Chapter Text
Winterfell. 291 AC
The slap still burned on his cheek. The burn still lingered on his arm. His eyes still red from holding back the tears that threatened to fall. The same tears that would make everything so much worse.
He clutched his arms tighter around his chest, as he blew cold breath into his hands, trying to warm up, even the slightest bit. The hearth of his little room had died out several hours ago, and he knew what would happen if he tried to get more wood. He flinched just at the memory. Just beside him, the pup stirred in his sleep.
The wind picked up in strength behind the window of his chamber. At least, the window still stood. That was something, right ? The cold seeped from below the door of his chamber, and he only curled up into himself even more than before. All just to hold out against the relentless chill.
As the night crept closer, he thought back to the events of the day.
His Lord Father took them to view the execution of a deserter from the Night’s Watch. He had spat on his boots, before Ice took his head.
They had left the scene, and were riding through the wolfswood when he heard a sound. He went to check, along with Robb and the Greyjoy. There, lying in the snow, they had found a dead wolf, bigger than anything they had ever seen, bigger than a wolf had any right to be. At her teats were suckling five little pups.
Robb and Bran had pleaded with their father to let them have them. He had first fought against it, but eventually relented. Just as they left, Jon had felt a pull in his mind, a whisper of pain.
He turned back and there, lying beneath the snow, hidden in it by its own white fur, was lying a little pup, even smaller than the others. He had pure white fur, the color of freshly fallen snow in the middle of winter, eyes blood red. He made no sound at all as Jon picked him up.
The Greyjoy had made a dismissive comment about runts of the litter, but Jon had learned long ago to block out whatever that fool was saying. Half of it were lies, the other was just even more useless than a Septon at the Wall.
When they came back to Winterfell, Robb and Bran had run straight to their mother, and brought the two other pups to Sansa and Arya, who had delighted in having their own wolves.
Rickon was still too young, but he had tried to squirm out of his mother’s tight grasp and to touch the fur of the last wolf remaining.
Jon had left straight to his own little bedchamber, and took a second cloak of fur, too little for him, but enough for the pup. He curled the cloak around the pup, and brought him to the godswood, seeking guidance, quiet, and help. Anything from the Old Gods. Instead, only silence answered, silence and snow.
He brought his pup back to his room, and went to the Hall to eat dinner, before going to sleep. He didn’t even wait for dessert, as he knew Robb would just take it from him. He left the Hall quietly, but not unseen. Just as he tried to pass by the shadows of the halls, he had been struck without even noticing it. He had clutched his cheek, eyes wide as he fought against the threat of tears.
Lady Stark yelled at him, about his “stealing a wolf from her trueborn children”, and how he should be grateful for everything he had in Winterfell. Grateful for the shit he shoveled day after day, grateful for the food he was served, if one could call it food. He was sure that the servants ate better than him. Most of all, he had to be grateful for the treatment his father gave him, how good and honorable he was for allowing him to live here.
He had bowed his head, kept his eyes on the floor, as tears swelled in his eyes. He kept quiet until she sneered at him and left the hall. He ran to his room, hoping, praying for some peace and quiet.
Now, as he looked into the open wildness from his window, he wondered what it was like outside. Ever since King Rhaegar and Ser Arthur Dayne had defeated Robert Baratheon at the Trident, before sending his father, Aerys Targaryen “The Mad King”, to the Black Cells of the Red Keep, where he had apparently died two days later, having bit off his own tongue.
Ever since Rhaegar took the Iron Throne, life all across the Seven Kingdoms had been nothing but beautiful. Smallfolks had more food, more protection, and more gold flowed through the villages and towns of Westeros.
Lords and Ladies praised the reign of King Rhaegar “the Kind”, and the Seven Kingdoms were at peace. Robert’s Rebellion, then the Ironborn a few years later, had shown everyone the type of King and leader that Rhaegar Targaryen was.
He let the myth, the stories, the songs, everything, pass in his mind, as he dreamed of something more. He just wanted to be someone. To matter. To be loved.
Part of him wanted to just leave all of this, leave the lies, the pain, the sneers whenever they caught sight of the Half-Wolf, like he was any less wolf than his siblings.
It did not matter to him, if his father did not wed his mother. He was still a wolf, just as much as his siblings. At least, unlike all the others, except for Arya, he looked like one. Old Nan had said more than once that he was just like his father when he was still a child, but prettier. I daresay your father was never so pretty, little Jon. Your mother must have been a true beauty. She had said to him once.
But now, all that remained was a father that looked at him with regret and anger, a stepmother who hated the very sight of him, siblings that either ignored him, or laughed behind his back. Except for Arya, his little She-wolf.
He wanted out. Out of this life, of the pain, of the cold nights and colder shadows. All that made every day in this castle to be another day of silence and slow torture.
He rose from his bed, and picked up his wolf. In the silence of the night, no one saw the little figure slipping through the gates of Winterfell, no one saw them leaving, with nothing but a sword he had received as a nameday gift a year ago, two weeks late, and a cloak of fur.
In the shadows of the night, Jon Snow and his little wolf pup walked through the snow of the North. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than here. Better than staying where he is nothing but a shame on his father’s name.
He walked and walked, the snow unrelenting, picking at every exposed inch of his skin. The pup had not made a sound, only shifting into Jon’s arms, seeking warmth.
He walked until he could walk no more, his legs were heavy, his head felt like it was about to burst, and he could barely breathe normally. Scratch that, he couldn’t breathe normally. It felt like a chore just to open his mouth, another to inhale breath, and almost impossible to exhale.
As he fell to his knees, the snow lightening the impact, he only sent a small prayer to the Old Gods. At least one of them, just one of them to pray for my soul.
…
…
…
…
The storm increased in its power, in its intensity, in its raw strength. It covered him almost completely, until only his face remained. He kept the wolf as close to his chest as possible, refusing to let go for even a second.
But then, as the storm died in a second, and all sounds disappeared, he saw a golden light. His limbs were no longer aching, his breath came swiftly, and his eyes were focused on the light. He stood up, slowly, testing his limbs. He walked to the light, as his pup stirred even more, twisting, trying to get to the light himself.
Jon didn’t even notice when he walked into the light. Only the warmth mattered. Only the gold. Only the… Grace. Why did this word felt so important ?
His first step was light. The second was even lighter. By the third, he felt weightless. By the fifth, he swore he could fly. And when he reached the portal, he was convinced he was flying.
The light surrounded all his senses, until only the feeling of his wolf's fur on his chest remained. Then, just like it had begun, the light disappeared. He raised his head, and almost collapsed.
Where there should have been trees and snow, there was a golden sky, and a gigantic tree of gold in the distance. His mouth fell open as he watched this world.
He sat up slowly. The grass beneath him shimmered faintly with dew and grace, far too green and vibrant for the North. Pale sunlight, golden and unnatural, streamed down through a sky that seemed both close and infinite. Trees rose high like giants, their leaves glowing faintly with golden light, like flames that never burned.
He stood, shivering—not from cold, but from the weight pressing on his chest. The air was warm, almost comforting, but the silence around him was wrong . There were no ravens, no wind, no distant howls of wolves. Only the soft rustle of leaves and his own breathing.
Jon turned in slow circles, trying to make sense of the strange realm. It wasn’t a dream—he’d dream of being a Stark, of his father telling him he was no bastard. This wasn’t that. This was real . The wind on his face, the ache in his bones, the tremble in his legs—it was all too sharp for a dream.
He didn’t cry. He wanted to. His chest hurt, and his throat burned, but he didn’t cry. Bastards didn’t cry. Robb wouldn’t cry. Sansa would call him weak if she saw him now. And he’d never be strong, not like Father, if he—
But he was alone.
So very alone.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he whispered to the sky. “I just wanted to be... something. Someone.”
He remembered Maester Luwin’s stories, tales of heroes lost in strange lands, of children found by gods. Is that what this was? Did the gods take him? Or was this his punishment—for being a bastard, for wanting more, for wishing he were someone else?
His stomach growled, but there was no food. No snowberries. No crusts of bread. Only endless green hills and golden light and strange stone ruins in the distance.
His feet began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t stay still. Not here, in this silence that pressed against his ears like a scream held too long.
As he crested a hill, he saw it.
Gold flowed through the air, akin to fireflies. He tried to reach forward, but they disappeared as soon as he touched them. Then, on the ground of greener grass than he had ever seen, the same gold formed a small well, one that brought warmth to his body, and soothed his soul, for but a moment. The pup stilled, then leapt from his arms. Jon barely had the time to move before it settled near the golden well and curled itself before slowly going to sleep.
Jon looked around, his eyes taking over everything this land had. Or rather, each time he tried to look at something else, he saw the gigantic tree in the distance. How can a tree even reach such heights, it isn’t possible. It shouldn’t exist.
But his eyes did not betray him, no matter how many times he rubbed them, hoping to wake up from some kind of dream.
Then, in a shimmer of blue light, a woman appeared. She was dressed in an old cloak, the cloth covering all her body, but for her knees, as she knelt down next to him. Her hair was like Robb, but seemed so much more powerful in its own strange way. Her left eye was closed, and veins lingered around it. She did not smile, but neither did she frown. She simply was.
“You are far from home, young boy. Who are you ?”
His breath could not come slower than now, and yet his heart was beating much faster than ever before. Whoever she was, she was prettier than any other woman he had ever met.
“Well, who are you ?”
And he realized he was completely lost in here. At least, he understood what she was saying, that was something.
“I… My name is Jon Snow.”
She smiled at him, something sweet, yet so strange. Like her face shouldn’t smile that way. It confused him even more. Whatever this land was, it was not Westeros. That was for sure. The snow storm had taken him somewhere else, and he had not even the faintest idea of where.
“Jon Snow… It is a pleasure to meet you, young man. I am Melina. And I believe we can help each other.”
She said, as she looked expectantly at him. Her hand was outstretched now, and found himself gazing at how smooth it looked.
“Help ? How ? I’m- I’m no one.”
“And yet, you are here. You are neither Tarnished, nor of the Golden Order. You are unique in your own way, especially in this realm. So, never again, say you are no one.”
He looked into her eyes, half-expecting the laughter and the sneers thrown at a bastard, the sneers he had grown so accustomed to. But they ever came. All that was, in her beautiful eye, was warmth.
“What do you want from me, my Lady ?”
“A bargain. I will help you, teach you everything you need to know, turn your runes into strength, and in exchange, I ask that you take upon the task of all Tarnished. To follow the guidance of Grace. To stand before the Elden Throne, and become the new Elden Lord.”
His eyes were blown wide at her last sentence, and she somehow looked completely serious. Meanwhile, he was lost in a sea of confusion and misunderstanding. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he could finally answer.
“The what ? Become what ? What are- What are you talking about ? I don’t understand anything !!”
She smiled softly at him. Then, she extended both her hands.
“Lay your hands upon mine, for but a moment. And all will make sense.”
He did.
And it did.
Two years later .
He stood in the graveyard of Castle Stormveil. The sheer number of enemies he had faced on the way almost made him recoil. Magrit the Fell Omen had been a real monster, and part of him still felt he won purely by luck.
But now, as Godrick's monstrous form lied beneath him, his broken arm useless, incapable of lifting his axe, Jon stood tall, even if he was just a twelve year old boy. The runes he had used thanks to Melina made him into a much stronger and swifter man than before. He could even run for hours without stopping, if need be. Ghost stood near Jon, his head reaching Jon's shoulders. If Jon had grown a bit, then Ghost had become the biggest wold he had ever seen in just a few months.
"Who are you, boy ?" The broken demigod said to him, as he let his head fall on the ground, only his eyes still moving to look straight into his own. Jon almost recoiled as he saw Godrick's numerous arms and legs move from him. But he didn't.
"My name is Jon Snow. And I seek the Elden Throne."
"But of course you do. That is what everyone seeks. Myself, my brothers and sisters, every single Tarnished that has passed through my halls. Everyone."
"You speak as though no one can achieve this goal."
Godrick laughed at this, a rumbling sound that would have shook mountains if he was not so diminished from the battle.
"If even the Starscourge could not take the Throne, I doubt a mere man will. Though you are more than welcome to try."
"Then, I will."
Godrick looked at him, assessing him with his eyes. He did not blink for a full minute. Then, he exhaled.
"Finish what you came for, little boy. And when all is done, we shall meet again."
Godrick closed his eyes, awaiting the final strike.... That never came. Instead, Jon sheathed his weapon back and sat near him. Godrick turned his head to look at him, just as Ghost sat near his bonded. His eyes were full of confusion, and Jon's closed eyes and relaxed breathing did not help him.
“Wh- What ? What are you doing ?” Godrick’s voice was laced with fury and confusion.
Jon didn’t respond. He only continued to breathe deeply, taking his time, a rhythm falling in place. Ghost was sitting beside him, his red gaze pouring into Godrick’s own golden eyes.
The fallen demigod was completely at a loss for words. And all that Jon was doing, was sitting down.
Finally, he opened his eyes. He stood up slowly, and started to walk away, Ghost on his trail. He whistled The Rains of Castamere as he left, and Godrick tried to stand up, though his body was too broken.
“Stop ! What- What are you doing ? Why aren’t you killing me ?” His voice was broken, yet his fury remained. Even in defeat, Godrick the Grafted refused to stop.
Jon turned around, and smiled a sad one.
“Because I have no reason to. I won, you lost. This duel is over. Now, all you have to do… is watch.”
And with those final words, he passed through the gate, and slowly left Castle Stormveil. He did not take the Great Rune. He had no need for it. Instead, he just kept walking, following the Grace, leading him to his destiny.
To the Elden Throne.
Castle Redmane. Three years after Stormveil.
When Jon had heard the tales of the Starscourge, he almost laughed. A demigod, wishing to ride the stars like a horse ? Even in this realm, it was laughable.
When he saw General Radahn for the first time, he did not laugh. That was one of the biggest creature he had ever seen. Only dragons surpassed him in size, and Jon had not fought a single one. Neither had they. He was just allowed entrance into their land, as long as his sword remained in his sheath. And it did.
Now, as he stood over the kneeling form of the mad General, he only saw what laid beneath the madness, beneath the pain and the armor. He saw the broken man. He saw the sad man who had dreamed too much, and had fallen from the sky as payment for his dreams.
He could end him. Bring him, if not salvation, then peace. A well deserved rest after an Age of pain and torment for him. So why didn't he raise the sword ? Why didn't he struck him down ? Why didn't he just end his suffering ?
And when Radahn looked up at him, Jon understood. This was not a beast. This was not a mad man. This was just a lost and confused man, broken by those who wished him to fall. And Jon had already lived such a life, back in Westeros. He would not allow another to live the same life.
So, Jon sheated his sword, again. For the... He forgot how many times he had spared those demigods. He had beaten them, then left them on the ground where they fell. Alive, and yet, never humiliated. One of them, Maliketh, had actually knelt to him, recognizing him as the better of the two of them. In heart, in mind and in sword. From the Black Blade, that was quite the compliment. Though he could have gone without the ritual of Maliketh granting him Destined Death as his own. That was perhaps a bit too much. Jon had not expected to receive the Rune of Death from Maliketh, even though he had gathered all the Deadroots of the Lands Between.
The Starscourge raised his head to look at him, his eyes still bore the mark of rage and madness, but Jon simply gave him a hand. His lion eyes moved from his hand to his face, to his hand again. Slowly, he raised his own hand, until he clasped it into Jon's outstretched one. He didn't say anything, he only rose to his feet, sheathed his twin greatswords, and looked at the sky. Then, he knelt to Jon, his head bowed low, his left fist on the ground and the other upon his heart. No words were shared that night, only a silent acknowledgement.
And when Jon walked out of Castle Redmane, Ghost ever by his side, the stars seemed to shine a bit brighter. And for the first time in a year and a half, he took the Rune the demigod gave him, as his soul felt stronger than before. He still remembered what Melina had said, about the power of the Runes, how they had corrupted beings stronger than him. And though his arrogance was nothing in front of the ones that those demigods bore, part of his mind still told him that he was more than worthy to hold this Rune.
Haligtree Roots. 3 Years later.
Every muscle in his body screamed agony. Every bone felt like it would explode at the first step. Every tendon prayed for the sweet relish of death. He didn't even know why he still stood. Or how he hadn't fallen to her blade. He only knew that it now laid on the floor, the blade shattered and her golden prosthetic in his hand, as she fell to her knees, her face covered by her helm, as she looked at the ground, seeing nothing.
She had fought him, she had bled him, she had even tried to rot him, though he had evaded every strike. Then, she had fallen to his blade. Part of her still refused to believe it. He was not Tarnished, and therefore only lived this one life. He was not a demigod, and didn't hold the power to rewrite fate. So why ? Why had she lost ? Her, the Blade of Miquella, the undefeated, the one who had fought Radahn to a standstill ?
And she had lost to a eighteen year old boy. It was laughable. Truly. She was at a loss for what to do. And if the power she didn't feel on him meant anything, then she had been defeated by a boy who held only one Great Rune, despite having been close to at least 4 of them. Close enough to claim them, their scent still lingering on his soul.
She closed her eyes, useless action as it was, and waited for the sweet embrace of death, one she would perhaps finally find peace in. A second passed, then another. Then another. And before she even realized it, her head was still attached to her neck, her body was not pierced by his sword, and she was not on fire. She looked up, a silent question, even when she did not see him. Part of her wondered what he looked like, this twelve year old boy who had beaten her before his voice even started to change.
Jon looked at her, and his heart broke a little more for her. He had already lost so many parts of it every time he bested a demigod, when he saw the person beneath the monster, the flesh beneath the armor. The one they were before the Shattering. Even now, after eight years spent travelling the Lands, uncovering lore thought lost to time and ruin. He had listened to the tales woven by those that had seen everything, had read the books of the Academy of Raya Lucaria. But nothing brought him closer to the reason why the Elden Ring was shattered in the first place.
He looked at the broken form of Malenia, her spirit having lost all will to fight. And so, with all the mercy he could gather, he slowly raised his blade.
To sheathe it once again.
The look on her face when she heard the sound of the sheathing blade almost made him laugh for the first time in seven, perhaps eight weeks. She looked lost and confused, not understanding what ever was currently happening. She thought that he would burn her, or perhaps, if he was strong enough, rip off her head with his bare hands.
Instead, she heard the rustling of leaves as he sat besides her, and she heard his breath go deep, a strong exhale, like he was finally letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"You know, I can't even begin to understand the pain you must have felt. But what I do know, is that you cannot let it rule you forever. You are the Blade of Miquella. Do not let what happened with Radahn decades ago define who you are."
Her head did not move, her breathing did not change. But her heart, that traitorous organ, started beating faster. She kept her blinded gaze straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge what his words were doing to her.
"If you want to, we can begin fighting again. And again. But fighting will not mend the pain. It will only fester it, a growing wound refusing to heal. I once lived in a world where my very existence was denied to me, all because of my name. For whatever it's worth... I love this realm far more than my homeland.
She turned her head towards him, not saying a single word. She did not know how, but she knew he smiled. She waited for him to continue to speak. Somehow, of all the people in the Lands Between, this boy was the only one who knew her pain.
And so, Jon shared his story. The pain, the cruelty, the cold gaze of his father, the sharp hands of his stepmother, the cruel laughs of his half-siblings. How he had fled his home, only to arrive here through means he still didn't understood. His endless fights for survival, then for destiny. He refused to let his name of bastardy define his identity in this new realm. This new chance.
When he was over, he said nothing and waited for her reaction. She thought she would just stand up and leave. Perhaps she would nod at him, then let him go. Or even put a hand on his shoulder in acknowledgment. She did not expect to start slowly crying. She did not expect her heart to break for this small boy, who had suffered far beyond what his age should allow. She had no wish to cry for him, yet she did all the same.
He said nothing, only let her silently cry. When her tears ran dry, he took a cloth from one of his many pockets and gave her. She wiped her eyes with it, then gave it back. He took it back and pocketed it once more. He stood up and told her one last thing.
"When you are ready, leave this cave. Walk through the Lands Between one more time. Smell the breeze of the sea, listen to the rustling of leaves in the forests, stand in a flowing river, let the water drift the dark away."
Then, he turned and left. Or at least, he tried to. She caught his arm before he could step out. He turned back to look at her, confusion in his gaze. Then, Malenia raised her left hand and with all the care she could muster, she extracted her Rune from her own essence. She pressed it into his hand, and then swiftly turned back. His eyes were wide with confusion.
When he finally took it as his own, he only smiled gently at her. He gave her a bow, then left the cave. Three hours later, Malenia gathered enough courage to get out herself. And when she finally felt fresh air on her skin once again, she smiled and let a tear fall. She did not wipe it away as it rolled down her cheek, and fell on the ground.
The Erdtree. Two year later.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. No comparison. Blinding.
Those words meant little more than ashes in the wind when he looked upon creation's most perfect being.
Golden hair that seemed to be woven from pure sunlight, as they fell like a river of flowing gold on her back. Breasts he was sure were softer than any clouds, and who looked like he could get lost between them. A waist quite narrow, accentuating the curves of her hips, ones that he swore were begging for his touch. Long, shapely legs that seemed to go on for days, and still have room for more, so much so she could wrap them around his waist without a problem. Her calves looked to be carved from marble, and he would gladly die between her meaty thighs if he could.
And when she opened her eyes, his heart stopped for a moment. Golden whirlpools of molten jewels, as if the glow of the Erdtree had been captured and stored in her twin orbs. She looked at him, and when she smiled, he felt his heart beat much faster. He was barely aware of the presence of the others somewhere behind him, and he heard some remark about him having lost it, the voice sounding a lot like Radahn's.
And when she spoke, it seemed as though time had stilled just to listen to her.
"You have done so, so well, my Champion." Her voice was smoother than any silk, her smile more blinding than any star, and he swore he could die happy now that he had heard her speak.
Without even thinking, he knelt down to her, his knees buckling under the sheer pressure and awe that this majestic being radiated. He heard with one ear the sound of many others kneeling down, but said nothing, as his gaze remained fixed on the ground. And when he felt two fingers stroking his jaw, he slowly raised his head to look at her glowing face.
"Rise, my Champion. My Elden Lord."
He slowly stood up, his legs finding strength he had no idea where it was coming from. His soul burned when he looked at her, and his mind screamed at him to claim her, like he was but a beast ruled by his emotions. She smiled again and the voice screamed even louder.
"I- I am honored to meet you, my Queen." He said himself, though his voice lacked the usual conviction it held. Something the kneeling demigods all noticed. This boy had bested them all, had restored the Elden Ring, had put the Rune of Perfect Mending through Marika's own broken chest, had fought and won against Godfrey and the Elden Beast. And now, this same boy was completely enraptured by curves and a smile. The thought brought them a small smile.
"Come, my Lord. There is much to be done before we wed." Her voice was hinted with childish amusement, and Jon nodded at her once, his eyes immediately narrowing at the thought of all the work that awaited ahead. Cities needed to be restored, roads had to be protected from raids, curses had to be removed, trade between cities had to be-
Wait... Wait.... WAIT A SECOND !!! WEDDING ??? WHAT ????
His gaze snapped up at her, and he read in her golden orbs the amusement she felt at his expense. His mouth actually fell open at the thought. Him ? Wed her ? How ? When ? Where ? HIM ?
His mind was reeling at a thousand miles an hour and everyone could see that. Radahn chuckled, but got silenced by an elbow in the ribs from Malenia. Godrick remembered the little boy who had stood before him and told him to watch. Gideon Ofnir remembered the little scholar who had entered his own study. The things he had learned from him about Westeros had been enough to fill seven books, one for each Kingdom. Though he could still remember the shadow that had passed over the boy's soul. Mohg, the Lord of Blood, reminisced about the beat-down he was given by this kid, and closed his eyes, shacking his head slowly as he sighed.
Marika did not think twice. She lowered her face to her Champion's own and swiftly stopped his thought process with a kiss. His eyes blew wide as he felt true grace against his lips, and he just let her do whatever she wanted. She giggled against his lips, and he vowed to hear that sound at least once every day, possibly a thousand times every day, for the rest of existence.
She stopped kissing him, and he blushed redder than the berries of the Lands Between. She put her hand in his hair and slowly stroked his skull. He almost fell asleep from the weariness of his bones and the head massage he was getting. He leaned his head into her hands, and closed his eyes. The other demigods didn't react at this, as they watched Queen Marika the Eternal, the Vessel of the Elden Ring, smile like a little girl in love.
That boy really was more special than any of them had thought.
The Royal Castle, Family Wing. Two Year Later.
He was pacing up and down the room, his mind completely lost. He couldn't be in the room, his pacing too distracting for the nurses, and for Marika. So, he had to step out to try and calm his mind. But how could he ? How could he be calm when, on the other side of the room, the most gut-wrenching experience of his life was unfolding. Even his wedding had not made him wish to have another spar against Radahn so much.
So as his body was restless and his mind refused to quiet down, he walked up and down the room. His hands twitched at his sides. His breath was quick and his heart quicker still. He had heard countless talks of such situations, and knew how everything worked theoretically. But it did not mean his fears would just lay low.
His wife, his Queen, the woman who had saved his soul from loneliness, was now lying in a birthing bed, bringing life into the world. And Jon had never been more scared in his entire life. His pacing was brought to a halt when he bumped into the mountain-shaped form of Radahn, who looked down at him with a smile.
"Come on, brother. This is a day of celebration. Your first-born ! It doesn't happen everyday. Relax and get a drink, you need it." He said with a booming laugh, as the sound reverberated around the room. Malenia raised her head to look at them, her red eyes looking at Radahn with a gaze that quickly silenced him, as he sat back down.
Near the window, Maliketh was watching a few dragons flying around the Capital of Leyndell with his usual cold demeanor. But even he could not deny the feeling in his gut. Through his bond with his sister Marika, he would soon have a little niece or nephew into this world. One fathered by the one who had become one of his greatest friends, Jon Snow. even if he still hated his last name, having claimed Whitewolf as his name a long time ago, for his own wolf, Ghost, who stood near the door, a silent guardian.
Finally, after what felt like eternity, the door opened and a nurse walked out. She looked straight at Jon and bowed low as he looked like a child who was about to get a gift.
"Come, my Lord. Her Grace is well, and the babes are healthy."
Jon didn't even wait another second. He ran straight into the room and to Marika's bed. She smiled with that same damning smile that brought out the wolf in him every time she sought to tease him. In her arms lied two little bundles. He walked like a possessed man until he stood near her.
But right now, his gaze was focused solely on the two perfect little beings in the sheets. The first one was a little girl with a little tuff of golden hair, the same as her mother. And when she opened her precious little eyes, he saw his purple eye staring back at him, twofold. She smiled a bright one, and he fell in love with her in that very moment. He knew that never would he refuse her anything, though never would he allow anyone to take her from him.
Then, Marika handed him their other child. He gave her back his perfect little being, and took the second one. And fell for her just as fast as for his first daughter. He saw his own dark hair on top of her head, and her mother golden eyes staring back at him silently. She looked at him with concentration, like she was expecting him to suddenly change into something else.
Jon kissed the top of her head, then gave her back to Marika. She smiled brightly at him.
"How should we name them, my love ?" She asked, a bit sleepily, as the birth had tired her a bit. Jon didn't even wait. He had chosen the names from the second Marika told him she was pregnant.
"Aurellia and Milenia." He said confidently, his eyes looking at Marika and their daughters. They had just gone to sleep, and looked lore precious than ever. Marika smiled at him, as he spoke the names.
"Aurellia and Milenia it is. Perfect choice, my Wolf... Radahn will be jealous."
"I know. We'll just have to try for a son then." He said cheekily. She rolled her eyes, but then giggled slightly, like a maiden in love. Jon laughed with her. And in that moment, he swore that no one would ever, ever come between them. This was his family. His kingdom.
His past was just that to him. Past. Lost. Buried in the snow of the North and lost across the seas. He had forged his own life in this realm, had found a home, a purpose, and a family. Now, he could simply continue to rule, undisturbed by outside forces.
But as he watched his family, a vision unfolded before his eyes.
On his throne of gold.
The Elden Lord sits.
A court of Gods, ever so bold.
He wields lightning and reality.
The Wolf stirs from its sleep.
The Lion prowls at his prey.
The Rose grows ever tighter around his throat.
And the Dragon roars, three head snarling.
And in a land of Kings and Queens, of castles and swords, of lies and deceit, in a city that stank of piss and shit and daggers hid behind every smile, as shadows hid friends and foes, a She-Wolf waked with a gasp, as her eyes watered for reasons she could not name. The only thing she saw was a light of gold.