Yavanna

"Does fate have to be this cruel to bring this demon back to life?"

The former slave watched as the black skeletal warriors awakened from their long slumber. The very air crackled with the force of the magic Jae wielded.

Jaehaerys's voice echoed in the camber, reciting incantations in high Valyrian in a language only true Valyrians can master.

"Sōvētās lo hen rytsas se dracarys…."

Slowly, the skeletal warriors pulled themselves up, their ebony bones clattering eerily in the deathly silence that followed Jaehaerys's final words.

Yavanna's breath caught as she witnessed the transformation. The empty eye sockets of the skeletons suddenly ignited from green to red, twin orbs of fire blazing to life within the skulls. These fiery eyes burned with an unnatural intensity, casting a sinister glow across the ruins.

As if responding to some silent command, brittle white hair began to sprout from the skulls of the undead warriors, giving them a ghastly semblance of life. It grew rapidly, cascading down the brittle, ancient cobwebs, adding to their terrifying appearance.

Over their chest materialized Valyrian steel armor of black plate.

In their bony hands, swords of fire materialized, flickering and dancing with an infernal light. The heat from these weapons was palpable even from a distance, the flames licking hungrily at the air, ready to consume anything in their path. The skeletal warriors, now fully animated, stood in eerie silence, awaiting Jaehaerys's command.

"The phantoms," Yavanna realized in horror. "I have read about them. They were the elite force for the Valyrians during the war between Gods. They can blend into shadows and control the very nature of fire."

"The stories about Balerion's powers are true. It's all inside of it." Yavanna had to stop from shivering at the twisted energy in the air. She could feel the malevolent power radiating from Jaehaerys, a power that seemed to corrupt everything it touched. The undead warriors, with their fiery eyes and flaming swords, were a testament to the dark and dangerous path the world faced.

As the last of the skeletal warriors rose, Jae turned to Yavanna, his eyes now burning a deep purple. The godlike presence of him was almost overbearing. "None of the old Valyrian masters felt this evil. Although they have neglected their prayers to the Valyrian gods, Balerion was always a name whispered in fear."

"Jemēla, raqarzy sytilībagon Valyria," Jae said, his glowing purple eye boring into her own. The socket beneath his eyepatch twitched.

Yavanna could only nod, her mind racing with the implications of what she had just witnessed. "I fear for my fellow slaves. The demon will no doubt target them next to extend his cruelty." But there was nothing she could do – but survive.

Jae's eye slowly tuned down to a less vibrant purple. "You will lead me to the other slaves."

"Can I betray my own? The kin to those who shared my suffering? But I would be a right fool to lead this beast astray…..But I have survived for too long to die now."

"All I have to do is survive," Yavanna told herself. "I have outlived the cruel Valyrian masters – I will outlive this one. I know it. My race will not die with me."

So it was with a heavy heart that she said, "The Ogres are the nearest. The other factions are not far afterward."

"Then we will go there." Jae turned around.

Yavanna walked beside Jae while the enormous army of Valyria trailed their steps. The massive Valyrian ship came into view. "How many times had my former master taken me and my mother into one of these abominations and had his way with us for days upon end?" Now she was returning to one.

She side-eyed Jae, loathing filling up her entire being.

The ship was a marvel of ancient craftsmanship, built from Valyrian steel and obsidian. It gleamed darkly under the moonlight, an ominous yet awe-inspiring silhouette against the dark sky.

The prow of the ship was shaped like a dragon's head, its eyes made of polished obsidian that seemed to absorb the light around it, giving it an eerie, Likelike quality. The open maw of the dragon was lined with sharp, metallic teeth, ready to devour anything that dared cross its path.

It was enormous, capable of carrying thousands of passengers. The hull was reinforced with intricate carvings and runes, each one a symbol of protection and strength. Yavanna reached out to touch the ship's side, feeling the cold, smooth surface of the Valyrian steel under her fingertips. The ship thrummed with faint energy, a reminder of all the slaves that had been sacrificed to make these machines to capture more slaves.

She remembered vividly the scene: hundreds of Valyrian ships descending upon the city like a swarm of dark, foreboding shadows. The clinking of chains echoed through the streets as thousands of innocents were driven out of the ships, and forced toward the ominous mines of the 14 Volcanoes.

"Will their cruelty ever end?" she wondered, her heart aching with the weight of the memory.

Yavanna was over a hundred years old; this new tyranny had the potential to be the most devastating yet.

As they approached the boarding ramp, a group of normal skeletal warriors stood at attention, their fiery eyes flickering in the darkness. The Phantoms spoke, their voices alike a fire crackling.

"Lanta Āeksio vēso pryjatas issa gēlos!"

The simple skeletons marched to do what the phantoms ordered.

Jae and Yavanna walked through the opulent corridors of the Valyrian ship, the walls lined with intricate carvings of dragons and ancient runes that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. As they approached Jae's chamber, the doors swung open on their own, revealing a grand space.

The chamber was vast, dominated by a massive bed draped in rich, dark fabrics that shimmered in the light of numerous enchanted torches. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, and the floor was covered in plush carpets woven with intricate patterns. A large, ornate desk stood against one wall, cluttered with maps, scrolls, and magical artifacts. At the far end of the room, a balcony offered a breathtaking view of the clouds passing beneath the ship.

Jae turned his back to her, clasping his hands behind him. "Tell me about the slaves."

"The old Valyrian masters captured slaves throughout their conquests, binding them with spells of blood and flame to create creatures capable of enduring the harshest labor in the mines," she began. "After the fall of the Freehold, these slaves fractured into factions. They scattered to various lands and have since been locked in ceaseless conflict, driven by their disputes."

Jae's curiosity remained piqued as he asked, "What do they fight over? What drives their bloodshed?" His tone held no trace of concern, only a cold interest.

"Old Valyria is a land steeped in magic, my master. The old Valyrians were masters of enchantment, weaving spells into their very belongings to protect their secrets and treasures from prying eyes – especially from their own kind. The magic in the air will shift and the treasures will appear in different locations at a second notice."

"The slaves often clash to gain control over valuable artifacts and symbols of power, seeking dominance in their territories," Yavanna explained. "Though they share the common aim of improving their lands, some factions foolishly believe they alone can achieve this. More frequently, their battles are driven by the need to secure weapons and knowledge of spells, essential for defending themselves against monstrous threats that lack any semblance of our sentiment."

She spoke with conviction, "The slaves are prideful, spiteful, and arrogant, but at their core, they are beings struggling to survive in a harsh world. "We may not always get along, but we are bound by the blood we shed for the Valyrians. And please, the minotaurs… they must not be harmed. They are beyond reach," she wanted to say but wisely did not.

The minotaurs had been there for her from birth, standing by her even when her mother was killed. They were prideful, yes, but also fierce, with an unwavering sense of justice. This often led them into battle against the ogres, who couldn't be more different in their beliefs.

Even now, her hatred seethed at the mere thought of the ogres. "What they did to my brother... is unforgivable." Her small hands clenched at her sides.

Jae turned around, amusement clear on his face. "One faction in particular angers you so?"

"The ogres," Yavanna admitted, mentally berating herself for not hiding her emotions better. "They are the strongest of the factions and the vilest, my master."

"If any slaves I would be happy to feed to this demon, it would be them," she thought viciously. "They don't deserve to breathe."

Then she thought about what her mother would say and grew glum.

To her disgust, Jae hummed in satisfaction. "Good."

Jae held his menacing scythe, its blade gleaming with an unnatural light. This was no ordinary weapon; it was the embodiment of death, forged by ancient Valyrian magic and imbued with the power of Balerion, the God of death.

Yavanna watched in unease as Jae traced the edge of the scythe with his fingers. The weapon seemed to pulse with life, resonating with the dark energy within him. It was as if the scythe was an extension of his very soul, a testament to the transformation he had undergone.

"I can hear them," Jae murmured, his voice low and ominous. "The souls trapped within this very weapon. They call me. They beg."

"May I ask what they are begging of you, master?"

Jae smiled, a cold and sinister curl of his lips. "They beg to be freed." He gripped the weapon tighter. "The slaves have overreached in their fleeting moment of freedom. Did they truly believe a true Valyrian would not rise again to reclaim his mantle as their master and lord? They will be punished for their audacity in using our weapons against us on our lands."

"The lands we built on our backs," Yavanna thought bitterly.

"I need slaves with consciousness to take part in my empire. Those who submit and don their chains once more shall be granted mercy. If not, I will feed each one of them to the Fire Wyrms. They will never dispute over lands again."

Panic seized her. "The Minotaurs would never yield to this monster," she realized in horror. Some factions might reluctantly comply, some might eagerly clamp on their chains, but never the Minotaurs. They would fight to the death rather than submit.

Yavanna was so caught up in her web of distress that she was startled when Jae grasped her face. She was forced to meet the gaze of the devil millimeters away from her own. Being an elf, she could see the aura of a person in shades of color.

Sleek black shadows enveloped Jae, cloaking him in the darkness that almost choked her with its potency.

"How can his heart be this black? Balerion has conquered this poor boy's soul." It took all of Yavanna's training to maintain her composure. She had witnessed the battle atop the mountain and knew the outcome. All the former slave factions sensed the disturbance, a dark power awakening. The Minotaurs, knowing her excellent eyesight and hearing, had sent her to assess the situation. "It is much worse. Balerion has been reborn."

"Elves were the personal slaves of the Valyrian dragon lords, tasked with reading and safeguarding sacred texts, handling private messages, spying, and assassination," Jae said with a grin. "If a dragon lord found himself in a political stalemate with a rival, he would send one of you beautiful creatures to eliminate the problem. You would appear as a gift and strike when their breeches were down."

Yavanna's emotions churned violently within her. A twisted satisfaction surged through her as she remembered how she spilled Valyrian blood—yet, it was a hollow victory, tainted by the knowledge that she was obeying her Valyrian master's cruel commands. The shame gnawed at her, a constant reminder of her mother's disapproval. Her mother had never been forced to assassinate a fellow Valyrian. She had preached peace and foretold that reckoning would eventually come for the Valyrians, a prophecy Yavanna had once clung to.

"You were almost right, mother," Yavanna thought bitterly. "But from the ashes will rise the worst of them all. How can I stand by and preach peace while fire rains down on the innocent?"

Jae's voice cut through her turbulent thoughts like a blade. "You are to serve me now, Yavanna, and I will not tolerate failure. You will stand by my side and enforce my will over the factions. Their defiance will be met with bloodshed, their lives spilled to awaken dragons once more."

The weight of his words settled over her like a shroud. Her role was clear, but the cost was soul-wracked with turmoil, torn between her mother's ideals and the fiery demands of her new master.

"Yes, master."

Jae's hands slid around Yavanna's throat, his touch both commanding and chilling. As his lips brushed her ear, she felt her upper lip quiver, her stomach roiling in disgust as she succumbed to the dragon lord's advances.

Later that night, lying beside him in the darkness, Yavanna's mind was haunted. She could still feel his rough hands gripping her breast, his insistent tongue invading her mouth, and the sickening residue of his seed between her legs. Tears of anguish threatened to spill. "The demon's seed is inside me. Mother, help me," she whispered in desperation, but her mother's voice was a ghost from the past. She had been dead for years.

"Because of this man," Yavanna seethed silently, "my mother is dead because of you… you murdered her."

She recalled the day Balerion's wrath descended upon Valyria, a day when the city was engulfed in darkness. Dragons had tumbled from the sky, bringing justice in a black storm. The dragon lords, once tyrants, had finally faced retribution. It was the zenith of her liberation and the nadir of her grief. Valyria had been destroyed, not by its enemies, but by its own god. The Valyrian commoners were swept away by the same fury. Though they didn't share the same sin as the dragon lords, she had despised their blood and didn't feel loss at their deaths.

But the greatest loss was her mother's life.

"I will end his life before he can unleash his wrath on the world," Yavanna vowed with fierce determination. She could strike him while he slept, her dagger poised for the kill. She was sure she could escape the ship unnoticed, away from his fiery army.

Yet, as time dragged on, Jae remained alert, his arms folded behind his head, his vibrant purple eyes open but unseeing.

"Go to sleep, Yavanna," Jae said, his voice a casual command that cut through her resolve.

Frustration surged within her, but with no choice but to retreat, Yavanna forced herself to drift into a restless sleep, her plans slipping away like shadows in the night.

In her dreams, the landscape shifted and transformed. She found herself standing in a vast, shadowy forest, ancient trees with gnarled roots and twisted branches surrounding her. The air was thick with the scent of moss and earth, and an eerie silence pervaded the dreamscape.

From the shadows, a figure emerged – not a man, but a large crow, black as night with three piercing red eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light. The bird's presence was both imposing and ethereal, exuding an ancient power that made the hairs on the back of Yavanna's neck stand up. It was the same feeling she had when Jae was near. She liked it little.

"Yavanna," the crow's voice echoed through the forest, reverberating with a mystical resonance. "You have been chosen."

Yavanna trusted the bird little. "What have I been chosen for? For what purpose?" Yavanna asked sharply.

"To help me counter the rising threat of Jaehaerys Targaryen, who bears the soul of Jon Snow and Balerion the God of Death. It is unfortunate but it seems that Jon Snow has ceased to exist entirely and that only Balerion's evil remains. It is the evil that seeks to consume and dominate. If left unchecked, he will bring ruin upon the world."

Yavanna frowned. "I have abilities granted by myself being an elf, but what can I possibly do against a god in humanoid form?"

The Three-Eyed Crow hopped closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intense focus. "You possess the heart and courage needed to defy. You can be my eyes and ears within his ranks. Spy on him, gather information and report back to me. I cannot observe too closely unless I want him to discover my presence."

"He would eventually find out. Evil has ways of doing that," Yavanna said.

"You will find a way," the Three-Eyed Crow assured her. "There are many who will suffer under his rule, many who would yearn for freedom. You can instill rebellion within the slave factions, sowing seeds of dissent and resistance. Hinder him at every turn, weaken his grip on power, and disrupt his plans.

"And if I'm caught?"

"Then you must be prepared to face the consequences," he said, his voice unwavering. "But remember, you are not alone. Others share your desire for justice and freedom. Together, you can stand against the darkness."

"I will do as you say," Yavanna said slowly.

"And keep the appearance of the most devout servant, willing to give and pleasure her master at any given moment. It will gain you his trust. And who knows….you might be the one to end his threat."

Yavanna understood immediately, though It made her stomach sick. "I know what needs to be done."

"Good. Perchance you have any corn?"

Three-Eyed Crow

He had been watching her closely for days, unseen and unheard, aware of her simmering rage towards her new master. Her compliance was a gamble, but he needed her to hinder Jaehaerys Targaryen. For all his talents and countless eyes, even he hadn't foreseen this conflict. He had led Euron Greyjoy to Jon, hoping to forge him into a weapon against The Great Other and its undead and to use him to spread the Old God's influence back across the world.

"The power of the Old Gods in Jon Snow's blood did little to resist Balerion's invasion of his soul. It is unfortunate, but he must die."

"Killing something of our creation is regrettable," he mused with a bitter smile. Yes, he was the architect of Jon Snow's existence.

"Azor Ahai, the power he wielded! The ice and fire in his veins surpassed the might of all the Gods. What was the risk of angering the Great Other compared to controlling the greatest power in the known world?"

Possessing the soul and body of Bloodraven had been easy. Luring the embittered Kinslayer, still smarting from his exile, and feeding him sap from the heart tree was child's play. Bloodraven was already a warg, a perfect vessel.

Whispering into Aerys Targaryen's ear had been effortless.

Guiding Rhaegar Targaryen to Lyanna Stark was a simple task.

Reawakening the Great Other to bring Azor Ahai into the world once more had been inevitable.

"We had no choice. The Others would have come south regardless, just to thwart our plans of expansion. The Great Other is an outcast in the eyes of the other Old Gods. This is but a hiccup. We will kill Jaehaerys and create another who embodies Ice and Fire. Euron Greyjoy will no longer disrupt our plans. He will be dealt with."

"Such is the price of justice. We shall reclaim what is ours and much more."

His brothers and sisters stared at him from the shadows of the tunnel, their golden eyes filled with hope. Their faith only steeled his resolve.

"Brandon Stark, you soon will be mine."

And thus, he gazed into the heart of the turmoil engulfing Westeros, ready to steer its destiny as he always had.

Jon

The Valyrian ship soared through the skies, its ancient hull dark against the gloomy sky. Intricate carvings of dragons and runes pulsed with a faint, magical light along its sides. The massive sails, emblazoned with the sigil of a dragon entwined with arcane symbols, billowed against the wind, propelling the vessel forward. The ship defied gravity, an artifact of a long-lost era, its very existence a testament to the prowess of ancient Valyrian magic.

Jaehaerys stood at the prow, his black cloak rippling in the high-altitude winds. His one eye, a vibrant purple, was fixed on the horizon. Yavanna was next to him clutching the railing, red bite marks visible on her bright green skin, her silver hair flowing in the wind.

"The dragon lords indulged in their lust and foolishness, squandering their lineage with elves. To rebuild the Valyrian dynasty—now diluted and diminished—I must begin with the women closest to me. There is potential for new abilities in coupling with an elf."

Yavanna was a particularly intriguing case. Her composure and elegance, gifts of her elven heritage, made her inscrutable to Jae. In theory, Yavanna was the perfect servant, but her mystery held him captive.

Beneath them, the landscape was seen. A jagged line of dark cliffs rose from the ground, marking the border of the ogre territory. Twisted trees, remnants of an ancient forest, clawed at the air like skeletal hands. The land below was desolate and scarred, evidence of past battles and the harsh rule of the ogres.

The ship began its descent, the runes along its hull glowing brighter as it neared the ground. The wind whipped around them, rustling the leaves of the twisted trees below.

"Tell me, Yavanna, will the ogres heed me or prefer to face the sword?"

"Ogres follow only the strong and the one who displays the most cruelty, master. It is a game to them," Yavanna replied, her voice soft and measured.

"Then they will revel in my game."

Exiting the ship's ramp, his phantoms moved with a ghostly fluidity at the base of the cliff, their black skeletons a stark contrast against the ashen ground. Each phantom wore black Valyrian armor that seemed to absorb the dim light filtering through the ever-present haze. Their long, brittle white hair flowed in the breeze, and their eyes blazed with flaming red fire, a sight that would strike terror into Jae's enemies. In their skeletal hands, they held swords wreathed in flame, burning with another worldly intensity.

Behind the phantoms marched a legion of normal skeletons, their bones clattering as they moved with relentless, mechanical precision. Interspersed among them were the fire wyrms, serpentine creatures of flame and smoke that slithered and hissed, their very presence scorching the earth beneath them.

The Ogres, massive and brutish, came out of their huts in force, roaring with fury. They wielded massive clubs and crude axes, their eyes blazing with savage determination. As Jae's army of fire advanced, the ogres charged, their heavy footsteps shaking the ground.

"Their numbers range in the thousands," Jae thought, somewhat impressed. "If the other slave factions have any numbers similar, Old Valyria had been hosting hundreds of thousands of life with the known world oblivious."

The phantoms met the charge head-on, their flaming swords slicing through the air. The first ogres to reach them were cut down, their flesh seared by the enchanted blades. But the ogres fought back with a ferocity that drew a gasp from Yavanna. One phantom was shattered by a massive club lined with Valyrian steel spikes, its bones scattering across the ground. Another was torn apart by an ogre's powerful hands, its fiery eyes flickering out as it fell. Those two deaths ceased the movement of one hundred skeletons, who stood there aimlessly before being shattered by clubs.

"They are impressive. Were the dragon lords ignorant and prideful to send these massive beasts to battle along with their dragons? They will be of better use to me."

The ogres fought with a savage strength, their blows smashing through skeletons and sending fire wyrms recoiling, striking them savagely before the wormy serpents could generate their flame.

The phantoms were relentless. The blood spilled empowered them, morphing their forms into shadowy wraiths that cut a path through the battlefield, filling the ogres' lungs with smoke and blood and exploding their eyes with bursts of fire. The fire wyrms slithered from underneath the ground from behind the line of battle, their flames consuming the ogres and their crude hunts.

The ogres roared in defiance, but the heavy smoke abruptly stole their cries. One by one. They fell under the relentless assault. The phantoms hacked and slashed with inhuman precision, their flaming swords cutting through flesh and bone. Black smoke covered the battlefield as the phantoms changed forms only to reappear to cut them down from behind. Their laughter echoed through the slaughter, crackling like a bonfire.

The skeletons swarmed over the fallen, their bony hands clawing and tearing. The fire wyrms unleashed torrents of flame, reducing ogre warriors to ash and pushing them back into the deep depths of their mountains.

"Halt," Jae commanded.

The mental command immediately stopped all the Phantoms mid-swing. They sheathed their flaming swords and dispersed their black smoke of death. The skeletons fell back in formation and the fire wyrms grazed on the fallen bodies of the Ogres.

Jae turned to Yavanna, who was already observing him intently. "You will go into their mountains and explain their situation to them. From there, you will lead the rest of the force on foot to strike each faction's settlements. You have told me they are not far apart. I expect nothing less than success upon my return."

"Balerion did not tolerate failure, and neither shall I. Her being my elf does not exempt her from punishment. I will make an example of her if she falters."

"I will not disappoint, master," Yavanna replied, a sly smile curling on her beautiful lips. "I eagerly await your return." She took his hand and kissed it softly.

Jae smirked and placed a hand on her cheek. "As shall I."

As Yavanna walked across the battlefield, Jae guided the ship in the air. The sky was an ominous shade of blood red as Jae's Valyrian ship approached the rim of a massive Valyrian volcano, its fiery glow illuminating the darkening sky. The ship, a sleek and black vessel with runes of ancient magic etched along its hull, docked at a jagged outcropping. Jae stood at the bow, his dark eyes fixed on the volcanic maw before him. His ten phantoms flanked him, their black skeletal forms wreathed in flickering red fire.

Jae stepped onto the rocky shore with purpose, his black cloak billowing behind him. The phantoms followed silently, their flaming swords casting eerie shadows that danced across the molten landscape. Trailing behind them were Euron's former prisoners, their mouths cruelly sewn shut to silence their screams. Their chains clinked against their shackles as they stumbled forward.

Jae approached the edge of the volcanic caldera, where a ceremonial altar had been prepared. At the center of the altar was a bound firewyrm, its scales shimmering with molten gold and red. The creature hissed and thrashed against its chains, its fiery breath scorching the air.

Jae's phantoms formed a circle around the altar, their ethereal forms casting ghostly flames into the surrounding darkness. One of the phantoms raised his arms and began to chant in an ancient, guttural language. Their voices resonated like the crackling of embers in a dying fire, a haunting symphony that echoed through the volcanic cavern.

Jaehaerys, his hands steady, began weaving the spell. His movements were deliberate and practiced, his eyes locked on the firewyrm as he drew intricate symbols in the air with glowing crimson runes. The symbols floated above the altar, pulsing with an otherworldly energy.

The prisoners, their eyes wide with fear, were arranged around the altar. Jae's lips curled into a cold smile as he observed their fear. "Why are you afraid? You were nothing more than toys for Euron Greyjoy. Now, you hold the key to summon a dragon for Jaehaerys Targaryen," he said with a hint of mockery. "Doesn't that excite you?"

The only response was muffled cries.

"Indeed," he replied, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "I thought as much."

Jae directed the phantoms to bring forth the prisoners, each one placed upon the altar's sacrificial slab. The firewyrm was released from its chains, and its fierce, fiery breath mingled with the smoke.

"Iksā ñuha sikagon se drīve. Sikagon se drīve māzī. Sikagon se drīve ānogar. Sikagon se drīve mōris!"

Jon raised his arms, and the phantoms' chanting grew louder, the crackling sound intensifying. The flames in the volcano's depths roared in response as if answering an ancient call. The prisoners were sacrificed one by one, their blood mixing with the firewyrm's essence and flowing into the heart of the volcano. The altar was bathed in a fiery glow, the ritual reaching its zenith.

The lava beneath the altar bubbled violently, and the air grew thick with heat. Jae's spell reached its climax as he cast the final incantation. The volcano's fiery veins pulsed in rhythm with the phantoms' chants, and a massive eruption of flame surged forth. The volcanic ash and fire coalesced, forming a colossal, fiery sphere that hovered above the altar.

The lava beneath the altar bubbled violently, and the air grew thick with heat. Jon's spell reached its climax as he cast the final incantation.

"Māzī se rhēdys hen sikagon se drīve, se mōris iā!"

The volcano's fiery veins pulsed in rhythm with the phantoms' chants, and a massive eruption of flame surged forth. The volcanic ash and fire coalesced, forming a colossal, fiery sphere that hovered above the altar.

As the flames roared, the sphere took shape. From within the inferno, a dragon emerged, its scales as pure white as freshly fallen snow, tinged with a crimson hue that flickered like a living flame. Its eyes were a piercing red, flowing with an intense, malevolent intelligence. A black undertone shimmered beneath its white scales, adding a haunting depth to its appearance.

The dragon unfurled its wings, which cast dark, flickering shadows across the volcanic landscape. It roared, the sound echoing through the cavern like a thunderclap, and the ground trembled beneath its might.

Rhaenys

Her dreams shifted into one that found herself in a dark, cavernous hall, its walls adorned with the ancient sigils of Valyria. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and ash, and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows that danced on the walls.

In the corner of the hall stood the man Rhaenys often seen in her dreams.

…..but he is different.

His eyes once filled with determination and grey, now glowed a malevolent purple – one of the eyes was covered by an eyepatch. His dark brown hair was streaked with silver. His skin was pale, almost translucent, with black veins coursing beneath the surface. He wore black Valyrian armor, intricately detailed with fiery runes, and a dark cloak that seemed to absorb the light around him. He bore a sinister smile.

"What happened to this poor boy?" Rhaenys thought in horror. "Where is his grey eyes?" In her dreams, the boy often pleaded for help against the darkness that tormented him.

Her heart went out to him. Against her better sense and something that would have Aegon yell at her, Rhaenys approached him cautiously, her heart aching at the sight. But as she drew closer, the scene shifted, and she saw another – the young boy as she remembered him, with both eyes and handsome compared to the beautiful cruelty of the former. His eyes were a deep, sorrowful gray, and his expression was one of profound sadness. He wore simple practical clothing, a stark contrast to the dark armor of the evil man.

"I have never known your name, ser," Rhaenys said calmly.

He turned to her. "I am not a ser. I am a bastard," he said bitterly.

"I do not care about your status. I care about your name," Rhaenys said earnestly.

That took the young boy back. He observed her more carefully. "My name is Jon Snow."

"He is of the north."

"What happened to you, Jon?"

"I let him take over."

"What?" Rhaenys almost screamed, aghast. "Jon, why? Why did you let this monster take control? Why did you become this monster?"

"What made this poor boy willingly transform into such an abomination?" Rhaenys thought in sudden anger. She wanted to find those responsible for some strange reason.

"Because nobody wants me," Jon said softly. "I was always the bastard, the unwanted one. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I was never truly accepted. Not by my family, not by anyone."

Rhaenys stepped forward. "But Jon, someone had to love you." "You seem so easy to love," Rhaenys wanted to say.

Jon shook his head, his expression hardening. "Loved? Maybe by a few. But that love was always a condition. Always fleeting. Balerion….he offers something else. Power. Purpose. A way to make them all see me, to make them all pay for what they did to me."

Rhaenys murmured the name, "Balerion?" The name evoked images of her cat and the legendary Balerion the Black Dread. "Could Balerion be the dark force I just glimpsed?" The thought settled with a disquieting certainty.

A profound sorrow gripped her heart. "I don't know what you've endured, and I won't pretend to understand," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "But something deep within me insists that this path is wrong."

Jon's gaze softened, a shadow of anguish crossing his features. "It is wrong. It's pure evil. Innocents are dying—have already died. But… but this is my chance to finally be seen."

Desperation clawed at Rhaenys as she reached out, her hand grasping for his, but the vision began to slip away. "Jon, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Don't let him control you. Don't let the darkness consume you entirely. It's not right!"

As the dream faded into darkness, Jon's final words reverberated in her mind with chilling finality. "I'm not worth saving."

Rhaenys jolted awake, tears streaming down her cheeks. The dream's weight pressed down on her like a leaden shroud. "Are these dreams real?" she wondered in anguish. "Did this innocent boy truly transform into a monster, swallowed whole by the darkness he begged to escape?"

The vision lingered, a haunting echo of a boy's desperate pleas twisted into a shadowy nightmare. She shook off the remnants of sleep and took stock of her surroundings. They were on a ship bound for Dorne, with Eddard Stark held captive in the hold below.

Resolute, Rhaenys rose from her bed, her mind racing with urgency. "I must speak with Lord Stark," she resolved, driven by a gnawing sense of foreboding and a need for answers.

Robb

Robb entered his chambers with a heavy tread, the echoes of a grueling council meeting still reverberating in his mind. The assembled lords of the North had left him with no respite, each faction pressing their own theories about his father's disappearance. Some called for more answers, their frustration palpable. Others cast blame on Dorne, accusing the runaways Aegon and Rhaenys of slaying his father and Robert Baratheon in Norvos. A few pointed fingers at the Lannisters, alleging their involvement in the murder of both the king and the Warden of the North. Amid the chaos of conflicting accusations, one truth remained elusive: no one knew the fate of Ned Stark.

The crown nor Dorne gave them a clear answer.

Yet, despite the uncertainty and the fractious debates, there was a singular expectation that bound them all together. They looked at Robb. They expected him to act, to find answers and to lead with resolve in the face of mounting pressure.

Robb lay in his bed, the weight of his newfound leadership pressing down on him, and he soon found himself sleeping.

In his dream, Robb found himself standing in the Great Hall of Winterfell. The familiar sight brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but it quickly turned to dread as he saw his father, Eddard Stark, standing before him. Ned's face was stern, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and disappointment.

"Father?" Robb's voice was a mere whisper, filled with uncertainty.

Eddard stared at him, his gaze penetrating and unforgiving. "Robb," he said, his voice echoing in the hall. "Why do you hesitate? Why do you delay in avenging me?"

Robb's heart pounded in his chest. "I…I want to act father. But I don't know if you are dead. There is so much at stake. The lives of our people, the future of the north…"

Ned's expression hardened. "And what of our honor? What about justice? Have you forgotten what it means to be a Stark of Winterfell?"

Robb shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. "No father. I haven't forgotten. But the Lannisters are powerful, and Dorne is unconquerable without dragons. I must be careful."

Eddard stepped closer, his presence looming over Robb. "Careful? Or cowardly? Every moment you delay, the North grows weaker. Our enemies grow bolder. Is this how you honor your father? By hesitating, by allowing our enemies to believe we are afraid?"

Robb's fists clenched at his sides. "I'm not afraid. I want justice for you, for all of us. But I need to be wise. I can't lead our people to slaughter."

Ned's eyes bore into his son's soul. "Wise, or weak? Your hesitation is a sign of weakness, Robb. The North needs a leader, a wolf who will fight for its survival/ Will you be that leader, or will you let our name be tarnished by indecision?"

The weight of his father's words pressed heavily on Robb's heart. He felt the crushing responsibility of his lineage, the expectation to uphold the honor of House Stark. He looked into Eddard's eyes, feeling the full burden of his father's legacy.

"I won't let you down, Father," Robb vowed, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I will avenge you. The Lannisters and Martells be damned. I will lead the north with strength and honor."

Eddard's expression softened, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. "Then prove it, Robb. Show our enemies what it means to face a Stark of Winterfell."

As the dream faded, Robb saw a crow flap its wings.

Arthur: There is that! Sorry for the lateness. It has been rough for me lately. Uprising has also been updated as well.

What do you think the Three-eyed crow is up to? What do you think Yavanna will do? Is robb going to make the smart choice? What name do you want for Jon's dragon? Also, where the hell is Euron at? Lmao. And do you think Jon is totally lost?

One more thing...do you enjoy House of The dragon? For me it is kind of hard to explain. Let me know your thoughts in the review!