[Chapter Size: 3700 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Artic, 299 AC.
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Jon adjusted his helmet beside him as he knelt, leaning his body back when he sat in front of the Great Weirwood's core, closing his eyes. The darkness took over, and his contact with the beings above the mortal world was quite fast in this process.
"You are here", the deep and feminine voice of one of the Old Gods echoed in his mind.
"I am here as you summoned me through the child of the forest.?", Jon said.
"We called you here for a reason. To guide you", her voice replied.
Jon only nodded, unsure if that was enough or not, since his eyes were still closed and he couldn't open them anymore.
"Before that, Jon Arctic, we want to talk… do you know why we chose you? Why we simply took all the magic around the world and focused it solely on you to give you the powers you possess? Even though they are not all the powers that the people who follow us have, you still have abilities that never existed, and you are more magically powerful than anyone before you." The voice spoke. It was true—Jon could not have the abilities of greensight, but he certainly did things a greenseer would never dream of doing.
"Not to mention how he has grown. These powers can still develop much more than they are now, just as they have grown within him over the last 11 solar cycles…", a second voice echoed, seeming to analyze the mortal with interest.
Jon was surprised, but still divided between sadness and being perplexed with the attention of this second voice.
"He seems like a sad mortal…" A third voice said, as if observing his emotions.
"I had a recent loss… or at least I just found out that this person died moons ago and I didn't even know…", Jon said with sadness, though he kept his voice steady. Even in front of his gods, he did not waver — just as he hadn't wavered before the Red God.
"We know", the first, more feminine voice said.
"Then I would like to make a request of you if you allow me…" Jon began immediately, with obvious caution.
"Calm yourself. All in due time, and we will do that shortly. First answer my question: why do you think we chose you among all the creatures in the world? There were thousands. We could have chosen any Targaryen or Stark in any time, especially the Starks, who have much more affinity with us than a Targaryen ever would."
"I believe it is because of my lineage… and also because of the time we are in…", Jon answered immediately.
"You are not wrong. We are at a time limit. However, you know it is unwise to choose an eight-year-old child to take on such responsibility for something that would happen 11 years later, correct?"
Jon nodded. "Yes, I know. The task you gave me became much greater as time passed, and as I kept discovering things until I arrived at this same tree when it was no more than twenty meters tall... I never imagined back then that I would have to build an entire city and practically change most of the free folk in only ten years."
"The boy is right. In ten years he built a city and gave our people a home — of course not alone, but he was the main factor. He led and united the races to follow him. And the war is practically won now. The White Walkers no longer even represent a threat… their numbers are now insignificant...", the second voice replied.
"You protect us, my gods. Without you we would also be lost." Jon said in a humble tone.
"We are only avoiding unnecessary losses. But there is no doubt you would emerge victorious — not without a price to pay, and it could even be high, but still, you could win the war without us...", the third voice replied.
"In the end, we are very proud of what you have done, Jon Arctic. You exceeded all our expectations and created something that never existed in the mortal world. Perhaps the civilization of Valyria was powerful, but eventually the Kingdom of Arctic will surpass it entirely in the coming years." The first voice spoke.
"Ironic... those deceased gods could not keep their civilization stable and succumbed to doom", one of them commented. And, though Jon still wanted to speak about his uncle, he couldn't help feeling curious when hearing that.
"Deceased? The gods?", Jon asked carefully.
The first voice spoke again, with a certain calmness, almost seeming amused by his question. "Tell me, Jon Arctic, our champion… how do you think a god can die?"
"When people stop believing in them. When they are forgotten", Jon replied almost immediately.
"Exactly. The gods of Valyria were practically destroyed after the Doom. People no longer believed in them, and their names were forgotten over time, save for a few. That is why we call them 'dead gods'."
"And the Seven?", Jon asked, curious about the southern gods... He had never felt anything from them, even after he had clearly angered them in Oldtown...
A voice laughed in the background. "The Seven gods of the South do not exist. They are only a story — a story told by men who cling to faith, whether it is false or not. Faith in the Seven spread and rooted so deeply in Westeros that people firmly believe in something that does not exist. And the mere act of believing does not make a god exist. In the end, all gods provide magic to their followers, and the people of the Seven receive nothing. Is it not strange that there is no kind of magic among them?"
"This is true", Jon agreed. After all, there were greenseers, wargs, children of the forest, giants, dwarves — all of them were peoples tied to the Old Gods. The red priests had affinity with fire, could have visions, and even perform blood sacrifices in exchange for magic. The faceless assassins had their own magic. The people of ancient Valyria had the gift of fire like the pyromancers and affinity with dragons. Jon was a pyromancer as well, but powerful only when under certain circumstances, such as in the presence of the Red God or within Valyria.
And there were many other gods in the world as well.
And the Seven gods of the south… they were nothing compared to all these peoples who received magic from their gods.
Silence settled in the darkness for some time until the feminine voice once again echoed in Jon's ears.
"Returning to the question... Why did we choose you? We did not necessarily want to give only ten years for a child to create everything you did in that time. We would have preferred to place our efforts much earlier and already establish a good defense without all the problems you went through, someone decades before you to build your kingdom would have done much more without half your troubles... But we had no choice, and you did not fare poorly. As we said, you exceeded all our expectations. And we chose you precisely because you were right. Because you possess two powerful bloodlines that could be contradictory, but at the same time came into harmony. You were the first to arise in this world making one power stand out over the other, encouraging both to become stronger and stronger. This kind of spirit was ideal for us to place our gifts without killing anyone else we might have chosen in your place..."
"You were chosen by the Red God as well. To them, you are Azor Ahai. However, for us... you can be many things, but in particular, we like to call you a song, the Song of Ice and Fire — the one who will lead and protect the people of the Old Gods against the extinction of humanity. And you are almost winning that war..."
The voice faded. Jon remained silent and preferred not to comment. He had always found it uncomfortable to hear that about himself, although he was already used to it… still, it was unsettling.
"Anyway, let us continue. But first, I know you have a request, don't you, King of Arctic?", one of the gods said.
"Yes", Jon reaffirmed, his voice clearly asking for something.
"He wishes to see his uncle's death. So let us give that to him", another replied, already knowing beforehand what he wanted.
Everyone in that space seemed to agree.
Jon did not need to say anything. He felt something change suddenly. He was no longer in the darkness. The sound of people — a huge crowd — began to echo. Jon opened his eyes.
He found himself inside King's Landing, within a crowd around him.
Even wearing his Valyrian metal armor, no one seemed to notice his presence. He saw the people of King's Landing pushing one another. Jon immediately studied those people with his eyes — they looked more starved than he remembered the city to be.
His gaze returned to the large platform set up in that square, in front of the Great Sept of Baelor, with a man standing there. He was the executioner. But Jon saw only one thing: the sword he held.
It was Ice, Lord Stark's own sword.
That irritated him immediately; it was the sword that belonged to his mother's family, and it was in the hands of some nobody, clearly stolen.
A sound from the crowd echoed and made him turn his head as everyone began pointing toward a certain spot.
"The king! He has arrived!"
"The king is here with the traitor!"
"Long live King Joffrey!"
"Ned Stark, the traitor!"
"The traitor wolf!"
The people roared fiercely against Jon's uncle. He saw the gold cloaks making way through the crowd as the royal entourage, flanked by the white cloaks of the Kingsguard, advanced toward the execution site, standing above the people like privileged spectators.
Jon began moving through the crowd. He pushed some people aside, but they didn't seem to care or notice his existence. He continued toward the platform. He couldn't change anything that would happen — only watch. It was an intact vision, not a real moment, yet still frustrating for him… In the end, he would see the truth without distortions, unlike rumors and imperfect testimonies.
He saw his uncle being dragged, chained. Ned had a worn expression, yet he still walked, climbing the platform until he was placed before the execution block.
Jon couldn't remain still and approached. By instinct, he tried to lift Lord Stark. Even with strength beyond what a human could possess and capable of fighting giants, Ned didn't move or notice him. This was only a vision — unchangeable.
Pressing his lips together, he stepped back. All he could do was wait for what was to come. His eyes scanned everyone around.
Joffrey, with a huge scar on his hand due to the cut Arya had given him in Winterfell, raised his arm at that moment. Beside him stood Sansa Stark. She looked nervous, yet at the same time gazed at Joffrey like a lovestruck girl. Jon wanted to punch her in the face, not caring if he disfigured her with his fist — he would never forget that she had caused all of this.
The queen was there as well. Her face completely bandaged, only her eyes visible. Pure hatred burned in her gaze as she stared at kneeling Ned Stark.
Jon couldn't help thinking they should have killed Cersei long ago, but he would make sure not to leave her alive once he reached King's Landing in the future.
Varys was also present, with a serene expression. Littlefinger wasn't far, displaying a small discreet smile. Jon searched for Ser Barristan among the white cloaks, but he wasn't there.
All six were there, but Barristan Selmy was not present... and Jon recognized that white cloak who had lost an eye when he visited the Reach — he was wearing a pirate-style eyepatch, his face badly disfigured and missing teeth since the beating he received in Highgarden for having offended Seryna.
Another group began to emerge along the path, and Jon raised an eyebrow. It was a group of men wearing black robes, with the symbol of the Seven carved into their foreheads — the Seven-Pointed Star, clearly made with cuts. They carried staves and other weapons such as axes and maces, marching in formation like trained soldiers toward the square.
It was the Faith Militant. Around five hundred of them were scattered throughout the crowd, while some also climbed onto the platform.
"Why so much reinforcement?", Jon muttered to himself, observing the strange security at the scene.
"Your Majesty, we managed to bring down all the damned foreigners. There are no more of them in King's Landing", said a man with the carved forehead, addressing Joffrey.
"It is good that they are all dead. A magnificent result for those who dare challenge the king of the Seven Kingdoms", Joffrey said with arrogance. Jon didn't know exactly what was happening there, but at that moment, it no longer mattered.
"However... we could not find Ser Barristan Selmy." He said again to the king, with a somewhat cautious look, and a spark appeared in Joffrey's eyes with irritation, though he said nothing more.
Regardless, Joffrey kept his hand raised the entire time, while the population began to lower their voices, waiting for him to speak. When everything fell silent, Joffrey stepped forward, adjusting his kingly jerkin.
"Attention, people of King's Landing and all who are part of the Seven Kingdoms! You come here today to judge the traitor who tried to usurp the throne from me after my father's death!", he began, while the people resumed roaring.
"Traitor wolf!"
"Death to the wolf!"
"Cut off his head!"
With the roar of the crowd, Jon looked away for a moment, worried about his uncle, who kept his eyes fixed on the people, visibly disheartened. He knew he was going to die.
The young king raised his hand once more, silencing the crowd.
"Before we continue, I want the traitor to confess. Confess your crimes before all the Seven Kingdoms: that you betrayed my father, that you tried to usurp the throne from me! Tell everyone that you betrayed your former king and betrayed me, your new king!", Joffrey spoke with eloquence, while the executioner positioned himself beside them, placing the tip of Ice against the wood, close to Eddard Stark's neck.
"Confess, father... please, tell everyone", Sansa pleaded beside him, while her father stared at her for a moment. There was no anger or hatred in his eyes — only disappointment and concern.
Jon was close to the platform, seeing all of it. His gaze went to the people, who were beginning to shout, calling Ned a traitor.
"How did things end up like this…?", Jon pressed his lips together and looked at Ned, who sighed before he was about to speak now.
"It is true. I truly betrayed Robert Baratheon!", he said, earning another reaction from the common folk — who began throwing things at him, from fruits to small stones.
One of them struck Lord Stark's forehead, making it bleed with a line down the side of his face. Jon looked angrily at the one who had done it, mentally marking the man. He was just a beggar with a stone in his hand. But Jon also marked other people who threw objects that could injure Ned — even if they hadn't hit him.
Jon also noticed a smile curling on Littlefinger's lips, while his face displayed the scar left by the bird Jon had sent years earlier to kill him.
Cersei also seemed to have a great gleam of satisfaction in her eyes as she showed a very sweet smile, something that did not match only her former appearance. It was obvious she wanted to see Lord Stark crawling, but she also wanted him dead.
Ned then continued, even injured. "I betrayed a friend I considered a brother. It is true. I know we lived a long time in the Vale, and he was closer to me than anyone else, even more than my own brothers. However, I never stopped loving my other siblings. And one of them was my sister. My sister whom Robert Baratheon also loved: Lyanna."
A murmur spread through the crowd upon hearing that.
Why mention Lyanna's name there? Even the important members raised their eyebrows. Joffrey seemed not to understand what Ned intended to say, and Littlefinger narrowed his eyes. Cersei had a slight tremor in her lips. Varys looked worried…
Jon had noticed everything.
"…We went to war as soon as we learned that Lyanna had been kidnapped, and my brothers… killed by the Mad King. We defeated the Targaryens and, in the end, I went to retrieve her. She died in front of me asking me to protect something…", he said. "...Something I hid for about nineteen years."
The crowd quieted a bit. They no longer insulted him — they wanted to hear how far this would go.
"I hid from Robert Baratheon that I took my sister's son and claimed him as my bastard. I raised him in Winterfell, at least until his eighth nameday. My sister was married to Rhaegar, so I knew the danger the child faced as a legitimate Targaryen", he continued.
Immediately, everyone began reacting differently. The people looked stunned. Even Janos Slynt, still alive there while organizing the gold cloaks, looked perplexed toward the center of the square.
"No… do not let him continue!", Cersei began in a low tone, but Ned kept his voice steady.
"I was a traitor because I sheltered the last legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Jon Snow was never a bastard. His true name is Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. And all the Seven Kingdoms belong to him… who is known today as Jon Arctic, the King of Arctic."
"Stop! Do not let him continue!", Cersei screamed with all her strength. Things were not going as planned. Joffrey himself was perplexed, absorbing every one of those words.
But Ned was not finished. He knew his life would end there regardless, but he wanted to do something — something he had been too much of a coward to do during the eight years his nephew lived in Winterfell. He had never had the courage to tell him what he deserved to know, and now he had the chance. He did not mind losing his life for it.
'Promise me, Ned…' Lyanna's voice echoed in Ned's mind. 'Promise me you will protect him…'
Jon saw all of it. It was not just the vision — it was the living memory. He felt tears running down his face at that moment. He didn't remember the last time he cried. Maybe at the birth of his children — but that had been joy. Sadness… he hadn't felt it in a long time, after so many cold nights in Winterfell.
He knew his uncle was doing that for him. Jon had declared that one day he would go after the Iron Throne, and Ned was clearing the path for him to do so in that moment.
Jon watched every reaction. Surprise, shock, rage, horror… everyone had something on their face. The executioner seemed uncertain. Joffrey, finally understanding what this meant, began to hear his mother shout, pointing at Ned:
"Execute him! Kill him now!" He and his mother were desperate, but the bomb had already been dropped. Ned still had a few seconds as the executioner moved.
"The Iron Throne does not belong to Joffrey Waters!", Ned declared loud and clear. "Because he is a bastard, the product of an incestuous relationship between Cersei and Jaime Lannister! Just like all the royal children — they are all pure Lannister bastards! The true throne belongs to my nephew!"
The sword began to fall — Ice itself. Jon stood there in front of Ned, tears in his eyes as the blade approached Ned's neck. For some reason, Ned turned his gaze toward him — as if he could see him there. It shouldn't have been possible, but there it was. His uncle's gray eyes met his.
Jon was crying, his green eyes fixed on his uncle. And all he saw in Lord Stark's gaze was a silent message:
'Forgive me for everything I did to you and everything I failed to do… Jon. You deserved more. And I am proud of what you have become. I always will be.'
Then the head was cut off.
The light in Ned Stark's eyes vanished. His head fell from his body, and blood gushed out. The place was silent for a few seconds. Cersei trembled. Sansa was horrified, tears streaming down her face. Joffrey pressed his lips together, clenching his teeth so hard it seemed he might hurt them.
Varys had a certain scowl, and Littlefinger appeared clearly satisfied with Ned Stark's death — but soon his look returned to something more calculating, as if he were already assembling new scenarios from that moment.
Then the crowd exploded into chaos, immediately trying to understand what had just happened and whether it was true. They looked around in all directions, confused, outraged.
"He said Joffrey is a bastard!" someone roared, and other voices joined in.
Joffrey was shocked.
"Who said that?! Kill whoever said that!", he screamed, desperate.
This created a huge uproar throughout the crowd, which reacted wildly to the king's words. Some shouted "Bastard!", others demanded to know why they had executed Lord Stark without letting him finish confessing, and what all of that meant.
Rhaegar's son was alive.
He was the king.
That sorcerer from the North — the "evil king", as the Faith's propaganda called him to the common folk — was the true heir to the Iron Throne.
Even the men of the Faith Militant seemed lost and shocked. They looked at Joffrey with suspicion. The queen was desperate.
And in the midst of all of it, Jon stood there, just staring at Lord Stark's severed head. His tears did not cease.
"I swear, uncle… I will avenge you. I will make them all pay for this...", Jon said slowly, as if reciting a vow, letting a flame of vengeance grow inside him.
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