Chapter 135 - The Battle of Haigh Castle (VIII)
🕑 Added 2025-03-02 09:38:30 +0000 UTC"Father... your son... died a worthy death. I hope I brought that honor to your name."
Brynden Rivers, thinking of his father in his last moments.
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Under the rubble of the cave, a figure could be seen kneeling. The Night King stared into the void on the left side of his own body with fury. Anger, fury, envy, injustice and resentment bubbled in his chest like a flame eating away at his sanity.
He had never imagined that, after thousands of years, his calm had collapsed in the face of a naked and cruel conspiracy by the Green Seer. Blue blood dripped to the ground, freezing the world around with an icy fury.
“Brynden Rivers...” The Night King muttered the Green Seer's name with a look completely consumed by rage. Looking at his own wound, he felt that if he had delayed a single step, he would be dead right now.
Standing up, the Night King could see the extent of the damage. Virtually the entire left side of his body had disappeared in the explosion, and blood was oozing from the horrific wound without obstruction.
Using ice magic, he stopped the bleeding and gradually rebuilt the lost part of his body. Finally, after an hour, he managed to recover completely. But unlike before, half of his body was now made of ice and snow; the flesh he had lost could never be recovered.
He moved both hands at the same time and noticed the delay in the response of the movements.
“Two seconds...” he muttered as he noticed how long it took his ice arm to respond to his commands. Although he already knew this, seeing it in person caused a deep hatred for Brynden to consume him. This weakness was no simple matter - he needed to constantly supply magic to maintain the ice structures and still control everything himself.
Hence the two-second delay between the flesh arm and the ice arm.
Suddenly, all the Night King's fury and anger fell on a person who had just appeared - or rather, the projection of a person.
He had white-gold hair and purple eyes. Tall and imposing, he seemed extraordinary at first glance. Even the Night King was unable to ignore his presence. He was like a sun, attracting all the attention and, in that heat, there was a terrible power capable of reducing everything to ashes.
The Night King knew exactly who this man was. His destined enemy. His greatest obstacle in the war to come.
The Champion of Light.
“It looks like Brynden has done a lot of damage to you.” Aenar commented, looking at the Night King before him. There was a smile on his lips that couldn't be hidden. Brynden had kept his promise, died a hero, helping future generations.
Looking at half of the Night King's body, which was now made of ice, Aenar couldn't help thinking that Brynden really was mad. After the spell cast by Brynden was undone by his death, he finally got to see what his great-uncle had done.
It left him speechless at the man's cruelty. The greatest cruelty was not against the Night King, but against himself. Brynden used his own soul as fuel to attract a large amount of Warp Energy and caused an explosion comparable to that of a nuclear bomb.
Although extremely powerful, the price was high, his soul was destroyed in this insane process of attracting the Warp Energy, and nothing remained of the Last Green Seer's existence.
At the same time, Aenar observed the remnants of the Warp Energy with a solemn expression. He could sense that the energy was alive and seemed to contaminate everything and everyone with madness and malice.
Honestly, the Warp Energy was too unstable to be handled without caution, just like Brynden. In Aenar's eyes, the Warp was considered a dark reflection of the material universe and the emotions of sentient beings.
“Champion of the Light-” Just as the Night King was about to speak, the Targaryen king interrupted him directly.
“You can call me Aenar.” He spoke in a casual tone, oblivious to the surprised expression of the enemy before him.
After a brief silence, the Night King said, “Aenar.”
Aenar nodded and replied with a laugh: “This is the first time we've met in person. But we can feel each other's presence even thousands of kilometers away.”
The Night King looked at Aenar, confused. He had imagined many things about his first meeting with the Champion of Light, but when he saw his carefree and even friendly attitude, all the catchphrases and threatening words he had prepared simply became impossible to utter.
Seeing his expression, Aenar let out a laugh.
“I really like people's expressions when things don't turn out the way they expect. It's very amusing.” Aenar commented, still smiling at his enemy, treating the conversation amicably.
As for Brynden's death, Aenar felt no pity or sadness. The man died the way he wanted to. How could he dishonor his great-uncle with feelings so unworthy of his sacrifice?
“You're strange.” The Night King said. The fury he felt gradually began to dissipate, and he once again looked extremely cold and emotionless.
“Hmm...” Aenar narrowed his eyes and spoke with a disappointed tone: “The Divine Power of the Cold God is suppressing your emotions and making you essentially a being without feelings. I must say that you are nothing more than a puppet.”
Yes, he was disappointed to see the state of the Night King. Emotions may seem insignificant, but, believe me, they are an essential anchor for not losing yourself in the face of absolute power. When the human side weakens, the divine side strengthens, transforming the individual into a being with little or no emotion.
It may sound simple, but bear in mind that emotions are part of a person's reasoning. Without emotions, only the most primal instinct remains. An emotionless being can do something completely impossible for a sane person, including making decisions based purely on instinct.
“It looks like this war will be won more easily than expected.” Aenar commented, looking at the Night King as if he were looking at something lifeless. Without waiting for his enemy's response, he simply undid his mental projection.
Staring at the empty space where Aenar stood, the Night King remained silent, while his words seemed to echo in his mind.
Looking at his own hands, he muttered: “Emotion... what a futile thing. Only true power is truly eternal.”
Leaving these words behind, he turned and left. But if anyone looked closely, they would notice that the right side of his body moved naturally, while the left side seemed rigid and unable to be as agile.
At the Wall, Aemon sat on his bed and was silent, staring at the fireplace where the orange flames danced.
“Brynden's dead.”
Hearing his great-nephew's voice, Aemon's lilac eyes stared at the tall, powerful figure before him. A sigh escaped the hundred-year-old, his expression heavy with grief.
“Don't feel sad, great-uncle.” Aenar commented in a calm tone. “He died a hero, sacrificing his life and soul to severely wound the Night King. And he managed to destroy half of the enemy's body.”
Hearing Aenar's words, Aemon's complex mood instantly dissipated.
“He always said that he felt unworthy to be a bastard and that he would never be like great men like Aegon I, Jaehaerys I, Daeron II, Viserys II or even Aemon.”
“But in the end, he died a hero above these men, just as he had always wished.” Aemon said, his tone laden with relief. Although the death of a relative was a sad thing, he couldn't regret Brynden's choice.
“My fifth child will be named after him, just as my sixth will be named after you, great-uncle.” Aenar spoke with the same relieved tone.
Aemon was surprised by the words and smiled genuinely, as any grandfather would when hearing something like that from a son or grandson.
“I hope your fifth and sixth children are as honorable as those whose names they will bear.” Aemon commented with an amused tone. He didn't consider himself worthy, he was just an old Meister.
As if reading his thoughts, Aenar smiled and said: “You are as worthy as Aemon the Dragon Knight.”
Although he thought it was an exaggeration to be compared to such a noble man, Aemon couldn't help but smile happily. Who would be sad to be compared to a great figure from history?
“The reconquest of Westeros has begun. I have just destroyed the army of House Frey. I will invade the Riverlands in full force.” Aenar changed the subject, speaking seriously.
“I'll let you know if anything changes.” Aemon replied, his voice charged with renewed youth. Brynden's heroic act inspired him more than he realized.
Seeing the youthful sparkle return to Aemon's eyes, Aenar smiled and undid his mental projection.
In the castle of House Haigh.
Aenar, who was bathing with Rhaenys and Visenya, opened his eyes and spoke: “Brynden Rivers is dead, causing great injury to the Night King.”
Aenar's words made the three women in the room, Visenya, Rhaenys and Leda, look surprised at their king/husband/brother.
Pouring a glass of wine for the king and both women, Leda spoke with a tone laden with admiration:
“To Brynden. May he be remembered for his deeds.”
“To Brynden.” Aenar toasted in honor of her great-uncle.
“To Brynden.” Visenya did the same.
“To Brynden.” Rhaenys also raised her glass, toasting on behalf of the relative she had never met, only heard about.
“Rest in peace, great-uncle.” Aenar murmured. “Find your eternal sleep knowing that you were a hero.”
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I wrote this chapter listening to just one song:
Remember Me (from the series Arcane League of Legends)
