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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
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A massive black speck materialized in the sky above King's Landing. It closed the distance fast, expanding rapidly.
The guards on the battlements spotted it first. Fingers pointed frantically at the clouds, followed by the shrill, panic-inducing shriek of alarm whistles.
"What the hell is that?!"
"It's a dragon! It's a dragon!"
Blind panic swallowed the capital in seconds. Pedestrians froze in the streets, craning their necks upward. When they finally processed the colossal shadow blotting out the sun, the screaming started.
The streets devolved into a stampede. People trampled over each other, clawing their way toward any dark corner or alleyway that offered cover. King's Landing was a boiling cauldron of chaos.
The leviathan's shadow swept over the towering spires of the Red Keep. Winter let out an ear-splitting roar. The sheer, crushing physical pressure of the sound was enough to make the most hardened veterans in the castle go weak at the knees.
"Protect the King!"
Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, ripped his longsword from its sheath. He shoved King Joffrey and Lyanna behind him, his face a mask of grim determination.
The rest of the royal guard scrambled to form a shield wall, using their trembling bodies as a barricade for their teenage king.
"Get the hell out of my way!"
Joffrey roughly shoved Barristan aside. There wasn't an ounce of fear in the boy's eyes. Instead, his face was twisted into a mask of sick, manic ecstasy.
"It's Lynn! He's here!"
He sprinted to the absolute front of the courtyard, throwing his arms wide open, tilting his head back to welcome the descending apex predator.
Winter's massive wings beat down a hurricane of wind as the beast slammed onto the cobblestones in the center of the Red Keep's courtyard. A shockwave of dust and debris exploded outward.
The dragon lowered its three monstrous heads. Its mismatched, predatory eyes scanned the cowering humans, venting a heavy, indifferent snort of freezing mist from its nostrils.
Lynn vaulted off the dragon's back. Dressed in stark black leather armor and heavy trousers, he looked like a razor blade cut out of the shadows, his cloak snapping violently in the wind.
"Lynn! My most loyal subject! You finally made it!"
Joffrey laughed maniacally and charged forward, wrapping Lynn in a tight, unhinged embrace.
Lynn stiffened for a fraction of a second, but smoothly weathered the physical contact without flinching.
"Your Grace," he said, his voice dead level.
"My Hand! The new Hand of the King!"
Joffrey pulled back, clapping him hard on the shoulder, his excitement practically radiating off him.
The King's gaze slid past Lynn, locking onto the silent, towering dragon. Winter was impossibly larger than Joffrey had pictured. The beast's sapphire-like scales caught the midday sun, shimmering with a surreal, hypnotic luster. It was the absolute embodiment of raw, destructive beauty.
"Beautiful... absolutely beautiful..."
Joffrey muttered the words, his eyes bleeding raw, naked possessiveness.
He took a few quick steps toward Winter, reaching a hand out to stroke the freezing scales.
*ROAR—!*
Winter instantly clocked the stranger's intent. A low, vibrating growl of warning rumbled in its chest. The central head pulled back just a fraction, exposing rows of serrated, razor-sharp teeth.
Joffrey stumbled back two steps, hit by a blast of breath that smelled like an open grave, but his smile only grew wider.
"Hahaha! He's got a temper! I like that!"
He snapped his head back to Lynn.
"Lynn, you remember, right? The promise you made to my father."
"You said you'd leave a dragon here in King's Landing."
Joffrey's tone shifted, locking into a spoiled, absolute demand.
"As proof of the North's ultimate loyalty to the Crown."
Lynn stared at Joffrey's smug, entitled face, a flash of irritation flaring in his chest. This was a weapon of war, not a damn lapdog to be handed over.
"Your Grace, Winter has a short fuse, and he only answers to me."
Lynn kept his voice perfectly smooth.
"Leaving him parked in the capital is just begging for unnecessary casualties."
"Casualties? Who cares!"
Joffrey waved off the concern like he was swatting a fly.
"I'll stable him in the Dragonpit! It's where the Targaryens used to keep their beasts!"
"I'll have him fed a hundred head of cattle a day! No! Make it two hundred!"
"He's going to be the ultimate weapon for House Baratheon! The crowning glory of my reign!"
He looked at Lynn, flashing a condescending, benevolent smile.
"You don't need to worry about the grocery bill. The royal treasury will handle all of it."
Lynn didn't answer right away.
Joffrey's arrogant offer had just accidentally solved a massive, logistical nightmare that Lynn had been actively ignoring.
Winter's appetite.
As the dragon's sheer mass exploded, its caloric intake had become absolutely terrifying.
Up in the North, Lynn was burning through every scrap of livestock he could get his hands on just to keep the beast fed.
He had even resorted to sacrificing the dire-mammoths—the massive beasts that even his undead horde couldn't chew through.
But those mammoths were the backbone of his giant cavalry. Every time Winter devoured one, Lynn felt like he was bleeding military assets.
And even that was just a drop in the bucket.
Lately, Winter had been forced to hunt deep-sea leviathans out in the ocean, vanishing for days on end just to fill its stomach.
And now, Joffrey was voluntarily offering to drain the royal bank accounts to foot the dragon's food bill?
That was a hell of a deal.
"If Your Grace insists."
Lynn paused, carefully faking a look of deep reluctance.
"I can leave him stationed here in King's Landing for now."
"But I need your absolute guarantee. Nobody goes near him. Nobody bothers him."
"If they do, even I won't be able to stop the slaughter."
"Of course! Absolutely!"
Joffrey leaped at the concession, practically salivating.
"I'll lock down the Dragonpit with my most loyal Gold Cloaks! Anyone who gets within fifty yards gets their head chopped off!"
He was already daydreaming, picturing himself in the saddle, ruling the Seven Kingdoms from the sky.
"This is incredible! Lynn, you're the best brother a King could ask for!"
Lynn watched the kid high on his own delusions, then smoothly pivoted.
"Actually, Your Grace, I recently received some intel out of Essos regarding dragons."
"What?!"
Joffrey's head snapped back around, his eyes bulging out of his skull.
"What are you talking about? There are *more*?"
"Yes."
Lynn nodded.
"Daenerys Targaryen managed to hatch one across the Narrow Sea."
"It's still small, but it's a living, breathing dragon."
"That Targaryen whore?"
The euphoria on Joffrey's face warped into pure disgust.
Then, Joffrey's brain fired a warning shot—he vaguely remembered Lynn had some sort of history with the Targaryen girl. He quickly swallowed the rest of his insults.
"Still... a dragon is a dragon."
Joffrey stroked his chin, a greedy, calculating glint in his eyes.
"Where is it? Send someone to drag it back here immediately!"
"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that, Your Grace," Lynn said, shaking his head.
"But I can look into it."
"I'll do my best to secure it and present it to the Crown as soon as possible."
"Perfect! Just perfect!"
Joffrey's manic energy surged back.
One dragon was a symbol of power; two dragons meant absolute world domination!
He was already cementing his legacy in his own mind, fully convinced he was about to eclipse Aegon the Conqueror and go down as the greatest monarch in Westerosi history.
"Lynn! You are a literal gift from the Gods!"
He grabbed Lynn's arm, squeezing it tight.
"You step off the boat and hand me the best news of my entire reign!"
"We are throwing the biggest welcome feast this city has ever seen!"
"No! A feast isn't enough!"
Joffrey's eyes burned with unhinged zeal.
"I'm throwing a Tourney for you!"
"A massive, no-expense-spared Tourney of the Hand!"
He threw his arms out, announcing it to the entire Red Keep at the top of his lungs.
"I want every single knight in the Seven Kingdoms to ride for King's Landing!"
"I want them to bleed in the dirt for your honor!"
"The champion will be knighted by my own hand and earn a white cloak in the Kingsguard!"
"This is going to be the greatest bloodsport Westeros has seen in a century!"
Standing off to the side, Lyanna watched the arrogant, posturing King, then let her gaze shift to the man casually accepting the royal worship.
A gentle, submissive smile played on her lips.
But behind the mask, her eyes were calculating, hiding an agenda nobody in the courtyard could even begin to fathom.
Ser Barristan Selmy watched the exchange with a heavy pit forming in his stomach.
He had a sickening feeling that the skies over King's Landing were about to turn pitch black.
"Scribes! Send out the ravens in my name to every Lord in the realm, immediately!"
Joffrey barked at the terrified servants huddled behind him.
"Tell them they have one month to get their asses to King's Landing for the grand Tourney in honor of my new Hand, Lord Lynn!"