[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Artic, 299 AC.

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“Well… I think we shouldn’t have shown your image first.”

The ancient voice of one of the gods spoke again as the entire space grew obscure and the whole image Jon had been seeing before disappeared.

He returned to that dark place, where only his consciousness existed.

Jon remained silent, but the gods knew he was a bit chaotic inside, and no one said anything until Jon calmed down.

“My uncle… he seemed to have seen me at the moment he was about to die… Was that real?”

The question was obvious.

“Yes.”

The answer came from the other side.

“When death approaches, mortals tend to see hidden things a moment before their spirits are about to leave their bodies. It is very likely that your uncle, knowing he was going to die, saw an apparition of you on the execution platform… standing before him. That is why he looked you in the eyes. But he only saw it for a moment, a second before losing his life.”

Jon sighed.

“Let me ask another question, do I have permission to speak with the dead?” he asked.

It was obvious that the gods also had dominion over the spiritual world.

“No. We do not open contact between the world of the living and the world of the dead. So, we will not do that.” they answered.

Jon simply accepted the fact.

“I understand.”

Even chaotic, he maintained his posture despite the loss. He was not a lord or a noble, not a warrior or a guard, not a common person or a bastard. He was a king. And, suddenly, behaving as such meant leaving the mourning of the dead for later.

“Let’s continue. Tell me exactly how I can destroy the storm that guards the white walkers and the night king…” he said in a firmer tone.

“Well, if you are willing to listen, then very well. Let us continue.”

The female voice spoke again.

Jon remained silent.

“Another way to fight the storm’s magic is with another magic.”

The voice answered.

“I don’t understand.” Jon murmured.

“Your dragon, Jon… Eragon, he is like you. You shared a piece of your soul with him. He is different from all dragons and possesses magic. You must know that a dragon cannot be as fast as he is when he creates a cold mist on his wings. He possesses two types of flames. Besides that, he can create a snowstorm around himself. That very storm can fight the storm of the white walkers. You can nullify their magic with your dragon’s magic.”

“Eragon cannot create such a strong storm.” Jon replied.

“Compared to the enormous storm that covers the entire horizon in the north… at most Eragon can cover all of Winterfell, as he has already done.”

“That is why we will train him.”

The voice answered.

“Train me? Train Eragon?” Jon asked.

“In truth, we only need to train you. Your soul united with the dragon’s, and your arcane bond with Warg abilities, will automatically grant him power. You possess magic within yourself that has not been awakened — magic directly tied to the cold of the Winter Kings, while the fire comes from the Dragon Kings. That is why, until now, you have only used magic linked to us and never the one you were born with, for it is sealed. After all, you never truly trained, you only used the environment. Eragon’s storm magic is originally yours, Jon. The dragon, having greater affinity for being a magical being, managed to shape it better. You are a creature of fire and ice. Do you think the Stark lineage only gave you resistance to the cold? The Targaryen lineage gave you the flame in your palm that only grows strong in Valyria due to the magical environment.”

Jon became thoughtful about this. His whole life he had been a warrior, not a sorcerer with magic… His magic of creating all kinds of plants from the ground, developing them even into genetic forms, making them grow, changing them, altering their nature, had always been useful for colonizing Arctic. As for the warg ability, it was his only combat skill besides weapon handling — after all, he could basically enter any city in the world and, being safe, control all the animals, hear everything they heard, and command them to attack any enemy who advanced. It did not matter if the entire city stood against Jon; if there were enough animals, he could deal with them all…

“Your magic will become so powerful that not even the Wall will be able to stop your consciousness from passing through it. That is why it is time to begin your training.”

“Wait… and the war? I am still leading my men. I am leading Arctic against the dead!”

“The war has already passed its peak. The Night King is cautious now. His troops are diminishing, and you know that. And it is not as if you will leave Arctic — you will be here the entire time. If they need you, you can quickly go and take command of your men.”

“How long? How long do you think I will have until I can finally deal with the storm?” Jon asked.

“I believe it will be in two or three moons, when you will finally be capable of destroying the dead.”

“Then… when will we begin this?” Jon said, though quick thoughts drifted back to the South. He should focus on the North — at least for now.

“Not now. Right now, your mind is not ready for this. But starting tomorrow, come to us. Let your men fight for you and for this kingdom. You have already done enough. You have destroyed more dead than anyone, you have always been at the front of battles, and you can control your bonds even among us.”

The voice spoke.

“I understand. I will come back here tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want to see my men and the kingdom, I want to speak with them…” Jon said.

“Take your time. Perhaps we do not need to begin tomorrow. If you are grieving your uncle, then grieve. We do not wish to have you trained with a shadowed mind.” one of them said.

“Three days. Give him three days. He does not need to begin tomorrow.” another voice said.

“Very well. Return in three days. We will place your consciousness back in this place.”

They said. Jon said nothing — he did not need to.

In the next moment, he managed to open his eyes again. He was kneeling before the heart of the tree. He sighed and stood up.

It was not the war that now took up most space in his thoughts — it was his uncle. The endless questions about his death filled his mind. The anger and frustration came together with the pain of loss, but he simply put on a cold and indifferent face. He moved forward.

Soon he was in the sacred grove. The children of the forest looked at him curiously. Jon merely gave a small smile and walked on, saying nothing more, even seeing the questioning looks from Leaf and many others who knew him well and would hardly see Jon so indifferent.

Upon leaving, he found Seryna waiting for him along with two royal guards. She approached him carefully, as if she already knew everything.

“Jon…” she murmured.

“It was… Sam, wasn’t it?”

Her tone already said everything. It was not difficult to know, since Samwell had also heard the conversation with the lord commander.

“She threatened him, my king. You should’ve seen it… I’ve never seen the queen so furious. She made the man almost piss himself while trying to answer.”

The royal guard commented, but the other elbowed him in the arm, lifting his gaze from beneath the helmet as if saying it was not the time for jokes.

Jon ignored the guard. Seryna embraced him.

“Jon… I’m so sorry.”

She murmured.

He remained silent for a few seconds before pulling away slightly.

“I need to think a bit… but I want you to stay with me.”

He asked, and she nodded silently, embracing him again.

“Of course I will stay with you, my love.”

They rode on horseback from there. There was almost no exchange of words. Jon only rode pensively through the empty city. There were some people here and there, obviously leaving their homes to meet friends or simply stretch their legs while there were no enemies in the sky now, not like the first moons of the war.

He soon found two people who made him blink in surprise. People he had not seen for over a moon… a year before the war even began, he had not encountered these people.

They were none other than old Old Nan along with her grandson, Wylis. There was another woman and a child beside Wylis. As soon as the people saw them stop, those who knew Jon well widened their eyes at seeing him there.

“Little Jon!”

Said Old Nan with a smile — despite missing some teeth due to age, she did not fail to show joy.

Some guards were about to speak at the nickname lacking a proper title, but Jon raised his hand, silencing them. This woman had known him longer than any other soul in Arctic, and he did not mind her calling him something so inappropriate — she could.

Jon, despite all the sorrow weighing on him, curved his lips in a slight smile — she almost seemed like a beacon in his darkness. Old Nan was a remnant of his past in Winterfell, someone he managed to bring to Arctic later after leaving with Arya, and who had lived there ever since.

“My king…”

Wylis was the one who spoke now, while Jon paused a moment to observe him. He was no longer the old Hodor who could only say a single word, but had become a bard or musician within the kingdom.

Jon had managed to cure him of his compulsions, and Brynden had also helped, for they discovered that Hodor had been connected to the Green Sight. Jon did not know how, he never found the answer, but the result had been effective — and it even seemed he had found a family, a wife and child…

Seryna could not hide the spark in her eyes upon seeing how her husband reacted to old acquaintances.

“Wylis, Old Nan… it is good to see you.”

Jon commented, not allowing too much sadness to slip into his voice.

“We saw some of your battles. Wylis even wanted to join the army, but I found him too clumsy for that. It is better he stays with his lute and takes care of my great-grandson…”

The woman said sarcastically, and that drew a laugh from Jon — though involuntary — when he saw Wylis turn red as a pepper at her words. He was still merely a grandson before his grandmother.

“Wylis is a large and strong man, with giant’s blood in his veins. I am certain that, whether living or dead, his enemies would tremble at the sight of him with a sword in hand. And no matter how clumsy he may be — we usually shape undisciplined or weak men into an army that thinks as one and all-powerful.”

He said with good humor.

“Ah, I am sure of that. I saw you in action. No wonder Arctic is still standing after facing the dead.”

Said Old Nan. It was obvious that Wylis had not joined the army simply because his grandmother had not allowed him. He seemed embarrassed, looking at the royal guards with palpable envy in his eyes. Perhaps Jon would have to talk to Old Nan in the future.

“And what do you think of all this, Old Nan? Your legends and tales, the ones you used to tell us in Winterfell to frighten us… they are here now, terrifying us, trying to kill us. They are alive…”

Jon said, wanting to ask her, since she used to tell stories about the long night.

“Northern tales came through generations for thousands of years… to reach this moment, little Jon. In the end, we have our reasons… but death has found someone worthy.”

She said with a sparkle in her eyes.

Jon nodded and began to ride forward.

“It is good to see you.”

He said as he passed them, but soon stopped, thinking whether he should tell them or not. But he should — they needed to know the truth.

“Old Nan, Wylis… I have received recent news. I learned that the North is at war with the South, and Eddard Stark, my uncle, is dead, executed in King’s Landing.”

He spoke with sorrow, but then continued forward on his horse while Old Nan and Wylis stared in shock at the king’s back and his royal guards.

“I believed you should know this… before he left us.”

Seryna kept casting worried glances the entire time as Jon remained silent.

“So, Jon… do you want to talk?”

Seryna asked carefully.

“Your animals reacted again. That already drew the kingdom’s attention, and soon there will be many questions…”

Jon, however, only murmured:

“We’ll talk when we dismount. I want to go somewhere first.”

Jon did not head north — not toward the army. He went to the craftsmen’s district in the south of the city.

His destination was none other than the area where the chemists were currently working: dwarves and humans who had specialized in that craft after Jon taught them, all gathered to follow the king’s orders.

Even in the middle of the war, they worked there, producing nothing less than wildfire. Jon stopped at the entrance with Panis and dismounted, with Seryna coming right after.

“Walk with me.”

He requested, and she nodded as he entered the place.

The area was immense, a closed warehouse of at least two hundred square meters. Jon climbed the stairs and soon saw about 150 men and dwarves working, producing wildfire every day and filling more and more barrels.

The initial idea for wildfire had been to launch it against the snowstorm and destroy it, but now the Old Gods had given him another option.

“Did you know the gods want to teach me magic?”

Jon said, making Seryna look at him in surprise.

“They spoke to you? And… what kind of magic?”

She murmured, the Valyrian steel of her armor clinking against Jon’s due to their closeness.

“They want to teach me enough power to bring down the storm. They said my Stark lineage is tied to ice, and Eragon’s powers originally came from me. They said I still have sealed abilities. I don’t quite understand, but I agreed.”

Jon said. She was stunned.

“So… there is no longer a need to create wildfire?”

Seryna murmured, and soon the men in charge of the place approached.

“My king, you are here!”

One of them said, bowing.

“Is there something you need?”

“Yes.”

Jon answered.

“I want you to do something for me. We must increase wildfire production. I want at least twenty percent more. I know this may overwork the men, so you are authorized to pull others, even from the army. Anyone who can handle chemical substances.”

Jon said in a serious tone.

The man seemed surprised at first, but soon nodded.

“If that is what you wish, we will do it. It is not a goal too far from what we already produce, though it will overwork the men. We will find a way.”

“Wait, Jon… shouldn’t you stop producing wildfire if you found another method to destroy the white walkers’ storm?”

Seryna asked suspiciously.

“The white walkers will be stopped with whatever the Old Gods wish to teach me. But I still intend to use this wildfire elsewhere.”

Jon said firmly, making Seryna look at him cautiously.

“Don’t tell me…”

Was all she managed to murmur.

“Another war is coming, my love. Soon I will be marching south, and I will deal with every enemy I encounter. That is why I will need these weapons. I will destroy every castle in my path, deal with every army, execute any lord I believe deserves execution. The war in the South has already begun. Soon, we will make our move and join them.”

Jon said without looking at her, only watching the production of the blue liquid being mixed — a combination even more powerful than normal green wildfire.

No castle or fortress would be able to stop Jon’s fury, to the point that he wanted to simply destroy all the castles in the West in his retaliation against the Lannisters. He would leave their kingdom, however powerful it was, reduced to ruins.

No — he would not do it with dragons. It would be too easy, and Jon did not want the southerners to justify their defeats by saying he used dragons. He himself would destroy the castles with weapons they knew. They would taste despair — and would have no excuse, unlike with a dragon, which would create something easy to justify their surrender…

Jon wanted war at this moment.

“Anyway, let’s go back.”

Jon said in the end, now without the dangerous tone. Seryna felt it, though she still studied him as they walked out of the warehouse.

“I intend to return to the castle. I want to take care of a few things. I will not be absent, but I also will not be present in the North — if something happens, I will go there the same day. Lancelot, have one of your men deliver my orders to the commanders.”

“I will go with you, Jon.”

Seryna said — and Jon did not refuse.

They returned to the castle. His children were surprised at their father’s return and surrounded him immediately at the entrance, along with his other wives. By Seryna’s expression, it was clear something was wrong, but Jon simply offered each of them a smile, as if nothing could shake him. He stayed with the children for at least ten minutes before standing up and heading to his private chamber, saying he did not want to be disturbed.

“I will stay with him.”

Seryna declared before the other women could ask more questions. She entered the room with Jon.

“Let me remove your armor.”

She requested. Jon did not complain as she removed it piece by piece — she was already used to doing so.

“If you don’t mind, I would like you to take mine off as well.”

She asked with a silly smile. Jon returned her weak smile and did so, while she grabbed a dress after remaining in her underclothes without armor. Jon already kept some women’s garments in his own chamber for his wives.

A servant knocked on the door and brought fruit and food for Jon and Seryna, and he sat at his desk to write. Seryna stayed with him for a while, until Jon learned that his uncle was awake and asked the guards to summon him.

“Well… I suppose I should leave you alone now.”

Seryna said, kissing his shoulder.

“Your other wives are worried, Jon. They want to know what happened. I intend to speak to them.”

“You may tell them.”

Jon said, nodding, while she left him alone. He continued using his quill, scribbling at the desk, and a few minutes later his uncle entered.

“Jon, I thought you would be in the North leading the army and waiting for the dead.”

Benjen murmured, a bit surprised.

“Besides… weren’t you going South?”

“I went South, uncle. And I discovered a few things. That is why I am here. But you? It has only been a few hours since you returned, and you are already awake…”

Jon said.

“Well… I usually sleep a bit at this time of morning. I tell a story to your children, then sleep a little more in the afternoon.”

Benjen answered in front of his nephew.

Jon simply grabbed a bottle of Arctic wine and opened it in front of him, making his uncle raise a brow when he offered a cup. Jon filled both. Seeing Benjen’s questioning look, Jon’s lips trembled slightly.

“Uncle… you will need this. I have news from the South. Disturbing news.”

Jon said, taking the initiative to drink a little before setting the cup on the table and looking seriously at Benjen, who now seemed cautious — very cautious.

“And what would that be, Jon?”

“First, drink.”

He ordered. Benjen, still reluctant, eventually accepted and drank the wine.

“Your brother — who is also my uncle — is dead. He died about two moons ago, in King’s Landing. Executed by the damned Lannister bastard, using the crown as justification.”

Jon said.

Benjen seemed to lose his footing for a moment, barely able to sit in the chair.

“No…”

Was all Jon said — he knew how his uncle felt.

Jon’s gaze returned to the table where he had been scribbling earlier. There lay a map of Westeros, full of plans. His focus was no longer on the war against the dead. He would have two or three moons to complete his training with the Old Gods — but he was already planning how to devastate the South.

There were larger markings on the western side of the continent, where Arctic had no access. Jon already had many plans for the coming moons.

He would go South in search of answers.

He would search for those responsible for Eddard Stark’s death. He wanted to know why the North suddenly had a king, why Robb had taken the crown knowing Jon was the true heir to the throne after his uncle declared it at his execution… He wanted to understand why so many played their dangerous games as if Jon would not react to any of it.

And even though he wanted answers, Arctic would also give its own to the South — with a war they had not faced in the last 300 years.

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