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Chapter 55: The Black Wedding
"I've always seen No as a challenge."
– Emperor Lu Lóng
Yi Ti was the fabled homeland of the Dawn Empire, a realm of windswept plains and rolling hills, of jungles and of forests, deep lakes, rushing rivers and shrinking inland seas. Its wealth is said to have been legendary such as to allow its princes their houses of solid gold and to dine on sweetmeats powered with pearls and jade; although historians dismiss such finer details as embellishments of fancy – there exists no argument on the splendour and vast scale of the old Empire.
Across the Grey Mountains of the west and further still across the wastes awaited this ancient paradise; where even peasants lived as lords.
In the beginning there was a single great realm ruled by the God-on Earth, who ruled as the only begotten son of the Lion of Night and the Maiden-Made-of-Light, who travelled about his domains in a palanquin carved from a single pearl carried by a hundred queens, his wives, so beautiful were they that-
"Dawn," Yuanji correctly quietly.
The Emperor gripped her ashen hair and tugged.
"It's the Lion of Dawn," she hissed defiantly. "You said of Night."
"Never interrupt me kitten," Lu Lóng loosened his grip and returned to his tale.
He continued his story – giving her little choice but to listen – the murderer wanted her 'pretty' as he claimed so often even when she'd refused and fought him, he'd only chuckled as if it were all some grand game. The defiance on her face never faded as she looked in the mirror, her brother's murderer braiding a strand of her ashen hair.
"When the God-on-Earth ascended to the stars to join his forebears, dominion over mankind passed to his eldest son…"
The Pearl Emperor, as the eldest, ruled for a thousand years. Then came the Jade Emperor, the Tourmaline Emperor, the Onyx Emperor, the Topaz Emperor, and the Opal Emperor, each reigning for centuries… yet every reign was shorter and more troubled than the one preceding it, for wild men and baleful beasts pressed at the borders of the Great Empire, lesser kings grew prideful and rebellious, and the common people gave themselves over to avarice, envy, lust, murder, incest, gluttony, and sloth.
When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself-
"Liar," Yuanji denied him sharply, though not for long.
Lu's hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed tight.
"The Bloodstone Emperor," he whispered in her ear as he squeezed.
In an instant he released. Yuanji coughed and rubbed at her neck, fighting back tears.
"You will be silent little Princess," Lu demanded quietly and did not wait for her answer.
The Bloodstone Emperor began a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky. It was named the Blood Betrayal…
Lu paused dangerously, waiting for some argument or defiance to spring forth.
"Good girl," he patted her hair gently when none came. "Now then, where was I…"
His usurpation ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night. Despairing of the evil that had been unleashed on earth, the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back upon the world, and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth to punish the wickedness of men – until a great warrior came to arms. This brought new courage to the races of mortal kind and led them into battle with a blazing sword that put the darkness to rout, and light and love returned once more to the world.
"I-" Yuanji hesitated. "May I speak?"
Lu's head tilted slightly as if to consider.
"Speak," he decided with a twisted smile.
"Why do you say these things?" Yuanji asked quietly.
They were wrong. All of it was twisted and false… like the Emperor was…
"He was the Dawnstone Emperor," she dared. "His sister was seduced by darkness; so he-"
"Stabbed her in the throat and took her throne – how noble of him, this champion of yours; little kitten."
No. Those were lies from a liar's tongue… and what value did a liars words hold? None. None at all.
"Sweet girl," the Emperor sighed. "Did you never wonder why Tamashī led all those people into the east?"
"I-" she paused, thinking, wary. "The Empire could not be reborn; the world was a broken place gripped by fear and war…"
"The world has always been thus," Lu smiled sweetly. "Nothing was changed."
Somehow, those smiles of his were worse than his anger. They promised something more.
His eyes were black pools of oil, and they seemed to swirl unnaturally at times.
"The Lion of Dawn fought with man against the darkness…"
At this, the Emperor scoffed then chuckled darkly.
"There is no such thing," his void-filled eyes rolled.
"You can't know what-"
"I do," Lu snapped. "I have seen it…"
The mirror shook and she feared it might fall, to cut her face to red ribbons.
"You think I don't know?" Lu Lóng's eyes swirled; that seemed a trick of the light at first – though so close now – Yuanji couldn't help her doubts. "I have seen it all," he continued with a snarl. "They have shown me. The gods are dead, little tiger, long dead; and never caring. All that remains is what came before…"
"I don't understand what-"
Lu grabbed her head, forcing her to look forward.
In the mirror she saw herself, wide-eyed and afraid.
"Do you see Princesses?" His voice whispered hauntingly.
Her blood froze. It was no mere trick of the light in his eyes.
"I'll show you," at those words, she felt terror grip her heart.
The Emperor's lips met her own and she tasted ash, iron, blood.
In the mirror, her emerald eyes turned to deep bottomless voids of black ink.
"You will see," Lu's voice echoed, irresistible, drenched with an unnatural power and authority.
Yuanji's vision was clouded, revealing nothing but a dark featureless shadowscape. Nothingness laid in every direction.
Then, three figures appeared drenched in shadow – their faces obscured. The first was an armoured man who towered above her in void-black plate armour, exuding great power and command, his smile was a quick and easy thing. At his side was a woman, short and agile with a monkey-tail hat atop her head.
The third was another man, bearded and muscled. He pulled a sword from his scabbard, though it was flame in place of steel.
Its warmth pulsed violently against the shadow, lifting a pain that Yuanji hadn't recognised was even there.
She was, in an instant, under the shadow of five castles of fused black stone a thousand feet high. No battlefield had ever looked so ruinous. She'd seen death with her brother – such that it haunted her dreams – but this was ungodly; littered with so much death that she could scarcely see the ground beneath the corpses.
That was until she could, as the dead twitched and jerked in place before rising to fight another day.
Yuanji screamed, though no sound was made.
"It's a thing of beauty, isn't it kitten? Do you see?"
Lu's voice was a wraith on the air around her head.
"Look there," his voice urged, and she could not refuse.
Ahead – far past the horde of the dead – the shadows departed.
It was the three figures, none so fierce as the man with the flaming sword.
The dead men's blood seemed to boil when his blazing sword struck, as steam poured from their mouths and their eyes melted, they burst into flame and turned to ash with haunted wails. The blade burned like the heart of a star, fierce and defiant, the horde for all its numbers seemed repelled by its mere existence.
Men and women and creatures of all kinds fought against the endless hordes with weapons of oily black; pouring out from the five great castles.
"He fought," Lu's voice whispered in her ear. "In the end though, he was only mortal…"
She only saw the flash, so bright that it blinded her eyes and pushed back the night.
A woman's scream of sharp anguish appeared to shatter the very world.
"They failed in the end," Lu's voice claimed mockingly, slick with malice.
"No," she denied. The horde of darkness had fallen, the shadow departed. They had won…
"They fled," Lu revealed as her vision darted, following the retreating shadow across vast endless sands, over one city where men soared like eagles on leathern wings, over towns of bone and a great valley filled with bloodless men until she finally laid eyes upon a great city in the sands; ancient and giant and blackened.
"Their supposed ultimate victory was merely a setback. What are a few passing centuries to a timeless being, I ask you kitten? To an immortal? To a god?"
The great city shook, and the sands shifted as it sank, consumed by the great dunes and lost to the world even as the sun rose to no longer hide its face from the world after a lifetime of darkness; once so ashamed of some sin that none living now knew – content to never rise again, but for the deeds of some great few.
It scratched at her throat like shards of glass lodged so far down that the cuts were felt in her lungs, in her heart, all throughout her veins.
"Daw-"
She managed that, only to vomit in violent protest.
The black vapours from his lips poured out from her own, across the vanity table like a rolling fog.
"Breathe," his voice told her as she coughed up a storm, lungs sore and wide-eyed. "Breathe little kitten…"
"W- What-"
"Did you see?"
Her eyes darted to his own.
"You did," Lu's smile flashed genuinely, and for the first time he seemed truly happy.
She'd gotten used to his masks – countless as they were – never had they seemed to ring true.
"I've waited so long," he kissed her cheek then chuckled madly.
"W- What was that? The fog… the rest…"
"Truth my sweet kitten," Lu insisted happily. "Truth…"
A sharp pain stabbed through her skull, groaning, she saw glimpses of the shadow.
Something felt rotten inside. The taste of ash and iron lingered on her tongue, threatening to rot her teeth until one by one they'd fall from her lips; though something told her it would not hurt – this feeling struggled against her, frustrated, angry, twisting and fighting her very soul.
"You cannot fight," Lu's mask had returned, as foul a thing as she'd ever witnessed. "It is futile my love…"
"No," Yuanji shook her head frantically. "No, No…"
Lu's features crunched, scowling, he gripped at her hair.
"No?" He tugged, his hand a fist full of ashen. "I've always seen No as a challenge."
The darkness struggled, ripping and tearing at the light using teeth coated black with venom.
She fought it, refused, struggled; for the dark night would not take her – even as its puppet did.
He came to the Dawn's Gate dressed in a spare cloak and tunic, more guard than noble, but the rank on his clasp was quickly recognized by the captain of the gate. His Lordship had come through it seemed; as good a sign as any – although he knew better than to be to put at ease by such a thing. Plans within plans were too common.
The Dawn's Gate seemed less an entrance and more some rite of passage, made of gleaming white stone. It was unlike the Lóng Gate before it that was wide enough for a coach and horses, requiring ten men to open. With the crowds about them and the city alive, they passed with absent nods from the guardsmen.
It was not far to the Gilded Gate. It did not live up to its lofty title…
"I-" Loken Snow raised a brow. "Is that it?"
"Yes," the Commander didn't elaborate. He must have met their reaction dozens of times.
They stood in an antechamber the size of a small throne room, appointed with more grandeur and taste than anything most Lords of the Islands could aspire towards. And in the expanse of the west wall, set with the busts of emperor's past, each in white marble deep in its niche to watch the ages, stood the Gilded Gate. It was modest entrance in which an ancient wooden archway stood unsupported. Oak perhaps, black with age, any carving smoothed away by the passage of years.
"Why the fanciful name for it?"
The Commander turned his gaze onto Loken, with eyes of light sky-blue.
He scratched at the white stubble on his chin and simply replied "Go on through…"
Loken shrugged and walked toward the arch, no taller than nine feet; his orders were clear.
"It's said that nothing tainted may enter," the Commander said as they passed under the archway. "When the Emperor's of Old still ruled here this hall promised that all men met as equals; without magics or foulness to cloud their minds. No mind-sworn could enter to sway men's hearts, none tainted with ungodly power could enter to threaten their fellow nobles with more power than morals should possess. Any influences would be wiped away, should they pass through the gates…"
Loken felt nothing as he passed under the archway. There was no stinging, no boiling of the blood, no fire in his veins to purge his sins.
He felt a strange disappointment.
"I- I don't feel anything at all…"
The Commander chuckled at that.
"It's only a story Islander," he held to that wide smirk of his.
The two other guardsmen with them shared in the laughter, hushed yet true.
The Commander was a big man for an Imperial, solid if not aged by his years, he wore golden half-plate. It was a stunning piece of work, lobstered over the shoulders and around the back of his neck where it rose to a helm that bore more than the suggestion of a crown. His office was Commander of the Gilded Guard, who manned the great walls and gates of their fair city and the great palaces within. Commander Han was dutiful and loyal in his command, even if that loyalty was to dead men.
Loken found himself at the feet of the Imperial Throne. At this late hour, the palace was fast asleep; with none but Han's guardsmen to prowl the halls.
The Throne was a tall thing carved of pure-white smooth marble inlaid with silver and gems, flanked by tall clear windows and banners of purple-and-gold silks.
"Should we keep our distance then," Loken wagered aloud. "Are there laws about approaching the throne?"
The Commander grinned and merely shook his head in reply.
"It's only a chair," he said plainly. "The ceremony will be conducted here at dawn before the throne, with an honour watch of one hundred guardsmen."
"Your own men then," Loken pried, knowing well enough.
"The best," came his answer. "I assure you Lord Snow – things are in hand."
"As you say Commander," Loken hummed, eyes darting about the large room.
It was all but empty, vast and haunted as it looked; the throne towered over them as a great shadow.
"At the congression the nobility go into their bickering groups and secret themselves in preparation," the Commander swung an arm about to encompass all the side chambers littered about the main hall. "Lord Joon Akuma is planned to be among the first to arrive…"
"He can pick and choose?"
"Your pardon, Lord Snow?"
The man had a way of saying Lord that made it seem such a small word.
"Can they have any of the chambers they wish? There must be thirty or more…"
"Twenty-seven," the Commander answered, nodding. "They can have any of them, yes."
"Well then," Mormont's voice beat him to it. "Let's go exploring shall we, eh Lord Snow?"
Arving bolted off to the nearest archway. He'd been more eager than anyone as Gavvar was still recovering; few things burnt so hot as a bear's wrath.
It was a fair walk to the first chamber. The emperor's throne room wouldn't fit within Winterhold's own, such was its scale, more ancient and emptier in its vastness.
Loken halted before double oak doors inlaid with ironwood, the marquetry depicting two battling tigers facing off across the dividing line. The room beyond those doors felt cavernous and dark, lit in patches by light from burning torches and by the moon as well, shining dimly through small windows in the ceiling above their heads.
"There's nothing to see," said Arving. "And besides, it's just a room, what's to choose from?"
"Are they all the same as each other then?" Loken pried, looking to the Commander for his answers.
"Down to the fine details," came his answer with a hum. "Except the door carvings, that is, the interiors are the same…"
"The doors are strong things, yes?"
"Indeed," the Commander gave a grim nod.
They were heavy and reinforced. Once closed, they did not open easily.
"It'll have to do," Loken muttered, eyes up at windows above their heads.
The moon was shining dimly through clouds, the stars sparkling in the darkness.
"The dawn will come Lord Snow," Commander Han muttered as if it were a prayer.
Loken merely hummed in reply. He spoke his words "Unto the Dawn" and did his duty.
Would that he'd ridden here at the head of an army. How he wished to have a hundred thousand spears at his back, to take justice rather than steal it from the shadows; though such notions were born of a courage that flirted too closely with madness. No army of spears could take this city. Daggers were the Imperial way of things.
The cold tugging of the wind and the clatter of hooves on stone answered Prince Edrik's thoughts as he rode at the head of a hundred cloaks.
Winterhold was safe in the governance of his wife and Queen Moria, this much he knew; there was too much left undone for him to remain there.
On the long slow ride through the Imperial Silver City the weight of things seemed to seep into his bones, through dribs and leaks, the ghost of his mother tugged at him like a lich in a dream. He'd raged when he'd first learnt of it, cried in the privacy of his home, but nothing had driven his wolf's blood to boil such as his brother's letter.
The assassin had been long rotten by the time he'd returned home, his words long gone; though it seemed they were false… or the man himself was a pawn…
An assassin that thought himself hired by one party that was in truth another; masquerading as the first. The Empire was a living waking headache.
Her death had struck them as a hammer struck a bell. Winterhold had, predictably, rang with it.
And what a fine ringing it surely made for this new Emperor of Dawn. Fine indeed… they'd danced to the tune…
Edrik longed to fix his hands around Lu Lóng's throat, to choke and watch the light die from his eyes, to shout his complaints rallied against the injustice of it all – for in this he shared his brother's wrath; where in most things he'd been the voice of calm and patient reason. Not in this, however. Not this time.
"Were Rodrik here," he'd thought grimly. "Were the fleet not so far away…"
And there laid the punch. The timing of all this had been too convenient, too clean…
The last Emperor had supported Rodrik's expansion under certain conditions of trade and mutual growth. Had that been the old mans wishes, or his sons? Had Liang suspected his brother? Had their father? All the damn questions threated to ring his skull like the bells of Wrightport. He hated this cursed place.
Prince Edrik's hand gripped at the reigns of his stallion. They rode steadily for the Lóng Gate and the city within the city.
Rain fell down upon their heads, a cold drizzle, lacking challenge. The gate engulfed them all in its shadow and the Stark Prince shook off his thoughts.
It was past the gate and past another that led them to the great hall. The guards stationed themselves there as they arrived, other nobility and their escorts breaking off to occupy the hall and the side-chambers within. If any enemy threatened this place – an army of spears would sally forth to defend the congression.
As they dismounted – wrapped in furs against the wind – an honor guard of ten men in gold came to guide them through the Gilded Gate.
The ceremonial gate stood open, of age-blackened timber bound with gold. It might well take a host of men to close it – if the hinges had been kept oiled. They passed through and walked the Hallway of Emperors where each man stood remembered in stone, fathers, sons and grandfathers, usurpers, bastards-reclaimed-to-greatness, murderers and warlords, peacemakers, builders, princes, scholars, madmen and degenerates, all rendered as heroes, armoured, clutching symbols of their rule.
Banners faded with time, but statues lasted forever, as the saying went – at least until men a thousand years ahead decided to pull them down to be forgotten.
Edrik did not doubt that half these statues might well deserve such treatment, as some in Winterhold might, yet it was wiser to learn from the past than pull it down.
Only fools failed to learn from history.
"Where is Emperor Liang's statue though?"
That thought was better left unasked. Questions were dangerous things.
No such statue existed. It seemed Lu Lóng cared little for his brother's memory.
The man himself was oddly enough not present. Edrik drowned deeply, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"Greeting's brother," Artos spoke suddenly from his side.
"Art," Edrik spared him a glance. He hadn't heard him draw close.
"Lu is absent I'm afraid," Artos revealed the obvious, masking his emotions.
The Emperor was to miss his own wedding coronation at this rate. Where was he-
"He's with his new toy," Artos answered without needing the question. "The Tamashī girl…"
Ah, well then, that was a foul thought. He'd heard tell of her, ashen hair with emerald eyes and a star-like beauty. If the things said of Lu Lóng were true and his own brother's words truer, then he pitied that girl – no older than his own beloved daughters.
He would tear down the world itself before he let his own girls suffer such a fate.
Would that they had the strength...
"Snow is in position little brother?"
"Aye," Artos said quietly. "It'll work."
"If you're wrong about this Art…"
"I'm not," came the denial. "Trust me, brother…"
Liang had trusted his brother once too, but the Islands were not the Empire. Stark was not Lóng.
If he was wrong however, it may well spell a war that Winterhold would be hard pressed to win at the best of times.
With the King away taking the fleet and the bulk of the Islands might, these times were far from the best, such as things were.
They walked as they spoke, coming to the end of the statues, past Emperor Loi the Lustful and then Qo the Grand his carved stone chair, serious, watching them in infinity. Up ahead an antechamber await them with more guards and, by the look of it, other travellers and nobility from across the vastness of the Empire.
"Your weapons will be taken from you and stored in safe keeping with the utmost respect," the voice of Commander Han greeted. His voice made a nervous flicker towards Edrik. "You will be subject to various searches, necessary for entry into the throne room during Congression. You will of course appreciate that these precautions ensure-"
"Aye," Artos went about handing over his swords.
One, Edrik knew well, though the other was pale as milkglass.
"-your safety as well as the safety of the other delegates…'
"Very well," Edrik handed over his scabbard with some noted hesitation.
His brother's eyes sparkled with some cunning. That look was of forged steel.
"By the Dawn, is that? Is that? Prince Stark! Get over here, you old dog! Come over!"
The voice called them away from the others, heading over with a quick erratic walk, arms flying up and a broad grin on a narrow face.
"And if it isn't Prince Edrik Stark himself! I heard you were away!"
"Brother," Artos was holding to a smirk, fake as it came. "May I introduce-"
"Yu Jin," the erratic imperial bowed with grace. "A pleasure, Stark; you did not mention your brother would be arriving!"
"A surprise arrival," Artos mustered a chuckle for him.
Edrik scowled. His brother looked the fool, playing at mummery. It did not suit him at all.
"Prince Edrik," Yu Jin's smile died on his thin lips. "My condolences on your mother, may she shine brightly in the heavens."
"Our thanks, Lord Jin…"
"Just so," the Imperial's smile returned.
"We must speak again after the events my Lord," Artos insisted, hollow, practiced.
"Oh, we shall," Jin's smile twisted, ugly for but a flash of a second. "We shall."
He walked away, calling out another noble's name with glee as he departed.
"A new friend of yours is he, little brother?"
"Imperials don't have friends," Artos said quietly with a plastered smile.
They had ties, tools, alliances, things to be used and discarded on a whim; but never true friends.
"He's a shadow that one," Artos revealed, quiet as the wind as they walked onward. "He's here to whisper of how this lord like young boys, or that lord has a sister married, or of how this man or that thinks his line has more nobility than the next. Golden whispers for eager ears, he calls them…"
"It's like a bloody circus of snakes," Edrik mumbled.
How his brother Willam ever lived here was beyond him.
"It's Imperial court, brother, nothing is as you see it. Nothing at all…"
A fat man in slashed velvets approached them, black with crimson lining, his gold chain swung to match his hurry.
"Princes!" His voice was loud and jolly. "Princes!"
"Lord Wei," Artos knew him, barely containing the sigh of annoyance.
"This is your esteemed brother?" the fat Lord Wei grinned. "You must introduce me!"
Artos's eye twitched. "Brother," he began, however. "May I introduce the illustrious Xu Wei, Lord of the Southern Provence's and-"
"Father to a fine son," Lord Wei jumped in eagerly. "My blood is purple, they say; do they not Prince Artos?"
"They do say that my lord…"
"Just so," the fat Lord chuckled. "I thought to honor you with bounds of family!"
"Family?" Edrik's eyes narrowed and his hand moved, searching for a sword that was no longer there.
"My brother is honoured by your offer," Artos butted in quickly. "You must understand, however, that Winterhold is still in grief for our mother… and the Princess…"
"Ah," Lord Wei had the decency to look abashed, fake as it was.
"Perhaps another time? Soon I hope Lord Wei?"
"Yes," the fat Imperial smiled happily. "After the coronation, say?"
"I-" Edrik moved to refuse. No fat imperial was wedding his ilk to his sweet daughters.
"Certainly," Artos smiled right back at the man, who took his leave grinning like a cat having caught a tasty bird.
"Explain," Edrik demanded of the younger Stark.
"Calm yourself Ed," came the hushed reply. "It won't matter."
As if that explained anything. How he hated being left in the dark so… but his brother had insisted…
Over his shoulder he saw three figures entering the far end of the antechamber, preceded by a pair of guards. They drew the eye, this trio of blues and silvers.
"Lord Raion Xīn, his son Yu Xīn, and his silver sister Sun Xīn," Artos named the three for his brother.
Yu Xīn and his sister flanked their lordly father, tall and proud with strands of dawn-silver in their blond hair.
"Stark!" Lord Raion wandered over with a fierce grin on his face. The black swirl of his daughter's skirts flashed as she strode over too, ahead of her brother.
"My Lord Xīn," Artos bowed to the man and bid his brother do the same.
"By the dawn lad," the Lord of Silver Lions gripped his shoulder and smiled at him. "None of that my boy!"
His face was an old face, scarred by time and battle; with flecks of silver in his eyes – this man's blood was ancient blood.
If it was not the Lóng or the Tamashī that ruled, then many in the Empire would've looked to the Xīn house to rule.
"Prince Edrik," Lord Raion looked to him, eyeing him up and down before bowing politely.
"My Lord," Edrik returned the gesture and bowed with what was an imperial sign of respect. "My brother has been making many friends, I see…"
"A demon on the battlefield he was," Lord Raion boasted. "The Emperor gifted him with Tamashīs blade, did you know? Dawnforged, rare as it comes..."
There was some hint of… something there… jealously? Anger? Whatever it was faded in an instant though.
"You are too kind," Artos seemed more comfortably with this man than the past few.
"I'm a man of truth," the Silver Lord declared, seeming to mean more than the words implied.
"Aren't we all Xīn," Artos smiled at him kindly, nodding briefly to the eldest son at the side of his sister.
"Well said," the Lord nodded. "Until we meet again, Starks; come the dawn…"
"Come the Dawn," Artos returned the gesture and bowed politely as they departed.
Something was afoot there, Edrik knew, his brother was a poor mummer; but with that man he seemed at ease.
"It was good to see you again Prince," the Lady Sun spoke, her words rolling off her tongue easily; sweet and alluring before she too left.
In another time, that one might have been an Empress; had Emperor Liang lived long enough to be wedded to her beauty – such an alliance would have bought the Lóngs stability and until recent events indeed promised to do just that. Now though, Emperor Lu had pushed the betrothal to play second fiddle to the Tamashī girl instead.
"Watch that one," Artos mumbled. "The son too – they've made offers for my nieces too you know…"
"I will not sell my daughters like cattle Art…"
"Nor would I expect you to brother, don't fret so much…"
And besides, such things were for the King to decide in the end.
Their alliances with the Empire as of late had not exactly gone well.
What did they have to show for it? A dead mother, a dead bride, leaving them nothing but a motherless cub.
Visanna was the babe's name. That much had earned her the packs love if blood alone would not – and it would regardless.
The eyes of the court had long lingered on them, watching, studying them as if they were a puzzle to be solved; opened and used.
The throne room proper, whilst not crowded, was certainly occupied. Close on a hundred and fifty lords of empire and their diverse advisors circulated around the throne dais. The throne seemed to float above them, a great towering thing, waiting for a victim to sit upon it and rule for good or ill – one doubted a chair cared which.
Artos stood for a moment, watching. Groups of nobility had broken off to occupy the many side chambers, others emerged in agreement or further entrenched in opposition, guards looked on from their stations about the hall's edge, and around it all the hubbub of talking and endless whispering.
"Princes!" A tall man broke from his gathering just a few paces from the Gilded Gate. He had been holding forth to a group of a dozen or so, waving his arms as he spoke, glittering in a gem-sewn velvet outfit. "My wise Princes of Stark, I have a question!"
"Yes?" Artos answered in kind, and for a moment he gaped at the plain reply, uncertain on his feet.
"How do you stand on the Outland question?' He had red and beefy cheeks, spewing a question as if everyone ought to know.
"Forgive me," Artos mustered what imperial courtesy he'd been taught. "It's not something I've given thought to," the men behind him had enough similarity in style and colouring that they might all hail from the same region. Somewhere in the west, to look at them. Somewhere where the 'Outland Question' might be significant politics.
"Well," the man jabbed one finger at Artos's chest. "You need to give it some thought."
"Lord Guo," a more familiar voice interrupted whatever response Artos might've opted upon.
"L- Lord Jin…"
All the colour drained from the westerner's face.
"The very same," Jin grabbed the man's jabbing finger and bent it down.
Lord Guo gasped and backed up into the crowd of his supporters, crying out, bowing low to lessen the angle at which Lord Jin held his digit.
Amid the group of western nobles, men from the western steppes in their conical crowns or brightly embroidered hats, Jin applied more pressure and set the man on his knees. "Such disrespect you show our friends from the Islands," Lord Jin said cheerfully. "You simply must apologise this instant, my good man…"
"I-" Guo hissed in pain. "He is ignorant of-"
Jin broke his finger. It was a sharp crack, swift, sending the minor noble wailing away.
"Do forgive him," Jin chuckled when he turned. "The man begs above his station, no more than a merchant you see…"
"Indeed," Edrik muttered absently at the showing of violence.
"What is the Outland Question exactly?"
Jin frowned at that. "Upstarts, they seek to expand their territory past the western mountains..."
No doubt a matter of import for the western nobility but certainly not a matter the rest of the Empire would usually care about.
This gathering of the nobility was doubtless the man's one and only chance in his lifetime to gather support from those he thought he might persuade.
"Little doubt he sought your support," Jin supposed with a shrug. "Or, just as likely, he may have planned to sow notions of a less than civil nature… I could not say for certain I fear… our dear friend Guo has only recently inherited and is riding his dead father's reputation and wealth."
"So, you broke his finger. What lesson did that teach my Lord?"
Jin smirked. "A sharp one, to be sure; but better he learnt from Myself than another…"
Another imperial might well have had the poor idiot killed for a lesser insult, in truth, the young noble was lucky.
"How do things stand Shadow?"
Jin chuckled at the title, smiling charmingly.
"The dawn will come," is all he offered. "A fine one, at that, I should think Stark. Fine indeed!"
Artos only smiled and returned the nod. The room had ears, but the common greeting and farewell would raise no suspicion.
The hour grew and the glow of morning light began to shine rays through the great clear windows behind the Throne of Dawn, shedding light and warmth into the hall, orange and yellow and hopeful. Artos eyed the fat Lord Wei enter joyfully into one of the northern-most chambers to the side of the hall.
"It'll be fast," Artos mumbled suddenly.
Edrik's eyes darted, but he only hummed in reply.
"Presenting," the Imperial Herald sounded out, silencing the room filled with whispers and chatter.
They entered not from the Gilded Gate but from behind the Throne of Dawn, to the confusion of the nobility who whispered among themselves at the sight of it; as Lu Lóng led out his wife-to-be by the arm – her face coated in heavy blush and powders – her hair was ashen and her eyes sad emeralds, in a dress of purple and gold.
"His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Dawn, Lu Lóng, First of the Name, Lord of the Lions, Silver Dragon of the East and Star of the Silver City!"
"Titles, titles," Artos mumbled quietly from his position in the hall.
"And the Lady Yuanji Tamashī," the Herald ended. "Princess of the Dawn."
That was a title that sent some mumblings throughout the hall, and more than a few eyes devoured the young woman hungrily.
The Emperor was dressed in black silks with trimmed gold and a rich purple cloak that dragged on the marble floor behind him as they walked.
Up and up the steps to the throne where he lifted up the girl and panted her atop his lap in about as unceremoniously crude way as possible.
"My Lords and Ladies," The Emperor spoke loudly, his voice carrying across the hall. "Forgive my tardiness, I was occupied!"
The hall was wash with a wave of half awkward half hearty laughter.
One Priest of the Dawn stepped forward with a great bound book in his hands.
"Perhaps his Majesty wishes to begin the ceremony to-"
"Yes," Lu waved the priestly man away. "The quicker I return to our bed the better!"
Another wave of laughter greeted that announcement. Edrik could not tell the true from the false.
"Very good," the priest kept his head bowed low, hiding whatever he felt in truth.
Artos watched the doors. The many chambers on the side of the rooms were closing.
The guardsmen – at least in part – were moving about in the shadows of the hall, barring entry.
Jin's smile had died upon his lips as Edrik noted the glint of bare steel appear from under his sleeves.
"Emperor!" One voice boomed out aloud above the cheers that had filled the hall. "Hear me, Emperor!"
Lu's eyes had darted away from his bride as he fondled her happily, as if they weren't in public.
"Raion," the Emperor's smile twisted. "Do you wish to offer me your congratulations…"
"We do not congratulate murderers here, boy…"
The nobility hushed. The Emperor's smile grew tenfold.
"Is that so? Such a shame…"
"You killed your own brother," Raion shouted, to the gasps of the nobility.
"Oh?" Lu's onyx eyes betrayed nothing atop his throne.
"General Shan admitted it all," Yu Xīn had quick to his father's side.
Where the pair had gotten swords was anyone's guess, not that Lu seemed to care.
"And more," Lord Raion declared, pointing his steel up at the throne. "You poisoned your own father!"
The hall burst into shouts at that. The Emperor only chuckled darkly at him, holding the girl on his lap.
"Oh?" He reigned in his laughter. "Was that me too my Lord? I have been a busy man, haven't I?"
"General Shan said that-"
"Said what Boy?" Lu snapped down at the young Xīn. "How did you come by this; I do wonder?"
"General Shan admitted it all under questioning," the boys father answered, more for the nobility than the Emperor.
"Torture you mean," Lu scoffed, kissing his wife-to-be before shoving her off his lap.
"It was not just Him," a new voice rang out, earning the Emperors glare.
Rin Akuma's dark blue eyes shun like a flame.
"My father was your puppet all along!" He accused boldly.
"Silence boy!" Lord Joon Akuma barked like an angry dog. "You speak vile madness!"
"You knew all along," Rin accused his own blood. "You sent me here, knowing Prince Lu would see his brother dead!"
"I- I did not-" Lord Joon blinked, taking one step back on instinct.
Jin's blade found the lord's neck, pressed tight to let a trickle of blood ran down.
"Careful now Akuma," he said smoothly. "We wouldn't have you to slip now, would we?"
"This-" Lord Joon stilled. "This is lies, my son is mistaken, I-"
The knife pressed closer, and the lord held his loose tongue.
"Young Akuma's testimony and General Shan's confession are enough!"
"Kinslayer!" One brave noble yelled from the safety of the far end of the hall.
Just then, the chambers throughout the hall opened up; only for guardsmen in gold to pour out.
In their hands was steel, bloodied crimson, bodies in the chambers behind them and Commander Han at their head.
"Snow," Artos greeted as the young heir came walked up and handed him his dawnforged sword.
"My Prince," Loken's breath was quick, his sword bloodied, and a splatter of red was across his golden plate.
"Murderers!" One noble cried out in protest.
"No man may shed blood in this hall!" Another and another.
"Lu's sycophants all of them," Lord Raion countered loudly. His voice silenced most, loud and defiant.
The Emperor interrupted their bickering with a dark chuckle. He was up from the throne of Dawn, descending step by step, hand stroking over white stone.
"My sycophants," Lu chuckled, seeming to enjoy himself. "Yes, I like the taste of that; almost as much as I like the girl's…"
"You'll pay," Rin Akuma was the first, be it courage or the foolishness of youth, he drew steel from scabbard and charged.
The boy yelled "Tamashī!" as he bolted forward. He'd been a loyal boy in life, to the Emperor he chose; against his own father.
"Loyal to ghosts," Lu's hand had jolted up, catching the boy's sword mid-swing.
Black blood seeped down Lu's wrist, the steel cutting deep into his hand.
The Emperor gave no signs of caring.
"I-" Rin's eyes widened in fright. "You-"
"Me," Lu replied, grabbing the boy's throat and snapping it like a twig.
Rin Akuma's body went limp as a puppet with cut strings, slumping to the floor.
Jin's blade slit open Lord Joon's neck when the old man tried to scream for his fallen son.
"Foolish boy," the Emperor looked at his hand, throwing Akuma's blade away if it were nothing.
"Surrender," Yu Xīn readied himself, holding his sword with both hands and a dark glint in his eyes.
"No," Artos joined the young heir's side. "There will be no surrender for him, Xīn…"
"Indeed," the Lord Xīn snarled fiercely.
"Someone grab the girl," Jin said shushed.
Lu's eyes snapped at him, like a hawk sighting its prey.
"She is mine," his words were a growl more fit for beast than man.
Lu's blade flashed with unnatural speed from its sheeth, a thing of void-black that left vapor in its wake.
Yu Xīn's eyes widened in brief terror, only for a blade of silver to flash an inch before his eyes to save his life.
He stumbled backwards as the hall erupted into shouts and the clashing of steel, the thudding of bodies, young Yu watched as Artos Stark clashed with the Emperor in a near blur of flurries; as if they wielded wind instead of steel, the dawnforged steel seemed to spark and screech in unholy union with Lu's own foul sword.
Dawnforged steel was said to be forged from the heart of fallen stars, as pale as milkglass, sharper than cut glass and stronger than steel.
It screamed when it struck Lu's curved blade, oily black, the dark raged against the light.
"Lóng!" Yu watched his own father charged in some attempt to help the Stark.
"STAY OUT OF THIS!" Lu Lóng screamed and swung, shattering his father's sword and sending him flying across the hall.
"Father!" Yu darted to his feet, all else forgotten.
When he reached him, Raion Xīn was a mess of black veins and sickly skin.
"My b-" his voice was strained. "b- boy…"
Raion Xīn died in his son's arms as dawn and dusk clashed beyond them.
Glancing up, he witnessed Artos Stark be flung back several feet into the arms of his own brother.
"What the hells is he!?" Prince Edrik demanded of anyone who could answer,
No man fought like Lu Lóng. No man could or should. No man, no matter the skill; this was…
"Demon," Yu Xīn snarled. From all corners, gilded guardsmen approached with spears and mixed courage.
The nobility had either surrendered, died, or been a part of Lord Xīn's plans from the start.
"Ants," the Emperor snarled. "Nothing but ants, scurrying about, ignorant of truth…"
"You sent assassins after my mother," Artos snarled back at the demon, his dawnforged steel at side.
Lu's eyes locked onto the Prince of the Islands.
In those onyx orbs, darkness swirled about unnaturally.
"No," the Emperor denied with a chuckle. "They were to kill the welp and her spawn…"
"She was your sister," Edirk challenged warily from beside his brother.
"A loose end," Lu's smile was twisted. "Just like the others were…"
The others…
"The Princesses…"
Artos glanced at Xīn's reaction only briefly.
Nobody had seen Zhenji or Lashi since Lu took the throne…
"Monster," Yu Xīn named him with a snarl. "You're a demon!"
Lu only smirked, twisted and cold as he shrugged uncaringly.
"I am beyond you," he mocked. "You, Stark, you've seen… you know…"
Prince Artos narrowed his eyes at the madman.
"What does he mean?" Jin pried from behind them.
"I don't know what-"
"You do," Lu insisted. "You've seen past the shadow, Stark, heard the listener as I have; do not deny it…"
"Listener?" Artos did not-
Wait. Where had he heard that title before?
"You see," Lu's smile grew tenfold. "We are the same, you and I!"
"Never," Artos readily the Tamashī steel.
"You cannot fight destiny Stark…"
He'd heard those words before too, hadn't he?
In the halls of Nefer, in what seemed like a lifetime ago now.
"Unto the Dawn!" Loken Snow darted forward.
"NO!" Artos yelled after him, far too little too late.
Lu only chuckled and swatted the young heir away like a fly.
A wave of vapor and foul magic whipped out from the arch of his sword.
Artos raised his dawnforged blade and felt a force push against his very soul.
"Such a nuisance," he heard Lóng complain, eyeing his sword. "I should have thrown that thing into the sea…"
"Snow," Edirk was knelt beside the groaning form of the Sunstark heir, hurt but living.
"As one," Yu Xīn suggested quietly. "He can't stop us all Stark…"
"The demon bleeds," Jin agreed, never taking his eyes off the Emperor.
"As one," Artos nodded and held fast to his new favourite sword.
"Nuisances," Lu scowled at them all with hateful eyes.
"Take him!" Edrik yelled, and those brave enough charged forward together.
Bravery was said to be equal parts courage and foolishness. Men bled though, demon blood or not…
Emperor Lu's first swing sent a wave of vapor – thin and sharp as glass to cut down men like blades of grass against a scythe.
One, two, three, four, Artos saw Lu's blade slash and cleave in flashes of void; but one of the gilded spears struck him in the stomach.
"Ouch," the Emperor was scowling as he stumbled and looked angrily at them, more annoyed than hurt.
Lord Jin was laid out on the white marble in a growing pool of his own blood.
Yu Xīn was knelt, resting against his blade; shallow red cuts across his face.
Arving Mormont had collapsed with a red gash across his neck.
"Brother," Artos knelt quickly by his brother. "Still with me?"
Edrik Stark groaned, several of the fingers on his right hand severed with clean precision; his forearm a red ruin.
"Did we get the bastard Art? He must be…"
His eyes looked up, ignoring the pain that shot through him.
Edrik watched in horror as Lu Lóng grabbed the spear embedded in his stomach and pulled it free.
One tug, two, three, and a river of black blood poured from the Emperor's stomach – even as he chuckled.
"Nuisances," he hissed and took a step forward, his voice dripping with malice. "All of you…"
The wound in his chest seeped with the same black vapours about his sword, ungodly, unnatural...
Artos stepped in front of his knelt brother and held Tamashī's blade firmly, his face cut and blood blinding one eye.
"You and I are the same," Lu insisted, smiling; black blood on his teeth. "Why do you fight? Accept it Stark, and together we can-"
Lu's eyes blinked in surprise, stumbling suddenly.
Artos watched as the silver dagger went from left to right.
"Kitten," the Emperor muttered, throat opened from ear to ear from behind him.
A river of black blood poured out from Lu Lóng's neck, free and flowing, the Emperor fell to his knees with a dull thud.
"For my brother," Yuanji Tamashī said with shaky hands, black with the demon's blood, she dropped the slick dagger to the marble.
"Princess," Artos stepped one foot forward towards the pair, passing by the corpse. "Are you alright?"
Her wide emerald eyes looked down at her bloody hands only briefly before she began to sob uncontrollably.
Prince Artos was quick to unclasp his cloak – bloodied as it was – the white cloak was twice the girl's size in truth, it covered her shoulders and wrapped around her wholly; the direwolf on a field of ice-white splattered with wet crimson. "He's dead," Artos told the girl. "It's over Princess…"
"W- Where is…"
His eyes looked. Lu Lóng was gone.
A puddle of thick black blood pooled at the steps of the Dawn Throne.
That same blood ran like rivers across the white marble of the hall, like it was stretching out…
"Where did he go?" Edrik was up on his feet, wrapping some ripped fabric around his bloodied hand.
"I don't-"
"Father!" Sun Xīn's voice grabbed their attention.
The would-be Empress was in tears, having moved to hug her slain father.
Lord Raion had risen from where he'd fallen, and his daughter wept happily to see him alive.
"Thank the dawn," she was mumbling.
More than a few of the fallen were rising from the floor.
Artos looked with hope as Arving Mormont stumbled up from the marble.
He'd never been a handsome man in life, but death had been no kinder to him. "Get away from him Lady Su-"
"Sister!" Yu Xīn shouted as he watched the tip of a longsword driven through her belly and out her back. Dead in an instant.
"To arms!" Artos shouted. "Kill them! Now!"
Arving Mormont's throat was open, wide, bloody red.
The man was dead. Gone were his bright eyes, replaced by pools of black.
A few guards, finding courage, sallied to attack their dead comrades.
The first of the living fell to the dead with dismaying swiftness.
"Nuisances," the voice of a dead man chuckled.
He was smiling down at them, a broken, ugly grin.
"Impossible," Artos turned when the Tamashī girl screamed like a banshee.
Atop the Dawn Throne was Lu Lóng, Emperor of the Dawn, black blood staining his fine clothes.
"I will await you," Lu seemed to shimmer atop the throne as the light of day shined through the windows. "In the dark."
"Lóng!" Artos made to rush the demon, only to be tugged at by the Tamashī girl clinging to his leg for dear life.
The Emperor shifted like sand atop his throne and Artos turned to see his brother and the others behind him.
Edrik Stark stood with a sword through his chest, stabbing relentlessly with his dagger at what was once Arving Mormont.
"Brother!" Artos pushed the girl away, swinging his sword at Mormont and slicing clean through his skull; sending black vapours free.
"Art," Edrik coughed, like glass was stuck in his throat; it hurt to breathe.
"Shut up," he dismissed it. "You're not dying brother, so none of that…"
"Just like Will," Edrik chuckled, though quickly groaned in pain.
"Shut up damn it," Artos looked around for help.
The dead – the demons – had all been cut down now.
Yu Xīn was knelt with his sister, having cut down what was once his father.
"Snow!" Artos barked over at the man when he saw him.
"My Princ-"
"A healer," came the demand, all teeth. "Get me a fucking healer!"
"Mormont surprised me," Edrik ignored Snow dutifully yelling for help.
"You've gotten sloppy brother," Artos joked with a strained smirk.
"I've gotten old," Edrik's laugh turned to a violent cough.
"Not old enough yet brother, you hear?"
"Killed by a dead man, I was, heh…"
"Gods damn it, shut up, you're not dying Ed."
"Tell my girls I-"
"Tell them yourself," he refused, shaking his brother.
"You know…"
"I-" Artos scowled. "Fuck…"
"Jaina," Edrik managed a smile. "She-"
"-will kill me for this…"
"She'll… b… be…"
Artos watched his light fade.
Lu Lóng's voice chuckled from the shadows.
He was not atop his throne, nor anywhere to be seen.
"In the dark Stark," the disembodied voice taunted. "Ga'aze into the heartov K'Dath!"
As the voice spoke 'K'Dath' the windows of the hall shattered, sending shards of glass upon the marble.
The voice was overburdened with accusation, a cold inspection that woke every sorrow Artos had ever felt.
Lu Lóng had wielded something more than steel against them, something dark and ancient, crude in its animation of flesh. A great despair hung over the Hall of Dawn, longing, such loss that threatened to drown them all; heavy enough to make kings and nations cower and pale.
"K'Dath" rang against the walls of his mind as he held to Edrik's body and shed silent tears, for his wife, for his daughters.
Whatever foulness Lu wielded played a bitter note in his mind. It sang in his departed wife's voice, only warped and too loud, a harsh jarring discord of sour twisted notes. In a flash, he saw the moments of his life strung out across many years, bitter, vicious, sorrow, failure at every turn.
His was a path littered with the wreckage of lives he'd lacked the strength to save…
Wasn't it? He thought of his son and the darkness seemed to shift and jerk in annoyance.
"No," the word burned in his throat, forced past a snarl.
"Empress," Yu Xīn's voice broke through the veil of his thoughts.
The now Lord Xīn was knelt before the young Tamashī girl.
She looked scared, lost, her hands bloody and her soul broken.
Artos had seen that look. Despair, at its purest. He'd not seen it since his own wife.
"Prince," Loken Snow was at his side now, looking lost and forlorn, begging for direction.
"See to my brother," Artos bid him coldly, laying Edrik's head gently down upon the marble.
With dawnforged sword in hand and voices in his head Prince Artos took steps forward the Throne of Dawn.
"Stark," the Xīn boy looked at him oddly as he approached.
One step, another and another – it was only a char at the end of it all. He did not care.
Artos sat and looked out over the Hall of Dawn. He laid silver-grey eyes upon the nobility of the Empire, or at least those who remained to them; with half on their knees or covering under the threat of gilded spears and the other half dead or half-dead. The white marble floors were coated in crimson and the stench of death clung to the air.
"I am Artos of the House Stark," he declared for them all, as if they didn't know his name. "Prince of the Sunset and Regent Lord of Winterhold."
Looks were shared among the nobles, but none spoke; though some looked to Xīn – others found him looking the scared youth he was.
"Your Emperor is dead, and their line has failed you," Artos scanned the room, testing to see if any would argue it.
"Prince Stark," the Xīn boy found his voice, steeling himself against what he began to fear was a threat.
"Princess," Artos stood and descended the throne, ignoring the young Xīn as if he'd never spoken a word.
Yuanji Tamashī looked up at him from her position on the floor at the base of her ancestor's throne, her stark cloak cloaked in part by the black blood pooled around her – she looked up with wide and afraid eyes. "P- Prince Artos," she managed, trying to steady her frantic breathing and shaking hands.
"Do you want it Princess?" He asked her, hushed, knelt down to her level so that only Xīn might've been able to overhear the two.
"I-" the girls expression shifted uneasily, without a mask to speak of; Artos wondered how long such innocence would last.
"Tell me true Tamashī," Artos asked her kindly.
In truth he didn't doubt he looked quite the sight.
His hands were bloody, his face cut, blood and salt marked him.
"I- It was my brothers…"
"And he is dead," the truth was harsh.
Her face scrunched and her eyes watered.
"As is mine," he added for her sake. "I understand – but we must be strong, mustn't we?"
Yuanji nodded after a moment, wiping her eyes with a somewhat clean sleave of her dress.
"I don't… I don't think I know how… how to…"
Her words were barely a whisper, but they were enough.
"You don't want to rule," Artos said a little louder. "That's good…"
She blinked, confused, looking to him desperately. "It's… good? Why?"
Artos hummed. "Only the vain or greedy wish for crowns, Princess."
"That- That is-" she lowered her eyes and seemed to disagree.
"A saying of my fathers," Artos revealed. "One of many I'm afraid."
She mumbled "I never knew my father" and kept her head low at that.
"Take my hand," Artos stood and held his hand out, bloodied as it was.
It took a moment, but the Tamashī girl took his hand and got to her feet.
She was a short thing, though that was quite common among the Imperials; her ashen hair was a wild mess and her once pristine dress was blackened by all the blood – though her eyes gleamed brightly enough. Artos led her up the steps of the throne as Xīn and the others watched in silence and whispers.
"I give you Yuanji Tamashī," Artos declared as the young girl took her seat atop the throne of Dawn.
"Long Live the Empress!" Yu Xīn declared first, kneeling and bowing his head.
Artos raised his dawnforged blade up high and the nobles cheered one by one.
Empress Yuanji watched in mild terror as one by one the nobility of dawn knelt and chanted her name.
The Stark's smile steadied her nerves and she steeled herself too, shifting uncomfortably on the throne, she whispered "with truth as my shield and courage as my sword" just as she'd heard her brother do so many times. Would he be proud of her, she wondered? She hoped so, dawn willing, he was happy in the heavens.
"To the stars Yui," he'd told her as he died in her arms on that battlefield.
"To the stars," she fought back the fresh tears. She'd cried enough for one lifetime.
Empresses didn't cry, did they? No. She thought not. She had to be strong now, right?
My Note(s): Alrighty, with that we're back to Westeros; know a couple of people are less interested in the original/imperial/sunset concepts even if I do find that strange – to each their own – these chapters were always planned (I've had the whole story planned out for ages) and are a vital part(s) of the story, so there's no avoiding them :P next chapter we're off to check in on events from Westeros. It's a Greyjoy chapter, then we're off to Storm's End. We're back to Imperial/Sunset stuff at Chapter 68/69.
Empress Yuanji Tamashī rules in the Empire as of now and Artos Stark has effectively positioned himself as the girl's 'regent' even if that wasn't his actual intention… we're also short a Stark brother with Edrik's unfortunate demise; but then it wouldn't be a proper The *Insert Colour* Wedding without a Stark dying now, would it? Ofc not :P tbh I could've dragged the whole Empire/Lu arch out for a couple more chapters if I REALLY went in depth… but I didn't want to drag things out more than necessary…
I'm also sorry for the delay on this chapter: I got Covid :S felt dreadful for a while but recovered quickly, wasn't vaccinated (not for any particular reason, I just couldn't be bothered/had no need to bother) but I seemed to get over it far quicker than my vaccinated household who brought the virus into the house in the first place. Ironic. I have no strong opinion on the virus stuff – like with everything I take a "do whatever the hell you like, and I'll do the same" approach to life. I don't care ;) to each their own.
Zedwolfshifted: I'm all for criticism, but at least make it contrastive and/or intelligent; though I suppose 90% of 'critical' reviews are less criticism and more plain insults. That's not to say I don't get the odd critical reviewer that's actually civilized with their opinion. Those are fine :) but ah well, can't please everyone, nor do I care to try :D
Testingwrite123: In part the 'betrayal' is taken from Narnia, as I happened to be reading the book ages ago and decided to nick the concept; but there's also Skyrim in that chapter via the giving of a sword to Liang just as Ulfric sends his axe to Jarl Balgruuf to challenge him. I often take inspiration from all kinds of places, especially from music.
246vili: Lu's about as close to morally 'evil' as any character I've written honestly, although he was more complex in his younger years; the man is entirely consumed by his ambitions by now – the design of old shadowy powers – that have been hinted at throughout earlier chapters ;) even Artos had his little encounter in Nefer. Willam had his own run-ins with dark gods and black magic too. It's hopefully not too jarring a read, there exists pretence for magic throughout Asoiaf and its hinted return etc.
Natman717: I rarely have plans go exactly according to plan :) in my experience at least, the universe likes to fuck with the plans of silly little mortals.