[Chapter Size: 3500 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 298 AC.

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The next morning, in the king’s chambers.

Jon was seated, writing some letters at his desk in front of the window open to the city, letters that needed to be sent to certain points of the kingdom.

He had been working on a strategic project since yesterday, which is why he had not left the castle, even knowing that Arya had fled with her older children, along with her uncle Benjen. His wives also did not go out without him; they only went out at night with Jon as an unspoken rule.

The night had been very different from the experience that his children, Benjen, and Arya had had: much more silent and calm. While the family drank and ate together, Jon answered questions about the absence of Lyanna, Loki, and Benjen at the main table.

In any case, he finished writing the letter he needed, when a bird entered through the window and landed near him. The animal showed its leg to Jon the next moment, while the king rolled up a parchment after sealing it with his personal seal.

Jon attached the letter, and it took off right after, passing through the window and heading toward some point of the kingdom.

His gaze went to the enormous window as he stared at the city. From there, he could feel his birds everywhere, with a direct connection to him. Some were in the ministers’ meeting room where a meeting was underway, elsewhere in the Senate itself, Jon had eyes and ears.

The birds transmitted in real time all the discussions happening there: the Arcticans conversed about the kingdom’s matters and even about the approaching war.

Jon also silently supervised the army’s drills in the north, in addition to observing the people themselves, to understand how they were dealing with the pressure. Even Mance’s group, which had caught Jon’s attention since that assassination incident, he had begun to watch them; Jon wanted to know how they were adapting. He continued receiving images of the entire city until he returned to his writing place and began another letter.

The good thing about having his powers was that he could govern by easily controlling almost the entire city without moving and having all the real information of what was happening as he placed his eyes and ears in the right places. He needed now only to send orders that were carried out as he wished. He was aware of everything that had been happening in the kingdom’s main points.

He finished another letter, delivered it to another bird, and soon after heard a knock at the door.

“Come in.” He said, while a royal guard put his head inside.

“Your majesty, we have received information that Minister Mance is here with his wife. He wishes to have an audience.” The guard informed.

Jon nodded, as the guard closed the door again. He reviewed some things he was writing in a journal and decided to go see Mance. As he was practically already dressed in casual silk clothes, he just went to the coat rack the maids had left for him and took his jerkin, placing it over his shoulders and leaving the room with the guards accompanying him.

Mance was already in the castle hall. Beside him was his wife, with a baby in her arms, while Val spoke with her, unsurprised.

“Mance, how have you been?” Jon approached with a polite smile.

The minister, who directly oversaw the organization of the people, also gave a polite smile.

“Well, your majesty. And how have you been?”

“Quite busy, if you want to know.” Jon replied, while Mance offered his hand. He shook it before turning his attention to Dalla, who was standing beside Val.

“Hello, Dalla.” Jon smiled.

“Hello, your majesty.” She said properly, as Jon stepped closer to look at the little boy of only a few moons.

“I see this boy is growing well.” He said, touching his face.

“Thank you. He had a fever last week, but Val gave me those remedies you asked her to bring to me and Aemon. In just a few days he was already better.” She said with a tone of gratitude, while Jon watched.

Aemon Steelsong was the boy’s name. Something Mance had already decided before even meeting Jon.

“Val, why don’t you take her to the gardens inside the castle? I’m sure Mance and I will have much to discuss.” Jon said, while Val nodded.

“Come, sister.” Val asked, as they left, leaving only Jon, Mance, and the royal guards in the place.

“Come with me, Mance, so we can talk.” Jon said, and Mance nodded, following the young king.

“How are things?” Jon asked, since Mance was in his role as civil minister, organizing the people of Arctica, such as urbanization and housing.

“A little tiring… But I heard about the incident from a week ago.” He said, with a tone of discomfort.

“It was not something trivial. And I would like that it no longer happen and that the free folk, who recently entered Arctica, be understanding and not try to return to old customs. We do not practice wife stealing here. And as for that bastard who thought he could kill someone in the middle of the city, he will be punished as will anyone who tries to harm the people of Arctic.” Jon said.

Mance nodded. “I understand that perfectly, your majesty. It is not something I wish either.”

“In any case, can you give me the report? I need to arrange the final details.” Jon said, while Mance opened a bag and took something from it, a rolled-up parchment.

“Here is all the information you need.” He said.

Jon nodded. “Very good. I will read it later. And how is your role?”

“I fear not as good as you expected.” He said with some caution.

“Still, you are managing to keep up, correct? No minister’s role would be easy after all. Here, unlike in the South, we truly work and do not enjoy taxpayers’ money merely for useless discussions, flooding the people with laws and bureaucracy.”

“Well, I noticed that. But you speak as if you knew the court of Westeros.” Mance said, while Jon smiled.

“I have seen many things, Mance. Much more than you could imagine. I even spied on the southern court while we sailed. I know well how it works, and they are not heads of state who aim to improve the Seven Kingdoms. They all seek power, favors here and there, while one tries to devour the other. They are horrible.” Jon said with disgust, almost spitting.

“In any case, I hope they are meeting your requests. You know that the role of minister is not something I was used to. Leading the free folk was different. But sitting down, reading reports, and thinking of solutions to problems are things that are not part of my routine.” Mance said, while Jon smiled slightly.

“Perhaps you are not doing perfectly well and still have some shortcomings to work on. However, there is no denying that you have a good head on your shoulders. You just need to use it correctly and you will do well.” Jon said.

“I want to ask something.” Mance commented, while Jon nodded for him to proceed.

“I want to fight for Arctic as well on the front line.” He spoke with a resolute look. Jon seemed satisfied to see that.

“That is good.” Jon said and continued: “You know it is a risk, correct? You don’t need to go to the battlefield. However, we need to prepare for what is coming.”

“You speak as if you weren’t going to the battlefield either. As far as I know, you would be the first to advance against the dead.” Mance replied.

“If I didn’t do that, what kind of king would I be for my people? Being at the front with them and beside them is no shame; I will secure our victory.”

“Then I will fight as well, just as Val said she will.” Mance stated. “I heard she will also fight in the front, and rumors about your cousin are also circulating in the city.”

Jon spoke briefly a little more with Mance and gave some orders. Then, he found Arya training alone and approached her, after Mance had gone to meet his wife.

“Jon…” She looked at him as he approached and commented.

“How have you been after yesterday’s adventure?” he asked in a playful tone. Arya smiled.

“About taking Loki and Lyanna…” she began to apologize, scratching her head.

“It’s all right. I’ll forgive this time, however, it will only be this time. You are not going to take any of my children secretly again to go out into the city without proper security. I had to put some men with warg skills after you, along with the royal guard, who stayed at a distance not to draw attention.” Jon explained, and Arya nodded.

“All right, I won’t repeat it. I will personally ask you myself, but we had a lot of fun, if you want to know.” she said.

“I imagine so. That makes me think that perhaps I should take a walk with my children when I have some time before the war begins.” Jon replied.

“They would appreciate that very much. Loki and Lyanna would like to spend more time with their father, walking around is great for them.” Arya commented.

“I’ll take that into account. And what are you doing? Training alone?” Jon asked. “I heard you had a spar yesterday with Val for the royal guard.”

Arya nodded, a little embarrassed. “She didn’t come to train today.”

“I see…” Jon said, knowing that Val and Dalla were together at that moment, it was no surprise she wasn’t here. “Val is somewhere with her sister and nephew, don’t blame her if she spends a few days without seeing them.” Jon said, and Arya softened.

“Do you want to join me?” Arya asked provocatively.

Jon shook his head. “Not now, Arya. I have things to do. We can do that later.” He said, noticing her disappointment at the end.

“Lancelot, I need you to saddle my horse. We’re going for a ride.” Jon called, and his royal guard nodded, commanding others to go to the stables.

Arya quickened her training. Jon took the opportunity to suggest some things to her; even without looking directly, she seemed to hear him and moved even faster. She would need to be agile if she wanted to fight against the White Walkers.

The royal guard soon returned from the stable with Jon’s personal steed, while the king stroked its yellow coat.

“It’s been a while since we last rode together, Panis.” Jon said, patting the horse’s side. The animal neighed, shaking itself as if protesting, displeased with its master’s absence.

That horse had a history since the farm of Icehill ten years ago. It had taken part in some contests and also in the war in the Dothraki desert. It was not a weak animal and was well cared for; Jon had even done something to its genetics to double its lifespan.

In any case, Jon mounted the saddle while the royal guards already had their horses prepared.

“Mount yours. Follow me outside the gates.” He ordered.

“Well, we are not hiding, so we’ll have to avoid the main streets until we reach the craftsmen’s district. I need to get what I’ve been working on these last few days. My armor should have cooled down by now.” Jon said.

“The armor you’ll wear in the war, my king?” Lancelot asked.

“Yes. It’s time for me to wear something fitting for our battle.” Jon replied, moving forward. His men followed, quickly circling the city through alleys and quieter places.

There were closed areas of the city where almost no one could enter, except the residents themselves. But as soon as Jon appeared in their sight, no guard stopped him. He and his escort went directly to the southern part of the city.

Soon they entered the craftsmen’s district, and Jon went straight to the king’s forge.

“Your majesty.” Two dwarves were walking through the place when they saw him arrive, dismounting from his horse and greeting him.

“Hello. Is Thor around?” Jon asked.

“No. Thor is in the Mountain.” They informed.

“I see.” Jon replied, wanting to speak with his minister later.

Turning, he entered the forge. He would speak with the dwarf at another time.

The king’s forge was a place exclusively his own, and Jon found it in the same state he had left it last time. He went to the area of the great forges, but in one corner there was a large pool with the armor stretched over the water; it had been painted in the last few days and needed to dry.

Jon stopped in front of it and could not help admiring the armor. He always seemed to have a new set of armor for each occasion in his life after Winterfell.

He had created his first armor at 8 namedays when he was in the North, creating Eldenmetal at that time. Then he had a new armor at 11 namedays while visiting Winterfell, made another at 14–15 namedays when visiting Westeros. Another armor he made was for Essos, at least until Volantis, at 16 namedays. With the Valyrian steel from Valyria, he managed to forge a Samurai armor entirely of magical steel, still at 16 namedays. After returning to Arctic, he forged a new set of Valyrian steel armor and used it in the Dothraki desert against the greatest Khals, at 17–18 namedays.

He also used the same armor against Cannibal, and it became somewhat worn, so he had to make a new one for the war.

Perhaps it was his best work, designed perfectly for his current physique. The armor had details made purely with paint and Valyrian steel forged by his own hands.

Like the colors of Arctica, the armor was white and blue, but unlike that of the royal guards, it had green stripes marking the right details. There were two shoulder plates in singular shapes: one crafted with a dragon, inspired by Eragon, and the other with a direwolf, inspired by Ghost.

The symbol of Arctica lay upon the chest. The armor did not weigh even 12 kilos, thanks to the magical metal and the runes Jon had inscribed into it. He could carry it easily, without losing any protection—Jon would fly across the battlefield with it.

“Your majesty…” At that moment, Lancelot entered the room along with other royal guards, looking toward Jon and the armor.

“This seems well suited for you, my king. I expected nothing less.” Lancelot commented with clear admiration, seeing the armor, far more detailed than even that of the royal guards.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked with a smile.

“It is magnificent, my king. You truly are unique. Your own work… I doubt there has ever been a king who made his own armor.” He said, and Jon simply nodded, tightening Blackfyre in his hand. He would fight with the sword of House Targaryen while wearing the perfect armor.

Even though the symbol of Arctica was stamped on the chest, on the upper right there was the three-headed dragon, the Targaryen emblem, engraved on the shoulder plate. On the left, on the opposite shoulder plate, was the direwolf, the Stark sigil, united with the crest of Arctica.

For the first time, he would wear these symbols openly—he would no longer hide who he was, not even from Westeros.

He was a Stark and a Targaryen.

Wolf and Dragon.

Ice and Fire.

This was his heritage.

The strength he carried.

The legacy that rested upon his two shoulders.

At the same time, Jon knew he did not need to name himself only Stark or Targaryen. He would carry both names and the stories of their houses and honor his lineage, but he would not let them define him.

He was Jon Arctica. Jon. For that was the name he had carried since childhood. Despite hardships, it was with that name the gods had given him opportunities. Even being a Targaryen, he had always been Jon.

Arctica was the homage to the kingdom he created. This would be his armor in the war. It would represent all of this. It would be the decisive moment of his life. His greatest challenge.

He was prouder of what he had built than of inheriting such prestigious names. He would not be known for what he had been given, he would be known for what he had conquered.

“Lancelot, I want you to take it to my castle and place it in my chamber. I’m sure my children will love to see it. I think I’ll put a green cloak on it as well, but I’ll see to that later.” Jon said as he pondered, for green would match the stripes and symbols upon it, as well as the magical eyes it possessed.

“You will not return to the castle, my lord?” Lancelot asked, while Jon shook his head.

“No. Not yet. I have to do something today, something outside Arctica. I intend to go to the Dragon Mountain. I will fly with Eragon.” Jon replied, and Lancelot nodded.

“You heard him, men? Prepare the cart and harness some horses. We will take it.” He ordered, while they used one of the King’s Forge’s own carts, parked with many units, already ready to transport whatever was needed.

Meanwhile, Jon decided to review some things in the King’s Greenhouse. The building, as large as the forge, was much greener than the red of the flames and lava.

Upon entering the place, he noticed that Seraphine—who liked to remain there—was not present. Jon began to observe his special plants and herbs, rare ones, found only in some places in the world, but which he had managed to gather in that space. They were used for his potions, especially those intended for his children and their healthy growth.

He reflected on the idea of trying to generate joint energies, using the same method as the light crystals. His gaze turned to a group of special trees, from whose branches crystals sprouted as if they were fruits. Like glowing oranges, unique.

“After this war… after this war I will work on this. I will make it so that our ships no longer need winds or oars. They will have magical engines.” Jon murmured to himself, already knowing that perhaps this would take most of his life. Still, he believed he could achieve such a feat in one hundred and fifty years of development.

His life expectancy was far higher than that of a common man. He expected to live at least to two hundred years, since he had managed, in Aemon, to remove his blindness and extend his life.

Even at ninety, there were still no signs of decline. Jon calculated that Aemon could easily reach one hundred and thirty years, and that was considering he had only begun dealing with the potions very late, already in old age.

What, then, would happen with his children? With his wives, who had already been consuming these potions so young? Jon hoped that all of them would also have long lives. He did not wish for eternal life — that was not for him. But he desired that his family would have a prosperous existence, free from disease and limitations.

He did not intend to rule Arctica for two hundred years. He wanted to leave the throne much earlier for his children and grandchildren. He did not want a king to spend his entire life bound to the throne. He imagined that ruling for a limited time would be ideal. Afterward, he would abdicate and let another take over. If there were ever a crisis, the former kings could still intervene, preventing a tyrant from seizing power — even if it were of his own blood.

The prosperity of the kingdom and the future of the family would always be more important than who wore the crown of winter upon their head.

In any case, Jon left the King’s Greenhouse and moved beyond the city. Lancelot and a few more royal guards insisted on accompanying him, arguing that this was their duty.

They reached the Dragon Mountain, where Eragon was already saddled. Jon had no time to waste. He mounted immediately and shot into the skies. He needed to confirm something that had been troubling him in recent days.

Then he flew directly to the place no one would expect him to go. He advanced north.

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