Nothing Ends (Destiny/GoT)

[Web-Weaver]

A/N: A while back, I got really into Game of Thrones. It sorta died down, but not without leaving me with a love for a certain bastard out there. Destiny has been my newest addiction, and with it came with a wonderful story of a conflict that's deeper and older than time, and with it, the Story of The Last Word and Thorn. From that, I present to you this idea that's been stewing in my head.

Nothing Ever Ends. From that, it can be said that thing's begin again, when the time is right.

1: Yours, not mine

Jon Snow is six and none, and already he has unsettled every adult whose come across him.

It is not that he's a particularly strange child– while the boy is quiet and seemingly sullen for his age, he is polite and kind, plays with others his age and does all that is asked of him by his caretakers– but rather, it is the air around him, the way he acts when nothing specific strikes him, when he is alone and staring into the sky that suddenly one feels as if they are not looking at a lonely boy without a mother but something else, something older and more tired than they ever could dream.

Then he looks away, makes a move, or smiles and suddenly Jon is six again, but the feeling inside them remains.

Most in Winterfell forget the feeling, letting it fade into an echo of their memories and it changes nothing about their interactions with the boy– Lord Stark has repeated time and time again that the boy is to be treated kindly, to be shown care and to not speak of their lord shame in any insulting way, but the fact that he is a bastard stains his reputation more than staring into nothingness could. A few treat him older than his age, forgetting themselves and constantly being surprised when someone else calls them out on their odd behavior.

(Jory had once or twice caught the older men telling the boy war stories, regaling him with their time spent in service to Lord Stark during the rebellion, their own adventures from when they were green behind the ears and could smell adventure in the air around every corner. Sometimes he interrupted them, other times he had to bat a flash passed to him without realizing it, leaving the soldiers startled for a moment before realizing that they had been speaking to a child, and not a fellow warrior. The boy almost always seemed amused by this. )

Old Nan took one look a Jon and merely stated he was an "Old Soul," and had lived a long life beforehand. Most didn't believe it, but took the term to heart. Children especially liked calling him Old Jon, and the boy himself was amused by it, following in his namesakes footsteps by telling them little stories he made up. No knew if he had heard them somewhere or had merely made them up, but they were a favorite for the younglings. Each had their favorites, and Jory himself had most taken to the story of the Saint who had fought an army of monsters, all for the sake of a city he had helped build with his own hands.

It was an inspiring tale, and it, like the others, had spread quickly amongst the keep and the surrounding towns. Jory was glad that Jon only spoke of the darker stories under his covers, whispering them to his siblings in an attempt to scare them, and achieving such a feat nearly every time. Lady Catelyn was unappreciative of the darker ones, and punished Jon more than once for sending Sansa back to her in tears for fear of the dark and what lied inside of it.

Jon was an odd boy, but a good one, Jory had decided, and left it at that. Old soul or not, the boy was still young, and was merely being himself. He wondered, however, where life would take the bastard in the future–unlike his stories, knights and heroes did not rise up from nothing these days. There was no need for them, and there were no Knights in the North that would take Jon under their wing to become a Knight.

Lady Catelyn said she wanted him at the Wall. Jory dreaded that it might be his only fate.

~

Jon Snow was (wasn't) Six and none, lived a quiet life in a big keep where many people whispered behind his back about who he was, and was (wasn't) the bastard son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. That was the life that this world had given to him, a path that was according to others almost set in stone and without a doubt strife with hardship and ridicule.

He has other memories too, however.

Of the darkest shadow, nothing but a haze in his memories, a black cloud that took over his life before he ended it with the brightest gold he had ever felt. (Dredgen.)

Of the Fight that had been and always will be, where he tried so very hard to keep his path right, to make sure others did not fall into the steps of the Shadow, to show others a path he had fought for, had figured out with clawing hands and guided the way for a new generation of Guardians– (Traveler.)

Of a Mothers embrace, chanting his name in a tongue he had yet to learn, a warm sky and rough hands grasping him through his mothers last wails of life. Eddard Stark brought him here to raise as his own, and it did not take long for Jon to find out why. (Lyanna.)

Jon recalls others as his Father as well. A Hunter, with a smile and a jokes, a presence that could light up the room around him and always made him feel safe. Of a quiet family before that, of hushed nights in a town long forgotten and its name only known to him now. (Palamon.)

He knew that it was not normal, to have memories of places he had not been, of people he had not met, of actions he had not taken or powers he did not wield. They were apart of him nonetheless, and in a world were so very little truly belong to himself, he clung to them deeply, and truly, and whispered his other name in the dead of night, lest he not forget. (He had been given so many names. So many titles. So many burdens. He wanted just this one. The one that mattered the most to him.)

The world in his memories was far different than the one he had ended up in now, but It held similarities if you knew where to look. The old soldiers, the lines of stress and age growing on his Uncles face, the whispers of war rising from the south about a series of Islands Jon had never been to and the Maester had yet to cover in their lessons– it sung of the Fight. Of the search for a better tomorrow and the struggle to reach it.

He supposed it was common in every world there was. The thought made him deeply sad, and yet at the same time hopeful. The fight was always here yes, but people were always there to fight it, to push against it until it wasn't their Last Word, but the fights.

Jon was (wasn't) Six, and he had already heard the whispers of what he would become, of where he would go. A bastards life (which to Jon had been a new, strange term, one that had a far different meaning then the one he had known–) was a limited one. But the Hunter in him would not allow that. Jon wanted to see the world, he wanted to know what was out there, if there was another Darkness, another fight for him to take.

In his bed, where a fight echo, a faint Spark of Light trickled between his fingers, Jon felt there was one. A Guardian only exists where they are needed. A second chance to do right was a blessing. He wouldn't waste it.

 

[Alpha Zerg]

Getting the feeling of a Shin Malphur reincarnation, but I can't be 100% sure. All the signs so far point to that, but it could just be a Hunter who did Drifter's quests and happened to be born and raised in Palamon before Yor destroyed it, although since the player Hunter was awoken way after that and this one remembers a family from Palamon that's less likely.

My assumption: Shin Malphur was the child in Confession of Hope who was then raised in Palamon and that's where the story runs from.

Otherwise, I'm hyped as fuck for this. From Last Word's lore it can be manifested by any Lightbearer with the right temperament (no actual building needed), which implies that Jon/Shin could do that here as well, which would be something really interesting to experience.

Looking forward to seeing where you go with this.

 

[katzsmile]

Jon was (wasn't) Six, but he was

 

[Leafy503]

Are there Vex shenanigans?

 

[sandmanwake]

I'm surprised there hadn't been a GoT fanfic before this one that had Jon or someone else who was supposed to be Azor Ahai reborn having memories from his/her past life.

 

[Timerider]

Eyes up Guardian.
The world still needs protecting.

 

[Dnar_Semaj]

Great start. Excited to see where you take this.

 

[Web-Weaver]

2: Renegades Regale

In another life, in another place, Jon would have been known by many not by his name, but the title those that feared him had given him: The Man with the Golden Gun. To some, it had been a title of inspiration– the Guardian who had defeated the darkest member of their kind ever known to them, striking down those who tried to follow in the mad mans footsteps. The fastest draw in the Galaxy, and held that title for as long as he had drawn breath.

For others, he had been a boogeyman, hiding in the shadows of every corner, every hiding spot they could ever know, waiting for them to made a mistake before he arrived to strike them down with his namesake. (He supposed it was why the Drifter had been so scared of him– it was why he crafted those guns, all in an attempt to take him down if he needed to be put down. He wondered sometimes, when the days drew long, if that's how he died.)

The practice sword in Jon's hands was heavy. It sloped downward from the lack of Jon's ability to carry it or knowledge of wielding it correctly, and burned within the boys hands. Across from him on the training field sat his cousin Robb, his own blade angled upwards in the angle that Jory had taught them both to hold it and aimed it towards Jon, ready to once again have another practice match between them. At first their bouts were nothing more than childish stick fights, merely swinging til one submitted, they had grown older and Robb had begun winning more and more matches while Jon, growing back into his own skills, was fighting with his own instincts rather than his cousin.

Within him burned the fighting style of a man who had fought for hundreds of years: a man who did not use a sword but a knife, and shot with not a bow but a gun. He refined what he could in secret, but no matter how hard he practiced, a sword, no matter what shape or size, felt wrong in his hands. It was supposed to be a gun in his hand, a hand cannon that he knew better than himself, a blessing from his father, an echo of a different time.

"...I know it feels right in your hand—its weight easy, its trigger smooth. Use it as you will—I know you'll use it right. It's yours now, 'til the last flame dies and all words've been spoken."

(He had given it up. Surrendered the Word to the Guardian who he knew would be his successor, the final Dredgen in a line of those who had tried so hard to make something strong, something noble out of their shadowy and torn history. It had torn a hole in his heart and left an ache by his side so strong that any weapon he wielded afterwards had never felt quite as right. The Lumina he had been gifted down the line by the very same Guardian had been a comfort, a soothing balm to his ache, but still wasn't the same.)

He bit down on his frustration, burying it deep within himself, to deal with a later date. He had always had a temper, an anger quick to ignite and just as easily drawn out of him. Jon had gotten better with it down the line, but he had never felt this raw before, and his emotions ran wild. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the blade up to match Robb's own.

"Ah, finally pulled yourself around for another good knockdown?" Robb teased. Theon from the sidelines chuckled, ever the heckler when it came to anything involving Jon made a side comment to match. Jon had long since learned to ignore the words Theon spewed, and Eddard culled any further comments as Jon nodded.

"If I don't practice, who will try to keep you line? Theon?" He bit back. Greyjoy looked ready to lunge at him for that comment, but refrained from saying anything else.

Preparing himself, chanting his lessons in his brain and memories from before, Jon widened his stance, and moved.

Jon may be stuck in his ways, but he wasn't someone to quit trying when his first attempt failed. He'd swing this sword a thousand times a day if it meant for him to learn it. Adversity breeds strength.

Several moons later, after hours of late night practices and early mornings, the day his blow knocked Robb off balance and won the match, Jon felt like he had taken that first step towards being himself again.

(And maybe, the longing ache in his side faded, just a little.)

~

Children in the Dark Age of Humanity were a precious thing. There were not many around, and those that did exist were kept safe and secure, hidden away out of fear of another attack, another wave of Fallen, another raiding set of Warlords looking to stake a claim to power over their Light.

They were also a liability so this meant that in Palamon, healing from the time of Loken before its demise, Jon had been the only child of the village. It wasn't a sad life, but this had meant that Jon had rapidly grown up in that age, and after Jaren had taken him in was thrown into a life of combat and endless wandering.

Half-Siblings (Cousins, Jon corrected in his mind) were a new experience that frankly he had no idea what to do with. The concept of family itself is hard for him to readjust to, and it has not helped that while this time he has a large family, he is still considered an outsider.

Lady Catelyn, while kind to her children and nothing if not a doting mother on all of them, has treated him as if he was a plague upon this very Earth. She had never done anything outright hostile to him (as far as he was aware) but there had been many times where he had caught her glaring, staring into his very soul and outright screaming at him on occasions at his mistakes. He did not make many these days as a boy of ten and two, but he was still a growing, stumbling child and had many moments where unused to his body had caused an incident or an accident.

Surprisingly, there had been one thing that the both of them had, unknowing to her, agreed about– to allow Jon to go somewhere else. There have been more than a few whispers around the keep of the Lady of Winterfell trying to convince her husband to foster Jon, to send him somewhere else where he may grown and make connections: anywhere but Winterfell. The lord refused everytime, and only with the company of another person or the lord himself has Jon been allowed to leave the castle.

Its restricting beyond words, and though Jon has been grateful for his place here in Winterfell, his lack of freedom to go where he chooses and the uncertainty of his own future where in the past he had been able to go anywhere he pleased without a single concern or gaze his way. It's something he'll soon have to bring up with his Uncle, for the time of being a squire has passed him in age, and soon it may look like Jon has nothing left for him but the Wall.

(Uncle Benjen speaks of it like a noble cause, a fight worth fighting and a place where he could rise up and make a name for himself. But Jon knows too well about walls, and he'll soon burn up the light inside of him than make him settle down in one place for the rest of his life, however long that turns out to be.)

Tiny arms lept up around his neck, pulling themselves tight as a body wiggles itself onto his back. Jon tenses only for a moment, feeling the hands grasp around his neck before a childish giggle and the rest of the weight pulls itself up and Jon knows exactly who has decided to use him as a steed– the current reason Jon has gained the Ladys ire once more.

Sansa had long stopped talking with Jon, abandoning him to follow in the steps and words of her Septa and her Mother, forgetting his stories and replacing them in her head with those of Knights, of Kings and Queens and dashing princes to rescue a fair lady and make them their Queen. He couldn't blame her for that, and even if it stung him in a way he hadn't felt before he knew she was happy where she was now, even if he missed the way she looked at him when it was Jon, Robb and Sansa with a baby Arya clutched to her chest in the dead of night, save for a small candle and Jon waving his hands around, telling one story or another of the world he had come from: of Guardians of Light, of the Vanguard, of legends of hope and the spark in everyones chest that helped them move on. His siblings loved those stories. Nowadays Bran loves them more than the others combined, and Rickon has been kept close to Lady Catelyn in order for him to not spoil Rickon with such tales.

Arya, on the other hand has decided that Jon is more her brother than anyone else, and clung to him like his own shadow. It's.. hard to describe the feeling of warmth in his chest that brought him. It got her in trouble with her Mother more times than Jon could count, but Arya was, in her own terms, "Wild," and was a whirlwind that would not respond to anything. She made her own rules, and everyone else had to follow along. Even Lord Stark let her run about and do as she please. (Jon had heard from guards that people thought he saw too much of Lyanna in the small girl and Jon wondered, if even for a moment, if this what an actual sister of his would have been like.)

"Jon Jon Jon!" She chanted, clambering up his back until she was sitting on his shoulders, giving him a moment to steady himself before she peered down at him, brown eyes staring into his own.

"Sneakin' out of your lessons again, little wolf?"Jon teased, and she tugged at his hair while he laughed at her pout. This was a common tactic of hers– get bored of her lessons with the Septa or Maester Luwin, run off and find Jon, and use him as an excuse to escape the lessons for that day. It didn't always work, and Jon didn't always go along with it, but sometimes he felt it wouldn't hurt if they ran off for a bit.

"Septa was sayin' mean things about you again." She pouted, almost melting onto his head.

"I- I told them to stop, I did! And then I got yelled at and then she scolded me and told me you weren't my real brother, and–" She blubbered, looking down towards him again. It was a fight they'd had a million times, with a million reasons and a million people telling them things. At the end of the day, they just decided to ignore it, leaving the world to their ideas.

He shushed her, humming quietly while she calmed down and seemed to regain her excitement.

"Show me a knife trick?" She whispered. Jon looked around, peeking for anyone else, and, with a faint pulse of light in his sleeve, pulled out the familiar shape of a Hunter's Knife. A golden gun was far from his skills now, and while he was slowly regaining his light and growing back into its skills, small parlor tricks were all he could manage now.

"Only one." He said.

 

[Timerider]

Bladedancer.
Btw, shouldn't the bow appeal to the Nightstalker?

 

[ShuraNoDougai]

Bladedancer.
Btw, shouldn't the bow appeal to the Nightstalker?

Click to shrink...

It takes a different Hunter......to pull out the bow. Not many walk that path......as said by Cayde six.....Blessed be his name...

 

[V3LITHIUN]

Yeah Catelyn is a bitch. Never liked her character either. It's like the wormverse. Nothing but assholes and murderhobos. Except they are more prominently in charge in Planetos...seriously fuck most of them.

 

[Web-Weaver]

3: Echo of a Gunslinger

Jon dreamed.

He dreamed and dreamed deeply since his rebirth, but like how all Guardians had been in his past life, Jon's dreams were chaotic, filled with the blur of change and madness so strong he could barely perceive it. Clarity in the dreams came to him in waves, and the world shifted around him before trees rose from nothing, familiar mountains topped with snow in the distance and Jon who once again was Shin stood at a familiar, haunting spot, nothing but a singe and the echo of a corpse on the ground.

The moon in the sky shifted and the clocks rewound, and suddenly he was back at Dwindlers Ridge in the moment, Gun shining in like the Sun in his hand and across from him stood a man who had plagued his thoughts for centuries, green cloaking him like a sickness, wafting off of him in the stench of the Hive. At his side stood a gun Shin himself was disgustingly familiar with but it did not rise, and the man merely stood.

His hand rose once more and Yor watched, his last whisper reaching his ears again, who stood and did nothing as he understood what was to come.

"Nothing ends."

The gold struck Yor and the Dredgen, the first Dredgen changed, going from that sickly green to yellow, to a fading sunrise of color, fading into dust before suddenly snapping back into place and once again Yor still stood, no longer green or gold but pale, pale blue, the color oozing off of him in a chilling wave and looking at him with the same whisper on his lips. He looked older, more worn, his cloak much more torn and Shin could see the bones of his fingers, barely visible under the tatters of his gloves.

"Nothing ends."

Shin shot again, and the world shifted.

He was falling, falling from a sky that was nothing but stars and clouds, nothing below him but deep blue sea and no land in sight. He fell, screaming, searching for something to save him to no avail.

A crow spoke in the distance, flying towards him, form wavering, rippling like water before his very eyes.

"Fly, fly!" It told, no, begged him to do, but Shin who was Jon again could do nothing but fall into the sea. He sank, deep, deep down, so deep that the stars faded from view and all he was left with was an inky black, and the faint echo of a Crow.

He could not fly, Jon knew. He was not destined to do so. Jon was to crawl, to scour the earth and stay close to it lest he miss anything.

(The fact that the Crow sounded too much like the Shattered one, who had tried to tempt him with whispers of becoming the next Yor,only strengthened his resolve.)

Jon sank, and suddenly tendrils shot from underneath him, wrapping around him and pulling him down, down, down. He gasped for air and felt none but continued to breathe, feeling himself sink so deep into the blackness, pulled by these tendrils– no, tentacles, he realized.

A faint green light flashed in the distance, and green eyes burst to life on the squid, lighting up its whole, enormous body. It looked at him, eyes that same sickly green of Yor, and rolled something in one of its tentacles, extending it towards him. He reached for it, hand grasping around a familiar grip and the tentacle pulled away to reveal Thorn, but not Yor's or any other one, but his–

He was yanked further downwards, Thorn slipping from his grasp and the Squid, now looking less like an animal and more like a giant, sickly representation of the Weapon of Sorrow itself, reached out to him with a wordless cry before it too faded back into black.

The water drained away around him, light bursting from the shadows and suddenly the sun blazed in the sky once more. Jon looked into the distance, seeing a pale white dot, barely on the horizon.

His heart thumped in his chest as he ran, sprinting for miles and miles into the desert, running until his boots broke away and his body shifted, growing, changing, ignoring all of it as he continued to chase what could only be described as a distant dream.

The crow reappeared, still looking as if it was static in the fabric of reality itself. It circled around him, chanting it's call and beckoning him to do the same. Jon ignored its calls, its attempts to lure him away from his goal.

He stopped, wearing the hunter armor of Shin but the body of Jon, and looking up at what was the cornerstone of his power, what showed him the path to be good, what told him what he was doing was right.

"What is this?" The crow howled. "It's...impossible! What can it be?"

The Traveler stood before him, as large and as mighty as his memories showed it to be. Around it was nothing but sand and clear sky, but behind it showed a sun's glare brighter than Jon had ever known.

"It's the Traveler." He finally responded. A pulse of light flew out from it, the Crow howling before vanishing from view. John looked up at the sphere, hearing his light hum in his ears, his heart, his soul.

He reached out, a question forming on his lips–

~

Jon awoke to a tongue on his face, lightly lapping him back to the land of the living. He peered through bleary, tired eyes to see the face of Ghost staring back at him, sitting patiently at his bedside. He offered the pup a light scratching of his head, giving him a few more pets before his pulled himself up to a sitting position, stewing on the dream he just had.

Dreams for a Guardian were never just dreams. While it might have not been a direct message from the Traveler, it was a sign all the same that the winds of change were coming.

(Besides, he was pretty sure the Traveler had forsaken him long ago. He had played his part, been the man with a Golden Gun. That was supposed to be the end of his story. No one had told him that, so he had keep moving.)

Jon stared down at the wolf– no, the direwolf before him. The pup itself stared back, bright red eyes staring what seemed like into his very soul. He had been with his Uncle when they had found that Stag and with it a litter of abandoned Direwolf puppies. Jon's own had almost been abandoned, slipped from their view like an after thought, but Theon had (for once in his life) done good by catching it before they left.

If he was completely honest, Jon at the time was unsure if he had wanted such a responsibility. In his previous life, the closest he had ever been to wolves had been the familiars of Saladin, who were firmly trained and ready to defend against all threats. He had almost tried to give the pup over to his uncle to raise for his own before he had caught the pups eyes.

He still wasn't sure what it was about them. The eyes were the wrong color, and the pup had been far, far too friendly and excited to be with him. But the quiet nature of the beast, and the way he had looked at him at that moment, Jon had been sure he had seen a glimpse of Ward.

(Jaren had not given his Ghost a name, merely calling it Ghost and treating it as one would a close and personal friend. When they became his Ghost, Shin had thought of calling him Ward, in honor of their lost friend. It stuck, and for the rest of time he had been called Ward, save for the moments where he had taken a different name for Orsa.)

Ward and Shin had disagreed many times on what was the right thing, they had fought and argued and split up many times. But they both always came back, they both always mended, and they both always understood: they were partners, and they would see this through til the end.

Jon had looked into that Direwolfs eyes and the word Ghost had slipped through his lips, and taken it as his own.

The pup hadn't shown such a gaze again, but Jon wondered, staring deeply into those eyes, if his old friend had followed him into the void, just like he said he would.

A couple knocks sounded on Jon's door before it flew open, Robb standing on the other side of it, looking at him staring Ghost down. He gazed at both of them for a moment, looking between them before grinning.

"Having a staring contest are we? Are you winning against a dog, Jon Snow?" He teased, and Jon threw his pillows at him.

"For your information, Ghost is an excellent enemy in this case. I haven't won a single match." Jon replied, rubbing behind Ghost's ears as he said that. Robb laughed, tossing the thrown pillow back.

"I'll have to try it with Greywind sometime, or maybe I'll spar with him? If he learns to hold a sword in his mouth, perhaps he'll pose a stronger foe than Theon does." Robb hummed, and Jon laughed at the jest.

"Anyway," Robb continued. "Father was looking for you. The Kings party is supposed to arrive later today, so I believe he was just trying to make sure everyone was ready for it."

Not that Jon would be in the greeting party, Jon assumed. Lady Catelyn would have none of it, and even the noble Eddard Stark would not dishonor the king by having his bastard out for display. No, Jon would most likely be given some task to tend to at the time of their arrival and be away from the party. It suited him well enough–Jon had no interest in royalty. He had gotten enough of Lords, of Consensus, of Gods and of Emperors in one lifetime. If he could live another without dealing with politics, he'd be overjoyed.

Still, he thought as he stood up from his bed. He was overdue to have a discussion with his Uncle about his freedom. Jon's dream showed him that there was more at play in this world than he assumed, and he needed to see it. To do anything first however, he had to be allowed to leave. If he talked to his Uncle before the party got there, then he'd lack the excuse of being busy keeping the royal family happy.

"Right," Jon nodded to Robb. "I'll get ready and go meet him."

~

The King is fat, was the first thought that crossed Jon's mind when he saw him. When Jon thought of Kings, he had thought of Kells, of mighty warriors, tall in their majesty and capable of dominating a room. He thought of Saladin, of Zavala, commanding men who knew how to draw a room and with the power to back it up. Mithrax, one of the few Elinski that Shin had not only befriended but properly respected, had been someone who, in another life, someone Shin would have followed into battle.

This fat King was....none of that. He carried no spark, no energy to command a room nor the power to enforce his will. Even the Speaker, as quiet and calm as he was, could hold the room with but a gesture. Nothing in this King showed any of the traits told in the stories, of his feats and actions. If it had been there once, it was long buried under the might of wine and food. For a moment, Jon wondered if this is what happened to men who could not shoulder the burden of power– they became consumed by delights and fears and wound up like this, dreaming of their glory days.

Jon ate quietly in the courtyard, taking small pieces of his food and tossing them to Ghost. Lady Catelyn had thrown him out of the dining hall, and Jon, still stewing in his anger from earlier this morning, knew he was unwanted today and marched over towards the training grounds were he knew he could go undisturbed. There were a few guards out tonight and wandering about as usual, but most kept away from the training grounds at night, so Jon could be left to his own devices. The noise and cheer of the feast could be faintly heard, leaving Jon with a small echo of the party he was uninvited to. His light, growing stronger each day still and burning within him particularly today begged to be released, to help him let out some steam but he dare not attempt it during the Royal parties stay.

His Uncle had, once again, ignored his desire to leave and head off on his own. The man had not outright said it, nor had he outright denied Jon to be able to leave (like he always does) rather, he repeated the same statement he always made, and then bade Jon his leave as to prepare for the arrival of the King.

"Your place is here, in Winterfell, Jon." He said, word for word from a script he always adhered to. For a moment Jon had wanted to snap, to ask him if this is what happened to Lyanna, if this is why she ran off and eloped rather than be kept alone in Winterfell until she was married off. But he held his tongue, as he always did, for that would reveal he knew more than what Eddard had ever told him and that was a conversation he didn't wish to have yet, if not ever.

Jon had already accepted that to the world, he would always be the Bastard of Eddard Stark. Even if he knew who his Mother was, and had an inkling of who his actual father was, that truth would never come out, and Honest Ned would take this secret to the grave before he told a soul. Jon wondered what echoed in his head when Jon was around, or if he ever wondered why Jon never asked about his Mother.

But Jon ached to be out there, to see the new world with this life granted to him. It burned at him, gnawed at his insides, and even more with his dreams showing him visions, flashes of places he should go to learn. Uncle Benjen had arrived during the feast as Jon was leaving it, and during their discussion, Jon had, in his frustration, almost begged him to take Jon back with him to the Wall, if only to see something different than Winterfell and its surrounding area.

"Your Uncle is in the Nights Watch, ah." A voice called out, and Jon turned, seeing the approach of a man. Well, a Half-Man.

"What are you doin' back there?" The Dwarf had been back near one of the stalls, somewhere only weapons and guardsmen should be. He waved a flash in his general direction, its contents swishing about inside of it before the man took a swig.

"Getting ready for a night with your family." He says, and Jon takes a second to look him up and down, recollection pulling itself to the front of his brain. A dwarf, preparing for a dinner with his family, never before in Winterfell...

"You're Tyrion Lannister." The words came out like an accusation, but they were more of a confirmation of Jon's thoughts. The half man bowed, almost in a mocking gesture.

"And you, good ser, are Jon Snow– Bastard of Winterfell." He replied, and Jon felt a familar anger rise– not of the term, but being Of Winterfell. It felt like a brand, at this point.

"I am no Ser." Jon almost spat out, and moved to go sit next to Ghost. The direwolf was quiet, but watching the dwarf with a curious gaze.

"Did I offend you? My apologizes." Tyrion responded. He moved to follow him, walking at a slow, almost drunkish pace. "You are the Bastard though?" Jon nodded.

"I am a Bastard. It was not of great offense– I have heard it many times before." Jon replied, and it was true; the term stung, but nothing as bad as it had, and he had come to realize it was a word, and nothing more. Jon had met plenty of people in his time that could have been considered bastards– Guardians did not have backstories, after all. It did not change the person they were. The strength of them came from their own power, not a proper name or a lordship.

Tyrion seemed almost surprised at that. "I see. Here I was, about to give you my advice from a lifetime of being a Dwarf, and here you are at peace with something that took me far longer." He added, sitting near Jon.

"But, correct me if I am wrong, did I offend you with that statement? If not the bastard title, whatever struck you as hurtful?" Tyrion added.

What a nosy man, Jon thought. Still, Jon almost though he caught a glimpse of something in his expression– like he was searching for something, or just seeking company. Besides, what harm would there be in telling a dwarf of his woes?

"Tell me, my lord," Jon began. "How old were you when you first journeyed out into the world?" Tyrion pondered, looking deeply in thought for a moment.

"Why, I must have been around 8 and none. Lord Tywin does not enjoy my presence you see– for in the eyes of Fathers, all dwarves are bastards. He often sent me around Westeros off on some duty or to just leave Casterly Rock. I believe it was for a wedding of a cousin of some sort in Lannisport, but alas I cannot truly recall anymore." He explained. Jon took a deep breath.

"I am Four and Ten now, and a Bastard to the world." Jon began. "I will not inherit, I will not get any lands, and I will not head towards the wall. Winterfell is all I have ever known, and I am beginning to fear Winterfell will all I will ever see." Tyrions mismatched eyes lit up in understanding.

"Ah! It was not Bastard that offended you. It was being "Of Winterfell", like cattle!" He said, triumphant in his discovery. Jon nodded, and the dwarf lowered his head slightly.

"Forgive me, for since I am half a man the drink hits me twice as fast. My apologizes again for branding you as such– though true it might be." Tyrion added. "It is wanderlust that plagues you then, yes? Not a rage of being born a bastard, but the rage of being a bird in a cage that they will not set free." Jon nodded.

"Have you not petitioned the noble Ned Stark to send you off somewhere? I assumed his Lady wife would be greatly pleased to see you gone."

"I have tried many times, but I fear my Father is determined to keep me safe by never letting me leave. I fear only Robb becoming the Warden of the North will let me leave." Jon would gather a pack and leave in the night long before that. He was approaching such a point already, but he would rather leave on his own terms and not have to worry about his uncle sending men after him.

Tyrion paused, taking another sip out of his flask. He offered it to Jon for a moment, who passed it back to him without accepting it. Shrugging, he took another sip.

"You know, I have always wanted to see the Wall." Tyrion admits. Jon looks towards him, wondering were this could be going.

"I want to stand atop of it and piss off the edge of the world." He continues, and Jon has to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing. He is caught however, and Tyrion grins at him.

"I'm serious! Pissing off of the edge of the world, knowing that a part of me will forever be in the beyond and saying "fuck that" to all of it, its a glorious thought in my mind." He added.

"Though after that, I suppose I might as well go see all the other sights Westeros has to offer. Highgarden, the Twins, Dorne, even bloody Pike I suppose." He stood, stretching and twisting his back, and Jon heard a few joints pop at such an action.

"I suppose the roads would be quite perilous to get in those places without an escort, and I know that most of the guards would stay with the royal party if I did so. I guess I must find some guards for my own to help keep me safe."What Tyrion was saying finally connected in Jon's head, and he turned to look at him sharply.

"My lo-" Tyrion cut him off.

"Pah, none of that. Dwarves can't be lords in the eyes of anyone. You remind me too much of myself, Jon Snow. I see something I think I'd like to help flourish." He spun his drink around in his flask again.

"Now, I've decided I am going to not show up to the royal banquet, and my siblings are going to be quite furious with me. I've heard from a few guards however, that you are a very good storyteller." He leaned inward.

"Tell me a few tales Jon Snow, and let us see where the wind takes us." Tyrion grinned.

Jon was stunned. He had only known this man for under an hour, and already he seemed to be willing to help him leave? It felt... too easy, like there was some set up stewing he was unaware of. Or, it's a blessing from the Traveler.

Still, Jon though, by know he figured he was a decent judge of character, and Tyrion seemed like the kind of person who held a bleeding heart, and who was he to deny a lord?

He had a few weeks to learn what kind of man Tyrion was before the Royal Party left. Jon figured he could learn if his offer was sincere in that time. In the meantime...

"Tell me, have you ever heard tales of the Moon?" Jon began, slipping into a familiar tale. "It hangs above us, but once, people used to whisper of the Dark Below, of the monsters that used to writhe and tunnel beneath its surface..."

 

[GamingPizza1998]

Ha Peter Dinklage and a Guardian hanging out. Now I really want to see how the meeting at Inn will go.(Assuming that it isn't butterflyed away)

 

[Alpha Zerg]

I'm not really enjoying how you've characterised Shin to be honest. According to the lore he is a leader in his own right, the person who founded the Shadows of Yor. He stands on the edge between Light and Dark in order to weed out those who will fall to the Dark. He is one of, if not the single most feared Guardian (by other Guardians) in Destiny, and he didn't get there just because he's good at shooting. He invented the Golden Gun, the pinnacle Hunter Gunslinger ability, showing that his control over the Light is top-tier as well. Hell, you say that his entire purpose was to give the Last Word to the Player Character, but that is a gross devaluation of the myth and legend that he's built up in Destiny. He's like the boogieman, he's the John Wick of Destiny, and the pieces that he's shown up in with regards to the Player is just a small facet of his character, not the entire reason for his existence.

I just don't see the resemblance between that character and the one you've written. Sure, you're throwing out little excerpts in parentheses here and there about his history, but a lot of what you're putting in clashes with who we know Dredgen Vale to be. This is the guy who inspired a friend to allow himself to be killed in order to bait a trap. Think about the kind of leadership and character you need to be able to inspire that kind of loyalty.

That kind of charisma and righteousness is completely missing here. You've called him Shin Malphur, but I honestly can't see the resemblance. I think you would be better off replacing him with a generic Hunter OC (not the Player character).

My issue with this is that by calling him Shin Malphur you give us certain expectations that hold you to representing a nearly mythical character in Destiny lore, and so far you aren't keeping up with those expectations. If you lowered those expectations a bit by just not calling him Shin Malphur, then the story would be far more enjoyable because then you can choose what you want the character to embody.

 

[QuietlyObserving]

I'm not really enjoying how you've characterised Shin to be honest. According to the lore he is a leader in his own right, the person who founded the Shadows of Yor. He stands on the edge between Light and Dark in order to weed out those who will fall to the Dark. He is one of, if not the single most feared Guardian (by other Guardians) in Destiny, and he didn't get there just because he's good at shooting. He invented the Golden Gun, the pinnacle Hunter Gunslinger ability, showing that his control over the Light is top-tier as well. Hell, you say that his entire purpose was to give the Last Word to the Player Character, but that is a gross devaluation of the myth and legend that he's built up in Destiny. He's like the boogieman, he's the John Wick of Destiny, and the pieces that he's shown up in with regards to the Player is just a small facet of his character, not the entire reason for his existence.

I just don't see the resemblance between that character and the one you've written. Sure, you're throwing out little excerpts in parentheses here and there about his history, but a lot of what you're putting in clashes with who we know Dredgen Vale to be. This is the guy who inspired a friend to allow himself to be killed in order to bait a trap. Think about the kind of leadership and character you need to be able to inspire that kind of loyalty.

That kind of charisma and righteousness is completely missing here. You've called him Shin Malphur, but I honestly can't see the resemblance. I think you would be better off replacing him with a generic Hunter OC (not the Player character).

My issue with this is that by calling him Shin Malphur you give us certain expectations that hold you to representing a nearly mythical character in Destiny lore, and so far you aren't keeping up with those expectations. If you lowered those expectations a bit by just not calling him Shin Malphur, then the story would be far more enjoyable because then you can choose what you want the character to embody.

Click to shrink...

I'd agree. But maybe what we're seeing here is Shin as a boy, before he became Shin as a man. The conflict that created Shin Malphur, the Man with the Golden Gun, hasn't yet happened to Jon. He's just a boy, for all that he has an old soul. Much as before Dredgen Yor killed his father, Shin was just a child. It will probably take something special to reforge the Man with the Golden Gun.

 

[Web-Weaver]

I'm not really enjoying how you've characterised Shin to be honest. According to the lore he is a leader in his own right, the person who founded the Shadows of Yor. He stands on the edge between Light and Dark in order to weed out those who will fall to the Dark. He is one of, if not the single most feared Guardian (by other Guardians) in Destiny, and he didn't get there just because he's good at shooting. He invented the Golden Gun, the pinnacle Hunter Gunslinger ability, showing that his control over the Light is top-tier as well. Hell, you say that his entire purpose was to give the Last Word to the Player Character, but that is a gross devaluation of the myth and legend that he's built up in Destiny. He's like the boogieman, he's the John Wick of Destiny, and the pieces that he's shown up in with regards to the Player is just a small facet of his character, not the entire reason for his existence.

I just don't see the resemblance between that character and the one you've written. Sure, you're throwing out little excerpts in parentheses here and there about his history, but a lot of what you're putting in clashes with who we know Dredgen Vale to be. This is the guy who inspired a friend to allow himself to be killed in order to bait a trap. Think about the kind of leadership and character you need to be able to inspire that kind of loyalty.

That kind of charisma and righteousness is completely missing here. You've called him Shin Malphur, but I honestly can't see the resemblance. I think you would be better off replacing him with a generic Hunter OC (not the Player character).

My issue with this is that by calling him Shin Malphur you give us certain expectations that hold you to representing a nearly mythical character in Destiny lore, and so far you aren't keeping up with those expectations. If you lowered those expectations a bit by just not calling him Shin Malphur, then the story would be far more enjoyable because then you can choose what you want the character to embody.

Click to shrink...

An interesting take on Shin, and one that while I enjoy and can say follows what the lore has given us, its something different than what I've perceived from the Grimoire cards and interactions, and what I'm trying to get across here.

In Destiny, Shin Malphur is yes, the John Wick of the world, a boogieman that strikes in the dark when someone strays too far and hopes to keep Guardians as a whole a growing force of strength and will. But heres the thing as well: Shin Malphur is a man of Legacy. It defines him, and it defines how we interact with him in game as well.

We are given the Original Thorn and craft it into Lumina because Shin sees in us the next step, the next part of history with us taking the grand stage and him nothing but a footnote. Most Guardians also do not know that he leads the Dredgens, that he built the Shadows of Yor from within, that he is even still a player in the game. To most he is like Saint-14: A guardian of the past who was considered a hero. He did his Job, and thats what is primarily passed down.

Shin is Jared Wards Legacy- the continuation of a guardian that stands for whats right and Wields the Last Word. He is defined in every sense by "what comes next" and the Lumina and Thorn quest both show that he is searching for that next step. He gives us the Last Word because he understands that the player character is "whats next" We are, in a sense, His and Yors Legacy.

In the form he is now, Jon, its a different story. Jon is also a character defined by Legacy. The Legacy of the Targaryens, the memory of Lyanna Stark, the Bastard of Winterfell- they Brand Jon in a way that makes him someone to everyone else that he himself might not actually be. Shin was a man of Duty, he lived by it, fought for it, bled for it, died for it- and now he must do so again, as if all his progress is erased. The Jon/Shin im trying to convey here is a man stripped of his purpose and is desperately trying to go back out into the world and find it again. Help people again. Do something again. its a combination of Jon Snow's solemn-ness and the determination, the grit of Shin to keep moving.

Nothing ends, after all.

 

[sandmanwake]

So is it like how Rand al'Thor was himself, yet had the memories of Lews Therin Telamon? When he accepted those memories, he was a combination of both rather than just Rand who was haunted by Lews' memories and voice?