Chapter Text
Winterfell / The Death Star
Jon Snow stood in the yard, sword already drawn, his feet apart and legs bent, hands holding the handle of the sword with a grip neither too tight nor too shallow. His eyes focused on his opponent, his father’s new ward that had arrived only two days ago, after the end of the Iron Island’s Rebellion, one shattered in less than a year by the combined might of the Seven Kingdoms.
Darth Vader stood in the Throne Room, his saber lit and colliding against his son’s green one. A new one, he half-noticed, half-cared not. His metallic hand held the hilt with the strength of ten men gathered in one, the Force rippling through every inch of his skin. His lentils focused and refocused on the sight of the young bo- young man that his son was.
On the side, sitting on top of a barrel, his twin sister, Alys Snow, was looking at him with expectation, that kind of look that no one but him could understand, words left unsaid between the two of them, as though they could share a thousand words merely by gazing at each other. You better win, her eyes seemed to say to him. Their brother Robb stood near her, rocking on the balls of his heels, his auburn red hair falling in front of his eyes.
On the side, sitting in his large throne of twisted metal, his Master, Darth Sidious, was looking at the sight of their colliding lightsabers with a strange, almost childlike glee. His laughter rang through the room, as he merely looked at the sight of a father and a son dueling against each other -to the death- Vader realized much too late. In his eyes, Vader could see that his Master wanted Luke to strike Vader down, and his next words confirmed his fear as true. The old Sith’s hood was drawn upon his scarred head, showing only his face and yellow eyes.
On the other side of the training yard, Theon Greyjoy, his father’s ward -though it would be fairer to call him a hostage- stood with a grin on his face, sword hanging loosely on the side, standing as though he thought Jon was no threat to him, his face relaxed and eyes lazy. His body betrayed a dozen or more weaknesses and gaps in his defense, so many that Jon could use against him.
Luke’s face was clasped in concentration, his hands tied strongly to the hilt of his lightsaber in a pose that painfully reminded him of a time he willed to bury under years of rigorous training. Soresu, a style focused on an impregnable defense, a fortress of skill and power. Luke’s eyes were focused on him and his red saber. His body stood ready to resist Vader's attack for as long as his endurance would allow him.
“Stand ready, boys. I don’t want to see any unnecessary violence. The winner is decided by disarmament, yield, five strikes or getting knocked on your arse.” Jon heard Jory say, his loud voice ringing through the yard, and Theon Greyjoy snickered at that.
“Good. Use your aggressive feelings, boy.” The Emperor said, as Vader rose up from the ground, having been thrown down by Luke’s kick. He felt abandoned by his Master, yet Vader could not stop himself from protecting him still against Luke’s attack.
“I promise not to hurt Father’s new ward… too much.” Jon allowed himself a small smirk, and he heard Robb snicker, while Theon Greyjoy only snarled like a beast. High on the wooden battlements, Jon heard the King’s laughter ringing like a hundred bells, slapping the wood. His Lord Father stood beside the King, a small smile on his face.
“You are unwise to lower your defenses” Vader spoke, his voice coming in metallic rasps, as he lunged forward and began a flurry of attacks on his so- on the Jedi threat. On his throne, Vader’s strikes were quick and powerful, his mechanical limbs screeching in metallic pain every time his saber caught Luke’s.
“I’ll bury your ass into the ground, bastard.” The Greyjoy said, just before lunging forward without any thought. It was easy for Jon to evade his initial strikes, which held neither thought nor skill behind them. Theon sought to end the duel as quickly as possible by striking Jon once in order to knock him unconscious. A useless endeavor, Jon had to recognize. He was much quicker on his feet than the older boy, and his moves were so telegraphed and obvious -to him, at least- that he had no problem evading every strike.
Luke moved like water, his every move a dance of skill that betrayed heavy training, but poor real life experience. His son was used to fighting in situations where his opponent did not hold a superior strength, nor a lightsaber. Vader held the saber in one hand, refusing himself to acknowledge Luke as a genuine threat to himself by using both his hands against the lone Jedi. He pushed back against Luke, and watched as he jumped out of his reach and on top of a pathway over the room.
Every strike from Theon was either dodged or countered by Jon, who used the boy’s strength against him, redirecting each and every of his attacks. Theon was bigger and stronger, so Jon merely had to be quicker and smarter. He knew he couldn’t match Theon on strength alone, and therefore relied on speed and instincts. His sister Alys was looking at the two of them sparring, a look of utter focus in her eyes. Her hands gripped the wooden edges of the barrel she sat on.
With a swifter move than one would imagine capable of him, Vader threw his saber, commanding its movement through the Force, as it sliced the handles that held the metallic pathway over him. Luke fell to the ground, a gasp escaping his mouth. The Emperor rose from his throne, laughter bubbling in his throat, gleefully watching the confrontation unfolding before his eyes. Vader’s hand tightened on the hilt of his saber, as it came back into his hand.
“STOP. FUCKING. MOVING -YOU BASTARD !!” Theon’s cry resonated throughout the training yard, a desperate overhead strike born of adrenaline and anger falling towards Jon. He sidestepped it easily and tapped Theon’s back, eliciting a grunt from him. Three strikes, two to go, Jon and Alys thought at the same time. He did not need to look at her to know she was thinking the very same thing he was. They were… connected that way. A bond stronger than that of siblings born of the same womb.
“If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will” Vader spoke, his voice low and dangerous through the mechanical rasps of his breathing assistance. The thought of Luke having a sister, of him having a daughter arose some… unnecessary feelings inside of his head. He did not wish to linger on such thought, for it would arouse conflicts of interest between him, Luke, the Emperor and his daughter. A mix of anger and fear rose inside of him, anger at himself for being so blind to the truth, at the Emperor for hiding it from him, and fear at the idea of his children being hurt.
Jon twirled once around Theon, using the boy’s higher body mass against himself, as he nearly fell and barely caught himself up. His eyes were ablaze with fury, anger and embarrassment at the thought of being bested so thoroughly. Not merely by a greenlander -as Ironborns would say- but a bastard. A lowborn. Jon felt as though he could almost hear Theon’s thoughts inside of his mind, the same thing he felt with Alys, but much weaker.
Luke screamed in rage, his anger flying through the air -so much so Vader could almost taste it. He began to fight against him with the fury of ten thousand men. His moves no longer held any training nor skill, he fought purely on rage. Vader’s words had struck a nerve, deep inside of his son. He parried Luke’s attack with skill and determination, but the anger that flowed inside of Luke surpassed Vader’s own.
Theon’s fatal mistake was to overextend his reach while lunging forward and trying to strike Jon’s belly. Jon caught the strike and redirected it to the right, as he swept Theon’s feet from under him as he struck Theon one final time, therefore making a fifth strike and putting him on the ground. The yard was silent for a total of one second before exploding into cheers and congratulations, as the King roared his laughter and his Lord Father smiled warmly at him. Alys cheered him on from the side and Robb struck the air with a fist.
Luke’s victory was decided when he managed to put Vader down, assaulting him repeatedly as he tried to get back up. But when a particularly powerful strike made him lose his arm’s strength, Luke moved fast enough to cut off Vader’s hand, a scream erupting from his throat as he fell to the ground in agony, a pain that he had scarcely knew alarming his entire nervous system, burned and charred as it was. His breathing came short and rasped, as he held his left hand in surrender
“NOW THAT’S A FIGHT !” The King roared with all of his lung’s power. He slapped the wooden railing repeatedly, laughing all the while. At his left side, Jon’s father was smiling down at him with a warm smile, and Jon hoped that meant he was proud of him. On the King’s right side, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock looked down at him with a cold, serious look. He could not read anything in his eyes, yet his mind felt a small whisper of approval coming from the green-gold eyed man.
“Good… good.” The Emperor spoke between two fits of laughter. “Your hate has made you powerful.” He said to Luke, and Vader saw his son’s face twist into fear at what he was becoming. “Now, fulfill your destiny, and take your father’s place -at my side.” The words struck Vader deep into a place he had thought gone and burned, one he had buried with Padme, 23 years ago. His heart, that small, dark, twisted organ -full of hatred and grief- fought for the first time in two decades, fought against Vader resolving himself to his fate. Again.
“Jon, go put your sword back on the rack. That was a perfect training session. You will make a fine swordsman one day.” His father said, and Jon’s cheeks warmed up under the public praise he got. That was rare, but not unheard of from his father, who seemed to always be ready to support him and Alys whenever he thought they needed it. The King looked at his father with surprise. “One day ? That boy is already better than I was at twice his age. By the gods, if he goes on like that, I’ll have to make him a Kingsguard by the time he’s twelve.” The King’s words caught everyone’s attention, and though Jon believed as though those were merely words thrown in the wind, the King didn’t look like he was lying. His smile was large and true, his broad shoulders shaking still from the laughter.
Luke’s face was twisted by fear and sadness, as his eyes gazed upon his gloved hand, realizing what he had just done -what he had inflicted on Vader. Vader could see the fear, the sadness, the conflict inside of Luke. He could sense the Light and the Dark Sides colliding against each other, a fight between his empathy and his anger. Vader felt as though he saw himself once more, all those years ago. He felt as though he stood inside of Palpatine’s office once more, his eyes burning from tears he fought against, the screams of Master Windu still echoing inside of his ears. And then… Luke pressed the saber’s button. With an almost-inaudible sound, the green glow faded away from their eyes, and the Emperor smiled no more.
“It would be a great honor, Your Grace.” Jon said, bowing properly to the King. He did not move immediately, and it was only when the King asked of him to rise up that he did so. The King looked at him with that smoldering gaze of promises. He could almost hear the King’s voice roaring through the Great Hall of Winterfell, or perhaps the Red Keep itself, as Jon swore his life to the Kingsguard, to the legendary brotherhood that united the Seven Kingdoms’s greatest swordsmen in one singular purpose. He felt pride and joy at such a thought, so much so he did not see the look in Alys’s eyes.
“Never.” Luke said. A single word that made Vader’s heart burn, as Luke threw away his saber. “I’ll never turn to the Dark Side.” The Emperor now looked at Luke with fury untold. “I am a Jedi. Like my father was before me.” Vader’s eyes widened beneath his helmet, breathing quickening against his will and his heart burned through his chest. A feeling he thought dead began to rise inside of him once more. What was it ? That burning sensation inside of his chest, that twist in the guts, that strange… pride he felt towards Luke. Towards his son.
“Ah, piss on that honor bullshit, boy. I need strong lads like you, and I’ll be damned if ANYONE says a bastard can’t become a Kingsguard. Ser Duncan the Tall was a thrice-damned hedge knight, and he became Lord Commander. He’s got more pages in the White Book than anyone else.” The King said those words as though they were obvious to the world. He had no idea if that last statement was true, but a small, inconspicuous glance towards Ser Barristan ‘The Bold’ Selmy and the small smile on the knight’s face helped Jon feel a bit better about himself.
“Then… You will be destroyed.” The Emperor said, as Force Lightning screamed its way out of the Emperor’s hands and towards Luke. He fell to the ground, knocking over a few metal cans. Slowly, painfully, Vader rose up from the ground, his right arm bringing him tremendous pain. Pain which he used to further fuel his powers, the Dark Side strengthening inside of him, a relentless pursuit of higher power. He stood besides the Emperor, the two watching on as Luke sprawled on the ground, writhing in pain.
Jon did not say anything following the King’s words. He bowed once more and twirled the wooden sword once in his hands. He did not say anything to Theon, only offered a smile, genuine as he could towards the Greyjoy Heir, before turning on his heel and moving towards the weapons rack. Alys smiled at him from her seat on the wooden barrel, while Robb grinned at him, probably anxious to spar against Jon as soon as he could. But Jon had a personal rule of never sparring more than thrice in a day, and Jory accepted it, because never before had he seen a boy with Jon’s talent. Or so did Ser Rodrik say whenever Jon and Robb asked him.
“You will die.” The Emperor said those three words, those three chilling words, in such a simple way -as though stating the weather- that Vader took a second before understanding what his Master had actually said. With a snarl, the Emperor began to torture Luke through the use of Force Lightning, the blue color wrapping itself around his son and twisting it in every way he possible could. His son’s screams came in next, raw and unfiltered, a symphony of pain that Vader found no delight in. His eyes lacked lacrymal glands, removed years ago. He found it helped today, for he could not cry.
Jon felt a small disturbance around the air, a pit of anger, of hatred, rising somewhere behind him. He sniffed the air once, as though having smelled a strange smell. His steps quickened a bit, a feeling rising inside of his guts, wrapping around them and twisting them. His lungs began to burn, his heart began to beat rapidly. He hated that feeling, he hated it. Because every time he felt it -every single time- someone got hurt. Badly. Last time, a guard had slipped on a rock in the yard. His leg broke and though Jory had tried to stop Jon and Robb, Jon had seen the bone piercing through the guard’s leg, tainting the snow red. He stood before the weapon rack, as he put his training sword back into its usual place. The air thickened around him, once, then twice. He tried to breathe, but air would not come, the feeling rising too strongly inside of him. Someone was about to get hurt. Soon. Very soon. Then -a scream : “NOOOOO !!!”. A crack that the yard had never heard before. Pain like never before. A tumble. And the world went black.
Vader could feel his son’s pain, he could taste it in the air, in the Force that surrounded them. He tried to ignore it, tried to force his mind to block the screams, to stop the smell and blind the sight of his son, writhing on the floor in utter agony. He didn’t want to see it. He had no desire to witness the suffering of his son by the hands of his Master. His son cried for help, he cried for him. He called out to his father. To Vader. His head turned from Luke to the Emperor, to Luke, to the Emperor one last time. And with a resignation he never felt before -save for Padme- he grabbed the Emperor by his cloak. Lightning coursed through the air, wrapping around Vader and the Emperor both, frying every system of Vader’s suit. He took one step. A second. A third. And with the last ounce of strength he found inside of him, the Emperor was thrown into the deepest pits of the Death Star’s reactor. Pain like he had felt for twenty-three years passed through him -one last time, Vader recogn- accepted. He tumbled to the floor. And the world went dark.
“JON !” Alys screamed to the top of her lungs, scrambling off the wooden barrel. Robb stood frozen in shock, while Ned Stark ran towards the nearest set of stairs. Robert Baratheon’s mouth hung open, disbelief written clear on his face. Tywin Lannister’s eyes widened slightly, caught by surprise by what had just happened. Half the yard stood frozen, as though time itself had caught its breath before them. The other ran, screamed, and scrambled towards the boy.
“FATHER !” Luke Skywalker screamed, though no ear but his heard the word. He rose up from the ground, pain coursing through his limbs, but refused to give up -not so close to his goal. His mind did not want to acknowledge the sight before his eyes. The Force screamed, as Luke clutched his head, the feeling ripping his thoughts apart and laying them bare before his very eyes. In front of him, the man in the armor did not move.
Alys was the first one to reach her brother’s crumpled body. She caught him by the shoulders, tears running down her face as she began to shake him. His eyes were open, but they saw nothing. Ned arrived just a few seconds later, and his face fell utterly, tears breaking down and falling, thick and heavy. His hand travelled to the back of his son’s head, and they came back red. Blood red. He had buried soldiers, friends, his father and two of his own siblings. But this… this was too much.
Luke reached Vader’s still body, as he began to fight with the helm’s restraints. Tears fell down his face, blurring his sight and making the task thrice as hard. With a roar, he ripped the helm off of his father’s head, and watched his eyes. They were closed, and for the first time in two decades, Vader did not look tortured. Luke’s hands touched his father’s face, and the flesh was still warm. He looked as though he was merely sleeping and not… dead.
For some, an end is nought but a beginning. A thousand worlds and gods apart. Where worlds collide and days are dark. Between eternity and nothingness, caught in the light and the dark both. A boy screamed, a man stood silent. A sensation unlike anything both had ever felt caught them together, tying two into one.
Old Ones sought to resist. A Fire One screamed in indignation. A Drowned One tried to pierce the Invader. A Cold One merely stood behind, focused on other matters. A Stallion neighed and attempted to kick the Enemy. The Storm One punched emptiness. The Dragon Ones, lost to the sands of history, could do nothing except for witnessing a battle unlike anything unfold.
For before the eyes of gods who believed themselves ancient amongst Time Itself, they now stood, divided even now, against a trinity never had they witnessed. The first One, kind even now, caught every strike, every insult and every deed and loved them still. The second One, angry as ever, did much the opposite. His attacks passed through shields none had ever pierced before, his wrath palpable in the Emptiness surrounding Creation. And the third One merely waited. His children worked in a tandem he had witnessed but once, all those years ago. On Mortis, where the young man had awakened him truly. His death had been planned since the Dark’s uprising, but the young’s one death occurred much too soon.
Now should not be the boy’s demise. He had to live, to stop the Cold. His twin cried, her arms holding him, refusing to believe in his demise. The Father wished not for her to be hurt any longer than necessary. And though it broke a rule established by beings as old as Him, by a council He was part of, He interfered. With a roar that shook Creation, He cast every God away. They ran and cowered from his might, as he weaved the final bond.
With a snap of metaphysical fingers, the bond woven met, as two souls discovered that more than one world existed. All He could now do… was witness, and pray.
Jon Snow gasped once, his eyes opening wide to the sight of nothingness. He tried to rise from… wherever he was, but his limbs felt slow, sluggish. As though he was lost inside a great pile of snow that tried to engulf him. He tried to scream, but the sound didn’t come out of his mouth, no matter how much air he engulfed. His arms felt heavy and slow, his legs wouldn’t move the way he willed them to. And his mind screamed in tongues he knew nothing about.
Darth Vader opened his eyes to pitch black darkness and a feeling of weightlessness. He hated it immediately. He flexed his muscles, checking which ones were still present and which ones were gone. He found a small reprieve in the fact that all his limbs were present and accounted for. A quick glance to his right hand showed him it was still present, belying what Luke had done to him just a few minutes earlier.
Jon looked everywhere, searching for Alys, Robb, Father… anyone that could tell him where he was. He had been training in the yard, and had bested Theon Greyjoy. And then… he had felt his mind screaming, his guts had torn themselves asunder, his lungs had exhaled every ounce of air they held, and a crack had resonated inside of his skull. He had fallen to the ground, pain unlike anything he had ever felt before surged through every inch of his skin, for less than a second. And then… nothing.
Vader’s eyes swept over the dark canvas that surrounded him. He could not see any difference between his left and his right, the pull of his muscles the only thing that told him his consciousness had not faded. The Force surrounded him, but he couldn’t grasp it. It evaded his attempts like water slipping through his fingers, something he had never felt in his life. He tried to move, fruitlessly. He remembered throwing the Emperor into the reactor pit, but… why ? What caused him to do such a thing ?
Jon moved his arms and legs, trying to either swim or walk through the endless dark that surrounded him. But no movement he registered occurred. His instincts screamed at him that something was near -something dark.
Vader’s control over his limbs was broken. No movement was possible in a world where nothing exists. He tried to reach through the Force, but nothing reached back. Yet, his instincts told him of something near -something light.
Jon followed his instincts, as he tried to turn around. He found that by twisting his waist, he could slowly turn on himself.
Vader moved his lower half, rotating on an horizontal axis, searching for the feeling that his mind whispered to him.
Jon stood face to face with a giant in an armor as black as the night, red eyes glaring at him with distaste.
Vader stood face to face with a boy in clothes of leather and furs, his gray eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Neither spoke for a moment that stretched on for eternity. But right before either one could, the bond wove its final thread, and memories poured into each other’s mind.
Jon’s mind flashed with thousands of images passing by every second, faces blurry whenever he knew nothing about them, and clearer as he learned more. He saw a little man, older than anyone, skin green as grass, as he held a wooden stick to assist in his walking. He saw a man with brown hair and gray-blue eyes, looking down at him with a smile so warm it felt like a sun. He saw a young girl, who couldn’t be more than four and ten, with skin the color of Sansa’s hair, and white… were those HORNS ? She looked up at him, called him “Sky-guy”, and his heart bubbled with pride every time. And then, there was her. She was an angel, her beauty otherworldly, her heart the size of ten worlds and more, and her love endless. She was his everything. And… she was his wife. He saw a ceremony below a bright yellow sun, clear water shining like a million jewels, as he swore oaths eternal, two metal beings nearby, cheering them on. His greatest friend, and his greatest creati-. NO. His friend as well. 3PO was a friend and a family member.
Vader’s mind witnessed memories that he knew immediately were not his. He had never seen snow before the Planet Hoth, and those memories were filled with it. He saw himself, running through halls, yards covered in snow and leaves, a wood that held trees older than most kingdoms. He watched with attention, refusing to let a single detail flow past him. Catalogue, classify, understand. He saw a young girl with a gray eye and a purple one. Her long dark hair flowed around her like water, and her giggles lit a fire inside of his heart, for they reminded him too much of another girl. One with orange skin and a tendency to get herself in trouble. He looked on as he saw a tall man with dark hair and gray eyes look at him with pride, he listened to himself call him ‘father’, calling the girl ‘Alys’ or ‘sister’ and the woman with the red hair ‘Lady Stark’. She, of all people the boy knew, hated him and his sister. Vader decided then to hate her as well.
The bond worked its way through both souls, tying them together until neither could break it without breaking themselves in the process.
And as swiftly as they learned who each other were, they left their respective minds.
Ned could do nothing but cry. His arms held his nep- his son’s crumpled body, uncaring of whatever anyone could think about him. Next to him, Alys was whispering to Jon, trying to wake him up. Robb sat next to her, his hand on her shoulder, tears falling from his eyes just as much as they fell from Ned’s own. Jon did not move, blood coming out of his skull and tainting the snow red with it. His eyes, so much like Lyanna’s own, were wide open and unseeing. He looked as though he was afraid, and the fact that this was his last look made Ned’s heart shatter in a million pieces.
Next to him, the wooden sword still lay there in the snow, covered in blood and cracked in two from where it had struck Jon’s skull. He didn’t even care to punish anyone now, he just had to hold his son. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. He had failed Jon, had failed Lyanna, had failed his promise to her.
Promise me, Ned. Promise me you will keep them safe. Robert would kill them if he knew.
I promise you, Lya.
Thank you, Ned.
He relived the moment as though he was still there, in the Tower of Joy, as though six years hadn’t already come and went, like dust on parchment. He could see her face in front of his eyes, see the bloody sheets that surrounded her.
But it was not Lyanna that now laid in his arms. It was her son. His son. Jon… Why ? Why were the gods punishing him such ? Had they not taken enough from him already ? Did they believe their lives to be jokes, a play they could direct for a laugh or a cry ? When would they finally let him alone ? When would they leave his family alone ?
And then… Jon’s left index ticked.
Ned didn’t notice, too lost in his own grief. But Alys, tied to her brother since their birth, saw it at once. She felt him, in a deeper, more intimate way than anyone else could feel someone. She could feel her brother, his presence in the field that surrounded everything and everyone. And just before she could bring anyone attention to it -
“HAAA !!” Jon’s body snapped up at once, his lungs filling with much-needed air. The yard stood silent, frozen in time at the sight. They had seen it, after all. The boy was dead, his head had cracked open -like an egg- and emptied itself of blood. So how ? Such was the only question that lived in their minds at the time.
Ned didn’t care. He hugged Jon so close that the boy could scarcely breathe, and Alys lunged at her brother as well, almost choking him in the same moment. Ned could feel Jon’s chest rising and falling rapidly, chunks of air repeatedly leaving him as he fought to bring himself back to life, and Ned didn’t react to it. Jon was alive. That was all that mattered to him.
Jon’s body shook, and Ned had no idea what was causing this. He put his hand at the back of his skull, and was shocked to feel that there was no blood anymore. It was as though the crack had never occurred, and Jon had only fallen asleep, instead of -of dying. He should have reacted to that. But he did not. He only kept on hugging his son to his chest.
Then, he went utterly still. Alys gasped, clutching at her head, shaking in fear and pain. Ned looked at Jon’s face, only to see his gray eyes, usually so full of life and warmth, now utterly cold and wrathful. His lips were turned into a grim look that made his baby fat look so much more adult.
“Get. Off. Me !” Jon spoke, voice rougher than anything Ned had ever heard, and before he could do anything, he was suddenly thrown several feet away from Jon and rolled into the snow, gasping for air. Screams echoed around the yard, as eyes couldn’t blink and jaws stood wide open in fear and confusion both. Jon rose up with a grunt, as he began to… to inspect himself ?
He watched his own arms and hands as though they were foreign to him, his eyes telling a story that Ned had never seen, even on the most traumatized of soldiers. He looked all around him, his black hair -still wet from the snow- shone like obsidian. He raised his left hand towards the wooden sword that lay still near him, the blood dripping from it.
And before Ned’s eyes, he saw as the sword began to shake, and with a flick of Jon’s wrist, it rose up and began to float in front of everyone. Alys gasped, hands in front of her mouth in fear. Ned saw with a glance that Robert and Tywin were both shocked, though only one of them had his mouth wide open. The yard was silent, safe for the blowing of wind that increased as Jon’s hand trembled and the sword moved even faster. He clenched his fist fully, and the sword broke -no, shattered beyond recognition. Thousands of wooden splinters flew in every direction for two or three feet before being pulled to the floor.
Then, Jon fell to his knees, hands at his head, as he began to scream. “GET OUT ! GET OUT OF MY HEAD !” Ned witnessed with horror as his son screamed at himself, screamed for someone, something to leave him alone. The wind fell, noises dying down as Jon’s voice lowered itself with every shout. “Get out… Get -Get out.” Alys ran to him, determination written on her face like nothing Ned had ever witnessed. She caught his shoulders and began to hold him so tight Ned would fear she was choking him, if he had not seen the tears falling down both their faces.
“Jon, please. It’s me, it’s Alys. Please, Jon. Fight it, whatever it is, fight it.” Her voice broke over every word and her hands clutched her brother harder. But then, Jon stopped shaking, as the voice spoke again, as though it could choose whenever it passed through Jon’s body and forced itself into his son.
“The boy can’t fight what I am, girl. If I could leave him, I would.” “SHUT UP !! LEAVE ME ALONE !” Jon fought with himself so much so that no one could claim to be untouched by the sight that unraveled before their very eyes. “There is nothing more I want than that, boy. But unless you’re willing to kill yourself, I’m stuck in here with you.” The second voice spoke with a harshness and a tone that Ned had never heard before, that no one in the Seven Kingdoms ever heard. Even the accent was wrong, and the tone was not that of a boy or a soldier, but that of a commander. That was the tone of a man that expected everything and everyone to obey his orders.
Then, Jon collapsed. His strength left him completely, and he fell back into Alys’s arms, as she held his shoulders and held him tight. Everyone watched with a mix of fear and incomprehension, as Jon’s breathing settled down, and the pressure that Ned had felt on his mind finally disappeared.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ??” Robert screamed.
And Ned wished he had an answer.