Hello, Hello, this is my newest and most ambiguous project. This is going to be a canon divergence AU with the real action starting the moment Arya kills the Night King. My goal is to create the most badass Sansa Stark story in a Westeros that is heavily changed by the death of its most powerful magical being.
I won't consider this a crossover, but there will be elements of Warhammer Fantasy and even more the Arthurian Legends (especially the NeocoreGames interpretation).
Also, opposite to my other ASOIAF story, this story will feature polyamory and will lean heavily towards F/F relationships; there will be F/M content as well, but the main focus will be lesbian relationships.
I would like to give a huge shoutout to SansryaFangirl without Power of the Queens I would have never written this.
Prelude: Ancient powers stir
The sun was setting over the Narrow Sea as the royal ship sailed slowly back towards King's Landing. On board, Jaime Lannister wept bitterly beside the body of his daughter, Myrcella Baratheon. The young princess lay lifeless, her skin pale and lips blue from the poison that had taken her life just hours before.
As Jaime's tears fell upon his daughter's cold face, the last glimmers of light faded from the evening sky. Darkness fell over the ship, the black waters reflecting the blackness that now filled Jaime's heart. In the distance, a cloaked figure moved stealthily through the shadows cast by the setting sun, making their way towards the ship under the cover of night.
The figure crept silently up the side of the ship, hooded and masked to conceal their identity. With careful footsteps, they sneaked below deck, towards the cabin where Myrcella's body lay. Jaime had fallen asleep from exhaustion beside his daughter's corpse, not hearing the mysterious stranger enter the room.
Ever so gently, the hooded knight lifted Myrcella's lifeless body and carried her above deck. With Myrcella in their arms, the stranger disappeared into a row boat waiting nearby, fading into the darkness.
Moments later, the knight returned holding what appeared to be Myrcella's body wrapped in a shroud. But rather than the princess, it was a decoy - a body magically crafted to look exactly like her. The hooded figure placed the decoy on the table beside the still-sleeping Jaime, then vanished back into the night as silently as they had come.
When Jaime awoke, he began weeping once more over what he believed to be his daughter's body. As the ship sailed onwards, he had no idea of the deception that had taken place under the cover of darkness.
The mysterious knight rowed swiftly under the cover of darkness, Myrcella's lifeless body laying softly across the bottom of the small boat. After hours of silently cutting through the black waters, the first glimpses of land came into view - the rocky shores of Cape Wrath in the Stormlands.
With great care, the knight pulled the boat onto the beach, hoisting the princess's body over a broad shoulder encased in ornate plate armour beneath his cloak. An ancient warhorse waited nearby, its dark coat camouflaged against the night. The knight tenderly draped Myrcella's body across the steed's back before mounting up himself.
As they left the shore behind, the knight reached up and drew back his hood, revealing weathered features tinged the greenish-grey of stone. Without the cloak, his intricate plate mail could be seen clearly, the metal etched with archaic symbols and images from a forgotten age. He was a towering figure astride the steed, which now turned and trotted purposefully towards the depths of the Rainwood forest.
Through the night, they rode, the knight speaking soothing words to the deceased princess as she lay motionless across his horse. "Worry not, my lady, you shall rest peacefully soon enough," he murmured, his voice like the creaking of old oak branches.
As the first slivers of daylight cut through the dense Rainwood forest, the mysterious knight finally halted his loyal steed before the sacred grove. Surrounding a mirrored black lake stood a circle of ancient weirwoods, their gnarled bone-white branches twisting towards the heavens like skeletal fingers clawing at the brightening sky.
With reverence, the knight carefully lowered Princess Myrcella's lifeless body to rest upon the crimson grass. He stood vigil, head bowed, in solemn prayer before the old gods of this holy place. Only the soft songs of birds and the gentle lap of water could be heard in this still morning hour.
As the sun's golden rays began to filter through the weirwood leaves, the obsidian surface of the lake was disturbed. A figure emerged from the inky depths - a woman of ethereal beauty, with skin fair as fresh snow. Her wet blonde hair cascaded down to her waist in golden ringlets. An almost sheer white gown clung to her slender frame, leaving little to the imagination. Upon her brow sat a crown of woven myrtle, glossy green leaves twined with pure white blossoms.
The knight immediately dropped to one knee before this radiant creature, head bent low in deference. She gracefully swept across the grass and tenderly cupped his rugged face in her soft hand, bidding him rise.
"You have done well, my loyal knight," she spoke, her voice melodic yet bearing the weight of ages. "This princess shall find eternal peace here in my domain."
"I live to serve you always, my queen," the knight solemnly replied, his eyes full of devotion to this mystical woman of the lake.
The ethereal woman knelt beside Myrcella's body, her ageless face filled with sadness as she tenderly caressed the princess's cold, pale cheek. "Dear child, taken before your time," she murmured, her voice heavy with mournful empathy.
Slowly, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Myrcella's forehead. At the touch of the fair queen's lips, a hint of colour returned to the lifeless girl's flesh, though she remained still and silent in eternal repose.
The mystical woman rose, lifting her hands towards the shimmering black lake. From its dark depths, an ornate silver chalice breached the surface, floating obediently into her waiting palms.
Carefully tilting Myrcella's head, the fay beauty tipped the chalice to her blue lips, allowing the clear water to flow into the princess's mouth. She then slowly poured the rest of the liquid over Myrcella's body in a ritualistic manner, the silver chalice glinting in the rays of dawn.
"With this water from my realm, I purify your spirit and welcome you to my domain," the lady of the lake proclaimed, her voice echoing with ancient power.
She leaned down once more, placing a final, lingering kiss on Myrcella's forehead. This time, the princess's body began to glimmer faintly, as if flickering between worlds.
The mysterious woman rose, turning to the knight with an ethereal beauty, both calming yet commanding in its presence. "My loyal champion, you have served me well. Now return to your rest, until I have need of you again."
The knight knelt solemnly before her. "I hear and obey, my radiant queen."
As he lowered his head, his body started to turn grey, hardening and smoothing into stone. Within moments, the knight had transformed into a statue, frozen in vigilance beside the lake.
The pale queen grasped Myrcella's glowing hand, stepping back towards the water with the princess in tow. Their figures shimmered, fading into the ripples of the lake's glassy surface as they crossed the threshold into the fey enchantress mystical realm.
The sun shone brightly through the stained-glass of the Great Sept of Baelor, washing the marble floors in dazzling colour. Inside, Loras and Margaery Tyrell stood trial before the High Sparrow and his flock of the Faith Militant.
Cersei watched from nearby, a smug smile upon her face. Her plan was falling perfectly into place. Soon her enemies would be reduced to ash and she would finally have her vengeance.
As the trial dragged on, Cersei discreetly exited the Great Sept, eager to witness the fruits of her schemes. Grand Maester Pycelle had been dispatched to ensure the caches of wildfire beneath the sept were ready and waiting.
The time had come. As she reached a safe distance, Cersei turned back towards the towering doors of the Great Sept, awaiting the moment they would burst open with people trying to escape their fiery doom.
Inside, Margaery Tyrell stood defiantly before the High Sparrow, rallying the crowd against the accusations of the Faith. But her words faltered as a faint rumbling sounded beneath their feet. Her eyes went wide with dawning realization and horror.
"We need to get out of here now!" Margaery cried, grabbing her brother's arm in panic. "Cersei has plotted against us, the sept is about to explode!"
The sparrows moved to block the doors as chaos erupted within the sacred halls. The rumbling crescendoed as veins of wildfire ignited below the ancient sept. People screamed and scrambled over each other, desperately trying to escape the inferno to come.
"Let us pass!" Margaery screamed, trying to shove through the wall of armoured faith warriors. But it was too late. With an earth-shattering blast, the wildfire detonated, engulfing the Great Sept in a blazing firestorm. The ancient structure was ripped apart in the ensuing inferno, massive chunks of stone raining down as the Lannister Queen's vengeance was unleashed.
The ground shook violently as the wildfire ignited beneath the Great Sept. Margaery Tyrell was thrown to the floor by the force of the initial blast, her ears ringing from the deafening explosion. All around her, people were screaming in terror, desperate to flee the burning ruins.
As fiery rubble rained down, Margaery felt certain she was about to die. But in the last moment before the flames reached her, she felt an arm, impossibly strong yet unmistakably feminine, wrap around her waist. With astonishing speed, her rescuer pulled Margaery through a side door and into a narrow passage just as the searing firestorm consumed the Great Sept.
Margaery's lungs stung bitterly from the smoke and ash filling the cramped corridor. Her body ached from the force of the blast and the blistering heat emanating through the walls. But the mysterious woman kept a firm grip on the dazed queen, half-carrying her through the passage and away from the raging inferno.
In the chaos, Margaery could barely make out the silhouette of her saviour - a tall, slender yet remarkably powerful figure, her face obscured by a hood. She moved with preternatural grace, even while supporting much of Margaery's weight.
At last, they emerged from a concealed side entrance into a deserted alley. The woman gently lowered Margaery to the ground, sheltered momentarily from the pandemonium surrounding the ruins of the Great Sept.
Margaery coughed painfully, her lungs burning as she struggled to speak. "W-who are you?" she managed to rasp out through her raw, ravaged throat.
The slender woman regarded her with striking violet eyes that seemed to glow ethereally in the dusty haze. "A handmaiden, my lady," she replied cryptically in dulcet tones.
With surprising strength, she helped Margaery to her feet. The young queen could only stumble along weakly as the handmaiden guided her through debris-strewn back alleys. All around, the air was choked with smoke and ash from the smouldering ruins of the Great Sept.
As they moved through the shadowed streets, the handmaiden spied a discarded length of undyed wool that had belonged to a wrecked market stall. She deftly swept it up and wrapped it around Margaery's shoulders, concealing her signed gown.
Margaery gasped as the coarse fabric rasped against blistered skin. Her mysterious rescuer's face creased in concern. "Apologies, my lady. But we must disguise you for now. The usurper queen has eyes everywhere."
Margaery clung to the slender handmaiden as they wound through myriad twisting alleys, leaving the burning ruins of the Great Sept behind. At last the screams and shouts faded, replaced by an eerie silence.
Just when Margaery felt she could walk no further, the handmaiden paused beside a storm drain. With astonishing strength, she lifted the heavy iron grate. "We must go below, my lady. The tunnels will lead us out of the city."
Too exhausted to argue, Margaery allowed herself to be guided into the dark maze of underground passages beneath King's Landing. The handmaiden moved with preternatural grace, navigating the blackened corridors without hesitation.
On and on they walked through the musty tunnels. The handmaiden spoke little, only briefly responding when Margaery cried out in pain or fatigue. She remained focused on supporting the injured queen and finding their way through the vast subterranean network.
When Margaery felt she could not take another step, the handmaiden swept her up effortlessly, carrying her onward through the shadows. At times, they passed hidden side chambers or makeshift camps where figures shifted in the dark, but none accosted them.
After what felt like hours, Margaery was startled to feel fresh air on her face. They had emerged from the tunnels into the moonlit forests outside King's Landing. Safe from immediate pursuit, the handmaiden allowed them a brief rest.
She tended to Margaery's burns and gave her sips of water from a skin. But soon they were on the move again, the handmaiden supporting Margaery deeper into the woods, putting more distance between the fugitive queen and those who wished her dead. She spoke only of practical matters, revealing nothing of who she was or where they were bound.
The woods passed by in a feverish blur as Margaery slipped in and out of lucidness. She was vaguely aware of being lifted onto a magnificent white steed behind the slender handmaiden. As the horse strode swiftly through the trees, Margaery struggled to cling to her rescuer's waist, her burns screaming in protest at every jostling movement.
When she managed to open her eyes, Margaery thought she glimpsed the handmaiden clad in some strange, light armour that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. The helm left her pointed ears exposed, their elongated shape unlike any Margaery had seen before. But her vision faded back to darkness before she could be sure it wasn't some fantasy conjured by her addled mind.
Time lost meaning as they travelled further from King's Landing. Margaery's body was wracked with pain from her wounds and a rising fever. When the handmaiden lifted her down to rest, she worked tirelessly to keep the queen alive, cleaning her burns, offering water, and mashing medicinal herbs into a salve. But she revealed nothing more of who she was or where they were headed.
In her few lucid moments, Margaery studied the handmaiden's elegant features - so familiar yet difficult to place through her delirium. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?" she rasped weakly. "You seem...like someone I once dreamed of..."
The handmaiden pressed a cool cloth to her burning forehead. "All will become clear soon, my queen. For now, you must conserve your strength."
Back upon the horse, the landscape shifted to rocky cliffs and roaring seas. Margaery's consciousness ebbed as she leaned into the handmaiden's sturdy frame for support. The mysterious woman kept one arm protectively around her at all times. Through the feverish fog, Margaery wondered if she was being borne towards death or salvation. But she knew her fate rested in this stranger's graceful hands.
After an interminable journey, Margaery was dimly aware of the handmaiden reining in her steed at last. Through blurred vision, she saw they had arrived at the misty shores of the Gods Eye lake. Moored nearby was a delicate row boat which seemed carved from pearl, its curved sides shimmering like the inside of a seashell.
With an aching tenderness, the handmaiden lifted Margaery from the horse into the little boat. Too weak to speak, Margaery could only watch mutely as the slender woman stepped in after, taking up the oars. Her head swam with fever as the boat cut smoothly across the dark waters.
"Rest now, my queen," the handmaiden soothed, dabbing Margaery's sweat-soaked brow with a cool rag. "Soon you shall be safe."
Margaery had long ago lost track of how many days and nights they had been travelling. But now it seemed their mysterious journey neared its end. Through crusted eyes, Margaery saw the Isle of Faces growing larger as they approached.
The handmaiden guided the pearly boat expertly between the island's wooded shores. As they passed under bowers of leaves, Margaery was reminded of her strange dreams in delirium...had the handmaiden's ears truly been pointed?
At last the boat came to rest by a mossy bank. The handmaiden once more lifted Margaery into her slender yet sturdy arms. Too weak to resist, Margaery let her head loll against the woman's shoulder as she was borne deeper into the verdant island.
They soon entered a wide glade surrounded by carved weirwoods. The handmaiden laid Margaery gently in the grass beneath the bleeding red trees. "You are safe here," she murmured, brushing a damp tendril of hair from Margaery's face. Heavy eyelids closed, too exhausted to make sense of it all. Darkness took her, but for once Margaery felt no fear.
Drifting in and out of consciousness beneath the weirwood trees, Margaery began to feel as if the carved faces were watching her. Their sap-red eyes seemed to follow her as she tossed fitfully among the roots, their expressions shifting from sorrow to concern. In her fevered state, Margaery wondered if these ancient trees were somehow standing sentinel over her.
As she lay there, a woman emerged from the mists - tall and willowy with cascading golden hair that glowed in the dappled sunlight. Her beauty was beyond words, flawless ageless features accented by pointed ears even longer and more elegant than the handmaiden's. She emanated an aura of great power and wisdom.
Kneeling gracefully beside Margaery, she introduced herself in musical tones. "I am Alarielle, my child. Be still, you are in a sacred place of healing."
With delicate hands, she tended to Margaery's wounds, applying salves and changing her dressings. The medicines stung, but soon a soothing warmth spread through Margaery's body. Bit by bit, the fever and pain began receding.
Alarielle's touch was deft yet gentle. As she worked, she explained Margaery had a great destiny ahead of her. "Ancient forces have been awakened, dear queen. The Long Night approaches again. But you shall play a role in the wars to come."
Too weak for questions, Margaery could only listen. When she was stabilized, Alarielle drew back with a melancholy smile. "Rest now. You shall need all your strength in the days ahead. For winter is coming, and you must be ready."
Lulled by her comforting presence, Margaery felt her heavy eyelids droop closed once more. The world faded away, the wise woman's musical voice echoing as Margaery slipped into a deep and dreamless slumber. When she awoke, she would need to be ready for whatever path fate had set her upon.
This first chapter introduced tow powerful beings that might sound familiar to some but more importantly it corrected a few 'mistakes' that the show made, that didn't happen in the books (yet?). The next chapter will bring us right to Winterfell into the action and the real story starts.
If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment or follow and favourite.
PS: No, the name of this story has nothing to do with the God of War videogame series.