Chapter 13: Chapter 12
Jon, Benjen, and Ser Arthur had been on the move for ten days straight, and by now, the icy wind felt like it had a personal vendetta against them. Seriously, it was like nature's version of an annoying older sibling who just wouldn't quit. The snow-covered wilderness stretched out endlessly, and every mile seemed to add more layers of frost to their gear and determination. But now, Winterfell was just a day away. Jon could almost see the castle's towering walls in his mind, like a beacon promising warmth and a break from the constant chill.
"We're almost there," Benjen said, his voice a mix of relief and tired resolve. "Just one more day's ride, and we'll be home."
Home. Sweet, probably-still-freezing-but-slightly-less-miserable home, Jon thought, feeling a little lighter at the idea of warmth. But then reality came crashing back with the subtlety of a White Walker at a barbecue. Home is also where King Robert and his entourage will be. AKA, the Royal Walking, Talking Spoiler Alert.
Jon nodded, trying to shake off the exhaustion and focus on the plan. "It'll be good to see Winterfell again," he said, his thoughts drifting to the family he hadn't seen in weeks. Assuming I can dodge the drama bomb that is Robert Baratheon long enough to get a decent meal.
Jon's warging session with Ghost had been a total game-changer. Thanks to his link with his direwolf bro, he knew the King's party would roll into Winterfell the following morning. Which means if we time this right, we can sneak in without having to play Twenty Questions with King Robert. No need to explain why I suddenly look like I'm auditioning for the next season of 'Targaryens Gone Wild'.
As they settled around the campfire, Benjen spoke, his tone cutting through the crackling flames. "Avoiding the King's arrival was a solid call. Robert's presence would be a major distraction, and we don't need that kind of attention right now."
Understatement of the year, Uncle, Jon thought, giving a weary nod. Last thing I need is Robert eyeballing me and asking why I suddenly have this whole 'Targaryen glow-up' thing going on. That's a spoiler I'm not ready to drop. "It's definitely better this way. I'm not keen on dealing with Robert's questions or his curiosity just yet."
Ser Arthur, who was busy giving his sword the ol' spit-shine, looked up and added, "We need to stay focused on what's next. The feast will give us the cover we need to blend in and keep a low profile."
Low profile. Right. Because sneaking into a feast filled with Starks, Lannisters, and the Royal Bunch is exactly how you stay under the radar, Jon mused, though he knew Ser Arthur was right. *It's the best shot we've got, so let's hope it works.*
With their plan set, they settled into a rhythm of rest and watchfulness, the firelight dancing across their faces and the shadows around them. Jon felt a familiar thrill of anticipation. Winterfell was within reach, and with a little luck, he'd slip past Robert's notice and get back to his family without too much fuss. Because nothing says 'low-key reunion' like showing up with a legendary swordsman and a small dragon.
Jon's mind was racing faster than a fan theorist on Reddit as he thought about what awaited him back at Winterfell. *Okay, let's recap: I'm walking into a den of secrets with the biggest one being that I'm not even really Jon Snow anymore. I'm Daemon Targaryen. Like, literally. And if that doesn't sound like a plot twist written by a fanfic author, I don't know what does.*
There were so many secrets swirling around him now: his bond with Vermithor, Midnight's surprising connection, and the looming threat of the White Walkers. It feels like I'm carrying the weight of a dozen seasons on my shoulders, but there was also this deep sense of purpose that kept him going. Guess that's what happens when you go from 'Bastard in the North' to 'Potential Savior of Westeros' overnight. No pressure.
As he lay down to rest, Jon's thoughts wandered to his family. What are they going to think? Will they even recognize me? And more importantly, how am I supposed to keep a straight face when I know I'm about to drop one of the biggest bombshells in Westerosi history? He wasn't just Jon Snow anymore; he was Daemon Targaryen now, wielding ancient powers and holding a crucial role in the battle against darkness. It's like I've been dropped into the next book of 'A Song of Ice and Fire,' and spoiler alert—I'm the main character now.
—
The night was calm, almost too calm, like the universe was taking a deep breath before dropping the next big bombshell on Jon. Or, you know, him dropping it on himself. The stars above twinkled down at him, probably sharing some inside joke that he wasn't in on. Oh, sure, go ahead and laugh, cosmic twinkly things. It's not like I just woke up in a medieval fantasy world with dragons and ice zombies. When dawn finally started to break, it felt like the world was nudging him forward, giving him the go-ahead to dive headfirst into whatever came next. Winterfell was just a day away, and Jon was more than ready to get back to its ancient walls. Not to mention some actual food that doesn't taste like desperation and sadness.
By evening, they were ready to roll with the plan. Ser Arthur, who had this uncanny ability to dodge trouble like a pro, was prepping to take Vermithor into the Wolfswood. The dragon—young and currently in the "adorably terrifying" stage—was a constant reminder of the craziness Jon now had to juggle. Because, of course, I've got a dragon now. What's next? A surprise guest appearance by a White Walker? Oh wait...
"We'll find a secure spot in the Wolfswood," Ser Arthur said, his voice all serious and knightly. "Vermithor and I will keep a low profile until you need us. Just be careful in Winterfell."
Jon nodded, doing his best to match Arthur's calm demeanor. How does he do that? Must be a knight thing. "Thanks, Ser Arthur. I'll handle things on my end. Just, you know, keep the dragon under wraps. Preferably no accidental barbecues."
With a final nod, Ser Arthur and Vermithor disappeared into the shadows, like some kind of medieval ninja squad. That left Jon, Benjen, and Midnight to head toward Winterfell. The castle was buzzing with excitement over King Robert's arrival, which was perfect because it meant they could sneak in without causing too much of a stir. Thanks for being the ultimate distraction, Robert. I owe you one.
As they got closer to Winterfell, Jon couldn't help but feel a cocktail of emotions—excitement, anxiety, and maybe a pinch of dread. Like walking into a season finale without knowing if you're getting renewed. Blending in was going to be key, especially with the King, the Queen, and pretty much half the cast of Game of Thrones milling about. No pressure, right? Just a little game of let's-not-get-caught-before-I've-had-dinner.
"I'm just here for the food and the family reunion," Jon muttered to himself, as if the universe would somehow take note and go easy on him. And, oh yeah, saving the world. That's on the to-do list, too. But one thing at a time, okay?
Hood up, head down, Jon followed Benjen into the familiar sights and sounds of Winterfell. The place was just as he remembered from the show, but now there was a weird double vision going on—his memories as Jon Snow and his new perspective as, well, himself. But this wasn't just some fandom dream. He wasn't just Jon Snow, the brooding bastard of Winterfell. He was Daemon Targaryen now—dragon rider, secret powerhouse, and if things went as sideways as they usually did, maybe Westeros's last hope against the White Walkers.
"This is just the beginning," Jon whispered, feeling the weight of what lay ahead. Winterfell was his home, sure, but he wasn't just back for a reunion. He had a dragon in his corner, a direwolf and a Shadowcat by his side, and a script full of spoilers he was about to seriously mess with. Let's see how this plays out.
—
Jon stepped into Winterfell's bustling courtyard, and it was like being dropped into the middle of the most intense medieval cosplay event ever—except this wasn't cosplay, and he wasn't just some kid watching from the sidelines. Nope, he was Jon freaking Snow, right in the middle of the action. Great, just great. First, I get transmigrated into a TV show I binged like, a year ago, and now I've got to navigate a castle full of people who probably want to stab me in the back—or worse, hug me.
Servants rushed around like they were in some sort of medieval marathon, carrying trays of food and drink that looked way better than anything Jon—er, modern-day Jon—had ever seen. Nobles were mingling, throwing around titles and plotting like they were in an episode of Real Housewives of Westeros. Yep, this is exactly how I imagined it… minus the part where I'm actually living it. Man, I hope I don't accidentally start a war or something.
"Remember," Benjen's voice sliced through Jon's mental babbling like a sword through warm butter, "our main goal is to find Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. Everything else can wait."
"Right," Jon replied, trying to keep his voice steady while his brain was busy screaming, Find the Starks, avoid spoilers, don't die—got it! "The Great Hall's probably our best bet. That's where everyone's likely to be."
As they weaved through the stone corridors of Winterfell, Jon couldn't help but feel like he was walking through a Westerosi version of a comic-con—except way more dangerous, and with fewer options for bathroom breaks. Every noble face he passed was like a living, breathing spoiler just waiting to spill the beans on what's to come. Lord Umber? Check. Lady Mormont? Check. That one guy who dies horribly? Double check. It's like playing a game of 'Guess Who?' but with higher stakes and way more fur cloaks.
"Let's head to the Great Hall," Jon said, his voice a little too calm for someone who felt like he was about to face a pop quiz on Westerosi history. "The Northern Lords should be gathering there."
And by 'gathering,' I mean 'conspiring,' because this is Westeros, and everyone's got a plan that could end with someone getting beheaded. Stay cool, Jon. Or Snow. Or whatever you are now.
Moving through the crowd, Jon felt like he was in the middle of a live-action RPG, where every decision had consequences, and every conversation was a potential side quest. Okay, just play it cool. Reconnect with the Starks, avoid blowing any major plotlines, and definitely don't mention dragons. Easy peasy. Except, you know, not at all.
With the Great Hall in sight, Jon braced himself for what was to come. He had to balance finding his family with not accidentally unraveling the entire storyline. No pressure, right? Just the fate of Westeros in your hands, Jon. Or is it Daemon now? Whatever. Just keep it together and don't freak out. Much.
—
Jon stepped into the Great Hall, and it was like walking onto the set of a live-action history channel special—only this time, the stakes were way higher than just answering trivia questions. At the head of the room sat Ned and Catelyn, all stiff politeness as they played the role of perfect hosts to King Robert and Queen Cersei. Their faces screamed, "We're doing this for the North!" but Jon knew better. He needed to talk to them ASAP, but first, priorities—where the heck was Robb?
He scanned the room, dodging a few wandering servants and what looked like a suspiciously high stack of pies. Then, he spotted him: Robb Stark, his bro, already commanding respect from the Northern Lords like he was born to it—which, technically, he was. Jon felt a weird mix of pride and relief flood through him. Look at you, Robb, all grown up and lordly. And here I am, trying not to mess up the timeline. No pressure.
Jon navigated his way through the crowd, flashing polite smiles and nods to a bunch of faces he recognized from those marathon binges of Game of Thrones. There was Lord Umber, Lady Mormont, and Lord Glover. They were basically the MVPs of the North, and in Jon's current predicament, every nod, smile, and handshake was like racking up XP points. In just ten minutes, he was sure he'd earned at least a hundred. Level up, here I come!
"Jon!" Robb's voice broke through his thoughts, and Jon turned to see his brother looking genuinely surprised, and dare he say it, happy. "Didn't expect you back so soon!"
"Neither did I," Jon said with a grin, gripping Robb's forearm in the most Stark-brotherly way possible. Man, it's good to see you. "But there's a lot to discuss, and it couldn't wait."
Robb's face shifted from surprised to serious faster than you could say "Winter is Coming." He led Jon to a quieter corner of the hall. "What's going on? Is everything alright at the Wall?"
Jon lowered his voice, leaning in. "It's complicated. I've learned some… things about my parentage, and there are new threats we need to be ready for. I need your support."
Robb's eyes hardened with that classic Stark resolve. "You've got it, Jon. Whatever you need."
Before Jon could launch into the epic bombshell he was about to drop, a loud, hearty laugh boomed through the room. King Robert, of course. The guy could find a reason to party at a funeral. Jon knew he had to talk to Ned and Catelyn, but the Gacha Points were calling his name, and those points were going to be crucial for whatever madness was about to unfold.
"Let's join the others," Jon suggested, nodding towards the cluster of Northern Lords who were probably planning something politically devious. "I need to talk to Father and Lady Stark, but let's work the room a bit first."
As they moved through the hall, Jon made sure to engage with as many of the Northern Lords and their heirs as he could. Every interaction was a chance to stack up more points, and he was killing it. Each quick chat and sincere nod was like hearing the satisfying *ding* of an experience meter filling up. The closer he got to that next Gacha draw, the more confident he felt about handling whatever Westeros decided to throw his way next. Just a modern-day teenager in a medieval fantasy world, trying not to ruin the plot. What could go wrong?
—
Jon and Robb finally reached the head of the table, where Ned's expression shifted from the usual brooding Stark look to something resembling… was that relief? Huh. Maybe he wasn't the grumpy-cat-on-a-forever-winter-mission that Jon had imagined.
"Jon," Ned greeted warmly, standing up like he hadn't just been part of the most awkward royal dinner party ever. "It's good to see you back."
Catelyn's face was more like, *Okay, what's the catch?* but there was curiosity there too. She had that classic mom look of I'm going to figure out what you're up to, and you can't stop me.
"What brings you back to Winterfell, Jon?" she asked, her voice polite but clearly suspicious.
Jon took a deep breath, the kind that said, *Yep, I'm about to drop a plot bomb.* "There are important matters we need to discuss—things about my future and the safety of the North."
Ned nodded in that solemn Stark way, like he knew the next big thing was about to happen, but they had to get through the mandatory feast first. "We'll talk after the feast."
Jon agreed with a nod, though his inner gamer was already strategizing. This hall was practically a Gacha Points goldmine. Everywhere he looked, Northern Lords and their heirs were just waiting to be chatted up, and each one was like a potential power-up. Why save the world when you can level up first? Priorities, man.
As Jon and Robb navigated through the hall, they played the social game like pros. Every handshake, every nod—it was all about those sweet, sweet points. But then Robb leaned in, pulling a serious face that said, Things just got real.
"Jon, there's something you need to hear," Robb whispered, checking the surroundings like he was in some medieval spy thriller. "Lord Roose Bolton's bastard, Ramsey, was found dead."
Jon widened his eyes, channeling all his acting skills into looking genuinely surprised. "Ramsey? Dead? What happened?"
Robb's tone went from concerned brother to grim future warden of the North. "His body was found flayed—skin peeled off. It was a mess."
Jon shivered, but inside, a tiny part of him was like, Bronn, you beautiful mercenary, you. "Flayed? That's classic Bolton. Any idea who did this?"
Robb shook his head, looking troubled enough for both of them. "No solid leads. Some say it's retribution for Ramsey's own cruelty, others think it might be something darker."
Jon kept his face thoughtful, like, Wow, what a shocking turn of events, while his mind was doing a victory dance. "Even Ramsey didn't deserve that. We need to stay sharp and figure out who's behind it."
"Exactly," Robb agreed, his resolve kicking in. "Father's focused on the King's visit, but he'll look into it once the feast is over. We need to keep our eyes open."
Jon nodded, the weight of the news settling in, but also feeling a bit lighter knowing one less psychopath was lurking in Westeros. "I'll help however I can. For now, let's stay alert and gather as much information as we can. This night's far from over."
As they continued mingling, Jon's Gacha Points kept ticking up like a well-oiled XP machine. Despite the grim news, he stayed sharp, ready for whatever Westeros threw his way next. After all, this was just another level in his epic quest, and Jon was more than ready to tackle it head-on. Bring it on, Westeros. I've got plot armor and a whole lot of modern day snark.
—
As the feast wound down and the hall began to empty, Jon and Robb navigated through the dimly lit corridors of Winterfell. The place was as medieval as it gets, with torches flickering on stone walls, casting creepy shadows that made Jon feel like he'd wandered into the set of Lord of the Rings—minus the hobbits. Robb looked calm, but Jon's brain was doing cartwheels.
Seriously, when did this become my life? One minute, I'm a regular 16-year-old binge-watching Game of Thrones, and the next, I'm walking around in Jon Snow's body, talking about visions and White Walkers like it's just another Tuesday.
They finally reached Lord Stark's solar, where Ned and Catelyn were waiting by the hearth. The room was warm and inviting, but Jon's mind was anything but cozy. More like a dumpster fire, really.
Ned looked up, giving them that "dad who knows you're up to something" look. "Robb, Jon," he greeted, waving them over. "I trust the feast was to your liking?"
"It was, Father," Robb replied, taking his seat like he wasn't about to drop a bombshell. "But we have some important matters to discuss."
Jon took a deep breath. Alright, Snow. Time to throw down the gauntlet. "Lord Stark, Lady Stark," he began, trying to sound more confident than he felt, "we need to talk about my future and the safety of the North."
Ned leaned forward, eyes narrowing like he was trying to see straight into Jon's soul. "What is it, Jon? You know you can speak freely here."
Jon glanced at Robb, who gave him a nod that screamed You've got this, bro. Great, no pressure or anything. "I've had some visions and guidance from the Old Gods," Jon said, trying not to roll his eyes at how cheesy that sounded out loud. "They've shown me a path that involves protecting the North and preparing for the darkness that's coming."
Catelyn raised an eyebrow, looking like she was two seconds away from calling him crazy. "What kind of visions?"
Jon steeled himself, fully aware that this was going to sound like something out of a bad fanfiction. "At the Weirwood Tree, I met the Three-Eyed Raven. He warned me about the White Walkers and told me to prepare. The Old Gods also led me to a cave where I found a shadowcat cub named Midnight. They showed me these."
He pulled out Dawnbreaker and the Wakandan Vibranium Shield, because why not? Go big or go home, right? The sword glowed like something straight out of a fantasy RPG, and the shield—well, it looked like it could take on a T-Rex and come out unscathed.
Ned blinked, and Catelyn's jaw nearly hit the floor. Yeah, that's right. This isn't your average Stark.
Catelyn's skepticism was still there, though. "And how do these prove your visions are real?"
*Oh, come on!* Jon sighed internally. "There's one more thing," he said, eyeing Ghost, who was napping in the corner like he didn't have a care in the world. Time for the dog trick. Jon focused, and suddenly he was seeing through Ghost's eyes. The direwolf got up and padded over to Catelyn, giving her a nuzzle.
Catelyn nearly jumped out of her skin. "Jon... you're inside Ghost?"
Jon snapped back to his own body, giving a small, triumphant smile. "Yes, it's a gift from the Old Gods, inherited through my Stark bloodline. I can warg into Ghost and Midnight. These abilities are meant to help us fight the White Walkers."
Ned's expression shifted from curious to seriously impressed. "The Old Gods have chosen Jon for a reason. We must trust their guidance. But what does this mean for your future? What's your plan?"
Okay, here goes nothing. "I plan to travel to Essos to reunite the Targaryen clan. We'll need their help to fight the Others."
Ned's eyes widened. "Essos? That's a long and dangerous journey. Are you certain it's necessary?"
"Totally," Jon replied, trying not to sound like a teenager who just found out he had a quest in a video game. "Daenerys and Viserys are the last known Targaryens, and their support could be crucial. There are also sellsword companies in Essos that could help us. I need to bring our family together."
Catelyn looked like she wanted to argue, but Robb cut in. "While you're in Essos, Jon, I'll focus on preparing the North. We need to fortify our defenses, gather supplies, and rally the Northern lords. We can't face the White Walkers unprepared."
Ned nodded, his eyes filled with that fatherly concern that made Jon feel all warm and fuzzy inside. "There's one more thing, Jon. King Robert has named me Hand of the King. I'll be heading south to King's Landing to investigate Jon Arryn's suspicious death. There are many questions that need answering."
Jon's brain immediately hit panic mode. "Father, that's dangerous. The politics in the South are like a pit of vipers."
*And I should know. I watched the show.* But aloud, he said, "I know, but it must be done. Jon Arryn was a good man and a friend. If there was foul play, we need to find out. I'll also use my position to rally support from the southern lords. We need allies from all corners of Westeros."
Jon's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Father. Your support will be invaluable. If we can unite the North and the South, we stand a better chance."
Ned placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, and Jon had to fight the urge to tear up. Damn it, man, get it together. "Focus on your mission in Essos. Bring the Targaryens together and return with their strength. Remember, Jon, you are my son, Stark and Targaryen both. You have a home and a family here."
Jon nodded, feeling the weight of his father's words. Great. No pressure or anything. "I won't forget. And I promise to return with the Targaryens. We'll face this threat together."
Robb jumped in, his voice full of that Stark determination. "While you and Father are away, I'll make sure the North is ready. The lords will answer the call to arms. We'll fortify our defenses and gather our strength."
Catelyn added, "We must all do our part. The challenges ahead are great, but with unity and determination, we can prevail."
Jon looked around at his family, feeling a deep sense of resolve. *Alright, this is happening. Let's save the damn world.*
Ned rose, signaling the end of the meeting. "Then it's settled. We each have our tasks. Jon, prepare for your journey to Essos. Robb, ready the North. And I will head south to King's Landing. May the Old Gods watch over us all."
Jon turned to Ned, a question burning in his mind. "Father, who will you seek assistance from in King's Landing to investigate Jon Arryn's death?"
Ned explained, "Catelyn has suggested her childhood friend, Petyr Baelish. As Master of Coin, he may have valuable insights. Do you agree, my lady?"
Catelyn nodded, clearly trusting Baelish more than Jon would've liked. Oh, this is gonna be fun.
Jon's face darkened as he struggled to keep the modern-day expletives from slipping out. "I heard a rumor in White Harbor," he said cautiously, "about Petyr Baelish. It's said he boasts about having... claimed the maidenheads of both Tully sisters."
And boom, just like that, the room went nuclear. Catelyn looked like she'd been slapped, Ned's jaw clenched, and Robb looked between them like he was trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Catelyn turned to Ned, her voice sharp and defensive. "Ned, you must believe me. Petyr has been deceitful for years. This is just another of his lies."
Ned placed a comforting hand on Catelyn's shoulder, the anger in his eyes barely contained. "I trust you, Cat. We'll find another way to get to the truth of Jon Arryn's death, one that doesn't involve Littlefinger."
Robb spoke with concern, the protective older brother vibe in full swing. "Father, be cautious. This revelation about Petyr Baelish shakes my trust in southern allies. We can't afford risks."
Ned nodded. "I understand. I'll proceed with caution and investigate further. For now, let's focus on our tasks."
As the meeting wrapped up, Jon felt the weight of his mission settling on his shoulders like a mountain. But he wasn't alone. He had his family, his friends, and a destiny that was way bigger than anything he'd ever imagined.
Alright, Westeros, Jon thought, stepping out of the solar. You've thrown me into this mess, now watch me flip the script. Game on.
---
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