ARC III: THE AWAKENING OF THE DRAGONS AND THE WAR OF THE EMPIRE
Chapter 31: The Barriers of Always Winter and the Destiny of the Wild Princess
POV: King Arawyn Stark
Walking through a massive blizzard, further north than any living being has ever dared step in recent eras, evokes a sepulchral silence that crushes the chest. As my heavy boots sink into the virgin snow, my mind cannot help but replay the recent proposal made by the leaders of the Free Folk. Deep down, that political audacity of theirs actually makes plenty of sense within the chessboard I am assembling. They know perfectly well how the structure of power in the North works now; they saw Moat Cailin prosper under an unusual arrangement and understood the advantages of binding their bloodlines directly to the crown of Winterfell.
Accompanying me on this freezing march is my immense black direwolf, whose eyes green as wildfire slice through the whiteness of the storm, alongside a select garrison of men from the Black Guard. Beside them, some of my matrix-carvers work carrying heavy instruments, led today by the vice-leader of the order. My beautiful masked woman is not here; she recently departed for the warm lands of Essos under the enigmatic pretext of fulfilling her own part in destiny and advising a young claimant. Frankly, I don't understand why she still insists on speaking in such a mysterious, riddle-filled manner with me, considering that I know far more about the past, present, and future of this world than she ever will. Perhaps it is just the weight of a century of mystical customs and habits that are hard to break.
Suddenly, I stop. The surrounding scenery does not look visually different from any of the hundreds of leagues of ice and grey rock I crossed over the past few hours, but this is no ordinary place. Just two steps ahead of me, the air changes density. It is the beginning of the absolute domain of the Others: the borders of the Lands of Always Winter.
The violent blizzard restricts vision to a few inches, making it impossible to see what stretches ahead. However, I do not need fleshly eyes to feel their presence; I perfectly feel their cold, hungry glares dug into my back. The Night King is no complete fool. The moment I began to move my troops and expand magical influence beyond the Wall, he ordered the immediate withdrawal of all his patrols and wight armies back into the heart of his sacred territory.
Due to the bonds of the cosmic prophecy that governs this world, I am barred from marching in there and killing him for good right now. But that mystical ceiling does not mean everything is doomed if the chosen ones of the prophecy fail in the future. If the primary plan collapses, I still have enough power and raw strength to send the Others running back to the far north with their tails between their legs, exactly as the heroes of the First Men did eight thousand years ago. It is because of this overwhelming certainty that the Night King refuses to face me in an open field at this moment; he knows full well he is not yet strong enough to be considered even a worthy adversary for this King.
Behind me, I gesture for the members of the order to begin preparations. The enchanted crafters pull out the magical wards I ordered to be created from their chests—heavy stakes born from the metallurgical fusion of countless precious gems with purified dragonglass. The result of this mystical union gives the pieces a strange, bizarre, and beautiful coloration, mixing perfectly black veins with colorful, crystalline reflections that react to latent light.
I step closer to the stakes, extend my hands, and channel my power, finishing the activation incantations directly onto the matrices carved into the material. Next, the crafters bury them deeply into the frozen soil, aligned in specific geometric points. As the weeks pass, the dammed energy inside these anchors will cause the matrices to shift and spread on their own beneath the earth, covering the entire length of the border. The physical engineering of the second great barrier will be built later; for now, these subterranean matrices will function with the simple, crucial purpose of banishing the cold mist and preventing any creature of the Others from even approaching this line.
I decide to take a few steps forward, deliberately crossing the invisible boundary into enemy territory. I know the board: obviously, the ice shadows wouldn't let me drive my magical anchors into their doors without attempting a retaliation.
I stand still in the midst of the blizzard, waiting for the counter-attack while my direwolf pricks up his ears and lets out a low growl, vibrating the ground. I wonder what they would dare send against me.
The answer comes from the blizzard with surprising speed. The attack closes in around me before the sound of the displaced air can even travel through the cold. Thanks to the near-zero visibility caused by the storm and the thick magical mist the Others conjured to mask their advance, the creature managed to camouflage itself perfectly. It was a meticulous trap; their sorcery was dense enough to temporarily overcome even my heightened senses.
An immense maw filled with teeth sharp as ice stalactites snaps shut around me, trying to tear me in half. But even with all the speed and the element of surprise of the attack, it wasn't enough to overpower me.
I freeze the movement of the monstrous jaw by extending my titanic arms, holding the upper and lower teeth with the raw strength of my bare hands. I stop for a brief moment, ignoring the extreme cold emanating from the creature, just to look deep into the gélid, blue eyes of the monster that ambushed me.
I knew perfectly well that the rising tide of global magic would give some tactical advantage to the Others, but I confess I didn't imagine they would already be capable of conjuring and controlling ice dragons at this stage of the game.
Ice dragons are truly fascinating creatures. In the world's mystical ecosystem, they represent one of the three pure types of dragon in existence, being one of the only two entirely natural species—alongside the legendary sea nagas. Common Valyrian dragons, on the other hand, are a hybrid race, artificially modified and fused through ancient blood magic in Essos. But this is not the proper time to lose myself in biological musings about flying reptiles; after all, the creature keeps trying to snap its colossal jaw shut with me in its path.
Summoning a massive amount of elemental energy through the markings on my body, I shape the air around us. I fire a devastating compressed air cannon straight from inside the monster's throat. The blast of wind is so violent that it hurls both the jaw and the entire body of the immense dragon away, dragging it for dozens of meters across the snow dunes.
I watch the creature move dazedly in the frozen clearing, regaining its balance, which allows me to evaluate it with more precision. Its scales are translucent, gleaming as if made of compact, crystalline ice, displaying a beautiful and terrifying bluish tint. The detail that truly impresses is its monumental size. Ice dragons are, by nature, much larger than any of the Essosi races. This specimen before me, even though it is not the largest living example of its kind, has an envergure and a volume of flesh sufficient to rival in direct combat even Vhagar, the beast that spread terror and determined the course of the Dance of the Dragons in the past.
The monster recovers and lunges toward me again, spreading its wings to gain momentum. I duck its lateral snap with an agile movement and, taking advantage of the opening, deliver a brutal kick straight against the side of its snout, knocking its heavy head aside. Before the dragon can reorient its attack, I take a massive leap and land heavily on its back.
The beast begins to thrash violently, trying to throw me against the rocks, but I flex my legs and deliver a concentrated, magical stomping strike straight onto the top of its cervical spine. The impact is devastating; the ice dragon's head is slammed against the ground with such force that it shatters a crater into the underlying ice.
"— Just as I imagined... —" I murmur, keeping the monster pinned beneath my weight. "— The physical resistance and outer defense of its scales are considerably lower than those of a legitimate Valyrian dragon."
I close my eyes and expand my mind, invading the creature's energy channels. I locate the mystical link of the Others that was controlling the animal's actions through necromantic sorcery and crush that mental connection with the force of my Warg, liberating the ice dragon's consciousness from the dominion of the shadows. In the very same millisecond I break the link, I use the backflow of magical energy to track and discover the exact location of the White Walker commanding the beast from afar, positioned on a ridge miles away.
I bring both my hands together in front of my chest, concentrating my elemental power and shaping pure energy into the form of a concentrated arrow of light and heat. I draw the invisible string and release the missile toward the horizon. The arrow cuts through the blizzard like lightning and strikes the target with surgical precision. The impact is of such magnitude that it instantly erases the White Walker from existence, vaporizing the entire hill of ice where he was hiding as well.
I step off the ice dragon's back. Free from the mental control that enslaved it, the immense being shakes its translucent wings, lets out a sharp roar that echoes through the valleys, and takes flight, vanishing toward the deep north—toward the untouched lands that stretch far beyond the Night King's domains, where its kind and other creatures completely unknown to human history dwell in peace.
Unfortunately for the world's ecological balance, these ice creatures spend most of their long existences in a state of deep hibernation, and their natural production of residual magic into the atmosphere is very low. It is because of this reclusive behavior that modified Valyrian dragons became so vital for maintaining the global magical tide; they do not hibernate in the same way.
I return to the side of my men at the border and see that all the magical wards have been properly buried and activated along the perimeter. We immediately begin the journey back to the outpost. As we ride back, I notice from the steady, intent gaze of my Black Guard soldiers and the enchanted crafters that this trip didn't just serve to annex new territories to my domain. A new kind of respect, mixed with a reverent and absolute awe for my unarmed power, had lodged itself permanently in the mind of every single one of those men.
POV: Val, the Wild Princess
I am locked inside one of the main tents of the camp along with my sister Dalla. To be perfectly honest, she is not my favorite person in the world today. She and the other elders and clan chieftains thought it would be an excellent diplomatic idea to offer my hand in marriage directly to the King of the knelt-men as part of the Free Folk's submission agreement.
I am no ignorant fool like some of the more stubborn warriors of our clans. I know full well that continuing to defy the military power of that titanic king and the technology of his enchanted kingdom would only bring a swift, bloody death to all of us, long before the shadows and walking dead of the Lands of Always Winter could reach us in the snows. But understanding the necessity of a political alliance does not mean, by any means, that I want to simply lie down and marry him out of obligation. I was born free. My mother taught me that I would only marry a man who was strong enough to defeat me by our own rules.
The young Stark king keeps telling our leaders that he intends to change and abolish many of our customs considered "barbaric," and that the tradition of stealing a woman by force would be one of the first laws to fall under his rule. But that prohibition hasn't happened yet on paper. If that giant wolf wants me in his bed to consolidate his throne, he will have to follow the rules of the true North: he will have to defeat me in combat and steal me by right of conquest.
Since I wanted to avoid a formal diplomatic meeting with this monarch at all costs, I decided to voluntarily join the scouting and warrior team that was dispatched to hunt down the rebels led by the Lord of Bones and old Morna. If there is anything I can guarantee to any man on this or the other side of the Wall, it is that I am the best tracker and trail-hunter to ever step foot in these frozen forests. It was because of this undeniable skill of mine that the king's cousins accepted my presence in the retinue, which allowed me to witness the complete massacre of the dissidents with my own eyes.
The retribution campaign commanded by the young princes Robb and Aemon left no room for mercy or hesitation. They attacked the rebel camps in a frighteningly precise, coordinated, and brutal manner. Seeing those men equipped with dark runic armors and black cloaks fighting in the midst of the trees only made me realize, with a cold terror that froze my spine, the sheer scale of the military horror the Free Folk would have to face should we choose to keep our foolish pride above survival.
The combat mechanics of that Black Guard's runic weapons defied the very logic of speed. The warriors advanced against enemy lines, and, bizarrely, their weapons seemed to freeze in mid-air for a fraction of a second right before delivering the strike—almost as if they were deliberately pausing time to show the opponent exactly where the strike that would end their life was coming from. But when the movement completed, the steel seemed to simply transport from one point of space to another in the blink of an eye. One instant the runic black blade was raised; the next millisecond, it had already sliced the man ahead from top to bottom, cleaving through defenses, bones, armor, and his entire body as if they were made of dry straw. It was a surgical cleansing. Not a single rebel was left alive to tell the tale.
Now, I am back in the main courtyard of the Winterfell outpost, waiting for the monarch's arrival. As soon as the great doors open and the Stark King emerges mounted on his black horse, accompanied by his monumental black direwolf, I decide to shatter all diplomatic formalities and take firm steps toward him, intercepting his march before he reaches the fort.
Arawyn Stark pulls the reins of his horse, stopping the mount just a few inches from me. He stares down at me, examining my features with those deep, piercing green eyes. A smirk shapes his lips.
"— Well... this is quite a breach of protocol for a royal reception, but I'll let it slide this time, —" the king says, his deep voice reverberating through the courtyard. "— You must be the famous Val, the wild princess Mance spoke so much about."
He dismounts from his horse with an impressive ease for his titanic size and walks over until he stops right in front of me, looking me up and down without a shred of shyness.
"— I see the reports about your moniker were correct, —" he continues, evaluating my body with intensity. "— You wouldn't look out of place in terms of beauty in a line of the most refined, aristocratic princesses of the South, girl."
"— Leave the nonsense and clever words aside, King Stark, —" I shoot back, puffing out my chest and keeping my chin held high, refusing to be intimidated by his giant frame. "— You may have plans to abolish our ancient traditions in the future of your new realm, but here and now, the law of the Free Folk still stands. If you truly want me as your woman to seal the peace between our peoples, you will have to steal me by the blade. You will have to conquer me through force."
Arawyn lets out a short, genuine laugh, crossing his muscular arms over his runic armor plating.
"— So, by your logic, the smartest thing I could do would be to simply wait for the formal abolition of your laws to take effect so I can take you without effort, correct? —" he asks, mockery gleaming in his eyes.
He shakes his head, dropping the smile and adopting a more serious posture.
"— Besides... it would be an absolute hypocrisy on my part to win a lawful wife by utilizing an ancient custom of yours and then immediately sign a decree abolishing that very custom for the rest of the people, wouldn't it? —"
"— I don't think anything, —" I retort immediately, though deep in my mind I know full well that the man's argument carries a fair share of reason and integrity.
The king pauses for a moment, sighs, and uncrosses his arms, cracking the knuckles of his runic gauntlet.
"— Fine, then. If that's how you want to play by your people's rules, let's get this over with. Show me what you've got."
I waste no time with further arguments. I draw my bone-and-steel dagger quickly and lunge at his chest in a swift thrusting motion. But before the tip of my weapon even scratches the fabric of his cloak, the king's right hand shoots forward like a striking serpent. Arawyn catches the blade of my weapon directly between his bare fingers, locking the metal in place with humiliating ease.
I try to pull the weapon back with all the strength of my arms, but the blade doesn't move a single millimeter, as if cemented into a massive boulder. Desperate from being locked down, I plant my right leg against his muscular hip, using my entire body weight to leverage and push his torso away while pulling the hilt with both hands. The king doesn't even sway from my physical effort; he remains motionless like a mountain of ice.
"— Well... let's end this foolishness once and for all, —" he whispers near my face, in a calm tone of voice that irritates me deeply.
Arawyn simply releases the blade of my weapon. In the very same millisecond I lose my anchor point and my body pitches forward from losing balance, I feel his massive palm strike the side of my face with a controlled but immensely heavy slap.
The last physical sensation my consciousness can record is the left side of my face going completely numb from the impact and my body being lifted off the ground with ease, tossed unceremoniously over the king's broad, muscular shoulder. In the distance, before the darkness entirely blanks out my senses, I can hear Arawyn's mocking voice addressing the clan leaders watching the scene in the courtyard:
"— Well... thank you for the wife, gentlemen. Have a good day. —"
I wake up some time later, dragged from the darkness by a persistent feeling of weight and an intense burning located directly in my intimacy. I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the torchlight, and realize with a start that I am lying on my back in the fortress's royal quarters. The King of the North is positioned between my legs, with his colossal piece buried entirely inside my body, moving his hips in a steady, predatory rhythm.
I do not need to see with my own eyes to understand the magnitude of the size of what fills me; after all, his flesh is fully inserted inside me and my internal anatomy can evaluate that thickness better than any carnal metric. The filling is so absurdly dense that it stretches my muscles to the limit, bringing a wave of heat that spreads through my womb.
I notice that my face is no longer numb or swollen from the impact of the blow in the courtyard. Arawyn notices the movement of my eyes, pauses the rhythm of the thrusts for a moment, and glares down at me with a smirk on his lips.
"— Well... you took so long to wake up from the faint that I simply couldn't resist the invitation to start the work without you, my dear, —" the wolf says, pulling my legs up over his titanic shoulders.
I try to formulate a response or curse at him for the audacity, but I feel something loose and bothersome rolling inside my mouth. I turn my head to the side and spit onto the sheet; I see with surprise that it was two of my molar teeth that had been knocked out by the slap. However, as I run my tongue along my gums and dental arch, I realize to my astonishment that all my teeth are still firm, intact, and perfectly positioned in my mouth.
"— Did you... did you use your magical healing to mend me while I was knocked out? —" I ask, my voice coming out a bit shaky and panting due to the movement he restarts.
"— Of course I did, —" he answers, letting out a nasal chuckle while holding my waist firmly with his massive hands. "— Otherwise, you would still be unconscious on the courtyard floor with a deformed face, and I wouldn't have a functional wife to enjoy tonight."
Arawyn intensifies the pace of his movements again, thrusting his massive body against mine with an overwhelming force that makes the large enchanted wooden bed creak against the room's stone walls. Faced with the rawness of the situation and strictly following the ancestral traditions of the Free Folk, I realize he fulfilled all requirements: he met my challenge, shattered my defenses with a single blow, and rightfully stole me to his bed. He possesses me now by right of conquest.
Instead of fighting or resisting, I relax my muscles and open my legs even wider, wrapping the king's broad waist with my thighs to allow him to penetrate with even more depth, reaching the apex of my womb with every thrust.
"— Very well... now let's begin this marriage for real, my dear wild princess, —" Arawyn whispers against my ear, his hot breath accelerating my pulse.
I feel a sudden, intense wave of physical pleasure begin to take over my entire body, making me arch my back against the messy sheets. As I feel the titanic weight of the King of the North completely dominating me in the warmth of the quarters, I bite my lower lip and formulate one final pragmatic thought before surrendering entirely to the night's ecstasy: in the end, perhaps this political marriage to the enchanted wolf wasn't such a bad idea after all.