Silver Stag

Azor Ahai: Promised Prince

[King's Landing]

Ghost padded silently through the streets of King's Landing, his glowing blue eyes scanning the crowded alleys and bustling squares. He had been searching for hours, when Jon Snow had warged into him, desperate to find Melisandre and beg her to heal his battered form.

The memories of being murdered by his own Night's Watch brothers still lingered in his mind, a constant reminder of the betrayal that had taken his life. But now, as he warged into the consciousness of his direwolf, Ghost, he felt a glimmer of hope. He knew that Melisandre, the Red Priestess, had once healed his body after he had been stabbed by Ollie. Perhaps she could do so again, and restore him to full strength.

As a direwolf, Ghost had no physical form of his own, but Jon's presence within him gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Together, they navigated the city, seeking out any trace of the sorceress. It wasn't long before they caught sight of her - a tall figure draped in shimmering red robes, standing atop a crumbling wall overlooking the sea.

Joryllo Synarion, the red priests' loyal companion, stood beside her, his face stern as he gazed out at the waves below. Ghost knew that if anyone could help him, it would be these two. They were the only ones who understood the power of the Lord of Light and the magic that flowed through them.

Without hesitation, Ghost led the way towards the pair, his tail wagging nervously behind him. As they drew closer, Melisandre turned to face them, her piercing green eyes locking onto Ghost's brown orbs. She nodded once, recognizing the spirit of the direwolf within Jon, and gestured for them to follow her.

Together, the three of them made their way through the deserted streets, Joryllo dispatching any wights they came across, with Ghost leading the way to the dilapidated home where his physical form lay. He could feel Jon's urgency growing inside him, could sense the pain and desperation that drove him forward. When they finally reached the doorstep, Ghost stopped, looking up at Melisandre with pleading eyes.

The house was in worse condition than he had left it. The roof appeared to have collapsed, covering his body in stone.

As Melisandre and Joryllo stood over the lifeless form of Jon Snow, which was surrounded by rock, they knew that time was running out. They couldn't get to his body to assess the damage, and without the sacred flames of the Lord of Light, it seemed like a futile endeavor. The priestess and the red priest exchanged worried glances, their eyes filled with desperation.

Just as all hope seemed lost, a deafening roar echoed through the cavernous space. The ground shook beneath their feet as a colossal shape appeared above them, casting long shadows across the walls. The dragon Drogon had arrived, its scales glistening in the flickering torchlight.

Melisandre's eyes lit up with excitement. "The Mother of Dragons has come," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with anticipation. "This must be the sign we have been waiting for."

Joryllo nodded eagerly, his face aglow with hope. "With Dragonfire, we can resurrect Jon Snow," he declared confidently. "We will bring him back to life."

Melisandre felt a sense of vindication wash over her. For so long, she had been mocked and doubted by the men and women of Westeros, who questioned the validity of the Prince Who Was Promised prophecy.

The prophecy spoke of a dragon born from stone, a flaming sword born from the heart of a lover, and the blood of the dragon. And in Jon Snow, she saw all three elements come together.

He was the son of Lyanna Stark, a woman of pure heart and lineage, and Rhaegar Targaryen, a man of great power and wisdom; a song of ice and fire. He was born in Dorne, as the Bleeding star, Arthur Dayne, fell in battle against his uncle, just as the prophecy had foretold. And he wielded Valyrian steel, the metal of his ancestors.