GOT: A Transmigrator's Conquest

Stannon's hand froze mid-pat as he stared at the glowing system panel. His heart started beating rapidly as he read the skills and abilities listed. His loyal companion Jory wasn't Jory at all. The man standing before him was someone else—Oren Stone, an assassin of terrifying skill, and, most disturbingly, a Faceless Man.

'What the f*ck?' Stannon almost cursed out loud.

A member of the mysterious and deadly guild of assassins from Braavos had infiltrated their group. Multiple thoughts swarmed his head.

How long had this imposter been with them? How much did he know? What happened to Jory? Is he even alive? This wasn't just a spy or a killer—it was someone who could steal lives and wear identities like masks.

Stannon's first instinct was to confront Oren immediately and call for Ser Barristan. But he stopped himself. If Oren was as dangerous as the system claimed, showing suspicion could provoke him.

Forcing a smile, Stannon withdrew his hand. "You've been a great help on this journey, Jory. I'm lucky to have you by my side."

Oren—or Jory, as he pretended to be—nodded. "Thank you, my lord. It's an honor."

Stannon and the group continued forward, towards the gates of the Winterfell.

Stannon's thoughts spun as they continued toward Winterfell. He couldn't stop thinking about Jory—his loyal guardian, someone he had come to rely on recently. Just a week before leaving the Red Keep, Stannon had checked Jory's status on the system panel, and it had been him—the real Jory. That moment was clear in his mind. Whatever had happened to him must have taken place in the Red Keep.

The questions wouldn't stop. How had the Faceless Men, those deadly assassins from Braavos, gotten involved so soon? The Red Keep shouldn't even know about them at this point in the story—or had they always known and kept it secret? And if they knew, what other dangerous secrets were buried there?

Stannon clenched his fists, trying to push away the growing anger. A part of him wanted to believe Jory was still alive, maybe held captive somewhere. But deep down, he knew the truth that Jory was gone, replaced by an imposter who had taken his face and life.

He couldn't help but suspect the queen. This seemed like something she would do—her schemes, her willingness to use people as pawns, and her complete disregard for anyone's life. It all fit too well and it made him furious.

Even as he kept his expression calm and continued walking, Stannon made a silent promise. The queen would answer for this—for Jory and everything else.

The Stark household stood ready to welcome him, their faces curious and filled with excitement. Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, stood at the forefront, with a genuine smile on his face . Beside him was his wife, Lady Catelyn, her auburn hair tucked beneath a fur-lined hood. The Stark children, bundled in warm cloaks, gathered around them, wondering how the prince looked like.

"Welcome to Winterfell, your grace," Ned said, as Stannon and his group entered through the gates. "Your presence honors us."

Stannon stepped forward and inclined his head. "Thank you, Lord Stark. It's an honor to finally see Winterfell."

Lady Catelyn offered a polite smile. "The journey must have been cold and tiring. Let's take you inside, where it's warm."

Stannon looked at the Stark children. Robb, six years old, stood at his father's side, staring at him. Sansa, three, managed a shy curtsy, her auburn hair peeking from beneath her hood. Baby Arya rested in the arms of a maid, too young to understand the occasion.

Ned raised his hand, and the Stark bannermen lowered their banners in a gesture of respect. "Tradition demands that we welcome you properly," he said, turning to the crowd. "This is Stannon Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, son of my sister, Lyanna Stark, and King Robert Baratheon. He is blood of the North and will train among us to grow strong, as his mother would have wanted. Let Winterfell be his home."

A cheer rose from the crowd, carried by the cold wind as Stannon and the rest entered the castle.

---

The Great Hall was warm and full of life. Fires roared in the huge hearths, their light dancing on the stone walls. Stannon Baratheon sat at the high table, small for his seven years but holding a maturity far beyond his age. Inside, he carried the soul of someone who had lived much longer. He watched everything—the way the Stark bannermen laughed together, Lord Eddard's calm presence, and Lady Catelyn's polite smiles.

But someone was absent. Jon Snow wasn't there. Stannon had noticed it earlier when the Starks welcomed him in the courtyard, and now, at the feast, Jon was still missing. The Bastard of Winterfell, people called him, but Stannon knew better. Jon wasn't just a bastard. He was his half brother—same mother, different fathers. Lyanna Stark's secret lived in Jon, and Stannon couldn't stop thinking about it.

Robb, six years old and barely able to sit still, leaned toward Stannon with wide blue eyes. "Do you like the North?" he asked eagerly, with his childish voice.

Stannon looked at him, weighing his words carefully. "It's... different. The cold makes it feel alive. Strong."

Robb smiled, pleased with the answer. "Father says the North makes you tough. When I grow up, I'll be Warden of the North, like him."

"You'll be a good one," Stannon said,babshe complemented the child. "You already seem brave."

Robb puffed up proudly, but before he could respond, Sansa, just three years old and seated next to him, interrupted with a soft, shy voice. "Do you ride?" Her tiny hands clutched her spoon tightly, waiting for Stannon to answer her.

Stannon smiled, "I do. Since I was little. My father says I'm better at riding than he is."

Sansa's blue eyes widened in admiration. "Really?"

"Really," Stannon said warmly. "Do you ride?"

Sansa nodded quickly. "I have a pony. Her name is Honey."

"She's not fast, though," Robb added with a smirk. "My pony, Snowflake, is way faster."

Sansa frowned at her brother. "She's not slow! She's just little."

"I'd like to see them both," Stannon offered, smoothly defusing their argument. "Maybe tomorrow you can show me."

Robb's smile returned. "I will! And we can ride together. I bet Snowflake can beat any pony!"

'My God, I can never get to used to talk like kids,' Stannon almost rolled his eyes at that.

Lady Catelyn's gentle voice broke through the chatter, her tone warm and reassuring. "Stannon, how was your journey? The road from King's Landing is long, especially in winter."

"It was long," Stannon replied politely, his voice steady but a little hesitant. "But Ser Barristan and the other knights ensured I was safe and comfortable. I hope my stay here won't cause much trouble."

Lady Catelyn smiled, her expression soft and full of kindness. "You are already part of this family, Stannon. There's no trouble at all—you belong here, and we're glad to have you."

Ned Stark nodded in agreement, his voice calm and steady. "Catelyn is right. You've been part of this family from the moment you were born. We look after our own, and you are no exception."

"Thank you," he said softly, as he continued to earn affection points from both Lord and Lady Stark.

As the meal continued, Stannon looked around the hall once more, confirming Jon Snow's absence.

The Stark children's chatter continued throughout the meal which then turned to stories of the brave knights in North that they had heard from their nanny. Through it all, Stannon listened with the patience of someone far older than his years.

But his mind kept returning to Jon. The boy deserved better than this—cast aside for something that wasn't his fault.

Jon was Stannon's most favourite character in the show as he deeply resonated with him due to the similarities they had in both their lives.

And with Stannon being here, he definitely wouldn't let Jon grow up feeling like he didn't belong anywhere.

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