Prologue

Jon Snow/Aemon Targaryen

(Year 304 A.C.) Kingslanding

There he lay dying, betrayed once again by someone he thought wouldn't. This time it was his brother, just like his black brothers before. "Bran," he choked as he looked up at his cousin-brother. He had been waiting to attend the council, to decide what would be next for Westeros. This was after he had killed his love, becoming a kingslayer in the process. He couldn't fathom why Grey Worm hadn't killed him. Perhaps waiting to prolong his agony.

Now in this cell, he lay dying, killed by his own sweet Bran. He sat there in his wielchair, still unmoving. As he looked into his eyes, he saw a glint of blue – those cold blue eyes he had seen at Hardhome and Winterfell. The last thing he saw was the smirk of the Night King staring back at him. As the life escaped out of him, and then everything went black.

He wasn't sure where he was only that it was black, and he knew he was dead. Perhaps this was his hell, or whatever he was sent to the last time he died. He couldn't remember anything after his first death. Then the darkness was pierced by voices. "Ah, our dragonwolf. You haven't lost yet. We, the Old Gods and those of Valyria can give you a chance to hopefully prevent this. The children of fire are not meant to die out prematurely? To fight against the cold, to prepare the realm as it should have been?" The voices in the dark explained. 'What! The gods of Valyria and Old gods spoke to him.'

"To maintain balance, we sent out our own herald. The first of both your peoples, the first hero Azor Ahai, initiated the bloodlines – one of ice and one of fire. The blood of forty dragon lords descends from fire, drawn to dragons and heat. The Starks, blood of ice, are drawn to direwolves and cold. The Valyrians forgot their original purpose and were destroyed. Some of their bloodlines escaped due to the dreams we sent to Daenys. Similarly, we influenced Aegon so he would unite Westeros against the impending storm. This was referred to as the Song of Ice and Fire. You were meant to be the one who could have sent the great champion back to its prison in the Lands of Always Winter, to restart the cycle" the voice said.

"But when your sister killed him, he was forced back, but wasn't forced back into his prison. However, his essence was sent to the nearest link. Your brother, it was his plan all along. He lured Bran with a vision, a trap – the same vision that allowed Bran to see the Night King, which resulted in your brother being marked," the voice explained. His thoughts were deeply absorbed in this revelation. 'It all made so much sense – why else would he be brought back to life? He felt as if something had been tugging at him since his resurrection, as if he wasn't entirely himself.'

"Your thoughts are accurate. The Night King orchestrated it all. He can now work in the shadows while the winter that has gripped Westeros will gradually consume it. There will be no one left to stop him. The world will become one of darkness, cold, and death, as the line who was meant to send him back is no more." the voices said sorrowfully.

"So, child of fire and ice, do you accept to return? To change the future and give life a chance? Remember, this will be your final opportunity, it will give us all one last chance. After this we won't have the power to send you back again as second time. As the old gods and the Valyrian gods have been forgotten in favor of false idols," the voice murmured.

"What? The Seven are false gods?" He exclaimed, shaken by the thought.

"Yes, a cruel ploy by the Great Other to make men ignorant of its true nature. The same goes for the Black Goat. Those gods are not real – only the god of death, the Many-Faced God, and the old gods and Valyrian gods represent different aspects of life," the voices murmured. 'Their mode of communication was peculiar and unsettling. All different voices, but all sounding as one. A song of life. An interesting though.' He thought with half a smile.

"Now, champion, will you once again attempt to fight for the world of men? Or will you choose the tranquility of darkness, letting everything wither away?" the voices asked in a deep murmur.

"Yes, I accept the chance. I'll give life a fighting chance. What happens now?" Then, everything turned white, and a blinking light appeared before him.

The man formerly known as Jon Snow or Aemon Targaryen emerged into the world. It was the year 92 AC. the second moon, the third child of Baelon Targaryen and firstborn of Lyanna Stark.

"Damn, where am I?" He said but it came out as he cried out like an infant. A woman with black-brown hair and grey eyes cradled him. He recognized the eyes of Arya and his uncle. Remembering them brought a pang of emotion.

"Lyanna, you've done well. After Aegon, I never thought I'd have another child," a man with silver-blonde hair appeared. His eyes were purple.

"Thank you, Baelon, my love. It seems the little one has your hair and my eyes," the woman, named Lyanna said. 'It was odd. Could it be that the gods had granted him the blessing of having his mother this time? It seemed Rhaegar wouldn't be a part of this life. But he would honor him all the same, as his other father Eddard Stark, even if he lied to him about his truth. Perhaps even a father as well, he wasn't sure, the mad seemed to love his mother were they married?' His thoughts ran through his head with the possibilities.

"Do you have a name in mind, my she-wolf?" The man named Baelon inquired. 'Was he her husband or was he a bastard? Was he reborn a true bastard this time? Or was trueborn like last time?' He hoped the latter.' He thought as looked at the man.

"I do, if you're in agreement, my dragon. How about Aemon Targaryen, named after your brother?" His mother suggested, her smile radiant. Baelon nodded and kissed her. 'Thank the gods,' He thought.

"Come now, little Aemon. How about some milk?" His mother asked, bringing her breast to his mouth. 'I suppose I'm a little hungry,' he thought as he suckled at his mother's breast. It was a somewhat embarrassing experience – a 20-namedays-old man trapped in a baby's body. Suckling at his mother's breast.

Thus began the rebirth of Aemon Targaryen in the second moon of the year 92 A.C.

(Thanks for the read, well I'm the official writer of this story. Not: Anthony Santana, who has copied my work for Archive of Our Own. Without permission)