[Chapter Size: 3900 Words.]
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Third Person POV
North, Western Sea of Westeros, 300 AC.
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The fleet advanced south.
Soon after, Jon's ravens continued circling throughout the North, while another flock of birds advanced south together with the fleet of letters.
Jon was filling in the map of the North, drawn on a huge table in one of the halls of the main ship, with him sailing across the sea toward the next objective, naturally.
With small wooden sculptures, he marked each point, dividing them between undefined, enemies, and allies in each of the regions.
He studied and mapped the North. He needed to know where to prepare the army that would come with Brynden and Bran.
He kept analyzing every piece of data as he received information through his thousands of eyes.
The door opened, and Jon saw Arya approaching silently. The guards let her in, obviously without needing to ask the king.
"I thought you would still be training with Lady Mormont," Jon said quietly, but he did not even look at her, keeping his eyes on the map.
"I thought you could see everything at the same time," Arya replied.
"I thought you were seeing that... Your wolves are on the deck... But anyway, I finished with her about ten minutes ago. She may seem strong, but you can understand there is no comparison with me... A warrior raised inside Arctic, used to surviving in the city's arenas..." Arya said calmly, as if that were a natural law, just like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.
Jon did not look at her, but he raised an eyebrow and snorted. Obviously his cousin was thinking too highly of herself, but that was normal for this woman since she was a little girl.
"I can't pay attention to everything at the same time. I'm dividing my mind among all kinds of memories. It's driving me crazy," Jon admitted.
He was lucky he did not need to leave his body unconscious to use warging, but even for him — who was already used to it — his brain was being bombarded by thousands of images received at once.
"How are things? Have your letters been received yet?" Arya asked, her voice calm and even sweeter, knowing the pressure Jon was under now. She seemed worried.
That was because his birds had not yet reached the south. It would be even more pressure for him. She could not believe that the young man, with less than twenty name days, standing before her, was planning to simply monitor Westeros from the Wall to Dorne in real time.
"The ravens must be arriving at every castle. I also discovered something interesting," Jon said, pointing to White Harbor.
"There was a visit sent by Lord Velaryon. His brother, Aurane Waters, did not participate in the Battle of the Blackwater with Stannis. He went straight to White Harbor under orders from his brother, the Lord of Driftmark." Jon revealed, making Arya curious.
"Lord Manderly was very inclined to accept an alliance with me..." Jon said with a strange smile.
"That's true, Willas Tyrell and his brother were even jealous of the treatment... He showed quite a bit of favoritism..." Arya murmured.
"It seems the late Lord Velaryon believed that I would save the North and avenge the Starks. The Manderlys also have faith in that. Lord Manderly has been looking for any information about us in the last year..." Jon said, while Arya nodded.
"Well, Lord Manderly is that kind of person," she said, with a satisfied tone.
She paused, interested in the lords of Driftmark. "But can you say more about Velaryon? I know the lords of Driftmark have always stood with the Targaryens. Will they return to kneel to you then?" Arya asked, curious.
"Well, since your father announced my name, before his execution, some houses have secretly been inclined to support me, just waiting for our appearance. Some out of loyalty to the dragons, I believe — mainly because of the prince who was my father, a possible king whom everyone believed would be far better than his father. Others... well, they know what I have built and what I am capable of," Jon said in an indifferent tone.
Obviously, some are looking for a winner and an easy path.
"Jon, you know they could very well have held back all this mess... Ever since Father said your true name and what it represented... And they made a mess, enough to cause an inevitable war... They should have tried to avoid this fight," Arya said.
She paused before continuing.
"But that's exactly what you want, isn't it? Otherwise, you would have brought your dragons and made Westeros entirely kneel in just one day, turning the sky into a dance of dragons spitting fire."
Jon looked at Arya for the first time and had his eyes directly on the gray eyes of his cousin. She had been staring at him the whole time.
"If I made them kneel, there would be no enemies willing to face us," Jon said, snorting.
"If I wanted to do what I plan to do with them after they surrendered, I would be a cruel king, they would probably call me Maegor reborn, or something worse... But if they face me and I crush them on the battlefield, it will be justifiable."
"You want revenge, I know. I want it too, Jon. But a long time ago someone told me that you would let yourself be carried away by your instincts of rage and vengeance..." Arya said carefully.
'The moment will come when Azor Ahai will almost lose himself in the destruction that will engulf the western kingdoms... That is why he will need you at that moment...' The memories were returning to Arya's mind.
Jon turned to her, narrowing his eyes. "Who said that?"
"It was that woman we met in Yi-Ti... Quaithe, but it wasn't really her, it was like a projection spell, because she was crossing the mountains toward Yi-Ti at that moment. She used blood magic from what she explained... It was a moment before Hilla died," Arya replied carefully.
Jon widened his eyes, that was in Volantis. "It was something that happened two or three years ago."
Arya had been attacked by assassins sent by the slave nobles of Meereen, the Sons of the Harpy, and from the other cities of Slaver's Bay.
It was chaos. Arya had lost one of her ladies-in-waiting, Hilla, and that shook his cousin in a way Jon had never seen before. He had never seen her cry until then.
Arya only cried like that after she learned of her father's death a few moons ago...
"Quaithe... She was in Yi-Ti and Brynden met her in Meereen, but he didn't say much about it..." Jon became thoughtful about it.
"You know very well what those people are like, but she warned me. She said that you would surrender yourself to the pain of vengeance, from what I understood..." Arya pressed her lips together before continuing.
"I'm saying this because I just don't want you to lose yourself, Jon. I know you gave a very clear order to exterminate the ironborn however possible, without mercy."
"And they are—" Jon tried to argue back. But Arya grabbed his arm and squeezed it with the palm of her hand.
"I'm not saying they don't deserve it, Jon. I was raised with you, both in Winterfell and in Arctic. I also wish for it. But, please... don't lose yourself."
Jon stared at her for a moment in silence and then slowly nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me about Quaithe?" he asked in a calm tone.
"The fanatics of the red god are a bunch of lunatics..." she mocked. She didn't believe much in it at the time, but she always kept it in her mind. After all, she spoke about the Sons of the Harpy and it really happened, unfortunately...
Jon agreed with her, he had to admit that he almost always found the most insane people among them. Some blinded themselves to have visions and pass them on to him. Others treated him as if he were the god himself. Some served only to give strange and enigmatic warnings, while others seemed to exist only to die.
An example of that was that red woman of Stannis, who in the end only served to deliver the last piece of the map's frame to Jon — and he clearly got rid of her, beheading her when he had the chance, as soon as she attacked one of his oldest bonds. The woman looked at him as if he were R'hllor himself.
"So she had spoken about the attack. I became a little alert... and then it came that day. I had two important things that would change my life forever." Arya continued speaking, and paused.
"The loss of Hilla... was the first," she said sadly, before sighing. "And it was also the first time I killed someone in my life."
"The first death no one ever forgets, Arya," Jon said with a smile, trying to lighten the depressing mood.
He still felt her hand on his arm. Arya noticed and let it go, a little embarrassed, with a shy smile.
Soon after, however, she gave a few light punches to his chest in a teasing way.
"I was what? Thirteen or fourteen name days back then. But you... you killed someone for the first time at eight name days, Jon. They even wrote a ballad about you. Little Jon!" Arya laughed.
The sound of her laughter was pleasant — mocking and carefree — much better than the heavy silence from moments before.
"At that time I had no choice," Jon simply said, remembering the confrontation with the bandits in Icehill, after his adventure had truly begun when he gained the powers of the old gods.
"Let's train a little. I've been getting a bit rusty these last few days hunting krakens," Jon added.
Arya opened a wide smile.
"Of course. After all, young Mormont hadn't been much of a challenge..." Arya mocked, as she well knew.
"Alright. Alright. Let's go up," Jon said, leading his cousin outside and leaving the room.
He had already analyzed the entire map. He would write a letter to Arctic later.
The troops should already be preparing to depart in the coming weeks. Jon had about a month's advantage. He imagined that the greatest force of what had been called the Tyrell-Lannister Alliance was concentrated in the east, in King's Landing, according to the information Davos had given him — information far better than anything he could obtain only at the Wall.
Davos, now without a king and having to care for the last living member of the Baratheon family, did not deny Jon any information as he asked about the south.
That made Jon remember Queen Selyse — certainly a headache, now imprisoned in the senate of Arctic under guard. A fate she herself had earned through her arrogance and foolishness. The woman still believed she was queen even after her husband's death.
"What are you thinking about?" Arya asked, noticing Jon drifting in thought. She let out a small laugh.
"I was thinking about Davos's information... but that also made me think about Shireen's mother."
"Selyse? The queen who thinks she is a queen in Arctic?!" Arya mocked. "She hasn't realized there are already six queens in Arctic. We don't need another one," she added.
Jon laughed at that.
They continued talking as they walked across the deck. Soon after, they found Lancelot and Ser Barristan fighting.
Some men did not even care and simply continued their duties, keeping the ship sailing and leading the fleet.
Others, however, stopped to watch while laughing and making bets — not on who would win, obviously. Few blades in Arctic could defeat Lancelot.
He was the commander of the Kingsguard not by chance, but because he had earned that title when the Kingsguard was formed in the early years of Arctic and he was only a teenager from a small tribe, yet he had the talent to become strong and disciplined.
Jon stopped beside some men to watch the fight. Even Jorelle Mormont was there watching.
Watching those two men — one already well known and the other holding an extremely high position in the kingdom, famous for his achievements, though naturally overshadowed by Jon's name, since the king often threw himself into danger alone without his Kingsguard — was a spectacle. People often heard about their deeds, always acting in danger, yet triumphing.
Barristan, in that situation, was also far more powerful than before. He was beyond his prime now, thanks to all the potions.
The dance of swords quickly became intense.
"Look at her." Arya laughed, pointing at Jorelle, who was watching in shock. "The way her mouth is hanging open, even Caraxes could fit in there," she said with a proud smile.
The two fighters moved in a way she could barely follow. To her eyes, the swords were just blurs of steel clashing.
Sparks burst with every impact as the two Valyrian steel blades struck against each other, as if they could bend — or even break.
The sound of the blades was a true symphony for those watching.
Jon heard Arya mention Caraxes in surprise, and he could not help but glance at his giant eagle standing in a corner of the ship, basking in the sun. Its chicks, still small compared to their father's size, were close to it.
His eyes then returned to the fight.
Jon easily caught every movement. He could step into that battle and surpass them without much difficulty. Even so, Lancelot was also holding back.
Barristan might have been a legendary knight and had improved greatly with the potions, but the soldiers of Arctic's Kingsguard were naturally far more powerful.
The fight lasted for some time.
In the end, Barristan was exposed, with Lancelot's blade stopped a few centimeters from his neck.
"Do you yield?" Lancelot asked in a firm tone.
"Of course, commander," Barristan replied.
Soon, the men around them began to applaud.
"Your Majesty," Lancelot greeted Jon with a slight inclination of his head. Barristan immediately did the same.
"It was a splendid fight. Our other enemies in the south, besides the ironborn, will certainly know the weight that a blade, a hammer, or an axe from Arctic carries," Jon said.
"Certainly, Your Majesty! I will crush them all like they're tofu!" shouted a dwarf, laughing, as a giant passed by them pulling a heavy rope.
"Crush!" the giant repeated, still laughing, as his heavy steps crossed through the group.
Jon looked at the giant before turning his attention back to the others.
"Excellent... but perhaps someone who lived in the south can give us a better opinion," Jon said.
He turned to Jorelle. "Tell me, Lady Mormont, what do you think of our strongest warriors?" he asked, as the young woman's eyes turned to him. She had already recovered from the initial shock.
Jorelle had been training with Arya and even with some warriors of Arctic in the last few days, but she had never seen a real fight between those who stood at the peak of Arctic's skill. Arya was one of them as well, but she had not yet faced anyone who truly challenged her in front of Jorelle.
"I am speechless, Your Majesty," she said seriously.
She paused. "I have always heard of Ser Barristan as a living legend."
Her eyes returned to the old knight, who merely nodded. He was already used to looks of admiration and public comments about his deeds, reacting to them naturally.
Jorelle continued. "I just didn't expect someone to surpass my expectations like that. That was incredible. And your commander of the Kingsguard, he is the fastest blade I have ever seen in my life..."
She spoke with absolute sincerity.
"I have never seen a battle like that. I admit that anyone who were fighting against either of those two would not stand the slightest chance. But we are fortunate that those swords are turned against the ironborn. The thought of seeing them being cut down so easily pleases me."
There was enthusiasm in her voice.
"Very good!" Arya laughed, finding the speech amusing.
The men around them immediately agreed, murmuring words of approval.
"Fine words." Jon smiled slightly.
"Well, anyway, I came to stretch my bones a bit. Arya, why don't you join me for a warm-up? Lancelot, train with me afterward, but rest now. I want to fight after facing my cousin."
With those words, Jon stepped forward into the center of the open space, while Lancelot and Barristan left the area.
Arya prepared herself.
Neither of them wore Valyrian steel armor like Lancelot and Barristan.
Each of them picked up a wooden sword.
They quickly began to exchange blows.
Jon defended calmly, while Arya attacked without hesitation, delivering quick strikes that could even hurt if they landed with full force.
Jon deflected them easily, using movements he had trained since he was just a boy in Winterfell. Now, however, everything was strengthened — his speed, his strength, and his perfect control of his body.
Having suddenly trained these movements tens of thousands of times throughout the year so that they seemed as natural as moving his arm for anything else.
Arya could say the same, with the most powerful swordsmanship of Arctic, mixing the styles of many master swordsmen Jon had studied throughout history with the greensight.
Arya was not at Lancelot's level either, but she was still capable of matching the royal guards, even though she was only sixteen name days old.
The fight filled with the sound of wood striking against wood at high speed.
Arya did not expect to win.
But she wanted to surprise her cousin.
She spun and worked her feet with a mixture of firmness and delicacy, moving as if she were dancing — something that, deep down, had always been one of her greatest passions. A dance of swords had always been something less hesitant than a dance between man and woman. For Arya, that place was her true ballroom, as a royal banquet would be for Sansa, her foolish sister.
She was perfect in her movements, fast and precise. Her body was agile enough to even spin to increase the force of an attack without allowing the enemy to take advantage of the opening created by that movement.
Jon, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. He also pressured his cousin to force her to improve, even though, in reality, he had no difficulty at all defending himself against her.
What should have been a three-minute fight — but with neither of them even slightly tired from their high-speed movements — continued for much longer.
Jorelle watched in surprise. Not only because of the skill Arya showed there, but also because neither of them seemed tired.
"Hey, what do you do in Arctic?" Jorelle murmured to a dwarf beside her.
The dwarf looked at her, lifted his head, and let out a laugh.
"Well... child, you could say we gain a lot of endurance, carry weights, and train attacks and formations every day, at least the warriors of the kingdom," he replied vaguely.
Jorelle frowned slightly, thoughtful, trying to imagine what kind of training existed in that place, so mysterious.
The sound of wood continued echoing across the deck.
When they reached about five minutes of direct combat, Jon simply grabbed Arya's arm after deflecting an attack and placed the wooden sword against her neck.
"Do you yield?" he asked.
Arya smiled, not seeming frustrated. "You got me this time, Jon."
The two stepped apart.
Jon then looked at Lancelot. "Your turn."
He did not even seem tired. Arya was sweating, but Jon did not have a single drop.
After training with the old gods before ending the Night King, Jon knew his physique had improved even more. Even before that he was already considered a monster in combat — but even that had not been enough when he had to resort to potions to truly fight against the Night King, who was a superhuman monster capable of subjugating any creature in this world, until he encountered Jon.
If the fight with Arya had already been impressive, Jon's fight against Lancelot far surpassed it.
Quickly, the two advanced against each other. Their movements resembled two bulls colliding in brute force while working their footwork with perfect technique. At the same time, their arms were blurs in the air, so fast that the air itself made strange sounds every time it was cut by a movement.
Neither of them retreated.
The wooden swords began to crack under the violence of the blows.
Until, suddenly, one of them gave way — and then another.
Jon saw both wooden swords crack at the same time, splitting apart from the force of the impact. The pieces flew across the deck, nearly hitting some spectators.
Jon and Lancelot looked at each other.
It was not the first time something like that had happened.
And both of them knew very well what came next.
Even with the swords broken, they advanced again.
Now they used only the wooden stubs to continue attacking each other.
In the end, Jon and Lancelot had to stop.
Without Valyrian steel swords — and without armor like Lancelot usually wore — it would be impossible to decide a fight like that using only pieces of wood.
Even so, they had fought for more than seven minutes straight.
Jorelle clung to Jon when the fight ended.
"You were incredible!" she began to laugh, not wanting to let go of him. "You only have a few drops of sweat, while your Kingsguard is completely soaked. It's obvious you would win if the battle continued. I'm truly amazed by your ability. No wonder they call you the most dangerous blade in the world."
She said this laughing, full of admiration to the point of grabbing the king like that, which alerted the nearby Kingsguard.
Jon had to move her away carefully. She looked more like a teenager in front of an idol, but that was still inappropriate behavior.
Jon had already expected something like that and pushed her away, also ignoring the compliments from his men.
At that moment, a raven had just arrived to him.
Jon took the scroll attached to the bird and opened it to read. His men around him also watched, curious. He already had eyes in that place described in the parchment, but his scouts were using their warg abilities as long-distance scouts.
There were several ships on the coast and a camp of ironborn.
The question was simple: would they continue south ignoring that, or would they launch an attack?
For Jon, that was an opportunity.
He had already planned something similar since he had spotted them. He could stop some ships at strategic points and send enough men to launch a surprise attack.
Why not do it?
If they destroyed those ships and killed the men there, they would certainly face great difficulty returning to the Iron Islands.
Jon picked up a quill and wrote a short reply.
He ordered them to prepare the ships and send four or five vessels with enough men to catch them by surprise, massacring them all.
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