Game of Thrones: Rise of the Supreme Dragon Queen

"Mother's Mercy, the Long Night must come and freeze or starve every single one of those filthy commoners in King's Landing to death. Not a single one should be left alive.

Just Father, brave Warrior, you must make the demon dragon and its mother fair and selfless, courageous and fearless, unafraid of sacrifice.

In the face of the White Walker crisis, she must be brave and selfless.

Only by charging forward without fear of death can one truly die; only by committing to selfless devotion can one truly own nothing; only by fearing no sacrifice can one truly make a sacrifice.

Wise Crone, please take away the demon dragon mother's wisdom. Let her remain foolish forever, continuously pouring money, energy, and troops into the Wall.

Let her blindly and recklessly duel with the White Walkers, always rushing to the front lines, surrounded and ravaged by a hundred thousand tall, strong, savage White Walkers.

Smith, god of strength, may you cause the demon dragon mother's sword to break upon meeting the enemy, may you drain her strength during battle.

Stranger, oh Stranger, take Daenerys and her dragons away, bring them to the seventh hell to be your companions!"

Cersei dared swear that even when her son Joffrey died, when her father Tywin died, or when she was imprisoned in the Great Sept's dungeon praying to the Seven, she had never been as devout as she was now.

"Qyburn, quickly, tell me—is the Long Night real?" she asked, grabbing Qyburn's hand with an eager face.

"The White Walkers might be real, but the Long Night... not necessarily," Qyburn replied hesitantly.

Cersei was displeased and grumbled angrily, "Why not? They're White Walkers! The ones from Old Nan's stories! They bring cold, steal away the sun, plunge the world into the Long Night, and wipe out ninety-nine percent of humanity—"

At that, Cersei suddenly giggled like a naïve young girl.

"Giggle, giggle. What a beautiful number, ninety-nine percent. All the lowborn, the mobs, the beggar army—dead."

"Your Grace, the Crownlands, the Riverlands, and the Westerlands are all suffering from food shortages. Even Casterly Rock failed to prepare enough grain for summer due to ongoing wars," Qyburn cautiously reminded her.

"Heh, have you ever heard of a Lannister starving to death? As for the lowborn, the more that die, the better," Cersei sneered contemptuously.

Then she quickly added, "Of course, Tyrion the ugly freak doesn't count. May the Seven bless him—let that deformed little demon monkey be so poor and hungry he has to gnaw on his own nose. Hahaha, but his nose already fell off, nothing left to chew!"

Watching the Queen Mother plunge into manic joy for no clear reason, Qyburn broke out in a cold sweat, his back soaked.

He cautiously watched her expression and said, "Your Grace, the Long Night might not come."

Cersei's manic laughter stopped abruptly. She pouted and complained, "How can there be no Long Night? Old Nan's stories clearly said the White Walkers bring eternal winter. If the White Walkers are real, how can there be no Long Night?"

Qyburn gave a kind, apologetic smile, as if he were the one personally blocking the Queen Mother's hoped-for Long Night.

"There's a Wall between the Seven Kingdoms and the far North, plus the Night's Watch and the Dragon Queen who's pouring insane amounts of resources into the Wall. I've heard Dragonstone is frantically mining dragonglass, and dragonglass counters White Walkers.

Now there's even talk of forming an 'Anti-White Walker United Front.' No matter what, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms will keep sending people to the Wall—just like us. Joining the anti-White Walker effort at least ensures the demon dragon won't burn down their castles.

The Wall has troops, money, and weapons. The White Walkers can't get through. And without them, the Long Night won't come to Westeros." He explained gently.

"Damn it. Why won't the Wall just collapse?" Cersei muttered through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, a spark lit in her mind, and a clever glint flashed in her beautiful blue eyes. "What if we send the three Kettleblack brothers to the Wall and have them secretly let the White Walkers in?"

The Kettleblack brothers—Osmund, Osfryd, and Osney—were the three carrion crows of Cersei's concocted "Feast of Crows."

Three low-born thugs with unknown origins had risen in rank solely due to their physical attributes and skills. The eldest became a Kingsguard, the second became Commander of the City Watch, and the youngest became one of the Queen Mother's close confidants.

Cersei's original plan had been for the youngest to seduce her daughter-in-law Margaery, then confess their affair to the High Sparrow and have Margaery executed.

Once the youngest brother was arrested, Cersei would personally step in to have him sent to the Wall.

After arriving there, he had another mission: assassinate Jon Snow and eradicate the Stark line completely.

Unfortunately, Cersei's scheming was seen through by the High Sparrow.

He had the youngest Kettleblack brother, who came to report Margaery, tortured without hesitation.

The third brother couldn't endure the pain and spilled all of Cersei's secrets.

And so, Cersei ended up in prison.

Yet now, she hadn't learned her lesson and was concocting an even more outrageous scheme.

"No, Your Grace, you can't let the White Walkers through!" Qyburn's face changed drastically, and he hurried to dissuade her.

"You saw how the Dragon Queen reacted to evil. If she finds out you let the White Walkers into the North, she'll immediately send Deathwing to drop a meteor on your head!"

"How would anyone know it was me?" Cersei asked.

Qyburn was speechless.

With a boss this dumb, he really wanted to change employers.

He'd heard the Dragon Queen was a sorceress—a magical witch. Maybe she'd take him in as a fellow practitioner.

"The Kettleblacks will definitely betray you," he sighed.

"They wouldn't dare!" Cersei shouted.

"Sigh... how did you end up in the Great Sept's dungeon again?" Qyburn whispered as a reminder.

"Uh…"

Several Days Later, at Riverrun.

Noon, in the dining hall, where many members of House Frey had gathered, waiting for the meal to begin.

Suddenly, the old maester entered from a side door and whispered something into the marquis's ear.

"Hahahahaha!" A moment later, the bald, wrinkled Walder Frey burst into wild laughter as he held the letter handed to him, his joy and mockery written plainly across his face.

"My lord, what's the good news?" asked Black Walder from the head of the table.

Black Walder, Walder Frey's great-grandson, had been one of the primary executors of the Red Wedding.

Yes, Walder Frey had lived to be a centenarian—91 years old, married eight times, fathered more than twenty sons, and his sons had given him hundreds of grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, and great-granddaughters.

In Game of Thrones, no one had a bigger family than old Walder Frey. His children alone could form a cavalry battalion.

"The truth is out—Oldtown violated the rights of guests and tried to harm the Dragon Queen."

Old Walder eagerly announced that the Holy Dragon had declared Oldtown guilty of seven grave sins.

"I said it all along. It had to be Oldtown lying. There are so many poets in Lannisport singing about the 'Mystery Knight Lyra.' A legendary heroine like the Dragon Queen would never violate guest rights," Red Walder said proudly.

Red Walder was Old Walder's grandson, only fifteen this year, and had just returned from Casterly Rock.

Old Walder had too many descendants to properly divide his affection among them.

To please their father, grandfather, or great-grandfather, many Freys named their sons "Walder" and their daughters "Walda" (a feminized version of Walder).

There were so many of them—over a dozen Walders and Waldas—that Old Walder could remember them only because they all shared the same name.

But telling them apart was another matter entirely.

So, based on appearance and personality, new nicknames emerged: Black Walder, Blue Walder, Red Walder, Big Walder, Little Walder, White Walda, Fat Walda, and Pretty Walda.

Aside from "Walder," many famous names across the Seven Kingdoms had also fallen victim to this trend: Tywin Frey, Aerys Frey, Rhaegar Frey, Robert Frey, Jaime Frey, Cersei Frey...

For years, Marquess Walder Frey had been looked down upon, mocked as a nouveau riche whose family had no heritage after 600 years.

And every time he was mocked, he'd go home and take it out on the noble who dared to laugh at him.

After all, if a man disciplines his own child, even the Seven can't interfere.

Old Walder glanced at his grandson and said calmly, "Boy, I'm happy. Whether or not the Dragon Queen is a great hero doesn't matter."

"Then what are you happy about? Yesterday, you asked me to tell you the story of Lyra, the greatest female knight in the realm, winning the crown of love and beauty. I thought you liked her," Red Walder said in confusion.

"If she's beautiful, of course I'd like her," Old Walder rolled his eyes.

"Everyone says she's pretty," Red Walder said innocently.

"Ahem." Black Walder interrupted his little uncle and said seriously, "Precisely because the Dragon Queen is such a legend, Oldtown violating guest rights stands out even more.

Didn't you notice?

Lately, there's been far less comparison of us Walders to rat-cooks.

That's because Oldtown acts like a magnetic greatshield, standing in front of House Frey and drawing all the attention of the people of the Seven Kingdoms."**

"Heh, Blackie, you really understand me," Old Walder gave a weasel-like grin and praised him.

"I heard the Braavosi also violated guest rights," Blue Walder suddenly said from the corner of the hall.

Blue Walder's mother was a Tyroshi, and he'd inherited many Tyroshi customs from her—such as dyeing his mustache blue and braiding it into tiny plaits.

Hence, the nickname "Blue Walder."

"Where did you hear that?"

Old Walder looked up and squinted toward the corner for a long while before confirming it was one of his great-grandsons.

"While on patrol, I met a sea merchant from Saltpans. He'd received a raven from across the Narrow Sea. The incident happened just a few days ago and will start spreading soon."

Lady Stoneheart had hanged several Freys, and the Twins had stationed fleets along the Green Fork and Trident to hunt the Brotherhood Without Banners.

"Come closer," Old Walder beckoned to Blue Walder.

He was too far away, and it was hard to hear.

Blue Walder walked past two long wooden tables and dozens of curious brothers, uncles, and cousins, stepping up to Old Walder and repeating the news he had heard.

"Hahahahahahahaha!"

Old Walder threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"Marvelous! This is sensational news across Westeros—on one side, Braavos, head of the Nine Free Cities; on the other, the world-renowned Dragon Queen. They deserve to be remembered forever, while we Freys—heh heh..."

"I love her—the Dragon Queen. Hey, Third Son's family! Isn't your daughter-in-law about to give birth? If it's a girl, name her 'Daenerys,' and if it's a boy, 'Danys.'" Old Walder grinned at a burly-bearded Frey.

"Grandfather, my wife is about to give birth too," said a balding middle-aged man at the next table.

"Fine, all of them can be named 'Daenerys.' If she's fair-skinned, she'll be White Dany; if dark, Black Dany—hahaha... cough cough."

After catching his breath, the old man's weasel face was filled with mischief as he said, "She should keep roaming—ideally visit all Nine Free Cities of Essos and every major noble house in Westeros. No guards. Only then will she stir up the darkest desires in every man's heart."

When everyone has done the same thing, when violating guest rights becomes a tradition, then Walder Frey will no longer be the most despicable one.

With that thought, Old Walder slapped the table and shouted, "Bring a bottle of Arbor Gold from the Arbor—we must celebrate!"

"To the Dragon Queen!"

"To Oldtown!"

"To the mighty Titan of Braavos!"

(End of Chapter)

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