Not long after Brienne left, Sansa and Jeyne appeared at the study door. They knocked politely and asked, "Lord Lynd, may we come in?"
"Come in," Lynd replied, glancing at them before nodding. Once they stepped inside, he picked up a stack of documents from nearby and placed them on the desk. "These are intelligence reports on the North and King's Landing. Take a look."
The two immediately thanked him and sat down with the documents, reading them carefully.
For the past few days, they had stayed within the castle, visiting the Dragon's Nest daily to help the dragon attendants care for Neltharion. Not that they could do much—most of the time, they were assisting the scholars and mages from the Black Cavern in recording various observations about Neltharion's condition.
They also often came to ask Lynd about King's Landing and Winterfell, hoping to learn more about their families.
However, Lynd hadn't been paying much attention to events in King's Landing, so intelligence had been slow to collect and had piled up. It was only today that the information was finally compiled and delivered.
"Uhh..." A sudden sob broke the silence in the room.
Lynd didn't need to look up to know it was Jeyne Poole. Her father, Vayon Poole, the steward of Winterfell, had survived the initial chaos but was gravely wounded. Without treatment, he had been imprisoned in the dungeons and died from his injuries just yesterday.
Sansa set aside the papers and gently comforted her friend, helping Jeyne back to their room.
She had clearly matured over this period. In the past, she might've been flustered or even annoyed that her friend's crying was disturbing her reading.
But the small interruption didn't affect Lynd. He continued working, sifting through the compiled reports from across the realm.
"Hm? Daenerys's wedding is today?" Lynd raised an eyebrow as he read a report from Slaver's Bay, a brief flicker of surprise on his face before he returned to reading—this time, a list of wedding gifts sent to Khal Drogo and Daenerys from across the world.
One note stood out: a mysterious individual had gifted Daenerys three priceless dragon eggs. Though the investigation suggested the person was sent by the Sealord of Braavos, further digging hinted at a possible connection to the Red Temple of Volantis and its priests of the Lord of Light.
"So the three dragon eggs ended up with her after all... but can she hatch them now?" Lynd wondered silently.
Sansa returned to the study after calming her friend. This time, instead of going back to the documents, she hesitated, then stepped forward and asked, "My prince, may I serve as your attendant for a while, to learn how things are done?"
Lynd looked at her. "Why?"
Sansa answered seriously, "You once said I might become a lady one day. But I've realized I know nothing. I want to learn how to manage things."
Lynd thought for a moment. "You don't need to work under me. My way of doing things won't suit you. Starting tomorrow, go assist Jon with the management of Summerhall. How much you learn, and what you learn—that's up to you."
"Thank you, my lord," Sansa said quickly, nodding.
Just then, a sudden roar echoed from the Dragon's Nest. It wasn't the usual idle noise, but a cry filled with force—almost like a release of something pent up.
At the same time, Lynd felt the power within the Nameless King's rune flare violently, bubbling like boiling water and threatening to spiral out of control.
"Lord Lynd, are you alright?" Sansa noticed his reddening face and the change in his expression and quickly asked.
Lynd didn't answer. He stood up abruptly and hurried out, striding straight to the platform at the Dragon's Nest.
By the time he arrived, the lava dragon—normally lying flat on the platform—was on its feet, its jaws wide open as it spewed torrents of Dragonfire into the sky, lighting up the heavens.
The dragon attendants were terrified. They fled to a distance, too afraid to approach the beast and assess the situation.
"My lord, be careful!" the head attendant shouted, stepping in front of Lynd to stop him, worried the dragon might attack if he got too close.
"Don't worry. Just move back." Lynd pushed past him and climbed the steps to the platform. Standing directly in front of the lava dragon, he gave a sharp command: "Down."
The lava dragon sensed his presence, lowered its head, and glared at Lynd with ferocity in its eyes—an expression that seemed ready to turn against its master.
"Down," Lynd repeated, more forcefully this time.
He released the power of the Nameless King's rune. An immense surge of magic formed a massive, spectral humanoid figure hovering overhead, staring down at the lava dragon like a giant watching over a pet. The overwhelming pressure from the magical projection fell entirely on the creature.
The dragon's boiling energy quickly subsided under the weight of that power. Its eyes returned to normal, and, just as Lynd had ordered, it lay down on the ground.
Once the dragon was subdued, Lynd didn't immediately check its condition. Instead, he looked up at the sky.
There, a red comet with a long tail blazed across the heavens, ripping through the dark veil of night. The sky burned crimson and violet, as the comet unveiled its full brilliance to the world below.
"Why is it appearing now?" A look of confusion crossed Lynd's face. He clearly remembered that the Red Comet had appeared long after Daenerys married Khal Drogo.
But then he paused, realizing that his arrival had already disrupted the flow of many events. King Robert's death before Daenerys's wedding, for example. If he continued to judge the current state of things based on what he remembered from his previous life, he was bound to make mistakes.
There was no doubt—the sudden surge of magic within the Nameless King's rune, along with the lava dragon's outburst, had both been triggered by the Red Comet's appearance. With that in mind, he turned his senses inward to check on Glory, the Cannibal, and Deltos, and found all three were similarly agitated by the magical upheaval—Deltos, most of all.
Without delay, Lynd mounted Neltharion and flew from the castle, heading toward the forest where Glory resided to check on each of his creatures in turn.
Just as the Red Comet affected magical beasts, every mage who carried magic within their body also sensed it the moment it streaked across the sky. Their internal magic stirred violently, triggering a cascade of chain reactions.
For those with minimal magical power, the reaction was mild—perhaps just a wave of heat. Yet even they found themselves able to cast what used to feel like cheap tricks using only their innate magic. Pyromancers, for instance, could now unleash fire tongues several meters long without the need for flammable agents like alcohol or a lit torch. The flame might not be hot enough for serious damage, but it looked nearly indistinguishable from dragonfire.
For those with strong magical reserves, the changes were far more dramatic. Take Malora, for example. Her body erupted in a network of glowing runes that covered her from head to toe—even her eyes brimmed with magical script, making her look as though she had been woven entirely from magical runes.
As for Ella and Yara, a shroud of darkness enveloped them completely. And the moment they vanished into that darkness, a mysterious force erased their existence from all memory. No one remembered the names Ella and Yara anymore—not even the Chosen Children, who would pass right by the orb of darkness they had left behind, as if it no longer belonged to this world at all.
Others like them—Malora, Ella, and Yara—weren't alone in their intense magical responses. The Head of the Silent Court, the President of the Mage Association, the High Priest of the God of Magic—they too reacted, each showing signs of significant magical upheaval.
And it wasn't just mages. Clergy members also felt the surge. Some even managed to perform genuine miracles.
...
In a forest near Acorn Hall in the Riverlands, Thoros of Myr gently lowered the corpse of Beric Dondarrion from a tree. He adjusted Beric's clothes, then quietly began to recite a prayer to the Lord of Light.
Beric and the others, once under Eddard Stark's command, had since become a roaming band in the Riverlands, attacking noble forces who looted, pillaged, and slaughtered civilians—whether they were from the Westerlands or from the Riverlands themselves.
After their loss at Golden Tooth, the Riverlands had become a chaos of scattered, defeated soldiers. These deserters were even more brutal than their enemies from the Westerlands—burning, killing, and stealing wherever they went. Ironically, the Westerlands, once the invaders, now found themselves acting as a policing force, hunting down the Riverlands' own deserters.
The Brotherhood Without Banners, formed by Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr, often intervened when these deserters turned on common folk.
But today, luck had not been on their side. After defeating a group of deserters, they were ambushed by a Westerlands force that had arrived in response to the commotion. To protect the others, Beric led a few loyal fighters in a rear-guard action. He was captured, and because he didn't reveal his identity, he was hanged at the village gate like a common thief.
By the time Thoros and the others returned to rescue him, Beric was already cold and lifeless.
All Thoros could do was offer a final prayer for his fallen comrade, bury his body, and hunt down the soldiers who had killed him to exact revenge.
At that moment, someone noticed the Red Comet blazing across the sky and cried out in surprise.
But what followed stunned them all—a low groan came from Beric Dondarrion's corpse. He stirred, then sat up from the ground.
Everyone was frozen in shock—until one person shouted, "Wight! Beric has become a wight!"
Many of those present were natives of King's Landing and had seen the wights in the Great Sept of Baelor with their own eyes. The moment the alarm was raised, weapons were drawn, and they prepared to cut Beric Dondarrion down and burn his body on the spot.
"Don't panic, don't panic! He's not a wight—Beric isn't a wight!" shouted the red priest Thoros from the side, quickly stopping the others from striking.
He crouched in front of Beric and reached out, touching his face. "Warm… soft… he's alive. Not a wight!"
"Get your hands off me, you filthy man. Warm and soft? Seriously?" Beric swatted Thoros's hand away, then looked around in confusion. "What's going on? Why are you all staring at me like that?"
"Do you remember what happened?" Thoros asked solemnly.
"Of course I do," Beric replied, thinking back. "We got word that someone was attacking civilians, so we came to defend the village. Then we were surrounded by Westerlands troops. I told you to get out while I held the rear, and then..." He paused, his expression darkening. "I remember... I think I was hanged. Why...?"
"You were brought back!" Thoros said, excited. "The Lord of Light brought you back. It's a miracle!"
Beric blinked in disbelief, then quickly asked, "What about the others? What happened to the rest of them?"
"Yes, the others!" Thoros snapped back to the moment, immediately ordering the others to lower the bodies still hanging from the trees. One by one, he recited prayers over them.
But none of them came back—not a single one. Only Beric Dondarrion had returned. Thoros could only explain it by saying Beric must be bound to some special destiny.
Though they couldn't save everyone, witnessing Beric's resurrection was enough to ignite a wave of faith and resolve within the Brotherhood Without Banners. Their morale surged, and in the battles that followed, they fought even more fiercely—convinced that the gods were watching over them.
Later, Thoros asked Beric what the world after death had been like. But Beric had no answer. He remembered nothing. Not only could he not recall the afterlife, but even memories of his own past had begun to fade. He couldn't even remember what his wife looked like.
...
Meanwhile, far to the east on the continent of Essos, in the grasslands near Qarth, the Golden Company and the Dothraki had gathered around a massive tent consumed in flames. Faces filled with dread, they tried every method they could think of to extinguish the blaze—but nothing worked.
Jorah Mormont made a desperate attempt to rush into the inferno to rescue those trapped inside, but members of the Golden Company restrained him. Charging into such an intense fire would mean certain death—especially since it wasn't just ordinary fire, but wildfire, far more dangerous and uncontrollable.
No one had expected it. One moment, a wedding was in full swing; the next, the entire ceremonial tent was set ablaze with wildfire. The entrances had been blocked, and those inside—Daenerys, Viserys, Aegon, Khal Drogo, the commander of the Golden Company—were now trapped.
Then came the sound of cracking timber. The wooden frame holding up the tent gave way, collapsing under the searing flames. The fire surged with renewed fury.
Sparks and burning fragments shot outward, setting nearby onlookers alight. Screams echoed as people scrambled back in terror.
Just when everyone believed all was lost, someone suddenly pointed toward the flames and shouted something in Dothraki. Those who understood the language immediately realized—they were calling out to someone. Someone alive.
Through the wall of fire, a lone figure emerged.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Daenerys stepped out of the flames, her clothes and hair burned away, her body marked by the fire yet unscathed. She moved slowly, almost otherworldly.
Three small dragons clung to her, one nestled against her shoulder, another on her arm, the third coiled against her back.
The warriors of the Golden Company dropped to their knees in awe. The Dothraki followed. One by one, everyone around her knelt—everyone except Daenerys, who stood dazed in the fire's glow, staring at the world that now stared back.