Chapter 3: Sparring
Head leaning on his propped up forearm, Robb nursed the persistent migraine that hadn't left him since Ned and Jon had left. 'Dear Gods, how can father make this look so simple.' Even with Ser Rodrick, Maester Luwin, and his mother advising him the whole task of being the interim Warden of the North in his father's stead was overwhelming at times. Catelyn had informed him that he was settling into his role, but the heir to Winterfell hoped that the grain shipment for Lord Karstark would end soon.
Just as he figured that the business of the day was concluded a servant flew into the room. "my Lord, we just received a raven from the capitol." He seemed to have run all the way from the aviary, panting hard.
"I'll take it." Grabbing the strip of paper from the servant's hand, the young Stark's eyes widened. 'I have to get this to mother.' Throwing his bearskin cloak over his shoulders, Robb whistled for Grey Wind to follow and stalked out of the receiving hall.
Catelyn was at the balcony, where he expected her to be. "Bran! I told you not to climb on the battlements!" she yelled across the ground. "Stop encouraging him, Arya."
"But he's doing so well, mother," his younger sister responded.
"You should be sewing with Sansa." The groan audible from even the balcony gave Robb a belly chuckle. The day Arya would willingly sew was the day dire wolves would take to the sky.
But the message from King's Landing wormed back to prominence again. "Mother. King Robert is coming north."
That got her attention. "What?" Robb handed her the note, causing her to scowl. "Damn you Ned." She crumpled it up. "The King is only coming because of him. This is not good news."
"We'll need to prepare the castle for his arrival, stockpile food and such for the feasts." If what his father had said about King Robert was true, then the kitchens couldn't have enough supplies stored.
"Agreed." Catelyn began to look for Maester Luwin. "And pray to all the Gods that your father comes back from Pentos soon."
Muscles straining, Jon brought the sword against the practice dummy dragged into the courtyard at Illyrio's orders. The oily merchant may have been as trustworthy as a snake to both honest Northerners in his care, but did make a legitimate effort to make them feel welcome and comfortable. Honing his fluidity and ease of swordsmanship on the thick wood, Jon knew it wasn't the same as having a sparring partner. His father was, however, overseeing a delivery of inland grain to the port so the dummy would have to do.
It had been one week since he and his father arrived - one week since the fateful feast. Since that night overlooking the Narrow Sea. Dodging an imaginary swing, Jon reflected on the time he had spent with Ned, the longest continuous length of time he had with his father in his entire life. He wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world no matter the backbreaking and stressful work at the docks managing the grain. When Ned Stark wanted something done right he did it himself, and expected Jon to join in.
Much to Jon's pleasure, he hadn't seen hide nor hare of Viserys Targaryen since that night, earning belly laughs from his fellow northerners in dubbing him "The Mad Prince." He could envision the Prince in the Mad King's shoes, burning his family alive. Jon's hacks at the dummy grew far more frenzied, anger lashing out.
"I don't think it would harm you."
Stopping mid hack, Jon drew back his sword and turned to meet the soft voice. No longer did all Targaryens elicit his loathing. Faced with the silver-waves and lovely, kind face of Daenerys Targaryen, here was one that challenged his preconceptions. "my Lady," he remarked, bowing. "I did not hear you come by."
Dany couldn't help the small upward curve of her lips. "Seems like that is a running problem with you." Ghost, waiting on the sidelines, was immediately up and at Dany's side. Double the size Jon found him, he wagged his tail in excitement. Beaming, the princess gently kneeled to pet him. The snow white direwolf rolled on his back, enjoying the attention. Jon smiled - Ghost had taken an immediate liking to Daenerys. It surprised but did not disappoint him.
Over the week since he had arrived with Lord Stark she often sought out his company, mostly during the evenings. Dany hadn't been able to get Jon Snow out of her mind following their chat by the sea, and in the stress and chaos preceding the date she would be presented to the Dothraki the distraction he gave was most welcome. "A northern warrior that can't watch his back… Not a good thing."
Nodding modestly, Jon wiped the sheen of sweat on his brow. "Perhaps it is because of your gentle feet, my Lady," he deadpanned. "Small enough to sneak up on a person."
She snorted, not helping the unregal, girlish giggle that left her lips - Viserys would not have been pleased at her behavior but in present company she didn't care. There was something about Jon Snow that disarmed her, drawing out a part of her that had been suppressed long before. 'He is a bastard, while I am my brother's valuable asset. Ones that have had their humanity marked as less than others.' The handsome northerner was largely the same as her, and Dany figured that was what drew them together. "Are you always this witty?"
The brooding look returned. "I wouldn't know." Even with Robb and Arya he rarely talked more than was needed, always mindful of Lady Stark or Ser Rodrick. Jon knew that only Ned's presence - and Arya's stubbornness - allowed him to spend time with his siblings at all. Seeing Dany's face fall at his mood, it tugged on Jon's heartstrings. Despite always being beautiful, this beautiful vixen deserved nothing but happiness. Of this he was certain. "Want to know something about my sister Arya?" he asked, trying to change the subject.
Her eyes immediately perked up, sparkling. "Yes." Jon had mentioned his siblings in passing over their past conversations, and while he loved them all it was Arya that he clearly loved the most.
"She's the wildest of all of us," he recalled fondly. "Stubborn to a fault, which my father says she gets from my Aunt Lyanna."
'The one my brother dishonored,' Dany thought. Instead of voicing it, she let him continue, loving the sound of his voice.
The day before his father informed him of their impending trip came to mind, Jon grinning. "She's a natural at archery and swordsmanship for her age, and it drives Bran up the wall. Arya likes showing off that she's better than him, and he finds it humiliating that a girl can beat him." The grin had evolved into full blown laughter at this point.
Dany loved his laugh. Coming from how dour he usually was, the carefree sound made her smile. "And your father and Lady Stark allow her to do so? Viserys wouldn't dare let me learn the combat arts."
A dark fire crossed Jon's grey eyes for a moment at the mention of the Mad Prince, but he extinguished it by focusing on Arya. "Lady Stark would rather she be a lady in training like Sansa, but they let her be most of the time. I think my father feels it's like being with his long-dead sister once again." Though his fond memories, what Daenerys said about her brother came back to mind. "I could teach you a few things."
Eyes widening, Dany wondered if she heard him correctly. "What?"
For some reason he found her confusion amusing. It was… cute. "I always encouraged Arya to learn these things. Though she could only benefit to be a bit more feminine, I was planning to make her a sword of her own when we get back to Winterfell." He placed a hand over hers. "Learning a few basic skills wouldn't hurt, especially for someone soon to join the Dothraki." From the stories he heard, their women were tough.
Mouth opening and closing several times without a sound, Dany was about to finally answer when a snide call made her heart sink.
"Sweet sister," Viserys sneered sarcastically, striding up to the both of them in full Targaryen regalla. "I thought I told you to wait for me in my rooms to discuss your future with the barbarian chief." He laughed. "Imagine, when future generations speak of my reign, they'll realize the beginning to be this. How boring, wouldn't you say." Not waiting for her to finish, his grin turned into a scowl upon seeing Jon. "What are you doing here bastard? Are you harassing my sister?"
Jon's eyes narrowed. 'It is not I that is harassing her now,' he thought, based on her demeanor. He willed himself calm, however. "Merely practicing my swordsmanship."
The statement seemed to amuse Viserys to no end. He cackled, hand on his gut. At Jon's raised eyebrow, he sneered. "Oh the northmen, the worst swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Ser Arthur Dayne would say differently," the Bastard of Winterfell deadpanned.
Viserys snorted. "Even if your father beat the Sword of the Morning, the common blood inside you beat out all of his." A gleam entered his murky violet eyes. "Tell you what, bastard. If you think you are so skilled, then fight me." He drew his own blade, the steel glinting in the sun.
Staying silent, Jon turned away. He wasn't going to take the bait.
"Viserys, please…" Dany pleaded, tugging on his shoulder, pale with fear.
The Prince's head swiveled to Dany, blazing with anger. "Hands off me, slut! Do not wake the dragon."
Both were soon preoccupied again as Jon drew his sword, leveling it at Viserys. He could take insults directed at his person, but he would be damned if Daenerys was abused on his watch. Her fear, her cowering in front of this pathetic worm ignited a fire deep inside him - one that never once bubbled to the surface in his life. "If you wish a match, then so be it."
Gleaming in a smug triumph in comparison to Dany's horror, Viserys pulled away from her and the two began circling, swords drawn and sizing each other up. "Scared, bastard?"
"No." Ignoring him, Jon spent his time shooting Daenerys a calming look, as if saying 'I'll be fine.' Her horror changed into a more concerned fear, but he was glad she was no longer about to scream or pass out. The Prince's taunting did not bother him, used to far worse from Lady Stark. "The opposite actually. I could use a sparring partner." Jon's lips curled upward in a ghost of a smirk. "Even if it is the Mad Prince."
At hearing the name Jon had coined for him, a vein throbbed on Viserys' reddening head. "You will pay for that." And with that, he lunged forward with a poor excuse for a battle cry - likely meant to be frightening but coming off as cringeworthy. Steel glinted as it moved to slice at Jon…
Only for Jon to easily sidestep it. He had expected the attack, and was ready. Gripping the hilt tightly with one hand, metal clanged as two frenzied parries were batted away with minimal effort. "Is that the best you can do, our Grace?" Jon teased, enjoying Viserys' rage. Ser Rodrick may have shared Lady Stark's opinion of him, but he was as thorough with teaching him as he did Robb - in this case the importance of psychological warfare.
As expected, it only angered the Prince even more. "Enough games!" Raising his sword high above him, the steel slightly discolored from rust - obviously he hadn't taken care of his blade as a true swordsman would - he brought it down with all his might.
Dany felt her entire body tremble. She wanted to move, to cry, to do something but her feet and legs failed her, voice barely a rasping whisper. Viserys had sparred in her presence before, usually against training servants that he always beat. The powerful downward slice made her mouth gasp in a silent scream - so worried that her northern companion was a goner - when the blades clashed once again. The vice gripping her heart eased watching Jon fluidly bat and parry her brother's attacks, his movements graceful and skilled.
Only for the suppressed scream to leap from her throat. Not catching an uneven stone paving, Jon's agile footwork to avoid stumbling cost him time to react to a slash by Viserys - the Prince's blade tasted blood, slicing through Jon's tunic and leaving a shallow gash on his side. His dark smirk of triumph contrasted with the near tears in Dany's. She couldn't stand to see him hurt. In such a small time, he had become one of the only people she could trust. Her friend. Her confidant.
"Give up, bastard?"
Blacking out the pain, Jon gripped his sword in both hands. "I could do this all day." He feinted to the right, sparing a moment's satisfaction at the Prince taking the bait. Two swipes and a lunge of his sword later, and the rusted blade clattered on the stone. A kick to the gut sent Viserys to the ground, scraping his arm and bruising his elbow.
Instinct and familiarity, much as she would have rather seen to Jon first- as Ghost did, running to his master's side - brought Dany to her brother's side. "Do you need help, brother?" she asked, grabbing his hand.
A primal screech left Viserys' throat. "Don't you touch me!" Pride taking a huge beating, the princess knew that he was using every facet of his self-control not to lash out physically at her - apparently Jon's threat of slicing off his arm had worked to an extent. He wouldn't dare attack her in the northman's presence. He stormed off towards Illyrio's house, cursing up a storm.
"Jon!" Dany raced over to him, free to now that her brother was gone. All she could see was the red mark on his chest, oozing a small trickle of blood. Her hands were on it. "Oh Gods."
Wincing from the sting, the gentle touch of the Targaryen princess ghosting on his skin nevertheless felt wonderful. A calming warmth radiated from the pale digits, soothing much of the pain. "It's fine, Dany. It's just a scratch."
Inspecting it carefully, once she was confident that it wasn't serious Daenerys' mind finally realized what he had said. "Dany?"
Jon looked away sheepishly. "Sorry. It just slipped out."
"No." She couldn't help the blush spreading on her cheeks. "It's fine. I... like it." Dany really did. The nickname felt so sweet, so right coming from him. His statement from earlier came to mind. "Perhaps I shall take you up on your earlier offer." She tugged on his arm. "Let's get you inside and get it cleaned. Are you sure you're fine?"
"Positive." Jon smiled, letting her know that it was nothing. "Robb did far worse to me during our spars, though in fairness those were fair matches. Now I know what Ser Rodrick must have felt when he was teaching us to spar."
Dany couldn't control the laugh that tumbled from her. Leave it to Jon Snow to make her laugh after such a day.
A flick of the quill pen finished off his signature, Ned Stark indenting a small dot to punctuate the message. As condensed and small as possible to fit onto the large piece of raven parchment, the Lord of Winterfell quickly read it over. There was so much to convey in so little space. But his brother needed to read it, being the only person he could completely and totally trust.
Dearest brother,
The gods have nearly created our nightmare. I am in Essos with Jon, for what is not important, but while there I have ran into the Targaryen orphans. The boy is worse than his father, while the girl…
She and Jon have grown close in our time here, and I fear the worst. I will likely return within a few weeks, and will send another raven to you when I arrive in White Harbor. Please be ready to ride to Winterfell, for we need to speak.
Ned
He was supremely confident that Benjen would come. The Lead Ranger of the Night's Watch loved Jon, probably more than anyone in the family aside from Arya - and had kept the secret for longer than even Ned. Never indecisive or lost, on this he needed his brother. There was literally no one else that he could turn to.
For the aviary where Illyrio kept his ravens - always fully stocked due to the plethora of dealings undertaken by the head of the Merchant Guild of Pentos - Ned caught the sound of merry laughter from the gardens. Resting on a stone bench underneath an acacia tree were the subjects of his dilemma, engrossed in amiable conversation. Jon's direwolf Ghost was resting in Daenerys' lap, licking her face as she laughed - it was as if all the pain and apprehension was gone from her face, leaving nothing but a radiant beauty in its wake.
And Jon… the reserved brooding present even during light moments was fully gone. His smile was completely genuine. Ned had only seen it once before, for a moment after Arya was born and Jon was able to hold her. While the smart thing would have been to keep Jon and the Dragon Princess apart, his heart warmed at seeing his son so happy and content. 'If only you were here to see this, Lyanna.' Given all that happened, remembering her was bittersweet. It was at these times that he hated both Robert and the Mad King for bringing it about.
Everything was simply so unexpected, the chances of running into the last Targaryens with Jon at his side so remote that he had never considered it possible. 'And yet you are here.' The bell could not be undone, so he would have to bear the brunt of it. Delivering the message to the raven-keeper and watching him ready the black bird, Ned formulated what he would need to do. Getting Jon out as soon as the grain was ready remained atop his list, for he couldn't let the boy grow too close to Princess Daenerys. 'You may be too late,' a voice inside his head told him, but he ignored it.
Besides him and Jon, there were only two that needed to know about this - and only one of them the whole truth. Ned could trust Benjen, while Robert had to at least be told of him running into Viserys and Daenerys. Exiting the aviary, Ned knew the King would not be happy, but it was better hearing it from him rather than one of the Lannisters. With Jon Arryn dead the allies he had at court were slim to none, and even if the whole of Westeros separated him from King's Landing he had to cover his bases.
"Excuse me, is this the home where Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are residing?"
That voice. Never in his future years would Eddard Stark ever forget that voice. One belonging to someone that brought the greatest scandal ever to befall the North after the coronation of Robert Baratheon. Turning the corner of the grounds, there he was. Older and far more weathered, be it from stress or labor, but there he was.
A man Ned had sentenced to death.
Jorah Mormont, the disgraced heir to Bear Island.
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