[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]
Third Person POV.
Winterfell.
...
...
The days went by in Winterfell as Jon continued answering letters that arrived and remained busy with audiences and with construction or renovations in the castle, together with the masons he had gathered from Wintertown and even from the free folk themselves, who had recently been taught how to handle southern-style constructions.
The free folk were prejudiced, but not stupid. They understood the importance of having a castle or a stone house rather than living in tents made of animal hide. They would also be useful in building the city at the Gift.
As for the letters, those from the North had started to diminish, and now letters from the South were arriving.
The routine in Winterfell continued the same for the next three days, while he awaited the arrival of men from both north and south, and the lords from every region. The southern army, coming from the Dustin lands, was already in Cerwyn territory, with Lady Cerwyn and the mother of the boy Grey also joining the march toward Winterfell. They would arrive in a few days.
Stannis and his men continued to harass White Harbor and did not seem to have the courage to come north to face direct confrontation. They knew of the army marching to Winterfell and preferred to try surrounding a port and capturing Jon's ships and food rather than risking themselves in the North. The lords of the Stormlands were greatly shaken after losing their fleets and found themselves in a bad situation. Not that Jon cared much about that — after all, they were his enemies. He only had to keep an eye on the food stored in the port's granaries, as it was fundamental for his people and his military campaign.
In any case, Daemon opened his eyes that morning, and his day began quietly. Today he thought of doing more than simply answering letters and checking castle matters. He decided to return to his routine. He dressed quickly and left his room, followed by his men, who greeted him as soon as he opened the door. Jon also felt another invisible presence in the corridor following him: his mother, who waited for him every morning to follow him for the rest of the day.
She could not leave Winterfell, and it seemed there was nothing more interesting for her than to observe her son's routine, remaining invisible and only appearing when they were alone. She had also developed a strange habit of enjoying scaring people in the crypts. She would usually let out screams and moans at the entrance, and the guards and whoever passed nearby would hear them and become frightened.
Jon had to change the guard nine times.
And the rumors spread: they spoke of a ghost and even asked Jon to use his special powers to eliminate the supposed 'evil being.' Some even said they were the ghosts of the Starks, enraged at Jon for having taken Winterfell, going against the wolves themselves. But such comments came from a minority who did not sympathize with him.
Thanks to the event that had taken place with Dawnbreaker, Jon had gained the admiration and adoration of everyone. The people of the North looked at him with respect and submission, for they believed he had received a shining sword from the old gods. The flash they had seen was interpreted as a divine sign, and since it occurred in the godswood, the association with the old gods was immediate.
Jon had also done something that surprised not only the northerners but even the free folk, who seemed satisfied with his decision.
That morning, the first thing he did was go outside the castle, where he observed the men wielding hammers. Their task was clear: to tear down the sept once and for all. The blows soon began to echo against the walls, stones breaking free and falling, cracks spreading through the place, weakening the foundations of the temple of the southern gods more and more.
No one disagreed. There was no one there who truly believed in the Seven.
'If Catelyn could see this, she would lose her mind,' Jon thought, sketching a smile. He would have loved to see her expression at witnessing what was happening.
'Perhaps I should summon Meridia once again, just to bring that hateful woman. I'm sure my mother would love to strangle her the moment she saw her, after hearing everything I told her about her.'
It was a pity he could not see her face contorting, for Lady Catelyn had died at the Twins.
He felt satisfied as he saw the men starting the demolition with heavy blows, then returned to the castle, taking his place at the main table among the servants and soldiers who remained in Winterfell.
Jon ate a little before heading to the courtyard, where he found Barristan Selmy training, as he did every morning. Jon had granted him a place in the castle but had never accepted his services. He expected Daenerys to arrive soon, in about a week.
"Your Majesty," said Barristan upon meeting him, while Jon walked through the courtyard and greeted him with a silent nod.
Jon picked up a practice sword from among the many in the basket. He felt the urge to exercise, as it had been days since he had practiced his skills. He was tired of answering letters, hearing audiences, sitting in his solar, or talking with the maester and other staff about the details of Winterfell.
There was no one to fight with him at that moment, so he turned to a training dummy to warm up. At the first strike, he swung his arm with such force that a crack resounded throughout the courtyard.
Faces turned at once. Even those who had already looked at the king with curiosity were stunned. He had done it without even assuming a stance, just moving his arm. A blow powerful enough to cut through any armor if he had held a sharpened sword in his hand.
"You are so strong, son..." His mother's voice sounded invisibly at his side, filled with admiration.
"Your son has become a monster, mother. Haven't you realized that yet?" Jon replied with a smile, as she huffed.
Jon ignored her and turned back to the dummy. He moved his arm so fast it looked like a whip. Once again, the crack resounded through the place. And again. And again. Each strike increased in speed and power, the cracks echoing across the courtyard.
Then he assumed a stance, stepping one leg back and delivering a devastating sequence: neck, shoulder, ribs, head, joints, arms, legs. He wasn't making random movements; he was only thinking of where to hit a man to subdue him. Each strike was precise, as if he were wielding a real sword against a true enemy.
For three minutes, Jon continued striking furiously without pause, pushing his strength to the limit. The blows followed one after another like rolling thunder, whips cutting through the air.
The free folk were already accustomed to his strength, but the people of Winterfell stared at him in silence. To them, Jon was not human. No one could move like that, nor unleash such destruction against a mere training dummy.
Jon stopped after a while, striking the dummy's neck. The wood was already full of cracks, as was the training sword he wielded, about to break apart.
"Well, that served as a warm-up," Jon said, looking at the useless wooden sword. One more strike and it would shatter.
"Warm-up?! What the hell was that?" His mother was astonished. She had even stepped away from him, frightened by his speed, watching from a distance as he kept striking the poor dummy. If it had been a real person… she couldn't even imagine the state they would be in. She would have been stunned to know Jon had already tortured some people since arriving in this world; he was no example of mercy and could be terrifying when he wanted to be, but his mother didn't know that.
"Incredible skills, Your Majesty. A strength beyond what any other man could have. No wonder you defeated me so easily in King's Landing," said Barristan Selmy, approaching Jon with a curious and cautious look, yet filled with admiration.
"Thank you, Ser. But you also saw me spitting fire. After all, it was I who started that fire in King's Landing," Jon replied. To him, his skill with swords was the least impressive thing compared to when he had used the voice of the dragons, the Thu'um, to burn down an entire street.
"I will certainly never forget that. But even so, I would like to request a small training session with you, Your Majesty," Barristan Selmy asked.
Jon raised an eyebrow. The old man had courage. Not that he wanted to brag, but sparring against just one person seemed… boring. Still, after thinking for a moment, he broke into a smile.
"Very well, Ser Barristan. I accept this challenge."
"Finish him, Daemon." His mother's voice came out of nowhere, while Jon widened his smile. At least he had her cheering for him, seemingly forgetting what he could do to a man, as he had just done to the training dummy.
Barristan prepared himself while Jon remained calm, having taken another wooden sword, standing before his opponent and lowering the blade into a combat stance. The old man did not complain — he already knew well the legendary figure before him. Barristan might have been one of the greatest knights in Westeros, but what stood before him was something beyond human. He had already recognized that.
The fight began with Barristan attacking first, and Jon defending with agility. Quick movements of attack and defense followed, blows exchanged.
Thirty minutes later, Jon had defeated all the men who dared face him, including Barristan. At first, he had gone easy, but when he decided to stop holding back, the old knight could not endure. With just a few moves, Jon made him sweat, disarmed him, and pointed the blade at his neck.
The fight had lasted five rounds. Five defeats. Even as the greatest knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Barristan had no chance against someone who resembled more a demigod than a man.
Afterward, Jon, still unsatisfied, called upon free folk warriors, as he used to fight beyond the Wall, to train them. He fought against ten, fifteen, and even twenty men at once, which seemed absurd — but after some time, the true absurdity was seeing him win.
Rumors of that training would also spread among the people of the North.
Only then did he stop, finally satisfied, and head to the hot springs of Winterfell. He immersed himself in the bath, forbidding only his mother from entering with him. She claimed there was nothing wrong with it, since she was dead and ghosts did not care about sexuality, but Jon liked to keep certain limits and a sense of morality. He did not allow her to accompany him everywhere, and even when he slept, he would not accept her presence, ghost or not.
Jon dismissed audiences for that day, saying he would be busy in the morning with his tasks. He went to his old chamber, while men had already demolished the wall and were rebuilding the place to transform it into a strategic meeting room. At the same time, craftsmen worked on a model of the North and of Westeros, financed by gold offered by Jon. He had found some who could draw it and make molds.
In the afternoon, he returned to the audiences. The people seemed more interested in seeking food now, and Jon had his share of resolving the problems of the commons over the last two days. Afterward, he returned to his solar to see the letters of the day.
The letters from the South came from the Vale, from Riverrun, and even from King's Landing. Jon was interested in each of them. There were some missives from King's Landing, sent to the Boltons shortly before the fall of Winterfell, showing concern with the events in the North. The maester claimed not to have sent any reply, but Jon doubted it: surely the Boltons had begged for help, reporting the armies that besieged Winterfell. He would have to speak with the maester later, terrifying him enough to never lie again, since Jon preferred the truth and people had a greater chance of dying at his hands when telling lies.
The Tullys demanded justice in their letters, believing that the Boltons still controlled the castle. It would take them some time to understand that Winterfell had already fallen before Daemon Targaryen. At the same time, the Vale demanded that he hand over Lord Stark, as well as Lord Royce, deemed a traitor. Which was nonsense, and Lady Catelyn's sister was clearly delirious.
Meanwhile, King's Landing constantly insisted on attacking Daemon's legitimacy, calling him a bastard, a false Targaryen, demanding his immediate death at the hands of the Boltons, and promising not to forgive those who failed to kill the bastard and the savages he had brought from beyond the Wall.
Among so many messages, a different letter arrived. A pure threat. Jon was amused to see the addressee: none other than Jon Snow, who dared defy the king of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon I, first of his name.
With a slight smile, Jon slowly broke the seal.
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