[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]
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Third Person POV
North, 300 AC.
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Lord Mors Umber headed to the Wall with a group, passing through the entire Gift area. They prepared at Last Hearth as soon as he learned of the arrival of the Arcticans.
He personally went to handle this matter, even knowing it could be a risk, and even so, given all the circumstances and the two times he had gone there to speak personally with Benjen Stark. He had also already decided to follow the words in that letter from the king, which had been sent to him weeks earlier.
And so, they arrived at the Wall a few days later, finding a massive camp. Mors Umber could not help but swallow hard at the sight of more than 20,000 men, all soldiers of Arctic's army, there preparing to attack the North and secure dominion for Bran Stark, as the king's letter had said.
"My lord, is this the feared army from beyond the Wall?", one of his men could not help but murmur beside Mors.
The others were whispering among themselves. Even from a distance, they could see some details: giants walking or standing at certain points, a huge camp with several transport crates, many horses and other somewhat smaller animals.
"Everything points to yes," Mors replied. "Let's go. House Umber has already made its choice."
As the current representative of House Umber, he knew that although the Boltons had Smalljon Umber as a hostage, they would fight alongside Arctic, as Mors had already decided, and Ned would be the future lord
They did not need to advance any further — after all, they had already been seen. Beyond the letter sent to the Wall, they had noticed strange birds following them throughout the journey in the sky. According to the stories, these people were attuned to ancient magic: men who took the forms of animals, saw and heard through their senses, and could even control them.
As an ancient house of the North, they understood these stories very well, which also had their extension within the North itself. The Starks themselves had always been connected to direwolves, marrying the daughters of Warg kings and, at the same time, had only lost this ability a few centuries earlier — returning once again when the king of Arctic, known as Jon Snow at the time, who had managed to acquire four direwolves more than ten years ago.
Arya was the second to go north of the Wall, and the other Starks managed it shortly before all the chaos began.
Then a group of ten approached, one of the men clearly leading them, who seemed to be an officer of Arctic, wearing well-crafted armor of high-quality metal. It was possible to see that his sword had something to do with Valyrian steel.
Despite the surprised look, Mors and his men tried to maintain their composure, staring firmly at the man who approached.
"You must be Mors Umber, we saw your letter and expected your arrival," said the man in a calm and firm tone.
There was no hatred in his gaze as he looked at the northern group, nor any hostility — only a calm and determined look. His men also seemed to notice this, even if uneasy. What everyone there expected to see were wildlings beyond the Wall, even if somewhat changed after their rise in the new kingdom, but they found none of that.
As unlikely as it may seem, and though thousands of years of generations had created certain habits about the people beyond the Wall, after a decade of Arctican discipline, much had changed. They knew how to stand upright and firm, maintain a calm and analytical gaze, receive orders, and act at the right moment.
Even in the face of enemies their fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors had fought against the North for thousands of years. That officer had something more important than a vengeance inherited by his blood and history.
He had purpose.
He was one of the gears that protected a kingdom. Even being just a small pillar — a soldier obeying orders — he understood what he represented and what was at stake.
Something that not even many northern nobles seemed to understand.
Even so, there was distrust — and even a bit of hostility — in Mors Umber's group of soldiers. Even he, who harbored an ancient hatred for the wildlings, could not hide his discomfort. A restrained anger grew within him.
And that only worsened as he saw those same enemies — who once fought with poorly forged bronze swords, wore furs, always acting in a wild and undisciplined manner — now carrying themselves far more than any bright and pompous knights of the south, riding horses that had chainmail for the animals themselves and wielding Valyrian steel.
'How did all of this happen...?', Mors thought, silently criticizing.
Now, they were the ones who seemed like savages — wearing leather armor, carrying average weapons. The North had never been rich enough to equip everyone with the best steel, and their blacksmiths did not have the necessary knowledge to create superior weapons.
From what he had heard, while the villages of the North struggled to survive and have food for the next day, the wildlings themselves had developed agriculture in abundance — too much food, to the point of selling it abroad, even to Braavos.
The North would buy, if it were not for the king's order, which forbade any agreement so as not to fund Arctic.
In any case, Mors had to set his anger aside and nodded, responding to the man with his previous words.
"Yes, I am Mors Umber. And you would be...?"
"I am Riba Vokalize, lieutenant of the Arctican army under the command of the legionary Brigh. I am here under direct orders from the ministers to escort you to Castle Black, where the young Lord Bran Stark is waiting for a meeting," he replied.
There was no arrogance in his voice, only firm and controlled diction. Mors did not understand anything about what that 'legionary' he served meant or his name.
"A lieutenant, then..." Mors murmured, but did not say much. If he were a southerner, he would clearly have complained about only a lieutenant coming to escort him, when it would have been more appropriate for that so-called legionary mentioned. But he, even if he wanted to, knew he did not have that right.
"Very well, show me the way," he said in the end.
Both turned their horses, and the group — with at least more than ten people — moved toward Castle Black. As they passed through the camp, they could not help but observe attentively.
The soldiers could not avoid looking at a group of dwarves assembling some pieces of war machines nearby. They watched the small beings moving those heavy structures with keen eyes. The dwarves, in turn, returned the looks with a certain scowl.
"What are you looking at?" one of the dwarves said, irritated.
"Got a problem, dwarf!?" one of the Umber men replied with anger and mockery.
"You'd better not mess with them," the lieutenant intervened, looking with disapproval at Mors's soldier. "They are not common dwarves, but a race of their own, as you must have heard. They are stronger than five men together. Some are ten times stronger than a normal man. They would break your bones like twigs."
"Look, I'm in the mood to grab that one and turn him into a pulp of blood... then you'll see what it means to look with those ugly eyes," the dwarf snarled at the Umber soldier who had answered him before.
"You—", he tried to speak, but one of his companions interrupted him, shaking his head so he would not do anything.
"I know all of this is new to you, but don't stare at them too much. They don't like it. Unless you want to have all your bones broken and be bent like toys, don't provoke them," the lieutenant warned again in a serious tone, before continuing in silence.
Mors merely gestured to his men, who nodded reluctantly. It was not worth causing trouble there.
The dwarves soon returned to their tasks, casting only a few more glances, without taking any further action.
The giants also drew the men's attention.
"By the old gods... I had already heard of them in the south, in Essos, but seeing them in person is frightening..." Mors murmured as he watched the giants cleaning a shield as large as himself.
He wondered whether he would be fighting against a simple cavalry charge or against dragons. They were so large that they made even horses seem insignificant.
"The giant shield wall is the greatest defense in the world, Lord Umber... If the Boltons and their allies are foolish enough to face the Arcticans, well... you will have the opportunity to see what they are capable of," said the lieutenant.
"I heard about thousands of giants who went to the Dothraki Desert..." Mors commented, now with a look full of curiosity — and even admiration.
"Are you talking about the massacre my king carried out with only 45,000 men and around 4 or 5 thousand giants?" the lieutenant suggested, with a mischievous smile.
Then he continued. "I was not there, but I read the reports. No Dothraki cavalry managed to break the formation. They were like living walls. The Dothraki will never forget it. They will tell future generations, in their lands, about what they saw in the king's conquest over all the great khalasars."
He spoke as they advanced, and Mors nodded, unable to help but feel somewhat concerned by such strength. Even without having witnessed it, it was enough to look around: armored giants walking through the camp, carrying spears and enormous shields.
How could men fight against that?
His gaze remained attentive. He saw how those people had developed over the years. Long ago, that boy, Jon Snow, had already created something extraordinary like eldenmetal — and now he had only multiplied the metal in the lands beyond the Wall, also training all the former wildlings, turning them into a formidable army feared across the world.
Mors had taken part in Robert's Rebellion, had seen battles — but never an army like that. There was a bearing, a discipline, a strength he had never witnessed before.
All of them were equipped with full iron armor. Not even Tywin, with his wealth, would be able to arm 20,000 men with heavy armor equipment of that level.
He remembered the rumors about the king of Arctic having gone south to buy iron — not just small amounts, but entire tons. The price did not matter. He passed through Dorne, the Reach, and even Lannisport, buying all the iron he could find.
Afterward, he bought even more in Braavos and the Free Cities.
Now, Mors understood. That iron had been transformed into something better — a lighter and more resistant metal, like the one the king had created years ago, when he was just a boy. This gave Arctic a terrifying army: soldiers who did not tire easily and possessed abnormal defense.
The Boltons would have no chance.
Soon after, they finally entered Castle Black.
There stood the boy with red hair and blue eyes like his mother's, but Stark features across his face. Mors knew immediately that he was a true Stark: Bran Stark.
At his side was his direwolf, Summer. Near him, there were two more men from Arctic. The Lord Commander was also present, beside Benjen.
The Night's Watch observed in silence.
Mors tried to find any sign of displeasure in the Arcticans and the men of Castle Black, spread throughout the place, positioned with full armor and weapons — but there was no hostility.
"You must be Mors Umber," said the boy.
Despite his lack of experience, he made an effort to maintain a firm posture — and he was succeeding. It was somewhat reminiscent of Ned Stark in his youth, when he had to assume the North after the death of his father and brother in King's Landing, at the hands of the Mad King, while still needing to save his sister and avenge the unjustly dead.
It was strange to think about it, but once again a Stark needed to fight for justice for his dead relatives, just as Ned had done once.
"Bran Stark... I must say, Lord Stark. You will now become the future Lord of Winterfell, from what I understand, even though your brother is still alive," Mors replied with a calm remark.
The atmosphere seemed to grow heavier with that, but Bran only sighed.
"Unfortunately, my brother made mistakes... mistakes that cannot be easily forgiven. And I know that, in the state he is in, he will not be able to live much longer, even if I pray to the gods that they save him..." Bran said.
Mors did not disagree.
"I know my nephew was one of the first to kneel before Robb. He was the one who declared him first, calling him King in the North and supporting his independence... I wonder..." Mors murmured.
His eyes fell upon the men in luxurious clothing, bearing the symbol of Arctic. He could see the swords at their waists, adorned with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and other precious stones. They must be the so-called ministers, people who stood just below the royal family in the kingdom.
"Do House Stark, together with the Arcticans, intend to take revenge on House Umber for such actions?" he asked.
Bran hesitated, looking at one of the ministers, clearly seeking guidance. He did not know how to answer, but Brynden stepped forward.
"House Umber, like many houses of the North that knelt before Robb Stark, were naive. They certainly ignored the final words of Lord Stark when he announced the true king of Westeros and the hidden heir to the Iron Throne. Even so, this will not be forgotten. However, we can look at the North and see that it has already paid for its choices," he said, in a calm tone.
Mors clenched his teeth.
The North was devastated — by the ironborn, by betrayals, by internal political games. Things that rarely happened among the northerners, but at this moment had become common, thanks to Robb's negligence and the Boltons' treachery. Houses betraying houses, relatives trying to kill one another for power.
"It is not a lie what you say, my lord..." Mors replied, not knowing the name.
"Brynden Rivers. You may know me as Bloodraven... and also as the 994th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," he announced.
That caused a reaction even among the Watch. Mors slightly raised an eyebrow. But he did not even have time to comment before Brynden continued.
"In any case, we can discuss this more privately. Why don't we go inside and talk, Lord Umber?"
The Lord Commander had requested bread and salt as they gathered in a private room.
"I am surprised to see that your former enemies are walking through the courtyard without the Night's Watch starting a mutiny," Mors commented.
Alliser Thorne merely snorted. "The Night's Watch is being supplied and fed by Arctic. They may have been enemies, but now it is hard to want to harm the hand that feeds you, wouldn't you agree?" Benjen replied.
Mors merely nodded in silence.
It was clear that, although the garments were still black, there were noticeable improvements in the Watch. The fur coats were better, the swords as well — and even the food served there was superior to what he had seen before at Castle Black; even in places like Last Hearth there were no fruits and meals like those displayed on the table.
After the meeting, a long heated discussion began, addressing various points about the North. After two hours, Mors could not deny it.
"House Umber will stand with House Stark and with the Arcticans. I make Jon Arctic the king of Westeros, the sovereign recognized by House Umber."
"Very well," Bran said, maintaining a firm and decisive voice.
He needed to demonstrate authority. Brynden himself had been training him for this type of meeting. Bran was not only the lord of the North, but also the king's cousin — he shared blood with the king, and his presence needed to assert itself even before the ministers without being radical.
The days passed at the Wall, and it did not take long for House Mormont to finally arrive with their soldiers. They were not many, around 60 men, but they carried their banner with pride.
Lady Lyanna Mormont came personally. "My Lord Stark," she said as she dismounted from her horse.
She did not seem impressed by the presence of the Arctican soldiers, having already seen a considerable number of them on Bear Island, even though those warriors still drew attention. She simply did not show the surprise that Mors had — only a slight glimmer of admiration at seeing different races united.
"Lady Mormont, it is a pleasure to meet you," Bran said. "I heard about your sister."
"It is true. The Arctican king appeared at the moment when House Mormont needed it most. They freed the island from the cursed raiders, and the king personally saved my sister from certain death. Currently, she is the lady of Bear Island, but she is with the king and with his sister, Lady Arya, fighting in the south."
She continued, firmly: "I am representing the house at the moment. We have no more doubts about whom to follow. You can be sure that House Mormont is committed to your cause — and especially to the king's cause. We will always follow Stark blood, and he now wears a crown of ice."
Her voice echoed firmly through the courtyard. Bran was a bit surprised — and at the same time impressed. Despite being young and small, Lyanna had the spirit of a leader.
"That is wonderful, Lady Mormont, the North will remember the bravery of House Mormont. Now, I have received messages from the south about your mother, my lady..." Bran said. Jon had recently sent a letter, and now had eyes across several kingdoms. He was beginning to discover survivors — and one of them was Maege Mormont.
"Yes, Your Majesty also sent me a letter with news and with the intention of rescuing her," Lyanna replied.
"Let us go inside. Then we will discuss the details. We have much to talk about."
Later, already gathered in the room, Lyanna asked: "We passed by tracks of a massive group of soldiers to the west. There is no doubt they were from Arctic, heading to the coast."
"The first rescued hostages from the North's coast are arriving. An even larger group is coming from the Iron Islands. Jon managed to defeat Pyke..."
"...to the point of sinking it into the sea," Benjen said, still incredulous at the news they had received.
Everyone fell silent. Of everything they could imagine, Jon setting out to attack the Iron Islands with only 300 ships was already bold — but that... that was complete devastation. The ironborn might never recover.
To place Pyke, one of the hardest fortresses to breach in Westeros, simply at the bottom of the sea... was something that shocked anyone.
Jon had not given many details, but Arya wanted to convey to her brother everything she had seen. She wrote two full pages just describing the moment when the wildfire exploded at the base, bringing the fortress down into the sea, raising a gigantic wave — and then the krakens emerging to devour the survivors.
Bran could imagine his sister narrating all of that with a certain enthusiasm. In some passages, she even seemed to enjoy herself, describing cruel scenes alongside Jorelle Mormont — such as when Jon handed Balon himself over to be devoured by a kraken in front of the island's survivors.
"Well... the survivors will be directly supervised. Mance will be responsible for that, with the 5,000 men sent to ensure control on the coast," Brynden said, turning his attention to Bran.
"Now we have other matters in the North. We need to deal with the crisis in House Karstark."
He looked at the map.
"Yes... Lady Alys Karstark is already being escorted here," Bran replied.
What had happened was serious.
They already had information coming directly from the king about the situation of the Karstarks. An internal crisis had arisen when Arnolf Karstark, a proud and ambitious man, took extreme measures against the maester as soon as he learned of the schemes. He kept his own maester under surveillance, practically confined, just to extract information.
At the same time, he was also keeping his niece, Alys Karstark.
As soon as he realized Arctic's approach, since thousands of ships had been seen in the following days passing between the coast and Skagos, Arnolf acted quickly. He planned to take control of Karhold through his son, forcing a marriage with his niece, the heiress.
But that went against Alys's will.
And, in the eyes of the gods, no man could force a woman to marry against her will. That would not be matrimony — it would be nothing less than abuse, rape.
Arnolf did not hesitate.
As soon as he learned that there were 20,000 Arcticans at the Wall, he tried to marry Alys on the same day. But Alys managed to escape.
She was rescued by Arctican men, who had already been sent to prevent the union, with a real threat. They found the young woman and were now escorting her to Castle Black.
"The first target will be Karhold," Brynden said.
Under the leadership of Brynden and Bran Stark, the Arctican army was finally preparing to advance.
The first siege in the North was about to begin.
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