[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]
Third Person POV.
North.
...
...
All the shouts of excitement had been replaced by eyes of horror at that moment, while everyone stood in silence, watching young Roderick rolling on the ground, screaming and trying to hold his arm, but unable to do so, clearly indicating that his arm was broken.
Among all those who were there, looking between the boy screaming in pain on the ground and Daemon starting to walk again in their direction, they didn't know whether they should shut the gate immediately and abandon their companion or try to face the man who had used only his fist to strike one of their warriors, injuring him in such a way.
Daemon, tired of the boy's screams, then launched another telekinetic blow to press his head against the snow, making it hit the ground. The impact was strong, and the young man lost consciousness in an instant, falling unconscious. Soon after, his body began to rise into the air, suspended as if it were by invisible strings, while everyone watched in terror, unable to comprehend how such a thing was possible. Daemon, for his part, calmly approached the gate.
No one had the courage to shoot at him from the towers, and all watched in silence as he entered the place.
"So... This is how the tribe usually welcomes outsiders, it seems like a strange reception." Daemon's voice broke the silence, full of irony and a touch of amusement, while the men swallowed hard.
"Sir... you... I mean, sir, how are you doing this?" Someone stammered, seeing Roderick's body still suspended in the air.
"Just a trick I learned." Daemon said as if it were nothing, while the men remained stunned, without the courage to act or even know how. "But I am not here to show off my skills or explain them." He then turned his gaze to the one standing in front, who seemed to be one of the leaders.
"Who are you?" Daemon asked, his voice firm.
Harlon hesitated, not knowing what to answer. "You... Daemon Targaryen?" He murmured, more as a statement than a question.
"I asked first. Who are you?"
The man blinked a few times, realizing his mistake. "I am Harlon, son of Baroque, one of the candidates for leadership of the tribe. Just like the boy you are making float with magic... I think." He said cautiously.
Daemon tilted his head slightly in understanding. "I see... I see. Well, it seems this young one wanted to avenge his father, but unfortunately he is not someone capable of dealing with me. Either way, I remember well his father's group that was in the North. We were outnumbered when they attacked us. If you believe it was my dragon who burned them, know that it is a lie. My dragon is an ice dragon — she only spits white flames that freeze anything. If it had been him, you would have found frozen corpses like popsicles and cracked, or perhaps shattered like glass with all their bodies scattered across the place." Daemon spoke calmly, but his purple eyes glowed with a dangerous tone.
"If you really want someone to blame for the death of those men, well... he is right here in front of you. I may be human, but I also speak the language of dragons. I can unleash flames like they do, using words in their tongue."
The last words made the men tremble even more.
After all, there was no way he could lie about something like that, and it didn't help that the glimmer in Daemon's eyes seemed to spark like a dangerous light, leaving everyone unable to breathe in the face of the scene. It was something far too mystical, much more than they were used to dealing with.
"Let me speak with him! All of you are paralyzed!" The elderly voice of a woman from the tribe echoed at that moment, full of courage, while Daemon raised an eyebrow as he saw the old woman step forward among the men with a cane, moving toward him. Roderick still remained suspended in the air at his side.
"Magic..." Said the woman, staring at him in surprise, now able to see the stranger for the first time along with the boy's body floating, her voice now also carried with caution.
"You are a forest witch, aren't you?" Daemon asked directly, as he observed more closely the short old woman with the cane. She gave off the same feeling as those witches from the camp. And without waiting for an answer, he continued: "I thought they didn't exist on this side of the Wall."
"Oh... you know who I am." The woman snapped out of her daze, perhaps because she had already dealt with magical things before. If what she saw before her could be called magic—since it was something completely different from what she was used to dealing with—not even the children of the forest in the legends had such feats... Wasn't it something much more powerful and unknown to her?
"There are at least three forest witches in the free folk's camp. But only one of them is quite close to me, Ilyana. I can say I am already accustomed to the presence of one." Daemon spoke calmly, while the woman continued to stare at him.
"Well... I am flattered." She took a deep breath. "But before anything else, I would like to know: why are you here? What do you want from us?"
There was fear in her voice, not only because of Daemon, but also because of the dragon that remained at a distance, standing still, watching everything. All it would take was a command, perhaps even just a thought, for the creature to act. The idea made her shiver. Roderick was fallen and trapped by the magic, Harlon seemed paralyzed, and she had to admit it was terrifying.
"I have just returned from the Norreys' tribe, negotiating there at night. Since you received my letter, I demand that you appear in Winterfell. These are critical matters for the future of the North. I want to summon all the clans so that we can discuss together." He said.
"So you desire the loyalty of the mountain clans... But I doubt you will achieve it. We and all the tribes firmly support the Starks." She said, though she looked at Daemon with some caution, expecting his anger.
"Well, if you don't want to, you will be the only part of the North that will not answer the call. And, when winter comes, dangers will come with it. If you are not willing to help the Realm, the Realm will not help you either. But, when winter passes, the entire North will be more united than ever. Only you will be isolated. And soon I will have to begin acting, purifying all the mountain clans in the name of loyalty to me, just as the King of Winter, Stark, did long ago when you were as savage as those you accuse beyond the Wall. Trust me... that is not a good option. With dragon or without dragon, it doesn't matter, I will act." Daemon spoke in a firm and almost solemn tone.
The woman stared at him for a moment before furrowing her brow. "Why should we trust you?"
"Isn't it obvious? I have full power here to face you, and yet I am sparing you." He said.
"Isn't that a bit arrogant to say..." Harlon murmured beside her, without the courage to raise his voice much. He tried to appear brave, but like everyone else there, he was afraid.
Daemon smiled faintly. "The mountain clans were hardly summoned for Robb's war in the South. Even so, they were attacked by the ironborn. History shows that there is also a price to pay for isolating yourselves." Daemon began.
"And now you want to follow old loyalties to the point of isolating yourselves again, after all the misfortune that has befallen the North, much of it because of Robb's decisions. If it weren't for me, the free folk would have attacked the Wall all the same, they were desperate to cross it. But then there would not have been someone like me to hold back their savagery against the people of the South. Think with me: 180,000 free folk without firm leadership—do you have any idea how lost the North would be, with everyone being attacked and pillaged? The mountain clans would be the first to be struck, and they would be devastated." Daemon looked at each of them, analyzing every face.
No one said anything immediately, immersed in his words. Could the Wall really stop such a vast army? Even if they were wildlings, who would not have been trained by this man? It was hard to say what would happen, but the chances, given the number of those men, could easily bring it down. And he was the one who held back all those 180,000 people from unleashing the chaos that could have consumed the North, worse than the invasion of the ironborn when the North was divided and its army still destroyed in the South.
"I know the uncertainty, and I recognize it looking at all of you. But I still want you to come to Winterfell. There I will explain everything. And I would like your prejudice against the free folk not to cloud or cause confusion during your stay in my former home. Just try to ignore them." Daemon said.
"We cannot allow ourselves to ignore our years of struggle, while our fathers and their fathers fought against that rabble!" Harlon suddenly spoke, with a hint of anger in his voice. He seemed a sensible man, but guided by his own emotions. Accept the wildlings who had killed his mother more than ten years ago? Never.
"Do you believe that?" Daemon did not answer him, instead turning his gaze directly to the forest witch, who stared back at him, as if trying to sense something more within that man.
"I don't know..." She replied, hesitant.
"Well, that is my offer. I will explain everything in Winterfell, and I will be explaining many things, including why we need the free folk as well, why they are here south of the Wall..." He said in a serious tone before continuing in a calmer one.
"I also share the blood of the Wulls in my veins, even if it is from a generation before my mother. But I remember that my grandmother, Lyarra, wife of Rickard Stark, was descended from here, from this tribe. You must remember her..." Daemon said, trying to find some common ground with them.
"Of course I remember." The witch spoke calmly. "She was quite a wild little girl, like a wolf, but twice as fierce. Even so, her daughter managed to be even wilder than her mother. I remember her death... it was a lamentable moment for all. Unfortunately, your mother was the last with Stark blood among us... Your father also died without managing to have another descendant, and the tribe no longer shares that blood here."
"That is a pity... in any case, I will not take much more of your time. I hope you pass this message to all the mountain clans in the region. Tell them to send a representative — preferably their leader — directly to Winterfell. The future of the North, and especially of the clans... will depend on it." Daemon said firmly.
"Very well... we will talk about this." The woman replied at last.
No one wanted to protest. They were still choosing their leader, but that would soon change. The witch, disappointed, was quite frustrated with everyone there. Even Harlon seemed far too cautious to stand up to Daemon instead of facing him, as even Roderick had done. Harlon was afraid, and only she managed to raise her voice to represent the tribe. It was disappointing.
"Well then, I will be going. I won't take any more of your time."
Unlike the Norreys, who showed a little more caution, Daemon believed it would not be wise to spend the night with the Wulls. He wanted to return to Winterfell.
He then let Roderick fall gently onto the snow and turned around, heading out without any further trouble. But he stopped just after taking a few steps.
"Ah, you must not believe that I can spit fire, right? How about after this?" Daemon said as he leaned to the side, before filling his lungs.
"YOL!"
The moment he unleashed his Thu'um, the flames roared into the air swiftly as they shot in a straight line like a river of fire, frightening everyone, making them exclaim and leap backward.
Daemon no longer paid them any attention, as he simply continued walking toward Winter, where she awaited, ignoring the flames that melted the snow into liquid state as they dripped away, and the witnesses, all frozen in place staring at the fire, unable to breathe, for no one had ever seen a man spit fire before, and today they could say they had seen a dragon in human form.
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