II.

Thirteenth day of the fifth moon of 297 AC. Winterfell, North of Westeros

"He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont's raven muttered across the room."Corn." the bird said. And "King" and "Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow." That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall." ADwD, Jon XII

The conversation with his father had left Jon even worse than he was after the spar with Robb. Jon felt like the ground had been moved from under his foots and there was nothing under it.

Jon already felt like a burden to his own father, who secretly invited him to leave his home while he was unable to even tell Jon his mother's name, telling Jon that it was not yet the right time.

'It's the right time for me to go to the Wall but not to find out who my mother is. Hypocrite.' Sometimes Jon wondered where Eddard Stark's famous honor was, if Jon's father was able to

invite him into self-exile without even telling him who Jon's mother was.

'If this really was my home and my father loved me like my brothers, I would not have as the only way out, to leave my home.'

'But really Winterfell has never felt like home to me, I've never had what makes a home: Love.'

If Lord Stark really loved Jon as much as his other children, he wouldn't deny Jon knowing his mother's identity by making excuses for why he didn't tell him.

Jon headed towards the Godswood to be alone and lower his anger levels. A bath in the hot springs would relax him. The warmth had always felt like a motherly hug.

'Or so I want to think, but I don't know, nor will I ever know what that is'. Jon thought bitterly. He was not like that. But today Jon didn't know what was wrong with him. It seemed as if the day was planned to break down every one of the barriers and self-restraints that Jon had built within himself throughout his life.

Although Jon always thought that he could endure the rest of his life accepting his situation and fate, today it was showing Jon that he wasn't.

'Calm down Jon! Today you are magnifying everything because it is the day of your name.' However Ghost seemed to disagree with the reason for Jon's state, claiming his attention with a

pitiful moan as he licked the hand that held Ghost close to Jon's body.

Unfortunately for Jon, the gods seemed to be having fun trying to make Jon's day even worse. Before he could look up from his pup, Jon was bumping headlong into none other than Lady Catelyn Tully Stark. Whom Jon had to quickly grab with his free hand to prevent her from falling to the ground.

'Great! First I almost seriously injured Robb and now I almost knocked her down!' Jon frowned in agony as he released his brothers' mother, whom he had never touched before in his entire life.

"What are you doing here Bastard? Do you think you are someone so important that you don't even need to look what's it in front of you? The Seven already say that the bastard's blood is contaminated, and seeing your actions today Snow, that cannot be denied." Catelyn Tully said acidly as she quickly overcame the surprise of colliding with Jon and his subsequent intervention to prevent her from falling.

Straightening her back and chin in displeasure, Lady Tully's tone left no doubt of the disgust Jon's presence aroused in her.

To be honest, nothing about Jon's step-mother, from her bodily expression to her gaze, showed anything other than revulsion for Jon.

"You're not a Stark, you can't be here." Lady Tully said without even giving Jon time to respond to the previous salvo of scorn she had thrown at him.

However Jon didn't have the day to hold back. For the first time in his life instead of shrugging and lowering his gaze, Jon raised his eyes from the ground and stared at the doom of his life.

"I am not Stark nor will I ever be. Your lord father, you and I know that perfectly well. But at least the blood of the north runs through my veins. That is not something that can be said about you, my lady," Jon told her with all the acid and bile that he had been accumulating all his life against the mother of his brothers.

"Slap!"

The slap that the Lady of Winterfell gave Jon echoed throughout the castle's north courtyard. The

servants who were not yet aware of the dispute between the bastard of Winterfell and his stepmother were now fully fixed to see what Jon's reaction would be.

And with the day that he had been having, Jon did not think to disappoint them before going to the most remote part of the castle to lose himself in its shadows until no one remembered Jon.

"Lady Tully," Jon began while reaching out to his face where Lady Catelyn's hand had impacted him.

"I must give thanks that you're not a she-wolf, because if not, at this moment my pretty face would have been disfigured. However I am a wolf. And the wolves eat trouts." Jon said in a low tone without any stridency, but threatening and primary. Jon's gaze, cold as the ice of the Wall, never left Lady Tully's.

'For once in your life, let's see what your reaction is when someone insults you in front of everyone.' Jon thought entertainingly to himself.

'At least this day of fury has allowed me to pay this tribute to Lady Trout, although I am sure I will regret it.' Jon reflected as he gazed at the flushed face with sheer rage on Lady Tully.

With a speed Jon never imagined in the lady of Winterfell, her right hand ruthlessly reached for Jon's face.

"Slap ... Bastard!" This time the slap was on Jon's other cheek and with much more force than the previous one.

The long fingernails of Lady Tully's hand had left a trace on the left side of Jon's face, producing a small wound almost at the level of his left eye from which a little blood was coming out.

Then Lady Tully Stark with an indignant demeanor exuding anger from all her pores, gathered up her skirts hurrying off with Beth Cassel and Vayon Poole in tow. The steward and the maid had expressions of disbelief at what had happened, but they followed their lady without question.

Jon knew that his relationship with Lady Stark was degenerating more and more every day, causing bad vibes to be floating around Winterfell. And today was the straw that broke the camel's back on both sides.

He wasn't particularly concerned about his happiness, but Jon was concerned about how the increasingly palpable tensions might affect his father and siblings. As for him, Jon had clear that his hours in the northern capital were numbered.

Jon's thoughts and his life showed him more and more that he had no place in this world.

So he preferred to move away from the spotlight, to return to the shadows of his usual hiding place in the abandoned room of the First Keep. Place where Jon spent so many hours honing his sword skills. He wrapped Ghost between his dark gray doublet and night-black cloak and with a quick and determined step he headed towards the north courtyard of the castle from where Jon accessed the thousand-years-old fortress that today was a ruin.

Once there Jon began to release all his pent-up rage. Letting the time fly while striking again and again the fallen column of frayed wood present in that same place since before the Andal invasion of Westeros.

He couldn't say how many hours had passed since the incident with Lady Stark, but by the time Jon finally felt a certain calm return that wasn't present in all day, Jon's body was absolutely

aching and contracted. The clothes he was wearing were soaked in sweat. But fortunately Jon had removed his cloak leaving it on an old stool near the window.

A huge black raven was perched on the windowsill, making a striking contrast to Ghost's pristine white that was asleep between the folds of Jon's black cloak.

As Jon took off his doublet and the undergarment he was wearing, he watched through the window as the sun began to set while the people and towers of the castle cast their shadows on the different courtyards of the castle. From up there where Jon was watching, the staff and servants of Winterfell looked like little children running around in apparent chaos.

'They are surely preparing the Great Hall for dinner.' He thought. So Jon still had time to rest his body a bit since he was exhausted.

Jon was surprised that despite approaching the window the huge crow that seemed to be watching him stood still barely without flinching, while tilting its head observing him.

"Queer." Jon muttered aloud, as he bent down to pick up Ghost who had now woken up and was looking at him curiously.

"How about if we both continue with your rest? I need to put the cloak over myself before I get cold, but as I put it on you can climb on top of me." Jon said to his wolf as he lifted Ghost up until his eyes were face to face with arms that trembled from Jon's physical and mental exhaustion in the day.

Ghost was looking at him with an expression that conveyed intelligence unbecoming of an animal, seeming to understand perfectly what Jon wanted. Lowering his wolf against Jon's chest with one hand, he picked up the cloak from the stool with his free hand and headed to the corner of the room where there was a pile of straw making it fluffier to lie there.

With Ghost snuggling against him, between Jon's neck and chest, he wrapped himself in the black wool cloak and began to drop his eyelids, feeling even more tired than he thought he was.

Sleep began to invade Jon, seeing last before closing his eyes, how the black raven still watched him from the window sill.

Suddenly Jon felt himself awaken, naked and feeling a burning cold, in the snowy main courtyard of Winterfell. But not a single person was seen nor servants anywhere not even the guards were present. It seemed that the castle was empty. Jon began to feel tightness in his chest and the feeling of emptiness and utter hopelessness. Jon knew this was not real, that it was a dream. He wanted to wake up. Yet, he couldn't. So he started walking around the castle trying to find someone, but there was no sign of living beings. Even the crows had disappeared and the stables he found full of bones.

Seeing himself alone, panic began to spread throughout Jon's body and soul. He began to run like a madman, opening doors, climbing the steps of towers three at a time, screaming for someone, anyone.

Feeling that his soul was being torn from the inside, Jon began to ask for help, calling his father, his brothers, his sisters, but no one answered him.

'Mother!' Jon screamed in an attempt to get someone to save him from the dream.

Jon needs to wake up now, he could no longer bear the internal anguish, the feeling of living in absolute emptiness, of having no relevance. Of not having anyone. Of being nobody more than a

shadow and a stain.

'Mother!' He screamed again, but instead of waking up as he wanted, Jon found himself in front of the crypt door.

Although he didn't want to open the door not even for all the gold of the world, Jon's body did not respond continuing the action until he opened the black door of Ironwood, which gave access to the eternal resting place of the ancient Kings of Winter.

When accessing it was black inside. Jon being able to see only the first spiraling steps that descended into an abyss of darkness. All of Jon's senses told him he had to go there, but Jon didn't want to. He was afraid of what might he found. The old Winter Kings are down there sitting on their thrones with stone Direwolf at their feet and iron swords at their legs, but Jon wasn't afraid of them. He was terrified to not belong there, to lose himself in the shadow of that abyss of darkness. Jon's body, however, decided to start the descent.

"I'm not a Stark, this is not my place!" He screamed with all the might Jon had, trying to prevent his body from continuing to descend, but the darkness began to embrace him. Continuing his descent, it felt as if the walls were compressing as he passed. The darkness was so thick it seemed to envelop him with its weight by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Jon knew that he had come to where the Kings of Winter were to judge him. Jon knew that this was where his destiny lay, in the shadows of Winterfell crypts. But he panicked at what awaited him. He wanted to scream, He wanted to wake up, He wanted to run away...

Suddenly a flame and a voice emerged from the darkness, engulfing him.

The pain Jon felt while being eaten by the flames was indescribable.

'Skori se mele qēlos ānogar se sȳndror derēbagon, Kivio Dārilaros, se tresy hen suvion, se tresy hen perzys, se zaldrīzes sigligon, se dārys isse se sȳndor kessa sagon sigligon arlī rȳ suvion se perzys, rȳ hen dōron, se zirȳ kessa maghagon se ñāqes'

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

Jon woke up with a start, drenched in sweat and shaken. Jon's skin was cold and clammy, and his body trembled in the darkness of the abandoned room of the First Keep. It was hard for him to catch his breath, feeling totally out of place and abandoned.

Ghost was nowhere to be found and Jon was unable to really know where he was, or whether the dream had been real or not. Trying to calm down, he began to look around identifying that he still was in the abandoned room of the First Keep, where he had previously laid down to rest.

'I must have been asleep for hours. It must be the hour of the wolf.' Thought Jon trying to escape from the dream so vivid and real that he still felt the pain of the fire on his skin, in his bones and in his soul. The call he felt to the crypts made his mind think of nothing but them. Jon wanted to go, to get down there and understand what his dreams were telling him.

'Why am I afraid of crypts? As a child I played there with my brothers and sisters.' Jon thought to himself while remembering with pain the times when Sansa still considered Jon her brother. He will never forget the day the flour prank was played on her by Jon's posing as a ghost.

He went to the window to look at the northern night sky and try to decide if today was the day he had to resolve the doubt that the nightmare had raised in Jon's mind and soul.

Looking out the window, Jon couldn't help but gape at the night sky. Jon had never seen anything like that in his life. Something so bright and in that color. A color that awakened something within him. The color of blood, flames and sunsets. A huge red comet streaked the darkness of the horizon heading southeast.

Jon wondered if his silent companions the gargoyles of the ancient fortress of the first men had ever seen it in the past. They had been here much longer than he had and they would still be here long after he left. If stone tongues could speak...

Although he did not believe in omens, some in that red, fiery, living mass behind the darkness of his dreams told Jon it was a sign. His sign.

'Maybe it's my star.' thought Jon still with some agitation as he continued trying to recover from the oppressive and distressing nightmare.

He had decided. He would go down to the crypts to verify that the nightmare had been that. Just a nightmare. Jon quickly donned the undershirt he had previously discarded, leaving the doublet next to his cloak and the tourney sword to speed toward the crypts that held its place just below the First Keep.

'When I see that there is nothing down there, I'll come back for my things.' Jon assured himself.

As Jon left the First Keep to walk into the north courtyard of the castle, he only had to turn to his right to find himself again, this time in person, in front of the black door that led to the crypts. Before advancing the last few meters that separated him from the entrance, Jon stopped short and took a deep breath. When he did this, Jon observed that at that moment the reddish light of the comet was shining brightly over his back, casting a huge shadow of his person on the castle. A shadow that instead of black was a mixture of red and scarlet.

'Blood and fire.' was the color that Jon's shadow casts under the red comet.

Instead of making him more nervous than he was thinking about what he might find in the crypts, seeing that reflection of his reassured Jon. He went for one of the lanterns hanging on either side of the door above the fierce gray stone Direwolf statues and after taking a deep breath, Jon opened the door.

Just like in his nightmare, from the entrance only the first few steps could be seen and then everything was in darkness. Unlike in the dream world, Jon now had a lamp that allowed him to descend the spiral stairs in a certain half-light.

When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs and looked back to where he had come from, Jon could only saw black and felt that something was pushing him forwards. Without really knowing why, Jon decided to continue and began to walk through the gloomy gallery, dark as the jaws of a wolf. The darkness was such that despite the lamp, he was unable to see beyond his hands.

Suddenly Jon felt a current of wind behind him, making him turning on himself immediately. With such speed he turned, that the lamp he was carrying slipped, hitting the stone of the tomb before which Jon had suddenly stopped. Causing the oil and flames spread over the statue that topped the tomb.

The statue of Jon's aunt, Lyanna Stark.

"Damm, by the Seven Hells. Others take you dammed crow." Jon shouted to the creature responsible for his abrupt fright.

The huge black raven in question seemed anything but dissuaded as it landed on Jon's left shoulder to then began to peck at the wound that Lady Stark had inflicted on him.

Trying to shake the raven off, Jon stumbled and nearly burned himself from the burning brand that had become the base of Lyanna Stark's grave. Coming to his knees in front of her.

'I went down to the crypts and end up burning the remains of my father's sister. From this I go straight for the Wall.' Jon lamented, as he looked for a way to put out the fire. The only thing Jon finds around him is gloom with a deafening silence accompanied by the crackling of the fire and the cold gazes of the statues of the winter kings perched over him. Showing him their discontent with Jon's person in there and letting him know that he does not belong there.

'If I hadn't left my clothes in the First Keep, I could have smothered the fire with my cloak.' Jon thought bitterly as he took off his undergarment to try to use it as a fire extinguisher.

At the first attempt, the stupidity of Jon's idea was demonstrated as it only served to further fan the burning oil and to cause the fall of a metallic object that was in the statue of Jon's aunt.

'What is that?'

Jon got on all fours, trying to watch the flames glow on some metal object on the ground. Not far from his hands and from the base of his aunt's grave, Jon found the object that made the noise.

"Incredible." he muttered to himself as he leaned back on his knees to pick up what appeared to be an expensive dagger from the crypt floor.

'The Kings of Winter were buried with their swords on the lap of their statues, maybe my father put this on my aunt's grave because it belonged to her.' He rationalized, trying to understand where the dagger had come from.

Jon brought it closer to the fire that it was slowly dying out, but of which there were still embers. In the light he was able to examine it better, and his jaw almost broke at what he saw. In Jon's hands was a black Dragonbone hilt, topped by a kind of gold flame. But what impressed Jon was the blade of the dagger itself. It was a blade like only one before Jon had seen. It was like Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark. Made of Valyrian steel.

"By the gods ..." Jon exclaimed as his voice carried with strange echoes through the darkening crypts of Winterfell again.

'With this dagger Eddard Stark could feed the entire north for a winter of twenty years. What it's doing at my aunt's grave? Was it hers?' Jon couldn't help but wondering to himself.

"Lies, Lies, Lies." suddenly croaked the crow whom now was perched on the stony, smudged and ash-filled face of Jon's aunt's statue.

Not knowing really why, Jon addressed to the crow "What is a lie you damn seven hells crow?" yelled Jon exasperated and somewhat uncontrolled.

Something had to be very wrong to end his name day shouting loudly at a crow.

'If someone saw me, they would think I'm mad. And maybe I am. I am talking to a raven in the crypts of Winterfell, where I've come because a nightmare has made me think that here I would find some answer to my shit of existence. The only thing I have found has been a way to screw up my life even more, burning the grave of Lord Stark's sister.'

At that moment, the feelings that Jon had during the nightmare resurfaced again, but this time in his real life.

The feeling of tightness in his chest, while a cold sweat began to run through every inch of Jon's body.

"Everything." To Jon's surprise, the raven answered with a male voice that seemed to come from the world beyond the grave while reverberated in the cavities of the crypt.

Before Jon could process anything in the situation, the raven began to cast a black shadow that looked like a man next to which a kind of white thread of light danced around him, much to Jon's disbelief.

"What do you mean everything? What everything? What do you mean? Speak cursed animal." Jon asked exasperated and with a certain fear in his voice to the raven while trying to stop to think about what was happening before Jon's eyes.

"Bastard,bastard,bastard." wasthecroakedanswerliketheravenatfirst.

The gloom offered by the embers of the fire in his aunt's grave was beginning to fade into the smoke and darkness that flooded the crypts. Jon could only see clearly the pale reflection of the blade of the dagger in his right hand and the macabre dance between shadow and thread of light.

Afraid of what his eyes perceived were to be real, Jon tried to compose himself internally, ready to face whatever or whoever was in front of him. And whatever was in front of him, Jon was sure it was more than just a raven.

"Who you are? What do you want of me? What can anyone want from a bastard? From a stain in the history of House Stark? Whatever you are or whoever you are, you know that I am nothing more than that." Jon pronounced with a self pity that he didn't even know he had.

A pity that it was as if Jon had lost everything in his life.

"I have a thousand eyes and one." the male voice echoed, distilling into every note of his voice

something that Jon could only describe as magic.

"You know nothing." said a female voice this time, but no less distant and magical than the

previous one.

"Snow, Snow, Snow." The raven croaked in a throaty way as if disgusted to say so.

"You have to learn." The male voice from beyond the grave sounded again, bouncing off the walls dripping with melted ice, causing the crypts to be flooded with a kind of suspended mist.

Jon felt like his body wasn't responding to him. He had long lost all the resolve with which he began this mad enterprise of venturing into the crypts. Now Jon only asked the old gods to get him out of there unscathed as quickly as possible and the gods take pity on him for destroying his aunt's grave.

"Mother, Mother, Mother." The crow seemed to be saying laughing at him.

"How am I going to learn anything if I don't even know who my mother is?" Jon said totally

dejected before the rubble and embers of what had been the grave of Lyanna Stark.

The darkness was almost total. Jon thought his heart was going to explode of how fast it was

beating. Inside him he felt a heat that Jon had never experienced before. Feeling as if he were burning again like in his nightmare. But this time there was no flame, no fire engulfing him. It was a fire that was consuming him from within and denying him the control of any member of his body.

Jon could only be there, on his knees, with the dagger still firmly gripped in his right hand over his lap. Contemplating hypnotically at the space where the pale thread of white light and the shadow still stood in their dance.

"King, King, King." muttered the raven.

"You will fly." the male voice intoned prophetically again. Jon was in darkness.

The darkness of the crypts and of his life. He didn't know what was happening but he wanted it to end now. Panic at what he was witnessing gripped him. He couldn't breathe well, Jon felt like his lungs were also on fire.

"Die, die, die." the crow croaked ominously.

"It's the only solution." the female voice pronounced sweetly, as if she were singing a lullaby to

sleep.

Jon's internal pain was making him delirious. He felt like his insides were being consumed by fire. The cut on his face ripped open and began to bleed profusely. Blood trickling down his cheek to pool on his hairless chin, eventually spilling onto the blade of the Valyrian steel dagger.

"Please make it stop! By all the gods, please make this pain stop!" Jon desperately implored, who had been able to move, would be stirring in pain as he felt his body burned from within, his heart beat so fast it was about to explode.

"You know how to stop it." the male voice spoke coldly, rumbling in such a way that it seemed that the earth began to shake. Or maybe it was Jon who was starting to shake from the pain.

"Only death pays for life." said the female voice with sorrow. "Die, Die, Die." the raven squealed pitifully.

Without even realizing the actions his body was taking, Jon found that his hand with the dagger was directed towards his heart.

When the dagger reached its target, Jon felt no pain. On the contrary, he was grateful. The fire was finally disappearing from within him, giving way to a welcome cold that was gradually spreading through his body. The arm with which the dagger had been driven, descended to the side of his body as if a puppet had had its strings cut. His body was going numb, while the shadows and the cold enveloped him.

'This is the end of the Bastard of Winterfell.' Jon thought calmly and with clarity that he hadn't had all day.

He began to accept the idea that death might not be such a bad thing.

As Jon listened how the ice melt on the embers of Lyanna Stark's grave, he felt his nostrils become intoxicated by the smell of ash and salt. The ground under Jon's knees began to shake and he with

it. His body began to stiffly convulse, not leaving the prostrate position before the smoking debris. Jon's gaze would be closed looking towards the comet if it weren't for the fact that he was in the depths of the northern crypts.

Jon's heart pumped for the last time, but with such force that ejected the dagger, while a powerful stream of blood surged out. Jon's blood.

Interestingly, the last thoughts of his life revolved around the nightmare that led him to be here. More precisely to the words Jon had heard when the flame had enveloped him. It seemed like he was listening to them again.

"Skori se mele qēlos ānogar se sȳndror derēbagon, Kivio Dārilaros, se tresy hen suvion, se tresy hen perzys, se zaldrīzes sigligon, se dārys isse se sȳndor kessa sagon sigligon arlī rȳ suvion se perzys, rȳ por hen dōron, se zirȳ kessa maghagon se ñāqes."

The last thing Jon saw while alive, was his blood coming into contact with the embers of the lamp and then a sudden explosion of light. The cold in his body disappeared, giving way to a warmth that invaded him. A heat that spread embracing his soul, a warmth that comforted and healed him. After that.

Darkness