"At the dawn of the third century after Aegon's Conquest of Westeros, the realm was in a troubled state. The change was evident in the very structure of its aristocracy. Robert's Rebellion ,which had ensued eighteen years earlier, was the least of the reasons why. In the North, the Starks and their bannermen, still burning with impotent fury from the failure of their righteous rebellion, had slowly built up their strength and waited for their time to come again. Their closest allies, the Riverlands, had been badly weakened by the raids perpetrated by ironborn raiders who had refused to surrender after defeat in the Greyjoy refusal of the Crown to help had only increased the vitriol most of the riverlords felt for House Targaryen.

In the Vale, the death of Jon Arryn and his heirs had necessitated the selection of a new Great House. The cadet branches of House Arryn were not strong enough to command the respect they felt was theirs by right. In the end, the title went to House Royce of Runestone, the rulers of the Vale before the arrival of the Andals. In the Stormlands, the status of Lord Paramount belonged to the lastsurviving Baratheon brother, Renly. While well liked and a decent lord, it was not an unpopular sentiment among the stormlords that he was inferior to both his brothers.

The houses that were loyal to the Targaryens foughtamongst themselves for royal favor. Houses Martell and Lannister had become enemies since a Lannister bannerman had raped and murdered Queen Elia Martell in the chaos that ensued after the Battle of the Trident. House Tyrell had seized the opportunity and gained from the distraction of the other two loyalist houses. All the while, the ironborn watched with resentment as the greenlands prospered and they were forbidden to take it for themselves. Many hungered for war and another chance to return to the days when the reavers of the Iron Islands held all of Westeros in their grasp.

This was the troubled world that the greatest Targaryen of them all lived in. In the end, only fire and blood could wash the realm clean. And only one man had the strength of body and the will of mind to lead in these dark times: Jon Targaryen."

-The Dragon of the North: Tales of the First Lord

First edition. Printed by University of Winterfell

JON

The quiet solitude of the godswood was interrupted by the arrival of a young man. Dressed in a black doublet, breeches, and a fur cloak, Jon Targaryen made his way to the pool by which the weirwood tree stood.

He kept his eyes on the heart tree's face, his blank face not betraying anything of the chaos of emotions churning within him.

For barely an hour past, his lord uncle had informed him of the King's wish to visit Winterfell. After more than eight years, he would see his father again. But it was little cause for joy, for the King's arrival could only mean one thing: Jon was to return to King's Landing.

Jon loved it here in the North, in Winterfell.

The place, the weather, and most of all the people.

His uncle, Lord Eddard Stark, whose stern demeanor hid an immensely kind heart. Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, who had become the mother he so desperately wanted his whole life, as his real one had been married away to Jaime Lannister barely a month after he was born.

His cousins, especially Robb and Arya, who he counted to be closer to his heart than anyone else in the world. Domeric Bolton, Cley Cerwyn, and Daryn Hornwood. His closest friends. They were the ones who understood him, the only people who he knew would always be there for him.

Jon looked upon the solemn face of the weirwood tree and knelt, sighing.

When he had been sent away from King's Landing to live in Winterfell all those years ago, many including himself had viewed it as punishment for fighting with the Greyjoy ward, Theon.

Instead it had been the single best decision his father had ever made for him. He had arrived here at the age of ten namedays, with only Ser Oswell Whent as company.

He had arrived frightened and hurting, but from the very first day, the Starks greeted him with open arms and that had never changed. For nearly eight years, life had been good.

It was a change from the way Rhaenys used to spitefully pull his hair and pinch him, calling him names and telling him that he should be thanking the gods that the King had decided to acknowledge the bastard of his whore as a legitimate son. It was a change from Viserys sneering at him from the shadows, disparaging of his birth on the wrong side of the bed.

It was a change from the way the Martells and the Lannisters, particularly Queen Cersei, stare at him with contempt, remarking at how fortunate the Wolf Bitch's son had even been allowed to grow up with the privileges of a prince.

The servants and staff at the Red Keep had often tiptoed around him, silently sneering at him and gossiping behind his back.

"...Did you know that the King's Stark mistress is immensely happy with her husband? I hear they celebrated a second daughter's nameday a week ago." That had hurt worse than Rhaenys could have done to him.

And above all, coming to Winterfell was a change from the times his father often looked at him, like he didn't know what to do with Jon. Oh there was no doubt that there was a part of Rhaegar that loved Jon. The prince remembered the nights his father used to tuck him in to bed as a small child or when he used to give Jon rides on his back, pretending that he was a dragon. Yet as Jon grow older, his father became more and more distant.

The past eight years had buried those memories, and he had been happy for the first time in his life. But with news from the South, they had come rushing back.

A raven had come from King's Landing, informing the Starks that King Rhaegar, a large number of his family and friends, and many others would be visiting Winterfell to discuss important matters of state. .

Jon begged the old gods to give him the strength to bear with his family and to deal with the rage that would undoubtedly appear as he talked to them.

As he got up, there was a flash in the air and he threw up his arms to protect his eyes from the light. When he opened them, the snow for almost a foot around the tree had melted into slush. Jon glanced around, wondering what in Seven Hells had just happened. He glanced down and noticed a golden glint at the foot of the tree.

Jon picked it up and gazed with silent wonder at what lay in his hand.

It was a ring, a simple band of gold, the only remarkable quality being an inscription on it that looked like it was glowing, like an ember from a campfire. And yet, the metal itself was cool, almost cold to the touch. As quickly as he had seen it, the inscription faded away.

Jon felt a rush of excitement that he could not temper with reason for there was none fathomable that could be found.

Magic. People say magic is dead, but what else can this be? I can't wait to show this to Maester Luwin and Robb!

But as quickly as that thought appeared, so did it disappear, with a very unwelcome one taking its place.

What if they want to take it from me? It's mine, I found it after all! Perhaps it's best if it stays secret for a while longer. At least until I know more about it.

Looking at the ring, he tried it on, admiring how something so simple could look so beautiful. The effect was immediate, his body disappeared before his eyes, and yet somehow he could still see it. But it was like looking at a pale version of it, strings of an ethereal substance drifting from all he saw.

Everything around him was so … and then he looked at the weirwood tree. Part of him wanted to scream in terror and disgust. But another looked upon it with immense wonder for it was even more beautiful than how it normally looked. The tree was drenched in blood, with the face on it shifting from happy to angry to solemn and back again.

But it was also beautiful, with a strange white light emanating around it. The air smelled sweet and rang with the tunes of a strangely melodious song. Knowing somewhere deep down that if he continued looking, he would go mad, and he tore off the ring from his finger.

The world immediately became normal once more and the ancient weirwood looked as it always had with its white bark and scarlet leaves.

"Jon!"

His cousin's shout startled him out of his reverie. But Robb couldn't see this, not yet. Jon immediately slipped it into the pouch at his belt, and turned around to face his cousin.

"There you are, Targaryen!" his cousin exclaimed. "I've been looking all over the castle for you!"

"What is it, Stark?"

"My father wants to talk to you more about the King's visit in the coming months."

As if enough hadn't happened today, Jon thought sourly.

"Now come on, Jon!" Robb had grown impatient.

"I'll come in just a moment, be right behind you" Jon replied, his calm voice giving no signs of the fear that was running rampant inside him, or so he hoped.

Robb shrugged and began walking back to the castle. As soon as he was out of sight, Jon took the ring out of his pocket. If it had been wondrous before, it was now downright miraculous to him. And yet...it was so strange, and something was warning him from the back of his mind to throw it somewhere in the wolfswood.

But even as he began to do so, he stopped.

There has been no magic for almost countless centuries and the first thing that comes along that is undoubtedly so, you want to throw away? What's wrong with you?

Jon looked closely at the ring. It had already begun to grow on him. It had begun to become...precious to him, and now he found he could not throw it away.

Who knows, perhaps this means wondrous things are about to happen! I would be a fool to throw that away.

Reassured, he slipped the ring back into his pocket and ran to catch up with his cousin. And throughout that whole time, Jon was unaware that eyes were watching him. Ghostly eyes filled with a vast, malevolent, and inhuman intelligence. The chance to escape its prison, a prison it had been in for countless ages, had arrived.

ROBB

Robb watched his cousin as they trudged back to the castle.

Jon had always been rather tactiturn, but now he seemed downright despondent.

Not that Robb could blame him. He had heard Jon talk about his family during the few times they had gotten him to open up about life in King's Landing.

Neither Robb nor his friends and family had been pleased at hearing Jon's description. Lord Eddard's face had grown cold when he heard and his eyes had become gray stone.

No one hates Rhaegar more than Father. He lost his everything because of the King's actions. And Jon has suffered as well, another source of rage for my father.

My somber cousin doesn't need to mope anymore than he already does. Any more and all that progress Daryn and I have made on him for the last six years will go up in smoke!

"What's eating at you this time, Jon?" he asked

"Nothing, Robb." Jon trudged on, not giving away anything more.

"Are you sure? That frown certainly didn't come on its own," Robb teased his cousin.

"Frowning is what people do when they think of immense things, dear cousin."

"What's that?" Robb asked innocently.

"Oh, thinking? It means using the mind to wonder at the events of life. Something you can try,you know."

"Would it get me any wenches? I noticed that it doesn't work for you."

"Oh go chase a maid for a kiss, Stark. You're never going to get it, you know." Jon's mouth was now slightly curved. He was amused.

"Is that the best you can do? I heard worse from Daryn and Hodor," Robb jeered.

"Hodor can't even say anything besides his own name, stupid," Jon said, smirking as he did so.

"That's the point. He's still more articulate than you."

"Articulate, now that's a big word. You sure you didn't hurt yourself coming up with that, Stark?" Jon asked his cousin.

"I can come up with something simpler if you like," Robb said haughtily.

"Oh? By all means, don't keep me in suspense, cousin."

"Dimwit," Robb said with the aura of the profound.

"Describe dimwit, Robb."

"In two words?" Robb asked with a triumphant grin on his face. He had caught Jon now.

"Why not?" Jon asked, tempted to roll his eyes.

"Prince Jon."

"You are a complete ass, Robb Stark," Jon retorted.

And so it went back and forth. Robb was delighted to see the frown disappear and a small smile take its place. They were still going back in forth when they arrived at his father's solar.

They were still walking when Robb noticed a golden glint at the pouch on his cousin's belt. "What's that?"

"It's nothing, Robb." Robb knew he could continue arguing, but since he had worked so hard to ring Jon back into a good mood, he let it go.

Besides, sooner or later, Jon will tell me. We always tell each other.Until then, it was best to put it out of his mind. He said goodbye to his cousin and told Jon he would see him at dinner.

Robb was walking back to his quarters when he heard a furious shriek and spotted Sansa chasing after Arya, quite a far cry from the gentle lady she was trying to be.

"At it again, are they?" he muttered under his breath. He walked forward and stopped them both. Now what is this about?"

Sansa pointed a finger at their little sister and said, "She just said that I shouldn't bother trying to act like a lady, because Queen Cersei and Princess Rhaenys hate Northerners anyway. She also asked me why I bothered consorting with the enemy."

"Of course I did. Father wouldn't be pleased if you got the attention of any of the Court, let alone a prince. Have you forgotten how they treated Jon?"

"Jon was a small child back then. Mayhaps he thought what was actually happening in the weong way. Surely no one can be that cruel, especially to a prince of the Blood, " Sansa said, glaring at her sister.

I wouldn't be so sure..

He had heard a steady source of rumors from the South, mainly from the Riverlands, detailing the cruelty and pettiness of the queen and her eldest son. Even if he didn't trust in rumors, he trusted Jon's word. And he was immensely proud of his sister for standing up for what she believed, just like he knew Lord Eddard would be.

Sansa immediately said, "Even if there was some truth, how can you not want to go to court, Arya? It'll be just like in the stories. Proud knights riding for fair ladies, deeds of honor and valor."

At that, Robb's face contorted into a scowl. As different Jon and Sansa were, they both believed in stories. Sansa however, wholeheartedly believed they were true and that everyone of nobility was like that. Jon, on the other hand, knew quite differently. As he turned toward Sansa to remark that life was not a story, his youngest sister spoke.

"So what? Even if Jon if proven false, it's not as if anyone will look at me while your presence is noted. I'll still be just Arya Horseface to everyone. The court needs to be here only for a week to pick that up."

Sansa just stood there, shock and possibly guilt on her face, before gently touching Arya's face. "You're still my sister. You're a Stark. Remember that. No come with me, because I'm going to turn you into such a beautiful lady that no courtier will dare say that."

Robb was so shocked at the appearance of Sansa's sweet side that he almost missed Arya beginning to open her mouth, probably to say that was stupid. He sent a warning glare towards his youngest sister, who immediately closed her mouth and sullenly acquiesced. As she began to follow Sansa, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"She's trying to be nice, but that's the only way she knows how. Just put up with it and I'll let you handle a sword for a while in the training yard little sister."

Arya immediately brightened and began walking faster. Robb was still shaking his head in surprise at how his sisters were growing up. Sansa might be spoiled and somewhat ignorant, but there's no denying that she's an immensely kind girl at heart.

But just as he began to relax, he spotted Bran climbing up one of the towers. Robb knew that if his mother caught Bran again, she would give his brother a scolding that would last until after dinner.

As he ran towards Bran, as much as for his ears' sake as Bran's, he balefully thought how lucky Jon was to not have to deal with this situation every day of his life.

The duties of an older brother are never ending, it seems.

A boring one to be sure, but a life he loved after all he had seen and done.

In the months and years to come, he would remember that day as the day everything changed. The day when the last of his innocence would begin to die.