King's Landing — The Lion's Last Game
The Red Keep no longer smelled of roses and wine.
It smelled of smoke.
Lily sat upon the Iron Throne barefoot, her crown lying forgotten at her feet. Ravens circled the spires outside, one had clawed through the window hours ago, leaving black feathers on her lap.
Qyburn stood below the steps, his face pale. "My Queen the scouts confirm it. Winterfell stands. The North bends the knee to no one."
Lily didn't move. Her fingers traced the armrest where Aerys's blood had once dried to dust.
"Tell me again," she said quietly. "Tell me how she lives."
Qyburn swallowed. "By means no maester understands. The witch Althea Baelish returned from death. They call her the Frost Queen. They say she walks beside Job Snow as if risen from the grave."
The Queen's lips trembled into a smile thin, poisonous. "Then the gods mock me with my own trick. Resurrection, betrayal, incestuous love all the games I once mastered."
She rose, pacing the hall. "If the North is ruled by ghosts, I shall summon one of my own."
"My Queen?"
She turned. "You studied Valyrian fire long before Daenerys's ruin. Can you recall the spell to wake the Echo of Valyria?"
Qyburn blanched. "That magic cost empires their thrones."
"So did mercy," she hissed. "Begin the rite. Tonight, the Red Keep will burn bright enough for the gods to look away."
Outside, thunder cracked though the sky was clear.
Winterfell — The Gods Stir
Far north, the snow began to fall in circles, not flakes each spiral glowing faintly blue.
Job stood atop the battlements, watching the strange storm rise over the forest.
Below him, Althea moved through the courtyard, bare-armed, her breath ghosting in the cold. The people bowed without knowing why.
"They look at me as though I'm a god," she murmured when he joined her.
"They fear what they can't name," he said. "So they worship it."
She turned her face upward. "Something stirs beneath the Weirwood. I hear it when I sleep. A whisper, calling itself the Silent Throne."
"What does it want?"
"Balance," she said softly. "But balance always demands a cost."
A horn sounded from the watchtower a note Job hadn't heard since the Long Night.
He ran for the gates.
Beyond the walls, the snow parted like a curtain. A rider approached wrapped in furs blacker than crows, eyes glazed with frost.
"Who rides for Winterfell?" Job called.
The rider dismounted, falling to his knees. "No one, my Lord. I died on the Wall a year ago."
The soldiers drew back, murmuring prayers.
"She calls us," the corpse whispered. "The River Mother. The Queen in the Water. She says the crown has awakened the dead."
Job's heart sank. He turned toward Althea, but she was already looking beyond the horizon toward King's Landing.
"It begins again," she said. "Fire answers frost."
King's Landing — The Dragon in Chains
In the dungeons below the Red Keep, Qyburn's torches burned green.
Before him lay the skeleton of a dragon shattered ribs, molten eyes Daenerys's last child.
Lily watched as he poured black oil into the creature's skull. "You would play gods, Maester?" she asked.
"No, my Queen. Only wake one."
He spoke words older than Valyria itself. The air turned sulfurous. Chains rattled.
The bones began to move.
Lily smiled through tears she did not feel. "If the North has its witch, then let the South have its ghost."
The dragon's skull ignited from within green flame burning behind empty sockets. The Echo of Valyria had risen.
And far away, the godswood shuddered.
Winterfell — The Dreaming Wood
Althea awoke gasping. The Weirwood's face was bleeding again, its eyes spilling not sap but light.
"The fire comes," it whispered. "Born of the dead, fed by wrath. The lion has summoned the echo."
Job entered, his cloak wet with snow. "The ravens speak of fire in the south. A dragon reborn in green."
She reached for him, her fingers trembling. "Then we march before it flies."
"The North is weary, Althea. Half our men still fear you more than Lily."
She met his gaze frost and flame colliding. "Then let them fear us both. Fear can hold a kingdom longer than faith."
The Silence Between
That night, as they lay beside each other, the world felt split half heat, half cold.
Job traced the scar on her wrist. "If we win, what then? You're not mortal anymore. Neither am I."
"Then we rule until the world remembers what mercy means."
"And if it doesn't?"
She smiled faintly. "Then we outlast it."
Outside, the wind carried a sound like wings not bird, not dragon, but something between.
King's Landing — The Burning Throne
At dawn, the Echo of Valyria broke its chains.
It rose above the Red Keep, wreathed in green fire, its roar shaking the sea.
Lily watched from the balcony, crownless, triumphant. "Fly north," she whispered. "Burn their gods. Burn their love."
The beast turned its skull toward her, empty eyes gleaming. For a heartbeat, she saw herself reflected in the flame queen, monster, mother then nothing at all.
When it beat its wings, the air itself screamed.
And the Red Keep began to crumble.
Winterfell — The Wolf's Choice
Job saw it before the maesters named it a streak of green light tearing through the clouds.
"Down!" he shouted as the first wave of fire struck the wall.
Stone shattered. Men burned. Snow turned to glass.
Althea stood in the courtyard, her hands raised. Frost erupted from the ground, meeting fire mid-air. Steam rolled over the battlements.
"You cannot stop it!" Job cried.
"I don't need to!" she shouted. "I only need to change it."
She closed her eyes calling the water beneath Winterfell, the River Mother's blood.
Ice climbed the dragon's wings, veins of blue threading through green. The creature screamed half fury, half relief and burst apart into snow and ash.
When the storm cleared, only silence remained.
The Throne of Silence
In the aftermath, Job and Althea stood before the Weirwood, the snow red with fire's memory.
"It's over," Davos murmured.
"No," Althea said softly. "It's only paused."
She touched the tree's bark. Beneath her palm, the wood pulsed slow, ancient.
"What do you hear?" Job asked.
"The gods have gone quiet," she whispered. "But silence is never peace. It's waiting."
They looked toward the South, where smoke still rose.
Between them, unseen, the faint echo of wings stirred once more not in fire, not in frost, but in balance.