Game of thrones: A storm is coming

*** We have officially crossed 1 million views. Heh, if only I got a dollar per view , I could afford that Ferrari I always wanted😭

A man can only dream 😂

Enjoy the bonus chapter . although I'm disappointed to see the book not even making it to top 200 rankings , despite you folks claiming this is one of the best HOTD stories 💀

This does not put a smile on my face. 😐***

Daeron didn't expect everything to quite so smoothly. The settlement of Giants have gone well although some were not happy with it. They will realize in time. He had done all he could to ensure the the night King lost his fodders while increasing his own strength. This would help him in his conquest in Essos and the grand plans he had for future. But for now, Winterfell awaited.

I soared toward Winterfell atop Acnologia, the biting northern wind slicing through the vast sky like shards of ice. Beneath me, the endless white of the frozen lands stretched to the horizon, an expanse of ruthless beauty.

Every beat of my pulse echoed with the weight of responsibility: tens of thousands of free folk, now my people, depended on every decision I made.

In my mind, I saw the grim faces of the warriors—thirty to forty thousand of them, hardened by survival and battle—and the tender, trembling expressions of the women and children, numbering some fifty to sixty thousand, who had left behind everything familiar in search of hope.

And then, there were the elderly, proud souls who preferred to wither and die in the land of their birth rather than face an uncertain future. They also wanted not to hold back their brethren.

The first wave of their salvation had already departed from Hardhome. A fleet of 300 Galleons and Frigates, designed with the ingenuity of Essosi shipbuilders and my own refinements using the ancient designs of galleons and frigates from Earth, carried most of the women and Children to Pentos, along with 10,000 warriors to ensure their safety.

Their departure had been both a relief and a solemn farewell—a bittersweet moment that underscored the ruthlessness of our world.

I had left behind a cadre of shipwrights to oversee the construction of additional vessels; their calloused hands and determined faces were a reminder that survival depended on our ability to adapt and build.

Yet, as Acnologia dipped lower and we approached the scarred walls of Winterfell, an ominous thought clawed at the back of my mind: when everything seems to be falling into place too smoothly, ruin is often just beyond the next turn. I have learned that a long time ago.

The ancient stronghold of Winterfell emerged from a swirling veil of snow and fog. Stark banners, tattered yet unyielding, snapped in the relentless wind as I landed in the courtyard. I dismounted quickly, the crunch of frost underfoot mingling with the muted clamor of preparations within the fortress.

The atmosphere was heavy with both hope and apprehension. I strode purposefully toward the Great Hall, where my uncle, Rickard Stark, waited. His dark eyes, sharp and unyielding, fixed upon me as if measuring the weight of my decisions.

"You look troubled, Nephew," Rickard remarked as I entered the hall, his tone a mix of concern and the pragmatism that had long defined his rule.

I paused before him, the words welling up unbidden. "I need you to send atleast a third of the Northern fleet to the Bite, close to Hardhome.

They are not to fight—simply to support, ready to transport anyone if calamity strikes." My voice was low, but the conviction behind it resonated in every syllable.

Rickard arched a brow, his features a study in skepticism. "You plan for disasters that may never come. A hundred ships stationed in waiting—are you sure this isn't the overreach of a man haunted by ghosts?"

I gripped the pommel of FrostMourne, feeling its ancient magic thrum against my skin—a reassurance forged in countless battles and narrow escapes.

"Uncle, it is that very overthinking that has kept me alive through the perils of Essos. Assassins, poison, treachery—each moment there, I learned that fortune's favor is a fickle mistress. When all seems to fall into place, it is often the calm before the storm of ruin."

There was a long, measured silence as Rickard weighed my words. Finally, his expression softened, if only slightly. "Very well, Daeron. I will see to it that our ships are positioned as you demand. I will send 150 ships, half of our fleet. But know this: when fate tests us, I expect you to stand by every word you have spoken."

I inclined my head, a silent promise etched in the ice of my resolve.

The days that followed were a blur of logistical challenges and hushed conversations amid the cold stone corridors of Winterfell. In a rare quiet moment, a raven arrived from the Westerlands.

I unrolled the parchment, and Jason Lannister's familiar, bad handwriting appeared before my eyes.

I unfolded it and began reading, expecting the usual pleasantries. Jason first asked about my well-being and warned me not to care too much about the rumors surrounding me. He then mentioned that his father, the Lord of Casterly Rock, had essentially placed him under house arrest to prevent him from running off to Essos with me.

I smirked, thinking he was about to apologize for not being able to come.

Then, I read the next lines.

And promptly spit my drink all over Ser Cryston Cole.

The knight glared at me, wiping the ale off his face. "I swear, you are doing this on purpose."

I ignored him, rereading Jason's words.

He had slipped away from Casterly Rock, taking a horse, gold, and a few loyal men. He was now riding toward Winterfell.

That mad fool.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"Jason never ceases to be unpredictable," I murmured. His escapades, as audacious as they were reckless, carried an undercurrent of ambition that set him apart from the rest of his kind.

In that moment, I wondered if one day he might rule House Lannister, his unique blend of defiance and cunning an asset to our cause. Yet, even amid the levity his message brought, I sensed a quiet warning: his father might be searching for him, and thus, our window for action was narrowing.

The days in Winterfell passed with a pained mixture of farewell and preparation. I spent long hours in the great hall, speaking with the lords of the North, reassuring them that the free folk, once deemed savages, were to be uprooted and given a future—one that would secure peace and trade in return for their loyalty.

While some grumbled about the removal of these unruly elements from their lands, most were placated by the promise of food supplies and a cessation of raiding. Yet, it was in the quieter moments with family that the true cost of this grand endeavor lay bare.

One chilly afternoon, as I strolled through the courtyards of Winterfell, I found myself a sitting Cregan, my young nephew, near a frost-rimed fountain. His wide eyes, reflecting both awe and sadness, met mine as he asked, "Uncle, must you leave us again for so long?"

I knelt beside him, placing a calloused hand on his small shoulder. "Cregan, my dear nephew, you must grow strong. Every farewell is a promise to reunite stronger and happier.

The sword is not just a tool of war—it is the instrument of hope and justice. I need you to become a warrior and a wise leader for your people, for the North depends on you as much as it will do on me."

His determined nod, though tinged with sorrow, filled me with a bittersweet hope for the future.

Not long after, Nessa arrived in Winterfell—a presence both disarming and enigmatic. As my trusted spymistress and confidante, she carried news and secrets alike.

"My charming dragon prince," she began with a playful lilt, "I have a word from the capital: Princess Rhaenyra has ran off to Dragonstone, after her father wed her friend and your former lover Alicent.

She demands a meeting before you depart. Otherwise, she claims she will chase you all the way to the ends of Essos."

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose as if to erase the irritation that her news stirred. "Of course, she did something stupid. Every time I turn my back, ambition and desire conspire against me. She just forgot that she needs to consolidate her claim and stay in the Red Keep to win over support."

Nessa's eyes danced mischievously as she stepped closer, her tone teasing. "And how many more maidens do you plan to charm, my prince? And why am I not among them?"

I allowed myself a rare smile as I wrapped an arm around her. "You, Nessa, are as wild and free as the northern winds. To bind you with chains of love, or confine you within a palace would be to suffocate your spirit. Yet, I must confess, the thought of your absence and risky ventures brings a worry I'd rather not feel for my lover."

She chuckled. "Maybe it's not so bad to be locked in a tower by a prince."

I just shook my head. "I'm going to sleep."

She smirked and slid into the bed beside me without a word.

I woke the next morning to find her gone, but my body was covered in smooches—especially around my mouth.

I sighed, but let it go. I had other things to worry about.

Jason arrived in Winterfell, exhausted but grinning. "I've finally made it out of the frozen hell, my friend! It feels good to be inside a warm castle."

"You are really crazy Jason," I told him exasperated.

"And you are not going drop me off and have fun by yourself," he shot back.

We laughed and chatted, and hearing I was heading beyond the wall, he nagged me the entire day to take him with me. After much back and forth, I allowed him to follow me to the Wall despite my hesitation.

As we made our way to Hardhome from Winterfell, the air grew colder, unnaturally so. FrostMourne hummed softly in its sheath, as if sensing something. I tensed a little and told Jason, " Stay with me all time. If something bad happens , immediately get on my ship and stay there."

Jason shivered. "If I freeze to death, I swear I'll haunt you. And what might happen other than a snow storm? "

I muttered under my breath, " If only you knew buddy."

When we arrived, I saw to the final evacuations. About forty thousand Free Folk still remained, but my fleet would return in a few days. We just needed to wait.

That was when I felt it. A shift in the wind.

A deep, creeping cold feeling that was something was very wrong.

Something bad was coming here soon .

I acted immediately as I yelled out orders to the northern fleet. "Get as many people on the ships as possible. Drop the women and children at Bear Island, then come back immediately. 

No delays or rest . Rush as if death was chasing you all! Our survival depends on it!"

People grumbled, uncertain.

But I had learned long ago—when your instincts scream at you, you listen.

I did not know it yet, but my decision would save thousands of lives.

Because the storm was coming.

And it carried death with it.