Natural Enemy?

Jon's eyes briefly flickered to Mance, and then to Val. It became apparent that none of them had the faintest idea just what he was talking about... Well, Jon did to some extent but he had also seen the Others before.

He'd seen their icy blades, heard their old and powerful words carried by the shrill wind. Jon had seen the dead they raised, the great spiders and beasts they rode.

The Others were not great in number like men were, but each man dead was another added to the wights they commanded. Truth be told, Jon could not be sure Karl could do much despite what he'd seen the man do.

"That's foolish. Do you honestly believe you stand a chance?" Mance said. He rose to his feet, and put a hand on Val's shoulder. "Nevermind him. You go. With Lord Crow over there."

Karl only cocked his head again, "Man, you recognised me. I reckon you have some way of crossing the Wall. Then I know for a fact that you heard the stories too."

He turned about and started walking, slowly sliding the pale longsword slung over his shoulder out of its aged scabbard. The blade was chipped, and seemed dull even if it was the size of a full grown man.

Even sellswords honed their weapons, to keep them sharp and ready to spill blood. For all intents, Karl did not look a warrior at all.

What warrior wore silk to battle and kept a dull blade?

But then he had never presented himself as one either, Jon remembered. Whistling to Ghost, he started after the sorcerer.

"Damn fool." He heard Mance mumble, and that was all he heard before he stepped out of the tent to be hit with a burst of cold wind that froze even the sweat on his brow.

All around the camp, the free folk scurried, brandishing whatever odd wooden spears or bronze axes they possessed before joining the giants near what Jon assumed was a fence. Beyond, a thin mist crept across the ice, and within mist Jon saw burning eyes of blue. Ghost snarled next to him at the faint clatter of bone and steel.

Jon followed Karl to the frail defence the free folk were attempting to mount. But, it was apparent that it would be a futile effort. They did not have the weapons, their flank was left unguarded, and they had too many to protect.

Not all the free folk women were spearwives like Val and Ygritte, and then there were the children and the elderly as well.

Truly, Jon didn't know what to make of things. He remembered his brothers, Samwell and Grenn and Pyp, even Rast and that ugly red-faced steward Chett with a face full of pimples. Then he recalled his real brothers; Robb, who was off fighting a war and Bran who remained at Winterfell, his legs broken.

But for some odd reason, his heart told him that he would meet them again. That this wasn't the sort of end he'd be meeting.

"You know, Jon. I've been thinking about it for a bit now and uhh, those R'hllor cult guys really have it wrong." Karl said suddenly, the tip of his blade dipped in ice as he dragged it along behind him.

In the distance, some of the free folk ran headfirst into the mist, shouting and screaming. Their war cries were silenced fully not a moment later. The mist kept on, much faster.

Tormund shuffled up to his side, a rusted axe in one hand and a stone mace in the other. He stumbled, then shouted something but Jon didn't pay attention to the giant man, all too curious about what Karl was sputtering in the face of a cold death and a worse fate after.

"They say fire is life or whatever, and ice is the enemy. But I've seen a couple of fires in my life so far and all I can say is fire is indiscriminate ruin and chaos. You can see it in the way a flame flickers." He nodded to himself, pointing his blade at the mist, "The only peace you'll have from fire is after it's destroyed everything it catches."

"The hell are you even saying boy?" Tormund questioned.

"But ice is well... The cold is like immediate silence. You drop the temperature enough and everything is going to be calm in a flash."

Jon found himself agreeing with Tormund... What the hell was he even saying?

"But, contrary to expectation. You can actually call the cold a calm order, and fire chaos." He held the blade to the side and Jon felt...

"Heat?"

Under the confused eyes of man, a crimson flame ran along the blade as Karl held it aloft, pointing at the clear skies.

The cold fled to the heat, and Jon had to take a step back lest his skin burn and his hair catch fire. The snow under their feet sizzled and melted away, revealing naked earth underneath.

The free folk gasped and fled. Some cried magic. Some revered Gods that none knew come to them in their time of need. Most ran and backed away.

In a casual motion, Karl drove the sword into the ground. A spark fizzled out where the steel struck earth, and then a sea of flame erupted to meet the chill mist.

Jon stumbled and fell back, startled.

It burnt away snow, drove away the seeping cold, and left black soil in its wake. Jon heard shrill cries, and cracking ice as those distant eyes fled as well. Karl held his palm over the blade.

"What I was trying to say was that the fire always wins if it's big enough," He shook his head in clear disappointment, crossing his arms. "Man, I thought at least a few of them would survive."

Jon's eyes moved back and forth between the blackened soil and Karl.

Much like his lord father, he too prayed to the Old Gods. Not the Seven. Not the Red God. But the Old Gods of the North. Who held no names of their own but watched always.

But, the Old Gods were Gods of stone, stream and forest. They were not destroyers and they did not appear so cleanly. Yet, even among Old Nan's stories, there had been no sorcerer or shaman that could do such a thing. None that could drive away the Others of legend with such great ease anyway.

Jon's thoughts were interrupted when Karl clapped his hands together, dusting them off, "Well now, that's done." He turned to eye the fearful free folk. "Now all of you are going to go back to the Wall and behave. You're going to bend the knee to the King and you're going to make honest livings of yourselves as people. Because you are people, even if you want to live like animals."

Ordinarily, the free folk would never follow such orders, even if they came from their King instead of someone they believed a southron, a kneeler. But now, well, even the most resentful among them would be more than willing to listen due to certain obvious reasons.

"If you don't want to do that. I'll be the one guarding the Wall should you decide to attack." He spoke softly, a small smile on his lips.

"The free folk are certainly going to be a lot more open to negotiation now," Jon mused quietly, eyes wandering to those of them that were already kneeling.

Karl chuckled and walked back into the camp, humming as he went. One would think he was returning home after a day of horsing around, that he hadn't just driven away eight thousand year old demons of ice with a sea of flame.

Jon went to retrieve his sword for him, but found that most of it had melted away. The grip was all that was left, and that too Karl had discarded as easily as a picked bone.

Yet, none of the free folk dared approach that bit of steel lying on the black soil.

They parted as he approached them, hurriedly clearing the way.

"What the fuck just happened?" Tormund mumbled finally, scratching the back of his head with the blunt end of his axe.

Hope you enjoyed.