Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or GOT.
AN-1: Apologies for the delay, but sadly, even this month the speed isn't going to improve. I am going through college admission right now. Applications, counseling, travelling, and whatnot, so typing hasn't been that consistent.
AN-2: I have a P*T*R*N, where you can read the NEXT FIVE CHAPTERS right now, and the same for the subscribestar.
AN-3: A very big thanks to GladiusX and LordLexx for the edits, as well as an extra one to Gladius for being such an awesome beta! You guys are awesome.
AN-4: A shoutout to my Celestial Level Patrons Gerald, Known ART, Mrmeme101, Russel M, Potterfan, Roy Wood, Suhayb Hussain, Michael Witkowski, Joe Schindler, Juan Hernandez, Joshua and Chris Vance and Russell Taylor.
A shoutout to my Presence level patron as well, the awesome Arman Darklich. You guys all rock!
AN-5: Last but not the least, this chapter is for those who said Visenya is helpless and def getting violated.
"Fuck," I cursed, pressing my palm against a gash at my ribs, feeling the blood drip between my fingers. Looking at the destroyed head of the Ironborn before me, I felt some measure of satisfaction for the wound he had given me, and continued on my way towards the castle. Ten Towers, the seat of House Harlaw and one of the most defensible keeps in Westeros. I glared at the silver sickle on a black flag flying a few feet to my right, and turned back towards my destination as it combusted into flames.
Vhyraxes, Caraxes, and Gaelithox were flying just above me, their forms obscured in darkness, and I could only hope that in those first moments, the women hadn't managed to see the dragons—which considering that they were getting raped with their faces in the ground, was very much possible. Even now, with almost a hundred Ironborn dead by my hands and magic, not a single woman had raised her head up from the ground…and even though I tried so hard not to think about it, my brain still conjured an image of Visenya. Naked and humiliated and violated like the unfortunate women behind me.
"Die you fucker!" Someone screamed, and my eyes snapped towards the latest in the line of Ironborn, this one actually seeming like a well-trained and experienced fighter. On any other day, I might have fought him fairly, I might have used the actual steel sword in my hand.
But not today.
With a flex of my magic, I froze the water on the ground, the large imposing man immediately falling on his ass, his head striking the thin ice with a harsh crack. Behind him, I could see the more lucid pirates bring out their bows, while the remaining rushed down the slope towards me, their swords and axes hungering for blood. Jumping forwards, I slammed my armoured foot into the throat of the man who had just started to push himself off the ground and crushed his neck, whipping my hand out to make the flames on the torches fly towards the archers. Thankfully, there was no gravel or smoothness to the stone beneath my feet, as it would have made fighting quite a problem with the melted water present almost everywhere. It was just rough rock, hints of steps being carved into them visible here and there, but mostly it was just a sloping path leading upto the Harlaw Keep's gates. Dozens of houses made of mud, rock, and straw littered the sides, the salt wives mostly absent on this level of the island.
Which was why I was able to use fire and icicles so much more, not having to worry about killing a non-Ironborn.
The strings caught fire immediately, and cries of shock and fear came out of each and everyone as they finally realized what they were up against. Not that it would do them any good, as I shoved my steel sword into the face of the nearest man, while my left hand entered the throat of another, the little ice spikes at the end of my fingers proved more deadly than I had hoped. Ignoring the gurgling, dying man, I ducked underneath an axe, and fell on my ass to fling the attacker over my head. Flicking the mangled remains of a windpipe off my hand, I rushed forwards, using magic liberally as I mowed down dozens of Ironborn at once, their screams echoing all over the place. A spike of ice there, a blast of fire there, and I danced my way upto the keep. Not that I didn't get my fair share of injuries, what with my left thigh having a nasty cut, and shoulders stinging like a bitch with the litany of injuries.
Almost falling to my knees in an attempt to avoid a sword, I got a welcome respite for a moment as black and blue flames splashed down in front of me, the Ironborn letting out bone-chilling screams for a moment before their flesh melted away like wax—and a few of my injuries healed up from the magical flames of Vhryraxes and Caraxes. Curiously, my clothes and armor didn't get burned off this time, but I put that out of my mind and I rolled sideways, barely avoiding a surprise mace to my head. I rotated on my back, and my feet hit the bare leg of someone.
A cry of shock escaped my assaulter's throat, only to turn into a choked, bloody gurgle as I buried my sword in his mouth. I gulped slightly, bile rising in my throat as I saw what I had done. It was a child's mouth my sword was stuck in…no more than ten years old at the most, with a small mace in his hands. Barely controlling the vomit rising in my throat, I somehow managed to focus upon the lights shining from within the Harlaw Keep, using the anger of my dragons as a crutch to keep the self-loathing down. By now, most of the Ironborn were dead, the dragons in those initial few minutes, and my own sorcery taking care of them easily.
As icicles formed in the air and rained down upon a pair of fleeing humans, it was then I realized how the Starks had mercilessly conquered the whole North and forged the Throne of Winter, and why the Valyrians had created so many wonders.
Magic…was a massive middle finger to the laws and rules of the world. Why would I need to swing my sword every second when I could use a two-inch ice spike to just as easily kill my enemy? I wasn't an army killer by any means, not even close to it…but I could definitely kill hundreds with my magic alone if they came in scattered groups like this. As long as I wasn't swarmed, the situation was likely to always stay in my favour.
Hacking away the legs of the last Ironborn between me and the Harlaw Keep's gates, I crushed his throat underfoot and made my way to the portcullis. A second later, Gaelithox landed beside me and bathed the metal grating in fire, melting the thick iron within moments and creating a way for me to enter the keep.
And remove House Harlaw from the world. Root and stem.
"What a pretty girl we got today, eh boys?" One of the men—Bert, if she remembered correctly—jeered, his filthy fingers reaching out to stroke her cheek as she was carried up the castle steps towards the Harlaw's chambers. "Harras will be righ' pleased with this one's cunt. Bitch is a blushi' maiden, ain't that what the Greenlanders say?"
"Your mother should have also remained the same, at least the world would have been a little better," she spat out, fully enjoying the look of shock that crossed over Bert's face as he was talked back to, his mates around him erupting in raucous cheers and laughter at the insult. Feeling a little more bold than usual, Visenya continued her taunts, even if her hand and feet were bound above the soldiers of a giant man, "Not that she likely had much choice, what with your customs of forcing yourself upon any pair of tits with a cunt you see. No sane woman would otherwise fuck you."
"Mouthy bitch," someone snarled after a single moment of silence, and Visenya saw stars as she got backhanded by a gloved hand, her vision dangerously close to blacking out. "These wasteland women are all the same, at least until we break their freezing cunts on our cocks… Let's take her to my tower with the rest of the haul, and then I will fuckin' break 'er holes in. It was torture to control myself on the boat…four days since I had her in my reach, but not on my cock. Fucking storm made even sitting a difficult task!"
"Tell…me," she gasped, shaking her head and squinting her eyes to make the shaking pass, "Did you guys bring a black-haired, tall boy with us when you came to this Island?"
"Your brother?" The one who had hit her, the Harlaw heir most probably, laughed, "I saw him. He was screaming and running at us, but an arrow or two put him in his place, right in the ground."
Visenya laughed at that, mad and unrestrained like she never had before. Even with blood dripping into her right eye and her lips cut from the punch she had taken, she cackled. "You stupid, stupid boy, she sneered, turning her neck as much as she could to look the man in his eyes, "He is coming for me."
"Bitch has gone barmy," someone snorted, and soon everyone was laughing at her, jeering and taunting that her brother's death had twisted her brains, and many other variations of the fact. But that didn't affect her, not when she could feel Caraxes, Vhyraxes, and Gaelithox closing in, not when she could feel Daeron flying towards her…not when she was ready to slaughter all of these pricks with the magic boiling inside her.
"Do you know what my name is?" She asked, tilting her head to look at the Harlaw scion, "My real name?"
"Whaddaya mean your real name? Everyone from the Wall to the Dorne knows that Eddard Stark beget a bastard, silver-haired girl on Ashara Dayne," he snorted, fisting his filthy hands into her hair, "A bastard your father may be, I must commend for his taste in women. First the bustiest, curviest woman in all of Westeros, and then Catelyn Tully…no wonder all of his daughters look so ripe. I wonder if your redheaded sister will look as good as you when she grows older?"
"If you are alive by then, be sure to come by Winterfell and see for yourself." She snarked, her mind finally putting a name to the Harlaw she had been caught by. Harras Harlaw, the Knight of the Ten Towers, and wielder of the Valyrian steel blade Nightfall.
"I don't know why father was against the invasion years ago," he said as he walked forwards and grabbed her face, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and victory. "We got hundreds of women and girls for ourselves, and the best thing? Your King, the Usurper didn't even try to get them back, something about his Hand wanting peace and Tywin Lannister not wanting soiled goods back in his lands. Now, when the Old Lion and the Hand wouldn't take back hundreds of cunts of our lands…what makes you think that your brother would come here to take you, with an arrow in his chest and no less than seven hundred Ironborn on this Island right now."
"You are about to see," she bit out, turning her eyes towards the windows. "He is already here, asshole."
"Are you a witch bastard?" Harras snorted, palming Nightfall's pommel, "Your brother is probably dead, and if he is not, then he will wish he is once he realises that you are being used as a fuckhole by all of the Harlaw…but first, it is my turn."
As if those words were somehow heard by her dragons, all of them roared as one, silencing every sound on the Island. Everyone turned towards the nearest window, their hearts thudding out of their chests as a single, most improbable thought made its way into some of their minds. After all, in the annals of Westeros' history, only one creature had ever been known to let out such a fearsome roar.
A torrent of fire appeared at the shores, the vibrant, bright golden-orange flames setting everything around it on fire. In the darkness of the night, the flames danced over the boats and bodies in equal measure, the bright light momentarily lighting up Gaelithox's large form before he flew up into the darkness.
"Wh-What the fuck was that?!" the man holding her screamed as dropped her, "Drowned God protect us, the fuck was that?!"
She cackled once again, throwing her head back and laughing madly in the face of the sheer hilarity of the situation. She looked at the dawning horror on the faces of the Ironborn around her as blue fire erupted on the docks, feeling a vindictive pleasure rise in her body. With a twist of her wrist, she shattered the frozen ropes on her wrists and ankles, the irritating seawater upon them serving as a good thing finally. Ignoring the sting of the rope burns and gashes she had torn into her skin with the bindings, She grabbed the head of the Ironborn nearest to her and sent an ice shard straight into his eyes.
He was dead before he even realised what was happening.
Grabbing the short sword at his waist as the dead man fell backward, Visenya slashed the throat of the man next to her as she whirled around, making the braziers around her explode at the same time. Jumping over the man choking on his own blood as it welled from his neck, she managed to kill two more before the confusion, fear, and shock of the last few seconds wore off, and the Ironborn attacked her in return.
Barely parrying a swipe to her chest, she moved backwards, counting the number of enemies before her. It was quite good that the corridor they were in was narrow, the width allowing no more than four men to travel side by side, with room to swing their weapons. The first one ran towards her, his bastard sword raised high in the air behind him as a wordless cry of rage spilled forth from his lips. His sword came for her shoulder in a powerful cleave, but she was already ducking underneath his arm by then, rushing forwards with her sword held in a reverse grip. Much like she had seen Daeron do in their mock spars, the edge of her blade touched by his neck, the sharp steel cutting through the skin and blood vessels easily.
Ignoring the thump of the body hitting the stone floor behind her, she jumped towards the ones in front of her, a shower of circles spearing towards them from a swipe of her hand. Staggering from the sudden drop in her energy even as three more died, Visenya nearly got her head separated from her body by a longsword, her instincts somehow kicking in to make her fall back. The fact that she had just taken a backhand to her temple from a man and even before then, had been injured on Bear island wasn't certainly doing her any favors. Scrambling back from the advancing Ironborn, her eyes flicked towards the utterly rageful visage of Harras Harlaw, the Heir to the House Harlaw following behind his remaining friends with his hand on his sword.
'Visenya,' a voice whispered in her head, the rough, deep tone sending shivers up her spine as the world seemed to slow down around her, 'Use your magic, Child. Become the storm you were meant to be.'
She had barely even registered the words properly when she felt it. Power. Pure, unadulterated power flowed through her, the massive rush of energy practically setting her blood alight. Her nerves tingled and her eyes glowed with bright, violet flames as she felt more powerful than she ever had before.
"Gut the Witch!" Harras shouted, "Kill her before she uses any more of her cursed sorcery!"
The power within her rose further still, and Visenya directed it towards the only place she could. The Ironborn. Fire flooded the corridor for a single, fleeting moment, the nearly white flames flowing over the stone and humans alike as it rushed outwards from her. The next second, the roar of the flames and the blindingly white fire disappeared from the corridor, leaving naught but blackened stone and burning, charred husks of her captors behind. The smell of burnt meat filled the space within the moment, as the metal glowed hot in some places, while various drapes and doors smouldered and fell away in ashes and embers.
"What in the name of the Old Gods?" Visenya whispered, looking down at her hands with awe and a sense of horror. "That barely even winded me…the fuck did that voice do?"
Before she could ruminate on the mysterious voice's actions, her head turned towards the corridor end behind her, the sound of rushing footsteps and shouts reaching closer and closer by the second. Swearing under her breath, she ran the other way, intent on going out of the castle and meeting Daeron as soon as possible. However, midway through, a glint on the food caught her eyes, and Visenya stopped in her tracks as she saw the charred corpse on the floor. While the half-melted armour and the falling apart skeleton couldn't tell her about the identity of the person, the half-drawn Valyrian Steel blade certainly did so.
Kneeling by the burnt, hot body, she carefully grabbed the sheath and the onyx-studded pommel before pulling the sword out of the dead man's hands. Wrinkling her nose and gagging at the smell that filled her nostrils as his wrist came off with the blade as well, Visenya gingerly grabbed the slightly wet bones and threw them to the side. Drawing the blade out fully, she turned around and ran away towards the portcullis, marveling at the almost non-existent weight of the sword in her hands. And if the words of the Winterfell guards were true, then Valyrian steel could cut even through castle-forged steel…to say nothing of what it would do to the lightly armored and leather-wearing Ironborn.
Turning around the corner, she gasped and jumped aside just in time to avoid a sword thrust into her middle, the rotten teeth of the man grinning down at her as he pulled his arm back for a heavy, one-handed overhead strike. Stupid, she thought, her left hand darting forwards and a small ice spike growing out of it, piercing the flabby neck of the Ironborn. He stood still for a single second as she brought her arm back, his sword falling from his fingers as they both looked at the blood fountaining from the hole in his throat. Feeling it splash across her face and front, Visenya gagged and ran forwards, her sword lashing out towards a woman that suddenly ran out from the door to her right, carving up into her face and removing a chunk of her head within a moment. She was quite fortunate that Nightfall was a Valyrian steel blade, for the longsword's crossguard was…unnecessarily gaudy in her opinion, the large golden thing thankfully not hampering her wrist and fingers much.
While she was usually a user of bastard swords like her brother, a longsword wasn't much out of her capabilities—she'd have to thank Maege heavily after they escaped from here. Of course, the fact it was a Valyrian Steel longsword made it even lighter than the bastard swords she had used in the past, so it all balanced out in the end. The next second, pain became her world as an arrow erupted from her left shoulder and she fell into a tumble from the sudden shock and agony. Ignoring the rapidly spreading bloodstain on her shirt, she turned around and looked at the trio of archers behind her, their fearful but determined gazes glaring down at her as two of them drew their strings back and released the arrows.
'Use the sword' the voice spoke in her head again, time once again slowing down as the old man talked to her, 'Focus on your magic and swing the sword Visenya. Make your enemies pay with their blood and your fire.'
Trusting the voice which had already saved her ass once, Visenya swung her longsword, channeling her magic instinctively through the blade with a single desire. Burn…and burn it did. The sword lit up a furious, bubbling red, and with nary a whisper, an arc of fire left its edge, traveling through the air towards the surprised Ironborn. A moment later, they fell to the floor, all of them in pieces as the magical fire sliced through their torsos and bisected them. Ignoring the sight of roasted intestines and lungs spilling out of their chest and abdomen, Visenya dragged herself to the open room beside her, ignoring the screams of one of the men who hadn't died instantly.
Reaching behind her back to snap the arrow shaft in two, she gasped as the sudden motion jostled the wooden part buried inside her. "Fucking hell," she cried, pinching the arrowhead between her fingers and pulling out with a sick squelch. "Ne-never again."
Pushing her finger into the tear in her vest, she sighed with relief as fire spilled over the wound and sealed it close. She sagged against the wood, almost blacking out at the energy drain that hit her. Launching that fiery blade and healing herself from the front to the back had taken a lot out of her stamina. Her magical energy was as good as ever, what with the mysterious voice giving her an ocean of power to use, but her body was beyond tired after the events of the day. The four or five day travel in the rocking boat amidst a storm certainly hadn't helped the matters any. Her legs felt like they were half-dead, and her thigh was bleeding from the cuts she had gotten earlier. There were two on her shoulders and hip too, now that she was able to notice them. Thankfully, it seemed like most of the Ironborn were off the Harlaw island today, and those who were present were busy with her brother.
Sighing as she forced her eyes open to glare at the rocks that made the walls, she forced herself to her feet with the longsword in her hand, her back emitting a series of pops as she groaned. Rolling her shoulder a little, Visenya nodded to herself and grabbed the door's handle, ready to jump out of the nearest window and make her way to Caraxes. But before she could even open the door properly, the whole keep shook, and a fearsome roar echoed all around her.