Mace
Oldtown was finally in view.
The grandest city of the Reach, rival of King's Landing.
It was enormous, spreading all around the bay. From the Starry Sept to the Citadel, the pride of the Reach endured. The Hightower stood strong as ever, lighting the way...
...With its green flames.
House Hightower was calling its banners: they were preparing for war.
"Father... you know what this means..." His son, Garlan, said.
"Aye, too well even." He muttered.
They're moving against the audacious pirate that's raiding the Reach's trade routes. It was a rash answer, unless...
Yes... it seemed that this threat was greater than what Mace had expected.
They found Baelor Brightsmile by the gate, the firstborn of the Old Man of Oldtown. "My Lord, it's good to see you."
"As it is mine," Mace answered, "Would you escort me to your father? We must discuss matters of the most... urgency."
"I am aware. Father is inside the Hightower, follow me."
The streets were bursting with activity. Smiths were forging, daytraders were carrying wares around... soldiers were marching. The Garden Plaza was even busier, with merchants of every occupation selling arms and supplies to the Hightower's representatives.
Yet, their subjects were calm. No one was lost in fear or desperation, everyone was driven to their purpose. The Hightowers always were a beacon of safety.
They ultimately reached the harbour, brim as always. Mace saw the Honour of Oldtown being supplied and manned, many sailors were drilling on its deck.
The group boarded one of the ships and left for the Hightower. Mace approached Baelor, whose gaze was lost in the sea.
"Baelor, is something wrong?" He asked his Good-brother.
"Somewhat," he muttered, "Father has locked himself in his quarters for some time, I am worried for his well-being. Hells, even Malora isn't allowed in."
Mace raised an eyebrow, "Your sister was always close to your father, this is indeed odd."
"Aye, we don't even know what he is doing inside. He just ordered the guards to search the basement of the Hightower for anything."
The foundations?
The black stone, the Dark Fortress... it was a mystery. Some thought it was the Valyrians who built it, as the stone is similar to the walls of Volantis. Maester Theron instead theorised it was a race of sea creatures, comparing it to the rock of the Seastone Chair.
But no theory was proven. No one dared to enter the depths of the First Fortress, as many thought it was cursed. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
The ship dropped the anchor: they had arrived. Many guards were patrolling the central square, all somewhat troubled. Those were probably the poor bastards sent below, in the dark halls.
Arch-Maester Marwyn was present, with some other apprentices alongside him.
He looked more like a thug than a Maester. His head was way too big for his body, which was short and squat. He had an enormous belly, probably the toll of alcohol. Surprisingly, his nose appeared to have been broken more than once.
"My Lord, it's an honour to finally meet you." The gruff Maester said.
"Arch-Maester," Mace greeted, "How fare things?"
"Decently enough. 'Tis good for people not to regard me as a madman anymore." He muttered.
Marwyn the Mage. A controversial person in the Citadel, primarily associated with the mysterious arts he studies. He explored the most obscure regions in the world and talked with many outsiders, from the short Ibbenese to the ash-skinned Shadowmen. In these troubling times, he was a beacon of knowledge of the occult.
"So, was anything found in the Dark Fortress?" Mace asked.
"Still nothing, unfortunately. The alleyways are tenebrous, even with a lamp it's hard to see. We discovered some strange inscriptions here and there, but alas, they mean nothing."
"I see," he answered, "May you accompany me to Lord Leyton?"
Only Mace and Marwyn climbed the steps of the Hightower. Slowly but surely, they arrived at the top, the Lord's quarters.
Mace approached the door to knock, but was anticipated by Leyton. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept for an entire week.
"My Son-in-Law, it's good to see you here." He greeted him.
"After the raven you sent me, how couldn't I come?" Mace japed, "Baelor was worried for your well-being. What possessed you to lock yourself in here?"
The Old Man eyed him curiously, and gestured to come in. There was a mess inside: books were scattered around the room, alongside water and unfinished meals. At the centre stood a pedestal, with what appeared to be...
"A glass candle?" Mace questioned.
"Aye, it is," Leyton confirmed.
"Fire..." Marwyn mumbled, "All Valyrian sorcery is rooted on blood or fire. Those who used these candles could see across mountains and seas. Some even claimed that one could enter a man's dreams and give him visions, but that was horseshit in the end... wasn't it, Leyton?"
"Aye. 'Tis only a mean of communication in the end, but the best of all."
"Nonetheless," Lord Hightower continued, "This is a tool of paramount importance. I've been able to take a peek far away, and I've seen horrible catastrophes..."
"Qarth was dead. Infested by maddened people, everyone that sought refuge in the city perished, or worse. The Five Forts are under assault, Yi-Ti is investing all their forces in defending it, but I don't know how they will resist with the Scourge at their front door."
"The river Royne is restless. The ruins of Ny'Sar were flooded with the waters, with no one left to stem them. There's something off in the West and the Wall... cold winds are stirring. Mace, our world is in grave danger, I cannot stress this enough."
Mace pondered deeply, trying to elaborate on all that was said. It was overwhelming, to say the least, especially what was happening in Essos. Not even in his wildest dreams he imagined facing such a menace.
"That damn plague worries me," Marwyn muttered, "I believe it is a curse of the Old Ones, the ancient Gods of Leng, but the manuscripts are incomplete. Can't make sense out of mere fragments of fragments."
"I think we can't do much for them, unfortunately," Mace muttered, "But we must prepare for what must come in our lands."
Leyton eyed him carefully, and nodded. "Still, I can't get a glimpse of the threat near our coasts. Whoever leads these pirates, he surely uses some form of magic."
Great, magical pirates. Was there anything else that this mad world wished to throw at him?
A timid knock on the door. The two visitors eyed an annoyed Lord Hightower, who sighed.
"Enter." He grumbled
It was one of the acolytes. He was visibly disturbed. His eyes darted left and right as if there was someone behind him.
"M-My Lords..." he stuttered, "We found a strange room in the Dark Fortress. You must see it with your own eyes, it's truly... troubling..."
"What have you found, Lomas?" Marwyn asked, "Why is the damn room special?"
"I-I can't put it in words, you must see it!" The young student insisted.
"Fine," Mace said, "Calm yourself, Lad. There's no need to be so uppity."
That appeared to have soothed his spirits, but Marwyn and Leyton eyed him suspiciously.
The mask has fallen.
Yet, he did not care.
The three descended the tower. Lord Leyton drew the attention of curious eyes, probably interested in his now-ended isolation.
The stone changed as they reached the lower levels. The stairs and the walls mutated into a black colour, only with a lantern could someone see a thing.
Once the stairwell ended, a small room greeted the trio. Many narrow corridors were before them, with various Maesters going left and right.
"Follow me," young Lomas said, "It's easy to get lost, and that's the last thing someone would want to happen."
The path was long and intricate, Mace started getting tired of walking. The more they advanced, the deeper under the Hightower they went, it was excruciating. The Lord of Highgarden internally grimaced, thinking they would have to go over it again.
They stopped before a small cavity. It was a staircase, more cramped than the one before.
"Watch your step, my Lords." Lomas warned, "The stone is slippery. I nearly broke my back before."
And so they descended once more. In the end, they met an open space with a great gate made of the same black stone.
It was beautifully carved. Irregular patterns filled its front, and it was around 30 feet tall. Mace questioned how they brought the damn thing here in the first place. Four Maesters were studying it. He could recognise some of them: Arch-Maester Perestan, Gallard, Mollos and Guyne.
"My Lords, you have arrived." Greeted Perestan.
Perestan shot a stern look at Marwyn, who answered, "Yes, yes, spare your courtesies. What have you found in here?"
Mace knew the two didn't have a good relationship, but at this level...
Perestan's brows furrowed, "As of now, the gate you see here. We still have to open it, as we were waiting for Lord Tyrell to arrive.
"Very kind of you, Arch-Maester," Mace said, "Any specific discovery?"
It was Mollen to answer, "Yes, we were able to discern the age of the stone used to build the Dark Fortress. No one before us attempted to do it successfully, since the stone tended to pulverise once broken or scalped, but Guyne found an interesting sample. The fortress was built at least... fifty thousand years ago."
Mace was stunned. It preceded even the Age of Heroes!
"So it was built during the Dawn Age..." Marwyn muttered, "The Valyrian Empire didn't even exist then, they were still sheep shaggers..."
"That is what troubles me," Perestan said, "It seems my hypothesis of this world's age is completely wrong. Mollos, you may be right with your estimate, mayhaps it's truly five hundred thousand years old."
Mollos appeared to be very proud of it, his chest puffing out like a puff fish.
"Well, let us open the gate," Leyton said, "I think we already talked too much. There's still much to discover."
"Wise words, my Lord," Perestan answered, "Please, lend me a hand."
The gate was extremely heavy. It took all of them to push it. Mace panted, but when he looked at what was inside, he lost his breath.
It was a gigantic hall. The walls were completely covered in carvings, from bottom to top. The group stared in awe at the spectacle.
"Gods, what is this?" Mollos whispered.
They wandered aimlessly for some minutes, not knowing what they were skimming for.
"Look," Perestan mumbled, pointing his finger at one of the carvings.
Mace approached him to see what he was referring to.
It was an inscription. It was written in the common tongue.
Mace couldn't maintain his composure anymore, his mouth opened in astonishment. How in the Seven Hells...
'The Battle of the Trident. The hammer falls on the dragon, and a new king is born.'
Only then he noticed the others had joined them too.
"This is... impossible." Marwyn muttered, "No one is able to carve the black stone in our age, the ancient methods were lost in time!"
Mace snapped out of his stupor, and decided to see what else was carved in these walls.
'The Battle of the Bells'
'The scourging of Loranth'
'The Field of Fire'
'The Death of Starke'
'The Battle of Many Names'
'The Disintegration of Yeen'
'The First Sack of Asshai'
'The Grey Wastes Expedition'
'The Kingslayer stabs Aerys in the back. Robert's Rebellion is over'
Battles and events, some unknown and others infamous. Mace was slowly losing his wits, this could not be possible...
Then his gaze lingered on one damned engraving...
It showed seven men, before a carved gate.
'Mace, Marwyn, Leyton, Perestan, Guyne, Mollos, Gallard'
His legs failed him. He stared at it, completely unmoving.
Was all of history foreseen?
The carvings ended with this one. On the right, there was a small hallway.
Mace ignored the stupor of his companions, and traversed it.
There was a cramped room, with the remains of a man. There was only one phrase written:
I WARNED THEM, BUT NOBODY LISTENED.
The skeleton was old as time itself, it was a wonder it had not turned to dust.
This was the man who predicted everything. How he did it and how he ended here, Mace did not know.
At his feet, there were a hammer and a chisel. Mace picked them up, curious about the lone tools.
Both were made of an odd alloy Mace did not recognise, with two runes embedded in each one of the handles.
He heard his companions approaching him, looking haggard.
"This must remain between us," Mace said sombrely, "If this becomes widespread..."
"Chaos." Perestan completed Mace's sentence.
Mace nodded, and turned towards the remains.
Who... are you?
Doros
The Dothraki were routed once more.
The Ibbenese cheered. Another victory was achieved for the glory of the God-King.
Doros, the first Thain of Ibben, smirked proudly. The men fought like demons, the Great Will undoubtedly smiled upon them today.
The Ibbenese of old are surely feasting in the Great Halls, as their past sacrifice was finally avenged.
The savage Dothraki were cunning, but Ibben had prepared for this war years ago. The heavy armour that once was reserved only for nobles was now widespread, the horselords' arakhs could not scathe them, not like before. The soldiers now carried poleaxes and pikes instead of the simple handaxe and shield, far superior against a mounted enemy.
But all of this wouldn't be possible without the new forging methods devised by Togh Skysmith. Their steel is now cheaper and easier to smelt, even compared to the Andal's. It was indeed a blessing to have such brilliant mind in their service, not that all other Ibbenese craftsmen were lacklustre.
Now the results were evident. Drogo's Khalasar was showing its first cracks, and all of the lost Ibbenese colonies were recovered. But as the first commander, why should Doros stop his conquest?
The God-King was preparing to embark with his host, and the Tall Men were preparing an invasion. This is an excellent opportunity to fall on the horselords once more before they rally, their army would be completely broken.
The commander chuckled. Yes... Doros, the Bane of the Dothraki. That was a fitting name, and one he intended to earn.
And so, the Thain began planning again: there were still plenty of glories to achieve.
Catelyn
Her dear Ned was still unconscious.
She remembered the frost, the silence...
...The cold, foreign words the Walker said.
And then, her love was struck by a curse. He clawed his cheeks to the bone, screaming hopelessly, while the monster smiled.
Benjen pounced on his brother, snatching his falling figure just before he hit the floor badly. Sansa, Robb, Bran and even the bastard boy ran to aid their father.
But not Arya. She was frozen in place, looking at those damned, beautiful blue eyes. Her little wolf was pale, watching something in those orbs.
She didn't leave her room since.
Catelyn's heart ached to see her daughter in this condition. She wanted to hug her, comfort her... but she won't let anyone in.
That was why she was surprised to see her today. Catelyn was embroidering near her dear Ned, hoping the gods would wake him up. The wildling savage accompanied her, for some reason.
She approached Catelyn and hugged her.
"Mother..." she said with a small voice, "How is Father? Will he wake up?"
Catelyn was failing to hold her tears, "Yes, Arya..." she lied, "He will wake up..."
They stood in silence for some time, enjoying the embrace.
The savage awkwardly came near her, a resigned look on his face.
"It never happened before," he said, "O' all times I've fled from an Other with my companions, no one succumbed like this."
Catelyn shot him a cold gaze, "What do you mean?"
"The bloody things aren't supposed to give you fits," he grumbled, "Lord Stark saw something. A vision, mayhaps."
In the past, Catelyn would've retorted against him. But now, with all that happened until this moment...
"Who do you think caused it, then?" She asked him, "You seem to know more than everyone here. What do you think?"
The Wildling frowned, as if thinking hard. But a man opened the door, a man that shocked her with his presence.
Arya looked at him, and all colour drained from her face.
"Jorund...?"
Catelyn froze. How was he here? Wasn't Jorund confined inside the Godswood?
The God smiled, "Yes, little wolf. I am here to help your father, as it is my duty."
Arya and Catelyn remained flabbergasted, "But how did you-"
"You are no normal man, are you?" Tormund asked, "I've seen my share o' shamans beyond the wall. Not even one of them was fancy as you."
Jorund seemed hesitant, as he looked out of the window. "Yes, you are right, Tormund."
The Wildling's eyes widened, "How do you know my-"
"I know many things. Battles of the past, theories of magic, even the inner workings of this world. And now I know that my cover cannot be maintained any further."
He looked intently towards the wild man, "I am an Old God, the God of knowledge."
Tormund had an odd look at first, but then his face contorted in shock. His legs gave out, Catelyn could hear his ragged breaths.
"But... how?" He managed to whisper.
"The Fall," Jorund answered, "It changed many things. The dawn of a new Age of Heroes is near, even sooner than I've anticipated."
Tormund stared at the ground, "Then the old hag was right. With the help of the Gods, we can-"
"If only it were that simple," Jorund said. Catelyn had never heard him speak with such a pained tone before.
Jorund pointed towards Ned, "This, is one of the reasons. The Great Other has immense power, and Eddard has been a victim of it. I cannot imagine what he has seen, as the Cold One is malicious and cruel."
"Fortunately, this world's magic is becoming denser, which is why I can leave the Godswood now. I am the eldest of the Old Gods, and have the greatest hold in the physical world. It is a matter of time before the others join me in this struggle."
Other... Gods? Catelyn thought. Was this war to come so cataclysmic to involve every God that graces the Heavens?
"Yes, Catelyn," Jorund answered, staggering her, "This generation doesn't know what the men of old endured to repel the Long Night. Those were terrible times."
"Times were us Gods were younger..."
"Times when many mistakes were made..."
Silence reined in the room after that sentence. Everyone was crestfallen. Tormund was speechless, and Arya was trembling in fear.
"But we won't be deceived again. Not after that mistake."
Jorund's eyes were afire with determination, "Mankind shall not suffer like the first time. We are now prepared, and most importantly of all: united."
"The Storm God is cleansing the lands of traitors, and protecting the King."
"The Seven are guiding their faithful to the right path."
"Meraxes is pulling the strings from the shadows."
"And I am the Stark's source of knowledge."
"Every piece is in its place, with more to come. We shall endure the Long Night once more."
He turned towards Catelyn, "Please, dear Cat, I need to stay with Eddard alone. I shall treat him, do not worry."
She nodded, unsure how to react. The God ruffled Arya's hair, "Do not worry, your father shall endure. There's still much for him to do."
That seemed to reassure her youngest daughter, who smiled thinly.
Lastly, he faced the Wildling, "Tormund, your quest is of utmost importance for your people. Go south, and make the lords of the realm understand the peril of the Free Folk."
Tormund bowed his head relatively formally for a savage, "Aye. I will not fail either you, or my people."
"Very well," Jorund huffed, "There's work to be done. Live your day as normal, for worse hardships are yet to come."
The three left the quarters, as Jorund softly chanted a song.