[Chapter Size: 4300 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Mountain Clans, 300 AC.

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Harrion was a member of clan Harclay, which was located on the western coast beside Bear Island — or, at least, it was.

His clan, where he had lived his entire life, was now in ashes. The entire village had been destroyed, houses burned and looted.

When the ironborn came, being spotted at sea at dawn, the alarm began to sound through the tribe. It caught them all by surprise.

The raiders from the Iron Islands found the North without an army and took advantage of it. As the ships approached, a discussion quickly formed between the leader and all the others who held authority within the clan, the hunters and warriors: Were they staying or fighting?

There were four ships loaded with raiders approaching, and they were fortunate that they did not attack at night, otherwise they would have had the element of surprise.

There was a better alternative than facing those men with what clan Harclay had; the mountain clans always united when a threat great enough arose, it would not be the first time they fought the ironborn on the northern coast.

So the discussion began. There seemed to be too many raiders for the tribe’s warriors to face alone. Should they abandon their homes and take the women and children directly to the clans beyond the coast, to the Flints who would be the best option, asking for aid and organizing their forces to face the threat. And so they did.

They quickly began to empty the village, removing all the belongings they could, having only a few minutes — a few dozen minutes — before the ships arrived.

They departed as soon as everything was ready, leaving the village behind with most of their things. It was better than losing all the men. The people evacuated as they could, already some distance away, but the ironborn did not stop there. Amid their cries of euphoria inside the village, smoke began to rise as they could see their homes being burned in the distance.

“Come on, come on,” Harrion said to his young daughter.

Her mother had died in the midst of that long summer. He was an experienced hunter and a warrior of the tribe, but he tried to be a competent father to his ten-nameday-old daughter. He was one of the tribe’s best hunters. He might not lead the others as a commander like the chief, but he had much respect.

Harrion ended up looking back at the village in frustration. He wanted to be there, slaughtering the ironborn, but he could not. A part of him needed to protect his daughter, because if he fell, there would be nothing left between her and those damned raiders.

“Father, I am afraid…” he heard her murmur as she clutched his cloak.

“Come, we are safe here, but we need to leave this place and follow the others.” He said.

There was snow across the entire mountain. The days were shorter at that time. They certainly had only a few hours before night fell, even though it was still mid-morning. Snow and darkness were what had been happening in the last few days. The more religious in the village said it was a sign from the gods, that something was happening. No one could say for sure.

There were stories about an army of the dead and that the kingdom beyond the Wall, made up of wildlings who had killed one another over the centuries, was now there fighting monsters. No one could say more than the rumors that had been circulating.

In any case, they pressed on. Night came quickly, but the ironborn did not seem to give up. They could hear their shouts drawing closer.

The men of the village gathered to talk from time to time, about whether they would need to prepare to fight or not. They had to take all the people of the village as far away as possible, to another clan, but the situation was bad because most of them were slow.

They had no choice. Even though revealing their location was dangerous, they needed to light torches, for in the middle of the day, darkness was already taking over the entire North.

Smoke and flames were still consuming the houses of the coastal village, many miles away, as they continued climbing the mountain in search of clan Flint, which lay among the greater mountains.

When they arrived, they warned them about what had happened on the coast, and clan Flint was not at all pleased to hear it.

Clan Flint received the Harclays, promising that the ironborn who were hunting them would have an answer the next day. Unlike the mountain clans, the ironborn could not adapt so well to the terrain and often became lost or could not endure the cold.

When the gates of clan Flint opened the next day, with the sun returning, a force of two united clans quickly formed and easily found the ironborn who were pursuing the fleeing group from clan Harclay. They were cut down without difficulty after being lured into places fit for a good trap, and at least those were eliminated in the following days.

After that, no one returned to the coast and ravens flew between the clans, Wull and Burley gave few answers — which was very bad news…

Not all had fled like clan Harclay to join other clans; some preferred to fight. The news then came, the Wulls, to the north, were almost entirely slaughtered, and only a dozen members, mostly women and children, reached clan Knott, farther north among the mountains.

More clans tried to unite in search of shelter. Knott had suffered a long siege.

So the North carried on. They could see smoke every day, burning for weeks. It was frustrating. Ravens were sent and also received beyond the mountain clans, and the situation of the North was nothing easy to deal with.

In the end, the army of the North had fallen in the South under the leadership of Robb Stark, and the ironborn seemed to have nothing left to stop them.

The following months were difficult. The Flints together with the Harclays, along with a surviving group of the Burleys, united and advanced against the ironborn in the siege of Knott and were successful…

The battle was heavy and they suffered many losses, but the ironborn’s side was worse. They fled, but the fight was far from over, with them trying to conquer the remaining clans; dealing with the ironborn required constant vigilance.

It was known that they were concentrated between the coast and Bear Island, the northmen tried to ambush them and cut them down.

Food began to run short on the Flints’ side. They hunted more, but they could not go into other regions without risking encounters with the ironborn in the mountains. Game began to grow scarce above the mountain.

They saw no other option but to risk descending to the coast again. The ironborn still roamed about, but the latest news said that a large part of them was concentrated in Deepwood Motte and also on Bear Island.

So they began to explore the coast again, the Harclays knew how to fish, it was their main activity, and they wished to contribute to the Flints while the tribe was with them. They needed to find another way to obtain food after moons with clan Flint.

Harrion now found himself looking at the old village. He could not help but look with sadness at the place where he had lived his entire life. He went to his old burned house, and found a toy — a doll made of cloth that his daughter had had since her eighth nameday.

Thinking about it left him frustrated.

The North was being plundered. They had no choice but to flee, to prevent their daughters and wives from becoming sexual slaves, as they liked to call them, salt wives, to those damned raiders. The men would also be taken to the islands as slaves, forced to work for the same men who would rape their mothers, wives, and even daughters.

Harrion hated himself for having no power to do anything. If he could, he would have exterminated every ironborn possible, instead of hiding in the mountains.

“Hey, Harrion! There are ships coming!” a member of his clan, who had gone with Harrion and a group of men to scour the coast, called his attention.

Harrion walked to the opening between the houses, from where it was possible to see the sea. There were at least twenty ships approaching.

But that banner…

“That is not the ironborn’s. And those ships are larger than the ones the raiders use,” said his companion, as they exchanged looks.

“Let us fall back. It is better not to stay here. Let us observe them from afar and find out who they are and what their intentions are,” Harrion said to the leader.

Everyone agreed, beginning to leave the village immediately, creating a great distance. They were confident that, if they were enemies — which was very likely —, they could escape. The days were no longer so short; they had returned to normal and they knew these lands better than any foreigner.

In that region, they were certain they could return to the clan safely.

“By the gods… what am I seeing?”

Everyone’s gaze ceased to be curious and became stunned as they saw a gigantic man — larger than any ordinary man — stepping down from one of those ships and beginning to lift enormous planks to use as a gangway, connecting them to the village’s improvised dock.

Men in heavy armor began to disembark. It was the second sign that they were not ironborn. After all, the raiders did not wear white armor, much less such heavy metal plates.

Some eagles circled above them, as if observing everything. The men seemed to say something in the distance and, suddenly, they began to advance with a small group — no more than five men on horseback — directly toward where Harrion and the others were hidden.

“How do they know?” someone whispered.

The group was taken by surprise. They did not understand how they had been discovered so quickly.

“Should we fall back?” one of them asked.

“We are twenty and they are five… we can find out who they are and what they want,” another said to their leader.

“We have the advantage, it is better to ask than to flee again,” said their leader.

Harrion had to agree beside the leader. He did not want to run a second time, and they no longer had women and children to care for.

They waited until the group of men stopped nearby. All wore well-crafted armor, bearing the symbol of the ships’ banner they did not recognize well, after all Arctic had not been very famous on that side of the continent, no mountain clan had seen its banner.

“Are you members of this destroyed village here on the coast?” one of them asked, clearly the leader.

There was even a dwarf mounted on one of the horses, with an axe on his back — a bizarre sight to the northmen, to see a man so small, yet so imposing.

“Yes. Who are you and what are you doing in our land? Are you with the ironborn?” Harrion asked.

The men looked at one another before letting out a slight laugh.

“We are not with those damned raiders. We are here under the king’s orders to bring food and to check the situation on the coast,” he replied.

“King? What king?” the leader beside Harrion asked immediately.

“Where are our manners?” said the dwarf, laughing. “We are Arcticans, from the kingdom beyond the Wall. We are on campaign against the ironborn in the south. As you may presume, we have just left Bear Island, and our king, Jon Arctic — also nephew of the late Lord Stark, as you must know — has sent supplies so that we may distribute them to the villages.”

“You are those people beyond the Wall?” someone murmured, while Harrion thought about the name Stark. The Starks certainly had power in the North and the mountain clans would follow them.

“Exactly. We brought barrels of fresh water, crates of fresh fruit, grains and even drinks. We have enough to feed thousands of people for half a year…” said the Arctican commander, observing the men.

They were shocked, exchanging doubtful glances. The commander sighed.

“Look, we are already on our way out. We will simply leave everything here. You do not need to approach until we are gone. You may take it all afterward,” he explained.

“Wait. You said you came from Bear Island. What happened there?” one of the clan’s men asked. The news and rumors had not been good, the ravens brought only the suffering of House Mormont’s people.

The armored man opened a smile.

“We exterminated all the ironborn. If you truly wish to know, even those who were holding hostages to try to negotiate were killed. Our king officially executed Victarion Greyjoy, who seems to be brother to that Balon Greyjoy, the lord of the Iron Islands, correct?” he said, showing that he did not have much knowledge of the lands south of the Wall.

They nodded.

“In any case, it seems there are still ironborn in the southern part of the continent. I believe in the territory of the Glover lords, if I am not mistaken,” he continued, trying to remember the names.

Those men were certainly not very familiar with the lands below the Wall, although they had studied a little by order of the king himself, to understand in which regions the military campaign was taking place.

They did not stay long.

Harrion simply watched them bid farewell and depart. The clan’s men remained at a distance, observing as crates, barrels, and other items began to be left in the middle of the destroyed village. The giants did most of the work, while the northmen stared at them in fascination, seeing such creatures for the first time.

After that, the Arcticans began to organize the ships and withdraw.

Only when they had disappeared from sight did the clan finally approach the village to inspect the crates. When they opened them, they were astonished. As they had said, they had left fresh food and all kinds of useful things so that they might survive.

Harrion still remembered the Arctican’s last words: “Remember to say that it is Jon Arctic who is providing this. The rightful king of Westeros, whom Lord Stark himself announced before his death. The North must remember that. He may be descending south to deal with greater enemies, but in time he will return, and I hope the North will treat the king as such.”

With those words, they had departed.

Now Harrion stood there, in the midst of so many supplies, remembering how they had said they destroyed the ironborn on Bear Island. It seemed unbelievable.

Yet it had not been the Starks, Boltons, or any other house of the North, but the people whom the mountain clans had until then considered wildlings, and yet the help had come.

In any case, the Arctican ships began to spread out, not going too far south so as not to be seen by the other coast. They went on finding the people of the mountain clans, disoriented and scattered. Some still remained in the villages where they were, and the Arcticans stopped to leave food, warning that they were supplies meant for them.

The ships continued supplying the North until, finally, they left the region to advance south and reunite with the rest of the fleet.

At the Wall, the raven with the update of what had happened on Bear Island finally arrived. It was one of the ravens Jon had written a day before leaving the Mormont keep. However, the raven did not go directly to the maester, but instead to Benjen Stark, who was at the top of the Wall keeping watch.

The raven caught his attention. He allowed the bird to come to him, a little surprised — but not much. He had grown used to receiving messages like that in recent days.

The first had informed that Jon had finally arrived on Bear Island since setting foot there and that they were destroying the ironborn. Then, another update had said that the island was pacified and that he would remain there only as long as necessary to organize matters before departing south.

“Your nephew, the king?” another ranger beside him asked, curious. It was common for Benjen to receive ravens directly from the king of Arctic.

“Yes,” Benjen replied simply, taking the parchment and reading quickly.

Benjen placed the raven upon his shoulder and lowered his gaze to the paper. He read in silence.

“I need to settle something with the Lord Commander,” he said, and began to make his way toward the lift, descending to Castle Black.

After using the lift, he saw his wolf standing in the middle of the yard, basking in the sun. Benjen gave him a stroke before heading to where the Lord Commander was, the raven still upon his shoulder. Like any of Jon’s ravens, the animal was very tame.

“Any problem?” the man asked when he saw Benjen with the raven and a letter.

Benjen simply handed him the paper.

“We need to give the raven some food, but I think it is better to settle this first,” Benjen said.

Alliser Thorne nodded. “Come,” was all he replied, in a serious tone.

They went inside the castle. Alliser called a few more men of the Watch to accompany them as they climbed some stairs, until they finally reached where the maester was — in the library, where Aemon used to stay.

Upon entering, they found the maester writing something in a book, seated in a corner. He lifted his gaze, startled, and immediately closed the book, setting the quill aside.

“Lord Commander… I did not expect your visit,” he murmured carefully.

“Maester, how long have you been at the Wall?” the Lord Commander asked suddenly.

The maester looked suspiciously as he saw more men entering. Something was clearly wrong.

“I have been here for seven or eight years, Lord Commander…” he murmured cautiously.

Under the stares of the other men, he shrank slightly.

Benjen looked at him coldly. And Alliser was no different…

“If what happened in Oldtown is true, we should have already expected this…” Alliser commented, leaving it vague.

“What are you speaking of? I do not understand,” he said carefully.

“Well, let us say it should have been obvious to us. After Aemon left, the maester’s post remained vacant, and the Wall already had rumors about Arctic. The Citadel should have sent someone — someone just to spy on what was happening beyond the Wall — because they did not understand much at that time,” Alliser commented.

In truth, he had been enraged since receiving Jon’s letter about the maesters, about the withholding of information and about the fall of his prince twenty years ago. Alliser had suffered defeat and been accused of treason for supporting the Targaryens… The maesters had also been to blame. That maester was probably involved in much with the Citadel. He had not been sent there by chance — especially when information had been given that Jon’s mother had died at the time.

After Jon Arctic, at eleven namedays, emerged with an armored army, a boy of eleven namedays commanding two thousand five hundred men, sending a fortune of four hundred thousand gold coins to House Stark and then claiming to be king of a kingdom beyond the Wall, many had not believed it at the time. Yet all of that, at that age, was something a child could not accomplish.

So the Citadel had likely sent someone to gather every possible kind of information — even if it meant condemning him to live there, at the end of the world.

The maesters had fallen greatly in Alliser Thorne’s opinion. He also blamed them for the fall of the Targaryens. He had barely spoken to that chain-wearing man since reading the documents the king of Arctic had sent — letters signed by the maesters themselves, torn from books or ancient scrolls that Jon had taken from the Citadel.

“What do you mean by that? I do not understand. What does it mean, Lord Commander? It seems you are going to arrest me. For what reason?” the maester tried to step back.

But Benjen stepped forward and took his book, opening it exactly on the page where he had been writing. The ink was still fresh, almost sticking to the pages that had been closed.

“My latest information is that they have managed to take Bear Island. They exterminated all the ironborn, including Victarion Greyjoy. There was no mercy… They left none alive. That is why I—”

The information ended there.

Benjen slowly raised his gaze.

“So this is what you were sending to the Citadel? It seems the order is not finished after what Jon did to it…”

“I only wished to report what is happening in the North,” he said defensively.

Alliser merely stared at him coldly and pulled a few parchments from his pocket.

“This does not look like something improvised. It looks very well prepared, you know, maester. You were certainly careless to think you could continue sending information now that Jon Arctic is here in the south. You must already know that he can control all information… with all the ravens that come and go between the realms… All the ravens you sent in recent days, since you discovered they are in the south… They came back to me, I read every one of them…”

He took a step across the chamber. “In any case, where is the compartment beside the shelf?” Alliser asked Benjen.

“I believe it is there. But the bird can confirm,” Benjen said, looking at the raven.

The bird observed the entire exchange before letting out a low sound and flying, landing exactly on the indicated spot.

The maester turned pale.

Quickly, the men of the Night’s Watch advanced. Benjen began to move a board beside the shelf and revealed a false bottom in the floor. It was the same place where Aemon had hidden the dragon egg from which Eragon was born, before giving it to Jon when he first arrived at the Wall.

There was a small chest there.

The maester had placed it there since assuming the post, finding a hidden place to store a few things…

The chest was opened. It was filled with letters.

Benjen began to leaf through them. There was direct correspondence from the Citadel to the maester, giving instructions, demanding information and requiring detailed reports about everything that had been happening beyond the Wall in recent years — the creation of the kingdom, the sixteen thousand men who marched north and the fight against the dead, information about the Watch and its relationship with Arctic. About Benjen and others in the kingdom, negotiations of the Watch with Jon Arctic among other things.

Everything was there.

“There is no doubt. Jon was right. The man is a spy of the Citadel since the day he was sent,” Benjen said.

“My lord, this must be a mistake!” the maester tried to argue, while seeing Alliser Thorne standing before him, arms crossed.

“There is too much information to say otherwise, maester.”

“Please, my lord… what will happen to me? I treated you, I helped as I could in these past years, even at the end of the world!” the maester pleaded.

Alliser shook his head.

“You were only a spy. You did nothing out of goodwill. You merely fulfilled your duty to your order. You and all those maesters who are manipulating the realms deserve to rot in a cell. Take him.”

The maester panicked as the men of the Watch seized him and began to drag him away. He would be thrown into a cell.

“Wait! You cannot do this! I am the maester of this castle! There is no one else who can attend to your needs!!” he exclaimed.

Alliser let out a dry sound.

“Do not worry. There are scholars of Arctic who claim to have greater capability than the maesters. They will come to Castle Black to assist us. Then your services will no longer be as necessary as you believe.” With those words, the maester was taken away.

“I wonder how Westeros will react to all this information,” Benjen murmured.

“It will not be anything trivial… Each lord must act in his own way. Some may not care, but others certainly will not like the idea of having been manipulated by a network of information created by men who were meant to serve as sharp minds within their castles.” Alliser said, pausing.

“Most will not react well,” he continued. “The lords of Westeros do not like the idea of being controlled — even less by men with chains around their necks. And they will also see things they never imagined. The king has certainly turned them all against their own maesters. This will turn Westeros upside down.”

Benjen nodded, feeling a weariness settle upon his shoulders.

He left with the box of seized letters, hoping only that Jon and Arya — who, according to the letter received, were already sailing south — were safe and that his nephew would triumph in this war.

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