Chapter 125: A New Purpose

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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

"Dialogue"

'Thoughts'

-Author notes-

Chapter 125: A New Purpose

The Stark men dropped to the ground, and the wildlings continued their deadly work. Arrows flew with impeccable accuracy, each one finding its mark in the skull of a wight. The creatures fell in droves; their bodies were being reduced to fragments of ice and bone. 

Jon watched with shock. He had never seen archery like this…not from the wildlings, not from anyone. The arrows flew in a steady stream, each shot timed perfectly, each one a kill. The wights, for all their numbers, were being decimated.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the attack was over. The last wight crumpled to the ground, a black arrow protruding from its eye socket, and the forest fell silent.

Jon rose slowly, his sword still in his hand, and looked toward the wildlings. They were making their way down the slope, their bows still drawn, and their eyes sharp. And at their head was a woman.

She was tall for a wildling, lean and athletic, with short dark hair that stuck up in jagged spikes from beneath her fur hood. 

Her face was sharp-featured, with high cheekbones and piercing grey eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. She wore a patchwork of furs and leathers, and a long hunting knife hung at her hip.

"Dont just stand there, crows. More of those things will appear soon." She made a gesture to the other widlings, and they began to approach.

Jon sheathed his sword and stepped forward, hands raised in what he hoped was a gesture of peace. "We mean you no harm," he said. "We're-"

"I know, crows…who else would come here?" the woman said, her tone flat. "Thought you lot were all dead by now."

"We are not crows," Jon said, then paused. She wasn't completely wrong, though. He gestured to his men. "We are members of House Stark. My name is Jon Snow."

The woman's eyes swept over them, taking in their armor and furs, the direwolf sigil on their cloaks. "Stark… what are southerners doing here? Are you lost?"

"Southerners?" Harwin sounded confused, his voice carrying a note of offense. "We're Northmen, same as you."

The woman snorted. "South of the Wall, you're all southerners to us." She stepped closer, studying Jon with those piercing grey eyes. "Jon Snow, you said. The Halfhand's Bane? I've heard about you. You are a crow."

"I used to be," Jon admitted. "That was a different life."

"Clearly." She glanced at the Stark men, counting them. "You've brought a dozen men into the heart of the dead. That's either very brave or very stupid."

"A bit of both, perhaps," Jon admitted. He knew this was a risky mission, but an important one. "We came here in search of proof. Evidence that the Others are real. The lords of the North don't believe the threat is coming. They argue about independence and crowns while the true enemy gathers beyond the Wall."

Kára's expression darkened. "And you thought you'd find proof by walking into the most dangerous place in the world?"

"We didn't expect to find survivors," Jon admitted. "We thought everyone up here was dead or turned."

"We're not all dead," Kára said, a hint of defiance creeping into her voice. "There are still some of us left. Hiding. Surviving."

One of the Stark men, a young soldier named Pate, spoke up. "These undead…your arrows stopped them easily enough. Those black arrows you used. What are they made of?"

Kára turned to look at him, then glanced back at her people. The wildlings were already moving among the corpses, retrieving their arrows from the shattered remains of the wights. They worked quickly, examining each shaft to ensure it was still usable before tucking it back into their quivers.

"Obsidian," Kára said, pulling an arrow from her quiver and holding it up. "The black glass. My grandmother taught me to chip it into arrowheads. She said it was the only thing that could truly kill a dead man. Said the children of the forest knew it first." 

Jon nodded slowly. "It is true. The Night's Watch has some dragonglass, but not enough. We never knew its true value until it was too late."

"Tales," Kára repeated, a bitter edge to her voice. "They're not tales, crow. They're truth. The cold that's coming…it will swallow everything. You cannot stop it."

"The lords in the South don't understand that," Jon said. "That's why I came here. I need something to show them…anything that will make them believe."

Kára laughed. "You came all this way for something like that? We have dead things everywhere. You could fill a wagon with them."

"Then help me," Jon said. "Help me get some proof we can take back to Winterfell. Help me make the North understand what's coming."

Kára studied him for a long moment, her grey eyes unreadable. "You're a fool, Jon Snow. But you're a brave fool, and that counts for something." She turned and gestured for her people to gather. "Come. We have a cave nearby. It's not much, but there's a fire and some meat. Your men look like they need rest."

She was right. Jon looked at his companions and saw the exhaustion in their faces, the cold that had seeped into their bones. One of them…a young man named Deryk was limping badly, his leg wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth where a wight's claw had torn through his leathers.

"We would be grateful for your hospitality," Jon said. "I promise you, House Stark will not forget this."

Kára waved a dismissive hand. "Promises are cheap, crow. We'll see if you keep them."

<><>

The cave was deeper than Jon had expected, a narrow crevice that opened into a wide chamber hidden from the howling winds. The wildlings had built a fire in the center, and its warmth seeped into his frozen bones like a blessing.

The Stark men huddled around the flames, tearing into the strips of dried meat the wildlings offered them. It was tough and gamey, but it was food, and Jon ate his share with gratitude.

Ghost lay beside him, his red eyes fixed on the cave entrance. The direwolf had not relaxed since they'd entered… his hackles were still raised, his ears swiveling to catch every sound. Jon rested a hand on Ghost's head. "Easy, boy…we are safe, for now."

Kára sat across the fire from him, her sharp eyes watching him with an intensity that made him feel like a deer being measured by a hunter. She had not eaten, but she had taken a piece of dried meat and was slowly tearing it apart with her fingers.

"Are there many more survivors around here?" Jon decided to ask.

"Not many, no," she said, her voice low enough that only Jon could hear. "Two hundred of my tribe marched south with Mance Rayder. Good fighters, the best archers north of the Wall. Most of them are dead now. Turned into those things out there. A dozen of us are all that's left."

Jon felt the weight of her words, the grief beneath the hard exterior. "I'm sorry. I wasn't at Hardhome, but my father was. He told me about it...but I've seen the dead, Kára. I have seen the Others, with their dead eyes and swords made of ice. I know what we're facing."

Kára's eyes flickered with grief. "Then you know why I don't believe we can win. No matter how many of those things we destroy…more return. It never ends. And in the far north, there are much worse things."

"I know it looks impossible, but we have to try," Jon said quietly. "There are people south of the Wall who need to understand. If we don't prepare, if we don't unite, then everything is lost. The North, the South, everything."

Kára was silent for a long moment. Then she said, "You're not like other crows I've met. You actually believe what you're saying."

"I do."

She nodded slowly. "I'll help you. I'll help you find your proof, and I'll help your men get back to the Wall. But you need to understand that we can't save everyone. There are too many dead, and more are rising every day."

"Every life matters," Jon said. "Every person who survives is a victory against the dead."

Kára looked at him for a long moment, and her expression softened, just slightly. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I have to."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire crackle and pop. The other wildlings were tending to their weapons, checking their arrows, murmuring among themselves in the old tongue. 

Jon's men were beginning to doze, their bodies finally surrendering to exhaustion.

Then Jon noticed something. Kára's gaze had drifted away from him, fixed on Ghost with an expression that was hard to read.

"Your wolf," she said. "He's a magnificent beast. I've seen direwolves before, but rarely. They don't come this far north anymore. Too little prey, too many cold things hunting them."

"Ghost," Jon said. "His name is Ghost. He's been with me since it was a pup."

Kára nodded, her eyes still on the direwolf. " You know…I saw one just a week ago or so. Similar to yours, but with darker fur. And larger, I think. It was moving through the snow very quickly."

Jon's heart skipped a beat. "You saw another direwolf? Are you certain?"

"I know what I saw, crow. It is not every day one sees a direwolf in these lands. I would remember." Kára's eyes narrowed. "Why does that matter to you?"

"Because my brother has a direwolf. A dark-furred one. His name is Summer." Jon leaned forward, his voice urgent. "Was there a boy with it? A young boy with dark hair, perhaps?"

Kára's eyebrows rose. "A boy? I couldn't say. It was very far, and we don't approach direwolves. They're dangerous enough on their own, even without... other things."

"But there was a direwolf with dark fur…"

"Aye. It was heading northwest. Towards the Frostfangs."

Jon felt a surge of hope so powerful it almost made him dizzy. 'Bran. That had to be Bran.'

"What's gotten into you?" She asked.

"My brother, Bran. He was at Hardhome when the Others attacked. I thought he was dead. We all thought he was dead."

Kára studied him with renewed interest. "Your brother is north of the Wall? A boy with a direwolf?"

Jon was already making plans in his head. He had come north to find proof of the Others. But now he had found something more important. He had found hope.

"Kára," he said, "I need your help. I need to find my brother."

The wildling woman leaned back. "That's a dangerous request, Jon Snow. The lands north of here are deadly. The Others are strongest there. The cold is worst. Even my people don't venture that far."

"I know," Jon said. "But Bran is my brother. He's the son of Eddard Stark. The Lord of Winterfell will reward anyone who helps bring him home. You gain safe passage through the Wall. You and your people could live south of the Wall. You would be safer there. You could have land, and a future."

Kára was silent for a long moment. He saw the conflict in her eyes…the desire to survive wrestling with the fear of what lay ahead.

"You're offering us a way south," she said slowly. "A way through the Wall."

"I am."

Kára looked at him sharply. "You can promise that? You can give us passage?"

"I'm Jon Snow," he said. "I'm not a lord, not truly. But I have the ear of Lord Stark. My father-" He paused, the word still strange on his tongue. "Ned Stark is Lord of Winterfell. He will honor any promise I make on his behalf. If you help me find Bran, you and your people will have a place in the North."

Kára exchanged glances with her companions. Jon could see the hunger in their eyes, the desperate hope that had been extinguished for so long. They were survivors, but they were also tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of watching their friends die.

Kára was silent for a long moment. Then she extended her hand. "We have a deal, Jon Snow. We'll help you find your brother, and you'll help us survive."

Jon took her hand, feeling the calloused strength of her grip. "Thank you."

Her eyes narrowed. "But you better not get any ideas, crow. If you betray me…I'll put an arrow between your eyes."

Jon seemed unfazed by the threat. "I'll keep it in mind."

<><>

The cave grew quiet as night settled in. The wildlings and Stark men shared the fire, their differences forgotten in the face of their common need for warmth and survival. 

Jon sat apart from the others, Ghost's head resting on his knee, thinking about what lay ahead.

'Bran is alive.' The thought filled him with warmth.

But finding him would not be easy. Kára had said he was heading northwest, towards the Frosfangs. That was deep in the heart of the frozen wilderness, the very place where the Others were strongest.

"We need to make plans," Jon said, drawing the group's attention. "We can't all go north. It's too dangerous, and there's too much at stake. Also, we have a mission to complete."

Harwin spoke up, his face haggard in the firelight. "What are you suggesting, m'lord?"

"I'm suggesting we split up," Jon said. "You and the others will return to Winterfell with the proof we came to find."

"While you search for your brother," Harwin said, his tone carefully neutral. "Is that your plan?"

"It is. I'll take Kára and her wildlings. They know this land better than anyone. They can guide me to where Bran might be." Jon looked at his men, meeting each of their eyes. "I know this isn't what we agreed to. But Bran is my brother. I can't leave him out there. I'm sure if Lord Stark were here, he would want the same."

Harwin was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand, my lord. We'll complete the mission and bring back proof. But how will we find you again?"

Jon considered this. "Kára, are there any safe routes south from here? A place where we could meet again?"

Kára frowned, thinking. "There are the Shadow Tower's ruins, far to the west. It's a long march, but there are fewer dead that way. If you can get a message to them, they could send a party to meet us there."

"That's too long," Jon said. "It could take weeks to reach the Shadow Tower."

"Then what do you suggest?" Kára asked.

Jon thought for a moment. "The ship. If we can send word to Winterfell, they could send another ship. Meet us at the coast north of Hardhome. It's not far from here, and it would be a faster journey back."

Harwin nodded slowly. "It's a risk, m'lord. The sea is treacherous this time of year. But it's possible."

"Do it," Jon said. "Take the galley south. Make for the closest port you can find. Send word to Winterfell. Tell my father…tell Lord Stark that I've gone after Bran. Tell him I'll return when I find him."

"And what about the proof?" Harwin asked. "We don't have a wight to bring back."

"We'll have to capture one," Jon said.

The men looked horrified. "Capture one of those things still moving?. We barely survived the ones we fought today."

"It's possible," Kára said. "I know this land. There are places near here where the wights gather…places where they're slow and easy prey. They just wander until something living catches their attention." She gestured toward the cave's entrance. "Near the coast, there's a hollow where the dead sometimes cluster. We could trap one there, bind it, drag it to the ship."

Harwin looked skeptical. "And if more of them come while we're trying to catch one?"

"Then we run," Kára said simply. "We've been running from them for months. We know how."

Jon considered this. It was risky, but if they could bring living weight, thrashing and clawing, with its blue eyes burning with that terrible light…that would leave no room for doubt. 

The cave fell silent as the men considered this. Jon looked at his companions…Harwin, Pate, Deryk, the others. They were tired, cold, and frightened. But they were also Northmen, and Northmen did not give up easily.

"Tomorrow," Jon said finally. "We'll hunt one at dawn. If we succeed, we'll have our proof. And then we'll split up. Harwin will take the men south with the wight, and I'll go north with Kára and her people to find Bran."

The men nodded. They were afraid, but they were men of House Stark and would fulfil their duty.

And Jon felt like he had found his purpose at last.

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