Chapter 1: The Bastard

It is a quiet night at Winterfell. The moon is full, the air cold. Some may say it is a typical night for the northern capital. A long summer will continue for a few more years, so there is little to be worried about. Still, some may also say that night like these is the perfect night for the unnatural and the mundane to intermingle. Things that most thought a myth will emerge and disrupt the order of the land. Others might say it is hogwash and those who believe that are superstitious fools.

If there is one trait that could use to describe the Starks, that might be it.

Eight years ago, Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North brought a baby boy home. A cute baby boy named Jon Snow, who would later be known as the Bastard of Winterfell. An innocent boy who was a union between love-enchanted free-spirit Lyanna Stark and prophecy obsessed crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen. A union that should not happen. A union that doomed thousands to their death, upturn the order of the nation and sent Westeros to a downward spiral of corruption and debauchery.

The boy, the poor baby boy, was obscured of his origin. For the first eight years of his life, he was bought up by a lie. The father he was led to believe was his uncle. His half-siblings were actually his cousin. His stepmother hated him for his very existence. His rightful claim to the throne was denied and everyone called him a bastard. He knew love and he knew pain. He was learned but he also knew nothing. All because a single promise Eddard Stark made as to the last wish of his dying sister.

A promise that Eddard Stark would keep to himself to the grave. An honorable promise to be sure. To protect his sister only child and the true heir to the iron throne. To prevent his best friend from killing his nephew. To prevent another war for the greater good of Westeros.

For the greater good, what a horseshit.

…

Tonight is a quiet night, but also a restless one for the Starks. You see, the boy has fallen ill. The maester said that the boy caught a pox and tonight would decide whether he live or die. If he survives till the dawn come, he will live. If not, then to the Stranger embrace he goes. If he is just another bastard of any noble, no one would bat an eye for his loss, let alone care for him. But he is the Bastard of Ned Stark, and the wolf always cares for their pack.

The air is cold even with the lit fireplace held the darkness of the night at bay. The boy is unconscious, lucky for him. By his side, Catelyn Tully, the lady of Winterfell sitting uncomfortably, praying to the Seven that is one. Her heart is filled with regret. She hates the boy since the first moment her eyes laid on him. She still does. Day and night, she prayed for him to die, for the Stranger to take him away. Why shouldn't she, the boy was a stain in her honor, evidence of her husband infidelity. Yet, she realized that she is the worst woman who ever lives for wishing the death of an innocent child who didn't even know his mother. And now her wish is about to be true, and it pains her like thousand blades stabbing her heart.

Oh, how she prays and prays and prays. Asking the gods to take back the wish she had made. She begged them to spare this child that isn't even hers. The boy is whimpering, coughing harder and harder as his breath was fainting. Sometimes he goes silent, no breath, no cough, for a short while which to her last like an eternity. Every time silent fall upon her, her heart skips the beat. Murderer. The word rings in her mind. Murderer.It hurts her as much as it hurts him, if not more. Murderer.

She beseeches the gods to let him live. She promises she would care for him, be a mother to him, to ask her husband to make him a proper Stark.

"Cat …" She hears her husband calling her name. His footstep is heavy and his voice … his voice is shaken. "You should rest." He places his hand on her shoulder, making her look back at him. Their eyes meet and she could see how it is killing him. How it is killing everyone.

"No." A short answer but it is all she could reply. "I …." She stutters notice the temperature drastically rising. It is as if she is sitting inside a bonfire.

Then it happens. A burning sensation and a dimly glow that she catches with the corner of her eyes. When she turns back, the boy is no longer there.

Stunned. The couple painfully stares at each other, not believing what just happen.

…

Morning comes. The only thing that everyone talks about is that Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, is dead. Wintertown is dimmed with sorrow as it is mourning per the command of the lord paramount.

The Starks are devastated. Another dead in the family, a bastard or not. An empty grave in the family crypt is allocated to him, just because fewer people would have the chance to found it empty. The Starks children, apart from Robb and Sansa are too young to understand the loss. Robb acts as if he is also dead while he is living. His eyes stare blankly to the sky without any purpose. Sansa, on the other hand, shows that she is grieving for the bastard as a proper lady should. Still, she doesn't understand why her mother is so sad about the death of Jon Snow. She should be glad that the god decides to take him away. At last, the shame of the house is removed. She wants to ask her mother but decides not to. At least not while others are grieving. Maybe in a few months perhaps.

Lord Stark sit grimly inside his solar, of which he bars anyone from entering, even his lady wife. "I'm sorry Lya. I couldn't protect him." Tears drip from his eyes. "I have failed you." He then hears a knocking at the door. Wiping his manly tears from his face, he answers it. On the opposite side of the door is Maester Luwin. "A raven, milord." Said the Maester.

He opens the door and receives the letter, reads it, scrambles it, and throws it to the floor. The massage was simple. The Kraken had rebelled.

"Call all our bannermen, all of them, and get my wife here as soon as possible." He commands.

…

A wise man once says, "Life is a piece shit … when you look at it." The same man also preaches that "You'll see its all a show, keep 'em laughing as you go. Just remember, the last laugh is on you." Many would tell that man "Piss Off". But if it is true, what shows did the gods, if they exist at all, plan for Jon Snow? Hmmm.

I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey. It seems a fairly ordinary night, when Jon Snow, a young ordinary kid is high with fever from a pox. It's true that he was on his verge of death. It's true also that his stepmother is praying to the gods for his life. He's just a normal kid on a cold night. It a cold night. A cold night that the Starks going to remember for a very long time.

Imagine a place that contains all there is and can be. A collection of worlds so different from each other where anything one could conceptualize could happen. Those who are lucky enough to possess this knowledge call it the Multiverse and each different world inside it a Plane. Now. Imagine that all the planes are like a small speck of bubble floating inside a massive ocean of nothingness so vast that there is no way any plane could be near each other, let alone collide. The Blind Eternity it is called. Only a few could transverse between planes, most of those belong to a group of beings called the planeswalkers.

Planeswalkers come from all walk of life such as scholar, warrior, kings, scientist, cat warrior, dragon, beggar, hunter, minotaur pirate, gorgon assassin, and of course, a baby who didn't know who his parents are. They are special because they possess a spark that allows them to transverse the Blind Eternity unscathed, for a short period of time as repeated use could still harm them. These sparks could only be found in one in billions, and even less so could ignite it and ascend to become a planeswalker. Once, before the fall, the spark gave them power beyond any imagination. They could create lives, destroy worlds, and/or bend gods to their command just by willing it. They think and the multiverse will make it so. Then, the fall happens and now they are less. No longer they could tap into their spark to for unlimited power. Instead, they relied on the mana reserve of each plane. The larger the plane's reserve, the higher upper limit of power they could unleash. Even so, not all planes are equal. Some, like Zendikar and Alara, contains a large amount of reserve and even make the mana so untamed. Others, like the plane little Jon came from, is dying and its mana is running out.

It would be good if it is only that simple. A dark power is rising on that plane, and soon the dead will march upon the living, and there would be no place to hide. But that is a story for another day.

…

Far across the other end of the multiverse, surprisingly a silver full moon also shines brilliantly here even through the dense forest of Ulvenwald. It was a normal night for the denizens of Innistrad. Someone gets brutally murdered here and there. Some others get ripped apart by either a pack of werewolves, a tide of zombies, an unexpected visit by the inquisitions, a vengeful flight of angels, a thirsty party of vampires, or just bunch demons and devils having a good O' time.

Arlinn Kord, the self-proclaimed protector of Ulvenwald, is sure that she used to it by now. Yet, something has disturbed her. An unfamiliar scent kicks her nose. The scent of a human, venerable, weak, and … young? She must hurry, or the others will have their feast. No child should have met their horrible end by the Howlpack of Ulvenwald. Yes, she is a werewolf. Yes, humanity deemed her a beast and will kill her on sight. Yes, she believes in the law of the jungle. But no, she would not let a small child die by doing nothing. Furthermore, she senses something that appeases her from that direction, something that tells her that it is her kin, and she needs to protect the child by any means necessary.

Summoning her strength, she transforms. Her limbs lengthened, her hairs replace most of her clothes, her eyes gleam with power, her fangs become razor-sharp. She howls as she dashed toward the source of the scent as soon as possible, hoping she would not be too late.

What she sees in front of her was a boy, no older than eight. His hair was black and curvy akin to her own. His eyes remain shut as his fainting breath is periodically interrupted by a heavy cough. Something is different for this boy. It is a faint sensation, but it is undeniable. Something about the boy reminds her of a wolf and much more, even though he is fully human. Something that makes her wants to pick him up, nurture him, and watch as he grows.

Well, she isn't too late, per se. But the situation she found is not any better. If she found the child, the others would also do. As powerful as she believes herself to be, she could not fend off the multiple packs on her own. While she is contemplating about what she should do, she noticed dozens of eyes staring hungrily staring at her direction. Even they see her as their kin, one should be wise enough not to stand in a way of hungering howlpacks, werewolf or not. Even she could fend them off, she could not protect the child all the time. The moment she looks the other way will be the moment he becomes food.

'This is bad. The boy will not last the night. Unless …' She bites her own arm and let her blood soaks the child, claiming him as her own. 'I'm sorry. This is the only way I can think of that will let you stay alive.'

She let out a loud bellowing cry, louder than any alpha had ever done before. It signals the others that they are intruding her hunting ground. With enchantment of her magic, it is an ultimatum toward the others, 'leave now or face my wrath'. The others from various howlpacks are not pleased but do nothing. She is infamous for her fierceness, and they would not risk a fight only for a small snack of a boy.

Seeing that the others back down, she shapeshifts back into her human form. Calling forth her power, she summons the accursed spirit of Ulvenweld to do her bidding.

"I'm Arlinn Kord of Ulvenweld and I claim this child as my own!" She shouts as she channels her power into her spilled blood that covers the boy body. "O' wolf spirit hears my plea. Curse this boy and bind him to ME!"

The spirit answers her plea and makes the boy a werewolf. The energy surged from the environment to the unconscious boy using her blood as a medium. His skin burns even hotter than when he has a fever, causing him to cry out in pain. His body is twitching uncontrollably as his aura changes. She could sense it getting stronger and stronger.

'You must endure, boy. Persevere, and stay alive. From now on, you are mine. We are a pack now, and I will not let you die.'

The ritual under the full silver moon lasted the whole night. Arlinn Kord stood vigilance over her claimed all the time. She knew that she had done the unthinkable. No child should have suffered the curse that she had. But she also knew that she, with her clear conscience, will do anything to keep him alive. He is her everything now. A child of her own. The thing she wants for a long time since the moment she knows she was cursed and become infertile. She vowed to protect this boy with her life and make him feels love as he could. She doesn't know how much the wolf spirit would hold the sway over him. She doesn't know how much he will hate her when he knows what she had done. All she knows is that she will be the best mother for the boy as she could be.

It would be a great challenge. Oh, she is sure of that. She is in her forties now, and she will continue to live for a few centuries more thanks to her curse. She has plenty of time to try.

…

Morning comes as soon as the night fled. It was a long night. Jon Snow found himself awaken in the dense wood. He is not in Winterfell anymore. He also feels … different. It feels like his pain had all been taken away. Oh, and he is hungry. Very, very hungry. The hunger is so strong, he swears he has never experienced anything at this magnitude before. It is almost all he can think about.

Looking around he found himself sleeping on a bed made of leaves and twigs, laid perfectly on a smooth lard flat log. At his side is a smoldering campfire as well as racks of dried small games that had been skin and ready to be cooked. He then heard footsteps, louder and louder, as if someone is walking toward him. He also caught a different smell of a wild animal getting stronger and stronger.

By the old gods, what had happened to me last night?

The only things he remembers was he was in pain and his stepmother, Catelyn Stark, was praying for his life? He almost couldn't believe it. His stepmother, the Lady of Winterfell, the woman who hates him since the moment she laid her eyes on him, was praying for him to get better.

Is this a joke? Where am I? Did lord father finally decide to send me away?

As the footstep and the smell are getting stronger and stronger, he hears a question directly asked at him.

"Oh. Finally awake I see. Little pup." The owner of the voice is female, he is sure of that. But why does he felt so satisfying when he hears her voice. So, he does the only thing he could do. He turns toward the woman, and gods, his heart is filled with joy by the sight of what he sees.

The woman is in her forties, and she smiled at him. It's not a forced smile either. It's a smile filled with longing and love. A smile that he only sees when a mother gives her child. A smile that he never receives before. She has a sharp face, raise cheekbone, big red lips, eyes of a predator, and a scar on her forehead. Her hair is black, the same color as him. Her muscle was ripped, showing that she was by no means a wallflower. By the gods of old, she is graceful as any highborn lady he ever saw. It makes his heart skip its beat. The joy he felts almost eclipse the hungering sensation that gnawed his thought, almost.

Is this really happening? He asks himself. Is this real? Am I dreaming?

"Mother?" He asks her as he stares longingly into her eyes. His eyes gleamed purple with power.

…

Arlinn Kord is stunned at the boy question.

Oh, the boy is beautiful. Even before the transformation ritual, he has something wolfish about his looks. Moreover, his face has some feminine trait that could make many mistook him for a girl had his hair was longer, or his chest was bigger. In a few years, she sure that girls from every corner of Innistrad would brave any danger to come looking for his company.

And he asked if she is his mother. It makes her heart dropped. The boy thought she was his mother. Sure, there are features between the boy and her that are close enough for them to relate. But how does a boy at the age of eight doesn't know what his mother looks like? What kind of terrible parents this boy has before she found him last night?

So many questions. So little time.

Even more disturbingly, her blood freeze when he stares right into her glowing brown eyes. Arlinn finally realizes how messed up the situation she and the boy are currently in.

The boy's eyes are glowing purple. He is also a planeswalker. In fact, the youngest she ever found.

Well. Shit. She is going to need a lot of assistance in raising this pup.

…

Custom Card of the Chapter

Card Name: Jon Snow, Bastard Pup

Mana Cost: RG

Types: Legendary Creature – Human

Card Text:

When Jon Snow, Bastard Pup enter the battlefield, you may search your library for a Wolf card, reveal it, then shuffle your library and put that card on top of it.

Whenever another a nontoken Wolf enter the battlefield under your control, create a 2/2 green Wolf creature token.

Flavor Text: "Are you my mother?"

P/T: 0/1.

Rarity: Rare