3 The Boy Who Lived
Shadows of fallen
World of abyss
Stranger words spoken
And time amiss
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Wooosh Wooosh
It was meant to be silent, at rest, yet he heard the sound of gusts whistling as they roamed over his body. He felt its cold tickle along his neck, wandering up and chilling his nose. The hard stone he laid on pushed against his head and on the tips of his fingers.
'This… wasn't right.'
He twitched his fingers, flexing out his strength. When Jon realized he was conscious still and had regained his strength, he cracked open his eyes and reached for his weapons, only to feel nothing around him…and only darkness before him.
Jon sat up, and what he saw was emptiness and a purple glow filling a black abyss that seemed everlasting. He wondered for a moment if his eyes were truly open or if it was his mind playing tricks on him again.
But the floor was covered in a shadowy fog, tinted in glowing purple, drifting along as far as he could see. Though it gave off some light, looking around, his eyes saw naught but the darkest of voids.
He grabbed his chest, then his gut. He was healed; no wounds, no blood, no sword made of ice impaling him.
'I shouldn't be alive.'
He recalled the wights, the Night King, and the…
"Ghost!" Jon screamed, looking around frantically for any sign or sound of him.
He rose to his feet and yelled louder.
"Ghost! Ghost! Come here, boy! Where are you?" he turned around, desperate for a response.
"Ghost!" he continued.
His own echo was the only reply received. Above, underneath, all around—nothing but a black, barren land populated by fog spinning about his feet.
Fear was building within him. Jon had not been away from Ghost long since he was a pup—the only other who kept him from going mad and taking drastic measures with his own life...
He remembered Ghost being attacked from both sides by the wyvern and wights. He remembered the blood, his boy dying in his arms, and the promise he made to see him again.
Then…
'Where am I?'
He took a few steps forward, and the purple mist began to sluggishly climb up his body until his hands, legs—everything below his chest was covered in a swirling, cold vapor.
He remembered the sword piercing him. The Night King's ice magic coursed through his body, seeking all the fire he held inside. The pain was excruciating, not unlike what he felt the second time he perished…
But unlike then, however, he could not recall anything before returning—or even if there was anything to see when one dies.
"Is this it…the Otherside," Jon voiced his fears. At this point in history, with everything they knew, who could claim, for certainty, that there existed a heaven or hell?
His attempts to see further was hindered by the mysterious fog filling his vision, obscuring everything, including parts of himself. He raised his arm to take a better look at the spinning vapor covering him.
It moved like a river, but the edges were darker, firmer, and hard to move. As if it were holding the rest of the fog in place, attached to clothes and skin.
He tried seizing some, but the gas slipped through his fingers and returned to cover his arm, leaving an icy sensation on his hands.
He hoped this was not the end. He prayed that this wasn't it, that he would not be walking around in the darkness for all time.
That this may be his punishment for failing filled him with dread.
He searched for some sign to tell him where to go, which direction to head for.
"A light?"
He saw it—up ahead, his eyes finally laid upon a spark. Something far in front of him was blinking in and out as if communicating. Jon didn't delay for another moment and began sprinting to his only chance.
The right side of his body warmed the closer he got, but the more his vision was clouded by the mist. The dark-colored smoke swirled faster, settling itself around his nose.
But it was the left side of him that felt it the most.
He couldn't remember the last time he felt this kind of chill. The Night King had to pierce his heart to make him feel any kind of cold, and even then, Jon felt more pain than anything.
Jon was closer to the light, finally feeling joyful that he might discover a way out. He was fatigued from the constant battling since he left Winterfell—the first time—and all that followed him was death and destruction when all he had ever wanted was peace.
'Robb, Dany, Arya, Sansa, everyone ... I'm close,' he thought as he ran and ran and ran. Endless nothingness and a small spark in the middle was his only goal, and getting closer was the only reason he didn't collapse after what seemed like hours
He longed to find Ghost but pushed those feeling aside.
'He's running towards his own pack, waiting for him,' just like his awaited him.
The light was larger now, brighter. He could see colors.
"Almost there," he said as he picked up speed.
But he wasn't almost there…. The closer he came, the more he could see, but Jon did not like what was before him.
Two figures covered in light were standing against one another, perhaps facing each other; he wasn't sure. The figure on the right was covered in a red and orange blaze as bright as the son, like Drogo's fire, causing the right side of his body to warm.
The figure on the left was the complete opposite—covered in a light of blue and silver; the figure chilled the mist some, freezing the air and blowing it along the left side of his body.
They were both taller than any mountain, taller than the Wall, the Titan, the Emperor's palace—nothing could match them. Jon had to tilt his head all the way back just to see all of them, and yet he couldn't make out the top.
The heat and cold assaulted him as he stared at the two figures, unable to move. Jon could feel their magic radiating off them like the winds of winter and the sands of Dorne blowing harder than they ever had.
Magic like this was not possible. If the Night King or Greyjoy had half that power, he would have never considered fighting. Running was all he could hope to do if that were the case.
He was in Winterfell the last time he felt that kind of chill or heat.
'Hot… and cold,' he thought, confused as to why he could feel both so strongly.
His body wasn't the same as it once was, but then again, 'Was this even my body…?'
'…Ice…and fire?' He made the connection.
'It was them. It had to be them!" Jon shook, glaring, glaring at the two figures in front of him in utter hatred.
He knew who they were. Nothing else made sense. He was dead. He knew that to be true, but unlike the last time, he had his wits about him.
And he saw them…
The Divine Ancestors. The Creators of All…
These were the Gods of Ice and Fire… the Gods of Night and Light…
'It had to be them, for what else could they be unless Greyjoy and the Night King decided to join him in the afterlife?'
'How sweet that would taste."
Bran had used his powers to the limit to go as far back as possible through the wierwoods and their roots—those that were left, anyhow.
His brother discovered lost secrets, destroyed texts, ancient battle formations—anything to help them fight back.
They hatched more dragons and created more Valyrian steel—they even awakened, but Nothing worked.
For every city of wights they destroyed, a newborn army would replace them. When finally, they had two rideable dragons again, Greyjoy came along with his army and newfound form and brought them down even lower.
Now they had two fronts to fight against. Both Heralds desired them as part of their undead army in order to take on the other.
'What chance did we have?'
Their only hope was to look into the past for answers—and to the gods who were in the center of it all. If their ancestors overcame the Long Night once, then why were they on the brink of extinction when they should be stronger after thousands of years?
The children of the forest knew the most about the gods, but even they were too young to know the complete story.
The Greenmen on the Isle of Faces had some of the solutions they hoped for, and for the rest, Bran went 8,000 years into the past and scoured the whole north to find answers.
Greed, pride…humans, as a whole, was the answer they came to…
Their ancestors had more people—more fighters during the first Long Night. Many who fought were awakened, and many of them led their own armies.
The heroes of the age past made pacts and were unopposed to fighting alongside each other. They were united as one.
Women, the giants, the Children, dragons, direwolves, unicorns. Bran even said he saw centaurs and a few men riding griffins, and Jon had seen too much of the higher mysteries to doubt him.
Jon would never forget the fear he experienced the first time he battled an Old One. He shivered still just by the recalling of them and their thousand tentacles…
In Bran's search for the truth of this world, he found the ancient stories—the fables and tales pertaining to the birth of the old gods, the Drowned God, the Great Other, R'hllor… They all supposedly came from the same two gods that created the world.
The gods were responsible for keeping the balance, but instead, they steered it to its destruction.
What sane god would choose the Great Other as their champion? What sane god would bestow Greyjoy with their own power?
These weren't gods, they were demons playing their own game like every other human, grasping for power and control. They no longer strived for harmony, only desiring to tip the scales in their favor.
To be the one true god.
He opened his mouth to yell as loud as his lungs could manage. He wished to voice his anger—his pain.
'What are you doing? Why did you not stop it?! Why act like children when the world is being shattered?'
They had the power to save them, but mortals clearly mattered not to gods.
…But only a stifled sound was freed.
"Emmmm, Ammmm—" muffled screams and spit were all he could manage.
The mist now covered every part of his body—everything below his eyes was encased, his voice muted by the haze that behaved like water but felt like a barrier stopping him from expressing his grief to the ones responsible.
Jon pulled down on the mist to remove it from covering his mouth, but it held strong and refused to lower itself as though he were unworthy to speak before the gods.
'Do you fear speaking to me? he wished to say. Do you fear what I may say!? All your wrongdoing against us. Your crimes are many. Admit to them! Confess your sins!'
But instead, what came out was, "Emm, Emmm, Ammmm."
"Hehehehehee."
Jon recoiled and spun. 'What was that?!'
He heard a sound from behind him…like a high-pitched laughing…
The laugh echoed back, proving him lucid. He was aware of his surrounding and knew the voice came from deep within the void.
'Something spoke to him…'
'Come out! Come out and face me, gods! He kept up his attempts, but how could they hear him when they had silenced his voice completely?' he tried saying.
'Were the Two playing tricks on him with their magic?'
'Do you fear me? Is that why you hide? Afraid to hear of your—'
"Hehehehehee."
"—crimes. Come out!" He grabbed his throat. His voice was back; he could hear himself. He observed the mist that once constricted his mouth, receding to his neck.
He turned to where he heard the voice coming from and roared loudly to nothing, "Come out. Come out and face me, cowards! You hide in shadows like cravens in the night rather than face me? Here I am. Come! I've been waiting."
No one answered this time; only the sound of wind rushing past was caught.
But he knew…he knew he heard something.
Something was here, watching.
"All these years, I have been awaiting this day. I dreamt of a time I would one day witness you, defy you in the flesh. And now here I am, and you are nowhere to be seen? Show yourselves, gods."
Hehehehe Hehehehehee.
'There!'
He shifted to his right, where he caught the sound originating from. He smiled. He didn't imagine it.
Jon knew he heard laughing—at him, he presumed, like the echo of a child giggling. Boy or girl, he could tell nothing.
"Have you not awaited my arrival as well? For the last man to finally be within your grasp. You win! You have me. Is this not what you desired? Why hide now? Here I am," he spread his arms out and looked up into the emptiness of the void. Black and purple mixed like blood in a river.
"Let me feel your embrace," he declared, expecting to be answered, spreading his arms, defenseless.
"Hehehehe Hehehehehee."
They continued as he kept his arms out, but none of them would attack. He was waiting for them, he would attack the moment he was given the chance, but they had yet to make a move.
There was nothing he could do.
'They are playing with me! he knew, grinding his teeth.'
"Where are you so that I may slit your bellies?"
"Hehehehehehehehe."
Jon snapped. "Why do you mock me?! Why do you hide?! Why!" he screamed.
The voice went quiet as he stared at the smokey fog about him. He continued yelling profanities mixed with demands and questions. He wanted answers. His frustration was at its peak as he stood, expecting something to happen, but this time no one responded.
He was, again, alone with his thoughts…and fury, his efforts amounting to nothing. And this time, no Ghost beside him to give comfort.
'Where is he?' he worried. 'I want him with me.'
"Where are you!" he bellowed, for Ghost or gods, he cared not.
He wanted to cry—to dig himself into the callous, obsidian ground and become a part of it, to build his grave and die right there.
"Why!"
He fell to his knees, tired of standing, giving up on his rage.
"Why…?" he asked genuinely. "Why did you not save us? Were we not your creations? Were we not worthy?"
He didn't care to think about the dropping fog revolving around his knees like a whirlpool inside the smoking sea.
He simply spoke to the empty abyss.
"We fought for you…sacrificed all we had. We prayed and begged for help—any help … a petty sum would … and we received not but broken visions and annihilation in return? Men died in your name. We forfeited lives believing someone—anyone was listening," he cried.
All the prayers, the sermons, the sacrifice, human or otherwise… What did it amount to?
"Was it all a waste…was it all done for nothing?"
He could hear his own heart slowing from the previous rush, his fingers scraping against the floor, and his teeth as they chattered…but nothing else.
It was quiet.
He slumped his shoulders and bowed his head to the obscure surface of the ground through blurry vision, hoping it would crack and swallow him whole… yielding the last of his defiance.
"Please … take me … deliver me to my kin. I wish to be with them now…. Take me."
"Hehehehehehe."
"I tire of these games," he whispered.
The fog stirred forward as if being sucked. Like a river, it rushed forward.
He ignored the giggles. He didn't care. Let them laugh. He had been the center of jokes all his life. This should be nothing new.
He fought all who wished them dead.
Trudged through the piling bodies.
Slaved for the lives of others, and yet here he was, alone, not a saved soul for his troubles.
The world ill needed a savior such as him.
"Hehehehehe."
They would have been better off without him.
Better off if he was never born.
The thought made him grit his teeth, he clenched his fits at the unfairness of it all, but no one could change his past…nor his fate.
'They should have chosen another...'
"Hehehehehe…ahhhh."
"Is that truly your wish, little hero?"
The words broke him out of his self-loathing when he realized someone… something had spoken to him.
He looked up and saw an entity shimmering into existence from the dense fog.
Like a predator hidden in the dark, a being twice as tall as he, draped in grey, tattered robes reaching the floor, and a hood concealing its face, emerged from the shadows and floated above, watching him like one would watch their next meal.
The fog turned through the void and continued to obscure his vision, but as clear as day, Jon saw the god throwing back its head, laughing at his expense as all those who thought themselves above him had.
'Finally, you show yourself.'
He controlled his face and tried not to gap as he came face to face with it.
He attempted to see under the hood, but even with its head tilted, the shadow remained, concealing the taunting face Jon knew hid underneath.
"Yes…I wish to go now."
"Hehehehehe, oh. Pray tell me, why should a god, such as I, give a failure, such as you, anything?"
"A-And which god do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" he asked snidely, trying to show no fear.
Most like she was the God of Night by the looks of it.
"The only god who matters to you," it said in a raspy voice of a woman grown. He was unaware if the gods had genders, but this one's voice reminded him somewhat of Cersei and her self-righteous words and her self-granted omnipotence as if she knew everything about him because he was a bastard.
'How dare she?'
He got up and glared at her with loathing.
"You're mistaken," he spat. "What matters do I have remaining? I am dead. I failed, as you said. I'm done with you all. I am of no more use. There are no more games to be had, no more moves to be made…no more pieces left to lose. It's over with," he said with conviction.
The thing giggled again as if he were an imbecile.
"Hehehehehehe. How incorrect you are, little boy. Time continues forward as it always has. There are plenty of moves still. More pieces to use, as I will. It is never over. Hehehehehe …"
'The audacity.' What more is there to ask of him? He couldn't understand what she had in mind. He had done it all already and now just wanted it to end.
"For instance, currently, you have yet to decide where you wish to rest."
'…Ah. I see.'
Jon released the breath he was holding in. "…Bring me to my family… and let us finish this...please," he added, almost begging.
'It is over.'
And he was nearly across...
She tilted her head. "Family? Hm, yes, the mortals who share your blood. Yes, they arrived here not long before you... Honestly, failures...every member of your clan. So weak, they all were."
Jon's body shook as his skin got hotter. He wished he had his swords on him or even his daggers to throw—anything to stab her with.
'How dare she speak of them in such a way.'
"They were not failures! None of them were," he declared.
"But they were... As I recall, they had all succumbed to Fate's machinations long before your war began … unlike you. Compared to you, little Snow … you who survived until the very end regardless of the obstacles set before you, they were naught but fodder in our game."
He shook his head. 'What…did she mean?'
"That is cruel as it is unfair! How could they change their fate when it is set in stone? So many others wished for the death of the Starks and Targaryens; was it not our fate to be vanquished? Did you not have desires for our souls in your hands."
"Hehehehehe. Do you see naught, my little prince? The only fate that is absolute is death…" she emphasized. "Whether you fall for her first plan or the last is upon you to decide. And as you have seen, they all succumbed, one following the other, just as their roles were concluded. Just as her first plans were completed. Not once did they overcome Fate, falling to the errors of their ways and the path others set them on, happy to simply accept their choices until it was too late. You sought assistance in your war. Well, they all came to me before they could give it. That was of their will, their choice, not of mine."
"How do expect mortals to play a game with gods? Every priest and sorceress, every holy man and witch I have ever met, has died to you. You see me as impressive? Then take a look at the world. Even I lost to your plots," he yelled, huffing, feeling lightheaded
"Yes… mortals are…weak little things. It is truly sad. But it was not wholly the plots of gods that killed your clan. Was it…?
He looked up at her and paused. 'No—'
"No… our control over the living is but limited. It was you, mortals, others who decided their own fate was much above that of your blood's… I simply reclaim what was once borrowed … And you have been long overdue."
The Lanisters killed his father, Boltons took Robb, his aunt, and Rickon away. Sansa, Arya, and Bran barely survived their own encounters before they perished… As for him, if it were not for others bringing him back…he would have been here long ago.
"Then take me. I am done talking. Bring me to my kin."
"...So you accept your fate? How…disappointing. No matter. Your fate is your own… But of which kin do you speak: The side of fire…or that of ice?"
"Both! They are both my kin," he said hastily
"Hehehe, oh, but only one can be yours here, little boy."
"What do you mean?" he almost shouted. "Where are they?"
"They are just beyond, she motioned behind her, "but in separate worlds of rest."
"Why are their spirits not together?" he said worriedly
"It is currently the way of it," she shrugged.
She didn't care about his wants. He started to sweat as he stared at her. What could he say? This wasn't how he thought the afterlife would be.
"I am of both bloods, and they are both kin to me. Can you not send me to both?"
"I can, but I will not."
"Please! Why do you do this? Have we not all suffered eno—"
"SUFFERED!" she screeched. The mist started revolving quicker as it climbed his body. "You speak to me of suffering? You cannot comprehend the meaning of what I have endured. Millions—Billions yet born—all gone—from ME they were taken! ME! Now I stay, helpless and awaiting the inevitable outcome." her cry sounded like a weeping child.
Her sleeve pointed to the distance where he could make out two separate towers in the distance. He thought he was near them, but they seemed to have moved further away.
'The Two are fighting still. Then...'
He shuddered and turned back to the unknown entity with wide eyes. Jon had mistaken her identity for theirs. All his animosity was directed toward them.
'Who is she?'
"H-How shall I address you? You have yet to answer me," he paused, hoping he did not insult a being he had no qualms with. There were too many of them out there to keep count.
He looked her over, but she resembled numerous other gods he had read and heard about.
No words came out. She was eerily quiet. She simply looked at him to continue.
He took a deep breath. "Who are you?" he finally asked calmly.
"Hehehehehe, she cackled loudly. The mist thumped along with her voice like the skin of a drum, reverberating through the expanse. "Have you not grasped the truth of it? Then let me tell you: I have always been by your side, little Snow, from the day of your birth until now. By your side, you have seen the most of me, yet never within my grasp. I am avoided by all but will seize all I desire. All that I have sown, I have reaped…without fail. Whether from laughter or irony, time or love, I will be the last you will ever see…and everyone's final fate."
Jon froze, his eyes enlarged considerably, and his jaw hung open for a moment as he stared with some fear at the true god in his presence. A god few, including Arya, would dare pray to, and one he dismissed for he believed him…her unimportant.
How mistaken he was.
'Truly? It couldn't be. There were stories, yes, legends and songs of them filled Westeros since the Andals invaded, but never any definitive proof of them. Why would she, of all the gods, come before me?'
Bran searched everywhere, and though there were places shrouded in darkness and eras veiled even from their eyes, he confirmed that they never existed outside the imagination of the Andals.
And now one of them was speaking to him? He had very little connection to them. So, why? He thought he championed the old gods, or even Rh'llor, not…
He scrutinized her before he said, "You—the Seven Who Are One—?"
"You dare include me in with those RATS!" she bellowed, scarring him and almost knocking him over with just her voice. "They, who scurry my feet and beg for a scrap of true power. They exist only through their relation to me ... for I allow it. I am far, far more than what they hope to become," she pressed.
He released a sigh, almost thankful for some reason that it wasn't the Seven. He wasn't sure if he would pray to them if he were told they existed and could be of help when he lived. But still…
"You're the Stran—you're Death…," he corrected himself, slowly coming to an understanding. This is whom Arya championed, and still, she died.
As if by magic, she reached behind her back and pulled out a serrated, grey scythe, too long to have been hidden from his sight by normal means. He flinched, imagining Death cutting his head off and reaping him.
Would he bleed? He assumed this was his body, but mayhaps he was just a soul, though that might not be an issue for her.
'As long as she takes me to them, she can do all she wishes with me.'
"Death, Grimm, the Reaper, the Soul Eater, the Many-Faced God, call me the Stranger; I do not object … I am all those, but much more than what they may suggest."
Jon gripped his fists to keep his hands from quacking. If he was right, this was the being that held the souls of every one of his family, past and present.
He bowed fully. "I-It is an honor to meet you," he said respectively.
He needed her to pass.
"I have no need for your platitudes, little prince. I detest to be meeting you," she stressed.
He looked on, confused. She seemed to hate his very presence.
'Why?' he wondered.
"Have I done something to offend? If so, please, accept my apology. I meant no slight," he said, bowing to her.
"You cannot change what you are … mortal," she said with disgust. "This is far beneath me, yet here I be, cleaning up after little children. Ahh, to degrade myself such … why has Fate seen it so…?" she sighed sadly. "I have no time to watch over hatchlings and their pathetic squabbles. I have a multitude of worlds in my care. This is but a small, insignificant realm barely out of its infancy, unworthy of my precious time."
Jon could feel his eyes twitch wildly and blood run cold as she continued to speak of her plights. 'Yes, what am I but a disgusting mortal whose life meant little after all?'
He knew. There was no need for reminding. She spoke truly. They were all deceiving themselves. They mattered for nothing but fun for the gods.
They were the rulers, and he their plaything.
Why would they care for someone as irrelevant as him?
He averted his gaze before she could see his eyes water.
"Do you believe I come personally for all? Ha! I toss countless souls within with not a thought. And now I am here, in corporeal form, to dispose of a little bug who has fallen ..."
He growled lowly. "Then why come?" he controlled his voice. "What importance is there to show yourself?" he asked.
She hummed in thought as she tapped her chin with her sleeve. What could she possibly want with him instead of tossing his soul?
"Hmm… I came to send you on your way. Choose a path, and that will be your final rest," she said as if it were obvious.
Behind her, two ghastly bridges bound by clouds of grey smoke appeared without warning, heading in opposite directions. They looked to be made of broken wood with faulty rope holding them together.
But what he noticed most was the ice casing the flooring of one and the fire running along the other, yet the bridges held as if their nature matured not.
He was baffled about their existence, unaware of what they did.
"What is this?" he asked, examining the crossing.
"Go right, and you will be led to those blessed by the Blazing one. To those which you have never beheld. Go left, and you will be with those championed by the Cold one and return to the kin who raised you," she answered.
His hands were shaking, and the balls of his feet itched something terrible. Jon was ready to ignore her and take off. He was ready to see them again.
"I wish to see both," he said with authority, refusing to change his mind.
"All wish for something, yet few ever obtain their heart's desire. They die trying. And your wish…is not allowed."
He was stumped. "What?"
Jon stared in panic at the Stranger's aloofness. 'Does she think this another game?'
He swiped his arm. "Enough of your jests," he said. "I wish to see both my families."
"You call it a jest, yet I jest not, little boy. You simply … cannot … have … both," she explained slowly as he would explain to a babe.
"Why not?!" Her teasing irritated him.
"Judgements have been made, lines drawn, and the pieces have now fallen where they are."
"I don't understand. Please. Let me see them; it's how it is meant to be."
"As I said, you may choose one side, and I will send you on your way."
He was done minding his courtesies.
"Why? Have I not done all that is asked of me? I deserve to rest in peace with them," he voiced anxiously.
"Deserve? You deserve nothing, for you are nothing. You LOST, BOY," the mist around him raised, as did her words, echoing through the abyss like how one would imagine a god's voice would be. "NO LONGER AM I IN CONTROL OF WHAT IS MINE! Divided, my world is, and divided it shall remain for as long as this farce continues."
Never had he felt such power coming off one singular being. No… not even the Night King could compare.
"So, I am to choose again which of my family holds my heart? No, I cannot. Not again," he professed stubbornly.
"Then you will remain here until the end of time. Until their war eventually ends ... eons from now. The winner will take all that is left and send what remains to oblivion ... including your soul. That is if it remains whole."
Jon slumped his shoulders as he trembled in defeat. He was so close, and yet here stands before him, another obstacle hindering his path.
"Be grateful, little snow, for I have removed the haze enveloping you. I have never allowed another so lowly to speak to me as you have. Only because you have been chosen time and again do I give you such gifts," she explained.
"Grateful? Gifts? Do you wish for me to be pleased after all that has occurred? I never wanted any of this. Why me? Why choose me when there were so many others?" It made no sense to him. What made a bastard so special?
He knew he was being childish, but this was his end, truly this time, and in front of someone who's taken his family away, all the accusations and grievances came spilling out.
"Hehehehehe," she merely laughed at him.
Closing his mouth, he thought of the choices set before him. One question revolved around his mind begging him to ask.
"What of my mother? Lyanna of House of Stark and Targaryen, where is she?" he asked, attempting to make a decision.
"You will become aware of her choice once you make your own and cross over."
"You even refuse to tell me that. She is my mother! Should I not be told? She died long before the war began. She should be with both as well," he deduced.
She shrugged and kept silent this time with no laughter.
"Why won't you tell me?" he almost screamed, but the Stranger wouldn't respond to his query. Now he had to decide which he was willing to see and which he would abandon…
The tears broke from his eyes, trailing slowly down his cheek.
"I…I wish…to go…."
He couldn't… They were both part of him. The two sides that made him whole. He was not complete without the other.
"Is there nothing you can do? I beg of you, let me be with them," he pleaded.
"You realize not the power I would need to devote to bring two domains together. Why must I waste my power on a disappointment such as you? No. It is best to keep them as they are now. No need to waste energy on the meaningless."
He knelt and bowed his head as if she were the king of this world.
"I implore you for this one boon. Please. I have done all I can to stop them. They were too powerful to overcome. I had nothing left to give," he howled.
"You could have done more."
"How? There was no one else! In the end, I was alone, and still, I received no help from the gods. What do you expect of me?"
"Do not blame others for your own shortcomings, little hero," she sneered. "We all expected much more from you. A shame, The Prince of Mortals was worth only so much"
"Please. I will do anything—give you anything…" he whispered as he hit the floor with his forehead, trying to show his complete submission to Death.
He waited in the silence that hung around them. He never desired for anything more, but there always seemed to be someone or something thwarting him, preventing him from moving forward.
The people of Westeros thought him a liar and lost their lands rather than follow him. Essos and the Iron Bank thought him mad and lost their precious gold and slaves because of it. The god-emperor thought his people stronger without his help and ended up regretting his decision and calling for their aid.
"Hmm...anything, you say...?" she hummed.
"…What?" he looked up at her as his heart thumped wildly.
"You say anything. I ask: do you truly mean anything? What are you willing to give in exchange for your wish?"
"W-What is it you want? Everything I have is yours" She could have anything she wanted, but what did he have to give aside from the years of fighting in their name? And that was meaningless, according to her.
"You have nothing of desire for me to take… However …"
He waited with batted breath and sweaty palms for her to continue.
"You may be done with the gods, little hero, but the gods yet await you. Even now, I hear your old gods beseeching me to speak with you, R'hllor, and the Rat Seven banging at my hooves to return you," she sneered, throwing a look at the ground.
He eyed the smoky floor around him before addressing her.
"Return me? Why ever would they do that? What do they want, and for what purpose?" There was nothing to return to, he thought.
"Hehehehe. Is it not plain to see? To resurrect you, clearly."
"Again! Why? I stand no chance against their armies on my own. What do they expect of me?" And he didn't want to go back because, this time, Jon would be all alone.
She scoffed. "To fight, little hero, to fight. And when the inevitable comes, and you die ... again ... they will revive you once more and begin the cycle anew."
"Tha—that's madness. They wish me to keep dying with no plan or aid and believe me to win? I would lose quicker." It made no sense to him. Perhaps if they brought them all back, but with just him…
'I can't. Will she allow their plan to be…?'
He shook his head at the stupidity of it all. What was wrong with these gods?
"Hehehehe. Yes, their plan is foolish, is it not? Destined to fail regardless of the number of times they send you back. But that is all they are capable of with their fleeting powers and minuscule intellect." she mocked. "Their greatest blessing is not that of the lands or elements, but that of my domain bestowed upon you. Come," she said, sweeping her hand, causing the mist to turn and…lift him.
He gasped as he was carried behind her by a large and dark cloud surrounding his feet. She chuckled as they left their location and flew deeper into the abyss. The two towers of light quickly became specks in the distance.
"Where are we going?" he asked. She didn't answer. They continued until nothing but she and the mist were visible. He was going to ask her again, but they suddenly stopped at a spot that looked similar to everywhere else, except they were far from the two gods fighting.
Death brought out her scythe and bent forward as the heavy mist ran swirled faster than he thought possible around the blade. She pulled her scythe far back and swung at the empty space with her might.
The mist blew forward, but instead of catching air, he heard a tear screech out. Her scythe had ripped the void in two like the fabric of a dress.
He felt the power exuding from the rip. As the fog cleared away, Jon saw a dark whirlpool, churning with black, purple, and silver lights, standing on its own across the gash and supported by nothing. And yet, as it spun, he heard nothing. It was silent.
He was amazed at the magic before him.
Was it similar to the bridge?
"What is this?"
"The river of time has always flowed one way. Only one way. Straight and true. No man or god may touch it, let alone control it … unlike myself. For what needs do I have to alter mine own nature?
Her grandiose claim didn't fool him. There was a reason she was exhibiting her might before him.
"…To reclaim what was stolen from you," Jon answered uncertainly, recalling her suffering.
"Hehehehe. Such a clever little hero you are."
"The Two—."
"Have nothing over me, little boy. True, my power may have receded some; nevertheless, my dominion has yet to be pillaged. Perhaps together, but they are FOOLS and can do nothing to prevent my coming plans."
"What plans? Why choose now to help? Your strength would have made a difference in the war. You could have helped before. We were dying by the thousands as their army grew. Cities fell in a single night. Where was your help then?"
She was toying with him.
"You can never avoid death, little hero. All men must die. I will have what is owed to me. One life or a million, one moment or eons … I am infinite. Life ends with me as much as it begins. Once, I held…expectations…that you humans would reverse the impending doom and return the cycle back into balance. Back to ME. But now…now it seems that if I do not intervene, I will find myself usurped…my place disposed of by inferiors."
"…Much like yourself, little dragonwolf," she said pointedly.
He winced at the reminder.
"Unlike you, I know who I am…"
She spread out her arms. "I am preordained, little hero…time means nothing to me as it does for others," she looked away from him and to the dots fighting in the distance. Her hood tilted down as the mist climbed high past her head like the steam of a hot spring.
She scoffed. "Ha. I have existed long before they, and I will continue to be long after. Regardless of their might, in the end … I will reap them…" she whispered menacingly, but he heard her still as she looked at the emptiness behind them where he knew the two would be.
'She reaps gods! How does she have so much power?'
"Why bring me here? Why tell me all of this? This…is all far above the likes of me. What do you want?"
He's killed wights, fiends, White Walkers, half-gods, and men with powers from legend, but in the end, they were in the realm of mortals still. But this... The Night King was the strongest he had come across, yet she could have reaped him effortlessly.
"Naturally, this is above you! All your power, all that which you have accumulated, means nothing but a single flea against one of your giants if ever you faced a true god such as I. All of your victories, all your triumphs, were against weaklings. Those who are never to approach my realm. The realm of Gods. You are but a pest in the eons of cycles of life and death that have come and gone."
Jon scowled and gripped his shirt tighter as he glared daggers at her.
She gestured to him. "…But you are a useful pest."
'But a pest nonetheless…'
He spoke while hiding his scorn. "What kind of use could a mortal like me be worthy of?
She climbed higher as she spoke. "All those souls, all that death…how many mortals had yet to return to dirt? How many were stolen from me?
She seemed, for a moment...saddened.
'What does she want?'
He blinked, and in that very next moment, she descended and closer to him than she ever was.
"What do I want? I want the true order back! I want the cycle returned to me… And I have come to find…that you are the only one capable of providing me with what I long for."
She waved her sleeve, and the portal spun faster and faster, to the point where the gateway seemed to be motionless, yet he could see the rotation of its border and the occasional flicker of colors.
Jon looked back at her as she continued.
"Return to your past. Disrupt the song. Destroy the tapestry. I care not how it is done…only that you complete the quest I have bestowed you."
Jon trembled uncontrollably as he slowly understood her meaning.
He spun back and gawked at the portal spinning before him. He squinted his eyes to see if his father or Robb, or anyone he recognized was visible, but he could see nothing past the lights and fog being sucked in. It was all obscured
'The past? ... No. No, it can't be.'
It could be a doorway like the one under the Nightfort but made by some sort of otherworldly magic wielded by the Stranger in place of simple weirwood.
'Does this gate hold the world within … or is it simply a doorway to…?'
It wasn't a possibility he had ever dreamt of. He could hardly understand what it meant to journey time. To go back and fix his mistakes. To see everyone how they were years ago.
She was lying to him. She couldn't be telling the truth … because if she were … he would be diving into this ghastly opening posthaste, like a man before a river, dying of thirst.
He thought anxiously, 'Will this take me there? Will I truly be allowed to return?'
"You requested the gods for help, little wolf. Well, your prayers have been answered."
Could he win … if he went back?
"Why not do it yourself? You clearly have the power to destroy the Night King and Greyjoy with but a flick of your hand. We could both go to the past, and I can assist you," he said with some desperation.
'What if I lost again…'
She sighed tiredly. "As I have said: there is a limit to my interference. My power alone would unravel your realm at its seams should I decide to descend upon it in form. I doubt you wish for its utter destruction … or am I mistaken?"
No, that is far from what he wished for. If the world goes, so do the people.
He saw her twirl her arms, making the portal's rotation reverse without touching it.
"Now go," she commanded.
She wanted him to go into that? How could he believe her words?
"This is no trick? I will truly be allowed to return to my past if I step through."
"Correct," she said simply.
"How can I know you speak the truth?" he asked uncertainly
"I have no need to lie, fool. That is for you mortals. You would be utterly powerless should I choose to force my will on you. On the contrary, I give you a choice denied to all others, and yet here you are, an insect, doubting me," she said angrily.
He hesitated still. She could simply toss him in if she wished to, and he would have no way of stopping her. But gods play a game that he scarcely understood. Who knows what he would find once entered?
Jon eyed the gateway in a daze for a long time, trying to come to a decision, until he heard her groan loudly.
"Mayhaps your old gods will convince you …."
"They're here?" he quickly asked, unable to imagine the gods of the North surrounding him without him knowing.
"I have silenced all who wish to speak to you. They had their chance and have nearly brought my domain to ruin…" she said in anger. "But … I will make another exception," she said before waving her right sleeve up.
He was forced to take a step back when the mist blew stronger against him, lifting his hair from his eyes as he steadied himself.
"OOOOOOOOOO." The sound drifted with the wind. Like a multitude of little boys and girls singing in unison, he heard the voice coming ahead of him from afar.
It was beautiful.
He had never heard a word from the gods of his land…until now.
'Why were they forever silent … I would have listened if they would only answer. And still, they make little sense.'
"What do they say?" he asked before he suddenly felt a rush to senses—the cold winds and the smells of the North hurrying across his face. The snow, the lakes, the godswood, Winterfell, all images that flitted through his mind in succession.
He closed his eyes and, for once, felt at peace.
"GOOOOOOOOOO. GOOOOOO—"
They conveyed one word before they were cut.
"Enough," she commanded as she flung her left arm down. "I tire of your voices. I have been maddened enough. There, even they approve of this course of action. Now begone. Lest you forget … if you wish to see any of your blood, perhaps save them as well, then you will go."
He breathed and looked out into the darkness where he heard them, hoping for more assurance, but when he realized they wouldn't be speaking any longer—thanks to the higher god silencing them—he made his choice.
"To when will I be brought?" he asked oddly. If he could arrive before Robb's death, it would be for the best.
But if he arrived after the Battle for the North, or worse, after the fall of Asahi, then what use would he be to his siblings and his younger self?
There would be very little he could change then. They would lose against the enemy's numbers still.
"Proceed and discover for yourself, little wolf," she said, shooing him off with a wave.
He could tell her frustration with him was at its peak. Everything from here on would be his choice.
Jon walked forward to the jagged tear she opened. He felt the slight pull of the whirling maelstrom as he reached for it. He was ready to see them…but he narrowed his eyes and quickly recoiled before touching it.
"Wait. How will this work? There will be two of me. How am I to explain all this? My head will be upon a block before sundown," he said with some agitation.
She floated down and moved closer to him until her hooded face was a mere breath away from his—to the point where he believed she was ready to kiss him.
Her eerie chuckle did nothing to ease his worries and caused him to shudder violently as he felt her icy aura surrounding him. He wasn't going to like what happened next—he could feel it.
Fortunately, she moved past and instead whispered lowly in his ear, unnerving him more.
"Hehehehe. Oh, Snow … the hero is dead…"
She looked at him, but he could only focus on the pale white hand extending out from the shadow of her sleeve. He had yet to witness any part of her not concealed in the ebony-colored magic around her.
It looked so young and milk-white with not a blemish on it as she rested it over his heart.
"Only the boy lives…."
Wha—
BANG
She slammed him with her ivory palm before he could question her words, almost knocking his breath out. He yelled as he plummeted head-first into the murky, spinning whirlpool.
All around him were blurry lights that glowed brighter, almost blindingly so. He tried to move, but there was nothing for him to grab onto. His strength was dwindling as if being pulled out of him when the Stranger pushed him. His eyes became heavy, and his vision began fading.
Jon glimpsed a shroud of silver, coating him completely. He heard the God of Death's laugh echoing in his ear as he tried to move.
He could no longer make a sound, and his eyes were forced closed when the silver covered his head. He fought to stay awake, but he soon succumbed and was powerless to open them again—to see the stars and endless black night circling him, rushing and whirling as familiar images and events moved past.
Pieces of Jon began tearing apart into beams of light, traveling to different destinations. Then another, before all vanishing…gone.
"Hehehehehe."
