Sacred Duty, Divine Mission

Chapter 2

Arrival: of the Asur, of the Druchii

A pillar of pure white fire slams into the ground with a resounding BOOM. As the flare dies down and leaves only scorched blackened grass figures are formed from the light. Three are tall slender warriors of the Asur. Two are massive dragons. Another three are but horses of common descent, no need to anger Kurnous by endangering elven steeds. The party as all the supplies needed for an extended campaign; weapons, armor, clothes both common and noble, food, water, and other necessary supplies.

In the far north a multicolored portal forms in a deep chasm. The ice grinds and rends as it is reshaped to suit the taste of its new mistress. Crags form as a tower made of blacken ice rises. Runes made of blood are burned into the sides as thick walls cradle it protectively as the
daughter of the cold north slumbers her powers spent. A wave of darkness flows southward causing fear and panic to briefly fill the hearts of every living thing. It is as the Starks say, "Winter is Coming."

Leaving the shelter of the woods the three brothers take stock of their situation and mission from their god. "It seems that this land is called Westeros and is even more backward than the Empire," says Thelian with obvious disdain in his voice. "Still we have our commands find the dragon queen and help her regain her birthright to fight the coming darkness. Now the question is brothers where are we and where do we start?"

Hirveren answering his brother, "I'm guessing we are in the North based on the temperature and terrain if the knowledge given is correct. Then we should seek out Winterfell for that is their version of Tor Caled and the ruling family there should be able to house us. Depending on how much of our true origin we reveal."

"Very true brother,' says Rhaltas, "I think we should conceal our origins and our dragons. Thelian cast a glamour of concealment on the dragons." Turning to the great drakes, "Old friends stay hidden but be ready to aid us." Both dragons nod at his wish. "We will say we are from land far across the sea, the Kingdom of Caledor. After all the best lies contain parts of the truth in then. Now let us saddle up and find this Tor Winterfell." He says with a sly grin.

It took several days if not weeks of traveling they managed to find a group of hunters in one of the many patches of woods this land holds. After a brief conversation with the humans, Thelian initial assessment of their technological level rings true. The trio learned of the location of Winterfell and the identity of its ruler, Eddark Stark. It was still a far distance to travel. As they continue to travel through this frigid land Rhaltas grows jealous of his two brothers. They being mages easily block out the frigid wind and warm the air around themselves leaving him to shiver in the night air.


As the Asur party makes their way to Winterfell, Lord Eddard "Ned" Stark is taking his two sons Robb and Jon and his ward Theon Greyjoy out on a hunt for boar and deer. They have been out for a fortnight and have little to show for. "Come boys let's check the next valley, we'll stay for a few nights and if we don't get anything we head back. Cat is probably worried." Says Ned as the cold wind blows gently across the hills. A chorus of yes sir is mumbled from the three young men behind him. The four Northmen enter the valley and lay down a dozen snares and prepare a few hides and await warding off the cold with sips of wine as they sit around a small covered fire.

They have entered the same valley in a small tight column with Rhaltas at the head in full armor though heavy and intimidating it is better to be safe than sorry. His blessed spear in one hand and a lit torch in the other. Thelian rides behind weaving wards and detection spells to protect from any future ambush. Hirveren rides last with the words of a fireball ready to leave his lips. They already have encountered some of the local bandits and defeated them quickly and contemptuously. As they ride they come in range of the Stark camp, Thelian telling his brothers stop and decide to ride close by it making enough noise to attract attention. Hiding their ears, Rhaltas canters forward toward the smell of fire on the winds.

Jon who is standing watch here the horse approaching, griping his sword he quickly wakes the other three men with him. Grabbing a torch Nedd as the boys spread out with sword and bow at the ready. Calling out in a loud voice ringing with experience on the battlefield, "Whoever is out there approach my voice slowly. No need for any fighting." The sounds of the horse get louder and a torch is seen.

The sounds grow louder and the figure steps into the hazy flickering torch light. It is a man of a tall athletic build. He is clad in a fine silver armor with a medium length spear with a large leaf shape blade in his right hand and a torch in the left. A horn wrapped in gold bands with deep blue runes hangs at his side. He sits with an easy grace, an unnatural grace. Nedd squinting in the light can't make out any major features of the rider calls out, "Hello friend, where are you going armed and armored in such a manner?"

With what sounds like a faint laugh the rider answer in an arrogant and haughty tone that sets everyone on edge, "I don't think we are friends, for we have just met. As for my dress, well one could never be too careful for dark things like to stalk at night. As for my destination I'm heading to Tor Winterfell in search of its ruler. Besides "friend" I would like to know who I'm speaking with."

"What do you seek in Winterfell and with the Starks?" asks Nedd warily.

"You have not answered my question. If you consider us friends just making demands is not very friendly." Replies Rhaltas in a mocking tone that has a dangerous tilt to it. Everyone grips their weapons tighter. Nedd not wanting a fight decides to act more diplomatically.

"I'm Eddard Stark of Winterfell and you sir?"

"Prince Rhaltas Vilyaheru, Lord Stark. May I dismount and call my brothers we have been riding all day."

Sensing no hostility from the prince Nedd nods granting him permission. Rhaltas hops from the saddle, moving like flowing water he brings the horn to his lips and blows a single clarion note of silver. Within five minutes two more riders enter the camp, both dressed similar to Rhaltas get down from their horses with the same fluid movement. "My brothers," gestures Rhaltas, "My middle brother Thelian." Pointing to the scholarly one in the rich blue robes. "The youngest of our house Hirveren." Pointing to the robe and armor clad man who possess roguish good looks and a strange staff.

Nedd responses by introducing his sons and Theon and asks, "What brings you to Westeros, where did you come from, and why are you seeking to visit Winterfell and myself?"

Rhaltas answer the middle question with so much pride in his voice the air became heavy, "We are from the Kingdom of Caledor on the island of Ulthuan. It lies far beyond the western sea. More than a year's journey fraught with danger and death."

Thelian answers the next part, "We were shipwrecked. We managed to escape as the ship was dashed against some off shore rocks. We wanted to visit the lord city because I figure to gain knowledge about a strange land is go to its province's capital. The town/fortress usually has the best records of lore, knowledge of current events, and current gossip."

Hirveren answers the reaming parts, "Why else would one travel but for the glory to be won charting new lands, discovering new peoples, and besting dread foes in mortal combat." He says with relish and excitement. The humans could swear it suddenly got a little warmer with Hirveren declaration.

"Aye that it does." Nedd says in reply to Thelian. Looking at the rest of the party he continues, "Since you have survived a shipwreck I'm guessing all you saved was what you have on your backs and in your saddle bags?" seeing them he decides to offer them, "And in need of a place to stay. Help with this hunt and any other tasks that surface and you can call Winterfell your home till you feel like leaving."

Surprised Rhaltas is first to speak, "I thank you Lord Stark for your kindness, we won't betray your gratitude. And in return you have the friendship of House Vilyaheru for your honorable conduct and offer to us, complete strangers." His brothers are stunned at this display. Rhaltas himself can't believe what he just said but it felt right and like someone was guiding him, using him as puppet.


With the conversation ended for now I tell my family to get some sleep. Both Hirveren and Jon volunteered to stand first watch. After some muffled conversation Hirveren has gained a small measure of respect for Jon and his hardships. As the wind picks up and the night's bleak darkness envelopes them they move quickly to sit by the fire their blades and staff rest by their sides as the cold night continues.

The next day brings a fruitful conclusion to an otherwise pathetic hunting trip. With the newcomers help the Stark's manage to track down and kill a pair of boars in the forest. With their kills secured to a pair of branches they break camp and head back to Winterfell. It was several days till the massive fortress came into view. Though impressive to the natives of Westeros its walls are smaller than even the most poorly defended elven fortress and thus did not illicit much in the way of admiration or wonder in the foreigners. On the walk back Robb asks, "How does the cold not bother you Lords Vilyaheru?"

"My clothes and that of Hirveren are a lot warmer on the inside and are of a special material. Rhaltas has fought and survived in colder places then this and is used to it," Thelian tells the young wolf with a grin as he sees Rhaltas conceals a cold induced shudder.

"It is an impressive home Lord Stark but compared to the fortresses of Caledor it is smaller than the weakest town," remarks Rhaltas.

"Really," Nedd replies with shock, "Winterfell is one of the more powerful castles in Westeros. What kind of wars and enemies do you have in Ulthuan that requires more?"

"The stuff of nightmares." Was the only reply he got.

Entering the fortress Nedd introduced us to the rest of his family; His wife Catelyn, his two younger sons Bran and Rickon, His daughters Sansa and Arya. We then gave the boars to the cooks to prepare and set about finding our quarters. Like most castles it is cold because of the stonework, doubly so in this weather. The first thing that Rhaltas has his brothers do to the given quarters is inscribe runes of warming on the walls, bed, and floor. At least they will be comfortable and not suffer the cold any longer. When that is done we simply explore the place until a small feast is held in our honor.

Days later Hirveren is wandering the castle looking for my family. Finding Thelian in the library I leave him to his study and head outdoors to find the sparring ring for that is where I will find Rhaltas. In the courtyard Robb, Jon, and Theon have challenged Rhaltas to several spars. With a smile I see Lord Stark and his daughter Arya watching I walk over to them and nodded in greeting. "I think your boys are going to be nursing some serious bruises when these fights are over.

"You're on," says Arya with a hopeful smile, "My brothers are great fighters."

"That may be true but my brother has been trained since he could walk and has been tempered in the fires of war, he is one of the best swordswomen I have ever seen. He is absolutely deadly with his spear and unstoppable with his longsword. Plus all of us are skilled with the bow but he is better than us two. Ask for some archery lessons since you were pretty good with the bow already." He remarks. Recalling the time where Bran was practicing with his bow and keep missing and Arya stole the bull eye from him embarrassing him in front of his parents, guests, brothers, and Theon.


Standing in front of him is Theon, "Just cause you're a prince don't mean I won't go easy on ya. For I'm ironborn." Ignoring his stupid banter Rhaltas eye's flash with the joy of battle as he readies his spear and charges Theon. With a loud ringing clang the butt of his spear meets his chest in a blink of the eye. Theon reeling and gasping for air struggles to regain his footing.

Theon charges with a several blows; downward, upward, diagonal, and across. Each one would have been fatal if they hit. Moving like water Rhaltas parries each strike, he is toying with the boy, it is clear to everyone that Theon can't win and the fight is only continuing because Rhaltas is allowing it. Theon getting more and more angry at his own failings charges blindly with rage. Catching his legs with the shaft he twists the spear and sends Theon stumbling sideways. With a lurch Theon tries to recover by it only brings Rhaltas's fist into his mouth knocking him to the ground. As his eyes regain their focus he sees and feels cold metal against his throat. "Yield" he commands in a voice as cold as the grave. The fight lasted less than three minutes.

"I yield, I yield," Theon says in raspy voice. As Robb helps him to his feet the whole castle loos on in awestruck silence.

Looking at Jon he says, "Your next." Cleaning his spear off Rhalts goes and places it on the rack. Walking back to the ring he draws his longsword, crafted in Vauls Anvil by Caledor Dragontamer, from its sheath. As the metal slides out it fills the courtyard with a ring. The silver ithialmar is covered in gold runes that signify its powerful enchantments. Its hilt and pommel are shaped like a roaring dragon and is beset with two large sapphires and a single ruby. He takes his stance; body angled to one side to present a smaller target and guard the vitals. Blade held in front of him pummel just above the navel. Sword held diagonal across shielding forward shoulder, lung, and heart. Legs tense and eyes tracking target.

Jon grips a longsword with two hands and holds the blade right in front of him. He is tilted slightly to one side. Moving more cautiously than Theon he moves in with quick feints and rapid slices, testing Rhaltas's speed and reach. After arm numbing blocks Jon knows that Rhaltas is faster, despite the weapons being the same size. Rhaltas has the superior reach as well with his height, an advantage that Jon has to get around.

He is quickly put on the defensive however as Rhaltas comes at him as a whirling dance of blades. Jon quickly shifts back as he meets his fast downward cuts and lighting fast thrusts. Striking outward lighting quick he manages to interrupt his attack pattern. Using this pause to step into his guard Jon swings. The heavier longsword sails through air with a whistle as Rhaltas simply moved backwards outside of the killzone. With a surprise grunt Jon unbalanced because of the swing stumbles forward. Rhaltas expecting it grasp his arm and pushes him further away. Jon uses the throw to gain distance on his opponent, regain his balance and begins a series of cuts and lunges aimed at the chest and shoulder. Unwilling to end it so soon Rhaltas parries each blow expertly. The courtyard mud is churned as the two fighters weave around, Jon trying to use its whole size to gain any advantage.

A quick feint triggers a poorly timed lunge from Jon. Rhaltas smirks as he catches his blade and drives his foot into his chest. Though the leather armor cushions the blow, Jon still grunts in pain as the air is driven from his lungs. Slipping back he swings his blade wildly in front of him blocking the onslaught of thrusts. Using blade and the hilt Rhaltas stops Jon's next slash and twists the longsword from his grasp, throwing it to the mud. With a quick kick to the legs, Jon is on his knees with a cold razor sharp edge pressing gently against his neck. Looking over his shoulder he sees aloof arrogance etched into Rhaltas. "I Yield," he says around the blade.

"You fought well young wolf. Next time control your aggression. Release it in time with each strike, for it lend them power and purpose. Looking at Robb he smiles his typical I'm-holier-than-you smile. Robb steps into the circle and braces himself. Rhaltas deciding that these fights are boring decides to end it quick. With eye-blurring speed he attacks Robb. Striking first he knocks the blade from Robb's hand, Robb to the ground and places the tip of the sword against his chest. Everyone is speechless and stunned into statue-like states. The fight lasted twenty seconds.

"Like I said it was no contest." Hirveven walks away from the stunned Starks.


That is how the next three months were spent. Studying the library and learning the history of this land. The lore-master of Winterfell does not have much information only the Citadel of the Maesters in Oldtown or the capital King's Landing has the information we seek. In the meantime the Stark family has proven to be less troublesome than most of their race. Hirveren has spent a great deal of time with Arya. Her energetic nature and desire to be a warrior has endeared herself to the living flamethrower, Thelian notices that Bran has some magical potential but does not wish to take up student he deems undisciplined, and Rhaltas has been teaching Robb, Jon, and even Nedd the finer points of warfare. The days pass by slowly as the elves learn more about this land and its ruling families. It is similar to the way the Empire is set up but lacking the overriding authority that the Emperor possess over his nobles. It seems to the elves that humans just like and resort to fighting with little to no reason.


(Timeskip: 6 Months later)


In the capital of Westeros, King's Landing, in the halls of the Red Keep the former Hand of the King Jon Arryn breathes his last breath. His last words to the King, "The seed is strong," are ignored as fever induced ravings. As he lays dead his body is being watched by a pair of blond haired twins. Both have smug grins on their face as they gaze upon the fruits of their labor. With Arryn's death, the King needs a new Hand and he has only one person he can trust, Nedd Stark. The ravens are sent and a royal procession is readied, King Robert Baratheon and his court is heading north.

Bran climbing throughout the broken towers of the ancient fortress is first to see the royal procession. Nimbly climbing down he lands in front of a thatched roof with his direwolf Summer and mother waiting. "How many times Bran have I told not to climb," chides Cat.

Looking at his feet Bran mumbles into his shirt. Perking up he gushes out, "I saw them mom. The kingsguard, the banners with the lion and the stag, and at least a dozen carriges."

With a smile Cat continues, "Still no climbing. Now run and tell your father." With that command he darts off and rushes to find Nedd. The previous nights, Cat and Nedd have been arguing on whether he should accept the role as Hand of the King. Nedd argues that it is his duty to help his king. Cat says that he is not looking at Robert as his king but his friend. Also that Nedd doesn't owe him anything since the war. Plus the every time a Stark went south they didn't return alive. Despite all this Nedd's sense of honor and duty can't be overcome and he still decides to agree with Robert and be his Hand and serve the Realm.

The whole of Winterfell is assembled in the courtyard. The air is still and quiet as the Court files into the courtyard. As the King dismounts, everyone kneels. Everyone but three. We are princes of Caledor, we bow to no king except the one on the Phoenix throne and only then when absolutely necessary. This fat fool of human should be paying us homage for gracing them with our presence thinks the High Elves. Seeing this the court whispers at this insolence, whereas Robert's famous rage is growing.

"Who are you and how dare you disrespect the king!" Robert roars his face turning red from rage. The court jeers quietly behind the king's back.

Stepping forward Rhaltas begins, "We pay no homage because we are not your subjects…You're Grace." Adding the last words as a mocking afterthought. With his normal smile on he continues, "We are Princes from the Kingdom of Caledor on the island of Ulthuan, which lies far beyond the western sea.'

"I don't give a bloody shit where you are from. You are in my kingdom so you will kneel." Commands the Robert in a now full blown rage at being mocked.

"You are not worthy of my respect. For all I see is a man of anger, bluster, and fat. Earn my respect by a trial of arms…You're Grace. Name your champion. If you win I will most humbly apologize on behalf of myself, my brothers, and my kingdom and you will get your homage. If I win I get one boon from the King of Westeros. This is deal will be bound by the honor of their respective thrones. Agreed?"

In his anger he disregards his advisors and agrees. "Ser Jamie will fight you," he snarls. At this a handsome man with an arrogant smirk that rivaled my own looks at me. His armor is thick plate over mail. Both a shining gold with a long white cape trailing behind. It is an impressive suit by human standards.


"Before we begin as the challenged you may impose terms or restriction on the duel. If you choose not then it will be fought by the standards of the Phoenix Throne." Says Rhaltas to the human knight in a matter-of-fact voice.

Jamie believing that this will be no contest lets his pride and arrogance cloud his judgment, "You can use whatever skill you posse but it will not work." He says with a pride that rivals Rhaltas's own.

"Very well." Turning to the Lord of Winterfell he says, "Lord Stark you will be the judge on the manner in which this duel is fought. Those breaking the terms will forfeit their honor as well as their life." The court is shocked with the Queen about to interrupt but is held back by Robert and her own brother's reputation, the must not be so publicly tarnished.

Both fighters square off weapons drawn and bodies tense. Nedd calls out begin and but move in for the attack. Jamie bring his blade diagonally upward as a feint he is ready to draw across the chest and belly before aiming for the leg. Jamie moves with prefect form as befits his training, experience, and reputation of being one of the best swordsman in Westeros. If he were fighting any other human foe they would have lost.

Before his blade even makes past his waist he feels a sharp cold feeling erupt in his chest. For as fast as he is Rhaltas is so much faster. One of the last things that Jamie Lannister; Knight of Kingsguard, King Slayer, Heir of Tywin Lannister is the rune encrusted sliver ithialmar longsword that has been stabbed deep inside his chest. He watches as streams of his blood trickles down its mirror like surface. Looking up he sees the cold grim determination filled grey eyes that belong to Rhaltas. The vision slowly turns black as Jamie falls to the mud dead.


The crowd is dead silent. One of the best if not the best fighter in all of Westeros just died in less than a minute. Cersei cries out and runs to her brother's corpse. Cradling the body her wails of grief echo in the courtyard "Dead I want them all DEAD!" she screams over and over. The Lannister house soldiers ready their weapons and advance only to be met by House Stark men.

Nedd drawing his sword steps in between the two groups as the Baratheon soldiers and Kingsguard look on. "This was a legal duel fought exactly to the terms agreed. Now stand down. No need for more death." The Lannister men hesitate seeing as they are outnumbered and the King is not siding with them.

Gruffly Robert commands using the voice that rung throughout the Trident on that faithful day, "Enough of this. Jamie lost because of his arrogance and lack of ability. The foreign prince won. You'll have your favor. Now Nedd to the crypts." The commands of the king, stopping the chance for fighting as Nedd and Sir Barristan move to break up the crowd.

Cersei charges Robert yelling, "You can't do this to my brother. I want their heads. They killed my brother. It was murder." Her continued ravings are making a fool of Robert with each outburst. Losing his temper again he strikes Cersei across the cheek shutting her up.

Screaming back Robert says, "Yes your brother's dead and it's his own damn fault. Now stop this uselessness and shame to our houses and Kingdom. Know your place."

Cersei stunned by the blow and chastisement just sullenly glares at Robert, Nedd, Rhaltas, and the other elves with a stare that promises a long painful death.


Robert and Nedd leave heading to the crypts while the three elves return Cersei's glare with a look that reads you are nothing. This angers her even more, being ignored, being considered weal, being disregarded. Her sense of entitlement and vanity have been bruised and she going to lash out at those who have wronged her real or imagined.

In the crypts Robert and Nedd talk about the past and how uncertain the future looks. Robert tells Nedd that he is the last friend and person he could trust and wants him to be his next Hand of the King and marry Sansa to his son Joffery. Nedd on bended knee agrees. "Good," says Robert, "With you by my side Nedd we can rule this kingdom right."

As the court disperses a single figure looks at the spot where the knight fell. He is a small man and the only person who has ever cared about him died. As much as the loss hurts the opportunity it presents is unmistakable and only an idiot would not capitalize on it. Still how this came to be leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a potent lesson about humility and never underestimate an opponent. He walks off to find some release in the local girls of comfort.


In the frozen north the reformed ice palace has drawn the attention of a band of wildings. In the depths of the twisted fortress its mistress stirs. Picking herself off the floor of her sacrificial room, Vanmoriel feels the strangeness of this world. With a groan she walks over to a mirror and gazes into its crack glass. With a twisted smile she her same dark beauty looking back at her. Her magic however she feels has grown more powerful and colder. With a cruel laugh she dresses in the traditional grab of the sorceress; Metal bra covered in dark purple leather attached to a two-layered leather collar. Dark metal plates cover her arms as vambraces, Lather belt is attached to her waist and from it hangs a long piece of rectangular cloth covering her modesty. From the back hangs a skirt that covers her backside and legs. The last piece are knee high heeled boots. With a circle of onyx and black diamond's adorning her brow she sets to find the idiots who set off her wards.

The wildings walk through the lower levels eyes wide in wonder at the majyesty of the tower. Hoping to find some good loot they don't notice the shadows growing longer or the air getting colder with each step. The party consists of eight men and two women. All of them young this is their first foray away from their tribes with an older warrior to lead them. Entering the main hall shadows suddenly engulf them.

Staying calm they ready their spears, axes, and swords. Harsh laughing unnerves them as they slowly walk backward trying to escape the laughter, "Come now little ones it has been long since I have had vistors. Stay awhile, entertain me my guests." With that a feeling of dread encompasses them halting their movement. Out of the darkness steps Vanmoriel dress in her seductive finery. "My my what interesting little mice I have. This is an unexpected reward. Ten young humans ready to enter my service."

"We are no one's slave, whore," shouts the leader of the wildings the man with the ax. "We are the free folk, we don't kneel."

"You will before me." Commands the Druchii in a lust filled voice that causes one of the women and two of men to shudder in devotion. With a predatory smile Vanmoriel looks back at the leader and casts a spell. Uttering a twisted word the wilding screams in pain as the magic courses through his body. Looking at the ax-wielder with glee, Vanmoriel speaks again and everyone watches as dark tendrils impale the poor man stealing his very soul slowly and painfully. With relish Vanmoriel consumes it. Gathering her magic once again she burns down the leader with a bolt of black flames.

Looking at the three wildings she noticed before she asks, "You wish to live right?" seeing them nod she continues drawing a black blade dagger she throws at their feet. Allowing them to move she commands, "Prove it and slash your palm with the blade and you shall live as my servants." They do so without hesitation. Feeling their compulsion Vanmoriel laughs and orders them, "Kill the other men and bring me the girl." Her new slaves obey without question as they hack their friends to pieces. Some die in more agony than others. The girl is placed on her knees before the dark elf. Vanmoriel caress her chin and speaks into her ear, "Now now you will grow to love my touch. At least for a little while." Looking up she says, "Take her to my chambers and chain her to the wall then go to the slave quarters and take the first cell. Do what you wish with each other." With that command the two men look hungrily at the lone woman.


Her use of strange dark magic resonates throughout the north. Beings that have just recently woken feel the disruption as do their ancient foes. Both sides sends agents to discover the source. One sends only a single scout the other a small war band lead by a creature of dark winters and legends.


Across a narrow sea a wedding is being held one that will have a major impact on this world in the coming months for the magics recently worked on this world have revived a trio of eggs given as a gift. All that is needed for them to hatch is sacrifice for there is power in blood and fire.


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