Chapter 1

44 AC, Off the Coast of Dragonstone

The Queen-Mother

Alyssa Velaryon could not exactly remember when she started being afraid most of her waking and sleeping hours, but, if she were to hazard a guess, it would have been the moment that she had met her late husband's brother, Maegor, as well as his horrid mother, Visenya.

There had been some relief when he had been exiled to Pentosh, but Visenya had still remained, and Alyssa had still felt afraid. That witch, she had seemed ageless, and cruel, and dark. But at least she had been able to sleep at night.

When the faithful rose in rebellion, and Maegor returned from his exile aside the black dragon, Balerion, and began to rise in power and cruelty as he battled against the faith, Alyssa's fear had returned. As his cruelty rose, spurred on by that witch Visenya, so too did Alyssa's fears, both for herself and for her children. She could not remember the last time that she slept well at all. She had even wept when the monster had burned the Sept of Remembrance to ash.

She could not remember the last time she had slept soundly.

Then, almost in succession came the deaths. First Aenys died, and then he was followed by Aegon, murdered by Maegor only three days ago. Before Aenys' death, Alyssa had taken her youngest child, Jaehaerys, and fled to Dragonstone. She had always hated Dragonstone. But she had no idea where else they could have gone, that Maegor and Visenya would not have found them. That had been fine, as the only other Targaryen on Dragonstone was little Alyssane, the monster's daughter by Ceryse Hightower.

Despite being of the monster's seed, Alyssa found the little girl to be rather gentle and kind in nature, and they grew close, almost like daughter and mother.

Then, an old man had appeared on the island, with a boat large enough for them to flee. No one knew who he was, or how he had gotten on to the island, but Alyssa, feeling desperate, had taken his offer, and he had brought her and the children to a small rowboat docked on the northernmost beach of Dragonstone.

That old man was now swiftly roaring them away from the island in the cover of the night, with a strength that seemed improbable for his apparent age.

The man seemed elderly, if only for how he seemed to associate himself with the color grey. His hair was long and gray, loose under a large gray pointed hat, his robes and leathers were grey, and even his staff was grey. His long grey beard gave him the look of a master, and yet his eyes, set into a tanned and wrinkled face, were a clear and deep blue that seemed to shine with a pearl of wisdom and a dash of youthful humor.

"Where are we going?" Little Alys suddenly asked, cradled in her aunt's arms, having just woken up.

The old man looked upon Alyssa's little niece and gave a kindly smile to his passengers. "We are going to a wonderful and safe land, little princess. To the realm of Beleriand. My friends are waiting nearby, and will help us to get there."

Alyssa blinked, and there, in front of them was a great and graceful ship, and its body was grey so that it barely stood out among the dark of the night sky.

As their little boat approached the vessel, the old man then stood up, surefooted despite the gentle rocking of the boat, tapped his staff against the large hull. A moment later, a long rope ladder unfurled down the side.

"Come, up we go now," the old man said.

With little Alys still in hand, Alyssa and Jae slowly climbed up the ladder, while the old man secured the boat to the ship, and then followed them up.

When Alyssa and Jae set foot upon the deck, they looked about and gasped. Eldar. There were elves on this ship.

The elves were all tall and lithe, with limbs that were long and graceful, yet strong, and all they looked lordly and perfect, despite their simple sailor garb and few scars. Some wore their hair long, others short, and a few even went completely bare of pate. They all looked upon Alyssa and her children with ageless eyes, each set into skin kissed by the sun and wind and seawater.

Alys whimpered in Alyssa's arms, while Jae tried to be brave and stood in front of Alyssa. Alyssa simply looked at the sailors with some trepidation. She had never seen one of the masters of the strange, northern kingdom that bordered Westeros, and now, she and her children were surrounded by them. Then one stepped forward, dressed a bit more richly than the others. His short hair was a pale blonde, and he was garbed in fine and functional garb, embroidered with the shapes of simple stars and waves.

He looked over them with impassive eyes and then turned to the old man, who was quietly leaning upon his stave. "Mithrandir. Cin gar-hain," the elf said, the language like music in Alyssa's ears.

The old man nodded his head. "Im am, mui mellon. Hin are i arat familui-o Westeros. Are mín readui na gwann-?"

The captain nodded as his eyes roamed over Alyssa and the children. "We are indeed ready to depart. The human's quarters have been prepared, as requested," he said, in an accented voice, though his Westerosi was perfect. "You will find them to be quite comfortable, I can assure you," he then said directly to the family.

The old man then turned to Alyssa and the children. "My lady, and little dragons, may I present to you Cuor, son of Cuorin, a captain in the Grey Fleet of Beleriand, and an old friend. He has come to help us get to safety."

The captain, Cuor, nodded at them, and then turned and stretched out his arm. "Ech- readui! Mín gwann- hi!

At the order, the crew began to move about, no doubt preparing the ship for sailing. "Rest assured, everyone, we will soon be safe. Tomorrow, when we dock at Edhellond, you will all set foot upon a wonderful and fantastical land. King Fingolfin is looking forward to hosting you all in his court."

Alyssa looked at him, tears in her eyes. "How can we ever repay you?"

His eyes twinkled. 'Oh, there is no need for that, my lady. I am simply an old wanderer, doing what is right."

The Queen

"WHERE ARE THEY!?" Maegor screamed, his bellows seeming to echo through the entirety of Dragonstone. "Where is the spawn that is the pretender to my throne!? WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER!?"

Behind him, Visenya followed, still agile despite her sixty-odd years.

After their victory against the attempted usurper and his followers at the God's eye, she and Maegor had rested in the Riverlands for a few days, before heading towards Dragonstone, where the spawn of Rhaenys and Aegon was hiding, along with his mother.

And Visenya's own granddaughter.

While a part of her felt somewhat reluctant about killing members of her own family, she felt mollified by the fact that she would be erasing the last bit of her family's weakness.

Weakness had to be expunged, after all. Only strength could remain. The dragon had to be strong.

But when they had arrived, they were gone. There were only a few servants and guards remaining on the island, and Maegor had already proceeded to slaughter most of them in a blind rage, especially when he found out that his daughter was also missing.

Now, they found the last one, the maester. He was an old grey hair who was just calmly sitting in the garden.

He looked up at their arrival, seemingly nonplussed despite the blood splattered on Maegor's armor. "Ah. Lord Maegor, Lady Visenya. You have arrived."

"Where are they, you little grey rat?" Visenya asked coolly, unlike Maegor.

The old man tilted his head as if confused at the question. "You must forgive me, my lady, but my memory is not what it was in my youth. To whom are you referring?"

With a loud snarl, and barely any effort, Maegor grabbed the master by the throat, and then lifted him straight off the ground by his neck, with his feet dangling a good foot off the ground. "Tell me where they went! Who took them!? Who took my daughter!? Speak, if you want to keep your miserable, traitorous life!"

Then, to Visenya's and Maegor's surprise, the old man… he actually began to laugh, his frail body trembling with each choking guffaw. "A man in grey, he spirited them away, on a grey ship, to grey shores! Surely, you know of what shores I speak, your highness? They are beyond your grasp now, you monster!"

Visenya knew instantly what the man was referring to, and a claw of rage twisted around her heart.

The sound of a neck being snapped; it seemed to echo louder than a dragon's roar, bringing the man's laughter to an abrupt end.

Maegor let the corpse drop to the floor, seething as he slowly exhaled through his nostrils.

Slowly, Visneya walked up to him. "Maegor?"

"Grey shores," he murmured, as he fingered a small gold ring on his left hand. "Grey shores…. Beleriand. Of course, it all makes sense!"

"…What does?"

He turned to her, a strange light dancing in his purple eyes. "Those damned elves! They are responsible for it all! They are the reason those fools keep rising against me, why my male children are all born dead and deformed monsters!"

He then strode away. "We fly back to King's Landing!"

"And then what?" Visenya asked as she followed after him.

"The Faith Militant think themselves ready to fight demons and witches and sorcerers. If that is true, then perhaps it is time I point them in the direction of such creatures."

Visenya stood alongside Maegor as he sat upon the Iron throne in full armor and with Blackfyre in his hands, looking every inch the warrior that he was, as the chosen leaders of the faith Militant filed into the throne room. To Visenya's slight surprise, they had agreed to the King's meeting under a banner of a temporary truce. Though, they were all also armed and armored in a panoply of shining and dull steel.

Once they had all amassed, Maegor cleared his throat. "Knights and representatives of the Faith. I am most glad to see that you have accepted my offer of this meeting."

Damon Morrigen, the Grand Captain of the Warrior's Sons, was a tall, sun-kissed man with shining armor and long black, braided hair. At Maegor's words, he looked up and squinted at the king. "Against our better judgment, perhaps, since you have been more than content to slaughter us like dogs since you burnt our Sept to the ground with many of our brethren and innocent worshipers inside."

Maegor nodded. "That is all indeed correct, Ser. But that is in the past. Now, we must look towards the future. Have either of you any idea as to why I called for this meeting, warriors of the faith?"

The members of the Faith militant looked perplexed at the question, and so the High Captain of the Warrior's Sons, Damon, spoke again. "No… we do not."

Maegor's grip around Blackfyre's handle slowly tightened. "Because o' knights and followers of the Seven…. We all have a common enemy."

The knights all looked confused at Megor's declaration. "We… we do?"

"Indeed. It is the elves of Beleriand! They are our true enemy, the enemy of all the goodly, godly, human folk of the Six Kingdoms. You hate them because they are demons. but I? I hate them for a reason most dear to my heart... They have stolen my daughter!"

Maegor then stood in a rattle of steel, causing the assembled Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows, all hardened knights and 'heroes,' to unconsciously flinch and step backward, as if he would suddenly immerse them in fire from his mouth. Visenya had to restrain a snort of derision at their fear of Maegor. It was justified, but hilarious none-the-less.

Maegor cleared his throat. "So, Lords and protectors of the faith, I hereby propose that we put aside our enmity, and pool together our armies and resources, and raze the nation of Beleriand to the ground. Would that not be a thing for the ages? For the songs? Conquering the nation that denied my great father? To save my precious little Alyssane!? Would such a deed not help to solidify all of you in the eyes and annals of the holy Seven, under the mighty and watchful eyes of the Warrior and the Father? If you think it so, then please... join me, and together, we will wipe from the world that foul kingdom of demons and sorcerers!"

As he spoke, he reached out his hand towards the mass of godly men. "So come! Let our hostilities cease, and, in return, I and my mother will take our dragons and armies, and together, as one grand force, we will all raze the elves to ash!"

For a long moment, none of the Faith Militant said anything and just stared at the king and his outstretched hand, as if it were a cornered beast, ready and willing to kill anything in front of it.

Then, one of the Warrior's Sons, a ragged, wild-eyed Septon-knight clad in chainmail and leather robes and a breastplate, he suddenly spoke up. "My fellow Faithful, the king here, he speaks true!"

All turned to look upon the man, spurring him on. "For too long, that unholy nation has flaunted its heresy by its mere existence. For too long, it has perpetuated its sorceries upon the good men of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, stealing infants, bewitching our children and women! In the Name of the Father and the Warrior and the Stranger, they must be scoured from the land!"

He then drew his sword and planted it point down upon the stone floor. "King Maegor! If you and your dragons were to lead us, then by the Seven Heavens and Seven Hells, I would fight by your side! What say you, my brothers and sisters of the faith!?"

Ser Morrigen looked at the man for a long moment. He turned his gaze towards the rest of his fellow knights and then turned back to the throne. In a swift motion, he too drew his sword, and then he sighed. "Though it pains me to admit it, perhaps you have a point, King Maegor. Though I have not forgotten the horror you have perpetrated upon our brethren, the nation of Beleriand does indeed pose a threat to all of us, from the Riverlands to even the sands of Dorne. Before, the Faithful has never been able to mount an assault of any force upon that nation, but now, with two dragons, we might just have a chance.

"Besides, it is as they said; they have kidnapped your heir, the grandniece of the high Septon himself. They have all but spat into the eyes of the gods for this affront."

Slowly, the High Captain ascended the stairs, sword still in hand, each footstep echoing throughout the room, until he was face to face with Maegor.

He looked down at Maegor's hand, and then grasped it tightly, as he looked back into the eyes of the man that had slaughtered so many faithful. "So yes, King Maegor, if you march with us, then our hostilities will cease. Let us go, and embark upon a great and noble crusade against that nation of demons!"

Even to Visenya, Maegor's smile was a thing of terror and bloodlust, and he now flashed that smile fully. "Yes. A Crusade!"

At that, the rest of the Faith Militant, from Poxy Jeyne Poore to Joffrey the Red Dog, they all drew their swords and weapons and raised them high in the air, as they added their voices to the cheer.

"A CRUSADE! A CRUSADE! A CRUSADE!"

As she watched the accord getting struck, and the cheer resonated through the throne room, Visenya smiled.

For over twenty years, Visenya had always entertained thoughts of taking an army and razing Beleriand and its inhuman masters to ash. She still remembered, with seething rage, that infamous meeting, oh so long ago…..

The Conqueror

Aegon looked upon the inhuman figure, at his immaculate armor, the two swords at his waist, and his simple and grand crown. "You are the High King of these lands?"

The figure nodded. "I am."

Aegon studied the so-called high king before him. "And you know who I am, no doubt?"

The king looked at him. "You are Aegon Targaryen, a hungry conqueror. This I know. Why are you here?"

"Westeros is mine, and I am a king."

The High King tilted his head. "I am not disputing any of that. Why bother repeating facts that require no such thing? I only ask what is your purpose in coming to my borders with a full army."

Aegon crossed his arms, his armor rattling. "An odd question, since you have brought your own."

"I brought mine to defend these lands. You, on the other hand, brought yours to conquer and slaughter. That is unless there is another reason for the force assembled at your back?"

Aegon stood tall. "I am the blood of the dragon, and I deserve a kingdom to rule, to use so as to raise my family up from the ashes of Valyria. This continent and all its lands… they are mine, including these lands. I have come to ask you to surrender your crown, and pledge your fealty to me, Fingolfin. This need not end in Fire and Blood. I would rather not seek out a war with you."

Fingolfin studied Aegon, and, again, the Targaryen king felt… small. Then, he spoke, and it seemed all could hear his voice. "A most pretty speech, full of well-intentions… but sadly, one that is also full of falsehood."

Visenya bristled. "How dare you? Inhuman freak! This is the man who is to be your king. You should be on your knees in supplication for his mercy."

Fingolfin turned his gaze towards her, and Aegon noted that this time, Visenya was the one who seemed to shrink in on her self a bit. "I 'dare' because I have lived longer than your entire bloodline, Visenya Targaryen, and my line and people will thrive long after yours has turned to dust in the wind. I 'dare' because you have just threatened my subjects, elf and atani alike, and, as High King of the Elves and Atani, I am duty-bound to protect them with everything I have, from words to weapons."

He turned his gaze back to Aegon. "I have seen your kind before, Aegon Targaryen. To men such as you, the entire world in the palm of your hand would not be enough, for there is an ever-burning flame of hunger, gnawing on your soul. Even if I were to give you my lands, my blood, my crown, and even all the treasures of my kingdom on silver platters, would you truly be satisfied? Would your hunger then abate, Aegon Targaryen?"

Aegon found that he could not answer. He wanted to deny the creature before him, that he would be satisfied…. But that would be a lie.

A Dragon's burden was that he could never truly be satisfied.

As if sensing his thoughts, Fingolfin tilted his head. "As one sovereign to another, I can wish you only good fortune in your future endeavors in taming the rest of these southern kingdoms. What happens to them is of little-to-no concern of mine. But know this…. Though I offer the hand of cordial friendship and coexistence to you and your descendants, I will not bow my head to you, nor concede to you my crown and lands and their treasures. The Eldar will not bow to you. The Atani will not bow to you. Not now, or ever. You will not claim even a single inch of this kingdom, not even a solitary blade of grass. Not you, or whatever abominations may spring from your unholy couplings."

Visenya had heard enough. With a scream of rage, she rushed forward, Dark Sister's keening edge let loose from her sheathe.

Aegon blinked, and one of Fingolfin's swords was free from its sheath.

Even as he started to draw Blackfyre from its sheath, Fingolfin pushed and parried Visenya's blow. Blackfyre was only halfway from its sheath, the sword flashed, and then Visenya howled in pain and staggered back holding her face, as the elf's blade had carved a long scar down Visenya's cheek.

Just as Blackfyre was free from its sheath, Fingolfin's drawn blade came to rest against Aegon's neck. The metal felt like a block of ice on his skin.

No one dared to even move, and the only sound was the sobbing growls of Visneya, as blood streamed from between her fingers.

Then, at that moment, Fingolfin seemed to grow in stature, and strange and frightening light emanating from his flesh, and when he spoke, it was with the voice of a legion. "Leave these lands, Aegon Targaryen. Take your sisters and your army and dragons, and never return. If you ignore this edict, then great misfortune and darkness shall be upon thee!"

They could have fought, despite the 'High King's' sorcery, but instead, like a coward, Aegon had ordered a retreat, so as to "focus on solidifying our rule over the kingdoms that we already have conquered."

Visenya had never forgotten her little brother's weakness. She knew others had seen it too.

But, they still had dragons, and so the little ants did not rise up.

Then came Dorne, and Rhaenys' downfall.

It had been a shock when the news of Meraxes' fall had arrived. She had looked at her bedroom wall for what felt like hours. Indeed, she had felt as if she was partly to blame... as if she had wished her little sister to die. No one was as accursed as the kinslayer, after all, even by proxy. And Rhaenys, proud, strong, wild and wrathful Rhaenys... they had been through so much together.

But, it had been a dark blessing, perhaps. She had been impetuous, wild. The blood of the dragon had run too hot in her. Dorne could have been negotiated with further, instead of threatening Fire and Blood off the cuff.

And, of course, all those lovers...

Besides, it provided them the excuse to truly raze Dorne to the ground, after all. To burn that kingdom of Desert rats into compliance. Of course, then he had stopped, because of that damned letter.

Weak.

Aegon's death had been the chance she needed. He had become so fucking weak in the end. Not the proud and mighty fool he had been for most of their lives. He had denied Maegor marrying Rhaena, to unite their blood once again; he had refused to see Maegor as the true heir, and instead left the throne to that weakling Aenys. Aenys, with his simpering indecisiveness; over and over and over again, he had stymied and denied her, in favor of weak actions, and weak ideas.

Weak, weak, weak.

But mostly, Visneya wanted revenge upon that cursed nation of elves. And now… now her dream would become a reality.

It had taken only three weeks to raise a grand army from the realm and the other chapters of the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows, save from the Iron Islands and Dorne, though, after this, Visenya would make sure that Maegor directed his wrath to them next. The army had amassed at the borders of the Crownlands and had then marched forward through the Riverlands towards Beleriand, with Vhargar and Balerion flying high overhead.

Then, something happened.

For some reason, neither Belerion nor Vhargar would take to the air past the border, and instead resolutely remained grounded.

Odd, but Visneya still did not feel deterred, and neither did the rest of the Crusade, as they approached closer to the misty border of Beleriand.

Visenya noted that this time, no one emerged from the lone tower to greet them with tea and lemon cake. She would make sure that the tower burned first.

As the army ground to a halt in a clatter of steel, Maegor dismounted from Balerion, then confidently strode forward to the border's edge, and looked into the mist. "I am Maegor Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, and the head of the first Grand Crusade against the Kingdom of Beleriand!"

At that, the entire army roared and cheered. After a moment, Maegor continued. "To the craven, inhuman rulers of this gods-forsaken nation, and to their cowardly, inhuman king, I hereby demand that you come forth, and answer for the many crimes of black magic that your people have perpetuated upon my realm! Come forth, so that you all maybe be ground to dust beneath the righteous heels of the gods! Come forth, and accept your deaths!"

For a long moment, there was no answer, not even a whisper of wind.

Then, like twenty years ago, a loud and clear horn sounded out through the land from the mist and all who heard it could not help but cower form it, save for Maegor and Visenya.

Then the mists parted, and a large army of elves and atani stood silently as they were revealed, their armor and weapons glinting. Further back, Visenya could even see the outlines of massive figures. Had they been there this entire time?

In the distance, she could see the forms of large figures...

But all eyes were drawn to the front, at the figure who strode forth at the head of that inhuman force.

It was Fingolfin, and, to Visenya's shock, he looked exactly the same, though decades had passed. Not even a single grey hair. Perhaps his claims of being older than her entire line held some credence after all.

He looked over the entire force of knights and faith militant and Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows and soldiers, and all felt cowed before his ageless gaze. Meanwhile, the single jewel in his crown gleamed.

"Once again, a Targaryen arrives with an army to my borders. Only this time, it is an army that reeks of superstitions and foolishness. So, perhaps it is in vain that I can only hope the reason for this intrusion is different from the last time."

He spoke in a tone that one would take with a disobedient child, and his voice seemed to carry all to the back of the army, as his gaze briefly looked upon Visenya. "And, it would also seem my warnings from my last meeting with Targaryens have been ignored. Pathetic, and yet... not unexpected."

Maegor responded by pointing Blackfyre at the High King's head. "Enough of your words. I know that you are sheltering my brother's whore, as well as those bastards who would dare to claim my rightful place on the Iron Throne, elf! Bring them forward, so that I may dispense with them, and secure my throne! Then, you and your house and your people will submit to me! You will surrender your crown and throne, as you so refused to submit to my father twenty years ago! You will also submit to the mercy and justice of the Faith! If you do not, then your nation of demons shall be razed to the ground in fire and blood!"

Fingolfin narrowed his eyes, while behind him, his army of elves and atani stood impassively.

Visenya drummed her fingers upon Dark Sister's ruby pommel, while idly tracing the scar under her eye.

There were times when she still woke, drenched in sweat, with the memory of Fingolfin's disdain, of his sword's edge slashing across her face, and of his words which still thrummed through her mind, all from the fateful day. She hated it, the day Aegon, and thus her, had truly been rebuked and rebuffed and defeated.

She had never forgotten that defeat, and she had ever hungered to humble Beleriand's High King, to see him on his knees before the house of Targaryen, before her, before she took his head, to see his nation razed to ash. So, this time, this time it would be different. She had bred Maegor in her womb with the strength and blood of Belarion and Vhagar alongside the blood of a hundred men, all collected from the many battles over the years. Each battle made him stronger. She had replayed that brief battle with the elvish high king in her mind, over and over again, and had schooled Maegor, her weapon, in great feats of strength and agility, to make him fast and strong.

This time, House Taragaryen would triumph.

This time, the blood of Fingolfin would stain the grass of Beleriand's border.

Fingolfin then shook his head. "No. That will not be happening, incest-spawn."

In lieu of a reply, Maegor dashed forward, Blackfyre's edge glinting in the pale sunlight. Surely, such a blow would cleave the elf in twain!

But without even drawing either of the swords at his side, Fingolfin seemed to weave around the blow. Maegor tried for a reverse cut, but that too was dodged. Maegor was fast for his size, but Fingolfin seemed like a breeze of wind, and he was untouchable. It would have been hilarious, like a mummer's show, if the air around the scene had not been so tense.

The army and Visenya waited with bated breath, none daring to interfere, or move a muscle.

"Stand still and die, damn you!" Maegor bellowed as he began to huff. "Have you no honor as a warrior!? Are you truly such a fucking coward that you will not even draw your sword!?"

This time, the first of Fingolfin's swords rang out from its sheath, and, to Visenya's shock, Fingolfin blocked Maegor's blow with only a single hand gripping his own weapons handle. Visenya recognized it as the blade that had scarred her.

Fingolfin's face was impassive. "Now my sword is drawn, spawn of Aegon. Does that make you feel better?"

"When I kill you, I will burn your fucking fairylands to ash!" Maegor declared as he tried with all his might to push against his opponent's blade.

Despite Maegor's apparent strain, Fingolfin did not even budge an inch.

"Just like a Targaryen, you make empty threats and idle promises that you have no hope of backing up. At least your arrogant father knew when to walk away from a fight that he knew he had no chance of winning."

With a push that seemed almost as gentle as an afterthought, Fingolfin sent Maegor stumbling back, almost off his feet, though Maegor managed to regain his balance.

They then stood there, the two kings, one sweating and grunting and bellowing, the other looking as fresh as he had over four decades ago.

"You are no king, Maegor Targaryen," Fingolfin, seeming to exert no effort in blocking Maegor's flurry of wild slashes, and battered each aside as if he were parting a curtain, and then punctuating each declaration with a cut upon Maegor's face. "A king never seeks out conflict or conquest. He protects, and nurtures, and cares for all his subjects, no matter their station or belief. A king does not terrorize his people on a whim or slaughter innocents. Nor does he force himself upon unwilling women in a vain attempt for an heir that he is not capable of ever hoping to sire. With such a stain upon you, I suppose that in the eyes of your kind, you are not even a real man."

"SHUT UP!"

Maegor roared out a sound, not unlike Balerion's own bellows, his face covered in small and bloody cuts, and then he raised Blackfyre high in one hand and charged forward in a final, barreling dash, his sword swinging down towards Fingolfin like that of an executioner's blade.

Fingolfin did not even seem to move.

Visenya blinked.

Blackfyre went flying, Maegor's hand still gripping the ebony handle. A shower of red littered the ground.

Maegor screamed like a wounded bull as he sank to his knees, clutching the stump of his hand. Black steam billowed forth from between his fingers.

The entire army of the First Crusade watched in silent shock. Visenya's eyes were wide. Even the dragons seemed as if they dared not make a rumble.

A moment later, the icy edge of Fingolfin's blade rested against Maegor's corded and thick neck, the elves' weapon glinting in the dim sunshine. All it would take would be one slight twitch of Fingolfin's hand, and Maegor would bleed out from a slit neck. To his credit, Maegor looked up upon the elven High King with undeniable hatred and vitriol.

Visenya watched the scene with fear and hatred and disbelief. Once again, the damned elf had humiliated her, and her family.

Once again, they had lost. House Targaryen had lost.

She had lost.

Again.

Fingolfin's eyes were as impassive as two grey chips of ice as he looked up to study her. To her shame, she could not meet his gaze. Then, the elven high king turned his gaze back down upon Maegor. He spoke again, and again, his voice carried far though he was not shouting. "Beasts such as you deserve to be put down, and I would be doing your lands a favor… But Ringil has already been soiled enough with your unnatural blood, abomination."

He lifted his sword's edge from Maegor's neck. "Now go. Leave these lands, brute, and never return, or next time, I will not hesitate to separate your head from your body. Leave, and know this; You only live this day at my whim, and at the mercy of Beleriand. Flee, and understand that you will not lay a single hand upon the heads of the true Targaryen heirs, nor any of my people. Not you, your sycophants, your zealots, or your witch of a mother."

He then turned towards the army of knights and Poor Fellows and nobles and fools, and it was as if he met the gaze of every last one. Then, he spoke again, and his words were like a mighty storm. Once again, just as he had twenty years ago, the High King of the elves and atani seemed to grow in height, and a terrible radiance began to emanate from his flesh.

When he spoke, every syllable seemed to shake the very ground itself, and all could do not but cry out in fear. "All of you, who thought to pillage, rape, and destroy my lands and people under the guise of piety and self-righteousness, hear this! Leave now! Leave my lands, and live the rest of your short, flickering lives with the knowledge that all you know and do will be as dust in the wind before my people, and that it was only at their mercy, and the mercy of the Valar and the One that you all still draw breath! Flee now, or be sent down to the halls of Mandos!"

For a long moment after that, even as Fingolfin's form returned to normal, and he and his forces vanished back into the mists, no one dared make a move, or even breath.

Then, like a drop of water on a still pond, someone dropped their sword.

Then another, and another, and another. A cacophony of steel echoed across the land, and it was then followed by all, from the highest of knights to the lowest of peasants, from the Warrior's sons to the Poor Sparrows, as they all turned and fled from the border of Beleriand in a clatter of footsteps and hoofbeats and wagon wheels and screams of terror.

Silently, Visenya collected Maegor and Blackfyre, and then departed upon Vhagar, Balerion following behind them.

The Grand Crusade against Beleriand.

It ended with a severed hand, no deaths, and a field littered with discarded banners and weapons.

The Red Keep

50 AC

The Crone

Maegor lived for another six years, and every single day of those six years, he grew more paranoid and crueler and madder. The faith militant had retreated to their monasteries and chapterhouses, though he lost all interest in razing that order to the ground, as he had before. Maegor tortured, burned, raped, and murdered. at her suggestion, he had married his niece, but that did little to allay any of the terrors that he inflicted and endured.

He also flinched at each shadow he saw, often waking up screaming in rage and fear, and thought that elves were mounting an invasion of his kingdom, that Fingolfin would kill him. He even took to wearing his armor at all times, even when he forced himself upon women, including Aenys' little tramp of a daughter.

All Visenya could do was watch, and suffer from the knowledge that her weapon against the elves had failed.

At least little Rhaena did not rebel for fear of her daughters.

Amazing how a few strands of hair from a lyseni whore could make a person so compliant, the little fool...

Then, earlier in the evening, she had entered the throne room to find a horrific sight. She, and the few servants and lesser lords of the completed Red Keep, had found Maegor impaled upon spikes of the Iron Throne.

Visenya promptly frightened and threatened the servants and lesser lords into keeping everything quiet after they had helped her slide Maegor's body off the blades, and then she had chased them out, so as to keep it from getting out to the masses.

So, here she was, sat upon the throne that her little brother had forged in dragon fire, wondering where it had all gone wrong, while the product of her womb and knowledge and sacrifice lay dead upon the floor. Who was it that had caused such misfortune in her life? Where had it all gone so wrong?

Oh, that was right.

She remembered now. It all started al Beleriand. That damned nation! It was all their fault! It was all Fingolfin's fault.

She wanted them to burn.

You want revenge.

Visenya jerked up, the voice echoing through her mind. Striding towards her was a figure, burning with light and darkness. It made her eyes water, and it was beautiful to look upon. Odd, but it seemed that no one else heard its footsteps.

Without fear, it ascended the stairs towards her, stopping just shy of the throne.

"How could you possibly know what it is that I want?" she asked, as she stood from the throne, and then leveled the point of Dark Sister at the figure's chest.

It cocked its head at the blade as if it were amused by her attempt to threaten it. There is no point in denying it. The desire for vengeance practically sings and screams from within the confines of your flesh. I understand that desire. I do. This world, this existence, it has not been kind to you. That is something that we share, you and I, and my master. We all saw a grand vision for things, and within us was the wisdom and desire and strength to carry that vision out, to make everything around us better. But yet, those who professed to love us, to understand us, who stood at our side… they could not understand. They could not understand our vision, our wisdom, our power. So… they cast us aside like refuse, in favor of those who did not deserve their love, their attention, their faith.

As the figure spoke, Visenya remembered how often Aegon would spurn her in favor of that little whore, Rhaenys, often taking her ideas and advice over Visenya's. He had not even truly loved Maegor.

Nothing Visenya had ever done had ever seemed to make Aegon truly love her. He had even looked upon her conquest of the Vale with disdain, calling it cowardly.

She clenched the handle of Dark Sister so tightly that her palm started to bleed.

You know all that I've said is true. But now, we need no longer be alone, adrift in the melody that rejects us.

Visenya lowered her blade. "Who… who are you? What are you?"

As I said, I am one who understands you, as is my master. My name is Mairon, and my master and I want to help you become that which you were truly meant to be, Visenya Targaryen. We can help you became that which you were destined to be.

The burning figure then stretched out its hand. In its palm, was a simple golden ring.

You will become the greatest of all. Everything that you see before you will be yours, and all who see you will bow before you in awe and fear. You will be avenged, and, together, we shall bring the realms of man and elf to complete and utter ruin. Then, from the ashes, we all will be able to build something beautiful… something better. Then, in this new world, you will truly… be a Queen.

All we need you to do… is to take up this ring.

Visenya looked upon the band of gold, how it gleamed innocuously in the room's torchlight.

Then, she slowly reached out and grasped it.

The metal felt both cold and warm in her hand.

She sheathed Dark Sister, and then, as she set the ring upon her finger, she smiled.

She looked back up at the burning figure, as a new and wonderful feeling began to flood her veins. She actually felt over twenty years younger. "What do we do now?"

First, we must find our pawns. Every army needs its pawns.….

The day of King Maegor's death, when he was found dead at the foot of the iron throne, it was as if a collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the entire realm, as if, during the entirety of Maegor's reign, the very land itself had been holding its breath, as one does when hiding from the monsters that dwell in the darkness of one's fears. From the deserts of Dorne, through what was then called the Riverlands, and even to the tops of the mountains of what was then known as the Vale, all rejoiced. Coincidently, his mother, Visenya Targaryen, also disappeared, alongside her dragon, Vhargar, and the sword, Dark Sister... and the corpse of her son.

But, all wondered as to the location of the missing Targaryen heirs, who had remained vanished throughout all those six long, weary years. Among that number even included Queen Rhaena's twin daughters. Though they had been located at one point by Maegor and Tyanna of the Tower, the babes inexplicably vanished en route to King's Landing.

A day after Maegor's death, a small group of boats, all as grey as stone, sailed into the docks of King's Landing.

All recognized the flag the ships bore as that of Beleriand, the inscrutable nation of the elves that lay to the north. Never before had so many of the grey ships been seen, nor so far from their homeland.

All the present lords of the Crownlands waited with bated breath as ramps descend from the graceful ships.

From the largest ship came a procession of elves and atani (the term for the strange human residents of the mist-shrouded kingdom) soldiers. At the head of it was Jaehaerys, surviving son of King Aenys, for prince Viserys had suffered greatly under the hands of Maegor and his black bride, Tyana, before then dying.

The young king, for he was now king, he was clad in clothing of elvish make, and a simple golden crown rested upon his brow.

The new King was accompanied by the Dowager queen Alyssa, his cousin Alyssane, and a few other figures, all of whom would soon become entrenched greatly into the history of House Targaryen and the Six Kingdoms of Westeros.

At the king's side were three elves, each taller than a tall man, and strong of limb and noble of bearing. On the king's left, this elf was clad in armor and robes as red as his hair, and a stump where his right hand should have been, along with a few scars upon his noble face.

The elf on the king's right seemed the brother of the warrior, though was clad in the robes and garments of a noble, and his hair was dark as midnight.

The final elf was fair in hair and appearance and bore with him an aura of great and kindly wisdom.

Russandol the Red, Maglor, and Celeborn the Wise.

The Protector, the Minstrel, and the Hand...

Meanwhile, accompanying little princess Alyssane, as well as Rhaena's missing daughters, was an elven lady of breathtaking beauty...

Little did any know that after this, nothing in Westeros would ever by the same.

From the Writings of Archmaester Gyldayn.

Fire, Blood, Tears, and Wrath; the Entertwined history of House Targaryen, Beleriand, and the Six Kingdoms.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this. As you can tell, Fingolfin does not play around. Made a few changes to the earlier chapter, mainly a detail about the War of Ice and Fire, and a small detail about the gem in Fingolfin's crown.

Also, a few tidbits about this timeline. Here, Maegor never had a trial of the seven, and instead simply burned the Sept of Remembrance, though many Warrior's Sons and Poor Fellows escaped.

After his defeat at the hands of Fingolfin, the area before Beleriand's border became known as the Field of Fallen Weapons.

Things will be a bit different, and a bit similar, in Westeros's history after the Conquest, and after Aegon's Failure. Also, as a side note, Maehdros, Maglor, and Celeborn are not the only named elves from the Simarillion that accompany Jaehaerys. As a hint, one of the others is known as "The White Lady."

Yes, Gandalf will be in this story. It would not be a story with Tolkien elements without Gandalf the Grey. Thus, there will be other Istari, but Gandalf will be the only one from the canon. As a clue, these are a few of the colors…

The Green.

The Brown.

The White.

The Red.

Make your guesses, and be sure to read, review, enjoy, and remember...

Not all who wander are lost.

A/N/N: I have made some alterations. Rhaena was still married to Maegor in this story.

A/N/N/N: I have made Alyssane Maegor's daughter, and made Visenya into a three-dimensional character.