A Different Song (ASOIAF- OC/Reincarnation)

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 21: Protector of The Realm

 80 AC

Beyond the wall

I woke to the sensation of wetness on my face. Groaning, I opened my eyes and was immediately greeted by a direwolf pup licking me repeatedly. The pup had pure black fur and striking green eyes. Flaring my senses, I could feel the bond between us, able to see myself through the direwolf's eyes.

I withdrew and noticed blood droplets around the direwolf's mouth; it had been licking at the wound on my stomach and drinking blood from it. The wound was only half healed, and I groaned as I sat up, feeling the pain. My clothes had been burned in the fire, and the only reason I hadn't died from frostbite was due to the cold resistance I'd developed in my younger years.

I saw another wolf cub, white as a ghost, lying near my foot. It was the runt of the litter, seemingly abandoned by its mother. The mother was nursing the other pups, and the father stood guard over them—and maybe over me, too.

The moment I sat up, the pack began to move away, leaving my direwolf and the runt behind. I extended my senses to the male direwolf and tried to convey visions of safety, food, and shelter. But he growled back in annoyance, and I shrugged.

"Well, I tried." I said as I looked at the black direwolf in my hand.

The black direwolf wagged its tail at me.

"Well, you're a lucky one. You're stuck with me for a long time, Fenrir." The only name I could think of, looking at him, was Fenrir. The direwolf woofed at the name, and I could feel acceptance through our fledgling bond. I could already tell this was unlike my other bonds with animals. There was something more in this bond—I could almost feel a magical thread weaving between us, connecting us. Perhaps it was because my talent had picked up on the Night King's skilled use of this power, but I wondered how much this bond would develop.

"Well, well, Lyra will be angry that she missed this sight, Daemon," Aethan's voice called as he and ten men from Winterfell entered the clearing on their horses. Despite his teasing tone, I could still sense the worry beneath it.

"Lord Snow, what happened? Who did this to you?" one of the men-at-arms asked me, handing over my spare clothes.

"Don't worry, my friend. I've succeeded in my quest." I lifted my black direwolf and held him up, just like Rafiki held young Simba. "This is Fenrir, and after centuries, a direwolf has returned to House Stark."

Feeling my amusement, Fenrir tried to howl majestically, but it came out as a small sound that made me laugh.

Everyone, except Aethan, looked at me as if I were insane, but I could sense the awe and fear through their presence as I extended my senses. After that intense fight with the Night King, I could tell my mental prowess had increased drastically, and now I had a kind of discount empathy sense.

"Get dressed, Daemon; we have to go," Aethan warned, and I nodded in acceptance.

The Wall.

Ever since the battle, every single bond with my animals had been severed, and I'd had to manually reestablish each one as they came to find me. All the birds on this side of the Wall had returned, making it easy to reconnect with them. The problem was that I couldn't sense any of my connections beyond the Wall, and because of that, I had no idea whether Prince Aemon had left or whether he was still waiting for me.

I hardened my mind as we entered the courtyard of Castle Black, scanning for a flash of silver hair. Seeing none, I sighed slightly, easing a tension I hadn't even realized I was holding. The direwolf pups were tied to my body by cloth, both curiously peeking out. They lay nestled against me, wrapped securely, and it was astonishing to see how much they'd grown in just a week—much faster than any dog or wolf.

Lord Ryswell's eyes widened in surprise when he saw the direwolves. He glanced around the army, a series of questions flashing across his face as he realized that our numbers hadn't diminished and there were no injuries among us.

"So, Prince Aemon Targaryen has fled back to the south rather than face me. Is that it?" I said, smirking.

A few gasps sounded at the audacity of my words, but Lord Commander quickly cut in. "Prince Aemon instructed me to order you not to linger here any longer and to proceed directly to Winterfell, as promised by you."

"Ah, don't worry," I replied. "As you can see, Ice is strapped to my back, and Aethan—show them the traitor's head."

With a grimace, Aethan held up the preserved head of the treacherous knight, displaying it for all to see.

"As I said," I continued, "we vanquished the wildling army beyond the Wall without suffering a single injury. The Old Gods have blessed House Stark once again with their fated companions—the direwolves have returned south of the Wall. The black one, Fenrir, is mine, and the white one will belong to my cousin, Lord Cregan Stark."

The Lord Commander grasped the significance of my words, and finally, he spoke. "I offer you guest rights, and perhaps you might enlighten me on how you achieved such an impossible victory."

I ofcourse, accepted the guest rights graciously.

One moon later

Winterfell.

Upon our arrival at Winterfell, we were met with a hero's welcome from the people of Wintertown and the castle. I presented the sword and the traitor's head to Lord Cregan Stark. Cregan, alongside Lady Giliane Stark, welcomed us in the courtyard. I could see Cregan was holding back tears of happiness at the sight of me, though he was doing his best to maintain the Lord Stark Mask of our grandfather.

Cregan was looking at puppies at my feet curiosly and I decided to end the surprise.

After the pleasantries were over, Cregan's gaze fell curiously on the pups at my feet, so I decided it was time to reveal the surprise. I lifted the white pup into my hands—it was already the size of a one-year-old dog—and presented it to Cregan.

"Cregan, little brother, it's time House Stark is reunited with its wolf protectors. Here is the direwolf pup I obtained from beyond the Wall for you. You may name this one, and I have named mine Fenrir."

Everyone looked at the black pup, now larger than the white one. My blood and the bond we shared had accelerated my companion's growth. Seeing the white wolf and feeling the bond, Cregan finally let go of the Stark mask. He lunged forward to hug me, whispering "Thank you" over and over.

It wasn't even the next day before Lord Regent Bennard Stark summoned me to the solar. Though it irked me, I didn't want to start trouble on my first day back, so I decided to present myself.

As I entered the solar, I saw Lord Bennard standing near the fireplace, his back to me. My eyes drifted to the Lord's empty chair, and memories flooded my mind of the countless meetings I'd had with my grandfather in this very room. I sighed, taking a deep breath to control the sadness that enveloped me. My anger had been satiated, but sadness had no cure, save time—or perhaps my control ability to cheat it.

Cregan was sitting with his mother on the chairs along the wall. I looked at them and they shrugged in confusion.

I cleared my throat to break the awkwardness of the room.

"Daemon Snow, you may have escaped punishment due to being the son of a prince and the foolishness of my nephew, but know that you are being watched. You usurped my authority and wielded a sword to which you have no right. Beware—I am not fooled by your intentions, hidden though they may be from my brother and father," Bennard said sternly, still not turning to face me. I was surprised at how my uncle had arrived at such a foolish notion.

"My lord—" Lady Gilaine began, trying to come to my defense, but Bennard turned abruptly and snapped,

"Oh, shut up, Glover! Like everyone else, you too are charmed by this dragonspawn. You have no idea what he has done. The people of the North may praise my father for the improvements he brought—even for restoring Moat Cailin—but the lords know the truth. The ideas came from him," he said, nodding towards me. "For centuries, House Stark has never needed to question the loyalty of the Reeds, Manderlys, or Mormonts. And yet Daemon has impressed their lords and heirs more than Cregan has. He even convinced Reed's heir to go with him beyond the Wall on a reckless mission. Now the smallfolk and the lords praise his military strength and martial prowess, all at the tender age of thirteen. If I didn't know for a fact he had no contact with Targaryens since birth or that he is too prideful to be a puppet, I might even think he was planted here to turn House Stark into a puppet of the dragon throne."

Even I was taken aback by my uncle's rant for a moment, but soon the memories from my previous life hit me, and I started laughing. It began as a snort, but within seconds it grew into an uproarious, uncontrollable laugh.

"Ha…hahahaha!"

"Daemon," Lady Gilaine said, looking shocked at my reaction, while Bennard was, of course, furious at the apparent disrespect.

"Sorry, Uncle, but that's the best joke you've ever told," I said, stifling my laughter. "I have no desire for Winterfell or the North. I have higher purposes in this life than ruling over a gaggle of idiotic lords." I looked at Cregan, who was glancing between his uncle and me, his thoughts racing.

"Cregan, you don't have to worry about anything. You will be Lord of Winterfell when you come of age—I'll make sure of it." I turned back to my uncle with a stern look.

"Thank you, Daemon," Cregan said, hugging Winter, his direwolf, close.

"You may placate them with this boasting, but I will keep my eye on you. And your strutting around Winterfell as a prince is over. I've spoken with Lady Mormont, and you are to foster with House Mormont on Bear Island, since you seem so taken with her daughter," Bennard declared.

My smile faded, realizing that my plans were unraveling even further.

"What?" Lady Glover interrupted. "And you decided this on your own? I am co-regent!"

"Yes, you are co-regent, and of course you can change this, but I wonder how the Mormonts will take it since they were honored to host a son of Winterfell," Bennard replied smoothly.

Both Lady Glover and I saw what Bennard's intentions were. We couldn't reject his order without insulting the Mormonts—especially after the loyalty they had shown to me and House Stark. This was an unofficial punishment, the furthest Bennard could go in removing me from Winterfell, effectively banishing me to the northernmost of the lowly bannermen.

"No!" Cregan shouted, realizing we weren't going to challenge the decision. "You can't send him away from me. I need him here."

"That's not my problem, Cregan. Daemon may stay for a moon's turn, but after that, he is to go to Bear Island with the Mormont heiress. This decision is final." With that, Bennard left the solar.

"Daemon, you can't go! You still have to teach me so many things," Cregan said as soon as the door closed.

"Don't worry, Cregan. I'll find a way to keep teaching you, even from Bear Island," I said, trying to reassure my young cousin.

Four Weeks Later: Godswood

"Cregan, do you understand the plan?" I asked. "You'll warg into this bird at set times, or use it to contact me. I'll warg into my own bird left here, and we'll communicate that way."

Cregan scoffed. "I understand, Daemon. You're repeating it for the tenth time. There are potions made from your blood for a full year. I'm to consume that potion directly every week, and the diluted form with my food and water."

I sighed in exasperation as it was a typical childish response.

"Daemon…you'll come back, right? You won't marry Lyra Mormont and stay there, will you?" Cregan asked, his curiosity piqued. "She's been looking at you…strangely."

I scoffed. "I'm not marrying her, Cregan. Now look after Winter, and she'll look after you, too."

Cregan nodded eagerly before running after the direwolves.

"Brandon, you are to be Lady Gilaine's sworn sword from today until I call you back," I told my silent shadow. Though I had my own birds and animals in Winterfell, a human perspective would be valuable.

Brandon raised his hand as if to protest, but my glare stopped him short. He nodded reluctantly.

I sighed, exhausted by the thought of reworking my plans for the future. At least the silent improvements to cattle and the people of Winterfell would continue, as Bennard wasn't foolish enough to halt the developments begun by his father. I would miss the comforts of Winterfell, but it seemed the Mormonts would be lucky to have me there to help develop their lands.

I looked at the weirwood tree, knowing it would be my last time here for a long while, then walked to the courtyard where Lyra and Lady Mormont waited for me.

80AC

Kingslanding

The Spring Prince

 Baelon waited with the King in the royal solar for his brother to return and report after his journey to Winterfell. He had been anxious the entire time Aemon was in the North and had even used the glass candles to keep an eye on him—nearly getting immolated by Caraxes for his trouble. Sometimes, he cursed the gods for not granting his brother any talent in sorcery.

Aemon entered the solar and bowed to the King as tradition required. The moment Baelon caught Aemon's gaze, he knew his brother had disobeyed one of the King's orders.

"Aemon, come, sit, and tell me which of my orders you chose to ignore. I can see it on your face—you didn't follow my instructions," the King said, sighing in weariness.

"Aemon," Baelon acknowledged, as Aemon sat beside him, facing the King across the table.

"Father, I appointed Bennard and Lady Gilaine as co-regents due to Bennard's disrespect. He's still bitter over my love for his bastard sister and holds a vendetta over it, which clouds his judgment. Here's what happened in Winterfell…" Aemon explained.

Baelon looked at the King and he saw the king contemplating the information. Baelon could see the subtle shock and a slight fear in the King's face hearing about Daemon's rampage with a Valyrian Steel Sword and pyromancy.

"Aemon, are you certain of this account?" the King asked, his tone grave. "Could it not be an exaggeration from panicked peasants, who mistook Daemon's skills with Valyrian steel for something more? Even among the Old Blood only few know of the full potential of such weapons unless that power is accidentally awakened."

Baelon grimaced, knowing the King would be displeased that his thirteen-year-old grandson had uncovered one of the secret aspect of Valyrian steel—and wielded a greatsword with the grace and ease of perfectly matched sword, when the size should have been a liability at his age.

"Aye, Father. From what I gathered, Daemon stands nearly five-and-a-half feet tall with enough muscle to make a Baratheon jealous. But even with that to wield a Greatsword like Ice as it is said, he must have activated the bonding aspect of the blade. Even with the usual bonding Valyrian Steel sword had, Ice is more than that. It actually burned Lord Karstark when he tried to take it and deemed his motives suspect. There is also the matter of Fire spreading coldness after it radiated hotness like the dornish desert for a moment. Everyone agreed that the Ice spread a bone deep cold making everyone freeze in terror." Aemon said with a grimace.

Baelon could hear the King's mind working hard to grasp the magic involved, as he was certain there was still some knowledge his father had yet to teach him.

"Interesting, very interesting. There must be a reason the Starks retained the name of their original ancestral sword when they commissioned the Valyrian steel from old Valyria," the King said thoughtfully. "But these are just words, Aemon. What made you believe this is the truth? Have you seen Daemon perform such feats with your own eyes?"

Aemon immediately looked guilty, and Baelon understood; for some reason, Aemon had not seen his son on this trip.

"I never saw him, Father. I couldn't get the opportunity. I believe the story because—even without the smallfolk knowing the full tale—Daemon is regarded as a god-gifted child. I inquired further, and they told me that everyone in Winterfell is healthy and that disease has almost been eradicated. They thank Daemon for this, believing he has the power to bless them with healing. I couldn't see him because he went beyond the Wall to hunt down the Lusty Knight, and no matter what I tried, Caraxes wouldn't fly over the Wall."

"Preposterous tales, Brother," Baelon interjected. "There is no magic that could heal that many people for years."

"That's true, Aemon. Perhaps it was just a phase or due to other policies. I'll forgive you for waiting only seven days instead of staying until my grandson returned and completing my order. You've captured the spirit of it, though," the King said thoughtfully. "So why did you attempt to fly over the Wall when even Silverwing wouldn't do it?" he asked curiously.

Baelon was surprised to see the King forgiving Aemon for not actually meeting with Daemon. Observing him, Baelon finally understood why: the King had never truly expected Aemon to accomplish the order as it was given.

Aemon looked ashamed for a moment before replying, "I forgot about that story, Father. Only after I tried the first time did I remember the tale of Silverwing and Mother. Speaking of Mother, where is she? She usually attends these meetings."

"Our mother is with child again, Aemon. It's surprising, especially at her age, but the maester has recommended rest for now." Baelon tried to break the news gently, but Aemon's frown quickly turned to anger, revealing he had failed.

The King wore a mocking smile, as if daring Aemon to speak up.

"Why, Father? Why risk it all for a child who might not survive, like our brothers Gaemon and Valerion?" Aemon asked, struggling to hide his anger.

The King grimaced at the memory of his lost children, but it disappeared quickly. "You are my heir and my eldest living child, so I'll show you the courtesy of answering. After Valerion, the maesters said there would be no more children, that her chances were near impossible at our ages. There are too few Targaryens left in this world, and my eldest son has avoided his duty to sire more children because of the fear of losing them—or his wife—to the birthing bed. I have no such fears. Alysanne has successfully borne twelve children, and I am sure she will be unharmed by the thirteenth too."

Baelon could see Aemon looked guilty under his father's chastisement, but he knew Aemon would never change his mind on this matter.

"May I be excused, Father? I need to meet my darling daughter and Viserys after freshening up," Aemon requested.

"Aye, you are dismissed," the King replied, waving him away.

Baelon wished to accompany his elder brother, but he knew it was impossible for now. As Aemon closed the door behind him, the King sighed wearily.

"Baelon, it seems your brother has recovered somewhat and performed admirably. What has your scrying through the glass candle discovered?" the King asked.

"As you know, my King, Winterfell is shielded against scrying by unknown means. I cannot view anything within the castle or enter the minds of its residents. Daemon is an exception, as our blood relation seems to bypass this protection, but I cannot glean much from his mind—it's protected by an imaginary Winterfell. I attempted it yesterday, and his skill in mental defense has improved drastically. I was almost burned by a new barrier around his mind, a black flame from the firewall that stopped me from even entering. More than that the flames counterattacked me and even followed the link to my mind. Only my bond with Vhagar and my own skill saved me. Later, I tried scrying on the smallfolk in Wintertown, and they all corroborated Aemon's version of events."

Baelon saw the King pale as he shared this information.

"Black flames?" the King asked hesitantly.

Baelon nodded, and for the first time, he saw the King slump in his seat, losing his regal posture, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.

"It seems Fate is a cruel mistress, and is punishing me by making the Targaryen blood sing with greatness in my bastard grandson after it blessed me." The King said and Baleon could see a glint of insanity and mirth in the King's face as the masks crumbled, the same madness that made the king threaten his own sons using Balerion the black dread. Baelon could see the mirth increasing but he couldn't understand the reason. The King snorted and a heartbeat later it was full blown laughter.

A laughter of a man who finally understood a joke that no one else could see.

Baelon paled further and his hands tightened around handles of his chair as his heartbeat increased. Baelon could see that somehow the iron control of the king has vanished and he is seeing the true self of the king. A man brimming with both greatness and madness.

The King eventually stopped laughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he glanced at Baelon seated opposite him. A cruel glint entered the King's eyes.

"Ah, Baelon, forgive me, my son. No one has played such a trick on me since I was a child, but it seems the Fourteen Flames wish to punish me in my lifetime, not after my death. And it goes without saying that you will not disclose this lapse of mine to anyone," the King said with a careless smirk.

Baelon nodded immediately, deciding that no one would hear of this from him.

The king accepted this and continued, "Today I curse my own younger self for not approving the marriage request when Aemon sent his letter. I valued my wife and my hands advice and didn't think about the bloodline of my grandchild. It would have been perfect -The bastard girl will still die in the birthing bed and Aemon would be free to marry Jocelyn later. Our house will become more stronger by having a heir with such magical power and by my own teachings to him. But alas, my own arrogance blinded me and now it's too late."

Baelon wondered what would have happened if something like that happened.

"My King, is it truly too late? Daemon is only on the cusp of thirteen, and though we ignored him, House Targaryen has still supported him financially. We could invite him south and begin a relationship. I have many sisters with no suitable matches, which would address the issue of free dragons and prevent lords from seeking dragons through my sisters—or wait until Rhaenys is of age. She could marry her elder brother and he would be the king consort. Of course, he would have to renounce any claim to the Iron Throne before granting him the Targaryen name," Baelon advised.

The King kept silent as he mulled over the idea.

"No, Baelon. It's too dangerous to bring him into our midst now. According to Aemon's tale, Daemon regards Lord Stark as his father, and the carnage he unleashed after Lord Stark's death validates that. He has no love for our family and is highly intelligent. He would immediately know we only called him because he proved himself in battle and because we want to verify the stories of his 'god-blessed' powers."

Baelon nodded in understanding. "Aye my king, he will obviously know the true reason, but what if he desires such a connection. He lost his loving relatives in his grandfather and uncle. There is only Bennard left and he hates daemon. The other is Cregan who is younger than him, so irrelevant. You are his other grandfather, and I am his uncle from other side of the family. It may be helpful to integrate him to house Targaryen through that relation."

The King scrutinized Baelon with a proud smirk. "It's too risky," he said. "The cost may outweigh the benefits he offers us. What if he comes to King's Landing and bonds with Balerion, the Black Dread? And if the stories of his talents are true—if he can heal others and make them whole again—then he would be dangerous to our house. With Balerion fully healed, even I could not contest Daemon's claim should he seek the heirship and the Targaryen name after Aemon. He would make us his puppets, and we would have nothing to make him obey. No fear, no loyalty, and certainly not kinship."

Baelon paled at the thought, understanding the King's reasoning.

"I understand, my King."

"Baelon, keep an eye on him through those near him, but do not enter his mind again. Keep me informed of his sentiments toward our house. If one of my daughters might know the honor of being a dragonrider at the price of Daemon's loyalty, I am willing to pay it. You are dismissed," the King said.

Baelon rose and bowed. "Your Grace."

He left the room without making it obvious he was running away from the king.

Authors Note: Time skips incoming from next chapter!!!!

you know where to go to read ahead!!!