[Chapter Size: 2100 Words.]

  Third Person POV.

  Winterfell.

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  The atmosphere at the table immediately grew tense as Jon maintained his calm gaze on them. Clearly, he noticed the men touching their waists, where they kept the knives they had used to eat that evening.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'd attract too much attention and be captured or killed before even attempting to leave the hall, especially here in Winterfell," Jon said, keeping a friendly smile that didn't match his words at all.

  "..." Everyone at the table kept their intense gaze fixed on Jon after his words. Those who had been gripping the hilts of their knives began to withdraw their hands, realizing his words made sense, but still uneasy about what this stranger wanted with them. After all, no one here should know who they were.

  Mance was deeply concerned now, but he decided to keep his composure as he looked at Jon.

  "What do you want...?" he asked cautiously.

  "Don't worry. If you're afraid I'll report you, I'm not interested in that. I just find this amusing. Two kings in the same hall—one posing as a drunkard and the other hiding as a bard. Where else could I witness such a scene?" Jon said, his tone laced with amusement, his gaze fixed on Mance, who still felt lost regarding this stranger's unknown intentions.

  "How did you find us?" one of Mance's men asked cautiously, glancing around to ensure no one overheard their conversation.

  "It's not hard. Your behavior gives you away. I'm not saying you don't know how to blend in—after all, you're here without anyone noticing—but the details betray you." Jon spoke calmly. They ate with their hands or didn't know how to use utensils properly, drank awkwardly, and always looked around suspiciously. No one else noticed, but to the dragonborn, it was obvious—even without the information he had received from Della and the others when Jon was at Mance's camp.

  "You said you wouldn't report us, but you still haven't answered why," Mance said, choosing his words carefully.

  "Let's just say I also came from beyond the Wall," Jon began, a smile spreading across his face. They raised their eyebrows skeptically—Jon clearly wasn't part of the Free Folk.

  "What do you mean?" Mance asked again.

  "I was at your camp. I must say, it's impressive—over 140,000 people." Jon revealed small details occasionally, just to gauge the reactions of the men before him.

  "He saw it?! Is he a southern spy?!" one of the men growled, rising to draw a blade, but Mance himself stopped him.

  "Stop it! Do you want to get us killed?!" Mance snarled, also standing as he grabbed the man's chest before he could lunge at Jon, removing the knife from his grip.

  "But Mance...?!" the man protested.

  "We have no choice but to listen to what he has to say here. Sit down and stop drawing attention!" Mance growled, noticing the surprised looks from the surrounding tables, while Jon remained seated, calm as ever beside another man at the table.

  "..." The man, with no other choice, reluctantly sat down, glaring at Jon with anger and suspicion—a sentiment shared by Mance and the others.

  "What were you doing there? A journey from there to here would take nearly a moon," Mance questioned again.

  "A moon? I left a week ago. And before you ask, I have my methods. Anyway, I met your pregnant wife, Della. She was the one who told me you were here," Jon said, and Mance raised an eyebrow in astonishment. The stranger didn't seem to suggest he'd done anything to his wife—his tone remained friendly—but it was still disconcerting to hear that she herself had revealed his current whereabouts.

  "Why would she do that?" Mance asked carefully.

  "I helped deal with a camp to the north when those undead invaded. We fought a hard battle, but we managed to handle it. I even killed one of those White Walkers for the first time—arrogant little creatures," Jon said, leaving the table in silence as the men tried to absorb everything they had just heard from the stranger.

  "He must be lying, right?" one of them said.

  "..." Mance looked at him without saying anything, still unsure how to deal with this stranger and the flood of information that seemed utterly absurd.

  Jon sighed, placed his hand in the middle of the table, and suddenly pulled an ice spear from his inventory, slamming it against the table. The act startled everyone, eliciting cries of shock from the men. Jon quickly stashed the spear away again, ensuring it wouldn't draw more attention than the few people who had glimpsed it appearing out of nowhere. He didn't bother with the small number of witnesses.

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  "What was that?!" the group exclaimed, their startled voices drawing stares from others, still focused on the spot where the spear had just been.

  "Can you stop screaming like girls?" Jon said, his tone dripping with disdain. The men, who had been glaring at him with anger and distrust moments ago, now looked at him with disbelief and fear in their eyes. No one could explain what had just happened.

  He continued, "Anyway, that spear I showed you was from one of the White Walkers I killed. I'll admit, you can't defeat them without Valyrian steel, as far as I've seen, or dragonglass, according to what the Children of the Forest told me. But I managed to deal with one of them myself. What I'm saying is—I'm not your enemy."

  Jon paused for a moment before adding, "However, the first person to draw a weapon against me here better be ready to die." His tone turned deadly serious as his eyes scanned each of the men present, who were still reeling from the icy trace left on the table by the spear's touch.

  Jon casually resumed drinking from his tankard, observing the silent men for the next ten seconds. Finally, Mance broke the silence.

  "And why are you here?" Mance asked. He had to know the man's purpose.

  "Well, I think I can explain that now. I believe we can reach an understanding this way. Look at the main table, Mance," Jon began, his tone calm.

  "I see it..." Mance replied, reluctantly using his name aloud, fearing someone might overhear and place his life on the edge of a sword. Still, he looked at the table.

  "The brooding Lord Stark is my beloved uncle. The fat man beside him, as you know, is the king," Jon said, also glancing at the table. Mance frowned slightly at the way Jon casually insulted both men, but his brow rose in surprise at Jon's next words.

  "You said uncle... Are you related to Lord Stark?" Mance asked, surprised.

  "Yes, my name is Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell," Jon said calmly, his eyes fixed on the main table.

  "..." Mance didn't respond immediately, stunned by this revelation. He had heard rumors during his time near the Wall but didn't know the details. "I heard he brought back a baby from the war, but you don't seem to match—because that was 16 years ago," Mance said.

  "Yes... but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I am that child, and I've just returned to Westeros. I've met your people beyond the Wall—Tormund, Karsi, Della, Vall, and some other camp leaders who were decent enough. But there were also some bastards I had to think twice about before killing," Jon replied, surprising the men, as all those names were well-known among them.

  "Are you here for them?" Mance asked, breaking the silence again.

  "Let's just say they owe me a debt... not just them, but others south of this kingdom as well. And I intend to make everyone pay." Jon spoke calmly, unbothered by revealing his goals to these people. After all, they were in a situation not so different from his. It was his way of telling them they didn't need to see him as an enemy. "So, Mance, King Beyond the Wall, I'm not your enemy. In fact, you could even consider me a wildling like you." Jon finished with a smile.

  Everyone else remained silent, waiting for Mance to respond. After all, no one really knew how to handle something so random.

  "You... you really killed a Cold Shadow?" one of them finally asked.

  "Yes... I believe I'm the only one who's managed to do so. There are only two ways to kill them since fire doesn't work against them. One is Valyrian steel—something you can't find beyond the Wall—but the Children of the Forest told us there are some dragonglass weapons buried in parts of the North. They even provided information on where to find them, and Della has already sent some men to retrieve them," Jon explained.

  "..." Once again, they fell silent, digesting what they had just heard, until another broke the silence.

  "You've mentioned the Children of the Forest twice now. What do you mean by that?" Mance was the one to ask.

  "Exactly what it sounds like, Mance. There are Children of the Forest in the camp where the rest of the Free Folk are. I found them further north, and after some negotiations, they moved to the camp. Anyway, it's a long story, and it's better for you to see them in person than for me to try convincing you here, south of the Wall," Jon said.

  "That is, if you don't turn us in first, right?" Mance spoke again, the distrust still evident on his face.

  "I've already shared things I shouldn't have told anyone here. I'm not here to do that, and I have no intention of it. I'll even return to the camp. After all... let's just say I've earned myself a few spearwives." Jon smiled as Mance raised an eyebrow. He continued, "But I also don't believe your people deserve to die like animals at the hands of the undead and their masters. So, count on me to help get them to this side of the Wall," Jon said.

  Mance took a few moments to absorb his words before nodding. He didn't have much choice, and the ice still visible on the table helped convince him. "Very well, Jon Snow..." he finally said.

  "Dovahkiin. Call me Dovahkiin. After all, no one should know who I really am," Jon replied with a friendly smile.

  "Abel. Call me Abel here," Mance said, and Jon nodded.

  "Alright," Jon said at last.

  Just as things were finally settling down at the table, someone approached them. "It's your turn to play," the person said to Mance—or rather, Abel.

  "Of course, I'm on my way," Abel replied in a more submissive tone as he stood up to head to the stage and play some songs.

  Jon was left with two Free Folk while the others accompanied Abel to the stage. The two remaining men seemed too cautious to speak much to Jon, though they occasionally asked questions about what had happened, to which Jon responded calmly with things that sounded absurd.

  Jon wasn't paying much attention to them or to the stage. Instead, he observed the movements around the hall, particularly watching his mother's family as they went about their usual routines. He debated whether to approach them as a stranger that night or not.

  It was at that moment that Mance returned from the stage with some coins he'd earned from the Stark men after entertaining the hall. But Mance didn't get a chance to talk to Jon again after sitting down, as the same Stark man approached their table once more, this time looking directly at Jon.

  "We're running out of bards, as most of them are drunk. You're up next—I heard you're a bard too," the man said.

  "Come on, Dovahkiin! Play us a song! If you can talk like you drink, you'll entertain us all tonight!" shouted someone from the table Jon had sat at earlier when he first entered the hall and had his drinking contest.

  "Well, gentlemen, it seems my turn has come. Abel, could I borrow your lute?" Jon asked with a smile, while the King Beyond the Wall seemed to ponder for a moment before finally handing his instrument to Jon.

  "Well, let's entertain this party," Jon said calmly, making his way to the stage with the lute in hand.

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