Game Of Thrones: Khal Pollo (GOT)

[Castle Black]

The curse of the Wall was not the ghosts or wights lurking in the Haunted Forest. It was the cold. An eternal cold, that seeped into the black ice stone, that crept through the heaviest wool cloaks, and that settled into men's bones until they forgot what true warmth felt like.

In the stuffy, dust-laden library of Castle Black, Maester Aemon Targaryen felt that cold more than most. His hundred-and-two-year-old body was a fragile cage for a mind still sharp, and his milky, blind eyes could no longer see the faint light from the weak hearth across the room. He sat bundled in furs, his twig-thin fingers tracing a fragile, ancient piece of parchment, feeling the texture of history beneath his touch.

The silence in the library was thick, broken only by the scurrying of mice in the walls and the whine of the wind howling over the Wall, a lonely lament from the end of the world.

The heavy oak door creaked open with a groan, letting in a colder gust of air. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont entered, his hard, bearded face grimmer than usual. Behind him, two Night's Watch rangers dragged a shivering man between them. The man was no wildling or deserter. He wore the tattered clothes of a sailor, his face wind-burnt and his eyes wild with terror. The smell of sour wine and stale fear clung to him.

"Maester," Mormont grunted, his voice gravelly. "This one. Captain of a Tyroshi trading vessel. His ship broke up in a storm and washed ashore near Eastwatch. He keeps raving. I want you to hear him before I toss him in an ice cell."

The man was pushed forward and fell to his knees on the cold flagstones. He stared at the fire, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Not... not an ordinary storm," the captain stammered, his words coming out in disjointed bursts. "The sky... the sky was on fire near Volantis! I saw it, I swear by all the gods!"

Mormont snorted, folding his thick arms across his chest. "Many things burn in Essos, Captain. Usually from too much wine."

"No! This was different!" the man shrieked, turning his wild eyes to them, pleading for belief. "There was... there was a city of horses on the coast. Hundreds of thousands of them. They were gathered for a giant Khal, a demon with steel for muscles. And a silver-haired Queen by his side."

Aemon, who had been sitting still, raised his head slightly. His trembling hand stilled on the parchment.

"And then... the declaration," the captain continued, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "He spoke of crossing the sea. Of conquering... Then the shadows came."

"What shadows, Captain?" Mormont demanded, his patience thinning. "Speak plainly."

The captain began to sob, tears streaming down his grimy face. "Winged shadows! As large as eagles... no, larger! Much larger! They came out of the sun! They breathed fire! I saw it! Black fire and green! They danced over the head of that giant Khal and that silver-haired Queen!" He clutched his head. "Three of them! Three!"

The rangers exchanged amused glances. Mormont shook his head in disgust. "Enough. Too much rum and too much Essosi sun. Take him away. Give him soup and lock him up until he's sober."

The rangers dragged the raving captain out of the room. Mormont looked at Aemon. "Mad tales. As if we don't have enough real problems with Mance Rayder and whatever lurks in the Frostfangs." With a final grunt, the Lord Commander departed, leaving Aemon alone in the silence with Samwell Tarly, who had been standing quietly in a corner, taking inventory.

Aemon did not move for a long time. His withered hand clutched the maester's chain around his neck so tightly his knuckles were white. He heard the truth. Not in the man's wild words, but in the pure terror in his voice. A silver-haired queen. Three of them.

"Samwell," Aemon whispered, his voice so fragile it was barely audible.

"Yes, Maester?" Sam replied, approaching anxiously.

"The book... the Jade Compendium. From Asshai. Find the part about Azor Ahai. Read it to me again."

Sam, though bewildered, quickly found the thick, leather-bound tome. He opened the brittle pages and, by the faint firelight, began to read. "...there will come a day after a long summer, when the stars bleed, and the cold darkness descends upon the world. In this dreadful hour, a warrior shall draw a burning sword from the fire. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who wields it shall be Azor Ahai reborn, and the darkness shall flee before him..."

"Not that one," Aemon whispered. "The part after. About the dragons."

Sam flipped a few more pages. "Ah, here it is. 'There is an ancient prophecy that speaks of the return of dragons to the world. When the red comet burns in the sky, when the prince that was promised, and when the song of ice and fire is sung anew...'"

As Sam read the words, tears began to stream silently down Aemon's wrinkled cheeks. They were not tears of joy. They were the tears of immense sorrow, the weight of a century of regret for his long-lost family, and a flicker of hope so terrible and beautiful it nearly broke him.

"The world is weaving itself back into the old song, Samwell," he whispered to the confused boy. "And we are but threads in its tapestry."

[Dragonstone]

The heat in the Chamber of the Painted Table was stifling, a heat that emanated from the very heart of the volcano beneath the stronghold. The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur, sea salt, and burning fanaticism.

Stannis Baratheon stood hunched over the carved, painted map table of Westeros, his gaunt, rigid face illuminated by the dancing firelight from the great hearth. Every line on his face looked as if it had been chiseled from stone by years of bitterness and duty. He was plotting his war, not just against his incest-born nephew in King's Landing, but against his foolish brother in Storm's End.

Melisandre, the Red Priestess, stood near the hearth. She did not speak. She did not move. She stared into the flames with such intensity that the room felt taut and vibrating, as if the air itself feared her.

"What do you see, Red Woman?" Stannis asked, his voice harsh and impatient, without lifting his gaze from the map. "More victories for the Stark boy? Or my brother frolicking with flowers in Highgarden?"

Melisandre did not turn. Her voice, when it finally came, was distant, mesmerized, and for the first time, slightly afraid. "I see more than mortal kings, Your Grace. I see an old song being sung anew with different fire."

"Speak plainly," Stannis growled.

"I see a vast sea of grass," Melisandre whispered, her eyes fixed on the flame. "Burning beneath moving shadows. I see a colossal black stallion, larger than a mountain, trampling golden lions and crowned stags beneath its hooves."

Stannis finally lifted his head, his pale blue eyes narrowing.

"And upon it," Melisandre continued, "I see three shadows. Three living hearts of fire. The sky itself bows to them. A silver-haired Queen... and a King whose body is a forge, whom fire cannot touch."

A cold, rigid anger ran through Stannis. He straightened his posture, his jaw clenching until the muscles stood out. "Tricks and shadows," he said, his voice as sharp as ice. "I am Azor Ahai reborn. R'hllor has shown it to me in the flames. This must be a trick of the Darkness, sent to shake our faith."

He saw this as blasphemy. A direct challenge to his destiny, to his divine claim.

"This is no trick, my King," Melisandre said, finally turning to him. Her red eyes gleamed with firelight and something Stannis had never seen there before: uncertainty. "This is another power. The Song of Ice and Fire is sung anew, and there are new voices in the chorus. Voices of immense power. Their fire... it feels different. Older. Wilder."

His unwavering conviction, which had been the anchor for Stannis's ambition, for the first time showed a crack.

Stannis gripped the edge of the Painted Table, his knuckles white. He stared at the map of Westeros, at King's Landing, at Storm's End, at Winterfell. He was now fighting not just his family, not just the other usurpers. He was fighting destiny itself, a destiny that apparently had more than one champion.