The Son of Ice and Fire (Jon Snow SI)

The bells from the Great Sept of Baelor tolled, their mournful tones echoing across King's Landing. They had been ringing for some time now, announcing the end of one reign and the beginning of another. A king was dead, and two new ones had risen to take his place.

Lyonel walked with a contingent of Varangians, each step in sync as they marched into the Red Keep. Their boots moved in perfect rhythm, their steady, unified cadence melding with the somber toll of the bells.

He led his men into the main courtyard of the Red Keep and halted them with a curt motion. Turning to face them, his eyes steady and sharp, he commanded, "You know what to do."

The Varangians gave a solemn nod, their faces grim. Without another word, they split off, each moving swiftly in different directions through the Keep, securing halls, doors, and key passageways. Their mission was clear: to ensure Maekar's command and cleanse the Red Keep of any loyal to Aegon.

Lyonel himself turned, striding purposefully through the Keep, each corner already guarded by men he trusted. As he moved, he ensured the four Kingsguard were near King Rhaegar, who was being prepared for burial by the Silent Sisters. The Kingsguard stood vigil, their white cloaks draped in mourning.

He moved through the dimly lit corridors, eyes sharp, ears straining for any disturbances. The Red Keep was now unnervingly silent. When he felt confident that all was secure, he headed toward the throne room to see Maekar, his king.

The throne room doors swung open before him, and Lyonel entered with a determined stride. His eyes were immediately drawn to the Iron Throne—the twisted, jagged structure made of a thousand swords, melted together in dragonfire. Standing before it was Maekar, his back straight, his gaze firmly fixed on the throne that was now his.

In the room were lords from the North and the Vale, standing beside their liege lords, Brandon Stark and Jon Arryn. Lyonel recognized Lord Mooton, Lord Blackwood, and Lord Mallister—some of the few loyal lords from the southern Riverlands who had declared for Maekar. He noted the slim number of Stormland lords as well: Lord Dondarrion, Lord Caron, Lord Penrose, and Lord Tarth.

From the Crownlands, Lyonel saw Lord Rykker, Lord Staunton, Lord Buckwell, Lord Rosby, as well as Houses Massey, Velaryon, and Celtigar. Most of the Crownlands supported Maekar; only those in the southwest—the houses of Gaunt, Rollingford, Cressy, and Landward—did not.

Despite the odds stacked against them, Lyonel could sense the confidence among the gathered lords. Maekar had confirmed that the dragon they all saw during the tourney was his, and that had caused many lords to outright declare victory even before the first battle.

Lyonel continued his walk toward the Iron Throne, his ears catching snippets of the ongoing discussion.

"My king, this is a dangerous plan," Lord Jon Arryn was saying, his brows furrowed in concern. "How sure are you that the West will declare for you? Lord Tywin is not one to change his allegiance easily."

"I am sure, my lord. The West will declare for us soon enough," Maekar replied, his tone carrying no hesitation. "Lord Tywin's position is not as secure as he believes it is."

Lyonel approached Maekar and stood by his side, a silent presence. Maekar looked over at him briefly and gave a faint nod, acknowledging his sworn shield.

"The Keep is secure," Lyonel whispered to his king.

"Good," Maekar said before turning his attention back to the lords.

"I will repeat what we have discussed, to make sure we are all aligned," Maekar began, his voice measured, his gaze sharp. "First and foremost, the Riverlands," he said, moving to the center of the room where a detailed map was spread across the floor.

He gestured to the sprawling territory of the Riverlands, his finger pointing toward the southern regions. "The Riverlands are currently split between those loyal to Aegon in the north and our supporters in the south.

"House Mallister and House Blackwood," he paused, looking at both lords, "are the only ones in the north that pledged to me. However, both of these houses are isolated, surrounded by those loyal to Aegon. I am sure Lord Edmure will be invading their lands first."

"Why has your goodbrother sided with the mad prince, Lord Stark?" one of the Vale lords asked.

"I have nothing to say on the matter. He has chosen his side," Brandon said coldly.

Maekar looked at Brandon. "Uncle, I am asking for your aid to support Mallister and Blackwood. We need them to hold their ground."

Brandon nodded. "Ned can lead a detachment south, and I'll have Howland move men through the swamps to support the flanks."

Lord Ryswell, standing at Brandon's side, stepped forward. "I also have men nearby, hunting ironborn raiders in the area. I could divert them to reinforce our allies as well."

Maekar gave an approving nod. "Good. They'll need the support. The knights of the Vale will strike from the east as we box in the Riverlands forces loyal to Aegon, preventing Edmure's armies from moving further south." He then turned to Lord Jon Arryn. "Your forces will be crucial in this. They must apply enough pressure from the east to ensure the Riverlands forces are isolated."

Lord Arryn frowned, his brow creasing in concern. "Even with the Vale attacking from the east and the support of the North, are you certain it will be enough for your invasion to the south, my king? You don't yet have the numbers to match Aegon's forces outright."

Maekar didn't flinch. His expression was calm. "Perhaps not yet," he agreed. "But I have most of the Crownlands loyal to me and the southern Riverlands. That will be enough to begin."

"And a dragon," Brandon added.

"Dragons can be killed," Jon Arryn said cautiously.

"Not this one," one of the lords said, remembering its sheer size.

Monford Velaryon, standing with the other lords of Blackwater Bay, stepped forward. "We control the seas, my lords," he added confidently. "We have the royal fleet and also our own fleets."

Maekar gave a thin smile. "Yes. The sea will be ours to control. And when the West joins us," he said, his eyes flickering with a glimmer of something dark, "once that happens, I will have enough forces to end this rebellion with one decisive battle."

The gathered lords murmured in satisfaction, nodding to one another.

Lord Velaryon cleared his throat. "What about the Stepstones, my king?" he asked. "We just pacified it."

Maekar's lips curled into a smile. "Our ally there can hold it until the war is finished."

Monford Velaryon nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. "I do not trust her."

Maekar raised a hand, cutting him off. "Do not worry, Lord Velaryon. Asha wishes to return home; through this, I will know her loyalties."

Maekar then captured the attention of all the lords again. "Once we have the Crownlands fully secured, I will take twenty thousand men to invade the Stormlands," he said. His finger traced a path from King's Landing southeast to Storm's End.

Lord Arryn scowled, muttering under his breath, "Seven hells, Stannis, if only you hadn't been so damn stubborn..."

Maekar shook his head, sympathy faint in his gaze. "I've spoken with young Durran, but he was unwilling to betray his father, despite everything."

Lord Tarth nodded gravely. "Stannis was never like Robert—he's too unbending. Once his mind is set, there's no moving him."

Lord Caron spoke up next, his voice tinged with melancholy. "I think Stannis has carried blame toward Robert for some time, especially after young Renly died in the siege at Storm's End. It hardened him even more."

Maekar pressed on. "My priority is to bring the Stormlands into submission as swiftly as possible. The fewer lives lost, the better."

Lord Caron inclined his head in agreement. "I believe many of the Stormlords will not even put up a fight once they see that Your Grace commands a dragon."

"That's exactly what I hope for," Maekar said firmly. "I have no illusions that this war will be a bloody affair, but I will try to shed as little blood as possible."

Brandon Stark chimed in. "Once the Stormlands kneel, that leaves only the Reach and Dorne."

Maekar nodded. "Once the Stormlands submit, the Western forces—when they declare for me—will march into the Reach. I intend to bring Aegon to battle, and with any luck, we can end this with one decisive clash."

Brandon smiled at Maekar's confidence, a rare flash of pride visible. "It's a great plan, especially with a dragon on our side. Perhaps we won't need to raise half as many men as we initially thought."

Lord Greatjon Umber let out a booming laugh. "Ha! We'll fight this war all the same, Lord Stark. You won't be asking us to stay home and miss out on a proper fight."

Maekar gave the massive lord a smile. "Very well, Lord Umber. Stay here if you must; I could use an experienced commander like you."

The Greatjon chuckled deeply. "I accept that offer, Your Grace. I fear that the North may play the role like in the first Dance, where we arrived late."

A few of the gathered lords murmured their laughter, the mood lightening just a bit.

Lord Rykker of Duskendale cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Grace, when will your coronation be held?"

"Tomorrow, before you all depart," Maekar replied. He turned his gaze to Lord Rykker and the other Crownlands lords gathered nearby. "We will need to strategize in more detail this evening, especially concerning the defense and preparation of the Crownlands. There is much work to be done."

The lords nodded in agreement, and Maekar was about to speak again when he noticed the grand doors to the throne room creak open. He saw the four Kingsguard—Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Oswell Whent, and Jaime Lannister—enter, walking toward them, their white cloaks trailing behind.

Maekar sighed and muttered, "Right... let's get this over with." He turned and began to ascend the steps of the Iron Throne.

As Maekar took his seat upon the Iron Throne, the assembled lords gathered closely, and courtiers began filtering into the throne room following the Kingsguard. From the throne, Maekar could see Lyonel and his Varangians at the base, their hands hovering near their swords.

There was a tense silence, which was broken by a commanding voice. "What is the meaning of this, Prince Maekar?" Arthur Dayne demanded, stepping forward.

Brandon Stark's voice cut across the room, loud and proud. "That's King Maekar to you, Ser!" he shouted, his smirk broadening. The correction rang out like a challenge, and murmurs rippled through the room.

"This is treason," Barristan Selmy declared, his expression hardening as he took a step forward. His eyes were steely, filled with disbelief.

Arthur added sharply, addressing the gathered lords. "King Aegon the Sixth is your true king. He is King Rhaegar's heir."

Maekar watched them with a bored expression, as if the Kingsguard's words were nothing more than an inconvenience. He raised a hand, gesturing for silence before he spoke.

"Do you see my brother anywhere here?" Maekar's voice was cold, echoing through the vast hall. "Shouldn't he have been here—with my father—when he lay dying?" His gaze swept the hall, a pointed question that left a sting in its wake.

Arthur Dayne's eyes flashed with frustration. "Aegon is Rhaegar's heir."

Maekar rose from his seat, his demeanor mocking. "Yet, here I am—king." He spread his arms wide, his voice dripping with derision, eliciting a round of laughter from the assembled lords. "Where is my brother now?" he added, letting the question hang.

"You know what happened to Aegon after Euron," Maekar continued, his voice turning sharp. "His mind—broken, just like my grandsire's. Yet you still choose to follow him." He glanced at Arthur and Barristan with a pointed look.

"You cannot know that," Barristan protested, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his loyalty.

Maekar turned his gaze to the legendary knight. "Oh, Ser Barristan," he said with a hint of pity. "Always searching for the good king to serve, always so blind to reality, and forever ending up disappointed." He took a step forward. "Serve me, Ser Barristan. Be the man who finally stands beside a king worthy of your vows. Serve the king you have always wanted to serve."

Arthur Dayne shook his head defiantly. "This is treason, Maekar. You have turned against your own blood."

Maekar's face hardened, his gaze sweeping over the Kingsguard. "I'll make it simple. Kneel to me, or leave and find Aegon." He paused, giving them a chance. "You have a choice."

Arthur and Barristan exchanged a look, their resolve unchanged. "We will leave," Arthur declared, his voice steady. He turned on his heel, ready to walk out.

Barristan hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding. He followed Arthur, their cloaks trailing behind them as they moved to leave. But as they reached the threshold, Arthur stopped abruptly. He turned, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Oswell and Jaime had not moved an inch.

"Oswell, Jaime—come. We need to go." Arthur's voice held a note of urgency.

"We are the Kingsguard. We must go to the true king," Barristan added, his voice imploring.

Jaime's eyes locked onto Maekar's for a brief moment before he turned to Arthur. His voice was calm. "I am already with my king." His words rang out, clear and unwavering.

Barristan's eyes widened in shock, and Arthur's expression darkened. He turned his attention to Oswell. "Oswell?" he questioned, the disbelief evident in his tone.

Oswell glanced down, unable to meet Arthur's eyes. He shook his head slightly, his face set. "I stand with King Maekar."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the gravity of the moment settling on everyone present. Arthur's gaze lingered on his former brothers, his expression one of hurt. He took a step back. "I see," he said softly, nodding. "Make sure Ser Gerold is treated well," he added, his voice carrying a sadness that betrayed his stoic demeanor.

Without another word, Arthur turned and left the hall, Barristan following, his steps heavy, his gaze cast down. The doors closed behind them with a finality that echoed throughout the throne room.

Maekar turned his attention to Jaime and Oswell, his expression softening slightly. "You have chosen well."

Jaime and Oswell knelt before Maekar, their heads bowed in a gesture of allegiance.

Maekar took a deep breath. "Rise, my friends," he commanded.

Maekar then turned his gaze to Lyonel.

"Lyonel," he called.

Lyonel turned from where he stood, locking eyes with his king before taking a step forward. Maekar motioned with his hand, and a servant approached, her hands holding a pristine white cloak—the cloak of the Kingsguard.

"I have need of a Kingsguard," Maekar announced, his voice echoing through the hall. His eyes found Lyonel's, and a smile touched the corners of his lips. "You, my friend, will be the first I choose."

Lyonel straightened, his posture proud. His face lit with pride, his chin lifting slightly. The lords around the throne murmured in approval, nodding and exchanging looks.

Maekar descended from the throne to approach his friend. He held the white cloak aloft as he spoke. "You are one of the greatest warriors of your time," he said, his voice firm and filled with admiration. "But most importantly, you are a man I call my friend."

"Kneel," Maekar said, and Lyonel obeyed without hesitation. He knelt before Maekar, his head bowed in deference.

With deliberate care, Maekar draped the white cloak over Lyonel's shoulders.

"Rise, Ser Lyonel Storm of the Kingsguard," Maekar proclaimed.

A cheer erupted from the assembled lords, their voices ringing out in approval. The sound echoed off the stone walls of the throne room. Maekar could see Jaime and Oswell, though saddened by the departure of Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan, both smiling at the sight.

Lyonel rose, standing tall, the white cloak draping elegantly behind him. Maekar leaned forward and embraced Lyonel, his hands clapping firmly against the newly appointed Kingsguard's back. The cheer from the lords swelled again, and Maekar pulled away, a smile on his face.

"Thank you, my king," Lyonel said.

"No, thank you for your loyalty," Maekar replied.

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Maekar stood before the entrance of the Sept of Baelor, the majestic structure looming high above him with its seven crystal towers catching the afternoon sun. The crowd stretched as far as his eyes could see—smallfolk gathered from every corner of King's Landing, cheering his name as the procession reached its final destination.

He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Daenerys on his left and Rhaenys on his right, both dressed in their finest gowns. Daenerys wore a deep silver dress embroidered with subtle dragon motifs, her silver-gold hair cascading down her back. Rhaenys, in contrast, was radiant in a rich red gown trimmed with black and gold. The Kingsguard, clad in their polished white armor, formed a protective formation, with Lyonel at the front, his new cloak bright against the dark sea of their surroundings. As Maekar stepped forward, the crowd's cheers rose to a deafening roar, echoing off the walls of the sept.

"Are all the Goldcloaks in place?" Maekar asked Lyonel as they walked.

"Yes, they will make sure the smallfolk are not frightened when it happens," Lyonel whispered back.

"I still think it's a bad idea," Jaime chimed in.

"Oh, but that won't stop our king here, will it?" Rhaenys said.

"Everyone should witness our new power," Daenerys added, supporting what Maekar had planned.

"Alright, no more talk of this. Let's get this over with—I have a war to win," Maekar said as they ascended the great marble steps.

They stepped inside the vast interior of the Sept of Baelor. The air was cool, the sudden change from the heat of the sun offering a strange, solemn calm. The grandeur of the sept stretched before them—the great domed ceiling high above, adorned with depictions of the Seven; the walls shimmering with mosaics of colored glass that painted the sacred space in shades of blue, green, and red.

The statues of the Seven stood within their niches—the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, the Crone, and the Stranger—each carved in marble and adorned with touches of gold. The light filtering through the colored glass caught on their features, making them seem almost alive, watching, judging.

He could see the lords and ladies gathered within the sept. They turned to watch him as he entered, their eyes shifting from him to Daenerys and Rhaenys and back again, confusion etched into their expressions. Many exchanged glances, hushed murmurs escaping their lips. He could see the questioning in their eyes—their confusion over why both princesses walked beside him.

His gaze shifted toward the far end of the hall, where the High Septon stood by the altar, clad in robes of white and gold, his hands clasped before him. Beyond, in the very front row, Maekar saw his uncle Brandon, as well as Lord Jon Arryn, standing beside their families. He felt a pang of sadness that Uncle Eddard and Benjen had already departed; he would have liked them here.

The lords and ladies, all in their finery, rose from the benches as Maekar approached, the Kingsguard following closely. As he reached the high altar, he stood before the High Septon, who gestured for Maekar to kneel. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the soft glow of countless candles bathed them in warm golden light.

The High Septon began the ancient rites, his voice a deep, resonant echo in the high-vaulted chamber. Maekar closed his eyes briefly, the words of blessing rolling over him like waves. The High Septon invoked the names of each of the Seven, asking them to watch over and guide Maekar in his reign as king, blessing him with wisdom, strength, and compassion.

As the words of the coronation wound toward their end, the High Septon leaned slightly closer to Maekar, his voice lowered to a whisper, barely audible over the crackle of the candles. "Is Princess Rhaenys to be your queen, Your Grace?" he asked, uncertainty lacing his words.

Maekar's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced up. He responded, his voice just as quiet but resolute. "Bless them both."

For a heartbeat, the High Septon seemed to falter, shock registering in his eyes as he looked between the two women standing beside Maekar. Daenerys held her head high, her expression unreadable, while Rhaenys bore a smirk, her gaze daring anyone to challenge what was happening.

The High Septon hesitated only a moment longer. Then, with a glance at Maekar—a glance that held a touch of fear—he nodded and raised his voice, his hands lifting in a gesture to call down blessings. "By the grace of the Seven, I bless you, King Maekar II of House Targaryen..."

With the rituals coming to an end, the High Septon motioned for the crown.

Maekar saw it being brought forward by a septon—a crown of black iron points set in a band of red gold. The crown once worn by Maekar I, his namesake.

Suddenly, Maekar stood from his kneeling position, and before the High Septon could take hold of the crown, he reached out and grabbed it, his fingers curling around the metal band. He turned and faced the gathered crowd.

A collective gasp echoed through the sept, whispers rippling among the attendees. Rhaenys and Daenerys, both standing at his side, looked at him in shock, as did Viserys. The lords and ladies present exchanged confused glances, bewildered by his sudden action.

Maekar raised the crown high for all to see, his voice carrying through the sept with strength and resolve.

"My lords, ladies, and faithful servants of the realm, I stand before you humbled by the weight of this crown and the sacred trust it represents. I honor the Seven and seek their guidance, but I also recognize that it is through the strength and unity of our people that Westeros prospers."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into the silent hall, his gaze sweeping over the faces before him—some intrigued, others wary, a few outright fearful.

"Some may call me usurper," he continued, his voice sharp with defiance, "for my brother Aegon was the crown prince. Yet it is with a heavy heart and steadfast resolve that I accept this burden—not for ambition, but for the preservation of the realm we all hold dear."

The murmurs grew louder, the lords and ladies looking to one another. Rhaenys's expression remained unreadable, while Daenerys looked at him with a small smile.

"There are many here who lived under the shadows cast by the tyranny of my grandsire," Maekar said, his voice rising. "A path, sadly, that my brother, it seems, has chosen to follow. I vow to you all—such darkness will not fall upon Westeros again. Not while I draw breath."

With that, Maekar placed the crown on his own head, the metal resting heavy on his brow. He motioned for Lyonel, who approached, holding Blackfyre in his arms.

Maekar took it, feeling the balance of the weapon. He drew Blackfyre from its sheath, and the murmur of the crowd grew into audible gasps, the dark polished blade catching the light from the stained-glass windows.

"The gods!" Maekar bellowed, his voice filling the sept. He cast a glance toward the High Septon, then to the gathered lords and ladies.

"The gods chose me when they returned Blackfyre to me!" He held the blade aloft. The crowd's reaction was immediate—shocked murmurs, some gasps, others exchanging anxious glances.

"The gods," Maekar called out once more, his voice powerful, reverberating through the sept. He paused as the lights dimmed suddenly, muffled sounds could be heard from outside.

"The gods," Maekar said again, "have returned the dragons to the world—for me."

Then came the sound—a mighty roar that echoed through the air, shaking the sept itself. The ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble, the windows vibrating as the roar of a dragon filled the air. The high ceilings of the sept seemed to magnify the sound until it was a visceral presence in the room.

The assembled men and women—lords and ladies who were unaware of Neferion—looked terrified. Some stepped back, hands raised to their ears, fear flashing in their eyes.

"Long live the king!" roared Greatjon Umber from the back, his voice carrying above the gasps and the growing murmurs. His exclamation seemed to ignite a spark within the crowd.

"Long live the king!" came another shout, this one from the Crownland lords gathered near the front.

Slowly, then all at once, the chant grew louder—a cacophony of voices filling the sept, echoing against the stone walls, blending with the roar of the dragon.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!"

"King Maekar!" another voice shouted, and soon that too joined the chant.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!"

"Long live the king! Long live the king!"

Maekar slowly lowered Blackfyre, his gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies. He looked to Daenerys and Rhaenys, who both stood there, caught in the moment—stunned, unable to look away.

He then looked back to the High Septon, who stood visibly shaken. Maekar's lips curved into a smile.

Finally, Maekar thought.

Finally.

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Wish you all a merry christmas.

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Read up to chapter 98 here :

p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)