Land of the King
Chapter 81: Everwinter Without Mercy
5420 E.L
"Blessings on you and your family Princess," the woman said.
Silmariën could only nod in response, feeling too guilt-ridden to say more. The poor in Morlond were starving and Silmariën and her younger sisters had taken up the responsibility of feeding them the rations, earning them much love and acclaim. It made her feel like a fake at times.
They should be doing more to help these people, their people. What good was feeding them hard and small rations? Where had the once fabled wealth of Arnor gone? Yet at the end, was there anything Arnor could truly do in the face of the longest and harshest winter they had ever seen?
The long summer had lasted ten years, two months, and sixteen days. Longer than any in history or memory. But long summers were always followed by longer winters. It had come slowly at first, some had been shocked at how mild the winter had been in its first years. It had simply been the last remnants of warmth before the winter worsened with every year. Winter had gripped the northern hemisphere in its cold grasp and showed no signs of relenting even after twenty years.
In Essos, the Sarne had frozen in its entirety and the Rhoyne had frozen as far south as Selhoru by the second decade of the winter. Food had become scarce and prices had soared all across the world. Millions starved to death and their bodies were left to freeze when the snows fell.
Arnor had withdrawn entirely behind the Rammas Rómen, abandoning all their ports, bases, and territories east of the Rammas and in the Shivering Sea as trade collapsed. Their withdrawal plunged Essos further into despair. Millions had fled west, begging for passage into East Arnor. They had been granted it at first but as winter worsened and Arnor started struggling to feed its own people, their army had manned the entire eastern border and turned away all refugees.
Essos was on its own, and by now civilized society seemed like a thing of the past between the Rammas Rómen and the Bone Mountains. The various Valyrian, Sarnori, Lhazareen, and Qaathi realms tore into each other, fighting desperately for resources even as their very states and civilizations collapsed from the pressure of the winter and the nomadic Dothraki looted what remained to feed their own struggling khalasars. The Ibbennese had starved when Arnor left, as their whaling and fishing fleets were soon incapable of sustaining them and far north Ibben was greatly affected by winter.
Beyond the Bones, even Golden Yi Ti was on the brink as the winter crippled its northern provinces and the Jhogos Nhai descended upon the remnants. Little news had come of N'ghai or the Thousand Isles. Whispered rumours spoke of dark things in the Shadowlands near Asshai and Stygai.
Things were not much different in Westeros. The Night's Watch's power had collapsed. The order had abandoned all its territory beyond the Wall and now clung barely to existence on Arnorian subsidies. The wildlings who had been allied to or vassals of the Night's Watch had begrudgingly bent the knee and been allowed to pass through the Wall. Many more however had remained north and had disappeared into the snows, entire clans and villages wiped out. Skagos had been much the same, with Winterfell losing what little contact it had had with the island and no one truly caring enough to find out what had happened to them. By the fourth year of the winter, all of Formenor was starving.
Eventually, despite support from the rest of the empire, millions had starved to death in Formenor over the course of the long winter. Millions more had fled, gutting Formenor's distinct culture and autonomy which remained now only as a technicality. What remained of Formenor had gathered around White Harbour, Winterfell, and the other southern regions of the North. A similar tale could be told in the Mountains of the Moon where the people of the autonomous Principality of Strongsong froze in the mountains or deserted for the rest of Arnor.
Arnor itself had not been spared. Winter had worsened with each passing year until it was snowing during the coldest months in Hyarmenna and Vinyambar. For now, the far southern provinces of both Westeros and Rómennor were still capable of growing food during the warm months, aided by Arnor's advanced technology and methods.
Yet for how much longer Silmariën wondered? The burden of supporting the northern provinces with food had sparked much resentment in Arnor and calls were increasing to abolish their now nominal autonomy or cut them off entirely. And as the winter worsened, so would the tensions in Arnor itself.
Already millions had abandoned Westeros or East Arnor altogether, choosing to flee the winter. They had poured into the various island territories in the Summer Sea or into Hyarmen in the far south which had remained warm and unaffected by the winter. The tropical Basilisk Isles, Naath, Summer Islands, Isle of Cedars, Ghilos, Great Moraq and the various other island territories in the Jade Sea had swelled to great populations as the Dúnedain fled there and now outnumbered the local inhabitants.
Hyarmen's population especially had massively grown and it was not at all surprising. As Silmariën and her own family had seen firsthand. A vast temperate paradise with millions of acres of empty virgin land to settle. With Westeros starving in winter, it was not at all surprising that millions had chosen to abandon it for Hyarmen, a land where the long seasons were barely felt, if at all.
Hyarmen had also absorbed almost all of the people of Annúrómen, the other major colonial region of Arnor west across the Sunset Sea on the easternmost parts of Essos. Annuromen was very far from the supply routes from Hyarmen and Westeros and its northern latitude, which was roughly equal to that of Formenor, Imladen, Siriand, and Malldolan in Westeros, had seen it affected severely by the winter. Having a similar history to Hyarmen, Annúrómen had been similarly governed in the same peculiar way and its people, when forced to abandon their homes, had chosen Hyarmen over Westeros, both to escape the winter entirely, and also to not lose their say in governance. Now Annúrómen was all but deserted, with barely a few thousand people still dwelling in its southernmost promontories.
While Annúrómen was abandoned, Hyarmen had been massively strengthened by the enormous influx of people to its boundaries in the last twenty years. From a pre-winter population of some twelve million, Hyarmen's population had quadrupled to over fifty million. Emboldened by their now massive population, they were quibbling and quarreling with her grandfather over taxes, rights, privileges, autonomy, and self-rule; using the food they supplied the homeland with as leverage.
The whole matter seemed pointless to Silmariën. She and her parents and sisters had all seen firsthand the toll the winter was taking on Arnor, having traveled around all of the kingdom to try and alleviate the food crisis. People were starving and her grandfather and the Hyarmenians were disputing such comparatively meaningless things. Could those not be left for after the winter?
"Princess!? Why have our rations been cut? We have families! Please we beg you!" she was shaken from her broodings by desperate and angry demands for more food as the townspeople realized their rations were smaller than they should be.
"I'm sorry, but this is all we have at present. Even the Royal Family's rations are much the same. Until more food arrives from the south, this is all we can give you," Silmariën tried to console her people.
"I tell you it's those damn northerners! All our food is going to support them!" one man said angrily.
"It's not just them either! It's the south! I hear winter hasn't affected the islands in the Summer Sea, nor Hyarmen either! They're disloyal cowards hoarding all the food and not giving any to the homeland that cradled and protected them!" a woman added.
Soon the crown was being riled up into a confusing chorus of shouts and even disagreements on whose fault the winter and the food situation were, some few even pointed blame at Silmariën's own family. She knew that she needed to step in when the arguments turned physical and people started fighting over food.
With power in her voice she did not know she had, Silmariën rebuked the crowd, "Enough! You are the sons and daughters of Elendil, the most noble of nations in the world, not a rabble of barbarians!"
All eyes turned to her, and she felt her heart skip a beat in fear. She had turned the crowd's attention to herself, but Silmariën was well aware that for all the goodwill she had earned in years of aiding the common people personally with the crisis, royalty could so easily become their perfect scapegoat. A riot would endanger not just herself, but her sisters also. That was unacceptable to her.
"Yes, the winter is harsh. It is cold, cruel, and frightening. But we cannot allow ourselves to turn upon each other or we will seal our own doom.
"If Valyria itself could not destroy us, shall we allow ourselves to crumble from within? I beseech you, all of you. Our ancestors weathered the fury of dragons, will you allow the snows to cow you? Harden yourselves, withstand the hunger for now. Arnor will prevail, we must, or all the world falls to chaos."
Some nodded in agreement and relented, others however began accusing her of hypocrisy.
"Bold of you to say Your Highness! For all your words, do you not return to your home, the House of Kings, every night? Do you not have warm meals and the comfort of sleeping safely and snugly every day? What do you know of hardship or struggle? How dare you call upon us to suffer what you will not do yourself!?" one man asked furiously.
"You're right. I am a Princess. I sleep in a warm bed and have warm and plentiful meals. For all my words on how the Royal Family too is rationing, we do have more than you do," Silmariën admitted, feeling the crowd's anger grow at her words and she knew she had to speak quickly.
"And that is why I relinquish those luxuries!" she shouted, stunning the crowd. "Until the shipments come from the south… nay until this winter is brought to an end! I swear solemnly to all of you here, and to all of Arnor, as a show of solidarity with the people, my people; I will not return to the House of Kings, nor go into any other of the properties owned by my family. I surrender the luxuries of my rank and status until such a time that all of Arnor may have them once more as we once did!" she cried before she removed her circlet and her fine cloak and handed them to a guard with orders to take them to the palace.
Stepping down from her stage into the crowd, she stood before her people, not just as their princess, but as one of them. A royal who truly had what was best in mind for them. Many were doubtful or her promises, but many more remembered the woman who had been at their side for many years now, even before the winter, and believed her words.
Soon one woman started cheering. "Long Live Princess Silmariën!" A stunned silence filled the crowd before they all followed suit, shouting as a chorus.
Behind her, her younger sisters followed her example, relinquishing their own circlets to join her, and the crowd went wild.
"Eru bless our humble and gracious Princesses!" some cried as they greeted and spoke their thanks to the princesses who had willingly chosen to feel everything they did.
And the people's hearts were filled with hope and joy. Their princesses were not blind to their suffering, they willingly and knowingly chose to partake in it in solidarity with them. By the end of the week, word had spread to all the empire, and many were vindicated and pleased to support their bid for the heirship. Many would reckon that as the day Princess Silmariën won for herself the Sceptre of Annuminas. If she continued to prove herself worthy, one day, all Arnor would consider itself blessed to have her as their queen.
The snowflakes melted on Benjen's forehead and he looked up to see countless more like it falling from the dark cloudy sky. How long had it been since they had seen the sun he wondered? It seemed like an eternity since winter had begun. The sun was a rare sight to see atop the Wall nowadays, as dark clouds always covered the sky and the land was filled with darkness. Winter was clearly not ready to relinquish its grip yet.
It reminded him of the stories his brother had told him as a boy. According to Brandon, winter would last until he came of age at twenty-five! The sun would disappear and darkness would cover the world in a long night for as long as a generation, and be so cold one would freeze instantly out in the open. Old men would go 'hunting' to never return. Mothers would smother their infants in their cradles rather than see them starve and if they were not careful, they too might freeze in their beds in Winterfell.
And then they would come, monsters of ice and shadow. The Others. Riding their icy, spidery steeds, and commanding armies of undead, they would descend on the world to slaughter the living and bring the rule of winter to all corners of the earth.
Frightened and terrified, the young Benjen had run to his mother who had sternly rebuked his brother for scaring him. Yet despite his mother's assurances and his brother's apologies, Benjen was left with a strong fear of winter and what it would bring.
When he was six years old, the white ravens had come announcing the first winter Benjen saw. He had been very anxious and none could calm him. And yet that winter had been short, lasting barely two years. It hadn't even been that cold, Benjen had watched his brothers swim in the waters of the White Knife.
The experience had done much to lessen his fear of winter. Benjen had stopped being scared of it, and like the Starks before him, learned to embrace it, how best to prepare for it, and how to accept that it was a natural part of the world as much as they might wish it was not.
Benjen would see four more winters before he had set off to join the Night's Watch in the midst of his fifth.
Feeling out of place in Winterfell, Benjen had tried to find a purpose in life. His father had offered him lands and bride, yet it hadn't appealed to him. He had gone south and served at the side of his cousin Aragorn for many years and though he had enjoyed that experience, and the friends he had made in Arnor, the lack of purpose that he felt had never disappeared.
This senseless existence lasted until one day, as he walked in the streets of Morlond, he heard a recruiter giving a speech. He had heard recruiters talk of the Watch before, but had never paid it much heed, yet somehow it had been different that time.
Staying back to listen to the man, Benjen had realized that the Night's Watch, a noble and glorious order, could be the purpose he had been looking for. Asking permission from his cousin to leave his service, Benjen had ridden north to Winterfell to see his family before he went north and swore his vows, never regretting his decision.
With his skills, talents, and lineage, Benjen had soon risen in the ranks becoming First Ranger of the Watch. His time in the Watch had not always been easy, or enjoyable, yet something about serving on the Wall, and bringing order and civilization to the Lands Beyond the Wall made him feel fulfilled, like what he was doing mattered, that he would have a legacy, be remembered as more than just the third son of Prince Rickard of Formenor, or the cousin of High King Aragorn II of Arnor.
When Benjen was a man of seventy, his eighteenth winter arrived and with it the end of his purpose and dreams. Of all the winters he had ever experienced, the eighteenth was the closest to his childhood fears. So far north, men froze when out too long. The skies were almost perpetually dim, with little sunlight, as all life seemed to wither from the cold and die.
The Night's Watch began to falter, no longer able to support itself. All the work they had done, that Benjen had done beyond the Wall, became all for naught as the wildlings turned desperate by the winter began to war against the Watch once more and soon conditions deteriorated further, volunteers stopped coming, deserters fled en masse, and the Gift was abandoned by the smallfolk fleeing the winter. The Night's Watch was forced to abandon all territory north of the Wall, reduced to a vassal of Arnor in all but name, barely clinging to existence, let alone relevance.
When Benjen had been named Lord Commander, he had despaired. Even if the winter had ended the moment he was named Commander, the Watch would not recover. There was no more glory or adventure to be had on the Wall, no purpose but a cold icy grave. His cousin had offered to release him from his vows, his brothers and father had asked him to return home, but still Benjen had remained on the Wall as the Watch fell apart around him.
Where once he had feared winter, now Benjen hated it. Hated how the cold would seep into his bones and never leave, hated how winter had starved and frozen thousands before his eyes. Yet most of all, he hated winter for taking his purpose from him.
There were no more wildlings left beyond the Wall, to war with, to befriend, or to trade with. All were dead or had fled. There was no more exploration, no more adventure and ranging, for the lands beyond the Wall had become nightmarish to traverse and what would even be the point anymore? The Night's Watch's purpose was gone, and so was Benjen's.
He heard the horn sound and was confused. He hadn't sent any rangers out north in years. He heard the second horn and raised his eyebrows, perhaps there were still some stubborn wildlings who had caved to hunger at last to ask passage. And then the third horn sounded and Benjen, full of disbelief, rose to his feet and left his quarters immediately.
Stepping out into the blizzard cold, he heard a rumbling sound and was horrified to hear it coming from the Wall itself. And then a horn blasted. It was not the horns of the Watch that had sounded earlier but rather a horn like Benjen had ever heard. The sound could hardly be described, the closest would be like the quiet whirring of a blizzard, yet almost impossibly loud and painful to the ears.
The Wall rumbled further, cracks forming in its base as the strange horn tore away at the magic in the foundations and then, no longer able to support its weight any longer, the ice came crashing down onto the Nightfort, and onto Benjen and his men.
Author's Note: Farming is still possible during the 'winter' due to the explanation I have for the long seasons. Even then though, a twenty-year ice age would be hell for Arnor. And that some regions are less affected than others destabilises the power balance of the empire while simultaneously allowing it to continue to exist. And winter farming or not, food from southern hemisphere colonies or not, Arnor will not survive forever.
The Arnorian Royal Family has enough goodwill to avoid a 'French Revolution', as seen by Silmariën becoming the absolute darling of the people, but if winter continues to worsen…