A Prince of House Targaryen

A Prince of The North

Jon sat in front of the Weirwood tree, the bloody eyes looking at him. Jon gulped, but he didn't feel fear; he felt as if he belonged here, spreading warmth across his chest like a warm blanket, like a wildfire.

Jon slowly removed his gloves before his bare hand touched the weirdwood tree; his eyes suddenly rolled at the back of his head.

Images fly very fast, like flipping the pages of a book very fast. He could hardly make sense of them, a man falling to his death, his head pierced by an ice spear.

A woman was crying blood tears for her dead husband, her husband looking at her with blue eyes like death.

A man leaning against a rock, a wound on his chest, bleeding out, he could hardly say anything before using what strength he had left.

Blood Traitor

Jon fell on his back as he returned to Winterfell, in front of the Weirwood tree.

"Quite fascinating, isn't it" a voice suddenly spoke in the wind.

Jon looked around, trying to find the person who talked, but all he could see was snow all around him and trees.

"Where are you?" Jon asked with a hint of doubt in his voice, wondering if his mind was playing tricks with him. Did I just imagine that?

"I'm everywhere, my boy, in the trees, in the wind, in the animals," a crow cried above him to confirm what he said; Jon looked up to see the same damn crow.

"Everywhere," the voice repeated again, his body suddenly shivering in fear. Jon felt his breathing labored before trying to stand up, shaking his head.

This was a dream; he told himself over and over that he would wake up soon.

"How can you wake up? When you're Dead!" The voice spoke again.

Jon's eyes widened at his words, touching his face; he felt, he felt everything; he wasn't dead. Am I going mad?

"I'm Not Dead," Jon murmured, his eyes wandering around the god's wood.

"Are you sure?" The voice asked; before Jon could say anything, the voice spoke again.

"Touch the Weirwood tree if you want your answers," the voice added, completely void of emotions.

Jon swallowed a huge breath before walking up to the tree, his legs shaking as he walked, feeling heavy suddenly.

The moment he touched the Weirwood tree, his eyes rolled back.

Jon ran across the field, a carrot in his mouth, running wildly through the large trees, his little legs running as fast as possible, wanting to reach his safe place when a shadow was getting closer from the sky.

Run

Jon was running as fast as possible, his tree just a few feet away before he felt a sharp pain around his chest and stomach.

Jon was jolted back into his own body by another crack. He screamed as if he was in agony, but he wasn't. As he shrank to the ground, he wiggled his fingers and toes, almost as if to remind himself how they functioned. He fell on his back, then sat up straight, startled by what had happened.

"Was it the actual death? What exactly did you do?" Jon stutters. Was it all a nightmare?

"That was a skin-changing, kid. I only directed you via this inert capacity that you possess."

Jon defended himself by saying, "N-no. That's impossible."

"Tell me," a voice eventually spoke out, shattering the stillness. "Why should the blue Eagle kill the rabbit? The blue eagle wreaked havoc on the bunnies only to feed its appetite. Wouldn't it be more honorable to refuse to do so?"