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.

3. Life of Uncertainty

Well, I am back! Another chapter done. Sorry for the delay folks, I had to finish another chapter of Of Maidens and Knights, but here I bring chapter three. Some character development for the westerosi, a few flashbacks, a fistfight and a few differences with the books. I wanted to flesh about a few characters that I like from the books that never got much light. First among them, Myrcella. She is going to be important.

Now, answering comments:

Fryandika: yep, there will be. And if I can manage to maintain my plans, it's going to be great.

Doesthiscountasausername: hmmm, there will be something similar, along with a Legolas-Gimli relationship. It should be fun! Hope you enjoy! Although, I have to warn you, it's going to take a few chapters for the dwarfs to show up, but they are going to do so in style!

Well folks, here is top speaking. Enjoy the chapter, and as always I welcome comments, criticism and ideas (and telling me if I am fucking up any character.)

"Normal speaking"

"Speaking of non-mortals"

'Thoughts of mortals'

'Thought of non-mortals'

Enjoy folks, and leave all the comments you like!

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

The blade struck true, cutting the knight from shoulder to hip, a single, vengeful strike, delivered with more strength than most mere men had. Both sides hit the floor, like discarded scraps of metal, painted crimson and black. Towering, the killer let out a bestial sound of anger, as he stood, greatsword drawn and at the ready. The honor of the first blood against the warriors of another world would befall Ser Sandor Clegane, the Hound of Dragonstone.

Standing over the man he had known as a boy, the personal bodyguard of Lord Stannis Baratheon was breathing hard from his sprint, like a hound spurred on for the hunt, but his eyes never left the form of the undead bastards that still moved.

"Come on, you whoresons! You want him?! You´ll have to get through me first!" He bellowed, preparing his sword for the next strike. Against three Blood Knights, even young ones like those, it would have been a challenge. But his sudden outburst had awakened the rest of the men in the arena, and now they jumped into the battleground in scores, a tide of angry steel and slighted honor. Most of them felt they had been attacked, offended, and insulted, and they cared little if such offenses were perceived or real, they wanted retribution. Not all of them, though, acted directed by such shameless pride. Some, like the younger Clegane, were motivated by other, more dangerous reasons.

One of the Blood Knights found himself engaged by Oberyn Martell, his spear dancing like a wrathful snake, Daemon Sand, who furiously attacked to get past him to reach the downed knight, Gerold Dayne, who desperately wanted to kill one of these creatures to add to his accolades.

Another found itself face with the northerners, led by Eddard Stark, Ice in hand, swinging the blade in a wide arc, while a raging Jon "Greatjon" Umber swung his own greatsword at it, flanking Lord Stark on one side, the other covered by the sudden appearance of Howland Reed, his thin and short blade gleaming, the steel dark with poisons.

The third undead, was even more unlucky. Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Aerys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann all engaged him. It was over in a flash. One arm was removed by the Kingslayer, Aerys took a leg, Balon crushed its chest with his morningstar, and Ser Barristan finished it with a quick strike to remove the head.

The first of the Blood Knights was now on the floor, as the Red Snake pushed his spear even deeper inside the chest of the creature, while Daemon and Gerold took its head. The second, and now last of the creatures, dogged Ice and vanished in a pool of darkness. For a moment it looked as if it was going to run, but like ink, it coalesced behind the downed bretonnian knight, blade held high for the killing blow. Sandor turned around and almost threw its sword at it. A hammer was faster, hitting the thing in the face, splitting the helmet and maw in a shower of dark blood. A blade followed suit, impaling its lower torso. The undead wretch lashed back, engaging a tall and grim man that seemed anything but impressed or afraid. Stannis pulled the strikes aside and gave the other man the opening he needed.

King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, struck two-handed, bringing all the wrath he was capable of mustering, and some of his House as well, into a single blow. The hammer caved the skull of the creature, which imploded like a ripe melon, in a shower of gore and dead bone. With a grunt, Robert pulled the hammer from the mess that remained. The hammer´s head, stamped with the sigil of his house, was the same one that had tasted Rhaegar´s blood. He spat on the death monster for good measure. Just like he had done to Rhaegar. The color of the armor too, to Robert, seemed so similar to Rhaegar´s stupid ruby-incrusted plate that for a second, a beautiful, bountiful second, he was back in The Trident. It had not mattered in the end how many jewels that rapist cunt had placed on his armor or how terrifying these abominations were. They died to Baratheon steel the same.

"Told you I was good at killing monsters." Robert growled at the dead Rhaegar Targaryen on the ground, smirking to himself. But Stannis was already by his son, or the man he hoped was his son. Sirius was kneeling, breathing hard, and he looked like a tree about to topple over. He definitely looked like a log halfway turned to timber.

"Sirius?" The words echoed in his mind and his darkening vision. Someone had said his name. Who? He blinked, trying to pry the darkness from the corners of his vision, trying to remain awake. As much as she wanted to close his eyes, and give himself to her green eyes, he could not. Hands grabbed him and tried to pry his armor open. With a growl, he pulled the offender to the ground and lifted his blade to strike.

He froze, the broken blade held high, when he stared into those stormy eyes, of blue, like a sea unleashed. He didn't even see the full face, the silver streak of hair, the hard set jaw, noble, yet more used to frowning than to smiling. Something scratched against his mind, against wards placed there before he understood what wards were. They were lowering, receding. Pain echoed, old pain, unholy, dark pain. So did memories. Like a flow, an open storm drain, letting past come to meet present and future, filling his mind with memories both bitter and sweet.

Her smile, purple eyes shining above him, the feeling of sand under his feet, the gentle sound of waves, the smell of salt and fresh grass, beautiful grey cliffs rising above him, like the walls of a great city. A pale tower shining above, the same face now stern, but with shining eyes of mischief and contained mirth. Those same eyes filled to the brim with tears, shouting in vengeful anger, but not directed towards him, and not to the man standing in front of her, as she grabbed him with desperation, her fear palpable, and her worry filling his nose.

Mother…. Kind and beloved Mother. Whispered the voice. Mother? He had only known one figure as a mother, one voice in the dark to keep pushing him, when darkness came, one presence on his shoulder. It is said that the Lady sees all bretonnians as his children, but he had been able to prove that statement. She had brought him life, and to the world. Loved him, counseled him, consoled him and rebuked him. What else was needed, to call his Goddess a mother?

Stern, yet not unkind eyes regarded him, as the man who owned them said something which he did not remember, but he knew he had been listening intently to. The same man, blade drawn, giving him lessons, teaching him, pride hidden in his eyes the same color as the stormy sky above. Rain was pouring around them. Those same eyes with a neutral look, his own eyes filled with tears. Telling him to be better than he was, to be better than he. The words were meant as a rebuke, yet they only lighted a strange fire in his chest. Hadn't he said some similar words, not so long ago? Hadn't he also felt that pride?

Father…Proud and loved Father. The voice continued. The mere thought made him recoil in shock and disgust. Not of the man, of course. His mind and heart told him of his honor and duty, or his nature and fairness. But his father was…. He was a king among kings, a lord among lords. He was the shiniest star in the sky, leading by example. The Lionheart had been his idol, his inspiration, the mold against which to measure himself. How many lessons? How much wise council? He could remember many nights spent in laughter and jest, telling tales and simply speaking, as the moon rose in the sky. He could tell of many battles fought side by side, blood spilled, how many mistakes he had made him face, how many times he had reprimanded his foolishness and short temper. His father was the Royarch, and that truth could rival the pillars of the world.

The sound of the laughter, echoing in every fiber of his being, as he couldn't physically hold back the smile forming on his face. Curious and inquisitive eyes, eyed him as a small voice asked. "Big brother, do you think I will be as good as Uncle?" He laughed, smiled at him and then ruffle his hair. "Of course you will. You will be the next Sword of the Morning!" He smiled. Pride blossomed in his chest.

Brother… Adoring and dutiful brother. The voice kept on. He had had a brother once, two, to be precise. One, he had failed, the other, he had been betrayed by. One, he had held as he died, impotent and desperate. The other, he had struck down, with his own hands. Duty had demanded that of him, duty, his sense of right, and a bitter and wrathful thirst for vengeance.

A bundle of joy and happiness, smiling, eyes filled with wonder, scars deep as the sea. Pain, sorrow, happiness, love. Purple eyes that shone like gems, eclipsing the scars. A terrified face, confused face. One word, that meant more than anything else in the world. One word that made the sacrifice worth it.

Sister… Cherished and loving sister. The voice became somewhat sadder. Something stirred inside him. Something old, a sadness of green, innocent eyes, lost to fire, ruin and hatred, lost in a haze of blood and excoriating pain. His heart clenched in pain. Even after all these years, the mere thought wounded him to his core. His greatest failure, the time he had been found wanting the more.

A gruff face, sad and angry, looked at him, fuming in anger. "What would you know about pain? About loyalty?" He had smiled and answered. "Not much of pain. But you are loyal. I wish you were loyal to someone who would be loyal to you. You are a loyal hound. Don let them treat you like a dog." Surprised eyes, and a promise made, a promise kept "I will be loyal to you, if you let me. I can ask my father if you want. But only if you want." Another promise, broken, but by no blame of either of them. "Then I will protect you, little star, I will your guardian hound".

Hound… True and loyal hound. The voice filled his head with a musical laugh. She liked this one. A true warrior, a member of the pack. He had his own pack, his own chosen hounds. Men and women he would have died for. They had done so for him, after all. Loyalty was in short supply, true loyalty, at least. And it should be cherished. He could see a true knight, marked by fire and pain, loyal to the end, and then some more. He could see the reflection in his part, names and faces, all true and loyal, all flames that had been snuffed far too early, deserving of much more, of better. Yet, they had chosen him.

A trusted face, a knowing smile. Good counsel and bad jokes that still made him smile. A man he had looked up to, as his father´s most trusted advisor, and a noble man, not born, but made. Kindness and wit, loyalty and truth, a man who valued others more as a family than as royalty. A second father.

Advisor… Wise and patient advisor. The voice seemed curious now. He had an advisor as well. A mentor, a friend, an exasperating jester sometimes. A man so childish, and so wise beyond years, that one would be hard pressed to not believe them to be different men. A man that should not be called man, what many would consider an abomination, something that should have been killed when it took its first breath, but it had been turned to the cause of good, that had been taught love, not lust, happiness, not sloth, wisdom, not deception, and justice, not vengeance.

And the more images cascaded into his mind. His father teaching him about ships, his mother singing him a song to calm his fears. Uncle Robert placing him on his knee and telling him stories. Uncle Renly gifting him a brooch with the symbol of House Dayne. Her mother´s screams as Shireen was born. Aunt Cersei´s shining green eyes boring into his skull. Ser Barristan´s cape fluttering on the wind as he spoke of his uncle. The Dwarf telling them ridiculous stories to entertain them. Daemon laughing at him, before screaming at someone that had also laughed at him. Uncle Gerold looking at him with dark amusement.

Uncle Oberyn toying with a blood orange, before throwing it at him, smiling all the way. Uncle Doran telling him a secret with a small smile. Arianne, shining under the sun, dancing in the sand laughing with Tyene and Nymeria. Willas smiling as he pet a horse. Garlan laughing at something he had said, the smile reaching his eyes. Margaery pulling him around, telling him about flowers and ladies. Her little cousin, Myrcella, tugging at his pants, the older of the two twins, shyly asking him questions he answered smiling as he handed her parts of his sweets. Aunt Marya scolding Davos for snaking him again into the kitchen, even if she was smiling when she did it.

Uncle Ned, towering, smiling, kind grey eyes telling stories he was too young and innocent to understand, as he rode his horse, keeping him seated on his lap, telling him of the woods. Aunt Allyria throwing him up in the air, but it was Uncle Beric the once catching him, surprised, but smiling broadly. Thoros was laughing in the back, shaking his head in between cups of wine. Uncle Gerion, when he was named Lord of Starfall, showing him Dawn on the Palestone tower, and he had been so in awe that he hadn't been able to speak.

A life.

A life that had been his own, ripped from him, taken, shattered, and with that, those he had loved. Someone has taken that from him, all of it. Why? Who? He could remember something, but it was buried, hidden. He pulled at it, like a man trying to tear a tree from the ground with his bare hands.

He succeeded.

Krakens, shining in gold against black, a cruel man, one-eyed, smiling at him. Pain, dark, unholy pain, in quantities that he had thought impossible. A look of pity from the great warrior in armor, as he was pulled away, a glint of remorse in his eyes. Pain, then darkness, and more pain, then coldness, water, things nibbling at him, pinching at tearing painfully. Even deeper darkness.

Death

And the next memory was of brown eyes, smiling softly at him and asking the first thing he had ever heard.

"Hello, my child. Rest easy, I will be your shield now."

"Father." He breathed, blinking in shock.

His father gifting him his first sword, smiling at him as he parted the cloth to reveal the beautifully simple blade. The first time he had been in the presence of the Fay Enchantress, as she strode forth, gifting him a brief smile of shining golden eyes. First meeting Lance, under the shadow of the stables at Couronne, both shy and guarded. First entering a chapel of the Lady, feeling the mist on the air, the smell of fresh waters. Seeing a Pegasus for the first time in his life. Seeing and fearing a hippogryph that wasn't Beaquis for the first time in his life.

His first time in Aldorf, feeling the stench almost drown him. Meeting the Emperor, his condescending smile as his father introduced him. The look of imperial nobles, almost offended by his presence. The first time he entered the Colleges of Magic. The terror of hearing a cannon fire for the first time, and the laughs of the imperials at his reaction and shame. The first time seeing a demygryph. Imposing, brutal, predatory.

First time on a bretonnian galleon surging through a storm, fearing to end in the waters. The shining coast of Ulthuan as they reached the Emerald Gate, then crossed the Sapphire gates and entered Lothern´s harbor. Watching his father meet the Phoenix King. Crossing paths with Tyrion. Speaking with Teclis. Coming back to Ulthuan as a knight.

Dueling Tyrion and ending beaten in six blows. Learning from Teclis. Striking Imrik in the face. Debating with Eltharion. Meeting Gilrin under the shadowy ridge of the Temple of Asuryan. The terrible tests in the Inner Shrine. The god of fire that spoke through the three masked elves. The words spoken that he could now see were to be his future.

The call to arms. The Battle of Bastonne forest. His first kill. His first time seeing death bodies. Meeting her, loving her at first sight. Battles, blood. Karak Eight-Peaks. Meetign Belegar, fighting Queek. Meeting the Twins, almost dying to Drycha. The Chaos Invasion. Going to Araby. Returning home. The Battle at Aguincort. The battle at Camelot. His wedding. The Second Battle of the Finuval Plain. She falling. Facing the Witch King. Dying. Breathing. Dragon fire. Golden Wrath.

Ascension. Deliverance. The Grail.

Archoan. Kairos. N´Kari. Ka'Bandha. Festus. A thousand evils darkening the horizon. Praag. The Emerald City. The Great Dragons fighting. Queek. Snikch. Valkia. Azael. Settra. Malus. Rakarth. More and more faces. The War for the Cursed Crown. The Siege of Courunne. The Duel for Aldorf. The Siege of Yvresse. Albion, the jungles of Itza. The Razing of Marineburg. The battle of Castle Tempelhof. The Destruction of the Sacrilegious Omen. The Charge at the Oak of Ages. The War for Karak Norn and then for Karak Kadrin. The Seven Days of Woe of the Drakwald Forest. The Great March of Malagor.

The Death of Camelot.

Names, places, faces, words, deaths. Memories rising and moving, clashing and tearing. His mind was ripping itself apart trying to decide what was real, what wasn't, what could and could not have happened, what he had lost. He was bleeding into his brain. But two anchors appeared, two islands of solid reality among the maelstrom of knowledge and lies. He dived towards them.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

When he opened his eyes, he knew the memory even before anything came into focus. That melody, that humming sound, that voice that intoned so low that he could barely listen, and only made him want to hear even more. A moonlit sky saluted him, and soft covers made the slightly chill night feel comfortable. There were no candles in his chambers. He chuckled. Their chambers now. He rose and made for the dancing curtains, opened, and moving to a slow rhythm that the wind seem content on imposing. The cold was soothing, even naked as he was. From up high in the Dragon´s Den, there was no fear of someone seeing him, some lucky fool with a crossbow or a longbow to try to slay him. He was safe.

The only danger, was losing himself in the golden hair, dancing next on the balcony. She was wearing the wedding gown, or what was left of it, after… He smiled. She was turned to him, the white almost transparent under the radiant moon, her soft humming almost echoing in the plains below.

"I know that one." He said softly. She turned, surprise edging her features, green eyes mirroring that, to then change to some indescribable shade, some shine of sweet green that made him smile. She smiled as well, extending her hand to him.

"Did I wake you?" He laughed, even as the soft spoken words echoed in his ears, sweet and spicy at the same time. He advanced, pulling her into his arms. She moved into the embrace, resting her head on his chest, the golden mane cascading, giving warmth and cover from the mild wind. From up there, the view was breathtaking, but he needed no views of green plains and blue oceans. Her eyes were his ocean, her shining mane his wheat-filled fields of gold adorned.

"I wish you did." He answered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I hate thinking you were here alone. You sounded saddened, love."

"I was. It´s just… A stray thought, that's all." He felt her almost shrinking in her arms. He gently turned to look right into those emerald pools. There was fear, there was insecurity, there was even shame. It hurt him to see such things in her eyes on such a beautiful and happy night. What had he done? He took a knee and grabbed her hands gently

"My love, did something upset you? Did any of the nobles say anything hurtful? Did I speak some stupid idiocy of mine and upset you?" She pulled him up and gently hugged him, keeping his head in her lap.

"No, my dragon, nothing the sort. It's just… your father said something that made me think." Sirius arched an eyebrow. Had it come from anyone else, he would have been worried, but his lord father was the kindest man he had ever met.

"You know my father, dear. Whatever he said, it was not meant to be hurtful, or an insult. I swear." She smiled at him, but there was still an edge of sadness there.

"I know, my love. It's just… We were talking, and the conversation forked and changed, and I don't know why he said that he hoped he had been half as good as a father as you always said he had been." Sirius let a growl, before smiling.

"Humble millenary idiot. He is better than words make him justice."

"And then he said that one day you would make a better father than him." That made him laugh.

"Ha, as if that was possible. It would be by the Lady´s own intervention if I manage to be a quarter of the mentor he has been." He said in between chuckles.

"Do you think I will be a good mother?" That stopped him dead in his tracks, blinking in slight confusion. That question, coming from someone else had an easy answer, and it was no harder to give one to his wife, but there was something else there, in that question, in her veiled tone, hiding a tone of despair. Hiding from anyone but him.

"Love?" He asked softly, pulling her to look at her emerald pools waver slightly. "What do you mean?"

There was fear there. It wounded him.

Something he had sworn long ago, and again that same night, to never allow shine in her eyes. Failure, so clear and viewed as the moon in the sky.

"I.. I just down know how to do that Sirius. I don't know how to be a mother, how to be anything but a weapon. To hold a child, to give life when all I have been taught is to take… It terrifies me more than any monster. I don't know what to do." She was shaking, beloved Lady, she was shaking in his arms.

"Galri" He spoke softly in eltharin. "My love, I don't either." He tried to reassure her, but she wasn't some half-scared child. It would not work.

"That´s a lie. You always know what to do, what to say, how to act." She said, poking him in the chest, half-accusingly, half-mockingly. Trying to hide her tears in humor. It did not work.

"I'm just a stubborn fool, love. Half of the time I jump with a half-cooked plan in mind and nothing but hope and faith. The fact that it has been working so far has done nothing to stop me from relaying in that same combination again and again." He said, clearing a few tears away from her cheeks.

"I am afraid, Sirius. Afraid of being like…" And the foe reared its ugly head. He had seen it come, but it still made him furious. If it was a physical enemy, he would have torn it apart with his bare hands.

"You are not your brother. You are not your sister. And most definitely, you are not your father." He punctuated every statement with a deep-set growl, eyes flaring to life. With a quick motion, she stood, leaving his embrace, and leaving him suddenly a lot colder than before, as she eyed the river and waterfall that cut the fields in front of Tintagel like a painter´s masterstroke.

"I am her daughter. I have his blood, cursed as it may be, his teachings. Every time I think of having a child, everything I can think of is how he raised me, of the pain, the humiliation, the shame, the beatings and the cruelty. And a dark, hidden part in me whispers that that is how I became so strong, how I earned my home back, and that I should pass these lessons. And I want to vomit. I cannot, I will not make our child pass through something like that. I'll die before that." There was a ferocity and zeal in that last statement that made every hair on his body curse with lighting. He rose, placing his arms gently on her shoulders.

"She will not, I swear it to you. You are better than him, like ithilamar is of crude brass." She didn't smile. She wasn´t looking at him, eyes fixated on the lost horizon, lit in the moonlight.

"I don't know Sirius. What if I end as he did? Darkhammer, another monster to add to the Pendragon line." And that was it. Sirius abandoned niceties. With a powerful move, he pulled her from the edge of the balcony, grabbing her firmly by her arms, forcing her to look him in the eyes. There was an alert surprise in her eyes, but no fear. It wouldn't be the first one they had resorted to physical violence against one another, even if this would be the first time outside the training grounds. But even in the state of shock, of deep grief, she knew with the certainty of a mountain, that he would not harm her.

"Look at me. Look at me!" He barked, angrily, towering now above her by a few inches. His eyes shone with inner fire, which almost seemed to rise beneath his many scars.

"In this decade we have known each other, have I ever struck you as a man that would fall in love with a monster? Have I ever acted in a way that suggests that I would allow something, anything like that, to happen to our flesh and blood?" He was brief seconds from roaring. She was set in defiance, but there was no shame, as if her fate had already been decided and all that was left to her was to look at it in the eye and suffer it.

"It's not you that I doubt. It's me! I am cursed, my love, fate…" Now, he roared.

Now, the dragon awoke.

"To hell fate! To hell with destiny! LOOK AT ME!" He bellowed. "I loved you before I ever met you. I will love you until the sun dies. And when it does, I will love you in the darkness that follows and slay anything that tries to tear us apart!" He proclaimed, and dammed be the gods that thought themselves capable of refuting that claim.

"I love you, by the Blessed Waters, woman. I don't care how much you believe yourself unworthy, unwanted, or not deserving. You do deserve it! You earned it! By action as much as by right! I swore to protect you with all I have, from the world and from yourself if need be. So listen, and listen carefully. You are the braves, kindest soul I have ever met, among the foulest of families. You are half my soul, the only person in your curse-stricken family that had the courage to look at pure evil right in the eyes, and force it to fucking blink."

"And whatever child is born of us, will have a shining sun for a mother, a valiant lioness that even deep in the dark refused to break. You are going to be a magnificent mother, dear, and you better be, because I have the feeling I'm going to be a shitty father." He said, letting a sigh with those last words.

Silence stuttered around them for an instant, and Sirius half expected his guardians to burst through eh door in alarm, but they did not. If it was because they were afraid of their lord, or because they were sure he would not hurt her, he wasn't sure.

"You said 'she'." She whispered, eyes gleaming. "You think it will be a girl." He let out a long sigh, before smiling back at her.

"Hope so. If we have a son like me, I'm afraid he will end us killing us from worry, jumping from monster to monster, battle to battle." That made them both smile. Sirius sat back on the balcony, his wife embraced in his arms, as he planted a kiss on her shoulder.

"What name?" She whispered. With that look in her eyes, that shone with bright hope and desire for a future to live, she looked more beautiful than anything he had seen before. "It has to be something beautiful."

"Beautiful like you?" He asked. She smiled at him, poking him in the chest once more.

"Oh, Lord Dragonheart, you are a complete adulator." Sirius snickered at that.

"My lady, I simply cannot help myself from beholding something as beautiful as yourself." She smiled at him, gifting him a kiss, brief but sweet, on the cheek.

"Igraine." She breathed. "It was my mother´s name. She was the only beautiful thing in my childhood." Sirius nodded slowly. Lady Igraine had been long dead by the time they had met, and his wife only spoke of her in brief sentences and clipped words. He wondered if he should ask, but decided against it.

'Enough wounds had been reopened that night, let the dead´s rest not be disturbed further for now.' He mused to himself. Instead, he made a different question.

"Igraine. What does it mean?"

"Guiding star." Sirius blinked. Now, that was a beautiful name.

"To guide us? I thought being a parent meant being the guide." He stated softly.

"We will. But she will be the light to something better. Something brighter."

"I cherish that thought, my love." Sirius smiled, not only because of the shine of utter elation on his wife´s face but also at the thought of fatherhood.

"What if it's a boy?" She wondered. Sirius quickly deflected. He didn't want to think about it, mainly because he had no idea, and he knew his Lord father would be against calling him Louen too. He would say something about forging a new name for new legacies. And to be honest, there were too many Louens out and about through Bretonnia.

"Let's not worry about that, after all, the night is long, and we have nothing to do tomorrow." He said, burrowing his chin on her shoulder, letting her hand stroke his head, soft hands riding ringlets of dark black hair.

"I don't think I can sleep tonight, Sirius." She mused sadly. He smiled cheekily.

"You misunderstand, my Lady Pendragon. I never said a word about sleeping." Now, the smile on his wife's lips changed to something a little hungry, a little eager.

"Then, please, Lord Dragonheart, enlighten me." She asked, almost scaling him, her elbows on his shoulders, her hands trailing his scars softly.

"Well, seeing as you seem in the mod for speaking of motherhood, shall we give it a try?" He asked, suddenly picking her up in his arms.

"Till dawn?" She asked, kissing him in a progressively more passion-filled manner. It hit Sirius they weren't going to reach the bed in time. Oh, well, nothing he couldn´t deal with, not anything he hadn't done before. He silently thanked his father for gifting him such thick and warm carpets from Araby. It also struck him that his father might have done so because he knew they would use it exactly for that. Sly old man.

"Till you desire, my lady wife."

He wanted to stay on that memory, to live in it a few more moments, to enjoy every instant of her eyes, every fragment of her being, every inch of her skin, but the second anchor pulled at him. He heard the voice speak in his mind. Love, it said, a soft word that echoed memories of those eyes and a thousand things that he would never share to his dying day. He grabbed the chain, and let himself be pulled.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Pleasure and joy gave way to wrath and pain. He lost sight of his wife's bright smile and was greeted by dark steel, coming for the kill, magic throbbing into the air. He raised his own weapon, black and gold, and both steels met with a brutal shockwave. Destroyer was a weapon made for its namesake. Sirius could barely keep the weapon lock, as he stared into golden steel fashioned into a growling scowl. He pushed down, both weapons hitting the ground, still locked, as the grass beneath them died. An armored gauntlet grabbed at his neck, almost lifting him from the ground, and he responded by kicking the armored face. The hand let go, and blades meet, again and again, a dance of killers.

He dogged under Destroyer and parried the follow-up blow. He was moving yet again when an armored fist got him in the gut. He went down to one knee, and only the intervention of the Lady made him roll out of the way of the falling magic blade. It carved the ground in two.

"You are an annoying pest, horse-lover." The Witch King Malekith, son of Aenarion, Lord of Nagagarond´s voice was metal and molten glass, echoing beneath the golden mask, his stance betraying little of the tiredness or anger he might have been feeling.

"That´s rich," He managed to breathe out. "Coming from a poor excuse for a man that fucks his own mother."

Sirius wasn´t sure what angered him most, the fact he had called him a man, or mentioned his incestuous relationship with his mother. Whatever it was, the king of the Dark Elves came at him with a brutal growl, Destroyer falling like a shattering moon. He didn't even try to parry. Dogging away, the dark blade skidded along the side of this plate armor, the edge burring the metal on contact, magic clashing with his wards.

He danced out of the strike and counter-attacked, six blows coming from six different directions. None landed, none got even close, but on the sixth, he managed to pull Malekith close enough to head-butt the bastard. Even inside the armor, the blow rattled the Witch King, making him take a step back. Sirius pounced, using his sword to pull his counterpart´s weapon out of the Dark King's grasp. They tumbled into the blood-soaked ground.

Blows landed, blows missed, and pain exploded. He did not care. He wasn't sure at which moment he had landed on top, nor did it matter. His gauntlets fell, blow after blow, on the whore-loving abomination that was now under him. He could not beat Malektih in a common duel, so he went on the only thing he would match the Son of Aenarion. Sheer, unbridled wrath.

Malekith landed blows on his torso and stomach, and Sirius´s answers landed on his face and throat, even as the dark elf managed to throw him off, and rise. But the bretonnian was already pouncing back at him. And there, they brawled, brutal, metal-encased titans, refusing to yield, throwing punch after punch with maw-shattering wrath. Every strike felt like a hammer hitting an anvil, and every blow was felt even through the steel and ithilmar.

They had to look terrifying, two lords, brawling it out like common animals, two metal dragons, refuging to yield or buckle under the other´s onslaught. He hit Malekith in the stomach, right where Tyrion had almost stabbed Sunfang, and then again and again, three blows, denting the Armor of Midnight. The Witch King stepped on his leg and almost shattered the bone. He repaid him by pulling his left shoulder out of its socket. They roared in pain, anger, and elation with each blow and strike. Most mortals would have died after such brutal punishment, but they were beyond simplicity. Malekith´s magic and his Armor of Midnight sustained him, while Sirius had the power of his blade and the Blessing of the Lady to keep himself in the fight. The only question was if they could break the other faster than he healed.

The knight hooked his elbow on that accursed spiked crown and hit him in that ugly, snarling, golden mask, again and again, fist after fist, rocking the Witch King back with each strike. The Lord of Naggarong might have bested him in magical abilities, he might have possessed a bigger army, a more powerful weapon, superior knowledge and skill at arms and he might be encased in a set of armor that strengthened him beyond what his mortal, wounded flesh could manage. But he was still a bloody elf, and in all these countless millennia, Malekith, son of Aenarion, son of Morathi, found himself for the first time fighting with the only thing he was not proficient with.

His bare fists.

Malekith tried to force him to let go, hitting a painful nerve on his side, then another on his leg and arm. Sirius almost fell to the ground. He refused to do so. Fist after fist he landed on the accursed bastard son of druchii whore. Again and again, he pulled at that crown and tried to sunder it with his mortal hands. It should not be working. It wouldn´t normally have, but Malekith had first had to duel Tyrion and then fend off Teclis. He was facing Dragonheart tired and weary. They were on equal grounds now.

"Show me your face, you whoreson! Your face!" He kept screaming, roaring, and hitting. He didn't let go, not even when Malekith broke his ribs and shattered his hip, he kept holding on, landing fist after fist, and the only thing in his ears were the beating of his heart and the sound of tortured metal. Malekith resorted to other means, landing a blow on his arm that made it go numb. If it was because it had struck a nerve, broken a bone, or something else, he cared not. Malekith delivered a vicious jab that struck the bretonnian in the chest, and ribs gave away. He reared for another strike, confident that he now had the advantage over the bretonnian, with one arm locked and the other numb. Then he saw Sirius smile.

With a roar, Sirius head-butted Malekith. And again. And again. The blood flowing from his forehead and broken nose did not slow him down, as he kept banging his head against the front of the golden and snarling mask, cutting his face with each sonorous crack, staining the black armor with his clear crimson life waters. Malekith felt the blood sip down through the armor, feeling it on his face, the sweet stench of the shining crimson water made him growl, burning him as it slid off his ravaged body down his armor, burning more the closer it got to his chest, as if the bretonnian´s very blood wanted his death, as if it would melt right to his heart to snuff his life where he stood. It only made him counterattack with a savage fury only matched by his own dragon´s brutality.

But the Lord of Naggarond had been too slow. With the last of an uncounted number of strikes, Sirius hit flesh, nose again nose, forehead again forehead, feeling the burnt flesh on his own face, fragments of Malekith´s tortured skin sticking to his face. The Witch King felt the sting of sunlight, and the hissing sensation of fresh air, dotted with smoke and ash, touch his bare face. In anger and pain, the Lord of the Druchii managed to kick the Lord of Dragons back.

Malekith fell back, rolling to grab the pouncing bretonnian by the arms and delivered a brutal kick into his already broken ribs. He got head-butted in his exposed face for his troubles. Taking a step back in pain, Malekith could not help but ask himself why this troublesome roach wouldn´t just die. Sirius, bleeding, barely able to walk, and drowning in pain, raised his guard, and spit at the darkest of tyrants of Naggarond. A blackened face, scourge by Asuryan´s flames, regarded him with an even uglier cowl that the mask had managed to convey. Without his mask, Malekith lost much in intimidation. He had no eyelids, no skin and no hair on his face. His teeth were visible, no cheeks to hide them underneath, and his lips had melted away, leaving nothing. It was a ravaged face, Sirius had seen heads with more flesh in the dens of crypt ghouls.

He was hideous, a reflection of the wicked heart of the monster that wore the armor. He could see specs of molten ithilmar where the armor had melted when he had stepped into the flames, and his eyes were bloodshot, the only break in black and ash in his face. Sirius growled at him.

"Come here you fatherless piece of burnt filth. I'm not through with you yet."

"How are you even standing?! WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!" Without the metallic sound of the armor, Malekith´s voice had an edge of pitifulness to it. A voice too weak to match the body that pushed it, too meek and yet too threatening to feel congruent.

"I won't die to a backstabbing, cowardly, murdering torturer like you." He growled back. "If you want to kill me, then come here and do it with your very own hands, unworthy piece of shit, if you can still move. Come, show me you still have a drop of your father´s blood in you that the flames of your god did not burn away!"

Maybe it was the insults, maybe it was the ferocity, but an old spark lit up in Malekith´s breast. He could have killed him twelve different ways with magic, but right now, the only thing the Witch King wanted was to rip that dirty bretonnian´s neck with his own two hands. With another wordless cry, they threw at each other, again and again, landing blow after blow, breaking bones, clashing wills, clashing metal.

Around them, the Second Battle of the Finuval Plains roared.

He knew how the memory would play, how, even though he was fighting the Witch King in a field and way he was most unfamiliar with, he had no hope of beating him. But, then again, that had never been the plan.

Kneeling, blood pouring from him from broken bones, he smiled when the clarion call resounded don the fields. He smiled even more when the sky filled with the knights of the Lady, and when a massive wall of brightly colored chivalry and ferocity descended from Lothern, right into the heart of the Dark Elf army. Scores and scores of knights thundered, arrows falling around them like rain, crossbow bolts impacting on shields, blade carving up and down, sword, against spear, horse against Cold One, harpy against Pegasus.

Malekith looked as his forces were crushed, how his army began to very slowly break apart. He regarded him with a look of sheer, pure hatred, a look of burning intensity. With a movement, the mask returned, Destroyer flew to his hand, and it fell right on his head, a black executioner, ready to end him.

Black death met silverine shine, sparks coming to life, the Lion Shield moving to intercept the follow-up strike. And before him, in the Armor of Brilliance, his father stood, unbreakable, unyielding, shining with his very soul.

"Step away from my son." He growled. Behind him, Beaquis roared in acquiescence, spreading his wings like banners to the heavens. Sirius smiled, and his father gifted him a brief wink.

"Just in time, father." He said, fighting against the pain.

"For you my child, always, no matter the odds."

And all turned black

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Sirius shuddered. Tears began to form in his eyes, streaming down like a tide. Beloved Lady, he missed his father right now. He would have given anything to be able to speak to him right now, to assure him the life he had lived was, in fact, real, was, in fact, his life, but he wasn't here, and Sirius completely alone, more alone than he had ever felt in his long life.

His wife. His love. Half his soul, wrapped in beauty and valor. He gritted his teeth. She had been real. All he had felt had been real. No matter what gods told him the contrary, all he had lived, all he had endured, was real, as impossible as it seemed to his reeling mind, fighting to sort true from false, right from wrong, as memories fought to supplant each other.

He felt lost. So he did the only thing he knew to do.

He prayed. A silent prayer filled his mind and calmed the waters, letting faith bring calm where mere reason could not.

'My Blessed Lady, I believe, I adore, I hope and I love You. Most Holy Dame, Mother, Goddess and Holy Spirit, I offer You the most precious Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of your blessed children, present in all the tabernacles of the world in reparation for the outrages, sacrileges and indifference by which She is offended. And, through the infinite merits of the Sacred Heart of Bretonnia, Beloved Goddess, I beg of You the protection of my heart and soul from the predations of the foe that never rests. Please, watch over me, and those I cherish, for I am Your instrument, now, and always till the End. '

The words cleared his mind, letting the water of his soul rest for a few moments. He looked at the young man, his eyes of blue storm sky, and said a single word, shuddering with emotion, memories, and phantom pain that now wasn't as phantom.

"Arthur?" He breathed, eyeing… eying his little brother. The same little brother he would carry on his shoulders, who would ask him to leave lessons to play with wooden swords. The little boy that had cried for an entire night when his puppy had hurt its leg, the same child of shining eyes that adored to go fishing, just so they could spend some time alone with their father.

But was that real? Was he remembering truths or very good lies? Didn't very good lies hold some slight glint of truth in them? The knight hesitated for a moment, as a swirling maelstrom of places, names and happening swirled into his mind, as he tried to piece it all together. The eyes were different, sadder, and much rougher. He seemed much more used to scowling than to smiling, and he had a few marks on his face, small scars here and there. He was also wearing armor, mail mainly. It clashed with the image of his innocent little brother. But the shine in his eyes, the look of hope and slight fear. That gave it away. "Little brother?"

Arthur nodded slowly. And then decided to send all caution to the Seven Hells.

"The God of the Storms rages and thunders. He hunts us." He began. And then waited, for a tense few seconds that stretched minutes. And then, Sirius let go of him, rising to his feet, eying him, the two orange globes that were his brother´s eyes scanning him, evaluating him, like he was a threat. Then, he smiled slightly.

"No. He is no hunter. He is prey. For we are the storm, and ours is the Fury." Arthur shuddered at the correct answer from the Book of Storm Kings. Sirius extended his hand, and Arthur took it. His brother almost fell to the ground, his strength spent. Arthur caught him as they both stumble to one knee. Arthur heard cheers and laughter behind him, but he could only look into his brother´s eyes. Gone were the purple Dayne eyes, substituted by powerful orange, like fires burning. He grabbed his older brother by the shoulders and saw the incredible effort he was making to remain awake.

Sirius looked around, eyes scanning all the figures that stood silently and warily around him. He saw a hundred shields, crests, symbols, and faces. And he began to recognize, memories crashing again one another as if he had been dreaming and he had now just awoken, and the life in his dream and the life in reality were now clashing against one another. The precious calm he had won was ebbing away, the tempest coming back, and once more, he didn't know which life was real and which wasn't.

Something caught his eye, movement, and he turned, blade held at the ready, when the purple-clad woman began to walk towards him, a look in her eyes that for some reason almost broke him. She was beautiful, like the light of the stars themselves, shining bright at him, a well of peace and light.

"My little star knight?" Sirius blinked, as the words tore open into his memories, pulling some to the front, reaping through his mind. He said a single word.

"Mother?" And he finally lost his fight with the void of unconsciousness.

[DRAGON OF STARFALL]

"Fucking ironborn." Growled out Robert, pouring himself yet another cup of wine. He had lost count of the amount of wine he had drunk already, but he was used to it. Robert had stopped counting things a long time ago. He had surprised himself counting the scars on his nephew´s body. Seven Hells, he didn't have half as many as he did and he had his fair share of them.

"Really? That´s the thing you are thinking about?" Renly was leaning against the window, and he looked as sleepless as he was. But he hadn't had to deal with his wife´s fury at the presence of what she saw as a threat to her children. Robert had been angry enough to almost hit her. But he hadn´t, this time. The younger Baratheon was still wearing the same clothes of the day before.

"And what do you want me to think about, Renly? My dying nephew? The… things in the arena? Please, do tell me, seeing as you seem to have experience with fucking demons and walking dead bodies!" He spat towards his youngest brother. He was too angry and too tired to care for the little cunt´s remarks. Renly opened his mouth to answer in kind, before the only level-headed person in the room raise his mind and spoke.

"Enough, Robert. Renly is not wrong. Why are the ironborn in your mind?" Ned seemed as tired as both of them, and yet even more resolute. Robert growled in annoyance, but it was Renly who spoke

"Don't ask foolish questions, Lord Stark. My brother is feeling guilty, that's all." There was sarcasm and accusations both in his tone. Robert got up from his chair, slowly, his jaw tightening in anger, yet his answer didn't come as a bellow of rage, but a cold whisper of fury.

"Shut it, boy. You don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"Then speak! Stop moping, and tell us!" Renly almost screamed at him, his eyes shining in exasperation and annoyance. Robert slammed his fist on the wooden table. It trembled as a thin tree against a summer storm.

"What do you want me to say, eh, Renly?! That I was a fucking idiot to let Balon walk? That is should have taken Pike even faster?! That I failed one of the only people in this world that somewhat looked up to me?! Sirius, my nephew! The one I SENT to Highgarden?!" Finally roared Robert, feeling the anger overtake him. Why, in the Seven´s cursed names had he thought that was a good idea? He had believed Balon´s arguments that he had never wanted his nephew to be kidnapped, and that he hadn't known he was on Pyke till that piece of filth Euron had told him. Vicatarion´s testimony had been quite the opposite, but it had lacked proof to validate it. Robert had focused his anger on Euron Greyjoy, and had thought Balon a fool that had gone to war, and not one that had wished to torture and maim his nephew. He had been wrong, of course. But at the moment, it had seemed like the best option. To keep the humble 'king' of the ironborn in place, to maintain the fear of the Storm.

"Robert! You cannot blame yourself for that!" Ned spoke up, rising.

"Can´t I, Ned?" Robert let out a dark laugh, as he leaned on the table in front of him, filled to the brim with paper, reports and letters, many quills, and a few empty coups of wine, all of the expensive and ostentatious. "My brother asked for someone else. He had a list. A FUCKING LIST, NED, FULL OF POSSIBILITIES!"

With a swift movement, fueled in equal parts by anger and shame, he grabbed the table, and threw it against the wall, the dark wood shattering on impact, a thousand dark pieces scattering over the entire room. Ned didn't react, but Renly took a step back in surprise. He had not anticipated the outburst.

"And I didn't listen to him. I thought I could fix the Reach´s lack of loyalty by giving them Sirius to squire. Maybe marry that Tyrell girl of theirs." Growled the king, sitting back on the bed this time.

"You knew that was a stupid idea!" Renly said accusatory, and Robert, acting as the oldest brother he was, threw the heavy metal and gold cup he still had in his thick hands right at him. It missed, but it stained his doublet with the dark dornsih wine it had contained. Robert thought for a fraction of a second that that was quite the waste of good wine.

"Well, then, maybe we should go to Stannis and tell him who the fuck suggested, eh, RENLY?!"He roared at his younger brother, hands gripping the railing of the bed hard enough to turn his knuckles white. A small part of him whispered that the reason he had believed Balon, was to keep that war going as long as he could. Another denied it, but Robert ignored them both.

"I told you about the squiring, not the marriage! You knew that boy was going to marry the Martell girl, but you seem to have a tendency of believing yourself the smartest man in the room!" Renly screamed back, still by the window. As angry as he was, he wasn't stupid enough to get within striking distance of Robert, because he knew he would probably lose a tooth or two in the process.

"WELL, I WON THE FUCKING WAR, DIDN´T I?! I SMASHED RHAEGAR AT THE TRIDENT! You are all alive because of me, you ungrateful shit!" The king by blood thundered to his feet, advancing like an angry bull at his younger brother. Renly, to his credit, stood his ground, chin held high. To Robert, that only made him look like a petulant child.

"Well, look and behold, always coming back to the same bloody point. You killed Rhaegal almost 2 decades ago, you oaf!" The younger Baratheon took a single step forwards before Robert reached him, and before the situation could devolve to violence, Eddard stepped in the middle, barely managing to separate both brothers with a roar of his own

"THAT´S ENOUGH!" It was much easier to push Renly back than to make Robert even slow down. "Look at you two, you prideful fools. So eager to throw the blame around. A king and a lord, acting like children!"

"Careful, Lord Stark. You are my brother's friend, not mine." Renly growled, his anger changing targets quickly.

"Aye, Ned. I might be your friend, but I'm still your king as long as I wear this fucking uncomfortable crown." Robert threw him a murderous glare that Ned didn't even blink under. He was used to it. Then, the king turned to his brother. "And as long as that is true, you don´t get to threaten Lord Stark, understood Renly? Or do I need to beat that lesson into you?"

Renly opened his mouth to retaliate, before Lord Stark once more butted in.

"Still fighting among yourselves! Have any of you gone to speak with Lord Stannis or his wife? Asked them if they need anything? Act like the brothers you supposedly are?"

Both men stared at him in surprise and slight shock.

"Stannis is Stannis, Lord Stark. He will scorn us away." Renly scoffed, sitting on a wooden chair by the window. The stain of wine in his doublet looked now disturbingly close to blood, coming from his chest to his groin.

"You know as well as me that my brother is a daft cunt. He will not accept help." Robert shrugged with slight disdain. Eddard felt his temples hurt from frustration. Dealing with a single Baratheon was a pain. Dealing with two, was an impossible task.

"That´s not the bloody point! He is your brother! You should support and help him. You should do that to each other, by the Old Gods!" He exclaimed, feeling anger rise in his chest once more. Old Gods, and he had thought his brothers could be abrasive with each other. He was thankful for them even more now.

"I win wars. I kill cunts in armor. I sleep with whores. I drink wine until I pass out. Comforting my family isn't my forte, Ned. You know this." Robert stated matter-of-factly, staring at Ned for a few moments, his black beard looking like a skinned boar´s pelt with all the dry wine and bits of food in it.

"I also know that true strength isn't in doing just what we excel at, but in trying that in which we lack." Ned replied slowly and calmed. Robert chuckled at the comment, and tried to drink from the cup in his hands, only to remember he had thrown it a Renly.

'Well, that was a bloody good wine.' He through once again.

"Who told you that? Jon? Sounds like som…" Ned cut him off, falling into one of the chairs still standing in the room.

"My father told me that, Robert." That stopped the King of Westeros dead in his tracks. Renly looked at how Robert´s face morphed into one of grieving and sorrow.

'He is thinking about her.' Realized the Lord of Storm´s End.

"I know what is to lose a father. I know how it feels to lose siblings, and I almost knew what is to lose a son." The grey in Ned´s eyes had never looked so… depressing to Robert as it looked at that moment. Just like the sky had looked when he had learned of Lyanna´s death. "I can understand how Stannis is feeling Robert. Alone, helpless, impotent, furious. He needs you both."

For a long moment, no one spoke. The silence made Eddard think of the crypt underneath his ancestral home of Winterfell. Then, Robert leveled him a look that Ned had never seen before. It sent shivers down his spine.

"I told him to hold Storm's End." Said the older Baratheon slowly

"Not this again…" Renly grunted, rising to speak his piece, but the look in Robert´s face shut him up extremely fast. There was a promise of violence in those eyes that dissuaded him.

"Shut the fuck up, Renly." Robert´s eyes looked like liquid lighting, gleaming with anger, loathing and hate, and Ned could warrant a guess at who they were aimed at. "He held Storm´s End. I told him to keep my house safe, our house safe. He did."

"And then he let the Targaryens escape." Renly pointed out, his tone much calmer now, or wary. It was hard to really tell.

"Yeah. He did. I was so fucking angry at him. My vengeance was denied. The dragonspawn, still alive…" Robert felt the old demon, the memory of the thirst for vengeance taken from his hands. It still managed to make him furious. Blood for blood, and no amount of dragon blood would make do for Lyanna, Brandon and Rickard. His hands bowled into fists, knuckles bleaching to white.

"That was the reason you sent him to Dragonstone, wasn't it?" Eddard asked.

"I'm not sure anymore Ned. There was a part of it. He was also my heir, which made him the Prince of Dragonstone. But those were Targaryen laws, so fuck them and the cunts that made them." He stifled a bitter laugh. Much of what he did nowadays was bitter.

"Then why, Robert? Why take from Stannis the castle he almost gave his life defending? His birthright, earned in suffering and loyalty to you?" Ned asked, placing a hand on his friend´s shoulder. Robert stopped for a second, and looked right at him, in the eyes. For a moment, the bond between them both gave them a connection, a peace of mind, that neither had felt in a long time.

"They will come back Ned…" Robert finally confessed.

"Robert, by the Seven Hells. We have…" Renly began, but Robert ignored him, his complete and sole attention on his childhood friend.

"I see them in dreams Ned, fire from the skies, mountains of corpses, burnt cities. The banner of the red dragon from every castle in the world. They will come back. Like fucking cockroaches, they will not just die out. Two Blackfire rebellions should have shown us that Targaryen just don't know when they should die out and leave the world in peace. I saw carnage and death, blood and fucking fire, as they enjoyed so much, those sister-fucking cunts. I won this crown with their blood, Ned, and only my blood and that of my own will clean it for them. You know how the Mad King was. The Targaryen will burn everything to the ground if they get to mount my fucking head on a pike and rule over the ashes." Ned felt a deep, dark pit open in his stomach. Robert wasn´t the kind of man to act on simple dreams.

"Since Ageon the fucking Conqueror, no one has started more wars and bloodshed than the Targaryens. They have been a plague to Westeros. And they have won every war because they had those scaly bastards on their side. And even after that, they remained in power by strength, fear and terror." He was looking at the ground, not lifting his gaze. He looked for a moment so broken, so tired, it made Ned ask himself if all the whoring, drinking, and eating wasn't just to drown his sister´s memory, but to also drown the nightmares.

"Every night, when I sleep sober, I see them, smiling down at me, as all I ever cared for, burns. Every night, I see those fucking silver hairs of theirs and those fucking purple eyes that I want to tear away like moldy grapes. But I can't, I just stand there, bleeding in a bed, watching everything die. Vengeance is a double edge sword, Ned. And they will come for us. They will come back, in force. I don't know how, when, or with what might, but the bastards will. And when they do, Dragonstone will be the first line of defense. I needed someone that would not break, even against impossible odds. I needed Stannis there. There was no one else that could hold the fucking black piece of shit from whatever the dragonspawn bring. I asked him, my younger brother, barely a boy, to hold that castle with all he had. He held Storm´s End against impossible odds, and I needed him to pull that off again when the time came." Finally, the king looked at his brother and his friend, and in those eyes of a stormy sky, Ned saw a glint of fear…and of pride.

"Robert. Why didn't you ever tell him that?" Finally asked Ned.

"Fuck Ned. I don't know." He knew very well. Those days, all he could think of had been Lyanna. He saw her face in every corner, every statue, every woman and every picture he saw. He hadn't told his brother; because he was too busy drowning in grief to actually say it. Every time he saw Stannis, he could only think of the two inbreed menaces he still had to deal with, the two abominations he had to still kill. But… Stannis had always served. Never complained, never questioned, always followed. Grinding his teeth and being an arse all the way, but he had been honest and true… He had lost his son on his orders.

The Baratheon monarch blinked, suddenly feeling a strange sensation spreading down his back. Robert looked out of the window, and there, sitting peacefully, looking right at him with a curious look, was a falcon. It was more robust and heavily built than most falcons Robert had seen, even his own Thunderclap. It had a blue-grey back, ranging from almost black on the tail to silver-grey near the head. Its underparts were tinted orange and more heavily streaked with black to reddish brown. Its flight feathers were black, and contrasted with its almost white beak. The eyes, though, were black, with tints of pink. Robert had never seen such a bird, and hadn't he been so focused on other matters, he would have been worried, wary, or even confused. But eying those twin orbs, he felt… peace. It was a strange sensation.

For a moment, he lost himself in those dark eyes. Anger, pain, shame, for a moment, it all washed away. The bird, the falcon, looked regal and beautiful, yet dangerous at the same time. Robert blinked, and the bird was gone. But the peace remained still. He frowned at that. Had he imagined it? He shrugged. Too much wine, he thought to himself. But a voice in his head, different from the ones before, whispered that it always was too much wine. He growled at that.

It was not wrong.

He thought of Stannis, of that deep set scowl of his, of that gridding of teeth of a boy, looking thin as a twig, standing famished yet regal as he saw him from the distance, and kneeling to tell him that Storm´s End was his. His little brother, ruling when he had not been doing so, dutiful to the point of being a bad rash on his arse. Dour, joyless, loyal, ferocious, humorless, pitiless, fair brother. Stannis had always spoken the truth to Robert, no matter what. Even when he had not liked it, when he demanded that Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane should pay for their crimes and murders. Surrounded by blonde cunts that only smiled and licked his boots, Stannis had been a refreshing thing, even if he had his sword up his arse.

Maybe, it was time to tell his brother what he really thought of him. It wasn't nice, and maybe not even wholly true. But sometimes, a bad lie was better than nothing at all.

"Well, maybe better late than ever." He whispered, under the two men´s surprised stares.

"Selmy!" He called. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard appeared by the door, his face calm and collected

"Your grace?"

"Where is that iron cunt of a brother of mine?"

[DRAGON OF STARFALL]

Sirius´s chest came up and down, in a silent rhythm that no one seemed to be able to hear. The maesters had said he wouldn't make it. The damage from the fight, the attacks from the monstrous knights, and many wounds he had somehow suffered even before that, covered him from head to toe, and most of them, they could barely understand. For the experts in the body and its qualities, the man in front of them should be long dead and yet seemed to cling to life with unnatural determination. Stannis Baratheon had told the maesters to go to hell. His son would not die, not yet. And so, they all did what they could, pray. Or at the very least it was what most people were doing.

The King had ordered for security to be doubled and to call for the best healers of the Citadel, and had decided that the best thing to do was to get drunk. The Queen had stormed towards the palace without half a word, followed suit by her twin. The younger Lannister had chosen to remain, curiosity winning over anything else. Even so, he had been refused entry to the room where the prodigal son rested. Tyrion watched as maesters and their assistants entered and exited, hurriedly and in a slight panic. He could hear Robert´s thundering voice from inside the room, and wondered if he entered the room, who would kill him first.

The Dornishmen probably. Oberyn Martell had a reputation that gave his assessment a certain validity. If they didn't, maybe the massive form of the Hound, who stood by the door, eyeing anyone and anything that tried to enter with murderous intent. The massive warrior, draped in yellow and black, like the most dangerous wasp in history, hadn't moved, guarding the gates to his wounded charge like its name sake. He was tempted to enter, even if he was probably going to lose some of his not considerable height doing so when he heard steps behind him.

"Uncle Tyrion?" If the smallest of Lannisters had had an excuse to endure all possible pains in King´s Landing, was the person who owned that voice. Smiling, the dwarf turned around, smiling.

"Hello, Myrcella," Tyrion grabbed his niece's hand. "How are you feeling?"

The princess looked healthy, tall, a refraction of her mother´s beauty and grace, graced, or by the account of some, marred, by her father´s benevolent nature. She stood taller than Tyrion, as tall as her twin, which had bothered Joffrey to no end, and still did. Tyrion had to admit, of the three children of her sister, Myrcella was her favorite. All the Lannister wit, none of the poison it held, and a hidden kindness he wasn't sure where came from. Not from his own father, that was for sure, and Cersei wouldn´t know kindness if it bit her in the tits. Robert was not outright evil, but the man wasn't particularly kind, not in the way Myrcella was.

Most said that the little princess had the king´s humor, even if she didn't have his looks, but that didn't stop Robert from spoiling her like the favorite child she was. While Cersei favored Joffrey to disgusting amounts, Myrcella was the twinkle in Robert's eyes. He had outright denied many petitions of marriage for her eldest child, considering them not worthy of her little girl, one of the few things that could pull Robert from whoring and drinking. Tyrion had long wondered if much of the bitterness Joffrey held for her twin came from how much monopoly she held over Robert´s attention over anything that wasn't war, whores and wine.

And, to everyone's surprise, but him, she also was the apple of Jaime´s eye. It was not hard to see why. While Tommen was too young to do anything, and Joffrey fought to catch the attention of his parents, Myrcella always had time for Jaime, and a kind word. None but Tyrion could utter the word 'Kingslayer' in her presence without suffering a withering gaze from the young lioness.

The princess smiled at him, before letting out a sigh.

"I am not sure, Uncle. It has been too much in too short of a time. Sirius is back, he looks very different, and he has almost died. And suddenly, every monster I have ever feared hid under my bed and in my drawers, has become much more real, no matter how much Father assures me he will kill them before they touch me."

Tyrion smiled. It was such a typical thing for Robert to say, and he was certain Jaime had said something similar.

"It's all right child. Your father and uncle made sure no one would harm you." He smiled at her "Although I think they took particular pleasure in doing so." Myrcella giggled.

"And you Uncle? Will you protect me?"

"Oh, my dear girl. I would love to, but a dwarf-sized protector would look, sincerely, quite hilarious. Although I could insult them to death." He stopped for a moment. "Actually, no, I don't think I could. I would grow bored before I managed."

"Indeed Uncle, but the face they would make seeing you wearing full armor and wielding an axe would be quite entertaining, wouldn´t you agree? You should grow a beard, like Father. It would make you more… imposing."

"It would make me easier to laugh at, that is for sure." Tyrion said, smiling at the idea. He had never been a warrior. His weapon of choice was gold and wit and he fought those battles all too willingly.

Myrcella smiled and began to walk toward her cousin´s room. Tyrion froze for a moment, wanting to stay back, knowing full well that Martells and Stannis would not want to even hear his name, but Myrcella pulled him along all the same, uncaring of what they thought. It took a moment for Tyrion to realize why. He could hear his sister coming, and Myrcella didn't seem to be in the mood to stand her mother. So taking a deep breath, he followed her niece.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Arthur felt his father´s hard stare the moment he entered the room, and if his mother wasn't mirroring that, was because she was too preoccupied with his dying brother. Brother he wasn't sure if he should feel happy for having back, and sad for losing him again, or if he preferred to not feel anything at all.

"Where have you been?" His father almost barked at him, and Arthur visibly winced at that.

"Speaking with Lord Bonifer Hasty." Arthur answered, feeling his own anger come to the surface, or dangerously close. "He wanted assurance that the Royal House was doing everything in his power to preserve 'the peace of the Seven'." He almost snorted at that.

"Fucking Baelor Butthole." Arthur hadn´t even seen his uncle but nodded along. "He can thank his Seven that he spoke to you and not me, lad. I have no time for their shit right now. " Arthur killed the reply that was forming in his mouth about how much of this might be or might not be his uncle´s fault. He walked past his mother, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Ashara Dayne looked beyond tired, eyes dark and lips drawn. Arthur made an effort to not look at the pale face of his older brother. He placed his other hand on Shireen´s head, gently rubbing it, as he kept dogging his brother´s likely death.

"Bonifer Hasty is a pious fool, but he is not entirely wrong." Stannis said, grinding his teeth. His father wasn't pacing. But he looked too tense, like a bowstring ready to break. "What we saw, what they all saw… This will have religious repercussions."

"Riots." Myrcella´s voice was barely a whisper, but they all heard it and listened. The princess tended to be underestimated, but not by anyone in that room. "They saw monsters that they cannot explain, and they will seek answers in gods that will not give an answer. Lord Janos will have to control them, or we could have a religious war right under our noses if things get out of control."

"Janos Slynt strikes me as a lot of things. Competent, is not one of them, unfortunately." Arthur's head snapped toward where the dwarf was sitting, right beside the Kingslayer, both next to his cousin. The older sibling was looking him right in the eyes as if daring him to say a thing. Arthur wanted to throw them all out, but bit his tongue. This was a Baratheon-Dayne matter, no Lannister blood should interfere.

"You don't say, Dwarf?" Robert grumbled, his mind moving. Arthur began to worry about what he would say. "If the Faith, any of them, become a problem, I will deal with them, personally at that. I need an excuse to bash some heads. And I will hear no insults on my nephew from those ungrateful little cunts."

"Robert." Snapped Ashara. The King grumbled an apology. He had forgotten that his little niece was in the room, sitting by her older brother's side, sniffing in silence as he fought back her tears to no avail.

"Let me handle it, Your Grace." The tone in Ser Jaime´s voice was an edge of death ready to be let free. "Slynt might be a craven fool, but maybe one or two Kingsguard backing him up might force him to show some spine."

"The existence of spine in our most certainly spineless friend is not the matter, dear brother. He can be bold when he wants to be. My worry is quite the contrary." The Dwarf said, still sitting, his eyes focused on his niece.

"Lannister is right." Stannis grumbled in agreement. "Slynt would put half the city to the sword if it would make him look competent, or he would profit for it. I..." Robert´s reaction was to slam his meaty fist into one of the walls of the room.

"Say 'I told you' once more time today, I will throw you down the bloody ramparts. I have heard it enough from Ned today, not you too." He barked. Stannis looked his brother right in the eyes, tensing even more, eyes shining with anger.

"Did you threaten Lord Stark as well?" His voice was even, but not calm in the slightest. As ever, every time Uncle Robert made a comment about Eddard Stark, there was a good chance his father would feel wounded by it. Robert glowered at his younger brother for a moment before answering.

"No, he is a Stark. When I threaten him, he shuts up and glares at me with those cold eyes of his. You are a fucking Baratheon. I can threaten you all I want, and you will still say your bloody mind. Lecture me later. We deal with those zealous cunts first." Arthur found it hard to hear reason there, but Stannis pulled through, nodding slowly. Robert was not wrong.

"Let Lord Stark deal with them, uncle." Arthur suggested. Eddard Stark was a man of reason and honor, and someone that right now would keep his calm even in dire circumstances. That, and he also knew that having him close by would anger his father even more, not because of the Stark himself, but because his uncle trusted him more than he trusted Stannis.

"No." Robert said. "You do it." He pointed to his brother, and Arthur felt rage in him. He turned to say something, to voice his outrage. His uncle had sent his brother away, and now, he dared send his father away when they needed him the most? He opened his mouth, but his mother stopped him with a withering gaze that froze him. Biting his tongue, the Baratheon boy took a step back and grabbed the corner of the bed with all his might.

"I will not…!" Stannis's voice rose in wrath and outrage, but no one won a shouting contest with Robert Baratheon.

"Ned is a follower of the Old Gods and Warden of the North! If he goes down there to mediate, things will go to the Seven Hells before we can control them. You think our fat friend the High Septon will take a 'heretic'," Robert spat the word. "Telling him to stand down? This is King´s Landing, they won't stand for a worshipper of the old gods telling them what they can or can't do!"

He slapped his brother on the arm, pointing at him with his hammer.

"You, on the other hand, don't give a shit about the gods. Your voice will be neutral, and you are my brother, speaking with my will and blood, and a pair of Kingsguards. And I know you will not hesitate to kill any dumb bastard stupid enough to try anything if you need to."

For a moment Stannis remain silent, colored crimson red in Baratheon fury, and Arthur feared his father would actually strike his Uncle. Ashara closed her eyes with a mournful sigh, knowing what her husband would choose.

"Isn't there another?" Stannis´s voice was barely above a whisper. "I can't leave my son, Robert. Please." Arthur felt something catch in his throat. This was the first time he had seen his father almost beg, and it hurt like nothing before. He looked so tired, so defeated for a brief moment. The king let a growl at that, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"I wish there was. But there is no one else I trust right now. Renly won't stand to anyone. Who do I send? Tywin? And we have a bloodbath. Tyrell? Worse. Right now, the only person I know can do it, and I trust can get it done, is you, as little as I want to send you right now. You are my brother, and as much of a stiff, humorless cunt you are, there is no one I trust more for this. I can't handle a religious war, I kill men, I don't make them see reason. "

"But you can. You are fair, and no one doubts your loyalty, last among them, is me. And right now, you are the only one here that can de-escalate this mess before this city ends worse than after Tywin´s Sacking." Robert said.

Silence. Stannis was shocked, both by the audacity of Robert for asking him to forget his duties to his wife and children to solve another of his messes because mighty Lord Stark could not, and amazed that Robert had for the first time in his living memory, praised Stannis and told him there was no one else he trusted more. For a few moments, both brothers held a duel of stares, Stannis's cold wrath gleaming against Robert´s roaring fury.

Stannis did not want to go. He did not want to abandon his son again. He wanted to scream at Robert that if Lord Stark had been good enough for all those years till that day, then he would have to make do with him today too. But Stannis Baratheon´s first loyalty had always been to duty. And if his brother and King asked, he would make it so.

But not on Robert´s terms.

"I'll go. But swear to me, and if you ever loved me at all, swear it true, that nothing will happen to my son while I handle this for you. Again." Stannis dragged that last word with more venom than he intended, but Robert look unfazed by it.

"Look at me, Stannis." Robert´s eyes reflected a promise of death, which barely managed to reflect the contained fury of the other Baratheon. "I don't give two dead fucking shits who tries to get in this room, who tries to get to your family. I will bury my bloody hammer into its chest. No one will touch them."

"Swear it, Robert. Swear it to me." Stannis´s voice was drawn, low, barely above a growl. Stannis didn't growl, but this was very close. He was clenching his jaw to a point it felt as if it was going to break from the tension. Robert spat on the ground and looked his younger brother in the eyes again. Except, this time anger gave way to something else. Something Robert hadn't felt in a long time. Determination.

It had been far too long since he had had a fight worth fighting.

"I swear, little brother, that nor god, nor man, nor monsters, will enter this room." He vowed, hands clenched around his still-stained war hammer. Stannis, slowly, turned to his wife, with a silent, almost desperate question. Her words would mean all. If she said no, he would stay, dammed be the repercussions. Ashara didn't even look. She knew the look, she knew the question. But she also knew Stannis. And she knew that as much as she wanted her husband here, as much as she needed support right now, keeping Stannis in a closed room without doing anything would drive him mad. He needed to feel useful. So she sighed and turned to look at her husband.

"Go. Go, and keep this city whole for when our son wakes up." The Lord of Dragonstone nodded slowly, and turned to leave, signaling Sandor to stay when the warrior tried to get up.

"Stannis!" He stopped and turned, hand on the pommel of his blade, looking at the purple wrath in his wife´s eyes.

"If any of them try anything, say anything of our boy… Make them pay." She said, eyes thundering with her won scorching anger. Stannis stood there for a brief moment, silent, like a statue, before gifting her something that almost classified as a smile.

"Yes, my wife." He answered, and he exited the room, a dozen Dragonstone knights and men-at-arms tailing him close. He gave orders swiftly, as he walked down the steps of the castle. He send word to every lord that he would require some of their men o keep the peace, and made sure to let them know they should remain inside the Red Keep.

He walked towards the stairs that would lead them down to the bailey, where Ser Barrsitan and Ser Mandon waited for him. But, as he took a left, he found himself facing Eddard Stark, who was walking with determination, his two eldest sons at his side, and a dozen soldiers behind him, all draped in armor and armed.

"Lord Stark?" Stannis asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise. The Lord of Winterfall gave him a nod in salute. Stannis noticed that the bastard boy had suddenly become very nervous. Stannis ignored it. Today was not the time or place to discuss such matters with the boy.

"Apologies, Lord Stannis. I would have come sooner, but I was gathering my men." Lord Stark said, pointing behind him. Stannis frowned at that.

"For what, may I ask?"

"King Robert send a runner telling me you were going to go down to the city to handle possible unrest, and that you were going to take your men. I gathered mine and my sons to watch over your family while you are down there. I vow that no harm shall come to them will we stand." Stannis remained stunned for a moment, blinking twice in surprise. There were so many strange things with what lord Stark had said. First, Robert actually doing right by his words and asking his best friend, to Stannis's chagrin, to watch over his son, and the fact that Lord Stark had seemingly not hesitated in the slightest. He ground his teeth. He might not like the man, but even he had to admit he was a good man.

"Why Lord Stark? Why do you care?" Stannis finally asked. Lord Eddard remained silent for a moment, grey cold eyes, shining in a way that made Stannis tense a little, before answering.

"Because there was a time Ashara mattered the world to me, and I won't abandon her." The bastard son took an involuntary step backward, before his sibling placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. If stark noticed, he did not react.

"Because Robert is my friend and that is his nephew. Because you are an honorable man and you deserve to know that your son will be kept safe. Because that boy matters to me." The northerner´s silence was pregnant, and his eyes once again shone, yet this time there was little cold to the look. Stannis hated pity. But Stark´s look wasn't that. It was empathy, something Stannis was not used to. "And because I know what almost losing a son feels like."

Stannis Baratheon stood, unmoving, silent, for a brief moment, weighting Eddard´s Stark words. Weighting the man he felt had stolen his brother from him, who at the end of the war he had helped win had come to ask him favors he had no right to ask, and Stannis had no reason to give. He wanted to say no. He wanted to protect his pride, and let the Fury out. But he did not. Not because he suddenly found himself liking Eddard Stark, but because he had made vows the day he had married. Sacred vows, to protect his wife, his children, and his family. A part of him knew that they were safe. Sandor alone would be more than enough. But Stannis fulfilled his duty with everything he had, never getting it done in half-measure, never acting just to look good, or letting the world see he had tried. He fulfilled his duty to the best of his abilities, always. And refusing Lord Stark´s help would have meant failing those vows. So he did something he had become an expert at. He swallowed his pride and nodded slowly.

"There have only been two men to whom I have entrusted my family´s lives, Lord Stark. Ser Davos, and Sandor. Today you are the third. Protect them." He told the man. Ned nodded, taking Ice from his son´s hands, a hard, dangerous look in his eyes.

"Winter might be coming, Lord Stannis, but not today, and not for your family."

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

And that is a wrap, folks. Next chapter is half done, so I should not take too much to finish it, but it won't speak much, knowing myself. I am quite sick now, so I got free time to write all I want.

Take care folks, and may the Lady watch over you all.

P.D: YES; I PUNCHED MALEKITH IN THE MOUTH! AND I WOULD DO IT AGAIN!