always there
I hope you guys like it, I decided to post it here since, I posted all my fanfics here, this is the first part, part II is coming and there’ll be a part III. Sorry for the angst, came from the heart. After long nights of me and @porrabett talking of how lyanna would watch over jon, it had to be written! Plus, I could never have written this without her! <3
She was always there
Jon could not remember a time where she was not in his dream, or even his nightmares.
He could never fully see her face, but he remember her smile, it was large and full of teeth. Like a she-wolf showing her grace, or a wild animal protecting her babes, watching them from afar.
When Jon was nothing but a child, he and Robb would prank the other children, pretending to be the dead Kings of Winter, rising to scare the others, down the crypts. He could never see anyone, but it was as if someone inhabited the shadows. But he was a brave little boy, and he would never tell such nonsense to his brother, it was enough being a bastard, let alone a mad one.
The night before he left for The Wall, he dreamt of her. He was lost in the crypts, when he heard her cries. It was sad and heartbreaking, a sound to make the Old Gods weep.
What is it, My Lady? What can I do help? He would ask her.
But she would not give him an answer.
She wept, still.
Surely, she could not be crying for him, the ghosts of Winterfell would not care for a bastard.
He could never see the face, but he could see her hair, wild and curly, hiding her tears, in the darkness she lived in.
His friendly ghost, his ghostly friend. At first, she scared him, but after years of her presence, her smell of winter roses had become comforting, a bit like home.
He would miss her at the Wall, so when he prayed at the Godswood, one last time; prayed for his family's safety, for his new life and for his friend to be there somehow.
For a long time, she was not.
He never saw her when he lost hope of finding his uncle, but he felt her presence, when he mourned him, all those cold nights at Castle Black.
He never saw her the night he swore his vows, but he dreamt of a Godswood with blue leaves, and it smelled of his distant friend: winter roses.
He never saw her in the crypts, the night he dreamt of his father, right after his demise; but he knew she was there, in the shadows.
He never saw her when he got the dreadful news of Robb and Lady Catelyn, and he wanted to kill and die. But he knew she was there, somehow, somewhere.
Winterfell, Bran, Rickon. Robb. He was so angry, his pack was dying, he did not know of his she-wolf of a sister, and Sansa was beyond his reach.
When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.
His pack was either slaughtered or scattered, so die the lone wolf did.
He did see her that night, though, the night he would finally see her face. The night his brothers ended his watch and his ears would hear her voice.
It was cold, but her embrace was nothing but warm.
He remembered everything.
“TRAITOR”, they called him. Yet, they were the ones who stabbed him.
“Oh, my poor boy, what did they do to you?” Her face was beautiful, defiant, yet soft. She reminded him of Arya, with her deep grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own.
“They killed me…I am dead, am I not?” He could not believe it. Dead. By the hands of his own brothers. His watch has ended.
“Aye. You are, but not for long.” Her voice was fierce, but sad. She was beautiful, and so familiar.
“Who are you? Are you my shadow friend?” He was asking, but somehow he knew the answer.
“I am.” She smiled. He knew that smile. Cause he had it himself.
“What do you mean ‘not for long’?” Death was permanent; he was supposed to meet his father, his brothers. Probably his little sister, Arya, too. Where were them? Did bastards have no right in the afterlife too? Was he all damned?
“You will soon find out, I promise you.” She smiled.
“Why am I at the crypts? I am not a Stark.” He could not understand how death brought him to the resting place of his Lord Father’s House. “The Kings of Winter do not wish me here, they told me so themselves, in dreams.” He could never forget those dreams, they haunted his memories and it felt like a joke from the Gods, as if Lord Stark’s ancestors hated his bastard as much as his wife did.
“Stark blood run through your veins, if you are here, mayhaps the Gods want you here.” Her soft voice assured him, her face was still sad.
“Are you a Stark?” Only the Starks were welcomed here.
“I am a memory, Jon. A friend. A protector. A guide.” She looked straight into his eyes; her eyes seemed to see right through him. It was unsettling.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sweet Boy.” She turned to his Father statue, staring.
“I know your heart. You are not one easily scared; don’t fear a shadow that only wants to talk.” She looked aside, to smile at him. It was not a sad smile, for once.
“You were always good in scaring people around you, though. You and your brother, Robb. Scaring Sansa with your flour ghosts, playing with the boys and Arya, training with your sword around the castle. Did you ever imagine how often you would need to yield it, years later? How you would see real ghosts and even talk to ‘em at the same crypts you once hide yourself at? Oh, these Gods and their jokes…” The Lady turned to the other side, walking to another statue, his Uncle Brandon.
“You have always been near me, haven’t you, My Lady?” Jon wondered what it probably meant, but he would never say it aloud.
“I saw your oath, in front of that Godswood. I wept with the Gods.” She was crying now, he did not know what to do. But she just continued.
“I saw you giving up everything, getting on a horse, to follow Robb, the winds helped your friends to find you in time to stop you from being a deserter…I would like to think I was always very good in helping the winds.” He remembers that day, maybe if he had gone, Robb would still be alive…Or maybe he would have just died alongside his brother, at the Red Wedding.
“I saw you falling in love with a woman kissed by fire, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, but you did so anyway, but I also saw you losing her, and it breaking your heart, and I am sorry for it. I know all about a broken heart. Although mine have not beaten in decades, I did lose someone I held dear, and nothing made me sadder.” She touched his face, as Catelyn did when Robb was upset.
“I failed my brother. I failed Ygritte. I could have helped both, now they are both gone.” Jon whispered. They were alone, but saying it aloud made it hurt even harder. It just made his guilt even more real.
“No, my Sweetling. You did not. Their lives and journeys were theirs to live. Yours was elsewhere. You love so deep and so fiercely, Jon. That is why men follow you to the ends of the earth, you inspire their loyalty. No legitimacy gives someone that, it comes with their personality, and you have it more than anyone in Westeros.” Hearing this from the outside was like healing a wound that has been hurt in the open for a long time. She was always there, but she was not. She seemed to know everything, and still saw him as a good person, as worthy. Had he ever had that from anyone other than his few friends at the Night’s Watch? From his sister Arya?
Someone was calling to him, it was not the common tongue, but somehow, they both knew it was a summon, meant for Jon.
"You must go now; they are reaching out to you. You inspire admiration and respect, love from people, Jon. No one would ever give up on a person like yourself. The mysterious woman was holding to him tight, like a she-wolf protecting her pup.
“Nor will I, I will stay in the shadows, but you can always find me.” Her words were comforting and sad, he could not imagine her not being there, but now, having talked to her, he could not imagine not talking to her or having her answer back. He feared what that meant.
“Why? Why won’t you leave, why won’t you give up on me?” He looked into her eyes.
“I don’t think you are ready to listen to this answer yet, Jon. Stop doubting yourself, go south, and get warm. Fight the wars they send your way, you are meant for greatness, you were never ordinary, you were promised.” She touched his face once more.
“I am a man of The Night’s Watch. I can’t fight any King’s War.” He was confused.
“They killed you. Your watch has ended. You can do as you please, and a Long Night approaches, men will need someone to guide them into it.” She still would not let go of him.
“Jon…Just don’t let her fly away.” Before he could answer, she was gone.
“Let who fly away, My Lady?” He asked, but she was no more.
Before he could react, there was light.
Pain was no longer, air filling his lungs, he could not gasp enough.
He was alive.
His watch has ended, but his life was not.
He was back in his old room, back home. After years away from Winterfell, he and Sansa were finally home.
He could not save Rickon, for as fast as he rode, Ramsay’s aim was better. He would always carry that with him. Had he listen to his sister, or mayhaps the Gods just wanted to claim Rickon for themselves, he could not save his baby brother. He now layed with Father and their ancestors.
Their home was once again under Stark protection. The North remembered but House Bolton would become nothing but a faded memory, they were calling that day The Battle of the Bastards. All Jon could remember was Rickon falling, him and his men killing their way into the Bolton army, almost drowning until he heard the song that would save them that day, Sansa and The Knights of The Vale...Running with all his rage and grief after that beast that almost broke his sister and killed his brother; his house that murdered Robb and Lady Catelyn. Wun Wun, the giant, giving his life to give them passage, Ramsay’s face against his bloody knuckles, it came in flashes, with all the pain that filled his lungs.
King in the North, they call me.
Jon remembered the days Robb was in his position, was he ever this overwhelmed? This burdened. Cersei Lannister had sent a letter, not a day prior, demanding them to bend the knee and accept her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He would do no such thing, The North was independent now, and he would continue to be so for no southerner cared for their cold and damp lands enough to deserve his knee bent. Tohrren Stark bent his knee to protect his people from Aegon Targaryen, his sisters and his Dragons. Cersei Lannister was no Targaryen and she would know no recognition or love from his people, nor would he show it.
They had been searching for answers; any clues that could help them fight the Walkers, anything that could give them an advantage. How can you fight the Dead? How can you beat the last enemy, the one we shall all meet one day? But they were no ordinary dead, they had been risen by The Night King and stripped off their memories, wishes and any humanity they ever had. They were nothing but vessels of dead and destruction.
Sam had been at the Citadel for months now, studying and looking for anything that could help them, and he had discovered a keep of Dragonglass, hiding under Dragonstone. How would they reach it?
He could not forget the dream he had the night before the raven deliver his friend’s letter. Jon woke up in sweat, looking for his direwolf, only to find him exactly where his dream had shown him.
It was not the first time Ghost’s eyes had been his own, wolf dreams, as Old Nan would say. He didn’t think of himself as a warg, for he could not warg himself into his direwolf whenever he wanted, it was more like a connection they had, called upon whenever needed. That night…It seemed needed.
She was in his chambers, looking upon him. A beautiful, but sad Lady. He knew her, he had seen her before. Her eyes were anything but strange, yet he could not remember where he knew it from. But her face? It felt like a distant memory, one he barely had.
Her presence, though, had been constant all his life. His shadow friend.
When was the last time he had seen her?
He felt her the night before the Battle, her smell was there, at his tend. He felt that same scent when they buried Rickon and Sansa was holding his hand so tightly, she could have broken it.
She turned her back and ran outside. He ran to her, she was fast, he felt his paws heavy and fast, but never fast enough. It was dark outside, and instead of the cold of the snow they fell, it felt warm. Instead of the horses outside or the sounds of the night, his wolf ears heard waves, and saw light.
Winterfell was far from White Harbor, far from Eastwatch by the Sea, no ocean for miles and miles at all directions, yet, the sounds danced in his ears.
The Lady ran as no human should, let alone a frail looking woman, but Ghost could not reach her. When they reached the Godswood, he was not Ghost anymore, and it was not the North, but the entrance to a cave. His friend was no more, but a shorter woman: long, braided blonde, almost white haired woman. She was dressed in a black dress, with black trousers beneath. He could see she wore a silver chain crossing her chest, and a long fabric in her shoulder. Her chain sparkled in the light of the sun that burned bright in that strange place, just like the stones he could see everywhere in the cave. Chunks of sparkle, if he did not know they were on the floor, he would say she was standing in the sky. She entered the cave, he looked behind him, and he could only see the beach and the stones surrounding him. He followed the woman, but before he could reach her, his friend was behind him, holding him back.
Welcome home, Jon.
The very next day, Sam’s letter arrive, and the news of Dragonstone mountain of Dragonglass. He would not tell anyone about his dream, but it scared him. He did not know who the silver haired Lady was, nor why his ghost friend called it home, but sounded like his shadow friend was more than a shadow and more like a friend.
Jon just prayed for the Old Gods that Sam would find something else, a stronger weapon, a game changer. The winds were getting colder and winter was here, their time was running out.
If dreaming about Dragonglass and receiving Sam’s letter about it the very next day was not strange enough; Jon received another raven, this time from Dragonstone, by Tyrion Lannister, asking him to come to the ancient castle; the same place said Dragonglass was located at; to bend the knee to none other than Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of three full-grown dragons, with enough fire to change the course of the War and help them beat the Night King and his army. The Lords of The North were not pleased, but they had not chosen him to please them, but to save them.
Sansa was livid, but he was doing it for her too. She would be happier to stay alive. He truly understood where her feelings came from, his sister walked through all seven kinds of hell, and she feared having to suffer it all again, but he would protect her. While she feared the living, he knew the real who was the real enemy now: the dead. If going to Dragonstone would help them defeat them, he would gladly go. That he did, and leaving her as Lady of Winterfell, no one would be a better judge of character of what their home needed.
There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.
King or not, he was a bastard. She was always the only Stark there anyway. She would do well, while he got them as much Dragonglass and support as he possibly could.
For all the days they travelled from White Harbor to Dragonstone, he did not have remember having a single dream, but he always slept to the smell of the sea and winter roses, and the words “don’t let her fly away” were the first thing on his mind every morning, like the wind whispered to him with the break of dawn.
A curious thought and scenery, indeed.
The moment he set foot in Dragonstone; Tyrion Lannister, an old friend, greeted him. He hoped no one would see the astonishment in his face. He had been here before. He knew this place; his shadow friend brought him here that night. He knew that cave must be somewhere near this very shore, the stones were same and the beach had the same dark blue. It was all too similar.
How could Jon Snow dream of Dragonstone, when he had never left The North?
Welcome home, Jon.
He remembered those words, they were distant but he could still hear her voice. Her northern voice in such a southerner land.
He was taken to meet the Queen. Their Dragon Queen. They said she had three dragons. He prayed she really did, for they were ones that could save them all.
She was infuriating, that woman.
She expected him to bend the knee for some blood right when his own father had fought to over throne him. He would not.
He had heard of her beauty, of her strength, of her youth; never of her ignorance. She claimed herself Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, how could she let her people die, just because she believed her claim to the Iron Throne was more important than protect this very kingdom against the Army of the Dead?
Would it really be fair to expect anyone to believe him this fast, though? White Walkers were nothing but horror stories to scare little children and if he had not seen it for himself, would he ever believe anyone who told him about it?
Maybe his sister was right, he was wrong to come. It was as Tyrion had said earlier that day, “Stark men don’t fare well when they travel south”. He should be at home, helping the men and women prepare for the Great War; but the same man also asked him to be reasonable and give him time to speak to Daenerys about him mining Dragonglass and taking it North with him, so mayhaps it was not all for nothing.
Would he dream of that place for no reason? Daenerys was a Targaryen, she had valyrian traits, such as silver blond hair and lilac eyes; he could not see the woman’s eyes, but he was trying hard to ignore the similarities to the Queen’s hair to the woman’s standing in his dream.
However, he was not doing a good job.
You better get to work, Jon Snow
Somehow, Tyrion Lannister proved himself a real good politician and did well on his word. Daenerys gave him permission to mine the Dragonglass.
Her dragons were something out of his childhood dreams or the bedtime histories Old Nan would tell him and Robb. Arya would certainly love the sight of them. They were beasts, gigantic and gorgeous beasts. She watched them, as a mother watched their children, and he could see her as The Mother of Dragons, would she ever want to mother a child? Had she? Maester Aemon should be here, to see his niece and her dragons; somehow, Jon thought he probably was.
She was not the hard, incorrigible, hostile Queen she had been when they first met. Could he blame her for being so? After being through all she told him, would he not act the same towards anyone who could be a possible threat? The world was not a kind, forgiving place to anyone, especially women; his sister Sansa was a living proof of that. But did she have to be so stubborn? Yet, here, with no one around, but her flying sons, she seemed guarded but curious, but especially frustrated. It seemed to be the mood of the island that day. Frustrated or not, he would have the Dragonglass, and he still had time to convince Daenerys to help his cause, their lives depended on it.
Maybe travelling South would be of help, they say dreams are a warning.
I had been warned.
- end of part I -
so? I hope you guys liked it! I hope to post parts II and III soon, I know part II is ready and III almost done.
You can also find it on AO3. <3
