Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 60: The End of the Beginning: Finale
106 AC
Sunset Sea
Lyanna Mormont
Lyanna smirked in satisfaction as she felt the living heat of her dragon, Silverwing, beneath her while the great beast dived toward the surface of the sea. They had begun the descent from such height that anyone below would have mistaken them for an oddly shaped cloud drifting across the sky. Wind struck her face with violent force, pulling tears from her eyes as her thoughts accelerated alongside the dive.
She wondered why this Ironborn attack was so much larger than the others. Previous raids had involved one or two ships at most, and she had already burned three such attempts to ash over the past year. An eagle circled high above the Lannister Trade ships, still far below where Silverwing was with her dive, watching for threats, and through that distant vision she had first seen the ambush forming—ten Ironborn ships closing in.
Her ships had spent the last year protecting the coast, hunting pirates, and driving Ironborn raiders back to their rocky holes. Many pirate crews had fled with their tails between their legs — and that humiliation only seemed to enrage the Ironborn more. Lyanna had once wondered why her father responded with nothing more than warnings instead of crushing them outright.
Daemon's answer had been exactly what she should have expected.
He wanted them angry. Angry enough that when he finally offered them a target for their frustration, they would seize it without hesitation. He had also mentioned, almost casually, that it served as useful naval practice for both the Mormont and Lannister fleets.
Her thoughts became blank as she finally saw the ships with her own eyes rather than through Silverwing or her eagle. A single glance at the ships sailing through the vast sea made her realize why there were ten ships. For some reason, the pirate ships were spread far too wide, without any clear lines or pattern. Lyanna, who knew about sailing and its intricacies, was impressed by how they moved forward without smashing into each other in such a chaotic formation.
Someone had planned this carefully to make her job far harder than usual.
She was coming down in free fall with the sun at her back, just as her father had taught her, and she smirked as Silverwing suddenly spread her wings to glide forward with the momentum created by the immense drop. The sudden vertical force applied to her body made her stomach rumble in discomfort, but she was built far sturdier than most Targaryen dragonriders outside of the royal couple. She could feel the joy from Silverwing as they reached the first ship while moving above it at immense speed. By now, Lyanna could see the men scrambling, yelling, and trying to look upward, but the sun behind her made it impossible for the first ship in her path to see clearly.
With a slight mental nudge from her, Silverwing opened her mouth, and an immense burst of fire erupted and struck the ship in all its fury. The magical fire hit the sails, exploding and spreading faster than normally possible. Within a heartbeat, Silverwing passed the first ship, and the second ship she could see was not in her flight path because of the chaotic sprawl of vessels. Lyanna understood that someone clever had planned for her arrival by ensuring she couldn't destroy multiple ships in a single pass.
The momentum was still great enough that Lyanna gave no further commands until they reached another ship in her path. She sent another mental nudge, and Silverwing opened her mouth again when suddenly she felt danger coming toward them. Without conscious thought from either dragon or rider, both wanted a single thing — to dodge. It was instinct honed by days of horrific training, as her mad father had tried to strike them with thrown spears.
Silverwing flapped her wings twice, reducing their forward momentum, but their existing speed made them rise rapidly. Through her dragon, Lyanna felt three ballista bolts miss the space where the great dragon had been just a heartbeat earlier. She looked back, and suddenly the patternless movement of the ships made more sense. Five ships had her in sight, now without the sun behind her at the proper angle, and three ships had their ballistae facing the direction she had flown.
She knew the ballistae would only be a slight nuisance for an old dragon like Silverwing, especially one who had grown slightly stronger since bonding with her. But the painful lessons Daemon had drilled into her about dodging whenever possible — even on dragonback — made her take the coming fight more seriously. Even if a ballista bolt struck her body, she knew she would survive because she carried a bottle of healing potion at all times. The only way she could truly be killed was a bolt straight through her head.
She was angered that the worthless ironborn had devised such a clever way of fighting her and Silverwing, but her heart beat faster with excitement as she faced a true challenge on dragonback for the first time. Right then and there, she decided that all remaining nine ships would be burned without a single arrow or ballista bolt striking Silverwing.
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She succeeded.
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107 AC
Beyond the wall
The Mountain looked at the small settlement he and his brothers had built in Hardhome over the last few years. Currently, ten thousand wildlings had been broken and made to bend the knee, their pride, arrogance, and beliefs crushed. For what it was worth, martial strength was still the highest form of currency beyond the Wall.
The Mountain stood on a hill overlooking the beach. He and his brothers had a habit of climbing up and then jumping down the hundred-foot drop without rope, or running down the mountain as training. The feats only increased the wildlings' worship of them, making them more malleable.
He saw Lucy and her herd resting on one side of the beach while wildlings worked on building new houses using methods Ned had taught them. As he stood there, his mind drifted back to their journey after finally receiving permission from their bastard father to cross beyond the Wall.
By the time it happened, his rage and arrogance had nearly been battered down to nothing by how long it had taken them to force the bastard out of their minds. Then came the horrible possibility Jon had raised — one that had made even the Mountain sweat.
"Daemon is in King's Landing, thousands of miles away from us. What if his magical abilities are stronger when he's near us? Could we actually throw him out then?"
Curious to test Jon's theory, the Mountain had tried to attack back that night. He attempted to travel through the same mental link his father had used to reach his mind, hoping to strike Daemon's mind in return. Unfortunately, he couldn't take even a hundred steps along that link before he felt his mind being assaulted by magic itself, trying to disperse him and merge him with the old gods.
Only his rage against the wildlings and his deep bond with Lucy allowed him to return from the brink of death and back to his own mind's safety.
His brothers' reaction when he told them was frozen panic. The Mountain knew he had worn the same expression. The realization of the immense gap between them and their father filled him with anger, and only having the wildlings as targets kept him from losing his sanity in those days.
Within a fortnight, they ambushed several bands, and every group fought to the last man. It was cathartic for the Mountain to crush them beneath his mace.
One month later, tales of the four brothers had spread across the region. Their animal spies ensured they were never ambushed, and eventually a band of two hundred men came to kill them.
The brothers set a careful trap along a narrow stretch of frozen ground where the wildlings were forced to advance in uneven clusters. Hidden pits, concealed stakes, and falling nets broke the formation before the fighting even began. Once confusion spread through the attackers, the four brothers moved in without hesitation and cut the small army down themselves. Steel, bone, and frost filled the air as the battle turned into a brutal slaughter.
After nearly sixty wildlings had fallen, Lucy the mammoth entered the fray from the rocky ridge where she had been waiting in silence. Her massive steps shook the ground as she advanced, and it was in that moment that the brothers saw true terror on the wildlings' faces for the first time. The warriors tried to fight the beast, throwing spears and rushing forward in desperate courage, but repeated failures broke their resolve. Panic spread quickly through the survivors, and most turned to flee across the snow-covered shore. Many escaped into the wilderness, while many others were cut down by the four brothers and Lucy as they ran.
Later, as the battlefield grew quiet and the wind carried away the last cries of the dying, the brothers wondered whether the mammoth alone inspired such fear, and whether any mammoths still lived beyond the Wall after Daemon had taken them for his own campaigns.
Two weeks passed before the next change came. A small band of twenty people approached the settlement cautiously, carrying no weapons in their hands. Women and children walked among them, exhausted and thin from travel. They stopped at a distance and bent the knee in surrender.
The Mountain's first instinct was to kill them all, to remove even the smallest threat before it could grow. His brothers intervened, forcing him to stay his hand. After the newcomers swore their vows of loyalty, Jon asked why they had come so suddenly.
The Mountain never forgot the answer given by one of the wildling women, who spoke with lowered eyes and complete submission.
"We do not want the Red Death to come with his mammoth herd and kill everyone. Any son of Stark is to be feared, and any son of Stark who rides a mammoth should be feared and respected as the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
The Mountain felt his pride sting at the reminder that they benefited from their father's reputation, though the advantage it gave them was undeniable.
"Brother."
The Mountain's thoughts broke at the sound of Aemon's voice. He turned and saw him standing beside him on the hill overlooking their growing settlement, smoke rising from cooking fires along the shoreline.
"Did our direwolves find anything about the Walkers or wights?" the Mountain asked with a tired sigh.
Since crossing beyond the Wall, they had all felt as though something unseen watched them from the forest and the frozen valleys. No sign of it had appeared through scouting, warging, or magic. The feeling remained constant and difficult to ignore.
Early the previous year, they had found four nearly grown direwolves and bound them through warging and patient training. The beasts now roamed far beyond the settlement, large enough and disciplined enough to scout vast stretches of land. Despite their efforts, they had discovered nothing.
Aemon shook his head slowly. "Nothing, brother. They found nothing, and yet I still feel the pressure on my shoulder."
The Mountain nodded. He felt it as well, though less strongly than Aemon, whose senses were sharper when it came to magic and the unseen.
"What about the wildlings?" the Mountain asked, his voice low.
"They have learned to stay far from this place and our hunting parties," Aemon replied. "We gathered and trained every capable person who joined us, and after the hunts in the early days they realized no single band could defeat even one of us. They are beginning to gather in larger groups now. Their numbers remain lower than expected. Either they have not recovered from our father's rampage, or the Walkers have taken the weak and the non-fighters who remained behind after said rampage."
"Will they come to us, or should we go to them?" the Mountain said, thinking through the possibilities.
The Mountain gave a small shrug. "Warging was never my strongest gift. My bond with Lucy may interfere with it as well. What of the other animals?"
Aemon's expression sharpened into a grim smile. "There is nothing to worry about there. We have broken shadowcats, bears, and other predators that roam these lands. Our animal host is close to three hundred now, including the wolves. When they move together, the wildlings will not stand their ground for long, and our men will finish what remains."
The Mountain watched the settlement below in silence, the cold wind moving through his hair as the sound of distant construction drifted up from the shore.
"So there will finally be another tale to rival the Three Thousand Unsullied against the Dothraki horde at the Battle of Qohor," the Mountain said with a smirk.
Aemon snorted, shaking his head. "Only if someone is generous enough to believe our tale and generous enough to grant wildlings the same reputation for war as the Dothraki."
=============================
107 AC, First Moon
Kingslanding
Daemon 'The Healer' Targaryen
I lay awake on my back as Gael hugged me, sleeping with her head on my chest after a passionate night of lovemaking. It was almost morning, and I still couldn't fall asleep. After Gael drifted into a stupor, I tried to sleep, but my mind was too tense. The unease drove me to warg and use my magical abilities to their maximum extent, searching for whatever danger might be coming. Unfortunately, there was nothing.
Just like my own sons, even my animal scouts couldn't find any walkers or dead beyond the Wall, confirming they were dormant during the summer. Even in the Lands of Always Winter, nothing was visible except unending snow and frost, seen through the eyes of my eagle—one of my longest companions and the most evolved bird shaped by my blood and our bond.
I felt pride in what my sons had accomplished so far, and in their pragmatic and prudent approach. Confirming that the danger was not coming from the North, I turned my attention west—to the Ironborn bastards. My patience for their raids was coming to an end. Only the possibility of using them in my future fight with Dorne had stayed my hand until now. Even in my past life, I fucking hated them and their culture. Living here and witnessing their atrocities had only increased that hatred drastically. Watching Lyanna burn them had been deeply cathartic, and I found myself wondering who the clever man was who came up with the chaotic sailing tactic meant to trap a dragon.
Unfortunately, I couldn't use greenseeing over the Iron Islands themselves, as there were no weirwood roots there. It was like an air-gapped system disconnected from the internet. The only way to spy on them was through animal scouts, and I didn't have time to watch constantly. Even my spies under Aethan couldn't maintain continuous surveillance, and I could only spare two observers for the task. The only interesting development was rumors of infighting. The only reason there wasn't already a civil war between Greyjoy and some Hoare bastard was fear of dragons. I hoped they would stay their hands even when I became king, so that I could kill them off by making them fight my battles, also having some monsters under your command to do the dirty deeds is always good to generate fear. There is a reason The Starks allowed Boltons to follow them so long after all.
Since the danger I sensed wasn't coming from the Ironborn, the only immediate possibility left was the Faceless Men. My senses flew east, reaching the Triarchy. There were no magical threats there either, so my awareness moved on to Braavos. Unfortunately, no matter what I tried, I couldn't enter the House of Black and White to spy in any way. I wanted to check Volantis too, but it was too distant for my base abilities. To breach that distance, I would need a dragonglass candle—and perhaps even my own blood to power it.
With a defeated sigh, I returned to the present and felt eyes on me. I looked down and saw Gael staring at my face from where she lay on my chest.
"You are back, Daemon," Gael whispered. "Did you find anything that could explain why you've been growing tenser over the last few moons? I thought it was because of our second child, but Daenerys was born healthy and hale last moon. She is protected. Your son Rickon has been assigned as Gaemon's sworn shield for now, and even I would have to fight very hard to defeat him. You gave him a Valyrian steel weapon and even a dragonglass knife. Still, you feel as if the world is going to end tomorrow."
I tightened my arm around Gael and stayed silent, trying to clear my thoughts.
After some time, I replied, "I don't know why I'm becoming like this. The king will die this year, and our position is secure. No lord paramount will cause trouble for us, and even the Faith is weaker than it has ever been. The smallfolk of King's Landing love us, and despite our expenses, our treasury is adequate. Our dragonlord cousins are fully on our side—yet I still can't relax."
Gael looked at me sadly. "You always worry and plan for when bad things might happen, husband of mine. Maybe preparing for every possible scenario has made you realize there are things beyond your control—even when you are the most powerful man alive. You must accept that and enjoy the current peace. We have prepared for war as much as possible. You must not forget to live in peace."
"Oh, such wisdom," I said playfully with a slight smile. "I didn't know you were becoming so proficient in philosophical talk, dear wife."
Gael snorted and lightly hit my chest. "Maybe all the people worshipping me as the Mother reborn in King's Landing for providing healing fruits have actually made me wiser like the Mother," she said with amused snort.
I just laughed at that because in my all years of learning and scrying ancient history, I understood that unlike Old Gods, Red Demon, The New Gods doesn't exist or currently they didn't give a rat's ass about anyone on this planet. There was no sign of their presence in holy places or septs. The Faith had shot itself in the foot with its anti-magic preaching. In Andalos, the Seven had worked miracles because the people themselves possessed magic, and collective prayer and belief had channeled it—whether to change weather, strengthen individuals, or win battles.
As far as I could discover, Hugor of the Hill had been a mage of immense skill and talent. He had designed an entire religion to secure his position as king, claimed himself to be blessed by seven gods, then reshaped it into an anti-magic doctrine so no rival mage could challenge his throne. He designed the Seven-Pointed Star as a focusing rune, drawing on the magic of the faithful so their own prayers manifested as miracles. It had been a genius move and worked for centuries until Valyrians started expansion with their own sorcery. Then the Andals started migrating to Westeros where magic has been declining and to expand their rule. Now, it has come full circle as a valyrian like me use the same methodology to be an undisputed King. The irony had made me laugh the first time I realized it long ago. It was also why I had acted against the Faith without fear—unlike Jaehaerys, who had always been slightly wary of possible divine repercussions.
"It's nice to see you laughing freely like this, Daemon," Gael said, clearly happy.
I nodded. "Aye. It's nice to laugh and forget everything else now and then. I think it's time to have an official meeting with our family and friends about what will happen when the king finally dies."
Gael agreed and hugged me tighter.
================================
Two days later
Dragonpit
I watched with a smile as my son Gaemon played with his dragon in the center of the pit under the watchful eyes of Morghul. He was now five and had shown exceptional growth and skill in everything compared to other children his age. Unfortunately, because of how busy I had been, the boy had grown closer to Benjen than to me.
Shaking my head, I looked around as everyone I had asked to be here gathered on time. Other than the adult Targaryens — except for Aemma — there were Rickon Stark, my foster child, Aethan, Benjen, Rickon, and six of my other sons who held important positions in King's Landing. Two served in the City Watch. One was the head of city planning, overseeing the proper building and expansion of King's Landing. Even though half the actual plan came from me, the boy showed real skill in executing it and improving it when necessary.
Another was working his way up through the guards of the Red Keep, and one served as the castellan of Daemonhold. Though they were skilled in many areas, unlike Benjen and Lyanna they were more reserved when interacting with nobility. The only times they truly relaxed around nobles were when they were with me, Gael, or Lyanna.
I noticed Rhaenys looking at Rickon Stark with a frown, and for a moment I didn't understand why.
Rhaenys saw me observing her and asked, "Why is Laena not here if Stark is here?"
"Rhaenyra and Laena are not here because they are still naïve children. The influence of their other parents is still strong, and I don't want the contents of this meeting to be leaked. Everyone here is present because I trust them not to betray me — even indirectly."
Rhaenys looked ready to protest, but a frown from me stopped her before she began. She understood I was correct. Corlys's influence over his children was strong enough that they would naturally share what happened here.
"Cousin, what do we owe the pleasure of this meeting?" the Rogue Prince asked with a smirk. "I hope it is not a larger version of what we did at Dragonstone all those years ago."
I smirked back. "This meeting is to inform you all of several things that are going to happen, so we remain on the same page."
"Oh?" Viserys whispered with curiosity.
Ignoring the reactions, I continued. "As many of you know, our king — my grandfather — has been abusing my healing potion to enjoy his last few years. He has continued performing royal duties, flying with Vermithor, even fighting mock battles atop his dragon. But like all things, the potion's effects are fading. He is dying. He will die this year no matter what, and we must be prepared."
Everyone present knew the intricacies of the royal family, and the king was a divisive figure. Even then there was some genuine sadness I could feel from many at the confirmation that king will die soon.
"I understand why we Targaryens are here, cousin," Aegon said, "but why are your bastard sons here, aside from Benjen and Rickon? The others hold lower positions and are not usually informed of matters like this so early."
To no one's surprise, the sons he mentioned nodded in confusion as well.
"As all of you know, they are already in important positions or training to take over such roles. I have been in King's Landing almost every day for the last five years," I continued. "I have tried to make the entire administration function like a machine — not something that fails just because I am unavailable for extended periods. For that, my sons are essential."
Aegon nodded, still not fully understanding, but decided to let it go.
"So, when the king dies, there will be a war. I have hinted — or outright said — this to many in this pit before. But today I declare it clearly: our enemy will be Dorne. Even now they prepare with their cowardly tactics for the moment of the king's death, not knowing I have been preparing since before they even conceived of causing trouble. I will make them start the war so that my image as a kind-hearted healing prince is not greatly affected."
"You will make Dorne start the war officially?" Rhaenys asked in disbelief. "How will you accomplish that, brother, when they rely on cowardly tactics and guerrilla warfare, fearing our dragons?"
I just smirked. "That you will have to wait and see. Don't worry about it — I will take care of it easily. Now, to more important matters. Sons, I will not be here, and it will be the time for snakes to come out of hiding. You must prepare for all kinds of trouble and remain on the lookout for magical threats. Physical and political threats are not as dangerous for us, but magical ones are serious. I have killed two Faceless Men and one shadow assassin in the last five years who tried to infiltrate the Red Keep."
I revealed to make sure my warnings are taken seriously.
"What?" Viserys snapped in anger and shock. "Faceless Men reached the Red Keep? That means we were never safe whenever we went out in King's Landing."
I observed Viserys and wondered why my cousin was more afraid of Faceless Man than others in my family. Maybe Viserys who studied and was very much interested in Valyrian history actually believes that it is Faceless Men behind the Doom. Even now I have no confirmation who is the actual culprit behind the Doom, only that human arrogance made them try something on The Elder Dragons.
"Do not worry, Viserys. Anyone harming my blood is something I cannot tolerate. The only reason I have not retaliated against the Faceless Men is because I do not want to enter such a conflict without knowing its full scope of said assassins. Thus, the best thing to do now is survive and persevere while killing any that you can reach," I replied in anger.
Viserys nodded in satisfaction. I knew he was thinking about Baelon and Aemma, who survived in this world because of me.
"Father," Benjen suddenly said, "please tell us where Fenrir is, or recall him back. He would be the ultimate protection against these assassins. It has been years, and only rumors of a giant wolf in forests across the realm are the only hints of him."
I looked at Gael knowingly, and we both laughed slightly, drawing groans from more than half the people in the pit. They had all wondered why my constant companion Fenrir had been missing after providing four direwolves when Gaemon was born. Many had asked repeatedly where he was — especially Rhaenyra — but I had always dismissed them.
"Sadly, that is not possible," I said with a shrug. "Anyway, I am going to inform Cregan to start preparing his forces, because it will be the North that takes the longest to reach me. Rhaenys, inform Corlys to prepare his navy for war and stockpile materials."
Everyone nodded. Except for Rickon Stark, no one had anything to say about Stark troop movements.
Rhaenys looked at me with intrigue. "And do you believe he will follow diligently, regardless of the cost?"
"Well, Laenor does have Seasmoke, but to claim him and ride him, Corlys needs my permission after all," I said with a wide grin.
Rhaenys looked conflicted, but she nodded.
I dismissed the meeting after that. Everyone was about to disperse when a voice interrupted as its owner walked in from the interior of the Dragonpit where Vermithor resided.
"I am sad, grandson, that you did not call me for the meeting discussing my death and its aftermath." The voice of King Jaehaerys broke the whispering among the gathered people.
I looked and saw the old king walking with energy and no signs of weakness. He must have just taken my blood. The king had been abusing it, and I knew that now he needed more and more for lesser benefits. I gave him five to six moons before his body finally gave out.
"Father, it is not like that," Gael said from my side in a calming voice.
The king waved his hand dismissively. "I am not angry, daughter. I am just disappointed that my grandson did not bother to use the situation to its maximum potential." The gathered people looked shocked — except the Targaryens who knew the king's secrets.
"You are correct, grandfather," I replied. "I thought of it, but I do not want to be that callous."
The king smirked. "Then tell me, my heir — how much time do you foresee for me if I continue taking the healing potion as I am now?"
"Your body will give up within six moons at most, grandfather," I said, slight sadness in my voice.
"Then it is decided. I will stop taking it at the end of the fifth moon. After the potion's effects leave my body, I will take sweetsleep. Make your plans accordingly," the king said with determination.
Even with my control, I could not stop the surprise from showing on my face. Everyone else was equally shocked.
"Father," Gael said finally, "that is not necessary. Our position is established, and we can afford uncertainty. Rhaenyra, Laena, and Gaemon all enjoy spending time with you — unlike us. You could remain with them longer."
The king looked hesitant for a moment, at least to my eyes. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, determination roared from him.
"Daughter, I have lied, killed, and lived for the prosperity of my house and the Iron Throne. I will die for it too. No — I cannot afford not to die at the proper time. I will die at the beginning of the sixth moon, and that is final. You may ask the lords to prepare their armies unofficially at the beginning of the fifth moon or you may waste this opportunity." The King ordered and then he turned and walked away without giving anyone time to respond.
I looked at my family and I could see that even with Rhaenys, Viserys and my other cousins not loving the king there was grudging respect in their face for the absolute will that takes to live and die for a cause. I observed the king walk away and then sighed, deciding to use the final gift from my grandfather and king.
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Author's Note: finally we have reached our hero being crowned king in next chapter. I really planned to end this chapter with the actual death scene of king with otto pov for next 5 moons, with daemon declaring something badass to the realm when he is crowned king. But when I reached here, I just knew the king deserves a good exit like this and when he was one of the most interesting character for me after Daemon..
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