Jon could not look away. His mind refused to wrap around what he was seeing, refused to comprehend it. And yet those tiny, strange little things kept coming towards him. He felt no threat from them, he realised. He had no idea why he thought he would know even if they were threatening him. He had never looked upon anything like them before, had no scope for understanding them.
"Dragons," Loras breathed. His voice was so hoarse it was barely there, and the word ended on a strangled cough. His hands tightened around Jon's upper arms. But Jon, without even stopping to think, pulled himself free and stepped towards the little things, crouching down.
The biggest of them, a tiny black thing mottled with white, hopped onto the hand Jon had not even realised he was holding out, and suddenly Jon felt something alien wash over him. He would have called it tenderness, except he knew what it was like to hold his Lady Wife and feel their babe move beneath her skin. That was tenderness. This was something different.
Fierce too, but different. Wilder, in a way. Instinctive, just as the tenderness was, but it reached... not deeper, exactly. It reached a different part of him, the same one that had first told him that Dragonstone was home, the same one that had called him down to the catacombs for years, the same one that had told him to spill his blood on the stones - eggs, they had been eggs - night after night. Possessive. These creatures belonged to him, were part of him, but he belonged to them as well. And, something else, something that roared and raged somewhere within him, something he had no words to describe.
He let the other three climb onto him, settle on his shoulders and forearm, and then he stood, with the first one still cradled in his hand. It nuzzled against him, like a pup or a kitten, wings spreading flat along his palm. Jon could barely bring himself to breathe, could not remember how, could not seem to remember anything other than the fire and the blood he had fed them for years.
Loras coughed again, and this time it sounded deep and truly painful. Jon pulled himself out of his stupor for long enough to take in the sight of his friend. Most of Loras' clothes had been singed off. He was pale beneath the soot, paler than Jon had ever seen him. Every breath he took sounded difficult, rattling through his chest and whistling on its way out. He had a hand on the wall, Jon realised, and even then, he was barely holding himself up. He coughed again, and a drop of blood dribbled out the corner of his mouth. Immediately, the actual rational part of Jon's brain kicked back in and he rushed back to Loras. The dragons, as though sensing his intent before he acted, migrated to parts of his body where they would not be in the way. Jon wrapped Loras' arm around his shoulder, let him lean against Jon's side as Jon set as quick a pace as he could. They had to get back to the surface, and it had to happen fast. Loras needed a maester, and quickly. Jon did not even want to know what he had been breathing down here - what Jon had been breathing as well, but it had never hurt him before and did not seem like it would this time either. Worry pounded through him, made his own chest feel tight. He pushed himself to set a harder pace.
Still, every step seemed to take half an eternity, and Loras only grew heavier against his side. At times, Jon was half carrying him, barely holding him up. For all that Jon had just come out of a bit of a growth spurt, Loras was still taller than him and definitely heavier, for all his slenderness. The way back to the surface had never seemed so long before, or so hard.
As soon as Jon felt the first hint of a breeze on their skin, sucked in fresh, clear air, he allowed for a break. He was not sure if Loras would even be able to catch his breath before the maester had worked his craft, but if Jon could just give him enough of a respite to regain his feet, to stop shaking, maybe things would be better. Loras looked ashen. He was still coughing and Jon felt a flash of guilt go through him. He was truly frightened all of a sudden. What if something was seriously wrong with him? What if Maester Cressen did not know how to help him? If Jon had not been such a child, to run off and sulk when he should have stayed and demanded answers - if he had controlled himself, Loras would not have felt the need to run after him, and he would not be looking as though he were on the Stranger's doorstep now.
One of the dragons, a milky white one with bits of purple running along its scales and bright purple eyes, made a sound, almost like a chirp, in his ear. Jon squeezed his eyes shut for long moments. His head reeled. He did not know what to do with this. He did not--
He needed to help Loras. He could worry on all the rest later. Gritting his teeth and ignoring his aching shoulder and back, he wrapped his arm around Loras once more and dragged him upwards and onwards. Without him even having to think on it, his feet found the passage that would lead him straight back to the Lord's chamber. He pushed through inside and deposited the dragons on his bed. He would deal with them later. "Stay," he said, and he was not sure why, but somehow he was almost certain they had heard him and meant to comply, at least for now.
Then he went for the door, dragged Loras through his solar and out into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind himself. The guard posted at his door startled and turned towards them, then seemed to take in the situation well enough to take Loras' free arm and help Jon in the direction of the maester's chambers.
Jon knocked loudly as soon as the door was within reach. He kept knocking, could not get enough of a hold of himself to be bothered with courtesies right now. His throat was tight. His free hand shook. As if some part of him was observing from outside his own body, he could see his own exhaustion, see how everything threatened to overwhelm him. It was difficult to get a proper breath.