[King's Landing]

The streets of King's Landing were eerily quiet, save for the clinking of armor and the low murmur of soldiers preparing for the inevitable. Jon-Jaehaerys-stood at the center of it all, his face unreadable but his posture firm. The weight of his name, his lineage, and the decision he'd just made hung heavy in the air. Around him, Daenerys and Alysanne stood, their expressions a mix of resolve and uncertainty. The announcement of their union had been met with silence at first, then a ripple of murmurs. Some nodded in approval, others exchanged wary glances. But no one dared to challenge it. Not here. Not now.

Alysanne stepped forward, her voice steady but laced with emotion. "This isn't just about us," she said, her Dornish accent softening her words. "It's about survival. About unity. The dead don't care about our names or our blood. They'll tear us apart if we let them." Her words struck a chord. The soldiers, the lords, even the wildlings, seemed to straighten at her words. She was right. The Night King didn't care about crowns or thrones. He cared about destruction.

Daenerys, her violet eyes sharp, added her own thoughts. "We've all lost too much already. But this-this is bigger than any of us. If we don't stand together, we'll fall together." Her voice carried the weight of someone who had seen too much death, too much betrayal. Yet, there was a flicker of hope in her tone. A belief that this alliance, this marriage, could be the key to victory.

Jon glanced at Robb, who stood silently among the Northern lords. His brother-cousin-gave him a small nod. It was enough. Robb's support meant more than he could say. The Starks had always been his family, even if the truth of his birth had changed everything. "We fight together," Jon said, his voice cutting through the tension. "And when this is over, we'll honor our vows. But not before."

Alysanne's voice was softer, but no less commanding. "The Conquerors united this land through fire and blood. But they also united it through marriage. Through alliances. We stand before you now, not as rivals, but as partners. As family." She glanced at Jon, then at Daenerys. "When this war is over, we will wed. In the tradition of Old Valyria. To bind our houses. To bind our people."

The crowd erupted. Some cheered. Some shouted. Others simply stared, unsure of what to make of it all. The idea of a threefold union, a bond forged in the fires of Old Valyria, was as much a culture shock to Jon as it was to the people. But it was necessary. The dead were coming. Unity was the only weapon they had left.

Jon raised a hand, and the noise died down. "This is not about power. It's about survival. The dead do not care about your name or your house. They care only for destruction. And if we do not stop them, there will be nothing left to rule."

Daenerys stepped forward, her voice clear and commanding. "We are not just fighting for ourselves. We are fighting for every man, woman, and child who cannot fight for themselves. For the smallfolk who stayed behind to help. For the future of Westeros." Her words were met with nods and murmurs of agreement. Even the most skeptical among them could not deny the urgency in her tone.

Alysanne's voice, softer but no less firm, followed. "My father, Prince Rhaegar, believed in a united realm. He believed in a future where the divisions of the past could be overcome. This is our chance to honor that belief. To prove that we are more than our bloodlines or our banners." Her words struck a chord, particularly with the Dornish and the Rivermen, who had long felt the sting of exclusion.

The announcement of the union had been a gamble, but it was one Jon knew he had to take. The Targaryen name carried power, but it also carried division. By binding their fates together, he hoped to unite their supporters under a single cause. The dead were the true enemy, and only together could they hope to survive.

The weight of his words settled over the crowd. The threat of the dead was no longer a distant rumor. It was here. It was real. And it demanded unity. Jon turned to his allies-Tyrion, Davos, Brienne, who had once acted as Lady Catelyn's sworn shield and now her daughters, and the others. "We leave for the North at first light. Every man, every woman who can hold a sword or light a fire will be needed. This is not a war for kings. This is a war for the living."

The group made their way to the Red Keep.

[Red Keep]

As the group moved toward the throne room, Jaime emerged from the shadows. His face was pale. "It's done," he said. "No wildfire. No more fire."

Tyrion exhaled, relief washing over him. But Jaime's eyes were distant, haunted. He had killed the woman he loved. The weight of that would never leave him.

Tyrion approached him, her voice gentle. "You did what you had to do," she said. "For all of us."

Jaime didn't respond. He simply nodded and walked away, his steps heavy.

Inside the throne room, the Iron Throne stood as it always had-cold, imposing, and sharp.

Cersei's body had been removed, so it could be prepared for burial.

They weren't in there for long when they received a raven.

The raven's message had changed everything. The Wall had fallen. The dead were coming.

Robb Stark's voice broke in, sharp and urgent. "We can't wait for the dead to come to us. We need to meet them head-on. The North knows the cold. We know how to fight in it." His words were met with nods from the Northern soldiers, their faces grim but determined.

Brynden Tully added his agreement, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The Rivermen will stand with the North. We've faced worse odds."

Arthur Dayne-once Mance Rayder-leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. His wildlings had seen the horrors beyond the Wall. They knew what was coming. "The Night King isn't just leading an army," he said, his voice low. "He's bringing the storm. The cold. The darkness. We need more than swords. We need fire. We need light." His eyes flicked to Melisandre, who stood silently, her red robes a stark contrast to the gray stone of the throne room.

Jon's hand tightened around Longclaw's hilt. The sword felt heavier now, as if it carried the weight of the prophecy Melisandre had spoken of. He didn't believe in destiny. But he couldn't ignore the truth. The dead were coming. And if he was the one who had to stop them, so be it.

Brynden Tully nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The Rivermen are ready. But we need a plan. Not just men throwing themselves at the dead."

Arthur Dayne-once Mance Rayder-stepped forward. His wildlings had seen the dead before. They knew what was coming. "The Night King doesn't fight like us. He doesn't tire. He doesn't fear. We need to hit him where it hurts. His army is his strength. Cut it down, and he's vulnerable." His words were calm, but his eyes burned with urgency.

Daenerys turned to Jon. "Dragons," she said simply. "They're our best chance. Fire can destroy them. But we need to draw the Night King out. He won't come to us unless he thinks he can win." Jon nodded, but his jaw tightened. He knew what that meant. Risking the dragons. Risking her.

Alysanne spoke up, her voice soft but clear. "We need to protect the people. The smallfolk who stayed behind-they're counting on us. If we fail, they die. We can't let that happen." Her words hung in the air. She wasn't just talking about strategy. She was talking about survival. About what it meant to lead.

The room erupted into debate. The Tyrell commanders argued for fortifying the city. The Unsullied insisted on meeting the dead head-on. The Stormlands soldiers wanted to hold the line at the Trident. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone had a stake in this.

Jon raised a hand, silencing the room. "We don't have time for this. The dead don't care about our arguments. They'll keep coming. We need to act. Together." He looked at Daenerys, then at Alysanne. "We'll use the dragons. Draw the Night King out. But we need to protect the city. Protect the people. If we lose them, we lose everything."

Arthur Dayne-once Mance Rayder-stepped into the light. His wildlings stood at the edges of the room, their faces hard and unyielding. "The Free Folk know the dead better than anyone. We've fought them before. We'll fight them again. But we can't do it alone. Not this time." His words carried the weight of experience. Of loss.

Melisandre's voice cut through again, softer now. "The prophecy is clear. The Prince That Was Promised will lead us. But even the chosen need allies. Even the chosen need hope." Her eyes met Jon's, and for a moment, he felt the weight of her faith. It was a burden he wasn't sure he could carry.

Jon looked around the room. At Robb, at Alysanne, at Daenerys. At the faces of men and women who had already given so much. "We move north," he said finally. "We meet the dead head-on. And we end this. Together."

The room erupted into motion. Ravens were sent, orders given. The armies began to prepare, their movements sharp and urgent. Time was slipping away. The dead wouldn't wait.

Jon stepped outside, the cold air biting at his skin. He looked northward... toward the enemy he couldn't see but could feel. The Night King was coming. And Jon would be ready. Or he would die trying.