[Chapter Size: 4200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 297 AC.

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The tournament of Harrenhal occupied the entire field around the castle, as all the houses settled according to their respective kingdoms, forming their own groups. Despite this, many lords gathered with others due to their connections and friendships, creating a great wave of negotiations and alliances—not only commercial but also through numerous betrothals between the great houses.

The northern group was no longer alone. In addition to the Vale’s convoy, the Tullys had joined them, forming an alliance that encompassed four of the seven kingdoms. After all, Robert had few companions from the Stormlands, as he was already the Lord of Storm’s End, with his parents long dead.

“Four kingdoms, all connected through marriages between their principal lords…” Jojen murmured.

“You noticed… There’s an open alliance here, obviously,” Jon said, looking toward the front rows, where the banners of the wolf, the fish, the eagle, and the stag stood together.

This was not just a simple tournament; it was a way of declaring to all the kingdoms that four out of the seven were mostly united. Even the Mad King would be worried about that, and Jon couldn’t blame him.

They entered the designated area for the kingdoms. The only group that had yet to establish a place was the North, as all the other lords had arrived before their main leaders.

As the North continued to settle in, Jon found himself losing interest in looking for his mother, more intrigued by this alliance instead. With no other choice, Jojen simply followed him the entire time, uncertain of how to escape that vision or even whether time was passing the same way outside. After all, they had been inside it for two weeks without feeling hunger or sleep.

Jon first followed Brandon Stark. He was certainly a troublemaker, as Jon had observed in the past weeks. After leaving his betrothed to settle in the Tully camp, Brandon set up his own camp and quickly arranged a feast for that evening. Later, he left and went to a nearby tavern in the city.

It didn’t take long for him to start drinking, and soon enough, men from various other kingdoms joined him. Eventually, he disappeared into a hidden room with a local barmaid.

Jon merely observed and shook his head. His uncle certainly had little to do with the grand scheme unfolding.

He continued searching, hoping to uncover more from the other lords, and stumbled upon something interesting later that night—a conversation between Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully.

“Aerys will show up here after all this…” Hoster murmured. They were alone, with guards ensuring no one approached. Only Jon and Jojen were present, though the lords couldn’t see someone spying on them from the future.

“Yes… quite unexpected. Even Prince Rhaegar didn’t see it coming… you know,” Jon Arryn commented, sipping his wine.

“Do you think he will get what he wants?” Hoster asked.

“You believe that after our alliance?” Jon Arryn said with a smile. “He’ll certainly hope to gather enough allies to overthrow his father here, but with our four kingdoms united, the Targaryens won’t stand a chance.” He maintained his smile the entire time as he spoke those words.

“They haven’t even considered the idea that my mother might refuse to let Robert go…” Jon couldn’t help but comment. To these old men, the alliance seemed infallible. Of course, there was still the West, Dorne, and the Reach as their enemies when war eventually broke out, but they were confident they could defeat them all.

“But we must be cautious. Dorne is nothing, but the West and the Reach are rich,” Hoster reminded him.

“Don’t worry about that, Lord Hoster. The king and Tywin don’t have the best relationship, so I doubt the lion will support the dragon. Besides, Tywin wanted to marry his daughter to Rhaegar, but he wed Elia instead. I am certain he holds a grudge against the Targaryens greater than any other,” Jon Arryn stated.

“I see…” Hoster muttered as he picked up his goblet. “Then, a toast to the future. By the time we leave this tournament, we will know exactly when to act.” He raised his cup, clinking it against Jon Arryn’s.

Jon stood there in front of them, his gaze fixed on them, deep in thought, while Jojen stood beside him, making a face at the conversation.

Jon returned to the main tent of the North, where a feast was being prepared by the Starks. Brandon was sharing the table with Catelyn Tully, while the young redhead seemed enamored with her betrothed the entire time.

Jon’s mother was present, and her betrothed, Robert, was there as well, laughing and speaking loudly, an enthusiasm the she-wolf of the North did not seem to share.

Jon looked with interest at his other uncle, who was sitting beside Benjen but appeared as shy as ever.

Jon left the camp and headed straight for the high castle.

“Where are we going?” Jojen asked.

“We’re going to see my biological father,” Jon said, making his way into the castle, passing the guards, and climbing up to the highest floors.

He easily found the place where they were having a quiet meal.

“These worms… can they not stop making noise?” Jon heard someone exclaim in irritation as he entered.

“We are at a tournament, Father. This is normal. This is the greatest tournament Westeros has ever seen,” Jon turned his gaze to the man who had spoken calmly.

He immediately recognized Rhaegar, with his long platinum hair, appearing the eldest among them, aside from the king himself, nearing his thirties.

At the table, besides the two sitting opposite each other, there was a woman beside the king, with a child next to her—both with platinum hair. Jon couldn’t see them well since their backs were turned to him. His gaze first went to his paternal grandfather by instinct, having only glimpsed his father. He noticed that Aerys did indeed seem to be in his forties or fifties. His pupils showed little reactivity, he barely blinked, and his stare was fixed and intense—characteristics of a psychopath.

Beside his father sat a woman with slightly darker skin and long black hair. In her lap was a baby, a child who seemed only a few months old, with small white strands of hair, as she fed him a liquid with a spoon. A very small chair was beside her, where a three-year-old girl sat, eating on her own but remaining silent the entire time, seeming afraid. It was no secret that she was Rhaenys.

Also present in the room were four Kingsguard knights, while the other three stood at the entrance. Jon paused for a moment, noticing Arthur Dayne, who maintained a neutral expression amid the royal family’s conversation. However, his focus remained on observing his paternal family.

“They all must still obey their king, the dragon! And I want them to be silent!” Aerys said in a severe tone to his son.

“…” Rhaegar remained silent, not responding directly to his father, appearing lost in thought before finally speaking again. “They should have invited the Whent family to dine with us. After all, they are hosting us in their home,” he commented.

“I agree,” Rhaella said, supporting her eldest son.

“Fuck the Whents. They are our servants,” Aerys spat with anger.

Rhaegar frowned upon hearing that. He had not expected his father to come to the tournament, believing he would stay away. But now he was here, making his secret discussions with the other lords much more difficult.

Jon continued walking, ignoring their conversation as he approached the table, observing each member, first getting a closer look at his father, then shifting his gaze to Elia for the first time. He watched the woman, who remained calm as she cared for her son, though she never looked at the king. There was a certain fear in her, and Jon could see the look of disgust Aerys occasionally cast in her direction. Even Rhaenys suffered from his disdain.

“He doesn’t like them. What a bastard,” Jon murmured, a certain anger rising within him as he looked at his grandfather, the Mad King. Rhaella also seemed slightly withdrawn—she was afraid of her husband.

Jon glanced at Viserys, who appeared more at ease in that setting, and his gaze once again fell upon the baby. Studying him carefully… this was his brother… a brother he would never know, someone for whom he had brutally avenged the killer years ago—without even knowing of the blood they shared.

“Jon…” Jojen murmured as he watched Jon follow Elia with his eyes while she carried her son outside after finishing their dinner.

“Let’s get out of here,” was all Jon said as he began to leave, with Jojen following closely behind.

A week passed as the lords continued to settle in the area. Many had begun visiting the royal family and the king, while the crown prince made his own moves, engaging in secret meetings with the lords. On the surface, it seemed like he was simply getting to know them as the future king, and people appreciated that—Rhaegar was sociable and charming, a stark contrast to his father in the eyes of many. But in truth, the prince was testing the loyalty of the lords toward the current king, searching for allies who might support his cause.

Jon accompanied him many times. At this point, his father had not yet met his mother, who was spending her days with her brothers, watching the knights train in the Stark camp. She was lively, smiling—so different from when Robert was around, when she always seemed uncomfortable, even disgusted.

“He sings well…” Jojen murmured as they stood in the city, watching Jon’s father blend into the common folk, playing his harp for the crowd. His Kingsguard, dressed in plain clothes to hide their armor, remained at his side.

The city was crowded with all sorts of people—peasants, lords, merchants, bards, smiths, and those without skills looking for an opportunity. The fields were packed with noble camps and their retinues.

Jon heard Jojen’s comment and nodded. “Yes, I’m just as surprised as you,” he admitted, listening to his father’s voice.

He stood there for a while, lost in thought as Rhaegar’s performance drew a large audience, touching the hearts of many common folk. Coins poured into the hands of his disguised guards.

‘Aemon once told me he often did this in King’s Landing, donating all his earnings to orphanages. It seemed quite noble…’ Jon thought.

As expected, Rhaegar ended his performance by leaving with his guards and handing over the collected money to a local orphanage—just as the stories had said.

That night, all the lords gathered in Harrenhal’s great halls for the opening feast of the tournament. It was a grand celebration, bringing together the major houses of each kingdom, along with a few lesser ones that could attend. Still, there wasn’t enough space to fit every noble from the Seven Kingdoms, even in the vast halls of the castle.

The feast, however, held little interest for Jon. He simply observed Aerys, seated beside Varys, who whispered about the nobility while analyzing everyone with suspicion. The king was clearly searching for potential traitors, already thinking of ways to kill and usurp them. It was sickening, and Jon felt nothing but disgust.

Varys did not help matters. He seemed to enjoy watching the chaos unfold, his sharp words fueling Aerys’ paranoia.

Lord Tywin Lannister spent the entire night glaring at the king with cold disdain. His hatred for Aerys was clear. By this time, he was no longer Hand of the King, having withdrawn to Casterly Rock long ago to focus on raising his children after his wife’s death years prior.

Jon noticed that Varys hardly mentioned the alliance between the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands. He seemed to avoid the topic altogether, as if it posed a real threat. Jon deduced that the eunuch likely wanted to see the fall of the Targaryens, all while pushing Aerys toward decisions that would disgust and alienate many. It was a calculated move—he sought to strengthen them just enough for their inevitable downfall. A man as intelligent as Varys surely knew about the alliance and its intentions.

Regardless, the night continued. Jon’s mother sat alone beside her younger brother, engaged in conversation. Her betrothed, Robert, had already wandered off to drink, celebrate, and flirt with noble ladies and servants alike—something Lyanna merely tried to ignore.

The next day, the tournament finally began, with the first event being the archery competition. Jon found nothing particularly interesting about it, and the event concluded within the same day.

That night, another banquet was prepared, not much different from the previous one. The royal family remained at the main table, while the lords were seated throughout the hall. Aerys, as always, seemed to be searching for a traitor, his mad eyes noticing that many looked at him with caution—or even hatred.

Jon stayed in the castle, watching Catelyn Tully sit with the Whents, as they were her mother’s family. He ignored them and made his way to the upper floors, with Jojen following him as always.

Jon felt sickened by Rhaella’s screams that night after the banquet. By chance, he had been near his paternal family’s quarters, intending to see his deceased brother once more, when he stumbled upon his grandmother’s cries. A Kingsguard stood motionless at the door, doing nothing. The scene deeply disturbed Jon.

Jojen swallowed hard. He was afraid of Jon in that moment. The King of Artica was furious, yet he could do nothing but listen to the woman’s despair while everyone around them ignored it.

Meanwhile, Jon continued to listen to the lords’ negotiations and conspiracies. Eventually, he left the castle and, by coincidence, came upon a new strategy devised by Jon Arryn. He and Hoster Tully had gone to meet Tywin Lannister at the Westerlands’ camp. Jon followed them as soon as he saw them passing by with their guards at that late hour.

The three had a lengthy conversation with the old Lion, attempting to forge an alliance that would make them an unstoppable force—adding a fifth kingdom to their cause.

“Robert has a claim to the throne. If we manage to overthrow the Targaryens, he should take the crown,” Jon Arryn stated.

“Then I want my daughter to be Robert’s betrothed,” Tywin Lannister declared.

Hoster and Jon Arryn exchanged glances.

“He is already betrothed to Lyanna Stark,” Jon Arryn replied.

“We can betroth your eldest son to Lysa,” Tywin countered, suggesting another arrangement.

Jon listened carefully, standing alongside Jojen.

Hoster looked at him, surprised. “Wasn’t that supposed to be your betrothal, Jon?” he murmured, noting that Jon Arryn seemed to be giving it up.

“Alliances are more important than securing an heir for my house right now. Hoster, I am sure your daughter would prefer to marry someone younger than me,” Jon Arryn replied. He knew that Tywin would not pass up the chance to get revenge on Aerys.

“We can discuss this at the end of the tournament,” Tywin Lannister finally responded.

However, it seemed that this information had already been passed to the king—by none other than Varys.

The following day, the melee tournament took place, with warriors from all the kingdoms participating, including many great lords.

Jon’s uncle, Brandon, was clearly excited. Lyanna cheered for her brothers alongside Benjen in the Northern section, while Ned stood with the other Northern lords, supporting his older brother.

Soon, the chaos and confusion began. Swords clashed against swords and armor, the metallic sounds echoing across the battlefield. It was pure pandemonium, with warriors suffering broken arms and even deep cuts. One by one, the number of combatants dwindled—it was inevitable.

Jon observed everything carefully, analyzing Arthur Dayne’s performance. The man quickly became one of the tournament’s stars, alongside Prince Rhaegar.

Jojen looked worried as he watched his father exit the competition with a few bruises, his leather armor battered. Some laughed at Lord Reed’s weak performance, but the Northerners fought on alongside Brandon.

However, the North did not have much luck. Despite being one of the last remaining groups in the melee, they were swiftly overwhelmed by the strength of the Kingsguard and the prince.

As the tournament progressed, only the best warriors remained. The audience cheered and applauded, enthralled by the Kingsguard’s prowess.

In the end, the final two fighters left standing were Rhaegar Targaryen and Arthur Dayne. Their duel was spectacular in the eyes of the spectators, but ultimately, Rhaegar was defeated, and Arthur emerged victorious.

Beside Jon, a young girl with golden hair and green eyes stood with her arms crossed, clearly frustrated near one of the entrances. Lannister guards protected her, while a young blond-haired, green-eyed boy approached, his dented armor and pained, frustrated expression giving away his recent loss.

“You lost! You said you would win for me!” Cersei Lannister exclaimed angrily.

“Sorry about that, sister… I couldn’t do it this time,” Jaime murmured, his voice filled with sadness.

“You never achieve anything! You’re useless! I hate you!” she snapped before turning away and storming off, visibly irritated.

“Cersei!” Jaime called out, but she was already gone.

“Arrogant as always,” Jon murmured, watching the scene. It was clear that the young girl was frustrated for not being chosen as the prince’s betrothed and had hoped her brother would bring some honor to her and House Lannister. But how could a young boy defeat seasoned knights?

Jaime Lannister would undoubtedly become one of the most powerful warriors in Westeros one day, but at this point, he was still just an inexperienced youth. Jon shrugged and shifted his focus back to the banquet that was about to take place.

During the feast, Rhaegar performed on his harp. As soon as he began to play, the entire hall fell silent, captivated by his melody. His unique voice captured the attention of all, enchanting both nobles and common folk alike.

It was on this night that Jon saw his mother in tears, gazing at Rhaegar with admiration. Even with Robert at her side, he didn’t seem to care, finding it unremarkable. But Jon could clearly see his mother’s admiration for the prince from that moment onward.

Then came the main event—the jousting tournament.

During this time, Jon continued observing the great lords as discussions and negotiations unfolded. He saw his father beginning to fail in his conversations with Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn, and others, realizing that none of them would support him. Rhaegar seemed disheartened, unaware that these lords were already scheming against him and his family—or at least, he had yet to realize it.

One incident, however, caught Jon’s attention—and especially Jojen’s.

They found Jojen’s father, Howland Reed, being beaten by three squires on one of the secluded paths between the camps.

“Father!” Jojen immediately shouted, running toward the scene as he saw his father being brutally assaulted. But the moment he tried to punch the attackers, his fists passed through them like a ghost.

Jon was not pleased by the sight. It was the same helplessness he had felt when witnessing his grandmother’s suffering, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

“We can’t interfere, Jojen. I think it’s best if you don’t even watch this. Besides, your father survived this,” Jon said, trying to be rational. After all, Howland was still alive in the present.

“But those bastards…!” Jojen shouted again, attempting once more to strike the squires, failing miserably. Jon tried to calm him down and pull him away, seeing how visibly shaken he was.

Then, someone appeared.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A young voice rang out.

Jon was surprised to see his own mother standing there, accompanied by little Benjen. It seemed they had been walking through the camps when they stumbled upon the scene and decided to intervene.

The three young noblemen looked slightly surprised at first, but they quickly laughed when they saw that it was just a girl and a child.

“And what do we have here?” one of them mocked.

“You’re hurting Lord Reed, heir of Greywater Watch! He is an important vassal of my father, the Lord of the North. I am Lyanna Stark, and you had better stop this right now!” Lyanna exclaimed, while Benjen looked a little frightened beside her.

Finally, the three squires seemed to realize the gravity of their mistake. They exchanged nervous glances, understanding that they were standing before the daughter of Rickard Stark.

“I’ll say it again—if you don’t leave now, I promise you will face serious consequences when I tell my brother!” she warned once more, her voice filled with determination.

“Yes, my lady…” one of the squires murmured, clearly intimidated by the Stark sigil on her chest. They knew they were in no position to challenge a great house and would face severe consequences if they did.

Before they could flee, Lyanna called after them once more.

“I want to know the names of each of you.”

The three squires swallowed hard before finally answering and then ran off as fast as they could.

Lyanna wasn’t sure if they were telling the truth, but she memorized the sigil each of them bore—the insignia of the knights they were serving under.

“Those idiots… what were they thinking?” Lyanna murmured as she approached Howland and helped him to his feet.

“Thank you, my lady,” Howland murmured, looking at Lyanna with gratitude.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. They fought dishonorably, Lord Reed. Why did they attack you?” she asked, still serious.

“They found me walking here, mocked my performance in the melee, and before I knew it, they had surrounded me and started beating me,” Howland spoke weakly.

“Weren’t you going to participate in the tournament?” Benjen asked worriedly.

“Yes… but now I don’t know if that will be possible,” Howland admitted, visibly injured. He certainly wouldn’t be able to compete anymore, even though he had already paid the entry fee and discussed it with the young Benjen Stark.

“Don’t worry about that,” Lyanna suddenly murmured, her gaze fixed on the spot where the three squires had fled.

Her brother watched her, confused, not knowing exactly what she was thinking.

Jon observed the scene with surprise and decided to follow her. Jojen was equally stunned. Perhaps this was the moment where his father’s loyalty to Jon’s mother had begun.

“You can’t be serious!” Benjen exclaimed, while Howland also looked at Lyanna in shock.

Jon raised an eyebrow, and Jojen seemed just as surprised as the others.

“I’m sure I can do it. Someone has to avenge him, so I’ll enter the tournament in his place. But I won’t use his name, don’t worry,” Lyanna said, determined.

“But participating in the tournament? That’s madness, Lya!” Benjen nearly pleaded, fearing the trouble this could cause his sister.

“I know how to ride a horse. I’ll simply challenge each of the knights training those squires and make them all apologize. I only need you to help me get a new shield to represent me,” she requested, staring at the two young men before her.

Both seemed a bit lost, but in the end, they agreed.

The next day, the tournament finally began. It would last for three days, and the jousting competition was the most anticipated event—just as the Arctic King had participated in his own tournament in the Reach.

Jon watched everything with great interest, eager to see his mother compete. He was surprised to realize that she had truly entered the competition. His smile widened when he noticed the banner she carried—the symbol of the Sacred Tree of the Old Gods.

The knights began gathering, challenging one another. Prince Rhaegar was challenged several times, as were the members of the Kingsguard, but none of them lost. They were the tournament’s favorites, advancing through challengers with remarkable skill in both jousting and horsemanship.

Then, a new knight was announced, drawing everyone’s attention.

The strange name caused murmurs to spread throughout the arena, as the knight had not identified himself. This happened occasionally in tournaments, and oftentimes, these mysterious knights became the subjects of songs sung by bards for generations.

“The Knight of the Laughing Tree!” the herald announced, introducing the mysterious competitor.

Mounted on a horse, his identity hidden, the knight carried a simple lance and a shield adorned with the Sacred Tree. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder.

Robert Baratheon, seated among the nobles, looked around impatiently.

“Where is my betrothed?” he grumbled, irritated by her absence. Even his brothers seemed concerned, not knowing where Lyanna was.

Little did they know that, beneath the helmet of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, was none other than Lyanna Stark, ready to challenge the three knights whose squires had attacked Howland Reed.

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Raccoon Here: I think with this, I can summarize the rest of the tournament and the war in the next chapter so it doesn’t drag on too much.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 238 – Destroying another Khalasar.

Chapter 243 – Artican Army vs Khal Drogo’s Khalasar 02.

Chapter 253 – Free Folk vs Dead Army 02.

Chapter 262 – Events in Arctic.

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