So the end of this chapter has serious spoilers for the fifth book and what will probably be the fifth season of the show. If you accidentally read the spoiler, don't worry, just don't look into it too much! I tried to keep it vague. As such, I'll leave my last author's note here instead. Thank you to everyone who followed and favorited my story over the last year, and thanks to all the reviews! If anyone wants to message me or review with critiques or ideas for the second book I'm all ears. I love hearing feedback on what people think of my story. It'll be a while before I start uploading the second book, but to bridge the gap I'll probably release the prologue early. And you all will definitely be surprised ;). Thank you all!
Epilogue:
There was darkness, cold, unforgiving darkness. Then, all at once, fire came rushing forth. Blistering, unbearable fire whose heat burned like a thousand hearts of wildfire and warmed his flesh. It was a painful, agonizing experience. As life poured back into his body, his lungs burned as if he had inhaled mountains of ash, and his bones ached as if they had been frozen for centuries.
Slade Wilson's eyes rushed open, and from the darkness of his mind, he was welcomed into the darkness of the realm of the living once more.
He turned his head, and with his one good eye surveyed his surroundings. It was a dark chamber, with but a single candle lit upon the table beside the bed he laid in. He was nude, his lower body beneath a sheet. His tongue rolled over his teeth, as his achingly dry mouth burned for moisture.
This…this shouldn't be possible. I should be dead, I was dead. I remember, I remember my final fight, being tied to a chair…and that laugh.
Slade's mind shuttered as he remembered his final moments of life. The mad clown cackling with his knife, drawing it across Slade's neck. He reached for his neck, and felt a long, thin scar reaching from side to side. So it is true, not simply a dream. But if the clown killed me…how am I here?
He groaned in pain as he sat himself up. The light provided enough to see the wall and table to the side of his bed, but no more. His armor was neatly laid out on the long oak table to his right. The greatsword he wielded was laid atop it, with his helmet resting on top of that, staring at him.
Slade grunted and shifted his body, bringing himself to the edge of the bed. The stone floor felt icy cold beneath his toes. He struggled to stand, but his legs gave out and he fell back into the bed.
"Careful Wilson, wouldn't want you bringing any harm to yourself before you can complete your task," a rough, stern voice chimed from the shadows at the far corner of the room.
"And what task would that be?" Slade spoke. His voice sounded inhuman to his own ears, more gravelly and rough than what he remembered in life. Clown's blade must have nicked something it shouldn't have.
"That is your question, Slade Wilson? Not how you were brought back into the realm of the living, or where you are, but what task I would ask of you?" The voice returned.
"Well I figure if you went to all of the trouble of using dark magic or gods know what other means to bring me back, you have something specific in mind. So either get to it and loosen your tongue, or I'll be on my way," Slade gruffly replied.
The voice chuckled, "Very well, I assume you remember your killer?"
Slade's mind flashed the images of his murderer's pale white face and crimson smile. "Yes, I remember him."
"He has acquired something that would set the entire kingdom in jeopardy."
"And this bothers me why? What should I care if the clown has his hands on something to make Tywin and King Robert shit themselves?"
The voice sternly spoke, "The King is dead. Prince Joffrey now sits upon the Iron Throne. Lord Stark was beheaded for crimes of treason, and Batman was last seen in King's Landing more than a fortnight ago. Westoros is in a dire condition presently, ser Wilson."
Slade grunted as he strived to stand again, this time grasping the table to help his legs. "And why do I have the feeling you enjoy it in such a way? Makes no difference to me whose ass is on the throne."
"Heh, very astute Wilson, perhaps you've earned your self-proclaimed title."
Slade reached for one of his throwing knives along the belt on the table, spun, and hurled it into the darkness. There was a grunt from the shadows, but no body collapsed.
"That should have hit you in your chest, above the heart. Your voice speaks from a certain height, I'd say you're no greater than six feet high. The way the sound hits off the wall, you should be right where I threw. It should have killed you…and yet you stand. Who are you?" Slade sneered as he reached for his sword.
A hand rose out of the darkness and slightly waved. "You sword will not be necessary."
The man emerged from the shadows at last. He wore dark black robes with ivory colored trim. His hair was darker than his robes, and was pulled back into a tail behind his head. His beard was thick, but cleanly trimmed to grow just past his jaw line. His eyes were stern black and brown pools of ice. A scar reached down from the top right side of his forehead down at an angle across his brow and nose to the bottom left side of his opposite cheek. He was a thick, powerful looking man. Most notably, the knife Slade had just thrown had indeed found its target, as the blade jutted from the man's chest directly where his heart should have been.
"How are you alive?" Slade breathed.
The stranger smiled. "I have been inflicted with far worse injuries, as you can see. I have lived a very, very long time, Wilson, and there is one thing I have come to learn. Kingdoms can rise and fall, cultures can thrive and die out, power can shift from one hand to another, but no matter how great the empire grows, mankind cannot help but live as savages. I am merely the first savage, the first man to ever have higher dreams in his head than living in a cave and wearing animal hides to keep warm. I am Lord Vandal Savage, and I shall conquer Westoros with a fury and speed the likes of which this world has never seen."
"Aye, and what part would you have me play, my lord."
Lord Savage smiled once more. "Very good, I would have you play multiple parts in truth. You may come in, my dear."
The door behind him opened and the room flooded with light. A woman entered, carrying a single candle, but the fire burned with an intensity that no mere whicker flame should wield. She was dressed in flowing crimson silk robes, with a bright red and gold choker around her neck. The woman was beautiful, with pale copper skin and orange red eyes.
"Slade Wilson, may I introduce Lady Melisandre, my confidant. She assists in my placing of pieces across the game board of Westoros. She is also the one responsible for returning you to us," he boasted.
Slade realized he was standing before them nude, and turned to dress himself in his armor.
"Gratitude, my lady, but I fear there are other souls that would have appreciated the gift of life more than mine."
The woman called out, "You are crucial to my Lord's plan, ser Wilson."
"Yes, he was just telling me. Something about the clown and some powerful treasure," Slade scoffed.
The woman's voice grew lighter, more seductive in tone. "Not my Lord Savage, the Lord of Light. I am his priestess, his voice."
Slade broke into laughter. He turned to look upon the woman, dressed only in his leather breeches and boots. "You're one of that lot? The foolish worshippers of the Red God? Oh my Lord Savage, what a great team you have assembled here. A dead assassin and a Shadowbinder believing herself to be the voice of a god. Perhaps I'll just dress myself and see myself out."
"Your daughter, ser Wilson, when was the last time you saw her?"
Slade's spine froze over. His brow furrowed in rage as he spun on the pair of them. "What would you know of my daughter?" He seethed.
Melisandre raised a hand, "There is no need for threatening tones. I was merely showing my power to you. Your daughter, Rose, she is five-and-ten is she not? She has your gray white hair, but her mother's eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to keep her in your life of bloodshed and death, so you sent her away. Is that correct?"
Slade ripped his sword from the table and was at the woman's throat in two heartbeats. "You mention my daughter again, bitch, and I'll cut you into so many pieces no amount of dark magic will make you whole again."
Savage clasped an arm around Slade's, and strongly brought the blade away from Melisandre's neck. "Do you believe now, Wilson?" He questioned.
He spat, "I won't believe a word from your mouth, bitch. You brought me back to kill someone I imagine, take care it isn't you."
Melisandre tilted her head forward and smiled, "Careful Slade Wilson, for the night is dark and full of terrors."
Slade ignored the crazed woman's delusional words. "What do you want me to do?"
Gazing up to the dark stone above them, Vandal Savage smiled and spread his arms. "We are beneath Dragonstone, Wilson, where Stannis Baratheon plots his overtaking of the Iron Throne. But this place has a more historical significance. This is the spot where so very long ago, dragons first landed in Westoros. This is where the Targaryens made their home. Tell me Slade, what do you know of dragons?"
"Breathed fire, flew, were all pretty and scaly, and they're all dead," Slade bluntly replied as he finished strapping his chest armor to his torso.
"Correct, save for the last," Savage retorted.
Slade slipped his helmet on, and turned, gazing at the mysterious pair through the lone eye slit in his helm. "What do you speak of Savage?"
"In Essos, Daenerys Targaryen has awoken three long dormant dragon eggs. They are her children, although in her current state it would be a wonder if they survived very long at all. This is the main task we have brought you back for, but there are others that need to be dealt with more immediately," Savage chimed from behind a mysterious smile.
"So you would have me kill her?"
Savage shook his head, "No, for there is another dragon I would have you deal with. This dragon is not as young as the hatchlings, but is dangerous nonetheless."
Slade strapped his sword to his back. "Where is it?"
SPOILERS AHEAD!
The intelligent Savage smiled through his beard, a grand, white, dangerous smile. "Not it, Wilson, but he."