[This chapter is longer than usual. Almost double the lenght of a normal chapter. Wanted to finish this duel in this chapter only.]
Jon turned around to see a man standing just behind him. Ser Harry Strickland. Jon's face curled into a smile of amusement as his gaze landed on his new opponent.
"Well," Jon said softly, his eyes fixed on Harry, his tone carrying a dangerous calm, "it seems I have another challenger."
"Desperate to kill me, Ser Harry Strickland?" Jon continued, his voice even and almost taunting. "Do you believe that killing me would somehow win you this battle?"
Harry did not answer. He stood firm, every nerve in his body tense, his gaze locked on Lord Aeos. He could not afford even a heartbeat of carelessness.
At first, he had believed that Lord Aeos' power came solely from the monstrous creatures he commanded. He had not thought Lord Aeos himself to be a worthy warrior. That if he could just reach the man himself, victory might be possible. A quick strike, a clean kill, and perhaps the entire tide of the battle would turn.
And for a brief, foolish moment, Lord Aeos had seemed to grant him that chance. He willingly stepped away from the protection of the towering Essosi Scorpion and walked towards the Dothraki.
Harry had seen the opening. He had followed, his heart pounding with a desperate hope.
But how utterly, disastrously wrong he had been.
Lord Aeos was no naive commander hiding behind beasts. He was no strategist who left the fighting to others.
He was a warrior, one that Harry could not even begin to comprehend.
He had watched Jon's duel with Khal Gorro. Watched as the mighty Khal whose strength Harry himself considered equal to his own had been dismantled as if he were nothing.
Jon had not even been fighting seriously. He had been toying.
Harry had thought that a well timed strike, an ambush at the critical moment, would turn the tide. But Jon's instincts were too sharp, inhumanly sharp.
He had evaded Harry's surprise attack without even turning his head, as if he could see behind his back.
Still, Harry refused to surrender. Maybe, if he and Khal Gorro worked together, if they struck in perfect unison, then, perhaps, they could bring him down.
Jon, seeing Harry's guarded stance and his silence, let out a faint sigh. He lowered Blackfyre slightly.
Harry's knuckles whitened around his sword. His breath was shallow and his heart was beating frantically. He knew, deep down, that charging at Lord Aeos was a death sentence.
"You should have taken my offer, Ser Harry," Jon said, his voice calm but edged with cold amusement. "I promised you your life."
He was reminding him, mocking him, of that earlier mercy. The mercy Harry had thought to be Lord Aeos' foolish arrogance.
"Then I will earn it," he hissed.
His eyes flicked toward Khal Gorro.
The Dothraki met his gaze. He understood instantly. Fighting two against one went against his pride, but this was no ordinary man standing before them.
He had fought Lord Aeos, with his own hands. He had felt the weight of that sword, the pressure of that aura.
And Khal Gorro knew, even if they both struck together, the result would not change.
As Khal Gorro gathered his thoughts, Harry was the first to move. With a roar, he lunged forward, putting every ounce of his strength, skill, and desperation into a single, deadly strike. His blade came crashing down toward Lord Aeos' head. It was fast, precise, and meant to kill.
Jon raised Blackfyre. The clash rang out with a loud clang. Sparks erupted as Valyrian steel met ordinary steel and the difference between the two was brutal, undeniable.
Jon caught the blow effortlessly, his stance had barely shifted.
The sheer power that met Harry's strike sent a shockwave up his arms. His grip nearly slipped. His fingers went numb from the vibration. He stumbled half a step forward, barely catching himself.
Jon did not even blink.
If anything, the faint smirk curving his lips deepened. His eyes gleamed with something between amusement and pity.
"Brave," Jon said, his voice unnervingly calm. He pushed forward , a casual movement, almost lazy and Harry was thrown back several steps as if struck by a battering ram. "But foolish."
Harry's boots skidded through the sand and his sword arm was trembling. He could still feel the sting in his bones, the raw force behind that one effortless parry.
Still, he refused to yield. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes were burning with stubborn and desperate resolve and stayed locked on Jon.
Around them, the battlefield was in complete chaos. The screams of dying men and the guttural roars of beasts echoed in the battlefield but within the small circle that surrounded them, there was silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
"Very well," Jon murmured, raising Blackfyre once again. "Let us see if the commander of the Golden Company is worth his name."
And then they moved.
Harry darted forward, striking high with a vertical cleave while Khal Gorro lunged from the side, his arakh slashing low in a deadly arc.
Two warriors, seasoned and furious, converging on one man.
Jon met them both.
His blade turned into a blur of motion, intercepting Khal's arakh with the edge of Blackfyre sending him backwards and in an instant twisted to deflect Harry's strike with the same swiftness.
The force of impact sent both men staggering back. Khal's arm throbbed from the blow while Harry's sword vibrated in his grip.
"Good," he said softly. "At least this would not be entirely boring."
Gorro roared and charged first, the guttural cry of a true Dothraki warrior shaking the night. His arakh gleamed in the moonlight, slicing through the air with deadly intent.
Jon again blocked it effortlessly. He was hardly moving. The clash of steel echoed, but his footing did not even shift.
Harry followed suit, lunging in from the side, hoping to catch Lord Aeos off balance.
The result did not change.
Jon turned his wrist, the movement smooth and almost lazy, and Harry's sword was deflected with such force that the commander nearly lost his grip.
The Khal and the mercenary commander continued their assault, each blow sharper, heavier, more desperate than the last but Jon was untouchable.
He blocked, parried, dodged, and occasionally stepped aside just enough to make their attacks seem pitifully slow. He did not strike back. Not yet.
With each passing moment the shock on the face of Harry and Khal Gorro was only growing. And this shock was only turning into horror.
Even so, not a trace of sweat marked his forehead. His breathing was steady, calm and detached. It was as if he were strolling through a garden on a cool morning, not standing in the heart of a massacre.
He sent both men tumbling back once again with a sharp twist of his wrist and a powerful push from his sword.
Then, out of the corner of Jon's eye, movement.
The three bloodriders, Gorro's most trusted brothers-in-arms, had finally joined the fray.
Their faces were masks of fury, their arakhs glinting beneath the moonlight.
Jon turned slightly, his expression still calm.
Even surrounded by five, there was no hint of tension in his stance.
The first bloodrider came charging in with a wild vertical strike, his arakh meant to cleave Jon in half.
Jon sidestepped with ease, his cloak flowing around him as he raised his sword to deflect another incoming attack from Harry.
And then, he decided it was enough.
With almost impossible speed, faster than any man should be capable of Jon's sword flashed.
The blade cut through the bloodrider whose arakh he had just blocked. His torso split open from shoulder to hip, blood spraying across the dust before his body toppled to the ground with a dull thud.
The third bloodrider who had not attacked till now moved. He came in low, his arakh aiming for Jon's legs, which was far from the reach of Jon's sword.
But Jon simply stepped back and then his sword came crashing down in a silver blur, cleaving cleanly through the man's neck.
His head was severed as it fell with a thud.
Meanwhile, Harry and Khal Gorro were back on their feet. They joined the fray once more, charging in with a roar.
But Jon was done.
He moved, a blur of darkness and steel. The remaining bloodrider, who had just managed to raise his weapon, froze. A thin red line appeared across his chest, and a heartbeat later, his torso split open, exposing his still throbbing heart before he collapsed.
Jon exhaled softly, his expression unchanged, and turned to face the last two.
Harry and Gorro lunged together, both weapons swinging in perfect unison. Jon tilted his body slightly to the left.
Both weapons missed.
And in that same moment, the sword whispered through the air.
The blade kissed Harry's neck. A spurt of blood followed.
Harry stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief, hands instinctively clutching his throat. He fell to one knee, alive, but only for a few moments more.
Jon did not even look his way.
The Khal let out a final cry of rage and swung downward with every ounce of strength he had left.
Jon stepped in. Blackfyre pierced Gorro's throat, slicing upward through flesh and bone, emerging from the top of his skull in one clean motion.
One last final moment, there was an expression of acceptance on Khal's face. He had no regrets. He had accepted that the man in front could not have been defeated. Not by humans at least.
A sickening crack echoed as Jon pushed harder, ripping Khal's head clean from his shoulders.
He let the body drop.
The bloodied head rolled across the ground and came to a stop near Harry's boots.
And that was the last thing Ser Harry Strickland ever saw before his vision went dark. The severed head of Khal Gorro lying in the dust, and Lord Aeos standing tall, his silver sword gleaming under the bloodstained moonlight.
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