Chapter 32: Passage of Time (3)

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The heat of the midday Dornish sun was almost unbearable, especially as Jon knelt in the middle of the desert, his hand running softly over the coarse grains of sands as he let the Force flow through him and into the ground. Closing his eyes, and doing everything he could to ignore the heat, Jon focused on sensing those who'd come through this area just before them. "Find anything, Jon?"

Not opening his eyes, Jon nodded to Ygritte's question, "Yes." Opening his eyes, he brushed off his hands and rose to his feet. Standing just behind him were no more than twenty Dornishmen, Prince Oberyn and Ygritte. All of whom were staring expectantly at him as he turned and pointed off into the distance. "The trail is faint, but noticeable. They passed through here less than a day past."

Nodding, Oberyn motioned for the men with them to mount their horses. "Then let us not have these bastards get any further ahead. Mount up, men! Our wolf has caught their scent, and they will not be getting away from true men of Dorne!"

Moving over towards his horse, Jon took a moment to help Ygritte up into her saddle before swinging up into his own. As he did, he had to shift the light clothes that were covering him almost completely, leaving only his eyes exposed. A look that was being mirrored by Ygritte and many of the Dornishmen despite the heat of the day. At first Jon had baulked at the idea of wearing clothing from head to toe in the heat of the Dornish sun. But then Oberyn and Arianne had both explained to him and Ygritte that the Dornish sun could kill a man as readily as the cold of the north. Taking them at their word, both had donned the clothes provided, and too Jon's surprise they were light and cool, which just confused him. But that still didn't stop Ygritte from reminding him that the moment they arrived back at the Sunspear she was going to shed all of her clothing and go bare as the day she was born for the rest of their time in Dorne.

Snapping his reins, Jon urged his forward so that he was riding alongside Prince Oberyn. "Any thoughts on where they might be heading, Prince Oberyn?" he asked as Ygritte, slightly fighting to control her own mount, rode up alongside them.

"Yes," Oberyn nodded as they urged their horses to a light trot. "There is a ravine that is well known not too far from here and in the direction you say the brigands are heading. There are a few caves that they could hide in, but more importantly it's the only source of shade and water for days. I'd be willing to bet three days' stay at Sunspear's finest brothel that these brigands have set up camp within those caves."

"A fool's bet if I ever heard one, Oby," Ygritte countered back, referring to the shortened version of the prince's name that she'd given him early in their time in Dorne. "If there be shade in this place, den those fuckers will be hiddin their asses in it. So, let's go and kill them so we can have some fuckin shade for a change."

"I agree with the sentiment, if not her words," Jon added slowly, the prospect of shade and water making him want to urge his horse forward at a faster pace.

It took them the entire morning and well past midday to reach the ravine Prince Oberyn had mentioned. And the moment they saw it, Jon wanted to do nothing more than to descend into the ravine beneath the sands and hide in the shade provided by the stone cliff edges. But just as they were about to lead their horses towards the path that would lead them into the ravine's depths, Jon felt a jolt from the Force race through him with such force that he nearly pulled his horse right around.

"You alright there, white wolf?" Oberyn asked, having pulled his own horse to a stop.

Jon didn't answer the Prince, instead he stared hard at the ravine while trying to feel the area out with the Force, trying to find why he'd received such a…premonition of danger from the Force just as they were about to find shelter. He didn't necessarily see anything out of the ordinary, neither within the ravine nor around the cliff edges lining either side. Yet still, the sense of danger and…death from the Force persisted. "Ygritte," he said, his eyes still tracing every facet of the ravine looking for something, anything that might give him and explanation to what he was feeling. "Put an arrow into something that looks…unnatural to you."

Nodding, Ygritte took out her bow and quickly strung it before notching an arrow and pulling it taught. No one said a word as Ygritte slowly moved her aim, her eyes fluttering closed as she exhaled. Without warning her eyes opened and the string snapped. Jon tracked the arrow with his eyes, watching it sail through the air towards one of the cliff edges. The arrow struck what looked like a lopsided boulder. But instead of breaking or bouncing off the rock, the arrow sunk in deep. A scream tore through the air as what looked like a boulder was tossed aside, revealing a man who'd been using a blanket to disguise himself. He was clutching at the arrow that was now embedded into his ass.

"It's a trap!" Jon yelled, drawing his lightsaber and bringing the white blade before moving his horse so that he was between Ygritte and the ravine.

As soon as the words left his lips, all the hells broke loose as dozens of men revealed themselves from their hiding places along the top edges of the ravine. All of whom had bows with arrows notched and ready to draw. Letting go of his reins, Jon raised his hand just as the first dozen or so arrows flew into the air towards them. With a quick push of the Force, Jon was able to knock almost all the arrows that were heading towards them to the ground as the men of House Martell behind him quickly regained their wits and began mounting a proper defense.

Their attackers, to their credit, didn't seemed phased at their arrows suddenly stopping in midair as many abandoned their bows or crossbows and instead raised their spears or drew their swords before charging forward. The air next to his face whistled as two of Ygritte's arrows passed him by so close, he could almost feel the fetching against his face. Both arrows struck true, finding their marks right into the eye of two of the advancing bandits. Killing both before they could hit the ground.

Bringing his horse around, Jon deflected a spear that'd been thrown at him, cutting the shaft clean in half. Without pausing his movement, Jon brought his lightsaber down, cutting clean through the spear that'd been about to skewer him, and the man who'd been holding it. By the time Jon had killed his second bandit that'd managed to get close to him, Prince Oberyn and the men of House Martell had finally joined the fray. While the bandits had had the advantage of surprise, they were clearly outmatched as the combined skill of Jon, Prince Oberyn, Ygritte, and the men of House Martell quickly cut down all who came within reach of their blades.

But there was one that stood out more than the others. He wore full plate mail with the fringes of a purple undercoat showing beneath. His head and face were completely covered by his helm, but Jon could see wisps of white-silver hair coming out the back. And the way the man was wielding his longsword, his movements, the way his body twist and feet moved, they were all familiar to Jon. Kicking his heels into his horse's flanks, Jon rode quickly towards the armored man reaching him just as the knight managed to cut down two of House Martell with a single cut.

Normally Jon was not one to attack a man from behind, but as his Master had said, in the thick of battle the only thing that mattered was surviving the fight. And honor could wait for the blades to be sheathed. But the armored man either sensed or heard Jon's approach, as he ducked and rolled across the ground just as Jon's blade passed through where his head had been a moment before. The move saved his life, but the roll had loosened the straps of his helm enough that when he came back to his feet, his helm stayed on the ground, revealing the strange knight's face for all to see.

"Gerold Dayne!"

Prince Oberyn's shout brought a quick and abrupt end to almost all the fighting as the men of House Martell and the bandits alike all turned as one to look at Ser Gerold Dayne. The knight of House Dayne lifted a hand to his face, feeling for his missing helmet for a moment before smirking and rising to his feet. "I suppose hiding my face no longer matters. I have already achieved what I have set out to accomplish."

"What you've set out to accomplish?" the Prince of Dorne hissed, leveling his spear at the knight in one of the few times Jon could ever remember seeing the man so visibly angry at anything. "And what pray tell could you have possibly hoped to accomplish by turning brigand? By betraying House Martell and House Dayne and Dorne herself with this stunt? Speak now, Gerold! …Because my patience has nearly reached its limit and it's taking all I have not to run you through here and now."

Gerold's face twisted into a snarl as he pointed his blade towards Oberyn. "I have not betrayed Dorne! I am more a true son of Dorne than you and your brother who have done nothing to avenge the fate of your own sister! No. Saying you've done nothing would be doing you and Doran justice! You two have gone and done worse than nothing! You've made friends with the Usurper's fucking dogs of the North to the point where you're even willing to let your own niece Arianne end up as nothing more than a piece of meat to be fucked and bred by this mangy dog here and his bitch!"

Ygritte made to lung forward, her right hand with the talisman raised as flames started to dance around her fingers. But Jon's outstretched hand prevented her from taking even two steps forward. Jon was angry. No. Angry was too soft of a word for what he was feeling. He was angrier than he had ever been in his entire life at the insult delivered not just to himself, but to his family, Ygritte, and Arianne as well. But strangely he also felt…calm. Even with his anger turning his veins to fire within his being, his anger was not clouding his sight.

Sliding down from his horse and into the soft sand, Jon kept his lightsaber alight and off to the side as he slowly, deliberately, approached Gerold Dayne. "This is what you set out to do, isn't it, Gerold?" Jon asked, purposefully leaving off the man's family name and status, stating without stating that he was not worth his name nor title. "All of this. The killing of innocents. The raiding of Dorne. It was all to draw me away from Sunspear and out into the desert, wasn't it?"

Gerold's grin was feral, one of a mad beast, not of a man. "What do you know…? The mangy dog has some semblance of a mind after all."

Deactivating his lightsaber, Jon held out his hand and wordlessly summoned one of the men of House Martell's sword. "Apologies," he said to the man before turning towards Oberyn. "Prince Oberyn. For the insult delivered upon House Stark, the North, and upon your niece, I ask your leave to deal with this brigand personally."

Oberyn looked between the two of them, and the rest of the bandits who had all given up by this point and were kneeling in the sand with their hands on their heads as they were disarmed. "Normally he would be taken back to Sunspear and my brother would deliver his judgement upon him. But…I do believe we can make an exception this time. Do with him as you will, Jon. And I will handle my brother. I must say, though… Are you sure you wish to take him on without your sword?"

"Yes," Jon answered without hesitation, his eyes never leaving Gerold as he swung the blade around in a few lazy movements in order get a feel for the sword and its balance. "I have no need for my lightsaber to defeat him. Even this sword is a bit much."

Gerold clearly did not like his words as the disgraced knight didn't wait before charging at Jon with his blade raised in a high guard. "You'll regret your arrogance, boy! We're not in the yard this time!"

Jon barely had to sidestep to avoid the downward strike from Gerold. He then slid his right foot back through the sand, putting just enough distance between the two of them so that Dayne's follow up diagonal cut missed Jon's torso by a width of a hand. The man was fast, and good. There was no doubt about that. But when compared to Master Nox, who even Jon had been able to start pressuring, the man might as well have been standing still and shouting out each movement he made before he made them.

In truth, Jon found he hadn't even had need of the sword he'd borrowed. He was more than capable of dodging just enough so that each of Gerold's attacks struck nothing but air. The few times he wouldn't have been able to dodge, all Jon had to do was hold out his hand and stop the man's sword with the Force for a moment to give him the time he needed to move. 'Have I truly improved this much?' he idly wondered as he once again calmly deflected Gerold's thrust away with a Force push. 'Last time I was in Dorne and fought against him, it was all I could do to best him. But now… Now, he's not even a challenge.'

As their fight pressed on, and with each of Jon's inactions, Gerold's anger steadily grew until the man began losing all sense of control and finesse and instead just started slashing wildly at Jon. "Fight me like a man, you cowardly mangy fucker!"

Holding out his free hand, Jon once again stopped Gerold's blade. Countering for the first time, Jon slapped the flat of the sword against Gerold's hand, forcing the man to lose his grip on his sword before Jon threw him away with a Force push. "Perhaps if you were actually a challenge, Ser Gerold, I would take you seriously." Digging his foot into the sand underneath Gerold's sword, Jon kicked the blade over to the downed knight with the hilt land right next to him. "As you are now, I truly believe that even my youngest sister can put up a better showing than you."

Growling, Gerold leaned over and grabbed the hilt of his sword before flicking it upwards, sending a wave of sand to blind Jon. The attempt was for not though as Jon was able to push the sand aside with a simple wave of his hand. Gerold was on him before the sand could settle, the man's eyes alight with rage.

"Enough of this," Jon hissed, shifting himself so Gerold's thrust missed him once more.

Performing a thrust of his own, Jon buried the tip of his borrowed sword between the plate mail right above the man's knee. Yanking the blade out of the man's flesh, Jon let his momentum carry his next attack as he slashed up at Gerold's forearms. His plate mail prevented him from taking his hands, but the strike was still enough to draw blood and force the sword out of Gerold's hands. Still flowing in the same direction, Jon swept his left foot around, catching Gerold on the back of his now injured knee and sending the disgraced knight to the sand. In the time it took most to blink, Gerold was disarmed and on the ground with the tip of Jon's blade pointed towards his exposed throat.

Gritting his teeth, Gerold continued to glare up at Jon even from his place on the ground. "End it."

Jon wanted to, gods knew he did. But he didn't. Instead, he pulled the sword back and tossed it carelessly towards the man he'd taken it from. "Bind him," he said simply, turning his back on the downed former knight, "Prince Doran Martell and Princess Arianne will be the ones to decide his fate."

Jon had only a moment warning from the Force, coupled with the shouts of alarm coming from everyone around him. But it was more than enough time for him to react to Gerold's sudden attack at his exposed back. He didn't turn, he simply reacted with the Force, capturing Gerold mid-lunge with his hidden dagger poised to run through Jon's back and into his heart.

A trail of fire lashed out like a whip, it's warmth enough for Jon to feel even in the heat of Dorne as it passed him by. Gerold's scream, followed by the soft sound of something heavy falling to the sand was all Jon needed to hear to know that the former knight was now down an arm. Looking to the side, he saw Ygritte grinning at him, her right hand held aloft and twisting in the air as the trail of fire curled back around her hand like a rope. "How many times do da Sorcerer and ye father have to tell ya?" she asked, shaking her hand and making the fire disappear. "Ye only turn yer back on a corpse."

By the time she reached him, the men of House Martell also reached the fallen knight and proceeded to bind his one remaining arm behind his back with a piece of robe. "I was never in any danger," he tried to justify, only to receive a hard look from Ygritte followed by a quick flick of her fingers against his head.

"Yer cockiness will get ya killed, Jon. Yer good, but ya not that good yet. I'd hate for ya to do somethin stupid and end up loosen yer life cause of it. I've gotten far too accustomed to ya in me furs. And I'd hate to go through the trouble of findin a suitable replacement for ya."

Shaking his head, Jon turned to watch as Prince Oberyn and the men of House Martell began the tedious process of tying their prisoners to the horses. Forcing the brigands to walk back to Sunspear in the heat of the desert almost seemed…excessive to Jon. But honestly, he couldn't find himself to care. Not for this lot that turned to brigandry and harmed so many innocents over one man's need for some form of vengeance. "I will take your words to heart, Ygritte."

"Ye better," she said with a grin. But suddenly her grin faded as she drew an arrow, notched it, and let it fly with only the briefest of glances in the direction she was firing.

One of the brigands had managed to slip away during the duel and had made it perhaps three hundred paces or more away from them before Ygritte's arrow caught him. The man didn't even have time to react as her arrow struck him clean in the back of the head, killing him instantly. Shaking his head, he glanced at the former wildling who'd managed to claim his heart just as Arianne had. "And you just told me not to be cocky. Pray tell, how much longer were you going to wait before taking that one down?"

Smirking, Ygritte began the process of unstringing her bow. "I said dat ye ain't that good yet, Jon. I never said I wasn't dat good already."

Standing in the middle of the stone tomb, Nox tilted his head back, blocking out all noise from the outside world as he focused on the living Force flowing around him. Given his time on Korriban, and under the Apprenticeship of Zash, Nox was no stranger to tombs. Even here on this world, he had descended into his fair share of them. But this tomb beneath Winterfell, the one intended for the Jedi Master Bran Stark, this tomb was far different than any other he'd seen. The tomb was in a constant flux of light and dark Force energies flowing through it. Not battling one another. But rather…in harmony with one another. A conundrum. And one that he would've preferred to study alone. But…given just who this tomb belongs to, that was not going to happen anytime soon.

"Master Nox? Is what Robb said true? Is…Was our ancestor from your homeland?"

His concentration broken, Nox turned his attention away from the ebb and flow of the Force, and back to the Starks that'd come with him into the tomb. Ned and Robb were standing next to one another staring down at the once empty tomb. The duo having just completed a small service for their late ancestor who's bones now rested in the once empty tomb in the center of the room. Beside the two older men was Sansa, her hands folded before her as she offered her own prayers for her departed ancestor. The two youngest Starks had quickly lost interest in the ceremony as soon as it'd concluded, and both were now right beside Nox peppering him with one question after another.

"Are we related somehow?" Arya asked, which was followed almost immediately by Bran.

"Can you tell us what all this writing says?"

"How did he come to be in the North?"

"Did he fight against the Others like in the tales of old?"

"Are you—?"

"Arya. Bran. Enough questions for now." Ned said, not harshly, but with a tone that immediately silenced both youngsters.

But even though the two younger Starks were silent, the same could not be said for the eldest. "Master Nox," Robb said slowly. "I…I recognize this writing on the walls of the tomb. It's the same as on the…the tablet I recovered from the Wall. Can you read it? Because not even Talisa can make any sense of your people's writing."

Frowning, Nox focused his sight onto the walls of the tomb and the writing scrawled across it. "It's not that simple," he countered, walking over to the nearest wall and running his fingers across its textured surface. "Linguistic drift has played hell with my ability to read this, even though it's 'my peoples' tongue, as you put it."

"Linguistic…drift? What's that?" Arya asked, looking around. "If this is the tongue of your homeland people, then you should be able to read it and speak it, right?"

"If it was recent, say only a few hundred to a thousand years old, then yes, I would be able to quite easily," Nox nodded. "However, over time languages, even the same tongue, can change. This change is known as linguistic drift. Words change meaning, or phrases fall out of use and are replaced by others. Or even spelling of words or sentence structure can change over time. If you were to pull a Stark from perhaps five hundred to a thousand years ago to the here and now, while you both would technically be speaking the same tongue, it is unlikely that you would be able to understand each other all that easily. And this…this writing is nearly eight thousand years old. I can make sense of some of it…but only a small portion. It will take time, perhaps even years, to transcribe everything within this tomb and translate it into a dialect we can understand."

"Oh," Robb answered, rubbing the back of his neck, his disappointment evident in both his physical form and through the Force. "That's…unfortunate."

"Get used to it," Nox said back, walking to a particular part of the text written on the wall and concentrating on trying to decipher it. "In life, very few things are done so simply. Just because you reached the finish line does not mean your task has been completed."

"A good lesson to impart, Nox," Ned nodded. "As a Lord and my heir, you should never stop nor rest on your laurels just because you reached a certain point. There is always more that must be done."

The children all went quiet as they took in their father's words. "So," Arya, being the most daring of the bunch, was the first to break the silence. "Can you read any of this then?"

"Bits and pieces," Nox answered, motioning with his hand towards the small section he was currently concentrating on. "I believe that I was right about your ancestor in that he was originally a Jedi…but he followed the old way, the Je'daii."

"You…just said the same word twice," Arya spoke up again, "Jedi and Je'daii…what's the difference? I know you said the Jedi only used the light side of the Force, but who or what are the Jed'eii?"

"Je'daii," Nox corrected her. "And for the sake of being simplistic, the Je'daii are basically what I'm trying to turn you lot into. Followers of both the light and the dark side of the Force. It's a delicate balancing act, but one that so far you all have been up to the task of maintaining."

"Oh…well that's…umm…nice?" Arya said awkwardly, drawing an exasperated sigh of her of name from Sansa.

"Can you spot any mention of Bran the Builder's last creation, Master?" Robb asked, his eagerness returning as he parted from his father and made his way towards Nox.

"Not yet" Nox answered honestly, waving his hand around the tomb. "All of this seems to be a telling of his life and teachings. Though unlike in a book where you could simply flip to the end to find one's last act, or in this case creation, here it is not so simple."

"Why not, Master?" Sansa asked curiously.

"Simply put, I don't know where the beginning and the end even are in all of this." Nox replied. "And if you were to put all the text from these walls into a book, you would have easily one of the largest books in Winterfell's library. This…is going to take a lot of time to learn what we need to know." 'And let us hope that we have the time to learn what we need to. By the Force Bran Stark…if you're last creation isn't worth it, I'm going to pull your sorry Jedi ass out from the aether of the Force just so that I can kill you with my own hands.'

Holding onto the reins of her mare tightly, Daenerys Targaryen watched with a critical eye those that she now considered 'her people', the Dothraki. If she were being honest with herself, they were not entirely what she'd thought they would be, nor what she'd heard they were. Sure, they were violent at times and even in the brief time she'd been with them her husband had already led two different raids: one on a village and one on a larger town. But most? The followers or the young? They were just people living their lives. Not demons or monsters or whatever else people called the Dothraki. They were just people living their lives as best they could. Just as Jon had told her when he compared the Dothraki to the Wildlings of the North when she'd brought up her potential marriage to Khal Drogo.

"Princess."

Glancing to her left, Dany kept her face impassive as the man who'd sworn his sword and service to her, Ser Jorah Mormont, rode up to her side. She still felt…conflicted about the man from the North. Part of her was comforted by his presence. Perhaps it was because of his accent? After spending time with Jon in her meditations, then with Domeric at his estate and then again with Lord Nox, hearing the Northern slur to the man's speech was mildly comforting. But another part, the part that knew the truth of just why Ser Jorah had been exiled, a tale she'd heard from Jon just a night past when she asked him about the man during one of their shared dreams, was uneasy with the man. And given the fact that while he'd pledged to see House Targaryen return to the Iron Throne, he'd offered his sword and services to her. The act was a contradiction of his pledge, seeing as how it was her brother who would be returning to rule the Seven Kingdoms, not her.

"Ser Jorah," she replied politely as Jorah slowed his horse to match her pace, allowing the two to ride together, an act that normally would not be allowed, but one Drogo tolerated after he'd learned that 'Ser Jorah the Andal' had promised her his sword and service.

Neither said anything for some time as they rode in a slightly strained silence. "Tell me, Ser Jorah," Dany said after a short time, "you told my brother at my wedding that you served my father and wish to serve the rightful King again one day. Did you find honor and satisfaction in your service to my father?"

The question was a trap, and Ser Jorah walked right into it, "I did, Princess. And I hope to serve the rightful king of Westeros once more again with honor."

Frowning, Dany sent a hard look in Ser Jorah's direction. The man froze at her gaze, making him loose control of his horse for a moment before he regained his senses and managed to get the beast back under control. "My brother and I have traversed all the Free Cities, Ser Jorah. In our most recent stay before Pentos, we were given shelter by a sympathetic individual, though they refused to provide any long-term aid. During our stay, this individual told me, very bluntly, as to the true reasoning behind the Rebellion and my family's forced exile from Westeros. And from what I heard of my father and brother, no true man of the North would say that they 'honorably and willingly' served my father. Not after my brother absconded with Lyanna Stark with no explanation. And certainly not after my father brutalized and murdered Brandon and Rickard Stark for demanding Rheagar explain his actions."

Ser Jorah swallowed nervously. Clearly, he was not expecting her to actually know the truth behind the Rebellion. "Forgive me, Princess. I merely wished to spare you the pain of your family's past."

"I am not my brother, Ser Jorah," Dany replied sharply. "I do not need constant flattering nor assurances of what I believe my place and right to be. Lie to me again, Ser Jorah, or try to feed me empty platitudes and flattery, and you will find that you no longer have a place by my side."

Ser Jorah nodded subduedly. "As you say, Princess."

Riding in silence, Dany decided to give the former man of the North one more chance. "Tell me, Ser Jorah, how is it that you came to be so far from the North?"

The man hesitated, and she could tell that he was debating on whether to tell her the full truth. Which of course she already knew after she'd asked Jon about the man the first night they reconnected in the world of dreams after her wedding. "I was forced to flee my home because I fell in love with a woman who did not love me in return," the older man answered honestly. "After the Greyjoy Rebellion, I participated in the tourney that was being held in celebration, a tourney which I won. During the tourney, I caught the eye of a woman, who I thought was the most beautiful woman in the world at the time. After winning the joust, I approached her father and asked for her hand, which he gave. For a brief time, I was in bliss. But I was a fool. My House never had much coin, even by Northern standards. And my wife, she came from one of the wealthier Houses in the Reach and new only comfort and warmth. I did what I could to see to her desires, but eventually I brought my House to near financial ruin trying to do so. Things eventually reached a point where my own cousin volunteered to go with the Sorcerer when he announced his plans to explore the ruins of Valyria."

"While she was gone, my House's coffers went almost completely dry. I was growing desperate…and eventually was approached by a man I had known for almost my entire life with a possible solution. I'd had a group of poachers languishing in the cells on Bear Island, waiting my judgement. This man suggested that instead of executing the men, or sending them to the Wall, that I…sell them into slavery. At first, I outright rejected the idea. But then the coin was presented to me and, thinking of bringing my wife joy and filling my House's coffers again, I accepted the deal."