Anarawd Map Rhodri of the House of Canmore, Magnar of all-Thenn tribes, Lord of the Fist of the First Men, Lord of Hardhome, Lord of the Haunted Forest, and King of the True North.
To Hirma and my three sons
Two copies of this letter shall reach you, one for you and our two sons at the Cooleys, and the second will be sent to Anarawd who is at King's Landing by way of Hardhome, once this letter has come to your hands that must mean I am dead. Death, such a strange thing, we do our best to stave it off and yet nothing can stop the Reaper from its harvest, all things must come to pass from the king to his men all shall be buried to the soil, we can only do so much but at the end of the day one should greet Death like an old friend.
Do not grieve my dearests, do not be saddened by what I did, instead remember the words and lessons I have imparted and I would have hoped that once we have reunited in the whatever Afterlife there is I shall hear of your deeds as we feast beef and pork as well as drink ale in curved horns.
Hirma, my wife, dutiful and brave, I understand that both of us had our difference and that the marriage we have had is but a convenience, know that as I march to face our most hated foes, it is with your name in my lips and the want of your warmth beside me in the cold brought by the others.
Anarawd, Pryderi, Gwain, everything has been set for you the moment you have been born, I have built the foundations with which you can build our kingdom, our people it is up to you if whether you can continue to build over mine, I can only wish that I could watch with pride in how you would take to such tasks but such is not how the world works. Love each other my sons for you are blood for around you others might scheme and claw their way to get to you but never forget that only you three could protect yourselves against such, when you choose your women always choose the dutiful, brave, and loyal, her appearance does not matter, and as always Don't Be Afraid my sons, it is alright to feel fear but never let it rule over you.
Your loving husband and father
Rhodri Map Merfyn
Anarawd takes a deep breath as he closes the letter once more as he stands up from his desk. Something that had become a daily ritual for him before he confronts the events of today.
It has been some time since his father have died, succumbing from the wounds he had sustained in fighting the Others, with the Crows and the Braavosi, it was there where Rhodri Mar Thenn Map Merfyn was proclaimed as Rhodri Ceann Marre by the giants or in the variant of their tribe's tongue Rhodri the Great Lord, thirteen thousand men fought in the pass which bears the great king's name, and halted the Great Winter brought by the White Walkers, and from what the bards sing in the great halls it was a great victory although it had cost them many great men.
It has been some time and yet Anarawd could feel the changes brought by his father to the lands beyond the Wall, or rather the Kingdom of the True North, no more will men and women suffer to see their babes succumb to hunger, no more will the men of the far north fight for scraps of food and to steal women, nor will men would have to go south to raid the kneelers to steal women, tools, and food. Anarawd's father, Rhodri, made such tragedies a thing of the past, a reminder of how close they were to the animals they had fought and hunt against.
But still it is not enough to be complacent, Anarawd knew, his father, always had contingencies placed beneath every contingencies should the house of cards that he had built be shaken or even fall apart, a strange yet fitting saying from his father "nothing is consistent other than change itself, my sons, you must always be wary less everything we have built shall fall apart" the young king remembers his fathers words as he put on his tartan cloak, a cloak that he had inherited from his father and the Beret instead of those gaudy metal crowns the Southerners seem to be fond of. There are still many issues to take into considerations in these recent times, the petty kingdoms west of the Valley had been restless, and the fool King Jaehaerys II had been threatening war against his people, and the clans and tribes of his kingdom had been plotting against him once more, and the lands of Always Winter had been eerily silent, no one knows what the White Walkers are plotting and Anarawd mislikes it.
"They will be back, make no mistake, my children, they will be back, we beat them but they will be back" his father's last words was given to him and Anarawd always followed those words of his father, along with his other lessons concerning ruling the multitude that make up their kingdom "Anarawd, Pryderi, Owain if ever of you three succeeded me or each other as king remember to treat your people, not as subjects but as your children, a king is but a servant in all but name" Anarawd and his brothers carried that advice until their father died in the battle against the Others, they carried on the tradition to hold a Tanistry a council of chieftains within the Great Hall of the Cooleys so that every man within the kingdom could plead their grievances before the king or advise him of what to do.
Gallowglasses stood at attention as Anarawd passes through the halls, their axes or greatswords being put into their shoulders as he beheld the throne before him, a simple weirwood throne polished and treated as well as blessed by the giants to grant the line of Rhodri Canmore a long and prosperous reign, as he sat and felt the throne he looks at the petitioners before him, a man with robes and chains, a worshipper of the Red God, and some of the chieftains that have come to ask something of him.
"Shall we begin?" Anarawd asks as he lets the business of today overwhelm him, a king is but a servant in all but name after all.