ASOIAF/GOT: The King in Black

Year 299 AC, Castle Black

—

The barracks were already stirring, men pulling on boots, adjusting belts, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Outside, the cold was waiting.

It was just another morning at Castle Black.

---

Daniel stood outside the forge, watching the rising smoke curl against the gray sky.

Donal Noye was already at work, hammering out steel, his one arm moving with the practiced ease of a man who didn't waste effort. The sound of metal striking metal rang through the air, sharp and steady.

Daniel exhaled slowly. 'Alright. No point waiting.'

He stepped forward.

Donal didn't look up. "What do you want?"

"I want to work here," Daniel said simply.

Now, Donal looked up. His gaze was sharp, assessing. "You a smith?"

"No. But I know enough to be useful."

"Do you?"

Donal set down the hammer and stepped around the anvil. The heat of the forge made the air waver between them.

"You ever held a pair of tongs?"

"Yes."

"Ever shaped steel?"

"Not properly, but I know the process."

Donal grunted. "Knowing and doing aren't the same thing."

Daniel nodded. "I learn fast."

The smith studied him for a long moment, then jerked his chin toward a nearby bucket of raw iron bars.

"Pick one."

Daniel obeyed. The iron was heavier than he expected, rough against his palms.

Donal motioned toward the furnace. "Heat it."

Daniel hesitated, then grabbed the tongs, clamping them around the bar. He slid the iron into the furnace, watching as the metal darkened, then began to glow.

Donal watched, saying nothing.

Daniel waited until the color turned the right shade—orange, not too bright, not too dull. Then he pulled it out.

"Now what?" Donal asked.

Daniel met his gaze. "Hammer it while it's hot. Shape it before it cools."

"Then do it."

Daniel positioned the iron on the anvil and swung the hammer.

The first strike was bad. Too much force, the angle slightly off.

The second was better.

The third felt almost right.

Donal let him go on for a while, then finally took the hammer from his hands.

"You hit like a recruit," he muttered. "But I've seen worse."

Daniel exhaled. "Does that mean I can work here?"

Donal sighed, rubbing his jaw. "You show up on time. You don't slack. You don't break anything expensive. Then maybe."

It wasn't a yes.

But it wasn't a no.

Daniel nodded. "I'll be here tomorrow."

Donal snorted. "We'll see."

---

Later, after training, Daniel found himself in the yard again, rolling out the stiffness in his arms.

The forge work was a different kind of pain from sparring—slower, deeper, but just as exhausting.

He felt it even as he practiced.

His movements were still clumsy, still too slow, but something was changing. His grip felt stronger, more stable. The weight of the sword no longer felt like a stranger in his hands.

Rask watched him from the side. "You look miserable."

"Feel miserable."

"Good. That means it's working."

Daniel sighed, lowering his sword. "Clydas will still beat me tomorrow."

"Probably," Rask agreed. "But he'll have to work harder for it."

Daniel nodded absently, stretching his fingers.

Movement at the far end of the yard caught his eye.

Jon Snow.

He was sparring again—not against Grenn this time, but against someone better.

A ranger.

The difference in skill was obvious. Jon was good, but the ranger was faster, more experienced.

But Jon didn't falter.

He adjusted. Adapted. Every failed strike became a lesson.

Daniel watched carefully, noting the way Jon's stance shifted after every exchange.

'He doesn't make the same mistake twice.'

It was a skill Daniel needed.

Rask followed his gaze and smirked. "So when are you asking him?"

Daniel sighed. "Why do you assume I will?"

"Because you need to."

Daniel didn't answer.

He just kept watching.

Because Rask was right.

He needed to.

But he had to do it the right way.

Not yet.

Not today.

But soon.

---

Daniel didn't sleep easily that night.

Not because of nightmares—those had faded into something quieter now. Not because of pain—he was used to that.

But because his mind wouldn't stop moving.

He had plans.

But now, for the first time, he had the beginning of a path.

The forge. The training. Jon Snow.

Pieces on the board.

And Daniel?

Daniel was done waiting.

Tomorrow, he would start moving.

—

Next morning

Daniel wasn't sure why he felt nervous.

He had spoken to Jon Snow before. Briefly. Nothing that mattered.

But today, it mattered.

Because today, he was going to ask.

The yard was already filling with recruits, the morning air thick with the sound of clashing steel and muttered curses. Daniel spotted Jon near the training dummies, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his sword.

Daniel took a breath, then walked over.

Jon saw him coming. His eyes flicked over Daniel's bruises, his tired stance, before he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Deserter," Jon said, not unkindly.

"Lord Snow," Daniel returned.

Jon's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait. "You need something?"

Daniel exhaled. No point dragging it out.

"I want you to train me."

Jon blinked.

For a second, Daniel thought he might laugh. Or worse, walk away without answering.

Instead, Jon frowned, tilting his head slightly. "You have training."

"Not enough."

Jon studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. "Ser Alliser already trains us."

"He beats us into the dirt," Daniel corrected. "That's not training. You don't fight like the rest of us. You're faster. You think before you strike."

Jon crossed his arms. "And why would I waste my time training you?"

Daniel had expected the question.

"You saw me fight yesterday," Daniel said. "You saw me improve. I learn fast. If you help me, I won't waste your time."

Jon let out a slow breath. "You're asking a lot."

"I'm offering something, too," Daniel said. "You need men who can fight. Real men, not just warm bodies who can hold a sword." He glanced toward the rest of the recruits, still fumbling through their morning drills. "Half of them won't survive past their first real battle."

Jon's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't argue.

"You think you'll survive?" Jon asked.

Daniel met his gaze.

"I intend to."

Another pause.

Then Jon exhaled.

"Fine. We train after nightfall. Away from the yard. If Ser Alliser finds out, we both pay for it."

Daniel nodded. "Understood."

Jon turned away, already focusing back on his own drills.

But Daniel knew this was a step forward.

A small step.

But an important one.

---

Night fell.

The torches in the yard flickered against the wind, casting long shadows over the frozen ground. Most of the recruits were already asleep or nursing injuries from the day's training.

Daniel waited near the armory, his breath misting in the cold air.

Jon arrived a few minutes later, sword in hand.

"You're late," Daniel smirked.

Jon ignored the remark and tossed him a training sword. "Let's see what you can actually do."

They started slow.

Jon wasn't Ser Alliser. He didn't waste time with insults or posturing. He simply attacked—controlled, precise movements, waiting for Daniel to react.

Daniel blocked. Poorly.

Jon adjusted. Moved again.

Daniel stumbled, barely countering.

Jon sighed. "Your footwork's awful."

Daniel scowled. "I know."

"Then fix it."

They kept going, the silence between them filled only by the clash of training steel.

After a while, Jon spoke. "You're lucky."

Daniel frowned. "How do you figure?"

Jon stepped back, adjusting his grip. "You're here."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? And?"

Jon's expression was unreadable. "You weren't sent beyond the Wall."

Daniel hesitated, watching him carefully. Something in Jon's voice was off.

Jon exhaled. "My uncle was First Ranger. Benjen Stark."

Daniel already knew that.

But he didn't interrupt.

"He went missing months ago," Jon continued. "Took a few men, rode out beyond the Wall, and never came back."

Daniel forced himself to frown. "No sign of him at all?"

Jon shook his head. "No horses. No bodies. Nothing." His jaw tightened. "The Watch sent a search party. They didn't find anything, either."

Daniel kept his expression neutral. He already knew the truth.

Benjen Stark wasn't dead. No…he was something worse than dead.

Jon sheathed his sword abruptly. "Again."

Daniel didn't argue.

Because he was getting better.

Because for the first time since arriving in this world, he was in control of his own progress.

Clydas still mocked him.

Ser Alliser still called him useless.

None of it mattered.

Because Daniel knew something they didn't.

He was going to outlast them all.

---

One night, after another brutal session, Jon leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

"You're improving," Jon admitted.

Daniel wiped sweat from his forehead. "Good to hear."

Jon hesitated, then said, "The rangers are preparing for an expedition soon. I'll be going with them."

Daniel's mind sharpened. "Beyond the Wall?"

Jon nodded. "Mormont wants to see how bad things have gotten."

Daniel knew exactly how bad things were.

And he knew what was coming.

The Great Ranging. The truth about the White Walkers. Everything.

'This is the start of it.'

Jon gave him a curious look. "You alright?"

Daniel forced himself to relax. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Jon pushed off the wall. "We've got a few weeks before we leave. Keep training."

Daniel nodded.

Because now, he had a new goal.

He had planned to grow slowly, to climb the ranks over time.

But the game was about to change.

And he had to be ready.