ColdHands, and Wildling Camp

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The Following SEVEN Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 22 (The King Beyond The Wall), Chapter 23 (Treason, and Lies), Chapter 24 (Wildling Warrior), Chapter 25 (A Lone Wolf), Chapter 26 (Passion Under The Stars), Chapter 27 (The Truth), and Chapter 28 (The Winter Dragon) are already available for Patrons.

Jon Snow

The bastard boy had been following the wildlings left alive for several nights now; thankfully, the snow had stopped the last night, making it easier and faster to move forward. Due to make sure that they would arrive faster, Jon used his Warging to control two Elks nearby; Val and Tormund had no horses with them; usually, the free folk would rather want to arrive by foot to their camp, but the danger of encountering another white walker or ice spider quickly changed their mind.

During the last six nights of travel, Jon had gotten to know his traveling companion better; Val was quite fierce, strong, and didn't shy away from blood; her cold eyes were always mesmerizing, and Jon found himself quite drawn towards them.

Tormund, despite being a big man with a long red beard, was quite caring for Val, who Jon found later was close with the king beyond the wall, but the bastard figured she wasn't close romantically; he had seen many people and noticed many things, he knew Val wasn't the king's lover or anything similar.

Jon had hoped he would dream of Bloodraven at night, but the bastard had gone silent, leaving him alone perhaps in the most dangerous place in the world. The bastard boy now was fully convinced Bloodraven knew the wildlings were there; the only thing he didn't understand was Why? Why was he needed to meet them, Jon didn't know, but if he ever got to meet Bloodraven, he would plunge his Valyrian Sword deep into his black heart.

Now, the night had fallen, and the fire cracked and sparked, illuminating the darkness around them; it was the only sound that could be heard over the comfortable silence around them; Jon flew high in the air; all he could see was endless snow, trees nowhere to be seen in the vast horizon, only more snow and darkness, his eyes looked at the far north, further than anyone had ever gone, a feeling of dread started spreading on Jon's chest, a lump on his throat, he felt his breath taken away, his throat go dry, quickly turning around, he avoided that place.

Jon gasped, returning back to his body, Tormund and Val sitting cross-legged near the fire, both of them holding an arrow in their hands, at the top a piece of rabbit meat, slowly cooking it using the fire near them.

Jon coughed, feeling his throat burn despite the cold around them; the bastard's eyes went to Val's grey-blue eyes.

"What did you see, Jon? You were gone for quite a while?" Val asked, pulling her arrow away; now her dinner ready, she bit down on the meat, it was a bit dry, but she liked the taste on her mouth, her tongue wetting her pink lips, following it down with water.

"No white walkers nearby," Jon said, finally breathing normally, his shoulders slumped down, the tension felt now gone, feeling his eyes heavy, he wanted to close them and sleep but not yet.

"Where is this camp of yours?" Jon asked, Ghost lying his head on his lap; the two Elks that Tormund and Val were using were nearby, trying to find food, mostly grass or any kind of plant they eat.

"Several more miles to the North, Jon, trust me, we are as eager as you are to reach them; the feeling that a White Walker might jump on us at any second is not comfortable," Val said, eating more of her rabbit.

Jon accepted her answer, his eyes looking at the flames dancing around the darkness, a hint of crimson fire in the heart; it was beautiful.

Val eyed Jon, who was busy looking at the flames; unlike her and Tormund, Jon's face was completely naked to the cold around them, not even a hoodie to cover his cheeks, ears, and head.

Val had been paying attention to it for several nights now; not once did Jon complain about the cold; every time they needed to start a fire, it was either her or Tormund bringing it up, but it wasn't just that. Val had seen people dying from cold, the way their skin would turn red like blood, they would feel pain, their bodies shaking until at a certain point they would say they felt better, but that was actually the most dangerous part, the last hour as free folk called it.

The cold would numb almost their entire bodies, but the body would still try to warm himself, which would cause for it to pay attention only to the organs that were needed for survival, but when the victims started feeling warm, that's one of the worst cases.

When they feel nothing, that's when they are at death's door, Val had seen many cases of dying from cold, but despite the obvious freezing temperatures around them, Jon looked and acted completely fine; his skin was as healthy as could be, his ears were not red, his body wasn't shivering, her clothes were warmer than his, yet he wasn't complaining or showing anything to indicate that he was cold.

Val watched as Jon used the pointy end of an arrow to stab the rabbit meat before pulling it close to the fire; she observed her blue eyes watched as he pulled the cooked meat away from the arrow with his bare hands before biting it down, the beef still steaming, almost causing her to gasp and scream at him.

She expected him to cry out in pain; his mouth should be on fire, especially his tongue, yet Jon did none of that; he kept eating, minding his own business; she briefly glanced at Tormund from the corner of her eyes, seeing his eyes literally glued at Jon.

"How about some water, snow?" Tormund offered, handing him a skin bottle that Jon accepted with a smile.

"Thank you, Tormund," He said before drinking, washing away the taste left by the meat, a bit overcooked, giving him a bad taste in his mouth.

"You know I have seen many things, giants three times larger than me, spiders with sharp teeth like swords, the devil smiles, people, wearing bones of their victims, but I have never seen anyone be so comfortable with the cold as you," Tormund commented, with a hint of amazement on his voice, something Val couldn't fault him for, she herself couldn't help but envy the way he wasn't feeling cold, for a brief moment she wondered whenever or not was because of his Warging ability, but quickly dropped it due to Varamyr being able to warg six animals, differently known as Varamyr Sixskins.

He felt the cold just like every other human; Val felt a shiver in her body when she thought of him; he was quite odd and often dangerous.

Jon stood silent for a moment, pondering on Tormund's words; it was true that the cold didn't bother him, never did, but the bastard had come to realize that neither did the hot temperatures; he had thought of it but hadn't found an answer yet, he had hoped that perhaps Bloodraven had answers, but the bastard had abandoned him to die.

"I don't know how, since I knew anything; the cold never bothered me; even my friend would always tell me that it wasn't fair that I couldn't get cold and that I was cheating," Jon joked with a bright smile earning a chuckle from his companions.

"Never have been in the South before. Is it true that their castles are bigger than the wall?" Val asked with mild curiosity, her voice sounding a bit excited; her imagination forced her to ask; she doubted that would be the case, but no harm in asking.

Jon gave her a smile that looked quite good on his face before shaking his head. "I have seen many castles, Val, even Winterfell once, but none of them had anything as tall or large as the Wall; I heard stories of King's Landing; it is said that the Red Keep is one of the largest castles in the Seven Kingdoms, so if you're looking for a castle as enormous as the Wall, then your best bet is to go to King's Landing," Jon explained, taking another bite from his cooked meat, leaving a bit of tasty juice in his lips that he washed away with water.

"King's Landing," Val repeated the words; the words sounded strange on her lips, a frown formed on her face, the thought of the kneelers living south of the wall.

"Where the dragon king lives?" Val asked but more like a statement, her voice neutral at the thought of the dragon king; despite living so far north, even the Free Folks knew of the dragon king; Val wasn't sure why they still called him that; the dragons had died away centuries ago. Rhaegar Targaryen was nothing special but a man that sat in a chair all day, with kneelers all around him.

"Yes, never seen him, but even I know that the people of the seven kingdoms adore him; some say he's the best the king they ever had," Jon spoke; neither Tormund nor Val reacted to them the way of living beyond the Wall was ridiculous, full of rules, and ridiculous titles that had little importance.

"Hah, bet the fucker has a fancy way of wiping his ass," Tormund commented, earning a chuckle from Jon and an eye roll from Val.

"I have heard the woman there act like scared children, wearing ridiculous dresses with bright colors," Val said with a hint of disgust in her voice, a sour taste in her mouth, the thought of such women who needed someone's help to even how to act was ridiculous, she knew not everyone was made to be a warrior, but not knowing anything, how to protect herself was ridiculous.

Jon's smile disappeared slightly, briefly remembering Sansa and the trout; Sansa was what could be described as a child living in a fantasy world where nothing wrong ever happens, and everyone that isn't a lord's child wasn't worth anything.

"Never been in the south Val; the North is different, there are many fierce women there, I have heard stories of House Mormont; everyone there is a fighter, not just the men," Jon explained, remembering Lady Dacey with a club big enough to smash his head in like a potato; not mentioning Lady Maege who could make even a White Walker run away with her eyes alone, the bastard boy, of course, said none of it, he didn't want his "companion," to know that he was the bastard son of Eddard Stark, The Lord of Winterfell.

Val listened to Jon with mild curiosity as he told them of the places South of the Wall, her eyes looking brighter and making her blue shade clearer due to the fire still burning the wood; Jon quite liked the way her eyes shone with the fire.

"Why come so far North then? Surely going south where it is warmer is much better," Val questioned him with no hint of malice in her voice; she understood that he told them he wanted to meet a person named 'Bloodraven' while she didn't recognize him; she needed him to realize that Mance would need a better reason, a reason for him to stick around and for the others to trust him.

She didn't want someone like him lying lifeless in the snow.

Jon eyed her carefully, Tormund was mostly quiet, but the way his eyes were looking at him was enough to know the situation was quite serious.

"My father," Jon started, with a hint of fake disgust in his voice; Val leaned closer. "My father wanted me to join the Night's Watch to pay for his crimes; he told me that if I didn't comply, he would cut my tongue and eyeballs and leave me in the wilderness to die slowly; the commander told me that they didn't accept as young as me, knowing I had nowhere else I could go, I didn't want to join them, vowing my life to a piece of Wall, to live and die like nothing, one night I used Kessa to fly over the wall," Jon explained with constant anger and disgust in his voice, sounding convincing.

Val wasn't a stranger to bad parents; she herself had heard of one father killing his son when he wasn't able to hunt anything, the boy was found the following week half-eaten by a bear, but his legs and arms were tightened with a rope.

The boy's stomach was open; his guts were all over the snow, his limbs had several bite marks around with skin and meat missing, and the father was later left to be eaten alive by crows and eagles in a stump; everyone had watched from far away as the men screamed in pain, his eyeballs eaten by birds.

Tormund distrusts Jon's tale for a simple reason. "Why not go south?" He suddenly asked, drawing the boy's attention, who turned his head to look at him.

"You said you used your eagle to fly over the wall; why not fly south? Surely it would be hard for your maniac father to find you?" Tormund questioned Jon with a menacing tone, causing Ghost and a northern Bear nearby to start growling at him, Val glared at him for putting them in danger, but Jon raised his hand, causing his companions to calm down.

"The South hates bastards like me, whenever I like it or not I'm stuck in the North, the South despises bastard, we were always seen with doubt, but since the Blackfyre rebellion, the bastard has been treated much harsher," Jon spoke with pain in his voice as if remembering something unpleasant.

Val briefly glanced at Ghost before putting a hand on Jon's shoulder to confront him. "They're fools then; there's nothing wrong with how someone is born," Val spoke warmly towards him, who smiled at her, appreciating her gesture.

Tormund looked down, understanding why Jon wouldn't want to go to the South. "Well, if you want, you can come with us and become a Free Folk, but you need to talk with Mance first before anything is decided," he offered him; Jon looked as if he was considering it, deep down knowing he would probably need to leave this place.

Jon didn't know where Bloodraven was, but he would find him one way or another, once he saw him, he would get his answers, or he would make sure to cut his heart.

"Thanks for the offer," Jon said before everyone eventually decided to call it a day. Tormund would stay awake, watching out for anything, mainly White Walkers or enemy tribes; Jon told him his animal companions could do that. However, Tormund still said it wouldn't hurt anyone to have extra eyes, and Jon reluctantly agreed.

Night

Tormund was making sure the fire was staying lit; thankfully, Jon's companion was bringing him broken branches, everything to burn whenever he needed it.

"Thanks, Ghost," Tormund said; he had learned the name of the white fur the second day; the white Direwolf glanced at him as if measuring him before dropping the piece of branch from his mouth; the big guy wondered whenever or not he could pet him, but quickly decided that he liked his fingers as they were.

Tormund watched as the giant wolf, who could act like a puppy in front of Snow, acting like a giant guard, lying in front of The bastard's tent, his body bigger than a horse. "No wonder he uses him as a horse," he murmured under his breath with a smile. Watching the fire growing, he sighed in relief; he could only thank the gods that neither Val nor Jon were snoring; the time passed, minutes turned into hours, and Tormund was seriously considering closing his eyes a bit; perhaps Jon was right about being safe he thought, just as his eyes were feeling too heavy to keep open he heard The blue eagle raise his head.

She was standing just a bit away from the camp, allowing space for her wings to stretch out; she was sleeping peacefully when her head suddenly lifted, leaving out a small cry, her purple eyes looking in front of them.

Tormund didn't know what she was thinking, but even he knew something was wrong. "Ojj, giant Eagle, what is wrong?" He asked, looking in the direction where she was looking; he was trying to make out the sound he was hearing.

Closing his eyes, he heard the sound of... footsteps; quickly grabbing his bone knife from his waist, he was about to call out for Val and Snow when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Don't scream; this is not a White Walker," Jon spoke calmly near him, gesturing for him to keep quiet. The bearded man wanted to call Val anyway when an Elk came out of the woods with a person riding on top of it. A skinchanger, Tormund thought quickly; his blue eyes made contact with the man's eyes, suddenly feeling his body sweating; wait, why am I sweating?! Am I afraid? No, this is different; this is not Fear, he thought; suddenly, his throat went dry as the mysterious man riding the elk got closer; Tormund felt his body freezing; he wanted to move, to shout, yet he couldn't utter a word to save his life.

Jon watched him warily, his hand gripping the handle of his sword tightly, expecting anything, yet, Ghost and Kessa weren't trying to stop him from approaching.

He was dressed in the mottled blacks and greys of the Night's Watch with a black wool scarf concealing his pale face. He is armored in boiled leather and ringmail, and he wields a sword. His ungloved hands are black and cold as ice, and he rides a great elk. A flock of ravens flies under his command and brings him information. Thin and gaunt, he speaks with a rattling voice and does not breathe.

"Er þat þú minn bróðir?" The man spoke with an old voice.

Jon didn't understand what he was saying; it wasn't Valyrian; he wondered whether or not Tormund could understand him, but from his dumbfounded expression, neither could he.

"Who are you?" Jon asked, not knowing what to do.

"Þú reminð mik ór Bran, náttrinn er dark ok fullr ór fire," the man spoke, his voice sounding like the wind.

Jon wanted to ask more when the man extended his hand toward him.

"Fear eigi, ungr kind," the voice spoke.

Jon didn't know why, but his hand suddenly moved, shaking his hand; despite wearing gloves, the person's skin was cold, colder than everything he had ever felt.

"Cold hand," Jon murmured; his hand was freezing, his skin getting numb from the cold.

"Koldhand, dragon kind. Thee destiny awaits," The man spoke, moving his hand away, before riding away.

Not once did Ghost or Kessa try to stop him; Jon felt his hand burning up; removing the skin glove covering his hand, he noticed several blue spots, reminding him of White Walker skin.

Jon watched as the blue spots slowly disappeared, turning into healthy normal looking skin.

"Who was he?" Tormund asked, only now moving, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily as if he just ran for hours without stopping.

"I couldn't move a single muscle," Tormund added with a hint of fear in his voice, turning to fully face Jon, who was still examining his hand closely.

"How did you move, and why didn't your companion try to stop him?" Tormund asked, still breathing heavily; he felt as if his life flashed through his eyes; he felt Dead; he could have sworn he felt as if his soul was leaving his body.

"I-I- My hand moved on its own," Jon said, gulping, not understanding what just happened to them.

Three Days Later

Tormund was riding in the front; Jon and Val were riding just a little behind him; talking about the Free Folk camp just ahead.

"Be wary of Varamyr; he's our most powerful skinchanger, be prepared that he might try to warg Ghost; he's able to warg six animals at the same time; while you are not bad yourself, be wary of him," Val spoke to Jon who nodded with a frown on his face.

"Ghost and Kessa are my only companions; if he tries, I will make him lose his mind," Jon threatened with a cold tone that took Val by surprise.

His cold tone is quite fitting for him, she thought with a shudder. Soon they reached the top of a field; Jon could briefly see the top of tents as Ghost slowly reached the top, showing the full scale of their camp.

"Welcome to the Free Folk, Jon Snow," Val spoke warmly beside him; Jon was mesmerized by the amount of tents in front of him; there were tents as far as the eye could see, a large field of snow full of tents, a mountain with an arrow shape top in the background, Jon swallowed a deep breath, a gust of wind hitting him full force in the face.

"Come on, Mance should be waiting for us," Tormund spoke roughly as his elk started riding forward, quickly followed by Jon and Val.

As they got closer, Jon could see and feel the curios looks people were giving him; his eyes noticed several children playing together, with who assumed were their mothers nearby watching them; every tent was made of animal skin, and his eyes were quickly looking for the tent of this supposed King of the North, he figured his tent must be larger than the other ones.

"Tormund, where are the others?" A voice made Jon turn to look in front of him; Tormund had dismounted his Elk, his attention on the man in front of them.

In front of them was a small man with a knobby chin, thin mustache, and pinched cheeks. His eyebrows join over the bridge of his nose, and he has a widow's peak with his dark hair. He has cracked brown teeth and yellow-tinged eyes. He was wearing boiled leather armor, which was covered with loosely-tied bones. Jon saw a yellowed, broken giant's skull on his head, and his arms were covered with bearclaws sewn to the leather.

Tormund spoke something with the man that Jon couldn't hear; his senses were on full alert; he knew there were at least two bears and three shadowcats nearby, not to mention that Kessa was circling the camp, her figure already noticed by several wildlings.

"Did you bring another prisoner? Why isn't he chained?" The man shouted before pointing at Jon, who was unfazed by him, his tone causing Ghost to growl, bearing his sharp teeth.

"He's no Night's Watch, Rattleshirt, and I want Mance to meet him, so unless you want to have your head carved in, I would suggest you move," Tormund threatened with a much deeper tone, his voice louder, causing several Wildlings nearby to step back, the one who was named Rattleshirt didn't look intimidated, not moving from his place, his eyes looking directly at Tormund's blue eyes.

For a moment, Jon wondered if they would start fighting before Rattleshirt stepped away. "He's a disgusting Warg. I will have the boy once Mance decides he's useless to us," He spoke sharply before moving out of the way.

Jon noticed his eyes briefly glancing at him, but the bastard boy didn't give him the satisfaction of showing fear. The people cleared out of the way, allowing them to ride forward.

Soon they reached a tent, a bit larger than the others; Jon dismounted Ghost, his left hand going through his fur, calming him down.

"Here, Snow," Tormund spoke; opening the tent, Jon saw a glimpse of a man holding a musical tool in his hands.

With a hand on his shoulder, Val gave him a reassuring smile before saying. "Come in," encouraging him, Jon spoke nothing but walked inside alongside her.

Lying on the fur was a man he would doubt was a king.

"Mance, we have guests," Tormund spoke to the man who stood up, eyeing Jon up and down.

Mance was a slender man and of middling height but broader in the chest and shoulders and taller than Rattleshirt. His long brown hair has gone mostly to gray, and laughter lines appear at the corners of his mouth. He has a sharp face with shrewd brown eyes. Wears wool and leather, over which he drapes a slashed cloak of black wool and red silk.

Jon couldn't see a crown on his head which came as a surprise to him.

"What's your name, boy?" He spoke with a cold and intimidating tone, reminding Jon a bit of his father when he talked to his servants.

"Jon Snow,"