Jon

At twelve name days, Jon had well and truly hit puberty, giving him height and strength. He matched Artorias move for move as darkness swallowed the arena. Only the light of his soul linked with Bloodfyre saved him from the corrosive darkness. That power flowed through him more as he fought for the upper hand.

Sparks rolled off the edge of Bloodfyre as he parried Artorias's greatsword. The fallen knight fell to a knee, and Jon ignored the defense of full plate stabbing through the knight's chest. Black blood spilled out the knight's back before Jon withdrew his blade. Darkness whirled around the knight, forming a tornado of soul corrosion. Jon fought through it, feeling the taint cling to him with every step.

Before, he had lost at Artorias's last stand, but this time was different. Countless battles had changed Jon from a slow boy to a tactician of a man. Instincts honed from countless battles in his dreams told him Arturias had no strength left. Bloodfyre seemed to glitter with motes of gold banishing the dark.

Jon stabbed forward, and his blade slid through Artorias's visor. For a moment, the fallen knight froze still before its body decayed. Then, like water spilling in the dirt, the knight's remains sank into the ground leaving behind a black crystal. Jon picked it up its color changed. From black to the golden color of sunlight, the crystal seemed to say I am the knight Artorias.

The demon appeared smiling like a proud teacher. "It only took you a year to best one of the greatest knights of the golden age of fire. Your touch even restored him to his true appearance. So take him with you to the waking world and summon him by your side. What is a king without faithful knights?" Silas said.

"What is this place that I can take things with me? How can I pass off a 10ft knight as mine? I am not a lord." Jon said.

"Master of mankind, you are more important than you believe." The demon said.

"Stop it; that isn't me. I'm a bastard. It doesn't matter what you call me or what lies you tell. Lies are still lies. Nothing you say will change that." Jon said.

The demon smirked at him, and the room changed. A great library appeared with books farther than the eye could see. Old crinkled papers covered the floor, and the demon sat atop an ancient desk. He watched the demon cross his legs and pat an area of the table beside him.

Jon walked over and sat beside the demon. "I prefer this than talking down to you. You already passed the morale worth test and have developed grit. Before, you weren't so ready to talk back to me. You are coming along better than I thought. I think you've figured out that every enemy you defeat here will drop a crystal to summon them. So while you will gain loyal followers, eventually, every aspiring conqueror needs some muscle. Do you know what makes a king a king, Jon?" Silas asked.

"A king is of the royal family and has been chosen by the gods to rule," Jon said.

Before his words left his mouth, the demon was already shaking his head. "That won't do, Jon; use that head on your shoulders. I've already told you the answer. Use your noggin." Silas said.

This wasn't the first time the demon urged him to think for himself. He did that often. Nothing seemed to please the demon more than Jon's martial or mental growth. Even with all his deaths at the hands of Artorias, Jon could see the reason behind it. He didn't learn anything from beating Rob in the yard. Even sparing with multiple men at arms had diminishing returns. Soon his father wouldn't have enough men to pose a good challenge.

"I don't know what you're after, but it can't be good." The demon only raised an eyebrow. Jon focused on the question and found the demon had given the answer. "A king needs their knights to enforce their will," Jon said.

"No king is an island, not even the master of mankind. Knights are a projection of power, and chivalry is a weapon against the people. Think of your men as extensions of your will. Without them, you are only one man, no matter how powerful." The demon sighed, and the dream realm began fading. "Go into the waking world and think about the nature of power," Silas said.

Jon awoke in his bed in a smaller bedroom in Winterfell. A few name-day gifts from his father and Uncle Benjen littered his shelves, mostly toys from his early childhood. He felt the need for advice before he dedicated himself to action. While his time had not yet come, it would in less than two years. Jon decided to ask about his mother; he defeated Artorias; Lord Stark didn't scare him.

…

Eddard

Ned had a meal of mutton covered in sausage gravy, turnips seasoned with white vinegar, and mashed yams for his noonday meal; the long summer was the time to store food like a squirrel for the equally harsh winter to come. He drank heavily of his watered-down wine while reviewing crop yields and making calculations. The duty of the lord of Winterfell was most often estimating how much food was needed for the next winter. Some yitish rice seemed promising a gift from the blue rose in Essos; it was rumored to be able to store for years. Ned smirked at the thought of dealing a blow to his most hated enemy before winter arrived. A knock on his door broke him out of his thoughts of rice drying and storage procedures.

"My lord Jon wishes to speak with you."

Eddard made a small dash to mark his place before closing his book. "Let him in, Jory."

Jon walked in, looking ready for battle. The cool confidence of a seasoned fighter echoed with his every step, as prideful as Jamie Lannister. His master of arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, failed to humble him in the practice yard. Jon was gifted with the sword beyond anything Ned had ever seen. When before, there was a look in Jon's eyes like a man hammering at an obstacle but always falling short, now there was comfort.

"Father, when you were my age, who did you go to for advice?" Jon asked.

That was a loaded question if Ned had ever heard one.

"When I was your age, I was fostered under Jon Arryn. He was always willing to mentor me. Is this about taking the black? While it is a huge responsibility, you would do well as a brother of the night's watch." Ned said.

Jon didn't look convinced that his place was guarding the realms of men.

"Why does my birth decide my worth?" Jon asked.

"Jon, you are my son no matter what side of the sheets you were born on," Ned said.

The boy sighed and walked to the window. "In my dreams, the old kings in the crypt would tell me I didn't belong here. They rattled their ancient swords; none of them wanted me there." Jon pressed his hand against the stone and closed his fist. A handful of stone ripped away from the wall. "Now that I can subdue them, I don't know if I want to remain here. Where would you go if you were me?"

Ned remembered the tower and his sister. 'Promise me,' Eddard closed his eyes.

"The wall is the safest place for you."

"Who is my mother?" Jon asked.

"Go to the wall, and when I come to see you, I will tell you," Ned said.

"You have no intention of telling me. What secret is worth the Lord Stark of Winterfell keeping. My mother couldn't be a whore." Ned felt fear and fury grip him in equal measures. Jon turned around and stared at Ned with cold grey eyes. "Your children mostly have their mother's coloring, except Arya and me. It is unlikely that Ashara Dayne was my mother; I lack her skin tone or amethyst eyes. You want to keep this secret, and I can think of nothing else more important to you than the rebellion. I should have been born close to its end. Who would you defend, even from your wife?" A golden light seemed to appear at the edge of Jon's irises. "Your sister is my mother, and you are my father. Incest,"

"No, Jon, you don't understand," Ned said.

"You're not my son; you're my nephew." Ned said.

Jon gave him a familiar look. Ned had seen it on his father and was sure his grandfather wore it. The icy, please try and explain yourself while I sharpen my blade, and I absolutely believe you look.

"No wonder you want to send me to the wall. If Lady Stark found out, would that make her hate me less or more? I got to tell Sansa she will want to know we're brother cousins." Jon said.

Ned opened and closed his mouth, regretting letting Jon into his Solar. The boy smirked before turning back to him. "So my mother was Lyanna Stark, and I'm guessing my father was Raegar Targaryen. I'm a royal bastard from a line that is no longer royal. Please tell me this was for my protection and not for the current royal family." Jon said.

"You are my blood; it was for your protection." Ned watched Jon visibly relax. "Robert killed your other siblings. Assassins are chasing your aunt and uncle to this day."

"I'm glad I'm not a product of incest. Too bad I can't tell Sansa I'm her brother cousin; it would have been funny to see her face scrunch up in confusion. It couldn't have been easy lying to Lady Stark for all these years." Jon shook his head and looked out Ned's Solar. "In my dreams, the kings of winter call me the Master of Mankind," Jon said.

Ned shook his head. "That sounds pretentious even for the Targaryens."

…

Silas

When did he become soft? Silas taught Jon in the dreamland every time the boy slept and rewarded him with Artorias's summon crystal at the end. The boy surprised him when he picked up the crystal and restored Artorias to his prime. But, of course, unlike in the dream realm, death would become permanent if Jon summoned the knight in the waking world. Losing Artorias wasn't a great loss; while he was a beast on the battlefield, Silas didn't need a rage monster.

Silas planned to give Jon a few other summons to help the boy. Artoria Alter, the nameless king, and maybe a few other powerhouses would help Jon sharpen his skills. The boy was probably nearing Silas's skill with a blade. If the demon wanted to keep his edge, he must train harder than the boy. When in doubt, train harder.

…

Sansa

Sansa didn't know why her baseborn brother stayed. Maester Luwin encouraged him to become a black brother of the wall; it would be good for Jon; her mother glared at him with looks that could curdle milk. He smiled at her often and told her stories of the adventures of knights. He had grown taller and broader than her trueborn brother. Jon appeared as a man grown taller than her father with a body sculpted in the warrior's image. His hair grew long and straight, finer than silk, and his eyes had brightened until they resembled sapphires. She watched him train in the early mornings completing ten thousand swings with each arm before sparing with several men at arms in the yard. If Jon wasn't the warrior reborn, no one could hold that title. When she imagined the image of Artorias, Artoria, or even the nameless king, they all resembled Jon.

That was what she thought until she saw the knight in question. The hulking knight, once dressed in silver plate wearing a blue cloak, stood 10ft tall. Seeing the towering blond man wearing furs with a face straight from heroic legend sent her heart to swoon. But, unfortunately, the man had no eyes for any but Jon. The giant doted on her brother like a sworn shield to a prince.

At first, she thought the man was as simple as Hodor, but the knight could sing when he felt the need. However, the knight seemed to choose only to speak with Jon. Sometimes she saw them spar, which was a battle for the epics. They moved at blinding speeds, matching blow for blow. Then, moments after the spar began, it ended.

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long not a lot of writing time over the last few days. Leave me some reviews and tell me what you think I will get back to you all in the next chapter.