[Chapter Size: 3200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

King’s Landing, 298 AC.

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Jon was calmly looking at the white dragon, which stood before him, ready to take off and charge against their enemies.

He was wearing several parts of his body covered by giant plate armor, made of an eldenmetal, forged for him a long time ago. Although they only needed small size adjustments, he had never needed to use them until now. But this time, the situation demanded that he test them on his dragon, who clearly did not like wearing those pieces. Even so, as Jon had asked, he had no choice.

Then some people approached and began to place the armor around the creature’s body after Jon ordered it. Eragon felt a bit heavier, but nothing that would prevent him from flying, since the armor was light and the dragon had tremendous strength.

Anyway, Jon walked toward the dragon, while everyone around watched him with curiosity, seeing the king heading off to battle. Especially his family, who were in the garden — wives and children — saw the husband and father approach the already-prepared dragon, ready to fly.

At the same time, from the balcony, a blonde woman watched. She was still getting used to the completely different and exotic lifestyle, as she had been used to living thinking only of herself and her sister, always distrustful of everyone. So it was normal for her to try to isolate herself a bit from the group. Although some queens tried to be quite friendly, Val kept a cautious gaze toward everyone.

Her eyes, however, fell upon Jon for a moment. And, although she initially appeared hostile, there was admiration in her gaze as she saw him approach the creature he commanded — a creature capable of destroying entire tribes like no other. A dragon, as they called it.

There were other wives, who also had their own dragons. None as large as his, but still, they were powerful creatures. And all the children also seemed to have their own dragons. Val found that incredible: a single family that had the power to mount these creatures and fly through the skies. No one could oppose a group like that.

Jon climbed onto the dragon, mounting its back. When he looked at his family, especially at the bright eyes of admiration from his children, he also saw the lips of his wives moving silently, wishing:

“Good luck.”

Jon turned his face and looked to the sky, as Eragon rapidly flapped his wings, advancing, fully armored, just like his rider, wearing the Valyrian steel armor with Blackfyre. They were heading to battle together.

Jon moved beyond Ártica, while everyone below could see him advancing. They all knew he had a goal, somewhere beyond the walls.

The people of Ártica nodded, satisfied, as they saw the glory of their king flying on his dragon to defeat the kingdom’s enemies. Meanwhile, the newcomers to the kingdom watched with curiosity, admiration — and a bit of fear. They knew that, if they hadn’t chosen to come here with Mance, they might have been the target of that dragon. And that doubt certainly crossed many minds when they had to choose.

Jon was going to deal with a problem in the North, a problem involving the remnants of the free folk who had been left behind — or who, by their own choice, had taken a different path. And now, it seemed they were trying to steal the kingdom’s ships.

The first attack began two days ago, while Jon was on a journey through the northern surroundings beyond the Wall, trying to devise a strategy, surveying the region, against the white walkers coming from the North.

He learned about it through his animals, when the ships returning from their trade journeys arrived in Ártica with some wounded, reporting an intense rain of arrows launched by a group of free folk tribes.

These tribes were made up of both remnants from Mance’s camp and others who already held a poor opinion of Ártica and wanted to demand its resources.

Jon couldn’t handle everything alone. That’s why he ordered his men to go ahead, and quickly a group was sent to deal with them — all were Wargs controlling animals among them —, who could move quickly through the northern fields, mounted on their basilisk, accompanied by bears and shadowcats.

The Artican group was smaller than the total force of the tribes, but that made no difference. As the Artican groups began combat, they caught the rebels by surprise. With hit-and-run tactics, and mounted on faster animals, they could move easily through the region.

This continued for a few days.

Jon returned to Ártica two days later and quickly stopped to meet with everyone to discuss the situation. He would handle it himself and declared he would wear full armor, and now he was advancing directly to the battlefield.

The Articans, already used to the king’s advances, did not try to change his mind as stubbornly this time.

It seemed the free folk who, that night when Jon helped them fight the dead, joining their cause, had forgotten the terror of facing a dragon.

But Jon would make sure they remembered.

He quickly cut through the mountains and, in less than three hours, was already seeing a small battle taking place near a hill and a mountain range in the eastern part of the region, a little before the coast. Men tried to shoot arrows at the mounted group, while the Articans on mounts retaliated with their own arrows and other weapons.

Jon, atop his dragon, immediately charged ahead. Eragon roared, making the whole valley tremble.

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR

The sound of the dragon echoed like a colossal thunder. A roar from the massive dragon was so loud that it made everyone stop and look to the sky.

It took a few seconds for them to really understand what was coming. A “bird” of metal was flying at full speed, descending upon them. Jon and Eragon themselves kept their necks extended forward, aiming directly at the enemies.

Fear spread among the tribal group as they pointed at them. They knew exactly what that meant. But it was already too late: the dragon was upon them.

“Dracarys!” Jon shouted.

Flames exploded from Eragon’s mouth, surging forward like a wild storm, engulfing the snow and the first men in its path. Screams began immediately.

There would be no mercy. Jon was determined to destroy that group, as they had already harmed the people of Ártica.

“Shoot! Shoot!” shouted the men from a distance, as their arrows flew toward the dragon, who passed very close to the ground.

They certainly hoped for a chance. But upon seeing Eragon spewing fire in all directions, they realized that if Jon were even slightly unsure, he wouldn’t do that. Only someone fully confident in his creature would charge in like that.

Eragon’s armor wasn’t just symbolic — the arrows struck the metal and ricocheted, useless against the Valyrian steel armor.

The dragon roared, flying over the battlefield, and then rose again into the sky, ready for another attack.

From afar, the Artican men cried out as they saw their king in action, while also taking advantage of the chaos to counterattack. A group of archers, mounted on basilisks, quickly fired arrows with vile and deadly precision, easily taking down all the men within their reach who tried to flee.

Eragon flew and returned again, waiting for the right moment to unleash more flames, leaving behind a sea of death.

This went on for a while. There were at least 20,000 enemy men there. But there was no way to keep most of them alive after what they had done by attacking Ártica’s ships. Not all would be spared. It was better that they died there than fell into the hands of the dead.

It was a form of mercy.

Jon continued bathing the ground with fire as they tried to flee in all directions. It was cruel, but at the same time, it showed that a king must sometimes be cruel.

Hours passed, and Eragon began to show signs of exhaustion from unleashing so many flames, while the entire region was already ablaze. Most had been eliminated. Jon even recognized some of the men — they were the ones he had seen when he visited the camp in the north. He also saw who had led them, lying dead on the ground.

“I think that’s enough…” Jon murmured. “Those who survive will certainly tell stories about this day. They’ll surely know it’s not a good idea to attack Ártica and will teach that to their descendants, if they survive what’s to come.”

Jon landed on the ground, in front of his men, while they awaited his orders.

“Any casualties?” Jon asked.

“We had none, sir. But we have 22 wounded warriors,” the commanding soldier replied.

“Alright. I’ll be returning to Ártica. I’ll request reinforcements to assist with the injured,” Jon said, as the Artican soldier nodded, bowing his head slightly.

Soon after, he shot back into the sky with Eragon, leaving his men behind, tasked with organizing the return.

He had been gone for eight hours when he returned again, easily recognized in the skies over Ártica, returning to the castle in the late afternoon.

Even though he had faced scattered enemies — after all, 20,000 soldiers amid the chaos were heavily spread out after the first burst of fire —, it had been difficult, and Jon had to hunt them down, one by one.

As soon as he landed, Eragon let out a loud roar, while Jon patted the metal of the dragon’s armor.

“Alright, I’ll ask them to take it off immediately. But this was for your own good,” Jon said, while Eragon simply snorted, not caring about the protection as long as it was removed. He called the men responsible for that and walked toward the castle.

Jon’s family was coming toward him. Some of the wives and children ran ahead of the mothers, wanting to ask if he was okay and what had happened, but he wasn’t paying attention to them at that moment.

His gaze was fixed on someone else: his uncle Benjen, who was approaching with a cautious look.

“Jon…” Benjen said, hesitation in his eyes.

“Did something happen?” Jon asked, his gaze suspicious.

“It’s about Winterfell. Jon… they sent a letter to you too. I read mine. Things don’t look good there,” Benjen said seriously.

“What’s the problem?” Jon asked, now with a stern expression, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. “What’s happening in Winterfell?”

“A faceless assassin.” Benjen replied, as Jon looked startled by the information.

“A faceless assassin? For who?” he asked, his voice loaded with tension.

“Arya doesn’t know… but she knows the target is a Stark. And it’s not Arya,” he said.

“I’ll see to this immediately,” Jon said, as he saw his wives approaching, with his children running toward him. Each one greeted him with a few words, but everyone could see he was serious.

He didn’t seem to be enjoying his victory over the 20,000 free folk.

In any case, he left the area and said he would check Arya’s letter. He read it moments later, while walking away in silence.

“Is something wrong, Jon?” Seryna appeared at that moment, watching him closely.

“I’m going to Winterfell,” he simply said, making the giantess in human form furrow her brow.

Benjen had also been acting strange after the letter.

“What happened, Jon?” she asked, since Benjen hadn’t shared anything with anyone.

“It’s an assassin. A Faceless One. I’ll be heading there to investigate,” he replied.

“Are you sure? Going south now…” Seryna asked, hesitant.

“I’ll return quickly. I hope to reach Winterfell before the Hour of the Wolf,” he said.

“Alright. I’ll inform the others… and our children,” Seryna said, and Jon nodded.

“How is Val?” he asked.

“Silent, as always. She seems even more uncomfortable when you’re away,” she said.

Jon sighed. Val certainly still needed time to get used to life in the castle. Despite everything, her eyes were intense when it came to him.

“I believe she’s just adapting. Still a bit isolated… but I’m trying to get her to interact more,” Seryna commented, and Jon nodded again.

“Alright. I’ll talk to her a bit more once I return. It seems our problems ended for a while… and now we already have to deal with war again,” Jon said.

He hadn’t interacted much with Val since the first day either. They had talked a lot only in that private moment. After that, Val was more silent when in groups or during dinners and walks around the castle.

In any case, she didn’t even take his armor off. Jon called Eragon, who approached with a soft growl, and this time Jon didn’t need to put the armor on him.

“Sorry, buddy. But we need to head south,” Jon said, while the dragon didn’t seem bothered by it — as long as he wasn’t wearing that annoying armor, he was more than fine with taking Jon wherever he needed to go.

Jon smiled, as if reading Eragon’s thoughts, while mounting with only the saddle this time. The dragon rose into the skies, heading south as night was already falling over Ártica.

At the same time, in Winterfell…

Hours passed, and once again the girl snuck out of her room, heading toward the godswood without anyone seeing her. She walked slowly, as if determined, and entered, sitting by the lake, ignoring even the heart tree.

Then she began to cry.

“Sansa?”

A voice startled her at that moment, making her turn around quickly. It was Robb, approaching.

“Robb… what are you doing here?” she murmured, hesitant.

“I should ask you that, Sansa. What are you doing here alone… and crying?” Robb asked. “Did something happen, sister?”

“I… no…” she tried to murmur and deny it, but her current state gave her away. Tears were streaming down her face.

“It’s about all of this, Robb…” she murmured.

“About mom? I saw you and Cassandra had an argument. She’s not as bad as you think, Sansa,” Robb murmured.

“I know she’s not bad. It’s just that…” — more tears came forth — “I can’t stand the idea of someone taking mom’s place. Why did she have to go, Robb? And you were complacent, that’s it!” Sansa murmured, her voice breaking with anger and pain.

“What she did was wrong, Sansa. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d be in a dead-end now when taking over Winterfell,” Robb commented firmly.

“Since when do you seem so ready to apologize to him?” she said bitterly, avoiding saying the name of the one who should be her brother.

“I was wrong about Jon, Sansa. Today, I see that clearly. I was overtaken by envy for what he had become… and for the achievements he had gathered over the years.” He admitted, with a bitter taste in his mouth, but finally sincere.

Robb had become just a shadow in the face of Jon’s reputation. But there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn’t out traveling or warring, racking up feats like Jon, and it consumed him. It had been years of jealousy he had never wanted to admit.

“You’ve changed too. They’re all changing. Everything… just because now Jon is king of who-knows-what beyond the Wall!” Sansa complained.

“That’s not why he—”

He couldn’t finish. He felt someone approaching. Robb and Sansa looked to the side, noticing a guard coming toward them in the godswood.

“What are you doing here?” Robb asked firmly, bringing his hand to his waist… but his sword wasn’t there.

That made Robb frown. He had been in his room, looking out the window, when he saw Sansa entering the godswood. In such a rush, Robb hadn’t even thought to bring his sword when he saw her, with her red hair swaying outside her cloak.

“Sorry… I saw you two here and came to ask if everything was alright,” the guard said, approaching but not stopping.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Stop immediately, or…” Robb threatened, in a defensive stance, even without a weapon. He looked ready to attack with his hands if needed.

“How can I back away now, Robb?” the man replied with a crooked smile.

“You’re right in front of me. And the girl too…”

Sansa was startled at hearing that, wondering who this man was.

“I can deal with her later,” said the Faceless assassin.

“You’re the assassin…” Robb murmured, now with no doubt.

They had nothing to defend themselves with. Robb cursed himself internally for that, and Sansa stood frozen, in pure terror.

“Exactly. And you’re going to die,” the man said, pulling something from his waist.

But before he could do anything, a sharp whistle cut through the air — THUNK! — an arrow buried itself in the ground between the assassin’s legs, forcing him to stop.

He stared at the arrow for a moment before his eyes shifted forward. Robb and Sansa looked in shock toward the direction the arrow had come from…

And there, behind Robb, someone was stepping into view, another arrow already ready in her hand.

“Well… it’s good you finally showed up. And just as I thought, if anyone was going to come, it was you.”

It was Arya approaching, while the assassin raised an eyebrow at her.

Robb and Sansa were stunned.

“You took longer than you should’ve,” Arya said calmly.

“Arya Stark…” the assassin murmured upon seeing her.

In any case, Arya advanced toward the assassin, who gave a small smile, drawing his blade from the sheath at his side.

Jill and Buri were behind her, watching everything cautiously, even more so given the decision Arya had imposed on them.

“You knew I was the assassin,” the man murmured.

“Obviously,” Arya replied. “The excessive amount of herbal perfume you used in your house, trying to mask the corpse of the man who wore the hidden face… That’s what gave you away. But then we found the body… And after that, I investigated more closely yesterday.”

She continued:

“I saw how you always kept your eyes on Robb’s room… you ignored Sansa, even though she always stayed close to the godswood. But today, that changed, with Robb coming. Obviously, I gave him a hint. And he followed Sansa. That’s why you’re here.” She spoke with a sarcastic tone.

“You set me up, Arya?!” Robb murmured, unable to hide his surprise.

“Don’t feel bad, brother. I was watching to make sure nothing happened to you. But… not bringing a sword? I thought you were smarter.”

Arya managed to make Robb a little embarrassed with that, as she unsheathed her sword, spinning it briefly to examine it.

“Anyway, I’ve always wanted to face a Faceless assassin. That’s why I didn’t execute you in the open field. Here, alone… only my brothers and my guards will witness our fight.” Arya declared.

“You really want to fight me like this?” the assassin murmured, surprised.

Arya simply nodded. “Of course. Why not?”

In the next moment, she lunged.

The Faceless assassin was surprised by her aggression. Arya wanted to kill him. He quickly drew his short sword, and the clash began right there, before the heart tree, in the godswood of Winterfell.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 272 – The Journey and Titles of the Arctican King up to This Moment.

Chapter 277 – The Reception of Arya Stark.

Chapter 287 – The dilemmas of Winterfell.

Chapter 296 – The Trial at Winterfell 01.

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