Sorry for the long break, but I was really busy and writing became too draining a hobby, the rest of the arc's chapters are finished tho, hope you enjoy them either way
Reminder for anyone returning cause it has been a while, jon got a Valyrian steel axe and traveled to King's Landing to reforge it, some stuff happened but when we left off he ran into garlan who was in town chasing an outlaw and jon joined him and promised he could find said outlaw
The kingswood was unlike any forest he'd ever ridden through before. It boasted the same endless columns of towering spruce and oak as the wolfswood, its dirt was as black and fertile as any other and dotted across its many miles were villages and mills with smallfolk not so different from any found north or south of the Neck.
No, what truly amazed him was how dense everything was. Game was abundant in these woods, they were barely a few miles into the forest when they started spotting deer, rabbits and hares as they rode, they even encountered boars or elks at least once a day.
Then there were dozens of lodges and towers and huts for the many rangers, hunters and gamekeepers employed by the Crown to protect and maintain the animals, as well as prepare and scout the grounds for whenever the King or his family wished to hunt.
But Jon, Garlen and the other knights needed to ride far, far deeper than the gamekeepers ever traversed to find their outlaw. Closer to the castles Felwood and Haystack in the Stormlands to the south than to King's Landing in the Crownlands to the north.
Into a true wilderness,beyond the toothless impression maintained for the Crown.And unfortunately, that had made it a home to many of the outlaws over the years.Arthur Dayne once chased outlaws of the Kingswood Brotherhood along these same roads.
Though the Smiling Knight seemed a far more formidable opponent than the man Garlan and his knights described. The former rivaled even the Mountain in infamy and strength, a villain who fell only to the wonder of his age. The man he heard stories of now seemed rather pathetic in comparison. A rather weak and spineless man they said, one who took great pleasure in cruelty but always folded in the face of strength.
"Him and his band have always plagued the Reach." Ser Dupery Hewett explained. "I had heard from Gunthor Hightower that they were a cause of much suffering and depravity in Oldtown for years, thievery, murder, rape, torture; nothing was beneath them. The Hightowers would catch and hang a man or two, but the snake at their head always escaped, until they were forced out of the city, and unleashed onto the greater Reach."
And they proved as evasive in the woodlands as they were in rat pits of Oldtown. A scourge upon the smallfolk and a headache to many petty lords, always escaping at the last moment and leaving nothing but blood and tears for their men find but never doing anything to draw the attention or ire of the major houses of the Reach.
Until the kidnap and rape of Leona Tyrell, and the wrath of heaven that fell on them after.
"And then he escaped us again." Garlan said, gritting his teeth and shaking his head at the thought. In the short time Jon had known him, he had found him to be a rather good-natured man, generous with both his smiles and his kind words. Save for when he spoke of the Devil of the Rat Pits and his hanging, when he retold the story of how the man had slipped from their fingers. In those times Jon saw hints of the rage simmering beneath, one he found hard not to share.
But it would be some time before they had their hands on him. For now, their horses continued away southward under Jon's direction, along paths of dirt and mud through the tall, dark green grass and trees. He was among a veritable retinue of knights, and for the first time in his life, he was as much a knight as any of them.
Many of Garlan's companions were rather dismissive of him on the first few days of the expedition, to them he was only some bastard knight of the Vale come to promise their leader the impossible. A loud young man of illicit birth, with dark hair and storms in his eyes who thought entirely too highly of himself.
But the sentiment would slowly change, day over day. In mornings and evenings under light of the rising and setting sun they would spar and fight and brawl one another. Ser Garlen was not a man to allow fools into his company, not in pursuit of something he greatly cared to catch, and so Jon was met with a strength matched only by the men in Winterfell and the Gates, a strength he was all too eager to sharpen himself against. And in him they found skill and talent beyond compare, enough to excuse any amount of cockiness.
"The courtyards of the capital left me rather wanting for good practice." Jon said, sweat dripping down his brow and soaking his shirt as he rested his blade on his shoulder. It had rained heavily last night, dew dripped from the thickets of leaves and branches above and the air still smelled of rainfall.
"Aye." Ser Parmen Crane said. He stood opposite Jon, and looked just as tired as he, the green brush still wet from the rain crumbled under his feet. "That city is infested with puffed chests and stolen valor, it is what the glamor of the Red Keep attracts."
A shame.Jon thought. The reachmen he traveled with now were rather… proud and somewhat vain, but they still had some substance to them.I wonder how the princes will fare.
He had not crossed paths with them at the Red Keep, but he imagined the sons of the Demon of the Trident would grow to be fearsome beyond all belief. But they would needsomeoneto improve themselves against, else they would never grow to match their father's strength.
They have the kingsguard in any case and the kingslayer for an uncle besides.
But the knights did more than just spar with him, some days men would ride alongside him and ask questions of Willowbrook, of the battle fought and the knighthood earned. That town would likely haunt him for the rest of his days, not just the corpses and the blood and the shit, not just the memories of the terror and horror that burrowed into his heart on that day, but also questions about it every time he met someone, for it would be the first thing they asked of.
Now I understand why father never spoke of the rebellion and always bristled when we asked.Tristan and Stewart had died, and he yet lived. He had barely known those two for a few months and his heart still sank when he thought of them.For father, it was his sister, his brother and his own father. I cannot imagine it.
"Seventy men?" Ser Leo Blackbar asked, his eyebrow quirked. "And you had only fifteen at your back?"
"They were scattered across the town and they did not expect anyone to come so soon."
"Aye… Mongrel intruders the lot of them, likely lost their minds at the first sniff of loot." Ser Leo said, bringing a hand to his chin and nodding. He raised a finger and turned back to Jon. "Well, was your sword truly split in two—"
"Perhaps you can give the knight some respite from the questions." Ser Garlan said, voice echoing from behind them. "He's likely had to answer every variation a dozen times already."
The knight of Bandallon nodded his head at the order and rode off ahead. Jon looked to the Tyrell with thanks, the older knight only nodded his head and rode on in silence.
The order from Renly Baratheon that allowed them to pursue the Devil in the King's lands had apparently also come with permission to hunt for what they needed. And so later that night, they sat around a fire and ate a roasted boar they had speared hours before.
Conversation would quickly turn to tournaments fought and won. Ser Duncan Osgray had apparently won a joust in the Arbor earlier that year as he was quick to tell any who would listen. Ser Jeoffry Bulwer had won the archery contests of two separate tournaments. Tanton Fossoway still told stories of a joust he won in Seaguard six years ago and a melee he won in Horn Hill thirteen years ago when he was still a man of twenty. But those victories paled in comparison with the four separate events Garlan had apparently won over his lifetime. And unlike Osgray or Bulwer or Fossoway, it was not him who bragged about them, but instead they were deeds every man in his retinue repeated tales of with reverence and pride.
They believe in him.Jon realized, just as men did with the blackfish in the Gates and his father in the North.They would follow him to the ends of the earth, as they do now. It is not because of his name, nor his strength nor his character, but a combination of all of those things, all found in the same man.
He was a… humbling figure to be around, moreso than even the King at times.
Soon Ser Willem Risley brought mention of a tournament he attended in the Gates almost two years ago. In that moment Ser Gerold Rowan turned to Jon with widen eyes and raised hands.
"You were that mystery knight in the melee weren't you?" he said. "Felled my father in the first round."
"Aye." Jon said, somewhat cautious of the response. "He was a great fighter."
"He said the same about you." Ser Gerold Rowan said. "What tournaments have you competed in since?"
"Uh, none." Jon said, somewhat embarrassed by the fact. He had spent the last two years training at the Gates, or more recently in charge of a mine.
"You should accompany us to the Highgarden when this is over." Ser Garlan said from where he sat at the other side of the fire, the firelight danced across his brown eyes and the steel he sharpened on his lap. "We are holding a tournament for my brother Willas' twenty-fifth name day in eight months or so, and I long to see how you would do. You'd be welcome to partake in any of Highgarden's amenities until the time of the tourney. We have bards, mazes, fruit and falconry aplenty. Even a godswood with three weirwood trees planted by Garth Greenhand himself that have not seen a follower of the old gods in decades."
Exotic fruits, music, and a chance to show off Zephyr, even an ancient grove of weirwoods to pay respect at.It sounded tempting beyond belief. To visit the central seat of a kingdom like the Reach for so many months, likely to rival Winterfell and the Eyrie in size and dwarf the both of them in wealth, visitors and men. Under the invitation of a son of the Lord Tyrell no less.
But the Vale beckons me back as soon as my blade is finished.Jon thought.I must receive my keep, protect Mya from the Lannisters' influence, attend Lord Royce's tournament…
"I cannot follow you there, I have… much business in the Vale." Jon said honestly. "But in eight months, I'll likely be free to come attend the tournament."
Lord Royce's tournament is five months from now. Eight months is long enough for it to conclude and for me settle into my keep, and then sail for Highgarden.His chest grew wide at the thought, and a great sense of freedom and wonder overcame him.Once the business with the keep is sorted and a castellan is appointed, I would be my own man, I can freely travel to any kingdom or castle, attend any tourney or event with no one's permission but my own. I can go to Highgarden, visit Domeric and Hardyng whenever I wish, make the journey north to Arya and Robb and the rest in Winterfell, maybe even see a Free City if I find the time.
He went to sleep that night head filled with dreams of distant shores and sights, a wanderlust overtaking him like never before.
All in all, the men he traveled with were slowly growing warm to him as they delved deeper and deeper into the Kingswood. And he in turn, grew to appreciate their company, it allowed him a peace of mind he needed, especially while tracking the Devil and his dogs.
But some days, when there was none to speak to and his mind drowned in the ambient sounds of the woods, worry and doubt would flood his mind no matter how many times he pushed them away, all of it swirling around one name which had not left his mind since he first heard it.Wylla.
Did Father have to take me by force, or was she happy to be rid of me? Or perhaps she was glad the Lord Stark would afford me a better life than she could, even if she was not allowed near.He could ask her of course, when the time came to meet her, but as they drew nearer and nearer to the Devil's outpost and the days until her arrival at the capital grew fewer in number, he began to wonder if he would have to courage to ask those questions, or if he even wanted to know the answers.Facing Corbray was simpler than this.
Come to think of it, why did father never tell me of her, not even of her name? Was he truly so ashamed of her?He wondered, somewhat indigent at the thought.He would not dishonor a maiden in Willowbrook before he was ever betrothed or married, but he broke his wedding vows to dishonor my mother, and he is too ashamed to even mention her name?
In his years away from Winterfell, he'd come to realize his father was as mortal as the rest of them, Jon's existence had always been proof of that much, of the flaws beneath the cold mask of the lord and the warm smile of the father, it was a... difficult realization to live with.
I'll make things right.He thought, he would not be ashamed of her. He would proudly declare her name to any who would ask, and woe to any who would disrespect her.
But such worries, revelations and silent declarations all ceased when he flew the skies as Zephyr once more and spotted a once abandoned building not too far from them. With that he turned and walked back towards their camp.
"They are eight miles that way." Jon said, pointing to the woods behind him. Ser Leo Blackbar and Ser Willem Risley lowered their swords from where they were sparring and turned to him with eyes ablaze with anger, Ser Tanton Fossoway, Ser Jeoffry Bulwar and Ser Duprey Hewett who had been watching them smiled eagerly at his words, while Osgray, Crane and Rowan looked towards Garlan.
The Tyrell had been stoking the fire, but now he looked up to Jon with equal parts determination and rage in his eyes, the shadows that the fire cast on his features making the sight of him frightening.
"How many?" he asked.
"I counted thirty-six, but there could be more inside." Jon said, moving to sit opposite Garlan as every knight gathered around the fire to listen. There were no more men than thirty-six inside of course, Zephyr had been watching them for many days now, and in that time, Jon had grown familiar enough with them to recognize every one of their faces. But the knights could not know this, they could only believe that he was a capable scout who had tracked them down.
"They had only seventeen when they left the reach." Ser Dupery Hewett said.
"Criminal degenerates flock to the Devil of the Pits like moths to a flame." Ser Parman Crane said, turning back towards Jon. "Where have they taken refuge?"
"An abandoned manor house, with an overgrown orchid and abandoned sept near it. It's centuries old at least, from before the Conqueror's time." Jon said, there had likely been homes for the commonfolk there once, as well as blacksmiths and tanners, but they had not stood the test of time. "They've a good view of the surroundings from its roof, and I made at least two separate patrols, two or three men each securing the area."
"The Devil is nothing if not careful, and he does not wish to be captured again." Ser Garlan said, "Good job not getting spotted."
"I promised you his head, did I not?" Jon said. Once, his confidence would have grated the men around the fire, now they seemed to respect it. "Our best bet is to wait until nightfall. I saw storm clouds rolling towards us, the darkness and rain will mask our approach."
"We'll not sneak around in the dark like scoundrels and brigands." Ser Tanton Fossoway said, his tone high in pitch and his face and nose wrinkled at the suggestion. Jon opened his mouth to respond, but Garlan beat him to it.
"I would agree with you, good brother, were we chasing any other man, were his crimes any less heinous." Ser Garlan said, some of the knights looked unhappy with the declaration, but his voiced carried an air of finality to it. "He escaped me once; he will not escape me again. My cousin will know justice and peace of mind, I care not if I must forsake my honor for it."
"We forsake nothing." Ser Gerold Rowan said. "It is not as though we are slaying kin or guests under our roofs, we are only utilizing stealth."
"It is still dishonorable." Ser Tanton Fossoway repeated.
"And Ser Garlan has made up his mind." Jon said, he had no time to indulge southern fantasies of heroism, not when he had already outgrown them at half of Fossoway's age. "From what I saw they had enough horses for a few of them to disappear into the woods should they see us coming. They will not."
They would spend hours around that campfire, long after their pile of firewood had run dry, until even the embers of the hearth had been reduced to ash. They would discuss everything, every variation of assault and raid they could think of. Every plan, strategy and tactic they had at their disposal.
Osgray would harp on about the necessity of horses while Blackbar would argue against the noise they would make. Fossoway would insist they stuck together while Hewett kept proposing multipronged assaults. Crane would not leave the camp without his heavy armor while Risley thought it better they move quickly and quietly, especially against men with far worse training and weapons.
Young he may have been, but Jon had twice as many opinions on every aspect of the plan as the rest of them, and he was not shy about sharing and arguing for them. Were these his men and he back in Willowbrook, he would have had the final say, but it was Garlan's bounty, Garlan's expedition and Garlan's retinue and the man ultimately decided their course of action.
Jon had to credit him for how well he navigated everyone's disparate opinions, and even then, he did not make his choices based on what made people happy, but rather what he believed gave them the best chance of catching the Devil.
A true knight and leader if there ever were one.Jon thought, he had found much disappointment since leaving the Vale, men of little worth infesting the Red Keep, empty words and promises trying to find a way to use him, and a bullheaded fat man rather than the warrior of tale and myth sitting the throne, but in Garlan Tyrell and the men he kept for company... he had found at least a few souls that made the trip south worthwhile.