299 AC, The Wall.
Four years had passed, and The Wall remained much the same.
Cold winds swept down from the towering ice, sending the snow blanketing Castle Black swirling through the air.
Jon stood in the training yard.
Now sixteen, he was half a head taller than Thorne.
He had grown tall and powerfully built, with solid muscle across his arms, chest, and back.
His black hair was loosely tied behind his head with a cord.
His gray eyes were deep and sharp, while his handsome features had taken on a stern edge.
The somewhat slender boy of four years ago had fully grown into his frame.
Two recruits who had only recently joined the Night’s Watch closed in on him from either side.
Jon took half a step back, avoiding the wooden sword coming down at him from the front while raising his own to intercept the other man’s attack.
Clack!
The two wooden swords struck with a sharp crack.
The impact left the recruit’s arm numb.
Before he could pull his weapon back, Jon had already stepped into the opening and driven the pommel swiftly into his chest.
The recruit grunted and staggered backward.
The other man seized the opportunity to strike from the side.
Jon turned aside, let the blade pass him, then snapped his sword back against the recruit’s wrist.
The wooden sword fell from his hand.
The training yard went quiet for a moment.
“You’re gripping your sword too tightly, and your wrist isn’t flexible enough.
If that had been a real blade, your hand would be ruined.”
Jon lowered his sword and straightened, pointing out the mistakes the recruit had made during their exchange.
Watching from the edge of the yard, Thorne nodded in satisfaction.
Jon’s Swordsmanship was nothing like it had been four years ago.
“Again.
And you two, join them.”
He pointed out two more recruits among the onlookers, signaling for them to attack alongside the first pair.
Many members of the Night’s Watch who had heard the commotion began gathering around to watch.
“Jeff, how many exchanges do you think those four recruits can last?”
A scarred Night’s Watchman asked the man beside him.
“With that boy’s strength and reflexes?
Fewer than ten.
I’ll wager three cups of wine.
Anyone willing to take that bet?” Jeff replied.
“I’ll take it.
I don’t believe that bastard can manage it.”
A thin, middle-aged Night’s Watchman studied the young Jon and accepted the wager.
Life at The Wall was painfully dull.
Aside from patrols and training, drinking and gambling were among the few pleasures available to the men of the Night’s Watch.
As long as things did not go too far, their superiors rarely interfered.
The four recruits who had been called out now stood in the middle of the training yard.
They exchanged uneasy glances, each hoping someone else would be the first to attack.
The spectators quickly lost patience and began jeering.
“Get on with it.
They’re wooden swords.
Nobody’s going to die.”
“Ha!
Four against one and you’re still afraid?
What a pack of cowards.”
One recruit could bear the mockery no longer.
His face flushed red, and with a shout, he charged.
The other three followed with a disorderly rush of their own.
Two of them nearly struck each other’s swords in the process.
Seeing their clumsy attack, Jon did not even bother retreating.
By now, in all of Castle Black, only Ser Thorne could still trade several blows with him when Jon was holding back.
As for the other men of the Night’s Watch, even seven or eight attacking him together had difficulty placing him under any real pressure.
Jon had fought in many battles over the years.
Combined with the unexplained changes taking place within him, his body had become far stronger than those of others his age.
His strength, speed, and endurance had already surpassed even the finest men of the Night’s Watch.
His reflexes in particular were extraordinary.
Often, an opponent had barely begun to move before Jon’s body reacted first.
The greatest change, however, had been in his senses.
He could now faintly perceive danger and hostility.
He still could not predict exactly where an attack would come from, but whenever someone nearby harbored hostile intent toward him, Jon often sensed it before an ordinary person could have noticed anything.
Half a year earlier, he had accompanied Uncle Benjen on a patrol beyond The Wall.
During that patrol, they encountered a group of wildlings.
Once the fighting began, a wildling archer hid behind a distant rock and prepared to ambush him.
But the moment the man drew his bowstring fully back, Jon sensed the danger and moved first.
A flash of cold steel flew from his hand.
The dagger cut through the wind and snow and buried itself in the archer’s throat before he could loose his shot.
The arrow meant for Jon went wide as a result, passing just beside his shoulder.
That battle ended with Benjen suffering only a minor wound.
Most of the wildlings died at their hands, while only a few who realized the fight was lost managed to flee into the storm.
Before long, word of the battle spread among the wildlings.
More and more of them came to know that the Night’s Watch had gained a formidable new fighter.
…
Night slowly descended.
Jon had been riding through the wilderness for several hours before finally reaching a valley.
After securing his horse, he continued inside on foot.
As the bond of Bloodline between them deepened, Jon no longer needed to travel all the way to Frostflame’s lair whenever he wished to see her.
When he needed her, all he had to do was call to her silently in his mind.
The white dragon would sense his summons and come to him as quickly as she could.
Jon stood in the valley, glancing toward the sky from time to time.
It was not long before an enormous white shape appeared in the distance, rapidly drawing closer as it cut through the night.
With a thunderous impact, Frostflame landed in the valley.
Her enormous violet eyes swept over the surroundings from above, carrying the natural majesty of a dragon.
Her powerful hind legs planted themselves firmly on the frozen earth.
The force of her landing sent great waves of snow billowing into the air and scattering in every direction, covering Jon as well.
Jon looked helplessly at Frostflame, brushed the snow from himself, and walked toward her.
The dragon had grown considerably larger over the past few years.
She was now sixteen meters long, with a wingspan of nearly thirty meters, and at last possessed the imposing presence expected of a great dragon.
She had already been forced to hunt for herself three years ago.
The little prey Benjen and Jon could bring her was nowhere near enough to satisfy her appetite anymore.
When Jon approached, Frostflame willingly lowered her enormous head and allowed him to touch her scales.
A deep, delighted call echoed throughout the valley.
Jon stroked her forehead and the bases of her horns for a moment.
Then he caught hold of a spine near the base of her neck, planted his foot in a gap between her scales, and pulled himself up onto her neck.
From there, he worked his way backward along the spines, crossed her broad shoulders, and settled securely onto her back.
“Sōvēs.”
Frostflame answered with a deafening roar.
Her enormous wings spread wide enough to blot out the sky.
With a tremendous rush of air, snow exploded upward into a raging gale as the massive dragon launched herself into the heavens and tore through the clouds.
The wind roared against Jon’s face.
Ahead of him, The Wall came into view, rising more than two hundred meters into the air and stretching for hundreds of miles.
Its battlements and beacon towers stood clearly outlined against the darkness.
Jon silently guided Frostflame toward a direction in his mind.
Receiving his intent, the white dragon wheeled once through the night sky before soaring directly over The Wall and into the lands Beyond the Wall.
Unlike the dragons described in the old records, Frostflame showed no fear of whatever power lay beyond it.
“It seems the magic within The Wall has no effect on her.”