Chapter 13
Jon woke up in his room at Winterfell, feeling the rough tongues of Midnight and Ghost licking his face. He groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows and blinking against the early morning light streaming through the window.
"Alright, alright, I'm up," he muttered, gently pushing the animals away and sitting up fully. He scratched both of their heads affectionately, smiling at their enthusiasm.
The events of the previous night came rushing back to him—his meeting with Ned, Catelyn, and Robb, the discussions about his visions, and the plan to head to Essos. He knew there was much to be done today.
He rose from his bed, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles. He had a lot to prepare for, and he needed to make sure everything was in order before he left Winterfell.
Jon would be leaving tomorrow, but first, he had one more thing to do: find a way to spar with Ser Barristan Selmy or Ser Jaime Lannister, preferably both, to increase his progress in assimilating the Taskmaster's abilities. He knew that these legendary knights would provide him with the challenge he needed to hone his skills further.
Jon made his way through Winterfell's bustling corridors, heading towards the training yard. He hoped to find Ser Barristan or Ser Jaime there, knowing that both knights often took time to practice their swordsmanship even during travel.
As he reached the yard, he saw a group of knights gathered, training and sparring. He scanned the area and spotted Ser Barristan Selmy, the legendary knight known as Barristan the Bold, instructing a few young squires on proper sword technique. Not far from him, Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, was practicing his own drills, his movements fluid and precise.
Jon approached the weapons rack, selecting two training swords. He felt their weight, testing the balance, and then moved towards a training dummy. He began practicing dual wielding, mimicking the fluid, graceful movements he had learned from observing Ser Arthur Dayne. Each strike and parry was precise, demonstrating a level of skill that immediately caught the attention of the knights around him.
Ser Barristan paused his instruction, his eyes narrowing as he watched Jon. Ser Jaime, too, stopped mid-drill, intrigued by Jon's unusual choice of technique and the evident skill he displayed.
Jon continued his practice, feeling the eyes on him. He executed a complex series of moves, blending the speed and agility of the Taskmaster's abilities with the precision and strength of a knight. The dummy took a relentless beating, the wooden swords clacking against its surface in a rhythmic, almost mesmerizing pattern.
As Jon continued his practice, Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan exchanged curious glances. The fluidity and precision of Jon's movements struck a chord with them, stirring memories of another great knight.
Ser Barristan watched closely, his eyes narrowing with recognition. "His style... it's reminiscent of Ser Arthur Dayne," he remarked quietly.
Jaime, who had been observing just as intently, nodded in agreement. "It is," he said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That's Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard. But with those moves, it makes you wonder..."
Ser Barristan raised an eyebrow, prompting Jaime to continue. "I've heard rumors about his mother. Some say she could be Ashara Dayne, Ser Arthur's sister. If that's true, perhaps his skill with a blade is in his blood."
Barristan nodded thoughtfully. "It's possible. Ned Stark has always been tight-lipped about the boys mother. If she were Ashara, it would explain a great deal about the boy's talent."
Their conversation was interrupted as Jon completed his practice routine and turned to face them, still holding the training swords. He approached with a respectful nod, unaware of the speculations being made about his parentage.
"Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime," Jon greeted them. "I was hoping to spar with one or both of you. I leave tomorrow for Essos and could use the challenge to refine my skills further."
Ser Barristan smiled, the admiration clear in his eyes. "You have quite the skill, Jon Snow. It would be an honor to spar with you."
Jaime smirked, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "I agree. Let's see what you've got, Snow."
Jon felt a surge of anticipation as the three of them prepared to spar. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, to test his abilities against two of the finest knights in the realm. He readied himself, knowing that every strike and parry would bring him closer to mastering the skills he sought.
Jon took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the training swords in his hands. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime squared off against him, each assuming a ready stance. Around them, the training yard grew silent as knights, squires, and onlookers halted their activities to watch.
Jon initiated the spar, launching himself at Ser Jaime with a flurry of strikes. His movements were swift and precise, reflecting the style he had inherited from Ser Arthur Dayne. Jaime parried and counterattacked, his skill evident in every motion. Jon felt the clash of steel resonate through his arms, each impact a test of his growing abilities.
Ser Barristan joined the fray, his strikes calculated and powerful. Jon adapted quickly, switching his focus between the two legendary knights. The crowd around them grew, whispers of admiration and awe spreading among the onlookers.
The Stark children—Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon—pushed to the front of the gathering crowd, their eyes wide with excitement. Jon's siblings watched with a mixture of pride and amazement, cheering him on quietly.
Ned and Catelyn Stark arrived, drawn by the commotion. They exchanged curious glances, intrigued by the sight of their son dueling with two of the most renowned knights in the realm. Ned's eyes narrowed, studying Jon's technique with a critical but proud gaze. Catelyn watched with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, her hands clasped tightly.
The royal family soon joined the spectators, intrigued by the rumors of an extraordinary three-way sparring match. King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister stood at the edge of the yard, observing the spectacle with keen interest. Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen watched with fascination, their young minds absorbing the display of martial prowess.
Jon moved with a fluid grace, his dual-wielding technique confounding his opponents and impressing the audience. He combined the speed and agility of the Taskmaster's abilities with the strength and precision he had honed through relentless practice. Each clash of swords resonated through the air, punctuating the intense focus and determination of the combatants.
As the spar continued, Jon found himself in a rhythm, seamlessly alternating between offense and defense. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, filled with admiration and wonder at the young man's exceptional skill.
After a particularly intense exchange, the three men paused, catching their breath. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime exchanged impressed glances, recognizing the talent before them.
"You fight well, Jon Snow," Ser Barristan said, his voice filled with respect. "Your technique is exceptional, reminiscent of Ser Arthur Dayne himself."
Jaime nodded, a rare smile crossing his face. "Indeed. You've earned our respect, Jon. This was a spar to remember."
Jon nodded in gratitude, feeling a surge of pride and accomplishment. The crowd erupted in applause, the sound echoing through the training yard. Jon's eyes met those of his family, seeing their pride and love mirrored back at him. This was just the beginning of his journey, and he knew that with every challenge, he grew stronger and more prepared for the trials ahead.
King Robert Baratheon stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. His booming voice filled the training yard, cutting through the applause and murmurs.
"Gods be good!" Robert bellowed, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Jon Snow, you've got the makings of a true warrior! I've not seen such skill and bravery in one so young in a long time."
Jon bowed respectfully, masking his true feelings. "Thank you, Your Grace," he replied, his voice steady. "It is an honor to receive such words from you."
Robert chuckled, clapping Jon on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "You've earned them, lad. Keep training, and who knows? You might just surpass your uncle one day," he said, referencing Ned. "And if you keep this up, there might be a place for you in the Kingsguard when you're older."
From the sidelines, Joffrey's face twisted in a scowl of envy. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched his father praise Jon, a bastard. The sight of the crowd cheering for Jon only fueled his resentment further.
As the applause died down, Robert turned to the gathered knights and onlookers. "Let this be a lesson to you all," he declared. "Skill and courage can come from anywhere, even from the Bastard of Winterfell. Let no man forget that."
Joffrey could barely contain his irritation. He stepped forward, trying to draw his father's attention away from Jon. "Father, if I had known there was to be a match, I would have prepared to show my own skills," he said, his tone edged with bitterness.
Robert barely glanced at Joffrey, his focus still on Jon. "Another time, Joffrey. Today is Jon's moment." The king gave Jon one last approving nod before turning back to join his family.
Jon maintained his respectful facade, but inside, he felt a complex mix of emotions. He had to feign respect for the man who had killed his biological father, Rhaegar Targaryen, in battle. As Robert moved away, Jon caught the envious glare from Joffrey, and he knew that this was just the beginning of the challenges he would face.
The crowd's cheers still echoed in his ears, a reminder of the expectations placed upon him. Jon took a deep breath, steeling himself for the path ahead, knowing he had to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics and personal vendettas to achieve his true goal: uniting the realm against the coming darkness.
—-
Arya and Bran bounded over to Jon, their faces alive with excitement. Behind them, Robb followed at a more measured pace, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watched his younger siblings.
"Jon, that was amazing!" Arya exclaimed, her eyes shining with admiration. "I've never seen anyone fight like that before."
Bran nodded enthusiastically, his expression mirroring Arya's enthusiasm. "You were like Ser Arthur Dayne himself," he chimed in, his voice filled with awe.
Jon grinned at his siblings, their praise warming his heart. "Thank you, Arya, Bran," he said warmly, tousling Bran's hair affectionately. "I'm glad you enjoyed the spar."
Robb reached them then, clapping Jon on the back with a proud grin. "You did us proud, Jon," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Father would have been impressed."
Jon's smile faltered for a moment at the mention of Ned, but he quickly regained his composure. "Thank you, Robb," he replied, his voice steady. "I hope to continue training and improving."
Arya nudged Jon playfully. "Can you teach me some of those moves?" she asked eagerly.
Bran chimed in, his curiosity piqued. "And me too!"
"I'm sorry, but I can't teach you both," Jon replied, his tone regretful. He reached out to ruffle Arya's hair affectionately, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'll be traveling to Essos tomorrow, and I'll be gone for a while."
Arya's expression fell momentarily, disappointment flickering in her eyes. Bran's curiosity turned to concern as he glanced up at Jon.
"But don't worry," Jon continued, his voice gentle yet reassuring. "When I return, I promise I'll teach you everything I've learned. We'll spar together, just like we used to."
Arya's disappointment faded, replaced by a determined glint in her eyes. "Okay, Jon," she said, her voice resolute. "We'll hold you to that."
Bran nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "We'll be waiting for you to come back," he said softly.
Jon's heart swelled with gratitude for his siblings' understanding and support. As Jon was talking with Arya and Bran, Ghost and Midnight bounded over to him, their playful energy infectious. With gleeful barks and purrs, the two companions tackled Jon to the ground, their tails wagging excitedly.
Arya and Bran watched the scene unfold, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion. While they were familiar with Ghost, having grown up alongside the direwolf, Midnight was a new and unfamiliar sight to them.
"What's that?" Arya asked, her brow furrowing as she watched the shadowcat playfully pawing at Jon.
Bran's eyes widened with curiosity as he observed Midnight's sleek black fur and piercing green eyes. "I've never seen an animal like that before," he remarked, his voice tinged with wonder.
Jon laughed as he gently pushed Ghost and Midnight off him, sitting up to face Arya and Bran. "This is Midnight," he explained, patting the shadowcat's head affectionately. "He's a friend, just like Ghost."
Arya and Bran exchanged curious glances, their interest piqued by the sight of the mysterious creature. As Midnight nuzzled against Jon, Arya reached out tentatively to pet him, her fingers brushing against his soft fur.
"He's beautiful," Arya said softly, a hint of awe in her voice.
Bran nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, he is," he agreed, his eyes shining with curiosity.
As Jon observed Midnight and Ghost playing with Arya and Bran, he couldn't help but marvel at the differences between the two creatures. Despite being younger than the direwolves, Midnight was roughly the same size as the other direwolves, while Ghost, born the same day as Arya and Bran's direwolves, was twice their size.
In his mind, Jon pondered the significance of these differences. Perhaps it was Midnight's lineage as a shadowcat, a creature native to the wilds beyond the Wall, that accounted for his impressive size. And Ghost's exceptional growth could be attributed to his unique bond with Jon, forged from the moment they first met.
As Jon pondered the differences in size between Midnight and Ghost, he mentally reached out to Hestia, the enigmatic presence within the gacha system that governed his powers and abilities.
"Hestia," Jon began, his thoughts directed inward, "can you explain why Midnight and Ghost have such different sizes, despite being born around the same time?"
There was a moment of silence before Hestia's voice echoed in Jon's mind, its tone as mysterious as ever.
"Creatures that form Warg Bonds with you at an infant stage experience accelerated growth," she explained. "This phenomenon is a result of the deep connection forged between you and your companions, catalyzing their physical development and enhancing their abilities. Ghost's bond with you from birth has triggered this process, leading to his impressive size and strength."
Jon nodded in understanding, grateful for Hestia's insight. The revelation deepened his appreciation for the bond he shared with Ghost and reaffirmed his commitment to protect and nurture his companions as they faced the challenges ahead.
—
In the privacy of the queen's chambers, Joffrey's voice echoed with frustration and anger as he threw a tantrum, his words a torrent of discontent and resentment. Queen Cersei listened with a mix of concern and exasperation, her features carefully composed as she navigated her son's outburst.
"I can't believe this is happening," Joffrey exclaimed, his voice tinged with frustration and anger. "Why does everything have to go wrong for me?"
Cersei regarded her son with a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Joffrey, calm yourself," she urged, her tone gentle yet firm. "We will find a solution to this, but you must learn to control your temper."
"But it's not fair!" Joffrey protested, his voice rising in pitch. "Why does everyone else get what they want, and I'm left with nothing?"
Cersei sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Life isn't fair, Joffrey," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "But that doesn't mean we give up. We find a way to overcome our obstacles, no matter how daunting they may seem."
Joffrey slumped in his chair, his anger dissipating into sullen silence. Cersei watched him carefully, her heart heavy with worry for her troubled son.
"Calm yourself, Joffrey," Cersei said soothingly, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "I've heard that the bastard boy, Jon, is leaving for Essos tomorrow. He's probably off to join some sellsword company or wander aimlessly like the lost pup he is. Soon enough, he'll be nothing but a distant memory, forgotten by all."
Joffrey's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope at his mother's words. "You really think so, Mother?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Cersei nodded firmly, her expression resolute. "Of course, my dear," she replied, her voice filled with conviction. "You are the future of this kingdom, and nothing and no one will stand in your way. Now, wipe away those tears and hold your head high. A lion does not care for the opinions of sheep."
—
Jaime walked over to Tyrion, who sat slouched at the great hall, nursing a hangover.
"Ah, Tyrion, I see the wine had the better of you again," Jaime quipped, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Tyrion chuckled wryly, rubbing his temples. "Ah, Jaime, some days it's the only thing that keeps me from going mad in this wretched place."
"Jaime, I heard a fascinating rumor," Tyrion began, his tone laced with curiosity. "Word has it that you and Ser Barristan sparred with a sixteen nameday old boy who's being hailed as the second coming of Ser Arthur Dayne. Is there any truth to it?"
"Tyrion, I'm surprised you've heard about that," Jaime replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Yes, Ser Barristan and I did spar with him. He's certainly skilled, but I wouldn't go so far as to call him the second coming of Ser Arthur Dayne."
"He's got potential, though," Jaime continued, casting a thoughtful glance around the hall. "There's something about him, a fire in his eyes. Reminded me a bit of... well, never mind."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Jaime's cryptic comment. "Oh, come now, brother," he prodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You can't leave me hanging like that. What's the story?"
Jaime hesitated for a moment, his gaze distant as if lost in memories. Then, with a wry smile, he relented.
"It's nothing, really," he said, his tone casual. "Just reminded me of someone I once knew, someone who had that same look of determination in his eyes. But that's all in the past now."
Tyrion arched an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "Someone from your Kingsguard days, perhaps?" he ventured, his curiosity piqued.
Jaime's smile faltered slightly at the mention of his Kingsguard days, a hint of melancholy shadowing his features. "Aye, someone from those days," he confirmed, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "But that's a chapter of my life that's closed now. It's best not to dwell on it."
Tyrion nodded understandingly, sensing Jaime's reluctance to delve further into the past. "Fair enough," he conceded, changing the subject. "So, any plans for today, dear brother?"
Jaime chuckled lightly, deflecting Tyrion's question with practised ease.
"Oh, you know me, brother," he replied casually, "Just the usual knightly duties and perhaps a bit of training in the yard. Nothing too exciting."
—
Jon spent the entire day with Arya and Bran, determined to keep them safe and away from any potential danger. They explored the woods around Winterfell, played games, and shared stories, enjoying each other's company.
As the day wore on, Jon couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of his mind. He knew the events that were supposed to unfold today, the 'tragic accident' that would change everything. But he was determined to prevent it, to protect his family at all costs.
As the sun began to set, Jon ushered Arya and Bran back towards Winterfell, his senses on high alert for any signs of danger. He kept a watchful eye on the horizon, ready to act at the first sign of trouble.
But as they approached the castle gates, Jon breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it back safely, their day of adventure coming to an end without incident. And though the threat still loomed, Jon felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that, for now at least, his family was safe.
—
Jon entered Robb's room, finding his brother seated at his desk, poring over a map of the North.
"Hey, Robb," Jon greeted, stepping inside. "Mind if I join you?"
Robb looked up, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of his brother. "Of course, Jon," he replied warmly, gesturing for Jon to take a seat opposite him. "What brings you here?"
Jon settled into the chair, leaning forward slightly. "I wanted to talk to you about something important," he began, his tone serious. "I've been thinking about our future, about what comes next for us."
Robb nodded, his expression attentive. "I've been thinking about that too," he admitted. "With Father heading south as the King's Hand, and you off to Essos... things are going to be different around here."
Jon nodded in agreement. "Exactly," he said. "And that's why I think it's important for us to be prepared, to take on whatever challenges come our way."
Robb's brow furrowed slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "I couldn't agree more," he said slowly. "But what do you propose we do?"
Jon leaned back in his chair, considering Robb's question carefully. "I think we need to focus on strengthening our alliances, on solidifying our position here in the North," he said. "And we need to be ready to defend our home, no matter what threats may arise."
Robb nodded thoughtfully, tapping his finger on the map. "Agreed," he said. "But alliances aren't built overnight. We'll need to start reaching out to the other Northern houses, rallying their support."
Jon nodded in agreement. "And while you're doing that, I'll do what I need to do in Essos," he added. "But there's something else we should consider..."
Robb raised an eyebrow, curious. "What is it?"
Jon hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I think you should consider a betrothal for yourself," he said carefully. "Perhaps with someone from the Reach, like Margaery Tyrell, or from Dorne, like Arianne Martell. Bringing either the Reach or Dorne into the mix could strengthen our position even further."
Robb's expression softened at Jon's words. "You're right," he admitted. "A strategic marriage could certainly help solidify our alliances. I'll need to give it some serious thought."
Jon nodded, a sense of determination settling over him. "We'll do whatever it takes to protect our family and our home," he said firmly.
Robb smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Together," he agreed. "Always."
—
Alone in his room, Jon's heart pounding with anticipation. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do, then closed his eyes and focused his thoughts.
"Hestia," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Summon the Character Card of Selina Kyle."
A soft glow emanated in front of him, and Jon felt a surge of energy pulse through the room. When he opened his eyes, Selina Kyle, also known as Catwoman, stood before him.
As the soft glow faded, Jon's eyes widened in astonishment as Selina Kyle materialized before him. She stood with an air of confidence, her piercing green eyes meeting his with a mixture of curiosity and determination.
Jon couldn't help but admire her appearance—she was stunning, with features reminiscent of a young Ana de Armas. Her black padded leather riding gear accentuated her lithe figure, and the whip coiled around her waist added to her mysterious allure.
"Selina Kyle," Jon greeted, his voice tinged with awe. "It's an honor to meet you."
"Jon," Selina responded, her voice smooth and confident. "I am at your service. Whatever you require of me, I will do my utmost to fulfill. Just say the word, and I will act accordingly."
"Hestia, why is Selina being so submissive and obedient?" Jon asked internally, his curiosity piqued by her uncharacteristic behavior.
"Selina's obedience and submission stem from the nature of her summoning," Hestia explained. "As a character summoned by you, she is bound to your will and commands."
Jon nods to himself as he processes this information.
"Selina," Jon instructed, "I need you to meet with Ser Arthur Dayne at his campsite. Introduce yourself as my childhood friend Selena Snow. Tell him that you'll be joining us on our journey to Essos. He'll fill you in on the details. Can I count on you to do this?"
"Of course, Jon," Selina replied with a nod. "I'll go and find Ser Arthur right away."
As Selena slips out of his cabin, using her skills as a Cat-burglar to avoid being seen by anyone, Jon retires for the night.
With thoughts of the impending Gacha roll swirling in his mind, Jon drifted off to sleep, the anticipation of what the system might grant him filling his dreams with possibilities.
---
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