A Prince of House Targaryen

Wildling Warrior

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The Following EIGHT Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 25 (A Lone Wolf), Chapter 26 (Passion Under The Stars), Chapter 27 (The Truth), Chapter 28 (The Winter Dragon), Chapter 29 (Return to Winterfell), Chapter 30 (Dragon Dreams), Chapter 31 (Reunion with The Starks), and Chapter 32 (Night at Winterfell) are already available for Patrons.

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Jon Snow

The feeling of the gentle breeze against his face was calming, his hair flowing with the wind, harsh eyes looking forward, feet landing roughly against the snow; he felt the tension; it was hard to breathe. Mance had been furious about what happened to Tormund's group.

Jon didn't know what would need to happen now; he assumed Mance would start a war with the Thenn clan, a war they couldn't afford to start now, they had attacked his group, and Jon had concluded that they all would prepare for war.

Mance had received a message from one of the Thenn clan, telling him they would have a meeting in The Fist of The First Men, a place where presumably he would give him back his little group in exchange for a fight with their strongest warrior, Qringaomnon.

After the message was heard from everyone, the messenger had been allowed to return home. Hearing the message, everyone had been silent, waiting for Mance to speak and decide the best course of action. Rattleshirt had been first to voice out that this was an excellent opportunity to have the Thenn clan with them.

"The majority of Free Folk follow the strength, especially Thenn's clan; they had always been known to follow strength above all else; if you crush Qringaomnon's skull, they will be in our side," Rattleshirt suggested with a booming voice, his armor made of bones ringing as he moved.

Mance paused for a moment, thinking about it before coming to the same conclusion. "You make a good point, Rattleshirt, and I think this is why they attacked our group in the first place," Mance spoke; everyone listened to him, hearing every word.

Silence fell over the tent, Mance eyeing everyone, wanting to see if anyone would object; his eyes briefly glanced at Jon, who was mostly quiet.

"Tomorrow morning, we ride to The Fist of The First men," Mance's voice boomed like a bell.

Now, Jon was riding Ghost, and following him were two Elks; Mance was riding one, and Val was riding the other; Varamyr was riding his own Elk beside Mance, speaking in hushed tones; the bastard couldn't hear them but didn't care.

His eyes looked over the trees around them; he had never been at the Fist before.

"Why is called the Fist of The First Men?" Jon questioned the rider beside him, a hoodie covering most of her beautiful hair, unlike Jon, who wasn't wearing a hoodie to his face from the gentle cold breeze around them; it hadn't been snowing for days, but the wind blasted off the snow from the earth, small sparkles of snow hitting his face, yet Jon never shivered, his hands holding the fur of Ghost, but not hard enough to hurt, Jon could somehow feel the frozen layer of snow beneath Ghost's paws.

"It is said that The fist was built by the first men a long time ago; some say it was before the Wall was even built, but no one really knows," Val explained, keeping her face hidden, in her waist a hidden bone dagger.

Her eyes watched as Jon didn't as much as shudder from the wind mixed with snow around them, preferring not to use a hoodie.

"You're something else, Snow; anyone in your situation by now would have either died from cold or shivering like a madman. You aren't doing any; what's your secret, Snow?" She asked with a little teasing in her voice, her elk walking a bit closer to Jon's Wolf, her walking pace a bit slower to keep up with him.