I’m reconstructing the final part of the previous chapter, specifically the ending, where Jon dismounts from the dragon. As I mentioned before, I initially described Greywater somewhat imprecisely, since Greywater Watch is not a place accessible on foot, as it is an artificial island.

So, let’s begin the chapter from the moment Jon left Eragon. I also intend to integrate this part into the previous chapter to maintain the quality, and I found this beginning entertaining—I hope you all like it as well.

[Chapter Size: 4200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 297 AC.

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Jon walked through the swamp, following the narrow trail, which was likely used by hunters and a few servants. He had left Eragon behind and was alone, so he wanted to quickly scout the area.

He swiftly began to use his powers. All the animals in the vicinity fell under his control, providing him with thousands of eyes feeding him information about the entire region. In an instant, he could see the castle and pinpoint a dock that would allow him to reach it. He surveyed the area from above and noticed the men of House Reed were rather agitated, making him wonder if they had seen his dragon and were preparing for him.

“Whatever.” There was no need to observe anything else, as there was no danger for him here.

A few minutes after continuing along the trail, he felt eyes upon him. His gaze landed on one of the trees, where a raven was watching him.

“Interesting… To think that there are still people in the North below the Wall who use these powers…” Jon remarked, somewhat surprised. After all, there had been no reports of individuals with such abilities in this kingdom.

Jon could sense the fear growing inside the raven.

“Sorry, but I can’t let you spy on me and warn the others. This won’t hurt you, but it will certainly render you unconscious for a while,” he said.

The next moment, the raven panicked as it felt Jon’s force invading its mind. Instantly, it collapsed, its eyes constantly shifting until Jon seized control from the other warg. However, he didn’t maintain it for long. Before releasing the raven, his goal was to overwhelm the other warg. Feeling the intense pressure, the warg fainted. Jon caught a glimpse of a boy younger than himself inside the castle, at a sacred tree, falling unconscious.

It didn’t take long before he spotted the first towers of Greywater Watch in the distance. As he approached through the swamp, he could see the fortress was rather restless.

The river also came into view, and soon he noticed the dock in the area—just as he had seen through his other eyes. There were people there, and they also seemed uneasy.

They were trying to understand what was happening at the castle, as it appeared they were preparing for some sort of battle. That was when they immediately reacted to the gates being shut. However, they were too far for Jon to determine exactly what Lord Reed was bracing for.

Then, finally, some of them looked back and spotted him emerging from the swamp through one of the smaller trails. After weaving through many of them, he had chosen the right path—after all, there were countless ways one could get lost, but that was not the case for him.

His approaching presence alerted them immediately. His appearance sparked unease among the people. Even without knowing him, the gleam of his equipment—valuable enough to purchase castles with fertile lands anywhere in Westeros—struck fear into them, making it clear he was no ordinary man in their eyes.

They were merely servants and common folk working there. Most of them began to flee, while Jon narrowed his eyes, needing one of them.

“Hey, you! Wait!” he commanded in a tone of authority.

The last one attempting to leave, a young man, immediately froze, swallowing hard. He wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or the authoritative voice of the stranger, but it kept him rooted in place, cautiously staring at Jon. His hands trembled slightly.

“Y-yes? What can I do for you, my lord?” he asked, stammering.

Jon was only a few meters away when he stopped.

“I want you to take me to Lord Reed’s castle. I need a boat.”

There were many boats there, but Jon wanted to be prepared in case he was attacked and found himself without an oar in hand. The young man glanced at him, then at the castle. He saw the archers seeming ready to fire.

“But, my lord… what if… if they shoot at us?” the young man asked, still hesitant. At the same time, he didn’t refuse Jon, fearing him as well. After all, he seemed to be someone very important, and judging by the way the castle was behaving, it appeared they were afraid of this one man.

“Don’t worry about that. Here, a hundred gold coins.” Jon took a pouch from his waist and tossed it to the boy.

The young man nearly stumbled as he caught it, surprised by its weight and the gleam of the coins—coins neither he nor his family had ever seen in their lives. But inside the pouch, there were indeed a hundred of them. His eyes widened, shifting back and forth between the gold in the small cloth bag and the strange man standing before him.

“I believe this should cover the risk,” Jon said. “But I don’t think they’ll attack us. I just need to reach the gate. After that, you may leave.”

The boy seemed hesitant, debating with himself. But in the end, such a large sum of gold led him to make an immediate decision.

“Yes, of course, I’ll take you… Even if I take an arrow, it’ll still be worth it,” he murmured the last part, trying to speak low enough that Jon wouldn’t hear.

Jon, however, merely shrugged. He had heard it.

The young man selected one of the smaller boats and immediately began untying the rope that secured it to the dock.

“My lord, please, let’s go!” the boy said with more enthusiasm.

Jon felt satisfied, as the boy had not simply tried to flee with the money—which would have ended poorly for him, attempting to escape through a forest that Jon could easily control.

He stepped onto the boat, which rocked slightly but remained stable. He stood in the center while the young man positioned the oar into the water.

As the boy began rowing toward Greywater Watch, Jon took a closer look at the castle, built upon an artificial island, designed specifically as a natural defense against southern invaders during the Andal wars with the North.

As one of the initial strategic points in the North’s defense, its position allowed it to delay many enemies. Though not as effective as Moat Cailin due to its high towers, it was still a formidable natural stronghold for holding back attackers.

The oars cut through the water as Jon examined the castle walls while Lord Reed’s men watched them warily. In their eyes, Jon saw a mix of fear and confusion, as they seemed unsure why they were even preparing for combat. The only thing they could see was a stranger in gleaming armor approaching in a boat along the southern paths—routes usually used by servants and hunters to restock the castle’s supplies.

“They’re preparing for you… May I ask who you are? You certainly seem very important… But where are your guards?” the young man behind him asked, curiosity in his voice.

Jon shifted his gaze from the archers and looked at the boy for a moment. The young man immediately averted his eyes, nervous. They were practically the same age, yet their lives had been entirely different. Their personalities had been shaped in vastly distinct ways.

While this boy had been born into a peasant family working in the region and had secured a job ferrying people to and from Lord Reed’s castle, Jon, despite his initial status as a bastard, had still been raised as the son of a great lord and received some degree of education, albeit limited. But beyond that, he had carved his own path by leaving Winterfell, facing countless dangers, traveling across the known world and beyond, and commanding troops in battle. These experiences had shaped him in ways the young man could scarcely imagine.

“What is your name?” Jon asked calmly.

“I-It’s Brandon, my lord,” the young man replied, looking at him cautiously.

“Brandon? A Stark name…” Jon remarked with an amused tone.

“Yes, my lord. My parents named me after the great man who built the Wall. They say it brings good fortune,” the boy explained.

“I see… And I agree, it is indeed a name that can bring luck. I have a son named Brandon as well. He’s almost a year old,” Jon commented, letting the words linger in the air.

The young man looked at him, curious and surprised, and Jon answered his question.

“Well, my name is Jon of Artica, and I’ll be counting on you to take me to the castle gate, Brandon,” he said with a small, friendly smile.

The young man tried to recall that name, but he didn’t recognize it—which wasn’t surprising. Jon didn’t expect everyone to know who he was. Demanding that from others seemed petty to him, and he had never been so immature. He merely shrugged, indifferent. Perhaps the boy would recognize him as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell who had stirred much controversy during his time in the North.

And so, they continued in silence. The only sound was the water being sliced by the oars… until a shout came from the castle walls:

“They’re coming!”

The guards of Greywater Watch were on high alert.

“They’re not going to attack us, are they…? One arrow and we’re dead…” Brandon murmured cautiously.

“We’ll see,” Jon replied simply.

He knew his dragon was only seconds away and could fly to him instantly if he sensed Jon was in danger.

At last, they reached the opposite dock, which was completely empty. Jon didn’t even wait for the boat to stop properly before leaping onto the wooden platform with ease—despite wearing full armor, except for the helmet that hung at his waist. He turned to Brandon, ignoring the guards who had their bows trained on him.

“Go. From here on, I will proceed alone,” Jon said.

The young man took a few seconds to understand, glancing cautiously around before nodding. He looked at the pouch of coins beside him, which Jon hadn’t taken back, and quickly expressed his gratitude.

“Thank you!”

Then, he turned and began rowing away from the dock, distancing himself.

Jon turned back to the guards, who were watching him with distrust. After all, their lord had given orders to prepare to defend the castle without much explanation, and they had no choice but to obey. Now, however, a young man clad in armor made of an unknown metal—yet certainly more exquisite than anything they had ever seen—stood before the gate, alone and seemingly unshaken, showing no fear of them.

A slightly older man with an athletic build appeared atop the wall and looked down at Jon. He was about to ask who he was and what his intentions were, but as soon as he saw the symbol emblazoned on Jon’s chest, he swallowed hard.

The guards might not have recognized the emblem or the young man wearing it, but those who held important positions in castles—and nobles, who needed to constantly know what each sigil represented and to whom it belonged—certainly knew the symbol of Artica.

“Do not shoot him—under any circumstances!” the man on the wall ordered immediately.

The guards lowered their bows at once. The armed man quickly descended from the wall to inform his lord.

It didn’t take long before the gate began to open. Jon remained still, observing everything with patience as a small group emerged, looking at him with immediate caution.

Then, he saw a man limping with a cane, leading a group of six guards. Beside him stood the older man Jon had seen on the walls and a young man—likely the one he had overwhelmed through his warg—probably Howland Reed’s son, given their resemblance.

Howland, the man at the front, walked forward cautiously. His eyes widened with each step as he studied Jon, seemingly recognizing him immediately. By now, it was clear to him who the young man standing before him was.

“You are…” Howland murmured, almost in disbelief, exhaling incompletely as he stared at the young man as if seeing a ghost.

“I am Jon, King of Artica,” Jon announced in a firm and authoritative tone.

The man before him shuddered slightly at his words.

“The son of Lyanna…” he murmured under his breath, almost as if he were seeing the ghost of his friend. But no one else heard what he said.

Jon recognized the movement of his lips and responded firmly.

“Yes, her son.”

Howland grew even more cautious upon hearing that, and Jon continued.

“I’m here to have a very serious conversation about that woman. After all, you knew her well, as far as I understand,” Jon said.

Howland nodded, still somewhat surprised.

“Alright… I just didn’t expect you to come here personally,” he murmured.

Jon didn’t blame him for that.

“That’s understandable, after all, I didn’t send a raven ahead. But still, I would like you to receive me,” Jon said. He would soon have to travel to Essos and couldn’t afford a more formal approach—he had already waited long enough.

Hearing this, Lord Reed quickly agreed without hesitation.

“Prepare the castle for this guest as if we were receiving the King of Westeros himself!” he ordered.

A guard immediately stepped back to carry out his orders.

“There is no threat from him. Tell everyone to remain calm. I will escort him to the castle myself. Also, prepare bread and salt—we will receive him with the proper respect,” Howland added.

“Father,” Jojen approached his father, still shaking his head as he was still dizzy from what Jon had done.

“There is nothing to worry about. His presence here means a great deal,” Howland murmured, looking at Jon with a hint of pride. Not just because of what he wore, but because of what he had truly become—the true son of Lyanna Stark.

“Follow me, please, Jon,” Howland requested as Jon approached, keeping one hand resting on the hilt of Blackfyre.

The sun, breaking through the clouds, reflected off his Valyrian steel armor and the rubies embedded in the legendary sword.

As they passed through the gates, Jon ignored the crowd staring at him and noted that the castle’s structure was quite simple. Though it wasn’t on a coastline and thus didn’t face problems with the sea, it wasn’t among the finest castles Jon had visited. The fortress felt somewhat gloomy, isolated in the middle of the swamp. They weren’t particularly wealthy either, much like the rest of the North. However, it had everything a castle needed to ensure its security.

Setting these observations aside, Jon followed Lord Reed, who walked a meter ahead of him. He approached the rest of the lord’s family. His wife and daughter watched him closely while exchanging a few words between themselves.

After a moment, Howland turned to Jon.

“Where are my manners? Allow me to formally introduce myself,” he said. “I am Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch,” he greeted Jon with a slight nod.

He then gestured toward the young man beside him.

“And this is my son, Jojen Reed. The youngest, and also my heir.”

Jojen looked at Jon cautiously, as if trying to decipher who he truly was. He had gone to investigate the dragon’s arrival at the castle’s heart tree and had seen something he would never forget.

Suddenly, the entire forest seemed to fall silent. The singing of birds ceased, and the land-bound animals vanished, as if something invisible had taken over the environment.

Jojen had sensed something strange in the air while flying with his raven—a powerful and unique presence was gripping the entire forest. He had never felt anything like it, not even in his dreams. A deep sense of dread had taken root in him when he first laid eyes on Jon and heard his words.

‘This man… he can control thousands of animals effortlessly,’ Jojen thought. ‘Like some of the rumors from the South, where travelers spoke of Jon of Artica being able to command an entire city through his animals—just as he had done in Oldtown.’

“These are my wife and daughter,” Howland continued, introducing the rest of his family. Jon saw them incline their heads slightly in greeting.

“I appreciate the welcome, Lord Reed. It is a pleasure to meet you and your family,” Jon responded politely.

Howland seemed to relax a little and smiled.

“Excellent! We will soon head to the great hall,” he said as he watched the servants approach quickly to prepare the bread and salt ritual.

They led Jon through the brief welcoming ritual, as was tradition in noble houses.

“Please, follow me to my solar,” Howland requested once it was completed.

Jon nodded, but then made an unexpected request.

“If it’s not too much to ask, could we go to your heart tree first?”

Lord Reed seemed surprised for a moment but soon nodded.

“Of course, we can go there,” he responded promptly.

He asked his son to accompany them and led them to a more secluded part of the castle, instructing that no one disturb them while they were there.

The walk was silent until they arrived at the place, with no one else present besides the three of them. Howland stopped beside the heart tree and broke the silence as he noticed the sword at Jon’s waist.

“That sword…” he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

Jon looked at him.

“Blackfyre… The true Blackfyre…” Jon said.

“There could be no other sword that suits you better,” Howland murmured.

Jojen, on the other hand, furrowed his brow, still confused by the situation.

“We saw the white dragon in the sky,” Jojen spoke for the first time.

“That explains why you were all so agitated,” Jon said, already knowing that they had seen Eragon flying over the area from the castle’s reaction. He crossed his arms and added, “Don’t worry about him. He’s a bit far, but he won’t come here… Unless I call him.”

“You’re a Warg,” Jojen practically accused, though it seemed natural to him. “But… different from anything I’ve ever seen. You can control the entire forest, can’t you? I’ve heard some stories… They say you can command all the animals around you. In battle, you make them attack… There has never been anyone like that, not with that level of power…” he said.

“Yes, I am a Warg… The gods blessed me, which is why I am different,” Jon replied. “But that’s not the point. And as I said, don’t worry about the dragon. I am not a threat to you… At least, not as long as you are not a threat to me.”

“I understand…” Jojen murmured, still processing the information.

“Jojen, I think it would be best if you left us alone,” Howland intervened at last. “Jon of Artica is here for answers, and I intend to give them. It would be better if you did not hear this conversation.”

The young man hesitated for a moment but soon nodded.

“Yes, father…” he said in a low voice, lowering his head before leaving, leaving only Howland and Jon alone.

“You…” Howland began, analyzing Jon more closely. “Despite those slightly greenish eyes, you have many features of your father. But you also inherited the Stark coloring. More than that… I can see your mother in you.”

Jon remained silent for a moment, absorbing the man’s words.

“So the statue of her in Winterfell doesn’t do justice to her real appearance, does it?” Jon asked, recalling the stone sculpture that depicted a rather ordinary woman, lacking great detail. It didn’t seem to match the legend surrounding his mother.

“No… Not at all,” Howland admitted. “She was a strong and fierce lady. And above all, beautiful… Beautiful enough to capture the eyes of the crown prince at the time.”

“You knew her before the Tourney of Harrenhal?” Jon questioned.

“Yes, I saw her a few times, but I never had much direct contact with her,” Howland replied. “But everyone in the North knew her. After all, she was ‘The She-Wolf of the North.’ Every lord and even the common folk knew her name… And loved her. The war didn’t break out so easily just because of what happened to your other uncle and your maternal grandmother.”

“Can you tell me more about that?” Jon asked.

He had very little information about his mother. His uncle Benjen could have told him more—perhaps even better than his other uncle, Ned, who had spent most of his youth in the Vale before the Tourney of Harrenhal. But Jon couldn’t just show up at the Wall now. Howland, on the other hand, might be his best chance to learn about Lyanna Stark.

“Of course,” Howland nodded.

“One thing that everyone knew back then… and that I saw with my own eyes when my father first took me to Winterfell… was the image of Rickard Stark’s daughter riding a horse while her younger brother shouted her name, trying to catch up to her,” he recounted, a faint smile appearing on his face as he remembered.

Jon remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“She rode better than any knight in the North, galloping through the gates and heading toward the pastures around Winterfell. Many times, she even ventured into the Wolfswood…” Howland paused, watching Jon.

“Your mother was stubborn and fierce, even at that age. Your grandfather had quite a few problems dealing with her,” he said, pausing before continuing with more stories about Lyanna in Winterfell.

“You just described Arya perfectly…” Jon murmured, thoughtful.

He remembered how Lord Stark used to say that Arya was Lyanna reborn when Jon was around seven or eight namedays old. Now, he finally understood why.

“You said you didn’t know her very well back then… But I remember Lord Stark mentioning once that you owed my mother a great deal,” Jon commented.

Howland nodded.

“That is true. I didn’t have much contact with her. We only greeted each other as nobles do. But it was at the Tourney of Harrenhal that she did something I will never forget in my life. It made me feel a loyalty to her that I never had for anyone else… Not even for your uncle, in Winterfell,” he said, sounding a bit sad, as if he had failed in some way.

Jon noticed the melancholy in his tone but decided not to dwell on it now. He went straight to the point—the place where all that madness had begun.

“Now tell me about the Tourney of Harrenhal,” Jon requested.

“Of course…” Howland murmured, trying to organize his thoughts to find the best way to explain the events of that tournament.

“Wait,” Jon suddenly interrupted.

Howland looked at him and noticed his surprised expression. But Jon wasn’t looking at him—he was staring at the heart tree.

He had already taken a few steps, moving closer to the weirwood. Howland watched as Jon touched the tree’s bark, near the face carved into it.

“They are trying to tell me something…” Jon murmured, feeling that he might finally have the vision of the past that he had never had before.

“But I need a greenseer,” he whispered to himself before looking directly at Howland.

“Your son… He is a greenseer, isn’t he?” he asked.

Howland, though surprised, nodded.

“I need him now.”

Howland thought for a few seconds before quickly nodding.

“I will call him,” he said.

He didn’t fully understand what Jon intended to do, but he saw no reason to deny the request. He quickly returned to the castle and came back with Jojen. The younger man looked at Jon cautiously.

“I need you to try using your green sight on the tree. I will be connected with you. I need to see a vision,” Jon explained.

Howland seemed intrigued, but Jojen kept a skeptical look.

“Having a vision is not that simple,” he said cautiously.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jon replied. “The gods are telling me that it is safe. I just need a greenseer to open this connection. I will be with you in the vision. Just touch the tree. I will keep my palm pressed against it as well.”

He only needed someone to open that vision. Brynden had always done it in Artica. Now, Jon could finally get answers here, at this sacred tree.

Jojen looked at his father, who nodded, before stepping forward.

He passed by Jon and hesitated for a moment but, in the end, placed his hand on the tree.

Jon placed his hand on the bark at the same time.

Howland simply watched in silence. He saw his son and Jon standing before the weirwood… Until, suddenly, both of their eyes turned completely white.

They had plunged into a vision of the past.

Many still had memories of that tournament, but they were merely recollections distorted by time.

Jon and Jojen would see the truth.

They would see exactly what happened at Harrenhal.

—-

Raccoon Here:

Should I have Jon interacting in the tournament like Bran in the green sight, or just have Jon witnessing the main events?

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 236 – Rise of the Stark Pack.

Chapter 241 – Vaes Dothraki.

Chapter 251 – Helping Mance’s camp.

Chapter 260 – Divergences in the South.

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