Cressen

"The food stores on the White Lantern are nearly full. We'll need to decide what to do with it soon."

"Any luck finding another cavern or cave that we might use?"

"Nothing so far. Oh, there are plenty of caves but the trick is to find one that isn't easy to find-"

"An oxymoron if there ever was one, I suppose."

"-but also easy to get to ourselves." Ser Oswell twisted his wrists so he was holding his palms upward, empty not just of anything between his fingers but also ideas he could voice. "It does us no good if we need to hurriedly get to foodstuff but we've made it a full day's ordeal in order to do so."

Ser Steffon nodded in agreement. "And we only have so many coins we can use so I'd rather we find natural ways to protect the supplies rather than drain away the protections the Gods left us."

Cressen pursed his lips together before giving his consent, speaking up for the first time since the meeting had begun. "Continue searching then. We have yet to fully run out of space so the problem hasn't become drastic just yet."

Ser Axell began to go over the training of the troops, what was being done to keep their minds occupied, and while the other men listened intently Cressen found his mind drifting. It was a poor mark of a maester, for they were supposed to be always aware of their surroundings, ready to document the comings and goings of the castle they pledged their loyalty to. Except… this was not the castle that Cressen was maester of. At least not anymore. That duty fell to Maester Jurne, who was now the one dutifully writing down all the information that was discussed at the royal meeting. Cressen no longer had such duties.

'No,' Cressen thought to himself, settling in his chair, 'somehow the Maester has found himself the Lord.'

It all came back to the morning after King Stannis' attack on King's Landing. Cressen had been waiting with what remained of the royal army (Stannis' army, for it could get so confusing to determine what one meant when they said 'royal army' when there were so many royals running about) for word when Ser Davos himself had appeared in a burst of light and sparkles, his sons gathered around him and his wife looking about in shock and wonder. With a strong clear voice he had called for silence and Cressen had later learned that every person on Dragonstone, from the highest knight to the lowest fish gutter, swore not only to have heard him but that Ser Davos had been standing only an arm's length away from them. More than one argument had broken out between those that had been on opposite sides of Dragonstone about who was the liar and who had truly seen the Onion Knight appear before them and reveal his divinity to them all.

Divinity. It still made Cressen's head hurt to think that the humble and straight-forward sailor that he had known for over a decade was in fact a God. One of the Seven. And, if he was to be believed… heir to the throne of The Father himself.

No one doubted that though, no matter how outlandish it might have seemed. How could they when with a wave of his hand Ser Davos on made himself young and strong once more and called upon magics so ancient that even the Children of the Forest would have been hard pressed to remember them? Ser Davos, or Loki as he had revealed his true name to be, had told them all that Stannis had fallen and Shireen was their queen. But to protect her he was taking her to his home, the Seven Heavens known as Asgard, and there she would be taught all she needed, be allowed to heal from her traumas (though he'd refused to reveal what he meant by that though Cressen had a dark fear of what just might have happened to the poor girl). He commanded them all though to continue on, to hold until her return.

'And then he took my life in his hand and gave it a good shake,' the old man thought with a mental sigh. For it had been that Ser Davos had turned to him and declared that until one of them returned, be they god or Baratheon, Cressen would lead the men. Before any of those gathered could protest though the Onion Knight had produced from his pocket a coin purse, giving it a once over with a critical eye before tapping it with his finger. A glow nearly as bright as the sun had shone through the heavy fabric before he'd tossed it to the maester lazily.

"Each coin is now a protection. Place it somewhere, be it on a mantle or in the pocket of one you trust, and until it is moved all around it for near a mile will be hidden from the minds of men. You will be forgotten, with the mighty lords of Westeros pushing aside thoughts of dealing with you and those you choose to protect from their thoughts as there will always be something far more important to deal with."

And how true that was. Cressen had experimented with the coins, as a maester should when encountering something they'd never dealt with before, and he'd found that the moment a stablehand left the area of the coin's power they suddenly lost all urge or desire to return. One lad had suddenly been compelled to go hunting, another to see an old friend across the Blackwater. And it was only when they were returned (by someone holding another coin) that they suddenly regained all memory of Dragonstone and the experiment and all that which had happened.

Cressen hadn't attempted it himself, fearful to play tricks with his own mind, but he had to admit that it was a curious thing to see someone's thoughts toyed with so easily.

Thus established as the new caretaker of the King… Queen's home Cressen's first act had been to order the abandonment of Dragonstone. With the loss of the fleet even with the coins it would be impossible to keep all stationed there, let alone grow the army for Pr…Queen Shireen's return. Thus he'd left a single coin hidden in the drawer within his own room and taken all those that dwelled on the island to Storm's End. There had been little argument on that, even from those that had been born there and expected to die on the island; how did you argue when the one commanding you had the respect of the Gods?

'It is a good place to regroup,' he thought to himself as the meeting ended and he began to walk the halls of the keep that had once been his home, before Stannis had demanded Cressen be moved to Dragonstone along with the rest of his household. 'Robert never understood why Stannis loathed Dragonstone... he thought it was just him being prickly. Others thought it just stubbornness and wounded pride. But this castle... it held out against one of the greatest marshalling of the Rebellion.' He shook his head in despair at the gulf that had formed between the brothers. 'Robert saw this place as something full of misery and thought he was saving Stannis from painful memories of the siege and the loss of their parents. But when one makes it out of such a situation they do not loathe that which saved them but wish to cling to it.'

All of them had fought to hold Storm's End but just as true was the fact that Storm's End had fought to hold them. Its mighty walls had spared them capture and death and that could never be forgotten. To leave it was like a knight selling the horse that had seen him through a hundred battles. It simply wasn't done!

Cressen knew that which was why he had moved all of her grace's forces back to Storm's End. It was easier to protect and garrison as well. With Dragonstone it was an island, aye, but it lacked for much save stone and heat and sulfar. Storm's End though offered them forests for hunting and a much larger space to house their camp. Combined with the coins it became the strongest place in all of Westeros to stage their return.

'But how long must we wait?' Cressen thought to himself as he slowly made his way towards the door that lead to the main courtyard. It would have been quicker to climb up the stairs but with his hip that simply wasn't possible anymore. It was why so many meetings were now held on the base level of the castle, so he might shuffle about without being left in too much agony when he finally made it to a war council. 'War councils... maesters should not be leading war councils. We are the knights of the mind, not the field!'

And yet he'd done rather well for himself, all things considered. With proof, thanks to the coins, that the Seven did aid Stannis' cause ('Shireen's now') they hadn't lost many at all from cloak turning. No, the survivors of the battle for King's Landing had become all the more committed, seeing how even with all the Lannister tricks they'd come so very close to winning. Why not try again, only now with what they had learned to aid them?

'And I suppose many of them think once Shireen returns they can gain influence over her,' he thought as he grasped the handle of the heavy oak door and gave it a tug. 'Fools. Shireen is strong willed already and with Jane and Thor and Ser Davos that won't likely change.'

He made his way out into the courtyard, which was lit by the soft glow of sunstone lamps. Torches were used sparingly or not at all around Storm's End, for too many remembered the Red Priestess and her madness and fire had turned from their gods to their most hated foes. The wildfire hadn't helped matters either and Cressen wondered how they would manage in winter with so many men unwilling to light their hearths-

Every hair on the back of Cressen's arm rose and a great sense of foreboding filled him. He looked about wildly, like a rabbit sensing the approach of the fox. But there was only the guards, men he trusted well for he remembered them as children working in the stables or getting into mischief and dreaming of when they too would wear the armor of House Baratheon. They would never harm him; the last of Melisandre's cult had been put to the sword and would trouble them no more.

And yet the sensation...

"Maester Cressen," one of the younger guards said, his voice having an echoing quality that at first he thought was because of the man's helm but quickly concluded it was instead caused by a stammer that had afflicted him.

'They feel it too,' he thought and where that might have brought comfort to others, to know that they weren't going mad and that there truly was something out there in the darkness, for Cressen it only deepened his worry. 'What could make us feel such a way? Everyone, not just me. And more than that… what could get past the protection Ser Davos offered us all?'

"Swords," he said in a low soft voice, barely above a whisper, and the guard unsheathed his blade. The others quickly did the same, feeling confidence that they could do so freely with another of their number flashing a naked blade. No one had wanted to be the first but now none of them wanted to be the last.

"What is it?" another guard whispered. "I've… I've never felt this before."

"Nor have I," Cressen admitted. It wasn't like how some men described the coming of battle or an attack; yes, he felt at ill-ease, unsure of himself and not quite knowing what was out there… but he didn't feel like some grand threat was racing towards him, teeth bared and claws at the ready. Rather it was as if he had walked into the domain of some great and powerful king and he knew he had to pay homage or face wrath. But if he showed the proper respect… he sighed, shaking his head. He hated that he couldn't explain it. Almost as much as he hated being unable to offer comfort to the guards around him.

So instead he looked about the courtyard in a weak attempt to find the source of his unease. But all he saw was the familiar sights. The doors that led to different parts of Storm's End. The guards whose names he knew, nearly all of whom he had nursed back to health in some way. The racks of weapons and the things of cloth with the stag of Baratheon upon them. The sunstone lamps with their comforting glow that did more to chase back the terrors of the night than Melisandre and her false God had ever done.

'Nothing,' he thought to himself. "Nothing," he repeated out loud, hoping that the word might do some good for them all. But it failed. He could see it on their faces and knew it in his heart. Just because he proclaimed that something was did not actually make it so. Whatever it was… it was still out there. He tilted his head to the sky. 'Gods above, what is it that we-'

He froze.

"Maester Cressen?" a guard said, looking up as well only to grow silent. His brothers joined him and soon he could hear others within the castle giving out cries of shock as they leaned out the windows or rushed outside to get a better view of the night sky… and the blazing red light that now slashed through the inky blackness like an open wound.

The burning star.

Melisandre had claimed it heralded a great change. She hadn't realized how right she truly was. That star had brought with it so much change. Never again did Stannis burn the Seven in honor of the Lord of Light after that night. Renly's claim to the throne had swiftly came to an end as well and for a while it had appeared that finally the Seven Kingdoms would see justice. But change could be just as cruel as it was kind. King Stannis was dead, Queen Selyse was dead, Princess Shireen had been taken to the Seven Heavens and with her Thor and Jane.

"What does it mean?" the youngest of the guards asked.

"When it comes to the gods," he began to say but the rest of his comment, that 'it is unwise for men to guess their meaning', stuck in his throat. Because he was reminded that the Seven were real. He had broken bread with them. Talked with them and aided them. Tended one's wounds! How else but he could comment on their actions? And yet… did even he have the right to try and interpret what they meant by this? Did anyone?

The star, as if sensing his own doubt, suddenly flashed with golden light and violently cut its way down, growing in size. Creseen's eyes widened and those that had not been there on the beach that night those many months ago fled in terror while those that had seen Thor's descent hurried instead forward, trying to track the falling star. There was no need to, of course, for within moments the star was on top of them, shrieking over their heads so close Cressen thought for sure what hair remained on his scalp would be set alight. And then it arced completely around and even he was now running away as it came down hard into the courtyard with a boom so loud it knocked them all away. Guards fell like wooden dolls and he was pressed against a wall but managed to keep himself on his feet, though how he didn't know.

Pushing himself forward he was briefly reminded of how Jane Seaworth had rushed towards the last falling star, heedless of the danger. A giddy part of his mind, still addled from the knocking about he'd taken, wondered if he would be the next person to find love with one of the Seven. Would the maiden appear before him, kiss his brow, and reveal that he could set aside his chain and join her in the Seven Heavens? The more rational part of his mind brushed such delirium from his mind; this was most likely Thor, returned from the Heavens, to tell them at last what they were to do.

'That is all this is, nothing more,' he thought as he made his way towards the smoky impact spot.

The first thing he noticed was that the ground wasn't bowled in like it had been on the beach. There were runes now etched into the stone, as they had been when the sands had been turned to glass by Thor's first fall, but the stonework had held. Which only made sense, for Storm's End had been crafted to withstand the wrath of the Storm God so why not withstand the descent of the God of Thunder?

The next thing though that the old maester noticed was that the figure wasn't alone. Standing beside them was a large stag, mantled with a feathered fabric and bearing horns that appeared to be made of beaten gold. The beast was truly magnificent; the perfect representation of its kind. Large, powerful, yet also possessing a keen sense of grace that told Cressen that, despite its still nature at the moment, it could be as agile as the racing horse. At once every deer that Cressen had ever seen in his life was left in disgrace upon the sight of their king.

And then the mantle shifted and flared and Cressen's jaw dropped.

'Wings.'

The stag had wings.

Great massive wings of brown, the same color as its coat, the ends of which were tipped with the same gold as the antlers. In order to handle the sight he was seeing Cressen's mind fell back to his days at the Citadel and all the heraldic beasts he'd been taught of. There were so many sigils from lost houses of fantastic creatures that no longer existed in the world, or if they did were phantoms that had not been seen by living eyes since the days of the Andals arriving upon the shores of Westeros. Satyrs and centaurs and capricorns and mermaids. Here was another one... a... a... peryton! He instantly remembered the name. The peryton, which had been the sigil of a cadet branch of House Durrandon that had died out three centuries before the Conquest. That is what he was staring at.

He couldn't help but let out a little chuckle, more of a giglge than anything else, at the absurdity of it all.

The moment the sound left his lips the second, smaller figure, turned their head towards him and at once they became the entire focal point of his existence.

This was not Thor. He could see that now. For one the armor was all wrong. Black and gold where Thor's had been blue, red, and silver. Ebony undergarments over which were gleaming golden pieces that shone with brightness gold could never achieve. No, this was some other kind of metal that made Cressen think some smith had managed to capture sunlight and pound it into greaves and gauntlets. Upon the figure's back was a cloak cut to resemble feathers, stiff at one moment then supple the next. An open crown-like helm topped the new arrival's head. And at their side hung the bastard child of an axe and a hammer with the white wood of a weirwood twisting around the blade to form the handle.

For another thing the figure before him was decidedly female and as she rose all could see she was far more lithe than Thor. That didn't mean she wasn't strong, however, for it was clear that there was power within her muscles, making her so very much not like the ladies of Westeros. No, this was Visenya returned. For every curve she had she more than made up for it with muscle. She towered over them all, with her long legs making her at least 6 feet tall if not several inches more; it was hard to tell for the way she held herself made her appear far bigger than she was. Still Cressen could tell she was heads above most in Westeros, able to look down upon him and the guards with ease. Long black hair had been braided tightly around her head and neck but the maester was willing to bet that if she let it loose it would reach down low. Piercing dark blue eyes looked out from her helm, taking them all in. She wasn't beautiful in the classical sense, with her jutting jaw and large ears, but there was something about her that made all the guards take a step forward.

But Cressen looked at her for another reason: the dark grayish-black skin that scarred her left cheek and neck.

He'd known only one person with those scars.

But that was impossible.

Impossible.

And yet…

"Shireen?" he whispered.

The warrioress looked down at him before her face lit up in the most beautiful smile. Even now worn by a woman with at least two decades it still was familiar, for Cressen had seen it many times when he had found a new book for her to read.

"I was hoping you'd be here," she said, her voice holding relief even if it was tinged with the no-nonsense tones that she'd inherited from her father. "It is good to see you again, Maester Cressen."

The guards, as one, fell to their knees and bowed their heads.

"Why are they doing that?" she asked, slowly scanning the courtyard and then looking up towards the towers where the observers quickly fell in supplication of her.

"They bow to their queen," Cressen said, moving to lower himself as well. But Shireen hurried forward and caught him by the arm, shaking her head and speaking in a gentle yet firm tone.

"Please don't. Your hip will ache, you know it will." The Maester blinked back tears. "See, I told you-"

"No… it isn't that my dear. I… I never dreamed I'd live long enough to see you reach adulthood. To see you now…"

She smiled again at that. "It must be a shock. Time in Asgard… it moves both slower and faster than it does here on Midgard… sorry, Westeros. It moves based on our desires. For Ser Davos it has felt like only weeks have passed. I needed to make them move far quicker." Her brow furrowed. "Yet we both know much time has passed for both of us yet none at all. Very confusing."

"Why?" the Maester asked as Shireen held up her hand and motioned for the guards to rise. "Why throw your childhood away?"

"I threw nothing away. I lived every day. As I said… time is strange in Asgard. Jane can explain it better… she has experimented with it and learned much. I'm sure she will tell you when she finally returns. As for me… I had a promise to keep."

"A promise, my queen?" the young guard asked.

But Shireen shook her head. "I am not truly your queen… not yet. That was my father's mistake. He claimed the crown before he claimed Westeros. He had it backwards and I have not made the same mistake. I earned my crown."

The guard's brow furrowed in confusion. "But… how could you have the crown but not be our queen?"

She reached up and tapped her helm. "I claimed a crown… but not of Westeros." She stepped back from Cressen and to his shock her cape unfurled into a pair of golden wings. "Brunhilde has earned her retirement, able to feast and drink to her pleasure. In her place stands I! For I am Shireen Stannisdotter of Asgard… Queen of the Valkyrie." The peryton let out a bellow and Cressen fought the urge to bow once more, so great was Shireen's power. But in an instant it was gone and she was merely Shireen once more. "And we have much work to do, Cressen. Much work to do."

"Of… of course!" He quickly followed after her as she began to make her way towards the tower. "Will Jane and Thor and Ser Davos be here soon?"

"They are dealing with other matters. I came first as it was easiest for me to leave Asgard. I hope they will be with us soon but it all depends on the threats they face."

"Threats?" Cressen asked. "In the Seven Heavens?"

"Even Asgard can ace terror and war," Shireen said, her face a firm scowl that reminded him so much of her father. "None of the 9 Realms can claim they know true peace… now anymore, anyways." She shook her head for just a moment, as if trying to banish the dark thoughts from her mind. "But that is no longer my concern. My Valkyrie will support Jane and Thor and Ser Davos. My duty is here."

"How are Jane and the rest?" Cressen said before his eyes widen in shock. "Oh… oh, I am so sorry, your grace-"

"Shireen, Cressen. Please. I will always be Shireen to you. Just as I never want to see you bow to me again I never want you to fear speaking to me or placing me above you. All these years in Asgard… I missed your kindness so much."

"I… I am honored that you would think the little good that I did could equate to the glory of the Seven Heavens," the old maester said humbly.

"Every realm is a paradise or a hell," she told him. "We are the ones that decide that." She paused. "You above all others will never bow to me again, Cressen. I name you Hand of the Queen." The maester stammered and opened his mouth to tell her she could not but Shireen shook her head. "Septon Bathe was Hand of the King and ruled well. You will do the same for me.

"As for your question? Jane and the others do well in their own ways." She smiled at that as they made their way out of the courtyard and towards her father's solar. "Thor of course is the most at home there… even after all these years he still remembers something new he wants to show me, dragging me off when I'm supposed to be training so we might visit some new tavern or the like. Gave Jane quite a few fits, especially when he did it when I was still, in her opinion, far too young for such things."

"And what does Jane do?" Cressen asked, wondering how the woman who had been so vehement that magic and the fantastical weren't real was dealing with proof of the divine.

"Cause Frigga, Thor's mother, to develop the worst headaches," Shireen said with a laugh. Cressen stared at her though in horror, trying to comprehend the humor in giving The Mother Above pain of any sort! Seeing him staring at her Shireen quickly moved to explain. "How much did Ser Davos say about his true nature?"

"Only that he was Thor's brother Loki and that he was taking his family to Asgard."

"Jane possesses magic. Powerful magic."

"Truly?" he asked in wonder.

Shireen smirked. "Very much so. Magic that would make the Targeryens weep with bitter jealousy and every maester in the Citadel fall to their knees and spend the rest of their days begging her to allow them to learn from her. Her brothers are more adapt at warfare… and it has been slow for some of them. Mathos in particular… Melisandre being the mummur and farce that she was became a heavy blow for him and one that took a while for him to accept. But Jane… she is Ser Davos' child and his heir and it shows. Thor's mother was quick to demand that she study under her."

Now Cressen was beginning to see. "Ah. And with Jane such things can never be easy."

"Not in the slightest," Shireen said with a mirthful shake of her head. "Every spell she is taught she must dissect like she was… well…"

"A maester study a frog?"

"I didn't want to offend."

"You haven't. To be honest… sometimes I wonder if Good Queen Alyasane had the right of it and we should allow women to enter the Citadel. Jane would have made a fine Arch Maester, studying the world and coming to understand how it all fits together." He paused. "Assuming the rest of my brothers didn't kill her first for denying all she didn't understand."

Shireen let out a huff at that in amusement. "Frigga has never ended a lesson when she planned to. It was always ended because she couldn't take any more of Jane asking a thousand questions and debating her on the arcane. She does not accept, "Tis magic, we have no reason to explain it"."

"I can only imagine." Arriving in the solar Cressen motioned for Shireen to join him at one of the tables that had been set aside for plotting out the movements of the army. "We lost roughly 2/3rds of our attacking forces that went to King's Landing. Had Ser Davos not arrived when he did I fear many more would have abandoned us. But his actions have helped me in holding together the tattered remains of our army." He gestured at some crudely carved wooden boats; they were no where as beautiful as the ones at Dragonstone but they did the job well enough. "We have been focused on rebuilding our strength since you left us, using the coins to mask our gathering of supplies and weapons. The men have been given more time to train and drill and those that were injured in the attack have healed fully. That has done much for moral but your arrival will only increase that."

"Good," Shireen said with a nod. "It isn't as much as I hoped but far more than I feared. I can work with this." She pressed her hands against the table and studied the map and the placement of the different parts of the armies, both those that had pledged themselves to her cause as well as those against her. "We set sail as soon as possible."

Cressen swallowed at that, having feared she would say that. He'd wanted to show that he hadn't been lapse in caring for her father's cause but he'd known that such was a dangerous balance for it also could fill her with a boldness they didn't need.

"My lady," he said with as much respect as he could muster, knowing she would not take kindly to what he said next. She was her father's daughter, after all, it made all the more clear by seeing her fully grown, and she would not take a rebuke of her plans lightly. A maester advised their lord but with Stannis Baratheon it was more like carefully approaching a bear and hoping they didn't maul you. "I am afraid that simply isn't possible. Even if we had the forces that we had before the Battle of the Blackwater… look here, please." He gestured at the map. "We gained Renly's Stormlanders but remember that wasn't the bulk of his army. The Reach was the backbone of his forces and they have now sided with the Lannisters. Lord Tyrell's daughter is to marry Joffrey, joining their houses." He began to move about the map, pointing to different areas. "The Starks and the Tullys will be no help to us as they are fortifying their positions… rumor has it that Lord Greyjoy had his Ironborn attack their western shores so the Northmen and the Riverlanders have no taste for further war. Lysa Arryn hides in the Vale. Dorne… well, Dorne will have no love for you, my lady. Our own hope is to contract mercenaries to fight for us but the Iron Bank-"

Shireen smiled, shaking her head. "Peace, Cressen, peace. You misunderstand me. King's Landing is not in my sights and won't be for some time. While I wouldn't say no to having their support they are not a threat."

"My… my lady, I don't understand."

Shireen pressed her finger upon the spot that marked Storm's End. "We sail north…" she dragged her finger along the map, passing King's Landing and the Crownlands and going up, around the Vale to the Neck and then the North itself.

"I… I don't understand."

"The War of the Five Crowns no longer matters, Cressen. None of the feuds of the living matter. The Ancient Enemy has returned."

He stared at her. Anyone else and he'd have dismissed them as mad. But she was Shireen… little Shireen, now grown and winged and crowned. How could he deny what she said.

"The Others?" he whispered.

Shireen nodded, words tight and hard. "I will complete what Thor started thousands of years ago. We head for the Wall, Cressen… all of us."

Her wings spread out once more and she hefted up her hammer, white lightning crackling along it, causing shadows to dance and flicker behind her.

"And I will show Thanos… Ours is the Fury."