[Chapter Size: 3300 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 297 AC.

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The flames quickly began to illuminate the place as they were forcefully unleashed, falling like a rainstorm from the sky into the workshop. From the outside, people could see the enormous dragon perched atop the structure. There was an opening at the top, allowing it to release its crimson flames with precision.

Eragon, the gigantic dragon nearly 30 meters long, was positioned over the king’s forge, obeying his father’s orders. Amidst the fiery chaos, the sound of a hammer striking against a form of Valyrian steel resonated, echoing through the workshop. Someone was working tirelessly, indifferent to the sea of flames around them, where no one else could possibly survive.

That someone was none other than the King of Artica himself. Jon continued hammering on the anvil, shaping new ingots of Valyrian steel. His hammer was the only symphony in that blazing environment. He delivered his final strikes to the glowing metal, leveling it with precision in his latest work at the forge. Satisfied with the perfect ingot, he gave a mental command to Eragon.

The dragon immediately stopped expelling flames, closing its mouth and waiting for further orders. The blazing fire gradually died down, revealing the king still standing at the center of the workshop. He was naked, his clothes completely consumed by the fire—something that had become quite normal for him when working alone there.

There were many ways to forge Valyrian steel, but Jon had discovered the best possible method: fusing ordinary metal with magic while directly receiving the flames of a dragon. In addition, he inscribed magical runes into the forge, enhancing the metal’s durability and power during its transmutation.

He looked at his work with satisfaction and flashed a wide smile, analyzing the freshly created ingot to ensure it was flawless.

“I think that’s it for today, buddy.” He addressed the dragon, still perched at the opening in the workshop’s ceiling.

Eragon, however, did not immediately react, merely continuing to observe Jon with his intelligent and inquisitive eyes.

Jon then walked through the king’s forge to a corner, where he retrieved new clothes to dress himself. Once clothed, he picked up the ingot and carried it to a storage area, where at least 28 other ingots were neatly stacked.

Normally, common steel weighed around 10 kg per ingot, but Valyrian steel was unlike any other metal. It was half the weight of common steel, yet several times stronger and far sharper. This was why it was known as the magical steel of dragons.

These two hundred ingots were Jon’s weekly production. He managed to forge 140 kg of Valyrian steel per week, and after three moons and a few more days, he had already accumulated 1.8 tons of the precious metal. Now that he had mastered the process he had developed himself, his next goal was to expand production.

He planned to create new forges so that the finest artisans could work with Valyrian steel and further increase Artica’s reserves. However, without dragons, there was no way to reproduce other methods that would allow blacksmiths to work without exposing themselves to dragon fire as he did. Even with large reserves of raw Valyrian steel, the lack of draconic fire limited the creation of new forges.

For this reason, Jon first focused on the production of weapons and armor. The Royal Guard was already fully equipped with Valyrian steel armor, including swords and shields. His wives and warrior ministers had their own, and even the army commanders were beginning to receive equipment forged from the kingdom’s most powerful metal to aid them.

So far, Jon had forged twelve complete sets of armor, with only his own being custom-made by his own hands—he also crafted the armor for his wives. Beyond that, he prioritized producing the raw magical steel while the dwarves worked on shaping the metal and crafting armor and weapons for the rest of the kingdom.

The dwarves, in fact, treated Valyrian steel as a true treasure. Working with this magical metal was an honor for them, and they quickly mastered its handling to create masterful designs.

With 1.8 tons of Valyrian steel, it was an unparalleled fortune. Since he began working with this metal, he had even surpassed the Valyrians themselves in the art of its creation. The artisan blacksmiths of Valyria took months to produce a small amount of magical steel, while Jon could produce 20 kg per day, transforming ordinary metal into something magical through runes he had developed during his research in the first moon after returning to the kingdom, eager to develop Valyrian steel immediately with the forge placed in this building.

He had spent an entire moon studying new ways to enhance production, and with the help of Seraphine and Leaf, he managed to create a new method. The two had assisted in studying magical runes, combining their knowledge to increase the efficiency of the metal’s transformation.

Thanks to Eragon, whose flames were incredibly powerful, and his own immunity to fire, Jon had created this unique technique—something no one else in the world could replicate. Not even the ancient Valyrians, with their millions of years of history, could have imagined that someone would be able to forge Valyrian steel in this way—and without the human sacrifices that were often used in ancient times. Eragon, no longer a young dragon, could now breathe fire for hours without tiring.

After ensuring that everything was ready, Jon began to leave the workshop.

“Wait for me at the castle.” He spoke to his dragon, while Eragon moved his head in understanding before flapping his wings and flying toward the white fortress beneath the Grand Weirwood.

As he left the forge, Jon found his guards already waiting for him. Thirty men, all clad in Valyrian steel armor—a relentless force, worthy of Artica’s Royal Guard. His warriors were now better protected than ever before, surpassing even the old Eldenmetal armors.

Jon approached some dwarves who were observing everything with curiosity, waiting for his orders as they were his assistants.

“I want you to tidy up the forge and inform Thor to transport the entire stock of Valyrian steel to the other forges. I will be away for a while and won’t be able to produce more. Work with what is available.”

The dwarves quickly nodded and began moving, each fulfilling their role. Jon then walked toward Ghost, his enormous white wolf, who was also wearing Valyrian steel armor. Now standing over three meters tall, the wolf looked like a true beast, his presence even more imposing under the metallic sheen of the magical armor.

Valyrian steel was already naturally light, but Jon had applied Eldenmetal technology, making it even lighter and more resistant with magical runes. With this enhancement, a full suit of armor weighed only 5 kg, allowing warriors to move completely freely, as if they were wearing nothing at all.

Jon imagined what an entire army equipped with this technology could achieve. It would be an unstoppable force—warriors who did not tire easily, covered by the best metal in the world. But for now, he would keep the Eldenmetal secret until the kingdom’s Valyrian steel stockpile was sufficient.

Accompanied by his men, Jon walked through the city streets. People stopped at the sight of him, watching his passage with great admiration. Some shouted his name, others pointed in his direction. He could see inspiration, respect, and even reverence in their faces.

Among the crowd, Jon noticed three young people, each accompanied by an animal. They were talking excitedly about him, their eyes shining with enthusiasm.

He was calm about all the attention, but suddenly thought about how, a decade ago, he would never have imagined living a life like this. Yet here he was—king of an entire nation, followed by his people, admired and respected.

And so, he continued toward the castle.

“You’re here, my husband!”

As soon as he dismounted his wolf, Jon found his wives waiting to receive him. Jaehaerys quickly ran up to him, leaving his mother’s side. Jon embraced his son before approaching Rhaenys and Daenerys, who had been waiting for him. They exchanged a few words and proceeded into the castle.

“How are the pregnancies?” Jon asked, looking at his pregnant wives.

“We’re fine, but… will you be back when we give birth to our children?” Rhaenys asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“Of course. It’s only been four moons since I returned from my journey to Yi Ti. I will certainly be away for another four months.”

That was his plan. Jon knew he wouldn’t take long in the Dothraki desert. His objective was clear: reach Vaes Dothrak, eliminate anyone who dared to challenge him while they were gathered, and at the same time, demonstrate his true strength to the Dothraki. This would earn their respect.

His plan was to cross the sea through the northern Bones and then advance to the coast north of Vaes Dothrak, which wasn’t too far. He would act swiftly.

“And today, you’re heading south… Are you sure about this, Jon? And alone?” Daenerys asked, visibly worried.

“I will have a dragon with me. I’ve already invaded Winterfell with him, I can handle this easily.”

Jon cupped Daenerys’ face and smiled calmly, showing that everything was under control.

She nodded, trusting him.

Regardless, he joined his other wives and called for everyone to gather for the midday meal.

“Well, in any case, I will head south this afternoon.” He then turned to Seryna.

“Seryna, I want you to be ready as well. We will leave in the next few days.”

Of all the queens, Seryna would be the only one to accompany him into the desert. Besides being physically stronger than any giant of Artica, she was the only one who wasn’t pregnant.

After all, just yesterday, Jon had discovered that Ygritte was also expecting a third child. He could see her in a corner, pouting, clearly wanting to accompany him as well, yet at the same time recognizing that she needed to stay and care for her daughter. This time, she couldn’t go.

After being away for almost two years, it was time to focus on his family. Brandon was growing, and their third child was now on the way.

“Father, can I go with you?” Loki asked, looking at his father with anticipation. Beside him, Lyanna also watched with wide, hopeful eyes, waiting for their father’s response.

Jon only smiled and shook his head. “Maybe in about fifteen years, you can come with me.”

His children sighed, disappointed.

“You were getting into battles at eight or nine namedays!” Seryna commented, laughing. “But I agree with you… They should only venture into danger when they’re truly ready.”

“Why so long?” Lyanna protested, crossing her small arms. Clearly, she had the adventurous spirit of her brother.

“As long as necessary,” Jon said, smiling at his daughter.

Either way, Jon spent some more time with his wives. In the early afternoon, he dressed in a Valyrian steel armor, perfect for a great legendary medieval warrior in the Westerosi style. At his belt, he secured Blackfyre, his official sword, and stepped outside, accompanied by some royal guards.

Eragon was already waiting for him in the courtyard, his enormous presence dominating the space. Standing at a safe distance from the majestic creature were all of Jon’s wives and children, watching his departure.

Jon approached each of them and said his goodbyes, exchanging embraces and words of reassurance before mounting the dragon’s saddle.

He had been planning to craft armor for Eragon, but there was a problem—the dragon’s constant growth. If it were to be built, it would require continuous maintenance, needing adjustments to fit his size at all times. Perhaps an adjustable plate armor would help, but the greatest challenge was the fact that no one besides Jon and his children could get close enough to the dragon to equip it.

Loki and Lyanna, in particular, were always climbing onto his head, and Eragon tolerated it patiently, though Jon suspected the dragon found the scene somewhat foolish. However, the dragon had never acted aggressively toward the children.

Jon settled into the saddle and ran his hand over its leather while fastening his belt.

“Well, buddy… it’s time to go. We’re heading south,” he whispered.

Eragon, as if he understood every word, began preparing himself.

The enormous dragon bent his knees, readying for the leap. Then, with a single, powerful movement, he launched into the air, beating his wings forcefully, rapidly ascending into the sky over Artica.

From the ground, his wives and children watched closely, seeing the gigantic creature disappear over the horizon.

“When can we fly with our dragons, Mama?” Lyanna murmured in Ygritte’s arms, who was also carrying Brandon in the other.

“In about fifteen years, maybe…” Ygritte smiled.

“Fifteen years again?” Lyanna pouted, clearly displeased with the answer. She wanted her dragons, Patya and Melkor, to grow quickly. The names had been chosen by her, using random words, and all she wanted was for them to be big enough to fly like her father did with Eragon.

Meanwhile, Jon continued his journey through the sky, flying miles above the ground, above the clouds. Eragon now had his own custom saddle, designed by Thor after Jon requested it from the dwarf. Now, no matter the speed the dragon reached, Jon couldn’t fall.

Beyond that, Jon had spent a great deal of time training with Eragon, learning more about his speed abilities, trying to understand them and even helping him improve.

“Hey, buddy… how about we speed up a little?” Jon grinned, feeling the excitement build inside him.

Eragon seemed to understand immediately. His eyes gleamed, and with an agile movement, he flapped his wings with renewed force.

Suddenly, a white, icy mist began to form around his wings, and the dragon doubled his speed. The air around them turned freezing and sharp, and as they advanced, a trail of ice started forming in the sky.

And he kept accelerating.

“This is truly incredible…” Jon murmured, feeling the wind cut against his face as he traveled at an astonishing speed. Eragon soared swiftly through the sky, and Jon took the moment to admire the scenery.

About thirty minutes later, he spotted the Wall. With a single beat of his wings, the dragon crossed the gigantic structure like a bolt of lightning, passing unnoticed by the patrolling rangers. In the sky, his white coloration camouflaged him among the clouds, making him nearly invisible to anyone looking up from below.

An hour later, Jon was already flying over Winterfell, observing everything from above through Eragon’s eyes. The dragon glided through the air with his head pointed toward the castle, allowing his father a better view of the ground as Jon connected to his mind to see through his vision.

Jon couldn’t help but be surprised to see his cousin training with the Unsullied. She was outside the walls, shouting orders while two royal guards followed closely behind her, likely overseeing her combat drills.

“Looks like she’s doing quite well…” he murmured to himself, while Arya, on the ground, watched the free folk train, taking advantage of her time outside her castle duties and also assisting her father in governing the North alongside Robb.

Suddenly, she looked up, narrowing her eyes as if searching for something in the sky after feeling the distinct sensation that someone was watching her. Her gray eyes scanned the blue sky with its scattered clouds, trying to detect any anomaly.

“I must be seeing things…” she murmured, shaking her head before returning to her training.

Jon left Winterfell behind and continued his journey. Not long after, he passed over Moat Cailin and proceeded toward his true destination: the southern swamps of the kingdom, where he sought the stronghold of Lord Howland Reed.

It didn’t take long to find it. With Eragon’s sharp vision, Jon spotted the fortress and began his descent, gradually reducing his speed. The dragon’s icy wings started to dissipate, returning to their normal state.

At Reed Fortress, Lord Howland was deep in thought, gazing at the swamp from his solar. In recent moons, he hadn’t been able to shake the vision his son had shared with him.

Jojen Reed had seen something disturbing—something that replayed in his mind every day. Howland knew that sooner or later, it would come to pass, believing in his son’s words.

What he hadn’t imagined was that it would happen today. At the exact moment he pondered the vision, something began descending from the sky in the distance.

Howland stood on the balcony. The scenery around him was dark and misty, with barren trees and muddy waters stretching as far as the eye could see—perhaps that was why he was able to notice the white mass descending from the sky.

Suddenly, a massive white creature began to fly over the area, drawing closer with each passing moment. But it wasn’t heading directly for the fortress. It seemed to be searching for a suitable place to land.

His eyes widened as he recognized the silhouette. It was exactly as his son had foreseen.

The dragon had arrived.

Before he could react, Jojen burst into the solar, completely frantic.

“Father!” The boy shouted, panting, his eyes wide with urgency.

Howland did not take his eyes off the sky.

“I know, son…” He murmured, unable to hide the admiration and surprise in his voice.

“I am seeing the dragon right now.”

Jon had spotted many places to land, but he needed to find a safe path through the swamp that would lead directly to the fortress. After surveying the region, he found a suitable trail, avoiding the castle’s main entrance.

He landed near the trail, but due to Eragon’s colossal size, some trees were crushed under the impact. The clearing he had chosen wasn’t large enough for the dragon, and the dry branches snapped easily, scattering across the damp ground.

Jon ran his hand over the saddle on the dragon’s back before dismounting.

“Well, I think I’ll be going alone from here, Eragon.”

Eragon let out a soft grunt, watching him closely.

“Stay here until I return or call for you, but… I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Jon dismounted and watched as the dragon settled onto the ground, shifting the broken trees around to form a small makeshift nest. Eragon then lay down on the muddy soil, patiently waiting for his return.

Jon adjusted his sword on his belt, took a deep breath, and followed the trail toward the fortress.

The walk took about ten minutes, and when he finally arrived, he was surprised to see that the fortress already seemed to be expecting him.

The gates were open, as if someone already knew he was coming. However, what truly surprised him was the presence of Lord Howland Reed himself, waiting outside, accompanied by his son, Jojen Reed, and a few guards.

The soldiers looked at Jon with caution and astonishment, their expressions a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Jon advanced without hesitation, his Valyrian steel armor gleaming under the sunlight. On his chest, the sigil of Artica was visible, emblazoned on metal so rare that it could have bought the very fortress before him.

Lord Howland could not hide his shock.

“You… you are Jon…?”

The man’s eyes were dazed as he analyzed every detail of the young man before him. Despite his green and gray eyes, Jon bore the coloration and features of the Starks. And the symbol of Artica on the Valyrian steel armor only meant one thing… He knew exactly what that symbol represented.

Jon held his gaze steady and responded calmly before the man could finish his sentence.

“I am Jon, King of Artica. And I am here to see you, Lord Reed.”

The atmosphere grew tense, and the guards beside Howland seemed uneasy.

Jon, however, did not avert his eyes.

He had traveled all this way in search of answers.

Answers about what truly happened at the Tourney at Harrenhal and the Tower of Joy.

And, more importantly…

Answers about who his true mother, Lyanna Stark, was and how she had lived.

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Raccoon Here:

I’m kind of high here, was my brief explanation of Valyrian steel a bit confusing?

I’m a bit tired here, I’ll make the images after getting some sleep.

Let’s talk a little about Lyanna Stark.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 235 – Some conversations and setting out for Essos again.

Chapter 240 – Arriving in Vaes Dothraki.

Chapter 250 – Threat from the North.

Chapter 259 – Negotiating with the Night’s Watch.

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