It's night.
John sat cross-legged in front of a crackling fire, the warmth flickering against his face. The flames danced like old friends, their movements oddly comforting in the silence of the wilderness.
It had been two days since he arrived in Westeros. Two long days of walking and practicing under the cover of daylight. The journey to the Twins would take at least one more day, maybe longer if he kept detouring to avoid soldiers.
He didn't mind the walking. The solitude gave him time to think, to plan. But the days were exhausting, always keeping an eye on the tree lines, listening for the faintest sound of boots or hooves.
At night, though? Night was his time.
At night, he hunted.
Of course, only if they got too close.
Boom.
Another group of Frey soldiers had met their end, caught in one of the traps he'd scattered along his path. A simple but effective network of explosions.
He wouldn't let them get close to him. Not during the day, not at night.
The firelight flickered across his white hair as he took a slow bite of the fish he'd caught from a nearby lake. He chewed lazily, savoring the quiet.
"Come out," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness. His eyes didn't move from the fire. "I know you're here."
The shadows around him didn't stir.
But John's lips curled into a small, humorless smile. He knew better than to trust the quiet.
"You've been following me all day," John said casually, breaking the silence again. The fire crackled as he tore off another piece of fish. His tone was light, almost playful. "You should come out. Take a break.
"Not like I'm going to eat you," he added with a faint smirk, lifting the fish in his hand for emphasis. "I'm already full."
His words hung in the still night air, but his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the edges of the firelight. He wasn't fooled by the quiet.
John had noticed the shadow on his trail that morning. At first, he'd thought it was just a Frey scout, but whoever it was had shown surprising restraint. They hadn't made a move, hadn't drawn a weapon, hadn't even come close enough to set off one of his traps.
Until now.
What really caught his attention wasn't the stalking—it was the cleverness. Whoever they were, they'd taken one of his bombs. Not triggered it, but used it.
John had noticed immediately. He always remembered where he placed each trap, how much noise it should make, and how it should react. The sound earlier in the day had been... off.
Someone had thrown the bomb. Used it like a tool instead of falling victim to it.
"You're quiet," John said, his voice still calm but with an edge of amusement. "But not quiet enough. I know what you did with the trap. Clever."
He set the fish down beside him and leaned back, the flickering flames casting long shadows across his face. His smirk deepened, but his muscles stayed taut, ready for anything.
"So, are we going to talk, or do I need to come find you?"
For a moment, there was no response. Just the crackling fire and the distant rustle of leaves.
Then a voice came, low and measured, with a slight rasp that hinted at youth. "How did you find me?"
John eyes narrowing at the sound. The voice was male—or at least it sounded like it.
A figure emerged from the shadows, moving with eerie grace. The person was cloaked, a dark robe hiding most of his features.
"You may be good," John said, letting a teasing edge slip into his voice. He paused, his smirk sharpening. "But I'm better."
Too quiet, too calculated—like someone trained to kill without leaving a trace. John made the decision
The person didn't reply, just stood there, still as a shadow, expression unreadable.
Tilting his head slightly, breaking the silence again. "Quiet, aren't you? I get it. Keeps you alive."
The person silence felt intentional, like a weapon in itself, wasn't nervous; was watching, studying.
"Alright," John said, breaking the tension with a casual shrug. "You've been watching me all day. That means you either want something, or you're really, really bored. So, which is it?"
The figure finally moved, lowering their hood just enough for the firelight to catch the edge of their face.
The voice came again, calm but laced with curiosity. "How did you know I was there?"
John chuckled softly. "First mistake: you followed me too closely this morning. The wind shifted, and I caught your scent. Second mistake: you didn't reset the trap properly after you took the bomb. Little details, shadow kid. They matter."
He knows that the one infront of him is a teen.
The figure stiffened slightly .
"You're quiet," John continued, leaning forward slightly, his tone dropping to something sharper. "Too quiet for an ordinary scout. Frey soldier, sellsword, or... something else?"
The figure didn't answer immediately, but their hand twitched near their side, the faintest of movements. John's eyes flicked to it, noting the position of their fingers near what could be a concealed weapon.
"Careful," John said softly, his tone dropping into something cold and dangerous. "I've already dealt with enough Freys today. Don't make me add you to the list."
The shadow's eyes flicked toward the fire, then back to John. "I'm not a Frey," said, rasp in the voice soft but steady.
"Then what are you?" John pressed, leaning forward slightly, though he already have some guess.
If the events are happening according to original timeline of GOT then the one infront one him is ...