Chapter 87: Through Storm and Ice
The storm arrived three days before the Titan.
By the second night, White Harbor itself seemed ready to break beneath the fury of the sea.
Winds screamed across the harbor walls hard enough to tear banners loose while monstrous waves slammed against the docks like giant fists. Snow mixed with freezing rain until the entire world became a blur of grey water and white ice.
Ships groaned desperately against their anchors.
Several smaller fishing vessels had already snapped free during the night, smashing apart against harbor rocks before vanishing beneath black water.
No sane captain would sail in weather like this.
Even northern sailors feared these storms.
Inside harbor taverns, men sat close to fires while staring toward the raging sea beyond the walls.
"She's getting worse."
"Aye."
"No ship survives out there tonight."
One old captain spat into his ale.
"Not even royal war fleets would dare leave harbor in this."
Nobody argued.
Outside, the sea looked murderous.
Waves rose like moving hills beneath roaring winds while freezing spray coated the harbor itself in ice.
And yet—
Inside New Castle, Lord Wyman Manderly stood beside a narrow window watching the storm quietly.
On the table behind him rested Jon Snow's message.
Second shipment arrives tomorrow.
Simple.
Calm.
Certain.
Wyman had reread the sentence at least twenty times.
Tomorrow.
In this storm.
Even now, part of him struggled to believe it possible.
No fleet in Westeros could cross seas like these safely. Most captains would wait weeks for calmer weather before risking departure.
But Jon Snow had never failed a promise.
Not once.
A servant entered nervously.
"My lord… the harbor masters request permission to suspend all dock operations."
Wyman looked back toward the storm.
"Granted."
The servant hesitated.
"And… the Titan?"
Silence lingered briefly.
Then Wyman answered quietly.
"Prepare the harbor anyway."
The servant stared in disbelief.
"My lord… nothing can sail in this."
Wyman slowly turned his gaze northward again.
"That ship can."
The next morning, the storm worsened.
The sea beyond White Harbor had become chaos itself.
Massive black waves crashed endlessly against one another beneath screaming winds while snow buried the city in freezing white. Visibility dropped so badly that even nearby ships vanished into fog within moments.
Most of White Harbor remained awake anyway.
Watching.
Waiting.
Even men who mocked the stories now stood along the harbor walls wrapped in thick furs staring toward the sea.
Because if Winter's Titan truly arrived today…
Then the ship was not merely impressive.
It was unnatural.
Hours passed.
Nothing appeared.
Some people finally began relaxing.
"Maybe even the Titan turned back."
"No ship can fight this storm."
"The gods themselves are raging out there."
Then—
The horn came.
Deep.
Heavy.
Monstrous.
The sound rolled across the storm louder than thunder itself.
Every man upon the walls froze.
Far beyond the harbor—
A shadow emerged through snow and crashing waves.
Winter's Titan.
People stopped breathing.
The giant vessel moved through the storm without slowing.
Waves massive enough to destroy ordinary fleets crashed against its steel body, yet the Titan barely shifted. Thick white steam poured endlessly from enormous vents along its sides, glowing faintly against the storm like the breath of some slumbering beast.
No sails tore in the wind.
No masts bent.
Because the Titan needed neither.
It simply moved forward like an iron mountain ignoring the wrath of nature itself.
"Gods…" someone whispered.
Another sailor crossed himself immediately.
"That ship should not exist."
Even fifteen kilometers away, the Titan dominated the sea.
And still—
It did not approach White Harbor directly.
The harbor masters finally understood why.
In waves this massive, bringing such a colossal vessel closer would destroy half the docks accidentally through sheer force alone.
So the Titan stopped in the distance once more.
Steady.
Unmoving.
Like a floating fortress standing against the storm itself.
And then—
Something happened nobody expected.
Along both sides of the Titan, gigantic steel gates slowly began opening.
The sound echoed even across the sea.
Deep mechanical groans thundered outward while enormous sections of the vessel separated.
People stared in disbelief.
"What in the seven hells…"
From within the Titan—
Ships emerged.
Steamships.
Five from each side.
Ten total.
Each nearly one hundred meters long.
No sails.
No oars.
Only thick white steam erupting from reinforced vents while strange glowing seals pulsed faintly beneath iron plating along the hulls.
The sight alone terrified people.
The ships moved like living things.
Not drifting with the wind.
Not struggling against the waves.
They cut directly through the storm with unnatural steadiness while boiling steam roared from hidden chambers deep inside them.
Several northern captains stared openly.
"They're not burning coal," one whispered in shock.
Another sailor narrowed his eyes.
"No smoke…"
He was right.
No black smoke darkened the sky.
Only immense white steam rising endlessly into the storm.
The heating seals.
No one in Westeros understood them fully.
Jon Snow had taken sealing arts and ancient magic and forged them into engines capable of generating endless heat. Water boiled deep within the ships continuously, creating unstoppable steam pressure that drove massive internal mechanisms.
No wind needed.
No fuel gathered.
No sails raised.
The sea itself could rage endlessly—
The ships did not care.
And they were already loaded.
Crates stacked across reinforced cargo decks.
Grain.
Preserved food.
Construction supplies.
Cement.
The ten steamships surged forward through the waves toward White Harbor.
Massive walls of black water crashed against them repeatedly.
Ordinary ships would have rolled, snapped, or sunk.
These vessels simply powered through.
Their reinforced iron hulls smashed through waves while white steam exploded around them in great clouds of heat.
And standing upon every deck—
Winter's Heaven soldiers.
Motionless.
Disciplined.
Black cloaks whipping violently in the wind while enormous direwolves prowled calmly among cargo lines like creatures born from winter itself.
Steam rose around them.
Snow whipped across steel decks.
Lightning flashed overhead.
The scene stopped feeling real.
It looked like something from an old northern prophecy.
One dockworker whispered shakily:
"The gods sent them…"
The unloading began immediately.
Even during the storm.
The steamships docked one after another against reinforced harbor sections while workers rushed forward beneath freezing rain and screaming winds.
Wyman Manderly personally stood upon the docks watching the operation with stunned silence.
One hundred years ahead.
No—
A thousand.
That was how this felt.
While ordinary kingdoms hid from storms…
Jon Snow delivered supplies through them.
And the cargo—
Gods.
The cargo remained perfectly dry.
Specially sealed compartments protected grain and supplies completely from seawater and freezing conditions.
One dockworker laughed almost hysterically while unloading preserved food crates.
"The storm can't even stop them!"
Nearby, an old sailor stared toward the distant Titan barely visible through fog and snow.
His face looked pale.
"I've sailed thirty years," he muttered quietly.
"I've seen storms swallow fleets whole."
Another captain nodded slowly.
The old sailor looked toward the Titan again.
"But that thing…"
His voice lowered.
"…that thing sails like winter itself obeys it."
Throughout White Harbor, word spread rapidly.
King Jon's ships crossed the storm.
Not survived.
Crossed.
Children repeated the stories excitedly through snow-covered streets while merchants stared at overflowing warehouses in disbelief.
And for the first time in northern history—
People began believing something once unimaginable.
Winter starvation might truly become history.
By nightfall, the unloading neared completion.
The ten steamships slowly withdrew from White Harbor's docks one after another before returning toward the distant Titan still standing against the storm like a black mountain upon the sea.
Then the giant gates opened again.
The smaller vessels vanished back inside.
The gates sealed shut.
And finally—
Winter's Titan turned northward once more.
Its horn echoed across the storm one last time while massive clouds of white steam rose endlessly around it.
Then the floating fortress disappeared back into snow and darkness like some ancient god returning beyond the edge of the world.
Silence lingered across White Harbor afterward.
Only crashing waves and falling snow remained.
One northern captain standing atop the harbor wall continued staring northward long after the Titan vanished.
Then quietly—
Almost to himself—
He whispered:
"If King Jon can cross seas like these…"
His eyes remained fixed upon the endless storm beyond the horizon.
"…what in the gods' names could ever stop him?"
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Author's Note:
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