The Old Gods were strange and in these times, largely distant from the realm of men, anchored in the roots of the weirwoods. And yet, in the fashion of gods, they had kin. From the mad and not quite dead drowned god, to the blood and fire drunk R'hllor, to the Storm God whose blood flowed first in House Durrandon and then Baratheon, one could debate that they had a number of kin. And yet, it was none of these that noticed young Jon Snow as he entered the world, none that had not already accounted for him in their ages old songs and plans.
All save for a group of outsiders who had been merely passing by when they heard the coming Song of Ice and Fire and decided to listen in. Tall and gleaming with inner light and beauty, they frowned and pondered, their fingers moving to touch the boy. For what was a song that was to rouse the spirits of the people, to be a new anthem to the nation, if it was not touched by that primal fire that roared across creation? And so, the Metal Gods looked on Jon Snow and bestowed their blessings, a seed of something placed inside of his soul.
Well, that and in the godswood a rock, an guitar-axe placed in it erupted from the earth, pushed along with a roaring fanfare of molten rock and steel, to the screaming of the winds and the howling of the world. And a voice roared out, to the beating of a wild drum, to the reverbing thunder that pulsed and sang so deep inside all that heard it. "When the Chosen of the Metal Gods is ready to harness the thunder of the peoples voice, the fire in their souls and the cold northern winds, to shatter the chains in the minds and flesh, let the little dude take up the guitar and bring our blessing to the world!"
This was of course, accompanied by a spotlight focused directly on Jon Snow, so there was no doubt in anyones mind who the Metal Gods were referring to. Then again, these were the Metal Gods, they did not really do subtle. And so it came to pass, not even a year old and he was marked by all that heard and saw in the north as a prophet. And unremarked by Eddard Stark as he ran around trying to explain things, was that Jon Snow (born Ameon Targaryen) was nodding along to the beat of unknown music.
When Jon Snow was nine and Theon Greyjoy was made a 'ward' (a hostage in truth), he took up the guitar in the Godswood and gained the first disciple of the metal gods in the confused young man. In many ways, as Jon showed Theon the Truth of Metal, of the pulsing beat and thundering freedom to be found inside of it, the Greyjoy looked to the sky as storm clouds grew and screamed out defiance to the heavens, lightening bolts slamming into him, to reforge the youth.
And so, he emerged, defined anew to a new pulse in the world, with ripples of lightening in his eyes, and a guitar of his own in hand. And from the fingers and strings of the squid came the ferocity of the sea and storm in all its uncaring beauty and cruelty. In all its vastness and splendor that claimed so many lives over the ages, that called for freedom and to explore, for the mystery and the wonder, for the terror and the dreams. For there were few other places were men could go to feel so small.
And yet, in that smallness, they gripped the primal truth. They must scream out that they exist, they must expand and fill and roam, and simply BE. And so, trapped so far from the sea, Theon carried some of that primal brine with him as it swept out from his soul. And with a nod, he joined Jon as music was shared, as a stage was wrought in the pulsing beat... and as a band was assembled. For the call had gone out, a roar that would grow and rumble, until none could deny it.
When the banners went south to rescue Eddard Stark, Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy and several others that formed the bands of the Metal Bards (viewed with some amusement by the warriors of the north) showed new skills and terrible new creations. Creatures of metal far swifter than any horse that rumbled and roared to voices all of their own, great boxes that pulsed with the music wrought and devised by those whose souls were given to Metal, and the array of weapons and ways of unleashing devastation on the foe made many scream that the dragons had come again.
From the burning maws of cycles that at the same time could unleashing healing pulses of bass that vibrated and rattled bones, to rumbling tracks that were mostly those strange black boxes that tore apart men and stone in roars of pure noise, to the storm spires latched onto swift and light frames that seemed to almost glide over water that struck men down with bolts of light and fire... many were the ways these metal bards struck the foe down, before they emerged and strode into battle outside of their vehicles.
And yet, it would be a mistake to say they fought. No, as the music roared and the blood spilled under axe, sword and mace, it was simply the most violent musical performance that the Lannister army had ever had the misfortune to be caught up in. And still, they came, still they played as they pressed on, laughing and playing as sagas were born, as legends were carved into eternity. Curses were uttered, and few in Kings Landing really appreciated the most wild and free of the North's newest forces. Not as they came closer, as hearts soared among the North and morale dropped without a life being taken.
And yet, this was just the beginning, of Jon Snow, chosen of the Metal Gods.