Chapter 7: Chapter 6
Jon paced his room, the storm outside echoing the chaotic swirl of his thoughts. As Ser Arthur busied himself with preparations for their trip to Castle Black, Jon was left alone with a mind buzzing from the day's whirlwind.
He mentally sorted through his many thoughts, feeling like a chess player contemplating a dozen possible moves. Meeting Lord Howland Reed and Ser Arthur Dayne had not only sharpened his skills but also earned him some impressive rewards. That's right—10 Gacha Points from each of them. A decent haul for a day's work, if Jon was allowed to brag a bit.
But the real win was securing Ser Arthur's loyalty. That achievement had landed Jon an extra 100 Gacha Points, bringing his total to 450. Not too shabby for a few days in this medieval drama.
Jon's gaze wandered to the window, where the sprawling grounds of Winterfell stretched out below. For a moment, it was like a comforting friend, grounding him in the midst of his whirlwind thoughts.
But, as usual, relaxation was not on the agenda. With Ser Arthur occupied, Jon saw this as the perfect opportunity to strategize his next moves. After all, he didn't want to be caught off guard by any more plot twists.
He reached into his List of Unused Cards and pulled out the Kaer Morhen Armor from The Witcher 3. Slipping into the armor, Jon felt a rush of confidence. It wasn't just armor; it felt like donning a suit of mental fortitude. Each strap and buckle made him feel invincible, like he was ready to face anything—dragons, White Walkers, or perhaps even a surprise pop quiz.
Standing in front of the mirror, Jon admired the armor's sleek design. The Kaer Morhen Armor wasn't just about looking cool—it was a symbol of his determination and readiness. With his Castle-Forged Sword strapped at his side and his cloak trailing dramatically behind him, he felt ready for whatever came next.
He strode purposefully towards the stables, the quiet corridors of Winterfell echoing his steps. Each sound seemed to amplify his resolve, a prelude to the adventures awaiting beyond the castle walls. After all, what's an epic journey without a little drama and a dash of heroism?
—
Jon walked into the stables, a wave of familiar scents and sounds washing over him. The soft nickers of horses and the clatter of hooves were almost comforting—except, of course, for the fact that he was about to embark on a journey that could end in a nightmarish pile of snow and danger.
His eyes fell on Ser Arthur, now sporting the new identity of Ser Donnel. This was a turn he hadn't seen coming. "Ser Donnel?" Jon's eyebrows shot up. This was like finding out his favorite superhero had a secret alter ego.
Ser Arthur—who now apparently went by Ser Donnel—gave Jon a nod and a small, knowing smile. "Aye, lad," he said, with a voice that was every bit as gruff as it was friendly. "Your family came to see you off."
Jon and Ned exchanged glances that practically screamed "well, that's a plot twist." Ser Arthur's disguise was so seamless it had them both second-guessing if they were in some sort of medieval cosplay convention.
"Ser Donnel, it's great to have you with us," Ned said, patting the disguised knight's back as if he were auditioning for a role in a buddy cop movie. "Your skills will be crucial for Jon's journey to Castle Black."
Jon couldn't help but marvel at the disguise. If only the rest of his problems could be resolved with a bit of clever costuming.
As he said his goodbyes, Jon was hit with a mix of emotions. Sansa's distant demeanor was like a cold wind, reminding him of his place. He was still a Stark, but the edges were rough.
"Nice armor, Jon!" Robb's voice cut through his thoughts, tinged with genuine admiration.
"Thanks, Robb!" Jon grinned, feeling like he'd just won a fashion show. "It's a bit of a splurge, but I figured it was time to treat myself. Been saving up for ages."
Robb's eyes widened as he took in the Kaer Morhen Armor, like he'd just seen a Transformer. "It's impressive. You'll definitely stand out at Castle Black."
Jon puffed out his chest, savoring the compliment. "Yeah, guess I won't be blending in with the crowd."
Saying goodbye to Arya and Bran was the hardest part. Their faces were a blend of sadness and hope, which was enough to make Jon's heart feel like it was being squeezed.
"I wish I could take you both with me," Jon murmured, hugging them tightly. "But I have to go. I promise I'll finish my task quickly and come back."
Bran's small hands gripped him, his worry evident. "What if something happens to you?" he asked, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.
Jon gently brushed a strand of hair from Bran's forehead. "I'll be careful, Bran. I promise I'll come back as soon as I can. You have my word."
Arya, always ready for a challenge, chimed in, "Can't I come with you, Jon? I'm not scared of what's beyond the Wall. I can fight just as well as any man!"
Jon felt a surge of pride at Arya's bravery but knew it wasn't feasible. "I know you're brave, Arya," he said softly but firmly. "But this journey is too dangerous for you. You need to stay here where it's safe."
Disappointment flickered across Arya's face, but she understood.
Jon hugged Arya and Bran one last time, feeling a lump in his throat as he pulled away. "I'll miss you both," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'll be back before you know it. Until then, take care of each other. I'll be thinking of you."
As Jon turned to leave, he felt a tear sting his eye. Goodbye was always a tough scene to play, but he knew their bond was strong enough to withstand any distance. With their love and support in his heart, Jon was ready for whatever the Wall had in store.
—
As they trotted along the winding road, Jon felt the steady rhythm of the horse beneath him—a soothing counterpoint to the storm of thoughts swirling in his head. The rhythmic clopping of hooves was oddly comforting, like a beat in a soundtrack for his very own epic quest.
Turning to Ser Arthur, now donned in his 'disguise' as Ser Donnel, Jon couldn't keep his curiosity at bay. "So, Ser Arthur," he began, attempting to sound casual but failing miserably, "I've always wanted to know more about my father, Rhaegar Targaryen. What was he really like?"
Ser Arthur's expression turned serious, a shadow of sadness flickering in his eyes. "Rhaegar was extraordinary," he said, his voice carrying the weight of personal memory. "He was wise, brave—one of the few men who could command both fear and admiration. He dreamed of a better world, a vision he worked tirelessly to achieve."
Jon's eyes widened. This was like hearing behind-the-scenes gossip about a rockstar he'd only seen in movies. "Can we skip the formalities and just call me Jon? We're on this road trip together, after all."
Ser Arthur's face softened into a knowing smile. "Very well, Jon," he said warmly. "Your father was an excellent fighter, a brilliant strategist, and devoted to his family. He was dedicated to creating a world where peace and prosperity could flourish."
Jon was hanging on every word, like a fan at a meet-and-greet with their favorite celebrity. Hearing about Rhaegar from someone who had actually known him was like getting exclusive backstage access to a legend. It was a whole new level of realness.
As they continued down the twisting road, Jon felt oddly comforted by Ser Arthur's stories. Each tale added depth to the figure he'd only known through distant myths and legends. The journey ahead felt less like an epic saga and more like a personal quest, thanks to the new perspective.
—
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the landscape, Jon and Ser Arthur set up camp for the night. The crackling fire flickered in the cool evening air, but Jon's mind was far from the peaceful scene. Instead, he was buzzing with excitement, a mischievous glint in his eye as he turned to his legendary companion.
"Ser Arthur," Jon began, trying to keep his voice steady and casual—because nothing says 'cool' like trying too hard to sound nonchalant—"how about a sparring match? I could use some practice, and who better to sharpen my skills with than the Sword of the Morning?"
Okay, so maybe Jon was geeking out a little. He was about to duel with a guy who, in any other universe, would be the star of his own Netflix series. But hey, who could blame him? Not every day you get to go toe-to-toe with a guy who once wielded a sword that literally shines in the dark.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, his face doing that classic wise mentor thing—serious, but with a glimmer of something like approval. "Certainly, Jon," he replied, sounding every bit the noble knight, "but remember, our journey to Castle Black is fraught with danger. We must remain vigilant."
Right. Vigilant. Jon tried to keep a straight face. "Of course, Ser Arthur. Safety first." Because nothing says 'safe' like challenging one of Westeros's greatest swordsmen to a friendly duel in the middle of nowhere.
Jon grinned, unable to contain his excitement. "But sparring with you is just the kind of practice I need."
As they squared off, Jon focused, accessing his Taskmaster skills. He started small, tapping into just 11% of that sweet, sweet ability to mimic any fighting style. His movements were a mix of clumsy enthusiasm and flashes of something resembling competence.
And then, the clash of swords. Jon quickly realized that sparring with Arthur was like trying to out-dance Fred Astaire—impossible, but damn, was it fun. Each strike and parry sent adrenaline coursing through his veins, his brain going into overdrive as he tried to anticipate Arthur's moves.
The knight watched him with growing intrigue, clearly noticing Jon's rapidly improving technique. At first, Jon was all elbows and enthusiasm, but soon, his movements became more fluid, more precise. It was like his muscle memory was downloading a new update mid-fight.
Arthur's expression shifted from mild curiosity to genuine interest as Jon's skill level seemed to leap forward. If this were a video game, Jon was pretty sure he'd just leveled up—twice.
By the end of the session, Jon had managed to push his Taskmaster ability from 11% to a solid 18%, his strikes more calculated, his defenses more impenetrable. Arthur, though still clearly the victor, seemed pleasantly surprised—possibly even a little impressed. Jon wasn't just surviving the spar; he was thriving in it.
Breathless, Arthur sheathed his sword, his exhaustion evident. "You're improving quickly, Jon," he said, a tired but genuine smile on his face. "You've got a real talent for combat. It'll serve you well on the road ahead."
Jon grinned, panting and sweaty but feeling like he'd just won the lottery. "Thanks, Ser Arthur. You're a fantastic teacher. I'm lucky to have you with me."
As they sat down by the fire, Jon couldn't help but mentally tally his progress. His Taskmaster skills had jumped to 18%, and he'd earned another 50 points from the sparring session, bringing his total to 500. Not a bad day's work for a guy who, just a little while ago, was binge-watching this whole story play out on HBO.
Exhausted but buzzing with the thrill of his progress, Jon settled in for the night, knowing tomorrow would bring new challenges—and probably some more epic duels. But for now, sleep came easy, with the comforting thought that he was becoming the hero of his own story. And maybe, just maybe, he was getting a little closer to figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do in this world.
---
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