Jon Snow

“When I got the book for the first time, I thought it was a jest. I didn’t ask for anything at first. Growing up I didn’t allow myself to dream of anything more than what I was allowed.” Jon Snow said out loud, trying to get his thoughts in order. His mind was occupied with the gray walls of Winterfell instead of the dry golden fields of grass of the disputed lands. His men would think him mad if they saw him talking to his wolf, but Ghost was a great listener. He was on the outskirts of the mercenary camp, near the latrines where no one else would bother to check for him. His banner of a white wolf proudly flickers in the wind even as far back as here. His fame and respect were so well known even on the toilet his men worshiped him. Jon Snow scoffed at that. He didn’t become a mercenary to become a lord, but it seems it happened anyway. The sea of red and yellow tents lit up with bonfires and booze as they celebrated their recent victory. Very few casualties defeated an enemy with three times the amount of men they had, a group of pirates causing enough trouble for money to be offered to handle them, a usual job. Jon smirked. He didn’t like cheating, but he had it beat into him with several defeats that if you weren’t cheating you weren’t winning, and that notebook of his allowed him to cheat much more than he would ever admit.

“Catelyn, that jealous harpy, really did a number on me didn’t she?” Jon spat out as he continued his rant. “I wonder what Maester’s will make of it if the future king of Westeros has mommy issues?”

“Sounds like half the Targaryans,” Jon burst out laughing as he repeated back what his old friend had said. Glancing over at Ghost, gently patting his side, Jon finally calmed down. “Sounds about right.”

“I just wanted my mother’s name. I didn’t care if she was some random maid or prostitute, I just needed to know.” Jon said, his voice husky with emotion as he tried to swallow back the mixture of betrayal and guilt he felt every time his thoughts wandered back to his uncle. Lyanna Stark, that name brought memories of a playful smile, deep blue eyes, and black hair the color of earth. It made everything around him bright and beautiful again. Memories that felt half like a dream of the two playing and telling stories together bubbled forth. Jon Snow opened his eyes and he was back in the dusty camp talking with Ghost who was patiently waiting for him to continue.

“While finding out the truth was a lot bigger than I ever thought it would be, I didn’t suddenly feel the desire to be king or conquer anything. It sounded more like a hassle than it was worth.” Jon said with a self-deprecating laugh. Even after becoming a man and finding a family of his own, there was still a remnant of that sullen awkward child just underneath the surface. “But I did want to meet my family. My real ones.”

“Yes, laugh it up. Everything turned out fine in the end.” Jon grumbled as Ghost was visibly smiling at him. One of the first truly selfish things he wished for was the ability to communicate with Ghost and despite some mishaps, he hasn’t regretted it yet. Ghost laughed a little louder. That was a lie, maybe he regretted it sometimes. Who knew someone so quiet would be so disrespectful when given a voice?

Who knew that suddenly appearing before two orphaned children that have been hunted half across a continent by assassins and thieves, would have trouble trusting some random kid claiming to be the long-lost bastard son of their brother? Suffice it to say, the first meeting between him and the lost Targaryen didn’t go very well. Jon scratched at his chest where the little prince had stabbed him. Thank the gods the notebook was able to fix that disaster and several other equally disastrous meetings. It was worth it in the end. It was worth breaking his taboo about manipulating minds. Daenerys was a sweetheart. Someone that shy and cute shouldn’t ever be hurt. He hated that he had to use the notebook to get them to trust him, to see him as a family as he did with them, but it was for the best. Even Viserys, despite everything, was someone he slowly fell in love with.

“The throne, I still don’t want it. Too many families have been destroyed over that stupid chunk of metal.” Jon said, looking out over the camp full of his soldiers, men he fought and bled with enough times he couldn’t help but love, wondering how many of these camps were burnt with all the lives in it for the petty ambitions of wannabe kings.

“I think the mercenary life suits me better chasing my fortune, killing bad guys, and saving the day like those stories of knights Sansa enjoyed.” Jon Snow said with a bitter frown as he knew it was all about to end, no matter how many times he tried to ignore it. He had become a Knight in shining armor like he used to dream of. He became someone that he hoped would make Ned proud. The notebook let him find clean jobs, find honorable people who needed help. Let him kill slavers, pirates, and other scum. It made everything more difficult, didn’t give the money he could’ve potentially earned, and it almost got him killed more times than he could count. Yet, despite how cynical he had gotten over the years he still couldn’t help but care.

He had been very successful too. The notebook could have provided him with more money than he would know what to do with, but that would’ve made him a target. He needed a cover, a job that would be expected of a bastard, and he could cheat a little to make sure it went well. It took some time to convince the Targaryans to run away with him and in that time thanks to a combination of the book making him stronger and faster than any man and using it to protect him from any unseen threats such as poison or sabotage, soon Jon Snow’s name was known throughout Essos. Jon chuckled a little at that. When he convinced his father to let him chase his fortune in Essos, he was pretty sure that his current occupation was not what Ned expected. Jon hoped the other rumors about the two paramours from Lys that followed him everywhere hadn't spread to Westeros yet. Two paramours that looked nothing like the Targaryen that mysteriously vanished years ago. Just one more little trick he could thank the book for.

“What did all the old timers say when I first started? It's hard to do this business when you have a home to go back to. I understand it now. I even understand why Catelyn hated me so.” Jon Snow said as he looked down at his sword, knowing how much he was going to miss these carefree days. From now on, it wouldn’t be used to fight slavers and scum. It would be used to one day fight his family. Family, Duty, Honor. The family came first before your honor. Jon didn’t get it before, but now he did. His children deserve better than a bastard name. He would not have them spend the next hundred years being hunted by Robert’s descendants. They would not carry a shameful name like Blackfyre. He would hate it, but he would become king for them.

Jon guessed he could use the notebook and make himself king. He did consider it. Maybe make sure Rhaegar killed Robert on the trident instead. He had no love for Robert after seeing personally the damage the man has done, after having to kill the king's cutthroat and assassins to protect his newfound family, but then again Jon had no love for Rhaegar either. The man dared to **** his mother and then call himself a hero by the end of it. Not that either choice matters. It was too dangerous for him to consider. He had only changed the past a couple of times and the years of memories it gave him changed him too much for him to be comfortable to do it again. Reality is what we perceived it to be, and anytime he used the notebook to change things it had a funny way of changing himself too. It's why Jon tried very hard not to use it. He couldn’t risk the happiness he finally found for himself. He couldn’t risk accidentally erasing his children. No, Jon would become king the real way, the right way. He wouldn’t control the minds of the kingdoms to be his slaves; he would become a man worthy enough to carry it.

“Jon! There you are. We were looking for you.” A voice called out behind him, interrupting his thoughts.