[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]
Third Person POV.
North.
...
...
There were men all over the area in front of Winterfell, while the open field to the North held the largest number of them, filling everything like ants.
A giant camp had been set up there, with tents covering the entire area. There were other camps around Winterfell precisely to prevent a surprise external attack or even a route of escape or an assault from the men holding Winterfell themselves.
Although there were dozens of wargs at that moment watching over all of this, it was a kind of security to avoid any situation that could result in a problem.
That information had already been around Winterfell for many days, and certainly, the men within the walls were scared. While there was that crowd of people,
it usually takes three times the number of those guarding a castle to carry out a successful siege — and here in Winterfell, there were no less than fifty times more men than inside Winterfell.
It was terrifying for the remnants of the Boltons. They even had the feeling of surrendering, but then they learned what had happened in Bolton territory. They knew their chances of survival were getting smaller and smaller when the smaller strongholds were all destroyed and the minor lords who looked after them were all mercilessly massacred. When the enemy army passed through the territory leaving a trail of chaos and death.
They could even, in a day, easily take Winterfell, but they hadn't done it. They just maintained the perimeter, waiting for some kind of order. Everyone knew that Daemon Targaryen wasn't acting without purpose. They just didn't have exact news of what he was doing at that moment.
They only knew that the last reports were that House Dustin had been brought down, and all the ironborn had been expelled or exterminated. Meanwhile, some groups had split off from King Targaryen to the West, hunting further in the Iron Islands.
Everything seemed calm, when at that very moment, in Winterfell, the roar came from the sky. With all the people on Winterfell's walls seeing the white mass approaching. It even seemed to be heading straight for Winterfell in a dive, while it roared, which certainly scared the people inside the walls even more, who tried to find any place within the walls where they could hide, in case that dragon began to unleash its white flames, as the rumors said — capable of simply collapsing walls. No one could survive such a creature.
The dragon approached above Winterfell, spreading its wings, gliding very close to its towers, almost touching them, leaving everyone within the walls with their hearts in their throats watching this, as it moved away flapping its wings a few more times and heading toward the camp, descending in an open area in front of the camp while it glided with its wings moving up and down, while the wind blew everything in all directions.
Only then did the dragon finally land, releasing an iron bar a little far from where it landed.
Jon looked on, satisfied, as he descended from the dragon. His men ran to him as soon as they noticed him. Daemon grabbed Theon with telekinesis and began heading to the camp, finding the group already waiting for him.
"You're here!" he was quickly greeted.
"I am. Where is Bak?" Daemon asked, as the man finally appeared before him.
"Leader, you've finally arrived!" said the man named Bak with a touch of cheerful sincerity. "Are we finally going to bring down the castle?" he asked excitedly, already tired of waiting.
They had enough to do the job with 40,000 men on this side of the wall, but Daemon had denied the attack, asking them to hold on.
"Not yet. I want to take care of something first. Anyway, any problems while I was away with the army?" Daemon asked.
"We had a small group dissatisfied with staying here doing nothing, but most are under control. I executed some of them for crimes you would've done the same for and handled the situation. Everything is under control now, Leader," Bak said with pride.
He hadn't finished and continued then. "And one more thing... some men are with some women, but of their own accord, since they themselves said they were interested in some of us and seek comfort."
"I can understand. There's a great number of women who lost their husbands and sons in this disorder the ironborn created by attacking the western and central North. So it's normal they seek comfort. Well, I see no problem with that, as long as it's not forced. You may have the lovers you want." Jon shrugged.
"Now let's talk a bit," he requested, as he pointed for them to bring Theon, who was still very frightened.
It was Jon who appointed the group that would take command and said he would first travel through some areas of the North to destroy some remnants in the Iron Islands. When he returned, they would take Winterfell, which wouldn't be a problem. And he asked them to remain calm, for this was war, and moving armies would sometimes become tedious, as they would remain idle for long periods on certain occasions. But that was something common in war, and they should adapt — a lesson they hadn't learned well north of the Wall.
In any case, he still left Bak in command of the camp. Supplies were adequate, and the part of his army from the south was coming, while in the north, the great campaign advanced with even more soldiers to assist them, preparing for the south.
Jon stayed just a few hours waiting for Winter to recover, while she appeared perfectly well to continue his plan. At that moment, as soon as the dragon began to flap its wings and leave the camp, fear was already rooted in the minds of those guarding Winterfell, wondering if it would return next time — and if it would simply breathe white flames on them and the castle.
"Any information about Lord Bolton in the south?" asked the leader guarding Winterfell to the maester who had come from the Dreadfort before it was destroyed, by mere coincidence, when Roose Bolton made Winterfell the main seat of the Boltons.
"No, my lord. There has been no news from the south. Roose and even Ramsay haven't sent any letters," he explained, while the men around seemed frustrated.
"May the gods protect us, for we have no alternatives... and we'll die either way," the leader trembled, watching the dragon disappear into the sky.
In Deepwood Motte, Lord Glover was frustrated, unsure of what to do. On one side, he had his brother, who had been killed in Robb Stark's war. While his brother went off to fight and die, he stayed behind to look after the castle in his absence.
Then came the ironborn, who caused unprecedented chaos in the North and even laid siege to the castle. And what were they doing now with the castle surrounded by tents? There were at least 800 ironborn in a constant siege, while groups continued ravaging the region.
As if things weren't already difficult enough with the ironborn and even with the Bolton betrayal — who tried to rise in the North with support from the Iron Throne — everything got even worse with a group of wildlings led by the one who claimed to be a Targaryen — an heir to the Iron Throne.
He crossed the Wall with a number of wildlings never before seen in the North's history, as they began marching, devastating regions like House Umber, House Karhold, House Bolton, House Hornwood, House Cerwyn, and then splitting off, heading toward Torrhen's Square, from what he had heard in the latest letters — and also about the great siege tightening around Winterfell against the Bolton men.
He didn't have enough men to deal with all these problems. Now, his brother had taken most of the forces, resulting in all of them dying in the south. How would he defend himself properly? It was frustrating.
He just didn't know what to do. Lord Stark was imprisoned in White Harbor. The North was divided. There were the Boltons trying to conquer it, but greatly weakened. Ironborn holding their position in various castles, but it was clear they too were losing. And a wildling army spread across the North with a Targaryen claiming the Iron Throne.
The North was divided, but it would certainly reject that king. Recently, he practically hated the Starks for their damned war, which led to the North's ruin. When in the end, Robb Stark himself had survived and was now in the North as a loser.
Robb was alive. And he wanted to curse him personally when he saw him, for his failure in the south. His arrogance, when he could've already returned to the North, but no. He had to show off for the Tullys when he could've turned his back on them and preserved the northern army...
A brat chasing glory, who despite winning some battles, thought he could win a war — and ended up costing everyone in the North dearly.
Lord Glover was walking through the castle, heading to the banquet hall, when suddenly there was a commotion. Passing by one of the windows, he quickly saw men shouting both inside and outside the castle, as everyone pointed toward the sky.
His gaze returned to that area, when he saw a large white mass approaching closer and closer. His eyes began to widen as he recognized the features of whatever was coming from the sky.
When the roar came from the creature, there was no doubt: it was a dragon.
The same one that had destroyed the Dreadfort, according to the letters, and turned the great Bolton stronghold into a pile of frozen stones.
Winter quickly dove toward the ironborn, who were in despair at that moment. It simply opened its mouth and began unleashing flames, burning the entire area before once again releasing a blast of white fire over the top, destroying the siege machines. The other ironborn tried to retreat and flee, while it traced the escape route and began to burn everything, leaving a long line of white flames so intense that no one could approach. The air became impossible to breathe.
The dragon began circling the sky and spewing more flames as it advanced toward the more concentrated groups of fleeing ironborn.
Their screams and desperation, or even their nets, were in vain. While Jon couldn't say he could heed them or even say there was light, he was always atop the dragon, roaring flames against an enemy of the North — and so he would continue.
The castle walls filled with men watching in terror, while some already tried to hide, thinking they would be the next target. Everyone could see it. It was utterly terrifying, for the dragon kept flying through the region, killing. The only ones who managed to survive were those who ran directly to the walls, screaming for help — which was quite ironic.
Lord Glover had to run to the wall to see what was happening, his eyes widening at the destruction, and he could already feel the temperature dropping, even from that distance.
"My lord, what should we do?" a man cried beside him, while Lord Glover was torn between watching the dragon in the sky — returning to massacre the last survivors — the flames burning across the field, or even those who had reached the castle walls, screaming for help. The very same enemies who moments ago wanted to kill them.
If that dragon decided to destroy them, they would have no chance. After all, the castle was smaller than the Dreadfort, which disappeared in a single night, according to the rumors.
There was no point hiding inside the castle.
"Let's wait and see," was all Lord Glover said, swallowing hard, as he saw no one left alive besides those at the walls.
Across the field, the dragon simply observed them for the first time, as it calmly approached, stopping at some distance, its landing making the ground tremble.
Even Glover let fear take over as he saw the creature staring at them, with the man on its back dismounting and walking away from it, heading exactly to where they were.
"Hello, Lord Glover. I am Daemon Targaryen. I'm here to have a little chat with you, if you don't mind," Jon said calmly, walking casually toward the castle walls, alone.
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