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The following 7 chapters are already available to Patrons.
Chapter 9 (Kuruk Hates Being Second), Chapter 10 (A Drop of Water), Chapter 11 (What is An Avatar), Chapter 12 (Jon Snow or Jon Sand), Chapter 13 (The Voice That Calls From Deep), Chapter 14 (A Mother's Touch), and Chapter 15 (The Three-Eyed Raven's Warning) are already available for Patrons.
The feast that evening was held in the Merman's Court, the great hall of New Castle. Jon had thought the great hall of Winterfell impressive, but the Manderly seat offered a different sort of grandeur. Where Winterfell was all granite and ancient timbers, solid and unchanging as the North itself, the Merman's Court was a riot of color and craftsmanship.
The floor was laid with blue and green tiles, creating the illusion of being underwater. The walls and pillars had been carved by skilled hands to resemble creatures of the deep—crabs and eels, sharks and squids, and everywhere the merman sigil of House Manderly. Most impressive was the ceiling, where wooden planks had been painted to depict a massive kraken locked in battle with a grey leviathan beneath storm-tossed waves.
As promised, Jon found himself seated at the high table, though at the far end, beside Bran and across from Arya. It was still a position of far more honor than he typically received.
The feast itself was magnificent—course after course of seafood prepared in ways Jon had never imagined. Crabs cooked with exotic spices, oysters served raw with sharp vinegar, fish stewed with vegetables, and strange creatures called "lobsters" that required special tools to crack their red shells.
"Is it true you have to eat them while they're still alive?" Arya asked Wylla, who sat on her other side.
"No, silly," Wylla laughed. "They're quite dead—the red color comes from cooking. Though they are indeed alive when they go into the pot."
Arya considered this information as she poked at the lobster meat on her plate. "That seems cruel."
"No crueler than slaughtering a pig or a chicken," Wylla pointed out pragmatically. "At least it's quick."
Jon listened to their conversation with half an ear, his attention drawn repeatedly to the massive windows that lined one wall of the hall, offering glimpses of the darkening harbor beyond.
"Not hungry, Snow?" Theon's voice broke through his thoughts. The Ironborn was seated a few places away, between Robb and Sansa, but he'd noticed Jon's distraction. "Too exotic for your Northern tastes?"
"The food is excellent," Jon replied evenly. "I'm simply taking my time to enjoy it."
"Wise choice," Lord Manderly interjected, overhearing their exchange from his massive chair at the center of the table. "Southern banquets rush through a dozen courses, never allowing proper appreciation of any dish. In White Harbor, we savor our meals, especially when they honor distinguished guests!"
He raised his goblet toward Lord Stark, who acknowledged the gesture with a respectful nod. The hall quieted as Lord Manderly heaved himself to his feet, aided by two servants.
"My lords and ladies," he began, his booming voice carrying easily across the Merman's Court. "It is my great honor to welcome Lord Eddard Stark and his family to White Harbor. The bond between our houses stretches back a thousand years, to when the Starks gave the Manderlys refuge after our exile from the Reach."
Murmurs of approval rippled through the hall as Lord Manderly continued, recounting the ancient alliance between their houses and praising Lord Stark's leadership of the North. Jon found his gaze drawn to Wylla, who was watching her grandfather with obvious pride.
"In three days' time," Lord Manderly announced, "our tourney shall begin—a celebration of one thousand and fifty years of Manderly presence in the North. Knights and warriors from across the Seven Kingdoms will compete for honor and handsome prizes!" He gestured expansively, his multiple chins quivering with enthusiasm. "There will be archery contests, horse races, a grand melee, and even a modest joust—though nothing so elaborate as they hold in the South, of course."
More approving murmurs followed this announcement. Tourney events were rare in the North, and Lord Manderly's celebration promised to be the most significant gathering of its kind in years.
"And now," Lord Manderly continued, "I have a special request for our honored guest." He turned toward Lord Stark. "My lord, it would please me greatly if you would consent to serve as judge for the final day's events, alongside myself and Ser Wylis."
Lord Stark inclined his head. "I would be honored, Lord Manderly."
"Excellent!" Lord Manderly beamed. "And perhaps some of your fine sons might consider participating? The young men's melee would be well suited to their skills, I think."
All eyes turned toward Robb, who straightened in his seat. "I would be proud to represent House Stark in the melee, Lord Manderly," he said formally.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Lord Manderly clapped his hands together in delight. "And young Theon too, perhaps? The Ironborn are known for their fighting prowess."
Theon preened at the recognition. "I would be honored to compete, my lord."
Lord Manderly's gaze traveled down the table, landing finally on Jon. "And you, Jon Snow? My granddaughter tells me you're quite skilled with a blade."
Jon felt a moment of panic, uncertain how to respond. He glanced toward Lord Stark, seeking guidance.
Lord Stark gave a small nod. "My son Jon is welcome to compete if he wishes," he said.
"I would be honored, Lord Manderly," Jon replied, keeping his voice steady despite his shock at Lord Stark's public acknowledgment.
"Splendid!" Lord Manderly raised his goblet high. "To our noble guests, and to a magnificent tourney!"
The hall erupted in cheers as everyone drank to the toast. Jon sipped his sweet drink, mind reeling from the unexpected turn of events.
Across the table, Arya grinned at him, clearly delighted by this development. Beside her, Wylla wore a similar expression, her eyes meeting Jon's with undisguised satisfaction. Clearly, she had played some role in arranging for his inclusion in the tourney events.
The feast continued with music and more courses, the atmosphere growing merrier as wine flowed freely. Jon found himself drawn into conversation with Bran, who peppered him with questions about the upcoming tourney and whether Jon thought he might be allowed to compete in the archery contest despite his youth.
"You'll need to ask Father," Jon advised. "But you're a good shot for your age. He might allow it."
"I've been practicing every day," Bran said earnestly. "Even on the journey here."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a group of performers—jugglers and acrobats in colorful costumes who began to entertain the guests with impressive feats of dexterity. Jon used the distraction to slip away from the table, needing a moment of quiet to process everything that had happened.
He found his way to a small balcony off a corridor near the great hall. The night air was cool and salt-tinged, carrying the sounds of the harbor below—creaking ships, distant shouts of sailors, the soft, constant rhythm of waves against stone.
Jon leaned against the balustrade, gazing out at the darkened sea. A nearly full moon illuminated the water, creating a silvery path that seemed to stretch to the horizon and beyond.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a deep voice said from behind him.
Jon whirled around, startled, but found no one on the balcony. Yet the voice had been too distinct, too real to be imagination.
"Who's there?" he demanded, one hand moving instinctively to where his sword would hang if he'd been armed.
A figure shimmered into existence before him—the same bearded man he had glimpsed in his dreams and in the reflection on the White Knife. He wore blue clothing of an unfamiliar style, with white fur trim and peculiar symbols embroidered across the chest. His features were those of no Westerosi race Jon knew—skin darker than a Northerner but lighter than a Summer Islander, with distinctive blue eyes and a strong, square jawline.
"You can call me Kuruk," the apparition said, his form translucent yet somehow solid at the same time. "Like the others who have spoken to you, I am here to help."
Jon backed up until he felt the stone balustrade against his lower back. "You're... like Kyoshi and Roku," he said, recognizing the similar quality of the man's presence—both there and not there, real yet ethereal.
"I am," Kuruk confirmed with a nod. "They have taught you about air and fire. I am here to teach you about water."
Jon glanced nervously toward the doorway, worried someone might enter and find him speaking to an apparition. "Are you another... spirit?"
"In a manner of speaking," Kuruk replied, seeming amused by Jon's discomfort. "Don't worry—no one else can see or hear me unless I wish it."
Jon relaxed slightly, though he remained wary. "Why here?"
Kuruk gestured toward the moonlit sea. "Water is my element, as it will be one of yours. The proximity to the ocean makes it easier for me to manifest, and for you to connect with water's energy."
"One of mine?" Jon repeated, catching the specific phrasing. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Kuruk said patiently, "that you have the capacity to bend all four elements, not just one. Fire has come to you first, air has begun to respond, and now water awaits your command."
Jon shook his head, struggling to comprehend. "But why? Why me? What am I?"
Kuruk's expression grew more serious. "There are some questions I cannot yet answer, Jon Snow. Not because I wish to keep secrets, but because understanding comes in stages. For now, know this: you have been given a rare gift, a connection to the elements that few in any world possess."
"In any world?" Jon echoed, his confusion deepening.
"Focus on what's before you," Kuruk advised, sidestepping the question. "The sea calls to you—I can see it in your eyes. You feel its pull, its rhythm."
Jon couldn't deny it. "Yes. Since we first saw the harbor. It's like... like it knows me somehow."
Kuruk nodded, pleased by this response. "Good. That awareness is the first step toward waterbending. Water is the element of change and adaptation. It flows around obstacles rather than challenging them directly."
"Like in swordplay," Jon murmured, thinking of how Ser Rodrik had taught them to redirect an opponent's force rather than always meeting it head-on.
"Exactly," Kuruk said approvingly. "You understand more than you realize, Jon Snow."
He moved to stand beside Jon at the balustrade, gazing out at the moonlit sea. "Tonight, I will not teach you forms or techniques. Tonight, I want you simply to feel the water—its push and pull, its eternal dance with the moon's gravity."
Jon followed Kuruk's gaze, watching the gentle rise and fall of the waves below. There was a pattern to it, a rhythm as predictable as a heartbeat yet constantly varying in subtle ways.
"Close your eyes," Kuruk instructed. "Extend your awareness. Feel the water not just with your senses, but with your spirit."
Jon obeyed, closing his eyes and trying to focus his awareness as he did during firebending practice. At first, he felt nothing unusual—just the cool night air, the distant sounds of the harbor, the stone balustrade beneath his hands.
Then, gradually, he became aware of something more—a vast, rhythmic energy surrounding the city, moving in concert with forces far greater than human comprehension. The tides, he realized. He was sensing the tides themselves, the monumental flow of water responding to the moon's pull.
"I feel it," he whispered, awed by the sensation. "The water... it's alive somehow."
"All elements have life of their own," Kuruk said softly, "but water perhaps most of all. It nurtures, it destroys, it changes form, it yields only to be reborn."
Jon opened his eyes, finding that his awareness of the water remained even with visual distractions. "It's... incredible," he admitted.
Kuruk smiled, his transparent features softening with approval. "This is enough for tonight. In the days to come, as the tourney preparations continue, find time to return here—or any place where you can see the sea. Watch the water, feel its movement. When you're ready, I will teach you to influence that movement, just as you've learned to call fire."
Jon nodded, both eager and apprehensive about this new dimension of his abilities. "Thank you," he said simply.
Kuruk inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Until next time, Jon Snow. Remember—water finds its own path. It does not struggle against the current but becomes the current."
With those words, Kuruk's form shimmered and faded, leaving Jon alone on the balcony with the moonlit sea and the newfound awareness of its eternal rhythm.
He remained there for some time, watching the water and sensing its subtle energy. Only when the chill night air began to seep through his festival clothes did Jon finally turn away, reluctantly making his way back toward the noise and warmth of the Merman's Court.
As he walked, Jon's hand rose to touch the silver merman pendant beneath his doublet. It seemed fitting that his next lesson would involve water, here in this city dedicated to creatures of the deep.
The feast had stretched late into the night, with Lord Manderly insisting on toast after toast to honor his distinguished guests. By the time Jon finally retired to his chambers, the moon was high in the night sky, casting silver patterns across his bed through the partially shuttered window.
Despite his exhaustion from the journey and the evening's festivities, sleep eluded him. His mind replayed the encounter with Kuruk on the balcony—the strange spirit's words about water being "one of his elements," the pull of the tides he'd felt for the first time, the cryptic reference to "any world." Each answer seemed to spawn a dozen new questions.
Jon rose from his bed and moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit harbor below. Ships bobbed gently at their moorings, their masts creating a forest of shadows against the silvery water. The rhythmic sound of waves against stone reached him even at this height, a constant, soothing pulse that somehow matched the beat of his own heart.
Eventually, he drifted into a restless sleep filled with dreams of vast oceans and strange, glowing figures moving beneath the waves. When he woke, the first pale light of dawn was just breaking over the eastern horizon.
Jon dressed quickly, pulling on simple breeches and a worn tunic rather than the finer clothes that had been provided for his stay. If he was to explore the harbor and find a private place to practice, better to blend in with the common folk than draw attention as Lord Stark's son—bastard or otherwise.
The castle was quiet as he made his way through its corridors, the majority of its occupants still sleeping off the previous night's revelry. A few servants nodded respectfully as he passed, but asked no questions about his early morning wanderings.
The air outside was crisp and salt-laden, carrying the myriad scents of a busy port—fish and tar, rope and timber, foreign spices and the distinctive brackish odor of tidal flats. Jon made his way down from New Castle toward the harbor, passing through streets that were just beginning to stir with early morning activity.
Fishermen prepared their boats for the day's catch, merchants arranged wares in anticipation of customers, and kitchen servants hurried to the marketplace for fresh provisions.
Jon reached the harbor proper as the sun cleared the horizon, casting long golden rays across the water. He walked along the waterfront, observing the different vessels moored there—everything from small fishing boats to impressive trading galleys. One particularly grand ship caught his eye, its sails emblazoned with the silver moon-and-falcon of House Arryn.
"Vale lords arrived yesterday," commented a gruff voice beside him.
Jon turned to find an old sailor coiling rope nearby, his weathered face creased with decades of exposure to sun and sea.
"For the tourney?" Jon asked.
The sailor nodded. "Aye. Lord Manderly's celebration is drawing folk from all over. Vale lords, Riverlanders, even some minor Reach houses, I hear." He spat over the edge of the dock. "Good for business, I suppose, though these southron types always expect special treatment."
"Are there many Northern houses attending?" Jon inquired, genuinely curious about the scope of the event.
"Most of the eastern houses for certain—Flints, Lockes, Woolfields already arrived. Karstarks came in yesterday, with the Mormonts and Hornwoods not far behind." The sailor squinted at Jon. "You with the Stark party, then? Heard they rode in yesterday."
Jon hesitated, unsure if admitting his connection to House Stark would invite more questions than he wanted to answer. "I'm from Winterfell," he said simply, which was truth enough.
The sailor seemed satisfied with this response. "Proper Northern folk, Starks," he declared approvingly. "Not full of airs like some who've been arriving. That lot from the Reach nearly had the harbormaster in tears with their demands yesterday."
Jon made a noncommittal sound, his attention drawn to a section of the harbor that seemed less busy than the main docks. A series of stone jetties extended into the water there, with no ships currently moored alongside them.
"What's that area?" he asked, nodding toward the empty jetties.
"Old loading docks," the sailor replied. "Used mostly during high trading season when the main harbor's full. Not much happening there this time of year." He gave Jon a curious look. "Why'd you ask?"
"Just trying to understand the harbor," Jon said with a shrug. "I've never seen the sea before yesterday."
This admission earned him a hearty laugh from the sailor. "Proper landlubber, eh? Well, watch the tides if you're wandering about. They come in faster than you'd think, and we've lost more than one careless visitor to the Bite's embrace."
With that warning, the sailor returned to his work, leaving Jon to continue his exploration. The old loading docks now drew his attention like a lodestone. If they were indeed rarely used at this time of year, they might provide the privacy he needed for his practice.
He made his way in that direction, moving past the busier sections of the harbor. As the main docks fell behind him, the number of people diminished considerably. By the time he reached the old loading area, he found himself completely alone—just as he'd hoped.
The stone jetties extended about thirty feet into the water, their surfaces worn smooth by years of use and weather. Jon walked out onto the farthest one, feeling the solid stone beneath his feet and the vast presence of the water on all sides. The jetty ended in a small platform with old mooring posts, partially sheltered from view by a crumbling stone breakwater.
It was perfect—isolated enough for privacy, yet close enough to the main harbor that his presence wouldn't seem suspicious to anyone who happened to notice him. The breakwater would hide most of his activities from casual observation, while the surrounding water provided ample opportunity to practice what Kuruk had begun to teach him.
Jon sat cross-legged at the edge of the platform, his feet dangling just above the water's surface. The morning sun warmed his back as he closed his eyes, focusing his awareness on the gentle lapping of waves against the stone pillars beneath him.
The connection came more easily than it had the previous night—a sense of the water's movement, its eternal rhythm governed by forces beyond human control. Jon breathed deeply, synchronizing his inhalations and exhalations with the push and pull of the small waves.
"You've found an excellent spot," said Kuruk's voice beside him.
Jon opened his eyes to find Kuruk seated next to him, his transparent form solidifying in the morning light.
"I needed somewhere private," Jon explained. "Too many eyes in the castle."
Kuruk nodded approvingly. "Caution is wise. The power you're developing would not be understood by most in this world."
There it was again—the implication that Jon's abilities came from somewhere beyond Westeros. He considered asking directly about this, then decided to focus on the more immediate matter.
"You said you would teach me about water," Jon prompted.
"So I did," Kuruk agreed, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. "Stand, and we will begin."
Jon obeyed, positioning himself in the center of the stone platform where his movements would be partially concealed by the breakwater.
"Water is the element of change," Kuruk began, assuming a stance with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands held loosely at his sides. "It adapts to any container, finds any path, and can shift from solid to liquid to vapor. To bend water, you must embody these qualities—be flexible, flowing, adaptable."
Kuruk demonstrated a simple movement—his arms making a smooth, wave-like motion that started at his center and extended outward. Though no actual water responded to his spectral form, the intention behind the movement was clear.
"This is the most basic waterbending form," Kuruk explained. "The push and pull, following the tide's natural rhythm. Try it."
Jon mimicked the movement, feeling somewhat foolish as his arms traced the flowing pattern through the air.
"Your body is too rigid," Kuruk observed. "Waterbending doesn't come from strength but from fluidity. Let your energy flow like the water itself."
Jon tried again, attempting to soften his movements. Years of sword training had instilled in him a certain stiffness, a readiness for combat that worked against the fluidity Kuruk demanded.
"Better," Kuruk nodded after Jon's third attempt. "Now, try to feel the water as you move. Extend your awareness into it, as you did when sitting."
Jon continued the pushing and pulling motions, this time focusing his attention on the water surrounding the jetty. At first, nothing happened, the small waves continuing their natural pattern unaffected by his gestures.
"Don't force it," Kuruk advised, observing his growing frustration. "Water responds to guidance, not commands. It is not like fire, which answers to will and passion. Water requires harmony."
Jon took a deep breath, relaxing his stance. He recalled the sensation from the previous night—feeling the tides as if they were an extension of his own body. He tried to recapture that connection, to sense the water not as something separate but as a part of his awareness.
As his movements became more fluid, more in harmony with the natural rhythm of the waves, Jon felt something shift. A small ripple appeared on the water's surface, moving contrary to the natural pattern, following the direction of his hands.
"Yes," Kuruk said quietly, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "That's it. Feel the connection."
Encouraged, Jon continued the motion, watching as the ripple grew slightly larger with each repetition. It wasn't much—nothing like the dramatic bending Kuruk had described—but it was undeniably responding to his influence.
After several minutes of practice, Jon lowered his arms, breathing heavily from the intense concentration required. The unusual exertion was different from physical training, leaving him mentally drained rather than physically exhausted.
"You have an affinity for water," Kuruk observed. "More than I expected, given that fire emerged first for you."
Jon wiped sweat from his brow despite the cool morning air. "What does that mean?"
Kuruk seemed to consider his words carefully. "It suggests balance in your nature. Fire represents drive and determination, water adaptability and change. Most Ava—"
"Most what?" Jon pressed, catching the unfamiliar term.
"Most who can bend multiple elements," Kuruk amended smoothly, "find that one comes more naturally than others. You seem to have connections to both fire and water, which is... unusual."
Jon knew Kuruk was avoiding telling him something important, but he also sensed pushing would yield no answers. Instead, he asked, "Will I be able to actually lift the water, like you described? Make it move in more significant ways?"
"With practice, yes," Kuruk assured him. "But waterbending perhaps more than any other element requires patience. The ocean wasn't formed in a day, nor were its movements mastered quickly by the first waterbenders."
Jon glanced toward the harbor, where activity was increasing as the morning progressed. Soon, this area might not remain as deserted as it currently was.
"I should return to the castle," he said reluctantly. "Before I'm missed."
Kuruk nodded. "Practice the forms I've shown you whenever you find privacy. Remember that waterbending grows with the phases of the moon—your abilities will be strongest at the full moon, weakest at the new moon."
"The moon affects bending?" Jon asked, surprised by this detail.
"The first waterbenders learned from the moon, observing how it pulled the tides," Kuruk explained. "Its influence remains strong on all who bend water."
Jon filed this information away, another piece of the mysterious puzzle he was slowly assembling. "Will you return tomorrow?" he asked.
"When you need guidance, I will be there," Kuruk replied, his form already beginning to fade. "The water flows within you, Jon Snow. Listen to its voice."
With those cryptic words, Kuruk vanished, leaving Jon alone on the stone platform with the gentle lapping of waves as his only companion.
Jon practiced the forms a few more times, managing to create small ripples that followed his hand movements. It was modest progress, but the fact that water responded to him at all filled him with a quiet sense of accomplishment.
As the harbor grew busier with morning activity, Jon reluctantly made his way back toward New Castle. He passed more ships flying banners he recognized—the green and black of House Umber, the brown and orange of House Hornwood, and somewhat surprisingly, the blue towers of House Frey far to the south.
The tourney was clearly drawing attendees from across the realm, making White Harbor busier than Jon had ever seen Winterfell, even during the most significant feasts. He wondered how many would compete in the events, and how he would fare against experienced fighters from other regions.
As he climbed the winding streets back toward New Castle, Jon caught sight of a distinctive green head of hair on a balcony overlooking the harbor. Wylla Manderly stood watching the morning activity below, her expression thoughtful. For a moment, Jon wondered if she had seen him at the old jetties, but the distance was too great for her to have made out any details.
The strange new abilities he was developing would remain his secret for now. Not even Wylla, with her unusual acceptance of him, could know the truth about Jon Snow and the elements that were increasingly answering his call.
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