[Chapter Size: 4000 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 299 AC.

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“An threat? Is this a threat?” Stannis snarled, not liking at all what he had read.

‘How dare he!’ Stannis thought.

“My king, you have nothing to fear,” Melisandre assured. She read the letter, but could not help frowning as she read the words speaking of her god.

‘He found R’hllor?!’ She could not believe that anyone could do such a thing, after all the great red god only communicated with his followers

A laugh interrupted her words. The very gray raven that had brought the letter began to mock, as if it had understood what the Red Woman had said about Jon Arctic.

It was not the king of Arctic controlling the raven, but he had always had that freer personality, spontaneous and irreverent. Sometimes even with Jon himself.

Melisandre did not fail to narrow her eyes directly at it. “Seize the raven, now,” she ordered.

The men exchanged glances beside the bird, which did not even have time to react when an iron gauntlet from one of the men grabbed it, startling it. Its laughter turned into a sharp and alarmed sound as it was held in the hands of one of the knights of the Stormlands.

Melisandre walked calmly toward the raven, taking its head and making it look at her, she was staring directly into its eyes.

“He is watching us through the eyes of this animal,” she stated in a serious tone.

The men could not help but grow uneasy at that. They did not like at all the idea of someone seeing through other eyes, as they had heard in the stories about Jon Arctic controlling animals against his enemies in the south.

The raven continued to struggle, and Melisandre stared at it for a moment before turning to one of the knights.

“Give me a dagger,” she asked the men.

The man removed one from his belt and handed it to her immediately. Tightening the blade in her hand, Melisandre turned her attention back to the raven.

“Hold it tight. This is R’hllor’s answer to this false king,” she declared.

Immediately she hurled her dagger at the raven in front of everyone and drove the blade into the creature’s chest, which cawed in agony with a cry of pain as it thrashed, blood gushing from its small body. She pulled the blade back, and the knight released it. The raven fell to the ground, bleeding, trying to rise to flee from there, but without strength as its chest was open with blood pouring out.

Melisandre turned to Stannis, who said nothing. He only stared at the bird’s body still writhing on the ground as the blood spread.

“It is done, my king,” she declared. “The false king is no longer looking through its eyes. And I presume he must also be feeling the same pain the creature felt.” She smiled in a subtle and malicious manner.

“I see. Then let us—” He could not even finish.

ROOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRR

A roar of fury echoed in the sky, interrupting Stannis’s orders.

Everyone immediately raised their eyes to the red creature that was advancing at high speed. Even the people of Hardhome stared at it as the creature came straight out of the clouds in the sky.

The dragon dove toward the sea, made a sharp turn close to the water, and sped at full speed toward the ships ahead.

Everyone watched, stunned, not knowing what to do, as they tried to identify what that was.

The free folk might have already been starting to get used to the presence of dragons, at least the white dragon that always landed near Hardhome, but the men of the Stormlands were certainly seeing the legendary creature for the first time in their lives.

“Jon, what are you doing?” Arya shouted to Jon, who simply rose from the saddle and began preparing to jump, removing the clasp of his belt from the saddle of Strawberry.

He did not answer Arya. When they passed over the first ship, where Stannis was, Jon simply jumped from the dragon’s saddle, leaving Arya behind. She even tried to reach him, but could not stop him.

He leapt from a height of roughly fifteen meters. The dragon passed so close to the sail that it pushed it backward, even making the men below crouch in fear, as they saw someone fall from the sky and crash against the wood of the deck.

The wood cracked under the impact.

Jon crouched to cushion the fall with his knee, and soon slowly rose, beginning to lift his gaze toward the animal that had been left near him to die, still slowly writhing.

The man there certainly wore armor far more finely crafted and shining than Stannis’s. He said nothing nor made any aggressive move. He only kept his eyes fixed on the small body on the ground for a few seconds.

No one knew what to do. They looked at one another. Even Stannis studied the man who had fallen from the sky to the point of cracking the very wood beneath his feet, yet was perfectly fine, even after doing something humanly impossible and surviving.

Jon walked to where the wounded and dying raven lay. “Glo… it’s going to be alright,” the king of Arctic murmured softly.

He touched the raven’s pierced chest, and his palm began to emit a green light. The body stopped weakly thrashing, as a warm and pleasant energy took hold of it. The wound began to heal before everyone’s eyes.

A moment later, the raven soon began to move in a more controlled way. As Jon healed it, more and more men surrounded him at a distance.

Everyone witnessed Jon holding the raven as if it were something precious, important enough for the king of Arctic to enter alone among enemies to save it.

The bird flapped its wings without taking flight, as if checking whether its body was well, and looked at Jon, its feathers still stained with its own blood.

“Gloo…” The bird seemed to look at him without its former arrogance, and Jon could feel the fear and pain it had felt when it was pierced and left there to die.

While Glo seemed to be communicating with Jon, the display of healing for the others was something disturbing, after all the bird had been about to die and was brought back.

“By the Seven…”

“He healed the raven.”

“It’s witchcraft.”

“It’s like the rumors say, he can control animals.”

The voices rose around them.

Stannis watched with an arched brow. The king of Arctic seemed not to care about him or even about his own safety. The raven seemed more important at that moment.

Even Melisandre was speechless at what she had just seen.

“The dragon… the dragon might come back,” someone murmured, seeing Strawberry roar as she flew alongside the fleet over the open sea, after circling back. Arya was still on her, confused but steady, it was Jon who was controlling the dragon only with his warg ability and directing it toward the fleet.

That was when Stannis realized the situation. The dragon from the rumors was real, despite the color being different from what they had described and not as large.

His men began to grow restless and he gave the order to them with a look and a nod of his head. One of them, taking the initiative, advanced first against the Arctican king who was still tending to the raven.

After all, the enemy leader, the dragon rider, was there — vulnerable, within reach.

The man ran toward Jon, raising his sword to threaten him. Jon did not even look at him, surprisingly.

He continued watching Glo, stroking his feathers carefully. “You took too great a risk. You should have left as soon as you delivered the letter…”, Jon murmured as he cared for the gray raven.

At the same time that he raised his free hand toward the approaching man without looking at him, a ball of fire began to form. It shot toward the knight who was advancing with his sword raised, striking him before he could react.

It was too fast. The flame appeared so quickly in that man’s hand that no one knew what to do about it, he was struck with the flames completely engulfing him. He fell backward as he began to burn immediately, letting out a scream of agony that frightened everyone around.

Several stepped back, looking on in horror.

Even Stannis recoiled a little.

But one person did not take a single step back.

Melisandre felt something in those flames.

“My prince…”, the words escaped her lips without her being able to control her own voice.

At that moment, upon seeing that ability to generate such powerful flames out of nothing — a fire far more powerful than any power she had ever dreamed of possessing — she finally understood.

She could have said for years that Stannis was the Prince That Was Promised. She could have insisted, believed, preached it with fervor. But upon seeing Jon and his flames, she knew she had been wrong all along, in the very moment she saw his power.

Stannis was not the Prince That Was Promised.

Jon Arctic was the chosen one, the champion.

It was he who had won the war against the dead. Not Stannis.

How could she have been so blind? She could feel the flames as if R’hllor himself were summoning his powers through that man before her. The presence was undeniable to her. He was the chosen one, even though she was confused by him being publicly declared in favor of the old gods, which were a pagan religion to Melisandre.

His words in the letter… were true! With him saying that he had found her god, it had seemed absurd before.

Now, she knew it was true.

He had been touched by R’hllor. By the Red God. The god to whom she had dedicated her entire life, serving a false champion while the true one fought, all that time, in the north of the Wall.

Stannis hardened his gaze upon hearing that. Melisandre was not speaking to him when she said prince…

She was speaking to the man who had just burned one of his knights, who was still screaming on the ground as the flames consumed him inside his armor without him being able to do anything, with his other companions trying to extinguish the flames, without success.

“My prince…”, she repeated.

Jon finally looked at her. He still stroked Glo one last time.

“Go far from here,” he ordered the raven.

He had known that bird for more than a decade. It was one of his favorite animals. He had sent it that small message the day before, asking it to come south and arrive before him.

When he felt the danger through the bond, he sped forward at full speed with his dragon, even leaving his wives behind. Strawberry had to push herself to the limit; she was exhausted, but Jon had had no choice.

The raven seemed to immediately understand Jon’s words at that moment. It flapped its wings and flew away toward the mainland.

Jon then stood up. And he saw the Red Woman approaching him, with tears in her eyes.

“R’hllor told me that my purpose would be fulfilled here and today, my prince. And now I see why. You are the true Azor Ahai reborn. How foolish I have been… There is something in my cabin, a piece of map and a painting. R’hllor entrusted me to pass it on to the one who would cross my path in the future, I would know to whom. And here he is, my prince. It is you!” she said firmly.

Jon narrowed his eyes.

The woman was before him, opening her arms as if she wanted to embrace him, while everyone around remained stunned. Moments before, she had shouted words claiming that Stannis would be the great winner of the game of thrones, that he would take the crown and be the rightful king. Now, she simply surrendered herself to another in front of them all.

Melisandre no longer cared about anything else, Jon’s ability with the flames was unmistakable to her. There was no way to deny what she had seen. He had first healed an animal on the brink of death — brought life. And he had also generated flames against his enemies.

How could she not believe that he was the true chosen one?

Even so, Jon showed no expression as he listened to her. He merely stared into her eyes.

“You say that I am your prince?” he asked in a calm tone, but with cold eyes.

“Yes… yes. You are the one I should have sought long ago. I was blind. Stannis was never the prince that was promised, but someone so that I could reach you. You are the true Azor Ahai. The true king.”

Stannis grimaced, his expression dark as he saw Melisandre betray him before everyone.

Melisandre, seeing that Jon’s face revealed nothing, insisted: “My prince, I—”

She could not finish.

With a movement too fast for anyone to follow, Jon simply unsheathed Blackfyre and cut the woman’s neck.

She was beheaded there, before everyone, her head flying.

For a few seconds, the body still remained standing before collapsing onto the deck, blood gushing from the neck while the head rolled to a corner of the deck. Jon looked at his own blade. The strike had been so fast that there was almost no blood on it.

The place plunged into silence.

The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the dragon’s wings approaching.

People looked at Melisandre’s body and at the king of Arctic, sword still in hand after the lethal movement. No one could say they had foreseen that. She had simply died before everyone — before the one she had just called the Prince That Was Promised and was about to throw everything away for, a man she had met only a few seconds ago.

Jon’s eyes left the woman’s lifeless body and slowly lifted to Stannis.

Both stared at each other for a few seconds.

Suddenly, Jon advanced. He did not care that he was surrounded. He pulled the shield that was strapped to his back and fitted it onto his left arm, as he moved forward, with Stannis’s knights quickly positioning themselves around him to protect him.

“Quick! Stop him!” the shouts echoed.

The first man advanced, but Jon was even faster. He slid along the arm of the knight who tried to strike him and drove the tip of Blackfyre into his neck, piercing the armor. With a single lateral slash, he made the blood gush and incapacitated him as he fell with a groan, unable to speak anymore, after all he had lost his vocal cords with that.

At the same time, Jon’s shield was raised and crashed against several swords coming from the sides. Jon pushed with ease, making the men lose their balance, and advanced against those who were still standing on the right.

Stannis, realizing the fate that was unfolding with his men fighting against the king from north of the Wall, did not hesitate to grab the sword he had taken from Benjen and set it ablaze, already soaked in oil, as he watched his men being slaughtered. There were fifteen against one, and even so the king of Arctic advanced at high speed, defending himself with the shield in one hand and killing with the sword in the other.

At that moment, the other ships were also in turmoil. The chaos happening on the main ship drew attention.

Each ship had more than a hundred men, but they did not have time to intervene.

The red dragon had returned to the fleet.

And it did not need to do much.

Even surrounded, Jon gave the order mentally to Strawberry, controlling her. The dragon unleashed flames upon the first ships, which were immediately engulfed in fire. The red flames took over the decks and spread with ease.

The most confused of all was Arya.

She was not controlling the dragon; the female dragon simply surged forward.

From above, she looked at Jon fighting on the main ship. She did not understand why he had done that. She had seen him very angry and even tense in the middle of the flight before accelerating, leaving the other two queens behind and simply jumping onto the enemy ship.

She shouted for him, asking what was happening, but Jon did not answer. He had only advanced and leapt. Arya still tried to understand the reason, as she watched men being burned alive wherever they passed, as Strawberry unleashed her jet of flames.

Returning to the main ship.

Jon pulled the shield to the side and pointed his hand at enemies trying to surround him.

From the palm of his hand, balls of flame began to appear, firing toward the groups he believed could catch him from behind. Screams filled the air as men burned alive. Others retreated, cautious, giving space for Jon to continue advancing until he reached Stannis.

Corpses were left behind. Men agonized with cut throats or even beheaded, their lifeless bodies falling onto the deck. Jon always left fatal wounds — even if they did not die immediately, they would not last long.

“Come on, Stannis! Are you not brave enough to think you can dominate the free folk, think you can steal from me and challenge me! You and your men will die here today!” Jon roared.

He cut another throat, deflected the advance of another knight, pushed him and severed his arm before finishing with a strike to the neck, ensuring the man would not suffer for long.

Soon, he was no longer being attacked.

Everyone was shocked. There were only knights on Stannis’s ship, and Jon had finished twenty of them fighting alone in the middle of all that. Even using flames to burn men alive with magic, he had killed 20 men using only his sword.

Even with the protection of Valyrian steel and his sword of the same material, cutting through armor with ease, it was still something inhuman to witness. And he did not even seem tired. He could repeat that five more times, if he wished.

Jon kept his gaze fixed on Stannis, who still wielded Benjen’s Valyrian steel sword, wrapped in flames.

That enraged Jon.

That man had shamelessly stolen from his uncle, knowing that the Wall had few men to defend itself. Jon no longer even blamed Benjen for handing over the armor; he would rather forge ten the same and give them to any southerner, as long as his uncle remained alive in the end.

But understanding that did not lessen his fury. It would not stop him from wanting to make that idiot pay.

Stannis finally approached, with at least eight men at his side. Others came from behind Jon, stepping over the corpses he had left on the deck. They already knew they were not facing a common enemy and resorted to more cowardly tactics.

Jon also decided that he would not fight in a conventional way.

When Stannis was close enough, ready for the confrontation, and the men were closing the circle around them, Jon’s eyes glowed an intense green.

He lifted his foot a few centimeters off the ground and slammed it hard against the wood of the deck.

In the next instant, an explosion of snow burst from that point, spreading among them, and a cold front formed around Stannis and Jon. A storm appeared, taking shape, and spun like a hurricane, muffling the men’s screams as they began to despair. The intense cold struck their bodies immediately.

Only Jon and Stannis were not affected by the blizzard within it.

The men, disoriented, ran from one side to the other as the ice began to stiffen their armor.

“Now it’s just the two of us,” Jon said to the last legitimate Baratheon man.

Stannis stared at him, uncertain, but kept his sword steady. The flame that wrapped the blade began to fade under the force of the storm.

He was worried. Jon could see it. Even so, Stannis remained firm.

Jon took the first step.

It was time to kill that bastard.

Stannis clenched his teeth, he invoked magic again, but of ice… Stannis felt extremely cold in that environment, while his opponent seemed accustomed to lower temperatures.

That was the boy raised by Lord Stark until his eighth nameday. Now, he stood before something much greater, shaped by time and forged with magic that Stannis could not even imagine someone wielding.

He knew he could not defeat him.

Everything he had fought for would be lost that day.

He had believed he could be the king of Westeros. But now he would lose everything there.

He knew his ships were being burned by the red dragon. He could hear nothing but the sound of the storm swirling around them.

Outside the blizzard, two other dragons arrived at that moment from the same place the red one had come.

The black dragon and the purple dragon joined Strawberry as soon as they saw what she was doing, spewing fire upon the fleet.

“Dracarys!” Daenerys and Rhaenys shouted together.

And from above, they noticed the snowstorm enveloping the main ship and knew that Jon was there.

Still full of questions about why Jon had advanced without waiting for them so suddenly, Daenerys and Rhaenys did what they needed to do.

They focused on the destruction of the enemy fleet.

Inside the blizzard, Jon said nothing. He could have mocked Stannis, but he no longer felt like it. He simply advanced, dropping his shield onto the ground.

Stannis raised his sword and charged, striking at Jon with all his strength. But Jon was even faster. He shot forward with an almost supernatural push of his legs, grabbed Stannis’s wrist with ease before the sword could come down.

Stannis did not even have time to react.

In the next instant, Jon pointed his sword with the other hand at his chest and lunged forward.

The only thing Stannis managed to do was place his free hand in front of him by instinct. The blade pierced the Valyrian steel gauntlet, went through it, and continued forward, embedding itself in his chest. The force of the thrust was so great that the sword pierced Benjen’s Valyrian steel armor and came out through his back. Jon had cut even through Valyrian steel itself, before the sheer power of a sword like Blackfyre.

Jon lifted his gaze.

Stannis stared at him, his hand still pinned against his own chest, while he released the sword with his right. His wrist was still trapped in Jon’s grip, but his strength was beginning to fail.

His eyes dropped to the open hole in his chest.

Jon noticed in his gaze, the fear.

And the regret.

Without saying anything more, Stannis began to collapse. Jon withdrew the sword, and he fell onto the deck, living his final moments.

Jon stared at him for a few seconds.

That had been one of the claimants to the Iron Throne, one of the five protagonists of the War of the Five Kings — a war that was practically already over, while Joffrey still held the crown.

“One is gone,” Jon said simply.

The next ones, all wearing crowns, would die by his sword.

And they were in the south.

He would find them soon.

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