Game of Dragonborn.

[Chapter Size: 2700 Words.]

Third Person POV.

Winterfell.

...

...

Jon approached the stage at the front of the hall, while almost no one seemed to care about him going up there—after all, no one paid much attention to bards; only their music mattered at moments like these.

"What's your name, lad?"

Above the stage stood a man who introduced the performers; after all, everyone was curious to see if there was a famous bard among them.

"Dovahkiin," Jon said as the man nodded and turned back to the audience before him.

The man found the name strange, as did everyone else, but shrugged and spoke as Jon climbed up.

"We have the honor of meeting the bard, Dovahkiin!" he announced to the hall.

The people glanced at the stage, wondering what kind of name that was, but paid no real attention to Jon. They quickly resumed their conversations, expecting no more than a pleasant melody to cheer them up in the background.

Jon was closer than ever to the main table now, only 20 meters away, compared to the 50 meters to the table at the back. He shrugged as well; hardly anyone had truly looked at him after his name was announced. Taking up his lute, he played a few chords to test the tuning Mance had set up.

"Haven't you tuned your lute yet?"

The announcer wasn't pleased as Jon adjusted the strings.

"..."

Jon didn't respond to the man's irritation, continuing to set the lute to his liking. Jon had natural talents, most of which he had discovered in Skyrim. Beyond slaying dragons and being a bloodthirsty warrior, he also knew how to play a melody, move a maiden to tears, or inspire a crowd to revel to the sound of his music.

Finally, he was ready and began to play.

"You seem interested in that bard, Lord Reed," Benjen remarked, noting the lord's fixed gaze on the stage as they spoke.

Benjen recognized the man as the one causing a stir at the far end of the hall earlier, now standing on the stage. Lord Reed's gaze was sharp, moving from the tables to the bard, though Benjen couldn't understand why.

"Let's just say he reminds me of someone from a long time ago," Lord Reed said, recalling the tournament at Harrenhal, where a certain prince once made a Stark maiden cry with the beauty of his harp.

The sound finally emerged from the stage, beginning with simple chords. The melody started softly, drawing no attention at first. Jon, entirely immersed in his music, focused on the movement of his fingers, indifferent to the distracted crowd, who remained busy chatting and drinking ale.

Then he shifted the rhythm, his chords building into a new sound, as if the earlier notes had been a passive introduction. Now, reaching the part he wanted, he maintained the tempo and began to sing with a deep, captivating voice:

"In the icy mountains, where the wind howls endlessly,

Two young souls met, in a love pure and untarnished.

He, a soldier called to battle, she, a farmer's daughter,

Under the starlight, they vowed: 'Nothing will part us, my love.'

"On the day of departure, with tears in their eyes,

He promised to return, as spring brings the flowers.

'Wait for me in the grove, where the birds sing,

My heart will be with you, wherever I may roam.'"

Jon's voice quickly caught the attention of those nearest the stage. They looked at him in surprise, not expecting to hear such an eloquent voice from this bard. The murmurs began to quiet as people grew intrigued by the mysterious performer, listening intently to his music from the very first words.

While the men were stunned by Jon's natural talent and the soul of his song, the women were unexpectedly moved by the words flowing from the Dragonborn's lips. They gazed at him with instant admiration, further captivated by his exotic appearance. His dramatic smile and the focus in his eyes as he watched his hands seemed to convey the sorrow of the song—a sorrow laced with love.

The voices filling the hall grew softer still, drawing more of the room's attention. The gentle melody seemed to cast a spell over the crowd. Even the servants carrying plates paused briefly to listen as Jon transitioned to the next part.

"The war took him to distant lands,

Where the sky was gray and death a constant neighbor.

Letters arrived with words of hope,

But as months passed, silence began to dance."

"In the red snow of a far-off field,

His body fell beneath a cutting blade.

In his final breaths, he called her name,

And the echo of his love ascended to the stars as a flame."

The people farther from the stage, who had previously ignored him, now looked toward Jon with curiosity. There was something in the melody—or perhaps in his voice—that made it impossible to ignore. Even Eddard Stark, who had been attending to his friend, suddenly turned his gaze to the stage, his eyes widening as he saw the young man with black hair. He seemed to remind Eddard of someone from his past, though the memory remained elusive.

"When the news arrived, she screamed to the wind,

Her soul shattered, and the world lost its breath.

'If he does not live, how can I?'

She said as she walked, alone at dusk."

"She went to the grove where their love had bloomed,

Where the trees kept the vows he had promised.

With a dagger to her chest, a smile on her face,

She fell beneath the moon, silent and heartbroken."

"What is this? He sings well, but love songs aren't my style," Robert Baratheon said, looking toward the stage with a mix of curiosity and irritation. The sudden silence in the hall, broken only by the bard's voice, had caught his attention.

"Who is he?" The queen couldn't help but ask, intrigued. Though she didn't recognize the performer or the song, something about it seemed to touch even her cold, narcissistic heart.

"He announced himself as Dovahkiin, my queen. I don't know him, nor have I heard of his name or this song. He is certainly not from the North, but he sings beautifully," Catelyn Stark replied, unable to hide her admiration as she held Rickon in her arms.

"Why do we have to listen to such a foolish song? Why are people paying attention to this? And where is Ser Sandor Clegane?" Joffrey muttered, clearly annoyed and unable to understand why anyone would give so much attention to a random bard. He gestured toward some guards, who immediately went to search for the Hound, whose absence displeased the prince greatly.

Meanwhile, Joffrey's siblings watched the performance with interest, like most of the hall, surprised by what a random bard could deliver. The ladies, in particular, were clearly enchanted and moved by the song Jon was performing. The men, too, watched with interest, some even imagining themselves as the man in the story, leaving their love behind.

"They say that on nights when the cold wind sings,

Two whispers wander through the distant mountains.

For neither war nor death could ever erase,

The love of two hearts that dared to embrace."

Some lords near the main table exchanged significant glances, as if recalling their own lost or distant loves. Sansa Stark, seated among the younger crowd, had her eyes shining with emotion, completely enraptured by the melody, just like her friends around her.

"Wow, who is he? I've never heard a song like this before…" Jenny Poole sighed as she gazed at the bard.

"Yes… It's so sad that they couldn't stay together," Sansa murmured, as if holding back tears, much like the other ladies around her.

"Why are these girls so emotional over some weird song from an equally weird bard?" Theon muttered, looking around at the hall, which was captivated by the music.

"Bards sleep with many women; they're very good with their tongues," one of the northern lords quipped, laughing without care.

"I'm good with my tongue too. Much better than any bard," Theon retorted, smirking, while Robb shook his head at his friend's foolishness.

When Jon struck the final note, the entire hall fell silent for a few seconds. A tentative applause started in one corner and quickly spread. It wasn't a roaring ovation, but Jon could see the hall was moved. Some men discreetly wiped their eyes, while the ladies dabbed their tears with handkerchiefs.

"He truly knows how to play a song, Mance. Look at how surprised the southerners are," a Free Folk man said to the king, as Mance also watched the stage in astonishment.

The northerners who had set Jon up to perform were equally surprised, never imagining he possessed such skill.

"He can play..." Benjen remarked from the Reed table, clearly impressed.

"Yes... like a certain prince who could leave his audience in a similar state—perhaps even better," Rowland murmured quietly, so softly that even Benjen couldn't hear him.

"Hey, bard! I like your voice, but can you play something less melancholic? Surely you've got something more interesting than songs to make women cry. Obey your king!" Robert's voice interrupted the soft applause that had filled the hall. Jon glanced at him, thinking the man a fool. Robert wasn't his king, but Jon decided to play something different nonetheless. After seeing that the man didn't call out again, Jon's chords began to echo through the hall, capturing everyone's attention once more.

Jon's voice emerged soon after, steadying the melody as if it were the rhythm of a war drum.

"The wind blows on the cold mountains,

Swords glimmer, and thunder resounds.

On the battlefield, glory awaits,

Sovngarde calls, where courage blooms."

"Through steel and fire, legends are born,

Warriors march, where fear is torn.

Each strike, a promise of immortality,

Sovngarde calls, with honor and loyalty."

"To Sovngarde it calls, beneath the aurora skies,

Where warriors rest, and songs never die.

With blood on steel and a soul ablaze,

Sovngarde calls, and the brave reply."

"The cry of shields, the roar of steel,

Fate is forged; no retreat or misstep revealed.

Amid the chaos, the warrior rises,

And Sovngarde calls, an eternal home surmises."

"Each scar bears a story told,

Each shattered sword, a price of the bold.

And when death comes, with the skies alight,

Sovngarde opens, a feast in sight."

"To Sovngarde it calls, beneath the aurora skies,

Where warriors rest, and songs never die.

With blood on steel and a soul ablaze,

Sovngarde calls, and the brave reply."

"The legend grows, like pillar flames rise,

Sung in halls where the brave rest their eyes.

In Sovngarde, the warrior becomes eternal,

A name etched in stone and the celestial journal."

"Oh, Sovngarde calls, echoing in the wind,

Where warriors find their dreamed rest pinned.

With blood on steel and a soul shining bright,

Sovngarde calls, and the brave do not fight."

As the King of Westeros requested, Jon played a song focused on the honor of a warrior, rather than one of lovers torn apart by war. The hall listened closely, though the emotions evoked were different this time. It wasn't the women who were captivated, but the men—those who had wielded weapons in their hands. They were drawn into the sense of battle and conquest woven into the song. Though they knew nothing of this "Sovngarde," the melody inspired a desire to fight in every man who heard it.

"Hahaha!! Excellent! I don't know this place you sing of, but it surely reminds me of my days crushing foes with my axe—just like in my dreams!" the king exclaimed, standing and clapping enthusiastically, clearly thrilled by the song.

The hall joined in with louder applause than before, the mood more spirited as they enjoyed what they had heard. Jon simply nodded, his expression calm. He knew such songs carried a certain prestige.

"I want this song written down! I want it played at my banquets more often!" the king declared in a booming tone, his drunkenness evident but his sentiment genuine. Even men like Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy listened with great interest, nodding in agreement with the king as they recalled their own days of glory on the battlefield.

It was no wonder Jon was moving the hall; his Thu'um carried a natural power in his voice, exuding strength with every phrase. Not that he could control the crowd, but he knew how to stir emotions. Jon stopped looking at the king and noticed his uncle watching him curiously. When their eyes met, and Lord Stark saw Dovahkiin for the first time, his expression froze, his eyes widening as if paralyzed by Jon's appearance, even from 20 meters away.

Jon could see his uncle's lips trembling, shaping the word 'Jon,' but the man seemed to catch himself, shaking the thought from his mind. Jon didn't linger either—he needed to leave. He had no intention of becoming the king's official bard.

"Hahaha! Why don't we have another song?!" the king said, drinking from his mug with enthusiasm, ready for another performance. But as he glanced at the stage, the Dovahkiin was no longer there.

"Where is the bard?! Come on, play another song for your king!" Robert exclaimed as the man who introduced the performers rushed to the main table.

"My king... the bard has left!" he said nervously.

"What?! Then call him back! Tell him I'll reward him, but bring him back to the stage!" Robert roared, his declaration sparking envy among the other bards in the hall.

Quickly, men began searching the hall for the bard. Strangely, however, no one remembered seeing him pass after leaving the stage. Like a ghost, he had vanished, and the men even ran outside in search of him.

"You're hiding from the king. You know you could make a fortune, don't you?" Mance remarked, looking at the man who had silently taken a seat at his table without anyone noticing—a feat that deeply intrigued the King Beyond the Wall.

"Money isn't an issue for me. Even though I have nothing in my hands, I'm not interested. There are still people I need to speak with in this hall, and I won't waste more time on the stage. Besides..." Jon said, handing the lute back to Mance, "take your lute back. Thank you."

"..."

Mance said nothing, simply accepting the instrument, while the others at the table eyed Jon cautiously.

The Dragonborn smiled faintly, then stood and left the table of the Free Folk, heading toward another table of interest.

A Stark man approached Benjen, informing him that his brother needed him. Benjen nodded, rose from the Reed table, and made his way to the main table. At that same moment, Dovahkiin seated himself across from Lord Reed without asking for permission.

Lord Reed merely gestured for his men to stand down, maintaining the same watchful gaze on Jon he'd had all evening. Jon noticed this, while Lord Reed's children, Meera and Jojen, regarded him with cautious curiosity. Jon's boldness in sitting directly before their father was not lost on them.

"You know, it's strange being watched so intensely by someone ever since I arrived in this hall," Jon remarked, meeting the lord's gaze with his violet eyes.

"..."

Rowland didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched Benjen walk away, knowing this Dovahkiin must have deceived the guard to get Lord Stark's brother away from the table.

"You sent him away without even knowing him?" Rowland's words broke the silence, his tone measured.

Jon raised an eyebrow before offering a faint, unfriendly smile.

"So I was right... You know who I am. I must say, you're the first—and probably the only one—to figure it out. Lord Reed, you deserve congratulations," Jon said, his voice tinged with interest.

He looked at the man who, as far as Jon remembered, had been with Lord Stark at the Tower of Joy, rescuing Lyanna Stark and witnessing the birth of the Dragonborn.

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