The Lost Jedi of Westeros

by Mtle232

Jedi Master Kyen Shan, exiled for having a family, crash-lands on an unknown planet after fleeing the Order. Meanwhile, in Winterfell, young Jon Snow and Robb Stark witness the Starfall's descent, mistaking it for a fallen star. They embark on a secret quest into the wolfswood, unaware of the Jedi family's arrival.

8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Lion's Den

Jace's boots sank slightly into the soft earth as he took his first steps onto the alien world. The air was crisp and clean, filled with the scent of pine and something vaguely floral he couldn't quite place. Beside him, Mira's eyes were wide as she took in their surroundings, her hand gripping his tightly.

C-23 moved ahead of them, its metallic feet leaving precise imprints in the soil. "Initial atmospheric analysis complete," the droid reported. "Air composition is similar to Corellian standard, with slightly higher oxygen content. No detectable toxins or pathogens present."

Jace nodded, allowing himself a small sigh of relief. At least they could breathe here without worry. "Can you pinpoint the source of Lyra's beacon?" he asked.

The droid's head swiveled smoothly, its sensors sweeping the area. "Affirmative. The signal originates approximately 1.2 kilometers to the northeast. Terrain appears navigable, though dense forest cover may impede direct travel."

Mira squared her shoulders, a determined look settling on her face. "Then let's get moving. Every minute we waste is another minute Lyra might need us."

As they set off into the forest, Jace couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. The woods were eerily quiet, devoid of the familiar sounds of wildlife he'd expect on a habitable world. Only the soft crunch of their footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees broke the silence.

They walked for what felt like hours, though C-23 assured them it had only been about forty minutes. The forest seemed to press in around them, the towering trees creating a claustrophobic canopy that limited visibility and made it difficult to maintain their bearings.

"Wait," Mira said suddenly, grabbing Jace's arm. "Do you hear that?"

Jace strained his ears, trying to pick up whatever had caught Mira's attention. At first, he heard nothing but the whisper of wind through leaves. Then, faintly, he caught it – a rhythmic, mechanical sound, barely audible but unmistakably artificial.

C-23's head snapped towards the noise. "Audio sensors detecting a repeating pattern consistent with a malfunctioning power cell," the droid reported. "Matches known specifications for Corellian light freighters. Adjusting course to investigate."

Their pace quickened as they moved towards the sound. The trees began to thin, and suddenly they found themselves on the edge of a small clearing. In the center, half-hidden by undergrowth and fallen branches, sat a battered starship.

"That's it," Mira breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's Lyra's ship."

Jace's heart raced as they approached the vessel. It was clear it had been here for some time. Vines had begun to creep up the landing struts, and a thick layer of forest detritus covered much of the hull. The boarding ramp was extended, disappearing into the darkened interior.

C-23 moved ahead, its sensors scanning the ship. "Caution advised," it warned. "Power levels extremely low. Life support systems non-functional. No life signs detected within."

Jace and Mira exchanged a worried glance before carefully making their way up the ramp. The interior of the ship was a mess – drawers had been pulled open, panels removed from walls, and equipment scattered about haphazardly.

"It looks like someone stripped it for parts," Jace said, running his hand along a bare section of wall where wiring had clearly been removed.

Mira moved towards the cockpit, her steps hesitant. "Lyra?" she called out, her voice trembling slightly. "Kyen? Caspian? Is anyone here?"

Only silence answered her.

C-23's voice cut through the tense atmosphere. "I have completed my analysis of the ship's systems. It appears the vessel made a hard landing approximately 11.3 standard months ago. Most critical systems were damaged on impact. However, the emergency beacon was activated manually after landing."

Jace felt a mix of relief and renewed worry at this information. "So, they survived the crash," he said. "But where did they go after?"

Mira was examining the cockpit controls, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Look at this," she said, pointing to a flashing light on one of the few still-functional panels. "The ship's log. Maybe it can tell us something."

With trembling fingers, she activated the playback. A hologram flickered to life – distorted and barely visible, but unmistakably Lyra. Jace felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of his daughter.

"...if anyone finds this," Lyra's voice came through, broken and staticky. "We've crash-landed on an unknown world. R3... repairs... locals... medieval level... Kyen says... Force-sensitive... stay hidden... Caspian is... We'll try to... integrate... learn more... If you're listening, Mom, Dad... we're okay. We love you. Don't—"

The message cut off abruptly, leaving them in stunned silence.

"They're alive," Mira said, her voice a mix of relief and renewed determination. "Or at least, they were when they left this message. We have to find them."

Jace nodded, his mind racing. "But where do we even start? This planet could be huge, and they clearly didn't stay with the ship."

C-23 spoke up, its tone as close to excitement as a droid could manage. "I may have a solution. My scans have detected a faint energy signature consistent with an astromech droid, approximately 47 kilometers to the northwest. Given the information in Lyra's message, it is logical to assume this could be the R3 unit she mentioned."

Hope surged through Jace. "Can you pinpoint its exact location?"

"Affirmative," C-23 replied. "However, the distance and terrain make it inadvisable to attempt the journey on foot. I recommend we return to the ship and inform Masters Varek and Sedyn of our findings. They may have transportation options better suited for long-distance travel on this world."

Mira looked reluctant to leave, her eyes lingering on the ship that had brought her daughter to this strange world. But eventually, she nodded. "You're right. We need to regroup and come up with a plan."

As they made their way back through the forest, Jace's mind was a whirlwind of emotions. They were closer than ever to finding Lyra, but the challenges ahead seemed daunting. What kind of world had his daughter and her family found themselves on? And what dangers might they face in trying to reunite with them?

Sedyn's Perspective:

Sedyn paced the length of the ship's common area, his fingers tapping restlessly against his helmet. They'd secured the perimeter and found no immediate threats, but the unease gnawing at his gut refused to subside. This planet, with its primeval forests and eerie silence, set his nerves on edge in a way few places ever had.

The sound of the ship's ramp lowering snapped him to attention. He moved swiftly to the entrance, blaster at the ready, only relaxing slightly when he saw Jace, Mira, and C-23 ascending.

"You're back," he said, unable to keep the relief from his voice. "What did you find?"

Jace's face was a mix of emotions – hope, worry, and determination all warring for dominance. "We found Lyra's ship," he said. "And a message. They survived the crash, Sedyn. They're out there somewhere."

As Jace and Mira recounted their discovery, Sedyn felt his tactical mind kick into high gear. The revelation of an astromech droid signal kilometers away was particularly intriguing. If they could locate that droid, they'd likely find Lyra and her family.

"So they've integrated with the local population," Sedyn mused, thinking out loud. "A civilization at a medieval tech level, if Lyra's message is accurate. That complicates things."

Varek, who had been listening silently, spoke up. "We'll need to be cautious. If this world truly is pre-spaceflight, our very presence could be deeply disruptive."

Sedyn nodded in agreement, then turned to C-23. "You said the droid signal is about 47 kilometers northwest? We can't make that journey on foot, not if we want to move quickly."

A thought struck him, and he snapped his fingers. "The speeder bikes. We brought a few for recon work. They're fast, maneuverable, and we can easily lock onto the droid's signal."

Varek considered this for a moment, then nodded. "It's a good plan. But we'll need to be careful. If the locals are as technologically limited as Lyra suggested, our arrival on speeders could cause quite a stir."

"We don't have much choice," Mira interjected, her voice tight with barely contained impatience. "Every moment we wait is another moment Lyra and her family might need us."

Sedyn understood her urgency. He'd felt the same way when his mother had gone missing, that desperate need to act, to do something. "We'll go," he said firmly. "But we do this smart. Full armor, weapons concealed. We scout the area before making contact. Agreed?"

The others nodded, and a flurry of activity ensued as they prepared for the journey. Sedyn helped Jace and Mira into some spare armor – not full Mandalorian kit, but enough to offer protection and obscure their identities. He showed them how to secure their blasters in hidden holsters, emphasizing the importance of keeping their tech hidden as much as possible.

As they worked, Sedyn couldn't help but notice the determination in Jace and Mira's eyes. These weren't soldiers or adventurers, just ordinary people driven to extraordinary lengths by love for their family. It stirred something in him, a mix of admiration and a renewed sense of purpose in their mission.

Finally, they were ready. Four speeder bikes were prepped and loaded with essential supplies. C-23 would remain with the ship and young Ca'Tra, monitoring their progress and maintaining a link to their long-range communications.

As they prepared to depart, Sedyn knelt down to Ca'Tra's level. "Gar ceta, ad'ika," (Be safe, little one) he said softly. "Liser C-23 cca'sai gar." (Let C-23 watch over you)

Ca'Tra nodded solemnly, clutching her stuffed animal. "Ni liser aaray gar cca'sai," (I can help keep watch) she said, her young face set in a determined expression that mirrored her father and brother's.

Sedyn couldn't help but smile behind his helmet. "Jate, vod'ika. Gar coo'oya." (Good, little sister. You scout)

With final instructions given to C-23 and a secure comm link established, they set off. The speeder bikes hummed to life, their repulsorlifts kicking up small clouds of forest debris as they rose a few feet off the ground.

Sedyn took point, leading them out of the clearing and into the dense forest. He'd loaded the coordinates of the droid signal into his helmet's heads-up display, allowing him to navigate while keeping his eyes on their surroundings.

They moved swiftly through the woods, the speeders' maneuverability allowing them to weave between trees and over rough terrain with ease. Sedyn kept their speed relatively low, mindful of the need for stealth, but even so, they covered ground far faster than they could have on foot.

As they traveled, the landscape began to change. The dense forest gradually gave way to more open terrain – rolling hills covered in a patchwork of woodlands and open fields. In the distance, Sedyn could make out what looked like primitive roads and the occasional cluster of structures that might be small villages.

They had been traveling for nearly an hour when Sedyn spotted movement ahead. He signaled for the others to slow down and take cover behind a small copse of trees. Peering out, he saw a group of men on horseback moving along one of the dirt roads.

"Locals," he whispered over the comm. "Looks like some kind of patrol. Primitive weapons – swords, bows. No signs of advanced tech."

Jace's voice came back, tense but controlled. "Should we try to make contact?"

Sedyn shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Jace couldn't see the gesture. "Negative. We don't know enough about the political situation here. Better to avoid contact for now and focus on finding the droid signal."

They waited until the patrol had passed, then resumed their journey, now moving with even greater caution. As they crested a particularly high hill, Sedyn brought his speeder to a sudden stop, the others quickly following suit.

"By the Manda," he breathed, his eyes wide behind his helmet's visor.

Sprawled out before them, nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, was a massive stone structure. High walls surrounded a complex of towers and buildings, all built in a style Sedyn had only ever seen in historical holos. A castle, straight out of ancient legend.

"Is that... where the signal is coming from?" Mira asked, her voice filled with a mix of awe and trepidation.

Sedyn checked his HUD, correlating the droid signal with their current position. "Affirmative," he said. "Whatever we're tracking, it's somewhere inside those walls."

Jace leaned forward on his speeder, his posture tense. "Then that's where Lyra is. It has to be."

Varek's voice cut in, calm but with an underlying note of caution. "We need to approach this carefully. A structure like that is bound to be heavily guarded. We can't just ride up to the gates."

Sedyn nodded, his voice low and tense. "We need to get closer without being spotted. Perhaps we could—"

He fell silent, his sharp eyes catching movement in the distance. A group of riders was emerging from the castle gates, their mounts' hooves kicking up dust as they thundered along the road in their general direction.

"Take cover," Sedyn hissed, maneuvering his speeder bike behind a jagged outcropping of rocks. The others followed suit, the repulsorlifts' gentle hum ensuring their movements remained mercifully quiet.

From their concealed position, they observed the approaching riders. Sedyn's helmet sensors zoomed in on the group, revealing details that made his pulse quicken.

The riders wore thick furs and well-worn leathers, swords glinting at their sides and round shields strapped to their backs. They rode with the easy grace of those who had spent their lives in the saddle. But it was their leader who truly captured Sedyn's attention.

The man at the forefront was older, perhaps in his fifties, with a grizzled beard streaked with grey and a face etched with the lines of experience. His posture spoke of unwavering loyalty and years of martial training. The other riders deferred to him with a respect that bordered on reverence.

"What do you see?" Jace whispered, his fingers ghosting over the grip of his hidden blaster.

Sedyn chose his words with care. "I believe we're looking at someone of significant importance. Not the lord of the castle, but perhaps his right hand or master-at-arms."

Mira leaned forward, her eyes straining against the glare of the setting sun. "Could Lyra be among them?"

"Negative," Sedyn replied, his gaze still fixed on the passing group. "There's no sign of her, nor anyone matching the descriptions of Kyen or Caspian. But..."

He trailed off, his mind racing. If Lyra and her family had integrated with the local population, as her message suggested, then they might have connections to the leadership of this place. It was a long shot, but it was the best lead they had.

As the riders passed by, seemingly oblivious to their hidden observers, Sedyn made a decision. "We wait until nightfall," he said. "Then we move closer to the castle. We need to gather more intelligence before we make any moves."

The others murmured their agreement, settling in for what promised to be a long and tense wait. As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the

landscape, Sedyn couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of something momentous.

Somewhere within those ancient stone walls, he was sure, lay the answers they sought. And perhaps, if they were lucky, a family long separated would finally be reunited.

Lannisport

The salty tang of the sea air mingled with the acrid scent of smoke and burning wood as the ship carrying Ned Stark, Kyen Shan, and their companions drifted into the bustling harbor of Lannisport. Ned stood at the prow, his eyes fixed on the sprawling city that lay ahead, its towering spires and imposing walls a far cry from the rugged beauty of the North.

Kyen joined him, his keen gaze sweeping across the bustling docks and the throngs of people gathered to greet the returning heroes of the Greyjoy Rebellion. "So this is Lannisport," the Jedi murmured. "The heart of Lannister power in the west."

Ned nodded grimly. "Aye, and a place I'd rather not be. The Lannisters are shrewd and ambitious – I can only imagine the political maneuvering that awaits us."

As the ship drew closer to the docks, the sounds of the city grew louder – the cries of merchants, the laughter of revelers, the thunderous cheers of the crowd. Ned could see the banners of House Lannister fluttering in the breeze, a stark contrast to the somber direwolf of Winterfell.

"It would seem the Lannisters are eager to welcome us," Kyen observed, his voice tinged with dry amusement.

Ned let out a weary sigh. "Aye, that they are. And no doubt they'll expect us to play our part in their grand celebration."

From the corner of his eye, Ned caught sight of Asha and Theon Greyjoy, standing apart from the others on the deck. The siblings kept to themselves, their faces a mix of apprehension and curiosity as they gazed upon the unfamiliar city. Ned felt a pang of sympathy for the young Greyjoys, knowing that this was just a brief stop on their journey to Winterfell, where they would be fostered as his wards.

"We won't be here long," Ned said quietly to the Greyjoy children as he approached them. "Once our business with the Lannisters is concluded, we'll continue north to Winterfell."

Asha nodded stiffly, while Theon's eyes widened slightly at the mention of their future home. Ned could see the mix of fear and excitement in the boy's eyes, a reminder of the weight of responsibility he now carried for these children's futures.

As the ship docked and the gangplank was lowered, Ned took a deep breath, steeling himself for the political gauntlet that lay ahead. Beside him, Kyen stood tall, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his lightsaber – a silent reminder of the power he wielded, and the responsibilities that came with it.

The group stepped onto the dock, their arrival greeted by a swarm of Lannister guards and servants, all eager to attend to the needs of the esteemed guests. Ned scanned the crowd, searching for any familiar faces, when a booming voice cut through the din.

"Ned! There you are, you old wolf!" Robert Baratheon, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, strode towards them, his massive frame parting the crowd like a ship's prow through waves. The king's face was flushed with excitement, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of victory. Ned was surprised to see him, knowing that Robert and Tywin had taken an earlier ship to Lannisport.

Ned bowed his head respectfully. "Your Grace."

Robert clapped a heavy hand on Ned's shoulder, nearly sending the Stark lord stumbling. "Ah, Ned, it's good to see you! And Kyen Shan, my friend!" The king turned to the Jedi, his expression brightening. "I was hoping you'd be here. The Lannisters have been eager to meet you, to hear more of your tales from beyond the sunset sea."

Kyen inclined his head graciously. "We are honored to be here, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the true purpose of our journey was to return to Winterfell as soon as possible."

Robert's brow furrowed, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Nonsense, Kyen! The realm needs to see its heroes, to know that the Greyjoy scourge has been vanquished. And what better way to celebrate than with a grand tournament?"

Ned tensed, sensing the subtle undercurrent of unease that flowed through Kyen's demeanor. He glanced back at Asha and Theon, who stood quietly behind them, their faces a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Your Grace, I must agree with Kyen. Catelyn and the children have been without me for far too long, and I have responsibilities to attend to. Moreover, I need to see to the settlement of the Greyjoy children at Winterfell."

"Enough with the excuses, Ned!" Robert interrupted, his booming voice silencing any further protest. His gaze flickered briefly to the Greyjoy siblings before returning to Ned. "The Lannisters have made all the arrangements, and I expect you both to be there. It's my command as king. The Greyjoy children can wait a few more weeks before seeing their new home."

Ned's jaw tightened, but he knew better than to argue further. "As you wish, Your Grace."

As they made their way through the crowded streets of Lannisport, Ned couldn't help but marvel at the sheer scale and grandeur of the city. The towering spires of Casterly Rock loomed in the distance, a constant reminder of the Lannister's power and influence. He kept a watchful eye on Asha and Theon, who were taking in the sights of the bustling port city with wide eyes.

Kyen's gaze swept across the bustling streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. "This place is... impressive," he remarked, his tone measured. "Though I sense a great deal of tension beneath the surface."

Ned nodded, his expression grim. "Aye, the Lannisters rule with an iron fist. Their wealth and power are unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms."

As they walked, Ned noticed a group of smallfolk huddled near an alleyway, their faces etched with worry and fear. Kyen, ever attuned to the emotions of those around him, paused and approached the group. Ned gestured for Asha and Theon to stay close, aware of the potential danger their presence might provoke among the common folk.

"Is everything alright?" the Jedi asked, his voice gentle and reassuring.

An older man, his face lined with age and hardship, stepped forward. His eyes darted nervously to the Greyjoy children before he spoke. "Begging your pardon, m'lord, but we've heard rumors of strange happenings in the city. Some say the Ironborn might return, seeking revenge."

Ned felt Asha and Theon stiffen behind him, the weight of their family's actions hanging heavily in the air. He placed a reassuring hand on Theon's shoulder, addressing the old man with a firm but kind voice. "The Ironborn rebellion has been crushed. You need not fear their return. These children are under my protection and pose no threat to anyone in Lannisport or elsewhere in the Seven Kingdoms."

Kyen's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "You need not fear. The Ironborn have been defeated, and their fleet lies in ruins. The king himself is here to ensure the safety of the realm."

The man's eyes widened in recognition. "You're... you're the one they call the Sunset Sorcerer, aren't you? The one who fought alongside King Robert?"

Kyen nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I am. And I give you my word that you and your families are safe. The Greyjoy Rebellion is over."

The group of smallfolk visibly relaxed, their fears assuaged by Kyen's words. As they continued on their way, Ned couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for the Jedi's compassion.

"That was well done," Ned said quietly. "These people have suffered much in recent months."

Kyen's expression grew somber. "It is the duty of those with power to protect and reassure those without. Too often, the smallfolk are forgotten in the games of the great houses."

As they neared the heart of Lannisport, the sounds of revelry grew louder, punctuated by the occasional blast of trumpets and the thunderous cheers of the crowd. Ned could see the elaborate tents and pavilions of the tournament grounds, their colorful banners fluttering in the breeze.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted nearby. A group of men, their faces twisted with anger and their breath reeking of ale, pushed their way through the crowd towards Kyen and Ned.

"There he is!" one of the men shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Kyen. "The foreign devil who murdered our uncle!"

Ned's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, but Kyen held up a hand, his expression calm yet resolute. "Gentlemen, your uncle's fate was of his own making. I suggest you walk away now."

The leader of the group, a burly man with a scarred face and a thick black beard, spat on the ground. "No chance, Jedi. You killed Ser Amory Lorch, and now you'll pay for it! I'm Harwyn Lorch, and these are my brothers, Tytos and Lewys. Our family demands vengeance!"

Kyen's voice remained steady, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "Ser Harwyn, surely you know the truth of what transpired. Your uncle was caught attempting to violate a mother and her daughter. When King Robert sentenced him to the Wall, he tried to attack His Grace. I acted to protect the king and deliver justice."

Tytos Lorch, a wiry man with a face reddened by drink, lunged forward. "Lies! Our uncle was a true knight! He would never-"

"Enough!" Ned's voice cut through the tension. "Your uncle's crimes were witnessed by many. Ser Kyen acted honorably in defense of the innocent and the king."

Lewys Lorch, the youngest of the three, shouted back. "And what gives a foreigner the right to pass judgment on a noble of the Westerlands?"

Harwyn's eyes fell on Asha and Theon, who stood wide-eyed behind Ned. "And what's this? Greyjoy whelps? You bring our enemies to parade through our streets while defending our uncle's killer?"

Without warning, Lewys darted forward, reaching for Asha. In that instant, Kyen's demeanor changed completely. His eyes hardened, and the air around him seemed to crackle with energy.

"You dare threaten a child?" Kyen's voice was low and dangerous. In a blur of motion, he moved.

There was a sickening crack as Kyen's fist connected with Lewys' jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Harwyn roared in fury and charged, sword drawn. Kyen sidestepped the wild swing and, with a wave of his hand, sent Harwyn flying back into a nearby stall.

Tytos, seeing his brothers fall, hesitated for a moment before foolishly rushing forward. Kyen's lightsaber ignited with a hiss, the blue blade humming ominously. As Tytos thrust his sword forward, Kyen made a precise, lightning-fast movement. The lightsaber sliced through the steel blade like it was butter, leaving Tytos holding nothing but a useless hilt. In the same fluid motion, Kyen brought the lightsaber around, its searing heat grazing Tytos' sword arm.

Tytos screamed in pain, dropping what remained of his weapon and clutching his injured arm. Within moments, all three Lorch brothers lay on the ground, groaning in pain.

Kyen stood over them, his lightsaber still ignited. "Let me make this perfectly clear," he said, his voice cold. "Your uncle was a criminal who preyed on the innocent. When you threaten children, you forfeit any right to mercy. This is your only warning. Come near these children or any other innocent again, and you will face far worse consequences."

The crowd that had gathered watched in stunned silence, many nodding in approval at Kyen's words and actions.

Before the situation could escalate further, a contingent of Lannister guards arrived, led by a stern-faced officer. "What's the meaning of this disturbance?" he demanded.

Ned stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of his authority as Warden of the North. "These men attacked Ser Kyen without provocation and attempted to harm my wards. We were defending ourselves."

The officer surveyed the scene, his eyes lingering on the injured Lorch brothers. "I see. And I suppose they were foolish enough to ignore the warnings about threatening the Jedi or his charges?"

Kyen deactivated his lightsaber. "They were. I trust they've learned their lesson now."

The officer nodded, gesturing to his men. "Take them into custody. Lord Tywin will hear of this, and I've no doubt King Robert will want to pass judgment as well."

As the Lannister guards led the groaning Lorch brothers away, Kyen turned to Ned, his expression troubled but resolute. "I apologize for the violence, Lord Stark, but I will not stand idle when children are threatened."

Ned nodded grimly, placing a protective hand on Asha and Theon's shoulders. "No apology necessary, my friend. You did what was right."

Kyen knelt down to meet Asha and Theon's eyes. "Are you both alright?" he asked gently.

Asha, looking somewhat shaken but defiant, nodded. "We're fine. But... thank you."

Theon stared at Kyen with a mixture of awe and fear. "You... you're really powerful. Will you teach me to do that?"

Kyen's expression softened. "The Force is indeed powerful, young Theon. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility. We must always strive to use our abilities to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Perhaps, in time, I can teach you some of what I know."

As the crowd began to disperse, Kyen rose to his feet, his eyes meeting Ned's. "I fear this may be only the beginning of the challenges we'll face here, Lord Stark."

Ned nodded, his expression grim. "Aye, and we must tread carefully. The Lannisters will no doubt use this incident to their advantage."

Their arrival at the tournament grounds was met with a flurry of activity. Servants scurried about, preparing for the impending festivities, while lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms mingled and gossiped. Ned could feel the weight of countless eyes upon them as they made their way through the crowd.

A herald approached, bowing low before them. "Lord Stark, Ser Kyen, your presence is requested in Lord Tywin's pavilion. The king is there as well, and they wish to discuss the... incident in the city."

Exchanging a glance with Kyen, Ned nodded. "Lead the way."

The interior of Tywin Lannister's pavilion was a testament to the family's wealth and power. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and golden lions seemed to prowl from every corner. Seated at a grand table were Tywin Lannister, his face an impassive mask, and King Robert, whose ruddy complexion suggested he had already partaken heavily of the wine.

"Ah, Ned! Kyen!" Robert boomed, raising his goblet in greeting. "Come, sit! We've much to discuss."

As they took their seats, Tywin's cold green eyes fixed upon Kyen. "It seems you've caused quite a stir in our city, Ser Kyen. House Lorch is demanding recompense for Lord Amory's death and the alleged attack on their men."

Before Kyen could respond, Robert slammed his fist on the table, wine sloshing from his cup. "Bugger that! Lorch got what he deserved. Trying to rape a mother and daughter, then attempting to kill me? He's lucky I only sentenced him to the Wall before Kyen had to put him down."

Tywin's expression remained impassive, but Ned could see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Be that as it may, Your Grace, we must consider the political implications. While I do not condone Lorch's actions, we cannot allow individuals to take the law into their own hands."

Robert waved his hand dismissively. "Kyen was defending me, Tywin. I'll not have loyal men punished for protecting their king."

Tywin's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he nodded. "As you wish, Your Grace. I shall make it clear to House Lorch that any further incidents will be met with... severe consequences."

Kyen, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke. "Lord Tywin, I must clarify my actions. When House Lorch confronted me, they attempted to seize Asha and Theon Greyjoy, who are innocent of their father's crimes. As a father myself, I cannot stand idly by when children are threatened."

His eyes hardened as he continued, "While I generally abhor violence, those who endanger children forfeit any claim to mercy. I acted to protect the innocent, nothing more."

Tywin's gaze sharpened, studying the Jedi with renewed interest. "A protective instinct is understandable, Ser Kyen. However, we must be cautious about setting precedents of individuals taking the law into their own hands, no matter how noble the intention."

Robert interjected, his voice gruff but approving, "The man protected children, Tywin. I'd say that's worth more than some pompous adherence to procedure."

Tywin inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the king's words. "As you say, Your Grace. Perhaps we can discuss this matter further after the tournament. For now, I believe introductions are in order."

At Tywin's signal, a side entrance to the pavilion opened, and three figures entered. Ned recognized Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his white Kingsguard armor, and beside him stood a woman of extraordinary beauty, her golden hair cascading down her back – Queen Cersei herself. In her arms, she carried a small bundle, while a young boy with golden curls clung to her skirts.

"You've met my son Jaime, of course," Tywin said, a hint of pride coloring his voice. "And this is my daughter Cersei, your queen. With her are Prince Joffrey and the newborn Princess Myrcella."

Ned and Kyen rose, bowing respectfully. Jaime stepped forward, a wry smile on his face. "Ser Kyen, it's good to see you again. I had hoped we might cross swords in the melee, but I hear you're not participating."

Kyen inclined his head. "I fear my skills would give me an unfair advantage, Ser Jaime. But perhaps we could spar in private sometime, away from prying eyes."

Jaime's eyes lit up at the prospect. "I'd like that very much."

Cersei approached, her green eyes appraising Kyen with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "So, you're the sorcerer we've heard so much about. Tell me, Ser Kyen, do you find our Seven Kingdoms to your liking?"

Kyen smiled politely. "Your realm is as beautiful as it is diverse, Your Grace. I am honored to have been welcomed so warmly."

Ned watched the exchange carefully, noting the way Cersei's eyes narrowed slightly at Kyen's diplomatic response. The young Prince Joffrey, meanwhile, half-hid behind his mother's skirts, peering out at Kyen with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Cersei's hand rested protectively on Joffrey's shoulder. "I believe the tournament is about to begin. Shall we make our way to the stands?"

As they filed out of the pavilion, Ned fell into step beside Kyen. "What do you make of them?" he asked quietly.

Kyen's expression was thoughtful. "They are... complex individuals, each driven by their own motivations. It would be unwise to underestimate any of them."

Ned nodded, grateful for the Jedi's insight. As they approached the tournament grounds, the roar of the crowd grew louder, and Ned could feel the excitement building in the air.

The melee was already underway when they took their seats in the royal box. Knights from across the Seven Kingdoms clashed on the field, their armor glinting in the afternoon sun. Ned watched with a mixture of admiration and concern as men he had fought alongside during the rebellion now battled each other for glory and gold.

"Seven hells, Kyen!" Robert bellowed, his face flushed with excitement. "You should be down there, showing these poncy knights how it's done!"

Kyen smiled politely. "I appreciate the sentiment, Your Grace, but as I explained to Ser Jaime, my abilities would give me an unfair advantage. It wouldn't be right to-"

"Nonsense!" Robert interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "You'll fight with a regular sword, no Force tricks. Come on, man! The crowd wants to see the Sunset Sorcerer in action!"

Ned could see the reluctance in Kyen's eyes, but he also knew the Jedi understood the delicate political situation they found themselves in. Refusing the king's direct request could have far-reaching consequences.

"As you wish, Your Grace," Kyen said with a slight bow. "I shall join the melee, using only a standard sword."

A cheer went up from the crowd as Kyen made his way down to the field. The melee ground briefly paused, combatants lowering their weapons as they watched the foreign warrior approach. Squires rushed to outfit him in borrowed armor, their hands moving swiftly to secure polished plates and chainmail. A sword was pressed into his hand – a fine blade of castle-forged steel, its weight unfamiliar but not unwieldy to the Jedi.

As Kyen stepped onto the field, the herald's voice rang out across the grounds. "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! A new challenger enters the fray! Kyen Shan: the Sunset Sorcerer! A foreign warrior from across the Sunset Sea!"

The announcement was met with a cacophony of reactions. Many spectators whispered among themselves, eyeing the newcomer with suspicion and wariness. But from one section of the stands came a thunderous roar of approval – the Northern contingent, led by the booming voice of Greatjon Umber and the fierce war cries of the mountain clans.

"Aye, show these southron knights how real warriors fight!" bellowed the Greatjon, his voice carrying across the field like a clap of thunder.

"The Sunset Sorcerer fights with us!" shouted Lord Glover, pumping his fist in the air.

On the field, Dacey Mormont, her armor gleaming and mace at the ready, called out to Kyen with a grin. "Remember, Sunset Sorcerer, no magic allowed in this fight! Let's see how you fare with steel alone!"

Beside her, Ser Jorah Mormont, his sword still pristine and eager for the fight, added with a wry smile, "Aye, fight fair now, Kyen. We wouldn't want these southern knights crying foul when you best them!"

Kyen laughed good-naturedly, raising his borrowed sword in salute to the Mormonts. "Fear not, my friends! Today, I am but a simple swordsman. May the best warrior win!"

The Northern levies, men who had fought alongside Kyen on Pyke, stamped their feet and clashed their weapons against their shields, creating a rhythmic thunder that seemed to shake the very ground. Their chant grew louder and more unified with each passing moment:

"Sun-set Sor-cer-er! Sun-set Sor-cer-er!"

To Ned's surprise, even Theon and Asha Greyjoy joined in the Northern cheers, their faces alight with a mix of excitement and something that looked almost like pride. They had seen Kyen's prowess firsthand during the taking of Pyke, and clearly held him in high regard.

Asha's voice rang out, clear and strong, "Show them what you're made of, Kyen! The Iron Islands remember!"

Theon, caught up in the moment, punched the air and shouted, "Aye, give them hell, Sunset Warrior!"

As Kyen took his place among the combatants, all eyes turned to him. The other participants regarded him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Some seemed eager to test their mettle against the famed foreigner, while others appeared more hesitant. But it was the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, whose gaze burned with intensity. The massive knight's eyes locked onto Kyen; a predatory gleam visible even through the slits of his helm. It was clear the Mountain had found his prey.

he herald's voice boomed across the field. "The melee resumes! May the Warrior guide your blades!"

At once, the arena erupted into chaos. The clash of steel and shouts of men filled the air as combatants engaged once more. Kyen moved with fluid grace, his borrowed sword glinting in the sunlight. Even without using the force, his natural agility and combat experience were evident as he parried and struck with precision, relying solely on his martial skills.

From the stands, Ned Stark watched intently, his eyes fixed on Kyen's form as the foreigner navigated the fray. Beside him, King Robert roared his approval, while Ned's wards, Theon and Asha Greyjoy, leaned forward eagerly.

Kyen found himself at the heart of the storm, surrounded by a maelstrom of steel and sweat. Despite his initial reluctance, familiar adrenaline coursed through his veins. He moved like a dancer, his sword an extension of his arm.

"Look at him move!" Theon exclaimed from the stands, his eyes wide with excitement. "It's like he's dancing between the blades!"

Asha nodded, her gaze sharp and appraising. "Aye, there's more to him than just sorcery. He's a true warrior."

The field was teeming with skilled fighters from across the Seven Kingdoms. Kyen's first opponent was a knight from the Reach, resplendent in green enameled armor. The man charged forward, his longsword held high. Kyen sidestepped the attack with ease, his own blade flashing out to catch the knight on the back of his leg. The man stumbled, and Kyen followed up with a quick pommel strike to the helmet, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Ha!" Robert roared, slapping his knee in delight. "Did you see that, Ned? Your foreign friend fights like a Westerosi born and bred!"

Ned nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "He's full of surprises, Your Grace."

Nearby, Jorah Mormont was engaged in a fierce duel with a Dornish spearman. The two warriors circled each other, trading blows with deadly precision. Jorah's strength and heavy armor gave him an advantage, but the Dornishman's speed was keeping him at bay. In a lightning-fast move, Jorah feinted left, then brought his sword down in a powerful overhead strike. The Dornishman's spear shattered under the impact, and Jorah followed through with a shoulder charge that sent his opponent tumbling to the ground.

Dacey Mormont, wielding her preferred morningstar, was a whirlwind of destruction. She faced off against a hulking Umber, their weapons creating a cacophony of metallic clangs as they clashed. Dacey's agility allowed her to dance around her larger opponent, wearing him down with quick strikes to his legs and arms. Finally, she found an opening and brought her morningstar crashing into the Umber's helm, the spikes denting the metal. The big man swayed on his feet before collapsing like a felled tree.

As the melee progressed, the field began to thin. Lesser fighters were eliminated, limping off to the sidelines nursing bruises and wounded pride. Kyen remained, moving through the fray like a leaf on the wind. He dispatched opponent after opponent, never using more force than necessary, often leaving his foes bewildered as to how they had been bested.

"He fights with honor," Tywin Lannister observed, his voice cool and calculating. "A rare quality in a melee."

Cersei, seated beside her father, pursed her lips. "Honor won't save him if he faces the Mountain."

As if summoned by her words, Ser Gregor Clegane began to carve a path through the remaining combatants. His massive frame and brutal strength sent men flying, their armor crumpling under the force of his blows. It was clear he had eyes only for Kyen, pushing aside anyone who stood between him and his chosen target.

Jorah Mormont, flushed with victory from his earlier fights, made the mistake of engaging the Mountain. The two warriors clashed in a thunderous exchange of blows, but Jorah's skill was no match for Ser Gregor's raw power. A devastating backhand from the Mountain's shield caught Jorah in the chest, sending him flying several feet before he crashed to the ground, gasping for air.

Dacey, seeing her kinsman fall, let out a battle cry and charged at the Mountain. Her morningstar whistled through the air, aiming for Ser Gregor's head. But the massive knight caught the weapon mid-swing, yanking it from Dacey's grasp. In one fluid motion, he hurled the morningstar away and brought his greatsword down in a vicious arc. Dacey barely managed to roll away, but the force of the blow striking the ground sent her sprawling, effectively taking her out of the fight.

With the Mormonts defeated, the Mountain turned his full attention to Kyen. The Jedi was engaged with a Valeman when he sensed the approaching danger. He parried a thrust from his opponent and spun away, just as the Mountain's greatsword cleaved the air where he had been standing. The Valeman, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, raised his shield in desperation. The impact shattered the shield and sent the man tumbling backward, leaving the field clear for the confrontation everyone had been anticipating.

"Seven hells," Robert muttered, leaning forward in his seat. "This is going to be a fight to remember."

For a moment, Kyen and the Mountain regarded each other. The contrast between them was stark – Kyen's lithe form and fluid grace against the Mountain's towering bulk and raw power. Then, with a roar that seemed to shake the very ground, Ser Gregor charged.

His greatsword arced through the air, a blow that could cleave a man in two. But Kyen was no longer there, having stepped aside at the last possible moment. The crowd gasped as the Jedi's borrowed blade flashed, scoring a hit on the Mountain's armor that would have felled a lesser man.

"First blood to the Sunset Sorcerer!" Theon cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

But the Mountain was far from defeated. He whirled around with surprising speed for a man of his size, his sword whistling through the air in a horizontal slash. Kyen ducked under the blade, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle his hair. He countered with a quick thrust, but Ser Gregor's armor turned the blow aside.

The dance continued, a deadly ballet of attack and counterattack. Kyen's speed and agility allowed him to avoid the worst of the Mountain's attacks, but he struggled to find an opening in the massive knight's defense. Every blow he landed seemed to do little more than enrage Ser Gregor further.

"He can't keep this up forever," Ned murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "The Mountain's strength is inhuman."

As if to prove Ned's point, Ser Gregor suddenly changed tactics. Instead of another sword strike, he lashed out with a mailed fist, catching Kyen off guard. The blow connected with Kyen's shoulder, sending him stumbling backward. The Jedi recovered quickly, but not before the Mountain pressed his advantage.

A flurry of heavy blows rained down on Kyen, forcing him onto the defensive. He parried and dodged, but each impact sent shockwaves through his arms. The borrowed armor, not perfectly fitted to his frame, began to feel restrictive, hampering his movements.

"Come on, Master Kyen!" Asha shouted, her knuckles white as she gripped the railing. "Don't let that overgrown brute beat you!"

Kyen could feel the tide of the battle turning against him. The Mountain's relentless assault was wearing him down, and he knew he needed to end this quickly. He feinted to the left, then spun to the right, his blade seeking a gap in Ser Gregor's armor.

But the Mountain had anticipated the move. With surprising quickness, he shifted his stance and brought his elbow down hard on Kyen's back as the Jedi passed. The impact drove the air from Kyen's lungs and sent him sprawling to the ground.

A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Ned half-rose from his seat, his face pale with concern. Even Tywin Lannister leaned forward, his eyes narrowed as he watched the drama unfold.

Kyen rolled to his side, desperately trying to regain his feet. But the Mountain was upon him, his massive boot coming down on Kyen's chest, pinning him to the ground. Ser Gregor raised his sword high, ready to deliver a finishing blow that would be far from the honorable tap used to signal defeat in a melee.

In that moment, as he stared up at the Mountain's helm, Kyen felt a surge of anger. This was no longer a contest of skill, but a brutal attempt to maim or kill. The honor and spirit of the melee had been forgotten in Ser Gregor's lust for violence.

With a burst of strength born of desperation and righteous fury, Kyen brought his sword up in a wild slash. The blade caught the Mountain by surprise, slicing through the gap between his helm and breastplate. A vertical cut opened on Ser Gregor's face, running from his cheek to above his right eyebrow.

The Mountain bellowed in pain and rage, staggering backward. Blood streamed down his face, and though his eye was intact, it was clear the wound would leave a significant scar.

"By the gods," Robert breathed, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of admiration. "I didn't think the lad had it in him."

Kyen scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he gulped in air. The anger that had fueled his desperate attack faded, replaced by a grim determination. He knew the real fight was only just beginning.

Ser Gregor tore off his helm, revealing his bloodied face twisted in a mask of pure hatred. With a roar of unbridled fury, he charged at Kyen, all pretense of skill or strategy abandoned in favor of brute force.

What followed was a battle that would be spoken of for years to come. The Mountain's attacks came with even greater ferocity, each blow threatening to shatter Kyen's defenses. But the Jedi had found his second wind, moving with a speed and precision that seemed almost supernatural.

"Look at them go," Asha muttered, her voice filled with a mix of awe and concern. "It's like watching a bear fight a shadowcat."

The two warriors ranged across the field, their duel having become the sole focus of the melee. Other combatants who still remained upright gave them a wide berth, unwilling to get caught in the crossfire of this titanic struggle.

Kyen ducked and weaved, his blade flashing in the sunlight as he parried and countered. He scored several more hits on the Mountain, but none as significant as the facial wound. Ser Gregor's armor was battered and dented, but still, he came on, seemingly tireless in his rage.

"Finish him, Clegane!" Cersei hissed, her green eyes alight with malicious glee.

But Tywin shook his head slightly, his gaze calculating. "The foreign warrior is more skilled than I anticipated. This could go either way."

As the fight wore on, both men began to show signs of fatigue. Kyen's movements, while still graceful, lacked some of their earlier speed. The Mountain's attacks, though still terrifyingly powerful, came with less frequency.

Ned watched with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen Kyen in action before, had witnessed the incredible abilities the Jedi possessed. But this was different. This was Kyen relying purely on his martial skill and indomitable will.

The end came suddenly and decisively. The Mountain overextended on a powerful downward stroke, leaving himself off-balance for just a fraction of a second. It was all the opening Kyen needed.

He stepped inside Ser Gregor's guard, his sword flashing up in a precise arc. Instead of aiming for a gap in the armor, Kyen brought the pommel of his sword crashing into the side of the Mountain's head with tremendous force. The impact reverberated through the air, audible even over the gasps of the crowd.

For a moment, Ser Gregor swayed on his feet, his eyes unfocused. Then, like a great tree finally succumbing to the woodsman's axe, he fell. The ground shook with the impact of his massive frame hitting the earth, unconscious but still breathing.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd, broken only by the sound of Kyen's heavy breathing. The warrior from across the Sunset Sea stood over his fallen opponent, his sword still held at the ready, as if not quite believing the fight was truly over.

Then, as the reality of what they had just witnessed sank in, the crowd erupted into cheers. Robert was on his feet, bellowing his approval. Even the usually stoic Ned found himself clapping, relief and pride warring in his chest.

But Kyen's first thought wasn't of his victory. His eyes scanned the field, searching for the familiar faces of his northern allies. Spotting Jorah and Dacey Mormont at the edge of the arena, he quickly made his way towards them, concern etched on his features.

"Sir Jorah, Lady Dacey," he called out as he approached, his voice hoarse from exertion. "Are you alright? I saw the Mountain..."

Jorah waved off his concern with a grimace that was half-smile. "We're made of sterner stuff than that, Kyen. It'll take more than the Mountain to keep us down for long."

Dacey nodded in agreement, a wry smile on her face. "Aye, we're fine. A few bruises to nurse, but nothing a good Northern ale won't cure. You, on the other hand, just became the talk of the Seven Kingdoms."

Before Kyen could respond, Robert's booming voice called for silence. When the crowd finally quieted, he spoke in a voice that carried across the field.

"Lords and ladies, knights and smallfolk! We have witnessed a battle for the ages this day. Kyen Shan, the Sunset Sorcerer, is hereby declared the winner of the melee!" Another cheer went up from the crowd, and Robert waited for it to subside before continuing. "With this, the tourney events for the day are concluded. Let us retire to Casterly Rock for the feast, where we shall celebrate this remarkable victory!"

As the crowd began to disperse, buzzing with excitement and chatter about the incredible fight they had just witnessed, Ned made his way down to where Kyen stood with the Mormonts.

"You fought well," Jorah said, his voice gruff with admiration. "I've never seen anyone best the Mountain like that."

Dacey nodded in agreement. "You've done the North proud today, Kyen. Even if you're not strictly of the North."

Ned placed a hand on Kyen's shoulder, careful to avoid the areas where the armor was dented. "You've proven yourself a true warrior today, my friend. And your concern for your allies speaks volumes of your character. Come, let's get you cleaned up for the feast. I have a feeling this is just the beginning of the tales they'll tell about Kyen Shan, the Sunset Sorcerer."

As they made their way towards Casterly Rock, the enormity of what had just transpired began to sink in. Smallfolk and nobles alike parted to let them pass, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and curiosity. Whispers followed in their wake, and Kyen could catch snippets of conversation.

"Did you see how he moved? It was like nothing I've ever..."

"They say he's from beyond the Sunset Sea..."

"The way he took down the Mountain... it was like magic!"

Tywin Lannister, ever the gracious host, met them at the gates of Casterly Rock. His face was an inscrutable mask, but there was a glint in his eye that spoke of calculations already being made.

"Ser Kyen," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Your victory has brought great honor to this tourney. I trust you'll join us at the high table for the feast?"

Kyen bowed respectfully. "It would be my honor, Lord Tywin."

The next few hours passed in a flurry of activity. Kyen was escorted to chambers where he could wash away the grime of battle and change into fresh attire befitting a champion. Servants bustled about, preparing the great hall for the evening's festivities. As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over Casterly Rock, guests started to file into the hall, their excited chatter filling the air.

The feast that evening was a lavish affair, with tables groaning under the weight of exotic dishes and rivers of wine flowing freely. Ned found himself seated at the high table, with Kyen to his right and Robert holding court at the center. The king was in high spirits, regaling those around him with increasingly embellished tales of past glories.

"Tell me, Ser Kyen," Tywin Lannister's cool voice cut through the revelry, "what is your homeland like? Surely it must be a place of great wonder to produce warriors such as yourself."

Kyen set down his goblet, his expression thoughtful. "My homeland is a vast and diverse place, Lord Tywin. Coruscant, where I was raised, is but one part of it. It is a great city built upon towering cliffs, home to millions of people from all walks of life."

This piqued the interest of those nearby, and Ned noticed several lords leaning in to hear more.

"And beyond Coruscant?" Robert asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Kyen smiled. "There are many lands, each unique in its own way. Mandalore, with its proud warrior culture. Alderaan, a place of beauty and learning. Corellia, where my wife hails from, known for its skilled shipwrights and sailors."

Robert leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. "And the people of these lands? Are they all like you?"

"No, Your Grace," Kyen replied carefully. "There are many different peoples in my homeland. Some, like the folk of Mon Cala, are quite different from what you might consider... ordinary. They are a people adapted to life near the water, with large eyes and webbed hands."

Murmurs of amazement and disbelief rippled through the assembled lords and ladies.

"And how do you govern such a vast and diverse realm?" Tywin asked, his sharp gaze fixed on Kyen.

"We have a council," Kyen explained, choosing his words carefully, "where representatives from various regions come together to debate and make decisions that affect the entire realm. It is led by a Supreme Chancellor, chosen from among the most noble and worthy families to serve as the head of government."

Ned watched as several lords nodded, their expressions a mix of interest and skepticism.

"And what of titles?" Cersei asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "Surely your leaders have grand appellations to match their stations?"

Kyen nodded. "Indeed, Your Grace. The nobility in my homeland uses a variety of titles. There are Archdukes and Archduchesses, who rule over vast territories. Dukes and Duchesses govern individual regions or particularly important cities. Counts and Countesses often oversee specific areas within a territory, while Barons and Baronesses might rule over a town or significant estate."

Cersei's eyes glinted with interest. "Archduchess... I rather like the sound of that. Don't you think it has a certain ring to it, my love?" she purred, turning to Robert.

The king grunted noncommittally, more interested in his wine than titles. "Archdukes and whatnot, it's all the same in the end. Tell me more about these Mandalorians you mentioned, Ser Kyen. They sound like proper warriors!"

Kyen's expression grew serious. "The Mandalorians are indeed a warrior culture, Your Grace. Their history is long and often bloody. They value honor, strength, and martial prowess above all else."

"Now that's more like it!" Robert boomed, slamming his goblet down on the table. "Tell us a tale of these Mandalorians, Ser Kyen!"

The warrior paused for a moment, considering. "Very well, Your Grace. I could tell you of my ancestor, Revan, and his war against the Mandalorians some Three thousand years ago."

This declaration sent a ripple of excitement through the gathered nobles. Even Tywin Lannister leaned forward, his interest piqued.

"Three thousand years?" Ned asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. "That's quite a history, Kyen."

The warrior nodded. "Indeed, Lord Stark. The tale of Revan and his war against Mandalore the Ultimate is one that has been passed down through generations of my family."

Robert waved his hand impatiently. "Enough talk! Tell us the tale, man!"

Kyen nodded, his voice taking on a storyteller's cadence. "Revan was a great warrior, renowned for his tactical brilliance and strength in battle. When the Mandalorians began their crusade of conquest, threatening the stability of our lands, it was Revan who answered the call."

The hall fell silent, all eyes fixed on Kyen as he continued his tale.

"Mandalore the Ultimate, leader of the Mandalorian clans, sought to test his people against the greatest warriors in our realm. He believed that only through constant battle could the Mandalorians grow stronger. His armies swept across region after region, leaving devastation in their wake."

Theon and Asha exchanged glances, their eyes wide. Ned could see the parallels they were drawing to their own people's history of reaving and conquest.

"The Republic, our governing body, immediately recognized the threat and declared war on the Mandalorians. However, the Jedi Council was hesitant to involve our Order in another conflict."

Kyen's expression grew somber as he explained, "You see, we were still recovering from a devastating civil war that had occurred just a few decades earlier. The wounds were fresh, and many feared that entering another war so soon would lead to further chaos and suffering."

"Despite the Republic's call to arms, the Jedi remained divided. The council was mired in debate and indecision, weighing the cost of action against inaction. But Revan, a young and charismatic Jedi, saw the Mandalorian threat for what it was. Against the wishes of his superiors, he gathered a force of like-minded warriors and set out to meet the Mandalorian advance head-on."

"A man after my own heart!" Robert declared, raising his goblet in salute. "Sometimes you must act, consequences be damned!"

Kyen's expression grew grim as he continued his tale, the assembled lords and ladies of Westeros hanging on his every word. "The war between Revan and the Mandalorians was long and brutal. Revan matched the Mandalorians' ferocity with cunning strategy and bold tactics. He studied their culture, their fighting style, and used that knowledge against them. In time, he became known as the Revanchist, a name that struck fear into the hearts of even the bravest Mandalorian warriors."

"And how did this war end?" Tywin asked, his tone measured but his eyes sharp with interest.

"It culminated in a great battle on the plains of Malachor," Kyen said, his voice low. "Revan faced Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat atop a hill overlooking the battlefield. It was a duel that would decide the fate of the war."

The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Even the servants had paused in their duties, caught up in the tale.

"Before I speak of that final duel," Kyen continued, his gaze sweeping across the rapt audience, "I must tell you of the mask that Revan wore. For it was no ordinary piece of armor, but a symbol of his transformation and the weight of his choices."

Robert leaned forward, his interest piqued. "A mask, you say? What's so special about a bloody mask?"

Kyen nodded solemnly. "The mask, Your Grace, was Mandalorian in origin. During one of the early battles of the war, Revan came across a fallen Mandalorian warrior. This warrior had fought with such ferocity and honor that Revan was moved to pay respect to his fallen foe. He removed the warrior's mask and, in a moment that would shape the course of the war, decided to wear it himself."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Ned asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"It was a complex decision, Lord Stark," Kyen explained. "On one level, it was a strategic choice. By adopting the mask of a Mandalorian, Revan sought to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. The Mandalorians would see one of their own leading the charge against them, a psychological blow that often proved as effective as any sword."

Tywin's eyes glinted with approval at this display of cunning.

"But there was more to it than mere strategy," Kyen continued. "For Revan, the mask became a symbol of his dedication to the cause. He swore that he would not remove it until the Mandalorian threat was ended. It was a reminder of the cost of the war, of the lives lost on both sides. And perhaps, though he did not realize it at the time, it was the beginning of his transformation."

"Transformation?" Cersei asked, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. "Whatever do you mean, Ser Kyen?"

Kyen's expression grew troubled. "The path to victory, Your Grace, is often paved with difficult choices. Revan, in his determination to end the Mandalorian threat, began to adopt more and more of their tactics. He became ruthless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve his goals. The mask, which had once been a symbol of respect for a fallen foe, became a shield behind which he could hide his growing darkness."

"Bah!" Robert exclaimed. "Sometimes a bit of ruthlessness is necessary in war. You can't fight monsters without becoming a bit of a monster yourself!"

"Perhaps, Your Grace," Kyen conceded, "but there is always a cost to such choices. As the war progressed, Revan's actions became increasingly controversial. He was willing to sacrifice entire towns to gain a tactical advantage. His own allies began to question his methods, even as they could not deny his effectiveness."

Ned frowned, clearly troubled by this turn in the tale. "Surely there were those who spoke out against such tactics?"

Kyen nodded. "Indeed, Lord Stark. Many did, including some of Revan's closest friends and advisors. But Revan had become convinced that only through absolute victory could he ensure the safety of the realm. He believed that the end justified any means."

"And so we come to Malachor," Tywin prompted, his eyes gleaming with interest.

"Yes, the battle that would end the war," Kyen confirmed. "Malachor was a land of great strategic importance, and Revan devised a plan to use it as a trap for the Mandalorian forces. He lured them there, drawing them into a conflict that would decide the fate of the war."

The hall was silent, all eyes fixed on Kyen as he described the battle.

"The fighting was fierce, with great losses on both sides. But Revan's strategy proved effective, and the Mandalorian forces found themselves outmaneuvered. It was then that Mandalore the Ultimate, seeing the tide of battle turning against him, issued a challenge to Revan. A duel, to decide the fate of both their peoples."

"Now that's a proper way to end a war!" Robert boomed, slamming his fist on the table in approval.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Kyen agreed. "Revan accepted the challenge without hesitation. The two leaders met on a hill overlooking the battlefield, their respective armies pausing in their conflict to watch the duel that would decide their fates."

"Mandalore the Ultimate was a fearsome warrior, clad in armor that was said to be impenetrable. His weapon was a massive blade, forged from the metal of a great ship. Revan, in contrast, wore his simple robes and the Mandalorian mask that had become his signature. His weapon was a lightsaber, much like this one." Kyen briefly activated his lightsaber, its hum filling the hall before he deactivated it. "A blade of pure energy that could cut through almost anything."

"The duel was long and brutal. Mandalore's strength and experience were matched by Revan's speed and cunning. They traded blows for what seemed like hours, neither able to gain a decisive advantage. But as the fight wore on, it became clear that Revan's stamina was greater. He had trained himself to fight for days without rest, and now that training paid off."

"In the end, it was a simple mistake that decided the duel. Mandalore, growing frustrated with his inability to land a killing blow, overextended himself. Revan seized the opportunity, slipping past Mandalore's guard and driving his blade through a weak point in the Mandalorian leader's armor."

A collective gasp went up from the assembled lords and ladies.

"As Mandalore fell, Revan removed the fallen leader's mask, a symbol of the Mandalorian people's defeat. With their leader fallen and their forces in disarray, the Mandalorians had no choice but to surrender. The war was over."

"A great victory!" Robert declared, raising his goblet in a toast. "Surely this Revan was hailed as a hero?"

Kyen's expression grew somber. "At first, yes. The people celebrated the end of the war and Revan's triumph. But the cost... the cost was terrible. Thousands dead, lands left in ruin. And Revan himself was changed by the war, in ways that would have far-reaching consequences."

"What do you mean, changed?" Ned asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Kyen sighed heavily. "The choices Revan made during the war, the darkness he embraced in pursuit of victory, had taken their toll. He had become convinced that only through strength and control could peace be maintained. And so, instead of returning home in triumph, Revan took the remains of his army and ventured into unknown territories beyond the edges of the realm."

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the hall.

"For a time, nothing was heard from Revan or his followers. Many believed they had been lost in some great calamity. But then, after many months, they returned. And when they did, they came not as saviors, but as conquerors."

"Conquerors?" Tywin's eyebrow arched in interest. "He turned against his own people?"

Kyen nodded gravely. "Revan had encountered something in the unknown lands, something that had twisted him further into darkness. He returned with new weapons, new tactics, and a new title: Dark Lord of the Sith."

"Sith?" Robert asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What in the seven hells is a Sith?"

Kyen took a deep breath, his eyes distant as if recalling ancient lore. "The Sith, Your Grace, have a long and complex history. To understand them, we must go back thousands of years, to a time when our lands were very different."

The hall grew quiet once more, all eyes fixed on Kyen as he began this new tale.

"Originally, the Sith were not an order or a philosophy, but a species of people. They hailed from a land called Korriban, a harsh and unforgiving place that lies far beyond Coruscant, on the far side of the continent's western shores. The Sith were easily recognized by their red skin, yellow eyes, and distinctive facial features. These ancient Sith were a proud and powerful people, skilled in the arts of war and sorcery."

"Sorcery?" Cersei asked, her voice a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

Kyen nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. The Sith were masters of a mystical energy they called the Force. They used it to perform feats that seemed like magic to those who didn't understand its nature. But their connection to the Force was... tainted. The very essence of their land drew them towards the dark side, filling them with anger, hatred, and a lust for power that corrupted their spirits."

"Their society was built on strength and domination. They practiced slavery, blood rituals, and dark alchemy. The Sith were naturally drawn to the dark side in such a profound way that it made the Valyrian blood mages look like saints in comparison. Their customs included sacrificial rites to appease their dark gods, and they used the Force to twist life itself, creating abominations that defied nature."

"Sith alchemy allowed them to enhance their weapons and armor, infusing them with the power of the dark side. They could even create monstrous beasts to serve as weapons of war. Their mastery of the dark side was so complete that they could drain the very life force from their enemies, sustaining themselves on the suffering of others."

"And what of these Sith people now?" Tywin inquired, his sharp mind no doubt already considering the implications.

They are long gone, Lord Tywin," Kyen replied. "But their legacy lives on. As Lord Stark may have mentioned, thousands of years ago, a group of warriors and scholars from another land encountered the Sith. These outsiders were known as the Jedi, and they too were skilled in the use of the Force."

Ned nodded in confirmation, while the others leaned in with interest.

"The Jedi Order was an ancient group dedicated to peace and justice," Kyen continued, addressing the room. "They used their abilities with the Force to protect the weak and maintain balance in the world. When they encountered the Sith, they were fascinated by their different approach to the Force."

"Different how?" Robert demanded, his patience for mystical talk clearly wearing thin.

Kyen's expression grew serious. "The Jedi believed in using the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack. They sought inner peace and harmony. The Sith, on the other hand, embraced passion and emotion. They saw the Force as a tool for gaining power and asserting their will on the world."

"Sounds like the Sith had the right idea," Robert grumbled, earning a sharp look from Ned.

"Perhaps at first glance, Your Grace," Kyen conceded. "But the Sith way came with a heavy price. Their pursuit of power often led to betrayal, infighting, and destruction. Over time, the term 'Sith' came to refer not to the original, red-skinned species, but to those who followed their dark philosophies."

"And the Jedi?" Cersei prompted. "What became of them?"

The Jedi are very much alive and active, your grace." Kyen replied, his voice carrying a mix of pride and concern. "Their conflicting philosophies led to countless wars over the millennia. The Jedi saw it as their duty to oppose the Sith and their destructive ways."

"These wars raged for thousands of years, with periods of uneasy peace punctuated by devastating conflicts. It was into this ancient conflict that Revan stepped when he returned from the unknown lands."

"But how did Revan, a hero of your people, become entangled with these Sith?" Ned asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Kyen's expression grew grim. "When Revan ventured beyond our borders, he encountered not just remnants, but active strongholds of Sith power and lore. Whether through ancient artifacts, hidden temples, or direct contact with Sith Lords, he discovered the full might and philosophy of the Sith and embraced them."

"But why?" Ned pressed, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Why would a hero, a man who had saved his people, turn to such darkness?"

Kyen sighed heavily. "It's a question that has been debated for millennia, Lord Stark. Some say Revan believed that only through the power of the Sith could he truly protect the realm from future threats. Others argue that he was corrupted by the very power he sought to control. The truth, I fear, may be lost to history."

"Regardless of his reasons, Revan's return as a Dark Lord of the Sith marked the beginning of a dark time for our lands. He built an empire based on Sith teachings, ruling with an iron fist and crushing any who opposed him."

"And what of the mask?" Theon asked, returning to the detail that had captured his imagination earlier. "The Mandalorian mask he had worn during the war?"

Kyen's expression grew grim. "The mask remained, but its meaning had changed. What had once been a symbol of respect for a fallen foe, then a reminder of the cost of war, now became a terrifying visage of conquest. Revan rarely removed it, and it became synonymous with the dark power he wielded."

"In time, Revan's empire grew to encompass much of the known world. He ruled with an iron fist, brooking no dissent and crushing any resistance. But even as his power reached its zenith, there were those who worked in secret to bring about his downfall."

"Among them was a young warrior named Bastila shan, a woman of great skill and determination. She led a mission to capture Revan, hoping to end the war and bring the Dark Lord to justice. Against all odds, her mission succeeded, but not in the way anyone expected."

"What happened?" Asha asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"During the battle, Revan was gravely injured," Kyen explained. "His apprentice, Darth Malak, saw an opportunity and betrayed him, firing upon Revan's ship. Bastila, rather than letting him die, used her healing arts to save his life. In doing so, she forged a connection between them, one that would have far-reaching consequences."

"Revan was captured, but his injuries had robbed him of his memories. The Jedi Council, seeing an opportunity, decided to give him a new identity. They hoped that, freed from the darkness that had consumed him, Revan might once again become a force for good."

"And did he?" Ned asked, his voice tinged with hope.

Kyen smiled slightly. "It's a complex tale from my homeland's history, Lord Stark. Revan, now unaware of his true identity, was recruited to help fight against the very empire he had created. Along the way, he rediscovered his powers and, gradually, began to remember fragments of his past."

The gathered nobles leaned in, captivated by this exotic tale from across the Sunset Sea.

"Revan's journey took him across our lands, from the towering cities of the east to the ancient ruins in the heartlands, from the great oceans to the savage forests. At each step, he pieced together clues about his forgotten past and the location of the Star Forge, an ancient and powerful creation of immense power."

"During his quest, Revan gathered a diverse group of companions. There was Carth Onasi, a decorated soldier whose trust had been shattered by betrayal, his suspicion a constant shadow; Mission Vao, a quick-witted Twi'lek teenager with a talent for slicing and survival."

"Twi'lek?" Theon interrupted, curiosity evident in his voice.

Kyen nodded, "A species known for their head-tails and vibrant skin colors. Mission's was blue." He continued, "Then there was Zaalbar, a Wookiee warrior bound to Mission by a life debt, his strength matched only by his loyalty."

"And what in seven hells is a Wookiee?" Robert boomed, his voice echoing through the hall.

"Imagine a warrior standing over seven feet tall, covered in fur, with the strength to tear a man's arms from their sockets," Kyen explained briefly before pressing on.

"Canderous Ordo, a battle-hardened Mandalorian mercenary seeking purpose in the aftermath of his people's defeat; Jolee Bindo, a cantankerous ex-Jedi hermit whose unconventional wisdom often came wrapped in sarcasm; and HK-47, a ruthlessly efficient assassin droid with a disturbing enthusiasm for violence and a penchant for calling organic beings 'meatbags'."

Robert chuckled at the last description. "I like the sound of this HK-47. Could use one of those in the Small Council meetings."

Kyen smiled briefly before continuing. "But perhaps the most significant of Revan's companions was Bastila Shan. Revan encountered her early in his journey, freeing her from captivity on a war-torn world. A young Jedi with rare and powerful abilities, Bastila had been part of the team that captured Revan, and now found herself reluctantly working alongside him, unaware of his true identity. Their Force bond, forged when she saved his life, linked them in ways neither fully understood."

"As Revan and his companions searched for a way to stop Malak, they uncovered the truth about the Star Forge. Their quest led them to ancient maps across our lands, each one bringing them closer to the location of the massive fortress. Along the way, Revan's lost memories began to resurface, forcing him to confront the dark legacy of his past actions."

"The tale of Revan's redemption is filled with battles, betrayals, and difficult choices. He faced off against dark warriors, assassins, and even monstrous beasts. But perhaps his greatest challenges were internal - the struggle against the darkness within himself, and the growing bond between him and Bastila."

"Their relationship was complicated by Bastila's dedication to her order's code, which discouraged emotional attachments. Yet, as they faced danger after danger together, their connection deepened. This bond would be tested to its limits when Bastila was captured by Malak and turned to the dark side."

Cersei leaned forward, her interest piqued. "And what became of this Bastila?"

Kyen met the queen's gaze. "Revan confronted Bastila at the Star Forge itself. Despite her fall to darkness, he refused to give up on her. Through the strength of their bond and his unwavering belief in her, Revan was able to reach Bastila, helping her find the strength to reject the dark path and return to the light."

"In the end, Revan faced his former apprentice in a final, climactic duel. Malak was powerful, fueled by the dark energies of the Star Forge, but Revan had grown stronger through his trials. More importantly, he now fought with clarity of purpose and the strength that comes from redemption."

"Revan defeated Malak, but in his former friend's final moments, he offered understanding and forgiveness. Malak died acknowledging the hollow nature of the dark side's promise of power."

"With Malak defeated, Revan and his allies destroyed the Star Forge, dealing a crippling blow to the empire. Revan was hailed as a hero, his past sins forgiven in light of his ultimate redemption."

"In the aftermath of the war, Revan and Bastila married, challenging their order's stance on attachments. They had a son, and for a time, it seemed that peace had been achieved."

Ned nodded approvingly, his eyes meeting Kyen's with understanding.

"But the story was not yet over," Kyen said, his tone growing somber. "Revan began to remember more of his time in the unknown lands beyond our borders, of a greater threat that lurked in the shadows. Feeling compelled to confront this danger, he left his family behind and ventured into the unknown, never to return."

A hushed silence fell over the room as the listeners contemplated the bittersweet end to Revan's tale.

"What of the empire he left behind?" Tywin asked, breaking the silence.

Kyen nodded, acknowledging the pertinent question. "The remnants of Revan's empire did not disappear entirely. About five years after Revan's disappearance, these fragments coalesced under the leadership of a triumvirate of powerful dark lords."

Kyen continued, "This triumvirate was composed of three uniquely terrifying individuals. First was Darth Nihilus, the Lord of Hunger, a being so consumed by dark powers that he existed as little more than an empty void, constantly needing to feed on the life energy of others to sustain himself."

Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly, his face remaining impassive. He said nothing, but his mind was clearly working, considering the strategic implications of such a being.

"The second was Darth Sion, the Lord of Pain," Kyen went on. "Through sheer force of will and hatred, Sion had conquered death itself. His body was a horrific patchwork of broken flesh, held together only by dark magic."

Robert grunted, a mix of disgust and grudging respect in his voice. "Sounds like a tough bastard to kill."

"But perhaps the most dangerous of the three was Darth Traya, the Lord of Betrayal," Kyen continued. "Once a respected teacher, she had been Revan's first mentor. Exiled by both the light and dark factions, she sought to destroy both orders and the very source of their power."

Cersei's lips curled into a small, cold smile. "A woman after my own heart," she murmured, too quietly for most to hear.

"This triumvirate nearly succeeded in wiping out the defenders of light, pushing them to the brink of extinction," Kyen said. "They were only stopped by the efforts of another exiled warrior, often referred to as the Exile."

Ned frowned, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his sword. "It seems your land has known its share of dark times, Kyen."

Kyen nodded solemnly. "Indeed, Lord Stark. The Exile's journey mirrored Revan's in many ways. Like Revan, the Exile gathered a group of unlikely allies, faced difficult moral choices, and ultimately confronted the demons of the past. The Exile's story culminated in a series of confrontations with each member of the triumvirate, ending with a philosophical battle against Traya at her hidden academy."

"With the defeat of the triumvirate, the threat of Revan's empire was finally put to rest. But the conflict between light and dark was far from over."

Tywin, who had remained silent, finally spoke. His voice was cool and measured. "These dark lords... their powers seem to defy the natural order. In your land, Kyen, how are such threats typically dealt with?"

Kyen met Tywin's gaze, his expression grave. "Often through great sacrifice, Lord Tywin. The price of confronting such darkness is high."

"But the story of the dark lords did not end there," Kyen continued, his voice growing solemn once more. "For 2000 years after Revan's time, the conflict between the forces of light and darkness continued. About 1400 years ago, a significant chapter in this long war unfolded. It was known as the New Sith Wars."

"New?" Theon asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice. "What made these wars new?"

Kyen nodded at the young Greyjoy. "A fair question. The New Sith Wars were so called because they came after a period where the Sith were believed to be nearly powerless. A fallen Jedi named Phanius, who took the name Darth Ruin, emerged and rebuilt the Sith Empire, plunging our lands into a thousand years of intermittent warfare."

"A thousand years?" Ned exclaimed; his voice filled with disbelief. "How could any war last so long?"

"It wasn't a single, continuous conflict, Lord Stark," Kyen explained. "Rather, it was a series of wars and skirmishes, with periods of relative peace in between. But throughout it all, the Sith remained a constant threat, always seeking to expand their power and overthrow the established order."

"You see, for nearly two millennia before Darth Ruin's emergence, the Sith were greatly diminished," Kyen continued. "The Jedi and the Republic believed they had reduced their ancient enemy to a mere shadow of their former selves. But in truth, the Sith were slowly regaining their strength, waiting for the right moment to strike."

"How did they manage to stay hidden for so long?" Ser Barristan Selmy asked, his weathered face creased with curiosity.

Kyen smiled grimly. "The Sith are resourceful, Ser Barristan. They retreated to the fringes of our lands, to places where the Republic's influence was weak. There, they slowly rebuilt their strength, but they were too weak to challenge the Republic directly."

"But surely someone must have noticed their activities," Cersei interjected, her green eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Kyen nodded. "There were always reports of dark forces at work in the outer regions. But without a unified Sith Empire to confront, the Republic often dismissed these as the work of isolated dark side cultists or pirates. And so, for two thousand years, the Sith bided their time, growing stronger in the shadows."

"And this Darth Ruin," Robert Baratheon rumbled, "he was the one who united them?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Kyen confirmed. "Phanius, who became Darth Ruin, was once a Jedi Master, a brilliant but deeply flawed man who fell to the dark side. He was incredibly selfish, driven by his own desires and ambitions above all else. He saw an opportunity to rebuild the Sith Empire and seized it, not for any grand purpose, but for his own glory."

Kyen's expression darkened as he continued, "Darth Ruin even created his own Sith code, a twisted perversion of Jedi teachings. It went: 'There is no passion...there is solely obsession. There is no knowledge. There is solely conviction. There is no purpose. There is solely will. There is nothing... Only me.' This code reveals the depths of his narcissism and the corrupting influence of the dark side."

"Sounds like a right proper bastard," Robert grunted, taking a long drink from his goblet.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Kyen nodded solemnly. "Darth Ruin traveled across our homeland, gathering the scattered Sith tribes and uniting them under his banner. He was charismatic and powerful, but his selfishness ultimately led to his downfall. Many of his followers, realizing they were merely tools for his personal ambition, eventually turned against him."

"A leader who cares only for himself is doomed to fail," Ned Stark observed quietly, his grey eyes thoughtful.

Tywin Lannister's lips thinned into a tight line. "And yet, he managed to ignite a thousand years of war. Clearly, there's power in such single-minded ambition."

"Power, yes, Lord Tywin," Kyen agreed, "but not stability. The Sith Empire Darth Ruin founded was plagued by infighting and betrayal throughout its existence."

Jamie Lannister, who had been listening intently to the discussion, suddenly broke his silence. His voice, tinged with a mixture of interest and skepticism, cut through the air. "And so began the New Sith Wars," he stated, surprising those present with his unexpected contribution.

Kyen turned to Jamie, momentarily taken aback by his sudden participation. Quickly regaining his composure, he nodded. "Indeed, Ser Jaime," he replied. "Darth Ruin declared himself the new Dark Lord of the Sith and launched a campaign of conquest against the Republic. The Jedi, caught off guard by the sudden reemergence of a unified Sith force, struggled to respond."

"But surely your Jedi prevailed in the end?" Asha Greyjoy asked, her voice tinged with curiosity rather than hope.

Kyen's expression grew solemn. "The conflict was not so simple, my lady. The New Sith Wars lasted for a thousand years, with victories and defeats on both sides. The Sith Empire would rise, only to be beaten back by the Jedi and the Republic. Then, from the ashes of defeat, a new Sith Lord would emerge to continue the fight."

"A thousand years of war," Ned Stark murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. "How did the common people survive such prolonged conflict?"

"It was a dark time for many," Kyen admitted. "Entire regions were ravaged by the conflict. Countless lives were lost. The Republic itself nearly collapsed several times under the strain of constant warfare."

"And how did these wars end?" Tywin asked, his tone suggesting he was more interested in the outcome than the details.

Kyen's expression grew even more somber. "The end of the New Sith Wars came about in a most unexpected and terrible way. The Sith, in their quest for ultimate power, created a weapon of unimaginable destruction. They called it the thought bomb."

A hush fell over the assembled nobles at these words.

"The thought bomb was not a physical weapon, but a concentration of dark energies," Kyen continued. "When detonated, it had the power to destroy not just bodies, but souls. In the final battle of the war, known as the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, the Sith unleashed this weapon, hoping to annihilate their Jedi enemies once and for all."

"Did it work?" Theon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kyen shook his head. "Not as the Sith had intended. The thought bomb did indeed destroy many Jedi, but it also consumed the Sith who had created it. The energies they had unleashed were too powerful to control, too chaotic to direct. In their final act of destruction, the Sith brought about their own demise."

"So the Sith destroyed themselves?" Robert asked, his voice a mixture of disgust and admiration.

"Indeed, Your Grace," Kyen confirmed. "The thought bomb marked the end of the Sith as an organized force in our lands. The Jedi, though greatly diminished, survived and began the long process of rebuilding."

"But what of the last four hundred years?" Maester Creylen inquired, his curiosity piqued. "You mentioned earlier that this conflict ended some 400 years ago."

Kyen nodded, grateful for Maester Creylen's astute observation. "Indeed, Maester. The Seventh Battle of Ruusan marked the beginning of a new era. The Republic, weary from a millennium of conflict, instituted sweeping reforms."

"What kind of reforms?" Tyrion Lannister asked, leaning forward with interest, his mismatched eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"The most significant was the Ruusan Reformation," Kyen explained. "This set of laws reorganized the Republic's military, dismantling the vast armies that had been necessary during the war. The Jedi, too, underwent significant changes. We became more closely aligned with the Republic, serving as peacekeepers rather than generals."

"And the Sith?" Jaime Lannister asked, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "Were they truly gone?"

Kyen's expression darkened. "We believed so, Ser Jaime. The Sith Empire was destroyed, and for centuries, there have been no signs of their return. However, the Jedi remain vigilant. The dark side is subtle, and we must always be on guard against its influence."

"Just like that, centuries of peace?" Theon scoffed. "Surely there must have been some conflict."

"You're not wrong, young Greyjoy," Kyen acknowledged. "While the threat of the Sith was believed to be gone, the Republic still faced challenges. Pirates, slavers, and other criminal elements threatened the stability of outlying regions. Disputes between member states occasionally flared into local conflicts. The Jedi and the Republic's Judicial Forces worked to maintain peace and order."

Queen Cersei leaned forward, her tone suggesting she was more interested in the affairs of state than tales of mystical warriors. "And what of Coruscant and the Republic during these four centuries?"

Kyen turned to address the queen directly. "The last four hundred years have been a time of relative peace and prosperity, Your Grace. Coruscant, as the capital, flourished during this period. It became a true ecumenopolis – a city that covers the entire planet, home to countless people from all walks of life. The Senate, housed in its grand rotunda, became the center of politics and diplomacy for our entire realm."

"And what of advancements in knowledge and craft?" Maester Creylen inquired, his chains clinking as he leaned forward eagerly.

"The past four centuries have seen remarkable progress in many fields, Maester," Kyen replied. "Travel between distant worlds has become faster and more reliable. Healing arts have advanced to the point where many diseases that once plagued entire populations have been eradicated. And of course, the development of mechanical servants has revolutionized many aspects of daily life."

"Mechanical servants?" Asha Greyjoy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed, my lady," Kyen explained with a smile. "Constructs of metal and intricate mechanisms that can perform a wide variety of tasks, from simple labor to complex calculations."

As the nobles of Westeros absorbed this information, a mix of awe and skepticism played across their faces. The idea of a realm spanning vast lands, of mechanical servants and ships that could cross great distances swiftly, seemed almost beyond comprehension.

"And yet," Kyen concluded, his voice taking on a note of caution, "despite four centuries of peace, we Jedi remain ever vigilant. For as history has shown, the struggle between light and darkness is never truly over. We must always be prepared, should the shadows of the past ever threaten to return."

Ned leaned in close to his friend. "A grim tale, Kyen. I can't help but wonder at the wisdom of sharing it here."

The warrior nodded, his expression troubled. "Perhaps you're right, Lord Stark. But it's a part of my history, for better or worse. And there are lessons to be learned from it, I think."

As the night wore on, Ned found himself drawn into various conversations with lords both great and small. Many seemed intrigued by Kyen's homeland, but he noticed a distinct wariness when it came to discussions of governance.

"This council of representatives," Lord Mathis Rowan mused, "it sounds chaotic. How can anything be accomplished when every petty lord has a say?"

Lord Paxter Redwyne nodded in agreement. "And what of bloodlines? Surely they don't allow just anyone to rise to power?"

Kyen, who had been listening nearby, stepped forward to address their concerns. "My lords, if I may. While it may seem chaotic at first glance, our system of governance is quite orderly. The council isn't composed of every lord, but rather elected representatives from various regions and walks of life."

Lord Rowan furrowed his brow. "Elected? You mean the smallfolk choose who governs them?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Kyen replied. "But these representatives are often well-educated and respected members of their communities. They're chosen for their wisdom and ability to serve the greater good."

Lord Redwyne scoffed. "And how do you ensure these... representatives... don't simply serve their own interests?"

Kyen smiled patiently. "There are checks and balances in place, my lord. Terms of service are limited, and there are other bodies of government that oversee and balance the power of the council."

Another lord, whom Ned recognized as Lord Beric Dondarrion, joined the conversation. "What of military matters? Surely you don't leave decisions of war and peace to a group of merchants and farmers?"

"Not at all," Kyen assured him. "Military leaders have their place in our government, as do scholars, judges, and yes, even some merchants. The idea is to have a variety of perspectives to ensure decisions are made with all aspects considered."

Lord Dondarrion nodded, though he still looked skeptical. "It's an... interesting concept. But how does your republic handle swift action in times of crisis? Surely debate among so many would slow any response?"

Kyen acknowledged the point with a nod. "It's a valid concern, my lord. In times of extreme emergency, there are provisions for more centralized, temporary decision-making. But we've found that collaborative governance often leads to more thoughtful and lasting solutions, even if it takes a bit more time."

As the conversation continued, Ned noticed more lords gathering around, listening intently. Some, like young Lord Renly Baratheon, seemed genuinely intrigued by the idea. Others, particularly those from older, more established houses, appeared deeply uncomfortable with the concept.

Lord Tywin Lannister, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up. His voice was cold and cutting. "And what becomes of the great houses in this... republic of yours? Are centuries of noble lineage and tradition simply cast aside?"

Kyen met the Lannister lord's gaze steadily. "Great houses still have their place, Lord Tywin. Their experience and resources are valued. But in our system, they must earn the people's trust and support rather than relying solely on their name."

A murmur rippled through the gathered lords. Ned could see the idea didn't sit well with many of them. Lord Tywin's eyes narrowed dangerously, but before he could respond, King Robert's booming laugh cut through the tension.

"Gods, it all sounds like far too much talking for my taste!" the king declared, clapping Kyen on the shoulder. "Give me a good, strong king and loyal lords any day. No offense meant, of course," he added with a wink to Kyen.

The gathered nobles laughed, the tension broken. As the group began to disperse, Ned couldn't help but feel relieved that the ideas seemed less likely to take root than he had initially feared.

However, as Ned turned to leave, he found himself face to face with Lord Tywin. The Lannister patriarch's green eyes, flecked with gold, bore into him with an intensity that would have unnerved a lesser man.

"Lord Stark," Tywin said, his voice low and measured. "A word, if you please."

Ned nodded, following Tywin to a quieter corner of the hall. The older lord's face was an impassive mask, but Ned could sense the tension radiating from him.

"Your... guest," Tywin began, "speaks of dangerous ideas."

Ned kept his face neutral. "Ser Kyen merely shared tales of his homeland, Lord Tywin. I'm sure he meant no offense."

"Offense?" Tywin's lip curled slightly. "It's not about offense, Lord Stark. It's about the potential consequences of such notions taking root in impressionable minds."

Ned met Tywin's gaze steadily. "I assure you, the governance of the Seven Kingdoms is not in question. King Robert's rule is strong, and the loyalty of the great houses unwavering."

Tywin studied Ned for a long moment before speaking again. "See that it remains so. We've only recently achieved peace after years of war. It would be... unfortunate... if new conflicts were to arise from careless words."

The threat in Tywin's tone was unmistakable. Ned felt his jaw tighten but forced himself to remain calm. "I understand your concerns, Lord Tywin. Rest assured, I have no interest in upsetting the current order."

"Good," Tywin said, his tone final. "Then we understand each other." With a curt nod, he turned and strode away, leaving Ned to ponder the implications of their exchange.

Ned took a deep breath, realizing that Kyen's presence and his tales might have more far-reaching consequences than he'd initially anticipated. He would need to be more cautious in the future, perhaps limiting Kyen's interactions with the other lords.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Ned's eyes swept the great hall, searching for Kyen. He spotted the warrior engaged in animated conversation with Ser Barristan Selmy in a quiet corner. Curious, and feeling the need to speak with Kyen urgently, Ned approached slowly, catching snippets of their discussion.

"...and so, we found that a combination of speed and misdirection often proved more effective than brute strength," Kyen was saying, his hands moving to illustrate his point.

Ser Barristan nodded, his eyes alight with interest. "Fascinating. It's not unlike some of the Dornish techniques I've encountered. Tell me, how do you train for such precision?"

Kyen smiled. "It begins early, Ser Barristan. Our youngest warriors start with wooden swords, learning to move as though the weapon is an extension of their arm. As they progress..."

He trailed off as he noticed Ned's approach. Ser Barristan turned and greeted him with a respectful nod. "Ah, Lord Stark. Ser Kyen was just sharing some fascinating insights into the combat techniques of his people. I must say, I'm quite impressed."

Kyen's smile widened. "Ser Barristan is too kind. The Kingsguard's dedication to duty and honor is equally impressive. I've learned much from our conversation."

Ned cleared his throat, feeling a twinge of regret at interrupting what seemed to be a engaging exchange. "I hope I'm not intruding. Kyen, might I have a word in private?"

The warrior nodded, turning back to Ser Barristan. "Perhaps we can continue this discussion another time, Ser Barristan? I'd be honored to learn more about Westerosi combat styles."

"The honor would be mine," Ser Barristan replied warmly. "Good evening to you both."

As Ser Barristan moved away, Ned and Kyen stepped into a quieter corner of the hall. Ned's face was grave as he lowered his voice.

"Your words tonight have certainly stirred up curiosity," he said, his tone cautious. "And I'm afraid they've drawn some unwanted attention. Lord Tywin Lannister approached me after your discussion with the other lords."

Kyen's expression grew serious. "What did he say?"

Ned's jaw tightened. "He thinks your ideas are dangerous. He all but threatened both of us, speaking of 'unfortunate conflicts' arising from 'careless words'. I believe he sees you as a threat to the established order."

To Ned's surprise, Kyen's eyes flashed with anger. The usually calm warrior's voice took on a hard edge. "Lord Tywin should be careful with his threats. I have no wish for conflict, but if he tries to harm you, your family, or anyone under your protection – including me and my own family – he will find that I am not so easily cowed."

Ned's eyes widened slightly at the intensity in Kyen's voice. "Kyen, we must be cautious. Tywin Lannister is not a man to be trifled with."

"Nor am I, Lord Stark," Kyen replied, his voice low and filled with a determination Ned hadn't heard before. "I know the Jedi teach against revenge, and I've tried to adhere to their ways. But there are lines that must not be crossed. If Tywin Lannister moves against us, against Lyra or Caspian, I will not hesitate to act. My abilities are not limited to philosophical discussions and swordplay."

Ned felt a chill run down his spine at Kyen's words. He realized there was much more to this man than he had initially thought. "I understand your concern for your wife and son, Kyen. But we must tread carefully. Even seemingly harmless tales can have unexpected consequences in a realm as fractious as ours. We cannot afford to escalate tensions."

Kyen took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "You're right, of course. I apologize for my outburst. It was... un-Jedi-like of me. I will be more careful in the future, and I'll try to avoid discussions of governance unless directly questioned."

Kyen took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "You're right, of course. I apologize for my outburst. It was... un-Jedi-like of me. I will be more careful in the future, and I'll try to avoid discussions of governance unless directly questioned."

Ned nodded, relieved to see Kyen regaining his composure. "That would be wise. For now, let's try to enjoy the rest of the feast without stirring up any more political hornets' nests."

Before Kyen could respond, they were interrupted by the approach of Cersei Lannister, her young son Joffrey in tow.

"Ser Kyen," Cersei purred, her voice smooth as silk. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Ned forced a smile. "Not at all, Your Grace. We were just discussing the events of the day."

Cersei's green eyes fixed on Kyen, a predatory gleam in their depths. "My son has been absolutely enthralled by your tales, Ser Kyen. He simply insisted on speaking with you before retiring for the night."

Joffrey, a boy of four, looked up at Kyen with wide, excited eyes. His small hands were balled into fists at his sides, barely containing his enthusiasm. "Can you really move things without touching them?" he blurted out, bouncing on his toes. "Can you show me? Please? I want to see!"

Ned and Kyen exchanged a quick glance, both acutely aware of the delicate situation they now found themselves in.

Kyen knelt down to meet Joffrey's eyes, his expression calm and measured. "Young prince," he said softly, "the abilities you speak of are not for casual display. They require great focus and should only be used when truly necessary."

Joffrey's face scrunched up, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. "But I wanna see!" he whined, stomping his little foot. "Do it now!"

Cersei's hand came to rest on her son's shoulder, her grip visibly tightening. "Joffrey, sweetling, that's not how we ask for things," she said, her voice honeyed but with a clear edge.

Ned could see the barely concealed anger in the queen's eyes, though whether it was directed at Kyen for refusing her son or at Joffrey for his outburst, he couldn't tell.

Kyen, however, seemed unperturbed. He smiled at the young prince and said, "How about I show you something else that's special? Something you can touch?"

The boy's eyes lit up with interest, his earlier demands momentarily forgotten. He snatched the box from Kyen's hand, turning it over in his small fingers.

Cersei's expression softened slightly. "What a fascinating trinket, Ser Kyen. I'm sure Joffrey will enjoy the challenge."

As the queen led her son away, Ned let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Quick thinking," he murmured to Kyen. "Though I fear you may have only postponed the inevitable. The boy seems... difficult."

Kyen nodded, his eyes following the retreating forms of Cersei and Joffrey. "Indeed. There's a darkness in that child, Lord Stark. One that could grow to threaten the entire realm if left unchecked."

Ned frowned. "Those are dangerous words, my friend. Be careful where you speak them."

Before Kyen could respond, they were approached by Thoros of Myr, the red priest. The portly man strode towards them, his red robes swaying, a jovial smile on his face despite the glassy look in his eyes that hinted at recent drinking.

"Ser Kyen!" Thoros called out, his voice booming and friendly. "I couldn't help but overhear your tales earlier. Your homeland sounds like a place of great wonder... and great power."

Kyen inclined his head respectfully. "Thoros of Myr. I'm glad you found my stories entertaining. Though I assure you, the wonders of my home are not so different from those I've witnessed here in Westeros."

Thoros laughed heartily. "You're too modest, ser. But tell me, that weapon of yours..." His eyes glinted with fascination as they fixed on Kyen's hip where his lightsaber hung. "There's something about it that reminds me of the legends of Lightbringer, the sword of Azor Ahai."

Ned felt a flicker of unease. He knew Thoros' devotion to R'hllor often led him to see signs of his faith everywhere.

Kyen, however, appeared calm. "An interesting comparison, Ser Thoros. Though I assure you, my weapon is unique to my order and our traditions."

Thoros nodded eagerly, swaying slightly. "Ah, but sometimes the Lord of Light works in mysterious ways, does he not? I've seen things, Ser Kyen... visions in the flames. Great battles, heroes wielding blades of light..."

"I'm certain you have, Ser Thoros," Kyen replied diplomatically. "The mysteries of the world are profound indeed."

Thoros clapped a hand on Kyen's shoulder, nearly losing his balance in the process. "You speak true! We must share a drink sometime, Ser Kyen. I'd love to hear more about your homeland... and perhaps show you the power of R'hllor myself!"

As Thoros stumbled away, likely in search of more wine, Ned turned to Kyen, his voice low and concerned. "We need to be careful. Thoros may seem a drunk, but he's more perceptive than most give him credit for. And his faith makes him unpredictable."

Kyen nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I understand, Lord Stark. Though I doubt he truly comprehends what he's seeing, it might be wise to limit our interactions with those who might ask too many questions."

Ned sighed. "You may be right. We'll need to find a balance between caution and not raising suspicions by appearing too reclusive."

As they contemplated their predicament, a commotion erupted from the far end of the hall. The clash of shattering glass and raised voices pierced through the feast's ambient noise.

"Seven hells," Ned muttered, recognizing the thunderous voice of Robert Baratheon. "The king's deep in his cups again."

Kyen's hand instinctively twitched towards his side, where his lightsaber would typically rest. "Should we intervene?"

Ned shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "Not yet. Let's see how this unfolds. The last thing we need is to draw more attention to ourselves."

They watched as Ser Barristan Selmy attempted to placate the increasingly belligerent Robert. The king's face was flushed crimson, his words slurring as he boisterously recounted his triumph over Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident.

"I crushed him!" Robert bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "Smashed his chest in with my warhammer! And I'll do the same to any man who dares challenge me!"

Cersei, having returned to the high table, regarded her husband with barely concealed revulsion. Tywin Lannister's face was an impassive mask of icy disapproval, while the other lords and ladies squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, averting their eyes from the spectacle.

Ned turned to Kyen, his expression grave. "I believe we've found our reason to depart, my friend. I must assist Ser Barristan in managing this... situation. Once Robert sobers, he'll be in no mood for feasting or tournaments."

Kyen nodded, his brow furrowed. "A prudent decision, Lord Stark. Shall I begin preparations for our withdrawal?"

"Aye," Ned replied, his voice low. "But with discretion. We mustn't appear as though we're fleeing under cover of darkness. We'll announce our intentions on the morrow, once this... unpleasantness has passed."

As Ned moved to aid Ser Barristan with the inebriated king, Kyen slipped quietly from the hall. The Jedi's mind raced as he reflected on the evening's events: the nobles' prying curiosity, Varys' probing inquiries, the volatile temperaments of both king and heir. It all painted a stark picture of a realm teetering on the precipice of chaos.

Kyen couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that despite their best efforts to maintain their cover, forces were already in motion that would irrevocably alter the fate of Westeros. And he, a Jedi Knight from a galaxy far beyond their stars, found himself unexpectedly entangled in the web of intrigue.

As he navigated the torch-lit corridors of Casterly Rock, Kyen reached out to the Force, seeking guidance. The future remained shrouded in uncertainty, but one truth crystallized in his mind: their sojourn in Westeros was far from over. The true test, it seemed, was only just beginning.

The ancient stones of Winterfell loomed before them, a formidable silhouette against the darkening sky. Sedyn crouched at the edge of the forest, his eyes fixed on the towering walls through the T-shaped visor of his Mandalorian helmet. He, along with his father Varek, Jace and Mira, had arrived on this strange planet just hours ago, their hearts pounding with a mixture of anticipation and caution.

Sedyn's fingers tapped restlessly against his blaster as he surveyed the castle. The unease gnawing at his gut refused to subside. This planet, with its primeval forests and eerie silence, set his nerves on edge in a way few places ever had.

"We need to get closer," Jace whispered, his voice tight with barely contained impatience. "Every moment we wait is another moment Lyra and her family might need us."

Sedyn understood the man's urgency. He'd felt the same way during countless rescue missions, that desperate need to act, to do something. But rashness could jeopardize everything.

"I'll go," he said firmly. "Alone. I can use my jetpack to fly over the walls and scout the area. It's safer than all of us trying to sneak in."

Mira's eyes widened with concern. "Is that wise? What if you're caught?"

Sedyn shook his head, the movement barely perceptible beneath his helmet. "My poncho will conceal my armor. In the darkness, I'll look like nothing more than a large bird or a trick of the light. And if I am spotted, I can always claim to be a traveler who got lost."

Varek clasped his son's shoulder. "Be careful, ad'ika. Remember your training."

With a final nod to his companions, Sedyn draped the grey poncho over his armor. He activated his jetpack, the low hum barely audible as he rose into the air.

The sensation of flight never failed to exhilarate Sedyn. Even on this alien world, with its unfamiliar stars twinkling overhead, the rush of wind and the freedom of movement filled him with a sense of purpose. He soared over the high walls of Winterfell, his sensors scanning for any sign of alarm from the guards below. But his passage went unnoticed, a silent shadow against the night sky.

As he descended into the castle grounds, Sedyn's gaze was drawn to a cluster of ancient trees at the heart of the keep. Unlike the rest of the meticulously maintained courtyards and buildings, this area seemed wild, untamed. The trees were unlike any he had seen before, with blood-red leaves and bone-white bark. At the center stood an enormous tree with a face carved into its trunk, its expression one of ancient, inscrutable wisdom.

Intrigued, Sedyn directed his descent towards this strange grove. As he neared the ground, his enhanced hearing picked up the sound of young voices. He landed silently behind a large boulder, peering out to observe the scene before him.

Three boys, no older than seven or eight, were playing among the roots of the great white tree. One had striking auburn hair that caught the moonlight, while the other two had the dark hair and long faces that seemed common in this part of the world. The auburn-haired boy and one of the dark-haired boys seemed to be of the same age, while the third – slightly younger than the others – had a unique look about him. His features were a mix of the local style and something... different. Something that tickled at Sedyn's memory of the holos Jace and Mira had shown him of their missing family.

Could this be Caspian, Lyra's son?

Sedyn watched the boys play for a moment, their game some sort of mock battle with stick swords. He couldn't help but smile behind his helmet, reminded of his own childhood games with his clan-brothers. But he had a mission to complete. Taking a deep breath, Sedyn stepped out from behind the boulder, his armor barely visible in the fading light.

The reaction was instantaneous. The boys froze, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe as Sedyn's silhouette emerged from the shadows. His imposing figure, clad in distinctive Mandalorian armor, was a dark outline against the last faint glow of twilight on the horizon. The grey poncho draped over his shoulders blended into the gathering darkness, making his form seem to shift and change as he moved.

"Seven hells!" exclaimed the auburn-haired boy, his stick sword clattering to the ground. "What is that?"

The dark-haired boy who wasn't Caspian, his face a mirror of determined bravery, stepped in front of his companions. "Who goes there?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly with fear despite his bold words. "Show yourself!"

Sedyn stepped a few paces toward the boys, his hands held out in a non-threatening gesture. "I mean you no harm," he said, his voice modulated by the helmet's speakers. "I'm a traveler, seeking information."

The boy he suspected might be Caspian peered out from behind his friend, his eyes wide with recognition and excitement. "Are you... are you a Mandalorian?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sedyn's heart leaped. That question, from a boy his age, in a place like this? It had to be Caspian. But before he could respond, the auburn-haired boy grabbed Caspian's arm.

"Come on!" he shouted. "We need to tell Mother and Maester Luwin!"

With that, the three boys turned and ran towards the keep, their shouts echoing across the quiet godswood. Sedyn considered pursuing them, but decided against it. Better to let events unfold naturally than to risk frightening the children further.

Instead, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The godswood, as he had heard it called in the boys' shouts, was a place of eerie beauty. The white bark of the trees seemed to glow in the moonlight, their red leaves rustling in a breeze he couldn't feel. The face on the central tree – the heart tree, he recalled from his research – watched him with eyes that seemed almost alive.

Sedyn's musings were interrupted by the sound of running feet and shouted commands. He turned to see a woman hurrying into the godswood, her features making his breath catch. It was her – Lyra Shan, the woman they had crossed the galaxy to find.

She looked different from the holos he had seen. Older, of course, but also harder. The past year had clearly not been easy on her. She wore the local style of dress, a long gown of sturdy wool, but moved with the grace of someone used to more practical attire. At her side was a small knife, and Sedyn had no doubt she knew how to use it.

Lyra stepped forward, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief as she took in Sedyn's unmistakable Mandalorian armor. "By the Force," she breathed, her voice a mixture of awe and fear. "A Mandalorian? Here? How... why..."

Sedyn slowly raised his hands, making sure she could see he meant no harm. With deliberate movements, he reached up and removed his helmet, revealing his face to her.

"My name is Sedyn Marr," he said, his voice calm and clear in the night air. "I've been sent to find you, Lyra Shan. Your parents are very eager to see you."

Lyra's composure cracked, her eyes widening further in shock before she schooled her features back into a mask of caution. "My parents?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're... they're here? How did you find us?"

Sedyn nodded. "They're just outside the walls. We've been searching for you for months. Your parents tracked down your former employers, who led them to us on Corellia. We retraced your flight path and found your ship's beacon."

The boy he now knew to be Caspian darted out from behind Lyra, his eyes shining with excitement. "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "I knew you were a Mandalorian! Mother, is it true? Are Grandmother and Grandfather really here?"

Lyra knelt beside her son, her mind visibly racing as she tried to process this sudden turn of events. "It seems so, Caspian," she said softly. "But we need to be careful. We don't know all the details yet."

As she spoke, more people began to enter the godswood. Guards with hands on their swords, watching Sedyn warily. And bringing up the rear was a woman with vibrant red hair, her bearing regal and commanding. She was followed closely by an older man in grey robes, his chain marking him as some sort of scholar or healer.

The red-haired woman stepped forward, her gaze darting between Lyra and Sedyn. "Lyra," she said, her voice filled with concern, "what is the meaning of this? Who is this man, and why does he speak of your parents as if they've traveled from some far-off land?"

Lyra stood, placing a protective hand on Caspian's shoulder. She looked at the woman, then at the assembled guards and the other two boys, who were watching the scene with wide-eyed fascination. Finally, her gaze settled back on Sedyn.

"Lady Catelyn," she said carefully, "perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private."

Lady Catelyn nodded, though her expression remained wary. "Agreed. Ser Rodrik, escort our... guest to the Great Hall. The rest of you, return to your posts. Robb, Jon, go to your chambers. And Lyra... I trust you'll explain everything once we're away from prying eyes and ears?"

Lyra nodded, her expression a mix of apprehension and barely contained hope. As the group began to disperse, Sedyn found himself being led towards the keep by a stern-faced guard. He caught Lyra's eye as they walked, seeing in her gaze a whirlwind of emotions – fear, hope, uncertainty, and beneath it all, a fierce determination that reminded him of her parents.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was a vast, imposing space, its high ceilings lost in shadow. At one end, a massive hearth crackled with warmth, casting flickering light across the room. Lady Catelyn took her place at the high table, her posture rigid with tension. Lyra, Caspian, and the man in grey robes – introduced as Maester Luwin – stood nearby, while Sedyn remained at a respectful distance, flanked by guards.

"Now," Lady Catelyn said, her voice calm but filled with authority, "I believe we are owed an explanation. Lyra, perhaps you should begin."

Lyra nodded, her eyes meeting Catelyn's with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. "My lady, you've shown us incredible kindness in accepting our... unusual circumstances. I never thought I'd have cause to add to that strangeness, and yet..." She gestured to Sedyn.

"His arrival changes everything."

Catelyn's gaze sharpened. "How so?"

Lyra took a deep breath. "Sedyn is from our world – or, more accurately, from the vast network of worlds we once called home. His presence here means we've been found, my lady. The life we've built, the safety we've found in Winterfell... it's all at risk."

A flicker of emotion passed across Catelyn's face – concern, perhaps even a touch of protectiveness. "Are you in danger, Lyra? Is Caspian?"

"Not from Sedyn," Lyra said quickly. "But his arrival opens up possibilities both wondrous and terrifying. The chance to return home, yes, but also the risk of others less... honorable... following in his wake."

Catelyn turned her piercing gaze to Sedyn. "And you, ser? What are your intentions here?"

Sedyn stepped forward, his movement causing the guards to tense. "My lady," he said, addressing Catelyn directly, "I know this must seem incredible to you. But I assure you, everything Lyra has said is true. I and my companions have traveled across the stars to find her and her family."

Lady Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "And who exactly are you? How do you fit into this tale?"

"My name is Sedyn Marr," he replied. "I am a Mandalorian – a warrior from another world. Lyra's parents hired my father and I to find their daughter and her family. We've spent months following their trail across the galaxy."

Sedyn's eyes reflected the flickering torchlight in the Great Hall of Winterfell as he continued, his voice low and steady. "They're waiting with my father just beyond the treeline. We didn't want to risk alarming your people by approaching en masse."

Lady Catelyn stood, her decision evident in the set of her shoulders. The firelight cast long shadows across her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes. "Then we shall go to them," she declared, her voice carrying the weight of authority that came with her position. "Lyra, you and your son will accompany us. Maester Luwin, you will come as well. Your expertise may be needed if what they say is true."

Lyra nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached for her son, who looked up at her with wide, curious eyes. The boy, barely five years old, seemed to sense the importance of the moment, remaining uncharacteristically quiet.

"My lady," Maester Luwin interjected, his chain clinking softly as he shifted, "what of the droids? Should we bring them along?"

Lady Catelyn paused, considering. The droids – R3-M5, C4-P8, and BX-7 – had been a constant presence in Winterfell since Lyra's arrival months ago. At first, they had been a source of wonder and no small amount of fear for the household. Now, they were as much a part of Winterfell as the stone walls themselves.

"Yes," she decided after a moment. "Fetch them. They're as much a part of this as any of us."

As a servant hurried off to retrieve the droids, Sedyn couldn't help but marvel at the strange turns his life had taken. Here he was, a Mandalorian warrior, walking alongside the lady of a medieval castle and a family from the stars, all on a planet that had never known the touch of interstellar civilization. The weight of his armor felt both comforting and out of place in these ancient halls.

They made their way through the dark corridors of Winterfell, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The castle seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the momentous events unfolding within its walls. Servants and guards they passed cast curious glances at the unlikely group, but none dared to question Lady Catelyn's purpose.

As they reached the courtyard, they were joined by the three droids. R3-M5 rolled along, its domed head swiveling as it took in its surroundings. C4-P8 walked with precise, measured steps, its metallic body reflecting the torchlight. BX-7, the old battle droid, brought up the rear, its joints creaking slightly with each movement.

"Mistress Lyra," C4-P8 began, its vocabulator producing a crisp, polite tone, "might I inquire as to our destination at this late hour?"

Lyra smiled, a mix of nerves and excitement evident in her voice. "We're going to meet some... old friends, C4. Very old friends."

The droid tilted its head, processing this information. "How intriguing. I do hope they're not put off by our appearance. I'm afraid I haven't had time for a proper oil bath in quite some time."

Despite the tension of the moment, Lyra couldn't help but chuckle. Leave it to C4 to worry about appearances at a time like this.

They slipped out of a small postern gate, the night air crisp and filled with unfamiliar scents. The moons of this world – so strange and yet so familiar to Lyra now – cast a pale light over the landscape. In the distance, the wolfswood loomed, a dark mass against the star-filled sky.

As they neared the treeline, Sedyn activated a small beacon on his wrist, signaling the others to approach. The soft beeping of the device seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet night, causing several members of the group to start.

"What manner of device is that?" Maester Luwin asked, his eyes wide with fascination.

"It's a communicator," Sedyn explained briefly. "It lets my father and the others know it's safe to approach."

R3-M5 let out a series of soft beeps and whistles, which C4-P8 quickly translated. "R3 says he's detecting multiple life forms approaching from the forest. Four humans and... one droid?"

Lyra's breath caught in her throat. Could it really be them? After all these months?

Moments later, four figures emerged from the shadows of the forest. As they stepped into the moonlight, Lyra felt her world tilt on its axis.

Jace and Mira Selron, her parents, their faces a mix of hope and desperation. They looked older than she remembered, lines of worry etched into their faces. But their eyes – her father's deep brown, her mother's striking green – were just as she remembered.

Behind them stood Varek, his Mandalorian armor gleaming dully in the moonlight. He moved with the fluid grace of a trained warrior, his helmet turning slowly as he took in the surroundings.

For a moment, no one moved. The tableau held, frozen in time – two worlds colliding in the shadow of the ancient forest.

Then, with a cry that seemed torn from the depths of her soul, Lyra rushed forward. "Mother! Father!"

The spell broke. Jace and Mira surged forward, enveloping their daughter in a fierce embrace. Tears flowed freely as the family clung to each other, months of separation dissolving in a moment of pure, overwhelming joy.

"Lyra, oh Lyra," Mira sobbed, her hands cupping her daughter's face. "We found you. We finally found you."

Jace's arms encircled them both, his normally stern face softened by emotion. "My little star," he murmured, using the pet name from Lyra's childhood. "We never gave up hope. Never."

The reunion that followed was a tangle of embraces and tears, of hurried explanations and exclamations of disbelief. Sedyn watched it all with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that his mission was finally, truly complete.

Maester Luwin observed with keen interest, his chain clinking softly as he shifted. The Shan family's droids stood silently nearby, their presence a reminder of the extraordinary nature of this moment.

As the initial wave of emotion began to ebb, Lyra turned to make introductions. Her voice still quavered as she spoke.

"Mother, Father, this is Lady Catelyn Stark, wife of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. And this is Maester Luwin, whose wisdom has been a great comfort. They have shown me such kindness, treating me as one of their own."

Jace stepped forward, bowing formally. "Lady Stark, Maester Luwin, we owe you a debt we can never repay. Thank you for protecting our daughter."

Catelyn inclined her head graciously. "It has been our honor, Lord Selron. Your daughter has become dear to us all."

Maester Luwin's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Indeed, she has brought much joy – and fascinating knowledge – to Winterfell. I look forward to learning more about your world, if you're willing to share."

Mira smiled warmly. "Of course, Maester. We have much to discuss, I'm sure."

As the introductions continued, Varek removed his helmet, revealing a face marked by both scars and laugh lines. "I am Varek Marr," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "It is an honor to meet you all."

Lyra introduced her son, Caspian, who shyly peeked out from behind her. Jace and Mira's eyes lit up at the sight of their grandson, noticing how much he had grown in the past year.

The initial shock of the reunion began to fade, and Lady Catelyn suggested they move to a more comfortable setting. "We have much to discuss," she said, "and it would be best done in the warmth of the Great Hall."

Sedyn cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. "My lady, if I may," he began, his voice respectful but firm. "Before we proceed to the Great Hall, there's a matter I need to attend to."

Lady Catelyn raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in her expression. "And what matter might that be, Ser Sedyn?"

The Mandalorian warrior straightened, his armor gleaming in the dim light of the forest clearing. "I need to return to our ship," he explained. "My sister, Ca'tra, is there with our droid, C-23. I don't want to leave her alone for too long."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the group. Lyra's parents, Jace and Mira, exchanged knowing glances. They were well aware of the young girl's presence on the mission, but the news seemed to catch the Winterfell contingent off guard.

"Your sister?" Maester Luwin inquired, his chain clinking as he leaned forward with interest. "You brought a child on this journey across the stars?"

Sedyn nodded, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "She's family, and Mandalorians don't leave family behind. Our ship is secure, and C-23 is more than capable of protecting her, but I'd feel better if she were here with us."

Varek stepped forward, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's true," he confirmed. "Ca'tra is young, but she's as much a part of this mission as any of us. And C-23... well, let's just say he's not your average droid."

Catelyn's brow furrowed slightly, but her voice remained composed. "I see. And how do you propose to retrieve them? Surely your ship is some distance away?"

A small smile played on Sedyn's lips. "We have speeder bikes, my lady. Fast vehicles that allow us to cover great distances quickly. It won't take long to fetch them and return."

Varek spoke up. "Perhaps it would be best if I accompanied Sedyn," he suggested. "I can help explain the situation to Ca'tra and ensure a smooth transition."

Mira nodded in agreement. "A familiar face might help ease any anxiety she might be feeling," she added.

Catelyn considered for a moment before nodding. "Very well," she said. "But I would ask that you return with all haste. There is much we need to discuss, and I fear the longer we delay, the more questions will arise among my household."

Sedyn bowed slightly. "Of course, my lady. We'll be as quick as we can."

As Sedyn and Jace prepared to depart, Lyra approached them. "Be careful," she said, her voice low. "And... thank you. For everything."

Sedyn nodded, his expression softening. "We'll be back before you know it," he assured her.

With a final nod to the group, Sedyn and Varek mounted their speeder bikes. The machines hummed to life, a sound utterly foreign to the forests of the North. In a blur of movement, they were gone, leaving behind a swirl of fallen leaves and wide-eyed onlookers.

As the sound of the speeder bikes faded into the distance, Lady Catelyn turned to address the remaining group. "While we wait for their return, let us retire to the Great Keep," she suggested, her voice warm but tinged with curiosity. "I'm sure you all could use some rest after your long journey."

Mira stepped forward, her posture straight and dignified despite the fatigue evident in her eyes. "That would be most welcome, Lady Stark. Thank you for your hospitality."

With a nod, Lady Catelyn began to lead the way. As they walked, Lyra fell into step beside her son, Caspian. Unlike the newcomers who gazed around in wonder, Lyra and Caspian moved with the ease of those long accustomed to Winterfell's ancient stones. Lyra smiled softly, remembering her own awe when she first arrived over a year ago.

Authors note

Hey everyone,

I wanted to drop a quick note to explain why it's taken about 3 weeks to get this new chapter of "The Lost Jedi of Westeros" out to you.

While I had a clear idea for most of the chapter, I hit a bit of writer's block with the ending. I really wanted to make Lyra's reunion with her parents as perfect as I could, and that took some time to get right.

On a brighter note, I had an absolute blast writing the Tourney of Lannisport section! As a huge fan of the original Knights of the Old Republic games, I loved diving into that lore.

The main reason for the delay is that I started my final semester of college on August 26th, and I've been trying to settle into my new routine. I just started my lab work yesterday, which means I'll be writing lab reports regularly. This might push my writing time to the weekends, so you can probably expect new chapters every 2-3 weeks from now on.

I really appreciate your patience and support. As always, if you have any ideas on how to make the story better, I'm all ears! Your feedback means a lot to me.

Finally, I want to give a big shout-out to "Dj Toku" and "Compared Dread" for helping me brainstorm some ideas for this chapter. You guys rock!

Thanks for sticking with me. I can't wait to share more with you soon!

Mtle232