House of dragons

by Xebecs

As

11. 11

Dance of Ice and Fire

schrutfarms

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Summary:

The pirates raid the North but are met with surprise.

Gaemon treats with the Lords of the North and the aftermath.

Notes:

It has been a spell since I made an update to this fic. The reason being simple, I have started a new job and plus I have been reading some books including Fire and Blood to reinforce my knowledge.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Nero

The mouth of Last River – 112 AC

"Are those the last of 'em?" the rough voice broke his attention. Nero heard the sounds of waves crashing into the rocks.

Nero looked at the prisoners that were taken from the woods of the North. They were mostly women that were traveling in the company of soldiers back to the lands of Karhold.

"Aye, been listening to their whimpering for a long time now, bout time they bother others," Nero said annoyingly. He went over to the women and picked them up by their hempen ropes.

They cried and struggled, the woman he picked up was round-faced and plump in the figure. He could smell the stench of piss and shit off of her. She was a daughter to noblemen; her name was Margaret Karstark. The name had not mattered when Nero had taken the life of one of her protectors. In the past, he had taken many daughters of influential men and sold them to slavery. What was another to that?

The woman Margaret was struggling as Nero dragged her to give it to Syndor, the enforcer in their ship. He was a Lysene brute that had worked with Racallio Ryndoon. Nero had heard tales of how he fucked men and boys and said it was a task that was bestowed upon him by the Old Gods of Valyria. Nero was glad that so far, he had not come close to him yet his pale purple eyes unnerved him.

The struggle of his captive was irritating him now, he turned and gave her a backhanded slap. She yelped at the force and fell.

"Did you have to do that?" Syndor asked softly.

Nero turned and glared at him and then he moved towards Margaret who was crawling back towards the others who were giving him a pleading look.

"Listen to me whore, I do not care who your fucking father is. Be glad for your looks or else I would have given you to my men in the ship, but test my patience again and I will let my men have you, understand," Nero threatened her. His bulging eyes must have been fearful enough for her to be still, her cheeks were bruised by the slap that he gave. She finally gave up on her struggles as Nero pushed her and gave her to Syndor.

The grey clouds shadowing the sky making the day gloomier than his thoughts. Nero had despised being in the North, he would prefer to be in the war in the Stepstones and drive the invaders away from their haunts. The cold winds brushed upon his face as if it was his foe trying to stop him from doing his task, yet he stood defiant spitting on their gods. He stood upon the broad cliffs and he could see his ship anchored by the shores.

He was the first mate to Whispering Wind, a pirate sail that had been hired by the Tyroshi to deliver slaves. This was the fifth time that he had been in the lands of the North and the fools never realized that they had been here. They would stay away from the shores and only land in the night and move within the lands with ease.

This would be the last time they would set foot on these lands. The admiral of their fleet had commanded them to bring slaves from the savage lands of the West. The Dragon Prince of the West and his Sea Snake puppet had driven them off their lands and had killed his friends. The Tyroshi allowed them to avenge that by making the slaves of the savage lands and none were more savage than the people of the North. By taking a woman of a lordly house, they would surely earn the ire of Lord and Ladies of these savage lands.

Nero descended the cliff as he saw more of his men coming up to take hold of the slaves that they had taken. He wore a fur coat to cover himself up against the cold winds and the harsh winters. The lands have been snowy and there was nothing more he wanted than to be in the warm confines of his ship. Finally, he descended onto the beaches, something made him turn to look at the woods on the Northern side. The dark oaken trees whose leaves were curtained by white snows appeared threatening to him.

"I do not like this place," Nero declared to himself. They were exposed in these lands if they stayed longer, the winds were swift and were against the direction they had intended to sail. He descended to the beach where he noticed more of the slaves that had been present. They had even chanced upon a group of savages who had hailed from Beyond the Wall. They had belonged in the rigs of the ship presently a fine group of two dozen wildling. It had been a dangerous endeavor but they had been able to be captured without much loss to them.

He jogged through towards their men and glanced at Syndor bringing in Margaret Karstark and dropping her alongside other prisoners. The men had built a small fire and were feeding more wood and sticks to it. Nero frowned at that and turned to see where the others were. Their crew had been numbered in a hundred men for their ship had been small compared to the others. However, Captain Vyllar had hoped that by delivering the Northern lady, they could get more gold from Tyroshi and hire more men.

The Tyroshi that hired had implied that a Northerner was worth more. Especially after having fought the warriors from these lands down at Stepstones. They believed that by bringing women and selling them to Lysene pleasure houses, they could breathe sturdy warriors down south. Nero had snorted at that foolish notion. He had encountered Northern savages and found nothing special, a little bigger yes and rougher than the Southerners but they were mere mortals who died if they are poked in the right place.

He glanced at the captives that were picked up and the men that were watching over them and frowned. They should have been moved to the ships by now, Nero frowned. Nero walked towards one of the crewmates who was muttering something in Valyrian to his friend and laughing.

"Where are the boats?" Nero asked them in Valyrian.

They looked at him disinterestedly and shrugged, "The boats will arrive when they will arrive."

Nero glared at him, they had been his companion, not a moon ago but with Nero being promoted to the first mate, their behavior had become envious and loathly.

Nero turned from them and took account of the captives that had been taken. Some were farm boys; some were women that appeared to look good. At present, there were about thirty men at the beach up in the open. The winters and the winds were serving as a warm reminder to Nero that they had not belonged in these lands.

The fact that the boats had not arrived had been disconcerting to Nero. However, even before he could raise an alarm to others, he heard a shout from one of his men. Nero turned to look at him who in return pointed towards the ship and saw that few boats were rowing towards them.

Nero frowned at the man who was leading the boats. It was a man that he had not trusted a bit. Mellor had been a sniveling rat, the worst of the pirates that could have been and a craven.

He had a hunched appearance and his face was grotesque. There was always a distrustful smile upon his face and the only reason he stood next to Nero and his captain was because Vyllar had liked him. It was one instance where he took an arrow upon his shoulder that was meant for captain Vyllar. Since then, he had formed a group amongst his crew. At times, Nero had wondered whether Syndor was part of it as well for Mellor had also been part of the Racallio's crew.

Mellor jumped off the boat and stretched himself like a child waking up from deep sleep. He was wearing an iron mail with fur cloak that had been purchased from the markets of White Harbor. Rather stolen from a merchant's barge to be precise, Nero thought inwardly.

He walked towards Mellor with intent and saw he was greeting others with an enthusiasm. It was as if the man was unaffected by Northern winds.

Mellor saw Nero approaching and smiled, "Ah, my friend. Just the man I was looking for."

The Valyrian tongue he spoke had sounded as Myrish man would speak and Nero had loathed Myr.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Nero demanded clenching his teeth hard. His task was to remain within the confines of the ships and watch over the prisoners there. Mellor pretended to be surprised by the rudeness of Nero's tone and it was heard by the others around.

"Come, friend, is that any way to greet me?" he replied feigning offense in his broken common tongue.

"There is a reason why you are to remain on the ship," Nero growled as he approached Mellor threateningly.

Mellor seem unaffected by Nero's approach and merely sighed and rolled his eyes "I know, it was you who said to watch over the prisoners that were aboard the ship." He then turned to gaze at him again, "alas, the captain has wished to see you, and let me oversee the arrival of our men."

That indeed surprised Nero, Captain Vyllar would only summon him in the time of need in this manner, yet he could tell something was wrong. "Why would captain send you?" he asked suspiciously.

Mellor shrugged, "Captain Vyllar has its reasons." He moved towards Nero with a bit of stutter. The snow does not seem to bother him that much, "and if I were you, Nero, I would not keep our captain waiting," Mellor whispered in his ears.

Nero glared at him with disdain, but before he could counter, Rogar, one of his childhood mates came up to him.

He grabbed him by the arm and took him to the side, "Go, Nero," he whispered in bastard Valyrian, "let me worry about them."

Nero looked at Rogar, he was shivering in the cold despite the boiled leather armor and the fur cloak that he wore. His brown eyes glinted in suspicion and it complimented Nero's doubts; however, he knew that the only way it could be dealt with would be by meeting with Captain.

Nero gritted his teeth, "be careful."

He walked away and noted that more of the crew were returning along with the slaves.

Nero walked towards the boat and brought a few of his men with him, the winds were getting onto his nerves now and the cold waters reached his legs almost making him run towards the boat.

As they finally arrived at the ship, he realized that few were working on the board loosening the ropes to release the sails. Nero looked at them for a moment and shook his head, the captain must be in his cabin. The waves were crashing onto the hull making the ship waver. Nero realized that they could not remain in this particular position for long.

He shook off his doubt and walked into the cabin and something about the setting seemed wrong to him. The oaken doors would normally have men guarding them, yet today none stood there. There would always be some sort of noise coming from Vyllar's cabin but today it was eerily quiet.

"Captain?" Nero called out.

There was no answer-back, he pushed his door and it creaked open with a groan. The room was cool, the hearth was still burning slowly. He glanced at Captain sitting on his chair looking over something.

"Captain? Vyllar?" Nero inquired as he cautiously moved towards him. Things were clean, and he raised his brows at that. Things were too clean; he slowly unsheathed his sword and held it on his right hand. He took a deep breath and walked towards his captain who was rather still. The noise of the wooden floor creaking as he took one step out of another made him more nervous.

He finally approached the captain; his head was down and his eyes were closed. He was clothed in furs and rich silks. The captain himself has not done any sort of fighting in years. No, he would often sit alongside merchants and archons of Tyrosh and drive a barter to deliver slaves or do haggle anyone in the sea.

The moment he touched Vyllar's shoulders everything around him began to melt. His face was pale and shivered not with winter but with fear. The moment Nero placed his hand upon his captain's shoulder, Vyllar's head lopped off and fell away into the ground. Nero moved back and almost fell if the bed would not have been there for his support, his sword clattered onto the ground as well. He looked at the captain lopped off his head, his eyes were closed but the mouth was gaping open. The peppered beard and the blue hair were open and not braided as it usually was.

Doubt, shock, and fear-filled his mind as he thought about the events that had transpired. He stared at the captain and finally acknowledged the severity of the events that were unfolding.

We are betrayed, Nero thought ruefully. As if the thoughts came to life, Nero heard a roar coming from outside. It could not be prisoners from the brigs since they had been bound well enough.

"WINTERFELL!!," men outside roared.

"STARK"

Northmen, Nero realized. He wondered, how did they come by so quickly?

Suddenly it all hit him like a lightning, "that treasonous cunt," Nero seethed as he stood up. The fear and disdain had turned into unbridled rage. He did not know how but before the light leaves his eyes, he will lop the head out of Mellor's person and see to it that the traitor suffers.

Nero left the captain's cabin ignoring the head that was rolling around and walked out with determination. As he stepped out, the sight that had welcomed him was a gruesome one. The Northmen in their plated steel armor and hard leather were fighting his men. Nero had come onto the boat with twenty men, there were thirty more in the ship. Mellor must have killed the captain off silently and left the boat allowing the Northmen to board the ship.

Nero watched as his men fought in the deck, other men climbed up the railing and running towards him screeching. Nero sliced a man's stomach and threw another one back into the waters. Nero looked down and saw more boats coming from the corner and the archers were shooting from their crossbows. Nero ducked, but a bolt caught one of the man's eyes.

He gritted his teeth and walked up the deck and saw more men fighting. Nero glanced at a man who had dawned plated armor with the carvings of a wolf. He was a tall man with a lean figure and wore an ornate helm. His time fighting and stealing on rich merchants had taught him that ornate helms are oft bought by men of nobility and this one had the shape of a wolf as well and he looked richer than the others.

Nero concurred that it must be the leader of their groups. He knew that if he kills him then it would break the strength of others. He pushed one of his men off to march towards the leader but before he could move to duel with him a figure stood in front of him. It was not a man no; it was a boy. A boy who had broad shoulders and chests, he wore boiled leather and a half helm. His facial features appeared far softer compared to other rough-looking Northmen and savages that he had known. His eyes were blazing in determination as he held onto a bastard sword in one hand while a round shield on the other. The coloring of his eyes was truly unique it was grey on his right and violet on his left.

"Run to your papa little boy," he said in a hoarse tongue.

"I would, but he is sending fuckers like you down to seven hells and I am nothing but my father's son," the boy replied. There was a hint of Northern roughness that he had oft seen in others but his speech was far more elegant.

The boy charged onto him with fury he brought his sword up but Nero defended it in time. They dueled for a while the cold winds were blowing. His opponent was good in a certain sword fight. He glimpsed at the fight that was happening around, more of his men came up from the bottom and the fight was getting heavy. The roars were loud and more of the men were boarding the ship.

Nero had to admit, the boy was good and quick on his feet. There was strength on his blows that he had not hoped to have faced against a boy of his age and stature. Nero could not move past for he did not give him room. With fortune, one of his men came in between allowing Nero some room to breathe as he looked around. More Northmen boarded their deck and it was visible that death and surrender were possible. He glanced at the beach and to his mortification, it was also overwhelmed by the horsemen from both sides.

Rogar, Nero realized. The thought of Mellor betraying his friend and killing him made him yell out in fury. He turned to see the boy taking his man down into the deck and at that the leader yelled out.

"GAEMON," the lord yelled.

It made Nero realized that the boy was in reality a prince. He had visited King's Landing once he was young. He had seen those Dragon Princes. The hair did not match but the coloring of the eyes was something that Nero would never forget. He pushed through the fighters and grasped that the boy was a prince as well. Having him captive would allow him and his men to escape.

Nero rushed down and found the boy killing one of his men. Nero brought his arm around the boy's neck and dragged him from the trembling bloodied corpse of his opponent.

"If you thought that this was going to be a fancy sword fight, you are wrong, boy," Nero sneered as he tried to tighten his hold upon the boy.

"I was counting on it," the boy responded gritting his teeth and drove his foot down his groins.

Nero groaned in pain as he dropped to his knees and he felt a fist connecting his jaw. Nero felt blood pouring out of his mouth as he tasted the wet wood. The Targaryen prince punched him again and again. He then proceeded to remove his knife and stuck it in his neck.

Nero felt wetness around his throat as it was becoming difficult to breathe. The sounds were growing distant as the light was disappearing from his eyes. He knew death was looming over him as a faint shadow passed over his head and the last thing, he heard was a roar unlike any other he had heard before.

Gaemon

On the beaches, after the skirmish

He coughed and coughed and sat by the beach. The coldness of the snow was finally reaching up to his arse. His breeches would certainly be wet, but Gaemon cared not. He took a deep breath and looked up at the grey sky. The heat of the battle and the bruises were finally catching up to him. His body was truly stiff and there was nothing he would love to do but sleep on his soft feather bed and dream of pleasant times.

He was completely sweating underneath the boiled leather that he wore. The half-helm he wore on the side was dented on the side. Gaemon had worn borrowed armor from one of the men-at-arms that had come alongside his retinue at Karhold. The trap set for pirates had sprung well within the time and despite his protests, he was told by Ser Steffon to remain back.

Gaemon chuckled when he joined alongside his uncle Rickon in the fight in the ships. A part of him would be glad that he did not wear his plated armor but also rued the fact that the chill was catching up to him. Gaemon heard a thud on his back and the ground shaking at the landing followed by a low growl.

He stood up and looked at the fearsome eyes of Vermithor gazing upon him. Gaemon winced a bit as he walked towards his dragon. The dragon let black smoke out of his nostrils as his snout reached him. The Bronze Fury had grown in size ever since he had been in North. Vaegon contributed that to him not being chained for most of the time and having the freedom to fly in the skies over Moat Cailin.

The sight of the dragon over North had even drawn many of the smallfolk over his castle at Moat Cailin. Though the fear of him harming humans and farm animals had always been prevalent, Vermithor had grown clever enough to know where his food will be. He let out a purr as he approached him, his dragon was flying alongside him up North. It had been an uncomfortable sight for Karstark when it first flew over Karhold. Lord of Karstark had protested Vermithor's presence but to no avail.

"I am fine boy, though I do appreciate your warmth right now," Gaemon whispered as he caressed his scales. The warmth was truly a welcome for him. It made him forget all the weariness and the cold winds. Vermithor had arrived at the end of their battle, his magnificent roar had been sufficient enough for the pirates to lay down their arms. With Dragonguard, not present, Vermithor might be starving and wondered how he would get his food. Up to now, Gaemon himself had seen to it that he was well fed. Often he and his men would hunt games over the woods provide elks and deer in the wood and at times even wolves. Gaemon recalled the one time when he had visited the Eastwatch-by-the-sea and how men had claimed to have seen him eating a whale in delight.

Gaemon peered at the endless sight of the sea and wondered, "Would you find some whale in the sea?" Vermithor looked at the sea as if he understood what he was trying to say. He did not know how Vermithor was able to hunt for a whale in the sea but found it he did.

He heard the hooves of the horses approaching him which made Gaemon turn towards the direction and saw the company of men arriving. They were Stark and Targaryen men that had come with him at Karhold. Gaemon sighed for he knew that he would be getting a scolding of a lifetime for certain. Gaemon pushed past Vermithor's snout and walked towards the company that was approaching.

The retinue stopped at distance, the horses growing nervous at the presence of dragons. Gaemon spied his uncle Rickon dismounting his horse and striding towards him with pace followed by Ser Steffon Darklyn in his white enameled plated armor. Ser Steffon had been charged with routing the pirates that had been present at the beach. It was a sight to see the white of Kingsguard amidst company grey and black armored clad warriors.

Right now, there had been a grim look upon his face. Gaemon could tell that the knight is not pleased with Gaemon's presence here.

His Uncle, the lord of Winterfell strode forth and embraced him tightly. Gaemon was surprised by this move as he half-expected clout in his ear at the best. He had washed his face and removed the blood from his face, but the armor still smelled of shit and blood.

"You blind brilliant fool, do you have any idea the fright you gave me?" His uncle Rickon screeched and then flicked his head.

"I am fine, aren't I?" Gaemon shrugged.

At that Ser Steffon scowled and stepped forth, "Fine, aye that you are a boy. Though if you were to die what then?"

Gaemon gritted his teeth, he was too tired to be egged upon, "So am I supposed to sit behind a castle keep like a craven while the other fight battles?"

"You are supposed to remain behind and be the prince you are meant to be," his uncle bellowed out.

"My father is fighting as we speak; he is fending off Stranger every day he takes a breath in Stepstones. What kind of a son would I be if I hide behind women and children while my father brings low to his enemies?"

"The kind that understands the difference between wisdom and foolishness, only fools look for laurel in the battlefield, wise men look to survive and persevere," Ser Steffon retorted, he was irritated and disappointed with Gaemon's efforts today.

Vermithor growled from behind sensing Gaemon's growing anger. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, it would be a folly burning my uncle and my Kingsguard alive, Gaemon mused. He opened his eyes and turned to look up at the growing shadow of his dragon.

"Gaemon," his uncle took a step back carefully. At that, he turned around and calmed his dragon down.

"Calm, my friend," he whispered in a soothing Valyrian tongue. The dragon flashed his dark sword-like teeth out and then turned around.

"Soves," he commanded him, and upon hearing that Vermithor gave out a roar in delight and flapped his wings up and slowly flew up in the air. Gaemon covered his eyes and shivered as the snow flew over him and his Uncle and Ser Steffon. He peered at Vermithor flying off into the sky, a part of him wishing that he was atop of him.

Gaemon finally turned to look at Ser Steffon, he had known that the knight had cared for him as a father would for a son but Gaemon already had a father. As much as he respected the knight, he would not let him dictate Gaemon like a child, "now you listen to me my good ser. I am no fucking fool when I fought the men. I have been trained by one of the finest knights in Westeros, taught how to wrestle and hunt by Roderick Dustin, learned the art of water dancing at the behest of Morin Forell, who now happens to be the first sword of Braavos. I have been trained under Maesters, taught the secrets of the Seven under Septa. Do you think it was all done for me to sit back and be told what to do hmm?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Gaemon could tell that both his uncle and Lord Steffon were taken aback by his intensity. Gaemon carried on breathing with his nose, "No, I have been learning how to rule my lands since I have been eight. I have been separated from my family, from my father who is named a king. I have been learning to negotiate with Lords, learning the art of trade. DO YOU THINK I HAVE BEEN DOING THAT TO BE CALLED A FOOL?" Gaemon roared out.

He walked away from them with intensity towards the group of Northmen that were by their horses. They looked down as Gaemon approached, but before he could take the horse and ride away to the camp, he turned around to look back at Ser Steffon, "make no mistake, I respect your counsel Ser Steffon." He then turned towards his uncle, "and I value your love and care, but I will no longer stand to be treated like a boy. I am a prince of the realm, not some meek boy who needs his small clothes changed every time he shits."

Saying that Gaemon turned back and walked towards the horse. The horse whickered nervously at Gaemon's approach as one of the Targaryen men bowed their head as he approached. Gaemon soothed the horse and tried to climb at it, he grimaced because of the wounds and the soreness. A man-at-arms came to help him but a glare from Gaemon stopped him in his track. He gritted his teeth and held onto the reins and climbed onto the saddle. He let out a groan of pain, but he did not quiver as he flickered the reigns to move back to the camp.

--At Karhold--

"They are fucking wildlings!!" Harrion Umber, heir to the Last Hearth growled. They were presently seated in a makeshift pavilion outside the walls of Karhold. They had all gathered here today for his Uncle Bennard's wedding to Lady Margaret. When Gaemon was at Long Lake, he had heard of pirates taking Northmen captives. Lord Bolton had introduced them to the traitor Mellor and provided them the location and the intentions to abduct Lady Margaret.

His uncle Bennard had advised on using a mummer's retinue to lure them out. Their ploy had succeeded without any hitch. The moment the pirates had fallen upon them, Mellor had sent out his man to alert them of their position and thus the assault was staged. Gaemon had joined along with his uncle who led the assault into the ship. Mellor had taken his men of leaving the others to their fate. Mellor had also torn through the sail and rigged the oars, so any efforts made to escape would be ill.

Gaemon closed his eyes and he still recalled his first stage of battle and the chaos was something that no sparring could have prepared him. He recalled the look of the first man he had killed when he drove his sword into his stomach. The look of surprise, the widened brown eyes looking at him with horror. It was only a moment of respite for other pirates were onto them from the bottom. He recalled dueling with another for a while, unlike others, he was skilled in the duel. At times, had Gaemon not ducked he would have lost his head. There was something poetic about being in battle and the chaos surrounding it. Seeing well-mannered noble turning almost turning into animals. The clangs of sword and ax brought something dark within Gaemon, a blood lust. He felt his true self emerging, though it was only short-lived. The rush of battle was something that Gaemon wished to see more.

"Aye, we ought to dump them beyond the fucking wall," Lord Karstark agreed upon. He was a craven creature compared to other lords that he had met. His thoughts broke upon hearing the man speak. He seemed bored with their ramblings, Gaemon played along with his ring while others bickered. The solution to this problem was simple in Gaemon's eye but the prideful fools had fewer wits.

The pavilion's flap was raised and it was Ser Steffon who was not dressed in his Kingsguard armor but rather a beige leather tunic. His hair was combed and posture stiff as usual, he came towards Gaemon and whispered something in his ear, "Vermithor has landed my prince."

Gaemon nodded, the others looked at him curiously, "Pray to tell, for what crimes do you mean to have them persecuted my lord Karstark? You lord Umber, will you drive them Beyond the Wall like Old Kings of Winter did hmm?"

He looked at the lords waiting for an answer, "They were taken to be sold as slaves, if we are to execute them for something they have not done we are no better than their captors."

His Uncle Rickon pinched his brows at those words as his words caused an uproar, "you surely cannot presume to let them roam in our lands, my prince?" whispered Lord Bolton. His pale face had aged yet it still made others fearful of him.

"We could take them as our subjects," Gaemon proposed. At those words, others laughed as if he japed like a fool.

"Gaemon," his Uncle Bennard seemed irritated, "wildlings owe no allegiance to any of us. They do not understand the concept of swearing fealty. They will cause naught but protest if we try to bend them."

Gaemon looked at him flippantly, "I will take them in and be in charge for them to uphold the King's Peace."

The lords protested and stood up, "What do you know of Wildlings boy?"

"They will rape your people," The Lord of Hornwood protested

"They will spread through our lands like a plague," Another cried.

Before Gaemon could retort, he heard a familiar laugh. He turned and saw Roddy the Ruin laughing as if he heard a funny jape. He had an ale in one hand and a beard that would make him appear as half a Wildling himself.

"Oh, the winter has truly addled your wits, Glover," Roderick barked. At that, offense Lord Glover stood up abruptly.

"Take a seat Goodfather," His uncle Rickon commanded with a firm look set upon his face. Gaemon could tell that there was some merit in his proposal. He turned to look at Gaemon and asked, "how will you ensure that they will keep peace with you and pledge their fealty to you."

Gaemon narrowed his eyes at his uncle, "Ser Steffon, how many Wildlings are presently in our custody?" He asked his knight.

"Thirty, counting both men and women, old and young." Ser Steffon answered him.

"Bring them out in the woods," Gaemon commanded.

"They are my charge boy, I will not have them set free," Lord Karstark blustered.

Gaemon was growing irritated by the fool's voice, "I am a prince by blood you wretch and you will remember to address me as such."

His uncle Bennard seemed disappointed by his tone, but Gaemon had not cared for subtleties at this point.

Gaemon stood up from his chair and turned his Uncle Rickon, "Do you have faith in me?"

His uncle was skeptical for a moment and then gave him a nod, "then follow me." Gaemon led the men out to an open space half a league South. The Wildling prisoners that were held by hempen ropes were also brought. They had sent hateful glances over the Northmen muttering words in Old Tongue.

Gaemon finally found Vermithor feasted upon a mountain bear that he found. His attention was rested upon his food. The ground where he rested was clear of snow and to a point even blackened. His molten bronze pool of eyes looked up as he saw Gaemon and the other men approaching. He smiled at their nervousness as Vermithor let out a threatening growl.

Gaemon walked towards Wildlings that were looking at the bronze dragon with awe and fear. "Can anyone of you speak in Common Tongue?" Gaemon inquired. The fighting men were bushy and taller than Gaemon. At his approach, they looked at him scornfully and one of them retorted, "Aye, I can," a man responded. His voice was thick and brusque, he seemed to have about thirty years of age. The man appeared to be strong but it would seem that his time in the brigs of the ship had made him gaunt.

"Do you speak for them? What is your name?" Gaemon asked him.

The Wildling grunted, "they call me Porun Sharksmeat."

That amused Gaemon, "And you let them call you so?"

Porun scowled at the mockery, "say your piece kneeler boy. You will not be making japes if I weren't tied right now."

Gaemon gave him a cold smile as he unsheathed his knife and cut his ropes off, "I have a proposition for you lot." He turned to look all the Wildlings, "My name is Gaemon Targaryen, I am chief of my Lands down South and I intend to offer you a place amongst me."

Porun translated that in Old Tongue and they did not seem to be as affected by this offer, the wildling muttered something in Old Tongue again and Porun responded, "what is your price in return boy?"

Gaemon could tell that while they were suspicious, they seemed pleased by his offer. "You submit to my rule."

Porun explained them and he could tell that this made them upset, they spat on the ground in defiance. Some even tried to move towards Gaemon, but before a step could be taken, Vermithor walked towards them threateningly with his jaw wide open.

The Wildlings moved back in fear and covered their ears in dread as Vermithor led out a roar. The sense of fear in them pleased Gaemon, fear of man was difficult but a dragon's wroth was something that should not be tested.

Gaemon caressed his underside and looked at the Northern lords. He saw Lord Roderick grinning like a fool and saw a sense of realization dawning upon his uncles.

He walked towards Porun and separated him from the group, "The lords here want to send you back Beyond the Wall with no means to survive and I am growing to be inclined to their choice. I give you warmth, food in your belly, and a home. Do not be a prideful fool like them and refuse it. Besides…." He stared into his brown eyes, "death and despair await if you decide to harm me right now. Whether it is facing the steel of men or being served as meat to a dragon."

Notes:

I originally wanted to include a King's Landing POV here but I felt that this was already too North centric and there would be a bit off disconnect if I jump into King's Landing now.

Nevertheless, the next POV would be from Gael. I intend to give a better view of King's Landing.

Next chapter

- We get a look of the court of King's Landing as a tourney has been announced.

- A dragon in Stepstones turns his gaze North.

I might be tempted to write another chapter of this one or I could write Prince of Winter chapter, who knows?