Chapter 2 – First Steps on Ice
Author's Note
Until Barthogan turns twelve, there will be several time skips. I find it boring to imitate a child's behavior too closely — and, realistically, children don't do things adults can. To keep the story more believable and natural, I'll use these time jumps.
And for anyone saying that twelve is still a child, remember: the Free Folk live brutal lives — and this is a fantasy story. So at twelve he'll already be doing things an adult could do, and this will be treated as normal.
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Year 100 AC (After the Conquest)
POV Barthogan
It's been a few weeks since my fifth birthday. I'm not sure what they called this talent in the show or the books — maybe "greensight"? I'm not certain. I've been having dreams where I'm some kind of sea creature. At first, I couldn't tell which one. I didn't even notice the long horn on my… nose? I'm not sure if a sea animal has something called a nose, but it was where a snout should be. And well… just like humans don't usually notice their own nose, I hadn't noticed my horn.
I found out another way: my pod.
Or rather, the pod of the narwhal I'm dreaming I am. It's confusing… I didn't think it would feel like this.
I'm swimming with a group of six individuals. Apparently I'm the smallest, but that doesn't bother me. Young creatures are easier to bond with. And well… it seems like with this narwhal, all I needed to do was find it and the bond was already there.
That gave me an idea of how to escape this frozen desert someday. Maybe build a small raft, tie it to the narwhals, and head toward the Wolfwood. Sounds good to me. I still have a few years before I try something like that.
I'm five "name days" old — that's how the people of Westeros say it. And I've noticed something: the Free Folk grow fast, even though food isn't plentiful. If I were on Earth and looked at my body, I'd say I was around eight to ten years old. I'd like to know if this is something unique to me, to all First Men… or to everyone in Westeros.
My mother and father haven't given me any siblings. I've asked if they wanted more children. They said it was already hard enough to survive with three people, and that adding another would make things complicated.
I understand. Life here isn't easy.
I've been training in secret: push-ups and squats. I want to reach puberty already strong. I do it hidden. Why? Two reasons. First, I don't want questions about what I'm doing. Second… I'm embarrassed. Even after a whole other life, some things don't change. Training at home has always made me self-conscious. Not about the training itself — just about being caught mid push-up or squat. Sigh. Not very mature of me.
I need to find the narwhal and some kind of flying creature. Maybe I can go with my father when he hunts in the woods. Finding a bird would be perfect. An owl or an eagle… that would be the dream.
"Mother, don't you think I'm big enough to go hunt with Father? You could let me go…"
Clea gives me that gentle look. Her eagle-like eyes start reading me. She always does this when I bring up the subject. But this time I can't back down.
POV Clea
Barth looks at me with such determination, with those round, chubby cheeks that make him look like a little bear cub. Definitely Magnus's son. Children are fragile… When I lived with the Thenns, many died young from the cold or something else. I'm afraid of losing him.
"Barth, we've talked about this. You're still too small. You need to grow a bit more," I say, pointing at my shoulder to show the height he should reach.
"But mother, I can't stand staying in the hut anymore! You don't even let me see the sea, and it's not that far! You don't let me do anything! And it's going to take forever to be that tall, mother…" Barth says, pouting and crossing his arms.
"I want to learn to use a bow at least. Father said you're better than him, and he keeps bragging about hitting the heart or the head when he hunts. Teach me, then! I promise I won't ask to hunt with him until I'm bigger."
He looks at me with such pleading eyes… He's never asked for anything like that before. Never been this stubborn. It leaves me speechless. A bow… maybe it's not too early for that. It would be good for him to learn how to defend himself.
"I'll teach you the bow, Barth. But promise me you won't try to go into the forest until you're bigger, alright?"
POV Barthogan
Finally. She agreed. She's so protective… really complicated. I thought she wouldn't say yes. But I guess my baby charms worked.
I run to her and hug her around the hips.
"Thank you, mom! I promise! When do we start? I'm already ready! I've seen your bow and father's bow. I want one just like them!"
The bows here were even more primitive than the ones in the show. Honestly… I don't have a great memory, but I remember they weren't like these.
"We'll talk to your father. It's not that simple, Barth. We have to buy one from the Thenns. For now, you'll have to use mine. Let's see if you're strong enough to pull the string."
I swear she gave me a mischievous smile, as if doubting I could.
Clea took me outside. The cold wind hit my face, but I was used to it. She picked up her bow — simple, but well crafted — and handed it to me carefully.
"Hold it firmly. Let's see how much you can pull," she said with that smug smile of someone who thinks she's about to win a bet.
I took a breath, planted my feet like I'd seen them do, and pulled the string.
Or rather… I tried.
The string resisted like it was tied to a stone wall. I strained my arms, clenched my teeth, felt my muscles trembling… until I managed to pull it a little.
Only halfway.
The string refused to go any further.
When I looked at Clea, she was smiling triumphantly.
"Hm… looks like someone still needs to grow a bit more," she said, very satisfied.
"Then I'll ask father to teach me how to use an axe!" I replied instantly.
Her smile vanished.
"An axe? No. No. Axes are dangerous. Much more than bows. You'll use the bow first. A lot. Until you learn properly."
She straightened my posture, adjusted my shoulders, and lifted my chin.
"Posture first. Then strength. If you do it wrong, you'll hurt yourself. Let's begin."
Training was basically this: posture, pull the string, fail, try again, correct posture, pull, fail… repeat.
My arm was burning, but it was a good pain.
When the sun was low, Magnus appeared carrying a huge bundle of firewood on his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
He saw us and smiled.
"Already training the little one?" he asked, dropping the wood with a heavy thud.
"I started today. He's trying, but he's not strong enough to pull the bow fully," Clea said with a playful smile.
Magnus walked over and placed his enormous hand on my shoulder.
"Show me your stance, boy."
I showed him. He tilted my hips a little, adjusted my leg, corrected the height of my pulling arm.
"Like that. Now try."
I tried pulling the string. I managed a little more than before, but still only half.
"Not bad," Magnus said. "With practice you'll get there."
"Father…" I looked up at him, trying to look innocent. "You should teach me how to use an axe. I want to be strong like you."
He raised his eyebrows… then smiled.
"Strong like me, huh? Hm. I can make a small axe for you. A training one. I'll make it myself."
Clea immediately turned to him, not at all pleased.
"Magnus! He could hurt himself! It's dangerous!"
"It'll just be a small axe, woman," Magnus said, raising his hands. "And I'll teach him properly. I'll watch him."
Clea exhaled, still irritated, but relented.
I smiled. An axe… and a bow. I was going to be strong.
Strong enough to survive anything.
"Come inside, Barth. Training too much will stop you from growing, and then you'll never hunt with your father."
A childish threat. If I really were a kid, maybe I'd be scared. But I have to act. These moments are hard.
I put on a slightly frightened face. "I'm going now, mom."
Only when I started running to the hut did I realize how tired my body was. I'd pulled the bowstring all day, and now my back, stomach, arms, even the soles of my feet were exhausted.
Not being able to take a proper bath is awful. In my past life, I took two a day. Now, once a week is considered a luxury — and that's because I insist on it. Otherwise it would be even less.
Before eating and lying down, I grab a damp hide and wipe my body, then go find something to eat.
When I leave the sleeping room, I find my parents kissing fiercely in front of the closed door. This happens almost every day. And sometimes at night I wake up to her moaning… I sigh. How she hasn't gotten pregnant again is a mystery. I have to cover my ears and avoid looking. And the worst part is that having another room is incredibly, incredibly hard to get — at least until I'm older.
I ignore them, grab a piece of dried meat from the table, and run back to my room, even with my aching body.
And that ends my day.