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3. Angry Ghost
🕑 Added 2025-01-04 18:10:12 +0000 UTCThird-person POV
Jon, alone on his horse, makes his way toward the Grove North of Castle Black. It’s a half-league journey into the haunted forest, where a rough circle of nine weirwood heart trees stands tall. This grove holds nearly everything Jon needs for the ritual he intends to perform. After much contemplation, he knows he must embrace magic—the allure of mystical abilities is too strong to resist.
As he rides, his mind races with thoughts of Rickon. Jon refuses to let any member of House Stark fall while he can intervene. It’s his way of repaying the countless acts of kindness the Starks have shown him. He wrestles with a decision: allow Rickon to perish and seize the mantle of King in the North, or protect him and enable his rise to power. But should he choose the latter, why not aspire for more and claim the Seven Kingdoms?
Jon snaps back to reality upon arriving at the sacred grove. Dismounting his horse, he approaches the heart tree, offering a prayer to the Old Gods before beginning his work. He sets about gathering fallen leaves and branches of the weirwoods, searching for a stone to grind the components for his ritual.
Just as he’s about to start grinding, he hears a dragging sound from behind him. Instinctively, his hand moves toward the pummel of Longclaw. However, what he sees brings a chuckle to his lips. Ghost, his loyal dire wolf, has returned from the hunt, clutching a freshly killed deer in his jaws. With a satisfied thud, Ghost drops the carcass at Jon’s feet, his red eyes gleaming with a question: "Anything else?"
Jon ran his fingers through Ghost’s fur, giving him well-deserved pets and scratches. “Good boy... and I apologize in advance,” he muttered, his tone dripping with guilt. Ghost tilted his head, clearly puzzled, but his confusion turned into betrayal the moment Jon yanked a tuft of fur from his thick coat. The direwolf yelped, leaping back with wide, accusing eyes and a low, indignant howl.
“I’m sorry, my boy, but it’s for the greater good,” Jon said, holding up the fur like it was some grand trophy.
Ghost’s ears flattened, his expression twisting into one of pure outrage. With a dramatic huff, he bolted deeper into the forest, howling like the world was ending. Jon groaned, running a hand down his face. “He’s never going to let this go.” He cast one last glance toward the trees where Ghost had disappeared, his mournful cries fading into the distance. “Drama queen,” Jon muttered under his breath before turning back to the task at hand.
At least the ingredients were ready. He knelt beside the makeshift altar, pulling out a simple wooden bowl and the dagger Sam had given him. With practiced precision, Jon began to grind the leaves, branches, and shards of dragonglass into a thick, fibrous pulp. Satisfied with the base, Jon reached for the carcass of the deer Ghost had hunted earlier. He carefully drained the last remnants of its blood into the mixture, darkening it into a rich crimson paste.
Aether’s voice echoed in his mind. “Now add the fur.” Jon without a second thought did as instructed, sprinkling Ghost’s fur into the bowl. As soon as the fur touched the mixture, it began to shift, rippling unnaturally as the ingredients reacted.
After a few minutes, the mixture began to transform into a thick liquid that resembled blood more than anything else. Jon stood up and started to pour small drops of the liquid he had created into the roots of the nine weirwood trees. Once he was finished, he dug a small hole near the heart tree that could fit a bowl, placed the bowl there, and took off his boots to meditate barefoot at the base of the tree for an hour or more, as instructed by Aether. Aether guided him in his mind, teaching him how to calm his turbulent thoughts and clear his mind for meditation.
Time seemed to fly as Jon entered his meditative state. Slowly, the liquid he had placed near the heart tree began to change as well. Thin veins of milky-white streaks started to thread through the mixture, resembling the weirwood’s iconic color pattern—red blood-like sap within pale bark. The liquid took on a slightly viscous consistency, akin to tree resin, while retaining an almost luminescent sheen that hinted at its unnatural potency. The drops he had poured at the roots soaked in unnaturally quickly, leaving faint red stains on the wood and earth.
Suddenly, the weirwood trees began to rustle without any wind, and Jon opened his eyes to see the final product before him. He smiled, picked up the bowl, and without a second thought, poured the sap into his mouth, gulping it down in one go. Although the sap tasted like dirt and leaves, he focused on not minding the unpleasant taste. Just as he was about to ask Aether if the sap had worked, he found himself entering a trance-like state. In the next moment, his eyes glazed over white, and his body dropped into the snow like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
For Jon, the experience was entirely different. One moment, he was in his own body, familiar with his senses, and the next, he found himself in the body of a ghost. Instantly, he realized that his senses were magnified multiple times. He could see the world from a different perspective and feel sensations he couldn't before. While the cold had always bothered him to some extent in his human body, it now felt like his home—intense yet invigorating. If anyone were to ask Jon how he would describe this feeling simply, he would say it was like driving a car in his world, but the difference was that he could feel everything that the animal, whose body he had warged into, experienced.
At first, when Jon commanded Ghost, he resisted, expressing anger at Jon for attacking its fur without consent. However, after a few apologies, Ghost reluctantly began to follow Jon's commands. Over time, Jon started to enjoy the experience. Yet, he eventually felt a pull that signaled it was time for him to return to his body. Though he didn't want to lose the exhilarating sensation of living under the skin of Ghost, he sensed that he should leave before the idea of departing became too difficult.
Jon returned to his body, took a deep breath, and stood up from the snow where he had been lying. After dusting off the snow from his leathers, he realized he should leave before dawn, as his brothers in the Night's Watch would start worrying about him. He decided to take the corpse of the deer with him, knowing that food was scarce and this deer could provide a substantial feast for his black brothers in dire circumstances.
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Jon Snow POV
After reassuring Edd, who had received a word from Alastor, the black brother on duty guarding the gate, I found myself being berated for my usual foolish ideas. Once I reached my chambers in Castle Black, I laid down on my bed to rest before the sun was set to rise.
Now, I sat by the hearth, waiting for word to come down and kill the one who had stabbed Jon to death. I stared into the flames, slowly placing my hand, marked by burn scars, into the fire. Just like that, I realized that since awakening in this world, I had gained an ability similar to what Daenerys is known for: being unburnt. "Jon the Unburnt" has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I might just ask Ser Davos about it.
A knock at my chamber doors pulled me from my thoughts. After withdrawing my hand from the flames, I called for the person outside to come in. Edd peeked his head in and said, "Jon, black brothers and Freefolks are waiting. Are you ready?" I stood up, gripping Longclaw firmly, and began walking toward the place where Ollie and the others stood with ropes around their necks.
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Caraxes had been brought back to life, much like Jon Snow in the North, and was confused about his current situation. Though he was unaware of how much time had passed since his death, he knew one thing: his rider, Daemon, was gone. Now, Caraxes found himself without a rider to accompany him in the sky. He disliked this feeling; he cherished the old days when he and Daemon spread chaos and fear wherever they went. With that thought in mind, he decided it was time to find a new rider worthy of his companionship.
Additionally, since his return to this small island, he felt a strange pull from North urging him onward. However, before heading to the North, he had one important task to attend to—taking a nap. Having just eaten, Caraxes preferred to sleep afterward. So, the infamous Blood Wyrm coiled his long, serpentine body and began to snore. The journey to the North would be long, so it was wise to rest first.
