Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos

"What is the weight of knowing the past, present and future? Does that make me a god or a mere mortal bold enough to see the world through God's eyes?" - Aenar Targaryen, before his conquest at the age of six.

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289 BC - Sixth Year of the Reign of King Robert I Baratheon of House Baratheon.

North - Winterfell, ancestral home of House Stark.

Jon, in one of the towers of Winterfell, looked at the men and more men gathering outside the castle. A sea of tents with banners fluttering in the cold North wind appeared before him, each bearing the coat of arms of the noble houses that controlled the North. Loyal men above all, brave.

War.

A word appeared in young Jon's mind, his deep purple eyes staring at the people gathering for war with a calm gaze.

It was a simple word, but in the end, its meaning was cruel and cold, almost like a god taking people's lives.

"War is a form of violence whose aim is to force the enemy to give up their will." The six-year-old muttered to himself, his dark hair adorning his boyish face, a taciturn look reflected on his face.

"The Kraken will drown while the Deer, the Lion and the Wolf feast on its corpse." He muttered again, feeling the cold breeze against his face. Although cold, he felt strangely at peace.

Jon, knew how this war would end before it had even begun, he had seen every important battle, the notable commanders of each side, some ended up dead and the Kraken would mourn as it was forced to lose its last male offspring.

"War... do I want a war in my name?" Jon asked himself, looking at the men excited to go to war, sharpening their axes, swords and hammers. He imagined himself commanding these men and the conclusion he felt was an enormous weight on his small, fragile shoulders.

"Jihad." A word that sent shivers through Jon's body, he shuddered from head to toe, he felt like a mountain was weighing on his head. The overwhelming feeling of anxiety welled up in his chest, cries of the dead and prayers rang in his ears like a chorus of completely opposite dualities of good and evil.

"Control your emotions, fear kills the mind and erodes your resolve." Jon muttered gradually, regaining his rationality. The feeling of anxiety gradually disappeared.

In his eyes, all the men outside Winterfell were animals with no control over their emotions, but if he thought about it from that perspective, he too was an animal. As to which animal, Jon had yet to decide, but he preferred the biggest, for in this world of intrigue, only force can force another man to kneel before you.

Dragon...

Jon's eyes showed a look of desire, remembering his "little" partner now sleeping in Wolfwood.

Taking one last look at Winterfell's sea of tents, Jon left without a second thought, his clothes predominantly black.

Descending the spiral staircase step by step without haste or anxiety, Jon found himself in front of a corridor, he walked down the corridor where he passed the kitchen, where people came and went with extreme haste, no one paid any attention to the six-year-old boy.

Something that Jon appreciated, receiving looks of contempt in the morning was not pleasant, especially for his shaken psyche, although after six years, there were no words that made him feel any pain.

Jon quickly returned to his room, or if a pantry could be considered a room in the first place. However, lying in bed, he felt peace again. Even the visions of the future seemed to disappear in the silence of his room.

His mind was pleasantly plagued by the silence he loved so much to be surrounded by.

Lying on the bed, Jon stretched out his hand and looked at it, it was a child's hand, there were already calluses on it, showing that it had already started working at an early age, courtesy of a certain particularly degradable redfish in Winterfell.

"The irony of fate, me, the most powerful boy in the world, living in a dispensary and tormented by a stigma I never deserved to carry." Jon muttered to himself, he had known he was special for as long as he could remember, not because he was reincarnated with memories of another life, that of an eighteen-year-old.

As well as learning things extremely quickly, such as languages and other things, including swordsmanship, he also had almost uninterrupted visions of the future, an ability he named Prescience.

The Prescience showed him the past, present and future, although the future was mostly covered in a thick fog and impossible to see through. But every now and then, a wind would blow the fog away, allowing him to see certain possibilities that could happen.

For Jon, it was more normal to see the past than the future, so he knew he wasn't the son everyone thought he was. However, even without the Prescience, he would have known that he wasn't the son of the Lord Paramount of the North, the color of his eyes and having to dye his hair every week was a good indication of that,

"Lyanna Stark..." A whisper escaped Jon's lips, he couldn't help but smile remembering the visions of the past he had seen earlier. The sixteen-year-old girl who was his mother was a free spirit of nature, a Nymph.

She was beautiful in every way, noble in character and soul, and his father, Rhaegar, although not as noble in character, was a man of respect tormented by the same visions of the future, although nowhere near as powerful as his Prescience.

Did Jon resent his father and mother because of the cruel fate they had placed him in? The answer was no. How could he blame two people in love for loving each other?

Besides, the entire responsibility of a kingdom couldn't be placed on just two people, it was a chain of events that resulted in the entire downfall of the Targaryen Dynasty, a chain of events that stemmed from the Dance of the Dragons.

Moreover, even without Rhaegar, the noble houses of Westeros would still rebel because of his grandfather, as Aerys Targaryen had chosen to detonate King's Landing with thousands of barrels containing Wildfire. With Jaime Lannister still being forced to kill the king and earn the epithet of Killer of Kings.

The North would rebel because of the deaths of their Lord and the death of the Heir of the North, the Riverlands followed along with the North because of the alliance between both Great Noble Houses.

The Vale, which started the war, and Storm's End would also join the Rebellion because of Robert's loyalty to his stepbrother, Eddard Stark. The Tyrells would still side with the Crown, and the Martells would still hate the Lannisters.

At the end of the day, the war would still happen, Rhaegar and Lyanna were just other people's tools to incite the war faster.

Jon liked to see the past, to learn from the mistakes of others so as not to make the same mistakes, it was his way of learning to live in this medieval world that seemed stagnant in time. He liked to see the conspiracies unfolding behind the walls and epic deaths over the years, such as the Death of Daemon Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen in the Eye of God.

"My new family is complicated." Jon muttered to himself, yet he was happy to have another chance to live with a healthy body.

Only he knows what it's like to spend a lifetime agonizing in pain while spending his days slowly rotting in bed without being able to move his body. So, even in the current harsh circumstances, he was happy to live again.

He was healthy and able to move freely, he would build a future with his own hands and he currently had a family who loved him, even though his uncle's wife was someone despicable in his eyes.

"Future... future and future" Another and another tired word came from Jon's lips, there were things that even if he knew would happen in the future, he couldn't change anything.

Even if he escaped to the most isolated desert in the world, even to the deepest sea and the highest place, there would be wars in his name, for so fate had decreed for him.

No matter how much he escaped the fate decreed for him, it would still be by chaining him to a noble but equally terrible purpose.

He would sit on the Iron Throne for a single purpose.

The salvation of mankind.

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