Year 108 A.C.
(Ten days later)
POV: Denovan
The recovery was irritating. I became hypersensitive to everything around me; sounds and lights seemed to pierce my mind. But now I was already improving. Only the vision was something that still bothered me a little, as if I saw the world through a different filter, mainly the transparent film that began to grow in my eyes, that caused a giant discomfort in the beginning, itching and pain.
But the physical improvements I was feeling were something else. My muscles were much denser, and my joints were flexible — too flexible, but they were not fragile at all. My magic became even stronger and deeper. As I suspected, the Naga was truly a mystical creature, with as much magic running in its veins as I believed a dragon could have.
But it wasn't an absolute certainty; after all, I had never seen a dragon up close. However, if the flying lizards of the Targaryens had more magic than Orochi, then they were truly aberrations of nature.
If dragons had their absurdly hot blood, and their fire, the naga had its poisonous blood, and its poisonous fangs, which could paralyze the heart and brain of a whale in less than five minutes, becoming a simple meal for the serpent.
I wasn't the only one who was out of commission for a while. When I bonded with the Naga, my mental bonds — which previously only linked to me individually — now interconnected, forming a golden web. And this made all my creatures become even more powerful and connected.
The physical change became very visible to everyone. Now, all my beasts had slit pupils, vertical like the Naga's. And well... I was included in that. This could be very good for our power in battle, but it also demanded that I be even more cautious. If one of my creatures died — something I was trying my hardest not to let happen —, the magical shock could have a very strong negative effect, not only on me, but on the entire mental web.
But now I had other urgent concerns. I had planned to leave a few days ago, perhaps traveling to the Free Cities of Essos, before more Free Folk arrived at the camp. But plans changed. I was preparing to leave in two days — enough time for my men to finish the details on the longships and gather the necessary provisions.
At this moment, I was at the top of a snowy hill that allowed me to see the entire camp. The valley was now crowded with fur tents and, more towards the center, we were already starting the construction of house foundations. That's right. We were erecting rustic wooden houses, something unthinkable for the nomadic clans. For now, they would be simple cabins, but it was enough to shelter them from the worst of the cold.
Something really interesting was how the region, previously feared due to dark legends of the undead, began to change rapidly. All the wildlings who arrived called the place Hardhome, but that changed radically when they spotted the monstrous sea serpent. The Naga several times came out of the rough sea and spent a long time resting on the sand, coiled near my huge newly built house. The rumors about the "Beast King" spread like fire in dry straw through the wilds.
However, what really changed the identity of the place were the scales.
Several blue-green scales, each the size of an open man's hand, detached from the creature naturally and were scattered across the stone beach. They were countless, shiny, and of a deadly beauty. Because of this dazzling first impression and the dominance of the sea, the people began to forget the cursed name of Hardhome, starting to call the settlement ScaleBay — the Bay of Scales.
These scales gave me great ideas. They were relatively light and flexible, but absurdly hard. I tried my hardest to cut one of them, and couldn't make more than a few shallow scratches on the surface. And there were thousands of them thrown on the beach. Enough to forge the best armors of the known world for my elite warriors, that is if I ignored Valyrian steel, but only a fool, or an absurdly rich man, would make an armor of Valyrian steel, but the scales were enough for maybe a hundred of them.
I asked Melika to organize the collection of all of them. When I returned from my trip, I would focus on the forge, create armor sets and weapons of optimal quality, and teach some apprentices so we could increase the scale of production.
We were many, and the numbers were increasing exponentially. Every ten days, it seemed like the population doubled. Before, we were no more than a few thousand; now, we had over fifteen thousand mouths to feed, and the expectation was to hit the thirty thousand mark in the next moon cycle. Because of this, I needed to leave as soon as possible.
The food we had stocked wouldn't be enough for the approaching winter. If we couldn't get efficient trade or raiding routes, we would starve to death.
But a good question was: what to sell? At the moment, we didn't have cargo ships or merchant galleons, so traditional trade wasn't possible.
While I lost myself in these mental calculations, a sharp cry echoed in the gray sky. Heindall landed heavily by my side in the snow.
"Hi, friend...", I said, running my hand gently through the black feathers of his neck.
But my gaze quickly shifted from the eagle and focused on a wildling scout running up the hill, panting.
"King...", the man stopped, gasping. "We captured some crows that were prowling the limits of the camp."
I sighed heavily, rubbing my face.
"I thought we would have peace for a few more days...", I murmured. "Take the rangers to my main house. Now."
"Yes, King!"
"Thank you for the warning... and you don't need to call me that," I said, tired of the formality.
The wildling warrior looked at me, confused. "Many call you that... isn't it right?"
"Forget it. Just take them there. We'll have to interrogate them."
The man nodded and quickly trotted down the hill. I descended more calmly, crossing the camp towards the center. Heindall walked proudly by my side, giving heavy little hops in the snow to keep up with my pace.
If it wasn't for his enormous size, for the dangerous metal pieces I forged for his claws and beak, and for his disturbing gaze of slit pupils, the wildlings observing us with reverence might even find the scene cute.
Seeming bothered by the fixed stares of the crowd, Heindall took a bigger leap, flapped his long black wings with force, raising a cloud of snow, and flew straight to the roof of my house.
"ScaleBay, huh...", I said to myself, observing our bustling city. Improvised wagons loaded with logs, fur bundles, and fish baskets went from one side to the other in the mud and snow.
A few minutes later, I was already inside my residence. It was one of the first permanent structures to be built in the settlement. Not because of my arrogant insistence, but because of the stubbornness of Melika and Sigrid. Both became very worried when they heard the roars of pain from my beasts outside and found me unconscious in the tent after the bond with the Naga, and demanded that the "King" have wooden walls to protect him from the cold and from assassins before the others.
At least, I had my well-deserved recovery vacation after five years of uninterrupted fights and marches in the North.
I walked slowly to what could be called a "throne". It was a large solid oak chair, without gold or jewel adornments, but too heavy to be easily moved from the center of the main hall. Because of this, I ended up calling it that out of habit.
I sat down and rested my arms on the sides. Heindall had already entered through an upper window and was perched on the backrest beside me. Before the rangers arrived escorted, Melika entered the hall. She was accompanied by Fenrir. The direwolf was covered in several new and old scars, and looked even larger and more lethal. He always looked larger every time I looked at him.
"Good morning, my lord... we haven't seen each other today...", Melika said with her usual feline smile.
She approached with her hips swaying in that hypnotic way that made it impossible to look away. She stopped by my side, distractedly placing one hand on Heindall's feathers and using the other to lightly caress my face, tracing her fingers over my old scar next to my lips.
Her tone became somewhat serious, something common in the last few days of planning. "What made you leave our warm bed so early?"
I averted my gaze to the closed doors and let out a long sigh.
"I'm thinking about the future, Melika... It seemed that after we reached the coast and consolidated power, it would be easier. That things would unfold quickly... But I only see how the challenges are getting harder. Our numbers are increasing frighteningly fast and, at this rate, we won't have food stocked for..."
My words were interrupted by the sound of heavy boots and growls. The doors opened.
Sigrid entered leading the march. Beside her walked Scarlet, the reddish-furred direwolf with whom Sig had finally managed to create a skinchanger bond. Behind them, five rangers from the Wall were dragged and pushed by warriors of my elite vanguard — the Marks. With the runes of vigor and strength shining under their furs and the bronze plates sewn into their rustic armors, I highly doubted any of them would die in single combat against simple rangers; the crows' only chance would be a treacherous ambush, which failed.
Sigrid was silent and seemed physically reinvigorated and lethal since we settled on the coast.
"Denovan. We found seven crows prowling near the southern limit of the settlement. Two of them resisted and died in combat. The rest were captured alive."
"Thank you, Sig."
This was going to be an annoying diplomatic problem. If everyone was alive, then maybe it would be easier to negotiate a friendly message, but... hope is always the last to die. At least there were five survivors to send a message.
I sighed again.
Scarlet moved silently and stopped beside Fenrir, who was already lying at the foot of my throne. Both direwolves kept their predatory, slit eyes fixed on the tied-up rangers.
I stared at the prisoners stiff with fear.
"I am Denovan... Leader of this settlement," I began, my voice controlled and cold. "What is the Night's Watch looking for around here? I ordered all clans to stop the attacks against the Ice Wall. Wasn't that enough for your Lord Commander?"
POV: Nick
How the hell could we have been captured so easily by a bunch of disorganized wildlings?
They weren't the starving barbarians we were used to facing at the Wall. They were strong, fast, armed, and disciplined. And there was still that damn warrior woman with that red-furred direwolf, who tore out the throat of one of our best warriors in the blink of an eye.
These wildlings fought with unparalleled ferocity and synchrony. And their skin... I had never heard of wildlings from Beyond the Wall with designs engraved with ink on their arms and faces. I knew that the mages or slaves of Essos had these things, but here at the end of the world? What demonic clan did that?
We lost two of our sworn brothers in the snows, and I was sure I would die too. I led them here only for a reconnaissance mission on the perimeter of Hardhome. I wanted to see how the infamous camp was, count their numbers, try to understand what united them. But we were ambushed before we even got close to the tents. They had tireless scouts... and the feared skinchangers.
Now, we were being escorted to the chief's tent... No, "tent" wouldn't be the right word. That was a hall. A huge and well-structured house, made of thick wooden logs. It seemed like something impossible for a bunch of nomadic wildlings to design and build, but here they were. And it wasn't just the house. I saw polished bronze weapons in the hands of the guards, and even blades forged in good iron.
While we were dragged through the camp full of activity, my confusion only grew. I recognized the clothes and marks of several different clans. Clans that hated each other for generations, that would kill each other for a piece of bone, were now working together, cutting wood and gutting fish side by side.
The leader of this place had to be a monster or a god to be able to keep them all united under the same banner.
A sharp, heavy slap hit the back of my neck, almost making me trip over my own tied legs.
"Stop looking around and keep walking, crow," growled an exceptionally tall and muscular warrior, pushing my back.
This bastard... I thought, boiling with anger and fear. At least, after I died flayed, Lord Stark in Winterfell or the Lord Commander would know what was happening here, and they would send the army of the North to sweep away this scum. These wildling bastards would die in less than a day of siege!
As soon as we were pushed inside the heavy doors of the wooden house, what greeted me was a wide, heated hall. It even had an access staircase. And in the center of the room, sitting relaxedly on a chair that looked like a rustic throne, was the man.
Even sitting, it was possible to notice his formidable constitution. But what shocked me the most was his appearance. He was wearing light leather clothes, sleeveless, showing his exposed arms. Too light for someone living in the infernal cold of the True North. At the foot of his throne rested a nightmare: a giant black direwolf, massive and covered in brutal scars, shooting me a look that promised my death if I tried anything wrong.
I am fucked.
It was then that I noticed the other presences. There was a woman of stunning beauty beside the throne, with her fingers tangled in the feathers of a monster. Before I could look at her properly, I saw the huge black bird on the back of the chair. That looked more like a dragon hatchling from the stories than a damn eagle.
Then, the warrior woman who captured us broke the silence.
"Denovan. We found seven crows prowling near the southern limit of the settlement. Two of them resisted and died in combat. The rest were captured alive."
"Thank you, Sig," the voice of the man on the throne sounded calm and deep, cutting through the hall.
Denovan. At least we found out his name. If, by a miracle of the Old Gods, we returned alive, we could give a name to the enemy.
"I am Denovan... Sovereign leader of this settlement," he said, the words heavy in the air. "What is the Night's Watch looking for around here? I ordered all clans to stop the attacks against the Ice Wall. Wasn't that enough for your Lord Commander?"
He even seemed civilized and articulate compared to the growls of all the wildlings present in the room. That is if it weren't for the dark and grotesque tattoos etched into his arms... and the eyes.
Gods help me. His eyes were slit. Vertical and golden, like those of a viper or a lizard. Whatever that aberration was, it seemed to consume and judge everything it looked at.
What the fuck was this man?! Was this the monster that kept tens of thousands of wildlings in line?!
The tense silence was broken by the leader's cold voice.
"I don't have all day...", he said, leaning forward on the wooden seat. "So start talking right now, before I have to separate some heads from your necks... Something that, honestly, I don't want to do."
He stared at me directly, the slit pupils piercing my courage.
"Tell me everything. Your orders, what you came to spy on. Be honest with me... and I'll let you all walk back to your precious Wall. I don't want a war and I have not the slightest interest in invading the southern lands. We are not enemies. Your men died today because you invaded my lands in a hostile manner... So, let's go. Who will start talking?"
Piaaaah!
Before I could open my mouth, the giant eagle let out a loud, high-pitched, and deafening screech. The winged monster bristled its dark feathers, slightly opening its wings and looking even larger and more threatening than should be possible for a bird.
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