"The sunless future is terrible, but fear not, I am your messiah and I will lead you to survive this dark age." Aenar I Targaryen, God-Emperor of Planetos, speaking to the people as he sat on the Iron Throne.
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Aenar looked at Olenna and shrugged. It wasn't exactly something that could be hidden for eternity.
Olenna smiled. Just imagining Robert's face when he found out about the betrayal of the man he considered his brother gave her a certain pleasure. The Usurper's expression would certainly be memorable.
"If the North has bent the knee, so can the Riverlands." Olenna commented, remembering that Eddard Stark's wife was Catelyn Tully, daughter of Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Riverrun.
However, at the mention of House Tully, she noticed how the young king's countenance darkened. Aenar's face took on a dark mixture of restrained fury and murderous intent.
The light atmosphere of the hall was immediately replaced by an oppressive weight. Everyone around them paled slightly, not understanding why, but feeling the difficulty of breathing grow by the second.
"The existence of Tully House is still under consideration." Aenar commented with a cold tone, his icy eyes resting on Olenna, devoid of any emotion.
The reason for Aenar's anger was simple. Hoster Tully had rebelled for no apparent reason, turning traitor just to try and get his blood on the Iron Throne. But the old fish didn't expect Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark to refuse such an ambition, completely thwarting his plans.
Of all the Great Houses, only the Tully were under serious consideration of extinction. For Aenar, there was nothing more despicable than ingratitude. House Targaryen had raised the Tully to their peak, but in the end, they were the first to betray them, and for no justifiable reason.
Although she remained calm, Olenna felt a chill run through her body as she realized the intensity of Aenar's aura. Despite her long life and experience, she had the strange feeling that she was facing something other than human.
She thought herself foolish for such thoughts, but how could she explain the oppression in the air? Could it be magic? Perhaps. However, Olenna believed it could be something deeper.
"Your Grace, your wine." Leda approached and poured another goblet for the king. The Lady Commander of the Royal Guard watched Aenar's dark face calmly. Although it was the first time she had seen him so consumed with rage, she was not intimidated by the frightening aura emanating from him.
Aenar's countenance softened after a sip of the wine. He realized that he was allowing his emotions to take control, something that could never happen again. Losing control would be dangerous, perhaps fatal for those around him.
"Thank you, Leda." Aenar thanked her with a gentle smile, while deciding internally that he would perform the Life Enhancement on Leda that evening. His loyal Lady Commander deserved a boost in all physical aspects.
Leda just nodded and stood behind Aenar's chair, her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it at any moment.
With Aenar's words, the atmosphere became light again. Mace Tyrell, in particular, silently thanked the gods for this. The Lord of High Garden's face was sweaty and pale, as if he had just run for miles without stopping.
"Lord Mace." Aenar called out, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
Mace Tyrell, already shaken by recent events, replied with a trembling tone. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"How much food does Reach currently have, and what is the average harvest time?" Aenar asked, his face serious. The Reach had always been the breadbasket of Westeros, and on a continent where the weather could be unpredictable, with winters lasting years or even decades, the management of food resources was paramount.
With the Long Night approaching, stocking up on food in large quantities was an absolute priority. Running out of supplies in sunless years would be catastrophic.
Although Aenar considered the possibility of using the energy of the Immaterium dimension to act as a temporary sun for the crops, this would lock him into a single location, unable to move should he need to respond to an attack from monsters in another realm.
Mace wiped the sweat from his brow before replying. "We have enough food to supply the entire kingdom for five years. As for crops, wheat and oats take three to four months to ripen successfully. Other types of food can take a little longer, but six months at most." Despite his reputation for being less than competent, Mace was still the Lord of the Reach and knew well the figures that underpinned his house's economy.
"Very well." Aenar nodded. Then his voice became harsh, unquestioning. "Stop selling food to Essos immediately. I want you to start stocking up as much as possible."
Mace hesitated, but Aenar didn't finish.
"Also, send enough food to sustain a hundred thousand men for three months to the north."
Mace stared wide-eyed, stunned. He couldn't imagine the reason for such specific orders. "Is there a problem in the North, Your Grace? The last shipment of food sent to them should be enough."
"It was enough before a hundred thousand savages crossed the Wall." Aenar replied calmly, but his words provoked expressions of surprise and astonishment from everyone around.
A hundred thousand savages?
"Why would Your Grace allow these savages to cross the Wall and enter the North?" Olenna asked with apparent calm, although her mind worked quickly to understand the reasons behind such a decision.
"Because I don't want our real enemy to gain a hundred thousand men, women and giants without any effort." Aenar replied, his voice laden with conviction. He knew that the threat of the White Walkers and the Night King could no longer be ignored. The sooner the kingdoms recognized this threat, the quicker he could consolidate his position as savior of Westeros in the face of the impending darkness.
"Robert? But he can't ally himself with the wildlings." Mace said, even more confused. The idea of Robert I Baratheon allying himself with the men beyond the Wall seemed too absurd.
"I'm not talking about my cousin." Aenar corrected, his sharp gaze settling on Mace. "I'm talking about the Night King and his White Walkers. They command an army of undead who don't need to eat or rest."
An amused smile appeared on Aenar's lips as he observed the reactions around him.
Then silence fell over the room.
The revelation seemed to suck the air out of the room. Everyone processed the young king's words in their own way, but it was clear that a new weight had been placed on everyone's shoulders.
"Night King, White Walkers, Giants?" Olenna repeated, with an incredulous tone, as if she expected the young king to be telling a bad joke. However, when she looked into Aenar's eyes, her expression changed. There was no humor, just a cold, impenetrable seriousness.
"I understand it's hard to believe," Aenar began, his voice calm and firm, "but the Long Night is coming. And with it, an army of monsters, including undead."
Aenar knew that words alone would not be enough to convince the others. The stories of the Long Night and the White Walkers were considered ancient legends, something too distant to be taken seriously. But he possessed something more powerful than words: he could show.
Fixing his gaze first on Mace and then on Olenna, he used a fragment of the future, bringing a vision that spoke for itself.
What they saw was simple and, at the same time, terrifying.
A vast, snow-covered plain stretched as far as the eye could see. A white mist, thick as milk, enveloped everything around, creating a heavy silence. Then the sound of horses breaking through the snow echoed. Figures emerged from the mist.
Olenna and Mace held their breath at the sight of decaying horses, exposed bones and rotting flesh. But the real terror was in the riders.
They were tall and thin, with skin as pale as ivory and icy blue eyes that shone like ice stars. Their bones were translucent, almost shiny, and their blood, if it still existed, looked a cold, pale blue.
Their numbers seemed small at first glance, perhaps five thousand riders. But what followed was a real nightmare: an endless army, undead marching in endless ranks.
Suddenly, the army opened up into a perfect corridor. Out of the mist emerged a figure mounted on an immense ice spider. He had a crown made of ice on his head, which seemed to be carved from frozen stone. His eyes glowed with a flaming, inhuman blue that pierced the soul like a blade of ice.
A supernatural chill ran through Olenna and Mace's bodies, making them shiver uncontrollably. It was as if death itself was staring at them, icy and implacable.
And then, in the blink of an eye, they were back in their chairs in the lounge. They were both breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling in despair. Sweat covered their faces, and fear was clear in their eyes.
"That's what's coming towards us." Aenar broke the silence, his voice calm and authoritative. His implacable confidence seemed like a point of light amidst the despair of the sight.
Olenna stared at him, still trying to process what she had just experienced. Mace, paler than ever, raised a trembling hand and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"I'll immediately send the food north and start stocking up as much as possible," Mace declared, his voice still weak but determined. He didn't know how Aenar had shown him that vision, and frankly, he didn't care. All he wanted now was for the gods to be merciful and save Westeros from the terrible fate that seemed inevitable.
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