Sansa strolled through the gardens of Winterfell, her thoughts wandering. Despite the joy of her family's return, a shadow lingered over her. The tension between Jon and her mother was palpable, and Sansa felt caught in the middle.
She fondly remembered the days of her childhood, when Jon was her confidant and protector. Together they had explored the surrounding forests, built snow forts, and shared secrets. Things had changed a lot since then, though. Catelyn had never hidden her disdain for Jon, and it had created a rift between the siblings.
Determined to try and make things right, Sansa sought out Jon in the crypt. She found him on his knees, praying at Lyanna Stark's graves.
"Jon," she began softly, "I wanted to talk to you."
Jon stood up and looked at her in surprise. "Sansa, what is it?"
"I know things are difficult between you and Mother," Sansa said, "but I want you to know that I consider you my brother."
Jon smiled slightly. "Thank you, Sansa. I know."
"But..." Sansa continued, "I think we should talk to Mother. Maybe we can find a way for us all to be closer."
Jon shook his head. "I don't think that's possible. Lady Catallyn will never accept me as one of her own."
Sansa put a hand on his arm. "Don't give up, Jon. We are family, and that is something no one can change."
At that moment, they heard Catallyn's footsteps approaching. Sansa and Jon looked at each other with a mixture of hope and fear.
"Ah, there you are," Catelyn said coldly. "I'm glad to see that you've decided to unite against me."
Sansa stepped forward. "Mother, please don't say that. We just want everyone to be happy."
Catelyn crossed her arms. "Jon will never be one of us, Sansa. No matter how hard you try."
Jon fell silent, feeling a pang of pain in his heart. He knew Catallyn would never change her mind, but that didn't mean he was going to give up on his family.
Later that day
Dinner in the Great Hall of Winterfell was a solemn affair. The long, heavy table was adorned with silver candlesticks and embroidered linen napkins. The Starks sat in their respective places, their gazes occasionally meeting with a mix of hostility and resignation.
Catelyn served as hostess, her voice cold and distant as she led a banal conversation about the weather and the harvest. Jon and Sansa felt uncomfortable, every word spoken at the table seemed to be fraught with tension.
Arya, always the most impulsive, couldn't contain herself. "Mother," she began, "I think it would be more fun if we told stories. Do you remember when Jon and I found the wolf pups?"
Catelyn frowned. "Arya, this is no time for childish stories."
Jon stepped in gently. "Okay, Arya. Again."
And so, Jon began to relate the story of how they had found the direwolves, how they had cared for them, and how each had chosen a pup. As he spoke, his voice softened and his eyes lit up.
For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to ease. Even Catelyn seemed distracted by the story. But the fragile peace was shattered when Robb mentioned the Wall.
"I've heard rumors of unrest beyond the Wall," Robb said. "They say the wildlings are growing bolder."
Catelyn turned to Jon. "And you, what do you know of all this? Have you been training to protect the North?"
Jon felt cornered. He knew Catelyn was trying to provoke him, but he wasn't going to fall for her game. "I have learned much during my time at the Wall," he replied calmly, "and I am prepared to defend the North if necessary."
Dinner continued in a tense atmosphere. Sansa watched her brother in admiration. Despite everything that had happened, Jon was still strong and determined.
Midnight Winterfell
Night enveloped Winterfell in a blanket of silence. Sansa, unable to fall asleep, decided to step out into the fresh air. Upon reaching the walls, she found Jon, staring intently out into the horizon.
"Jon," she whispered, moving closer to him. "What are you doing here?"
He turned to her, a sad expression on his face. "I can't sleep, Sansa. I'm thinking about leaving."
Sansa was surprised. "Leave? Where?"
"Away from here," Jon replied. "Beyond the Wall, perhaps. Or even beyond that."
"Jon, why?" Sansa asked, her voice filled with concern. "You can't leave. We're family."
Jon sighed. "I know, Sansa. But I don't belong here. I never have."
Sansa took his hand. "Don't say that. Winterfell is your home, and we're your family."
Jon stepped away from her. "Not for Lady Catallyn," he said bitterly. "It never will be."
Sansa knew she was right. Catallyn had never accepted Jon as one of her own, and that had left a deep wound in him.
"Perhaps it's best that you leave," Sansa said sadly. "If it will make you happy."
Jon stared at her. "I don't want to leave, Sansa. But I don't know what else I can do."
Sansa walked over to him and hugged him. "You're not alone, Jon. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."
Jon hugged her back, taking some comfort in her company. He knew that only his brothers tied him to Winterfell.
Jon retreated to his chamber, mind filled with doubt and longing. As he lay down, he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him. And then, like a flame in the night, Daemon Targaryen appeared.
"Another day, another training, Aemon," Daemon said with a smile. His voice echoed with ancient wisdom.
Jon stood, ready for the challenge. This time, however, he felt different. He had absorbed Aemon's teachings—the patience, the strategy—and combined them with the ferocity and agility that Daeron had instilled in him.
The training was brutal. Swords clashed, bodies sweated, breaths ragged. Jon attacked with the fury of a wolf, but Daemon responded with the grace of a dancer. He blocked every blow, deflected every thrust, and counterattacked with deadly precision.
But this time, Jon was different. Instead of simply reacting, he anticipated Daemon's moves. He used brute force when necessary, but also intelligence and cunning. He combined Aemon's refined technique with Daemon's ferocity, creating a unique and powerful fighting style.
The battle lasted for hours, but at the end, both warriors stood breathless, staring at each other. Daemon nodded. "You've made great progress, Aemon. You're becoming a true warrior."
Jon smiled, feeling immense pride. He had pushed his limits, combined the teachings of two great warriors, and created something new.
Jon woke to the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window. The dreams of the previous night still echoed in his mind: Daeron's words, the dragon dance, the heavy burden of his heritage. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he also felt a growing determination.
He went down to the great hall where his family was already eating breakfast. Catelyn looked at him with a mix of curiosity and distrust, but made no comment. Jon poured himself a bowl of oatmeal and sat down next to Robb.
"Today we are going to train," Ned announced, his voice firm. "The three of us together."
Jon felt a surge of excitement. Training with his father and older brother was something he had always wanted. After breakfast, they headed out to the training yard. Ned taught them the ancient Stark fighting techniques, while Robb and Theon challenged each other with wooden swords.
Jon realized that there was much to learn from his family. Ned taught him the importance of strategy and patience, while Robb showed him the ferocity and determination of a true warrior. Theon, for his part, reminded him of the importance of agility and speed.
By the end of the training, they were all exhausted but satisfied. Ned put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You're improving a lot, Jon," he said proudly. "But don't relax. The warrior's path is long and difficult."
Jon nodded determinedly. He knew he had a lot ahead of him, but he also knew he was not alone. He had his family, Daemon, other Targaryens, and himself.
Some time later
After breakfast and training, Jon decided to take advantage of the nice weather to train with Ghost. With his direwolf at his side, he went into the surrounding forest in Winterfell. The fresh air and birdsong filled his lungs, and Ghost's company provided him with a peace he couldn't find anywhere else.
As they hunted, Jon thought about Daemon's words and the responsibility he felt on his shoulders. He knew that one day he would have to make difficult decisions, decisions that could affect the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.
As evening fell, Jon and Ghost returned to Winterfell. In the great hall, he met several important families from the North who had come to visit the Starks. He sat down to dinner with them, listening to their stories and concerns.
After dinner, Jon retired to his room. He felt tired but satisfied. He had had a productive day, both physically and mentally. He lay down on his bed, petting Ghost, and closed his eyes.
Jon found himself back in the place of his dreams, that dreamlike space where he trained with Daeron Targaryen. However, this time, someone else was waiting for him: Daemon Blackfyre, the young prince who had challenged the Iron Throne and been defeated.
Daemon looked like his youth, with his coal-black hair and fiery eyes. He smiled at Jon with a mix of sadness and joy. "I did not expect to see you here, young Targaryen," he said.
Jon was stunned. "How is it that you are here?"
Daemon shrugged. "Dreams are strange, Jon. In them, time and space have no meaning."
"But you are not a Targaryen," Jon said, still in disbelief.
"Yes," Daeron replied. "My blood is Targaryen Jon. And I have much to teach you."
Daemon began to tell Jon about Targaryen history, about the wars and betrayals that had scarred his family. He spoke of the importance of unity and the need to overcome the divisions of the past.
"You are a Stark, Jon," Daemon said. "But you also carry Targaryen blood in your veins. You have the potential to unite the Seven Kingdoms, to end the wars and build a better future."
Jon listened intently, feeling a deep connection to this man who had lived centuries ago. He realized that Daemon Blackfyre was not just a ghost from the past, but a figure who could guide him to his destiny just like Daemon Targaryen and Aemon III Targaryen had.
Jon found himself immersed in conversation with Daeron Blackfyre, absorbing every word of wisdom the former prince shared. However, the calm was suddenly broken. Daemon's figure began to change, his eyes turning darker and his aura becoming more intense.
"Words are good, Jon," Daemon said in a deep, resonant voice, "but a warrior is forged in battle."
Before Jon could react, Daeron lunged at him. The speed and force of the attack took him by surprise. Daemon's sword, a shadow in the darkness, danced with deadly grace. Jon dodged, blocked, and counterattacked as best he could, but it was like trying to stop a storm.
Each blow Daemon gave him was stronger than the last. Jon felt his muscles straining to the limit, his breathing quickening. But despite the pain and exhaustion, he did not give up. Anger and determination drove him to keep fighting.
The battle lasted for what seemed like an eternity. Jon received cuts and bruises, but he also managed to land a few well-aimed blows. However, Daemon was simply too powerful. In the end, Jon fell to the ground, exhausted and defeated.
Daemon crouched down and looked into his eyes. "Do not be discouraged, Jon," he said softly. "This is only a test. You must learn to accept defeat so you can rise again stronger."
Jon nodded, feeling a mix of shame and admiration. He had been defeated by the greatest warrior he had ever known, but he had also learned a valuable lesson.
Just as Jon recovered from the grueling fight with Daemon Blackfyre, a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. It was Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, with his signature silver hair and deep violet eyes.
"You look like you're having fun, nephew," Daemon said with a smirk. "But I think you need a more worthy opponent."
Before Jon could respond, Daemon Blackfyre and Daemon Targaryen clashed. The hall filled with a deafening crash as swords clashed against each other. It was a deadly dance of steel, a display of skill and ferocity that left Jon breathless.
Daemon Targaryen was agile and evasive, like a cat playing with a mouse. Daemon Blackfyre, meanwhile, was powerful and forceful, like a wave sweeping everything in its path. The two warriors were equal in skill, and the battle seemed endless.
Jon watched the scene with a mix of awe and terror. He had never seen anything like it. These two giants of history, facing each other in an epic duel, right before his eyes.
In the end, the battle ended in a draw. Both warriors were too exhausted to continue. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, before turning their attention back to Jon.
"You have seen greatness, Jon," Daemon Targaryen said. "Now it is your turn to forge your own legacy."
Daemon Blackfyre nodded. "Remember, Jon, strength lies not only in muscle, but also in spirit. You are stronger than you think."
With those words, the figures of Daemon Targaryen and Daemon Blackfyre began to fade, until they disappeared completely. Jon was left alone, surrounded by darkness.
Jon would rest in a full sleep.
Suggestions are welcome. If there is something wrong, please let me know. English is my second language, my first language is Spanish. I hope you like the story.