Timeline: 288 AC - 291 AC
By the time Jon turned seven, Winterfell had become both his sanctuary and his prison. The towering stone walls protected him from the outside world, but they also confined him, a constant reminder of his place as the bastard of Winterfell. Yet, Jon's mind was far from idle. He had a purpose, a mission that drove him to seek knowledge in the most ancient corners of the North.
It began with the weirwood tree.
The Heart Tree's Call
The godswood of Winterfell was a place of quiet power. The ancient weirwood, with its bone-white bark and blood-red leaves, seemed to watch over the castle like a silent sentinel. Jon had always felt drawn to it, even as a child. But now, with the knowledge of his past life and the future that awaited Westeros, he saw it as more than just a tree. It was a gateway—a connection to the magic of the First Men.
In 288 AC, Jon began visiting the godswood regularly. At first, it was just to sit beneath the heart tree and think. He would close his eyes and listen to the rustle of the leaves, the whispers of the wind. But as the months passed, he started to feel something deeper—a presence, ancient and powerful, calling to him.
"The old gods are watching," Old Nan had once told him, her voice low and mysterious. "They see everything."
Jon wondered if they could see him too.
The Greyjoy Rebellion
In 289 AC, the Iron Islands rose in rebellion. Balon Greyjoy, the Lord of the Iron Islands, declared himself King of the Iron Islands and launched a series of raids along the western coast of Westeros. The news reached Winterfell like a storm, stirring the castle into a frenzy of activity.
Jon watched as Ned Stark prepared to ride south to join King Robert Baratheon in crushing the rebellion. Robb, only six years old at the time, begged to go with their father, but Ned's stern refusal left the boy sulking for days.
Jon, however, saw the rebellion for what it was: a glimpse into the fragile unity of the Seven Kingdoms. He remembered the Greyjoy Rebellion from his past life—how it had ended with Balon's defeat and the death of his two eldest sons, Rodrik and Maron. But he also knew that the Ironborn's thirst for independence would not be quenched so easily.
As Ned rode off to war, Jon threw himself into his studies. He pored over maps of the Iron Islands, tracing the routes of the Iron Fleet and the strategic points of the rebellion. He listened intently to Maester Luwin's lessons on naval warfare and the history of the Ironborn, filing away every detail for future use.
When Ned returned victorious, Jon was among the first to greet him. The sight of his uncle—tired but unharmed—filled Jon with a strange sense of relief. But it also hardened his resolve. The Greyjoy Rebellion was a reminder of the chaos that could tear Westeros apart. If he was to unite the realm against the White Walkers, he would need to be stronger, smarter, and more prepared than anyone else.
The Three-Eyed Raven
One night, as Jon sat beneath the weirwood, he fell into a deep sleep. His dreams were strange and vivid, filled with images of a vast, frozen wasteland and a towering wall of ice. He saw shadows moving in the snow, their eyes glowing blue like the heart of winter.
And then he saw the raven.
It was no ordinary bird. Its feathers were as black as midnight, and its eyes… its eyes were endless, filled with the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes. The raven perched on a branch of the weirwood, staring at Jon with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
"You are not just a boy," the raven said, its voice echoing in Jon's mind. "You are more."
Jon woke with a start, his heart pounding. The dream felt too real to be just a dream. He returned to the godswood the next day, and the next, hoping to see the raven again.
It wasn't until a moon's turn later that the raven returned. This time, Jon didn't wake up. He found himself in a vast, endless cavern, its walls lined with weirwood roots that pulsed with a faint, green light. At the center of the cavern sat an old man, his body fused with the roots of a weirwood tree.
"You have come far, Jon Snow," the man said, his voice ancient and weary. "But you have farther yet to go."
Jon recognized him instantly. Brynden Rivers, the Three-Eyed Raven.
"I know who you are," Jon said, his voice steady despite the surreal surroundings. "And I know what's coming. The Long Night. The White Walkers. I need to stop them."
The old man's eyes narrowed. "You speak of things few men remember. How do you know this?"
Jon hesitated. Should he reveal the truth? Would the Raven even believe him?
"I… I saw it," Jon said carefully. "In dreams. Like the ones Aegon the Conqueror had. The Song of Ice and Fire."
The Raven studied him for a long moment, his piercing gaze seeming to strip away every layer of Jon's soul. Finally, he nodded.
"The past is the key to the future," the Raven said. "If you wish to learn, you must look deeper."
Lessons in the Weirwood
Over the next three years, Jon's visits to the godswood became more than just a habit—they were a ritual. Under the guidance of the Three-Eyed Raven, he began to unlock the secrets of the weirwood network. He learned to warg into animals, starting with the castle's dogs and eventually moving to Ghost, the albino direwolf pup he had claimed as his own. He glimpsed fragments of the past, watching as ancient kings and heroes played out their lives before his eyes.
One night, he saw Valyria in its prime—a land of dragons and sorcery, where fire and blood ruled supreme. He watched as the Valyrians forged their legendary blades and tamed the skies with their dragons. The knowledge was intoxicating, but it came with a price. The more he saw, the more he realized how much had been lost.
"Magic is a sword without a hilt," the Raven warned him. "It can cut both ways."
Jon heeded the warning, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The fate of Westeros depended on him.
The Pack Grows
While Jon delved into the mysteries of the old gods, his relationships with his siblings continued to evolve.
Arya, wild and willful, adored him. She followed him everywhere, her laughter echoing through the halls of Winterfell as they played at swords or explored the castle's hidden corners. Jon saw much of himself in her—her defiance, her longing for something more.
Sansa, on the other hand, was polite but distant. She was everything a lady of Winterfell should be: graceful, courteous, and proper. Jon respected her, but they rarely spoke beyond the occasional pleasantry.
Bran was a curious child, always climbing and exploring. Jon often found him perched on some high ledge or hidden in the godswood, his eyes wide with wonder.
Rickon was still too young to understand much, but he clung to Jon like a shadow, his small hands gripping Jon's sleeve as they walked through the courtyard.
Despite their differences, they were a pack. And Jon would do whatever it took to protect them.
The Seed of a Plan
By 291 AC, Jon's understanding of the world had grown far beyond his years. He knew the wars to come, the players in the game, and the stakes at hand. But he also knew he couldn't do it alone.
As he sat beneath the weirwood one evening, Ghost curled at his feet, Jon began to form a plan. He would need allies, resources, and time. But most of all, he would need to become more than just Jon Snow.
He would need to become a king.