The journey north took Torrhen twelve days.
Twelve days of traveling through wilderness that grew progressively wilder, colder, and more dangerous. Twelve days of testing his new abilities in the field, of learning the subtle differences between Minecraft logic and the reality of Westeros. Twelve days of complete, glorious freedom.
He traveled light and fast, avoiding the few scattered wilding settlements and ranger patrols from the Night's Watch. His Minecraft abilities made survival trivial in ways that would have seemed like magic to anyone watching. When night fell, he didn't need to make camp—he simply dug into the nearest hillside, creating a perfectly cubic shelter in minutes, then sealed the entrance with a dirt block. Safe, warm, invisible.
Food was equally simple. He hunted when he could, using his iron sword to kill deer and rabbits with ease. The meat went into his furnace to cook, emerging perfectly prepared without smoke or mess. And when hunting was scarce, he had bread crafted from wheat he'd gathered, and even some golden carrots he'd made experimentally—carrots wrapped in gold nuggets that provided surprising sustenance.
But the most important discovery came on the third day, when Torrhen found his first sheep.
The animal was grazing in a small valley, its wool thick and white against the grey stone. Torrhen approached carefully, shears in hand—a tool he'd crafted specifically for this purpose. The sheep regarded him with mild curiosity as he began shearing.
Click. Click. Click.
Three blocks of wool dropped into his inventory. The sheep, completely unharmed, simply wandered away to continue grazing. Torrhen stared at the wool in his inventory, then at the sheep, then laughed aloud.
He could create beds now. Beds meant he could set his spawn point. If he died—truly died, not just got injured—he would respawn at his bed instead of... wherever the default spawn was. That single fact made him truly immortal in a way he hadn't been before.
That night, in his hillside shelter, Torrhen crafted his first bed: three wool blocks across the bottom, three oak planks across the top. The bed materialized, soft and inviting despite being made through impossible crafting methods. He placed it against the wall, and the moment he did, he felt something shift in his mind. His spawn point, anchored to this location.
He slept that night with a smile on his face, knowing that death itself had lost its sting.
The landscape changed as he traveled north. The forests thinned, replaced by rocky highlands and frozen tundra. Snow became more common, dusting the ground in a fine white powder that crunched under his boots. The temperature dropped steadily, though Torrhen found that his Minecraft body seemed to regulate temperature automatically. He felt the cold, acknowledged it, but wasn't truly harmed by it.
On the seventh day, he saw the Wall for the first time.
It rose in the distance like a frozen mountain range, a barrier of ice seven hundred feet tall stretching from horizon to horizon. Even from miles away, it was breathtaking—a monument to human determination and ancient magic, built to keep the darkness at bay.
Torrhen studied it from his vantage point on a hilltop, considering his options. He could try to pass through one of the Night's Watch castles, but that would require explanations, questions, possibly detention. The Watch didn't look kindly on people trying to cross the Wall, and while Torrhen could probably talk his way through, it would leave a trail. Evidence that someone had gone north.
Better to cross it another way.
He circled west, avoiding the manned castles, until he found a section of the Wall that seemed completely isolated. No structures, no signs of patrols, just the sheer ice cliff rising into the sky.
A normal person would have seen an impossible obstacle. Torrhen saw a minor inconvenience.
He waited for nightfall, then approached the Wall's base. Up close, it was even more impressive—ancient ice compressed and frozen into something harder than stone, slightly translucent in the moonlight, radiating cold.
Torrhen pulled out his iron pickaxe and began to mine.
The ice broke away in perfect cubes, dropping into his inventory as packed ice blocks. Each swing of the pickaxe bit deep, the enchanted tool making short work of what should have been an impenetrable barrier. He mined straight up, creating a vertical shaft through the Wall's thickness, placing dirt blocks as he went to create a makeshift staircase.
It took two hours of steady work, but eventually, his pickaxe broke through the top. Torrhen climbed up and out, emerging onto the Wall's summit.
The view was staggering.
To the south, he could see the lands he'd traveled through, illuminated by moonlight—forests and hills stretching toward distant Winterfell. To the north...
The north was a different world entirely.
An ocean of forest stretched to the horizon, broken by frozen rivers and distant mountains. The Haunted Forest, the wildlings called it. Beyond that, the Frostfangs—a mountain range that made the mountains near Winterfell look like foothills. And beyond even that, lands no southerner had ever mapped, where winter never truly ended and darker things than wildlings stalked the snow.
His kingdom awaited.
Torrhen didn't waste time admiring the view. He descended the northern side of the Wall the same way he'd climbed it—mining a staircase straight down, creating a shaft through the ice. When he reached the bottom, he looked back up at his handiwork.
The entrance was obvious, a perfect rectangular hole in the Wall's base. Anyone who saw it would know something impossible had created it. Torrhen pulled out ice blocks from his inventory—the same ice he'd mined from the Wall—and filled in the opening, both top and bottom. When he was finished, the Wall looked whole again, no sign of his passage.
Perfect.
He was now beyond the Wall, in the true North, where no law of men held sway.
The sense of freedom was intoxicating. Torrhen wanted to run, to shout, to mine everything in sight. But he forced himself to move carefully. The lands beyond the Wall were dangerous—wildlings, yes, but also giants, mammoths, and if the old stories were true, the Others themselves lurked somewhere in the far North.
He needed to find a suitable location for his kingdom. Somewhere defensible, rich in resources, and far enough from wildling territory that he wouldn't be constantly bothered. The Frostfangs seemed ideal—isolated, mountainous, full of caves and valleys where he could build in peace.
It took five more days of travel to reach the mountains. Torrhen moved cautiously now, using his superior height advantage to scout ahead, hiding in mined shelters whenever he spotted signs of wildling activity. He saw a few scattered camps from a distance—rough structures of wood and hide, smoke rising from cooking fires. But he avoided them all, moving deeper into the uninhabited wilderness.
The Frostfangs were aptly named. These mountains were ancient and cruel, their peaks perpetually snow-covered, their valleys shadowed and cold. But they were also beautiful in their savagery—waterfalls frozen mid-cascade, crystal formations that caught the light like diamonds, forests of sentinel trees that had stood for thousands of years.
Torrhen explored the range methodically, looking for the perfect location. He needed:
A defensible valley with limited access points Proximity to resources (stone, iron, coal, and hopefully rarer ores) Fresh water Enough flat land to build proper structures Natural features that could be enhanced with his building abilities
On the twelfth day beyond the Wall, he found it.
The valley was nestled deep in the Frostfangs, accessible only through a narrow gorge that could easily be fortified or sealed. The valley itself was roughly circular, perhaps a mile across, surrounded by steep mountain walls on all sides. A waterfall cascaded down the northern wall, feeding a crystal-clear lake that drained through an underground river system. The valley floor was relatively flat, covered in hardy grasses and scattered trees.
But what made it perfect were the caves.
The valley walls were honeycombed with natural cave systems, some shallow, others descending deep into the mountain. Torrhen explored them with growing excitement, finding veins of iron ore, coal deposits, and even a few precious glimpses of gold and redstone.
This place was a treasure trove.
He stood in the center of the valley, turning slowly to take it all in. This would be his capital, the heart of his kingdom. Here, he would build something that would last for millennia.
But first, he needed a proper base of operations.
Torrhen chose a spot near the lake, where the ground was flat and the view was clear. He pulled out his crafting table and began to plan his first real structure—not a hole in the ground, but an actual building.
He started simple: a small house, 10 blocks by 10 blocks, made of cobblestone. He'd gathered plenty of cobblestone during his journey, mining it from hillsides and mountains as he traveled. Now he put it to use, placing blocks in the familiar patterns, walls rising with impossible speed.
Four walls, each ten blocks long and five blocks high. A flat roof of oak planks. A door in the center of one wall, crafted from six oak planks. Windows made by simply leaving gaps in the walls—he'd craft glass later when he had the resources for it.
The entire structure took him less than an hour to build. It was basic, utilitarian, nothing like the great castles of Westeros. But it was his, built with his own hands (and impossible crafting abilities), and it was only the beginning.
Inside, he placed his crafting table and furnace. He created a simple bed from wool he'd gathered and set his spawn point. He built a chest from oak planks—a storage container that would hold far more than its size suggested—and began organizing his inventory.
Resources in one chest: stacks of cobblestone, iron ore, coal, the few diamonds he'd found, gold ore, redstone, dirt, wood.
Tools and equipment in another: pickaxes, axes, swords, shovels, his armor, his bucket.
Food and supplies in a third: cooked meat, bread, golden carrots, the weirwood direwolf Lyanna had given him.
Torrhen stepped back and looked at his handiwork. A small stone house on the shore of a mountain lake, smoke rising from its chimney, his first permanent structure in the new world. It wasn't much. Not yet.
But it was a start.
As the sun set over the Frostfangs, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold, Torrhen stood outside his house and made plans. Tomorrow, he would start mining in earnest, delving deep into the mountains to find every resource this valley had to offer. He would build a proper mine, with tunnels and shafts and collection systems.
Then he would expand his house into a fortress. Add walls, towers, defenses. Create farms for food production—wheat, carrots, potatoes. Build an enchanting room once he had enough diamonds and obsidian. Establish a brewing station for potions.
And eventually, when he was strong enough, when his base was secure enough, he would build the Nether portal.
But those were concerns for the future. Tonight, Torrhen was content to sit by his lake, eat a simple meal of cooked venison, and watch the stars come out over his new kingdom.
He thought about Winterfell, about his family receiving news of his death. The grief they must be feeling. Part of him ached at the thought, wanted to send word immediately that he was alive.
But no. Not yet. They needed to believe him dead, to move on, to forget about the second son who'd vanished into the mountains. Only then would he be truly free to build without interference.
In a few years, perhaps. When his kingdom was more established, when he had something concrete to show them. Then he'd send a raven, carefully worded, letting them know he'd survived. But not yet.
Torrhen pulled out Lyanna's weirwood direwolf, running his thumb over the smooth carving. "I'm doing it," he whispered to the tiny wolf. "I'm really doing it."
The direwolf, of course, said nothing. But somehow, holding it made him feel less alone.
He slept well that night, in his cobblestone house, beside his mountain lake, in a valley that would someday hold a kingdom to rival any in Westeros.
The next morning, Torrhen woke with the sun and immediately got to work. He had three immediate priorities:
Establish a proper mine to gather resources Create a sustainable food source Explore the valley thoroughly to map out expansion possibilities
He started with the mine. One of the larger caves in the valley wall seemed to descend deep into the mountain—perfect for what he had in mind. Torrhen entered with his iron pickaxe, torches, and a sense of purpose.
The cave system was extensive, far larger than he'd initially thought. Natural tunnels branched off in multiple directions, some leading to dead ends, others descending deeper. Torrhen began mining systematically, creating artificial tunnels where the natural ones didn't serve his purposes, following veins of ore wherever he found them.
Iron was abundant—vein after vein of reddish-brown ore embedded in the stone. He mined it all, his pickaxe never tiring, his inventory expanding with resources. Coal, too, was common, ensuring he'd never lack for fuel.
But then, at a depth he estimated to be nearly sixty blocks below the valley floor, his pickaxe struck something that made his heart race.
Lapis lazuli.
The bright blue ore glittered in his torchlight, a entire vein of it running through the stone. Lapis was essential for enchanting—you needed it to power the enchanting table, to imbue items with magical properties. Finding it this early was incredibly fortunate.
Torrhen mined the entire vein carefully, gathering over twenty pieces of lapis. Then he continued deeper, hoping for more treasures.
At nearly eighty blocks down, he found diamonds again.
This vein was larger than the small deposit he'd found near Winterfell—eight blocks of diamond ore in a cluster. Torrhen mined them with reverent care, his inventory growing heavy with the precious gems. Fourteen diamonds total now. Enough for a diamond pickaxe, a diamond sword, and a diamond chestplate if he wanted.
But he had other plans for those diamonds. Plans involving enchanting, and later, a trip to the Nether for ancient debris.
He mined for hours, losing track of time in the darkness. His tunnels grew into a proper mine network—main shafts with branches every three blocks, torches placed regularly to prevent mob spawning, stairs carved into the stone for easy access. It was methodical, efficient, exactly the kind of mining strategy he'd practiced in that other life.
When he finally emerged, the sun was setting. Torrhen's inventory was bursting with resources: over two hundred iron ore, seventy-three coal, the lapis, the diamonds, stacks of cobblestone, some gold ore, even a few emeralds he'd found in a small vein.
He'd been mining for nearly twelve hours straight, and he felt great. No exhaustion, no muscle fatigue. His Minecraft body simply didn't tire the way a normal body would.
But his hunger bar was low. Time to address his second priority: food production.
Torrhen had seeds in his inventory—wheat seeds he'd gathered by breaking grass blocks during his journey. Now he used his iron shovel to till a patch of ground near the lake, creating farmland. He planted the seeds in neat rows, then used his bucket to channel water from the lake through the farm.
The wheat would grow, eventually, providing him with a renewable source of bread. But he needed more variety. Carrots, potatoes, eventually even pumpkins and melons if he could find them.
He'd have to explore the area more, look for wild vegetables he could transplant to his farm. Or possibly trade with wildlings, if he could manage it without revealing too much about his abilities.
As night fell, Torrhen returned to his house and began the most important task of the day: smelting and crafting.
He set up multiple furnaces—he could craft them easily enough from cobblestone—and began smelting all the ore he'd gathered. Iron ore became iron ingots with soft plinks. Gold ore transformed into gleaming gold. The furnaces worked tirelessly, and Torrhen's mind raced with possibilities.
With this much iron, he could create truly impressive things. He crafted:
A complete set of iron armor for backup Multiple iron pickaxes, so he'd always have a spare Iron axes, swords, and shovels An anvil, crafted from iron blocks and iron ingots—this would let him repair and combine items Iron bars for windows A cauldron for water storage Multiple buckets for various purposes Rails and minecarts for potential underground transportation
The iron ingots seemed to vanish as fast as he smelted them, transformed into useful tools and items. Torrhen worked through the night, crafting and planning, his small house slowly filling with equipment.
By dawn, he had a proper workshop established. Furnaces lined one wall, his crafting table sat in the center, chests organized by category lined another wall. It looked more like a workshop than a house now.
Time to expand.
Over the next week, Torrhen threw himself into building with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Each day brought new structures, new improvements:
Day 14 (since leaving Winterfell): Expanded his house into a proper longhouse, 30 blocks long and 15 wide. Added a second floor for living quarters, keeping the ground floor as a workshop. Crafted proper glass windows using sand he'd found near the lake—melting it in the furnace produced glass blocks that he could place.
Day 15: Built a barn structure for animal husbandry. He'd need to capture sheep, cows, chickens, and pigs eventually. The barn was 20 by 20 blocks, with separate pens for different animals. For now it stood empty, but he'd fill it soon enough.
Day 16: Created a proper mine entrance, replacing the natural cave opening with a constructed tunnel. Added iron doors for security, torches for lighting, stairs for easy descent. The mine now looked professional, organized, safe.
Day 17: Began construction on a wall around his compound. Nothing too elaborate yet—just a simple cobblestone wall, 5 blocks high, encircling his house, barn, and farm. It wouldn't stop a determined force, but it would keep out wild animals and provide basic security.
Day 18: Explored the valley thoroughly, mapping it out in his mind. Found several more cave systems, each promising for future mining. Discovered a grove of weirwood trees in the northern section of the valley—ancient, pale trees with red leaves and carved faces. He left them untouched, feeling they were somehow sacred.
Day 19: Built a watchtower at the valley's entrance—the narrow gorge that provided the only ground-level access. The tower was 20 blocks tall, with a platform at the top providing a perfect view of anyone approaching. He placed a bed up there, setting a second spawn point in case of emergencies.
Day 20: Crafted his first diamond pickaxe. Three diamonds for the head, two sticks for the handle. The tool materialized in his hands, gleaming blue, impossibly sharp. When he tested it on stone, the block broke almost instantly. This tool would let him mine obsidian—the key to reaching the Nether.
But he wasn't ready for the Nether yet. He needed better preparation, better equipment, enchantments on his gear. The Nether was dangerous even in creative mode; in survival, it would be deadly without proper precautions.
Day 21: Discovered his first sheep in the valley—a small herd grazing near the weirwood grove. He carefully herded them back to his barn using wheat (sheep followed wheat in Minecraft logic). Now he had a renewable source of wool for beds and banners.
Day 22: Built an enchanting room. This required several components: an enchanting table (crafted from diamonds, obsidian, and a book), and bookshelves to boost the enchanting power. He didn't have obsidian yet, so he couldn't make the table, but he could prepare the room. He constructed a dedicated building, 15 by 15 blocks, with space for the enchanting table in the center and bookshelves lining the walls.
To make bookshelves, he needed books. Books required paper, which required sugar cane. He'd spotted sugar cane growing near the lake during his exploration. Torrhen spent the afternoon harvesting it, replanting some for future growth, and crafting the rest into paper.
Three paper made one book. Three books and six planks made a bookshelf. He needed fifteen bookshelves for maximum enchanting power. That required 45 books, which required 135 paper, which required 135 sugar cane.
He had sixty sugar cane currently growing. It would take time to farm enough.
But time was something Torrhen had in abundance.
Day 23: A discovery that changed everything.
Torrhen was exploring a deep cave system in the eastern valley wall when he stumbled upon something impossible: a massive cavern, easily 100 blocks across and 50 blocks high, with a ceiling glittering with... ice crystals? No, not ice.
As he approached with a torch, the crystals began to glow with a soft blue light. They were beautiful, ethereal, unlike anything he'd seen in Minecraft. But more importantly, they radiated cold—intense cold that even his Minecraft body could feel.
And in the center of the cavern, curled around a pillar of frozen stone, was a dragon.
Not the Ender Dragon. Not a Nether dragon. This was something else entirely—a creature of ice and winter, easily fifty feet long from snout to tail, with scales that looked like frozen sapphires. Its wings were folded against its body, translucent like frozen waterfalls. It was breathing slowly, deeply, clearly asleep.
An ice dragon.
Torrhen froze (metaphorically), his heart pounding. Ice dragons were legendary even in Westeros, creatures from the Age of Heroes that supposedly lived beyond the Wall. Most maesters considered them myths, exaggerations of the Targaryen dragons.
But here one was, real and sleeping, in a cavern beneath his valley.
The dragon stirred slightly, and Torrhen saw something that made him catch his breath: eggs. Three of them, nestled against the dragon's body, each one the size of a small boulder, covered in frost patterns.
A mother dragon, protecting her nest.
Torrhen backed away slowly, carefully, not making a sound. The dragon didn't wake. He retreated from the cavern, his mind racing.
An ice dragon. In his valley. This changed everything.
If he could somehow... tame it? Bond with it? The way Targaryens bonded with their fire dragons? An ice dragon would be the ultimate defense for his kingdom, the ultimate symbol of his power.
But he had no idea how to tame a dragon. The Targaryens used blood magic and ancient rituals. He had Minecraft abilities and a crafting table.
Still, this was an opportunity he couldn't ignore. The dragon clearly nested here, in this valley. That meant it considered this place its territory—which meant it might be willing to tolerate him if he approached correctly.
But not yet. Not until he was stronger, better equipped, with enchanted diamond armor and weapons. Approaching a dragon, even a sleeping one, with just iron equipment would be suicide.
Torrhen marked the location carefully in his mental map and resolved to leave the dragon alone for now. First, build up his strength. Then, attempt contact.
He spent the rest of the day in a daze, his plans expanding exponentially. A kingdom with an ice dragon. An immortal ruler with a dragon mount. He could fly across the North, explore the furthest reaches, see lands no human had ever witnessed.
But first: enchanting. Better gear. More resources. Preparation.
Always preparation.
That night, lying in his bed in his expanded longhouse, listening to the waterfall outside his window, Torrhen made a five-year plan:
Year 1 (Current):
Establish basic infrastructure (mostly complete) Gather extensive resources through mining Create enchanting setup and enchant all equipment Build Nether portal and begin Nether expeditions Expand farming and animal husbandry Begin exploring methods to approach the ice dragon
Years 2-3:
Expand settlement into a proper town Build defensive fortifications Attempt to tame the ice dragon Establish beacon system for permanent buffs Begin creating redstone contraptions for automation Scout the wider North beyond his valley
Years 4-5:
Begin recruiting population (carefully selected wildlings or others seeking refuge) Build military infrastructure Create the "mafia" army—invisible soldiers using potions of invisibility Establish trade networks (secret, limited) Build grand structures worthy of a kingdom
Beyond Year 5:
Continue expansion and development Monitor events in Westeros from afar Wait for the perfect moment to reveal his kingdom (tentatively: the Dance of the Dragons era, ~200+ years away)
It was ambitious. Insane, really. But Torrhen had time. Centuries of it. He could afford to move slowly, build carefully, create something truly lasting.
He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of ice dragons and kingdoms of ice and stone.