Game of Thrones: The Dragonborn.

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]

Third Person POV.

Somewhere on North.

...

...

The group of Night's Watchmen and the Dragonborn stared at each other for a few seconds without any of them uttering a single word.

The atmosphere between them grew tense, especially on the part of the Wall's group.

"A wildling," one of them commented, gripping his sword.

The other companion saw the tense atmosphere as the wildling stood there, smiling at them, despite being more handsome than any other they had ever seen. But he was here wearing wildling clothes, which made him one of them.

"Damn, what are we doing just staring at him… he's just one, let's take him down already," he said to the others as if lighting the idea in all their minds, stepping forward.

"Wait!" Qhorin didn't like this. He had survived many things, and even though he was standing before just one man, his instincts told him to flee. It was strange how nervous he felt, as if this were a wildling ambush, but his words came too late as the patrolmen advanced toward Jon with blades drawn to cut him down.

"..." Jon remained silent, waiting for the man to approach while he lifted snow with his steps.

"Die, you damned wildling!" the man shouted.

He moved his sword to stab Jon, who waited until the last second to sidestep, creating an opening by the man's side.

He didn't even have time to react as he received a punch directly to the face, knocking him aside, teeth and blood flying into the air. The wildling had thrown a punch that seemed to have shattered his jaw along with his teeth, judging by the cracking sound that echoed among them.

"What?!" All the Night's Watchmen instinctively stepped back as they saw the scene, swallowing hard.

"Well… seems like we're down one... how easy it is to bring you down... let's do it this way, I won't use any weapons, how about that?" Jon said with a smile.

"He can't be serious...?" The most fearful among the Watchmen spoke, but his tone betrayed his growing fear.

"Who are you?" Qhorin asked once more, but Jon didn't bother to respond.

"That doesn't matter. Anyway, I encountered one of your patrols a while back, there were eight of you... I killed them all," Jon commented, leaving all the crows stunned for a second. How could they forget the news about the group led by Kuel, who had gone missing during the time Jon mentioned? He seemed cruel, but he didn't care, after all, that group of Night's Watchmen were scum.

"So, you killed them..." Qhorin said in a dark tone.

"Bastard!!" Someone couldn't take it any longer and ran directly at Jon.

Jon dodged his strike, punching him down to the ground, and the others charged right after, no longer able to hold back, driven by revenge. Jon saw them, dominated by a sense of vengeance, even with a glint of fear as he took down two more of them using only his hands.

A fight broke out, and Jon seemed to be dancing among them, finding their movements slow as he kicked one so hard that the man rolled meters away, while he punched another's arm, breaking it with a quick strike.

"AHHHHHH!!!!" the man screamed, dropping his weapon in terror, while the remaining ones, only the fearful patrolman and Qhorin, became more cautious. The man who had been kicked got up painfully and started to walk back to help.

"Just three… and one screamer here," Jon said as the man next to him collapsed, clutching his suspended arm, at which point Jon kicked him in the face, knocking him out.

"I'm feeling generous today. I haven't killed any of you," Jon commented, still smiling. The Watchmen were increasingly bewildered by this.

Qhorin had never met anyone like this beyond the Wall. No wildling could fight like this. Jon was clearly trained and didn't use the aggressive style they were used to. Moreover... his strength shouldn't be human, nor should his reaction speed, making Qhorin wonder internally if they had encountered a monster.

"We should flee..." the trembling patrolman beside Qhorin murmured, his sword shaking in his hand.

"If you don't come, I'll have to go myself," Jon said as he advanced on his own. The two men stepped back, but Jon was already in front of the younger one, landing a punch to his stomach—not as strong as the others, but enough to make the boy fall backward with a groan of pain.

A blade tried to strike Jon from the side, forcing him to take a few steps back to dodge, while Qhorin continued attacking. Jon avoided the strikes, but this man was different from the others—no openings were created. Qhorin was highly experienced, and when he saw his sword hitting Jon, it seemed as if Jon stood still. But then Jon's arm moved, and suddenly, a common sword appeared in his hand, clashing against Qhorin's blade.

Their swords clashed once, twice, and on the third strike, Qhorin stepped back, looking at Jon with some fear. 'Where did that sword come from?!' He couldn't believe the stranger had produced a sword out of nowhere.

"You made me use a sword, so you're much better than the others. Let's see what you're capable of..." Jon commented, pulling out a common sword from his storage. It was one of the Night's Watch blades, taken from the patrol he killed more than a moon ago, and he hadn't used any runes on it.

Qhorin readied himself as Jon advanced, feeling the force of his blows—one after another—with Qhorin only able to stay on the defensive, as if his opponent was toying with him.

"You're not a wildling... who are you...?" Qhorin recognized well when someone had skill with a blade, and this kind of technique was never learned beyond the Wall.

"Well, it doesn't matter much to you now... but you'll answer my questions." Jon commented as he locked swords with Qhorin, forcing it aside, easily disarming him before delivering a kick to his leg. Qhorin's muscle quickly registered the impact, and he collapsed to the ground, stunned, looking at Jon in fear.

"Well..." Jon began to speak when he felt something to his side. It was the patrolman he had left aside, now holding a bow and arrow taken from a fallen companion. The patrolman shot an arrow at Jon while he was fighting Qhorin.

Qhorin only saw the stranger shift his body to the side, raising his free hand, palm forward, as the arrow stopped in midair before him. The man's mouth fell open in shock, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten.

Jon held the arrow in place with telekinesis, looking at the trembling archer who was witnessing something impossible. Jon's palm moved as if pushing the air, and both the arrow and the archer were hurled backward, crashing into a tree with a thud, breaking several ribs as the man fell unconscious into the snow.

Silence fell. Qhorin was paralyzed, and the young patrolman, also trembling, dragged himself backward. It wasn't the snow that caused his shaking.

Jon glanced at Qhorin and raised his hand toward him. Qhorin found himself lifted into the air by an unseen force, and Jon guided him, suspended, until he was right in front of him.

"Can you answer some of my questions now?" Jon looked at him, raising an eyebrow, while Qhorin, trapped and more terrified than ever, realized that encountering this creature was the worst thing he'd ever experienced.

"I want to know all the information from the south: who is king, how is House Stark." Jon already knew these things from hearing about them from the Free Folk, but he wanted to hear it from someone who had direct contact with the news from the south.

"..." Qhorin remained paralyzed, silent, staring at Jon with the same defiant gaze. He didn't want to share such things with this sorcerer, even though fear gripped him. Jon recognized the look, earning the patrolman a small measure of respect from the Dragonborn.

"Come on, I'm not asking for much. It's just common knowledge, something any peasant should know," Jon said, but Qhorin remained silent.

"Alright then," Jon said as he threw him forcefully to the ground, making Qhorin hit it hard and roll a few meters away, disarmed from where Jon had tossed him.

"Boy, I haven't killed anyone yet. And honestly, I don't have any reason to kill you, unlike those eight I mentioned before... Those men were scum, and I didn't care about killing them in the horrible way I did." Jon spoke while the 16-year-old boy still trembled, looking at him.

"Sorcerer..." was the only thing the boy could respond, and Jon sighed, beginning to cast a calming spell. The boy didn't even see the Spriggan appearing behind him as Jon cast a spell to calm him down; after all, Jon still needed to talk to one of them.

"Hm?" The boy felt his body coming back under control as he still stared at Jon, not understanding what was happening.

"You're calmer now. Can you answer my questions...?" Jon asked again. The boy thought for a moment but, out of fear of dying, nodded his head.

"Who is the king of the Seven Kingdoms?" Jon asked.

"Robert Baratheon, my lord sorcerer," the boy murmured at the end.

"Is his wife still Cersei Lannister?" Jon asked again.

"Yes," the boy replied.

"How many children does he have to inherit the throne?"

"Three, my lord sorcerer."

"I see... He had brothers... are both of them alive, and how many children do they have?"

"Stannis Baratheon has a daughter, but she's afflicted with greyscale..." the boy answered and continued. "Renly Baratheon has no children; he hasn't married yet."

"Now, let's talk about the Starks... You seem to know a lot..." Jon was surprised. After all, even though it should be common knowledge, the boy in front of him had some details that Jon doubted many peasants would know.

"My father was a scribe for a lord in the Riverlands... He caught the lord's heir raping my mother and beat him badly, leaving permanent marks on the boy. In the end, my parents were killed, and I was sent to the Wall on a charge of theft. That was four years ago... but I learned to read and write while helping the maester at Castle Black," he explained.

"I see. That's really cruel, sending a twelve-year-old to the Wall after his parents were killed... No wonder you're the most fearful, you've certainly got your traumas," Jon commented, as the boy lowered his head, ashamed by Jon's words.

"Anyway, can you tell me about House Stark?" Jon asked, and the boy nodded, beginning to share common knowledge while Jon listened attentively.

"It seems my uncle had more children... We'll see him soon..." Jon remarked, remembering that when he left Winterfell, Bran was about to be born.

"Thank you, boy. You can now take care of your companions, and if it's any consolation, when I find the noble you mentioned... I'll deal with them for you, if you're telling the truth." Jon said as he left the area, the boy only able to watch him depart, unable to do anything else.

Now Jon had nothing else to do. Besides the information about the Starks, he also tried to learn about the Targaryens, but the boy didn't know. Jon wanted to know more things but refrained from asking, to make it clear he was heading for the Wall. Though soon, rumors of a sorcerer in the North seeking information about the Baratheons, Starks, and Targaryens would spread, and everyone would conclude he might be heading south.

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Raccoon Here:

I swear I didn't intend to make an entire chapter focused solely on a fight, but I ended up getting immersed in the writing, and before I knew it, I had already written 2k words.

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