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The Following 4 Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.
Chapter 13 (A Crow and A Prince), Chapter 14 (A Sword and A Bastard), Chapter 15 (Direwolf of Winterfell) and Chapter 16 (A Song for The Past) are already available for Patrons.
Jon Snow
Maester Luwin watched over them like a hawk; Jon wasn't bothered by his gaze; he was just sitting quietly and writing what he needed on his test.
He and Robb were in another test this month, much to the boy's surprise; they had one at the beginning of the month; usually, they had one per month, but it seemed things were different this month. At first, Jon was confused, but after hearing Lady Fish discussing something with Maester Luwin, it all made sense.
"What is the meaning of this Maester Luwin? How is my son not doing better than the bastard?" It took everything from her to not scream at his face; her son should have been much better than the bastard; when Maester had come with the results, she had been delighted, waiting to hear how good her son had done. First, she was slightly disappointed that her son hadn't done as well as she had hoped, but when she saw that the bastard had done much better than her Trueborn son, No, she wouldn't stand for this, he must have done some trickery, all of them were like that, liars, using lies to get what they want.
She had immediately demanded a second test, but this time, testing them in things that Robb was better at, History of Northern houses and History of Wars.
Jon just shook his head; it seemed Lady Fish was going to get angry again; he finished the last question before standing up; Robb glanced at him as he gave Maester Luwin the test. A smile spread across his old face when he saw that Jon had finished his test.
"Very well, my boy. Do you want to stay or-" He didn't get to finish as Jon just left the room without saying another word; he wasn't in the mood to speak with anyone. Right now, he just wished for a place to rest; he didn't know where to find that place.
Jon didn't know why he was trying so hard? He was a bastard with no future, or maybe he just wanted to prove his worth? To Who? His father never praised him.
As he walked across the courtyard, Jon suddenly stopped when he heard the cry of a crow; looking at the source of the noise, he saw a crow looking down at him from a tree branch.
Jon simply looked at the strange bird, which left out another sound; the bastard boy suddenly wasn't looking at the crow. No, he was looking at himself before flying over to a tower. What's Happening???
Jon stumbled, falling on his back, eyes looking around, seeing he was back on the ground, his hands touching his own body, making sure he was him, not a crow.
What was that? What's going on? Why was a crow?! Jon asked himself, he tried to see where the crow flew, but it was futile. How much he wished his father was here right now; perhaps he would have answers that he didn't have.
Using his strength, he stood up on his legs, feeling lightheaded; everything was blurred, slowly going back to normal, his hands grabbing a small fence not to let himself fall again.
Seeing everything going back to normal, Jon started making his way to the only place he knew he could find peace and perhaps answers.
Arriving at God's Wood was easy, but when he got closer to the Weirwood tree, he noticed something strange. Jon looked at the bloody face carved on the tree, blood leaking out of the eyes and mouth. Why there's blood? He found himself asking, he had read that the northern used to execute people in front of a Weirwood tree, their blood used into the carved face of the tree, but that hasn't been done for decades.
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?"
"Th-the blue eagle was hungry," Jon mumbled, still perplexed by his situation.
"However, this is at the rabbit's cost."
Jon was deafeningly quiet, uncertain of what he was attempting to convey.
"Is there no response? So, to wrap up our discussion today, I'll say that you must overcome your paralyzing urge to please people by doing the right thing. Sometimes doing the right thing is disastrous for others, such as murdering a baby bunny to satisfy your hunger." Jon exhaled deeply after a long period of holding his breath. Is he aware of everything? "Whatever the situation may be," he said. "Make sure you'll be able to live with your decisions. If you don't eat a required meal, you risk dying, and if you let the voices of others govern your life, you risk losing vital information."
"Why are you so concerned?" Jon answered, wanting to yell out in rage but suppressing his feelings.
"For the sake of the future, boy. There's only one way this could end. I have sacrificed everything to reach this point. Even the love of my life."
As the wind ceased, the forest and fields were quiet. He stood up and strolled back inside his room, oblivious to the fact that he had gotten up. He sat on his bed, staring at the fireplace, which still had the embers from the previous night's fire.
"Jon!" As he barged into his room, Robb shouted. "It's time for supper! They're serving boar!"
As he sat down for his supper, Jon's stomach churned. Why am I hesitating?
"Are you not going to eat?" Robb, his mouth full of boar and carrots, questioned him.
Before filling himself with boar, he added, "Yes, sorry, I was thinking."
"You are not required to inform me of this! Perhaps if you did less thinking, I might one day defeat you."
That made Jon smile. "I guess I'd have to be smacked in the head with a rock for you to be smarter than me," his half-brother looked surprised. "Besides, I believe you could bridge the gap between us a bit if you studied harder instead of playing in the crypts or godswood."
This earned him a limp leek to the face, and an enraged Lord Stark put a stop to their antics.
"I'm sorry," Jon apologized to Robb as they were sent to their rooms without meals.
"It's all right; I think you're correct," replies Lady Fish. That made Jon frown.
Jon made the choice to continue studying that night while he laid in his bed, maybe even harder. Even though he knew he shouldn't if he wanted to be an excellent brother, he loved learning things, and he liked knowing more than Robb.
Jon wasn't sure whether that voice was genuine, but he knew he couldn't risk his studies. At the very least, he wouldn't forego this in order to avoid Lady Stark's stare.
"Then I'll go find something to read," Jon said drowsily to the Maester.
Luwin chirped, "Excellent, good. You know, if you ever wanted to join the citadel, you'd make a terrific student. They welcome everyone who is eager to learn."
The proposal made Jon wrinkle his nose, but he responded with a smile, "Thank you very much, Maester. I'll consider it."
Jon spent the next several hours reading beside the windows, which were bathed in sunshine. He was so engrossed in his book that the shift in light went unnoticed until he glanced up after hearing a disturbance.
"Is there anybody there?" he inquired. "Arya? Robb? Luwin?"
When he didn't get a response, he decided to leave a piece of loose paper where he had stopped and returned the book to the shelf where he had discovered it. He heard the sounds again as he turned to leave. He was certain it was a voice. Just like... emotionless and distant.
Jon's palms got clammy as his heart started to rush. The last time had been a dream. It was all in his imagination; he hadn't truly talked to a disembodied voice.
"Come to the God's Wood," said the voice. "I know you're eager to learn, you're just like your father, but you must get better at something else as well."
Jon wanted to turn away and flee, but he knew whatever it was would follow him around for the rest of his life. As a result, he took a leisurely approach towards the heart tree, keeping an eye out for anybody in the Godswood who may be pulling his leg or calling to him.
When he got to the pool, he turned to face the heart tree's sobbing face. Its lips were drooping in a grimace. Jon could only guess what was going on.
"Do you see it?" Calmly, the voice inquired.
"Do I see what?" Jon replied in hushed tones, not wanting to be overheard by passers-by.
With the wind rising, the voice continued, "Not with those eyes. But with your third eye. This particular eye." As he fell into emptiness, Jon felt a chilly snap in his thoughts and a sense of weightlessness.
He finally got his footing at the cliff's edge. As Jon peered around, his paws slowly padded down the side. A brisk wind blew, but the typical devastating coldness was scarcely felt through the heavy fur. The beast wanted to sleep, and Jon, too, felt compelled to shut his eyes. It escaped the mountain cat's jaws, which expanded in a big yawn. The mountain cat had discovered an overhang not far away, but it would have to climb higher to spend the night there.
"Take command," urged the voice. "If it wants to go left, go right."
"Take command." The voice spoke again.
Jon seemed to have awoken from a long slumber. His mind was racing with the idea of running and escaping to a safe place. He made a conscious effort to keep such ideas at bay. To come to an end. To take a right. To start walking down the hill.
What's going on? Jon pondered. Was it the mountain cat that had such thoughts?
Jon felt weaker the longer he was in control of manipulating this body. Controlling this cat was more difficult than he had anticipated. Jon had never been so tired, even after many hours of sword training. Is this true? Is this skin changing? Jon gazed about with the eyes of a cat, seeing things that he knew he would never notice as a human. He came to a halt to his left, squatting in anticipation. Mice were raising a noise by rummaging among the loose pebbles. Jon kept going since he wasn't hungry. Not for mice, at least.
He finally arrived at the valley. He stroked his tail over the green grass, enjoying the feel of the grass between his toes. Jon and the mountain cat took a breather to soak in the view.
They didn't have to look far to see another mountain cat striding towards the valley. In the distance, a male cat marched towards them, his gaze fixed on them. Jon had no idea why.
"Run" a voice screamed; before Jon could comprehend anything, everything went dark.
"That'll do it for today," said the voice.
"What?" said Jon. "What was it again? What went wrong?"
"You got too exhausted; you couldn't stay any longer; if you hadn't gotten out, something unfortunate might have happened."
Jon just listened to everything he said, wondering just what was happening to him? Why did it feel like all of this was just a dream? Was he really dead?
Wait? Why is father back at Winterfell? Shouldn't he be in the Greyjoy Rebellion??
He sat on his bed with his legs crossed and his eyes closed, attempting to transform himself into an animal. However, there were no animals in his chamber. So he reasoned that it could be an excellent place to start. He'd try, he'd fail, and then he'd fall asleep.
Singing, Jon could only hear the sweet sound of a bird, and when he turned to look around, he saw himself trying to break through frozen water with his beak; and when he turned to look around the courtyard, he saw the people of Winterfell going about their business, servants, guards, Jon wanted to smile, he couldn't remember the last time he felt so free, he didn't feel like a bastard anymore, he felt, Free.
Jon had the bird examine his wings as if confirming his existence; he did, and Jon knew he could fly like this, away from the glares, from everything, to see everything out there, to fly high in the sky, like a Dragon.
Jon grinned on the inside before attempting to drink water. As his beak pierced the thin ice, he began sipping water before elevating his mouth and allowing the water to run down his neck.
Jon felt like singing, and when the bird made a musical sound, he grinned. Then he heard a whistle, and it was a familiar whistle, so he spun around to the right. To see who was whistling and why it sounded so familiar?!
He saw a kid in front of him, but it wasn't just any kid; it was himself, cowering in the snow.
What exactly is this? Jon began to panic as everything turned dark.
Jon opened his eyes and saw nothing; blackness had engulfed him, and quiet enveloped him. Was he dead?
"You're not dead, young Prince," a voice reverberated in the darkness, and Jon turned around to see a face encircled by branches, a slender white branch poking out of his left eye, his right eye still intact.
"Who are you?" The young prince asked.
"My name is Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven,"
I'm sorry that the story is going a bit slow; after this chapter, the story will progress much faster.