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Wayward King - 011
🕑 Added 2023-08-16 19:18:57 +0000 UTCChapter 011 – Dual
[289 AC – Winterfell]
Looking around, Jon realized that more and more household guards were arriving from the Great Hall, so he knew that Rodrik and Robb weren't far behind, which meant that he didn't have a lot more time before his training began to test out different weapons.
And while the variety didn't allow for any more skill registrations, Jon had another idea as he grabbed two wooden longswords from the rack, one in each hand.
There were a bit heavy for his strength, making them feel unwieldy, but it was enough to try out dual wielding them. A wooden longsword also weighed much less than a wooden shield, so he could wield them fairly unhindered by his lacking strength.
Twirling around the blade in his right hand to get a more accurate understanding of its weight and balance when wielded with one hand, Jon took a sudden step forward, slicing upwards with the right blade before pushing forward again with his left foot, the blunted wooden point of the left blade piercing forward with a sharp thrust.
Spinning clockwise, he dragged both swords through the air, landing a heavy double blow on the imaginary opponent in his mind before moving back a step and raising both blades for another attack.
['Dual Wielding – Novice(1)' has been registered in the second 'Specialty'-Vein.]
Seeing the message in his mind as a result of his actions, Jon was rather speechless since he definitely did not expect that. His 'Specialty' sub-crystal had struck again and it took him a few moments to come up with a reasonable guess why that had happened.
Thinking about it, 'Dual Wielding' might have registered in the 'Specialty' sub-crystal as it was a skill that could be used with different weapons and wasn't really tied to a specific weapon, which made it 'special'.
It was also a skill that tested the mind, requiring one to focus on multiple directions at once, which wasn't something most people could do, and it was certainly not a requirement for weapon wielders in general, or this world would have no soldiers.
But those were only his guesses and he didn't expect to receive an answer to his questions either way. Time would probably clear things up, he hoped.
"Okay lads, get your weapons and split up, half of you to the obstacle course, the rest of you pair up and spar!", a booming voice suddenly rang out and brought Jon's attention to the present.
Turning around, he saw a broad-shouldered yet somewhat stocky man standing at the edge of the field with a longsword leaning on his shoulders giving off a commanding aura as he shouted his instruction.
This was naturally Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms of Winterfell.
He looked different than the version that he had seen in the memories of his former life, which wasn't too surprising.
In this reality, he looked much slimmer, which was only normal as it was rare to see someone with such an exaggerated beer belly like his series version in the North, especially not a master-at-arms. Granted Ser Rodrik wasn't of slim figure but he definitely wasn't a marble on legs.
He was fit and a fearsome warrior that knew not to let himself go.
Quickly, Jon's attention fell onto Robb, who approached him with his own wooden sword in hand, a smirk on his lips. Robb likewise didn't have dark hair like his fictional counterpart, he had reddish-brown hair like his mother, as well as her blue eyes, his looks veering from that of a traditional Northman.
"Two swords? Worried that one isn't enough to defend against me, Jon?", the young boy teased lightheartedly.
Turning his head down, Jon looked at the two wooden blades in his grip while thinking about his newest skill before coming to a decision and turning his head to face Robb again, a smile of his own drawing up the corners of his lips.
“I am clumsy with two blades, it should give you a chance to save your face from landing in the dirt, Robb.”, Jon quipped back while spinning the blades in his hands for a moment.
He knew that he would most certainly lose since he was unfamiliar with wielding a blade in each hand, his left hand lacking the ingrained coordination of his right one. Not to mention the added strain on his stamina that this would cause.
But he didn't care since he was eager to improve his 'Dual Wielding' skill.
Losing now was also acceptable if it helped him grow, so why wouldn't he take this chance to spar while wielding two blades?
“Jon, what are doing with two blades?”, Ser Rodrik remarked with a frown as he approached, “You aren't even fully recovered but want to fool around on the first day that the Maester allowed you to join the training again?”
“No, Ser Rodrik.”, Jon replied seriously, knowing about the master-at-arms strict and serious character, “I simply want to give it a try. I read that Arthur Dayne wielded two blades and he was the greatest swordsman of his time.”
Still frowning, the arms master gave him a deep and somewhat invasive look that he withstood calmly, which caused a flicker of surprise to flash by the old warrior's eyes before the man snorted and answered: "Not everybody is made out to be the Sword of Morning, boy. If you don't have the talent for it, you will return to wielding one blade, is that understood?"
“Yes, Ser.”, Jon nodded in acceptance of this condition, thinking to himself that born for it or not, he would surpass the Sword of the Morning, and every other swordsman that had ever walked on this planet. Resolve causing his grey eyes to gain a hard look.
His breathing even and his blades raised somewhat strenuously, Jon focused as he stood opposite of his brother.
And then it began.
Quickly, Robb took a step forward, his sword coming down with a cleave. Jon's instinct, trained over the last years fighting with the sword, was to block the attack and so he raised the blade in his left hand.
But when the wooden edges of the training swords met, he realized that he had made a mistake, his brother's blade being barely pushed off his course as it simply forced its way through his defense and landed on his shoulder.
With a grimace on his face, Jon move backward, thankful for his hardened leather armor that he had put on for sparring purposes.
Logically, he understood that his strength was insufficient to black an attack head-on with a single blade when Robb used both hands to wield his sword but when in battle his own instincts acted before he had the time to contemplate his actions.
Even now, he couldn't spare much thought to his mistake as Robb had followed after him, taking a lounge forward as he thrust his sword towards his torso.
Now hurried, Jon awkwardly raised both blades to parry, which was just a disaster as he got into his own way by moving both blades and Robb easily landed the hit, making him grunt as he took another few steps back, air having been pushed out of his lungs by the hit.
Jon tried to keep his focus and retaliate, swinging his right blade with a horizontal slash at Robb's side, but his brother easily parried his strike with his wooden blade before spinning around and landing a blow on Jon's right knee, making him fall.
Catching his fall with his left blade, his knee sinking into the muddy ground, cold wind and snow touching and melting on his cheeks, Jon gnashed his teeth as he blocked out the pain and stood up again, facing his brother who had a wry smile on his face.
"They are too heavy for you, Jon. With your strength you can't wield them against me.", Robb remarked accurately, as even as young as he was, he immediately noticed the crux of the problem. He didn't mock Jon despite his earlier words since he knew that his brother was a good swordsman, maybe even better than himself.
Jon also understood that his muscle memory and instincts were more of a hindrance than a help now due to his limited strength and coordination, his mind not accustomed to multitasking.
“It's fine, I am just not used to them.”, he insisted, knowing that the necessary strength would come in time, “It will just take some practice.”
Frowning a bit, Robb sighed as he raised his blade in an attacking stance again: "I won't hold back, brother."
“I don't expect you to.”, Jon simply answered as he forced himself to sharpen his focus again, understanding that he was going to suffer as he rotated his sore shoulder and knee joint.
Staying true to his words, Robb approached with a quick step, his sword thrusting forward in another lunge.
His thoughts rushed as Jon bit his lips, using the pain to keep his mind sharp and suppress his ingrained response.
Under his full focus, Robb seemed to move just a tad bit slower and his own thoughts seemed to move noticeably faster as he raised just his left blade and turned away his torso to the left side to avoid the incoming thrust, knowing that he didn't have the strength to block it head-on.
The tip of the wooden sword turned downwards, the blade in Jon's left hand met Robb's sword and pushed it off his course but his body couldn't move fast enough to entirely avoid the blow and he felt the wooden tip impact his right side, his ribs throbbing painfully for an instant as he took another step back.
Robb followed up with a diagonal downward slash from the right, and this time Jon could only react instinctively while facing this attack.
He raised both blades to block, which went successful but when Robb spun around and aimed at his left waist, Jon attempted to do the same but his coordination of two blades was leaving a gap in his defense, which his brother used to land a painful hit that made him gnash his teeth again.
Breathing through his nose, the cold air rushing into his lungs and clearing his head, Jon's eyes sharpened again as he lifted his blades to face his brother once more, a touch of inconspicuous cold radiance brightening his gaze.
And then he lost again. And again. And again. And again.
...
His armor and blades covered in dirt, his cheeks and hair stained with mud, his dark locks dirty and wet with sweat and snow, Jon rose again. But his grey eyes flickered with a coldness that stemmed from a seemingly complete lack of emotion as his piercing gaze fell onto his brother again, blood from his split lip running down his chin.
Robb had been dominating their spars since they had started but feeling his brother's icy gaze, the auburn-haired boy couldn't help but feel uncomfortable and take a step back. As if he didn't care about the pain or his exhaustion, Jon just stood up every time that he had struck him down, not voicing out more than a suppressed groan.
Robb had never seen his brother like this, and even having won their battles until now, he felt threatened and anxious, having half the mind to end their spars.
And it was at that exact moment that a rumbling voice rang out from beside them: "That's enough for you, Jon! Go, wash up, and rest. If the Maester sees you like this, I will get an earful!"
And as if a spell had been broken, Jon's threatening presence vanished as if it had never existed in the first place. He turned his gaze to Ser Rodrik and just nodded quietly before turning away to put back the training swords.
Robb breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, his gaze following his brother's back for a moment.
“Robb, go and pair up with Halen, he needs a sparring partner.”, Ser Rodrik instructed, pointing to a new recruit standing to the side of the field before he himself went after Jon.
…
“Ready to go back to using a single sword, lad?”, Rodrik asked the young boy, his tone deep and partly mocking.
“And why would I do that, Ser Rodrik?”, the boy questioned calmly as he stuck the wooden blades back into the crate for the training swords.
“Because your brother beat you into the ground, boy!”, Rodrik emphasized.
“I can afford to lose, Ser. Giving up, I can not afford.”, the boy replied simply, and Rodrik couldn't help but smile to himself as that was what he had hoped to hear.
He had been keeping a close eye on Robb's and Jon's spar, and he had clearly seen the beating that Jon had taken. But Rodrik had also seen the way Jon had fended off Robb's first and sometimes even his second attack, even if not fully.
And he had done so like a swordsman wielding two blades should, not like a swordsman wielding a single blade, before his lack of experience, coordination, and strength had forced him into a dead-end.
But more than that, Rodrik had seen the look in the younger boy's eyes as he endured one hit after another. The more he lost, the more focused and colder the look in his eyes, like an injured beast waiting to strike back a fatal blow.
He had never seen such a look in the boy's eyes before, nor had he expected Jon to be so tough as to take a beating like that only to rise again and again.
Rodrik's own eyes couldn't help but light up as he looked at the lad, beaten and dirty as he stood before him, sure that the child had what it took to become a warrior that easily equaled himself.
Still, he didn't put down his stern attitude as he said: "You lack the experience and coordination to use two blades, not to mention the strength, boy. Starting tomorrow, you will train against the straw man until those blades are no longer too heavy for you and you figure out how two wield them properly."
“Yes, Ser.”, the boy nodded without refuting, causing Rodrik to snort with hidden amusement and give him a push towards the Great Keep.
“No go and get cleaned up, muddy lad.”, he teased.
No answer came this time as the boy simply left to do as told while Rodrik allowed himself to smile for a moment.
Bastard or not, the boy had undeniable talent with the sword and if he truly managed to reach the heights of the likes of the Sword of the Morning, which seemed too fantastic to come true, how glorious would it be, to be known as the one to have taught him?
Either way, Rodrik believed it to be a good idea to stop him from sparring for a time as he just could not win against his brother with his current abilities when wielding two swords. Either way, giving him time to adjust and gain the necessary strength was a good way to find out if the boy truly had the talent that Rodrik hoped he possessed.
If not, it wasn't too late to have him go back to use a single sword. After all, what kind of master-at-arms would he be if he didn't at least try to unearth the talent of those that he trained?
…
His arms felt like they were going to fall off, his whole body felt bruised and sore, his lip was bleeding and swollen, and he was dirty all over. Training was decidedly not a fun activity but still a necessary one.
He had been rewarded with points of proficiency in his 'Dual Wielding' skill, though none for his 'Longsword' mastery.
['Dual Wielding – Novice(6)']
Jon had not even spent a full hour on the training field, which didn't sit quite well with him but his exhaustion spoke for itself. He hadn't fully recovered from the fever and certainly hadn't regained his full strength, so he was incredibly drained after barely an hour of sparring with Robb.
Still, he had gained something more than just a few points of proficiency, something that was more precious.
During the spar, Jon had noticed that he had had an easier time following Robb's movement with his eyes, and his own thoughts when calculating the distance of an attack or the angle of a blow had flown much more quickly and smoothly.
It was his body that hadn't been able to keep up with his mind, his errant instincts, and his flawed coordination that had caused him to lose so miserably. He also had never tried to multitask like this, which had proved immensely difficult.
Still, Jon concluded that his mental enhancements had already shown their considerable effect in this spar, as had the enhanced calculation ability that he had gained from his 'Arithmetic' skill.
Admittedly, it had taken him quite some time to understand this since the effect was noticeable but not shocking. It was just that his analysis of Robb's attacks, whether that be range or angle, had suddenly become much more accurate and quicker.
This didn't seem to matter much considering that he couldn't move fast enough to act on this knowledge but Jon wasn't blind to this advantage and some ideas bloomed in his mind.
He dismissed those for the moment though when he arrived in front of the Great Keep and pushed open the door, slipping inside.
Quickly finding the washroom, Jon saw that it was empty and didn't hesitate to take off the hardened leather mail and his other mud-stained clothes, grunting through gritted teeth while doing so as his bruised flesh protested his movements.
The washroom didn't look like one would imagine a medieval bathroom since there were no large wooden tubs and a fireplace to heat up the water. But such was natural since Winterfell had been built upon a warm spring and the architect had certainly made use of that when constructing the bathing facilities.
All around the walls of the room, the floor was raised a good three feet as large tubs had been carved out of solid stone along with large drain holes in the floor and stone valves sticking out from the walls. The drains themselves led into the moat around the castle if he remembered correctly.
Jon thought it was a marvel and that it definitely had been built using magic as some legend told.
Strenuously moving in front of the tub, he placed a wooden stopper into the drain and turned the stone valve, seeing clear water flowing out of the valve that produced a faint fog of steam. Placing his hand into the water stream, he nodded to himself as it was hot but not nearly to the point of boiling.
Still, he knew it would be too hot for a bath so he quickly walked to the corner and picked up the bucket that stood next to a large wooden tank that was filled with water from the well. Filling the bucket, he heaved it over to the tub and poured it in before repeating that same action another three times.
Even more exhausted now and feeling cold since he was wearing nothing but his braies, which were basically just underwear and not too dissimilar to boxer briefs, though since this was the North and it was the beginning of winter, he wore the version with longer pant legs that reached down to his knees, Jon forced himself to be patient.
Admittedly, the room was warm since the warm spring water flowed through the walls and heated up the whole castle but Jon still felt cold since his hair was wet from the cold snow and mud, as was much of his body.
Taking a few deep breaths, he sat on a small stool with a bucket of cold water placed in front of him, also on a stool, before he stopped hesitating and dunked his head into the cold water quickly. Pulling back, he grabbed a wooden comb to roughly clean his hair since he didn't want his bathing water to be too dirty.
He also took this time to give his leather armor and boots a quick clean since he would need them tomorrow. The rest of his clothes though he left for servants to clean, hoping that they would actually do their job this time.
A few minutes later, when the water level seemed optimal and the temperature was comfortably hot, he finally turned off the valve and slipped into the stone tub after stripping completely, sighing after a few moments as he felt his sore muscles relax.
Taking the bar of soup that lay on the side and the washcloth, Jon started to wash himself while hissing in pain every now and then. Once again dunking his head underwater for a few moments, he began to soap it up and wash out any dirt that has been left in it with the help of his comb.
The soap itself was made from some animal fat and lye produced from ash. It did its job but was otherwise not an enjoyable product to use. No oils had been added during the process of making it, which meant that it was nearly odorless besides the faintest hint of fat.
Still, this was the most essential item for personal hygiene and basically every household produced them on their own since it was not too difficult to do so.
Jon thought about trying his hand at this, so that he could produce something with a pleasant smell since he didn't have any expensive bath oils to use, but dismissed the idea as he didn't want to waste his time with it.
He would have preferred higher-quality soap but he was also a practical person at heart and knew that he had other priorities at this point in time.
Jon stayed a good few minutes in the water to let the soreness of his muscles subside a bit before pulling out the stopper and moving out of the tiny stone pool. Drying himself off with a large linen cloth, he wrapped it around his midsection before slipping back into his boots barefooted, grabbing his armor, and leaving the bath.
Quickly getting back to his room, Jon placed the wet armor on the floor in front of the fireplace and threw a few thin twigs on the still glowing embers, as well as two thinner logs, listening to the crackling sounds as he got dressed in some clean clothes.
Throwing on his thick fur mantle, he grabbed a small leather pouch that he had hidden behind his wooden drawer, counting the silver moons and stags within. There were nearly nine silver moons and three silver stags, as well as some copper stars, groats, and pennies.
Seven silver stags were worth one silver moon, which meant that all in all Jon's savings accounted for roughly 68 silver stags. It was an impressive number given that his monthly allowance given to him by Steward Poole on his uncle's orders was only five silver stags.
But seeing as a single gold dragon was worth around 210 silver stags, which was also roughly the price of a passable steed while a single good longsword would cost around 350 silver stags and a good set of complete armor was around 900 silver stags, the money he had was actually not even enough to buy himself the necessities to travel around.
Still, for a normal family of commoners, this was a small fortune since one could get a small loaf of bread for one and a half copper pennies and a small serving of meat for three pennies. And since a single silver stag was worth around 56 copper pennies, Jon had enough money to feed a family of three for three-quarters of a year.
Naturally, that would be considered luxurious spending since going out for a meal every day was not something a commoner would do.
Taking two silver stags and some copper coins, Jon placed them in a small leather pouch, which he hid in his shirt before putting his savings back where he had taken them from and leaving his bedchambers, his destination the winter town outside the castle walls.
…
Cradling Bran to her chest while pacing around the room, humming nursery songs to help him fall asleep, Catelyn couldn't help but stop to gaze out of the windows of her chambers, looking down at the training courtyard.
She saw her eldest son spar with the bastard boy and as ashamed as she felt for thinking so, she was relieved and glad when she saw Robb triumph over Jon.
Catelyn knew that she was betraying her prayers and promises to the gods by reveling in Jon's loss and she did feel a shadow of heartache when she saw the young child beaten and falling into the dirt, but she could not help herself, could not change the innermost sentiments of her heart's demons.
Her family was everything that she had in this unforgiving and foreign land, and the simple thought that Jon may grow up to threaten them by aiming to claim what was not his to claim, made her struggle to find it within herself to love him like her own, to love him at all for that matter.
She was aware of how heinous her thoughts were but she just hoped that if the gods were angered by her breaking her promise that they would punish her, and not her children, because it was for them that she worried the most and would do everything for.
…
“What are you watching, child?”
Hearing the Septa Mordane's voice sounding out from behind, Sansa didn't react or turn around, instead, her gaze remained fixed on the courtyard below.
“Are you watching your brother train in the sword?”, the septa inquired as she stepped up to the window too and looked down at the courtyard, “A trueborn son of House Stark, indeed. He is a much better swordsman compared to the b-boy!”
Sansa knew that 'boy' was not what the septa meant to call her half-brother with her scornful tone despite her young age. She had heard it often when others thought that she wasn't around, even though she wasn't supposed to, the word 'bastard'.
Though her mother and the septa had also told her when her father wasn't around that she wasn't supposed to speak or be around Jon. Sansa didn't quite understand why since her father had told her that he was also her brother.
“Now, enough of that. You can watch your brother show off his swordsmanship later, after our lessons.”, the septa stated before grabbing her hand and pulling her back towards the small wooden bench to continue their singing lessons.
Sansa didn't resist or answer but she knew in her heart that it was the dark-haired boy that stood up so unyieldingly that she had been watching with her clear blue eyes.
[A/N: First of all: No, Sansa is not in love with Jon. She is barely five years old and just a child that is curious about her brother. A very natural response given her situation.
Also, Jon will not be wielding two blades as his main weapons in the future. He will train practically every weapon and him starting with dual blades was just to try and maximise his skill gains.(And look damn cool doing so, Lol.)
I am also sorry for the delayed updates but I had a rather terrible ear infection that just left me with agonizing pain. I could hardly sleep, much less write. I am better now though, which is why I finished these chapters so that I can get back to 'The Wanderer' for a few days.
There was also a comment about Jon's knowledge-type skills not being suited for a king, i.e. that there were other skills that could help him be a better king. I thought I would address this here so that you all would get some insight into my decision for his skills.
The System's only purpose is to make Jon a warrior without equal and all his skills are arranged in such a way that he becomes exactly that. That doesn't mean that he can't learn other stuff, he just won't get rewards from the System for it.
And while the System will make him a great warrior, Jon has to become a 'King' by himself. Or rather find the answer to what makes a good king by himself, the System won't and can't help him with that.
Anyway, I hope you all had a much better weekend then I did, and Enjoy!]
Comments
Nazarickk
Thanks for the chapter
Zack
Glad to hear that you're feeling better! Thanks for the chapter!
