Chapter 117: Rumors Across Westeros
The rumors spread faster than ravens.
That alone should have been impossible.
Yet throughout the North, men spoke of little else.
Winter's Heaven.
The Kingdom Beyond Winter.
The City of Endless Light.
The Realm of the White Wolf King.
Every tavern, every market, every harbor dock seemed to echo with the same stories.
And with every retelling...
The stories became greater.
White Harbor had become the center of it all.
Only days had passed since the delegation returned from Winter's Heaven aboard the mighty Winter's Titan.
Yet already crowds gathered wherever one of the returning knights appeared.
Inside The Frozen Whale tavern, nearly a hundred people packed themselves shoulder-to-shoulder.
Sailors.
Merchants.
Dockworkers.
Guards.
Even minor nobles.
All listening.
At the center stood Ser Marlon.
A large mug rested in his hand.
His expression was tired.
Not because of travel.
Because he had told the same story at least fifty times already.
Yet nobody ever believed it the first time.
"Tell us about the city again!"
A sailor shouted.
Several others nodded eagerly.
Ser Marlon sighed.
Gods.
Here we go again.
"It is larger than White Harbor."
The tavern erupted.
"Impossible!"
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It bloody isn't!"
Ser Marlon slammed his mug against the table.
The tavern immediately quieted.
"I've walked White Harbor all my life."
His voice became firm.
"I know every street."
"I know every dock."
"I know every district."
He leaned forward.
"And Winter's Heaven is larger."
Silence followed.
The confidence in his voice disturbed people more than the claim itself.
A merchant swallowed.
"What was the strangest thing?"
That question always came.
Every time.
Ser Marlon stared into his ale.
Then answered honestly.
"The lights."
The room fell silent again.
"Not torches."
"Not lanterns."
"Not wildfire."
Several listeners exchanged confused looks.
"Then what were they?"
The knight shook his head.
"I don't know."
"They were inside glass."
"They burned without smoke."
"They burned without oil."
"They burned without servants tending them."
Another sailor frowned.
"Magic?"
"I thought so."
Marlon took another drink.
"But there was too much of it."
The room listened carefully.
"The streets had them."
"The homes had them."
"The stations had them."
"The factories had them."
"The harbor had them."
His eyes slowly lifted.
"The city shined through the entire night."
A murmur spread across the tavern.
No city did that.
No city could do that.
Inside New Castle, Lord Wyman Manderly listened to yet another report.
Three merchants stood before him.
Behind them were two captains and several sailors.
All telling the same stories.
The same impossible stories.
The same unbelievable details.
Which was exactly the problem.
One man lying could be ignored.
Ten men lying could be questioned.
Hundreds?
That became difficult.
"My lord," one merchant said carefully.
"The food markets alone could feed cities."
Wyman frowned.
"Cities?"
"Aye."
The merchant nodded.
"There were fruits we had never seen."
"Vegetables growing during winter."
"Meat in abundance."
Another merchant stepped forward.
"And their roads, my lord."
Wyman looked toward him.
"What about them?"
"They are smooth."
The merchant struggled for words.
"No mud."
"No holes."
"No broken stones."
"Just endless roads stretching across the kingdom."
The room fell silent.
Wyman slowly rubbed his beard.
Every report painted the same picture.
Not merely a powerful kingdom.
A different civilization.
Something beyond Westeros.
And somehow...
Jon Snow ruled it.
Far to the west, Winterfell received similar reports.
Lord Eddard Stark sat quietly while northern merchants described what they had witnessed.
Unlike many others, Ned already knew Jon had survived.
Already knew Jon ruled Winter's Heaven.
Already knew he had built something remarkable.
Yet even he found himself surprised.
One merchant finished describing the city.
Another described the trains.
A third described the factories.
Finally Ned spoke.
"And the people?"
The merchants paused.
Then smiled.
"They love him."
Ned remained silent.
"They truly do, my lord."
"Not because they fear him."
"Not because they must."
The merchant shook his head.
"They genuinely love him."
Ned looked toward the window.
Snow fell softly outside Winterfell.
For a brief moment...
Pride touched his expression.
Jon had always deserved a chance.
It seemed he had created far more than anyone imagined.
In King's Landing, the rumors eventually reached the Red Keep.
The Small Council gathered.
Reports from White Harbor rested upon the table.
King Robert Baratheon sat at the head of it.
At first he laughed.
Loudly.
"Glass lanterns without fire?"
The king grinned.
"Gods, these northerners drink stronger ale than I do."
Several council members smiled.
Then Jon Arryn placed another report upon the table.
Then another.
Then another.
Different witnesses.
Different merchants.
Different captains.
Different knights.
All describing the same things.
Slowly...
Robert stopped laughing.
The king frowned.
"These all come from different people?"
"Aye, Your Grace."
Jon Arryn nodded.
Robert picked up another parchment.
Then another.
Then another.
His frown deepened.
"Interesting."
That single word immediately caught the attention of the council.
Because Robert Baratheon rarely found paperwork interesting.
Varys folded his hands.
"What troubles Your Grace?"
Robert tossed the parchment onto the table.
"Nothing troubles me."
He leaned back.
"I'm simply trying to understand how a frozen wasteland beyond the Wall somehow became richer than half my kingdom."
Silence followed.
Even Stannis looked thoughtful.
Finally Jon Arryn spoke.
"The reports appear genuine."
Robert sighed heavily.
"Then Ned's boy has accomplished something extraordinary."
No one disagreed.
At Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister read the reports in silence.
Unlike Robert, he ignored the fanciful descriptions.
He ignored the glowing lights.
Ignored the rumors of miracles.
Ignored the exaggerated stories.
Instead he focused on numbers.
Trade.
Production.
Population.
Infrastructure.
The things that truly created power.
After nearly an hour, Tywin placed the parchment down.
One of his advisors waited nervously.
"My lord?"
Tywin stared toward the sea.
"Interesting."
The advisor swallowed.
"What does it mean?"
Tywin's expression remained unreadable.
"It means Jon Snow understands something most rulers never do."
The advisor waited.
Tywin finally answered.
"Wealth is power."
"And his kingdom appears to be creating wealth faster than anyone in Westeros."
Throughout the Reach, rumors spread among merchants.
Throughout Dorne, curiosity grew.
Throughout the Riverlands, travelers exchanged increasingly impossible stories.
Some claimed Winter's Heaven possessed roads that stretched forever.
Others claimed the city never slept.
Some swore Jon Snow commanded dragons.
Others insisted he was blessed by the old gods themselves.
Every story became larger.
Every rumor became stranger.
Yet one thing remained constant.
Everyone spoke of Winter's Heaven.
Meanwhile...
Back in Winter's Heaven...
Jon Snow remained completely unaware of the chaos spreading across Westeros.
He sat inside the Hall of Governance surrounded by reports.
Across from him sat Ygritte.
Once again occupying entirely too much of his desk.
Val watched from across the room.
Once again pretending not to be annoyed.
And Tormund watched all three of them.
Entirely too amused.
Outside, trains moved through the snowy night.
Factories continued working.
The city glowed beneath the falling snow.
Alive.
Prosperous.
Growing stronger with every passing day.
And far away, across the Seven Kingdoms, nobles, merchants, sailors, and kings all argued over the same question.
Was Winter's Heaven truly as incredible as the rumors claimed?
Those who had visited knew the answer.
The truth...
Was even more unbelievable.
End Chapter 117
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