Some events are time shifted to better fit into the narrative as well as elements from A Song of Ice and Fire. Like the look of the Iron Throne, which in the books is literally made of a thousand swords.
While I consider myself knowledgeable on the Witcher series of games and have played them all. I have not read the books and most of my information comes from the Wikia and TvTropes. So bare with me when I play fast and loose with the lore.
Since I'll use broad strokes regarding the Witcher storyline. The Wild Hunt and their leader - Eredin, will differ greatly in how they look from the games. Most of it is simply guesswork, headcanon and my own ideas. Lord of the Rings and Shadow of Mordor has been my main inspiration for him and his generals. So expect names like; The Tower, The Hammer and so on to crop up.
Concerning the fighting. Yes I know, I'm not the greatest action writer, but only practice makes perfect. However, this is fiction so liberties will be taken with swordsmanship. I will try and include some HEMA moves; such as half-swording.
Also, some of the opinions made by characters in this fic are not necessarily my own, but how others might view them.
Remember to review as they are what keeps me going. Enjoy :-)
Reign of Fire
Chapter 2: Dawn of the Dragon Age
"We are all of us what we do..."
She was small. Just a mere child. She was among friends. Their faces smiling at her. A tall man with hair like her own, steadied her hands, guiding her arms. Teaching her how to wield a sword.
"Elder blood is in your veins...it is not yours to command," an echoing voice reverberated through the blurry memories.
The ground seemed to shift and flow around her like water in an ocean. Unable to move. All she observed were the specters of strange lands. Strange people she did not know and herself wielding strange powers. Until the world stood still and the skies grew dark and she stood atop a black tower of unfathomable magnitude. A dark figure towering before her.
"There is no reason to fight..." the figure rasped, "we all know how this will end..."
She was running again. Not out of fear. This time from anger. She was mad. Mad at the world and the injustice it had brought upon her. Mad at the people who made her into what she is. She wanted to escape. To never gaze upon a past that brought her nothing but pain.
"Ciri...you are blessed with an incredible gift," a wise voice echoed. "...and they will hunt you till the end of time for what you have..."
Soft lips brushed against hers. Voice whispering in her ear.
"Time to wake up..."
Ciri woke up with a start, gasping for air. Having swiftly pulled her silver sword halfway out on the way. She calmed down upon recognizing her surroundings and her blade made a click as she sheathed it. She threw the covers off her and pulled her cloak tight, rubbing her neck absentmindedly. Leaning on one arm. A saddle was not the most comfortable of pillows but it had to do.
They had taken shelter behind some bushes not far from the main road. A meager fire providing a modicum of warmth as Ciri and her two companions huddled beneath rough blankets one could only find comfortable with several layers of clothes on. She let out an amused sigh as Sandor's snoring broke any tad of peace in the early morning.
"Nightmare?" Arya asked. She was sitting beside Ciri with her blanket pulled around her, stabbing the fire randomly with a stick. She looked at Ciri, expecting some degree of an answer, but the girl continued to stare into the glowing embers. "You know you talk in your sleep."
Ciri looked up, setting her gaze on Arya as the flames made the red coloration of her scar stand out. "About what?"
"Something about elves," Arya smirked but quickly schooled her expression as Ciri's fell, obviously not amused. Thinking quickly the young Stark spoke in a warmer tone. "And someone named Geralt and Yennefer...people you know?"
A sudden influx of vague memories caused Ciri to rub her temple, closing her eyes at the feeling of a mild migraine. She saw images of the same white haired man from her dreams. This time picking her up and swinging her around. A dark haired woman laughed at them. 'A childhood memory. Was she theirs?'
Letting out a groan, she sent Arya a smile, shaking her head. "Maybe...I don't know."
"We can always talk about something else," Arya said warmly, huddling her blanket closer.
"No, it's fine...I just," Ciri paused and looked into the fire.
Truth be told. Ciri intrigued the Stark girl. In the fortnight they had travelled together the not-Targaryen had revealed little about herself. Only that she had spent most of her life walking the earth, though where, she did not tell. Nor did Ciri reveal how she learned to fight. Just that it was something she had picked up during her travels and that where she came from, learning to fight was essential.
And fight! That was something Ciri was definitely good at. Arya still remembered how they liberated an inn from a couple of Lannister thugs lead by Polliver, the man who took Needle, the only keepsake of her family. They had entered the inn as Ciri took care of the horses and had tried to act civilized despite watching them belittle the innkeeper and molest his daughter. It only went downhill from there as Polliver recognized the Hound and sat down with them to make smalltalk. Attempting to convince the Hound to join them in their rampage across the Riverlands and just when the situation had reached its breaking point, Ciri walked in sword in hand and drove it through the man closest to the entrance.
They did good work on the rest and Arya managed to reclaim Needle and avenge Lommy. Despite their small victory and finally receiving a hot meal from the inn's grateful owners. Arya was still in awe at how Ciri had dispatched her opponents. She had never seen anyone move so fast. Killing men in such a brutal yet efficient manner as the ashen haired girl. She had used her sword, fists and legs, at one point even leaving her sword in the gut of one man and went to town on the rest. Using only her dagger and agility. Nonetheless it left both her and the Hound sorely lacking for words as they looted whatever coin the dead men had. Ciri had given her share to the innkeeper.
Some of Ciri's moves reminded Arya of the Braavosi Water Dance, but mixed with a flurry of styles she did not recognize. The Stark girl had quickly perished those thoughts. The memories of her old teacher still a painful reminder of her own impotence at protecting her family.
When they had turned in for the night and the Hound was sleeping like the dead. Arya had enquired about her style of fighting and Ciri had replied with words that the young girl had taken to heart.
"Everyone can learn how to fight, Arya. All it requires is knowing how to swing a stick or throw a rock," Ciri said as they shared some strips of dried meat. "But to be a warrior. That requires so much more."
"What's the difference?" Arya had asked.
Ciri had a wistful look on her face as she replied. "An old friend once told me that the line between fighter and warrior is a fine one indeed. One seeks battles and the other chooses. A soldier on the other hand, can be either of those and yet not."
Arya had listened with rapt attention while Ciri continued in a soft tone. It had been a long time since she had a conversation that did not contain stealth insults and veiled threats.
"To achieve greatness, one must be like water. Nothing can overcome water. It is soft and weak, yet strong and firm, it can cut the toughest of stone and move the tallest of mountains. It does not fight; it adapts. And that is the true weapon of a warrior; the ability to adapt.
"Remember Arya..." Ciri had said before they both prepared turned in for the night, pressing a finger against her heart. "The true master dwells within and only you can set it free."
Arya did not know what to think of Cirilla or Ciri as she preferred. Most times they would have long talks over campfire on a wide variety of topics, usually about the latter's adventures in distant lands that she would not reveal the location of. Other times her newfound friend remained silent, sometimes for ours on end. Just staring into the blue with a sad look in her eyes. As if she was hopelessly lost with no idea of where to go. And then, on a few occasions. Ciri would crack a joke and teach her some new moves and stances.
In the end, Arya felt eternally grateful to have someone beside Sandor Clegane as company and yet she could not help but feel incredibly jealous towards the girl. Ciri represented all she desired to be. She was strong, could fight and knew how to survive. If she had just been more like her, maybe she could have saved her family.
"Ciri...it's fine," Arya spoke again, a littler harsher to get her attention. Ciri looked at her and nodded. A simple 'hm' her only response.
They left their camp an hour later. The Hound and Arya riding in front with a silent Ciri behind. Eyes taking in the dreary surroundings that made up the Riverlands.
Plane of Oblivion
The Court of Hircine was located in a world where Mother Earth reigned supreme. Here there were no cities, no people, no burgeoning industry to rot away the pure beauty and chaos of nature.
It was early autumn in Hircine's realm and the tree crowns painted a magnificent canvas of colors ranging from red to yellow and orange to green. The autumn leaves covering the forest floor made its soft expanses glow with a warm hue from the rays of the sun. The atmosphere thick with the songs of animals.
The throne room of the Huntsman of the Princes lay within a massive forest, located in a glen at its heart. Surrounded by white trees with the throne in the west and the entrance to the east.
Hircine's throne took the form a massive ivory hued tree that seemed to have grown around him. Its branches rising behind the Prince in a half circle. The Daedra sat firmly in his seat of power. His most trusted warriors standing in thick formation. Forming a single line of approach for any who wished an audience with the Prince.
His men were clad in black trousers with armored boots. Their upper bodies were bare and showed off grey skin with red ceremonial scars forming intricate patterns of each warriors prowess. Armored shoulder length gloves shielded their arms and on their head they wore helmets formed like a crow's beak. They wielded massive square shaped swords with a shorter curved one strapped to their backs. They were the Butcher Guard, Hircine's personal enforcers.
The Daedric Prince himself took the form of a tall elf, with hair the color of fresh fallen leaves, that fell to his shoulders and skin resembling wood stripped of its bark. He wore a lightly armored sand colored long coat with red lining. Black trousers adorned his legs and on his feet he wore brown leather boots. A crimson sash tightened around his waist. A crown adorned his head in the form of a circlet of tiny vines.
The Huntsman of the Princes sat leisurely in his throne. One hand on his chin and the other caressing the hilt of a thin slightly curved ebony blade. Contemplating the man who stood before him.
A tall wiry elf with grey skin, lank black hair and glowing red eyes. His armor was black, each plate looking like it had been bleached with acid and on each of his fingers stretched long claw like protrusions. He wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, only adding to his sinister presence and on his side hung a large longsword, the same color as the plate he wore. Its hilt and crossguard covered in what resembled bony tendrils.
He displayed no notion of fear in the face of the daedric prince and with good reason. He was the Black Hand of Eredin; Commander of the Dearg Ruadhri, King of Tir ná Lia and the Wild Hunt.
Hircine leaned forward, sending a scowl in the direction of the man who showed no sign of cowardice in his presence. "Tell me then Black Hand of Eredin...why should I the Huntsman of Princes, aid your king?"
The Black Hand's lips formed a nasty smile. He spoke in a soft raspy voice that gave off a scornful and offensive vibe. "The Sparrowhawk does not need your aid, Huntsman, it is you who need his." He motioned with his hand at his surroundings. "And this meeting. A simple courtesy."
Hircine immediately stopped fiddling with his sword and stood up, resting it on his shoulder. "You seem to forget, Black Hand! I am a prince of the daedra and I bow to no one. Least of all your king!" the Daedra hissed. "And if you had an inkling of who you are addressing. It should be your king, swearing fealty to me!"
The Black Hand placed his hands behind his back and tilted his head, his eyes glowing ominously. "My king is not in need of your forces to accomplish his goals, Prince. They would simply be...a welcome addition to his cause. However, if you will not cooperate..."
Hircine's hands tightened around his sword and his face turned to stone as the Black Hand reached from inside his cloak and pulled forth a burlap sack, dripping with blood. The metallic aroma of blood consuming the glen like a thick invisible fog. The blood itself seemed ready to ignite the very earth as it splashed onto the autumn leaves. The essence of pure undiluted power evaporating from it.
The Black Hand threw the sack before the Daedra's feet, sending blood flying and two heads tumbling out. Rolling till they stopped before the Prince's feet. Gaping upwards with lifeless eyes, locked in fear, shock and surprise. One head belonging to a once fierce and proud orsimer. Now humbled for eternity. The other was the green scaled skull of a dragon. Half rotting, with maggots infesting the eye sockets and chunks of flesh missing, allowing one a clear view of its inner maw.
"Behold the Great Abyss!" The Black Hand boasted majestically, arms stretched out in a show of superiority. "For they are gazing upon it."
Hircine's face was stoic as he looked down upon the lifeless heads of his fellow kin. Long had the immortals of Mundus believed themselves untouchable by the hand of death. That all changed with the Dragon Crisis of Nirn's Fourth Era.
The Dovahkiin's victory against Alduin had caused tears to appear in the veil shielding Aetherius from the magicka that binds the multiverse together. Its realms opened for outside powers. Its walls exposed to creatures far older than aedra and daedra alike. Beings capable of making gods bleed.
It is not known how these extra-dimensional beings are capable of dispatching gods, but it is speculated by the mages of Cyrodiil that the supernatural energies that consume them as they travel the cosmos. Grants them indomitable powers. Fortunately for the inhabitants of Mundus. Their realms possessed little of interest for outside parties. Until now that is, when the Lion Cub of Cintra came in contact with the Old Gods.
The Huntsman of Princes set his gaze upon the hooded elf before him, eyes cold as steel. "If you believe showing me the heads of my brethren will make me bow! Then you are sorely mistaken!" Hircine spat before the boots of his unwelcome guest.
"If you shan't cooperate, Prince!" the Black Hand mocked with a gleeful tone, as if all that had happened was according to plan, "then you are merely an obstacle in the eyes of my king...and will perish like those before you!"
Hircine let out a short chuckle and pulled his blade from its scabbard, throwing the latter away. "You arrogance blinds you, Black Hand. Malacath and Peryite were fools...you will find me...a quite more formidable foe."
The Black Hand's red eyes seemed to pulse for a second. Holding his head high he replied calmly. "Do you know what awaits an immortal upon death, Hircine?" receiving no reply, he continued, "Your soul does not venture to the great beyond, but lingers in the magic coursing through the astral planes. A simple fleck of dust in the vastness of the cosmos. Insignificant."
"So you welcome death in the name of your king?" Hircine chuckled, resting his blade against his shoulder.
"I don't welcome death, Prince," the Black Hand boasted, "I bring it!"
The Daedra's personal guard all turned towards the Black Hand. Crossing their massive blades. Barring the way towards their prince. The Elf cracked a smile, grabbed his scabbard and drew his blade in one smooth movement. Felling the two closest guards. Before the others had time to react, he grabbed the blade with his left hand and thrust it into the throat of his next victim. He pulled it out and held it stretched out beside himself.
"Kill him!" Hircine bellowed, aiming his sword directly at the hooded elf.
The Black Hand sidestepped as one dremora charged him, bringing its massive blade downwards. As it lodged into the ground, the Black Hand laid the flat end of his blade upon it and drove it upwards. Cutting both his opponents arms off before slicing his upper body open.
Leaning back he avoided a sideways slash from another guard. He spun his sword around and thrust it firmly into the stomach of the soldier behind him. Twisting his upper body as a sword raced towards him. Avoiding it as it split the previous guard's head in two. The Black Hand kneed the man in the sternum and grabbed the sword strapped to his back as he keeled over. Using it to deflect a blow from another opponent, redirecting it and driving it into the previous guard before moving on. Using each new opponents swords against each other. Cutting a bloody path towards the daedric prince. Until only the Prince and two of his Butcher Guard were left.
Hircine gritted his teeth and positioned his blade before himself. "You have some skill. I give you that."
The Black Hand grinned, twirling two of the fallen guards' ebony blades in his hands. The last two guards raised their blades and swung at him as he charged. He spun his swords around, holding them in reverse and leaned back. Sliding beneath the massive blades racing horizontally at him. Bringing both blades upwards as he passed beneath them. He came up with a roar as the dremora fell. Flipping both swords around as he neared Hircine. Blades crossed like a scissor.
The Daedra brought his sword down. Locking blades with the Black Hand. "You seem to have run out of executioners. Prince!"
"You haven't defeated me yet!" Hircine spat, adding pressure to his sword and pushed it down. Almost nicking the Elf.
The Black Hand pulled back and swung his swords at Hircine, forcing the prince to block and move backwards as the Elf swung his blades in arcs around him.
The Elf made a jab, holding both hands close, blades parallel to each other. Locking Hircine's sword between them. He twisted his wrists and spun around, wresting the hilt out of the Daedra's hand and brought his own sword across his throat in one swift move. Hircine grabbed his neck to stop the arterial spray of blood.
Having discarded the Prince's sword. The Black Hand used the distraction to his advantaged. Bringing both his blades down to bear upon the Daedra's shoulders. Hircine let out a roar. Grabbing both blades, trying to push them away as they ground into his bones. The Elf cracked a nasty smile and pulled both swords back, kicking the Daedra hard in the lower abdomen as he winced from the pain.
Hircine flew backwards and crashed into his throne, discombobulated. The Black Hand was fast and had already moved close, flipping both his blades around, raised high above his head, letting out a battle cry as he brought them down on the Daedra. Hircine let out a pained grunt as the blades pierced through his heart and impaled him upon his throne.
The Black Hand turned his back to the Prince, walking calmly among the carnage he had caused to retrieve his longsword. Hircine harked up blood, as he tried to wrest out the swords skewering him.
Hircine's breathing was ragged as he addressed the Black Hand. "You think this is over...I am but one out of many...my brothers will avenge me!"
Having regained his sword the Black Hand strode towards the Father of Manbeasts. He kneeled before the Prince, his head crooked, red eyes staring intently as the life slowly vanished from Hircine's face. He placed a gentle hand on the Daedra's head, almost caressing it. Resting the edge of his sword against his victim's throat.
"Do you feel it, Prince?" the Black Hand whispered gently, "mortality?"
Hircine spat out a torrent of blood in response. His last moment of spite as the Black Hand smirked and slowly dragged his blade across the Daedra's throat. Tarnishing both of their attires in dark blood.
"Your soul will assist the coming of my lord..." the Black Hand spoke, rising as the Daedric Prince drowned in his own blood.
Hircine slumped down in his throne, head lolling back as he took his last breath. Eyes going lifeless as his body slowly turned to white stone. The Black Hand wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. Letting out a short laugh as he turned around, leaving the former realm of Hircine while it burned around him. Smoke and ash filling the air.
Westeros
Riverlands
Ciri had gone hunting, preferring a moment of peace and quiet away from the constant bickering of Sandor and Arya. They had run into a kind farmer and his daughter Sally, who had offered them shelter for the night and a hot meal. A welcome change to the mutilated corpses, remains of slaughtered animals and houses burned to the ground, that was all they had seen for quite some time.
She silently cursed the Hound as she inspected her dagger's blade. The brute had eaten the last of their provisions in one sitting, as if the thought of rationing was lost on him. Fortunately, the Cintran had noticed telltale signs of wildlife in the forest nearby and had put it upon herself to repay their kind samaritans by acquiring tonights dinner. Since neither Arya or Sandor knew anything about hunting. A clear sign that they were not the common plebeians they claimed to be. Even the most clueless of farmers at least knew how to make a snare.
Out of habit Ciri adjusted the baldric holding her sword. She had strayed from the road and was moving slowly through the undergrowth. Following the trail of what appeared to be a caribou or something hunting one. Twisted twigs and depressions in the soft earth led her further into the dank forest. She walked calmly among the trees, careful not to alert the wildlife of her approach.
"This is hopeless...what am I supposed to do?" Ciri thought to herself. She had quickly deduced that Sanguine and Sheogorath did not send her on a so called 'grand adventure' out of altruistic feelings for her. No. There had to be some greater motive in sending her to this Westeros. There had to be. They were daedra after all.
Ciri froze, putting an abrupt stop to her musings. She could hear panting in the distance. Interspersed with the occasional whimper. Moving towards the sounds, she could make out the gnashing of teeth. Whatever animal it could be it was likely a carnivore. Ciri pushed her way through a couple of bushes and came to a sudden stop. Taking a few steps back.
In the small clearing, near a massive tree, stood a wolf of monstrous proportions. The size of a full grown stag. It snarled at Ciri who held her hands before herself, trying to show the beast that she meant it no harm. Looking closer she could see that its left front paw was tangled up in a piece of string. Most likely a snare set up for catching bushmeat. The string was tight across the limb and had dug itself into the flesh. Coloring its grey fur red.
"Hey..." Ciri breathed out. She assumed a crouched position and moved towards the beast slowly. "What happened to you?"
The wolf let out a bark as Ciri approached, making her stop. Scrutinizing her with its golden eyes. Teeth bared as it growled at her. Instead of being intimidated, the woman cracked a scolding smile and wagged her finger.
"You stepped on a snare didn't you?" Ciri reprimanded, taking a small step forward. The wolf let out a whine in response and began to gnaw at the string around its paw.
"Easy, take it easy..." Ciri said with a slightly shaky voice. She was close enough to almost touch the wolf. Making sure not to make any sudden moves she motioned her right hand closer. The wolf could easily take off her head if it decided she was a threat.
It growled once more and turned its giant head towards her. Yet seemed to stop as they came face to face. Ciri let out a soft laugh as it sniffed at her. Making a grimace when it ran its large tongue across her cheek.
She put a hand on top of its head, gently pushing it away, enabling her to focus on removing the noose around its paw. Either she was just that good with animals or it was much more clever than the average wildlife.
She took hold of the snared paw with her left hand and raised it softly. The forepaw itself was large enough to fill her hand and Ciri could easily imagine the damage its claws could do. The wolf licked her hands as she untwined the snare.
"Be still, it will be over in just a moment," Ciri assured, earning a few guttural sounds in response as she slid the string off its paw. "There we go. Nasty thing."
Laying the snare aside she took hold of the giant wolf's paw once again with hand. Caressing the injured paw with the other. Whispering a small incantation. The Cintran willed forth the small reserve of magic she had left. Mending the wounded limb.
Ciri smiled and patted it on the head. "There, good as new," she gave it a scratch behind the ears and stood up, "now get out of here."
The wolf let out a happy bark and Ciri almost feared that it would jump her in excitement. Instead it turned around and stalked towards the end of the clearing. However, just before it disappeared. The wolf turned its head around and looked Ciri in the eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, but she was almost sure that it bowed its head at her before disappearing into the foliage.
"Funny..." Ciri mumbled, picking up the discarded snare and turned around. Once again on the prowl for prey and hopefully her catch would be substantial enough for Sandor to not eat it all. Even the smallest act of kindness could rekindle the fire of life in a world consumed by darkness.
Plane Of Oblivion
Azura's realm of Moonshadow is a world of such beauty that it is beyond compare. Bathed in eternal moonlight, the twilight realm is one of rolling hills, silver cities and breathtaking vistas of waterfalls, flowers and majestic forests where the wind and the rain creates a pleasant atmosphere and all things radiate warmth and color.
The Prince of Dusk and Dawn herself resides in a grandiose palace of white stone and roses. Situated on a mountaintop and rising high in the night's sky. At its peak, is an elliptical amphitheater built of concrete and from it stands a circular tower - the personal quarters of Azura, reserved only for her and those she either trusts or hold dear.
From the uppermost floor, one can behold all of Moonshadow, from the nebula that surrounds it, to the horizon where the oceans cascade down its sides. The interior itself is large and rotund, surrounded by tall pillars holding up the domed ceiling and the different floors that hugged the walls. A circle at its center allowed the starlight to brighten up the rotunda. Tiles of many colors and patterns made up the floor that was strewn with rose petals. Beautiful vines snaked their way across the walls.
In the middle of the rotunda stood an elaborate round table decorated with gold and silver, depicting each of the daedric princes. A lush chandelier of ever burning candles hovered in the air above and extravagant chairs circled it. With only four of them occupied. One by a sleeping Clavicus Vile, who had taken the appearance of a sharp dressed man in green with slicked back shoulder length black hair, a sharp face and pine green eyes. Another by Meridia who was contemplating a glowing sphere in her hand and the last two were seized by Sanguine and Sheogorath who were deep in discussion.
"So they're like wolves but dire?" Sanguine questioned as she examined the stuffed head of a direwolf.
"Exactly, just like dire bears and dire coats, which you can make from both those beasts," Sheogorath exclaimed with a proud look on his face.
"Where exactly did you get this, not from Hircine right? He would pucker pinkie tight."
"Nah, I found it in a Westerosi river," Sheogorath waved his hand, "attached to the body of a grown man. A terrible waste of a dead body if you ask me, but I digress. I got a nice mantelpiece out of it."
Their banter was subsequently interrupted by the appearance of Azura and Nocturnal, when the latter slammed the huge doors to the rotunda open. Allowing all its occupants to catch the heated words between the twins.
"Accept the truth Nocturnal!" Azura snapped, pointing a finger at the aforementioned. She had changed her appearance to a lithe woman with golden hair, dressed in a delicate white gown with a braided silver circlet resting on her head. "Your champion has failed."
Nocturnal looked identical to Azura's in all but a few exceptions. Her hair was dark as a raven's with eyes the color of amethysts and she wore a violet robe with gold and silver embroidery that left nothing to the imagination. Showing both plenty of leg and ample cleavage.
The Night Mistress batted Azura's accusing hand away. "I did not agree with this plan to begin with dear sister! I for one do not put my faith solely in the hands of just one mortal."
Azura let out a scathing laugh and crossed her arms. "Wise words and what have they given you? Brandon Stark and his friends are dead and may I remind you, that they, unlike Ciri, had no experience in fighting draugr."
"And a complete bore to boot, if I might say so," Clavicus Vile interrupted the two, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"That reminds me of an old saying," Sheogorath added while rolling his monocle between his fingers, "the only good Stark is a dead Stark. Which amusingly rhymes with Ned Stark, but doesn't apply to a certain Tony Stark."
"Wait, who?" Sanguine raised an eyebrow, shook her head and helped herself to the lavish food and drink on the table.
"Why may I ask is this Brandon dead?" Clavicus enquired, picking a green apple from the fruit bowl.
"Because you lot thought it a good idea to fuel that world with Ciri's inert magic!" Nocturnal snapped at the others. "Which of course allowed our siblings to expand their influence!"
"Siblings. Friends. Let's be civil," Meridia interrupted, having extinguished the globe of light in her hand, "and take a seat. Nocturnal, Azura."
The twins sent each other a glare before taking their respective seats at the table. Azura between Clavicus and Sheogorath. Nocturnal adjacent to her with Sanguine and Meridia at her flanks.
Azura took a breath, straightened her hair and contemplated each of her siblings, she cleared her throat and stood up, hands resting on the table.
"Brothers. Sisters. I have called you here for this unprecedented gathering because we face an unprecedented danger. Numerous of our brethren have fallen to an enemy calling himself Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt. An enemy we don't yet, fully understand," Azura paused, allowing the information to sink in. "We do know he is powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. Powerful enough to defeat even Malacath - our finest warrior."
Sheogorath was the first to break the silent contemplation of the others who were taking in Azura's words. Even after a century, the knowledge they had on the Wild Hunt was largely superficial.
"I suppose that's one less invitation for family gatherings," the Prince of Madness commented with a hint of sadness.
"You best add two more, Sheogorath," a calm voice spoke from the entrance. Making all turn toward its owner.
A lanky, plain-looking young man with short brown hair and eyes bereft of color. His sclera and iris each a different shade of black. He was wearing a brown coat, blue pants and black boots. In his left arm he carried a large tome bound in leather. What surprised all in the room though was not his sudden arrival but his appearance.
He was known by many names; The Outsider, the Scryer of Fate, the Keeper of Knowledge, but for the ones gathered around the table he was known simply as...
"Well, well, well...Hermaeus Mora," Nocturnal sniggered as she regarded the notoriously reclusive Daedric Prince.
"Fancy seeing you here," Sanguine commented, amusement clear on her face, "though I must say, you appear a bit overdressed."
"This form is useful...from time to time," Hermaeus Mora replied nonchalantly, pushing aside a vacant chair between Azura and Clavicus. Setting his tome down with a thud.
"What were you inferring to earlier, Mora?" Meridia asked.
"Peryite and Hircine," Mora stated with disinterest, as if the murder of his brothers meant as much to him as a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid.
"How?"
"Killed by one of the Wild Hunt's Black Captains," addressed Mora to the others, "and as we speak their realms are in turmoil as lesser daedra fight for whatever vestige of power they can cling to."
"What do you mean by Black Captains?" Nocturnal asked, reclining in her chair.
Hermaeus Mora looked a them all, his expression unchanging. "There is so much you do not know, so much knowledge lost forever. You think you know the Wild Hunt, but all you know is the danger it poses . You think you know Cirilla. Your little pawn in this grand game..." Mora continued, speaking with a calm disinterested tone, "truth is...you have only scratched the surface."
Clavicus smirked, crossed his legs and took a bite of his apple. "And let me guess, you're here to enlighten us?"
"You could say that. Clavicus," Mora replied and opened the tome before him. He pushed it towards the table's middle and began moving his hands. The room darkened as shadows and stars swirled around the daedra. Light consumed the tome and from it Mora envisioned his tale.
"You might believe the Wild Hunt a new phenomenon threatening Mundus. Truth is...it has been here before," Mora paused as the others waited with baited breath. "To understand, we must go back in time, to eons past. To a time where the world of Westeros and Essos and the one of Nirn, were one and the same. The people of Westeros call it the Age of Heroes. The people of Nirn call it the Merethic Era. A time where myths were born and legends forged."
"That's impossible, we would remember," Azura interrupted.
"You do not remember," Mora continued, "for the concept of Daedric Princes or the Divines did not yet exist."
"You mentioned something about, 'one and the same'?" Meridia cut in, looking upon the illustrations that Mora had summoned forth. Her flame-like hair lighting up her face.
"I did indeed. You see, brothers and sisters. During the Mythic Era. Nirn and the world that holds the lands of Westeros, Essos, Sothoryos and Ulthos were but two sides of the same coin. Separated by ocean and mountain range. It was an age of wonders, where magic ruled supreme and interchangeable was the idea of aedra and daedra. Alas it was not to last."
"The Wild Hunt, Eredin the Sparrowhawk?" Nocturnal quizzed, pointing a finger at Hermaeus.
"What exactly is the Wild Hunt?" Sanguine spoke up.
"If you didn't already know, why partake in this?" Clavicus directed at the sultry brunette.
Sanguine cleared her throat and straightened her back. "My sphere of influence does cover gatherings, Clavicus. So when all of you converge for some secret soirée, I feel left out."
"Seems peer pressure is also within your influence," Sheogorath whispered sideways.
"Laugh it up," Sanguine replied, slumping back in her seat.
"Children, are you done?" Meridia directed at them all with an abrasive tone, guiding them back on topic. "Good. Mora, continue."
"As we found out decades ago. Mundus is but a part of the multiverse. To understand, I must regale its creation," Mora moved his hands together, intertwining his fingers. a small ball of light appeared within a hollow cyan sphere.
"In the beginning there was the Void. An infinite expanse untouched by time, where the source of magic flows free. Then bang," Mora pulled his hands apart, palms open, all fingers extended and the small ball of light exploded into numerous galaxies. "We do not know how, but the magic escaped the Void, giving birth to the endless expanding existence of time, space and matter that we call the Multiverse. The Unicorns and the Aen Elle were among its firstborn and the forebears of all born from or with magic. The first of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Cirilla too is part Tuatha and her homeworld very old."
"Ah! Unicorns, bah!" Sheogorath spat and slammed a clenched fist on the table. "In all of my travels, I have encountered many a beast both mythical and magical, including the noble unicorn. A proud creature, quite majestic to behold I might say, but beware! They are not as innocent as they would have you believe. I once had a unicorn cheat me out of a thousand Septims! Tricked me to invest in his real estate business. Well, I'll never see that money again! Fool me once, shame on you indeed!"
"Thank you," Azura replied, her lips pressed into a firm line, "for that sound piece of advice."
"You mentioned Aen Elle, Mora?" Meridia raised an eyebrow, resting her chin in her hand.
Hermaeus moved his hands in small circles and continued. "Eredin Bréacc Glas, known to the unicorns as the Sparrrowhawk, is the current King of the Aen Elle and commander of its mighty cavalry; the Dearg Ruadhri."
Clavicus discarded his apple and mumbled with his mouth full. "And what exactly are these Aen Elle?"
"Powerful elves who together with the unicorns hail from Tír na nÓg, the Heart of the Multiverse, which they rule from their capital, Tir ná Lia. The pinnacle of elven high culture, they know not shame nor pity, have never suffered persecution, or endured massacres at the hands of those not their kind. They are invaders. Conquerors. Oppressors."
"Basically a Thalmor's wet dream?" Sanguine remarked with humor in the her eyes.
"Wait just a second," Clavicus raised his voice together with an open hand. "If they're elves, why do they look like humanoid abominations?"
"The Aen Elle and the Unicorns once had a mighty alliance and together they unraveled the mystery that is the Gate of the Worlds; allowing them to traverse space and time. For a time the alliance flourished," Mora made a pause, "but like all great power, some wanted it for good others for evil. And so came the war...between the unicorns who fought for freedom and the elves that dreamt of tyranny. Overmatched and outnumbered, defeat was all but certain, but in the wars final days, the unicorns in a last act of defiance, managed to cut off the elves connection to the Gate of the Worlds. And scattered across the galaxies."
"Obviously it didn't work."
"On the contrary it worked splendidly. The unicorns are firstborn of the Tuatha after all. Alas, the nature of magic dictates that there is always a way," Mora spoke melancholy. The others looked at him in silence only broken by the occasional shuffling of glassware. "In time the Aen Elle found alternative means to traverse the cosmos once again. The method is far from perfect, as they must wreathe themselves in powerful magic to project their presence across the astral planes, and in the process they become twisted abominations of their true self. Yet without the Gate of the Worlds, they can't unleash their might upon us all."
"Chaotic magic has a way of wreaking havoc on reality and drive the weak insane," Clavicus mused, stroking his chin, "no wonder why the Hunt is seen as a bad omen."
"King of the Hunt! Wild Hunt! The Hunt! Cunts!" Sanguine exclaimed, impatience evident on her face, "PLEASE, HERMY! For the love of...JUST TELL US WHAT THEY ARE?!"
"Since you seem so impatient, dear sister, I shall...as you say...cut to the chase," Hermaeus Mora replied dryly, earning stifled chuckles form the others.
"The Dearg Ruadhri, the Red Riders or Red Horsemen. Better known as the Wild Hunt is the cavalry of the Aen Elle and their mighty empire. The elves should have been content. Lived long and prospered. But like all touched by power, they want more. More land. More people. Loyal and subservient to their rule."
"It is said that the Hunters take the souls of those they leave in their wake," Azura pondered, "Could explain the tales of fallen warriors being taken by spirits."
"Could it be that the souls fuel their society?" Nocturnal added.
"Or that they are taken as slaves for the Aen Elle," Clavicus stated, picking a new piece of fruit.
"Hermaeus, what did you mean with the Wild Hunt having been here before?" Meridia prodded, bringing the conversation back to the earlier mention of the elves having been to Mundus
The Prince of Knowledge nodded and made fine, small motions with his fingers, changing the images projected from his tome. "It is said that the Wild Hunt's approach is forewarned by a crimson comet tearing past the skies and the coming of a winter without end. Darkness covers the lands and from the heavens descends a cavalcade of horsemen, racing across the skies on mounts snorting fire. Hunting the living to serve the dead and at its vanguard rides a pale horse. And the man that sits on him is Death. And Hell follows with him."
"That sounds..." Sanguine paused for a lack of better words, "creepy...creepy enough to inspire legends and prophecies."
"Ghost riders in the sky," Clavicus let out a laugh, "ought to freak people out,"
"The image of someone mounting the world is certainly...disturbing," Sheogorath cackled, waving his hands beside his head.
"So the Wild Hunt came to Mundus and then?" Nocturnal enquired, shaking her head at Sheogorath.
"You must forgive me. The information regarding the subject is scarce and biased to say it mildly. Still, I did manage to scrounge something of value." Hermaeus informed, moving his right arm in an arch to bring forth a planet with three moons, "A red comet came to pass. Summer gave way to winter but spring never came. Clouds of ash blotted out the skies and the moons obscured the sun in a great eclipse. Ushering forth a night without end."
"We had three moons then, interesting," Meridia observed.
"There was little else, but the Wild Hunt ravaged our ancient world for decades, until..." Mora made a dramatic pause, "a hero arose blessed by light. Uniting man and mer to fight against the spectral cavalcade. They succeeded, but at great cost, and our ancient world was torn asunder. Leaving Nirn with a forgotten sister and the former soaking up the magic of the Void before it could reach the latter. Until now...that is, both because of Ciri's presence and the resurgence of dragons."
"Perhaps a precursor to the Dragonborn..." Meridia considered.
"Hold on," Azura questioned, "If that world and ours are related, how come we've not been able to influence it?"
"We do influence it, dear sister," Mora told her, "there is considerable overlap between our two worlds. Some events that happen on Nirn, create ripples in time, and influence its sister. The Oblivion Crisis and the Doom of Valyria, is such an example. Just as the emergence of Alduin has awakened their dragons. It is this spatial disruption that causes its eccentric seasons.
"Are there mer on Westeros and Essos?" Sheogorath spoke up for the first time in a while, "would be a shame if there wasn't."
"There was, but not anymore," Hermaeus informed, "the dividing of ancient Nirn displaced large swathes of ancient mer and with time, interbreeding among the larger human population caused their extinction. Some enclaves could theoretically exist in uncharted regions."
"That is just sad," Sheogorath said with mock hurt.
"We only learned about the new world and the multiverse when Alduin fell," Meridia said next, "yet, why haven't we been able to travel freely between the two, until now?
"Oh, some of our siblings have been on that world for years already."
"WHAT!" all the princes exclaimed flabbergasted by this new information.
"Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Boethiah, Namira, Vaermina and Mephala," Mora recited, "all of them have toyed with the mortals of Westeros and Essos for decades. Mephala especially."
"How?" Azura asked, being the first to have calmed down.
"Through small cracks hidden in the Veil between our worlds and their spheres of influence were already well established to begin with. That world is much more backwards than ours and has not truly felt the touch of magic. Some have even managed to establish churches of faith in their name."
"Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow!" Meridia said with considerable bile, "those titles belong to me!"
"Well they do call him the Red God and isn't fire associated with destruction?" Sanguine teased. Earning a glare from her flame haired sister.
"Sanctuary, guidance and life, that is what fire is and what I represent, Sanguine! It only destroys when handled by fools!" Meridia corrected, pointing a finger at the haughty Prince, "and fools are what Dagon has made out of followers rightly mine."
"Peace, Meridia. Sanguine is just her usual self," Nocturnal intervened, "Mora, when you arrived. You mentioned something about a Black Captain killing our three brothers?"
Hermaeus nodded and brought up the illustrations of three individuals clad in black armor, their faces covered in shadow. "The Black Captains of the Wild Hunt answers only to Eredin and he has bestowed upon them his cruelty, malice and will to dominate all life. Do not underestimate them, my friends."
"It just gets better and better," Clavicus commented, spitting out some grape seed.
"Yes unfortunately, Clavicus," Mora said coldly, "Dagon, Bal and Namira have sworn fealty to the Sparrowhawk."
"WHY DO YOU TELL US THIS NOW?!" Azura raged, pushing back her chair and slammed both her hands onto the table, knuckles first. "YOU SHOULD'VE INFORMED US IMMEDIATELY!"
"It was not brought up," Hermaeus answered bluntly, earning a disgusted groan from the others.
Nocturnal eyeballed the ceiling and shook her head. "Why would they throw in their lot with someone like Eredin?"
"If you can't beat them, join them," Clavicus answered, lips pulled into a sardonic smile, "those three have always been yellow bastards."
"Cowards or opportunists, it matters not. Eredin leads them and that means they are a threat," Hermaeus cut in, sweeping his hand across one of the captains.
Bringing forth the image of a tall imposing man with skin white as chalk and pale blue eyes. His face covered in scars with an exceptionally nasty one running from below his left eye, across his mouth and to his chin. His helmet and armor was equally large and imposing. Black and acid etched. Decorated with what could only be described as white bony protrusions. In his hand he held a nightmarish mace with skeletal figures surrounding the head.
"Mehrunes Dagon, now the Hammer of Eredin, representing his lust for power."
Hermaeus made Dagon disappear and brought forth what could only be described as a lord of chaos. His appearance was large and towering. His head was bald and his eyes a piercing blue. His skin a pale deathly gray and his lips appeared to have rotted away, making his lower jaw look outright necrotic. Fixed to his lower face was a metal apparatus preventing his mouth from fully closing, leaving him with a grotesque rictus. His armor seemed fused to his body, increasingly intersecting with his skin, steel plates digging into flesh, only adding to his terrifying appearance. In addition, four sword-like protrusions extended from his back in a fan pattern.
"Are you all right?" Sheogorath asked as Sanguine gagged.
Sanguine held up a hand. "I'm fine, I just threw up in my mouth a little."
"The Tower, formerly Molag Bal, he now stands for Eredin's malice," Hermaeus explained as Sanguine chugged down a bottle of wine. "They are locked in the forms they now possess. Twisted personifications of what they stand for."
"And the last one?" Azura asked.
"Eredin's deceit; the Black Hand," Mora sighed, discarding the image of the Tower, "As for more. I don't know, beside what I've told you, I simply don't know..."
The others were stunned, not even Sanguine had a reply ready for this. Rare were the times when the Keeper of Knowledge knew nothing. Usually the others would find such times highly amusing. However this was not. They were facing an enemy that could destroy them and their only hope was Azura's faith in a girl most of them barely knew.
"The Aen Elle bleed like all of us, right?" Clavicus raised his voice, "that must mean they can be killed."
Hermaeus Mora sighed, "You cannot kill a wraith, only banish it, and as it stands, that is what the Aen Elle are when they project themselves to other worlds."
"So it's all for nothing...we are truly lost?" Sanguine slumped down in her seat, seemingly to wallow in self pity.
"Not exactly," Azura exclaimed as Hermaeus closed his tome, returning the room to its natural illumination. "We still have our trump card, Ciri!"
"And what exactly do we know about Ciri, huh!?" Sanguine shot up in her seat, "Nothing! Sure Sheogorath and I might be her 'friends' saying it mildly, but may I remind you that she has amnesia. That means she doesn't remember anything and for all we know, Clavicus robbed her of whatever magic she had!"
"Sanguine," Clavicus said warmly, trying to reassure her, "She doesn't have regular amnesia, but magical amnesia!"
"What does that even mean?"
Nocturnal made a disgusted noise. "It means that she can get her entire memory back, either through extreme emotional stress or a ritual containing powerful magic."
"We can inflict pain beyond comprehension, we have powerful magic, Nocturnal!" Sanguine half yelled, "I don't see that option on the table?"
"Two reasons, Sanguine. We need her to trust us and she must perform the ritual herself, out of her own free will," Hermaeus Mora said calmly, yet loud enough for all to hear, "such is the nature of magic."
Sanguine threw her hands in the air and sunk back. "That's just fucking grand!"
"Speaking of magic," Meridia interjected, changing the topic as Sheogorath poured Sanguine a stiff drink. "Sanguine does have a point. What's to say Clavicus did not drain her? Awakening rituals can drain a subject of magicka for days on end, and when done by daedra it can be much more...severe."
"She'll be at a disadvantage, yes, especially against an enemy like the Hunt," Clavicus replied, "t'was a necessary evil, if we wish to help her,"
Sanguine scoffed after taking emptying her glass. "Why exactly is Ciri this important, she's pretty yes, but beauty is a dime a dozen?"
"Elder blood," Azura stated smugly, as if she knew more than she had let on.
"Yes, what exactly is Elder blood, Sister?" Nocturnal hissed in her twin's direction.
Azura made a gesture at Hermaeus as the others leaned forward. "Care to elaborate?"
Mora ran a hand through his hair and finally sat down in his chair. "Hen Ichaer or Elder Blood, was a eugenics experiment initiated by the Aen Saevherne, elven mages, with the purpose of creating an extraordinarily gifted child whose power would exceed their own. However the war with the Unicorns put quite a damper to that course of action and only millennia later did Elder blood resurface, following a Conjunction of the Spheres. "
"Conjunction of the Spheres?" Nocturnal questioned, taking a swill of grape wine.
"A cosmic collision between two or more parallel universes," Mora explained calmly, "the havoc wreaked by such a cataclysmic event is...unimaginable, especially for those not accustomed to native magical creatures, but highly lucrative for monster slayers."
"And Ciri?"
The Keeper of Knowledge smirked vaguely. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon is the only living descendant of Lara Dorren, the last elven carrier of Elder blood, and it is she who is the Child of Prophecy or Destiny...the Elder language is amusing that way."
"What exactly is this Child of Prophecy?"
"The supposed messiah of Ciri's homeworld. Something about a 'Child of Elder Blood' offering salvation from an all encompassing ice age," Hermaeus replied with a scoff, "I put no stock in prophecy, too much is lost in translation and cultural bias."
Sanguine gestured towards Hermaeus. "Elder blood does what?"
"Carriers of Elder blood are marked by extraordinary abilities. Able to access the Gate of the Worlds and wield incredible magical powers. These talents are, however, wild and uncontrollable if not mastered, manifesting themselves in times of duress. Capable of flinging travelers far in time and space. It is volatile and extremely dangerous, both to others and oneself."
"You shouldn't play with fire, but we all do nonetheless," Sheogorath quipped, "so what made Ciri the belle of this proverbial...murder ball?"
"When Lara Dorren eloped with a human, the Aen Elle regarded Elder blood as a lost cause. Yet when its powers resurfaced in Ciri, many decades later, the Aen Elle decided to renege on their lost investment."
Azura replied with derision, "Still, from what you've told us, I don't believe the Aen Elle would accept a human. No matter the percentage of elven heritage."
"Ciri has been hunted her entire life because of the legacy bestowed upon her, both by elf and man," Hermaeus continued nonchalantly, "to the Aen Elle, the end always justify the means and it is with her progeny that they will once again harness the power to unlock the Gate of the Worlds and unleash their terror upon the cosmos."
The room remained silent for a minute as the weight behind Hermaeus Mora's words settled in each of the attendants minds.
Meridia was the first to speak. "So...what you're saying is that they want to use her as a their personal...broodmare?"
"Exactly," Hermaeus shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed by the knowledge.
"Well that is straight up Molag Bal's, ballpark," Sheogorath jested inappropriately, "ain't it?"
Sanguine shook her head. "No wonder she's on the run. Imagine a group of perverts from another world hunting you through time and space, because they want to impregnate you."
"So tell me Azura," Nocturnal spoke with derision after a considerable silence, "what is it that makes Ciri our 'trump card'?"
"Without the Gate of the Worlds the Aen Elle are unable to field their entire military might and must rely on their cavalry," Hermaeus held up a finger, "Ciri lost most of her powers with her memory, but if she were to regain them, she could defeat Eredin and become the sole wielder, aside from the Unicorns, of the Gate. Able to banish the Aen Elle and seal them within Tír na nÓg...if not permanently, then for eons long enough to feel like an eternity. However this is just a hypothesis on my part. Perchance to say, she might only need to cut the head off the snake in order to stop their charge."
"There is power laying dormant in our sister world. Hiding within the Lands of Shadow," Azura enunciated, grabbing the attention of the others, "whatever lies at its heart, could prove a useful tool against the Hunt."
"One does not simply walk into the Shadow Lands. It is a blackened wasteland. Riddled with fire, ash and dust. The very air is soaked with the taint of Oblivion and whatever evil roams there. Does not sleep," Clavicus scoffed, "We've only had little time to scout that world, but know this. Ciri will not survive without help and we cannot do that overtly, lest we attract the attention of our brethren."
"What about the Aedra?" Merida brought up, "the Wild Hunt threatens them too."
"Screw the Aedra!" Sanguine said with scorn, "they'd rather sit with their thumbs up their asses even in the face of armageddon."
"What about the Dragonborn?" Clavicus spoke up.
"Unavailable," Azura replied, "and I don't believe she would be happy if we bothered her."
"I believe we should look towards the people of Westeros and Essos," Meridia interjected, picking a grape from a tray, "they could prove useful allies."
"Or powerful enemies, have you all forgotten how she looks?" Nocturnal retorted, "Ciri will draw attention, mark my words, and that is the last any of us need, least of all her."
"You're referring to the Targaryens?" Azura asked, though her reply was interrupted by Hermaeus Mora.
"Hair of gold, white and silver is not solely a Targaryen trait. It's sufficiently common in Essos, Lys especially. Why anyone would suspect her of being a Targaryen and not just one of valyrian blood is beyond me."
"That is Essos you speak of, Hermaeus," Nocturnal replied, "I doubt few in Westeros would know or care to make the distinction. Targaryen resentment is still rampant in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Nonetheless, it could be used to her advantage," Azura added, "there are still Targaryen supporters on both continents.
Clavicus cleared his throat, preparing a counter. "True, but we can't exactly pass her off as a bastard of the Mad King Aerys. The Targaryen girl in Essos has a better claim and an army to boot."
"How many have actually seen Daenerys Targaryen outside her inner circle?" Azura questioned, giving all at the table a look, "if Ciri were to...replace her...she would gain access to resources that could further her cause."
"A coup d'état takes time," Hermaeus replied, shooting down the suggestion, "time we cannot afford. No, at the moment the 'Mother of Dragons' provides an ample distraction from prying eyes."
"I have no idea who those people are," Sanguine whispered to Sheogorath as the others continued to bicker.
"You didn't read your homework?" Sheogorath mumbled, shielding his mouth with a hand, "Clavicus sent it to us a week in advance."
"Have you met me?" Sanguine pretended to be hurt. "I don't even know the name of the Dragonborn."
"Ha, well that's easy, it's..."
"Rhaegar," Meridia spoke loudly, interrupting Sheogorath. "Rhaegar Targaryen!"
The Prince of Life and Infinite Energies cleared her throat and straightened her back. "Rhaegar Targaryen was the firstborn of King Aerys. "
Meridia waited for the others attention to settle on her and brought forth an intriguing point. "We could insinuate that she's a child of his, consummated before his death, she'd be around the right age by now. It would also mean that she has a better claim than Daenerys and of course open a few doors that would ensure her continued survival."
"How would that help her?" Nocturnal cut in, "what you're suggesting is that we spread the rumor that Ciri's the child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Have you forgotten what happened to the Starks just recently?"
"I don't believe it wise to draw unwanted attention. Ciri will face enough dangers as it is," Clavicus joined in, "furthermore it's only a matter of time till someone claims she's a Targaryen anyway."
"You make a fair point," Meridia ended with a curt nod.
"Concerning Ciri's awakening ritual," Sanguine held her hand up, as if she was an unsure student, "don't they require powerful ingredients, ingredients that don't exist in Westeros or Essos?"
"For Cirilla to regain her memory. She must be Baptized by Fire and Bound by Flame," Hermaeus explained, "at the heart of a place of power."
"And how exactly would she do that?"
Hermaeus looked at the others, his lips curling up in a vague smile. "Dragon blood, she must bathe in the blood of dragons and from it arise not the Lion Cub but the Lion of Cintra."
Sanguine groaned audibly. "And how exactly would she acquire dragon blood, it does not exactly grow on trees?"
"Daenerys Targaryen has dragons, three to be exact," Clavicus informed, "although obtaining their blood could prove quite the obstacle, even for someone as skilled as Ciri."
"She needs the heart of the strongest," Hermaeus continued, "or preferably all of them if she wants to be sure that the awakening is successful."
"How long has she been on the run?" Sanguine asked some time later. The meeting had been ongoing for almost two hours and weariness was evident on all but Hermaeus and Azura's faces.
"Elder blood allows access to the Gate of the Worlds and thus time flows differently for Ciri," Hermaeus responded, raising his head from his tome, "she was sixteen when she left her homeworld and though it has felt like years have passed since then, she has only been running for five to six years."
"Damn..." Sanguine murmured as she rose from her seat with the others. The meeting between the daedra having come to an end.
Azura stood leaning across the round table, resting on her fingertips, she sighed deeply as she took in its surface. It was a mess. Food and drink was scattered across the tabletop together with scrolls and tomes of varying size. Rubbing her eyes she set he graze upon a drawing of Ciri, the girl they had put their faith in.
"Dragon's huh," she spoke loudly as only Hermaeus remained, standing at the entrance, ready to close the doors and leave. "It seems like only yesterday when they awakened."
"Dragon's reappearing is hardly surprising Azura, they are like bees and magic their pollen." Hermaeus looked at his sister with his black eyes and gave her one of his rare smirks. "It is the Dawn of the Dragon Age and its songs are ones of ice and fire."
The Prince of Dusk and Dawn groaned in faux annoyance as her brother closed the entrance doors, leaving her alone to contemplate the group's next course of action. Some of their siblings were still neutral in the conflict and it was only a matter of time before they chose a side. Namira, Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon now served the King of the Wild Hunt. Was it part of some nefarious plan of theirs or were they truly under Eredin's thrall, Azura did not know. However, if what she had learned of the King was anywhere near the truth. She knew that he would gladly sacrifice any piece on the chessboard to take the queen.
This chapter is exposition heavy, I know, but it is done for the story to really begin with the next chapter. Though an update might take a while as I'll now focus on my story Force Rising. Witcher 3 is also on the horizon and that will take out good chunks of my spare time.
I based Hermaeus Mora on the Outsider from Dishonored. Azura on Galadriel and Clavicus Vile on Marvel Loki. Mehrunes Dagon and Molag Bal as you most likely have figured out are the Hammer and the Tower from Shadow of Mordor. Since the King of the Wild Hunt looks kind of like Sauron in Witcher 3, I found it fitting.
Many fanfics treat platinum blonde/silver-gold hair and purple eyes as if it is exclusive to the Targaryen. Even though there are numerous examples in the books of characters with similar features. It just means one has Valyrian ancestry. However it is unlikely many in Westeros know this, least of all Arya and the Hound
As for my plans concerning Ciri and the Targaryens? That is entirely depended on the series' inclusion of Young Griff. Either way I could've people believe Ciri to be either a bastard of Aerys II or Rhaegar, thus gaining the interest of anti and pro-Targaryen parties. Or she could be mistaken for a Dayne, though where's the fun in that.
If I could, right here and now, make a big budget adaptation of the Witcher franchise. My dream cast - purely based on looks - would be Luke Evans as Geralt, Eva Green as Yennefer, Orlando Bloom as Iorveth (watch Zulu/Cape Town Cops if you doubt his acting skills), John Rhys-Davies as Zoltan (LOTR reunion FTW) and Steve Valentine as Dandelion. Alexandra Daddario could be Ciri, for she is just flawless and her eyes are truly mesmerizing. As for the rest, I don't know, this was just for fun.