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.

9. Old Family, Old Alliance, Old Foe

As a door opens, the writer exits alone this time, smiling over the crowd.

Writer: Hello my friends! I bring here Chapter 9, ripe for the reading! No previous dribble on my part today, directly to the matters at hand for your enjoyment. Let's get to it! And may the Lady Bless you all!

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Arthur found his brother sitting on a pile of rubble that had once been part of the ceiling of the Dragonpit. He looked tired, beyond exhausted, barely seeing the stream of continuous comings and goings of the crowd around him, as Goldcloaks and Men-at-arms began to drag bodies outside, tended to the injured, and recovered their own dead. The Pit was a bloody mess that matched the one Arthur was returning from with ease. The Red Keep had looked like a butcher´s pantry, and while the actual damage and death toll was much lower than what it had seen at first, the result of the barbarians dragging their victims around for display and their dark rituals, would not leave his nightmares any time soon. A ray of stray moonlight slithered its way down the broken ceiling, shining right on his sword, making the metal gleam with inner life. It was midnight, and yet, the moon shone as if the sun had chosen to come out to witness their victory.

It was good to see his brother alive. Tired like a Crownlander whore after a visit from the army, sure, but alive. He began to walk towards him, opening his way through the crowds, when a man crossed his path. Arthur was bare seconds from swinging his hammer around in sheer anger and tired fury, until he got a good look at the man. He had a slight Dornish look to him… but the pigmentation was darker as if he was from the Summer Iles, not Dorne. His armor, thought, could have been picked from the best armory in the Reach and would have shamed any other by comparison. It was relatively simple, a silvery, rune-inscribed plate that covered his chest and expanded into shoulder pads and chainmail. The man wore under it a dark green and silver inlaid gambeson and beneath the plate. Leather covered his elbows and kept on until steel gauntlets took covered his hands. Atop his shoulders, a light grey, almost white, fur laid, like a short cape that barely reached down his shoulders. Black riding pants and brown steel-pointed leather boots finished the set, with a dark leather belt in which a beautiful yet wicked axe rested, a match to the heater shield on his back.

His helmet was hung on his belt, a silvery thing, with a t-shaped stilt for a visor and a metal crest adorning it, still decorated with tunes Arthur did not, nor did he even try, understand. He was much more focused on how to break the man´s jaw for getting between him and his brother. The other, seemed to notice, for his hands rested softly on the haft of his axe, until a low whistle echoed and he stopped, turning his head around, yet always leaving Arthur in his peripheral vision, and both of them saw how Sirius wave him gently away. The man bowed his head at Sirius, nodded to Arthur, still eyeing him like a potential threat to neutralize, and stepped back to allow him to go on, eyes now focused on the crowd for any other threats.

The second son of Stannis Baratheon pondered for a moment if he should spit in his shiny boots for being an uptight ass, but he was too tired and too thirsty to muster the necessary effort, so he trod forward, until he sat on the same pile of rubble as his brother. Sirius eyed him, an amused light on his face.

"You know, he would tear you apart like a shark." He said, passing a stone through the edge of his sword, a melodic sound escaping the weapon with each pass. Arthur could see now so many things about his brother he hadn't noted before. He was taller than him. Not wider, but close, and his hair was lighter now, a very dark brown. The scar that ran from eye to eye seemed almost invisible now, as did the other marks on his face, only because the light of those amber eyes took all the attention. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Well, he is welcomed to fucking try." He said, tapping his gore-stained hammer on the ground, before frowning and looking at his brother. "He would beat me?"

"He has you in size, strength, experience, and gear." Sirius mused, before pointing at the axe on the man´s hip. "I have never seen a plate Dagmor failed to crack in half, and I don´t think the best smiths of Dragonstone will surprise me now."

"Firstly, that is a fucking stupid name for a weapon-"

"Oh, because Gorespitter was much better." Sirius cut in, giving Arthur the side eye.

"All right. Firstly again, fuck off, it was God-Splitter, and you know it, and secondly, it was an incredible name."

"Sure it is. Tell me this one," He tapped the head of Arthur´s hammer with the point of his blade. "Has a better name."

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it, rubbing his knuckles on his jaw. "Still working on that."

"It took you two years to come with God-Splitter, I am sure you will find a new name for your shiny hammer….before you die of old, I hope." He said in a mockingly mournful tone.

"Arse," Arthur growled.

"Knucklehead." Sirius countered.

"Rotund lemoncake-swallower."

"Shit for brains."

"Cry-baby." Arthur regretted saying that out loud as soon as it was out of his mouth, cringing at it. Sirius smiled a sad smile.

"Not anymore, mind you." Mused the older one, looking through the missing roof of the Pit to the dark, moon-lit sky. Arthur remained silent for a moment

"So I have seen." Arthur changed the topic, fleeing from the awkward moment. "What does Dagmar mean?"

"Dagmor, and it means… It loses a bit on translation from Eltharin, but the rough equivalent would be 'Slayer of Dark Ones'."

"Shit, that´s not a bad one." Arthur mused, eying his hammer.

"Told you so." Sirius shook his head. "You might want to ask pointers in names from my knights. They love naming everything. Even their letter-openers."

"Really?"

"I used to call Father´s letter opener 'Death of Scripture". Sounded better in my head.'" Sirius laughed at the occurrence, smiling. Until he saw the look of confusion on his brother´s face, turn to guarded and offended.

"Father has never had a letter opener," Arthur said slowly, his grip on his hammer turning white, but not moving. Sirius's sight looked unfocused for a moment as if he was rummaging through the many memories in his mind, before looking away to the floor in a shame Arthur felt somewhat guilty of and somewhat justified in.

"Right, my mistake… I am…" He seemed lost for words, frowning to himself.

"Was he a good man?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think of them. But this time he wasn't regretting them. He wanted to know. He needed to know. He hadn't been the younger brother in a long while. And while Sirius was technically older, one could not write off the protective instinct of an older brother once it was ingrained in a man.

And this was his brother. The easily scared, fat, and most times meek Sirius he had known. So changed it was almost impossible to reconcile both images. But he was still his brother. And a true man protected his family, always.

Sirius regarded him with uncertainty at first, then veiled confusion, to then morph to a small, still wavering smile.

"Better I have ever known." He finally said, resting his sword on his thigh, hand caressing the runes etched beautifully and almost invisible on the heart of the blade. "Nobler than Uncle Ned, more ferocious than Uncle Robert, charming as not even Uncle Renly could be, and more dutiful than even father. But he smiled a lot more, to be honest." There was a smile, a soft, gentle thing in Sirius's face, a reminder of the boy he had been in Arthur´s mind, but also of the real man lurking beneath all that dauntless fury and determined shine of a person thrust into a position of leadership. Power admitted no weakness.

It felt as if he had to rediscover his brother and learn him again. It angered him. He shouldn´t need to. It was his older brother. There should have been a connection, a union there, which transcended most things. But it had been ripped off, killed in the cradle, and now he had to understand Sirius once more. It felt as if not only the years he had been gone had been stolen, but also the ones they had spent before that had been burned to nothing.

"I did not think such a man existed." Arthur began, struggling with his anger, his impotency at the realization that he did not know his brother at all. "He seems…"

"Perfect?" Sirius smiled at Arthur. There was a sad and mournful light in his eyes. "Yes, he seemed so to me too. I measure myself to him every day, and always found myself lacking."

"That can't be healthy, brother," Arthur said with slight worry.

"No." His brother admitted with his eyes on the sky and lost somewhere else, sometimes different. "But it kept me alive."

"How fucking depressing." Arthur spit into the ground, rolling back his shoulders. "Let's change the topic. I don´t want our first day together to be this dark."

"A bit late for that, I am afraid." Sirius eyed the growing pile of bodies outside, frowning at it. "They ruined it already."

"Bits of guts and glory, nothing more." Arthur declared, patting his brother on the shoulder and stretching his back. " We can still salvage this beautiful reunion we-" Sirius was not in the mood, rounding up on him with a look that reminded Arthur too much to their father for a moment.

"A lot of people died, Arthur. Glodcloaks, men-at-arms, mine and others, entire families put to the sword, torched inside their houses. Do not-"

"I know." The younger man almost spat the words. "I saw it all coming here. And you still haven't seen what they did inside the Red Keep. Those bloody animals, they…" He felt words escaped him. The servants had been slaughtered in ways that made season knights vomit. Arthur had lost the content of his stomach when those… unholy things had come to the Gardens, but he had needed something to clean the taste from his mouth.

"I know," Sirius murmured, eyes sorrowful once more. Arthur was beginning to get tired of that look in his elder brother's eyes.

"How can you?"

"Because I have seen much worse rituals, much worse offerings, much bigger sacrifices." He gifted him a sad smile that made Arthur pause. "In all honesty, little brother, King´s Landing got away with a light scratch, hadn´t I been here." Arthur snorted at that.

"Bit prideful of you, don't you think?"

"You saw demons, Arthur. Actual demons." Sirius glared now, amber eyes gnawing at Arthur´s confidence. "How did you plan on killing them? Because I barely could, and I was prepared, trained, and experienced."

"Thoros…" Began the younger brother, feeling anger at this brother's dismissal of all their efforts. But he would not have it.

"Is newly initiated to the Faith of the lady. He got one because it was distracted and he had Her blessing on him. The rest? Bloodfeast? Those ships in the bay? Luck, and literal divine intervention. And still, we lost a lot of innocent lives!" Fire roared in Sirius's eyes as he rose to his full height, caked in blood, almost towering over Arthur as he took a step forth in anger. Arthur involuntarily took one back, and felt instant shame at that. His brother froze at that, slowly pulled back, shame clear on his face, and making Arthur want to punch himself, and lowered his head, massaging the bridge of his nose.

He didn't want to scream at his brother, he didn't want to be angry and he most certainly didn't want to intimidate Arthur… But without Her Gift, everything was much more volatile, much harder to do… much harder to control his temper.

And what a temper it had been.

"I am sorry, little brother. My humors are ragged and my body is spent. I should not have…" Sirius kicked a piece of rubble away. "Fuck me."

"Here." Arthur offered him the goatskin he had been carrying. Sirius eyed him for a second, doubtful and ashamed, Arthur just clicked his tongue and offered it once more. Finally, he took it.

"Thanks." He said with a guilty smile and took a sip. He proceeded to almost spit the liquid into the sands of the Dragonpit, coughing so hard, Gaheris took a step forth in alarm, but Sirius waved him away. "What the fuck is this?"

"Water with vinegar." Arthur said cheekily, and like that, Sirius´s outburst seemed so long past them. Arthur had seen his parent deal with his own anger enough times to learn that his brother wasn't angry with him. He was simply angry, and he needed something to get it out of his system. Fighting did that well enough, but humor helped too. "To clean it a bit. Got it from the streets coming here."

"Ough. Tastes like shit." Sirius said, making a face of disgust and cleaning his mouth with the flat of his hand. "And I like vinegar." A memory flashed into Arhus's mind, of Sirius asking the cook to pour more vinegar on his salad and vegetables. He had liked the sour taste. Arthur had tried to like it too, out of wanting to be like his brother. He had used so much, that no one in the castle could even attempt to eat the dammed vegetable without coughing and begging for water or the sweet release of death. Not even the dogs or the pigs had wanted them.

By the slowly forming smile on Sirius´s face, he too was remembering the same thing. At what their father had done as a punishment for wasting food and condiments like that. It had taken long ours, but Arthur had finally managed to eat the bloody aberration.

"Good to see some things never change." Arthur mused.

"I need to invite you to a proper Bordelen wine when this is done." Sirius frowned once more. "If they still have in the Lady Morningstar, that is. Everyone tends to drink my vintages." He began to walk towards the exit of the pit, when Arthur asked him a question he had had in his mind since the whole conversation began.

"You didn't t ask about Mother or Shireen. Nor Uncle or…" Sirius smiled softly.

"You came smiling, little brother." He arched an eyebrow and Arthur blinked, taken by surprise by the response. "If anything had happened to Mother and Shireen, would you be smiling?"

"No." He finally admitted, feeling a smile grow back on his face.

"Come. Let's go find Father." Sirius gently pulled at him, before furrowing his brow slightly. "I need to get used to that again." Arthur patted his back carefully.

"For what it's worth, it's good to have you back, Cy." Sirius stopped on the spot, eyed wide for a moment, before chuckling to himself. The old nickname had originated because the first name his parents had thought to give him had been Cyrus Baratheon, but Sirius had an edge over it after he had been born under the light of that star. Yet Arianne and the Sand Snakes had refused to call him by his actual name. Cy, had been the nickname they had chosen. Short, swift, and easy to say. He had entertained the idea of changing it when he grew old enough for it.

"Shit, that's a nickname I hadn't heard in a long while." Mused the Duke, shaking his head, before giving his bother a lopsided grin. "Glad to be back, Art."

"Do you really call your wife that?" Arthur piped up. Sirius let out a groan, and Arthur shook his head. "Scratch the question, how the Seven Hells do you have a wife?!"

"Later. I don't want to repeat the story." He grumbled, knowing absolutely everyone was going to ask that question. A flash of green eyesalmost made him stop, but he trudged forward. It was not a tale he was looking forward to tell. Too long. To dark sometimes… and private in ways he would not share. He found his deliverance from that particular topic at the sight of his father. "There is Father."

Arthur stared, dumbfounded at the sight in front of him. Stannis Baratheon was giving orders and inspecting messages beside a small raven-haired child of mismatched eyes, who sat comfortably on the back of the same beast his brother had ridden to battle, who was now pecking a piece of meat he did not care in the slightest to identify.

And none of those were the truly unbelievable part.

"Is father…actually trying to engage that little girl in a conversation? Did she bewitch him? He can barely hold one with Shireen, much less us when we were her age." Arthur asked, confused, surprised, and even a bit outraged.

"She could have bewitched him." Admitted slowly, making his brother's head snap towards him in a semi-panicked look. "But she knows that would have meant six hours of orthography practice for a month, and she knows I stick with my punishments. No. Father is just… well, discovering himself a bit." Sirius shrugged and kept walking, saluting men as they passed by him and greeted him, and checking off a few injured men along the way. After a second of shock, Arthur followed.

"Orthography practice?" He snorted at that. "What are you, her father? That's the same thing mother did to us!" The younger Baratheon laughed at his own words. Sirius was checking the dressing on one of the Baratheon Wardens, listening to the man tell him how he got the wound. He re-dressed it and gave him a few words of praise, patting him in the back, before continuing forth. Arthur, as he passed, nodded approvingly to the man who saluted Arthur with his fist over his heart.

"Yes, actually." He told his bother as they left the wounded. Arthur chuckled.

"Oh, she still does it, but Shireen never gets into enough trouble for…." Arthur Baratheon Dayne froze on the spot, blinking like a confused crab, mouth opening to speak. Then closing. Then opening again, and twice more, until he finally found his voice. "I am sorry, Cy. What was that yes for?"

Sirius slowed down, looking at his younger brother with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow. Arthur looked at the girl, and her shining purple eye, then back to Sirius, superimposing the image of his brother before he had been kidnapped. Then once more at the girl.

"Oh, shit." That was all he managed to wheeze out. Sirius shook his head, and gently patting his brother on the back, pulled him along once more. It was beginning to feel like a habit.

"Come, stop standing there like a drunken cockatrice. Come meet your niece." Arthur sputtered for a few seconds, mouth agape like a drowning fish.

"Who the fuck are you and what did you do to my brother?" He whispered, eying Sirius in sheer shock. "You actually… with an actual woman? Seriously?"

"Why does that surprise everyone nowadays?" Sirius groaned, rolling his eyes. First Ser Davos, then Arthur? What would Uncle Robert say?

'Oh, shit. What will Arianne say? Uncle Oberyn? WHAT WILL THE SAND SNAKES SAY?! I CAN'T LET THEM CLOSE TO IG!' Sirius almost trembled at what his wife would do if she discovered he left their daughter alone with those three. Then, he felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. Oh, how much he missed his Lioness.

He eyed the moon, and a memory of a day-long past came to him, of a time when things had been so much simpler. It had been the night of the celebration of the victory of the Second Battle of the Finuvial Plains. They had danced into the lone hours of the night, before sneaking away from the drunken nobles and half-asleep ladies, wanting to be alone and watch the stars. Ungraudan had been more than happy to help them. There, among the highest towers of Lothern and the Phoenix Court, they had watched the beautiful night sky as the Vortex made the stars shine and move in fractal patterns of light.

It was a good memory. He remembered how his wife had looked at him, smiled and simply laid there, together, in a peaceful silence that carried into the night…. Not for much, though. A sly smile followed at the memory of what had come later.

He had been forced to buy her a new dress afterward. He had torn her last one. Which to him seems unfair. She never bought him anything when she broke his shirts and doublets. And his pants too.

"You want me to tell you knights the incident at the Water Gardens when we were six?" Arthur said, as if to prove his point. Sirius snorted, another memory of what they had done on Aldorf during one of the visits of the Court coming to mind.

'Imperial beds.' He mused to himself. 'So soft, and lacking a proper structure.'

Explaining that one to Father had been… entertaining.

'It would appear Herr Amaranth has more of his sigil in him than my furniture artisans expected.' The Emperor had said to the snickering nobles. 'Unexpected, as they are accustomed to my own vigor.'

The look on their eyes when their Emperor said that. Marius Leitdorf's mad laughter at the jest from his Emperor. His father´s un-amused look that hid just how much he had really wanted to laugh had been priceless. That had been one of the few times Karl Franz and him had shared a moment of amused understanding and 'camaraderie' among husbands and rulers surrounded by bickering nobles. And barely a few months after that, they had almost killed each other in the field.

What senseless stupidity. He frowned at the darkened memory. War might have been his profession and his craft, but he preferred his other duties and titles. He would choose 'Father' over 'Duke' any day, as 'Husband' over 'Lord'.

"If you wish. It's not like they haven't heard worse from me." He mused with another shrug.

"Worse?! How?!" The younger Baratheon sounded exasperated now. "Arianne literally fell naked on you and you almost passed out! How can it get worse than that?!" Sirius stopped, looked around conspiratorially, and then leaned over and whispered in his brother's ear.

"It involved my wife, an elven priestess of Isha, Goddess of Fertility, a barrel of honey, a lot more of wine than there should have been and, perhaps, and I won't deny or confirm anything, a living saint among the most beautiful women I have ever known." He pulled back, looking at Arthur with a neutral looked betrayed by his growing smile. "You can run the calculations yourself." Arthur remained frozen on the spot for a moment, his own face turning crimson at the mental image, before shaking his head in amazement and following Sirius.

"And they say I act like Uncle Robert." He whispered in disbelief.

Sirius, to his shame, almost fell to the ground laughing. And he caught a gleam of a smiling Gaheris, not too far from them. He returned the smile. It felt like home. Maybe just a sliver of it, but home nonetheless.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Adar I Endar?" Stannis attempted once more to use the word, eyes flickering from Igraine to the coming and going men. Igraine gently sat on the back of Bellicose, listening to her grandfather. It made her smile to think of that. Another grandfather. It was great!

"Close," Ig said, smiling reassuringly at the man, who seemed puzzled at how to react to that particular look. "It's I Adar en Adar."

"I Adar en Adar." Repeated the middle Baratheon. He ground his teeth at the strange Eltharin lexicon. "Such a complicated way to say 'grandfather'. This language is more complex than Valyrian."

"Eltharin is not a language where such words are used." She spoke back as she leaned over to help the broken arm of a man, who eyed her with suspicion and Bellcisoe with terror. The Questing Beast did not react, still pecking at his morsel. "Grandfather, grandson, are not used. I Adar en Adar means literally Father of my Father. It's more of a title than a common word."

Stannis observed as Igraine muttered a few words under her breath and the arm began to mend back whole under the astonished eyes of the nearby onlookers and the injured man, who after the light died down, began to carefully test his arm, his eyes going from where the bone had jutted from flesh to the girl seated atop the mighty beast, back to the now healed bone and so and so for half a minute, before kneeling in what Ig could only interpret was gratitude and erred too much on worship for her taste. She began to try to get him to get up to no avail, but Sir Douglas seemed to note her distress and gently and quickly directed the man to rise and leave to rest. Ig nodded her thanks to Sir Douglas, who bowed his head in response. Her father´s knights were much more used to magic, and the looks they gave her had not changed much. They held a new level of respect and appreciation, as well as wariness, but that she could deal with.

She did not like how the rest of the people looked at her now. That devotion, that fire that scared so much. She was just a girl, her father´s daughter. She did not want people praying to her and worshipping her. She had always caught people at the edges of crowed doing just that. It disturbed her and shamed her. It was the Lady who gave her the means.

'They should pray to her! Not me! I haven't done anything special!' She thought to herself, before returning to look at… her father´s father. The man´s stern eyes did not scare her. They reminded her of Ada´s eyes, and it was hard to be afraid of that.

"I see. A formal way to address me, then?" He continued, as if nothing had happened, which made her smile.

"Indeed." She smiled at him before a slight bout of hesitation took her. "You.., wouldn´t mind if I just called you grandfather, right?" He frowned for a moment as if considering it.

"No. It's acceptable." He said, mouth in a thin line. "And much easier to understand." Ig felt a rush at that. She beamed at him and bowed her head in thanks.

"Thank you Grandfather!" She could have sworn she saw her lip tremble upward ever so slightly. But before she could add anything else, two men came from the ongoing traffic of people. One was easy to distinguish. Her Ada was tired, but smiling, and winked at her, which made her smile at him. The other man held a resemblance to her Ada, but his hair was silvery white, dirtier than Sir Percival´s or Sir Bedivere´s, streaked with black veins. His eyes were similar to Grandfather's but more cautious, bigger, and deeper set.

"Arthur!" Her grandfather spoke, taking a step back to regard his younger son with a concerned look. "The Red Keep..?!" Arthur waved his concern with a cocky smile.

"Ours, held and being cleaned of all the bloodstains. Mother and sister are fine and Uncle is a raging storm right now." He chuckled. "I kind of abandoned him to the political shi-"

A hand chopped the back of his head, silencing him, and making him wince. He whirled at his brother, who had a mix of a warning look and an amused smirk, but with his eyes pointed at Ser Davos, who was glaring at Arthur.

"Au!" Growled the lad. "Ser Davos, what the…?!"

"There is a child, boy. Mind your language." Said the older man, pointing at the girl. Arthur massaged the place where the Onion Knight had hit him. It wasn't done to hurt him, but as a warning, and it wasn't the first time he had done it either. Stannis trusted Ser Davos to provide his children with a supplementary education with those themes and problems he himself struggled with and had no experience with. The Onion Knight had spent many afternoons teaching them about the sea, trade, smuggling, currents, and how to read someone. Their mother had never complained, happy that the Onion Knight´s brood was more than eager to spend time and play with their children. And having another woman in Marya to help around was more than appreciated by the former Lady of Starfall.

"Ser Davos is right." Asserted his father, leveling a glare at the younger son. "Arthur this here is-"

"My nice. I have been told." He gave a rude gesture towards Ser Davos that the ex-smuggler had taught him, hiding it from the girl, and making the man smile. Then, he turned towards her…. Her niece. "Dammit, she does have mother´s eyes. Or eye at least."

Sirius laughed. "She does. The other is my wife´s."

"Hello, little one. My name is Arthur. And…." Arthur stopped, the words catching on his tongue, he shook his head, before offering an apologetic smile. "I am sorry, this is possibly the strangest thing of the day, and that is saying something."

"Indeed." Acquiesced the Lord of Dragonstone, frowning slightly. "But she is your nice, and I expect from you your best manners and attitude, Arthur."

"Hello, Aratar."She told him, bowing her head with a small and polite smile. "My name is Igraine, but family calls me Ig."

"Well, hello Ig." Arthur, still giving her a wide smile, leaned towards his bother and audibly whispered. "What did she call me?" Sirius chuckled, patting his daughter on the head.

"Arataris the formal for uncle," Sirius explained. "Ig, you can call Uncle Arthur Aratto. I don't think he is going to mind."

"I am beyond fu-, bloody lost here." Arthur corrected himself when the three other men glared at him with slight murder in their eyes. He was willing to defy his father and brother, but not Ser Davos. He wasn't going to risk angering Aunt Marya.

"And that makes several of us." Ser Davos added, smiling sagely.

"Aratto Arthur." Igraine tested it on her tongue, tapping a finger on her chin. Then, she gave him a dazzling smile. "It's nice to have an uncle!" Arthur felt many of the pains and tribulations disappear under that bright smile, so earned and pure. He leaned over towards his brother once more.

"I am going to spoil that little adorable thing rotten, you know that, right?" Sirius massaged the bridge of his nose, smiling still, but Ser Davos laughed at both of them, patting them on the shoulder.

"No, lad. Marya will be the one to spoil this one. Another girl in the family after all my sons? Seven help us.'

"If mother doesn't do it first," Sirius commented.

Arthur couldn´t help but laugh. Sirius joined him, leaning into his brother. Ig simply beamed a smile as Stannis shook his head. And yet, a small smile that Ser Davos did not miss appeared on his face. His lord had his family back. And it was even bigger than they had imagined. It was a good sensation. The thought, made him smile more than he had expected.

It was a good feeling.

"My liege, my liege!" Sirius took a long breath, knowing those semi-panicked calls were for him. Gahreis appeared from the crow around him, standing at his shoulder, axe at the ready. Sirius turned to watch as a mariner, breathless and sweating, fell to his knees in front of him. It irked Sirius until he realized he had fallen out of exhaustion, not reverence, so he kneeled to his level.

"What is it, mariner?" The man was not young. Maybe more than thirty winters on his face, and much more on his callous hands. He seemed ready to speak until he realized his Duke was kneeling in front of him, looking at him in the eye. The sailor stood there, mouth open and in shock at the fact. Sirius was ready to urge him forward, then Sir Douglas stepped forth, almost growling at the kneeling and tired man.

"Speak up sailor, your Duke listens!" Sirius´s glare made the young knight step back. He valued determination and might, but he would not have brave and loyal men berated like that. Jacques had demonstrated determination and skill, but temperance makes a knight. Before Sirius could voice such words, the sailor seemed to find his voice again.

"More ships, sire. Ours, dwarven and… a Dragonship!" He spoke in a disbelieving tone. Seeing a fabled Asur Dragonship was not a small thing. "It's the Winds of Eldrazor!"

Sirius stood there for a moment, blinking at the realization of what that meant, and spoke a single word.

"Fuck."

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

The Duke hobbled his way to the docks, surrounded by a ring of steel both Stormlander and Bretonnian. He had let his father and Ser Davos clear the mess still remaining in the inner part of the city. Arthur had decided to follow him, not happy to let him out of his sight once more. Any other day Sirius would have argued and tried to convince his brother to stay. But he was too tired for that. He did manage to convince Igraine to remain with his father, and while the girl had not been happy and pouting a lot, she had obeyed.

The dock was now filling with ships he knew just for their colors. The Damsel Armaduke remained by the entrance to the bay, sails tattered but proud, cannons gleaming with a promise of aggression if anyone in the city attempted anything. The Roi Solei, Gawain´s beloved ship he would always praise as if it was his own child, had lost most of its paint and decorations but was perfectly functional, docked a hundred meters from where he was, already disembarking refugees. The Madeleine, the Lion d'Ord, and the Mademoiselle Veronique were in open sea, patrolling as the transports and carrack went past them to dislodge their precious human cargo.

He rushed for the Roi Solei, where he could see something was happening.

"You… you cannot simply dock without permission from the deckmaster!" Spoke up a fat and sweating man, who wore a long tunic and had a quill and some scrolls on his hands. He seemed very much nervous, even with a dozen Goldcolaks backing him up. "The tariffs of the Master of Coin are….!"

"Funny, you see those crates there, you shit-groveling, money-hungry slug?" That metallic voice, deep set in a constant growl, was easy to recognize for both Sirius and Gaheris. Only one knight wore at all times his helmet, and only one knight insulted that much. Both Avalonians smiled. That explained the fear in the fat clerk.

"There will be blood," Gaheris commented, but Sirius ignored him in favor of rushing towards the incoming diplomatic catastrophe.

"Eh…. Yes?" The man eyed the crates, little porcine eyes blinking in confusion at the broken wooden boxes.

"You see their content? Because their worth is equal to how much I care for your tariffs and permissions." The sailors, men-at-arms and squires wearing the red and white of the warrior at the lead snickers and laughed among themselves, amused at the discomfort of the dock clerk and their lord´s bored tone.

"But those crates are empty!" Squawked the man, tugging at the collar of his tunic.

"Oh, what a conundrum." Steel rasped stone as a blade left a scar on the stone pier. "But if you wish for me to fill them with something, namely, your guts, continue with your groveling, you fucking waste of second-rate silk, you sniveling imperial banker." From the press of bodies, one shape stood put, decked in full plate, the armor unpainted and unadorned, only his tabard bright red with the symbol of a crimson thunderbolt falling behind a roaring white dragon. A bastard sword was on his armored gauntlet, its red handle bright, and the gemstone on its pommel flashing with the contained storm spirits in it. A name, etched in ancient Avalonian runes.

Clarent. The Bright Edge.

The fat clerk let out a yelp, throwing his papers into the air when the other gauntlet seized him by the collar. The knight wasn't particularly tall, but his ferocity and incapability to go down had earned him his reputation as Avalon´s Storm Hound. His helm, infamous for its horns that more than once he had used to gore an opponent to death, was as always on and he refused to take out unless he was alone. No mere decoration, it was enchanted so no man or creature could divine his identity, and now was marked by sweater and many days of nonstop storm. His vow to avenge a death he would barely speak of, and clear a shame he would never mention, had earned him the moniker of Knight of Mystery.

"By order of the Queen, you cannot…!" One of the Goldcloaks had stepped forth, and pointing his lance at the red-clad knight, began to speak. Whatever he was going to say was lost in the sound of the pommel of Clarent dislocating his jaw. The man hit the deck hard, and two of their fellows rushed forward. One got an arrow to the knee from one of the Bretonnian mariners, while the other suddenly felt a knife on his throat, as the swashbuckling sailors drew their blades.

"Well, guts it is then." Growled the knight of the horned helmet, who reversed the grip on his sword and took a step forward over the fallen and moaning man, as the dock clerk scrambled back, white with fear from watching two dozen Bretonnian mariners advance to back their lord. Sirius was faster.

"Vortiger!" He bellowed over the mess of scampering men and angry soldiers. Thankfully, said angry soldiers had been drilled under his voice, and recognized it in a heartbeat, most of them dropping to one knee in a blink.

"My liege!" The knight spun towards him, his voice undistinguishable under the metallic tinge of speaking inside his armor. He sounded equal parts ecstatic and relieved.

"Stand down, my Herald of Crimson Thunder," Sirius called to one of his best fighters and most brutal sworn-swords. "Stand down."

Vortiger remained where he was, his expression unreadable under his helm he never took off, but Sirius could have sworn he was blinking in shock. Then, he laughed, a sound that brought memories to Sirius he couldn't quite place, and dropped to one knee, stabbing his sword right next to the head of the moaning Golcloak, who screeched in fear and began to crawl away. Sirius ignored both his panicked sounds and the smirk growing on Gaheris´s face.

"I said stand down, not kneel, you daft cunt." He growled at the knight, electing chuckles and laughs from the assembled mariners, who all rose with their knight-commander. "You know I hate people kneeling to me."

"Just making sure, sire." Retorted Vortiger, bowing his head in salute. He scanned him up and down. "May I, by your will, speak plainly?"

"Since when have I punished men for doing such a thing?" Sirius responded, raising an eyebrow, before giving him a half smile. "And since when have you cared for manners, Vortiger?"

There was a bit of a gift Sirius, and most of the knights of the inner Circle of Camelot, had developed, consisting of interpreting Voritger´s mood based on his tone and the way he moved inside the plate armor. Sirius could tell he was grinning now.

"You look like shit, sire." Then, whisps of crimson lightning arched around the blade of Clarent, and his tone became eager. "Who do I have to kill?"

"No one that is not already dead." Gaheris rumbled, slamming his fist over his chest in salute to his fellow knight.

"Gaheris. Still alive and looking like a dour cunt, I see." Vortiger rested his bastard blade on his shoulder. "Good to see you standing, brethren."

"Vortiger. I see the storm has sparked your good humor." Gaheris spoke back, lips arching upwards. His fellow clicked his tongue, which inside his armor sounded like a musket shot.

"Mannan is a capricious bastard. He could not take me any more than he could take the vessel under my feet." He pointed at the Roi Solei. "Although I fear I have left Gawain's precious ship in tatters."

"Ships can be fixed. The people in it?" Sirius asked, looking over the small river of people exiting the ship, looking haggard and tired, but relieved to be once more on solid ground.

His people.

Small miracles, he thought to himself.

"Terrified, hungry and thirsty, but safe," Votiger said in a somber tone, the helmet turning to look as well. Then, something rang over the docks, making many of the exiting refugees freeze and huddle together in fear and panic. Both of his Inner Circle Knights were at his side in a blink, weapons drawn. A sound Sirius had hoped to not hear. At least not so soon.

"That's steel on steel," Vortiger growled. "Foes?" That word sounded more eager than worried.

"No, just arrogant and prideful idiots," Sirius said with a tired sight. "Vortiger, you are my Warden today. Gaheris, the men are under your command. No one acts unless I say so, understood?"

Every man nodded, and Sirius walked towards the Roi Solei, before grabbing one of the tattered banners with his sigil on it, and draping it over his shoulder and chest. Not everyone knew his face, and while he was certain it was known well enough by both Asur and Dawi, better to be safe than sorry. Then, he began to walk towards the towering blue sails of the ship that had docked at the entrance of the bay, beside a squat and durable-looking iron vessel that moved on gigantic paddles powered by powerful steam chimneys.

Between both ships, a disheartening scene he had been fully prepared to witness was playing out. He could see the amazement in Arthur's eyes as both combatants swung at each other, under the hateful and contempt-filled eyes of their fellows. The first looked like a knight with a gleaming silver sword, while the second was a short figure in heavy armor and with a golden hammer.

Both were fighting beyond the limits of what Arthur considered possible. The knight was fast and nimble, jumping and dogging like a leaf on the winds, while his opponent was a hill, unmovable and unfazed by the barrage of blows. Both were superlative duelists, slamming into one another with grace, ferocity, and skill without peer.

And while he was amazed, Sirius was annoyed.

"How fares the fair Isle of Ulthuan and the Deep Tunnels of the Peaks?" He bellowed to the wind, drawing the attention of both groups and both fighters. Behind the knight, were lined soldiers in bright uniforms and armor, high helms that looked ridiculous to Arthur adorned by plumes contracted their proud statures and almost demeaning looks of condescension.

The knight stared for a moment at his brother, before laughing with a crystalline voice that took Arthur by surprise. Was that… a woman?!

"Ama-Aranth!" Arthur stared at the figure, armed in blue and white, dressed in what he could only define as an armored long dress made of scaled armor. The armor was intricate and adorned by a dozen symbols and words in writing he did not understand in the slightest, but it looked sturdy, yet flexible. The obviously feminine voice took him by surprise, as did the jeweled sword and the tall and feathered helm. The woman herself gave the aura of a cat ready to pounce. "Of course, if the Gods have to curse me to wander in some, strange pitiful human city, it has to be because of you meddling!"

"Hello, horse-girl." Sirius simply waved at the elf, as her retinue eyed him with bafflement and anger at the disrespect, baring the stone-faced and grim warrior with the massive blade on his hands that wore finely armor of dark silver. Sirius and the man nodded to each other.

"White Wolf."

"Elith Aranth." Answered the elf.

The commanding Asur eyed her bodyguard, before she took her decorated helm off, frowning at the Duke. Sirius braced for the verbal backlash until a thunderous laugh echoed in the pier.

"HA, HA, HA!" The short man was laughing like a drunk bear, using his hammer for support, and wiping tears from his face. Behind him, men of the same befuddling short stature, but thick like tree trunks and covered in resilient-looking armor, eyed them with mixed looks under heavy and magnificent beards decorated with runes and braised of gold, silver and diamond encrusted. "The Khazhunki has good humor about him! I like him!"

"Silence, you insolent mite." Sirius was almost glad all the venom on the elf´s voice was redirected to the dwarf. Almost. "All that time inside your little iron boat has dulled your brain enough to think you have place in this conversation!" Frowning, the Dawi spit on her direction, making the Seaguard behind her raise their spears and the greatsword-wielding warrior, twirl his blade like it was weightless, which in turn made the dwarf warriors grab their axe and lowered their rifles. And of course, Sirius´s little retinue lifted their weapons as well.

'Bunch of fucking idiots.' He thought to himself. Two barks from Gaheris made sure all of his men put down their weapons. Except Vortiger. But Sirius was counting on that. Vortiger was the violent part of his negotiations if the need arose.

"All that time inside my little iron boat," The Thane tapped the head of his hammer on the edge of the dwarven transport. "Has given many reasons to cave your skull in, Bozdok Elgi!" Barked the dwarf back, twirling his hammer in eager hands. The Asur, drew her blade high in a pose Sirius found easy to recognize. It was Tyrion´s after all.

"I would feel insulted if I had ever cared to learn your mongrel language, you stone-eating oaf." She sneered back, a hungry smile on her face as they drew forth to launch themselves back at one another. And this time, their retinues would not simply spectate.

Until Arondightflew in between them, forcing both of them to take a step back to dodge the blow. Sirius caught the blade as it flew back, holding back the growl of anger forming in his throat. Elves and dwarves, like gunpowder and fire.

"Are you two done already?!" He held himself upon his sword. That had been stupid. He didn't have enough strength to use Arondight´s magic like that. But the point had been pushed across, and both leaders were focused on him. "You might not have noticed this, but we are not in the Old World anymore. This bickering is ridiculous and childish, and it is draining what is left of my patience!"

That last part, he had been screaming, and he hadn't noticed he had thundered forward until he was within sword range of both lords. He pushed down the drilled instinct of drawing his weapon in a guard, knowing he didn't need to. And that even if he had tried, both of these warriors could have killed him before he managed to be halfway done.

"Amar-Aranth." The voice was old. Old, wise, and familiar. The Asur princess stepped back to look at the speaker as well. It took Sirius a few seconds to place the elf. Wizened, old by his kin´s standards, he wore his long blonde and silver hair in a long mane held back by a diadem, customary to Asur Archmagues, denoting his mastery of the High Magic. His long white, light blue, and grey clothes denoted the sigils and imagery of Yvresse and her Grim Warden. A beautiful staff, coroneted with a great pearl, was fashioned into a walking cane, which seemed to contrast with the ease with which he moved, not having lost an inch of Asur grace. Not even despite the white cloth inscribed with the runes of Vaul, the Elven God of Smiths that covered his empty eye sockets. Sirius knew they were empty because he had been there when he had lost them. "I never expected to see you again, Eternal Defender."

"Master Melanar Stone-Speaker." He bowed his head in respect, a useless gesture the blind Archmage and former Master of Builders of Tor Yvresse seemed to see nonetheless and reciprocate. "It's an honor to meet you once more."

"A pleasure to my heart, even if my eyes cannot reciprocate." He tapped his blindfold, before gesturing towards the Asur princess, who seemed to regain some of her composure at being addressed. "Princess Eldyra, you heard our ally, have you not?"

Princess Eldyra of Tiranoc, former squire of Prince Tyrion of Cothique, had eyes of the color of soft, fresh dirt, and hair of dirty gold that gleamed under the moonlight. It was hard to gauge her expression, even to Sirius, who knew her as well as a man might know an Asur noble. She eyed him for a moment, before looking back at Stone-Speaker with a guarded look.

"Not in the Old World?" Her eyes widened in realization. "The Storm…."

"A passage, I believe." Rumbled another ancient voice, and all turned to look who had descended from the dwarven transport. Sirius did not recognize this Dawi, but he had spent enough time among the old allies of Bretonnia to recognize his craft. "A pleasure to meet you, Drakk-Varn Vengryn."

"I am afraid we are not acquaintance, honored runesmith." Sirius bowed his head again in respect. The dawi surely had him by a few centuries in age and experience.

"You recognize my trade by a mere look?" For many, he would have just looked like a common dwarf. A powerful beard that reached past his waist, white like a winter morning upon the Beast Peaks in Avalon, denoted his age and status. In his right hand, a simple smith hammer idled, while his left sported a metal torch, intricate in design, and that now lit the pier with beautiful and warm flames.

But the runes on his belt and the ones inscribed on his helm gave him away as one of the magically adept, or as adept as a Dawi could be, warriors of the old Karaks. His eyes were grey, like veins of ever-growing silverine, and there was a pinch of an ever-flowing smile on his features that Sirius found endearing, like a kindly grandfather. "The King spoke the truth. You spent too much time among us. I am Runemsith Thonnan Thrugnison, of Karak Azul."

"Old Man Kazador was a great host, and I was an eager student of your culture," Sirius answered, thinking of the old king. It was only then he saw the golden rings on the dawi´s beard, sporting symbols of Karak Azul.

"My King and Prince spoke of you as seldom does my kind speak of Men." He nodded to himself, smiling. "But, a man capable of infiltrating what once was Karak Drazh, and rescuing his wife and kin, deserves such praise."

Sirius felt Arthur´s questioning gaze on the back of his skull grow in intensity. He was understanding little, but he understood that had to have been a very dangerous thing to do. He would be right, of course.

Then again, Sirius had a very bad habit of listening to his wife´s plans.

"You honor me, Master of Runes, but I was there to assist the High King." Sirius brushed the praise aside. He had never felt comfortable with it. He was quick to give, but he couldn´t help but squirm when it was given to him. "The rescue of the family of King Kazador was the Lady´s benediction. I just played my part."

"Nonetheless, it honors you that you forsook glory to keep them safe."

"We all have people we cherish, and for them, we would do anything." Sirius´s lips arched in a half-smile. "A favor, from father and husband to father and husband. The least decency I could muster." The Runemsith nodded sagely, but before he could add anything, the Thane stepped forward. His typical dawi winged helmet stood proudly upon his powerfully built shoulders and a thick brown beard. Arms like trunks of a tree held a golden inscribed hammer in his arms, that had been tattooed and scarred a dozen times over. His face was brutish and his nose had been broken enough times to give it a crooked look. But his eyes betrayed the intelligence of a warrior who understood cunning as much as brute might.

"So you are the one that killed that gobbi bastard." He spat on the ground, his voice much graver and louder than the Runemsith´s. Still, he nodded his approval. "You righted many wrongs that day."

"As many as I could, and not close to enough," Sirius said, solemnly at the memory of that battle in those dark tunnels, choked full with death goblins and unending Greenskins.

"I like you, Khazhunki. Determined, humble. Yes, I like your kind of warrior." He tapped Sirius's leg with his hammer, before giving a glance toward the runemsmith. "What do you say, Thrugnison, is he also honest? Are the Karaks removed from us?"

The runesmith took the stones from his belt and began to move them upon his fingers, eyeing the night sky, the stars, and the very moon. A long line of insults in Khazalid exited his lips, making all those who understood a modicum of the language look at him in surprise.

"They have, Orlik Winterbane, for now at least." Rumbled the older dwarf. He eyed the docks and ship, and his eyes judged eh masonry of King´s Landing. "You know this city. The people here recognize you." It took a moment for Sirius to realize he was talking to him. He nodded slowly.

"It's… complicated." He managed to say, without turning to look at Arthur. He could feel the hurt in his brother's eyes, but he had managed to get Dawi and Asur from killing each other to actually listening. He had to use that advantage. To start explaining things now, might risk losing their attention back to killing each other.

"I like killing complicated things, Amar-Aranth. Do I need to kill anyone?" Princess Eldyra eyed the city, her blade resting in eager hands. Sirius was not sure if she had said that out of their strange friendship, or because she was eager for a fight to unwind her many worries.

"Not right now. Give it a few days, and that will change." That made a few smiles bloom upon all sides. So he plowed forth to maintain their attention on him. "Please, my friends, we are in foreign lands, and the Archenemy has already found roots here." He gestured towards where the remains of the Norscan vessels and the bodies of the marauders floated towards the open sea.

"I knew I smelled something foul. Thought it was this umgak city." Thane Winterbane spat into the river, passing a finger down the head of his hammer. "Norscan filth. Food for the wazzoks now. Your work?" Sirius nodded.

"So, we are laid here in strange lands, beyond the reach of Ulthuan." Eldyra sounded much more tired than Sirius had ever heard her, and a glimmer of her real age shone in her eyes. She let a long sigh, before glaring at Sirius. "Why do you always drag me into problems such as this, Amar-Aranth? I feel like we are once more in pursuit of that accursed Nemesis Crown."

Sirius crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, feeling a nervous stick spread down his brow. "If memory serves me right, Princess, you were the one to drag me on that suicidal quest."

"Did I?" She tapped her jawline with a delicate finger, before shrugging with as much grace as it was possible for an elf. "Oh, who cares about such long past events, really."

"I do," Sirius said slowly, feeling the nervous tick in his brow grow. "Especially when said past got me swallowed by a Toad Dragon."

Gaheris let out a small chuckle at the old tale. Sirius sent him a glare, but the Lord Executioner only responded with a dry smile. Arthur, though, was blinking in surprise, as he finally broke his silence.

"You got swallowed by a what?!" His tone was more strident than probably even Arthur himself had expected, but Sirius judged learning your brother got swallowed by a dragon, could make a man react like that.

"Toad Dragon." Sirius repeated. "Ugly, slimy, awful-smelling wingless lizards."

"Khazad!" Winterbane's thunderous laugh echoed in the night once more. "How are you still alive?"

"They are less armored from the inside." Sirius mused, tapping the handle of Arondight. "Much less so."

"As much as I like to be regaled by good tales as any Dawi, such things can way for now." Rumbled the runepriest. "Tell me, Drakk-Varn, what are you offering? I was a merchant a long time ago. I can see you are prepared to make an offer."

Sirius slowed down for a moment, feeling so many gazes on him, wondering where this was going to go. What could he say to make these two proud races assist him in his mission? Races that tended to see humans as inferior beings for varied and different reasons.

Well, what both trusted most, of course. Honesty.

"There is going to be a war here. I do not know the scale, length, or our chances of victory. But the Archenemy has their eyes here, a world ripe for the taking." He made an ample gesture, over the dark sea and the nearby cliffs. "And the only thing standing between them, and every soul here, will be us."

"I care not for all these humans and their problems. Let them earn their own right to live! Let them fight for their own survival!" Winterbane slammed his hammer into the deck of the pier, shaking his head, the plumes of his helm bright against the clear moonlight. "Why spend Dawi blood for not only humans but humans not of our world? The Empire, Bretonnia, Cathay, Estalia. Those kingdoms have fought beside us and have shown some spine. They are worth at least considering. But these ones? Why should we care?"

"As much as it hurts my very soul to admit this, I agree with the belligerent mite." Eldyra gave a side glare to the dawi, returning her attention to Sirius. "Why should I spend precious Asur blood on this, Amar-Aranth? Why would you spend your fine horses and crudely painted plate for these people? This is not our world and not our duty to protect it. I am with the mite, let them fight their own war. Let's focus on returning home."

"How?" He opened his arms to encompass the magical experts from both races. "Do you have any idea how to create such a storm as to create a passage back to the Old World? Can any of you suggest even the bases for such a plan?" He waited for a moment, to hear any suggestion, a small, guilty part of him begging Fate for them to actually be able to answer. But their silence echoed louder than any beast could ever match. Truth had a deafening tinge to its sound, even its silence. Specially, its silence.

"Do we have the time and a safe haven to do so? The resources to feed our people and protect ourselves from the native foes we might encounter, the Archenemy's plots and machinations? What of other threats? Greeskins? The Druchii? Do you honestly think we are the only ones here? Mere hours ago I was killing demons. Actual demons, among an actual incursion." He pointed at his own state and the blood on his sword. "I want to get my people home as well. But how will we do that? Even if ours forces united, how many able-bodied warriors do we have? A few thousand at best? Mayhap less even? We need assistance, we need connections and local allies just to subsist, much more to thrive and cover the necessities for us to search a way home."

"A good pitch, lad." Rumbled Thrugnison. "But my gut tells me you have more to tip the balance. Go on, continue." Sirius couldn't help but smile a bit. That meant he was making a worthy point.

"I won't even entertain the question of if we can go back. I am too tired for pessimism and hopelessness. But I will give you another question. What if we leave? Let's say we return home. Let's say we arrive in a few months. Chaos still eats this world whole and every soul in it is one more to be churned into the furnace of war. It's entire population, slaves, soldiers, and fresh meat for the Archenemy. Millions of new foes, of labor, for them to exploit, sacrifice and train." He could see the grim expression dawning on veterans on both sides, and Vortiger´s iron growl told him they were starting to see his point. "Even if we could find a way home, should we? Would our world survive the enemy getting such an advantage? I think we were sent here not on a mistake of a whim of the Winds. I think we are here because the Dark Brothers want this world."

What other thing made sense? Chaos took. It corrupted and poisoned. It needed to find virgin soil to spoil and fester. A whole new world? As divided and unprepared as Westeros and Essos? With the ancient remains of Valyria and the old empires that came before it? It was a succulent morsel for the Chaos Gods.

"And I believe we were sent to deny it to them." Sirius lifted his blade, pointing at the banner of each of his potential allies, before gesturing to the banner of the Dawning Dragon flapping proud and blood-stained on his chest. "Look, the Knights of Bretonnia, the Asur, and proud Dawi! The Forces of Order, to stand against the Forces of Destruction and Chaos. I think we are not mere refuges hurled through time and space, but a liberation force, hastily assembled to face an enemy the likes of which this world has never seen. We are not fleeing birds in the tempest, my friends. We are the storm unleashed. And I intend to make the enemy pay for thinking otherwise."

There was something inside both ancient races that both shared but would never admit they had in common. It was not their ancient love for art, discovery, expansion, or their own kind. It wasn't the pride and furious zeal with wich they defended their own history.

It was that both of them were filled with vengeful sons of bitches.

And no one had more grudges, no more sins to their name, than the Dark Brothers and their servants. He could see that thirst for retribution awakened. Their doubts, born from being sent across time and space to a strange world, their fear of never coming home, were gone, buried under that fervent fire warriors experienced when faced with an indomitable truth most times they chose to ignore.

That they were not to be afraid of the storm they had been thrust into. For they were what the coming storm feared.

"I abhor when you speak sense, Amar-Aranth." Edlyra said, lowering her blade, before turning to Melanar. Her voice took a more respectful tinge. "Stone-Speaker. His arguments carry reason, as much as I despise the fact. What do you think?" The Archmage hummed to himself for a moment, before answering.

"That we would serve Uthuan better by dividing the attention and the efforts of the Archenemy, and safekeeping this world from their reach." He turned towards his counterpart and fellow counselor, leaning his head in his direction. "Don't you concur, Runemsith Thrugnison?"

"For us Dawi, victory has always resided in not being defeated." Spoke Thrugnison, massaging his beard. "But if the enemy obtains an entire world for them to toy with and exploit… A world's worth of gold, iron, and other materials. Of food for their hosts and flesh for their harrowing needs. There would be no stalemate there. Not even the Karaks would endure that." Sirius could see many heads among both sides nod in agreement, amazed at the fact they were for once agreeing on something. And that it was a human of all things making them see reason. Then again, it was not like a member of the other ancient race would be able to convince them of anything. For a Dawi, if an Asur swore the sky was blue, he would take it as a lie, and a grudge for eternity. And for the Asur, if a Dawi extended a hand, it must have been because he had plunged it into a pile of horse manure first.

"This is foolish. We are a ragtag band, nothing more. We cannot hold back an invasion of the Archenemy, no matter how skilled my warriors might be." Winterbane barked. "We cannot save this world, Khazhunki."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps it is already doomed and I am still the same stubborn bastard who refuses to see reason." Sirius admitted, feeling Arthur's eyes glare at him. "Perhaps we are here because of a mistake, or fluke in fate. Maybe we were sent here only to die with them all."

It was a possibility he had been avoiding like the Blue Rose Plague.

Could he win? Did he have any chance at all of victory? The odds were stacked against him like never before. He had to keep this ragtag band of warring lords under one banner, not counting on the Westerosi themselves who were as likely to help him as to stab him in the back. And all that without taking into consideration the forces of the Archenemy. Without Chaos to worry about, it would have already been a challenge to not start a war. With its corrupting influence and the power they had at their disposal?

Sirius would have wagered everything he had that in a year, he would have that war on his hand. At most.

They were most certainly doomed to fail. And an escape plan was a valid idea. He might have even been lucky and blessed enough to be able to convince the many lords of the land, or some, at least, to evacuate their people to the Old World. If they ever managed to create a way to go home.

Desperation became once more a pit in his soul, as his hands trembled on the pommel of Arondight, and hoped anyone who noticed it would blame it on his wounds and tiredness, but the truth was that he was terrified. And without her Gift, it was devouring him, the fear and desperation. He had never been afraid of a fight. Always before and after, but never during one. He understood battle, combat, and war. He could fight anyone anywhere and remained dauntless…. But, with the fate of millions on his hands, it felt too much. Too much for him. How could he have ever thought himself worthy of such responsibility? Such duties? How did Artoria do it?

How had his father managed to do it? To make look so effortless? So perfectly natural on him? He was not his father. He was not the Lionhearted of Bretonnia. He was a scared boy who had been playing at demigod for far too long to realize he had been surviving by the grace of others, not his own skills. He could never….

'Because for this, I need my very best, my little dragon-knight. I need my fury. I need the Dragon´s Wrath, the Lion´s Choler. I need you to win this war.'

Sirius stopped for a moment, a cool air sweeping inside his clothes and up his spine, like gentle hands taking the weight off his shoulder, letting him breathe and think. She has asked that of him. Maybe he couldn´t do it. Maybe not even his best wouldn´t be enough for this.

But She asked. She had sent him to do it.

How could he say no? How could he not try with all he had?

He tightened the grasp on his blade, and let himself smile.

"But I am a Knight of Bretonnia. I do not submit to fate. I shape it. I don't believe in defeat while I still draw breath." He stared Winterbane in the eyes. "And maybe we cannot win. But I fully intend to make the Enemy pay such a heavy price for these lands, that they will choke on it for generations to come. So let them come I say. Let them send their best here. If I cannot save the Seven Kingdoms, then I will happily lead them to their last stand. I have been given a duty, and I will not run from it now, fate, destiny, and all else be dammed. I will give the fuckers a fight. The last one of their lives."

"And ours too perhaps." Eldyra groaned, her hand over her face hiding her smile.

"We are warriors, knife-ear." Thane Winterbane stomped the ground, spitting into the river. "We all die in the end. But by Grimnir´s Balls, Khazhunki, you just painted a magnificent doom. If I were under the Slayer Oath, I could not refuse." He looked around and shrugged before a battle-hungry smile split his face in half.

"And it's not like we have anything better to do while Thrugnison works his arts." He banged his fist on his chestplate. "An old alliance binds our peoples, Bretonnian. You have our axes, Khazhunki. Khazukan Kazakit-ha!" He turned towards the elf, eying her up and down.

"What about you, elgi? Will you run and hide on an island in the sea until the Dark Ones come or you find a way home?" The Princes of Tiranoc snorted at that.

"As if. There is no war, no battle, and no field the Asur won´t take and outshine you, you gold-crazed-mites." She rolled her neck around, before giving Sirius a smile, the first future smile he had given her since… since a long time ago. "And what is another suicidal endeavor in which to follow you, Amar-Aranth?"

"What the Princess fails to say in her eagerness, is that we agree that by holding this world, and the enemy´s attention here, we serve Ulthuan best." Archmage Melanar spoke, walking forward to stand beside the princess. "And I wouldn´t mind researching this land more. There is a wind of mystery here. Of new discoveries and magicks. Wouldn't you agree, Runemsith?"

"Much to learn from the craft of others. Much to explore and discover, new veins, new minerals, new alloys… yes, yes. If we were to leave, the Prospector Guilds would cut off my beard." Chuckled the Runemsith. "It seems we will follow your advice, Drakk-Varn. But I am still waiting for a sensible offer."

"Hmph, merchants. Always searching for a good pitch." Winterbane growled.

"You break things with your hammer, Orlik. I make sure everything else is under control." Shot back the master of runes, tapping him on the helm with his torch. "Someone has to."

"An alliance, a renewal of the White Gold Concordat, to bind us in common cause, to remain united." Sirius offered with a smile. "Our people can trust each other, but not even I know who to fully trust here. I barely hold memories of this place, and as we all know, the Enemy is insidious in its ways."

"And the specifics for this Alliance? We must keep them, so if the elgi break them, we may add another grudge to settle in the Great Book." Thane Orlik Winterbane said, making a rude gesture towards Eldyra, who shot back another one, muttering under her breath a long line of profanities.

"Varour dilthen glam."

"They can be drafted and reconvened at a later date, when our people are safe," Sirius reassured them all. "For now, I will take your word and honor as all the proof I need. I am sure you all have a copy of the ancient treaty. Let's maintain its main points for now."

"The Asur will accept this alliance, as long as I don't have to sleep in the same building as the mite."Eldyra sighed.

"The heads of the Clans and leaders and members of the Guilds will have to be consulted." Thonnan Thrugnison rumbled. "But I have enough years on my beard to persuade them to accept this path. The Concordats will be restored. And you will have the greatest craftsman of the Old World to assist you, Drakk-Varn." Sirius almost fell to his knees in relief and tears. Blessed Goddess, they might have a chance after all.

"My many thanks, my friends. I swear to you, the Knights of Bretonnia will, now and always, be your shield." They bowed their head in response, just as a booming laugh echoed behind Sirius, calling for him. He groaned internally, before bowing his head in apology and farewell for now. "Please, excuse me. It's time for me to do what I hate most. Politics."

"Oh, this I will enjoy to watch!" Eldyra called at him as he left, laughing melodiously as all elves could, which didn't make it any less odious.

Upon the docks, a mass of noblemen had gathered, where tattered and dirty gambesons and tunics sporting the sigils of many houses. Among the tempest of noblemen who looked amazed at the great Bretonnina warships and their elven and dwarven counterparts, stood his uncle, smiling as if the day had gifted him his most treasured desire. Lord Eddard Stark, with not nearly as much dried blood on his face as the King, walked beside Sirius´s Uncle with the lone Kingsguard, Ser Moore. Ser Jaime was probably with Myrcella. King Robert might not like the Kingslayer, but he was the only one he trusted with his daughter.

"Uncle!" Arthur called to the man in the ring of nobles. The moment the King´s eyes fell on his nephews, he laughed like a storm and pushed his way to them, followed by Lord Stark. He ruffled Arthur´s hair, before lifting Sirius from the ground with a hug. Sirius could feel Gaheris and Vortiger tense at the, to them, an unexpected show of affection.

As he landed back in the ground, King Robert slapped him in the arm, laughing still.

"Here he is! The victorious second coming of the Conqueror, my bloody nephew, returned from the dead to bash skulls and cover himself in glory not a day awake!" He lifted his hammer into the air, earning a roar of approval from the most war-eager nobles, most of them tired but smiling from the fight. Sirius did not share their elation but understood it. It was not every day men killed demons on the field and got alive. Less so if it was their first time seeing such a thing. "Oh, lad, this has been the best day I've had in years!"

"I'm pleased you maintain your good humor, Uncle." Sirius smiled at the man with a forced shine. "Because I am afraid I have to request of you."

"Yes!" He said laughing. "Done!"

Sirius stood there for a moment, blinking like a drunken cockatrice. "I haven´t even…!" The king grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Lad, I don't care what you are going to ask me, the answer is yes. Whatever you want. After what you have done today, I couldn´t care less." He waved away Sirius and Arthur's shocked face. "You saved the city and the Red Keep. Your beast saved my daughter, you gave me a fight the likes of which I had forgotten existed!"

"Well, guess we know who is the favorite." Murmured Arthur under his breath. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs at the comment. "What? You always were the favorite nephew!"

"Robert!" Ned Stark called to his friend in baffled surprise, as the nobles around them began to whisper and eye Sirius with more than unfriendly looks at the seemingly generous gesture the King was making to a man just returned from the dead. And whom better to whisper as guilty of bringing monsters to their city? Had the Gift still coursed in his blood, he would have let it pass like nothing.

But he was tired, hurt, and angry, so he made a gesture to Vortiger, who took a step forward and let his sword crackle with crimson lighting, making most of the closest Westerosi back way in shock. Sirius could have sworn his Herald of Crimson Thunder was smiling under his helmet.

"Oh, by the fucking Seven Ned!" Growled Robert. "You think the lad would ask anything foolish of me?"

The Lord of Winterfell shot Sirius an apologetic look, to which he responded with a half-smile, "That´s not the point. You are the King! At least let him ask before granting something!"

"Fine, fine!" Capitulated Robert, rolling his eyes at his childhood friend´s insistence. "What is it you want, Nephew?" Sirius made a gesture down and up the wharf.

"Your permission to host my people, and that of these my august allies in the city until our ships are repaired and we might find a better place for all these refugees."

"Granted!" Robert barked., before slinging his arm around Sirius´s neck in a half-bear hug. "Now, come! I am sure you have stories to tell! And I want to listen to all of them."

Sirius, gently but firmly, pushed his Uncle´s arm away, getting glares and undignified scoffs from the noblemen. He ignored them, and looked at the King in the eyes, smiling lightly. His Uncle did not judge or get angry, just looking at him expectantly.

"I am afraid that will have to wait, uncle." He gestured towards the crows of tired and injured peasants and civilians, as they came out of the ships, under the mistrusting glares of both the Westerosi men-at-arms and the Goldcloaks. "I have a people to take care of."

"I am certain the Goldcoaks and your own knights can very well take care of it, my lord Baratheon." Sirius turned to who had spoken, a short man of slender build with sharp features, and a small pointed beard on his chin that went well with his dark hair, threaded with grey, a good contrast to his laughing gray-green eyes, like those of a cat playing with his food. A mockingbird clasp held his maroon cape to his shoulders. His smile seemed easy and kind, and yet, there was something in his eyes that did not mirror it

"Who are you, lord?" The man´s smile grew and that strange glint disappeared from his eyes. Sirius could not help but wonder if he had imagined it.

"No proper Lord, my liege. I am Petyr Bealish, Master of Coin, my lord. We met once, many years ago." He said, lowering his head in salute. Sirius nodded, as the name, and more importantly, the title, brought back memories.

"Lord Bealish, these are my people." He gestured towards the growing number of men and women in rags, dirty, sweaty, and wet that pilled into the decks and piers. "My responsibility, and the duty I was sworn to. Until they are all in safe hands and fed, I have work to do." He eyed the assembled lord, their sneers and look of distrust, and decided to send diplomacy out of the proverbial window.

"Fell free to assist, or go rest, my lords." He told them with an icy smile. "But the Lady´s Good Name, do not get in the way." And there, he let the steel of his voice do the real talking. A few glares turned to concerned and almost apologetic looks that he did not care enough to see.

"Oh, by the fucking Seven!" The King bellowed, slapping Sirius on the shoulder, and almost bringing him to the ground. "He is a Baratheon, all right!" The King eyed the assembled nobles, eyes turning to glares.

"Well, don´t stand there, you dumb cunts! Help the wounded! Give our guests some decent hospitality! They just saved you worthless hides!" He bellowed to the Westerosi nobles, who in varied states of panic and annoyance spoke back

"Yes, your Grace!" Sirius eyed his uncle incredulously for a moment, and Robert seemed to enjoy the look. Ned Stark joined the staring of the King.

"What?" He asked, looking back at the two of them, before looking over at his childhood friend. "I haven't had a proper exercise in years. I feel… alive. Better to put that energy to use, eh?" Sirius felt a massive grin appear on his face, before patting his uncle's back. Lord Stark sighed but smiled a brief smile.

"Very well." He acquiesced, before turning around and barking orders around. "Lord Kastark! Let's help those people out of their ships! Lord Manderly! Make sure the vessels don't clog the docks!"

"Come on, you whoresons!" Robert commanded, following the Warden of the North, and using his hammer to punctuate his words. Sirius grinned at all of this, as Arthur shook his head and followed his uncle, not before slapping his brother in the arm, as they exchanged a smile between siblings. Around them, hundreds of men, from nobles to commoners listened to the King´s commands and began to help on the landing and the disembarking of the refuges and the wounded, A veritable sea of humanity began to coordinate under the command of lords, greater and lesser.

Sirius decided to do the proper as well and began to coordinate the Oldworlders.

"Eldyra! Start getting your people off their ships! Your Seaguards are better on ships for this!"

"I will not turn my finely trained Asur into glorified dockworkers!" But the Dragonhearted was ignoring her reply and was stalking towards the Dawi, under the undignified glare and sputtering face of the elf, who exclaiming a line of curses, began to order her elves to work.

"Lord Thrugnison-!" He called, as the runemsith turned, smiling at him from the gangplank to his ship.

"I am no lord, young man." He retorted, waving his titles away. Sirius smiled back.

"Runesmith Thrugnison." He corrected himself. "Your ships are sturdier and much more stable. Please, evacuate your injured and sick, but keep those healthy and able inside till last. We are already overflowing the docks as it is."

"You keep my Dawi behind those knife-ears?!" Barked Winterbane, lifting his hammer over his head. "This grudge..!"

"Oh, shut up, you conceded, half-wrought cunt." Growled Vortiger. "You dwarves are resilient bastards, you have less to worry about than the other races!"

"Othok grobi glint-!" Began to insult him back the Thane, twirling his hammer to a two-handed grip, that Vortiger was too glad to retort with his own clasping of Clarent.

"Come on, you sack of shitstained, dung-swallowing, rock-brained midget of..!"

"Vortiger!" Sirius´s tone was a command on itself, and the Knight of Mysterys stopped, growling annoyed.

"Enough, Winterbane!" Added the Runemsith. "Lord Amaranth's request is sensible. Stop this senseless provocation!"

"My thanks, runemsith." Sirius bowed his head to the Dawi, who shooed him away.

"Get those people out of those ships, come on!" He told him chuckling. "We all have work to do."

Smiling, Sirius went exactly to do that.

[DRAGON OF STARFALL]

The sun was up when Sirius felt an arm on his shoulder, gently pulling him back from the dying maelstrom of activity. Most civilian ships were already ashore and empty, and only the biggest of the ships, filled mostly with soldiers, remained on the bay. It had taken hours, and all his might for it to be done, but when purple eyes looked at him with a concerned look, he almost fainted on the spot.

His mother grabbed him, but he wasn't a little boy anymore, and he was too heavy for her. Thankfully, he had never been too heavy for Sandor. The Loyal Hound hoisted him up to keep him standing, as his mother´s hand cupped his face, searching his eyes.

"Sirius?" Her voice had a slight tinge of panic that barely registered for Sirius.

"I…" His mouth felt so… heavy. "Sorry. I am a bit tired." He croaked out, smiling. There were calls for a master. Curses barked and insults spoken. But all of that did not register. What it did, was the hand on his shoulder as a man in full plate kneeled beside him. Even with all the exhaustion, he knew who it was.

"Sire." The man´s armor was covered in salt from the sea storm, and he hadn't shaved in weeks. But there was a still resolute light on his face his eyes of dark blue, and the unkempt mane of dirty blonde hair.

"Kay…" Sirius said in recognition, grasping the forearm of his Seneschal. "The ships… the people…"

"Done, sire." The man reassured, leaning on his mace, forcing his lord to remain leaning on the Hound. "They are all safe. You need rest now."

"No. I Need to speak with… Food, water, medicine… Still…" He tried to get up again. There were still people on those ships. People to heal and feed and cloth. Soldiers to praise and ships to repair. Families that needed to be restored…

Her eyes flashed before him, and that gave him enough strength to hoist himself to his feet, legs trembling from the supreme effort. She was there. Right in front of him, smiling under a curtain of golden locks that made her eyes so enthralling. That alone, kept him standing. He took a step, his entire body raging at the effort. But Kay was there again, holding him up. Other knights might have begged, might have panicked, or admonished him. Those were their duties.

Kay simply looked at him in the eye.

"My lord." He put his gauntlet hand on his chest. "You have done enough already, let us share the burden if just a bit." Sirius searched for something to counter, something to say. But Sir Kay D'Amaric, called the Dauntless One, the Guardian at the Gates and Siege´s Bane, would not be swayed or commanded away.

With a heavy heart, Sirius simply nodded. Kay turned towards the Lady of Starfall.

"Is there anywhere he can rest? He needs sleep, and for those wounds to close." Ashara nodded, her eyes still filled with maternal worry, fighting the instincts of a mother to hold her son, and trying to not make him appear weak in front of his people.

"Yes, on the Red Keep." She turned to the Clegane, who looked in between angry and deadly worried. "Sandor, help me carry…"

"No." Sirius croaked out again, blinking the shadows from the corners of his eyes. Heads turned towards him, but he wasn't sure if they were actually there.

"Lad, you need…!" Began to bark the Clegane, but was interrupted when Kay raised his hand to stop him and leaned towards his lord.

"Not in front of the people." He assured his Duke. "I understand sire. Someone get me Lady Igraine and Bellicose for the lord!" Steps, running, calling. Bellicose´s warcall. Then, the gemstone-like eyes of his daughter shone up at him, her hand grasping at him. He could barely take her fingers in his.

"Ada!" She said, eying him up and down with unmitigated worry. "Do not worry, we will get you to the castle." There was something strange with his daughter that his mind was screaming at him. Something that should not be…. Oh.

"Igraine…. You are covered in blood, my child." He cupped her face, covered in almost dry dark crimson, feeling embers of rage and panic boil in the pit of exhaustion in his chest.

"Not mine, Ada." She assured him, smiling. "I am fine." Sirius chuckled and tried to kiss her brow, only to almost topple to the ground. Hands grabbed him and arrested his fall, letting him sink to one knee.

"Ah, my sweet, sweet angel." He pulled some of her wild hairs out of her face. "You shone so bright today. I am so proud of you, my little fairy." Igraine took the compliment with a shy smile and eyes only a daughter looking at her father could make.

"You…?" Sirius turned towards where his mother stood, stunned, shocked, and trying to form words, as fresh tears, the result of the last twenty-four hours of utter madness, flowed down her face as the last stone broke the horse´s back and her composure cracked wide open. "Sirius?"

"Oh." He blinked slowly, so infuriatingly slow to his liking. He gestured towards his mother. "Igraine, please say hello… to grandmother, Ashara…"

Silence.

The nobles around him, which Sirius had barely registered had rushed towards him when he had fallen and stood there in two distinct groups of shocked, wide-eyed men and women. On one side, the Westerosi stared in shock at the child the people and soldiers of the city whispered about in reverence, like a living miracle. The granddaughter of the Lord of Dragonstone, grand-niece to the King and blood of Starfall and Storm's End. Some sharper minds were starting to create plans, to knit intricate nets to gain profit from this new reveal.

Among this group, Sirius could spot his Uncle, blinking in surprise which turned into a sly grin that almost made him smile. Lord Eddard´s shock was replaced by one of those Stark smiles that seemed so rare and brief, and yet so full of feeling. There were others. Sandor beheld the little girl Sirius's daughter was with almost fear at first, which turned into a strange glint in the eyes of the Hound of Dragonstone. In his tired mind, he could identify most of it. Sandor saw Sirius as the boy he had allowed to be taken. And he would not let that happen to Igraine. Woe to those who tried to hurt Igraine Pendragon. They would have to be content with a Questing Beast, a Lord Executioner, and a Loyal Hound.

On the other side, his knights, sailors, mariners, and men-at-arms stood there for a brief moment, before all of them went down to one knee. This was the mother of their Lord Duke. The almost religious fervor they held for the Dragons of the Morningstar was mirrored, even if just a portion of it, in his mother. Even Eldyra eyed the Lady of Starfall with a certain modicum of respect. After all, her son had helped save Ulthuan.

"Oh." After the chaos of the last weeks, Igraine took it in stride, bowing her head and smiling at Ashara. "Greetings my…"

Ashara was fast. Very fast. But even Sirius was surprised just how quickly his mother was on her knees, lifting Igraine into a hug that was equal parts desperation and elation. Ig stood frozen for a brief moment as her grandmother hugged her tight, tears raining down her cheeks as she whispered.

"Oh. Oh, stars above." She kept whispering, hugging her tight. For a second Igraine was worried and almost afraid. She did not know what was going on. She wanted to look to Ada and see what was happening, but she could not. So she did what she could do. She opened herself to the Winds and looked at the woman holding her.

It was bright. It was hurt. Desperate. Clinging to mightily to little specks of light, of hope. So much suffering, so much lost, so much taken from her… And now that it was given, she seemed so terrified to lose it. So terrified to lose her.

So similar to Naneth in so many ways.

There was a light in her, s shining connection to Ig that had not been there before, but the mere mention, the mere idea of Ig being her granddaughter had created in Ashara an instant urge, an instant desire to protect Igraine, to hold her, laugh with her, love her. Such a pure light, love. Such a pure shine to it.

After a brief moment examining her soul, she blinked her own tears away and melted into the hug. She had a grandfather. A great, kind man, so warm and loving… But a Grandmother? Never.

It felt… good. And right, and so, so warm she found herself crying. Her Grandmother began to laugh, a melodious thing, when she felt her hugging back, and that only made Ig want to hug her even more. After a few moments that felt entirely too short to Ig, the woman broke the hug to look at her in the eyes, smiling still, her hand pushing some wild hairs from her face. Her smile shone brighter than the stars, just like her soul.

"Look at you. You have my eyes. Well. Eye." Ashara laughed, holding such a precious thing in her arms. Igraine only could smile back.

"What a little miracle you are…" Whispered Ashara, gently, so gently, placing a kiss on Ig´s forehead, not daring let go. She had lost almost her entire family. Her best friend. She had lost her son once. And now she had a granddaughter. Fear and happiness mixed in her, for what she had… and what she could lose now. That last thought awakened something inside of Ashara Dayne. Something wrathful and vengeful. No one would take her granddaughter. No one would harm her. She would lose no one else. She smiled at Ig. "A granddaughter. I have a granddaughter. Thank you whoever is listening."

"The Lady always listens, Grandmother." Ig said, "She is the one that got us here." Ashara nodded and smile

"Then you have to tell me later how to thank her, my dear." She told her. "Igraine… Igraine….What a wonderful name."

"Thank you, Grandmother." Ashara almost melted with the bright smile Igraine gifted her. Ig blinked for a moment, wondering what to say, before smiling even more. "I think Ashara is also a beautiful name."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, heavens, earth, and Lady. Thank you." Ashara hugged her once more, shuddering with tears of a joy she had not expected to feel anytime soon. She turned towards her son, smiling at him, gently taking his cheek in her hand. "She is a miracle."

"She is a wonder." Answered her son, fighting to get up. This revelation needed a reaction. He could not let his daughter alone with all these scheming nobles. "You need…"

"Enough." A hand pushed him down firmly to the ground, maybe even a bit roughly. But he recognized the voice. Stannis Baratheon lumbered over him, eyes narrowed and grinding his teeth. "You and Igraine must rest, you both have exhausted yourself enough. Rest, son. We can deal with this. Go." Sirius saw that he was not winning the argument with his father no matter what he did. He was dead set on forcing him to rest and to be honest, he needed it. With a tired sigh, he looked at his Seneschal.

"Kay…" He began.

"I will have a report at the ready, and I will control Vortiger." Promised the blonde knight. Vortiger let out a snort.

"As if you could control me, you fastidious armor polisher." He punched Kay on the shoulder plate, before looking at Sirius and bowing his head curtly. "I will behave, my lord. Go rest. We will keep the city whole for you."

Sirius nodded, and taking his daughter´s hand, mounted Bellicose. The ride to the Red Keep was a blur, and the last image on his mind was his bed… and a pair of dark eyes he somehow knew looking at him from behind a curtain.

{DRAGON OF STARFALL}

Lord Selwyn Tarth found the storm strange and disconcerting. Not that a Stormlander was unused to such climate, to be honest, he found a calm breeze more worrisome than a storm. In a storm, his keep was unassailable, for no man could attempt to take Evenfall Hall during a storm.

And yet this one, with the queer lighting breaking the night that should have been day in half, the massive waves that had forced him to send men to evacuate the most seaside villages and outposts, and the strange whispers his men kept swearing they heard in the wind, and he himself refused to even consider possible, no matter how many times his wife´s voice seemed to come from the parapets, had him on edge. So he did what good lords did when fear began to swim in the hearts of men in the gloom of a darkened sky and the gale that let them see almost nothing, as the storm swallowed anything a few leagues from their coast. He looked confident, walking down the battlements, full armor on him, and accompanied only by his so-.

He winced at the thought. As much as he had wished for it, Brienne was no son. That did not mean he did not love her dearly, but there were things she could not do. Things the world would not let her do. And as Lord, he needed to keep those in mind. Still, he always loved it when his child trashed the sons of any of his friends in the arena. It was a satisfying thing to watch, and more satisfying still was his daughter´s look when he beamed at her proudly.

Encased in armor, his daughter was taller, wider, and heavier than him, and her features did little to sell her to the eye. A muscular woman, flat-chested, and ungainly, sporting long, shoulder-length brittle straw-colored hair that had never looked like gold and always like hay, and broad, coarse features covered in freckles she had inherited from her grandmother, Brienne's features were not at all attractive. Her teeth were prominent and crooked, displayed in a wide mouth of swollen lips and coroneted by a nose no stranger to being broken. Perhaps her greatest redeeming quality in matters of beauty was her large, beautiful blue eyes, like the sapphires his island was named after, and that incidentally had been inherited from him.

"The storm is fraying my nerves, father." She confessed to him, making him stop and look at her with a smile. He had never expected to have to look up to see his daughter´s face, but he still found it amusing.

"Makes two of us, little sapphire." He frowned at the battlements. "Well, makes a castle worth of us." The men up and below the walls were also nervous and devoid of sleep. Nightmares and night terrors had been a plague during the night.

"The men are nervous. I can't blame them." He eyed the black wall of tempest winds and almost blood-red lighting. While not reaching Evenstar hall, the sea in front of them was treacherous, now more than normal, and light seemed to dwindle as the hours went by and whips of the unnatural storm began to affect Tarth. The storm had come during the night, appearing almost out of nowhere, and seemed bent on overstaying its welcome.

And yet, it remained almost contained, as if refusing to outright swallow Tarth, content with tormenting the entire Strait. That made him almost fear. Storm did not behave like that.

"Nor should you. Fear is as natural as the wind on our faces and the soil under our feet. It will always be there. But we should never allow it to stop us, eh?"

"No." She conceded with a half-smile. Then, she leaned over to whisper. "Should I apply that to my fear of dancing and singing as well?" That made her father break into laughter

"Oh, Seven no, my dear. Stay away from the instruments and the dresses. I don't want either of us to suffer that." He chuckled, shaking his head in good humor. But the moment his eyes fell on his daughter´s face, he could see something in them that made him worry. Fear. Real, tangible fear mixed with amazement. "Bri?"

"Is that… a ship?" All around eh battlement, men regarded the storm with stunned looks, whispering to each other. Their lord turned to look at what was going, on and how one ship could have garnered so much attention.

"By the Seven…" He whispered.

It was a ship.

The biggest ship the Lord of Evenstar Hall had ever seen.

With three huge and thick masts, the behemoth exited the black wall of stormclouds to dwindling light, that to the men that had to be manning it might as well be dawn compared to what visibility they had had inside of the hurricane. Wider and longer than any ship in the Royal Navy, it could have slammed into three war galleys together and crushed them to timbers with mortifying ease. Its prow sported a massive golden sculpture of a wolf howling with a hammer on its teeth. That same hammer, adorned with twin tails, was stamped also on the sails. Such were the size of the sails; he could see the decorations and imagery etched on the crimson sail. Decks after decks lined the vessel up and down, and there had to be a small army of sailors managing such a behemoth if such a thing was still capable of floating, which it seemed to be.

It worried him deeply not only the existence of what to him seemed like a ship out of the Storm king´s fairy tales but also that such a vessel had gotten so close to his castle. He began to raise his tone to bark orders to his men to prepare the siege engines, just in case, when another two shapes came from the storm, almost materializing from the cloud wall like giant ghosts in the night.

Two dark daggers, like those of a faceless assassin in an alleyway, exited the storm, in pursuit of the ship of great crimson sails. Their own sails were dark and devoid of any symbol or decorations, but even now he could see the massive armored prow, like a stiletto, that cut the waves, and possibly any ship in its path. The lines of these ships were jagged, like stylized blades, and while not as big, were longer and faster than the other ship, sporting triangular sails compared to the rectangular sails of the crimson vessel. Atop those dark sails, a symbol that almost made him panic, fluttered to the winds.

A three-headed monster in crimson and red, that for a moment made him fear the Targaryen once more, danced on the tempest winds. It had no wings, and it was red over red, no black to adorn it. And yet, bore a distinctive similarity to the dragon banner.

The ships glided over the water like sharks after the scent of blood. The great ship of massive sails began to turn towards his castle, attempting to reach land, or just put distance between itself and the hunters.

It was then Lord Tarth saw something in the water. He did not know what it was, but in between the pursuing ships and the pursued vessel, something stirred the waters forth. Whatever it was, it made the red-sailed ship begin to turn in what he could identify as desperation. Perhaps they were going to carry more men for a fight and were preparing to fill both pursuers with arrows and perhaps even scorpion bolts. Not that it mattered much, at that range; they would not be able to do much, even if they did have…

Then smoke filled the side of the crimson ship. Like feathers, dozens of white plumes of smoke appeared on the side of the ship. The water between the hunters and the hunted churned for a few seconds as if hit my many somethings, and thunder echoed, strange and distorted. Then, the water began to darken with something.

"Is that… blood?" Mumbled Brienne, blinking in surprise and trying to see what was going on.

Lord Tarth did not respond, because he thought the same thing. Something had just died there. But what? And how? Only then did the long and sinuous bodies, like titanic snakes, come to the surface upon their own blood.

What in the name of the Seven were those things?

The pursuing ships seemed to almost accelerate, lurching forward in pursuit, as if the dead beast had awakened a well of anger in them. The crimson ship tried to turn to run once more, but to Selwyn it was obvious it was a futile attempt at best. The pursuers were much faster. By the time the great ship had managed to turn once more to head for land, both pursuers had caught up to its flanks. They enveloped the ship, like wolves a wounded bull, offering their flanks to the stern of the red ship. The air in between ships filled with movement, and the stern-port and stern-starboard side of the ships shuddered as if subjected to many impacts. The pursuers continued their advance as they passed the red-aisled ship. The air rippled again and again, and the sails were shredded and torn apart under whatever weapons they were being subjected to.

More plumes of smoke rose in defiance, but they were less and less, and by the time both pursues had turned around and masterfully pivoted positions, there were no plumes. Whoever was still on that ship, did not have now the strength to fight

Then, the red-sailed ship erupted in black flames, and laughter echoed in the winds as the triumphant hunters returned toward the storm. Small specks of movement, which were more likely men enveloped in fire, jumped from the ship to the water, but that seemed to do little, and the small living and most certainly screaming sols floated there, burning on dark flames that made his eyes hurt. Selwyn Tarth could not help but grasp the stone battlement with tight hands and white knuckles.

As the dark ships returned to the storm, it seemed to almost open for them, and inside of it, he caught glimpses of great red and gold sails, and hundreds of flashes, much like the plumes of smoke he had seen from the now burning and sinking ship on his bay. Inside the tempest, battle raged in a scale and size he had seldom imagined.

Around the proud red-gold ships, dozens of those same dark ships prowled around, like a bank of sharks on the hunt. For some reason, he was certain when they finished with the ship inside of the storm, they would come for him and his castle. After seeing them kill such a massive ship with ease and the number of ships in the storm, he wasn't certain he would be able to slow them down if they tried.

"Get me a master." He growled. "Send a raven."

"To who, father?" Asked Brienne in a half voice that was very much uncharacteristic of his daughter.

"Everyone." He breathed out. "Everyone we can."

Inside the storm, more maddening laughter echoed yet still, and Selwyn could feel the blood in his veins froze little by little. The winds with his wife´s voice whispered in his ear, except this time the voice was top malignant, too odious, to be his sweet Talise.

"We are coming for you."

And Selwyn Tarth, Evenstar, believed it.

And thus, when the next set of words echoed among the battlements and walls, for all to hear, he believed it too.

"All fear the Witch King. All fear Venhil Chillblade, and the sails of Clar Karond. All fear us."

And thus, he feared.