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106: The Son of Ice and Fire, A Day in Dragonstone
🕑 Added 2025-02-15 08:25:15 +0000 UTCThis chapter is setting up the next two chapters, which I plan to post on Monday and the day after. The final arc of this fic has changed a lot over the last two months. Initially, I intended to finish it last month, but I decided to revise my plan and create a new ending.
Before the Long Night begins, Maekar will search for Lightbringer. I want to use this storyline to explore some of the lore’s unexplored areas, with Maekar taking on a sort of “Indiana Jones” role while hunting for the sword. After the Long Night, I’ll revert to my original plan: writing a ten-chapter epilogue detailing Maekar’s life afterward, as well as the future kings and notable figures in his dynasty.
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Maekar watched as Marwyn’s acolytes carefully handled the ancient texts, their hands wrapped in protective cloth to avoid damaging the brittle animal-skin parchments. The texts were old—so old that Marwyn and he had trouble reading the specific dialect of the First Men’s tongue. They had been hidden deep within secret chambers in Castle Black and Winterfell. Leaf had told him where to find them; she had been informed by Brynden—the old bastard—who had revealed many more secrets to her, knowing he would not have time to share them with Maekar.
He clenched his jaw, his mind drifting to the conversation he had with Leaf after they arrived at the Isle of Faces.
===
The air was thick with the scent of moss and damp earth as Maekar stood beneath the massive heart tree on the Isle of Faces. The ancient weirwood loomed over him, its gnarled roots twisting through the sacred ground, its blood-red leaves rustling with an unseen wind.
Leaf stood before him, her gold-green eyes studying him intently.
Maekar exhaled sharply. “What do you mean I am the Three-Eyed Crow now?”
“There must always be a Three-Eyed Crow,” Leaf said simply. “It is the natural order of things.”
Maekar narrowed his eyes. “I thought this title was Brynden’s alone.”
Leaf shook her head. “Brynden was one of many. He was the last before you. And before him, one of my kind held the burden. When she grew too old, she found him to take her place. Now, the burden is yours.”
Maekar felt his gut twist. “You can’t just expect me to take his place.”
Leaf studied him, as if weighing the depth of his understanding. “You were trained, even if you did not realize it. Brynden guided you through dreams, through visions. You have walked the dreamscape, seen through the eyes of the past. You can harness the powers of the weirwood. You are a son of ice and fire, born of Valyrian and First Men blood. You were always meant to be the successor.”
“And if I refuse?” he challenged.
“Then there will be no one left to stand against the Great Other,” Leaf said, her voice eerily calm.
She stepped forward, her ancient eyes locked onto his. “You do not have to hold the burden forever, son of ice and fire. But you must pass it on. When the time comes, one of your children must take the mantle. The Three-Eyed Crow must endure.”
The idea of forcing this on his children filled Maekar with rage. “You expect me to damn one of my own children to this fate?”
Leaf tilted her head. “The title is of great importance. It is the crow that keeps the memory of the world intact. There will be consequences that even I don’t know about if the title is allowed to perish.”
Maekar turned away, gripping the pommel of Blackfyre so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His breath was heavy, his heart hammering in his chest.
He had been played—by Brynden, by fate, by whatever gods watched from beyond the trees. And yet, he knew—he knew—Leaf was right.
There was no running from this.
==
“Your Grace,” Marwyn called, breaking Maekar out of his thoughts.
Maekar turned to see the Grand Maester standing before him, his robe heavy with dust from the old tomes he had spent the night pouring over. Maekar had barely seen him rest since his arrival from the capital three days ago, which wasn’t surprising. If there was one man in Westeros who relished the return of magic, it was Marwyn the Mage.
The old maester had been eager to study the wights himself. He had marveled at their existence, at the proof of the supernatural. But his excitement had faded when Maekar told him the truth—that the next Long Night was coming.
“Marwyn, what have you found?”
Marwyn stepped forward, his hands gesturing toward the worn animal-skin laid across the table. The ancient text, scrawled in First Men runes, was faded but still legible in some places.
“Here. Look at this,” Marwyn said, his finger tracing the runes. “I have read through everything that remains intact. Most of it has been lost and can never be recovered.”
“Any mention of Lightbringer, Eldric, or anything about the Long Night?” Maekar asked.
“Oh yes. As I said, these”—Marwyn motioned to the five thick animal skins on the table—“have what you seek, and it’s quite illuminating.”
He had tried using his new abilities as the Three-Eyed Crow to look into the past on his own. He spent countless nights beneath weirwood trees, slipping into their endless memories. He had hoped to discover where Lightbringer’s resting place lay.
But it hadn’t worked.
The glimpses he saw were only fragments—shattered pieces of a puzzle he could not put together. They came in flashes: a shadowy figure holding a burning blade, the silhouette of a crowned man standing before an ancient stone structure, a palace made of a thousand pillars.
Brynden had told him it had taken decades for him to properly sift through the most ancient memories. Even then, there were things he could not see.
Decades. Maekar did not have that kind of time. So, instead of relying solely on the weirwoods, he turned to what men had left behind—written words, ancient relics, and whispers from the past that might still hold value.
A slow, melodic voice drifted from the dark corner of the chamber.
“What do the ancient First Men tell of Azor Ahai and his lightbriger?”
Maekar turned his head slightly. Melisandre stepped into the light, her crimson robes gleaming in the flickering candlelight. The Red Priestess had been very helpful since her arrival. She and her fellow priestesses followed him with unwavering devotion, their belief in him absolute—a type of loyalty he would need from everyone if they were to survive the icy doom coming upon them.
Marwyn cleared his throat. “I shall read, my lady.”
Maekar watched as Marwyn adjusted his spectacles and began reading aloud:
“In the time of the black sky, when all light was lost, there came a man of kin to ye Stark… he who chases the shadow… giv’n a blade of burning light, wrought by the hands of the East….”
Melisandre’s voice cut through the dimly lit chamber like a whisper of flame. “Lightbringer.”
Marwyn continued, his rough voice echoing off the stone walls:
“With this blade… cleave the shadow, and the sky wept in fire… was not ended… for the cold… ever-waiting…
“Blade to be kept… fire lost beneath… keepers of the vault… unto those that came after.”
Maekar frowned. “Vault?”
Marwyn squinted at the ancient runes before shaking his head. “The text is too damaged. That is all it says in this one. Let me move on to the next.”
The Grand Maester shuffled through the old parchments, his fingers careful as he lifted the next piece of ancient writing. He took a deep breath before reading:
“Darkness waned in the west… made eastward, beyond the lands of green and stone… among the Eastern Kings, and they laid a pact….”
Maekar’s mind churned. Eastern Kings? Did this refer to some ancient kings of Essos? Or something even further… Yiti, perhaps?
He pushed the thought aside for now. If Lightbringer had been taken eastward, it would explain the myths surrounding the sword’s origins. But that did not answer the question of whether it had returned to Westeros.
Marwyn continued. “This next passage is more interesting,” he said, his excitement growing. “I believe it tells of Eldric’s return to Westeros.”
Maekar leaned forward. “Does it mention if he brought Lightbringer with him.”
Marwyn nodded and resumed reading.
“Eldric came again unto the Great Woods…”
Marwyn paused. “The Great Woods—Westeros, is it not? You told me as much, Your Grace.”
Maekar nodded. “Yes. The Great Woods is what the Children of the Forest called Westeros.” It was one of the first lessons Brynden had taught him.
Melisandre stepped closer, her red robes flowing behind her. “R’hllor has whispered the same. The blade was lost, but not beyond reach. And now… it waits to be found once more.”
“Keep reading, Marwyn,” Maekar commanded.
“Together with his kin, Brandon, they went forth, seeking the place of the… Verdant…”
The old maester frowned. “There’s a large portion missing here.”
Maekar leaned forward, his mind already piecing together the puzzle. “So, the Builder and Eldric Shadowchaser went to the Reach—the verdant fields.”
Marwyn nodded. “Yes, that is what I believe as well.”
Marwyn’s eyes flickered back to the old text as he continued:
“Now lie stone and tower… where the rivers do break and bend, where the isle of battle stands…”
Maekar’s breath caught in his throat. The Isle of Battle.
His suspicions were growing stronger. He turned to Marwyn. “This speaks of the Hightower. Brandon built the foundation of the tower for the Hightower King.”
Marwyn nodded in agreement. “Not exactly, Your Grace. Brandon is said to have built upon an already existing structure on Battle Isle—a castle made of black stone. I’ve examined it myself; it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before—so smooth it was impossible for any mason to create. It reminded me of the great Valyrian roads. No doubt it was built by magic or even with the help of dragonfire.”
“A remnant of the First Empire… the Empire of Light… R’hllor’s empire,” Melisandre said.
“It could be,” Marwyn agreed. “After my travels to the east, I’ve come to realize that empire might have had outposts here in Westeros, and perhaps the lands where Oldtown now stands were once an ancient trading post…”
Melisandre’s red eyes glowed in the dim candlelight. “The old empire stretched far and wide. It is only natural that they had a holding here in Westeros.”
Marwyn sighed as he scanned the last piece of ancient parchment. “The next section is too badly damaged, but I can make out something about there being five… in five kings.”
“That is all I can read, Your Grace. I will try to find any similarities in the texts Lady Melisandre and her fellow priests provided from the Red Temple.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Marwyn,” Maekar said.
Marwyn shook his head. “Considering what is coming, Your Grace, you don’t need to thank me.” He paused, then looked up with certainty. “It is obvious—our search must begin at the Hightower.”
A slow smile formed on Maekar’s lips. “Good thing Layton and I are good friends.”
He rose from his seat. “Tomorrow, I will go to the Hightower myself.”
“I wish to join you, my king.”
Maekar looked at Melisandre. She would prove useful if they found something in the Hightower; then again, Leyton and his daughter were no strangers to magic either.
Maekar met her gaze and nodded, and a large smile appeared on her face before he turned to leave.
=====
Maekar made his way through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows against the ancient Valyrian stone.
Since his arrival on the island, many lords from Blackwater Bay had come to Dragonstone, drawn by news of his return and intrigued by the summons to King’s Landing they had all received. Among them were Monford Velaryon and Paxter Redwyne, who had come from the Stepstones with triumphant news of their victory over the last of the pirate lords, securing the entirety of the Stepstones for him.
He had used these gathered lords as a test group, revealing the wights to them as a small-scale precursor to what would happen when he unveiled the threat to all of Westeros. The northern lords had come to accept it more readily, having grown up with tales of the Long Night, many believing it to have been a real event. But many in the south did not share that belief, dismissing such stories as mere grumkins and snarks. Thus, he had to reveal the truth to them more carefully.
The reactions of these lords mirrored those of the northern lords: denial, fear, anger, bargaining, and finally acceptance. He had told them of the coming Long Night, of his role in stopping it, and of the need for their loyalty. One by one, they had sworn it.
It was a good sign. He hoped that the rest of the lords would be just as swift to bend when he revealed the truth in a month’s time.
He walked into the queen’s chambers—one of the largest in the castle—where he was greeted by the sounds of baby dragons and the laughter of women.
Inside stood Rhaenys, holding a large piece of cooked meat in her gloved hands as her golden dragon, Sunfyre, tore into it with eager bites. His scales shimmered like molten gold, and his wings, still small but promising to grow large, were tinged with hints of scarlet at the edges. He growled in pleasure as he snapped the meat apart, juices dripping onto the stone floor.
On the other side, Daenerys stood with Morghul, her crimson-scaled dragon, perched atop her shoulder, its clawed feet digging slightly into her garments. Morghul had just finished his meal and now licked the pieces from his fangs, his dark red eyes watching his golden brother with an air of challenge.
Maekar smirked as he noticed both of their handmaidens standing against the far wall, watching warily, as if the young dragons might suddenly turn on them.
“If this is what taking care of babes is like, then I do not want one,” Rhaenys huffed, wiping her hands on a cloth as Sunfyre nudged at her for more food.
A ripple of laughter echoed through the chamber.
“Come, Sunfyre!” she called, motioning him forward.
Maekar made his presence known. “So you’ve decided on Sunfyre, then?” He glanced at the golden beast. “I mean, there was already a Sunfyre. Are you sure you don’t want something more original?”
Rhaenys gave him a mock glare. “To name him anything else would be sacrilegious. Just look at him! He is truly Sunfyre come again.”
Maekar chuckled. “I suppose.” He turned to Daenerys, who was still cradling Morghul’s small but growing form on her shoulder. “At least Dany gave hers a proper dragon name. Morghul. That sounds menacing.”
Daenerys tilted her head, smiling smugly. “Of course. Look at him.” She gently scratched beneath Morghul’s scaled chin, earning a low, pleased rumble from the dragon.
Ghost, who had been silently sitting by Daenerys’ feet, suddenly let out a low growl. His red eyes flickered between Morghul and his mistress, his ears pinned back in displeasure. The direwolf had always been close to Daenerys, but now, with Morghul constantly demanding her attention, Ghost had been forced to share her focus—and he clearly did not approve.
Daenerys noticed the jealous discontent on her direwolf’s face and let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, Ghost. I haven’t forgotten you.” She reached down, scratching behind his ear, but Ghost still huffed, clearly unimpressed.
‘Aha, now you know how it feels to be abandoned, Ghost,’ Maekar thought as he locked eyes with his direwolf. Ghost stared back, then walked away.
‘What a diva,’ he thought.
“Morghul here will grow to be more terrifying than Neferion himself,” Daenerys said as she petted the crimson dragon.
Maekar laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let Neferion hear you say that. He might go back to his old ways.”
Both Rhaenys and Daenerys froze.
Rhaenys blinked. “I had forgotten about Neferion’s... cannibalistic past. He won’t hurt them, will he?”
Maekar grinned. “No, he won’t… well, I hope he won’t.”
Both women sighed in relief, though Rhaenys still eyed her golden dragon as though imagining the possibility of the former cannibal devouring him.
Maekar turned back toward the fire where the third dragon egg still rested, unhatched. “We still need to hatch the one for Viserys.” He glanced between them. “I want him here when we do it.”
The room fell silent for a moment as all three of them stared at the egg, its surface shimmering in the firelight.
Rhaenys smirked. “Well, at least we’ll see if my dear uncle is as good with dragons as he is with politics.”
Maekar let out a small chuckle and crossed his arms, watching as the two young dragons continued their feast.
He glanced at the handmaidens. “Leave us,” he commanded.
The handmaidens exchanged hesitant glances before offering quick bows. They hurried toward the exit, their skirts rustling softly against the stone floor, casting nervous looks back at the two young dragons. The heavy doors groaned as they swung shut behind them, leaving only Maekar, Rhaenys, and Daenerys in the room.
As the chamber settled into a quiet stillness, Daenerys turned toward him, her silver brows furrowing. “Maekar... do you think they will grow large enough to be of use against the Others? Three years is not a lot of time.” She glanced at Morghul, now perched contentedly on her arm, his small wings shifting as he adjusted his weight.
Maekar sighed. “No. Normally, dragons take three to five years before they can be ridden, sometimes longer. At their natural rate, they won’t be large enough when winter comes.” He met her gaze. “But I have a plan to accelerate their growth.”
Rhaenys straightened, tilting her head slightly. “How?”
Maekar smirked, his expression unreadable. “It’s better if the person who can do it explains it to you herself. I’ll take you both to meet her soon.”
Both women exchanged curious glances, but before they could question him further, Maekar moved the conversation forward.
“I’ll be leaving for Oldtown tomorrow with Melisandre,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Daenerys’ expression shifted with concern. “What? Why?”
“I thought we were leaving for the capital in a week,” Rhaenys added, crossing her arms.
Maekar exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “I’ll be back soon,” he assured them.
Rhaenys gave him a pointed look. “You said the same thing when you left for the Wall. And then you came back after four months.”
Maekar sighed. “I believe there is something in the Hightower that may help us find Lightbringer. I need to go there and investigate.”
Daenerys and Rhaenys remained silent for a moment, exchanging another glance before nodding.
“Fine,” Daenerys relented. “Don’t make it a repeat of your adventure up north.”
“We will leave for King’s Landing once I return,” Maekar promised.
Both women accepted his answer, though their expressions still held traces of doubt.
Before leaving, Maekar turned back to them. “In the meantime, I need you both to find more texts on dragon-rearing in the castle archives. Marwyn will help you.”
“Oh, so you can go on grand adventures while we do all the boring reading?” Rhaenys said with a sly smile.
“Well, yes,” Maekar said with a shrug. “I am the fucking King.”
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The next day, Maekar stood beside Neferion, the massive black dragon looming over them like a shadow given form. The morning sun cast a golden glow over Dragonstone, its light reflecting off the sea, yet the air carried a chill—a subtle reminder of the winter creeping ever closer.
Beside him stood Melisandre, dressed in deep crimson robes that stood out starkly against Neferion’s dark scales. Across from her stood Ser Jaime, shifting uncomfortably as he stared at the large dragon.
A little farther away, Daenerys and Rhaenys stood side by side, each cradling a dragon in her arms—Morghul, the crimson-scaled hatchling, clinging tightly to Daenerys’ shoulder, and Sunfyre, the golden wyrm, curled up in Rhaenys’ arms. Lyonel stood near them; normally, he would have accompanied Maekar, but Maekar thought it best to give him some space. Although Lyonel had assured him that he didn’t mind Maekar keeping the knowledge of his father a secret, Maekar still felt a small rift between them.
The two women giggled as they watched Ser Jaime glance up at Neferion with wide eyes, muttering a curse under his breath.
“Fuck,” Jaime said, crossing his arms as he eyed the sheer size of the beast.
Maekar smirked, tightening his sword belt around his waist. “Don’t worry, Ser. There’s plenty of space for all three of us.”
Jaime shot him a glare. “I’d be shocked if there wasn’t.”
Maekar raised an eyebrow. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
Jaime scoffed, running a hand over his face. “How could I, after seeing what you’ve got chained up in the throne room? Gods, and there’s an army of that coming for us.”
Maekar chuckled. “Aye, I had a similar experience beyond the Wall. Couldn’t sleep after my first encounter with them.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“I fought a wight giant.”
Jaime blinked. “A wight giant?”
“Aye, an actual giant, turned into a wight.”
Jaime let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Gods... so giants are real too?”
Maekar laughed. “You’ll be seeing them soon.”
Jaime shook his head, muttering something about grumpkins and snarks.
After bidding farewell to Daenerys and Rhaenys, Maekar turned toward Neferion and began the climb up the dragon’s massive side, gripping the sturdy leather straps of the saddle. Melisandre followed, moving gracefully as though unfazed by the precarious climb. Jaime, however, cursed under his breath, struggling slightly with the weight of his armor.
Once seated, Maekar adjusted the straps, making sure they were securely fastened. Neferion let out a low growl, shifting slightly, and Maekar patted his scaled hide to reassure him.
Jaime cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “So, umm… how are we supposed to sit?”
Melisandre smiled, her voice smooth. “Am I distracting you, Ser Jaime?”
Jaime tensed, his shoulders stiffening. “No—no, why would you say that?”
Maekar grinned. “It’s all right, Jaime. Melisandre is a beautiful woman.”
“Can we just go, Your Grace?”
Chuckling, Maekar made one final check to confirm they were all strapped in. Then, gripping the reins, he gave the command.
“Sōvēs!”
Neferion roared, the sound echoing across the island. With one powerful leap, his massive wings unfurled, and in an instant, they were soaring into the sky. The force of the takeoff nearly yanked Jaime off his seat, and as the dragon tilted upward, gaining altitude, Jaime let out an undignified scream.
Maekar laughed, holding tightly to the saddle as the cold wind whipped against his face. Below them, Dragonstone shrank, the black fortress becoming smaller as Neferion climbed higher and higher.
Jaime’s cursing was lost in the wind as they veered westward, toward the Reach, toward Oldtown, and toward the secrets buried in the Hightower.
Comments
mlungisi mguni
I miss our girl Ros it’s unfair Maekar is ignoring her cause he’s king now
