I´M ALIVE! For now, at the very least, my friends. Took me a while to actually get the chapter right, and it went through 3 rewrites, an almost complete wipe, and Exterminatus. But HERE IT IS!
This chapter brings a little of character development, a decent enough fight to keep you entertained (hopefully), and a glimpse in our Hero´s mind. I also have half prepared the next chapter and I just need to….. write it….
There will be a lot of OC introductions next chapter….and some not so much OC characters. Hope you like them. This chapter required some fine tuning, and I have begun suing a Spell Check, so I hope there are less orthographic mistakes. Now, to answer a few comments:
Rabbitz32: Thank you so much! Ask, and it shall be delivered. I hope I can get the next chapter faster.
Crazzytony: thank you very much. I decided to sue the spell-check and I think it got better in this chapter, so it should be a lot less painful to read this. Yeah, Joffrey is still going to be a dick. Actually, even a bigger dick. But this time, he is going to be a smart dick. I decide to give I'm a good motivation, and something to strive for. In the book, he was cruel because he was a little psychopath with daddy issues. Now, it's even worse.
The 4 are coming, but next chapter we will see their first moves. And I hope to be able to put quite the spectacle. Hope you enjoy!
Marxgreyjoy: hmm, true enough. To be honest, I did not know any other word to put there. But I meant liberal not as an ideology but as described by the Merriam-Webster dictionary "by the given or provided in a generous and openhanded way". Sorry, English isn't my first language, so I will keep trying!
Well, folks, enjoy, and remember, the Lady protects!
Fire. Fire and blood. That was all he could see. His vision ended there. It did not matter how many times he tried to do otherwise, how many oaths and ways he tried, the future was filled with tides of blood and flames of war. He laughed bitterly at the relentless of fate. It was set on a course, and would not be deterred. Thankfully, he knew of a few ways to tip the scales in their favor.
-Is it ready?-
-Yes-
-Are they ready?-
-The first wave? Yes. I have 4 of them ready. The Knights, the General, the Squire, and the Slayer. I hope they will suffice-
-For now, it's the best we can do. If others were to find their way, I will not, nor can I blame them for it. But our hands are tied until this evolves in a more open conflict. We do not know who the enemy is or who our allies are-
-They will not uphold the same rules as us-
-I know, but they are bound by them nonetheless. And were they to break said binds, or said rules, we would be in no obligation to uphold them ourselves-
-You think this course wise?-
-Do you doubt him?-
…
-Silence can also be an answer, dear-
-You place too much faith in him-
-Too much? I place only the earned one-
-Still…. He is a flawed mortal, consumed by his desire to shield all he holds dear, burdened by his anger and fury, slowed down by sins unforgivable, and wounded in more ways than even I seem to know. He is not the one we deserve-
-No. We deserved far worse. We were blessed with him. He will stand. And many will stand with him. Now, we only require generals for his army. Let the rest of our little congregation choose. I have already picked one. And he is just perfect-
-So have I….although your choice worries me-
-Why?-
-He is…too old-
-Yours is too young-
-Young ones can learn-
-Old ones can teach-
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Arthur´s blade crashed against the training dummy with strength far superior to that of a boy of his age. Anger was a very important factor in such strength. The second son of Lord Stannis Baratheon was furious. And for the first time in quite a lot, he couldn´t just vent that frustration. Arthur had endeavor since he was a little boy to be the best possible knight he could be. He was a Stormlander through and through, preferring the heavy armor and favoring the longbows, especially those that were of dragonhorn, to the dornish light armor and javelins. He was good with those too, but he preferred to enter the thick of it, leading from the front, blade held high, or war hammer. To be honest, in the last few years, he had found both weapons to his liking. At first, he had wanted to master the sword to be like his Uncle, but after Sirius´s disappearance, he hadn´t been so keen on it, every training session with the sword reminding him more and more of the brother he had lost. The war hammer, on the other hand, suited him just fine. Powerful, sturdy, and heavy, yet requiring precision and guile to use to its fullest potential. A fine weapon.
He swung again, his blows ripping chunks of wood and splinters from the training dummy, sending a shower of shattered wood to the ground. He almost dropped his blade. He was very tired. Arthur had spent the night with Shireen, trying to get her little sister some comfort, and not even with their mother, had they managed to get some sleep. So he had stepped out, grabbed his weapons, and began to work on the training dummy since midnight. And to his surprise, chagrin and slight desperation, the sun was already coming up.
"Seven Hells, Sirius. Please, wake up brother" He thought with a growl, before discharging yet another blow against the training dummy. But this time the sound he got was steel against steel, not steel against the wood. Arthur blinked what he thought was a mirage brought by the pain, anger, lack of sleep, and dried tears.
Stannis was frowning, but he almost always frowned. Yet now, his frown was directed to his son´s blade.
-Sloppy strikes, loose grip- One movement, and Arthur´s sword left his hand in a flash of steel, and the young Baratheon found himself with a blade to his throat.
-And you are completely unaware of your surroundings-He continued. Arthur felt a second blade rest against his shoulder.
-Dead- said his uncle Oberyn with a sly smile -Very dead-
Arthur wanted to send them both to hell. He was not in the mood for sword lessons. But, one look into his father´s tired and anger-filled eyes, made him realized that his father was not in the mood for a temper tantrum from his second son. He had come to spar with him. To bring him a release, and to vent his own frustrations, he had brought the Red Viper. Arthur answered with a nod, before picking up his blade yet again.
-I won't be the only one- And with those words, they began to dance a swirling choreography. Oberyn´s was flashy, sinuous, a challenge and a promise at the same time, the blade in his hand, although not his preferred weapon, stinging and coiling like a snake for the next strike, flowing in and out, unreachable and deadly. He was flashy and full of unnecessary flourish. But that was part of his uncle´s style. If your opponent looks like a fool who is more inclined to wield his blade, like he wiggles his cock, then one will not expect the hidden viper in between the sheets.
His father´s dance was no dance, but a practical set of death-dealing blows. Each one threatened to rip his blade from his hands, each riposte the lord of Dragonstone made seemed ready to take his son´s shoulder out of his socket. It was a utilitarian way of fighting. Dispatching an opponent efficiently to go for the next, or wither down a skilled enemy with prepared and focused strikes to his weak points, exploiting defects in his defense and chinks in his armor.
Arthur knew all of this, and he knew that as good as he was, they were both holding back. He still felt calm and happy for the first time in many hours. He felt alive. And he threw himself into the dance, his own style a mix of both, of swirling comebacks and dancing stokes mixed with crushing blows and over-headed slashes that would have rent men in half. He immersed himself completely in the duel, and for that few minutes, he was certain his brother would be alright, and he was certain that his family would be fine.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Margaery Tyrell was beautiful, and nobody, not even a dornish, or a westerlander would deny it. She had been groomed into one of the more beautiful flowers of a garden overworked by the mediocre and the stupid.
She wasn't either.
Her grandmother had made sure of it. She had taken her under her wing, showed the arts of manipulation, analysis, observation, comprehension, and learning. Had she been born an Arryn, she would have been compared whit a hawk in wit, sight and perception. But she had been a rose, with the body and beauty of one. She wasn´t just the perfect wife for any man. She was the perfect queen. Her grandmother had made sure of it. At first, Margaery hadn´t cared for it a bit. She had gone along; because she adored her grandmother and her family, and thus she would fulfill her duty. It wasn't until a certain once purple eye boy had taught her a very important lesson that she had truly understood the importance of her grandmother's work and trying tests.
And yet, not even her grandmother seemed to understand her now. Well, she didn´t seem to understand her tears for that once purple-eyed boy.
Sirius Baratheon Dayne was possibly the biggest prize a woman could catch in Westeros. Nephew to the king, powerful and skilled, strong-willed and determined. All of this, thou, had a new level of importance in her mind. When she had seen him stand up to that... creature, she had seen it. She had seen him truly, just like her grandmother had taught her.
She saw the power
His posture, his words, his way of moving, she saw it all. And as much as she tried to compared to the little boy she had known, she just could not. This was a warrior. This was a commander.
This was a killer. And a good one at that.
. She had been the only one not scared in the arena. She knew he would win. He already had, if her observations had been correct.
And now, the perfect match for her was dying in a bed in that accursed Keep, barred from her sight by her overzealous family. The only one that would be allowed in would be Willas, and only if Lord Stannis wasn't present.
-You would make a perfect king- She whispered to herself, as she looked over the city from the window in her room.
-He already has- A voice said behind her. Margaery tuned around, taken by surprise by the sudden voice, and presence. She hadn´t heard a sound, nor heard breathing other than her own. Her hands went for the small dagger in her pocket, a gift from Garlan and Sirius, even if it had been Sirius the one to teach her how to handle it. Said dagger flew from her hands, dancing through the air until it landed on the hands of the person in front of her.
-Stamped by red roses, I see. You do know there are more flowers in nature, right, dear? - Her tone was maternal and awoke an instinct inside Margaery she did not know she had been suppressing. Then again, her mother had always been very poor at her job. Loras tended to take in all the attention and motherly love. After all, she had always been able to take care of herself.
-It is my family´s sigil. It was the most natural gift- Se recovered quickly, analyzing the woman in front of her. She was as tall her, with long brown hair and a beautiful green dress. Her green eyes regarded the dagger with some kind of hidden mirth, a joke only she was privy to. She moved with grace, almost floating, as her features reminded Margaery of an oak tree. Resilient, but majestic, great hidden strength in her features. It intimidated a bit, and that was without taking into account the fact that the woman had somehow snatched her dagger without as much as a gesture. She hummed an acknowledgment, before sending her dagger back floating. She took it in her trembling hands. Margaery knew she was scared. She didn't know she was that scared.
-Do not worry dear, if there is one you shouldn´t fear right now, it is me- The woman said, closing the gap quickly and taking her gently by the shoulder, before sitting her in the bed –I would love to have a long conversation with you, Margaery Tyrell, but I'm afraid that it will have to be postponed for now. Right now, I need your full attention, dear Rose- Margaery nodded, a little in shock.
-My name is Rhya, goddess of fertility, agriculture, and birth. I am a goddess of nature from a land far from here, dear, and I am here for several important reasons. For now, all you need and can know is that I have invested much attention in you these last years. The reason being, of course, your returned hero- She giggled –Well, for you he isn't exactly a hero, but for us, he is the hero- Margaery felt the weight behind that last phrase.
Margaery blinked, analyzing the situation to the best of her abilities. This woman had materialized herself in her room, made her dagger levitate, and had, now that Margaery realized, soothed her fears in barely a few lines, casting her fear and insecurity to the wind, and filling her with a calmness that she had not expected.
Margaery had never met a goddess, and she lacked all empirical data to back the supposed words of the supposed goddess. And yet, even if she couldn´t even read her movements or expressions deeper than the seemingly unending well of kindness and maternal love that the goddess seemed to exude, to Margaery's annoyance. Well, she wasn't truly annoyed, but it showed her she couldn´t read anyone as well as she had thought previously.
"Even if she is a goddess, she has to have a tell for me to find. I just need time" And yet, she found herself thinking that with this woman, she would not need to discern lies from truths.
-Now, dear, I know you have many questions, and I will answer them in time, but I believe there are three of the more… poignant ones, that I should clear up first, so, ask away- Rhya said with her ever bright smile. Margaery took a deep breath, and let her mind work. She discarded the impossible and focused on the possible.
And realized that the possible had flung itself off the window.
This woman was saying the truth, and she needed answers. So she began with the most important question.
-Why me? - And the goddess, to Margaery´s bafflement, laughed.
-Child, why would I choose anyone else? Who holds such a powerful mind, such kindness, and well-intentioned beliefs, and yet understands the darkness of this world and the manipulations that are required? You, little Margaery- She had always hated being called little, but it didn't bother her at all if it came from this woman- are my best chance at saving this world, and its most innocent inhabitants- In a very instinctual way, the daughter of Mace Tyrel knew exactly what she meant.
-The children- The smile she gifted her was sad and bright at the same time, and Margaery couldn´t help but mirror it.
-I want to save lives, I want to save families and see more children be born in laughter and love. And I know that you want the same thing. You want prosperity for the land, true prosperity, and you are not afraid to get dirt in your hands on the process, like any decent farmer, yet there are boundaries that you will not cross. And so, I choose you to be my champion on this land, dear-
It was true.
Everything she said was true, of course
Margaery had learned well from her grandmother, but she wasn't her grandmother. There were places, dark places, where she would not dare enter. And having it confirmed by no other than a goddess brought her no end of relief. She had been chosen for her heart, her morals, and her intellect. That made her proud. So without wasting time, and without letting all the information and occurrences of the last minutes overwhelm her, not yet, at least, she went with her second question.
-What is Sirius's role in all of this?- And the smile, turned into a thin line that made her pale. The warmth that had been there hadn´t been banished completely, but it had been substituted by the same efficient coldness of the farmed that had to burn part of the harvest to save the rest. And Margaery just knew that Sirius was the Seven-accursed fire.
-When my methods don´t work, when my kindness and my guiding hand are either ignored or insufficient, when children cry in despair as they are rent apart in the night by creatures that have no right to exist whatsoever, I remind said creatures the reason why not even in the darkness of the night they might consider themselves safe. He is the Protector, he is the shield of the Kingdoms of men. Sirius has never failed me in his duties, even if he has never prayed to me, and even if his actions had led to a reduction in my believers in Bretonnia. He is a good man, a kind man. And even demons hide when a good man goes to war-
There was steel in her eyes, a fierce determination and fury that Margaery could place, quite well actually. It was a mother´s wrath made manifest, and she could understand it very well. So she went ahead with the next question.
-What shall I do? - The smile returned, an encouraging look in her eyes telling her to try and guess. But she didn't know. At first at least. She went over all that had been saying before, thinking, analyzing, decomposing, and recomposing sentences and actions. And she found it.
It terrified her.
-Something terrible is coming- She began, and the glitter in the eyes of the goddess grew –And you wish that I aid Sirius in facing it. You want us to be the shield against the encroaching darkness- Rhya let out a sigh of relief.
-Yes child. That is exactly what I want. I want you to help him save this world from what is coming. But what I really want…-
-Is for me to help him do it the right way. Protecting the children and bringing prosperity, unity, and peace. When he wins, I will be there to cement that victory. To rebuild. You want me to assist him in keeping his victory whole- The goddess´s eyes became even brighter.
-Perfectly put, my dear-
-Thank you, my lady-
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Amber orbs, eyes that had stared into dying worlds, which had seen kingdoms collapse and that had watched seas of death boil upon walls of brave martyrs, opened.
Hands that had wielded weapons of millennia untold, that had bathed in the blood of men, elves, dragons, demons, and abhorrent monstrosities, that had held dying friends, lovers, and children in their last moments, clenched.
A heart that had beat to the sound of marching host of gilded steel and billowing banners, that had brought comfort to many sons and daughters, that had come so close so many times to stooping, that had placed itself in the middle of many blows direct to those that it held dear, beat in the dark.
Ears that had to listen to the laughs of thirsting gods, that had listened to breaking planes and crumbling mountains, that had listened to the end of a million breaths, that had perceived wail of newborn and never-born, that had listened to music from a thousand realms, from elves to fairies, listened in the silent night
And a man that had stood as a paragon of Humanity took a breath once more.
Sirius´s eyes peered into the darkness, the many gifts of her lady parting the almost unnatural gloom of the room. He was alone, yet the bed was still warm. Someone had been laying there not long before. A scent of ripe oranges, spice, and seawater reached his nostrils. It brought memories back, yet all were foggy and confusing, all held behind a curtain of time and pain.
He discarded that for now, as his memory tried desperately to piece itself back together. The room he was in was anything but Spartan, a lavish arrangement of furs and golden decorations, which made him frown deeply. This, was not his quarters from Corunne, nor his room in Aldorf, or even his cell in Yvresse. The walls were not the clean white of Minas Tirith, nor the softwood of Imladris. It reminded him a little to his lodgings in the Gold-White Tower, but those had sported his sigil and his belongings. This one lacked any of his artifacts, weapons, or clothes.
Actually, it seemed like this wasn't his room at all.
Mainly because he always requested a room that had views of the sky and the sea, he always left an open window, and his people knew to leave one open, no matter how sick he felt or how bad his wounds looked. These weren´t just closed but also covered by heavy and thick curtains of red and gold. Those colors made him discard the possibility of being on Stormwind.
He sighed deeply before taking a deep breath and opening himself to the Great Sea. At first, he expected a thundering storm, and yet he found calmness in the weaves of magic and the currents of mana. Yet, he also found himself surrounded by….pain. Not his own, not of others, but an almost overwhelming pain that came from the very ground, the city, the castle itself. He barely managed to close his mind to the wave. Something very dark had happened inside the walls where he now laid. And yet, he suspected that the pain wasn't just of that specific part of the land, but the harm that had been done to this strange land, a ripping of its magical roots, a bastardization of the natural pathways of the world.
It sickened him to no end.
But he would deal with that latter. Now he had to take care of his own wounds. The land´s pains could wait for a little longer. Shielding himself, he entered the Great Sea again and began to analyze his own body.
Ruptured organs that had been mended by the Gift of the Lady, contaminated blood cells that would have devoured him inside out that were eradicated by his dragon blood, toxins and poison that had been neutralized by his long years of alchemic adaptation, and many wounds, cuts, and lacerations that had been sealed and healed by his regenerative capabilities. Sirius saw only that he was fit for duty, and he sported many more wounds and scars in his body. Nothing else mattered much. He knew something external had helped him greatly in his healing and had probably been the cause for his heart being whole again, but those questions could wait.
It was ill-advised to ponder on such questions in unknown lands.
With great difficulty, he tried to get up, only for an explosion of pain to rack him across his midsection. He lost his point of purchase and fell to the ground with a grunt, more pain following in waves. The smell of copper hit him, and he knew that he was bleeding, somewhere. He really didn't care where.
He barely managed to sit with his back resting against the bed, when he saw the reason for his pain. Someone had decided to first carve his midsection up with a very big blade, and then someone else had decided to stitch said wound…and those stitches were now compressed by his regenerating wound, translating in a great deal of pain. The knight sighed, before grabbing the stitches, and after taking a deep breath, ripping them from his belly.
It hurt.
It hurt like a bitch.
It took him a lot to not scream in pain. Gods, it hurt. He fell to his side; breath ragged and sweat pouring down as he had just taken a swim on the Sannez. The wound had obviously gotten infected and inflamed from pushing against the stitches.
But it got the job done. The moment he ripped them off, he felt instant relief, as his flesh began to knit itself together, closing the wound permanently. It would scar, badly at that, but he had too many scars to care about one more. He saw muscle and skin close and the wound diminished in a matter of seconds.
That told him three things.
Whoever had healed knew shit about magic or was worthless at it.
They didn't want him dead and had invested quite a bit in keeping him alive.
And something, or someone else, a third party, had help in his recovery.
"The plot thickens" He thought with a humorless chuckle. He got up, more easily now that he didn't have a threat digging into his stomach, and walked towards the window. What he saw on the other side took his breath off his lungs and brought him to his knees.
He did not see the view from the room, nor did he see the banners of ships on the sea. All he saw was a memory from centuries ago, something he had crushed and buried under harrowing experiences, battel tactics, sword tricks, spells, and divines words of power. He saw a memory of a boy watching with a giant smile the same unchanged view. He saw himself, his past, a life he had forgotten and been lost to the tides of time and the sea of blood that had almost drowned him so many times.
He saw the Red Keep, he saw King´s Landing at his feet.
He was home.
He was not ashamed of the tears the trickled down his face, nor of the doubts that plagued him.
He had called this place "Home". That brought him shame.
It wasn't.
Home was somewhere else, with those that loved him, those that had bleed by his side, and those he had bled for. With those he had sworn to protect and guardian of his own to watch over him, whit his loyal pets, mounts and companions, where his banners and sigil danced in the winds of fortresses, castle, and cities, where his duty remained. This hadn´t been home for almost 9 centuries.
But home was where family resides.
And he had family here.
The memories of the battle in the arena completed those of the last battle of Castle Drakenhof. He remembered most of it now, as the fog clouding his mind dissipated ever so slowly. Fast enough to understand where he was now, and who he had seen. His parents, right in front of him. He had given up on coming back a long time ago. But, as eager as he was to see them, to look at them, to narrate a thousand adventures and a million tales, he could not.
Not yet.
He was back in Westeros for a reason. He needed to find that reason. An ancient enemy? A chaos invasion? Telosan forces? The Daedric Princes? Or maybe the Legion? A thousand threats… a million possibilities.
They could wait for now. First, he needed answers, and for those answers, he would need some time. If the Lady hadn´t revealed herself to him yet to explain the situation she deemed they had time, or she wanted him to recover first. So rushing in blindly would do him no good. First, he had to consolidate forces, gather support and… Lords Above, how old would Arthur be now? And Shireen? His little sister, whose face he could barely remember any more. How many children would Ser Davos have now? Where would have Mathos ended? Many questions came to his mind.
Then a thought crossed his mind in the same way he had crossed Sigvald´s face with his sword. Suddenly and brutally. The image of the princes of Dorne brought him joy and pain. Joy, for the idea of meeting his oldest friend made him smile a smile that he hadn't use in many years. And it also brought him pain, for he wasn't privy to what had happened in the undetermined amount of time that had passed since…his "death"
Had Arianne married?
Had she found someone else?
Had she died?
Had Joffrey, the insufferable cunt, gotten his balls ripped off by the dornish princess?
Had she killed Margaery?
Had Margaery killed her?
An image of Margaery Tyrell flashed in the back of his mind, a phantom of the past kept prisoner by memory and time. Both sweet, and sour, both cherished and hated. The mornings of his two years stay on Highgarden came like a tidal wave, the smell and flavor of the cheeses and fruits of the Reach, the sharp comment of Lady Olenna, the calm tone of Willas, and the jovial words of Garlan, against the venom of Lady Hightower and Lord Mance Tyrrell, the envy and hate of Loras
And the mere thought of his birth family, his birth parent, his birth siblings…. Lady above, the notion of seeing them again… it hurt, physically and spiritually. It hurt a lot. It felt like no matter his reaction, he was going to commit a huge betrayal. He felt like he wouldn´t be able to recognize his little brother….and Shireen, small little Shireen… With a growl, he casted those thoughts to the back of his mind. Now, it wasn't the moment to get sentimental.
There were many possibilities. And only one way to find the truth. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and began to search for some clothes to actually get of that room. He found on the desk by the window a pair of breeches, long and black, and a white long tunic. There were riding boots beside the door too. Nothing fitted him perfectly, but whoever had left them had managed to get him some decently comfortable clothes. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the handle of the door, and opened it, not before disguising himself a little. He let some of his old scars reappear on his face and hid his amber eyes behind silvery mirrors. A minor change in appearance, but one decent enough to hide. He was tempted to use the Mist to hide his very presence but felt it both unnecessary and too taxing for now. But he was prepared to do so at any given time.
The hallway was silent. Too silent. The Red Keep had always been filled with activity and movement. So something was going on. It placed Sirius on edge.
"The calm before the storm has always managed to put me on edge" He told himself, as he began to walk down one of the many hallways. The Red Keep was a joke beside the Imperial Palace on Aldorf, or Corunne, but compared to Stormwind, or even the White-Gold Tower, it held its own. He walked forward, holding his head up and trying his hardest to not stand out. He wondered how long he had been out. Hours? Days? Weeks? The Gift of the Lady and his bloodline had kept his body in good shape, so he could honestly not tell.
Leaving the room had been a brazen plan. But he had placed hope in a theory. Said theory proved itself when he crossed a pair of noblewomen. Falling to instinct taught in the courts of Bretonnia, he made an elegant, although not too intricate bow, saluted with a small smile, letting his hair cover his features, and kept walking.
They didn't give him a second glance.
Well, they did, but not for that reason.
He smiled to himself, the lessons of Nazir and Brynjolf still fresh after all of these years. If you look like you fit perfectly, you will fit for everyone else. So he moved as such. Sure, confident, almost arrogant steps, eyes forwards and just wandering enough to no look strange, and making sure his wounds remained hidden. He crossed paths with almost two dozen nobles, servants, and guards, and no one recognized him in the slightest. He knew better than to wait for it to last much longer. Someone would have seen him without his helmet close enough to actually tell it was him, and even if technically, he was in no danger, he preferred to see his family on his terms, and not surrounded by a dozen noblemen trick to lick his boots.
He traversed through memory-filled corridors, forgotten stairs, views of the past, and a dozen individuals that brought him to the uncomfortable realization that maybe a decade had gone by in his homeland, if the seemingly stable peace, lack of heads on pikes, and overall tranquility in the capital was anything to go by. He could only dread how big the pit of nostalgia in his chest would be once he actually entered Dragonstone, and, Lady forbid it, Starfall.
His wandering brought him to no other place than the Weirwood of the Red Keep. The moment he placed a foot in the consecrated grounds, he felt something, or someone, send an immense amount of hatred, fury, and spite in his direction, an emotional wave that sent the Great Ocean into an open storm around him. And this time, the Eye wasn't the best place to be. Slowly, too slowly to his liking, he managed to raise mental defenses and magical battlements around his mind, shielding him from the worst of the hurricane of contempt sent his way.
Until a golden light brought silence to the storm, breaking through the maelstrom that had almost swallowed him whole. The storm pushed back against the light, the advantage of elder powers, of the earth itself rearing in its assistance. But the Light could not be stopped or slowed. The maelstrom's heart was annihilated, as a strange relief filled the kneeling man, and light filled his vision. The weirwood tree seemed to ooze blood and pain. Hatred boiled the very air around it, as from the ground quivering and bloodstained roots grew to swallow him whole. The Light incinerated those roots, shielding him from the onslaught. It was an old light, one known to the boy. One prayed to, and so he gave his meager strength to that light, joining her psychic attack with his own dwindled reserves, his now pale face more reminiscent of the state in which he should be in after barely scraping Death´s Door.
-Begone, eldritch convocation of old! You cannot touch him! - Thundered the light, coruscating in a shape that stood in front of him, defiant, pure, and holy. A woman of dark hair, green eyes and blue dress glowered in the center of the defiant light, his shield against the attack.
WE ARE ALL. WE TAKE ALL
It wasn't a voice. It was pure sentiment given form, pure hatred leveled at his weekend mind and let loose. There were no thoughts to read, no hidden intentions. It was the primordial sentiment of something so old that not even the concept of truth or lie had been invented when it first ascended. And it hurt like being hit by a giant. His knees began to wobble under the pressure.
-Not here, not with me! Begone! Retreat from my Light and into the Darkness you so well know!- The light grew, shielding him from the backlash as best as it could. But the distance and the foreign ground worked against her. Here, she could little, but she did all she could, and then some more.
YOU STRANGER. YOU NO POWER HERE
The… thing that attacked them thundered again, and this time, Sirius almost fell face-first into the dirt, waves of magic and psychic pain roaring into his ears like the roar of a thousand fellbeasts. He smelled his own flesh cooking itself as the energy directed as his person began to sip through his defenses, hastily erecting more, blocking the thin fingers of pain that tried to reach his mind.
-You understate me at your peril, old gods!- The light thundered back, pushing the pain away, and Sirius forced himself to his knees one more, the blinding radiance a splendorous blessing. It hurt to look at it directly, so he closed his eyes, and truly looked, he looked through the Great Ocean.
And he actually saw her. Standing like a rock against the coming storm, a tempest to engulf the world, and she the last thing to stop .it
-My lady…- He whispered painfully.
"My champion" Whispered the voice back. She was strained, faced with something that neither of them truly understood.
"I need your arm, my champion. I require your strength" She told him, a whisper. And then he saw what she meant, in the floor, in front of him, resting like the first time he had grasped it into his fingers, gleaming in the morning light, absorbing and reflecting the light of the goddess, a white-black promise.
THIS OUR LAND THIS OUR PREY
Sirius growled furiously. He was no prey. He hadn´t been prey in a long time. He had become the bloody hunter himself. And he would very extremely pleased to show it. With silent determination, he redirected his eyes towards the tempest in the Great Sea and saw. Truly saw what brought such an onslaught. He saw the tendrils that moved through the lands, the old bones, and even older blood that fed it. He saw the ancient existence, and understood what he faced. He saw their envy, anger and fury at the appearance of strange powers. They saw a threat in these new gods, in his retune to his home. They wanted him gone. They wanted the threat that he represented eliminated.
The Old Gods of Westeros wanted him dead.
"Well, fuck you" Sirius thought "I have faced worse than you, you rotten, cannibalistic sons of druchii whores"
So he pushed back, this time with true and determined intent and grabbed the thing lying in front of him. Such a movement redirected their fury at him. But this time, he was ready for it. And he pushed back as his hands reached for the darkened blade, its familiar metal missing its shining glow, its usual aura. It looked like a sword, a simple double-edged longsword. And there ended the similarities with anything a mortal might know. It was 2 feet and a half of black steel, with a simple guard with runes adorning it, a handle of other worldly leather that no animal could match in its texture, finishing in a pommel with an opaque jewel on the end, forming a roaring beast biting the jewel. Its edge looked dull, its runes, confusing and faded.
It looked like a useless hunk of blackened thin stone, no better than a decoration, no deadlier than any other common blade. Barely a slim sheet of dark metal against a storm capable of destroying worlds. It wasn't regal like Brightroar had been. It wasn't imposing and great like Ice was. It wasn't as beautiful as the Blade of Corunne, nor looked as mythical as Darkfire. It lacked the otherworldly gleaming and aura of dwarven-crafted weapons as Dragon Tooth or any of the Runefangs. It lacked the elven light and shape of blades such as Anduriel or Glamdring.
But, in his hands, he dared ask the blade to shape the world around it, to challenge the gods themselves, to siphon the Winds of Magic themselves, to grant him strength and power. His oldest companion, his most trusted friend. The weapon that had casted gods to the dirt and made demons taste their one blood.
It had always delivered gladly.
Barely a microsecond before, the baleful energies of the tree realized that there was something wrong. They could feel the foreign goddess; its golden false glory standing like a petulant child that knew it had been beaten but refused, out of spite, to yield. They felt the traitor boy, and his pain. But, if those were the only ones there, then from where was coming this new sensation, this piercing gaze, this extreme sensation of heat, of pressure? This was new to them. They hadn't met anything that could make them feel like this.
Until they saw the blade.
But then it was too late.
Sirius´s hands closed on the leather handle. And he looked right into the red orbs of blood, hate and predatory hunger, right into the eyes of gods that wished him gone. And smiled.
And the blade answered the call.
Like a nova, energy roared from the blade forwards, pushing back the Old God´s wrath, feeding into her wielder, feeding into the very ground, waves of white and black, energy that cascaded along the blade and the very essence of the air around it. And anyone that was evenly slighted attuned to magic heard the twin sounds that echoed in the Great Ocean.
A roar, majestic, and terrible, thundering like a storm, powerful like a mountain´s own wrath. A bellowing challenge, a blossoming of vengeance and fury.
The first line of runes shone with ethereal black light.
"I am the death of worlds, in ash and fire"
The gem in the blade activated with amber energy that swirled inside it, gleaming like the sun itself, before giving away to a silver glow, a jewel that glowed grey, and would have left the greatest and silver in shame. Lines of white and black were born in the blade, like veins transporting energy from the gemstone to the edges of the blade, and releasing it to form a glowing aura that made any who´s eyes looked at the weapon know that no defense would protect them from it. Its edge took a gleaming look, a new sharpness that would cut steel like it was bare paper.
The mighty sound of a war horn, powerful, deep and otherworldly, like no other. The birth of hope brought in shining light, a new star in each hearth that heard the call. A promise to the winds and the eternal darkness. This is what echoed in the Great Ocean.
The second line of runes shone to light in amber and white, gleaming like half-blood pearls.
"I am the line that thou shall not cross"
The energy cascaded around Sirius, covering him, closing wounds, bringing energy back to tired muscles and sore bones. His vision cleared, his senses sharped, his pain was gone, and his heartbeat steadily on his own ears. And he felt the familiar weight in his hands, the perfectly balanced blade, and the grip that almost seemed custom-made for him, no matter the time or the place.
The energy traced down his arms and chest, down his legs, and up to his neck. And then it condensed, in indebted itself painlessly into his skin, into his organs and body. Into his very being.
Into his very soul.
And thus, the link was reactivated. The Blade had a wielder again. And the knight had his blade again.
Westerosi houses usually had words that, flamboyant phrases, intricate and cryptic phrases, or declaration of personality, intent, or values. Mostly, they were war cries, or threats when utter in the right place and moment, they were promises and declarations. They were sometimes ways of life.
Not those of Bretonnian Houses. Not those of his house.
Many times he had roared the words of the Royal Hose of Corunne into battle, those of the Heirs of Isuldur and Elendil, the words of the Platinum Dragon and the cyrodilian words of the Legions and the blood of Septim.
But these, were his words. These were the words of House Amaranth. Not a phrase uttered to the winds in convenience and arrogance, but a promise, a vow to the darkness that lurks. And they carried more meaning than most though.
-For those we protect, we will sacrifice-
And then, the third line materialized, in white and black, in balance like nothing else, the full might of the blade brought to bear, gleaming, hidden in the crossguard.
"I am the soul of the Blade. I am the End"
And the wounded boy was gone,
There stood the Lady´s Justice, the Dragon´s Wrath, the Demon´s Bane, the Chosen of the Lionhearted.
And Sirius smiled as the blade´s energy roared at the monstrous ancient deities that sought to lay him low. Let them try, he thought, let them come and die. The Old Gods looked the closest thing something like them would ever be to surprise, and fear. In the great Ocean, the boy was a sun, and the deepest abysm. Light and darkness came off in waves, all put together by strings and echoes of purest amber. And behind him, or more precisely, inside him, stood something that not even something as ancient as themselves knew. A towering presence, power unrivaled. Great scales of black and white. Wings made to tear down mountains. A heart that beat like the tremor of dying worlds. It wasn't the boy, but it moved around and inside him, it danced through the edge of the blade.
And it was looking right at them.
The weapon pulsated, happy to be in his hands again, before letting its energy shield him, directing its scorn towards the Weirwood tree, the monolith of wood and hatred that sought his destructions. She felt his defiance and the buildup of energy behind her, and thus, she acted in consequence.
-Yes, this is your land! But he is my champion!- she answered, before pushing forward, sending the energy that had been used in defense to offense, carving a path through the hateful storm, dispersing for an instant the bellowing maelstrom that sought their end, as heavenly energy ate the wrathful tendrils and roots, gold eating dark red in less than an instant, and more than eternity, as all things in the Great Ocean were. She gave him only an instant.
It sufficed.
The Old gods felt such a magic build-up and directed their attention to the knight behind the foreign goddess. They didn't know fear, for fear was something of the living, and they were wood, root and stone.
So Sirius showed them what feared tasted like.
In his hands, steel of celestial origin glowed with the power of the First Dawn itself, as the Blade of Salvation concentrated its energy into its very heart, its killing edge, pulsating in white-black hues of light. Amber eyes stared from behind the deadly weapon of a being so old that lacked classification in almost every tongue known to him, right into the red eyes that looked at him from the carved pale wood.
He swung his blade at the maelstrom.
Like a wave of white-black fire, the blade carved the relatively short distance in between them and the tree, no defense or protection capable of stopping the strike as it found its mark. In the great Ocean, a cataclysmic meeting of energies followed suit, the power of gods passed their time colliding with the might of Humanity´s Paragon.
For an instant, the maelstrom prevailed.
For a moment, the old gods felt victory.
And then Sirius promptly shattered the storm, roaring into the Realm of Magic, unleashing his full might forward, energy tracing his very being into the words the of the blade, becoming an embodiment of judgment, or furious onslaught. The power of a man that had broken fate was leveled at them. He used as war cry the name of his sword, and the Gods would remember that name. Like a star in the night sky, the hidden letters in the blade came to life, as the runes formed a single word of seven letters.
AMTWYR
The Maelstrom broke. And the blade struck the tree. And the gods in them felt the energy turn asunder their meager defenses. They had never had to defend themselves. They were the greatest predator of the world.
On their world.
And Sirius was no longer of their world
They burned under the unleashed celestial fire.
And thus, Sirius Amaranth, born Baratheon Dayne, made yet again another god bleed. The gods receded and retreated, their energy spent, their hate not enough to keep them connected to the living world. Like the tide, they pulled back, the only reminder of the exchange, the embedded sword on the weriwood tree, right where the heart would have been if the face of the tree had been that of a man.
Sirius fell face fit into the grass and dirt, his breathing even more ragged and exhausted.
-Not even an hour awake- he grumbled, managing to turn to rest on his back, eyes scanning the blue sky-And I already feel like I am going to pass out again- He sighted –I think I may have established a new record- There was some mirth on his voice, but it was hard to see under the exhaustion.
-Always the melodramatic one, I see- The woman´s words made him arch an eyebrow.
-With all due love and respect, my lady, I just, quite literally, banished an assembly of elder gods of their shrine after barely waking from having another ancient being carve my heart almost in two- There was mock outrage in his voice, and he was so tired that it was a wonder how he could even speak at all. But she smiled nonetheless.
-Worst fights you have endured, I believe- She walked towards him and sat beside his head, hands glowing with golden power as she tried to heal the wounds he had just received. There weren't many, but his weakened body was having problems healing them. And there was no sense in even more scars. Sirius growled.
-That I have. That doesn´t mean I find it enjoyable- The goddess nodded, before finishing with her healing. She had a stern smile and eyes shining with light, a regal determination and calmness enveloped her in an almost halo of divine presence. But her champion saw through it.
-What ails you, my lady?- He asked, barely managing to rise until he was kneeling in front of the goddess. Concern flashed in the amber eyes of the knight, as he gently grabbed her hand.
-My strength fades in this realm, champion. I fear I will be returning shortly to Nirn. For a few days, I will not be able to offer you any assistance. The distance and the action of the gods of these lands make my assistance difficult… and costly- Sirius nodded.
-Do not fret, my lady. I will be careful- That got a laugh from her.
-Remember what happened last time you promised that?- Sirius smiled a half-smile, the memory still fresh on his mind. One sweet, and painful at the same time.
-I ended on Molag´s dungeons- He winced at the memories that dark and bloody place brought him –And I was later rescued by my forces some weeks after that-
-And what a rescue it was- She mused. Sirius laughed.
-I still remember Vilkas´s face when he entered my cell and found me strangling a daedra- She nodded along, eyes lost in the blue heavens almost like it was the first time she saw the sky.
"This one, at the very least" Sirius thought, getting up on shaky legs.
-You have learned a thousand lessons in your lifetime- She said, rising with majestic grace-From how to use a blade to brewing poisons and curatives. Cooking unknown meats, fletching arrows, casting a dozen types of spells, strategy and politics. You learned how to read people, how to hide your own actions and how to move unseen. Yet, there was one thing no one had to teach you- Her eyes were still on the blue heavens, as Sirius blinked surprised at the sudden words.
-You always had a way to make people believe in what you fight, to take up the same cause you bannered, to stand beside you against the unthinkable. I wanted to say it was charisma, or maybe persuasion what did it, but I learned a long time ago the truth- Her eyes, blue and golden, locked with his amber eyes, shining in the morning light.
-You keep going forward, unending in your strength. It matters little the foe, their might, of their numbers, you just keep going forward. I can name someone better and more skilled than you at almost everything, but in one thing. Will to fight. Will to stand. You are unyielding, no matter the odds- She smiled at him, a true smile, one full of love and respect –I have found myself basking in your strength and determination in these last years, as others have as well. Because, no matter what challenge you face, I know, I have the certainty, that you will beat it. It may take time, blood, sweat and pain, but you just won't give up, and you just won't lose-
Sirius kept silent, eyes falling to the ground in shame.
-I lost my fair share of times, my lady. More than I can count. More than I have any right to- The faces came back, the names and places, the failures in his lifetime. How many had he failed to save and protect? How many had he left to die, knowing full well the horrors that awaited them, because it was what needed to be done? How many rules, laws and vows had he discarded in order to do his duty? He had always been proud of being a knight, even if most of the time he felt a hypocrite.
Those green shining eyes filled with wonder and admiration. Laughter fills the courtyard, clear as the morning sky. She hugs him close. He is the only one she lets touch her. He is the only one that soothes her nightmares. He promises to protect her, to love her. She cries of joy. She believes him.
That makes one of them
She grabbed his chin gently and lifted his face, to look at him in the eyes once more.
-As you yourself once told me, "Losing isn't failing to succeed. It's failing to keep trying"- He smiled a little, crystal tears forming in his eyes.
-I still remember them all- He answered in a hushed tone –Their faces, their smiles, their words, their teachings. For nine centuries I have stood in defense of everything good and pure of this world. For nine hundred years I have tried to live my life in the best possible way, to be the best man I could be…- His voice broke, as he trembled, the unspoken reason going in between them.
Tears streaming down those green eyes, his hands petting the golden hair. Anger, hate, pain, love, fear, relief. Eyes filled with those emotions reflected in each tear, like a dagger to the heart. She was afraid of him leaving forever, as they did. He makes the promise again, but both know that he cannot keep it.
That is the only time he doubts. The only time he is hesitant to leave. He leaves nonetheless. Duty calls. And children are dying. He has to do something.
Ironically enough, children still die. And this time dies the only one he cared about.
She grabbed him gently by a shoulder –I have been failing for almost 900 years- he whispered
-You are afraid- She whispered back-You are afraid, because back on Nirn, on the New and Old World, on Azeroth and other realms, you were Sirius Amaranth, a man that forged himself into what others knew of him. There were no expectations that chained you down. But here… here you aren't Sirius Amaranth, you aren't the Lady´s Wrath, you aren't the Black Dragon or the Bringer of Dawn, nor are you an unknown who can forge his own fate. Here, you are the son of parents that don´t really know you, brother to siblings that loved the man you once were. You feel like you have left derelict your duties. And you are worried about those duties. The first son of the King´s Brother- Sirius nodded with eyes on the floor, as tears streamed freely.
A broken body, small and charred black, nothing remaining of those shining eyes, of the golden hair, of the beautiful smile. A failure, one more of his mountain. His fault. His blame. His sin. She was his duty. He was found wanting. Rage fills him. He roars his pain to the winds. He screams his very soul out. It's the first time he actually uses that magic. He earns the name of the Dragon´s Wrath that day.
They also call him the Dark Reaper of the Forest. It is supposed to be an insult, to call him monster. It's made to tug as his mercy. He does not care.
He exterminates them all the same.
-You are afraid of having to choose- She finished. He did not move. He didn't even breathe for an instant. –Of having to choose in between them and everything else, in between what you are now, and all you hold, and your family, the ones that you lost at the very beginning. You are afraid of what they will think, how they will act when you eventually leave again- Sirius nodded along.
His anger, his rage, the voices whispering in the back of his mind, untold, and unending. They want vengeance. They want justice. He can give it to them, just a swing from his blade. She cannot move, cannot react, cannot confront him. He lifts his blade. Those shining eyes roar in the back of his throat. She did this. She committed the ultimate crime. Her laughter echoes in his ears. So does the laughter of thirsting gods.
The blade descends.
-You have made a lot in the past. You hold many you love, many you would die to defend. And you do not wish to have to choose in between them, and this family you once lost, and you don't know if you can bear losing again, and who will probably not understand once the truth is revealed- And she laughed, gently, like the sound of water flowing into a pond. -And yet again, you fear to have to leave behind something you hold most dear, something you have sworn to protect, because duty calls-
His blade is silent. That stops him. It has never remained silent. Ascalon does not sing. It does not drink. That makes him doubt. Then hands grab him from all sides, keeping him back, holding him, both in his anger and his pain. Brotherhood keeps him from adding another sin, as deserved as it is. It does not lessen the pain. But she wouldn't have wanted him to do it.
They have to hold him, still.
-You silly mortal- she told him gently-There was never a choice to make- Sirius raised his head in shock, eyes wide.
-What do…?- She interrupted him with an arched eyebrow.
He fights against the grip of the man that has acted as a father and much more. He fights against both their pain and their anger. He fights to try to reach the teacher, hanging from the bridge, his eyes calm, yet filled with urgency. Arrows fall around them, but he does not care. He won't reach him in time, but he cannot bear to not try. He speaks.
And then he falls into the darkness.
The man drags him out. Or so he thinks. He cannot remember. All he knows is pain, anger, shame, and the comforting arms of a man that deserves to be king. That respite lasts far less than it has any right to. But they have to move. So he gets up and walks.
Sadly, the pain follows suit.
-You are Sirius Amaranth, you are Sirius Baratheon Dayne. You don´t have to choose in between these things. Because, at the end of the day, you will still be my champion, You will still be the man that broke free from the Lich King´s control, the man who fought Archaon to a standstill, the first bretonnian knight to ride on a dragon, the knight who fought alongside the Dragon Princes of Caledor and fought back to back with the Heir of Anerion, the adventurer that dueled a Wanderer and befriended another, the Protector of Tamriel and the Bane of Coldharbour. You will always be the man who entered a war for a land not his own, but for loyalty to the lost heir of a once-glorious kingdom, the man who helped carry one of the most dangerous artifacts in existence. You are the same wandering stranger that decided to take a stand against tyranny. The same man who choose to shelter what many called an abomination because it was the right thing to do. You are the same dovahkiin that took the offer of an old forbidden goddess and wielded a blade and a mission bigger than himself. The hero that decided to let light reign over the bloody darkness All of this, you are, and much more. Whatever you do next, you will forever be that same man. Nothing, will change that, for your past in your legacy, now and always. And what a legacy that you carry, my champion. Do you think us cruel enough to make you choose in between them?–
Hesitation
He runs. He runs even if he doesn't want to. He runs because he has a target. Behind him, lives end, behind him, friends die. Behind him, his promises are broken. And he still runs. Because he has to. Because he has a god to kill. No man can do that. He will die. But he already feels dead inside. What does it matter then?
That was the only word that described Sirius´s attitude. He was afraid of having to abandon them again. As he always was. For 900 years he had lived, and for nine hundred years, the Amber knight had been thrown from one world to the next, fighting countless foes and enemies, fate and chance placing him in the eye of the growing storm, and leaving him to reign in the tempest. And for 900 years he had been leaving behind family, loved ones, dutiful friends, loyal companions and obligations. For 900 years, he had to fight the underlying guilt every time he opened his eyes, and realized that he was somewhere new, somewhere different. Afraid of losing even more. Afraid of failing them.
Eyes open. He jumps forward, the afterthought of memory in his mind. But he is not there, he is somewhere else. And he has failed him, he has failed her, he has failed all of them. He swore to protect her, he swore to be better than him. He was their friend, and he failed when it mattered most. He let them die. He broke his promise. And he cannot go back to help them. He cries, he screams, he rages. After an eternity, he gets up. He has a job to do.
And he will get it done
And they weren't with him.
He holds him as he dies in his arms. Eyes that have seen hundreds of years are now devoid of life, devoid of light. He is gone. He was barely a step from him, but he is gone. Around him, the roar of the battle continues. He was a good king. He was a noble one. He closes those gentle eyes that smiled at him not so long ago, and proceeds to avenge him, a thousandfold.
Let them know the Black Terror´s wrath.
No man left behind.
Their eyes gaze into each other. He cannot reach her. And she cannot reach him. But she smiles. It's a bitter smile, proper of her kin, cruel and almost sarcastic. But it also holds sadness. Her hope is gone, her chance is spent. And yet she is not angry at him. For she can see his pain and anger at not being able to help her. It takes his two oldest friends to pull him from the broken bridge. It takes will, logic and reason to make him move. Nothing can prevent the pain and tears. She laughs, makes a mocking bow and crosses the gates towards hell on earth, towards pain and suffering eternal, towards the darkness she wanted to leave behind.
She fights it. She fights like an army against the darkness in her kinsmen.
He doesn´t see her die. He knows she isn't dead. And he also knows both of them would prefer if she was.
How many had he left behind?
They salute him; they salute him filled with pride, with fear, with anger, and with hopelessness. But they don't waver, they don´t hesitate. They salute, turn around and form up. He has to cross the portal, but they have to drag him through it. He should cross and leave them to die alone. He cannot do that. He feels his friends grab him and pull him. He fights, but he is wounded, tired and drained of energy. He sees them die, buying the time they need. Many look away from their gruesome deaths, from their pain and suffering. He doesn't.
He owns them that much.
He also owns them vengeance. And vengeance he will deliver.
She smiled, wiping the tears away, as her body began to dissipate, her energy expended to reach this land.
-Never forget the words you yourself have roared into the winds of oblivion in defiance, so many times- And with those parting words and a smile, the goddess of light disappeared, returning to her land, and one of the adoptive lands of her champion, to return when her strength was recovered.
He isn't the first to say those words. They are dusty and old the first time he sees them, and he is at the brink of death and madness. The shrine of the platinum dragon hangs over him, a broken symbol of the things this land lacks. But he can see the words. And they resonate with him. That is his purpose.
Protect those he loved.
No matter the cost.
Even if his soul is the cost.
-For those we protect, we will sacrifice- Sirius whispered to the dissipating golden dust, a small smile on his face shining among the drying tears.
-Thank you, Lady Meridia- Sirius looked at the now-dead weirwood, the red sap drops, like very thick blood, flowing from the eyes, the mouth, and the steel of his blade. He ripped Ascalon from the tree, eyes on the gleaming edge, a fleeting memory caressing the steel and his mind. A memory of defiance, a memory of determined will. He smiled.
Yet again, he has a job to do.
And yet again, he would not run. He could not run. He lifted Antwyr until it rested in front of his face, the gleaming black steel looking back at him. This blade had been his earliest companion, his longest one as well. In almost every battle he had fought, he had wielded it, in every confrontation, duel, and training session. This was his sword. He had earned that right, that trust.
-Where now, Antwyr?- he whispered. Lines in the blade lit up in black and purple, and he felt the way. Back from when he had come. To his family. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards the inevitable.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Ashara Dayne kept caressing the head of her sleeping daughter, silent tears falling out f her own eyes. One would think that having lost a son so brutally before would have prepared for the chance of losing him again, but if anything, it just made it worse. Much worse. And she couldn´t do a thing about it. The feeling of complete impotency that was creeping into her heart increased with each passing moment. Gods, it hurt.
It wasn't the first time she had felt that way.
When Arthur had left for war. When she had said goodbye to Elia for the last time. Other two times she had felt completely impotent. Other times she had lost people she cared for. It felt like a dagger to the heart. It felt wrong. She was a good woman. Why did these heartless gods punish him with such might?
She bit her lip to refrain from crying. It only worked to a point. But it worked enough.
A light tapping to her daughter's door brought her back to the present. She gently placed Shireen on the bed and went up to the door. She tapped three times at the door and got 4 quick taps and three slow taps. She then opened the door, knowing that it was someone to be trusted.
-My lady- Said Mathos respectfully, as the oldest son of the Onion Knight bowed to her –I apologize for bothering you, but my father wanted me to check on you, see if you required anything-
Ashara smiled at the thoughtful action of Ser Davos. The first time she had meet him, she had been wary. Then again, she had been wary of everyone at the beginning. Losing your best friend and most of our family in a matter of days would do that to someone. But Ser Davos had not offered empty apologies, not had he given grand speeches. He approached the same afternoon her new husband had introduced him to her, and carrying a basket of fruits and dornish dry fish, had asked her if they could talk.
In hindsight, she didn't know if it had been the tone he had used or the look in his eyes that had led her to open the door. It had been one of those early nights where Stannis would stay awake till almost dawn, helping rebuild the bloodied kingdom, during a time when the relationship she now had with Stannis did not exist yet, even if there were some embers in that fire. So she had accepted, not knowing that her firstborn already rested inside of her.
For almost three hours, he didn't speak a word. But he listened as no one else had ever done. And like no one else, barring her husband, would ever do. She talked, she cried, she insulted, cursed, screamed, broke things, and even managed to burn her hands in the fireplace.
He listened to her, and then he told her of himself, of who he was and had been, and how grateful he was to Lord Stannis for the chance that he had given his children and wife. He told her of the life and dangers of being a smuggler. He told her jokes and hilarious stories. And for a few hours, she was at ease, and she didn't hate herself.
"I know we know little of each other, my lady" he had said, rising to leave "But I want you to know that whatever you required, whatever you need, you can count on Lord Stannis. He is noble, he is fair, and he is just, and I believe he likes you. But if you need someone to talk to, someone to confide in, you can always call me. I am more than happy to escape all the pomp and fanfare of the rest of the court. Talking with you is like talking with my old port mates but without all the cock jokes… I probably should have said that" Oh, how she had laughed that night, and many others after that. Davos had become a pillar of support for her family, an uncle figure for her children, and a dear friend to herself. Davos had risen to be Stannis´s most trusted advisor and confident. And in moments where she and her husband had fought, it had fallen to poor Davos to mend it. Like the episode of the bath eel. She shuddered at the memory. But then smiled at the memory of both her eldest son and her husband, wet and covered in mud, laughing uncontrollably. Well, Sirius had laughed uncontrollably. Stannis had laughed…normally.
-Thank you Mathos. Please, guard my daughter's door, if you don´t mind. I have to speak with your father, and my lord husband. Where are they?- It was a lie. He didn't have to. But she desperately wanted to. She needed to keep her mind of the image of her son´s bleeding and pale form. The nightmares were enough. She didn't need to see it when she was awake too.
-Of course my lady. They are at Lord Stannis´s study…. - He seemed to hesitate for a second –There was someone else in there too, my lady, although I do not know who it was- Ashara nodded slowly.
-Did my husband ask for tea for our guest?- She asked calmly. Mathos shook his head.
-No my lady. He asked for water- Ashara nodded and left. Water, not tea. She had thought it unnecessary at first for them to develop a code in between the member of their household, but Stannis had insisted after Sirius´s death, so in the last 5 years they had created such a code. Has Mathos said yes to the tea, she would know it was someone close and thus, safe. Had he said wine, it would have been someone hostile someone dangerous, a Lannister of an Yronwood. Water meant a middle ground. Someone safe, but not close. Someone not to be trusted fully.
She strode from her daughter´s quarters to her husband's, barely acknowledging the servants he passed by, not caring about them, or their true masters, may it be the Queen, the Spider, or the Queen of Thorns. They had nothing to hide. She reached the door to her quarters, and opened it, to find inside a disturbing sight. A dozen Lannister soldiers, facing half as many men clad in the purple and silver of House Dayne. -May I know what is going on? - Her tone was low but sounded like a bell´s toll. Then a voice, the voice the hated and dread, a sound that brought her into her worst nightmares, spoke up.
-Queen´s orders. We are to escort you to her- She closed her hands into fists, knuckles white, teeth clenched as hard as she could. The man that stepped forward was wearing silver and red armor. The Knight of the Manticore looked at her half-smiling. She spoke with enough hate to melt stones.
-Amory Lorch- How many nights she had curled around her children, terrified of this monster, afraid of losing any of them? How many times she had awoken screaming in terror at the nightmare he had caused her, the image of little Rhaenys fresh on her mind like she had seen her yesterday?
The man had an ugly smile. He was ugly in a lot of aspects. It only helped her to despise him. It took tremendous willpower for her to not order Sandor to gut the man from head to groin. But to do that would be to heed rumors, as true as they probably were.
-What the fuck do you want, kid-stabber?- Growled Sandor out, only one of his eyes visible, a hateful stare boring into the Manticore helm. Lorch ignored him, focusing on Ashara.
-As I said, Queen´s orders. We are to escort you to the throne room- A shiver went up the Lady of Starfall´s spine. To be escorted? Fear began to accumulate in her throat. Gods, she was terrified. She could barely stand that room as it was. It brought her back to her nightmares, to the spilled blood, the red-soaked capes, the laughs and nods at the brutality. Years ago, that alone would have been enough to freeze her in place. Not anymore.
-Sandor, bring my husband, please. I'm sure he will like to hear this- the Hound nodded, smirking, and ordered one of the Dayne knights to move. Lorch raised his hand and took a few steps forward, to stand in front and over the Lady of Starfall.
-Your Lord Husband has already been informed. Come with us, my lady- There was a strange tone in the way he had said "my lady" that made Ashara extremely furious.
-Whatever her grace wants, I'm sure that I'm not the most indicated to help her with-
-Who said she requires help? She just ordered me to bring you and your daughter to the throne room- That did manage to terrify her. Why her daughter? Why little Shireen? Sandro let out a growl and stepped forward, putting his bulk in between Loch and his lady, hand going for his greatsword. Ashara tug him from the gauntlet, telling him to not do it. He wanted the man dead. He also wanted her family alive.
-If she wants to see her nice, she is welcomed to come and see her. But my daughter is resting now, and I´m not in the spirit. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to check on my husband and my sons. Goodbye- She turned around to enter her husband´s study and get away from the despicable man in front of her.
-Mother?- The soft voice took her completely by surprise. As did the fear in her voice. She and Sandor turned around, to see a truly terrible sight.
Her daughter, wide awake, and terrified, with a Lannister soldier on each side, standing in front of the door to her quarters as it closed with a sound that made her think of funeral bells. It was a living nightmare, his worst fears in the middle of the night distilled in a single image Lorch walked until he was standing next to the king´s niece. Ashara's mind was blank for an instant. They had her daughter.
Then the nothingness gave way to pure wrath.
They had her daughter.
-Sandor- She growled out. The Hound drew his blade, followed suit by the rest of her knights.
-Step away from the little lady, Lorch, and I will kill you quicker than you deserve- the Manticore knight ignored him, eying Shireen with those little porcine eyes of his.
-As I said- He spoke with a bored tone, toying with the pommel of his sword –I have orders to bring you with me to see the queen- Ashara furiously ran the scenario on her head. Where was Mathos? Had they killed him? Would her husband hear the sounds of a fight if she started one?
-So- The Manticore knight had truly ugly teeth, like those of a pig –Shall we?- Ashara realized that she had to comply. It was the only thing she could do. To make sure her daughter would leave unharmed out fo the situation. As ridiculous as it seemed to think that someone would hurt the king´s niece, this was Amory Lorch.
Only the elder Clegane would have terrified her more.
-Very well- she relented –Sandor, let's go- Ashara could see the tremble in Clegane´s movements. It took him three tries to put the blade back on its sheath. He exuded anger in quantities she had not expected.
-If I see you move in a way I don't like, Lorch, I will gut you from your ugly face to your little tail, are we clear? - The Manticore knight didn't lose his smile.
-Save your empty threats Clegane. You can't kill me and you know it. So…. - There was an insult there, left unsaid. But the oak door, of a few centimeters of width, reinforced by a steel plate in the middle, buckle, like if a battering ram had stuck it. A microsecond after, something small and long burst through, sending a wave of splinters forwards, grabbing one of the Lannister soldiers holding Shireen, before slamming him back against the door punishing the wood even more. Three times the red-clad man was brought against the wood, the sound of craking wood, metal and bone echoing in the strange and eerie silence that formed with the sudden outburst.
Several things append then.
Shireen ran towards her mother, Sandor stepped in between her and a shocked Amory, who looked as the second man tried to turn around and go for his blade. Ashara advanced towards her daughter, and her knights moved with Sandor to block their lady from the Lannisters.
Then, the door was ripped from its hinges, and it and the Lannister soldier still grabbed were thrown back. Dust filed the now open way. The second Lannister soldier took a tentative step forward, blade held high, trembling like a leaf against the storm. Right as he peered into the dust, a hand grabbed him by the face, the sound of steel groaning as his helm buckle was heard by all. His scream of terror was muffled by the claw on his face.
And then he was gone into the corridor. The sound of something smashing into a wall echoed into the corridor, and then there was utter silence.
Then, two orbs of the purest fire were lit in the dust cloud. Ashara felt the gaze of something that should not exist boring into her very soul.
Her daughter spoke a single word.
Another cliffhanger, I'm sorry I know! But I wanted to give the next part a few extra touches before putting it up. What lurks in the darkness? What does the Queen want? Who are out strange interlopers? Does anyone recognize the blade of our protagonist? Don't worry, it won´t take much to find out! See you gents, take care!