Chapter 95: The King's City
The morning after their arrival, the envoys awoke to a city already in motion.
Ser Marlon Rivers stood by the window of the guest residence, looking out over Winter's Heaven while snow drifted softly from the grey skies above.
The sun had only just begun to rise.
Yet the city was alive.
Trains moved along distant rail lines.
Workers filled the streets.
Cargo wagons rolled between districts.
Steam rose from industrial sectors beyond the city.
And the strange white lights that had illuminated the streets throughout the night slowly dimmed one by one as daylight strengthened.
The city never truly slept.
That realization unsettled Marlon more than anything he had seen so far.
A knock came at the door.
Moments later, a free folk official entered.
He wore dark blue robes marked with the crowned direwolf of Winter's Heaven.
"My name is Erik," he said politely.
"I serve within the administration of Winter's Heaven."
The envoys stood.
Erik smiled.
"King Jon has ordered that you be shown the city."
The envoys exchanged glances.
This was what they had truly come for.
Not ships.
Not trains.
The city itself.
________________________________________
The first thing that shocked them was not the buildings.
It was the roads.
Wide.
Smooth.
Clean.
Even after snowfall.
Workers cleared snow from major roads while maintenance crews moved through the streets carrying tools and equipment.
There were no potholes.
No mud.
No frozen ruts.
One builder knelt down and touched the road.
The grey material felt solid beneath his hand.
He had worked with the cement Winter's Heaven exported to White Harbor.
But seeing entire districts built using it was something else entirely.
"How much of this city is built with cement?" he asked.
Erik looked around.
"Most of it."
The builder simply stood there silently.
Most of it.
The amount required was unimaginable.
________________________________________
As they continued through the city, the envoys noticed something strange.
Nobody looked hungry.
Nobody looked desperate.
The city was busy.
Extremely busy.
But not desperate.
Workers moved with purpose.
Merchants opened shops.
Children walked toward schools carrying books and writing boards.
Construction crews worked on new buildings despite the cold.
One envoy finally asked:
"How many people live here?"
"Approximately two hundred and fifty thousand," Erik answered.
Several men nearly stopped walking.
White Harbor suddenly felt very small.
________________________________________
The market district left them speechless.
Rows of stalls stretched across a massive square.
Fish.
Bread.
Meat.
Fruit.
Vegetables.
Even during winter.
The envoys stared openly.
Back in the North, winter meant shortages.
Prices rose.
Supplies became uncertain.
Here?
The market looked almost unaffected.
A young merchant from White Harbor walked up to a stall selling fresh vegetables.
"Fresh?"
The shopkeeper nodded.
"Harvested yesterday."
The merchant simply stared.
Yesterday.
During winter.
Nothing made sense anymore.
________________________________________
Next came the giant district.
And once again, everything the envoys thought they knew collapsed.
The giants were not separated.
They were not kept in camps.
They were not treated like beasts.
They lived here.
Massive homes built for giant families stood beside normal houses.
Children played together.
Free folk children.
Giant children.
Laughing.
Running.
Arguing.
Playing games.
One giant blacksmith worked beside several free folk craftsmen while discussing measurements for some construction project.
Another giant helped unload materials from a cargo wagon.
Nobody seemed surprised.
Nobody acted afraid.
One envoy whispered:
"The giants are citizens."
The words felt strange.
Yet true.
Because that was exactly what they were.
Citizens.
________________________________________
The hospital shocked them almost as much.
The building was spotless.
Patients rested in clean beds.
Healers moved efficiently between rooms.
Supplies were carefully organized.
Records were maintained.
One injured worker received treatment while several apprentices observed.
The envoys watched silently.
The older captain beside Marlon finally muttered:
"How many lives could this save?"
Nobody answered.
Because everyone knew.
Thousands.
________________________________________
The farther they traveled through Winter's Heaven, the more one thing became obvious.
Everything connected.
The roads connected to the railways.
The railways connected to the factories.
The factories supplied the city.
The schools educated workers.
The hospitals protected them.
Nothing existed alone.
The city functioned like a living thing.
And that frightened Marlon.
Because cities weren't supposed to work like this.
Not in Westeros.
________________________________________
Eventually they reached one of the academy districts.
Large buildings surrounded open courtyards where hundreds of children studied despite the cold.
The envoys stopped.
Some students worked with maps.
Others copied strange symbols onto paper.
Several studied drawings filled with lines, measurements, and diagrams.
The envoys understood none of it.
One older envoy frowned.
"What are they studying?"
"Many things," Erik replied.
"Mathematics. Geography. Construction. Engineering. Administration."
The words sounded foreign.
The envoys looked through the windows.
The children seemed comfortable.
Confident.
As though such knowledge was normal.
One boy who looked no older than twelve pointed toward a large drawing while explaining something to several classmates.
The envoys understood none of the symbols.
Yet the children did.
That realization lingered heavily in the air.
________________________________________
As they walked away, one envoy spoke quietly.
"How did King Jon build all this?"
Erik remained silent for a moment.
Then answered carefully.
"The King founded Winter's Heaven."
He gestured toward the city.
"But cities are not built by one man."
The envoys listened.
"The builders built."
"The farmers farmed."
"The workers worked."
"The teachers taught."
"The soldiers protected."
"The people built this city together."
The answer sounded simple.
Yet somehow it felt more impressive.
Because looking around them, the envoys could see evidence everywhere.
Thousands upon thousands of people working toward the same goal.
________________________________________
The tour continued throughout the day.
Industrial districts.
Public baths.
Administrative buildings.
Housing sectors.
Construction projects.
Everywhere they looked, Winter's Heaven continued growing.
And perhaps that was what frightened them most.
The city was not finished.
Not even close.
New roads were being built.
New districts expanded.
New rail lines stretched outward.
The city was still growing.
________________________________________
Late in the afternoon, something unexpected happened.
The people around them suddenly began greeting someone.
"King Jon."
"Good afternoon, King Jon."
"King Jon."
The envoys turned immediately.
And there he was.
Jon Snow.
Not upon a throne.
Not surrounded by ceremony.
Not wearing a crown.
He stood beside a large construction project studying plans spread across a table.
Builders spoke with him.
Workers approached him.
Questions were asked.
Suggestions exchanged.
Jon listened.
Then responded.
The entire interaction felt natural.
Comfortable.
Nobody appeared afraid of him.
Yet the respect in their eyes was unmistakable.
One worker laughed.
Jon laughed with him.
Then returned to discussing the project.
The envoys watched silently.
Because for the first time, they understood something important.
The loyalty here was real.
Not forced.
Not demanded.
Earned.
Eventually Jon moved on toward another construction site.
The workers returned to their duties.
And life continued.
As though seeing the King among them was completely normal.
________________________________________
That night, the envoys stood upon the balcony of their guest residence overlooking Winter's Heaven.
Snow drifted softly through the darkness.
The city glowed beneath countless white lights.
Trains moved through the distance.
Factories continued operating.
The city remained awake.
One young envoy finally broke the silence.
"How many years did it take him to build this?"
Ser Marlon stared across the endless lights.
The roads.
The schools.
The hospitals.
The railways.
The city.
Then quietly answered:
"Fourteen."
Silence followed.
Long.
Heavy silence.
Then another envoy spoke the question none of them truly wanted to consider.
"What will this place look like in another fourteen?"
Nobody answered.
Because for the first time since arriving in Winter's Heaven—
The future felt far more frightening than the present.
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