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🕑 Added 2024-10-31 18:18:00 +0000 UTCChapter 20: First Blood
Omniscient POV
Aemon was enthralled by the sight of the sprawling North as he flew to the Wall on Caraxes. Ever since they re-entered the North, Caraxes had been rough and temperamental, influenced by Aemon’s own emotions, and the cold didn’t help the dragon either. At least the Wolfswood was vast, and the population of wild animals plentiful enough that Caraxes could take out his anger and hunger on some bears and aurochs without taxing House Stark’s resources.
Aemon flew over Long Lake,
and as always since his journey to the North, his thoughts were full of Daemon and the prospect of meeting him for the first time. Hearing Daemon acknowledge his grandfather as his own father had been an arrow to Aemon’s heart, stirring feelings of anger, disdain, and jealousy. Even now, he didn’t know what would happen when he finally saw Daemon. The anger dissolved to nothing as he enjoyed the view of the North, its snow-laden mountains, and lakes from the air. Maybe Caraxes would allow Daemon to ride with him after they burned down whatever paltry wildling army Lucamore the Lusty had gathered. The disgraced knight could beat even Aemon in a spar, but he never intends to even touch the ground before the wildling army is turned to ashes.
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"Prince Aemon, welcome to Castle Black," said Lord Commander Ryswell, bowing in respect as Aemon entered the courtyard. The Lord Commander noted the young prince’s facial resemblance to Daemon and sensed the same air of arrogance in his posture, though the bastard’s was perhaps even higher than that of the dragon-riding crown prince of the realm. Ryswell would have scoffed at that before, but when all his sources spoke of Daemon slaughtering hundreds, a blur of blood and ancient magic wielded with ice, the young bastard indeed had something to be arrogant about.
‘What is a man compared to one who’s god-blessed and kills before others even draw their swords?’ The Lord Commander Ryswell thought swallowing the feelings of fear.
"I can see you are prepared for something. What is it, and why have you not ventured beyond the Wall to kill the enemy king?" Aemon asked, attempting to smother his anger as he thought of his son leading a paltry force against superior numbers in the harsh lands beyond the Wall.
"My prince, the wildlings have no way through other than crossing this Wall. It is far easier for us to kill them here than to hunt them down in their own lands," Lord Ryswell replied.
"So you allowed an army of 1,000 and my son to cross and hunt 7,000 men you yourself were afraid to face without hiding behind a 700-foot wall?" Aemon’s temper rose at the thought of his son in such danger.
"My prince, I had no choice but to allow them passage. Even though I hold superior numbers, I don’t want to face your son while he wields Ice. You son has actually earned his moniker of ‘Red Death’ twice over. The stories of a sword in flames and him being a whirlwind of violence and broken bodies are true. He destroyed an entire castle, venting his wrath upon 500 traitors there. The fire started by his slaughter even melted some portions of The Wall, which was said to be impossible.”
"Let us hope they are all well when I catch up to them. I will end this wildling threat immediately. Even snow melts under dragonfire," Aemon replied as Caraxes, who had been lying outside the gates, slowly rose and let out a mighty roar.
Aemon walked back the way he came and climbed into the saddle.
Caraxes looked back at him as if asking what to do. He sent a mental nudge urging the dragon to fly. To maintain their supposed cover of how close a dragon-rider is to their dragon, he called out, "Sōvēs!" in High Valyrian.
Caraxes spread his red wings, and with two powerful flaps, they were half the height of the Wall and hundreds of meters to the south. Aemon almost face-palmed at his dragon's antics, sending a feeling of laughter and an image of reversing their flight and soaring over the Wall.
Yet, for the first time, his dragon outright ignored his order. Caraxes continued flying away from the Wall. Aemon tried to probe the dragon’s feelings, but there was only a bone-deep wariness and caution. Deciding to be more forceful, he commanded Caraxes to return to the Wall. They reached the Wall at double its height, but Caraxes moved sideways, beginning to fly west instead. Aemon looked down and understood: his dragon would not cross the Wall’s boundary.
He remembered the old tale of how Queen Alysanne's Silverwing refused three times to fly over the Wall. With a sigh of defeat, Aemon ordered Caraxes to return to the Night’s Watch.
Upon landing, he met Lord Commander Ryswell, who had been waiting in the courtyard. Aemon guessed the Night’s Watch still recalled Silverwing’s story.
"How long has it been since my son went beyond the Wall, and is there any chance of catching up with him?"
"No, my prince, it has been six days since Daemon left, and he rejected any scouts. We have rangers stationed near the Wall to report if an army returns, but beyond that, it’s not our duty to know their location."
Aemon’s temper flared, but he didn’t want to cause a scene, knowing the Lord Commander was right.
"I see. Then you will send your fastest rangers to find my son and his men. Though he has inherited the talents of my blood in arms and magic, he’s still young to be fighting such numbers in hostile territory. They are to order him to return immediately. Also, arrange for the best tent to be set up outside the gates for myself and my dragon. He is weary and irritable in this cold, and may end up killing your men without my supervision."
Lord Ryswell was angered at the prince’s presumption. "I am not under your command an—" he began but was interrupted by the vicious roar of the red-winged beast outside.
Ryswell cursed the thrice-damned abomination of a dragon and its magic as he nodded in reluctant agreement, conceding to Aemon’s demands.
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Prince Aemon’s time at the Wall was dragging on far longer than he anticipated, his patience waning under the relentless cold and monotony. Each day, he tried in vain to push Caraxes to fly over the Wall, but the red dragon remained steadfast, refusing to cross the ancient barrier. Every failed attempt seemed to gnaw at his pride, and his restlessness deepened. He’d taken to training with some guardsmen from House Umber—rough, towering men from Last Hearth who offered solid practice but little in the way of mental relief. They, along with several other men, had been sent north at his request when he passed through Last Hearth, a precaution he’d considered necessary given his uncertain stay.
On the second day, the trouble began. A pair of men from the Night's Watch, desperate and evidently harboring a vendetta against the crown, tried to ambush him, clearly embittered by their grievances with the royal family. Caraxes, sensing the threat almost before Aemon did, swiftly dealt with them, a ferocious roar echoing across Castle Black. The incident left Aemon unsettled—though the two men hadn’t been part of the conspiracy of traitors, their loathing had been palpable. The thought lingered, irritating him like a thorn he couldn't remove.
And then came the dreams. For four nights, Aemon was haunted by visions of confronting Daemon, his estranged son, only for his own pride and anger to unleash dire punishments on Daemon. In one such dream, he witnessed Caraxes lashing out, burning Daemon as he defended himself. In another, Daemon—wielding Ice with a mastery of strange, northern magic—defeated Caraxes and turned on him, ending both dragon and rider with cold fury.
It was the seventh night that marked the breaking point. In his dream, Daemon’s face was etched with brutal clarity as he slashed through Caraxes with ease using the Great Sword Ice, leaving Aemon defenseless before striking him down. The dream was vivid enough to enrage Caraxes through his bond; the dragon woke in an uncontrollable fury, lashing out and slaughtering two Night's Watch guards by the gate and nearly bringing down part of the castle itself. It took all of Aemon’s skill to calm the irate dragon.
At dawn, Lord Commander Ryswell approached him, seething with anger at the carnage but unable to voice his resentment openly. Aemon, exhausted and haunted by his nightmares, merely brushed off Ryswell’s anger. He promised to compensate the Night’s Watch with resources and ten prisoners from the crown to join their ranks—a gesture that earned him a bitter nod of acceptance from the Lord Commander.
The following morning, Aemon resolved to leave. He could no longer bear the thought of facing Daemon, his visions gnawing at him as much as his son’s palpable absence. He gave Ryswell a final message before his departure.
“When my son returns, he is to take the head of the so-called King Beyond the Wall, along with Ice, and escort them directly to Winterfell. No detours, no other adventures.”
Ryswell, stiff but resigned, gave a curt nod. “I will inform him, my prince.”
Aemon mounted Caraxes, and with a powerful clap of wings, they soared southward, away from the Wall and his son’s shadow.
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Beyond the wall
Daemon Snow
After the slaughter of the wildlings, I allowed dozens to survive to spread word of my name and our deeds. We were now returning to Castle Black. The head of the traitor was preserved, and the army was in high spirits, as no one had lost their life in this mad quest. During this return journey, I took the time to reflect on my actions since the death of my grandfather. I had been hasty in many things, but looking back, I couldn’t see any other way to achieve what I wanted.
"Daemon, why are we circling around?" Lyra asked me, riding beside my position at the front of the army. Aethan was at the rear, and the first line of soldiers was out of earshot due to the noise of marching. Ever since the night I became known as the Red Death, Lyra had been trying to stay close to me. We had been close friends ever since our first meeting at Winterfell, and I trusted her to some extent, but I hadn’t revealed my more esoteric abilities. When I first met her in the godswood, I felt an immediate crush on her, but it faded within a week. Looking back now, I realized that my powers’ control aspect had likely suppressed the feeling, since I had decided not to develop a crush because it was a weakness.
At first, I hadn’t noticed her intentions, consumed as I was by grief and focused on vengeance. But now, with time to process things, I could see she might have developed feelings for me. Her new habit of sticking by my side had become a bit of a headache, as I had to censor what I said when I had discussions with Aethan.
"Lyra, let me ask you something. Why have you been staying so close to me since that night? You’ve been acting oddly and asking many questions."
Lyra looked guilty for a few seconds, and I couldn’t understand why.
"Daemon, I want to apologize to you. It was my fault that you lost your grandfather. If my mother hadn’t found us—because of my own carelessness—then Lord Stark wouldn’t have had to jump in front of those arrows to save you. I’m so sorry, Daemon. I can see how much it affected you, and I feel guilty for the lengths you went to for revenge," Lyra said in a broken voice.
I was taken aback by her conclusion and could see how deeply it was affecting her. I felt ashamed that I had mistaken her caring and guilt for romantic feelings.
"Lyra, that’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard," I said seriously.
"What?" Lyra sputtered, utterly confused.
"Do you think I would have hidden that night even if I hadn’t been with my grandfather? We were ambushed by crossbowmen, and they weren’t there for me. They were after the lords. You had nothing to do with it, Lyra. You aren’t responsible for the traitors' actions. They’re the ones responsible, and they’ve paid the price. That’s enough."
Lyra looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded, a smile of relief crossing her face.
"You still haven’t answered my question, Daemon," she said after a couple of minutes.
I sighed, knowing Lyra was trustworthy and deserved honesty.
"Prince Aemon Targaryen is at Castle Black, waiting for our arrival—or at least for the riders sent by the Night’s Watch with his orders for us to return to the other side immediately. I don’t want to see him or face a dragon right now. From what I can tell, his patience is thinning every day, and I don’t think he volunteered to come north now, after ignoring me all this time."
Lyra grimaced but nodded in understanding.
"Daemon, how long do you intend to linger here? I’m sure the soldiers won’t complain, but if your father or the king learns of it, you’ll be in more trouble."
"Don’t worry too much, Lyra. I’m still just a bastard, not important enough for them to be overly concerned. And there’s another reason for our delay. Aethan and I are looking for something," I said with a grin, but I didn’t elaborate. Knowing my dramatic streak, Lyra just scoffed and didn’t bother to ask further.
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That Night.
The camp was set up for the night, and I was preparing for my own trip. After a long search, my birds had finally spotted my quarry: a pair of direwolves with six pups, likely less than a week old. The wolves were several miles from our path, moving with haste, and I decided to go after them alone.
"Are you sure about this, Daemon?" Aethan asked as I secured a short axe to my belt. Ice was strapped to my back, as I couldn’t run or move with it at my hip.
I was silent for a moment before answering. "I’m hesitant to approach fully grown direwolves, Aethan, but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up. With my warging and other skills, I should be able to escape if they turn hostile."
Aethan scrutinized me. "Well, I’ll keep my eyes on you anyway."
I nodded in thanks.
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I sighed in relief as the water satisfied my thirst and calmed my panting from the run. The initial plan was to use my horse, but nighttime posed a major problem. Under the full moon’s glow, with my improved night vision, I had no trouble crossing the land on foot. I ate the dried meat and gulped down water to easily replenish my strength, feeling my enhanced body processing the food faster than was normally possible.
Using my warging abilities, I observed the pair of direwolves, 200 meters ahead, just outside a cave through the eyes of an owl. Both direwolves were tense, growling at the cave’s entrance and glancing around in vigilance. The male was as large as my horse, with far more muscle on his frame. The female, though shorter, was nearly as tall as my horse back in camp. Between them stood six pups, trying to mimic their parents’ growls, though they could barely manage a weak rumble.
I wondered what had them on edge and considered whether they’d already sensed me. Expanding my warging, I scanned the area and detected nine presences. One animal was inside the cave—a bear, from what I could gather through my hesitant prodding. I tensed immediately; even fully grown direwolves would struggle to protect their pups and kill a cave bear simultaneously. As my awareness expanded further, I felt the presence observing me ever since I crossed the wall, growing stronger as I reached out. I fortified my defenses, ensuring it would gather no secrets from my mind.
Deciding that openness was better than stealth, I leapt down from the tree. The male direwolf’s head whipped in my direction, and he growled a warning. I withdrew my mind from all my birds and extended it to connect with both direwolves. I projected warmth, kinship, and respect, though they remained wary and continued to growl.
Raising my hands to show they were empty, I cautiously approached. I was halfway there when suddenly, I tripped and fell, feeling something latch onto my left leg from behind.
I looked back and screamed like a little girl for a second as I saw a rotted hand holding my left leg, exerting an unnatural strength for such a thin limb.
“Fuck this shit!” I yelled, using all my strength to kick at the hand with my right leg. Even as the hand broke away from the main body of the wight rising from beneath the snow, it remained firmly grasping my leg, trying to pierce my flesh with sheer strength alone. The grip and sharp bones could have easily pierced a normal man’s skin, but my own durability had increased, preventing it from achieving that now.
The snow I walked through was moving and wiggling as wights emerged from the ground. For a moment, I froze as the raw necromantic magic hit my senses like a giant’s fist, and my innate learning talent went into overdrive, absorbing information from the wights.
I may have seen many zombies on screens in my previous life, but there was something inherently disturbing about seeing a live one in front of me. I hoped my scream and freezing moment hadn’t been caught by Aethan through his birds.
I immediately crawled a couple of meters backward, faster than I thought possible, then jumped back at the end, putting even more distance between me and the wights. I scanned the area for the white walker leading them and spotted an ethereal being of ice observing us from the other side of the clearing through which I had come.
I took two more steps backward, but my concentration on the wights was interrupted by a growl. I glanced back in surprise and realized I had entered the direwolf's lunging range; it was warning me to stay away while tensing its muscles for a leap.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I snarled back at the wolf, flaring my presence with killing intent consciously for the first time to ensure the wolf wouldn’t attack me from behind. “These dead fuckers are hunting you and your pack. I’m trying to protect you.” The male direwolf looked afraid for a moment and turned its eyes toward the wights, ignoring me.
I saw a hundred wights—made from men and women—eerily observing us with absolute stillness and silence. Even the cold wind of the night had died down, and the creatures of the night had long since fallen silent. The blue light of their eyes was truly chilling, sending a shiver down my spine as I imagined millions of these abominations staring at me before an attack. I immediately shrugged off that vision and readied my axe, preparing to test the abilities of these wights. I thanked my younger self for training my speed so much, knowing I could always escape by running away. I was confident enough in my skills and powers to avoid using Ice immediately and test the wights’ capabilities. I would have grabbed two pups and run away if Ice had not been with me.
“Yeah, whatever. This staring is getting boring,” I snapped, taking my axe and walking forward. “Let’s dance.”
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It had been only five minutes since my battle with the wights began, and I immediately noticed the differences between these wights and the cannon ones.
For one, these wights could heal any damage to their undead bodies—not catastrophic damage like losing a body part, but any slash or blunt force was healing slowly. Luckily they retained every damage they accrued before being turned to a wight. Second, surprisingly, there was coordination among the wights as they attacked from all sides. Only my superior speed allowed me to jump away or escape the traps set by the wights. The third thing I noticed was that each wight had retained the skills they possessed in life. Their attacks weren’t just indifferent flails; they had a basic level of skill. Fourth, I learned that decapitation or damaging the heart or brain didn’t stop the body from moving.
I had dismembered over a quarter of the wights when The Other moved toward me from the clearing. It was fast, and an ice sword appeared in its hand, adding cryomancy to the list of Other’s abilities. It moved with supernatural grace and I transferred the axe to my left hand while my right hand grasped Ice’s hilt.
It was faster than even Bennard and I immediately understood that only skilled fighters with experience could actually defeat an Other even with Valyrian Steel in their hands unless they have enhanced body like me.
The axe met the slash of the ice sword, and the steel shattered like glass. I leaned back to avoid a leftward slash from the ice sword. The returning slash was blocked by the Valyrian steel in Ice, and the Other widened its eyes in pure surprise. Capitalizing on the moment, I extended Ice and stabbed it through the other’s stomach. The sword exited through the back, severing its spine, and it fell to the ground with a screech that almost made me deaf.
I took two steps backward, expecting the Other to shatter like in canon, but was surprised to see it not shatter. It yelled in a cold tongue as the gaping hole in its stomach stopped widening. Immediately, all the wights’ bodies fell down as I felt enormous magical energy being siphoned to the Other itself.
Curious to see what would happen, I watched as the gaping hole in its stomach slowly closed while the bodies of the wights turned to ashes. Cursing my luck for having wights and others with a small healing factor, I pierced the heart of the other with my Valyrian steel, and surprisingly this time, it shattered like brittle glass. Only my control talent made me not panic as I realised that I have to defeat, possibly millions of wights with healing factor.
I sighed as tiredness enveloped me after the events. I turned back toward the direwolves when suddenly, the presence that had observed me the moment I entered this side of the Wall surged all around me. I felt the cold hands of The Other enveloping my head from behind, and I sensed my mind palace, Winterfell’s defenses, shattering like glass as the mind entered my consciousness, trying to subjugate me. I lost control of my physical body as my entire will fought against the invading force. I fell to the ground as the other’s hand touched my head, and my grip on Ice’s hilt loosened.
I understood that the presence overwhelming me was the Night King, using greenseeing and his own minion to directly attack me from his fortress in the Lands of Always winter. I had only ever felt such an attack in my mind once before, when Balerion The Black Dread invaded my thoughts during my vision. The Night King kept shattering every defense I raised. The hundred-foot black walls of my Winterfell mind palace crumbled as ice and snow began to cover the entire castle. My bonds with my animals severed as my mind cracked under the superior power. The weirwood in the heart of Winterfell started rotting, and the blurry dragon nearby went into hibernation due to the cold.
“No!” I yelled as my mind tried to fight back, but the pressure was overwhelming. My talent grasped many things while I defended myself, but even that wasn’t enough to overcome this assault. As my own talent picked the skill of forcing oneself to another beings mind from this assault, using my entire will for a single heartbeat I retaliated, my will slipped into the ancient entity’s outer mind, and I felt millions of connections to its consciousness. While I had many animals I used, it was just a drop in the ocean compared to the countless connections the Night King had forged with his subordinates through his mind and body, all interconnected like weirwood network and feeding their powers to it. I understood that the stategy of killing off the head of the snake and the army will crumple will be useless in this world.
The difference in experience and the bonds of the Night King were immense, and I was immediately repelled backward. That was an opening for the Night King, and I felt my mind shredding under the pressure. The first tower, walls of first keep shattered and I finally understood that this might be the end of my life.
Then, the Night King made a mistake in his haste to subjugate me.
Just then, I was suddenly pierced by an ice sword from behind. The coldness and pain made my body react, and I regained a flicker of physical control. With immense strain, I tried to grasp Ice. By luck, my hand was not near the hilt but at the sharp Valyrian steel edge. My palm was slashed open, and the pain grounded me further in reality. Blood fell onto the Valyrian steel, and I grasped the sword by its sharp edge. With a yell that defied the power threatening to gain full control of my mind and body, I used the most basic magic I had learned in this life: I ignited my blood, and the sword was engulfed in flames.
The flames of the sword gave me a sudden strength as I grabbed it and rolled on the ground, while slashing with all my strength. I saw my attacker, it was the other shattered earlier that had reformed haphazardly. The Ice went through its hips bisecting it and it caught fire.
For a moment, the Night King—a being of ice for 8,000 years—felt heat and fire and withdrew from controlling my body and mind in reflex. The pressure came back on my mind but it was lessened drastically as one of the connections through which the Night King attacked me directly was cleansed by fire powered by my blood. Only the shattered state of my mind defense gave it any hope for accomplishing it’s goal.
Suddenly, an insane idea struck me. I slashed both of my palms open as I crawled toward the fire and lay down among the flames. The fire grew hotter as it fed on my blood.
Again the fire made the Night King withdraw in reflex and it was the only second I needed.
As I lay there, my mind conjured the firewall I had encountered in Balerion’s mind around Winterfell in my consciousness. The black walls of Winterfell were remade in seconds, and the outer walls were enveloped in fire. The mind version of Winterfell had been completely buried under ice and snow by that time, but the sudden appearance of the firewall and the loss of direct power from the Night King caused the snow to start melting immediately. I knew the Night King would come back any moment, as he was on the cusp of victory—and I was not wrong.
Overwhelming pressure surged and entered my mind, but this time I was prepared. The firewall made a difference, and having the flaming Ice bonded to me was a huge advantage. As the Night King couldn’t overwhelm the fire I copied from Balerion, he retreated, and I knew I had won,only because he didn’t have direct contact with me the second time.
I lay in the fire and removed the crystal ice sword that was still pierced in my stomach, throwing it far away. I sensed necromantic energy and ice magic trying to destroy my body from within. With no other choice, I took the still flaming Ice and pierced the spot where the thin ice sword had entered me. I felt nothing as the flesh around was almost killed by frostbite, immediately, the fire cleansed the necromantic and death magic, but Ice, being a ridiculously large sword, left a huge wound in my stomach.
I crawled outside of the fire and lay in the cold snow to cool off from the heat of the flames. The magical nature of the fire had burned me in many areas, even with my enhanced fire resistance. I saw the direwolves approaching me, and I tried to sit up to defend myself if needed, but the movement made me faint from exhaustion.
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Authors Note: Happy Halloween everyone !!
Ah, well that happened and finally daemon and one of his main enemies collide and Nights king lost one other and 100 wights permanently. As I said this will not have just 100k wights and 10 others in this fic and they are interconnected allowing them to do all sorts of things….
Next chapter: Daemon and Aemon faces their liege lords after not following their orders.. event
As usual Read, commend and Recommend…
