Prologue

Jon Snow heard his mother's voice. "You are the blood of the dragon." Dagon… he thought, falling into the cold abyss. He felt cold, tremors shaking his lithe form. I thought I was a wolf. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch remembered all the times he had watched Eddard Stark speak to his son in a low voice, teaching him the art of leadership. How Jon had wished to be Eddard Stark's trueborn son, to be the leader of the North and the ruler of Winterfell. Jon hadn't realized how much he wanted the dreams to become truth until they had almost become reality. "When you return, you only need to bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell." I refused him, Jon remembered as he continued to fall. He had no idea where he was now. All he remembered were the knives, the knives in the dark, piercing him. His dark red blood had run cold onto the cobblestones as his men wept. For the Wall, they said. Jon wondered if he was dead, for he was not aware of the time that had passed since falling into the abyss. Ghost was not with him. Then he remembered his mother's words. Lyanna Stark had come to him when her son was neither living nor dead, and had told him that he must live.

"You are the blood of the dragon, and you will not die as your father did." Jon still recalled of how her grey eyes had glistened sadly when she spoke of his father. Her dark hair, so much like Jon's, flew in the wind. "His name was Rhaegar Targaryen. He was as noble and honorable as my brother, and worthy of the title of king." Jon Snow remembered how his mother's strong arms embraced him, and her sweet breath tickling his ear. "Your journey is not done, my son. You will serve another role in another world, becoming bigger than yourself, and finding out who you truly are." She had stood then and released her hold on her son. "You are a dragon and wolf, burning red with flame and cold with steel in your heart. Only when you accept yourself as you truly are will you be able to go home."

Suddenly Jon felt himself falling faster; he squinted his eyes open, and saw molten colors of gold and red flashing by; the coldness from his body was gone. Where was he? A soft sound echoed in his ears then. He couldn't make out the words, and could only observe that the voice was mournful and sad, singing in a tongue that he hadn't heard before. The voice echoed in his ears, soothing him. Jon felt warmth radiate his fingers and felt his soul ease from the pain and sorrow that he had held inside.

"What is lost may be found again

Deep in the ice and fire and wood

His blood shall shine beneath the darkness

Akin to the dragon kings of old

He shall rise a commander

Battling fears foul and old

Nevermore shall he balk

When he returns to the ice and snow."

Jon felt the whisper in his ear, as calm and cool as summer's grass. It wasn't his mother that spoke. It was someone far older, older than the trees of the North. Jon reached out his hand, but found that his fingers grasped nothing. The words whispered in his ears again, as did the song. Jon closed his eyes…

He opened them slowly. Pale sunlight briefly blinded him. He shielded his gaze from the sun, accustomed to the darkness of the snow and nights of the Night's Watch. His dark grey eyes wandered across the landscape. Green grass and moss surrounded him, and he heard the leaves singing in the wind. He faintly heard birds chirping. Summer, Jon thought. There were no clouds in sight. Snow did not cover the ground, and the wind was gentle. I have missed it. Jon started to stand, and was astonished when he stood freely without pain or tremors. The wounds that had been given to him by his men had gone. His skin was smooth as silk. I have scars from other battles still, the Commander thought as he traced his burned hand and the scar slightly above his left eye. He found that a ring was on his finger. He stared, blinking as the ruby shone red and black. There were markings made into it, carved beautifully. What does it say? Jon could not read the words. Longclaw was at his hip, and he fingered the white wolf's head, remembering his dedicated direwolf, Ghost. Perhaps it is good that he is not here. Jon hoped that his friend was safe. Footsteps echoed in his ears. Jon sheathed his sword, narrowing his eyes at whoever was approaching. It was a rather large host, judging from the sound of the feet. About ten or so were coming his way. Jon leaned his body against a tree and waited. Although he was concealed by the tree, Jon's concealment did not remain so. The host stopped, and Jon heard the swift sheathed swords coming undone and the soft sound of the arrow being notched.

"May you be friend or foe, you must reveal yourself!" The voice was rich and deep. Jon had a sudden thought of Lord Eddard Stark, his father – no, his uncle. "There is no use hiding," the voice continued, softer now. "I can feel your breath on my face." Jon Snow sharply turned to face the host before him, thinking that he would be facing certain death.