[Chapter Size: 3200 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Beyond the Wall, 298 AC.

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Craster’s screams echoed throughout the clearing and part of the forest, in front of the heart tree, as his hands were nailed directly to the trunk of a tree.

“My king… wouldn’t it be better if someone else did this?” murmured one of Artica’s soldiers hesitantly, as he approached Jon holding a hammer.

He tried to ignore the man’s piercing screams as he watched the king strike without mercy.

“No,” Jon replied, turning his gaze to the man. And then struck Craster’s hands once more with the hammer. “The gods have given me the answer. And I must carry out the execution myself.”

He was not at all pleased to hear someone scream like that. It was a brutal torture, and Jon was not someone who enjoyed watching the pain and suffering of others. But this was the sentence of the old gods — and it had to be fulfilled.

“Please… don’t kill me!” Craster begged, crying as he looked with pleading eyes at Jon, who ignored him the entire time.

He had regained consciousness the moment his hands were nailed to the tree. The first strike with the hammer had brought him back to reality, pain flooding his nerves like fire, and he began to scream like an animal after that.

“You should have thought of that before you started helping the enemies of mankind,” Jon murmured coldly.

“I… I had no choice!” Craster screamed, wishing it would all stop.

“You always had a choice. Sometimes, even death is a better one than this,” Jon replied. “Either way, I’m not finished yet.”

He sighed, looking at one of the Artican men who approached with some objects. Jon extended his hand to finish nailing both of Craster’s hands in a crucified form.

“Give me the knife.”

The Artican warrior handed him the blade. Jon then tore the upper part of Craster’s garments, exposing his fat back. Slowly, he began to cut into his skin, making a long, painful incision.

Craster screamed in agony, writhing, but he couldn’t escape.

“The Boltons would certainly love this…” Jon said with disgust, as he looked at Craster’s back, now torn open, and handed the knife back to the soldier. He then took a small axe.

The prisoner cried with all his might, trying to break free, screaming for help — anything that could get him out of there. But no one responded as only the Artican soldiers were present.

Jon looked at the torn flesh on the man’s back, already exposed. He raised the axe, without hesitation, and brought it down with force.

The screams echoed throughout the clearing. Birds flew from the trees, startled by the sound of pain and steel cutting flesh.

Jon continued. With each strike, more ribs broke. And, little by little, they were pulled out, as if they were open wings.

Only after some time did Craster finally give in. His body trembled one last time before going completely still, eyes open, staring into nothing.

In a final act, Jon asked for help from the soldiers. They removed the nails from the corpse’s hands and dragged the body to the front of the heart tree.

With a knife in hand, Jon knelt before the tree. Then, he plunged the blade into Craster’s belly and cut from top to bottom. The entrails spilled out, staining the snow red.

“The guts will nourish the heart tree,” Jon said solemnly.

“That was brutal, my king…” murmured Ducken, watching the blood spread everywhere as Craster’s belly lay fully opened… exposing what was left of his organs.

“This was a practice, although rare, in the North long ago. When we were an independent kingdom, fighting against the Andals, this is how Northerners executed septons and leaders who dared preach against our gods in military companies above the Neck…”, Jon explained.

“It was a brutal method… abolished even before Aegon the Conqueror made the King in the North kneel before the Iron Throne.”

“Nowadays no one even touches on this subject… so don’t be too surprised you hadn’t heard of it before…”, Jon said, remembering well the time of Theon, the Hungry Wolf.

That Stark was the most brutal in history. He executed over a hundred Blood Eagles during his lifetime, not counting the ones he had his vassals carry out. In total, more than a thousand executions like this happened in his era against septons.

‘If he saw the North as it is now… surely his spirit would weep blood after learning that a sept was built in Winterfell in this era,’ Jon added with a bitter thought.

“I see…”, Ducken murmured. “We can’t disagree with you, then.”

In any case, Craster’s body finally collapsed. He was supposed to remain hanging, but…

“It’s better to burn him right away. We don’t know if he’ll turn,” Ducken murmured, and Jon nodded obviously at the suggestion.

After all, not all corpses returned as undead. Some didn’t even become wights. And the time it took for them to turn varied too much. So, it wasn’t worth the risk. Jon wanted to use corpses for another purpose, but there were other prisoners in Ártica he had for experiments and would use them.

“Are we done here, my king?” one of the soldiers asked as he finished the preparations.

“Yes. But I still intend to stop somewhere before we return to Craster’s Keep,” Jon said, ignoring the cautious look of his men, who now burned Craster’s body a few meters from the heart tree, until it became ashes.

Jon didn’t mount his basilisk. Instead, he went with Ghost. He grabbed onto the thick fur of the giant wolf and climbed onto his back, directing him toward the Wall.

“My king, what do you plan to do?” Ducken asked, curious.

“I have a relative there, remember? One I haven’t seen in a long time,” Jon replied, while Ducken certainly knew of Benjen Stark. “And I want to see my uncle. I’d also like to exchange a few words with the Lord Commander.”

He knew he wouldn’t be well received. But he didn’t care.

They quickly headed toward the Wall, where Castle Black’s Gate stood. Still, Jon avoided the Watch’s scouts. He didn’t follow open areas, but continued through the forest. The trail wasn’t long — about twenty minutes later, his group was already approaching the entrance.

“Most of you stay behind. I’m safe here. Their arrows don’t reach very far,” said Jon, looking at his companions.

Ghost began to advance through the snow, being somewhat hard to notice due to his white fur. Even so, the figure of a man riding on him became evident.

The trumpets began to sound. Someone was approaching the Wall.

The men of the Watch spotted a rider wearing shining armor, but the stranger did not proceed to the gate. Jon remained at a certain distance — about thirty meters from the first trees and more than 500 meters from the gates of the Wall — analyzing the entire area.

The Wall always stirred strange sensations in Jon. It blocked his powers. He couldn’t see through it with his birds, and that had never changed. It was a hindrance when spying on what happened in the South, but on the other hand, the North also had its own scouts — disguised as merchants — who crossed the Wall and searched the lands beyond.

Jon took a deep breath.

And then, released the air from his lungs in a powerful shout that echoed throughout the area, among the winds and frozen stones.

“I am Jon of Ártica, the King of Ártica! I am here to see my uncle, Benjen Stark!” Jon declared.

The voice echoed strongly, resounding throughout the area in front of the Wall, surprising even the men of Castle Black on the other side. The sound seemed to come from a giant of a man, but it was only Jon using a bit of magic to amplify his voice.

Ducken approached soon after, accompanied by two more Artican soldiers. None of them said a word. They just stood there, motionless, watching.

Atop the wall, the brothers of the Watch ran back and forth, confused, trying to figure out what to do in the face of it. Surely they were awaiting orders from the Lord Commander.

Inside, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont frowned, disturbed by the unusual situation. Upon hearing the name Benjen Stark, he quickly left his post and went to find Mormont, determined to speak with him knowing that Jon, his nephew, was on the other side.

Jon remained there, patient, even after waiting more than twenty minutes. He showed no signs of haste. He calmly observed the movement on the wall, until finally the gates opened.

A single rider came through the opening, with a giant wolf, about a meter and a half tall, following right behind. It was Benjen.

“Look who it is, your brother, Ghost…” Jon murmured with a small smile as he saw his uncle approaching about four hundred meters away. Ghost, beneath him, watched intently, scarlet eyes fixed on the other wolf.

Jon had given one of the pups from the litter of Shadow and Blackarrow — Ghost’s parents — to Benjen, many years before. The she-wolf Blackarrow was already pregnant when she was found after leaving the godswood of the old gods.

The pup had been given to Benjen to be his companion, knowing his uncle would take care of the wolf and that he would be a great companion at the Wall.

Benjen rode swiftly, but his expression showed a mixture of emotions. Seeing his nephew mounted on a giant wolf, surprisingly twice the size of his own, filled him with pride… but also made him wary.

He could be proud of being the first Stark in centuries to have a giant wolf in the South, but Jon now rode something worthy of legend. And it was more than that: the armor Jon wore gleamed with intricate designs of dragons and wolves, with the sigil of Ártica right at the center of the chest, like powerful men from the old legends.

And it was stained with blood.

Benjen frowned at the sight of it but kept approaching. When Jon noticed it was only his uncle there, he calmly dismounted from Ghost. There was no need for formalities between them.

Benjen dismounted almost at the same time, stopping his horse ten meters away from them. He advanced with firm steps, looking at Jon, studying his appearance. It had been many years since he had last seen him. Now, standing before him, was no longer a boy. It was a man.

Jon appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen years old. But his serious gaze, his presence and posture revealed something beyond his age — he was a king.

And a king forged by the North beyond the Wall, his appearance was clearly a reflection of what he had become.

At last, seeing the smile forming on Jon’s lips, Benjen allowed his own to emerge.

“Uncle…”, said Jon, his voice firm, yet without bitterness. He had never held resentment toward Benjen.

Benjen quickened his step and hugged him tightly — something rare in his reserved nature. Jon returned the embrace, closing his arms around his uncle’s back — still clad in bloodstained armor.

“Look at you…”, murmured Benjen, pulling back slightly to look at Jon up close. His eyes scanned every feature, surprised at the man his nephew had become.

“Uncle Benjen,” said Jon, showing a rare smile — one he reserved only for his family.

Benjen had always been there for Jon his whole life, even in the worst moments. When Jon lived in Winterfell, amid a complicated childhood, it was Benjen who paid him the most attention.

Every time he visited the castle, he asked if Jon needed anything, even when the boy stayed silent to avoid creating more problems with Lady Stark.

“How are you?” asked Benjen. “I’ve heard some rumors about you… They say you were in a war in Yi-Ti, in Slaver’s Bay and even in the Dothraki Sea… That you faced several khalasars with powerful Khals all the way to the capital of Vaes Dothrak…”

Jon nodded, stepping a bit away from his uncle.

“Yes. I had to deal with a few things on my travels. I crossed the Dothraki Sea because of a threat from Khal Drogo… that’s what took me there,” Jon replied, his tone calm.

“The Seven Kingdoms haven’t spoken of anything else these past weeks from what I hear…”, commented Benjen, surprised. “But… I’m glad you’re alright. Gods, it almost feels surreal to see you again. And alive, with no issues after everything I heard…”

“Yes. I’m happy to see you too after so long, uncle.

Anyway… can we talk in private?” Jon asked, while Ghost passed by them. The white wolf quickly approached the smaller sibling from the litter, watching him with scarlet eyes.

Benjen’s wolf became cautious for a moment in the presence of Ghost’s imposing size, but soon approached and sniffed him. It seemed to recognize its brother, and both began to remember — even if instinctively — licking each other’s fur.

Benjen nodded, still watching the Artican soldiers with caution — many of them mounted on creatures he had never seen before. Giant lizards, armored and ridden like horses, and all the men were armed.

“What are those, Jon?” murmured Benjen, as Jon approached Ghost and mounted him once again.

“They’re basilisks,” Jon explained. “Animals we found in Yi-Ti. Though they exist in Sothoryos too, they’re excellent for travel beyond the Wall, there’s no better mount…” Jon began. “They were a gift from Emperor Oden along with the negotiations, after we helped him in the war in the Yi-Ti Empire.”

Benjen spent a few seconds in awe of the sight, before mounting his horse.

Jon rode toward the forest, with his uncle beside him, asking his men to wait. It was safe there — but even so, some soldiers kept their distance and eyes alert toward the Wall, where Watch brothers were starting to gather.

Jon and Benjen made their way to the heart tree clearing, where they could speak with more privacy. Along the way, Jon spoke a little about his travels, but avoided any mention of the war against the South or the Company’s offensive against Ártica.

“To think that you traveled so far… I heard Arya talked a lot about it in Winterfell. They say she came back different… but strong, from what everyone says,” commented Benjen.

“You haven’t visited her yet?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I haven’t been able to leave my duties at the Wall. But surely you rubbed it in the face of everyone who accused you of kidnapping her years ago,” he said.

“Yes… She accompanied me through many of those moments. She became a great woman,” Jon said, with an almost nostalgic tone.

“No wonder all the houses in the North want to arrange a marriage with her,” Benjen laughed. “But her father seems determined to let her choose. And, from what he told me, she intends to return to Ártica. Is that true?”

“It is…”, Jon replied, with a slight smile.

“I haven’t seen her yet… but I hope to meet her again soon. As soon as her father returns to Winterfell with the brothers.” Benjen chuckled as he said this.

Jon then fell silent. Benjen noticed the change in his nephew’s expression. The air grew heavier for a moment.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, suspicious.

Jon hesitated for a few seconds. His gaze was distant.

“Yes… we’ll talk when we get to the place.” Jon replied, diverting the subject. Benjen didn’t know yet — and deep down, Jon wanted to tell him, and he would.

And so they continued riding for another five minutes, until they reached the heart tree.

Benjen was visibly surprised to see so much blood scattered across the place.

“What the hell happened here?” he murmured, confused.

“I executed Craster,” Jon answered simply, as he watched the last parts of the body being consumed by flames.

“What?” Benjen widened his eyes, stunned, looking at Jon as if he had misunderstood.

But Jon remained calm, without any sign of regret. He sighed, watching the last of the ashes.

“He was still alive when I took him from the fortress. I brought him here unconscious… and executed him. I performed the Blood Eagle on him.”

“Blood Eagle?” Benjen repeated, speaking louder than he intended. But he quickly turned pale. He knew what Jon was talking about.

There were records of that execution in Winterfell, and Old Nan used to tell horrifying stories about the ritual — one of the most brutal forms of punishment in the ancient North.

“Why?” murmured Benjen, stammering as he looked at Jon, trying to understand the reasoning behind something so extreme.

“Uncle… do you believe in the White Walkers?” Jon asked, still with his eyes fixed on the heart tree, beside Craster’s bloodied remains scattered at the foot of the stump.

“You told me about them years ago, when you came to the Wall and later passed through Winterfell,” Benjen replied.

Jon nodded slowly.

“The war is going to start soon, uncle. And the army of the dead is finally marching south,” he said, with a firmness that made Benjen shiver. Even with the idea sounding absurd, hearing it from Jon — now a king with an entire kingdom north of the Wall — gave weight to the words.

“But… what does that have to do with Craster?” murmured Benjen, still trying to understand the connection.

“Have you ever wondered, uncle, why Craster never had any sons?” Jon asked, glancing sideways at his uncle.

“They say he killed them… to avoid problems. Because of the — illicit — relationships he had with his own daughters,” Benjen replied, with an uncomfortable tone.

“Yes, in a way that’s true. But… when it comes to ‘killing’ the sons, I’d say the truth is much worse,” Jon stated.

“What do you mean?” Benjen asked, beginning to understand, but still not fully.

“Craster gave his sons to the White Walkers,” said Jon, his voice filled with anger. “Offered them as sacrifices. So they could be turned into other White Walkers. That is unforgivable. And that’s why… the old gods gave me the sentence. The Blood Eagle.”

“That…” Benjen stammered. “I’d like you to explain this better to me, Jon.”

Jon sighed. He couldn’t blame his uncle — he had never seen a White Walker, and all of it sounded like a distant myth to those living on this side of the Wall.

“We can talk about it, uncle… But there’s something more important I need to tell you right now. Can we leave Craster for later?” Jon asked.

Benjen, still in shock, only nodded.

“What do you want to tell me, Jon?” he asked.

“I want to talk about Lyanna,” Jon replied firmly. “I saw the past. I saw you, Brandon, and Ned… with her, at the Tournament of Harrenhal. I know the whole truth about what happened. Even how you helped Lyanna disguise herself, to enter the jousting tournament… and how she met the prince thanks to your help and Lord Howland Reed’s.”

Benjen widened his eyes. The shock was visible on his face.

“Jon… you…” he murmured, unable to finish the sentence.

“Please, just listen to me, uncle. What I’m about to tell you… was a secret hidden even from you,” said Jon, finally turning his gaze from the heart tree and facing his uncle with a serious look — more serious than anything his uncle had ever seen on his nephew’s face.

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Raccoon Here:

I described the Blood Eagle as a brutal execution from the past to explain why Jon used it — it didn’t actually exist, as far as I know.

————-Nexts Chapters —————-

Chapter 111 – Speaking with the Sea Lord.

Chapter 116 – We Go to the Wall.

Chapter 126 – The State of Bear Island.

Chapter 135 – Why Everyone Should Fear a Targaryen and Their Dragon.

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