What If Jon Snow Took Stannis’ Deal to Rule Winterfell

What if Jon Snow took Stannis's deal to rule Winterfell? Let's explore the depths of it in the video. Apologize your grace. Northerners can be a bit like the free folk, loyal to their own. I know. My brother Robert went on often and loudly about how difficult it was to control them, even with your father's help. Tonight, the Night's Watch elects a new Lord Commander. Certus Thornne is going to win. Most likely. Unpleasant man. He thinks you're a traitor. What's your life going to be like here at the wall with Thorn in command? Unpleasant, I expect. Your bravery made him look weak. He'll punish you for it. I don't punish men for bravery. I reward them. I don't doubt it, you grace, but I'm a brother of the Night's Watch. I pledge them my life, my honor, my sword. I don't know what I have left to give you. You can give me the north. I can't. Even if I wanted to, I'm a bastard. The snow. Kneel before me. Lay your sword at my feet. Pledge me your service, and you'll rise again as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Jon stares at Stannis for a long moment, wondering if the king might be justing, but quickly dismisses that notion. One look at the man is enough to tell him that this is a man who doesn't make jokes. That means what he's offering is true. To establish him as the lord of Winterfell. For a moment, the young ranger cannot speak. This is everything he's ever dreamed of. And yet, it has always felt so out of reach. But now, all he must do is bend the knee. Yet, he thinks back to these last few days and all the chaos that Castle Black has endured. Your grace, what of my vows in the Night's Watch? You vowed to guard the realms of men. You were the shield, but I am the sword. You will help me guard it by uniting the kingdoms. Besides, I mean to leave a garrison to aid them. I did not make it to the wall just to see it fall after I depart. Even the likes of Bow and Marsh will accept losing one sword for a hundred. You will leave men here and the Red Woman at least for a time. You are right about one thing, Jon Snow. The wildlings cannot be allowed to remain on that side of the wall. I mean to let them through. at least those willing to see reason. If they bend the knee and pledge their swords to our cause, they will be allowed to march through, and I will instruct the men of the wall accordingly. What of the Lord Commander? I will not interfere there. Let them pick whichever fool they wish, so long as they heed my instructions. So, what do you say, boy? Will you trade Castle Black for Winterfell? Though tempting, it is something he thinks long and hard on. He spends hours rationalizing it in his head. Stannis was the only one who came to the Nights Watchers's aid. His support is the only thing preventing the wall from falling. And as Lord of Winterfell, he can do more to aid his brothers and ensure a peaceful transmission of the wildlings. After hours of contemplation, he accepts that offer. But naturally, many of his brothers are appalled by this, seeing it as outrageous. Even when Stannis vouches for him and points out that he releases Jon from his vows, others are less convinced. The promise of a hundred men is helpful for some, but others are less convinced. Stannis also promises to take the wildlings with him to bolster his forces and ensure the Night's Watch will not have to feed them. This is another tempting offer, but the Knights Watch are not fully satisfied. They demand new elections and that prisoners Stannis takes be sent to the wall to bolster their numbers and that they might have the right to refuse wildlings should they deem them a threat. However, they will try to allow as many as they can through. Melisandre will also not try to convert anyone to the Lord of Light. All of these are harsh terms that leave Stannis grinding his teeth. But in the end, they agree and new elections are held. Unfortunately, the winner of this round is none other than Janice Slint. Although Jon is horrified, he can do nothing as he is no longer a member of the Night's Watch. The new Lord Commander stutters his promises and vows to help Stannis in whatever way they can. But Stannis knows better than to trust him and warns Sir Axel not to trust him either. With that, the king's army departs, accompanied by Jon Snow. Now, Jon Stark, who commands over 300 wildlings, Stannis wishes to march on Winterfell right away, or the Dread Fort and challenge Roose Balden's claims openly, but this new lord of Winterfell advises against it. The North does not know him, and attacking their domains will only rally them against him. Instead, he suggests gathering the mountain clans and promising to liberate Ironborn controlled castles. Though some knights are skeptical, Stannis agrees and they detour through the northern mountains. There they meet with each chief and champion, asking for their aid, while Stannis presents Jon as the last living born son of Ned Stark. Though wary of the wildlings he brings, Jon quickly puts their worries to rest when he speaks to them. I know I'm only a bastard, but I grew up in the same hills as Ned Stark's trueborn children. Arya is much a sister to me as she was to Rob. I will not abandon her. I know you have years of bad blood with the wildlings, but they respect strength as much as any man, and I've beaten them fairly. Now they offer their swords to me. All I ask is that the brave men of the mountains do the same. If not for my sake, then for Ned Stark's daughter. Hearing these words, many clansmen are moved and pledged themselves to Stannis and Jon. By the time their army descends, they have swollen ranks by thousands more. Their next point is to strike at Deepwood Mott, one of the last major holdings of the Ironborn. Jon leads the attack using expert forestry skills of the wildlings and mountain tribes to ambush the Ironborn as they try to escape. Though they lack armor and proper weapons, they have knowledge of the land and support from the locals. The Ironborn fall in droves, and with them come valuable steel and armor to equip his army. The forges of Deep Woodm soon fire up as the blacksmiths work to begin forging armor and weapons to equip this new army. It isn't large and they are unable to arm the entire army. But Jon's forces soon begins looking more like a proper northern army. When they leave the castle, houses Mormont Glover and several smaller houses have joined Jon's army. But while it looks like a military force, Jon is aware of its weaknesses and divisions and tries to forge their ties closer together. He sends some wildlings back with the loot they had taken from the Ironborn, urging them to show the other free folk what is waiting for them if they join his army. As they march down to Winterfell, the weather goes from bad to worse as the snow kicks in and powerful storms halt their progress. At least Stannis's progress. The Wildlings and Northmen are well accustomed to this weather and march without difficulty. Jon takes this lull in stride and tries to bind his forces into something solid. He goes about his camp talking with both free folk and Northmen alike. He urges them to understand each other and the years of bad blood between them. He shares his experiences riding beside both groups and trades stories with them or gests about the Lord of Light and his followers. The latter proves effective as despite their differences, both groups are suspicious about Roller and appreciate Jon's effort to cling to his roots. They also trade jokes, laughing at the Southerners expense. Whether it is their struggle in the cold weather or their strange gods, it is a start and begins to unify their forces as their numbers grow. Scattered Northmen and survivors from Ramsay's atrocities at Winterfell or the Ironborn invasion soon rally to Stannis's side as he now numbers nearly 6,000 by the time he reaches the Coffer's village. Snow falls and thick curtains blanketing the world in white and silence. Across the frozen lake, the Bolton's banner rises like blood stains on a blizzard sky. Flade men twisting in the wind, mingled with their twin towers of Frey and the merman of Manderly. Ramsay Bolton rides at the center of the host. He grins, hungry for blood. They see Stannis's army dug into the far bank alongside the village. Silent, unmoving, Ramsay lifts a gauntlet at hand, and the Bolton Vanguard begins its advance. Steel boots cracking over the frozen river. Their cavalry rushes ahead, nearly a thousand heavy horses galloping across the frozen surface. Against the wildlings and mountain clans, it would be a massacre. Even with their armor, they do not have the experience to face this attack. But Stannis is waiting. Hidden catapults wrapped in white furs and camouflaged between snowladen cloaks creek as they rise from behind makeshift palisades. Jon Stark stands beside Stannis, eyes narrowed, giving the nod. A whistling scream splits the wind. The first boulder arcs through the air, then crashes into the center of the frozen river. A second follows, then a third. The ice groans like a dying beast. Cracks splinter across the surface. Before the Boltons can react, the river shatters beneath them. Men scream as they plunge into the black depths. Horses thrash. Armor drag soldiers down like anchors. The forward lines of the Bolton army disappear beneath the icy waters. Chaos erupts. Screams. Panic. The sound of breaking ice and breaking bones. Then comes the betrayal. From Stannis's right flank. The Karst Stark banners suddenly shift. Their men who moments ago stood alongside Stannis's soldiers turn their weapons inward. Swords are drawn. Axes raise for House Bolton. Dumb K Stark. John, hold the center. I'll deal with his filth. Steel rings on Steel as Kstark men crash into Stannis's flank. The king's army is caught in disarray. Screaming wildlings and mountainmen scramble to form a shield wall, but the sudden betrayal rips a hole in their lines. Jon rallies the center, bellowing commands, his sword already red with blood. Hold the line with me. The Bolton attack is blunted by Stannis's surprise, but hundreds of men still manage to make it across while others circle around the hole in a deep flanking attack. Jon shouts orders and the Northmen form up while the wildlings and hill tribes move to support them, hurling stones or covering up gaps in their lines. The first strikes are brutal as the Freys press them hard. They give them some ground, but Jon rallies them and keeps his army steady. He rides up and down the lines, helping secure areas where they begin to falter while hacking through men left and right. Still, they are outnumbered, and the fighting to their flank saps their morale as the Karst Starks are still on the attack. Ramsay and his flanking force also circle. The center doesn't need to defeat them, just hold them in place until his forces arrive and reinforce the Karstarks. The Manderlys strike from the Bolton rear. A roar rises. Massive armored war horses thunder through the snow. The merman of the White Harbor flies high. Weman Manderly's knights and levies fall upon the Boltons like wolves upon the lambs. Ramsay doesn't see it coming. One moment he's screaming at his men to regroup. The next, a Manderly knight drives a lance through his chest. The bastard of Bolton is dead before he hits the ground. The Bolton host falters, cut off at the front by the shattered river and in the rear by the vengeful Manderlys. Their lines collapse. Advance for Winterfell. The clash is brutal. Snow turns to slush beneath hundreds of trampling feet red with blood. But with the river impassible, their leadership shattered. The Bolton men run out. Some drown trying to flee. Others are run down by Manderly horsemen. The Karst Starks, realizing their mistake too late, find themselves surrounded by two fronts. By the end, Arnoff and his kin are slaughtered while their men clamped in irons. When the field grows quiet, the snow still falls, but now it lands on corpses. The few Bolton men retreat to Winterfell with their tails between their legs. Although Jon is itching to chase after them, they know that they aren't in a position to storm the castle, so instead focus on regrouping. Casualties were bad, but not as bad as they could have been, thanks in large part to Jon's leadership in the Manderly's help. Lord Whiteman himself appears before the King and Lord of Winterfell. Though he did not personally command the troops, he was present in their camp and now marches to offer homage. It appears we are in your debt, Lord Manderly. Think nothing of it, you grace. This is but the duty of abandonment to his lege lord. However, I must advise you from striking at Winterfell. Lord Bolton has more men than you think. But this victory is shaking their faith in their lege lord. Do you not think I know that? We have won a great victory here, though. But battles are the easy part of ruling, as my brother used to say. Then might I offer some suggestions? You may if they are useful. Very well. You have named Ed Stark's Bastard Lord of Winterfell. That is a clever ploy on your end, but you must tread carefully so that there is nothing to be undone. Some distrust bastards, believe them to be treacherous by nature. You must ensure that they have no cause to doubt your loyalty to the Starks. You speak of naming a Stark, but what of Arya in Winterfell? There is no Lady Arya, I'm afraid. I've been to Winterfell several times over the years, and the girl I saw there was not Arya Stark. She looks close enough to fool less perceptive Banaman, but not me. I believe she was one of your former household, but if you provide them with Rickon Stark, then your cause's loyalty shall be proven without a doubt. Stannis and Jon look at one another. It is sensible advice, but both men struggle to believe it. As far as they know, Rickon Stark is dead. If there's a chance that he still lives, then this could help their cause. But until they see him for themselves, they have no choice but to wait and see. In the meantime, they decide to make use of the Stark they have. The next day, as Winterfell wakes up after battle, they see the sight many have been looking for. Just outside Arrow Range, the banner of House Stark flutters in the breeze. Before it rides, John Stark is accompanied by the lords and ladies of House Manderly, Glover, Flint, and Mormont. Even a few of the Karst Stark men are allowed to march with them after they pledge to serve Stannis. A top that banner is the decapitated head of Ramsay Bolton. The men on the battlements watch this procession. The men from the other northern houses feel their hearts swell with pride at the sight. But that is quickly replaced by shame as they realize who they are fighting for. They grumble among themselves, wondering what they are doing serving House Bolton when a Stark is out there. Though Roose tries to maintain order, it doesn't take long before the match is lit. A scuffle between some Frey and Serwin men turns into a brawl that drags into the rest of the Northmen who take this challenge and begin to massacre every Frey they can get their hands on, paying them back for the Red Wedding. Although guest rights might protect Roose Bolton, it does nothing towards the Freys. Amidst the chaos, Lady Dustin opens the gates and allows the Northmen outside to stream inside and join the slaughter. Although the remaining Bolton men try to protect their lord, they lack the means to fend off the entire northern army. By the end, Roose Bolton is captured and personally executed by Stannis while a few Freys are taken prisoner. Yet, Roose's blood barely even begins to congeal when the Northmen gather their plan for the next move. They watch as Jon takes his position on the high seat. I know many of you have mixed feelings about seeing me. Some of you don't like seeing a bastard on Ned Stark's seat and especially one with wildlings. But I am here to tell you that I am a Stark. Not by the declaration of King Stannis, but by my actions, in my blood. I fought here not to advance my position, but because I could not sit back and let my father and brother's murders go unpunished. I know all of you feel the same way. Let's avenge their deaths on their honor and on my name as a stock. Around him, Northmen cheer and pledge their swords to King Stannis, declaring him Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. In the following weeks, word spreads to the Northmen of every corner while Mance is freed to begin gathering more wildlings to reinforce their army. Seeing their bravery, many Northmen grudgingly admit they are ferocious and useful allies. Soon enough, Davos also returns with Rickon Stark, where Jon makes a declaration. Rickon shall be his heir, even if he were to father a child. The Northmen take this as proof of Jon's sincerity, and it helps unite their people. The fires of Winterfell still crackle in the wind, their smoke mingling with the frost of early dawn. In the courtyard, the men are sharpening blades, repairing gear, and sharing meat and meat. There is a life in this place again. True northern life, not the grim, silent dead that ruled under Bolton's eyes. Stannis Baratheon stands by the godswood, watching the army prepare to move. Snowflakes drift across his black fur, gathering the creases of his stern face. He doesn't turn when Jon approaches, but speaks. They cheer your name louder than mine. It's not about cheers. No, it isn't. It's about justice. And for once, I see it. Not in large bloodlines, but in this in how they march now. Not for coin, not out of fear, but for something that matters. They fight to write wrongs, to fight for something they believe in. Enjoy it, Lord Stark. It is a rare enough sight. He looks past the courtyard toward the open gate where hundreds are forming up. Banners of ancient northern houses flapping in the wind beside the red stags of House Baratheon, Manderly, Glover, Mormont, even a few tattered Karstark standards now humbled. You gave them that purpose. This is what I wish for the rest of the realm. I must carry that justice south. But will they come? Some will stay. Their kin still hostages in the twins. Others still bleed for what happened at the Red Wedding. If we march without dealing with that wound, we risk losing everything. Then we cut out the rot. 3 weeks later, the twins are no longer silent. Under the cover of darkness and snow, Mance Raider leads his army of wildlings through the bogs and hills. Their numbers have grown from the 300man guard who left with Jon weeks ago. The prospect of loot had drawn more men with them, and others saw man's returning. This enticed many to go, many more than the Night's Watch would have liked. But seeing the success of Jon and Stannis, they are inclined to let them through. Now they number thousands, including giants. Guided by the Krenagman, they ride behind Frey lines. Many now wear armor and carry proper steel, making them look like a northern army. The only difference is that none of them have any hostages to worry about. When the Freys threaten to hang Great Jon or throw their captured flints off the wall, the only response they get is laughter and a shield. all advancing. Archers move to try and pepper them with arrows, which slows down their attack. But then giants appear. They bear male shirts built specifically to fit them and clubs the size of logs. With that, they brush off whatever attacks the phrase have and smash their weapons against the gate house. But when the gates of the northern tower burst open in the night, laughter turns to screams. Giants storm the courtyards, flinging aside fray guards like dogs. Wildlings climb the walls like spiders, loosing arrows and war cries. The southern tower falls next. Inside, dozens of northern hostages and riverlords are freed by the spear wives and wildlings. When the sun rises, the banners of House Stark and the free folk fly above the shattered towers of the twins. Mance rides out first, his cloak red with furry blood. Behind him, captives rally. Riverlords raise their banners once again. Tully, Vance, Malister, Blackwood. They flock to Stannis's cause like ravens to a storm. The twins arouse. Mance says the captives are safe. Stannis nods, then looks to Sir Justin Massie, already preparing contracts with Bavosi Gold to recruit mercenary companies. Soon after, the Wildling army is joined by the main force, a Mly army of wildlings, many armored now from Bolton and Frey Forge. Northern lords eager to avenge their defeat and sell swords brought over from the narrow sea. By the time they arrive, they see that the riverlords have already started driving their foes back. As they cross into the Riverlands, villages open their gates. Frey outposts burn. Lannister loyalists flee or are executed. In weeks, Stannis takes Riveron without siege. Brendan Tully is placed in command. And the remaining castles fall one by one. But Stannis doesn't just conquer. He rules. This region suffered the most from war. And Stannis moves to restore order. He has his cell swords patrol the ruined villages to protect them from outlaws. While men at arms are put to work and start rebuilding the villages and towns devastated by war, Stannis takes a hands-on approach here, watching the process and monitoring it closely. Those who wish to take advantage of the chaos, whether they be corrupt officials or robbers, and rapers are punished by him. Though harsh, they are welcomed the chaos of the realm. The biggest challenge is that of outlaws, including a brotherhood without banners. Although many are indeed briggins simply taking advantage of the chaos, others genuinely fight for justice. and Stannis works to try and understand which ones are deserving of mercy. He listens to the plight of the small folk, hearing how they were aided by the brotherhood in the past. He tries to address these issues, whether it is by providing them with food, addressing their concerns, or providing them with protection. Jon takes it a step further by offering amnesty to the Brotherhood if they surrender. And many take him up on that offer, including Thoros, who accepts this offer and advises them. As order is restored, Stannis turns west. With Tywin Lannister dead, Jaime gone and Cersei consumed by the faith militant. The Westerlands lie in disarray. Sir Devon Lannister and Farley Prester are desperate to rally troops against the tide crashing upon them. But it's too late. Stannis doesn't halt. His army now numbers over 30,000. Northmen, wildlings, river lords, and foreign blades all flying the stag in the wolf. Ghost rides on ahead just as Greywin did years ago and rampages across the village. The two lords try to halt their advance, meeting Stannis in battle at Ashmark in the crag. They wage a guerilla war against the advancing army, disappearing in the hills. And for a while, it slows their advance. But the wildlings are accustomed to these tactics and encounter them, hunting down bands one by one until lords reform their army once again and risk battle where they are crashed. Villages long ruled by fear rise in revolt. Gold mines close as workers throw down tools and take up pikes. As the gates of Castle Rock close, Stannis stands upon a rise beside Jon, the sea wind at their backs. Justice, boy, let us see if the lions still roar. Not for long. Castly Rock falls with barely a sword drawn. The Lannister Bannerman surrounded without pride, worn down by months of rebellion, and with no lion left to follow. The gates open before Stannis, and the vaults are found mostly bare, looted by fleeing kin or lost, mismanaged wars. Jon stands in the Golden Hall, now empty and echoing. It wasn't meant to be taken this easily. No fortress built by men can stand when the realm itself turns against its rulers. But before they can even settle in, a raven arrives with dire news. Aegon V 6th has returned to land south. Backed by the Golden Company with Stormlanders and Dornish marching under his banners, Aegon lands on the shores of Blackwater Bay and captures King's Landing in a swift strike. Words spread like wildfire. The boy king now holds the capital, the Crownlands, and has been crowned under the very iron throne his supposed ancestors forged. He promised justice. He promises peace. And the south rallies to him. The peace does not last. Aegon moves northward into the riverlands, demanding the lords bend the knee. They respond by calling their banners. The Golden Company burns villages in response and hangs loyalist lords. Seeing this, Stannis rides to meet them. Their forces clash near Maidenpool, then again at Fair Market. In each engagement, Stannis, grim and unrelenting, he throws back the invader. Jon leads in the flanks with wildlings and northern cavalry, letting them unleash their fury upon them. John Conington counters these strikes and rides out to meet them. He is capable of meeting Stannis on equal terms. When they clash, he is equally grim and determined. He is careful and does not take any unnecessary risks. This allows him to reverse some losses, such as in the salt pans, where he sends out the Dornish to weaken Stannis's vanguard. They easily ride down and outmaneuver the Cell Swords and Wildlings. Stannis sends ahead. Once they are scattered, he unleashes the elephants that trample the army and temporarily leave them scattered, letting him retreat in good order back to the Crownlands. There, the Dornish have brought a cruel gift to the field. Poison tied in clay pots to arrow shafts. In a misty dawn raid near Stokeworth, a volley rains down on Stannis's command tent. Men scream as glass shatters and poison spreads on skin through breath into blood. Maester's hands are swift. Antidotes are tried, but it's too late for many. And Stannis himself has been struck. His lips darken. His breath grows thin. We must retreat you, Grace. This war isn't worth your life. You may heal for a bit. Harrenhal and we can march out once we are recovered. The realm is worth my life. Always has been. If I fall, I will fall doing what I was meant to do. And so the army marches with Stannis taking the lead, though his skin turns ashen and his veins darken. He continues to lead. Jon and Davos urge him to rest, but the king refuses until they come to the sight of King's Landing. Aegon's banners fly high above the city. The Golden Company unleashes its war beasts, elephants armored in spiked boarding, charging through the Riverland infantry, tossing men and horses like broken dolls. Around them, cell swords, knights, and Dornish allies rush to face them. The battle is brutal as both sides give no quarter, fighting for the king whom they believe in. Stannis, fevered and dying, mounts his horse. He dons his blackened armor and rides with his guard. Knights from every corner of the fractured realm, sworn now to him in his final hour. As the elephants trample the center, Stannis leads a wedge through the chaos, cutting through mercenaries and bannermanmen alike. The men follow him, not out of fear, but out of belief. Stannis cleaves a war elephant across the face with a flaming sword. The sight of that blade is enough to send the beast scrambling back, some rearing and throwing their riders, and others breaking formation to escape the fire. This opens a gap for him to see Aegon the 6th young regal hesitating at the rear with a small guard. There false king. Your grace, please leave this to us. Get back to the rear. Stannis's response is to go faster, cutting through the nearest guards. Shamed, his knights follow closely and begin battling Aegon's guard. Though he tries to remain composed, seeing his men falling around him breaks Aegon's nerves, and he turns to flee. But through the mud, blood, and fire, Stannis Baratheon carves his path. Is this your justice, boy? Is this your courage? The real dragons did not run. Stannis breaks through Aegon's guard and drives his blade through his back. The throne is not claimed by birth, but by fire and sacrifice. Aegon gasps and dies. Stannis stumbles. Poison surges through him. Finally, too much. He tumbles off his saddle, but a hand grabs him. Jon holds Stannis by the shoulder and prevents him from falling. You must finish it. Jon leads the victorious army into King's Landing. The Golden Company breaks and the rest of his army scatters. Though they capture King's Landing, the remains of the army regroup under John Conington and gather in the Stormlands to make their last stand. As the dust clears and the army reforms in King's Landing, word is sent to Castle Black to send Shireen down. Though Stannis is gone, his influence lives on. Lordlings alike all rush there to discuss their next move. Some wish to march south and finish off the pretender's army, but others want to settle matters first. This is especially true when Sir Davos finds a letter in Stannis's tent containing his final orders. It's addressed to Lord Stark. John Stark, if you're reading this, then either we have claimed victory or I have fallen in battle. Whatever the case, my intentions are the same. I had sought out to bring justice to the realm. And if that mission eludes me, I trust you to continue what I've built. With this, I have a royal declaration. Robert once wished to join our houses together. But it accidentally wed your sister to a viper. I mean to offer the same thing by proposing that Shireen marry you, provided she finds it acceptable. The news rocks the realm almost as much as the second revelation. Among the great lords who come to pay their respects is Howland Reed, who arrives to speak to Jon personally. My boy, there is much you do not know about your family. You are a start more than you realize, but not from the line you think. What do you mean? I was there during the day we found you in the Tower of Joy. You were with your mother, and Ned took you as she breathed her last. What are you saying? You were the son of Lyanna Stark, not Ned. The whole room goes silent as the lords, northmen, riverlords, westermen, and crownlanders all look at one another. Even the wildlings fall silent as they sense the importance of this news. Jon grips the side of his chair, wondering what this could all mean. A thousand thoughts swirl in his mind as he tries to make sense of it all. But one thing nags at him. Then why did you keep it a secret? At first, it was to keep you safe. If the realm found out, it would be the death sentence. But after we declared for Stannis, I thought it would be disrespectful if we declared and then put ourselves above his claim. But now that you stand alone, I think it is important to consider moving forward. The lords are divided. Some cry for Jon's coronation, citing blood and conquest. Others remain loyalty to the legacy of Stannis and see Shireen as his rightful heir. War simmers beneath politics. Jon brings silence to the storm. Then let there be no war. I will marry Shireen Baratheon and together we will rule if she wills it. When Shireen arrives, she finds these terms agreeable and consents to them. With their houses unified, they begin marching south to confront the remnants of the Targaryen army. The Stormlands are in chaos and they conquer the castles one by one as John Conington pulls his forces back, focused on defending the south and restrategizing. Rain lashes the cliffs of Griffin's roost as Conington stands at top the battlements, staring at the battered remnants of Aegon's broken banners. The Stormlands are quiet but restless. So instead, he searches for allies beyond the narrow sea. With Aegon the 6th gone, there is only one Targaryen left, the sister of Rhaegar. And so Jon sends ravens out, saying that the Baratheons sully their names by claiming Jon is one of them. He urges her to come with all her strength, saying that she is their last hope for a Targaryen restoration. And she comes. Just as he received word on the fall of Stone Dance, a roar splits the sky. Conington looks up. A black shape, massive and winged, bursts through the storm clouds. Then another and another. Dragons. The guards scream and scatter as Daenerys Targaryen descends from the sky a top Drogon, her silver hair plastered to her face by the rain. Rhaegal and Viserion wheel behind her, their bellies glowing red with contained fire. She lands in the castle yard. Soldiers dropped to one knee in awe. Connington does not kneel at first. He stares at her as if searching for a ghost. Then slowly he lowers himself, not just to a queen, but to the last ember of House Targaryen. The boy John, he's not Rhaegar's son. But you, you are the true dragon. Then rise, Lord Conington, if you still believe in fire and blood. Together, they rally the broken host. Stormlanders, mercenaries, and Dornish stragglers fall into line beneath the red dragon. But their strength is not in number, it is in fire. They push west toward the reach where fertile lands stretch for miles, rich with food and wealth. The Tyrells, wary and having not declared for either side, still hope to make a comeback somehow. They close off Bitterbridge, hoping to cut their enemies off, but Daenerys corrects this notion when she burns a path right through them. As the defenders scatter, her army marches across. Mace tries to challenge her. Though weakened, he still has the largest army in Westeros and marches out to face her. This is a disaster as the dragons unleash their flames, scattering the men and leaving them to be picked off by the Dothraki or mowed down by the unsullied Failins. The remaining Westerosce run them down and Mace is among the dead. Seeing this, Willis wisely allows Daenerys to march through their lands, and the Tyrell bannermanmen yield one by one. By the time Jon's forces arrive, he hears of this crushing defeat, and he decides to switch tactics. Using his experience traveling with wildlings, Jon instead opts for guerrilla warfare. He knows fire cannot be fought with swords, but he also knows dragons cannot hold supply lines. He unleashes the tactics of the wildlings. Ambushes in the trees, nighttime raids on camps, sudden attacks on baggage trains. In the forests north of Golden Grove, the dragons are not feared. They are hunted. Daenerys's army, bloated with southern allies, grows frustrated and slow. All the while, small bands of knights, gathered outlaws, cells swords, and wildlings rally their army and strike like vipers. They call Jon a coward, but the words never reach him. Instead, at last, Daenerys sends Jon Conington out to crush them. Conington marches with haste, taking his fastest moving riders and believing he will catch Jon underwear. But the North watches from the trees. Every step the Golden Company takes is followed. Every camp is watched. Then the North strikes. The veil becomes a trap. Narrow paths are hit with rolling boulders. Arrows rain from above, and wildfire hidden in wagons ignites, turning clearings into infernos. The Golden Company fights bravely, but they are foreign here. The land swallows them whole as John Conington tries to rally his men. Mance Raider leads the final charge and captures him, who brings him to John Stark's camp and chains. Conington is brought before Jon Stark under a moonless sky where only the glow of campfires illuminates the scars and tired faces of warriors. Jon studies the older man, bloodied, proud, and unbowed. You fought beside Rhaegar. You swore to protect his son, and I failed him. I failed them all. Come to mock me? I'm not here to mock you. I'm here to show you the folly you've chosen. Ah, yes. Because you were the real son of Rhaegar. He spawned between his little trrist with Lyanna. Best watch your tongue, my lord. Look closely. Look me in the eye if you will insult me. Conington stares at the boy, ready to snort or dismiss him. But as he sees him, the older man glimpses something he hasn't before. For the first time, he sees Jon. Truly sees him, and just how similar he is to Rhaegar. He sees their same sad eyes, the contemplative look on their faces, and the angular face. For the first time, he believes, "Do you?" You have his sad eyes. Rhaegar's the same fire beneath stillness. You speak with Ned Stark's voice, but your words, they cut like your fathers. Jon says nothing. He dreamed of a better world, not ruled by fire, but by peace, by strength and justice. You might be what he dreamed of, not a conqueror, a king. Then why do you served in Aries? Because I have nothing else. I vowed to put a Targaryen on the throne, but I see now that there is already one there. My lord, please let me fight for you. I do not want your sword. I want to end this war. Daenerys's tent is quiet. The only sounds the crackle of torches and the distant roar of dragons circling above. John Conington stands before her, armor scraped, eyes shadowed by weeks of defeat. You must end this, Daenerys. We are losing. Not only the war, but the hearts of the people. Every day, Jon Stark grows stronger. Every day, another lord bends the knee to him. The reach now feeds him. The Stormlands bleed away. You speak like a man who's already surrendered. You are not your father. But if you continue down this path, they will not see a queen. They will see a conqueror, a destroyer. Besides, he offers terms. He's willing to negotiate. I saw it myself. He has Rhaegar's blood in him. You said that about the last boy. And where did he end up? I crossed oceans, burned my enemies, freed cities. I will not beg a bastard wolf for mercy. John Stark, watching from a ridge above, Tumbleton prepares for a final gamble. He sees the army marching out and knows that the war will continue. The carts roll into the valley, dozens of them, stacked with barrels covered by cloth. Daenerys's scouts report supply wagons, and as intended, they are left unbothered until her dragons strike. The supply convoy is ambushed by Dothraki raiders. The defenders scatter at the sight of them and disappear into the forest. But as Daenerys and her dragon circle to inspect it, Jon's archers fire from a distance with fire arrows, letting the glass vials shatter. A cloud of death rises. The poison Stannis died from. The Dornish venom brewed from scorpion glands and basilisk blood spills into the sky. They have reverse engineered it and now unleashed it upon them. The dragons shriek. Drogon falters in flight, crashing hard. Viserion and Rhaegel spiral of formation, wings beating erratically as the venom takes its toll. She orders a retreat. Her arms move to protect the dragons. With them incapacitated, Jon goes on the offensive again, leading fresh attacks around their forces. While the Dothraki and Unsulli try to stop them, they are just normal soldiers now and equally matched for the rest of the Westerosi army. Especially as Conington takes control of the Stormlands and tries to steer them away. This leaves only the Reach and Dorne for Jon to pour his army through. While carelessly avoiding Daenerys's main camp, he swarms across the region. But amidst the chaos, houses switch sides, offering their swords to Jon in secret. But one stands out amongst the rest. Arya, you're not the only one with ghosts to settle. Jon embraces her, but his eyes are troubled. He sees how different she seems. Colder, darker, ruthless. He's even more surprised to see what she offers. Give me the word. I'll slip through her guards and end it. Quick, clean. No crown, no fire, no war. Jon stares at the flickering campfire. He thinks of his ancestor, Thoren Stark, and what he did when faced with a similar choice all those years ago. His bastard brother had offered the deed. Now his sister offers the same. If it goes well, he could end the war entirely. But before he responds, a rider appears with news. The wall has fallen. The parchment is stained with blood. But the words are clear. Despite promises made by Janice Slint, the Wildlings and Hardhome were denied safe passage. The Night's Watch closed the gates. Thousands were trapped and slaughtered as they waited for safety. They begged him for ships to send their aid, but Janice refused to send anything. But the dead did not stay dead. The White Walkers turned the massacre into a ritual mass sacrifice. Blood spilled by fear and betrayal. The magic of the wall, old and tired, cracked under the weight. The wall is broken. The North is no longer safe. The long night has begun again. Jon's hands tighten around the letter, his knuckles white. Do we strike? Jon closes his eyes, weighing everything. Stannis's dream of justice, Daenerys's dragons, the love of his people, the burden of kingship. No, not like this. He does send Drya in, but not to kill her. To leave a token, a direwolf sigil, and a letter to let her know what nearly happened and why he showed mercy. See Daenerys Stormbborn, Queen of the Andals and the First Men. I chose not to end this with a knife. I chose mercy. The same mercy Stannis showed me when I took his offer and abandoned my vows. Not for power, but for the realm. The wall has fallen. The dead march. We must be more than fire and snow. We must be life. If you would defend the realm, join me in the north. Jon Stark. The next morning, Jon stands before his assembled lords, many still questioning. So we let her go after all she's done. Stannis Baratheon marched north when the realm thought it was madness. He saw what others refuse to. I will do the same. If we die, we do so as men, but we may yet live as brothers. He rides out at the head of the army. Riverlords, wildlings, reachmen, and northmen return to the north. As they march north, the sky darkens. Winds howl, and behind them, the dragon queen must decide. Will she follow vengeance? The fall of the north begins with a crack. Not thunder, not the groaning of old stone or the roar of dragons. It's something deeper, darker, a wound opening in the very fabric of the world. A top the wall, frozen watchmen gape in silence as a wave of red mist pours from beyond the forest's edge, coiling like smoke, screaming like wind. Below, where hard once stood, a massacre has become something more. A ritual. The blood of 10,000 wildlings slain by betrayal and left to rot in despair spills into the ancient carvings etched deep into the perafrost by dead hands. Glyphs glow with icy flame and shadows rise with purpose. The air itself turns brittle. Then it happens. The wall shutters. Runes forged by the children of the forest spark like dying stars. A fissure races along the ice. And with a thunderous moan, the wall breaks. It does not simply fall. It collapses inward, dragged down by ancient magic, pulverized by its own unraveling. The sound echoes across the world like the nail of doom. And through the breach, march the dead. The ravens fly faster than the wind, bearing messages no one wants to read. The watch is gone. East Watch shattered. Castle black is abandoned. The dead pour through. A tide of frozen limbs and silent eyes. endless and without mercy. Most of the Night's Watch were slain in this initial attack, and those who weren't were slaughtered or fled. John Stark turns his army north on the same day the world reaches them. He sends ravens to every holdfast, every coffter's village, every corner of the land that still breathes. The North answers to escape and to arm themselves. Wildlings race south with news of entire forests gone silent. villages where even the crows lie still. Man's raider, Grimfaced, joins John Connington in leading the vanguard. They move with all haste to slow down the dead and halt their advance, if only for a little while, to buy time for the people to escape. But they are not ready. The first true battle is fought along the icy banks of the last river, where Conington and Mance attempted to stem the tide. Fires are lit. Trenches are dug. Whites charge, crawling over each other like insects. Arrows are loosed. Spears break. Men scream. Cold fills their lungs before blades ever touch them. Conington's flank buckles under sheer weight. Mance fights with fury, but it is not enough. The dead surge forward, tireless and unrelenting. Not even the giants are enough to slow them down as they are overwhelmed like ants swarming a bee. The armies are forced to retreat in disarray. They flee back the way they came, running back across the shore. It is only when Jon arrives that they are saved. At his side rides ghost, pale and silent. In Jon's hand, a sword wrapped in cloth. The blade is dark. And then Lightbringer awakens. The fire races down the steel like a living creature. Whites hiss and fall away as the light touches them. The blade sings with heat and ancient magic as the the very essence of the wall had passed into Jon's grip. Where Jon fights, the dead burn, but it is a single flicker of candle-like against a darkened world. Although the whites are startled and pushed back, all it does is allow Mance and Conington to gather their men and retreat the way they came. The North has not seen such a war since the age of heroes. Winterfell stands ready with Rickon Stark holding court, stubborn and brave. But no child, no matter how noble, can withstand the cold tide that comes for them. Arya rides with her fastest riders to evacuate the castle of anyone not able to fight. Jon races to the castle with his host. And just as the dead arrive, the siege begins with darkness falling at midday. The dead surrounding Winterfell like a ring of rot. For three days and nights, the castle holds archers on the walls, wildlands at the gates, Northmen forming shield walls. Then the white walkers arrive. Silent, pale, beautiful in a way that only death can be. They command the storm. Walls freeze from within. Flame gutters and still the dead climb. They pay for every inch they take, but the numbers are endless and nothing slows them. They march over the fallen defenders whose men have risen to join them. Even with Malisandre, they struggle. She calls fire from the gods, igniting the sky itself. But even Rolar's power cannot cleanse the storm entirely. Whenever he burns part of the wall or melts the ice, the dead freeze it again and climb over it. The back and forth finally breaks on the fourth day when the dead push forward. Jon, Rickon, Mance, Conington, and the survivors retreat to Mo Kalin, the last choke point before the southern kingdoms. What remains of the armies dig beneath the ruined towers, standing over marsh and blood. They are near the end. Men sleep in armor, dreaming of ice. Ghosts of the dead stalk their minds. The wounded coughed up black blood. Fires burn constantly, not for warmth, but to ward off the dead. Then one dawn, a horn sounds, and they see her. Daenerys Targaryen rides at the head of a new host. Dothraki, unsullied, reach knights, Dornish spears, all moving with purpose and speed. Above them fly dragons, still scarred, but alive. Fire dances in their wake. Together the combined armies rally. Fire joins frost. Northern steel meets eastern discipline. The dragons descend again. Not as tyrants but as salvation. The white walkers meet them in battle beneath the broken towers of Mo Kalin. For days the war rages. Blizzards lashing the earth. Flame cutting the darkness. Jon and Daenerys fight side by side. Lightbringer blazing. Drogon roaring. Now their spark has grown from flame to a raging inferno. All around the ruined castle. The dead burn, yet their numbers are endless and risk an attack. Jon gathers his most trusted allies. Lightbringer burns in his hand. He signals Daenerys down and nods gratefully. You came. I have no intention of being the queen of ashes. What are these things? Long story, but all you must know is that they will not stop at the north. They will consume everything so long as they remain alive. Everything from the neck to dawn is in danger. Then you have my help. What is the plan? You need to clear a path for us. At his side stand the last of the free folk, the remaining wildlings of Northmen. The Unsullied form the shield wall. Arya lurks among the shadows, blade in hand. Davos commands the rear, grim and ready. Mance Raider and John Conington ride once more. Above them, Drogon circles, and before them, standing upon a ridge of jagged ice, is the Night King. They charge as one. No horns, no speeches, only snow and thunder and death are waiting ahead. The sound of hoof beatats drowns all else. The flames of Lightbringer leaves a trail in the air. Drogon roars and dives, setting the front ranks of the whites ablaze. The living clash with the dead beneath the ancient stones of the crumbling fortress. But as the fire clears a path, they pick off the scattered death, clearing a path for Jon to make his way through and send Ghost forward, ripping through the dead. Behind him, Arya dances through the battlefield like a shadow of death. Ghost lunges into the undead horde, his white fur soaked in blood. The Unsullied hold the center line after line, breaking but never folding. Conington is cut down, protecting a young bannerman. Mance slays three whites before they tear into him from his horse, only to be saved by Davos's rear guard. But Jon rides through it all. He cuts a path through the dead. Lightbringer burning hotter with every step until he reaches him. Jon leaps from his horse as it is killed beneath him. Rolling to his feet, sword in hand. The Night King steps forward, blade of ice in his grip. Around them, the battle fades. Steel and ice, fire and shadow. Lightbringer meets the Night King's blade with explosions of magic. Every strike echoes like a bell tolling the fate of the world. Jon fights with everything. Ned's form, Rob's fury, Lyanna's fire, but the Night King is ancient, precise, and perfect in his stillness. The ice sword cuts deep across Jon's ribs. He stumbles, drops to a knee. The world narrows. Arya blocks the next strike with her dagger while Davos and Mance stumble forward. Connington tries to protect them from advancing whites. Daenerys and Drogon circle overhead and open a path once more. Then he sees them. Arya, wounded but watching. Davos shouting. Drogon is circling low. Ghosts of the dead. The faces of the living. And as the Night King knocks Arya back, Ghost bites into him and holds him off. The Night King shakes him off and then turns to Jon. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. And he strikes. Lightbringer plunges into the Night King's chest. For a moment, nothing. Then the blade explodes with fire, a sun in winter, and the Night King shatters into a million shards of ice and shadow. The sky screams as the dead drop all around them. With the Night King dead, the North is left devastated, and Jon turns his attention there. To his surprise, Daenerys offers to help. She recalls the devastation in Slavers Bay and tries to make up for her invasion by helping them now, settling the wildlings and the Northmen back in their homes. Along with that, the unsullied and freed men are settled there to rebuild. Jon is made king and Daenerys, the lady of Dragonstone, as well as the ruler of Castly Rock. That's our theory. Westeros is a land filled with exciting stories and possibilities, and we love exploring them. If you want to accompany us on this journey across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, then please like, share, and subscribe to our channel.