Wayward King - 001

Chapter 001 – Rain and Snow – A New Beginning

[289 AC – Winterfell]

Weakly turning this way and that way, his clothes soaked with sweat as the faintest whimpers and moans escaped his lips, his raven-black hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks, a young boy laid under thick covers with a high fever, his skin almost burning to the touch.

A blazing fire was set in the fireplace to keep the cold of the night out during this critical time, though the room itself was smallish considering the boy's father was the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark.

But then again, the young boy was only an illegitimate child, even if acknowledged as a bastard, so his quarters naturally had to be smaller than those of the legitimate children. Or at least Catelyn Star née Tully, the wife of Eddard Stark was of this opinion, which was why she had insisted on these quarters.

Nevertheless, at this point in time when the boy named Jon Snow lay sick in his bed, the Lady of Winterfell, which was the seat of House Stark, sat by the boy's bedside, exhaustion and worry thick on her face, hints of guilt in the depths of her gaze.

She, who had always seen the bastard as nothing but the personification of her humiliation and as a threat to her own children, now hoped with all her heart that the small boy would survive his fever and return to health.

Catelyn had often thought that it would be better if the boy didn't exist but when truly facing a situation that could end fatally for the boy, seeing him suffering and in pain, she just wanted him to get better, her motherly instincts silencing her more nefarious thoughts without exception.

Her husband was away at war, serving the King and helping to quell the Greyjoy Rebellion, and only now did she understand that the boy had no one else besides her to care for him while he was sick.

For sure, there were the servants and the Maester, who could take over this role, but the boy lacked the loving care of a mother, having never even been embraced by his own, never been kissed on the cheek by her or scolded when he played to rough like boys were supposed to.

She felt ashamed of how cold and hostile she had been in the past now that she looked at his pale face and hurting expression.

For more than two days she had sat by his side now, changing the wet compress on his forehead, washing the sweat of his body, and trying to feed him even the tiniest spoons of broth and porridge.

She had hardly slept more than three hours herself during this time, never leaving his side as she prayed to the Seven, even going so far as to somewhat neglect her youngest child Bran, who wasn't even a full year old.

She felt as if the gods were punishing her for her ill thoughts towards the boy, showing her how easy it really was to take him from her and her husband, so she promised to change her ways in her prayers.

Swearing to be more accepting and caring, she pleaded with The Crone, promising that she had been awakened to her errors. She begged The Mother to be merciful and protect the child while beseeching The Stranger to stay away.

And the gods seemed to listen as the boy finally opened his eyes when dawn came.

Though maybe, the gods knew that her prayers were hollow promises because the boy that had fallen into a feverish coma wasn't the same that opened his eyes again.

…

His eyelids were heavy as he forced them open after awakening, his every breath exhausting him. He felt as if he had no energy left in my body, heavy covers pressing down on him.

He was a bit disoriented while he took in his surroundings, trying, and failing, to recall when he had gone to bed and what he had done before that.

Though when he saw the rough stone walls of the room that he was currently in, the furs that had been draped over him, the open fireplace to the side, as well as an unfamiliar older woman with auburn hair resting her upper body on the bed, having obviously fallen asleep, he was somewhat panicked.

This was obviously not his home but it also didn't feel like a dream.

And just as he was about to try and push off the heavy furs to try and escape from this mess that seemed like an admittedly very believable recreation of the living conditions in olden times, a stream of warmth entered his brain, causing his tired mind to be energized as memories appeared in front of his inner eye.

He remembered his life as somewhat of a nomad, traveling from city to city after leaving the orphanage to find some work wherever he could, chasing after cheap places to live in.

He had been named David after the patron saint of Wales while 'Rain' had been chosen as his surname since it had rained the day that the orphanage had taken him in as a newborn.

Once old enough, he hadn't even considered going to college since he had just wanted to get out of there. The orphanage had been a place for the lost and unwanted, and he hadn't wanted to either, didn't want to belong there anymore.

It wasn't that the orphanage had been such a horrible place to live in or that the matron and the other caretakers were bad people but something inside him just hadn't wanted to stay there for even one more day after he had graduated from high school.

Without a family or anyone else to depend on, he had moved around the world to find a place that he could call home, living off the money that he had made through all kinds of jobs.

At times, he had worked as a cleaner, waiter, night guard, receptionist, cashier, and many others while silently focusing on his art.

Still, he only drew for himself, often finding solace in every stroke of his pen and brush.

It didn't matter that life had been hard and that he had often been broke and had to go hungry for a few days, he did what he loved despite the many challenges and difficulties that he had faced. And he had seen the world while doing so since he had never hesitated to take last-minute flights to even the most remote corners of the world.

Fortunately, he had never fallen into drugs and crime despite having had many chances to do so. He wasn't sure why that was so but he had certainly tried to live in a way that would not leave him with regret and shame at the end of his journey.

And admittedly, he had often thought about his parents, who had apparently just given him away. He had speculated on their reasons for abandoning him often, his anger for them long since gone even though the pain had remained.

Most importantly though, David remembered his death at the young age of 28.

He had been out late at night since he had been somewhat of a night owl, walking by a gas station for some coke and crisps when the place got robbed by three men.

One of them, unfortunately, was somewhat trigger-friendly and he had gotten shot when he had unknowingly walked out from behind a shelf, earbuds in his ears with loud music rocking his eardrums, unaware of the happenings around him.

The only thing that he had felt while he bled out besides the pain was regret because there was so much more of the world out there that he hadn't yet explored. He had died before walking his path to its end.

He had been angry that his life had been cut short, that some asshole with a gun took away his chance at seeing all there was to see.

He hadn't gone in peace but he had had to go all the same.

That wasn't the end of his memories though as he also had several years' worth of memories about being the young bastard son of a noble Lord named Eddard Stark. And those memories felt as real as the rest of them.

David Rain and Jon Snow.

The memories of these two melded together seamlessly as they become one. As they became 'him' while his first life's memories turned somewhat blurry, retreating into the background as if honoring the fact that this was a new life, a new beginning.

More shocking though was the fact that he clearly remembered watching a show with the name 'Game of Thrones' as David, which seemed like a perfect recording of this world's reality as far as he could tell with the limited information that he had about this world as a young bastard boy.

As a consequence, Jon also suddenly became aware of his true identity and realized that he was no bastard by any stretch of the word.

He was the legitimate son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. He was the Blood of the Dragon with the soul of a Direwolf.

This revelation alone made Jon clench his teeth and bite his lower lips as a sharp pain burst forth in his chest. Knowing the truth hurt, especially since he was now an orphan in two lifetimes.

But with the pain also came anger as he opened his eyes and looked around the smallish room, Catelyn Stark, the legitimate wife of his 'father' and the one who made his life miserable at times, resting by his bedside, her relaxed features unable to hide the accumulated exhaustion.

Jon guessed that he should be somewhat touched that she had cared for him like this even though it had always seemed as if the woman hated him, but he wasn't the eight-year-old boy that had fallen sick anymore.

Hatred and disgust blossomed in his eyes as he looked at the woman, knowing that it was her fault that he had almost died of a fever since he clearly remembered that even though he had already been coming down with a cold, the Lady of Winterfell had him wash his own clothes out in the cold by the well.

This though, as consequential as it turned out to be, was only one of the many ways the woman tried to make his life as miserable as possible every time Eddard Stark left the castle for extended periods of time.

Not that she treated him much better when his 'father', who was in truth his uncle as the older brother of his deceased mother, was in Winterfell. She was just more subtle in her actions.

Eddard Stark wasn't any better though as he knew how his wife treated him but knowingly ignored it so that he wouldn't have to confront her about it. He was a coward that let his beloved sister's son be tormented for the sake of having an easier time with his wife.

All this talk about honor and duty that he remembered from his 'father', Jon couldn't help but find it ridiculous, the words ringing hollow in his memory.

Having grown up in Westeros, he knew that he should be content enough to not have been abandoned, as bastards weren't supposed to be treated well. It was a commonly accepted fact, which was why he had originally not felt angry towards the Lady of Winterfell, feeling as if her actions had been 'justified', as if he had deserved this treatment.

But having 'awakened' the memories of his past life, his outlook on things had changed and he began to realize how repulsive Catelyn Stark was in her treatment of him. Her sleeping by his bedside, acting as if she cared and worried about him, only made him feel sick to his stomach.

Jon, weak as he was at the moment, gnashed his teeth in helplessness and frustration, recalling how he had all but been pushed to join the Night's Watch as a young man with Eddard's departure for King's Landing, which he couldn't follow for obvious reasons since a bastard following the new Hand of King to the capital would have been unseemly.

At the same time, there had been no place left for him at Winterfell as Catelyn Stark obviously did not want him to stay with her husband gone for years, likely decades.

He had thus been pushed and subtly urged to join a military order of celibate men, most of which were petty criminals, rapists, and other bastards and second sons, at a freezing castle that hopelessly stood alone to defend against the wildlings, and later the White Walkers with their army of dead.

He had wasted his life, losing almost anyone that meant anything to him, and for what? For honor? For 'his' people, 'his' family?  Because it was the right thing to do? Because of some prophecy?

His anger boiled his blood, though it rapidly cooled down and turned into an icy sensation that settled in his heart and mind, his dark-grey eyes losing any childish ambition as nothing but cold determination was left behind.

Jon, who had already started to detest his own bastard name, realized that he was truly alone in this life with tribulations of unknown magnitude waiting for him. He had no home as, despite his heritage, Winterfell could never be a place of warmth for him as things stood.

If he wanted to change his fate, he had to do it with his own two hands as nobody was going to do it for him. His 'father' certainly wouldn't, and the less said about Catelyn Stark, the better.

He had to stop being childish and expect others to help him, he had to help himself because he, in the end, was the only person that he could count on.

This world was an epic shitshow for those without strength and status, life itself being much harsher than it had been in his past life.

And since he could not reveal his heritage while on this side of the Narrow Sea without being hunted down by Robert Baratheon, Jon understood that he could only turn to forge himself into a formidable warrior if he wanted to have any say about his own future.

He was only eight years old and had roughly nine years before the events that he could remember from the show would set into motion a chaotic era for all of Westeros. He wouldn't waste it, he could not!

[Congratulations! In accordance with your aspirations, you have awakened the 'Support System – Combat Edition, Subcategory: The Armed Warrior' after surviving a calamity of fate and awakening the memories of one of your former lives!]

[A/N: So, this is awkward, Lol. Well, please let me explain before you start throwing stones :D

I have been mentally planning the TVD Fanfiction as you all know and then I read a comment from one of you guys that just said something along the lines of 'write what makes you happy', and my mind wandered to this Game of Thrones story that I have been wanting to write even before I started 'The Wanderer'.

I put it off because other ideas got in the way and some of you were so eagerly awaiting chapters for other stories and I did not want to disappoint you.

But then, after reading that comment, I just couldn't help but hole up in my room and start this story, working out the power system, the plot, the character, etc. And the more time I spent with it, the more I grew to love it!

I just ask that you all give it try as it is going to one of my all time favourites, I can sense that even now.

Still, I have not forgotten the TVD Fanfiction, especially since I have already figured out a lot of the plot and the character. I will get started on it eventually(probably in a week or two), so that you can at least get a glimpse of it.

Though I will probably be focusing on this first, as well as 'The Wanderer' and 'From The Ashes'.

Now, about the character of this story, its general direction, and my motivation to write it!

When I first started writing Fanfictions and finally finished watching GOT, I immediately wanted to write a story with Jon Snow as the main character since his unique identity gives any Fanfiction so many options. His heritage would allow for him to be a dragonrider, greenseer, warg, and so many other things, among them a King.

And while I did read a lot of those stories, I never found one that I liked as they all seemed so ... predictable and easy.

I wanted to create a character that grew through hardship, a character who would choose the path that his heart yearned for the most and not the path of least resistance.

Now, Jon, as an orphan of two lifetimes, has woken up and realized that nobody would ever give him his freedom, nobody would ever give him a home, nobody would ever give him a family. If he wants to have those, he will have to take them for himself! He will have to have the power to take them for himself!

It is obvious that there is no place for him in Winterfell, or anywhere else in Westeros if he doesn't want to be the bastard son of Eddard Stark but the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

If he wants to be the Blood of the Dragon, he has to earn and he has to gain the power to defend it.

In addition, he has an adventurous heart that hasn't yet fully blossomed in this life but with power comes freedom, and with freedom comes the longing for distant lands.

Jon obviously knows about the White Walker and that they have to be dealt with, as well as knowing about the fate of the Stark children whom he does see as his siblings, but at this point even he himself doesn't know if he wants to or even has the ability to interfere.

I am not sure yet myself what will become of Jon in this story and who will conquer his rather untameable heart. At the beginning, I thought it could be Sansa but I am so sure about that anymore, though I am rather exited to find out.

The Support System in this story, is also just that, as Support System. It doesn't spare Jon from working hard even though it will help make him formidable. I will explain the unique workings of the System rather early in the story but if there are any questions, make sure to leave a comment.

Anyway, Enjoy!]