The Dragon of Starfall

by Primarch Amaranth

The words of House Dayne are simple: "We Bring the Dawn". A long-lost son returns home, the beginning of the storm to come. Hell comes to Westeros, and it's up to the scattered Forces of Order to stand against the darkness once more. Will they stand alone? Will the Archenemy? Corruption spreads, and light dwindles. But rejoice, for we the Knights of Bretonnia, shall be your shield.

11. The Calm Before the Tempest

Annnnnnnnd we are back! Sorry folks, took a biiit more than anticipated, but here is the newest Chapter. Lots of socializing, and personal relationships, hope you enjoy it! Former comments made at the end of last chapter were answered by Pm, so do not hesitate to write more questions! Alwasy happy to awsner them!

Take care, and may the lady watch over all of you!

[DRAGON OF STARFALL]

The music swept up the gardens, merriment, and cheer mixed with songs of such variety it was outstanding. Elven harps were mixed with Bretonnian lutes and viola. However, these last ones could barely match the dwarven bagpipe. Sirius could hear the Avalonian bagpipes attempting to match the dwarven counterparts and was content to note the dwarves were allowing them to catch up, in an attempt for both parties to draw merriment in seeing if they harmonized the different sounds they produced.

The moment he set foot in the garden, Kay slammed his feet together, and in a clear tone used to bark commands and give proclamations, he began to let his voice echo. But one withering glare from his Duke arrested him.

"Unless you want to pair with me in the training grounds, Kay, shut it," Sirius growled, ignoring the satisfied smile from his Lord Seneschal. "Blood unnecessary titles."

"Proper etiquette, my lord." He added simply, falling in step with him, as heads began to turn towards him. Kay was an odd sight. Not one too handsome, with features that weren't particularly striking. If you were to put Kay and Gawain side by side, you would be surprised by the differences and similarities. Both of Lyonesse, Gawain was known as the Knight of Sunlight not only by his skill and his blade, Galatine, but also because of how handsome a particular half of Bretonnia seemed to consider him. Of luscious golden hair and striking eyes of sea blue, he would enter a room and all the ladies would sigh for him, and all men feel no small amount of envy.

With both of those attributes, when Kay entered a room, people did not sigh or feel envy. They shut up and listened. All that outward charisma and easy smile of Gawain was substituted here by an iron look and an easy aura of a resolute man. Kay had been named Seneschal because much as his will, castles under his command refused to bend. While Gawain was a skilled duelist, and the Duke's preferred tool against enemy champions and warriors he did not have the time to deal with personally, Kay was the fulcrum, the steadying presence, the man who did not let the line break. One was a sword, the other a shield. They knew their place and their gifts, and they exploited them to their best, which was why the Dragon of the Morningstar trusted both of them so much.

"You know where you can shove that proper etiquette of yours, don't you?" Sirius growled, hiding his small smile.

"I will make a note of it, sire," Kay answered with a smile, as the rest of his knights began to surround him, quicker to see him than the Westerosi, and more used to the presence and manners of their lord. And they were the first in his priorities as well.

"Sire." The metal growl and the sound of an armored fist striking plate in salute heralded Vortiger like thunder in a storm. Sirius regarded him with a half-smile. Newest among his Inner Circle, Vortiger was aggression encased in armor. The first in the fray, last out, first to throw a punch and last to apologize for it, he led a band of men that should have been called brigands, not soldiers, and knights that were more headsmen than honorable warriors. But they were unswervingly loyal to the Herald of Crimson Thunder, and they were vicious in a fight.

"Started any fights already, my Herald of Thunder?" Sirius asked the smaller knight. He tilted his head to the side, probably grinning under his helm.

"Only twice, sire." Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"That is… tame for your normal tally." Commented the Duke, crossing his arms in amusement and slight dread at the certain political mess.

"Gaheris… dissuaded him." Kay pointed out, crossing his arms behind his back, the thinnest of smiles showing. Sirius shook his head in amusement. From all his Inner Circle, few could reign Vortiger in. Gaheris was one of such few.

"Who?" The Duke asked, with a tired sigh.

"The men of the Vale were not happy with our reaction to naming themselves the best knights of Westeros." Rumbled Gaheris.

"I told them they were the best knights." Vortiger empathized with the past tense with a vicious chuckle. "Not anymore."

"You do like making my job all the harder, my Herald, don't you not?" Sirius groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose. The Valemen would be… a problem. Stubborn and prideful, they were a hard rock to crack in and out of the battlefield. And they had pride to spare.

"Perish the thought, my liege." Said Vortiger with fake innocence in his voice, almost lost to the metal echo of his helmet. Sirius gave him a withering gaze, before shaking his head in slight amusement. A new land, new nobles, new pride clashing among itself. He was only happy such cultures had such similar lines between them. It could have been much worse.

They could have ended up in Dothraki lands. He felt his heart sing a little at that. Oh, how he would have relished crushing those blood-crazed, slaving barbarians, and showing them what true mounted warriors looked, acted, and fought like.

"Anything else I should know?" Mused the Duke, saluting lesser nobles and their wives, daughters, and ladies. Everyone had been packed on the ships in a rush, and they all looked positively ravaged, both in their body and their clothes, but they smiled and bowed and offered their greetings, and thanks and recounted their tales and hours in a battle he wished with all his might he had been there to finish beside them. All of this was adorned by an attempt to remain as dauntless and dignified as it was possible. Good old Noblesse Oblige.

"The King demanded of Vortiger to remove his helm," Kay said slowly, prompting Sirius to turn around in slight alarm. His uncle did not have the best… manners. "He refused. The king did not like that."

"Told him he was welcome to try to take it off himself." Growled the iron-bound knight, before going quiet for a few moments, an extremely strange occurrence with the Knight of Crimson Thunder. "He fucking laughed and patted me on the back." Muttered Vortiger with a tone drowned in disbelief.

"It was not hard to believe he is your kin, sire." Sirius did not know how to interpret that comment, but chose, for the sake of his sanity and patience, to take it as a compliment.

"Anyone from the Inner Circle or the Notables?"

"The Twins are somewhere around here." Kay went quiet for a moment. "They looked…"

"Haunted." Gaheris rumbled. Anger bloomed once more. The siege of Camelot, and the war for Albion, had been fought meter by meter, meadow by meadow, tree to tree. The Enemy had suffered greatly, but it had meant little to them, and they had been more than happy to bring all their worst tactics to bear. On the last days of the siege, the ranks of impaled, shrieking, and still alive peasants and knights that could be seen from the walls had only caused a numb acknowledgment to the defenders. "Understandably so. They do not know the Enemy as we do."

"I will speak with them later," Sirius said with a sigh. "Anyone else?"

"No," Kay said with a slightly mournful tone. "Then again, the ships that arrived were only a fraction of our full fleet. If other ships escaped the death of Albion…" His Seneschal was cut short by two small bundles of running joy.

"Ada!"

"Brother!"

Sirius barely managed to grab both girls as they jumped on him. Grinning, he lifted his daughter with his left and his sister with his right.

"So, you two have met already, eh?" Shireens smile was bright, barely dampened by the scars of Greyscale on her cheek. That made Sirius almost frown instantly. He stared hard for a moment into the dead tissue. It was almost familiar. He inwardly cursed not having his oldest friend here. He would have dissected that pesky disease in hours and offered a cure and a remedy to his sister's scarred visage.

"Yes, Ada!" His daughter`s eager words brought him back to reality for a moment. "Me and Aunt Shireen were sharing stories." Sirius smiled, but caught the tension on his sister's back at the use of the title of 'aunt'.

"I get the feeling she doesn't like being called aunt, little fairy." He gently told Igraine. His daughter's face morphed from surprise to slight panic.

"Oh!" She hurriedly turned to Shireen. "Apologies, A-, Shireen."

"It's alright." She shrugged at that. "I do not mind. I like being an Aunt. Makes me not feel the youngest for once." Igraine let out a sigh of relief, while the Duke smiled at the interaction. There were not many children who had wanted to spend time with his daughter back in Bretonnia. Too much awe and too much behind her birth for any parent to feel completely safe. And Sirius could not blame them in the slightest. But here, she did not carry the burden of her birth with her. It was a fresh beginning.

"Well, can I leave Igraine under your watch, little sister?" Shireen seemed to ponder it for a second, before nodding. Sirius wanted them to spend time together, and to keep her away from the court schemes as long as he could.

"Of course, brother!" She finally accepted, nodding her head and smiling at him, before leaning in and whispering to his ear. "I will keep her away from the lions."

"Thank you." He whispered back, letting them back upon the ground, as they vanished in between the roaming bands of adults. A look told Gaheris all he needed to know and the man was off to keep watch.

"He will need a hand." Rumbled Sandor. Sirius looked at the bigger man as he walked up to him from behind. He was still in full plate, greatsword on his back, and his scarred face in full display. He had cleaned his armor, but still, small specks of blood pocketed his neck and burned part of his face. "I will go help the dour fucker. This is a viper nest."

"Thank you, Sandor." The Hound nodded and was off to join the Lord Executioner. They seemed to strike a brief conversation and both men of few words were off.

"They have taken to each other quite well." Sirius felt a naked hand on his shoulder and turned to find a gentle smile from his mother. He smiled back, amber meeting amethyst, before having to crush down that deep, devouring desire to just hug the woman, to send the whole world to hell and melt in the motherly embrace he so desperately needed, to cry a hundred pains and sins.

Instead, he kissed his mother atop the head (easy now that he was taller than her) and mirrored her smile.

"They share more than they know." He said, pensive and mournful at once, before letting that sad line of thought go. "A more private tale, that one. Sadder too, so let's leave it for later. How are you, Mother?"

"Well, my child." She pushed a rebel strand of hair out his eye." A bit sore." She confessed to him. Sirius raised an eyebrow and felt a cheeky grin birthing on his face.

"The battle, or father?" The Lady of Starfall blinked in surprise at her oldest son, before slapping him on the shoulder, indignant and turning red.

"Sirius!" The Dragonhearted could not help but laugh, shielding himself from his mother's embarrassed assault, while Arthur groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, brother, why did you have to say that? Now I have mental images. Again." Sirius laughed even more, having to lean on a table for support, while their mother whirled to round up on her younger son.

"Arthur!" She thumped him over the head, as both sons laughed. The Lady of Starfall let an indignant huff, before feeling a smile on her own face. It felt so magnificent to have her children laughing like that again. All of them. Well, most of them. She just needed Jon to break his shell to open up to the family. A harder than anticipated prospect, seeing how he fled the moment Stannis appeared. As her sons recovered, Sirius grinned at them.

"In my humble experience, nothing is better after a fight than a woman, and nothing gets you in the mood for a fight, like a woman." Sirius shrugged. "Then again that speaks more of my preference in women than anything else."

"You have too much Dornish in you, Cy," Arthur said, shaking his head. Sirius shrugged, but before he could answer, a voice behind him opened up.

"There is no such thing as too much Dornish. Not in any nephew of mine." The man sported features an old part of his mind told him were characteristic of a salty Dornishman, the coastal variety of his mother's homeland. He was as tall as he, but more slender, a graceful and fit man who sported a lined and saturnine face coroneted with thin eyebrows that framed his dark, almost serpentine eyes, which matched so well with his sharp nose. Of a hair darker and more lustrous than even his, it was on the other hand marked with silver streaks that did little to hide the recession of his dark mane from his brow in a widow's peak. His smile was almost provocative and yet had a deep love in his eyes, and a sort of relief few men asked for and even fewer got.

Then, he began to sing.

"She comes like fullest moon on happy night,

Taper of waist with shape of magic might.

She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind,

And ruby on her cheeks reflects his light."

Sirius blinked, baffled and confused for a brief moment, as his mind fought to catalog and determine just from which song those verses were, before the old words came to him, unbidden, like gravity itself.

"Enveils her hips the blackness of her hair-

Beware of curls that bite with viper bite!

Her sides are silken-soft, that while the heart

Mere rock behind that surface 'scapes our sight."

The man's face lit up with a grin, as he continued with the last verses of the song with an overdramatic bow.

"From the fringed curtains of her eyne she shoots

Shafts that at furthest range on mark alight."

"Uncle Oberyn." Breathed Sirius, finally placing the man. Happy memories of a bright and funny man that never let anyone mock him and never let himself doubt his worth, came to him.

"The little star that now shines one more in the sky." Oberyn grabbed Sirius by the face, gently but firmly, placing a kiss on his brow, before taking him by the shoulders. In a breath, he was surrounded by dozens of Dornish nobles. He saluted those he knew and greeted those he did not. "Unbend, unbound, unbroken. Not Martell by blood, by the bloody Seven and that new Goddess of yours, but Martell by right."

Sirius only grinned at the man. He had adored his Uncle Oberyn, he truly had. Few men were as true and honest, and as ferociously loving. Another hand spun him to the side, as strands of hair were pushed away from his face. He stared into dark eyes, gleaming with an exotic light. It took Sirius a moment to place her, and only after she had spoken.

"What beautiful eyes you have now, little star knight." She smiled at him, tears in her eyes. Sirius hugged her gently, now taller and bigger than her.

"Aunt Ellaria."

"And he remembers well enough." She laughed, gently patting his cheek, as the Paramour of Oberyn Martell pushed her tears aside. "Welcome back, little star."

"A returned Dayne is a good omen, and one the people of Dorne could always use." A more wizened voice spoke, and Sirius turned around to watch a man being pulled forward, sitting on a wheeled chair, pushed by a great man of white hair and scarred visage, a longaxe on his back. It took little effort for Sirius to place that man Areo Hotah was an unmistakable figure, who nodded towards him in a gruff manner that Sirius returned with a smile. But it was the man sitting on the chair, older, more consumed than Sirius remembered, radiating pain from his leg and smiling lightly on tired features marked by greying hairs. "Beauty and humor are easy to remember, my boy."

Sirius kneeled to take the man's hand, smiling gently, as he let the smallest of pulses of magic out to soothe the man's pain.

"Wisdom might be easily forgotten by the fool. But I had neither the luxury to be a fool, nor the inclination." He told him, bowing his head in respect. "Prince Doran."

"Welcome back, young Sirius." The grip on the Duke's hand became iron for a moment, as the Prince of Doran kissed his nephew on the brow. "Dorne mourned your passing. Much like a falling star in the firmament."

"I wasn't much to mourn, Uncle." Jested Sirius. Around him, men felt silent at the joke, and the Duke groaned inwardly. He probably should not be making jokes like that, yet at least. The Prince of Dorne seemed unbothered, simply patting his arm.

"More than you imagine." Sirius opened his mouth to answer, before someone slammed into him, lifting him almost clear from the ground. His hand went to his blade, only to find arms pinning him. Instinct went over all training, surging to break the hold, until he realized he wasn't being immobilized but hugged.

"You cake-swallowing, dirt-scrapping, dung-farting bloody idiot!" Almost screamed the man to his face, letting go of him, and shaking him, before hugging him again. It took Sirius two glances at his heraldry and hearing that long list of old insults to smile in recognition.

"Daemond?" He asked. The man dropped him and grinned, hitting him playfully on the shoulder.

Daemon was much taller now. What once had been his young playmate on the Water Gardens, was now a handsome knight, with a strong jaw, sky blue eyes, and light sandy brown hair that complimented his close-cropped beard. His smile held some of that impish childish glee and was punctuated by a dimple that only appeared during his grin.

"The Bastard of Godsgrace, ar your service, my lord Baratheon." He got close and whispered conspiratorially. "Or is it Amaranth now? What a ridiculous-sounding name."

"I will have you know, its translation is quite a powerful title, my dear Assgrace." Sirius shot back, electing some laughs around him.

"What does it mean? I ate all the sweets?" Raising an eyebrow, and opening his mouth to retort, something smaller than him and blonde slammed into his chest. Sirius groaned, healed ribs complaining at the shows of affection, before looking down, only to see white clothes more proper of a septa and a head of lustrous gold hair.

"Tyene?" The hug only got stronger, and Sirius knew he had gotten it right. He returned the hug, feeling a strange awkwardness creeping through him. Tyene had been older than him by a pair of years, and it felt strange that he now towered over her. Beloved Lady, it had been a while, hadn't it? She now reached only to his chest.

"You idiotic, buffoon, half-witted…" Another woman, slim and slender as a willow, with straight black hair worn in a long braid that pulled back from a widow's peak and dark eyes, large and lustrous, advanced towards him. Her full lips were wine red with her high cheekbones and the growl on her face seemed ready to tear him to pieces. She was gorgeous, the perfect mix of the athletic body of a fighter and the curves of a courtesan.

"Moronic, stupid, death-seeking, dumb fuck!" She loomed in front of him like a falling storm. The old Sirius would have cowered. The new one smiled at her.

"Ari did not joke about the dress, Nym." That stopped her dead in her tracks. She growled at him, raised his hand for a punch, which he wasn't going to dodge before her snarl broke, and joined Tyene in her hug. She reached him on the shoulder, which made him smile. He slithered an arm from under Nymeria to hug her too.

"Where is-?" He began to ask the duo, before the butt of a spear flickered his nose, The third of the trio of women was standing in leather breeches and light clothing, regarding him with unmitigated judgment and slight disappointment.

"Too slow." She drawled.

"Depends on who you ask." Sirius said with a shrug. "Hi, Obara."

"Hello, little Dayne." Her dour face broke into the smallest of smiles, as she tapped her spear onto his chest. Sirius arched an eyebrow.

"I am taller than you now." He argumented. "And older." She shrugged

"Still little." Laughter surrounded him, and he chose to bathe in it.

Then, began the blur. Lords, nobles, knights, ladies, and a hundred more aristocrats ran circles around him speaking to him, congratulating him on his return, and asking so many questions. It was all a mess he barely managed to walk through. He spoke with Lord Umber, Lord Uller, and Lord Blackwood for a moment about how the climate had been back home. Then he was engaged by Lord Bolton and Lord Corbray on matters of war and what foes he had faced.

He was not sure when he ended up surrounded by Riverland and Northern Lords who were curious about what battles he had fought. He deflected to Kay, who was more than happy (outwardly, at least) to give them a dissertation about a few of his campaigns. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime got him away from the mess just as Kay had begun to elucidate about the Drakwald Campaign (under the scoffing and unbelieving stares of the nobles) to positively bombard him with questions about his swordsmanship. Sirius answered as best as he could without revealing any important secret, and could not get any feedback as he got dragged away by the Sand Snakes so he might meet the youngest among them. The Lord Commander had seemed content with his answers, but the Kingslayer seemed more than eager to challenge him to a practice duel. Sirius could not deny the idea had its appeal. When he could move without his body screaming at him.

From the Sand Snakes, a group of Westerlanders surrounded him, asking about trade and resource management, questioning him about the wealth of his land and the power he had held. Kay had once more appeared like a Saviour Saint upon the battlefield, this time backed up by Vortiger, who began a vicious vocal sparring with the Westerlanders, who by their part seemed between surprised and appalled at the extraneous line of profanities the Herald of Crimson Thunder could muster with such precision.

He barely escaped from that conversation to then be kidnapped by Eldyra and her entourage of elven nobles, to whom honor and tradition demanded they introduce themselves to him. Which made the Dawi angry at seemingly being left for last. So Sirius had them present themselves one by one to demonstrate some equality among his allies. And because he knew he could afford to slight Eldyra more than Winterbane, after all, as much as the Elven Princess liked to complain about him, the Dragon of the Morningstar was fairly certain the elven noblewoman actually appreciated him.

Another moment was spent between Stormlanders ladies who complimented the great manners of his knights, but he escaped the moment marriages were put on the table. One more conversation was spent among his own knights, who were eager to exchange words with him, and he was eager to do so. They were young, barely new to the duties, and felt some emboldened, and others unworthy of fighting so close beside their lord.

Among the knights he knew, the siblings, Balan and Balin were present. They reigned the younger ones in with discipline and the honors on their backs. The knights of Pont du Gard, the entry point to inner Albion and the way to the capital from the North were hardened veterans. Balan was the affable giant of the duo, calm and composed, with warm brown eyes that seemed to shine with every word. Knightly in every way there could be, Sirius had come to rely on the bigger brother's sense of duty and honor, and his utter disregard for giving any ground at all. Any time the man had to pull back for any reason, there was a good lot of coaxing by his brother and his fellows.

Balin, on the other hand, was called The Savage for a reason. Second Sword to Vortiger, he was relentless and merciless, holding the sadly too common disdain for the common people most of the newer generation of knights sported with open features. He despised weakness and held back his darker instincts by willpower, his brother's constant lecturing, and his sire's wrath. He was a mad dog in so many ways. But few men could match him in faith in the Lady, and Sirius had learned long ago that even he needed a few mad dogs on the leash.

He managed to spot the Twins for a brief moment, but when he managed to make his way to where he had seen them, they were gone, probably dogging him, and he knew very well why. He was engaged in conversation with a circle of Dornish women, who were being a bit too physical and a bit too shameless by Bretonnian standards, before being whisked away by a group of Reachwomen who seemed eager to speak with him, and had manners more in line to what he expected. The moment he realized it was once more about marriage proposals, but this time about his daughter, he was being rescued by someone he did not expect.

A hand grabbed him as another took him by the shoulder, and a voice he had heard before spoke.

"Apologies, my ladies, but my nephew has a family he still needs to address."

"Nephew?" There he was once more the one-eyed man of earlier. Who was he? He had yet to see only two uncles and… "U…Uncle Beric?!"

"Hello, lad." The hug was gentle but warmer than almost any other, and Sirius felt an aching desire to simply melt into it. "I know the eye makes it a bit harder to recognize me but-"

"Oh, shut it Beric. It's perfectly fine." A woman slapped his Uncle's wrist with a playful smile, and it took only one glance at her for Sirius to place her.

"Aunt Allyria?"He breathed. Goddess, his aunt had been so young the last time he had seen her, but now, she was older than when Ashara had birthed Sirius and had become a beautiful woman who hugged her nephew tightly. Sirius was all too happy to return the hug.

"Oh, look at you, little star. How are you?" She asked,

"I am well, Aunt. Happy to see you." He felt his eyes sting, so many emotions rushing unbidden to him, too many memories that were too perfectly clear in his mind. "I am sorry, everything is so confusing right now, it-"

His uncle patted him on the shoulder before both of them hugged him at the same time. Sirius cursed inwardly, the action threatening to bring him over his emotional limit and leave him a sobbing wreck. But he returned the hug with all his might.

"Overwhelming, I understand, my boy. But it is good to see you. Look at you, turned into such a fine man. I spoke with a few of those ladies that came in the ships, the noble ones were very courteous, but the ones of less upstanding birth gossiped like old crones and told me all about your exploits." Her aunt told him, brushing half-born tears away from his eyes. Sirius chuckled and shook his head.

"Exaggerations all, aunt." He tried with a smile. Beric Dondarrion ruffled his hair like he had used to do when he was little.

"They said you would say that." He grinned at him.

"Tales permitted by the actions and sacrifices of better men than I." Sirius attempted to explain, not feeling up to the praise.

"Also said you would say that." His aunt told him with an impish smile.

Sirius shook his head, understanding there was no way to win this argument and simply hugged them back again. It felt good. To have a family again. Back in Bretonnia, it had been his King-Father and his Lioness and children alone. This expansion of family felt almost deserved.

"SHUT UP YOU FUCKS! I want to hear my victorious nephew, not you, you conniving band of wenches!" Finally, after almost two hours lost in the madness of political dancing, his uncle seemed to have noticed his presence. He stood above the gathering, sitting on a great chair of oak that seemed to have no problems holding his considerable weight, and a cup of wine already empty rested on his thick fingers. Taking a step forward, he called to him.

"I would say victorious is a stretch, Uncle." The king laughed at that while calling for another cup of wine. Sirius felt a hand grab his shoulder, and a moment later, his brother Arthur was by his side, grinning.

"Ready for some boot licking?" Whispered his brother in his ear.

"Never." Sirius chuckled. Goddess, he wanted to run out of here. He pondered if he could get away with having Bellicose kidnap him out of there. It could work…

"Just so you know, the Sand Snakes and Ari were not happy you got lost and saw you talking to everyone but them." The Duke arched an eyebrow.

"They could have very well come and bloody saved me from that political nightmare." Arthur let out a snicker as a blond young man ran to fill their uncle's cup. with a panicked half-look.

"Dornish women, brother. Remember how they work?" Grinned the white-haired Dayne.

"I don't think I ever truly did." Arthur laughed at his older brother's comment, just as their Uncle finished the new cup of win.

"Sirius! There you are! Come here, lad! Normally Jon here would make me give a speech, but fuck that, no one needs to know what you did! You saved this city!" He thundered towards him, laughing, hands open for a back-breaking hug that lifted Siriuss not inconsiderable bulk from the ground for a moment. Beloved Lady, just how strong had his uncle really been?

"Just helped it not fall, Uncle. There are a lot of actual heroes, some in this room, that did more or just as much as I did." Managed to croak out the Duke when he was let go.

"Bah, stop with the modesty. You led. You killed that goat-fucking Warlord of theirs, did you not?" Sirius nodded slowly, the memory of that thing behind the barbarian's eyes sending a slight shiver up his spine, something that a year before would not have even fazed him.

"He is nothing but ashes now." He said in a quiet tone, that was drowned by the cheering of the nobles, the applause of the ladies, and the thundering laugh of his uncle.

"HA HA HA! Now that is some proper battle. I had missed that." The king shook his head, eyes on another place and moment, before snaking an arm around the Duke's shoulders, and began to direct him to the raised platform where his chair, a few bottles of wine, and food awaited them. "I have to thank you, nephew! You return from the dead, bring some actual, proper fucking combat to my very doorstep, leave some for the rest of us, and you save the city, all in the same few days! Now, that is some proper Seven-damned Baratheon spirit!"

An outstretched hand stopped his Uncle, as a wizened man in blue and white clothing, sporting the pin of Hand of the King, extended his hand to Sirius.

"As much as I am certain your Lord Uncle is happy to have you back, young Baratheon, I believe it is proper for me as Hand to officially welcome you and your own, to King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole." It took Sirius a moment to place the man. He had become much older in such a short time, yet there was still wisdom in those eyes.

"My thanks, Lord Arryn." The Duke bowed his head in thanks and took the offered hand.. "As unexpected as it is, it is good to be among family once again."

"Ah, Jon, always managing to embarrass me." The King patted gently on the shoulder of the Lord of House Arryn, more gently than he would have any other. "But I'll be damned if he is not right, lad! It's good to have you back among the living! And I see you have much to tell, many stories I hope!"

"Most of which I don't think anyone here is going to believe." Mused the younger Baratheon.

"I wouldn't know about that, nephew." Called a voice to his side, as another man stepped forth to hug him, taking Sirius a bit by surprise. "After all, your return seems to have started a re-definition of what was and is possible."

Sirius stared hard, recognizing some features of the lean and lithe man in front of him. He had a handsome, clean-shaven face, and for a moment, he hesitated, seeing his Uncle Robert, like he had been so many years ago. The easy smile did not help with the difference, but the combed hair, the green eyes that sometimes looked blue and the clothing of green and yellow did manage to strike the answer inside of him.

"Uncle Renly?" He asked, shocked to the core. That easy smile came back on his Uncle's face, before steeping forth to hug him. Sirius hesitated for a moment once embraced, he had never been too close with his Uncle Renly, although not for lack of attempts on his part, just the seeming bad blood between his father and Renly, which, after so many years of life, he could very well understand, and perhaps, on any other day, even share. But today, he chose to simply embrace it.

"Good to have you back, Sirius." Renly took a moment to hug her lost nephew, before stepping back, examining the boy, now turned man.

"My thanks, Uncle." Sirius did an examination of his own. He truly did look like Uncle Robert in his youth. "You look good."

"My time spent in Highgarden was quite good for my complexion." Sirius could not help but let a small grin at that. Flowers, good wine, great weather, and a scathing less amount of contempt that Sirius had endured would have made his uncle feel at home.

"Stop bothering the lad, Renly!" Robert barged back into the conversation, earning a frown from Sirius and a glare from Renly that quickly became a forced smile. "Come, boy, tell us the tale! I want to know what my nephew has been doing the last nine fucking years."

"Well, Uncle… there begins… the discrepancies, I am afraid." And that was one Waste of an understatement. How in the Beloved name of the Lady could he explain some… two hundred years of life? The scale of it? The fury, longevity, battles, and wars he had gone through. How could he explain it without delving deep into the Faith of the Lady and the Grail itself? He could not. Blessed Waters, he would need an entire collection of encyclopedias just to start. Oh, Lady, where was Leonardo when he was needed?! "But I can scramble some war stories for you uncle. I will need some time, and a few books, to be able to tell the entire story." His Uncle did not seem pleased, but the promise of war tales appeased him, and nodding thoughtfully, he turned to the gathered mass of nobility and waved them off.

"Well, you heard the man! Let's keep on drinking and eating, while he prepares! This I want to hear!" And with that, Sirius was able to escape back into a circle of his knights.

"Get any knight you can in here, just in case." Sirius breathed to Kay. "And make sure all men-at-arms have been given extra rations of wine. They earned it. Did you manage to get supplies for everyone?"

"Indeed sire." Nodded his Seneschal. "Food and water were distributed, and I managed to haggle some rooms and beds for anyone that did not fit in the ships."

"How are the ships?" Sirius winced internally at the possible state of his mighty ships. He would need them now more than ever. Their canons were the only acceptable application of gunpowder the Faith of the Lady allowed. And he was going to need them, to his chagrin.

"Scarred, but alive. They needed some repairs and some sanitation, but I already handled it." Sirius nodded. Good, the faster the better.

"A good step. And the wounded?"

"Lady Igraine dealt with the most grave."

"Anything else to report?"

"The Asur prefer to stay on their ships and have warned port authorities to not come close. The Dawi were distraught when they found no gunpowder in the city and seemed keen on giving our shipboard guns a look over." Sirius groaned. Nothing worse than a curious and bored engineer next to a munition depot.

"Not now. If I let them, he is to be supervised by Captain Mondragon. Where is the man, by the way?" Sirius looked around, not seeing the wide-winged hat of his ship captain.

"Whorehouse, I believe, with his crew." Kay tried to keep derision out of his tone but failed. The Bretonnian belief about such practices was etched in his eyes. Sirius could share most of what his Seneschal was feeling, but Mondragon was no knight. The Estalian was fully within his rights to do as he wished. As much as the Duke did not like the idea.

"Get him up here. Throw him into the bay if you have to get him sober. But I want him here. He has one Lady-blessed silver tongue, and I need that"

"It will be done." Kay bowed his head, fist over his heart. And then stopped for a second, hesitating to ask the next question. The Duke did not pressure him. "And sire, if you wish for me to remake the Hearthguard…"

"No." He snapped, harder and faster than he intended. He cursed himself and offered Kay an apologetic gesture, but the mere idea of losing Bors and his knights… Goddess, he hoped not. "They will be with Art. Have Vortiger as my Warden for now."

His Seneschal nodded, and looked at the horizon, above the bay where the Lady Morningstar lay anchored, a prideful and mighty beast, uncaring fo the marks and wounds on its flanks.

"Will be done, my liege… And sire?" Sirius looked at Kay again and saw the small, honest smile on his face."It is good to have you back."

Sirius felt it then, the reassurance in the man's eyes, not giving it to Sirius, but taking it from him, from seeing his Duke still standing, still strong. Sirius clasped his hand over Kay's shoulder.

"Lady be with you, Kay." The knight nodded.

"May she be with us all."

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

It took Sirius half an hour to disentangle himself from the party and slip away, but he reached the place he had intended to among the surrounding alcoves that divided the garden. There, on a small covered spot, Sirius found Eldyra.

The Princess of Tiranoc nursed a half-filled goblet of some rich golden liquor Sirius could not be bothered to identify. The Duke leaned beside her on the balustrade, his eyes towards the music and activities, hers towards the sea.

"What a disdainful excuse for liquor." She sniffed the wine once more, before taking a sip, her face becoming a grimace. "If this is what is considered worthy of a King, I understand you wanting to be out of this pitiful little world."

"I did not have much of a choice." Mused the Duke, not meeting her eyes. She did not flinch, but her silence proved she had realized that hadn't been the most courteous of comments.

"So have I heard." She straightened up, putting the goblet on a small table, before leaning on a chair, eyes on Sirius, passing a hand down her golden mane of hair, so atypically out of the usual braid she wore. "Not a gentle way to die."

"Not the worst." Chuckled the Dragon of Bretonnia. "I can promise you that much." Her face opened in a half-grin at the shared memory of the Second Battle of the Finuvial Plains, and the weeks of skirmish prior to that. It had been in that particular theatre of war where their particular friendship had bloomed. Sirius had been assisting forces from Tor Yvresse, while Eldyra led a shared contingent of Tiranoc and Cothique. They had been forced to harass and scavenge from Dark Elf supply lines, a guerrilla action that had seen them traverse the entirety of the western coast of Ulthuan, till their capture by Morathi and his enslavement into the Dreaded Horizon.

After they had been broken out by a daring attack from Prince Eltharion, who had been hunting supply fleets out on the sea, they sped all the way to Caledor. And then… Well, history was written and he had gotten a new heart. From the fighting retreat over Caledor's Spine, the cataclysmic duel on Vaul's Anvil, to the maddening dash towards Sapphire. It had been mayhem.

"Speaking of the dead, we should talk about that little stunt in the arena, before I got to suffer this truly, awfully smelling, poor excuse for a city." Her eyes gleamed with a certain dread that made Sirius understand where the conversation was going to head. "They say you killed half a hundred monstrous knights. Humans are famously poor at explanations, but if my understanding of your inferior lexicon is not as flawed as the sense of style of what passes for noblewomen around here, those were Blood Dragons."

"There weren't half a hundred. And only one was a Blood Dragon." He felt a stab of emotions that mixed indignation, regret, and anger. Draleit. Proud Draleit who had never wanted anything else but to please his father, and to make sure his mother did not despise him. A good soul, pushed into a wayward fall of blood by its own failures and those of the ones he had called friends.

'One more soul I could not save. Blessed Lady, so many…' He thought to himself, clenching his teeth.

"The rest?" She asked, one eyebrow arched.

"No." He waved the idea away. "I have much respect for some of the knights of this land, but they would not have killed a proper Blood Dragon. The rest were… Well, I have a theory, but it's only a theory."

"More than I have." She drawled, sniffing the liquor again, before drinking it with a semi-disgusted face. Goddess, was it that bad?

"How much do you know about the Vampiric Bloodlines?" Sirius questioned her.

"Enough to know how to kill each breed." She grumbled, muttering a few curses on eltharin. "Von Carstein and their ilk, those abominations of the Strigoi, the decrepit Necromancers, the Blood Dragons of the Slayer, and, of course, those fanged wenches of Lahmia." That got a laugh out of Sirius, which only made Eldyra glare at him. Her displeasure had, of course, nothing to do with the fact that barely a decade after the Second Finuval, she had ended up mingled in a Lahmian slave network, and not only had been seduced (with the use of magic and devilry, she had vowed) by a mere human (a human that was an old Lahmian vampire, she loved to remind all), she had been to be save by Sirius, who had crashed into the criminal network to rescue her and hundreds of other slaves that were going to become cattle for the vampires.

Sirius had always made an effort to avoid telling anyone just in what… position he had found the elven princess, the three vampire servant girls, and the Lahmian vampire before cutting that undead whores head.

"Blood Dragons and Lahmias do not get along." Sirius continued, controlling his laughter and not wishing to vex her any further. He let out a hum as he began to think. "And yet Neferata was commanding Blood Dragons to kill me. He assisted Walach into binding Abhorash-"

Edlyra spit the wine, coughing and blinking in a bewildered mix of shock and indignation.

"I am sorry, by all the Thrones of the Ten Kingdoms, what did you just-?!" Cyrus told him what had happened at Drachenhoff

"Shit." Muttered the elven princess, her gaze suddenly dark and tired. It was the first time Sirius had glimpsed just how tired the elven woman was. She might have carried it better than Sirius, but she had suffered her many terrible tribulations. Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, and the fact that she did not brush it off, was enough to show just how exhausted and worried Eldyra was. "That's… Isha preserve us. All of you against him and you almost lost. If any other man spoke such words. I would challenge him to a duel over the besmirching of Prince Tyrion… But not you, Amar-Aranth. Not you."

Their eyes met, and both friends nodded to one another, one in thanks, the other in trust. Sirius appreciated and valued her trust mightily. Elves were slow to trust, but in their friendship, they were unbreakably loyal. Theirs was not the evident and direct friendship of the Dawi, but the bickering fellowship of a dragon, who demanded perhaps too much at times, and yet always delivered with boundless determination.

"If it's any consolation, the only reason I managed to not lose was over the bodies of the other three… five." He felt a stab of shame and pain at the memory of all the friends he had lost. The twins would not have survived that bridge. He wished with all his heart at least one of his kin had walked away from Drachenhoff, but the realistic part of his mind gave him the answer he dreaded. Even Grail Knights can die. "Five Grail Knights. Five old friends."

"Five grudges for you to settle, Dragon Knight." The Thane came from the shadow of the entry arch, helmet off. Dark brown hair trailed down his back into a knot, and he massaged two mugs of ale, one in each hand. If Eldyra had been surprised by the arrival of the dwarf, she did not show it. She had probably heard him approach. Bloody pointy-eared hearing.

"This conversation is not for your ilk, mite." She spoke with derision, rolling her eyes at the dwarf, before taking another sip. Seriously, if she didn't like it, then why did she keep trying to drink it?

It struck Sirius that perhaps she simply wanted to not be completely sober. He gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Her response was to shrug him away, but not in a violent manner, simply as a way to gain some space and retract her feelings into herself once more. He did not take it as an offense. Elven nobility were proud to the bone.

"I would think otherwise, seeing as he called for me." The dwarf hopped into another chair, pointing at Sirius with the half-empty mug. "Your countrymen make shit ale, Bretonnian. Although, the roast is passable." Sirius shrugged. He had never been a fan of ale or mead, so he would have been a poor judge. But the roast was indeed excellent.

"I needed both of you here. This might pertain to military tactics, and as far as I am concerned, that is your field." He drew back to the important matters, his eyes traveling from the elf to the dwarf, attempting to remain a stable presence between the two almost confrontational individuals. His father had once told him that his second greatest achievement had been to get Finubar and Thorin to sit at the same table. The first, was for them to not insult each other… every sentence. In his opinion, while Finubat was a much better debater, Thorin was a master at insulting.

"If the elgi is in command of her kin, we will die quickly." The dwarf gestured at the elf, before spitting into the nearby row of flowers. Eldyra leaned forward, glaring at the dwarf, hands balled into fists.

"Do not fret, mite, I shall kill you first and burn that odious, filthy bea-"

"As entertaining as seeing you two fight might be, we have a business to attend to." Sirius cut her off a moment before the dwarf turned with a promise of violence in his eyes at the particular threat. "You heard about Drakenhoff?"

"I was a ranger once, lad. I have a good ear." His focus was once more in Sirius, but his calm features morphed with worry and some indignation. "To best the Slayer King in combat… one for the Book, truly, especially if he did not give him his Doom."

"So, Lahmias and Blood Knights cooperating. I need not explain, even to the mite, that that is bad." Eldyra added, her eyes lost in thought. Sirius crossed his arms and hummed his assent.

"I believe Wallach made a deal. In return for Neferata's assistance in binding Abhorash, he gifted her with Blood Knight Initiates. Poorer quality than usual, as she most certainly chose from her personal stock of fanatically loyal followers, but men can train and can become better. It's a fountain of powerful soldiers as well as a mark of power. If she sent that many after me…"

"The bitch has them in ample supply," Orik growled. Then he stopped for a moment, eyes traversing from elf to man and back again. "You don't think…?"

"That she is trying to rally all the Bloodlines behind her?" Sirius voiced the terrifying thoughts the three of them had running through their minds like wild horses. "Perhaps. I am not as well versed in Vampiric Politics as my Raven Knight. But it's a distinct possibility. With the figurehead of the Blood Dragon Lineage to support her, she had leverage, but little. With Abhorash actually bound and serving her… That would have been one mighty step into making herself a ruler once more." It brought him no small level of satisfaction having foiled her plans.

"It would be bad for all of us. Or to be more precise, our Kingdoms back home. While the Archenemy roams these lands, we have yet to see any other foe." The Princess of Tiranoc finished her cup with a grimace, leaning back on her chair.

"There will be gobbos. There are always gobbos." Winterbane murmured, almost happily, at the idea of killing Goblins.

"Yes, I would not be surprised if the Greenskins found their way here." Eldyra nodded her assent with the dwarf, drained of hostility, for now. "Cavill will be thrilled to kill them once more." Sirius thought of the Loremaster of Hoeth, faithful servant of the Grim Prince and Mistwalker of Yvresse. That he was here with Eldyra was probably no coincidence. The White Wolf had a way of ending up in such situations.

But his mind was yet at another trouble. True, there had not been any additional problems in Westeros. But there was much land apart from Westeros. Ashai of the Shadow, Giskari, Old Valyria, Essos in general… So much space for so many possible dangers.

"Over that horizon lies another continent. Well, several, but the main one, apart from Westeros, is Essos. Slaver cities. Roaming hordes of bloodthirsty barbarians. Dens of witchcraft and demon summoning. And much, much worse in the bones of an old, dead empire." He felt a chill run up his spine. What could a Vampire well-versed in Necromancy do with the remains of the Valyrian Empire? Their dragons and monsters?

"Plenty of ground for any of our common foes to roam and grow." The Princess rose to watch the sea and the horizon, almost wistfully. It was no surprise. The Asur were a sea-faring folk. For them, the sea and tide were a second home. And forsaken from Ulthuan, the sea was the only home she had left. "Too much for us to cover, even if we could spare the men and the time. We need to consolidate forces, resources, and knowledge. We need a staging ground."

"I could try to build us a Karak on these feeble mountains." The Dawi let out a groan. "But they would probably break. Still, it would be fun, I miss my days in the mining guild."

"I thought you said you were a Ranger," Eldyra said, arching an eyebrow.

"Exceptional Dawi can have walked many, exceptional paths." Pointed the dwarf, finishing the second tankard of ale. The former squire of Tyrion rolled her eyes.

"Returning to the main point, yes, it's too much ground, and yes, we need a safe haven," Sirius said, pushing himself from the balustrade. "That is my chief concern as of now. Let me see what I can come up with. I was the King's nephew here after all."

"Quiet the, and I cannot believe I am saying this, step down from your previous station." Pointed out the elf with a small snicker. Sirius glared at her without strength.

"I will manage." He let out a tired sigh, regarding King's Landing shining under the bright sun. So bright, so alive. He could not help but picture it after becoming the target of a Waagh. Or the new seat of a Tomb King Dynasty. Or a new Warp Bastio for the denizens of the Deserts. A shiver ran up his spine at the images in his mind, before he banished them all. "We all shall. We don't have a choice."

"No, we don't." Agreed the Thane. Then he let out a chuckle and massaged his neck. "It could be worse." Eldyra turned to regard the dwarf with a look, equal parts incredulity and contempt.

"We are stranded from our homelands, undermanned, undergunned, in possibly hostile lands and with an unknown number of foes at our heels. How in Blessed Allariel's Ample Bosom could it be worse?" The dwarf eyed her for a second, before pulling a small flask from his hip and emptying it in one of his tankards. He took a long sip from the liquid, cleaned his beard with his forearm, and grinned.

"I could be out of Bugmans."

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Lord Varys, of the Small Council, was not a man used to feeling fear. Oh, he had endured plenty of fear, or horror, of suffering, but it had been a long time. A long time since he had become the Master of Whispers, the little spider knitting a fine web in the ear of whatever King he needed to keep appraised. He became very good at it. The best, in the eyes of some. In his humble opinion, he still had plenty to learn.

The pair of thin blades at his throat only seemed to confirm his beliefs.

"Little, fat man," Spoke a woman's voice in his ear, cutting like a freshly sharpened blade. "Letting your little flies buzz around us. Coming back to the stink of fresh shit. Do they bring you kind words? Or our words?"

"I am afraid I don't know what you mean, my lady." Varys managed to maintain his composure, hands balled into fists beneath his robes.

"She is no lady." A voice came from behind them, inside the small covering the garden provided them, made by trees and precisely grown vines. "Well, she is, even if everyone forgets it. And honestly, there are days even I forget it. Put him down, please, my lady."

A man entered. Well, he wasn't really a man. His little birds had told Varys this was an elf, or so had the outlanders told their fellow lords. He looked positively ancient. A bandana, clean and white covered his eyes, and yet the pricking of light shone from underneath the cloth as if there was something, a remnant of the eyes he had once had, that allowed him to see. He carried a staff made of white wood, ivory, and beautiful gems that glowed with inner light. He sat down in front of Varys, crossing his legs beneath him disappearing beneath his robes, as he tilted the head to his side, the smallest of smiles on his face.

The woman snarled words in a tongue Varys did not understand. The message was clear, of course, she was asking to tear his throat wide open if the mounting pressure in his neck was anything to go by.. The man nodded sagely, as he laid his staff over his knees.

"I know. I too felt his informers run around us. A great attempt, I have to say. But as good as you might be, mortal, I look old." He said without a bit of humor. Varys answered in kind.

"You do." He said with all the eloquence two words allowed him, before the blades closed on him again, bidding him to silence. A wave of the woman's anger seemed to almost pass to him from her sword, like the tingling of nearby lighting.

"For my kin, age is a strange concept. Many of us live long, long lives. And yet, most of us don't feel the strain of age, of the corrosion of life on our mortal coils." He mused out loud, using his hand to examine every crook of his beautiful white and blue staff. "We don't visibly age. Which should tell you, that an elf who looks old, is old beyond your understanding."

"Then you must be truly ancient," Varys spoke back, draining all courtesy from his voice. Why bother with a thing so old it had probably seen through his little act already? Honesty could carry a man a great distance.

"Oh, I am. Not frail, mind you, baring my eyes, which I lost long ago, but never frail." He let out a small chuckle before his features turned somewhat serious. "But we are not here to discuss frailty and age, wouldn't you agree, my newest acquaintance?"

"Indeed, my lord." Varys nodded, attempting to walk the fine line between grateful and boot-licking. In his experience most individuals wanted bootlickers, but a chosen few mistrusted such attitudes, and so, his apparent attitude morphed to suit it well.

"He ain't no lord, umgi. And he wasn't talking to you." Came a rumbling voice that carried a weight on it of pure stone. It was the dwarf, the one they called a Rune-smith. He passed by Varys, nodding to the woman of the blades, who smirked back and sat beside the elven mage, offering him a plate full of roasted boar. On his other hand, he held two similar dishes, much more stacked and full, the meat's juices almost dripping from the rim of the plate, and a tankard of ale. "Try this."

The blind elf took the offered plate with the certainty of a man who had never lost his sight and began to prod the meat with a fork. When he found the point he wished, he sunk it in the meat, brought a piece of warm, smoking boar into his mouth, and ate it with care, savoring, contrary to the dwarf, who was obliterating his own two plates.

"Hmm… perhaps there are redeeming qualities to this land." Mused the elf, taking another careful strip of meat. "It's… zaffron, is it not?"

"That was a good guess." Rumbled the dwarf between bites. "My oathgold was on cilantro."

"Close, then. But I bow to your superior knowledge as a brewer, Master Dwarf. Cilantro it is." The mage said, taking one last bite and carefully putting it away, after offering to the woman with blades to Varys's throat, who had to send a very clear look of not wanting, for the mage nodded and left the roast aside, before speaking to Varys again."Is it cilantro? A man such as yourself would know, would it not?"

"Close. Arctan root, from the Summer Isles." Provided Varys, seeing no particular reason to lie, but choosing to not tell them, for example, that in high enough quantities, that root could put one in a deep sleep, and make a man thirst like nothing before. It was magnificent to make someone see your point. In some of the Free Cities, it was used as a method of execution. Food was given, heavily laced with the herb. And then just a bit of water. The incredible thirst, when mixed with little water, broke men to sobbing, begging wrecks after a few days.

"Ah, pity. We do not have that one back home." Mused the dwarf, finishing his two plates of roasts, and setting them aside, rapping his knuckles on a strange circular stone in his hands, almost coin-like. "Might use some for the first batch of ale I make."

"I have yet to try wine-making. However, I had a pupil who had a father who directed the greatest vineyard in Ulthuan. Fantastic tonic, if a bit dry to my liking." Commented the blind elf. "You would not like it."

"Elven wine tastes like boiled fruit water." Grumbled back the dwarf.

"Have you tried our vintages? I am surprised. Most Dawi I have spoken to simply hate it."

"Can't hate something you haven't tried. A proper Dawi has to have a good reason to hate something!" Proclaimed the rune-smith, slapping his knee in celebration of that particular piece of wisdom.

A short series of sentences exited the woman's mouth, making both of Var's interlopers turn toward her. The blind man offered an apologetic bow in response.

"Ah, yes, my lady. Apologies." He turned towards Varys once more. "You are…"

"Lord Varys, Master of Whispers." Provided the bald lord of spies, ignoring how the blades to his neck closed in just a tad more..

"Ah, a spy. I don't like spies." Growled the dwarf, dancing the stone disks among his fingers even faster now.

"Neither do I, Master Dwarf." Conceded the blind elf. "But murder in open light, in our host's house would be considered bad manners in Ulthuan. What about your Karak?" The dwarf examined his tankard.

"With wine like this? It would be seen as a mild response to such an affront against a guest's palate." The dwarf threw his empty mug through the window, into the lower ground, where smaller nobles danced. "We could throw him over the wall, make it look like he slipped. He is fat enough. Deep in his cups, perhaps with a nice lass."

"A hard prospect, my lords." He offered a conciliatory smile. "I am afraid that the gentler sex-" The blades at her throat tightened with a growl of indignation. The Master of Whispers barely managed to swallow, before attempting to placate his seemingly immediate execution.

"I mean no insult, my lady. It is simply, here, women are seen as the fairer, weaker side of a man." The woman began to mutter curses in a foreign language Varys made no attempt at understanding.

"You are an eunuch." Said suddenly the blind elf, tilting his head to the side, a mixture of a man hearing something peculiar and seeing quite an unbecoming thing. The dwarf almost spit the last of the wind he had been trying to down, sending a frown at the blind elf.

"Indeed, my lord." Varys acquiesced. He was not surprised. Anyone in Westeros with a modicum of knowledge about who Varys was, would know him to be an eunuch. Even the most ignorant of peasants knew that truth. In part, thanks to Varys's own determination to make sure everyone knew his apparent weaknesses.

"And how did you know that?" Questioned the dwarf, making a sympathetic wince at the admission by Varys.

"While your runes are fantastic tools, my magic does give me an advantage. A quick spell let me assess his condition. I was searching for possible mutations or marks of the Archenemy. I found… well, less than nothing." Stated the blind elf.

"Poor bastard." Mumbled the dwarf, clicking two of the stone disks together with a slight chuckle.

"He does not mind, do you, Lord Varys?" The elf had a small smile on his wife, devoid of mockery, and charged with no small amount of comprehension.

"Not anymore, no." Admitted the Spy Master.

"So, what do we do with him?" Finally asked the dwarf, throwing his second tankard through the same window, electing some insults and cries from outside.

"What do you do with intelligence masters?" Lord Telemar moved to shift his postures, now sitting regally in front of Varys, as the assassin behind him allowed him (more like shoved him) to sit "Ask questions and give answers, of course."

"The bases for all successful business ventures." Rumbled the Rune-smith, pulling a chair and hopping into it, dancing the stone runes among his fingers like a street performer might a particularly shiny cooper.

"So, please, Lord Varys, sit. We have plenty to discuss." Lord Telemar nodded to the assassin, who stepped back and out from Varys's senses. Yet, a part of him could tell she was still in the room, simply so well hidden and unmoving he would have never had a chance to know where she was. "So, where would you like to begin?"

The Master of Whispers remained quiet for a moment, before crossing his arms, putting each hand inside the other sleeve, and leaning forward, decided to take the bargain.

"What can you tell me," He began, carefully, measuring every movement, every gesture, everything said and not said. "Of the Lord Amaranth?"

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Sirius managed to get pulled away from the political fray, leaving Kay to deal with the more distasteful and boring parts of the dance. Arianne had managed to sneak him away to a small balcony where a much smaller congregation waited. He could hear the voices now. His father's short and iron-loaded comments, followed by his mother's kind and bright words. Uncle Oberyns tone did not hide the fire beneath his words, and he seemed to be enjoying the verbal sparring between himself and the Lord of Dragonstone.

"Seven above!" Arianne almost snarled. "Why don't those weed-stinking Riverlanders understand a no when they are told? Do you know how many dead fishes you managed to get wet in there?"

"I refuse to answer that question," Sirius commented, letting himself be pulled, holding back the small smile on his face. Then, he caught a sight to his left, on a secondary balcony, half hidden in between creeping ivy and growing thistle. He stopped gently, making Arinnae turn to send him a questioning look.

"Ari." He told her softly, letting go of her hand, and gesturing towards where the voices of their family echoed. "Go ahead. This I need to do."

She glared at him, but let out a sigh of defeat.

"If I hear screaming, I will send Areo." She said and turned to leave. It shamed the knight to admit he lingered to see her leave, swaying her hips from side to side. He blinked to himself, realizing she was glancing back at him, catching him in his staring, and felt his cheeks reddened before he turned to leave, muttering to himself about horny dornish women with compulsive needs to embarrass him.

Then, he was on the balcony, staring with a smile into two eager, but nervous eyes of green. He reciprocated the smile, opening his arms to the figure.

"Myrcella." He said with a chuckle, just as his cousin jumped in his arms to hug him. Sirius laughed as Myrcella fought to hug him even harder, and he held her in place, arms locked behind her back. The memories of a wondrous child of a gentle heart were very much earned. Myrcella had been one of the few reasons Sirius had wanted to be in King's Landing. His cousin, always loving, always shining bright. It made his heart sing to see she had not changed much.

"I knew it was you. The moment I saw you, I knew it!" She said, tears in her eyes. He smiled at her and cleaned them from her face, regarding her up and down for a moment.

"You are a lot taller now." He commented. Myrcella simply smiled and stood to her full height. Beloved Lady, she had taken all the beauty of her mother with none of the poison. She would finish growing into a beautiful woman in a few years, and then her father would have to crush heads to find her a suitable husband among all the rabble that would throw themselves to her feet.

For a moment, a sensation of dread swamped over Sirius at the idea of suitors for his daughter. Then he calmed down. First, he would have to terrify the ones for his cousin and his little sister.

"So are you! You're bigger than Uncle Renly now." She answered, spinning in her crimson dress. Sirius took her hand and gave her another spin letting her enjoy the moment.

"And you are as beautiful as your mother." He told her, before, at the sight of her frown, winking at her. "And if Bellicose allowed you to ride on its back, then you have your father's heart."

"I was going to feel offended, cousin, but you fixed it in the end." She giggled before her features softened. "He saved my life." Her tone was filled with wonder, which Sirius could hardly blame her for. She had probably spent her entire life wishing to see something magical, something magnificent and mythological. And then Bellicose, a Questing Beast of the Lady, had barged in to save her life from a demon spawn. A wish come true, in the strangest of formats.

"He has a habit of doing that." He acquiesced, leaning back on the balcony.

"I met your daughter. She is wonderful." Myrcella told him with a wide grin. Sirius found her words sparking a warm sensation in his belly. He placed a hand atop her head, gently pulling her to his side.

"Thank you, Cella. Did she tell you anything?"

"She said I had a sad light, but that it was a pretty one." She said slowly as if mulling those words and analyzing them for meaning. "My mother's little horde laughed at her, but it felt important." Sirius felt a second of rage spike in his mind at the idea of his little angel being mocked like that but quickly crushed it back into control. She was more than capable of answering any taunts if she wished to.

"It is. She sees your sadness, but also your inner light. She sees good in you, dirtied by whatever has you so sad, cousin." He revealed to her, pulling Myrcella to his side to look into her eyes. But then they flickered to the side, and she tensed up, making Sirius go involuntarily for his blade.

"You are about to find out why." She breathed to him. The Duke glanced over his shoulder and gently pulled her behind him.

"Get behind me." He breathed to her, and Myrcella obeyed gladly.

"What manner of insult you seek to make on your first day among us, nephew, by hiding my own daughter for me." Once, long before he drank from the Grail and his Rising, Sirius had fought Azazel, the first of many battles against the cursed creature of the Dark Prince. On that first battle, the demon had earned hatred like little else for what he had attempted to do with his then-future wife. Sirius despised the thing with all his heart and would covet any possibility to give it true-death. But he had given him one very solid counsel.

'Beauty is the most dangerous weapon because it's the one mortals covet the most, the poison they desire above anything else. Beauty is a wished-for death that none manage to resist gorging themselves in, like a most succulent poison.' As much as he hated to admit it, Azazel had been right, and the epitome of that venom was standing in front of him, with a beautiful crimson and gold dress adorned with gemstones and her hair in a long mane of molten gold.

Cersei Lannister wasn't just beautiful, she was magnificent, and yet beneath all that nearly miraculous beauty lay waiting hellish venom, hatred, and envy. The Dragon of the Morningstar had no need to be reminded by his brother just how cruel and monstrous the woman could be. Thankfully, Sirius held two clear advantages.

The first one, he had dealt with more dangerous and conniving creatures.

The second, as beautiful as his aunt was, she was nothing compared to his wife.

"I am not hiding her from you, Aunt Cersei." His eyes never looked at the queen, focused entirely on the man behind him. "But from him."

"The Dayne runt." Growled the man standing behind the queen as his bodyguard. Of a stout body marred by his piggy face, with little porcine eyes to match, and to coronate all of this, a high, thin voice that made Sirius groan inwardly, the man would have seemed a bit pathetic, if the Duke of Avalon did not desire with all his being to gut him open like rotten fish.

"The child murderer." He answered back, hand itching for Arondight now, the blade songs turning vengeful, his heart roaring in his ears. Only Myrcellas hands on his arm stopped him from killing the cur there and then. "Where is your beast of a companion? If this goes to swords, I would like to be able to give my Uncle both of your heads."

"Is that a threat, you little Dornish whoreson?" The Manticore Knight went for his sword. Sirius saw it almost in slow motion, feeling his lips quirk in a smile. Manticore Knight. Had this child killer been in the presence of an actual Manticore, he would have shat himself. And then die, horribly.

Sirius would have to manage both of those things on his own, then.

"No. I can threaten you if you want me to, Ser Amory Lorch." He shrugged. "But it would be remiss of me to not state the obvious. I am not a mere toddler. So you might find yourself quite outmatched."

He felt Myrcella smile behind him, while Lorch's angry face morphed into an ugly scowl of hatred. Steel was shown, and Sirius did not move. He would not do so until the man drew his blade fully.

"Enough, Lorch." Snapped the Queen, not bothering to look at the man. Lorch growled and let go of his sword. The Queen then turned his tongue to Sirius. "Quite the spectacle they have summoned for you. They call you a hero. But many have not forgotten those animals that came here because of you."

Sirius tensed up. It had been a matter on his mind lately. Had he come here to stop the Archenemy, like the Lady had said? Or had the Skaelings come here to kill him, even without their knowledge? They had been surprised to see him, true, but that Slaaneshi assassin had been searching for him. Had people died because of him? Been butchered? Whatever confidence he had managed to get, melted.

"The silence of the guilty casts a peculiar sound, does it not? You may try to be your father's son, but you are your mother's spawn. You bring that… thing to my home?" The look of sheer venom and dignified disgust made the Dragon frown, hand itching to act. He was thankful he had had to deal with Arianne before the Queen. The instinct to tear her head off was rising like the tide.

"Bellicose saved my life, mother! You-" Myrcella protested, in defense of the mighty beast.

"She is not talking about that animal, Princess," Lorch said, with a grin. "They do say bastards are Dornes coin."

Sirius went quiet for a moment, sound dying around him but by the furious drumming on his heart. He took a long breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were stilted stars of promised violence that gave him the aspect of his nickname. He took a step forward, towering over the queen, as Lorch drew his sword fully. But the Bretonnian did not even glance at him. His full attention was on the Lannister, hands trembling from the adrenaline roaring into his ears.

"Aunt," His tone was quiet, calm, almost gentle, even if his eyes promised bloody murder. "Do not confound kindness with meekness. And do not mistake meekness for weakness. I always show the first, if need be I can conjure the second. But I never allow myself the third."

"You think I have come here to discuss philosophy with a Dornish bastard?" Scoffed the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a small, derisive smile on her beautiful features, that were so unlike Arts. Where Sirius's wife shone for her calm, humble honesty, her aunt, was full of venom and projected power and sensuality.

"No. I think you have come here to insult my daughter. And if that is the case, I suggest you get those seven white-capped knights in bright armor. And then fetch the Mountain, and your father, and every man under your banner you can gather in this entire, forsaken, shit-pile of a city, and after that, the whole, backward, faithless continent." Sirius let an inhuman rumble escape him like a forge lighting up. "You will need them more than a drowning man needs a piece of wood in a tempest. Unlike the tempest, I do not leave survivors."

"Threatening a queen is high treason." She warned him with a devious little smile. Behind her, a dozen Lannister guards stepped from the shadow of the entrance to the balcony.

Sirius felt like dancing. Lorch would not have lasted him four seconds. This might be enough to calm his heart for a bit. The Duke answered with his own grin, an unnatural, draconian parody of a smile, showing sharp molars.

"You are no queen of mine." Growled the Dragon of the Morningstar, hand dropping to Arondight, which pulsed with righteous anger, the scabbard glowing with inner fire. It felt the horrible sins around it and begged for release to avenge them. The Lannister guards etched forwards. A fragment of steel from Arondight caught the glint of sunlight, the Song rose to the mighty crescendo of near-unleashment and Sirius felt his heart thunder and silence all around him.

"Enough, Cersei." Snapped a powerful voice, making Lorch put his blade back in the scabbard in a hurried manner, and all the Lannister soldiers snapped to attention. "The man saved this city. And as far as I know, that child assisted, greatly, if Ser Barristan is to be believed. And I have yet to find a reason to not believe him."

Myrcella let out a relieved sigh, as he bowed her head.

"Grandfather." She said, Turning slowly, Sirius regarded the man as he entered the balcony. Tall and slender, the man was broad-shouldered and likely in his fifties. His arms were thin but muscled, and his golden hair was well-kept, although Sirius could guess the man was close to starting to go bald. Still, he had lost none of the might, nor did those merciless emerald eyes betray a glint of weakness.

Somewhere, the Rains of Castamere had begun playing, and the song of his blade changed into a rumbling tempo of warning.

"Princess." The man offered Myrcella the thinnest of smiles. "Would you excuse your cousin for a moment? There are matters I would like to discuss with him." For a brief moment, Myrcella seemed to hesitate, as if leaving Sirius and her grandfather in the same room alone could spark a war. It very well could, Sirius acknowledged with a dry smile, but a wink to her cousin made her nod respectfully to the Paramount of the Westerlands and retreat back to the party and the awaiting figure of Ser Aerys.

"He-" Began the Queen, eyes gleaming with hatred and triumph. She barely managed to start the sentence.

"Escort the queen back to the celebration, Lorch. Make sure she behaves with our new guests." The Lord of Casterly Rock didn't even turn to the Queen and the knight, nor did bother to address her in any way. Sirius would have been impressed if this wasn't Tywin Lannister. If there was a man capable of doing such a thing, it was him. The Duke could see the rage simmer in the queen's eyes, even as her face became a smiling mask of calm and compliance that didn't even fool him.

"My lord," Lorch spoke quickly, and Sirius almost pitied the man as he stood there, waiting for the Queen to turn and leave on her own accord, for he was not mad enough to attempt to push her in any way or form. As his aunt's eyes bore into his skull with enough hatred to stop a man's heart, Sirius only smiled back. Her mask broke for a moment, as a half-formed scowl of hatred broke her beautiful features, only for the Lannister to recover her composure, turn around gracefully, and storm out in the most dignified manner Sirius had ever seen.

"She has not changed much." He commented.

"She has." One of the most powerful men in this particular world answered back, hands on his back, eyes analytical and cold. "Not in meaningful ways. But time changes all of us. Including you, Lord Baratheon." The Dragon of the Morningstar was not sure how one could call another man a lord and made it sound so disrespectful. Franz had managed to do so on a similar level, but the Emperor had been hostile, not insulting.

Then again, Sirius had just killed a few cousins, twice and thrice removed, of the imperial monarch.

"I will admit, It was hard to reconcile the image of Stannis Baratheon's firstborn with the man I saw appear in the arena. An impossibility, if I ever saw one. But facts remain." His eyes dropped to Arondight, and Sirius had to make an effort to not put his hand on the blade in a possessive manner. He had to admit, Tywin Lannister did disturb him slightly. There was something to the man, a complete lack of surprise or wonder mixed with an absence of pride and stupidity. He was a political apex predator, and he was fully aware of it. And as aware of Sirius's lack of experience on the field. Or so it seemed to the Duke. "An impressive blade, from what I have been told. Almost as impressive as your skill with it."

"I have had more practice than any man could or should wish for, Lord Tywin." He felt the Song of Arondight shift in an almost threatening manner at being mentioned. He was thankful to the blade, but he was already fully aware that the Lannister patriarch was not here to exchange pleasantries. "And as much as I am sure somewhere in your words there is a greeting, and perhaps even gratitude for protecting King's Landing and the Red Keep, I do not think you are here to discuss my accolades." There was not an inch of surprise on the Lannister's features, just a small permutation of the ways his eyes regarded him, as if he had won some modicum of respect by cutting all the meaningless fat from their conversation.

"A man that wastes no time. Good. That will make this easier." The Lord of Casterly Rock seemed almost pleased, or as pleased as he let out, to be able to let go of the charade of good manners and wishes. "I come with an offer you will need. And I intend on being the first to make it before Stark, Tyrell or Tully attempt it first."

Sirius almost frowned. He had expected this to be a political move, of course, and he was well aware that offers to settle his people, their armies, technologies, and magic would be among the first things he would have to deal with. He had shown the most powerful men of Westeros just a fraction of what he could do, and the hungry sharks wanted a piece of it.

"You have arrived with thousands of refugees. Yours, those stunted creatures and those haughty pointy-eared individuals. I know you are in need of food, resources, and supplies to keep your people alive and a place for them to live. I have also borne witness to your military might. Those ships use technology and weapons we do not understand, are manned by expert and trained men, and you have under your command beasts, creatures, and powers that would make even the ancient Targaryen wary of you."

'I could not take a young wyvern on even if I wanted to, much less a full-grown dragon.' Mused the Duke to himself. 'But as long as he thinks I can, I have the upper hand.'

"Allow me an educated guess, Lord Tywin." He leaned on the balustrade, keeping the smile up. "You offer all that I need, for the modicum price of our loyalty?" The man scoffed at the notion.

"Loyalty is earned. Service is paid for. But I do offer all that you require. The Lands of Castamere. Mines of silver and gold, and fertile lands to cultivate, and enough supplies and coin to do so, once you clean the remains of their last occupants."

"And in return, our blade and service." Sirius guessed, feeling Arondight tremble with his own very indignity at the offer. Then, he caught something in the man's eyes, a shadow that was so fast he almost thought he had imagined it.

"There is a war coming." Tywin Lannister said, slowly and methodically, as if to impart that nugget of information in both their minds. "I am not foolish enough to interpret your return, and all the sudden changes in what we thought were the rules of the world, as anything else than the prelude for conflict. Yesterday, the Capital almost fell to things that defied description. I saw that… thing, in the gardens." No man could say they had seen Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock, show unease, or what could be interpreted as the early stages of perhaps fear. But Sirius did not blame him for that.

"The Blood Wolf." Sirius breathed. He could picture the abomination, the Blood Pacts favored brutalizer, made to be sent into enemy lines and rip and tear for as long as it held. He had been lucky, yesterday. The Wolf had been half-spent, and made from the unwilling servants of the Keep. Had it been carved into a Sanguinary Tribesman, he might not have been saved by Thoros.

"I have seen plenty in my life. Nothing like that." Admitted Lord Tywin, and the knight could see he was making an effort now, of admitting his unease. Probably a tactic to earn a modicum of his trust by being honest, or as honest as the Lord of the Westerlands allowed himself to be. "If those things, or like it, come for Westeros, I want you blade beside me, well oiled, armed, and supplied for war. New foes search for old ones."

"The Targaryen." Sirius guessed. He was quite disconnected on that particular matter, but his long-lost memories told him of two. Not that it mattered their number. The Targaryen had always been a corrupted bloodline, full of madmen, monsters and abominations. Ripe ground for any of the four gods to do their work. A liability and a threat now. If there was someone more than willing to ally with the Powers, that would be those of the banner of the black-red dragon. Especially now, banished from their home, on the run and scrapping to survive.

He wished them good fortune. There was a new dragon in Westeros. And he happened to not abide by threats.

"So you do have the mind of your uncle and father." Nodded the Lord of the Westerlands. Sirius felt dirty at being complimented by such a man. By that particular man. "My offer stands for today. And none of the lords here can make a better one. You might have been of Dorne and the Stormlands, but only the Westerlands and supply you as you truly need. Only I have the armies, training, and silver to back your efforts."

He was not wrong, which was what made this all the worse. Tywin Lannister was a competent commander, a ruthless politician, and a great master of finances. Sirius would find no better ally to bolster his strength.

"A good offer, my lord Lannister," Sirius admitted, with a thoughtful nod. "I will keep it in consideration and discuss it with my fellows."

"Of course." Acquiesced the older man, his gaze roaming the horizon and the sea, before resting back on Sirius himself. There was an old tale, from the time of the Mad King, his father had told him once. During a banquet, a particular Lord, Sirius could not remember which, nor if he had ever been told who had made a jest to the king about the at the time Hand of the King, Lord Tywin. Something about shitting gold, it had surely been. Everyone had laughed, and the Lannister Lord had done nothing, yet he spent the rest of the banquet staring at the man who had made the jest, emerald eyes boring into him until that lord had to excuse himself and leave the room, unnerved by the look that the Lannister levied at him over the rim of his cup. Tywin Lannister had a gaze to make a man squirm uncomfortably. Sadly for him, Sirius had practice with the worst things directing their attention on him. He held his gaze and offered a small smile. "But you should stress upon them, that when the time comes, you will want me beside you, not opposed to you. After all, I am certain you still remember the reasons." In the background, the Rains of Castamaere began their last verse.

There it was, the threat. It made Sirius calm down, for that was something he had been expecting, a show of force. He could not hope to match Tywin in political maneuvering. But on shows of might? On intimidation? Well, the Lord of Casterly Rock was a known entity to him, an entity he had dealt with, as with other men who acted like him.

But Tywin Lannister had seldom dealt with a man like Sirius Dragonhearted. Or so hoped the Bretonnian.

"I fear I may have forgotten the lyrics." He smiled apologetically, walking away from the balcony. He turned to smile at the man of the golden lion banner. "While I attempt to remember them, I have a suggestion for you, Lord Tywinn. Ask any of the ladies, tellers, or bards of any of the races of the Old World to sing you any particular song about me you wish to hear."

"Am I to understand you want me to listen to your own version of the Rains of Castamere to show me who I am dealing with? Is this some sort of attempt at intimidation?" The man arched an eyebrow. "Do I strike you as a man that takes intimidation or threat lightly?"

"No." Sirius smiled at the Lannister patriarch, before shrugging. "But as you will soon find out, I have made a career of threatening men I had absolutely no right to. And then, demonstrating to them that I, in fact, make no threats, but promises. And good knights never break their word." And with those parting words, he rejoined the evening, feeling the eyes of the Lord of Casterly Rock bore into the back of his head with a glint of almost amusement.

Behind both of them, a new, different tune he was familiar with, began to echo. He clenched his fists at the hated song, but it had begun to sound at the perfect time, so he thanked the Lady and kept on walking.

"Do I kill him?" Gilrin stepped from behind another shadow, her voice barely a whisper, eyes skewering the Lord of Casterly Rock. Sirius growled to himself.

"Not yet." He stopped for a moment, before glancing at her. "And if I ever tell you to, do me a favor." Her eyes shone with curiosity, as Sirius closed his eyes for a moment, an old memory coming back to him, of his mother crying to his father, her words an echo of the past that now sounded so real and perfect in his ears.

'Crimson cloaks. They killed them and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks to hide the blood! Of my friend, of her babies!'

'I know.'

'He ordered it, Stannis! He had to!'

'It' is very likely.'

'Tywin Lannister killed Ellia, my friend. And had her children torn apart!'

His hand caressed the pommel of his blade, where the engraved gemstone shone softly. Once before, silent and dead, since its reawakening, it tinted the air lightly in amber, mirroring the dragon eyes of the handle. He felt more than saw the draconic rune almost shine with his heartbeat. The moment his fingers brushed against the blade, he felt a jolt of energy, as the rune for Rormeder burned like a start for a fraction of a second. The rune of justice gave him what he wanted. On his mind burned for a second the scene he wanted to see, plucked from the Winds of Magic themselves.

Three crimson lion cloaks on a blood-soaked floor, one bigger and two smaller figures inside of them, blood pooling around them like a second shroud, laughter, mocking, jeering.

Arondight showed him the deed. The killing. The faces.

Ellia, the aunt he would have never met, screaming.

Aegons head breaking, like a rotten egg under the hoof of a mad horse.

The knife falling on Rhaenys, again and again, and again once more.

He opened his eyes, and Gilrin had to clench her fists. She knew her friend's heart better than almost anyone else, his desires, weakness, and will. She knew that no matter what, he would never lay a hand on her outside of training.

But every time his eyes became those stilted stars of promised violence, she felt her heart quicken and her hands tremble. If it was enthusiasm, excitement, arousal, or fear, she would not tell. But she enjoyed it nonetheless. Sirius Dragonheart sent a glance at where Tywin Lannister was and spoke a single phrase in Eltharin.

"May your ministrations be worthy of the Witch King himself. And make him bleed enough to erase all sins in his name." Gilrin grinned, a bloodthirsty mockery of a smile.

"By the Shadow King's blades, I will make him sing for a quick death that will never arrive."

Behind them, began the last verse of The Tempest of Ash and Bone. Sirius ground his teeth at the song and stormed off toward his family.

The sight was something else.

In one of the lower gardens that had remained unspoiled by combat the day before, attended a small gathering. His mother sat, conversing with Prince Doran and Aunt Ellaria, while the Sand Snakes lounged with Arianne. His father seems to have a long conversation with Uncle Beric and Uncle Oberyn, overlooked by a composed Kay, who gave clarifications or answered questions posed to him. Vortiger was sitting by a bench, surrounded by Rolland, Balon, and Andrew, the three stormlanders questioning many aspects of Bretonnian Knightly Combat.

He spotted his daughter, sitting on his mother's lap, her hands on Prince Doran's leg, a look of concentration on her face, while Arthur remained by himself, on a corner, looking over the sea. He walked towards his brother, and at seeing his melancholic eyes, snaked an arm around his back, and brought him into a half-hug.

"Too much bootlicking for you, little brother?" teased Sirius, grinning.

"No." Snorted Arthur, before going quiet for a moment. "I am going to sound stupid…"

"That's the only way to be intelligent, little brother. Sound dumb once, so you will know better for the future." Sirius winked at his brother, as it to show he had experience with the phenomenon, but still did not understand it fully. Then, he gently elbowed his brother. "Come on, say it. You look like a manticore with indigestion."

"Everything is going to change, is it not?" Arthur asked in a low tone. "A week ago I only had to worry about who I was going to marry, and what evil shit Joffrey might pull that I needed to fix."

"Where is that blonde cunt, by the way?" Sirius asked, both curious and feeling unprepared for the conversation. Arthur looked at him, frowning.

"You haven't seen him? He seemed very eager to talk to you, The Gods only know about what." Both of them chuckled. Joffrey had been… wrong since he was born. Cruel, stubborn, and unpredictable, the years seemed to have mellowed him out, or at least, the punishment imparted upon him had shown him to control himself. It was not a meeting Sirius was looking forward to.

"To answer that question, Arthur…" Sirius hummed internally. A huge part of him wanted to approach this as if he were talking to Gal… but Arthur was not Gal. Not in the slightest. He could not play this as every fiber of his being begged him to. He needed to find back his place, that of the older brother, not the lord and not the… He shook his head and continued.

"I wish I could tell you otherwise. I wish I could reassure you things will remain as they were. But change always comes. The only thing we can do when the river changes current is to make a decision. To let it take us where it wills, or to resist."

"This is where you tell me to go with the current and accept the change and the future? To adapt to the progress of life?" Arthur asked with the voice of a child guessing his punishment. It was so eerily similar to his, it made Sirius grin.

"Fuck no." Laughed the Dragon of the Mornisgtar, taking his younger brother by surprise. "Change and progress should be never blindly followed. They should be examined, contrasted, tested, and then you can make a decision. I have seen what blind faith does to men. First hand." He eyes the horizon once more, thinking about so many occurrences. Of how cults had exploited good men, how blind faith had condemned the innocent to death. He could almost catch at the edge of his sight the long black trench coat and pointy hat of the Witch Hunters, and anger bloomed on his chest once more. He brought it under control.

"If there any lesson I feel I might any right to impart on you, Arthur, is that, whatever you choose to believe, whatever you chose to champion and fight for, you do so with all your might, all your heart and spirit, with every scrap of determination, to the last drop of blood, yours or theirs. But never follow blindly." He drew Arondight, placing it on the stone in front of them, as it caught the sunlight, sending silver light around it in a small corona.

"There are seven runes in this blade. Seven words of ancient power in the tongue of dragons." He murmured every one of the words, as the runes gleamed with the inner light of the heart of the blade. Arthur stared in wonder.

"Dragons?" Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow, quiet disbelief in each motion.

"Long story for another moment." Sirius grinned, before pointing to one of the runes. "You see this one? Ilvatar."

"What does it mean?" Arthur asked, passing gently one finger over the clean edge, caressing the rune.

"Draconic words are ancient things, and tend to carry so much meaning behind each word, it's hard to explain. But this one means faith. Faith in your vows, in the ideas you champion, in the people that follow you and you follow. But it also signifies 'The Fire-Earned Belief'. It means that faith must be earned, both by you and that you follow. Never be afraid to question yourself, for in ignorance there is only deception and darkness. Always challenge what you think is right. That is the only way to prove it is truly right." Arthur remained silent for a brief moment before his eyes flickered up to Sirius.

"Do you do it? With your faith?" The older Baratheon remained quiet for a moment, before nodding along.

"More times than I can tell you. More times than I wish I had to." He mused, smiling sadly. "But every time, my faith came out stronger. Men can break, Art. Belief can be made not to. Believing is half the battle."

Arthur nodded at his words, his eyes roaming the edge of the blade and the runs in its heart as if he saw something important and essential. Then, he looked into his brother's eyes. Sirius looked back with a calm he himself was surprised by.

"It's strange," Arthur said. "It took me so much time to get used to the idea of you not being here… I feel…"

"Cheated?" Guessed Sirius, as he placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, and attempted a reassuring smile. "I do not plan to go anywhere, anytime soon, little brother. So take your time again. I will still be here."

"You said that last time, remember?" Snorted the younger Dayne, and yet he grabbed the hand on his shoulder tightly, as if to never let it go.

"True." Sirius acknowledged. "But this time I know how to use a sword, I have a Lady-accused Questing Beast, and hopefully, I won't be half naked. So let them try again." Arthur laughed, shaking his pale hair out of his face, before hugging his brother. Sirius took him in, patting him in the back, feeling a small pressure rise inside of him.

He had told him he wasn't going anywhere… Had he just lied to Arthur? To himself? Or to both of them?

He stored that question for later, just as their Uncle Beric came to bring them back to the family gathering. Sirius sat between his parents in a circle of close lords and ladies. His Aunt Allyra began to spoil Igraine, squealing in delight at her grand-niece. Kay remained to his left, in conversation with several lords, whom Sirius recognized as Lord Stermont, Lord Swan and Bryce Caron, who Sirius had just found out was the new Lord of Nightsong.

He simply sat there, one hand grasping his mothers, the other rubbing Shireens hand as the youngest of the three (four now) siblings listened intently to one of Balans stories about the Duke. Balin remained behind Vortiger, exchanging jabs with Sirius's childhood friends, his face a grin split by the ugly burn scar he had acquired barely a week before. Oberyn and Ellaria were too, enraptured by the story, and even Doran couldn't help but listen.

"And then, little lady!" Rumble Balan. "Your Lord brother jumped from the gate, a spear in his hand, and stabbed it in the cygor's eye. The great beast roared as it felt, and all the nearby buildings rumbled and groaned at the slayed monster! And a great cloud of dust rose, blinding us, obscuring the lord, and we rushed furiously, believing him injured. Just as we reached the plaza, the dust parted and revealed our Duke, blade in hand, his cape tied to the end of the spear like a banner to the wind, as he looked at us and proclaimed!" Balan took a deep breath, letting the moment of dramatism settle in.

"If you are all too tired of sitting comfortably down there, would you terribly mind helping me kill these foul things, or must your Duke do it all by himself?!" Igraine simply smiled at the tale, while the youngest of Oberyns and Doran's children gasped. "And then turning from us, he began to walk down towards the besieged gate. Just then, Gawain-"

"Blonde goatskin of ego he is." Grumbled Balin.

"Called to the Duke. 'My Lord, my Lord!' he said, 'You have an arrow on your back'. So the Duke turns, glares at him, and answers. My thanks for the bloody obvious observation, Gawain. Be sure to let me know if they take my head off my shoulders. I might miss it! And so continued our lord, until Vortiger said 'So, we are not going to mention he has an arrow in the ass, are we?'"

Laughter filled the small garden at Balan's magnificent storytelling skills. Sirius simply shook his head. It wasn't a bad tale, and it had not been Vortiger, but Gareth who had pointed it out. Still, he chose to not say anything. Such details were not too important. He simply basked in the laughter, the questions, and the moment of peace he wanted to stretch forever.

Then Igraine let out a strange, gurgling moan. Sirius spun to be on one knee in front of his daughter, worried, as Ashara gently grabbed his granddaughter with a panicked look.

"Little fairy? Ig?" Asked Sirius, taking his daughter's face in his hands. She blinked several times, as if not seeing them at all. Her eyes glossed over as her temperature began to increase bit by bit until his mother hissed in pain from the mere contact. Sirius grabbed Igraine and put her on the ground, calling for an apothecary. Men ran around him, and yet when a hand grabbed him, it was not a healer, but Eldyra, who pulled him back to allow Master Melenar to pick Igraine up, barely grimacing at the sound of his palms hissing from the heat the girl was emitting, and with a speed that no man his age should be able to achieve, had he not been an elf, he pushed back into the main garden.

Sirius thundered after the Archmage, heart beating into his chest, roaring for the people to move away. It was not necessary. Asur spearmen formed a corridor for them, letting the Archmage reach his target, a great metal brassier, where he let Igraine stand.

Sirius heard his Uncle roaring for answers and calling the Maester, as Thane Winterbane arrived, roaring accusations towards the elves, only to be silenced by the Rune-smith. Then, Igraine spun towards the fire. Her hands grabbed the brazier, and Sirius could smell the burning flesh on his daughter's hands but knew better than to pry her away from the flames now. Her very skin was alight with inner flame as she channeled the magical heat into the brazier and the flames roared upwards, morphing in unnatural ways to give shape to…

To a man.

It took Sirius a moment to realize what he was looking at. A wizard. A bright wizard of the empire, to be perfectly precise. His flaming hair and shining eyes, like coals in a forge, were tinged with even deeper hues of orange from this particular way of communication. The man looked… beyond tired. Sirius could see the sunken cheeks, the sweat running down his features, and the heavy bags under his eyes. The man was bone tired, and not from this particular spell.

Then, something behind the man's fiery image exploded, and they all realized this message had sound with it. It was the shrieking of cannons, punctuated by heavier ordinance.

"Mortars." Muttered Kay behind him. Sirius grimaced. Those accursed weapons could turn entire formations of men-at-arms in mince meat with frightening little effort.

"That sounds like one hell of a fight," Vortiger growled, tapping his fingers impatiently on Clarent's pommel.

It was then the imperial spoke, not even glancing back at the detonations.

"By Sigmars Twin Comet, I hope someone gets this message." The fiery convocation flickered and moved with poor definition, but Sirius could see the tiredness, the exhaustion, the trembling anger of impotence reflected on the simulacrum of fire. The mage was beyond tired. "My name… well, it does not matter at all. All that matters is that, if there are any fellow mages of Order capable of getting this message, you need to know that in the coordinates I send to you, an Imperial Expedition fleet is under attack. We need reinforcements. Well, we need a miracle, but seeing we are far from Sigmars benevolent reach, we must ask for help. May you be man, elf, or dwarf, I ask you, help us." Something behind him exploded, and faint screams filled the courtyard, from both the simulacrum and the shocked lords and ladies. The imperial barely flashed a look back to see what was going on.

"Or a fate worse than death awaits us under those purple sails." Then, the Bright Wizard stepped back, as if to show them what he meant. There, marked by the falling lighting and the bright flare of gunpowder weapons desperately struggling for survival, black and purple sails shone on the horizon.

It took a moment for the Duke to see the bone-white symbol that sent a deep dread around the ranks of all the Old-worlders around him. Gilrin let out a long line of insults and expropriations in eltharin, while Eldyra simply looked at Cavill, as the Loremaster nodded and left, putting on his helmet. Thane Winterbane spit into the ground, before rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles. Behind Sirius, Vortiger let a deep growl echo inside his helm, while Kay let out a small prayer.

A clawed hand, reaching for a crescent moon.

"The blessing of two gods, the best training of your pitiful kingdom of horse-breeders, a relic of your culture and the gifts of my father's kingdom, and only survival and insignificance to show for it!"

His heart began to beat a hundred times faster like war drums unleashed to summon the hosts to war. The vision flickered and Igraine stepped back, her feet trembling. Sirius caught his daughter with Master Melenar as she fell, and without a word, the Archamge began to heal her hands, as Sirius checked her over. She was so hot to the touch as if she was running an awful fever, but her wavering smile and the specks of magic in her eyes told him she would be fine, as her temperature began to drop to natural levels.

Hugging her close, he rose to his feet, nodding his thanks to the Archmage, before looking back to where the fire-formed image remained, flickering with the fire.

"Betrayer." Spat Gilrin, a word mimicked by dozens of Asur, as the dark banner fluttered to the wind.

"Mondragon," Sirius called for the ship captain. "Prepare to set sail."

"Repairs are not done, sire." Pointed out the Estalian, taking off his great hat with a careful gesture. The man was afraid. One would have to be stupid or mad to not be afraid to sail against those purple sails.

"Perhaps, but that has just stopped mattering." Mondragon nodded knowing full well what Druuchi sails meant. He turned to leave with some of his sailors, as a general murmur of fear and disbelief rose through the gathered westerosi, confronted once more by a miracle of magic.

Sirius crossed stares with his uncle, whose knuckles had gone white from holding his cup firmly. No words were spoken, as the Duke realized he did share quite a bit with the man.

"Stannis!" Roared the King of the Seven Kingdoms as more Druchii vessels filled the magical view. Sirius's birth father turned to look at his older brother. "You are still my Master of Ships are you not?"

Stannis sent a look to his son. Sirius was not sure what his father wanted to ask him with that look. He felt for a moment he did not know the man. In those storm-filled eyes, there was none of the warm calm, nothing of the quiet faith of the Lionhearted. But one second to glance at the steely look, that iron-wrought message that reflected in those eyes was all Sirus needed to realize, that while he shared quite a bit with his Uncle…

He was still the son of Stannis Baratheon.

He glanced at his daughter, who nodded worthlessly. She had the coordinates. It was all he needed to know. He lifted his arm, slammed his fist over his heart in the Knight's Salute, and nodded his head to his father. Around him, all his knights, in armor, out of it, older and younger, mimicked the gesture with a second of delay, a thundering barrage of fists hitting metal, cloth, and bare chests. The Lord of Dragonstone turned to his King and nodded once more. Robert eyed his brother and nephew with a bloodthirsty smile, emptied the cup, and crushed it in his hands, before throwing it over the crowd, striding down towards the Red Keep. His father had turned to follow his Uncle, and Arthur had opened his way through the crowd. Uncle Renly was also marching forward, face in a grimace. Sirius followed suit, all of them closing in behind Uncle Robert, who, taking his hammer from the hands of the Lannister squire, lifted it over his head, and roared.

"Well, what are you bloody waiting for?!" Sirius felt something rush up his spine. It was not fear. Or perhaps it was, he wasn't sure. But whatever it was, whatever curse his heart was, it brought the gift of having the blessed effect of drowning fear in the one emotion he knew how to handle.

Fury

"House Baratheon! TO ME! THE TEMPEST OF WAR BECKONS! AND WE SHALL ANSWER"