The Inner Beast

Jon gripped the bottle he held in his hand and wondered if he was being utterly stupid.

If Robb were there he’d tell him that yes, yes he was being stupid and he should toss the damn thing away. He’d gotten it from a wood witch, or at least an old crone who CLAIMED to be a wood witch, and who knew what she’d brewed and poured for him when he’d mustered the nerve to enter her hut? Theon would laugh and say he was stupid and then challenge him to drink it unless he was a fucking chicken. Probably would hope it WAS poison, the ass.

But Theon and Robb weren’t there. His lord father had taken him and the other boys with him to visit the Karstarks. Jon wasn’t allowed to go because he was a bastard and apparently Lord Karstark had dealt with an issue concerning a bastard recently and father didn’t want to anger him. Even baby Rickon had gone and most of the men of Winterfell as well. But not him.

Which meant Jon was stuck in Winterfell, doing all he could do to avoid the glares of his father’s wife, Lady Catelyn. She wouldn’t harm him but she wouldn’t go out of her way to make him feel welcome and sometimes that was a harsher blow.

Jon removed the cork for the fifth time and smelled the liquid inside. It didn’t smell like poison. Didn’t smell really like anything. Poison should smell vile, right?

He’d learned of the wood witch from one of the guards; he was a bastard too, only knowing his mother had been a servant in the Umber house. The wood witch had asked him about his mother, taken a hair from a bear because "even a servant of House Umber is a Bear!", and then made a potion. When he’d drank it down he’d seen a vision of his father and a sense of understanding when it came to who he was.

Jon… so wanted that.

So he’d finally worked up the nerve to see the wood witch. She had asked him about his parents and he’d informed her that he was the bastard of Lord Stark. She had nodded, mixed up a potion, and requested a tuff of hair from Ghost, which Jon had been happy to provide. She’d only asked him one more time if he was sure about this, that his mother wasn't someone from Winterfell (being rather intense about it too) before dropping the fur inside, letting it melt before bottling up the potion.

Which he held in his hand.

“Just do it,” he whispered to himself before raising the potion to his lips and quickly drinking it down. Worse case it would kill him and at least he’d finally make Lady Stark happy that-

Jon’s insides clenched and he let out a moan as he stumbled forward.

He clenched his eyes shut as his body roiled and trembled. He felt so hot… he could feel his shirt clinging to his skin as he began to sweat. He fell to his knees and then pressed his hand to the floor, letting out another moan as he struggled to breathe. It didn’t hurt though… that was the strange thing. There was some cramping but now… he just felt like everything was being twisted and moved around. He was gasping for air but he wasn’t in pain. He-

Jon looked down at his hands, eyes going wide as he stared at his fingers. The nails had become pitch black while his skin was reddening with blood. Before his very eyes his fingers began to lengthen, the tips becoming pointier as his nails thickened and began to grow over his fingers, becoming like claws. His flesh rippled and began to crack… no. It wasn’t cracking. It wasn’t cracking at all. It was separating… into scales.

He felt his feet straining in his boots and tried to kick them off only to feel his pains rip along the sides, exposing thick muscular calves and thighs, just as red as his hands. His boots strained and then burst open, revealing thick toes and widening soles that were already scaly even as he wiggled his feet in relief. His shirt was now tearing too but rather than be shocked Jon slowly rose up and tore it away, looking down at his chest. The muscles he’d developed fighting in the yard pulsed and thickened with every breath even as his flesh was covered in the red scales that were rapidly flowing over his body.

“Mirror,” he said, his voice sounding the same if a touch… mightier. “Need a mirror…” he spun and walked over to the one mounted on the wall, needing to see what was happening. He smiled as he watched his body swell larger, his legs lengthening so that he rose towards the ceiling, his feet becoming wider to support his growing bulk. His stomach was rippled with hard scaly abs and his pecs bounced from the slightest twitching of his muscles. He saw his pants twitch in the front and Jon let out a laugh before ripping them off with a savage tear, revealing his rapidly inflating cock. Flaccid as it was now as long as it was when he had been rock hard before all this and as the blood rushed through him he felt it getting bigger, meatier, forcing his fingers apart as he stroked himself. His balls became heavy churning with what he understood from pure instinct was potent cum.

Join looked at his reflection, watching with a lustful smirk as the final changes began, his hand jerking himself off as he reached 9 feet in height. His face bulged and his nose and mouth merged into a snout, teeth becoming razor sharp as horns grew on his forehead and in his black hair, which twisted around them as it grow thicker and wilder. He rolled his shoulders and felt a tearing sensation along his scaled skin… but it was alright. It was fine. It should happen. Needed to happen.

“Perfect,” Jon whispered as a pair of red wings unfurled from his back while a long crimson tail emerged from the base of his spin, his scales instantly sealing back up and joining with the new appendages that he knew at once how to use. Everything made so much sense now… the transformation had not just altered his body but unlocked his mind, just as the wood witch had promised. But rather than show him his past and his mother it shoved him the future. He understood what he needed to do.

He was a dragon. Not a wolf. A dragon. And dragons conquered. That was what the maesters all said. But in Jon’s mind it wasn’t lands he needed… not yet. No, he needed to conqueror something else.

Or rather… someone else.