Blythe
"We'll reach the Iron Islands in about an hour, Ser," the voice crackled over her headset as she suddenly came back to her senses. Her heart, calm a moment prior, suddenly exploded in terror. Where am I? What's going on? Her panicked thoughts came rushing through, overwhelming her. Her stomach tied itself in a knot. Her vision blurred. She reached out, gasping for air. Confusion overtook her. I am terribly sorry about this.
"Who said that?" she blurted out loud.
"I believe that was the pilot," the familiar voice of Maester Ebrose answered her through the muffled headset. She reached up unconsciously and touched it, her vision refocusing. I'm in a helicopter, she realized. She looked up at the two Maesters sitting across from her. Her confusion was obvious from the look of concern on Ebrose's face, but the Seneschal seemed unfazed.
"It seems that Ser Blythe has returned to us and the Raven has taken flight," Meadows noted. She looked around her. The two black brothers of the Night's Watch sat next to her. One was visibly amused. The other looked alarmed. They remained silent.
"The last thing I remember," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to recollect her thoughts. "I was watching the drone pilots in the Keep, and then..." Meadows and Ebrose glanced at each other. "I was talking to you on the walls, but..." she trailed off.
"But it wasn't you," Ebrose finished for her. She looked up at him and nodded.
"Have I gone mad?" she whispered mostly to herself.
"Probably not," Meadows haphazardly reassured her. "You've simply been... erm, borrowed... temporarily."
"Borrowed?" she repeated, looking up at him. He nodded.
"In the Black Books at the Citadel, there existed evidence of individuals with properties that we no longer experience," he explained. "Magic users, wargs, werewolves, vampires, et cetera," he went on, causing her to shudder slightly.
"I would call you crazy," she muttered. "But we are fighting a war against the undead being led by a thousand-year-old priestess of fire and losing..."
"I don't think we'd be offended regardless," Ebrose chuckled.
"That doesn't necessarily answer my question, though," she complained. "I heard two voices... the pilot and then another voice, inside my head." Ebrose glanced over at Meadows, who seemed to escalate his excitement. Meadows leaned forward slightly, his eyes wider than usual.
"Do you remember the voice you heard?" he asked. Blythe nodded.
"It was faint, like... like an echo or someone far away," she began, stuttering as she struggled to recall the voice, fleeting from her mind as if trying to recall a dream upon waking.
"Was it male? Female?" Meadows pressed.
"Male," she replied with certainty. "Old. Very old. I can't describe it very well," she went on. "It gave me the feeling that he was ancient. It's what I would imagine some wizard from a movie to sound like."
"Seems a bit cliché," Ebrose grumbled. She nodded in agreement.
"Look, I'm not the best with words, okay? I'm a soldier, not a scholar," she snapped. "I'm doing my best." Meadows shot Ebrose a telling glance, causing Ebrose to bow slightly.
"I'm sorry, Knight-Major," he replied. "I'm just thinking that this whole situation has been too convenient and that we're somehow being lured into a trap."
"Where are we going anyways? The Iron Islands? It's supposed to be on its way from Blackwater Bay to us. Why are we going there?" she questioned, looking out of the window over the endless waves.
"The Three-Eyed Raven has suggested to us that we arm ourselves with Valyrian steel," Meadows explained. Blythe turned her gaze back to the two old men, who waited for her inevitable questions, before glancing over to the Night's Watch brothers who merely nodded in agreement.
"Okay then," she feigned understanding, leaning back against the thin canvas seat of the helicopter. Ebrose broke into hysterical laughter. Meadows smiled. The Black Brothers grinned. They spent the next half hour in silence until the pilot notified them that they'd be arriving at the old battleship shortly for refueling before continuing on to Branton.
"So," she finally spoke. "Who is he?"
"Who, or what, is somewhat of a mystery," Meadows answered. "There are references to King Bran the Broken referring to himself as the Three-Eyed Raven at some point in his life, but he also referred to another as being the Raven before him. I'm under the impression that it's some sort of inherited title of a particularly powerful magic user who stands in opposition to the Night King," he went on. She stared at him blankly.
"Magic," she stated in doubt. Meadows nodded.
"Army of the Dead, remember," Ebrose urged. She shrugged.
"Right."
"Regardless," Meadows continued. "This entity entered you somehow and influenced our decision to venture into Branton to recover a few objects of interest – mainly, Valyrian steel in the form of swords – that we might use to kill this fire priestess."
"It should be stated," Ebrose interjected. "That this... entity... was quite polite and knowledgeable. A bit hard to understand, maybe," He explained. Meadows nodded.
"The accent alone – I couldn't place it," he admitted. "But they, or rather you, urged us to arm ourselves with Valyrian steel with haste and told us that while fire and obsidian worked well on the wights, as recorded in the testimonies of the heroes of old, that they would be useless against the Night King," he explained.
"Did you ask about the Night King's identity?" she asked.
"We did," Ebrose admitted. "But the Raven didn't know. They said that they hadn't seen that."
"Okay, okay," she shook her head, as if to reset her brain. "So, we go to Branton. Then what?"
"We enter the Royal Museum," Meadows answered confidently. "All of the wights are currently bearing down on Dragonstone. Even the drone operators have confirmed no activity within the city."
"Branton, Royal Museum," she repeated.
"There are at least three Valyrian steel swords on display from ages past," Meadows went on. "Though we are quite old and incapable of effectively wielding them, it seems there are three swords for the three intrepid warriors before us," he motioned to her and to the two Night's Watch brothers next to her.
"I don't have any real training with a sword," she protested. "I mean, I understand the very basic fundamentals – stab them with the sharp end – but I'm trained in firearms and martial arts, not swordplay."
"We'll give you a hand with that," one of the Black Brothers finally spoke, breaking their long silence. The Maesters looked over to them with her. "We have extensive weapons training, from swords, to bows, crossbows, spears, pistols, rifles, explosives..." he trailed off. Her eyes grew ever so slightly wider, more impressed than surprised.
"I rather like swords," the other one mumbled just loud enough for the group to hear, as if the other one had broken their silence for both of them.
"We're coming down now, hold tight," the pilot announced. They felt their stomachs lift with excitement and discomfort as the helicopter dipped down to the deck of the hulking vessel. It touched down with a series of thuds as the pilot fought against the rising and falling of the deck on the ocean waves. As he cut the engines, Blythe reached out and unlocked the sliding door. A crewman from the ship rushed forward, crouching slightly from the rapidly spinning blades, and helped her slide it open.
"Welcome to the Iron Islands," he shouted over the noise. "The captain is waiting inside; through the hatch." Blythe hopped out carefully, turning to help the older men slowly disembark. The Black Brothers followed them, slinging their rifles behind their backs. The pilot stood from his seat and made his way into the back.
"We'll be ready to go in an hour, once we refuel and resupply," he called. Blythe nodded and turned to lead the group through the small door into the ship. A young sailor waited in the narrow corridor.
"Welcome aboard," he called. "This way, please." The group followed him through the bowels of the ship, climbing treacherously narrow stairwells until arriving on the bridge. The crew posted at their stations seemed anxious. The captain, standing tall in the middle of the room, looked angry. Blythe stepped onto the bridge, allowing enough room for the rest of her party to enter and snapped to attention, saluting smartly. The captain returned it lazily.
"Joseph Ellwood," he grunted. "Captain of the Iron Islands."
"Knight-Major Blythe," she answered firmly. "Dragonstone Garrison. This is Maester Ebrose," she gestured as she spoke. "Seneschal Meadows of the Citadel, and our bodyguards of the Night's Watch." The captain raised an eyebrow.
"The Night's Watch?" He scoffed. "I thought they were just a rumor."
"Just the way we like it, captain," the first one spoke. The captain was not amused.
"Your name and rank," he requested. The Black Brothers stood at attention.
"Ranger Beck," he proudly replied.
"Ranger Lance," the other followed. The captain nodded begrudgingly.
"Blythe, was it?" he began. "We were supposed to be on our way north to join the fight. Having us sit here waiting for you without telling us why has the ship a bit on edge," he continued, drumming his fingers on his chair. "Understand?"
"I understand, captain, and I apologize for the sudden change of strategy," Blythe replied.
"We were at full ahead," he went on, ignoring her apology. "My crew was at general quarters." Anger welled in her. The Seneschal took a step forward.
"We're on a mission of extraction," he announced, before Blythe could muster a response. The captain stopped drumming and raised an eyebrow.
"Extraction? Who?" he demanded.
"Not a who, captain, but a what," Meadows explained, steadying himself on Blythe's shoulder as the ship gently rocked. The captain unlocked his chair and spun it around, offering it to the older man. "We need to procure effective weaponry and the only place we're currently aware of having it is the Royal Museum," he explained, bowing slightly as he sat in the captain's chair. The captain locked it in place.
"What sort of weaponry could you possibly have hiding in a museum?" he asked, his voice noticeably confused.
"Valyrian steel," Meadows answered calmly. The captain frowned.
"Va-what now?"
"Valyrian steel," Meadows repeated. "A special type of steel forged long ago, proven effective against the dead." The captain stood silently for a moment, thinking.
"How much of this steel exists?" he finally asked.
"At least three swords that we know of," Ebrose answered. "There may be more examples in the museum that have been overlooked. A lot of that history has been lost," he lamented.
"Swords," the captain sighed, placing his face in his hand.
"Indeed," Meadows nodded.
"We're all going to die."