In early morning around six, Jon woke up in his small chamber. The air was cold, his breath faintly misting in the dim light filtering through the shutters. He stretched his arms, shook the stiffness from his legs, and slipped quietly from his bed. There was no hesitation in his steps. He knew what he wanted—to grow stronger, even if it was only one day at a time.
He walked out into the yard, the stones of Winterfell still wet with dew. After a few slow stretches, he started running light laps around the training ground. His small legs carried him clumsily, but steadily. Each lap pushed a little heat into his body. By the time the sun had climbed a little higher, he was sweating, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.
At seven, he picked up a wooden sword and went through the same swings Ser Rodrik had corrected yesterday. Step, swing, reset. Step, swing, reset. He wasn't strong, but he was stubborn. And stubbornness, Jon thought, could make up for a lot.
By around eight, he stopped, breathing hard. His palms stung, his shoulders burned, but a quiet satisfaction lingered. He had done his part for the morning.
After washing quickly, he changed into clean clothes and went to join the Starks at breakfast. The smell of bread and meat filled the hall, mingling with smoke from the torches. Ned Stark sat in his place, quiet as always, and Lady Catelyn kept her composed distance.
Jon ate quietly, glancing now and then at Robb. His brother's laughter filled the space easily, like he belonged in every corner of the hall. Jon had to remind himself that Robb was only a boy like him. A boy who still didn't know how much weight the world could put on shoulders.
After the meal, Robb grabbed Jon's sleeve.
"Come on," Robb grinned, "let's play touch-and-run."
Jon couldn't help but smile back. They raced through the yard, darting between walls and posts, shouting, laughing, slipping on stones. For nearly two hours, the world was nothing but running feet and quick breaths. At one point, Sansa wandered close, her soft laughter ringing as she watched the two boys chase each other.
Jon slowed for a moment, his chest tightening. Her smile was wide, innocent, untouched. He knew, though—he knew what lay ahead.
'One day,' Jon thought bitterly, 'they'll shape her into something else. Her mother, the septa, the songs about golden princes and bright castles. They'll take this laughter from her and replace it with empty dreams. And she'll chase after an idiot like Joffrey.'
His fist clenched at his side.
'Not this time. I won't let her lose this joy. Even if I have to take steps she won't understand, even if I have to stand against things bigger than me—I'll keep that smile safe.'
The thought settled into him like iron.
It was around noon when Jon drifted away from the yard and wandered into Winterfell's library. The room smelled of parchment and old wood, quiet except for the scratching of quills somewhere deeper inside.
Jon reached for a book, running his fingers along the spine. He opened it, eager to dive into its pages, but the words swam before his eyes—lines and shapes he couldn't make sense of. The letters blurred, twisting into nonsense. Frustration rose in his chest. He could understand the sounds of this world, but here, on the page, the meaning was locked away.
He stared harder, willing the words to make sense, but they refused him. His small fists tightened against the parchment.
A grey-haired maester, passing between shelves, paused at the sight of him. His eyes, sharp beneath heavy lids, studied the boy's tense expression. "Young Snow? Struggling with something?"
Jon turned, cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and determination. "Maester… I want to read. I tried, but I don't know how. Can you teach me?"
The old man blinked, surprised. Most children at five were far more interested in play than letters. A spark of respect flickered in his eyes, though his voice remained steady.
"Time is not plentiful for me, child. But…" He looked Jon over as if weighing him. For him to ask so early—it shows something. . The boy wants knowledge. Not common in bastards.'
Finally, he nodded. "I will soon begin lessons for both you and young Robb. But if you wish, I can show you the letters now."
Jon's face brightened. "Please."
The maester patiently drew out the shapes, speaking their sounds. Jon listened carefully, repeating them, sometimes fumbling, but forcing the shapes into his mind. After some time, the maester excused himself, promising more formal lessons later.
Jon remained. He took a scrap of parchment and, in his own rough script, rewrote the letters alongside the English alphabet he still remembered. His hand shook, but slowly the page filled with notes.
'Not perfect, but enough. I can build from this.'
Hours slipped past unnoticed. When he looked up, three, maybe four hours had gone. He had managed to read through nearly a fourth of a book—"History of the North"—painful at first, but growing easier as his eyes and mind adjusted.
A soft chime sounded in his head.
[System Notification]
+10 XP
Progress Recognized: Reading Practice Task Generated: A sharp mind is needed to guide a sharp blade. New Task: Read 10 books in one month Reward: 100 XP
Jon smiled faintly. 'A good mind, a good body. They go together. This is the right path.'
He closed the book and finally left the library, his body stiff from sitting so long.
The yard was still lively when he returned. Ser Rodrik stood with arms crossed, watching the boys of the household. His gaze found Jon quickly.
"Didn't see you this morning," the knight said. "I thought you might return after yesterday's effort."
Jon scratched the back of his neck. "I was… playing with Robb. I'm still figuring out what I should do every day."
Rodrik's mustache twitched, not unkindly. "Routine is a soldier's best friend, boy. But you'll learn it soon enough. Formal training will begin for you and Robb in due time. I'll speak to Lord Stark when the moment's right."
Jon bowed his head respectfully. Then, with permission, he picked up the wooden sword and began to practice. Swing, step, reset. Swing, step, reset.
This time, he remembered Rodrik's advice—loosen the grip, relax, let strength flow instead of fighting it. The motions smoothed, just slightly. Enough to feel different.
With a deep breath, Jon lifted the sword again. The swing came smoother this time, his stance less stiff, his grip looser.
[System Notification]
Basic Swordsmanship(Level 1): 26% → 38% (12%↑)
+20 XP
A small victory, but enough to lift his mood. Rodrik nodded once, then left him to his own efforts. Jon practiced another hour, two maybe, until the sky dimmed and torches flickered alive.
Later, in his room, Jon sat on his bed and thought. His body ached, his hands raw, but his mind refused to rest.
'Strength isn't enough. I know that. If I want to protect Robb, if I want to keep Sansa's smile safe, I need more. I wasn't the best communicator back home, not the best at reaching people. But I know the power of stories. I've seen how words can move hearts.'
His eyes lingered on the shadows of the chamber.
'If I tell them stories—good ones—it'll help me connect. With Robb. With Sansa. With the people around me. It can build bridges I couldn't build as myself… but maybe Jon Snow can.'
He lay back, pulling the furs over his small body.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would plan. A routine for training, for study, for building bonds. Step by step.
As his eyes closed, the system flickered once more.
[System Progress Log]
Training: Sword Practice +12% Reading: Letters Learned, 1/10 books started Endurance: Slight improvement New Task: 1/10 books started
+20 XP
Jon drifted into sleep.
And he dreamed again. Of snow, of forests, of a sky vast and endless. And in the distance—eyes that weren't his own, watching.
STATUS
Name: Jon Snow (Aegon Targaryen)
Age: 5
Title: Bastard of Winterfell
Mother: Lyanna Stark (Hidden)
Status: Stable
Condition: Cold, Slight Fatigue
XP: 250 → 280
Level: 1
Attributes: (Locked — progression by growth only)
(Average adult 10, Max 40) (due to bloodlines and magic in this world)
Strength: 3 → 3.1
Endurance: 3.1 → 3.2
Agility: 4 → 4.1
Intelligence: 7
Perception: 6
Charisma: 5
Talents:
Warg (Dormant)
Stark Bloodline
Targaryen Bloodline
Dragon Affinity (Dormant)
Skills:
Basic Swordsmanship (Level 1 ) (Progression 26% → 38%)+
Observation (Passive) (Level 2 Progression 6% ) +
Language: Westerosi Common (Fluent, Level 7 )+
: Reading And Writing (Level 1 50% ↑) New
System Modules:
Training
Quests
Path of the Warg
Objective: Find and bond with an animal.
Reward: Unlock Warg (Dormant) skill. (started)
2) A sharp mind is needed to guide a sharp blade.
Objective: Read 10 books in one month
Reward: 100 XP
Skill Tree 1) Swordsmanship unlocked.
Note:- New modules will be added as you progress