Hardhome
Fourteen years later
Jon changes his grip on the axe he is holding. He dares not to take his eyes off the elk herd some distance in front of them. He knows that his friend Ygritte is dying to release her arrows, but Tormund refuses to let her ruin their chances. They have slowly been creeping closer through the spring snow for what seems like eons.
It is the first time Jon is allowed to hunt with his own proper weapon alongside Ygritte and Tormund. He longs to make a good kill this hunt. This will help to stop Tormund and the others from teasing him about his height and his Southern coloring.
He looks to his side and admires the way Tormund carries his axe. The chieftain’s son is eight years his senior and has already been on multiple Wall climbs to raid the lazy Southerners in their villages. Jon longs to be as strong as he is.
After Moons of pleading, Jon is ecstatic to be hunting at his side.
As they have been getting closer, nervousness sets in. The elk are a lot larger up close and Jon’s axe feels hopelessly small. Nonetheless it is heavy in his hands as they creep down the hill.
They approach the herd on the side of a great stag. Jon decides that he will leave the stag to the others and take a less scary doe as his prey. The stag’s antlers look sharp and Jon does not want to go near them. Last winter, he saw the aftermath of a stag fight in the wounds of Tygride. It had been bloody. Only due to the care of her wife Tiffany -Mother- had she pulled through. Jon vividly remembers being woken by her cries.
He turns to his friends to find them already looking at him. Ygritte glares at him and mouths dreamer. Tormund makes a hand movement to indicate they should get ready. He gives the signal and as one they attack. To his surprise, both Ygritte and Tormund leave the stag and start maiming other elk.
Jon freezes for a moment as Tormund kills an elk with a single blow. Then the stag roars and Jon has to jump out of the way for its antlers. He swings his axe to the side. He hits and the animal howls.
Jon curses. It is not enough to be lethal and now the stag is truly angry. Jon can see the hatred in his eyes.
The beast charges again and Jon jumps aside while striking on its neck. Blood gushes out and dances on the spring snow.
The stag howls in pain and sways.
“One more, Jon!”
“Kill him!”
Jon swings again and the great stag falls over and stills.
Tormund thumps him on the shoulder in celebration and Jon almost falls over.
“You did it, Jon!” Ygritte exclaims. “You’re a man now!”
Jon blushes and looks at the corpse in the snow. Further away he sees the elk that his friends have killed.
Tormund laughs, “Well done, little wolf! Your mother will be proud.”
—
Jon is happy when the settlement finally comes into sight. Hauling back three great elks is making every muscle in his body ache.
Tormund made a sled for the hunting kills, but to move it is rough work over the soft spring snow. Still his great friend pulls the sled with ease, while Ygritte and Jon push it, slipping and cursing behind him.
When they finally reach the main hall, Jon is surprised to note a lack of people coming out to celebrate his hunt. He deflates slightly as he was hoping to boast about his big stag.
However, his mother Tiffany is there and looks relieved to see the three of them.
To his embarrassment, she pulls Jon in a crushing hug. “Are you safe? Not injured?”
“Mother! I’m fine.” Ygritte snickers and Jon feels himself blush again. “Look, I killed the biggest one!”
“You let him kill one?” She turns to Tormund with a reproaching look in her eyes.
“Your son is a brave one, Tiff. There is no stopping him.” Tormund looks around and wonders at his father’s absence.
“Where are the others?”
“They are in the hall. A man came on a horse. They are talking inside.”
Tormund rushes to the entrance of the hall. Visitors to the Firebrand tribe are not uncommon, but they rarely arrive on horseback. Horses are rare up north. There are stories of a women’s tribe up north that ride their mounts bare breasted, but Tormund suspects that is just a campfire tale. The only riders he has seen on this side of the Wall have been Crows.
He stops Jon and Ygritte from coming with him. “Good hunters must take care of their kill. I’ll not be long. Start skinning them already.”
—
Inside the dim hall, it is crowded. Most adults of the tribe are gathered around his father Tyrwynd and a dark haired man, presumably the rider.
He goes to stand next to Tygride. “What’s going on?”
“This man says he saw White Walkers. How was the hunt? Is Jon well?”
“Jon killed a stag. White Walkers? And you believe him?”
“He comes from the Frostfangs. Your father wants to hear him speak since he travelled so far.”
“Townfolk! Those branded by fire! This man, Mance Rayder, rides here for fear of the Ice Gods. He longs to unite the Free Folk as one. Are you a king, Mance Rayder?” His father asks.
“No, Tyrwynd Lionslayer. Uniting the tribes may be the only way to save us Free Folk.”
“Us? I hear you were a Crow.”
The crowd roars. “Kill the Crow!”
“My mother was free and I am free once more. I was not a Crow for many years.”
The crowd remains noisy. Tormund stretches to get a better look at the man. Crows do not come this far up North, so he wants to study this one up close.
“Silence! Let it not be said that we are not a good hosting tribe. We will let you share in our meal and sleep near the fire, Mance Rayder.” He pauses. “We will not come with you. This is a good bend in the Antler River. We have been here many years.” The crowd roars in approval. “By the first light of morning, you grab that horse of yours and ride.”
“Now, let me speak to my son. Tormund!”
People slowly file outside, while Tormund approaches his father. He has been taller than Tyrwynd for two springs now, but the older man still makes an impressive appearance with his white red beard and his old faded marriage tattoos.
“How was the hunt, son? How was Jon?”
“He did well. Killed a big stag by himself.”
“Ah, we must celebrate! He is a man now.”
“What did this man say, father?”
“He talked about the Ice Gods. Claims that corpses walk after they die. Says that he even spoke to the Thenns, those sons of traitors.”
“You believe him?”
“A Southerner always wants to raise an army, son. With your twenty two springs you will not remember, but this old Crow is not the first to gather people to march on the Wall. Wise Njara always taught me to be weary of men who tell tall tales.”
“So what do we do, father? Should I follow him in the morning?
“No, son, in the soft spring snow you will not match a man on horseback. In some days, I will call you and others to head to Hardhome. To trade, but I also want you to seek out Karsi and ask her what the winds have been saying.”
—
It is the first time Jon gets to eat a great game beast he killed himself and he is hungry. Seated between Ygritte and chieftain Tyrwynd, he eats until his jaw hurts. The chieftain congratulates him on his kill and his coming of age. He gets to try the fermented goat milk and the chief laughs heartily as he gags on the sour drink.
“You will learn to drink, Jon! You’re a man now!”
Tygride starts singing a song and as the drink flows, more voices join her. Amidst this crowd Mance Rayder sits alone, until Tormund sits next to him.
“Good food? You were lucky to come on hunting day.”
“Certainly. Tyrwynd Lionslayer’s son?” Tormund laughs.
“We look alike, huh? I missed your story, but I gather my father was not impressed.”
“Ah. It is the same everywhere. Free Folk are wary of strangers and most have never seen White Walkers. If they have, I am listened to.” Mance sighs. “I know your father does not trust me, but I just long to warn people. These white walkers condemn people to a fate worse than death.”
“What do they do? How does one hunt them? Explain it to me.”
“They take fresh corpses and raise them. Their eyes turn blue. They can only be killed with fire, but it is difficult for mortal men. They do not tire like we do.”
Tormund nods. “We already burn our dead. It is the Firebrand way.”
Mance hums, but Tormund can tell his thoughts are far away.
“Who is that? The boy with the dark hair.” Mance sees him sitting next to the chieftain and has a faint inkling of recognition.
“Oh, that’s Jon. He killed that stag you ate today.”
“He doesn’t look very Firebrand. Most of you, well…” He nods at Tormund's red beard.
“He has been with us since he was a baby. My father brought him here.”
“Hmmm, he looks like someone I used to know.”
—
“Tyrwynd Lionslayer, before I leave, I long to speak to you.” It is early, the sun has not touched the river yet.
“Please, Mance Rayder, no more tales of White Walkers.”
“No, no, it is about that dark haired boy. Jon.”
“What about him?” Tyrwynd narrows his eyes.
“Where did he come from?”
“Nowhere, he is a foundling.”
“He looks Starkish. No! Don’t get upset with me, I do not wish that child any harm. You must be careful though, the First Ranger is a Stark. If I can see it, so will he.”
“I think you should go, Mance Rayder.” Tyrwynds responds tersely.
He only calms down when the horse and its rider are out of sight.
—
Tiffany admires the stag hide as it is stretched to dry. It is just dawn, after the festivities of last night most are still asleep. However, Tiff does not drink the goat milk and is therefore up bright and early.
“Oh hello, Chief Tyrwynd! Good morning.”
“Tiffany.” Tyrwynd walks past her, but halts. “Do you still have that wolf token I gave you when you came here?”
“I do. It is Jon’s mother’s, right? His real mother?” She sounds fragile. Tyrwynd sighs.
“Tiff, you raised him and you did it well. You are his mother and you will always be. However, it is time, you should give him the token.”
—
Jon wakes with a slight headache.
“Good morning, little hunter.” Tygride is already dressed, but still looks a little dishevelled from last night’s feast. “Did you sleep well?”
Tiffany walks in. “Are you still in bed? The sun is already high in the sky! I will make you some breakfast.”
As Jon digs into his porridge, his mother comes to sit next to him.
“I have a gift for you, my young man.” Jon blushes. In the Firebrand tribe one reaches manhood when one kills their first game in a hunting party. Jon does not feel very manly yet. His voice is still high like Ygritte’s and he knows that he is short for Northern standards.
“What is it?” He hopes it is a weapon. A big axe or maybe even a sword.
She opens her hands to show a glistening metallic wolf pendant. “It is a birth gift. You had this with you as a baby. I made you a leather band to wear it around your neck.”
Jon takes the pendant in his hands. It is a direwolf. “What kind of metal is this? I have never seen anything like it.”
“It is silver, Jon. It is very valuable in the South. Don’t lose it.”
—
A couple days after Mance Rayder has gone, Tormund is called to arrange his trip to Hardhome.
“Take those hides, son. Barter for a good price to get some steel. Ask the wisewoman if she misses anything from her stores.”
“This one too, father?” Tormund raises the hide of a bear that he killed a couple of moons ago.
“It’s yours, son, if you wish to trade it, you may. Now, don’t forget-”
“Ask Karsi about the Iced Ones. I know, father. Are you sure Jon should come?”
“Yes, but you will need to keep a sharp eye on him.” Tyrwynd sighs. “I don’t like the interest that Mance Rayder showed in him. It is best to have him away from here for a while.”
—
Their party consists of five experienced tribesmen, the wisewoman’s apprentice Liore, Jon and Tormund.
Jon gets hugged by Tiffany and Tygride. “Be safe now, little wolf.”
“And you listen well to Tormund, you hear me?”
“Do you have your axe?”
“Yes, yes I do. I will only be gone for a Moon. Don’t worry, mother.” He can see in her eyes she will worry until he is back in her arms.
He turns to Tormund who is saying goodbye to Ygritte. She runs to him and gives him a bearhug with a lot of stomps on his back. Ygritte’s hugs always feel like an attack and Jon barely manages not to groan.
They start their journey in one of the biggest wooden boats the tribe has. Jon looks back to the shores of the Firebrand settlement. It is the first time he is truly going away from home.
—
Jon smells Hardhome before he sees it. He sniffs and Tormund laughs.
“That’s the sea air, little wolf.”
Jon has spent his entire life swimming, fishing and skating on the Antler River. He knows water well, but he has never seen anything like the stretch of water before him.
Tormund grins at his wide eyes. “That is the Shivering Sea, Jon. That’s Hardhome.”
Hardhome is the greatest settlement Jon has ever seen. It is the early morning and already he can hear the calls of the market people, selling their wares. When they come closer, he sees that the houses look like the Firebrand village, but there are many more of them. Jon starts counting, but runs out of numbers before he runs out of buildings.
Another thing to surprise him are the boats. Most boats look like the one he is in, but there are some with long masts anchored slightly offshore.
“What are those, Tor?” He points to three big boats on the far edge of the bay.
“Those are Southern ships, Jon. They have many trees down South and they build these big boats. So big that they cannot enter the harbor.” He laughs.
They get ashore and Jon starts looking at the people. Most are Free Folk from neighboring tribes and Tormund greets a couple. However, there are also people dressed in strangely colorful furs.
He stops to look at some swords made of real steel, but Tormund pulls him along. “Later, Jon. I need you to listen to me carefully alright? Stay with the others. No going off on your own.You don’t know the people here.”
“Can I not stay with you?”
“No, I have to look for someone. I’ll be back soon, little wolf.”
—
Jon watches Tormund go. Despite the crowds, Jon still sees the tall man until he enters a hall.
Jon knows he should listen to Tormund and stay put, but it is the first time he is somewhere else and there is so much to see. He killed an elk. He is a man now and men can go where they want.
He walks past the market stalls, seeing colorful fruits he has never seen before and he learns that the colorful fur is not fur.
“No,” the woman laughs. “It is called fabric. We can dye it different colors.”
“What is that color?”
“It’s purple! They make it from seashells in Essos.”
Jon carefully touches the fabric. It feels very soft.
“Thank you, lady,” he mumbles and quickly walks away.
His favorite stalls are those with weapons. They are strangely shiny and look very valuable. He longs to touch them, to run his finger past the blade to test its sharpness, but he fears someone will get angry.
“You like swords, boy?”
Jon almost jumps. He turns to his side and looks up at a tall man with a whitening beard. A Southerner with those fabrics, although this man’s are not painted purple. He has a big sword hanging at his side and a belt with colored stones.
“Yes, uh… Ser?” Jon is sure that this man is a Ser, but with his colored stones he might be a king.
“My name is Ser Davos Seaworth, boy. Who are you?”
“I’m Jon, Ser. Uh… Jon Stagfiend.” Stagfiend seems like a good moniker.
The man laughs and sticks out his hand. Jon stares at it. “Never heard of a handshake, Jon Stagfiend? It’s a Southern thing. Stick out your hand and I’ll show you.”
Jon hesitates and sticks his hand out. Ser Davos grabs his hand and just before Jon starts to panic, he lets go.
“That is a handshake. We do that where I come from when we meet a new friend.”
“Are you my friend?” Jon is so surprised that he forgets to call him Ser. “Uh…Ser!”
The knight laughs. “I will give you a token for my friendship. I do not have a sword for you, but I can give you this.” He grabs a dagger wrapped in leather and places it in Jon’s hands.
Jon unsheaths the blade. It is a shiny black. “What is this? Metal?”
“It is dragon glass. It is common in the South near Dragonstone.”
“What is a dragon?”
“It is a great monster. Many years ago, the Targaryens used dragons to conquer Westeros and the Iron Throne. They breathe fire, you know?”
“Do you have any dra-dragoons on your big boat?” Jon asks carefully.
“No, Jon Stagfiend, don’t worry! There are no more dragons in the South.”
“If there were dragons, I would slay them and I would become Jon Dragonslayer,” boasts Jon.
Ser Davos smiles, amused. “It was nice meeting you, Jon. May we meet again.”
—
Tormund knocks and enters Karsi’s hall. The last time he saw her, he was barely taller than Jon so he hopes that he is in the right place.
“Who comes there?” A woman is tending to the fire. Two little girls play on the floor.
“It is me, Tormund of the Firebrands. My father Tyrwynd has sent me to you, Karsi of Hardhome.”
“Ah Tormund! It has been many springs since we met. You didn’t have a beard yet!” She laughs. “What brings you to me?”
“A man came by almost a Moon ago. An old Crow named Mance Rayder.”
Karsi nods. “I have met him. He came here too.”
“Do you believe him? His stories of White Walkers?”
“Young Tormund, you should not be so rash as to dismiss the old stories. Every myth is found in truth. The White Walkers are still the reason why the Free Folk burn their dead.”
“Yet you are still here. Not joining up with Mance Rayder.”
Karsi smiles. “I have friends to sail us away. It is different here than for you inlanders. We have no risk of being trapped.”
“Have you heard of any others about these White Walkers or moving corpses?”
Karsi sighs. “It is hard to get information from further North here. Most of the trade is from further South. I did hear a couple of trappers who trap inland North of the Antler River talk. They didn’t talk of moving corpses, but they talked about moving settlements. Tribes that had been there a spring winter before and were gone some Moons later.”
“Gone to join Mance Rayder?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t know their names. I tried to ask him, but we were unable to agree on the right settlements. He is a Southerner after all. He doesn’t understand the difference between the Antler River and North of the Antler River. He told me he spoke to your father. I believe he called him a stubborn old man.”
Tormund laughs. “He is!”
“Either way, these trappers decided to not go North anymore. If it was Mance, if it was the Walkers, the Crows, something made these tribes move so suddenly, they did not send word anywhere.”
“What do you think we should do?”
“Keep an eye out, keep the fire ready and if you have to move send me a message.”
“Thank you, Karsi. I will. Any other news?”
“A dragon princess married a horselord far, far away. Some tradespeople seem concerned, but it is a Southern affair, I think.”
Tormund thanks her for her information and returns to his fellow tribesmen.
“Where is Jon?” Some shrug, avoiding his gaze and anger rises in Tormund’s chest. “I told you to keep an eye on him!”
“Boys are like young wolves, Tor. They love to run around in their curiosity.” Liore laughs.
Tormund scowls and proceeds to look for a wild head of dark curls.
—
“Tormund! Look what this Southerner gave me!” Jon shows Tormund his black glass knife.
“You shouldn’t have left the others, little wolf. I was looking for you.” Tormund studies the blade. “It is a pretty piece. Not good for hunting though. ‘Tis too fragile to stab an animal with.”
“It is made by Southern dragons! Did you know they have dragons in the South, Tor?”
“Jon, we’re Free Folk. We have our own monsters up here. You shouldn’t wonder about the South. The Wall keeps us out from those lands.” Tormund knows that he sounds like his father, but he worries about Jon’s enthusiasm this close to the Southern ships.
Jon laughs at Tormund. “You climbed the Wall!”
“Hush, little wolf.” Tormund lowers his voice. “There are many ears here.”
“When will you take me climbing South?” Jon whispers.
Tormund looks at his friend. He has grown some since the last thaw, but Tormund still towers over him. According to the tribe customs, he is a man after killing the big elk in the hunt. However, the thought of his small body falling down the Wall makes Tormund shudder.
“Not yet, Jon.” Tormund sighs at Jon’s visual disappointment. “I got you a gift. I traded my big bear coat for this Southern steel.”
He unsheathes a long sword. It will be too big and heavy for him still, but Jon’s smile warms his heart.
“Is it truly for me, Tor?” Jon holds his new weapon awkwardly.
“You will need to learn how to handle it. It is a Southern weapon, but I will try to teach you. If you can fight with it properly, I will ask Father to let you come with me to the Wall.”
Tormund prays to the Old Gods that mastering his heavy Southern sword will take Jon many years.
—
Many miles South, Ned Stark observes his son Robb training with Theon Greyjoy. Normally, he would admire his son’s clear talent in swordplay, but on this day his thoughts are aimed northwards. He has not sought out that village, that hut, that old woman for many years. He wonders if his nephew takes after Lyanna. He hopes that the boy is still alive, after all the childhood illnesses and the harsh winters.
As the years pass, the initial concern about Robert’s ire has mostly faded from Ned’s thoughts. He ought to speak to his brother about the boy, the next time Benjen comes down to Winterfell.
Perhaps it is time he be trained in sword fighting.