Jon II

Even before Jon opened his eyes he knew the plan had worked. Not only did he feel a soft featherbed beneath his back, and his torso felt no pain, but his face was warm and golden light seeped through his shut eyelids. The sun.

Jon's eyes joyously sprang open as he swung his legs over the bed and stumbled towards the window. He stuck his head out into the day basking in the sun. A southern would call it chilly, but to Jon, it was warm. It was so, so warm.

The sky was painted a beautiful gradient of tangerine orange to coral pink and the sun was a beacon from above the horizon. It shone bright, and it's warm rays washed over Winterfell like a wave.

Jon turned around to look at his room. It was smaller than his siblings' but Jon preferred it that way, considering he didn't own many chattels to fill the space. An old oak desk sat strong and true to the left of him, and a slightly worn fur rug was beneath his feet, shielding them from the cool stone. A small bookshelf was planted near Jon's bed, holding battered tales of the knights of old. His closet was near the corner of his room, holding his linens. It felt weird to look into his closet and see only that. No armor, no furs. He supposes he had no real need of them before he trekked to the wall with his Uncle Benjen.

Uncle Benjen! He was still alive! Jon could barely hold in his excitement. His entire family! They were alive again!

Quickly grabbing a tunic, trousers, and his favorite pair of leather boots, he gets dressed in haste. While lacing his boots, he spares a thought to how he was going to stop everything. The first thing that came to mind was to somehow thwart Jon Arryn's death, but he could hardly do that as a boy in Winterfell. At first, on all accounts his father cannot accept Robert Baratheon's offer and Hand. Just by doing that he could save his father's, Robb's, and Lady Catelyn's lives (although he does guiltily admit he shed no tears over the latter). Step two, would be to gain an alliance with the free folk and to start to prevent the Night King's rise to power.

Jon sighed as he finished with his boots. Easier said than done. How was he, a teenaged bastard of the North's liege lord, going to accomplish all that all by himself? He quickly sucked in a breath as a realization came to mind. He didn't need to do it all by himself.

Oddly enough, Jon had never even considered telling his Lord Father of his peculiar situation. His father could do a lot more than Jon could, after all. But the real problem was whether or not he'd believe him. The Night King, time travel? If you had talked of that to the young Jon he would scoff maybe call Maester Luwin. But he had evidence.

No one in the world besides Jon's father was supposed to know of his true parentage. Restating these facts could be his proof. Jon also knew that despite intervention, Bran would become crippled anyway, something about losing his legs in order to fly. Telling his father before hand, and having him witness the crippling himself, would be sure proof of his predicament, if not prophetic dreams.

Standing up from his bed, he confidently strolled out into the hallway. His family would probably be heading down to break their fast in the dining hall around now. Afterward, he'd try to steal some time away and meet with his father in his solar. Maybe even the rest of his family too. He mulled over that thought. Lady Catelyn certainly deserved to know of Jon's true parentage considering she had falsely thought her husband had cheated on her until she died. His siblings were a different matter, though. Arya and Sansa were still young, he had to remember. Arya was not let a Faceless Man, dangerous, sadistic, and cold, but a young girl, who just wanted to spar with her brothers. Sansa, perhaps, was the most different. Unforgiving circumstances in which had been forced onto her had made his little sister far from the naive and proper girl she was now. He guessed he'd have to leave them out of the equation, as well as Bran and Rickon, because of their age.

Robb, on the other hand, deserved to know in Jon's opinion. He was old enough in the present, and was pretty consistent in his responses. And gods forbid something happens to their father, Robb will have to know and aid Jon. He had missed Robb's companionship, as well, and remembered the deep bond they shared before he went to the wall. If Robb found out of Jon's predicament from anyone but himself, their relationship might be ruined.

Yes, he decided, I'll tell Father and Robb, and maybe Lady Catelyn depending on her willingness to listen.

As he walked the halls of Winterfell he is confronted with ghosts. Even the maids and servants passing by in their morning chores seemed surreal. Almost everyone he passed had died. Him, with his throat slit, her with her head bashed. He stared at his own feet as he walked because he couldn't help the illusions of his morbid mind. The royal part of him screamed at him to keep his head held high, to confront his demons and keep his dignity. That part of his was losing the battle.

He soon found his way to the door of the dining hall, and without his permission, his feet stopped before the threshold. He brought his head up slowly, readying himself for the sight he would soon see. Even still, he had to brace a shaky arm upon the doorframe to steady himself as he gazed upon the smiling faces of his kin.

Arya was playing with her oats, trying to fling them onto Sansa using only her spoon. Lady Catelyn had a look on her face directed at Arya which Jon himself knew all too well. She knew better than to attempt to stop Arya, though, they both knew who had stronger will. Sansa looked like she had swallowed a lemon, her face pinched up in a scowl and her brows furrowed. Despite Arya's antics, she still kept her poise, one Jon knew would only solidify her as more of a leader in the future. Bran talked animatedly to her father, most likely about knightship and heroes. His father, in return, from the looks of it, was trying and subsequently failing at getting Bran to eat his food. Rickon, in regards to food, was smearing it upon the table cloth, enjoying the focus of his parents being elsewhere. And Robb was looking straight at Jon, hands beckoning him towards the table.

Jon smiled, and as he moved to the table he felt as if his soul had detached from his body and he was observing his life from an outsider's point of view. He hardly felt like this was real, and that he was actually walking towards his family, all alive and well.

"Jon, you good?" Robb asked, concerned.

"Yes," Jon replied, still in a slight haze from seeing his dead family once more, "Just didn't sleep too well last night, dreams kept me up."

Robb made a noise of understanding, "Maester Luwin has sleeping drought that works like a charm if you ever need it. Want to spar with Theon and I after we're done eating?"

At first, it took all of Jon's willpower to not accept the offer just for the opportunity to pummel Theon with his newfound sword skills. Then, he realized he had to decline.

"Actually, Robb, I need to speak to father. And you for that matter." Jon's gaze drifted across the table where his father sat.. Robb stared at him with his Tully blue eyes, confused.

"What?"

"Just trust me, brother."

Jon then turns his grey eyes to the table, and almost balks at the surplus of food. He hasn't had fresh food in such a long time. Bread, fruit, cheese, eggs, bacon, oats, stew. He piled his plate with a famished look, savoring the delectable taste of the food of Winterfell.

Jon then forced himself to pause his gluttony, and rose from his chair to make his way towards his father. Ned Stark seemed to have resigned himself to Rickon's food ignoration, and just tuned out the toddler's ramblings with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Father?" Jon said, getting the Lord's attention along with the Lady's glare, "There is something important I must discuss with Robb, your Lady Wife, and you in private after we are done eating. Is that okay?"

Although Jon keeps his voice level, his father must have sensed his urgency, or perhaps knew that it must be urgent because Jon directly asks for attention. Ned Stark nodded, and Jon was suddenly grateful for his father keeping this on the down-low. No one at the table besides Robb and Lady Catelyn seemed to take notice of their discussion, which worked out splendidly in regards to his plan.

"Yes, Jon. We will all meet in my solar after this. May I ask what we need to discuss so crucially?"

"Something that sounds mad, but is in fact life and death. I swear I am not jesting."

Jon solemnly nodded and walked back to his chair to resume his binging, trying to ignore his father's eyes on his back. Once he sat down and ate some more, he felt the eyes scan elsewhere.

"Gods, Jon, it's like you haven't eaten in days!" Robb remarked from beside him.

Jon let out a chuckle, turning to look Robb in the eyes, "You don't even know."

Robb puzzledly stares at him while Jon unabashedly guzzles down some oats, "You aren't acting like yourself. Does it have to do with what we're going to talk about in father's solar?

"Uhh, yes," Jon mumbles, "Wonderful observation skills, Robb" He leaves the conversation at that, and ducks his head to shovel more food into his mouth. He pretends not to notice the hurt look in Robb's eyes.

Jon knew he was being cross and crabby, but once they knew what he'd been through they'd be sure to understand. Still, Jon out improving both his behavior and attitude into the back of his mind to work on once things were settled.

After Jon had eaten so much food in such little time that he felt like his stomach might explode, he forced himself out of his chair. Somehow, despite his excessive consumption, he finished first, probably because of the ungodly speed he ate at. He asked to be excused, and his father granted his permission. Jon wiped crumbs from his tunic, and briskly started to walk to his father's solar, his strides steady despite his inner distress.

He was truly a man changed. A man didn't fight in several wars and lose all of his friends and family and come back unscathed, both physically and mentally. It pains him, partly, to know that his family knew one Jon yesterday and woke up this morning to see a completely new one. It's something they'd have to deal with, though. He is no longer a pubescent bastard but a fully-grown leader. He can't go back to who he was all those years ago.

Is he now to serious and old-souled to play and joke with Arya? Will Robb still see him as a friend, a brother, rather than a hardened cousin. Will Sansa keep her nose in the air and shun him further? His father will surely pity him now, and pity is most certainly not what Jon wants. Will Lady Catelyn apologize for her actions when the truth of his parentage comes out? Or maybe she'd see him as even more of a stain, considering he wasn't able to fully stand for the Starks nor the Targaryens. Will little Bran and Rickon sense the change in him, and will they grow further apart because of it? This decision of his could very well be a familial disaster.

But all that matters is keeping them alive, Jon reassured himself, even if they now hate you, at least they're not mere ashes lost in the snow. Jon isn't reassured, though. Is he selfish, to want to salvage and form relationships with his family when he should be plain grateful for having them back? Perhaps.

Jon's nervousness must've lead to a quickened walking pace, because he found himself at the door of his father's solar before he expected himself too. Stepping forward, Jon opens the heavy wooden door, hearing it creak slightly.

He takes a seat in a chair across from his father's massive pine desk, and bounces his leg, anxiously awaiting his family.

Where does he even start? The story is incredibly long, and the first half he only knows from the anecdotes of others. The first half, unfortunately, is also the most immediate and pressing. Does he get into the details of Sansa's captivity, the mutiny at Castle Black, and the Red Wedding? Or does he spare them the fate of knowing?

The second half, on the other hand, Jon could talk about for days. Daenerys's ill-fated reign upon the iron throne and her death by his hands he will only talk about for a few minutes but preparations needed for the Long Night, the Night's Watch, the Free Folk, the Three Eyed Raven, and the Wights will take up most of his tale, he supposed. But how was he to get everyone to believe in them when they view what haunts him as a children's story, a fairytale?

Before his concerns got the best of his fragile mind, the door opened once more and the group he selected strolled in. Seeing them alive calmed some of his nerves, despite them being the objects of some of his worries. Jon took a deep breath, lightly closing his eyes as they all settled in around him.

He kept his eyes shut despite feeling the heavy weight of everyone's piercing gaze upon him. Jon sighs again, unable to stop the shakiness of his breath.

"What I am about to say sounds completely mad, I must admit, but I swear upon the gods old and new that everything I am about to say is the complete and utter truth."

Jon scanned the room, taking note of the trio's faces. Almost all wore an identical look of concern and disbelief. It was times like these were Jon felt more like a black sheep and was reminded that he, in fact, was not the biological brother and son to these people. Although some of his siblings looked more Stark, and some resembled stronger to their Tully side, they wore the same countenances at times. Jon's demeanor, or so he was told, was his Rhaegar's through and through. John cleared his throat, getting back to the topic at hand.

"This is my second chance at life," he started, choosing to omit his death and resurrection at Melisandre's hands. "I woke up today, as a boy of ten and three, when just yesterday my soul was in my body of twenty and eight." He quickly continued to talk, trying to foil the beginnings of scoffs and outcries around the room.

"In the future, there are no Starks alive besides Bran. They all die preventable deaths. I, by the fate of the gods, perhaps, survived long enough for Bran to send my back in time, before everything went to shit. I am here to help save your lives and countless others. I am here to prevent wars. Believe me or don't, but I will not allow tragedy to befall this nation once more. Not on my watch." They seem shocked at the seriosity Jon had while speaking those absurd words.

"Jon, my son," his father started, overlooking Lady Catelyn's glare at the way he addressed him, "I trust you, but this sounds… this sounds absolutely mad! How can you expect us to believe this?" Sounds and movements of agreement permeated throughout the room.

"I know who my mother is," Jon blurted out confidently.

His father's face went a sickly shade of pale as the room burst into a flurry of noise and motion.

"You do? Who?" asked Robb skeptically.

"Who is she?" he heard Lady Stark say sharply, "Who is your mother? Ned? How did the bastard find out? Talk to me, please!"

"And on the topic," Jon projected above the racket, turning to look directly into his father's eyes steely eyes, "I also know who my father is."

The solar erupted into an incredulous uproar, but his father, with a few stern words, hushed his wife and heir.

"How?"

His father's voice sounds shakier than Jon's ever heard it before, and Jon is shocked to see small tears rolling down his father's face.

"Who told you? How'd you find out?"

The Starks jaws were hanging down to the floor at the realization that Eddard Stark was not, indeed, Jon Snow's father. Lady Stark seemed as if she was about to collapse in on herself.

"There were records in the citadel. And a greenseer told me." Jon resolved not to mention the Three Eyed Raven version of Bran until the story he undoubtedly would be telling came to it.

"I understand why you kept it a secret," Jon began, a little startled at the small wobble in his words, "I don't resent you for it. But you might want to tell everyone, father, to lift the weight off your shoulders. Then, I can tell you about the series of events which happened in my timeline and how we can start to prevent it."

Jon's father breathed deeply, "For Jon's young life, and for the love of my family, I kept his parentage a secret, you must understand, but.." he sighed, "I do suppose it is time to come clean. Whatever I am about to say, though, is to never be repeated. You hear me?

"I swear it upon the gods old and new," Robb said excitedly, but now slightly solemn. Lady Catelyn reluctantly echoed her son's statement. She was on the verge of tears. Despite the trouble she put him through in his childhood, Jon has had over a decade to absolve the Lady of Winterfell for her actions. A part of him even feels pity for her right now, having her world tipped upside down and all.

"Jon is not my bastard," his father starts, "In fact, Jon is not anybody's bastard. He is, in truth, the trueborn son to my dear sister Lyanna Stark, and Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna went with Rhaegar willingly, why she never told anyone I'll never know. They married in a secret ceremony in Dorne." The Lord of WInterfell, usually so strong and stoic, now had tears pouring down his face, "Promise me, Ned, that's what she said. She made me promise to protect Jon. And I- I couldn't very well say he was the last of the dragons and heir to the Iron Throne in front of Robert, now could I? He would've murdered you him without question, even as a babe. You all know what happened to Elia Martell and her children. What Robert did to them." He let out a heart-wrenching sob, "I should've told you, Catelyn, I know I should've, but we were so young then, and we barely knew each other. I felt as if I was the only person I could trust in this world. I'm sorry Catelyn, I really am."

A pregnant pause filled to solar as everyone digested to shocking information.

"Well, Jon," Robb starts, "I suppose you can start your story of the future. Seems like your proof was more than enough."