NOTES
Edric Dayne in this story is somewhat older than he is in the books.
Lysara original character in this story
Lots of elements from J.R.R. Tolkien in this chapter, but it's not a crossover
- VERY AU (Alternate Universe)
- Some characters are out of character.
This is a story based on the Game of Thrones books and TV series, but be warned, it's a very AU (Alternate Universe) story. If you're someone who doesn't enjoy a story that deviates a lot from canon, where certain characters may act out of character, or if you're not a fan of romance with a good amount of fluff, and a story that ultimately has a happy ending, then this may not be the right story for you.
VALYRIA 298 AC AELORA AEMON
As the dragon soared through the sky, its powerful wings propelling them forward, Aelora and Aemon marveled at the breathtaking sight before them. The resplendent city of Valyria, now restored to its former glory, sprawled out below them, its magnificent buildings gleaming in the sunlight.
Aelora couldn't help but smile at the awestruck expression on Aemon's face. It was his first time setting eyes upon the legendary city, and the wonder in his gaze was palpable.
"Behold, Maester Aemon," Aelora called out over the rushing wind, "the grandeur of Valyria, the land of your ancestors!"
Aemon's eyes widened as he took in the sight, his voice filled with reverence. "It's even more beautiful than I ever imagined," he exclaimed, his gaze darting from one architectural marvel to another. "The stories and legends pale in comparison to the reality before us."
As they flew lower, circling the city, Aemon's attention was drawn to the hundreds of dragons that filled the sky, their scales glittering in a myriad of colors. Some soared majestically, while others perched atop the towering structures, their presence a testament to the power and resilience of Valyria.
"I never thought I would live to see such a sight," Aemon whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "To witness the rebirth of Valyria and behold the magnificence of these dragons... it's a dream come true."
Aelora nodded, her own heart swelling with pride. "And now, you stand on the precipice of a new chapter, Maester Aemon," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Here, in Valyria, you will have the opportunity to delve into the depths of knowledge, to learn from the greatest minds and uncover secrets long forgotten."
As their dragon began its descent towards the heart of the city, Aemon's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I am ready to embrace this journey, Lady Aelora," he declared, his voice filled with determination. "To learn, to grow, and to contribute to the legacy of our people."
WINTERFELL 298 AC EDDARD AND CATELYN
Catelyn found herself standing before the weathered door of the abandoned tower, its stones bearing the scars of countless winters. A sense of unease crept over her as she wondered why Ned had chosen this seldom-visited place for their meeting. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The dim light filtering through the narrow windows cast an eerie glow over the chamber, where Ned stood with his back to her, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Even from across the room, Catelyn could see the weight that burdened his shoulders, the lines etched deep into his face a testament to the trials he had endured.
"Ned?" she called out softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Turning to face her, Ned's eyes were haunted, the ghosts of the past clinging to him like a shroud. "This tower holds memories, Cat," he began, his voice heavy with melancholy. "Memories of a time when Brandon had already been taken, and Father rode for King's Landing, never to return."
A chill ran down Catelyn's spine as she heard Eddard's words. "What happened, Ned?" she replied, looking nervously at her husband, her mind flashing back to the turbulent events of Westeros during the time of Robert's Rebellion.
Eddard took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking, his gaze unwavering as he met hers. "I have received word from the Vale," he began, his voice carrying the weight of the news he bore. "Jasper Arryn seeks justice for his father's arrest and proposes an alliance between the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands."
Catelyn's heart sank at the news, knowing full well the significance of such a request. "I know Lord Jon Arryn is like a second father to you, my love," she murmured, her voice filled with sympathy but also tinged with fear. "I understand if you feel compelled to answer Jasper Arryn's call to form an alliance."
"I cannot afford to ignore Jasper's plea for aid. My honor demands that I go to the Vale and meet with him to assess the situation," Eddard declared, his tone resolute.
Catelyn felt anguish wash over her upon hearing her husband's words. "But what about Winterfell?" she asked, her concern for their home and family evident in her voice.
Eddard sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor as he contemplated his next words. "Robb will remain here as the acting Lord of Winterfell in my absence," he explained. "I have spoken with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassel; they will advise and support him in my stead."
"I will do whatever I can to support Robb," she vowed.
Eddard reached out to her, his touch a silent reassurance in the face of uncertainty. "I don't want another war, Cat. I have seen the horrors of it firsthand," he said, his gaze distant as memories of battles long past played out before his eyes, his voice heavy with regret. "The screams of the dying, the stench of blood and sweat, the palpable fear that hangs in the air like a shroud. It is not a fate I would wish upon anyone."
"And yet, we find ourselves teetering on the edge of chaos once more," Catelyn remarked, her voice tinged with resignation.
"I know, Cat," replied Eddard.
"Ned, I know you are determined to go to the Vale, and I know my words won't sway you," Catelyn pleaded, observing her husband with beseeching eyes. "But what if what your brother and his wife, Elaena, claim turns out to be true," she said, her voice trembling. "What if the Others truly exist beyond the Wall?"
Eddard's expression darkened, his thoughts turning to the looming specter of the White Walkers and the existential threat they posed to all of Westeros. "If the tales are true, if the Others truly exist," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper, "then our petty squabbles for power and control pale in comparison to the danger that awaits us."
"I promise you this, my dear wife. I will defend our family, Winterfell, and the North from any threat, be it from the south or from beyond the Wall, with every breath in my body," he said with determination.
As the weight of their conversation settled over them, Catelyn couldn't help but broach another topic that had been weighing on her mind. "Have you noticed any changes since you began the magical exercises?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Eddard hesitated for a moment before answering. "I have had brief warging experiences with a raven," he admitted, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "But nothing significant."
Catelyn nodded, though she couldn't shake the unease that lingered within her. "We must tread carefully with these newfound abilities," she cautioned.
As the meeting was drawing to a close, Catelyn indicated to Eddard that she wanted to say a few words.
"Dear husband, if war truly breaks out against King Joffrey and the Lannisters, I know how to abruptly halt it with their surrender and thus prevent further bloodshed."
Ned's eyes widened, his curiosity piqued. "How?" he asked, leaning forward intently.
"Fire and Blood," Catelyn replied, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.
A flicker of unease passed over Ned's features, but he nodded slowly. "Let us hope it does not come to that," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "It would be better if this conflict could be resolved through diplomacy and negotiation among the lords of Westeros."
"I merely offer it as an alternative, my love," Catelyn said, her gaze unwavering as she turned and headed for the exit, leaving Ned pondering his wife's words.
1 DAY LATER (EDDARD VAELLA)
Eddard sat alone in his private study, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the room as he poured over maps and parchments. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the impending journey to the Vale and the weighty responsibilities that lay ahead.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his reverie, and he called out, "Enter."
To his surprise, Vaella Balaerys stood before him, accompanied by the Valyrian servant who had arrived in the mysterious carriage that seemed to move of its own accord. Eddard regarded them with curiosity, wondering what could have brought them to his chambers.
"Lady Vaella, what brings you here?" Eddard inquired, rising from his seat to greet his son's betrothed.
Vaella met his gaze with a solemn expression, her violet eyes betraying a sense of purpose. "Lord Stark, I come bearing a gift," she began, her voice soft yet determined. "One that I had intended to present to you on the occasion of my marriage to Torrhen, but circumstances have compelled me to offer it to you now."
With a graceful gesture, Vaella motioned for the Valyrian servant to step forward, revealing a large wooden crate that had been carefully placed at her feet. Eddard's curiosity piqued as he watched the servant unlatch the crate, revealing its contents.
To his astonishment, nestled within the crate was a suit of armor crafted from shimmering Valyrian steel, its surface adorned with the sigil of House Stark. Beside it lay a sword of the same exquisite material, its hilt intricately carved with the direwolf of Winterfell.
But his attention was drawn to a third item nestled among the armor and sword—a shield unlike any he had ever seen. Its surface gleamed with a silvery hue, and Eddard could sense the power that emanated from it.
"What material is this shield made from?" Eddard asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Vaella's lips curved into a mysterious smile as she replied, "Mithril, Lord Eddard. A material that we discovered some years ago."
But as he gazed upon the gifts before him, his attention was drawn to yet another item—a finely crafted chainmail shirt made of the same material. "And this?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.
Vaella nodded, her expression grave. "Mithril chainmail, Lord Eddard," she explained. "It is more flexible than Valyrian steel, yet just as strong."
Eddard's brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to comprehend the significance of the gift. "But why...?" he began, his voice trailing off.
Vaella's eyes met his, her gaze unwavering. "Lord Stark, I wear a suit of mithril chainmail beneath my garments at all times," she revealed, her tone earnest. "Allow me to demonstrate its efficacy."
Before Eddard could protest, Vaella gave a nod to the Valyrian servant, who drew a dagger from his belt and lunged towards her with startling speed. Eddard watched in horror as the blade flashed through the air, but to his amazement, it glanced harmlessly off Vaella's chest, deflected by the invisible barrier of the mithril chainmail.
As the Valyrian servant withdrew, Eddard was left speechless, his mind reeling with the implications of what he had just witnessed. "Vaella, I... I don't understand," he stammered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Vaella's expression softened as she reached out to him, her hand resting gently on his arm. "Lord Stark, I implore you," she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency. "Wear the mithril chainmail always, as a safeguard against the dangers that lie ahead. I cannot bear the thought of Torrhen losing his father, and I would do anything to protect the man I love."
Eddard's heart swelled with gratitude for the young woman before him. "Thank you, Vaella," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I will heed your counsel and wear the mithril chainmail with pride."
As Vaella and the Valyrian servant took their leave, Eddard was left alone once more with the gifts that lay before him. But as he gazed upon the armor, sword, shield, and chainmail, he couldn't shake the feeling that they heralded not only a new chapter in the history of House Stark, but also the beginning of a journey into the unknown.
3 DAYS LATER
Eddard Stark found himself mounted on his horse, flanked by Jory Cassel and fifty of Winterfell's most seasoned household guards. The courtyard of Winterfell bustled with activity as the men prepared to depart, but amidst the organized chaos, Eddard couldn't help but notice the anxious glances cast his way by his wife and children.
Sansa's eyes were swollen and red, evidence of her tearful farewells, while Arya stood stoically beside her, her jaw clenched in a display of silent strength. Robb, his heir, wore a mask of determination, but the worry in his eyes betrayed his true emotions. Next to him stood Lady Margaery Tyrell, his wife, her expression mirroring his concern. Torrhen observed the scene with a calm and contemplative demeanor, but upon closer inspection, Eddard noticed a subtle trembling in his hands, a sign of his nervousness. Rickon, the youngest of them all, was cradled in Catelyn's arms, his small frame trembling slightly with the weight of the moment. And then there was Bran, standing by his mother's side, his youthful face a mix of concern and innocence.
"What secrets might you be glimpsing, Bran?" Eddard thought to himself as he observed his son, recalling the strange dreams and visions the boy had shared with him.
But it wasn't just his family who watched him with concern. Jojen and Meera Reed, the young heirs of Greywater Watch, stood off to the side, their expressions unreadable as they observed the scene unfold. Eddard couldn't help but wonder if he would once again be fighting side by side with their father, Lord Reed, if war broke out.
And then there were the Valyrians—Aegon, Rhaenys, Daenerys, Alyssane, and Vaella—standing apart from the Stark family, their presence a stark reminder of new alliances. Eddard noticed how Alyssane and Vaella looked at him with sadness and occasionally glanced furtively at his son Torrhen, hinting at the budding feelings between them.
As Eddard gave the final orders to his men, his gaze lingered on his family and the gathered crowd. His heart ached at the thought of leaving them behind, but duty called, and he knew he could not ignore Jasper Arryn's plea for aid.
Catelyn approached him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Take care, my love," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And may the gods watch over you on your journey."
Eddard reached out to clasp her hand, the touch of her skin a balm to his troubled soul. "I will return as soon as I can, Cat," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "Until then, look after our children and keep Winterfell safe."
With one last lingering look at his family and the assembled crowd, Eddard urged his horse forward, his mind already racing with plans and strategies for the journey ahead. As Winterfell faded into the distance behind him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was the beginning of a new era.
3 DAYS AFTER, THE VALE (THE EYRIE) 298 AC
The flickering candlelight cast an ominous glow over the stone chamber, shadows dancing across the weathered faces of the men gathered around the large oak table. Jasper Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, stood with his brow furrowed, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Beside him, Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, leaned forward, his calloused hands gripping the edge of the table, his jaw set in a grim line.
"What Uncle Edmure writes is indeed troubling," Jasper's deep baritone reverberated through the chamber. "Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, leads Lannister forces near the borders of the Riverlands and the Westerlands."
Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone, let out a low growl, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. "That butcher has no place on civilized lands," he spat, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his sword. "The tales of his brutality are enough to curdle the blood of any decent man."
Ser Brynden's weathered face hardened, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists. "We cannot stand idly by while that monster threatens the Riverlands," he declared, his voice laced with a lifetime of battle-hardened resolve. "The Vale must answer the call to arms."
The heavy oak door creaked open, and Maester Coleman shuffled in, the chain around his neck clinking with every step. "My lords," he interjected, his voice wavering slightly, "a raven has arrived from the North bearing urgent news for Lord Arryn."
Jasper's head snapped up, his gaze alight with a glimmer of hope. "From the North? What news do they bring?"
Maester Coleman extended a scroll, its waxen seal bearing the direwolf sigil of House Stark. "I have not had the chance to peruse its contents, my lord. But it appears to be a response to your recent correspondence."
With a quickened heartbeat, Jasper took the scroll, breaking the seal of the House Stark direwolf. As he read the words written in a neat, precise hand, a wave of relief washed over him, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.
"Lord Eddard Stark has heard our plea," Jasper announced, his voice filled with gratitude. "He is riding south to the Vale as we speak to discuss further action. The North remembers, and they shall not abandon us in our hour of need."
A collective sigh swept through the chamber, and Yohn Royce's face broke into a rare, broad grin. "Ah, Lord Eddard Stark, a true man of honor," he remarked fondly, his voice tinged with respect. "I recall my time in Winterfell when I accompanied my son Waymar to join the Night's Watch. The Starks are a family bound by duty and loyalty, and their support will be invaluable in the battles to come."
Jasper nodded, his eyes burning with a newfound determination. "The North stands with us in our time of need. This alliance shall strengthen our resolve to seek justice and secure the release of my father."
Ser Brynden's gaze hardened, and he straightened his back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Let the Lannisters come," he declared, his voice resonating with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. "With the might of the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands behind us, we shall not falter. The lions will taste the steel of our blades."
Hours later, as the chamber quieted, Maester Coleman approached Jasper with an urgent expression on his weathered face. "My lord," he spoke softly, "another raven has just arrived, but it's not from Winterfell. It bears the sigil of Dragonstone, from Stannis Baratheon."
Jasper's brows furrowed in surprise at the unexpected news. "Dragonstone? What business does Stannis Baratheon have with us?" he questioned, his curiosity piqued.
THE SMALL COUNCIL CHAMBER, KING'S LANDING - 298 AC (JOFFREY, PYCELLE, CERSEI, VARYS, PETYR BAELISH)
The Small Council Chamber was filled with a tension so thick, it could have been cut with one of the swords from the Iron Throne. The chamber was silent, save for the rustling of the parchment in Grand Maester Pycelle's trembling hands as he finished reading out the letter from Stannis Baratheon.
"I want his head!" Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, roared, his young face flushed with anger as he slammed his fist down onto the table. His crown, a nest of golden antlers and iron swords, glinted fiercely in the candlelight.
Pycelle, his face as white as his long, flowing beard, took a step back, a look of fear clouding his aged features. "Your Grace, we must be careful–" he started, but Joffrey cut him off with another furious roar.
"I am the king!" he shouted, his green eyes glinting with rage. "I don't care what some traitorous usurper claims in a letter. He is a traitor, and traitors must be punished!"
Cersei Lannister, the Queen Regent, sat in her seat, her golden curls cascading down her shoulders as she watched her son with a calm, yet calculating gaze. "Joffrey," she said, her voice smooth and measured, "We must consider the wider implications of this letter. Not only does it challenge your claim to the throne, but it also threatens to rally the other houses against us."
Petyr Baelish leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The queen is correct, Your Grace," he said, his voice silky smooth. "This letter is a clear attempt by Stannis to undermine your rule and turn the other houses against us."
Varys, the Master of Whisperers, was silent, his round face inscrutable as he watched the proceedings with keen interest.
"The Vale is already showing signs of discontent after the arrest of Lord Arryn," Littlefinger continued. "And with this letter, Stannis is trying to fan the flames of rebellion."
At the mention of the Vale, Joffrey's face turned even redder. "I don't care about the Vale, or Stannis, or any of the other traitors!" he shouted, standing up from his seat, the chair clattering loudly onto the floor. "I am the king! They will obey me, or they will suffer the consequences!"
With that, Joffrey stormed out of the council chamber, his royal cloak billowing behind him. The remaining council members were left in silence, the echoes of Joffrey's furious declaration still hanging in the air.
Cersei, her face pale but composed, was the first to break the silence. "We must act quickly," she said, her voice tight with determination. "We cannot afford to let Stannis's lies spread any further."
15 DAYS LATER CASTERLY ROCK
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the rugged terrain outside Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister rode forth with his brother Kevan and his son Jaime, who had just arrived from King's Landing, to inspect the Lannister army encamped nearby. The sound of steel clashing against steel filled the air as soldiers sparred in the training grounds, their movements precise and disciplined.
Tywin's piercing gaze swept over the assembled troops, his expression a mask of authority and calculation. He observed their formations, armaments, and readiness with a keen eye, noting any deficiencies that required immediate attention.
"Kevan, Jaime," Tywin began, his voice cutting through the clamor of the training yard. "Our strength is formidable, but we must ensure that every man is prepared in case the men of the Vale, the Riverlands, and even the North rise up in arms. The realm teeters on the brink of chaos, and it falls to us to maintain order."
Kevan nodded in silent agreement, his features etched with grim determination. "Indeed, brother. They grow bolder by the day, and it is imperative that we remain vigilant."
Jaime straightened in his saddle, his golden armor gleaming in the fading light. "Our men are the finest in the realm, Father. With the might of House Lannister behind us, we shall crush any who dare to oppose us."
Tywin's lips curled into a thin smile at his son's words, a glimmer of pride flickering in his steely gaze. "Confidence is commendable, Jaime, but arrogance will be our undoing. We must be prepared for any eventuality, no matter how dire."
As they continued their inspection, Tywin turned to Jaime with a grave expression. "I have already deployed Ser Gregor Clegane and his forces to the Riverlands border. Should they dare to make a move against us, they will face the full extent of our retaliation."
Jaime's jaw clenched at the mention of Ser Gregor, his disdain evident in his narrowed eyes. "Father, must we resort to such tactics? Raiding the Riverlands will only escalate the conflict further."
Tywin's gaze hardened, his voice brooking no argument. "We cannot afford to show weakness, Jaime. If the Riverlords and the Vale seek to test our resolve, we must demonstrate that House Lannister will not be trifled with. Ser Gregor's actions will serve as a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance."
Jaime swallowed his protest, knowing better than to question his father's commands openly. Though his pride bristled at the thought of such ruthless tactics, he understood the necessity of projecting strength in the face of their enemies.
"What about the matter of Stannis Baratheon and the letter he sent proclaiming himself king?" Kevan interjected at that moment.
"Stannis," Tywin muttered, his voice a low growl as he contemplated the implications. "He has always been a man of conviction, but this... this is a bold move, even for him."
"Stannis Baratheon is another matter entirely," Kevan said, his voice serious. "He is a seasoned warrior and a proven commander. Do not underestimate him."
Jaime nodded solemnly. "Stannis has a formidable navy at his command. If he decides to attack, he could easily blockade our ports and cripple our trade."
Kevan chimed in, his voice filled with unease, "Not to mention, Stannis has a reputation for his iron will and relentless determination. He won't be easily deterred."
Tywin's gaze was unyielding as he stared at the horizon. "Then we must be prepared for him as well. Our men will fortify the coastal defenses. We will not be caught off guard."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, Tywin, Kevan, and Jaime rode back towards Casterly Rock, their minds filled with thoughts of the challenges that lay ahead. In the gathering darkness, the fires of war burned brightly on the horizon, and House Lannister stood ready to defend its honor at any cost.
Upon their return to the castle, the Maester of Casterly Rock hurriedly approached Tywin with a sense of urgency, a sealed scroll clutched tightly in his hand.
"My Lord," the Maester said, his voice trembling with urgency. "An urgent message has arrived from King's Landing."
Tywin's brow furrowed as he accepted the scroll, his heart pounding with anticipation. Breaking the seal, he quickly scanned the contents of the message, his expression turning to one of grim resolve.
"What news, Father?" Jaime asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Tywin's voice was like ice as he read aloud, his words cutting through the silence of the chamber. "Stupid boy," he muttered under his breath, his eyes darkening with fury. "The possibility of reaching any kind of agreement with the Arryns has evaporated. Lord Jon Arryn has been executed by order of Joffrey."
A heavy silence descended upon the room as the weight of Tywin's words hung in the air. Kevan and Jaime exchanged uneasy glances, realizing that the realm was hurtling towards even greater chaos and bloodshed. As they stood in the dimly lit chamber of Casterly Rock, surrounded by the echoes of impending war, they knew that the days ahead would test their resolve like never before.
MOLE'S TOWN 298 AC
As they gathered their belongings, Elaena, Benjen, Marillion, and Doreah prepared to mount their horses. Doreah's nervousness was palpable, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the straps of her saddlebag. Elaena turned to her with a reassuring smile, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding.
"Doreah, my dear," Elaena said gently, placing a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Could you please check if the ingredients for our favorite Lysene and Valyrian dishes are packed in the sack? Your attention to detail is unparalleled, and I trust you to ensure our journey is filled with the comforts of home."
Doreah's anxiety seemed to ease at Elaena's words, a grateful smile gracing her delicate features. "Of course, my lady," she replied, her voice soft yet steady. With practiced efficiency, she rummaged through the sack, carefully inspecting each item. After a moment, her eyes lit up with relief as she retrieved a bundle of fragrant herbs and exotic spices, along with jars of rare ingredients.
"Everything we need is here, my lady," Doreah confirmed, her demeanor growing more confident and assured. "I'll make sure to keep everything organized and readily accessible for our meals."
Elaena's smile widened. "Excellent. Your dedication never ceases to impress me, Doreah. Our journey will be all the more enjoyable with your careful preparations."
Elaena couldn't suppress her smile as she remember the look of shock and surprise on Doreah's face when she had announced that they would be bringing the expensive and luxurious ingredients beyond the Wall.
Just then, a voice in High Valyrian, but with an accent Elaena recognized from the ancient colony of Myr, broke the silence, drawing their attention. "Are you Elaena Targaryen from Valyria?"
Everyone turned to see five individuals approaching: four men and one woman, their appearances varied and intriguing. With caution and poise, Elaena responded, "I am. Who is asking?"
"I apologize for my lack of manners, my lady," said the man who had spoken earlier. "Allow me to introduce myself and my companions," he began, his voice rich and melodic. "I am Thoros of Myr." Then he gestured towards a slight man with red-gold hair that seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. "This is Lord Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven," he announced, indicating the man dressed in a black satin cloak adorned with stars, and his breastplate of dull black steel bearing a forked purple lightning bolt insignia. A black shield slashed by lightning hung at his side, completing the striking ensemble.
"Lord Edric Dayne, of House Dayne," Thoros continued, and Elaena's gaze lingered on the young man. His fair hair, a pale blond hue that seemed to catch the sunlight just so, framed his youthful features. Dark blue eyes, tinged with a hint of purple in certain lighting, held a quiet strength and nobility beyond his years. Clad in a simple pale purple cloak, Edric exuded an air of quiet confidence and respect, reminiscent of a young knight in the making. Elaena couldn't help but wonder if he was around the same age as Aegon, a thought that sparked curiosity about the paths their lives might intersect in the future.
"Anguy the archer," Thoros went on, drawing Elaena's attention to the next member of their party. Anguy was a young man, skinny with freckles dotting his face, and vibrant red hair that seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. Despite his youth, there was a confidence in the way he carried himself. Elaena noted the determination in his gaze.
Finally, Thoros indicated the woman standing beside him, her striking beauty and fiery red hair cascading in waves around her shoulders. "And Lysara of Asshai," he said simply. There was an air of mystery about her, her gaze holding an enigmatic allure reminiscent of the presence of Quaithe.
"Greetings, Thoros of Myr, and to all of your companions," Elaena replied, her tone measured yet welcoming. "What brings you to Mole's Town on this fine day?"
"We have come as warriors and sorcerers for the reborn Azor Ahai," Lysara replied, not Thoros, in that moment.
Elaena's gaze shifted to Benjen, who also looked surprised. "Do you know Quaithe?" Benjen inquired.
Lysara smiled, and replied, "She is my sister. She has gone to Asshai to summon hundreds of sorcerers, followers of the Lord of Light, to come to Westeros to combat the Great Other."
"But before departing, she met with us and recounted all the experiences she had beyond the Wall these past eight years," Lysara continued. "We arrived at Mole Town two weeks ago, hoping for your arrival so we could join you, Elaena Targaryen and Benjen Stark."
Lysara's gaze drifted to the young woman standing beside Elaena, her curiosity piqued by the girl's valyrian features and demeanor. With a gentle smile, Lysara approached her and asked, "Forgive me for prying, but you don't seem to be from Westeros. May I ask where you hail from?"
Doreah, caught off guard by the sudden attention, hesitated for a moment before responding with a soft voice, "I am from Lys, my lady. My name is Doreah"
Upon hearing this, Thoros let out a low chuckle, catching everyone's attention. He glanced at Doreah, then at Elaena, a mischievous glint in his eye. " Well, well, it seems our little group has turned into a Valyrian Freehold family reunion, right here in the charming confines of Mole's Town., myself from Myr, the lovely Doreah from Lys, and the esteemed Elaena Targaryen from Valyria."
Elaena, catching on to Thoros' playful tone, smiled warmly and added, "It's like a family reunion of sorts, isn't it? Mother Valyria and her daughters, Lys and Myr, all coming together in this unlikely place."
The group shared a moment of laughter, the tension easing as they found common ground in their shared heritage. Doreah, feeling more at ease, allowed herself a small smile, appreciating the lighthearted banter that helped to alleviate her nervousness.
Elaena, sensing an opportunity to further build camaraderie, turned to Lysara and said, "It seems the gods have brought us together for a reason."
"That appears to be so," interjected Beric Dondarrion, who had remained silent until that moment. "Lady Elaena, Lord Benjen, please tell us what the next course of action is."
Elaena and Benjen exchanged a meaningful look as they explained their destination to Thoros and his companions. "We are heading beyond the Wall," Benjen began, his voice steady. "We aim to accompany members of the Night's Watch to a place called Craster's Keep. Our goal is to reach an agreement with Mance Rayder."
"The King beyond the Wall," Lord Edric Dayne exclaimed with astonishment. "Even in Starfall, in Dorne, we have heard stories about him."
Elaena's violet eyes bore a mixture of determination and concern as she continued, "The threat of the Others is growing, and without intervention, the Free Folk will become wights in the Others' army."
Thoros and his companions listened intently, absorbing the gravity of the situation. After a moment of contemplation, Thoros spoke up, his voice solemn. "Your mission is a noble one. It will aid in the efforts to defeat the Great Other."
Elaena nodded appreciatively. "We welcome any aid you can offer on our journey."
Thoros exchanged a glance with his companions before replying, "We will gladly lend our support. Together, we may have a better chance of achieving success."
As preparations were made for the journey, Benjen turned to Lysara with a furrowed brow. "You mentioned Quaithe's mission to Asshai. Do you believe her efforts will bring aid to our cause?"
Lysara's gaze held a hint of hope as she responded, "Quaithe is resourceful. If anyone can rally support from the sorcerers of Asshai, it's her."
1 HOUR LATER
One hour later, as the newly formed group rode along the winding path towards the wall, Elaena noticed a smile playing on her husband Benjen's lips. Intrigued, she guided her horse closer to his, their rhythmic hoofbeats synchronized in the crisp, cold air.
"What amuses you, my love?" Elaena asked, her violet eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I can't help but wonder what thoughts bring such a smile to your face."
Benjen turned to her, his smile widening as he met her gaze. "I was just thinking about Jojen's words back in Winterfell," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Remember how he advised us to take a different path to reach Craster's Keep."
Elaena nodded, recalling the young greenseer's cryptic advice. "I do. At the time, I couldn't quite understand his reasoning."
"Well," Benjen continued, "I believe I now grasp the wisdom behind his words. Had we left with the Lord Commander's party, we would have missed this fortuitous encounter with our new allies."
Elaena's eyes widened in realization, a smile of her own forming on her lips. "You're right," she agreed, glancing back at Thoros, Lysara, and their companions. "Jojen must have foreseen the importance of this meeting, and how it would shape our journey ahead."
Elaena reached out, her gloved hand finding Benjen's and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It seems the gods have aligned our paths with those who share our purpose," she mused, her voice filled with a newfound sense of hope. "
HOURS LATER BEYOND THE WALL
The night was dark and cold beyond the Wall, the only light coming from the flickering flames of the campfire around which Elaena, Benjen, and their new companions gathered. The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant cries of unknown creatures that lurked in the shadows.
Elaena pulled her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders, seeking warmth and comfort in its embrace. She glanced around the campfire, studying the faces of those who had joined their cause. Thoros of Myr, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames, seemed lost in thought as he stared into the fire. Lysara of Asshai, her fiery red hair a stark contrast against the darkness, sat cross-legged, her lips moving in silent prayer to the Lord of Light.
Benjen, ever vigilant, stood at the edge of the camp, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the surrounding forest for any signs of danger. Doreah, huddled close to Elaena, seemed to find solace in her lady's presence, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder at the unfamiliar landscape.
As the night wore on, Elaena found herself drawn into conversation with Edric Dayne, the young lord of Starfall. His gentle demeanor and keen intellect made for engaging discourse, and they soon found themselves discussing the legends and prophecies that had brought them together.
"The Prince That Was Promised," Edric mused, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "Do you believe in the prophecy, Lady Elaena?"
Elaena paused, considering her words carefully. "I believe in the power of destiny," she replied, her violet eyes meeting Edric's gaze. "And I believe that we all have a role to play in the great battle that lies ahead."
Edric nodded, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "And what of Azor Ahai? The legendary hero reborn?"
At this, Thoros stirred from his contemplation, his voice low and solemn. "The Lord of Light has shown me visions of the one who will wield Lightbringer against the darkness. But the path to victory is not without sacrifice."
Lysara, her eyes still closed in prayer, spoke then, her words carrying an otherworldly weight. "The night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire of the Lord of Light will guide us through the storm."
As the conversation lulled, Anguy, the young archer, stood and stretched, his bow never far from his side. "I'll take the first watch," he announced, his voice cutting through the silence. "We must remain vigilant in these lands."
Benjen, returning to the fireside, nodded in agreement. "The wildlings are not the only danger we face here. The Others grow stronger with each passing day."
Elaena, her heart heavy with the weight of their mission, reached out and took Benjen's hand in her own. "Together, we will face whatever lies ahead," she said, her voice filled with quiet determination. "For the sake of the realms of men."
As they surveyed their surroundings, they noticed Marillion sitting by the warmth of the fire, a quill in hand and parchment spread out before him. Curiosity piqued, Elaena and Benjen approached the bard, their footsteps muffled by the snow.
"Marillion," Elaena called out gently, not wanting to startle him. "What has captured your attention so thoroughly?"
The bard looked up, a smile playing on his lips as he met their inquiring gazes. "My lady, my lord," he greeted them, his voice filled with excitement. "I have begun composing the song of our journey, the tale of our noble quest."
Benjen raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the bard's enthusiasm. "Already? We've barely set foot beyond the Wall."
Marillion chuckled, his eyes sparkling with creative fervor. "Ah, but the story has already begun, Lord Benjen. The meeting of great minds, the forging of unlikely alliances, and the whispers of prophecy in the air – these are the elements of an epic in the making."
Elaena couldn't help but smile at the bard's passion. "And what do you envision for this epic tale, Marillion?"
The bard stood, his notebook clutched to his chest as he spoke, his words painting a vivid picture. "I see a song that will echo through the ages, my lady. A tale of bravery and sacrifice, of love and loss, and of the eternal struggle between light and darkness."
He began to pace, his voice rising with each word. "I will weave the story of our journey, the trials we face, and the bonds we forge. I will sing of the heroes who stand against the encroaching night, their hearts ablaze with the fire of hope."
Benjen and Elaena exchanged a glance, both impressed and slightly amused by Marillion's grandiose vision. "It sounds like quite the undertaking," Benjen remarked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Marillion bowed his head, his expression growing solemn. "It is a challenge I am honored to accept, my lord. For in the darkest of times, it is the power of story and song that keeps the flame of hope alive."
Elaena placed a gentle hand on the bard's shoulder, her violet eyes shining with understanding. "Then we shall look forward to hearing your epic composition, Marillion. May your words inspire courage in the hearts of all who hear them."
The bard smiled, his gratitude evident in his expression. "Thank you, my lady. I shall pour my heart and soul into this tale, so that generations to come may know of the bravery and sacrifice of those who stood against the darkness."
BEYOND THE WALL 298 AC, NIGHT'S WATCH CAMP
As the moon hung low in the star-strewn sky, casting an ethereal glow over the icy landscape beyond the Wall, Edd stirred from his restless slumber, the frigid air piercing through his thick furs. Blinking groggily, he found himself surrounded by the dim glow of torches and the muffled sounds of his fellow Night's Watch brothers stirring in their makeshift tents.
A sudden jolt of panic shot through him as Pyp and Grenn burst into his tent, their faces pale and drawn with urgency. "Edd, wake up!" Pyp exclaimed, his voice trembling with apprehension.
Edd sat up abruptly, his heart racing as he scanned their faces for any sign of danger. "What is it? Are we under attack?" he demanded, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
Grenn shook his head, his breath coming out in short, sharp bursts. "No attack, Edd," he replied, his voice grave. "But Jon and Samwell, they're out there near that strange rock they found yesterday."
At the mention of Jon and Sam, Edd felt a surge of relief wash over him, quickly followed by a wave of curiosity. The previous day, Jon Targaryen and Samwell Tarly had stumbled upon a peculiar rock formation while ranging beyond the Wall, sparking intrigue among their brothers in the Night's Watch.
Rising to his feet, Edd hastily donned his fur cloak and boots, his mind racing with questions. What could Jon and Sam have discovered out there in the wilderness? And why were they digging near that mysterious rock?
Following Pyp and Grenn through the snow-covered camp, Edd's breath hung in the air like a wisp of smoke as they trudged deeper into the wintry landscape
As they approached the site where Jon and Sam were working, Edd's eyes widened in astonishment. The strange rock stood before them, its surface marred by centuries of wind and weather, yet still radiating an otherworldly aura.
Jon looked up from his task as Edd and the others approached, his expression solemn yet determined. "We've found something," he announced, his voice tinged with excitement.
Samwell Tarly nodded eagerly, his round face flushed with exertion. "It's an entrance, Edd," he explained, his voice trembling with awe. "To a cave, or... or something else. We're not sure yet."
Pyp's pulse quickened at the revelation, his mind spinning with possibilities. Beyond the Wall, anything was possible.
Drawing his sword, Jon took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the dark opening hidden within the rock. "Then let's find out what lies beyond," he declared, his voice echoing with determination.
With Jon Targaryen leading the way, the brothers of the Night's Watch ventured into the depths of the cave, their torches casting flickering shadows on the walls as they delved deeper into the unknown.
As the torchlight flickered against the walls of the cave, revealing ancient paintings that seemed to dance with the shadows, Samwell's voice broke the silence. "These paintings must be the work of the First Men," he whispered in awe, his eyes wide with wonder.
Jon's gaze swept over the primitive yet mesmerizing artwork, each stroke of pigment telling a story of a forgotten age. The images depicted scenes of hunts, battles, and rituals, their meaning shrouded in the mists of time.
But it was the collection of weapons that truly captured their attention. Daggers, arrowheads, and spears crafted from dragonglass lay scattered among the rocks, their surfaces gleaming with an otherworldly sheen. Grenn's fingers brushed against the smooth, cold surface of a spearhead, a shiver running down his spine at the ancient power it seemed to contain.
Their reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the cavern, and Jon tensed, instinctively tightening his grip on his sword. As they turned to face the source of the sound, the torchlight illuminated the figures of Lord Commander Mormont and Qhorin Halfhand, their expressions a mix of anger and curiosity.
"You should be sleeping at this hour, gentlemen," Qhorin Halfhand said with a tone of annoyance. "There are still a few days until we reach Craster's Keep, and you'll need your strength. The days ahead will be hard."
Mormont nodded in agreement, his piercing gaze sweeping over the scene before him, taking in the ancient paintings and the array of weapons with a discerning eye. "Explain yourselves," he demanded, his authoritative voice bouncing off the cavern walls.
Samwell stepped forward, his voice quavering slightly. "We found this cave, Lord Commander," he explained, gesturing toward the ancient artifacts. "It seems to be a repository of sorts, filled with weapons and paintings dating back to the time of the First Men."
Mormont's brow furrowed in thought as he surveyed the scene before him. "The First Men," he mused, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And dragonglass weapons..."
Turning to Edd, Pyp, and Grenn, Mormont's tone grew stern. "You three, return to your bedrolls. You'll need your rest for the trials ahead." Then, fixing Jon and Samwell with a penetrating stare, he added, "You two, remain here.
Qhorin Halfhand, remained silent as he examined the weapons with a keen eye. His expression was inscrutable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a recognition, perhaps, of the significance of their discovery.
"Targaryen, Tarly," Mormont's voice boomed, cutting through the heavy silence like a sharpened blade. "Explain yourselves. What possessed you to venture out into the wilderness in the dead of night?"
Samwell shifted uncomfortably under Mormont's gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "We were just curious, Lord Commander," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "We didn't mean to cause any trouble."
Mormont's features softened slightly at Samwell's words, but his tone remained firm. "Curiosity killed the cat, Tarly," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "And it could get you killed out here. We're not in the south anymore, where a simple stroll in the moonlight is harmless. Beyond the Wall, every move you make must be calculated and cautious."
With a heavy sigh, Mormont turned his attention to the weapons scattered around the cavern, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of awe and concern. "These weapons," he said, his voice trailing off as he reached out to touch the smooth surface of a dagger. "They could be of great significance. But they belong in Castle Black, where they can be properly studied and safeguarded."
Turning back to Jon and Samwell, Mormont's gaze was steely. "Gather up these weapons," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "And bring them back to the camp. We'll analyze them when we return to Castle Black."
Jon and Samwell exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Without a word, they set to work, gathering up the ancient artifacts and carefully stowing them away for the journey back to the Night's Watch camp.
BEYOND THE WALL 298 AC (HAUNTED FOREST) TORMUND , VAL YGRITTE
Tormund, Val, and Ygritte found themselves walking through the forest, making their way toward Craster's Keep, accompanied by other warriors. Val, gazing at the ancient key in her hand, marveled at how it seemed to glow with increasing intensity.
"I can't help but notice that the key is shining brighter with each passing day," Val commented, her eyes fixed on the ancient relic. "Do you think it holds some deeper significance?"
Tormund grunted, noncommittal in his response. "Who knows what secrets the Casterlys held?" he remarked, his tone laced with skepticism. "Perhaps it's just a trick of the light."
Ygritte, walking ahead of them, turned her head to interject. "Or maybe it's a sign," she offered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps the Old Gods are trying to guide us, to help us find our way in these treacherous times."
Val nodded, her eyes still glued to the key. "I'd like to believe that," she admitted. "Whatever the truth may be, I can't help but feel as though this key holds some great importance. I can feel it pulsing with power, urging us forward."
Tormund snorted, but he couldn't deny the strange allure of Val's words. "Well, we'll find out soon enough," he said gruffly. "In a few more days, we'll be at Craster's Keep, and we'll see what this so-called negotiation brings. Until then, let's keep our wits about us and our eyes open."