The winter is coming

in case anyone is interested, I decided to write a story to distract me from the research I do for some chapters of this fanfic, it's called Industrial Baron in Caesar's Legion, it's more violent because there is no need to keep up appearances.

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-Pov of Wilhelm Von Hohenzollern tenth moon 288 AC

I had been in constant communication with Johann, anxiously awaiting the letter that would confirm whether we had won or lost the crucial naval battle. Every passing second, the weight of uncertainty grew heavier. If we won, everything would be ready to immediately begin the invasion of the Iron Islands. The superiority of our fleet, along with the knowledge we had gained, would give us absolute control of the sea—or so I hoped.

However, if we lost... it would only delay our plans. Rebuilding our fleet would take six months, no more. The Prussian shipyards worked at a pace the Ironborn could never match. And more importantly, we would have learned from our mistakes, adjusting our tactics and improving our war machines. The Ironborn, on the other hand, did not have that luxury. If their fleet fell, it would be the end for them; they wouldn't have the resources or the time to rise again. They were betting everything on this battle, and although they wouldn't admit it, they knew it.

As I awaited Johann's letter, I watched as Lord Arryn did everything he could to rebuild the bridges he had burned between us. His efforts to restore more "friendly" relations were almost entertaining to me, but the truth was that I felt quite comfortable with the current situation. The deals we had agreed upon, though tense, favored me in every aspect.

With the grain trade closed and a medium-scale famine looming over the Seven Kingdoms, grain prices would inevitably skyrocket. And I would be ready to capitalize on it. The fields of Prussia were vast and productive, and with control over that supply, I could dictate whatever terms I wanted. Not only that, but I no longer had to pay the burdensome taxes that had once crushed any profit. Just a little symbolic tribute to keep up appearances. Everything else... was pure gold that would flow directly into my coffers.

I could already visualize it: gold filling my bank, not just empty promises or riches held in the air, but tangible wealth. While Arryn desperately tried to salvage what was left of his relationship with me, I simply watched as every move he made sunk him deeper into his own failure.

Days passed, and although the wait for Johann's letter dragged on, finally news arrived that overshadowed everything else. I was in the middle of a tedious meeting, listening to the lords of Westeros argue over how to proceed with the war, when a group of maesters burst into the tent.

The atmosphere, already tense, became even more somber as one of the maesters, with multiple chains hanging from his neck, stepped toward the center of the room. In his hands, he held a white raven, an unmistakable messenger of important news.

"Lord Hand," the maester said, his voice grave and measured, drawing everyone's attention. "My colleagues and I have been debating and observing the changes in the weather. We have come to the conclusion that the days are growing shorter and colder... Winter is coming."

The phrase echoed in the tent like a grim warning that seized everyone present. Despite the military preparations and political strategies, this news changed everything. Winter, that relentless enemy that respected neither armies nor borders, was on its way. The lords exchanged worried looks, while I quickly analyzed what this meant for our plans.

With winter approaching, hunger would become an even greater threat. Those who had counted on long harvests and open trade routes would now face a crisis. But I... I was better prepared than most. With the grain in my hands and the supplies under my control, this turn of events would only increase my power.

Multiple faces in the room paled at the news, and almost instinctively, all eyes turned to me. I felt an incredible urge to grin from ear to ear. This news was everything I had been waiting for, an opportunity to further consolidate my power. But I had to maintain appearances. I couldn't afford a reaction that would give away my satisfaction.

"Ah, well... it's about time," I said, feigning an air of casual indifference, while holding back the laughter. "I don't see why you all are so afraid of snow... in Prussia, we had winter every year."

My nonchalant tone only heightened the nervousness in the room. Some of the lords exchanged nervous glances, while others seemed utterly perplexed by my lack of concern. I, on the other hand, enjoyed watching how the news affected everyone. I knew what winter meant for Westeros: scarcity, chaos, and hunger. And with control over the grain supply, I was in the perfect position to capitalize on every crisis that arose. While they trembled at the thought of winter...

"We've had good years; there's no need to worry," said Lord Tywin, remaining calm.

"Why did it take so long to warn us about winter?" Lord Hoster barked, clearly shaken by the news and the lack of foresight.

One of the maesters, maintaining his composure despite the reproach, responded calmly, though his tone hinted at some tension. "Due to the lack of funds, and our expulsion from The Reach, we didn't have the time or resources to organize the great councils that are usually held to confirm the arrival of winter. The warning should have come at the start of the year... but we are already in autumn."

Hoster's face turned even redder, and several lords muttered amongst themselves, disturbed by the seriousness of the situation. That winter was so near without timely notice was not just a logistical problem; it also meant that many lands could be caught unprepared. While some began to quickly exchange ideas about what to do...

"Well, it's true the days have felt a bit colder and shorter... but it doesn't seem like such a big deal. It's just snow," I said with total calm, letting my words spread through the room. "If my nobles received this news, they'd be more than happy with the drop in temperature. Many of them still aren't used to the heat and humidity of The Reach."

My relaxed tone seemed to surprise some of those present. While the rest of the room was trapped in anxiety over what winter might bring, I maintained a completely calm, almost carefree posture. I felt my words settle into the atmosphere, causing some to glance at each other—some confused, but others with barely contained hatred.

The cold wasn't just in the air; it was in the stares. For many, my indifference toward the coming winter seemed not only arrogant but almost insulting. To them, winter was an enemy, a threat that had always loomed and was now approaching their lands. But for me, winter represented another opportunity. One I was ready to seize to the fullest.

The lords, visibly shaken, began to discuss how to support each other in the face of the looming winter threat. Some anxiously asked what the Crown would do to help those affected by the possible famine, while others, more pragmatic, were already seeing the situation as an opportunity to secure their own interests. Slowly, the murmurs of concern turned into veiled accusations, and the tone of the conversation began to shift.

What had initially seemed like an attempt at cooperation was transforming into a tense exchange, full of accumulated resentment and old grievances. The lords began verbally attacking each other, blaming one another for the lack of preparation and resources. The promises of mutual support quickly dissolved, and the cracks in the unity of the great lords of Westeros became increasingly apparent. The air in the room grew thick with contained anger, fear of the future, and disputes over control of the remaining resources.

Meanwhile, I silently enjoyed the scene. Every bitter word, every accusation, only fueled the chaos that favored me. The cracks between them grew deeper, and the more they fought, the easier it would be for me to manipulate the situation to my advantage. While they sank into their internal conflicts, I had already secured control over the most precious supplies.

Just as everything seemed on the verge of erupting into a fistfight, an unusual noise broke the growing tension inside the tent. The voices immediately quieted, everyone alert to the sound coming from outside. At first, there were only murmurs—the warnings of a group of knights to someone who seemed to be trying to enter. But what followed was far more disturbing.

A scream of pain tore through the air, clearly audible to us all, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal bending, as if armor had been crushed under inhuman force. Everyone in the tent looked at each other, some with fear, others with surprise.

For a moment, the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. The disputes that had threatened to erupt into violence were suspended, replaced by a sense of imminent danger. Whatever was happening outside was no mere altercation. The lords, who moments ago had been ready to tear into one another, now shared a common unease.

"What in the seven hells was that?" someone whispered, breaking the silence.

"Release Ser Gregor, now!" came a sharp, authoritative shout from outside, shattering the tense silence inside the tent. What followed were chaotic, disordered screams, as if the knights outside were facing something they could not control. Their words blurred together, but the fear in their voices was unmistakable.

Lord Tywin Lannister rose from his seat with a calmness that only he could maintain in such a chaotic situation. Without a word to the others, he was the first to head outside, where the commotion continued to escalate. His commanding presence was undeniable, and everyone in the tent fell silent, watching his imposing figure step out to confront whatever was happening.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his voice rang out with the kind of authority that demanded immediate obedience. "Enough!" Lord Lannister shouted.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground echoed from outside, followed by a brief silence, as if the entire world had held its breath. Suddenly, a deep voice, full of contempt, broke that silence.

"Yes, I recognize that heraldry... lion," the voice said, seething with barely contained fury. "You don't give me orders... or do you think I'll let myself be stabbed in the back, like you did to your pagan king?"

I recognized the voice immediately, and my eyes widened in surprise and a mix of disbelief. "Lothar," I muttered, barely able to process what was happening.

"Lothar? The Butcher of the East? That Lothar?" Lord Arryn said, his face paling as he grasped the gravity of the situation.

"Yes," I responded quietly, more to myself than to Arryn. "That Lothar."

"Lothar is here, to arms, brothers! Finally, that traitor is here. We must protect the king. Ulric, take the king to safety. We'll try to kill the traitor or delay him as long as possible," one of my bodyguards said, raising his weapon, followed by the ten knights near me who followed suit.

"Stop!... You're overreacting," I said firmly as I stood from my seat, signaling my bodyguards to lower their weapons.

I headed toward one of the exits of the tent.

When I crossed the threshold, the sight that greeted me was exactly what I expected. Lothar, towering in his armor, had Lord Lannister cornered.

Many nobles emerged from the tent, their faces filled with curiosity and tension, as the atmosphere grew even heavier. Lothar, with his imposing figure and that unsettling smile, surveyed the scene like a predator surrounded by prey.

"My king..." Lothar said with a broad grin, though his intense, fanatical gaze remained fixed on me, as if nothing else mattered.

I looked at him with a mix of calm and authority. "Lothar, what are you doing here? If I recall correctly, I exiled you for your actions." My tone was calm, but the warning was clear.

Lothar, unfazed, nodded slightly, still smiling. "I know well the reasons for my exile, my blessed king." Despite his words, there was no resentment in his voice. Lothar remained utterly and fanatically loyal, even after being banished. His devotion to me was unshakable, and I knew it. "But I couldn't stand by while these... filthy pagans around you prepared their daggers to strike."

The nobles of Westeros exchanged nervous glances at the intensity of his words. Lothar's voice was laced with contempt.

"I don't understand why you're with them," he continued, his tone almost pleading, "but we only need to slaughter them all. Without their nobility, we can enlighten the minds of those deceived by this pestilence."

'Well, the fact that Lothar only wants to kill a small group and not everyone is already a great improvement,' I thought with irony, noting the intensity in his eyes. I knew that dealing with his fanaticism required precision—one wrong move, and his loyalty could unleash chaos.

"We've made a peace agreement, Lothar. There was no need to defy my authority by returning from your exile," I replied calmly, trying to quell his fervor. The tension in the air was palpable, and any misstep could spark something far worse.

But before I could continue, Lord Lannister intervened, his voice dripping with disdain. "Put a leash on your rabid dog," he said, making no effort to hide his contempt.

Lothar couldn't tolerate the provocation. "SILENCE, YOU PAGAN FILTH!" he roared, his voice full of uncontrollable rage. "YOU'RE SPEAKING TO THE KING OF THE PRUSSIANS, GOD'S REPRESENTATIVE ON EARTH!"

Before anyone could react, Lothar lunged at Lord Lannister, his hand outstretched to grab him by the throat. The nearby knights tried to stop him, drawing their swords and delivering swift cuts toward his face. But, to their shock, their blades bounced off Lothar's skin as if they were striking steel.

Lothar's fury was unstoppable, his gaze fixed on Tywin, who barely had time to step back. With every step Lothar took, the knights tried to slow him down, but their efforts were futile. The swords, which would have easily cut through human flesh, couldn't even scratch Lothar's skin.

"Lothar, stop," I said calmly, my gaze fixed on him, projecting the authority I knew he respected.

His hand, still centimeters from Lord Lannister's neck, trembled slightly with pent-up tension, but my words seemed to cut through the fog of rage in his mind.

Lothar let out a growl, slowly lowering his hand and stepping back. The hatred still burned in his eyes, but he obeyed.

"I should send you back to Essos in chains for disobeying my orders..." I said, keeping my tone firm as I looked at Lothar. "But you might prove useful in this war, so I may yet put your skills to use."

Lothar looked at me with devotion, his anger morphing into a strange calm. "Yes, my king. I thank you for your magnanimity toward this humble servant of your dynasty..." Before he could finish, without warning, he ran off with the speed of a galloping horse, disappearing from the area.

I noticed how King Robert and Lord Stark observed everything from a safe distance.

The other nobles were just as bewildered, wondering how Lothar's murderous rage had transformed into an almost jubilant calm in a matter of seconds. The scene was surreal.

Lothar returned with two knights by his side, carrying large chests.

He knelt with a solemn bow and, without a word, opened the chests in front of everyone. The sound of metal clinking echoed through the air as the contents spilled onto the ground: a pair of armors and dozens of weapons, all forged from Valyrian steel, gleaming in the light like a collection of forbidden treasures. The sight left everyone speechless; even the most seasoned among the onlookers couldn't hide their surprise.

"My king, this is my tribute..." Lothar said, his head bowed, his tone filled with devotion and guilt. "I know it's not enough, but in the coming years, I will conquer all of Essos for you until you find it in your heart to forgive my transgressions."

Lothar's words hung in the air like a solemn vow. Every noble, from Lord Lannister to Robert and Eddard Stark, watched in disbelief. Such deep fanaticism, combined with such immense tribute...

"I accept your tribute, Lothar. Rise and head to the nearby city, where my men are quartered," I said, pointing toward Lannisport.

Without another word, Lothar rose with the same fanatical discipline with which he had entered and left in silence, leaving the atmosphere thick with tension. Everyone present looked at me, some with surprise, others with disbelief. The air was charged with a mix of discomfort and poorly disguised respect.

My eyes locked onto Lord Arryn, who, like the others, seemed to be processing what had just unfolded. It was then that I broke the silence.

"You see, Lord Arryn... that is what a true fanatic looks like. And believe me, Lothar has moderated himself." My tone was grave, almost laced with reproach toward the situation we had inherited. "He used to say we should kill them all. That's why I exiled him. But now, for supporting his own, those who share his faith, your fanatics have proven mine were right."

My gaze hardened as I watched Lord Arryn's serious expression. "Now I must control my own fanatics, a consequence of... foolish decisions," I added, emphasizing the last words to underline the diplomatic failure of allowing the situation to reach this point.

The tension in the air thickened. I knew my words had struck at the pride of several present, but this was no time to show weakness. We had lost control of the balance, and now I found myself trying to manage an army full of fervent followers—something that should have been prevented.

I was about to order them to store all the Valyrian steel when a rider arrived at full speed, his armor and cloak covered in dust from the hurried journey. He stopped right in front of me, breathing heavily but with barely contained excitement on his face.

"My king, Johann has crushed the Ironborn. The sea is ours!" the rider exclaimed, his voice filled with victory and pride.

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Give me your power stones

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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.

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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.

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