Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

COLD.

Gods, he felt cold.

It was an all-encompassing numbness that spread out from the center of his chest; radiating outward until it reached the tips of his fingers and toes.

In truth, it was better than what he had felt before, that hot, sharp pain as the knives plunged into his belly. Each blade thrust had been followed up by three words, three words uttered by men that Jon had trusted. “For the Watch.”

Most painful of all had been Olly.

When Jon had fallen to his knees, when he felt blood rise to his throat, he had looked up into the eyes of the youth. He saw grief written on the boy’s face. He had been like a brother to the boy. He had named in as his own personal steward and had begun to groom him for command; just like Jeor had done for him. But Jon saw that grief turn to anger. The Wildlings had murdered his parents, butchering them like cattle, but Jon still wished for peace with them. He had formed an alliance with the Wildlings and, most egregious of all, he had let them past the Wall.

Jon knew his decision hadn’t been a popular one. He had heard it in the grumblings of his men and the admonishments from his officers. Yet he had still done it. The threat of the Others was one on an apocalyptic scale. Jon couldn’t afford to spend his time and resources battling with the Wildlings. He needed the North united against this common foe.

Yet for all of his efforts, how had he been rewarded? With a knife through the heart.

As he lay there, bleeding out into the snow, Jon closed his eyes. He thought of Robb, of Bran, Rickon, Sansa, and, most importantly, Arya.

Then his mind shifted onto another. “Ghost,” he whispered. He opened his eyes and lifted his head from the frozen soil, searching for his dire wolf in vain. He was nowhere to be found. Jon let his head drop, his strength exhausted. No doubt the mutineers would attempt to kill the direwolf as well. That animal had always been unnaturally intelligent. With any luck, Ghost would run, fleeing south towards Winterfell and the Wolfswood.

Jon attempted to draw in one last breath, an action rendered impossible by the blood that now filled his lungs. He lay on his back, eyes cast upwards towards the sky; yet as the darkness took him, all Jon Snow could see was the Wall.

LIGHT BLAZED INTO Jon’s eyes. It was hot, white as pure snow and just as blinding. Jon cursed and laid a hand over his eyes, waiting until they adjusted to the harsh glow. As his sight returned to him, so did his other senses. Sounds and smells that were utterly foreign to Jon bombarded him all at once, and Jon staggered back. He slammed into something solid, and Jon clutched at it. He felt the sturdiness of timber and wattle beneath his fingers, and Jon dared not move.

He stayed like that for several long moments, waiting until his vision cleared, waiting until he grew used to the general roar and noise. When he had finally gathered himself, Jon let the hand covering his eyes fall and was met with a sight he could never have dreamed of.

He stood beneath the overhang of a large building, in front of him—perhaps fifty feet away—sat a large stone fountain. Past that, Jon could spot the brightly colored stands and stalls of various merchants. Even further beyond that, hundreds if not thousands of houses and structures piled upwards on a gentle slope toward the mountain on the horizon.

No, not a mountain. A castle. Jon had to squint to avoid the sun’s glare, the massive castle far in the distance shadowed by the aforementioned object. Despite this, it was not the buildings, nor the distant keep that drew Jon’s attention, it was the people.

Men and women of various colors, heights, and builds walked upon the cobbled streets. It was rare to see such variety of people in one place, and a part of Jon marveled at the agglomeration present before him. Despite his wonder, Jon ignored them, instead choosing to focus on the creatures walking amongst his fellow man. Many resembled animals; he saw men with the head of hounds, lizards, or bears. He saw many more bearing skin tones of unnatural pigmentation, or others resembling animals Jon had never seen before.

A heavy wooden wagon rolled by and Jon did not fail to take note of both the driver and the beast of burden. The driver was another one of the beast-people, resembling a grey-furred rabbit complete with long pink ears. The animal pulling the wagon was not a horse, nor a bull, nor any kind of animal familiar to Jon. It resembled the lizard-lions that inhabited the lands around the Neck; although it was far larger and did not possess the bog-green scales of the animal.

It was all too much for him. Jon slumped against the wall and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“Gods be good,” he moaned. Unsure if anything he was seeing was even real. “Is this funny to you!” Jon sprang to his feet, his fury coming him. “Is it!” he cried, raising a fist to the cloudless sky. “I have sacrificed everything! Even my life, what more could you want!”

Jon saw his family once more: Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Sansa; all of their heads spitted upon pikes. He saw his father, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, nestled amongst the stone crypts beneath Winterfell. His head severed, laid upon the man’s chest, cold blue lips moving, mouthing their disapproval.

“Damn you, damn you all to the Seven Hells!” Jon roared, unsure of who he was condemning. The gods, or himself.

Quiet murmurings and hushed whispers broke Jon free of his anger. Across the plaza, several men and beast-people alike were staring at him. Jon met their gazes for only a moment, then shame flooded his thoughts and he turned away.

He dashed into the alley at the corner of the building and ran. For how long? Jon was unsure, only that he kept on running, stumbling his way through a labyrinth of stone and wattle. The visions kept on coming: Winterfell burning, reduced to stone and ash. Ghost slain, the direwolf’s head mounted on a wall, Alliser Thorne glowering beneath it upon a throne of ornately carved wood. On he went, legs pumping up and down, lungs sucking in breath after breath, mind reeling at the sheer insanity of his current situation.

When he finally came to a stop, Jon was unsure of where he was. He was in an alley, one almost identical to the one he had rushed into, save for a small trio of steps that led upward toward a bend.

Jon sat down on the stone stairs, drawing in long breaths, doing his best to calm his racing heart.

He had died, Jon had no doubt about that. The pain of the daggers was still as sharp and clear as freshly formed ice. Despite that fact, Jon had never felt more alive. His heart beat in his chest, his muscles tightened and relaxed at command, his blood rushed through his veins. Whatever magic had spared him from death must have been cast by a powerful sorcerer.

But who? Jon wondered. His first thought was that of the Wildlings, but it was a notion Jon dismissed almost immediately. The Wildlings possessed a great many shamans and wargs, but resurrection did not seem to be an art they were skilled at.

Melisandre then? But Jon was unsure of that as well. With the defeat of Stannis, the Red Woman had returned to them a shell of her former self. Jon could see it in her eyes, in the way she carried herself. Gone was the proud priestess of the Lord of Light, only a faithless woman remained.

Another thought came to Jon, and it chilled him to the bone. The Others. Jon had seen their abilities firsthand at Hardhome. The one called the Night King had lifted his arms, and a thousand new wights had risen from the dead of the village. Wildling, Night’s Watch, horse, giant, hound. It mattered not, they were nothing but meat to the White Walkers, chaff for their horrid army.

Yet the thought confused Jon. Why would the Others bring him back? What purpose was there in his resurrection, surely it would have been better to let him die, or to turn him into one of their thralls. Yet now here Jon sat, alive and well.

It was a mystery that Jon was sure would trouble him for the rest of his days, however many he had left.

Breaking free of his ruminations, Jon took a moment to take stock of his current situation. To his surprise, Jon found his cloak wrapped around him. A thick woolen article lined with shaggy black fur around the collar, fastened by a silver brooch. Cloaks were part of a Black Brother’s standard outfit; so crucial to keeping warm and providing a Watchman with protection against the elements that it was suicide to venture north without one.

Jon had gotten used to the clothing as had many of his brothers. It became apart of them, and Jon had long since forgotten what it was like to not bear the slight weight upon his shoulders.

In another moment of shock, Jon realized he was armed; a steel dagger was strapped to the belt on his hip. Just like the cloak, it was expected of a Black Brother to keep one on him at all times, yet that was not what drew Jon's shock.

Longclaw hung from its scabbard, jostling against his thigh whenever he moved. Jon pulled the blade free from the scabbard with a cry of joy.

He gazed at the smoke-grey blade. Tracking the water-like ripples formed into the blade as they ran up and down the three fullers incised into the Valyrian steel sword. Jon lifted the blade higher and stared at the pommel; it was a hunk of pale stone, weighted with lead and carved into the shape of a wolf. Gleaming garnets had been set within the eyes, and Jon couldn't help but stare at those crimson orbs.

A pang of sorrow rang within him, and Jon slid the blade back into its scabbard. “Ghost,” Jon murmured, ignoring the way his voice trembled at the name. Jon grit his teeth and stood up, ignoring the tears as they threatened to spill from his eyes.

He did not know why he was alive, did not know why he had his cloak, with him, why Longclaw was strapped to his belt. He had left these things back in his solar at Castle Black. Yet he had them now. He was alive, alone, with no money and in a strange land, but alive. A small blessing, perhaps the gods did pity him, and had chosen to give the Bastard of Winterfell another chance at life. Jon wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic, resolve hardening. If the gods had deemed him worthy of life once again, Jon was determined not to waste it.

Footsteps drew Jon’s attention, and he looked toward the mouth of the alley. A trio of figures approached him, swagger in every step.

“Well, well, looks like we got ourselves a lost little noble.” The one in the middle spoke first, he was Jon’s height, and as thin as a reed. Yet what Jon noticed first were the manacles present around the man’s arms and throat.

The second individual spoke next, a short, squashed figure with dark circles under his eyes and a head of hair resembling an upturned bowl. “Look at him, he’s been crying! This’ll be easy pickings.”

The third man spoke at last, a towering figure a head taller than Jon and twice as wide. “Make it easy on yourself, be a good boy and hand over everything ya got.”

Jon stared at the trio for a long moment. “Are you… are you trying to rob me?”

The one in the middle spoke, frustration clear on his face. “Are you stupid or something? Yes! Now give us your stuff, and we won’t need to hurt you.”

Jon stared at them a moment longer before erupting into laughter. The robbers looked at him in confusion before that confusion turned to anger.

“What the hell are you laughing at!” squeaked the short one. A statement that made Jon laugh even harder.

“I am lost in a strange land, copperless and without companion. Despite this, the gods have seen fit to test me with a dwarf and his moronic companions. Truly, the gods are cruel.” Jon gasped out between breaths.

That got them. Jon could see the short and lanky one’s faces burn red with anger. At the same time, the giant to the right of them grew even darker with rage.

“Now you’ve done it.” Snarled the one in the middle. The man who Jon now assumed to be their leader. He reached behind him, drawing a pair of knives from gods only knew where.

Jon stopped laughing, storm-grey eyes growing as hard as steel.

“I admit I've had a rough day, and your antics have been a balm to my soul. It's a comfort to know that even so far from home, the hearts of men do not change. In honor of that, I will give you one chance to walk away.”

The giant on the right sneered. “Aint no one going anywhere, especially not you. Ya gonna die here, bastard!”

Jon tensed at the word, and a lifetime of insults and slights came back to him. Like an ocean wave crashing over the shores of a beach.

Jon wrenched Longclaw free of its scabbard, holding it out before him. “Don't call me that, not unless you want to lose your head.”

The three robbers tensed, no doubt they had not seen Jon’s sword, hidden within the folds of his cloak.

The dwarf leaned over to the leader. “Chin, maybe we should go, he’s got a-”

“I know what he has!” snapped the leader, the man Jon now knew as Chin. “It’s three against one, and just ‘cause he’s got one doesn’t mean he knows how to use it. I bet you five gold pieces I’m a better swordsman than him.”

The dark-skinned giant looked over at his fellow. “But you’re using knives?”

“Shut up Ton.” sighed Chin.

Jon spun Longclaw in a flourish, letting his gaze wash over all three of the robbers. “Last chance, walk away or die.”

They stood that way for several heartbeats, the tension so thick Jon was sure he could have cut it with a knife.

That was until a voice called out to them.

“Hey! Move it, move it, get your butts outta the way!”

Jon looked past the thieves and toward the entrance of the alley. A girl was rushing towards them, and Jon wondered if she was some runaway brothel girl.

She was a head shorter than Jon, with hair that would have made any Lannister jealous and a pair of eyes the color of blood. Her attire was what drew Jon’s confusion; he had seen back alley whores with more modesty than her. A black bow was sat upon her golden hair, with a crimson scarf tied around her neck. Yet past that, any semblance of tact was discarded; a brown vest hung from her shoulders, with a strip of black cloth covering her near-bare chest. Black pants clung to the girl’s legs, torn and ragged on one side.

Jon couldn’t help but stare incredulously. The girl was young, close to Sansa’s age when he had last seen her, perhaps a few years older. Yet here she ran, bare for all the world to see.

The girl’s distant yelling grew close in less than a second and she skidded to a halt, spotting the scene before her.

“Yikes, looks like I’ve run into something nasty.”

Jon glanced at the robbers, and they appeared just as stunned as he was. Although if this was due to seeing the girl’s attire or for some other reason Jon could not say.

Before Jon could get a word in, the girl shrugged. “Oh well, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m really busy. Live strong, ya hear?” With a perfunctory wave of the hand, the girl dashed between the thieves and past Jon.

In a feat of unnatural athleticism, Jon watched the girl jump to the wall closest to him before leaping onto the rooftops. All in the blink of an eye.

Jon gawked at the place where the girl had jumped to, it must have been twenty feet in height. Yet she had cleared it with what seemed to be minimal effort. He was still staring when Chin rushed him.

The robber used the girl’s distraction to his advantage, closing the distance between Jon and him in a heartbeat. The knives fell, and Jon barely got his guard up in time. Four times the ring of steel echoed throughout the alley. Yet that was all it took for Jon to gain the young man’s measure.

Chin brought the knife clutched in his right fist down. Jon caught the blow with the edge of Longclaw. He cocked his sword to the side to allow the knife to slide down the sword. Once the knife had reached the base of the blade, Jon twisted; locking the knife between Longclaw’s crossguard and blade.

He pulled, leaving Chin cursing and stumbling as Jon wrenched the knife from his grip. Jon swung Longclaw in a counterstroke, intent on severing Chin’s head. Despite this—more likely through sheer luck than skill—Chin raised his last remaining knife, managing to curb the blow meant for his neck. Instead, Jon’s blade carved a line across the robber’s jaw.

Chin screamed, throwing himself backwards, bloodied hands covering his mouth.

The giant, Ton, flung himself at Jon; a meat cleaver in his right hand. Jon blocked the first two blows, then sidestepped the third and twirled Longclaw upward. Ton shrieked in a voice unbefitting a man of his stature, and staggered backward clutching at his wrist.

Jon glanced down at the hand on the stone, cleaver still clutched tightly, blood pooling around it. He then turned and glared at the dwarf, unsurprised to find the halfman shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“W-wait, l-lets talk about this.”

“I warned you.” Jon glowered, raising Longclaw above his head. Part of Jon knew he should let them run, let them flee and cower in whatever hovel they had emerged from. Another part of him refused. His blood was up, his rage burning cold and clear. These thugs were willing to kill him in order to snatch whatever coppers they could. Who was to say they would not, or had not done this to others?

To his credit, the dwarf did not run. Loyalty, or perhaps fear, bound him to his wounded companions.

“S-somebody help us!” cried Ton. The giant had slumped against the wall, attempting to stymie the gouts of blood that leaked from his severed hand.

Jon let Longclaw fall, intent on splitting the dwarf’s skull when a voice rang out.

“That's enough!”

Jon twisted Longclaw mid-swing, so that the flat of the blade struck the halfman square on the forehead. The dwarf cried out in pain and fell onto his rear, clutching at the now forming lump on his head.

Jon turned to the mouth of the alley, sure that he would face whatever guards this city had. Instead, he was met with a girl. She was shorter than him by half-a-head, with long pale hair the color of silver. Eyes like amethysts stared back at him, conviction and will shining through them like beacons. Jon felt the breath leave his body. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. In the lands of Westeros men had fought wars over women like her. Women whose beauty seemed to transcend the mortal realm.

“I cannot allow this to go on any longer," she said. "Cease your violent actions and return what you have stolen from me.”

Jon frowned, then glanced around at the scene before him. Ton and Chin were both wounded, and would no doubt bear the scars of this confrontation for the rest of their lives. The dwarf was splayed across the alley, rubbing at his head, muttering a dozen curses under his breath.

To an outsider, it perhaps did look rather suspicious. The whole situation presented Jon badly. Like he was some brigand, accosting innocent smallfolk in the alleys.

“You have the wrong idea.” He paused, noting the young woman’s styled hair and fine clothes. “My Lady, I am simply defending myself from-”

The woman raised a hand. “Enough, it won't be so easy to trick me. Now, leave these men alone and return my insignia!”

"Please just wait a mom-"

Jon was interrupted as the dwarf scrambled to his feet and ran behind the girl. He clutched at hem of her skirt, like a small child attempting to hide themselves away.

"Please miss, don't let him hurt us." The halfman cried. Jon did not fail to notice the mischievous glare the dwarf sent his way.

The other two—catching on to the dwarf's plan—followed suit. Hiding behind the girl and wailing their grievances.

Jon shook his head, watching as the three robbers jostled and corralled the poor girl.

"Leave her be you fools. Go and run back to whatever shanty you call home. But don't forget, you only live thanks to her."

The mood of the robbers darkened and their leader Chin, met Jon's eyes.

"Watch your back, bastard." Chin spat through bloody lips "Next time we meet, I'll cut your throat."

Jon fixed the thief with a glare of his own. "I look forward to it, I'll make sure to leave more than just a scar next time."

With that the trio ran off hollering curses and hooting jeers until they had faded from view.

The girl looked back in confusion, then back to Jon, then back to the retreating form of the thieves.

“I… don’t understand?”

Jon sighed and sheathed Longclaw. “As I was saying, those three were attempting to rob me. I was just defending myself.”

A blush appeared on the girl's pale cheeks and Jon watched as she struggled to form a sentence.

"but you-I thought-his hand-my insignia"

Jon looked at the blood spilled across the cobblestones.

"It's regrettable you had to see such a thing, my lady, but I assure you. The blood shed here today was purely in self defense."

The girl seemed to shrink, deflating like a puff fish on the deck of a boat.

"Then I have wasted time here for nothing."

The girl walked up to him and to Jon's surprise she bowed.

"I'm very sorry Mister Knight. It's just… I heard a scream for help, and I thought you might be in cahoots with the other thief."

Cahoots? What does that mean? Jon wondered.

Despite his confoundment at her choice of words. Jon found himself focusing on one particular subject.

The other thief?

"You mention a thief, I assume you had something stolen from you?"

The girl hesitated then nodded. "Yes, she stole my insignia. It's a small black stone with gold engravings and a red jewel in the center."

"And the thief, what did she look like?"

"She was short, with blond hair and a red scarf."

Jon had seen the thief, no doubt it was that girl from earlier. Yet he hesitated to say anything. The honorable thing to do would have been to point the the silver-haired girl in the direction of the thief.

But when has honor got me anything. Jon thought bitterly. He had lived with honor once, and it had gotten him killed.

"Aye, I've seen her. However, information like that wont come free."

It pained Jon to say so, the girl clearly had a kind heart and no doubt this insignia mattered quite a bit to her.

"I see." The girl looked at him shrewdly. "Unfortunately I don't have any money on me, I won't be able to pay you."

Jon waved his hand. "I don't want money, I need information. I'm a stranger to this land, information on where I am would aid me greatly. Give me this and I will tell you where the thief went."

The girl looked hesitant. "Information? That's all you want?"

"Aye."

The girl paused then cocked her head to one side. "What do you think Puck?"

To Jon's utter shock there was a flash of light and a figure appeared next to the girl's head.

"I don't sense any malice in him, and he does seem to want to help." It was high-pitched, yet deep enough that Jon imagined a young boy to be speaking. Except it wasn't a boy speaking, it was a cat.

Jon stared at the animal incredulously. Wight’s, Others, giants, direwolves, they were one thing. But a talking cat?

Jon felt his mental strength waver, then he felt his knees buckle. And as he collapsed onto the cobblestones the last thing he heard, was the beginnings of an argument between the girl and the cat.

SOFT FUR PRESSED itself against Jon's cheek. For a brief moment Jon leaned into the warmth, glad to have Ghost this far north.

Then he remembered, Ghost was gone. So what was he resting his head on?

Jon opened his eyes, staring into a pair of topaz-blue spheres. With a curse he sprang to his feet and drew Longclaw.

"Wait!" a voice cried, and Jon remembered where he was.

He was not at the Wall, he was not in the North, he was not at Castle Black. He was here, wherever here was.

Jon slid the sword back into its scabbard and turned to meet the eyes of the young woman. Avoiding the gaze of the man-sized cat seated next to her.

"My apologies, it's just…"

Jon forced himself to look at the cat again, and to his great relief, and shock. The feline shrunk in size, and stayed floating just above the girl's shoulder.

"I… what are you?"

"First time seeing a spirit?" the feline spoke again, and Jon took a step back unnerved.

"Guess so," the spirit said. It floated up to him, and struck a mock salute. "My name's Puck, a spirit contracted to Lia. Nice to meet ya."

Jon swallowed nervously then looked back at the girl. She was looking at him, worry and conviction in her gaze. "How do you feel?"

"I will be alright, but I must ask. How long was I out?"

"About half an hour."

Jon grimaced. Then the thief has most assuredly escaped by now.

Puck flew back to the girl, Lia he had called her? And crossed its arms.

"That's right mister, when you fainted my Lia insisted we stay with you. Costing us the opportunity to catch the thief."

How did he…

The only response Jon got was a wink from the spirit.

Jon shuddered and resisted the urge to draw Longclaw again.

"Puck!" the girl protested. "Don't listen to him Mister Knight, I promise you I only stayed because you have information I need. I definitely didn't stay because I was worried! I stayed purely for selfish reasons."

Kind-hearted indeed. Jon mused.

"Then you have my apologies Lady Lia, any information I could have given you would be worthless by now."

The girl's shoulders sagged, and Jon was reminded of a chastised puppy.

"Then it's really gone? I've lost it?"

"Not necessarily," Jon said. "I wish to alter our agreement a bit. Instead of me telling you where the thief went, I will help you look for her."

The girl looked at him, hope clear on her face. "And you still only want information as payment?"

"On my honor as a Black Brother." Jon said, with a fist over his heart.

The girl looked to the cat-spirit, who shrugged.

"An extra pair of eyes would help. Plus he's good with a sword, he'd be useful in keeping any ruffians we meet at bay."

"Alright then," the girl said with a nod. "I accept your help Mister Knight."

Jon snorted in amusement. "I am no knight Lady Lia, I-"

"Emilia!" the girl said hurriedly, face as red as an apple. "My name is Emilia, 'Lia' is just what Puck calls me."

Jon nodded. "As you say Lady Emilia." He stuck out his hand. "I am Jon Snow, a man of the Night's Watch ."

She took it a shy smile on her face. "It is nice to meet you Mister Snow."

Jon stifled a groan. "Just Jon please, 'Mister Snow' makes me seem old."

She giggled and Jon felt a smile of his own begin to form.

"Very well Jon, let's go find a thief."

Chapter Text

THE SEARCH FOR the thief proved difficult. Yet Jon did not mind the endless walking. Emilia and Puck proved good company, both providing answers to the deluge of questions Jon was asking. The city they wandered in was the Royal Capital of Lugunica, of the Kingdom of Lugunica. The animal like people walking the streets were called ‘demi-humans’ and Puck was what was known as a ‘spirit’.

More and more of the world was revealed to Jon, and it made his head spin.

I truly am no longer in Westeros. He thought, taking the time to rub his temples, attempting to soothe the oncoming headache.

“Are you alright Jon?” Emilia asked, worry clear on her face.

“I am fine, Lady Emilia. It’s a lot to process. Back home, we don’t have demi-humans or spirits. Well, not unless you believe in Old Jenny, but that’s a children’s song anyhow.”

“If I may ask Jon, where do you come from? Your clothes are rather strange, and…” The girl paused, and Jon could see the clear embarrassment in the question. “You talk funny?”

“Emilia.” Puck groaned.

Jon raised a brow. “I talk funny?”

Emilia went red in the face, and Jon marveled at just how easily she could change hue.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude or anything. It’s just I’ve never heard your accent before, and some of the things you say don’t make sense and-“

Jon waved a hand. “It’s fine; I’ve asked a lot of questions myself. It’s only natural you would be curious about me as well.”

Both Puck and Emilia breathed a sigh of relief, and Jon suppressed a smile.

“You said Lugunica is the easternmost kingdom, right?”

“Yes.”

Then I come from the opposite direction, from the continent of Westeros. More specifically, the northern part of it."

Emilia frowned then looked at Puck.

“Westeros? I’m sorry to say, but I’ve never heard of it. You don’t happen to mean Kararagi, do you?”

Jon shook his head. “No, I mean Westeros, and what is Kararagi?”

“The Kararagi City-States are the westernmost nation on our continental map. Aside from that, there are no more countries in that direction.”

City-States? Does she mean the Free Cities? And for her not to have heard of Westeros, we must be deep in Essos.

Jon sighed. “The City-States sound similar to a collection of independent polities I know called the Free Cities. But like I said, those lie east of Westeros, on the continent I believe I am on right now, Essos.”

The look the girl gave him did nothing to ease Jon’s confusion.

“He doesn’t seem to be lying, Lia.” Jon heard Puck say. “It might be that he’s from beyond the Great Waterfall.”

“Beyond the Great Waterfall?” Jon asked.

“At the four corners of the world,” Puck began. “The land cuts off. Replaced by a torrent of water that rushes everything away. Which is why it’s called the Great Waterfall.”

“You mean an ocean?”

Puck shook his head. “No, I mean it quite literally. Our world is a flat rectangle, with the Great Waterfall at its borders. Flowing forever downwards into oblivion.”

Jon scoffed. “The world is not flat; it is in the shape of a ball. Maester Luwin made sure we knew, so as not to be confused by the commonfolk’s beliefs.”

Puck nodded. “The world use to be round, but that was before-“

“Puck!” Emilia cried, and Jon did not miss the edge of desperation in her voice."

Before what? Jon wondered.

“Er, right, sorry Lia. Anyway, what’s important, Jon, is that you aren’t from here. And from what I can, with clothes like your you came from someplace cold, right?”

Jon nodded.

“Alright, well if anyone asks, just say you’re from Gusteko. That’s the northernmost nation, and the coldest.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t look good if I told people I’m from ‘beyond the Waterfall’?”

“Eh, you can, but most people will think you’re crazy.”

“Good to know.” Jon sighed.

The three continued their search in relative silence, save for the occasional question to a passerby.

Have I frightened her? Jon worried. Does she think me a madman now?

Emilia’s speech interrupted his thoughts.

“That child over there, do you think she might be lost?”

Jon looked to where Emilia was pointing. He spotted a young girl in pink clothing glancing back and forth between people. Jon could see the fear on the girl’s face, and the tears that brimmed at the edge of her eyes.

“Perhaps, but it is no concern of ours. Her parents are most likely looking for her at this moment.”

Jon could see the doubt present on the girl’s face.

“Maybe, but it wouldn’t be right to just leave her here. What if she gets hurt or what if someone kidnaps her?”

“Then let’s go tell the guards, I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

Emilia looked at him with something akin to frustration.

“That might take too long, she might leave here, and then we’d never find her.”

Jon bit his lip and stared into Emilia’s eyes. He found himself reflected within them; a grim figure, clad in black, with hard eyes.

Is this what I am now? A cold-hearted bastard with nothing, not even honor to his name?

Honor is for fools and dead men. Whispered a voice. Jon ignored it. Instead, he thought of his father: thought of his words, his sword, his face.

“Fine.” Jon relented. “Let’s go.”

Emilia smiled at that, and she walked off toward the child.

Jon went with her and watched as she attempted to comfort the girl. To Jon’s surprise the girl began to bawl. Emilia, for her part, looked despondent, desperately searching for a way to make the girl stop crying. Jon glanced around them, taking note of the looks some of the passerby were giving them.

This needs to end, and it needs to end now. Before someone calls the guards on us.

Jon knelt in front of the girl and brushed away a tear with a gloved hand. “Please don’t cry, my Little Lady. I swear to you we mean to only help.”

The girl sniffed then looked at Jon, fear transforming to awe.

“Are you a knight?”

Jon smiled. “I am the knight of only one person, and it is the Little Lady in front of me.” He took the girl’s hand and placed a kiss on it.

The child giggled, wiping away her tears. “You’re so silly.”

Jon bowed his head and clutched at his chest, pretending to be hurt. “Your words wound me my Little Lady. Not even Maegor could come up with words so cruel.”

The girl’s giggles turned to laughter, and she patted Jon on the head.

“Don’t worry Mister Knight, I think you’re only a little silly.”

“That is a relief, my Little Lady.” Jon stood and offered the girl his hand. “Now come, I believe it is time we find your mother.”

It did not talk long. They had walked only for a few minutes before the girl broke free of Jon and Emilia’s grasp and rushed into her mother’s embrace. In return for helping them find her mother, the little girl offered Emilia a small pin in the shape of a flower. A pin Emilia now wore on her right breast.

“I’m glad we were able to find her mom,” Emilia said, and Jon turned to look at her. It was true, there was genuine happiness there, but also something else. Growing up a bastard meant Jon had learned to observe. To see the truths people hid behind fake smiles and insincere eyes.

Emilia was hurt, perhaps not openly. But the pain was present in the way she looked at the ground, in the way her shoulders stayed slumped.

Jon did not say anything, not until the two stood at the apex of a small bridge. Emilia sat on the stone railing of the bridge, twiddling her hands. Jon leaned over the railing, facing the opposite direction, looking down at the large rectangular pool beneath them.

“If I may ask, Lady Emilia, when you went to comfort the girl. She seemed afraid of you, why?”

Emilia seemed to tense. “I’m sure you’ve noticed some of the looks we’ve gotten as we search for the thief, right?”

Jon nodded; he had. It was difficult not to. Every once in a while, a passerby or a merchant would look at Emilia. Many would stare in disgust, others in fear. It was why Jon had stepped in and asked the questions to anyone they approached.

Jon had initially assumed they had been afraid of him, then he believed that Emilia’s house may not have good standing with the commonfolk. But with even a child being afraid, it meant something more, something deeper. It felt personal almost.

“I have, I’m assuming it has something to do with your family?”

“Kind of? You see my hair, it’s the color of silver.”

It was a strange color to be sure, but a beautiful one if Jon was being honest. But something Jon had noticed was that half the people in this city had brightly colored hair. He wondered if they all dyed it, and how this correlated to Emilia at all.

“Not only that, but I’m also a half-elf.”

“Okay? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Emilia looked up at him, shock on her face. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I told you I’m a silver-haired half-elf.”

“I don’t even know what a half-elf is.”

She looked at him, and Jon was surprised at the intensity of her gaze. Lilac eyes bored into him, searching for any sign of deceit, searching for falsehood.

“You really don’t know about the Witch of Envy?”

“I told you already, I’m not from here.”

“I-“she looked away, ashamed. “Puck said you weren’t, but I still thought you were lying, or…”

Crazy. Jon surmised.

“Explain it to me then, why does this Witch matter so much?”

Fear had returned to her, and Emilia looked away from Jon once more.

“Four-hundred years ago, a woman known as the Witch of Envy emerged. With her power she devoured not only the other Witches of Sin but also most of the world. She was only sealed through the combined powers of the Divine Dragon, the first Sword Saint, and the Great Sage.”

“A dreadful story bu-“

“The Witch.” Emilia interrupted. “Was a silver-haired half-elf named Satella.”

“Ah.” Jon said. It all made sense now. For her to bear a resemblance to a figure all the world considered evil. All her life she would have been cursed, insulted, feared, shunned. No matter where she turned, the shadow of this distant figure haunted her every moment.

“You have my sympathies, Lady Emilia. I do not doubt you have lived a hard life.” Jon thought of the Wildlings, of Tyrion Lannister, of Sam. “It’s not right to judge a person off of their appearance, or their blood.”

Jon saw the glint of tears in her eyes, alongside the desperate hope within them.

“You… you really don’t hate me because of my appearance?”

“I prefer to know someone before forming an opinion of them. You’ve a kind heart and pretty face.” He reached over and brushed a strand of loose hair behind her pointed ear. “But more importantly, I trust you. A Witch who destroyed the world wouldn’t try to help a lost child. Or step in to save the lives of robbers.”

Emilia slid off of the stone railing and Jon watched, bemused as she turned away from him. Her face in her hands. Puck appeared then, flying out of Emilia’s hair and striking Jon on the cheek.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorry, but I had to do something about this intense tingle I’m feeling!”

“And you decided the best course of action was to strike me?”

Emilia looked back at Jon, a look of extreme vexation on her face. “Jon, you are such a dunderhead!”

“I don’t know what that means either, is that even a word?”

The two stood in silence for a while longer. A comfortable quiet settling on the two of them like a warm blanket.

Jon broke the silence by standing up, a revelation coming to him.

“The thief we saw, what do you think of her?”

Emilia cocked her head to one side. “She seemed to be desperate, when I was running after her she kept calling me names. Insisting I turn back.”

Jon nodded. “Her clothes were also torn and of poor quality.”

“Which mean’s she’s not from the Commercial or Common District!” Emilia said, catching on.

“Aye, I fear we’ve been looking for a thief in the wrong place. If she is from a poorer area, then she’d most likely have a hideout there. A place to stash stolen loot and fence it.”

“Let’s get moving then! Right away!”

To Jon’s surprise, Emilia took his hand in her own and began to pull him through the streets of Lugunica. On they ran, through the Commercial, then the Commoner District. Until finally they made it to the slums.

A ghetto of squat timber and wattle homes spread out as far as the eye could see. Past them in the very distance, Jon could just barely make out the massive wall that surrounded the entire city. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the municipality; the road here was dirt and mud instead of cobbled stone. The houses themselves were in disrepair, with holes a man could easily climb through and vines as thick as his arm snaking around each and every structure.

Jon had never been to King’s Landing. But the slums of Flea Bottom were infamous for their thieves and robbers and poorfolk. Jon had to imagine that such a place was similar to this. Already Jon could see faces peeking out of windows, men and women watching them from the shadows of their homes.

“It’s best we find our thief quickly, I don’t like how some of the people here are looking at us.”

“What do you mean?” Emilia asked, clear confusion on her face.

“Look at us, Lady Emilia, then look at them. To them, they see some spoiled noble’s daughter and her bodyguard come to gawk at the poor-fellows. I highly doubt they want us here; and I’d prefer not to wet my blade with the blood of some desperate fool.”

Puck appeared then, resting on the half-elf’s shoulder, yawning. Jon wondered if it was his imagination or if the spirit really was disappearing. He was translucent, to the point that Jon could see clear through the other side of him.

“He’s right, Lia, not to mention my time’s up.”

“Your time is up?” Jon questioned.

“Yep, like I said, I have a contract with Lia. It takes a lot of mana for me to stay in my physical form. So, when the sun goes down, I return to my crystal and prepare for the next day. On average, I try to stay in my physical form from nine to five.”

“Nine to five? I assume that’s how you keep time here?”

Puck sighed. “Man, your home is weird. You don’t have clocks there?”

“I don’t know what a clock is, but if its purpose is to keep time, then we have hourglasses and sundials. Typically, however, we name our hours instead of assigning them numbers.” Jon looked out to the horizon, towards the setting sun. “Right now we’re approaching the hour of the bat.”

“Hour of the bat? I’m not sure if I can trust my daughter around such a weirdo.”

Jon fixed the spirit with a glare, but never got the chance to speak.

“It will be alright Puck, get some rest, and sorry for pushing you so hard.” Emilia took the pendant from her neck—a small emerald-colored crystal the shape of a rhombus—and held it out.

Puck sat himself in the middle of her palm then turned to Jon. “I’m leaving things in your hands, Jon, try to take care of her. Okay?”

Jon gave the spirit an affirming nod, then watched as Puck exploded. For a brief moment a hundred motes of light surrounded them. Before they were sucked back in to the crystal Emilia held.

“He’s not dead, right?” Jon asked, blinking away the afterimages that had burned themselves onto his retina.

“He doesn’t usually do that, I think he was trying to scare you.” Emilia said with a smile.

Jon grumbled a curse at the feline but otherwise said nothing more.

The two wandered the area for a little while longer, Emilia had even wanted to ask questions, but Jon shot her down.

“The people here aren’t likely to sell out one of their own. Especially not to a pair of individuals dressed in such fine clothes. We’ll have to continue to look for the thief on our own, or bribe someone for information.” He looked at Emilia, eyebrow arched.

She shook her head. “I don’t have any money with me.”

“On our own it is then.”

“Wait.”

Jon stopped and faced Emilia.

“If we can’t ask the people, then I’ll ask the lesser spirits for help.”

“The lesser spirits? I wasn’t aware there were different types.”

“The lesser spirits are beings that haven’t fully developed. Emilia said, clasping her hands together. “However, over time, they gain enough strength and awareness to manifest as a full spirit.” Like Puck.” The half-elf closed her eyes, and Jon watched as she began silently mouth a string of words.

Motes of azure light began to wink into existence around them. Jon took a step back, amazed as more and more of these spirits appeared. They began to surround Emilia and Jon continued to watch with bated breath as they swirled and danced around her.

Jon had seen many wonders north of the Wall. Fields of ice, waterfalls, snow-capped mountains. But the sight before him was one that would never leave him. It only lasted half an hour, but Jon found himself disappointed when it ended.

“Have you found the thief?”

Emilia nodded. “The spirits say they saw a girl matching her description heading west from here.”

“Then let’s go.”

THEY CONTINUED WALKING for another two hours, by then, the sun had set fully. Leaving the two to wander through the streets in darkness, illuminated only the stars and moon. As they continued on, Jon saw the number of buildings diminish, while the city wall loomed closer in the distance.

The spirits have given us a direction, but the chances of finding the thief are still slim. Jon thought. We could walk these streets the rest of the night and still pass by the girl’s hideout.

Jon broke away from Emilia and walked towards a man slumped against a crumbling home.

“You there,” Jon began. “I’ve heard there is a thief of some renown in this area. Do you know where she lives?”

The man looked at him, surprise morphing to suspicion. He continued to stare at Jon, eyes narrowing further as he looked past him and to Emilia.

Jon frowned, then reached for the dagger at his hip. With practiced ease, he unclipped it from his belt and offered it to the man, sheathe and all.

“Castle-forged steel, strong and sharp enough to shave with. Take it. It might save your life, or you could sell it. It’s worth a decent pile of coin.”

The man looked back at Jon, then took the dagger with experienced deftness.

“You’re looking for Felt, her den’s about a block that way. But it’d be better if you hit up Rom’s loot house, four blocks down. The two are close, and if you’re looking to sell or buy from her, it’s better to go through the old man.”

“You have my thanks.”

The man gave Jon a dismissive glance. “Good luck and live strong.”

Jon returned to Emilia, who looked at him aghast.

“You gave him your dagger!”

“Aye, I did.”

“Why?”

“It’s already dark, I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to not spend the whole night looking for our thief.”

Emilia looked away from him, ashamed. “I really am useless, to make you give up something precious to you for my sake…”

Jon waved a hand. “It was only a dagger, I’ll get a new one. Eventually.”

She looked back at him, and Jon was surprised to see anger there.

“That’s not the point! You… you’ve already helped me enough. It wouldn’t be right of me to ask you to continue to do so”

“I’ve already given the man my dagger, Emilia. I can’t just go and ask for it back.”

Frustration was clear on her face, but she said nothing else.

Jon put a hand on her shoulder. “I have chosen to help you, Lady Emilia. Make no mistake, my choices are my own. Not mention I do not do this purely for your sake, I still have several questions about the world I need to ask you. Remember our deal?”

She nodded. “Yes but looking at it now, it hardly seems fair.”

“Life’s not fair Lady Emilia, perhaps I should have chosen my reward more carefully. Perhaps I should have asked for gold, or a horse, or a castle. But it doesn’t matter, that was then, this is now.”

She continued to look at him, biting her lip in discontent.

“Fine.” Jon sighed. “If it eases your conscious then we can amend our deal a bit, and you can give me something else besides the information.”

“Deal!” Emilia said.

Kind-hearted, to a fault. Jon mused.

“Let’s go then, and perhaps we should discuss how we plan to deal with the thief.”

Emilia looked at him, concerned. “I don’t want to kill her or anything, I just want my insignia back.”

“On that we agree.” Jon grimaced. “It would be best if we could do this bloodlessly. Still, stay alert. If things start to go bad, it would be best if you ran.”

Emilia shook her head. “I’m not leaving you alone, I can fight too you know!”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think your noble family would be happy to find you injured. No doubt they’d have my head.”

Emilia moved to speak again, but Jon interrupted her.

“We’re here.”

The building before them similar to those around it. Formed from timber and wattle, with a sloped red roof of tiled clay. Unlike those, however, this building was twice as tall, and nearly four times longer than the few structures in the immediate area.

“I will go in first, if you hear me shout, run. Otherwise, I will come get you when it’s safe.”

Emilia looked about to protest, but Jon silenced her with a look. He pushed open the double doors and stepped inside. The entire building was dark, illuminated only the shafts of moonlight spearing in through the windows. Despite that, Jon caught more than enough; swords, axes, and knives lined the walls. Alongside armor, shields, various bottles and miscellaneous objects.

Jon wanted to call out, to announce his presence, but he did not.

Something is wrong. The thought came to him immediately. This ‘loot house’, as the poor man had called it, was stuffed to the gills with objects of value. Yet there was no one around to guard it.

Perhaps we’ve caught them unawares? But Jon dismissed the idea. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and Jon sniffed the air. It was familiar to him, he’d smelled it a hundred times before, the sharp iron stench of blood.

Jon ripped Longclaw from its scabbard and held it in a guard position. He took another step forward into the room, stopping only when his boot bumped into something. Jon glanced down, grimacing at the pool of blood and severed arm beneath him. He looked up, following the trail of blood towards a figure slumped against the wall.

“Em-“ it was all he got before something struck him from behind.

Jon was sent sprawling, colliding with one of the stools placed around the room. He landed in a tangle of limbs and furniture. By the time he managed to right himself, Jon felt pain flare within him. He touched a hand to his side, and when he brought it away, it was covered in blood.

“Now, now, we can’t have that.” A voice spoke to him, sultry and as smooth as king’s silk.

Jon got to his feet, one hand pressed to his wound, the other using Longclaw as a crutch.

“You stole her insignia, I should've figured you for a killer as well.” He slurred. Already, he felt the familiar feeling of blood rising to his throat.

“If you’re here for the thief, don’t worry. I killed her too.” A blade flashed in the moonlight, and Jon could barely make out its point, directing him to a corner of the room.

He looked and wished he hadn’t. The thief lay in a pool of blood, split cleanly from head to groin.

“You’re a monster.” Jon spat through clenched teeth.

“My, is that anyway to speak to a lady? You'll hurt my feelings.” the voice teased.

Jon spun on his heel, swinging Longclaw as the voice manifested behind him. He met nothing but air.

The creak of a door opening made Jon turn again, eyes wide.

“Jon?” he heard Emilia call.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but was thwarted as nothing but blood bubbled out. He fell to his knees, Longclaw’s point stabbed into the ground, the sword holding him up.

“Emilia, run.” He gurgled, struggling to speak through the mouthfuls of blood.

He saw her come in, dreading every moment as she closed the distance between them. In the darkness she would not see him, not see the assassin. When she drew close enough, their eyes met. Hers widened in shock, in horror, in alarm. His narrowed in pleading, in despair, in urgency.

Run. Jon thought, begging the Old Gods that she would hear him.

She stepped toward him. “Jon.” She whispered, then she was gone.

Jon watched her head roll from her shoulders, watched her body topple backwards. Her beautiful silver hair shorn at the neck, her crystal necklace dashed against the wooden floor.

Jon fell with her, the strength leaving him. His wound burned hot, the pain of it driving Jon to curl onto his side, clutching it. He met Emilia’s lifeless eyes and wondered.

Why?

Why had he been saved from death? Just to die here? Were the gods really so cruel?

As his vision darkened, Jon kept his gaze on Emilia’s head.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I… I can’t save anyone.

Then a familiar chill spread over him, and Jon thought nothing more.

Chapter Text

LIGHT BLAZED INTO Jon’s eyes. It was hot, white as pure snow and just as blinding.

What?

He stood beneath the overhang of a large building, in front of him—perhaps fifty feet away—sat a large stone fountain. Past that, Jon could spot the brightly colored stands and stalls of various merchants.

What is happening?

Jon shook his head and touched a hand to his side. When he pulled it away, the glove was clean, untainted by blood.

I don’t understand?

He had died, again. The pain was still fresh, like a hot poker had been dragged across his flesh. Jon slumped against wall, sliding down it, clutching at the nonexistent wound.

I died. So why do I still live?

He remembered it all. The loot house, the dead thief, the voice, Emilia.

Emilia!

Jon sprang to his feet and took off. He ran through the streets, bumping into passersbys, shoving past crowds, and weaving through merchant stalls. Eventually, Jon would come to a roadway chock-full of wagons, each one drawn by those strange horse-sized lizards.

Dozens of them choked up the roadway, throwing up clouds of dust and dirt. Jon cursed and watched the carriages wheel past before turning towards an alley. He moved through it with all the speed he could muster, boots ringing against the cobblestone.

Three figures appeared ahead, swagger in every step. Jon stopped and looked at them.

“Well, what’s got you in such a rush?” the one in the middle crowed.

“Maybe he’s lost? Sucks for him,” the dwarf offered.

“If you don’t wanna get hurt, give us everything you got. Put it on the ground and we’ll let ya go.” The third rumbled.

“You three again? I thought…” Jon paused and looked at Chin. The robber’s face was clean, unmarked by blood or a scar. Then he turned to Ton. “You still have your hand?”

The giant looked at him confused. “Uh, why wouldn’t I?”

The dwarf peered up at Jon. “I think he hit his head or something. What kind of question is that?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sneered Chin. “You heard Ton, give us what you got or else!”

Jon shook his head, drew Longclaw and advanced.

The three looked shocked.

“What the hell!” Chin cried, reaching for the knives at his back.

Jon never gave him the chance. The Valyrian steel blade sung through the air, parting flesh and bone like wet paper.

Chin fell back, cut open from hip to shoulder, gouts of blood spilling from him. Ton died next. Jon thrust Longclaw up, through the giant’s mouth and out the back of his skull. In the time it took him to pull the blade free, the dwarf had gone, running out of the alley as fast as his stunted legs could carry him.

Jon took a moment to survey the area, then wiped his sword clean on Ton’s vest. He knelt by the giant and began patting him down.

From a Black Brother to a cutthroat. Jon grimaced and dismissed the thought. As foul as the thought of robbing the dead was. Jon needed the coin. Not to mention, he was sure they would have done the same to him.

After he was done with Ton, he moved to Chin. To Jon’s surprise, the robber was still alive, drowning in his own blood. Chin met Jon’s gaze, and the man gurgled a plea. Jon ignored it, pulled his dagger from its sheathe and shoved the point through the man’s eye.

When he had finished, Jon weighed the newly acquired purse in his hand. It was a simple item, a cloth sack tied with a string of leather. Between the two of them, Jon had managed to scrounge up: a gold ring, five silver coins, two silver rings, a necklace embedded with a red gemstone, and twelve coppers.

Jon was glad that Lugunica seemed to follow Westerosi norms when it came to currency. He held up a copper and was unsurprised to find not the seven-pointed star of the Seven, but a castle minted upon the metal.

The rings and necklace were more interesting to Jon, but he left them in the purse. Assuming them to belong the unlucky few who had encountered the robbers before him.

Jon left the bodies where they lay. Time was of the essence. Besides, presenting the corpses to a guard would no doubt end with Jon clapped in irons and questioned. Still, he murmured a small benediction for the unfortunate soul who would come across their bodies.

He continued through the city, taking—what he assumed to be—the main roads of the capital and skirting through the alleys whenever necessary. Once Jon reached the slums, he slowed his pace to a walk. Taking the time to catch his breath and think.

I have died for the second time. It was something Jon had grown sure of, and something that unnerved him. He had risen from the dead again, but the question ‘why?’ still confused him. Yet as the loot house came into view, Jon pushed the questions to the side. They could wait.

He drew Longclaw and crept toward the building. Once he reached the door, Jon stopped. Why was he here? Emilia was dead, he had seen her head cut from her shoulders. So was the thief, and whoever else had been in the building. So what in the Seven Hells was Jon doing?

Jon struggled to answer the question. There was no logical reason for him to come back. Yet here he stood; blade in hand, fire in his heart.

Vengeance then. Jon concluded, and he felt all the more foolish.

Even so, he pushed on the doors to the building and was surprised to find they did not move.

They’re locked. Jon realized. Hesitantly, he rapped his knuckles against the wood. For several long moments, nothing happened. A loud thump from within the building startled Jon, and he tightened his grip on Longclaw. Footsteps drew close to the door, heavy and lumbering.

“For a rat?”

Jon blinked, unsure of what to do. The voice was dissimilar to the one he had heard before. It was deep and grating, unlike the assassin’s own smooth and silky tongue.

“For a rat?” the man repeated, and Jon detected a hint of impatience in his tone.

A code? Jon wondered.

“I don’t know.” Jon replied. Silence met him, and Jon was worried he had said the wrong thing.

The door to the building swung open, and its occupant stepped out. Jon took a step back, amazed at the sheer size of the man. He was tall, towering head and shoulders over Jon, with thrice the bulk. His skin was the color of burnt umber, his bald head lined with a crimson tattoo. The giant’s most distinguishing feature was his eyebrows; each one stretched past his chin, braided with colored beads.

Jon had seen the man before. He had lain dead in the loot house hours before.

“Well, you definitely ain’t apart my usual customers. You gonna put that sword away or do I need to crack your head open?”

Jon hastily slipped Longclaw into its scabbard and with a wave of his hand, the giant stepped inside.

In the daylight, the loot house appeared significantly more homely. Weapons, armor, shields, vases, boxes, and hundreds more trinkets and bobbles lay scattered around the place. A set of stairs hung in the back, no doubt leading to the second floor. A place where the giant slept, Jon concluded.

Jon seated himself at the bar and watched as the man downed a tankard of beer.

“So,” the man said, wiping the foam from his lips. “Whaddya want?”

“You’re Rom, right? A man I met earlier said this was your loot house?”

“That’s me, and this is my place.”

“A question for you then.” Jon leaned forward. “Have you ever… died?”

Rom looked at him, then burst into laughter. “I may be old, and have one foot in the grave, but I’m still here. Alive and kicking.”

“Then, have you ever been resurrected? Been brought back to life?”

“I ain’t ever done that either.” The giant took another swallow from his tankard and fixed Jon with a look. “So what’re you doing here, boy? If it’s to ask an old man questions then you’d best leave, you’re interrupting my evening booze.”

Jon bristled at the insult. He was twenty years of age now, and had been a man of the Night’s Watch for four. Still, he refrained from biting back, it would do him no good to anger the man.

“I’m looking for a girl; short, golden hair, red eyes. Felt, I think her name was.”

“Yeah, I know the brat, why’re you looking for her?”

Jon had never been much for lies. Even as a child, he had found it difficult to repeat falsehoods. Even so, what better time to learn than the present?

“I need her to steal something for me.”

“Well, you’re in luck. She’s swinging by later today. With a whole heap a loot too.” The man grinned and downed the rest of his beer.

“The thing’s she’s stolen. Do you know if an insignia is one of them?”

Rom shrugged his boulder-like shoulders and refilled his tankard from a small cask positioned just behind him. “No clue. That girl, she comes and goes without so much as saying hello or goodbye. I swear, she’s gonna be the death of me.”

The two are close. Jon remembered.

“I don’t suppose you know when she’s coming back?”

Another shrug was all Jon got.

Jon sighed, rooted in his coin purse and slapped down a pair of coppers.

“Get me a cup. I need something to drink while I wait.”

The old man swiped the coins, and a moment later Jon found a tankard of his own placed before him.

“Drink up.”

Jon took a sip of the beer and gagged. “Gods! What’s in this?”

“My own custom brew.” Boasted Rom. “You’re the first to try it. Whaddya think?”

“I feel like someone’s poured piss-flavored wildfire down my throat.”

“Bah, humans, buncha pansies.”

Jon tried the beer a few more times, attempting to grow used to the taste and the harsh burn. He was unsuccessful, and eventually he pushed his mug towards Rom and stood up.

“I’m going to get some air. You can have the rest.”

Rom snatched up the tankard in one giant fist and drank the remaining beer in one gulp.

With a shake of his head, Jon turned and walked out.

THE HOURS PASSED slowly, and Jon found himself practicing with Longclaw to pass the time. He stood outside of the loot house, swinging the sword, shuffling his feet, and swapping guards. He wore only a tunic, breeches, and boots. With his leather jerkin and gloves wrapped up in his cloak. The items lay neatly against the steps of the house.

The day had grown hot, and while Jon did not mind the heat—compared to the cold of the Wall it was a welcome reprieve—he found even his tolerance had its limits.

He thrust forward with Longclaw, then feinted an overhand swing for a backhanded slash. The lessons of Ser Rodrik came to Jon as easily as breathing. He took a step back, swept Longclaw counterclockwise to parry an imaginary blow then followed it up with a thrust that he feinted into an upward cut.

On it went; back and forth, back and forth. He moved without thinking, relying on muscle memory to carry him. Exchanging blows with an imaginary foe. Sometimes it was Theon Greyjoy. Other times, Alliser Thorne. Jon did not falter, did not stop even as his breath ran short, even as his limbs burned and ached. Only when he tripped—his legs tangling together due to a poorly executed cross step—did he stop.

Jon collapsed onto the hard soil, sucking in lungfuls of air, wiping away sweat with the sleeve of his garb. Eventually, he sat up and found his vision drawn to the leafless tree in front of the loot house.

It was a shriveled, gnarled thing. As if the hand of an ancient giant had reached up from the earth to grab at the sky. A dozen or so birds sat on its branches; Jon did not recognize many, save for a few. A bluejay here, a magpie there, even a raven.

Jon frowned and looked at the bird. It was large, even for a raven; with onyx black wings and midnight feathers to match. To his surprise, the raven flew from its perch, landing a few feet away from him.

Jon felt a sense of familiarity with the animal, and he looked into its beady black eyes. The raven looked back and spoke one word.

“Corn!”

“No,” Jon whispered, unbelieving. He reached out to touch the bird, he got a hand’s breadth from it when the raven lashed out.

Jon swore and swatted at the bird. It flew back onto a nearby barrel. Shrieking all the while.

“Corn! Corn! Corn!”

Jon leveled a dozen more curses at the bird before devolving into a fit of laughter. The raven watched throughout, continuing to cry out for food.

“Of everything and everyone; of course I’m stuck with you.”

Jon got to his feet and approached Mormont’s raven. He stuck out an arm, and the raven flew to him.

“Corn!” it screamed, and Jon couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Aye, I’ll get you your corn, just stop screaming at me.”

The raven, seemingly satisfied, hopped onto Jon’s shoulder and pecked at his head.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“What’re you doing?” a voice called.

Jon turned and found a girl with blood-red eyes standing before him. Her arms were folded across her chest, hips canted to one side, eyebrow quirked.

He recognized her instantly.

“You’re Felt.”

“Maybe, who’s asking?”

“Someone looking to buy your services.”

The suspicious look Felt was giving him quickly turned into a wide smile.

“Well, that’s all you had to say! C’mon, we can talk inside.”

She brushed past Jon, and for a moment he thought of restraining her. Killing her wasn’t something Jon was entirely comfortable with, but he needed to retrieve the insignia from her.

But why? Why am I doing this?

Jon still wasn’t sure what he was doing here. The assassin was not here, and neither was Emilia. Whatever sorcery had brought him back to life, brought others back as well. Yet they did not remember it, but Jon did.

His inner turmoil had cost him, and by the time he pushed it aside, Felt had reached the door and knocked on it.

“For a rat?” Rom asked.

“Poison.” She replied.

“For a whale?”

“A harpoon.”

“To the noble dragon lord?”

“We’re bags of shit.”

The door opened, and the girl stepped inside. She took a seat at the bar, and Jon followed suit. Jon watched as Rom poured milk into a tin cup and handed it Felt.

“Ugh.” The girl stuck out her tongue and grimaced. “Did you water down this milk or something, Old Man Rom? There’s definitely something wrong with it.”

The giant scowled at the girl, but there was no malice in the glare. Instead, he reached out and mussed the girl’s hair.

“I give you something outta the goodness of my heart and you call it nasty?”

Is she adopted? Jon wondered. There was a definite affection between the two, but they bore no resemblance to one another. Jon had no doubt that a place like this was home to countless orphans and strays living in the slums. Abandoned by their families, left to scrounge whatever existence they could amongst the filth.

She is fortunate to find someone willing to care for her. He thought, and for a moment Jon thought of another young girl. A girl a world away.

Arya…

A sharp pain broke Jon from his thoughts, and he brushed at his shoulder. Mormont’s raven flew from him and landed on a suit of nearby armor.

“Corn!” It squawked.

“Damn bird!” Jon swore, rubbing at his cheek where the raven had pecked him.

Rom eyed the bird critically. “He’s not gonna break anything, is he?”

“He might, if he does, you’ve my permission to roast him.”

“Roast!” the bird chimed indignantly.

“Anyway,” Felt began. “You said you wanted to hire me?”

“Aye. I need you to steal something for me.”

It was a lie, all of it; but Jon found himself weaving this falsehood with frightening efficiency.

“Your target’s a merchant. He has his stall based around the central fountain. You’ll know it by its green and red colors.”

“Sounds simple enough. What am I stealing?”

“A ring. Silver with a blue sapphire in the middle.”

Felt grinned. “Man, what’d he do to piss you off? A ring like that sounds expensive.”

Jon saw the gleam in her eyes. “Don’t even think about it. At most, you’d only get two silver pieces from it. I’m offering you four.”

“Make it six. Stealing from a purse is one thing, but off of someone’s hands is a lot harder. Think of it like hazard pay.”

“Four,” Jon insisted. “I’ve seen your work. It’s sloppy.”

Felt bristled at that, but Jon beat her to the punch.

“You stole from a noble earlier. A woman with silver hair, and from what I’ve heard, it took you all day to lose her.”

“How did you-“

“Half the city saw that chase. You got lucky. If the girl had meant to kill you, then you’d surely be dead.”

Felt mumbled a curse under her breath but eventually looked back at him.

“Fine! I’ll take four, but I’ll need half up front.”

“You’ll get your coin once you give me the ring. Not a moment before.”

The girl pouted and looked to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

Rom looked at Felt. “The password?”

“I didn’t give it to them, but it’s probably for me.” She stood up and walked towards the door.

Jon flexed his sword hand, the one he had burned saving Lord Commander Mormont’s life. Initially, the instructions to open and stretch his fingers and palm had come from Maester Aemon. An exercise to keep Jon’s hand nimble while it healed. But over time, it had developed into a habit, something he did whenever he felt a sense of unease.

He continued that habit now, squeezing and spreading his fingers until his hand began to tingle.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone negotiate with Felt like that before.” Rom said, drawing Jon from his worry.

“I’ve been told I haggle ‘like a fishwife with a cod’.”

“Hah! You’re definitely as stubborn as her, I’ll give you that.”

Felt’s voice rang out across the room. “Yep! I was right, it’s for me.”

A woman stepped through the doorway, and for a moment Jon was struck speechless. She was beautiful, with long black hair woven into a single long braid. Her attire consisted of a black cloak trimmed with lilac feathers, alongside elbow-length gloves, a dress, heels, and stockings. The outfit was well made and clearly made to draw the eye. With the dress exposing the woman’s ample breasts and smooth stomach, while the violet accents folded into the fabric clung to the woman’s body. Highlighting her soft curves and hourglass figure.

Jon glanced between both the stranger and Felt; wondering if there was a reason the women of this kingdom dressed so immodestly. Unfortunately, the woman had noticed his stare, and eyes the color of plums met Jon’s own storm-grey orbs.

“Well, I know this older fellow, but I’m afraid I don’t recognize the young man.”

Jon tensed, he recognized the voice instantly. It had been her. She had killed him and Emilia that night. This is what he had come for. Perhaps subconsciously he had wanted to know who had killed him. To find their killer and bring them to justice, or to just repay them in kind.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s another client I’m lining up to do a job for. Actually, now that you mention it…” Felt looked between the two of them, hand on her chin. “You two look alike, even down to the clothing. Do you know each other?”

“No.” Jon spoke first, his eyes never leaving the woman’s own.

She smiled at him, a wide-mouthed grin full of false kindness.

“He’s correct, I’m afraid this is the first time of met him.”

Felt shrugged and directed the woman to a nearby table. Rom brought the woman a glass of milk, and the three began to discuss the payment.

Jon watched from the bar as Felt revealed the badge to the woman.

A black stone, with gold engravings and a red jewel in the middle. Just like Emilia said.

Jon had seen enough. He stood from his seat and skirted around the edge of the table the three sat at and walked towards the door.

“Hey where ya going?” Felt called.

Jon continued walking, circling counterclockwise around the table until he had the door and strange woman in front of him.

“I’ve given you the details. Get the job done. I’m going home.” He lied.

He continued walking, willing his heart to steady itself, steeling himself for what was to come.

One chance.

When he passed by the woman, only a few feet away, he acted. Longclaw hissed from its scabbard, and Jon swung the blade in a horizontal arc towards the back of the woman’s neck. No one could have reacted. No one could have foreseen what Jon had planned to do. Yet the sword struck nothing, cutting the empty air where it should have shorn a head from its shoulders.

Her movements had been inhumanely fast, a black blur ducking beneath his blade and catapulting herself up and over Felt’s head.

“What the hell’re you doing?” Felt cried.

“Get away from her!” Jon snarled. “She means to kill us all.”

“My, now what gave you that idea?” the woman intoned, her voice rolling over like honey.

Jon pointed Longclaw at the woman. “You’ve killed before, someone I knew. You took her head from her shoulders in a single blow.”

The woman’s innocent visage vanished. Her eyes gleamed dangerously, her lips parting in a predator’s smile.

“Oh dear, it seems you’ve come across my work before. Who was it? Maybe I’ll remember her name.”

Felt was looking between the two of them, uncertainty clear on her face.

“She was never going to buy the insignia from you, Felt. She was going to take it and kill you to get rid of the evidence. Think! You stole from a noble, who in their right mind would let a loose end like a thief roam around?”

“I…” Felt looked at the woman. Who only shrugged.

“He’s right. I don’t know how he figured my plan out, but it doesn’t matter.” A knife appeared in her hand, a black, curved blade unlike anything Jon had ever seen. “I’m still going to kill all of you. Oh, I can’t wait to see how your intestines look!”

Rom moved first, drawing a wooden club from behind the bar and striking at the woman. The woman stepped to the side, the club smashing the floor beneath her to splinters.

“What strength! I’ll admit this is my first time fighting a giant. How exciting!”

“Shut it girl! I’ll grind you up and feed you to the rats!”

Jon observed in tensed silence. Watching the woman weave Rom’s blows as if she was made of air. She was graceful, fluid, untouchable.

“He’s going to lose.” Jon realized.

“No way!” shouted Felt, her hands clenched into fists. “Old Man Rom’s way too strong. There’s no way he’d lose!”

“Lose.” muttered Mormont’s raven. “Lose. Lose.”

He saw Rom cock his arm back, preparing a powerful blow that would pulverize anyone caught by it.

He’s left himself open. Jon realized, tightening the grip on his sword.

His prediction came true a moment later. The woman stepped inside Rom’s guard, severing his arm at the elbow a moment before the giant could bring it crashing down.

“Old Man Rom!” Felt cried.

Jon sprang into action, rushing the woman and bringing Longclaw in an arc towards her head. To his surprise, the woman caught the blow with her dagger, locking each blade into a bind.

She leaned forward, dark purple eyes peering into his own.

“My, how impatient. Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt another person’s dance?.”

Jon pushed against the bind and was horrified to find her unmoving. No matter how much strength he poured into his arms, the woman remained unaffected.

There was a roar, and Jon watched as Rom rushed the woman from behind; his one remaining arm extended.

“I’ll crush you!” he shouted.

The woman moved with blinding speed. She lashed out with a kick that caught Jon in the chest and spun on her heel to face the giant. For his part, Jon was sent flying into a shelf, pain flaring from his spine and sternum as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

One kick and I’m sent a dozen feet through the air. Gods be good what kind of monster is she?

He pulled himself from the ruins of the bookshelf and fell to his knees. Slowly, Jon sucked in a breath and was rewarded with pain for his efforts. With a grunt, he stood up, using Longclaw as a crutch. Just in time to see Elsa slit Rom’s throat with a broken glass.

“Felt.” Jon wheezed. “Run.”

Whether the girl had heard him, or decided to ignore him, Jon was unsure. She stood up body trembling with rage.

“What have you done! How dare you put your filthy hands on Rom you psychotic bitch!”

“Careful dear, we wouldn’t want to say anything that might make things worse.”

“See if I care! You were just gonna kill us anyway, might as well go out calling you every bad thing in the book.” Felt stuck her tongue out and dragged her lower eyelid down. “Bitch!”

“Bitch! Bitch!” echoed Mormont’s raven.

The woman’s face darkened, and her smile grew significantly more sinister.

“My, it seems I’ll need to carve that mouth of yours off.”

She rushed the two of them, and Jon brought his blade up, unsure of how best to approach the woman.

Felt was the first to meet her. In a burst of wind that left Jon disoriented, she closed the distance in less than a heartbeat. She appeared behind the woman, suspended in the air. Her knife scything downward, intent on cutting the woman open. But for all her speed, Felt could not match that of the woman’s

“A divine protection of wind. I’m envious, you truly are loved by this world.”

The woman sidestepped the blow and prepared to follow up with one of her own. Jon never gave her the chance. He pulled the steel dagger from his waist and threw it at the woman with a flick of his wrist. It spun through the air, and the woman was forced to turn the slash into a block, deflecting the weapon.

Jon saw Felt land only briefly before taking off again; a red-gold blur running circles around the assassin.

“Hit and run!” Jon shouted, bringing Longclaw up and charging the woman.

She met Jon and blocked another one of his blows, but stumbled as Felt dragged her own blade across the assassin’s back.

“My, how exhilarating! You two truly are formidable foes!”

She’s enjoying this! Jon realized, and as the fight continued on, he continually felt more an more sick. Nearly gagging at the perverse glee the woman took with every injury she sustained.

Jon acted as an anchor, rooting the woman in place to the best of his abilities, weathering any blow she sent his way. Had it been Jon himself, then he was sure he would already be dead. But he had Felt, the young girl moved around the assassin with supernatural speed. Darting in and out like a viper, inflicting whatever damage she could and distracting the woman just long enough to provide Jon with breathing room.

This dance continued on for what seemed to be hours, but Jon knew it had been less than a minute. Every ounce of concentration he had was being poured into his swordsmanship.

Deflect, counterstroke, cross step, underhand cut, feint, thrust, back step, parry.

The lessons Jon had ingrained within him since childhood flowed through him like a river. Yet Jon knew it would not be enough. He was growing tired, slower, more predictable. Felt was too, and the woman knew it.

To make it worse, the earliest injuries Felt had dealt the woman were all but gone. Jon had seen it for himself, a cut across the woman’s chest had healed in seconds.

When the assassin had noticed Jon looking, she laughed. “Naughty boy, didn’t your mother teach you not to stare?”

Jon didn’t have the strength or ability to reply. His arms burned with exhaustion, and his breath grew ragged by the second.

“Well, I admit it’s been fun,” purred the woman. “But it’s time I ended this little game.”

With a casual elegance, the woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a second dagger. Her eyes met Jon’s, and somehow her smile grew even wider.

With both blades in hand now, the woman began to block and deflect every attack thrown at her.

Jon grit his teeth, feeling his sword turned aside for the fifth time.

She’s toying with us, she always has been.

With a twist of his hips, Jon swung Longclaw in a horizontal cut. Had it met flesh, then the assassin would have been cut in two. Instead, her strange curved knife caught the blade square on.

At that moment, Felt dove in, her own knife aimed for the woman’s skull. The assassin raised her right arm, her black blade singing through the air and slapping aside the thief’s knife.

Felt spun with the blow, using the momentum to bounce off of the floor and spring upward toward the assassin’s seemingly exposed back.

Fast as lightning, the woman spun on her heel, letting Felt fly past her, and into Jon. She struck him with the force of a crossbow bolt, knocking the Black Brother off of his feet and into a nearby table.

The furniture had splintered beneath their combined weight, scattering wooden scraps across the room. Jon held Felt to his chest and attempted to rise. Stopping only when something warm seeped past his jerkin and onto his chest.

He looked at the girl and was horrified to find her throat torn open. Blood pumped in rivulets from the open wound, and for a brief moment Jon met her eyes. They were brimming with tears, hazy and unfocused,but most importantly, afraid.

She died seconds later, and as he rose, Jon laid her on the floor as gently as he could.

“You’ll burn for this.” Jon growled, using what little time he had to conserve his strength.

“Maybe, but I do believe it will take quite a while before I see those flames.”

Jon held Longclaw before him and met the assassin for what he knew to be the final time.

Three times he swung his sword, three times the woman turned the blows aside.

All or nothing. One last gamble.

Jon steadied himself, then raised Longclaw over his head and brought it down. Pain bloomed across his stomach almost instantly. Hot and sharp, like a heated poker had been dragged across his flesh.

The woman did not move, sure of her victory. The blade held in her left hand was bloody, and Jon was sure that blood belonged to him. Yet as Longclaw fell, she raised her other dagger to block, the one she had used since the beginning, the one clutched in her right fist, the one full of chips and scratches.

Longclaw sheared through the knife like dagger might cut cheese. The Valyrian steel blade cleaving through metal first, then meat and bone.

The assassin went wide eyed and stared at the shattered remains of her dagger. Then she looked down, at the blade that had cut its way through her shoulder and into her chest.

“Wonderful...” she whispered.

Jon refused to hear more. He twisted the sword; widening the wound, before wrenching it free. Carving the woman’s shoulder and part of her torso free.

Jon stumbled backwards, clutching at his stomach. The woman’s blade had cut through his jerkin, past his tunic, and into the soft flesh of his stomach.

What I wouldn’t give for some mail.

Jon fell to the floor, coughing up blood and loosing swear words.

He knew he would die. Some small part of him had always known this plan would end with him dying again. Yet he lay on the floor content, he had done it. The assassin was dead, and hopefully Emilia would find the loot house and take her insignia from their corpses.

He looked around, sifting through the growing pool of blood beneath him. He saw Felt and Rom’s bodies, and a small part of him regretted their deaths.

Maybe I could have saved them too.

There was a twitch of movement, and to his horror Jon saw the assassin rise from the floor. Her shoulder and arm were held together only by scraps of tissue, her chest had been split open so violently Jon could see her lungs swell with air. Slowly, all of it began to heal, the wounds closing and knitting themselves. Soon enough, the woman stood before him, her pale skin unblemished by any mark or scar.

“How exquisite.” She breathed, and Jon did not fail to notice the flush on her face. “Your sword, it’s the first time I’ve been cut by a blade such as that.”

She picked up Longclaw from the floor and tested its weight.

“Marvelous! It weighs almost nothing at all, and fits into my hand, like it was made for me.”

Jon attempted to reach for the sword, but floundered and collapsed back onto the blood-slick floor.

“Who… what are you?”

The woman knelt next to him, and to Jon’s surprise, he felt her hand upon his head. Her fingers running through his hair like a lover’s caress.

“I’m hurt, I thought you said you knew who I was. No matter, you’ve given me a night to remember, so I’ll give you something before you die.”

She leaned down, and Jon felt her lips brush his cheek.

“My name is Elsa Granhiert, the Bowel Hunter.” She whispered. “Remember that before you die.

Jon’s vision dimmed, his body went slack. The pain in his abdomen was quickly replaced by a chilling cold. The last thing he saw was Mormont’s raven. The bird fixed one beady eye on him and cried.

“Dead! Dead!”

That word echoed through his mind as Jon drifted to unconsciousness.

Then, he heard no more.

LIGHT BLAZED INTO Jon’s eyes. It was hot, white as pure snow and just as blinding.

Even before his eyes had adjusted, Jon was moving; navigating the streets of the Capital with a strange familiarity. He moved past the great fountain, past the crowds, past the street overflowing with carriages.

He turned left, weaving past a pair of stalls selling fruit and into an alleyway. The alley was narrow, with a small trio of steps that led upward toward a bend. Jon sat himself down on the steps and began to think.

What do I do?

He was stuck, unsure of his next move, uncertain if anything he did would matter.

That woman’s a monster.

Jon still shuddered at the memory of her. Inhumanely fast and strong. Sadistic, with a sense of perverse pleasure to do and receive harm.

Jon couldn’t imagine a way to beat her, not in a fair fight, not without help. Jon stopped then, and once again asked himself, why?

Why was he still doing this? Why was he trying to kill an immortal assassin? Why was he going so far for someone he barely knew?

Honor.

Jon shook his head. What use was his honor here? He was not in Westeros. The vows he had made in the Night’s Watch did not matter here. He was a world’s away. He could run, leave Emilia and Felt and Rom to their fates. He could start life as a mercenary, selling his blade for coin.

He had thought of this once; when he had fled Castle Black. He had been determined to ride south, to abandon his oaths and avenge his father’s death. It had been a foolish notion then, but what about now? What was stopping him?

Honor.

The word came to Jon again, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought of his father's face, of his words, of his sword. Then he thought of Emilia and her kind heart. Then of Felt, and the fear she had shown in her final moments.

Honor.

“Damn it all.” Jon sighed. He supposed in the end, he was his father’s son.

“Well, well, whadda we got here? A lost little noble, it looks like.” A voice said.

Jon looked up from his contemplations, already aware of who he would see.

Chin, Ton, and the dwarf stood before him, blocking off the mouth of the alley.

Jon stood and pulled Longclaw from his hip.

“Let’s make this quick, I’m meeting someone here, and I’d prefer not to have to explain why your blood is staining this alley. Leave.”

The three robbers paled, and the dwarf pulled at Chin’s clothes.

“Chin, maybe we should go. He’s got a-“

“I know what he has, Kan!” snapped the brigand. Jon watched with small amusement as the conversation between the three progressed the same as it had the first time.

Jon paused. Not everything had to go like his first life.

Jon took a step forward and raised Longclaw. “Change of plans, give me everything you have, right now.”

The three of them looked at him, unbelieving.

“Wait, what! You can’t-“

“I can, and I am. Your coin, hand it over.”

The look on Chin’s face darkened, and the robber pulled his twin knives from his back.

“We ain’t giving you shit!”

Jon shook his head and raised Longclaw into a half guard.

Chin rushed him, and Jon only needed two swings to leave the robber with a scar across his face. Ton came next, and just as before Jon left the man with one hand less.

When it came to the dwarf—who Jon now knew as Kan—Jon took a different approach.

“Gather their coin and give it to me, do this and I’ll let you all live.”

The dwarf acted with surprising speed, and afterwards Jon tested the weight of the coin purse in his hand.

“We- we can go now, right?” Kan stuttered.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.

“That’s enough!”

The voice was full of authority, echoing across the alley like a dragon’s roar.

“I will tolerate this violence no longer.”

Ton looked up from his bleeding wrist, jaw slack with awe. “Red hair, and an ornate sword. Could it be? The Sword Saint Reinhard?”

The man was just as the robber had described. His blood-red hair was cropped short, his eyes the color of melting glaciers. The long white coat he wore blew backward, the coat tails caught by a gust of wind. At his hip was a beautifully crafted sword; its handle seemed to be made of solid gold, with its crossguard sweeping outward in the imitation of claws.

“It seems my reputation proceeds me. Though if I’m being honest, that nickname is a bit burdensome to me.”

“Please help us!” cried Kan, and Jon gave the dwarf a dirty look. “This guy’s insane! Look what he did to my friends.”

Jon leveled his sword point at Kan’s neck and looked at Reinhard.

“Though it may seem hard to believe, I can assure you, on my honor as a Black Brother. These men meant to rob me. I was only acting in self defense.”

“Liar!” spat Kan. “He stole our money too!”

“Whatever the case, I will need you to sheathe your blade, sir. You all will be coming back to the garrison with me for questioning.” Reinhard glanced at Chin and Ton’s wounds. “Not to mention it would be prudent to heal your injuries as soon as possible.”

Jon shook his head. He had expected Emilia to intervene, not this random city guard. Still…

Sword Saint, a lofty title.

Jon met the man’s ice-blue eyes. “They called you Sword Saint. I take it you are skilled with a blade?”

“My abilities are modest at best; but if I must, as a knight I will defend these men from you if you decide to continue your violent actions.”

How do I keep ending up in these situations? Jon lamented.

With a flick of his wrist, Jon lay a cut on Kan’s chest. The dwarf cried out and fell onto his rear, clutching at the wound.

Jon kept his eyes on Reinhard. The knight tensed, but did not move.

With a nod, Jon slipped Longclaw into its scabbard and took a step back.

“Their injuries may not be fatal, if you can get them to a maester quick enough. Of course, you will not be able to both apprehend me and save their lives.”

Jon saw the knight frown, but he knew his words had struck true.

“As I said before, Ser Reinhard, I mean no trouble. In truth, I too have set out to save a life.”

Jon turned his back on the knight and the robbers.

“When you have finished with them, there is a house to the northernmost wall of the slums. ‘Rom’s loot house’ it’s called. Should you still wish to speak to me, seek me out there.”

Jon continued down the alley, rounding the bend at the end of it and leaving the scene behind.

He wove his way through the backstreets until eventually he popped out onto one of the main roads. Throngs of people crowded around him, buildings reached skywards, and carriages and vendors alike filled the streets.

Part of Jon was still amazed at the sight. This was not his first visit to a city. He had often accompanied his father to White Harbor on several occasions, even being joined by Arya a few times. But that city had been one of salt and sea, and from what he could estimate. It was not even a fourth the size of the Royal Capital.

Jon cleared his mind of the wonder and pressed on. He needed to find her if he was to have any chance of success. Then Jon needed to find Emilia.

Though he had spent some time here, Jon was still unfamiliar with the majority of the city. Even so he resumed his search. Slipping in between alleys, crossing streets, and speaking to whoever he could.

Eventually, Jon would come to a street lined with merchants. Their calls ringing out clear across the cobblestones.

“Fresh bread, fresh bread! Baked just this morning!”

“Tableware, tableware! Spoons, forks, plates, and cups!”

“Meat! Pork, beef, chicken! All butchered at your order!”

Jon took a moment to listen to the noise and winced as his stomach rumbled. The smell of baked bread drawing him toward a stall with a green canvas draped overtop.

“Give me a heel.” Jon said, and handed the demi-human manning the shop a copper.

He walked away, and Jon was surprised at just how hungry he was. He tore into the bread like a starved wolf, and when he had finished, he found himself wishing for more.

“Fruits! Selling fruits, the best in the capital! Appas, baninas, orages, the freshest there is!”

Jon turned to the man. He was well built, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a muscled chest. His hair was the color of pine, as were his beard and eyebrows. Once more, Jon wondered why everyone in the city seemed to sport such bright colors.

“So? You looking to buy?” the man pointed a thumb to the produce behind him.

Jon nodded toward the assortment of fruits. “What do you have?”

“Appas, orages, baninas, strowberries, piches, the usual.” The man pointed to each fruit individually, with each collection having a wooden board placed below them.

Jon assumed these boards had the names of their fruit, but he found that he could not read them. The scripture on the wood was strange; it had a sharp, flowing nature to it. Like a river curving through a mountain pass.

“Give me an appa.” Jon said and traded the man for another copper piece.

He turned the fruit in his hand and quickly identified it as an apple.

Appa, what strange names they have for their fruit.

He took a bite of it, and relished the crispness of the skin and sweetness of the interior. Just like the bread, he devoured the apple, core and all. Taking care to remove the seeds first.

When he had finished, he looked back to the salesman, who was helping another customer. Jon waited until the man was done, then drew his attention again.

“Back for more, eh? I’m telling you, my fruit’s the best in the capital!” The man grinned at Jon, chewing happily on the stalk of grass between his teeth.

“Not necessarily, I have a question for you. I’m looking for a young woman with purple eyes and silver hair. Have you seen her recently?”

The salesman put a hand to his chin, then nodded. “Matter of fact, I have. She was here a little while ago. Some noble’s daughter, I assume. The poor girl got her purse snatched by Felt.”

“You know Felt?”

The man shrugged. “A little, she’s pretty common around these parts and she buys from me every once in a while.”

“Did you see where the two went?”

They headed east, running deeper into the district."

Jon frowned. He had just come from that direction. Was it possible he had missed them?

“Daddy!” a voice shouted, and a girl in pink clothes wrapped her arms around the salesman’s waist.

“Hey, there’s my little girl.” The man mussed the girl’s verdant hair, then laid a kiss on the woman’s lips.

Jon recognized the girl and the woman. He had helped Emilia with both of them in his first life. That meant…

“She’s your wife and daughter?”

“Yep.” He gestured to the girl then the woman. “This here’s my little girl Plum, and next to her is my lovely wife Raksha.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” The woman said while Plum stared at Jon shyly.

“A strange question for the two of you. Have you seen a girl with silver hair and purple eyes?”

Raksha looked at Jon, surprised. “Why, yes, very recently. She helped me find Plum after we got separated.”

“Where! Which direction?”

“North of here, close to the Commoner’s District.”

Jon reached into the coin purse he had taken from the robbers and tossed a silver coin to the salesman.

“Thank you for the apple and the information.” He turned and quickly made his way down the street, leaving the stunned pair behind him.

It took some time for him to reach the place the woman spoke of, but when he did, Jon was glad of it.

He spotted Emilia almost instantly. Her pale silver hair shining like liquid starlight. Jon took a moment to steady himself, and then approached.

“Excuse me.”

Emilia turned to face him, and Jon saw the unfamiliarity in her eyes.

“My name is Jon Snow, a brother of the Night’s Watch. I have heard tell of your need to find a thief.”

Emilia looked at Jon suspiciously. “I… how, how did you know?”

“A merchant I spoke to mentioned there had been a lady who had something stolen from her. When I asked about you, he gave me a description matching your exact appearance.”

“I see,” Emilia said, and Jon could see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to say, but I have things under control. Your help isn’t needed in this matter.”

“Really?” Jon said, crossing his arms. “Then do pray tell, where is the thief? What is her name?”

Emilia looked at Jon, stumped. “I-er-well-you see…”

“I could tell you these things, My Lady, but only if you accept my help.”

She looked at Jon hesitantly before a voice broke into laughter.

“He’s really got you there, Lia,” Puck said, appearing in a flash of light before the half elf. “I don’t sense any malice from him, plus it would help if you had someone standing between you and the ruffians.”

“A spirit.” Jon said, sticking out his hand. “It is nice to meet you.”

Puck flew down and grasped Jon’s hand in his tiny paws. “I’m Puck, a spirit contracted with Lia.”

“Lia?” Jon intoned, looking at the half elf.

“Lia is just what Puck calls me. My real name…” Jon could see the girl hesitate. “My real name is Satella.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. To give him a false name was surprising, she had not done this in his first life. Then again, he had not approached her as a complete stranger then. Still, Jon found it troubling. Emilia had once said the Witch of Envy caused all sorts of problems for her. Jon wondered if she had been lying then, but he dismissed the thought. More likely, she was trying to scare him off by taking the name of the world’s most vile being as her own.

“A beautiful name.” Jon said, and he gave her a bow. “As of now, I am in your service, Lady Satella.”

Emilia looked at him unbelieving and Jon took a moment to sneak a glance at Puck’s direction. The spirit was giving the half elf a look of complete shock, one that morphed into disappointment.

“Your help would be appreciated, Mister Snow, but I’m afraid I have no way to pay you for your help.”

“I don’t need money, what I need is information. I’m a stranger to this land, you see, and the customs and cultures of this kingdom are new to me. Having someone to explain and assist in learning them would be helpful.”

“I… Oh, very well. I accept your help, Mister Snow.” Emilia matched Jon’s bow with one of her own.

“Please, just call me Jon. ‘Mister Snow’ makes me seem old.”

Emilia smiled at that, and Jon offered her a smile of his own.

“Very well, Jon, please help me find this thief.”

RAM WANDERED THE streets of the capital.

Where is she? Ram wondered. Last she had seen of Emilia was near a fountain deep into the Commercial District. The two had gotten separated shortly after, and Ram had begun a desperate search for her mistress.

That had been two hours ago, and Ram was starting to worry about her.

Truly, Miss Emilia is a pain.

She had searched all along the Commercial District, asking whoever she could if they had spotted a young woman with silver hair. Many had told her no. The few that had said yes often asked for money. Or other, more debauched services in exchange for the information.

Ram had turned their advances down, often forcefully. Even now she shuddered in disgust at her most recent informant. A balding man with an unkempt beard and a pair of wild yellow eyes.

He had tried touching her, and for that sin, Ram had smashed his head into the alley wall.

Still, no matter how pleasant that act was. It brought her no closer to finding Emilia. She took a moment to rest, leaning up against a nearby wall. The overhang of the building providing some shade against the afternoon sun.

A beautiful lady such as I, reduced to playing shepherd. How tiresome.

As she rested, she drew some stares from passerby’s. No doubt due to her outfit. It consisted of a black and white dress laden with frills; with matching sleeves, stockings, and slippers. It was the outfit of a maid, for that was what she was.

I wonder if He knew this would happ- Her thoughts broke off, as through the crowd she spotted a figure with pale silver hair.

Ram pushed herself off of the wall and approached the figure, growing more sure of their identity by the second.

“Miss Emilia.” She said, bowing at the waist as she greeted her charge.

“Ah, Ram! There you are. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to find you.”

We?

Ram straightened and looked past Emilia to the figure behind her.

He was taller than the half elf, and if there was anyway to describe the man, it would be dark. His clothes were black, his fur-trimmed cloak was black, even his hair and scruff around his jaw was black.

“Miss Emilia, please step back. I believe there to be a vagrant following you.”

The man met her gaze, and Ram met his. His eyes were the color of thunderclouds, dark and stormy just like the rest of him.

“Ram!” Emilia cried. “Please don’t say such things, Jon may look a little intimidating, but I can assure you he means well.”

The man nodded to her. “I am Jon Snow. I take it you are Ram?”

“Ram is Ram.” Ram said, giving the man a light bow.

The man sighed, and Ram watched as he turned to Emilia.

“Alright then, let’s get moving.”

WHEN JON HAD asked Emilia if she had been accompanied by anyone else into the Royal Capital. He had expected to see household guards, maybe even a few servants. A retinue for a noble’s daughter, not…

He looked at Ram then turned away once the maid caught his gaze.

“Hear this, Missus, without provocation Jon Slow has been sneaking lecherous glances at Ram.”

“Now, now, Ram. Please try to refrain from teasing Jon too much.”

“Ram shall take it to heart, Missus.”

Jon clenched his jaw. That was another thing. The maid seemed to make it her personal mission to antagonize Jon as much as possible. Even refraining from calling him his real name, in spite of Jon’s several corrections. He had long since given up, with any further attempt made resulting in the maid giving Jon a blank look and a ‘That is what Ram said’.

Nevertheless, Jon guided the group through the capital and into the slums.

“Lady Satella tells me, you are capable of holding your own in a fight.”

“As a maid, Ram is well versed in dealing with all sorts of hoodlums. Specifically, those dressed in black. Perhaps Mister Slow would like a demonstration?”

A mouth full of barbs, and eyes that pierce the soul. Jon thought. He had also noticed that the maid now refrained from calling Emilia ‘Miss Emilia’. No doubt she had caught on to Emilia’s poor attempt to hide her identity.

He turned to Emilia. “Lady Satella, from what I know spirits tend to have clauses within their contracts. Is Puck bound in a similar way?”

“The Missus has no need-“

“It’s okay Ram,” Emilia said, giving the maid a polite smile. “Yes, Puck is typically active from nine to five. After that, he retreats into my crystal to prepare for the next day.”

“What time is it now?”

Puck shimmied his way free of Emilia’s hair and looked skyward. “About four-thirty if I had to guess.”

“Then we’d better hurry. If I’m right, then we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Jon increased his pace. Weaving through the dirt roads and dilapidated houses until he came across a familiar sight.

The loot house sat in front of them, and Jon took a moment to pause next to the tree across from it.

“Is this the place?” Emilia asked.

“Aye, this is it.” Jon looked at the half elf, then to Ram. Although the maid hid it well, Jon could see just how exhausted she was.

A simple run and she’s already tired? That doesn’t bode well.

He turned back to the tree, stuck out his right arm and whistled. The note rang out, short and clear. A moment later, black wings beat against the sky and a raven landed on Jon’s outstretched arm.

“Corn!” Mormont’s raven cried.

“Later,” Jon said, running a glove across the crown of the bird.

Emilia approached him, curiosity in her eyes. “Is he yours?”

“Technically, he belonged to my master. But when he died, I suppose the raven passed onto me.”

“My condolences.” Emilia said.

Jon shrugged. “It happened a while ago. I only wish the Old Bear had gotten the chance to…” Jon trailed off, then set off toward the loot house. “Forget it, come. That insignia isn’t going to reclaim itself.”

Jon rapped his knuckles on the set of doors. Footsteps thudded from within the loot house before a voice spoke from behind the wood.

“For a rat?”

“Poison.” Jon responded.

“For a whale?”

“A harpoon.”

“To the noble dragon lord?”

“We’re bags of shit.”

The doors creaked open, and Jon looked up into Rom’s face.

“Huh, you’re not my usual customers.”

Jon gestured to Emilia and Ram behind him. “No, but we’ve got business with Felt. Is she here?”

The giant grunted and waved them inside.

Jon went in first, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword. The right one opening and closing with tension.

It was just as Jon remembered it. A simple rectangular room stuffed with armor, weapons, vases, crystals, and other miscellaneous objects. He spotted Felt at the bar, sipping from a tin cup.

When the three of them came in, the thief’s eyes widened.

“You! How did you… don’t you know when to quit!” Felt complained.

Emilia stepped forward and raised her hand. “I’m sorry, but this is something I can’t just give up on.” Light shone in the air around the half elf until eventually six jagged icicles appeared around her.

Jon blinked his surprise, but quickly got over his shock. He doubted this would be the strangest thing he would see today.

Felt looked past Emilia and to Rom. “Old Man Rom, help me out here!”

Jon gave the man a look. “I wouldn’t recommend it. You’re outnumbered, three…” Jon paused as Puck manifested above Emilia. “Four to two.”

“Hmm, he’s right, Felt. If it were just the three of them, I wouldn’t normally back down.” The giant pointed one chisel-like finger at Emilia. “But she’s a spirit arts user, and a pretty strong one from what I can tell.”

“Aw, come on! You’re admitting defeat before we even start fighting?” Felt stamped her foot in frustration.

Jon approached the young girl, hands held out in a gesture of peace. “Calm down, Felt, you’re a good thief, but in this instance you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

The girl fixed him with her ruby eyes and glowered.

“You’re lucky. The kind lady has promised to not go to the guards with this matter. In addition, she has sworn to leave you and Rom in peace. But only if you return the insignia willingly.”

Jon shot a glance at the half elf, who nodded in confirmation.

“Od dammit!” Felt swore before launching into a tirade of curses so foul even a sailor would have blushed.

Jon waited until the thief had finished, then arched a brow. “So?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Felt grumbled, digging into her vest and procuring the insignia.

Jon narrowed his eyes. Was it his imagination, or was the jewel within the black stone glowing?

She tossed it to Emilia, who caught it with an open palm. Jon watched as the half elf seemed to deflate with relief. He even surprised himself, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

We’re not done yet.

Jon clapped his hands, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“It’s fortunate this matter has been resolved. Unfortunately, My Lady, I must disclose the real reason I have brought you to this loot house.”

“The real reason?” Emilia asked.

“Reason.” Echoed the raven. “Reason.”

Ram stepped forward, shielding her charge with an outstretched arm. “No doubt Mister Slow planned this whole affair. Perhaps he means to take us captive, and use us to fulfill his perverse desires.”

Emilia gave Jon a look of shock, while Felt wrapped her arms around herself and took a step away from him.

Jon glowered at the maid. “Shut up and keep your perverse fantasies to yourself. No, listen to me.” He took a step forward and gestured to the door. “We’ve a few minutes, maybe less, but very soon a woman will come through those doors and attempt to kill us all!”

That got their attention, and Jon made sure to use it to the fullest.

“Your client,” he said to Felt. “It was a woman with black hair and black clothes. Correct?”

Felt looked at him, surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

Jon wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he said what was most believable.

“I’ve met her before. She killed someone I knew.”

“So you have dragged us into your personal quest for vengeance? How despicable Jon Slow.” Ram said scornfully.

He shook his head. “You’re not understanding. The woman who hired Felt isn’t just some commoner. She’s a trained assassin. She wanted Felt to steal the insignia, then planned to kill both her and Rom in order to keep them quiet.”

Jon looked at the thief. “How much gold did she promise you? A great deal, I imagine. Perhaps enough to get you out of this slum and someplace nicer?”

Felt looked at him shocked, mouth opening and closing as she struggled to form words.

“It was too good to be true. We both know it. Nothing in life is that easy.”

The thief crossed her arms and looked away from him. Jon pretended not to notice the tears in the girl’s eyes and turned back to Emilia.

“After killing them both.” He gestured to Felt and Rom. “There is a chance the assassin would have come after you, My Lady.”

“But why?” Emilia questioned.

Jon shrugged. “I don’t know. Has your family made any enemies? Has your lord father angered another house or influential figure?”

Emilia gave him a sad smile. “My family is currently… occupied, and Puck here is my dad. Albeit adoptive.”

He gave the half elf a look of surprise. “But you are of noble birth, correct?”

“Yes? No? It’s complicated right now,” Emilia said with a sheepish look.

Jon sighed and waved his hand. “Never mind. The important thing is. This assassin is on her way here, and I need your help to defeat her.”

Ram turned to Emilia. “We have retrieved your insignia, Missus. Though it may pain you to hear this, whatever consequences the thief faces is none of our concern.”

“What the hell!” Felt cried. “You’re just gonna leave us to die?”

Ram fixed her rose-colored eyes onto Felt. “Your greed has driven you to steal from my master’s master. As far as Ram’s concerned, this fate is one you deserve.”

“Ram!” Emilia said, looking at the pink-haired maid in horror.

Puck floated down to the half elf, arms crossed. “She’s right Emilia, I’m running out of time to protect you, and I care a lot more about you than some random nobodies.”

“You bastards!” Felt took a step toward the pair, but Jon interposed himself between them.

“Enough!” Jon barked, holding out his arms to keep the groups apart. “We’re wasting time.” He looked at Emilia. “The choice is your My Lady.”

For a moment, Emilia looked hesitant, but it was only for a moment. She looked into his eyes, and Jon could see the resolve within them.

“Jon has helped me find my insignia. I couldn’t look at myself ever again if I didn’t help him.”

Jon breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the looks Ram and Puck were giving him.

“Oh, but please don’t misunderstand. I’m only doing this for selfish reasons!” Emilia floundered. “I hate being in debt to someone, and paying them back quickly is the best way to maintain my peace of mind! Yes, that’s it, no other reason.”

Jon snorted, but bowed his head to the blushing half elf.

“You’ve my thanks, and I’m sure Felt and Rom feel the same way.”

Felt looked at Jon in confusion before Rom pushed the girl’s head down in a bow.

“It’s nothing really, please raise your heads.” Emilia said, embarrassed.

Not many would risk their lives for a stranger. He glanced at Rom and Felt, who had begun to bicker. Much less for someone who’s wronged them. A kind heart, one in a million.

“You,” Jon said to Ram, “Will you stay and help us? Or will you flee to safety?”

The maid fixed him with a sharp look. He was goading her, they both knew it. Still, she took the bait.

“Ram has sworn to aid the Missus. Ram would be a poor maid indeed to leave her mistress behind.”

“And you?” Jon asked Puck.

The feline-spirit shrugged. “I’m helping, once my Lia’s made up her mind. There’s no changing it.”

“Then listen close, all of you. This is the plan.”

He laid it out for them, all of it. He identified the woman as Elsa Granhiert, and when Ram heard that, the maid sighed.

“You truly have terrible luck, Missus. To draw the attention of the Bowel Hunter is no small feat.”

“I’ve heard her title before. What does it mean?” Jon asked.

Ram looked at the Bastard of Winterfell as if he were a moron. “The Bowel Hunter is a vicious murderer, with her preferred method of killing involves disemboweling her targets.”

Jon grimaced and resisted the urge to touch his stomach. He continued on, formulating a battle strategy with those around him.

“Rom and I will be the vanguard and attempt to draw Granhiert’s attention.” He looked at the giant. “Keep your swings short and quick, don’t give her any openings. One wrong move and you’re dead.”

“Satella, Ram. Both of you have access to magic. Stay away from Granhiert and hit her with any attack you can.”

“What about me?” asked Felt.

“You’re the fastest out of all of us. Flank and strike like a viper, in and out. Don’t get caught in any one place.”

Once the girl nodded, Jon turned to the final recipient in the room.

“Puck, how much time do you have left?”

The spirit yawned, and Jon could already start to see clear through the feline.

“About ten minutes, give or take.”

“Alright, then what we just discussed is our backup plan. Our primary is going to be to draw Granhiert into the room, and have you hit her with every ounce of magical power possible.”

The spirit shot him a wink. “You can count on me. I won’t let that harlot lay a finger on my daughter. “Puck yawned again. “Er, let’s just hope she shows up before I disappear.”

With the plan discussed, Jon sent Ram and Emilia upstairs only to emerge when it was safe. Or when the fighting began.

The rest: Felt, Rom, and Jon sat themselves at the bar and attempted to look as natural as possible.

The only outlier was Puck, who lurked in one of the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

They waited for a little while longer. Jon found that to be the worst part. Every moment seemed to stretch out longer than intended. Jon could see beads of sweat drip down Rom’s face, could see how fidgety Felt was starting to become. Even Jon himself wasn’t immune to the tension; with his sword hand opening and closing, flexing the burned fingers beneath the glove.

When the knock finally came, Felt nearly jumped from her seat.

“That’s for me.” The thief said, and Jon watched her rush to the door.

Jon heard the squeak of hinges being drawn, and a moment later, she stepped into the room.

She was just as beautiful as Jon remembered her to be.

And just as deadly. He reminded himself.

“Well, I know this older fellow, but I’m afraid I don’t-” Elsa never got the chance to finish. Dozens of icicles converged on her location, each one the length of a spearhead and twice as sharp.

“Did we get her?” Felt asked, peering from behind the table she had used as cover.

Her question was answered a moment later as the pile of ice the woman was buried under shattered.

“Sorry to say, but I came prepared.” The assassin held her cloak around her, the fabric covering her head to toe. The mantle shimmered with arcane energy before dissipating in a flash of violet light.

“Hey Big Bro, you didn’t say she could do that!”

Jon scowled. He had told them all he knew. The woman’s strength, her speed, even her strange ability to heal wounds. But that cloak was new. He had assumed it to be simple clothing, but now? It was clear it was enchanted with some sort of magic, something that offered protection beyond normal means.

“This is the first time I’m seeing it.” Jon said, drawing Longclaw.

Elsa’s eyes flashed to Jon, he met her stare, unwavering.

“I admit, it’s been a very long time since I was caught off guard.” Elsa ran a tongue across her lips. “It’s making my heart race! But you seem to know a lot about me, so I wonder. Who are you?”

“I don’t trade names with dead folk.” Jon growled.

The assassin’s smile widened. “How lovely.” She turned to Felt. “Did you come across him after accepting my job? Or perhaps he came to you in search of me? Was this all just a plan to kill me?” each question seemed to only increase the excitement of the woman.

Jon shuddered in disgust at the pleasure Granhiert seemed to take at the thought of her own death.

“Puck.” he called. “How long?”

“Two minutes.” The spirit replied.

Will it be enough? Jon wondered, he supposed he was about to find out.

Shards of ice began to fill the air, the cat-spirit firing off icicle after icicle at the assassin.

Jon had seen what Elsa Granhiert was capable of, yet even he was shocked as the black-clad woman began to weave between shards. Climbing up walls and bounding from ceiling to floor in a single jump.

“Satella, Ram!” he called, and the pair burst from the second floor. Adding their own magic to the spirit’s.

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” Elsa cried. “How long has it been since I’ve faced such competent magic users?” For a brief moment, Elsa stood her ground and looked at Jon. “You even recruited the half-devil. Perhaps it was you who helped her get her insignia back?”

Jon gave her no reply, only tightening the grip on his sword.

“Wait a minute, half-devil?” Felt looked back at Emilia, understanding dawning across her face. “Silver hair, and she’s an elf! Wait!” She turned to Jon, fear in her eyes. “E-earlier you called her Sat-“

“It’s a coincidence,” Jon said. “And Satella is just the name she’s using to hide her real one. Calm down Felt, she’s not the Witch.”

Felt looked at Jon hesitantly, then nodded. “Fine, but if she starts eating people, I’m outta here!”

“Puck! To me!” Emilia called, leaping from the second story and landing next to Jon and Felt. Together, the two of them increased the amount of shards spewing out, until a torrent of ice filled the space between them.

Elsa deflected several of the icicles and made to move, but stopped. Jon saw the assassin look down and followed her gaze. One of her feet was encased in a solid block of ice.

“You didn’t think we were just throwing those around, did you?” Puck asked. “In fact, it’s almost time for me to go, so how about you be a good girl and pass on to the next life?”

A pillar of ice shot its way from Emilia’s palms. As thick as a grown man and half as wide. The column slammed into the space where Elsa stood, splintering wood and scattering loose objects around the room.

For a moment, Jon dared to hope. Only for a dark figure to emerge next to the ice.

“Oh my,” Elsa panted. “I thought I was going to die. “

The assassin was a bloodied mess, Jon noted. The foot that had been encased in ice was the raw red of skinned meat.

She cut off her own… Jon winced and looked away from that wound and to another.

Elsa was missing her right arm. Blood poured from the severed appendage, and the assassin herself seemed fascinated by the injury.

“From one magic user to the next. Oh, how blessed I am to find such strong opponents.” The black-clad woman waved the stump upward, and Jon now knew it was Ram who had inflicted the injury.

“Puck,” Emilia said, drawing Jon’s attention. “Can you keep going?”

“Sorry.” The spirit said with a yawn. “But I’m at the end of my rope.” The feline looked to Jon. “I’m leaving my daughter in your hands Jon, make sure to protect her.”

Jon gave the spirit a nod and watched as Puck vanished into motes of light.

“Gone so soon? How terribly unfortunate for you.” Elsa purred.

“Get ready!” Jon shouted, raising Longclaw into a low guard. “Remember the plan!”

To his surprise, Elsa came for him first. Jon had expected her to go for Emilia or Ram, to eliminate those with magic first then deal with the rest of them.

He barely got Longclaw up in time. Blocking a blow meant to split open his stomach. Jon met the assassin’s eyes for a brief moment. He saw madness there, pleasure, and curiosity. She was gone a moment later, Rom bringing his club down on the space where she had been.

Even outnumbered five to one, Elsa was a force to be reckoned with. She flowed across the room, sidestepping Rom’s and Jon’s blows. Deflecting Felt’s strikes and weaving past the icicles and scythes of wind directed at her.

Still, they were having an effect. Jon could see it. Elsa’s unnatural healing abilities seemed to come to a stall, overwhelmed by the sheer violence being thrown at her. With only one hand, she was incapable of utilizing her fighting style to the fullest.

Nevertheless, things were about to take a turn for the worse. Jon could feel it.

Ram was the first to fall. Jon had seen her collapse against the second story railing. Blood leaking from her nose and mouth.

Did she get injured? Jon wondered, but quickly refocused his attention to the assassin.

Rom fell second. Elsa cartwheeled past a downward stroke from the giant and sprang for his back.

Felt was there to meet her and, to Jon’s horror, Elsa took the blow unflinchingly. Felt’s knife buried itself into Elsa’s shoulder, and the assassin twisted. Wrenching the blade free of the thief's grasp and launching her across the room with a kick.

“Felt!” roared the giant, and Jon knew what was going to happen next.

Rom spun around, raised his club high and swung.

In a burst of unnatural speed, the Bowel Hunter lived up to her namesake. Jon saw blood fountain from the old man’s stomach, and the giant collapsed to the floor clutching his wound.

“Old Man Rom!” Felt cried. She attempted to rise, but failed. Succeeding only when Jon pulled her to her feet.

“Felt, listen to me. When I give the signal, you run.”

The thief looked at him in shock. “What! But Old Man Rom!”

“He’s injured but still alive. Right now, the biggest thing we need is help!”

Jon watched as Emilia continued the fight on her own. Forming icicles and shields of snowflakes to counter Elsa’s assault.

Jon grit his teeth and prepared one last gamble.

“You’re the fastest here. Head for the Commoner’s District. Look for a red-haired knight named Reinhard. I told him to meet me here, so he should already be on his way.”

“And if he’s not?” Felt asked.

Jon placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair. “Then you keep running, and don’t look back.”

The thief looked at him with tear brimmed eyes, then nodded.

She took off, slipping past Elsa and reaching the exit.

“I’ll be back, I swear it! Don’t you die, Big Bro!”

Big Bro. She had called Jon that earlier. He smiled and thought of another girl, a girl with brown hair and gray eyes. He saw her in Felt; in their boyishness and stubbornness they were much the same.

Although Arya was nowhere near as greedy. Jon thought with a chuckle.

“You look like you’re having a wonderful thought.” Purred a voice, breaking Jon of his ruminations.

Jon dropped his smile and looked towards the assassin. His anger flaring as he noticed Emilia crumpled against a distant bookshelf.

He spun Longclaw in a flourish and held it out, blade first to Elsa. “Dance with me then.”

Jon struck first. A downward chop meant to split Elsa’s skull in two. The assassin parried the blow and thrust the dagger out, aiming for Jon’s throat. He spun Longclaw counterclockwise, slapped the dagger aside and lashed out with his arm. Jon felt bone crunch beneath his elbow, and Elsa stumbled back, her nose twisted and broken.

He followed it up with a backhanded sweep, cutting a furrow across the assassin’s chest.

“More!” Elsa elated. “Show me your strength, your skill, your blade. Give it all to me!”

She surged forward, and Jon was forced to defend. A storm of blows assailed him, and he blocked the attacks he could, and weathered the ones he could not. Quickly, Jon’s attire was coated in blood, cuts and lacerations covering him from head to toe.

The barrage ended only when Elsa took a shard of ice to the shoulder. Emilia stood behind the assassin, palms raised outward.

Elsa’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt someone’s dance?”

The assassin dove towards the Emilia. The half elf raised her hands to block, but Jon could see she wouldn’t get the time.

Damn it all!

It was then that the roof collapsed in on itself. Timber and tiles burst inward, and Jon was forced to shield himself from the debris. Jon struggled to see past the clouds of dust that had been kicked up by the event. Watching warily as a figure materialized before him.

“That’s enough!” A voice said, and Jon recognized it instantly.

Reinhard stood in the midst of the wreckage and smoke. His presence highlighted by a beam of moonlight that speared in through the ragged roof.

“Ser Reinhard, I’m glad you could make it.”

The knight gave Jon a polite smile. “I do believe I’m owed a conversation Mister…”

“Snow, Jon Snow. I hope it can wait however, there’s a more pressing matter for us to deal with.”

“Naturally,” Reinhard said and turned towards Elsa. “Black hair, black clothes, and a blade unique to the north. There’s no mistaking those characteristics. You are the Bowel Hunter.”

“Reinhard van Astrea.” Elsa trilled, passion in her voice. “Born from a lineage of master swordsmen. How wonderful that each of my opponents tonight are so much fun!”

“She’s monstrously strong, fast too. Can you take her?” Jon questioned.

“Though my abilities are lacking in comparison to my fellow knights. I swear by the honor of my family I will fight until my dying breath.”

Jon was out of options, and he was starting to dread bringing the knight into this. Though the title ‘Sword Saint’ was a lofty one. Reinhard’s humble demeanor meant Jon was starting to cast doubts on the knight’s skill.

“Good luck.” Jon said, sheathing Longclaw and limping towards Emila. Who was kneeling over the bodies of Rom and Ram.

“He’s alive, just barely.” Emilia told him, and Jon collapsed next to her. Waving her off whenever she tried to treat him.

“Focus on Rom, my injuries can wait.”

Jon watched as Elsa rushed to meet the red-haired knight.

“Surrender, I would prefer not to use violence on a woman.” Reinhard demanded.

Elsa laughed. “Do you honestly expect a predator like me to ignore the temptation of such delectable prey?”

What happened next, happened too fast for Jon to see. One second Elsa had been closing the distance, the next, she was sent flying into a wall.

“How did you-“

Jon was interrupted as Elsa emerged from the rubble.

“Wonderful, just wonderful! Although I must ask, are you not going to draw that sword of yours? I’d love to taste its legendary sharpness first-hand.”

Reinhard kicked at the floor, catapulting a fallen sword into his hands. “The Dragon Sword can only be drawn against opponents it deems worthy. The fact that it remains sheathed means it does not consider you as such.”

“You underestimate me.” Elsa hissed.

Reinhard shrugged. “In truth, it’s a bothersome requirement for me as well. As such, I will be facing you with this.” The red-haired knight gestured to the sword in his hand. “I hope you’re not too disappointed?”

Elsa smiled. “As long as you keep me company. That’s all that matters!”

Jon was unable to keep up by then. The Bowel Hunter was a black streak against the moonlight. Dashing in and out of view, striking from everywhere at once. To Jon’s shock, Reinhard remained where he stood. Deflecting and blocking every single blow thrown his way.

“For him to not struggle at all.” Jon muttered, staring in awe at the fight. “It’s unbelievable!”

“It’s impressive.” Emilia admitted. “Unfortunately, he’s not able to fight at full strength because I’m using my spirit arts.”

Jon shook his head. “How does that correlate?”

“I’m using the mana in the air to heal Rom’s injuries. If Reinhard was truly intent on fighting, then all the mana in the surrounding area would be absorbed by him.”

Mana, Jon had discussed the concept with Emilia in his first life. It was apparently something in the air. Something no man could touch, or see, or taste. But its use was to fuel the magic so many within the kingdom utilized.

It was still a confusing concept to Jon, but he had learned to simply shrug his shoulders and accept what was told as fact. He was sure if he ruminated on every single detail he was presented with, then he would surely go mad.

“How long until Rom is healed?”

Emilia furrowed her brow. “The wound he has is deep, honestly? I’m not much of a healer. The best I can do is make him stable. He’ll need to find a better healer after this, and quick.”

The fight continued on a while longer, and Jon took the opportunity to watch both the battle. As well as the magic Emilia was performing.

Healing magic. What would the maesters of Old Town give to acquire such powers? Jon wondered.

Jon thought of Bran then, and his heart rang with sorrow. Would such skills have healed his crippled brother? Jon feared he would never know.

“I’m all done.” Emilia said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Could you let Reinhard know?”

Jon cupped his hands around his mouth. “Reinhard! She’s done. Finish this!”

He received a small nod for his comment, and then the world became a wash of white.

When his vision returned to him, Jon found himself sat in a ruin. The top of the loot house had disappeared. Objects of varying value were scattered around the place. Even outside, the trees that had clawed at the sky were flattened into the dirt.

“My abilities are modest at best.” Jon quoted sardonically.

Reinhard gave him a bashful smile. “Would you believe me if I insisted it was true?”

Jon snorted and rose to his feet, limping his way to the knight. When he was only a few feet away he bowed his head. “You’ve my thanks, Ser Reinhard. “

“Please, it was nothing. Any knight in my situation would have done the same.”

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Just take the thanks, you humble fool.”

“Very well, I accept your thanks, Jon Snow.” The red-haired knight opened his mouth to say more, but stopped himself short.

Jon grunted and finished what the knight did not say. “You still wish to speak about the three thugs?”

“As a knight, it is my dut-“

Jon waved him off. “I get it. I’ll come with you.”

The knight smiled at him, clear relief on his face.

“Wait!” Emilia cried. “Reinhard, are you arresting Jon?”

“I’m only detaining him.” Reinhard said. “I need his testimony for an incident involving him and three other individuals.”

“Is it possible for it to wait? Emilia pleaded. “Perhaps for another day? Jon’s a good man. I can tell. There’s no way he would hurt anyone without justification.”

Reinhard pursed his lips then sighed. “In an official capacity, I cannot overlook such events. But…” The knight shrugged. “I just so happen to be off duty today.”

Emilia giggled at that, and Jon gave the swordsman a nod.

“You’re very kind, Ser Reinhard. In truth, your leniency spares me the trouble of having to come up with an escape plan.”

The Sword Saint smiled at that, and joined Emilia in her laughter.

Jon left them to their joy and approached the bodies of Rom and Ram. Ram had awoken just recently, rubbing the sleep and dried blood from her face.

“Glad to see you awake,” Jon quipped. “It’s just a shame you missed the whole fight.”

“Depriving a maiden such as Ram her rest is a sin most foul, Slow.” Responded the maid.

Jon stifled a chuckle and brushed past the pink-haired girl. He stood over Felt, who knelt next to the unconscious form of Rom.

“Lady Satella says he is stable, but that he requires a healer to fully recuperate.”

The thief nodded, but said nothing else. Jon stooped low and put a hand on the girl’s head.

“You did well. Finding Reinhard, leading him to us. We’re all alive thanks to you.”

Jon tussled her hair and waited.

“I was scared.” Felt admitted, her voice shaking. “I was so scared. Scared for my life, scared for Rom, scared for… you.”

“Me? But you barely know me.”

“Maybe,” Felt sniffed. “But you convinced that half elf and the maid to fight with us. Without them, we definitely would have died. Even if we ran, I doubt that psychotic bitch would have just let us go.”

Jon gave the thief a gentle flick on the forehead. “You know, it’s not very ladylike to swear.”

Felt stuck her tongue out at him. “Like I care about being a lady.”

Like Arya indeed. Jon lamented.

Jon heard Reinhard and Emilia approach from behind, and from what little he caught. It seemed the half elf was informing Reinhard of the theft and the search that followed.

Reinhard gave Felt an appraising glance. “Like I said, I’m off duty today. As long as you aren’t going to press charges, then I have no cause to investigate this matter.”

Jon stood and turned to the pair. “It’s fortu-“

Jon broke off as the rubble nearby exploded into a cloud of debris. A figure in black surged toward HIM, dagger glinting in the moonlight. Jon scrambled for Longclaw, pulling it halfway free from its scabbard just as Elsa struck.

The ring of steel echoed across the ruin. Jon fell onto his back, gasping for air. He had slipped his sword only partway out of its scabbard and had used the unsheathed part as a makeshift shield. Guarding his stomach with the spell-forged steel.

“You… despite everything you're still alive.” Elsa drawled.

Jon was unsure of how the assassin was still standing. Blood flowed from a hundred wounds. One arm was missing, and the other hung limply from her slim form.

“That’s enough Elsa!” Reinhard appeared, interposing himself between Jon and the assassin.

“One day.” Elsa began. “I’m going to disembowel everyone in this room." Her eyes met his, and Jon recoiled at the affection within them. "Starting with you. Until then…” The black-clad woman leapt onto the remains of the rooftop. “Take care of your intestines.”

Just like that she vanished, fading into the night like a shadow.

“Oh Od! Jon, are you okay?” Emilia knelt over Jon, her hands emitting that same azure light he had seen with Rom. “I’m fine.” Jon grunted, and it was partly true.

The magics the half elf was casting was working its way into Jon’s body. Already, he felt lighter, stronger, heartier. He watched in fascination as a wound on his arm shrunk until disappearing completely.

“Thank you, Lady Satella.” Jon said.

“Lady Satella?” questioned Reinhard.

Jon looked at Emilia, who was glancing between the two abashed.

“Should you tell him, or I?”

Emilia sighed. “I needed a name to hide my identity.”

“And you chose… Satella?” Reinhard emphasized the name with unbelieving eyes.

“Not a very good choice, was it?” Jon responded.

“No, no, it was not.” Reinhard agreed.

The half elf pouted and folded her arms across her chest. “I… I needed a name fast, something to…”

“Something to frighten me.” Jon surmised.

She nodded, ashamed. "Just saying Her name is enough to scare most people. Combine that with my appearance and…"

Jon looked at her sympathetically, although he spoke no words just yet.

"Despite that, you still decided to help me. Why?" Emilia looked at him frantically, searching his eyes for any hidden meaning or concealed agenda.

Jon sighed, and prepared himself for the hardest part of the conversation.

“The truth is, Emilia, we have met before. You would not remember it, but I do. In this very loot house I die-"

Jon stopped.

He could not move, could not breathe, could not see.

His vision was filled with shadow, a complete darkness in which all light was extinguished.

What is happening? He questioned, pulling on the invisible restraints around him.

A hand appeared then, just barely visible in the darkness. Glowing with corpse-light. It floated toward him, leaving a trail of unnatural shadow in its wake.

Jon tried to pull away, tried to step back from the open palm. But he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

The hand reached him in moments, and when it plunged into his chest, Jon felt a numbing emptiness wherever it touched. Then he felt pain, the hand twisted in his chest, and Jon ground his teeth in agony.

It has my heart. He thought. He wasn’t sure how he knew. He just did.

The hand, and the pain lingered for a few more seconds. Then, just as quickly, it vanished, and Jon was staring into the confused faces. Of those in the loot house.

“Jon?” Emilia pressed. “I didn’t quite catch what you said?”

What was that? A curse? Jon wondered. It stopped me from speaking, am I forbidden to talk about my strange power?

The others continued to stare in worry, and Jon knew they needed an answer. “Forgive me, Lady Emilia. The truth is, I sensed a form of kinship with you. I know what its like to be hated, to be despised because of your blood." Jon stood and faced Emilia. "Do you know why my surname is Snow? It's because I'm a bastard, the illegitimate child of my lord father Eddard Stark."

"Jon…" Emilia murmured.

"I never met my mother, my father wouldn't speak of her. Despite that, I was lucky, I admit it. My father took me in, raised me alongside his trueborn children. How many bastards can say that? I loved them, my brothers and sisters. I really did. But I'd always felt apart from them. At banquets, I would always be seated away from them, with the squires and the commonfolk. Whenever other lords visited, I was forced outside of the Great Hall, never allowed to participate in meetings. Whenever we visited other lords, my family were the guests of honor. I was just the wretch who'd followed them."

Jon took a breath and relived every moment, every slight, every misfortune, every night spent weeping.

"My father's wife—Lady Catelyn—made sure I knew my place. Every look was a poison, every word a dagger. Other nobles were just as bad: 'bastard, baseborn, mongrel, whoreson'. They called me every name in the book."

Jon turned away from the painful memories and towards Emilia. "I don't tell you this because I want your pity. I tell you this because I know what its like to be alone. To be treated like you're something less; like your name, your blood, your very existence is a mistake. It's something that I would wish on no other."

“A sense of kinship.” Emilia murmured. She was silent for a while, and Jon shifted uneasily, unsure if what he said had been the correct thing.

“Jon?”

“Yes, Lady Emilia?”

“You said you were new to Lugunica, right?”

“Aye, I’m a bit of a stranger to this land.”

“Do you have anywhere to stay?”

Jon shrugged. “I have some coin with me, I suppose I can rent an inn within the city.”

“Err, unfortunately…” Reinhard broke in. “Most inns don’t accept patrons past this hour, at least not reputable ones.”

Jon sighed, then glanced around the ruins of the loot house. “I suppose I can stay within the slums. I’m sure Felt and Rom will not mind the company.”

“Absolutely not!” Emilia said, and Jon was surprised to see anger in her eyes. “Come, stay with me. I owe you a lot, and I’m sure my patron would want to reward you for helping me.”

Jon hesitated. “I would not want to bother your household with me, Lady Emilia.”

She shook her head. “It’s no bother at all! Trust me, Lord Roswaal is a kind man. He wouldn’t mind.”

“Leave him be, Miss Emilia.” Ram interjected, fixing Jon with a look of assured superiority. “An uncouth vagabond such as him as no place in a home as pristine as ours. Let him sleep with the rats if he wishes.”

Jon clenched his jaw. On second thought…

“You’ve given me a gracious offer, Lady Emilia. If you would have me, I would be honored to accept.”

The look on the half elf’s face softened until the fire in her disappeared completely. “Great! There should be a dragon carriage parked at the edge of the commercial district. Er, right, Ram?”

“That is correct, Miss Emilia.”

“Then let’s go!” Emilia took Jon by the hand and led him out of the safe house. The trio had barely stepped into the yard when a voice called from behind.

“Wait! Hold on! You forgot this!” Felt was running after them, waving something in her hand.

Jon realized what it was a heartbeat before Emilia did.

“My insignia!” the half elf cried and patted down her pockets.

“I found this next to one of the bookshelves.” Felt said, presenting Emilia with the badge.

“It must have fallen out of my pocket when Elsa threw me into it.” Emilia murmured.

Jon looked at the insignia one more time. It remained unchanged, a black stone, engraved with gold markings with a red gem set in the middle.

“Is it suppose to be glowing?” Jon asked aloud.

“Uh, I dunno?” Felt replied with a shrug. “Come to think of it, it did that too when I first snatched it from you.”

Jon flinched when Reinhard appeared next to them. The knight had a hand over the thief’s wrist and was staring at the insignia in shock.

“This… this can’t be!”

Felt struggled against the knight’s grasp. “What the hell! Hey let go of my arm. You’re hurting me!”

Jon stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Reinhard, what’s going on?”

“I…” The red-haired knight ignored him. “You, what’s your name, your full name? Your age too.”

“It’s Felt, just Felt. I don’t have anything fancy like a family name or nothing. I’m about fifteen? If I had to guess, I don’t know my own birthday.”

“Reinhard!” Jon said, putting more steel into his voice. “Calm down, and explain what’s happening.”

Reinhard shook his head. “It would take too long, Jon.” The Sword Saint waved his hand, and Felt collapsed into his arms.

Jon thumbed Longclaw from its scabbard, a solid inch of Valyrian steel shone in the moonlight.

“Reinhard…” Jon warned.

“Please, Jon. I placed my trust in you, in that alley. Please allow me the same courtesy.”

“Swear it on your family’s honor you will not harm her.”

“I swear it. On the Astrea name, and all of my ancestors. I do not mean Felt any harm.”

Jon searched the knight’s ice-blue eyes, but could find no deceit.

“At least take Rom with you. The two are close, and if you wish to have any hope of calming or convincing Felt of whatever it is, you plan to do. Then you will need him on your side.”

Reinhard looked back at the loot house, then nodded. “A wise suggestion, thank you, Jon.”

Jon nodded, then turned to Emilia and Ram and followed the pair back to the inner city.