XIII.

292 AC

Jon let out a savage cry, his sword glinting in the sunlight as he swung. It hit with a resounding clang against his opponent's, hard, sending tiny fizzles of sparks cascading down to the hilt even as he backed away and ducked under another sword.

Breathing heavily, he spun and kicked his boot against the chest of the man that came up behind him, sending the curly-haired man with roses on his armour skidding back, gasping for air. He then crouched and swung his sword up, blocking the downward swing from his previous opponent – the familiar dark-headed and swarthy Lewyn Martell.

The kingsguard grit his teeth and disengaged their swords, stepping back and letting his sparring partner step forward; Barristan's face was serene despite the powerful blows he met Jon with.

Circling around Jon were others, all eager to attack their opponent in the ring, despite Jon being their king. Barristan had wanted to see what Jon could do against multiple opponents and had directed Lewyn, Tanius Fell, and Lyn Corbray of the kingsguard to attack Jon, along with Barristan and Jon's squires, Garlan Tyrell and Viserys Targaryen. Edmure Tully had graciously backed out of the spar, deciding instead to cheer on those participating with a young Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell at his side, along with the heirs and sons of other lords who swarmed King's Landing to join Jon and Cersei's court.

What was once the ruined dragonpit in King's Landing was now converted to a large training facility for the city watch, money spent to fix the structure up although the dome remained unfixed, a broken shell that loomed over one half of the pit. Half the stands were converted into seating, with a large central balcony for the royal family; the other half of the stands were raised with the seats removed and rooms added with windows overlooking the pit.

On any other given day, the pit was divided into sections where members of the city watch would train under Lord Randyll Tarly and Ser Alliser Thorne's sharp eyes. Eager young second and third sons flocked to the city watch for the opportunity to join the Watch, as it was referred to by the people of King's Landing, if only to make a name for themselves or to join Jon's standing Westerosi army, an initiative he began shortly after his coronation – an army that was devoid of any regional allegiances.

From high above the dirt-packed training ring Jon and the others were in, watching from an uncovered catwalk, Lords Royce, Tarly, and Ser Brynden Tully were adding their own commentary; Ethan Glover and Tytos Marbrand, also kingsguard, cheered on their brothers while their remaining brother guarded the queen; Varys and Lords Manderly and Velaryon from Jon's small council amused themselves by watching the training exercise. The rest of the stands were full of city watch – established members and new recruits – who had the pleasure of watching their king face off against six others.

"Getting tired, Your Grace?" mocked Corbray, but there was a grin on his face and a light in his eyes. He arrogantly swung Lady Forlorn, his Valyrian blade.

"Just warming up, Corbray," replied Jon, sliding his foot back and then twisting to the side when Viserys jabbed his sword forward, overextending his reach. Jon sighed as he batted the blade away. "Viserys, I've told you before – you're reaching. Watch that arm!"

"Yes, Your Grace," the teen muttered, skipping back as Jon made no further moves against him.

Instead, Corbray launched forward furiously, Garlan at his side, and the two men began to batter at Jon's defence, looking for an opening. Yet Jon was used to battling multiple opponents from his alternate past, and he instead ducked low as Garlan's sword passed overhead, sweeping the man's legs out from under him. As he launched up, he brought his sword from low against Corbray and caught the hilt, sending the dark steel from the man's hands, the man muttering under his breath all the while.

"Out," called Corbray mulishly.

From where he lay on the ground, catching his breath, Garlan agreed between pants. "I, as well."

Barristan and Lewyn hung back as the most experienced members of the kingsguard, letting the younger members shine first; Tanius, in general, was an overly cautious knight and kingsguard while Viserys had been scolded and wary of stepping toward.

"Five dragons on the king against the kingsguard!" shouted Andar Royce, rousing cheers from some of the nearby knights and lords.

"Ten on them finishing him off," argued Tyrion with a grin, the young brother-in-law of the king toasting the man when he turned to look up and scowl at him.

"Have you no faith in your sister's husband? In yourking, Tyrion?" shouted Jon. He looked a moment away from shaking his fist.

"Consider it motivation, Your Grace!" Tyrion shouted down at him, where Jon was then forced to sidestep out of the way of Lewyn's sword. The king swore loudly and filthily.

Clearly annoyed and grumbling – although none on the raised steps could hear what Jon was saying – the king quickly darted forward and smashed his sword against Lewyn's, and with three short attacks, had his sword tip at the man's throat, forcing him to yield. As soon as Lewyn stepped back, Jon spun toward Barristan and Viserys.

Barristan met him calmly, although there was a significant force behind his swings; Viserys darted between the two clashing men, attempting to unbalance Jon or keep his eyes off the more dangerous swordsman between the two of them. However, Viserys leaned forward, and Jon curled out of the way of Barristan's sword, letting his left-hand drop from his hilt only to reach forward and grab the overextended sword from Viserys's grip, yanking it from the teenager's hands.

"No!" shouted Viserys, lunging after it. He sighed in defeat when Jon skipped away and focused instead on Barristan, both hands on his sword and eyeing the king.

Jon, now with two swords – although only one was meant for a single-hand grip - twirled the lighter of the two and began on his off foot, stepping forward with his left and bringing the sword out to thrust at Barristan.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard batted the sword away and Jon let it drop, using the attack to bring his greatsword down on the man. The two exchanged blows, their steel ringing out across the empty pit as they chased each other back and forth.

Eventually, Barristan stepped back. His heel caught a furrow made by the other knights earlier and he stumbled, the slightest. It was enough for Jon to batter at the distracted man and eventually, Barristan dropped his sword and fell to one knee.

"I yield, Your Grace," he panted.

"By luck," commented Jon as those watching them fight broke out in cheers and whoops of delight, as well as a few groans as money began to exchange hands. He held out a hand for the knight to pull him up.

Barristan gave him a pained smile as he was hauled to his feet. "All war is luck."

"Too true," agreed Jon. Barristan bowed and together they walked across the pit, toward a miserable-looking Viserys.

Jon placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the sixteen-year-old to look up. "What did I say about overextending your reach?"

"Not to do it." Viserys' shoulders dropped.

"You leave yourself open to an attack, and worse, losing your weapon," said Jon sternly. Dejectedly, Viserys nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Jon squeezed his shoulder. "You did well, though, Viserys. Lasted to the end!"

"By avoiding," the teen muttered.

"Sometimes that is the smartest thing to do," said Barristan. "Knowing which battles to fight." He turned to Jon and said, "Pardon me, Your Grace. I wish to speak to Ser Lyn and Ser Tanius about their technique. I'm sure Ser Lewyn has thoughts."

Jon suppressed a smile at the thought of the veteran kingsguard lacing into the two members who joined the spectacle. Instead, he managed a regal nod, glancing at Viserys. "Chin up, Viserys. Besides, it is time for your regular squiring duties. I can see that Garlan's already begun cleaning Ser Barristan's sword."

Viserys gave a tiny, near inaudible sigh, taking the sword Jon passed to him. He grunted under the weight but admirably held it close.

"Viserys," called Jon, as the teen began to trudge away.

The pale blond-haired teen stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"I'll find some time in my schedule and we'll work some more on your swordplay," offered Jon.

Viserys grinned, his entire face lighting up at the offer. He then had a bounce in his step as he moved toward Garlan, Barristan's squire. He was practically swamped by the other young lords who joined the court, all a similar age between him and Garlan. Renly and Edmure both congratulated him, along with Andar and Waymar Royce.

"A good show, Your Grace," called Randyll Tarly, in his usual stern manner, as he peered down from the box he, Brynden Tully, and Yohn Royce had been watching from.

Jon nodded in thanks, feeling his sweat-soaked tunic begin to stick uncomfortably against his skin. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Ha!" shouted Royce gleefully. "That wasn't so much as a good show as it was a solid trounce, Tarly!"

Tarly gritted his teeth and cut a side-eye at the other man. "It was meant as a demonstration for the new recruits—"

"Yes, yes." Royce bleated and waved a hand at the Reachman, whose jaw clenched so tight that Jon could see the muscle work even from where he was. Brynden Tully, next to Royce, looked skyward and shook his head. "And hopefully they'll be inspired at best, and at worst, realize what not to do—"

Jon tuned the men out and looked to the final three men in the box, who had been silent. "My Lords," he addressed at Varys, Lucerys Velaryon, and Wyman Manderly. "What brings you to the

Dragonpit?"

Lucerys Velayron scowled, looking eerily like Aerys for a moment that Jon felt jarred and missed the beginning of what he said. "—your attention a naval issue, Your Grace."

Jon frowned. "Just you, or the council?"

Manderly shared a look with Velaryon, both looking ill at ease. It was Varys who simpered, "Perhaps a full council meeting, Your Grace?"

Concern bubbled in Jon's stomach and he nodded slowly, a solemn expression falling on his face. He directed Manderly, Velaryon, and Varys back to the Red Keep, with the men catching the rest of his council's attention – Tarly, Brynden, and Royce quickly falling into place behind them as they left behind orders for Alliser Thorne – and Jon made his way to his kingsguard. Barristan stood straight at his approach, cutting off his conversation with Lewyn, Corbray, Fell, and Tytos Marbrand.

"Your Grace?" asked Barristan as Jon drew closer. The others of the kingsguard snapped to attention, standing straighter.

"A situation requires my attention back at the castle," he began carefully, aware that anyone could be listening. Despite not having Sansa around to help with politics, he had learned something over the years and with Cersei, and later, Tywin and Tyrion, in the capitol. "We should retire there shortly."

Barristan gave a sharp nod. Within moments, he had his sword back from Garlan and the five men were following behind Jon at a steady clip as they made their apologies to the younger knights and Watch recruits. The return to the Red Keep was not quick – it took almost an hour to navigate from Rhaenys' Hill, through the Street of Sisters and then back to the castle, even on horseback – but eventually, they arrived.

Jon kept his pace as he moved through now-familiar walls after ten years as king; Barristan, Lewyn, and Ethan Glover remained while Corbray and Marbrand peeled off to their chambers to freshen up. Jon would not have that luxury.

"We'll go directly to the council chambers," he instructed to Barristan, a terse note in his voice. "While I'd rather wash, Lords Manderly, Velaryon, and Varys made it seem import—Ooof."

As they were about to turn toward the throne room, from around the corner, three small figures carrying wooden swords barrelled into him and Barristan: two into Jon, and one, a small, dark- haired girl, into Barristan's knees. Behind them, a giant, brown-and-black direwolf skidded down the corridor, its nails scraping the stone and leaving marks. Jon winced.

"Adair!" squealed the dark-haired girl as she peeled herself from Barristan's knees and threw herself at Jon, who caught her. His heart clenched at the sound of the Old Tongue and one of the few words he had picked up from the Free Folk, in another time and place.

"What's all this about, then?" he asked, blinking down at three sets of identical bright green eyes. The only difference between them was their ages, heights, and the fact that the two boys had wavy light brown hair.

"We're playing the White Knight and the Lady Warrior, Father!" cried the middle boy, jumping back and waving his toy sword around a bit. "I'm the White Knight!"

He overbalanced as he made a wild swing and righted himself before he could trip, but Barristan

still chortled, and his cheeks flushed red. The other kingsguards, who knew these children since their birth, bit back their own smiles.

Jon's eyebrows crept up and he hid his own smile. "So, I see, Leon." His eyes trailed to his daughter, clutching at his leg. "And Aly is the Lady Warrior, I presume?"

Alysanne nodded enthusiastically and waved her own sword at him. Behind him, Jon heard Ethan stifle a snicker.

"And... who are you, Edwyn?" asked Jon, turning to the eldest of the group, taking in his broody expression. It wasn't hard to guess who the crown prince was pretending to be. Edwyn recently had a growth spurt and was quickly becoming all legs and arms. Jon was certain he'd inherit his height and was almost sure Edwyn was taller than he had been at nine.

"I'm you, Father," he said quietly as the direwolf, which towered over all three children (who only came up to the underbelly), slinked up next to him. He reached out and fisted his hand in the brown fur in comfort. "Honour was pretending to be Ghost."

"We just heard a new tale of theirs!" butted in Leon, shoving closer to Jon. "About how the White Knight and Lady Warrior were in Astapor. They started a riot freeing slaves brought by the Dothraki!"

Of course, they did, thought Jon, slightly uncharitably with a minor grimace.

"One day, I'm going to be a famous knight like the White Knight," declared Leon boldly. "And I

will travel to Essos and beyond and free every slave!"

"Nuh-uh," retorted Alysanne, pouting at her brother. "Mama says you will be Lord of the Whispers." She then pitched her voice, sound lofty and sure as she mimicked her mother: "A prince cannot just go on adventures. He has a duty to his family."

"I can so too!" snapped back Leon, glaring at his little sister.

"Can't!" replied Alysanne, frustrated.

Jon's eyes bounced between the two. He was sure they were seconds away from brandishing their swords at one another. For all his three eldest children were only two years apart from each other, Leon and Alysanne constantly clashed, loud and demanding as his middle children.

"Alright, alright," said Jon, drawing Aly away from Leon as he stepped forward. "That's still a very long time away, Leon. But if you plan on being a famous knight, then don't you think you should be going to your lessons?" Jon peered at the corner of the hall. "Speaking of, where is Maester Marwyn and Septa Ferrara?"

Leon blinked innocently up at Jon, pulled from glaring at his sister. "Not here."

Unimpressed, Jon turned his eyes to Edwyn, who he knew would answer. His eldest child sheepishly scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor. "... Honour pretended to throw his meal up on Septa Ferrara's dress, so she kicked us out of the room."

"She shrieked a lot, Father," added a gleeful Leon with a gap-toothed grin.

"I see..." Jon brought a hand up to cover his mouth. That sounded like something he, Robb, and Theon would have concocted to get out of a lesson. But he was a father now, so... He looked hard at his children and stressed, again, "Lessons. You should be in them. Go."

"You could use more," agreed Edwyn, glancing at Leon. "You got your maths questions wrong when Maester Marwyn was testing you. And you tripped the last time Lord Waymar showed you that new sword sequence."

From behind the group, Lewyn sputtered and when Jon glanced at him, Lewyn physically turned to face the opposite direction so that no one could see his face or the way he was trying to hide his laughs. His shoulders shook.

Leon whirled on his older brother, mouth agape and completely shocked that Edwyn would say such a thing. "I did not, Eddy! I'm a better swordsman than you! You take that back!"

"I'm better than you both!" argued Alysanne, stomping her foot, throwing herself into the conversation and physically stepping away from Jon toward her brothers.

The three children dissolved into childish bickering of who was better than the other in their swordplay (Leon was, Jon acquiesced, even at seven), or archery (Edwyn), or horseback riding (Alysanne, despite being only five and riding a pony, still). Their voices carried them down the hall behind Jon and his guards, Edwyn's loyal direwolf Honour following behind them with happy pants.

Jon sighed and resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. With four children under the age of ten, even with the help of an entire army of servants, Jon often found himself wondering how Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully had managed five trueborn children, himself, and then Theon, under one roof.

"Shall we continue, Your Grace?" asked Lewyn, barely hiding his mirth.

Jon gave in to pinch the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and then continued walking. They reached the council chambers shortly afterward, entering the room while Lewyn and Ethan took guard posts outside and Barristan moved to his Lord Commander seat at the table.

The room was mostly full, but the furniture was different from the early days of his rule with Rhaella taking his hand. Where, once before, the council only had six positions, Jon had expanded it greatly. The traditional titles of Lord Hand and Masters of Law, Coin, Ships, and Whisperers still existed and were held by prominent men with experience, but Jon had also added more titles, some working under the others: Wyman Manderly as the Master of Trade, working with Yohn Royce as the Master of Laws; Randyll Tarly was elevated to the new position of Master of War, with both Lucerys Velaryon as the Master of Ships and Brynden Tully as the Master of Arms for King's Landing both reporting to him, and Ser Alliser Thorne as the head of the City Watch reporting to Brynden.

There were chairs for the Lord Paramounts and the regions with Wardens for when they visited if they wished to sit in on the council meetings or send a representative – a diplomat if one wanted to be exact in terminology. However, none had taken Jon's offer, leaving their seats empty every session. Pycelle had long been retired and sent to Casterly Rock, leaving Marwyn to officially inherit the seat as grandmaester. Tywin remained Jon's Master of Coins, equally bitter and pleased depending on the time of day and when asked. The Lord Hand seat was empty, as the man who held that title was with Sansa and Oberyn, personally handling an issue at Winterfell.

Varys took the final seat, that of the Master of Whisperers. While he officially held the title, Jon had made clear to Cersei and his kingsguard that when Arya returned – one day – she would be the one they relied on for information, instead. As it was, Jon's natural caution often followed a "listen, but then verify elsewhere" policy with Varys' information.

Jon sat the head of a long, rectangular table and peered down at the twenty available seats, with only twelve being used. Slow changes, he reminded himself. But changes, nonetheless.

"Afternoon, my Lords," began Jon as he looked around, glancing to the empty seat on his left. It wouldn't be long before she appeared... "Let's wait a few more minutes and then begin."

The men murmured their agreement, and like Jon predicted, not even four minutes later, the doors to the council room swung open and Cersei strode in. Her long golden hair was loose behind her, and Jon noted she wore a new dress in deep, shimmering gold that caught the sun's rays as she moved between sunbeams. Jon stood as she approached, vaguely aware the others had as well. He reached for her hand and helped her to her seat. "My Queen."

Only through long practice did she avoid rolling her eyes, presenting her cheek instead for Jon to kiss, with the ends of his mouth curling into a small smile. Against her skin, he murmured, "Everything alright?"

Cersei dipped her chin the tiniest amounts and breathed, "I had to put Lelia down for her nap."

He nodded and drew back, then sat back down in his chair. As the others on the council found theirs again, Jon nodded toward Velaryon and Manderly. "My Lords, the floor is yours."

Manderly began, speaking on the good news first: "The latest ironwood yield was incredibly profitable, with generous purchases in the Westerlands and Reach." He finished with a nod toward Tywin, who nodded back. It was no secret to Jon or anyone else that Tywin was planning on expanding his fleet.

"The iceboxes and the ice floats continue to be popular in the southern regions," he continued, glancing down at his parchments. "And in the past two years, we've seen an increase in purchase orders from Essos, as well."

Here, he glanced nervously at Velaryon, who cleared his throat. "And that brings us to the issue, Your Grace."

Jon frowned. "An increase in sales orders? Is production not sufficient?"

Velaryon shared another look with Manderly, and Jon felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. He began to unconsciously lean forward.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Your Grace," hedged Velaryon, despite the furrow between his pale eyebrows, "But in the past nine moons, we've lost two of Lord Manderly's trading ships en route to Volantis."

Cersei frowned. "Surely that's normal, my Lords? The loss of ships due to weather?" Velaryon nodded, slowly. "Usually, Your Grace. But..."

"You suspect differently," finished Jon quietly, leaning back in his chair.

"We have no proof," admitted Manderly, sweating nervously. He dabbed a handkerchief against his red neck. "But Lord Velaryon and I find it suspicious. The loss of the ships both occurred after the same checkpoint at Tarth."

"It must be a storm," scoffed Cersei. "That's right near Shipbreaker Bay. The name itself speaks for what happened."

Jon pursed his lips, even as Velaryon and Manderly attempted to explain their reasons to the queen as to why they thought differently. They didn't have enough evidence, but two of Jon's trading ships, on the king's business, disappeared after Tarth, four months apart in the last nine? The thought sat uneasily, and Jon interrupted Manderly to speak to Varys. "Look into it, discretely. We'll revisit this at the next monthly meeting."

While neither Velaryon nor Manderly were entirely placated, they both bowed their heads as Varys nodded and said, "It will be done, Your Grace."

"Anything else?" asked Jon.

Tarly launched into the yearly inspection of new graduating recruits from the Watch, stationed at Harrenhal that Jon was to attend; Tywin updated them on the last few repayments to be made of the loan he had negotiated years ago with the Iron Bank as well as the flush state of the crown's coffers; both Royce and Brynden mentioned that crime was low but steady with the usual suspects but overall morale and thoughts toward the crown were positive on the streets of King's Landing.

"Very well," said Jon as the brief finished. "We'll continue to monitor the trade routes until Lord Varys can confirm or deny what is happening to our ships but won't stop any future orders from being sent out. Lord Tarly, will you see to the preparation for our trip to Harrenhal?"

"Of course, Your Grace," rumbled Tarly.

"Then let us adjourn this meeting," finished Jon with a decisive nod and a tight smile. "Thank you, my Lords."

The other men replied with their responses or began to file out, until only Jon, Cersei, Tywin, and Barristan remained. Jon stared hard at the tabletop, drumming his fingers thoughtfully while Cersei rose from her seat to the side table, pouring herself wine, and, after a moment's hesitation, a second.

"You don't think someone is attacking our ships?" Cersei finally asked, returning with the drinks in hand. She passed one to Jon, placing it in front of him. "Who would be so bold to do so?"

Jon sighed. "That is what is worrying me if that's the case."

"Until we discover differently, His Grace is correct in proceeding with caution," said Tywin, reclining coolly in his seat. "Something you could still learn, Cersei."

Cersei rolled her eyes and then hid her face behind the rim of her drink. "I think you're both overreacting."

Jon forced a smile and turned back to Cersei, taking the drink she poured for him.

"I'm sure you're right, Cee," he said, and his wife preened. She always did like hearing she was right, even if they were unsure about the situation. "It's nothing to be worried about."

Jon glanced at Tywin, who coolly met his eyes. His father-in-law seemed to be in the same mind as Jon, with the tightening of his mouth despite not speaking. It might not be anything to worry about right now, but it had the potential to go poorly... and Jon wasn't the type to look at the goblet half- full. He just didn't have that kind of luck.

TBC...