A/N: Thank you guys for those who have read the fanfiction.
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The year is 392 AC. A century had unfolded since the chilling return of the Long Night, since the impossible battle waged beneath the towering, shattered ice of the Wall. A century of peace, growth, and transformation so profound that the old world of erratic seasons and forgotten threats now seemed like a distant, half-remembered dream. The scar of the great breach in the Wall still remained, a grim testament to the abyss they had faced, but it was now merely a landmark, a historical marker in a vibrant, new world.
Westeros, the unified continent, breathed with a predictable rhythm it had never known. The sun rose and set, the winds blew, and the rain fell, all with a newfound regularity that had reshaped the very landscape of human endeavor. The Age of Heroes, the Andal Invasion, even the Targaryen Conquest, seemed distant echoes. This was the Age of Unity, forged in the crucible of absolute terror and solidified by unprecedented collaboration.
The greatest testament to this new age, and the most dramatic change in the political geography of Westeros, lay far to the North. The King of Asgard, the Stark dynasty, had spearheaded an unprecedented expansion beyond the Wall. No longer a desolate, haunted wilderness, the Land of Always Winter had been slowly, painstakingly reclaimed, piece by frozen piece, by the ingenuity of man and the enduring power of the Starks.
The Wall itself, once a forbidding barrier, now served as a massive, ceremonial gateway. Its ancient magic, seemingly depleted by the return of the Night King, had never fully recovered its exclusionary properties, allowing fire dragons to pass freely. Sections of the colossal ice were now meticulously maintained by a much-reduced, yet still vigilant, Night's Watch, serving primarily as historians and guardians of the ancient passage, guiding supply caravans and new settlers through the broad, permanent gates that had been engineered into its base.
Beyond the Wall, the landscape had been tamed by a relentless, century-long effort. The first settlements had slowly expanded. New roads, built with hardy, frost-resistant Northern concrete and reinforced by Brandon Stark's ingenious methods, stretched across the once-barren plains, connecting burgeoning villages and fledgling towns. Steam-powered carriages, far more advanced than their prototypes, now ferried people and goods between these new communities and the traditional Northern strongholds.
The pioneers were mostly Northmen, driven by a pioneering spirit and the promise of vast, unclaimed lands. Freehold settlements like Newkeep, nestled in the shadow of distant, newly mapped mountain ranges, and Iceford, a bustling river crossing, had sprung up. These towns, though still rugged, boasted a hardy self-sufficiency, their inhabitants farming the land with methods adapted to the unique climate, and mining the rich veins of dragonglass and other minerals that had always lain hidden beneath the ice.
The Stark Kings of Asgard had overseen this grand expansion with meticulous care. Prince Brandon Stark, the architect of their victory against the Night King, whose legend was already carved into the very ice of the Wall, continued to guide these efforts. His tireless mind, still buzzing with inventions, had conceived new methods of heating, of sustainable agriculture in cold climates, and of efficient communication across vast distances.
The Ice Dragons of Asgard, their numbers steadily recovering after the Long Night war, now patrolled the outer reaches of these new Northern territories. Their magnificent forms, gliding through the frigid air, served as both guardians and guides, their ancient magic keeping the lingering wildness at bay, protecting the burgeoning settlements from anything that might still stir in the deepest, most untouched corners of the Land of Always Winter. They were living symbols of the North's renewed dominion.
Perhaps the most profound, and least understood, change was the annual change of seasons. For millennia, Westeros had suffered through unpredictable, often long winters and short, fleeting summers. This ancient pattern had governed every aspect of life, from agriculture to trade, from building to warfare. But now, it was gone.
The Long Night's end, and the demise of the Night King, had seemingly rebalanced the very climate of the world. Now, Spring followed Winter, Summer followed Spring, and Autumn gave way to Winter, all with a predictable, annual rhythm. The seasons were distinct, their lengths consistent, their shifts gradual.
This revolutionized every facet of Westerosi life. Agriculture, once a desperate gamble against the whims of nature, now flourished. Farmers in the Reach could plan multiple harvests, their fields yielding bountiful crops year after year. New agricultural techniques, shared from Asgard and refined at Dragonhold, allowed for greater yields and diverse crops, even in the temperate North. The threat of widespread famine, a specter that had haunted Westeros for centuries, was finally banished.
Trade routes, now stable and predictable, expanded exponentially. Merchants knew when to plant, when to harvest, when to sail, when to travel. The railway network, now sprawling across the entire continent, was in constant use, ferrying goods from the verdant South to the burgeoning North, and vice versa. The concrete roads buzzed with steam-powered wagons, connecting every major town and city.
Festivals and celebrations, once tied to desperate prayers for a short winter, now marked the reliable turning of the year. The King's Landing Summer Festival, the Harvest Feasts in the Reach, the Midwinter Solstice in the North – all became predictable, joyous occasions, woven into the fabric of a stable, prosperous society. The entire rhythm of human existence shifted, becoming more secure, more prosperous, more peaceful.
The memory of the Long Night war, and the heroes who fought it, was enshrined in every aspect of this new age. Children learned of the Night King not as a myth, but as a chilling historical truth. They learned of the united stand, of Targaryen fire and Stark ice, of the ultimate sacrifice that saved them all.
Prince Brandon Stark, the one-armed saviour, was revered as "The Last Hero," a legendary figure whose bravery and ingenuity had averted the end of the world. His dragon, Winter, though now an elder beast, was spoken of with awe. Statues of Brandon, often depicting him in his lycan form, holding Theo aloft, stood in plazas across Westeros, particularly in the North, where his sacrifice was most acutely felt.
The alliance between the Targaryens and the Starks, forged in the crucible of the Long Night, had grown only stronger. The Dragon Council, now including a permanent seat for a representative from Asgard, functioned as a true governing body, a testament to shared power and mutual respect. The Targaryen fire dragons, their numbers slowly recovering, continued to be a symbol of the Crown's might, patrolling the skies of the Seven Kingdoms, while the Starks' ice dragons secured the vast, expanding territories beyond the Wall.
Winterhold and Dragonhold, the Colleges, had flourished beyond all imagining. It was no longer merely a school for noblemen but a true center of enlightenment. Scholars from all corners of the world, including Yi Ti, came to study its unique blend of practical governance, scientific inquiry, and ancient lore. It produced engineers, administrators, scholars, and strategists who shaped the realm, ensuring its continued progress.
The Iron Throne, occupied now by King Maekar's descendants, continued to preside over a unified and prosperous realm. The lessons of the Long Night were never forgotten. The King'sguard, still strong, protected a dynasty that remembered its vulnerability, its dependence on unity and vigilance.
The Lords Paramount, their houses strengthened by generations of peace and secure trade, contributed to the realm's stability. Old rivalries had faded, replaced by interconnectedness. The Great Houses were no longer self-sufficient, isolated powers, but integral parts of a larger, functional whole, bound by railways, telegrams, and shared prosperity.
The realm of Westeros was a beacon of progress. Cities, once confined by ancient walls, had expanded outwards, their concrete roads and advanced drainage systems bringing unprecedented levels of hygiene and public health. Gas lamps, now commonplace even in smaller towns, turned night into a safe, well-lit extension of the day.
The cultural tapestry of Westeros had also become richer. The predictable seasons allowed for grander, more reliable festivals, for arts and sciences to flourish with unprecedented freedom. The mingling of Northern pragmatism and Southern refinement, of Asgardian ingenuity and Dornish subtlety, had created a vibrant, dynamic society.
Yet, despite the peace and prosperity, a silent, almost imperceptible vigilance remained. The lessons of the Long Night were etched into the collective consciousness. The occasional sighting of an ice dragon patrolling the far reaches of the new North, the Wall's enduring scar, the reverence for Brandon Stark's sacrifice – these were constant reminders that even in the brightest age, shadows could linger.
The world had fundamentally changed. The ancient threats, once cyclical and relentless, had been faced and defeated. Humanity, unified and transformed, now looked towards a future built on cooperation, innovation, and a profound appreciation for the predictable beauty of annually changing seasons. The Long Night had ended, and in its wake, a new dawn had truly broken, promising an age of unprecedented peace and progress for a realm that had once teetered on the brink of oblivion. The Kings of Asgard and the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, hand-in-hand, had built a lasting legacy.