Jon had been forced into a drinking contest with the king that night. Too bad for the king, Jon had frost giant physiology. Even though the wines were stronger than those on earth, they were nothing compared to Asgardian booze. As they drank, Jon was to tell the story of what he was doing so far from Winterfell.
"You should've chosen a warhammer instead of a spear! The warhammer was and still is the manliest weapon. Build a bit more muscles and maybe I'll teach you how to swing one" the drunken king said. They had drunken quite a few goblets full of wine but Jon was only just starting to feel the effects. Not even tipsy yet.
"I bet you 50 golden dragons that I can swing your warhammer", he smirked.
"Yahahaha! I like your confidence! Deal, you there, get me my warhammer", he told one of his servants. They were drinking in the red keep, so the servants didn't take too long. Three of them were needed to carry the hammer down the stairs, "let's see whether you have the strength you claim to have"
The king mitioned for him to step up. Jon strode over with confidence and laid his hands against the shaft. He pretended to struggle for a few seconds before shakily raising it and swinging it at the ground. The stone floor cracked.
The king was speechless for a second before laughing with all he had in him, "you really are something lad! You remind me of me as much as you remind me of Ned! I like you. Say, you are participating in the melee tomorrow, right? If you do well, I'll grant you any one wish, within reason of course"
Jon's eyes sparkled. Perfect! Things were falling into place nicely, "I will do my best, your highness"
"Good good! I look forward to see how you fight with your favorite weapon… here is your money", he threw him a bag of gold and walked off, probably to fuck some whore.
Jon walked out of the red keep, up to the giggling donkey but on the way, a mugger raised a knife at him, "you there, rich boy, give me all the money you have on you"
Jon appraised the man. He was scrawny, with a crooked nose and his stance was horrible.
He sneered, this man couldn't rob a squire, much less a knight and against him? That was just wishful thinking or maybe it was delusional? Probably both.
He glared at the man and pushed him down with telekinesis. His body came crushing down to the floor, "w- what is- happening?!"
"You chose to rob the wrong person", he laughed coldly, "I have just received good news, so I'm letting you off easy. Which hand do you want to keep?"
"I- what? I- I choose the wall! I choose the wall!" He was crying, completely unable to move an inch.
"Well to bad for you, I'm not a lord yet, so I don't have the power to send you to the wall. It is the hand or death. So tell me, what hand do you want to keep?", he laughed coldly. Loki's sadistic nature shining through. Or maybe it was the Targaryens insanity coming out? Who cares, it doesn't matter, "well if you won't decide, I'll choose for you, the right hand it is"
He conjured a dagger of bronze in his hand and was about to cut off the hand, when his more sane side managed to get the upper hand. With a sigh, he made the dagger vanish and put the man -who had collapsed in fear- over his shoulder, carrying him to the city guard, "this guy tried to rob me, so with him as you will"
He turned around and before the guards could ask any questions, he was already away. Gone like the wind.
He arrived at the giggling donkey, where Greg and Bob were still drinking, Edric had already gone to bed, he was only eight after all, soon to be nine.
"There you are ser Jon. You made us quite rich with your winning streak! I more than tripled my spending money! Come drink with us!" Bob called, clearly already intoxicated. Jon nodded, taking a wine from the maid and sitting in front of the fire, staring into the flickering flames. Just as with the seer, he saw possibilities of the future.
He saw himself with Desmera in a castle but the scenery around it kept changing. A frozen wasteland, a scorching desert, a lush forest and much more. Then, he saw visions of himself on the iron throne, with a little girl on his lap. Then he saw a child in a cradle, a cracked dragon's egg in the crib, a fiery red eye glancing through the cracks.
He saw people kneeling to him and then, he saw his own funeral.
He saw himself hanging the banners of his new house, sometimes a dragon, a wolf or even a scorpion, other times a spear, a horned crown or a world tree. Then, he saw himself in the melee, being beheaded by the mountain who rides, being stabbed in the heart by a rapier wielding essosi sellsword.
Not all possible futures were pleasant but he was determined to make the best of this second chance he had received.
Downing his goblet, he walked upstairs to his room and fell into his bed.