[Chapter Size: 3500 Words.]
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Third Person POV
Riverlands, 300 AC.
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Lady Stoneheart trembled, tears streaming down her eyes.
Anyone who did not know her would find it difficult to see such a monster crying like that.
Jon would never have imagined that one day he would find her in such a situation, much less when he was just a little boy in Winterfell, suffering at the hands of that woman and her terrible methods.
This woman created her own hell and dragged everyone closer to it along with her. In a way, Jon had his own conflicting feelings. Somewhere inside him, he wished he had killed this woman. But he also recognized that she was Arya's mother, she was Bran's mother, she was Rickon's mother.
But he also recognized that the Jon of today had been shaped by those terrible experiences. On some level, he had to admit that, no matter how terrible this woman was, she had also been part of his life.
Jon turned his attention to Thoros. "What is your real objective with this organization?" he asked.
Even though he already knew the answer, after all, he had been studying them for quite some time through his many eyes.
"We are trying to preserve Lord Stark's will," one of them said.
Even though Lord Stark had not served as Hand of the King for very long, they still followed his final command in the capital before he was imprisoned after the king's death.
"So you recognize me as king?" Jon asked curiously. After all, that had been Lord Stark's final testament.
Thoros stepped forward and knelt, while everyone looked at one another before also kneeling in response. The entire place was now filled with bent knees.
Jon raised an eyebrow at them all. The only one who did not do so was Lady Stoneheart, who still stood there trembling and crying, unable to give him an answer to the question Jon had asked her: whether the outcome had been worth it.
"We recognize you as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the true heir through the consummated marriage between the two..." Thoros declared.
He did not say that purely out of fear of the man before him and his power, but because he believed in Lord Stark's words. He believed the man had spoken the truth in the face of death. His word carried weight.
Lord Stark had indeed lied when he said he had deceived his friend Robert, except the Lannisters had not expected such an unexpected answer when he confirmed why he had deceived his friend. Not by declaring Joffrey a bastard, but by hiding the true heir to the Iron Throne in Winterfell and raising him as his bastard.
Jon observed the men for a moment. "Then I have a mission for you." He paused.
"To the north, a force is being assembled, but time is limited. Around three hundred men are being trained to fight the Freys and to combat the banditry created by the war. You are required to join them."
"You will also continue acting as you already have been, but with a more organized force."
It was a force that the royal guards were training in the north, and there was no specific banner, only a desire to fight for what was right.
Thoros exchanged glances with his men as they traded silent questions.
"Well, I won't say much, but I'll give you a task," Jon said as he touched the mane of the lion beside him.
He had already given it a special task. This lion would accompany them from now on. It would serve as an extension of Jon's power among their ranks. He would control the animal himself to help them.
Unlike the direwolves that were also in that kingdom, Nymeria and the other two wolves Jon had left behind—not including Ghost, because Ghost was far too large to move discreetly through the Riverlands—this lion would be more of an assault force.
It would travel alongside the ranks of the force Jon had created.
"I want you to take all the horses north. They will be used to form a cavalry," Jon explained. The lack of horses was still a serious problem. He had just solved it.
"My king..." Thoros said. "Taking so many horses to such a small group may be a bit difficult. It will attract a lot of attention. These lands are infested with Freys trying to control them."
Thoros said that, but Jon gave a small, calm smile. "Don't worry about that, Thoros of Myr. I can guide those horses. You won't even need ropes to tie them."
"I would make them travel north on their own, but I believe that with you, they will be safer. Therefore, gather as many men as you wish and head north with the horses," Jon said.
Thoros looked at the woman still standing and then at the king beside the lion. "What do you wish us to do with her?" he asked in a hesitant tone.
The situation was quite complicated. Jon observed Lady Stoneheart for a few moments before speaking:
"First, stand up." The order made all the kneeling men rise immediately. "Second... well, you don't need to do anything. Whoever wishes to stay with her may do so."
"Honestly, if this was the punishment the gods gave her so she could continue suffering in this life, then so be it. She will not meet her end through my actions."
Jon said that because, although he had once entertained thoughts of killing her someday after everything she had done to him, now he only looked at her with a certain contempt.
He did not need to do anything else. This woman had done this to herself. Killing her would be a way of freeing her from her current punishment; death would be mercy, given the situation she was in...
Then he turned his attention back to the men. "With that, our business here is coming to an end. You are free to choose whether to go north or not, but those who do... well, they will be rewarded in the future. I will remember it very well when I sit upon the Iron Throne."
He simply spoke. There was no longer any reason to waste time there. The horses began to line up at that moment, no longer like guard dogs waiting for someone to try to flee, but in a calm and orderly manner.
The lion let out a soft roar beside Jon while he gave a few pats to its back.
"By the way, this lion will also be going with you. He won't attack anyone, but please feed him." With those words, Jon began to walk away.
"Your Majesty!" Thoros tried to call out.
Everything was happening too suddenly. His departure was leaving everything behind, but Thoros did not even have time to react when something descended from the sky.
Everyone immediately raised their heads when a massive eagle advanced toward them. It was larger than a horse, with wings stretching more than six meters across. The creature landed behind Jon, even bearing a saddle upon its back. Jon walked over to Caraxes, placing the palm of his hand on her before turning back to them.
"Now I am leaving. Your only duty will be to deal with the Freys in these lands, while I wage war against the Lannisters and Tyrells in the Westerlands and the Reach."
With those words, Jon simply climbed onto Caraxes's saddle as she spread her wings and soared into the sky, leaving them behind before they could even respond.
Jon saw no reason to explain much. He had given them their task and their mission. He still had a war to fight.
He would leave the Riverlands to this small force to help the people who were suffering and focus his efforts on the true enemies.
It was time for the lords of the Riverlands to suffer the consequences of their rulers' actions for attacking and devastating the entire region.
And with that, Jon continued flying. Not north, but south. There was a place he wanted to see.
As he flew, his thoughts drifted once more toward Lady Stark. He could not help but find the situation of that woman surprising—the very woman he had feared when he was a child... Should he have killed her? Thrown her into a prison? Tortured her?
None of those options truly pleased him or fit his nature.
Leaving her there, and allowing those who wished to remain with her to do so, seemed like the best option. The Riverlands did not lack strange beings, legends, and mystical stories. So having one more corpse wandering those lands until its own flesh dissolved and rotted away completely could very well be the punishment the gods had chosen for Lady Catelyn.
And Jon would not interfere.
In the end, that was what she had become after everything. All that vain and proud woman from her past days had become a monster. Perhaps the very monster she would have feared encountering the most.
And at that moment, that monster was herself. It was quite a tragic end, but Jon no longer cared. Before long, he was already very close to his destination. He arrived at the lands he wished to visit, seeing the enormous towers of Harrenhal in the distance.
But he was no longer heading to the ancient castle. He also could not help but think that, thanks to the information he had recently obtained from the capital, the new Lord of Harrenhal was none other than Petyr Baelish.
A little ironic. He was a man Jon could easily kill with another bird attack, and he had also been deeply traumatized by those scars, but that did not matter. Jon would kill him in another way.
Caraxes soon let out a characteristic eagle cry as she shifted her gaze and began descending. Harrenhal was nearby, but that was not where Jon was going.
Instead, he was heading for that island.
There was something Jon had never done since the construction of Arctic, and it was something connected to the Old Gods. The religion of the Green Men.
An ancient order that preserved the customs of the First Men, closely tied to the Old Gods and aligned with the Children of the Forest.
Jon had never met any of them, but he knew of their existence. There, on the Isle of Faces, the last of them still remained.
And he also knew they were interested in him. After all, over the years he could sense countless gazes represented by questions about him, asking the Old Gods for information about a boy who had built a kingdom beyond the Wall and who, in their eyes, had rediscovered the lost magic of the Old Gods. They had felt it when the Old Gods took their powers away and gave them to Jon.
They knew that the power of the Old Gods was far stronger now, stronger than it had been in ancient times. Not through countless trees spread across Westeros as in the past, before they were cut down, but through a single tree more powerful than any heart tree in history.
A tree capable of covering an entire city.
A tree that stood in Arctic.
How did the Green Men know this? They could see the people of Westeros through their abilities and hear the rumors. After all, it was no secret that they possessed warg powers.
They could also feel the immense magical power and connection to the Old Gods coming directly from the north. Even with the Wall interfering with part of that connection, the force was too great to be completely blocked.
Jon had done his research the first time he came to Westeros. The Green Men themselves had noticed his presence through the eyes of the trees. While investigating King's Landing, he had also sent a few birds to that island. They had greeted him immediately at the time.
They called him the Green King and knelt before the bird through which he was seeing. They declared him the most powerful warg who had ever existed.
Jon had never gone to visit them. He did not know how he would be treated now, but he knew he had a duty to meet them.
That was one of the reasons he had remained in that region. The Riverlands were a place he needed to see personally before continuing the war in the Westerlands.
The island drew closer, covered in a thick mist. Caraxes easily passed through that barrier while searching for a clear area to land.
At the edge of the island, Caraxes finally touched down heavily, planting her talons firmly upon solid ground. Jon dismounted and gently touched the creature's neck.
"I'm going into the forest. I'll call if I need you. Stay here." He spoke while Caraxes watched him attentively.
At that moment, Jon looked nothing like a king. Aside from his presence, physique, and appearance, he wore only a small cloak with the hood lowered, simple clothes he had been wearing for weeks, and an ordinary steel sword.
He had already transferred his extra swords to Caraxes. As for the horse he had purchased, he had left it for someone else to use when they reached farther north, where the force his guards were training was located.
Jon entered the island while listening to the buzzing of small mosquitoes.
It was still mid-morning. When Jon had attacked the Brotherhood Without Banners' camp, they had not been awake for very long. That was precisely why he had managed to strike while everyone was still gathered in the camp, before they left for patrols or to raid any nearby Frey or Lannister soldiers.
As he walked through the mist, Jon could easily perceive that the forest itself was reacting to his presence. It was as though it were submitting to him.
He could feel its powers. He could even shape that forest through the magic of the Old Gods. Yet it was still strange to feel the woods themselves opening a path for his passage.
The mist began to part before him, revealing the route he should follow. So Jon continued onward, accepting the generosity of the forest itself.
And so he walked for several dozen more meters until he began hearing voices. They were not people talking, but singing. A kind of prayer.
The words of the ancient tongue were directed straight to the Old Gods. Jon knew them. It was an ancient ritual, one that had even been used in the North when the religion had not yet lost much of its knowledge, weakened throughout the eight thousand years following the Long Night.
Which was not surprising. Even when the North had been independent, many important customs and pieces of knowledge had deteriorated with the passage of time.
It was no wonder the Night's Watch had lost its true purpose. Most of the people who still maintained any ancient customs were represented by figures such as Old Nan, who told stories about the Long Night as though they were merely tales meant to frighten children.
Without realizing it, she did not understand the true weight of her stories. Or rather, of the real events. She spoke of the terror, but she could never truly describe it. She could never explain what the White Walkers truly were.
Arctic had arisen precisely to recover all the old customs. Through the greensight of a seer as powerful as Brynden—or perhaps Bran in the future—many ancient traditions had been reintroduced into Arctic.
There was also the guidance of the Children of the Forest themselves, who were far older. Some of them, such as Leaf, had lived during the First War against the White Walkers and had remained hidden ever since, surviving throughout the millennia.
That chant was no different from those sung in Arctic. Despite a different pronunciation here and there, there was no doubt that they were singing the same prayer.
Jon reached a point where the mist began to part, forming a clearing before him, almost like a gateway.
The singing began to fade away. There stood a massive heart tree.
It was not more than twenty meters tall, yet it was still prominent enough to stand out from the entire forest. It was the central tree, despite there being several others around it. Anyone observing the island from above would see the forest as a mass of green leaves with that red center.
But it was not only the heart tree that stood there.
There were more than fifty people wearing old robes, while the crowd stared at Jon. People of all ages, even children were among them.
And at the center of them all, like an apostle before the heart tree, stood an elderly man who stared at him with piercing eyes.
He quickly stepped forward, moving through the group of people observing Jon, while Jon approached with his green eyes reflecting everything around him.
Until he stopped before the clearing. The old man continued advancing, drawing near before falling to his knees.
"Oh Blessed One, we have awaited your arrival. The Old Gods were not mistaken when they said it would occur on this day." His voice trembled as tears streamed down his face.
Jon looked at him with a neutral expression, though he was curious. He certainly did not share the same emotion as the man. He was curious, not moved.
And he had also noticed something. He was no longer being called the Green King, as he had been years ago. Now they called him the Blessed One.
"We are honored by your coming, Your Majesty. We knew you would arrive thanks to the Old Gods, who informed us."
Jon stared at him in silence for a moment, while the man maintained a gleam in his eyes directed toward him, just like all the others. They were all emotional upon meeting him. He watched as the others began to fall to their knees one after another.
Even the small creatures around the heart tree did the same. One of them came toward him.
So there were Children of the Forest here as well... The creature knelt beside the old man, apparently their leader.
"We have been waiting for you, Blessed One..."
Those Children of the Forest had certainly hidden themselves very well, because not even Jon had known of their existence.
"We saw what happened in the North. It is a shame that we could not take part in the war. We will regret that for the rest of our lives," said the Child of the Forest.
Jon observed her for a moment. "Rise." He began. "I appreciate the hospitality, but I still have some questions for all of you."
There were many things he needed to ask these people. As everyone stood, Jon turned his gaze toward the heart tree.
"But before we can speak, I can hear the heart tree's call. Let me do something first." Jon began to walk.
The Children of the Forest and the old man stepped aside to allow him to pass.
The crowd could not take their eyes off him. Even the other Children of the Forest moved back a little.
Jon continued toward the enormous tree. Then he raised his hand.
And touched the white trunk with the palm of his hand. He knew that the Old Gods had called to him through the tree.
That was how it worked every time he touched a particular heart tree.
First, at the heart tree in that godswood within the Wolfswood.
Then, at the heart tree beyond the Wall, where the Night's Watch took their vows.
The next, and last one that had created this kind of connection, was the heart tree of Arctic, around which he had built his kingdom.
The heart tree of Winterfell had been made for connections like this, but it could very well be used if the Old Gods wished to call him. There were several, but not all trees possessed this power, only the most powerful ones.
And the one before him was precisely a heart tree that possessed the power to establish this connection.
The moment he touched it, the Old Gods made a request.
It was nothing like what had happened in Arctic, whose heart tree was as powerful as the Great Tree and could sustain far deeper connections with the gods, which had resulted in magical training. After all, he needed the strength of that colossal tree to reinforce and maintain the bond with the Gods for a longer period.
Even so, in only a few words, they conveyed their message.
Rekindle the religion of the Green Men.
Take the Children of the Forest who still lived there to the north, to Arctic.
"Understood." That was all Jon said.
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