Chapter 1

On a solid yet inexpensive bed sat a remarkably handsome, dark-haired boy, about ten years old. Many who saw him felt something was amiss at first glance. Despite the boy's lack of any negative or repulsive traits, deep down, everyone is capable of sensing something off. Only after careful observation could one notice his eyes, which were unlike those of an ordinary boy; indeed, no boy should possess such a gaze filled with diverse ideas and thoughts.

At the moment, this peculiar boy sat with a rather grim expression on his face and, after some time, he merely whispered: "Damn it!"

People around the boy called him "Jon Snow," the bastard of Winterfell, but the boy himself used to respond to another name from his previous life on 21st-century Earth. He remembered being a second-year student who had not yet celebrated the end of his exams before meeting his maker. From his afterlife, the boy recalled nothing, but he felt that something unimaginable had happened beyond the veil. "Where do such thoughts come from?" one might ask. The answer, at that moment, lay before the boy in the form of a transparent blue plaque displaying:

--Status-- 

Name: Daeron Targaryen 

Level 1 

Strength: 13 

Dexterity: 20 

Stamina: 14 

Magic: 34 

XP: 0 

Talents: Arsenal, Blood of the Kings of Winter, Blood of the Dragonlords, Blessing of War, Ice Mind. Quests: 0

POV Daeron 

Have you ever considered what it feels like for a person from the 21st century to find themselves in a universe or region still mired in a kind of medieval era? Despair and doom, without knowledge of war or specific talents, such a person could at best aspire to be an educated peasant or become fodder in wars, with a faint hope for knighthood.

Now imagine how it feels to be thrust into the World of Ice and Fire, a world with icy demons and zombies on one side, and fiery dragons with an army of barbarians capable of only looting, raping, and killing on the other. Why was I sent here?! I would never have agreed to this madness in my right mind! "Damn!"

I would certainly consider suicide if not for the fear, as phenomenal as it sounds, but I am afraid of what lies beyond! Perhaps this is my last chance? Considering my luck, it's not hard to imagine being sent to an even worse universe! What if... Cold At that moment, my head was as if chilled, and I felt an incredible calmness, gaining knowledge about the origin of this feeling. It was all due to Ice Mind, a talent (if you can call it that), which provides a calming "slap" during an emotional breakdown, and also leaves no chance for harmful mental attacks, as all such attacks "freeze" midway. "How do I know..." I was about to inquire about how I came to know of these skills when I realized the knowledge had always been with me... A very strange feeling.

After the cold assistance, I managed to gather myself and start thinking about what exists and what to do. I began with the talents; the most understandable were two lineages, the blood of two royal dynasties providing a total of 30 Magic, and unique skills like being a Warg and a Dragonrider, though they did not bring fire resistance... However, they provided resistance to cold, which certainly didn't make me an Other, but it was still something to be thankful for.

The most interesting were Arsenal and Blessing of War. The former was a kind of space where I could store my weapons, currently a decent collection, although I wasn't sure of their quality. This talent also allowed for telekinesis of this Arsenal, though sadly, I could not manipulate anything but the weapons there with my thoughts.

Blessing of War, on the other hand, granted a huge talent for using instruments of war and another bonus in the increase of physical and magical capabilities of my body after victories in battles. A very substantial bonus. Doomed Sigh

Furthermore, I had no feeling of "Damn, I killed a boy!" or anything like that. Rather, it was a feeling of recovering memories, but thanks to these memories, I can't say that my relationship with the Stark family remained the same.

Well... What to do? My thoughts were primarily about Lady Stark, as my relationships with other members of the Stark family were generally good. But Lady Stark, to put it mildly, hated me with all her heart... If I am correct, she fears that I might usurp Robb's place...

From my memories, the current state of affairs in the Stark family included Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran living there. Surprisingly, all except Arya seemed more like Tullys than Starks. This probably added to Lady Stark's hatred, as I, being a bastard, possessed more Stark traits than her legitimate sons.

I was indeed fortunate because, in most cases, bastards were treated barely better than peasants, and not always even that well.

But I was given almost ideal conditions for development, from lessons with Maester Luwin to training with Ser Rodrik Cassel, considering all this, more doors are open to me than just the Night's Watch, where one could merely freeze their balls off and earn an opportunity to prematurely become a slave to the Others. "Exactly, I won't go to that damned Watch; they can manage without me... I think."

Damn! Now I even have to deal with this issue! Oh, my God! Why?!... Cold

Alright, I'll tackle the problems as they come, at least I have another 6-8 years left, I'm currently 8 years old, and assuming the worst, I have 6 years to prepare. During this time, I need to develop combat skills and pay more attention to languages, and possibly try to develop magical abilities, as it's evident from the "Status" that I have the potential for such abilities.

Lost in thoughts about the future, I didn't even notice how I started to tire and genuinely doze off...

The next morning

The morning greeted me ambiguously; the fatigue as such had gone, and considering the state in which I awoke, I should be overjoyed, for lying in a fever is hardly a pleasant pastime. Soon someone will likely arrive to check my condition, until then, I can formulate a reasonably good plan of action.

From my memories, it turns out that Jon was quite adept at understanding people, being a bastard forced him to read thoughts beyond ordinary statements. The memories of lessons with Maester Luwin also gave hope for the future, as during these lessons I performed not terribly, but not excellently either, possessing general knowledge about the North and the Seven Kingdoms. However, the fencing lessons brought more interesting results as I won most duels with Robb, relying more on speed than strength.

Among the significant events of recent years was Balon Greyjoy's rebellion two years ago. Since then, Theon Greyjoy, a boy five years older than Robb and me, has settled in the castle. This was probably one of the main reasons Robb began seeking his company, which I found rather disappointing as a child because Theon's attitude towards me was quite unpleasant—not to Lady Stark's extent, but it left a bad taste nonetheless. My relationship with Theon never improved, though I can't say I lost much from it.

At that moment, I heard footsteps with clinking chains, which I recognized as Maester Luwin's. Fortunately, I had already contemplated how I would manage my future interactions with the main family of the North. Creak What a creak! Such a noise could surely wake the dead. My current living space was overall decent; not a modern apartment with all amenities, but akin to rural homes in sparsely populated areas of the CIS. Moreover, the castle's natural heating was an undeniable plus, thanks to Winterfell's location above natural hot springs—much gratitude to Brandon the Builder for that.

While my thoughts were occupied with gratitude towards the ancestor, Maester Luwin entered the room. To briefly describe him, he was the embodiment of House Stark's heraldic colors: an old man of short stature with gray eyes, sparse gray hair, and clothing made of gray wool trimmed with white fur. Despite his age, his mind remained sharp, and his eyes noticed much. He was one of the few with a Valyrian steel link, indicating his knowledge of magic. Another distinctive feature of the old man was his voluminous sleeves, filled with numerous pockets where he kept toys and messages. As a child, I often thought this was magic.

"Oh Jon, you're awake! You had many worried. Rest a bit more; let's check your condition," said Maester Luwin in a rather surprised tone, unsurprisingly since one doesn't recover from a fever so quickly.

"I apologize for causing concern," I said sincerely, for it was true!

Maester Luwin just smiled and shook his head, then began examining my condition. After some manipulation, he looked at me perplexedly and, muttering something, decided to repeat the actions he had performed initially.

"I don't understand," mumbled Luwin, which I overheard.

"Is something wrong, Maester Luwin?" I asked, puzzled.

The old maester looked at me for a few minutes, and the ensuing silence could have been cut with a sword.

"No, surprisingly, you are very well, perhaps too well. Just in case, I would advise you not to strain yourself," he said, providing me with some relief as I had started to think he suspected something.

"Alright, and when can I expect to leave these four walls?" I asked, hoping it wouldn't be too long since I didn't have much time.

"Hmm... I think if everything continues in this manner, you'll be free in a couple of days," he said, then left the room, reminding me again to stay calm and patient.

Overall, the situation wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Now the question is, what to do in the meantime?"

Indeed, in the medieval world, there weren't many opportunities to relieve boredom. What could one do besides fencing, reading, hunting, or other kinds of work?

Thinking it through, I concluded that I should better understand the talents I could use at the moment. Since there was no war in sight, and I sadly couldn't train, and without a dragon to prove my dragonrider abilities, and no animals visible for the warg ability, only the Arsenal remained. This was truly a terrifying ability for this world, as my personal space contained swords, axes, spears, and other specific weapons made of Valyrian steel from my medieval world, each a unique piece. Another advantage—or disadvantage—was that no one but me could use the weapons from my Arsenal, and they would return to the Arsenal a few minutes after leaving my hands.

As I delved inward, I felt that I could summon any weapon from the space. I could call anything from a flamberg to an estoc and a halberd, but heavy weapons were currently beyond my ability, and long ones were impractical given my height. Thus, only daggers and knives remained, and I chose a seax.

The scramasax is a long knife with a single-edged blade, predominantly used by honorable citizens in Scandinavian countries. The blade of my particular specimen was about 40 cm long, had excellent piercing capabilities, and could be used as a machete in everyday life.

"Well, let's get started. Arsenal..." I said, knowing exactly which weapon I needed to retrieve, and simultaneously felt that something from within was given in exchange for summoning this weapon; I could feel that I could do this at least 3000 times.

Hmm... So this is what it's like to wield magic. Quite fascinating. At that moment, the knife lay in my hand, the summoning accompanied by a slight glow, which might be useful in the future.

Thanks to all my weapons being made of Valyrian steel, their sharpness and durability were beyond praise. The knife looked quite striking; the blade's shape facilitated easy stabbing and cutting motions, and its surface bore a dark-gray smoky pattern, often said to be due to the darkness of the blade's soul.

As soon as I took the weapon in hand, knowledge of how to use it most effectively automatically appeared in my mind.

"Hmm... My chances of survival and possibly spending some time in warmer climes are looking up and up," I said with a smile on my face. Maybe things aren't so bad after all?