Brice
"So, how pissed is he?"
Phineas looked up from the latest project he was working on; using some rare metal that actually stuck to other metal. He was apparently trying to create a new type of restraint. No lock, no key, once you locked the damn thing it stayed locked. None of the boys quite got what he was working on or why he did it but if it made him happy and more importantly kept him from flapping his lips then they let him be. The heavy set man was currently wearing a heavy leather coat, gloves, and a smooth metal mask with a simple pane of glass over the eye slots as he took a small quill-like copper object and touched it to the black square of metal he was working on. There was a brief spark from the end and the air filled with the smell of melting metal briefly.
"Well, he ordered men to come and grab him as soon as you showed up and yank him away from the party."
"So pissed," Brice muttered as he rubbed his head with a towel; he'd gotten back to the Dragonpit an hour ago and made straight for his quarters, heating up several buckets of water so he could wash the sweat and dust off of him. Now he was standing there bare-chested, water droplets running down his stomach as he toweled himself off. The rest of the gang were lounging about, quietly eating or just staring out at the Dragonpit. None of the normal sounds that one found in their camps could be heard. No good natured ribbing, no clamor about this joke or that, no snarls of frustration when one lost a game of dice or cards… just quiet chewing and breathing. They sensed too that something was about to go down.
"It was a party where he had to deal with Mace Tyrell," Hurmin informed him as he walked by, carrying a few swords.
"Fuck."
"Yeah, fuck," Phineas said before looking back down at his project. "Only have yourself to blame for this."
"Oh fuck off, you fat little cunt," Brice said in frustration. "And fuck Adrian too! Let him be pissed off! At least I'm trying to bring in some actual coin! We keep getting goods but have you seen anything in your pockets?" He turned and began to point at others. "Or you? Or you?"
"Adrian brings us food, weapons, and paid for whores for those of you who can't control yourselves," Phineas said, not looking up from the metal he was attacking again with that stupid copper-and-sunstone quill. "I didn't see you bring back anything-"
Brice leapt forward, grabbing Phineas' shirt and forcing the fat inventor to actually look at him. "I'm not in the mood for your snide little comments. I just got my ass handed to me-"
"And whose fault is that?"
The mercenary shut his eyes and slowly let his fingers twitch open, Phineas falling back onto his chair and nervously reaching up to finger the remaining links of what would have been his maester's chain that he always kept around his neck, the hemp rope that held them twisting as he worried it. Brice didn't show any outward signs of concern, having learned long ago that if one gave away how scared or startled or worried they were it would only feed into their foe's determination.
'And there's no doubt about it… Adrian is right now a foe.'
"See, I remember this one tourney… no." Brice turned to find Adrian still dressed in his nicest clothes, clean doublet and wrinkle-free cloak and freshly oiled boots, a smile that was anything but kind gracing his lips as he tapped his index finger against his lips. "That isn't fair. It wasn't 'just a tourney'. Harrenhal. Yeah. That tourney. The largest tourney in a generation… two generations! The beginning of the fucking end for the Dragons, though none of us knew that at the time. Especially not me… that was when I was still trying to get the attention of some knight that would take me on, even if I was too old to be a squire at that point. I didn't care about that… I was pinning my hopes on doing well and getting knighted for my valor or at least making a name for myself. Dreams seemed to come to life there. Where a boy like me was able to drink in the same room as royalty and later that night bed a maiden with purple eyes. That… that was some tournament. The Lannisters will try and rival it with this wedding but they won't. I don't think anything can ever rival that. The day Rhaegar Targeryn fucked everything up.
"But before that, before Lyanna Stark was made the Queen of Love and Beauty and I came in third in the axe throwing and the Knight of the Laughing Tree beat those knights and Aerys showing up looking like someone the Stranger had forgotten to pick up and even Jaime Lannister getting knighted… before that I got to listen to Arthur fucking Dayne speak. The Sword of the Morning. I got to see Dawn, boys. Dawn. There are… there are many things I will hold until my dying day and seeing that sword will be one of them."
Adrian had begun to pace the room, everyone focused on him. Brice had to admit that the man knew how to get everyone to pay attention to him. It was so odd because the nobleborn always ignored him, forgot he existed, but those that lived on the streets, that really mattered? They heard him and saw him and knew him to be a real leader. Even Brice himself was unable to draw himself away from the power of the man's voice.
"He was telling us about the Smiling Knight and how he defeated him. Told us how so many other lords made all these complex plans… deranged things, really, when he heard about them. Especially after the fact. Search patterns and elaborate traps and multi-step plans that would take months to set up and hinged on everything falling into place. But Ser Arthur… he just went to the smallfolk and asked for their help. He showed them a touch of human decency and they were happy to assist him. And I'll never forget the moral of that story: keep it simple."
He held out his arms, turning towards the rest of the boys. "Keep it simple. I mean it sounds… simple itself, doesn't it? Keep the plan as simple as you can, minimize your risks, and you'll get what you want. Might take longer, might not be as flashy, but it gets it done. Tonight we took out a Tyrell shipment and in a few weeks we are going to be flush with cash. And while we wait the other cargo we already shipped off to be sold will begin sending back dragons. Things are going as planned. We've had to be careful, and smart… but its going to pay off."
At that point Adrian turned and glared at Brice, no one at all surprised by the glower. They'd known it was coming, that this was just a show. There had never been any doubt in that. The old man loved many things and hated many things. He loved discovering new things, which was why him and Phineas always got along so well. He loved to fly… at times he'd donned those wings of his just to hover in the air. He loved sticking it to the Tyrells, savoring each small victory against them like most men savored bedding a whore who still had her maiden's head. He hated the lords of Highgarden and how they had done him wrong. Hated septons that preached false faith while ignoring the Smallfolk. Hated maesters that hogged knowledge all to themselves.
But what he loved most in the world was plans… and he hated those that couldn't stick with plans.
'No, not any plan… HIS plans.'
"What was the one thing I told you all before we arrived in this city?" He walked towards Brice, his leathery skin creased with frustration. "Keep. It. Quiet. Right now the city is filled with chaos because of the wedding so we can get away with a lot of stuff. Things get lost in the confusion, more important problems keep cropping up to distract the Red Keep. And that lets us do our thing, make our money, and hurt the Tyrells. And most of all it keeps us safe."
"I'm safe," Brice argued.
"Oh? And where are the rest of the boys that you took with you?" Brice shifted at that, not saying a word, and Adrian scoffed before turning away. Though he couldn't see his boss rolling his eyes Brice knew Adrian was doing exactly that. And it aggravated him because it made him feel like a child again dealing with his father who was forever mocking him and his dreams to get out of his nameless little village and actually make something for himself. "That's what I thought."
"It was a good plan," Brice argued. "No different than what you pulled."
"I didn't bring a building down in the middle of King's Fucking Landing!" Adrian roared in frustration. He gripped his head in his hands, like he was trying desperately to keep his skull from splitting open and letting his befuddled brain spill out. "They are already talking about it, you know that? I heard about it as I was leaving the party. I'm sure the Small Council is already making excuses to meet away from prying eyes to figure out what to do about this!" Adrian turned and Brice was too slow to wipe the smirk off his lips at the thought that the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms were discussing him. "Oh? You think this is funny? Something to be proud of? You are bringing attention to us! We go out and make a big score while you, without permission, are running around doing whatever you want. Calling yourself 'The Shocker'-"
"I didn't actually call myself that," Brice pointed out in the face of the derision Adrian was sending his way.
"And maybe I could have forgiven that… maybe… if you actually had anything to show for it! But no… not only did you not bring back anything you came back with less! Our crew… you left them behind!"
"They won't talk. I saw to that."
"That's so much better," Adrian said snidely and Brice was really growing tired of the man's attitude. "Viggo, Hector, and Bryan are dead. That leaves us down three. And it's not like we can just recruit easily from Flea Bottom. We need people we can trust… and at this point I can't even trust you."
"I got attacked," Brice argued. "I'd have liked to see you handle them."
"I wouldn't have needed to because I wouldn't have made a move inside King's Landing." Adrian shook his head before suddenly snapping his head up, eyes widening slightly. "Attacked? By who?"
"Spiders."
"Spiders."
Brice let out a groan of frustration. "Not real spiders. Spider… people. Spider men and a Spider woman. Clung to walls, dodged my blasts, fired out webbing… you can't blame me for that."
"I can blame you for being an idiot though," Adrian snapped. "You're grounded."
"What?" Brice asked with a laugh, trying to comprehend what Adrian had just said. Tried to do to him.
"You heard me. You aren't to leave here. You aren't going out on missions. And when I do finally decide that you've earned back the right to do a job I'm going to keep you real close. Make sure you don't do anything stupid."
"You think I'm some kind of child?" Brice asked incredulously.
"Well you certainly aren't acting like an adult. Now get on out of here."
Brice found it was his turn now to roll his eyes. "Whatever old man."
When he moved to get past Adrian though the Reacher grabbed his arm in his bony grip. "Hey. I know you don't give a shit about anything, but I do. I can't be like you, only caring about myself. I got people I need to look after. And that includes you."
"You know," Brice said, wrenching himself out of other man's grasp, "I don't need this. You hired me to help you get to that damn cave. And I stuck around because you kept paying me. But that didn't make you my liege lord or any shit like that. You pay me… you pay all of us. That is the ONLY reason any of us stick around. Not because we like you or anything."
"I like him," Phineas said.
"Fuck off!" Brice snarled.
"Hey!" Adrian snapped, getting back in his face. "Don't talk to him like that."
"I'll talk to him however I want."
One of the other men, a miner they'd picked up in the Red Mountains named Mytchall, stood up. "I like the boss too." The large man, who most had stayed quiet the entire time Brice had known him, squared his shoulders and declared, "I've worked for a lot of people… Adrian's the first one to actually respect me. Make sure I got a fair shake."
"Same," another called out.
"Fuck yeah!"
"Maybe let us visit the whores a bit more-" that earned a laugh from the group, "-but hell when this is done it will be nice to have coin in my pocket for once!"
Adrian smiled as he thrust his arms out, basking in the praise the rest of the group heaped on him. Brice, meanwhile, seethed at the stupid sheep who couldn't understand how Adrian was choking them and their ambitions all in the name of his desperate need for a 'plan'. Everything in the man's life had to be part of a plan; either one he had created or one others had created against him.
'He's a deluded fool who thinks the world is out to get him… yet he judges me?!' Brice looked about for someone, anyone, to have a lick of sense but all the other men were cheering Adrian on.
"Fine… fine… you all sit here like good little puppies and do what he says. But I'm not a part of your crew, I never swore an oath to you, so I'm leaving." He lifted up his hand, the Shocker gauntlet still on it. "Unless you want to stop me."
"No… no no no," Adrian said pleasantly. "You're right." He walked over but when Brice jabbed the gauntlets at him Adrian held up his hands in a calm down gesture. "Hey… no need for that. I said you were right. You don't owe me any loyalty. Never had. Not to me… not to any of us."
"Damn right. So I'm leaving."
"That's right. You're right. Because you have nothing tying you to us." Reaching out he carefully patted Brice on the shoulder. "I'm sorry if I ever made you think I wouldn't let you leave. And I'll miss having you part of the team."
Brice, still leery, began to slowly back away from Adrian. "No shoving me into some dark pit?"
"Nah," Adrian said as Brice continued to move towards the exit. "We've been through far too much! All of us! You, me, Hermun, Phineas, Mytchell, Little Brick, Big Brick, Howwy… all of us! You were with us from the beginning… helped us pull off so many robberies. Take so much from the Tyrells… and I suppose the Lannisters as well. The Crown. When I think of all you've been a part of… all you know…" He shook his head. "But still, I wish you all the best. You and I will never agree… I'm sure you already are coming up with ways to make money. You're a smart man, with all sorts of knowledge… and willing to take risks to help only yourself-"
Brice fell to his knees as Mytchell struck him with a cudgel, making the back of his head throb.
But that wasn't the only blow. Suddenly all the men were on him, kicking and punching him. He tried to fire off the gauntlet but Hermun ripped them off his hands, stomping on his fingers and breaking at least one of them while the others worked him over. Shouts of "Traitor!" and "Bastard!" filled the air as the crew laid into him, taking him apart. His forehead smacked against the stone floor and he felt hot blood gush down into his eyes while at the same moment someone took a crowbar to his kneecap, shattering it. Brice screamed in pain and thrashed, catching several people with his blows but there were simply too many people and they'd caught him off guard and been able to drive him to the ground, leaving him in a position where there was simply no hope of fighting back.
Finally two strong sets of hands grabbed him under his arms and hauled him up, another hand threading through his hair and forcing him to look up as Adrian walked over to him, looking at him with a bemused look in his eye.
"Huh… guess when you're loyal to only yourself the only person loyal to you is… well, you know." He crotched down and considered Brice, who tried to spit a bloody wad at him but it instead pittered out pitifully across his lips. "The question is now… what should we do with you? Boys?"
"Needs to suffer, the fucking traitor," Little Brick declared. "Cut off his hands and his tongue so he can't tell anyone about us and then toss him out into Flea Bottom."
"Take his eyes too!"
"Let's sell him to slavers," Hermun suggested, slipping on the Shocker gauntlets. "Plenty of people in Lys who would love to fuck a big strong man that fights back. We could claim he's a lord's son. Wash him up nice and good, dress him in some fine clothes…"
"Just keep hitting him in the head till his brains are scrambled," Big Brick declared.
Phineas rubbed his chin. "I need to test some things out… can only learn so much from rats."
"FUCK ALL OF YOU!" Brice bellowed.
Adrian smiled and reached out, patting Brice's cheek. "Now now, none of that. I'm not a cruel man. They might be but I'm not." He looked to his side. "You're lucky I'm a good boss."
Brice saw a glimmer in the dark and he had just enough time to realize Adrian had pulled out a dagger before his jaw exploded in pain and blood gushed down his throat before the blade drove itself right into his bra-
Jon
"This feels weird," Jon muttered to himself as he stood in the Red Keep's training yard, watching a young man take a blade to a training dummy. He couldn't help but think back to another feast, another courtyard. 'Another life.'
While there were similarities there were also so many glaring differences. A different castle, for one. A different king. When he'd left the feast to get a bit of fresh air Joffrey had been bickering with his mother about… something, Jon honestly hadn't been paying attention. But he doubted that Joffrey would be dragging serving women onto his lap and fondling their tits as Robert had at Winterfell. The blond shit was more likely to take a hot knife to those nipples than to tweak them with his fingers. Back then he'd been the Bastard of Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark's sole stain, driven from the hall because of frustration and drunkenness. Now he was Jon Stark, Heir to Iron Pointe, Ward of Antony Stark, secretly Jaehaerys Targeryen, Third of his name, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and also just as secretly the Centurion. And he'd been driven from the feast this time because the Queen of Thorns had informed him that Tywin Fucking Lannister wanted to arrange a marriage between Joffrey's future children and Jon's own.
'…fuck,' he thought to himself as he watched the boy in the training yard go through his swings.
That was the other difference. Before it had been him working over the training dummy but now he found himself in Antony role, watching as another youth worked through his problems with a blade. Because it was the clear the boy was dealing with something.
"Couldn't take being in there anymore?" a man asked him, it being only Jon's iron will that kept him from jumping at the sudden new arrival. "On your left," the man said as he joined Jon.
"Was going too long," Jon said, forcing himself to keep his tone light. By all how he hated this city and the need to hide everything he thought and play the dance of words. "In the North our feasts would only be a fraction of the time this one is."
"Part of the reason I'm glad I wasn't invited," the new arrival said, Jon finally glancing over at him.
The first thing he noticed, to his own shame, was the man's dark skin. Rhodey had shown him that one couldn't judge a man by how he looked, for there was no warrior in the Seven Kingdoms as knowledgeable as him in Jon's opinion, and yet there he was noticing first the man's dark skin. He was lean and thin but that didn't mean he was a weakling, for Jon could tell at once that the man was a fighter. He held himself like someone that knew how to fight and how to win. His hair was cut very short, not as short as Rhodey's who was nearly bald but still rather short all the same; even his beard was tight to his face. He wore an ivory shirt that was cut low, nearly exposing his bellybutton, and dark trousers with a cloak of red feathers draped over his shoulders. At his hip was intricate blade that Jon knew some in the Summer Isles favored.
"I wish I hadn't been," Jon admitted. "I never saw the purpose of such feasts, even when the maester tried to explain them to me and their importance. Yes yes, its all about being able to talk to people in a casual setting and work out deals before you actually move to the solar or the throne room but I just always saw it as a waste of time. If there is work to get done then do the work. And I'd much rather spend time with people I actually want to be with-"
"Than with people who you must constantly pretend and scheme against?"
"Exactly."
"Hmmm… you'd have never survived the Summer Isles. There such things are like water."
"I wouldn't have survived because I'm of the North," Jon retorted. "Starks don't do well South of the Neck."
"That is true too, I suppose." After a few moments, which were only punctuated by the sound of the young man in the training yard grunting as he slashed at another target, the Summer Islander held out his hand. "Isamalwi Iso Malsosla." Jon shook the other man's hand, who seemed amused by that for some reason. "But I don't expect you to be able to say any of that so call me Sam."
"Jon Stark. Which is about as easy of a name to remember as any. Though… maybe not for you?"
"No. Even in the Summer Isles that name is rather plain. No offense."
"None taken."
"So got tired dealing with the backstabbing and the words hidden within words?" Sam asked him.
Jon nodded. "Like I said… things are easier in the North." He frowned though at that, thinking of the lies his fat… that the Lord of Winterfell had told in order to protect him. And the stories Tony had told of his father, of how he had constantly played games with the lives of his son and heir, just as he played games with everyone else. "Or perhaps I was just too young and foolish to see that they played the games to and I was merely not yet a part of them."
"You're making me feel like Pycelle, claiming YOU'RE old," Sam groused. Jon chuckled at that and the other man quickly joined him.
"Why didn't you want to come to the feast?" Jon finally asked.
"I wasn't in the mood to be yet another decoration that the king trots out to show people how worldly he is. Jalabhar might not have a problem doing that, seeing as he has to play the game if he has any hope of ever taking back his power in the Summer Isles, but I'm just a simple soldier and that means I don't actually have to deal with stuff like that."
"I get that," Jon said.
"Really?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "You look like everyone else here. I stand out like an infected thumb if I walk around. You really think you understand?"
"My father is the Warden of the West. I am the Bastard of Winterfell. And now my father has declared himself King and I am here with his sworn enemies."
"…yeah, I guess you know what its like to be the center of attention." Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Can I ask you something? And so help me if you say, "You just did" I'll strip you down and throw you into Flea Bottom." Jon let out a huffing laugh at that and motioned for Sam to speak. "Most people in King's Landing… they aren't interested in actually talking to me unless they want something. You Westerosi don't mind it if me and my people are working on the docks to bring in exotic goods or around in the background to make things a bit more colorful but it is rare for you to actually show us a bit of respect. Especially someone from the North… so why talk with me?"
"At Iron Pointe there is knight, Ser Jaime Rhodes. Rhodey. His family hailed from the Summer Isles but he grew up in Braavos. He taught me a lot and he is one of the greatest warriors I've ever met."
"You're not going to ask if I know him just because we both have dark skin, right?"
Jon quickly waved off Sam's question. "No! No no no! No."
"Relax, it was just a jape," Sam said, giving Jon a smack on the shoulder, playful and the like. "But this Rhodes, he showed you that?"
"Just one of many. Iron Pointe has a lot of people in it… kind of like King's Landing, from what I hear. Only Tony doesn't care what you look like all he cares about is what you can do. If you have talent then what does it matter if you are black or white or blue?"
"To most people… a lot."
He nodded at that, seeing the man's point. He knew what it was like to do so much, work so hard to prove yourself… and people still judged you on something that couldn't be controlled. They had both been born as they were but there were people in the world who thought that somehow that made them… inferior. That a Summer Islander could never have knowledge and was little more than an exotic curiosity. That a bastard could never help but be a grasping, greedy thing.
"Hmmm."
"What?" Sam asked.
"Just a thought… we both have been doomed because of others. For you it is the Prince… he has no problem playing the game of being a lay about who begs for help and does little to actually prove why others should follow him. And I have the Blackfyres."
Sam grimaced at that. "Yes… yes I can see that point rather well."
"Can I ask why you left the Summer Isles?" Jon asked. "Why come to Westeros?"
"You're not going to claim that it was the greatest place to visit? That all long to come here?"
"I'm no fool," Jon said with a shake of his head. Looking out he saw the boy training in the yard stop and look at the mess he'd made of the straw dummy before going over to collect another sack of straw to make another one. "Westeros is great only because we are a continent that has a single ruler, preventing the many wars that forever pop up in the Free Cities. But I have heard there are wonders in the Summer Isles… and Yi Ti and Asshai. Amazements and thrills of all sorts that make Westeros look like a village made of straw and mud. Oh, we have our gems… the Wall, for one."
"I have heard Iron Pointe is rather amazing. The greatest minds when it comes to invention and crafting all gathering to make a city like no other."
"Well, I didn't want to say it and come off as a braggart," Jon said with a shrug.
"Ah, but you Westerosi do that so well. "We are better knights!" "Our castles our bigger!" "We finish faster with our women!" Brag, brag, brag."
"I won't brag about the last one," Jon said, his mind pulling up the time he and Natasha had lived in that isolated house outside of Iron Pointe. The days where she had lured him away from patrolling and fighting bandits by convincing him it would be a FAR better use of his time to spend hours pleasuring her. She was trained in all forms of combat… and said love making as just another form of battle. She had shown him how to prolong his release, to make their joining last hours, until when he finally did spill his seed it was so thunderous it left them both little more than boneless puddles.
'Damn it all, I keep thinking like that and I won't be able to do anything but forgive her!' he thought to himself, shifting as he hoped that the dimly lit courtyard was dark enough to prevent Sam from seeing the bulge in his pants as he thought of one particular time Natasha had shown him what she could do with freshly made cream-
"As for why I came to Westeros?" Sam said, looking up at the stars. Jon glance up as well, the sky so clear he could easily make out the Ice Dragon with its blue star eye racing North to the Lands of Always Winter. "Others came because they believed in the Prince and wanted to help him reclaim all he had lost. Me… I know he would fail."
"Then why-"
"Because if I stayed I knew I'd be dragged into yet another war. Another feud. Another meaningless battle." He tensed, jaw set hard. "People think the Summer Isles are a paradise where the fruit is always sweet, the sun always shines, and all a man does is sit on the beach while raising fat children and watching his orchards grow. But it isn't… we fight just the same as all of you. There are more than fifty islands currently but there exists at least a hundred more and always one prince or another wishes to gain more strength than his rivals by claiming another island. I have… I have fought in many wars, Jon. Seen good friends die for a spit of land that will be forgotten about as soon as the next one is discovered. I simply couldn't take it anymore. But it would be seen as dishonorable to flee; while we are a people that believe in love and life we also do have a warrior culture that is strong. And what would I do with myself? I am a fighter and that meant siding with another prince for another war."
"But here there were no more wars. At least ones you'd be asked to fight," Jon said.
Sam smiled. "Exactly. I knew Robert Baratheon would never aid the Prince and Joffrey is far less likely. Here I am able to simply hone my skills, making my coin by training others." He nodded towards the boy attacking the target. "Him, for example. He is the son of a Goldcloak who died and the Lord Hand has taken interest in helping him and a few others. It would be unseemly though to have him trained by the King's master at arms… but me? That is better for him than any other he could have yet no disgrace against the king for me "wasting my time"."
"Clever," Jon said.
"Yes, though there is little to fear. The King cares nothing of learning the arts of war. The only weapon he likes is his crossbow, despite his lineage meaning he should be quite skilled in a melee."
'Indeed,' Jon thought, thinking not of Robert Baratheon but of his true father, the Kingslayer. "What style do you use?" Jon asked.
Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "Style?"
"I normally use Ice Gale but I've gotten training in War Machine and The Ribbon." He didn't mention that he and Natasha had worked out a whole new fighting style for Jon, a combination of the quick Ice Gale strikes along with the situational awareness of The Ribbon. The Wild Hunt, as Nat had taken to calling it, after a Northern myth of the ghosts and demons working together to stalk the darkest winter nights.
"Oh, now that is interesting." Sam stepped forward and clapped his hands, getting the boy in the yard's attention. "Enough for now… you're getting a rare treat of a demonstration." Sam walked over and selected a wooden training sword, tossing it to Jon who caught it easily. "Three hits for the win?"
"Two hits more than your opponent," Jon stated, testing the balance of the sword. It was heavier than Shadowfang and it had been a while since he'd used a wooden sword but he knew he'd pick it back up.
"Even better." Sam, to Jon's surprise, selected two short swords and fell into a wide stance, his arms held outstretched with one sword out at the ready towards Jon while the other he pointed away from his own body. "Count us off!"
The boy cried out, "3! 2! 1!" and the two were on each other.
Before his training under Rhodey and Natasha there would have simply been no way for Jon to ever win the fight against Sam. The man was the whirlwind given flesh, constantly moving, striking at Jon from so many different angles that he felt like he was fighting three men at once. He constantly spun and twirled like a maiden wheeling about the floor at some grand ball, wanting to make the ribbons tied in her hair swirl about. Every movement though had a purpose, designed to strike at Jon and land blows. More shocking was the fact that the man's feathered cape wasn't merely decoration but had a use in battle; name distraction. It dragged his eye towards it and away from Sam's body, meaning that blows would go towards it and the empty air rather than his opponent.
But that all didn't mean that Jon was defenseless.
The Wild Hunt was all about using not just your blade but everything around you as a weapon. It had helped him as the Centerion, for Jon understood that a blast made at the right target could set off a chain reaction that would take out a superior number of foes. It had also saved Oberyn Martell's paramour during the Battle of the Blue Oyster, for it had allowed him to see that cherub with the huge cock and use it as a weapon. It also forced him to constantly scan the battle field, seeking out friend and foe, though that was of little importance in this spare other than the fact that it allowed him to be drawn in by Sam's cloak but still know where the man was.
The cracking of their swords pounding against each other filled the air, echoing in the dark along with their footfalls and heavy breathing. They moved about the entire training yard, at times Jon nearly running to keep up with Sam while other times he drew the other man into a merry chase as he lead him from one spot to another; each move though served a purpose. One time he kicked at an archery target and tripped Sam up. Another time he got close enough to a straw dummy that he was able to pierce its head with the tip of his wooden sword and then fling it right at Sam. The Summer Islander reacted without thinking, slashing the head apart only to blanket himself with straw and saw dust, making him cough and forcing him to play defense.
Finally after nearly 20 minutes the two of them were leaning on their swords and swallowing mouthfuls of air, hearts racing while Jon's fine outfit had been utterly ruined. There was no way he could return to the feast now; at least in what he was wearing. It would only lead to japes and insults if he returned with a sweat-soaked doublet. No, he'd need to change.
'Something completely different. Just as fine but a different color and cut. That will throw them all off especially if I play it off as the most natural thing to do.' He smiled slightly. 'I need to get word to Natasha, have her come and change as well. That would get people talking and in a way I can use and potential control.'
"You… are very good," Sam said finally.
"You too," Jon said, finally straightening and offering Sam his hand. The Summer Islander nodded and accepted the gesture, the two grasping each others wrist in a show of respect. "We'll have to do this again."
"Agreed," Sam said before waving over his young student. "So… what did you learn?"
The lean youth was practically vibrating as he bounded over to them. "It was so fast! But you two didn't let that stop you! And the way you both moved around and used everything around you? That was amazing! That move where you knocked over all the arrows to make it hard to walk without tripping was so clever! And then-"
"Breathe," Sam said, clapping his hand on the youth's shoulder. "Sorry, he gets overly excited."
"I do… I really do."
Jon though merely chuckled and offered the young man his hand. "Understandable. I'm Jon Stark."
"Petyr Parker."
