The Warg King

[Psyckosama]

'Something scarier than this,' Daenerys' expression shifted as her eyes unconsciously went down towards the direction of her bed, under which lay her chest containing the three most precious rocks in the world, rocks capable of bringing change to the world, 'I know of a beast like that,'

Click to shrink...

The Breaker of Chains is back... but this time she's not going to go fucking mad.

 

[Kclcmdr]

Jon very little big buddy Inky Der Terrah Of the Medium-size Krakens just taught a fleet of pirates the folly of their vile trade...

 

[ATP]

Who Dany would sacrifise to get her dragons? if all they need is living human,then 3 average pirates should be enough.

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[LazyWizard]

"Haha, Marvellous! Marvellous!!" Robert exclaimed in jubilation, slapping his thigh again and again, as wine spilt from the goblet he was holding in his other hand, but the man did not seem to care. "I knew the boy had it in him, I knew it!" he boasted proudly to the members of the small council beside him, who all smiled appropriately to humour him.


At the centre of the Tourney grounds, Jon disembarked from his horse and immediately went to help the defeated knight back up on his feet.


"Are you fine, Ser?" Jon asked in a worried voice as he examined the elderly knight to make sure that there were no signs of broken bones or twisted fingers.


"Of course, lad." The old knight groaned in answer as he shook his head and slowly got up with his help. "I learned to fall long before I learned to ride. So do not worry about hurting this old man. I will simply have some ugly bruises for a week or so and then be back to having just back pain and knobby knees," he chuckled as he rotated his arms to loosen his joints, "Though it has been quite a few decades since someone has sent me flying on the third pass," he said as he looked appraisingly at the boy who he had grown very fond of over the week or so that he had known him, "You did a good job, boy," he praised as he patted the boy on his shoulder.


*ROAR*


At that moment, the crowd in the stands, who had already been clapping and cheering, became even more enthusiastic in their celebration and began screaming themselves hoarse as they saw the gesture from the Legendary knight for the young winner.


This was the kind of thing that they had only ever heard tales about, so to see it happening right in front of their own eyes was a dream come true for them.


And some of the usual braggarts sitting amidst the stands almost couldn't hold in their excitement and immediately began running from their seats, wanting nothing more than to rush towards their homes, their friends or even the nearest tavern, to just share(boast) everything that they had seen here today.


"The crowd seems to adore you very much," The knight commented in a low voice as he turned towards the stands with a distant look in his eyes, as if he was seeing something that was not here.


The knight remembered the last time he had seen someone be so popular amongst the smallfolk populace, and how easy it had been for that man to put smiles on the faces of his subjects. 'The charisma is here too...'


"They just appreciate the one who wins," Jon answered with a a humble smile, as both of them took their horses by their reins and began to head towards the exit, "If it had been someone else winning out here, then I am sure they would have cheered for him just as enthusiastically," he said as he raised his hand towards the stands, making the screams from the smallfolks even louder.


"Hm, I am not so certain about that," Barristan replied with an amused look on his face, "After all, the Tyrell boy is just as young as you, and he too has not lost a single bout yet, but I do not see them being so enthusiastic in chanting his name."


And was that not the truth, as out of all the contestants out here competing in this tourney, which included almost all the big famous characters from the Seven Kingdoms, it was Jon Snow, the bastard from the North, whose name was the most repeated on the lips of bards, sailors, and smallfolks in the taverns of King's Landing.


It was as if every one of them had already decided that the boy was to be the champion of this tournament... even though it was the first time he was competing in one.


And the reason behind it all was also not very hard to deduce, as not only was the boy's entrance into the port of King's Landing grand enough that it was still the talk of the city a week later.


But he was also an underdog in their opinion, someone who did not come from privilege, who they could relate to much more than the other nobles, as he was a bastard who made his fortune with his own hands.


Plus, it did not hurt that the boy was as handsome and charismatic as they come, and was skilled enough to beat all the arrogant noble lords out there in a fair fight.


Not to mention, this whole Tourney was being held in his name for the feat of defeating an evil pirate king far away in the Stepstones... so all in all, one could say that after just a few days, the name Jon Snow had become the most famous one in this city, and now even beggars about the bastard of the North.


"The Melee is in a few days, so will you be participating in—"


"Ser Barristan! Jon Snow!"


A loud, booming voice interrupted Jon's inquiry, and both men turned their heads only to see the King standing at the edge of his platform, excitedly waving them to come to him.


The two exchanged helpless glances with each other at that, knowing that their chance to get some well-deserved rest had just disappeared, but there was little that one could do in front of the king's orders, so they sent away their horses and began making their way towards the Royal pavilion.


...


"Haha, tell me, Ser Barristan, how did it feel to lose to someone so young?" Robert began in a teasing voice the moment he caught sight of the man climbing the stairs, his entire being radiating with the excitement of someone who had just had a satisfying big meal.


It had always been a guilty pleasure of the Baratheon king to watch the high and mighty veteran knights, some of whom were even older than him, lose miserably to the younger ones.


It made the man feel as if his decision to let go and enjoy himself to the fullest, uncaring of his health and body, was not so bad.


After all, even these men who rigorously trained themselves every single day were out here losing to these brats, so was it not a better use of time to drink and party to his heart's content?


"Not too bad, your grace," Ser Barristan answered graciously, looking completely unbothered by the defeat, "It was a humbling experience to lose so thoroughly out there; it makes me feel that it is time I leave these youthful competitions to the... youth."


"Ah, nonsense!" Robert snorted as he waved his hand. "Don't hide behind your age, old man. We all know how sharp your skills still are," he said as he turned his eyes towards Jon, who had been silently standing beside him. "It was the boy's pure skill that beat you, nothing else."


"I cannot argue with that, your grace," Barristan smiled before he nodded to Jon and went to join his fellows standing guard behind the royals.


Just as Jon was also contemplating on an excuse to take his leave, Robert sighed, "Ah, if only your father had been here, I am sure he would have been very proud of you," he said with a nostalgic expression on his face, as if imaginging Eddard sitting beside him braggin about his son, and him feeling jealous because none of his progeny had anything worth bragging about, "Why are you standing so far, come take a seat beside me,"


Robert said as he enthusiastically patted the chair beside him.


Only half the small council was present on the royal platform at the moment, because Jon Arryn, whose seat Robert was pointing at for Jon, was still back in the Red Keep, stuck in his chambers handling the increased paperwork because of the sudden influx of all the Nobles, Merchants, and other smallfolks into the Capital.


And keeping him company in the Red Keep was Stannis, who was staying away from the Tourney with the same excuse: that there were too many ships entering and exiting the Harbour for him to comfortably sit here 'entertaining' himself with games.


Another notable absence was of the Master of Whisperer, Varys, who had actually been very enthusiastic about always being present for the popular games of the Tourney, continuously keeping his eyes peeled over the various pavallion belonging to the Lord paramounts to see who was speaking with whom, but for some reason, over the past few days, the Eunuch had begun taking his leave midway through citing various excuses, and the ones who were the most familiar with him, had long noticed that the man looked... distressed underneath his fake smile.


In the end, the only ones present here for the much-anticipated semi-final of the Tourney were Baelish, Renly, and Maester Pycelle, and joining them from the smaller seats at the front were Myrcella and Tommen, with their dearest Uncle Tyrion sitting beside them, keeping them entertained.


The Queen was also not here, but she was indeed present in the grounds and was sitting beside her father and other family members in the Lannister part of the stands, and accompanying her was her eldest son, Joffrey, and their absence was one of the reasons that the two royal children were so relaxed and peeking at Jon with curiosity in their eyes.


"You need to tell me how you trained yourself, boy," Robert asked the moment Jon took his seat. "How can your strikes be so precise, and how ever did you achieve your level of strength at this age? There has to be a secret behind this... Did your father make you drink some ancient magical juice or something, or perhaps sacrifice some animals to the Heart tree to ask the old gods for strength?" he asked with a mischievous look in his eyes, as he leaned down to whisper, "Don't worry, you can tell me; I will keep your secret."


"Just practise, your grace," Jon replied with a small smile on his face as he subtly leaned back, "No sacrifices involved, as far as I am aware."


'I can't say the same about magic, though...' the boy murmured internally, imagining the look on the King's face if he knew how close to the truth he had been at this moment.


In fact, in the beginning, Jon had not even been intending to participate in the Tourney, or even if he had been forced to, he had expected to lose honourably in the quarter-final to the old Royce or the Blackfish, or maybe even before that, and then prepare wholeheartedly for the Melee.


After all, even during their training period at Winterfell, he had always been behind Robb in this art.


Though that was mostly because Jon always considered it to be too dangerous a game, where death or maiming was just a little slip away, and felt it gave little returns for the investment this skill demanded, so he just always focused on his other martial skills.


But then he was blessed with that bullet time skill because of Frost in the fight against the Mountain, and... everything changed.


With the additional brain resources available to him through his warg connection, Jon could enter a completely different world during his bout against other knights, where everything slowed down for him... so much so that it gave him complete freedom to utilise Peggy's speed to the fullest.


And as everyone knows, the worst thing you can do during a joust is to go at your maximum speed, because then everything would be out of your control and you would be depending heavily on luck or instincts to guide your strike or to defend against the opponent's lance.


But Jon did not have to worry about that, as he could accurately see the position of everything in slow motion and make minute changes at the very last moment so that his lance always struck true.


And since everyone knows that speed is power... so no matter who his opponent was, whether it was the bulky beast Sandor Clegane or a skilled veteran like Ser Barristan, Jon could easily defeat them without losing a sweat.


In fact, it was only because he respected the Old Knight so much that he ever let their bout even go to the third round; otherwise... well, one only needed to see the sulking Hound getting drunk in the corner to know how humiliating it was to lose to a little brat in the second pass.


'No amount of strength or skill shall ever come close to defeating a cheat,' Jon decided internally as if he had stumbled upon a fundamental truth of the world.


Rober snorted as he shook his head, "If practice was all it took, then so many old Knights wouldn't have been eliminated in the first three rounds," he said with a little disdain in his voice, "After all, practising and keeping their skills sharp is the only task they have, but I do not see them achieving much, even after all that effort."


Jon had no answer to that, so he simply shrugged with a helpless expression as if saying that he couldn't help it if he was a talented young boy.


"—This is it!! IT'S THE MOMENT WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!" The announcer's loud, enthusiastic voice interrupted their conversation, and they turned towards the grounds to see that the other semifinal was finally starting, "THE PRIDE OF LANNISTER VERSUS THE PRODIGY OF THE TYRELLS. WHO SHALL WIN THIS BOUT—"


"About time," Robert grumbled as he leaned forward with an interested expression, "So what do you think, lad? Which one of them do you expect to see in the finals?" he asked Jon with a raised eyebrow.


"I would go with Loras Tyrell," Jon answered with little to no hesitation, drawing surprised glances from everyone in the vicinity.


"Oh, and why is that?" Robert asked with an intrigued look in his eyes.


"As I previously said, it all comes down to training in my opinion," Jon answered with a tilt of his head, "I believe people who have been at the top of the field for a long time tend to get complacent and slack off, since they have already achieved what they set out to, while those who are still young and rising, strive to do their very best in every training session and bout, because they have a firm goal pushing them forward. So yes, I do believe Ser Loras has a higher chance of winning in this."


Of course, in truth, everything Jon said was bullshit and made up, and the real reason he was so sure of this was that it had already happened in the canon around the same time during the Hand's Tourney.


In fact, even before this, Loras had already defeated Jamie once at a previous tourney hosted during Joffrey's name day, but for most of the people present here, that was a once-in-a-lifetime fluke, and they still believed in Jamie's reputation more, while for Jon, since it had already been done twice, it was no longer a matter of chance but skill.


"Would you be willing to put money on that conviction of yours?" Baelish, who had been silently observing their conversation until now, suddenly intervened with a harmless smile on his face.


"What are you up to, Littlefinger?" Robert asked with a suspicious look on his face, as if trying to see holding some kind of grudge against the boy because of what happened back at the port.


"Just a benign bet, your grace," Baelish answered with a raise of his hands, "I am certain someone as rich as JonSnow here would not mind having a little fun with some gold."


"Sure," Jon agreed after a momentary pause, "How about a thousand gold dragons on the winner then?"


The amount drew surprised glances from everyone in earshot, as all of them stared at the boy, whose calm smile made it seem as if he was betting pennies instead of gold. And while they were already familiar with the fact that the boy was rich, it still took them by surprise the casual way in which he threw his gold on a whim.


"I am afraid not," Baelish answered with a forced smile on his face, "After all, I am just the small lord of a tiny place, and cannot bring myself to bet what amounts to a whole year of my income on a bet. So you will need—"


"I will take the bet then," Tyrion calmly interjected as he turned his head and looked at Jon, a crooked smile on his face, "My brother would be quite cross with me if he found out that I did not jump on the chance to bet my gold on his victory."


"Ah, this is perfect then," Baelish jumped in with a delighted expression before Jon could respond to the dwarf. "We all can see whose eyes are more keen amongst the two of you," he said with a faint smile on his face, but the smirk hidden underneath led Jon to suspect that this weasel had been expecting something like this from the start.


Ignoring the petty lord, Jon turned his head towards Tyrion, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows, with curiosity and a tiny hint of provocation in his eyes.


But Jon could guess that there was probably no malice behind this, and the dwarf was likely just bored and wanted to have some fun, so he shrugged, "Why not? At least I know for sure that you will be able to back up your words and pay me when you lose."


"Oho, so confident in your little friend?" Tyrion quipped with an amused look on his face, "Is it truly about skills or is there something more involved?" he asked with a meaningful glance towards the Tyrell pavilion, where the pretty rose of Highgarden was drawing even more appreciative glances than his sister.


"Just skills," Jon answered without a change in his expression.


The boy knew that his outing with Margaery had drawn notice from various powers in King's Landing, but he did not care much for it, as it wasn't something he wanted to hide in the first place.


"Ah, seeing you two rich ones competing against each other has gotten me even more excited about this bout," Robert said as he took a big gulp and turned his eyes towards the grounds where the two competitors had already taken their starting position.


At that moment, a gust of wind blew, and almost immediately, every single person present scrunched up their noses with disgust in their eyes, as the infamous smell of Kingslanding made its presence known to everyone.


"Ah, fuck!" Robert groaned as he covered his nose with his collar to breathe a little easier. "Why did we even have to have the Tourney here?" It hadn't been the first time he had been greeted by this unpleasant smell that made one want to vomit.


This was actually one of the main reasons he did not like leaving the Red Keep, as at least in his castle, the height and wind meant that he didn't need to be constantly reminded of how dirty and shitty this city was.


"Because this was the only place that was big enough to hold the crowd, your grace," Baelish answered with a helpless look.


"Damn it! What I wouldn't pay to make this smell disappear from my city?" Robert grumbled as he shifted in his seat.


"Then why not simply have the shit cleaned from this city?" a voice suddenly asked, making everyone turn their heads to see who the idiot was speaking so simply about the problem that had bothered the successive kings for centuries on end.


"If only it were that easy to do, lad," Robert answered after a few moments with a look of pity in his eyes, thinking that the boy must not have be fully aware of the size of places like flea bottom yet, because if he knew about the sheer number of lowlifes living in this city who threw their piss and shit directly into the streets every single day, he would not be able to calmly say this sentence.


"I think... I should be able to do it."


///

 

[Kclcmdr]

Jon Snow Stark offering to try to clean/cleanse the smelly broken sewers of KL while Petyr is around to annoy him..
We wait..

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter. Good story as always.

Jon Snow Stark offering to try to clean/cleanse the smelly broken sewers of KL while Petyr is around to annoy him..

Click to shrink...

Is canon that Baelish hides the stolen gold from the Crown in the sewers? Maybe that is Jon angle

 

[ATP]

Thanks for the chapter. Good story as always.

Is canon that Baelish hides the stolen gold from the Crown in the sewers? Maybe that is Jon angle

Click to shrink...

wait,i thought that he hide money in Essoss.

 

[LazyWizard]

"...I should be able to do it."


Jon shrugged with the casualness of someone who was simply talking about going to the market to buy some vegetables.


The reaction his declaration received was quite varied, with most looking at him with either disdain or pity, as if they were watching a young, naive boy claiming to become a king one day.


And ironically, Baelish was the only one who did not dismiss the boy's words outright. He knew better than anyone present just how cunning this bastard from the North could be, and he feared that there was some hidden conspiracy behind this absurd declaration of his.


He just could not see it.


"I think you have probably never been to the slums of the city, lad," Robert said kindly, clearly not taking the boast too seriously. "Otherwise, you would not be saying something like this. You do not know how many kings, nobles, and maesters have spent their entire lives trying to clean the filth out of this city. No matter how many dragons they poured into it, every one of them failed. They had the will, aye, but alas..." He gave a small snort. "The shit has seeped into the very stones of this place. One would have to tear half of it down before there was any hope of making it clean."


"I do not mean to sing my own praises, but I believe I have certain advantages that would make this task far easier than most would expect," Jon said with an enigmatic smile. The people around him naturally assumed he was speaking of his wealth and the resources at his disposal. "With enough gold and proper planning, I do not believe it would take more than a few months."


This claim shocked them more than anything else, as they finally began to realise that the boy was not joking.


"Forgive me, but have I understood you correctly?" Tyrion asked, leaning forward slightly with clear interest. "You believe that, given the opportunity, you could cleanse all of King's Landing within a matter of months?"


"Yes, that is exactly what I am saying," Jon answered with a calm nod.


From across the table, Baelish silently studied Jon's face with narrowed eyes, trying to understand the boy's game. Ever since this conversation had begun, an uncomfortable feeling had been growing in his chest, as if his instincts were warning him that nothing good could come from it.


But before do anything about it, Renly Baratheon of all people jumped into the conversation.


"Then why not give young Jon here the chance, Brother?" The youngest Baratheon brother leaned forward with an amused grin. "Perhaps he could achieve what the rest of us could not. After all, he is the same young lad who has amassed one of the biggest merchant fleets at just fifteen years old, so I think he has earned the right to prove his words."


It all sounded nice, but anyone who knew the man well would realise that it was less about whether the task could actually be accomplished and more about the amusement it would bring for everyone.


Meanwhile, on the field below, the two young knights representing the richest houses of Westeros finally met, their lances striking shields with enough force to shake both men in their saddles. Yet the royal platform barely noticed; their attention was fixed entirely on the more interesting game unfolding before them.


This is bad.


Petyr could feel his unease growing. Even if Jon gained nothing else from this, allowing him official authority in King's Landing would be dangerous. It would give the boy a foothold in the capital, a path into the very circles of power Petyr had spent years trying to climb.


And the last thing he needed was a clever Northerner with influence in his city.


But how to stop this...


Robert looked at him for a long moment. "Are you certain, boy?"


"I can only say that I am more certain of this than I was when I first began my trading company," Jon shrugged.


That answer seemed to amuse Robert more than anything.


"Then there is nothing more to discuss." He waved a hand dismissively. "Try it, if you want. Let me see what Ned taught you that makes you think you can handle the thousands of rats, and beggars crawling through those filthy streets."


He gave a disgusted shudder, his great stomach moving with him.


"Gods, just thinking about it makes me want a drink."


He promptly drained his goblet.


"But if you actually manage it..." Robert wiped his mouth, considering the matter. "What in the Seven Hells would be a fitting reward for something like that?"


"How about you hand me the position of Master of Coin, Your Grace?" Jon said suddenly, turning towards the man in question with a playful smile.


For the briefest moment, Petyr Baelish froze.


It was gone almost instantly, replaced by his usual indifferent expression, but Jon had noticed.


"It was just a jest," Jon immediately followed with a small laugh, raising his hands innocently, "There is no need to look at me as if you are already planning my murder."


Renly burst into laughter.


"That was excellent, Jon. I do not think I have ever seen Littlefinger caught so off guard."


Even Tyrion seemed entertained by the sight.


Petyr smiled along with them, but inside, his thoughts were far less amused, as he could see a contemplative expression on Robert's face from the corner of his eye.


Even if nothing came of this, the idea had been planted in Robert's mind: the possibility of the boy becoming a member of the small council.


'Which might have been the boy's goal from the start.' Petyr guessed, as this was exactly what he would have done had he been in the boy's place.


In truth, Robert had no complicated thoughts behind it. He simply felt that with the boy's wealth, and after all the gifts he had already given him — especially clearing the million-gold loan — it would not be a bad idea to have him as a Master of Coin.


Perhaps his Foster Father would never have to worry about gold again... and he might just stop complaining about me spending too much on Tourneys and Feasts. And having a man with connections to the North at court would not be the worst thing.


Below them, the tournament continued unnoticed.


Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell met once again in the centre of the field, their lances striking shields with thunderous force. Jaime's blow sent Loras reeling backwards in his saddle, and only his stirrups prevented him from being thrown entirely from his horse.


But the young Tyrell recovered quickly. Before the cheers had even faded, he had taken another lance and prepared himself for another charge, earning fresh cries of excitement from the ladies in the stands.


"But you are right in that a task of this magnitude does deserve a proper reward," Renly said, wearing a smile that made it clear he was enjoying himself far more than he should. "What do you think, Robert?"


"Hm?" Robert blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Oh, let's leave it to the lad, eh?" He gave Jon a heavy pat on the shoulder. "If he truly manages to clean this city, or even make it somewhat tolerable, then that alone would be a victory. He can ask for whatever he wishes. Haha."


Petyr waited until then before speaking.


"And if he fails?" his tone was casual, almost mischievous, as if he was merely joining in the jest. "A wager requires both victory and defeat, does it not? Perhaps a small penalty. A fifteen per cent tax on his ships' trade throughout the realm for three years." He smiled. "A fair consequence for a daring claim."


"Is that really necessary?" Robert asked with a raised eyebrow.


"No, no, the man is right. There has to be a penalty for it to be a proper bet," Renly said with a shake of his head, taking the conversation more seriously than he had ever taken a small council meeting. "Though I do think fifteen per cent is a bit much, do you not?"


Is it?


Robert looked confused. To him, a fifteen per cent cut for the crown sounded perfectly reasonable. What he failed to consider was the most insidious part of Petyr's suggestion: the tax would apply to every port his ships visited, not just King's Landing.


It was not simply one payment. It was a burden that could follow Jon's ships across the entire realm.


Such a tax could cripple a large portion of Jon's trade, especially the routes between the North and the Reach where he was hardly making a profit. The effects on the merchants, workers, and common people involved would be enormous.


But before the discussion could proceed any further, Jon simply answered, "I do not have a problem with that." He said it with little to no hesitation.


After all, when it came to money, no amount could truly create a problem for him.


Besides, this was only relevant if he lost the bet, and if the people currently in power were still alive when the time came to collect the taxes.


And Baelish did not look too pleased with Jon's quick agreement, because it only verified the man's fears that the boy was not doing this randomly.


And the Master of Coin was right about this one, as it was indeed not a spur-of-the-moment decision for Jon.


From the moment he had decided to take matters into his own hands, he had been thinking of ways to sneak into the centre of power in Westeros. Starting with the Small Council.


But he knew that as a bastard with little to no connection, no matter how wealthy he was, it would be hard for him to enter the upper echelons without taking some drastic measures, considering how tightly the ones in power guarded the chairs.


He needed a reason.


He needed an achievement so undeniable that no one could dismiss him, and it needed to be in Westeros and be visible enough for everyone to know about it.


And now, after only a few carefully chosen words, the opportunity had arrived.


"Perfect, then. I'll run it by the Hand. The old man will be happy to get you all the help that you need for this, lad," Robert said, patting Jon on the shoulder once more, 'Especially, once he learns that he won't be the one paying for it.'


'It seems this Northerner bastard is more trouble than I had assumed,' Petyr leaned back in his chair with a pondering expression on his face, the unhappiness having completely disappeared from his face.


This bastard is proving to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.


Petyr leaned back in his chair, his smile returning as though nothing had happened.


The man had intended to deal with the boy at his leisure, slowly tightening the noose until he realised his mistakes.


Now, however, he was beginning to think that such patience would be a mistake, 'Perhaps it would be wiser if the boy simply... disappeared.'


At that very moment, below on the lists, the two exhausted riders met for the ninth pass.


Their lances struck once more, but this time the golden knight's shield trembled ever so slightly in his weary hand. Loras did not miss the opening, driving his lance squarely into Jaime's chest and sending him flying from the saddle, ending the hard-fought semi-final.


"Looks like that's one wager won already," Jon grinned at Tyrion as he stood up to clap, and the dwarf responded with a good-natured roll of his eyes, not looking too bothered at either the loss of his gold or at his brother being defeated.


"If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I should congratulate Ser Loras."


Robert waved him away without taking his eyes off Jaime.


"Go, go."


The gleam in the king's eyes told Jon everything. Robert was already eager to see his Kingsguard after the defeat, no doubt to take pleasure in teasing the proud lion who had finally been unhorsed.


...


"Those bruises look quite ugly."


Loras turned around sharply, only to find Jon standing at the entrance of his tent with that infuriating smirk of his.


"Well, we can't all defeat our opponents on the second or third pass," he replied dryly as he waved away the Maester, who had already finished applying ointment to most of his injuries.


"I had hoped Ser Barristan would at least give you some trouble, but alas..." Loras continued as he picked up his shirt. "It seems I was being too naive. We haven't even fought yet, but I already feel as if I am bound to lose," he said with a snort, though there was a faint trace of frustration beneath the humour.


Loras was a true prodigy, of that Jon had no doubt.


He could only imagine the amount of effort the boy had put into honing his skills to reach such a level.


But alas... Jon needed the win, the attention of the crowd, if his plans were to succeed, so for now, he could only make him lose by using cheats.


I'll just make it up to him later.


"You know, my squire told me he knew a way to acquire a mare in heat," Loras suddenly said while putting on his shoes. "You think it would have helped me in our match?"


"Well, it won't now..." Jon replied with an amused look on his face, "But I feel I should tell you that Peggy is, in fact, a female, and her standards are very high, so I do not believe this sort of trick would have much of an effect on her."


"Ah, I should have noticed that," Loras said with a shake of his head. "Never mind, then."


He waved the matter away, as the two of them stepped out of the tent together.


Loras's tent was very close to the grounds, allowing them to head directly towards the nobles' stand without passing through the commoner area, which was completely packed at the moment, with all the smallfolks simultaneously rushing towards the city gates, creating a bottleneck that made movement nearly impossible.


Most of the nobles, on the other hand, had chosen to wait and enjoy their refreshments until the crowds thinned.


"Look at her," Loras suddenly said, jerking his head towards his sister in the distance, sitting in their family stands. "I am the one who just fought a tiring match and ended up covered in bruises, yet somehow I feel her eyes are on you."


"Well, who can blame her?" Jon replied with a smirk as he exchanged a fleeting glance with Margaery, who was speaking with her elder brother. "After all, it is hard for anyone to deny a handsome face."


It took a special kind of confidence to boast about one's looks while standing beside Loras Tyrell, whose face had probably broken more hearts than his lance had won him games in the lists.


Loras rolled his eyes at that before continuing, "I still do not know how you convinced my grandmother to let you court my sister... But I must say I am somewhat glad that it is you," he said thoughtfully, "After all, you are much better than the usual parade of Nobles who ride to Highgarden to court my sister," he grimaced as if remembering some unpleasant memories.


"I can only say that I am deeply grateful for your approval," Jon said, patting Loras on the shoulder with a look of exaggerated gratitude.


Loras ignored the theatrics. "I can't say the same about our relatives, though," he said, subtly gesturing towards the varied group of men and women sitting in the surroundings of their platform, and sure enough, Jon could notice a lot of unpleasant glances and disdainful glares from here and there thrown his way.


"Whether close relatives or distant ones, they have all been hounding Grandmother's doorstep from morning until evening, telling her she was foolish for allowing someone like... you to get close to Margaery."


"To her face?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.


"Oh, they went about it in circles, trying to be subtle about it," Loras snorted, "Some of them gave examples of their cousins' sisters-in-law's girl who had her reputation ruined by the bastard of some Noble house," he sent a pointed glance at Jon who rolled his eyes, "While others suggested alternative that would be much more suitable for their family... but their meanings were as clear as day."


"And? How did she respond?" Jon asked curiously.


"Ambiguously," Loras answered with a shrug. "Mostly by telling them that you were merely a valuable trading partner and a friend of Margaery's, and that everything else was nothing more than rumour."


Jon nodded. He had expected as much. It would have been far too early for Lady Olenna to officially name their relationship this early in the game when the stakes were still so low.


"And were they satisfied with that?"


Loras snorted.


"Not in the slightest. Most of them assumed that she's finally gone senile, and began to spread whispers that it was only a matter of time before she croaked... which amused Grandmother more than anything."


He smiled before his expression gradually turned serious as they slowed to a stop a few yards from the Tyrell platform. "Father is another matter, though."


Jon glanced at him.


"We've managed to keep him in the dark for the most part, but I don't know how much longer that can last. And when he does find out..." Loras shook his head. "He could become a serious obstacle to whatever it is you and Grandmother are planning."


Loras had never considered himself particularly gifted at politics, but even he could tell that his grandmother, Willas, and Jon must be weaving together a conspiracy, with all their shadowy alliance, that was far greater than a simple trading partnership.


And while he had no desire to involve himself in their schemes, he still felt compelled to offer Jon a warning.


"Oh..."


"Yes. And when Father digs his heels in, he can be incredibly stubborn. And those are the times when he wouldn't even listen to Grandmother," Loras said with a frown. "And I have a feeling that this would be exactly the kind of matter he would feel strongly about. After all, Margaery is his daughter, and he is the Lord of Highgarden. According to both law and custom, the decision should be his."


He looked Jon in the eye.


"So what I am saying is... be prepared for his hostility."


"Ah, don't worry. I know exactly how to handle him," Jon replied, giving his chest a confident pat.


"Somehow that does not fill me with a lot of confidence," Loras murmured with a sigh, before he shook his head, waved his hand in farewell, and then climbed up the Tyrell platform, where his family was eagerly waiting to congratulate him on his victory.


Jon, on the other hand, broke away and headed towards a smaller, more secluded place near the back where an elderly woman was sitting all by herself out in the open, with a small tea table and two chairs, leisurely enjoying a plate of cheese while a pair of fearsome twin guards stood watch over her.


"Why are you sitting here all alone?" Jon asked as he walked past the two guards, who barely glanced at him, and dropped into the chair beside her without invitation.


"Ugh, I could stand the endless chattering and cheers any longer", Olenna grumbled.


She shot him a curious look.


"And you? Why are you here? Shouldn't you be out there celebrating your win with your brother or something?"


"I will. But first, I needed to ask you something important."


Olenna raised an eyebrow.


"The grain?"


"The grain," Jon confirmed with a nod. "How far away is the shipment now?"


"Another two or three days, according to the latest letters," Olenna replied thoughtfully. "I still do not understand what game you are playing with this. What was the point of demanding such a large shipment so urgently?" She narrowed her eyes. "Do not tell me you intend to give to charity and feed half of King's Landing for some well wishes."


Jon chuckled.


"No. Though I suppose that would earn me a few cheers."


Olenna merely stared at him, unimpressed.


"Patience, my lady. Patience." Jon continued with a mysterious smile. "You will understand soon enough. Just know that those grain ships are merely the first step in a plan that will eventually bring us everything we want."


"You ask a great deal of an old woman by telling her to be patient?" Olenna scoffed as she studied him for a few moments. "You mean to corner the grain market?"


Jon shook his head.


"Buy influence with the Gold Cloaks?"


"No."


Her frown deepened.


"Then what in the Seven Hells are you planning to do with all that grain?"


Jon looked towards the sprawling city beyond the tourney grounds before a grin slowly spread across his face.


"Just clean some shit..."


///

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter

 

[TheCuriousGuest]

Lol, Petyr suffering is truly worth almost any price.
Should worry about Robert thinking if not Jon then maybe someone else with proven record with money that can actually make a dent in growing debts.

Olenna really driving herself to early late grave with how much she's trying to understand Jon.

Was this leftover from another version or rewrite? Just Petyr repeating same thought before leaning back.

'It seems this Northerner bastard is more trouble than I had assumed,' Petyr leaned back in his chair with a pondering expression on his face, the unhappiness having completely disappeared from his face.


This bastard is proving to be far more troublesome than I anticipated.


Petyr leaned back in his chair, his smile returning as though nothing had happened.

Click to shrink...

 

[LazyWizard]

"Hu...hu...hu..."


The sound echoed up the narrow stone stairwell, growing louder with every laborious step.


It was more than a minute later that the owner of the voice finally emerged onto the rooftop, leaning heavily against the wall, bent almost double as he fought to catch his breath. One hand clutched the rough stone for support while the other pressed against the stitch in his side.


He glared murderously at the boy already waiting for him.


"Was..." Another breath. "This..." Another. "...the best place you could find?"


"The climb couldn't have been that bad, could it?" Jon asked while scratching his cheek, "It only took me a couple of minutes."


Tyrion straightened as much as his aching back would allow.


"Twenty years younger, six inches taller, and your legs weren't assembled by a drunk carpenter. Of course you didn't struggle."


"My apologies." Jon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.


Tyrion snorted as he concentrated on drawing one deep breath after another. Only once the burning in his lungs had subsided did he finally bother to inspect their surroundings.


They were in the King's Spear Tower at the moment, one of the tallest towers in the whole of Red Keep.


Built during Aegon's reign as a military lookout, its summit was reserved for watchmen and royal observers during times of war; at the moment, however, the tower was completely empty except for the two of them and a few men standing guard at the bottom.


Tyrion stepped toward the battlements. Even after years spent in King's Landing, this view from up here stole his breath.


Almost the whole city was visible beneath them—the Great Sept gleaming atop Visenya's Hill, the ruined Dragonpit crowning Rhaenys's, and the Blackwater shimmering beyond a forest of masts in the harbour.


It was breathtaking.


At least, until his eyes drifted downward and noticed the slums.


Flea Bottom sprawled directly beneath the tower.


From this height, its maze of crooked streets looked almost orderly. Thin smoke drifted lazily from thousands of chimneys, while laundry fluttered between leaning houses packed so tightly together that they seemed ready to collapse into one another.


"A perfect place for an accidental death," Tyrion murmured as he stared down into the dizzying depths, before grimacing and taking a few steps away from the edge. "If this was your best plan to try and kill me... then I must say that I am disappointed; poisoning would have taken you much less effort."


Jon, in the midst of taking something from his front pocket, paused as he looked at the dwarf with an amused expression on his face. "Why would I try to kill you?" The boy didn't remember ever openly showing hostilities for the Lannisters.


"How would I know?" Tyrion shrugged uncaringly as he stared curiously at the small leather notebook in the boy's hand. "For some reason, most people who seemed to detest me at first sight, and want to hurt me," he grinned, making his crooked features even uglier. "Who knows why?"


"It is a wonder indeed," Jon nodded solemnly.


Tyrion rolled his eyes at the silent sarcasm. "So? What did you call me here for, boy?"


He looked around for a place to sit, but sadly found none except for the floor that must not have been cleaned since the time of the dragons. "And it better not be for the view, or else I will curse you to have many, many descendants like me?" he warned, trying to look menacing, "And you do not want that, trust me."


"The view is part of it," Jon nodded with a quirk of his lips, trying hard not to seem too amused by the dwarf, "But mainly I wanted you for this," he held out the notebook with its first page open.


Tyrion accepted it with mild curiosity.


The leather cover was plain, worn smooth around the edges from constant handling. There was no title, no flourish, only pages packed with cramped handwriting.


The first page read simply:


-Why was King's Landing so dirty and smelly?


-Initial Survey


One of Tyrion's eyebrows rose


"I was expecting a forbidden love story."


"...Sorry for disappointing you."


"Eh," The dwarf shrugged as he continued to read.


Causes, and Sources:


• Narrow, crowded streets


• Open drains


• Garbage thrown wherever convenient


• Animal waste from horses, pigs, dogs, etc.


• Human waste accumulating in poorer districts


• Contaminated water sources


2. What did people do with their shit?


Commoners:


Option 1: Chamber pots


People used pots or buckets inside their homes. In the morning, they might empty them into:


• Streets


• Gutters


• Rivers


• Waste pits


Option 2: Privies


Some houses had simple toilets over pits. Wealthier buildings had better arrangements.


Option 3: Public areas


Poorer people, especially in places like Flea Bottom, defecated out in the open every single day, just rotating to new places every few weeks when the old place became too deadly.


'Interesting...' Tyrion's expression shifted ever so slightly as he turned the page.


3. Was there no sewage system?


There was.


During the reign of Jaehaerys I Targaryen, many improvements had been made: Drains and sewers were constructed, streets were improved, fresh water systems were developed.


Most famously, one Septon Barth zealously pushed for better sanitation in the city amongst the poor because he believed that dirty water and waste caused disease.


But centuries later, the system was badly maintained.


And a sewer system only works if clogged pipes are immediately cleaned, drains are regularly repaired, and waste disposal is properly organised; otherwise, they become part of the problem.


The next page contained a rough sketch of Flea Bottom.


Buildings had been reduced to simple rectangles, Alleys were carefully lined, and existing drains were marked in faded blue ink.


Unknown red circles covered the whole district.


Tyrion turned the page.


The Solutions:


1. Immediately halt the practise of open defecation


2. Start cleaning up the filth already in place


3. Create small public toilets in densely populated areas with a target of one per 50 people.


4. Create a sanitation department tasked with hiring cleaners, night soil collectors and plumbers.


5. Separate drinking water from waste channels and...


..


.


The list went on for quite a bit, and in the corner, it was finally mentioned that the red circles were the location for the new toilet. While the blue dots were the locations of the old sewage system.


One would need to read a lot of the old maps from the Targaryen era to have created something detailed such as this: 'When did he even find the time to do this?' Tyrion absentmindedly wondered as he turned the pages.


Collection routes.


Another Page.


Best locations to build toilets.


Another.


Labour estimates.


Another.


The location of wells.


...


And that was how it went, with each page containing detailed information about all the streets in King's Landing, how many people were estimated to live there, which street had the largest moving population during the day, such as workers, Merchants, customers, and travellers, and which streets were mostly residential.


There was even a section which specified the areas with the greatest number of inns, butchers, stables, and other sorts of establishments that accounted for the highest amount of animal manure.


It was almost ten minutes later, when his leg had almost become numb due to standing still, that Tyrion finally extricated himself from the fascinating small book.


And what interested him even more than the information in it was the clean way in which it had all been explained using maps, graphs, and annotations.


He had never seen such dry details presented in such an intriguing form, and if he was given the choice, he would have wanted nothing more than to spend a whole day examining it slowly. 'Alas, now is not the time for that.'


"It is good research." Tyrion nodded as he handed back the notebook. "Especially since it's only been a day since the bet."


"Thank you for the compliment," Jon said with a shrug as if it was no big deal, though he could not fully hide the pleased quirk of his lips, "I just worked through the night, and it came out like this."


Tyrion nodded before he looked at him with a waiting expression. "And so? What was the reason you gave this to me?"


"Was it not obvious?" Jon asked with a tilt of his head, "I have a fairly good idea on how to clean up the whole city in a short period of time, and keep it like that for a while, but for a long-term solution we would need a good, efficient drainage system that doesn't break down, and handle the load of the population... and that is where you come in."


"Oh," Tyrion looked quite curious about this whole idea on behalf of which the boy must have made this whole bet, but there was something more concerning to him, "You heard about my work in Casterly Rock?" he asked with a frown, wondering who could have known about this internal detail and told it to the boy, "From whom?"


"I can't very well tell you my source, can I? Or else who will tell me things in future?" Jon smiled mysteriously, acting as if he had dozens of secret spies feeding him information, when in truth his source was the almighty creator Lord Martin. "But I know that the work you did was splendid, and that the drains and cisterns are still working perfectly to this day, all because of you."


"And did your 'source' also tell you why my father handed me that task?" Tyrion scoffed as he stared out at the view of King's Landing. "He felt that cleaning the crammed, smelly sewers was a task perfectly suited for a dwarf, and now you want me to do that again. Do you want the world to know that Tyrion Lannister is only ever good for the lowly task of cleaning sewage pipes?" he mocked. "If I hadn't seen that book, I would have taken you for someone coming to belittle me."


"In my view no task is lowly," Jon shrugged, "And I know your father did not acknowledge the fine work you did there, but here," he waved towards the city, "If you help me accomplish this here, make the lives of these hundreds of thousands of people better, they will remember you for their whole life, your name would be written in the history books, and here your father will have no authority to stop that from happening."


There was silence for a few moments as Tyrion simply stared out at the city with a dazed look on his face before he suddenly shook his head.


"You spin rather grand dreams, making sewage cleaning sound so heroic" Tyrion turned to look at Jon with a smile. "But fine, I shall bite, but I hope I do get something in return for my labour. After all, you can't very well expect me to work for free."


"I had assumed that money held little attraction to you Lannisters," Jon asked with a curious tilt of his head, "Was I wrong?"


"I mean, it does hold a little—fine, you are right. Gold is nothing more than a heavy rock for me, but there are other ways to pay a man." Tyrion said with a meaningful smile on his face, "You should know that better than anyone. After all, the King seems to have been paid quite well."


"Oh, I hope you do not ask for seven gifts too. Because that would be too exhausting."


"Don't worry, my friend, I am not that pious. Just one shall do for me."


"And what would that be?"


"I have been quite fascinated with that clear mirror you gave to my sister. A wonderful thing it is, especially considering that the Myrish people have been making lenses, mirrors, and glasses for centuries, but never have they made something like yours."


"You want a mirror?" Jon stared at the dwarf with a strange look in his eyes.


"Why that expression? Am I too ugly to be wanting to see my own face?" Tyrion asked with narrowed eyes.


"Yes," Jon replied with an honest nod, as if it should have been obvious.


"Ugh, you did not have to be that blunt." Tyrion snorted with a wry smile, unable to deny that he liked the boy's humour. "But yes, you are right. It is not the mirror, but its recipe. The process involved."


"Are you joking? Why in the world would I do that?" Jon blinked with disbelief in his eyes; he had been feeling that the dwarf had agreed to his request too easily, but it only became clear now that he had a clear goal from the beginning.


"Of course, not." Jon snorted while rolling his eyes. "Why in seven hells would I do something like that?"


"Ah, don't worry, I have no plans to steal your recipe and open a factory of my own." Tyrion waved his hand. "I just want to learn about how something such as that could be made, the process behind it all, just for curiosity's sake. I promise to destroy the paper after reading it just once, and never speak of it to another soul. It is just for my curiosity's sake."


"No chance," Jon firmly shook his head, "Ask for something else."


"There is nothing else that you could give me." Tyrion spread his hands briefly, a faint smile playing on his lip. "After all, there are few things in the world that can tempt a Lannister. So unless you are willing to be a little generous. I believe there is nothing else to talk about here."


"This is not simply about me being stingy." Jon's brow furrowed; the method to create that mirror meant a lot more than just a means to earn money. If things went how he envisioned, it could go as far as to grab him the backing of a whole kingdom, so it would be too risky to lose it all just to get a helper to make this task a little more convenient. "How about I offer an all-expense-paid tour of the Free Cities on my shipping fleet. I can guarantee your safety."


"Tempting, but no." Tyrion still shook his head


Jon rubbed a hand over his face. "You are really making it difficult for me now."


"What can I say, the heart wants what it wants." Tyrion gave a small shrug, shook his head, and turned towards the door. "Why don't you take your time to think this through? I can wait."


'After all, you are the one with the time limit here, boy,' Tyrion thought with a hidden smirk.


"Are you really sure?" Jon called out after him, "It is a great chance for you to make your name?"


Tyrion didn't even bother to reply and simply waved, "I wish you luck in your endeavours, boy. We will all be happy if the city smelled a bit better."


A moment later, just as Tyrion was at the doorstep, Jon audibly sighed, "And here I thought I could keep this for a more important moment."


Something in the boy's voice made Tyrion stop and turn around, only to see him holding another leather diary, and unlike the first, this one had clearly survived a lot more years. "And how is another notebook supposed to tempt me?" he asked slowly, feeling curious despite himself.


"Well, for one thing, this one doesn't belong to me," Jon answered while turning the book around so that he could see the cover. "Gerion Lannister," he read out loud with a smirk, "You are familiar with that name, are you not?"


Everything stopped.


Tyrion's eyes locked onto the cover.


"Tyrion, my boy. A man has to have a dream. A dream larger than life itself, one that he wants to achieve more than anything in the world. And it shouldn't be like my brother's, 'I want to make the Lannister name immortal' Bah! That is so boring! Dreams are supposed to be fun."


"Really? Then I..." The childish voice stammered as it thought with all the might of his tiny brain, "I know! I want to ride a dragon! A big, big dragon. The real one."


"Eh? HAHA!! Prefect! That is perfect, my boy! A perfect dream!"


"...How do I know if that is even real?" Tyrion's mouth had gone dry, and he tried hard to peel his eyes away from the diary. "Where did you even find it?"


"Snatched it from the hands of a great pirate." Jon replied while lazily waving the diary in his hands, "According to the story, he found it in the hands of a delirious slave near the ruins of Old Valyria. You should know what that means." Jon held Tyrion's gaze.


How could Tyrion not know about it?


He could still remember the last day he had seen the man, when he had sworn an oath that he was going to find their family's lost sword, the Brightroar.


"Even if it is, what of it?" Tyrion gave a casual shrug, though the effort behind it was obvious. "You really think that an old diary of an uncle I barely remember would matter much to me?" he snorted. "You must be delusional, boy."


"Oh, so you do not care for it," Jon paused, surprise flashing across his face as his hand holding the diary paused.


"No, I do not."


Jon looked thoughtful for a moment before he suddenly grinned. "Ah, then you shouldn't mind me doing this," he abruptly chucked his hand towards the open balcony.


"NO!!" Tyrion cried, his hand rising instinctively in horror.


Thankfully, Jon stopped at the very edge as he turned back with an innocent gaze. "Huh? So you do care about this?" he asked the frozen, trying hard to suppress the mischievous grin on his face.


Tyrion sighed as he lowered his hand in defeat. "You are a lot ruder than I had assumed."


He had accepted the fact that the boy had a good amount of leverage on him now.


"So, what say you?" Jon said as he handed him back the notebook with the detailed steps of his city cleaning plans, "Are you ready to have your name immortalised in history?"


"Yes, yes, let us get it over with," Tyrion's shoulders sagged as as he took the leather-bound book.


"Perfect." Jon clapped with an enthusiastic look on his face. "Then you can begin with working on the third task and onwards, and we shall take it from there."


"Fine, fine, I agree." Tyrion spread his hands in surrender. "Now, can I have the diary now? After all, I have already decided to work for you."


Jon blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "Do you believe me to be an idiot?"


"It was worth a try," Tyrion gave a small, shameless shrug.


Jon rolled his eyes as he safely tucked the old diary in his front pocket. "The diary is not going to go anywhere, so you can rest assured that you shall have it at the end."


"Ugh, I can already feel a headache coming," Tyrion said as he reopened the notebook. "We will need these plans to be a lot more detailed if we want this to work, and you will need a lot of gold prepared if you want this to be fast," he warned.


Jon quickly nodded his head. "There is no one out there who can plan more efficiently than you, so I shall leave that in your hands. And as for the money, you can assume we have no limit for the funds, and work from there—" he generously waved his hand.


"Where are you going?" Tyrion asked suspiciously as he finally noticed the boy slowly backing towards the door.


"Ah, about that, you see I already have an appointment lined up in an hour or so..." Jon shifted awkwardly as he pointed out the door.


Tyrion studied him for a moment, "...Is it a date?"


"Huh? How did you know?" Jon blinked in surprise.


"Never mind that," Tyrion scoffed as he looked away from the bright eagerness on the boy's face, which irritated his bachelor heart more than anything.


"Well, then, you know where to send for me when you are ready to start spending some gold." Jon waved in farewell and immediately scurried down the stairs with the haste of a man going to meet his wife.


"Wait! At least help me to the bottom..."


The dwarf with crooked legs trailed off, the boy having disappeared even before he finished his sentence. "Curse him!" he said with an envious look on his face.


Now, left there all alone, Tyrion stared at the book in his hands for a few moments before he decisively placed it inside his pocket. "Fuck this! Let's pay Baelish a visit first, and deal with this later."


The man decided that he wouldn't leave until he tasted all the peaches available there.


...

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter Great story as always

 

[ATP]

I thought,that he would tell about Tysha,but it is too early for that.He should use that card when he decide to finish Lannisters.

 

[LazyWizard]

Jon had only been waiting outside the mansion for five minutes when she appeared at the door.


And the moment he laid eyes on her, he fell into a daze.


'Why is she so beautiful today?'


Jon had seen the girl plenty of times; in fact, just yesterday he had seen her with her family at the Tourney ground, but at that time, he hadn't felt anything other than the usual, 'The girl's real pretty.'


But today... for some reason, there was something different about her.


Maybe it's the hair.


Ever since he had known her, he had only ever seen her long brown hair bound in those intricate braids that must have taken at least an hour to arrange. But today, she had left it loose, the soft waves spilling freely around her shoulders, and somehow the simple change made her look both familiar and entirely new.


Or perhaps it's the dress.


Instead of those complicated frilly gowns she usually wore, which made her look like a noble princess only to be admired from afar.


Today she wore a... well, he didn't exactly know what to call it, but it looked like a cream-coloured slim skirt that seemed plain but perfectly highlighted her figure, and did wonderful things to her...


Or is it just the sweet smile?


'Wait! Am I actually crushing on her?'


"It seems the effort I spent getting ready was not wasted, after all," an amused voice broke him out of his trance, and Jon flushed as he realised that he had actually fallen into a stupor like an idiot.


'Damn it! How could I lose my composure like this? I am not even a virgin anymore.'


The boy had always looked down on those cheesy youngsters who lost their senses after seeing a pretty girl and acted as if they were the centre of their universe, but who would have thought that there would come a day when he too would go through this?


It was a very bittersweet feeling.


Phew! Come on, take a deep breath. Just imagine her as a saggy Old Nan, and it will all be fine.


It took him a while to work through all those thoughts, but in reality, only a few seconds had passed, and outwardly his reply was almost instantaneous.


"You do look especially radiant today, my lady." Jon quickly gathered his wits, his smooth composure returning as if he hadn't just been staring at her like a fool. "Forgive me for my unmannerly display."


"You are forgiven." Margaery smiled generously, but the mischievousness in her eyes told him that she was perfectly aware of the effect she was having on him.


"Shall we?" Jon cleared his throat as he turned away from her warm brown eyes, while raising his arm in invitation.


"Sure." Margarey nodded as she daintily placed her palm in his elbow, and they set off from the mansion with four armoured Tyrell guards trailing in their shadows. "Where are we going today?"


The question made it sound as though they had been on countless dates before, when in reality, this was only their second outing. Their first had been the day after Jon's arrival in the capital, when they had merely taken the opportunity to reacquaint themselves after their long separation.


And while they had met many a time after that during the Tourney, those were short, glancing exchanges, so it was only now that they were having their first real 'date'.


Nothing explicit had been said yet, but Jon knew that Olenna had somehow deduced his parentage and had the intention of binding her family to him as long as he had the ambition for the highest prize.


And since it had always been in his plans to get the backing of a powerful family before the mid-game began. All the pieces clicked together wonderfully.


Besides, it's Margaery Tyrell we are talking about here, so how could he even think of saying no...


"First we have breakfast at a place called Seven Seas Feast. And then we head towards a shop called Seven Seas Dresses to browse their latest collection, and then..."


"This Seven Seas... I think I have heard of them," Margaery murmured with a hand on her chin. "Is that a series of stores with goods from all over the world, especially Essos? I hear they are all terribly crowded at all times of the day, and that even Nobles would be made to wait for hours before they can get inside."


"That's the one." Jon nodded as they entered the main street, and their pace slowed down amidst the surging crowd.


They had decided to forgo the carriage today, as not only would it deprive them of a perfectly cool summer day, it would also waste a lot of time they would waste being stuck in the middle of the masses. "And don't worry about the holdup. The owner is a friend, so he will give us priority." Jon shrugged with a grin.


There was a hint of pride in his voice that did not escape Margaery. But why? Is it really such a big deal? She studied him for a few moments, trying to figure him out.


"What? Is there something on my face?" Jon rubbed his cheek, wondering if orange juice from the morning had left its mark.


"You are the owner of Seven Seas, aren't you?" Margaery asked intuitively with a raised eyebrow.


"Huh? How did—I mean, why would you say that?" Jon hurriedly averted his eyes. "I only heard about them after arriving here."


"Is that so?" Margaery smiled, clearly amused by his rather poor attempt at lying.


'Damn it! Why is she so sharp?' Jon cursed at the knowing look in the girl's eyes. He had been hoping to impress her by taking her there, but now that she believed him to be the owner, it would surely lose half the effect.


They continued at a very leisurely pace after that, in no hurry to reach their destination, talking about this and that— his family, her family, life in the North, life in Highgarden, all the places he had visited, the places she adored near her home.


Around them, the four Tyrell knights vigilantly kept the flowing crowd at a distance, and since they were still in the posh part of the city where mostly the rich and the nobles lived and shopped, it was not as congested as the main markets were, so it was easily manageable.


Every now and then, they would stop at a stall or shop whenever Margaery spotted something strange or unfamiliar that caught her interest, and then she would invariably try to haggle the price down with all her might.


With 'try' being the keyword here, as no matter how hard she tried to cut the price, she would still end up being fleeced by the cunning shopkeepers.


For example:


"Is this truly from Myr?" Margaery closely scrutinised a delicate petal-shaped silver necklace in her hand, as if trying to discern its origin simply from its appearance.


"Of course, My Lady. You can trust me on this." The fat merchant, owner of the jewellery shop, thumped on his chest. "They have the finest craftsmen in all of Essos working there, and this is a unique, one-of-a-kind piece of a Master who has worked his whole life trying to perfect his craft. You will not find another piece like this anywhere else in the city, I assure you."


"How does it look?" Margaery blinked towards Jon as she held the pendant around her slender neck to show it off.


"Very good." Jon coughed as he hurriedly glanced away after a single peek, very much afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop his gaze from wandering.


"Perfect, then." She beamed as she turned back towards the merchant. "But ten dragons is a little too much for this, isn't it? Five dragons seems much more proper, right?" she asked with a pitiful expression on her face, as if she were a poor young girl with no money in her pockets.


"I..." The Merchant had a pained look on his face, as if she were asking him to hand over all his fortune, but then suddenly he deflated and waved his hands, "Fine, Miss, I agree. Who told you to be my first customer of the day?" he shook his head with a sigh, "I can't very well let you leave empty-handed, can I? I'll just oblige to please the gods of wealth, and take this loss from—"


"Seriously! You are asking 5 dragons for this and acting as if you are doing us a favour?!" Jon finally couldn't watch the performance any longer and intervened before the sale could complete. "Have a little decency, won't you? There are limits to ripping someone off."


"H-How can you say that, Lord Jon? This is truly a unique piece. A one-of-a-kind! And it's arrived here all the way from Myr. Merely the transportation cost would be astronomical for this, not to mention the master craftsmanship involved. You should know how dangerous are. I am asking for a very fair price here." The Merchant seemed to have perfected his art, and anyone looking at his tragic expression wouldn't doubt that he was being wronged.


He had recognised him, of course; in fact, few people on the street wouldn't know who Jon Snow was by now, what with the Tourney being at its height, with the finals scheduled to be tomorrow.


But he wouldn't back down just because of who was in front of him; after all, there was little chance that someone as rich and noble as him would threaten him for merely a few dragons, so he wasn't the least bit scared.


"Leave the theatrics for someone else." Jon rolled his eyes with an exasperated look. "First of all, this is not from Myr, but from Braavos."


"No, how can—"


"Don't even try. I know this mark," he said, pointing towards a small, subtle star in the corner at the back. "This is the personal insignia of Larrio's shop in Ragman's harbour. I am very familiar with that bastard." he suddenly leaned down to whisper, "And I can assure you that 'he' is definitely not the finest craftsman in Essos. I would even go as far as to call him a shady jeweller who was the best at making cheap knockoffs. And as for this being unique?" He straightened. "If this is truly the only piece you have in your shop, I'll pay you a hundred dragons for it right now."


"I-I..." The Merchant was sweating now — every word Jon said was true. He had nearly a dozen more pieces stashed under the counter, meant for exactly this: out-of-city nobles passing through for the Tourney, gone home before they ever thought to come back and check. He just hadn't expected to run into someone who actually knew the trade. "My lord, I—"


"I will not argue with you any further," Jon interrupted with a wave of his hand. "We will give you one gold dragon for this, and Lady Tyrell here will choose an additional two more pieces from your shop. Deal?"


"Deal." The Merchant agreed hastily as he wiped his forehead, wanting nothing more than for this adversary to leave his shop.


"Then. I want this one and that one." Margaery immediately chose with a cheerful look, as if she had been waiting for this.


A few seconds later, they were once again walking down the street with a lively Margaery who was quite pleased that she had gotten three pieces at the price of one.


"You are truly good at this." She smiled at him. "I would have paid five dragons without a second thought, and been happy about it too, if not for you."


"In fact, a gold dragon's still too much for that necklace," Jon said wryly. "He likely paid no more than a handful of silver stags for it — ten at most. So he still made a lot of profit from us."


"What? And he dared to ask for 10 gold dragons." Margaery's mouth opened wide before an indignant pout appeared on her face. "How cruel. He must have really taken me for a foolish rich girl."


"Don't worry. We won in the end, didn't we?"


"It does not feel like winning." The girl shook her head earnestly. "If only we could have brought it for a dozen silver stags, then perhaps..."


"That would be too much." Jon seemed amused. "We still need to let him earn something, or else how will he make rent?"


"Would that be so terrible?" Margaery gave a soft snort, then turned to him with an appreciative look. "You're proving more useful than I expected, Jon Snow. Maybe I'll keep you for all my shopping trips from now on."


"You shouldn't, my lady. Someone has to keep the merchants in business, or else who will my ships sell their goods to?" Jon sniggered.


"Are you calling me a sucker, Jon Snow?" Margaery's eyes narrowed as she asked in a low whisper.


"Huh, h-how could that be? I was just..." His laugh cut off somewhere in his throat, and for some reason, even at the height of summer, Jon felt a chill down his spine. "Oh! Look at that shop!" he hurriedly pointed towards the first shop that caught his eye, with all sorts of strange instruments piled up in front of it, "Home of Bards. That seems interesting, right?"


Thankfully, Margaery was in a forgiving mood and let him divert her attention. "You can read Valyrian?" she asked as she perused the unusual board hanging above the shop, which stood out from every other one on the street.


"I am a hard-working merchant, My Lady. So, of course, I need to have a few skills if I want to earn a living." Jon shrugged with a humble smile.


"That is quite admirable, indeed." Margaery nodded with a moved expression on her face.


"Ah, it is no big deal. I am sure there are plenty of..." Jon trailed off mid-brag as he caught sight of the encouraging expression on her face, and his smile became unnatural. "...You can read that too, can't you?"


"Eh?" Margaery's eyes widened as she hurriedly looked away, blush colouring her cheeks. "Was I too obvious?" She whispered, feeling a little embarrassed to be caught in the act.


"Is it fun to tease me like this?" Jon sighed as his shoulder sagged down.


"Yes." Margaery turned back to him with an impish grin. "Still think me naive, rich girl?"


"No, my lady, I do not." Jon bowed in defeat.


And so they went, bantering and bickering, spending so much time on the road that when they finally reached their destination, the sun had already risen over their head, and the breakfast crowd had been replaced by the lunch one.


"Is this the one?"


Margaery looked up at the building. "It's emptier than I imagined."


It was a wide three-story structure, right in the middle of the street, with plenty of windows and doorways which opened on both sides, giving her an accurate view of the inside.


Unlike the hustle and bustle she had expected, the place was solely filled with people sitting at their respective tables and eating their meals, and there was no line of customers waiting to get inside as she had expected.


"They have a booking system," Jon said with a shrug. "Only those with appointments are here now — everyone else is at home, waiting their turn. And as far as I am aware, you will need to wait about two weeks if you book a seat now."


Margaery's eyebrows rose at the notion that someone was willing to wait two weeks just to have a meal. She rubbed her stomach with a small, playful pout. "I hope we don't have to wait that long. I'm already very hungry."


"Don't worry. We won't." Jon smiled as he led her through the door, as three of their four guards stayed outside, with only the leader amongst them, Ser Maynard, following after them. Because with their full armour, it would be too crowded if they all went in.


They had barely set foot inside when a middle-aged man, wearing distinctly different clothing than the waiters moving around the place, came rushing towards them from the backside.


"You are finally here, captain." The man greeted him joyfully, his eyes lighting up with genuine relief at seeing Jon. "I had assumed you changed your mind when you didn't turn up for so long."


"Ah, that's my fault, Raul. We just got lost on the way here," Jon chuckled without a hint of shame on his face. "The streets of King's Landing are just too complicated. You won't believe the number of times I ran into strange shops without wanting to."


Margaery rolled her eyes at the lame lie, but Raul, who seemed to be the owner of the place, took it in stride. "Well, as long as you got here, it's all good. So shall I lead you to your table then?"


"Please do. This one is almost starving, so—ow." Jon flinched mid-sentence with a painful grimace.


"What happened?" Margaery asked, all innocence, as if she hadn't just elbowed him in the ribs. "Is it your stomach again?" She turned to Raul with a sympathetic frown. "He has been constantly feeling this pain since morning for some reason. Perhaps there was something in the water he drank before coming."


The man looked amused by this play, but knew better than to comment, so he simply nodded. "Just follow me."


It was only when they were moving amidst the tables that Margaery realised that though the restaurant looked spacious and open from the outside, it was only due to design. Because no matter where she looked, every single seat inside had been taken by a family, a couple, or even a group of friends.


There was simply no empty space for anyone else.


But even stranger was that almost 7 out of 10 customers present there were foreigners speaking in distinct accents, with hardly one or two locals.


Their seats were on the top floor, and it was as they crossed the second floor toward the stairs that Margaery spotted a man sobbing with every bite of his food. "Why is he crying?' she whispered, a curious look in her eyes. "Is your food so spicy that it can make a grown man cry?" There was a nervous edge to her voice.


"Ah, we use just the right amount of spice; do not worry, my lady." Raul waved his hand. "And as for the crying...," he smiled and then, instead of explaining further, just took them through a path in between the tables instead of from the corner, so that they passed by that couple.


"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, dear." The wife could be heard whispering while rubbing the man's back, nervously glancing at the surroundings, fearing that they were disturbing people.


"You don't understand. T-This is just... It tastes just like my mother used to make, and I just..." The man choked, but his hands never stopped shoving food in his mouth even for a moment, looking as if he wanted to eat a week's worth in one sitting.


"Hasn't it been almost twenty years since she passed away? You still remember that?" The woman asked in an amazed voice, but that only made the man sob even harder. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to—"


They couldn't hear the rest, as they were already climbing the stairs towards the third floor.


"The dishes we make are so authentic that most people cannot tell the difference between ours and the ones they were used to back in their hometown," Raul explained in a low voice, a hint of pride on his face. "So the outpouring of emotions you saw out there was not a very rare thing for us."


"Oh." Margaery seemed genuinely impressed by that. "Is there some sort of trick to it?" she asked curiously. "How do you achieve this authenticity? Do you only hire people from those countries or do you send your cooks to those places to learn the dishes... but that would be too costly, wouldn't it?"


"Ah, no, nothing like that. Most of our cooks were hired locally once we opened, and the recipes are ours — we give them to the cooks, not the other way around." Raul shook his head. "As for the trick..." He shot an amused glance at Jon, who gave a discreet shake of the head. "We just put a lot of hard work and passion into our food. Maybe that's the trick."


'Bards and poets would be running the restaurants in the city if love and passion were all it took,' Jon scoffed internally.


Of course there was a trick involved, or how else would it become so famous so quickly?


Jon could still remember the weeks and weeks he spent scouring the most famous restaurants, inns, and taverns all over the big cities of Essos and Westeros, not even sparing the kitchens of locals who were famous in villages and towns for their food.


He had spent days hovering around kitchens of the world with the help of Tweety, noting every single detail of how they cooked, from the way they prepared their ingredients, to how long they boiled, the intensity of heat underneath, the oil they used, and even how much salt they used in their pinch.


It had taken him long, long hours hiding amidst the burning fumes, so much so that the cheerful bird had almost stopped speaking in protest for a whole week, before he finally managed to create a satisfyingly good book of recipes.


"Here's the menu, my lady."


"Thank you." Margaery took the paper menu book that felt surprisingly thick in her hands, but the moment she opened it, she realised why.


"Can you really make them all?" Margaery asked in an amazed voice as she flipped through the pages, each marking a different city or place from either Westeros or Essos, with a long line of dishes underneath, some of which had names that she couldn't pronounce, let alone recognise.


From the Vension pie of the North, to the Dornish spiced lamb, from the Braavosi braised octopus to Volantene fire lamb.


There was everything in here. It was almost overwhelming.


And even her favourite honey-glazed ham and apple pie from back home had a place in the Reach section.


"Not all of them, my lady, as there are a few in there with specific ingredients that are hard to come by without ordering weeks in advance. That is what our customers usually do; they give us their orders beforehand so that we have a chance to prepare the ingredients. But in preparation for your arrival, we have stocked our shelves fully, so almost all the ones listed in there can be prepared in time. Except for a few strange ones that I wouldn't even recommend you try."


"Really?" Her eyes flicked to Jon, who only smiled and shrugged, as if daring her to order the whole menu. Once again, she was certain he was the owner. "Then I'll have the noodle soup from Qarth, the spiced fish stew from Myr, honey balkawa from Volantis, and a few of the lemon cakes from the North. Is that fine?"


"Certainly," Raul said as he took back the menu. "And for you, Captain?"


"Just some grilled fish, and roast potatoes would do."


Raul nodded. "I shall have the cook start immediately." he disappeared towards the kitchen, leaving them alone once more.


"What?" Jon asked as he noticed Margaery watching him with a strange look in her eyes.


"Just surprised by your order." Margaery said with an intrigued expression, "There are dishes from all over the world available at your command, and you choose fish and potatoes. The cook would probably be insulted at seeing his talents being wasted like this."


"What can I say, simple is the best sometimes." Jon shrugged. "Besides, after years of travel, I've had more than enough exotic food to last me a lifetime," he said with a shudder as if reliving some past trauma.


"Yes, yes, no need to brag. We all know you've sailed to every corner of the map." Margaery rolled her eyes. "Sadly, for poor souls like me, the closest I'll get is tasting my way through a menu. So — thank you for bringing me here."


"You want to travel to these places then?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.


"Well, of course, who would not want to?" She looked down at the table with a soft snort. "But I'm just a weak little girl, sadly — there will never come a day when I get to go that far. Even this trip to the Capital is the first time I've left the Reach in my whole life."


"Don't be so sure," Jon said with a soft smile. "Perhaps the chance you are thinking of is closer than you believe. And besides, if nothing else, I will be very happy to host you in the North. The sheer beauty of my home is more stunning than anywhere else you could visit. And I speak of that from experience."


"I'll hold you to your word, Jon Snow." Her smile was genuine, and something in her chest eased at that moment, though she couldn't have said why.


...


"Ah, that was perfect."


Margaery sighed in satisfaction as she walked down the stairs behind Jon. "Do you think you could arrange a table for a larger party? I'd love to bring my parents and brothers here next time. That wouldn't be a bother, would it?"


"Don't worry. Just tell me the time, and I will make sure they have a place for you." Jon smiled, feeling glad that it was all turning out so well.


"My lady. Here," Raul caught them at the gates, holding out a small parcel wrapped in cloth, "I packed the pastries, and the pie that you could not finish here to take home."


"That is perfect." Margaery clapped her hands. "These are just right to entice Father and Grandmother." She smiled as she imagined the moved expression on their faces when they tasted the divine sweetness from a foreign land.


"I will have it sent back to the mansion, my lady." The Knight who had been following them silently so far stepped up. "It would be better to send it right away so that it does not go bad."


"Oh, thank you," Margaery nodded absentmindedly as Maynard took the cloth parcel, handed it to one of the other knights, before sending him on his way towards the Mansion.


"So, where to next?" she asked curiously as the two young ones retook their position, with her palm smoothly settling on his elbow as if it had always belonged there.


"How about the Harbour?" Jon asked as they went down the street, aimlessly walking behind the guard with no destination.


"Wouldn't there be a lot of crowd there?" she asked with a frown, as they turned into an alley "Especially at this time."


"Ah, you are right about that." Jon scratched his head with a thoughtful expression, never having considered the notion of safety in a crowd before when he travelled alone. "We would need a lot more guards then. Perhaps it would be better to just head back—"


Jon didn't know what set off the alarms in his head.


Perhaps it was the sudden hush from what had been a bustling crowd, or the tall walls pressing in on both sides, or maybe it was just instinct — whatever it was, he was very thankful for it.


One moment he was deep in conversation with Margaery; the next, he wrenched his sword from its sheath and deflected the longsword heading straight for his throat.


Clang!


Jon jumped back on instinct, shoving a frozen Margaery behind him and against the wall. Only then did he register it — somehow, without noticing, they'd wandered into a narrow alley, boxed in by tall walls on either side.


"S-Ser Maynard? What are you doing?" Margaery asked in a horrified voice as Jon warily surveyed the three Tyrell knights, with two on the right and one on the left.


Thankfully, the worst scenario he had envisioned did not happen, as the other two guards looked as bewildered by the sudden change as the two of them were.


"W-What are you doing, Ser? Have you gone insane?" asked the younger one in a flustered voice, while the older one didn't even bother wasting words and unsheathed his swords, with a guarded stance. "Take out your sword, boy," he snarled at his fellow while keeping his eyes locked on his commander. "Protect the lady."


"I-But—"


"Now!"


Just as the two knights were talking, Jon caught sight of something from the corner of his eye.


"Look out!" he shouted in warning— but he'd seen them too late.


Thwip! Thwip!


Two arrows came almost simultaneously, from either side of the alley, and dropped the two Tyrell knights — one through the chest, one through the stomach- taking out their only allies in this alley.


Margaery screamed in terror, as Jon grimly assessed the sudden unfortunate position they had found themselves in.


Four more men had joined the traitor now. Two with swords, two with crossbows. Unarmored, thankfully — wearing plain clothes, or the leather guards usually preferred by hedge knights.


"You don't need to be afraid, my lady." The one called Ser Marynd finally opened his mouth, not looking very surprised by the new additions, which meant that it was all part of a plan. "We only need Jon Snow here. You will be safe as long as you comply with them."


"H-How could you do this, Ser?" Margaery asked in a terrified voice, "We are almost family, Ser." She took a half-step forward before Jon's arm stopped her. "Please. There's still a chance. You just need to—"


"I am sorry, My Lady. They took my wife," he grimly shook his head as he turned towards Jon. "It would be better for everyone if you just surrendered, young friend."


"I am afraid I can't comply with that." Jon smiled as he calmly raised his sword in answer.


The initial shock of the ambush had already passed. Jon's pulse had settled, his mind running cold and clear now.


He was confident that with his sword skills and a little help from Frost, it shouldn't be too hard to deal with them, as long as he took precautions against the crossbowmen.


"The hard way, then." Marynd nodded to the four men. Two moved in at once, swords drawn, as the remaining pair started nocking new bolts.


'Let's take care of the knight first. He will be problematic with his armour,' he decided, but in the next moment his eyes widened, and his face paled, as he remembered a crucial fact he had completely forgotten.


'Frost is still in the North.'


///


Last chance to get a free trial on my pat*eon. So, whoever is eager to forge ahead into the darkness. Say my name into your browser, and I shall appear.

 

[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thank for the chapter.
Time to kill littlefinger

 

[ATP]

Thank for the chapter.
Time to kill littlefinger

Click to shrink...

Or Varys.Or Cersei. We do not knew yet who is behind that.

 

[Hms St. Lawrence]

I feel like the vibe of this chapter was different form the ones before. Like Jon's pov dialogue felt different and way more relaxed normally he's way sharper.

 

[LazyWizard]

"Damn it! I was careless." Jon cursed himself as he tightened his grip around his sword.


Every time he went to a new location, whether it was the crowded markets of Volantis, with arrogant nobles beating slaves at every few steps, or the "orderly" streets of Braavos, where you could never be sure that the little beggar you gave a few copper coins to wasn't an assassin in training, Jon always took the precaution of bringing Frost along with him.


No amount of men or armour could give him the sense of safety that the simple presence of his flying friend could.


And even if he didn't want to use the plethora of deadly weapons in her arsenal—which included her sharp beak capable of piercing iron, her claws that could twist a man's head off from his shoulders, and her screech that could stun dozens of men in an instant—for the sake of not causing a rout in the middle of a busy street.


Simply having her flying over his head gave him the option of Bullet Time.


A skill that gave him the confidence to smile fearlessly, no matter how many enemies there were in front of him.


After all, while he trusted his skills with a sword or spear, fighting multiple opponents was far more dangerous, especially when some of them were armoured or armed with bows.


So he believed that it was always good to have some backup with you that could get you out of all sorts of dodgy situations, no matter how many you were up against.


Unfortunately, his reliable backup was currently halfway across Westeros, busy carrying letters, local sweets, and a few small toys to his little brother Bran, who had been left all alone in Winterfell.


Now, back in Essos, Jon only ever sent Frost away during the night when he was asleep or if he knew that he was going to be spending the whole day idle in his mansion, where he was sure of his safety.


But today, he had gotten careless for some reason.


He didn't know if it was because he was back in Westeros, his "home," or if it was because he had seen too many nobles with a retinue of more than a dozen guards parading in the streets of the city, getting scared of every beggar or dirty child they came across, and simply couldn't bear to look like them.


Whatever the reason was, he had left home with little to no protection, thinking it was just a short outing in the very centre of the city. What was the worst that could happen?


He really should have known better than to tempt Murphy's Law like that...


And now he was caught in an alleyway with one fully armoured opponent, two hedge-knights of unknown skill, and two crossbowmen. He was surrounded on three sides, with a wall behind him.


On his side, he was dressed in a thin linen tunic and dark breeches, a choice that did wonders for showing off his toned physique, but offered little to no protection against a sword.


Tweety was with Robb, and it would take her a few minutes to get here; Inky and Gan were with his family in Essos; Tiger, his shadowcat, was back in Winterfell, and Peggy would hardly be useful even if she could get here from the stables in time.


So essentially, he was all alone here, with just his trusty sword to rely on.


'Eh, it shouldn't be too hard.'


His eyes flicked towards the men handling the crossbows on either side, and the sight of them almost immediately sent a wave of relief through him.


Both were noticeably shorter than their sword-wielding companions. The one on the right was a squat, meaty fellow, while the one on the left had a mousy face and three broken teeth bared in an ugly grin.


They hardly looked like men who had seen much fighting.


Probably why they were given crossbows. Just need to point and shoot. Easy enough for idiots.


But they weren't doing particularly well in that department either. Neither man seemed to have the slightest idea how to reload the crossbow, fumbling with the new bolts as if they were touching one for the first time, looking thoroughly baffled by the mechanism.


A quick glance was enough for him to make a rough guess that he had at least a minute or so before he had to worry about any danger from their side.


'And that made things a lot easier.'


Because if arrows truly began flying, Jon would be left with no choice but to take drastic measures.


Which involved him just brutally warging into one of them, and then forcing him to kill his fellows, just like Bran did with Hodor at the Wall.


He really didn't want to do that, though.


Not only because he had never tried it before, and attempting it for the first time in the midst of combat would be disastrous, but also because it was considered a serious taboo in the books.


The human mind was fundamentally different from that of an animal and could resist the intrusion both consciously and violently, resulting in potentially devastating consequences.


Hodor was a prime example of that.


And while he wasn't very worried about the well-being of his foes, the damage could very easily be transferred back to him, and he did not want that.


So even though he considered himself a much better warg than the Bran from canon, Jon was not very eager to go inside the mind of another human being, especially with all their thoughts, desires, and complicated emotions.


A tiny mistake could leave him imprisoned in the mind of another, so unless it was the end of the rope, Jon really didn't want to tempt fate like this.


It took a long while to explain his thoughts, but in reality, only a second had passed since his boastful declaration that they wouldn't be able to make him surrender, while carrying a smirk on his face as if he was about to absolutely thrash them.


'Let's stall and wait for Tweety,' he decided.


"Wait! Wait! Are you sure you want to do this?" He abruptly raised a hand towards the approaching knight, breaking the tense standoff. "You just said they took your wife, right? So why don't you just tell us who they are, and maybe we can work together to get her back? After all, wouldn't it be better to trust us—or rather, her family with this?" He jerked his head behind him. "Instead of these men who look like they've been sleeping in a ditch for the past week?" He gestured vaguely towards the hired assassins.


The attackers in question were very offended by this insinuation, and the bald swordsman on the left even stopped and sniffed himself, as if wondering how his secret had gotten out.


"You think I have not thought of that?" the knight replied through gritted teeth. "You think my very first instinct after getting that note wasn't to go to Lady Tyrell and tell her about this?" his voice trembled with emotion.


"Why didn't you, then?" Jon asked slowly, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, trying to keep the conversation going while keeping an eye on the others.


"I was about to, but then I turned the corner and another note was thrust into my hands." His eyes squeezed shut in distress. "There were spies in the mansion watching me. What choice did I have after that?"


Even Jon was left speechless at that, having no answer to his question.


In fact, if he were in a similar situation and didn't possess the various abilities that he did, he would probably have reacted in the same manner.


But who could have done this? Jon mulled over the question, and almost instantly, a dozen faces came to mind—all the people in the city cunning enough to pull off such treachery, and with the resources to do it.


He stopped the line of thought before it could distract him. 'I'll think about it later.'


"How can you even trust them, though?" Jon continued with a raised eyebrow. "How can you be sure they would go through with their word? That they would release her after they get what they want?"


"...I can't." He shook his head, a pained expression crossing his face. "But if I don't follow their orders, I won't even have that chance. So I have no other choice..."


"Of course you do. You can put your trust in me and help me take them down." Jon leaned forward with an earnest expression. "And I give you my word, I will find your wife, no matter where they're hiding in this city."


"You can't promise that." He shook his head with an agitated smile. "No one can."


As if he could take no more of Jon, he turned towards the nervous Margaery hiding behind him.


"I know what I am doing, what I am about to do... it is betrayal. I know that even if I make it out alive, I won't..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed. "But please... my wife. She is innocent. If she is still..." His lips quivered, his eyes turning red. "Please, don't punish her. She's pregnant, and I—"


"Enough of your snivelling." The lanky swordsman on the right interrupted with an impatient expression. "No one gives a shit about your sad little life, you idiot. We all have to get out through the city gates once this is done. So if you're so eager to die, you can do it after you've finished your job."


"Yes, yes, you better hurry up," the bald, muscular swordsman on the left continued with an unsightly grin. "Because the two we left your wife with aren't exactly decent folk. And they're not the sort to let a little thing like pregnancy stop them. If you get my drift..." He chuckled darkly.


"You—"


"What, you?! Get on with it, you idiot!" the lanky one scolded without hesitation, truly treating the knight as if he were their dog. "Or else, it will be on your head if anything happens to your wife."


The knight gritted his teeth in humiliation, but with no other choice, he swallowed his rage and turned to Jon. "I am sorry, lad." He raised his sword, preparing to attack.


"Yeah, me too." Jon gave him a sympathetic smile before his expression suddenly changed. "Tweety! The one on the right. Don't let him shoot!"


A flash of bright colour suddenly shot into the alley. Tweety swooped straight at the fat crossbowman, pecking at his face and hovering inches from his eyes.


The man cursed and flailed at the tiny critter. "Fuck! Go away!" But the little bastard was just too damn fast, darting out of reach every time he tried to hit it.


"What the fuck is that?" The lanky man was left shocked, unable to comprehend what was happening.


In fact, everyone present was distracted by this sudden, strange intrusion, and Jon, the cause of it, did not miss the opportunity and immediately lunged at the knight.


Clang!


The knight, caught off guard by the sudden assault, hurriedly raised his sword to defend himself as the other two swordsmen noticed and immediately began to close in.


But just as the knight imagined a hard duel against the famous Northerner bastard, the boy ducked beneath his sword and lunged towards the stunned bald man on the left, leaving a startled Margaery completely exposed before him.


"Um..." Maynard was left dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, but before he could decide what to do, he caught sight of the tall, wretched man bearing towards Margaery, a look of malice in his eyes.


"NO!" Maynard shouted instinctively, throwing himself in front of her. "Y-You can't touch her. We just need the boy."


Ha! Knew it! Jon smiled inwardly at the commotion behind him. Thankfully, things had gone exactly as he expected.


From the knight's earlier responses, Jon had already guessed that he wouldn't lay a hand on Margaery unless he was left with no other choice. And his reluctance would buy him a few precious seconds.


'Which is just enough.'


"Argh! Die!" The bald swordsman roared as he swung his sword with all the strength he could muster.


Jon met the attack head-on. From the man's first step and the way he committed his weight behind the swing, he could tell that the man wasn't some untrained thug.


He had some experience. Enough, perhaps, to make short work of an ordinary man.


But against Jon, there was little difference between a decent swordsman and a novice who had only just picked up a blade.


Clang!


Jon casually knocked the man's sword aside, barely needing to put any strength behind the deflection, and then before the bald man could recover, Jon stepped inside his guard and struck.


Once. Twice. Three times.


Steel flashed through the narrow alley in a blur.


The bald swordsman barely managed to catch the first blow, stumbled away from the second, and nearly lost his footing trying to evade the third.


"Ah! Fuck! Fuck!"


Panic crept into his voice as he desperately backpedalled, raising his sword again and again just in time to keep Jon's blade from finding his flesh.


"It's done! Move away!" the short, mousy man shouted as he hurriedly raised his crossbow.


But the only response he received was a strangled grunt.


A sword suddenly burst through the back of the bald man's mouth, spraying blood across the mousy man's startled face.


"Argh!"


He stumbled backwards, his crossbow nearly slipping from his hands as Jon kicked the lifeless body aside and advanced on him, his sword dripping with blood.


"Ah! Stop!" The mousy man screamed through his broken teeth, fumbling with the crossbow as he desperately tried to find the trigger.


His sweaty hands were shaking so badly that the bow nearly slipped, but eventually he managed to fire.


But the bolt flew wildly off course, and Jon casually stepped aside before closing the distance.


The man's eyes widened in terror.


"W-Wait—"


Jon's sword flashed and sent the man to meet his fellow in hell.


Behind him, the other swordsman was still struggling with the knight.


"Move away, you idiot!" the lanky man snarled, impatiently trying to shove the bull-like man aside so he could get to Margaery.


"No. You promised you wouldn't hurt her. You can't—"


"Ah, you fucker!" The swordsman shoved him again, his frustration boiling over. "Don't you care about your wife anymore?! She'll fucking die a miserable death if you keep getting in my way!"


He couldn't understand whose side the idiot was anymore, and wondered if it wouldn't have been better to just kill him off after he brought them to this ambush site. "And you're already a traitor, so what the fuck are you still dawdling for—"


But mid-argument, both of them heard a muffled scream and turned towards the sound, only to see that in the few seconds that they had been arguing, Jon had already dealt with the two men on the other side of the alley.


One lay dead with a hole through his skull, while the other clutched desperately at his throat, blood gushing between his fingers.


The sight sent an involuntary shiver down the lanky man's spine.


He had always known the boy was a formidable knight. How could he not? He had watched Jon cross lances with the likes of Ser Barristan, Jaime Lannister, the Blackfish, Lord Royce, and others—and watched him defeat them.


But he had never imagined that the boy possessed the same terrifying prowess with the blade.


He had dispatched his two fellows in mere seconds, slaughtering them as effortlessly as a butcher might deal with chickens.


"Fuck! G-Go! Go deal with him!" The lanky man flusteredly shoved the knight towards Jon.


The knight hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and advanced resolutely.


"I can't let you pass—"


Jon had no intention of wasting any more time. He immediately went on the attack, his sword flashing through the air with the speed of a striking viper.


But the knight was ready for him this time.


And while he too was clearly outskilled by Jon, his fundamentals were solid, and rather than try to meet Jon's blows head-on, he relied on his armour to absorb most of the deadly strikes.


Steel rang against steel and armour as he steadily gave ground, but unlike the bald man, he managed to hold his own.


Ah, damn it! This is taking too long. Jon cursed inwardly as he struggled to put the knight down.


Realistically, if he simply calmed down and put his full strength into the fight, he knew it wouldn't take more than a minute to defeat him. But he didn't have—


"Ah!"


A woman's scream echoed through the alley.


Jon's head snapped towards the sound, and his heart lurched when he saw that his worst fear had come to pass.


Margaery was cowering against the wall, desperately backing away as the lanky mercenary advanced towards her, an ugly grin spreading across his face.


The knight flinched at the scream, a pained expression crossing his face, but ultimately he gritted his teeth and continued to block Jon's path.


Damn it! Jon knew things would go badly if Margaery was captured, but there was little he could do while the knight kept him occupied. Do I really have to take the risk?


"Don't worry, my lady. It won't hurt..." The lanky swordsman leered as he slowly approached her. "Too much."


But he never got the chance to do anything more.


"Ah! Fuck!"


The lanky man suddenly stumbled, nearly losing his balance. Looking down in shock, he saw the old knight—an arrow still buried in his chest—clinging desperately to his leg with both hands.


"Let go, you mad fucker!"


He screamed as he kicked the face of the old knight again and again.


But the old knight refused to let go, his grip tightening around the man's leg even as blood poured from his wound.


Go! Old man, go! Jon cheered inwardly at the sudden turn of events.


Marynd was also momentarily distracted by his temporary associate's plight, and that... was all Jon needed.


Jon immediately changed his grip and crashed it against Maynard's sword at an awkward angle, putting his entire strength behind the blow.


The knight's blade was knocked aside, leaving his guard open.


Jon immediately feinted a thrust towards his throat.


Maynard instinctively flinched and raised his armoured forearm to protect himself. Exactly as Jon had hoped.


Jon's foot shot forward.


Bam!


His kick slammed into Maynard's midriff with the full force of his body, hurling the knight off balance and sending him crashing into the wall.


Maynard's head struck stone as he slumped to the ground, dazed and motionless for several moments.


In the same motion, Jon spun around and charged towards the lanky swordsman, fury written across his face.


"Stop!"


The shout scared the shit out of the bastard.


"Argh! Shoot him, you bastard!" he screamed in panic at the fat man behind him.


"The bird won't let me!" the fatty screamed in frustration, not even able to open his eyes.


His face was filled with dozens of angry red scratches, and he wanted nothing more than to grab the blasted bird and smush it on the ground, but he couldn't even capture her shadow, no matter how many times he swung.


That was when the lanky glanced towards Margaery and realised she was already some meters away, having slipped past him while he was distracted.


"Damn it!" he cursed, abandoning any thought of facing Jon and instead making a desperate grab for Margaery. "Stop!"


"Ah!" Margaery screamed as she ran towards Jon, but her foot caught at the worst possible moment, sending her stumbling to the ground.


The lanky man grinned in triumph. He rushed forward and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back and trying to pull her in front of him as a shield.


"Stop! I have her in my—"


That was as far as he got before a tremendous force slammed into his abdomen as Jon crashed into him like a charging bull and tackled him to the ground.


His back slammed against the stone, driving the air from his lungs. Dazed, the lanky man clawed desperately for his sword, trying to push Jon away.


"Get off—"


Shhk!


Jon's blade punched into his side, driving between his ribs and deep into his abdomen.


"No... no, I don't want... to... die..."


He clutched desperately at the sword, as though holding it could somehow keep life from leaving him.


Jon mercilessly ripped the blade free and rose, as the man collapsed and shuddered before falling still.


Damn, that hurt! Jon grimaced as he rubbed the shoulder he'd used to spear the sellsword. They make it look so easy on WWE.


After a quick glance towards Margaery to make sure she was unharmed, he turned his attention to the last man still standing.


"No... n-no, stay away from me!" The fat man cried in terror, staring at Jon through the haze of the furious hummingbird flitting around his face. He had just witnessed his final companion's death, and terror had completely taken over him.


"I-I'll kill you!" he screamed, raising the weapon wildly and pulling the trigger without looking.


"Ah! Shit!"


Jon ducked just in time as the bolt whistled past his head, missing him by mere inches and stirring his hair as it flew past.


Fuck! That scared me!


Jon shuddered, his face paling as he stared after the bolt. That had been far too close for comfort.


"You little shit!" Jon cursed as he strode towards the snivelling fat bastard.


"No, don't—"


His plea was cut short by the sword that punched through his throat.


Shikk!


Jon pulled his blade free and took a deep breath, feeling surprisingly tired despite having killed only a handful of men.


It really is so much easier with a bow.


"Ah!"


The knight's shout made Jon turn. To his surprise, Maynard had recovered and was already coming towards him with renewed determination.


Damn it. Can't I get a few seconds of rest?


Jon sighed inwardly and moved to meet him, looking considerably calmer now that there was only one opponent left.


Leaning back to evade the knight's wild slashes, Jon calmly and efficiently deflected each blow, ducking beneath the wider swings and letting the others pass harmlessly overhead.


As luck would have it, the knight had yet to fully recover from his previous ordeal. His movements were slower now, his strikes lacking the strength and precision they had possessed earlier.


It took only a slight overextension for Jon to find his opening.


He knocked the knight's blade upward, then followed through in the same motion, bringing his own sword crashing down against the man's wrist.


The knight's fingers went slack, and his sword went flying.


"H-How are you so strong—"


A roundhouse kick to the chest cut him off, sending him crashing into the wall once again.


"Stay down this time," he ordered the groaning knight as he finally sheathed his sword and let out a relieved breath before hurrying over to Margaery.


"Are you alright?" Jon asked with concern in his voice as he pulled her up from the ground.


"I... I... yes, I am fine, I think." She was a little dazed as she stared at the dead bodies around them, never having thought in a million years that her day would turn out like this.


"Wasn't what you expected of our outing, was it?" Jon asked with a sheepish smile.


"No, it wasn't," she replied as she turned back and studied him closely with a calmness that unnerved the boy.


"Well, you can't deny that it was going rather well before all this. And if anything, this only makes it more unique. The sort of thing you'll be able to tell stories about someday, eh?" Jon forced a laugh, trying to make light of the situation. He had no idea what he was supposed to do or say after something like this, especially when he had been the real target, and she had merely been the collateral caught in the middle.


"And earlier, I didn't actually abandon you. It's just that I knew your knight wouldn't actually—"


He never finished as Margaery suddenly stepped forward and closed the distance between them.


For a moment, Jon forgot how to breathe, as he got lost in her big, brown eyes.


And then... she kissed him.


The swords, the crossbows, and the corpses scattered across the alley, even the frantic pounding of his own heart—all of it seemed to disappear beneath the warmth of her lips against his.


He stood there completely frozen, his mind utterly blank as he tried to comprehend what was happening.


She's kissing me.


The thought barely formed before another sensation overwhelmed it.


She was soft.


So unbelievably soft.


And then, just as he was beginning to lose himself in it, she pulled away.


Jon's eyes opened.


...That's it?


It couldn't have lasted more than a heartbeat. It had been far too short.


Not enough.


His mind protested instinctively.


And apparently, Margaery felt the same.


Because just as she was about to pull away, she hesitated. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before she leaned forward again and captured his lips in another kiss.


This one lasted a little longer.


Jon's heart hammered against his chest as he finally, belatedly, remembered that he was supposed to be participating in this rather than standing there like a stunned idiot, so he held her waist and lowered his head to enjoy himself fully.


When she finally pulled away, he was left staring at her, utterly dazed.


"Thank you for saving me," Margaery whispered as she smiled up at him.


And somehow, that smile hit him even harder than the kiss, and left him weak in the knees.


"Anytime," Jon answered dazedly, still feeling a little out of it. "Ahem, can I get another—"


"Ugh!"


A groan interrupted them at precisely the wrong moment.


"If it's all the same to you, lad, I would appreciate some help here before you get on with... whatever it is you were about to do." The old knight, an arrow still lodged in his side, spoke up while trying to suppress an amused smile.


"Ah! Sorry!" Margaery exclaimed, suddenly flustered as she hurriedly stepped away from Jon, her cheeks turning crimson.


Ah, damn it, old man. Couldn't you have waited a few seconds?


Jon cursed internally, but the sight of the footprints on the old knight's face and chest made him soften up.


FIne. I'll forgive


The old knight seemed to catch the boy's resentment and rolled his eyes.


"I don't mind waiting, lad, but the boy hasn't moved since he was shot, so..."


"Ah, yes."


Jon immediately sobered and turned towards the youngest fallen knight, who hadn't even twitched since taking the arrow.


Crouching beside him, Jon turned him over and closely examined the wound.


"He's going to be fine. The arrow didn't pierce very deep, thanks to the armour. He probably fainted from the shock." Jon glanced at the boy's young face before frowning. "Still, it'd be better if he received proper treatment soon."


He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a quill and a small piece of parchment.


After quickly scribbling a short message, he rolled the parchment and held it out for Tweety.


"Take this to Robb."


The hummingbird chirped and immediately took flight.


"Don't worry. Help will be here soon."


The old knight nodded, finally allowing himself to relax. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing and forget about the pain.


Jon patted his knees, stood up and finally turned his attention to the fallen knight.


"Now, let's talk."


///


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[oscar e Sampedro Lopez]

Thanks for the chapter. Good story as always

 

[ATP]

Thanks for chapter,but fallen knight knew notching.Jon should capture one of bandits alive,not him.