My second T-rated OS for language.

The Game of Thrones show was a huge disappointment to be polite and no new book on the horizon...

So I'm writing this story to process my impatience and disappointment.


The Mad King


The cold...

He felt the cold, it was the only thing he had felt since his return. A bitter pain in his bones, like several stab wounds.

"For the Guard," he remembered. As the North remembers, he would never forget the betrayal etched into his body and mind.

Soon it would be over, he would be at peace in the arms of death. Forever, this time, he longed for the void.

On a throne made of a thousand swords, he gave his last order, a crazy order.

After years of a long, long night, it was the only thing left for the living and himself, madness.

"Burn them all."

And unlike the last time so the Kingslayer did.

He, too, was burning to take revenge on others.

He wanted nothing more than to kill another king, a king made of cold and night this time.

Finally, there was light, heat, green explosions as the wildfire burned.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the legacy of the Targaryen, of his illustrious house.

It rampaged against the enemy of humanity, a beautiful and deadly song of fire.

Those cold cunts thought they had the living trapped in the last city in Westeros?

Wrong! They were the ones trapped with the Dragon.

And the Dragon was furious, eager for blood as cold it was.

"Let's us go"

And for the last battle they went.

At his right the Kingslayer, at his left the Demon of the Trident reborn.

Behind them, clothed of black, the best and most insane men and women left in Westeros, all craved for battle.

A what a battle it was! Cold against hot, death against the living, Others against swords in the darkness.

With his warhammer the Demon broke their line, his was the fury.

With her needle, the Assassin murdered their commander, for once they were the hunted.

With only his pride and golden hand, the lion was at the heart of the melee.

The Three-eyed raven made the Other's slaves fight for the living one last time. Before freeing them for eternity.

The Wild wolf leaded the pack into war and victory.

The Last Giant avenged his kind.

Fed with all those died the surviving Children broke the earth for the third time.

In the sky the Dragon Queen and her last living child, the black dread reborn, rained fire on the undead legion in a magnificent dance of fire and blood.

And soon there were only two kings left to face each other.

The long-awaited meeting of ice and fire, the final song. As prophesied long ago.

With a wry smile on his face, in all his cold majesty, the Night King announced himself:

"I am the thirteenth Lord Commander, Jon Snow."

The fool who know nothing chuckled, he also sensed the irony.

Both Stark yet not, both betrayed... and both unliving...

The shells of once men driven by magic and will, the collision of the gods' wills.

There was never any choice from the beginning... everything was predetermined.

Fucking hell! Fuck the gods! Fuck the men! Fuck the prophecy! The Targaryens do not answer to men or gods.

But... a name has been given by a warrior... another name must be given.

How should he answer?

Jon Snow was a sham, a children's tale that ends in blood and snow.

No, he was never Jon Snow...

Blackfyre? Damn no, the Dornish can go fuck themselves, they do it all the time after all...

No, I AM THE KING, there's only one real name that should be given, a proper name for a shitty world.

A wry smile spread across his face, he raised his sword and replied:

"I am the King Aerys III Targaryen"