Jon Snow
Two Sennights Later
He and Uncle Ned stood in the Godswood. Winterfell guards stood by the entrance a ways away. In front of them, tied up and bound by rope before the crying Weirwood was an older man, slightly younger than Ned, though as he was a smallfolk, he looked much more aged.
He had brown hair, stress lines on his weathered face, and a pair of bulging, rat like eyes. As the name smallfolk implied, he was a very short man, only two or three heads taller than Jon.
This man was a rapist and a murdererer. A girl no older than ten and two was his victim. He slaked his lusts on her body, and strangled her so she would tell no one.
Unfortunately for the man but no one else, the girl's father had gathered a group to find his daughter. They came upon the scene mere minutes after the girl had died, and the lackwit hadn't left. Their vengeance had been taken and the man was beaten brutally, evident by his broken arm, nose, leg and yellowish-purple bruises that dotted nearly every inch of his body. His teeth were equally shattered.
Guardsmen came upon them during the act, and though they weren't happy, they accepted the man being taken in front of Lord Stark. They knew justice would come, and theirs had already been given.
This was a man Jon would feel no guilt in ending.
He looked up to his father. His features were contorted, grimacing at the dagger in Jon's hand. It felt heavy.
"You are too young," he said solemnly.
"So was the girl," Jon said.
"She was," Ned conceded. His uncle sighed deeply, looking torn.
"Puhelse mmmlorr," came the broken begging.
"You will die," Jon said. Terror shone in rat-like eyes. "You raped and murderered a girl, and now you beg for mercy? Where was hers?"
The man didn't answer. He started to shake violently.
Jon looked at Uncle Ned one last time, receiving a reluctant tip of his head. Permission.
His hands started to shake, and he didn't know why. This was to stay alive. His first step towards never dying. This man was scum. The worst sort of scum, and yet, he wavered.
Why?
He knew eternal pain awaited him.
Why?
Torture the likes mortals couldn't imagine.
Why?
Why did he hesitate?
A millions voices conjoining into a single scream whispered into his ear, "Only death pays for life," the Stranger said.
Jon didn't give himself time to think, and gave the man death. His dagger slid into the man's neck and crimson spilled, running down his hairy neck, wet choking sounds filling the air.
He looked at the raper, straight into the man's brown eyes, and saw the life leave them. The raper's head fell to the ground, boneless, as blank eyes stared up into the gently falling snow.
A ping rang out. One only he could hear. It didn't matter. His stomach churned and he felt he might puke.
Why?
His uncle knelt and drew him into a hug as his breath turned shallow.
"I killed him. I killed someone," Jon said, voice frozen like the cold ground.
His uncle ran gentle fingers through his hair. "It's okay," Ned whispered. "You had to. It's okay."
Jon pushed himself from his Uncle's arms and threw up. He felt weak. Like a small gust of wind could send him up into the skies, to death, to what it should be.
Peace.
Not torture.
He had damned that man to death, and he would do it again, and again, and again, and that sickened him more than the blood staining the snow. He would sentence them to the same fate he sought to avoid.
"Only death can pay for life," the Stranger whispered once more, and for the first time, Jon truly knew what that meant.
He would kill and kill and kill and could only hope he didn't lose himself in the process.
As his Uncle drew him into strong arms once more, Jon allowed himself to be weak.
Time passed, and his strength slowly returned. He pushed himself from his Uncle's arms.
"Jon—"
"Not now Father," he cut his father off. "Just—please. Not now."
Ned frowned, but nodded. "Then listen. I was the same. When I first took a life," he reiterated. "You are but a boy. One day, you will know today was worth it. One day, you will know."
Jon nodded reluctantly. He already knew it was worth it. He hadn't lied when he told Ned his mother could die. If he lost the spell Avert Death, there was almost a certainty she would die.
It was the killing—how it affected him he didn't expect.
Ned Stark pushed the body onto the stump used for executions. He drew Ice, and in a single swing aligning with the dagger's thrust, he chopped the man's head off and covered Jon's own actions.
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"What's wrong Jon?" His little sister questioned. Normally, she drew comfort from him. It was natural. For all he didn't have memories of a first life, he was mature and childish concerns were similarly childish. She usually hugged him so tight in their shared quarters that it seemed she wished to burrow into his skin.
That night, it was the opposite. They laid on his bed, facing each other as he buried his face into her shoulder, squeezing her so tight he feared it would hurt her.
He just needed comfort from someone who didn't know what bothered him. Who wouldn't judge him for needing comfort in the first place. He needed the person he loved most to just hold him.
"Nothing, little sister. No need to worry about me."
"Something's wrong! You take care of me, so let me take care of you," she huffed, her tone brooking no argument.
"Nothings wrong. I don't know why, but I'm just sad," he said.
"Liar! Tell me!" She shouted, sounding hurt and commanding at the same time.
"I'm being honest, Jo. Just hugging you is making me feel better," Jon honestly said.
She huffed again, and Jon could imagine the pout on her lips.
"Sing for me?" Jon said, trying to give her something to do so she wouldn't grill him so relentlessly. She giggled and nodded.
"Okay. I'll make you feel better," she said, and began to sing. Her childish voice was clear and sweet, like birds chirping underneath the morning skies, or the sun kissing his face on a chilly day.
"High in the halls of the Kings who were gone,
Jenny would dance with her ghosts,
The ones had lost and the ones she had found,
And the ones who had loved her the most,
Despite himself, her voice soothed him.
High in the halls of the Kings who were gone,
Jenny would dance with her ghosts,
The ones had lost and the ones she had found,
And the ones who had loved her the most,"
She finished singing and giggled. "Was I any good? The Septa taught me some of it but she looked like she swallowed lemons when I sang."
"You're amazing," Jon said. "She's just jealous."
"Of a bastard?"
"Better a bastard than an old hag."
She laughed again, then yawned.
"You'll tell me what's wrong tomorrow," she threatened. It sounded like a kitten growling to Jon.
"Go to sleep. Tomorrow I'll be fine."
Joanna Snow closed her eyes, and Jon hummed a low lullaby until soft snores filled the room.
He just stared at her, then. The moonlight streaked across her face, painting her pale skin in a silver glow. She looked at peace, and in that moment, a thought came that nearly put all his worries, guilt, shame, and fears to rest.
No one I love will meet death. No one.
Strangers System, he thought, and the display came to life.
The Quest [First Blood] has been completed. Press [Here] to see your rewards.
He pressed it.
You completed this quest using wisdom, and received help from your 'father'. The Crone and the Father smile down upon you.
Crows are renowned for their intelligence, feast upon corpses, and you shall be their 'father.'
You have received a power known as [Crowfather.]
[Crowfather: Crows listen to you and do your bidding. You can understand them. When speaking with you or following commands, they gain a humanlike intelligence.
Now that was an interesting power. It would serve him well, here, where he could make no massive moves without the possibility of the Seven Kingdoms raining steel and blood upon the North. Could he kill someone with an army of crows? It was worth looking into… For now, he would keep to the status quo. He was too young and too weak to throw the Kingdoms into chaos. He needed to wait for maturity so he could make moves and actually capitalize on them.
Jon smiled all the same.
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Two Sennights Later
Lyanna Stark
In the distance, she could see the massive double-walled frame of Winterfell, sprawling across the countryside, seeming as large as the North itself. Memories of her childhood tore through her then, a nearly visceral pain rising in her chest.
She remembered Brandon, with his easy-going smirk, full-bellied laughs, and love of life. Of chasing him around the courtyards and halls, always out of reach until he let himself be caught by her. He would sweep her up in his arms, pressing kisses upon her face and tickling her.
She remembered Benjen. The childish mischief they got up too—stealing pies and cakes from the kitchen, throwing balls of snow at guardsmen, and thinking up 'clever' plots that in hindsight made them seem like lackwits. Then their childish plots grew into grown escapades that were infinitely more dangerous. The blood of thousands rested upon their heads. She wanted to see him—to know if he blamed her, and if he blamed himself, to assuage that guilt.
She remembered her father. Grim and serious, but always saving a small smile for her, and by the Old Gods, he could never tell her no. Except when it really mattered, she thought.
She remembered Ned. Honorable and serious, even as a child, and his disapproving looks when she broke one rule or another. Now, she knew what lengths her brother would go to to protect her.
He lies to his best friend, a brother in all but blood. He lies to the Seven Kingdoms. Their disagreement had nearly come to blows, the last they'd seen each other. Lyanna couldn't help but love him the most of all her siblings, regardless.
He threw away his honor, his friendship, his morals, all for her and her children. He put the headsman's sword over his own if the truth was ever found out.
That was a debt she could never repay, even if she slaved away for a million years.
They were five name days old, now, her Daemon and Alysanne. What did they look like? Were they still mirrored in image, or had they grown different with age. Were they close as wolves in a pack, telling each other each fear, secret, and desire? What did they love? Did Daemon prefer the swords or books or the harp? Or was he a trickster at heart? Did Alysanne prefer learning the womanly arts, or did she wish to ride into battle? Were songs of love what caught her ear, or of war?
What were their favorite colors? Their favorite foods?
Not knowing such simplistic things manifested an almost tangible pain. It was by others actions that she had to hide her children's lives, but she was old and wise enough now to know she was at fault, too. That truth hurt.
"My Queen," Ser Wendel Manderly said, drawing her from her thoughts.
"I am no Queen, Ser," she smiled bitterly, hiding her true feelings.
"In the North, you always will be."
"All the same, I prefer the title of 'my Lady," she said.
Upon arriving at White Harbor, the fat Lord Wyman insisted on sending his son and heir Wendel along with a hundred guardsmen, bringing the total number of men at arms to three hundred.
She hated Robert, but his care for her safety even now was evident. If he wouldn't murder her children without a second thought, she may have grown to like him.
"As you will, My Lady," Wendel said, surveying the landscape. "These damned crows are everywhere. It's unnerving."
A murder of crows had followed them for nearly a sennight, and it was strange, but Lyanna did not feel scared or distaste their presence. They felt familiar. In a strange way almost connected to her son's golden light. She made eye-contact with one. It cocked its head, beady black eyes staring straight into her soul before taking flight in the direction of the walled Godswood. The rest of its brood stayed at a distance, watching them.
"Much like the snakes in King's Landing," she remarked. Such comments in the North were to be expected, after all. "The North is of a more loyal breed. I prefer it."
Wendel nodded in agreement. "Aye. With a damned Lannister on the throne no doubt it will grow worse."
She nodded in agreement. "Tywin is a ruthless man with a thirst for power. All know it. I care for Robert even now, but if Cersei has a sliver of Tywin in her he'll be eaten alive."
"Aye," Ser Wendel said, face scrunching in distaste.
They fell into a comfortable silence as Winterfell slowly grew closer.
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A small party entered Winterfell—most of the guards had been left in Wintertown where they could waste their money on whores and ale before returning to King's Landing, although some of the most trusted of the King's men saw her and Ser Wendel into the Keep. The Starks of Winterfell stood in a line from eldest to youngest, from left to right, though Lady Catelyn Stark held baby Arya next to Ned, even heavily pregnant as she was. Lyanna vaulted off the back of her gray mare, and her eyes fell to her children.
They were beautiful, Daemon more than Alysanne. Something about him drew her eye. He looked like a Prince, even a King, standing composed with aquiline features and shining amethyst eyes. His hair was dark, like a midnight sky, contrasting against his pale Northern skin. Targaryens were once said to be closer to gods than men, and Daemon looked the part. He looked otherworldly in his beauty, and that wasn't just a mothers love speaking.
His sister stood beside him, their features similar besides the difference gender obviously brought. Her cheeks were chubbier as well, but growing finer with age. She wasn't an otherworldly beauty, but Lyanna could see she would still be a great beauty nonetheless. Alysanne looked nervous and excited, in comparison to her brother's stoicism. Her little hands clutched the edges of her worn gray dress, and Lyanna wanted to lift her up and squeeze her for eternity.
King's men are with you, she thought, and a surge of fear kept her from engraving each and every feature into her mind, lest her staring become too obvious.
"Brother!" She exclaimed, rushing towards Ned. They hugged, and for the first time in forever she felt safe. Her children were safe and so was she. They pulled apart, and she saw his gray eyes were wet, shining with unshed tears.
"Lyanna. I've missed you," he simply said. His eyes were warm and welcoming even through the tears.
"The lone wolf dies—" she started.
"But the pack survives," he finished.
They stared at each other and chuckled fondly before he turned and gestured to the woman beside him.
"This is my wife, Lady Catelyn."
The red-haired, heavily pregnant woman stepped forward and smiled. In her eyes, Lyanna swore she saw pity. In her arms was little Arya, who looked at Lyanna curiously. "It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady. Ned has told me much of you," Catelyn said.
"You have my thanks, Lady Catelyn," she made a show of studying Robb, Sansa, Arya, and the Lady's bulging belly. "You have brought joy to Winterfell."
The Lady's smile came out more genuine this time. Arya squirmed in Catelyn's arms, reaching towards the ground.
"The Wolf's blood is thick in her," Lyanna commented, amused.
"Ned says the same thing," Catelyn said exasperated. "Arya is a handful."
"She is a Stark."
Catelyn nodded and turned to the auburn-haired boy. "Introduce yourself."
"I'm Robb."
"Use your courtesies!" Catelyn commanded.
Lyanna and Ned chuckled. "We are family and he is a child. There is no need."
Catelyn blushed but nodded in acceptance.
"It's very nice to meet you, Robb."
"You too Aunt Lyanna. Do you have any good stories for us?"
"Some," she said. "A few very good ones that will surely embarrass your father. I'll tell them to you later." She said with a conspiratorial wink. She reached out and ruffled his hair before moving down the line.
Sansa Stark was nearly as cute as her daughter. The red-haired girl performed a more than adequate curtsy.
"What a fine little lady you are," Lyanna laughed. "I'm very impressed."
"Will you tell me stories of King's Landing?" She questioned in a high childish voice, blue eyes shining with delight.
"Of course. Later though. Okay?"
Sansa eagerly nodded.
Lyanna gave her one last smile before moving onto her son.
"And you must be Jon?"
"Yes Aunt Lyanna."
His voice was childish, but smooth, like velvet or silk. She smiled involuntarily. "And what stories would you like to hear?"
"Have you ever seen a dragon skull?"
"Yes. There are many skulls in the underbelly of the Red Keep."
His amethyst eyes nearly glowed with delight. "Tell me more?"
"Later," she agreed, ruffling his hair and forcing herself to move onto her daughter. King's men are watching, she thought once more.
"And you are Joanna? Jon's twin?"
Alysanne glanced towards Lady Stark, curtsied shakily and nodded. "Ye—Yes Aunt Lyanna," she stuttered. Lyanna held back a frown. Are her children scared of Lady Stark?
"What do you like?"
"My brother," she said simply.
"That's it? Nothing more?"
"We—well he's good at everything! Singing! Telling stories! Fighting! He's the best big brother!" She nearly shouted, forgetting her nervousness. Her hands gripped her dress tighter. "I like singing though. And dancing."
She glanced towards Jon, who shrugged. "Her words, not mine."
Robb giggled. "C'mon little sister. Just agree with Joanna."
"Call me a girl one more time!" Jon challenged, though it was filled with mirth.
"Girl girl girl!"
"That's enough children," Ned sternly cut in, though amusement shone in his eyes too. "Your aunt must be tired. I'll have Jory show her to her rooms. We'll talk more later."
Lyanna fought the urge to stretch her body like a cat. Riding a horse for a couple of sennights definitely didn't feel the best. She could use the rest.
With a final glance towards the children, she agreed and was led away.
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Food was brought to her rooms and for once, she didn't need to keep the composure of a Queen. No servants stayed while she ate and she didn't fear eyes and ears in the walls.
With that said, she devoured the food in mere minutes. A thick and crunchy pie crust filled with chicken, peas, carrots, and a delicious gravy. By the Old Gods she had missed Nans meat pies.
She wiped her lips right as a knock resounded off the door.
"Lyanna?" Her brother's voice said. "May I enter?"
"Come in!"
He did so, and when she caught a look at his weary and nervous face she knew something was wrong. To others, his face may look like stone, but she knew her brother even now.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing today… but…" Ned struggled to find the right words. "Jon. His power is growing."
Eyes wide, she stared at him. Her mind flashed to the golden light—the love—that filled her. "You mean?"
"Yes. The power he gained is very strong, but the cost was high," Ned admitted.
"How high?" She warily said.
"It… he said it was keeping him hostage. By his words he would grow stronger, or a power would be taken away. And whoever it was used on would be taken, too. Unknowingly, he was referencing the power he used to save your life. You would've died."
That sent her mind racing, but first and foremost, "What was the cost, Ned?" Her tone allowed no argument.
"He had to kill someone, Lyanna."
"He… Jon? Jon killed someone?"
"Aye," Ned said, suddenly aging ten years. "A raper and a murderer. But no matter how foul the man, for a boy so young to deliver justice..."
"You… you let him kill someone?"
"What was I to do? Let you die? It was an impossible choice."
She tried to put herself into his situation. What would she do? Die so her children's innocence remained? Or bloody their young hands to grow more powerful, and so she could stay alive by their side?
Lyanna knew it was selfish, but she would have made the same decision.
"I don't like it," she said.
"Who would?"
Lyanna sighed. A breath filled with worry and resigned acceptance. "What was the power he gained?"
"Crowfather, he calls it. The ability to control all crows."
Then the murder that followed them was on her son's orders?
"That is a strong power, Ned."
"Aye. He's already used it too. Sent eyes and ears of hundreds of beasts across the Seven Kingdoms. If a Great Lord figures out the truth, plots, or anything of the like, Jon will know."
She imagined Daemon on the Iron Throne, clothed in red and black, crowned, with a million eyes and two. With his power, he could do it. Or at least come close.
Close isn't enough, she thought fiercely. Only if there was no danger would she urge war.
"Good. This will protect him."
"It will," he sighed. "It worries me all the same. If his power grew once and held you hostage, will it do the same again? Give him some terrible test?"
"We will help him if it does," Lyanna promised, and it sounded with the surety of snow.
"Of course," Ned said. A moment later a wry smile came to the Quiet Wolf's face. "It is good to see you sister. Truly."
"I've missed you all. King's Landing… It's been terrible."
Ned nodded, then grimaced. "I need to apologize–"
She cut him off. "No. I should be thanking you. You kept them safe. That's more than enough to clear any grievance.
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A/N: this chapter shows the first instance of a narrator being quite unreliable. Reality is often different from dreams, after all; but have no fear. This is an evil MC.
At the same time, the MC grounds himself in somewhat 'noble' desires. The road to hell is easier to walk with good intentions.