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THIS IS YOUR TRIGGER WARNING: A Song of Ice and Fire is dark as fuck, and so is Worm. Every taboo you can think of, from incest and bestiality to rape and torture will come up in this story. Don't read if you do not want to see this. But grimdark is the name of the game, and first generation trigger events are the worst moments in somebody's life.
This is the final, revised list of characters and their powers. On the left side is the character, and the right side is the power they're getting. People who are boldfaced and underlined have triggered by the start of this chapter.
Eddard Stark: August Prince
Catelyn Stark: Panacea
Brynden Tully: Hookline
Benjen Stark: Shadowstalker
Robb Stark: Uber & Jouster
Bran Stark: Aiden & Gallant
Hodor: Clairvoyant & Gentle Giant
Osha (Wildling): Cricket
Jojen Reed: Labyrinth
Meera Reed: Doormaker
Rickon Stark: Bitch [Nymeria, Brutus, Judas, Angelique, Summer, Lady, Grey Wolf, Ghost]
Sansa Stark: Tattletale & Shamrock
Arya Stark: Imp & Grue
Syrio Forel: Skidmark (Weiss Schnee)
Jaqen H'gar: Oni Lee
Jon Snow: Dauntless
Samwell Tarly: Leet
Rodrik Cassel: Adamant
Lyanna Mormont: Vista
Robert Baratheon: Assault & Auroch
Gendry: Ballistic & Danger Sense
Tywin Lannister: Coil
Kevan Lannister: Gavel
Jaime Lannister: Legend
Cersei Lannister: Heartbreaker
Joffrey: Jack Slash
Tonmen: Cherish
Myrcella: Glory Girl
Tyrion Lannister: Frenja + Menja
Ser Bronn: Fletchette
Shae: Foxtrot
Ilyn Payne: King
Gregor Clegane: Crawler
Sandor Clegane: Animos
Amory Lorch: Victor
Meryn Trant: Pretender
Maester Qyburn: Bonesaw & Cask
Petyr Baelish: Accord
Lysa Arryn: Codex
Ros the Whore: Citrine
Mhaegan the Whore: Shatterbird
Stannis Baratheon: Kaiser & Hookwolf
Renly Baratheon: Epoch
Olenna Redwyne: Blasto
Loras Tyrell: Quarrel & Operator Red
Maergary Tyrell: Canary
Brienne of Tarth: Alexandria
Ser Berric Dondarrion: Crusader
Thoros of Myr: Scapegoat
Selyse Florent: Purity
Shireen Baratheon: Dinah Alcott
Patchface: Circus
Ser Davos Seaworth: Stormtiger
Edric Storm: Battery
Melissandre: Glastig Ulaine [Rhaegar Targaryen: Eidolon]
Euron Greyjoy: Marquis (Kimimaro)
Balon Greyjoy Hemmorhagia (Kurona)
Yara Greyjoy: Narwhal
Theon Greyjoy: Spree
Roose Bolton: Festering Wounds
Ramsay Snow: Butcher
Mance Rayder: Teacher & Lionheart
Tormund Giantsbane: Aegis
Ygritte: Burnscar & Cinereal
Howlette: Wolverine
Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg: Weld
Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun: Mog
Craster: Nilbog
Daenarys Targaryen: Goddess
Viserys Targaryen: Null (Two)
Illyrio Mopatis: Valefor
Ser Arthur Dayne: Chevalier & Armsmaster
Elia Martel: Screamer & Leonid
Khal Drogo: Lung
Daario Naharis: Hatchet Face
Ser Jorah Mormont: Strider
Doreah: Othello
Missandei: Othalla & Galvanate
Grey Worm: Gregor the Snail & Newt (Bakugou)
Ser Barristan Selmy: Black Kaze & Crane the Harmonious
A/N: For my loyal readers who've been reading this from the beginning, I regret to inform you that I made a few major edits to the story prior to this point: Jon Snow has not yet triggered in the current rendition of the story; his trigger event will happen later on, but he will still have the power of Dauntless.
Chapter 2
Free City of Pentos
Ser Arthur Dayne stared at the sleeping form of his companion, worry and anger flashing across his face in equal measure. This was all his fault; she'd been well on her road to recovery, but his quest to find a would-be assassin who'd somehow managed to escape his custody, had led them into some very unsavory places.
The one person in the world that he didn't need to physically protect, was an emotional shell of herself. She was a woman of such refined, apodictic beauty that it actually hurt him to look at her, but they could never be together, and he was fine with that.
She tossed and turned, clawing at an unseen enemy. Sweat clung to her like another layer of skin, slowly spreading into her bed covers. Her movements were getting more and more jerky, erratic, and unpredictable.
Any second now, she would wake up screaming, and he would be there for her when she did.
WARNING! WARNING!
The following section has a graphic depiction of rape. Rape is an abhorrent crime that is in no way being condoned by this story. It is the opinion of this author that shying away from what makes us uncomfortable gives even more power to the kinds of subhumans who commit this deplorable crime.
If you can stomach the section, you get a look inside the head of someone you might not have ever thought to try empathizing with, the victim of one of the worst crimes a person can commit against another. This is an important part of Elia's characterization, something that she had to suffer through to get where she is today.
If you are uncomfortable reading this, please skip to the end of this dream sequence.
Red flames painted the castle with their glow. Smoke and ash hung in the air, strangling the very oxygen out of the keep. The world was so, so hot. Way too hot. This was the kind of dry heat that even Dorne couldn't boast. This was the fire of war, set by men who were the sworn bannermen of her father-in-law. "Lannisters always pay their debts," came the words, sung joyously through the Red Keep.
They were not the words she wanted to hear. She was going to die here. Her children were going to die here.
The Usurper finally managed to convince the Grey Lion to leave Casterly Rock. The only problem was that Lannister was attacking his liege, not his liege's enemy. And so now King's Landing, undermanned and outgunned, was sacked in only a few short hours.
A crossbow bolt shot straight through the barricaded door, taking the head clean off of her closest soldier. A second bolt finished the job of taking out the door, and maiming her last remaining defense.
An enormous figure brushed aside what little remained of the doorway, hefting a mind-bogglingly enormous crossbow onto his back with a single hand, while his other wielded a blade larger than Elia herself.
Everything was quiet for a moment.
Elia Martell stood between the Mountain That Rides and her children, trembling with barely suppressed fear. Gregor Clegane would be able to crush Aegon and Rhaenys with his bare hands. Yet still he pointed a bloodstained six-foot long claymore at her children, a bloodthirsty grin on his face as he looked from mother to daughter to son and back..
She needed to be calm if there was any hope of the Gods letting them escape this nightmare. But the quiet moment was over.
"HELP!" She unsheathed a hidden dagger from within her nightgown, intending for the weak spot in her aggressor's armor.
A step over the threshold was all it took. Moving far faster than she had any hope of countering, the Head of House Clegane had her thin wrist in his monstrous grip. Her dagger clattered unceremoniously onto the floor. Lannister soldiers, all of whom directly served under the Mountain, started pouring into the room. From the way they were standing, to the way they were looking at her and Rhaerys, Elia knew what was about to happen.
One particular soldier, one Amory Lorch (if her vague recollections of her ex-husband's vassals) was pinning her daughter down. The lecherous look on his face as he looked down at her crying, innocent baby girl made her stomach coil around itself.
He started fumbling with his belt, but the Mountain bellowed an order. "Nobody touch them until I'm finished!" His subordinates didn't seem too keen on the idea of going after, but none of them were brave and stupid enough to countermand direct orders from the Mountain.
Her dress was savagely ripped off her body.
The soldiers' eyes drank her in greedily as they waited in silence.
Gregor grinned as he stripped off his armor, happy with the knowledge that she'd lost her dagger. "If you fight me," he began, his rumbling voice filled with a dark, manic passion, "I'll let your children go."
She stared at his body, fully nude and monstrously huge, terrifying because his weight along could probably kill her. Silent tears rolled down her face, but she nodded her assent to his offer. "Aegon, Rhaerys... please look away..." The children closed their eyes and turned their heads away from the scene in front of them, struggling as hard as they could.
His bear-like smile grew ever larger. "Make them watch."
The soldiers roughly twisted the royal children around, stretching their eyelids open with metal-gloved hands, pointing their heads at the knight and the princess.
And then Gregor grabbed her by the throat, lifted her into the air, pinned her against the window, and began his disgusting, dastardly deed She never stopped struggling to get away from him, to harm him in some way that would make him stop, if only for a moment.
Unfortunately, her efforts were quite impotent, much unlike her rapist.
It lasted for fifteen minutes, bruising and cutting and hurting her once-flawless skin at every opportunity. She could feel him nearing the end, when he roughly grabbed her chin, and forced her to look back at her shell-shocked children.
"Kill the Prince," he ordered, still inside his victim.
She tried flailing against the giant of a man, tried scratching and clawing at him, but he just restrained her, lifted her into the air, and continued while he was the only support she had.
"Nooo! You BASTARD!" she screamed a hoarse scream, bouncing at the ferocious pace he was forcing on her.
The soldier who'd been holding the Prince for the whole time did as he was told. He pulled out a dagger of his own, bent the child's neck forward, then sliced from ear to ear.
She screamed and tears fell uselessly to the floor. Her anguish was enough to put the Mountain over the edge. He growled as he finished deep inside her, pulled out, dropped her onto the ground, wiped himself off on her tear-streaked face, then... then he just stood there for a minute, basking in the evils that he'd committed, stretching his back and popping his bones nonchalantly.
"Now you can all have your fun," he growled, dark smirk on his face as the soldiers began removing their trousers. Gregor walked slowly over to his armor, putting everything back on methodically. The soldiers approached her in slow circles, much like vultures going for carrion. Elia screamed and swore, but it did nothing to help her.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"
One punched her in the jaw, giving her a nasty concussion and knocking her out. They all continued what they were doing in a more subdued fashion; it wasn't as fun for them if there wasn't a bit of resistance.
The mountain picked up Rhaerys with one hand, before walking out the door. "... I think I'll keep you."
In the end, when the soldiers were finished, the pushed her out the window. As she fell, something snapped within her, something primal and powerful that only just now caught up with her. As the wind rushed past her, and time slowed down enough that she felt suspended in air, it happened.
Destination?
Agreement.
Trajectory?
Agreement.
Without thinking, without knowing what she was about to do, she SCREAMED. And all of King's Landing heard the powerful, angry and heartbroken caterwauling of the beloved Princess Elia Martell in their own heads, her indescribable pain burned unto their minds and souls for all time.
In only a brief moment, she truly captured the world. Then she met the ground with a sickening crunch.
As she was losing consciousness, she saw a figure approaching her quickly. His red robes seemed somewhat familiar, but she was too dazed to question who he was. All she knew was that her son was dead, her daughter was soon to follow, and she was well on her way to joining Rhaegar...
WARNING! WARNING!
The above section has a graphic depiction of rape. Rape is an abhorrent crime that is in no way being condoned by this story. It is the opinion of this author that shying away from what makes us uncomfortable gives even more power to the kinds of subhumans who commit this sort of deplorable crime.
If you were uncomfortable, disgusted, and/or offended while reading this, that is perfectly understood, expected, and intended. This will help you understand the true extent of Elia's characterization, and the kinds of traumas that she has to work through.
Elia awoke with a hard gasp, silent tears running down her face at her old memories. Even after a decade and a half, it was impossible for her to truly recover from that terrible, awful night. And who could blame her really? Her son was murdered before her very eyes, she was raped by dozens of men, and her daughter...
If it weren't for Thoros of Myr and his ability to heal almost any wound as long as his patient was still alive, she would have died all those years ago.
She didn't know exactly what the fate of Rhaerys was, but she tried not to think about it. Gregor Clegane got away with all of his crimes once Robert Baratheon came to the throne, but Elia was forced to abandon her entire life. Baratheon's hired knives were always just a few steps behind them, something that made all the constant running even worse on her mentality.
Ser Arthur gave her a comforting squeeze of his hand, a soft, sad smile on his face. "It'll be okay, Elia. I'm here."
His presence steadied her, like a mason laying out the stones for a new castle's foundation. "I'm not worried about us," she muttered, her eyes going to the window. "How are Daenarys and Viserys doing, do you know?"
His jaw tightened. "It seems that without us there to temper his anger, Viserys was... his decisions are far different than what they would have been only months ago," said Ser Arthur, a pained look on his face. She gave him a long, searching look, until he explained, "He promised Daenarys's hand in marriage to Khal Drogo, the Dothraki king."
Elia bit her lip. "We need to catch back up with them." If it weren't for a damned close assassination attempt, they would never have gotten split up in the first place, all those months ago.
He nodded softly. "They're staying as honored guests with Illyrio Mopatis, who suggested the match." Unsaid was the fact that Illyrio's power was immensely dangerous to anyone and everyone that he laid his eyes on.
There was a slight pause as she took that information in. "The Magister of Pentos's Trading Guild?" She hoped that Ser Arthur's information was wrong, needed it to be wrong, but something told her that it wasn't so.
"The very same."
"Oh Viserys..." They sat there for a few seconds, thinking about the spiderweb that their charges had found themselves in. If somebody as powerful as Viserys fell under the sway of someone as conniving, ambitious, and powerful as Illyrio...
"How will we even get them out of there? Can we even, at this point?"
Their eyes caught one another, and he responded, "I have a plan. And, hopefully, it'll kill two birds with one stone."
Free City of Pentos
"I have procured a very special slave for you," said Viserys, his eyes blazing with a mad fire that she'd never seen before.
Daenarys turned her eyes from her older brother to the young woman whose arm was stuck in his vice-like grip. A small, slightly scared twitching of her throat was the only indication she gave that this wasn't normal.
"I am most humbled to be your assistant, Princess," said the slave, her voice tight from pain.
The old blood of Valyria, powerful as it might be, warmed in anger at her brother's treatment of the woman. But right now, there was nothing she could outright do to oppose her brother.
"It's nice to meet you too..." Daenarys took in the appearance of the slave girl: the young woman was an impressive beauty, with flaxen hair and azure eyes. The slave's curves were far more impressive than her own, but she knew she was still but a young budding woman.
"Doreah, Your Grace."
"This Lysene whore's going to be teaching you how to please your soon-to-be husband in the bedroom," came the lilting voice of Viserys, a lust in his eyes that made everyone present uncomfortable. "And trust me, dear sister, I have tasted her offerings and know she's good at her job."
Daenarys shivered.
"That's very good," said Doreah, her lips quirking upward as she bucked her hips atop Daenarys. "Don't be afraid to look your husband in the eyes; the eyes are where the love comes in, the windows to the very soul..." She softly, sensuously ground against the princess, their eyes interlocked. "... while the Dothraki typically take their women like dogs, all men are intrigued by what they've never had..."
The Dothraki wedding celebration was the most hectic, frenzied event that the Targaryen orphans had ever witnessed, let alone been a part of.
Musclebound warriors fought each other for the right to fuck the painted dancers, nude people were screaming and flailing about in a savage, archaic dance that made the blood pump with lust and brutality. The air smelled of horses, sweat, blood, cooking meats, and alcohol.
Illyrio and Viserys stood next to one another, watching the Khal carefully as he surveyed the merrymakings of his people, drinking everything in. They were whispering to one another in soft voices, no doubt planning and scheming.
Daenarys had heard rumors, of course, about the very nature of Illyrio Mopatis. Many people said that he was an empowered, much like her brother. The difference between them, however, was that the rich Essosi merchant's power allowed him to control other people.
This explained why her loving brother, who even months ago would never have agreed to putting her through even the slightest bit of pain, told her that he would let the entire Khalasaar and its horses fuck her if it could get him his Iron Throne.
That wasn't the Viserys she knew and loved. That was Illyrio. It had to be.
She wondered why the powerful man didn't bother using his power on her, though none of the answers that she came up with made any sense: either she wasn't important enough to use her power on, his power only worked on other empowered people (which she quickly found out wasn't true as she remembered how his power worked on all of his servants just fine), or...
But her scattered thoughts were lost in the whirlwind of the wedding party. In the midst of all the celebrating, she caught a glimpse of familiar features. An older man, decked out in armor, was looking straight at her.
Without thinking, she approached the Westerosi knight, Doreah hot on her heels.
"Greetings, Princess Daenarys," he said, looking at her with the utmost respect.
"And you are?"
"Ser Jorah of House Mormont," said Doreah, eyeing the man with something akin to longing glinting in her almond-shaped eyes. "Although lately he's been known as Ser Jorah the Strider."
His face twitched at her answer, seeming a bit unhappy with the last part of his official name.
"The Strider?" asked Daenarys, tilting her head to the side. "What an unusual appellation. What, pray tell, have you done to garner such a name for yourself?"
A soft smile graced his face if only for a moment, before he decided to answer, "I am empowered, Your Grace. I can instantly transport up to fifty people anywhere in the entire world, as long as I've been there."
A puzzle piece clicked into place in her mind. "You are how my brother plans to get the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea."
He nodded at that. "Your brother has offered for me to have all of my past crimes in the Seven Kingdoms forgiven, and for the stain against my house's honor to be forever expunged. If your brother retakes the Iron Throne... I can return home, a hero instead of the villain."
Staring into his eyes, she still had questions. "What did you do, to be exiled from our homeland?"
Suddenly downcast, he could no longer meet her gaze. "I would like to tell you that story another time, Princess."
"Oh, are you so sure that we'll meet again long enough for you to tell me stories?" she asked, the slightest hint of mirth working its way into her voice. What a preposterous proposition.
"Well, I'd like to offer you my services-"
The Dothraki suddenly grew quiet. Ser Jorah, realizing the significance of this, stepped away from the princess back into the throng.
The Khal gestured for his betrothed to join him. She was about to be married.
By the time the gift giving ceremony was over, Daenarys ended up getting: a Dornish stallion, two Dothraki handmaidens named Jhiqui and Irri, the fealty of the empowered Westerosi knight Ser Jorah Mormont, a Valyrian steel katana, and three dragon eggs.
Several hours had passed since then, with the Khal off partying with his horde. The Stormborn Princess, alone in her tent, was tracing her finger along the two gifts that came to her from her old country.
Valyria, the Empire of long ago. A place where even the mighty Targaryen dynasty was an average power at best, if her tutors over the years were to be believed. The Valyrian Diaspora caused her people to spread throughout the world, those few who survived the Doom.
They said that the Doom was why Old Valyria was uninhabitable, why the Ash was black by day but phorphoric green at night, why the city of Stygia was the way that it was.
The sword that caught her attention, oddly shaped as it was, was actually a reforged blade of Valyrian steel. Its original shape was probably an amazing work of art, but something about the craftsmanship of the weapon in her hands felt... superior, to what little works of her people she'd managed to come across over the years.
The man who'd given it to her, one of Illyrio's very affluent friends from beyond Asshai, was interesting. He claimed to be blood of Old Valyria as well, though his family didn't have any dragons to command...
Her thoughts crashed around her feet when the flap to her tent was forcibly opened.
Viserys stood there, roughly forcing her handmaiden to follow him by tugging on her hair. He was silhouetted against the night, his eyes gleaming angrily in the darkness.
"How many times must I remind you, dear sister?" he began, his voice quaking with barely restrained rage. "You do not give me orders!"
"Viserys, please!"
Ignoring her cries, the boy spoke over her, "To show you the error of your ways, I'm going to teach you a lesson..." Keeping Doreah on the ground, he pulled out his sword. Poising for the strike, he grinned maniacally. "DIE!" as the sword plunged down, time seemed to slow down.
DeStinatioN?
AgreEmenT.
TraJectoRy?
AGreeMenT.
And then something odd happened: Daenarys felt some power flow forth from her body, grabbing a hold of both Viserys and Doreah. From each, she took something insubstantial, some aspects of their person that went well beyond their physical things.
Both were dazed and confused, likely because all empowered were affected by the trigger events around them.
Viserys felt like... amplification and minimization, the ability to alter the intensity of powers. She knew that to be the power he gained after his triggering in the wake of being driven from their homeland. Doreah felt like... a ghost of a shadow, no, smoke within a reflection... her newest handmaiden was connected to an entire other reality, a mirror world where another version of her could move about freely.
The princess felt both of their powers, then suddenly understood what exactly each entailed. Then, with a thought, she took Viserys's power unto herself, amplified Doreah's power, and then...
The slave was gone suddenly, having transported herself into the mirror world instinctively. Daenarys looked at her hands, ignoring the confused and enraged shouting from her brother. Something clicked in her mind, something about the very nature of her power.
Ser Jorah Mormont was suddenly on the scene, attracted by all the shouting and screaming coming from his charge's tent. Without a word, the man pulled the struggling Targaryen away, unconcerned with the boy's threats of muting his powers for this 'betrayal.'
Suddenly Doreah appeared back where she'd disappeared from, staring at her princess with something akin to awe in her eyes. "You saved me, Khaleesi," she muttered, before dropping into a low bow.
At first, Daenarys wanted to deny her role in what happened just now, scared of how her brother would react when he found out it was her doing, before something told her to just go with it.
Nodding her agreement with her servant's statement, her thoughts soon turned inward.
She thought about what had just happened. Daenarys now was fully aware of the fact that she just triggered, just joined the illustrious group of individuals known as the empowered. From the event, she could now transfer powers from one person to the next.
In a split second, she'd taken Viserys's power for herself. Then she used his ability to amplify other people's powers on Doreah, allowing her to escape from her brother. Yet, how did she know what Doreah could do? As far as she knew, Doreah was not empowered. Had she triggered just now? Regardless, Daenarys had known everything about her Lysene handmaiden's powers.
Everything.
She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she couldn't use the amplification power on herself. She also knew that, were she to have her power amplified sufficiently, she could... do something amazing and terrifying, something she'd never heard of anyone else being able to do before her.
Suddenly looking at Doreah, a dark look in her eyes, Daenarys Stormborn of House Targaryen commanded, "Bring me Illyrio Mopatis, Viserys Targaryen, and Khal Drogo. I'm about to hold court."
And thus, a plan was hatched.
A/N: I know that there was a lot of darkness in this chapter, especially with what was done to Elia Martell (even though that was something that happened to her in canon). I'm going to be lightening up the darkness for a while after this chapter, but not forever.
