章節 5: Chapter 4
Three days had passed since Ned Stark had dropped the most epic bombshell ever, and it was still making waves like a boulder in a still pond. Awkward family dinners were now the norm, and Jon was trying to navigate this tangled mess of Westeros politics and familial revelations. He wasn't just Jon Snow anymore—nope, he was Jon Smith, a 16-year-old from the modern world stuck in the body of a character from a TV show he'd binge-watched way too many times. Talk about a plot twist.
So here Jon was, riding alongside Ned, Robb, Bran, and Theon. The cold air nipped at his face, a constant reminder that he was definitely not in his old, cozy living room anymore. Two Stark bannermen came galloping up, looking serious and grim. "My lord," one of them called out to Ned, "we've found the deserter. His hands are bound to prevent any escape."
Ned gave them his trademark stoic nod. You know, the one that said, "Yes, I'm the lord of Winterfell, and no, I'm not smiling." The bannermen moved aside, and Jon's heart raced. He was about to meet his future direwolf, Ghost, a highlight of the series and definitely on his top ten list of things to look forward to. But being part of this show wasn't all fun and games—this was where things got real.
Jon's modern brain was working overtime. He needed to figure out how to avoid the many pitfalls of Westeros, like getting killed or tangled up in royal backstabbing. His Gacha points were a decent 230, but staying in Winterfell when Robert Baratheon arrived was probably a bad idea. His plan? Step one: Get out of Winterfell. Step two: Head to the Wall, maybe pick a fight with some Wildlings, and take care of a few other things along the way. Perfect excuse for a visit to Uncle Benjen and a little time to figure things out.
Ned approached the deserter, who was kneeling by a rock, looking like he'd just gotten some bad news from a particularly chatty raven. "Anything you wish to say?" Ned asked, his voice as calm as a still lake.
The deserter's voice shook. "I know I should've returned to the Wall. The white walkers… they've returned."
Ned's face didn't flinch as he delivered the sentence. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
With a swift, practiced motion, Ned brought Ice down, severing the man's head cleanly. Jon watched, caught between the surreal realization that this was really happening and the memory of seeing it on TV.
Leaning over to Bran, who was wide-eyed and pale, Jon whispered, "Don't look away. Father will know if you did."
Bran nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the scene, though he looked like he might faint any second.
"You did well, Bran," Jon said, trying to sound reassuring even as his own thoughts raced.
Bran, still clearly shaken, asked, "Do you believe what he said? About the white walkers returning?"
Jon's expression turned serious. "Aye, I do."
Bran's eyes widened in shock, but Jon decided to keep the rest of the details under wraps for now. There would be time for that later. For now, he needed to focus. Every decision from here on out was critical, and Jon wasn't about to waste this chance to steer things in his favor—his way.
—
The group marched through the Wolfswood, the trees stretching their twisted limbs like creepy guardians of some ancient secret. Jon was trying to stay chill, but it wasn't easy. After all, he was a 16-year-old modern kid who'd somehow ended up in the body of Jon Snow from Game of Thrones. Yeah, that Jon Snow. The one who had direwolves and ice zombies and all kinds of messy family drama. And now, he was on the verge of witnessing one of the most iconic scenes from the show, which was a lot more intense in real life.
When they finally came upon the dead direwolf, Jon's heart did a weird little dance. He'd seen this scene on TV a dozen times, but seeing it in person made it way more real—and way more nerve-wracking. Leading Ned to the spot, Jon tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn't about to have a major freak-out over a dead wolf.
"A direwolf," Robb said, sounding like he was in awe. And honestly, who wouldn't be? Direwolves were pretty epic.
"A dead direwolf, actually," Jon replied, his voice more casual than he felt. The sight of the fallen beast was giving him major chills.
Theon, always eager to be the big shot, shrugged and made a face. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall. We best be killing the pups then."
Jon's hand instinctively reached for his sword. There was no way in the Seven Hells he was letting Theon near those pups. Before he could do anything, Bran's panicked shout rang out. "No, don't!"
Robb stepped in, backing Bran up with a commanding presence. "Put away your blade," he ordered, giving Jon a look that said he'd handle it.
Jon took a deep breath. He wasn't just a fan of the show anymore; he was part of it. "Stand down, Greyjoy," Jon said, trying to sound as authoritative as he could, even though he felt like a total imposter.
Theon sneered, clearly unimpressed. "I take neither my orders from you—especially not from you, bastard," he spat, clearly trying to get under Jon's skin.
Jon didn't flinch. He needed to get this right. "Lord Stark, there are five direwolf pups. One for each of my siblings. They were meant to have them."
Ned's expression softened slightly, though he was clearly struggling with the decision. "Fine," he sighed. "You'll feed them yourselves. If they die, you bury them yourselves. Let them die, and it's bread and water for a year."
With that settled, Jon slipped away from the group, his eyes scanning the area for what he was really looking for. Nestled among the roots was a white direwolf pup with striking red eyes. Ghost. The little guy looked up at Jon, and for a moment, Jon felt like he could breathe again. This was his new companion, his own direwolf.
Theon, ever the joker, broke the silence. "That one's yours, Snow," he said with a smirk.
Jon couldn't help but smile. This was Ghost, the one direwolf he'd been hoping for. "Why are you smiling?" Theon asked, clearly confused.
"No reason," Jon said with a casual shrug. He caught Robb's eye, and Robb gave him a knowing nod. Jon gently scratched Ghost's belly, feeling the warmth of the pup calm his nerves.
Robb, his voice soft, asked, "What will you name him?"
Jon looked down at the white wolf, feeling an immediate connection. "Ghost," he said quietly. The pup's intelligent red eyes seemed to mirror Jon's own feelings of hope. For the first time since being thrown into this bizarre new life, Jon felt like maybe things might just turn out alright.
—
As Ned, Jon, Robb, Theon, and Bran entered Winterfell Castle, the mood was thick enough to cut with a sword. Jon's mind was buzzing with thoughts about the direwolf pups, which, in this case, felt more like tiny ticking time bombs. This wasn't the first time Jon had faced a family drama of epic proportions, but it sure was the most fur-covered one.
The moment they walked into the hall, Catelyn's reaction was immediate and fiery. Her eyes widened as she spotted the pups, and she spun around to Ned, her voice a mixture of disbelief and fury. "Ned, what in the gods' names is this?" she demanded. It was as if the sight of the tiny wolves was going to trigger the apocalypse.
Ned, as unflappable as ever, met her gaze with a calmness that was starting to make Jon wonder if the man had ice water in his veins. "Catelyn, these pups are a blessing," he said, as though he were discussing a particularly nice batch of ale. "They're meant to be part of our family, to grow up alongside our children."
Catelyn was having none of it. "They're omens, Ned," she shot back, her fear barely hidden. "The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, but bringing them into our home now, with everything that's happening… it's madness."
Jon, standing there like a fish out of water, felt a pang of guilt. He knew these pups were more than just symbols—they were supposed to be the Stark kids' loyal companions. And here he was, caught in the middle of an epic family showdown.
Robb, ever the peacemaker, stepped up to the plate. "Mother, please," he said, trying to sound as reasonable as someone could in a crisis. "They're just pups. They're not going to hurt anyone."
Theon and Bran hung back, clearly uncertain whether to join the fray or just watch the drama unfold.
After a tense pause, Catelyn's anger softened into reluctant acceptance. "Fine," she said, her tone still frosty. "But remember, Ned Stark, these creatures could bring more trouble than you realize."
Jon couldn't help but feel the weight of Catelyn's words. This was like stepping into a live-action soap opera, only with more swords and fewer commercial breaks. His mind raced with strategies to keep the pups—and himself—out of trouble. The last thing he needed was a drama of direwolf proportions, especially with all the other plot twists he knew were coming.
So, as the pups were taken to their new quarters and the family settled into a tentative peace, Jon thought about his next moves. He wasn't just living in a TV show anymore; he was part of it. And if he wanted to survive, he needed to be as clever as Tyrion and as cautious as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
—
With a heavy sigh, Ned led Catelyn to his solar, where Maester Luwin awaited with a letter in hand. The room was thick with anticipation as Catelyn took the letter and began to read.
Ned watched as Catelyn's face drained of color, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "What's wrong, Catelyn?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
Catelyn's hands shook slightly as she lowered the letter, her eyes meeting Ned's with a mixture of shock and sorrow. "Jon Arryn is dead," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.
Ned felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Jon Arryn, his old friend and mentor, gone. The weight of the news was like a stone pressing down on him, a stark reminder of the dangers lurking in their world.
Catelyn's voice cut through his thoughts. "And that's not all. The King will be arriving at Winterfell in a few weeks—maybe a month at most!"
Ned's mind raced, the implications of King Robert Baratheon's visit becoming all too clear: a summons to serve as Hand of the King.
Ned's brow furrowed as he grappled with the enormity of the responsibility. The Hand's role was both an honor and a treacherous game of intrigue.
Turning to Catelyn, he asked, his expression troubled, "Are you sure about this?"
Catelyn met his gaze with a mix of apprehension and resolve. "Yes, Ned. It's the only reason the King would come all this way."
They exchanged a meaningful look before Ned turned to Maester Luwin. "Please fetch Robb and Jon."
"Of course, my lord," Maester Luwin replied, nodding before heading out.
Once alone, Ned's expression softened as he turned to Catelyn. "We need to discuss Jon's presence here," he began, his voice laden with concern.
Catelyn nodded, her tone serious. "Yes, Ned. It's risky to have Jon here when the King arrives."
The realization of Jon's true parentage had hit Catelyn like a thunderclap in the last two days. The guilt from how she had treated Jon—her distance and coldness—was overwhelming. She remembered his quiet longing for acceptance and the barriers she had put up.
Determined to make amends, Catelyn knew it wouldn't be easy. Rebuilding trust would take time, but she was resolved to offer Jon the acceptance and love he deserved, regardless of his origins.
Ned's jaw tightened as he considered their options. "If someone recognizes him as Rhaegar's son, it could be dangerous," he said, his worry evident.
Catelyn's brow furrowed. "But if he's not here, that might raise suspicions too," she countered.
As they waited for Robb and Jon to arrive, Ned and Catelyn sat in the dimly lit solar, feeling the weight of their looming decisions pressing down on them like a pile of enchanted books. Every creak of the old wooden floors and flicker of the torches seemed to echo their anxiety. The room was filled with a tension so thick it felt almost tangible, like it might burst into flames at any moment.
Ned stared out the window, his mind racing through every possible outcome, like a hero sorting through a dozen prophecy scrolls. He could almost see the dark clouds of trouble gathering on the horizon, each one bringing new challenges to their doorstep. Catelyn sat across from him, her face a mask of worry and resolve, as if she were a goddess weighing the fate of the world on her shoulders.
Both knew the stakes were higher than the tallest tower in Winterfell. They were on the brink of a new chapter in their lives, one filled with political intrigue and danger. The arrival of King Robert Baratheon wasn't just a royal visit; it was a game-changing event that could set off a chain reaction of problems. The safety of their family felt like it was balanced on a knife's edge.
Ned glanced at Catelyn, who was lost in her thoughts, probably calculating how to keep everyone safe while navigating the treacherous waters of court politics. "We need to be ready for anything," he said, trying to sound as reassuring as a demigod preparing for a quest.
Catelyn nodded, her gaze steady. "Yes, Ned. We'll figure this out," she said, her voice firm. "Whatever comes our way, we face it together. Just like the heroes of old, we need to be smart and brave."
Ned took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his responsibilities settle on his shoulders like an ancient, enchanted armor. He knew they had to act wisely and decisively, or risk everything they held dear. As they awaited Robb and Jon, the weight of their choices was clear: protect their family, navigate the political minefield, and keep their heads above the turbulent waters of fate.
—
As Jon and Robb walked into the solar, the atmosphere was charged with tension, like waiting for the next big plot twist in a show. Ned's gaze was serious enough to make you think he was about to reveal he was actually a time-traveling wizard or something. "Robb, Jon," he started, his voice heavy with the kind of gravity usually reserved for revealing long-lost family secrets. "We need to talk."
Robb's face twisted into a puzzled frown, while Jon's expression was as blank as a chalkboard, though his brain was whirring at full speed, trying to figure out how to handle this new twist in his already complicated life.
Ned gestured for them to take a seat. "We've received some shocking news," he began, his tone suggesting he was about to drop a bombshell. "Jon Arryn is dead, and King Robert Baratheon is coming to Winterfell."
At this point, Jon's internal monologue was going something like, Great, as if my life wasn't already a soap opera. Now I've got to worry about a king showing up and potentially ruining my day.
Ned continued, looking like he'd just learned he'd been cast as the villain in a drama. "But there's a catch. Your presence here, Jon, could be problematic. If someone recognizes you as Rhaegar's son, things could get dicey."
Robb's eyebrows shot up like he'd just heard a particularly juicy spoiler, while Jon's mind raced through the implications.
"But if you're not here, it might raise suspicions," Catelyn added, her voice edged with concern as she glanced at Jon like he was a ticking time bomb.
Ned nodded, acknowledging the mess they were in. "We need to think strategically. For our safety and for Jon's."
Robb and Jon exchanged a look that said, *This is about to get really complicated.*
"I might have an idea," Jon said, trying to sound calm despite his racing thoughts. "What if I go to the Wall to deal with the deserter issue with the Lord Commander, and then come back with Uncle Benjen before the feast? That way, I can avoid King Robert's arrival but still make it back for the festivities."
Ned and Catelyn exchanged glances that said, This could actually work.
"It's risky," Ned said, sounding like he was weighing the odds of a high-stakes poker game. "But it might be our best shot."
Catelyn nodded, her worry mingling with a reluctant acceptance. "If you're willing to take the risk, Jon, we'll support you."
Jon met their gazes with resolve. "I'll head to the Wall right away and return with Uncle Benjen in time for the feast. I was planning a trip there anyway, so this actually works out."
Ned raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. "Is there another reason for your journey, Jon?"
Jon hesitated for a moment, then decided to be upfront. "Yes, Uncle. I want to meet Maester Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black. He's over a hundred years old and the son of Maekar I Targaryen. I think it's important he knows he's not alone."
Ned's surprise was evident. "Aemon Targaryen?" he repeated, clearly taken aback.
Jon nodded. "Yes. I'm his only family in Westeros. I want him to know he's got someone here."
Ned's surprise softened into admiration. "That's a noble gesture, Jon."
Catelyn's expression also softened, moved by Jon's commitment. "Honoring family is important, no matter the circumstances."
Jon nodded, grateful for their support. "Thank you. I believe it's the right thing to do."
Robb stepped forward, his tone sincere. "I'll come with you, Jon."
Jon shook his head with a smile. "Thanks, Robb, but you should stay. As the Stark heir, you need to be here for King Robert's arrival."
Robb nodded, respect and understanding in his eyes. "I get it. Just know I'm here for you."
Jon clasped Robb's forearm, feeling a genuine connection. "Thanks, Robb. Your support means a lot."
Ned had one last twist to add. "I'd like you to wait a day before you leave, Jon. There's someone I've invited who wants to meet you."
Jon's curiosity was piqued. "Someone wants to meet me?"
Ned nodded with a hint of excitement. "Yes. This visitor specifically requested to see you."
Jon's interest was fully engaged. "Who is it?"
Ned shook his head with a mysterious smile. "I can't reveal that just yet. But I think it's worth waiting a day."
Jon agreed, his anticipation growing. "Of course, Uncle. I'll wait."
As the conversation wrapped up, the room fell into a thoughtful silence, each person reflecting on the unexpected twists ahead, with Jon feeling a mix of apprehension and excitement for the surprises yet to come.
---
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