Game of Thrones: The Legend of Jon Arctic - Chapter 250 - Threat from the North.

[Chapter Size: 3100 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 298 AC.

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“Finally, Mance has arrived! The true king beyond the Wall!” the man shouted as he reached the middle of the camp, positioning himself in front of Mance and his tent, the main one in the place.

“You came from the eastern side, then?” Mance asked, standing beside a few leaders who were accompanying the new group that had just arrived and approached them after he had asked for it upon hearing some important things.

“Yes. My father was born in this region, as was his father... and his father after him. We owned this land for a thousand years,” the newly arrived man said.

“And do you still own this land?” another leader beside Mance asked.

The man, upon hearing this question, furrowed his brow slightly.
“No... We don’t anymore,” he replied at last.

“I heard you were expelled by a tribe called Ártica,” another woman spoke among the leaders.

“I don’t think they’re a tribe, like you’re saying,” Della replied to the one who made the comment.
“They have a king... like we do.”

“Tell me what happened,” Mance asked, turning his attention back to the men before him.

“That was many years ago. Let’s just say we left our lands because they simply showed up and said we’d have to leave so they could build that damned river that goes to the sea,” the man said.

Mance had already heard about the arrival of new tribes that day, as many had begun joining them once the people in the region heard of his coming. One of them claimed that the Articans had expelled them from their lands. That’s why he had summoned this group to speak personally.

This tribe had been approached by Ártica during the construction of the canal in the early years of Artica. Jon needed to create the canal in a straight line to the sea, going directly from Ártica. Clearly, they faced problems not only with the terrain, but also with people trying to steal materials during excavation. Besides that, there were tribes in the way.

Jon, along with some Articans, went to negotiate with them, offering the opportunity to live in Ártica. If they didn’t want to, they would receive weapons, food, and supplies in exchange for leaving. Jon believed this was better than simply attacking a tribe, as was done in the old fashion the free folk used to deal with their differences: through battle and conquest.

“Men so small you’d laugh at them, men like us, and giants... showed up in our tribe saying that place would be used for the river’s construction. They offered us three options: to fight, to go to this new place receiving food and iron weapons when we didn’t want to join them,” the man continued.
“Obviously, we had no chance of fighting against those giants. There were hundreds of them there. Can you imagine that? Hundreds of giants ready to kill you!”

“Damn the giants! They were always peaceful, and now they’ve surrendered to a southern king who was just a child at that time, coming from south of the Wall... and were ready to fight and die for him!” the man spoke indignantly.

Everyone listened, each with their own expression as they heard the man.

“Anyway... so you accepted their weapons and resources and left the place? Did you have contact with their city?” Mance asked, as the man nodded.

“We came more to the northern coast. We’ve been there ever since, living off fish and whatever we can hunt. Some of our hunters would go back and forth, occasionally spotting a ship passing through the place where our old tribe used to be. We even had hot water beneath stones... But it was all destroyed,” the man said, clearly resentful.
“They dug everything out for the river’s path... destroyed it all.”

“But you never went there, then?” Mance asked again, since the man hadn’t even answered his question, seeming too angry about what had happened.

The man shook his head.
“No... We’ve never been to that place. But we can now see its glow in the night sky,” he said, looking at a man behind him, and continued.
“However... There is one among us who joined and has been there,” he added, as another man of the free folk approached Mance.

“I’ve been there. And I must say: that southern king is enslaving our people!” he exclaimed, as many listened.

Mance remained silent, listening to the man describe what he had seen at the place. He claimed there was an abundance of food, but that was all the southerner who called himself king of Ártica could offer. Beyond that, he had stolen their Sacred Land, as that place was meant to belong to the free folk. One of them should rule, not someone who came from south of the Wall.

Everyone seemed surprised by this, and the man wanted to spark indignation as he tried to show that Jon Artica had stolen a place that was rightfully theirs—even though in Ártica it was constantly said that Jon had created the place.

“I came from south of the Wall... Are you saying I can’t rule either?” Mance asked suddenly, catching the man off guard, as many around cracked a smile.

“That’s not what I meant, Mance...” the man mumbled, visibly unsettled.

“Either way, you’re dismissed. Find a place for them to stay. We’ll remain here until midday, before we begin marching south again,” Mance said, starting to disperse everyone who had gathered.

His gaze turned to the tents around the area, as they had gathered at the entrance of his own tent. That’s when he saw crows perched and watching them, which made him frown.

Later, already inside the tent, Della and Val were with him.

“He was lying,” Della murmured, and her sister nodded.

“Yes. That man spoke hoping we would attack Ártica... He’s acting out of anger, not based on what he truly saw. He was clearly expelled after doing something in that city,” Mance murmured.

“So we have three kinds of people then: those who simply entered the city, those who won’t go near it, and those who were expelled,” Val commented.
“It’s contradictory to hear someone say this king makes everyone slaves when he simply expelled him... alive.”

“Besides that... we’re being watched the entire time,” Mance commented, remembering the crows.

No matter where they went, the crows had begun to appear all over the camp—even inside the tents, where meetings between tribes were taking place. Rumors had started to spread, as some leaders had informed parts of their followers about what had happened in the last meeting. And things quickly spread, as they always did.

Knowing there was a skinchanger far more powerful than Sixskins, the strongest warg in the camp, spying on them... was, at the very least, unsettling.

And as if just to confirm it, a crow entered through the tent’s entrance, moving toward them. The three looked quickly as it landed near Mance, bringing a new message tied to its legs.

Mance sighed as he picked it up. He opened the paper and handed it to Val, who understood the Old Tongue better than he did.

She began to read aloud.

She reported, according to Jon’s words, that he had heard the entire previous meeting. He found it amusing how some of them truly thought they could invade Ártica and challenge them even further after seeing the city... or rather, the army.

After finishing the reading, Mance appeared thoughtful upon hearing it, while Della seemed concerned, watching the man who had stolen her.

“Seems like we can’t do anything here without him knowing,” Mance said in a tired tone.

“But... what do you plan to do about it?” Della asked, the concern evident on her face as she instinctively touched her belly.

“For now... what can we do besides go there and see this place with our own eyes? I’ll speak with this Artican, as he wishes,” Mance replied in the end, already deciding.

“If you plan to submit to him, there will certainly be many people in the camp who won’t agree with that,” Val commented, and Mance nodded, knowing that very well.

“Unfortunately, we’ll have to leave that for when we meet this king,” Mance said at last, before grabbing a thicker piece of clothing to protect himself from the cold and beginning to step out of the tent.

“I’ll speak with the Thenns. I’ll be back so we can start dismantling the camp,” he said, as Della watched him stepping outside the tent.

Val and Della remained still, alone.

Della sat in a fur-covered chair near the fire.

“I’ll prepare hot water,” Val said, taking the initiative to fill a pot and place it over the burning fire to prepare something for her sister to drink.

“You treat me like I’m made of glass now,” Della commented, watching her blonde sister carefully preparing things.

“Obviously,” Val replied, approaching her sister.
“How are you feeling?”

Della raised an eyebrow.
“My belly hasn’t even started to grow yet, Val... Calm down,” she answered, smiling.

“No. I’ll have to take care of you in your husband’s absence. And I expect to see my nephew born strong,” Val said firmly, making it clear that since the last moon, when she discovered Della was pregnant, she had been giving special attention to the future baby—a possible nephew expected in eight moons.

“You’re worse than Mance,” Della sighed. “I know you’re worried.”

“It’s my duty, as your younger sister, to take care of you just like you took care of me... when our mother died after our father too,” she said, her voice softening.

Della nodded, touched.
“I can’t say I’m not proud. But... thank you, Val,” she murmured.

“Are you afraid of the Articans?” Val asked gently.

“And how could I not be, Val? Their king might be waiting for us this very moment. I don’t know what to think... But I hope Mance knows how to handle it,” Della replied.

“Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll do everything I can to protect you and my nephew,” Val said, looking firmly into her sister’s eyes.

She was a powerful woman of the free folk. She had never been taken, even though she was over twenty. Val refused to sleep with anyone, because Della knew: she was afraid of having a child under those conditions. She hoped to cross the Wall to then find someone truly worthy.

Deep down, Della believed Val might even steal that person... once she finally found someone deserving.

Meanwhile, Mance continued in meetings with his leaders throughout the camp, giving orders to certain groups to take care of their tasks while the rest began to move.

As had been decided, at midday the camp began to disband. It took only an hour for everyone to be ready to move, advancing toward a new area not too far away.

That was the biggest issue when moving such a large group: they had to check every piece of land, find safe areas with enough space to camp with all 100 members of the free folk. Because of that, they could only move short distances. And this time, the new area was just a few hours and a few kilometers away—but Mance had kept the old camp set up for nearly half a day.

Four hours later, they reached the new location. Without much trouble, they began setting up the camp again.

Everything seemed in order.

Mance was lying next to Della when he was awakened in the middle of the night by one of his men calling from outside the tent. He got up silently, while Della simply watched him go out.

“Something wrong?” Mance asked when he saw the men in front of him. They were dirty, exhausted, and visibly shaken—a group of five.

“Mance... We were attacked,” one of them replied, breathless.

“Attacked by what?” Mance asked seriously, already imagining what it might be. Those men had been to the north as scouts, spread out in small groups in temporary camps. He had positioned them throughout the region to monitor movements.

“The dead are hunting us in the north. There’s a massive group. The entire camp was wiped out. Only we survived,” the man said, as Mance frowned, worried.

If the dead were following them, this would become a massive problem.

The rest of the night was used by Mance to reorganize the camp. Fires were lit along the edges of the area, with men standing guard, ready to attack anything that approached and wasn’t human.

However, there was no attack that night. Still, the tension in the camp air was palpable.

The next morning, since the next resting area was much farther than the previous one, they departed before dawn, marching faster toward the south.

Mance walked beside Della, but his mind was full of concerns. The tired look on his face revealed the weight on his shoulders: the dead, Ártica, the Wall... It felt like reliving the worst moments.

And everything worsened with the rumors that began to spread, as he summoned the tribes, trying to unite them and guide them away from the White Walkers.

Meanwhile, in the sky, thousands of crows flew over the regions to the north.
They flew day and night until they located a group of dead that had split from the main army within the great snowstorm farther north.

Still, there were more than two thousand corpses slowly marching, following the trail of the free folk tribes that traveled with Mance.
Their dead eyes glowed in the silent dawn...

And in Ártica, Jon opened his eyes in his bed.
He got up, still silent, within the room. He walked to the small table near the window, opened a bottle, and poured himself some wine, watching the city glimmering under the starry sky and the sound of arctic crystals.

He took a slow sip, thoughtful.

“Something wrong, Jon?” he heard the soft voice of the woman behind him.

Ygritte, the red-haired queen, was getting out of bed, surprised that he had left without saying anything.

“The dead are following Mance... And they’ll cause real damage among those hundred thousand people.
Mance has no way to defend himself, other than burning them,” Jon replied, turning his gaze to her.

“I know that look, Jon... What are you planning to do?” she asked, approaching carefully.

“I plan to go north. Bring supplies... and also deal with the dead,” Jon said, directly.

“You can’t be serious! You’re going to do it personally? You’re going to use your dragon to get there, aren’t you?” Ygritte reacted, already close to him, eyes wide and her face filled with concern.

“There won’t be time... Mance will be attacked in two or three days.
That camp doesn’t have a hundred thousand warriors. Part of it is made up of elders and children. There might be, at most, around eighty thousand men ready to fight,” Jon commented.

Despite being a significant number, he knew that fighting the dead—when fire was their only weapon—was complicated.

“So you’re really going...” Ygritte said, and immediately added:
“I’m going with you.”

Jon shook his head.
“No. You’ll stay. You’ll take care of Lyanna and our child that’s about to be born,” he said firmly.

Ygritte had been pregnant for many moons. It would be madness to take her into battle.

“You keep leaving the kingdom and seem to get involved in increasingly dangerous things, Jon. I’m worried,” she said in a frustrated tone, stepping closer and grabbing the wine bottle to drink as well.

“Everything will be fine. I hadn’t planned on seeing Mance before he got here...
But now I’ll have to deal with the dead, deliver a few things.
Maybe this is a good way to show I don’t want to be his enemy. After all, there are people there we can save,” Jon said, trying to reassure her.

Ygritte sighed, but nodded, looking into her husband’s eyes.

“Alright... I trust that you know what’s best. And no one can argue that.
I just want you to take care of yourself, Jon. I’m afraid you’ll leave Ártica to deal with the problems out there and... never come back,” she said, her gaze heavy with concern.

Jon simply smiled, kissing her and tasting the wine on her lips.

“How about we enjoy the rest of the night? After all, your husband is going to a battle against the dead,” he teased, with a playful look.

“Then this woman will make sure it’s worth it,” she replied, as the two returned to bed, setting their worries aside for a few hours.

The next day, the castle was clearly in chaos over Jon’s decision.

“My king, you can’t be serious!” exclaimed the royal guards, concerned.

“Don’t worry. I can handle this. I’m well prepared, and I’ll have a reliable companion by my side,” Jon replied calmly.

“Then take one of us to protect you,” the guards insisted.

Once again, Jon shook his head.
“No... This won’t be a simple patrol. It’s too risky to have someone with me and Eragon, even in the saddle. I just want you to prepare everything for my departure. Stock, in large sacks or barrels, all the dragonglass arrows we have,” he ordered in the end.

The guards had no choice but to obey.

Later, Jon returned to his family. Lyanna ran to him, worried.

“Daddy, are you leaving?” she murmured, having already heard from her mother that Jon was going north to fight.

“Yes, my little one. Daddy is going to deal with the ice monsters. But don’t worry. He’s going to keep you, your brothers, and your mothers safe. That’s why Daddy has to go,” Jon said, kneeling down to hug her lovingly.

Approaching the table, he saw the worried faces of his wives.
Even though some tried to hide it, Seryna had tried to go with him, but it was made very clear that no—this was something he needed to do alone.

By the end of that morning, Eragon was already prepared in the courtyard, waiting for Jon.

Jon wore a full suit of armor and even a helmet made of Valyrian steel, ready to protect him against anything he might encounter along the way.
At his waist, he carried Blackfyre, and on his back, a set of special arrows.

Strapped to the dragon’s saddle were several barrels full of dragonglass arrows, ready to be delivered to Mance.
The arrows were well protected, wrapped in common steel chains and tied down securely.

“We’re taking a little trip to the north, buddy,” Jon murmured to Eragon, running his hand along the side of the great winged creature’s neck as he climbed into the saddle.

The dragon let out a low roar in response, as if it understood exactly where they were going.