When the potent and magical blood of the Stark and Targaryen bloodlines mixed for the first time in twelve millennia, a force of nature awakened in the boy who was once only known as the Bastard of Winterfell.
System/Gamer Jon Snow fic.
Jon stepped aside quickly as the blade whizzed past where he had been standing a moment ago. Robb was fighting like a man possessed today, and Jon could find no opening in his brother's stance.
"Come on, Brother, you have to fight back!" Robb yelled as he charged again with a wild and furious swing of his sword toward Jon's torso. Jon deflected it easily enough, but without time to pull back, Robb slammed forward with his full force and shoulder-rammed Jon into the ground.
Jon groaned as he rolled to the side and got up. Stars and lights were all he could see for a moment before clarity returned.
Fine, if he wants to play dirty, then so can I, he thought, a smirk forming on his face.
Jon charged at Robb, sword overhead and with reckless abandon, yet at the last moment, he swerved to the side just as Robb's sword came down on his shadow. With full force, he kicked to the side, and Robb came tumbling to the ground—just as Jon had a moment ago.
Robb groaned as he stood up a second later, not giving Jon enough time to force a yield. "I deserved that one," he admitted.
"But it's time to end this match, Snow," he said, shifting into his stance once more as they circled each other in the yard like vultures stalking prey. Then, in a blur, Robb swept forward, and they danced again.
Jon ducked, deflected, and avoided for as long as he could, but his brother's superior strength and stamina got the better of him. Then, in a moment he would remember for the rest of his life, Jon slipped on a loose rock and lost his balance.
Time slowed to a standstill as he saw Robb's practice sword inch closer and closer to his unprotected head. A look of shock passed over Robb's face, but he couldn't slow the momentum of his violent swing.
Warning: Fatal danger detected.
The user is unable to respond to danger in time.
Analyzing…
Solution detected.
User force overtake protocol initiated.
Protocol successful.
For Jon, time froze to a standstill. The sword was mere inches away from striking his skull, and strange words appeared in his vision.
Is this it? Am I already dead? Perhaps these are the last things I'll ever see?
Just as suddenly as time froze, it ran at full force again—yet he had no control over his body. It was the strangest feeling he had ever known. It was as if someone else had taken control of his body, and he was just a spectator.
Then, with strength and speed Jon had never possessed, his body moved.
For Robb, it was as if Jon had still been in front of him, at the mercy of his incoming blade. And then—just as he blinked—Jon was suddenly at his side, sword at his neck.
How? Robb thought in absolute shock. It was as if his brother had moved faster than he could follow. Jon had never shown that level of speed before. Still, Robb was grateful he had—he might have accidentally killed him otherwise.
Jon looked just as shocked. No words came from his mouth. They stared at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air.
"Well, I suppose I yield then," Robb said.
The shock on Jon's face shifted into a grimace. "Yes. I just got lucky."
Robb shook his head. "No, that was all skill. That speed—why have you never used it before?"
Jon didn't speak for a moment. "I... I don't know. It was like my body moved all by itself. I'm not even sure what happened."
Robb scoffed. "Well, I for one am glad you did. That tumble nearly killed you."
Jon could only nod, but inside, his thoughts were a whirlwind. The strange words had vanished from his vision, and he had full control of his body again. Part of him wondered if it had been a hallucination—after all, he and Theon had a drinking contest the night before.
But deep down, he knew the truth: whatever happened just now was real.
Jon sat in his solar, deep in contemplation. The events from earlier replayed in his mind over and over.
Those strange words—he had no idea what they meant, nor why he, of all people, had seen them. He was half-tempted to bring his worries to his father, or perhaps the maester. But he didn't want to be thought mad or witless. Gods only knew what Lady Catelyn would say. So he kept his thoughts to himself.
Just as he was about to prepare for sleep, he heard a sound.
Thum...
It was deep—deeper than he could describe. As if it came from his very soul.
Then came another sound: an incredibly rich and resonant bell, like the one in the sept his father built for his wife, yet more beautiful. And without the prejudice of the Faith.
Chime...
It was sudden and indescribable. It felt as though his body had gone through his eyes. As if a hook had pulled him through himself.
An eruption of colors, shapes, and sounds he had never imagined burst around him.
He stood in what felt like the void of existence itself. Shards of pure, ethereal essence spun around him and shattered into thousands of pieces—each embedded with its own memory of the world.
The sensory overload shattered Jon's mind. He could no longer think. In fact, he was unable to do anything at all.
Then, everything unnatural vanished at once. He was left floating in a void of black. It was the most pleasant feeling Jon had ever experienced.
"Emissary of the Old Ones."
A deep and unnatural voice echoed around him.
"You have been called upon, as once we called another—twelve millennia ago."
Jon suddenly found himself kneeling, though there was nothing to kneel on.
From the darkness came three figures. Jon's eyes snapped open, and his mouth hung wide.
Creatures... no—Gods.
They stood before him. He couldn't speak. He could only watch, mind splintering into a thousand pieces at the sight of beings forged from unnatural geometry—witnessed by mortal eyes for the first time in twelve thousand years.
Mind shattered…
Initiating repair protocol…
Mindscape repaired…
Warning!
Repeated exposure to the Old Ones by an unprepared mind will cause madness.
Initiating temporary defense mechanism…
He could think once more. The Gods, which had stood before him in perfect clarity, became blurred shapes in space. The dread and terror that had filled him were replaced by a strange, calming sensation.
"Once again, the mortal mind cannot begin to comprehend our essence. Nonetheless, the boon we granted you shall suffice for the time being."
Before, it had felt as if his mouth were sewn shut, his tongue tied. But now, the words escaped from his lips.
"Who... what are you?"
"To explain that would take longer than the years that have passed on this world. But for a mortal such as you, it is enough to know—we are what your people consider the Old Gods."
Jon felt his head spin. The Old Gods? What could they possibly want with him? He was just a bastard.
As if reading his thoughts, the beings spoke in unison.
"It matters not the status of your birth, nor the circumstances. It is your Oldblood which gives you purpose."
"My Oldblood?" he asked, unsure.
"Eons ago, we bestowed boons upon the favored bloodlines. As time passed, the blood diluted and withered to nothing. Yet we have deemed your blood worthy. From your father comes the blood of the Dragon. From your mother comes the blood of the Builders."
Jon was stunned. Blood of the Dragon? Blood of the Builders? None of it made sense. His father was a Stark. He knew little of his mother.
"You are mistaken. You have been told lies we have no patience to unravel for you. As such, we must accelerate the process."
Jon felt himself pulled forward toward the Old Gods, a hook yanking from his chest. Then, he felt an ancient, withered finger touch his temple.
And in that moment…
He understood.
Thousands of memories flashed through his mind, fusing with his soul. Truths buried beneath lies were revealed.
His true father.
His true mother.
The truth of the Rebellion.
The conspiracy of the maesters.
The false gods of the South.
And in that moment, he understood why the True Gods had spoken to him.
It was his mission—his destiny:
To unify the Seven Kingdoms under his rightful rule.
To banish the Andal gods and their practitioners back to the lands they came from.
To burn down every idol, every sept, every symbol of the Seven False Ones of Andalos.
To correct the incorrect.
And then, Jon was back in his solar.
And he knew what must be done.