Chapter 19: The Conciliator's Peace, The Greenseer's Sight
The reign of Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Conciliator, settled over Westeros like a warm, extended autumn after the brutal winter of Maegor's tyranny. For over half a century, peace largely held sway south of the Neck. Roads were built, laws codified, and the realm prospered under the wise guidance of the King and his beloved Queen Alysanne. For the Hidden Council of Winterfell, this unprecedented era of southern stability, stretching from 48 AC well into the later decades of the first century, was a precious, double-edged sword: a welcome respite from immediate political threats, allowing them to focus on their true, ancient enemy, but also a period where vigilance against complacency became paramount.
King Jonnel Stark, Kaelen's great-great-grandson, ruled the North with a steady hand throughout much of this golden age. Publicly, he was a respected, if somewhat reserved, Warden, his relationship with the Iron Throne cordial. He even hosted Jaehaerys and Alysanne during one of their famed royal progresses to the North, a meticulously managed affair where Winterfell displayed its ancient dignity while its deepest secrets remained inviolate beneath layers of mundane and magical concealment. The royal couple, impressed by the North's rugged beauty and the quiet strength of its people, departed with little inkling of the draconic might and immortal guardians that truly defined Stark power. Jonnel, now appearing as a man in his late sixties but ageless beneath the glamour of time, knew his own public "passing" was approaching, his son, young Brandon, being prepared to take his place.
This Brandon Stark, Kaelen's great-great-great-grandson, was a youth of singular promise. Now a young man of twenty, his Stark blood ran strong and true, but it was his extraordinary affinity for the Old Gods' deepest magic that set him apart. His greenseeing abilities, nascent in childhood, had blossomed under Kaelen's direct tutelage into a potent, if often overwhelming, gift. Kaelen, recognizing the unique power in this descendant, guided him with a blend of Flamel's mind arts – teaching him Occlumency to shield his mind from the torrent of visions and Legilimency to interpret their symbolic language – and the ancient, half-forgotten rituals of the First Men.
Their training often took place far from Dragon's Maw, in a hidden weirwood grove Kaelen had discovered deep within the Wolfswood, a place untouched by axe or cynical thought for millennia. There, before a heart tree whose carved face wept sap like frozen blood and whose roots delved into the very bones of the earth, young Brandon would enter his trances. His visions were rarely clear, often a chaotic swirl of past, present, and myriad possible futures, but patterns emerged: chilling glimpses of the Night King upon his ice dragon (a vision that particularly disturbed Kaelen, who knew no such creature currently existed among their own); the locations of forgotten dragonglass deposits; the weaknesses in the White Walkers' ancient enchantments; and even fragments of the Others' own alien thoughts, their cold, unyielding purpose. These revelations, painstakingly deciphered by Kaelen and the council, became invaluable additions to their strategic preparations for the Long Night. Brandon the Greenseer was becoming a vital new weapon in their timeless arsenal.
The Stark dragonflight, eight strong, had reached the zenith of their power and coordination. Decades of shared existence, training, and the subtle influence of the Hiemal Vexillum had forged them into an unparalleled aerial force. Kaelen, atop the colossal Nocturne, often led them on clandestine expeditions far beyond the Wall. These were not mere training exercises, but vital reconnaissance missions into the frosted heart of the Lands of Always Winter. Cloaked by Lyra's masterful illusions and Kaelen's weather magic, they would soar over glacial wastes and haunted forests, observing the growing network of White Walker outposts, the movements of wight armies, and the chilling, geometric patterns of ice and shadow the Others were weaving across the land.
During one such mission, they ventured deeper north than ever before, drawn by young Brandon's troubling visions of a place where the veil between worlds was thin. There, amidst a storm of shrieking ice spirits, they encountered a colossal, undead giant, its flesh frozen and blue, its eyes burning with the same icy fire as the wights, but its strength and resilience far greater. It was guarding a vast, obsidian altar upon which flickered an unnatural, life-draining flame. The ensuing battle, fought amidst a blizzard of razor-sharp ice shards and soul-chilling winds, tested their combined might. Solara's concentrated fire, Sylvan's brute strength, Veridian's agility under Jonnel's command, Glacia's icy breath (a strange counterpoint to the Walker's cold), Azureus's disorienting illusions, and Nocturne's overwhelming shadowflame, all coordinated by Kaelen through the silent call of the Horn, eventually brought the monstrosity down. They destroyed the altar, and as they did, a vast, unseen pressure seemed to lift from that blighted region. They had struck a small but significant blow in their unseen war.
Erebus, the crimson-black enigma, continued to carve his own path. He did not join their formations, nor did he respond to the Horn in the same way as the bonded dragons. Yet, his presence was a constant, brooding power within Dragon's Maw. Kaelen, through careful observation and young Brandon's greendreams, began to understand more of Erebus's unique nature. The dragon seemed drawn to places where the veil between the living world and the realms of shadow or intense chthonic energy was thin. He often perched near the most ancient, gnarled weirwoods within the caldera, his smoldering eyes fixed on their carved faces as if listening to secrets only they could impart. Brandon, during his trances, sometimes felt a fleeting, powerful consciousness brush against his own – Erebus, not communicating, but observing through the weirwood net, his mind a vortex of primordial fire and ancient sorrow.
The wild dragon's shadowflame, Kaelen had confirmed through alchemical analysis of its residue, possessed unique properties. It did not just burn; it seemed to unravel certain types of dark magic, to consume necromantic energies. This made Erebus an invaluable, if unpredictable, asset against the forces of the Great Other. He was their untamed weapon, a creature born of one cataclysm, perhaps destined to play a crucial role in preventing another.
Kaelen's own research into anti-Other defenses bore significant fruit during this long peace. Using the Philosopher's Stone to transmute common obsidian into flawless, razor-sharp dragonglass, and then further enchanting these blades with fire and life-essence drawn from the Stone, he created weapons of unparalleled potency against the undead. Winterfell's deepest, most secret forges, manned by magically bound smiths whose lineage had served the Starks in shadow for generations, began the slow, painstaking production of these 'soulfire' blades and arrowheads. This was a decades-long undertaking, designed to eventually arm not just their own immortal guardians, but also the elite of the Night's Watch and the Stark household guard when the true Long Night finally descended.
The Hidden Council itself, now a multi-generational assembly of immortals, faced the unique challenge of maintaining their focus and humanity across the vast sweep of time. Kaelen, with the weight of Flamel's memories and his own extended existence, was their anchor, his purpose unwavering. He instituted rituals of remembrance, regular recitations of their sacred duty, and deep dives into the lore of the First Men and the Children of the Forest, keeping their connection to their ancient purpose alive. The regular, generational "passing" of the Stark Lordship, with a new, vital immortal joining their ranks, also served to counter stagnation, bringing fresh perspectives and a renewed sense of urgency.
King Jonnel Stark, after a public reign of nearly sixty years, approached his own carefully orchestrated "death." His son, Brandon the Greenseer, now a man in his public late thirties (though in truth much older in experience and immortal years), was prepared to assume the crown and the public burdens of kingship. The Elixir had long since secured his agelessness, and his bond with Veridian, who would now serve his fourth Stark King, was strong and true. The cycle, Kaelen reflected, was a masterpiece of sustained illusion and enduring power.
The Targaryen dynasty, under Jaehaerys and Alysanne, continued to flourish. Their dragons – Vermithor, Silverwing, and others born during their long reign – filled the skies of King's Landing. The Starks watched from afar, Lyra's illusions and Arya's shadow-network their primary tools of observation. Relations remained peaceful, based on mutual respect and a carefully maintained distance. The North sent its token allegiances, its Warden fulfilling his duties, while its true strength remained a carefully guarded secret. Kaelen knew that as long as the Targaryens were stable and their dragons primarily a symbol of royal power rather than a tool of aggressive expansion northwards, this delicate balance could be maintained.
But the true war, the unseen war, was escalating. Arya's reports from the far North became more dire. The unnatural cold was no longer creeping; it was advancing. Entire wildling tribes were found frozen in their tracks, their villages encased in black ice. She brought back tales from the few terrified survivors of shadowy figures on dead horses, of eyes like burning ice, and of a silence that heralded an army of the dead. Young Brandon's visions grew darker, filled with images of a relentless, patient enemy massing its strength in the heart of an eternal winter, its gaze fixed on the Wall, the last bastion of the living.
"The Conciliator's peace has bought us invaluable time," Kaelen declared to the council, as King Jonnel prepared to "pass" and young Brandon the Greenseer readied himself to become King Brandon Stark. "Time to prepare, to strengthen, to understand. But that time is drawing to a close. The enemy no longer whispers; he breathes down the neck of the world."
He looked at his immortal kin, at their magnificent dragons arrayed in the fiery glow of Dragon's Maw – Nocturne, his ancient companion; Veridian, the King's emerald guardian; Glacia, Eddard's icy shield; Azureus, Lyra's master of deception; Solara, his own golden fury; Sylvan, his stoic green warrior; Umbra, Arya's shadow-twin; and the brooding, volcanic Erebus. Eight primeval powers, bound to eight undying Starks (and Lyra). The Dragon Horn rested on its obsidian pedestal, thrumming with contained power. The forges in the hidden depths produced their soulfire steel. The land itself was slowly awakening to their call.
The North was ready. Or as ready as any realm could be for the return of a god-like winter and an army of the unending night. The long peace was a deceptive calm before a storm that would dwarf all mortal conflicts. And Kaelen Stark, the assassin reborn, the alchemist king, the immortal guardian, felt a grim satisfaction. He had forged his shield. Now, he would see how it held against the coming darkness.