Writer: Hello folks! Primarch Amaranth he-! One second, let me finish this here…(Echoing sounds of gunfire and explosions, followed by angry dwarf curses). Apologies for that, had some work to finish.
Anyway, here I present another chapter…. Sorry for the delay. I was trying to prepare next chapter, but I ended creating another chapter in between last chapter and the one I had written, creating this next chapter. So, next chapter should be almost done.
Jaime: Any time you say that, you make the poor souls wait months for it.
Writer: Want me to take you hand right now?
Jaime: You would lose.
Writer: Bitch please. SKARBRAND!
Jaime: OH, SHIT!
Skarbrand; SKARBRAND HATES GOLDEN HAIRED INCESTUOUS MAN SLIGHLY MORE THAN WRITTER! SKARBRAND KILLS GOLDEN HAIRED MAN!
Writer: Anyway folks, after that slight delay, and while Jaime runs for his life, I will tell you a few things, then answer to comments, and then go save poor Jaime.
First, again, sorry for the delay, Had to work in my Master, and I have half done another chapter Of Maidens and Knights (lot of character building, it has taken a bit of time to get right), the next chapter of Dragon of Starfall, I toyed with an Star Wars fanfiction…
(Basically, Bail Organa is Supreme Moff of the Empire under dear old Valkorion, while his wife rules Alderaan, and he had to deal with both the Jedi Order and the Sith Order working together under the Empire on the brink of a war with separatists, Hutts and some strange force users, while his 8 children, one for each SWTOR storyline, run amok the galaxy saving it or at least trying, all this while our favorite Sith Lords and Jedi Master try to cooperate, deal with sexual tension, get married or just… you know… pummel each other. Typical force user shenanigans. A whole LOT of characters from all timelines make appearances.)
And started my own novel.
Yeah, I might go pro on this. While I do have a degree in both Law and Criminology... Well, I love writing. i might not have consistent update schedules, but hay, I do love it!
But only when I get CONSIDERABLY better.
But, anyway, dealt with all that, let's go to comments!
ForceSmuggler: Thanks!
Janny092: WORKING ON IT! DELIVERING AS REQUESTED!
BIRD0FHERMES: Thanks, that´s nice of you! If you have questions, feel free to ask! I love explains bits of lore! Also, is that a Hellsing reference?!
TheIronSnake: Hey, thanks! Well, some of those old chapters had been written.. a long time ago, enough to make me cringe. Hope the new version actually feels like proper writing. Feel free to give you opinions on everything and anything! I'd love to see what I have improved, and what is worse too! Sorry for the delay!
Well, now that that is settled….(Big daemon scream in the distance) Oh shit, I forgot about Jaime! Anyway, enjoy the chapter, I'm going to banish that big red asshole! DRAIGO! GET IN HERE! I NEED YOU TO SPIT A SUN AT SOMEONE!
(In the distance): ORDO DRAIGO; PRESENT! WE WILL DELIVER THE HAM AND THE PAIN!
Enjoy folks!
"Normal speaking"
"Non-mortal speaking"
'Thoughts of mortals'
'Thought of non-mortals'
Enjoy folks, and leave all the comments you like!
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
To think that it would take the seeming end of the world to make him go back to his Temple. It would have amused Thoros quite a bit, under most other circumstances. At that moment, it barely made him sigh. He had been praying since he had left the Red Keep. He didn't remember even thinking about such a possibility. It was a puzzling thing faith. But Thoros decided to not question it now, and he just prayed.
He prayed so the nephew of Beric would survive, because the boy was a good lad, because Beric was worried, because he also knew that Lady Ashara was beyond worried. And because he had seen how the boy grew up from a babe to a shining young lad. Thoros over the years had become part of the strange family that surrounded the Dayne-Baratheon household. But there was also another reason.
For the first time in a long time, he had faith in what he was doing. That boy, no, that man, had fought something from beyond life and death, and with faith, sacred flame, and iron will, had prevailed. It had inspired him so much, that he had not even doubted jumping to the fray to save the boy, and not only because it was Beric´s nephew, but because his words had brought him a fire he had believed, not just extinct, but never lighted.
"As long as I stand, justice will prevail." He whispered. Words alone wouldn't have brought him back to his unkindled faith, but the actions that had accompanied those words… Was that what true faith looked like? That shining beacon? So he prayed all night for the boy that had listened to him, for the man that had brought his faith back, and for the dream of hope he represented.
"Lead us from the darkness, Oh my Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our chests. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night." Thoros expected no response, no answer, yet a single woman spoke back from the other side of the small temple to the Red God.
"Lord of Light, defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us." And she actually said it in perfect high valyrian. He blinked, thinking that it might have been one of the red priestesses. But he saw no red garb, but clean water blue, so he simply focused back on the prayer, thinking it was just some of the noble women who had recently joined the cult of the Red God. It was not surprising that she was there after all, as many had run to the temples and septs and weirwoods, seeking solace and answers to what they had seen today. And as far as Thoros knew, the common folk had already begun to whisper about the Amber Knight, the Grail Knight that had fought a monster and saved them, roaring words of purity and zeal. He also knew that the High Priestess sent to the city was having a long discussion with the High Septon about that too, some matter of faith.
Thoros wasn't a fool, he understood the religious duel that was taking place. He just chose to stay out of it. Every high priest, septon and religious leader wanted to take ownership of the wounded knight, claim it to be a miracle of their respective god, or gods, and take all the glory and zealous fervor it came with.
It sickened him to think his High Priestess would be doing exactly the same.
He already could figure out the arguments she would use. Fire, dragons, purity, cleansing flames, a knight of fire, and dawnlight coming to deliver death in fire to undead monsters. He almost growled at that though, discarding it and bringing his attention back to the lady. He was happy to welcome anyone to his temple (especially beautiful women). Still, it was quite late, very late, for a woman of wealth to be in the temple of a foreign god. Not that it was his damn business.
"R'hllor who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor who gave us day, we thank you." And so came the answer again.
"We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay." he prepared to intone the next line, but the voice cut him off again.
"R´hollor, let your light shield us, R´hollor, let your flame protect us. Give us the zeal and the fire, and make us your instrument in this land. R´hollor, call to us when he, the Prince who was Promised arrives, when the light of Azor Ahai shines, and the dawn he brings burns the evil from the Darkness, for the night is dark and full of terrors." She had changed from valyrian to something else in the middle of the prayers. Something Thoros did not know, and wasn't supposed to understand, and yet he understood nonetheless. But that wasn't what made him draw steel, it was the fact that that prayer was only known to the red priests, and only uttered in the confines of the Red Temple. And somehow, this woman knew it.
This was the first time Thoros had a chance to look at her. And by the Red God, she was breathtaking. Long black hair that seemed to turn gold on the edges, eyes of the deepest blue, and the purest gold at the same time, and beauty from another world completely. She was no normal woman, that was for sure. Her blue dress seemed to morph to green when he wasn't looking at it directly, and she was holding a wooden cup in her hand. Her feet seemed to almost float as she walked, and a slight mist surrounded her with every step.
"I don't know who you are or…." The woman giggled, before caressing the edge of his steel, and the blade erupted in golden flames. Thoros almost dropped the blade, scared out of his mind. He looked in disbelief at his sword, while the woman smiled, and with a finger, put the flames out.
"Now, Priest Thoros of Myr, you do seem willing to listen to me, don´t you?" The Myrish simply stared, falling to his knees.
"Who, and what are you?" He said simply, grasping the symbol of his god in his hands, his faith still strong, his courage not so much. The woman sat beside him and smiled.
"Someone who knows your god very well. Someone who has deemed fit to answer your prayers." That, angered Thoros. His prayers were meant for one god only, and not… not for this foreign being.
"My god..." He began. She clicked her tongue, and the sound echoed like a thunderclap, her eyes shining with inner might, her tone one of scorn and disappointment so thick, Thoros felt he wouldn´t be able to cut it even with his sword.
"Is disinterested, uncaring and merciless. He lets you wallow in the misery of your life, never showing any appreciation, never showing any guidance, never doing much for you. Tell me, red priest, when was the last time you heard of your god? When was the last time he gave you a command? All the gods in this land are worthless of worship, filled to the brim with hubris, and with envy, only wanting to surpass the others, to rule supreme. They remind me of my own kin. Thank the stars I decide to be better." Now, the woman´s eyes were filled with golden fire, and the chalice in her hand shone with light like it was made of pure gold, the blue from her dress bleaching to a pure white.
"Are you.. Are you a goddess?" Asked the red priest, arms trembling in contained fear. The woman laughed, a musical sound that cured any aliment he had before, any doubt that had plagued him and excoriated the fear away. Her eyes were far kinder now.
"No, dear Thoros." She caressed his cheek, smiling down at him. "I am no goddess, or at the very least I don't consider myself as such. I am a protector, a guardian, although there are those who pray to me, and I listen gladly. But no other god will ever consider me one of them. Those you humans pray to, consider me a foreigner, an intruder, a threat, and those I used to belong to, cast me down, and still seek my downfall. But even after eons, I stand by my choice, for history has proven it was the right one."
"Which….which choice?" Asked the stunned priest. The woman smiled again, eyes glittering with entertainment, and some degree of sadness.
"You, were the choice, you were the thing I choose." Thoros blinked, not understanding.
"Me…a priest? I don´t think I follow." The woman giggled, before pulling him gently to his feet. Thoros followed the motion, not knowing what to do.
"Let me show you then. I think this will make a better explanation." The man nodded, confused, and the woman then took his hands, and the mist surrounded them.
When the mist cleared, he was no longer on the temple, but on a hill, and that hill was overlooking a massive battlefield. Thoros fell to his knees, dread completely overtaking him. Rows after rows of monstrosities advanced, in a massive tide of corruption, decay, bloodshed and entropy. Monsters that defied reality, dragons transformed, changed, heads mutilated still moving in their own accord, what looked like direwolves, but more human, more deviant, more terrifying. Row after row of red-scaled, sword-wielding blood creatures, those that looked like men and woman fused, their extremities made into cruel pincers and alluring forms made into traps for the soul. Masses of rot, decay, death and pestilence tripped among them, creatures of never-ending decomposition and rust. And other monstrosities made of pure change, never stopping, taking colors that did not exist, and that he could not comprehend. He looked at the great city, cowering in fear beside the massive tide, and, as they fell upon the people inside, and as their screams began to echo, the vision changed.
Now he was on a great and vast desert, atop a rock formation that overlooked some kind of valley, but not alone. Wave after wave of skeletal warriors adorned in gold, gems and jewels advanced, unending, unstoppable, tireless, marched over bleached terrain and golden sand, as dry as salt. Among them, great constructs of stone and ebony, fueled by energies unseen, lead them against what looked like men and woman, scared and huddled around the remains of their caravan, and like before, just before they managed to strike, the vision changed again.
This one was the most terrifying of them all. He was standing in the middle of a clearing in the forest, made of cut trees leading into a city. And in front of him, armies of death advanced, bodies rotting and decaying, animated by baleful magic that should not exist, given will not their own. A travesty of what the Lord of Light was supposed to give its followers. The creatures of hell that moved among the ranks made his heart skip a beat.
Gigantic hairy behemoths that reminded him of bats crossed with elephants, and humans crossed with bats, deformed, pale, of red manes and horrible and bulged muscles and teeth. And atop all of this death, sat a man, bald, eyes gleaming like rubies, evil simply radiation of his very being, in one hand a strange hook, while in the other a sword, and under him, a dragon of flesh, rot, bones and death. At his command, the forces stopped in unisonous silence, and with the next order, and a sadistic smile, he told them to advanced forwards, running towards him, the greater creatures killing the reanimated husk in their desire to kill, to eat, to feed. A formation of red-clad warriors lead the advance, so reminiscent of the one he had seen that day, in the arena, but while in the man of the arena, he had seen no nobility, just anger, here the bloodlust was given discipline and training, and was unleashed against him. He fell to his knees yet again, and just at the lance of the first knight reached to skewer him, he closed his eyes.
And then the clarion´s call broke the cacophony, a clean sound that seemed to dispel the darkness. He heard it, a thundering, brutal noise, like nature unleashing its fury, an earthquake that buried all other noise. Thoros blinked and then, and saw it. Knights, by the hundreds, with more banners and sigils than he could have ever dreamed of, advancing in a line of determined fury and brave men, of martyr blood and dauntless service.
The wall of steel, courage and chivalry, outnumbered 10 to 1, did not stop, did not slow down, but charged forward, surging through enemy lines, multiple wedge formations smashing undead aside like the broken husk they were. Thoros felt hope rise in his heart, as he wanted to join the fray. Winged stallions, Pegasus, and hippogryphs took to the skies, winning the aerial battle, to then come down to help their fellows. It was glorious, a wave of purity and chivalry that burned the corruption away. This fire cleansed. It did not consume or scarred those it is burn, but helped them, as the light of these knights pierced even the darkest shadows, the most profound darkness. They were saints among men, the epitome of knighthood, and he could not help but to admire those men. And it that second, in that instance, he understood the choice and wept at the revelation.
Among all of it, he saw them. Two men, one seasoned, one younger. He barely recognized the younger man, flaming eyes of orange fury, a sword shining in his hand with silver fire, as he slayed beast after beast without stop or doubt. His armor shone black and amber, the symbol of the dragon billowing proudly like a banner of flaming and promised victory. He looked majestic, like he had always imagined Azor Ahai would look, roaring blade at the ready, leading the warriors into the heart of the foe. The older man, a much-experienced fighter, advanced dauntless, a holy warrior-king, cleaving his way, more an idea than a mere man, shining light on all those near him, willing or unwilling, both protecting each other, a duo of fury and zeal that annihilated anything in their way. The man was a little taller than Sirius, with black long hair inside the war crown, and he was the definition of regal and kingly, with shining brown eyes. And he led the knights with blade in hand, in the middle of the line. The image disappeared, and Thoros found himself back in the temple, blade drawn, trembling.
"I understand." His voice was the only thing that did not tremble, as he placed his blade back into the sheath. "I understand the choice, but not why." He finished. The Lady smiled at him.
"Because you humans are so easily corrupted, so easily tempted. You have no supernatural abilities, no immortality, no long life, no natural gift. Everything you have, you have earned. Everything you own, you have conquered, and everything you learn has marked you. And yet you do not relent, always forwards, always fighting. And even so, there are those among you who prefer to die than to give up, when it could be so easy. You have almost nothing, and yet you will gift it with the wrath of dragons to protect it. You can be so easily turned, and yet, you can reach a level of nobility, of faith, of selflessness that I never thought possible. How can I not admire you? And how can I not choose you?" He took Thoros´s hands in hers, the trembling of the red priest stopping instantly.
"How can I not love the knights who stand against everything impure just because it's the right thing to do? To protect who they cherish? To fulfill their duty?" He kissed him in the forehead.
"I just can't, my dear Thoros. And so, I do not stop myself from loving humanity. Maybe not all of you, there will always be those who value darkness above anything else, that turn to greed, lust and power when there are more important things to defend, but I love nonetheless. And I will come to the aid of those that seek it and are worthy of it. But now, I need your help, warrior of light. My champion needs your aid." She handed him the wooden chalice.
"Will you help him, Sir Thoros of Myr?" And the man simply kneeled.
"Of course, my Lady."
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Ashara knew it was Ned even before he spoke. She just did. It could have been Oberyn, Berric, or maybe even Lord Renly, but Renly had briefly visited before, and Oberyn wouldn´t have come with an entourage of soldiers at his back. A part of her was glad. Oberyn would try to make jokes, to reassure her with his special humor. It would not have worked, in the slightest. Oberyn would be too focused on her pain to realize his pain was making him jarred.
Ned was another matter entirely. Lord Eddard Stark walked into the room in silence, gesturing to his men to remain outside. He nodded towards Arthur, and gently placed his hand on Shireen´s head. None of them seemed to notice or refused to acknowledge it. On any other day, Ashara would have scolded them for such disrespect. Not today.
She felt the hand on her shoulder, gently, a little rough, but kind.
"Have you eaten anything yet?" She laughed softly. It was the first time she had done so since the arena fight. It made Shireen look at her with a little surprise, but Arthur did not react visibly. Ashara knew he was furious, both because there was some other man being familiar with his mother, and because Lord Stark was a sore spot for Stannis, and Arthur took any affront to his father as against himself. She also suspected Arthur blamed a little everyone that had gone to Pike to get his brother and failed to do so, but he had never spoken of it.
"That is really the first thing you are going to say?" She asked back, grabbing his hand gently.
"You look tired, Ashara, and while I will not ask you to leave your son´s side, let me at least ask for a servant with something to eat for you and your children. I am sure Sirius will be famished when he wakes up. I always was after battle." Slowly, Ashara nodded, feeling a well of gratitude from that 'when'.
"Shireen, dear, strawberry pie?" Her daughter blinked, as if awakening from some lethargy.
"Lemon cakes." She whispered. "Sirius liked lemon cakes." Ashara didn't know how she knew that, because she barely remembered his brother, but it made her heart weep that her little girl knew that. Smiling, Ashara nodded, and pulled her daughter in a hug.
"Arthur?" She asked softly. For a moment, his son remained where he was, leaning against the wall, eyes on the window, not glancing at them. Ashara waited, knowing well that when Arthur was angry, confrontation led him to act like his father, sullen, silent but also violent. Stannis was never violent.
"Venison." He growled, between greeted teeth. "Don't care how they make it." Ned nodded slowly, and with a single gesture, one of his men rushed to do so. He looked towards both of his sons. A decision wrestled in his heart. He could tell Ashara, but that was anything but a good moment. The Lady of Starfall was already wracked with pain and grief at the possibility of his eldest son dying, once again at that. To spring this on her… would be too much.
But maybe, just maybe, it was time for her to learn something good, some sliver of hope she could cling to in dark times. Gently Ned pulled Ashara to her feet, under the weary eyes of the Lady Paramount.
"Shireen." Ned said softly. "Would you watch over your brother for a moment? I think your mother needs a moment of rest." The little girl nodded and returned her eyes to her brother. Arthur visibly tensed at that, eyes glowering at Lord Stark´s back, but Ned allowed it. Ashara, still puzzled, followed him to the window.
"Ned?" She asked softly. "What is it?" She asked, rubbing her eyes in tiredness. Ned smiled a little.
"Ash, look behind me, towards the door. Do you see the ones guarding it?" Ashara nodded, spying on both boys. He knew they were Ned´s boys. They had his face and looks, as they talked in low whispers among themselves. One was making an effort to not look in her direction, which almost made her frown.
"Yes." She answered, returning her gaze to Ned´s gray eyes, finding something strange in them. "Your sons, are they not? What of it?"
"Both are mine" He acquiesced, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "One of them, though, did not come because I asked or commanded it."
Ashara did not move, did not react for a moment, and Ned was afraid he had made a mistake. Her eyes closed for a moment, and the northerner found himself having to keep the Lady of Starfall on her feet for a moment as Ashara almost staggered to the ground. Ashara´s breath had been cut, almost as if something had hanged her for a moment. She managed to remain upright only by Ned´s intervention, and she did not trust herself to remain like that. She tried to look at the boy. She really tried. But she could not. As much as she wished to, something arrested her.
"Ned… Why?" She managed to croak out, her throat feeling so dry for a moment. Ned held her and helped her sit on the window before answering.
"Because that boy has been asking himself who he is for a long time. I kept silent, as we promised because those were the oaths uttered that day, between me, you and your husband. But he didn't get a say, Ash. He has heard whispers, and rumors in Winterfell, some of them, made by my lady wife, I am ashamed to admit." Ned confessed, closing his eyes for a moment in shame. Cat was a good woman… in everything that did not include Jon.
"But the boy suspects. And while he expects nothing, I couldn´t ask Jon to stand by and not do something, anything." He spoke the last part as barely a whisper.
Ashara eyes him for a moment, her gaze the intensity of a falling star, shining purple like esoteric flames.
"Ned… You promised, you swore you would keep him far away from all of this, all these constant games of politics and snakes." Ashara almost growled those words. Eddard did not relent.
"I kept my promise. I taught him, trained him, and showed him. Now, he is almost a man. And he chose to come here, knowing full well monsters like those of yesterday could come knocking." He said, his tone showing he approved of the actions of his sons wholeheartedly.
"He is definitely your son, Ned." Ashara finally relented that much.
"No, Shara, he is our son. And he deserved the chance to protect his family and know his mother." Ned said softly. The Woman kept her gaze on the horizon, not wanting to be in that room for a second more, yet knowing she could never leave it until fate had thrown its coin over her son´s life.
"Why now? When you left Starfall, your mind was made and set in stone." Ashara said, her grip on Ned´s hand tightening so much her knuckles became pale shadows in the darkened room.
"I became a father." Ned Stark said simply, a half-smile on the face of the Lord of Winterfell. Ashara smiled and almost laughed again.
"Oh, I know the feeling. " She said, looking towards his children. All of them. Nothing changed a person like fatherhood, or motherhood in her case. "What do I do Ned?" She said in an almost cracked voice. He arched an eyebrow in surprise, a low chuckle escaping him.
"Be you, Ash. Be what you are."
'I have been asking myself who I am for a long time now, Ned.' She mused to herself. But she got up, and in firm steps that surprised even herself, she moved towards both boys. They stood to attention, bowing to her in respect. She smiled, focusing first on the easier one.
"You must be Robb, right?" She asked. It was obvious, having Catelyn's features clear on his face, the auburn hair, the shining blue eyes. He smiled politely, bowing his head again.
"Yes, my lady. It is an honor to meet you. And I offer my condolences, my lady. I'm sure your son will recover." He had an earnest and sincere tone, all of Ned´s warmth, yet also filled with a certain timber, an energy, that his father lacked. And yet, all the nobility, the quiet wolf essence, was there, maybe outshined by the river of Tully blood, but the wolf prowled in the meadow, at the ready,
"You might look like your mother, but you are your father´s son." Ashara said with a small smile. And then, taking a breath, she turned towards the other one. It felt like moving an entire castle with his body, every nerve ticking and begging for her to ignore her desires, conscience against fear. And she almost froze. He was his father´s spitting image, gray eyes, shining ebon hair. Another wolf. And yet, his face… She could see traces of her father´s calm features and her mother´s nose. The jaw, which gave him almost a melancholic air, resembled Arthur's so much it was shocking. She saw nothing of her in him, and yet, whatever doubts he may have had, were gone like snow under sunlight. She didn't know how she found her voice. "And you, must be Jon, right?"
The boy nodded slowly, and then hesitated, as if he was not sure if his voice would not crack.
"Yes, my lady." It did not crack, but it sound so close to. Ashara felt a maelstrom of shame and pity. He should not be ashamed or afraid to address her. But bastards were bastards, and Westeros made no exceptions. She almost growled. She was of Dorne, she could make the exception.
"Jon Snow, they call you, right?" She asked carefully. His eyes darkened, and Ashara knew she had touched a painful spot. She had been too used to Dorne, too used to Stannis disregard of surnames.
"Yes, my lady. I am a bastard." He said, tone neutral, yet heavy. Ashara nodded, gently passing her hand down his face. He was cold, colder than Arthur or Shireen, but the cold was almost comforting. He froze.
"Your father insisted on calling you snow." Her smile was a saddened moon. "Jon Sand does not sound so well, does it?"
That was all the confirmation Jon would ever need, and he almost broke there and there. Knowing his father had kept this hidden from him, knowing that his mother did not despise him, that she knew who he was, that she cared, that she was touching him. Touching him. He had never expected to see his mother, much less be able to touch her. And there she was, in front of her, sad as a mother alone can be.
On some strange, primordial level that he did not expect, nor understand, it hurt.
"I…" Ashara ´s hand pulled back, and Jon grabbed it, gently, but fast and firmly, terrified to let go now, terrified of feeling so alone again. She didn't seem to care, gently grabbing back.
"I am on the verge of losing one son, Jon. I would like all my children with me, if you please." She said, her voice creaking at every word, every single sound being as difficult for the lady of Starfall to say, as waves were to an unprepared boat in the middle of a storm. Jon blinked back tears of many years in the making and smiled a full smile that he had reserved for a selected few people. The voice in his head claiming betrayal, abandonment, claiming he was being used to weather her pain, and he would be discarded, were squashed like Rheagar's chest.
"Nothing would make me prouder." He managed to say.
And with a gentle hand, Ashara led Jon to sit beside him. Arthur found himself puzzled at this. He had heard rumors, of course. He had broken a few noses because of those rumors. Were they true?
Any other day, he would have been beyond furious. But his brother was dying. Finding he had another, even if he was a half-bastard brother, felt like a drop of water in an ocean of worries. He compartmentalized the shock and pain and surprise, even the elation and curiosity, and decided to deal with it later. Mainly, because he knew Father must have known, and if Father approved of them coming, who was he to say otherwise? He regarded Jon, who seemed nervous and terrified, yet smiled at Shireen as Ashara whispered to her daughter who Jon was. Shireen, even through all the pain and grief a child of her age should not even dream of, smiled when her… their brother smiled at her and greeted her.
Arthur smiled.
He had always judged people based on how they treated Shireen, knowing his little sister to be a much better judge of character than himself. And while he would have suspected many of trying to obtain favor with her mother and sister to gain as much standing as possible, this was Eddard Stark´s son. Starks were headstrong, proud and bound by traditions and honor, beyond duty, but they were honest to the point of stupid. Arthur walked closer to his family, sending a look towards where Eddard Stark, with a half-smile, regarded the reunion, hand on his eldest son´s shoulder, who had a massive grin on his face.
Maybe having another brother wasn't bad at all. He had lost too much already. The gods giving it back, and with interests, seemed more than poetic justice.
It felt like vindication.
And by the Storm Gods, it felt good.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
The shadow danced, moving in the gloom, silent and quick. Every other shadow seemed to extend and open to it, like siblings lending their aid to of their own, a pack of wolves shielding one of their kin. It thanked the shadows, even if their help was not needed. The guards were blind and deaf to it.
It made it smile. Humans were truly pathetic. It realized it had been too used to dealing with Sarathai-skale and his kinsmen, and now its normally awfully low expectations had risen a little. It smiled in the darkness, not stopping, moving in a quick dance of blackness, going from windows to parapets, to doorframes and archways. The castle was more akin to a playground than an actual challenge. It was infuriating, to be honest. The shadow had expected some challenge, something worth her skills and expertise. But she took all that anger and smothered it. She had an objective, and she would not fail it.
Humans would have skulked around, it glided. They would have hid, it simply danced.
It scoffed as its feet touched the balcony, and in a blink, the shadow was on the inside. Taking a comfortable perch on the wooden beams near the ceiling, the shadow sprawled over the hardwood, silent and invisible to all in the room. Its eyes danced around every soul in the room, smiling inwardly, eyes shining with a predatorial shine. Like a wraith brought forth from an old tale, it drew twin daggers, of light-sucking light, like nightmares given form, and waited. It was almost time.
It would not miss.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Ashara blinked in tiredness and annoyance when the door opened with a loud blow, the wooden door resonating again the iron hinges. She turned; ready to lash at whoever had dared to disturb her children and herself. Arthur was standing up, blue eyes flaring in anger, resembling so much Stannis's own, and Shireen barely looked at the door, too tired to care. Ned´s head moved like his house´s sigil, almost predatory, and Robb and Jon spun around, hands on their blades, ready.
And Thoros stumbled into the room, sweating, breathing hard, something clutched in his hands, wrapped in a brown cloth. But Ashara noted something else. The man that had been for so many years Beric´s friend, seemed slightly taller, his skin looked healthier and the normal rosy tone that wine left on him seemed gone as if he had never drunk a glass of alcohol in his entire life. What really stuck out to Asahra, was the fact that he was wearing a new red priest mantle, unblemished, with not a single stain on it. A blink later, Sandor barged in, a growl in his mouth before anyone could react.
"Fuck´s sake, Thoros, out, you bloody drunkard! Leave the lady alone with your shitty faith!" He spat, going to grab the other man. But Thoros simply fell to one knee, the object still clutched to his chest tightly.
"My Lady, please, listen to me." He said, his tone was ragged, yet firm, determined. Ashara slowed her tongue a moment at it, at the seaming desperation in the red priest´s tone.
Arthur did not. He stomped forth, two thundering steps, eyes shining with anger.
"You have never given a shit about your Red God, Thoros. Can't you let us watch over my dying brother in peace?!" He almost roared at the man, grief speaking over anything else.
"Arthur!" Snapped Shireen. Arthur glared back at his little sister, only to suddenly be under his mother´s wrathful gaze, and Lord Stark disapproving eyes. He shrank a little, anger still smoldering in his eyes.
"Your brother is not dead. And I won't tolerate more talking like that" Ashra hissed at her son, and then, whatever pause and consideration she might have been feeling, was gone. She turned, her face alight with the purple flames behind her eyes. "Thoros, right now I'm having half a mind to let Sandor throw you out, and close the gates of my home to you, till the end of days, so you better have a bloody good reason for…!"
And Thoros threw the rag away, lifting the chalice, wood shining like metal, water sitting peacefully and impossibly clean inside of the chalice. It almost glowed golden, shimmering outside of her eyesight, bringing a soft light to the room that made all of them pause. Sandor´s hand remained in the air, eyes fixed on the chalice, unmoving. Shireen looked awestruck, eyes blinking in child wonder.
Arthur felt the urge to shield his face from the light, to move away, but he crushed it. It felt warm, almost kind on his skin, and his rage died to spend wood. Robb remained frozen, hand half-wrapped around the handle of his blade, Jon a mirror of his half-brother, weapon barely drawn, a few centimeters of steel that he unconsciously let slide back into the sheath.
Ashara took a tentative step forth, looking at her reflection in the water. She stared into purple eyes that shone like gemstones. And not hers.
"A Gift," He said. "For your son. A gift from a Goddess that cares."
Ashara stood there, mesmerized by the shining face. It was…. Beautiful, motherly, childishly innocent, kind, majestic, regal and playful. It was beyond age and time, and it stood there, smiling at her sadly, kindly, empathy shining from her eyes like sunlight.
And then the face was gone, and Ashara was left staring at her own tired face. She blinked twice, not knowing what had happened, only knowing it had happened. She touched the chalice, the wood feeling warm to the touch, its light bringing color to her hand, it scared her, and yet it made her smile. The smell reminded her of the small garden her mother had had in Starfall, the smell of desert roses and blood oranges mixing with the scent of seawater, letting a strangely sweet and refreshing fragrance. She took a step back, her mind working on a solution, an action. Should she let her son drink? Would that chalice´s waters save him? Or would they doom her child?
So Ashara doubted, standing on the verge of a precipice, the wrong choice weighing the death of her son, a death she would not survive for a second time. She walked back towards his bed, eying the black hair, closed eyes, pale as Dawn´s edge. Her boy. She had promised herself to never risk him again, and yet, no matter her decision, she was risking him.
She looked through the window, to the setting sun over the sea, a horizon that dawned before going dark. Was there something she had missed? Would her choice even matter? Something whispered in her heart.
'Faith is the first brushstroke in a painting you cannot see.'
Ashara froze. Faith. Such a strange and removed word. For nine years, faith had eluded her. Losing her parents, losing her boy, losing her brother, was enough to rip whatever faith she still had to shreds. And now, she was forced to have faith. Faith in the unknown, the not sought, the not understood.
"Why do you care?" She whispered to the winds. The winds answered.
"Because that is a mother´s nature." That was all she needed to hear.
Turning around, she took the chalice from Thoros´s expecting hands and walked towards her son. Arthur moved to stop her, thinking his mother was too desperate to make any choices. Ned´s hand grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him dead on his feet. Arthur turned, eyes glowering, only meeting icy determination in Lord Stark´s eyes. Before he could roar anything, the older man admonished him gravely.
"The only one here with the right to choose is her." Arthur froze for a moment, realizing that, indeed, if someone had any right to make a choice that might kill or save his brother, that was his mother.
Gently lowly, Ashara let the water flow down her son´s mouth.
"Up, little star. We, the living, are waiting."
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
The beast could be silent, as surprising as it may have been for something of such size and power. It could be stealthy and it was most definitely fast. One had to be fast to be such a proficient predator and killer. It advanced quickly, going from tree to tree, a shadow tinged in gold and magic. Its bifid tongue tasted the air, catching a scent it knew very well, and gave it renewed purpose. Its powerful clawed legs pushed it forth like lighting, advancing in long powerful strides that closed the distance at a frightful speed.
It reached the wall quickly, and in one swift movement, it vaulted over most of it, having to push itself over the last meter of the wall. It landed with barely a sound. Keeping its form down, it slithered over the roofs of the sleeping city, a quiet predator, unseen, its golden eyes lighting in the darkness. It looked down at the emptying streets, smelling, tasting the air. There was plenty of prey around, plenty of morsels to devour. But it had a mission. So, vaulting over to the next house, lading without as much as a whisper, it kept running, towards the scent, fangs shining with a promise of violence and spilled blood. No one saw it, none heard it, and no one even imagined the amalgamation of death that was going towards the crimson castle, ready for slaughter. It had been made for this, and it would excel in it.
Its deity called. Blood would be spilled.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
Derek walked his route silently, lazily watching from shadow to shadow. The Lannister soldier was used to patrolling that particular side of the Red Keep, a route he had been doing for the last… five, maybe six years? He could not tell. It was definitely better than serving directly under Lord Tywin. The man terrified him, and not only in his demeanor and reputation, but also in how he looked at them. Every gaze from the man seemed to pierce mail, flesh and soul like a ballista shot. Derek let out a sigh, and turned a corner under the light of his torch.
And he stopped on the spot.
The corridor was wholly in darkness. There should have been torches every ten feet to light it, but it looked as if he had stepped into the throat of some unholy monsters, a deep, dark void, almost slick like oil, covering all. It made the hairs on the back of his head stand up like the quills of a porcupine.
Drawing his blade and keeping it low, he lifted his own torch in front of his face, letting the light shine. The moment he stepped into the dark, he knew something was wrong. Some primal part of him screamed that something was extremely wrong. The rational, stupid part of him rationalized that this could not be more than a very bad joke from the rest of the guards in the section of the Keep, Marlo, Derius and Tybolt.
"Hello?! Anyone there?!" He asked carefully watching for any movement. He kept walking forth, nervously watching for the wall or ceiling. He could not see either. He was now focused on what he was seeing and he did not hear the sound his footsteps were making.
"Marlo, if this is one of your jokes, it's a fucking awful one!" He almost cried, letting his voice carry over the dark, only to be muffled and crushed, as if the darkness was so deep and encompassing, that it had developed gravity of its own, and it was crushing both his courage and his voice.
Derek felt sweat run down his uniform and his clothes, sticky and warm. He shook his head and cleared his eyes, letting them wander around the black. And then, he heard the sound, the trickling sound, like soft yet foreboding rain. He blinked, and realized something. He had a coppery taste in his mouth. Some sweat had entered his mouth.
It did not taste like sweat. He would know, he had tasted it many times during drills and the hottest moment of the summer, and it held nothing of the salty taste, only tasted like cooper and warm…
Derek began to hyperventilate, the sound of his ragged breath echoing like hammer strikes. Slowly, trembling like a twig against a tempest, he looked up, and he almost screamed. More warm liquid landed on his face, nose, and mouth. Screaming would have made the liquid enter his mouth, and that was the only thing scaring him even more.
All three of his friends were there on the ceiling, nothing like the stone roof Derek had patrolled many times. Darkness had coalesced into crystalline black, and abnormal and bent spikes of dark metal protruded from the black metal that had latched itself to the ceiling.
They were impaled to the spikes. Arms, legs, chest, necks, faces, they had been pushed brutality into the jagged metal, mouth open half-scream. Tears mixed with the blood, falling on him, limbs broken, ribs protruding, skin peeled at points. They had suffered.
Only when the eyes followed him desperately did he understand they were still suffering.
"Oh…OH SEVEN!" "I- I´ll g-go get-t-t a m-maester! I´ll-!" Terrified as he was, he still was alert. His friends were trying to tell him something, but he was too terrified to know or understand.
Only when he saw the spiked move and unfurl like banners, and the eyes of his friends widened in horror did he understand. Only, when the spiked masses of metal opened their sickly neon eyes, he understood the warning.
Only then, did he truly scream.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
"Pitiful wretches." The growl exited the broad-chested man, thick as a tree, taller than most men that had walked the halls he now stained in blood, covered in dark armor of boiled leather and iron plates, brutal in every conceivable way. Dark symbols, rending reality with its baleful meanings, shone on every plate, not one was repeated, none similar, yet all held a central idea and shape. "Not worth the effort."
He growled, tapping the head of both his battleaxes on his waist, growling to himself, before his crimson eyes wandered over the city, the high view showing a sleeping, defenseless port. It wasn't too big, he had seen better in both the Empire and Bretonnia, but it would be enough.
"Shall I let the blessed ones have them, Jarl?" Sigjard´s voice echoes, as the brutal blonde man smiled his way, his jagged blade held tightly in thick fingers, more used to tearing necks open than wielding the blade. The Jarl waved his hand in a dismissive way, his brown dirty hair feeling dry without fresh blood on him.
"Yes, yes, let the have the morsels, they are not even worth fucking." He sighed, before the tiredness became anger "Speaking of which, little whore, I was promised blood, good blood, and worthy skulls."
The massive killer turned around to eye the small, lithe form, draped in barely any clothing but a few straps of leather. Her hair was as dark as alabaster, and yet her skin was porcelain, a deep, unnatural contrast in the intensity of both colors. Thin lines of purple and pink chased their way down her arms and along her face, coming down her body like sinuous snakes. The brand of the Dark Prince shone brightly on her back, a sinuous mark that seemed to ripple inside the flesh. Her beauty would have been mesmerizing, hadn't her eyes looked so… void, empty, abyssal in their blackness. With a smile of sharp teeth, she lowered her veil.
"You shall have royal blood and a king´s skull, little brute. The Dark Master promised, and I shall deliver." Her tone was low and almost purring, echoing almost gently. The man growled, taking a step closer, towering above her.
"You better, you slanneshi bitch. The Dark Shadow promised much, yet I see little so satiate my warriors." He told her, lowering his head to stare right into her demonic eyes. She smiled back, not backing an inch.
"We are inside the greatest fortress in this world. Its halls are filled with noblemen, warriors, ladies, and princes and princesses." Her smile widened unnaturally. "The greatest seven swordsmen of this kingdom guard a king renowned for his battlefield prowess and his fury in battle. A man that almost extinguished the dragons of this land."
That made the jarl smile back, a completely different beast. Her smile was a snake, his, and angry, blooded boar.
"Dragonslayer. That I like." He said ruefully. "And what do you get from this?" He continued, hands drawing close to the haft of his axes.
"Nothing at all. I follow the master´s will. His voice dro…" The norscan jarl slammed his meaty fist on the wall, silencing the cultist.
"Yes, yes, his voice drowns all others and all that nurglite shit. I have heard it before. I don't give a dead mammoth. I want to know why you are here. Or my warriors will have their fill of you." He threatened, getting even closer, not caring for the dagger that rest on the woman´s slithering tail. She barely flinched. Barely.
"As if they would satiate my appetites, little brute. You might have treaded the Blood God´s coliseums, Jarl Kradag Bloodfeast, but I have danced in the Dark Prince´s Rings and laid on his palaces." She purred, as if realizing her sudden show of fear, her nose almost touching the jarl´s own, a deep contrast between the pale skin and the bronze tone of the man´s face. He seemed unimpressed, but his finger tightened around the upper side of the weapons.
"Your appetites matter little to me. Theirs, do. Talk." He growled out. For a moment, conflict seemed imminent. But that would go against the plan. And she had sworn to her master that she would not fail him.
"I have a man to kill. Dangerous one, but now bedridden, not worthy of your axe. Your slaughter will let me slip through and get to him quickly. Give an hour, and you will get your bloodletting." She finally explained, tensing at the lack of reaction from the norscan.
Then, the man laughed, throwing his head back in rocking laughter. He slapped her on the back, shaking his head, under the incredulous eyes of the other cultist. His men seemed unimpressed, smiling at the typical behavior of their fearless jarl. The woman understood why the master had sent this one.
"See? Honesty is not that hard. Very well, we will keep quiet for an hour, then, the slaughter begins. Anyone else you want me to consider keeping alive?" He asked, surprising the disciple of the dark prince yet again. A norscan follower of the Hound that actually asked such things was a very rare sight. Regaining her composure, she nodded.
"The King has a daughter. Keep her alive, she was part of the deal." That garnered a furrowed brow from Kradag.
"What deal? I made no fucking deal?!" He said, looking at her once more as if he was considering between ripping her throat and raping her bloody into the ground. It almost excited the woman. She laughed softly, passing a delicate hand over his exposed chest.
"Oh, my little brute. This table has more pieces than you think. You are just the big, ugly one." She giggled, taking a step into the dark, and vanishing into nothingness, her last words echoing. "One hour."
"Slannshi whore." Grumbled Sigjard scarping his axe against the stone wall in a rhythmic manner.
"Ay." Acquiesced Kradag. Then, he smiled. "But a fight it's a fight. Isn't it, lads?" Around him, his men nodded, grunting and smiling like their jarl. Kradag smiled to himself and at his band or reavers. His men clogged the corridor, his most silent and controlled warriors among his kin of bloodthirsty killers. He liked wild killers, but he prefer to control their fury.
Draped in leather and iron armor, sweating already in the heat of southern lands, hefting axes, mauls, swords and spiked clubs, his raiders were eager, ready and hungry.
"Now, let's wait as we promised. Skaelings keep their word, always." He rolled his shoulder back, smiling a toothy smile. "I have been waiting for a whole day to do some good killing, worth the Hound´s envy. I can wait another extra hour."
His men groaned, but none complained, and he could tell Sigjard was making rude gestures behind his back, but he trusted the bastard with his life, so he did not mind. Sig had been loyal since the day they had been born, brothers of different mothers, literally at that. His father had enjoyed many things. Woman among them, chief of his pleasures. The only reason Sigjard wasn't jarl of another tribe was that he had been born of imperial blood. Kradag didn't care.
"So, go, find me some easy pickings." He said almost dismissively. The groaning stopped instantly, and Sigjard smiled wide. He eyed them with a frown.
"What? I promised I would not kill. Never said anything about everything else I could do." He slammed his fist against his left, right beside his groin. "I have been wanting to fuck something for the last three hours, and I want it to not have a cock." He seemed to reconsider for a moment.
"Actually, I don't care." He said with a shrug. "Well, go, hunt!"
Like a pack of wild hounds, the answer echoed, as the blessed eyed them hungrily and happily for the spoil they would undoubtedly leave for them.
"Ay, Jarl!" Kradag laughed as they left, like a silent wave. He walked towards one of the parapet and roared to the trembling winds.
"Prepare yourself, southern scum. Prepare yourself for the Wrath of the Sea of Claws. I am Kradag Bloodfeast, and I am of the Spear of the Prince of Nightmares. Fear the Shadow Legion! Fear US!"
And he joined the hunt.
{DRAGON OF STARFALL}
And that is a wrap! Norscan are loose in King´s Landing, and two mysterious interlopers are ready for some havoc! Also, yes, this is an N+A = J. BUT! Don't worry, you lovable R+L shippers, you will get you moments of joy too, just wait.