The She Wolf

The night was dark and cold, enveloping the Night's Watch meeting room in na uncomfortable gloom. The thick stone walls, marked by time, seemed to absorb the chill that infiltrated through the narrow, glassless windows. The air was heavy with the smell of melted candle wax and the faint odor of mold emanating from the damp stones. At the center of the room, a massive oak table dominated the space, its dark grains irregularly illuminated by the flickering flames of the torches hanging on the walls.

Around the table sat the lords of the North, men hardened by cold and battles, their stern features sculpted by life in the unforgiving lands beyond the Wall. They wore thick furs and dark armor, absorbing the light and giving them na almost spectral appearance.

Jon Stark sat at the head of the table, his expression cold as ice. His hands were clasped before his face, his eyes fixed on a distant point as he thought deeply. The torchlight cast dancing shadows over his countenance, highlighting the lines of worry on his young but burdened face.

Beside him stood the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, a robust man with graying hair, whose tired eyes reflected the wisdom and weariness of many past winters. Along with him, several brothers of the Watch stood silently, observing the unfolding discussion intently.

"My Lord," began the Lord of Last Hearth, a man with a deep and resonant voice that echoed through the room. "The men clamor for blood. These wildlings invaded our lands, killed our men. They must pay with their lives."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The lords of the North were men of swift and severe justice, their hands calloused by sword and axe. However, Jon did not respond immediately. He was immersed in his thoughts, considering all the consequences of his actions.

"Executing all the prisoners might seem the simplest solution," he finally said, his voice firm and controlled. "But will that truly bring us peace? Or will it merely fuel more hatred and vengeance?"

The lords exchanged surprised glances. Most of them expected Jon to share the bloodlust so common among Northerners. However, he had a broader vision. He knew that wars were not won with swords alone but also with strategies and thoughtful decisions.

"We need to send a message," Jon continued, rising slowly. His figure seemed even more imposing in the torchlight. "But we do not need to become monsters to do so. Let the prisoners see the strength and justice of the North. Those who repent and vow not to attack us again may be spared. The others will be executed."

Silence filled the room. Some lords appeared discontent, but many others began to see the wisdom in Jon's words. He was proposing a way to break the cycle of violence and build a more enduring peace.

"Furthermore," Jon continued, his piercing gaze seeming to bore into the soul of each man present, "I want to know why these wildlings are so organized and desperate to enter our lands. Perhaps winter is indeed coming. Dark times are approaching, my lords."

The lords of the North exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of Jon's words settling over them like a shadow. They knew that wildlings rarely united so coherently. It was not unreasonable to assume there was a greater threat forcing them to do so.

"The decision is yours, Jon Stark," said the Lord Commander, placing a firm hand on Jon's shoulder, the weight of responsibility evident in his touch. "We trust your judgment."

Jon nodded, his eyes still cold but with a gleam of determination. He knew this decision might not be popular, but it was the path he believed to be right.

"So be it," Jon declared. "Prepare the prisoners. Those who show repentance will live. The others will die. And let this lesson echo throughout the lands north of the Wall. Meanwhile, we will discover what is truly happening beyond the Wall. We must be prepared for what is to come."

###

Jon Stark was now in a cold room at Castle Black, illuminated by torches that cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. The night outside was biting, and the room offered little comfort, only the bare minimum of warmth. The black stones of the castle seemed to absorb any trace of heat, and the chilling wind howling outside made the torch flames flicker.

Sitting before him was a woman with a fierce appearance, her blonde hair gleaming in the flickering light, her eyes alight with indomitable determination. Her golden hair was intricately braided, reflecting the culture of the free folk. She wore thick, sturdy furs typical of the wildlings, adorned with bones and feathers, indicating the many battles she had faced. Her name was Lagertha Wolfblood, known among the wildlings as She Wolf, as fierce as a she-wolf in battle. Her arms were bound behind her back, but she maintained a regal posture of defiance.

Jon observed her with a mix of admiration and curiosity. Her firm stance and the way she held her chin high, even as a prisoner, spoke volumes about her indomitable spirit. He began to speak, his voice casual but filled with curiosity.

"I am Jon Stark," he said, with a slight smile. "And you are?"

Lagertha looked at him with disdain, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "King of the Kneelers?" she asked, her voice laden with contempt.

Jon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm no king, just a lord concerned with his lands and his people."

She grimaced, clearly dissatisfied with Jon's answer, but finally introduced herself, though reluctantly. "Lagertha Wolfblood, She Wolf to my people. I am a spear-wife."

Jon raised na eyebrow, intrigued. "A spear-wife?"

Lagertha stared at him firmly, without a trace of hesitation. "Yes. And since you defeated and captured me, I am now your wife, Jon Stark."

The statement left Jon surprised for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "I don't think it works that way here, Lagertha. Your people's tradition may not be the same as ours."

Lagertha snorted, a mix of anger and frustration. "Traditions matter little now. If you are the man who captured me, then you are my husband by the law of my people. And I am a spear-wife, a warrior, not a delicate maiden."

Jon looked deeply into her eyes, recognizing the seriousness of her words and the unshakable strength she possessed. He found himself admiring not only the wild beauty of the woman but also her personality. Still, he didn't think marriage should work that way, but the customs of the free folk were different from those he was raised with.

"You are still a captive," Jon said, his voice firm. "I will respect your customs to some extent, but I will not consummate a marriage that was not conducted according to the customs of my people and that does not have my father's blessing."

Lagertha watched him, her eyes still full of distrust. She didn't know if Jon was a man of his word, but she felt he was, and her intuition had never been wrong before. Even so, the mistrust between the wildlings and the men of the North was deep. Jon understood this and knew it would take time to earn her trust.

Jon Stark seemed lost in thought for a moment before settling down in front of Lagertha, adjusting himself in his seat. His expression was grave, reflecting a mix of curiosity and genuine concern.

"What is the true danger your people face? Most prisoners seem terrified of something. Some have even said it's safer to be our hostage than to live beyond the Wall," Jon began, his voice firm yet tinged with gentle concern.

Lagertha's face darkened as she lowered her head, her voice almost a whisper as she began to speak. "Two years ago, immortal creatures emerged. At first, there were few, but as the Free Folk died, the number of immortals grew."

Jon frowned, a chill running down his spine. "Immortals? Creatures that cannot be killed?"

Lagertha nodded, her eyes filled with sadness and fear. "Yes, and with each passing day, hope dwindled. The number of surviving children dwindled too. I myself lost a son to these creatures."

Jon looked at Lagertha, trying to grasp the depth of the suffering she had endured at such a young age. "It all seemed hopeless until a man with na axe appeared. He defeated the strongest among the immortals, and the others vanished soon after. This man gained the respect of the entire Free Folk over time."

Jon looked at her seriously. "So, the people made him king for this? They trust him?"

Lagertha slowly nodded. "Yes, his name is Arthor, and he is a good man. He only seeks to find a safe place so that we do not perish to the immortals."

Jon absorbed her words, pondering the palpable desperation the wildlings faced. "This changes many things. If there's a threat like this beyond the Wall, we need to be prepared. Perhaps, instead of enemies, we can find a way to fight together against this evil."

Lagertha, however, seemed unconvinced. Her eyes gleamed with anger and distrust. "Do you think you can use this to manipulate us? Do you think I will betray my people for a kneeler like you?"

She stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair. The bindings on her hands left red marks. "I would rather die than betray my people, Jon Stark!"

Jon remained calm but firm. "I don't want to use you, Lagertha. I don't intend to betray your trust. I simply believe that together we have a greater chance of survival."

Lagertha scoffed, crossing her arms. "Words are easy, Stark. But convincing my people will be another story. Arthor may be a good man, but he does not trust kneelers. And why should he?"

Jon nodded, understanding the depth of the mistrust. "I understand. But we have to try. For the sake of everyone, Free Folk and the North."

She looked at him skeptically, but something in Jon's determination made her hesitate. Then, she smiled, almost mocking him. "You know nothing, Jon Stark."

Jon assumed a serious countenance, his gaze locked with Lagertha's eyes. He knew that to earn her trust and that of the Free Folk, he would need to go beyond mere words. He would need to negotiate with Arthor and make amends, but for that, he required a messenger.

"I propose we make na oath," he declared, his voice firm. "Following the customs of the Free Folk, if necessary. Cursed is the man who breaks na oath, and no Stark before me has ever broken one."

Lagertha raised na eyebrow, still wary. "Na oath, Stark? And what guarantees me that you will uphold it?"

Jon approached her, his eyes shimmering with determination. "With House Stark, the North shall follow. The lords of the North may be reluctant to accept, but they will eventually learn to coexist with the Free Folk. I no longer wish to see innocent blood shed, of your people or mine, especially due to conflicts of the past."

Lagertha watched him closely, trying to discern any hint of falsehood in his words. She crossed her arms, her posture still defensive. "Do you truly believe we can live together in peace?" she asked, skeptical.

Jon nodded. "I believe we have a chance. If we face this threat together, we can forge a future where our children need not fear each other."

Lagertha fell silent for a moment, her eyes studying every expression of Jon's. Finally, she gave a slight nod of her head, though there remained distrust in her gaze. "I will consider it, Jon Stark. But know that many of mine will not trust you as easily as I do."

Jon nodded, understanding the depth of the mistrust. "I understand, Lagertha. And I do not expect it to be easy. But if there is a chance to save our lands and our people, it is worth attempting."

She held his gaze for another moment before turning to leave the tent. "We shall see, Stark. We shall see."