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[Archive] The Icefyre Conquest[ASOAIF-SI]

Discussion in 'Story Archive' started by Perseus Peverell092, Feb 16, 2022.

  1. Perseus Peverell092

    Perseus Peverell092 Your first time is always over so quickly, isn't it?

    Joined:
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    Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and GOT, they are the properties of G.R. and HBO


    I had been having the urge to write an SI fanfic ever since I read 'Fabric of Fate' by ACI100(totally recommend that one) and many others on this site. The only thing which stopped me was that I never could decide on which universe to land in. Well, Westeros seemed as good of a playground as any, so here we are.


    For those interested in an early read, Chapter 2 is already available on my Discord, so hop on for an early read. I hope to see you guys there!


    A very big thanks to Bakkughan( The author of 12 steps), Barbara, TDTLP, and LordLexx for their help as editors.


    I died

    or at least, that's what I think happened to me when a buffalo knocked my bicycle sidewards, and with a wave of heat across my face, everything went black.
    Of all the ways I had envisioned dying, getting run over by a vehicle because a fucking animal hit my bicycle on the way to school wasn't anywhere on the list.

    Now all I could think was of the events which would have followed my death. Were my parents crying over my run-over and likely unrecognizable body? Were my friends sad over my passing? Was my girlfriend of five months going to shed tears? To be honest, I wasn't sure about the last one.
    I lost all concept of time in the void I found myself in, my mind—or was it, my soul?—repeating everything I remembered from my lost life in a bid to remove the monotonous existence in the nothingness surrounding me.

    'My name is Tushar Jaju, I am 14 years old. I died due to a buffalo running over the roads. My favorite subjects are Science and English. I wanted to become a Scientist or an Army Personnel. I watched porn for the first time last night.'

    On and on I went, reciting every memory I remembered, from the head injury I suffered way back when I was four years old to the details of the shirt my father had worn the morning I died. The names of animals I researched on Wikipedia and Animal Planet, the Scientific Inventions I watched on Discovery, the Basic Sciences I learned in school along with the world history that came with it.

    I was sure I had gone mad with the everlasting silence around me when I suddenly spotted something in front of me. It was a speck of light that grew steadily larger over the time I watched it. I felt walls tighten around me, the soft surfaces conforming to my bod-
    'wait, what?'

    Numbness spread through my mind, despite the fact that now I could actually feel the body I was in. The body I was about to be born in…

    'Fuck me!'

    The walls—the womb of my new mother!—contracted again, pushing me out towards the widened speck of light, or as I now realized it to be,my mother's cervix. I came out of her womb, my clogged airways causing me to coug and cry in equal measure before I was swaddled in something warm. In the background, I could hear a woman screaming, no doubt my mother in this life. As for why she was still screaming after she had already popped me out, I had no idea.
    It was shameful, having my baby body wiped clean by unfamiliar hands, having my cheeks patted—and not the ones on my face!

    I had stopped crying by then, the body of a seven minutes old baby occupied by a fourteen-year-old boy. Now that I was no longer wailing and crying, I was able to make out my surroundings. The walls were made of stone, and there were torches affixed to them. How I was able to use the eyes despite being just a newborn was anyone's guess.

    "Push my lady! Just push a little more, I can almost see the little princess!" A voice exclaimed. I turned around the best I could in the arms that held me and the person lifted me a little higher, a small chuckle coming from above me.

    "Looks like the King is curious about his sibling" a different voice said, though my attention was solely upon my mother and the nurse by her legs.

    She was beautiful. Her face was slightly long, but the softer cheekbones and the small nose made it look wonderful. I couldn't see her eyes from where I was, but her hair was somewhere between brown and black depending upon the angle at which the light struck it. Before I could think anything else, the nurse by her bed came up from between her legs with a baby. The small, pink thing in her arms was wailing loudly and I watched enraptured as she cut off the umbilical cord with a... dagger?

    'What kind of fucked up medieval hospital is this?'

    "A princess my lady!" The nurse exclaimed before she cleaned the crying baby and then passed her to my mother, the person holding me doing the same. She held us in one arm each, her grey eyes peering at us with love and warmth. She turned towards someone and motioned with her head and a man came to help her sit up properly.

    "Daeron Targaryen" She whispered, her finger stroking down my cheek. I leaned into her finger causing her to give a laugh—my brain barely processing what was being said around me as I subconsciously leaned into her hand—then, she coughed and turned towards my sister, who immediately quietened under her gaze and my mother whispered her name softly.

    "Visenya Targaryen"
    Before anything else could happen a voice shouted "Riders Incoming! Stark banners!"
    The obvious sound of swords being unsheathed in my vicinity caused me to tense before my mother said "Arthur...he is my brother". Her voice was pleading, weak, and above all, fainter than what my mother had when my brother had been born in my last life.
    I turned to see who this Arthur was, my quickly awakening mind not liking the things that had happened since I was born, now that I was no longer trying to dive in my mother's warmth.
    'Arthur, Prince, Princess, Targaryen, Stark banner….motherfucker, I am in Westeros, born as Jon Snow.'

    "And Daeron is my King, princess Lyanna" that was all Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and a fucking Kingsguard said before he went out, his footsteps followed by another set, probably the Black Bat or the White Bull.

    If I was lucky, my uncle and probably my most disliked character of the story after Ramsay Bolton and Olenna Tyrell will die or at least be sent packing by the best swordsmen in the realm. Considering Lyanna Targaryen—she was called a princess by Arthur—died on this day, I didn't want to consider the alternative.

    "My little dragon-wolf, you are the heir to the throne, not that Baratheon who sits on the throne of your family, of your father!" I felt the anger in my mother's voice, her grey eyes gazing past the walls of our room. Soon the sounds of swords clashing against each other became audible from downstairs.

    "I love you both my little stars, more than anything else. But I know I am not going to be here for long. I wanted to watch you grow with Rhaenys and Aegon by your side, I wanted to live with Rhaegar and Elia but…" She coughed heavily and I saw her bite her lip tightly for a moment before she spoke haltingly.

    "Take care of Visenya, Daeron. Avenge Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia when you take the throne. Make the killers of our family suffer. Promise me Daeron, Pro-" She devolved into a fit of coughs once again and my chest tightened with fear and sadness, knowing what was about to happen but utterly powerless to change it.

    Soon all the sounds of fighting stopped and rushed footsteps sounded from out the room.

    "Lyanna!" someon-my uncle Eddard 'Ned' Stark gasped as he ran in. From my position, I could see him clearly, his armor slightly stained with fresh blood and a white greatsword in its hands. As I saw my mother die with me and Visenya in her arms with my Uncle swearing to protect us from Robert, all I could look at was the lifeless face of my mother, her grey eyes staring off into space.


    Wylla, the woman who was Lyanna's caretaker and the one who delivered us was taken with my mother's and Arthur's body with us to Starfall. I saw Ashara Dayne there, and if it weren't for the fact I was biologically incapable of it, I am sure I would have been besotted with her from the first glance, such was her beauty.

    Howland Reed kept us with him most of the time, clearly bewitched by the natural charm all babes possessed. Visenya seemed to like him if her babbling and lack of fussing were any indications. The Northerners were sweating buckets throughout the day, their bodies and possibly genes not at all made for the heat in here. The Dornish heat wasn't that unpleasant to me, having lived in Northern India most of my life. I was used to 45 degrees centigrade and above temperatures. It was around the third night of our departure from the Tower of Joy that Howland Reed asked something which broke me from my self-disgust after shitting all over the blankets I was in. As Wylla cleaned and changed me I heard him ask

    "What are you going to do about their claim to the Iron Throne?"

    The sound of a stone being moved against a sword stopped before Uncle Eddard said "What claim? The Targaryen dynasty is over. Robert Baratheon is the king now and Baratheons will be kings after him."

    Before I could articulate what exactly I felt about my Uncle, Howland stood up and said

    "Of course! It is always Robert Baratheon this, Robert Baratheon that with you isn't it? Why don't you go and change your name to Baratheon too! I am sure Benjen would be far better at taking care of his family than you ever were."
    Wylla just gasped and moved a little away as Howland handed Visenya to her, my blond-haired sister suddenly silent as if sensing the tension in the air.

    "Howland," Uncle Eddard said, his voice low like when my father's wa-, had been when he had been warning me against something in the old world. My sudden existential crisis and clarity of my situation aside, I heard Howland scoff before he moved a little away, "Lyanna told you she didn't want to marry Robert, but you didn't want to hear a word against your charming prince. The whole war he sang vows of loving Lyanna and killing Rhaegar, but tell me one night when he wasn't without at least two whores. You and I both heard Rhaegar die with Lyanna's and Princess Elia's name on his lips, tell me that is the action of the man who had supposedly raped Lyanna, a woman who was as good at the sword as Brandon was!"

    "Robert will be a good king for the kingdom! With Jon Arryn as his Hand, he will be greater than any king Westeros has ever seen, even better than Jaehaerys and Daeron!"

    Howland scoffed again before he turned around to look at the man I was to call my uncle, "I think Robert has got his cock too far up your ass for it to be dislodged and for you to see sense. What are you going to do with the King and the Princess now, hand them over to Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon? High as Honor my ass!" Howland spat at Eddard's feet and glared at him.

    "No" he responded after a few moments. "I will take them both with me to Winterfell and raise them as my bastards."

    'FUCK YOU!' I thought with all my might as Howland and Eddard Stark once again descended into an argument. To be honest, I wasn't problemed by the whole 'raised as a bastard' thing. Sure my blood was supporting the killer of my father and the reason for my family's destruction over me and my sister, but shitty uncles were a norm from my old life.

    The thing which caused me to rage was the upbringing Visenya would have. A few days old as I was, I still loved my little sister as much as I had loved my brother when I was in my old world. Probably more considering that we were twins this time around—I shuddered for a moment after remembering one set of twins who caused so much chaos because of their love that Klarion would have been proud of them.

    "And how will you explain the blond hair and the violet eyes Princess Visenya has? Tywin Lannister and Jon Arryn will realize what had happened straight away." Howland asked after he realized it was futile butting heads with his Lord Paramount.

    "Ashara Dayne" was the only answer he and I got for the query in both of our minds.

    By the time we came to Winterfell almost 9 months later after the coronation of Robert Baratheon, his wedding with Cersei Lannister, and of course getting harassed by Hoster Tully in Riverrun for 'presence of such blights upon the honor of Catelyn Stark will not be permitted under the Seven-who-are-one', Visenya was already crawling and able to sit upright while I was doing the same at eight months of age.

    When we had been in King's Landing, I had seen Tywin Lannister, Jon Arryn and even Jaime Lannister look at Visenya with suspicion but a single proclamation from my uncle made all of that scrutiny go away. The weather had grown steadily colder after we left King's Landing as we traveled further North, the forests turning more green in Riverrun and then more sparse when we entered the North properly.

    Walder Frey had tried getting Visenya betrothed to one of his grandsons—and how I had wished that I could snap his bones one by one for that—but apparently, the threat of the Northern Army lurking just around the Twins was enough for the fossil to let us go. Our much-anticipated arrival at Winterfell was a grand affair. Everyone from Wintertown and the castle itself had come out to greet the Lord of the castle, coming home victorious from a war against tyrants.

    People were cheering and showering blessings upon the Lord and from my place in Wylla's hands, I could see a very beautiful redhead presenting an auburn-haired boy to my supposed father. All was well and good until Wylla moved forwards and Eddard Stark said,

    "These are my natural-born children, Jon Snow and Lyanna Snow."

    It wasn't the first time I had wished to murder Eddard Stark, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last time. Because the blue eyes trained upon me and my baby sister didn't promise the love and security I had felt with both of my mothers. It was pure and unconditional rage, sprinkled with a healthy dose of hate and garnished with a series of gasps from the crowd on onlookers.

    I responded the only way I could, I curled in my other fingers the best I could to leave a single one standing.


    Visenya and I were turning six tonight but we were in our rooms, locked inside on the orders of Lady Stark. In the books, the Greyjoy rebellion had happened 5 years after Robert's Usurpation and in the shows, it had happened three years after the books due to changes in dates and timelines.
    Here it happened close to six years after the change in regime and Lord Stark was now waging war upon the Reavers with the rest of the Northern Lords.

    Today, Sansa had been crawling in the Great Hall with her caretaker trailing after her where Visenya had been eating at the time. Our little cousin had decided to approach my sister and sat beside her despite her caretaker's attempts to the contrary. Visenya had picked up Sansa after the little girl had tried crawling upon her lap and played with her the whole time until Catelyn Stark came in and slapped my sister hard enough to draw blood from a split lip. Her reasoning, a bastard should not be with their highborn siblings and Lyanna should stop any thoughts of killing her precious baby with a butter knife. Robb had come to see if she was okay before he had gone to Maester Luwin for his lessons.

    It hurt me more than I could admit to seeing my sister just look off into space, her usually shining violet eyes looking red from the little crying she had done after the slap. I had cleaned her face after she had come to our rooms, hands clenched into fists at the small cut in her bottom lip and I hugged her softly, my fingers lacing through her silky silver-white hair.

    "Why did father leave us here? We would have been better off living with him on the battlefield," she said, her face buried in my shirt as she sniffled. I just kept on running my fingers through her hair, calming her down before she drifted off to sleep in my arms. Mowing her down to the bed, I raised the covers to her chin and moved out of the room by the window situated over our bed. Dropping into the small grove behind our rooms, I moved through the corridors and walked towards the Godswood, the door thankfully open for any worshippers at this time of the day.

    After a few moments, I came upon the Heart Tree of Winterfell, a huge Weirwood Tree with stark white trunk and branches and crimson leaves, the face on the tree crying tears of red sap. I stepped into the pool before the tree, the black water warm due to the hot springs beneath the whole forest and the lands around it. Taking a deep breath I dunked my head inside the water, feeling my long hair float upwards as I opened my eyes to the darkness around me.
    It calmed me somewhat, the Weirwood, the forest, the water, the inky blackness. After about 30 seconds of holding my breath, I came up for air and walked out the pool, the water exposed to the cold around me going from warm to chilled instantly. I sat before the weirwood, my eyes closing of their own accord as I meditated, my ears filled with the calming silence and the sound of my own heartbeat.

    I thought of my sister, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears after almost every altercation with Lady Stark. I thought of my mother and father, their romance and life destroyed over the actions of overreaching ambitious and mad assholes like my grandfathers, like Olenna Tyrell and Tywin Lannister.

    I felt my anger grow as I thought of my uncle and his downright furious gaze when a servant had one day compared Visenya to the Targaryens of the old. He could have been angry over the fact that Visenya's safety might be compromised, but the fact that he had snarled in the servant's face that 'No child of mine will be compared to the tyrants and rapists that I and King Robert Baratheon deposed' cemented in my mind what he thought for us.
    My anger grew over the events of yesterday when Robb had asked his mother why he wasn't as smart as me since I was always able to learn and answer the Maester's questions perfectly.

    I took no pride in upstaging a six-year-old, but I also wasn't going to dumb myself down and pretend that I was learning my letters and numbers for the first time. Out of the three eldest of Eddard Stark's children, it was I who walked first, who talked first and who ran first. A point of pride for my sister and a point of humiliation for Catelyn Stark. I knew from Maester Luwin's lesson that Rhaegar Targaryen had also been a learned man and said to have been born with a book in his hands—something which irked my uncle to no end. We were about to start practicing in the yard soon enough with lightweight wooden blades with the Master-at-arms Rodrik Cassel. However, I had started doing light practice with a wooden stick almost a year ago.

    As I sat there on the roots of the Weirwood, I contemplated upon the two major problems I had in my life. The first was about when I should tell Visenya the truth about our parentage, though I was sure that day was about to come soon whether I liked it or not—my dreams showing more dragons and more fire than I usually saw after reading Eragon or ASOIAF.

    My second thought was on the last words my mother had said to me. Lyanna Stark had been my mother for less than ten minutes, but she had made me love her in those ten minutes, her smile and eyes telling me she felt the same.

    Even now after so much time, I remembered her warm grey eyes going as cold as the North itself when she asked me to avenge my murdered siblings, my stepmother, and our whole family. My heartbeat sped up in my fury as the memories repeated themselves continuously in a cycle. My mother naming us, my mother dying, my uncle arguing with the Crannogman, Catelyn Stark disparaging us at every moment she could, my uncle's distant presence and utter hatred of anything to do with our family, and on and on it went until I felt something snap inside me.

    A crackling sound filled my ears, something warm spreading across my right hand while on the left I felt a cold the likes of which I rarely felt despite practically living in the snow.

    I opened my eyes and looked down, almost jumping out of reflex at the sight which greeted me. Red and black fire licked at my fingers as it grew and crawled upwards my arm, the heat feeling pleasant like the embrace of my sister instead of the torturous agony it should have been.

    On my other hand, blue-white ice spread outward from my palm, the barely visible icicles reaching upwards to form spikes as it covered my forearm completely. Rather than the frostbite, I only felt a coolness in my left hand, my eyes tracking the clearly magical ice with great interest before a phrase came to my mind.

    I chuckled as I stood up, the fire and ice snuffing out and breaking apart respectively as I lost my concentration upon it and my feelings. Looking at the Weirwood in front of me, I hoped Brynden Rivers was seeing this as I bowed to the face, my stomach doing 50 shades of frontflips. Sending a prayer to the Old Gods and the fourteen flames of my father's home, I felt a wind blow through the trees around me, the air cold and warm at the same time despite the heavy snows around us.

    "A song of Ice and Fire indeed," I said as I walked back to the castle, only to faint halfway there with a sudden wave of exhaustion.

     
  2. Perseus Peverell092

    Perseus Peverell092 Your first time is always over so quickly, isn't it?

    Joined:
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    Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or Game of Thrones, those are the property of GRR Martin and…whoever owns GOT.


    I have a discord server, where I release all of my chapters in advance for all of my stories. So hop on for an early read of chapter 3, the link is on the profile.


    I am a part of a group of authors and readers on Discord named 'The Emerald Library', where we strive to help each other in brainstorming and editing or even polishing the art, so join if interested, Invite link is on my profile!


    Kudos to LordLexx for the edits he did on the chapter, you are the best!


    "We are the childre-, trueborn children of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Targaryen."

    I nodded at that, wincing slightly at the emotionless tone and the flat look Visenya gave me.

    "So the rebellion was just a lie? Our mother wasn't kidnapped and raped?"

    Shaking my head in refusal I spoke, "I don't know what caused them to run away or stay hidden throughout the war, but what I do know is our mother named us Daeron and Visenya, and she asked me to avenge our family."

    Visenya just shook her head and leaned back against the giant weirwood of Winterfell, her silver hair falling to her navel in waves as she dipped her legs in the pond before the tree. Knowing that she would talk to me of her own accord, I raised my right hand and concentrated upon the calmness around me, my breathing slowing down as I only felt the cold and I felt the chill spread through my body, goosebumps rising all over my skin before I felt the sense of power once again like several times before.

    With a force of will that would have made Harry Potter and Hal Jordan jealous, I shaped that power through my thoughts and an icicle grew out of my palm. I concentrated upon its shape, on how the magical energy flows within the structure and with a flex of my power, the icicle grew more quickly, turning into a bastard sword.
    There was no elaborate craftsmanship, no special metalworking, or even a crossguard on the blade, but I knew that the weapon in my hand was deadlier than all swords save the castle forged steel and the Valyrian Steel weapons.

    Visenya shifted minutely and my focus was gone like a whore taking away a coin, the sword in my hand shattering apart into tiny ice fragments as I turned towards my twin. Her violet eyes were looking at my hand, her face scrunched up in confusion.

    "What was that?"

    Raising my hand in front of her, I manifested the elemental power within me and with a soft sound like a blade cutting through air, small spikes of ice grew over my palm.

    "My guess is that the title of Winter Kings was as literal as it could be", I shrugged, focusing on the ice and shaping it into a small cube, Visenya hanging on every syllable with wide eyes,"both of us can manipulate the elements of winter. The Snow, the Ice, the winds or even just a chill which comes from being outside."
    An odd choking sound came from the nine-year-old girl and for a moment I worried that the revelations of the past minutes might have overloaded and broken the mind of my twin before she erupted into peals of laughter. She almost fell down into the black pool in her cackling and I was growing more uncomfortable and worried by the second for my sister before she jumped forwards towards me. I had barely even realized that before her fist connected with my face, sending me tumbling backwards down the slope. After I came to a stop, I groaned and sat up, shaking the snow from my hair and clothes before standing up to look at my absolutely enraged and devastatingly hot sister—pun completely intended—as she walked down towards me. Her violet eyes were glowing slightly and all around us the temperature continued to rise, the ever-existing and permanent snow of the Godswood melting off quickly due to the almost invisible blue flames on my sister.

    With a scream of rage, she tried to tackle me, only for her to lose consciousness mid-leap due to the exhaustion of using her magic for the first time on such a large scale.

    Lifting up my sister with a grunt—by the old gods she was heavy!—I carried her out of the Godswood towards our room, thanking the deities Old and Valyrian both that she wasn't made of sterner stuff.

    Laying her down on the bed, I left for the training yard with most of my furs shed off. Wearing a simple leather jerkin and breeches, I picked up a wooden bastard sword comfortable for my hands and body and moved forwards.

    Rodrik Cassel barked at me for my tardiness—something at which Theon Greyjoy and Robb laughed a lot, bloody children the lot of them—and then punished me with 100 swings of the four basic styles he had shown us years ago at this point. Rolling my eyes at the sour man's back I performed the given task and by the end my right and left, both shoulders were close to falling off.

    "Snow! Are you done? Good, now you and Robb will clash blades. Five points or mortal peril will decide the winner!", Cassel shouted, coming towards us after giving a thorough trashing to a pair of guards. Crossing his arms over his chest, He nodded towards me and my cousin, silently telling us to get on with the show.
    Settling into my favourite position, I stood up slightly bent at my knees and my sword pointed towards the ground with my fingers loosely holding onto the hilt. Robb looked at me cockily, no doubt emboldened by the lax grip and the tired expression on my face before he advanced with his blade facing forwards, slightly tilted towards the ground and a round shield on his arm.
    When I showed no sign of movement, Robb grinned and charged towards me with his sword stabbing towards my gut. I waited till it was impossible for him to pull back before I shifted to my left and grabbed his sword arm at the wrist. I moved under his arm, my movement forcing his hand to twist and straighten out before I came in front of him. He bashed his shield on my chest, but the close distance worked against him, restricting him from building up the required momentum.

    I raised my sword and pushed the tip under his neck, stilling him completely before I let go of his twisted arm and moved back, giving a smile to him and getting a scowl in return. He huffed and moved back as Rodrik proclaimed me the winner of our bout. If it weren't for my position in the yard, I would have missed the scowl on the face of my lovely aunt and the emotionless facade my uncle put up at the defeat his heir just suffered.

    Robb was good for his age, don't get me wrong, but I was just better than he ever could be. Even in my old life, I had kept up with fighting and training myself for about six years until my death, and now I had all of that experience with a shitload of time to incorporate it into my muscle memory.

    "What are you smiling at Bastard? Let's see how you handle yourself against me!", Greyjoy shouted, his hand spinning a wooden longsword and his other hand holding a circular shield similar to Robb's, only a little larger in size.

    "Just remembering what Aegon and his sister-wives did to Harren Hoare.", I quipped back, causing silence to descend upon the courtyard and Theon to flush in anger before he ran towards me at an impressive speed. He brought his sword down upon me in a powerful overhead swing which I parried by tilting my sword and allowing his weapon to slide off to the side. He brought it back in a horizontal slash but I ducked low and swiped out with my right leg at his knee, making him stumble and fall down. He rammed his shield into my knees as I was rising up causing me to fall sideways. I groaned as I stood up slowly, my shoulder burning with pain and exhaustion before I saw Theon jumping towards me with his sword held by both hands, his shield discarded on the ground. I leaned back on my hands and raised up my right leg, throwing his airborne body behind me and rolling up in the same motion before I jumped on his back and grabbed his hand. I twisted it behind his back and put pressure on his elbow, making his own blade lie at the top of his head.

    "Greyjoy is Dead, Snow wins by Fatal attack, once again!", Ser Cassel shouted, hauling me off the groaning Ironborn and almost dislocating my shoulder in the process, before he picked up Theon like he was a rag and threw him towards me. Both of us moved towards the stone benches, the Heir to the Iron Islands giving me a glare every step of the way before he slinked off towards the archery section. As annoying as the asshole was, I had to applaud him for his talent in bow and arrow, he was the best archer in Winterfell and that was saying something considering how many older and more experienced guards there are in the castle.

    Rolling my shoulders and rubbing them to alleviate some of the pain in them, I picked up the bastard sword in hand and approached towards where the household guards and the recruits trained, mentally getting ready for an hour of bruising and pain as I raised my sword joined Jory's recruits in the training.



    "Ohhhh, Fuuuccckkk…", I groaned as Visenya ran her hands down my back, her fingers pressing down wonderfully on my tired and sore muscles. She snorted from her place on my hips and dug her nails into my collarbone, causing me to hiss and shift at the sudden pain.

    "Don't groan like you are getting your cock sucked off, I am still angry with you."

    "When did you get so crass?", I asked as I turned around once she got off me, her head coming to rest besides mine as she looked up at the ceiling.
    She turned towards me with a blank look and arched an eyebrow, making me feel distinctly stupid before she deadpanned, "You are the one who goes around saying fuck or asshole every second sentence."

    Chuckling at that, I sat up and wore my shirt once again and went under the covers. Visenya snuggled up to me, her arms and legs wrapping around me. I ran my hand up and down her sides before I heard her take a deep breath.

    "Why didn't you tell me before now? You have known the truth about us since forever but you didn't think of telling me?", this time there was no anger in her voice, only hurt and vulnerability the likes of I had never heard from my little sister.

    "Oh, Visenya," I said as I turned towards her and hugged her fully, burying my head in her silken hair as I rubbed up and down her back.

    "I thought of telling you ever since the day we learned to talk and understand things. But I was afraid of someone hearing our words. Your looks are already against you sister, with only our uncle's word and the very public knowledge of his time with Ashara Dayne having kept the likes of Tywin Lannister and Jon Arryn off your back. I was also afraid if you would believe me or not and whether you would do something drastic after you learned the truth."
    She just hummed in response, her arms growing tighter around me before she asked,

    "So are we going to honor the promise mother asked of you?"

    "First we have to get you to learn weapons and magic both, god knows I will be too busy taking care of you every day to do any conquering" I said, rolling my eyes at the overly serious frown on her face.

    The punch which hit my ribs next did a lot to remove my doubts about Visenya's chances in honoring and surpassing her namesake.


    A blast of fire shot towards me, with the ice beneath my feet growing into two-foot-high spikes—thankfully they weren't sharp, their tops blunted enough to only bruise slightly if they hit. In response to Visenya's attack, I waved my hand, creating a gust of wind which sent the fire spiraling away from me while stomping my foot on the ground, a wave of fire spreading out from the point of impact, turning every spike into steam instantly.

    However the next second I was blindsided by my sister as the snow above me dropped on my head and in those intervening milliseconds, her wooden sword came to rest at my throat.

    "Dead", she spoke between gasps, both our skins flushed and sweaty from exhaustion.
    Clearing my eyes of the snow, I plopped down on my ass, Visenya following soon after as she sat between my splayed legs and rested her back against my chest.

    "You have gotten better, a lot better in the last few days.", I commented after a few moments as our breathing calmed down. Visenya just hummed in response and buried herself farther into me, before I felt her breathing even out as she fell asleep.
    Sighing slightly, I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her closer to me as I thought about the events since the day I told her about who we were.

    The very next day, Visenya, or Lyanna as she was known to everyone, came out into the yard with breeches and my shirt before she took a wooden bastard sword in hand and demanded Rodrik to teach her. With a lot of chuckles, ridicule, and a new recruit getting introduced to Visenya's knee intimately, Rodrik agreed to teach Visenya how to use a sword.
    Of course, Lord Stark dissuaded her from the path and tried taking her sword away, only for Visenya to speak in front of the whole household, the words almost made me kiss my sister right then and there.

    "Respectfully Lord Stark, I won't have a retinue of guards following me around for my safety like you two daughters."

    In the uncomfortable silence that ensued, Visenya had simply grabbed my hand and brought me outside in the training yard to practice once again, leaving Eddard Stark looking pained and shamed all at once. Now, Visenya practiced daily with us boys and men in the yard and she was already defeating Robb one out of four matches—much to the boys' consternation.
    Our magic had grown leaps and bounds in the last two years, our nine-year-old selves much stronger in body and much calmer of mind to concentrate and channel the magic in our blood. Visenya was more comfortable with fire, rage, and passionate emotions coming as easily to her as breathing, though she was proficient in ice magic in an almost equal amount.
    Her weapons training was handled in the yard by me and some of the younger trainees for hours on the day, but in the morning both of us had a fixed routine of going for a jog around the keep until our legs burned, and then we would fight, without weapons.

    By this point, many memories of my old life were hazy at the best, but I used what I remembered of different fighting styles and clips and created something of my own. To a third person, it would have looked like something which combined Taekwondo, Muay-Thai, and just a knowledge of weak points of the body with a healthy dose of quick reactions mixed in.
    A knock came on my door, jolting me from my thoughts. Sighing slightly at the continuous knocking, I disentangled myself from Visenya's embrace and moved towards the door, opening it fully.
    A blur shot into my room, colliding with my abdomen hard enough to make me fall on my ass—'once again dammit!'—and Arya Stark's face came into view. The young girl gave a wide smile, her grey eyes making my throat momentarily choke up as I remembered an eerily similar pair of eyes, only they had been dead to the world.

    "JON!", she screamed, her high-pitched voice and the red cheeks making me just cuddle her as I laughed.
    Shrieking with laughter, She stood up from my chest and walked towards the bed before climbing up on it and dropping beside Visenya, her face scrunched up in distaste at the sleeping girl.

    "Lyanna! Lyanna!", she chanted as she shook my sister in an effort to wake her up.

    "What are you doing here Arya?"

    She turned towards me and hid under the blankets before her voice came out.
    "Septa Modane chase me!"

    Laughing at the girl, I shut the door and sat at the end of my bed as Arya sat on Visenya's waist and started shaking the girl, bouncing up and down in her eagerness. It only took moments before the older girl was groaning and waking up, her bleary eyes looking at the grinning four-year-old.

    "Ugghhh, gerroff me stupid!", the sleepy girl moaned, making Arya dissolve into giggles as she dropped fully on her, her head resting on her neck as she snuggled into the warm furs.
    Shaking my head at the two of them, I got up and moved to my side of the bed before I closed my eyes and laid down, only to open them tearfully when Arya shifted and her leg came dropping down on my balls.

    I stuffed my face into my pillow and groaned out my pain, holding out hope that I wouldn't have such surprises with Visenya, her leg was much stronger.


    "Hey, did we break him?"

    "I don't think we broke him, it would have been possible if these would have been alive and well."

    "Then why isn't he blinking?"

    "Shocked I guess."

    "You are stupid!", Arya finally said, ending the back-and-forth between her and my twin.

    "What the fucking fuckity kind of fucking shit is this?"

    Both of them looked at me like I was the dumbest human on Planetos at that moment—which, to be honest, I did deserve—before Arya cracked up and started howling with laughter, Visneya following moments later.

    "No! No, no, no. You don't get to drop three dragon eggs in my lap and then laugh at me! Where the fuck did you even find them?"

    Still shaking with their laughter, Arya just pounded her fist on the bed and got up on shaky legs before throwing her arms around me. As I hugged her and shook my head at her antics, Visenya spoke

    "Arya and I were sitting on the Weirwood inside the Godswood when she slipped between the roots and landed inside a furrow in the ground. Turns out the tales of Jacaerys Velaryon's Vermax laying eggs in Winterfell's crypts may have had a morsel of truth in them."

    I looked from the three eggs in my lap to the smiling face of my sister and then something clicked in my mind, like a puzzle piece suddenly fitting in the slot, I just knew what had to be done now.

    "Arya, would you like to learn how to shoot with a bow and arrow?"

    "YES!", she positively screamed out her response to my question, causing me to wince due to her proximity with my ears and my sister to smother her chuckles with her forearm. Giving her a mild glare—which just made her laugh all the harder!—I turned towards Arya and thought of a way to make her leave us for now.

    "Well then you need to go and sleep now, Lyanna and I will start teaching you tomorrow."
    With a kiss to both of our cheeks, the 'she-wolf' of Winterfell ran out of the door, her laughter echoing through the corridors, bringing a smile to our faces before I shut the door and looked at the eggs, all mirth gone from my mind.

    The eggs weren't dead in the slightest, the warmth inside them and the fire inside me told me that much. And I even had a way by which I could hatch them, after all 'Fire and Blood' was something Game of Thrones told me plenty of.

    Visenya immediately cradled one of the eggs to her chest, her fingers stroking lovingly over the bluish-white egg. My own fingers were drawn to a black-violet egg, its size a little bigger than the others. The last egg was a striking red-orange color and while I could feel the warmth from it, it was muted compared to the one in my hands.

    "Now, we just need a way to hatch them."
    Chuckling at her excitement, I dropped down beside her and took all the eggs, binding them with the blanket we had, and then pushed them beneath our bed. Turning towards my sister I spoke

    "Hatching them is easy enough, we just need to burn them with a human sacrifice or our own blood smeared upon them.", Visenya's expression told me all she thought of the former, reminding me of the Septa's or Catelyn's face when they caught sight of us,

    "What is difficult is hiding them after they hatch, and what we will do afterwards, because as good and terrifying Aegon's conquest was, after the death of the dragons, Targaryens lost all their power."

    Visenya only hummed in response and said after a few moments, "There is the Faith to deal with too. Throughout the reign of Targaryens the Faith always had a leg up on them with how fanatical the public can be and how they could portray the Targaryens as the benevolent rulers one day and sisterfucking-inbred foreigners the next."
    While not an overly religious person in my old life and somewhat of a skeptic regarding the existence of gods or higher powers, the last decade had removed every doubt I had ever harbored of any god existing. But the propaganda and the culture of The-Seven-Who-Are-One was laughable a the best and completely despicable at its worst.

    The Old Gods had Brynden Rivers and the Children of the Forest to prove their existence, the Valyrian Gods had dragons and Valyrian Magic to prove their and even Rhi'lor had his sycophantic followers who had magical powers, but the Seven? They were a joke taken up to such a ridiculous level that from their point of view, the Father, the dispenser of Justice favored Gregor Clegane over Oberyn Martell...I mean what the actual fuck?

    Deciding to ponder upon such thoughts later, I grabbed Visenya's hand and we went to the Godswood once again for our practice, the subject of those unhatched eggs and the flying through the air occupying our minds the whole time.
    The next day I woke to an incessant pushing on my back and with a muffled groan I picked my body off the bed to look upon Visenya.

    "Hey, can you help me?", she asked, a slight hint of panic in her voice the redness on her hand waking me up fully to the possibility that my sister may have had her first period, or moonblood as it was known on Planetos.

    "Oh Fuck! We need to go to Maester Luwin, wait! I will call him here, you must be in pain if you are bleeding down there!"

    "Down there?", she repeated dumbly before I felt a slap to my face and a punch to my stomach as Visenya shrieked

    "NO, YOU DUMBASS I AM NOT BLEEDING DOWN THERE!"

    "Oww," I moaned in pain, my gaze going slightly out of focus due to the sudden punch to my kidneys. "Then why the fuck is there so much blood on my bed in the morning?"

    "I cut my hand to smear blood on the eggs but now I don't know how to wrap the wound with just one arm." she explained sheepishly.

    Now that I wasn't panicking at my sister becoming a woman flowered, I could see the small cut at the joining of her wrist and palm. It was barely an inch long, but being daft as she was, my dearest sister had cut directly on the top of her vein.
    Grumbling at her and slapping her upside the head once for good measure, I wrapped her wrist and palm in the linens we had after washing her hand with scalding hot water from our hearth. When that was done, I looked at the eggs on the floor, their surfaces glistening with blood, blood which wasn't dripping down to the floor at all despite however much they were rolled or shifted.
    Putting it up to the demand or hunger of the hatchlings within, I cut my own palm at the center and dripped some blood on each of the eggs before putting them in the fire. We had realized years ago that fire, ice, and extreme temperatures didn't affect us as much as they affected a normal person. We wouldn't survive being thrown into a Volcano or Dragonfire, but putting our hands in a fire didn't affect us at all beyond a warm sensation in our hands.
    However, this time when I pulled my hand out of the fire, there was not a bloodied palm or a shallow cut that greeted me. It was a scabbed over and already healing gash on my skin as if two to three days had already passed instead of the two to three minutes since the self-inflicted wound.

    "Well, that is new," Visenya commented as she looked at my hand, her chin resting on my shoulder and her own hand delving into the fire before us the next moment, the linens burning off and falling as ashes. When she removed her hand a few moments later, all that was left behind was burnt and dried blood, not a single mark suggesting that there had even been an injury at all.

    "We cannot keep these eggs here. While no one comes inside our rooms other than Arya, I'd rather not take the risk and find ourselves facing our 'father' regarding why we have dragon eggs being roasted in our hearth." Visenya said after a few moments as she stood up and walked towards the door. Sighing at the situation now we were in, I too started to move after her, thinking of the places where we could provide the eggs with regular fire and heat.

    Visenya had just opened the door when a hiss came from behind us. Alarmed at the sudden sound, both of us jumped forwards and turned around only to watch mesmerized as the blood on the eggs bubbled and hissed, moving in erratic patterns as if tentacles of a Cephalopod.
    As the seconds ticked by in my mind, the blood moved more and more before it abruptly stilled and disappeared from the eggs.

    Both of us looked at each other with wide eyes before I grabbed her hand and pulled her outside towards the Godswood, knowing that whatever had happened right now, took place because of the amalgamation of the bloodlines inside us. I could only hope that the dragons inside didn't grow fur due to some weird magical phenomenon to better complement the Wolfs Blood and affinity we had for the Direwolves.

    'Please don't let them turn into a furry dragon with a penchant for giving licks and rubbing against our legs!', I prayed to Vhagar, the Valyrian god of Magic.

    Of course, this being my life, the dragons had to be changed somehow by the magical blood we had just fed them, something I wouldn't come to know until weeks later.

     
  3. Flygar

    Flygar Getting sticky.

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    Eyy, Targareyan OP SI. Howland getting mad at Eddard makes no sense since Ned, who was not trained as an heir, literally cannot do anything to dethrone Robert without telling his bannerman the reason they fought was his sister running off with a married Prince because she didnt like her betrothed, resulting in the death of their Lord Paramount and heir, and all those that died in the war having died because she was mad at something literally almost all nobles suffer through, that is marrying not for love but politics. Well, he could, but his army is exhausted and in hostile southern territory, winter is coming, and he would likely get shanked for the sheer incompetence shown by the Starks collectively if it gets out. Might as well make the Night King an ancient Stark who is a friendly uncle type to the SI.
     
  4. highs2lows

    highs2lows Not too sore, are you?

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    I'm intrigued
     
  5. Mischief&Magic

    Mischief&Magic Getting some practice in, huh?

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    Definitely interested. Eddard does seem a little irrational here, and the Twins a bit OP, but that can still be fun as long as that’s balanced out with some realism. Watched.
     
  6. Ghostcraft19

    Ghostcraft19 Not too sore, are you?

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    This is great but it could use some thread marking
     
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  7. Muscles McMuscletin

    Muscles McMuscletin Friendly neighborhood muscle bro

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    Holy shit! The hype I'm feeling right now! So cool!

    I've been dying for a story in this universe with good magic!

    LET'S GOOOOOO!
     
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  8. Fitoor

    Fitoor Veteran

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    Ah! Good old fanon Catelyn. Slapping around her husband's children in his own castle without any repercussions.
     
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  9. Hammerfury

    Hammerfury Know what you're doing yet?

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    You know some warnings would be nice about the Ned bashing.
    Or the massive leeway given to Rhaegar and Lyanna.
     
  10. Phillip99Rus

    Phillip99Rus Know what you're doing yet?

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    SI Jon Snow has brown hair and gray eyes? I hope not. A Targaryen without white hair and purple eyes is not a Targaryen.
    P.S. If he has the canonical Jon Snow appearance, I hope he somehow gets white hair and purple eyes.
     
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  11. Lope Rodrigues

    Lope Rodrigues I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    Well I hope to see more of this
     
  12. BJJPanda

    BJJPanda I trust you know where the happy button is?

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    Can you please thread mark everything so I can go into reader mode
     
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