THE NIGHT QUEEN'S RETURN: FURY OF RAENAR TARGERYAN

8: ECHOES OF THE LONG NIGHT

Bran walked through the ruins of King's Landing, the city he once knew, now reduced to ash and rubble. Bodies lay scattered amidst the devastation, filling the air with the sickly stench of rot. The sound of distant wailing echoed off the crumbling walls. As he moved through the desolation, he froze-there, in the midst of the destruction, stood the Night Queen. Pale and fearsome, her icy gaze bore down on him. By her side, towering ice dragons exhaled frosty breaths that clouded the air. She raised her arm high, her voice a cold whisper that seemed to chill the air itself, "Ice and blood."

The words reverberated through the city, and from the shadows, the dead stirred. They began to murmur, their voices a chant in unison: "Raenar, Raenar." A tide of decayed hands and hollow eyes turned toward Bran, shuffling forward in a grotesque march. And then, with a flick of her hand, the Night Queen raised more dead from the crypts-former kings and queens, figures Bran had read about but never thought he'd encounter in such a form. Among them were the skeletal remains of Jaime and Cersei, their hollow eyes fixed on him, their unborn child cradled in Jaime's brittle arms. Bran shuddered, horrified by the sight, until he felt himself ripped from the vision and back to reality.

He gasped, his voice trembling as he addressed his council. "We have to act now," he said firmly. "I am giving each of you a task." He turned to his most trusted advisors. "Bronn, go to the North and liberate it. Sam, return to the Citadel and gather any information about the Night Queen. Tyrion," he added, looking to his loyal friend, "journey to the Free Cities. Rally every man, every sword you can find. We cannot face the Second Long Night unprepared."

"Yes, your Grace," they answered in unison, their voices tinged with determination.

---

Far to the south, in the Dornish palace, Raenar awoke slowly, surprised to find himself alive and lying in the softest, most comfortable bed he'd ever felt. As he blinked away his confusion, a woman entered the room. It was Elsa, carrying a chalice. "Drink this," she said gently, passing him the cup. "It will slow the effects of the antidote."

Raenar nodded gratefully, sipping the medicine before managing a soft chuckle. "Thank you for not killing me." His eyes lingered on her, admiring her striking beauty. She wore a red dress that complemented her warm, chocolate-brown skin. Emboldened, he asked, "So, have you decided? Will you fight alongside me?"

Elsa's eyes held his, her gaze steady. "I've spoken with my council," she said, each word measured. "They wondered what I stand to gain from fighting in your war. Their suggestion was clear: if you win the throne, I should marry you."

Raenar blinked, stunned by her directness. "That's the most straightforward proposal I've ever had." He laughed softly, trying to hide his surprise.

Elsa raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Don't get too excited. I will marry you only after you've won the throne." She eyed him shrewdly. "How many marriage proposals have you had, anyway?"

"Very few," he replied honestly, his voice a little quieter. "I've had limited interactions with women. The woman I'm closest to is my mother."

Elsa smirked, a touch of teasing in her tone. "So, do you... lie with your mother? I wouldn't be surprised. Incest is common in your family, isn't it?"

Raenar's face twisted in disgust. "Absolutely not! She is my mother, and I respect her deeply. Don't speak of her that way again."

Elsa stepped back, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. "Alright, alright. No need for anger," she said, her tone softening. "I did have one more thing to tell you, though. I may have a decent-sized army, but to win this war, you'll need a navy just as formidable."

Raenar nodded, his expression easing. "I've already started preparations for a fleet."

---

Back in King's Landing, Tyrion prepared to leave, his gaze steady as he looked at Bran. "I'll search for Jon. I've sent word far and wide. Stay close to Sansa. She needs you now."

Bran nodded, the weight of the impending battle evident in his expression. "You will find him. And bring whatever help you can muster."

One by one, Bran's council departed for their appointed tasks. Alone at last, he called for Sansa. She entered quietly, her face a mix of concern and resilience. "Raenar is gathering alliances in the South," he informed her. "We must strengthen our own forces, especially with Yara Greyjoy. Her fleet could give us the edge we need."

Sansa nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "The Reach-Westeros' largest and wealthiest region-is shattered, torn between lords. Loras Redwyne now leads, and he commands one of the largest fleets. We should bind him to our cause as well."

---

In the far North, Arya sat alone, deep in thought. Her mind returned to Raenar's parting words. He had made her the Lady of Winterfell, entrusting her with the family's ancient seat. And yet, his vague mention of a "final plan" haunted her. "Don't worry, Aunt," he had told her. "This war will end soon. Once I form alliances in the South, I'll march from there. Mother will lead from the North. We'll meet at the Trident and move on King's Landing together."

But now, Arya was filled with doubt. She could envision the terror the Night Queen would unleash if her army marched southward, consuming everything in its path. She clenched her fists, her heart racing with a desperate resolve. She had to act.