128: The Son of Ice and Fire, The Long Night pt.1

The council chamber was quiet save for the crackling of the fire. Maekar sat at the head of the long table, its dark wood gleaming in the firelight. Viserys walked in and sat to his right.

“I know where the sword is,” Maekar said.

Viserys leaned forward. “Finally. Now we can go get it and win this war.” He paused, his tone more cautious now. “It will do what you claim, yes?”

“Yes, yes of course,” Maekar said with a nod, but there was something else behind his eyes.

Viserys didn’t miss it. “And if it doesn’t?”

Maekar gave a dark chuckle. “Then we’re fucked, Uncle.”

Viserys didn’t respond for a moment. He simply looked at his nephew, the man upon whom the fate of the world now seemed to rest. Finally, he spoke again, more softly this time. “The rest of the small council you named to stay behind and help Rhaenys rule they’ll arrive within a moon.”

“Good,” Maekar said, exhaling. “They’ll keep everything together while we fight for the world.” He looked over at Viserys, grinning. “I would’ve asked you to stay, too, if you didn’t ride a dragon.”

“Even if I didn’t, I’d still be on the front lines.”

Maekar’s face softened slightly. “How’s little Rhaella taking all this?”

Viserys’ expression shifted. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. And if I had my way, she never would.”

Maekar chuckled quietly. “Only a few, like her, have the luxury of that.” He went quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “You know, Uncle… I’ve known about the Long Night since I was a child.”

Viserys blinked. “How?”

Maekar couldn’t speak of his origins in another world, so he twisted the story a bit. “Bloodraven. He showed me things. Told me things. Back then, I didn’t understand them. But I do now.” His voice dropped lower. “I planned to leave Westeros once. Disappear. Avoid this fate.”

Viserys looked stunned. “But you didn’t.”

“Yes… that was something I once wanted,” Maekar admitted, his voice low as he leaned back in his chair. “A life in Essos. Adventure, freedom. It was that or the throne.”

He ran a hand down his face. “When I chose the throne, I prayed the Long Night wouldn’t come. That Brynden had been wrong.”

Viserys sat across from him, watching his nephew. “Honestly,” he said after a pause, “heading for Essos after hearing what you heard from Bloodraven... it would’ve been the saner choice.”

Maekar chuckled dryly. “Oh, absolutely. But I stayed. I won’t lie, I had ambitions. The throne was always a goal. Always.” He paused, then added, “If Aegon hadn’t turned out the way he did... maybe I would’ve stepped aside. Let him rule... maybe.”

A beat of silence passed before Maekar gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Meh. Who am I kidding? I’m just lying to myself. I would’ve gone for it anyway.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Maekar met his eyes. “Why am I telling you this?”

Viserys shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Maekar muttered, leaning forward on the table and rubbing his temples. “Maybe it’s all getting to me.”

The quiet settled again for a moment.

Then the door creaked open.

Lyonel stepped in with urgency. “My king,” he said, a slight smile on his usually stern face. “Queen Daenerys has returned. Morghul was spotted above the Kingswood just moments ago.”

Both men stood at once.

Maekar’s lips curved. “And just like that... my day just got better.”

Viserys laughed, rising with him. “Mine as well.”

The courtyard of the Red Keep was buzzing with courtiers as Maekar and Viserys made their way down the winding halls and into the open air. Guards and servants paused in their duties, drawn by the news; word of her return had spread quickly. Queen Daenerys had returned.

They stood at the edge of the courtyard, eyes fixed on the distant gates, waiting for her to ride through them.

But instead, she descended from the sky.

From the clouds above, Morghul swooped downward with terrifying grace. Viserys’ eyes widened as the beast angled directly toward the Keep itself.

“What is she doing?” Viserys asked, stepping forward.

Maekar laughed, already sensing her intention. “She’s going to land here.”

“Fuck,” Viserys muttered.

With a gust of wind and a screech that shook the windows, Morghul touched down in the heart of the courtyard. The shockwave of the landing shattered a nearby cart and sent courtiers scattering in shrieking panic. The dragon let out a warning growl, smoke curling from its jaws.

Daenerys slid off Morghul’s back, armor glinting silver and crimson in the pale light. Snow crunched under her boots as she strode toward them.

To Maekar, she looked like a goddess more beautiful than when she left. She looked every inch a warrior queen now, bloodied by battle.

Without a word, Daenerys crossed the remaining distance, seized Maekar by the collar, and pulled him down. Their lips met long, hard, and hungry. The world disappeared around them. She kissed him with all the frustration and longing of a queen who had been too far from home.

When she finally pulled away, Maekar whispered with a soft smile, “Well... welcome back.”

“I failed,” she said, her voice thick with anger and guilt. “One of the granaries... it didn’t...”

Maekar touched her cheek and lifted her gaze. “You did great. We can survive without one.”

“Now that you’re here, my queen, don’t you want to see the babe?”

Daenerys blinked, her expression shifting. “Rhaenys... she...”

“She’s fine... and she bore a healthy baby girl,” Maekar said quickly, smiling.

From behind, Viserys interjected with mock offense, “You know I’m here too, dear sister.”

Daenerys turned to him. Without another word, she grabbed both men by the wrists and dragged them back inside.

====

It had taken no small effort to convince Daenerys to let go of Gael, even for a moment. The child had barely left her arms since she laid eyes on her for the first time, but the exhaustion in Daenerys’ face was unmistakable. Her skin was even paler than usual from the brutal cold, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of armor and fatigue.

Maekar had insisted that she needed rest. She had flown Morghul across half the continent in the middle of one of the coldest days Westeros had ever seen. Rhaenys took Gael from her, and Maekar led Daenerys to his chambers and motioned for the servants to draw a bath.

“Let me help you out of that,” he said gently, reaching for the straps of her armor.

Piece by piece, he undid the fastenings the breastplate, the spaulders, the vambraces. He slid the greaves from her legs with care, laying each piece aside. Beneath the hardened steel, she wore a padded undertunic, damp with sweat, her body trembling faintly from the cold and exhaustion.

As the last servant slipped out, Daenerys looked over her shoulder. Her voice was quieter. “You’re not going to take off the rest?”

Maekar didn’t answer not with words. He stepped forward and slowly undid the ties of her undertunic, peeling it away from her skin. The soft linen shift beneath followed, until she stood before him completely bare.

She turned, meeting his gaze fully.

“The tub’s big enough for two,” she whispered, tugging him gently by the collar of his doublet. “Come.”

He followed with a laugh as she almost threw him inside the filled tub. The tension of the war and the world slipped away, if only for a time.

Later, in the quiet of their bed, Maekar lay beside her, the furs drawn up to their waists. His hand rested lightly on her back, tracing slow, absentminded circles. But he saw the look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

Daenerys didn’t answer at first. Then, in a soft voice, she spoke. “I feel like a monster.”

Maekar frowned. “Dany…”

“I burned them,” she said. “They were traitors, I know. But I was so angry. They were women some so young. All I saw were those who tried to stab us in the back. I saw what they had cost us. And I wanted them to burn.”

He listened, letting her speak.

“What if I went too far?” she whispered. “What if I’m no better than—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger gently to her lips. “It’s done. And you did what had to be done. Those people… they were already lost, Dany. You didn’t start this war. But you damn well ended a part of it.”

She looked at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

“We’ve got bigger things to worry about now,” Maekar said softly.

He kissed her again, and this time it was slow, reassuring.

She curled into him then, her head resting against his chest. His arm wrapped around her.

Together, they drifted off to sleep as the cold wind howled beyond the stone walls of the Red Keep.

=====

Maekar sat comfortably in Rhaenys’ chambers, where newborn Gael lay in a soft cot, bundled in silks. Daenerys leaned over the child, gently caressing her cheek. “You are the fiercest dragon of them all,” she cooed. Gael gurgled in reply, but soon her small face twisted into a hungry cry.

“She’s a hungry babe,” Maekar said with a quiet chuckle.

“She takes after her father,” Rhaenys said with a smile as she reached for the child.

As Rhaenys nursed Gael, she asked, “Who will you take with you to Andalos?”

Before Maekar could answer, Daenerys looked up and declared, “I will be coming with you.”

Maekar turned to her, his tone gentle but firm. “Dany… I already told you—”

“No,” she said sharply. “I’ve made my decision.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the sound of the chamber doors opening cut him off.

Viserys entered, his face grave.

Maekar immediately rose. “What is it, Uncle?”

Viserys didn’t answer at first. He handed Maekar a letter. “Word from the Wall. I’m sorry, Maekar.”

Maekar broke the seal with shaky hands, his eyes scanning the parchment. Daenerys moved to his side, her hand already on his arm. Behind them, Rhaenys stood with Gael.

Maekar read in silence, then slowly sat down. His face fell into his hands grief, sadness... and finally, fury.

“What is it?” Daenerys whispered.

Viserys’ voice was tight. “The Wall was attacked. By an ice dragon.”

Daenerys and Rhaenys gasped.

“There were… many casualties. And one of them—” Viserys hesitated.

Maekar looked up, his voice hollow. “Uncle Ned. Uncle Ned is gone.”

Daenerys knelt and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, holding him tightly. Rhaenys joined them, placing a hand on his shoulder as her other arm cradled Gael.

For a moment, the chamber was silent save for the soft cry of the babe, as if Gael herself mourned the loss.

Then Maekar rose. He looked to Daenerys, then to Viserys.

“Change of plans,” he said grimly. “We’re going to the Wall.”

.

.

.

Robb Stark had been given the honor by his cousin, the king, of leading the royal army north. The banners of half the realm fluttered behind him. They marched past the frozen swamps of the Neck, then followed the Kingsroad all the way to Winterfell.

Lords from the Crownlands, Westerlands, Riverlands, and the Vale had each brought their men and joined the royal army in their march. As planned, only the royal forces and the northern host led by his uncle, Brandon Stark would press on to the Wall. The rest would encamp at Winterfell until called; Winterfell was to be the great mustering ground of Westeros that would one day ride to join the war when it truly began.

Now, two weeks past Winterfell, the vanguard neared its destination. Snow fell heavily, but the army was well provisioned, clothed in furs and woolens. Not a single man had been lost to cold or hunger.

Robb’s thoughts were on his father, whom he had not seen in two years. Soon, he told himself. Soon, I will see him again.

“Look at that,” Brandon’s voice broke through his thoughts. Robb turned, following his uncle’s gaze. The Wall towered before them, a colossal rampart of ice piercing the sky. Even Robb, who had seen it before, felt small and humbled beneath its shadow.

Brandon smiled proudly. “Brandon the Builder every man and woman in the realm must worship that man.”

Robb allowed himself a small smile. “I think everyone has been thinking the same, Uncle.”

Brandon laughed. “Yes, yes, they do. Come, your father awaits us.”

Robb’s heart swelled at the thought. He was eager for his father’s counsel, his voice. His mother and siblings had missed him, and Robb carried their messages to him.

The black stone towers of Castle Black came into sight. Men upon the ramparts sounded horns, signaling the approach of the royal banners.

At the gate, they were greeted by Lord Hother Umber Whoresbane, his great bulk wrapped in the thick black cloak of the Night’s Watch.

Brandon’s brow furrowed as he reined in his horse. “Whoresbane… what are you doing wearing the Lord Commander’s cloak?”

The great lord’s expression was grim as he answered. “Because I have been elected, my lord.”

Robb frowned, unease gnawing at him. “What happened? Where is my father?”

Whoresbane’s eyes darkened, and the sorrow in them made Robb’s stomach drop.

=====

“Dead.”

The word repeated in his head as Robb stood frozen in the Lord Commander’s solar. His body felt numb, his heart beat faster and faster until it roared in his ears. He could see Brandon’s lips moving, hear the rumble of his uncle’s voice as he spoke to Umber, but the sound was muffled, as if he stood beneath a river.

A memory struck him—the last time he had seen his father.

“Be careful in King’s Landing,” Ned Stark had said, laying a hand on Robb’s shoulder. His grey eyes softened as they fixed on his son. “And mind Maekar. He’ll need men he can trust. You be that man.”

“I will, Father,” Robb had said, straight-backed, eager for his father’s approval. “I’ll make you proud. I’ll make our whole family proud.”

His father had smiled, the lines at his eyes deepening. “You already have. I am proud, Robb. Proud to have a son like you.”

Robb’s throat tightened, and tears pricked his eyes before he wiped them away quickly, furious with himself.

“What do you mean he is dead?” Brandon roared, the words cutting through the haze. “No. No!”

Robb turned to look at his uncle. Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf who had once seemed unbreakable was shaking, grief painted raw across his features. First Benjen, now Eddard. Two brothers gone, and Brandon stood alone.

Lord Commander Hother Umber shifted uneasily. “After the battle,” he said grimly, “the ice dragon came. It came for your brother. The Night King himself struck him down. Lord Eddard fought gods save me, he fought but the beast threw him from the Wall.”

Robb’s voice cracked as he asked, “The body? Where is it? I want to see him.”

Umber hesitated, his thick hands clenching.

“What?” Brandon barked.

The Lord Commander’s eyes flickered, and his tone grew heavier. “There is no body.”

“What?” Robb and Brandon shouted together.

Umber swallowed. “Witnesses… they saw the Night King’s dragon take Lord Eddard’s corpse away.”

Brandon shook his head violently, as if he could reject the words by sheer force, then stormed from the chamber, slamming the door behind him.

Robb swayed, his fists clenched. “Why?” he rasped. “Why would it…?”

Umber’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I do not know, my lord.”

Robb sat down, his thoughts storming. Why would the Night King take his father’s body? The question gnawed at him, tearing at the fragile hope in his chest. Another thought struck could he be alive? Could Uncle Benjen, too, still live?

“Are you sure my father is dead?” Robb asked.

Lord Commander Umber shifted uncomfortably. “He fought the Night King, my lord. Fought well, and he fell from the Wall.”

“But no one saw him killed,” Robb pressed.

“No,” Umber admitted.

“Then he could be alive. Could the Night King have taken him alive?”

Umber’s expression hardened. “I know it is hard, young lord, but a monster like the Night King has no need to take men alive.”

Robb stood, fire in his eyes. “Two Starks have been targeted, Lord Commander. And Starks are not ordinary men.”

Before more could be said, the horns blared.

One.

Two.

Three.

Robb’s breath caught. “Three… The dead.”

“They attack once more,” Umber said grimly, already moving. Robb followed.

The castle exploded into chaos. Men shouted orders, scrambling for armor and weapons. The clang of steel and creak of wood filled the air as gates slammed, fires were lit, and barrels of pitch were hauled into place. Ravens screeched overhead as if warning everyone.

Robb’s eyes found Brandon’s across the yard. His uncle’s wild grin was all teeth and fury. “Come, nephew. Let us avenge your father!”

Robb’s hand went to the hilt of his sword Valyrian steel, gifted by Maekar. Wielding it made him one of the most important men in the castle.

“The dragon,” Umber barked, his voice carrying. “If it comes again, we are doomed. It cannot cross the Wall, but it can land atop it.”

Brandon spat into the snow. “Then the Night King dies today. Or I do.”

They pressed toward the lift, the chains rattling as it heaved them skyward. The wind grew colder with every foot they climbed, the storm sharpening.

When they reached the top, Robb gasped at the sight before him and stole the breath from his chest.

A large host of dead marched from the forest’s edge, a vast tide of corpses stretching endlessly into the white. Skeletal hands, rotted faces, eyes burning blue all shuffling forward.

Lord Commander Umber grunted, his jaw tight. “Gods… twenty thousand, at least.”

Brandon’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing. “What of the weapons? The ones Maekar sent us?”

“Most are being mended,” Umber said grimly.

“At least they can’t come up here,” Robb said.

“We’ve had reports of them trying to climb the Wall, young lord. They may try it here.”

Arrows whistled through the air massive, jagged shafts loosed by the undead giants. They struck the Wall with bone-shaking force, one shattering stone mere feet from Robb. He, the Lord Commander, and Brandon dove for cover as fragments of ice and rock sprayed around them.

“Fucking giants!” Brandon spat, scrambling up again. “Lord Commander, light them up!”

Umber bellowed, his voice carrying over the howling winds. “Loose, you fools! Loose!”

A storm of arrows answered his call. Wildfire-coated bolts and flaming shafts hissed through the sky, streaks of green fire crackling as they plunged into the mass of corpses below. Explosions lit the night, shattering pockets of the horde, and fire spread across the snow, igniting the dead where they stumbled.

“My lord!” a ranger cried, pointing down in horror. “Some are climbing! Gods, they’re fast!”

“Fuck!” Brandon roared. “Get more men here! Drive them down!”

Robb rose, his Valyrian steel sword in hand, ready to meet them. His heart pounded, his blood hot despite the freezing wind. He was a Stark, and tonight he would not falter.

But then a sound split the chaos. A roar. Deep, terrible, and far too familiar.

Robb’s chest tightened. His breath caught.

“Is that—” Brandon began.

Lord Commander Umber’s face drained of color. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s back… the dragon. And—” He froze, looking between the two Starks before him. “My lords, you must go!”

“No!” Robb shouted, his heart dropping as the roar echoed again but there was another as well.

Brandon’s wild grin spread, laughter breaking. “Ha! The king is coming!” he roared.

Robb looked up at the sky and, from the south, a vast black shape tore through the clouds: Neferion. Beside him, crimson-scaled, was Morghul with Queen Daenerys upon his back. And next to her, smaller but swift, came Allyrion as Prince Viserys urged her on.

The Wall shook with the thunder of their wings.

Cheers erupted from every throat. Robb found himself shouting too, sword raised high.

Neferion dove first, Maekar upon his neck, and his dragonfire scoured the land below. The blue-eyed horde was engulfed, torn apart in burning waves. Corpses blackened and fell by the hundreds, shrieking as they were unmade.

Morghul and Allyrion wheeled toward the giants. Smaller, easier to maneuver, they cut down the towering undead where they stood. One by one, the colossal shadows fell, screaming into fire.

The battlefield became a sea of fire and ash. Snow melted, steaming as green wildfire and dragonflame devoured the dead. The shrieks of the wights grew weaker.

Men on the Wall roared in triumph, their voices thundering into the night.

“King Maekar!”

“King Maekar!”

“The queen!”

The three dragons circled slowly above the battlefield, raining fire with terrible precision. Neferion’s green flames scoured the earth, burning lines through the frozen horde. Morghul dove and wheeled, searing the dead where they stood, while Allyrion smaller and quicker darted between them, cutting down stragglers with bronze fire that split the night sky.

Through the smoke and ash, Robb’s eyes caught sight of Maekar. To his shock, the king had landed Neferion upon the churned ground, dismounting to fight the Others who led the dead.

“Fuck, what is he doing?” Brandon growled.

Robb shook his head. “Well… Maekar is Maekar.”

Below, he watched Maekar cut down the Others with lethal grace, Neferion lending his flames. As the last Other fell, Maekar swung himself back into Neferion’s saddle. The dragon beat his colossal wings and soared back toward the Wall, latching onto its face.

Neferion clung to the side of the Wall, claws buried deep in ice. Morghul and Allyrion descended into the courtyard below.

Maekar leapt from Neferion’s neck onto the parapet. Taking off his helm, he turned to Robb; his face was shadowed, and Robb saw the sorrow in his eyes.

“I am sorry, Robb,” Maekar said softly. “Uncle Ned…he—”

“No.” Brandon cut him off, shaking his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. Don’t blame yourself, boy.”

Maekar’s gaze turned again to Robb, but before he could speak, the young Stark stepped forward and embraced him. His voice was firm despite the tremor in it. “I think he’s alive, Maekar.”

Maekar stilled. “What?”

Brandon’s head snapped toward them, eyes blazing. “What are you saying?”

“They saw Father fall… and then the Night King and his dragon took him away. Uncle Benjen vanished. Two Starks taken. Their deaths are not certain. We don’t know they’re dead.”

Brandon shook his head, nearly roaring. “Robb. Ned and Ben… they’re gone!”

Maekar looked to Robb and then to Brandon. “No. No, I think you’re onto something, Robb.”

“What are you saying, Maekar?” Brandon demanded.

Before he could answer, a roar split the night.

Every man on the Wall froze.

The Lord Commander’s voice trembled as he looked up into the storm. “Your Grace… that was not your queen’s dragon. Nor your uncle’s. Was it?”

Maekar’s eyes narrowed, fixed on the dark clouds above. “No.”

And then it appeared the ice dragon, vast and terrible, its wings blotting out the moonlight, frost trailing in its wake.

Maekar’s jaw clenched as he took a step toward Neferion. His voice rang like steel across the Wall. “Let’s see if ice can stand against fire.”

He mounted Neferion once more. The dragon tore free of the Wall with an earth-shaking roar, wings beating as he climbed into the sky.

Robb watched, heart pounding, as fire met ice above Maekar and the Night King hurtling toward one another.

The clash of ice and fire had begun.