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THE NORTH – KARHOLD
The wind that swept through Karhold was cruel and unrelenting. It carried with it the scent of salt and ash, the faint echo of southern waters that had no place in this frozen land. Snow fell in slow spirals, coating the black stone quays and the shoulders of the men who stood watching the sea.
They had never seen ships like these before.
The harbor groaned with the weight of foreign wood and iron. Sleek vessels, long and curved, bearing Dark-red sails that flapped like torn banners in the wind. And above them all flew the sigil none of them had expected to see in these parts, not after so many years: the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Rickard Karstark stepped forward, gloved hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. His breath smoked in the cold air, but his eyes stayed fixed on the fleet.
"Seven hells..." he muttered.
Beside him, a younger bannerman shifted uneasily. "That… that ain't no southern fleet.."
"No," said Rickard. "It isn't."
The first of the soldiers began to disembark.
They came like a tide rows upon rows of soldiers, faces expressionless beneath their helms. Behind them came men in thick southern armor, gold and crimson with the sun gleaming faintly off polished steel. And then the savages.
The Dothraki arrived, even from the ships, bare-chested despite the chill, long braids swinging, curved arakhs gleaming. Their horses shrieked and stomped at the icy docks, the riders yipping and shouting in a guttural tongue none here understood.
The Northerners backed away instinctively, some clutching blades, others just staring in frozen silence. The sound of the Dothraki ululating cries cut across the still harbor like a knife through meat.
"Gods," someone muttered. "They brought savages…"
A grizzled man spat into the snow. "Looks more like a bloody raid than aid.."
"Are we at war again?" asked another.
Rickard's jaw tightened.
The murmurs continued. A blacksmith's apprentice, too bold for his age, said aloud, "This looks like an invasion.."
"Mind yourself, boy," barked a soldier.
"The lad is just saying what we're all thinking," another soldier protested, red-faced. "What is Kin—what is Lord Stark thinking? Filling our shores with foreigners? Horses that've never seen snow? And men with no names?"
No one answered him.
No one had to.
The weight of it all settled over the North like a second winter.
****
KARHOLD COURTYARD -
The commanders of the foreign host stood before the keep, speaking with Northern men of rank. An Unsullied officer bowed shallowly, a scroll in hand bearing the mark of Daenerys Stormborn, and more importantly at its bottom a sigil in black and silver wax.
"King Aeron," Lord Karstark whispered under their breath. "He sent them?"
The answer, though unsaid, was written across the parchment.
This wasn't merely Daenerys' doing. This army moved because the Shadow Monarch commanded it. His word, it seemed, held sway even with the Dragon Queen.
And the intent was clear.
The soldiers were ready. The Dothraki didn't rest. The Unsullied barely blinked. Supply wagons had begun to roll off the ships. They would march on Winterfell by dawn if the order came.
An older woman, wrapped in thick pelts and leaning on a gnarled staff, watched it all from the hill overlooking the dock. She shook her head.
"When dragons fly North," she whispered, "wolves best stay wary."
Inside the Karhold great hall
Men muttered in corners, sharpening blades or nursing cups of black ale, all glancing uneasily at the open windows where the sound of foreign tongues drifted in.
"Lord Stark better have a damn good reason for this," someone said at last.
"Aye," said another guard. "this... this feels...wrong."
****
THE SKIES NEAR WINTERFELL -
The sky was a vast ocean of gray, broken by streaks of white mist and shards of sunlight trying to pierce through the overcast dome. And through that sky, they flew.
Three dragons living flame, scale, and fury cut across the heavens. Drogon led the flight, his black wings vast as siege towers, every beat of them sending ripples through the air. The tips of his wings seared frost from the clouds. His roar split the sky like thunder.
To his right flew Rhaegal, emerald, his body twisting with effortless grace. To the left, Viserion, pale gold like a phantom in the mist, trailed icy breath in his wake.
And upon Drogon's back rode their Mother and Queen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Her silver hair whipped behind her, her eyes locked ahead toward the distant horizon where Winterfell's towers now breached the edge of sight.
The cold bit at her cheeks, but she paid it no mind. Her gloved hand tightened on the leather harness wrapped around Drogon's neck.
She exhaled slowly, and her breath caught in the wind.
"He really underestimates me.." she murmured, her voice nearly stolen by the gale. "Just vanished. Like I'd sit on my throne while he marched into death's mouth alone."
Drogon rumbled beneath her, sensing her unrest. His wings flared, catching a crosswind, but she steadied herself.
She leaned forward, speaking not to Drogon, but to the one who had gone before her.
"Aeron Grim," she whispered. "You damn fool."
Her brows furrowed, and her eyes violet and gleaming narrowed with steel.
"Who made you believe you're the only one who can fight?" she said, louder this time, almost daring the winds to answer. "You would take this burden… the world, the war against the dead, the realm onto your back and leave me behind just to watch you?"
Rhaegal shrieked in defiance beside her, his flame lighting the clouds from within.
"Well too bad for you, my shadow prince."
Her lips curled, a ghost of fire rising in her voice.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen. I have walked through fire. I have bled. I have lost… and still I rise. You don't get to cast me aside from a fight."
Her voice trembled not with fear, but fury, and something more fragile beneath it.
She raised her head, and the wind caught her hair again like a banner rising.
"I've always been stubborn," she said, a smile touching her lips. "You should have known."
The distant towers of Winterfell were closer now, nestled in snow and stone, dark and proud.
The dragons roared as one. A cry of power. A song of war. Their wings cast shadows across the white earth below like three great omens.
****
King's Landing – The Red Keep, Throne Room
The Iron Throne, jagged and cruel as ever, forged from a thousand blades and still sharp enough to draw blood.
The throne room was dim despite the daylight outside, the high windows veiled by red silk that filtered the sun into a muted, wine-colored glow. Torches crackled in the sconces. The air was thick with the scent of old stone, hot metal, and the faintest hint of spiced Dornish wine.
Upon the throne sat Tyrion Lannister, a goblet in one hand and a weary look on his face.
His legs dangled from the oversized seat, never quite reaching the floor an absurdity he had long since embraced. He swirled the wine gently.
Across from him, stood Lord Varys, hands tucked into his sleeves, bald head gleaming with sweat despite the cool stone beneath his feet.
Beside him stood an aged maester in grey and white robes, ink stains blotting his fingers, eyes waiting, quill ready.
Varys's voice, as ever, was soft. But not without sharpness.
"You should have spoken more firmly," he said. "You might've convinced her to stay. Going north like that, dragons or no, it's reckless. Aeron warned her not to go."
Tyrion didn't look up at first. He simply sipped his wine.
"And what would you have me do, Varys?" he asked at last, his voice dry as the Dornish hills. "Tie her to the Red Keep with chains? Lock up the dragons in the dungeons? Maybe I'll dangle a sausage in front of Drogon and hope he behaves."
He raised the goblet toward the eunuch, eyebrows lifted in mock suggestion.
"Restraining Daenerys Targaryen is rather like trying to leash a storm," Tyrion muttered, draining the cup. "Only less likely to succeed."
Varys's lips twitched, though whether in amusement or frustration was difficult to tell.
"She is not invulnerable," Varys said. "And you know as well as I do, there are things in the North that care little for fire or titles, Aeron said he would take care of it, alone."
"Aye," Tyrion murmured, his gaze drifting toward the hall's great doors as if he could see through them, northward to shadowed snows and forgotten things. "But she does not go alone either."
He leaned forward, resting his elbow on one jagged armrest, and pointed lazily at Varys with the empty cup.
"She is accompanied by fire-breathing giant lizards, old friend. Perhaps you've heard of them." He smirked, tongue in cheek. "Name of Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. Burnt a thousand men to cinders. Ate a few too."
He slouched deeper into the throne, exhaling.
"She is the safest woman in the world."
Varys said nothing for a time, but the look in his pale eyes said plenty. Doubt, unease… perhaps even fear.
Tyrion set the goblet down on a nearby step with a dull clink, then shifted his tone less jest now, more command.
"We can't sit idle while half the realm holds its breath," he said. "Too many eyes are watching and waiting."
He turned to the maester.
"Write this down," Tyrion said. "A decree from King Aeron and Queen Daenerys, by my hand as Hand of the King."
The maester dipped his quill into ink, parchment already unfurled.
"Send ravens to every great house in Westeros. Stark, Arryn, Tully, Greyjoy, Martell, the Reach, the Westerlands... if my uncle is still in charge that is... anyways all of them."
Tyrion's voice echoed in the hall now, firm and final.
"They are to attend a gathering in King's Landing, a summit to speak of unity, war, and what comes after. Attendance is not optional. Refusal to answer this summons will be seen as an act of defiance and treason, if they want to test it."
He paused, then added dryly, "Tell them the Iron Throne would rather not see another war between us, diplomacy now comes first, and the new King is more than willing to listen to what you have to say."
The maester bowed low. "As you command, Lord Tyrion."
Tyrion waved a hand, already reaching for the flagon beside him to refill his goblet.
"Very well," he muttered.
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If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in DC
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