Game of Thrones: The Legend of Jon Arctic – ASOIAF/GOT GOT

[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Northern Kingdom, Last Bastion against Essosian Slavers, 290 AC, at the same moment.
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"Look at the soldiers on the walls, raise your bows to 90 degrees!" Ducken thundered, and the giants aimed their arrows at those angles. They did not use the full power of the bows because Jon did not want to attract more attention. A distance of 150 meters could be shot by giants at an almost right angle, but this would make more nobles covet his group, something Jon wanted to avoid. 

"Fire!" Ducken shouted, and 5 bows made a shrill sound throughout the small army. The arrows flew at an abnormal speed, lifting and beginning to fall with the weight of the liquid hanging from the arrows. This not only caught the northern army by surprise but also stunned the people in the fort with that sound.

The shrill sound of the arrows cutting through the air reverberated across the battlefield, and the tension reached its peak when the five arrows fired by the giants hit the fort's gate. A distant crack was followed by a series of booms that echoed like thunder, reverberating off the walls and reaching the attentive ears of everyone.

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack*

*Crack*

The arrows, laden with the mysterious green liquid of wildfire, hit their target, and the result was immediate. The chemical liquid began to spread, forming intricate patterns on the walls of the fort. The bright green reflected in the astonished eyes of the soldiers who watched the spectacle, not fully understanding what was unfolding before them.

"Jon, what is that?" His father, still incredulous, sought to understand his son's fanciful strategy.

"Ducken, blow up that gate," Jon ordered, and his friend nodded.

"Fire arrow! Prepare to shoot!" Ducken thundered, and Wallyk prepared a new arrow with oil, setting it on fire.

"Fire!" Wallyk launched the arrow as soon as Ducken gave the order. The arrow cut through the air until it hit the liquid at the entrance of the fort, and the fire began to spread rapidly until it finally exploded.

Then, as if hell itself was unleashing, an explosion of unimaginable intensity tore through the air. A deafening roar of flames mixed with the rumble of the detonation echoed around, shaking even the solid foundations of the fort. The sudden and blinding flash lit up the daytime sky as if night had suddenly fallen.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

The gate, once imposing and impassable, was now just charred debris. The shockwave swept across the field, scattering the dust of the impact and revealing a post-explosion scenario: dancing flames, thick smoke, and the absence where the gate once stood.

The sight was both majestic and terrifying. The wildfire had transformed what was a secure entrance into a chaotic opening. The green liquid continued to burn, voraciously consuming everything in its path. The heat radiated, making the echo of the chaos that Jon and his allies had unleashed on the enemy fort palpable.

Jon, impassive, watched the scene with a determined expression. It was the result of months of preparation, research, and planning. The wildfire, a formidable weapon, had carved a breach in the heart of the fort, paving the way for the battle that would unfold next. The fate of the north now lay in the hands of the warriors who would march through the smoky opening, ready to face whatever they found on the other side.

The explosion came with a flash, startling all the horses of the armies, while the men tried to calm their mounts. As the dust settled, it revealed a hole where the gate used to be.

"Lord Stark, now you can launch the attack," Jon informed.

His father, still incredulous, nodded carefully, launching the northern attack. Mounted on Blackarrow, he led the assault, while Jon, deciding to stay behind, pondered the possibility of joining the battle. However, his father would oppose this, and Jon was not in the mood, considering the potential greed of the nobles.

"Do you want to participate, Ducken?" Jon asked the man.

"No, I'm fine here with you." He stated as they watched the site, locked in a battle within the fort.

Jon, through the eyes of Caraxes in the sky, kept an eye on the fight inside the fort, which at this moment was a chaotic dance of steel, blood, and fire. The rumble of the gate's explosion still reverberated as the northerners faced the slavers in a desperate confrontation. The certainty of victory did not dissipate the tension in the air. The fate of the north was being decided with every blow struck, with every tactical move executed.

Jon felt a tightening in his chest as he saw his father on the front line, facing enemies with a ferocity that reflected an unwavering commitment to justice and freedom. He was in all the glory of battle, wearing armor made by Jon and using Ice to slay his enemies, while Blackarrow stayed by his side, killing anyone who tried to catch Lord Stark off guard. Even the imminent surrender of the slavers did not erase the gravity of the battle. The battlefield was now a testament to courage, strategy, and sacrifice.

As his father led the northerners into the conquered fort, Jon felt a mix of relief and accomplishment. The battle had been won, and Jon observed the scene with a contemplative look. Victory had been achieved, but not without cost. Around him, northern soldiers hugged and cried, relieved with the end of the final battle, a complete victory with little loss thanks to the morale of the soldiers and enemies.

Lord Stark, with his imposing posture, still maintained the firm and determined look of a leader. He gathered his men, and in his voice, there was a mix of pride and melancholy. "Today," he began, "we mark the end of a dark era in the North. We honor those who fell fighting for justice and freedom. They will never be forgotten."

The crowd of soldiers listened in silence, many with tears in their eyes for the known. Jon, standing beside his father, felt a weight in his heart. He knew that the scars of war would take time to heal, but he also knew that a new chapter was beginning for the north.

The night had fallen on the victorious camp, bringing with it an atmosphere of celebration and relief. The bonfires burned brightly, illuminating the faces of warriors sharing stories, laughter, and songs. Jon, though enveloped in the joy of his companions, stayed away from the main tent where the Lords were feasting.

The giants, with their thunderous laughter and grand gestures, drank and ate with an appetite that matched their colossal size. They celebrated among themselves, creating an atmosphere of camaraderie that transcended words. Jon watched them, a shy smile on his face, feeling more at home among them than he ever would in the tent of the Lords.

Refusing invitations from the nobles to join them, Jon couldn't forget the words and plans heard in the war planning tent. There was something there that discomforted him, a shadow looming over what should have been a pure celebration.

The distribution of EldenMetal weapons had brought a glint of pride to the eyes of many soldiers. Jon felt satisfied to see his men equipped with such material, a deserved recognition for their bravery and sacrifice.

Exhausted, he retired early to rest, knowing that the next day would take him back to the north. At dawn, as the first rays of sun bathed the camp, his father, Lord Stark, approached him. Blackarrow, Jon's faithful mount, trotted to his owner's side, as if understanding the importance of the moment.

“Jon... Are you really going to the Wall? You know we can fix things in Winterfell if you want to come back,” his father said, his voice laden with concern and hope.

Jon looked at his father, his eyes firm and determined. “Father, this is not just something I want, it's what I need to do. The old gods have given me this mission, and I plan to carry it out,” Jon replied with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

Lord Stark, with a mix of paternal concern and respect for his son's decision, made one last offer. "If that's the case, I won't try to persuade you further, but let me just send some soldiers to accompany you?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Jon looked around, at the giants and creatures that made up his entourage, and responded firmly. "Father, look at the giants and animals that surround me, I don't need help, alright?" His response made it clear that he felt more than capable of protecting himself.

His father sighed, sadness and regret evident in his face. "I know you're upset about what happened yesterday, I shouldn't have summoned you to that meeting..." The words were a tacit acknowledgment of the tensions the meeting had caused.

Jon, with a firm look, replied: "If it wasn't now, at some point they would see that the giants or animals are just tools for their desires." His eyes met his father's, conveying the bitter understanding that even in the North, greed still found its way.

"Alright, Jon. But write to me when you arrive at Castle Black, understood?" Lord Stark spoke with a firm voice that hid a layer of emotion.

"Yes, I will send a raven," Jon agreed, already starting to prepare his camp to leave.

Lord Stark nodded, a mix of admiration and sadness in his gaze. He knew that Jon's path was carved by the old gods. With a gesture of farewell, he left Jon to prepare for his journey, recognizing the strength and destiny that drove his son.

As Jon prepared to depart, he took one last look at the camp, now calm and silent. A new day was beginning, and with it, a new chapter in his journey. With everything ready and Blackarrow by his side again, along with the others, he was ready to leave.

After saying goodbye to his father and the lords who had joined them, Jon headed north. Initially accompanied by a few local lords, the journey was marked by daily stops for rest and reflection. As the days passed, the lords gradually left the group, each returning to their own fiefs and responsibilities. Finally, Jon found himself alone, heading north with only his giants and animals for company.

"Should we pass through Last Hearth?" Ducken asked.

Jon pondered for a moment, his eyes sweeping the cloudy horizon that stretched before them. "I think it's better to avoid the great noble houses," he finally replied, his voice resonating with unwavering determination. "We can't waste more time here in the north, let's head directly to the Wall."

The group continued north after adjusting their route, choosing less traveled paths and avoiding the more densely populated territories. The giants and animals that accompanied them moved with silent efficiency, adapting to the steady pace Jon had set.

As they progressed, the landscape around them gradually changed. The fertile lands of the north gave way to more arid and cold terrain, a prelude to the harsh climate beyond the Wall. The journey, though challenging, was made in respectful silence, each member of the group lost in their own thoughts about what the future might hold.

It was after a week of continuous travel since leaving the military camp, that Jon and his group entered the Gift. Five days after this transition in the landscape, a sense of growing expectation permeated the group. As they advanced, the air became colder and the terrain more arid, signaling that they were approaching their destination. And then, finally, the Wall appeared in the distance.

The sight of the Wall was awe-inspiring, even for those who had seen it before. Rising like a giant of ice, it dominated the landscape, an imposing barrier between the realm of men and the unknown lands beyond. Its massive contours glowed under the weak sunlight, reflecting the last rays of light that managed to penetrate the cloud cover.

For Jon, the first glimpse of the Wall was a moment of profound reflection. The magnitude of the structure represented not just an ancient engineering feat, but also symbolized what he would face in his mission. He felt a mix of admiration, respect, and a slight touch of fear before the grandeur of the Wall.

The giants, walking alongside Jon, looked at the structure with an air of curiosity. They, who rarely showed any sign of surprise, seemed equally impressed by the immensity of the Wall, despite it not being their first time seeing it.

“Would a blacksmith build this?” William asked laughing, but his tone was one of admiration.

“I don't know about a blacksmith, but my ancestor? Certainly, since he was the one who created all this..." Jon had a tone of pride in his voice.

The group took a momentary pause, allowing everyone to absorb the view before them. This was an important landmark in their journey, a reminder that they had arrived at the threshold of a different world, filled with unknown dangers and wonders.

After a brief period of contemplation, Jon signaled for the group to continue. They resumed their march. The Wall, once distant, now seemed to call them, and Jon knew that whatever awaited him beyond it, whatever the old gods wanted from him, he was ready to face it.

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