Chapter 105: The Weight of a Crown
Winter's Heaven celebrated.
Across the kingdom, laughter echoed through the streets.
Children ran through markets carrying wooden swords, pretending to be the heroes of Frost Station Seven.
Workers gathered in taverns after long shifts.
Soldiers exchanged stories of the battle.
Factories remained active late into the night, yet the mood inside them was lighter than it had been in days.
The dead had attacked.
The kingdom had survived.
The dead had retreated.
The people had won.
Everywhere one looked, there was celebration.
Everywhere except the Hall of Governance.
Silence ruled there.
A single lamp burned within the large chamber.
Stacks of reports covered the massive table.
Maps.
Casualty reports.
Supply reports.
Medical reports.
Radio transcripts.
Everything connected to the battle.
Jon sat alone.
His eyes slowly moved across another page.
Name.
Age.
Unit.
Injuries.
Family.
He read every single one.
Not because he needed to.
Because he wanted to.
Because they deserved it.
They were not numbers.
They were his people.
His responsibility.
His family.
Outside, faint laughter drifted through the open window.
Jon remained motionless.
The contrast felt strange.
The kingdom celebrated.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Slowly he reached for another report.
A list of the dead.
His eyes moved downward.
One name after another.
Each name represented a life.
A future.
A family.
A person who had trusted him.
A person who had followed him.
A person who would never come home.
The room became quieter.
Not because the kingdom outside had stopped celebrating.
Because Jon no longer heard it.
His attention remained fixed on the paper.
The names blurred for a moment.
Then sharpened again.
His hand tightened.
The paper crumpled slightly.
Eight.
Eight at Frost Station Seven.
Others from Frost Station Nine.
Others from Frost Station Twelve.
The numbers were small.
By the standards of war, the losses were unbelievably low.
Any lord in Westeros would call it a miracle.
Jon did not.
Because he knew something nobody else did.
Nobody in the kingdom would ever say it.
Nobody would even think it.
But he knew.
Not one of them needed to die.
Not one.
The thought returned again.
As it had dozens of times already.
I could have saved them.
The words echoed inside his mind.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Jon closed his eyes.
Flying Thunder God.
One seal.
One jump.
Another jump.
Another.
Minutes.
That was all it would have taken.
Perhaps less.
The dead would never have reached the walls.
The White Walker would have died.
The army would have been destroyed.
And every soldier would have returned home.
Safe.
Alive.
The silence became heavier.
Yet another thought appeared.
A familiar one.
You made the right decision.
Jon opened his eyes.
The words came from logic.
From the king within him.
Winter's Heaven had to learn.
The stations had to fight.
The commanders had to lead.
The soldiers had to gain experience.
The kingdom could not depend on one man forever.
Even if that man was him.
Even if he possessed powers that bordered on divinity.
The kingdom had to stand alone.
That was the truth.
It was the correct decision.
The rational decision.
The necessary decision.
Jon knew it.
Yet another voice answered.
Eight people died.
The room became still.
Eight people died.
You listened to them fight.
You heard their voices.
And you did nothing.
Jon stared at the table.
The anger slowly returned.
Not explosive.
Not uncontrolled.
Cold.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
The kind that settled deep within the chest and refused to leave.
A knock sounded at the door.
Jon didn't answer.
Several moments later the door opened anyway.
Alex entered quietly.
He immediately understood.
The reports.
The lamp.
The silence.
Jon.
Everything made sense.
Without speaking, Alex sat down across from him.
For several moments neither spoke.
The kingdom's celebration continued outside.
The Hall remained silent.
Finally Alex broke it.
"You should be celebrating."
Jon looked at him.
Then returned to the reports.
Alex sighed.
"I know that look."
Still no response.
"You made the right decision."
Silence.
"The stations survived."
Nothing.
"The kingdom stood on its own."
Still nothing.
Alex leaned back.
Then finally Jon spoke.
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
"They died."
Alex froze.
The words carried more weight than shouting ever could.
"They died because I let them."
The room fell silent.
Alex studied him carefully.
Then slowly shook his head.
"No."
Jon's gaze remained fixed upon the reports.
Alex continued.
"They died defending their home."
"They died protecting their people."
"They died because they chose to stand."
Jon's jaw tightened.
The answer should have helped.
It didn't.
Because deep down he knew another truth.
The choice had ultimately been his.
The retreat order.
The reinforcement order.
The decision not to intervene personally.
All of it.
His.
Alex eventually stood.
There was nothing else to say.
No words could change how Jon felt.
As he reached the door, he paused.
Then spoke one final time.
"The kingdom stood because of your choice."
The door closed behind him.
Jon remained alone.
Hours passed.
The city outside slowly quieted.
The celebrations faded.
One by one, the lights of Winter's Heaven dimmed.
Yet Jon remained awake.
Eventually he rose from his chair.
Leaving the reports behind.
Leaving the maps.
Leaving the hall.
He climbed the highest tower in the city.
Cold wind greeted him.
Below stretched Winter's Heaven.
The city he had built.
The kingdom he had created.
Lights illuminated roads.
Factories.
Homes.
Train stations.
Schools.
Workshops.
Thousands of people slept peacefully.
Safe.
Because of him.
Because of the kingdom.
Because of the sacrifices made at the frontier.
Far above, clouds drifted slowly across the night sky.
Jon looked north.
Toward Frost Station Seven.
Toward Frost Station Nine.
Toward Frost Station Twelve.
Toward the frozen wilderness beyond.
His gaze remained fixed there.
The memories returned.
The radio transmissions.
The reports.
The voices.
The final moments.
Then another memory surfaced.
The dead.
The White Walkers.
The attack.
The audacity.
The arrogance.
They had dared.
Dared to attack his people.
Dared to threaten his kingdom.
Dared to spill the blood of those under his protection.
The cold anger deep within him grew stronger.
Not wild.
Not uncontrolled.
Pure.
Every year he had built.
Every road.
Every station.
Every city.
Every child born within Winter's Heaven.
Every giant.
Every family.
He had built this place.
Piece by piece.
Brick by brick.
And they had dared to touch it.
The wind intensified.
Jon remained motionless.
His expression calm.
Almost peaceful.
Yet beneath that calmness something was changing.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
The king who had remained patient for years.
The king who had waited.
The king who had chosen restraint.
Was beginning to disappear.
And somewhere beyond the frozen frontier...
The White Walkers remained unaware.
Unaware that they had awakened something far more dangerous than an army.
Far more dangerous than Winter's Heaven itself.
They had awakened the wrath of Jon Snow.
And soon...
They would learn the price
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