[Chapter Size: 3100 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Beyond the Wall, 298 AC.

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The sound of the dragon’s roar kept echoing through the sky as Jon approached the free folk. Everyone looked at him, fascinated by what they had seen—after all, what they had witnessed was unlike anything they had ever seen before.

Which was quite an understandable reaction. They had seen a dragon burn the undead, killing White Walkers, while everyone watched that man kill something no one there would dare say they could defeat. Witnessing his fight only reinforced that idea, even with the same weapons the man carried.

Jon approached to within a few meters of the first row. They quickly made space for him to pass, letting him through as he kept moving forward.

Whether it was Val or the others in that line, they all followed him with their eyes. Jon walked through them with the path clear, his gaze fixed on Mance, who was also approaching.

Birds still occasionally fell from the sky, no longer able to act as undead after their master had been destroyed.

Jon reached Mance, who looked at him with a certain caution after witnessing everything. This person was quite different from what he had imagined—still just a young man, younger than Val. And to witness all of this was certainly unimaginable: that someone like him even existed.

“I must say, Arctic King…” Mance was the first to speak, seeming hesitant, staring at Jon. “You really surprised me, and I believe no one here wants to be your enemy tonight. We must thank you… for that. The weapons you gave us proved to be true, and your dragon certainly destroyed most of the creatures around us…” He seemed unsure how to proceed, still affected by what had happened that night. “I don’t know your intentions with this, but we should be grateful that you were here…” he admitted.

“Yes, but we share the same disdain for the White Walkers, and surely those creatures are an affront to our gods,” Jon replied, going straight to the point. “And I’m sure you’d like a conversation after what happened—now we can have it with none of our enemies nearby.”

“…” Mance stayed silent for a few seconds while everyone paid attention to him, with the King Beyond the Wall staring at the King of Artica, who would also be another king beyond the wall.

“Yes…” he finally replied. “Come with me.” And so, Jon followed him as Mance asked for a path to be cleared.

Jon followed him.

“Call your leaders. I believe we’ll finish faster that way,” Jon requested.

Mance nodded. “Call all the leaders to the command tent, and I also want this whole mess cleaned up and all the bodies burned,” he shouted to those nearby.

“And that thing in the air? It won’t kill us?” one of the free folk asked hesitantly while Eragon was still flying overhead.

“Only if I’m in danger. So I give you my word: while I’m safe, he won’t attack the camp. I hope you know what the opposite means, don’t you, Mance?” Jon turned back to the man before directing his final words to him.

“Yes… Don’t worry. Everyone saw what you did tonight—whether you’re our enemy tomorrow or not,” he said.

“But there are still a few people here who don’t seem very happy with my presence—not that it really matters,” Jon replied. He certainly would have aerial support if needed and was stronger than any man there, able to hold them off easily. Eragon could destroy the camp if Jon had to resort to that before escaping with his dragon and advancing with the Arctic army toward Mance, though he did not want to resort to it.

The men began working while Jon followed Mance through the camp. People quickly pointed at him as he stood out in his armor. He entered the command tent after Mance spoke with a pregnant woman—his wife.

Jon waited while Mance waited for everyone to enter, one by one — leaders he had seen in the lines and from atop the dragon, as well as leaders he hadn’t even seen fighting, busy with other matters in the camp — were now entering, each one staring at him as they passed, all studying him.

Even that blonde woman who had tried to attack him appeared, walking close to Mance while her eyes stayed locked on him the entire time with intensity.

“We’re all here, we can begin,” Mance said, since the Arctic king had requested it — everyone was present.

“That’s good. I know much more about all of you than you know about me, as I’ve already sent my letters — and they are true — I know each of you, because I spied easily through my eyes.” Jon began calmly while they exchanged looks with one another upon hearing this, seeming to frown.

“You’re a warg? No warg can do what you just described,” a middle-aged man with a scowling face spoke, recognized as Sixskins, the greatest warg in this camp.

“Sixskins, you don’t know Artica to say that. After all, we have wargs much more powerful than you, and they are in the thousands. We even have wargs who are nicknamed the Thousand-Eyes,” Jon said directly to the man.

“Thousand-Eyes? Then he’s even greater than you.” The people there seemed quite impressed by that, but one couldn’t help commenting while looking at Jon, since that title sounded even more impressive, while Jon gave him a slight smile.

“If he has a thousand eyes, I have three thousand.” Jon said, leaving that in the air — after all, he could control thousands of animals, his direwolves alone already numbered in the thousands within the forests inside the walls of Artica.

“They told us you’re from the South. Saying you turned your land into something sacred beyond the Wall and forced everyone to kneel to you,” another man said.

“Yes, I am from the South, and you probably know me, Mance Rayder. After all, I grew up in Winterfell — my name was originally Jon Snow.” He said, looking directly at Mance, who looked quite shaken by that.

“Jon Snow… I remember. You are… or were the bastard of Lord Stark… the lord of Winterfell,” he said.

“The lord of the direwolves?!” Someone asked in surprise, knowing the Stark family well because their ancestors taught their children who taught theirs, generation after generation, recounting the old battles at the Wall when a king beyond the Wall rose with thousands of free tribes.

It was always the Starks who commanded an army when the situation was dire.

Jon knew Mance would remember that — after all, he had researched him.

“Yes, you were still a member of the Night’s Watch,” Jon said calmly.

“I see you know a bit about me. But I still know nothing beyond a bastard who was hated by the lady of Winterfell, from what I heard at the Wall when the news came along with your uncle, Benjen Stark, entering the Wall at that time,” he said.

“Very well.” Jon nodded. Perhaps this was a good opportunity to convince these people with his story.

“I’ll explain my story briefly, after all, we don’t have all night. I will have to return to Artica soon,” Jon said, worried about Brandon. The boy was still being kept in the sacred grove.

The place fell silent in the next moment, wanting to hear what Jon had to say — after all, everyone wanted to know the story behind that figure…

“I had to leave Winterfell at only eight years old, due to an unfortunate situation. However, something happened while I was away. I was taken to another place in the North, where the gods called me,” Jon began.

“The gods called you? What nonsense is this…” someone muttered.

“You may not believe it, but by the end of this story, I doubt you’ll think the same,” Jon replied.

“But first…” he said, as he reached for a small pouch tied to the waist of his armor.

“I want to ask for something,” Jon continued, showing the pouch to Mance. “I want you to send someone to bury each of these seeds throughout the camp. Divide into groups so it’s faster, dig through the ground until you find soil beneath the snow. Dig as much as you need, but just make sure they stay in contact with the earth. Do this, and in the end, I’ll show you I’m not lying. I must remind you, I’d like you to spread them throughout the entire camp,” he said, now in a requesting tone.

“Seeds…? What does he want with seeds?” they whispered softly among themselves.

But Mance nodded, giving the benefit of the doubt — as strange as it seemed, this was the man who had fought with a dragon against their enemy that night and had won the battle.

“Very well. You,” Mance said, pointing to one of the other leaders. “Ask them to do this.”

“Spread them all over the camp, understand?” Jon reminded for the third time, watching as a woman carefully approached. He handed her the small pouch full of seeds — there were at least fifty of them.

She quickly left the tent and Jon continued.

“The gods gave me abilities. And also a purpose. A goal that I was meant to fulfill beyond the Wall.”

He paused, taking a deep breath.

“So I went north through the realm below the Wall. I met companions, advanced up to the Wall and crossed it, after threatening the Lord Commander with giants who were with me. He gave me passage. And so I continued until I reached the nearest outpost to the Wall.”

“There, I discovered what the gods wanted with me. Truly wanted.” Everyone was watching him, some visibly interested, others still with skeptical looks.

“The gods wanted to preserve life on this side of the Wall. To preserve those who still follow them. Because, according to them, most of you would die before winter ended, and the few who survived… well, most… would be turned into servants of the Night King.”

“Are you saying the gods don’t believe we’ll make it past the Wall?!” growled a man.

“Our gods would never abandon us!” another retorted, firmly.

“That’s not what they showed me, after all,” Jon replied calmly.

“But if you really think fighting the South would be easy… do you truly believe the Seven Kingdoms would accept your tales of the dead walking among the living? Maybe you could convince them with the dead themselves, and even if you showed proof, it would take far too long to gather an army capable of facing that force… They might not even manage it in time, before the North below the Wall is completely consumed by death.”

“That’s why I traveled through the lands beyond the Wall, recruiting… recruiting tribes. Winning battles. Where you heard of us, we began calling ourselves the Arctic Tribe. That’s when it all began.”

“And that’s how we found the place… the place the old gods wanted me to go. There, I would found what you now know as the Kingdom of Artica.”

“What you call the Sacred Land with the greatest weirwood tree, or any other, that exists in the world. And I cannot disagree — after all, it was through the old gods that we created that place,” Jon began, staring at them all.

“It started small, but we kept developing it, recruiting more and more people over the years. We have men and giants, like you. But we also have dwarves… and even children of the forest. We all follow the same gods. We are a strong people.”

“As you said,” Jon said to the man who had raised the earlier question. “To speak of Artica, that sacred land… I did not take it, but we created it not just thanks to me, but everyone who was with me in the beginning. I built it with my people.”

“Besides, we are not kneelers. I am the king of Artica, but there is no one who kneels before me in that land. Our people are powerful. And we do not kneel to anyone, not even to me, because I refuse to see an Artican bend the knee to anyone. For the king of Artica, respect alone is enough,” Jon stated firmly.

The place fell silent once again. It was a brief story, but it still raised many internal questions.

“You said you will fight against the White Walkers… Do you really think you’ll be safe?” asked a woman, whom Jon recognized as Harma, one of the leaders as well.

“Yes. We don’t plan to run and retreat to the Wall. Our land isn’t immune to the White Walkers, but we will destroy them right there. We’ve been preparing for this for nearly ten years,” Jon replied.

“You really think you can do it? That you’ll defeat them?” asked Val, standing beside Mance, her brow furrowed.

Jon didn’t answer directly. He simply looked at everyone there, one by one, and then declared,

“If Artica falls… if the White Walkers arrive and destroy Artica… no one in the world will be able to stop them, and the end of the world is inevitable.”

“What guarantees that this isn’t just talk? We can’t fight them. That’s why we’re fleeing,” another man commented.

Jon merely raised an eyebrow.

“I think, after what we witnessed tonight, it’s very possible he’s telling the truth,” Val answered in Jon’s place. “You saw that thing destroy the forests… and they’re still burning. You saw him fight a cold shadow alone, and he won. Have you ever seen anyone kill one of them?”

She left her words hanging until Jon smiled and broke the silence.

“Dragon,” Jon said, looking at Val. “That thing’s called a dragon. Eragon is the largest one I have. And the most powerful we have in Artica.”

“The largest one you have?” Mance frowned at hearing that. “You mean to say you have more dragons?” He almost shouted with the weight of that information.

“Yes. We have many more dragons than you can imagine,” Jon replied, serious. “In any case, you must be wondering how I can control a dragon, being a Stark bastard… But, in truth, I’m not.” Jon answered, pausing.

“I’m the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark.”

“So… you…?” Mance was visibly surprised to hear that.

“I’m not just some rich bastard, if that’s what you’re going to say. But yes… I am the heir to the Iron Throne. But I believe you think I’m after the southern throne—I’m not,” Jon said, pausing briefly, silencing Mance who was about to speak.

“My life’s purpose was fulfilled from the moment the gods gave me my gifts. I’m here to fight for the people of the North. For the people of the old gods. So that we may exterminate the threat before it even threatens the Realm of Men.”

“The threat is already here too, in the North—among those who follow the old gods. Before all of you are turned into slaves, with your souls trapped in this world, forced to follow the orders of those who forbid you from finding eternal rest and our gods, I must act.”

“It’s strange to say this, but I can affirm that I was born for this,” Jon said, not sounding proud. He understood it wasn’t something to boast about, but a truth that life had imposed on him. “Because, if I couldn’t face them… who else could?”

“So you’re here inviting us to join in this fight in your land?” another man asked, staring at Jon with suspicion.

“Yes. My invitation is open. I intend to place you within my walls. But of course, I’m not forcing anyone to do that. However, only those who are willing to follow our orders and fight in the war against the White Walkers will be allowed to enter the Kingdom. And no — that doesn’t mean kneeling before me.” he said.

The room fell silent for a few moments. Everyone looked at each other. Some crossed their arms. Others simply lowered their heads, reflecting. They seemed divided: some drawn by the idea, others clearly suspicious and reluctant — even after what they had witnessed that night.

“But you said not everyone will be able to enter…” someone quietly commented.

Jon nodded upon hearing that. “Yes, it’s true. Not everyone will be able to enter Artica.”

“So you still intend to leave us to die? I don’t care if you killed a cold shadow, we could take you down as a group here! Why not just grab you now, use you as a hostage, open your gates and take the resources? Or invade your land?” another suggested in a threatening tone, with clear anger in his voice.

But before anyone could say a word, a tremendous roar echoed from the sky, right above the tent. Everyone’s eyes widened as the ground trembled slightly with the sound.

Seconds later, something colossal dropped right in front of the tent — an explosion of sound and wind threw things into the air. In the middle of it all, Eragon landed with force, tearing through the camp. The impact shook the earth. People screamed, running in all directions as the tent’s covering was ripped like paper.

Then, a giant jaw appeared, slowly moving forward from behind Jon. It stopped, growling above Jon’s head. Its very presence made everyone around the table step back, in shock.

The tent now felt far too small for what was happening. Then its mouth opened again and another roar filled the air — the sound was almost unbearable, making ears bleed and hearts race.

The dragon roared this time directly into the tent, blowing it fully open as the canvas flew from the wind caused by the roar, where the leaders retreated in panic. Some ran. Others collapsed to the ground, paralyzed by sheer fear.

Mance was one of them. He gripped the table tightly, eyes wide, trying to hold back the dizziness brought by the sound and the fear.

Eragon remained there — imposing, threatening — growling at everyone, ready to act at the slightest sign of hostility.

Meanwhile, Jon stood still, calm. His hair flowed in the wind, without a helmet, in the midst of the chaos that had formed.

“You shouldn’t threaten me like that, knowing very well I have a dragon in the camp,” Jon said firmly.

“Besides, as I said before, I’m quite a powerful warg… and even my animals can hear everything I hear and understand it.”

Eragon was right there, above Jon, with everyone around slowly backing away. The leaders swallowed hard — both those further away and those who were seated at the table.

No one wanted to face the dragon, who stared at them as if they were prey.

—

Raccoon Here:

I wanted to do everything in one chapter, but I ended up extending it. I apologize if it seemed like I was dragging things out — it’s just that I don’t think this kind of discussion should be resolved easily, after all, this is the greatest union Jon will have for Artica.

Besides, I took the opportunity to reveal Jon’s true motivations and his goal since the beginning of the story, because everything started with the old gods.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 259 – Negotiating with the Night’s Watch.

Chapter 264 – What does Westeros know about Arctic?

Chapter 274 – Prologue.

Chapter 283 – The Winterfell Banquet 04.

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