[King's Landing]
As the last rays of the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the Night King stood on the ramparts of King's Landing, gazing out over the city of ashes and rubble.
His undead army, once vast and unyielding, now lay scattered across the battlefield, reduced to dust and bone by the relentless assault of dragonfire and Valyrian steel. Even the wights, once thought to be immune to death, had fallen before the combined might of the living.
But, the war was not over yet.
As long as he lived, the Night King possessed the ability to reanimate the deceased.
He raised his arms, and the air around him began to stir, the cold mist swirling into the shape of a massive, skeletal hand. Bones shifted and reformed, rising from the ground and the ruins of the city, answering the Night King's call. In a matter of moments, the battlefield was once again filled with the groaning, shambling figures of the undead.
Only, he then felt a presence behind him.
Turning, he saw a lone figure standing on the ruins of the Red Keep. It was a woman, clad in black and white armor, her hair streaming behind her in the wind. She was tall and regal, her features striking and otherworldly. Even from this distance, he could sense the power emanating from her, the fire burning within her soul.
The Night King's gaze narrowed as he recognized the woman before him. She was Morgana Baratheon, the reincarnated warrior maiden. And she was not alone.
Behind her stood Jon Snow - Azor Ahai, the man prophesied to bring about his end.
Morgana raised her hands, palms facing the sky, as her eyes began to glow with a fierce, otherworldly light.
"You have come far, my dark lord," she called out to the Night King, her voice ringing across the battlefield. "But your journey ends here."
Jon Snow, standing beside her, nodded in agreement. "Together, we shall end this," he declared.
Morgana lowered her hands, and with a shout that echoed across the battlefield, she drew forth her weapon: Darkfyre, the dragon she had bonded with, the beast that lived inside her soul. The great wyrm appeared before them, wings beating powerfully against the night sky as it let forth a deafening roar. Fire erupted from its mouth, engulfing the Night King and his army in a searing, blinding inferno.
Of course, while this managed to kill his followers, it had limited effect on the Night King.
He watched as the dragon circled the sky, breathing fire upon his undead minions, their bodies crumbling to dust.
The Night King's eyes narrowed, his focus shifting back to Morgana and Jon Snow. He could sense the power they wielded, the bond they shared. They were a formidable team, indeed.
He raised his arms once more, summoning the dead to his side. His army re-formed, its ranks thinned but no less determined. They charged forward, their skeletal forms moving with a horrifying grace, driven by an unholy hunger for the living.
Morgana and Jon Snow met the onslaught head-on, their weapons singing through the air as they defended themselves against the relentless attack. Darkfyre circled overhead, providing cover and launching devastating fireballs at the Night King's undead forces.
As they fought, they could feel the Night King's presence growing stronger. He was drawing upon some dark power, trying to turn the tide of battle in his favor. Morgana and Jon exchanged a glance, knowing that they had to act quickly. They separated, circling around the undead horde.
The Night King sensed their movement, and his skeletal form turned toward them. His eyes locked onto Morgana, and for a brief moment, they glowed with an unnatural light. Whatever power he was summoning, it was aimed directly at her.
Morgana felt the weight of his attention, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she raised her hands, palms facing outward, and recited an enchantment. A blast of icy wind struck the Night King, sending him stumbling backward. His glowing eyes narrowed, but Morgana was already on the move, circling around him, her steps silent on the ground.
Jon, meanwhile, had been fighting his way through the undead, Lightbringer singing a deadly song as it cleaved through the skeletal forms. He could feel Morgana's presence nearby, her magic bolstering his own strength, her words of encouragement driving him onward.
As he fought, he caught a glimpse of the Night King, his eyes fixed on Morgana. He knew that she was key to defeating him, and so he redoubled his efforts, pushing deeper into the heart of the enemy ranks. His sword flashed like a bolt of lightning, cutting down the dead before him, his determination unwavering.
Meanwhile, Morgana continued her circling dance around the Night King, her movements graceful and deadly. With each step, her power grew stronger, her connection to the earth and the elements becoming more pronounced. The Night King struggled to maintain his focus on her, as if her very presence was a distraction he could not shake.
Jon, sensing that the time was right, changed his strategy. He broke free from the main force of the undead and began to circle around the Night King as well, drawing the Night King's attention away from Morgana. Their paths crossed, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. There was understanding there, and respect. They were two sides of the same coin, destined to fight against each other, but never to be true enemies.
Morgana, meanwhile, had closed the distance between them, and now she stood before the Night King, her hands outstretched, palms upraised. The wind around them grew stronger, whipping their cloaks and hair into a frenzy. The Night King's eyes narrowed, and he raised his arms once more, preparing to unleash some terrible magic upon her. But before he could complete the incantation, Morgana spoke a single word, her voice carrying over the howling wind.
"Aramintir!"
The air around them crackled with energy as Morgana spoke the ancient word. The Night King's eyes widened in surprise, and for a heartbeat, his concentration wavered. It was all the opening Jon needed. He sprang forward, Lightbringer singing through the air as he swung it in a deadly arc. The blade struck true, embedding itself in the Night King's heart. There was a flash of light, and the Night King's body crumpled to the ground, the dark magic that had sustained it dissipating like smoke.
With his magic no longer around to control them, the wights and White Walkers began to dissipate.
In place of the Night King, there was now a mortal man; a warrior of the First Men, who had been transformed into the Night King, who was created as a protector, but became a destroyer.
He was young, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes.
Morgana kneeled beside him. She gently took his hand, her skin warm and soft against his frostbitten fingers. The man looked up at her, grimacing in pain.
"You're free from him now," she whispered. "The nightmare is over. You can rest now."
The man, still weak from the transformation, struggled to focus on her words. His vision was blurry and his body ached, but something about her voice, so gentle and reassuring, made him feel a sense of peace wash over him.
"T-t-thank you," he whispered, before his eyes glazed over, open but unseeing.
Dead.
Jon gazed down at the Night King's body, now still and lifeless. He felt a strange sense of loss, despite knowing that it was for the best. He glanced over at Morgana, who was looking at the mortal man they'd freed from the Night King's grasp. Her expression was one of both sadness and determination.
"We did it," she said softly, her voice barely audible despite the silence that had fallen over them. "We truly ended him."
Jon nodded, his gaze still fixed on the Night King's body. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a sense of accomplishment that he hadn't allowed himself to feel for far too long. He glanced over at Morgana, noticing for the first time the way the morning light danced across her features, illuminating her hair like a halo. She looked different somehow; stronger, more confident.
"I think," he began, hesitantly, "that we should say something to the others." He gestured vaguely behind them, where the surviving members of the living were beginning to gather around, their faces a mixture of relief, disbelief, and grief. "I think they deserve to know what happened here."
"Yeah, I think you're right. Then, I really want to find Robb."
As they turned to face the others, Jon noticed the way Morgana's movements seemed to flow with an inner grace. He remembered the times he'd seen her in the practice yard, sparring with the other girls, and wondered how she'd managed to hide her true abilities from everyone. There was a sense of power about her that was both intimidating and strangely alluring.
The survivors of the battle began to gather around them, their faces a mixture of emotions as they took in the sight of the fallen Night King and the man who had been freed from his grasp. Jon took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking.
"My friends, we have done it. We have ended the Night King and freed his mortal soul. We have saved the Seven Kingdoms, and maybe even the world. But our journey is not over yet. We must find a way to heal the wounds that have been inflicted upon us, to rebuild our homes and lives. We must never forget what we have been through, and we must never allow the darkness to return."
As Jon spoke, Morgana stood beside him, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. Her voice was steady and strong as she added, "And we must not forget those who have fallen. Their sacrifice will not be in vain. We will honor them by living our lives to the fullest, by being the best versions of ourselves that we can be."
The crowd fell silent as Morgana's words hung in the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang, its song both haunting and hopeful.
Jon glanced over at Morgana, marveling at the way she commanded the attention of everyone around them. There was a fire in her eyes that spoke of determination and courage, and a quiet wisdom that belied her years. He found himself wondering what the future held for her, what she and his cousin, Robb, would contribute to history.
As if reading his thoughts, Morgana met his gaze and smiled, nodding subtly in agreement. She placed a reassuring hand on his arm, her touch warm and comforting. For a brief moment, Jon felt as if they were sharing a secret understanding, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
The silence stretched on, and Jon realized that he had nothing more to say. It was Morgana who finally broke the silence, her voice as strong and clear as a bell. "Let us begin the long road to healing," she said. "Let us find a way to put the pieces of our lives back together, and build a future worthy of those who have fallen."
The Night King may have been defeated, but the memory of his reign of terror would never be forgotten. The city would rebuild and move on, but the knowledge of what had almost been lost would always be remembered.
As the survivors slowly began to disperse, returning to their own lives, Jon found himself walking alongside Morgana. He couldn't help but feel a sense of awe in her presence, and a deep respect. She had become more than just his ally in the battle against the Night King; she had become a symbol of hope and resilience.
They wandered through the ruins of the city, searching for any sign of Robb. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the empty halls. Jon's heart ached for the loss they had all suffered, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was still something important to be found.
As they turned a corner, they stumbled upon a young woman huddled against a crumbling wall, her body wracked with sobs. Her dress was torn and dirty, and her hair hung limply around her face. Jon and Morgana exchanged worried glances before approaching her cautiously.
"What's wrong?" Morgana asked gently, kneeling down beside the girl. "Can you tell us what happened?"
When she noticed a body sticking out from under the rubble beside the woman, she automatically assumed it was the woman's husband or brother.
"He saved me," the young woman sobbed, wiping tears from her dirty face. "He pushed me out of the way when he saw the wall collapsing."
Morgana decided take a second look at the body. That's when she saw something that horrified her; Winter's Fury, Robb's sword.
"Oh no..." she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Jon felt a lump form in his throat as he realized what had happened.
Robb, true to his nature, had sacrificed himself.
Morgana dropped to her knees and frantically began to dig.
Jon knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he scooped away rubble. They worked in silence, their movements driven by desperation and grief. The young woman watched them from a distance, tears streaming down her face. She didn't dare interrupt their vigil, feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment of mourning.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they uncovered Robb's body.
Morgana gently brushed the dirt and debris from his face, revealing his pale, but still handsome features. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tenderly cradled his head in her lap. Jon knelt beside her, his heart heavy with grief. He reached out a shaking hand and placed it on Morgana's shoulder, feeling her body shudder with each ragged breath she took.
"No!" She screamed at the sight of her husband's lifeless body, the anguish palpable in her voice as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You promised! You promised you'd come back!" The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the vows they had exchanged not so long ago.
"I told you, if you die, I die. I'm not ready to leave this world yet. We still have so much to do, to see," she uttered, her voice trembling with determination. "Our sons need their father. Our child will need their father," She paused, cradling her less than visible baby bump, a mix of longing and fear reflected in her eyes.
Shortly before the fateful battle, she had sought counsel from one of the maesters, whose words had confirmed what she had suspected - she was with child. Despite the inherent risks and uncertainties, Morgana knew deep down that she had no choice but to be an active participant in the impending conflict.
She had to stand by Jon, the Prince That Was Promised, in his quest to vanquish the malevolent Night King and safeguard the future of not just their unborn child but the realm itself.
Morgana looked up at Jon, her eyes pleading with him to find some way to bring Robb back. He could see the pain etched into her face, and he ached to take it away. But he knew there was no magic spell, no words that could ease the agony she was feeling. All he could do was be there for her, to hold her and share her grief.
As she continued to sob uncontrollably, Morgana felt a warmth spreading through her body. At first, she thought it was just the shock, the heat of the battle, or perhaps even the fires that were still raging nearby. But as she wiped away another tear from her cheek, she noticed something strange: her fingertips were tingling, as if they had fallen asleep.
She looked down at her hands, expecting to see nothing out of the ordinary, but instead, she saw a faint glow emanating from beneath her skin. Confused and disoriented, she glanced up at Jon, who was still kneeling beside her, his hand still resting on her shoulder. His expression was one of confusion and disbelief, as if he was seeing something that he shouldn't.
The glow intensified, becoming brighter and more vibrant with each passing moment. Morgana felt a strange sensation coursing through her veins, as if an invisible force was awakening something deep within her. Her heart raced, and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her temples. The pain she had been feeling seemed to fade away, replaced by a surge of energy and power.
Jon, who had been watching her with growing astonishment, suddenly gasped as he noticed the wings sprouting from her back. They unfurled gracefully, casting a shadow over the ground as they stretched to their full length. He recognized them immediately: They were the wings of a Phoenix, a symbol of rebirth and resurrection, only they were pure white.
"Morgana?" he breathed, his voice trembling with disbelief. "What's happening to you?"
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. She reached out a hand, feeling the power coursing through her veins, and placed it gently on Robb's chest. The tears that had been falling on his armor began to sizzle and smoke, and then, slowly, his body started to stir.
Jon watched in awe as the life returned to his brother's eyes. The gash on his chest began to close, the blood receding, and the color flowed back into his cheeks. Morgana's wings beat once, twice, and with each movement, the air around them seemed to hum with energy. She leaned over Robb, her face inches from his, her breath warm on his skin.
"Robb," she whispered, her voice soft and gentle. "Robb, can you hear me?"
As she spoke, the air around them seemed to shimmer with unseen energy. The gash on Robb's chest knit itself back together, his wounds vanishing before their eyes. His skin regained its healthy glow, and his chest rose and fell with a deep, steady breath. His eyelids fluttered open, and he looked around in confusion.
Jon looked on in awe as the life returned to his brother's eyes. The gash on his chest knit itself back together, and the blood receded, leaving his skin unmarred. His color returned, and he coughed weakly, struggling to sit up. He gazed around, confused and disoriented, before finally meeting Morgana's eyes.
He blinked, his eyes focusing slowly on her face. "Morgana?" he croaked. "What... what happened?"
Morgana smiled through her tears. "You died, my love," she said softly, her voice trembling. "But I brought you back."
Robb looked around in confusion, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" he managed to croak. "I don't feel... different."
Morgana smiled sadly. "You should," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You died, Robb. Your heart stopped beating, and your spirit left your body. But I brought you back."
Robb stared at her, still confused. He looked around, as if expecting to see something different about the world around him, but everything seemed the same. His eyes drifted to Jon, who was watching the exchange with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"You brought me back?" he repeated, his voice still weak.
Morgana nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Yes, my love. I did."
Robb looked down at his chest, feeling the unfamiliar smoothness of his skin where the wound had been. He glanced at Jon, who was still kneeling beside him, and then back to Morgana. He reached out a trembling hand and took hers in his, squeezing it gently. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, my love."
Morgana squeezed his hand back, her own strength returning. "You're welcome, Robb. But, promise me, no more dying. I don't think my heart could handle it. Then our children would be alone, orphans."
Robb's face lit up at the mention of children, and he squeezed her hand more tightly. "I promise, my love. I'll do whatever I can to protect them, and to protect you."
"Good," she said, grabbing his hand placing it on her belly. "Because we're going to need you."
She smiled at him, her eyes shining with hope. "I'm carrying your child, Robb. You have a son or a daughter growing inside me right now."
The news struck Robb like a bolt of lightning, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face. He looked at her in disbelief, unable to form words. He reached out a trembling hand and gently caressed her cheek, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
"Are you sure?" he managed to croak. "Are you... are you certain?"
Morgana laughed, the sound tinged with tears. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life, my love." She leaned in, her lips finding his in a tender kiss. "Our child is a gift, Robb. A miracle. And I will cherish it, and you, for all of eternity."
They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, their lips locked in a tender embrace, their hearts beating in unison. Around them, the world seemed to fade away, and all that mattered was the love they shared and the life they had built together.
The knowledge that they would soon be parents once more brought a renewed sense of purpose and determination to Robb. He looked at Morgana, her pale skin glowing in the soft light of the moon, and knew that he would do whatever it took to protect her and their children. He would be the best husband, father, and lord that he could possibly be.
Behind them, Jon cleared his throat. "I don't mean to interrupt, but we should be getting back to the Keep."
Robb and Morgana broke their embrace, blushing slightly. "Of course," Robb said, helping Morgana to her feet. "Jon, I want you to know that I couldn't have done it without you. You're the best friend a man could ask for."
"I could say the same." He turned, beckoning someone forward. "And I think someone else would agree."
It was the young woman Robb had saved.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she said, curtseying deeply. "I have no doubt I would be dead if not for your selflessness."
Robb waved off her words, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same in my place."
"Except they wouldn't," she said. "This city is not known for its honour."
Robb and Morgana exchanged glances. They knew what she meant. They might not have liked it, but they knew the truth of her words. The people of King's Landing had become corrupt and self-serving over the years.
"Well," Robb said with a sigh, "let us hope that one day they can find their way back to honour and justice."
They made their way back to the Keep, their minds filled with thoughts of the future and the new life that was growing within Morgana. The walk was quiet, but it was not uncomfortable. There was an understanding between them, a bond that had been forged in the fires of love and tragedy.
As they neared the Keep, they saw figures moving about in the courtyard, servants and guards going about their duties.
Morgana was in no way surprised by the shocked looks she drew. She was still getting used to her wings herself, and hadn't yet figured out how to put them away.
The courtyard of the Keep was bustling with activity as servants scurried about, attending to their duties.
Robb and Morgana paused at the edge of the throng, taking in the scene before them. The war against the Night King was over, and with it came a new challenge: the rebuilding of their kingdom.
The courtyard of the Keep was bustling with activity as servants scurried about, attending to their duties. Survivors of the battle milled about, sharing stories of bravery and loss. The air was thick with a sense of accomplishment, but also of apprehension. They had survived the war, but the work of truly rebuilding their world had only just begun.
As Jon Snow stood before the survivors, basking in their adoration and gratitude after the epic battle against the Night King, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The weight and the memory of Daenerys Targaryen's betrayal still lingered in his mind like a dark cloud.
And yet, here he stood, alive and well, surrounded by the surviving members of the living. They looked at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief, their eyes filled with unspoken questions. How did you survive? What happened when you died?
Jon took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "I died," he said simply, his voice carrying across the silent field. "Daenerys killed me."
A collective gasp echoed through the ranks, followed by murmurs of discontent. Many of those present had believed in Daenerys, had trusted her to lead them to a brighter future. To hear that she had betrayed that trust, that she had taken the life of their beloved king... it was too much for some to bear.
"I know what you're thinking," he said, his words echoing through the silence. "You're thinking how could she do this? How could she bring such destruction upon us?"
He took a deep breath before continuing. "I ask myself the same questions every day. I thought I knew her, I thought I understood her. But I was wrong."
He paused, searching for the right words. "But perhaps...perhaps it was meant to be this way. Perhaps my death at her hands was part of some greater plan, some larger purpose. For if it wasn't for her actions, I may never have returned to you, to lead you to victory and fulfill my role in the prophecy of Azor Ahai."
There were murmurs among the crowd, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads in disbelief. But Jon knew that he spoke the truth. He had been given a second chance, a chance to make things right, and he intended to seize it with both hands.
"We will rebuild," he declared, his voice growing stronger with each word. "We will mourn our losses, we will tend to our wounded, and we will rise again, stronger than ever. For we are the people of Westeros, and we will not be defeated by the forces of darkness."
The crowd erupted into murmurs.
"But, that is not all," he continued. "After careful consideration, I have decided to renounce my claim to the Iron Throne."
The crowd was taken aback by his announcement. They had always assumed that Jon Snow, the king who had died and returned to life, would sit on the throne. But Jon shook his head. "I have seen what it does to men, how it consumes them. I believe that there is another among you who is better suited to lead us. A leader who is not born of blood and steel, but of courage and compassion."
Jon paused, looking around the courtyard, searching for the woman he had chosen. His gaze fell upon Queen Morgana, the daughter of the late King Robert Baratheon.
Technically, Morgana was already Queen of the North, alongside his cousin, Robb. But, he knew she was one of, if not the only, remaining person with a claim to the throne, who had demonstrated the resourcefulness the people needed in a time like this.
As he announced his decision, the crowd murmured amongst themselves, some nodding in agreement, others still confused. It was a bold move, one that not many people had expected him to make. But, as he looked at Morgana, standing tall and proud in the front of the crowd, he knew he had made the right choice.
"Morgana," he said, his voice strong and clear. "I, Jon Snow, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, do hereby renounce my claim to the Iron Throne. I believe that you, my queen, are the one destined to lead us forward. You have proven yourself time and time again, not only in the face of adversity, but also in your compassion and your wisdom."
The crowd was silent as they listened to his words, their eyes fixed on Morgana. She stood tall, her pure white wings unfurled, and on display. After a moment, she nodded solemnly. "My lord, Jon Snow," she began, her voice steady. "I am honored by your trust. I accept your renunciation, and I vow to do my best to lead our people to a brighter future. Together, we will rebuild Westeros, and we will not rest until peace and prosperity reign once more."
There were cheers and applause from the crowd, but they were muted, as if they were still trying to process the events that had unfolded. Morgana motioned for silence, and when it came, she continued. "Jon has given us a great gift today," she said, her voice rising above the murmurs. "He has shown us that sometimes, the greatest leaders are not those who seek power for themselves, but those who are willing to set aside their own ambitions for the greater good."
As the crowd murmured in agreement, Jon stepped back, allowing Morgana to take center stage. He knew that it was now her time to lead. She began to outline her plans for the rebuilding of Westeros, detailing the need for a strong military to protect against future threats, as well as the importance of rebuilding infrastructure and restoring order. She spoke of the need for reconciliation between the warring factions, and of her intentions to establish a council of advisors, drawn from the most capable and wise members of their society.
The people of Westeros listened intently, hope rising in their hearts as they saw a future beginning to take shape before them. They had survived the long night, and now it was time to emerge from the shadows and reclaim their place in the world. As Morgana spoke, Jon stood at her side, offering his support and guidance whenever necessary. He knew that the road ahead would not be easy, but he also knew that they could face it together, as one people, under the leadership of their new queen.