Pentos: 284 AC: 2 Moons Later:
The bustling port city of Pentos lay sprawled along the coast, its skyline punctuated by domed rooftops and tall minarets. The sea glittered under the mid-morning sun, the waves gently lapping against the docks. The air was filled with the rich scents of exotic spices and the distant hum of merchants haggling over their wares. Gerion Lannister disembarked from his ship, the Lion's Pride, his sharp eyes scanning the crowded docks with purpose. His journey had been long and fraught with uncertainty, but he was determined to find his renegade nephew, Jaime, wherever he might be hiding.
Clad in travel-worn but finely made attire, Gerion stood out among the colorful throng of Pentoshi traders, dock workers, and travelers from distant lands. His presence commanded attention, his demeanor exuding the confident air of a Lannister, which was something he imagined Tywin would be amused about, considering he was the furthest thing from a true Lannister. Smiling to himself at the thought, he took in the air, as he adjusted his sword belt and made his way through the crowd, his mind suddenly focused on the task at hand.
The streets of Pentos were alive with activity. Narrow alleyways and bustling marketplaces formed a labyrinth of sights and sounds. Gerion took in every detail, searching for any sign or rumor of Jaime's whereabouts. He knew that Jaime, once a proud knight of the Kingsguard, had chosen a path of defiance, and finding him in a foreign city would be no easy feat. Figuring this would be no easy task Gerion made his way to a nearby inn, a favored haunt of travelers and adventurers alike. Entering the inn's common room was filled with the clatter of tankards and the murmur of conversation. He approached the innkeeper, a shrewd-looking man with a watchful eye.
"Excuse me, Innkeeper, I need your help," Gerion called over to the exasperated Innkeeper who was finishing with some half-drunk patrons.
"What can I get you?" The innkeeper asked as he wiped his hands with a dirty woolen cloth, his accent a thick blend of Pentoshi and low Valyrian.
"You seem like the type of man to know the goings on of this city, so let me ask you, I am looking for a man by the name of Jaime Lannister."
The innkeeper looked Gerion up and down as if he was attempting to see through him and decipher his reasoning for seeking such an important man. "I can't say I do." He bluntly replied after a brief silence.
Gerion didn't believe him. A man such as him would of course hear about a Kingsguard who not only betrayed one King but killed another too. "Don't lie to me, man. Tell me what I need to know and I'll leave you in peace." Gerion sighed, his green eyes intensely staring through the innkeeper.
"Seek a Magister or someone in power. They may know more than me." The innkeeper said before turning away from Gerion and tending to more of his patrons.
Gerion rubbed his eyes before angrily standing up and walking outside into the busy street. He looked around at his surroundings and pondered where on earth Jaime could be in this huge city of stone and greed. He recalled hearing tales and rumors of Jaime falling in with the remaining Targaryens who may be living here in Pentos. He remembered Tywins outrage when he received the letter from the King which outlawed Jaimne for conspiring with 'foreign powers'. Although never outrightly stating it was the Targaryens, everyone knew who Robert meant.
Shaking his head from his musings, Gerion wandered down the street, admiring every detail of architecture and color as he did so. He had to admit, a city such as this put the beauty of King's Landinng to shame and perhaps even rivaled his beloved Lannisport. He began to ponder on where he would find an illusive Magister and he cursed himself for not coming here with more preparation. He had relied on his past experience of visiting this place during his sixteenth name-day, but he could now see that much had changed about Pentos, including who ran it.
He had been told of Illyrio Mopatis from Tywin, and he had been told that the man was the most powerful and influential Magister of them all, and perhaps even the most powerful in Essos. Gerion guessed if anyone had taken in the Targaryens and was hosting half a Kingsguard worth of exiled Knights, it would be him. Gerion pondered on how to even gain an audience with such a man and he figured he would have to use the Lannister name to open doors he himself could not.
Eventually, he managed to discover the location of Illyrio's place of living by asking the right questions to some passing nobles who didn't seem suspicious of his asking. He made his way to the location and was stunned to see what was before him when he arrived. The group of Unsullied guards also looked at him with surprise and shock as they may have wondered why a replica of Jaime was standing before them all.
As he stood before the gates of the manse, he couldn't help but be struck by the sheer grandeur of the estate. The opulence of the place was immediately apparent, far beyond anything he had expected, even given Illyrio's reputation for wealth and extravagance. The walls of the manse soared high, built from finely crafted stone, and adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes from Essosi history and mythology. The lion's eyes widened as he took in the sight of the main house itself, a sprawling structure of marble and gold. The architecture was a blend of Valyrian elegance and Pentoshi indulgence, with tall columns supporting sweeping archways and balconies that overlooked the manicured gardens below. The entire manse seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, a testament to Illyrio's vast wealth.
Gerion shook his head as if to dispel himself from the magic that the manse had put over him and he approached the group of Unsullied guards, who were beginning to eye him with ever-increasing suspicion. "Greetings, I am Gerion Lannister, brother of Tywin Lannister." He stated.
The Unsullied looked at each other as if wondering what the right choice of words was before one of them stepped forward, his spear gripped tightly in his right hand. "What is your business here, Gerion Lannister?" The Unsullied asked, his stern voice sounding almost like a warning to the curious lion before him.
"I seek an audience with Illyrio Mopatis. I understand he may or may not be harboring my nephew." Gerion clarified.
"I am unsure if my master would be willing to talk to...someone like you." The Unsullied replied.
"Ask him. I am sure the great Magister would never turn down a Lannister."
The Unsullied looked nervously at his comrades to his side before he nodded toward the gate at one of them, who then quickly made his way into the manse. Gerion smiled warmingly at the Unsullied who gave the order and folded his arms as he leaned against the wall to begin his wait. The hour seemed to drag on and he began to wonder what was taking the Magister so long, as he looked to the sky and saw the evening sun beginning to set.
Eventually, a servant woman approached him and brought him through the gates but only into the courtyard, much to his displeasure. She promised him that Illyrio would see him soon and told him he was a very busy man, not that Gerion couldn't have guessed. Then she disappeared back into the manse, much to his displeasure and gripings, as he was being forced to wait once more.
As he stood in the courtyard, a distant, guttural roar echoed through the twilight, sending a shiver down his spine. He paused, brow furrowing, unsure of what creature could make such a fearsome sound in the heart of Pentos. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a strange mix of awe and apprehension washing over him as he listened intently to the unfamiliar noise. He calmed himself and shook his head, figuring it was some exotic bird he had never seen before, as Illyrio finally appeared from the doors of his manse.
As Illyrio waddled towards him, his luxurious robes barely concealing his prodigious girth, Gerion couldn't help but allow a flicker of amusement to cross his face. The tales of Illyrio's size had not been exaggerated; the man was nearly as grand in stature as the wealth he commanded. Gerion could see that his large frame was flanked by a handful of Unsullied guards, who followed him without question. However, even they were looking too large for their armor and he hoped that Illyrio had not made Jaime fat, if he was even here in the first place.
"Lord Gerion Lannister, how pleased I am to make your acquaintance." Illyrio smiled, his crooked teeth showing, as he firmly shook the hand of Gerion.
"Magister Illyrio, an honor you could make time for me." Gerion sighed, his displeasure at being made to wait for so long showing in his usually calm voice.
"I apologize for the wait, Lord Gerion, I was very busy with some...minor inconvenience, please come and enter my home, I am sure your journey was long." Illyrio grinned, as he and Gerion began to walk together into the manse. "I am wondering why you are here though, my Lord, as I had not received a raven or any message from your brother, telling me that you'd be coming." Illyrio inquired, as they both walked.
"I am here to look for my nephew, Jaime, and I was led to believe that you may know of his whereabouts."
"Interesting indeed...please, sit and eat, you must be famished, my Lord." Illyrio smiled as they entered a large dining room and he gestured to a lavish cushioned seat.
Gerion's eyes widened in awe as he beheld the sumptuous feast laid out before him, the table groaning under the weight of decadent dishes and exotic delicacies that spoke volumes of Illyrio's boundless wealth and opulent lifestyle. The air was filled with the warm aromas of spiced wines and roasted meats, as the spices danced and battled for dominance of his sense of smell. He had seen great feasts in King's Landing and Casterly Rock, but even they paled in comparison to what he now saw before him. Around the room stood anxious servants, whose heads were bowed down as if they were afraid of looking at Illyrio.
"It all looks extraordinary, Magsiter." Gerion smiled as he sat down and tasted the finest delights that Illyrio had offered him.
"It is, Lord Gerion. Now, back to your nephew." Illyrio sighed, as he slumped his heavy frame into the chair opposite Gerion. "I will admit, he is here."
Gerion stopped his eating and looked into the piggy eyes of the man before him. "Where?" He simply asked, his voice stern.
Just that moment, with a theatrical flourish, Illyrio gestured towards the grand doors at the far end of the dining room. As they swung open, the room seemed to hold its breath. There, standing in the doorway, was Jaime Lannister. The sight of him, with his golden hair and rugged, travel-worn appearance, sent a jolt of surprise through Gerion. Behind Jaime, stood the unmistakable appearance of Arthur Dayne with Dawn gleaming in the candlelight on his back.
Gerion looked on as Jaime walked towards him, a smug smile appearing on his face as he did so. "Uncle, it is good to see you." Jaime smiled, as he hugged a shocked Gerion.
"Jaime...I do not know what to say." Gerion stammered as he attempted to find the right words. "Arthur Dayne too? I am honored."
"Say what you need to say, Gerion." Arthur huffed, as he folded his arms across his chest. Jaime gave the Sword of the Morning a look of displeasure before turning back to his uncle.
"Don't mind him, Uncle, he is overprotective of us." Jaime smiled softly.
"I see, well I was sent here by your father, Jaime. He wants you to come home. All of us do." Gerion implored, as he failed to notice Arthur stiffen at the mention of Jaime's father.
"I...cannot, Uncle. I am needed here. Besides, I cannot face my father after what he did during the rebellion."
"Why are you needed here? Are you protecting them? The Targaryens? I imagine you would be if he is here." Gerion wondered aloud, as he nodded towards Arthur, whose deep blue eyes never left Gerion.
"I am Uncle, as I swore I would all those years ago."
"By the Gods, Jaime, the Targaryen reign is over. Let it go."
"Careful now, Gerion," Arthur warned as he unfolded his arms.
"Jaime, please, if you don't come what am I supposed to tell your father?" Gerion pleaded, his eyes full of sadness as he ignored Arthur's warning.
"Tell him anything, Uncle, I care not. Tell him I am dead if you must." Jaime affirmed.
"Is this really what it has come to, Jaime? You would scorn your father and family for some misguided oath that was sworn to an insane King?"
"Tywin stopped being my father the day he ordered the deaths of two children and their mother."
Gerion let out a heavy sigh, as he could not argue with Jaime about his opinion of his father. Even Gerion himself was disgusted when he heard the news of the deaths of Aegon and Rhaenys. He and Tywin had one of their infamous arguments about it when he found out. "Fine, Jaime, if I can't make you come home, no one can."
"I am sorry, Uncle, that it has to be this way but I have to do what I swore an oath to do." Jaime sighed, as he held out a hand for Gerion to shake.
Gerion shook the hand of Jaime which to him signified the end of his ties to the Lannister family. That night as the Lion's Pride set sail from the bustling port of Pentos, Gerion stood at the ship's railing, his gaze fixed on the receding cityscape. The sounds of the harbor grew fainter, replaced by the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull. The grand towers and domes of Pentos slowly vanished into the horizon, leaving behind a sense of unfinished business.
His heart was heavy with disappointment. Despite his best efforts and heartfelt pleas, Jaime had remained resolute in his decision to stay away from Westeros. He knew this was a fool's mission, as Jaime had been named an outlaw anyway and he imagined that they would struggle to keep his return a secret from Robert and his lackeys. Perhaps this was the best outcome for everyone involved, Gerion mused. Though, if Jaime did return, Gerion imagined it would be at the head of a great army in the service of whatever Targaryen laid a claim to the throne. The thought brought a small smile to his saddened features until he remembered that it would mean another war.
The moon dipped below the horizon, casting a silver glow over the water. The journey ahead was long, but Gerion resolved to face it with the same resilience and resolve that had brought him this far. He leaned against the railing, the cool breeze offering a small measure of comfort as the ship cut through the waves, leaving Pentos and Jaime behind.
King's Landing: 284 AC: The Same Day:
In the dimly lit confines of his chambers, Varys sat at his desk, poring over the latest reports from his network of little birds. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of parchment and the distant murmur of the Red Keep. A small, unassuming note caught his eye, its seal bearing the mark of one of his most trusted informants. With a practiced hand, Varys broke the seal and unfolded the note. His eyes scanned the contents quickly, his expression remaining neutral, though a flicker of intrigue passed through his eyes as he read the message.
The note detailed an incredible piece of information: Rhaella Targaryen, the exiled queen, had successfully hatched a dragon. The little bird's account was concise yet vivid, describing the heat of the hatching fire and the emergence of the small, yet unmistakably powerful creature from the egg. Varys could hardly believe their luck. He had a disdain for magic and all those who practiced it yet he was willing to forgo his feelings for the obvious advantage this gave them and their cause.
Smiling to himself, the Spider burnt the note in a nearby brazer and he turned to leave his chambers. He walked through the halls of the Red Keep, as he often did, pondering to himself what was to come and how he should act to ensure growing support for his growing king and their newly acquired dragon. As he walked, he found himself in the throne room, alone.
The Great Hall of the Red Keep was an imposing sight, even more so when it was empty. The vast chamber, with its high vaulted ceilings and towering pillars, seemed to echo with the whispers of a thousand past conversations. The light from the setting sun streamed through the tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. Varys stood alone in the center of the room, his soft footsteps barely making a sound on the smooth, cold surface. The Iron Throne, a jagged, menacing structure of twisted swords, loomed at the far end of the hall. In this moment of solitude, the throne appeared even more formidable, a stark reminder of the power it symbolized and the blood that had been spilled to claim it.
As he looked upon the throne, he could hear the soft and yet labored footsteps of Jon Arryn, who wore a smug smile on his face which bemused the Spider to no end. "Lord Varys, I am surprised to see you here." Jon falsely smiled.
"I do live here, my Lord Hand," Varys replied, his own false smile showing.
In his head, Varys loathed the man before him. He thought he was an upjumped Lord who seized power the moment it was presented to him. Though, Varys couldn't say he wouldn't have done so himself.
"That is true." Jon chuckled, as he moved to stand a the side of Varys, his eyes looking at the iron throne. "An ugly thing, do you not think?"
"It is, yes. I often wonder why so many bother bleeding for it at all."
"Why, for power, of course, Lord Varys."
"Power manifests itself in many ways, my Lord Hand and the throne is just one."
"So you say, Lord Varys." Jon began to move to the dais that the throne sat upon, his eyes looking up and down at the bent and broken swords that made up the chair. "Tell me, Lord Varys, would you ever wish to be King?" Jon asked, turning to face Varys from the steps beneath the iron throne.
"It is not for me, I'm afraid, my Lord Hand." Varys honestly replied."I prefer to let other great men rule, whereas I am happiest serving the Realm."
"Is that what you do? Serve the Realm?" Jon chuckled.
"It is my Lord Hand. Someone must." Varys smiled back.
Jon eyed the Eunuch up and down, as he prepared to speak again. "I was wondering, Varys, if you have heard anything of the Targaryens and their renegade knights."
Varys looked at Jon with a blank expression, so as to mask his true loyalties. "I only know the same as you, my Lord Hand. That they are still alive and well in Pentos. Though, I have heard that some assassins made their way there some moons ago, though they were all killed it seems."
Varys noticed how Jon's elderly features became furious at the mention of his failed assassination plot. "It seems so." Jon spat before he calmed himself once more.
Before excusing himself, Varys allowed his gaze to linger on the stained glass window, the vibrant colors casting a kaleidoscope of light across his contemplative face. The intricate patterns told stories of the realm's past glories and hidden tragedies, a fitting backdrop for his own silent reflections. With a smug smile, he turned back to Jon Arryn, bowed slightly, and quietly excused himself from the chamber.
That night, Varys spent his time going over possible supporters for the coming King. He had narrowed it down to just a handful that he believed would be receptive to his advances. House Tyrell could be lured in with the promise of a marriage, as they have recently been blessed with a daughter by the name of Margaery. He could also turn to House Tarly, whose patriarch, Randyll Tarly, had been a Targaryen loyalist in the past until he was forced to bend his knee.
The options were limited of course, but they were there, and all Varys had to do was seize them. He knew he had plenty of time to act upon them and plenty of time to play the Stag King to his tune, so long as his insidious Hand didn't interfere with his plans.
Pyke: 284 AC: 1 Week Later:
The weather over the Iron Islands was as harsh and unforgiving as the Ironborn themselves. A blanket of thick grey clouds hung low in the sky, casting a somber light over the rugged landscape of Pyke. The wind howled relentlessly, whipping through the narrow fjords and battering the cliffs with a fierce, biting chill. The sea below was turbulent, its dark waves crashing violently against the rocks, sending sprays of salty mist into the air.
Balon Greyjoy stood on the edge of the cliffs, his cloak billowing wildly in the wind, the grey and black colors of House Greyjoy blending seamlessly with the stormy backdrop. From his vantage point, he surveyed the bustling shipyards below where the beginnings of the new Iron Fleet were taking shape. The rhythmic pounding of hammers and the constant murmur of workers filled the air, a symphony of industry and ambition.
The shipwrights labored tirelessly, their figures moving with determined precision amidst the swirling gusts. Massive oak timbers were hauled into place, the skeletal frames of the longships rising from the docks like the bones of ancient leviathans. The wind whipped through the rigging, creating an eerie, mournful whistle that seemed to echo the island's call for a resurgence.
Behind Balon approached his eerie brother, Euron, who was dressed in a deep grey cloak and wore his signature eye patch. He sniffed the air as if he was savoring it like a hungry child savoring the first meal he had had in weeks. He looked at Balon with his pale blue eye, as if he was trying to look through into his mind and read his thoughts. "The fleet is coming along well, brother. Perhaps this rebellion of yours can work after all." Euron smirked.
"It is not a rebellion, Euron, I am simply reclaiming our birthright that was stolen from us when Aegon burned Harren and all his sons in their stone monolith." Balon corrected, as his eyes carried on watching the construction of his fleet.
"So you say, brother. What are our plans once this grand fleet is finished?"
"We will decide that when the time draws closer to unleash our fleet."
With that, Euron nodded and moved back toward the castle itself, leaving his brother to look upon the fleet until his heart was content. Balon pondered on his brother's words as he did so, and he constantly asked himself, what was their plan of action going to be? He had heard of the King's fleet that was headed by Stannis Baratheon and his flagship 'fury', and he had heard how the ship had led the attack on the Targaryens at Dragonstone and crushed them.
That would not be his fate. He will ensure that his fleet is properly prepared to deal with Stannis' own, and once he destroys him, there will be none left to challenge them on the seas.
Pentos: 284 AC: 1 Moon Later:
"Strange, don't you think?" Arthur asked, his deep blue eyes looking at Barristan who was cleaning his sword.
The sun streamed through the narrow windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the stone walls of the chamber where Arthur and Barristan sat in deep conversation. The light danced on their armor, creating a shimmering play of reflections that added an almost ethereal quality to their discussion. The soft, ambient glow provided a gentle light across the features of both of the men's faces.
"This again Arthur?" Barristan sighed, his eyes lazily looking at Arthur.
"I just think it's strange. Surely Gerion would have made it home by now and surely he would've told Tywin that Jaime won't come home. I'm just surprised the Old Lion hasn't sent a thousand knights to come and grab him."
"Perhaps Gerion never told him he was here, or maybe Gerion told him Jaime was dead, who knows." Barristan pondered, as his rough hands swept up and down his steel sword, his eyes admiring the shine of it.
In the quiet corner of the sunlit chamber, Aemon slept soundly, his breathing steady and peaceful. The warm, golden rays of the sun gently bathed his serene face, casting a soft glow on his blackening hair and highlighting the tranquility of his slumber. Despite the conversation between Arthur and Barristan, Aemon remained undisturbed, lost in a world of restful dreams.
"He's getting bigger, no?" Barristan asked as he noticed Arthur's eyes gazing upon him.
"He is," Arthur replied, as he stood up and walked over to the bed where Aemon slumbered gracefully, his young arms enwrapped around the black dragon egg that he now seemed to have an inseparable bond with. Arthur's hand gently caressed the face of the young King, who seemed to smile at his touch. Beside him, lay Daenerys, her own ice blue and snow white egg being held in her sleeping arms.
"When do you think she'll be back?" Arthur asked as he turned to walk back to his seat at the table where they were both previously speaking.
"I am unsure. She is with Bonifer, teaching Viserys his lessons on Valyrian." Barristan answered back, his gaze set upon the door of the room.
Outside the sunlit chamber, a deep, resonant roar echoed through the stone walls, followed by the unmistakable sound of massive wings beating the air. The powerful, guttural growls and occasional high-pitched shrieks of the dragon reverberated, sending subtle vibrations through the floor and adding a thrilling, primal edge to the atmosphere within.
Arthur shook his head and laughed at what he knew the sound came from. A dragon. Their own dragon, ready to burn those that exiled them all from their homes. Both knights had watched the dragon grow with amazement. The beast was the size of a large horse and every new day, it grew larger. Barristan and the other knights had often held competitions and wagers on how large it would get, with Richard suggesting it could be as big as Balerion was, which seemed absurd at the time.
However, something else caught their attention. The raspy high-pitched scream of another beast sounded around their ears, similar to the one that Vēdros made when he first hatched. The knights looked incredulously at each other as they both were overcome with a deep silence as they listened on. Eventually, their curiosity got the better of them, and they left the room to search out what was making the noise.
Before they left, they ordered two men of the Holy Hundred to stand guard outside the room to ensure there were no trespassers that may seek to harm their King and his Aunt. They wandered through the manse, following the screeches like a dog following the sound of its masters' call. Finally, they found themselves in the courtyard where Arthur usually taught Viserys his swordsmanship lessons.
The sun beamed down around them as before them was another incredible sight. Lying at the feet of Bonifer, Rhaella, and Viserys was the presence of a baby golden brown dragon, who screeched joyfully up at them. On the ground where the dragon sat, were the presence of deep scorch marks on the stone and Arthur looked to the surrounding roof to see Vēdros nesting there, its deep orange eyes never leaving the sight of his newly hatched younger brother. If dragons could smile, Arthur swore that he could see Vēdros doing so at this moment.
"Rhaella...Have you..." Arthur attempted to speak before Viserys interrupted, as his gaze shifted back down towards the scene before him.
"He has hatched!" Viserys chirped, his eyes full of joyful tears, as his hands took in the newly birthed dragon.
"Yes, Arthur, it seems so." Rhaella smiled, her hand held in Bonifer's own. "It seems Vēdros grew tired of waiting and did all the work himself."
Arthur looked up once more at the deep red dragon that looked down upon them all, an imperious snarl appearing on his face before he flew away. The sight sent shivers down the spine of the usually fearless Sword of the Morning. Shaking his head, he turned his gaze once more back to Viserys, who was attempting to think of a name for his new pet.
"I don't know, mother, I don't like the Valyrian names." He complained as Rhaella was giving him suggestions from the pages of Ancient Valyria.
"You can name it anything you want, Viserys, just nothing silly." Rhaella sighed.
Viserys thought a moment before he looked up into the partially cloudy sky. His mind turned to the tales and stories of Aegon and Balerion, and what they did together when they came to Westeros to subdue the continent and its petty Kings. He specifically recalled the story of how Aegon burned Harren the Black and all his sons in Harrenhall by descending from the clouds and onto the castle. It was then his mind was made up.
"Cloudiver." The young prince resolutely decided.
"Cloudiver?" Rhaella questioned.
Seeing the anguish in the face of Viserys, Barristan spoke up in defense of the name. "A fine name, my Prince. Don't you agree, Arthur?"
"Why, yes, of course, a fine name." Arthur blustered.
"Very well, Viserys. Cloudiver it is." Rhaella sighed as she softly smiled at her son.
Under the bright, clear sky, Viserys stood proudly with the newly named Cloudiver perched on his arm, the dragon's scales shimmering like jewels in the sunlight. The air was warm, and the sun's golden rays bathed the scene in a serene glow, highlighting the sense of a new beginning. Rhaella, her heart swelling with pride, stood beside her son, her serene smile reflecting the hope and determination that now filled her heart. The light breeze played gently with her silver hair as she watched the young dragon, a symbol of their family's resilience and revival.
Bonifer Hasty, ever the loyal guardian, stood protectively by their side. His armor gleamed under the sun's rays, and he felt a renewed sense of purpose, his dedication to the Targaryen cause unwavering. Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy, their expressions a mix of pride and determination, joined the family. The light from the sun reflected off their polished armor, casting a radiant glow that mirrored their resolve to protect and uphold their ideals.
The scene was one of unity and resolve, the warm sunlight symbolizing the hope and strength that bound them together. As Cloudiver let out a soft, contented rumble, the group shared a moment of silent understanding and mutual commitment. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, their spirits unyielding and their hearts steadfast.
A/N: Thanks for reading. I will be doing some time jumping in either the next chapter or the one after as I am just focused on tying up loose ends. I planned on the first 20 chapters being a pretense to the main plot anyway. Regardless I hope you enjoyed and I hope you all had a good Christmas, and I hope you all have an even better new years. Lots of love x.