Game of Thrones: King of Magic

Prologue

Jon Snow. Wolfwood.

A cold wind blew around the surroundings of the Wolfswood, and the particles of ice and snow present settled on the equally cold ground. The sun had long since left the firmament, replaced by a full moon creating at least some light, and the howling of wolves and the cawing of crows swept through the forest now and then. A commonplace sight in the lands of the North.

But... it was cold. I was cold. The fur cloak, which was too big for a fourteen-year-old boy like me, barely kept me warm. I tried to retain every bit of warmth I had by wrapping myself heavily in it. I had managed to find a small cave to shelter in from the wind and snow, and the distance to Winterfell was about two kilometers, and it was very dangerous to try to walk there at night. And, if I fell asleep, I would freeze to death, or maybe become lunch for the wolves or bears that lived in the forest. Or maybe the murderers and traitors of the North will find me sleeping. And I don't even want to think what they will do to me. And starting a fire and drawing their attention to me is a bad decision. I won't be able to defend myself.

Why am I in this situation?! How did I get lost?! Where did it all go wrong?! And why did it happen just when I finally had the chance to prove myself.

Lady Stark informs me that Father would like to see the bravery that characterizes his house. Namely, a short escorted walk into the Wolfwood. At that moment, a sense of joy and impatience stirred in my heart. And, of course, I happily agreed.

The group of the two escorts and I set off deep into the forest, and as I thought at the time, without much incident. But at some point, the two disappeared, and I was left alone. Hungry and freezing. Away from home and family. In some cave.

As my fatigue began to take over, two silhouettes appeared at the entrance to the cave I was hiding in. I finally had hope, and I used all my remaining strength to shout out just one word. Or rather, I tried.

- Help," instead of a scream, it came out of my throat, a hoarse, weak mumble that sounded more like a whisper. But it managed to reach their ears. When they came closer, I could see them. They were two men. Overgrown hair, fur garments covered in snow and sewn together without any uniforms or insignia. My hopes crumbled as quickly as they had appeared when I was able to get a glimpse of them. Wildlings. Here. In the Wolfwood.

- Look who we found. By the look of his pretty face, he's a noble. Are you going to sew him up, or shall I? - said one of them.

- I'll do it. I haven't seen one of these in a while. What do you think his cries of pain sound like? - said the other one.

- We'll find out.

After discussing their plans, they began to move toward me and grinned predatorily. My body had already fallen to the ground and was not listening to me. All I could do was just watch and wait for my fate.

Am I going to die here? Just like that?

...

I can't accept it! My story isn't over yet! I choose my own fate and refuse to die here!

After these thoughts, a second breath opened in me. Somehow, I got to my feet and, looking at the two wildlings while pulling out my dagger, I shouted:

- Come on, you bastards! I'm not going to die here without proving my worth to myself and the world!

- Good words, child," I suddenly heard a man's voice from the cave entrance.

All three pairs of eyes turned toward the source of the voice. There, in the passage, under the howling of the winds and in the faint light of the moon, was a silhouette covered in darkness. Only two eyes the color of pure gold shone brightly in the poorly lit cave and were directed at us. Or rather, at me. I could feel it.

- Who are you?! - The wildlings shrieked, pointing their weapons at the silhouette. - This is our prey!

In response to their words, one of them burst into flames, and in a second his body was completely reduced to ash. He didn't scream in pain. He didn't wriggle as his body burned. He just didn't have the time to do so. In just a second, his body disappeared in the fire. Not even a bone left.

The second wildling saw this and began to tremble. My nose could even catch a whiff of urine from his side. His hand holding the weapon was shaking uncontrollably, as was his voice.

- W-who... are... you?

- Does it matter? - replied the silhouette. And, a second later, the body of the second wildling flashed and disappeared just like the first.

As soon as it was just me and him in the cave, his gaze settled on me, and his silhouette began to move slowly toward me. And, as soon as I caught his gaze on me, I felt not fear that I would be next, but awe. Even, awe. And the moment the silhouette covered in darkness dissipated, I was able to make him out.

The man's skin was a swarthy color usually reserved for the inhabitants of Dorne. His long snow-white hair fluttered in the remnants of the breeze blowing through the cave, and a small braid hung down the left side of his chest. A black and scarlet colored cloak, secured by ties to his shoulders, moved in time with his hair. His black and white shirt had inserts embroidered in gold. On his tattooed hands and fingers with black painted nails, gold rings shone. In one hand he held a golden staff with an upside-down lamp-shaped tip. His skirt of the same color as his shirt, more like a dress, was secured by a braided scarlet sash, and his tail hung down the front.

And the most unusual thing about his appearance was that he had bare feet that also had rings on them. He was barefoot. In the North. It was as if he didn't care about the cold at all.

This man looked so different. So... magical.

And this man's aura was like my father's when he did his duty as ruler of the North, but more powerful. More significant. It was as if the King himself stood before me. His gaze the color of pure gold created some kind of feeling. My mind, trying to describe that feeling, could only produce one word: "Wisdom."

Yes, "Wise King" is a fitting title for this man.

- You have done well, child," the man said relaxedly. - And now you can rest. Your father would be proud of you.

After those words, I felt as if I had been lifted from my shoulders. I fell to the ground, dropping the dagger, and tears of relief flowed from my eyes. My strength began to drain from my body like the burning remnants of a candle. And using whatever was left in my childish body, I whispered: "Thank you," and I blacked out.

And the last thing I saw before that was the man's kind smile. The one that warmed my heart, the one that only my father could give me.

-0-

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