Shadows over Westeros
Summary: When a mysterious race of beings known as the Shadar-Kai invade the North, and win, 7000 years before the coming of Aegon, how will they affect the history of Westeros? What new worlds will be open to a world so divided by its own turmoil?
Prologue part 1
They lost this war. They had lost it from the moment it began, some would say. In fact, they would probably sing dreary and depressing songs about how they had fought a war that could not be won.
Jarren Stark, second born son, and sadly now the heir, of King Jonnel Stark the One-Eyed, brooded in glum acceptance of this fact as he stood upon the ramparts of Winterfell and observed the enemy army as it approached their gates. He still wondered how things had come to this.
It had all begun six years ago, when his father had decided to begin excavating old ruins discovered near Deepwood Motte, due to his desire to "learn more of our history, and maybe discover something new, something important." It seemed harmless then; dirt and debris were cleared, while rusted weapons, pieces of clay pots, tribal fetishes, and other items were occasionally uncovered, and all was well.
Then, about eleven months into excavation, one of the workers dug into what appeared to be a rather large tunnel, the floor of which was covered in wheel marks and footprints. Upon closer examination, it was soon realized that some of the marks were quite recent. King Jonnel ordered a small party of ten brave and strong warriors, armed with crossbows, weapons, lanterns, supplies and pickaxes, men who were not afraid of enclosed spaces, to explore the tunnel and see where it led. Ten went down, but, after several hours, only two returned. The survivors were half mad with fear, with one rambling on about the "shadow men with their chains and spikes". The other man, who was lucid but no less fearful, and missing an ear and a hand, described what had occurred to the exploration party.
The men had traversed the tunnel for what they estimated to be 5 miles, when they noticed a light at the far end of the tunnel moving towards them. As the men held their weapons at the ready, voices could be heard chatting in what seemed to be a rather archaic and bastardized version of the old tongue and something else, something that the man described as sounding like "shadows caressing the inside of your skull". As the light got closer, the men saw what the sources of the voices were, and it was, indeed, a sight to behold. The small party of beings, a smattering of males and females, were slightly taller than the explorers, and looked like humans, though with skin colors ranging from light to dark grey, leaner, and covered in garish tattoos, piercings, and scars. Some went bare-chested, others wore strange, spiked armor, either leather, chain, or plate. All carried either jagged swords or lengths of spiked chain. Most disturbing, the man stated, were their eyes; no pupils, indeed, no trace of white at all, "like twin pits of endless darkness", the warrior had described.
The survivors were rather sparse on details of what had occurred upon this meeting of the two races, only that somehow, a skirmish broke out between the groups, and though the Northman fought bravely, and killed at least 4 of the creatures, 8 men were massacred.
"Every time, we cut one o' em, they seemed to shrug it off. They butchered those eight poor souls, and we could do naught but leave their bodies behind, there in the dark, hidden from the eyes of the old gods!"
King Jonnel had ordered the tunnel entrance boarded up, and guarded by a small battalion of soldiers. For a month, the entrance was silent, with no further disturbances. But, at that month's end, everything changed. An army of the creatures had burst out of not only that entrance, but others hidden in the ground of Deepwood Motte. The garrison of soldiers was slaughtered, and Deepwood Motte was swiftly conquered.
Reports came later that a good portion of House Glover had been either slaughtered or taken captive. The few survivors that fled to Winterfell recounted horrific stories of the creatures throwing themselves into battle with a bizarre combination of wild abandon and orderly tactics, utilizing all forms of combat, including tooth and nail, screeching like crows, and using strange magic that twisted the shadows into weapons, allowed them to actually teleport through the shadows, or was accompanied by clarion trumpets and blinding light. It was also learned that this strange race had a name; the shadar-kai. Though King Jonnel swiftly called the banners to retake Deepwood Motte, the creatures managed to not only fend them off, but also gain more territory, using underground assaults, and guerrilla tactics. It had seemed that there was no end to these "shadar-kai" as more and more would keep rushing out of the tunnel entrances every day.
From that disastrous battle at Deepwood Motte, the rest of the North slowly fell over the course of 5 bloody years; first it was the massacre at Torren's Square and the capture of House Tallhart. Then it was the battle of the Last Hearth and the subdual of the mighty Umbers, the slaughter of Dreadfort and the near extinction of the Boltons (thought that was not considered too great a loss), the skirmish at Hornwood, and so on, until Winterfell had become surrounded on all sides, and the enemy was camped right on its doorstep. Though they had pleaded for assistance from the other kingdoms, no help was given. Not even the black brothers of the Night's Watch could assist.
'And so here we are now, having to kneel to these creatures and beg for mercy', Jarren thought bitterly as he watched the shadar-kai king, Razvahn Korlon, as he was known, approach the gates of Winterfell on a black steed along with seven young shadar-kai men and women, his children, and each just as ferocious as their father.
Like most of his kind, the shdar-kai resembled a tall, lean, grey human covered in tattoos, piercings, and scars, though he was even taller and more muscular than most, and his most noticeable blemishes were two swords tattooed point down upon his cheeks. He was clad in spiked plate armor that was a garish collage of gold, white, black, and red, and wore a crown wrought in the shape of axe blades upon his. He had long braided hair dyed the same colors as his armor. An enormous great-axe was strapped to his back, which Jarren had seen him use with great finesse, cleaving a Bolton man in half with one swing of the weapon at the battle of the Dreadfort.
With a gesture from his father, Jarren sighed, shook himself from his thoughts, and followed his father and siblings down to the front gates of Winterfell to negotiate their surrender terms.
At the gates, Jarren's father stood before Razvahn, removed his own crown of swords, and handed it to the shadar-kai. The creature smiled as he accepted the crown, a garish sight coming from a face riddled with piercings, tattoos, scars, and teeth filed to points, which Jarren had also seen him use to tear out an Umber banner man's throat at the battle of the Last Hearth.
That battle had been a horrific slaughter, and though it had been a technical victory for the Northerners, it had been a hollow one, as Jarren's elder brother, Dorren, had been killed in the fighting, made worse by the fact he had died protecting Jarren. He remembered cradling Dorren as he slowly died from chest wounds inflicted by the shadar-kai's horrific chain weapons, wounds meant for Jarren.
The following day, the shadar-kai had attacked in full force, driving out the Northerners and either killing or taking most of proud and strong House Umber hostage. How the now eldest Stark son had wept that day.
"I am glad that you have seen reason King Jonnel", the shadar-kai king said, in a surprisingly strong and commanding voice, triumph alight in his black and silver eyes. "Despite the fact that you have lost this war, you and yours have fought well, and Tempus, god of battle, is pleased. I have no wish to slaughter you like defenseless sheep though, and I will allow you and your family to live. However, your lines time as Kings-in-the-North has ended. I am your new king, and these lands are my people's lands now. You, your family, and all your banner men will live on only as my family's advisors and protectors. But, I will allow you to retain royal blood in your veins by having my sons marry your daughters and having your sons marry my daughters. Through this shall our blood shall be joined, and the land will be stronger for it. What say you, Jonnel Stark?"
Razvahn extended his clawed, scarred, pierced and tattooed hand towards Jonnel. Jarren took the time to notice the various expressions on his sibling's faces; horror on his twin older sisters Jeyne and Alys' faces, disgust on his younger brother's, Brandon and Rickard, and fear on his youngest sister's, Lyanna and Wylla. As for his own self, Jarren was not sure what to feel, perhaps just numb acceptance of all these events. His father turned from Razvahn for a moment and look upon his own children, an expression of sorrow upon his one-eyed face, then sighed, and turned back to the shadar-kai.
"I accept."
With those two words, a handshake, an official treaty, and 7 fold betrothals and marriages, the North was affectively conquered by the shadar-kai.