Hi, sorry that it's been awhile, I had a lot of schoolwork. I only own my original stuff; everything else is GRRM's and HBO's. I've changed a couple of things in the first chapter in terms of location; originally I was going to have Illyria in Essos but I'm finding it hard to find a place for it so I thought why not just create a new continent. So Illyria is now the dominant country of Rheos, south west of Westeros. Enjoy.

Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;

And, in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

- Henry IV Part II, William Shakespeare

The Sunset Sea was a great, seemingly unexplored ocean that lay to the west of Westeros. Many explorers had sailed into its vast waters searching for new lands, but save a few small-uninhabited islands west of the Iron Islands, nothing had been found, or at least none had returned home alive to speak of it. In fact, many believed that the Sunset Sea cannot be crossed and that it leads to the ends of the earth. However, some Ironborn claimed to have found more substantial land in the far west, though their talk fell mostly on deaf ears.

Yet those who did listen found themselves wondering how such a place could remain hidden for so long; a place of untold beauty and treasures, a kingdom of heaven.

This land of mystery was called Rheos by those who knew of it and it is here, in the great empire if Illyria, far to the west of the land of Westeros, that our story truly begins:

Illyria was many times the size of the neighbouring countries of Rheos, and its army seemed to always be either conquering more land or keeping down rebellions. However for almost decade now an uneasy, albeit generally peaceable, coexistence had been maintained. The Illyrian capital, Medeia, was a vast, walled metropolis built on an island in the delta of the great Naiad River in the southern part of Illyria. It was just two days ride north of the nearest town, Calorman, but several weeks ride from the more southern parts of Illyria.

Medeia was a hot and crowded place, with fine streets, magnificent palaces, and enchanting gardens. It was built on a natural slope, rising to the Royal palace and the great Temple of the Spirit, at the pinnacle of the hill. The palace was magnificent beyond description and opened onto gardens that ran right down to the river wall. This strong wall rose out of the water, surrounding the entire city and the entrance of which could only be reached by long bridges from both banks, providing the only place where crossing the Naiad River was possible for many miles. The banks of the river were lined with sweet smelling gardens and country houses where the rich and grand would dwell whilst the King was at court in Medeia.

Indeed, Illyria was a wealthy and profitable land, and thus by extension so was its King. In the many hundreds, if not thousands, of years that the Vasari's had ruled Illyria, they'd built many sumptuous palaces and villas across their great land, each generation adding to the collection. The Royal family would escape to their palaces in the north when the sweltering heat of the capital became too much, and the court would follow dutifully. Some were like colourful birds, hoping they might be granted more lands and titles in exchange for a pretty song or two, while others were more calculated in their cunning. Either way everyone at the Illyrian court had an agenda.


It was on a hot summers night in the capital, while ladies danced and lords drank spiced wine that the murmurings began. In the ten years that Claudio Vasari had been king his health had deteriorated hugely. The cause of his ailments were disputable; some would argue that years of fighting had taken its toll on the old warrior, yet there were those who would speak of justice, of penance for his sins and of a lost but not forgotten princess. The king had never been an openly religious man; he did not preach and pray like other men. Yet as of late he had become more pious in his following of The Devout Hand, the prevailing religion of Rheos, which followed five elemental deities. It appeared that old age and illness had changed something in the once harsh and unforgiving monarch. More often than not he would find no peace in sleep, instead of its sweet comfort he would be plagued with dreams, some mere delusions, others hideous truths.

The old king sat upon his gilded throne, his steely eyes clouded with guilty thoughts, as jewel toned dresses twirled around him, perfuming the room with the smell of Jasmine and Orange Blossom. During the early days of his rein, Claudio had conquered many of the lands surrounding Illyria, adding to the vast empire that he would one-day pass down to his son. What he wanted he took with steel and fire; he sacked and burned cities to the ground. He was not a kind man and was quick to anger when provoked. But that is not to say he did not love, for even the cruellest of men have a heart, however cold it may be. Above all else, Claudio loved his family, in particular his eldest son and heir, Prince Lysander.

Lysander was a fine young man, tall and strong with same fighting prowess as his father and ancestors before him. Although a proficient and brutal fighter, Lysander had an elegance about him that his father lacked; he was witty and charming with darkly handsome looks and piercing, cat-like eyes. Much the same could be said for his brother, though he tended to lurk in the shadows, away from the glare of the Illyrian court. Lysander suited the title of beloved prince but Cesare Vasari scorned it. He hid in the darkness and kept to himself but like his brother he was a glorious fighter, and was justly named The Black Prince due to his shadowlike movements on the battlefield.

So as his brother danced and his father sat on his thrown, Cesare stood where he felt most comfortable: the shadows. But do not mistake him for a shy, bashful man, as much can be benefitted from standing back and observing one's surroundings. Indeed, much can be learned from being out of sight in a room filled with secrets, you might just chance upon one. And that is precisely what happened to our prince:

"He means to bring her back to Medeia," whispered a rather portly lord dressed in robes the colour of polished jade. His face was a dark crimson from consuming too much wine and as a result his words were slow and slurred.

"Are you certain?" replied his friend, an older man, his face creased in contemplation. His eyes were fixed on the dancing figures; their dark iris' following the fluttering's of silk as if they were lovebirds released from their gilded cages ready to fly away into the hot summer night.

"Yes quite certain my friend; I overheard Indigo and Medici whispering last night about this latest development." The portly lord smiled smugly to himself relishing in sharing his gossip, unaware of the prince lurking in the darkness behind them.

"But surely this is not the king's doing! Why would he bring the girl back after ten years of exile in the North? What is the motive behind this request?" The older lord, whose name was Luca Domitus, tore his eyes from the dancers and looked at his friend with confusion.

"There are rumours that the king will not live long and that he seeks penance for his crimes against her family. What action his grace will take is still uncertain, perhaps he will set her up in one of his palaces with an impressive title." The portly lord's interest had begun to wane as he spied a servant boy carrying a tray of wine.

Domitus frowned and pondered this information for a moment; his wrinkled hand stroked his pointed beard in contemplation before he finally spoke; "Her presence will no doubt create tension, though it has been ten years since her exile and her parents death, the common folk still remember it well. I fear what effect she well have; many still harbour an alliance towards, her return may result in a rebellion."

His plump friend laughed, "You worry too much my old friend! What harm can a girl do to this kingdom, the king will most likely seek forgiveness to settle his soul and then she'll be married off to some lord and forgotten once more!" He slapped his friend on the back and downed the rest of his wine, "well now I'm going enjoy myself while the night is still young and I suggest you do the same!" He sauntered away, his eyes already trained on the unsuspecting cupbearer.

As the two lords dispersed into the crowds, Cesare stepped out of the shadows, his cat-like eyes surveying the dancing nobles before him. Cesare could feel a storm coming that was far greater than the mere arrival of Luciana Vasari. Something else was coming. Summer couldn't last forever.

Hope you like it :) Please review!