Mellisandra of Asshai
Castle Black
"Lord of Light, accept this blood sacrifice of kings. Let it empower your chosen hero, Azor Ahai, to be reborn amidst salt and smoke. Let him wake dragons from stone!" she cried out, her voice reverberating with fervor, as she ignited the pyre soaked with the blood of Jon Snow, the ancient Stark king, and the king's own daughter, Shireen Baratheon.
She watched intently as the flames began to consume Jon Snow's lifeless body, his blood hissing and groaning as it met the searing heat. Shireen's anguished screams echoed through the cold night, her pleas to her parents falling on deaf ears as the ritual progressed.
The eyes of the gathered crowd reflected the blazing pyre as it devoured the Princess, the fallen Lord Commander, and two dragon eggs, relics unearthed from the old maester's chambers after his true lineage was uncovered. The maester, a hidden scion of the dragonblooded kings, had died before he could be offered to the flames. Though her royal blood was meager, Shireen was deemed a fitting sacrifice to R'hllor, enough to awaken dragons from stone. The petrified dragon eggs would prove that.
The flames roared higher, consuming the sound and ending the life of the princess, and in their intensity driving many onlookers back. The heat was unbearable, even for her, to her surprise, far beyond what she had anticipated.
Even the chosen hero had stepped back, his face a mask of stoic determination, though she knew inside the man was inwardly shattered. He will be rewarded soon, and then he will be healed by the fire that will be lit inside him. He will be the prince that was promised, that will lead us through the dawn, she thought, her heart racing with anticipation.
The pyre burned and burned, for at least an hour if not more. Some people had left, yet she stood waiting for the great fire to die out. To see the eggs hatch from stone. The snow around the pyre had melted away for at least twenty meters if not more, even in the blizzard that surrounded them.
Then the ground began to shake. "This is it," she hissed.
Then thunderous roars split the sky. She looked up, eyes widened with wonder and terror. Two massive dragons soared above, one as black as coal with green eyes, the other smaller yet more beautiful, shimmering with silver scales and wings as pale blue as the Wall. The people around hurried out of the way in screams and shouts.
Then both dragons landed beside the pyre and roared, their voices sending tremors through her.
"Blessed be the Lord of Light! The dragons have come for his chosen!" she exclaimed, her voice rising above the crackling inferno as she held her hands up into the sky.
Then a mighty crack. The sound echoed twice from the pyre. She turned, shivering in awe and fear at what she saw.
The pyre had given birth to something more.
Chapter 1: Jon Snow
Jon/Aemon Snow
Castle Black
He coughed, opened his eyes, and was surrounded by flame. Yet he was not alone. Shireen Baratheon was kneeling beside him, covered in ash, her arms wrapped around herself, and her big eyes, blue as the sky, filled with fear and terror.
A weight shifted on his shoulder, and he glanced over to see a small dragon, gold with green wings, clinging to him. He sat up, not recalling the motion, only feeling the ash beneath him and the pleasant heat of the fire.
"Princess," he rasped, his voice hoarse.
"How are you alive? How are we alive?" Her voice trembled with relief as she threw her arms around him, her body pressing against his.
Was she burned alive, or had they both been dead like he was? he wondered as the girl trembled against him. There was fury at the thought of her being burned alive, and he felt protective of her. Why? Why does this feel normal?
"It will be alright," he tried to reassure her. His arms slowly went up and down her back. This is madness. I'm alive, surrounded by flames, with Shireen Baratheon clinging to me, he thought as he looked around, seeing nothing but fire.
Then something slammed into his mind. Pang. A connection flared, something akin to what he felt with Ghost when he warged into his direwolf. This connection burned with fiery rage, unlike the cold fury he knew with Ghost. Yet it was similar to his own. He noticed his anger could be a cold blizzard or a fiery inferno.
He tried to calm the connection down before he was back inside the pyre. "What in hell was that?" he muttered as he looked at Shireen.
"Your eyes went white for a moment."
"I think I just warged in one of my companions, I think?" he replied.
Another shriek echoed beside him, and he saw another dragon climb onto Shireen's shoulder. This one was purple with streaks of silver, just as beautiful as the first.
"Don't worry, it won't hurt you," he said after they broke their embrace. "Come, it's time to give the people who did this to us the scare of their lives."
As if in response, another roar echoed his words.
She nodded, and he saw it then. Her greyscale was gone. Only a light red spot remained on her cheek.
"Your face," he said in awe. "The greyscale is gone."
Her hand touched her face gently, her eyes widening as the realization dawned on her. "How?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
He glanced down at his hand, seeing it unscarred.
"What?" he murmured, his eyes widening in disbelief. The burn scar on his hand was gone. He looked at his chest. He tried to avoid looking at Shireen. She was just as naked as he was, their clothing all burned away in the fire. He might have come back from the dead, but a princess like her still needed some respect.
Yes, the scars from his murder were still there.
"Shireen, is the scar on my face still there?" he asked.
"No," she replied, her fingers grazing his cheek. Her touch was strangely comforting. "But your eyes and your hair."
He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes are red, like your direwolf's, but with flecks of purple, and your hair is as white as milk."
"Well, that isn't the only miracle that has happened today," he replied, taking a strand of his long hair. Yes, white as milk, but as he looked at it closer he could always see a hint of silver. Magic is a dangerous thing. It always comes at a cost. He doubted this would be all to come from this.
"Stand behind me. We don't know what is coming out of these flames."
It was true. The flames were bright, red, orange, and yellow. Yet he could see nothing, only fire. He did not mind dying once again, but he would not let that happen to a sweet girl like Shireen Baratheon, a girl who was nothing but kind. He thought this as he took her hand.
He put his hand in the flames. Nothing. Just pleasant heat.
He walked through it, leading Shireen with him.
Then he heard the chanting of Mellisandra, and he felt Shireen's hand tighten around his. Please, no. Please tell me they didn't burn her alive trying to hatch those dragon eggs, he thought in despair.
There was a rage building up inside him, and a roar followed.
Then he was outside the flames. The cold hit him, but the fire warmed his blood, the blood of dragons and wolves. Then he felt two great rumbles around him and Shireen.
He looked to his sides. Two enormous shapes. One black as coal, with green eyes looking at him intently. That was inside those mounts in the dragonglass cave.
The dragons likely melted the dragonglass and what made the protective cocoon around the hibernating beasts.
"See, my King, the Lord of Light has granted you these beasts of his. Fire made flesh. For willing sacrifice."
A rage filled him as he heard the witch's words. He was now sure. Stannis had burned his daughter.
It took all his control not to burn the woman on the spot or let the black dragon eat her. Yet that death would be far too quick for Melisandra of Asshai.
"Enough!" he roared, and the black dragon echoed his cry. The assembled crowd fell silent, eyes wide with fear and awe.
He stepped forward, Shireen beside him, and looked toward the other dragon. This one was slender, silver with pale blue wings, and stunningly beautiful. Its focus was not on him but on Shireen. Must be her dragon's blood on her great grandmother's side.
Not long after, he felt a familiar bond. Ghost came bounding through the crowd, which parted to let the direwolf through. Ghost's red eyes locked onto him, a low whine escaping the beast's throat.
"Ghost," he murmured.
Ghost pressed his massive head into his chest, the familiar warmth and solidity of the wolf grounding him in the reality of this surreal moment.
For a moment, he buried his fingers in Ghost's thick fur, feeling the connection, the unspoken bond that had always existed between them.
"I've missed you, old friend," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.
Ghost licked his face, a rare display of affection from the usually stoic direwolf.
He chuckled softly, the sound almost foreign after all the chaos. "I'm alright. We're alright," he reassured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Then he rose as Ghost moved to stand protectively in front of them.
He looked toward the gathered crowd. Many of the Free Folk were kneeling, others staring in shock.
Finally, there was the man who had given the order.
Kneeling in the snow in despair.