[Chapter Size: 3200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 298 AC.

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“Fill in all the names without leaving anyone out. I want everyone to be remembered in this hall, for the current Artica and for future generations of the kingdom.” Jon said as he watched many human sculptors working in that place, engraving the walls.

This was a special hall, built by order of the king as soon as he returned from his trade journey across the world. Jon saw the necessity, upon bringing fallen warriors from his battles, not only to bury them in their homeland alongside their families in Artica’s cemetery with their ashes—after all, leaving corpses would be complicated with White Walkers as enemies—but also to honor them in this place. That was why he created this site, known as the Hall of Heroes.

The names of those who had fallen and those who made a significant difference in the fight would be inscribed here. Their names would be carved one by one, so that their own children could see the men and women honored by Artica. After all, they died fighting for this kingdom and should be remembered as such.

“Let’s go, I’ll leave the rest to you.” Jon said to the one in charge.

The man bowed his head in respect. “Yes, Your Majesty. It will be done.” He replied as Jon left the place and stepped back into the streets of Artica.

“Let’s go to the king’s greenhouse.” Jon said as his retinue moved toward the breeding sector.

They arrived at the location half an hour later, after crossing the kingdom. The escort consisted of giants who always cleared the way for the king while Jon was cheered by the people from windows and along the streets, his guards ensuring a clear path.

Unsurprisingly, he found Seraphine inside, observing the crystals and other plants being cultivated.

“King Jon, the new batch of fortification for your children has arrived.” She announced.

Jon had given orders for his children to take the same potions as he, Arya, and his queens, albeit adjusted for their ages.

“Very well. Send them to the castle through my men.” Jon said as he spent part of the day inspecting the greenhouses and conducting experiments.

Afterward, he proceeded to the king’s forge, checking the stocks, which were nearly empty, as the dwarves were working on new armor and other projects using the ingots.

“King, you finally came here!” Unsurprisingly, Jon was greeted by Thor, who approached with a smile.

“I looked at some of the projects you’re starting. Very well. Keep the forge buildings near the Dragon Mountain, it will be more useful for everyone.”

Jon knew that with the new dragons growing and his developing ability to exert some control over them, he could put them to work in the creation of Valyrian steel. Even though it was a much slower process with him involved alongside Eragon, this would be the official production while he managed the kingdom as a whole most of the time. Therefore, large structures like the king’s forge were being planned for construction outside of Artica, in the mountains that were home to the dragons.

After finishing the inspection, Jon left the site and headed for the Senate, though not for a meeting with his ministers or with Artica’s representatives. This time, he entered a more restricted section of the place, where several guards stood watch, saluting him as he passed.

He ventured deeper and deeper, descending staircases and passing through reinforced doors. As he advanced, more and more guards were seen protecting that area.

It didn’t take long before he reached a solitary chamber, where the temperature dropped automatically as soon as he entered, the doors opening to reveal several guards wielding Valyrian steel weapons.

The cold was intense, and Jon knew exactly why.

As he walked forward, he approached the one responsible for the frigid air filling the chamber.

The creature simply stared at him the moment he stepped inside. Jon moved a bit closer, while the guards remained behind at his request. He knew how to take care of himself and wanted to face the creature alone.

Before him, a White Walker was imprisoned, chained with Valyrian steel chains. Recently, the chains had been reinforced with Valyrian steel to ensure that the creature could not escape its restraints. The creature remained silent, its eyes glowing with an icy and imposing blue.

The lighting in the chamber had also been modified, with magical crystals illuminating the space, their light reflecting off the embedded crystals in the walls. These had to be replaced daily, as they required sunlight to recharge.

Returning his attention to the creature, this White Walker had been captured years ago when they were still attempting to attack Artica during the construction of the wall. Of course, after being defeated countless times, they had given up, but this was one of the rewards they had gained during that time.

The White Walker had never required any physiological elements to survive. It did not eat, drink, sleep, or need anything else that a living being required.

Jon had decided to keep it there for security reasons, so they could study the creature. Obviously, during the battles against them, many undead had been captured, and some members of the university were studying them, but those were in other cells. This White Walker was the most valuable prisoner they had, the only one they had managed to capture without killing.

The creature simply analyzed Jon in silence, while Jon looked back at it. There was no caution, fear, anger, or hatred in the White Walker—just an indifferent gaze, as if Jon were something trivial. Jon could say the same as he observed it.

Countless people had come there before, just as Jon had many times. Everyone had tried to communicate with the creature, but it had never responded—if it even could. It only watched, ignoring all questions.

“Well… It seems the time for war between the living and the dead is beginning. We will protect this world here in the North, without needing help from other peoples, while you will be destroyed. I know your leader is called the Night King, but it doesn’t matter. Soon, he will fall.” Jon spoke calmly to the creature, after all, he wanted to look into its eyes now that the war was about to begin.

The White Walker merely stared at him with its winter-cold eyes. Without receiving a response, Jon turned his back—there was nothing more to do there.

“You will die…”

Suddenly, the creature spoke for the first time, making Jon stop and look back, raising an eyebrow. It spoke in the Old Tongue.

Jon’s surprise lasted only a few seconds before he smiled. “That’s what you think… But we will destroy you to the last one.”

“Arrogant human. You do not understand that when we begin advancing against you, there will be no salvation. Your days will be replaced by nights. The cold will freeze your food and your children. Death will spread across the land and walk, hunting and hunting the last living ones that remain.”

“Beautiful words. But don’t worry, soon you will be destroyed, just like your master.”

“My master has fallen once before.” The creature responded to Jon. “But he will never be truly dead. Even from the shells of ice, his spirit will remain alive and bound to this world, and he will rise once more. Until he destroys all of you.”

“Nonsense.” Jon said, turning his back. The White Walker also seemed to have no further intention of speaking.

He proceeded out of the chamber, leaving the creature behind.

“My king… It spoke…” One of the guards murmured, approaching with a stunned expression. He watched the monster with a hint of concern.

Jon simply shook his head. “Forget it. It’s nothing more than a chained creature. We will keep it for now. Just report that the creature made contact with us for the first time.”

The royal guards nodded.

Jon then left the place and headed toward his castle, leaving the Senate behind.

That afternoon, Jon spent time with his children, accompanied by his wives as well.

Jon was looking at his children with a fatherly smile—he had Loki, Lyanna, Jaehaerys, and Brandon as his already-born children. Besides them, four more would be arriving in a few months, and the last one, a little later, would be Seryna’s child.

Jon would have nine heirs in less than a year. It was quite a large number, and he was certain that this amount would still double. However, he needed to ensure that his children were properly educated, without the ambition of envying the one who would assume Artica, which would most likely be Loki.

After all, nothing was more important than family. This was a doctrine in Artica and, especially, within his own family—everyone should work together with Jon’s future grandchildren to make the kingdom prosper after he and his wives left this world.

He knew that the Old Gods would allow him to reunite with all of them after his death. That thought reassured him, for he knew he could be with his wives and children once again. But the gods would only grant this privilege to those who were worthy.

Jon would work to ensure that his family was worthy, so they could live forever on the other side, for all eternity.

Regardless, that night, he had dinner with his family at dusk, in one of the castle’s towers. Whenever the weather was good, he enjoyed eating there, as it offered a complete view of Artica shining with the crystals scattered throughout the city.

The crystals created another aurora in the sky, a magnificent effect that caught the attention of those even beyond the kingdom’s walls. From what Jon had observed, it was possible to see them from the Wall itself, even at a great distance.

He only wondered what the reaction of the men of the Night’s Watch had been and how they were dealing with it. This thought reminded him of the letters Arya had sent him over the past moons.

At the end of dinner, they left the place, and Jon decided to spend the night with Rhaenys, calling her to his private chambers. The queen arrived shortly after, and together, they shared an intimate night.

At dawn, even before the first rays of sunlight began to appear on the horizon, Jon was examining an ancient map he had retrieved from Valyria. He was placing the penultimate missing piece onto it, the section he had drawn based on what he found at the Mother of Mountains in Vaes Dothrak, as he analyzed the path he should follow in Valyria. The route was serpentine, filled with castles and landmarks—but all of them destroyed, some even indicating paths filled with red water, representing molten lava.

Then, something strange caught his attention. The map had been created before the Doom of Valyria, yet whoever had drawn it seemed to have foreseen the destruction.

However, this path was not the one Jon had followed. He had stopped on the western coast to explore the city where he found the map… while the map itself indicated that the trail began on the eastern side, advancing southward, crossing the largest area and mountain range of Valyria until reaching what appeared to be a temple.

Unfortunately, Jon couldn’t see more details, as a portion of the map was still missing.

He had no idea where that missing piece could be, but the Red God had already stated that it would come at the right time.

Setting that aside, Jon went to the letterbox, where he found several correspondences sent by Arya, who continued writing about her journey through the South, accompanied by her family as they visited noble castles throughout the kingdom.

She, her father, Robb, and Bran were traveling with her through the North, while Sansa and Rickon remained in Winterfell.

He didn’t quite know what to think about that.

Arya always asked Jon to respond to her father. His uncle wanted to apologize in person, claiming that he deeply regretted what had happened.

Jon reflected on that. He didn’t know exactly what to feel. His life in Winterfell had never been easy, and those memories would remain with him for the rest of his life.

The nights he spent hungry and cold, with no one to help him.

The betrayal of his own brother.

The lie that his supposed father had hidden from him his entire life.

The truth about his mother.

And, above all, what Catelyn Stark had done to him.

Even though she had never known the truth about him—that he was not Lord Stark’s bastard son—even if she could have acted differently, Catelyn had still been ruthless. She had made his life a living hell simply because of his existence.

Jon saw a stack of letters from Winterfell, sent by Lord Stark along with Arya. He had never opened them.

Sighing, he decided to open one for the first time.

Rhaenys was still lying in bed while he stood, facing the window in his study, holding the letter and reading what his uncle had to say.

What was written there was not much different from what he already knew from Arya’s letters. He saw the decisions his uncle had made:

Robb trying to redeem himself and telling the truth about what had happened.

Catelyn Stark’s expulsion from Winterfell.

Theon Greyjoy’s punishment.

Arya taking care of the family and managing their household alongside her father and Robb.

Jon couldn’t help but smile. Arya was an extraordinary woman.

She was taking control of her own family, while until now, his uncle had remained blind and naïve to everything around him.

In the end, Lord Stark, besides publicly exonerating him from the accusations of theft when he was a child, also cleared his name of the supposed attempt to kidnap Arya.

They were rebuilding the North’s perception of him, bringing a new perspective to his name—aside from the fear everyone had of how powerful he had become over the years, proving it through his journeys.

Not that he needed it. After all, Jon had never really cared about it years ago.

Then, Jon read the last words of the letter.

Lord Stark officially offered him the Winter Crown, which his son had borrowed.

Jon set the letter down and looked at the two pieces before him.

There was a Valyrian steel crown, encrusted with jewels, which Thor himself had forged alongside the dwarves.

And there was another crown, much more mystical—a crown made of pure ice, far simpler in decoration than the first, the one he had used to dominate the giant clans years ago during Artica’s development.

That was why he had gone to Winterfell—to face his past and retrieve this piece.

Jon observed the crowns and reflected. “Perhaps this is the crown I should wear… Even if it has never been that important.”

Despite his ministers always insisting otherwise, saying that a king should wear something worthy of a king, if he were to choose one, he would choose the Winter Crown.

“The King of Winter might be more fitting than this pile of jewels.” Jon murmured as he felt arms wrap around his neck and hands press against his bare chest. He was wearing only pants, having just gotten out of bed, while Rhaenys massaged his muscles.

“What is it, husband? You’ve been standing there reading letters for a while.” She asked as the sun was already beginning to rise.

“I’m thinking about my uncle’s letters.” Jon commented.

“I think you should talk to him, Jon.” Rhaenys said.

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. “You think so?” He asked, as she nodded.

“Yes. It’s time for you to resolve this, Jon. I’m not the only one who thinks so—you know that your other wives don’t want you to regret this for the rest of your life. This might be the last time you see your uncle. The war is coming, Jon, and you, more than anyone, know that.” She said, while Jon looked at her for a moment before finally nodding.

“I’ll consider it.” Jon simply said, as he heard a knock on the door.

“Yes?” He responded, signaling that he was awake.

“My king, Jaehaerys woke up early and is at the entrance, asking to come in.” The royal guard said.

Jon looked at Rhaenys and saw her smile. Quickly, she grabbed a robe to cover her bare body before Jon gave the order to open the door.

The boy entered, curious, before spotting his parents and grinning at the servant who cared for him. “Papa! Mama!” He ran toward them. Jaehaerys was almost two years old and full of energy.

Jon lifted him into his arms, holding him firmly before placing him on the bed. The Artican servant who looked after the child excused herself, leaving the king and queen alone with their son. Jon set the letters aside for now, focusing on his family, while ordering food to be brought so they could spend the morning together.

Meanwhile, in another place, a week later, outside of Artica, ships advanced through the canal toward the sea, carrying new stockpiles of food and goods to Braavos. As they disappeared over the horizon, people began to gather along the canal, watching the ships in the distance.

It was not an unusual sight. Many people outside of Artica frequently observed the ships passing through the canal. They had two options: either follow them to Artica or ignore them completely. If they attempted any hostile action to raid the ships, they were swiftly eliminated. Some, bolder than others, tried their luck and ended up falling to the Artican forces.

“What is that?” one of the men murmured, adjusting his fur coat, just like his companions, as they curiously watched the disappearing ships.

“Have you ever seen anything like this around here?” another asked.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. The kneelers are in our lands!” one of them accused.

“Then… that light we saw at night… We’ve been following it since it appeared two moons ago. Could it be them?”

The men continued debating, observing the situation with curiosity, unsure of exactly what was happening.

“Should we follow the ship or head to the other side?”

“I don’t know… Maybe we should warn Mance first.”

“But what if… What do you think?” the first man asked his companion.

The other seemed to ponder for a moment before answering.

“I think you’re right. Let’s head back to the camp. But tell the men to check out what’s happening here.”

He spoke as a group of twenty men set off northward, toward Mance’s camp, where the self-proclaimed King-Beyond-the-Wall had settled with his coalition of tribes. They marched toward the Wall.

This was the first contact between the great coalition of northern tribes that Mance had gathered and Artica. Now, everything depended on how things would unfold.

Whether they would handle this peacefully or if a war would begin depended on the actions of Mance’s tribes, who were now drawing closer to Artica.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 253 – Free Folk vs Dead Army 02.

Chapter 258 – Uncle Benjen.

Chapter 268 – I am Arya Stark… of Arctic.

Chapter 277 – The Reception of Arya Stark.

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