Chapter 24: When Dragons Danced in Fire, Winter Stood Aloof
The year 129 After the Conquest dawned heavy with foreboding. King Viserys I Targaryen, his long reign marked by peace but marred by familial strife, finally succumbed to his myriad ailments. Before his corpse was cold, the greens struck. Aegon II, Queen Alicent's eldest son, was crowned in King's Landing, while on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra, Viserys's named heir, declared her own ascension. The Dance of the Dragons, the kinslaying war that would drench Westeros in fire and blood, had begun.
For the North, it was also a time of transition, though one orchestrated with chilling precision rather than born of ambition and betrayal. Lord Torrhen Stark, Warden of the North, his public persona that of a man well into his seventh decade (his true age now a century and a third), announced his own failing health. His son, Brandon Stark, Prince of Winterfell – an immortal appearing in his prime despite his own century of existence – was already managing most of the North's affairs. The "Old Man of Winter," as Torrhen was affectionately known by his people for his perceived wisdom and long service, was preparing for his final rest.
His "death," attributed to a peaceful decline in the heart of winter, was met with solemn mourning across the North. Torrhen, like his father Edric and grandfather Beron before him, had played his public part flawlessly. His "body," another expertly crafted golem, was laid to rest in the Winterfell crypts with all the honors befitting a great Lord of Winterfell. And Torrhen himself, shedding the guise of mortality, joined Jon, Beron, and Edric in the silent, timeless sanctums of the Frostfangs, adding his centuries of experience to their hidden council. Four "dead" Stark lords now guided their kingdom from beyond the veil of public perception.
Brandon Stark was acclaimed Warden of the North without dissent. His investiture before the Winterfell Heart Tree was a reaffirmation of ancient Stark traditions. His address to the Northern lords was grave, acknowledging the passing of his father and the ominous tidings from the South. "King Viserys is dead," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of his hidden age and power. "Two now claim the Iron Throne. Dragons will fight dragons, and the realm will bleed. The North has no part in this southern madness. Our duty is to our own people, to our own lands. Winter is always coming, my lords, and that is the only war for which we must always be prepared. The North will remain neutral. We will guard our borders, conserve our strength, and pray that the gods see fit to end this kinslaying swiftly."
His pronouncement was met with grim approval. The Northern lords, fiercely independent and wary of southern entanglements, had little love for either Targaryen faction. Warden Brandon's call for neutrality and preparedness resonated with their own pragmatic instincts.
News of the Dance's opening salvos soon reached Winterfell, each report more horrific than the last. Prince Aemond Targaryen, on the colossal Vhagar, slew Prince Lucerys Velaryon and his young dragon Arrax over Storm's End. Blood had been shed. Dragon had killed dragon. There would be no turning back. Then came word of the Battle at Rook's Rest, where Aegon II's forces, supported by his own dragon Sunfyre and his brother Aemond on Vhagar, clashed with Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, upon her red dragon Meleys. Rhaenys and Meleys perished, but Aegon II was grievously wounded, Sunfyre likewise.
The hidden Stark council analyzed these events with cold precision. "They are profligate with their most precious resource," Jon observed, his image in the obsidian mirror betraying no emotion. "Each dragon lost is a blow not just to their house, but to the magical balance of this world. They do not comprehend the true value of what they destroy."
"Their tactics are brutal and direct," Edric added, his experiences as a "mortal" Warden giving him insight into southern warfare. "They rely on overwhelming dragonfire, with little subtlety. Our own methods, should we ever be forced to reveal them, are far more nuanced."
As expected, envoys from both the blacks and the greens soon made the arduous journey north to Winterfell, seeking the allegiance of the vast, seemingly untapped North. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest son and heir, arrived on his young dragon Vermax, representing the blacks. A stern knight, Ser Otto Hightower's younger son, came bearing messages from Aegon II and the greens.
Warden Brandon received them both with solemn courtesy, but separately, and with carefully managed displays of Northern austerity. He offered them guest right, listened to their fervent pleas and promises, their denunciations of the opposing faction. Jon, through the obsidian mirror linked to a hidden scrying device in Brandon's solar, observed every nuance, every flicker of expression, guiding his descendant's responses.
To Prince Jacaerys, young, earnest, and desperate for allies, Brandon expressed sympathy for his mother's claim but reiterated the North's weariness of southern wars and its pressing need to prepare for a harsh, impending winter. He made no firm commitments but offered a vague promise of "Northern friendship" and perhaps, "consideration of aid if the true winter proves less dire than our seers predict" – a carefully worded ambiguity that offered a sliver of hope without committing Stark forces. Jon had advised against any formal pact like the one from canon; the Starks needed to retain full flexibility.
To the green envoy, Brandon was even more reserved, emphasizing the North's ancient oaths to the Iron Throne but also its long tradition of non-interference in purely dynastic disputes far to the south. He pointed to the North's vast distances and the difficulty of raising and supplying an army for a southern campaign, especially with winter looming. He sent the knight away with polite refusals and gifts of Northern furs, leaving the greens with no illusions about immediate Stark support but also no outright declaration of hostility.
"We have bought ourselves time," Brandon reported to the hidden council. "Neither side will be pleased, but neither will see us as an immediate enemy. They will focus their attentions on the richer, closer kingdoms."
"Time is our greatest ally," Jon affirmed. "Let them exhaust each other. Our concern is the Long Night."
Rickard Stark, Brandon's immortal son, now a seasoned member of the council and a formidable warrior in his own right, took on a more active role. He led covert patrols of the "Winter Wolves" along the Neck and the western coasts, not to engage, but to ensure no spillover from the southern conflict threatened Northern borders. His dragon, the bronze Adamas, now partially clad in gleaming experimental Starksteel armor that covered its chest and neck, was a terrifying, unseen sentinel in the high mountain passes. Rickard also oversaw the training of his own son, Cregan Stark, now a man of twenty-eight, whose magical abilities were proving to be exceptionally strong, particularly in combat enchantments and strategic thinking. Cregan knew much of his family's secrets, though the True Elixir and a place on the immortal council awaited his final proving. His younger sister, Sara, her healing magic and empathy with nature growing under the tutelage of Arya, Lyanna, and Serena, was becoming a vital asset in maintaining the health and balance of the North's hidden sanctuaries.
The chaos of the Dance, while a tragedy for Westeros, did present certain morbid opportunities, as Jon had foreseen. With both Targaryen factions desperate for resources and established Valyrian houses in Essos either choosing sides or trying to profit from the conflict, Finnan's network found new avenues for acquiring lost lore. They managed to procure several ancient Valyrian texts on dragon husbandry and advanced pyromancy, smuggled out of Lys by a scholar fleeing the Triarchy's internal conflicts. These texts, when translated by Jon and his immortal kin, offered new insights into maximizing their own dragons' potential and perhaps even countering Targaryen dragonfire with specifically attuned magical defenses.
Jon also authorized Finnan to discreetly observe the dragon battles of the Dance whenever possible, using magically shielded agents or long-range scrying. "Learn their tactics, their dragons' strengths and weaknesses," Jon instructed. "Witnessing their folly will teach us much about how not to wield such power, and how to defend against it if the day ever comes when we must."
Despite the southern maelstrom, the Starks' primary work continued unabated. Jon, with the combined focused will of Beron, Edric, Torrhen, Brandon, and Rickard, made significant strides in "charging" the Wall. The ancient structure now hummed with a barely perceptible thrum of immense magical power, its icy surface shimmering with an inner light visible only to those with the Sight. The Ice Watchers in their hidden posts beyond the Wall reported a noticeable receding of the "true cold's" oppressive aura in the regions closest to the Wall, and a strange, growing agitation among the wildling tribes who sensed the shift in ancient powers.
Arya, Lyanna, Serena, and now Lyarra (Brandon's sister, fully embraced into their circle of nature wardens) worked to extend the North's ley line network, creating localized "sanctuary zones" of enhanced vitality and magical protection around key weirwood groves and hidden Stark communities. They even began experiments, guided by Arya's communion with the Children's spirits, to awaken dormant earth-magic within specific mountain ranges, hoping to create natural barriers or sources of defensive power.
One evening, as the news of yet another brutal dragon battle in the Riverlands reached them – the Battle of the Honeywine, where green forces were victorious but with heavy losses – the immortal Starks gathered via their obsidian mirrors. The faces of Jon, Beron, Edric, and Torrhen, men who had collectively witnessed centuries of human folly, were grim. Brandon and Rickard, representing the "younger" immortals, shared their somber assessment.
"They are burning their world to ash for a crown," Beron said, his voice heavy with the weariness of ages. "How many dragons will perish before this madness ends? How many innocents?"
"As many as it takes for one side to utterly break the other, or for both to exhaust themselves into a bloody stalemate," Jon replied. "This is the nature of their power, untempered by the kind of foresight our… condition grants us." He paused, his ancient eyes seeming to look through them, towards a far distant future. "This Dance, horrific as it is, serves a grim purpose for us. It weakens the only other dragon power in this world. It highlights the dangers of overt, prideful magic. And it buys us more precious time to prepare for the enemy that will make all their squabbles seem like children's games."
His gaze fell upon the image of Brandon, the current Warden. "Your son, Cregan, shows great promise, Brandon. He will soon be ready for the Elixir, for the full truth. He will be needed. The Long Night is not a tale to frighten children; it is a certainty. Each generation of our immortal line must be stronger, wiser, more prepared than the last."
As the Dance of the Dragons raged on, consuming the South in fire and blood, the North remained a bastion of stoic neutrality, its true strength hidden, its immortal guardians watching, learning, and continuing their silent, patient work. The world might forget the true meaning of winter in its obsession with the games of thrones and dragons, but the Starks, the eternal Kings and Wardens of Winter, remembered. And they prepared.