[Chapter Size: 2600 Words.]
Third Person POV.
Kingsland.
...
...
The crowd's screams continued as Lord Stark waited, helpless, for his death to come.
However, what he did not expect was that, for a second, silence took over the square in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. For a brief moment, he thought his life had ended right there, that his death had been painless. Lord Stark did not even feel his head being removed from his neck, thinking that this was how one died.
However, that thought was shattered when, suddenly, a cry of surprise echoed once more through the square, making Lord Stark realize that he was still there.
A moment later, a sword fell before him, striking the ground with a metallic clang. He opened his eyes, seeing the massive blade of the King's Executioner lying in front of him, as if it had been dropped at the exact moment it was meant to kill him.
His eyes widened, fixed on the sword, and then he looked up. The executioner was collapsing to his knees beside him, and the Lord of Winterfell watched as the man fell like a puppet near the blade, an arrow embedded in his neck. The man choked on his own blood, his eyes wide with agony, until he collapsed to the ground, still struggling to breathe, dying slowly.
Everyone seemed stunned by what had just happened. The king turned toward the spot where the arrow had been fired from. Along with his men, he spotted, atop a rooftop, a figure holding a bow.
Unnoticed due to the distance, the archer materialized another arrow from his dimensional space and raised his weapon once more, preparing to shoot.
"That man, up there! Kill him!" the king immediately exclaimed, seeing the bow being aimed once again.
"Protect the king!" Barristan Selmy shouted, alarmed.
The Kingsguard members rushed to surround Joffrey, while the entire crowd stared in shock at the figure on the rooftop. The archer, however, simply smiled at their desperation. With a swift motion, he adjusted his bow and fired.
The arrow cut through the air at high speed, striking Joffrey directly in the knee. The impact made the king scream in pain and collapse backward, trembling and clutching his leg as blood gushed out.
"Joffrey! My Joffrey!" Queen Cersei screamed in despair, rushing to him.
The Kingsguard quickly raised their shields around the king, trying to protect him while assessing his condition. The City Watch began to act, aiming their bows at the archer on the rooftop, preparing to fire.
The man merely watched, toying with them. When four archers took position to attack him, he prepared four arrows simultaneously, aligning them perfectly. He released the bowstring, and the projectiles sped through the air. Each found its mark with precision: two soldiers fell with arrows in their necks, another was struck in the head, and the last, in the stomach—having been positioned a few steps higher than the others. All collapsed before they even had time to react.
Two more archers began to approach, but before they could fire, he loosed another rapid sequence of arrows, unable to take them both down with a single shot, but killing them within seconds.
"Quick! Get my son out of here!" Cersei screamed in desperation amidst the voices of the crowd.
Sansa, standing beside the queen, watched everything with wide eyes, seeing Joffrey in that state.
"Kill him! Kill him now!" Joffrey shouted, his voice full of hatred and desperation, unable to bear the pain in his wounded knee.
'Well... It seems they still underestimate me.' Jon thought to himself as he grabbed another arrow.
Calmly, he took aim at the royal guards shielding the king. He waited for the perfect moment and released the string.
The arrow flew swiftly through the air, piercing through the raised shields and lodging itself in the eye of one of the soldiers after slipping through the small opening in his helmet. The man dropped dead instantly.
Barristan Selmy was stunned to see his companion lying dead on the ground, an arrow embedded perfectly in the hole of his eye. He wondered if such a thing was even possible from such a great distance. The archer was at least 150 meters away.
As the crowd pointed toward the shooter atop the building, the soldiers quickly began moving through the streets, trying to reach him.
"Kill the prisoner! Kill him now!" Joffrey suddenly ordered as they started to move, his men still forming a protective barrier around him.
It was clear that the mysterious archer was firing to protect Stark, but Joffrey wanted to end him immediately, consumed by rage and vengeance for the pain he had never experienced before. His arrow was still lodged in his thigh, and he was crying in agony.
Jon saw this and readied another arrow. He swiftly released it, striking a guard standing beside Joffrey. Blood splattered directly onto Sansa's and Queen Cersei's faces.
That seemed to change the king's mind immediately.
"Get me out of here! Just get me out of here!" he shouted in panic.
But other soldiers were already advancing on Lord Stark. In the next instant, two of them fell dead, arrows perfectly lodged in their necks.
The crowd was in shock. Shouts of protest and despair mixed with exclamations of encouragement and even amusement from some spectators in King's Landing.
Jon observed two interesting figures in the chaos. Petyr Baelish, who was quickly looking for a place to hide, and the High Septon, who was running toward the Great Sept of Baelor.
Baelish seemed to sense something and suddenly looked back. However, he had no time to see where the arrow had come from. It embedded itself directly into his Achilles tendon, making him collapse instantly. He screamed in pain, rolling on the ground near the edge of the platform where he had been trying to flee.
"You really think I'd let you run away just like that, you fool?" Jon murmured, amused, as he watched the man scream like an animal while rolling down the stairs in desperation, trying to pull the arrow from his foot.
Then, his eyes scanned the crowd.
"Where is that eunuch?" He was now searching for Varys.
Not because he was defending Lord Stark, but because Varys disgusted him just as much as Littlefinger did.
He searched for the eunuch but couldn't see him anywhere. His eyes then turned to the top of the Great Sept of Baelor, and he thought about teaching that old man a lesson as well. The man had been speaking about him over the past weeks.
The septon was finally reaching the temple doors while the clergy rushed inside. Suddenly, he felt something. The sound of flesh being pierced echoed through the air.
He immediately lost his balance, a searing pain spreading through his back. His body began to fall, and he screamed in agony as blood gushed from his wound. The arrow had been perfectly aimed, piercing through his body in a way no man would ever wish to experience—striking him directly in his anal orifice, embedding itself as if he were shitting the projectile.
The High Septon rolled on the ground, desperate, while the people inside the Sept panicked at the sight of him in such a state, an arrow lodged in his rear.
But Jon no longer cared about him.
All he wanted was for the High Septon to remember him fondly… And that would be mostly when he had to take a shit, as he would have great difficulty doing so after this. That would be a great story for Jon to tell in the future.
Either way, Jon decided it was time to leave the building. Meanwhile, several Kingsguard soldiers were already trying to climb up to reach him.
He realized he would have to cross the entire crowd between him and the execution platform, with no guarantee that they wouldn't kill Lord Stark before he got there.
His lungs filled with air at that moment. He looked up, knowing that this would be told for millennia.
Then, his scream echoed like thunder.
In the next instant, a deafening impact spread across the area. Everyone immediately covered their ears, wondering what it was. Energy began to surge over the rooftop, and some people pointed in fear at what they were witnessing.
But suddenly, the air turned cold. White clouds began to form out of nowhere in the middle of the square. Then, an explosion of snow erupted in broad daylight, right in the heart of King's Landing. The freezing wind swept through the area, muffling the people's screams and unleashing a snowstorm across the entire square.
Even the guards who were already climbing, more than 15 meters high, were struck by the blast and thrown away. They plummeted from great heights, suffering fatal falls.
There was no need to say how much that terrified the people. Panic took over the crowd. Everyone began running in all directions, screaming in desperation.
Satisfied, Jon immediately dashed forward and leaped into the middle of the storm. He landed effortlessly from a height of 15 meters and kept running. The path was completely clear for him, as the people were fleeing the square as fast as they could while beginning to freeze.
Outside, those who were not affected by the storm simply watched in horror. It was an unimaginable sight—an entire section of King's Landing covered in snow, swirling like a hurricane, creating absolute chaos.
Jon saw a few people collapsed, trembling from the cold, terrified by what was happening. But he didn't care.
Within seconds, he reached the platform.
Lord Stark was there, shivering from the cold, staring in shock at everything, unable to find words for what was happening.
Then, Ned noticed the figure that had landed on the platform and was now staring at him.
"Jon..." he murmured, still trembling from the cold.
"Don't look at me like that, you fool," Jon spoke arrogantly.
"Why...?" Ned asked, his voice unsteady.
"I'm not doing this because I have any love for you. I'm doing this because, just as you took me out of that tower in Dorne when I was just a baby, I'm repaying my debt. After all, when I take my revenge on you, I want it to be clean, without owing you anything," Jon said, his gaze sharp.
He could be cruel at times, but he never liked to owe anyone.
Without saying another word, he pulled a cloak from his storage space and threw it over Lord Stark before removing his chains. He drew Dark Sister and used the blade to cut the shackles on Ned's wrists and ankles.
"Get up. The storm will end soon. But don't think I'm leaving here carrying you like a princess," Jon said, his tone still full of disdain.
Lord Stark simply stood up, still dazed by everything that had just happened.
"Wait... Sansa..." he murmured.
"The same daughter who lied to protect her marriage? No. She's not my problem," Jon said indifferently and moved on.
Lord Stark had no choice but to follow him through the snowstorm, unaware of how it had even come to be, but he was so weakened that he didn't even have the strength to ask about it.
Moving through the mist, they finally began to emerge from it.
When the snowstorm finally dissipated, a group of soldiers appeared before them. More than fifty men stood in the road where Jon and Lord Stark had just exited.
Jon didn't even pause for a moment. He simply raised an eyebrow as he recognized the man standing at the front of the group.
The leader was none other than Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sent by the king to kill the one who had wounded him.
"Jon Snow, you will go no further," Barristan said, unsheathing his sword.
Jon raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Alright, then. Come to me, knight. But if anyone interferes in our fight, I will kill all of you in a rather cruel way."
Without hesitation, Jon drew Dark Sister, and the man had to widen his eyes upon recognizing the legendary blade. But Barristan still kept his expression firm as he walked toward Jon.
Lord Stark stood slightly behind, still feeling the effects of being caught in the snowstorm without protection for several seconds.
Even though he was surprised by everything that was happening, Barristan Selmy advanced. He launched the first attack against Jon, still not understanding how that snowstorm had appeared out of nowhere.
"Are you some kind of sorcerer? How did you do that?" Barristan murmured, momentarily stepping back.
"Does it matter?" Jon replied. "But I must admit, you have a lot of courage. After everything you just saw, you still face me."
Jon smiled, unlike the other men standing behind Barristan. They all feared Jon—after all, the storm had clearly been conjured by him through some kind of magic.
"You killed my king," Barristan declared. "And I must die to honor him. I fear nothing."
The old knight lunged at Jon with his sword, but the young warrior easily deflected the blow.
"How honorable," Jon mocked. "But it's a shame. Your honor will not avenge your king. In fact, which one? You served two kings... and a crown prince. And you failed to protect all three."
Barristan's expression hardened. Jon could tell he had struck a nerve.
The knight became more aggressive, trying to pierce him with his blade.
Jon quickly dodged, shifting his sword to the side before deflecting the strikes with precision.
He observed his opponent's movements and found them interesting, but he knew he had to end this fight quickly. He still had a debt to settle with his uncle.
Barristan prepared for a decisive attack, but before he could complete the motion, Jon firmly grabbed his wrist, stopping the strike.
The old knight's eyes widened beneath his helmet, but he had no time to react.
Jon simply made his sword disappear and, with a swift movement, delivered a brutal punch to Barristan's head.
The impact was so strong that the old warrior was thrown against a wall, instantly losing consciousness.
Silence took over the area for a brief second.
Then, all the guards—now around eighty, perhaps a hundred—charged toward Jon.
The Dragonborn merely watched with anger as the soldiers advanced.
"I told you not to interfere in this," Jon said with a tone of fury.
In the next moment, he began filling his lungs with air. Then, he shouted his Shout.
"Yol Toor!"
Lord Stark, still trying to recover, was shocked to see Barristan Selmy lying unconscious on the ground.
But what surprised him even more was what happened next.
As Jon stood motionless before the charging soldiers, suddenly, his body erupted into flames.
He lunged at his enemies like a whirlwind of fire, and the entire street became engulfed in blazing infernos. The fire consumed everything around, as if a dragon had unleashed its fury upon the city.
Screams of terror echoed through the street as men were engulfed by the flames.
Within seconds, a living hell had taken over the area.
Lord Stark could only watch from a distance, seeing the soldiers fall one by one, burned alive. His gaze remained frozen, consumed by horror.
Perhaps he had never felt as much fear of Lyanna's son as he did at that moment.
"Let's take another street. This one has an unpleasant smell," Jon said, showing no emotion after killing a hundred men.
He stepped into an alley beside the flames, passing through it effortlessly.
Lord Stark followed him, unsure whether he could still call Jon human... or something beyond that.
-------------Nexts Chapters ----------------
Chapter 97 - The Terror of Encountering a Werewolf.
Chapter 102 - The Truth in the Citadel.
Chapter 112 - Negotiating with the Iron Bank.
Chapter 121 - Maester Aemon.
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