[Chapter Size: 3500 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 298 AC.

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Jon advanced westward for a short time flying on the enormous dragon and made Vezofēdrur land near the forest he knew very well. Externals separated a large expanse of land full of grass.

He came southwest from the north during the night, while Vezofēdrur placed his feet on the ground with a small thud. Jon dismounted from his dragon’s back, camouflaging himself in the night, only frightening a few animals nearby, using a ladder that hung from the side of the saddle since it was too high even for someone like him to jump from it.

He touched the ground as the green eyes stared at him, Vezofēdrur turning his neck, his gaze falling upon the vast pasture stretching before them. It was dark, and he could see some lights in the distance.

They had built new residences in that region, and it was good to conceal himself during the night, his coloring keeping him unnoticed.

“I will stay here alone. You can find something to eat, come back tomorrow.” Jon said to Vezofēdrur, while the dragon said nothing, only shooting up into the sky, creating another gust of wind for Jon and the trees near him. Vezofēdrur went off searching for food in the trembling sea.

Jon had left his former position near Winterfell because there was no reason to remain there. He had the eagle that carried the earlier messages stay with Arya, watching the area with her and the other Arcticans, while they were at that moment setting up camp to spend the night before continuing their journey through Cerwyn territory, heading toward White Harbor.

He also had the raven he had sent with that letter to Lord Stark watching over Winterfell — mainly the queen — while the king roared in fury at what had happened before Arya had left, after he woke and learned of the events.

He was dealing with Lord Stark at dinner at that moment, demanding explanations, with no other Arctican in the castle at the time. Lord Stark was also shouting at him, since the queen’s way of insulting people had provoked the Arcticans’ reaction. When she should have known very well that they would respond like that when provoked.

It was as if only Cersei had the unique talent of creating such disaster wherever she went.

The king, even so, did not take the situation well. The rest of the Stark family, however, were saddened by Arya’s departure. Robb was not crying, but ate in silence, Sansa was with her mother, who looked quite sorrowful, Rickon even sought out Cassandra to cry when he could not find his mother, Bran was dejected, shoulders drooping at his sister’s leaving, ending up crying in his room when he went to sleep.

It was not something very uplifting to see, but there was nothing Jon could do. He simply stepped forward, finally entering the forest, which was also an extension of the wolfwood.

But it had been more than 10 years since he last entered there, and still, he remembered that place very well. It was not the path he had followed the last time, but he felt a faint sensation and a pull drawing him into that place.

He walked on while creating a flame to float above him, as the place was illuminated. Jon did not need to worry about any animal attacking him; he could control all the animals in the area, and the greatest predator he would find there was wolves.

He kept walking for an hour and felt the pull grow stronger, which meant the grove was close. More than that, he could feel the energy as if it were the heart of the forest.

Some groups of wolves passed by him at that moment but ignored him. They were his only company there, along with the sounds of insects, owls, boars, and the packs of wolves howling around him.

He felt the pull stronger now and finally could see a sea of intertwined trees after another hour of walking. He doubted anyone else could reach this place. Jon knew that this closed forest was like a labyrinth, yet he entered it and followed his instincts.

It took about 10 minutes to pass through the entire labyrinth until he finally reached the place. Between the treetops he could see the glimmer of the stars in the clearing, open to the sky.

And as soon as he arrived, he came upon the clearing he had not seen in a long time. 10 years… since he had been there, where everything had begun.

But he soon noticed something — there was something very different from what he remembered in this place. It seemed… less alive… The trees he found there were much smaller than he used to recall.

Jon could see some animals staring at him in the darkness, while he, with his flame floating above his shoulder, easily drew the eyes of the curious creatures that only waited to sleep. There were only squirrels and other small animals in that clearing.

His gaze fell on the sacred tree, which still stood tall — but even so, Jon could see that there was some kind of problem there.

The place was dying, there was no doubt about it. The question was: why? Jon asked himself as he walked to the middle of the clearing.

There had been so many kinds of fruit and other trees in that place; no wonder he had managed to collect so many seeds when he left… He could even see their empty shells and others long gone, buried over time beneath the earth.

He turned to all sides, staring at the place for a while before truly approaching the main tree, where he had received his strength and powers. His hands touched the trunk, and he caressed it for a moment before sighing. There was nothing for him here.

In the next instant, he pulled his hands away and did not know very well what to think of that place at that moment. Then he took a seed from his pouch at his waist along with his sword. Jon dug a hole in the ground with the tip of Blackfyre, placing the seed inside and covering it with soil, while waiting, leaning on the blade.

He placed his hand on the ground and in the next moment, roots began to sprout from the earth. But he did not make them grow upward. He directed their growth to the side, creating a kind of perfect bed, with branches comfortable like a hammock, enough to spend the night there.

He had that tent in Vezofēdrur’s saddle, but since the dragon had left him there, he had to manage on his own. He did not mind, after all, he would not feel cold due to his natural resistance. Still, he took many branches from the tree he had created and made a fire, while eating some fruits that still remained in the place. He did not have the heart to kill any of the creatures in that clearing.

Jon lay down, gazing at the starry sky above them, the place open as he had noticed before. His mind then returned to look once more at Arya and what might be happening in Winterfell, checking how things were, and all were already asleep by then… Jon blinked a few times, looking at all the stars stretching across the sky like a shining rain, lost in his thoughts before relaxing and sleeping.

He wanted to understand what had happened in that grove, but it would not be during the night.

When he awoke, his bird was flying above Arya’s company, while they were still advancing south. Winterfell was still having some trouble dealing with the king, but everything seemed to remain under control with his uncle being firm.

He had left a letter for Lord Stark about the war that was to come and also an extra message, in case he did not survive.

He wanted to say there what he had not managed to say directly to his uncle. But it seemed that Lord Stark had not opened the second letter, which was behind the first, judging by the way he acted and the way he said goodbye to Arya. Jon only hoped that it would not be the last time they met.

Jon finally opened his eyes, checking the place now much clearer, with the morning sun pushing its first rays toward them.

The animals were running from side to side. There were still many trees, and he could see better which trees had survived and which had died.

The energy of this place had diminished greatly. There was still a little of it, but soon, perhaps in 2 years, it would die completely. Jon now knew why the trees had not survived — it was at least 95% of all the vegetation he had once found there… This was because all the trees and plants that had died did not come from northern regions.

The climate had killed them completely.

Jon rose and took something to eat. The animals looked at him curiously but did not fear him either. Perhaps they were not even the same ones he had encountered the last time. It had been so long… Animals like those rarely lived more than a decade.

He turned again toward the sacred tree of the place. Jon approached once more and touched it.

There were no more strange voices speaking to him, not even a sudden surge of power. On the contrary, he only felt the soft pressure of the energy that came from there, as if he were before a sacred tree with nothing unusual compared to the others.

“So… it was you who gave me all that power back then, how are you?” He tried asking a tree, but received nothing but silence, as expected.

“What really happened here that day…?” he wondered, still trying to understand how the old gods had done it.

Jon knew that the old gods had taken powers from many others. Those who had special gifts saw their abilities reduced, the greenseers became limited, the wargs seemed weaker, the children of the forest lost part of their magic — all who had magical abilities and were tied to the beliefs in the old gods had part of their magic stripped away.

Perhaps all that magic had concentrated in this place before being taken by the gods elsewhere. Jon did not know for sure, but that was his theory.

The vegetation that did not naturally survive the northern climate was dying there. In Arctic, on the other hand, he was able to cultivate this kind of plant on his farms thanks to the great Weirwood, whose roots ran throughout the kingdom and filtered the soil.

Jon thought that he might have been a kind of vessel chosen by the old gods, someone who took the abilities from this tree and delivered them to the tree in Arctic, so that he could build his nation in one of the coldest places in the world, while at the same time cultivating the largest farm in the world.

“Perhaps they foresaw all this… It was always their will, from the beginning?” Jon wondered.

However, there was no answer. Only the tree before him, silent, and the Gods had not chosen to speak to him there. The mysteries of his great power remained.

Since the age of eight, he had carried gifts he never fully understood. All that was left was to theorize about the gods’ actions and move forward. What mattered was the mission: to fight, to survive against the dead, to save the peoples who prayed to the old gods north of the Wall and, with that, save humanity from destruction.

He felt a small nudge at his side. A squirrel had approached, carrying a nut. Jon smiled at the sight of the animal and crouched down, touching its fur. The little creature recoiled at first, but soon seemed to accept his gesture, staring at Jon as if he were the first human it had ever seen.

There were no more walnut trees in the grove, which said a lot about that nut, being something rare. Still, the squirrel wanted to give it to Jon.

Jon took the nut. “You are very kind, perhaps I should repay this…” With these words he went to a corner of the clearing and buried the nut, while the squirrel watched him with curiosity. He covered the seed with earth and, with his abilities, began to make it grow into a huge tree in less than 30 seconds.

“I have fortified it so it can endure in this climate. May it be a good source of food for you, little one,” Jon said with a smile, before turning his gaze once again to the ancient tree.

“Well… it’s strange to be here. But even though you are a tree that will never answer me, thank you for everything. You and the old gods… I hope I will not disappoint you. Still, I must thank you for all that you have given me. It was thanks to you and to this place that my true journey began.” Jon said with a touch of sorrow.

He took a few steps back the next moment. “Now I must go. I have a war to fight beyond the Wall. Farewell.” As he spoke, there were already some squirrels climbing the tree he had grown, with the nuts ready to be taken.

Jon opened a small smile and left that clearing. He had not received answers, but it was good for him to visit that place.

He continued walking, recalling the path from more than ten years ago, when he had found the tree stump where he met his little eagle, Caraxes, who had been just an injured fledgling, his first bond.

Now, the tree was nothing more than a destroyed trunk full of holes, most of it buried in the ground. The roots had already covered everything, and even a small tree was sprouting among the broken remains.

Jon could not complain about that after a decade. He only gave a sad smile at the memories and moved on. There were no more injured animals there, as there had been when he was an innocent child.

He left the forest by the same path he had followed ten years ago, until once again finding the pasture before him, but in the place where he encountered nothing more than his four direwolves.

Jon would have to wait for the dragon to return. Vezofēdrur had gone back to the nest in Skellige to sleep, after Jon had given the order not to find him inside the forest. He had already asked the dragon to fetch him as soon as he left the clearing. He only had to wait a few minutes until the dragon arrived from the path he had retraced.

Before that, Jon thought of that farm, Icehill, which was very close to him and where he had met the families that had taken him in. He turned his attention to the forest and quickly found something that could be useful. A common northern bird flew out of the trees and landed on his armor when he extended his hand.

“I want you to go to the farm and be my eyes,” Jon requested.

The bird took flight and headed toward the place. It did not take long to find it, as it was very different from ten years ago. There was no longer just a barn falling to pieces.

Now there were several barns, very well built and well maintained. The house was no longer precarious, but a true mansion. Workers, as Jon could perceive, tended to the gardens, which grew in abundance. It was no surprise: Jon had left that land fertile enough to ensure planting throughout the year. There were at least 50 more people on that farm.

Icehill had been a place Jon stopped at in search of a map after receiving his powers from the old gods ten years earlier, where he first experienced the kindness of people who, being common folk, wanted to adopt him at that time. And Jon, in just a few days before, would have accepted it back then, for the situation in Winterfell — the thefts and mistreatment against him — was still very fresh at that time. He held a special affection for them, for the kindness they had shown him and for the struggle they had shared together to survive. Jon could have escaped the bandits at that time, but he stayed and fought, knowing they all would have died.

Jon guided the little bird to the mansion’s yard, where there were also other houses built for the families who worked on the farm, with many children running about and some women taking care of them.

Jon recognized someone immediately, Andreza, Dult’s wife, as she went to speak with a young woman playing with two children under 2 years old — they were the young woman’s children. And Jon recognized her at once by the color of her hair and by her face. It was Mikaela.

He could not hold back a smile at seeing that the girl he had once known as a child was now a young woman, married, with children. She seemed to live a happy life there, still living in the great house with her parents. Perhaps her husband was a son of Lucas or Greg, who, like Dult, tended the farm with their families when they had met Jon at 8 namedays.

Jon could see none other than Dult himself speaking with his men and workers in the middle of the planting as he came out of the main house. There were also the very boys Jon had known before, their sons, now nearly 30 namedays old.

Flying further over the farm, Jon recognized another young woman he had known in the past, Mari, now holding a newborn while speaking with one of the men, who was Dult’s son, Lorenzo. The young woman was Lucas’s daughter, so in the end they too had married.

He also saw Lucas himself, in a corner of the farm, pulling along a limping horse with the help of a crutch. The wound from that bandit attack had marked him forever, and now the man was quite old and gray-haired.

Jon was pleased to see his old friend alive and even considered appearing to speak with him. The sight of that place, so prosperous, warmed his heart.

The farm was protected: guards and men of the Tallharts patrolled the area, and Icehill had fortified the land with walls made of tree stakes.

Jon truly wanted to visit them, but he knew it would be a problem. Soon they would notice his presence, and the guards would come to him. He could not give explanations while wearing his war armor, nothing less than Valyrian steel. It would also not be good for Lord Stark, whose relationship with the king was already strained, to discover that Westeros’s greatest enemy, Jon Arctic, was in the north wandering through ancestral farms.

Besides, it could attract the queen’s attention — and Jon by no means wanted to put those families at risk. Cersei’s madness had proven that it could lead her to see them as targets for vengeance and retaliation for what had happened at Winterfell.

It was one thing to be a Lord commanding an entire kingdom to defend against the Lannisters. It was quite another to see simple farmers, even wealthy ones, become victims because of him. The closest they had ever come to such a threat was the Ironborn invasion, more than twelve years ago. Jon did not want them to face something as terrible as the reaving of the ironborn, knowing the cruelty of the old lion.

At the same time, Jon had debts with that cruelty, because of what had happened to his brother, yet he could not so easily place other people as targets of Tywin Lannister at that moment.

He stayed there for a while longer, making sure that everyone was safe. Then a shadow appeared in the sky: Vezofēdrur descended, trying not to tear the ground apart with the weight of his claws, while the beating of his wings created a strong vortex. The dragon finally landed before him.

“Well… let’s go,” Jon said to the dragon as he climbed onto its back and adjusted the saddle.

“We are not going back to Arctic yet. I want Arya to reach White Harbor safely. She will take about two more days of travel. In the meantime, let’s take a look at the rest of the North. I want to map the place better than the maps the maesters have,” Jon muttered.

Transmitting his words in Valyrian to Vezofēdrur now, the dragon took flight and quickly soared into the sky.

Two days passed. In that time, the Arcticans finally reached the gates of White Harbor, together with the Tyrells.

The journey had been calm, without any problems, and now they stood before the port city, ready to board the ship that awaited them to finally leave the realm.

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