Tyrosh

298 AC

It was the morning chill that had woken him.

Starag Mormont opened his eye instantly, remembering where he was. And more importantly, what he was doing the night before.

He felt warm skin pressing against his chest, and looked down to see the Tyroshi women in his arms. Loria. That was her name. She was fast asleep, her head of dark blonde hair had risen and fallen along with his chest.

Mormont had pushed her aside as gently as he could and got out of bed. He looked to the right side of his room and knew instantly that it was perhaps just an hour or two before dawn. Right on time.

Over the last few days, he'd noticed he'd gotten much sharper with when he'd gotten up. He had to, of course. As Captain and Navigator, he needed to be on top of things at all times.

Mormont had remembered his prior nakedness and found his trousers laying on the floor by the foot of the large bed. He slipped them on and buckled his belt. He had gotten a bath the night prior, so he wouldn't need to bother with one this morning.

He approached the nearby wash basin and cupped two handfuls of cool water, tossing it onto his face so as to clean off the light sweat from his rutting the night before. Just as he was about to turn and go hunting for his shirt, he had seen something out of the corner of his right eye.

Frowning, Mormont quickly searched for his box of matches. The candlelights had completely gone out. He soon found the familiar wooden box inside his coat pocket and instantly lit a match in the dark room.

In the light of a new flame, he saw them as clear as day.

He had nearly forgotten about the thick blue markings that had been traced along his forearm. It was not something one remembered when there was plenty of navigating and sailing to be done day-in-day-out. But now… Now it was all too plain to see.

Somehow, the angular, square-shaped spirals of blue lines had traced up above his elbow, extending further along than when he'd last seen them. They scattered out into different lines and patterns, going up along and around his biceps and ending just at the border between his upper arm and his right shoulder.

What in the Seven Hells… He could barely manage to find the words. The right words, that is. How else could he explain the sudden development of these tattoos to his friends, when even he himself didn't know the cause of them?

What did they even mean? Why were they growing? Would they envelop his whole body at some point? Or would they stop where they were?

He didn't know the answer to any of those questions. The only thing he had felt right then as he traced a lone figure on the blue lines, was a strange yet familiar warmth.

It was not the same kind of heat one might feel from a firepit or from a light flame… It was the kind of sudden and rumbling heat that came with thunder, the kind one had felt in their bones when witnessing a lightning strike. When black clouds fell over the lands and boomed their magnificent and terrifying song.

Starag Mormont did not have a single clue about any of it. Why in the Seven Hells had these strange markings been growing on his skin?

He decided to put it out of his mind for the moment. He rolled down his sleeves and donned a glove on his right hand to cover them up. Then, he gathered his sword and coat, and without saying a word to the softly sleeping woman on his bed, he left his room, making his way down to the first floor of the Inn.

Mormont had found Arthur waiting downstairs, quietly sipping away at his mug of coffee. The rest of the large room was empty except for him and an Innkeep who seemed to be running over a checklist. There was a small jar right next to him as well. Honey…

Mormont was reluctant to call this Inn a tavern. A tavern was constructed of wood and stone. The walls and flooring of this place were carved primarily out of marble. So were the stairs. Everything about it screamed opulence.

Dayne glanced outside the triangular-shaped window at the darkened sky. "You're about a minute late. Rough sleep?"

"Something like that." Mormont grumbled, not wanting to talk about the blue markings on his arm just yet. He poured himself a mug of coffee and cracked open the lonely jar. Much to his delight, the sweet golden ichor was waiting for him.

Soon enough, their companions had made their way down the elegant marble stairway on the opposite side of the room. Sigmund had come around this time, despite Tyrosh being larger. It was not because he suddenly liked the stuffy city of merchants and their strangely colored hair or beards…

The owner of the Inn himself had a short beard that was purple by color. Mormont didn't understand why Tyroshi enjoyed changing the color of their hair, but then again he supposed that he didn't need to.

And neither did it really matter to their objective for the day.

Today, they would be sailing through the Stepstones, a chain of islands between southern Westeros and Essos. Which, funnily enough, was also ripe with pirates and sellswords looking for trouble.

It was a course that most ships coming from Westeros had sailed, especially as they'd hug the coastline until they made it out of the Stepstones. Mormont and his crew would do the same.

Mormont had taken his map of the Known World out of his pocket and spread it out on the circular table where they'd gathered. They would all be eating light this morning, just in case, they were caught up in a naval battle with some pirates. "We're here." He pointed to the small dot that represented Tyrosh. "It might be an hour or two depending on the waves until we enter the Stepstones."

Marwyn, Sigmund, and Wendel had nodded tiredly. Meanwhile, Jon frowned slightly. "What's in the Stepstones?"

"Pirates," Arthur answered him. He looked up from the map to glance at Mormont. "I imagine we'll be needing to have those catapults ready?"

"Naturally." Mormont nodded. "Doubt we'll need them since our course is to go along the coast, but I could be wrong. Never hurts to be prepared." He nodded to Arthur. "Have them set and ready to go before we go through. I don't want to take any chances."

"Done," Arthur said. He finished his coffee with one final swig.

"Marwyn," Mormont said. "I'll need you on hand in case anyone gets injured during a potential battle."

The Archmaester nodded. "Of course."

"Wendel, Sigmund." He looked to the fat man and the buff, tall wildling. They both looked absurd sitting next to each other. "I'll need you and your people to man the catapults and ballistae. Also, keep ready in case we'll need to board another ship."

Both men had nodded in acknowledgment of the order and had gone back to their coffee.

"And Jon…" Mormont said, now looking into the dark grey orbs of his surrogate nephew. The boy was waiting, but he seemed on edge about whatever duty he'd be assigned.

Promise me. Those hauntingly cold words from Lyanna Stark had echoed out in his mind right then. Guilt had broiled and churned in the back of his mind.

What if the boy was injured? What would he tell Ned? What would he tell Rhaenys?

Their journey had been sunshine and rainbows up until that point. Now things were getting serious and incredibly dangerous for everyone involved. Lives were on the line, and they were entering the Lion's Den without any aid or support from other ships.

It would be safer for the boy to be in the lower decks… But Mormont knew that his worries were getting the better of him. Eventually, Jon Stark would have to be tested in heat of battle. Mormont couldn't take that away from him. Not now of all times.

"Stay with Arthur," Mormont said finally.

As he began to roll up the map, he did not fail to notice the boy's beaming smile, nor Arthur's thankful nod.

Knowing their tasks for the day, and what possibly awaited them, all six of the men present had finished their coffee and paid their dues to the Innkeep. They left altogether in stony silence.

The winds had been kind to them. But the waves had not.

Even now, as The Waking Serpent passed by the first of the bleak islands in the chain that was the Stepstones, the ship had pulsated along with the rough, choppy black waves of the sea.

The sky above was ridden with thick brown clouds and there were little cracks between them showing the curtain of light blue. A storm was coming. Perfect.

Starag Mormont watched on as Arthur and Jon had made their way around the deck, inspecting each catapult and ballistae, testing them to see if they were effective and ready. He snickered as he saw each man of his crew-whether they were one of the men-at-arms or a wildling- absolutely freeze up in terror the moment Arthur Dayne had come around to see their handiwork.

Even they had not been spared from running laps around the ship.

Mormont expected that they would make it out of the Stepstones in perhaps two days if the weather kept up like this, perhaps three if they actually did encounter some pirates. It made no difference to him, as long they got out alive and were sailing to Lys by the end of it.

Soon enough, he adjusted to the choppy waves of the sea and kept only one hand on the wheel. He got another look at the operations being carried out on the deck and saw Marwyn passing by, looking out to sea.

"Marwyn," Mormont called out, his voice ringing like thunder over the crashing waves and the other voices of the ship. Many of the other men had turned to look at him. But Mormont paid them no mind.

The Archmaester had glanced up at him and nodded. He made his way up the stairs towards him and stopped just a few feet away. "Yes, Starag?"

Mormont had not wanted to bring up the markings on his skin to the others. But he was certain that perhaps Marwyn knew as to why they'd continued spreading up his arm. It was a loose hope if anything. "You're a man of the world. What do you know of tattoos?"

That was probably not what Marwyn was expecting. He'd raised his eyebrows in curiosity. "Well… I do know that those in the Free Cities put them onto their skin to display status or profession. Some well-known sellswords have plenty of tattoos. Those on the Summer Islands also use them on occasion…" He trailed off, glancing back at the working crew below. "Why do you ask?"

Mormont rolled up his right sleeve and had taken off the glove, revealing the still very visible thick blue lines and angular spirals on his right arm. "I first noticed these back in Braavos. Then, the markings were only on my hand and forearm." He said stolidly, watching the Archmaester's face for any expression.

Marwyn's brown eyes had narrowed like slits upon seeing the strange markings. It looked as if his mind was working faster than the men aboard The Waking Serpent. "And now?" He asked.

"I woke up this morning and found they'd expanded further up my arm." Mormont pulled back the sleeve to reveal the full length of his right arm.

"Expanded…" The older man had echoed the reverence and confoundedness with which Mormont said the word. He looked up from the markings. "May I?"

Starag nodded, letting the Archmaester get a closer look at the thick blue tattoos.

"I would've thought you'd gotten these in Braavos." Marwyn frowned. "But it seems too seamless to be the work of two different artists. As you said, they… expanded this morning." He touched one of the lines. "Feels warmer than your skin… Somehow…"

"That's what I thought, too," Mormont said. "Do you know what it is?"

Marwyn pulled away from his arm. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Can't say that I do. These markings are unlike anything I've ever seen in my travels. They don't even look Essosi…"

Mormont felt that hope quickly plummet. What else could it be?

The Archmaester took another cursory glance at the markings. "Strangely enough… I think it may be related to the Children of the Forest. They had similar markings according to the records on them." He shook his head, unsatisfied with his own answer. "But even then, they are not the same ones you have now. Theirs were more round, taking on the shapes of leaves or trees…" Marwyn nodded to Mormont's arm. "These are… Angular. More orderly, and seem to represent the sky more than the earth."

Great. Only more questions and fewer answers. Starag Mormont was convinced that the powers that be were out to make a fool of him.

Mormont let his sleeve fall down from his arm, but made no further attempt to hide the markings. There wasn't much point in hiding them, especially if even he didn't know the purpose behind them.

Only time would tell on that end…

It had been a day and a half until the sun had come out.

The once brown clouds had turned gold as they thinned out high above them. Now everything, even the dark blue water of the sea, and the bleak grey rocks of the surrounding islands had taken on a golden shimmer.

To Jon Stark, it was a rather beautiful sight. He'd not seen anything quite like it before. The mixture of colors in one sitting had simply astounded him, making him want to watch their beauty for some time.

He'd heard men often refer to beauty in two particular circumstances. One was that of women, and the other was that of nature. Until now, Jon had never really understood when he'd heard men talking about the second type.

With women, he could understand what they were talking about. Every single moment he had seen Margaery Tyrell's backside in one of those blasted fitting dresses she would wear, he could understand that very well indeed.

But nature itself, Jon could not see why some men had called it more beautiful than women. What was so special about trees? The rough brown bark? Or the floppy green leaves?

At sea, things were much different. It almost reminded him of when he'd be up on his perch undoing the sails. He saw the whole of everything, he had gotten the bird's eye view so to speak. It was a far different experience than simply trekking along the Kingsroad and staring at the pretty sights.

Something out here… called to him. The shimmering black water and stretch of rough waves had beckoned him to explore, to adventure. He did not know why, and that only fed into his curiosity about what lands and experiences lay beyond the edge of that thin white line on the horizon.

Jon Stark watched as they passed by several more islands within the lengthy chain of the Stepstones. Soon enough, they would be free of them and would enter into the Summer Sea.

Further than I've ever been before. He thought solemnly to himself.

How many people in Westeros had ever been farther than their home? How many noble's sons and daughters had ever crossed the Narrow Sea? How many of them would live into their elder years never experiencing the world, if even just the fraction he'd seen so far?

A rare and bright memory had come to mind at the thought of those questions. He'd been much younger then, years ago when Starag had come to visit before their expedition. Jon could distinctly remember what he'd said back then.

I saw all the things your grandfather had; more money and riches than I've ever set my eyes on; the power to decide a man's fate with a single word; the true love of a woman who would do anything for him, and the undying loyalty of the men who follow him…

All along the way, his uncle would've been guided by sights like this… By the knowledge that things were much easier at home, and that there was a whole world waiting to be explored. Why did I ever consider joining the Night's Watch?

All of it was out here… Everything and more. How was it that nobles contended over a chair inside a keep when there were vast lands waiting for them, with their own treasures and secrets to discover? What could the world not give that the Iron Throne could?

He could see where the waters of the Summer Sea turned blue and then orange. Almost like a blazing fire underneath the waves as they churned with the bright light of the sun. What strange and beautiful things life had in store for him…

"Pretty sight, hmmm?"

Jon had turned his head to see Arthur standing perhaps a few feet away, also looking out at the distant crashing waves. "It is." He said simply.

All of a sudden, he felt like he was a child all over again. Back in Winterfell sitting by the dinner table. Trading jokes and insults with Robb, or throwing plates of sausages and potatoes at Arya. Perhaps even twisting Dyanna's hair.

"Why is it that no one ever sees it, though?" Jon asked.

Arthur looked down at him with curious purple eyes. His skin had tanned significantly since they left White Harbor. His beard of wiry black hair was slightly unkempt and grizzled but in a good way. "They see it all the time, Jon. Most people just think they have better things to do."

"But do they really?" Jon pressed further. What better thing could they be doing but making a voyage to Valyria? All in an attempt to save the world? "Have better things to do?"

"No." Arthur had shaken his head. "But they believe that they do." He said. "A working man believes it is a better investment of his time to go to the brothel than the enlist in the King's army. Which option is ultimately better for his life and his loved ones?"

"The army," Jon answered. If he joined the army, he could one day become a knight, or potentially even a lord if he played his cards right.

"Exactly." Arthur nodded in agreement. "But more often than not, he'll go to the brothel and throw away his earnings for a few hours of entertainment."

Jon sighed. "Because he believes it's what he wants." It was the same with the gold. How Braavosi don't believe in it and instead believe in the power of iron.

The Sword of the Morning gave him a proud smile in return. "Right again. Belief is what really matters. Not swords, not armies, not gold." He glanced back out to sea with a faraway look. "An army of men that do not believe in their cause or their king will not fight as hard for either. Without belief, they are little more than aimless sellswords. Why do you think that is?"

Jon Stark had reflected on the thought. He was not very prepared to answer that question. Still, he'd give it his best shot. "Because gold is meaningless. And people are willing to hold their own lives in little regard."

The citizens of King's Landing, and especially of the denizens of Fleabottom had come to mind for him. Even now he scrunched up his nose upon remembering the layered smell of shit and buzzing of flies from the last time he'd visited. How anyone could stomach living in those conditions was beyond him.

The answer was right there. Without belief in… something, what else could one do? What else could they strive for?

Had Starag not believed in the things Lord Rickard Stark possessed so fervently, that he decided to go out and find them for his own? He had driven himself across wars and battles, losing gold and blood just to find them. In the end, he found what he believed in.

"Because belief gives us direction. It gives us something to strive for." Jon said finally, looking back up at his uncle.

Arthur grinned right back at him as if confirming his answer. He continued. "Without belief, nothing is real. A man who holds to the Faith of the Seven does not believe in the Red God. So, the Red God is not real to him." He said. "Belief is what makes the difference between victory and defeat. Do you want to be followed by men who believe in you?"

"Yes." The words came out of Jon's mouth immediately, like it was unconscious. "I do."

The Sword of the Morning smiled approvingly. "Then, what must you do to have them believe in you?"

Jon Stark had found the answer sooner than he expected to find it. "I must be brave."

"No."

Jon frowned. What must he do, then?

Arthur nearly laughed at his frustration. "With enough gold, any sellsword could summon courage. If you want to have men follow you to the very end, there is one thing you must do above all…" He trailed off, baiting Jon's anticipation. "You must be absolutely mad."

That was not at all what Jon was expecting. His frown had deepened. Hadn't his grandfather been mad? Was that not why Jon had grown up in Winterfell instead of the Red Keep?

Arthur continued. "You must be mad enough to do the things they won't do. To change their beliefs and make them see a whole new world before their eyes. If they see you do the unthinkable, the unimaginable… Then they will believe in you."

Jon Stark was at a loss for words. He didn't really know what to say at that moment. It was as if he'd been robbed of his tongue, and a massive weight had befallen his mind.

"Do you understand?"

Jon only managed to nod his head.

How small the world really was outside of his office in Queenscrown. Small indeed. When one had spoken of not the world itself, but of the many worlds that the mind had beheld, the sea before him felt tiny and insignificant.

"Good." Arthur nodded. He looked back out to see. "Because there's no other-" His voice died midspeech.

Jon looked back up to see what had bothered Arthur. He saw those purple eyes latched onto something much further away, out to sea. Jon followed his eyes and got a glance at two approaching figures in the far distance, coming around the bend of the nearest island to their right. They must have been covered by the rocks. Both had black sails with no sigils.

Pirates.

"Starside! Two ships coming right for us!" One of the wildlings had bellowed loudly, spotting the ships at the same time.

Jon had stood up and looked back at his uncle. Arthur looked at him. "Stay with me." His previously warm voice had changed. Now it was an order. Cold and iron.

"Get on those catapults! Now!" Starag's voice suddenly thundered throughout the rest of the ship. Men who had been below decks had climbed the ladder and quickly filled the top deck. Armed with bows, spears, and swords. Others had begun loading the catapults or holding onto the ballistae.

Thankful that he'd already had Wolf Queen buckled to his belt, Jon had readied himself mentally as best he could for the coming battle. He stuck by Arthur's side as he went about ordering the crew to their stations and helped haul in rope and load the catapults.

Inwardly, his heart pounded and thundered again and again. It was damn near thumping against his ribs. Adrenaline had instantly woken him up, putting him on high alert.

The two ships had separated and had begun making their way towards them. Though they were not as fast as the Serpent, they were heading right for them while the Serpent had yet to change course.

"Can we outrun them?" Arthur asked over the chorus of voices on deck.

Starag shook his head. "Not with this bloody wind! We wouldn't be able to leave the bay without running into them!" He pointed to their oncoming opposition. "They'll expect us to run! Sink the smaller one first before it gets to us! It'll try to run circles around us and pick us off!"

"On it!" Arthur nodded. "Come on, Jon." He said stolidly.

Jon followed his uncle across the top deck and over to the loaded catapults. "On my mark, give them hell!" Arthur roared.

The two different ships respectively were a schooner and a frigate. The difference in size was plain as day, with the frigate likely being much longer than even the Waking Serpent itself.

With the wind rushing towards the Serpent, it was unlikely they'd make it past these two ships. Likewise, it seemed that the frigate was still turning. It lagged behind while the schooner was further ahead, trailing along with the wind up to the back of the Serpent.

Jon had to grip onto the nearby railing so he wouldn't be thrown from his position. The Serpent lurched to the side, turning right so that they would have better aim at the much smaller ship heading for their rear.

Soon enough, it had come into view. The full length of the top deck was angled against the schooner, which had likely expected them to continue sailing towards the frigate or out of the bay itself.

"Steady…" All voices quieted down as the ship slowly got a better angle on the schooner. "Steady…" Arthur repeated himself.

Jon watched as the schooner itself seemed to slow down in reaction to their turn. Whoever was manning it was likely more than surprised by what was going on. They'd probably thought the Serpent was a merchant ship, not a vessel crewed by hardened warriors.

"Now!"

All nine catapults on the right side of the deck had let loose. Incredibly large and heavy stones had sailed across the sky, making their way across the bay. Some had landed in the water, but others had struck right home.

Jon watched as one of the sails on the schooner had been torn asunder. He squinted his eyes and smiled as he watched as there was now a large gaping hole inside the lower wooden hull.

"Load!" Arthur was not content with the early victory, however. He wanted that schooner sinking to the bottom of the sea.

Jon helped two others heave another stone into the iron slot of the catapult. It was unimaginably heavy, and damn near strained the muscles in his arms and legs.

"Steady!" Arthur said once all the catapults were loaded. "Steady!"

It was too late for the schooner, however. They were more or less stuck right where they were. They even looked to be sinking into the waves already.

"Now!"

More rocks had sailed through the air, more of them finding their target while the others had landed in the sea. Even over the loud winds and the voices of the crew, Jon could hear the cracking and splintering of wood from across the bay.

One stone had directly hit the top portion of their mast, snapping it off from the ship. Meanwhile, other stones had hit directly into the hull or the top deck itself. Soon enough, the schooner was riddled with holes and was sinking further beneath the waves.

"Load! We're not out of this yet!" Arthur ordered. Once more, Jon helped with the loading of the catapults. This time, his arms felt as if they were on fire.

The frigate had already finished turning towards them and was speeding along with the wind as it came up to where they'd been only minutes prior. Unlike the schooner, it seemed the frigate also had a few catapults of its own.

"Ballistae!" Arthur pointed to the frigate sailing towards them. "I want to see all those bastards knocked into the sea! Do you understand?!" He ordered, then turned back to the other men on deck with bows and spears at the ready. "Archers! Knock!"

Starag had quickly turned the ship so that they were now angling away frigate and catching some wind at the same time. The Serpent's speed had begun to pick up slowly.

"Hold!" Arthur said as they sliced through the water and got closer to the frigate. "Hold!"

The tip of the frigate was perhaps sixty yards away from them now. Jon could imagine seeing the roaring crew of pirates themselves, cheering and clawing at the chance to board.

"Loose!" Arthur roared as the top deck of the frigate came into sight. Now it seemed as if the Serpent was turning towards it!

Just then as the rain of arrows fired from the bowmen, it seemed as if the arrows themselves had come right back at them. Iron-tipped arrows hailed down on the crew of the Waking Serpent, landing home in men left and right.

Something had hissed past Jon's ear. He'd felt the sharp wind and knew immediately that it had been an arrow.

One of the other men loading the catapult with him earlier had taken an arrow to the chest. Jon watched in horror as the man fell back screaming as he gripped the wooden shaft branching from his breast. "Agh!" The man cried. Gods, there was blood everywhere!

"Loose!" Arthur's voice echoed again in the back of Jon's mind. Everything seemed to slow down, but he didn't know why. Was it because of the river of red ichor that seeped from the man's chest? Was it that he wasn't breathing anymore? Why?

"Arm yourselves!" Starag's voice had thundered across the top deck of the Serpent again, breaking Jon from his misty thoughts. "Prepare to ram!"

Jon barely had time to find a grip before a great heaving CRASH had boomed into the depths of his mind. He pawed at his ears. Why were they ringing? Why wouldn't they stop?

Thankfully they did, and what Jon heard next was the cheering and screaming of men. The clashing of sword against sword, of an axe thudding into a man's chest, or a spear being thrust into his belly.

Jon Stark stood up and felt his heart heave against the bone and lung in his chest. He drew his sword as he saw wildlings and Mormont men-at-arms begin to climb the hull of the reeling frigate.

The Waking Serpent and the pirate frigate were not sitting side by side, but judging by the damage, it seemed as if Starag had rammed right into the frigate's side at the last moment, causing a great dent in the hull of the other ship.

The difference in size was also plain to see. Why Starag had rammed a much larger ship, Jon didn't really know. Only that now, it didn't matter. It was time to fight for their lives.

"Let's show these bastards how we do things in the North!" Starag had drawn Longclaw. The crew had cheered along with him, even the wildlings, who had raised their axes and spears. Jon nearly smiled at how much of a pirate himself Starag looked, what with his one eye and large black beard.

They climbed the hull of the frigate easily. There were plenty of notches and holes with which Jon could catch his grip. Still, he was not used to climbing, and his arms soon began to burn while sweat poured down his face.

With one last heave, he'd found the ramp leading up and over onto the top deck. He climbed over and drew his sword, knowing he didn't have time to rest.

The clashing of swords was all he heard in the furious roar of the battle. He didn't have time to look around as a ragged-looking man who had missing teeth raised his sword and charged at him.

Jon Stark was not prepared for just how sudden it was. He instinctively assumed the stance taught to him by Arthur and stepped backward, avoiding the older man's lunge. He deflected the blade but was soon surprised again by how fast his enemy had followed up with another poorly aimed strike.

This time instinct had completely taken over reason. This man was trying to kill him. The raging war of his senses melded into one as he parried the strike and countered with a quick overhead cut aimed at the man's chest.

Jon Stark watched as the angry light left the other man's pearly grey eyes. Wolf Queen sunk into his flesh like a meat knife, cutting through his breast and up through his shoulder.

He fell to the wooden floor. Dead.

But Jon did not have time to ruminate about the fresh blood that coated his blade. Another pirate had soon replaced his dead comrade, this time with a longsword. He swung down towards Jon with a quickness that told him he was at least trained with the weapon.

Jon didn't even think of the man's face. He simply redirected the blade and the momentum behind it away from him. Then he followed up with a sharp jab towards the other man's belly.

Wolf Queen bit through his clothing and sunk into the flesh with a disturbing thwin! Almost as if it were a needle finally piercing a thick piece of clothing. The other man screamed so unnaturally, that it was like a guttural howl. It was pure horror to Jon's ears.

The pirate soon dropped to the ground, his longsword clattering away. Now they were no longer enemies. Now, the other man was just groping at the hole in his stomach with a look of absolute terror.

Jon had to force himself to look away from the pathetic picture. None of this was anything like he'd expected. Not a single bit of it. He'd already killed a man, and soon another was on the way.

"Hah!" He heard a laughing voice from the other side of the deck. Jon looked away from the bleeding man to see another, much taller man march towards him with an axe. This one was Skagosi. Jon knew the look well enough. That, and he was grinning madly.

Jon moved into a more open space. He wouldn't be caught dead in a tight space with little area to move in. Especially up against someone with a large axe.

He threw the first swing, taking control of the exchange of blows. Unfortunately, Wolf Queen glanced off the steel shaft of the larger man's axe, making Jon shift back as the pirate swung widely. He just narrowly missed the bloody edge of the greataxe.

Jon ducked to the side as the Skagosi had brought his axe down again, lunging forward. This time, the axe landed on the wooden railing of the ship. Jon took the opportunity to make a wide cut on the man's legs. Soon enough, his breeches had turned wet with blood.

"Argh!" The Skagosi hissed angrily. He sharply dislodged the axe from the wood and swung it widely once more. It was easy enough for Jon to maneuver out of, considering his size, speed, and the wound in the other man's leg. He made another overhead strike at the man's neck, but this too was blocked with the shaft of the greataxe.

Jon would have followed through with another lunge, but suddenly everything had turned spotty as his head was thrown back and a sharp pain had begun to pound into his head. As he staggered backward, he felt hot blood begin to seep down from his nose and onto his chin.

The end of the greataxe was covered in blood. His blood. The Skagosi must've used it to uppercut him while he had the chance.

The world was spinning for Jon Stark. Everything around him had twisted and turned. It seemed for a moment that everything was upside-down. Was it the swords wielding the men? Or was it the other way around?

He attempted to recover his form, but the Skagosi was furious now. He swung his axe again at Jon, and this time the fifteen-year-old just narrowly avoided the deadly edge by leaning back a hair's breadth.

Jon lunged, still dazed out of his mind from the uppercut blow. It felt like lava was pouring out of his bloodied nostrils. He managed to cut the other man's side, probably through his kidney. Suddenly, the axe fell to the floor, but the man's hands had come for him.

Jon was knocked clean off his feet and onto the ground. Wolf Queen had left his palm, and now the Skagosi was on top of him, gripping him hard by his shoulders, his hands reaching for Jon's throat.

With blurry vision, Jon tried to pull away the man's hands. But they were latched onto him like iron chains. He tried to pull them away as they gripped around his throat and squeezed tightly.

All the air in Jon's body had left him then. His throat seemed to compress and crush, making it impossible to breathe. He finally blinked clearly, feeling tears roll down his eyes as he searched for breath. He watched as the Skagosi's grin disappeared, turning into furious outrage.

Outrage at what? That he'd nearly been beaten by a fifteen-year-old boy? By one damn near half his size? Jon didn't know, but he tried to rip away the man's hands from his throat. If anything the fingers seemed to grip tighter.

The briefest of images played out in Jon Stark's mind just before he was about to lose consciousness and fall into the sweet warm embrace of death itself. The knife! On his belt, he still had his dagger.

Instantly, he reached down with his hand and found the handle of his dagger. Sharply, he drew it and brought it up and around the Skagosi's huge arm, driving it deep into his neck.

The pressure squeezing his neck had suddenly stopped. Jon felt as if he were a man reborn as breath re-entered his lungs. The Skagosi watched his hand, absolutely confused as to why there was now a large knife in his neck. That was when blood, in fresh red torrents, had rippled from the open wound.

The Skagosi fell over, choking on the steel blade inside his neck. Soon enough, the light had gone out in his eyes forever.

Jon Stark had soon begun to feel his head pound and pound again. His vision had turned black and blurry, and all he could hear now was the infectious laughter of a girl who lived so far away and the drowning out of voices all around him.

He fell back to the wooden floorboards of the ship and let the darkness take him away.