The Three Headed Titan

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The following 8 chapters are already available to Patrons.

Chapter 6 (A Dance with Wylla), Chapter 7 (One Heart, Two People), Chapter 8 (The Titan's Grief), Chapter 9 (A Mermaid's Tears), Chapter 10 (What Lives After Love), Chapter 11 (Wings instead of Chains), Chapter 12 (The Blood That Heals), and Chapter 13 (The Paths Before A Snow) are already available for Patrons.

The morning sun painted the white stone buildings of White Harbor in shades of pink and gold as their party approached the city's gates. Seagulls cried overhead, circling above the harbor where ships bobbed gently on the sparkling water. The crisp sea breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed mixed with the distant aroma of fresh bread baking in the ovens, and it was so much different from Winterfell. 

"Who approaches?" called a guard from atop the gate, the high walls adorned with the sigils of House Manderly—a merman with a trident.

"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, with my sons and men. Lord Manderly expects us," Ned replied.

"Of course, my lord. Open the gates!" The guard signaled, and with the groaning creak of heavy timber and iron, the massive wooden doors began to swing inward, revealing the bustling city within.

As they rode through, Jon couldn't help but stare in awe. Pristine white buildings rose in tiers toward the New Castle, their surfaces gleaming like pearls in the morning light. The streets were paved with smooth, pale stones that clattered softly under the horses' hooves—a welcome change from the muddy paths of the North. Balconies overflowing with flowering plants.

At the edge of it all lay the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea, its waters shimmering like a thousand sapphires melding into the horizon. The sunlight danced upon the gentle waves.

"Close your mouth, brother," Robb teased, pulling his horse alongside Jon's. "You look like one of those fish they catch here—gaping and wide-eyed."

Jon snapped his mouth shut, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. "I've never seen so much water," he admitted, his eyes still drawn to the endless stretch where the sea met the sky. "It's like the world just goes on forever."

"That's generally what seas do," Robb grinned. "Though I heard sometimes they get tired and take a nap."

Jon raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Is that what happened to your wits? They went for a swim and got lost at sea?"

A soldier riding nearby snorted at their exchange but quickly winced as his bandaged shoulder. The night's events were still fresh in everyone's minds—the sudden attack, the bear larger and more ferocious than any they'd encountered, and the unexplainable surge of strength Jon had felt. Jon glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if to reassure himself that they were still his own.

The streets were already coming alive despite the early hour. Fishmongers were setting up their stalls, the smell of the fresh catch mingling with that of baking bread and spices from nearby bakeries. Vendors called out their wares—everything from colorful silks and handcrafted jewelry to exotic fruits brought in by trading ships. Sailors with weathered skin and salt-crusted beards headed toward the docks, shouting greetings and exchanging hearty laughs. Children darted between the adults.

Townsfolk paused in their morning routines to watch the procession of northern lords and their men. Eyes lingered on the bloodied bandages of the injured soldiers and the grim expressions of the guards. Whispers spread quickly—a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"The sea's not even the most impressive part," Robb continued. "Wait until you see the Merman's Court. The walls are all carved with—"

"Scenes from under the sea," Jon finished for him. "I do read, Robb. Though I'm sure you just looked at the pictures."

Robb feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me, brother. I'll have you know I read every word. Even the ones with more than two syllables."

"Boys," Ned called from the front, turning slightly in his saddle. "Stay focused. We're guests here, and we have wounded who need care."

"Yes, Father," they replied in unison. 

As they wound their way up toward the New Castle, Jon found his eyes continually drawn to the harbor below. Ships of all sizes dotted the waters—sleek trading vessels with brightly colored sails bearing emblems from distant lands, sturdy fishing boats already returning with their morning catch. He could hear the creaking of the ships' riggings, the flap of sails catching the wind, and the chorus of sailors' shanties floating across the water. 

"Don't even think about it," Robb said, noticing the gleam in Jon's eyes. "Arya would have fits if you ran off to become a sailor. Besides, who would keep me humble with your witty jests?"

"I wasn't thinking that," Jon protested, though the thought had crossed his mind. The idea of setting sail, of exploring waters and distant lands—an escape from Winterfell. And most of all, an escape from his name. From his bastard name.

"No? So you weren't imagining yourself as Jon the Seafarer, terror of the Narrow Sea?" Robb nudged him playfully.

"Actually, I was imagining pushing you off the dock," Jon retorted, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "I'd be doing the sea a favor."

They shared a laugh, but the levity was short-lived as they approached the castle gates, where more Manderly men awaited them. The white stone walls rose impressively, their surfaces adorned with banners depicting the emerald-green merman holding his trident. Guards clad in sea-green cloaks and silver armor stood at attention.

Jon noted that while the castle lacked the ancient, rugged grandeur of Winterfell's gray stones, it possessed a certain elegance. This was a castle designed not just for defense, but for displaying the money of White Harbor. Large windows with intricate stained glass. Carvings of seashells, waves, and sea creatures adorned the archways and columns.

"My lord," one of the Manderly guards bowed deeply to Ned. "We weren't expecting you until midday. And..." his eyes shifted to the injured men, concern etching his features, "your ravens didn't mention casualties. Is all well?"

"The casualties are recent," Ned replied grimly, his expression giving nothing away. "We were attacked on the road by a beast unlike any we've seen. We require your maester's attention immediately."

"Of course, my lord. Though Lord Manderly is still abed..." the guard hesitated, glancing at the sky to gauge the early hour.

"Then wake him," Ned's tone was firm. "His Lord Paramount bled defending his lands from a threat that should concern us all."

The guard swallowed hard and nodded. "At once, my lord." He signaled to a nearby servant, who dashed off into the castle's interior.

As the guards moved to assist the wounded, Jon found himself studying the castle's architecture, trying to focus on anything but the memory of the monstrous bear. The details of the stonework fascinated him—the way each block was perfectly fitted without mortar, the carved sea serpents that seemed to writhe along the parapets, the pearls and mother-of-pearl inlays.

"Stop brooding," Robb nudged him gently. "You're making the white stones look gray."

"I'm not brooding," Jon replied, though his eyes remained distant. He traced a finger along the intricate pattern of a seashell carved into a nearby column. "I'm thinking."

"Same thing with you," Robb sighed dramatically. "Come on, I heard the Manderlys serve the best fish soup in the Seven Kingdoms. Though given what I've seen of Lord Manderly, they probably serve the best everything. I could eat a horse."

"Is food all you think about?" Jon asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the stonework to meet his brother's eyes. 

"No," Robb grinned mischievously. "Sometimes I think about how terrible you are at dancing. Perhaps you can show off your skills at the feast tonight—give the ladies something to giggle about."

Before Jon could craft a witty retort, the castle doors swung open wide. A flurry of servants and attendants poured out to assist with the wounded. Maester Theomor, a portly man with thinning gray hair and a chain that seemed almost too tight around his neck, bustled forward. His robes were a deep blue trimmed with silver, the colors of House Manderly, and his chain of office clinked softly with each hurried step.

"Lord Stark," he bowed quickly, his eyes sharp and assessing as they flickered over the injured men. "We will see to them immediately. What manner of creature inflicted these wounds?"

"A bear," Ned replied, his jaw tightening. "But unlike any bear I've known. Larger, more ferocious, and... unnatural."

Maester Theomor's brows knitted together. "Unnatural, you say? Troubling indeed. I shall send word to the Citadel after I've tended to your men."

"Thank you," Ned nodded appreciatively. "Your assistance is most welcome."

The doors of New Castle swung open to reveal Lord Wyman Manderly, a man so massive he seemed to fill the entire doorway. His girth was legendary throughout the North, but what surprised Jon was the grace with which he descended the marble steps to greet them. Clad in robes of sea-green velvet trimmed with silver.

"Lord Stark!" Manderly's voice boomed across the courtyard like a horn at sea. "You arrive early, my friend, though by the looks of your men, not early enough." 

"Lord Manderly," Ned clasped the larger man's offered hand firmly. "We encountered some trouble on the road." 

"So I see," Manderly said. The concern in his gaze was genuine. "We'll hear that tale soon enough, I trust. But first, allow me to present my family. My sons, Ser Wylis and Ser Wendel."

Flanking him were his family members. To his right stood Ser Wylis Manderly, his eldest son, a tall and broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes the color of the sea after a storm. His posture was formal, hands resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. Beside him was Ser Wendel Manderly, slightly younger and rounder, his face flushed with good humor. His eyes sparkled with mirth, and a perpetual smile played on his lips.

"And here are my granddaughters," Lord Wyman announced proudly. "Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla."

Lady Wynafryd stepped forward first, inclining her head. She was poised and elegant, with dark hair cascading in loose curls over her shoulders, adorned with delicate silver pins shaped like tiny seashells. Her eyes were a deep blue, and she wore a gown of soft lavender.

Beside her stood Lady Wylla, and Jon noticed her right away. Her hair was intricately braided and dyed a vibrant shade of green, reminiscent of seaweed swaying beneath ocean waves. The braids were woven with thin silver threads and tiny pearls. She wore a dress of deep teal embroidered with patterns of waves and leaping fish in silver thread. Her eyes were a bright emerald. 

Jon can't help but feel as if he had seen her before, but that was impossible. He had never been to White Harbor, and he was certain she had never visited Winterfell. Sansa would have mentioned it.

"Allow me to introduce my sons. This is Robb Stark, my heir, and Jon Snow."

Robb stepped forward. "Lord Manderly, it's an honor to be welcomed into your home."

Jon followed suit, feeling the weight of the gazes upon him. "My lord," he said quietly, his eyes briefly meeting Lord Manderly's before flickering away.

"Ah, young Robb!" Manderly exclaimed, clasping Robb's hand warmly. "The spitting image of your father at your age. And Jon Snow," he added, his tone remaining cordial. "Welcome to White Harbor."

Jon didn't miss how several of the gathered nobles' smiles became more fixed, more formal. It was a subtle shift, but one he'd grown accustomed to.

"Come, let's not stand out here all morning," Lord Wyman gestured expansively toward the castle entrance. "We've prepared a feast to break your fast. Freshly caught salmon, warm bread, and sweet fruits from the south. And of course, we'll see to your wounded immediately."

As the adults began discussing arrangements, Wylla stepped forward with a swish of her skirts, her emerald eyes alight with curiosity. "I hope your journey wasn't too uncomfortable, Lord Robb," she said politely, then turned her gaze to Jon. "And you, Jon Snow. Though by the looks of things, 'uncomfortable' might be putting it lightly."

"The ride was fine, my lady," Jon replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Up close, he noticed faint freckles dusting her cheeks. "It's the giant bear that was the problem."

Wylla's eyes widened with intrigue as she tilted her head. "A giant bear? Now that sounds like a tale worth hearing."

"Jon's being modest," Robb interjected with a grin, clapping a hand on Jon's shoulder. "He saved half our men from it."

"Robb..." Jon muttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

"Is that so?" Wylla's gaze sharpened, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And how did you manage such a feat, Jon Snow?"

"I just... got lucky with a spear," Jon said, shrugging. He felt suddenly self-conscious under her piercing gaze.

"He threw it with such force you'd think he was the Warrior himself," one of the injured soldiers chimed in, pride evident in his voice despite his bandaged arm.

"A warrior who can't dance," Robb added teasingly, shooting Jon a sly look.

"I can dance fine," Jon protested, his ears burning.

"Can you?" Wylla's eyes danced with amusement. "Perhaps you'll honor us with a demonstration at tonight's feast. It's been a while since we've had entertainment as exciting as a bear-slaying, spear-throwing dancer."

"I... uh..." Jon struggled to find a response. Her laughter was light and musical, and he quite liked hearing it.

"Don't tease our guests too much, Wylla," Lady Wynafryd interjected gently, though a hint of a smile played on her lips. "They've had a long journey."

"Just getting to know them, sister," Wylla replied innocently. She turned back to Jon, her expression softening slightly. "Truly, we're glad you're all safe. White Harbor can be dangerous, but not usually from bears."

"Perhaps the bears have taken to the sea," Jon offered, regaining a bit of his composure.

"Let's hope not," she laughed. "Our sailors have enough to worry about without bears climbing aboard."

"Wylla," Lord Wyman called from ahead. "Come along now."

"Coming, Grandfather!" She gave Jon and Robb a quick curtsy. "I look forward to seeing you both at the feast. Try not to get into any more trouble before then."

As she moved away, Jon couldn't help but watch her go, the sway of her green braids mesmerizing. Robb nudged him with a knowing grin. "She's something, isn't she?"

"She's... unique," Jon admitted, still feeling the warmth in his cheeks.

"Careful, or you'll find yourself tangled in those green braids," Robb joked.

"Better than you tripping over your own feet at the dance," Jon retorted, grateful to shift the focus.

Robb elbowed Jon in the ribs. "So much for being better with bears."

"Shut up," Jon muttered, though he couldn't help but watch as Wylla disappeared into the castle, her green braids bouncing lightly with each step.

"Both of you, come," Ned called. "Lord Manderly wants to hear about this bear, and I want the truth told before the tale grows any larger."

As they followed their father inside, Jon caught one last glimpse of green hair through a window above. The interior of New Castle was just as impressive as its exterior—high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of sea creatures and floors laid with polished stone that reflected the light from tall windows.

Perhaps White Harbor wouldn't be so bad after all, even if he did have to dance.

"Stop grinning," Robb whispered as they walked down a corridor lined with suits of armor, each holding a different weapon. "You look like you've been hit in the head by a spear instead of throwing one."

"I thought you said I should smile more," Jon retorted, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity.

"I meant smile, not moon about like a lovesick mummer."

"Boys," Ned's warning tone silenced their banter, but couldn't quite erase Jon's small smile. For once, being introduced as a Snow hadn't been the most memorable part of a formal greeting. He felt a flicker of happiness at that thought.

The Merman's Court lived up to its reputation—carved wooden sea creatures and intricate aquatic scenes adorned every wall and pillar, making Jon feel as though they were walking through an underwater palace. The ceiling was painted to resemble the surface of the sea from below, with beams of light filtering through waves teeming with fish and mythical sea monsters. The floor was laid with mosaic tiles depicting swirling currents and schools of fish, so vivid they seemed to move beneath one's feet.

Lord Wyman Manderly settled into his ornate chair, a massive throne carved from driftwood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. His massive frame filled it completely, and the chair creaked slightly under his weight. 

"Now then, Ned," Wyman leaned forward, his multiple chins quivering with concern. His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged hall, commanding attention. "What manner of beast did this to your men?"

Ned stood in the center of the hall. "A bear, but like none I've ever seen. Three meters tall at least, standing on all fours, with an unnaturally long face and yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness."

"Three meters?" Ser Wylis interrupted, disbelief clear in his voice. He exchanged a skeptical glance with his brother Wendel. "Father, surely—"

"Let him finish," Wyman raised a hand, his usually jovial face now serious, the lines around his eyes deepening.

"It attacked without warning," Ned continued. "Its fur was matted and dark, almost black, and it moved with a speed that belied its size. Took down five of my men before we could stop it. If not for Jon..." He placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, gently pushing him forward.

Jon felt every eye in the hall turn to him. He kept his gaze steady, though he couldn't help but notice Wylla leaning forward in her seat, her green braids falling over one shoulder like cascading seaweed. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

"The boy?" Wendel asked skeptically, eyebrows raised. "What could he—"

"He threw a spear," Ned cut in, his tone brooking no argument. "With enough force to pierce the bear's neck. Ended the fight there and then."

Silence fell over the hall. Jon could see the doubt in their faces—how could a boy of three-and-ten, and a bastard at that, take down such a monster?

"Impossible," Ser Wylis muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

"I saw it myself," Robb spoke up, stepping forward to stand beside his brother. His blue eyes met those of the Manderly men. "The spear went halfway through its neck. I've never seen anything like it."

"And you say this happened near the Sheepshead Hills?" Wyman asked, his small eyes sharp with intelligence despite his massive frame. "There have been... strange reports from those parts lately. Livestock disappearing, travelers going missing. Though nothing like this."

Jon noticed Wylla watching him intently, her expression thoughtful rather than doubtful. When their eyes met, she didn't look away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. Jon felt his chest tighten strangely.

"I'd like to see this bear," Wyman declared, his tone leaving no room for debate.

"It's still where we left it," Ned replied. "Though I suggest sending a large party. Even dead, it's not something a small group should handle."

"I'll lead the men myself," Ser Wylis stood, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, eager to see for himself.

"And I'll go too," Wendel added quickly, not to be outdone by his brother. "If such a beast roams our lands, we need to ensure there aren't more."

"Before you do," Wyman raised his voice slightly, commanding attention once more. "Young Jon, come closer."

Jon approached the dais, conscious of every eye in the hall following his movements. Up close, Lord Manderly's gaze was surprisingly keen, his eyes assessing.

"You don't look strong enough to drive a spear through a normal bear's neck, let alone one of that size," he said bluntly, his tone not unkind but deeply inquisitive.

"I didn't think I was, my lord," Jon replied honestly, meeting the lord's gaze. "I still don't know how I did it."

"Hmm," Wyman stroked his beard thoughtfully, his rings glinting in the light. "Wylla, what do you think? You've always had a good eye for truth-tellers."

Jon's heart jumped as Wylla rose from her seat. She approached him, circling once, her green braids swaying with each step, the scent of lavender and sea salt lingering in the air.

"Well, Grandfather," she said finally, her voice clear and melodic, "either he's telling the truth, or he's the finest mummer in the Seven Kingdoms. And I don't think even the finest mummer could fake that blush when I look at him."

Several people chuckled. Jon felt his face grow even warmer, his cheeks burning. But Wylla wasn't mocking him—her eyes held genuine curiosity and something else he couldn't quite name.

"Very well," Wyman nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Wylis, take your men and find this bear. I want to see it for myself." He turned back to Ned. "In the meantime, my friend, let's break our fast. Your men need rest, and I suspect there's more to discuss."

As they filed out of the hall, the grand doors opening to reveal servants waiting to guide them, Jon felt a light touch on his arm. Wylla had fallen into step beside him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You know," she said quietly, so only he could hear, "most men who come here tell tales of their great deeds, boasting and preening like peacocks. You look like you'd rather face another bear than talk about what you did."

"I would," Jon admitted, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "At least I'd know what to do with the bear."

She laughed softly, and he quite liked the sound of her laughter. "Well, Jon Snow, I look forward to hearing the full story. Perhaps during the feast? I still expect that dance you promised."

"I never promised—" Jon began, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Didn't you?" She smiled mischievously, her eyes dancing. "Perhaps I imagined it." She walked ahead to join her sister, her gown swaying elegantly, leaving Jon staring after her.

"Close your mouth, brother," Robb whispered as he passed, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "You're in the Merman's Court, not trying to catch fish."

Jon snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard, but his eyes followed the green braids until they disappeared around a corner. Somehow, the prospect of dancing didn't seem quite as daunting as it had before.

Later

Jon closed the heavy wooden door of his chamber, still marveling at the finely carved seahorses decorating its frame. The room itself was larger than his at Winterfell, with a view of the harbor that made the ships look like children's toys floating in a pool.

But his mind wasn't on the luxurious surroundings. He flexed his right hand, remembering the sensation when he'd thrown the spear. There had been something... different. A surge of strength that felt both foreign and familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite grasp.

"What are you?" he muttered to his palm, half-expecting it to answer.

His eyes fell on a small knife on the side table, probably meant for fruit. Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed it and drew the blade across his palm. The cut was shallow, but it stung enough to make him hiss.

"Seven hells," he cursed, watching blood drip onto the pristine white stone floor. Steam began rising from the wound.

Jon stared as the edges of the cut began knitting themselves together. He focused on the sensation, trying to understand it, and suddenly—

Golden light crackled around his hand like miniature lightning. The world tilted, and he wasn't in his chamber anymore.

A massive figure roared toward the sky. It appeared like a giant man, fifteen meters tall, with dark hair and strange wounds on his back. Smoke obscured his face, and when he revealed it, it was the face of a demon. Then he roared again before breaking a house with his foot. The screams of the people inside could be heard as he crushed them like ants.

Jon stumbled backward, gasping as the vision released him. His legs hit the bed, and he sat down hard, fighting against a surge of power that threatened to overwhelm him. His whole body hummed with energy, golden sparks dancing across his skin.

"No," he gritted out, clenching his fists. "Whatever you are, no."

Gradually, the power receded, leaving him shaking and covered in cold sweat. He looked at his palm - the cut was gone, leaving only unmarked skin behind.

A knock at the door made him jump.

"Jon?" Wylla's voice called from the other side. "Are you well? I thought I heard..."

Jon quickly wiped the blood from the floor with his sleeve. "I'm fine! Just... dropped something."

"Are you decent? I brought you some of that fish soup Lord Robb wouldn't stop talking about."

Jon looked down at his shaking hands. The golden light was gone, but he could still feel something lurking beneath his skin, waiting.

"I... give me a moment," he called back, trying to steady his voice.

"If you're naked, I promise not to peek. Much."

Despite everything, Jon felt himself smile. "Lady Wylla..."

"Oh, so formal! Should I call you Ser Bear-Slayer?"

Jon took a deep breath, forcing the lingering power down. "You can come in."

The door opened, and Wylla entered carrying a tray. She took one look at his face and set it down quickly.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, humor replaced by concern.

"Just tired," he lied, hating how easily it came.

She studied him for a moment, then sat beside him on the bed - close enough that he could smell the salt air in her hair.

"You know," she said softly, "when I was little, I used to have nightmares about giant sea monsters coming up from the harbor. Grandfather said it was because I spent too much time staring at the carvings in the great hall."

"Did they stop? The nightmares?"

"No," she smiled. "I just learned that some monsters are worth facing." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Like bears, perhaps?"

Jon looked at his healed palm, thinking of the terrible figure from his vision. "Perhaps."

"Well, eat your soup before it gets cold. And Jon?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever's troubling you... you don't have to face it alone." She stood and walked to the door, pausing there. "Though I still expect that dance later."

After she left, Jon stared at the closed door for a long time. Finally, he picked up the soup spoon, noticing with relief that his hand had stopped shaking.

"Some monsters are worth facing," he repeated quietly, though he wondered if Wylla would say the same if she knew what he'd seen. What he might be becoming.

The soup was indeed excellent, but Jon barely tasted it, his mind filled with visions of giant figures and golden lightning. And somewhere beneath it all, a girl with green hair who didn't seem afraid of monsters.

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