Tyrion: Council Chamber Divisions and Mediation
The oak long table in the Red Keep's council chamber was polished to a shine, yet it couldn't hide the knife marks on its legs—traces of swords clashing during noble disputes in Cersei's reign.
Tyrion stood before the table, leaning on his cane, watching the representatives from various regions take their seats.
His fingertips unconsciously caressed the lion crest atop his cane, and he sighed inwardly: The peace after the war was harder to maintain than the battles themselves.
"North representatives arriving!" The attendant's announcement broke the silence.
Sansa, dressed in a dark grey wool dress, followed by Lord Manderly and Lord Mormont, still had snowflakes from Winterfell clinging to her hem.
She walked to the north side of the long table and sat down, her gaze sweeping over the former Lannister loyalists present, a hint of subtle vigilance in her eyes—the grievances between the North and Lannister Family could not be entirely erased by a single victory.
"Dorne representatives arriving!" Obara Sand (Oberyn Martell's daughter) entered with two Dornish warriors, the serpentine dagger at her waist gleaming coldly.
As soon as she sat down, she slammed a list onto the table: "There are twelve Dornish traitors in Cersei's Golden Company who helped her suppress the Dornish uprising.
The council must sentence them to death, or Dorne will never recognize this council!"
The representative of the former Lannister loyalists (Jaime, still recovering from severe injuries, was represented by Cleo Frey) immediately retorted: "They were only following orders!
Now the alliance needs unity; we cannot indiscriminately kill innocent people because of past grievances!"
"Indiscriminately kill innocent people?" Obara sneered, pulling back her sleeve to reveal scars on her arm.
"These were from the whips of the Golden Company's Dornish traitors! They killed my brother, burned my estate, and now you tell me 'following orders'?"
The council chamber instantly erupted into arguments.
Tyrion quickly raised a hand for silence: "Everyone, the council's primary task is to establish rules, not to settle old scores.
Dorne's demands are reasonable, but trials require evidence and a fair process—we can establish a special trial committee, composed of one representative from each region, to jointly rule on the crimes of the Golden Company prisoners."
He paused, then looked at Sansa: "Lady Sansa, the North's previous request for autonomy has been tentatively agreed to by the council, but the scope of autonomy needs to be clarified—will the North's army accept unified command from the alliance?
Will dragonglass supplies be shared with other regions?"
Sansa set down the clay cup in her hand, her voice steady yet firm: "The North's army can accept alliance command when fighting the cold god, but daily training and garrisoning will be autonomous for the North.
We will share dragonglass supplies with the alliance, but the dragonglass mines at The Citadel need to prioritize the North, as the Wall is the first line of defense against the cold god."
Yara spoke up then, having just arrived from the waterfront, the salty scent of seawater still clinging to her leather armor: "The Iron Islands' demands are simple—confirm the Iron Islands' sovereignty, allow the Iron Islands freedom of navigation and trade, and the alliance must not interfere in the Iron Islands' internal affairs.
Additionally, Euron's remaining forces have been cleared, and we are willing to send warships to assist the alliance in patrolling the coast to prevent the cold god's ice mist from spreading by sea."
Tyrion recorded each party's demands on parchment, his charcoal pencil leaving deep marks on the paper.
He knew these disagreements were just the beginning; subsequent disputes over tax allocation, lawmaking, and army deployment would bring even more arguments.
But as long as everyone was willing to sit at a table to discuss, it was better than resorting to violence—this was a lesson he hadn't learned from his father Tywin, but it was key to maintaining peace.
Daenerys: The Warmth of Civilian Life in King's Landing
In the commoner's district of King's Landing, cooking smoke curled upwards, and the long-lost scent of wheat filled the air.
Daenerys, dressed in a simple brown gown, without any jewelry, followed by two Unsullied, walked through the muddy streets—she wanted to see the lives of the common people after the war for herself, rather than hear reports from her ministers.
"Your Majesty!" an old woman walked over, trembling, holding a freshly baked wheat cake.
"My child baked this; please try it, and thank you for saving us!"
Daenerys took the wheat cake, its warmth spreading from her palm.
She broke off a piece and put it in her mouth; the wheat scent had a subtle sweetness—this was the most humble gratitude from the common people of King's Landing, more touching to her than any crown.
On both sides of the street, in makeshift medical tents, maesters from The Citadel were bandaging the wounds of injured commoners.
A young maester, seeing Daenerys, immediately rose and bowed: "Your Majesty, currently over three hundred commoners in King's Landing are injured, mostly by Golden Company soldiers, and over fifty more show 'frostbite' symptoms—pale blue skin and low body temperature.
We suspect it's due to residual ice mist from the cold god."
Daenerys's heart tightened, and she followed the maester into the tent—a boy of about ten lay on a straw mat, the skin on his arm a strange bluish-white, like a thin layer of ice.
His mother sat beside him, weeping hysterically: "Yesterday he was playing in the street, and when he came home last night, he was like this, Doctor, please save him!"
Daenerys knelt down and gently held the boy's hand; a bone-chilling cold emanated from his fingertips—this was not ordinary frostbite, but an infection of the cold from an ice core fragment.
She remembered Bran's previous warning; the threat of the cold god had infiltrated King's Landing, no longer a distant legend from the far north.
"Immediately isolate these 'frostbitten' commoners," Daenerys told the maester, "Use dragonglass powder boiled in water to wipe their bodies, and place weirwood shards near them; it can temporarily suppress the cold.
I will have Illyrio contact The Citadel as soon as possible to find a complete cure."
Leaving the medical tent, Daenerys walked to the granary in the commoner's district—here, provisions transported from Dragonstone were stored and distributed by the Unsullied.
She saw a young mother with two children collecting food; the children stared eagerly at the food sacks, crumbs of wheat cake still clinging to their lips.
"How much food can they receive daily?" Daenerys asked the Unsullied in charge of distribution.
"Each household can receive two pounds of wheat flour and half a pound of cured meat daily, enough to sustain basic life," the Unsullied replied.
"We are also organizing commoners to rebuild houses; skilled artisans can work at the Smithy or carpenter's shop and receive an additional half-pound of food daily as pay."
Daenerys nodded, her heart slightly eased.
She knew that the well-being of the people was the foundation of peace; only by ensuring the common people were fed, clothed, and felt a genuine sense of security would they truly accept the new rule and the council's regulations.
As the sun set, golden rays illuminated the rooftops of the commoner's district.
Daenerys stood on the street, watching children chase and play in the alley, listening to the women's laughter, her resolve growing stronger: no matter how terrifying the threat of the cold god, she would protect this hard-won tranquility.
Bran: Greensight and Cold Warning in the Godswood
In the temporary Godswood of King's Landing, the weirwood's branches and leaves were sparser than those in Winterfell, yet still exuded a faint scent of life.
Bran sat in his wheelchair, eyes closed, his pale cheeks tinged with a bluish-white chill—his consciousness was traversing the icy plains of the far north.
In the world of Greensight, the cold god's altar was larger than before; at the center of the ice mist-shrouded altar, three ice core fragments floated in mid-air, emitting a dazzling blue light.
"the cold god... is absorbing the power of the fragments..." Bran's lips moved silently, his consciousness probing downwards through the cracks in the icy plain.
He saw countless ice spikes extending southwards from the black soil beneath the altar, like a giant net, spreading towards King's Landing, Winterfell, and The Citadel.
The Greensight vision suddenly shifted, and Bran saw Eastwatch-by-the-Sea beyond the Wall—inside the Night's Watch outpost, a dozen Night's Watchmen surrounded an ice core fragment.
Their eyes had turned blue, their skin was bluish-white, and their longswords were enveloped in cold mist as they walked towards the southern villages.
"They... are infected... going to capture commoners..." Bran's body trembled violently, weirwood sap flowed from the corners of his eyes, crystallizing into ice on his cheeks.
Lyra quickly wrapped Bran tightly in a wool blanket, but found his fingers had already begun to freeze: "Lord Bran, stop using Greensight! Your body won't be able to bear it!"
Bran didn't respond, his consciousness continuing to delve deeper—he saw that in The Citadel's underground dragonglass mine, miners were excavating dragonglass, but a faint chill seeped from deep within the vein.
A hidden ice core fragment was being suppressed by the power of the dragonglass vein; once the vein was fully excavated, the cold would erupt.
"The Citadel... dragonglass mine... has a fragment..." Bran finally squeezed out a faint sound.
He struggled to reach for the weirwood shard in his bosom, clutching it tightly in his palm, "Quick... tell Illyrio... tell Sam... to reinforce the mine... don't dig through..."
Lyra dared not delay; she immediately took Bran's message and ran towards the council chamber.
Bran watched her retreating figure, his consciousness gradually withdrawing from Greensight, the weirwood before him began to blur, and the cold in his body grew heavier—he knew the cold god's counterattack had begun, and the alliance had little time left.
They had to prepare quickly, or all of Westeros would be swallowed by the ice mist.
Illyrio: Dragonglass Preparation and Citadel Liaison
In the Red Keep's armory, dragonglass from Dragonstone was piled high—spears, daggers, arrowheads, and powdered dragonglass shards, emitting a faint, ethereal glow.
Illyrio stood before a pile of dragonglass spears, watching the Unsullied pack the spears into wooden crates, the bottoms lined with weirwood shards to prevent the dragonglass from getting damp.
"My lord, how many dragonglass weapons do the King's Landing guards need?" Grey Worm's voice came from behind him.
He held a guard deployment map: "Currently, King's Landing has five hundred guards, distributed among twelve city gates and around the Red Keep.
If each person is equipped with one dragonglass dagger and ten dragonglass arrows, we will need five hundred daggers and five thousand arrows."
Illyrio took the deployment map, his finger tracing lightly over the gate locations: "City gate guards will each be additionally equipped with a dragonglass spear, and Red Keep guards will be additionally equipped with wildfire jars—the cold god's ice mist might infiltrate through the city gates, and wildfire can temporarily block the cold.
Additionally, send twenty Unsullied to the commoner's district isolation tents to assist the maesters in caring for the infected commoners; their armor must be coated with dragonglass powder to prevent cold infection."
Grey Worm nodded and turned to make arrangements. Illyrio walked to the corner of the armory, where an exquisite wooden box lay, containing the R'hllor amulets Melisandre had left behind—thirty in total, wrapped in red cloth. The amulets were engraved with runes of the lord of light, capable of resisting the cold of the cold god.
"These amulets must be distributed to the council representatives and the commanders on the front lines," Illyrio said softly, picking up an amulet and placing it in his palm—a faint warmth emanated from it, like Melisandre's sacred fire burning.
He remembered Bran's earlier warning about ice core fragments in The Citadel's dragonglass mine and knew he had to inform Samwell immediately.
Illyrio walked out of the armory, called for a raven handler, and handed him a sealed message: "Deliver this letter to The Citadel immediately, to Maester Samwell Tarly. Instruct him to reinforce the dragonglass mine, ensuring no excavation in areas with fragments, and to research a cure for cold infection as soon as possible."
The raven handler took the message and hurried towards the raven tower.
Illyrio looked up at the northern sky; the heavy clouds seemed to portend an approaching blizzard—a sign that the ice mist of the cold god was drawing near.
He tightened his grip on the R'hllor amulet, his resolve strengthening: he must quickly gather enough dragonglass and R'hllor weapons, and train an army capable of confronting the cold god; otherwise, the peace in King's Landing would be but a fleeting illusion.
Arya: Investigation of Anomalies in King's Landing's Dark Corners
In the dark alleys of King's Landing, shadows loomed. Arya, clad in black stealth leather armor, moved like a shadow through the narrow passages.
She clutched a dragonglass dagger, and her boots, dusted with silent powder, made no sound on the flagstones—Daenerys had tasked her with investigating the dark corners of King's Landing, searching for possible ice core fragments or residual cold, to prevent the threat of the cold god from spreading further.
With a "whoosh," an arrow shot from a rooftop at the alley entrance. Arya dodged, the fletching grazing her shoulder as the arrow embedded itself in the wall.
She looked up to see a Night's Watchman on the rooftop, his eyes glowing blue, his bow still aimed at her—it was one of the infected Night's Watchmen Bran had mentioned, and they had infiltrated King's Landing!
"Put down your bow!" Arya commanded in a low voice, twirling the dragonglass dagger in her hand. "You've been infected by the cold; we can help you!"
The Night's Watchman didn't respond, merely drew his bow again, the arrow tip shimmering with cold.
Arya, left with no choice, leaped onto the rooftop, her dragonglass dagger slicing through the Night's Watchman's bowstring, splitting the bow in two.
The Night's Watchman roared and lunged, his short knife radiating an icy cold.
Arya dodged sideways, her dagger striking the Night's Watchman's shoulder—the dragonglass hissed as it touched his skin, and the Night's Watchman cried out in pain, stumbling backward.
Arya seized the opportunity, pinned him to the rooftop, and pulled a R'hllor amulet from her pocket, pressing it to his chest—the amulet's warmth permeated his leather armor, and the blue glow in the Night's Watchman's eyes gradually faded, his consciousness slowly returning.
"I… how did I get here?" the Night's Watchman asked, looking at Arya in confusion. "I remember being at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, seeing a blue fragment, and then nothing…"
Arya breathed a sigh of relief and helped him up: "You were infected by the cold of the cold god. Come with me to the isolation tent; the maester will help you."
From the Night's Watchman, Arya learned that a dozen infected Night's Watchmen had infiltrated King's Landing, dispersed in various dark alleys, attempting to find civilians as "sacrifices" to awaken hidden ice core fragments in King's Landing.
Arya immediately sent a raven to inform Daenerys and Illyrio, then continued her search in the dark alleys—she knew these infected Night's Watchmen were just the tip of the iceberg, and the shadow of the cold god already loomed over King's Landing. She had to find all threats as quickly as possible to protect this hard-won peace.
As night fell, the streets of King's Landing gradually quieted, with only the lights of the isolation tents still burning.
Arya stood on the walls of the Red Keep, looking down at the city, her dragonglass dagger glowing faintly.
She thought of Bran's Greensight warning, Illyrio's dragonglass preparations, and Daenerys's civilian arrangements—everyone was working to protect peace, and she would be no exception.
No matter how terrifying the threat of the cold god, she would use her dagger to sever all dangers, protect this nascent city, and safeguard the hope of Westeros.
Tyrion: The Council's Late-Night Anti-Cold Resolution
In the late-night council hall, candlelight flickered, and the faces of the regional representatives were solemn.
Bran's Greensight warning and Arya's discovery of the infected Night's Watchmen made everyone realize that the threat of the cold god was no longer a distant legend but an immediate crisis.
"We must form an 'Anti-Cold Alliance' to coordinate the military forces and resources of all regions," Tyrion said, standing before the long table, his voice firm. "The North will reinforce the Wall and hold the first line of defense; The Citadel will research the cold god's weaknesses and methods to cure cold infection, providing dragonglass supplies; King's Landing will train an anti-cold army, equipped with dragonglass and R'hllor weapons; the Iron Islands and Dorne will patrol the coast and borders to prevent the cold god's ice mist from infiltrating by sea or land."
Sansa nodded, her wariness replaced by determination: "The North will send three thousand soldiers to assist the Night's Watch in reinforcing the Wall, and simultaneously open the North's dragonglass mines, prioritizing supply to the Anti-Cold Alliance.
But we need The Citadel to send maesters to the North to guide us on how to build defensive fortifications using weirwood and dragonglass."
Yara also agreed: "The Iron Islands will send ten warships to patrol the Blackwater Bay and the waters near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Should ice mist or infected sea monsters be discovered, they will be immediately destroyed with dragonglass fire oil.
Additionally, we will organize fishermen to assist the Alliance in monitoring unusual maritime activity."
Obara Sand set down her snake-shaped dagger, her tone much softer: "Although Dorne is far from the Arctic, we are willing to send one thousand warriors to join King's Landing's anti-cold army, and also provide Dorne's special 'sunflower oil'—this oil can resist severe cold, and perhaps it will be helpful in combating the cold god's ice mist."
Daenerys watched the regional representatives reach a consensus, her heart filled with relief.
She stood up and walked to the center of the long table: "The council officially establishes the 'Anti-Cold Committee,' with Illyrio as its chairman, responsible for coordinating all anti-cold affairs; Bran as 'Warning Advisor,' using Greensight to monitor the cold god's movements; Samwell as 'Technical Advisor,' responsible for The Citadel's research and dragonglass supply; and Arya as 'Anomaly Investigator,' responsible for cold infection investigations in all regions."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over everyone present: "The threat of the cold god requires us to unite as one to fight it.
No matter which region we come from, or what grievances we may have had, now we are all the guardians of Westeros.
As long as we stand shoulder to shoulder, there is no enemy we cannot defeat, no difficulty we cannot overcome."
The candlelight illuminated everyone's faces, resolute and full of hope.
Tyrion looked at the scene before him, suddenly remembering what his father Tywin had once said: "Lannister Family will always rule Westeros."
But now he understood that true rule was not based on force and fear, but on unity and protection—a truth his father had never understood, yet the only path to peace in Westeros.
In the late-night council hall, the bell of resolution rang, echoing over King's Landing like a signal of hope, illuminating the path to confront the cold god.
Everyone knew this war would be harder and crueler than fighting Cersei, but they were no longer afraid—because they had each other, they had the Alliance, and they had the determination and courage to protect peace.
Daenerys: Hopes for Peace on the Red Keep Terrace
On the Red Keep terrace late at night, a chilly wind blew. Daenerys, wrapped in a thick wool cloak, held a cup of mulled wine.
Illyrio walked to her side and handed her a R'hllor amulet: "Melisandre's raven just arrived. She said she has already gathered fifty Red Priests in Braavos and will soon come to King's Landing to assist us in training R'hllor Warriors."
Daenerys took the amulet, warmth spreading from her palm. She looked up at the northern sky, stars twinkling through the clouds, like watchful eyes.
"The common people of King's Landing have just begun to live peacefully, and now they face the threat of the cold god," Daenerys's voice carried a hint of weariness. "I truly fear I cannot give them the peace they desire."
Illyrio stood beside her, his gaze falling upon the commoner district below, where scattered lights resembled a warm sea of stars: "You have done very well, Daenerys. You ended Cersei's rule, gave them stable lives, and now we will fight the cold god together to protect this peace.
Peace is not something that falls from the sky; it is something we fight for little by little, and protect little by little."
Daenerys nodded, took a sip of mulled wine, and the warmth spread from her throat to her heart.
She thought of her days on Dragonstone, Viserys's death, and those who had sacrificed for peace—their sacrifices could not be in vain.
She had to carry their hope and continue forward until the cold god was completely defeated, bringing true peace to Westeros.
A clear bird call came from the distant raven tower; it was the raven Illyrio had sent to The Citadel, returning.
Daenerys knew a new battle was about to begin, but she was no longer alone—she had Illyrio, Tyrion, Arya, Bran, and everyone willing to fight for peace.
Together, they would use dragonglass and R'hllor fire, courage and determination, to cut through the cold god's ice mist, protect this land, and safeguard all hope.
The cold wind on the terrace gradually subsided, and the eastern sky began to lighten with a faint pearly white, heralding a new day.
Daenerys clutched the R'hllor amulet in her hand, her heart filled with resolve: no matter how many difficulties and obstacles lay ahead, she would lead the Alliance towards a peaceful future, ensuring Westeros would no longer have war or suffering, and that everyone on this land could live a happy and tranquil life.