66: The Son of Ice and Fire, Scrying the Past II

Maekar and Daenerys laid in her chambers in Dragonstone. Moonlight cascaded through the tall, arched windows, casting a silvery glow on their entwined bodies.

Daenerys laid on her side, her nude form a stark contrast to Maekar's muscular frame. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, the color of freshly fallen snow. Her silver-gold hair fanned out across the pillow, a halo of light against the dark fabric. Her breasts were full and round, their peaks still taut from their recent lovemaking. Her waist tapered in, accentuating the curve of her hips. Her long, slender legs were entwined with Maekar's, her body fitting perfectly against his.

Maekar lay exhausted but content, one arm draped possessively around her.

Daenerys stirred slightly, her violet eyes opening to gaze at Maekar. "Let's do it again," she murmured, her voice a sultry purr.

Maekar groaned softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

‘Fuck, I’ve unleashed a monster,’ he thought. They had gone five rounds already. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was spongy and bruised.

"Tomorrow," Maekar said, looking at Daenerys.

She pouted slightly, her full lips pursed in a way that made Maekar want to kiss her again. She nodded, snuggling closer to him.

"It's not every day you have sex in front of a dragon," Maekar said, a soft laugh escaping him as he remembered their first encounter on the island earlier that day.

"I'm sure the old Valyrians had some rituals like it," she said playfully.

Maekar chuckled, his arm tightening around her. "Well, maybe it worked, because, princess, you are insatiable."

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.

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Maekar drifted off to sleep, only to wake up in the familiar yet unsettling dreamscape where he and Brynden always met.

“You know, I don’t like the fact that you’re watching every aspect of my life,” Maekar said, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at Brynden.

Brynden’s smile didn’t falter. “I don’t watch everything, only what matters.”

“Only what matters,” Maekar repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Brynden's expression grew more serious. “I thought this would be a good time to continue our history lesson, considering recent developments in your life. Especially now that you have so much to lose.”

Maekar’s surroundings shifted. He blinked, and suddenly they were standing on a battlefield littered with bodies. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death. The fallen soldiers wore ancient armor—bronze plates and helmets—and they clutched bronze weapons in their cold, lifeless hands.

“What happened here?” Maekar asked, stepping over the body of a warrior whose hand was still curled tightly around his sword.

“We left off with the Old Kings last time,” Brynden said, his voice steady, as if the carnage around them was but a distant memory to him.

Maekar nodded, recalling their earlier lessons.

“The other kings of the North,” Brynden continued, “were terrified by the growing power of the Old Kings, particularly their magic. So they did what kings have always done when faced with a common threat. They united.”

The dream shifted again, and Maekar was no longer standing among the dead. Now he saw armies clashing in the distance, lines of warriors charging toward each other. The Old Kings’ forces were dressed in the same bronze armor, but Maekar could see their sorcery in action. Vines burst from the earth, ensnaring enemy soldiers. Trees came alive, their branches smashing through ranks of men. Streams and rivers diverted themselves, drowning entire battalions.

Nature itself fought for the Old Kings.

“The alliance of northern kings had one advantage: numbers,” Brynden explained. “They combined their strength to take on the Old Kings and their magic. The war spanned generations.”

Maekar’s eyes followed the battles—hundreds, perhaps thousands, clashing on open fields. But slowly, steadily, the alliance was gaining ground. Despite their fearsome magic, the Old Kings were being pushed back. The scene shifted again, showing a kingdom in ruin, its forests burned, its rivers poisoned.

“The alliance proved too strong. One by one, the Old Kings fell, their kingdoms crumbling beneath the weight of the armies against them.” Brynden’s voice darkened. “Soon, only one of the Old Kings remained, ruling over the last of their ancient kingdoms.”

Brynden turned his gaze toward Maekar. “As you know, when men are pushed into a corner, they can do things... unthinkable things.”

Maekar watched as the dreamscape transformed into the seat of the last of the Old Kings. The Old King, desperate and crazed, stood atop a high tower, casting his eyes skyward.

“He sought aid from the Children of the Forest. He turned to even darker magics—blood sacrifices, rituals older than the First Men. In his desperation, he sought to secure his and his people's survival.”

The sky darkened, and the wind carried the bitter chill of winter. Maekar watched in horror as the Old King, surrounded by his priests, began a terrible ritual. The ground trembled, and a great shadow loomed over the land. The temperature plummeted, frost spreading across the fields as the Old King called out to something—something ancient, cold, and powerful.

A name rose on the wind, whispered by the trembling priests: The Great Other.

Maekar took a step back as he saw the effects of the ritual. The king’s soldiers—the last remnants of his once-great army—began to convulse. Their skin turned pale, their eyes became ice-blue. The very land itself started to freeze. The once lush, green forests were overtaken by frost and snow, and the entire kingdom transformed into a frozen wasteland.

“They became the cold ones... the Others,” Brynden said, his voice grim. “An army of death, led by the former king, his mind lost to the cold.”

"The newly-born cold ones, now the embodiments of the Great Other, unleashed a terrible wrath upon the North," Brynden continued as the vision of the battlefield began to dissolve into darkness.

“So this is the beginning of the Long Night?” Maekar asked.

“No, that comes later. The cold ones’ assault was stopped, and the war ended with a truce,” Brynden replied. “One of the surviving daughters of the Old Kings managed to broker a truce. Yearly sacrifices were made to appease the cold ones. It was only a temporary reprieve."

“Ah, not the Long Night, then,” Maekar said.

Brynden shook his head. "This was but one event in a long history of battles between light and shadow. But there’s more you need to understand—about the gods themselves."

“Go on,” Maekar urged.

"The gods of Westeros and Essos and beyond, the ones you've heard of—like the Old Gods of the Forest, R'hllor, the Seven who are One—they are deeply connected to the natural world and human society. They are gods who can be understood, worshipped, and even interacted with through rituals and prayers. They give blessings, guidance, protection... they are tied to this world, accessible to mortals."

Maekar raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying... the Great Other isn’t one of these gods?"

"No," Brynden said firmly. "The Great Other is something entirely different. It doesn’t fall under the category of these gods you know.”

Maekar laughed. “What is he, an Outer God or something?” he said, remembering the term from his previous life.

“Outer Gods... yes, that would be an apt term for them. They are ancient, primordial beings that exist beyond our known universe. They’re outside the natural order that governs this world. They’re not bound by time, space, or reality as we understand it. Mortals can’t fully comprehend them, and they often bring chaos and destruction."

"Fuck..." Maekar muttered, rubbing his temples. "So, how the hell am I supposed to fight that? An incomprehensible, world-ending force from beyond reality? Sounds just like something I’d love to deal with."

Brynden rolled his eyes at Maekar’s sarcasm. "You don’t need to fight the god itself. You only need to destroy its corrupted champions. It’s been done before... it can be done again."

Maekar let out a long sigh. "And how exactly am I supposed to manage that?"

Brynden’s expression softened, yet he remained cryptic. "We’ll talk more after your excursion to the Stepstones. There’s something important waiting for you there."

Maekar's frustration grew. "Great, you’re blueballing me again,” he sighed. “What’s in the Stepstones for me, other than the pirates that are causing me trouble?"

"You have two months before the tourney begins. That's enough time to rid the Stepstones of the pirates who plague you... and to finally end one of our family’s greatest enemies."

Maekar's eyes narrowed. "You don’t mean...?"

"Yes." Brynden’s voice was cool, matter-of-fact.

Maekar simply looked bewildered. "What... come on, you’re fucking with me, right?” Maekar asked, but Brynden remained serious. “Really, what the fuck were their plans, anyway?"

Brynden gave a small smile, as if the answer was almost too ridiculous to say aloud. "To cause a war between you and Aegon, and then to invade."

Maekar burst out laughing. He could not believe what he was hearing. "I guess they didn’t have to do much for that.”

He paused, his grin fading slightly as another thought crossed his mind. "I noticed Varys was up to something not too long ago. He was sniffing around... and then, suddenly, he just stopped. No more whispers. No more movements in the shadows. The Spider seemed so pleased with himself, and then, nothing."

Brynden nodded slowly. "The Spider tried to weave many webs, only to realize he didn’t have to. You will need to kill him when you return. I’m sure he has plans to further destabilize the realm."

“Idiots... you’d think they’d learn after five failed attempts." Maekar muttered.

"Use your dragon," Brynden advised. "Burn Aegor’s company of traitors with dragonfire. And retrieve the sword of the Conqueror himself."

Maekar’s grin widened at the mention of the sword. "You only need to show me the way."