ARC III: THE AWAKENING OF THE DRAGONS AND THE WAR OF THE EMPIRE
Chapter 33: Three Kings, One Empire
POV: King Arawyn Stark (299 AC)
The Great Hall of Winterfell had never been so loud, warm, and overflowing with anticipation. Looking down from my seat at the gathering of Northern lords, I couldn't help but remember when this entire journey began.
Years ago, when I assumed control of the North at just six years old, we were gathered in infinitely smaller numbers, under the shadow of tragedy and distrust. From that fragile spark, the Kingdom of the North arose, expanded, and prospered in ways no ordinary man would have dared dream. And today, that ancient kingdom would cease to exist to give rise to something infinitely greater.
I rise from the throne. In the very same millisecond, the hubbub of conversations, laughter, and the clinking of ale mugs cease abruptly. The silence that settles is absolute, broken only by the crackle of firewood in the great stone hearths.
"— Lords of the North —" my voice echoes, amplified by the very magical acoustics I projected into the hall's walls. "— Welcome to what will be the last assembly of the Kingdom of the North."
A murmur of confusion and doubt instantly ripples through the tables. I see lords exchange glances, trying to decipher the meaning behind my words. How so, the last?
"— Today we are here to decide matters of extreme importance for our future —" I continue, maintaining my imposing posture.
"— But before that, some necessary notices. As everyone knows, we recently conducted a major military campaign to definitively resolve the latent problems beyond the Wall. And I can assure you with absolute certainty: everything went perfectly well. After a historic gathering, the leaders of the Free Folk accepted to submit to our crown and integrate into our lands. Lords, you will have to update your domestic maps... because our territory has just doubled in size."
The hall explodes in a cacophony of roars, war cries, and fists pounding against the wooden tables. The conquest of new lands, the expansion of frontiers, and the prospect of new resources bring an almost wild happiness to the Northern nobility.
"— With the annexation of these new lands —" I proceed, raising my hand to quiet the noise, "— new lords will need to emerge to guarantee order, the application of justice, and the enforcement of imperial law. Therefore, let the new leaders approach the throne."
From where they were seated, the chiefs of the Free Folk rise and walk toward the dais, kneeling perfectly before me. Mance Rayder, Tormund, Ygritte, and the Magnar of the Thenns keep their heads low, submitting their pride in full view of everyone.
"— There is still one of our new allies missing, —" I declare with a corner smirk.
In the very same instant, the immense double oak doors of the hall are thrown wide open. Silence returns with double the force as the colossal silhouette of Mag the Mighty crosses the portal, accompanied by his massive giant warriors and footsteps that make the castle's very structure vibrate.
The expression of absolute shock, terror, and disbelief stamped on the faces of the Northern lords was worth every ounce of tactical effort I dedicated to this campaign. The only ones who knew of the giant's presence and arrival were the wildling chiefs and my cousins, and they all kept the secret masterfully. For those wondering how a four-meter giant went unnoticed through the territory... well, the magical concealment formulas and spells of absolute silence are not the exclusive property of House Bolton.
After the giant bends his immense knees before the dais with a muffled thud, I step in front of them.
"— Before me and before you, lords of the North, stand men, women, and beings of immense wisdom, —" I speak, looking over the hall. "— Just as King Torrhen Stark surrendered his personal pride before the Conquistador and his dragons, preferring the survival of his people over the vanity of a bronze crown, these leaders before me have also decided to abandon their traditions and tribal pride to guarantee the safety, prosperity, and happiness of their descendants.
Therefore, before formally consecrating them as nobles of my territory, I must seal my own commitment."
The magical markings on my skin begin to glow with an intense green hue, and my own mystical energy spreads through the Great Hall like a gust of warm wind.
"Here, before gods and men, I swear to you that I will guarantee the protection, justice, and prosperity of your peoples. I swear by stone and bronze, by ice and fire, and by my own magic. May the Old Gods witness this blood oath."
From the corner of the dais, near the queen, my cousin Sansa Stark approaches with firm, elegant steps. In her hands, she carries the immense ancestral sword, Ice.
Looking at the great Valyrian blade, I cannot help but think that, soon, I will need to forge a suitable weapon for my own use—even though I prefer to fight bare-handed—or perhaps march down to the tombs of the ancient Kings of Winter in the crypts to reclaim the legendary Fist of Winter. Yes, I will make that search in the depths of the crypts soon. But for now, the focus is on the present.
I receive the sword from Sansa's hands and approach the first leader.
"— Mance Rayder —" I place the broad blade on his left shoulder. "— For your unquestionable leadership, intellect, and wisdom in guiding your people to salvation, I name you a noble of this realm and proclaim you, by right of blood, the Lord of the Haunted Forest."
Mance nods firmly, accepting the title. I move to the next in line.
"— Tormund Giantsbane —" I repeat the process with the sword. "— For your raw strength, loyalty, and unquestionable bravery in combat, I proclaim you the Lord of the Frostfangs."
The members of his clan present in the galleries let out roars of approval. I turn to the only woman kneeling in the line.
"— Ygritte —" I touch her shoulders with the Valyrian steel. "— For your dexterity, your sharp tongue, and your indomitable determination in defending the borders, I proclaim you the Lady of the Shivering Sea."
The Magnar of the Thenns is next.
"— Magnar —" I place the blade on his bronze shoulder. "— Whose territory and clan shall remain intact under our new law, I proclaim you the Lord of the Valley of Thenn."
Finally, I turn to the colossal giant. Fortunately, Ice has such massive dimensions that it allows me to reach Mag the Mighty's shoulders without having to stretch awkwardly.
"— Mag the Mighty —" I declare, raising my voice so the giant can comprehend. "— For your colossal strength, honor in combat, and power of leadership over your legendary race, I name you a noble of the territory and proclaim you the Lord of the Frozen Shore."
After the consecration, they all stand and are greeted with formal congratulations by the lords of the North. Although I know that the historical rivalries, prejudices, and disputes between the Northmen and the wildlings will not disappear overnight, both sides are now officially marching under the same banner.
I wait for everyone to return to their seats. Mag is led to a colossal bench of solid wood, built specifically to support his titanic weight—and blessed be the magical hardening formulas I applied to the structure so that the wood would not shatter under him.
"— Lords of the North —" I continue, walking along the dais. "— With the addition of the entire territory beyond the Wall, the physical dimensions of our lands have become absolutely gigantic. The North already possessed an area equivalent to nearly the rest of the Seven Kingdoms combined, but now, with this massive expansion and the colossal distances between castles, ruling centrally from a single throne has become a strategically unfeasible task. We must decentralize political and military power to maintain efficiency."
The hall remains in absolute silence, with the lords trying to process the logistics of such a decision.
"— Therefore, utilizing the Wall as our natural dividing line, our territory will be formally split into two distinct and autonomous kingdoms: the Lands Above the Neck and the Lands Beyond the Wall. Each of these divisions will have its own legitimate king. And these kings will answer directly to only a single supreme authority: the Emperor."
A wave of exclamations and commotion ripples through the hall as the minds of the nobles process the magnitude of the information. The silence gives way to enthusiastic shouts that begin to echo through the stone galleries:
"Emperor of the North! The Empire of the North! The Emperor of Winter!"
After all, an Empire represents the absolute pinnacle of governance in this world. Historically, very few governments have formally achieved this status—such as the legendary Great Empire of the Dawn or the Valyrian Freehold, which technically was not structured as a traditional dynastic empire.
When the euphoria finally dies down, Lord Wyman Manderly rises from his table, wiping his beard.
"— My Ki... Emperor, —" he quickly corrects himself, with a gleam of admiration in his eyes. "— The strategy is perfect. But who will be the kings tasked with ruling these new territories under your imperial crown?"
Manderly's question was extremely pertinent, considering I do not yet have biological children or direct heirs to claim such thrones.
"— After meticulously analyzing the lineage and magical capabilities of our family, —" I answer, "— I have already chosen the men who will wear these crowns. Robb of House Stark, son of Eddard Stark and Cersei Lannister, step forward."
I see Robb's face turn pale with pure shock. He certainly expected the title of King of the Neck to be delivered directly to his father, Ned Stark. But my uncle had already been trying to transfer all his responsibilities to his eldest son for months.
Furthermore, although it pains me to admit, Ned Stark is not fully a Stark in terms of mentality; his upbringing under Jon Arryn in the Vale gave him an honorable, rigid view of the world that often simply does not match the raw pragmatism expected of a true wolf of Winter. Robb, on the other hand, was raised in the heart of the North, breathing pragmatism and acting exactly as a Stark must act.
I hold the sword *Ice* horizontally before him. Robb approaches with firm, though still surprised, steps and extends his hands beneath the blade.
"— Robb Stark, —" I declare, staring into his eyes. "— Do you swear to protect and govern with justice the Lands Above the Neck?"
"— I swear, —" he replies, his voice steady.
"— Do you swear to defend and guarantee the rights and integrity of the people who inhabit your lands?"
"— I swear."
"— And do you swear to keep the borders of the North eternally protected and fortified against any enemy or invader coming from the South?"
"— I swear by my honor and my blood."
"— Then, as Emperor of Winter, I proclaim you the King of the Lands Above the Neck, granting you autonomy of governance under the condition of answering only directly to the Imperial Throne itself."
Robb rises to the thunderous applause of the Northern lords, who are now officially his direct subjects. As he grips the hilt of *Ice*, the magical markings carved into the blade and his own skin glow intensely. With a cold snap, a dense layer of magical ice begins to condense and rise up his arm, quickly shaping into a compact ice armor that covers his entire right arm and part of his chest.
I smile discreetly. It was precisely to imbue this elemental connection that I borrowed the sword from him in the previous days in the laboratory.
Robb walks toward his seat, and under the command of my power, an immense throne of eternal ice materializes a few steps below the level of the imperial thrones. On the other side of the dais, I cause an identical throne to emerge, awaiting its respective occupant.
I look to the side and see Cersei Lannister radiant with pride; after all, her firstborn son has just become a real king, which technically elevates her to the position of Queen Mother of the territory. Many nobles shift their eyes to young Brandon Stark, assuming he would be the obvious choice for the second throne, especially after I formally denied Tywin Lannister's tutelage—who has already announced to the West that Rickon Stark will be Jaime's legitimate heir.
However, my uncle Ned stares at me in silence with a knowing look, being one of the few who knows perfectly well that Brandon is not the person I chose to govern the deep North.
"— Bring me the gift, —" I command.
The large side door of the hall opens, and Kinvara approaches the dais carrying a long, slender object wrapped in a thick red silk cloth.
I pull back the cloth, revealing the sword I forged in my laboratory. Visually, the weapon resembles a simple, slender steel sword, but with one crucial difference: it does not exhibit the dark, rippled hue typical of frost steel or traditional Valyrian steel. The blade is perfectly clear, almost white, emitting a latent luminescence as if keeping the light of the sun itself in its core.
I see young Aemon Targaryen widen his eyes at the back of the hall, instantly recognizing the energy emanating from that weapon.
"— Aemon of House Targaryen, —" I declare, extending my hand toward him. "— Son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, approach the imperial throne."
The young prince walks with slightly trembling steps under the watchful eyes of the court and kneels before me. I ask him the exact same questions I asked Robb, changing only the cardinal point and the threat:
"— ...And do you swear to keep the borders of the Far North eternally protected and fortified against the enemies and shadows that march from the deep north?"
"— I swear by all that I am, —" Aemon answers, locking his eyes on the clear blade.
"— Then, as Emperor, I proclaim you the King Beyond the Wall."
I deliver the sword into the hands of the young prince. Aemon rises and turns to face the lords of the hall. The Northern nobility explodes in cheers and celebrations; after all, Aemon is an extremely beloved and respected boy throughout the North for his skill and temperament.
However, the young king is completely oblivious to the noise around him, totally fascinated by the weapon in his hands. As soon as he positions both hands firmly on the hilt of the sword, the properties of his dragon blood fused with the metal react instantly. With a breath of heat, the clear blade ignites in living flames—a magical fire of a deep red hue, bright and hot as fresh dragon's blood.
In the corner of the hall, I see High Priestess Kinvara fall to her knees on the stones, weeping silently in fervent prayer as she stares at the glow of the sword. The other lords and warriors pay no attention to the red woman's weeping, for they are all paralyzed, feeling the overwhelming mystique emanating from that blade of fire. Even without understanding the bonds of ancient prophecies, everyone in the hall knows, in the depths of their souls, that they have just witnessed a moment of extreme importance for the destiny of the world.
I let the silence settle for a few moments before standing up one last time.
"— Lords and ladies of the Empire of Winter... with this, I declare this Great Assembly closed."
I extend my right hand backward. Almost instantly, my fingers are clasped by a smaller, delicate, and extremely soft hand. I turn my face slightly to the side and face Margaery Tyrell.
"— My Empress of Spring... —" I whisper from the corner of my mouth with a playful smile. "— How are you feeling in the face of all this new grandeur?"
Margaery approaches my ear, her eyes shining with affectionate mischief and a dazzling smile shaping her lips.
"— I am extremely proud of you, my Emperor, —" she whispers back, her warm breath sending a shiver down my neck. "— And to celebrate the founding of your Empire... today I will be entirely yours in bed, with every part of my body and all the pleasure you desire, the whole night through."
I look at the lords of the hall, who are still all kneeling before the imperial dais, shouting at the top of their lungs salutations like "Emperor of the North!" and "Sovereign of Winter!".
I shake my head, holding Margaery's hand firmly and beginning our descent from the imperial dais.
"— Well... could those idiots be a little faster with those shouts of adoration? I suddenly became in a very big hurry to go to my chambers."