Work Text:
"There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and he cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him."
There are some that say Jon Snow is Azor Ahai, born again amidst smoke and salt. Smoke from the fire his body was burned in, and salt from the tears shed by the wildling woman as she laid down the torch to light the pyre.
Azor Ahai reborn, walking the earth to turn back the darkness, the whispers go.
Some say he's an abomination, the walking dead, and he belongs to the Others, not leading the charge against them. They don't trust him, not truly, but they follow him, and they fight with him, because there is no other hope of ending the Long Night, of turning back the Others and their army of the dead.
All Jon knows is that he's alive, or at least, not quite dead, and that he must lead the fight.
It's nothing new, really. Before he was killed, he knew what was coming, and he knew it had to be stopped. Walking out of the flames hadn't changed it, and he'll fight until he can fight no more, because Azor Ahai or not, Jon Snow knows his duty.
~
The last thing he knew before he died was the bite of cold steel sinking into his flesh, and the bright red of his blood soaking the snow.
Then he was seeing things through different eyes — Ghost's, of course. Jon had had the wolf dreams before, but he had never done this, not while he was awake.
He was more frightened than he had ever been — in his life. Ghost too, had been agitated, as he had been all day, and Jon's fright just added to it. He could hear through Ghost's sharp ears, the screams outside, and when the door to the armory opened, Jon had taken his chance, and he and Ghost had bolted free.
It had seemed only a moment later that he was standing over his own body, the scent of blood nearly overwhelming him, listening to the shouting and the arguing and the madness going on around him. They were frightened of Ghost, he knew that, and there was a part of Jon that wanted to attack, to tear out their throats and kill them all.
But instead Jon-in-Ghost had lain beside his human body, and waited. Waited for the uproar to cease, waited to understand, waited to return to himself.
Because of course he would, wouldn't he?
He had no idea how long he lay there, growing cold alongside his body, until the shouting and the arguments finally ceased. Val had come to his side, knelt by his body, weeping. Melisandre had followed soon after, shaking her head, and bending to whisper, "You should have listened to me." After that, she had gone silent, just staring down at him, her ruby pulsing at her throat.
In the end, the Night's Watch had given his body to the Free Folk. He heard Bowen Marsh speak: "He's not a Brother any longer. He's an oathbreaker. We have no words to say over his body. Take him, and do with him as you will."
Jon hadn't wanted his body burned. It made sense to the men, of course, but he had paced nervously as Torment Giantsbane and the other men built a pyre, and laid him on it. Within Ghost, he had whined and growled, circling Val and nudging against her, hoping to make her understand. She had stared at Jon-in-Ghost for a long moment, and he had hope — Val knew of wargs and skinchangers, surely she could recognize him.
But no. She had taken the torch from Tormund, her face still tearstained, and laid it down on the pyre. Only one of his brothers had any words to say, and it was Satin who murmured, "Now his watch has ended" as the flames grew higher and higher.
For the first time in his life, Jon heard Ghost howl.
Then he was in the flames, fire all around him. He had felt the heat, but not the burn. It felt right, it felt good, warming him and bringing life back to him. He hadn't wanted to move, wanted to let the fire consume him, to take him away, to let him die truly, but that wasn't to be.
He had walked out of the flames with Longclaw drawn, and once again, he heard shouts and screams. He saw people fall to their knees, he heard Melisandre's gasp of "Azor Ahai!"
Jon hadn't cared about any of it. His watch had ended, and so had his time on the Wall. He had found his men — the men of the Free Folk, who were loyal to him still — and confirmed their plans. They were off to Hardhome, and he to meet the Bastard of Bolton, and all survivors would meet again at Winterfell.
He had packed his things in haste, and rode off as dawn broke, with Val by his side, and the men following them. Ghost ran swiftly beside them, and Mormont's crow flew overhead.
He hadn't looked back at Castle Black as he rode away. He knew he would see the Wall again soon enough. It was the only thing he was sure of now.
~
It's easy to win battles, Jon finds, when people think you're a hero reborn, or some kind of god. Or maybe it's that he's not quite alive, and so, not able to be killed.
News of his resurrection reaches Stannis (who is very much alive himself) before Jon and his men do. The king is not terribly pleased to see him, nor by the news of how he survived, but he presents Jon with Arya and Theon Greyjoy before the battle begins.
Arya, it turns out, is not Arya after all. Jon would be a liar if he said that realization wasn't more bitter than the betrayal of his brothers.
Still, she is Jeyne Poole and she was a part of his father's household, and Ramsay Bolton has savaged her, and Jon is glad that she's been saved at all.
Theon Greyjoy has been savaged too. He's not truly Theon anymore, not the youth Jon remembers, cocksure and strong and laughing. Jon should kill him for what he's done. Kill him and take his life in return for Robb's, for Bran's, for Rickon's, for all those dear to him that he's lost.
But Greyjoy begs — not for his life, but to fight for him. To fight against the Boltons. And then Jon Snow can do with him as he wishes.
Jon's walked through fire, and it's changed him in so many ways. He's hardened, like forged tempered steel, and his heart beats cold as ice. But he still knows mercy, and he needs men, if he's going to win this battle and the ones to come.
~
The Battle of Winterfell is over quickly.
By its end, King Stannis is dead. Ramsay Bolton is too, slain by Theon Greyjoy. Bolton men and Freys are dead, and the fires burn for days, it seems, consuming their bodies.
Jon Snow survives. Nearly. Again.
The survivors of the battle, remnants of Stannis Baratheon's army, and northern men loyal to the Starks, as well as Bolton men, to swear allegiance to Jon, and his army grows.
He hadn't realized he was commanding an army. But now he has one, and they move into Winterfell, while he decides what to do next.
Winterfell is his.
Just for now, Jon tells himself, until Sansa returns and then it is hers. But it's sweet to walk the halls of the old castle, the home he thought he'd never see again. Bitter too, because he sees ghosts around every turn. But he is home, and there's something in him that's joyful, because Azor Ahai or not, he is a Stark of Winterfell.
Theon Greyjoy survives the battle, and once again, Jon spares his life, and puts him in charge of rebuilding and fortifying Winterfell, since it was Theon's fault it burned.
Val survives the battle too, and Jon steals her. Or perhaps she steals him. Jon's not sure either way, but they share a bed every night, and he has no shame. There are no vows left for him to honor, no oaths he can break. His Black Brothers had carved those out of him with cold steel.
He's never believed in destiny before, just duty and honor. But there's a fire that burns in him now, and his blood runs hot while his heart beats cold. He knows he has more battles to fight.
~
Winterfell fills slowly, as Jon calls his father's banners, the men of the North coming to his aid. He sends raven after raven to the great houses of the South, and to King Tommen, asking for men and for assistance, in the war to come.
Tormund Giantsbane returns to from Hardhome, with survivors, and his army's ranks swell. All seems quiet in the North, for now. There's no news from Castle Black, and he's not sure if this is good or bad.
Sam returns from Oldtown, armed with the knowledge Jon sent him to seek, and more than that. An old friend of his father's, Lord Howland Reed. They both have tales to tell him, Sam of dragonglass and Valyrian steel, and their use in fighting the Others; and Lord Reed of a place called the Tower of Joy and the events that took place there, nearly two decades ago.
Jon thinks the fact that he's the son of Rhaegar Targaryen makes more sense than anything else. The blood of the dragon can walk through fire, and not be burnt.
(He looks at the scars on his hand, though, and thinks that might have been a useful gift earlier.)
Sam explains to him what Maester Aemon told him, about the prince that was promised, and how surely that's who Jon is.
Perhaps.
Jon finds he doesn't care about Azor Ahai, or the prince who was promised. Lyanna Stark was his mother, and that's an answer to a question Jon's had his whole life. He's a Targaryen too, a prince if the story of a secret wedding is true, but that doesn't matter as much. Jon knows who his real father was. He may have dragon's blood, but he's a wolf, and he's of the north, and that will never change.
~
The days grow dark and the winds howl fiercely and the snow drifts twenty feet high. It's not time for the battle yet, but soon. There are still people arriving in Winterfell, more men for his army, who spend each day training in the bitter weather, learning to fight in the dark and icy cold.
Men arrive from the south, bearing what Valyrian steel they have, and what dragonglass they could find, but not as many men as Jon had hoped for.
An army arrives from the Vale, and with it, his sister Sansa. Jon is overjoyed to see her, and to name her the true Lady of Winterfell. Sansa is different than the sister he remembers, and Jon imagines he must be strange to her eyes as well. They have stories to share and much to discuss, but not much time to do it.
People continue to arrive every day, and the training continues, but Jon waits still. It's not time to march, not yet. He can't say what he's waiting for, but he knows there is more to come.
~
He kneels in the godswood, in front of the heart tree, and pledges himself to Val. Her belly is heavy with his child, and she laughs at his southron ways, with this wedding, but consents to his wishes. It's another thing he can't explain, but he needs this, he knows. He needs to be tied to her, with the Old Gods as witness.
He loves her, but it's not like with Ygritte. It's not a love that runs hot. He burns for her, but it's the dragon's blood that runs hot. His heart still beats cold. He's not alive enough to love her as he should.
As they kneel together, hands joined, he hears a voice, and he thinks it's Bran.
Which is impossible.
But that voice tells him it's nearly time for battle, for him to lead the army of ice and fire, against the Others who are coming.
Jon thinks he's ready.
~
Just a few days after their wedding, there are arrivals.
Men from the Night's Watch from the north, to tell of the army of the undead, marching towards the Wall.
From the kingsroad, an army from the east, unused to the cold but definitely used to battle, made up of Dothraki and Unsullied. They're led by a knight with a familiar name, Ser Jorah Mormont, and accompanied by a familiar face, Tyrion Lannister.
And from the sky, three dragons, two with riders and one flying behind them. Daenerys Targaryen, and her nephew, Aegon. The army is hers, she says, but she and Aegon went by way of Dragonstone, to collect as much dragonglass as they could.
She greets Jon as a nephew, and Aegon greets him as brother, and they both tell him the dragon must have three heads.
The white dragon, without a rider, is his.
Jon wouldn't believe any of it, except for the fact that he can slip into the dragon — Viserion — as easily as he can slip into Ghost.
He knows it's time to march.
~
They head north, Jon and Daenerys and Aegon leading the way on their dragons, and Jon keeps his eyes on the Wall as soon as it looms into view. He's not sure what he expects — perhaps wights swarming over it and rushing down the kingsroad — but he knows he can't look away.
The Wall falls, ice shattering and rock crumbling, when their army arrives. It seems to go on forever, crushing what's left of Castle Black and collapsing to the east and west, as far as the eye can see. The noise it makes is deafening, echoing through the icy dark, and it's the loudest sound ever heard in the world, Jon thinks.
The army of the Others is waiting for them.
The War is every nightmare he ever had. It doesn't end with one battle; no, the battles seem endless, day after day of the worst of Old Nan's stories come true, ice spiders and creatures who drink the blood of men, and ice dragons to fight their own.
His army is as prepared as it can be, armed with Valyrian steel and dragonglass, but their losses number in the thousands. He assumes the Others suffer as well, but still, they fight on.
The world narrows to three things: ice, fire, and death, and just like the Long Night itself, it seems never-ending.
Finally something changes. The Children of the Forest arrive, and with their help, the bargains they make with the Gods of Winter, the War is finally over. The Others are defeated.
But not without a price.
~
Their losses are staggering, almost as endless as the battles seemed to be. Aegon and his dragon. Tyrion Lannister. Ser Jorah Mormont, Pyp, Grenn, Tormund, so many more that Jon finds he can't even think about the numbers.
But he survives. Nearly. Again.
What's left of the Others retreat north, back to the Land of Always Winter. There is a peace in place, but just as a hero was needed to lead the fight, the Night's King is needed to keep the peace.
The Night's King must be a human who will honor the agreements between men and the Others.
Jon knows what he must do.
~
The Children of the Forest rebuild the Wall — ice and stone and magic. At the base, they build a castle, once again for the Night's Watch.
This time, though, there is a castle on the other side of the Wall, for the Night's King and his Queen. It's far from the realms of men, beyond the Haunted Forest and the Frostfangs. It's from this seat the Night's King will rule the Others, and keep the peace.
Val rides from Winterfell with their son, and Ghost beside her. She smiles when she tells him that her place has always been in the North. Jon's grateful for that.
Still, they will turn cold, he knows. They will freeze up north, in their icy castle. Their children will be made of ice, with only the dragon's blood to warm them. They will be cold and cruel, bringers of ice and death. Just like their parents. They will not rule over the living, and while there will be life in them, they will be the Night King's children, like him, not quite alive, not quite dead.
He and Val and their son ride beyond the Wall, Ghost and Viserion with them, and as they travel, they freeze. Their skin turns hard and snow white. Their eyes sparkle like ice of the brightest blue.
For the Night's King and his Queen are not meant to protect men from the Others.
They will protect the Others from men.
~
And so they lived in their tower, the king of snows and his queen of ice, lost in a never-ending nightfall; watching over the living and the dying and the everlasting North.