[Chapter Size: 3600 Words.]

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Third Person POV

Artic, 299 AC.

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A knock on the door sounded while Jon didn’t have just one map of Westeros, but several of them, with sub-regions starting from the North, West Point, the Reach, the Western Lands and the Crownlands.

Scribbling on each one with possible clashes he might face, he was more than determined to visualize every scenario first, trying to see each advantage he could have in each region… even between the Reach or the Stormlands.

Another knock on the door made him stop and he looked toward it. The guards opened the door carefully. “My king, Princess Arya is here to see you,” said the guard.

Jon sighed. “Let her in,” he said, already knowing she had received the news from their uncle himself as soon as she woke with no idea of what had happened, until her uncle Benjen called her for a private conversation. Jon had seen everything through his animals.

Arya entered the room and the door was closed.

He had half a bottle of wine drunk with his uncle, and he could see the desire in her eyes for the bottle the moment she walked in, probably seeking to ease her inner pain at this moment.

Her eyes were red, and she fought against the tears as she met his gaze.

Jon said nothing. He simply got up and went to her, while Arya followed him as well, without either of them saying a word. The two met in a tighter embrace than ever, in the middle of the room.

Arya broke down at that moment. Tears began to stream from her eyes as she held Jon as tightly as she could.

“Damn… it wasn’t supposed to be like this…” She let the words slip out in a more fragile tone than Jon had ever heard from her before. That stubborn brat had been replaced by a fragile and sad girl.

“I know… I’m sorry, Arya, for not protecting him. For not having foreseen this.” Arya listened to Jon with her head resting against his chest.

“It’s not your fault. It wasn’t something we could have foreseen. We know the queen wouldn’t have this power alone… she must have help. We have many enemies in the South, Jon. They see the North as a threat connected to you… to us. They want to remove my family from the Kingdom’s power. I know that… I feel that’s what this is. It isn’t just tied to revenge…” She began to murmur about the political machinations behind all of this, while still breaking down in tears on the chest of the King of Arctic.

“Arya, I know you are smart enough to understand the hidden things now, something that the girl I took from Winterfell years ago would never understand. You have become very intelligent and I am proud of you for noticing that. But it’s alright to forget all of that now. Just cry, Lord Stark was your father… my uncle. It’s alright to simply mourn his death, without all this strategic Southern political nonsense and our enemies. We will deal with that later. Now, just let your sadness flow.” Jon said, as he moved his arms from her back and placed his hands on her face, lifting it toward him with a calm look for her, despite the immense sadness reflected in his green eyes.

Arya looked at him for a few seconds and nodded in silence, before returning to his chest.

They stayed there for a while, and Jon noticed she was feeling weak. Without warning, he placed his hand on her leg, catching Arya a bit by surprise, and brought her into his lap. He laid her on his bed. “Rest a little… I’ll be here in the room if you want to stay here.” He said, but she didn’t let him go, grabbing his arm when he tried to pull away.

“Please stay with me, Jon… I need you, please…” she said, almost in despair.

Jon stared at her for a few seconds and nodded, then lay down beside her. Arya hugged him like an injured cat, while he caressed her face and hair, letting her cry.

“If I had stayed in Winterfell…” she murmured, trembling.

“I don’t think that would change much, Arya. As long as our army is here, beyond the Wall, we wouldn’t really be able to oppose the South.” he said.

‘Although you could have prevented some foolishness…’ Jon also couldn’t help but think silently, knowing the current political state of Westeros.

“But if I…” Arya tried to argue, purring in his arms, relieved by his touch, until Jon placed his finger on her lips.

“No. We can’t start commenting on lost possibilities, Arya. Only about the future. If you were there, it could have been even worse. If by any chance they had gotten their hands on you… I wouldn’t know what to do. I would be torn between the war against the dead and saving you.” he confessed.

Arya only nodded in silence. They remained quiet for a while until Arya spoke again softly. “I know… but you talking like that makes it seem like you don’t care about my other siblings…” she said, taking the opportunity to tease him with slight humor, even in that situation, trying to find something to ease the pain and anguish she felt.

“I care about the Starks, Arya…” he said with a weak smile, joining in the small bit of humor they could still have there. “We also share the same blood, even if I don’t really like some people in Winterfell. Still, I don’t wish death on any of them. But you were always my favorite. You always will be. I don’t know what I would do if you were in danger.” he said.

Arya lifted her gaze to look at him. For a moment, both of them stayed there, staring at one another.

No one said anything.

No one looked away.

There was a tension and an attraction in the air that both shared.

Arya was tense, and her eyes kept drifting to Jon’s lips — and she knew he was also looking at hers, almost as if they both had the same idea.

She felt her body tremble with the emotion she had been trying to repress the entire time.

He wasn’t her brother — he was her cousin — and she desired him. She wanted to ease his pain.

But Jon broke the tension between them before she could do anything, closing his eyes, seeming to fight against the idea. Arya also felt ashamed for thinking of that; her father had just died… how could she have such thoughts? Even though she felt Jon’s body pressed against hers… he was there because of grief and to help her fight her sadness.

So she pushed those thoughts away and pressed her head back against his chest. In that moment she was a fragile girl who had just learned she had lost her father.

“Uncle Benjen told me about Sansa…” she murmured, still a little red with embarrassment from almost wanting to kiss her cousin in such a delicate situation, while the two of them were in such an inappropriate position.

Jon, if he had been affected by the earlier moment, seemed to hide it well, for he nodded with a serious tone.

“Yes… Sansa, along with conspirators, fled from Winterfell. The girl was deceived by the idea of becoming a queen and was taken to King’s Landing. They demanded Lord Stark’s presence, or she would die… and they hid the girl from the king, making Lord Stark go to King’s Landing believing he would still have Robert Baratheon’s support, even after Robert had nearly declared himself an enemy, in search of his daughter. The king would still have agreed to the request… but he was killed before he could do anything, by the conspirators themselves. The king had not held power over the city for a long time, from what I understood. And the Lannisters — and others who were also true conspirators — were responsible for placing Lord Stark in the black cells.”

Jon paused, explaining to Arya, then continued. “They conspired to make him confess crimes he never committed against the Crown, planning to seize the Throne and also ally with Arctic against the other Six Kingdoms. What your enemies did not expect was that he would confess two important things.”

Jon paused again, and Arya immediately lifted her gaze to him, focused and attentive. “Lord Stark not only confessed that the queen’s children were bastards in front of all of King’s Landing… but he also revealed my identity, Arya. He told everyone in King’s Landing who I was, and whose son I was.”

Jon spoke — and Arya’s eyes widened. He had not revealed those details to Benjen; uncle and nephew had only drunk while grieving, remembering the best moments with Eddard Stark in his honor. And Benjen, being a Ranger, could not do much about the Seven Kingdoms. He was there for the war against the dead, nothing more… but Arya would certainly go South with Jon, she needed to know.

“He revealed that… does that mean all the Seven Kingdoms now know you are the heir to the Throne?” she said, still in shock with her red eyes.

“Yes. My uncle Ned opened the path for me to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon answered with an indifferent tone, not yet knowing how to feel about it.

‘Damn… and Sansa…’ Arya growled Sansa’s name again in her mind, now filled with rage. As surprised as she was by her father’s revelation, her foolish sister had no idea what she had caused when she fled Winterfell. Their father himself had compromised her safety by revealing such things, but Arya felt no pity; Sansa had indirectly killed their own father just for being deluded with the idea of becoming queen. Arya wanted to punch her sister in that moment — fury rising amidst her grief.

“Calm down. Everything will be avenged in its time.” Jon saw the girl tremble with anger and touched her cheek again to soothe her. She looked at him for a moment and nodded, letting the rage fade and returning to her sadness.

“Can you tell me… how were his final moments?” Arya asked.

Jon nodded. Then he began describing what he saw at the execution.

“He saw me, Arya… when he was about to die. The gods confirmed it. I was the last person he saw before dying.”

“Oh, Jon…” Arya murmured. “I’m sure he wouldn’t ask to see anyone else. Maybe Robb or Bran… but I’m certain he felt he failed you more than anyone. So I believe he wouldn’t ask for another person to witness his final moments. His final words were meant only for you, Jon. My father, even knowing he would die, could only think about how he didn’t fulfill the promise he made to his sister. He told me what our aunt said when she found you, still a baby in Dorne…” Jon stared at her with her face on his chest on the bed this time.

“…She asked him to protect you… made him promise. And my father promised her, taking you as his ‘bastard’ to the castle. In the end… he felt he failed, and he carried that since you left Winterfell, more than eleven years ago.” Arya murmured.

Jon nodded as he heard that… “I saw it in his eyes… there was regret, Arya. It was as if he were apologizing for everything that happened to me in Winterfell before I left the castle. He felt guilty that our family had become so divided.” he confessed.

“Father always wanted us to live in Winterfell as a united family…” She gave a humorless smile as she said that. “…but we ended up choosing different paths. You left Winterfell at eight years old, and I left three years later. Even if we didn’t live half or most of our lives by his side… we loved him, right? And we will never forget him.” Arya said, as if it were a promise.

Jon nodded at his cousin’s words. “I wish he were here, that he could see what I will build, I wish he could see my children. He told me he wished to meet them, to meet my wives and my kingdom… But that will never happen…” Jon’s eyes filled with tears for the first time since he saw his uncle leave the room…

“…” Arya said nothing, only tightened her embrace around her cousin and shared more tears while sniffling against his chest with small sobs as she listened to what Jon also felt.

They remained there, still embracing, for a long time, until Arya finally fell asleep. Jon left her on the bed carefully so as not to wake her after some time, and covered her with the blankets before going to the door, after picking up a certain paper on the table where he had been marking his plans.

“I want you to take this and find Maester Marwyn. Give this to him.” Jon said, handing over a sealed parchment with a small seal. He placed it in the hands of one of the royal guards, who nodded.

The man left the sanctuary and headed for the city. It was already near the end of the day when he arrived at the shelter where the people of Arctic hid beneath the city. Passing by the guards, no one stopped the royal guard’s entry, though they were surprised by his presence, since they usually remained only in the sanctuary of the king’s castle.

He entered the large underground hall, filled with families gathered in various corners. The space was quite wide, enough to hold all the hundreds of non-combatant inhabitants of Arctic, thousands of children and newborns, as well as the soldiers who rested — one day on, one day off.

The guard continued searching for the maester. The men informed him that Marwyn was in the teachers’ wing, where lessons were still being given to the children and to the new Arctic inhabitants who wished to learn letters and other languages. Even with the university on the surface closed, there was enough material to continue the studies of the children and the youth underground.

He found Marwyn speaking with another teacher, a man from Dorne who had come many years earlier to Arctic to teach under contract with the king.

“Maester Marwyn, there is a message from the king here, directly for you,” said the royal guard.

The maester interrupted the conversation and nodded, taking the paper and reading it. His eyes trembled slightly.

“Thank you, sir. I will be heading to the royal castle.” he said after reading it to the royal guard, then turned back to his teaching colleague. “I will have to leave the lessons. Ask someone to cover for me in tomorrow’s classes. I will be busy by royal decree in the coming days, and I am forbidden to speak about the matter,” the man said.

The Dornish teacher, though surprised, nodded.

The letter was simple:

The time has come for us to begin acting. Prepare all the material to destabilize the trust of the Westerosi lords in the maesters.

Jon did not only have plans to strike by surprise from the western side of the continent, while everyone expected an attack from the East.

He also had plans to begin inflaming the distrust between the maesters and their lords, sowing discord among them and destabilizing all the kingdoms, revealing all the rot he had discovered in the Citadel.

This would weaken all of Westeros, exposing the powers and manipulations of the maesters, making the lords think twice before confessing things or asking for their counsel — and lords usually needed their maesters because they were not particularly gifted with intelligence…

As Jon had planned, he would wage a war against the Seven Kingdoms like never before — not even in the time of Aegon the Conqueror. Jon would begin by striking his enemies from within, making them collapse from the inside out… and then he would crush them in a weakened state with his armies.

Divide to conquer.

The maester soon left the bunker and went to the castle, beginning to organize everything he had already been preparing for years, ever since the king asked him to gather and record all the information.

In the king’s room, Jon resumed drinking his wine over his papers, while Arya was still stretched out on his bed, sleeping deeply. He kept looking, once again, at the map of Westeros.

He had not spoken to Arya about many things; he wanted to spare her for now from the news that Bran had become paraplegic, something Jon intended to immediately try to reverse with his medicine and magic…

There was another matter, a more delicate one… his cousin Robb had taken a crown — which meant he was also rebelling against Jon, especially after the revelation that Jon was the legitimate heir to the Throne. Jon had thought Robb incompetent before, because of all the problems Robb would now have for isolating the North from the South, but he should have heard Lord Stark’s confession… Even so, he was now declared king.

This meant that his own cousin… and the North… had become his enemies in the end, rebelling even against Jon Arctic, King of Arctic.

Jon took another sip of wine, asking himself what had motivated the North to act like that. They could very well have waited for him. The war was already ending there; in a few moons, Jon would be marching South. The White Walkers barely represented a priority threat now, although Jon still could not completely leave the North.

Even so, the North could have waited for him and not created an open rebellion together with the Riverlands, both now in revolt against the Crown. The North could have simply remained firm, keeping its position until Jon was ready to attack. They would have the advantage of preventing any army from advancing above the Neck, after all the North only fell to the dragons…

Even so, Robb had received a crown. Maybe his mother had influenced him, being greedy enough for that.

Jon had no doubt: even knowing that he, Jon, was the true heir to the throne, Catelyn would still hate him — it was the kind of woman she had always been. Jon knew she must have had some hand in her own son’s coronation, trying to corner him and eventually make the North an enemy of Arctic.

But what she did not consider is that Jon could simply crush the North if he needed to. Did she consider that he could destroy the armies of the North and the Riverlands, then send her son to the Night’s Watch and isolate him at the end of the war if he did not kneel?

Even Jon knew that Arya would see this as reasonable, and she would support him — even against her own family of closer blood than Jon was, genetically speaking. Her loyalty was already sealed at his side, he knew that, even against the Stark themselves.

However, there was something that made him hesitate a little…

At the same time, Jon’s only fear in fighting against the Northern rebellion was precisely Arya… he did not want to see her destroyed by more disappointments.

But there was no doubt about what Robb and the others had done. Since he raised the crown, he was an enemy, even if influenced by his mother and several boot-licking lords.

Jon saw countless flaws in all of that. How did Robb intend to be king of the Riverlands, surrounded by enemies, while ruling the North at the same time?

He was already paying the price: he placed his bets on his army in the South and left the North exposed. And what happened? The enemy saw weakness and attacked. Jon still did not have all the information, but he knew one thing: after Theon had left Winterfell fleeing, Robb should have worried about the Ironborn.

Instead, he went seeking war.

Incompetent.

Reckless.

Avenging his father was only a matter of time — but it was a priority that he protect his people, while that was his duty as Lord of Winterfell.

There were so many foolish things that Jon hardly knew where to begin.

Either way, it didn’t matter now.

He continued marking his plans.

First, he would somehow transport a group of builders to the West and have them produce ships after constructing a Shipyard on the western coast, in the coming moons without rest, making dozens of ships — even hundreds, if he assigned the proper number of dwarves, especially.

Then, he would march his army there and begin the attack from the West against the enemies in the South.

The Seven Kingdoms would tremble.

He would begin with the ironborn and move toward the west…

After that, he would assess the political scenario of the Reach and the Stormlands before advancing toward King’s Landing, also launching a naval attack on the eastern side of the continent by ordering his ships to leave Arctic with the second part of the army…

He would face the men of the Iron Islands, the Lannister soldiers, the Tyrell soldiers, and the Stormlands’ soldiers if they were also enemies… Fighting the Crown in the end, even the northerners, if necessary. And if the Dornish interfered in the middle of the war, or if the men of the Vale tried anything… Jon would crush them too. He would crush all of Westeros.

No kingdom would be safe from his retaliation.

—

Raccoon Here:

I intend to go South now, before making a time skip to the end of the war against the dead.

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