[Chapter Size: 3100 Words.]

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Pessoa Thrid POV

Westeros, 295 AC.

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“How do I look?” Seryna approached wearing an Artican dress in the darkest color the kingdom’s tailors could produce.

“Beautiful as always,” Jon said while putting on his tuxedo.

“You made your ministers wear this same type of clothing…” she said.

“Of course, I prefer this fashion over the traditional noble attire of this kingdom. It gives us personality,” Jon spoke with a smile.

“It is indeed striking, but anyway… Arya is waiting for us outside, shall we?” Seryna said, and Jon nodded.

He raised his arm while she intertwined hers with his like a couple and they walked outside.

“You finally arrived!” Arya commented while waiting in her favorite dress, colored in shades of gray.

Not only Arya was there, but also their ministers and royal guards wearing more festive clothes than their Eldenmetal armor.

“Let’s go then,” Jon said, ignoring his sister’s complaint as there were some carriages for them, which took them to the castle.

The party had already started when they arrived a few hours later, so there was not much flow of other nobles with almost everyone inside the Tyrells’ hall.

Willas, as soon as he heard of the arrival of the Artican group, left the party at his grandmother’s command to receive his guests while approaching the courtyard as the carriages arrived.

Servants brought a tray and placed it beside Willas. The carriages stopped in front of them and began to open the doors, with Jon emerging with his family, while the ministers and guards disembarked from the carriage behind.

Jon approached with Seryna by his side. “Good evening, Lord Tyrell,” Jon greeted him.

“Good evening, King of Artica… I hope you are having a pleasant evening,” he greeted back.

“I hope so,” Jon replied.

“Anyway, welcome to our banquet. I am sure it will be enjoyable, and we have bread and salt as a commitment to uphold all guest laws,” he said, while Jon took from the tray as a tradition of Westeros.

He took a bite, and Willas continued his escort as they began to head to the castle. “Please, follow me,” he started to guide them inside while the Artican carriages parked beside the others in the courtyard with some guards protecting them.

Jon’s camp continued with their usual festivities, lighting a huge fig tree while dwarves, giants, and men celebrated among themselves. The fire was so large that Jon could see it from there, standing out among the other nobles’ tents over the castle wall before Jon followed Willas inside. He would be there as usual, but today was different.

He followed Willas inside the castle until they reached the grand hall closed with many guards at the door and a herald waiting for them.

“Lord Willas, should I announce them?” the herald asked respectfully to Willas, who nodded. The man began to enter the door with a small opening and closed it.

“We will be called in soon,” Willas said, while Jon took his sister’s arm on his free side and stood behind Willas as the door began to open at that moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome the group coming directly from Artica as special guests of Prince Renly Baratheon and the Tyrell family. The Reach is honored to receive the Artican Delegation,” he announced as the door fully opened, revealing the grand hall to them. The place was immense, with tables spread out everywhere, where all the houses were seated, with the smallest nobles near that door and the most inside the place near the main table, being the most important houses of the Reach with the main table itself being the most significant.

The main table faced the entire hall, filled with the Tyrells, with Prince Renly beside Loras and Mace Tyrell representing their status.

The hall paused at that moment, even the group of bards playing the hall’s music stopped as the group approached and entered the hall after the herald’s announcement.

Jon saw at least 70 to 100 people looking at him at that moment, as they walked through the central area of the hall while Willas continued leading them to the main table. The nobles continued to gossip among themselves as the group passed, with some comments in a surprised tone, others seeming to have admiration and jealousy, while some had disdain and envy, something common but kept among themselves.

“My guests! It is great to see you.” Renly Baratheon stood up, surprising many with the prince himself being there to greet them.

“Prince Renly,” Jon greeted him with a small nod as he reached the front of the table, guided by Willas, who walked with his cane.

Loras stood beside Renly as the prince’s personal knight, while Mace, the lord of Highgarden, had a somewhat complicated expression. After all, he was not as favorable to the King of Artica as the rest of his family, sharing the opinion of many present nobles that they were northern savages who should not be there, given their belief in other gods, not the Seven.

But even Mace couldn’t deny how elegant they were. The ladies in the hall, whether those Seryna and Arya had shared many moments with in recent days or the women married to noble heads of their houses and other young noblewomen, all looked at the Artican dresses with a certain sparkle in their eyes. Meanwhile, the men tried to understand what kind of clothing Jon wore, the same he had arrived in Highgarden with, not quite grasping the style but recognizing its elegance and power.

At the main table, Mace’s wife sat beside him, Olenna Tyrell, followed by an empty chair belonging to Willas. Margaery came next with Garlan, and at the head of the table was Loras. Beside Loras, there were many empty chairs, which Jon imagined were placed especially for them and not for the principal nobles, as both Lord Hightower and Lord Redwyne were at the two tables closest to the main table, with a third table holding the secondary part of the Tyrell family, such as Margaery’s cousin and her parents.

‘I did not expect him to place us at the main table…’ Jon was a little surprised at the effort the prince was making, as even Olenna would not do such a thing. This could be an offense to all their vassals, whether Jon was a king or not. But that couldn’t be said of Prince Renly, who classified them as special guests.

“Please, King of Artica, join us at the table. I am sure we will have much to discuss and continue the conversation we had this afternoon. I am sure it will be very pleasant,” he announced in a tone loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear. Jon nodded. While leading his wife and Arya to the table, his guards stood while his ministers also shared the table.

“It is very good to see you. What kind of clothing is this? I have never seen anything like it,” Renly commented as Loras stood up to make room for Jon, since Ser Boros was still being treated in the maester’s ward.

“Thank you, Prince Renly. This is an Artican fashion. I named it a tuxedo after learning from some peoples of the world. I developed this style,” Jon said, as he had seen many fashions with Brynden to arrive at this style.

“It is truly very good. May I dare to ask if you could create one for me?” he said with some hope.

“I have an Artican tailor with me. I can ask him to make a copy, but he needs to take your measurements,” Jon replied.

“Perfect, if you are willing to give me the honor of visiting your camp, I will be very grateful,” he said, maintaining a diplomatic smile.

Dozens of minutes began to pass as they continued talking calmly among themselves. Arya noticed how the prince of Westeros was quite strange with almost all his words, forcing grandeur and being strangely friendly.

“He speaks so exaggeratedly…” Arya complained to Seryna while whispering to the queen.

“It’s like Jon said, this man wants to seem excessively friendly, but at least he is not like Jon said most nobles of King’s Landing would be,” Seryna said.

“I understand… another thing… That girl is looking at Jon much more than normal,” Arya warned.

“Margaery is not a danger…” Seryna responded with a shrug. The girl saw Jon as a model of a future husband, but that was the limit, as her ambitions and her family’s were in Westeros, not in Artica. “And it’s not just her; it’s the other noblewomen I have to be careful of,” Seryna continued, noting that many single ladies were looking at Jon. Some nobles might try something with their daughters to tie Jon to them because of his wealth and power, even if they considered him of low birth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone get close to him,” Arya said as if she were some kind of protector of Jon, and Seryna smiled at that.

“I can take care of my husband. You should take care of yourself,” Seryna said, knowing that Arya Stark’s name was being mentioned in noble circles.

“I won’t have any fiancé from here!” Arya murmured. After all, she had been courted many times in this castle, but being with other noblewomen and Seryna allowed her to escape the advances of the noble sons.

“I know, but that won’t stop them from trying to pull you to dance or their parents sending letters to Winterfell asking for your hand in marriage with your father…” Seryna said.

“Ugh.” Arya made a face but sighed, knowing how things really worked here.

Meanwhile, the music started playing again. Nobles resumed their conversations, occasionally glancing at the main table where Jon was talking with Prince Renly.

“Ice… do you know how happy my brother will be with this…?” Renly said, shaking his glass after the servants put ice cubes in it while he drank Dornish wine, which he personally preferred over the Artican drinks.

“I hope so. Once we settle things, we will negotiate with King’s Landing,” Jon said calmly. He had no intention of stepping foot in that city for business, but he would send a merchant once he returned to Artica.

“That’s good. I am counting on you coming to the capital as soon as you return to the north,” Renly said.

“I could see that, but personally, I believe it will be very difficult due to dealing with my pregnant wives. I will be present at the birth of my first children, and nothing will stop me from that,” Jon said sincerely.

Mace beside him just listened to the conversation but didn’t know how to interact. He thought it absurd for Jon to refuse a king’s order.

“I understand… even so, I would like you to still think about it. You know the friendship my brother has with your father,” Renly commented.

“Yes, my father always told us in Winterfell when I was just a child that the King of Westeros and he were raised under Jon Arryn’s tutelage in the Vale. My name is even in his honor,” Jon commented.

“Yes, my brother fought many wars with your father. There is no man alive he considers better to be by his side,” Renly said with a smile. It was no surprise that Robert considered Ned as his brother, even more than those who shared his own blood.

“Yes, I’ve heard many stories about the wars, both the Greyjoy Rebellion and the rebellion against the Targaryens,” Jon said and looked at Mace. “I heard that you were enemies, Lord Tyrell, that you laid siege to Storm’s End at that time and blocked all the exits of the castle.” Jon said with a smile to provoke the man who seethed as they conversed.

“Th-that…” Renly looked at him while Mace seemed to stammer. After all, he had memories of standing in front of Storm’s End, letting the people inside starve. It was thanks to Davos Seaworth, known today as the Onion Knight, who sent supplies through a secret entrance beneath the cliff in the sea, replenishing the castle. Renly was just a child at that time.

“That was in the past,” Renly interjected to avoid embarrassing Lord Tyrell. “We might have been enemies once, but now we are allies. I even have your son as my best friend,” Renly commented, saving Mace from his stammering while Olenna shook her head at her son.

It was a bit difficult for Mace to explain that he almost starved Prince Renly to death at that time, so he sighed in relief beside his wife.

‘I still don’t understand… I might not have seen that time through the green vision, but something doesn’t smell right about that period. If the Tyrells had joined forces with the Reach army and Prince Rhaegar’s army, they would have defeated the North-Vale Arryn-Riverlands alliance. Instead, they placed over 60,000 men in front of a castle garrisoned by at most 500 people for months…’ Jon couldn’t help but think as his gaze returned to Olenna, three people away from him.

Olenna exchanged a glance with Jon and smiled at him, despite not knowing what he was thinking.

“Well, the dance is starting,” Renly said, changing the subject as the bard’s music picked up a more frenetic pace while the dance floor was filled with young couples, probably betrothed. Garlan stood with his fiancée, and Renly did the same.

“I hope to see you on the floor with your wife,” he said while walking from the table to find Margaery, asking her for a dance. She gracefully agreed and went to the dance floor with Prince Renly, after all, she was the perfect match for him, being the flower of the garden.

“Shall we?” Seryna said, wanting to dance with Jon.

“Of course, let’s go,” Jon said, standing up as Seryna rose gracefully like a queen.

“I need an excuse…” Arya muttered, feeling the gazes of several young nobles.

“Sorry, Arya. But I will be with Jon for a while; you’ll have to survive until then…” Seryna commented as Jon led her down from the main table and walked to the dance floor filled with nobles.

Jon took her and began to dance to the rhythm of the music, moving their feet in sync, with his wife looking directly at him with her bright blue eyes meeting his characteristic gray-green ones.

They continued dancing, staying focused only on each other, dancing gracefully. Jon finally looked away, worried about his sister, seeing some lords trying to ask her for a dance in front of the table, but she seemed to refuse them all with some excuse. Even one of the Redwyne twins seemed to try his luck but returned with a frustrated face.

“You certainly know how to give a good excuse,” Olenna suddenly said to Arya, as there was no one between them, with Seryna, Jon, Renly, Mace, and Alerie on the dance floor, leaving an empty space between them.

Arya felt a bit embarrassed by that, as she had been excusing herself by saying the food wasn’t agreeing with her, but she knew she couldn’t fool that woman.

“I don’t want to dance with anyone,” Arya said sincerely.

“Haha. A beautiful woman like you, you’re a copy of your aunt,” Olenna said, which caught Arya’s attention.

“Can you tell me about Aunt Lyanna? My father never spoke much about her,” Arya asked with an eager tone.

“I never paid much attention to her before the prince Targaryen crowned her as the queen of beauty at the tournament, but I can tell you a few things about her if you want,” Olenna said with a smile as her gaze returned to Jon dancing with Seryna to their third song.

Jon raised an eyebrow at the peculiar look from Lady Olenna and Arya sitting beside her before they started talking.

“She must have something that interests Arya,” Seryna also noticed. “You still haven’t told her that Arya would participate in the archery event,” she added.

“Maybe… But I’ll keep my ears in the right places,” Jon said, sensing a few small animals in the hall.

They continued dancing through the next songs as time passed, Jon staying with his wife. “I’m afraid to leave here, Jon,” Seryna joked, as many noble ladies were looking at them, mostly trying to see when they would stop dancing to invite Jon for a dance.

Jon was about to respond when Prince Renly approached them, “King of Artica, I see your worried face, and I have the same problem,” Renly admitted, being the target of many women as a single prince of the kingdom, even more than Jon.

“Why don’t you accompany me to the balcony as if we were having a private conversation,” he suggested, appearing with Margaery by his side, and Jon nodded.

“All right,” Jon agreed, releasing his wife, who would return with Seryna to the main table and could offer an excuse to any young noble who wished to be with the Queen of Artica at that moment.

Jon and Renly walked away while Seryna and Margaery returned to the main table. Jon continued following until they reached the balcony when Renly looked aside and saw Loras calling him with a look to speak privately.

“Sorry, King of Artica, but I have an urgent matter to attend to. We’ll talk later. I hope I’m not offending you with this,” Renly said.

“It’s all right,” Jon said, not minding as he ended up going to the balcony, thinking it was empty.

But as soon as he stepped in, he found a young man looking at the starry, moonless sky.

The young man seemed to notice him approaching while he was looking at the castle from that position. “You are Jon Artica!” he exclaimed, a bit startled. “Sorry about that, I’m leaving,” he said immediately.

“Wait, don’t leave because of me,” Jon said, a bit surprised by his fear.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said cautiously, and Jon looked at him strangely. He didn’t seem like the other nobles Jon had been in contact with.

“May I know your name, lord…?” Jon asked, curious.

“Samwell Tarly…” the boy replied, with a look expecting Jon to judge him.

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