Two days later
Jon eyed the three scrolls before him and cursed his decision to follow the trail of the Baratheon army instead of pursuing the fleeing Ironborn into the mountains. One of the scrolls was from Edric, who reported that the Dornish forces had captured Euron Greyjoy and his wizard alive, and described how he had played a major part in setting the trap. Edric proudly told his King that it was the Starfall Houseguards who had eventually captured the leader of the Ironborn.
For once, a plan had gone too well. Jon's army had reached the enemy camp and engaged the meagre forces that were there to face them, but there had been no sign of Euron Greyjoy throughout. They had planned for that eventuality, however, and Lord Willas of House Tyrell's section of the army had received orders to track down the Ironborn. One of their first Ironborn captives had been quick to reveal that Euron Greyjoy had fled south to join up with the reserve force of what he believed to be Dornish allies.
Jon skimmed over Edric's scroll once more. The moment Greyjoy had realised that they had fallen into a trap, it was too late: his forces had been scattered due to his haste in making contact with the Dornish. Nevertheless, despite their vulnerable position, the Ironborn leader had ordered his men to fight to the death. In fact, they had no choice: Princess Arianne's forces had begun a full frontal attack the moment the bulk of the Ironborn forces had appeared on the first mountain pass.
Earlier, Lord Edric had split up his men and had ordered them to hide on both sides of the valley. As soon as the battle began, his men had turned the screw by appearing, as if out of nowhere, on both flanks of the mountain. Turning back was not an option for the Ironborn, for Euron's scouts had reported that an army carrying the banners of the Reach was closing in on them. Greyjoy quickly realised that he had lost the battle before it had truly begun. Edric boasted that thousands of Ironborn had been killed and their bodies burned as per his Grace's orders. A little over two hundred Ironborn soldiers had been taken prisoner. Euron Greyjoy himself had put up an impressive fight until some of Edric's houseguards succeeded in dropping a net over his head. The Dornish had incurred fewer than fifty fatalities.
Edric had sent a second scroll later to confirm that a large delegation of the Dornish army, led by Princess Arianne, was marching to the encampment where he had left Dany behind. They would be bringing Euron Greyjoy, his wizard, and the remaining prisoners of war. A short sentence added at the end of the scroll made Jon smile: Edric would personally hand over to Jon his one-eyed gift, all nicely wrapped up to cover most of his cuts and bruises.
The third and shortest scroll was from Lord Willas of House Tyrell. He wrote that his troops had not had to do much more than put up a shield wall and stop some stray Ironborn soldiers who were desperately trying to find a way. There were no casualties among his men. Willas reassured his King that Princess Arianne had shown him all the courtesy due to his status as her ally, and they would travel together to the encampment to meet up with his Grace.
Davos had been worried when Jon had decided to send the Reach forces to help the Dornish capture the fleeing Ironborn, but Jon's gamble had actually turned out rather well. Jon wondered whether Lord Willas had deliberately avoided mentioning that Lord Renly of House Baratheon had volunteered to join him. Jon knew that it had been Willas's younger brother, Lord Loras, who had convinced Renly to pull himself together and assist his older brother. If there was one man that Renly Baratheon wished to impress and would listen to, it would be Loras, his lover. Jon decided to thank Loras as soon as he could speak to him away from Ser Gerold.
Earlier that day, Davos had brought Jon a message from Strickland. As promised, the Captain-General of the Golden Company had ordered some of his forces to guard the Queen as soon as they had secured the Ironborn fleet. Strickland stated that only one Ironborn ship had sunk, and the rest had been seized without much damage. Since enough men were now guarding the Queen, the forces under Lord Celtigar had focused on setting up prison camps on the Stormland side of the border. They were using the tents that Stannis Baratheon had left behind as part of his desperate attempt to create the illusion that his army had not fled. They had confined their prisoners in two large caves, the Stormlanders in one and the Ironborn in the other.
Strickland ended his report by confirming that the Golden Company's contract was now paid in full. He considered himself sufficiently compensated for his work, for he had been given the sturdy Ironborn ships and, even before he set sail for Westeros, a chest of gold. Nonetheless, he would still be pleased with a private thank you from the King once His Highness had safely returned to the encampment. Strickland also wrote that the Golden Company had suffered no fatalities and only a handful of men were wounded. He ended his report saying that the Captain-General of the Golden Company looked forward to celebrating an easy victory with the true King of all Seven Kingdoms.
This was all very good news. Jon, his Kingsguard, and the combined forces of the Vale and the Riverlands had set up camp near the spot where the Kingsroad met the border between the Stormlands and the Reach. It had all been part of the plan they had devised in case Stannis Baratheon succeeded in fleeing west. They had soon discovered that Stannis Baratheon had fled with the bulk of his forces almost immediately after he had regained consciousness and had learned of the disappearance of the Targaryen Queen and her dragon. Several witnesses had confirmed that the self-proclaimed 'King Stannis, the First of his Name' had effectively fled ahead of, and actually betrayed, Euron Greyjoy.
So much for Lord Renly's predictions! Jon had to admit that he too had not seen this coming. In fact, nobody could have guessed that it would be the stern Stannis Baratheon--who claimed to be an honourable man--to in fact be the first to break faith and run like a coward without warning his ally. And that Euron Greyjoy--always driven by self-interest, willing to resort to magic, trickery, or even using a woman to gain the upper hand--had been the one to be abandoned. Fortunately for Jon, their plan had held firm even if they had not accurately predicted the actual sequence of events. Stannis Baratheon had indeed hurried west, hoping to combine his meagre forces with the large army that Randyll Tarly had assembled. He had made sure to meet up with Lord Tarly well before
the Targaryen armies could catch up with him. In order to gain time and increase his chances, the traitor had sacrificed a small group of his own men to fool both Euron Greyjoy and the Targaryen armies into believing that nothing was amiss.
The small force that Jon and his allies had encountered when they valiantly charged over the border into the Stormlands had consisted of only a small part of the Baratheon army and approximately one hundred Ironborn. Upon learning that his ally had fled, Euron had also attempted to save the bulk of his army. He had left even fewer men behind in order to fool the Targaryen King, but these remaining Ironborn had put up a good fight. When he saw the first Baratheon soldiers throw down their weapons, Jon had changed direction and steered his mount towards the Ironborn. Together with his Kingsguard and a large part of his cavalry, he had drawn his sword and felt immense satisfaction in knocking out some of the men who belonged to the army responsible for the kidnapping of his beloved Queen. The clash had barely started when the entire Baratheon flank dropped their weapons and raised the white flag.
The battle had ended much too soon to satisfy Jon's thirst for revenge. After his men had performed a body count, it became clear that less than three hundred men had been ordered to remain behind to face them. The woods where the small army had chosen to make their stand had temporarily disguised the fact that they were vastly outnumbered by Jon's forces. Rhaegal's frustration at finding such so few of their enemies had made Jon realise that he would not capture either Stannis Baratheon or Euron Greyjoy as soon as he had hoped.
Davos muttered to himself and Jon looked up. "Something on your mind, Davos?"
Davos scowled. "How long does Lord Tarly think he can make his King wait? Damned insubordination!"
"At least he captured Stannis Baratheon alive, and as far as I can tell, he obeyed our command to avoid spilling too much blood. I'm sure there is a legitimate reason for this delay," Jon said, for once being the calming influence on Davos.
"Ser Gerold went to check what's holding him up, your Grace, Lord Hand," Ser Arthur volunteered.
Jon gazed at his friend. The Sword of the Morning looked magnificent in his full regalia. Even after a two-day march, leading the cavalry west across muddy fields to join up with Lord Tarly, the knight had somehow managed to keep his White Cloak nearly spotless. Jon, on the other hand, cursed the fact that he had left Renny and Monty behind. He had tried to clean the blood and mud stuck to his harness with a wet cloth as best he could before Ser Patreck had finally fetched a servant boy to assist him.
Jon rose to his feet when Lord Tarly entered the room where he had been assigned to wait. Jon had removed part of his armour so that his arms and legs could move more freely, but sweat streamed across his brow nonetheless. He and his men had been kept waiting in a damp room of an abandoned keep that Lord Tarly had chosen because of its proximity to the Kingsroad where Tarly had set up camp.
"Your Grace." The proud Lord bowed before Jon. "My apologies for the delay."
Davos frowned when the Lord of Horn Hill did not drop to his knees to pledge fealty as expected; protocol demanded that he do this the first time he stood in the presence of his new King. Instead, Lord Tarly straightened his back, making it obvious that his height matched the King's. To emphasize the importance of the occasion, Davos used the long version when he began the courtesies. "May I introduce you to his Grace, King Aegon the Sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, The Prince of Dragonstone, Rider of Dragons and Friend of the Free Folk. My name is Lord Seaworth of the Crownlands, and I am the Hand of the King."
"Your Grace, my Lord Hand, you stand in the presence of Lord Randyll of House Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill," a guard accompanying Lord Tarly responded.
"Have you been given guest rights, your Grace?" Lord Tarly broke the silence.
"Bread and salt arrived promptly, Lord Tarly. But please enlighten us first: was there a purpose to keeping us waiting? Why did you not bring the prisoner with you, as requested? I would have understood if fetching Lord Baratheon was the reason you could not meet your King upon his arrival. I cannot think of any other valid reason for such blatant discourtesy. I believe you will not mind if we resume our seat?" Jon made a show of arranging his cloak, and was slightly mollified when he detected a blush on the arrogant Lord's cheek after Jon had rebuked him for his deliberate faux pas.
"Your Grace, I figured negotiations were in order before exchanging hostages. I was informed that my heir did not accompany you," Lord Tarly explained stiffly, gritting his teeth. It was obvious that the man was straining himself to stay polite.
Jon bristled inwardly at the slight directed at Sam, but decided to play dumb. "Lord Samwell of House Tarly was needed in King's Landing to help govern the realm in my absence, my Lord. He is a member of my small council and, for his sake, I will give you a chance to correct your earlier behaviour and show me the respect I am due as your King. And perhaps you might be interested to know that your younger son, Lord Dickon, is his elder brother's guest and is enjoying his stay in the capital very much."
Davos coughed, and Jon knew his Hand was discreetly chastising him for alienating their host and making the meeting more awkward than it had to be. "Both your sons are thriving in King's Landing, Lord Tarly. Your son Dickon's sword fighting skills have greatly improved under the tutelage of the Royal Guard. Nevertheless, I am sure he will be eager to return home soon." Davos' tone was as smooth and polite as if he was talking to the guest of honour at a social gathering.
"When will that be? Am I to understand that Dickon has not started his journey home yet, my Lord Hand? How much longer does House Tarly need to content itself with hollow words and promises from yet another ruler?" Disappointment and outrage dominated Lord Tarly's outburst.
"To whom House Tarly has not officially declared its fealty!" Davos countered, also fed up by now with their host's attitude.
"I came here and did as I was told. I am no traitor!" Randyll Tarly defended his actions with fervour.
Jon was done mincing his words. His raised his voice slightly and spoke with cold, regal authority. "Then hand Stannis Baratheon over to my Kingsguard and prove to me that he is indeed your prisoner. I do not apologize for criticizing your disrespect to my House, Lord Tarly. First, you have kept us waiting for no good reason; and then you desire us to concede to terms before granting us your fealty. This is not the behaviour of a loyal subject! I give you one last chance to act like a Lord worthy of leading a respected noble house, and order you to state your true intentions and allegiance this very instant!"
"Your Grace must forgive me for being overly cautious!" Lord Tarly quickly changed tactics and abandoned his harsh attitude. "I admit to some reluctance in following the orders of yet another House that considers it their divine right to issue them. For decades, House Tarly has been overlooked and has been refused their just reward for services rendered. Neither House Tyrell nor the Crown have ever paid us the respect we are due. I merely wanted a chance to start off our relationship on the right foot."
Jon frowned. "Then you have a strange way of doing that, Lord Tarly. A neutral observer might suspect you to be a traitor to the Crown. For all we know, you could be providing sanctuary to Stannis Baratheon and his forces!"
"Or you could be a man for sale to the highest bidder who is still hedging his bets," Davos added.
Jon sighed when Lord Tarly remained silent. "And here I was, all prepared to reward you for your help to my cause! Perhaps your eldest son was wrong to speak so highly of you. I sure as hell would not begrudge him if he damned you to the Seven Hells for your crimes against his person. I would choose Lord Samwell over you every single time!" He exchanged a glance with Davos.
Davos coughed to shift Lord Tarly's focus to him. "What my King is trying to tell you is that if you swear fealty to him, then out of respect for his close friend and your eldest son, Lord Samwell of House Tarly, his Grace is willing to forgive and forget your inexcusable, insubordinate behaviour. You are fortunate that the King is his own man, for that is not the advice I would give him now that I have met you in person. My advice to his Grace would be to strip you of your title and grant it instead to your heir. I consider that a mild punishment for a noble Lord who tries to blackmail his King and refuses to swear fealty!" Davos made a covert apologetic gesture to his King. What had started out as a reasonable attempt to defuse the situation had evolved into Davos intimidating Lord Tarly to give in.
The three men stared at each other for a long moment. Then the proud Lord at last dropped to his knees and swore fealty.
Jon answered formally with the words that protocol dictated, but he tried to conceal how hollow they sounded to him on this occasion. How was it possible that some nobles had become so brazen as to think they could get away with such disrespectful behaviour? Had Robert Baratheon's lack of interest in ruling led these men to believe that they could actually manipulate their sovereign? Or was it Jon's youth that emboldened these men to try and force their own agendas on their King?
Jon gestured for Lord Tarly to rise, thinking, What a father for Sam to grow up with! "Now, bring Lord Baratheon before me, and I promise that we will discuss the future of House Tarly afterwards. First of all, I will permit your son, Dickon, to return to Horn Hill if that is your wish. Samwell will remain in my services for the rest of his life, and will only leave my side for the time required to study at the Citadel."
Jon saw the tension disappear from the proud Lord's eyes. He realised full well that, by his swearing fealty to his King, the Crown would be granted the authority to reinstate Lord Samwell as the heir to Horn Hill; yet Jon had just declared that he had no intention of doing so. Jon surmised that this was the most likely reason for the relieved expression on the elder Tarly's usually stern face.
Things progressed quickly after that. Apparently Stannis Baratheon had been held prisoner nearby, for shortly after Lord Tarly sent his guard outside, the man soon returned with a subdued Stannis Baratheon, his hands and feet chained. Jon was not vindictive by nature, but this time he felt no compassion for the defeated man, who could only take small steps as he was pushed forward by the guards. They waited in silence until Lord Tarly realised that he was no longer needed and left the room with a surly expression on his face.
"Lord Stannis of House Baratheon, we meet again." Jon greeted the man stiffly. It took all his self-control to project a cool confidence and authority, and to mask a need for revenge that threatened to make his entire body tremble in anger. He was relieved that he managed to keep his voice steady as he informed the defeated man of his fate. "I will not play games and will keep this short. You are hereby stripped of all your power and titles. You will travel back to King's Landing accompanied by my army. There, you will stand trial, but that will only be a formality. Your crimes are numerous and we have witnesses in abundance. The day after trial, at noontime, you will be executed on the steps in front of the Sept of Bailor. I will send out riders on the morrow to announce this event to the public--and many, I am certain, will come to witness it. The only courtesy I will grant you is the nature of your execution: either by fire, the sword, the axe, poison, or strangling. Have you any questions?"
Stannis Baratheon, without blinking, asked flatly, "What is to become of my daughter? And of my wife?"
Jon admired the man's composure. But then, Stannis Baratheon had been captured the day before, so he had had ample time to resign himself to his fate.
Jon nodded to Davos, who replied, "Your daughter will marry Lord Domeric of House Newfort in approximately eight moons' time. In case your knowledge of the Northern houses is not up to date, Lord Domeric is the former Lord Bolton of the Dreadfort, the son of the late Lord Roose of House Bolton. Your wife will be allowed to choose where to live. King Aegon and Lord Newfort are both prepared to offer her their protection. I am certain that Lord Renly of House Baratheon, who will take over the leadership of the Stormlands and is now officially instated as the Lord of Storm's End, will also be willing to host your daughter should she wish to live there."
Stannis had turned pale. "Your Grace--Lord Hand--I beg you to have mercy on my daughter! She is innocent of all this!"
Jon held up a hand. "I am a Stark as much as I am a Targaryen, Stannis Baratheon." Jon would never again address the man as a Lord. There were other names that he would have wanted to call him, such as "fucking kinslayer" or "brainless coward," but he had promised Davos that he would remain polite. Instead, in the coldest tone he could manage, he continued, "So believe my next words, for though I have no reason to show you any kindness, I find myself willing to do so for the sake of your daughter, the Lady Shireen. It was her wish that she be betrothed to Lord Domeric of House Newfort, and I agreed on the condition that he proves himself worthy of her. I insisted on a twelve-moon betrothal, and, when my ultimatum expires, the wedding will proceed only if Shireen freely wishes it. She will be allowed to bring her personal guards and servants along with her to the North. Also, as my Hand mentioned earlier, Lord Newfort is willing to host Shireen's mother, your Lady Wife, indefinitely."
Jon stood then. "Prepare the prisoner for travel. I need to speak to Lord Tarly one last time, and then I will partake of a light lunch and be ready to head out immediately afterward. Spread the word. We leave at noon."
The guards left with their captive, and Jon gave orders to allow him and his companions a moment alone before asking Lord Tarly to rejoin them. He and Davos argued once more over the 'reward' that Jon wanted to bestow upon House Tarly. In the end they reached a compromise, although Davos still felt it was overly generous.
When Davos opened the door, Ser Arthur stood on the other side, blocking the way of Lord Tarly. "We're ready for you now, Lord Tarly," Davos said jovially, allowing both men to enter the room. Ser Arthur took up his position behind Jon's chair.
Jon gestured for Lord Tarly to sit down and waited patiently for him to do so. Then he said sternly, "Lord Tarly, before I begin, know that you owe a debt to your son, Lord Samwell, for each favour that I bestow upon you and your house. If ever I hear one disparaging word about him that can be traced back to you, I will strip House Tarly of its lands and rights. Are we clear on this?"
Lord Tarly bowed his head slightly and spoke, through gritted teeth, in a slightly repentant tone. "A father can admit that he made a mistake, your Grace. I should have allowed Sam to study at the Citadel and sign away his rights to Horn Hill when he offered that solution. I see that now."
"As long as we are clear on this matter," Jon repeated, keeping his tone stern and waiting until Lord Tarly nodded in assent. "Now to business: I will not oppose your will that declares Lord Dickon of House Tarly as the heir to Horn Hill. I promise to negotiate a betrothal on your behalf between him and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, and I will ensure that the dowry she brings with her will be a worthy one."
"Furthermore, I will send Northern experts to study your mines." Jon held up a hand to prevent Lord Tarly from protesting, and continued, "These men will carry with them a royal decree that stipulates that all their findings will remain the property of House Tarly, regardless of what they discover. After speaking to Sam about this, I had my Master of Whispers conduct an investigation. It appears that, in the South, you only mine for shiny substances such as gold, copper, and tin." Jon paused briefly to observe Lord Tarly's reaction to this. The man simply nodded once.
Thankful that the Lord of Horn Hill now knew better than to interrupt, Jon resumed his explanation. "In the North, men are more practical--for obvious reasons--and cherish every natural resource they can find a use for. It won't hurt, therefore, to have Northerners examine your mine. If they find materials that you believe to be of inferior quality, simply consider them goods to trade to regions that can use them. And, to further ease your mind, I will offer you the same tax deal that I offered House Lannister. You only owed a fair percentage to the Crown in proportion to your yield. Allow me to elaborate so that all parties are absolutely clear on this matter. No profit will mean that no taxes are due. On the other hand, if the mines start making large profits, a fair percentage of taxes directly calculated on the yield will have to be paid to the Crown."
"I am all surprises, your Grace! " Lord Tarly's eyes had widened. He sounded sincere and even somewhat respectful. "When I attempted to interrupt you earlier, it was merely to thank you on behalf of my son. He and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell . . . they, uh . . . well, suffice it to say, my son will be your loyal subject and will consider himself forever in your debt
Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement. "And you'll agree to have your mines examined? I'll let Sam handle this project until he has to leave for the Citadel. After that, you will have to deal directly with my Master of Coins, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister."
"As you stated, there is no harm in trying to get these mines up and running," Lord Tarly said eagerly.
Believing the hardest part to be over, Jon now looked at Davos, who stepped in. "Lord Tarly, you will understand that, due to today's events, his Grace must postpone appointing you as the official military commander of the armies of the Reach and the official military adviser to the Crown in time of war. He might reconsider this appointment after some time has passed and we have all learned to respect one another."
Lord Tarly approached and knelt before Jon, bowing his head in total submission. "My King, you see before you a humbled man. I never should have doubted your intentions. I never should have dismissed the advice that both my sons sent me. I will gratefully accept any punishment that you deem fit, and will, from this day forward, be your most devoted servant. Feel free to assign me any task, regardless of its nature."
At that exact moment, Jon's stomach growled. "And I'll arrange that a light lunch is brought in to you at once," Lord Tarly added quickly as he stood up.
"Can your men also provide more wood for our soldiers' campfires?" Davos asked pleasantly. "The stew we brought for them tastes much better when heated properly."
"I will attend to this matter at once, my King, Lord Hand." Lord Tarly bowed. As he reached the doorway, he turned and added, "I'll be there to see you off, my King!" Then the Lord of Horn Hill left the room, calling loudly for servants to attend him.
Lord Randyll of House Tarly did indeed show up at Jon's departure and made a big show of saying goodbye to the King. Jon noticed that Tarly had replaced the term 'your Grace' with the more significant 'my King' and would use it at every opportunity. Lord Tarly also issued an open invitation to Horn Hill and expressed his desire to entertain the royal couple as guests of honour at the future wedding of his son Lord Dickon, the heir to Horn Hill. He promised that the wedding would take place as soon as arrangements could be made.
"I thank you, Lord Tarly," Jon responded politely. "May I suggest that you hold the ceremony in the Sept of Baelor? If you do so, then only a summons to war could prevent me from attending with my Queen and our entourage." He nodded his head in salute and signalled to his forces to move out.
Jon and the cavalry would travel ahead. The large contingent of foot soldiers was assigned to ensure the safe transport of the prisoners to the encampment, where all the Crown's armies would reconvene before either marching to King's Landing or returning home. Jon had made sure that everyone knew that the Baratheon prisoners were to be treated with respect, and that anyone who ignored this command would be harshly punished. He had asked for a list of the prisoners' names to be drawn up so that he could check later if they were all accounted for and had reached their destination unharmed and well.
It was Ser Arthur's turn to ride to his King's left during the first leg of their journey. "Bit of an anti-climax, your Grace--all that training and preparation, just to intimidate an enemy. The Dornish and the Huntsmen had all the fun!"
Jon looked at him. "Daenerys will be relieved when she receives the message that we suffered no casualties and minimised the bloodshed. Don't fret, my friend--we still have the war against the dead ahead of us! Your training will not be in vain. Those ice creatures are highly skilled and incredibly fast!"
"I'll be standing next to you, my King. I'll be guarding your left, your weaker side." Ser Arthur winked.
"And I would not wish it otherwise, Ser Arthur," Jon answered gravely, then fell silent. Sometime later, he asked, "You know these lands well, Ser Arthur. How long before we reach the encampment?"
"In less than a day and a half, your Grace," Ser Arthur chuckled. "I wonder, how often will you ask me that question before we reach our destination? Perhaps I should have taken Ozzie up on that bet after all!"
Interlude 51: Of prophesies and demons
High up in the North, a dome shuddered from the force of the Great Other's wrath. The Night King tried to remain calm. Ever since he had let the Demon--or "God", as the mortals called it--merge with him to make him more powerful, things had started to go downhill.
He had acquired the greensight, but when he and the Demon used it, they had discovered a young boy at least as powerful as he was, and so his newfound power had been neutralised. He had then acquired the power to manipulate his nemesis through the trees, but the young greenseer and his nemesis discovered this immediately and they stopped using that medium, so it was all for nothing. The Great Other had also granted him the ability to wield a sword more skilfully and swiftly than any human being, and the Night King had transferred as much of that skill as he could to his weaker brothers--only to learn that the prophesized saviour had also obtained otherworldly powers and could match his brothers stroke for stroke.
The Night King had then prepared to cast the Great Other out of his icy body, but the demonic entity had whispered sweet words to him about defeating his nemesis with his own weapons. He had shown the Night King a vision of the fire-breathing, flying beasts and their enslavement by another. The Great Other had also promised that soon, the new mortal King, who was also the Night King's prophesised nemesis, would have only his magic sword when he returned to the North to engage him in battle. The fire-breathing beasts would no longer obey him.
Together with the Great Other, the Night King had watched the one-eyed man's endeavours, and he had almost tasted victory when the white dragon fell and the green one was injured. But his hopes were crushed once again. To assuage his despair, the Great Other had seduced him with visions of blood magic and a great war in the far South that would decimate his enemy's forces.
"Let those petty, weak humans fight amongst themselves first!" the demon entity had whispered in the Night King's mind.
"How will that help us? Their corpses will be buried too far south for us to recruit them!" he had protested.
"True, but you fail to see the big picture, my newfound ally and friend." The tempting voice in the Night King's head had persisted. "This is no minor conflict. This can turn into an all-out war that will potentially decimate our nemesis' forces."
The Night King had nevertheless remained sceptical, and so the demon had revealed where he drew some of his power from. "Do not underestimate me, my second half! The blood shed by those mortals will leak into the soil, and I can harness it from there. I will use it to empower me. This Great Other will become even greater and, as a result, you, the feared Night King, will become even more fearsome!"
How could the Night King blame himself for being seduced by this promise? The demon had not stopped there. Again, the Night King's mind had been flooded with enticing words and images. "With the additional power that I will harvest, I can create a large army of ice spiders. Giant ones!" The Great Other's voice had sounded ever so sweet.
The Night King had studied the images of the large creatures with sharp spikes that could turn in all directions and skewer anything that they encountered. But he made no reply.
Then the Great Other had made the argument that would have the most impact on the Night King. "The carnage in the south will help us more than you can imagine, my friend. Our magic powers will grow to unseen levels! We will be able to raise the dead who are buried over a much larger area than just these northern lands. Who knows, we may even be able to reach out over the entire continent of Westeros!"
The Night King had kept watching while blood had been spilled, though it had not been enough; in fact, it had been insufficient to create the undefeatable army of ice spiders that he had been promised. The Great Other had promised him thousands upon thousands of victims. Unfortunately, though, someone had warned his nemesis. This mortal King that Was Promised had known that it was vital not to spill too much blood. At this rate, the Night King would never defeat the mortal King before he died of old age. And that was not an option.
The Great Other had also not been unable to hide his disappointment, his frustration and rage manifested in the continuous shuddering of the dome. The Night King had wisely chosen not to say a word; he had thrown in his lot with this powerful demon, and it was too late to back out now. He needed the demon's magic to create more ice creatures since it was now nearly impossible to expand his army using living beings. The mortals who still lived on his side of the magical ice wall had learned that an army of White Walkers and dead slaves was coming for them, and had thus strengthened their defences.
The one good thing that the Great Other had done was reveal to the Night King that the prophecy was more like a curse that linked his life force to his prophesized nemesis. The Night King had doubted this at first, but the more he had thought about it, the more it made sense; for, at the exact moment that the Prince that Was Promised had been born in the South, the Night King had re-awoken in the North and had crawled out from under the ice. He had been appalled to learn that thousands of years had elapsed while he had been imprisoned in the ice, slumbering and unaware.
The Night King had immediately begun to build up a new force around him, as he had done several millennia ago. Thanks to a craven man, devoid of a conscience, who had willingly offered him his male offspring, the Night King had been able to create ice creatures in his own image, although they were much weaker versions of himself. Time was of the essence: if he did not defeat this nemesis, born to be his anti-force so that the universe could stay in balance, he was fated to die the moment that the mortal life of this prophesised Prince ended. For a being such as he was, that fate was unacceptable. It had been bad enough that he had been forced to hibernate for thousands of years. The only way he could avoid his fate would be to turn this mortal Prince into his servant and grant him eternal life as well. They would either both live or both perish. It would be harder than expected, for his prophesised nemesis had already risen from a simple Prince to become the King of a large dominion.
When the Great Other had come to offer his help, the Night King had jumped at the opportunity. His powerful ally had helped him regain the ability to awaken the dead and make them do his bidding. But when his lust for power grew, he had fallen into a trap and allowed himself to be persuaded to merge his body with that of the Great Other. Thus, he was no longer master of his fate. The Great Other had successfully convinced him to go along with his own plans. All memory of a pact that would offer him a way out and ensure his survival was suppressed, and now he could only vaguely remember that this pact had once existed.
The Great Other had only two goals: to destroy the living and to turn the Prince into an ice creature. When the Night King had argued that this would be impossible--the Prince, or rather, the King, was no blank slate for them to enslave and command--the alluring voice of the Great Other had whispered that he should never underestimate the powers of his demonic other half. Now that their minds had merged, the Night King could be considered a half-God, and what limits did a half- God have? Besides, the Great Other would never allow himself to be defeated by a mere mortal.
The Night King could offer no counter-arguments, so he allowed the Great Other to take charge of all his movements for the time being, watching passively as the situation evolved. Even when he had lost half of the army that he had so painstakingly built, he had not stirred from his self-inflicted confinement. His brothers had revolted at first, but the Great Other had successfully seduced them with his otherworldly powers and sweet promises. Eternal life and unlimited power after their victory were promised to all who followed him.
When the first ice spiders started crawling around, not a single brother spoke up against the Great Other. The Night King decided to bide his time and, for the time being, let the future be determined by his other half. What other option did he have left, anyway? The Pact had been all but forgotten. Its terms had been broken over time and had resulted in the birth of the new Saviour and his own re-awakening.
Or was it the other way around, perhaps? Had his re-awakening resulted in the birth of that mortal saviour? Since all the parties necessary to reinstate the Pact no longer existed in this realm, it was nothing but a lost cause now; it no longer mattered that he could not remember the particulars of the Pact. He was still alive, and as long as the Great Other used his body as a host, he was immortal . . . was he not?
*