[Chapter Size: 2579 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Northern Kingdom, Last Bastion against Essosian Slavers, 290 AC, at the same moment.

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Morning rose over the military encampment, its first light slipping between the tents that housed a mixture of expectation and tension. Canvas tents stretched in orderly rows, whipped by the cold wind cutting through the open landscape. Colorful banners, bearing the emblems of noble houses, swayed slowly above the frozen ground. The Stark House banner, a wolf standing on a gray background, stood out like a beacon of hope amidst the shadow of uncertainty.

The military encampment, harboring two thousand Northerners, stretched like a threatening shadow around the fortress, its presence a promise of freedom for those oppressed under the yoke of slavers. As soldiers prepared for the siege, tension hung in the air, mixed with the determination to eradicate the scourge of slavery from the North.

Commanders, Lord Glover, and Lord Karstark, organized troops into meticulous strategies. Detailed maps of the fortress were consulted, and plans were laid to break the mercenary defenses and free the oppressed. The presence of four hundred Essosian mercenaries, aligned against the Northern cause, added an additional layer of complexity to the impending challenge.

The Essosians, distinguished by the diversity of their exotic armor and weapons, formed a formidable force alongside the slavers. Their camps within the fortress walls were visible, a constant reminder of the resistance they would face.

As the sun ascended, the Northern siege line tightened around the fortress. Trenches deepened, stakes were driven, and barricades were reinforced. Sentinels kept vigilant eyes on the walls, watching for any movement from the Essosians or slavers.

While the Northerners prepared for a battle this day, the atmosphere in the camp was a mix of nervousness and resolve. The fires of the braziers shone in the soldiers’ eyes, fueling the flame of justice burning in their hearts. The fate of the fortress was about to be decided, and the camp, with its diversity of Northern warriors, was the force that would unite the region against oppression.

War was at the doorstep, and the camp became the physical manifestation of the North’s determination to reject the chains of slavery, come what may. The imminent clash would be a testament to the collective strength of those seeking freedom against mercenaries and slavers who resisted obstinately.

As dawn tinted the horizon with shades of pink and orange, murmurs of admiration still echoed through the Northern camp. Soldiers, lords, and nobles present in that field of hope fixed their gazes on Jon Snow’s tents, and a respectful silence hung over the camp.

With the daylight, they could see more details than last night, and their eyes were irresistibly drawn to the main tent, where the Stark House banner with a white wolf fluttered in the wind. Around it, the giants, imposing and majestic in their armor, were a sight that filled the spectators’ hearts with awe. Never before had they witnessed such grand creatures, and the expressions on their faces revealed a mix of fascination and disbelief.

The giant wolves, in turn, captured everyone’s attention. Every graceful movement, every piercing gaze emanated a wild presence that inspired respect. Observers, many of whom had never seen such magnificent creatures, found themselves captivated by the loyalty and strength they exuded.

The murmurs of admiration still spread through the camp like waves, creating an atmosphere charged with reverence. The younger soldiers whispered among themselves, sharing awed observations. The lords, usually accustomed to the harshness of the North, couldn’t contain the surprise still stamped on their faces since the night before.

Every tent, every area designated for animals, was now a focal point for curiosity and admiration. The giants and giant wolves were now more than legends and stories told by the fireside; they were a reality, an integral part of the army gathering to fight for freedom.

As expressions of the spectators varied, from children with wide eyes to hardened warriors with discreet smiles, one thing was certain: Jon Snow’s camp was not just a military field but a spectacle of natural wonders and magical creatures, a sight that united Northern hearts in a common purpose. The Northern group, supported by Jon and his magnificent creatures, was ready to challenge fate with the force of nature by their side.

Jon stepped out of his tent to have the first meal with his people; Ducken and William had prepared boiling water to make coffee. It didn’t take long for a Stark soldier to come to the camp, as his father requested his presence at the first meal.

“Sorry, let Lord Stark know that I can’t leave my group during the first meal; it’s our tradition. Still, thank him for the invitation; he’ll understand.” Jon said. He was a bastard; he could refuse such offers, especially since he didn’t want to leave his faithful group.

Once the soldier left, and Jon, ignoring all eyes in the camp turned toward them, began to join William, Ducken, and the giants to have his first meal. Jon, William, Ducken, and the giants formed an impromptu circle shortly afterward. The soft voices of Jon and his companions filled the space, blending with the crackling of wood in the nearby campfire. Each took their first meal with a serene expression, feeding not only on bread and meat but also on the camaraderie they shared. The coffee, served in rustic mugs, warmed hands and hearts.

Upon completing the meal, Jon and his group did not remain idle. Bustle took over the camp as Jon dedicated himself to preparing and organizing the surroundings. He spent his time mainly executing his alchemical innovations.

The morning progressed when a guard presented himself, interrupting Jon’s activities. An unexpected invitation was extended to him, calling him to the main tent, where a war council meeting was underway among the top leaders. His own father, Lord Stark, had extended the invitation, a surprise that reverberated through Jon’s attentive eyes.

Faced with the invitation, the young Stark raised an eyebrow, expressing restrained surprise. He did not expect to be included in a war council, as his position, though courageous, did not seem to confer the usual status for such interactions. A shadow of doubt briefly hovered in his eyes, but the expression soon transformed into determination.

The main tent, a stronghold of strategy and planning, loomed imposingly as Jon approached. The muffled sounds of strategic discussions and battle plans escaped through the edges, revealing a world of intrigue and decisions that would shape the fate of the camp and, consequently, the fate of the North.

With resolute steps, Jon entered the main tent, aware that he was about to join a war council among the camp’s top commanders, even as a child.

“You’re here, Jon.” His father spoke, putting an end to the ongoing conversations.

“You requested me, Lord Stark.” He said politely.

“Yes, we’re discussing how to open the fortress gates. We can defeat them by keeping them trapped and running out of food, but they have hostages, and we can’t stay much longer here; the men are eager to return to their homes and families.” Lord Stark said.

“I understand, but how could I be of help?” Jon asked.

“We could use your giants, lad.” One of the men spoke, and Jon immediately understood; they wanted to use his people?

Jon felt anger suddenly. After Jon handed them fine steel, they still treated him like a child to be used for their benefit? He was quite angry, but held it for now, although it was hard, and some noticed.

“We’re here to ask for your opinion, Jon. We won’t force you into anything.” Lord Glover, the one with a significant debt to the boy, spoke and gave a dirty look to the noble who spoke earlier.

“Yes, Jon. I won’t compel you to use your giants, but I want your opinion.” His father spoke.

Calming down a bit, Jon sighed and spoke.

“You want to open the gate, right? I have a solution, but prepare all the soldiers by mid-afternoon. You won’t regret it.” Jon said, and his father scrutinized his expression.

“How certain are you that you can open those gates?” He asked.

“I’m sure of success, so you can prepare your men, leave the rest to me,” Jon said and excused himself; he didn’t want to stay there any longer.

Thus, not long after, the soldiers’ preparation began, and the camp soon entered a frenzy with a command to prepare for the total attack. Jon went to organize his side.

After passing the information to Ducken, he didn’t set aside his frustrations.

“It’s not surprising that they want to use us, Jon,” Ducken advised.

“Even so, they want to sacrifice the lives of the siege giants as if they’re entitled to it!” The boy growled.

“It’s tough, I know, but the world works that way, Jon…” William tried to calm the boy; people will always be naturally greedy.

“Okay, let’s prepare our greatest long-range power and destroy that gate.” Jon spoke.

Jon prepared with the rest of the camp, donning his armor and readying his men while they had their midday meal.

The camp was immersed in a stern and tense atmosphere. Bustle unfolded among the men, all aware that the approaching battle would not bring joy but rather brutal challenges. There was no room for trivialities on a medieval battlefield, and the expressions on the men’s faces reflected that.

Jon Snow, his armor reflecting the cold sunlight, moved among his men with Ducken, his serious gaze communicating the gravity of the moment. His words, stern and direct, allowed no space for unrealistic optimism. “Okay, now we have our greatest long-range power, and we’re going to destroy that gate,” he announced, the seriousness in his voice echoing across the camp, as a wagon was brought out from his camp.

The men in the camp, as they prepared, didn’t exchange frivolous words. Instead, the metallic sound of weapons being adjusted and sharpened dominated the scene. The heavy scent of metal and sweat hung in the air, mixing with the distant smell of the midday meal, which, far from bringing joy, served as a brief pause before the imminent chaos.

The meal, more a necessity than a moment of pleasure, was consumed quickly, the men feeding not only on meat and bread but also on the cold determination permeating the camp. There was no laughter, only tense murmurs and serious looks.

The camaraderie among the soldiers was palpable, not in the form of jokes but in the form of shared glances and shoulder squeezes that conveyed mutual understanding. They knew what was at stake, and the weight of responsibility was reflected in every hard line of their faces; they were going to fight, and some of them might not return from this battle.

Under the stern command of their superiors, the soldiers organized into military formation, lining up with precision as they adjusted their armor and sharpened their weapons. The metallic sound echoed through the field, permeating the tense silence that preceded the battle.

The leaders, faces marked by the experience of past conflicts, conveyed concise orders, outlining strategies for the attack. The determined gaze of each warrior reflected the seriousness of the moment, as they absorbed the instructions and prepared to face the enemy siege.

In a disciplined choreography, the soldiers raised shields, adjusted helmets, and tested the weight of their spears. The battlefield, now a sea of warriors, vibrated with a tense energy, driven by the imminence of the confrontation.

The commander, amid the formation, uttered words of encouragement and final strategies. Tension reached its peak when, in unison, the warriors raised their weapons, ready for the command that would mark the beginning of the assault against the siege.

The sun, now leaning westward, cast a golden light over the scene, painting it with warlike tones. Flags waved in the wind, reflecting the unbroken spirit of the soldiers as they awaited the signal to advance.

The battlefield was immersed in silence, only interrupted by the muffled sound of the warriors’ firm steps and the fluttering of flags. Battle preparation was complete, and anxiety hung in the air, poised to transform into brutal action the moment the final command was given.

As Jon approached mounted on Shadow with his group, the soldiers began to make way for him to pass. It didn’t take long for them to arrive with all their giants and direwolves. Ducken was by his side, and William led his cart with special equipment.

“Jon!” His father came to him and greeted him. He was mounted on Blackarrow, wearing the armor Jon had gifted him, standing out as a powerful leader.

“Lord Stark, this is Ducken; he will give the first command to the giants. They will open the gate, and you, with your men, attack afterward, okay?” Jon spoke.

Lord Stark nodded, and Ducken began giving orders to the giants.

Jon created something extra in his isolated time, a highly flammable substance he had seen in some books from Winterfell, created in King’s Landing by a city guild, a substance called wildfire. Jon managed to create it with his resources and prepared some barrels for an emergency.

Before the decisive attack, the atmosphere in the military camp was saturated with tension and anticipation. Jon, with his inventive mind and knowledge of the Old Gods, had created giant bows especially for his loyal heavy friends. These weapons, tailor-made for the colossal strength of the giants, rose like improvised towers 150 meters from the enemy stronghold.

Ducken, the experienced leader of the giants, gave precise orders for them to get ready. The enormous figures of skin and fur began to move toward their giant weapons. Each bow, a monument to Jon’s ingenuity, was connected to a complex system of pulleys and ropes, allowing even the most imposing creatures to handle these formidable weapons.

Meanwhile, a strategically positioned cart contained the special arrows created by Jon in recent months. These arrows were dipped in wildfire, an inflammable and explosive mixture that Jon had learned to produce during his studies in the Wolfwoods forest. The arrows emitted an ominous green light, reflecting the danger they carried.

Everyone saw those giants carrying their bows, wondering what would happen. In the next moment, they realized that the cart William was carrying contained special arrows with green liquid. The giants began to pick up the arrows and load them into their weapons, each arrow carrying a vial with the liquid.

The giants, each as tall as a tower, carefully took the arrows from the cart, their huge hands handling them with surprising precision. The tension in the air increased as the weapons were prepared, and the expectation of the imminent assault became almost palpable.

“Ready Bows!” Ducken commanded, and the giants, now equipped with the giant bows and holding the special arrows, were ready for the attack order. Jon, watching the spectacle he had orchestrated, felt confidence in his strategy as he prepared for the offensive that would change the course of the battle.

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