Chapter 65: The Last Dragon's Throne, and Winter's Overture of Ice and Fire
Daenerys Targaryen's conquest of King's Landing was swift, brutal, and decisive. Her three dragons – Drogon, a black inferno of terrifying might; Rhaegal, an emerald storm of fire; and Viserion, whose flames were a pale, ghostly gold – had incinerated the Lannister armies arrayed against her and melted sections of the Red Keep's ancient walls. Aegon VI, "Young Griff," his Golden Company shattered in the Second Field of Fire, had been captured, his claims to be Rhaegar's son dismissed by Daenerys as a Blackfyre ploy (a conclusion Tyrion Lannister, now her Hand, had subtly guided her towards, though Jon Stark and his council held their own counsel on the young man's true lineage). King Tommen Baratheon was dead, a tragic casualty of his mother Cersei's desperate, wildfire-laced final stand. Daenerys Stormborn, the First of Her Name, now sat the Iron Throne, her Targaryen banners flying over a charred, fearful, but ultimately subdued capital.
The news reached the North through Fionna's swiftest channels, confirming what Jon Stark's Greensight and Edwyle's psychic scrying with Umbra had already foretold. The hidden immortal council convened, their thirteen ageless minds focused on this new, fiery reality. The time for cautious observation was over. A decision had to be made.
"She has the throne," Warden Artos Stark, his public persona that of a Northman in his prime, his true age approaching a century and a half, stated grimly. "And she has the only publicly known dragons in Westeros. Her next gaze will inevitably turn northwards, to the one kingdom that has not yet bent the knee to her new dynasty."
"Ben's initial contact was… illuminating," Edric Stark, his true age now well over two centuries, mused. "She is proud, a true Valyrian, but Tyrion Lannister's pragmatism holds some sway. And Ben's hint of ancient Northern power, of a threat beyond mortal concerns, clearly intrigued her, however much she might dismiss it publicly."
Jon Stark, his voice resonating with the ancient power of the Grand Philosopher's Stone and the wisdom of nearly four and a half centuries, delivered his verdict. "We will make a formal overture. Not as supplicants, nor as conquerors, but as equals offering a pact against a common, cosmic enemy. The fate of Jon Snow, his true parentage, will be the key to this alliance, or the spark that ignites an unimaginable war between our houses."
The chosen emissaries were Warden Artos Stark himself, his public gravitas and leadership of the North undeniable, and Ben Stark, the youngest of the current immortal riders, whose previous contact with Daenerys provided continuity. They would travel not with a grand army, but with a small, elite retinue of Winter Wolves, their journey swift and secret, facilitated by Ben's storm-dragon Nimbus, whose abilities to manipulate weather and create illusions would shield their passage. Jon, Beron the Elder, and Edwyle, with Umbra, would maintain constant psychic and magical oversight from their hidden sanctums.
Their arrival at King's Landing was carefully orchestrated. Nimbus, cloaked in a swirling vortex of unnatural mist and crackling lightning, descended upon the Dragonpit (itself a ruin, but its symbolic power immense), a deliberate echo of Targaryen dragon power but clearly distinct, Northern, and untamed. Warden Artos and Ben Stark, clad in Starksteel armor that shimmered with subtle runic light (visible only to those with magical sensitivity), were met not with immediate hostility, but with a stunned, wary awe from Daenerys's court.
The audience took place in the fire-scarred throne room of the Red Keep, Daenerys Targaryen upon the Iron Throne, her three young dragons Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion flanking her, their molten gold eyes fixed upon the Northern emissaries. Tyrion Lannister stood at her right hand, Ser Barristan Selmy at her left, her Queensguard and Unsullied commanders forming a silent, formidable backdrop.
"Warden Artos Stark of the North," Daenerys began, her voice clear and carrying a queenly authority that belied her youth. "Your kinsman, Benjen Stark, spoke of ancient threats and Northern autonomy. You come now, after I have reclaimed my ancestral throne. Do you come to bend the knee, or to offer further… cryptic pronouncements?"
Artos, his gaze steady, met hers. "Your Grace, I come in the spirit of truth, and for the survival of all that lives in Westeros. The North has never easily bent its knee to any southern monarch. Our allegiance is first to our own people, to our ancient gods, and to the memory of a winter that nearly extinguished all life from this world – a winter that is, even now, gathering its strength to return."
He spoke of the Others, of the wights, of the Wall, of the Long Night, his words carrying the weight of lived experience and undeniable conviction. He did not speak of their immortality, nor their sixteen dragons, nor the Grand Philosopher's Stone. But he spoke of the North's unique magical defenses, of guardians who had kept the vigil for millennia, and of a power that had recently struck a significant blow against the Great Other's forces far beyond the Wall (alluding to Jon Stark's "Cleansing" victory).
Tyrion Lannister listened, his brow furrowed, his mismatched eyes glinting with calculation. He knew the tales of the Others were dismissed as myth by most south of the Neck, but he had seen strange things in his own travels, and he sensed the unwavering truth in Artos's words.
Daenerys, however, was a creature of fire and ambition. "These are old tales, Warden Stark," she said, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. "My concern is the realm I have just conquered, the traitors who still defy me, the peace I must forge."
"And what peace will there be, Your Grace," Ben Stark interjected, his voice respectful but firm, "when the true enemy sweeps down from the Lands of Always Winter, when your dragons' fire is met by an unyielding, unnatural ice that consumes all life? When the dead walk and the living cower in a night that has no end?"
It was then that Jon Stark, through a subtle psychic link with Artos and Ben, authorized the most audacious part of their gambit.
"Your Grace," Artos said, his voice dropping to a tone of profound gravity. "There is another matter, one that touches your own blood, your own claim, and the very heart of the prophecies that have so consumed your house."
He spoke of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He spoke of their secret marriage, of the Tower of Joy, and of the son born of their union, a child of both dragon and wolf, hidden for his own protection by Lord Eddard Stark.
"That child," Artos declared, his gaze locking with Daenerys's, "is Jon Snow, the resurrected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the White Wolf who now rallies the defenders of the Wall against the encroaching darkness. He is Aegon Targaryen, your nephew, the trueborn son of your beloved brother Rhaegar."
A shocked silence descended upon the throne room. Daenerys stared, her face paling, her violet eyes wide with disbelief, then a dawning, complex mixture of emotions – confusion, anger, perhaps a flicker of hope, of kinship. Tyrion Lannister was visibly stunned, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of this revelation. Ser Barristan Selmy, who had served Rhaegar, looked as if he had seen a ghost.
"This… this cannot be," Daenerys whispered. "My brother… a son?"
"It is the truth, Your Grace," Ben affirmed. "A truth known to very few, guarded for decades. A truth that makes Jon Snow not a threat to your claim, but perhaps, your most vital ally. He carries the blood of the dragon, yes, but his heart is of the North, of Winter. He understands the true enemy as few others do."
Artos then laid out their proposal: "The North offers Queen Daenerys Targaryen not fealty for a southern throne, but an alliance of equals. An alliance of Ice and Fire. Recognize the North's ancient autonomy, its right to govern itself under its own Warden, Lord Rickon Stark, and his protectors. Pledge your dragons, your armies, alongside ours – for know that the North has its own ancient guardians and its own hidden strengths, far beyond what you perceive – in the Great War against the Night King and his legions. Together, our combined power might just be enough to see another dawn. Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen as he is by right, could be the bridge between our houses, the living embodiment of this pact."
The audacity of the offer was breathtaking. The Starks were not asking for a place at her court; they were offering her a partnership in saving the world, on their terms, while subtly revealing they knew the greatest secret of her family and hinting at their own formidable, unrevealed power.
Daenerys was silent for a long, tense moment, her dragons stirring restlessly behind her, sensing the immense shift in the currents of power. Tyrion Lannister, his mind working with furious speed, began to see the strategic genius of it – a united front, a secure North, a potential co-claimant neutralized and transformed into an ally.
"You ask much, Warden Stark," Daenerys finally said, her voice tight. "You ask me to share my destiny, to acknowledge another with Targaryen blood, to fight a war against a mythical foe while my claim to this realm is still contested by pretenders like the boy Aegon you hold captive." (For Jon Stark had, through Fionna's network, confirmed to Daenerys's inner circle, after her capture of Young Griff, that their own intelligence strongly suggested he was indeed a Blackfyre, a descendant of Daemon, not Rhaegar's son – a calculated move to remove a rival and gain Daenerys's trust).
"The boy Aegon is likely a Blackfyre, Your Grace, a tool of Essosi ambition," Artos replied calmly. "The Great Other is not. It is the end of all ambition, all thrones, all life. As for Jon Snow, his heart is at the Wall, his concern the true enemy. He seeks no southern crown. He seeks only to defend the living."
The negotiations were long, arduous, stretching over days. Tyrion Lannister proved a surprisingly receptive, if deeply skeptical, negotiator, his pragmatism recognizing the potential value of a strong, allied North and the chilling conviction in the Starks' warnings. Ser Barristan, his loyalty to Rhaegar's memory stirred by the revelation of his son, also counseled Daenerys to listen.
Meanwhile, Bran Stark, his consciousness now a torrent of visions, reached out through the weirwood network to Jon Snow at the Wall. He shared not just the truth of his parentage, but images of the Others' immense power, of the Night King himself, and of a future where only a united force of dragons, magic, and mortal courage stood between Westeros and eternal darkness. He also shared a glimpse of Daenerys, of her dragons, of the offer the Starks were making.
This knowledge, delivered through the irrefutable medium of Greensight, solidified Jon Snow's own resolve. He sent a raven to Dragonstone, addressed to Warden Artos Stark, confirming his knowledge of his heritage and his unwavering commitment to the war against the Others, pledging his support to any alliance that served that ultimate purpose, regardless of southern crowns.
This message, arriving at a critical juncture in the negotiations, tipped the scales. Daenerys Targaryen, faced with the Starks' unwavering resolve, Tyrion's pragmatic counsel, Ser Barristan's quiet urging, Jon Snow's unexpected corroboration, and the chilling conviction of an ancient threat she was beginning to truly believe, finally made her decision.
"Very well, Warden Artos Stark," she declared, her voice ringing with a new, if still wary, authority. "I will accept this Pact of Ice and Fire. The North shall retain its ancient autonomy, its right to self-governance under House Stark. In return, the North will pledge its full strength, its… hidden guardians, alongside my own dragons and armies, in the Great War against the Night King. Jon Snow, my nephew Aegon Targaryen, will stand as a bridge between our houses, his counsel valued, his command at the Wall supported. But know this: once the Great Other is defeated, once the Long Night is ended, the matter of the Seven Kingdoms and their ultimate allegiance will be revisited. For now, we have a world to save."
It was not everything the Starks had hoped for – her final caveat was a clear indication of her enduring ambition – but it was a monumental victory. An alliance was forged, a path forward secured. Warden Artos and Ben Stark returned to the North on Nimbus, leaving behind a Dragonstone buzzing with the implications of their visit and a Queen grappling with a destiny far larger and more terrifying than she had ever imagined.
Jon Stark, in his Frostfangs sanctum, felt a profound sense
of culmination, and of immense, gathering peril. The game of thrones was shifting, its players realigning. The war for the dawn was about to enter its most critical phase, with new, powerful, and unpredictable allies at their side. The "Cleansing" operations beyond the Wall would now need to be coordinated with Jon Snow's forces and, perhaps one day, with Daenerys's dragons.
Young Torrhen the Younger, Ben's son, now a youth of fifteen, his magical education progressing rapidly, listened to his father's tales of Dragonstone, of the Dragon Queen and her fiery mounts, with wide-eyed wonder. He was beginning to understand the true scale of his family's ancient vigil, the incredible destiny that awaited him. He, and his generation, would be the inheritors of this new, fragile alliance, the warriors who would fight in the true Long Night.
As the first true snows of a long, dark winter began to fall across the North, Jon Stark looked towards the Wall, towards the Lands of Always Winter, where the Great Other was undoubtedly aware of this new confluence of power. The ancient enemy would not be idle. The stakes had never been higher. But for the first time in centuries, the forces of life, of fire and ice, of dragon and wolf, were beginning to align. The true war was upon them.