NOTES

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.

BEYOND THE WALL ( CRASTER'S KEEP )

Elaena's expression softened. "He's inside, Dany," she replied gently. "He fell unconscious after the battle."

Daenerys's brow furrowed with concern, her violet eyes widening with alarm. "Battle?" she asked, her voice tinged with urgency. "What happened?"

Elaena hesitated, her gaze drifting toward the distant horizon as if searching for the right words. "There was a great battle against the White Walkers and their horde of mindless wights. Jon… he fought valiantly," she began, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "But he channeled an immense amount of power, and now… he's resting."

Daenerys's worry deepened, but before she could press further, Elaena's sharp eyes caught sight of Aelora Balaerys, Daeraxys Valitheos, and Jaenara Vaelorn approaching.

A flicker of warmth touched Elaena's violet eyes, a hint of nostalgia for a life left behind. "Daeraxys, Jaenara," she greeted them, her voice carrying a note of genuine affection. "It's been… a long time."

Daeraxys and Jaenara stepped forward, their expressions mirroring Elaena's warmth. Ever direct, Jaenara reached out and clasped Elaena's hand. "Eleven years, if I recall correctly," she said, a hint of amusement lacing her voice. "Though it seems, Elaena, that time has been far kinder to you than to the rest of us." She cast a playful glance at Daeraxys, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Don't you think she looks… remarkably well-preserved for someone who has spent over a decade in Westeros?"

Daeraxys studied Elaena intently, his gaze thoughtful. "Indeed," he said with a faint smile. "When you left, I was only fourteen. Now I'm twenty-five, and somehow, you look a little younger than I do."

Elaena sighed softly, a complex mixture of emotions flickering across her face. "It's… complicated," she said, choosing her words with care. "A gift and a curse from the god Arrax. My husband Benjen and I… while this conflict lasts, we cannot age, nor can we leave Westeros. As for me, the god's touch went further—he rejuvenated me by seven years, restoring me to the age I was on that day we will never forget, the day that forever altered the destiny of Valyria."

Daeraxys and Jaenara's eyes widened in surprise at Elaena's words, the unspoken weight of her statement striking them deeply. They both understood immediately the day she referred to—a moment etched into the very soul of every Valyrian. For a brief moment, the air between them seemed to hum with the shared gravity of that memory. Neither dared to interrupt; instead, they exchanged a knowing glance and remained silent, allowing Elaena to continue.

She gestured toward Benjen, who stood silently beside her, his sharp gaze fixed on the two newcomers. "Allow me to introduce my husband, Benjen Stark," Elaena said with quiet pride.

Benjen inclined his head respectfully, his posture exuding both strength and resilience.

Daeraxys stepped forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Benjen of House Stark," he said with a polite nod. "We were in Winterfell recently. Your nephew, Robb Stark, is a gracious host."

Benjen smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I see he gave you cloaks to protect you from the cold," he remarked, recognizing the Winterfell-made cloaks draped over Daeraxys and Jaenara's armor.

Before the conversation could continue, Elaena noticed that Aelora Balaerys , having already greeted Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and his officers, shift her attention towards Bran the Builder.. The other Valyrians, too, had turned their gazes toward him, their expressions filled with open curiosity. A knowing smile tugged at Elaena's lips.

"They must be sensing his magic," she thought.

As if reading Elaena's mind, Aelora turned and spoke warmly. "It's good to see you again, Elaena. But before we continue, I believe it would be wise to make the proper introductions. Not everyone here is yet acquainted."

Elaena nodded in agreement, her gaze sweeping over the group. "You're right, Aelora. Let's do this properly."

"If you allow me, my lady Elaena, I would be honored to make the proper introductions to the esteemed Valyrians, and I would be delighted to recount the tale of the events of the past few days."

The conversation paused as everyone turned their heads. Marillion, the bard, was approaching, his lute clutched to his chest. He bowed slightly. "My ladies, my lords," he said, his voice carrying a note of urgency.

"I believe introductions are in order, and much needs to be explained." He gestured around at the gathered crowd, his gaze lingering on Daenerys, Aelora, and Daeraxys. "It seems not all of you were present for the… events of the past few days."

Elaena smiled, noting the surprise flickering across Aelora, Jaenara, and Daeraxys's faces. Before any of them could speak, she gestured toward Marillion. "May I present Marillion, a bard who has accompanied us from Winterfell. He has borne witness to the events of these past days, and I believe there's no one better suited to properly introduce everyone and recount the tale."

Ser Jorah Mormont raised an eyebrow in amusement. "A bard accompanying you beyond the Wall?" he remarked, his tone laced with surprise. "It seems even the most unlikely of companions can be found in these strange times."

Turning to Aelora, Jaenara, and Daeraxys, his expression shifted. "Do not underestimate the power of a bard," Jorah said, his tone now serious. "They are more than mere singers of songs. They are magicians of words. Weavers of tales. If there is a bard present, and one who has witnessed the events firsthand, who better to set the scene and introduce the players?" He gestured toward Marillion with a respectful nod. "Marillion," he said, "the stage is yours."

From the keep, a loud, "Seven hells, what in the bloody—" ripped through the air, followed by a stunned silence. Craster, having emerged from the keep, stood frozen, his jaw agape as his eyes fixed first on the dragons. He blinked, his gaze then shifting to the newcomers in their gleaming armor. Shaking his head as if to dispel a particularly vivid dream, and then he swept his arm in a grand gesture that encompassed the Valyrians and exclaimed, "Welcome to me humble abode, my ladies, my lords!" His exaggerated flourish earned a loud guffaw from Tormund.

"Craster, you old coward! Think the dragons'll eat ya whole, eh?" Tormund bellowed, his laughter echoing across the clearing.

Craster scowled but said nothing, his retreating steps halting near the doorway of his keep.

Elaena's lips twitched into a smile as she watched the scene. Doreah emerged next, her hair tousled and still heavy with sleep. She blinked against the pre-dawn light, her steps slow and tentative, her eyes half-lidded with lingering drowsiness. Thoros of Myr, Lord Beric Dondarrion, Lord Edric Dayne, Lysara of Asshai, and Anguy followed, their expressions a mix of confusion and dawning awe as their gazes fell on the dragons perched nearby.

One by one, their eyes shifted from the majestic creatures to the Valyrians, their mouths slightly agape in astonishment.

"Thoros!" Jorah's voice cut through the air, surprise evident in his tone.

Thoros turned, his eyes widening in recognition. A broad smile spread across his face. "Ser Jorah Mormont! By the Seven, I haven't seen you since Pyke!" He clapped Jorah heartily on the shoulder. "Good to see you again, my friend!"

Jorah returned the smile, relief washing over him. "It's good to see you too, Thoros," he replied warmly.

Doreah, shaking off her initial awe, made her way toward Ygritte. The freefolk woman, her red hair a fiery halo in the morning light, greeted Doreah with a radiant smile before pulling her into an embrace. Ygritte leaned in, whispering something into Doreah's ear that made the Lyseni young woman blush.

"Sometimes, to persuade even the fiercest opponents, you don't need to show strength but rather offer a genuine smile and a good meal," Jojen Reed said as he approached Elaena, his gaze following Doreah's interaction with Ygritte.

Elaena stared at Jojen, surprise evident in her eyes. 'That's what you told me in Winterfell months ago,' she said, the memory of his words vivid in her mind.

Meanwhile, Aelora's sharp eyes caught movement at the edge of the woods. Her gaze remained fixed on the treeline as she murmured something to Daeraxys and Jaenara, her tone low and urgent. Jorah, standing nearby, followed her line of sight, his brow furrowing slightly.

As if emerging from the very earth itself, Leaf and several Children of the Forest materialized silently from the woods. Their emerald eyes gleamed with an ancient, knowing light as they fixed their gazes on the dragons.

A ripple of astonishment crossed the faces of the Valyrians—a mix of awe and something akin to reverence. The Children stepped forward with measured grace, their movements almost otherworldly.

Daenerys leaned closer to Elaena and whispered, "Are they…?"

Elaena nodded. "Children of the Forest."

Daenerys's lips curved into a smile. "Margaery will be delighted."

Marillion, ever observant, grinned. His fingers brushed the strings of his lute as if preparing to weave a song from the scene before him.

As the sun began to rise, painting the snow-covered ground in hues of gold and rose, Marillion took a step forward, his lute cradled against his chest. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone present.

"If I may," he began, his voice carrying with practiced ease. "Let me tell you a story, a tale that will echo through the ages." He gestured to the dragons, the Valyrians, and the Children of the Forest. "Let me weave for you the story of these past days, of battles fought and alliances forged. For what is history, if not a song waiting to be sung?"

Elaena exchanged a glance with her husband, Benjen, silently acknowledging the truth in the bard's words. Everything they had endured on their journey—from the moment they had departed Winterfell to this very moment—was a tale worthy of remembrance.

As Marillion began to strum his lute, his voice weaving a melodic cadence that commanded the attention of all present, Elaena's eyes caught a flicker of movement. Her gaze shifted to Bran the Builder, standing calm and resolute, even as a swirl of crows began to circle above him.

Subtly, Aelora Balaerys and Daeraxys Valitheos moved closer to Bran, their sharp eyes tracking the crows with silent reverence. Their fluid motions, almost instinctive, spoke of a shared awareness of something far greater than themselves.

Elaena's thoughts wandered, heavy with reflection. "Old gods of Valyria, all-mighty Arrax," she mused silently. "Four hundred years ago, we were taught a harsh lesson in humility. We fancied ourselves gods, but that fateful day shattered that illusion, reminding us that we were mere mortals. And these past eleven years in Westeros… they've humbled me further still."

Her gaze lingered on Aelora, Daeraxys, and Jaenara Vaelorn, who stood entwined with Ser Jorah Mormont, their postures softened as they observed Marillion's performance. Elaena's lips curved into a faint, wistful smile. "Valyria is changing, too," she thought, the weight of history and transformation pressing lightly against her soul.