Game of Thrones: The Dragonborn.

[Chapter Size: 2108 Words.]

Jon Snow POV

Somewhere on North.

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I advanced calmly through the snow-covered landscape once again, crossing the forest where only a few wild animals shared my journey. My new "wild friends," or what was left of them before I ended their suffering, had provided me with some intriguing information about Mance, the self-proclaimed new king beyond the Wall. He had gathered a formidable army of over 100,000 warriors, preparing to launch an attack on the Wall and the south. The prospect piqued my interest, fueling the idea that perhaps I could entertain myself a bit with these wildlings.

At this stage, I dressed like one of them, adopting the wild style after stealing some clothes from those wildlings. Although my resistance to the cold was remarkable, I didn't want to always appear as a weirdo without clothes, wanting to have a more casual conversation with the next human encounter, so I thought about blending in better with these people. I proceeded eastward for about five hours, deciding to stop and set up camp with the wildlings' gear before sunset. I used a bow to hunt two rabbits, then lit a fire to prepare my meal and provide a good dinner while getting ready to rest. I summoned some wolves to patrol the area while I closed my eyes.

It was during the deep sleep that the silence of the night was shattered; I heard the growls of my spectral wolves with a subtle sound of footsteps some tens of meters away. I opened an eye slowly, awaiting the approach of the intruder who dared to invade my territory while being threatened by my wolves, but this intruder didn't seem very intimidated as they advanced.

I identified three silhouettes moving slowly in the darkness from a distance in front of the wolves, on the opposite side of where I rested, without a torch to light their way and, at the same time, without any intention of hiding their presence. Amid guttural murmurs emitted by these humanoid figures, I understood that they were not humans here.

I rose with a sigh, incredulous at the existence of such creatures in Westeros, as I did not imagine finding these things here.

"- A draugr?" I exclaimed silently and thoughtfully, questioning the presence of these entities as I watched the dancing shadows in the darkness.

The creatures continued to approach, and I observed their bright blue eyes. My wolves advanced and attacked them, biting their skin and shaking their heads to remove parts of them. I looked at it calmly, experiencing no fear; I had already faced and eliminated hundreds, if not thousands, of these creatures while exploring ancient dungeons or facing a powerful necromancer. I wielded the axe I possessed and threw it towards the nearest draugr as a wolf ripped off its arm. The direct impact to the creature's chest made it fall backward, but it didn't seem to harm it, nor did it show any sign of pain.

"Looks like bronze doesn't work on them, huh?" I commented to myself, observing the metal's ineffectiveness against these supernatural threats.

"I should try something else..." Jon murmured and with a gesture, he dismissed all the summonings, making them vanish like smoke; now the creatures had nothing to stop them from advancing toward me.

"And this?" I murmured, noticing that, instead of continuing to walk, the creatures started running towards me now without the wolves. Without hesitation, I shouted:

"[- YOL.]"

A different force emanated from my voice, contrasting with the previous energy that propelled everything around. This one had a reddish tone, and its manifestation resulted in burning flames, illuminating that corner of the forest for several kilometers on this night. When the fire hit them, the creatures burned like oil, emitting cries of pain and clearly showing that fire harmed them. A few seconds later, the bodies engulfed in flames fell to the ground, motionless, as they turned into ashes. I picked up what remained of one head, making sure they wouldn't reanimate, and set it on fire.

After a sweep with other summoned wolves that ran around the area to ensure none of these creatures remained, I returned to my resting place, determined not to let some undead creatures disturb a night of sleep. I lay down as if nothing had happened, leaving the macabre events behind as I surrendered once again to sleep.

The next morning, after savoring the rest of the rabbits, I continued with my journey. At noon, I encountered another group of wildlings in the same forest.

I approached them as last time, but now I didn't look like a beggar at least.

"Hello," I murmured when I was already among them, going unnoticed after having trained for a few years in the thieves' guild in the city where I stayed. With that, I witnessed the second scene of a people beyond the Wall waking up frightened when they found me in their camp. Despite now being dressed in their furs, I realized that the change of attire was not enough to calm their fears.

"Who are you?" Inquired a dark-haired girl with blue eyes, whose beauty surprised me in this land.

"I'm Jon Snow. I'm looking for Mance and the direction to the Wall," I asked, observing the growing suspicion in the group's gaze.

"Do you want to join Mance's people? You don't look like someone from beyond the Wall... What tribe do you belong to?" She asked, fixing me with a penetrating gaze.

"I'm not from here, ended up in this place by chance, but I'm interested in this army of wildlings," I replied, unaware that I had offended them by using the term "wildlings." The group reacted with growls of discontent.

"Kill him! He's a southerner!" Exclaimed the first one to run towards me, raising the sword for the attack. I sighed, thinking: 'Is there no one I can talk to in this hell?' Repeating the same move as the night before, I threw my axe, embedding it in the wildling's skull who screamed before his sudden death. He fell lifeless to the ground while the others fled. Here they were about ten, but now I had two bronze swords looted from the last group, so I took both weapons from my waist, dispelling the need to annihilate the whole group with just one shout. I initiated a skillful counter-attack against their swords, axes, and arrows. In thirty seconds, I had already eliminated five of them, generating a sense of caution in the rest. I didn't care; my intent was to virtually wipe out everyone there because, by attacking me, there was no reason to keep more than one prisoner.

Two of the last to charge in close combat ran towards me. I delivered a precise strike with one sword, cutting the chest of one of them, and with the other, I intercepted an arrow fired by one of the three archers. The beautiful girl who had spoken to me earlier tried to hit me with an axe, but I skillfully dodged it with my body, then kicked her in the chest, leaving her breathless on the ground. Finally, I decapitated the last man, who fell dead to the ground.

Three archers remained paralyzed by the carnage, witnessing seven members of their group being cut down by just one man in a matter of 1 minute. One of them unleashed a desperate run towards the forest, fleeing the fight, but before he could gain distance, I threw one of the swords in his direction like an assassin throwing a knife. In a matter of seconds, he fell dead on the ground, the blade piercing his back through to his chest.

One of the archers, moved by desperation, shot an arrow at point-blank range. But to his disbelief, I caught the arrow with my free hand. The wildling, recognizing the futility of his resistance, dropped the bow in a sign of surrender. I threw my second sword, hitting the man who still held the bow directly in the skull, before approaching the archer who surrendered. He tried to articulate words, but I interrupted his attempt with a swift death, breaking his neck.

Although I loathed extinguishing the lives of individuals devoid of a fighting spirit, I harbored an even greater aversion to cowards. I had always maintained the philosophy that one who attempts to take the life of another must be prepared to lose their own.

"Looks like we can finally talk," I inquired of a woman trembling on the ground, not foolish enough to overlook that I had defeated the entire group of 11 people alone.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, fear evident in her voice.

"Depends. Do you want to be honest? I met some of yours a day ago, asked some questions, and only got vague answers, so I killed them, seeing how persistent your people are," I said.

Jon didn't know, but the wildling woman shuddered at his tone. He naturally expressed the idea of killing with a coldness that made even the most barbaric and cannibalistic tribes of the true north seem like children in comparison. This left the impression on the woman that Jon was a monster, but Jon carried with him hundreds of thousands of deaths and had grown accustomed to taking lives long ago. There was a time he regretted sparing those who didn't deserve it, and it caused many problems, so he wouldn't hesitate to kill this woman if she deserved it.

"I'll be honest," she said, choking.

"You don't seem as fierce as I imagined," I commented, observing the woman in front of me. She resembled many others I had encountered here, but they all showed an unwavering willingness to die before renouncing the pride of their people.

"If it still allows me to take care of my little brother, then I submit," she said honestly. I accepted this revelation with approval; I appreciate those willing to sacrifice for family, something that reminds me of the friends or lovers I made in Skyrim. Although I have grown accustomed to taking lives over the years, I am not a psychopath who enjoys killing. I reserve my violence for those with whom I cannot establish rational dialogue or who deserve to meet their end with a sharp axe.

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Author's note:

* Without many thoughts, I hope you like it.

* Thank you in advance, I hope you have a good read.