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.

6. Awaken, Heart of Fire

From the Infernal gates beyond mortal sight, three figures step out, covered in dust, ash and burn marks. Central among our figures, stands our Writer, sweating bullets. To his left, gold hair shining, Jaime Lannister smirks his way out of hell, while the right one is more mysterious. Sirius Amaranth passes a hand over his damp hair, amber eyes shining in a tired light.

Jaime: Well, that could have gone worst….

Sirius: How, exactly?

Writer: Oh, stop complaining, it was just a Tropical island summer, it wasn't that bad.

Jaime: Primarch, the roads. Were. Fucking. Melting!

Sirius: I made three fried eggs by dropping them over a naked rock! IN THE SHADE!

Writer: As I said, typical Tropical island summer in Europe. Nothing to worry about.

Jaime: Even Ungraudan was suffering…!

Sirius: Jaime, they do not know who Ungraduan is yet!

Jaime: Well, he is a fucking….!

Writer, slapping his hand over Jaime´s mouth and nose, and slowly suffocating him: ANYWAY! Sorry for the delay folks. I just can't write during summer here at home, I just can´t. We were at 43 degree Celsius all summer long… which is 109,4 Fahrenheit! So, yeah, sorry! But it got this chapter that is a bit longer than most, so I hope you enjoy it. We have blood, guts, demons, and more!

Sirius: Eh… Primarch, the warning?

Jaime, pulling the writer´s hand from his mouth: Yes, yes! Do the warning, for the Lady´s sake!

Writer: True. Well, folks, this chapter holds both typical violence… and mention of sexual violence as well. This is A Song of Ice and Fire, I am sure you expected it already, and Slannesh is still, to my dread, a very active entity in the Warhammer universes, so you can imagine this isn't going to be a one-time thing. That twisted fuck is going to be having a field day. So be prepared. There is nothing to graphic here… but we will get more in the future, both…

Jaime: Just say you are going to write smut, for the Lady´s sake!

Writer:… I'm going to sick Skarbrand on you again. But yes, basically, that´s it. It's not confirmed, but I might write smut, both consensual… and not. If that bother you in any way, let me know, and I will place warnings when that happens. But this is it for now. Enjoy the chapter, seeing as we have no comments to answer this time!

Jaime: Mph, your writing must be awful if they really don't make a single comment.

Sirius: We do have one! A Guest comment. Who wants to handle it?

Jaime: I'll do it. Well, Guest, I do not understand how you see any similarity between Ned and Quentyn, but NA is as much as a possibility as RL. GRR Martin gave clues that could point at both possibilities, so here our Writer picked one. Honestly, I'm happy that runt is a Dayne and not a Targaryen… I would feel duty bound to watch his back, and already have my hands full with this moron.

Sirius: Who are you calling moron, you sister-fucker?!

Jaime: You sure YOU want to call me that?

Writer: I'm bringing Tyrion next time if you both keep talking shit like that.

Sirius: Eh… Which one?

Writer: Both.

Sirius: How about you pick someone from somewhere else?

Writer: Like Karl?

Sirius: Oh, fuck no, fuck him. Bring Nakai next time. That should be fun.

Jaime: I smell the beef between those two from here.

Writer: I will let it at the discretion of our readers. Let's see if they have any preferences in presenters next time. Have a nice day folks, may the Lady watch over you and until next time!

Sirius, whispering to Jaime: Do I get to do something in this chapter?

Jaime, whispering back: Well….

Writer: SPOILERS, PEOPLE, SPOILERS!

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Myrcella enjoyed the sunset with a small smile. The sunset in a calm manner, sinking into the sea like a lumbering giant diving for the dark depths, seeking the cold beneath. She fancied a swim.

'When Sirius wakes up, I'm going to force him to take me swimming.' She thought with a small smile. The water of Blackwater Bay was dirty and warm most of the time, but right on the edge of the Red Keep, where the White Tower stood defiant over the sea, like a protector of the city, the currents were clean and cold, and Myrcella could not go more than a day without swimming. She had learned to control her desire for the cold water after her mother had scolded her a dozen times. Her father, though, was another matter.

Once, her mother brought her father to see her, swimming naked, "like a common girl", she had said. Her father had stood there for a second, silent, and Myrcella had been afraid he would forbid her from swimming ever again. Yet the man had just laughed like a storm, taking his clothes off, and jumped right beside her. They had swam there and played for a long while under her mother´s wrathful gaze, until her father gave her a kiss and left. And while it had happened years ago, it was a memory she still treasured.

Her father was an extremely flawed man, and Myrcella was not blind to his excesses and sins. She knew she had half-brothers lost through the city and the Kingdoms, and in the last years, her father listened more to the prostitutes and the wine than to any of them. She knew how much he had insulted her mother with his actions and lack of love or respect, and wanted to hate him for it.

But she could not.

The reasons were multiple. The first reason was the selfish one. Myrcella despised her mother. It was easy, to be honest, seeing how much she favored her twisted twin, and how alike they could be. Cersei Lannister was vengeful, vindictive, and hateful. Every sentence carried lies, and every lie hid the truth. And, while she loved her children, Myrcella had seen what her mother did to protect her, and she had had sleepless nights for it.

And then was Joffrey. Her twin, flesh of her flesh, and the person atop the list of people Myrcella wanted Ser Arys to stab in the crotch, repeatedly. And then throw down the battlements for good measure. Her older brother by a matter of minutes, Myrcella was not a cruel woman, but as much as it pained her to admit it, she would not have lost an inkling of sleep if his brother had died at childbirth…or at any point afterward. The sight of Joffrey opening up her pregnant cat Ms. Muffles with a dagger still haunted her every time she looked at him.

But, as much as she might hate her twin and her mother, Myrcella was still a kind woman, and she still loved her mother and brother. Thus, she spun in this doomed dichotomy of confronted and connected feelings.

But, the other reason, the selfless reason, or maybe just another selfish, if at least camouflaged, reason, had occurred but a few years ago. His father had entered his room, late in the night, drunk like a barrel, and as silently as he had cared to be, he had sat on her bed and stood there, looking at her and nothingness for a few minutes. Myrcella had faked being asleep. She did not know why, but she had, and she had listened.

After that night, it had taken much of her graces and her guile to find out the whole story. And tears. Because she understood that in his unhappy, downtrodden, unfulfilled life, his father valued something else apart from the food, the wine, and the sex.

Her.

And she could not hate him for it.

The princess and second daughter of King Robert strode down the battlements overseeing the sea, the sun falling at a slow and steady pace. She likes sunsets. There was a certain melancholy to them she found endearing. In her mind, they made dawn much more beautiful.

"My lady, I think we should return to the Keep." Myrcella held few people in such a high regard as she held Ser Arys Oakheart. He was a handsome man with light-brown hair and a comely face, even if in Myrcella´s mind, the only love he held for the man was that of a trusted friend and beloved protector, contrary to the opinions of her handmaidens, who had a secret bet to see who could seduce the Kingsguard first, and who thought Myrcella was unaware of the bet. She was the one who had told Ser Arys of it, as to keep the man guarded against their advances.

Ser Arys was in her eyes the older brother she never had because Joffrey was a lot of things, but a good older brother, or a good brother in general, was no one of such things. He was a fine bold knight who served faithfully as a member of the Kingsguard, and to Myrcella´s delight, was very fond of gossip, which Myrcella enjoyed as well.

"You are right, Arys." When alone she enjoyed dropping the unnecessary titles. It dragged her down, such formalities. She had that from her father. "Let's return. My mother will tear a hole in the city if I take too long to return."

It was almost funny to her how they couldn´t share more than three sentences, and yet her mother's grip on her tried to remain so iron-tight. It was infuriating for the young girl, who had seen how Joffrey had been given free reign to do as he wished, and Myrcella knew it went beyond her being a woman or a princess, her father had made it abundantly clear that he trusted her more than the entire Small Council put together. It was simply because her mother could not abide by things she could not control. And what Cersei Lannister could not control, she destroyed it, changed it, tricked it, or enslaved it.

Myrcella had withstood her mother´s attempt at manipulation and change for her entire life, and she was smarter than he mother gave her credit for, so, leaving destruction out of her option, Cersei had resorted to the only thing she could use, enslavement, in her insidiously sweet way.

Discarding more venomous thoughts of her equally poisonous mother, Myrcella smiled at Ser Arys and began to turn back, as the dozen gold cloaks that had acted as her guards followed her up towards the Red Keep.

She remained silent, ruminating in her mind a dozen different things. Sirius was atop the list, her dear cousin, who she was terrified of having been forgotten by, of her mother´s fury at the perceived danger to her beautiful golden rotten apple. Of King´s Landing upheaval at the appearance of monsters in their calm reality.

She had remained in the walls because the city was in chaos right now. Her uncle had stemmed the tide of madness quite effectively, placing the city under martial law, and taking every religious figurehead and taken them to neutral ground to speak. Myrcella found her uncle´s choice of the Dragon Pit both intimidating and perfect. A little reminder that even dragons fall to a pissed-off Baratheon, nothing be said of a few zealous idiots.

"Arys," She whispered to her sworn-sword. "Please, send someone to have my dinner brought up to my room. I don't feel like enduring a family dinner tonight."

The knight nodded slowly, before stopping dead on his tracks, and gently holding her back. Myrcella stopped, and trying not to get nervous- looked around to see what had made her guardian stop.

They were right past the courtyard that separated the walls from the Red Keep, and there was absolutely no one in sight. It took a moment to realize that was what had made Arys stop. Even at this hour, there would have been people here, if only to wait for her return to inform their patrons and keep her accompanied, and probably to spy on her as well.

And yet the courtyard was empty. It wasn't as big as the main courtyard by the gates to the city, so there wasn't much space for people to hide or wait out of sight.

So where in the Seven Hells was everyone?

Myrcella felt a cold shiver run up her back as if the Stranger's veritable hand had touched her. Fear danced in her mind, clashing with anger at the idea. The reaction was calm, measured, and prepared. It had been drilled into her by her grandfather, who would not abide fear on her part. So, gently, she made a gesture to her guardian, who understood and drew his blade.

The dozen gold cloaks drew their own weapons, more on reaction than anything else.

Then, a strange smell reached her nostrils. It was a coppery smell, of something she had tasted before. It was heavy, almost stagnant in the air. It was tinged with a sour scent that made her frown. Her mother hated when she frowned, she used to say she looked more like her father when she did.

At that moment, a small voice in the back of her head whispered in a panicked tone that she desperately wished for her father to be here. It took a second to realize that it was her voice, and with that realization, came a single memory.

"You smell that, little doe? That scent is very special. Respect it, but never fear it, because fear will get you killed when this scent takes the air. Because if you smell that, it means…"

"Blood has been spilled." She whispered to herself, and all sounded a thousand leagues away, as her heart beat into her ears like a titanic drum. She froze, realizing in her analytical mind, that if the smell was that powerful, that meant one thing only.

A lot of blood.

One of the gold cloaks stepped forward if it was out of curiosity or bravery, she could not tell, and pulling a torch from the exterior wall, lighted the courtyard.

There were no bodies.

But the ground was choked in fresh blood.

Like a small sanguine pool, it looked as if someone had drained a dozen cows into the small rectangular room, leaving a powerful smell that became a hundred times more powerful when she saw the blood itself. As her mind raced to comprehend what was going on, she saw something in the crimson pool.

Faces.

That wasn´t animal blood, it was human, and it was filled with corpses, dozens of them.

"Princess!" Arys spoke with an iron tone that snapped her out of her stupor, pulling every inch of command into his tone that made her step back behind her guardian.

"In the name of the fucking Seven, what is that?" Breathed one of the gold cloaks, hands trembling. Another simply puked, and as he removed his helm, Myrcella saw that he was young, almost as young as her, wide blue eyes open in utter horror.

"An offering." Came a brutal, gruff voice that rose from the dark corner of the room. A man, a wall of muscle and leather and banded iron, walked forwards, dripping with blood, eyes open in a crazed look of wrathful ecstasy. He looked at her, and as a horrible feeling of dread scaled her back, he smiled. His tone was like grinding stone, but he spoke perfectly, if with a heavy accent. "Blood, for the Blood God."

And the other seven burst from the blood like wailing demons.

Myrcella took a few steps back, but two gold cloaks were dead before she could reach the door. One fell down with an axe on his head, his face a split ruin. The other took a step forth and lost his entrails in the ground when a bloody axe cut him almost in two.

The rest followed suit, dying one by one. The sergeant of the group barely managed to get a swing in against one of the berserkers, who took the strike to the chest and laughed at the blood pouring from the open wound. The sergeant took a step back in shock, and before he could swing again, the bleeding warrior smashed a maul in each side of his head, turning it to bloody mist and powdered bone, all tinged in blood and brain matter.

Another man thrust his spear, and one of the barbarians simply backhanded it out of the way, picked him up by the throat, and tore it open with his bare teeth, ripping the tongue out, and began to chew on it, a smile on his face, as he killed another with a back swing of his axe. Eleven gold cloaks died in less than half those seconds. It stunned Myrcella as the last one of the City Watch members stood trembling in front of her, weapon shaking like a leaf under the wings of a dragon. She dimly realized that the last one was the boy of her age.

While she tried to wake up from the muted horror in her mind, Ser Arys sprung to her defense, sword moving. One of the barbarians, still painted with fresh blood, swung at him, and the white-cloaked warrior danced out of the blow and counterstrike, cutting the arm in half.

It barely fazed the berserker.

It swung his off-hand weapon, an ugly, goat-headed hammer, and Arys dogged the blow and the follow-up knee strike, to then cut the leg with a beautiful counterstrike. The berserker fell face down, swinging his stumped arm, roaring his joy at the spilled blood. But the Kingsguard was already changing target, engaging the warrior of twin mauls.

Myrcella lost him in the furious melee and focused on the three warriors that marched towards her, barely looking at the trembling young man in front of her. He was going to die in a few seconds, and they weren't even to give him the decency to acknowledge his very existence, much less his death.

That angered the young man into action, either that, Myrcella thought, or he had finally broken under the horror that swirled around them. He thrust forward, all his desperation, in one strike, aiming at the throat of the first barbarian. Had his instructor seen the strike, he would have been proud, for it was a well-aimed killing blow.

Then, a dark shadow moved over them, something that darkened even the dusking sky, and bit down on the boy, unnatural jaws closing around his waist, ripping one arm off, that fell bloodied to the ground, still holding the broken shaft of the spear, blood pouring as much and as with the same might as the muffled screams of the boy, and the shadow pulled him from the ground and began to tear him apart and eat him while he still drew breath.

Something in Myrcella´s mind broke and had to restart its basic functions when she first gazed into unreality. The thing towering on the stone pillars around her was a mass of dark shadow and ugly metal, as the screams made her ears hurt and her heartache in horror. Scales, fur, and feathers sprung in random patterns around its back and sides, as its brutal jaw tore muscle from bone, two rounds of brutally sharp teeth taking delight in the task. It was a mixture of hound and lizard in shape, with dark scales and a snouted face filled with teeth that shone under the blood that coated them.

It was a monster beyond monsters.

"Myrcella!" Came Ser Arys´s voice, as he took the head from another of the berserkers, before rushing at her side. He never reached her, the black thing jumping down, and swatting the white-clad knight to the side like discarded trash, smashing a column with a brutal sound of metal and flesh against stone.

"Arys!" She screamed in horror and fear for her guardian. For a horrible second, she thought her knight was dead, until he began to tremble to his knees, breathing hard, his helmet on the floor, dented from the blow.

Then, the knight trembled to one knee, before one of the remaining berserkers kicked him to the ground, putting a knee on his chest, laughing as they spoke their guttural tongue. The one that had spoken in common tongue turned around and told something to the man kneeling over Ser Arys, to which the other man protested, before grunting his assent, and sat on the man, face on his hands, grumbling to himself. The seeming leader turned to her and squatted in front of her, his massive trunk-like legs bulging with muscle, and his height and size so impressive, that even squatting, he was at her eye level.

"His skull is worthy." Explained the man, as if speaking to a child, which Myrcella felt like. "Our Jarl will take it personally, so he breathes a little more. He is the only one that has killed 5 of our men."

Myrcella looked behind the brute of a man and saw the bodies strewn about. Ser Arys had given a great fight, and Myrcella suspected he might have won, hadn´t the… thing that was still eating, appeared. Only then did Myrcella realize that she heard no more screams. She wanted to vomit.

"My Uncle could kill all eight of you without trying." She spoke in defiance, keeping her chin held high and her hands trembling in released adrenaline and fear. The man's eyes held a strange glint of enjoyment at those words as if he beheld a particularly amusing idea.

"Oh, is that so?" He smiled a predator´s smile. "And who is your Uncle, little girl?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer."

"He killed a king?" Asked the brute. "Not much challenge in that, eh?" Spoke the brute, still smiling.

"Your southern kings aren't worth a nurglite´s shit. Barely worth the scraps on my boots. But, it is fun to gut them." He spoke, thoughtfully. "Ah, I really want to do a Blood Crow. Pity I can´t just yet."

He smiled a horribly awful smile down to her.

"Oh, I cannot do that to you, Jarl´s orders." He spat a bloody ball of phlegm in front of her. "He wants you alive."

His face became thoughtful again, a horrible thing to see in a blood-soaked face. The hungry smile that came right after that terrified her even more. He stabbed his axes in a body and began to unclasp his belts, and a sensation of dread, horror, and shock speeded up and down her spine, as Myrcella´s mind began to fall to a primal terror.

"He didn't say a thing about bringing you unspoiled." He said, as his fellows began to rise and mimic his intentions. Myrcella´s exposed back touched the cold iron of the gates closed behind her, and felt the hot sting of tears on her eyes. "And the Dark Prince had blessed us with quite a hunger."

Myrcella slid down the door to a sitting position, horrified at the madness of the last minutes, at the horror of it all. She dimly registered Ser Arys fighting to stand, to rise, to act, speaking words she could not hear under the drumming of her heart.

Gods, no, please, no, she spoke in her own mind, panic surging as quickly as her own breathing. Not like this, please.

"Now." Spoke the monster in human flesh in front of her. "Let's see the order… Gramhill! You go third, after Thornsterin!" The man began to speak his protest when the thing covered in darkness and blood rose in alarm and screamed an ululating sound that made her ears bleed.

And the gate exploded into scrap metal.

Something big, something unnaturally fast for its size, was already in front of her before she fully registered the broken gate behind her. It was fast, it was quick, it was brutal, pounding the ground like a charging knight at full tilt. It took the closest man, the second barbarian, by the throat with its jaws and tore his head off, before tackling the man that had been sitting over Ser Arys and swinging at him, opening his belly into an exploding crimson rain of intestines and shredded organs.

The leader, the man that had wanted to… to sully her, had managed to regain his axes, and letting his pants on the ground, was rushing the blur of death. It moved, and the man was thrown like a broken doll against a pillar.

He did not get up.

It would have been a complicated endeavor with his head split open.

All three men were dead before the first's head touched the ground.

Only then, did the beast reveal itself, or to speak properly, only then did Myrcella actually see the creature. It was big, bigger than any other animal she had seen, barring the elephants she had once glimpsed on the docks.

It was far more terrifying, and to Myrcella, it was plain wrong.

Powerful legs moved him with feline precision, even if no lion could have ever matched it in strength, size, and power. It had striped fur, black over orange, shining like a promise of death. She could see the claws, bigger than her fingers and half a hand, paws of a size enough to encapsulate her head.

Its great size veiled none of its incredible speed and the blood that matted its furs and feathers…

'Feathers?' Myrcella repeated in her mind. 'It has feathers.' She thought in a numb fashion.

And feathers it had, down the spine of its back and all over its neck to its beaked head, the fusion of tiger and eagle´s head, two shining eyes that shone like orbs of gold, its beak sharp and fanged, a head big enough to crush her abdomen if it wished. Its bifid tongue danced over the edge of its lower beak, growling at the shadow creature, as its horns, two sets of shining antlers, looking as if crafted in silver, yet looking as natural as the fur or feathers, feathers that mimicked the patterns on the fur. A long tail, covered in scales, danced softly behind it, longer than Myrcella expected.

Its powerful muscles tensed and prepared, its eyes never leaving the abomination, which answered in kind, fins on the side of the head opening and losing with its ululating growls.

And then they pounced on each other.

The abomination jumped to the ground and sprinted straight at the creature, while the creature jumped forth, using one of the columns to vault to the side and then forth, slamming into each other like two horses crashing, both beings tearing, clawing and biting against the other.

The sound was the most terrifying part, brutal, like mountains striking one another. The abomination was suddenly thrown back, crushing a column as it felt, skidding over the ground and barely managing to regain its footing, before the feathered creature pounced one more. The fight was fast and violent. The creature baited a strike, dogging a bite from the abomination, and using the extended neck of the other creature to bite its beak on its neck, but having to release it because of the spikes of metal surrounding it. That moment cost him.

The other thing managed to scratch the face of the feathered creature, who stepped back and out of reach, but the abomination of shadows pounced on top of it trying to get its fangs on the neck of the feathered creature. It got a chance and brought its fangs on the neck and spine of the feather one.

It was at that moment that Myrcella realized that while both were strong, powerful, and predatory, only the feathered one was smart.

Right as the creature bit down, the feathered one brought its horns back, stabbing them into the jaws of the other beast, and then with a screech of fury and a demonstration of incredible strength, using the stabbed horns, heaved the other creature and threw it against another pillar, the monster sliding out of the impaling horns.

It never got up.

The feathered one pounced, stabbing his horns into the belly of the shadow monster, which roared in pain and anger, and using them like sharp blades tore its belly open and then proceeded to disembowel it with his beak in a shower of gore.

The feathered creature reared back, examining the dead thing with a critical eye, growled, and prodded it with its claws, before feeling happy with the kill, and turned around.

It opened its beak as it walked, to heave out all the chunks of meat it had eaten, falling to the ground like bloody appetizers that made Myrcella want to vomit.

So she did right that, throwing up her meager lunch over the stone tiles of the ground, surrounded by blood, dead bodies, and shit-stained pants. Her dad had mentioned men shat themselves when they died, but the smell was a thousand times worse when mixed with blood and fear.

Her throat hurt. She hadn't realized she had been screaming until she had stopped. She breathed as best as she could, and threw up again the inexistent contents of her stomach once more, the stench overpowering her, before managing to sit on her knees.

Eye to eye with the feathered creature, who was examining her like a particularly delectable morsel.

Myrcella didn't even try to run. She had seen how fast it was. It would tear her apart before she managed to rise. But maybe if she ran, it would be too fixed with her to see Arys now unconscious form, and he would live.

It was a long shot, but she ought to try. Arys was her friend, her guardian, her protector. He had almost died to protect her. What kind of person was she if she didn´t try to do the same for him? Just like her mother.

And she was not like her mother.

The creature tilted its head to the side, crouching and then laying down in front of her, eyes examining her with an uncanny glint of intelligence that sent a shiver down her back. She was getting tired of that feeling today.

Myrcella began to stand, slowly, carefully seeing no reaction from the creature. It didn't move, didn't tense up, and didn't react. It remained laying down, examining her. Almost expectantly. Myrcella´s mind raced for a possibility. Was it going to kill her? Was it not? Had it been trying to save her? Or was just killing the things and her salvation was simply the backlash of its action?

Then, the creature moved.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Jon was… hopeful. It was not something the young bastard was used to. While he hadn't grown loveless, there was a stark difference in the way his father´s family had treated him compared to… his mother´s.

Old Gods, it still felt strange to his mind.

"In summer, it's very hot, but you get used to it. I end up having to change dresses thrice a day because of the sweat!" Shireen had taken a liking to him in an instant, and she was now telling him everything about Dragonstone, of the dragon statues, the corridors, the views and the great windows, of the start she saw in the night and the fish she had seen her father fish.

The climate was now her choice of conversation.

"That hot?" Jon asked, surprised. His… his mother´s side of the family was dornsih, so he had expected them to be used to the heat, but he guessed the heat from the volcano on the island was different from the desert heat.

"Oh, don't listen to her. Shireen is just complaining out of pleasure." Snorted Arthur. He was much more guarded, but he was direct and forward in his manners. An honest and, if what Jon had heard was right, violent man, prone to resolve things with hammer and fist. Although he was older than him, his half-brother took after his father's side of the family and was almost of his stature, thicker, and had veins of silver in his dark mane of hair.

Jon appreciated the honesty most of all. He made no attempt at hiding his slight discomfort with him but didn't hold his nature of a bastard over his head, at least in the last hour.

"No, I do not! You just like to sweat, Arthur! The stink drives the ladies away so they can't pester you." Shireen huffed at her elder brother, pouting in a way that made Jon think she was extremely adorable. The Greyscale mark on her cheek… awakened a deep and burning anger in the young Stark bastard that he did not understand or comprehend, and yet was thankful for.

"That´s a filthy lie! Mother?!" Arthur rebutted in false offense. Their mother shook her head and rolled her eyes over a well-hidden smile.

"You started this Arthur, you finish it. Let Jon and I out of this." It felt very good to feel included in the family dynamic. Extremely so.

"Maybe if you did not spend all morning and evening training in the courtyard, you would be already courting a nice lady I can call sister." Shireen poked Arthur in the chest, shaking her head in fake exasperation at her older sibling. Jon realized then that the girl acted a lot older than she was… But he knew first-hand how things that escaped one´s control could age a person in experience beyond their years

"Please, as if your brother could manage three sentences to a lady without saying something unsavory." Thoros said from where he was sitting, beside Sirius's bed, writing in a small book he had tucked on his belt. Under him, there were many torn pages. Jon had no idea what the man was scribbling, but it seemed important, and it was exasperating the Red Priest.

The comment robbed both Ashara and Shireen of a laugh, and Jon caught his father smiling at the jest. Rob was already smiling, a slightly stupid smile, at least in Jon's opinion, had been plastered in his half-brother's face for the past hour.

"Oh, shut up Thoros. I'm perfectly capable of wooing any damsels." Arthur growled back, resting on one of the bed support pillars, rolling his eyes. Jon then saw Robb´s smile grow several degrees and knew he was about to poke at the Dayne

"Apologies, Ser Arthur, but there was some gossip about an exchange with…" Robb spoke with an affable tone that betrayed none of the rapscallion attitude the redhead could yield.

Instantly the mood shifted, but not in a bad direction.

Ashara began to glare at her youngest son, while Shireen smiled at a private joke, as she rushed beside Jon and waited for the telling. Ned arched an eyebrow, not knowing what his son was speaking of. Jon simply waited, smiling himself.

Arthur let a groan of utter annoyance and sanity straining, as he passed his hand over his face in a gesture of defeat.

"Oh, by the bloody Seven! Does EVERYONE know the story of the Fossoway girl?!" Barked the Baratheon with a growl. Throros was close to falling from his chair, laughing almost hysterically at the mention of the story. Arthur glared at him. "You told them, didn´t you? You fat…"

"What story?" Jon asked, his curiosity bordering on overflowing. Ashara´s eyes did not shift from the murderous glare they were affixed in as she spoke.

"We were at a tourney on Sunspear, visiting the Martells, when Arthur and a few friends of his crossed paths with ladies and fellows nobles of their age from the Reach." Jon´s father let out a sigh as he massaged the bridge of his nose in a way Jon had only seen after Arya´s most daring stunts.

"Knowing that your son takes after your husband's temper, I gather that meeting did not go…well?" Asked his father, in an effort to be polite that Jon found very amusing. His father was always a cordial man, but seldom had he seen him make an effort to be overly polite.

"A Florent bastard…" Arthur began, before freezing for a second and looking at Jon in slight embarrassment. "I mean a Florent that was an imbecile, not... you know…." As much as Jon enjoyed the slight stuttering of his brother, he decided to throw him a rope.

"What did the Florent say?" Asked the bastard, to which Arthur smiled thankfully.

"Funniest thing, I do not remember exactly. Balon told me it was something about mother…" Arthur shrugged, although a smile shone on his face.

"Robert planned to marry Selyse Florent to your father before he married your mother. They have never forgiven that." Said Jon´s father, a frown on his face, as he shook his head in exasperation at the constant infighting of southern houses.

"Well, they can go f…." A death glare from Ashara cut Arthur´s insult before it exited his mouth. "Anyway, whatever he said, I got pissed, and before he got another word out, I head-butted right in the face."

"A head-butt? Seriously?" Thoros asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "You have been spending too much time with our dear Hound."

"Oh, it hurt like a catapult to the face, but you should have seen his nose afterward!" Arthur said with a smirk.

"Wanton violence is not something you should indulge in, young Arthur." The tone of his father´s voice made Jon stop laughing for a brief moment, but Arthur seemed to catch on to the fact and brushed the Warden of the North's scolding aside.

"Yes, yes Lord Stark, I already got the dress down by my father and mother. He got what he was bargaining for. So, after I hit him, a fight almost starts, so I'm there, bleeding, my head ringing like every dammed bell from Old Town put together, and next thing I see, is this ginger-haired Fossoway girl on my face, screaming that I have just hit his cousin. So we start screaming at each other."

"They said many, many bad words." Whispered Shireen on Jon's side.

"So, during the screaming match, the Florent gets up and tries to push me to the ground… And so it happens, I almost fell." Arthur said, clearing his throat, as Ashara´s glare intensified heavily.

"Almost?" Jon asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yes." Arthur said, swallowing under her mother´s, and Lord Stark´s, scathing looks. "I happened to find… a point of support in my fall."

"What was that point of support?" Jon asked with slight dread. Arthur let out a quick whistle before answering.

"The Fossaway girl´s cleavage."

Thoros, who had been sitting, fell to the ground laughing, while Robb tried and failed to contain his laughter. Jon just looked at his half-brother in astonishing surprise, while Shireen frowned to hide his smile. Ashara let a long sigh of exasperation as she rubbed the nose of her bridge. Ned simply blinked twice, in utter surprise that Lord Stannis´s son could be…. So much like Robert in his youth.

"No!" Jon said in utter disbelief. Arthur couldn´t hold it, and started to laugh at Jon´s face of shock. And then Jon could not help to join in the festival of laughter. Their mother glowered at them both, but she faltered for a moment at seeing all her children laughing and smiling together.

"Arthur, stop laughing this instant, that was awful! Your father almost had to make a formal apology!" Ashara admonished, trying not to laugh as she remembered Mace Tyrell´s face when he learned of the situation… and that the girl had been her niece. Robb was holding onto a wall to not fall laughing to the ground.

"You bloody dornishman. I just can't!" He said almost crying in laughter at the mental image in his head.

"Oh, she looked redder than the apple on her dress… which was now quite ruined." Arthur continued, a half smile on his face when he saw that Shireen had sat on Jon's lap.

"Understandably so. You used it like a poor ladder!" Jon said, shaking his head in astonishment.

"So, in my defense, I did try to apologize, twice. Then she punched me. So I started to scream back at her! And things…. Well, escalated." Arthur smiled a very mischievous smile.

"Escalated?" asked Jon, arcing and eyebrow, and thinking how this could not get worse. Their mother proved him wrong with a glowering look that would have given Lady Stark a run for her gold dragons.

"An hour later I caught him in… a quite inappropriate situation with said Fossoway girl." Thoros looked like he was about to pass out from laughter, while Shireen´s smile became even more mischievous. Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, began to color a light tint of crimson at the story, and unabashed smile of the young Dayne. He tried to form words to scold the boy but failed to do so, and finally simply sighed in slight exasperation.

"Busted." Robb whispered under his breath, still smiling

"You don't know half of it. She was a very poor kisser." Arthur said back with a shrug

"Were you any better?" Jon asked, smiling.

"I think she described me to her friends as an 'obtuse swine that lacked the mental capacity to use his mouth properly'. I found it insulting, and hilarious." Arthur admitted, still smiling to himself.

Then, a gentle knocking came to the door, and Sandor stepped into the room, eying something outside of their field of view.

"Milady, the food you requested." The Hound of Dragonstone looked as angry as he ever, but there was wariness in his every movement that Ashara had only seen when the man sensed danger. Like a trained hound, Sandor had always seemed to know just when trouble skulked behind the next corner

"Thank you Sandor, please, send it in." Asahra told him, smiling gently. The man nodded, grumbling to the person out of their view, before resuming his watch out the door.

"Your food, my Lady. Where should I place it?" She was a lovely girl, Ashara saw, of full lips and pale hands, brown hair raining down her back under a hood that covered her face to her eyes, although Ashara could see a glint of black in those eyes. Her voice was soft and yet carried energy with it that made Ashara smile.

"On the table, please. We are just waiting for my son to wake up." Ashara informed her, her smile growing a bit. She had always endeavored to treat even servants with appreciation.

"Oh, quite understandable." Spoke to the girl, her tone becoming chipper as she gently placed the tray of food on the table. Ashara could smell the roasted meat and the sweet scent of lemon, it did little. "Pity he won't, then."

The air froze, as Arthur turned, slowly, a promise of a storm of violence in his blue eyes. Ashara´s eyes shone with anger at the comment, and like the symbol of his house, Eddard Stark rose from where he was, anger clear in grey eyes like a storm-filled sky.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Arthur growled out.

"Men have a hard time waking up generally." Then, they saw her eyes that had remained shrouded by her hood. They were black, like pure obsidian cast against a moonless night. "Especially with a slit throat!" She chippered.

And then the woman moved.

Except no woman Jon could even imagine should have moved with the speed of the one in front of them. It had been standing in front of her mother and with her back to his father, and then it was behind him. It had been a blur.

Jon went for his blade, but halfway through the motion he went numb, knees failing under his weight, a shiver running up his back as he fell to the floor face first. He hit the floor hard followed by a wave of grunts and growls. Arthur was on his ass, back to a wall, sweating rivers trying to force his body up. Thoros was crawling with desperation forward, barely moving centimeters with all his might placed behind every movement of desperation. He had lost sight of Shireen, and he hoped dearly she had hid well. By the grunts outside of his field of view, he understood his father and brother were also on the floor, fighting to move, scream, do anything, all of this numbed by a darkening mist that boggled mind and senses, that darkened and brightened everything in quick intervals.

No sound came from outside, no one was coming, because not one of them could scream.

The only person still standing, was Ashara Dayne.

Trembling and sweating as her body fought to fail, blood trickling from the slash on her chest, blinking the darkness away, the Lady of Starfall simply refused to fall and leave her children utterly defenseless. Whatever limits her body had imposed upon her by the restrictions of her mortal coil, meant little against the will of a mother unwilling to simply lie down when her children, her four children, were in danger.

So she stood there, defiant, purple eyes glowering at the assassin, as the assassin's tongue graced her lips, a hungering smile shining under eyes of murder and excess. With a quick movement, the clothes of the simple kitchen aid were gone, replaced by straps of dark leather and nothing more, a dagger flipping in her hand like she had been caught using a toy she should not have been playing with.

"My, my, I see now where he gets the fire. And the curves as well" She said, her voice grating against their ears, and yet sounding almost angelical at the same time. "Oh, do not worry, you get to watch. Every. Excoriating. Single. Detail."

She danced around Ashara, eying her, as around her, they all tried to do anything to move, to scream, to alert the unsuspecting guards outside.

"Do not bother, my little toys. A simple nick." She toyed with her blade. "And the Cockatrice poison will keep you quiet and ready for me. Not that it mattered. A little magic there and here, and until I wish so, not a sound is escaping this room."

She licked her lips as she looked behind Jon.

"Oh, I love the noble ones. They are so… enjoyable to break later…" She purred, as Jon frantically realized she was speaking of his father. Her feet pressed again Jon´s hair gently. "Oh, you are a virgin, little boy. Oh, taking that is always special… especially if I'm the one doing the taking."

Cold sweat began to pool under Jon´s shirt as a sensation of primal and feral dread ate at him.

She passed by Ashara´s side, caressing the cheek of Jon´s mother, before her hand came down, her smile twisting into something horrible, as her nails passed by Ashara's neck, then stooped at her breast, and after pinching gleefully, danced close to between her legs.

When she shivered at the touch, he saw Arthur get red like spilled blood, every inch of his half-brother fighting to stand, to move. From the corner of his eyes, Jon saw from where he was lying, a hand grabbing a table, as his father fought with tooth and nail to rise, pushing anything he had, every bit of Stark fury, of Stark honor and Stark ice in his veins to get up. But none of them could.

It shamed him. He pulled every muscle, but it felt as if he had led in his bones and molten iron covering him. It was not possible to move or act, and he felt a furious dread, a pit of uselessness tearing at his heart.

The Lady of Starfall was trembling in her effort to do absolutely anything, but she was going beyond her limit to remain standing, and so, the assassin's violating ministrations continued unperturbed. Jon grew sick at her smile, her obvious enjoyment in his mother´s horror and defenselessness. Jon felt wrath that had never matched anything he had felt. And he managed to get to his knees, fury roaring in his mind, as he fought, desperately to get up, and to help.

To do anything.

But he could not. Not one of them could do a thing.

The assassin nipped at Ashara´s neck, hands exploring, going slowly first before nails bit into flesh, and she drank the Lady of Dragonstone's fear, hopelessness, and pain. She was feasting. And when the threat was dealt with, oh, the thing she would do to her…

"Oh." The assassin said, taping her lower lip with a look of innocence that almost made Jon want to forgive her for any transgression before a part of his mind howled in anger at the manipulation. "But I should not get ahead of myself."

He blew a kiss to Ashara, as he walked past her, her hands trailing the other woman´s hip, and slipping down her back. Ashara trembled as a shiver went up her back as the assassin stuck her finger inside her for a brief moment.

"First, business, then I get to the pleasure." Said the assassin, letting go of Ashara, and walking right to the bed, licking her fingers avidly. Like a snake, she slithered until she was straddling Sirius, hands gently caressing him, hunger ravening her every feature.

"Oh, the things I have heard of you. The things I have been promised if I deal with you." She shivered so violently she almost seemed to convulse. "This will be worthy of my Prince."

Her knife trailed the air until it rested above Sirius's left eye.

"Piece after piece, like all good morsels, shall we?"

The woman twirled the dagger on her fingers and brought it down on Jon´s brother.

Arthur wanted to scream his lungs out; Ashara could see it as she desperately attempted to move, to help her boy. Eddard managed to get up, but could not do anything else but stand frozen, using the table as support for his failing legs. Robb´s hand tethered next to his sword, but he was not able to draw it, much less get up. Jon managed to get on all fours, but that was all he could do. His brother, one he barely had known he had, was about to die, and the nobility and kindness in his heart hurt him to think he would not be able to even say one word to him.

The air whistled, and a black feathered arrow passed by the assassin's check, impaling the pillow next to his brother's head. The assassin had moved out of the path of the projectile, dancing with the movement, only for another shadow, fast and quick, to throw itself from the ceiling at it, silver steel flashing.

And they clashed.

Both were faster than anything Jon had ever beheld, and both fought with a maddened fury that made them no more than afterimages to his keen yet untrained eyes, blades cutting and slashing, striking the other´s steel or biting empty air, blistering speed, and indomitable fury overflowing form each and every blow. For a moment they locked weapons, and the assassin's face deformed into an ugly smile that sent shivers down the bastard´s spine.

"Well, well, the Prince smiles down at me. I drink elven blood tonight, shadowed one." She purred hungrily, obsidian eyes glinting with unfurling hunger.

"You will drink nothing, madwoman, but my steel." Answered the other, her voice sounding hard, yet musical at the same time. She tried to kick the assassin, who jumped back, so she made some space for herself. Only then did Jon get a look at her.

She was beautiful, and terrifying in an equal manner.

Her face was hard, yet sculpted with fine curves that made every inch of it fit perfectly around onyx black eyes that promised murder. Her lips were thin and strained now, marked by many seasoned under the element, may it be cold, heat, sun, or moon. She had three scars running down her left cheek, and did little to mar her obvious beauty, which she seemed keen on hiding, her long black hair braided down her back, silver plates of armor, dulled as to not reflect light peaked out her clothes, and the only place where light seemed to catch her shrouded form were her weapons, a pair of daggers that reflected moonlight that was yet to shine in the sky.

And they crashed again, dancing at a speed that boggled the mind and dulled the senses. Jon saw the cloaked woman pull back with a flip, landing atop a small table that barely trembled, and the other followed, twirling over herself, blades clashing and moving, and then suddenly they were over the wardrobe, exchanging blows.

At a moment he did not register, the cloaked woman slammed one of the doors of the wardrobe into the other's hand, almost making her lose her dagger. But the other was fast and pulled back before she was disarmed.

The assassin moved to vault over the cloaked woman, to get close to her intended target, but the cloaked one threw one of his daggers at her, and the assassin was forced to roll away from eh bed, as the dagger embedded itself into the wall next to Sirius´s head.

Recovering from her failed maneuver, both combatants engaged in a fierce battle, kicks and punches flying with as much deadly intent as knife strikes and sword blows. The cultist brought down the dagger and the other woman blocked the blow, the follow-up, but not the knee strike that found an unarmored segment in her armor, almost breaking a rib. The assassin cackled, before throwing the cloaked woman with a leg lock, immobilizing her against the ground, and lifted her dagger with a hungry smile.

"Oh, I wish I had time to properly dispose of you, little raven, but I have priorities… and promotions to look forward to." She licked the other woman´s cheek with a hungry growl to the disgust of the raven-haired shadowed warrior. "Oh, but the things I would do to you…"

"I'm going to break your windpipe, demon-worshipping whore."

"No, you won't." Said the assassin, and she brought down her dagger onto the cloaked woman´s throat.

Only she did not.

No matter how much she wanted to, she didn't see her weapon kill the wretched elf, the blood soak her, she didn't hear her last breath, or see the fear of death in her eyes, or feel her hand move. The triumphant smile on the elf´s face sent a shiver of worry up her legs. She eyed her arm, and she understood why she could not.

She had a dagger impaling her hand to the wardrobe.

The elf smiled.

And the cultist saw orange death shining down at her.

A burst of movement told her what and who had attacked, the only person in the room she had still not nicked with her dagger.

She tried to push back, pulling the weapon from her arm and moving back with speed beyond most mortals. The thing hunting her was also beyond most mortals. A naked fist got her across the jaw, spinning her back. She danced with the blow, directing the inertia to strike back, but her attacker grabbed the offending hand and threw her over his shoulder into the ground. She hit the stones hard and felt a hand grab her neck with furious strength.

And she stared into amber eyes and a promise of death delivered from the heart of the Land of Chivalry.

"You do not touch her." Sirius Dragonheart, the Amar-Aranth, growled, bringing his hand like a hammer onto her face. The slanneshi assassin struck a nerve, making the bretonnian knight let go, and dogged the blow, moving like a coiling snake, and her legs around his throat. She tried to stab him.

The elf was faster.

The shadow warrior jumped, wrapping her own legs over her throat, pulling with all the might of her athletic body, throwing her off, right when the bretonnian delivered the second brutal strike, right on her midsection. Another opponent would have crumbled in pain, but this was one of the assassins of the Dark Prince. She relished it, strength flooding her limbs. And she moved.

Sirius blocked the first jab and the follow-up kicks. One. Two. Three. The fourth connected with his chest, too close to his windpipe. The fifth would have connected and crushed his throat. The elf was faster. She delivered a brutal palm strike right on the cultist´s solar plexus, throwing her back, and Sirius capitalized, fist falling like a trebuchet round. It found the cultist head with a crunching sound.

Cracked skull.

Not bad.

Not good enough.

The dagger flew up, as the maddened worshiper of the Seducer enjoyed the thrill from the pain to counterstrike. Sirius moved like Gragnir had shown him, spinning around, dogging, and pulling the arm into a hold to then throw the bitch against the wall. He had underestimated her strength and flexibility. Her body contorted unnaturally, a mockery of an acrobat, and suddenly his grapple turned into her chokehold and he was on the floor, as she tried to pull his arm out of place and asphyxiate him. Sirius threw his other arm to grab the locked arm, keeping it from being torn, but there was little to do against the dagger going for his throat. The elf again was his saving grace. She grabbed the arm with the knife and hit the cultist in the throat once, then twice more, until her hold loosened, and Sirius proceeded to throw her toward the window. The assassin landed with a pirouette, before popping her shoulder back into place, her long tongue lashing over her teeth like a fleshy snake.

"Oh, it's so wonderful when they are awake. I love it when they fight back." She said, licking her lips, electing a small moan of delight when she tasted her own blood from a broken lip.

"I am going to stick that knife down your throat." Was Sirius´s simple answer, as he stalked around her, a circling predator moving with the grace of an angry demigryph. The space for the fight was small, and both he and the elf were limited to keep that chaos worshiper from getting to his family.

"I love when they talk dirty." She said, keeping her almost feline smile, eyes undressing him. Hadn't he been used to fighting worshipers of the Dark Prince, he would have left the shiver running down his back become something else.

"Do not rill her up, Sarathai-skale. She is already motivated." The elf said, voice sounding crystalline and hard.

"They always bloody are." Sirius said, cracking his neck.

"I will feast on your heart, your intestines, and your member. I will devour, despoil, and enjoy every bit of skin, bone, and nerve you have." Said the cultist, a powerful shiver going up her back, eyes dark like the void. "And then I will do the same to each one of them. It will please my Prince very much."

"What the fuck is wrong with this mad bitch?" Arthur barked, the first to actually manage to pull from the poison´s embrace, still fighting to get to his feet, a slight tone of panic in his voice at the utter mad brutality of the words. Sirius almost chuckled.

"I'm about to kill her." He said in a slow tone.

All three of them pounced. The cultist moved under Sirius´s twin jabs, snaking under his guard with the third blow, a miscalculated hook, a coiling serpent, dagger at the ready. Except it had not been miscalculated in the slightest.

The knife hand cracked when the elf pulled it down and then pushed, the bone snapping out of place. Sirius followed up by grabbing the slanneshi´s hair and slamming her face against the wall. Once, then again and again. She slipped from his grasp, blood, and her gifts making her quick enough. But it mattered little now. Her broken nose and swelled face, covered in her blood robbed her of all her beauty, all her confidence, and a few of the gifts of her mongrel god. The elf threw her own weapon at her, and the cultist deflected it out of the way. But that had left her wide open for Sirius to deck her across the jaw. She tried to recover.

She failed.

The elf´s elbow found her jugular, and as she choked, the shadow warrior slammed her against the edge of the window.

"What did I just tell you?" Sirius growled, before bringing his knee onto the assassin's arm still grasping the dagger, shattering beyond use, and taking hold of her hand so as to not touch the cursed steel, burying into her throat upward, reaching the brain. Sirius let go as the elf took a step back, moving behind the knight.

The cultist fell dead to the ground with a wet sound.

Sirius took a step back, as the body trembled in its place, the flesh of the face bubbling like a demonic stew, running down the bones until a featureless face returned the look, no mouth nose, or even ears, hair charring and burning up in acrid smoke, until only the dark eyes of ebony remained.

"Grail´s Light." Sirius said with a sigh of relief. "Why are they always so bloody insane?"

"They worship gods of death and annihilation, what did you expect, Sarathai?" The elf questioned.

"Oh, I don't know. To be honest…" He turned to speak to the elf, but she was faster, and suddenly, he was swept in a tight hug. Sirius blinked twice, before returning it with a small smile.

"I had been told you had left Loec´s dances forever, Sarathai." The hug tightened for a moment. "I'm glad Father was wrong."

Sirius chuckled slightly, amber eyes shining with inner light.

"I am a Knight of Bretonnia, Gilrin. We do not submit to fate, we shape it, by our choices and by the Lady´s Grace." The elf let out a laugh and stepped back, pushing the knight away, her hand sweeping what one would have been forgiven for mistaking as the beginning of heartfelt tears, and she glared at him.

"One word to Gragnir, and not only will I deny everything, I will put an arrow in your arse, understood?" Sirius raised his hands in mock defeat, before smiling at the elven woman.

"It's good to see you again, Gilrin. More than you can think." He told her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. The elf regaled him with a half-smile.

"Loec spoke to me a song of death and foreboding, yet there was hope too. Your name was part of the song, lone and pained, and so I could not let you dance alone."

"Thank you." Sirius spoke, and to Jon, those two words carried more sentiment than any speech he had ever heard.

"My…. My boy." As if awoken from a dream, Sirius was returned to the present, and he twirled towards where the voice had come. A second after, he was steading his trembling mother with gentle but firm arms.

"Mother." Sirius said as he helped Ashara to sit down, wobbling a bit as the poison still remained. It had been made to freeze the body, not the senses, and it took Ashara a few steps to get past the stiffness of the muscles. She pushed through it and gently grabbed her eldest son´s face.

He was tall. As tall as her husband, of a firm body, and calm features, earnest in his smile, and smiling in a shining way, as if nothing could made him happier than to see her. There was power behind those amber orbs he had, and while it pained Ashara to not see her son´s purple eyes anymore, the new ones were bright with life and energy, and it almost made her cry.

"My boy. My little star knight." She breathed as he inspected him. Shirtless as he was, she could see his scars with painful detail, and she could see every mark on him. It was even more choking now, with her body full of life.

But by whatever deity had listened, she was thankful to see him on his feet.

"It has been a while since anyone has called me little, mother." He spoke back, gently grabbing her hands, a slightly awkward smile on his face. Ashara wondered when had been the last time they had seen each other to his perception. He looked much older than he could be, almost as old as Renly, and yet holding energy her brother-in-law lacked and carrying wisdom behind his eyes that was almost humbling.

"A hand here please?!" Arthur barked, not able to actually stand up. Sirius chuckled as he grabbed his little brother (the mere thought of it made him smile) and pulled him to his feet.

"Wobbly feet, Art?" He said. His brother remained a little dazed for a moment, before trying to crush him in a hug. Sirius returned it happily.

"Do not dare leave me alone, you bastard." Arthur whispered to his ear, his hug turning almost desperate.

"I got you, little brother." Sirius whispered back, before pulling back to look at Arthur. "Blessed Waters, you got big. Still favoring the hammer?"

"Stick and stone may break my bones, but a good hammer will always break yours." Arthur said back the old stormlander saying. Sirius smiled at that. Only then did he see the elf´s amused smile

"What?" He asked, frowning slightly. Gilrin was not a smiler.

"I just find it amusing that you use the same nickname for your younger brother that you employ for your wife, Sarathai." Arthur blinked. Had she said… wife?

Sirius?

Who could not look at a lady who was not family without turning red like a crab?

Who had once been teased by Arianne by lifting her skirt and had run to the other side of Sunspear in shame?

"True." Sirius mused. "I need to deal with that later."

"Wife?" Arthur asked in shock.

"Wife?!" Ashara almost cried in shock, barely holding onto the bed with one hand, blinking in surprise. Sirius laughed eagerly to hide his nervousness. Oh, his wife was not going to like this one bit.

'Oh, shit. She is definitely going to try to kill dear Aunt Cersei.' He mused for a second. 'In all honesty, would that be that bad?'

"That is a long story, I'm afraid, one that I'm even more afraid is going to have to…. Uncle Ned?!" Sirius barked when he recognized the grey eyes of the Warden of the North as he fought to get to his feet. Quickly, the son of the Lionhearted helped both him and the youth beside him to their trembling feet.

"My boy, it is so good to see you again." Ned said, placing a hand on Sirius´s shoulder. While their time together had been fairly short, Ned knew he had made a massive impression on the young man, who by that time looked up to him both by his honorable manners and by the fact he held the title of besting his uncle Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning.

"Good to see you too, lord Stark." Sirius said, smiling at the man, before glancing at the young man on his feet with starching Tully features and yet a slight air of northern wolf about him. "Your boy?"

"Robb Stark, a pleasure, Lord…." Robb faltered a bit in the end, and Sirius frowned. Robb feared he had offended the man already, but when he grunted and shrugged it off with an easy smile, he smiled back.

"That is going to be a pain. Amaranth, Dragonheart, feel free to choose, I don't have preferences." He stopped for an uncomfortable second of silence. "I guess Dayne would also be acceptable." He begrudgingly accepted. Sirius was still getting used to the idea of being back in Westeros, but the fight had allowed his mind some clarity.

'Focus on the problems one at a time, Sirius. We kill the chaos worshipers, we save the castle, then we worry about what bloody surname we are getting.'

"What about Baratheon?" His brother suggested. Sirius laughed at that.

"The only Lord Baratheon I know is dear old father, and I am not taking the title from him." He said with a chuckle, then froze into a moment of veritable dread. "He is not dead, right?" He asked, looking at his mother with a look of uncertainty and slight hopelessness Ashara did not like it one bit.

"No, your father is not dead, dear; he is just down in King´s Landing." Sirius let out a sigh of relief. On one side, if the Enemy was here, he would not find a better ally and more steadfast opponent to their corruption than in Stannis Baratheon.

On the other, well, he really wanted to see his… "father" again. A sizzling sensation of shame washed over him over calling father any other man than his king. He wrestled with the clashing sensation for a brief moment, before casting them down to a solitary place in his mind, to deal with later, when lives were not at stake.

'Who in the Deserts am I kidding? When aren´t lives at stake in this time and age?'

Then, a realization hit him.

"Why?" Sirius asked, frowning at that. Two different thoughts crossed his mind. Firstly, how strange it was for the man he remembered to have left his family to go down to a city he had personality detested the last time he had asked the man, and two, how awful it was for a father to abandon his child on possible deathbed. But while Stannis Baratheon´s sense of duty was on par with his… current father, King Louen, the middle Baratheon lacked the empathy, charisma, and gravitas his father and king had so naturally developed over the centuries.

That, was going to take time to get used to.

'Which is an awful thing, because normally, I make a huge fucking mess, and he transforms my complete lack of patience for bullshit into a political master move. Goddess, this is not Bretonnia anymore. I'm going to get politically skewered the first time anyone opens their mouth at the wrong moment.' He deeply wished his Knight of Melancholy and his faithful Castellan were with him. They were his political powerhouses, caning the Balls of Masks masterfully for him.

'I hope you get here quickly lads. I need blades at my back, and if they so happened to be ones I can trust my very soul to, that would be marvelous.'

"Seeing as last I passed through that ylvathoi stink of a city, I would guess make sure no one kills or gets killed, in your name." Spoke Gilrin, walking beside the bed, and kneeling down. When she spoke next, her voice was softer, as soft as Sirius had ever heard her speak. "You can come out little one, no one will harm you."

When she looked up at the bretonnian, she gestured to him and he went and kneeled beside her, smiling kindly at the huddled figure under the bed.

"Hello, li…" He began, when the small figure leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly like a lifeline, and managing to make him fall on his arse. "Whoa!"

"Sirius!" Spoke the vice as a little face buried itself on his shoulder. It took him a moment to realize who it could be. Gently, he pulled the girl back, until he was staring into a face so alien, and yet so familiar, it almost made him cry.

"Shireen?" he breathed- A trembling smile was all the answer he needed, as a deep sensation of fierce protectiveness overcame everything he was. "Hello… little sister."

Sirius´s heart skipped a beat at the use of that word once more. Goddess, it hurt, and brought joy in an equal manner. She was so…

So like…

'Goddess.' He begged silently. 'Let me save this one, please, do not let me fail this time.'

"I knew you would wake up." Shireen said, half smiling, half examining him. Sirius chuckled and ruffled her hair.

"Of course I would." He told her. Using the exact same words he had used with her. "Think there anything here that can stop me?" She shook her head vigorously, before grabbing his hands tightly and pulling him to hug her mother. Sirius sat down beside his mother and took in the moment with a deep breath.

Shireen´s hand on his own. Arthur's hand on his shoulder, his mother´s hand on his arm.

It felt immaterial, impossible, beyond any mortal comprehension.

Much like his entire life, then.

Yes, if he had been able to face Archaon and survive, punch the Witch King out of Ulthuan, kill Darkhammer, best the Wanderer, travel to the edge of the world and back, stand before the Jade Dragon, face Greater demons and Unholy champions, and send the Black back to his dark ruins, he could do this. He could try to enjoy this.

Until duty called, of course. And it was calling right now.

"She would not be alone, Sarathai." Gilrin finally said after a moment of silence. Peace would have to wait. War knocked at his door, and he had to answer in force.

"Where are the fuckers?" he spoke rising, eyes gleaming with a dark promise. "If it's more of the Dark Prince´s rabble, they will go for vulnerable targets. Rape, pillage, torture…" He trailed off, thinking, planning, preparing.

"King´s Landing is sleeping away…. Do you think….?" The face of Lord Stark was one of building dread. He could not blame him. His uncle had seen what had happened to the city after the Sacking, and while his memories of the Old Lion´s mercilessness were clear, his men and dogs were nothing compared to the sworn worshipers of the Dark Prince.

"No. The Keep is the target. But that is not what worries me." Sirius spoke, reassuring his uncle only a little while making Gilrin draw the same conclusion.

"You were not the main target." Gilrin said, and Sirius nodded. And that made them both worry. What could possibly be on the Red Keep that would make chaos worshippers more interested than the Lady´s Wrath himself?

"Yet she knew who I was, which begs the question, what in the Grail´s Light are they after?" Sirius mused.

"This is your land, Sarathai, you tell me."Gilring said with a shrug, crossing her arm in front of her chest, dark hair covering her left eye and her scars.

"My land is gone under the sea." Sirius spoke back, harsher than he intended, but the elf was used to it.

She was not used to the information he had delivered.

Standing straight, she stepped in front of him, eyes wide in shock.

"What?" She asked, eyeing him carefully. Sirius took a deep breath. He knew the moment would come, and yet, he had been not prepared for it.

"Avalon… We overloaded the ley lines-" he began, before Gilrin almost pounced on him, grabbing him by the shoulders, a dangerous look on her eyes.

"What madness are you uttering?!" She hissed.

"Be´lakor´s Shadow Legion invaded. We could not hold the Dukedom, so Merlin blew the lines. Albion sunk under the sea." Girlin stepped back for an amount, a strange glint that Sirius could recognize as something horribly close to fear darkening her eyes. Sirius understood the reason.

If there was one from their merry band capable of blowing up an island to deny it to the enemy and kill as many as possible, that would have been her, her father, or any of the Naragothy nobles. Form Sirius, she would have expected a noble final stand, a mighty strategic maneuver, tactical brilliance to dazzle the foe.

If he had resorted to such desperate and dangerous measures, such tactics worthy of her father, just what had he been faced with?

'Hell, emptied and ready for the slaughter. Just not the one they expected.' He thought bitterly.

"You sunk the entire island?" Gilrin asked, eye shining as the beginning of a smile darkened her face.

"And a few hundred thousand northerners, for good measure." Sirius said smiling, before getting a little red of embarrassment and turning quickly to his uncle. "Not your northerners Uncle Ned…. It´s a long story."

"You blew up a fucking island?" Arthur asked, tone marred by disbelief.

"Sunk it. As I said, very long story." Sirius reiterated. "Three hundred-year-old story, to be precise." He muttered after.

"In the fucking name of the Seven…!" Arthur said, half choking. Ashara´s eyes were wide in shock. Had her boy said... three hundred years?

"Old story…" Sirius mused out loud. "Old story…" The realization came like a dawning sun.

"The Red Keep is of valyrian make… Blood wards, of course. That explains how they got in so easily." Sirius said, a bit venom in his words. Dead the lady knew how many years ago, and the fucking Targaryen were still finding ways to make hell for his family.

"So that´s the reason she wanted me to come." Spoke a man who had remained a few steps behind. It took Sirius five full seconds to recognize the man, and a wide grin overcame his face.

"Thoros?!" He laughed as he hugged the old priest.

"Hello, lad. You look well. Should I address you as His Lordship now?" Asked the man in slight jest and with a mild bow. Sirius waved it away,

"Never, you old priest." Sirius´s face became peaceful for a moment as he felt the strands of silver and gold energy interweaved with Thoros´s very being. He recognized the light and the touch and smiled. "I feel her touch in you, Thoros."

"Long story as well, I'm afraid. It can wait. Let's just say, I will be changing colors after all of this. A man has to try new things." Sirius was going to make a comment when the door exploded inwards.

Heavy as a horse, angry as a bull, and ferocious like a hound, Sandor Clegane stepped in, greatsword in hand, eying them all in quick succession. One look at the dead cultist and on another at the way the strange woman he did not know told him what had been the matter and the solution.

"Check the dead bitch! And watch the fucking window, or I will throw you over the dammed walls!" He commanded, before walking forward towards the man standing before him, blinking in slight surprise.

"Sandor." The name came from Sirius's lips like an old and treasured spell, used with great care. The man reacted by grabbing him in a bear hug. Sirius laughed at the Hound of Dragonstone and spun him around, smiling wickedly.

"Little star." He growled out loud, putting him down, placing his hands on his shoulder, and realizing that Sirius was taller now, and while not as tall as himself, he was as tall as his lord father. "Although you aren't little anymore."

"It's good to see you, Loyal Hound." Sirius said, patting the bigger man on the breastplate.

"Welcome back to the pack, lad." The Hound spoke back, patting him on the back. "Any injuries, my lady? Do I have the skin the lads for not catching the sneaky….?

"Sandor" The man smiled and did not finish his sentence. "No, we didn't realize we were in danger until she had us at her mercy."

"How the fuck didn´t we hear… all this?" Pointed one of the Dayne men, pointing his blade at the wrecked bed, chairs, and tables the scuffle had torn to splinters.

"A spell that broke with her death." Sirius guessed. "Slanneshi assassins love their little tricks."

It was then that Sirius saw the last person that had been in the room with them. A bit shorter than him, he had striking Stark features… but smelled different.

"And if you don´t me asking, who are you?" Sirius asked Jon amicably, eyes scanning him up and down. Jon proceeded to bow his head in greeting, panicking slightly. This might have been his sibling, but he did not know what to expect and he looked deadlier than a hungry pack of direwolves.

"Jon Snow, my lord…" Sirius cut with a swift movement.

"I am not your lord, Jon." Spoke the amber-eyed bretonnian, waving him upwards. "Do not bow to me, please."

Gilrin snorted.

"Snow? You humans are so imaginative for surnames." She said rolling her eyes in the manner most elves did when dealing with those they considered inferior, voice dripping sarcasm.

"Bastard." Sirius said. "I'll explain later, a stupid old tradition." He explained dismissively.

"You must be Uncle Ned´s son, no?" Redirecting his attention to Jon, the bastard did not know what to say, or how to act.

"Yes, my…. Yes…." He stuttered, unsure.

"Oh, for fuck´s sake." Arthur finally snapped angrily, bragging the Stark by the shoulder and looking at his oldest sibling in the eyes. "He is our half-brother."

"Sorry, what?" Sirius asked, blinking in slight surprise and turning to his brother. Now that had caught him utterly by surprise.

"He is your brother, Sirius. Mine and…" Began Ashara turning a bit red.

"You mother and I…." Ned began trying gallantly to help Ashara, sweating at how to explain his nephew.

Sirius cut them both off w by quickly shaking his arms, like an angry chicken caught by surprise.

"Uncle Ned, I'd love to hear the excellent explanation, really." Sirius began with a calming breath. "But I do not think my sanity can take that much without making the Lord of Change happy as an ogre in front of a reiklander buffet house. I have to compartmentalize. I'm back in King´s Landing, and there are very dangerous cultists running around, without knowing what the Deserts they want. I think we can deal with the whole 'new brother' situation after all that, agreed?"

Sirius asked, looking a bit desperate. Too much information was going to overwhelm him, and to be honest, he really needed something to focus his frustrations. Norscans were a good outlet as any other.

"Agreed." Lord Stark said, hiding his massive relief at not having to discuss it twice on the same day.

"Good. First thing is first. Let's clean the rabble." Sirius said, his smile turning feral and his heartbeat increasing steadily.

"We go hunting?" Gilrin asked in a fake innocent tone, her smile hidden as she lifted her hood and facemask.

"Oh, we do." Sirius took a deep breath, and let go.

He let go of the pain his body was still in, of the frustration of those who were not with him, or the surprise, the shock, the uncertainty, and the doubts. He clung to determination, to anger, to hatred, to zeal, to faith.

He turned those feelings into a bright and sharp blade in his mind, into a weapon to wield to sharpen his own will for the fight. In a moment, all hesitation was excoriated, burnt in the fire of his battle-focus and the song of his wrath.

They had come to his birthplace.

Where his blood lived.

They had tried to kill a family he had lost once and one he had earned.

They had separated him from the people he loved the most.

And, atop all these things. They made his little girl cry.

Wrath, like that of a newly born sun, blossomed into his chest. The son, the brother, the nephew, the kind man, would have to wait.

Let the warrior step forth and brave the coming storm.

"Arthur, take Shireen and Mother, and go get Uncle Robert, tell him what is going on, and alert every guard you see. Uncle Ned, you need to get back to the rest of the nobles and their families. If these bastards want an easy target, a bunch of noble ladies sleeping is the best one they are going to get." Sirius rolled his shoulders and began to search for a weapon.

Girlin stepped forth and offered something. Sirius paused for a brief instant,

It was a blade, an elven sword, shining pale under the falling sun. It was too short for his liking, and its shape was not his favorite, but it was terribly well-balanced. And it was of good make. Gently, he took it and nodded his thanks to the elf, who nodded back.

"Sandor, Thoros, wake up any able-bodied man and get them ready for a fight." Sirius continued, twirling the blade in his grip. It would do. "Because we are going to have one hell of a fight."

"And what about you, my son?" Ashara asked, as one of her guards gently handed her a blade. Sirius closed his eyes for a moment.

"I am a Knight of Bretonnia." He said as if that was all the explanation that was required. "And now, I hunt."

"And there is that fire." Said Gilrin gleefully. "Ready for the kill, Sarathai?" She knocked an arrow into her black wood bow, smiling an almost sinister smile. Sirius rolled his shoulder back, the sound of bones creaking over the several days of not moving resonating into the room.

"Ready? No. I am not ready. But then again, when have I been ready?" He mused, smiling at the elf. "What about you Daughter of Shadows? Are you ready to dance Loec´s tune?"

"I was born ready." Sirius nodded, before turning to his half-brother and staring at him for a brief moment. Then, he put a hand on the shoulder of the sibling that had been born before him, and yet he towered over in experience and even in height, for now at least.

"Jon. I need to go now, but I need you to do me a favor." The Stark´s grey eyes shone with an unspoken promise that gleamed like freshly burnished steel.

"Ask, and I will do all I can." Sirius nodded toward the rest of the people in the room.

"Keep them safe."

"With my life, if need be." Answered the stark, hand flying to his blade by his side. Sirius patted him on the shoulder.

"Let's hope it does not come to that." He told him, turning around, and gesturing for one of the Dayne guards of his mother. The man stepped forth with a question in his eyes, and with a small apology, Sirius drew his longsword from the man´s belt.

He held it in his hand for a moment, twirling it in the air, comfortable with the weight and balance. It was a bit shorter than his own sword, but as an off-hand weapon, it would do nicely. He nodded his thanks to the man, who stepped back with his fellows.

He went for the door until he felt someone grab his shoulder. He turned, expecting his mother or even his uncle to try to stop him.

But it was Arthur. And his eyes spoke a thousand things his lips could not, would not utter.

"Don't you dare to die again." Was all he said. Sirius grasped his brother´s wrist with a firm hand and looked him right in the eyes. He looked older in every aspect but his eyes. They still shone with that boyish determination that if you hit hard enough if you stood tall enough and screamed loudly enough, you could do anything and everything.

Arthur had never looked like their father. He was too hotheaded, too easy to bond with, too approachable for his friends, and too prone to flings and courtship in the brusquest manners. But there was one thing they both had inherited from the man.

His sheer tenacity.

Sirius nodded slowly, understanding his father much more now, in ways he had never expected to.

"You know what we say to death, little brother." Arthur smiled back, ferociously.

"Not today." He growled. "Go kill the fuckers."

And the Knight and the Shadow were gone

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

I will not make promises as to the next chapter… because I never keep them, and I do not like giving you promises then cannot fulfill. But I am working on it. So, hope you liked it, and comment, criticize, give suggestions, all is welcomed, fire at will!

May the lady watch over you!