Chapter 1: The Bastard
The cold winds of Winterfell whispered through the ancient castle's courtyard, carrying with them the scent of pine and snow. Five-year-old Jon Snow stood there, his small hands gripping a wooden stick, which he had dubbed "Icebreaker." He had always been drawn to the yard, to the swords and shields, and to the legends of the great heroes who once called these stone walls home.
His steel-gray eyes were fixed on his half-brother Robb, who, at the ripe age of five, already wielded a stick sword with the skill and grace of a future knight. They circled each other, wooden blades at the ready.
"Jon, you can't be the Lord of Winterfell," Robb declared, his voice filled with the innocence of youth, unaware of the pain his words inflicted.
Jon clenched his jaw, his heart sinking like a stone. His brother was right. He couldn't be Lord of Winterfell. He was a bastard, a stain on his father's honor, a living reminder of a moment of weakness. The words stung, but he refused to show his hurt.
"Why not?" Jon demanded, his voice quivering with a mixture of anger and sadness. "Why can't I be the Lord of Winterfell?"
Robb's face twisted in confusion. "Because you're a bastard, Jon. You're not even a Stark."
The words hit Jon like a physical blow. He hated that word, "bastard." It was a word whispered in hushed tones, a word that made people look at him with pity or disdain. It was a word that made him feel less than, unworthy.
As the two brothers clashed their wooden swords, Jon's gaze wandered to the snowy courtyard of Winterfell. Thick, white flakes were falling from the sky, blanketing the ground in a pristine layer of snow. Sansa, their two-year-old sister, giggled with delight as she tried to catch the falling snowflakes in her tiny hands.
Jon's heart warmed at the sight of Sansa's joy. He adored her, and she adored her two older brothers. They couldn't resist joining her in the snowy courtyard, leaving their mock battle behind. Laughter filled the air as they built a lopsided snowman and engaged in a playful snowball fight.
Robb, Jon, and Sansa rolled in the snow, leaving imprints of their bodies on the ground. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness, and Jon couldn't help but smile.
In the midst of the snowball fight, as the trio tumbled in the snow, Jon's thoughts briefly drifted to his dreams—those strange visions of a world unlike their own, where advanced agriculture and aspects of medieval warfare existed. With the limited knowledge he had gained from these dreams, he believed he could prove himself, but he had no idea how or where to use it. His brow furrowed with determination as he pondered his next steps.
In the shadows of Winterfell, Jon Snow, the outcast, began his journey to prove himself, armed with a partial understanding of a world he could barely comprehend.