The wind beyond the Wall was fierce, biting at the faces of men as they moved through the snow-covered landscape. But Jon Frost felt only the thrill of accomplishment. As he stood atop one of the newly constructed wooden watchtowers of the first fort, which he'd named Frosthome, he watched his men—wildlings and northerners alike—moving below, busy with their tasks. They carried lumber, hammered nails, and sharpened swords, and their movements had a rhythm, a sense of purpose. What was once a land of chaos and danger now started to take on the semblance of order.

The fort's walls were high and sturdy, made from ancient trees that had stood in the frozen wasteland for centuries. There were four other such forts now scattered across the land, each one positioned strategically to keep watch over crucial passes, valleys, and hunting grounds. They were manned by wildlings who had pledged loyalty to Jon and his vision. Each fort acted as a beacon of safety, a bastion of hope, and, most importantly, a symbol of Jon's growing influence over the land beyond the Wall.

"Jon!" The shout came from behind him, and he turned to see Tormund Giantsbane climbing up the ladder with surprising grace for such a large man. Tormund's red beard and mane of hair were flecked with frost, and his eyes shone with enthusiasm. "Your scouts are back from the west. They've got something to report."

Jon nodded, motioning for Tormund to continue. "Any trouble?"

Tormund grinned. "No more than usual. A few stubborn clans still cling to their ways, but more are bendin' the knee. They see what we're buildin' here, Jon. Food in their bellies, a roof over their heads, and no fear of waking up to a spear in their guts. It's amazin' what a bit of security can do."

Jon allowed himself a small smile. "And those who refuse?"

"The Frostfang tribe gave us some trouble," Tormund admitted, "but we dealt with them. Only a few of 'em fought to the death. The rest decided they'd rather live under your laws than starve in the snow."

"Good," Jon said. "We'll send more supplies to their camp. Show them what it means to be part of something greater."

Tormund clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "You're doin' a fine job, lad. Never thought I'd see the day when a bunch of wildlings would be takin' orders from a crow's kin."

Jon's face softened at the mention of his uncle. "It's not about taking orders, Tormund. It's about giving them a choice. Freedom to live as they will, so long as they respect the laws."

"Speaking of choices," Tormund said, scratching his beard, "one of the scouts brought back a letter from your uncle at Castle Black. He says there's been some stirrings among the black brothers."

Jon's expression darkened. "Let's hear it."

As they descended from the watchtower, Jon took the letter from the scout's hand and read it in silence. The night was closing in, and the only light was from the flickering torches scattered around the fort.

The letter was brief but clear:

Jon,

Some of the brothers are restless. They see your growing power and fear that you might become a threat to the Night's Watch. Jeor Mormont has done what he can to quell their worries, but whispers are hard to silence. Be cautious, nephew. Not all who wear black are your friends.

Benjen Stark

Jon's jaw tightened as he read the message. He handed the letter to Tormund, who scanned it quickly before grunting in disapproval. "Black brothers causin' trouble already, eh?"

"Not all of them," Jon said, shaking his head. "The Lord Commander is on our side, but there will always be those who distrust us. They don't understand what we're trying to do."

"Aye," Tormund agreed, "but that's their problem, not ours. We've got enough enemies without worryin' about a bunch of crows who'd rather sit behind their Wall than do somethin' useful."

Jon smiled faintly. "It's not that simple, Tormund. The Night's Watch has its purpose, and we can't forget that. We're not here to conquer them; we're here to help."

"Well then," Tormund said with a wink, "you'd better keep butterin' up that old bear of a Lord Commander. Make sure he keeps the other crows in line."

Jon nodded, lost in thought. He needed to maintain the fragile alliance he had with the Night's Watch. Jeor Mormont had been nothing but supportive, and in return, Jon had provided shelter, food, and warmth for the black brothers whenever they needed it. Many of them had come to see him as a friend rather than an enemy, but others weren't so convinced.

Later that night, Jon sat by the hearth in his small cabin, the flames casting flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls. His uncle's letter weighed heavily on his mind. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed when one of his advisors, Val, entered. She was one of the first wildlings to join Jon's cause, and her sharp wit and intelligence had proven invaluable.

"You look like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders," she said, sitting across from him.

Jon glanced up, managing a tired smile. "You could say that."

"Trouble from the crows?" Val guessed, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes," Jon admitted. "Some of them aren't pleased with what we're doing here."

"Let them be displeased," Val replied with a shrug. "They're not the ones building something new. You are."

Jon sighed. "It's not that simple. If the Night's Watch turns against us, it could mean war. And I've seen enough of that already."

Val leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "You've done more for this land than any man south of the Wall ever has. You've given us hope, Jon. That's worth fighting for."

He nodded slowly, the fire reflecting in his eyes. "I just want to make sure that the people I've promised to protect don't suffer because of my choices."

Val smiled, a rare warmth spreading across her face. "You're a good man, Jon Frost. But don't forget that you're also a strong one. Use that strength. Show them why they should follow you."

The following morning, Jon gathered his council around him—a mix of wildlings and northerners, each one loyal and dedicated to the cause. He spread out a map of the land on the table, the rough lines and markings showing the positions of their forts, the paths taken by their patrols, and the known locations of various wildling tribes.

"We've done well," Jon began, his voice carrying the authority he had come to command. "But there's more to be done. We need to strengthen our defenses, build more alliances, and ensure that those who live beyond the Wall understand our laws."

Harald, a wildling elder who had joined Jon's cause early on, nodded in agreement. "The clans are startin' to see sense. They know you mean to protect 'em, not enslave 'em."

"But what of the black brothers?" asked Rykker, a former soldier from the North who had joined Jon's ranks. "They're still wary of us."

"They will remain cautious," Jon replied. "But Jeor Mormont is an ally. He respects what we're doing, and he's given us his word that we'll be allowed to continue without interference. In return, we'll keep providing them with supplies and shelter. We cannot afford to let this alliance falter."

Tormund snorted. "And if they do decide to turn on us?"

"Then we'll defend ourselves," Jon said firmly. "But that's a fight I'd rather not have."

The council dispersed, and Jon found himself once again standing atop the watchtower, looking out over the land he had come to call his own. It was a harsh, unforgiving place, but it was also beautiful in its way. He thought of the people who now depended on him—wildlings, northerners, and even the black brothers who passed through his forts on their patrols.

A shout broke his reverie, and he turned to see a group of Night's Watch brothers approaching the gates of Frosthome. At their head rode a figure Jon recognized immediately—Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander himself.

Jon descended the tower and moved to greet him. "Lord Commander," he said with a respectful nod.

"Jon," Jeor replied, his eyes twinkling. "I thought I'd pay a visit to see this kingdom you've been building."

"It's not a kingdom," Jon said with a faint smile. "Just a place where people can live without fear."

Jeor grunted. "You've done well, lad. Better than I expected. There are many who could learn from your example."

Jon inclined his head. "And you, Lord Commander. You've given us more support than we could have asked for."

"Well," Jeor said, a smile tugging at his lips, "someone has to keep an eye on you, don't they?"

Jon laughed, the sound echoing through the fort. "You're always welcome here, Lord Commander. You and your brothers."

Jeor gave him a firm look. "Just keep your promises, lad. Provide what you've said you'd provide, and perhaps those whispers will die out. But you need to be ready for the possibility that they won't."

Jon took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs. "I will be."

The older man gave a gruff nod of approval. "I believe you will. But don't let your guard down. The Wall has stood for thousands of years, but there are dangers out here beyond the ones we know. Be vigilant, Jon. The night is long, and it's always watching."

With that, Jeor Mormont turned back to his men, signaling them to prepare for the journey back to Castle Black. As they moved away, Jon watched them, feeling the weight of his responsibilities settle on his shoulders once more.

He remained there for a moment longer, letting the silence of the north seep into him. And then he turned back to his fort, his steps steady, his gaze sharp. There was still so much to do.

Jon Frost's fascination with skinchanging began the moment he heard tales of Varamyr Sixskins, a notorious wildling skinchanger who was said to be able to control multiple animals at once. The stories were whispered around fires, each account more exaggerated than the last, but Jon knew that within these tales lay a kernel of truth. It wasn't until his second visit to the Cold Frontier that he had the chance to meet Varamyr himself.

By then, Varamyr had taken refuge in Jon's settlement with a small band of his people. Word of Jon Frost's rule and his growing influence had reached even the most remote corners of the land beyond the Wall, and the wildling skinchanger, always one to sense an opportunity, had decided to align himself with Jon's growing power. When Jon first met him, he saw a man both dangerous and wise, someone who had lived a life as wild as the beasts he commanded.

Jon was curious, almost childlike in his eagerness, and as they shared a fire on a cold winter's night, he could not help but ask, "Is it true you can control six beasts at once?"

Varamyr's lips twisted into a smile, showing his crooked, yellowed teeth. "Aye, that's what they say," he rasped. His voice was hoarse, and his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, gleamed in the firelight. "But it's more than just control, lad. It's becoming them. It's living inside their skin, feeling their heartbeat as your own."

"How?" Jon asked, unable to hide his intrigue.

Varamyr's gaze lingered on Jon, as if weighing him, assessing his worth. "You have the look of one who might have the gift," he finally said. "It's not just about will. It's about letting go, about trusting the beast within. But be warned, boy—once you start down this path, there's no turning back."

And so Jon began to train under Varamyr, learning the ways of the skinchanger. At first, it was difficult. The process of slipping into the mind of another creature was disorienting, often leaving Jon feeling as though he were lost in a fog, trapped between his own consciousness and that of the animal he sought to control. But with Varamyr's guidance, Jon learned to navigate that fog, to reach out and touch the thoughts of the animals around him.

To truly bond with his chosen creatures, Jon started raising them from a young age. He began with a crow, a creature known for its intelligence and loyalty. Varamyr watched with a keen eye as Jon fed the young bird, speaking to it in soft, soothing tones. "The bond must be formed early," Varamyr had told him. "They must come to see you as part of them, not as a master, but as a partner."

The crow was followed by a young crocodile that Jon had taken from the waters of a hidden lake deep within the land of Moat Cailin. Jon marveled at the creature's strength and resilience, its ancient eyes seeming to hold the secrets of the world. The grizzly bear came last, a cub left orphaned after its mother was slain by wildlings. Jon took the bear in, raising it himself, feeding it, and caring for it until it grew strong enough to fend for itself.

The process of bonding was slow and painstaking. Jon spent countless hours with each animal, learning their quirks, their likes, and dislikes, their fears, and their strengths. He discovered that each creature had a unique way of seeing the world, and as he slipped into their minds, he began to see the world as they did. The crow saw the world in flashes of black and white, sharp and clear, every movement a potential threat or opportunity. The crocodile's mind was slow, calculating, patient as it lay in wait beneath the water's surface. The grizzly bear's mind was a whirlwind of strength and hunger, tempered by a surprising gentleness when it looked at Jon.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the world turned to shadows, Jon sat cross-legged beside Varamyr, who watched him with an inscrutable expression. "You've come far, boy," Varamyr admitted, scratching at the scarred skin of his forearm. "But there's more to this than just slipping inside their heads. Can you make them obey?"

Jon nodded. "I've been practicing. Watch."

Closing his eyes, Jon took a deep breath and reached out, feeling the familiar tug of the bond that connected him to his crow. He could feel the bird's heartbeat, rapid and steady, and then, with a surge of will, he pushed his consciousness forward, slipping into the crow's mind. He felt the air rush past him, the wind ruffling his feathers, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the world from the bird's perspective—far above, looking down upon the fort.

Jon raised his hand, and the crow obeyed, swooping down in a tight circle before landing gently on his shoulder. He could feel the creature's heartbeat echoing against his own, and he let out a breath, slowly pulling himself back into his own body.

"Well done," Varamyr said, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. "But animals like the crow are easy. Their minds are quick to bend, quick to submit. What of the bear?"

Jon hesitated. "I've managed it… a little."

Varamyr leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "The bear is strong, stubborn. It will not yield easily. It will fight you, boy. And if you're not careful, it will consume you."

"I'll make it work," Jon replied, determination burning in his voice.

Over the months, Jon pushed himself harder, determined to master this ancient art. The crow soon became second nature to him, obeying his commands without hesitation. The crocodile took more time, its mind more resistant to intrusion, but Jon persisted, spending hours by the water's edge, watching and waiting until, slowly, he gained control over the beast's movements.

The bear was the greatest challenge. Its strength was a force of nature, and each time Jon tried to slip into its mind, he felt himself almost overwhelmed by the sheer power that surged through the creature's body. There were nights when he would wake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, the echo of the bear's growl still reverberating in his ears.

But Jon was nothing if not relentless. Each day, he tried again, and each day, he pushed a little further until, finally, the bear began to respond. It was a slow, cautious process, but Jon could feel the bond between them growing stronger, the bear's resistance weakening with each passing day.

Then, one winter morning, as the snow fell thick and heavy around them, Jon stood before the grizzly bear, meeting its eyes. "It's time," he whispered, reaching out with his mind, feeling the warmth and strength of the beast before him.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then, slowly, Jon felt the bear's thoughts align with his own. He took a step forward, and the bear mirrored him, its massive paws sinking into the snow. Jon felt a surge of triumph, the thrill of victory, as he realized that he had done it—he had truly bonded with the beast.

Varamyr watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. "You've done well, Jon Frost," he finally said, a note of respect in his voice. "But remember this—skinchanging is not just a power. It is a responsibility. These creatures are not tools or weapons. They are a part of you, as you are a part of them. Treat them with respect, and they will serve you well. But if you forget that, they will turn on you."

"I won't forget," Jon promised, feeling the bond between himself and his animals thrumming with life.

"Good," Varamyr said, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Then you might just be the strongest skinchanger I've ever seen."

Author Note:

Enjoying the story?

Consider joining my to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free member you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps me create more content for you to enjoy!

Join here: (dot)com(slash)Beuwulf