoping to return to soft, lucid dreams of wildflowers and dragons, wishing Dany was here with him now, holding her body close, to be naked under the furs, intertwined in each other, sinking deeper into sleep. He was a changed man and he knew it was because of her. I'm sorry, Sansa, he mused, but I fell in love with a beautiful, fierce dragon.

Jon had known too many regrets in his past lives, and when it came to carving out a piece of happiness with Daenerys before the world ends, he'd promised himself he would never know regret ever again.

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