The Council of Ice and Fire, and the Great Other's Ominous Silence
The victory against the Great Other's avatar in the frozen wastes beyond the Wall had been hard-won, a testament to Jon Stark's centuries of preparation and the combined might of his immortal kin and their sixteen dragons. But it was a victory that came with a chilling understanding: the enemy was aware, intelligent, and capable of potent magical retaliation. The Resonance Dampeners were scarred, the dragons weary, and the immortal Starks themselves felt the profound drain of wielding such cosmic power. The "Great Weave of Summer's Dawn" held, a shimmering shield of life-affirming energy across the North, but the Great Other's response to their "Cleansing" operations had been a stark reminder of its enduring, implacable malice.
Now, a new, fiery power had fully entered the Westerosi stage. Daenerys Targaryen, with her three formidable dragons and her victorious army, sat uneasily upon the Iron Throne, the capital still smoldering from her conquest. The Pact of Ice and Fire, forged between her and the hidden Starks through Ben Stark's daring overture and the stunning revelation of Jon Snow's true parentage, was a fragile seedling in a war-torn land, yet it represented the realm's best, perhaps only, hope against the true Winter.
Warden Artos Stark, his public persona that of the steadfast, pragmatic ruler of a North fiercely protective of its autonomy, prepared for the most critical diplomatic mission of his long (public) reign. He would lead the Northern delegation to King's Landing, to the first Great War Council of the new alliance. With him would travel his immortal son and heir, Rodrik Stark, rider of the ice-dragon Glacies, and his grandson Ben Stark, rider of the storm-dragon Nimbus, both appearing as seasoned Northern commanders and kinsmen to their Warden. Their dragons would not accompany them directly into the lion's den of King's Landing, but would remain cloaked in powerful illusions within swift striking distance, a silent, unseen guarantee of their envoys' safety. The ancient Arya Stark, with Lyanna Sr., Serena, Lyra Sr., Arsa, and Lyarra the Younger, would maintain their vigil in the North, their nature magic and runic wards the kingdom's first line of spiritual and magical defense. Jon Stark, from his Frostfangs sanctum, his consciousness linked to the Grand Philosopher's Stone and the weirwood network, would oversee all.
Their journey south was a somber passage through a realm still reeling from multiple wars. The Riverlands were scarred, the Crownlands apprehensive, King's Landing itself a city of ashes and uneasy hope under its new Dragon Queen. The Northern delegation, clad in stark grey and white, their direwolf banners proclaiming their ancient lineage, were received at the Red Keep with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and grudging respect.
The Great War Council convened in the cavernous, fire-damaged throne room, the Iron Throne itself a brooding, jagged reminder of the cost of power. Daenerys Targaryen presided, her youth and ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the grim realities of her new reign. At her side were Tyrion Lannister, his intellect a sharp, guiding force; Ser Barristan Selmy, his honor a steadfast anchor; and her Unsullied and Dothraki commanders, their loyalty absolute. Jon Snow, now openly acknowledged by Daenerys as her nephew Aegon Targaryen (though he still preferred the name Jon Snow, the name under which he had faced death and returned), stood as the grim, authoritative voice of the Wall, his presence a bridge between the fiery ambition of the South and the icy pragmatism of the North.
Warden Artos Stark, with Rodrik and Ben, presented their case with clarity and conviction. They laid bare the intelligence gathered by their Ice Watchers, the visions of Bran Stark (now a Greenseer of immense power, his consciousness ranging far beyond the Wall through the weirwood net, his insights relayed through Jon Stark's hidden channels), and the chilling evidence of the Others' advanced preparations for the ritual that would shatter the Wall during the coming winter eclipse – an event now mere months away. They spoke of the "Great Weave of Summer's Dawn," not revealing its true source or nature, but describing its effects as a "strengthening of the North's ancient spiritual defenses against the unnatural cold."
"Queen Daenerys, King Jon," Artos addressed them, his voice resonating with the authority of his true age. "The Long Night is not a distant threat; it is a shadow already falling across our lands. Your wars for the Iron Throne, however just you believe your claims, will mean nothing if the Great Other triumphs. We must unite, all forces of the living, against the army of the dead. The North offers its full strength, its ancient knowledge, its… unique resources, to this cause. But we require your dragons, your armies, your unwavering commitment, now."
Daenerys listened, her violet eyes fixed on the Northern Warden, then on Jon Snow, her kinsman. The weight of her new crown, and the terrifying responsibility now laid before her, was palpable. Tyrion Lannister, his brow furrowed, peppered the Starks with questions about the Others' capabilities, the Wall's true defenses, and the nature of the North's "unique resources."
"You speak of ancient magic, Warden Stark," Tyrion said, his voice skeptical but his eyes sharp. "Yet the North has shown little of it in recent memory. Your strength has always been in your hardy men, your harsh winters. What can you truly bring to this war that my Queen's three dragons cannot achieve with fire and blood?"
It was Ben Stark who answered, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of immense, controlled power. "Lord Tyrion, the magic of the North is not the fire of Valyria, nor the shadow-binding of Asshai. It is the magic of ice and stone, of ancient weirwoods and sleeping earth, of winter's enduring heart. It is a magic of resilience, of defense, of life persisting against an unnatural, unending cold." He then, with a subtle nod from Artos (and a silent, psychic affirmation from Jon Stark across the leagues), allowed a fraction of Nimbus's power to manifest. The air in the throne room suddenly grew colder, the torches guttering as if a winter wind had swept through, and for a fleeting moment, the illusion of a miniature, swirling snowstorm, crackling with tiny bolts of silver lightning, danced in Ben's outstretched palm before vanishing.
A shocked silence fell. Daenerys's dragons, sensing the shift in magical energies from their distant lairs, let out an answering, uneasy rumble that vibrated through the Red Keep. Tyrion's jaw had dropped. Ser Barristan looked on with wide, disbelieving eyes. Even Daenerys seemed momentarily taken aback.
"The North has its own storms, Lord Hand," Ben said softly. "And its own… guardians. We have fought this enemy for eight thousand years. We know its ways. We know its weaknesses. Our dragons are not for southern conquests, Your Grace," he turned to Daenerys. "They are the hidden fire of Winter, preserved for the true war. Sixteen of them, armored in steel forged with magic you cannot comprehend, ridden by warriors who have kept the vigil for longer than your Targaryen dynasty has existed in Westeros."
This partial revelation, a calculated risk, hung in the air. It was a statement of power, a hint of their true capabilities, designed to command respect and ensure Daenerys understood they were not mere supplicants, but an equal, if not superior, magical force.
Daenerys, after a long, tense moment, finally spoke, her voice tight with a mixture of awe and Valyrian pride. "Sixteen dragons… You have kept this hidden from the world, from your own kings?"
"Our kings, until recently, were Targaryens, Your Grace," Artos replied dryly. "And our deepest secrets are not shared lightly, especially with those whose ambitions often outstripped their wisdom. But the Long Night changes all allegiances. We offer you a true partnership. Our combined draconic might, our united armies, our shared knowledge – it is the only hope this world has."
The Great War Council then began in earnest. Bran Stark, his consciousness a silent, all-seeing presence through a small weirwood sapling Lyra Stark had discreetly brought to King's Landing and nurtured in their chambers, provided chillingly precise intelligence on the Others' main staging ground for their eclipse ritual – a vast, frozen valley hidden deep within the northernmost reaches of the Lands of Always Winter, a place shielded by powerful illusions and guarded by their most formidable lieutenants, including several "Great Shepherd" avatars. He also revealed a critical weakness: the ritual required a specific celestial alignment and a massive sacrifice of living energy, likely drawn from captive wildling tribes, to shatter the Wall's core enchantments.
The plan that emerged was desperate, audacious, and fraught with peril.
Phase One: Warden Artos Stark would return to the North immediately, to oversee the final fortifications of Winterfell and key Northern strongholds, transforming them into bastions of runic magic and Starksteel defense. He would also prepare young Lord Rickon and the Northern people for the immense struggle ahead.
Phase Two: Jon Snow, with his united force of Night's Watch, Free Folk, and any Northern levies that could be spared, would hold the Wall at all costs, using the newly supplied dragonglass and the Wall's augmented magic to repel the initial waves of the Others' assault.
Phase Three: Daenerys Targaryen, with her three dragons (Drogon, Rhaegal, Viserion) and her elite Unsullied forces, would fly north to a hidden Stark dragon staging ground near the Wall, a secret forward base prepared within Wyvern's Eyrie's vast network, to rendezvous with the Starks' primary dragon force.
Phase Four: The "Dawn Guard," as Jon Stark termed this combined dragon armada – Daenerys's three and the eleven primary combat dragons of the immortal Starks (led by Jon himself on Balerion the Elder, with Beron Sr., Edric Sr., Torrhen Sr., Brandon Sr., Rickard Sr., Cregan Sr., Jonnel Sr., Artos, Rodrik, Ben, Edwyle, and Willam on their respective mounts) – would launch a pre-emptive, overwhelming strike against the Others' ritual site, their mission to disrupt the sacrifice, slay the Other sorcerers, and shatter their unholy altar before the eclipse reached its zenith. This would be supported by Arya and the nature wardens, who would attempt to channel the "Great Weave of Summer's Dawn" directly into the ritual valley, creating a localized zone of intense life-affirming energy to counter the Others' death magic.
It was a plan that relied on perfect coordination, immense courage, and a degree of magical power that the world had not seen since the Age of Heroes. The risks were incalculable. Failure meant eternal night.
While these grand strategies were being forged, the mortal Stark children continued their own journeys. Sansa Stark, having secured the loyalty of the Vale lords and exposed Littlefinger's treachery (with some subtle aid from Fionna's network), marched north with the Knights of the Vale, arriving at Winterfell as a queen in her own right, her beauty and political acumen a powerful asset to her young brother Lord Rickon and Warden Artos.
Mortal Arya Stark, her vengeance quest largely complete, her skills as a Faceless Man making her a phantom of lethal efficiency, also felt the undeniable pull of home. Guided by the immortal Arya's whispers on the wind and the urgings of her direwolf Nymeria (who had found her in the Riverlands), she made her way north, arriving at Winterfell a changed woman, her innocence lost but her Stark spirit burning fiercely. Her unique talents, the immortal council knew, would be invaluable in the shadow war against the Others' more insidious agents.
Young Torrhen the Younger, Ben Stark's son, now a youth of sixteen, his magical education accelerated by the urgency of the times, watched these immense preparations with wide, awestruck eyes. He was already showing a remarkable affinity for the "dragon song" and the elemental magic of his father's storm-dragon Nimbus. He knew his own time to take the Elixir and join the eternal vigil was approaching, perhaps sooner than anyone anticipated, for the coming war would undoubtedly claim its price, even among immortals.
As Warden Artos and his delegation prepared to return to the North, leaving Beron the Younger and Lyra Stark as permanent liaisons in Daenerys's war council, an uneasy but resolute alliance had been forged. Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and the immortal Starks, hidden Kings and Queens of Winter, were now bound by a shared, desperate purpose.
Jon Stark, from his icy sanctum, felt the great currents of fate converging. The Long Night was upon them. The pieces were set. The final battle for the dawn was about to begin. His ancient heart, for the first time in centuries of detached observation and meticulous planning, felt a stir of something akin to fiery anticipation. Winter had come, and now, Winter would fight.