Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

The Long Night had lasted a little over a year, a harrowing time by any measure, but now the people of Westeros finally had a way to judge its end: the sun had risen once more. With its return, even the White Walkers, once an unstoppable terror, seemed less fearsome. Their leader, the Night King, had met his end, devoured by Viserys.

Deprived of the Night King's presence, the White Walkers lost their cohesion, retreating chaotically toward the Blackwater Rush, the forests, the ravines, and the coastline. The converted green dragon also tried to escape but was cornered and forced into the Dragonpit, where it was locked away under the overwhelming might of six other dragons. The Night King's army, so formidable just days ago, dissolved like ice under the morning sun. Even if they were to rise again in the future, no one feared them anymore—the sun had come back, and with it, hope.

In the North, the armies of Winterfell and the Night's Watch celebrated the dawn. The Long Night was over. The Night King was dead. They had won.

"Father, look," Jon said, handing Ned Stark a pair of binoculars.

Ned raised them to his eyes and peered out over the horizon. More than ten li away, the towering Icebone constructs that had been such a dire threat were collapsing. From south to north, the skeletal towers crumbled like falling dominoes.

"Has His Grace succeeded?" Ned murmured, his mind briefly flickering back to Viserys. He had last seen the Targaryen prince returning from the Land of Always Winter, demanding the Lightbringer with a commanding gesture like the outstretched branches of an ancient tree. The memory lingered, but Ned shelved his questions for later. For now, there were more pressing matters.

"Jon," he ordered, "take some men and scout the White Walkers' positions. Report back immediately."

"Yes, my lord," Jon responded, already preparing to leave when another voice interrupted.

"My lord, I beg to accompany them," said the Red Viper. His tone was resolute, his need for firsthand information clear.

Ned regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Granted."

Jon and the Red Viper led a hundred men toward the remnants of the White Walkers' position. Their march was steady but cautious, as though they feared the so-called victory might yet prove illusory. But as they drew closer, they saw the truth laid bare before them.

The ground was covered in a gray and black carpet of bones, so numerous they almost obscured the earth itself. Jon and the Red Viper stepped forward cautiously. The Viper drew his spear and tested the bones underfoot, only to find them brittle—no, crumbling.

With a single prod, a bone as thick as an arm shattered into fragments, as if it had been weathering for decades.

"The Night King's magic has failed," the Red Viper observed, his voice tinged with a note of finality.

Satisfied, he bent to pick up a piece of bone, rubbing it between his fingers until it disintegrated into dust. Jon followed suit, lifting a fragment and examining it closely. As he gazed at the decayed remains, a sudden image of Ghost, his direwolf, flashed through his mind.

"Let's scout a bit further," Jon suggested.

"Okay," the Red Viper agreed.

Their group of more than a hundred spread out across the area, carefully searching through the piles of bones. For two full quarters of an hour, they combed the field but found no sign of any lurking threats. Even the falcons and ravens sent to survey the region—controlled by the Skinchangers under Ned's command—reported nothing of concern.

Satisfied, Jon and the Red Viper exchanged a glance, silently agreeing it was time to return.

...

Highgarden.

The once-vibrant fortress of Highgarden had grown desolate during the Long Night, its lush gardens and golden fields faded in the absence of sunlight. It had not been spared from the White Walkers' wrath either. However, its maze-like defensive perimeter and location inland near the Mander River had limited the scale of the assault compared to places like King's Landing.

Now, as the White Walkers retreated into massive ice formations, Mace Tyrell stepped back into the inner city, visibly relieved.

"Mother, the White Walkers have all fled!" he called out, but his moment of solace was quickly interrupted.

"My lord," a maid said hesitantly, "the Lady has gone."

Mace froze, his relief giving way to heartbreak. His mother, Olenna Tyrell, the sharp-witted matriarch known as the Queen of Thorns, was gone. Overcome with grief, Mace collapsed over her lifeless body, weeping like a child. His cries were so raw, so poignant, that even the maid felt her heart ache.

"Mother," he whispered through his sobs, "did she see the sun?"

"Yes, my lord," the maid replied gently. "The Lady even basked her hands in it."

Hearing this, Mace seemed to find a small measure of comfort. His sobs quieted, though the grief in his eyes remained.

"Send word to King's Landing about what has happened here," he ordered.

...

Dorne: Sunspear.

Far to the south, Doran Martell stood in disbelief. Even Sunspear, the southernmost fortress of Westeros, had been attacked by White Walkers. The attackers weren't vast in number, but their endless waves were unnerving.

As Doran pondered the implications, the White Walkers abruptly turned and leapt into the sea. The sudden retreat sparked a realization within him. Without hesitation, he ordered preparations for a journey to King's Landing.

"Prepare boats immediately," he commanded. He intended to witness whatever was unfolding firsthand.

Across Dorne, other lords reached similar conclusions. Some prepared carriages, others ships. They understood the significance of this moment—a turning point in history.

...

Across Westeros, and even in the Free Cities, the news spread quickly. The Long Night was over. Victory had been won.

From the North to Dorne, from Westeros to distant lands like Slaver's Bay, Qarth, and Itty, the world rejoiced. Yet, for many, joy was tempered by loss. The year-long night and the five-year winter that preceded it had cost more than 80% of their populations. For those who had endured so much, the sight of the sun brought not happiness but a numb, hollow relief.

In many places, people turned to the sun in reverence. Arms stretched wide, they stood as if trying to embrace the sunlight. It seemed as though the entire world had become devoted to this celestial salvation.

Yet, not all was well. Their emperor, Viserys, had not been seen by the public in five years. Only the highest officials, princes, and his heir had access to him. Whispers began to circulate.

Some claimed Viserys had died after consuming the corpse of the Night King, a sight witnessed by many. Others feared something far worse: that Viserys himself had become the new Night King. Both rumors bred unease, and neither could be confirmed nor denied.

Daenerys, his devoted sister, had remained by his side throughout these years. She handled governmental affairs from the same room where Viserys lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. What troubled her most was not just his state of slumber—it was that for two entire years, Viserys had neither eaten nor drunk, yet his vital signs persisted.

This was no longer the condition of a normal man.

"Mother, it's time to eat."

Daenerys looked up at Willem. The past five years had seen her son grow into a tall young man, standing eye-to-eye with her now. She nodded, leaning back in her chair. Though five years had passed, they had left no visible mark on her. Her face remained as youthful as ever, but her demeanor had shifted; she now radiated the commanding presence of someone accustomed to wielding power. To call her a queen mother almost felt inadequate—she was every bit a queen in her own right.

Willem placed the tray of food before her—a bowl of thick soup and two delicate pastries, the entirety of her modest meal. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he began to massage it gently.

Daenerys had just lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips when a sudden noise behind her made her freeze. Without a second thought, she spat out the soup, setting the bowl down as she rose abruptly from her chair. The force of her movement caused the chair to push against Willem, but he didn't seem to notice. His focus was entirely on his mother's uncharacteristic reaction.

"Mother?" Willem began, concern evident in his voice, but Daenerys was already striding toward Viserys' bedside. He followed closely behind.

Daenerys stopped by the bed, her eyes fixed on her brother's face. She watched in stunned silence as his eyes moved beneath their lids, twitching as if something within him was awakening.

"Brother? Brother?" she called softly.

"Father? Father!" Willem added, his voice louder with excitement.

"Keep your voice down!" Daenerys hissed, waving her son back.

The two of them held their breaths as Viserys' eyes slowly opened. What they saw sent a shiver down their spines. Gone were the familiar violet eyes they shared; in their place glowed an unnatural, piercing blue.

Willem instinctively took a step back, but Daenerys stood her ground. Her head tilted slightly, her white, slender neck exposed, unflinching before her brother's gaze.

"Dany?" Viserys croaked, his voice hoarse from five years of silence.

"Did we defeat the White Walkers?"

"Yes," Daenerys replied with a nod, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within her. She quickly realized his last memory was of their battle five years ago.

"Father, it's been five years since we defeated the White Walkers!" Willem interjected.

"Willem?" Viserys' eyes shifted to his son, lingering on the unfamiliar maturity of his face. The absence of baby fat struck him harder than any words could.

"Five years?" he echoed, his voice hollow with disbelief.

The realization washed over him—he had lost five entire years of his life. He had been 25 years old when he last closed his eyes. Now, he was a man of 30. The weight of it was almost too much to process.

He struggled to sit up, and both Daenerys and Willem moved to support him.

"No," Viserys said firmly, stopping them. He braced himself and realized, with astonishment, that his muscles showed no signs of atrophy. Instead, his body felt stronger—unnaturally so. There was a vigor coursing through him, even greater than what he remembered before his long slumber.

His eyes swept the room, taking in the unfamiliar decor and surroundings. A sense of disconnection gnawed at him, but one realization soon consumed his thoughts: the souls that had once been bound to him were gone. He could no longer feel the presence of Valsha, the ancient entity tied to his existence.

Had consuming the Night King caused this?

Viserys' confusion deepened.

After a long silence, Willem spoke hesitantly.

"Father, your eyes."

"Eyes?" Viserys echoed, confused.

Willem handed him a mirror, and Viserys stared at his reflection. The glowing blue of his eyes startled him, but with a brief concentration, he willed the glow to fade. The familiar purple hue of Targaryen eyes returned, leaving Willem and Daenerys watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Inside, Viserys felt an unfamiliar energy coursing through him, like a reservoir of untapped power. He couldn't yet understand its source or how to use it, but its presence was undeniable.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Daenerys asked softly, her tone careful.

"No, I'm fine," Viserys assured her.

"Father," Willem began, his youthful curiosity on full display. "Why did you decide to eat the Night King? And…how did you manage to eat someone so big?" He glanced toward Viserys' stomach, his innocence betraying the seriousness of the question.

Viserys smiled but didn't answer. Instead, Daenerys began briefing him on what had transpired during his five-year slumber.

She explained how, after the Long Night ended, the realm had gradually returned to normalcy. Agriculture and production were restored, and a year and a half of spring had given way to summer. According to Melisandre's prophecy, this summer might last for more than two decades.

She spoke of how the Night's Watch had pushed their front lines into what was once called the Land of Always Winter. Remarkably, the name no longer fit, as patches of green now dotted the once-frozen terrain. The Seven Kingdoms had effectively grown by one-third, though much of this new land remained undeveloped. The once-mighty Wall had been abandoned, as the south's population had yet to fully settle even the existing territories.

A pang of sadness crossed Viserys' face when Daenerys mentioned the death of the Green Dragon, which had been corrupted by the Night King. The loss was personal, as the Green Dragon's egg had been the first he'd ever obtained. But his spirits lifted when she revealed that eleven young dragons had hatched over the past five years. The Blue Dragon, Black Dragon, and Silver Dragon had all laid clutches of eggs, bolstering the House's strength.

As Daenerys finished updating him, Viserys' women and children began to gather around a grand long table adorned with an abundance of food. The entire Red Keep buzzed with life, the mood celebratory. The family was dressed for the occasion, each person radiant and well-prepared to welcome him back.

Daenerys sat beside Viserys, while their children—Falia and the others—were seated nearby.

The younger children, including Willem, Victoria, Hali and Hermine, were visibly excited, though their nerves showed in their cautious glances. Others, like Sansa's triplets, radiated a mix of curiosity and timidity.

Viserys' gaze settled briefly on each child. Some stared boldly, like Little Rose's second son, whose confidence seemed inherited from his mother. Others, like Hali and Hermine, stood tall and serious, their maturity catching him off guard. He noted how young Victoria still was, but the room's atmosphere reminded him that many of the children were at an age that felt like a lively kindergarten.

"Aemon has already left," Daenerys whispered softly into his ear, her voice tinged with sorrow.

The news struck Viserys with a pang of regret. Aemon's absence weighed heavily on him, but he kept his expression neutral.

"Children, I am your father!" Viserys declared with a hearty laugh.

The laughter was not echoed by the room, save for Willem, whose boyish amusement stood out. Viserys felt a brief flicker of loneliness but resolved not to dwell on it. He had been absent for five years; now, he intended to spend time with them, mending the bonds of family and avoiding future conflicts within the House.

"Your Grace, we…" Little Rose began, her voice tentative.

"Call me husband," Viserys interrupted warmly. "There are no outsiders here."

His directness left her slightly flustered, but she managed a soft response.

"Husband… we have missed you so much over the years."

"I could feel it," Viserys replied with a smile. "That's why I woke up so quickly. How is Lady Olenna?"

Little Rose's expression fell, the mention of her grandmother darkening her mood.

"Grandmother… she has passed away," she admitted softly.

Viserys paused, the weight of the news settling over him. He had intended to ask about Mace Tyrell as well but decided against it, sensing the mood was already somber. Turning back to Daenerys, he resolved to focus on the present.

"Today, we'll feast properly," Viserys said, his voice brightening with determination. 'After five years, it's time to make it up to all of you.'