[Chapter Size: 2600 Words.]
Third Person POV.
North.
...
...
"Does anyone have any idea where the dragon might have gone?" The old woman's voice echoed in the large cabin, where all the men were gathered, with somewhat worried and uncertain looks.
The woman—or rather, the elder in front of them—was the clan Wulls' matriarch, Brynja, advising the group before her, since they had no leader at the moment, as he had died more than a moon ago to the north.
Their gazes showed deep concern, while the woman sighed and studied all the men before her. No one managed to respond; the dragon had appeared the day before, roaring across the sky, and then vanished.
Seeing that no one would answer, Brynja turned to one of the men before her, a leader of part of the clan's warriors. "Tell me, Harlon, there have been no further sightings of the ironmen on the coast?" she asked, as the man shook his head.
"No, Elder Brynja. And the last ships that were in the hands of the wildlings left the coast as far as our scouts informed. But there were still many ironmen in the Glover territory, I don't know if you believe that letter from Winterfell... We still don't know what's happening in the South, but that's not the only threat we face as a clan...", the man reported.
"That is worrisome… very worrisome," said the old woman. "What do you think about this, Roderick? You are also considered to take over the leadership of the tribe, as your father said. Anything from the South?"
"Elder, there is no doubt what the dragon means... it is the leader of the wildlings, the same who killed my father. Just like the dragon that was with him, when it burned him and his group to ashes. There is no doubt he is a threat. And he is dominating the North, they say he wants to take the place of the Starks. That is what the other clans said. They told me he is Ned's bastard son, and that he is now at Winterfell. That is what I heard when I traveled South in search of information," said the young man.
The elder grew pensive. "Well… we should not ease our minds with his actions. As much as he rid us of the ironmen, he also killed our leader and a group of men, burning them alive and giving them a horrible death."
The loss of the leader had greatly weakened the tribe. But, at the same time, where the ironmen had been attacking, they had stopped. They were fleeing—the ones still near the coast were heading north to Bear Island.
However, rumors said they were being destroyed by the dragon, which had left many relieved.
Even so, the former leader, Roderick's father, had been killed and burned at close range by, all indications pointed to, that dragon in the North, when he went to investigate what was happening there.
All the clans had gotten in contact with each other, for it was deeply troubling: the wildlings were regrouping and starting to build a city, according to the latest reports from scouts—they had taken the Gift.
Naturally, the tribe had sent people to make contact with the Mormonts on the island, since they were still Stark allies like the clans. They wanted to know what had happened there.
They found the island devastated by the ironmen's invasion. At the same time, there was not a single freeborn ironman left among them: those who survived had all been captured, barely two dozen, a ridiculous number compared to the thousands of ironmen there had been before.
There were many questions about what was truly happening, and the Wulls could not easily travel between the North and the South because of the mountains. They could only get swift news from the coast or from other clans, such as the Norreys, who were constantly informing them of the free folk's activities.
The latest news was that they had abandoned the main camp in a large host and were heading south, and with the letter from the man called Daemon Targaryen, they were going to Winterfell.
According to the report they received from the Night's Watch, that was confirmed as well.
It was an increasingly complicated situation. On one side, there was the concern that the Night's Watch was beginning to ally itself with those once called wildlings—now named free folk—treating them as equals and forging an alliance. This left the clans somewhat lost and, at the same time, enraged with the Night's Watch.
At the same time, the North was being dominated by this group, and nothing good seemed to come of it, given the long history of war between the wildlings and the clans of the Northern Mountains.
The Wull tribe was trying to decide who would take the place of Roderick's father: whether it would be the son himself or Harlon. Both young men were quite promising to lead the tribe.
However, the presence of the dragon had also disrupted the selection that had already been underway for several days, since it was not pleasant to hear the creature's roar. Just yesterday, its flight and roars had made everything tremble, frightening all the members of the clan.
And at that moment, after hearing the candidate's report, a man rushed toward the entrance of the tent, his eyes filled with pure terror.
"The dragon! The dragon is coming back! It is flying over the sky!" On hearing this, the whole place immediately grew tense, at the same time as they began to hear the screams of the women outside with the men there, shouting 'dragon in the sky'.
"Quickly, Harlon and Roderick, gather your men!" the elder immediately shouted, since the tribe was divided into two factions: those who supported Harlon, for he was older, the best hunter and warrior, having proved his worth on many occasions; and those who supported Roderick, the son of the former leader, who, though not possessing as many skills as the first, had earned the respect of many and was still young.
That was why the elder asked both to act, each leading his faction, for without a wise choice, they would only make greater trouble by raising one above the other without proving himself worthy of leading all.
Everyone went outside, their eyes lifting to the afternoon sky as the dragon appeared, a colossal mass with enormous wings.
Fear took hold of all who looked upward. It was no surprise to hear the women frightened, some even screaming in terror before that enormous creature. No one could be hypocritical enough to claim they were capable of dealing with something like that.
The tribe did not know how to react. They needed to see what the dragon would do, as it slowly descended, revealing its rider on its back as a dark speck. The sight pierced the hearts of all who witnessed it: a man mounted on that colossal creature, beautiful and terrifying at once, with red eyes glowing beneath a layer of white scales.
The dragon finally began to land, not too close to the tribe, halting at the entrance of one of the gates that had clearly been shut. Though the wall was only made of thick wooden logs, there were a few towers for archers to defend the tribe, and they were quickly manned by men, who watched the dragon stand at a distance.
The man mounted on the dragon finally began to dismount, leaving the beast behind and walking toward the entrance on foot.
"Shall we open it, Harlon?" asked one of the men, after hearing the shout from the tower saying that the stranger—or rather, the one who called himself Daemon Targaryen, according to the letter he had sent to the tribes—was there, approaching.
"He is coming to the entrance, we should see what he wants first," Harlon said, though clearly concerned, and turned toward the younger boy.
"What will you do, Roderick?" asked his rival, who stood with a group of men behind him. The boy seemed a little overtaken by emotion, as Harlon could notice. He was younger than Harlon: Roderick was only seventeen, while Harlon was already about thirty, and thus more experienced.
"Let me challenge him! He killed my father!" Roderick shouted quickly, rage building at the thought that the man who had taken his father's life was drawing near.
"Do not be foolish, my lord! We cannot simply challenge him. If that creature attacks us…" said one of the men, hesitating.
"Do you not see? He will make us bow anyway! Do you truly want to kneel before the man who burned our leader and many of your kin here?" the young man exclaimed.
Many did not wish to die by a dragon, yet among them were family of the victims who truly believed that man had attacked them, casting them into the fire of his dragon when they went north to investigate what was happening there. After all, everyone in Westeros knew: a dragon breathes fire.
Harlon looked at his companion, frowning. "Roderick, I believe this is not the way…"
"No, Harlon! I will fight him. I will prove I am worthy of being the leader of this tribe. Now open the gate and let me through!" the young man shouted.
Harlon only nodded in the end. He would let him make his decision; he could not stop him. The boy prepared his weapons: a shield and an axe. He put on a leather armor and a thick cloak, trying to appear confident, but everyone could see the nervousness in his eyes. Fear split his expression.
The gate was finally opened, the men pushing it to clear the passage. Roderick began to step out, raising his shield, advancing step by step as he saw the stranger approaching.
"Today I will prove myself the most worthy to lead. Worthy to take on my father's role!" he declared, raising his axe as he lifted the spirits of many who shouted for his courage.
He noticed the stranger wore completely black garments, almost like those of the Night's Watch. From afar, he could be mistaken for a crow, but up close, his clothes were far more detailed, crafted for nobles. Over them, he wore a cloak, likely made of bear fur, with a refined finish that gave the man the presence of a southern lord, yet still of northern blood—only more elegant.
At the same time, Roderick could swear that anyone wearing those clothes would feel cold. They were not as thick as his own, yet the stranger did not seem to mind the temperature. He kept walking calmly, as his clothes grew covered with the small flakes of snow falling from the sky, for the weather today was colder than usual. Even in summer, it often snowed on bitterly cold days in the North, especially when one was close to the Wall.
"Are you the one who leads the wildlings?!" the boy shouted, while the gate filled with the Wull crowd, coming out to watch the challenge.
He saw the stranger continue to advance without pause. Now he could make out his face more clearly, especially the violet eyes staring at him with an arrogant gleam, as though Roderick was nothing before him.
"And if I am?" The voice was calm and slow, but at the same time powerful enough to make Roderick remember his father, who had always kept everyone in check. Only this man had something more—something that could be felt—but his rage clouded any judgment or detail that his sixth sense whispered about him.
All Roderick wanted was vengeance.
"You set that dragon to kill men of this tribe! Thirty of them went north to see how yours were moving. We were to prepare to fight your kind. But what we found later, when no word returned, were thirty corpses left a few leagues from your wildling city!"
"And one of them was our leader… and also my father! That is why I challenge you, stranger! So that I may avenge him, so that he may rest in peace before the Old Gods!" the boy cried, shouting with rage, and behind him a chorus of men roared in answer.
The stranger narrowed his eyes, then closed them for a moment, as though remembering.
"Ah, yes… now I remember, then he must have been in that group... Your father thought he could handle me, when it was only me and a few men dealing with some outsiders near the camp... I wasn't attacking anyone from the mountain clans. However, your father's group believed they could face us because we were fewer than ten... I only used a Thu'um the moment they charged at us trying to take us by surprise, and I killed them all, burning them alive."
"Normally, I wouldn't do that to a man, but when thirty came charging at me, I had no choice. Those men were willing to kill me… why would I not act the same way?" Jon said calmly.
Of course, the Greybeards would hate that he killed men with his Thu'um, but he did not care. He was the Dragonborn. He would deal with his enemies with every skill he had.
"Lies! I know you used the dragon!" the boy shouted, as the stranger finally halted about twenty meters away from him.
Roderick did not know what a Thu'um was, so he said what seemed most logical to him. The man did not respond. He only studied him, then lifted his gaze to the tribe, who watched from the gate and the towers, gauging whether there was danger of an arrow volley against him. If there was, he was already preparing to conjure a defense.
"You truly want to fight me?" The man returned his gaze to the youth, who nodded firmly.
"Exactly! I am here to avenge my father!"
"Very well, I accept your challenge. Come whenever you wish."
The tone and words of the stranger only made young Roderick even more enraged. He didn't even stop to think: he simply charged toward him with sword and axe, while many in the tribe grew concerned, for they clearly saw the boy was out of his senses.
When he reached the man, Roderick raised the axe and swung with all the fury he could muster. But the stranger was quicker. He stepped forward, raised his arm and seized the boy's wrist before the axe could fall, and before the youth could react, Daemon clenched his fist and drove the blow into his opponent's belly.
Roderick tried to bring the shield forward, but that was a mistake. The impact was brutal. The shield bent as if fragile before Daemon's punch, and the boy's arm broke along with the shield crumpling, the sound of bones snapping echoing between the two.
The punch drove on, breaking through the defense and hurling him back. Roderick lost his breath, and the world seemed to spin before his eyes.
All watched in horror and disbelief as Roderick was thrown more than two meters away, crashing and rolling in the snow before coming to a stop.
The stranger stood still, a faint smile crossing his face, his fist still raised from where he had struck the blow.
"Well… you would have to train perhaps a hundred years to try to challenge me properly..." the Dragonborn said calmly, though he doubted the boy had even heard him.
Roderick lay sprawled on the ground, beginning to scream in pain as the sensation of his broken arm finally surged forth, while air returned to his throat with difficulty.
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