First, I killed the pyromancer. And then when the king turned to flee, I drove my sword into his back. ‘Burn them all,’ he kept saying. 'Burn them all.’ I don’t think he expected to die. He… he meant to… burn with the rest of us and rise again, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn’t happen.
“Allow me to give my lord one last piece of counsel,” the old man had said, “the same counsel that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born.” The old man felt Jon’s face. “You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.”
Here’s to the new me. The old me. The you-don’t-even-know-me. To the me that died twice before I met you: third time’s the charm. Been chewed up and spit out more than I’ve ever seen a sunrise, and I’ve only ever liked sunrises when I’m with you. I’ll become something you’ve never seen before, nothing borrowed, nothing blue. Set my head aflame, built a home out of the ashes, let the wind blow it away into the sun. The breeze sings, lo que está muerto no puede morir. And when there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
I don’t know that kid anymore, and maybe I never knew him at all.