The Bastard Wolf: Reborn
Chapter 1 – A Song of Ice and Soul
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Jon Snow was born again with a fucking headache.
Not the kind that comes from ale or a bad night's sleep. No—this was the kind that came from reality breaking open, pouring your old life out, and jamming a new one in like a sword through the ribs.
He gasped, choking on cold air, the taste of snow and iron sharp on his tongue. Around him, stone walls. Heavy furs. A fire crackled nearby. His body felt young, strong… but not his.
Then he heard it.
"Jon," came a voice—Catelyn Stark, cold as frostbite. "Come downstairs. Your father's returned."
Jon. Snow.
His heart skipped. No. No way. He'd been in L.A. just yesterday. A blunt in one hand, Kendrick on the speakers, and the world ahead of him. This was impossible. He knew this room. This castle. This voice.
This was Winterfell.
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One Hour Earlier
When he first opened his eyes, he thought he was dreaming. Then he saw his hands. Pale. Slimmer. Younger. Scars he didn't remember. And the mirror—Gods, that mirror.
Jon Snow stared back at him.
"...What the actual fuck."
The memories hit like a wave. Old Jon's life, layered under his own. Nights at Castle Black. The Wall. The sword. Ghost. Ygritte. The goddamn Night King.
He sat there, breathing heavy. "Holy shit. I'm in Game of Thrones."
A laugh escaped him. Wild, disbelieving. He grabbed a candle, stared into the flame, and muttered, "Alright. Okay. This isn't a dream. It's a restart."
He leaned back, grin spreading. "Let's do it right this time."
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Now
He walked down the stone steps of Winterfell, leather boots echoing. Every face he passed looked familiar. Robb, full of pride. Sansa, still dreaming of knights. Arya with her wild eyes. Bran running around like he hadn't seen the fall coming.
And Eddard Stark.
Jon's eyes narrowed slightly. You're a good man, he thought, but you're blind as fuck sometimes.
He stopped at the edge of the feast hall, letting the noise wash over him. Everyone celebrating the king's arrival. Robert Baratheon—loud, drunk, fat, and already nostalgic for his youth. Cersei, sharp-eyed and dangerous. Jaime with his smug grin.
Jon didn't join the celebration. Instead, he stepped outside, into the cold night, snow falling like ash.
He stood in the courtyard, looking up at the moon. And then, because he felt like it, because it grounded him, because why the fuck not—he started to sing.
"I'm not him, I'm not her, I'm not them, I'm just me…"
"…wise enough to know that truth don't flow from mouths with crooked teeth."
The song—Frank Ocean's "Wiseman"—echoed in the courtyard, slow, soulful, strange against the silence of the North. A stableboy paused, staring at him in confusion. Even the guards turned.
Jon didn't care. The words felt like armor.
"Family's a prison, and people are pain…"
He finished the verse with his eyes closed.
When he opened them, there stood Arya.
"That wasn't a northern song," she said, arms crossed.
Jon smirked. "Nah. It's older than the Old Gods."
She squinted at him. "Where'd you learn it?"
He winked. "From another life."
She tilted her head, then shrugged and walked away like he was just another mystery. He watched her go, then turned to the stars.
I gotta be smart, he thought. No more playing the quiet bastard. No more bowing heads.
This world chewed the last Jon Snow up and spat him out.
But I'm not that Jon Snow.
I'm me.
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Later That Night
Jon sat by the fire in the great hall's shadows. People danced. The king bellowed. But Jon watched.
He watched everyone.
He saw Littlefinger whispering to Varys. Saw the tension in Cersei's eyes when Robert mentioned Lyanna. Saw how Theon's laughter always came half a second too late.
The game was already being played. But this time, he wasn't a pawn.
A servant passed him a cup of ale. He took it. Sniffed it. Then tossed it back with a grin.
Across the hall, Tyrion Lannister raised his glass at him. Jon raised his back.
Two bastards. Two outsiders.
This could be interesting.
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First Person
They all think I'm still him. Jon Snow. Quiet. Humble. A bastard begging for scraps of love.
They have no idea I'm not him. Not really.
They'll learn.
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End of Chapter 1