Chapter 58: Back to Winter's Heaven
It had been five days since I last spoke with Father—Ned Stark.
A full week since I had returned to Winterfell.
Time moved strangely when I was here. The days felt both slow and fleeting, as if the castle itself refused to acknowledge how long I had been gone, or how much had changed. Winterfell stood the same as it always had—stone walls, cold air, familiar corridors—but I walked through it like a guest rather than a son.
I no longer belonged entirely to this place.
Beyond the Wall, Winter's Heaven waited for me.
That thought never left my mind. Even as I shared meals with my family, even as I listened to Arya's stories or Bran's questions, part of me remained far away—watching valleys, counting people, measuring stores, correcting mistakes my shadow clones reported back to me.
And that, I realized, was the problem.
Everything in my kingdom still revolved around me.
Yes, people helped. Yes, leaders existed in name. But every true decision still passed through my hands—through my mind. If I wasn't watching, my clones were. If they weren't, my power filled the gaps.
Winter's Heaven survived because I was always there.
But what kind of king builds a realm that cannot stand without him?
I stood by the window of my chambers, watching snow drift lazily across the yard below. Soldiers trained. Servants hurried between buildings. Life moved on, unaware of the quiet fear settling in my chest.
If I disappeared tomorrow—truly disappeared—the kingdom would falter. Not immediately. Not dramatically. But slowly. Decisions would stall. Conflicts would grow. People would wait for guidance that never came.
I could not allow that.
Power is a shortcut. Structure is permanence.
I had built Winter's Heaven with miracles. Now I had to turn it into a kingdom.
That meant returning. That meant letting go of control. That meant trusting others.
It also meant saying goodbye—again.
I told them at dinner.
We sat together in the Great Hall, the same long table where I had eaten countless meals as a boy. The fire crackled, warmth pushing back the chill that always seemed to live in the stones. For a brief moment, it almost felt normal.
"I'll be leaving tomorrow," I said.
The words landed heavier than I expected.
Arya's head snapped up. "Tomorrow?"
Bran frowned. "Already?"
I nodded. "I need to return beyond the Wall."
Arya crossed her arms immediately. "You just got back."
"I know."
She looked away, clearly annoyed, though I could see the disappointment behind it.
Robb studied me in silence. He'd learned how to read people lately—how to see what wasn't being said. "Is something wrong?"
"No," I said honestly. "Something needs fixing."
Sansa didn't speak. She kept her eyes on her plate, carefully composed, as if she hadn't heard me at all. But I noticed the way her shoulders stiffened, just slightly.
Father set his cup down. "You were never meant to stay long," he said quietly.
I met his eyes. "No."
No one argued after that. Conversation resumed, but it felt thinner somehow, like everyone was choosing their words more carefully. Laughter came, but it didn't linger.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
The morning air bit sharply as I stepped into the yard. Frost clung to the stones, and my breath fogged as I exhaled. Winterfell always greeted farewells with cold—it felt fitting.
Father approached first.
He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me the way he used to when I was younger—like he was memorizing my face.
Then he pulled me into a hug.
"Be well, my son," he said.
"I will," I replied.
He pulled back slightly. "You'll write?"
"I'll send ravens of my own," I said. "About trade. About the North. And… Father, speak to the Northern lords for me. Tell them my proposal stands."
He nodded. "I will."
Arya didn't wait her turn. She practically threw herself at me, arms tight around my waist.
"You always leave," she muttered.
"I always come back," I said, resting a hand on her hair.
Bran hugged me next, smaller arms but no less sincere. "Are you really a king?"
I smiled softly. "I suppose so."
"Then you're still my brother?"
"Always."
Robb clasped my forearm. "Don't do anything reckless."
I snorted. "I stopped doing reckless things years ago."
Sansa stood apart, pretending to be very interested in the snow.
I walked to her. "Sansa."
She looked up, startled, cheeks flushing instantly.
Without overthinking it, I hugged her. She froze, then relaxed—just a little.
"Take care," she whispered.
"I will."
I ruffled her hair gently and stepped back, earning a shocked look and an even redder face.
Catelyn stood nearby, watching. Her expression was unreadable—conflicted, as always. I met her gaze, offered a small nod, and turned away.
Some things didn't need words.
I walked to the center of the yard and whistled.
I didn't need to. I could feel my eagles wherever they flew. But whistling felt… right. Familiar. Human.
The air darkened as one of them descended, landing heavily among the stone and snow. It was massive—far larger than any creature meant to fly. The second circled above, unable to land in the confined space.
I climbed onto the first eagle's back.
With a powerful beat of its wings, we rose into the sky. Winterfell shrank beneath us, towers becoming stones, stones becoming memories.
The wind roared past my ears as we flew north.
It would take hours to reach my kingdom at this speed.
But not for me.
Fly home, I sent through our bond. This is your training.
Then I smiled faintly.
"There's a faster way for me."
I used the flying thunder god jutsu and vanished.
Author's Note:
I'm back—and this time, I'm here to stay.
I've begun stockpiling chapters to ensure regular and uninterrupted updates.
Upload schedule going forward:
Monday • Wednesday • Friday
Thank you to everyone who waited. Let's continue the journey.