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Kuman : There is a very easy and simple explanation of how Aemon has gotten the eggs, but it will be explored very far in the future. Skagos would make an appearance differently.
Author's Note: Hello guys and gals. I will generally try to update the story once a week, any more chapters would be a bonus if I do have free time and motivation. Review, favorite and follow if you like the story.
Great magic was at play. A grand ritual of fire and blood bound by magic and fate was happening.
Aemon Targaryen had left the world with a smile as if he knew a joke nobody else did. A great and wise man, who declined kingship for duty. Even when his eyesight had left him, his wits were still sharp and he kept attending to the Night's Watch to the best of his ability. There was not a single man in the order that did not respect him. He lived a life of sacrifice voluntarily. And there was power in kings blood and even greater power in self-sacrifice and duty.
Life of the ancestor, willingly given.
The Starks had manned the Wall for millennia and had ruled this very land for just as long. As long as the Starks were here, the Wall and the North stood strong. The same Wall was built by Brandon the Builder, founder of House Stark. The same ancient magic that ran through the North and the Wall flowed in the blood of the ancient Winter Kings. The people of the North had respected house Stark and relied on it. Some even said that House Stark had powers over ice, seeing how their founder had managed to build the giant structure made of ice, even with help of the giants and children of the forest.
For eight thousand years people swore a lifetime of servitude and sacrifice for the Wall. They lived on the wall, and they died and bled on and for the Wall, and this only served to not only preserve but add power to the ancient before magic was considered dead, it was infused enough by magic and blood to become quasi-sentient.
Jon Snow had died due to betrayal. He was the first man to slay a White Walker in single combat since the first Long that was done in a desire to save lives, in the service of others, and not for his own personal glory. His brother Robb Stark had even decided to legitimize him and name him his heir but he died before word got to Jon. An unknowing Jon Snow was meanwhile elected as the 999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and technically also the King of the North. What nobody knew was that he was also a child of a Great Prophecy. The magic coursing through the Wall and flowing through the lands of the North was stirring by the combination of vows given willingly and life forcibly taken. An angry ancient voice could be heard flowing through the gigantic ice structure.
Winter is coming!
Where is the sword in the darkness!?
Where is the fire that burns against the cold?
Where is the light that brings the dawn?!
Where is the horn that wakes the sleepers?!
Where is the shield that guards the realm of men?
Where!?
The Targaryens were dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold and had done both great and terrible Valyrians were notorious for their dabbling in blood and fire magic and the Targaryens were undeniably part of that. They even managed to unite the Seven Kingdoms and command the respect and fealty of its people.
The three-headed dragon was the sigil and totem of house Targaryen. Some would say that the dragons were fire made flesh even. Three was also the first magically significant number.
And those bloodlines were unknowingly mixed in the body of Jon Snow, who had also chosen the life of duty and self-sacrifice. Who had also been technically declared King of Winter. He had even been chosen to be the leader of the Watch, by his men.
Only death can pay for life.
The life of duty and sacrifice of Maester Aemon. The power of the blood of one who had willingly declined Kingship. Mighty magic ran through the blood in his veins, his deeds were great but his life was short. This would be more than enough to bring back Jon Snow to life. The process would unleash more than enough magic to hatch all the eggs which also served as 3 anchors. Melisandre's ritual was not successful because R'hllor had little power in the north compared to the ancient magics of the First Men, all of which ran through the Wall itself and the blood of Jon Snow.
Hadrian James Potter, Demonslayer, Vanquisher of Dark Lords, Master, and Herald of Death had willingly gone into an ancient portal that lead to an unknown destination. What he didn't know is that the portal arch on the other side had been long gone, and by forcibly activating the stone arch and entering the portal with no destination he had destroyed his body and would have destroyed his soul and mind had they not been protected and refined by death already. Instead, they had been cast across the Abyss between plates of existence. Another child of another Great Prophecy. And his soul had been pulled near Planetos when the funeral pyre was lit.
But when Sansa Stark jumped with the full intent to die together with her brother and reunite with her family the ritualistic magic lost its delicate balance and exploded and the magical vortex expanded and even started sucking in the ancient ice magic weaved in the Wall, further amplifying and unbalancing the ritual. The strength of the flame would have turned her into ash in seconds if she wasn't connected by blood with Jon Snow and if not for the ancient magic from the Wall pouring into her blood and protecting her body to protect her further. The soul of Hadrian James Potter was also pulled from the abyss from the strength of the magical vortex. A being who had practically been one step short of godhood in magical prowess.
In the northern sky, a red falling star could be seen.
In Skagos, the island's overlords were gathered around an ancient crone, all of them looking grim. When the falling star tore the sky the isle was filled with shouts of reverence.
Across the world, the glass candles burned furiously and whoever could look into them at this moment would see what was happening at the Wall. The amount of magic could be felt all the way to Asshai by the Shadow and the magical shockwave even disturbed the unholy silence of the city of Stygai.
In Mereen, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal grew restless and started spewing fire in the air, scaring away everyone in the vicinity.
In the ruins of Valyria, a twisted colossus awoke from its slumber and screeched angrily.
On the island of Toads amidst the ancient ruins of an unknown civilization stood a high toad statue made of a greasy black stone. Suddenly, a vile black liquid started flowing out of the toad's mouth.
Back in Castle Black Brienne had fallen on her knees in had failed again. The brothers of the Night's Watch and the free folk could only step back from the increasingly stronger fire and watch with awe. Melisandre of Asshai was looking reverently in the fire, convinced that it was a sign or a blessing from R'hllor.
The falling snow became thicker and thicker, but the flames only grew in strength. Soon they twisted and turned into the form of a roaring Dragon which even separated itself from the pyre while a strong wind blew and the snow in the air also whirled and twisted into the giant form of a Direwolf. Snow and Fire twisted and danced in the air and it looked like the snowy direwolf and the fire dragon were chasing each other.
This continued for some time and when the funeral flames were slowly dying out the wind blew strongly one last time and the direwolf and dragon both abruptly dived into the pyre.
From the pyre suddenly screeches broke the silence and a seemingly misshapen figure emerged from the thick smoke.
Jon Snow was back, gently carrying Sansa Stark in his arms. His eyes however were a valyrian dark purple colour instead of the dark grey of House Stark. He was also covered by dragons. Three of them to be precise. Both he and his sister were naked, but untouched by the flames. Her body and limbs were almost completely covered by scars and wounds. A crimson red dragon was standing protectively on top of Sansa's chest covering her bare breasts with his wings.
A dark purple hatchling was perched on Jon's right shoulder, and the last one, dark blue and black, was also the biggest and was nesting in his hair and screeching challengingly.
His thoughts were completely jumbled. He had no idea who he was or what was happening. Episodes of random events kept flashing in front of him. Slowly but steadily they began to make sense. He instinctively kept trying to force them into chronological order. Slowly but surely they complied. A name finally appeared – Hadrian James Potter. As soon as he realized his name his memories started arranging themselves at lightning speed. He finally remembered what happened. Harry tried to get a feel of his limbs but for some reason, he couldn't feel his body or magic at all. It did not bode well at all.
Suddenly he could feel a pleasant heat around him. More images and voices appeared in his head – this time not his own. A long face with grey eyes, dark brown hair and beard, and a kind smile. Winter is coming. A young girl, almost a mirror copy of the man. Stick them with the pointy end. A young man with deep blue eyes and red-brown hair. Next time I see you, you'll be in black. Fiery red hair. You know nothing, Jon Snow. More images began to rapidly appear and assemble into another set of memories – Jon Snow the bastard of Winterfell. His last memory was the cold sting of betrayal as the knives of his brothers plunged into his chest.
An old sagely voice which he immediately recognized as maester Aemon's echoed nearby.
Kill the boy, Jon Snow, and let the man be born!
His senses returned to him with full force. His body was very weak and his chest ached painfully, in all the locations that he remembered getting fatally was also a certain weight pressing down on him. Around him, elements of fire, ice, and ritualistic magic were intertwining furiously. He was in the middle of a very wild and out-of-control ritual and could feel the magic around him twisting and rippling were even threads of divination magic in the ritual making the whole thing even more volatile than it already was. And he fucking hated divination magic. He slowly managed to clear his mind despite all the cluttered memories running amok in his head and focused on examining his body, mind, and soul.
He had somehow merged with this Jon Snow person, but due to the simple fact that Hadrian James Potter had lived way longer, and had way more experience, power, and mental fortitude, Jon's personality, memories, and soul simply got absorbed into his and at best would be an echo.
Jon Snow's body was also very much supposed to be dead but he could feel the magic of the ritual somehow sealing and healing his wounds and organs and repairing his heart. He could also feel three faint familial connections inside the ritual circle that were linked with his mind and soul. One of them was way stronger than the rest. He carefully reached out to them and realized received a mild headache because he was suddenly seeing things from three different points. His mind was incredibly sturdy but still jumbled from the previous events.
Quickly cutting the connection this time he only tried to connect to the strongest link. He realized now that he was looking at himself through the flames, but he surprisingly had another red-haired body draped across his still form and two dragon hatchlings were slowly crawling towards his body.
And he now clearly had 3 dragons but before he could do anything however he felt how the ritual magic was quickly going further out of control. Jon Snow's body was now revived and restored, three dragons were hatched and he was even connected in some rather unconventional way to them, but the leftover magic was most probably going to cause either an implosion and turn everything into meat paste or an explosion and destroy everything nearby, including himself. Both results weren't desirable at all. Shuffling through his memories for something that would help him deal with such an amount of wild ritualistic magic, only an old body refining method somehow sufficed. He had found it from a very old and very well-protected tomb predating Ancient China that used wild magic to refine the body.
He decided that he had nothing to lose at this point He focused his mind and felt the wild magic around him and by focusing his mind and magic he started pulling parts of the raging stream of energy into himself by the method described in the body reforging formulae. He braced himself for the bout of insane pain that was supposed to accompany refining one's body, but his senses were only assaulted by a pleasant warmth and coolness. The raging current of magic suddenly calmed and started whirling and entering every part of his body through his pores. He carefully cycled through every part of his body according to the refinement technique. He could also feel the magic in his bloodline itself was strengthened and simulated.
His bones, muscles, organs, blood and marrow, and even skin were all being cleansed and strengthened by ritualistic magic. Even his connection to the dragons was somehow amplified. The process of body reforging wasn't too short but when it finished there still was leftover wild magic in the air. He decided to channel it in himself to improve his spellcasting capabilities. Jon Snow was by no means a squib but his magic was very undeveloped from lack of use.
Apparently magic had fallen out of favor long ago and most people who had the gift for it never knew or explored it or were even killed. This time he directly pulled some of the remaining wild magic into himself. Even his freshly strengthened body felt like it was burning by pouring wild magic into it directly. It was wreaking havoc on his insides. Every organ and muscle felt like it was on fire, very similar but substantially weaker compared to the cruciatus curse, however, his mind stayed detachedly focused and he started channeling self-healing with all the new magic inside of him. Once he ran out, he simply tugged more of the magic in his torturous exercise continued relentlessly, making his body get used to using and controlling magic and further strengthening his body by a cycle of destruction and healing.
The ritual itself was over, and now that the volatile energies were reduced to a low enough level, they simply started to dissipate harmlessly in the air, signaling the end of this danger. The flames, no longer fed by magic, started to die out as well.
Harry, or rather Jon Snow now, could finally feel and fully control his body. He opened his eyes and noticed that he was surrounded by soft flames on the side and was greeted with a bright fiery red hair sprawled all over his chest. He gently lifted the body on top of him, still unused to his new skin, and immediately recognized her. Sansa Stark, his half-sister to whom he had no idea what had happened at all. She had somehow found his way to him and even jumped into what he was now certain was most definitely his funeral pyre. The funeral ritual he was undergoing was wildly out of control and most probably she was the reason. Not to mention that she most definitely got affected by his crazy handling of the leftover wild ritualistic magic as she was physically in contact with him.
He quickly but gently probed her with a tendril of magic to check if anything was wrong with her and he almost exploded in anger. Angry shrieks suddenly surrounded him making him aware that all of the dragons bonded to him could feel his mood and would easily react to strong emotions. Harry slowly cleared his mind and let his emotions flow around him like a river around a rock and finally managed to calm himself. The little dragons around him also relaxed.
Sansa Stark was always ever soft-spoken and sweet even if she had started avoiding him after she grew up due to his bastardy. Her body was almost completely covered in numerous wounds, scars, and old bruises, some of which were badly healed or not at all. All of her recent wounds were either bleeding or were infected. She thankfully had unusually strong vitality despite the clear signs of malnourishment and her blood was brimming vibrantly with magic. This was most definitely a side effect of what happened during the ritual and would most probably help her on the road to recovery. He tried to wandlessly cast a few healing spells but the magic dissipated before it could even form a spell. He wasn't sure if it was the remains of the ritual itself or if something was fucking with magic in general but he sighed.
He slowly stood up while lifting his sister in a princess carry, when he finally truly noticed that both he and Sansa were stark naked. And that the very blessed form of half-sister was way too attractive to him. Her scars and wounds only transformed her beauty into something wilder as far as he was concerned. As soon as those thoughts wormed their way into his brain he ruthlessly smashed them with his occlumency and forcibly controlled his body's reaction. Jon Snow had had a very strong liking for redheads. He halfheartedly attempted to conjure some clothing but also failed. Because why would things be simple? Now that he stood up, two of the dragons flocked to him and started to climb him as if he were a tree.
His skin was strengthened enough that their talons couldn't accidentally pierce it so he didn't mind them climbing him. And even if he did, he could heal himself without a problem. He however mentally promised heavy retribution if any of them got near Jon junior. And they had gotten the message because they very carefully avoided that certain body part.
The biggest one to which he had the strongest connection to was looking very savage, and he was covered by way more spikes than the others, including his tail which vaguely reminded Jon of a certain dragon that he had faced during the Tri-Wizard tournament. His scales were shades of dark blue and black and he had purple eyes. While the other dragons climbed their way up to his body he stood still and watched him carefully. Finally, he spread his wings and with a few strong flaps perched on top of his head. Harry sighed amusedly at what he recognized as his familiar. The connection to the other hatchlings was similar to a familiar bond but not as strong. He felt his stomach grumble in hunger so he decided it was time to step out and face the world.
He felt a small spike of shame, realizing that he was naked, but he ignored it. His sister however was another matter and he had no desire to show her naked body to the scum of the night's watch. He nudged two of his hatchlings via the link to gently cover her privates without hurting gingerly hopped on Sansa and covered her with their wings. Jon contemplated for a moment and mentally signaled to the dragons to prepare to breathe fire because they might be surrounded by traitors the moment they stepped out of the funeral pyre
Ready to face the music, he stepped out through a curtain of smoke that was surrounding them with his sister in his. When he finally got out he was met by awestruck silence. The inner courtyard was filled with black brothers, the occasional Baratheon man, and free folk. The friendly faces of Satin, Tormund, Val, Dolorous Edd, and Ser Davos were all here and he could somewhat relax. Then he met the red eyes of Ghost and instantly he felt another connection as strong as the one with the biggest hatchling rapidly forming. The red priestess was also staring at him with creepy interest but he mentally filed that for later.
"His pecker got bigger!" The loud jovial voice that sounded very impressed cut the silent tension in the yard like a knife through butter. This could only be Tormund. A few people, including Jon himself, snickered at his shout.
Edd decided to come near and ask dryly "Jon, is that still you in there?"
"Of course it's me." Jon replied sharply and asked. "How did my sister end up in my funeral pyre?"
"When we lit the pyre she started crying and suddenly she simply rushed into the fire before any of us could react. And after she jumped the fire went all mad." Edd took some time but eventually replied somberly to which Jon nodded.
"Can someone spare me two fucking cloaks?"
"Jon, your eyes are purple now. And ..uh... there are dragons perched on you." Edd lamely stated while he unfastened his cloak and handed it over to him. "And I might be wrong but you're taller too."
Jon simply shrugged while mentally nudging the hatchlings that were covering Sansa's bits to return to him. It quickly climbed back on him, and swiftly settled on his left shoulder. He swiftly covered his sister's naked form with the cloak.
A tall armored figure rushed towards him followed by a young man. He finally noticed that the armored figure was female although she had a very unconventional body and face type for a woman, she wasn't really ugly but nor was she beautiful. Suddenly all the free folk and black brothers had hands on their weapons and inched closer.
The woman instantly stopped, raised her arms, and worriedly asked him "Is lady Sansa alright?" She sounded sincere and he could even somehow feel that she was trustworthy and meant no harm.
"And who might you be?" Jon still asked curiously.
"I am Brienne of Tarth, Lady Sansa's sworn shield." She introduced herself and nodded toward the young man behind her." And this is my squire, Podrick Payne."
Jon Snow was a bastard and even though he had mostly the same upbringing as his trueborn siblings he never really paid much attention to the lessons with maester Luwin aside from the few topics that interested him. Maybe if you asked him about those houses back in Winterfell he would probably know. But after nearly six years, he forgot most about the Southern Houses except for maybe House Targaryen and Lannister and the more important parts of history. He had a better recollection of northern houses, but even those were half-forgotten in the rollercoaster that was his stint on the Wall. He honestly had no idea where was Tarth and knew nothing about house Payne.
Every memory from his previous life was well preserved by his sturdy mindscape, while from the memories of Jon Snow he could only recall what Jon generally remembered.
He threw a sharp searching look towards the armored figure and her squire but he sighed and nodded. "Aye, my sister is alive, but she needs a healer." For a sworn shield she had done a shit job, judging by the wounds of his sister and the fact that Sansa had somehow managed to jump into the fire under the nose of everyone in the courtyard. He would deal with her later.
He turned to Edd. "Bring my sister to the Lord Commander's Solar. Ghost and some of the hatchlings will watch over her." He carefully handed his sister to him and watched as he gingerly moved back inside, followed by Brienne and Podrick. Ghost happily approached him with a wagging tail and he softly scratched his neck while the hatchlings hopped from his arm onto the direwolf's neck and back. All of the bonded whelps were surprisingly receptive to his mind and commands and they could very clearly sense his intentions.
The one on top of his head however seemed to be the most willful of them and refused to move and even flapped his wings in protest. He shrugged and patted Ghost one last time and sent him away. Covered in squawking hatchlings, the direwolf happily trotted towards his solar ignoring the stares of everyone else in the courtyard. Everything of any value to him would be there and one direwolf, two young dragons and a female knight of very questionable quality and loyalty weren't nearly enough defense in his head.
"Tormund, could you get four of the most trustworthy spearwives to guard my sister?" It would be a cold day in hell when he'd trust the wellbeing of his abused sister on unknown southerners or brothers of the Night's Watch. Tormund happily nodded and went off. The free folk was honest and straightforward and whoever Tormund found to guard his sister would do so.
"Balian, get some men and kindly ask this Brienne of Tarth and her squire to move to the guest chambers for visitors and post a guard making sure the two of them stay there. She did a shit job at guarding my sister for a sworn shield." Balian was one of the recruits who joined together with him. He was assigned to the rangers and tried to generally stay out of trouble. The night brother nodded and left with a group of men to fulfill his task.
He looked questioningly towards Satin and asked "Where is maester Aemon?"
"Maester Aemon passed away peacefully in his sleep the night you were betrayed." The young man answered sadly. Everybody liked Maester Aemon and he was no exception. It was sad, but not unexpected, considering that the old maester was more than a hundred years old." He was on the funeral pyre with you, and those dragons you hatched came from the stones that he had asked to be put on the pyre with his corpse...I think."
And there is the answer to who had played a big role in the ritual. Even though this was most probably not done deliberately Maester Aemon had always helped Jon Snow, and the sagely old man was infinitely better compared to that old bastard Dumbledore. Even in death, he managed to somehow help him. Sadly he couldn't help heal his sister so he'd have to get the next best thing. Woods witches from beyond the wall had plenty of hands-on experience with dealing with wounds and were probably the only people who had any idea about non-magical healing in the near vicinity.
"Val, could you find a trusted woods witch to check on my sister?" Jon asked softly. Val was fierce and prideful, even more so than other free folk. Jon Snow had been naturally attracted to her wild beauty and had many thoughts about bedding her before, but neither was he a raper, and nor was she agreeable - she had promised to geld him if showed up in her bed and that had put an end to those thoughts.
"Aye, Lord Crow I'll find a woods witch for your sister." The blonde wildling beauty replied easily while eyeing him with a surprising amount of interest and before setting off as well.
Satin had unfastened his cloak and handed it to him. Jon looked at him questioningly but Satin simply glared and nodded his head at his...still naked body. Jon coughed softly and quickly covered himself with the offered cloak. His chest still felt sore from the sting of betrayal and he was suddenly feeling very unprotected without a weapon and after sending Ghost away.
"Fetch me Longclaw." He ordered Satin. "I'll be in my quarters to grab actual clothes. "The cold air didn't bother him at all for some reason. All he could feel is a pleasant coolness. He assumed that it was most probably due to body refinement.
He briskly walked towards the Lord Commander's quarters and quickly changed into the most comfortable pair of smallclothes he could find. A terrible realization finally set in...he had to make do with this uncomfortable medieval underwear, and they were still using chamber pots instead of plumbing.
He could only sigh in frustration as he put on a pair of leather breeches and donned a woolen tunic. Soon after he finally got dressed, a knock on the door was heard.
Opening the door he saw his squire on in the hallway. "Here's your sword, Lord Commander." The young steward handed Longclaw carefully.
"Thank you, Satin. Can you also bring me some food from the kitchens? The more the better." The young man nodded dutifully and was about to turn around when Jon placed a hand on his shoulder." Also don't call me Lord Commander, Satin. I'm no longer a member of the Night's Watch. I've died on my post and my watch ended." Jon finished while waving Satin to go. He finally got his weapon back.
From where Harry stood, Jon had taken a very uninformed decision by joining the Night's Watch. Thankfully he was now technically free of this obligation. He only had a giant heap of problems to deal with instead.