Winterfell — The Cost of Peace
The snow had stopped falling, but Winterfell had not yet thawed.
Every stone seemed to remember the fire a green glimmer deep within the cracks, as if the keep itself had tasted the dragon's death and found it bitter.
Job Snow walked the ramparts in silence. Men bowed as he passed, though not from joy. Respect born of fear was colder than the wind.
"They don't know what to call you," said Davos, joining him. "Some say King of Ashes, others call you the White Flame."
Job's mouth tightened. "I was never meant to be king."
"Aye," Davos said. "But the gods seem deaf to what men are meant for."
Below, Althea stood in the courtyard surrounded by Northern lords. Her hair caught the pale sun, white as frost, her eyes bright with something not entirely human.
She spoke softly, yet every man listened.
"Winterfell stands," she said. "But the realm bleeds. The South burns, and from its ashes, something stirs. The war is not ended it has only changed its shape."
Lord Manderl muttered, "Then what are we to follow? Gods? Ghosts? Witches?"
Althea's gaze fell on him. "Follow the living. The dead have had their turn."
The hall fell silent.
King's Landing — The Queen of Ruin
Smoke still curled from the ruins of the Red Keep, but something darker moved beneath the ashes.
The soldiers who entered never came back. Those who stayed near the gates swore they heard laughter echoing through the stone low, cruel, feminine.
In the crypts, amid blackened bones and melted steel, Lily Lannister opened her eyes.
Her hair was gone, her skin scorched, her body remade by the fire she had summoned. But her gaze her gaze still burned gold.
"So this is what the gods give for loyalty," she whispered. "Ashes and ghosts."
She rose, unsteady, using a melted sword for balance. The flames had not killed her. They had changed her.
Qyburn's body lay nearby, face frozen in terror. She brushed ash from his cheek. "You always said I'd be a legend. You were right."
Above, the city smoldered.
The Iron Throne had melted long ago but in its place, blackened and fused to the stone, something new glimmered a throne of obsidian and bone, pulsing faintly green.
Lily smiled. "A crown from fire, a throne from ruin. Even death kneels to me."
She sat upon it. The city trembled.
Winterfell — Council of Shadows
That night, the Northern lords gathered in the great hall. Candles guttered, their smoke coiling toward the old banners.
"We've sent ravens to the Riverlands," said Lord Corey. "No reply."
"The Vale reports strange lights," added Alys Karstark. "Green, flickering over the Eyrie."
Job leaned forward. "Then Lily lives."
The room fell silent.
"We all saw the fire consume her," Davos said. "Nothing mortal could have survived."
"She was never mortal," Althea said quietly. "Not fully. I felt her magic twist when the dragon fell. She bound herself to the fire. It obeys her now."
Job turned to her. "Then she's coming."
"No," she said. "She's waiting for us to come to her."
King's Landing — The Lion's Sermon
Days later, the bells rang again in King's Landing.
Not for mourning for worship.
The surviving smallfolk gathered before the ruins. A woman stood upon the steps, draped in black silk that shimmered green under the sun.
Lily.
"The gods have burned the weak and spared the worthy," she declared. "Fire purifies. I am the flame reborn. You will not kneel to kings who hide behind snow and silence. You will kneel to the Queen of Ashes."
Behind her, the air wavered with heat. From the shadows of the keep, the shape of the Echo of Valyria appeared again not alive, but not dead, its skull aflame, its body forged from molten stone.
The crowd screamed in terror or devotion, none could say.
Lily lifted her hand, and the dragon bowed.
Winterfell — The Heart Beneath Ice
In the crypts, Althea knelt before the statues of the Stark kings.
Their eyes glowed faintly blue.
"You wake them," Job said quietly from behind her.
"No," she whispered. "They wake themselves. The realm stirs. The dead kings remember."
The ground trembled faint, but unmistakable.
"We cannot wait for her to strike," Job said. "We ride south."
"And leave the North unguarded?"
"If she rises, nowhere will be guarded."
Althea looked up, her gaze distant. "Then we march, not as rulers but as reckoning."
The March South
Snow melted beneath their horses' hooves.
For the first time in a decade, the banners of the wolf moved beyond Winterfell white direwolves on black fields, fluttering like ghosts in the thawing wind.
The people watched them go.
Behind, the Weirwood's branches whispered to the sky
"Fire and frost will meet again.
And the gods will choose neither."
King's Landing — The Throne of Bone
Lily stood alone in the throne room, surrounded by silent guards
figures made of ash and ember.
"My Queen," said one its voice hollow.
"Speak."
"They march from the North."
Lily rose, her smile sharp. "Good. Let them bring their ghosts to my fire. Let the wolf learn what it means to burn."
She touched the armrest of her new throne, and for a heartbeat, faces flickered in the black stone Jaime, Tyrion, even her father all whispering her name like a curse and a prayer.
She closed her eyes. "Soon, you'll see, Father. Even ashes rule the world."
Between Fire and Frost
Far beyond sight, the cold wind met the hot breath of the South.
Where they touched, lightning sparked blue and green intertwining.
The war to end the gods had begun again.
And somewhere in that storm, a raven flew, carrying one final message between two rulers who had once loved, once killed, and now prepared to end the world together.
"Fire does not forgive.
Ice does not forget.
We are both."