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The storm above Karhold raged on, but even the fury of the North's winter paled before the chaos that tore the sky.
The Cannibal burst from the clouds, a mountain of shadow, its maw a chasm glowing with the heat of the abyss. The ice dragon met him head-on, a specter of frost and death, its body constantly knitting itself anew with ice. Their roars clashed like rolling thunder, shaking the heavens, and for a heartbeat the storm halted, as if the very world held its breath.
Then they struck.
The Cannibal's claws raked across the ice dragon's flank, black talons carving furrows deep into its frozen hide. Fragments of ice as large as carts sheared away, spiraling down toward the battlefield below. The undead dragon's answer came swift a snap of its neck, jaws clamping down on the Cannibal's wing. There was a sickening crunch, a spray of blackened shadow torn free, the wound began to mend with shadow even as the ice dragon's teeth ground deeper.
"Break it!" Aeron's voice cut through the choas, one hand raised.
The Cannibal twisted violently, spinning through the sky, its massive tail whipping round and smashing into the ice dragon's chest. The impact sent shards of frost scattering across the sky like shattered stars. The ice beast reeled, its wings thrashing, the cold mist that clung to it thickening, reforming, stitching the broken bones of ice.
Claw met claw, tooth tore scale, their massive bodies locked in a spiraling knot that plummeted earthward before surging skyward again. The shockwaves from their battle cracked the clouds, sending ice cascading like broken glass over the men of Karhold. Archers paused, shields raised against the storm of fragments, watching gods make war.
"Seven bloody hells…" a Karstark spearman muttered, his voice trembling despite the iron in his hand. "Is this what dragons were in the old songs?"
"This is war beyond songs," Lord Karstark growled, though his eyes never left the heavens. "Keep your bow steady, boy. The sky will settle only when one of those monsters lies cold."
The ice dragon lunged again, its claws hooking into the Cannibal's back, raking deep furrows that steamed with shadow. Its breath came next, a torrent of ice so bitter it flash-froze the very air, crusting the Cannibal's scales with a creeping frost. For a moment, the shadow beast faltered, wings locking under the weight.
"Not again…" Aeron hissed, his hand flaring with holy flame. "Now try this." [Monarch's Domain].
He slammed his palm against the Cannibal's neck, and the very shadows roared in answer. From the dragon's maw erupted a lance of black flame so fierce it seemed to tear the storm in two. Guided by Aeron's will, the blast struck the ice dragon's shoulder, piercing through its chest and boiling the frost that held it together.
The beast howled, its wing folding in on itself as cracks of white raced across its ribs. For the first time, its balance broke. It reeled backward, twisting, the Night King atop it standing motionless as the world tilted beneath him.
"Fall," Aeron smirked.
The ice dragon lurched, one wing half-shorn, its body spinning as it plummeted toward the land below. The Night King did not scream, or speak a single word, his cold gaze locked on Aeron even as the wind howled past him.
"You are not escaping me!" Aeron screamed.
He sprang from the Cannibal's back, cloak snapping like a banner of shadow as the storm swallowed him whole. Below, the Night King was free falling, while above them the Cannibal and its frost-born twin clashed once more claws hooking, wings tearing, black fire and freezing breath crossing in violent arcs. The sky itself seemed to bleed shadow and snow, and every man below felt the cold bite deeper into his bones.
On the battlements, the men whispered a prayer that turned to steam upon their lips. Doran Martell clenched the arms of his chair, his dark eyes wide with something between awe and dread.
"They are falling.." the prince murmured. "Gods preserve us all."
They both fell like meteors of ice and shadow, trailing shards of frost that hissed against the cobbles. The ground cracked with a sound like a glacier breaking, and there he stood the Night King. Ice crawled outward from his boots in veins, freezing the flagstones beneath him, his blade, pale as the heart of winter, gleamed in his hand. The blue in his eyes burned hotter than the cold around him, an unnatural light that pierced the blizzard.
For a heartbeat, the world was silent. Then came another shadow.
Aeron plummeted from the sky, cloak whipping, his descent a streak of black and violet. He struck the courtyard with a force that sent dust and frost spraying outward, one knee to the ground, one hand bracing. The men nearest stumbled back, their cries half-fear, half-recognition.
"Gods… it's him! The king!" a Karstark soldier gasped.
Aeron rose slowly, the snow hissing where it touched him, violet eyes burning through the blizzard, Around them, the walls still rang with the echo of dragon roars, but here, on this courtyard, winter and shadow stared one another down.
The Night King moved first.
He raised his arms, fingers like claws of ice, and the air itself groaned. All across the courtyard, bodies twitched fallen men of Karhold, dead spearmen, shattered knights jerked upright, frost crawling over their flesh. Their eyes flared blue, their weapons clattering against stone as they turned toward the living with hollow hunger.
Screams rose from the surviving men. "The dead! They rise!"
Aeron… smiled.
His shadow rippled like spilled ink, stretching across the frozen stones, slipping between the cracks of ice. From that black tide, shapes clawed their way forth: armored silhouettes, wolves with glowing maws, beasts of darkness that hissed steam into the cold air. Hundreds. Thousands. Their violet eyes burned to life in unison, a mirror to their master's.
"Tear the wights apart," Aeron's voice rolled like a commandment, deep and cold. "And protect the living in Karhold."
The shadow legion surged forward with a sound like a storm breaking. Wights were torn apart before they could raise their rusted swords. Undead wolves met shadow wolves in a spray of frost and mist, and the courtyard became a battlefield oncemore within a heartbeat.
Amidst it all, Aeron summoned his blade.
Drakyrzor, the greatsword black as midnight and edged with faint glow, formed in his grasp. Aeron leveled it at the Night King. "This place marks your grave," his voice was calm, almost coldly sure. "You will not march a step further south."
The Night King's only answer was silence save for the low groan of ice gathering around his feet.
Then Aeron moved.
With a burst of shadow, he closed the distance, his cloak snapping as he leapt. The blade arced down in a strike aimed to cleave winter's heart in two, violet light trailing behind.
The Night King raised his sword, their clash erupting in a shower of frost and shadow that rattled the very stones of Karhold.
Men fled the edges of the courtyard, some falling to their knees, others clutching at their heads as the cold bit deep into their skulls. A Karstark sergeant muttered, "By the old gods and the new… is this reality..."
Lord Karstark himself stood on the steps, knuckles white on the hilt of his sword, and whispered through chattering teeth, "Hold fast, you dogs!… we will stand yet!"
Doran's sharp eyes followed the man as he fought, black flames licking the air where his blade passed. The snow did not cling to him, it recoiled. Shadows stretched unnaturally toward his feet as if the darkness itself bent in deference.
For a heartbeat, Aeron's face turned his way half-veiled by the fury of the storm, his eyes gleaming violet like some ancient gemstone dredged from the deeps of the world. It was then Doran truly saw him.
He leaned forward in his chair, his fingers tightening against the arms. His voice, low enough for only the captain of his men to hear, was laced with a strange mix of awe and wariness.
"that is no common man."
The captain blinked. "My prince?"
"Look at him," Doran murmured, his gaze never leaving Aeron as the Shadow Monarch fought the Night King. "The North calls him king, and perhaps they are right to kneel, but there is something in his step that feels way too unnatural and I don't mean the shadows he commands... His eyes… they do not burn as a man's do. They glow, as if something else stares through them."
He exhaled, a slow cloud in the air, and for a heartbeat the calculating prince of Dorne looked almost… unsettled.
"Is he even human?"
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If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC
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