SUMMARY: As knives left his flesh gaping open, Fire was sent upon him and sparked his life again. Necessary revelations awaited him in the dark crypts of Winterfell. Jon Snow finally learns the truth and fights for his Duty.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from the plot, every right goes to GRRM and maybe HBO if it goes away from the book canon. There is a quote from one of the books towards the end it's in italic.

The first stab hit right in between his ribs. The cowards he came to call his Brothers by Duty didn't even have the courage to face him with their betrayal. Instead the knife lodged itself in his back signaling to the rest of his party made of « volunteers » that they could all attack him at the same time.

The title he was given, 'Lord Commander of the Night's Watch' died with the cuts gifted to him. His subordinates tore his title from him by mutiny and attempt at murder. And he, in turn, renounced his duty of guiding and protecting them by defending himself using the gift Joer Mormont, his respected predecessor, bestowed him with his dying breath. Longclaw slashed and tore the flesh from his old comrades.

He was one of the best swordsman, and maybe the best, of the current Night's Watch. None of them could compete with him individually. However, their number and the initial surprise worked against him. Where he gave them fatal or heavy wounds in a few movements of arm, they pierced his flesh in small but numerous cuts.

Jon could feel the slow rivulets of blood moving down his body like rivers of crimson life. His head slowly went light and his eyes crossed more with each exertion of muscles. He fought as much as he could. His moves became gradually sluggish and clumsy. He could feel the ever present cold of the North slipping like deadly snails in his bones and petrifying him even more. Death was approaching him like a shy and headstrong maiden: tentatively but forwardly.

After what seemed to him as both the longest and the shortest moment of his life, Jon finally knelt down and drifted face first towards the frozen ground of the Long Night. Some of his ancient companions breathed out and even chuckled with the satisfaction of their final success over the powerful Jon Snow. They were probably relieved they could escape with at least the hope of surviving if their injuries were treated right and if the Others didn't attack them right away from the call of their loose blood.

Jon felt a hand grabbing his injured arm and turning him on the other side. His eyes could see the dark night looming over him. And even if his gaze was hazed by the blood loss he could discern the bright stars shining on him like watchful spirits waiting for him to join them. The sight wasn't much different than when he had the Night Duty on the top of the Wall or even when he would look up from the stables in Winterfell during the welcoming feast for the late King Robert, after all it wasn't a bastard's place to sit near the presence of his King.

It brought back memories of warmth, love and family. The guarded but gentle attitude of Sansa: torn between the duty to her mother and the caring she felt for a brother. The toothy smiles of baby Rickon that already hinted at the wolf's blood he would show if his direwolf's feral way was to be interpreted.

The curiosity in the eyes of the intelligent and brave Bran, he didn't even know if he even ever woke up from his long sleep after his fall. The wildness and loving of the unladylike Arya, always ready to play with a sword or shove you down and then run to make you chase her playfully.

The respect and the love his brother Robb held in his gaze while speaking with him showed he considered him as much a brother as he did Bran or Rickon, he missed their trainings in the yard with the wooden swords that made them worthy men. Even Lady Catlyn was remembered then, the hurt and unforgiveness she felt for what he represented warring with the gentle attentions of her motherly nature towards a child.

Though, what he remembered the most clearly at this moment right before his untimely death was the face of his late Lord Father, Eddard Stark. The stern but understanding face that guided him towards manhood, the time he always gave him along with advices even if he was only his bastard and not heir. He always cherished him the same way he did with any of his children. He respected his quiet nature and encouraged him to be the man he wanted. The smile and hug he bestowed him along with the key he wore around his neck as they parted ways out of Winterfell. The promise of answers he told him he would find in the crypts if he himself couldn't tell him.

His memories were shoved brutally aside when the Lady Melisandre hovered over him. He had forgotten that she came with them to better see in the fires without the presence of the Queen Selyse or the leering men ever watching her. Now, he could see she was the guide of the operation and again cursed himself for his stupidity. After all, she warned him that she could see daggers in the night, she just omitted to say that those were led by her own fire.

"You had to be sacrificed for the ultimate victory of the Lord of Light, Commander. He showed me that the fires will burn tenfold if the flames engulfed your body after a great grief. Your death will serve your King well, Jon Snow, be proud you were useful even in death." She said in a strong and convinced voice while wearing a satisfied yet serious smile.

At that instant, he understood that they wouldn't even wait for him to succumb to Death to throw him in the funeral pyre. Instead he would be burned alive to serve her Red God. At least he felt a little bit grateful amidst all his sorrow that his body wouldn't be desecrated by the power of the Others. His Death will be final and clean cut.

"Let the spark engulf him Crow." Her sultry voice said.

And he felt heat take over the frost on his black furs. The leathers he wore melted against his skin. His garments slowly left his body. The Valyrian steel of his gifted bastard sword heated like the liquid fire in the mountains.

Yet, Jon Snow felt nothing. The pyre didn't burn. His skin didn't crack and his hair didn't fizzle. None of the awaited pain form a fire did appear as he was burned alive.

Instead he felt his cuts and wounds heal and the skin stitching back together. Instead of screaming in pain, Jon enjoyed the flames and almost moaned like he did with his late Ygritte. He never thought that the pleasure induced by pyre would be something as great as this, nor that anybody except a Red Priestess could experience it.. The fire awakened another one inside him that revived him instead of annihilating.

He could hear screams of terror and unbelief tearing the quietness of the Northern Night apart. However, none were his. His still living old comrades pissed themselves when his body regenerated instead of falling apart. They scurried back, away from what they thought was their victory against a younger man that held too much power to their taste.

Lady Melisandre, could be heard laughing at loud at the change of tide. It appears she is satisfied with the new events. No doubt seeing it as the will of her Lord of Light she cherished so much.

Jon slowly stood back, still crowded by flames licking almost reassuringly at his skin. He wasn't fully conscious of his actions nor totally sane in the mind from the still previously lost blood. He felt as if in a far away dream, not unlike those he regularly had while seeing through Ghost or those where he first flied through the air and then suffered in the damp dark. Confusion was his general mindset and he couldn't even fight against himself to rationalize through the events.

However, in the future when he will think back at the changing event he would acknowledge that what he did was purely made of other Powers. Those that Old Nan spoke tirelessly about when the story she told wasn't about White Walkers, or mythical creatures coming to eat restless children. He guessed if those first existed as he has seen them himself, other things potentially could too.

He threw flames like a whip at his betrayers and let them burn to ashes. Blood fled from their bodies and sizzled in the Fire. Screams could be heard through the clearing they led him through for his murder. Some of them tried to get the garments they had away from their skin, at the risk of freezing. It was pointless. Those weren't mere flames, power emanating from his own core coursed through them. He could feel them as well as any other of his appendages, and control them just as much.

Unknowingly, he called to him at the start of their fight his direwolf Ghost. He could see from his eyes the sight of what foolish men would call a battle. He stood there calmly but with fury in his eyes. The fury transcended into the torrid whips and burned the remaining Crows with the price of their betrayal. Ghost approached as silently as his name hinted at, towards the Red Sorceress.

As the suffering men boiled at his feet, he walked slowly towards the only woman present. He could see her studying him as if he was her own God reincarnated. Wonderment and glee filled her eyes illuminated by the fire she set loose. He stood now a foot from her, undecided. She would only feel pleasured at dying from the hand of her Fire God, but he also couldn't let her die from the cold, who knew if her sorcery would live on in her Frozen Life? Letting her get back to the Wall wasn't even an option, she would be unpunished and would only set ablaze a torrent of problems for him.

It would be better to let the conspirators think he died, and the still loyal to be led to the conclusion their expedition had encountered problems.

The gleam of his wolf's bright red eyes detaching themselves from the whiteness of his pelt and the snow inspired him.

"Any last words, Red Woman?" He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of any title other than her repulsive nickname.

"None. I told you before that I prayed for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and that R'hollor only showed me Snow. Maybe the message was simpler than what I thought after all, Jon Snow. My mission is almost complete, you are reborn and will fight against the Great Cold. Let me just give you a last gift my Lord. The dragon must have three heads, one is Wisdom, one is Care and one is Power. Only when the three become one the Other will succumb. Search for your remaining heads my King to let the Realm of Men live through the Long Night. I hope your endeavour will meet success for the sake of every living thing." She closed her eyes that became once again their normal color after gaining a red tinge during her prophecy.

Ghost chose that moment to tear her body apart. What once was a powerful tool against men led by desire and foolishness, now became a sea of red submerging the whiteness of the frozen grounds underneath her. Her red hair covered the area around her head and make her seem as a manifestation of the powerful sun in midst of the beginning of the Great Winter. She had nonetheless a smile gracing her features from seeing her dream take its first step into reality.

Jon set her body ablaze and watched as the Fire reclaimed one of his servants. As her limbs turned to ashes he inspected the other grey mounts gracing the soil of the cursed place. He couldn't feel anything right at this instant. He seemed empty from the inside and finally went to his knees from the exertion.

As he gradually slipped away to the land of Dreams, he could see through Ghost that the Direwolf carried him towards a small cave facing a great clearing of ice. As he went away from the creature and thought to himself that at least he could see if anybody tried to attack him, he felt a strange feeling of encompassing freedom and joy. He didn't know if those were entirely his own feelings but he could muse about them on the morrow when the entire situation would sink in too.

Jon lost himself to sleep and attached himself more firmly to his only remaining ally: Ghost.

As he woke up in the morning, none of the expected cold could be felt, only warmth. Inner fire. He opened his eyes and looked through the dark cave to assess any possible threat but found none.

When he walked outside to take a much needed piss, the sight he was met with was unexpected to say the least. A giant pale creature looked and approached him while the only thing Jon could say was:

"Fuck."

Hope you liked it and would like to read the following chapters!

Please review to let me know your thoughts, suggestions, criticisms etc... It would really help to know your feelings on at least the beginning of the story.

Also if you see any grammatical or spelling error please point it out to me, the external outlook helps improve.

If anyone would like to beta, I'm open to suggestions.

Bye!