A Feast For Dragons

Jon

The ocean had always seemed so clear and crisp when Jon had seen it for the first time with his father all those years ago. Ned had taken Robb and him-and Theon-to White Harbour to visit Lord Manderly. He remembered seeing the mermaid flapping proudly in the wind. He remembered the seagulls screeching for food as they swarmed the harbour. He remembered staring out into the open ocean, watching the large ships and sails. Robb had mentioned something about sailors and Theon had said no man was better at sea than the Ironborn.

Now the sea looked different. It was dark and cold and when Jon dipped low enough to touch it he could feel the ice that had begun to freeze the water. His wings spread wide, but he flew low. Every now and then a fish would jump out of the water and he would catch it in his mouth, throw it up into the air and burn it before he swallowed it up.

After spending so much time as a dragon, flying has become second nature-almost as if he had been born to fly. He felt free for the first time in his life. But then he heard her voice again-that woman's. His large head turned in the direction of the sound and he was taking into the sky once more. The clouds were now below him, the stars overhead. The harder he pushed his wings the faster he went until everything was a blur of sound and colour.

Drogon.

He could hear her calling him, and even though that wasn't his name, it might have been the name of the beast. Drogon. Jon Snow was no more-he was now Drogon.

Landing in front of the cave once more, he noticed that his brothers were gone-off hunting he presumed. The woman was there though, and that's what mattered to him more. Moving toward her, Jon pressed his snout against her hand. It was warm, and melted the ice from his wings. Laying beside her, Jon wrapped himself around her in a protective ball, listening to her voice as she spoke in a language he didn't quite recognise but somehow he understood. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again he was no longer a dragon, but a man. Jon groaned and pressed a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes slowly. These dreams were coming more an more frequent now, and they left him buzzed and confused when he woke. It was still dark out, and Jon could feel the bitter hunger coiling at his stomach. He had no coin, nor did he had any food. He was an hour away from Ramsgate, yet he could no longer move. He had set up camp at noon, and had fallen asleep the moment he had laid down. With no fire burning, Jon should have been cold, except he wasn't. His body was burning hotter than any fire could.

Pushing himself up, Jon brushed the snow and dirt off his bare body. He had washed the clothes he had stolen in the river, in hopes of removing the stains of blood and gore--he had taken a bath in the frozen waters to rid himself of the grim his body had collected over the last week--and each time his hands or body touched the chilled water, steam would rise from it. Most of the blood had washed off, but patches of deep brown now tainted the tunic and coat. The clothes were dry, but frozen. A thin layer of ice covered it and Jon had to smack it against the tree a couple times to break it off completely. He pulled on the trousers and tunic, fastening the laces before he followed suit the the coat.

Jon grabbed the sword that Brienne had give him and strapped it to his trousers. He grabbed the reins of his mare and mounted her easily. Kicking her into a gallop, he began making his way towards Ramsgate once more. There he hoped the rumours were true.

There he hoped to see his brother again.