Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

Jon Snow dreamed of the crypts of Winterfell again.

Half-asleep, he wandered through the dark, narrow passages. The statues of the Kings of Winter gazed upon him with their cold, unyielding eyes.

At last, he stopped in front of a tomb. The statue before him was none other than himself.

Jon had always yearned to be recognized as a true Stark. To be buried in the crypts of Winterfell after his death was part of that dream. Yet, faced with its realization, he woke in terror, sitting bolt upright.

"Huff—huff—"

Jon gripped the fur blanket covering him, his heart pounding uncontrollably.

The room was pitch dark, illuminated only by the cold moonlight streaming through the window.

For some reason, Jon felt a sense of panic, as if something terrible was about to happen.

He lay back down, but no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep refused to return. Finally, he wrapped his cloak around himself and left his quarters.

The sound of the door opening roused Ghost, his direwolf, who had been sleeping by the door. The wolf's blood-red eyes opened, watching his master curiously.

Outside, the wind howled, and the world was cloaked in darkness.

The scent of pine mixed with the biting cold carried on the wind.

Jon stood on the balcony, gazing southward, as if he could see all the way to Winterfell.

The thought of the castle filled him with warmth.

"Awooo!"

"Ghost, quiet!" Jon turned and reprimanded his direwolf.

Ghost lowered his head but paced anxiously at Jon's feet.

Frowning, Jon looked south again. This time, he noticed a dark figure leading a horse into the castle.

By the moonlight, he recognized the figure—it was Robb Stark.

Jon could guess where Robb had been and smiled knowingly.

He descended the stairs to the stables, arriving just as Robb finished tying up his horse.

"Hey, Robb! Back from Mole's Town again?"

Robb turned and looked at Jon but said nothing.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Father," Jon added quickly, unnerved by Robb's icy gaze.

Robb remained silent, walking past Jon without a word.

"Are you angry?" Jon followed him. "Don't misunderstand—I'm not judging you. Believe me, I've made similar mistakes. You probably already know that.

Still, I think it would be best to send that girl south. Mole's Town isn't a good place for her… Besides, I feel something big is about to happen at the Wall. The North will soon become very unsafe…

Hey, Robb, are you listening?"

Jon noticed something strange about Robb but didn't think much of it. He assumed Robb had had a bad experience in Mole's Town and chose to stay silent.

They ascended the stairs, and Jon saw Robb heading toward his room.

Thinking Robb wanted a private conversation, Jon followed.

But as they reached the door, Ghost suddenly jumped out, baring his teeth and growling furiously at Robb.

"Ghost! Stop that!" Jon rushed forward to calm the wolf and apologized to Robb. "Sorry, he's acting strange tonight."

Robb said nothing and entered the room.

"What's with everyone acting so odd tonight?" Jon muttered, following him inside.

"Robb, what's going on? Why are you acting so weird? Hey, what are you doing going through my stuff?"

Jon watched as Robb pulled a black bundle out from under his bed.

Opening it revealed several small daggers, leaf-shaped spearheads, and numerous arrowheads, all crafted from dragonglass.

The dim candlelight reflected orange ripples along the weapons' black surfaces.

"These are dragonglass weapons," Jon explained. "I found them at the Fist of the First Men during an expedition beyond the Wall with Lord Commander Mormont. Well, more accurately, Ghost found them. Judging by the material of the bag, it was probably left behind by a long-dead Night's Watch brother."

Among the weapons was a horn, aged and edged with bronze.

When Robb picked it up, Jon said, "That horn is broken. It doesn't—"

Before Jon could finish, Robb brought the horn to his lips and blew.

**Woooooo—**

The horn's piercing wail tore through the night like a blade.

It was loud and haunting, an urgent cry that echoed through the snow and wind, carrying an eerie vibration.

Jon clamped his hands over his ears and shouted for Robb to stop, but his voice was drowned by the horn's chilling sound.

He watched in horror as blue veins spread across Robb's face, his body convulsing violently. A ghostly blue light seeped from within him, as if his very life force was being drained to blow the cursed horn.

**Woooooo—**

The ghastly horn sounded again, filled with millennia of agony and fury, as if venting its wrath on the world.

Its invisible energy rippled through the room, the Wall, and the entire icy expanse beyond.

Jon feared the horn would never stop, but then, abruptly, it fell silent.

Robb swayed and collapsed.

Crash!

He shattered like an ice sculpture, breaking into countless fragments.

Jon stared in shock, paralyzed by the sight.

And then, something even more terrifying happened.

The ground began to quake, the room shaking violently as if a giant were toying with Castle Black.

The commotion roused the Night's Watch.

As they scrambled outside, they witnessed a sight they would never forget.

The Wall, towering into the heavens, began to release tendrils of ghostly blue smoke under the moonlight.

Before anyone could react, the massive ice barrier collapsed with an earth-shattering roar.

Time seemed to freeze.

Everyone who witnessed the fall held their breath, as if the world itself had crumbled alongside the Wall.

---

"The Wall has truly fallen…"*

Jaime Lannister's voice was low, almost like a whisper.

He had climbed out of the cellar and stood frozen, gazing at the northern horizon. Ethereal blue lights flickered there—beautiful but filled with murderous intent.

Beneath the shimmering lights, the Wall, once an indomitable barrier of ice, lay in ruins.

"Hahaha! It's fallen! It's finally fallen!" Cersei's manic laughter broke the silence. Her green eyes glinted with madness as she shouted: "This cursed world, this rotten world, should've been buried under snow and death long ago! Let them all die! Die, die, die! Hahahaha…"

Jaime stared at his sister, dazed. For a moment, the image of Aerys the Mad King flashed in his mind.

During the final days of Robert's Rebellion, when the Targaryens were doomed, Aerys had planned to burn King's Landing with wildfire, intending to take the city down with him.

It was then that Jaime had thrust his sword into the king's chest, killing the man he had sworn to protect.

Jaime's phantom hand—the hand he'd lost—seemed to ache as if he could still feel the weight of that sword.

"Hey, what are you daydreaming about?"

Cersei's sharp voice snapped him back to reality, but his expression remained blank.

"What, are you scared stiff already?" Cersei mocked. "There's nothing to fear. If the White Walkers come, it'll be Caesar's problem. For us, it's a golden opportunity! Now, come with me!"

"Where?" Jaime asked instinctively.

"South, of course. Or do you plan to stay here and wait for the White Walkers?"

Seeing Jaime's hesitant expression, Cersei suppressed her irritation and began explaining:

"Now that the Wall has fallen, Caesar will be too preoccupied to deal with us. If we head south, we'll be safe.

And this is the perfect time to rally the southern lords who are unhappy with Caesar. We could even spark a rebellion! Hah, yes, that's it!"

Cersei grew more excited as she spoke:

"Don't be fooled by Caesar's grip on power—many of the Seven Kingdoms' nobles are far from loyal.

Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort was the first northern lord to surrender to Caesar, but Caesar still gave the northern duchy back to the Starks. Do you think Roose is content with that?

And old Walder Frey of the Riverlands—do you think he's happy living under House Tully?

Or Lady Anya Waynwood in the Vale. She plotted for years, only to have the Royces reap the rewards. Do you think she'll just sit quietly?

And let's not forget the lords of the Westerlands!

Tyrion, that dwarf, has no right to rule as the lord of Casterly Rock. That traitor, that abomination!

We can approach House Marbrand, House Tarbeck, House Farman, and House Lefford—our father's staunchest supporters.

Until now, Caesar's strength has intimidated them, but things are different now.

The Wall has fallen! The White Walkers are coming!

Caesar can't focus on his rear. This is our chance to incite rebellions across the land!

Jaime, let's bring back the glory of House Lannister together!"

But Jaime seemed unmoved. Instead, his gaze grew colder as he looked at her.

"I once thought we were the same," Jaime said softly. "Like two halves of one soul, sharing two bodies.

Do you remember the games we played as children at Casterly Rock?"

"Of course I do," Cersei said patiently. "We were the golden twins, identical to the point where no one could tell us apart. I wore your clothes, and even Father couldn't tell the difference."

"Yes," Jaime said. "That's why I fell madly in love with you. I thought you were my other half—that we were only complete together."

"And I love you," Cersei said, stepping closer. She reached out to touch his cold, rough cheek. "So come with me. Let's overthrow Caesar's reign together and claim the Iron Throne for ourselves."

But Jaime shook his head slowly.

"No. I see it now. We're nothing alike."

"What do you mean?" Cersei demanded, panic creeping into her voice.

"Is the throne so important to you?" Jaime asked, his voice trembling with emotion. "Would you destroy the whole world just to have it?"

Cersei's face darkened.

"You, a kingslayer, dare to judge me?"

"I didn't kill a king," Jaime said, his voice steady. "I killed a madman who wanted to burn the world to ash."

"Then are you going to kill me now?" Cersei challenged, stepping closer, her green eyes burning. "Go on, righteous knight. Kill me!"

Jaime stood still, silent. The phantom pain in his missing sword hand throbbed intensely.

"You coward!" Cersei sneered. "I should never have relied on you. You've disappointed me too many times.

The gods must be blind to have given you a man's body. If I were the eldest Lannister son, Caesar wouldn't dare act so brazenly!

Fine, if you won't come with me, I'll go alone. There are plenty of men willing to wield a sword for me."

"Like that Wildling?" Jaime asked coldly.

"That's right!" Cersei said, her face twisting.

"So you climbed into his bed willingly?"

"What choice did I have?" Cersei snapped. "Do you even understand what Mole's Town is? If I hadn't gone to Tormund's bed, there would've been more men barging into mine!

At least Tormund is strong enough to protect me. He even gave me a horn of vengeance!"

Jaime's expression turned icy.

"You're nothing like the woman I thought you were."

The words hit Cersei like a slap. She raised her voice, sharp and cutting:

"Oh, no, Jaime, I'm not some chaste little lady from your fantasies.

I've shared a bed with Robert, Lancel, Osmund, even Moon Boy!

The gods didn't grant me a strong body, but they gave me the tools to control men, right between my legs.

And if I have to use it to sway Roose Bolton, Walder Frey, and Harold Hardyng—or every lord in the Seven Kingdoms—just to claim the Iron Throne, I won't hesitate!"

Finished, she turned to leave.

But before she could take more than a few steps, she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

Thinking Jaime had changed his mind, she turned with a triumphant smile—only to see his hands wrap around her throat.

The grip was so tight she could hear the crack of her windpipe.

"Jaime…" she rasped, forcing the word out with all her strength. But his eyes, filled with cold fury, offered no mercy.

She clawed desperately at his arms, but his grip was like iron, unyielding and merciless.

Jaime kept his head down, unable to meet her gaze, but his hands didn't falter.

He felt her fragile throat deform under his fingers.

The icy wind from beyond the Wall struck his face, biting and raw, yet it burned like fire.

In his mind's eye, Jaime was back in King's Landing, at the climax of Robert's Rebellion, facing Aerys Targaryen.

The Mad King had screamed of wildfire and mass destruction. Jaime had thrust his sword into the king's chest, earning the name Kingslayer.

Now, he had choked the life from another mad figure.

A kinslayer.

"No…" Cersei's tears froze on her pale cheeks as they fell, her final moments filled with horror.

In her last breath, a memory surfaced—Maggy the Frog's prophecy.

"One day, when you drown in tears, the Valonqar will wrap his hands around your pale throat and choke the life from you."

Valonqar, the Valyrian word for "little brother."

Cersei had always believed it referred to Tyrion, dedicating years to schemes against him.

But now, as her vision blurred, she realized her mistake.

She had two little brothers.

And it wasn't Tyrion who fulfilled the prophecy.

It was Jaime, the one she loved most.

As the light faded, an image of Maggy's face flashed before her—a twisted smile on the crone's wrinkled visage, her yellow eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

(End of Chapter)