Chapter 3: Chapter 2
As Jon was deep in thought, strategizing his next move with his new Gacha treasures, the door to his room burst open with a dramatic flair. In charged Arya Stark, her small form a blur of energy as she leaped straight at him.
"Happy Name Day, Jon!" she bellowed, her voice filled with enough excitement to power a trebuchet, as she landed right on top of him.
Jon, completely blindsided by this unexpected assault, stumbled backward, trying to keep his balance. He looked down at Arya's grinning face, her infectious enthusiasm instantly lifting his spirits. Yep, today was indeed his birthday. That much the original Jon Snow's memories confirmed.
"Thanks, Arya," Jon said, chuckling as he attempted to regain his composure. "But, uh, how did you get in here? I'm pretty sure I locked that door last night."
Arya's eyes sparkled with a gleam that only meant mischief. "I have my ways," she said with a grin that suggested breaking into rooms was as routine for her as brushing her teeth.
Jon shook his head, trying to suppress a smile. This girl had more stealth than a ninja and more enthusiasm than a caffeinated squirrel.
But Arya wasn't about to let him ponder her sneaky talents. She practically bounced on her feet, her excitement nearly tangible. "Enough about that!" she declared. "Come on, I've got something to show you."
Before Jon could even process what she was up to, Arya grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the door. Jon followed, caught up in her whirlwind of energy. As he walked, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of surprise Arya had planned.
One thing was for sure—life with Arya Stark was never going to be dull.
—
As Jon and Arya crept into the kitchen, Arya shot him a sly grin that was pure mischief. With a flourish, she revealed her spoils—a plate piled high with lemon cakes, looking like they'd just been snatched from a royal feast.
"Ta-da!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with triumph.
Jon's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Arya, you're amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration. He took a piece of cake, savoring the sweet, tangy flavor.
But his relief was short-lived as a nervous chuckle escaped him. He glanced around, half expecting Lady Catelyn to materialize and catch them red-handed. "Arya, you know your mom's going to blame me if she finds out you've been raiding the kitchen."
Arya just shrugged, her face a picture of nonchalance. "Don't worry, Jon. I've done this plenty of times before," she said, popping another lemon cake into her mouth with a grin that screamed "I'm unstoppable."
Jon shook his head with a smile, realizing he was in for yet another one of Arya's wild escapades. She had a knack for turning even the most mundane tasks into grand adventures. They shared a conspiratorial grin before diving into the stolen treats.
Just as they were about to finish off the last of the lemon cakes, the sound of approaching footsteps made Jon's heart skip a beat. Arya's eyes widened in alarm, and Jon quickly gestured for her to hide behind the counter. He held his breath, hoping they wouldn't get caught.
"I hope you left some for me!" came Robb Stark's voice, filled with playful mischief.
Jon let out a relieved sigh as he recognized his brother's voice. "Robb!" he exclaimed, turning to face him with a sheepish grin. "We might have indulged a bit too much, but there are a few left. Care to join us?"
Robb strolled into the kitchen with a grin that widened at the sight of the half-empty plate of lemon cakes. "I thought I smelled something delicious," he said, grabbing a cake and settling down beside Jon.
Arya emerged from her hiding spot, shooting Robb a playful glare before joining them at the table. The three siblings laughed and shared the sweet treats, enjoying the warm, cozy atmosphere of the kitchen.
As they finished the last of the cakes, Robb turned to Jon with a warm, sincere smile. "Happy Name Day, Jon," he said, his voice filled with affection. "You're not just my brother but my closest friend and confidant. Winterfell wouldn't be the same without you."
Jon's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Robb," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm grateful for your friendship and for being part of this family."
With a shared smile, they clasped hands, their bond as brothers growing stronger in that simple, heartfelt moment.
Robb's grin turned into a mischievous smirk as he pushed away from the table. "Don't think I'm letting you off easy just because it's your Name Day, Jon," he declared, his tone a mix of playful challenge and fierce determination. "In fact, I'm planning to make today's training session a real test."
Jon couldn't help but laugh. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Robb," he replied, his eyes gleaming with competitive spirit. "Let's see what you've got."
With that, the two brothers bounded out of the kitchen and headed toward the training yard. The festive mood of the Name Day quickly gave way to the sharp focus of combat practice. As they stepped onto the training ground, their laughter faded, replaced by the rhythm of steel meeting steel and the intense discipline of their sparring. It was time to push each other to new limits, even on a day meant for celebration.
—
Jon slipped into his padded training gear, feeling like a warrior getting ready for the ultimate showdown. His eyes flashed with determination as he prepared to integrate the Taskmaster character card. "Hestia, let's get Taskmaster's abilities up and running," he said, his voice brimming with excitement.
"Processing integration," Hestia responded, her tone crisp and efficient. Jon could practically feel the hum of energy as Taskmaster's skills began syncing with his own. It was like downloading an epic upgrade to his personal operating system.
With a mix of anticipation and curiosity, Jon checked his stats. He felt like a kid opening a new video game, eager to see what cool new features he'd unlocked. The interface flickered, displaying:
—
Player Name: Jon Snow (Daemon Targaryen)
Titles: Bastard of Winterfell
Gacha Points: 0
Characters Assimilation:
- Fully Assimilated: None
- In Progress: Tony Masters/Taskmaster (Marvel Comics) 1%
Characters Summoned: None
Powers:
- Dragonlord Heritage (Blood of the Dragon)
- Fire Resistance (Blood of the Dragon)
- Strong Leadership (Blood of the Dragon)
- Swordsmanship & Combat Skills (Blood of the Dragon & the First Men)
- Northern Resilience (Blood of the First Men)
- Warging Abilities (Blood of the First Men)
Equipped Items: None
Non-Used Cards:
- Character Card: Selina Kyle/Catwoman (DC Comics)
- Wakandan Shield (MCU)
- Kaer Morhen Armor (The Witcher 3)
- Dawnbreaker (Skyrim)
- Night Fury Egg (How To Train Your Dragon)
- Wiggenweld Potion x05 (Harry Potter)
- Pepperup Potion x05 (Harry Potter)
- Power Boost Card x10
- Weakness Removal Card x10
—
Jon felt a thrill of anticipation as Taskmaster's skills melded with his own. It was like his body was tuning up for a high-stakes game, with every nerve on high alert for the new level of precision and expertise. He gave himself a nod of approval, feeling ready for what was to come.
Stepping onto the training grounds, Jon couldn't help but grin like he was about to play his favorite video game with cheat codes activated. Today's sparring session with Robb was bound to be epic. If Jon had learned anything from his binge-watching of "Game of Thrones," it was that things rarely went as planned—so why not embrace the chaos?
As he approached the field, he mentally reviewed his new abilities, his excitement bubbling over. He could almost hear the fanfare as Taskmaster's skills charged up his combat prowess. This was going to be good. He'd seen Robb in action enough times to know his brother was no slouch, but with his new powers, Jon was ready to give him a run for his money.
—
As Jon stepped onto the training grounds, he couldn't help but appreciate the absurdity of his situation. Here he was, a modern-day teenager stuck in the body of Jon Snow, about to spar with Theon Greyjoy, who had apparently watched one too many melodramatic villains for his own good. Theon's sneer was almost a physical entity, and it practically dripped with sarcasm.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Bastard of Winterfell," Theon drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Think you can actually hold your own in a real fight, or are you just here to show off with your fancy gear?"
Jon's internal monologue was screaming, *Seriously, is this guy for real?* Instead of letting Theon's jabs get to him, Jon focused on his task. After all, he had just integrated Taskmaster's abilities into his skill set, and he was not about to let Theon's theatrics ruin his big debut.
"I'm here to train, Greyjoy," Jon replied with the calm of a zen master who'd just won a prize in tranquility. "And I plan to show you just how real my skills are."
Deciding to up the ante, Jon threw out a challenge like he was auditioning for a reality TV show. "I'll bet I can beat both Robb and Theon in a swordfight," he declared, feeling like he was channeling his inner action hero.
Robb, ever the responsible brother, stepped in with a look that was a mix of concern and brotherly exasperation. "Jon, this isn't a game. We're here to train, not to settle bets."
But Theon, clearly rattled by Jon's calm and unbothered demeanor, tried to claw back some of his bravado. "Afraid your Bastard brother might outshine you, Stark?" he sneered, though his grin was starting to look more like a grimace. "I'll take that bet. Let's see what the Bastard of Winterfell is really made of."
Jon's face was a mask of stoic determination. "Fine," he said, as if he were a samurai preparing for a duel. "Let's settle this."
With his mind racing through the possibilities of using Taskmaster's skills, Jon stepped onto the training grounds, ready to turn this ordinary day into something legendary. The challenge was set, and as Jon faced off against Theon and Robb, he could practically hear the dramatic music playing in the background of his mental movie. The stakes were high, and Jon was more than ready to prove himself.
—
Jon stepped onto the training grounds, ready to show off his new abilities—though he had only just begun tapping into Taskmaster's skills. He was feeling pretty good about his chances, mostly because he knew Robb and Theon didn't have the faintest clue what was coming. If Jon had to rate his confidence on a scale from 1 to "I binge-watched the entire series and know the spoilers," he was definitely leaning toward the latter.
Robb and Theon exchanged glances that practically screamed "We don't believe this guy," and Jon was more than happy to oblige with a show. Ser Rodrik Cassel gave the signal, and the fight began. Jon had to admit, it was like the start of a new season of his favorite show—except he was living in it.
Jon's moves were smooth, his strikes a mix of basic techniques and instinct, like he was warming up for a grand performance. It wasn't long before Robb and Theon started to see that Jon wasn't just another underdog. Oh no, he was a plot twist waiting to happen.
Theon, with his typical flair for sarcasm, tried to get under Jon's skin. "Is this all you've got, Bastard?" he taunted. "I thought you were here to challenge the heir to Winterfell."
Jon gave him a look that said, "Seriously? Is that the best you've got?" He responded with a calm that made Theon's smirk falter. With every strike and counter, Jon's control over Taskmaster's abilities became more apparent. From 1% to 3%, he was using these skills like a pro, and Theon's attempts to distract him were only making Jon more focused.
Robb, now really watching Jon, started to look less like a skeptical older brother and more like a fan watching a surprise MVP. His doubts were turning into something that looked suspiciously like respect.
Theon, on the other hand, was having a meltdown. His taunts were getting more desperate, like he was trying to convince himself rather than Jon. Jon kept his cool, even as Theon's frustration reached its peak. When Jon hit 5% of Taskmaster's abilities, it was like watching a climactic scene in a movie—the hero finally unleashing their full potential.
With a precise move, Jon disarmed Theon, who looked at his empty hands like he'd just found out his favorite character had been killed off. Jon, now operating at 7% of Taskmaster's abilities, turned his focus to Robb.
Robb, still digesting Theon's defeat, braced for what Jon had next. The fight was intense, and Jon's blade moved with an almost supernatural precision. At 8%, he was more than just a match for Robb; he was giving him a serious challenge.
In a final, decisive move, Jon disarmed Robb. Robb looked at Jon with a mix of surprise and pride. It was clear Jon had surpassed every expectation he'd had.
As the duel ended, Jon lowered his sword, panting slightly but radiating triumph. He gave both Robb and Theon a nod, showing respect for the tough fight they'd given him. This wasn't just a victory; it was a clear signal that Jon Snow was a force to be reckoned with—at least in the context of the plot he knew so well.
—
As Jon caught his breath, a wave of exhilaration surged through him, mixing with a newfound sense of power and confidence. The duel had pushed him to his limits, but instead of feeling drained, he was practically buzzing with energy.
He took a quick look at his stats. Taskmaster's abilities were now up to 8%. "Sweet," he thought, noting the percentage. It was like unlocking a new level in a video game. The grin on his face was hard to contain. He wasn't just winning; he was proving that he could master these skills—skills that were once just a distant fantasy.
Inside his head, Jon had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "So, it turns out I'm not just some random kid who fell into a medieval fantasy. I'm actually leveling up like some kind of video game hero." He felt like he was living in a mashup of his favorite games and the epic battles he'd binge-watched on TV.
He knew there was a lot more to unlock. This was just the beginning. The path ahead was filled with challenges, but that was part of the thrill. He was getting closer to tapping into the full potential of his abilities. With each day, he was stepping further into the role of the formidable warrior he'd always imagined. And in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think: "If this keeps up, maybe I'll be able to outfight dragons before breakfast."
—
From their perch above the training grounds, Catelyn and Ned Stark watch the duel unfold, their feelings a swirl of pride and unease. As Jon emerges victorious, a shadow of anger clouds Catelyn's face.
"I can't believe that boy," she hisses, gripping the railing with white-knuckled intensity. "He actually had the nerve to challenge Robb and Theon, and on his Name Day, no less."
Ned, his face a mask of calm understanding, places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Catelyn, you know Jon. He's always had that spark, that drive to prove himself," he says gently. "And today, he's shown us just how far he's come."
But Catelyn's frustration runs deeper than just Jon's defiance. It's the bitter contrast between Jon's appearance and her own children's features that stings the most. While Jon looks unmistakably Stark, her children, save for Arya who shares a fierce spark, have Tully traits.
"He's still a bastard, Ned," Catelyn retorts, her voice edged with frustration. "No amount of skill with a sword can change that."
As Jon stands tall amidst his defeated opponents, Catelyn's emotions are a turbulent storm. Her maternal pride clashes with a deep-seated resentment, each feeling pulling her in different directions.
—
As Ned watches Jon bask in the glory of his victory, a wave of bittersweet memories crashes over him, transporting him back to a time long past. In his mind's eye, he sees his sister Lyanna's face, her voice a haunting whisper from a distant memory.
"Promise me, Ned," she had said, her voice trembling amidst the chaos of war. "Promise me you'll tell him the truth when he comes of age, on his 16th Nameday."
Ned's heart aches with the weight of that promise, an oath sworn in the final moments of a loved one's life. He's carried the burden of that secret for years, shielding Jon from the truth about his parentage, even as whispers of his bastard status trailed him like a shadow.
Now, as Jon stands victorious before him, Ned feels the weight of that promise pressing down on him more than ever. With a heavy heart and firm resolve, he turns to his wife, Catelyn, whose eyes are clouded with concern.
"It's time, Catelyn," Ned says, his voice laden with emotion. "It's time for Jon to know the truth about who he is and where he comes from." Catelyn's eyes widen in surprise, confusion flickering across her face.
"The truth?" she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. "What truth, Ned?"
Ned feels the gravity of the moment settle over him as he prepares to share the secret he has kept hidden for so long. He reaches out and takes her hand, his resolve steeling for the difficult conversation that lies ahead.
"It's about Jon," he begins, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "About his true parentage and the promise I made to Lyanna all those years ago." As the words leave his lips, he can see the shock and disbelief in Catelyn's eyes, a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface.
Ned then asked his Steward, Vayon Poole, to summon Jon and Robb to his solar. He knows that after today, their family will never be the same, that the truth will bring a reckoning that could shake their world to its core. But he also knows that it's a burden they must face together, bound by love and honor, no matter the cost.
---
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