The days had passed, and everything was falling into a smooth rhythm for Jon and his men. The fortress, which had once been nothing more than an idea in Jon's head, now stood proudly on the desolate land beyond the Wall. Its towering wooden walls, sharpened into spikes at the top, were formidable—capable of withstanding any attack that might come their way. At regular intervals along the wall were guard posts, where sentinels kept a vigilant eye on the horizon for any signs of wildlings. The cold, unforgiving wind howled around the fortress, but inside, there was an air of contentment and satisfaction.

Jon stood atop the wall one morning, looking out over the frozen landscape. Snow stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by the dark outlines of trees and the jagged peaks of the Frostfangs in the distance. His men had worked tirelessly to build this bastion, and he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride. The large training area inside the fortress was always bustling with activity—soldiers practicing swordplay, archery, and hand-to-hand combat. Strength and skill were essential, especially in this wild land where survival was a daily challenge.

The main keep, now under construction using stone from the nearby Frostfangs, was coming along well. For the time being, everyone lived in the gigantic main hall, which was warm and comfortable despite the brutal cold outside. The fires crackled constantly, filling the room with warmth, and the sturdy structure provided shelter from the biting wind.

That evening, as everyone gathered in the main hall for a meal, the atmosphere was light. Men exchanged stories of their hunts, catches, and discoveries from the day. Jon sat at the head of the long table, watching his people with satisfaction as food and ale were passed around.

"Lord Jon, you won't believe it!" Harwin, one of Jon's lead fisherman, leaned across the table, excitement lighting up his eyes. "We caught a whale today. A bloody big one too."

"A whale?" Jon raised an eyebrow, impressed. "That must have taken some doing."

"Aye," Harwin grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Took the entire fishing team to drag it back. We've got enough meat and blubber to last us for weeks. The men were thinking of salting some of it down, maybe even smoking the rest for later."

Jon nodded, pleased with their resourcefulness. "Good work. That'll keep the men well-fed for the winter. Any trouble while out at sea?"

"None. The waters were calm. Strange, really. No signs of wildlings near the coast either. It's been quiet." Harwin's tone shifted slightly, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice. "Too quiet, if you ask me."

Jon sat back, considering this. It had been eerily quiet since they'd arrived. Not a single wildling had dared approach, which was unusual, especially with such a large group of people this far north.

"Perhaps they're watching us," Orrik chimed in from the other end of the table. He was one of Jon's most trusted advisors and had remained behind at Moat Cailin until recently. "Biding their time, waiting to strike when they think we're vulnerable."

"Or they've never seen such a stronghold beyond the Wall and are keeping their distance,"your famused. "This fortress... it's not something they can easily raid. Not without suffering heavy losses."

"Still, we should stay sharp," Orrik replied, eyes narrowing. "Wildlings don't scare off that easily. They're probably gathering their forces."

Across the table, Torren, one of the miners, leaned in. "I reckon it's more than just the wildlings keeping away. There's something... strange about this place. We found iron, Jon, just a few miles north of here. A small vein, but it's rich. Enough to start smelting weapons and tools, at least. But there's a feeling in the air, you know? Like the land itself is watching us."

Jon looked at him, intrigued. "Go on."

"It's hard to explain," Torren continued, scratching his beard. "It's quiet out there. Too quiet. No birds, no animals, nothing. Just... silence. And the deeper we dig, the colder it gets. Colder than it should be."

"Maybe it's just the wind playing tricks on your mind," Harwin chuckled, but Torren didn't look convinced.

"I've been in cold places before, Harwin," Torren said grimly. "But this... this is different. Something's not right."

Jon frowned, leaning forward. "Do you think there's something beneath the ground?"

"Could be," Torren shrugged. "Or it could just be the weight of the Frostfangs bearing down on us. Either way, we've got iron, and that's what matters."

"Keep digging," Jon instructed. "But be cautious. If you feel anything unusual, report it immediately."

Torren nodded, but Jon could see the unease lingering in his eyes.

As the conversation continued, the mood in the hall gradually lightened again. Men shared their excitement about the fortress, about the progress they were making. The builders were particularly proud of their work.

"It's the biggest wooden structure I've ever helped build," one of them said, raising his cup in a toast. "We'll have a full stone keep before long, mark my words. The Frostfangs have plenty of stone, and with the iron ore we're digging up, we can reinforce the walls with metal spikes to keep the wildlings at bay."

"They'll think twice before attacking us, that's for sure," another man added, laughing. "We're practically invincible up here."

Jon smiled at their enthusiasm but kept his thoughts to himself. Invincible, they were not. The wildlings might be watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. And there were other dangers, too—dangers he hadn't yet encountered but could feel lurking just beyond the edges of his awareness.

As the evening drew on, Jon stood and addressed the hall. "You've all done exceptional work. The fortress is strong, our stores are full, and we're making progress every day. But we can't afford to grow complacent. The land beyond the Wall is harsh, and we're not the only ones who live here. We need to stay vigilant. We'll continue with the rotation of duties—fishing, hunting, mining, building. And everyone should be ready at a moment's notice if something does happen."

His men nodded, their expressions serious.

"Tomorrow, we'll send scouts farther into the Frostfangs," Jon continued. "I want to know what lies beyond the mountains, and if there's anything we can use to fortify our position further."

As Jon sat down, he exchanged a glance with Voran. Both men knew that their venture beyond the Wall was still in its early stages, and there were many challenges yet to come.

But for now, they had a fortress. They had food, supplies, and resources. And most importantly, they had time—time to prepare for whatever came n

At regular intervals, ships from Moat Cailin arrived at the newly named fortress, Cold Frontier, bringing much-needed provisions—fresh food, clothing, tools, and other essentials. In exchange, they departed laden with building materials from beyond the Wall. Jon's men had been tirelessly carving stone from the Frostfangs and gathering sturdy wood from the surrounding forests, perfect for construction. The ship's captains had clear instructions: after collecting the materials, they were to head south and deliver everything to Samwell Tarly at Seagard, where construction of a grand bridge and keep was already underway.

Samwell had been tasked with overseeing the building project, and Jon had every confidence in his friend's ability to handle the task. The stone and wood from Cold Frontier were vital to Sam's efforts, ensuring the bridge and keep would stand strong for generations to come.

The ships also made an important stop at Sea Dragon Point to pick up crates of Northern honey—one of Jon's most lucrative trade goods. The honey, harvested from maple trees in the northern forests, was in high demand across the Narrow Sea. By cutting out the middlemen, Jon's operation allowed him to sell the honey directly to the markets in Essos, where its exotic nature made it a luxury item.

"Have they made the trip to Braavos yet?" Jon asked Voran one evening, as they stood on the walls of Cold Frontier, watching the ships pull away into the icy waters.Voran came in the ship with provisions became he wanted to ask Jon about some decision regarding Frostmore administration.

Voran nodded. "Aye. They've already made one successful run to Braavos. Sold every jar of honey they had, and the profits were triple what the merchants had been paying us before."

Jon grinned. "Good. The more we build here, the more we can send to Samwell. The bridge and the keep will make trade easier between the North and the rest of Western cities. If Sam can get that completed, we'll be able to move goods without needing to rely on the Narrow Sea for everything."

"And with the iron and stone we're sending him, that bridge will last a thousand years," Voran said, his tone filled with confidence.

Jon gazed out over the Frostfangs, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Cold Frontier was more than just a fortress—it was a stronghold that would enable the North to thrive. And the materials they were gathering would not only serve their needs beyond the Wall but also bolster the North's infrastructure.

"Do you think the wildlings know what we're doing?" Voran asked, his voice breaking Jon's thoughts.

"They know," Jon replied quietly. "They're watching. But they're waiting. For what, I don't know. But when they come, we'll be ready."

Voran nodded, and the two men stood in silence for a moment, watching the last of the ships disappear into the fog-covered horizon. Cold Frontier had become a vital hub, not just for the men who lived there but for the entire North. And Jon knew it was just the beginning of something much larger.

Jon received numerous letters over the months, the most frequent being from his father, Eddard Stark. The content of these letters ranged from fatherly concern to questions about Jon's activities beyond the Wall. Eddard, though proud of Jon's bold ventures, worried about the dangers that came with them. He reminded Jon of his duty to the North and urged caution in his dealings with the unknown wild lands.

One evening, after a particularly long day of overseeing the construction and managing supplies, Jon sat by the hearth in the great hall of Cold Frontier, reading one such letter. Eddard's words were filled with concern.

"Jon, your endeavors beyond the Wall stir whispers among the Northern lords. Many question your intentions and fear you may be overextending yourself. The Wall is there for a reason, to protect us. I trust you, but be mindful. The farther you stray into those wild lands, the less I can protect you. Remember, the North cannot afford to lose you."

Jon sighed as he folded the letter and set it aside, rubbing his temples. His father's worries were valid, but Jon felt it in his bones—there was untapped potential in the lands beyond the Wall, and he knew he was the one to seize it. He'd replied to his father's earlier letters with reassurances, explaining his goals clearly. He wasn't just building a fortress; he was expanding their influence and resources, securing a future for the North.

However, the letters from the Northern lords were more direct, often filled with skepticism or veiled accusations of illegal activities. Lords like Wyman Manderly, Howland Reed, and even Roose Bolton had written to him, some curious about his expeditions, others subtly accusing him of crossing lines.

One letter, from Lord Glover, stood out:

"Is it true, Lord Jon, that you seek to carve out a kingdom for yourself beyond the Wall? We hear tales of your wooden fortress, of iron and stone shipments, and ships laden with goods. What are you planning, and how do you explain this to your father's bannermen?"

Jon couldn't help but smirk. The lords were nervous. They were worried about his growing influence and wealth. The shipments of Northern honey, timber, and stone were lucrative and put him in a position where he didn't need to rely on their goodwill.

With a quill in hand, Jon carefully drafted replies to each lord. His responses were firm but polite, ensuring them that his ventures were entirely legal and that his goal was to strengthen the North's trade and defenses. He assured them that any resources coming from beyond the Wall were for the benefit of the entire North. The wild lands were untamed and dangerous, but with the right men and a strong foothold, they could bring prosperity.

To his father, he wrote more personally:

"Father, I understand your concerns. But this is not a reckless venture. The North has resources waiting to be unlocked. The wildlings are scattered, and we've faced no resistance. Cold Frontier is fortified and thriving, and it is not just for me—it's for all of us. The trade we've established will benefit Winterfell and all our bannermen. Trust me, father, as you always have."

After finishing his letters, Jon reached for a sealed document bearing the sigil of House Frost—a black wolf on a green field, the colors striking against the parchment. The words inscribed at the bottom of each letter were the same: "Fortune favors the bold."

The motto of House Frost reflected Jon's current outlook. His house was newly established, but it already had roots in these wild lands, and Jon was determined to see them grow. With the letters sealed and ready, Jon called for his courier.

"Take these to Moat Cailin. From there, send them to Winterfell and the lords," Jon instructed the man.

"Aye, m'lord," the courier replied, bowing before heading out into the night.

As the courier disappeared into the cold, Jon looked out over the newly built fortress. Cold Frontier was just the beginning. He had no intention of stopping now. With the resources and the bold vision he carried, he would carve out a new legacy for his house and secure the North's future—whether the lords liked it or not.

Author Note:

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