[Chapter Size: 3800 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Arctic, 298 AC.

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Jon woke up lifting his body a bit in his bed, supported by his arms pressing against the coffin, while the defined and exposed ridges of muscles on his abdomen tightened in the position he had taken.

He had shared his bed with Rhaenys and Daenerys that night, in one of the underground rooms beneath the castle, where they kept the same kind of luxury found in the upper chambers.

Jon sighed as the first action of the day after waking up, and his eyes traveled over the naked bodies of his two wives. While Daenerys was covered with a small cloth, still allowing her breasts to be seen, Rhaenys seemed to have kicked hers away, leaving her ass exposed and turned toward Jon.

The king of Arctic did not fail to look at her with a certain pleasure; her slightly tanned, sun-kissed skin highlighted her Dornish beauty even more.

Jon could complain about many aspects of his own life, but he could not complain about any of his wives. Each one had a unique beauty, and all of them were far greater beauties than he could have ever asked for before.

If one day Jon thought he would never have a wife due to his bastardy, now he could say he was quite satisfied with his love life. There were six lovers. There was a blonde, three brunettes, a redhead, and even an exotic Valyrian with platinum hair; some with skin as white as snow, others with perfect tans, like his sister. All slim — with some of them being more endowed, like the huge breasts of Seryna, Rhaenys, Hiyori, and Val.

Jon, still eyeing his wife’s ass with growing tension, had a strong urge to squeeze that part of her body and wake her, wanting to seduce her into another round of sex, but he shouldn’t do that now. He merely sighed, thinking about the dream from the previous night.

It was more a memory than a dream.

A memory that had occurred two moons ago, when a large number of ships had come through the canal. The dead had always been a problem on that side. If Jon had not placed a grate beneath the gate in the water, the problems would have been even greater, because they had kept jumping into the river since the beginning of the war, trying to pass through the grates.

Fortunately, the depth of the canal and the structure itself had been designed to block everything, preventing the dead from becoming a bigger problem by finding a gap to slip through.

But this time, after investigating what had happened, Jon discovered that the Free Cities had sent a group of thirty ships. When he went to see what had happened, he saw several hulls shattered in the middle of the sea due to the ice blocks, as well as the bodies floating in the water, all frozen — an entire fleet destroyed just to reach near the canal, while those who managed to arrive had been attacked by the dead as they approached Arctic through the canal. When the ships were spotted, Jon immediately took Eragon and wiped them out before they could crash into the gate. They wanted to use the ships to climb through the gate.

Not that this was something Jon thought he needed to worry about. He dealt with the problem easily. Still, it was curious.

It had been five moons since the war began, and now everything seemed to be heading toward a turning point. Arctic was still standing against the dead. To begin with, the sun now lasted five hours, starting to return to what it once was. But the White Walkers had never left. They remained inside the storm north of Arctic and, in those five moons, they did not seem willing to give up.

Jon wanted to understand why they were so fierce in trying to destroy them, since it would be more logical to go south when they could not advance against the kingdom before them — not that Jon complained about that, after all it was better to hold them at the gates than to have them try to attack the Wall or the last free folk tribes who had not joined Arctic and were hiding to the south.

Perhaps he would never know the answer — and it no longer mattered. After all, the war was turning to their side now. The White Walkers no longer seemed as fervent in trying to destroy them. They used all kinds of new tactics over the last five moons, always changing, but Arctic had adapted to each one of them.

Even the shortcomings that arose in the kingdom were easily overcome. The dead were the kind of enemy that Arctic, despite all its training, had never faced in such an intense battle. Even so, Arctic’s losses were few — not even reaching five thousand since the start of the war.

The skies were safer, although vigilance had never waned. All the hidden birds remained protected in the bunkers beneath the city, and Jon had no interest at all in seeing the birds he had raised over the years turn into blue-eyed monsters.

The forest animals within the walls had been a bigger problem, but the loss did not last long. When the undead birds were active, the most vulnerable land creatures in Arctic were the animals that did not wear armor and could not hide. Still, their loss had been minimal, especially because many were set to follow the armies, running through Arctic sniffing out any undead that tried to climb the wall at some point to surprise them. And that happened often. The dead were always seeking new tactics.

Now that things were getting calmer, Jon also wanted news from the south. There were no more messages. The silence was absolute, and he worried about the Stark family after the previous trouble in Winterfell.

He left the bed, trying not to wake Rayane, covering her with a sheet before giving her a kiss on the cheek. He thought twice before waking her, the image of her naked ass still fresh in his mind, but he did not want to waste time with carnal pleasures — not now. He put on a gambeson and opened the bedroom door, with his guards greeting him immediately.

“Good morning. Did Ducken send the report?” Jon asked at once.

“Yes, it is in your improvised hall, Your Majesty,” Lancelot replied.

“I want to go to the garden to read the report. Bring me a coffee, and I’ll go fetch the scroll first,” Jon requested.

The guards nodded. Some remained at the door to protect the still-sleeping queens, others followed him, while one went to the kitchen to fetch what the king had asked for.

Jon entered a room first, his improvised Solar, to see the report from the previous day. All the details of the battles were recorded, and since Jon had not been active on the battlefield yesterday, he needed to understand what had happened. He took the document and was on his way to the garden with it when he was met by a servant and the royal guard, bringing the coffee.

“My king, here it is,” she said.

Jon nodded in thanks as he took the mug. Coffee was not something that existed in Westeros, but he had developed the trees known as coffee plants after discovering the beans during his travels in the East.

In Yi-Ti, its inhabitants preferred drinking tea, but they also taught Jon and the Arcticans the value of coffee. Since then, he used it as an energy drink every morning.

Jon followed the path with the mug of coffee in one hand and the scroll in the other, while a larger bottle was carried by the guards behind him.

“I will stay alone, do not enter,” Jon asked upon reaching the garden. His men simply nodded as he walked inside.

It was an area made with all kinds of plants and flowers, with a stream running through the middle, similar to the artificial gardens inside the castle — but in this one, there was also a weirwood tree. Jon used crystals to emit an energy similar to sunlight, allowing all plant life to perform photosynthesis and thrive. Otherwise, everything there would be dead.

It was, of course, not a trivial matter, and every day he had to replace and recharge the crystals, placing more than twenty of them just to generate enough energy to keep all that vegetation alive.

Jon picked up the bottle and entered alone, but stopped when he saw blond hair by the stream, before the weirwood, with feet immersed in the running water.

He did not expect to see anyone there, as the sun had not even risen yet. But he recognized well to whom that blond hair belonged — and it was not his “wild princess,” as he liked to call Val.

Jon walked forward, and the girl noticed his presence. She stood up immediately, startled when she saw him, her face turning pale as she recognized him.

“My… my king, I did not expect…” she murmured.

Jon simply raised his hand in greeting. “Hello, Joy. Good morning to you. I planned to read the scroll here and have a coffee before eating with my family and then heading to the surface. I did not expect to find you here,” Jon said in a calm tone.

“Then… allow me to give you space, Your Majesty,” she said, trying to appear as polite as possible.

It had been three moons since she arrived in Arctic, but she had never left the castle to see what Arctic truly was. Still, she had adapted well. She never complained.

“You don’t need to leave. I saw you were quiet there and, if you allow me, I would just like to read this without being disturbed. You may stay,” Jon said.

She seemed to hesitate, but remained in the end.

Jon went to one of the benches after passing by her. He placed the bottle of coffee beside him, opened the scroll, and began reading, taking a sip from his mug from time to time.

And Joy stayed there, momentarily standing still as she watched the king sit and simply ignore her, keeping himself absorbed in that scroll without looking away. She could see the critical gleam reflected in his emerald eyes. She slowly sat down again and put her feet back into the water. Three moons inside that kingdom, and Joy had already learned so many things.

Aemon Targaryen had accepted Queen Seryna’s request to educate her with all the knowledge she never had the chance to learn in Casterly Rock — and much more than that. She even had lessons with the royal children, with them looking at her curiously, and in other classes, the future queen called Val was also present.

She had begun to learn things she swore were exclusive to legitimate children in Westeros, but that, apparently, were part of formal or even basic education in that place. She was not fully adapted, but she was learning little by little, and Maester Aemon was a very patient man, for whom she held deep gratitude.

Seryna was also a very kind queen. In the past moons, Joy had even learned to call her a friend. The queen — with refined beauty, hair as black as the darkest night and crystal-blue eyes — was a gentle and welcoming woman. Joy even compared her to the stories of Alysanne Targaryen, the good queen.

Another surprisingly kind woman was Daenerys Targaryen, and Joy would never cease to be shocked by the fact that the Mad King’s daughter had survived and was there, married to the king, living as a calm and happy woman. She was a pure Targaryen in appearance and blood, right before her eyes. She was wary at first because Joy was a Lannister, but soon became very kind to her.

And she was not the only Targaryen. The least friendly queen toward Joy was none other than Rhaenys Targaryen, whom everyone described as the bastard-born daughter of Dornishmen, but who was, in truth, Jon’s sister — daughter of Rhaegar and Elia, and who survived the sack of King’s Landing.

Joy would never have imagined she would end up living under the same roof as three true Targaryens, four if she counted Aemon, while the youngest formed their own family.

She did not interact much with Rhaenys, and Seryna always kept her away from the princess’s eyes, for she carried a hatred for the Lannister name.

Rhaenys had once made it clear that she hated Joy’s family — she hated the Lannisters who had killed her brother and her mother — and that the one responsible for all of it was Joy’s uncle. Rhaenys had openly promised that one day they would pay when the dragons went South. Joy had trembled in fear. Seryna had protected her that day, speaking harshly to Rhaenys. Jon had not liked what happened either and had spoken with his sister.

The other queens were more gentle. Ygritte had her stubbornness and was not as kind as Seryna, but she never treated Joy badly; she always respected her. Hiyori was kinder and more curious. She asked many questions about what it was like to live in the South of Westeros, since only two of the women had lived as nobles in the Seven Kingdoms — among them, like Rhaenys, who had lived that kind of life. Since Hiyori asked what it was like to live in Dorne, and there was Arya who had spent part of her life growing up in Winterfell.

Joy might have shared more details about her life in the middle of the continent, but she had never left the West. Still, she told them what her life was like living as a bastard, even in a House as large as House Lannister.

Joy put her feet back into the water while casting occasional glances at the king, who did nothing but drink coffee and read the scroll, marking some things, taking a quill from a small notebook he always kept to jot down important details, study new strategies, and point out errors.

Joy and the king rarely interacted. Usually it happened when she was at Seryna’s side or when she found the queen in the king’s company. They had not had another deep conversation since the day Jon had taken her on the dragon.

Even so, he was quite kind to her. Sometimes he asked how she was doing and feeling living in Arctic, asked if she needed anything, if something bothered her — or even if Rhaenys had troubled her again.

Joy always said everything was great. She could not complain about much, although she missed home. Even living as a bastard, she still felt, in a way, that she did not fully belong to that place. She missed her aunt Genna, her cousin Tyrion, with his extravagant jokes and dark humor that always made her laugh.

Still, she could not complain. That place was not terrible; Seryna and most people were kind to her. There was no inferior treatment for being a bastard — quite the opposite. People treated her with a certain importance because she was the new lady-in-waiting to a queen, none other than perhaps the most important queen in the kingdom, the first among all the king’s wives and the one who made decisions and cared for the realm in her husband’s absence.

That made her remember once again how the king was kind to her. Joy looked once more at Jon, who continued making his notes without minding her gaze. That encouraged her a little; she always felt a foolish shyness when looking at her new friend’s husband, yet she still could not avoid that hint of admiration.

She had seen King Robert from afar twice — when the Greyjoys rebelled, when the Lannisport tourney was held, and another event years later when her uncle organized a tourney in honor of the crown prince Joffrey.

And still, she could see that Jon Arctic had a striking difference compared to Robert Baratheon.

She had seen very well the king of Westeros. A fat man who liked to drink and grab women — prostitutes or servants — with the habit of shouting loudly and being in good spirits. His appearance was nothing remarkable; he was not like a majestic knight mounted on a white horse, the kind that would make many ladies melt. They said he had once been like that in his youth, during the Rebellion. But what Joy saw… none of that remained.

It was different from Jon Arctic. Although he also smiled at times and had a certain humor, there was in him a serious and somber tone. He had the look of someone constantly worried, responsible — which, in Arctic, was no surprise at all, since the kingdom was at war. He was the king, responsible for everyone there, and his mind could not abandon its focus on victory.

She knew he was a king admired by all. No matter whom she spoke to: everyone respected Jon and spoke highly of him. His children — when Joy helped Seryna with Loki and the others or during lessons — were always excited, talking about their father, about his battles, the war, sometimes even reenacting fights among themselves, shouting that they were “Daddy fighting monsters.” The servants, the guards, all admired him. And his queens? There was not a single one of those women who was not completely in love with her own king.

Joy was not foolish. She knew how difficult it was for a man to handle even one woman. She herself had received teachings from her aunt Genna, who said a man could have great problems or have his life destroyed if he had the wrong woman by his side. Because of that, Joy had learned how to be a good wife at the time.

Although Joy never thought Genna was a good example of a wife, much as she loved her — in truth, Genna hated her husband and even had lovers. Her husband, a Frey, was a very unfortunate man. Joy could clearly see how unhappy he was with her aunt and how he had no power over her. She ruled over him, after all who was she? She was Tywin’s sister and could not be controlled by anyone except her brothers, and Genna had the temperament of a lion.

The marriage arranged by Joy’s grandfather, which according to her aunt had been a great mistake, marrying her to a damned Frey.

And knowing how the dynamic between man and woman could work, Joy could surprisingly understand the harmony — how this man somehow managed to deal with seven different women at the same time, some gentle and pleasant, others fierce as fire, Ygritte, Rhaenys, Val, and Daenerys from what she had noticed. Even so, Jon Arctic managed to keep balance among his wives, make them live in peace, and was still deeply loved and admired by them, almost as if they were maidens at a summer tourney in the fields watching their gallant knight.

Joy could not help thinking, while still staring at him: That was a true king. Loved by his people and by his family. A strange combination that not even a king like Jaehaerys Targaryen achieved. After all, he was a good king, but not a great father.

If someone asked her what the reference of a king was — even if it were her own uncle Tywin — she would say, without hesitation: Jon Arctic was closer to being a king than Robert Baratheon ever was… or than Joffrey Baratheon could ever dream of being.

She sighed, looking at her own legs touching the water, lost in thoughts, since she had come to that place precisely to think after failing to fall asleep.

Now she was thinking about the king; she needed to stop staring at him. Which immediately made her want to see his face once again, and when she lifted her eyes again, wanting another look to feed her thoughts, she saw Jon looking at her while holding his cup raised and pouring the liquid into his mouth.

She immediately blushed for being caught staring at him. He should have been an equal to her, but she could no longer see him as the image of a bastard; it was impossible for her to associate him as such at that moment.

“You are a very quiet companion,” his voice reached her for the first time since he had sat there, and her heart nearly leapt out of her mouth.

Joy slowly lifted her gaze, afraid of being judged. She, a bastard, had been staring at the king… of the most powerful kingdom in the world. In other words, this man was the most powerful man in the world, right? A man whose power went far beyond what her uncle Tywin could ever dream of achieving.

She hesitated a little before replying, but in the end murmured, “I… didn’t want to disturb you. You seemed quite busy with that scroll.”

Jon offered a gentle smile, beginning to put away the small book and the scroll, placing the mug beside the bottle before standing up.

“It’s all right for you to speak a little, as long as you’re not persistent.” He began to walk but stopped beside her when she said nothing.

“It’s good to have company while I do my work. Even more so a quiet company, someone who lets me concentrate but at the same time reminds me that I’m not alone.” His sincerity surprised Joy.

It was truly good to have someone there. Not that Jon couldn’t call a royal guard, but he found them all too rigid. His wives were good company, but most of them liked to talk — none were as silent as Joy. Not to mention that his children were far too noisy. He truly meant what he said: her presence there had been pleasant.

Joy didn’t even know how to respond as he widened his smile upon seeing her trying to say something.

“There’s no need to justify yourself. As I said, I found your company quite pleasant. Thank you for it, Lady Joy. I’m heading to the kitchen. If you’d like to accompany me…”

She pressed her lips together. “I… will go later, Your Majesty. Thank you. Your company was equally pleasant. I… I wouldn’t mind having it again.” As soon as she realized what she had said, she turned red as fire.

Jon simply laughed. “Of course, Lady Joy.”

With that, he left the place, leaving the bottle and mug for someone to collect later, while the guards accompanied him to the meal with his family.

Joy was so embarrassed that she did not go to the first meal with the royal family, choosing instead to avoid the king after that moment of humiliation.

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