North Remembers

Young Jon Stark stood before everyone in the courtyard of Castle Black, his juvenile yet imposing figure contrasting with the harsh landscape around him. Lord Commander Brandon the Old stood firm by his side, providing the support he needed. Along with the men Jon had brought with him, there were also the brothers of the Night's Watch, who were not many, given the difficult situation and recent conflicts with the wildlings.

The sky above Castle Black was covered with gray clouds, threatening snow, while the cold northern wind blew mercilessly. The black walls of the fortress seemed to absorb all light, creating a sense of isolation and desolation. The banners of the Night's Watch fluttered, their dark colors blending with the growing darkness. It was a scene reminiscent of ancient songs and tales of forgotten times, where heroes faced indescribable dangers in inhospitable lands.

"Thank you all for gathering," Jon began, his voice firm and clear despite his thirteen years of age. The ancestral sword Ice, firmly strapped to his back, showed that he came as a true Stark to aid the Watch. "As soon as I learned of the situation the Watch was facing, I left Winterfell immediately while my father tried to communicate with the king and the rest of the northern lords to gather us against the imminent threat beyond the Wall."

His eyes scanned the assembled group, noting the mix of distrust and hope on the faces of the men. The training yard was filled with grim figures, hardened by winter and battles. Each brother of the Night's Watch had a story of sacrifice and resilience etched on their weary features. The wind howled around them, as if the ancient spirits of the North were present, watching and judging.

"You're just a boy," a brother of the Watch responded, disbelief evident in his tone. He was a burly man with a thick beard and eyes that seemed to stare at Jon with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "You carry that sword, but I doubt you know how to use it, damn it."

Jon looked at the man, noting the physical characteristics that suggested he was probably an Umber, though he wasn't sure. The ensuing silence was heavy, with all eyes fixed on the two of them. Jon's gray eyes, as cold as winter, met those of the older and larger man. The stories of his ancestors echoed in his mind, reminding him that he was a Stark, and Starks always protected their people.

"Winter is coming. The wildlings seek to bring it to the North. It is high time they were reminded that the Starks rule Winterfell and carry the titles of Lords of Winter," Jon said calmly, his voice resonating throughout the yard. His words, imbued with a cold determination, echoed in the minds of those present.

The man said nothing but kept his gaze fixed on Jon. He was enormous, a common trait among the Umbers, but Jon was not intimidated. The silence between them was palpable, like the calm before a storm.

"I will not follow a boy so young and green who has never participated in a battle. I will not have the death of a child on my conscience when facing the gods," the Watchman spoke in a hard tone, his words laden with brutal honesty.

"There has never been a Stark who forgot a vow. And for a Stark, his first vow, before the Crown, is to the people of the North. In my veins runs the blood of the kings of winter, the blood of the North. The Starks before me have protected these lands for thousands of years. The North remembers, my lord, and I hope everyone here does as well," Jon replied, his voice as cold as the wind blowing from the North.

No man said anything for some time as they looked at the giant. The man looked at Jon, anger etched on his face before a grin as grand as any man from the North could muster spread across his face.

"The North remembers!"

"The North remembers!" shouted the men of the Watch who were from the North in response. Soon, everyone, even those who were not from the North, were shouting the same.

"The Night's Watch accepts the support of Jon Stark and his men," Brandon the Old said seriously but with a slight smile.

"To the Young Wolf!" The man who had argued with Jon before raised his sword and shouted, referring to Jon Stark. Chants of the prince of the North echoed among the men. "What is your plan, my lord?"

"The Night's Watch cannot hold the tide alone; they are vulnerable in the south and will not survive if the wildlings attack from the south while the North is scattered and leaving them to do as they please. If the wildlings defeat the Watch, the remaining wildlings will be free to scale the Wall, and the North will be lost to a force of over a hundred thousand wildlings, more than double the number of the North. We need to unite the North and prepare for the battles to come," Jon said, his knowledge and wisdom surprising those who listened. His voice carried an ancestral weight, as if the spirits of the ancient kings of the North spoke through him.

"Yes, my lord."

"I need someone to call the other houses as quickly as possible. At Winterfell, my father is doing his best, but it would be even better if all the houses received a call for help from the Watch."

"It will be done," Brandon nodded stiffly.

"We won't have much time, so send riders and ravens."

Preparations began immediately. Jon's men, along with the brothers of the Watch, spread throughout the castle, preparing for the journey ahead. Jon, with his ancestral sword, walked through the corridors of Castle Black, feeling the gravity of his mission. He was a Stark, and that meant protecting the North at all costs.

The following days were a mix of intense training and strategic meetings. Jon worked tirelessly, adjusting plans, discussing tactics, and ensuring everyone was ready for the imminent battle. The snow fell incessantly, covering Castle Black in a white mantle, but the cold did not disturb Jon. He moved with the certainty of someone who carried the fate of the North on his shoulders.

Every night, as dusk fell, Jon climbed the Wall and looked out over the vast frozen wasteland beyond. The shadows of the night hid the dangers that lurked, but he felt no fear. He knew he needed to be strong, not just for himself, but for all those who depended on him. The stories of his ancestors echoed in his mind, reminding him that he was a Stark, and Starks always protected their people.

During one of these lonely nights, Jon found Lord Commander Brandon watching the horizon. The old commander was wrapped in his black cloak, his eyes fixed on the darkness.

"Lord Commander," Jon said, inclining his head in respect.

"Jon," Brandon replied without looking away. "You are young, but you carry a heavy burden. Do you understand what is at stake?"

"Yes, sir. I know the North depends on us. The wildlings cannot be underestimated, and the Night's Watch needs all the help it can get."

Brandon turned to look at Jon, his eyes assessing. "You have the courage of a true Stark. But remember, courage must be tempered with wisdom. Strength alone does not always win battles."

Jon nodded, absorbing the commander's words. "I understand. I'm here to learn and to fight. I will do whatever it takes to protect the North."

Brandon placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, a gesture of trust and support. "You have the spirit of winter in you, Jon. Never forget that."

The next morning, a group of riders left Castle Black, carrying urgent messages to the houses of the North. Ravens were sent to Winterfell, Last Hearth, Karhold, and all the strongholds that could offer aid. The response would not take long, and Jon knew that every moment was crucial.

The training continued. Jon dedicated himself to honing his sword skills, training with the most experienced men of the Watch. Every strike, every move, was a step closer to being prepared for the coming battle. He knew he could not fail. The weight of responsibility kept him focused, determined not to disappoint his house or his people.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension in Castle Black grew palpable. The air was thick with anticipation and the smell of steel and sweat. The men of the Watch, hardened by countless winters, trained with renewed vigor, inspired by the presence of the young Stark. Jon led by example, pushing himself to the limits, showing that he was more than just a boy with a famous name.

Finally, the day arrived when the first of the northern houses began to respond. Riders from Last Hearth brought word that House Umber would stand with the Watch. Soon after, messages arrived from Karhold and the Dreadfort, pledging their support. The North was beginning to unite, driven by the common threat and the leadership of Jon Stark.

In the great hall of Castle Black, Jon met with the lords and commanders who had gathered. Maps were spread out on the wooden tables, showing the terrain and the strategic positions they would need to hold. The hall, filled with the scent of burning wood and the murmur of voices, felt alive with purpose.

"My lords," Jon began, his voice commanding attention. "We face a foe that does not fear death. The wildlings are numerous and determined, but they are not invincible. Together, we can hold them back. We can protect our homes and our families. But we must act swiftly and decisively."

The room fell silent as Jon outlined his plan. They would fortify the key passes and valleys, using the terrain to their advantage. The houses of the North would send their best warriors to reinforce the Watch, creating a united front that the wildlings would struggle to break.

"We will not wait for them to come to us," Jon continued. "We will take the fight to them, striking at their camps."