Chapter Text
Ever since she was a little girl, Daenerys Targaryen believed in ghosts. She knew it was almost certainly a manifestation of the trauma she'd endured having lost her mother, father, older brothers, and at least two caretakers all before she was ten years old. She had a degree in abnormal psychology, and her own experience had been the source for many of her term paper topics. The world thought she was crazy, a sad person who couldn't let go of her experiences as an orphan, always wanting to see if her family could hear her from the beyond or if they might have been sticking around to watch her grow.
The thing was, Dany couldn't accept that there wasn't something else out there beyond their world. Maybe she was crazy, but she didn't hurt anyone with her beliefs. She didn't target mourning, desperate people and make up stories about talking to their loved ones from the beyond. She never proclaimed to speak to the dead. She never even claimed to hunt for the dead.
Dany just studied the dead. She studied the anthropology of it, the belief systems, and the way cultures around the world feared and revered death. It fascinated her. It was her method of "coping", sure, but it was also something she just wanted to know more about. In the process, if she happened to encounter experiences or artifacts where maybe she wasn't the only one present, so be it.
Her best friend Missandei, an ancient languages scholar who often accompanied her on her travels, suggested they record a podcast, which led to a few TV specials for the Westerosi Geographic channel. A few books followed. They called her the Queen of the Dead. It wasn't a moniker she really cared for, but it was better than the one she'd gotten after her first book studying the story of the Night's King and Night's Queen, which was "The Night Queen." That one just felt like it was calling her some dark macabre spectre of a woman.
It was a further decision to study a Northern folktale about the Night King that had her relocating up to the Wall, choosing to reside in the old, semi-rebuilt Castle Black, which was a national historical monument, former museum, and closed to the public since a series of highly publicized incidents about twenty years prior when a group of students broke in and were apparently terrorized out by the ghosts of dead Night's Watch rangers.
She'd pleaded with the local university who maintained it as best they could that it was in their best interest to let her stay and study, and she'd even let them in on the profits of her book when she finalized it. The Maester who ran the local university agreed, even though Samwell Tarly refused to go near the Castle. Only several people even had keys to access the old library which was mostly used for books too old and boring to be relocated to Queenstown.
It was actually quite nice though; she'd been there for about two weeks and outside of it being fucking freezing, Castle Black wasn't haunted the way people thought it might be. It creaked, groaned, and had weird shadows here and there, but it was thousands of years old and had seen gods knew how many deaths and terrible events. The souls of the people who were burned in its yard might not have been well rested, maybe they let her know it a bit in the night, but it wasn't scary.
There had been that morning when she walked into the kitchen and found that her coffee was already going, but that could have been her mind playing tricks on her. Or the other evening when she lifted her laptop and there were the words "Hello!" typed out in her Notes App, but again...it was nothing that bothered her. Perhaps it was a ghost who was just saying that much: hello. She typed back "Hello to you too!" and left it at that.
Today Dany had decided to investigate the old Lord Commander's tower, which Maester Tarly informed her had not been well maintained and if she found any books or things to let him know so he could catalog them appropriately. "Pretty weird that no one bothers to ever visit," she'd said when he'd briefly shown her around after giving her the keys to the main gate. "Half the building has electricity and plumbing, and the other half is out of the middle ages."
"That's the North," he'd only said, before scurrying off and wishing her well. "Just don't bother him," he'd said as an ominous warning.
Bother who?
Dany suspected it was one of the souls that people claimed to see. Her fat black cat Drogon, who she suspected was a dragon in a former life, joined her that morning as she brought her coffee-- once again the machine going that morning before she walked in--her phone, and her field notebook up into the Lord Commander's tower. She tapped her voice notes app on her phone, and began to speak, gazing around the room. "The tower is rather dusty, to be expected, according to Tarly no one has been up here in years. Looks like there's some books on the shelves, we've got spiderwebs over almost all of them, great. Drogon has found a sunbeam in the window....no furniture here, just a couple trunks. Probably used as storage. According to a journal from a Night's Watch Maester who also went by the name of Samwell Tarly-- check for possible relation-- there should be some burn marks on the stone from a fire that was allegedly set when a wight appeared...wight being of course the reanimated body of the dead...ah, here we go."
She knelt, spotting the blackened stone, kneeling and taking a few photos, while Drogon batted at some cobwebs in the window. At least this seemed to prove the Maester's story. Whether the wight was real or not....
"Psssssssssssssssst!"
She jumped, rocking backwards off her heels at the snarling hiss from Drogon. "What the fuck?" she shouted at him, her cat standing on his toes, hair up on his neck and tail poker straight in the air, ears flattened. "Drogon!"
Drogon yowled, swiping and hissing, before leaping off the recessed windowsill and onto the top of a bookcase, still swiping at nothing. He growled in the back of his throat, eyes narrowed to yellow slits, focused on the door. Dany stood, listening intently, her heart beating faster at the sound of a low creak at the threshold. She called out softly, "Hello?" Drogon kept growling behind her.
A light scratch at the door sent her senses into overdrive and she tried not to smile, wondering if this was something...real. It wasn't like she'd put it in her books. Dany wasn't crazy. It was just...who was to say that the souls of people didn't occasionally visit? Certainly not her. She stepped slowly to the door, lightly touching the edge, and turned to peer out around it...
A white blur blew straight at her, pushing the door open, and knocking her backwards. "Oh!" she shouted, tossing her hair out of her eyes, in time to see a massive white animal leaping towards the bookcase, where Drogon continued to hiss and spit.
It was a dog. Or a wolf.
But it was definitely corporeal, as its huge tail kept hitting the sides of the bookcase, sweeping cobwebs aside, nails scratching on the dusty spines as he tried to get to Drogon. "Who are you?" she exclaimed, laughing and approaching the animal. It was gigantic, the size of a small pony, and snow white. When the beast turned its head, its tongue was lolling out and lips pulled back slightly almost like it was smiling. The wagging tail, wiggling butt, and happy face was incongruous to the bright red eyes peering up at her. "Oh wow, you're an albino. Where'd you come from?" There had been no reports of someone having a pet. Maybe he was lost. She knelt and ruffled his neck, the animal losing interest in Drogon and instead attending to her. "You don't have a collar. Well that's irresponsible."
The wolf-- she noted because of the pointy ears and the shape of the canines--- was incredibly friendly. Completely bizarre. She smoothed her hand over his forehead and his eyelids dropped closed. He nudged at her hand, licking at her palm. “You are really very sweet…hey wait!”
The wolf took off, running down the stairs, nails clacking on the stone. Dany forgot her phone, running off after the creature. He was too tame to be wild, he had to belong to someone maybe in Mole Town. She caught up with him in the courtyard, laughing when he pounced, his head dropping to the ground and tail and butt still in the air. “You silly! What are you doing, huh?”
Not that she expected the wolf to reply, but he cocked his head and then looked up, like someone was next to him. He turned and trotted off, pushing through an open door she never remembered unlocking, and heading up another flight of stairs. Dany jogged after him, realizing it was to what an old journal of a Night’s Watch brother called Hardin’s Tower. It was in severe disrepair, even after the attempts over the centuries to repair the stone that always fell from its ramparts.
She gingerly made it to one of the levels, frowning and peering in an open door. The wolf was laying on a pile of old, dusty black wall hangings, watching her. His red eyes should have been terrifying, but there was an odd knowing in them. Like how she thought when she looked at Drogon. She frowned, gazing around the small sleeping cell. “What’s this place, huh? What shall I call you? You don’t make a sound and seem to have appeared out of nowhere. Like a ghost.” The wolf’s tail wagged. She chuckled, crossing her arms. “Ghost, huh? Wel that’s appropriate…what is this place?”
There was a small black table pushed under a window, a pile of books on it. It was quite odd, the cell was obviously abandoned and had not been touched by anyone in...gods Dany suspected it could quite literally be centuries. Except for the fact the wolf had clearly made something of a nest here and…one of the books open on the table. Someone had been there, it was open to a page and not like it had just accidentally fallen...which it couldn't have because there was no shelving.
She gazed around the room, frowning momentarily. "Are you here?" she asked, her voice level, curious. She glanced at the wolf-- Ghost, she'd decided she'd call him-- who blinked up and panted, still gazing with alert attention at the door. She fixed her gaze on the open door, cocking her head. "You can show yourself. I'm not afraid." The door opened wider. She watched, fascinating, as the floors creaked and to her surprise, the book lifted, moving towards her. "You want me to take the book?" she asked. The book moved up and down...nodding. "Alright." She took the book in hand, keeping it open to the particular page and smiled gently. "I'm going to take this to my rooms, they're a bit less...drafty."
Ghost jumped up and took off, running down the stairs. He understood me. This made zero sense, but that's what her world entailed. There was no reason to be afriad. Not yet, at least. Dany made sure to keep in mind Samwell Tarly's warning: "Just don't bother him." Whoever "him" was; if this was "him", it didn't seem she was bothering him so much as he wanted her to know something.
Several minutes later, she was entering her rooms, stopping in her tracks to see that the fire was going and there were even some candles lit. "Thanks," she called. "Saves me the time." Drogon was nowhere to be found; no doubt hiding from the wolf. Ghost curled up in front of the fire and kept his bright red eyes on her, like he was ensuring she didn't set the book down and go somewhere else.
"I could use a cup of tea," she mused, sitting down at the desk in the corner, placing the fraying, damaged book on a large bean bag-like pillow she used to prop up the old tomes so they weren't further damaged. The paper was so brittle, she feared it might disintegrate if she held it in her bare hands, so she used her tweezers to gently touch the pages, now taking in the old, fading ink.
It was difficult to read and she knew she should get out her high-powered light or her magnifying glasses, but she didn't want to get up yet. This all had to be handled very carefully, she didn't want to spook him. There was a corporeal animal who seemed to be guided by the spirit-- she didn't want to refer to him as a ghost just yet because he had not done anything untowards to her yet-- who clearly wanted her to find certain things.
She had her nose almost against the paper, reading through a paragraph that was somewhat legible. "Elected as the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch in a close margin of one vote, beating Ser Alliser Thorne...approximately two and twenty years of age..." her brow furrowed, trying to figure out who the account happened to be about. She flicked her gaze to the next page, and saw it, in darkened ink, with a splotch at the end.
Jon Snow
"Jon Snow," she said out loud, her voice reverberating in the silent room.
The wolf opened his mouth, making a high-pitched, strangled howl and she yelped, startled when one of the candles went out, at the same time her hand jerked, almost knocking over...a cup of tea that was not there before. She swallowed hard and stared at the mug, steaming hot water with the preferred loose leaf strainer hanging off the side. If she took a sip she knew it was her favorite Pentoshi blend. She looked to Ghost, who was staring at her intently. "You know him? Jon Snow? You want me to learn about him?"
Dany touched the edge of the book, taking a deep breath. This was...wow. She looked around the room, trying to take in any further differences. The door was open again and she followed the gaze of Ghost to the corner. She stood, her fingers trembling and her heart stilling. Just take deep breaths Dany, she thought, lifting her hand, reaching to lightly touch...
What should have been air.
But instead she hit resistance...a hand. Fingers closed around hers.
And squeezed.
"It's you," she said, hoping she was looking into his eyes. "You've been making my coffee in the morning? You sent Ghost?" She bit her bottom lip. "What do you want me to do?"
The hand let go of hers and she turned, wondering if she'd frightened him. On her desk, the book moved, and she watched, fascinated, as her pen lifted and began to write on a notepad. She stepped nervously up to the desk and gazed down.
Old script writing spelled out a single word.
Believe
The next morning, after sleeping a little fitfully because Drogon kept trying to poke Ghost to wake him up, which resulted in snarls on the part of Drogon and the great white beast affronted and confused at the action of the black furry menace, Dany woke to find that not only had Jon Snow made her coffee, but he'd brought it to her room. He seemed quite eager for her to get on with her research.
As did she. All her encounters with spirits had been passive. They were there on the edges and she just wanted to give them the respect they deserved. Dany had only had one encounter with a spirit that was clearly not happy, that of a long dead queen in the Red Keep, who kept trying to toss rocks on unsuspecting passersby. She wasn't a "ghostbuster", had merely found it interesting, and it was a storied footnote in one of her books.
Jon Snow wanted something. No, it seemed like he needed something. It was her job now to find out what that was. She looked around the room, speaking out loud. "You know, common courtesy says that I should change in peace." She had fallen asleep in her clothes from the night before, researching late into the night in all the online libraries she could access, but had found only one reference to Jon Snow and that was on a list of Lord Commanders.
Ghost turned around, giving her privacy. The door remained closed, so she could only trust that the rules of society that Jon Snow likely had grown up with were keeping him from perving out and watching her change. Only Drogon-- the true pervert in the room-- stared as she changed. Probably because he was judging her outfit.
She gathered the ancient text and her bag with her "reading tools", picking up the coffee and carrying it all through the drafty, creaking Castle Black down into the tunnels where the old library remained. Barring a tour with Maester Tarly, she hadn't spent any time in here yet, choosing to take things tower by tower. Now seemed the most appropriate time. "Alright," she announced, setting up her study area. Phone, coffee, portable lights, magnifying glasses, beanbag poof for the books, all she needed. "You tell me Jon Snow, where do I begin? This place is a bloody maze."
Ghost brushed by her and walked down one of the rows, bringing her to a set of books in the back of the library, none of which appeared touched. There were scrolls piled on top of each other, neglected for so long. Dany was furious at the little care the university seemed to pay to any of this. "Alright, here?" she said, pointing.
A book wiggled. Guess that was her first clue. She hefted it up and in doing so, a series of parchment scrolls fell to the floor, a cloud of dust billowing up. Coughing, she gathered what she could and brought it to the table, taking a deep breath. "Alright, I'm believing, Jon Snow. Not sure in what, exactly, but I promise I am." She pulled on cotton gloves and closed her eyes. "Let's get started."
Hours passed, her shoulders slumping further and further, pouring over books, scrolls, and random piles of paper. She forgot to eat and at one point reached for her coffee, only to find that it had been replaced. Apparently Ghost Jon Snow only thought to address her caffeine addiction rather than food. It didn't matter; with each book she felt she might be getting closer. It seemed Jon Snow could only tell her about one thing and that was just his name. The book he'd flagged for her was once again another accounting of a very hotly contested election in which he'd become the Lord Commander.
Nothing about why he wanted her to believe in him or why he was still around. Ghosts had unfinished business; what was his? Dany dragged her finger over a piece of parchment, about to toss it aside-- she'd been at this for almost six hours now-- when her heart leaped into her throat. "Ah!" she exclaimed.
There he was.
"Jon Snow," she murmured, reaching over a list of brothers who'd taken the black. Their arrival date...name...age...She blinked, mouth falling, whispering, "Winterfell." He was from Winterfell. There was another notation.... "Benjen Stark." She looked up, eyes bleary. "You were brought to the Watch by a man named Benjen Stark...was he a relation? Starks and Winterfell and...they always supported the Watch."
It was a noble family; she wasn't sure if there were any left or if they'd died out at some point. Winterfell was a museum. She turned and looked at Ghost, who was staring at her again. "I'm on the right track?"
"I think so."
Dany jumped, spinning and looking around, hands flat on the table. "What?" That wasn't Ghost. Or Drogon. It was a man's voice, hollow and faraway. She bit her lower lip, trying to steady herself. Oh gods, it's happening. I'm either truly going insane or he's able to communicate now. "Jon?" she whispered.
Across the table a slice of light coming in from one of the small windows up near the low timbered ceiling shimmered. It could have been dust. Trick of the light. Her exhausted eyes. It wasn't though. It formed and she focused on it, watching as she kept repeating in her head: Jon, Jon, Jon. The shimmer took further form, a head, shoulders, a body...it moved and with one final thought, she was seeing him.
A pearly iridescence and smoky filter was the only thing signifying he was not quite...there. Where there had been nothing in the chair opposite her, now sat a young man, about her age, with inky curls, a face that she suspected even not being ghostly was pale, a dark swath of beard on his jaw, and a set of incredibly soulful, sad gray eyes. He wore the black of Night's Watch, a tunic and gambeson, and leather braces on his wrists.
When he smiled, she noticed it did not meet his eyes, like he wasn't sure how to make that movement with his face. As he did, she also noticed three pale scars, one curving around his eye to his cheek and two others that looked like they sliced through his eyebrows and down to the top of his cheekbones. He lifted his fingers up, awkwardly waving. "Nice to meet you in the...well, flesh is not quite the word." His voice was softer than she expected, tinged with the Northern lilt, his vowels hollow and short.
Her first true ghostly interaction was not at all what she'd ever expected. She swallowed hard and lifted her fingers in an awkward wave back to him. "Nice to meet you too," she managed to get out, voice cracking. Her brow furrowed, immediately confused. "Um...I...forgive me, I've never spoken to a ghost before...do I call you..."
"You can call me Jon." He smiled again; this time the corners of his eyes crinkled, and she briefly saw a young man in the strained, weathered face of someone who seemed to have lived too many lifetimes for someone his age. "And this is my first time speaking with someone of the...lively persuasion, so forgive me as well."
She nodded, not even realizing that Ghost had walked over to join him. "Ah...I take it he belongs to you?"
"Oh aye, Ghost has been with me for...well, a very long time." He cocked his head; one of the springy curls fell from where it had been tucked behind his ear and she had a strange urge to go pull it; even though that was impossible. "What do I call you? Daenerys?"
"Dany." She closed the book she'd been reading, folding her hands on top of it. "You can call me Dany."
He nodded curtly. "Dany."
They stared at each other for a few silent moments, until she couldn't take it any longer, exploding in excitement, jumping to her feet. "I cannot believe this is happening, all this time, I'm actually speaking to a spirit...I...I don't understand, you can pick up things, you can...you can write and communicate...I don't..." She pushed her hands through her hair, which was already standing on all ends, exclaiming, "Why me!?"
Jon looked up, blinking like it was an obvious answer. "Because you believe."
Believe. "That's it?" she whispered. That...was very simple. "I believe in you?"
"You believe in things that have no explanation. I can communicate but...not quite as well as I can with you. This is the first time anyone has ever truly seen me." His smile faded and a blanket of melancholy draped over him. "Not that people want to...my name has been lost for centuries. You know it. That helps."
Don't bother him. That's what Sam said. "But Samwell Tarly knows about you?" she asked.
"Sort of. He knows I am here. I don't like people bothering...things." To her shock, he exhaled hard. Except he was a ghost so clearly it was just habit and not out of necessity. "There are things in these walls...along the Wall itself...I knew you were different when you came. Are you here to bring back the dead?"
That was highly unexpected.
Dany plopped back into her chair. "Um...no?"
"You do not sound sure."
"Because I don't know what I'm ultimately looking for here, I...I'm a researcher into the dead, into folktales and...I mean, I came here to study the folklore of the Night King, but....to bring back the dead?" That was an impossibility. Her heart clenched. The idea of it though...to see her family...her mother. Her fingers drifted up to her neck, to the pearl ring she kept on a chain. It was the only thing left of her mother's she had. Not even photos had lasted the various moves around the foster homes and caregivers. "I don't...wow...gods, I have so many questions..." She bit her lip, lifting her gaze to his again. He smiled politely. "Like...what's your story?"
He chuckled, his hand still on Ghost's neck. He shrugged. "I don't know. I was hoping you could help me."
"You don't...know?"
"No. I died and then I was...gone somewhere. Then I was back here again." He sighed, his brow wrinkling, and he stared down at the table, annoyance tinging his words. "It's been very annoying." He shrugged again. "I know my name is Jon Snow, I was a brother of the Night's Watch, and this is Ghost...my direwolf." He touched his chest, his fingers lingering up near one of the ties on his neck, before he dropped his hand down to the table again. "And I know I died...violently. I just don't know exactly why. Or if it matters at all."
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask her how he knew he died violently, but the slicing curve around his eye looked like it was fresh. As fresh as a knife wound could be on a ghost who was thousands of years old. She was still quite confused. "But you can move things," she murmured, shrugging. "How come you can't research yourself?"
He flashed another quick smile. "Thousands of years of trial and error. I need someone who believes." He held his hands up. "This is as close to being a corporeal form as I will ever get. Thank you."
All of this was sending her researcher brain into hyperdrive. It was almost too much to understand. An actual ghost was sitting across from her, telling her he was there because she believed in them, and wanting her to help him...at least, that's what it sounded like. Then there was his comment about... "What do you mean am I here to bring back the dead?" she wondered out loud. She didn't even wait for his response, pushing back again and tearing nervously at her braids. "You know what? I think I need a drink."
"I think you might need several. It is quite a lot." He stood up and to her surprise, he didn't necessarily 'float', but kind of drifted slightly on his feet, like walking wasn't quite his strong suit. He led her up through the tunnels and into the tower where the modern kitchen was located. "I wasn't sure, you know, about you coming here just to research...everyone comes here to find out how to bring back the dead."
Dany once again clutched at her mother's ring. "That's not possible," she murmured.
He gestured to himself. "Who are we to say what is and is not possible?"
He had a point.
It might have been early evening, but she poured herself a hefty dose of whiskey, thanking her past self for packing a bottle just in case. She ended up in the sitting area of the tower, ignoring the modern television and her laptop, instead sitting in front of the fireplace with a ghost in the chair next to her, his direwolf sleeping at their feet, and her massive cat on the mantle, peering at them through slit eyes.
Dany pulled lightly on her necklace, about halfway through her tumbler of whiskey. It was starting to get to her head, which was wrapped in a comfortable fuzzy blanket of alcohol. "Alright, tell me again."
For about two hours he'd been relaying to her about the 'dead' and bringing them back. He referenced red witches and the Lord of Light. "It's all I've been able to gather, just from people coming and going." He was as frustrated as her that he couldn't remember anything. "People come up here and talk about bringing back the dead. I don't know if it has to do with this Night King folktale you are researching or if it literally means...bringing back dead people to living form."
That's sure what it sounded like. She frowned, remembering the couple of incidents that had occured over the years. "But...wait a second." SHe held her finger up. Maybe she was just super drunk and exhausted and she'd wake up and not be speaking with a ghost. "There's a reason that Castle Black never became a fully working museum or anything...you've scared people."
To her surprise, Jon did look apologetic. He shrugged, ducking his head slightly. As he did, a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and he appeared quite boyish. "That wasn't my intention, but...well maybe it was. I'm sorry I terrified them the way they were, but I just..." He huffed, obviously frustrated with lack of memory. "They were here looking for the answers to the dead for the wrong reasons."
"And what would those be?"
"Gain. They wanted to sell it. I also don't like..." He waved his hand dismissively. "I don't like when young people come up and disturb things. It isn't right. There are souls here who are at rest and they should not be bothered."
"But you're the only one?"
"That I know of." He was clearly very lonely, his eyes deep pools of gray, sad and faraway. "There's a graveyard this side of the Wall, but on the other side, about...oh a mile or so into the Haunted Forest there is a hearttree." He pinched his nose. "I remember that much."
A hearttree, that was for the Old Gods of the Forest. The Northerners tended to bury their dead in the earth with crypts. She had been meaning to journey to Winterfell to tour their crypts and perhaps she should now. She furrowed her brow. "So you could be buried out there by the hearttree?"
"Maybe."
There was so much going on, she couldn't understand. She glanced at him again. "You know, the prevailing opinion of...well most folklore and even pop culture these days is that ghosts and spirits remain because of unfinished business. I don't suppose you know what yours might be?"
Jon shrugged. "I have no idea, but you are correct." He smiled sadly. "I can reach out to the others...the ones who are resting...but it is not something I would do lightly. They are no longer here because they do not need to be."
All she wanted to do was ask about her mother. She refrained; they had just met after all. "That makes sense," she whispered. She rubbed her forehead. "I'm so tired."
"I've kept you too long. You should sleep." He got up, shifting on his feet. "Um...I wanted yuo to know..." She looked up, startled at the sight of pale pink on his cheeks, just above his beard. "I never...I don't..." He tugged on his fingers. "I've never...looked. You do not need to worry about that."
What was he talking about? Wait...oh! Dany laughed, a snort leaving her nose. Jon made a face and she covered hers, finding this so hilarious. "Oh my gosh...wow, well thank you for confirming."
"There were many in the Night's Watch who would," he said. He was annoyed. "I know that much about myself that I never would."
She stood, reaching to pat his shoulder, but instead her fingers just went through, slightly wispy. He glanced down, the sad smile returning. She dropped her hand to her side, nodding. "Thank you." She chuckled. "I do appreciate it."
"Good night Dany."
It did not seem weird at all to close the door on a ghost, simply saying, "Good night Jon."
There was another reason why Dany didn't mind her solitary work studying the dead. The dead didn't usually talk back. It was kind of nice; she could disappear into her head, she had peace, and she was generally left alone. Until of course, this one time now where the ghost actually talked back to her.
Not that she minded. Jon proved to be quite a rather nice companion. She knew she couldn't say a word to anyone she knew. If she told Missandei, her best friend would be on the first plane straight to the North and check her into a hospital for a full mental evaluation. Missandei entertained a lot of her theories and opinions about the undead, but Dany knew her well enough to know if she started babbling about a dead Night's Watch Lord Commander talking to her and wanting help finding out how he died and/or how to bring back the dead, well that was just a bit too far for Missy.
Ultimately she supposed if she was losing her mind and Jon wasn't real, well...it wasn't hurting anyone and she was getting quite a bit of research done.
"What's that necklace?"
After about two weeks of studying through every book she'd been able to drag out of the Castle Black library, Dany and Jon had gotten to know each other about as well as they could between a live human from the twenty-first century and a ghost of a long dead warrior who had no memory of his life prior to being a ghost. She looked up from a particularly dusty book–she'd been sneezing every couple minutes–gazing at Jon, who was floating cross-legged above the desk, holding a bunch of parchment. He'd been able to pick up things of some heft pretty well during the past week.
She frowned and then realized she had been playing with her mother's ring again. "Oh," she said, pulling it out slightly so he could inspect it. "It's a ring...it belonged to my mother...she...well she passed."
"I'm sorry." He genuinely did seem apologetic for bringing it up. He smiled sadly. "Did you have time with her?"
Dany sighed, shaking her head, whispering. "No, unfortunately I didn't...she passed when I was quite young. I...I told you I don't have much family, that isn't entirely true." She shrugged, whispering. "I don't have any family. Well...I mean..." She stammered, because Missy and her boyfriend Grey were as close to family as anyone could be. "I have a chosen family, you could say...but...I lost my brothers and my father was dead before I was born and...they all just kind of leave."
Jon set the parchment aside and came over to join her on a long bench. They'd moved–well she had mostly moved–much of the research into the old Shieldhall, where the Night's Watch brothers would hang their shields when they took the black. He lightly covered her hand with his; it was slightly cool, whenever he got close to her and she knew she couldn't feel him, not really, but for a brief moment there was a gentle pressure. "I'm sorry," he repeated. His brow wrinkled; sometimes she wondered if it was a permanent look, he was always thinking or worried about something. "I feel like I may have lost my mother too. Or my family. I'm not sure."
She took her other hand and tried to cover his with it, so it was trapped between her palms, comforting. "We'll find answers."
"We haven't, not for two weeks." He pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb; it was a very common move of his. "It seems the Night's Watch stopped making notes about their history about the time I became the Lord Commander."
All they had found in everything was the initial 'history' of Jon Snow, 998th Lord Commander, but it was so faded and old it was impossible to read. He'd been elected. He'd arrived and been assigned as a steward to the Lord Commander Mormont. "I guess I wasn't good with a sword," he'd muttered at that revelation. "If I had to carry his cups...but how'd I become the Lord Commander?"
Dany knew full well that Jon Snow was definitely good with a sword. There was no way you had his trim figure without knowing. She played with the necklace again, gazing down at an inventory of beets, written in a very poor chicken scratch. She frowned, studying the handwriting and then picked up one of her notebooks. Jon had been sampling using a pen lately. He found it fascinating—"No ink or quill!”— as he'd been able to take on more of a stronger form. "Wait," she muttered. She looked at how he'd been writing his name and then glanced at the inventory, laughing. "Well...you were very particular about your inventory."
He glanced sideways. "Huh?"
"You wrote this, look..." She pointed out how he made his letters. "This was you."
Jon scowled. "So I was an anal retentive Lord Commander who refused to allow anyone an extra ration of beets? Wonderful. No wonder they killed me."
"What?" She laughed softly. "Don't joke like that."
"I told you I died violently."
"Well...I mean...it was a thousand years ago. Who didn't die violently?"
Jon scoffed. He arched his brow, lips quirking up. "Do you want the proof?"
Dany pulled at the ring on the chain, smirking back. "Fine. Show me." She wasn't sure what he was planning to show her. Maybe some sort of wound, but to her surprise, he lifted his fingers up to his collar and began to tug at the ties and hooks. She swallowed hard, leaning back, eyes wide as he pulled apart the leather, tugging at the material until he had on a loose shirt. When he lifted it over her head, inch-by-inch of pale, marble-like skin appearing. As it did, her breath caught, first because–wow, he definitely knew how to wield a sword, muscles like that–second because..."Oh," she exclaimed softly, covering her mouth with her hand.
The hard ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen were marred by seven horrible, ugly black scars—wounds — which looked like they had only just stopped bleeding. He sighed, glancing down and touching a particularly evil scythe-shaped one over his heart. "I think this is the one that killed me."
Dany wanted to touch them, to smooth her hand over his heart and tell him it would be alright. It made no sense. He was dead. "You were murdered," she breathed, lifting her head, meeting his gaze. He frowned, silently questioning her. She gestured feebly. "These are not marks from a duel, Jon. You were murdered...I can only imagine you were unarmed at the time...an ambush, perhaps." She bit her lower lip. "We have to find out. You can't rest until you know."
Another quiet sigh slipped from his lips. "I don't know if that's really why I'm here. I mean...I don't know why I'm here. Unfinished business, you say? Well...it could be to protect Castle Black...maybe the secrets of things people come here to try to find." He pulled his shirt back on, covering up the wounds, frustrated and tugging angrily on the leather doublet. "I don't know and there doesn't seem to be anything here. I am Jon Snow...you say that that means I am a bastard? Well I know that much. No one comes to the Wall unless they are criminals or third and fourth sons or...well...why else would I be here?"
"You're not a criminal." There was absolutely no way. She ticked off her fingers. "You're kind, you were concerned with my...virtue," she said with a tiny smile and his cheeks tinged adorably. "You are clearly good with a sword from the way you handle yourself...you were chosen to lead the Night's Watch. There's more to you Jon Snow than I think you think there is." She nibbled her bottom lip. "You came from Winterfell. Your diction is too good to be lowborn, you were from a keep...raised among the upper class I'd gather."
Which made it even more fascinating. A bastard who was close enough to the tutors and family of the highborn. He must have been very special, she thought, wishing she could impart that on him. Even if he didn't seem to believe it himself. She gazed around the dark, dusty room. It felt like neither had seen daylight in the past two weeks. "Come on," she said, climbing off the bench. "Let's pause for now."
"And do what?"
"Get some fresh air," she teased. "Not that you need it."
He rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha, ha." He gazed at her necklace again, the ring rising and falling on her collarbone. She froze, watching him as he lifted his fingers, lightly touching it. "You know, I think people who come up here looking for an answer to bringing back the dead...they do it because they're scared. Or they want to use it to hurt other people." His eyes were so sad, crinkling briefly with his vague smile. "I don't know if you should use it...especially for those who are already at rest but...I feel like at the very least someone should want to use it just for a few more minutes with someone they loved."
That was heartbreaking. Although she believed it. People were inherently selfish. It was always for what they wanted. "I want nothing more than to see my mother," she said quietly. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "I never knew her and never had a chance. I don't even know anyone who knew her who could tell me about her. All I have is this."
Jon cocked his head. "I'm sure she's very proud of you and what you've accomplished."
"I'll never know," Dany whispered.
"How did she die? If I may ask?"
Dany bit her bottom lip. All she knew was what little her brother had told her. Even his memory might have been unreliable. Viserys had always been troubled by whatever had transpired before she was even born. Their father had not been a nice man. "I think it was complications from my birth. My brother told me she never seemed to recover. Her heart was bad...and then she died." Her hand jerked up to her braid, touching the silvery strands. "She had hair like mine...I don't know much more than that. She was kind. That too."
He dropped his hands to her shoulders; she jumped, startled at the odd feeling, like a cold plunge. "Sorry," he mumbled, ducking his head. He waited a beat and whispered, "I think if she was your mother she was more than kind. She was a very special person."
I hope so. Dany blinked quickly; she didn't want to cry. She coughed awkwardly, touching her eye. "Sorry...dust."
His hands fell to his sides. "Of course." They both knew she was lying. He hesitated again and coughed himself, another funny human thing he did sometimes. "So...what...what should we do?"
She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. It was supposed to be her idea to do something to get out of the dark rooms and lighten up–literally– but here she was crying. She wiped at her eyes quickly and rubbed her palms on her jeans. "Um...yes...we should go outside. Let's go Beyond the Wall. You have to know this place well by now?"
He rolled his eyes. "Oh believe me, I do." He chuckled. "Let's see how far we can go."
Dany picked up her camera, slinging the strap over her shoulder along with her phone, although she suspected she might not be using either. Service was terrible this far north and he didn't show up on any sort of photo, camera or otherwise. "Alright, let's go. Come on Ghost!"
Ghost leaped up from his nap, knocking into Drogon who had jumped down from the table. Her cat hissed and ran after the wolf, clearly deciding he wasn't letting them go without him. She didn't think he was going to get far, but more power to him if he wanted to try. She followed Jon out of the Shieldhall and into the yard. He made his way through to the old gate that had always been locked, he explained. The Wall—allegedly a 600-foot wall of ice and snow—did not exist any longer, or at least, not from ice and snow. There were parts of it that still existed that way but much was just rebuilt or demolished, with an old low stone line of demarcation where it used to be.
She walked through the old archway that signified where the gate had been, following a trail she'd spotted one of her first days. Jon drifted near her. In the slightly overcast daylight, he was a bit more visible than when it was sunny. He pointed out spots to her, areas of the old tunnel system and where the old winch system used to be. He knew that much, but nothing else.
Together they talked about everything and nothing. Ghost grabbed sticks and ran at her with them, wanting her to throw them. Drogon gave up not long into the walk and trotted back home. She laughed with Jon, finding him easy to speak with. He's dead, she had to remind herself sometimes. He's a ghost. He doesn't exist. Not really.
They spent the following hours leading into the evening outside and exploring Castle Black's grounds. He said he couldn't go far into the Haunted Forest just yet. "I don't know why, it's like a weird...stopping point," he tried to explain, but clearly was at a loss.
Dany figured they would test one of those boundaries soon. She needed to do a little more research, but she figured it was time. She just had to spring it on him.
They were going to go to Winterfell.