Burning Cold

Chapter 6

Definition of Power II

As the dragon landed with a great rumble, the ground shaking from the impact of even a slow descent, Jon almost allowed himself a chance to let out a sigh of relief.

The massive snowdrift Val had made them land on had been blown away when the dragon had settled his wings, tossing some into the air and far more to the side.

The dragon held its head up high, still dwarfing the camp by dozens of feet despite most of its body being settled on the ground.

Feeling the dragon's curiosity and thankful for it not feeling hunger, Jon looked towards the camp, intent on figuring out what he was dealing with.

An amassed group of wildlings, covered from head to toe in various armors, be it ringmail stolen from a dead brother or something simpler. They were armed with rudimentary weaponry such as axes of bone, crude iron blades or even a rare bronze weapon, and stood more than a few dozen feet away.

A single man stood in front of them all. Dressed in wool and leather, Jon could see the slashed black cloak and the red silk sash, whilst on his head stood a bronze-iron helm with raven wings at each temple.

'...Could that be Mance?' He thought, narrowing his eyes at the figure for a brief moment, before his gaze drifted over to what stood behind them.

Sprawling onwards to nearly beyond his sight, no one tent could truly be called the same as any other. They seemed to almost layer over one another as a massive heap of bodies, animal skins and furs, whilst Jon could distinctly tell of a sense of cohabitation rather than unity. Groups of tents were all tiptoeing on eachother, with rocks, bits of wood and more establishing borders between them.

It reminded him of Wintertown, the sprawling city that rose from a relatively small town, as soon as winter came, or some grandiose event made all of the North (or what had felt like it) come to Winterfell.

'This isn't an army.' Jon realised as a cold feeling rose through his back, making him shiver. 'No army would function like this. These are… Refugees. Running away from…'

A pair of starry ice blue eyes flashed in front of his eyes, and the words were strangled from his mind… But he knew what it was..

Jon pushed lightly on the dragon's horn to not so subtly suggest that it lower its head. The dragon let out a small, somewhat displeased huff, before it eventually acquiesced to his request.

It was almost exactly like dealing with Arya, he thought idly, the similarities between the dragon and his sister standing out to him. Perhaps that was why he was beginning to gradually feel less terrified of the beast as the days passed - a stroke of familiarity, of something he could fool himself into thinking was human…

Perhaps that was naïve. He knew that dragons weren't ever something to be trifled with, something to consider less than the monstrously powerful beings that they were.

But he'd needed something to keep himself calm. To not panic about what it may or may not do, or else he'd lose his mind.

Unhooking his legs from the crook of the dragon's neck and sliding down onto his feet, Jon looked up at the still sitting wildlings and tentatively offered them a hand. Unsurprisingly, he got a rather mixed response for his offer of help - Val and Ygritte took it more or less acceptingly, the man… Mouselout or something took it with terror, and Thistle scowled.

Honestly, he'd expected worse from her, but maybe the dragonflight had reminded her of what the wildlings thought he had under his control.

'If only they knew…' He thought darkly, wondering if he did get killed here, what the dragon would do. Mayhaps it will burn this place to the ground and get a nice meal out of it, or would it just fly off?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the slightly urgent look that Val shot him. "Are we free to go or…?"

Jon looked at her for a short moment before nodding quietly. "You are… All I want you to do is this."

Val stopped in her tracks, unable to stop herself from chewing her lip. She was terrified, it was as clear as day.

"Tell Mance to meet me in front of the camp. Neutral territory, so to speak." Jon said simply, as a slight gust of wind kicked up some snow.

"I'll see what I can do." The blonde woman replied quietly, before turning on her heel and immediately departing.

Within a few short minutes, he saw from afar that Mance was in a hushed debate with Val and the other wildlings, with an older red-haired one seemingly making the most ruckus, before they all ultimately backed down. The man then looked at him directly, his piercing brown eyes looking at him with intent caution, and with a single step, they moved in tandem towards one another.

After twenty steps, Jon found himself standing on the opposite end of a single log, looking directly at the King-beyond-the-Wall himself, who seemed to be taking him in as well.

Jon couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he heard a small chuckle tumble out of Mance's lips. "...Well, I'll be damned… A man of the Watch is a dragonrider. I wonder what Aemon would say if he saw you now."

"I have no idea," Jon replied tersely. "I don't think wondering over such things is the main matter at hand, however."

"Aye, it ain't." Mance agreed, shaking his head as his gaze turned to iron. "Seems strange to me, that you likely know of me - but I don't know of you."

"Val didn't tell you?" Jon asked honestly, absentmindedly flexing his burnt hand at Mance's silence. "I'm Jon Snow."

A faint glimmer of recognition flashed in the King's shrewd eyes. "Ned Stark's bastard… Aye, I remember you - a rosy-cheeked boy, with that highborn brother of yours."

Jon couldn't help but narrow his eyes. "You came to Winterfell?"

"Aye… When Qorgyle was still Lord Commander. Came with that uncle of yours to get some men for the Watch," Mance replied simply, seemingly lost in memory for a brief moment.

"You were the one who kept quiet about our snowball prank with Robb." Jon remembered distantly, as if he could briefly see a far younger man where this King was standing.

Mance Rayder hummed in remembrance, looking at him strangely for a brief moment. "I have to wonder…"

"What?" Jon asked, as he tried to gauge what the man was thinking.

"...What you want out of all this, Snow," Mance said, his face half-cast in shadow by the moonlight. "That beast of yours… I could tell as soon as it killed those mammoths, that it could wipe us out in an instant. All you'd have to do is tell it to do so, and we'd be powerless to stop it. The giants and the mammoths would merely be a nice after meal for it. Our weaponry wouldn't even pierce its hide, and we'd need a shot in a million millions to even get near you if you were riding it."

"Aye. I could. The Watch and the North would even commission songs in my name if I did that and then brought them your head." Jon replied quietly, finding himself looking at Mance from the corner of his eye whilst his gaze was fixed on the moon behind the man. "My brother would herald me as a hero, and I could even use my fame and power to help him in his wars if I so desired - who is going to stop a man with a dragon, after all?"

Mance offered naught but silence in response.

"But… I faced the Others before I even met the dragon, and I would have died if..." Jon continued, feeling a slight twinge in his ribs at the reminder. "Come winter, we are all equal in front of them. We're all animals for them to butcher without second thought."

"Aye. We all are, you're right." Mance stated, his piercing gaze settling on Jon. "What are you proposing then?"

"You and I work together to get your people past the Wall," Jon said intensely, feeling a strange courage surge in his chest. "And I'll talk to my brother - allow the wildlings to become a part of the North."

"...What about the Wall itself, Snow? Are you willing to fight your brothers on the Wall if it comes down to it?" Mance asked, staring him down.

"Are your freefolk willing to truly settle down peacefully beyond the Wall and not just begin raiding again as soon as times are hard?" Jon retorted, not backing down in the slightest. "The North, the Watch, the Freefolk and perhaps all of Westeros, are going to have to work together against the Others, that's a fact. Or we're all going to fail if we fight in our individual corners."

A heavy silence fell then, as the two men continued to stare each other down… Before Jon broke the stalemate with a simple gesture: offering his hand.

'Are we going to work together on this, Mance, or are we doomed to fail at the first challenge?' Jon thought to himself, unable to stop himself from feeling the anxiety from rising within him.

Mance Rayder, the King of the Freefolk, the one they had chosen to lead them through these times of crisis, looked upon Jon's offered hand with a stoic expression… And then he reached for it with his own calloused hand.

"You have a deal, Jon Snow." Mance finally said. "If you truly are your father's son, your words are as ironclad as they come. Even I can recognize that. All I have to hope is that you are truly of his brood in that way if nothing else."

"...That's all I can hope for." Jon replied, allowing himself to simply remember. Of the times he had with his father, and the wise words he told him. "To live up to him."

AN: IRL kinda kicked me in the teeth for this one. University - the main source of delaying fanfics right after work itself.

I'll also admit that I had a bit of a creative burnout for a bit… But I'm out of that funk, and I'm writing again, so yeah.

Up next is *likely* to be a Val chapter… But I won't deny the creative juices if they want me to write about someone else.