Chapter Text
Fila was once the archer for a free folk raid group, however she had long ago abandoned the group, sick of their leader attempting to steal her in the night. Rather than slitting his throat like the man deserved, Fila simply took away one night while she was on watch. She travelled south, and eventually made her way to a walled castle surrounded by a rich godswood.
She hunted and fished and lived easily in the cold, killing any bandit or raider who thought she was easy pickings.
One night she was closer to the walled castle than usual, when she saw a large group of men on horses coming towards the gate. She watched curiously at the young man in the lead with dark hair and stern grey eyes. She heard the unmistakable sound of a crying child. Wondering at the noise, she snuck through the gate and followed the sound of cries.
The party had stopped at the landing of the castle, where a young woman with long red hair was waiting with a red-haired babe in her arms. She noticed that the cries had stopped, as the carriage had stopped.
Fila watched as the man and women curtly greeted each other, and the women placed the babe in the man’s arms.
However, any semblance of joy on the young woman’s face disappeared quickly, as the carriage opened and a dark-skinned woman exited with a dark-haired babe in her arms, which, at feeling the cold, began crying once more.
The red-haired women immediately removed the child from the man’s arms and coldly asked, “Who is this? How long will she be staying?”
Mindful of the crowd, the young man looked around and calmly stated, “This is Jon Snow. He will be raised in Winterfell.”
The courtyard was silent, Fila was not the only one who had gathered to watch the unfolding drama.
“No.” The women whispered, glaring at the man.
But the man did not care, “I am the Lord of Winterfell, the boy stays.” Considering the conversation over, he gestured to the woman carrying the dark-haired crying child to take him inside.
As the babe was carried inside, the babe had looked up and caught Fila’s eyes. Immediately the crying stopped.
Fila watched the red-haired women. At the ice in her cold blue eyes as she glared at the defenceless child as the women carried her inside. Something inside Fila cried out, reaching towards this poor child, who is being faced with so much hatred.
And Fila knew, that she could not let Jon Snow remain with such a woman.
Free folk children are often raised within the tribe as part of a communal effort, loved and raised by all in the tribe. It was easy to see that this child would receive no love in this place, and Fila could not let the child remain in such a loveless place.
Fila waited till nightfall and infiltrated the castle, dodging guards and servants. She made her way through the castle, hoping to come across the nursery.
She opened a door and peeked inside, there was a crib in the middle of the room, and a woman sleeping on a cot against the wall.
Silently, Fila approached the crib. The auburn child was asleep, but Jon Snow was looking straight at her with big grey eyes.
Fila was worried the child may cry out, but he simply looked at her and gave her a gummy smile.
Fila knew she was doing the right thing.
Leagues away from the castle, Fila got off her stolen horse, and removed the babe from inside her shirt, where she had been keeping him warm. Ensuring that the horse had not been travelling too fast, he had been rocked to sleep by the constant movement. But now that they had stopped, his grey eyes were looking up at her again.
She knew that little Jon would need to feed soon, so she had been making her way towards a free folk camp to the west, where hopefully a woman with breastmilk or at least access to goat milk awaited.
Fila didn’t understand much of Lords, like that man and woman, but she knew it likely that she had been followed, for stealing the horse, if not for stealing the babe. She had to go beyond the reach of the Lordling, she had to go back north of the wall, where her tribe still lived.
She would raise the boy to be a great warrior, and perhaps one day they would return together.
It was a close call, getting the boat around the wall. There was no attended castle of crows by the west end of the wall, but only because the rough seas, bay of ice, and consistently awful weather killed almost all free folk who attempted to cross.
But finally, Fila, little Jon, and a small group of free folk who also wished to come back north had arrived safely home. Luckily for Fila, one of the free folk women at the camp had recently had a child, and wished to raise it north of the wall, where it would be safer from the southerners who would sooner kill the babe and its mother than let them live on their lands. The woman was happy to help ensure that little Jon was well fed.
They had been back for week, when a snow storm like no other hit.
Fila curled around Jon, keeping him as warm as she could so he would not perish in the cold. The other woman was not so lucky, and the blue tinge of her newborn daughter’s lips had the women wailing in grief into the wind.
Frightened by the storm and the wailing woman, Jon Snow began to cry as only newborns can.
Within the storm, Fila saw blue eyes like ice appear out of the darkness. Feeling even more cold than before, yet unable to move for being frozen stiff herself and a fear of exposing little Jon to the elements, Fila felt a shiver of sheer terror move throughout her body.
“No, no, no, no,” she whispered to herself, remembered stories told to her as a child of creatures of ice and snow, with cold blue eyes, “Jon. Jon I will keep you safe. Jon. Please. Please, be safe.”
These were Fila’s last words as the cold finally took her, and Jon Snow was lifted from her frozen arms by the creature of ice.
The child has a heart of ice and fire.
So warm, and yet so cold.
So dangerous, and yet so peaceful.
Once the child is in his arms, the crying stops, and grey eyes look up at the Night King.
He feels what a danger this child could be, yet he also feels the sheer potential that such a child could bring.
The Gods had made a grave mistake in letting the child come across his path so young, it was a decision that the Night King was determined to make them never forget.
The child, Jon Snow, a Song of Ice and Fire, the Prince who was Promised, would be his greatest creation yet.
The Night King had arrived at the ancient alter, where he had been creating fellow White Walkers for centuries, and he placed the child on the slab of ice.
With a touch to Jon Snow’s forehead, his dark locks turned white, his skin, already pale, began to have a tinge of blue, like ice was running through the childs veins, and his eyes, once grey now a shining violet.
A Song of Ice and Fire, with skin of ice, and yet a warmth inside him that couldn’t help but try to escape. Jon Snow was reborn.
The world would never be the same again.
To be continued...