Chapter 12: Shadows of War

The Seven Kingdoms bled as war consumed Westeros. The land was torn apart by ambition, vengeance, and betrayal, and no man could predict who would sit the Iron Throne when the carnage ended.

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, had won three victories. His banners flew high, and his forces swept through the Riverlands like a storm. His prize was Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, shackled and humiliated in a northern encampment.

Ravens were sent. Sansa Stark for Jaime Lannister. A fair trade. But the Lannisters did not respond.

Meanwhile, Stannis Baratheon turned to fire and prophecy.

The Red Woman, Melisandre, whispered to him of power, of a divine right, of flames that foretold Joffrey's bastard blood. Stannis no longer fought just for justice—he fought as the chosen of R'hllor.

In the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy weighed his choices. His pride demanded conquest, not alliances. His son, Theon Greyjoy, had sailed to meet him, hoping to convince him to fight beside Robb. But Balon's eyes were set on the North, ripe for the taking.

And in the Reach, Renly Baratheon gathered his banners.

With the might of the Tyrells behind him, his army was the largest in Westeros. But he needed more. And so, Catelyn Stark rode south to treat with him, hoping to forge a pact that could see the North and the Stormlands united.

The War of the Five Kings raged.

Assassin's Work

Far across the Narrow Sea, Aegon kept Daenerys alive—not with dragonfire, but with blood.

The Dothraki had scattered, their once-great horde now a mere shadow. Without an army, without gold, Daenerys's people should have starved.

But they didn't.

Because Aegon worked.

He took assassination contracts, hunting slavers, merchants, and warlords in the dead of night. He slipped into their chambers like a ghost, killing them before they even realized they were dead.

Gold flowed into Daenerys's camp, keeping her people fed, giving them shelter.

But the dragons were still young.

The power to burn cities to ash wasn't theirs yet.

Aegon knew they weren't ready for war. He watched Daenerys stroke their scales, whispering words of Valyrian magic, hoping to wake the true beasts within them.

She wasn't ready. They weren't ready.

And if war came too soon, they would all burn.