The morning light in the King's Landing council hall streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled shadows on the long oak table.
At the center of the table lay the 'Logistics and Supply Regulations for the Anti-Cold God Allied Forces,' which Tyrion had revised overnight.
The parchment's edges were frayed from being rubbed by fingers, and the still-wet ink of 'dragonglass weapons to be prioritized for the Night's Watch in the North' stood out prominently.
Daenerys wore deep purple dragon-scale leather armor, her silver-white hair tied back with a ruby-studded hairband.
The warmth from her dragonblood jade belt permeated through her clothing, yet it couldn't dispel the gravity in her brows—Bran's Greensight warning had arrived last night, and the ice mist from the Arctic ice fields had already reached the foot of the Wall, leaving the Allied Forces only one month to prepare.
"My Lords," Daenerys said, raising a hand to quell the whispers in the hall.
Behind her, her Unsullied guards in bronze armor formed a neat phalanx, the clatter of their armor sharp as bells.
"Today, we must finalize the food supply routes and the distribution of dragonglass weapons.
the cold god's ice mist waits for no one—"
"Your Majesty seems to have forgotten, the rules of Westeros have never been 'whoever is in a hurry calls the shots,'" Lord Jason Lannister of the Westerlands suddenly rose, the lion emblem on his red brocade robe gleaming in the morning light.
He was a distant nephew of Tywin Lannister, and since Cersei's downfall, he had considered himself the 'legitimate heir of the Westerlands,' openly opposing the council system multiple times.
At this moment, he was toying with a bronze ring engraved with his family crest, his eyes harboring a challenge.
Daenerys's fingertip gently tapped her waist, the warm, smooth feel of the dragonblood jade calming her slightly.
"Lord Jason, if you have something to say, speak plainly; there's no need to beat around the bush."
"Speak plainly?" Jason sneered, pulling a yellowed scroll of parchment from his embrace and slamming it onto the long table.
The gust of wind from the unfurling paper stirred the robes of the surrounding lords.
"Then I shall ask all of you—why has Lord Jon Snow, whom Your Majesty appointed as the 'Commander of the Anti-Cold God Forces,' never mentioned his true identity?"
The hall instantly fell silent, with only the crackling of burning candles echoing from the rafters.
Jon fiercely gripped the hilt of longclaw, the Direwolf emblem on the scabbard digging painfully into his palm.
Although he had mentally prepared himself after Sam revealed his lineage, he never expected to be thrust into the spotlight in such a crude manner—the words "son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, Aegon Targaryen" on the parchment were written in the distinctive iron-pen script of The Citadel archives, the ink already a deep brown, clearly an old document carefully unearthed.
"Targaryen..." Count Manderly, a Northern lord, was the first to explode.
His fat hand slammed on the table, sloshing ale from his mug.
"Lyanna's son! Then Lord Jon is the rightful heir to the iron throne!
Why should we in the North obey an outsider Queen leading Dothraki and Unsullied?"
These words were like a spark falling into a haystack.
Count Mormont abruptly stood up, the sheath of his dragonglass dagger knocking against the table leg with a dull thud.
"Manderly is right!
Lord Jon has Stark blood and is the legitimate Targaryen; he should be on the iron throne, leading the Anti-Cold God Allied Forces!"
Karstark, Umber, and other Northern lords voiced their agreement, and the eastern side of the council hall immediately erupted in a chorus of "Support Jon," forming a Stark contrast to the silence of Daenerys's supporters on the western side.
Jon knocked over his chair as he stood, the wooden crash temporarily silencing the hall.
He walked to the center of the long table, his gaze sweeping over the agitated Northern lords, then settling on Daenerys's complicated face, his voice carrying an undisguised weariness.
"My lineage... is indeed as Lord Jason stated.
But I have never sought to contend for the iron throne, nor will I use this identity to divide the alliance—what we should be doing now is preparing forces against the cold god, not arguing over bloodlines."
"That's not right, my Lord!" Edgar Frey of the Riverlands squeezed to the front row.
He was the youngest son of Lyman Frey, and since his father's death, he had been trying to restore House Frey's status, his eyes now gleaming with opportunism.
"You can't just disown your bloodline!
The North supports you, and we nobles in the Westerlands also acknowledge you.
If you refuse to contend, wouldn't that allow Queen Daenerys's council system to continue trampling on noble dignity?"
Grey Worm, behind Daenerys, suddenly took a half-step forward, and the Unsullied guards simultaneously placed their hands on the hilts of their dragonglass daggers, the friction of their armor revealing a chilling killing intent.
"Mind your words!
Her Majesty the Queen led us to defeat Cersei and protect King's Landing; it's not for a traitor's descendant like you to comment!"
"Traitor's descendant?" Edgar's face flushed red, and he reached to draw the sword at his waist, but Jason, standing beside him, held him back.
Jason slowly walked to Daenerys, his eyes sweeping over the Unsullied behind her, his tone filled with contempt.
"Your Majesty, you see, this is your council system—allowing Unsullied of common birth to draw swords against nobles.
If Lord Jon were willing to ascend the throne, would Westeros have come to this?"
The arguments in the hall erupted again.
The Northern lords, along with the opposing nobles from the Westerlands and Riverlands, formed a united front.
Daenerys's supporters—Jorah, the commander of the Dothraki Riders, representatives of King's Landing commoners, and messengers from The Citadel—though they argued strenuously, were suppressed by the opposing side's argument of "legitimate bloodline."
Tyrion, leaning on his cane, tried to mediate but was drowned out by shouts of "The iron throne belongs to the Targaryen" and "Oppose outsiders."
He looked at Daenerys's pale face and Jon's taut jaw, sighing inwardly: The rift of power, after all, was finally cut open by the knife of bloodline.
[Red Keep Terrace: A Crisis of Trust at Dusk]
The afternoon sun gradually slanted westward, and the council was forced to adjourn in chaos.
Daenerys ascended the Red Keep terrace alone, Drogon's bronze figure circling in the distant clouds, his roar occasionally echoing, carrying a restless tremor.
Her fingertips caressed the dragonblood jade belt, a gift from Illyrio on Dragonstone.
At the time, he had said, "Jade can ward off evil and keep you clear-headed in chaos," but at this moment, the warm touch in her palm could not suppress the chill in her heart.
"Daenerys," Jon's voice came from behind her.
He had removed his black commander's cloak, wearing only a grey wool sweater, looking much more haggard than he had in the council hall.
"I..."
"You don't need to apologize," Daenerys turned, her gaze falling on the Direwolf emblem on his chest, which the Winterfell blacksmith had reforged for him, its edges still bearing a freshly polished gleam.
"I know you don't want this; those nobles are using your lineage."
"But what they are using is a bloodline I cannot deny," Jon walked to the edge of the terrace, looking down at King's Landing below—smoke from the commoners' district curled upwards, children chased each other in the streets, utterly unaware that the game of power had unfolded above their heads.
"Manderly and the others are genuinely for the North, but Jason wants to use my identity to overthrow the council system and restore noble rule.
How should I choose?
To refuse would chill the hearts of the North; to accept would betray you and the alliance we built together."
Daenerys watched him silently, remembering their first meeting on Dragonstone, when this Night's Watchman who called himself "Jon Snow" had only worry for the Others in his eyes, not a trace of ambition for power.
But fate insisted on giving him Targaryen blood, pushing him into the struggle for the iron throne.
"Do you remember what we said in the Godswood at Winterfell?" Daenerys asked softly.
"We said we would protect Westeros together, not let it fall into war again."
"I haven't forgotten," Jon's Adam's apple bobbed.
"But now, we can barely hold the alliance together."
The terrace door was gently pushed open, and Tyrion entered, leaning on his cane, his cloak still dusty from the council hall.
He saw the silence between the two and sighed.
"I just overheard Jason and Edgar talking in the corridor.
They not only plan to unite the Northern nobles but also intend to send ravens to Qarth in the East, to borrow troops from the 'Thirteen'.
The Qartheen have always wanted to get their hands on Westeros's dragons, and Jason promised them that if Jon ascended the throne, he would allow them to establish a magic stronghold in King's Landing."
Daenerys's pupils suddenly constricted.
"The magic forces of Qarth? They want to control Drogon and Rhaegal?"
"More than that," Tyrion pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his embrace.
"This is what I intercepted from Edgar's attendant; it says 'use Qartheen mages to eliminate Unsullied hidden dangers'—they not only want power but also want to eliminate the foreign forces you brought."
Jon clenched his fists abruptly, his knuckles turning white.
"I will never let them introduce foreign forces!
The affairs of Westeros should be resolved by the people of Westeros themselves!"
"But your current situation leaves you no choice."
Tyrion's cane tapped lightly on the flagstones.
"The Northern Lords are blinded by 'legitimate bloodline', the Westerlands nobles long for the old order to be restored.
Lord Jason only needs to fan the flames, and within three days, the slogan 'Jon should ascend the iron throne' will spread throughout King's Landing.
Daenerys, you have dragons and Unsullied, but you cannot move against the North; Jon, you have the support of the North, but you are unwilling to be an enemy to Daenerys — you two are stuck in a political deadlock."
The afterglow of the setting sun cast long shadows over the three of them.
In the distance, on Blackwater Bay, Yara's Iron Islands longship was slowly entering the harbor, the kraken totem on its sail faintly visible in the twilight.
Daenerys looked at the ship and suddenly remembered Yara once saying, "The Iron Islands only recognize leaders who can protect them, not bloodlines."
A faint glimmer of hope gradually appeared in her heart: perhaps, there was still someone who could break this deadlock.
[Winterfell Study: The Undercurrents of the North and Sansa's Plans]
The snow in Winterfell was thicker than in King's Landing, and the moonlight falling on the accumulated snow in the courtyard gave off a cold, crisp glow.
Sansa sat at the oak table in the study, clutching the secret letter Jon had sent via raven, the edges of the letter crumpled by her fingertips.
The letter detailed the chaos of the King's Landing council and Lord Jason's conspiracy to introduce Qarth's influence, with the last sentence, "If the North falls into chaos, fighting the cold god is hopeless," sinking her heart to the bottom.
"My Lady, Lord Manderly and Lord Mormont request an audience, saying they have important matters to discuss."
The maid's voice came from outside the door, carrying a cautious hint of inquiry.
Sansa took a deep breath, locked the secret letter in a drawer, and stood up to straighten her dark grey wool dress — it was an old dress of her mother Catelyn's, the Direwolf embroidery on the collar was somewhat faded, but it always gave her strength.
"Let them in."
As soon as Lord Manderly entered, he eagerly said, "My Lady, you must have heard the news from King's Landing!
Lord Jon is the legitimate Targaryen, and we in the North must support his ascension!
Queen Daenerys's council system puts commoners above nobles, and if this continues, the North will sooner or later be swallowed by her foreign forces!"
Lord Mormont echoed, "Yes, Lady Sansa!
You are the Lady of the North, and as long as you agree, we will immediately summon the Lords and collectively petition Daenerys to abdicate and support Lord Jon!"
Sansa walked to the fireplace, watching the flickering flames, her tone calm but with an undeniable authority: "My Lords, I know your loyalty to Lord Jon, and I understand your dissatisfaction with the council system.
But have you considered what kind of situation supporting Jon's claim to the iron throne now would put the North in?"
She turned to face them, her gaze sharp as a knife: "What kind of person is Jason Lannister?
He is Tywin's distant nephew, determined to restore Lannister's hegemony!
He supports Jon not for the North, but to use our strength to overthrow Daenerys, and then in turn control Jon!
And Qarth's forces, if they truly intervene, the first to suffer will be the North — Qarth warlocks are obsessed with dragonblood, and Jon is a Targaryen, Drogon and Rhaegal are close to him, do you think they will let the North off?"
Lord Manderly's face gradually turned pale, and he opened his mouth but said nothing.
Lord Mormont also lowered his head, clearly enlightened by Sansa's words.
"Lord Jon said in his letter that he does not wish for the alliance to split for the sake of the iron throne."
Sansa took another letter from the drawer, an early warning from Bran through Greensight, depicting The Cold God's Altar in the Arctic ice plains.
"Bran's Greensight shows that the cold god's ice mist will break through the Wall within a month, and if we fight amongst ourselves now, the Night's Watch and commoners of the North will all become food for Wights.
By then, even if Jon ascends the iron throne, what can he protect?"
She handed the letter to the two, her voice softening slightly: "Tomorrow I will summon all the Northern Lords and tell them — the North supports Lord Jon as the commander against the cold god, fully cooperating with the preparations for the allied army, but the matter of the iron throne must be discussed after the cold god is defeated.
Anyone who dares to stir up trouble at this time will be an enemy of the North, an enemy of all Westeros."
Lord Manderly and Lord Mormont exchanged glances, both seeing understanding in each other's eyes.
Lord Manderly nodded heavily: "My Lady is right!
We almost got carried away by power and forgot that the cold god is the biggest threat!
Rest assured, we will help you persuade the other Lords!"
After they left, Sansa once again looked out at the moonlight.
In the snow, the shadow of her Direwolf, "Lady," lay quietly, like a guardian statue.
She remembered her father Ned often saying, "The North remembers,"
and only now did she truly understand that this "remembrance" was not about holding grudges, but about knowing how to hold the line in a crisis — what the North wanted was not the iron throne, but a leader who could protect them, a homeland no longer consumed by war.
[King's Landing at Night: The Conspiracy of the Opposing Nobles and Tyrion's Arrangement]
Deep in the night in King's Landing, the mansions of the Westerlands nobles were brightly lit.
Jason Lannister sat at the head of the table, a map of Westeros spread before him, Edgar Frey and several minor Westerlands Lords gathered around the table, their faces full of excitement.
"Jon's identity has been exposed, and those fools in the North will definitely cause trouble."
Edgar took a sip of ale, his tone triumphant, "As long as we get Qarth's messenger to depart as soon as possible, even with dragons, Daenerys won't be able to withstand an attack from both inside and out!"
"I've already arranged things with Qarth.
My distant cousin does spice trade in Qarth and can directly contact the Thirteen."
Lord Jason's finger tapped on the location of King's Landing on the map.
"They want information about the dragons, and we'll give it to them — Daenerys's dragons are active in The Vale every day, as long as Qarth warlocks can control one of them, Daenerys will completely lose her reliance."
A Westerlands Lord said worriedly, "But what if Jon firmly refuses to ascend the iron throne?
We can't force him to sit on the iron throne, can we?"
"Force?"
Lord Jason sneered, pulling out a seal from his 懷 — it was a fake seal carved to resemble Jon's Direwolf sigil.
"We don't need to force him, we just need to forge a letter from him to Qarth, saying he's willing to cooperate with them.
When Daenerys sees it, she'll definitely suspect Jon.
By then, even if Jon doesn't want to contend, the alliance will break, and we'll seize the opportunity to put forward a new candidate.
The iron throne will ultimately be ours."
The few men exchanged smiles, completely unaware that in the shadows outside the window, Tyrion's attendant was quietly retreating.
In the Red Keep's secret chamber, Tyrion relayed the news brought by his attendant to Daenerys and Jon, his cane tapping urgently on the floor: "They want to forge letters to sow discord, and they also want to use Qarth warlocks to control dragons — we must resolve this crisis within three days, otherwise, once Qarth's messenger departs, everything will be too late."
"I'll go to The Vale to strengthen defenses, to prevent Qarth warlocks from approaching Drogon and Rhaegal."
Daenerys immediately stood up, determination flashing in her eyes, "Jorah will lead the Dothraki Riders to guard the outer perimeter of The Vale, and the Unsullied will be responsible for internal security, absolutely not giving them a chance to touch the dragons."
Jon also said, "I will return to the North tomorrow and personally persuade the Lords to give up their claims and fully prepare against the cold god.
As long as the North is stable, Lord Jason will have no reliance."
Tyrion nodded, then added: "I will go to Yara, her Iron Islands fleet has just arrived in Blackwater Bay.
As long as she is willing to help us blockade the harbor, Qarth's messenger will not be able to leave King's Landing.
Additionally, Sam from The Citadel has sent word that Melisandre is already on her way to King's Landing; her holy fire can counteract magic, and perhaps she can help us deal with the Qarth warlocks."
The candlelight in the secret chamber flickered, and the shadows of the three intertwined on the wall.
Daenerys looked at Jon and suddenly extended her hand: "No matter what happens, we cannot let Lord Jason's conspiracy succeed.
The alliance against the cold god must not break."
Jon clasped her hand, the warmth in his palm dispelling some of the chill: "It won't break.
The future of Westeros is more important than the iron throne."
Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened, and the first ray of dawn shone through the window into the secret chamber, falling on their clasped hands.
They knew that the next three days would be crucial in determining the fate of the alliance — the cracks of power had appeared, but as long as they stood united, there was still a chance to preserve this hard-won peace before the cold god's ice mist arrived.