House Pendragon | Game of Thrones Fanfiction [OC]

Camelot's Beginnings

"So, as the new King-Beyond-the-Wall, what may be your first action?"

"Honestly, I have been meaning to do this from the very beginning: I want to relabel what my people are called — they're no longer barbaric, so a thoughtful name is what they deserve... not Wildlings."

"But don't they refer to themselves as the Free Folk already?"

Arthur only shook his head. "Starting this moment, the Free Folk are non-existent — they serve under me and me alone."

He wanted a handle that demand respect when others hear it. Something which will strike fear at enemies before and during war. A nation who'll rise above all as the single most powerful realm humanity could ever witness be built. Thus, finally concluding, it shall be this: "Britannians."

"Britannians?" Merlin asked. "Like a British citizen, you mean?"

"No..." Denied Arthur. "That empire clearly sunk down, there's zero point in reviving anything that can't even keep itself from suffering downfall."

"You have a very uncanny mind of thinking, Arthur. And I'm not saying it's bad, but I truly am glad to have picked you instead of anyone else — it made all become exceedingly worth it."

Arthur never-minded his companion's weird array of complements and looked onwards, searching for a familiar-looking redhead hiding among the sea of faces. When she was no where to be found, he got worried. Has his plan already gone south without him? No that can't be, thought Arthur.

He ordered the nearest person from the crowd and command them to find her — ain't a single way that he's starting the plan without Westeros' best. Until Arthur meets Ygritte however, the boy decided to take a stroll around the camp and inspect every aspect it can give.

Arthur cringed as he saw a bundle of inefficient and unpolished weapons lying around uncared for. They are worst than I initially thought.

"How do they expect to win with those nasty things? Sure, they have the numbers, but it'll only get them so far."

"There aren't really that much weapon-making minerals that one can just blindly find here, Arthur."

"Of course, there isn't." Arthur looked around. "It's all covered up below snow. Even if they did somehow managed to scavenge some, I doubt that the Wildlings could shape them into any game-changing tools."

"What do we do about it then?"

"In terms of forging swords and whatnot, we'll need a blacksmith."

"Well, there are no blacksmiths up here, Arthur."

"I know." He started strolling again with Merlin. "I'll just keep a mental note to operate a capture mission in the future."

The next abundance in need of Arthur's insight were the actual fighters. He knew that the Free folk were strong, but without proper training and discipline — like Jon Snow had once said on the show — transfiguratively, their raid would only end up wasted. Every single one's life shall be cut short once they try to invade. And Arthur believed that to be true.

None of his people were training. Some were having a rough-and-tumble, letting their primitive natures take over while others just laze around doing nothing productive. He does keep most things in mind, and questions have been piling up one after the other for him to interview Merlin.

They can't be this futile, or could the Wildlings still be waiting on me to say something? Arthur kept thinking deeply and had not even realised that the girl he wanted to see earlier, Ygritte, was finally standing right in front of him.

"Young Master Pendragon!" But Merlin snapped him out of his mind.

"Yes, Merlin?"

"Weren't you in the search for Miss Ygritte over here earlier?"

The boy eventually turned around to face said girl, but was only left wide-eyed once he bare witnessed to the supposed much younger version of the infamous Wildling sniper. Such a stunning revelation it was for Arthur to discover. If Ygritte turned out to be this way, what else could he be missing from the equation?

***

Currently, the dimension-travelling duo were in a private confab about the now revealed situation, with Ygritte waiting outside the small yurt. Arthur had not plan at all for this, his schemes would surely need to be rehashed soon. Although, he most definitely doesn't mind, Merlin's unspoken actions has only given him more time to prepare.

All the information had been laid out fully and truthfully — no more hidden words between them. It was coherently set in stone for anyone to read aloud, organised neatly even. On Arthur's hand it rests, a piece of paper storing the most paramount knowledge in all of Westeros.

"Couldn't you just have shared me this in tongue, Merlin?"

"Yes, supposed I could've, but an old mind is indefinitely a forgetful one."

"Well, before you go, answer me this: what are the memories you engulfed in each Wildling brain box?"

Merlin grinned. "Does Your Grace demand me to confess and unfold his people's entire life story?"

"It's not written by ink!" Arthur dangled the letter in front, making it showcase. In proving a point, he rolled it back up and casted said parchment aside. "Midnight draws near, so only dictate what you deem is cardinal among the rest."

Bit by bit did the howling winds became colder and fierce, with each passing second decreasing any chances of birthing fire. Ygritte though wasn't bothered, for she's been accustomed to winter ever since birth, but the redhead does wonder why Arthur told her to standstill and twiddle one's thumbs.

Ygritte didn't understood the metaphor at the slightest, yet followed through. "...What's taking him so damn long?"