since waking up the Force-magic affected Jon did it also have an effect on Aemon Targaryen or is he too old or distantly related to be affected by that
A Crown of Fire, Throne of Blood (ASOIAF/GOT/SW) SI/OC merged with Viserys Targaryen
- Thread starter Illuviar
- Start date
- Fantasy
After getting a good look at the Hightowers ASOIAF wiki... they have their fingers in everything important happening in the Seven Kingdoms. So of course, they're going to plot. Just trough their marriages in the Reach, the Hightowers are intimately involved in what the Tyrells and Redywnes are up to, not to mention their inevitable entanglements with Citadel and Faith politics.
We'll see Aemon and what's happening with him when we get a glimpse at the Wall.
Chapter 9 Part 2
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Dragonstone
Thankfully, it was rare for the King to visit Dragonstone nowadays – a radical change of how things were done for most of the existence of the Seven Kingdoms.
Stannis Baratheon was glad about it. The last thing he needed was his brother bringing his drunken ass into Stannis' home, dishonoring the only sanctuary he had left. Unfortunately, recent events got Robert rejuvenated with manic energy in a way he never was outside of war…. But that was why the King was here, so it made a disgusting amount of sense. If Robert had put this much effort and energy into ruling regularly, then he would have been a great king.
The Lord of Dragonstone stood to the side of the Painted Table, with only Ser Davos and Maester Cressen at his back. Robert was nearby, leaning on the large map, staring intently at it. Stannis had to admit that his brother looked better than he expected – it was apparent the King had kept up training after the Greyjoy idiocy instead of spending his days and nights drowning in wine and whores. All it took was the Targaryens becoming a threat instead of duty, the younger Baratheon thought bitterly.
"The Dragonspawn has an army," Robert declared in an odd tone. There was fury burning in his deep voice and hunger, too. "You didn't manage to get him killed, Varys!" the King accused.
The Master of Whisperers bowed his bald head in shame. "Astapor is far away. The Targaryens were already en route to Slaver's Bay by the time we knew we had to send more assassins, and you offered such a gracious bounty on their heads. The odds of someone learning of the prize and running into them before they got there were always remote. I've sent my Little Birds to Astapor. Hired blades as well! However, we have yet to hear anything from them. The distance alone means that it won't change until the turn of the year, if not later. Warships could get there faster, but obviously, sending Little Birds or assassins in such an obvious way would be unwise."
Robert glowered at the eunuch and cursed.
"It is clear now that I can't rely on you to do your damned job and kill the Dragonspawn," Robert smiled at that. "It is all right. It might be better this way. I am not made for sitting my ass on that uncomfortable spiky chair, counting coppers, or listening to fools bemoan their lot in life. I am made for war and can smell it in the air."
And here it was. Robert was never going to change, Stannis lamented.
"We are going to properly prepare for the war to come! I don't trust the Dornish as far as I can throw this dragons-infested castle!" Robert waved at the map. "Little Ren's too young yet to be relied upon to do a man's job," a thick finger pointed at Stanni's chest. "Brother, you are going to Storm's End and gathering our Stormlords. I want all passes from Dorne into the Stormlands fortified; the keeps holding them examined and repaired if needed. If the Dornish decide to lay with fucking Dragonspawn again, we'll fuck them in such a way they'll never forget it!"
"I'll see it done," Stannis grit his teeth in frustration. He would have to act as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands but not have his birthright then. Fucking Robert…
"That grasping Rose Tyrell might get his daughter as Queen one day," at that, Robert at least had the decency to look contrite. "I'll leave it to Jon to get us the best deal he could. The Reach must hold their side of the Dornish mountains, and we will need the Redwyne fleet to shield the West."
At least, they could rely on Robert in matters of war and strategy. It could be worse, Stannis kept telling himself. For all his flaws, Robert wasn't Aegon the Unworthy, much less Aerys come again.
"The Reach must shield the West until Lannister can rebuild his damn fleet! For all we know, the Dornish will eagerly spread their legs to the Dragons, but who knows, sanity might prevail over there. Jon has a few ideas that might pacify them," Robert made a dismissive gesture and pointed at the edge of the Painted Table. "Varys and everyone else keeps telling me how far Astapor happens to be! If Viserys lands in Dorne, we will smash them in the passes. The Redwynes will shield the West; no matter what, we'll have to give the fucking roses. That leaves the Royal Fleet. Stannis, I need you to secure the East!" Robert jabbed a finger at the Stepstones. "If Viserys gets a fleet through there, he can land anywhere from the Dornish Marches up to Runestone! Before we can get a fleet or army to intercept him, he can burn my cities and people like his mad father!"
"If we secure the Stepstones, we might reunite the Triarchy and have to fight them," Stannis warned. "Doing so will cost men, ships, and treasure."
"You'll have your coin. Build more ships as you see fit," Robert waved Stannis' concerns away. "If the Triarchy decides to be uppity, I'll lead the armies to smash them away myself! Expand the Royal Fleet as much as you need to secure the Stepstones against any possible threat!" the King ordered.
Stannis bowed his head in a show of submission and pondered his orders. Taking the Stepstones would reduce piracy and secure vital trade routes for Westeros merchants. If the Triarchy reformed, instead of remaining at each other's throats, perhaps Braavos might be willing to aid? Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr were slaver cities, after all. Keeping the Stepstones safe for Braavosi merchants might be enticing enough of a prospect. Stannis said that much aloud.
"Braavos?" Robert and Varys looked at him in surprise.
"What do your Little Birds say about the Sealord?" Stannis demanded.
"He is an old man who won't last more than a few years. We'll have a new Sealord by the turn of the century at the latest. He is rumored to be thinking of his legacy," Varys said after thinking a bit.
"What better legacy than secure the Stepstones for Braavosi ships and land a blow against slavery?" Stannis asked.
"Taking the Stepstones will make those slaving bastards in Essos squeal, won't it?" Robert barked a laugh. "That makes it even better! Make the necessary preparations, Brother! I'll feast you at the Red Keep when we are ready for the war!"
291 AC
The Red Keep
King's Landing
The pleasant breeze cooled the upper floors of Tower of the Hand, allowing Mace Tyrell to sit comfortably near an open window. The Hand sat beside him at a small table covered with food and drinks. Considering all that was happening as of late, Jon Arryn was happier than he should have been. But then, his wife was finally with a babe again, and this was the longest time Lady Lysa was pregnant before miscarrying. Gods be good, Arryn might have a heir of his body early next year. That might make the succession of the Vale more interesting or not. The Hand was almost sure to arrange a marriage between his future grandchildren and the children to come of his current heir and Ser Hardying's betrothed.
Lord Arryn took a deep breath of cool, fresh air – something rare in King's Landing and smiled kindly at Mace.
"Soon, every Kingdom from the Vale to the Westerlands will be bound through marriages, further securing the Crown. That leaves only the Reach and Dorne," Arryn pointed out.
So, the rumors that Bronze Youh's Royce's younger sons would marry in the North and the West were true.
"Robar Royce will travel to foster at White Harbor and get to know his betrothed Wynafryd Manderly. They'll marry when the lass is fourteen, but there won't be a consummation or babies for a few more years. We are no barbarians after all," Arryn happily announced. He took a sip of wine, enjoyed it for a moment, and continued explaining the Reach's unenviable situation. "Waymar Royce is betrothed to Lady Cerenna Lannister, and they'll wed when he is fourteen in a few years. Lady Cerenna is already traveling to Runestone to foster and get to know her betrothed. I've set up lands and a keep for them; they'll have ample time to familiarize themselves with."
"That's nice?" Mace offered and drained a cup of wine without feeling its taste. His mother was traveling to Winterfell to discuss betrothal, which would give them an in and a bit of security. However, she was correct; when everyone was allied to everyone else, no one was allied with anyone… and the Crown wasn't thrilled with the Reach. Further, the North was far. Despite blood ties between Starks, Tullys, and Arryns, a future marriage between Willas or Garlan with Sansa Stark might not be enough, far from it.
The Tyrell's situation was already dangerous, even if they had much to gain. Now that Viserys Targaryen had a powerful army he could rely on… frankly, Mace didn't know what to do. On the surface, the Hand's efforts made the Iron Throne more secure than it had been at any time before the Dance of Dragons. His House needed a secure place in that alliance network, and Sansa Stark might not be enough. That realization was a sticking point for Mace. The truth was that when Viserys came, the Baratheons, Lannisters, and Starks had no choice but to hang together. The Tullys, too, for Hoster's politicking was the mortar that bound the Rebel Alliance together and gave Robert his crown. The Vale was intimately involved, and history was going to repeat itself. Jon Arryn rose into rebellion to protect his wards. He would fight for the crown he earned for Robert and wouldn't leave the Starks to face the Targaryens alone. That made it five out of seven.
Doran Martell was a patient man. He was going to bide his time until he knew who would be likely to win. The Prince of Dorne had a daughter and two sons. Ties of blood might divide Dorne's loyalty and, more importantly, their spears. Mace was sure that this was what Arryn planned for the Dornish. The Hand would fully bind the realm in ties of blood to secure it against Viserys Targaryen, even though that might lay down the foundation for wars of succession in the distant future.
Mace regretted that his mother was already traveling to Winterfell. He now hoped that Willas would marry Sansa. Then Garlan would be free as a possible consort to Arianne Martell. That and betrothals to Doran's sons might be enough to significantly lessen the danger Dorne represented with bloodthirsty Viserys on the horizon. There was just that little issue of Tyrell dying in Dorne, so it might be best if Arianne married Willas and became the future Lady of Highgarden.
On the other hand, backing a Targaryen restoration was always an option. Margaery was too young to marry, and Princess Daenerys would one day need a husband, too…
Mace decided that stalling might be for the best. He needed time and more information.
"Now that Viserys has an army, we need to further bind the realm together," Arryn was saying. "Bringing the Reach properly into the fold will be only for the best, but I understand if you want to avoid royal entanglements at this time," Mace greatly misliked the smile on the Hand's face. "We can always look at Lord Tarly's daughters, the Redwynes or the Hightowers. They all have young daughters and will help us secure the Reach."
Jon Arryn could be a complete and utter bastard when he put his mind to it, Mace decided.
Chapter 9 Part 2
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Dragonstone
Thankfully, it was rare for the King to visit Dragonstone nowadays – a radical change of how things were done for most of the existence of the Seven Kingdoms.
Stannis Baratheon was glad about it. The last thing he needed was his brother bringing his drunken ass into Stannis' home, dishonoring the only sanctuary he had left. Unfortunately, recent events got Robert rejuvenated with manic energy in a way he never was outside of war…. But that was why the King was here, so it made a disgusting amount of sense. If Robert had put this much effort and energy into ruling regularly, then he would have been a great king.
The Lord of Dragonstone stood to the side of the Painted Table, with only Ser Davos and Maester Cressen at his back. Robert was nearby, leaning on the large map, staring intently at it. Stannis had to admit that his brother looked better than he expected – it was apparent the King had kept up training after the Greyjoy idiocy instead of spending his days and nights drowning in wine and whores. All it took was the Targaryens becoming a threat instead of duty, the younger Baratheon thought bitterly.
"The Dragonspawn has an army," Robert declared in an odd tone. There was fury burning in his deep voice and hunger, too. "You didn't manage to get him killed, Varys!" the King accused.
The Master of Whisperers bowed his bald head in shame. "Astapor is far away. The Targaryens were already en route to Slaver's Bay by the time we knew we had to send more assassins, and you offered such a gracious bounty on their heads. The odds of someone learning of the prize and running into them before they got there were always remote. I've sent my Little Birds to Astapor. Hired blades as well! However, we have yet to hear anything from them. The distance alone means that it won't change until the turn of the year, if not later. Warships could get there faster, but obviously, sending Little Birds or assassins in such an obvious way would be unwise."
Robert glowered at the eunuch and cursed.
"It is clear now that I can't rely on you to do your damned job and kill the Dragonspawn," Robert smiled at that. "It is all right. It might be better this way. I am not made for sitting my ass on that uncomfortable spiky chair, counting coppers, or listening to fools bemoan their lot in life. I am made for war and can smell it in the air."
And here it was. Robert was never going to change, Stannis lamented.
"We are going to properly prepare for the war to come! I don't trust the Dornish as far as I can throw this dragons-infested castle!" Robert waved at the map. "Little Ren's too young yet to be relied upon to do a man's job," a thick finger pointed at Stanni's chest. "Brother, you are going to Storm's End and gathering our Stormlords. I want all passes from Dorne into the Stormlands fortified; the keeps holding them examined and repaired if needed. If the Dornish decide to lay with fucking Dragonspawn again, we'll fuck them in such a way they'll never forget it!"
"I'll see it done," Stannis grit his teeth in frustration. He would have to act as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands but not have his birthright then. Fucking Robert…
"That grasping Rose Tyrell might get his daughter as Queen one day," at that, Robert at least had the decency to look contrite. "I'll leave it to Jon to get us the best deal he could. The Reach must hold their side of the Dornish mountains, and we will need the Redwyne fleet to shield the West."
At least, they could rely on Robert in matters of war and strategy. It could be worse, Stannis kept telling himself. For all his flaws, Robert wasn't Aegon the Unworthy, much less Aerys come again.
"The Reach must shield the West until Lannister can rebuild his damn fleet! For all we know, the Dornish will eagerly spread their legs to the Dragons, but who knows, sanity might prevail over there. Jon has a few ideas that might pacify them," Robert made a dismissive gesture and pointed at the edge of the Painted Table. "Varys and everyone else keeps telling me how far Astapor happens to be! If Viserys lands in Dorne, we will smash them in the passes. The Redwynes will shield the West; no matter what, we'll have to give the fucking roses. That leaves the Royal Fleet. Stannis, I need you to secure the East!" Robert jabbed a finger at the Stepstones. "If Viserys gets a fleet through there, he can land anywhere from the Dornish Marches up to Runestone! Before we can get a fleet or army to intercept him, he can burn my cities and people like his mad father!"
"If we secure the Stepstones, we might reunite the Triarchy and have to fight them," Stannis warned. "Doing so will cost men, ships, and treasure."
"You'll have your coin. Build more ships as you see fit," Robert waved Stannis' concerns away. "If the Triarchy decides to be uppity, I'll lead the armies to smash them away myself! Expand the Royal Fleet as much as you need to secure the Stepstones against any possible threat!" the King ordered.
Stannis bowed his head in a show of submission and pondered his orders. Taking the Stepstones would reduce piracy and secure vital trade routes for Westeros merchants. If the Triarchy reformed, instead of remaining at each other's throats, perhaps Braavos might be willing to aid? Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr were slaver cities, after all. Keeping the Stepstones safe for Braavosi merchants might be enticing enough of a prospect. Stannis said that much aloud.
"Braavos?" Robert and Varys looked at him in surprise.
"What do your Little Birds say about the Sealord?" Stannis demanded.
"He is an old man who won't last more than a few years. We'll have a new Sealord by the turn of the century at the latest. He is rumored to be thinking of his legacy," Varys said after thinking a bit.
"What better legacy than secure the Stepstones for Braavosi ships and land a blow against slavery?" Stannis asked.
"Taking the Stepstones will make those slaving bastards in Essos squeal, won't it?" Robert barked a laugh. "That makes it even better! Make the necessary preparations, Brother! I'll feast you at the Red Keep when we are ready for the war!"
=Sith=
291 AC
The Red Keep
King's Landing
The pleasant breeze cooled the upper floors of Tower of the Hand, allowing Mace Tyrell to sit comfortably near an open window. The Hand sat beside him at a small table covered with food and drinks. Considering all that was happening as of late, Jon Arryn was happier than he should have been. But then, his wife was finally with a babe again, and this was the longest time Lady Lysa was pregnant before miscarrying. Gods be good, Arryn might have a heir of his body early next year. That might make the succession of the Vale more interesting or not. The Hand was almost sure to arrange a marriage between his future grandchildren and the children to come of his current heir and Ser Hardying's betrothed.
Lord Arryn took a deep breath of cool, fresh air – something rare in King's Landing and smiled kindly at Mace.
"Soon, every Kingdom from the Vale to the Westerlands will be bound through marriages, further securing the Crown. That leaves only the Reach and Dorne," Arryn pointed out.
So, the rumors that Bronze Youh's Royce's younger sons would marry in the North and the West were true.
"Robar Royce will travel to foster at White Harbor and get to know his betrothed Wynafryd Manderly. They'll marry when the lass is fourteen, but there won't be a consummation or babies for a few more years. We are no barbarians after all," Arryn happily announced. He took a sip of wine, enjoyed it for a moment, and continued explaining the Reach's unenviable situation. "Waymar Royce is betrothed to Lady Cerenna Lannister, and they'll wed when he is fourteen in a few years. Lady Cerenna is already traveling to Runestone to foster and get to know her betrothed. I've set up lands and a keep for them; they'll have ample time to familiarize themselves with."
"That's nice?" Mace offered and drained a cup of wine without feeling its taste. His mother was traveling to Winterfell to discuss betrothal, which would give them an in and a bit of security. However, she was correct; when everyone was allied to everyone else, no one was allied with anyone… and the Crown wasn't thrilled with the Reach. Further, the North was far. Despite blood ties between Starks, Tullys, and Arryns, a future marriage between Willas or Garlan with Sansa Stark might not be enough, far from it.
The Tyrell's situation was already dangerous, even if they had much to gain. Now that Viserys Targaryen had a powerful army he could rely on… frankly, Mace didn't know what to do. On the surface, the Hand's efforts made the Iron Throne more secure than it had been at any time before the Dance of Dragons. His House needed a secure place in that alliance network, and Sansa Stark might not be enough. That realization was a sticking point for Mace. The truth was that when Viserys came, the Baratheons, Lannisters, and Starks had no choice but to hang together. The Tullys, too, for Hoster's politicking was the mortar that bound the Rebel Alliance together and gave Robert his crown. The Vale was intimately involved, and history was going to repeat itself. Jon Arryn rose into rebellion to protect his wards. He would fight for the crown he earned for Robert and wouldn't leave the Starks to face the Targaryens alone. That made it five out of seven.
Doran Martell was a patient man. He was going to bide his time until he knew who would be likely to win. The Prince of Dorne had a daughter and two sons. Ties of blood might divide Dorne's loyalty and, more importantly, their spears. Mace was sure that this was what Arryn planned for the Dornish. The Hand would fully bind the realm in ties of blood to secure it against Viserys Targaryen, even though that might lay down the foundation for wars of succession in the distant future.
Mace regretted that his mother was already traveling to Winterfell. He now hoped that Willas would marry Sansa. Then Garlan would be free as a possible consort to Arianne Martell. That and betrothals to Doran's sons might be enough to significantly lessen the danger Dorne represented with bloodthirsty Viserys on the horizon. There was just that little issue of Tyrell dying in Dorne, so it might be best if Arianne married Willas and became the future Lady of Highgarden.
On the other hand, backing a Targaryen restoration was always an option. Margaery was too young to marry, and Princess Daenerys would one day need a husband, too…
Mace decided that stalling might be for the best. He needed time and more information.
"Now that Viserys has an army, we need to further bind the realm together," Arryn was saying. "Bringing the Reach properly into the fold will be only for the best, but I understand if you want to avoid royal entanglements at this time," Mace greatly misliked the smile on the Hand's face. "We can always look at Lord Tarly's daughters, the Redwynes or the Hightowers. They all have young daughters and will help us secure the Reach."
Jon Arryn could be a complete and utter bastard when he put his mind to it, Mace decided.
Last edited:
He had people for that, who really loved their jobs.
Chapter 9 Part 3
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
the Water Gardens
Dorne
Oberyn looked on proudly at his youngest daughter, who was dead to the world, sleeping contently in her mother's hands.
"I am glad you are well, my love," he beamed at Elaria.
His Paramour smiled tiredly at him and gently patted Dorea's blanket.
"She's a little terror, just like her father."
Elia and Obella finally let go of their father and scrunched their faces at their youngest sister.
"She's so loud!" Elia whispered.
"That's rich coming out of you, dear. You were very loud for a very long time," Elaria chided happily. "You still are the terror of the Water Gardens."
"I must agree with your mother, daughter." Oberyn grinned at the look of betrayal Elia shot him. He glimpsed Horath's approach and sighed. "I would love nothing more but to spend all night with you and my other daughters, but it seems my brother requires me," he nodded at the approaching massive form of Doran's trusted guard.
"Go speak with Doran and get back to us," Elaria ordered imperiously.
"As my Lady commands!" Oberyn wigged his eyebrows suggestively, earning himself ewws from his girls and walked to meet Horath.
"Your brother requires your presence, My Prince," the Norvosi Axeman informed him.
"Of course he does," Oberyn scoffed. "Let us go see him. Is Doran well?"
"His legs troubled him more for the past few months until recently," Horath shared. "Your expertise is always appreciated, My Prince."
"Doran must finally stop indulging himself with red meats and rich red wines," Oberyn grumbled at how hard-headed his brother could be.
Horath led him to Doran's resting place. Dorne's ruler sat comfortably in a large armchair, his legs propped on a low table covered with cushions.
"Oberyn, it has been far too long, brother. You look good for someone who just spent most of a year sailing!" Doran smiled in relief at seeing his brother. "Do sit and tell me all about your journey!"
The Red Viper looked around, ensuring they were in an area of the Water Gardens where no one save the loyal guard could overhear them.
"I've got a mixed bag of news, brother. I am relieved to be home with my daughters," Oberyn gleefully admitted.
"And Elaria, too," Doran chuckled.
"But of course! I've missed her," Oberyn sighed. "What about you?" He looked critically at Doran's legs.
"It could be better, it could be worse," Dorne's Ruling Prince hedged. "Tell me of the Targaryens."
"Viserys is sane, competent, more dangerous than he has any right to be, and out of fucks to give," the Red Viper bluntly told the truth. "He's a sorcerer, the kind I've never seen or heard of before, and he is training Princess Daenerys. With Sorcery, she can match an experienced knight in combat, and she's only two and ten with less than a year of training. She might very well be Visenya reborn, with powerful magic to make her even more formidable."
"Good," a very different smile graced Doran's face. "The betrothal?"
"I wisely didn't mention it," the Red Viper raised a hand, forestalling his brother's protests. "Viserys is murderously bitter over all loyalists abandoning them when they needed aid the most. I mentioned that we discussed a potential betrothal with Ser Darry. I am doing my best not to say a single outright lie, just in case."
Doran closed his eyes and rested his head on a plush cushion, thinking over what he had just heard, while Oberyn recounted the rest of his experiences about the Targaryens.
"That might be for the best for now. We remain unbound. We can make any arrangements we need and see how events unfold. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully have been very busy since you left. The Queen of Thorns sails North…" Doran filled in his brother on recent political developments.
"I also spoke with Arianne," he added.
"Finally! What does she want?" Oberyn leaned forward, keenly interested to hear his niece's stance.
"Ari doesn't care about the Iron Throne. She wants to be the next Ruling Princess of Dorne; for now, she's determined to stick with that. Arianne threw a temper tantrum of epic proportions when I told her about the betrothal with Viserys."
"Good girl," Oberyn grinned at his grumbling brother. "Between magic, the Unsullied he has, and the military he's training, Viserys might have a shot at restoration without our full support. I don't believe he is playing things up to make himself a more enticing target for marriage, and he is murderously determined not to sell his sister for an alliance."
"Is he a fool then or that arrogant?" Doran inquired.
"By their nature, dragons are arrogant creatures, and there is no doubt that Viserys is a dragon," Oberyn explained. "I believe Viserys is confident in the kind of military he will have at his back when he returns."
"Astapor won't be enough for that. He'll need a powerful alliance to have a fighting chance," Doran focused on the apparent flaws in the Targaryens' plans.
"I raised that same point, brother. Viserys is certain that the slaver cities will attack him sooner rather than later, and I concur. They might be already on the move. When we stopped at Volantis, envoys from Meereen, Yunkai, and Tolos sought mercenaries to aid them in taking Astapor."
"There will be no Targaryen restoration then," Doran sighed. "We will have to wait much longer for an opportunity."
"Will we?" The Red Viper's showed his fangs. "No one knows what Viserys is capable of. He might be an arrogant fool or know something no one else does."
Doran looked contemplatively at his brother and smiled in turn, looking like a weasel in its burrow.
"We are loyal to the true King of Westeros, whoever that might be," Oberyn laughed heartily at his brother's words. "Arianne will need a consort. Not having a daughter, sister, or niece stuck in King's Landing might be for the best, even if it means we won't have our blood on the Iron Throne…" Doran pondered. "Trystane is very young, but perhaps it might be good for Quentyn to tour Essos like you did…"
"All the way to Astapor? It might do my nephew some good indeed," Oberyn wondered. "I haven't seen him in a few years, you know."
"I'll call him back so we can all talk," Doran decided. "Our merchants are naturally free to ply their trade throughout Essos as long as they don't partake in slavery."
"We'll be emulating the Tyrells then?" Oberyn sounded less than pleased.
"Willas is your friend, is he not?" Doran countered.
"He is. I don't blame children for the actions of their sires, much less grandmothers, you know that, brother!"
"The Reach could have won us the Trident. Viserys knows that, does he not?" Doran wondered.
"He is aware and not happy. I told you, he is unhappy with the loyalists who were conspicuously scarce for years."
"Isn't that interesting…"
291 AC
Casterly Rock
The Westerlands
Tywin Lannister sat in his summer solar on top of the tower, crowning the Rock. The view was breathtaking, even if he was getting too damn old to climb all the way up here, even when using all lifts that could ease up the trip. The tower was old, meant initially as a lookout post on top of the mountain, but eventually, his predecessors rebuilt and expanded it. The view alone was worth it, and the breeze made it pleasantly cool in summer mornings and evenings. Up here, the Lord of Casterly Rock felt like a Lannister King of old.
The Old Lion should have been content with his achievements. His legacy was secure. His daughter, the Queen. His grandson would be King. He had a young granddaughter who was all Lannister like dear Joanna and another grandchild on the way. If Cersei gave Robert a second son, then the royal succession would be more than secure and thus the future of House Lannister.
The only blemishes on Tywin's golden future were his fools of sons. Jamie, the Golden Lion who wasted his life as a Kingsguard, and that little grasping demon Tyrion. How could the boy believe that he deserved Casterly Rock?! Who in their right mind would fight loyally for such a wretched creature when Tywin was gone?
It didn't really matter. Tywin had grandchildren, and Casterly Rock could be a good seat for a second Prince. Or a Princess might marry a Lannister cousin. Either way, Tywin would have his blood and name holding the Rock for countless generations to come.
The solar's door opened, revealing a panting Kevan.
"I'm too old to climb up all these steps," Tywin's younger brother groaned and dragged himself to the nearest chair.
The Old Lion raised a judgmental look at Kevan. "Remind me again, who is the older one among us? You should spend more time riding and sparring rather than eating meat pies."
"Our new cook makes the best pies!" Kevan bemoaned.
"That's not an excuse. We have things to discuss," the Old Lion growled. "Besides, Marla made the best pies long before becoming head cook. That's no excuse!"
"Peace, brother," Kevan raised a hand in surrender. "I have no intention of turning into father," he added quietly.
"Good. We have things to discuss."
"The Targaryens," Kevan's cheek twitched. "You know I'll always support you no matter what, but that could have been handled better."
"I know," Tywin growled. "They were done."
"And Aerys slighted you. Otherwise, you might have given different orders."
"What's your point?" Tywin demanded.
"You weren't your usual rational self at the end of the Rebellion. Aerys was mad. Rhaegar was a fool. Viserys might be neither. We need you at your best, brother!"
"Aerys took my son! He slighted me for years!" Tywin glowered at his brother.
"I don't dispute those facts," Kevan spoke soothingly as if trying to placate a hungry lion, which wasn't far from the truth. Besides, this was precisely what he was talking about.
"The past is dead and buried," Tywin declared. "The future is what we must concern ourselves with."
"Viserys is still alive and now has a dangerous army at his back," Kevan relented.
"Sorcery hasn't won a war in ages. Dragons haven't won one in centuries. Armies do it all the time, which makes Viserys Targaryen a real threat," Tywin admitted. "You will travel to Braavos. Jon Arryn is doing good work as a Hand right now and is needed at King's Landing. You will be the Crown's envoy to the Sealord. For once, Robert speaks sense. We need to secure the Stepstones. We won't face the Unsullied on land but will break them on the seas. We need an alliance with Braavos to make taking and securing the Stepstones cheaper. I will send envoys to Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys to check the price of their neutrality until Viserys is dealt with. I'll offer the Triarchy possession of the Stepstones as soon as the Targaryens are dead for good."
"King Robert might not want to let go of such a conquest," Kevan pointed out.
"I won't let anyone endanger my legacy! If Robert wants to be a fool and kill himself over those islands, let him, but only after the real threat is gone!" Tywin speared his brother with a deadly glare. "You will also visit the Temple of Black and White. Rumor has it that the Faceless ensured no Dragonlord survived in Essos past the Century of Blood. Let us see what they want in exchange for removing Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen."
"I will see to it. What are you going to do?" Kevan inquired.
"Right now, we have only the Redwynes between us, a Viserys Targaryen sailing into the Westerlands and landing an army. That won't do. I am opening the vaults. We will rebuild and expand the Lannister fleet until it is the most powerful in Westeros."
Kevan's eyes bulged at that.
The mines below the rocks had been mined for over a thousand years. Perhaps thousands of years, though there were no records that old. Further, the Lannisters got a percentage of any mined gold or silver in the Westerlands. Gold wasn't as common as iron in Westeros because most of the extracted precious metals from the Westerlands were sealed in vaults to ensure the Lannister's prosperity in the distant future when their mines eventually ran out. Even their father's incredible idiocy failed to make a meaningful dent in those reserves.
Chapter 9 Part 3
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
the Water Gardens
Dorne
Oberyn looked on proudly at his youngest daughter, who was dead to the world, sleeping contently in her mother's hands.
"I am glad you are well, my love," he beamed at Elaria.
His Paramour smiled tiredly at him and gently patted Dorea's blanket.
"She's a little terror, just like her father."
Elia and Obella finally let go of their father and scrunched their faces at their youngest sister.
"She's so loud!" Elia whispered.
"That's rich coming out of you, dear. You were very loud for a very long time," Elaria chided happily. "You still are the terror of the Water Gardens."
"I must agree with your mother, daughter." Oberyn grinned at the look of betrayal Elia shot him. He glimpsed Horath's approach and sighed. "I would love nothing more but to spend all night with you and my other daughters, but it seems my brother requires me," he nodded at the approaching massive form of Doran's trusted guard.
"Go speak with Doran and get back to us," Elaria ordered imperiously.
"As my Lady commands!" Oberyn wigged his eyebrows suggestively, earning himself ewws from his girls and walked to meet Horath.
"Your brother requires your presence, My Prince," the Norvosi Axeman informed him.
"Of course he does," Oberyn scoffed. "Let us go see him. Is Doran well?"
"His legs troubled him more for the past few months until recently," Horath shared. "Your expertise is always appreciated, My Prince."
"Doran must finally stop indulging himself with red meats and rich red wines," Oberyn grumbled at how hard-headed his brother could be.
Horath led him to Doran's resting place. Dorne's ruler sat comfortably in a large armchair, his legs propped on a low table covered with cushions.
"Oberyn, it has been far too long, brother. You look good for someone who just spent most of a year sailing!" Doran smiled in relief at seeing his brother. "Do sit and tell me all about your journey!"
The Red Viper looked around, ensuring they were in an area of the Water Gardens where no one save the loyal guard could overhear them.
"I've got a mixed bag of news, brother. I am relieved to be home with my daughters," Oberyn gleefully admitted.
"And Elaria, too," Doran chuckled.
"But of course! I've missed her," Oberyn sighed. "What about you?" He looked critically at Doran's legs.
"It could be better, it could be worse," Dorne's Ruling Prince hedged. "Tell me of the Targaryens."
"Viserys is sane, competent, more dangerous than he has any right to be, and out of fucks to give," the Red Viper bluntly told the truth. "He's a sorcerer, the kind I've never seen or heard of before, and he is training Princess Daenerys. With Sorcery, she can match an experienced knight in combat, and she's only two and ten with less than a year of training. She might very well be Visenya reborn, with powerful magic to make her even more formidable."
"Good," a very different smile graced Doran's face. "The betrothal?"
"I wisely didn't mention it," the Red Viper raised a hand, forestalling his brother's protests. "Viserys is murderously bitter over all loyalists abandoning them when they needed aid the most. I mentioned that we discussed a potential betrothal with Ser Darry. I am doing my best not to say a single outright lie, just in case."
Doran closed his eyes and rested his head on a plush cushion, thinking over what he had just heard, while Oberyn recounted the rest of his experiences about the Targaryens.
"That might be for the best for now. We remain unbound. We can make any arrangements we need and see how events unfold. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully have been very busy since you left. The Queen of Thorns sails North…" Doran filled in his brother on recent political developments.
"I also spoke with Arianne," he added.
"Finally! What does she want?" Oberyn leaned forward, keenly interested to hear his niece's stance.
"Ari doesn't care about the Iron Throne. She wants to be the next Ruling Princess of Dorne; for now, she's determined to stick with that. Arianne threw a temper tantrum of epic proportions when I told her about the betrothal with Viserys."
"Good girl," Oberyn grinned at his grumbling brother. "Between magic, the Unsullied he has, and the military he's training, Viserys might have a shot at restoration without our full support. I don't believe he is playing things up to make himself a more enticing target for marriage, and he is murderously determined not to sell his sister for an alliance."
"Is he a fool then or that arrogant?" Doran inquired.
"By their nature, dragons are arrogant creatures, and there is no doubt that Viserys is a dragon," Oberyn explained. "I believe Viserys is confident in the kind of military he will have at his back when he returns."
"Astapor won't be enough for that. He'll need a powerful alliance to have a fighting chance," Doran focused on the apparent flaws in the Targaryens' plans.
"I raised that same point, brother. Viserys is certain that the slaver cities will attack him sooner rather than later, and I concur. They might be already on the move. When we stopped at Volantis, envoys from Meereen, Yunkai, and Tolos sought mercenaries to aid them in taking Astapor."
"There will be no Targaryen restoration then," Doran sighed. "We will have to wait much longer for an opportunity."
"Will we?" The Red Viper's showed his fangs. "No one knows what Viserys is capable of. He might be an arrogant fool or know something no one else does."
Doran looked contemplatively at his brother and smiled in turn, looking like a weasel in its burrow.
"We are loyal to the true King of Westeros, whoever that might be," Oberyn laughed heartily at his brother's words. "Arianne will need a consort. Not having a daughter, sister, or niece stuck in King's Landing might be for the best, even if it means we won't have our blood on the Iron Throne…" Doran pondered. "Trystane is very young, but perhaps it might be good for Quentyn to tour Essos like you did…"
"All the way to Astapor? It might do my nephew some good indeed," Oberyn wondered. "I haven't seen him in a few years, you know."
"I'll call him back so we can all talk," Doran decided. "Our merchants are naturally free to ply their trade throughout Essos as long as they don't partake in slavery."
"We'll be emulating the Tyrells then?" Oberyn sounded less than pleased.
"Willas is your friend, is he not?" Doran countered.
"He is. I don't blame children for the actions of their sires, much less grandmothers, you know that, brother!"
"The Reach could have won us the Trident. Viserys knows that, does he not?" Doran wondered.
"He is aware and not happy. I told you, he is unhappy with the loyalists who were conspicuously scarce for years."
"Isn't that interesting…"
=Sith=
291 AC
Casterly Rock
The Westerlands
Tywin Lannister sat in his summer solar on top of the tower, crowning the Rock. The view was breathtaking, even if he was getting too damn old to climb all the way up here, even when using all lifts that could ease up the trip. The tower was old, meant initially as a lookout post on top of the mountain, but eventually, his predecessors rebuilt and expanded it. The view alone was worth it, and the breeze made it pleasantly cool in summer mornings and evenings. Up here, the Lord of Casterly Rock felt like a Lannister King of old.
The Old Lion should have been content with his achievements. His legacy was secure. His daughter, the Queen. His grandson would be King. He had a young granddaughter who was all Lannister like dear Joanna and another grandchild on the way. If Cersei gave Robert a second son, then the royal succession would be more than secure and thus the future of House Lannister.
The only blemishes on Tywin's golden future were his fools of sons. Jamie, the Golden Lion who wasted his life as a Kingsguard, and that little grasping demon Tyrion. How could the boy believe that he deserved Casterly Rock?! Who in their right mind would fight loyally for such a wretched creature when Tywin was gone?
It didn't really matter. Tywin had grandchildren, and Casterly Rock could be a good seat for a second Prince. Or a Princess might marry a Lannister cousin. Either way, Tywin would have his blood and name holding the Rock for countless generations to come.
The solar's door opened, revealing a panting Kevan.
"I'm too old to climb up all these steps," Tywin's younger brother groaned and dragged himself to the nearest chair.
The Old Lion raised a judgmental look at Kevan. "Remind me again, who is the older one among us? You should spend more time riding and sparring rather than eating meat pies."
"Our new cook makes the best pies!" Kevan bemoaned.
"That's not an excuse. We have things to discuss," the Old Lion growled. "Besides, Marla made the best pies long before becoming head cook. That's no excuse!"
"Peace, brother," Kevan raised a hand in surrender. "I have no intention of turning into father," he added quietly.
"Good. We have things to discuss."
"The Targaryens," Kevan's cheek twitched. "You know I'll always support you no matter what, but that could have been handled better."
"I know," Tywin growled. "They were done."
"And Aerys slighted you. Otherwise, you might have given different orders."
"What's your point?" Tywin demanded.
"You weren't your usual rational self at the end of the Rebellion. Aerys was mad. Rhaegar was a fool. Viserys might be neither. We need you at your best, brother!"
"Aerys took my son! He slighted me for years!" Tywin glowered at his brother.
"I don't dispute those facts," Kevan spoke soothingly as if trying to placate a hungry lion, which wasn't far from the truth. Besides, this was precisely what he was talking about.
"The past is dead and buried," Tywin declared. "The future is what we must concern ourselves with."
"Viserys is still alive and now has a dangerous army at his back," Kevan relented.
"Sorcery hasn't won a war in ages. Dragons haven't won one in centuries. Armies do it all the time, which makes Viserys Targaryen a real threat," Tywin admitted. "You will travel to Braavos. Jon Arryn is doing good work as a Hand right now and is needed at King's Landing. You will be the Crown's envoy to the Sealord. For once, Robert speaks sense. We need to secure the Stepstones. We won't face the Unsullied on land but will break them on the seas. We need an alliance with Braavos to make taking and securing the Stepstones cheaper. I will send envoys to Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys to check the price of their neutrality until Viserys is dealt with. I'll offer the Triarchy possession of the Stepstones as soon as the Targaryens are dead for good."
"King Robert might not want to let go of such a conquest," Kevan pointed out.
"I won't let anyone endanger my legacy! If Robert wants to be a fool and kill himself over those islands, let him, but only after the real threat is gone!" Tywin speared his brother with a deadly glare. "You will also visit the Temple of Black and White. Rumor has it that the Faceless ensured no Dragonlord survived in Essos past the Century of Blood. Let us see what they want in exchange for removing Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen."
"I will see to it. What are you going to do?" Kevan inquired.
"Right now, we have only the Redwynes between us, a Viserys Targaryen sailing into the Westerlands and landing an army. That won't do. I am opening the vaults. We will rebuild and expand the Lannister fleet until it is the most powerful in Westeros."
Kevan's eyes bulged at that.
The mines below the rocks had been mined for over a thousand years. Perhaps thousands of years, though there were no records that old. Further, the Lannisters got a percentage of any mined gold or silver in the Westerlands. Gold wasn't as common as iron in Westeros because most of the extracted precious metals from the Westerlands were sealed in vaults to ensure the Lannister's prosperity in the distant future when their mines eventually ran out. Even their father's incredible idiocy failed to make a meaningful dent in those reserves.
The "Not So Above It All" moment from Tywin Lannister there, lol.
First time for everything and in most crossover stories, magic tends to kick the shit out of Westeros' armies.
Chapter 9 Part 4
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Valysar
A few months after the Golden Company returned to Volantis, Jon Connington deemed it safe to visit the nearby town of Valysar. Thanks to Varys and his ally, Mopatis of Pentos, the exile and a small band of loyalists had a villa in the hills near the walled city, for no matter what the people of Volantis thought, this settlement was no mere town. Valysar was larger than King's Landing and had working sewers, ensuring the place didn't stink.
It burned something fierce that Jon had to pretend to be dead and hide his true loyalties, but there was nothing he wouldn't do or endure for Rhaegar. He failed his silver Prince once; he would die before failing Aegon, too! That was why the exiles hid at the manse until they were damn sure the Golden Company was far away. If one of his former comrades at arms recognized Jon, the revelation that he was still alive and in hiding would raise questions that would be better left unsaid.
"Duck, they're talking about dragons!" Aegon exclaimed, darting between people at the busy market.
"He's your son, Griff; go handle him," Septa Lemore happily threw Jon under a speeding carriage and went to bargain for herbs at a nearby stall.
"Don't run away! Young Griff!" Rolly shouted and stumbled after Aegon, earning himself curses from the locals.
Jon spat a vile curse as well and darted after his ward. In truth, after all these years, he saw Aegon as his own son, which only made him angrier at the boy risking himself in such a way. Connington shoved his way through everyone in his way, shouting apologies as he pushed through the crowd until he found the boy standing beside a couple of merchants swapping tales.
"I saw it with my own eyes! There are no more harpies above Astapor but dragon banners!" One of the merchants waved his hands to emphasize his point. "It came as a huge shock, I tell you! We were supposed to buy carpenters and woodcarvers for Selhorys, but there are no more slaves to buy or sell in Astapor!"
"What do those upstarts have to do with anything?" another merchant asked. "The Targaryens are no better than us now that they have lost their wings!"
"Viserys Targaryen liberated all the slaves in Astapor after taking the city! He's been busy turning them into warriors, or so everyone claims! I heard it from the locals in Astapor and from the Wise Masters of Yunkai when I went there to buy the slaves we needed!"
"I heard that too! People say that the harbor in Astapor is a death trap now!"
"That's true! There are Catapults and scorpions all over the place! Prince Viserys is turning that place into a graveyard for anyone foolish enough to invade! There were at least a thousand Unsullied patrolling the docks!"
Jon's breath caught in his throat at yet another reminder that his Prince had other family members who needed protection, yet they were left to fend for themselves. His hand fell upon Aegon's shoulder and squeezed far gentler than he intended when the boy darted off.
A few moments later, Ducky joined them, puffing all the way.
"Aren't you supposed to be a knight?" Jon was glad there was someone he could safely aim his ire at.
"What are you all gawking at?" One of the merchants asked.
"You were talking about dragons!" Young Griff exclaimed. "Who doesn't like dragons?"
The merchant's face softened at that, and he laughed. "Are you sure you aren't Valyrian, lad?"
"My wife was Tyroshi and had some Valyrian blood in her," a well-practiced lie slipped from Jon's lips before he could even think.
"Yes! Mother had the prettiest blue hair, but her eyes were purple! That much I remember!" Aegon blurted out, to Jon's relief. Elia's eyes, who looked up from Young Griff's face, were anything but; however, Rhaegar was another matter. Fortunately, Jon's eye color was close enough to Elia's and, thus, Aegon's, especially in the right light to pass muster. He had to thank Elia for that much, at least.
"There might be no true dragons anymore, but there are three-headed dragon banners all over Astapor," the merchant who allegedly recently returned from Slaver's Bay told them.
"What's happening over there? The rumors that reach us here are late and unbelievable," Jon fished for more information.
He quickly learned that Viserys had done well for himself and his sister, securing Astapor and consolidating his power there instead of ridding off on some hair-brained scheme. Between a few thousand Unsullied and the army he was training, the Targaryen Prince might soon turn Astapor into a fortress that was too tough to crack through an assault.
Aegon unsurprisingly absorbed every piece of news he heard of his aunt and uncle. After that encounter, Jon hurried to gather their party and marched them back to the mansion before Young Griff could give up the game. To his credit, despite his youth, Aegon managed to keep his excitement somewhat contained until they were back safe behind the manor's walls.
"I want to meet them!" Aegon bounced from foot to foot. "We finally know where they are, and they aren't on the run! Uncle, you can't tell me we are safer here than behind city walls with an army loyal to my uncle!"
Haldon raised an eyebrow at that, and his gray eyes locked on Jon, looking for answers.
"We heard more recent rumors about Viserys Targaryen in Astapor," he informed the rest of their small group.
"Young Griff is right," Haldon's voice was full of approval for his student. "Your reasoning might be incomplete, but it does make sense. However, you missed one important point, young man," the 'halfmaester' leaned forward so his face could be on level with Aegon's. "Your uncle and aunt are targets now. Everyone knows who they are and where they are. Any enemy of your house knows where to strike while out here; we are safe because no one knows you are alive."
Aegon pouted and stomped his foot.
"I think it is time for a bath. Walk with me, Young Griff," Septa Lemore ushered Aegon towards the baths.
"That's not my name!" Aegon grumbled.
"There will be a day we can call you Aegon. Until then, you are Young Griff, for otherwise, we will slip up when in public, and all this mummery would have been for naught. It is all to keep you safe, boy!" Lemore patiently explained.
"What are you thinking, Griff?" Duck asked after carrying two leather bags inside with purchases from the market.
"I find myself tired of our benefactor's arguments about staying away until we see the truth of Viserys. Everything we hear of him paints him as anything but a fool or a madman. Besides, going to Astapor doesn't' mean meeting him or telling him who Young Griff really is!" Jon grouched. "However, Viserys has an army and a city now. He might not be thrilled to see a rival for the Iron Throne, even if that rival is his own nephew. Thirst for power can twist even the best of men!" Jon admitted a bitter truth.
"We've waited for this long since we first heard of Viserys being a sorcerer. Has anything really changed?" Haldon needled him.
Jon gave the learned man a droll look. Viserys taking control of Astapor could be chalked off to sorcery and luck. However, what he had been up to ever since was telling. Slavers all over the region weren't concerned because Viserys was an incompetent fool; on the contrary, they were scared of him making another Braavos at their doorsteps.
"You heard the merchants, Griff," Duck reminded him. "There's a storm coming for Viserys and Daenerys. That's not the kind of mess we want to sail into, and sailing is the only way to get there."
"This might be the only chance for Aegon to meet his remaining family," Jon admitted.
"If they're a decent sort, they won't thank you for getting their nephew killed with them, and if they aren't, then who cares?" Rolly shrugged.
"We'll stay put for now. If Viserys survives what's coming for him, we'll go to him in a year or two," Jon decided. If he was to be honest with himself, the sticking point was that this way, he could spend more time with Aegon as if the boy were his son.
Chapter 9 Part 4
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Valysar
A few months after the Golden Company returned to Volantis, Jon Connington deemed it safe to visit the nearby town of Valysar. Thanks to Varys and his ally, Mopatis of Pentos, the exile and a small band of loyalists had a villa in the hills near the walled city, for no matter what the people of Volantis thought, this settlement was no mere town. Valysar was larger than King's Landing and had working sewers, ensuring the place didn't stink.
It burned something fierce that Jon had to pretend to be dead and hide his true loyalties, but there was nothing he wouldn't do or endure for Rhaegar. He failed his silver Prince once; he would die before failing Aegon, too! That was why the exiles hid at the manse until they were damn sure the Golden Company was far away. If one of his former comrades at arms recognized Jon, the revelation that he was still alive and in hiding would raise questions that would be better left unsaid.
"Duck, they're talking about dragons!" Aegon exclaimed, darting between people at the busy market.
"He's your son, Griff; go handle him," Septa Lemore happily threw Jon under a speeding carriage and went to bargain for herbs at a nearby stall.
"Don't run away! Young Griff!" Rolly shouted and stumbled after Aegon, earning himself curses from the locals.
Jon spat a vile curse as well and darted after his ward. In truth, after all these years, he saw Aegon as his own son, which only made him angrier at the boy risking himself in such a way. Connington shoved his way through everyone in his way, shouting apologies as he pushed through the crowd until he found the boy standing beside a couple of merchants swapping tales.
"I saw it with my own eyes! There are no more harpies above Astapor but dragon banners!" One of the merchants waved his hands to emphasize his point. "It came as a huge shock, I tell you! We were supposed to buy carpenters and woodcarvers for Selhorys, but there are no more slaves to buy or sell in Astapor!"
"What do those upstarts have to do with anything?" another merchant asked. "The Targaryens are no better than us now that they have lost their wings!"
"Viserys Targaryen liberated all the slaves in Astapor after taking the city! He's been busy turning them into warriors, or so everyone claims! I heard it from the locals in Astapor and from the Wise Masters of Yunkai when I went there to buy the slaves we needed!"
"I heard that too! People say that the harbor in Astapor is a death trap now!"
"That's true! There are Catapults and scorpions all over the place! Prince Viserys is turning that place into a graveyard for anyone foolish enough to invade! There were at least a thousand Unsullied patrolling the docks!"
Jon's breath caught in his throat at yet another reminder that his Prince had other family members who needed protection, yet they were left to fend for themselves. His hand fell upon Aegon's shoulder and squeezed far gentler than he intended when the boy darted off.
A few moments later, Ducky joined them, puffing all the way.
"Aren't you supposed to be a knight?" Jon was glad there was someone he could safely aim his ire at.
"What are you all gawking at?" One of the merchants asked.
"You were talking about dragons!" Young Griff exclaimed. "Who doesn't like dragons?"
The merchant's face softened at that, and he laughed. "Are you sure you aren't Valyrian, lad?"
"My wife was Tyroshi and had some Valyrian blood in her," a well-practiced lie slipped from Jon's lips before he could even think.
"Yes! Mother had the prettiest blue hair, but her eyes were purple! That much I remember!" Aegon blurted out, to Jon's relief. Elia's eyes, who looked up from Young Griff's face, were anything but; however, Rhaegar was another matter. Fortunately, Jon's eye color was close enough to Elia's and, thus, Aegon's, especially in the right light to pass muster. He had to thank Elia for that much, at least.
"There might be no true dragons anymore, but there are three-headed dragon banners all over Astapor," the merchant who allegedly recently returned from Slaver's Bay told them.
"What's happening over there? The rumors that reach us here are late and unbelievable," Jon fished for more information.
He quickly learned that Viserys had done well for himself and his sister, securing Astapor and consolidating his power there instead of ridding off on some hair-brained scheme. Between a few thousand Unsullied and the army he was training, the Targaryen Prince might soon turn Astapor into a fortress that was too tough to crack through an assault.
Aegon unsurprisingly absorbed every piece of news he heard of his aunt and uncle. After that encounter, Jon hurried to gather their party and marched them back to the mansion before Young Griff could give up the game. To his credit, despite his youth, Aegon managed to keep his excitement somewhat contained until they were back safe behind the manor's walls.
"I want to meet them!" Aegon bounced from foot to foot. "We finally know where they are, and they aren't on the run! Uncle, you can't tell me we are safer here than behind city walls with an army loyal to my uncle!"
Haldon raised an eyebrow at that, and his gray eyes locked on Jon, looking for answers.
"We heard more recent rumors about Viserys Targaryen in Astapor," he informed the rest of their small group.
"Young Griff is right," Haldon's voice was full of approval for his student. "Your reasoning might be incomplete, but it does make sense. However, you missed one important point, young man," the 'halfmaester' leaned forward so his face could be on level with Aegon's. "Your uncle and aunt are targets now. Everyone knows who they are and where they are. Any enemy of your house knows where to strike while out here; we are safe because no one knows you are alive."
Aegon pouted and stomped his foot.
"I think it is time for a bath. Walk with me, Young Griff," Septa Lemore ushered Aegon towards the baths.
"That's not my name!" Aegon grumbled.
"There will be a day we can call you Aegon. Until then, you are Young Griff, for otherwise, we will slip up when in public, and all this mummery would have been for naught. It is all to keep you safe, boy!" Lemore patiently explained.
"What are you thinking, Griff?" Duck asked after carrying two leather bags inside with purchases from the market.
"I find myself tired of our benefactor's arguments about staying away until we see the truth of Viserys. Everything we hear of him paints him as anything but a fool or a madman. Besides, going to Astapor doesn't' mean meeting him or telling him who Young Griff really is!" Jon grouched. "However, Viserys has an army and a city now. He might not be thrilled to see a rival for the Iron Throne, even if that rival is his own nephew. Thirst for power can twist even the best of men!" Jon admitted a bitter truth.
"We've waited for this long since we first heard of Viserys being a sorcerer. Has anything really changed?" Haldon needled him.
Jon gave the learned man a droll look. Viserys taking control of Astapor could be chalked off to sorcery and luck. However, what he had been up to ever since was telling. Slavers all over the region weren't concerned because Viserys was an incompetent fool; on the contrary, they were scared of him making another Braavos at their doorsteps.
"You heard the merchants, Griff," Duck reminded him. "There's a storm coming for Viserys and Daenerys. That's not the kind of mess we want to sail into, and sailing is the only way to get there."
"This might be the only chance for Aegon to meet his remaining family," Jon admitted.
"If they're a decent sort, they won't thank you for getting their nephew killed with them, and if they aren't, then who cares?" Rolly shrugged.
"We'll stay put for now. If Viserys survives what's coming for him, we'll go to him in a year or two," Jon decided. If he was to be honest with himself, the sticking point was that this way, he could spend more time with Aegon as if the boy were his son.
- Location
- miami
So how dangerous is a force user in this setting on one hand no blasters or high technology on the other no light saber so not nearly as dangerous in melee. Then again waving your hand and stoping a cavalry charge is a hell of a power move not to mention other ways he could change the course of a battle. Going to be interesting to see what happens.
Any idea when Danny will get her dragon? Lol
Any idea when Danny will get her dragon? Lol
- Pronouns
- Revan
That is also without taking into account the effects that battle meditation would have in a medieval battle setting.
The coordination alone would make a really big difference as well as the effect it would have in everyone morale, ally and foe.
I also wanted to ask if it is possible for Viserys to create sithspawns from the criminals, slavers, pirates, etc. to build a monstrous and loyal company or legion of monsters at his command?
Again, creating Sithspawn and other abomination was never something Veil had to learn, for he had people for that if he needed pet monsters. His knowlege of Sith Alchemy is basic, focused on creating concoctions that help in recovery for when you nearly burn yourself out channeling too much of the Force.
We'll be seeing what Sith Viserys is capable of when the wars begin. What will hold him back in that regard is how much power his body can handle.
My brother In christ what do you mean he won't be as effect In Meele combat force sentives can increase there strength as speed to move so fast during a fight anyone that isn't force sentive would have no clue what's going just a flicker of a humionud shape and then they've been bisected
Last edited:
Chapter 9 Part 5
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Greywater Watch
Jon stood on the edge of the moving castle, staring off into the swamps concealing Greywater Watch, brooding.
Ever since he learned the truth, anger burned in Jon's heart. He once heard Master Luwin speaking about knowledge, the truth, and setting your mind free. If anything, it put Jon into a cage.
Knowing that his mother loved him for the brief time she held him was bittersweet. Whatever Jon expected of the truth, this wasn't it.
He was no bastard, though those south of the Neck wouldn't care. King Robert would kill him, bastard or true, no matter that he proclaimed to be Uncle Eddard's best friend. He would murder the rest of the Starks, too, if given the chance.
His father was dead, killed by the king at the Trident. The king's obsession and Lannister's ambition took his siblings from him, a brother and sister Jon never got to know. That same obsession sent him here, hiding from the world and away from his other brother and sisters. Sansa, Arya, and Bran would be his brother and sisters forever in his heart, no matter if they were cousins in truth.
How could you hate people you've never met, Jon wondered? How could you not, when your heart burned with hatred, stoked by every day he remained in hiding?
Finding out he wasn't a bastard, a stain on Lord Stark's honor, should have been a relief. Instead… Jon shook his head and clutched his fingers into fists, glowering at the mist.
"Brooding again, Jon?" Lord Reed appeared, silent like a ghost. He stalked to stand beside the young Targaryen and looked into the rolling mists.
"It's not that I'm ungrateful for everything you do for me, my Lord…" Jon sighed. "It's just that…"
"This wasn't supposed to be your life. It would be one thing if you came here to foster and learn in a proper way, but you are here hiding," Lord Reed shrewdly noted.
"What was ever supposed to be my life?" Jon grumbled.
"Prophecies are tricky things. You know that unlike you and my young children, I lack the greensight," Lord Reed spoke softly. "What you see is hard to interpret. There are always cold winds blowing in the North Jon. The words of your mother's House are apt. Winter always comes."
"I dream of beasts moving in the night, my Lord. My heart burns while ice flows into my veins," Jon watched the Lord of Greywater Watch. Despite the cool morning, there was sweat on his brow. "I don't even know who or what I am anymore!"
"You are the Pact of Ice and Fire, Jon," Lord Reed spoke gently. "Too much knowledge has been lost, even here. I know there was an ancestor of mine beside King Torrhen Stark when he knelt. When Brandon Snow offered to cross the Trident and try to kill the dragons, my ancestor advised King Torrhen to treat with the Conqueror and kneel instead. And I know he was a greenseer. But I don't know why."
"You've seen my mother and father's letters. Prince Rhaegar was obsessed with prophecies. With a Promised Prince," Jon scoffed. "That was supposed to be my brother Aegon. He pursued my mother for a Visenya!" Jon spat.
"If you want to speak with someone who would condemn your mother's choice, you need to bare your heart at someone else," Lord Reed noted. "Princess Lyanna was my friend, Jon. There are few people I respected more than her," Lord Reed looked at Jon with knowing eyes. "No matter what else happened, you wouldn't be here if they didn't run off together."
"Everyone and everything might be better then!" Jon snapped.
"That is not something you can possibly know, Jon," Lord Reed shook his head chidingly. "Things would be different. Aye. Many who are dead might be alive, or perhaps not. King Aerys was mad. He might have triggered a war anyway. Remember, Robert's Rebellion didn't begin when your mother and father ran off together; it began in King's Landing because of Aerys."
"My grandfather, who murdered my other grandfather and uncle!" Jon shook in revulsion at recalling that particular truth.
"We won't know for sure if your father was right in pursuing his prophecy as he did until the song is sung and the ink is dry. You might not be here, learning how to harness your gifts. Your aunt and uncle might not be in Astapor, as its Sorcerer rulers and a growing army at their back."
"There is going to be another war. How is that a good thing?!" Jon demanded, even if deep down, he could understand, for his heart burned with hatred.
"Good? Nay. But perhaps necessary? Your parents' families are steeped in ancient magics and prophecy, for what else is the greensight?" Lord Reed pointed out.
"What am I even supposed to do!?" Jon demanded.
"You will learn everything we can teach you here in Greywater Watch. After that? You do your best, for no one could ask you to do more. Now come, let us break our fast. You have training after that."
291 AC
the Silence
Slaver's Bay
Twelve Ironborn ships tore through hungry waves as they sailed past the Isle of Cedars. A storm was brewing, and the sea rocked in a testament to the Drowned God's wrath.
Damphair kept praying, speaking in tongues, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Their god's minions were cooped in the holds, sleeping until they reached Astapor. The beasts feasted well on any creature on Pyke's docks that wasn't faithful to the Drowned God before priests led by Aeron swore the remaining Ironborn into secrecy. The truth couldn't reach the mainland now that the Iron Fleet was all but gone.
For all his power, the Drowned God was apparently limited in how he could influence the world of the living, or so Damphair claimed. A thousand monsters to slaughter their enemies and a distraction to allow them to strike were all the boons Euron had to rely upon to reach the Targaryens. The Drowned God needed their blood spilled in the water to give them more.
The Crow's Eye kept his mouth shut and agreed with the madmen, for he saw an unparalleled opportunity for greatness and power. However, what use was a god when you had to do all the hard work yourself? Euron never doubted that the Drowned God existed. He had seen too much of the world for that. It was another question of how much any god could do in this world of men.
Dhampair stared knowingly at Euron, and he was sure something else was looking at him through his brother's eyes. The Crow's Eye grinned madly at the creature observing him and was elated when Aeron nodded. They had an understanding. The Iron Price. Blood and death for all the power you can grasp and hold. That was what the Drowned God offered and demanded, which went both ways. Euron would soon see if the Drowned God could pay the Iron Price, for the Crow's Eye knew he could.
It was never a question of whether Euron was worthy of the Drowned God. The question was if the Drowned God was worthy of someone like him.
The storm broke, leaving behind high waves. Unnatural fog rose from the sea, cloaking the Ironborn ships as they silently glided toward Astapor's harbor. They slid past patrol squadrons, leaving no one the wiser. In their holds, hundreds of curled figures stirred, exiting their hibernation. Clawed fingers uncurled and checked on chitin armor and tough, serrated coral weapons.
Soon, it would be the hour of the Wolf. It was fitting time for the Drowned God's own to reap their fill from Astapor.
Chapter 9 Part 5
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Greywater Watch
Jon stood on the edge of the moving castle, staring off into the swamps concealing Greywater Watch, brooding.
Ever since he learned the truth, anger burned in Jon's heart. He once heard Master Luwin speaking about knowledge, the truth, and setting your mind free. If anything, it put Jon into a cage.
Knowing that his mother loved him for the brief time she held him was bittersweet. Whatever Jon expected of the truth, this wasn't it.
He was no bastard, though those south of the Neck wouldn't care. King Robert would kill him, bastard or true, no matter that he proclaimed to be Uncle Eddard's best friend. He would murder the rest of the Starks, too, if given the chance.
His father was dead, killed by the king at the Trident. The king's obsession and Lannister's ambition took his siblings from him, a brother and sister Jon never got to know. That same obsession sent him here, hiding from the world and away from his other brother and sisters. Sansa, Arya, and Bran would be his brother and sisters forever in his heart, no matter if they were cousins in truth.
How could you hate people you've never met, Jon wondered? How could you not, when your heart burned with hatred, stoked by every day he remained in hiding?
Finding out he wasn't a bastard, a stain on Lord Stark's honor, should have been a relief. Instead… Jon shook his head and clutched his fingers into fists, glowering at the mist.
"Brooding again, Jon?" Lord Reed appeared, silent like a ghost. He stalked to stand beside the young Targaryen and looked into the rolling mists.
"It's not that I'm ungrateful for everything you do for me, my Lord…" Jon sighed. "It's just that…"
"This wasn't supposed to be your life. It would be one thing if you came here to foster and learn in a proper way, but you are here hiding," Lord Reed shrewdly noted.
"What was ever supposed to be my life?" Jon grumbled.
"Prophecies are tricky things. You know that unlike you and my young children, I lack the greensight," Lord Reed spoke softly. "What you see is hard to interpret. There are always cold winds blowing in the North Jon. The words of your mother's House are apt. Winter always comes."
"I dream of beasts moving in the night, my Lord. My heart burns while ice flows into my veins," Jon watched the Lord of Greywater Watch. Despite the cool morning, there was sweat on his brow. "I don't even know who or what I am anymore!"
"You are the Pact of Ice and Fire, Jon," Lord Reed spoke gently. "Too much knowledge has been lost, even here. I know there was an ancestor of mine beside King Torrhen Stark when he knelt. When Brandon Snow offered to cross the Trident and try to kill the dragons, my ancestor advised King Torrhen to treat with the Conqueror and kneel instead. And I know he was a greenseer. But I don't know why."
"You've seen my mother and father's letters. Prince Rhaegar was obsessed with prophecies. With a Promised Prince," Jon scoffed. "That was supposed to be my brother Aegon. He pursued my mother for a Visenya!" Jon spat.
"If you want to speak with someone who would condemn your mother's choice, you need to bare your heart at someone else," Lord Reed noted. "Princess Lyanna was my friend, Jon. There are few people I respected more than her," Lord Reed looked at Jon with knowing eyes. "No matter what else happened, you wouldn't be here if they didn't run off together."
"Everyone and everything might be better then!" Jon snapped.
"That is not something you can possibly know, Jon," Lord Reed shook his head chidingly. "Things would be different. Aye. Many who are dead might be alive, or perhaps not. King Aerys was mad. He might have triggered a war anyway. Remember, Robert's Rebellion didn't begin when your mother and father ran off together; it began in King's Landing because of Aerys."
"My grandfather, who murdered my other grandfather and uncle!" Jon shook in revulsion at recalling that particular truth.
"We won't know for sure if your father was right in pursuing his prophecy as he did until the song is sung and the ink is dry. You might not be here, learning how to harness your gifts. Your aunt and uncle might not be in Astapor, as its Sorcerer rulers and a growing army at their back."
"There is going to be another war. How is that a good thing?!" Jon demanded, even if deep down, he could understand, for his heart burned with hatred.
"Good? Nay. But perhaps necessary? Your parents' families are steeped in ancient magics and prophecy, for what else is the greensight?" Lord Reed pointed out.
"What am I even supposed to do!?" Jon demanded.
"You will learn everything we can teach you here in Greywater Watch. After that? You do your best, for no one could ask you to do more. Now come, let us break our fast. You have training after that."
=Sith=
291 AC
the Silence
Slaver's Bay
Twelve Ironborn ships tore through hungry waves as they sailed past the Isle of Cedars. A storm was brewing, and the sea rocked in a testament to the Drowned God's wrath.
Damphair kept praying, speaking in tongues, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Their god's minions were cooped in the holds, sleeping until they reached Astapor. The beasts feasted well on any creature on Pyke's docks that wasn't faithful to the Drowned God before priests led by Aeron swore the remaining Ironborn into secrecy. The truth couldn't reach the mainland now that the Iron Fleet was all but gone.
For all his power, the Drowned God was apparently limited in how he could influence the world of the living, or so Damphair claimed. A thousand monsters to slaughter their enemies and a distraction to allow them to strike were all the boons Euron had to rely upon to reach the Targaryens. The Drowned God needed their blood spilled in the water to give them more.
The Crow's Eye kept his mouth shut and agreed with the madmen, for he saw an unparalleled opportunity for greatness and power. However, what use was a god when you had to do all the hard work yourself? Euron never doubted that the Drowned God existed. He had seen too much of the world for that. It was another question of how much any god could do in this world of men.
Dhampair stared knowingly at Euron, and he was sure something else was looking at him through his brother's eyes. The Crow's Eye grinned madly at the creature observing him and was elated when Aeron nodded. They had an understanding. The Iron Price. Blood and death for all the power you can grasp and hold. That was what the Drowned God offered and demanded, which went both ways. Euron would soon see if the Drowned God could pay the Iron Price, for the Crow's Eye knew he could.
It was never a question of whether Euron was worthy of the Drowned God. The question was if the Drowned God was worthy of someone like him.
The storm broke, leaving behind high waves. Unnatural fog rose from the sea, cloaking the Ironborn ships as they silently glided toward Astapor's harbor. They slid past patrol squadrons, leaving no one the wiser. In their holds, hundreds of curled figures stirred, exiting their hibernation. Clawed fingers uncurled and checked on chitin armor and tough, serrated coral weapons.
Soon, it would be the hour of the Wolf. It was fitting time for the Drowned God's own to reap their fill from Astapor.
Last edited:
Kaernetron
Feuergeist
- Location
- Weit, Weit dort Oben
Why am I not surprised that Euron's the first to fuck around and find out?
Goddamn rock star syndrome...
I expect the combined forces of Ironborn and Deep Ones to cause a lot of casualties among civilians and Unsullied, but to be massacred as soon as Veil stops playing around. Hopefully, he'll catch up to Euron before the cockroach can scurry away.
Goddamn rock star syndrome...
I expect the combined forces of Ironborn and Deep Ones to cause a lot of casualties among civilians and Unsullied, but to be massacred as soon as Veil stops playing around. Hopefully, he'll catch up to Euron before the cockroach can scurry away.
Well, it is Euron Greyjoy... Something like that was only to be expected...
Chapter 9 Part 6
AN: Who needs sleep when we can have another update? Tonight, in news at eleven, we have an Allister Thorne being a complete bastard. A loyal one at that, but arguably even more of a bastard than OTL! Betrayal, kidnapping, murder, grand-theft, he's an overachiever!
Obligatory reminder about the Force and warnings: Why warn someone that an attack is coming before the last possible moment if said attack won't be a danger to them unless they kriff up by the numbers? On the other side, trying to mind-fuckery on a Sith is not a stellar idea...
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Castle Black
The Wall
Months ago, Maester Aemon awoke sweltering with fever in a room where the fire in the hearth had died out sometime during the night. By mid-morning, the fever had broken. From then on, the ever-present chill near and on top of the wall no longer seeped into his bones, sapping his strength.
Some called it a blessing from the Old Gods. The few who remembered his family name whispered about Targaryen sorcery, either in awe or with venomous disdain. Curiously enough, no one was opposed to receiving treatment from a revitalized Maester. Imagine that.
Aemon was just glad that his joints ached less due to the cold, and that he was warm now like he had never been since before coming to the Wall.
News were slow to reach that far North. They usually came with supply ships docking at Eastwatch-by-the-sea and with new recruits either shipped or marched to the Wall. Often enough, the wretches in question were not interested in the latest gossip spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Thus it was no surprise that the Wall was likely the last place on two continents that learned about Viserys Targaryen suddenly becoming a Sorcerer, then murdering his way through Penots until the Magisters paid him a literal king's ransom in tribute to fuck off their city.
Aemon, like everyone else on the Wall, thought those rumors were pure madness and tall tales spread by those who brought the Targaryens low. Ser Allister Thorne was heard to curse whoever bastard started those dastardly rumors. In the following months, Castle Black's Master at Arms was even more of a menace than usual, creating more work for Maester Aemon.
New recruits kept trickling in, carrying more and more rumors of the last Targaryens. They were in Astapor now, with an army at their name. Viserys had proclaimed he would return to claim his crown, too! The Beggar Prince was no longer a joke.
At first, people laughed and raged at those tales, yet the rumors persisted. In eight years, many of the loyalists who chose the Wall instead of facing exile or bending the knee died. Life at the Wall was never easy; if you were tough enough and lucky enough, you could survive for many a decade there, as Maester Aemon proved. Or you could die on your first ranging beyond the Wall, no matter how tough a bastard you were.
However, over a hundred Black Brothers were left whose only crime was keeping their oaths and refusing to blow down to a usurper. Ser Allister Thorne was the most senior among them left.
For eight long years, he had kept to his oaths, for they were the last thing he had left. Now, after Maester Aemon miraculously became better after ailing for years and all the news coming from far-off Essos, Ser Allister felt uneasy. He got to thinking and talking with his fellow loyalists. One evening, late in the year, he faked an injury and visited the Maester's rooms.
"Your mummery leaves a lot to be desired, Ser Allister," Aemon chided the knight. "You are as hale as you were yesterday."
"In body? Sure. Not so in mind or spirit, Maester," Thorne admitted.
"I am not a Septon," the Maester pointed out.
"I don't need one. It is you I need to speak with."
Aemon sighed at that. If anything, he was surprised that Ser Allister had waited this long since the rumors from the East reached them.
"Events across the Seven Kingdoms have tested my oaths many times," Aemon admitted. "Nevertheless, I've given an oath like you do."
"A King can release us from our oaths if he so desires. For many of us, our oaths were given under duress, as you know. They weigh on us far less than oaths freely given!" Thorne revealed. "Swearing ourselves to the Watch didn't suddenly invalidate our old oaths. They still matter!"
"It should have," Aemon gently reminded him.
"It would have if it wasn't for the Usurper swords aimed at our throats," Thorne countered.
"What do you want, Ser Allister? Advise? Permission? Absolution?" Aemon inquired.
"All of those and more. You still have living kin, Maester. No one can have too much sensible advice."
"What did I do to deserve such temptations, Ser Allister?"
"You are a decent man in a fucked up world, Maester."
A week later, a fire broke out in the Maester Tower in Castle Black shortly after Ser Allister Thorne took over a hundred Black Brothers ranging beyond the wall.
Eastwatch-by-the-sea
the Wall
A disgruntled Maester Aemon glowered at the hundred loyalists who happily kidnapped him despite his determination to uphold his vows. The bastards had the gall to look contrite at him, too!
"End this madness, Ser Allister, I implore you! What do you think will happen when we reach the edge of the Wall? How do you think you'll get us a ship to Essos?! Your people are no sailors!"
"I beg to differ, Maester. A few enough of us are good Celtigar men, and we weren't knights or Men-at-Arms," A wiry man with Valyrian features happily waved a hand at the Maester. "We can get a ship to Braavos, even if it will be tough. We can sell it there and buy ourselves passage to Astapor."
If they were lucky enough, it might even work, Aemon lamented. "No one will just give you a ship, Bartimos!"
"I am afraid you are right, Maester. The Usurper taught us one thing. If you plot treason, you better do it right," Ser Allister grimly proclaimed.
Late next night, sixty deserters rode into Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
"Ser Allister?" Commander Pyke exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"
"We've got news about the Wildlings. As you can see, we've paid in blood to bring them to you. We must talk in your solar," Thorne demanded, glowering balefully at the small group of Black Brothers with the Commander. "My people can use something warm to eat and drink."
"All right. Myles, see to it!" Pyke barked and waved for Allister to follow him. Black Brothers scurried out of the castle to help their comrades settle their horses and gear while the cooks went to work.
Thorne drew a dagger when Pyke led him deeper into the castle, and they were away from prying eyes. Thorne took a few rapid steps forward and grabbed the commander's throat from behind before plunging the blade into his side. What followed was brutal knife work in the night. The Night Watch garrison at Eastwatch was tiny, bulked up by the ships' crews. Only a few of the Rangers stationed there reacted in time, drawing weapons and facing the traitors with naked steel. It was too little, too late, even if it cost Thorne a few of his men.
The little fortress fell rapidly before anyone could send a warning by raven or try to escape, for no one had contemplated this kind of treachery.
The deserters spent the next day stripping Eastwatch of anything of value before boarding the ship in the best condition and leaving with the evening's tide, all the while Maester Aemon berated them as craven traitors.
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys was trying to relax after a particularly irritating court session by reading histories of the Valyrian Freehold he found in the libraries seized by Good Masters now in exile. Dany was in her rooms, having a girl's evening with her Ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens, and the Green Grace was busy doing her job as Astapor's spiritual leader in preparing people for war. By now, it was crystal clear that the slavers at large didn't like what Viserys was up to and were gearing up to destroy him before he could become too much of a problem. Now, it was a race. On one side were Yunkai, Meereen, and company gearing up for an attack. On the other side were the ongoing training programs in Astapor, racing to produce sufficient numbers of trained infantry and administrators to make taking the rest of Slaver's Bay a practical option.
Viserys knew he could march his Unsullied out immediately and take Meereen and Yunkai within a month. Holding the much larger cities was another question, for the hostile coalition forming against him was larger than them. His merchants and envoys heard whispers stretching to Tolos and Mantarys. New Ghis was toying with a proxy war, and for now, it was hiring mercenaries. Thus, they were all on his to-deal list. Viserys would prefer to take and hold Tolos. Due to its location, holding New Ghis wasn't practical. He would need a window of opportunity of a few months to go there with a few thousand Unsullied and remove the threat.
Mantarys was going to be a tougher proposition to handle. Ideally, Viserys wanted it as well as a part of his New Valyrian Freehold, which he would proclaim as soon as the wars began, likely right after taking Slaver's Bay. However, Tolos shielded that city, and the logistics of an overland campaign that far from Astapor would be anything but a trivial exercise.
Mantarys, Tolos, and New Ghis might be targets for another campaign or a future war because Viserys knew he would have his hands full securing and incorporating Yunkai and Meereen. Stretching his military and attention too thin could invite disaster.
Viserys looked over the bay from the terrace where he was resting. His eyes skipped over the rolling thick fog, and he returned to his book, trying not to think about his strategic situation for a bit. Without the Force and all the time spent as a Sith, he wouldn't have noticed something unnatural scrape at his mind, lulling him into a false sense of security like a sheep for the slaughter.
The Sith's head snapped up and drew on the Force, reinforcing his mental defenses. The fog snapped into focus, and there was nothing natural or calming about it. It looked wrong. To his Force-enhanced senses, it stank of something foul and not quite dead.
Viserys jumped off his chair and threw the book on the table, spilling lemon water. He summoned his sword, which lay nearby with its sheathe in a belt, and strapped it to his waist.
"Lonmouth!" the Sith roared, enhancing his voice with the Force. "Raise the alarm and secure the pyramid! We are about to be attacked!"
Inhuman roars and screams carried over the still air from the direction of the docks. Viserys snarled at sensing the fear and death of his people. He drank deeply from the raging well of power that was the Dark Side, enhancing himself. A single Force-powered vault had him land on top of the pyramid, now free from a harpy. He ran, further enhancing himself, and jumped off the ledge toward the docks.
Whoever dared attack his city under the cloak of sorcery would die screaming.
Obligatory reminder about the Force and warnings: Why warn someone that an attack is coming before the last possible moment if said attack won't be a danger to them unless they kriff up by the numbers? On the other side, trying to mind-fuckery on a Sith is not a stellar idea...
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
Chapter 9 Part 6
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Castle Black
The Wall
Months ago, Maester Aemon awoke sweltering with fever in a room where the fire in the hearth had died out sometime during the night. By mid-morning, the fever had broken. From then on, the ever-present chill near and on top of the wall no longer seeped into his bones, sapping his strength.
Some called it a blessing from the Old Gods. The few who remembered his family name whispered about Targaryen sorcery, either in awe or with venomous disdain. Curiously enough, no one was opposed to receiving treatment from a revitalized Maester. Imagine that.
Aemon was just glad that his joints ached less due to the cold, and that he was warm now like he had never been since before coming to the Wall.
News were slow to reach that far North. They usually came with supply ships docking at Eastwatch-by-the-sea and with new recruits either shipped or marched to the Wall. Often enough, the wretches in question were not interested in the latest gossip spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Thus it was no surprise that the Wall was likely the last place on two continents that learned about Viserys Targaryen suddenly becoming a Sorcerer, then murdering his way through Penots until the Magisters paid him a literal king's ransom in tribute to fuck off their city.
Aemon, like everyone else on the Wall, thought those rumors were pure madness and tall tales spread by those who brought the Targaryens low. Ser Allister Thorne was heard to curse whoever bastard started those dastardly rumors. In the following months, Castle Black's Master at Arms was even more of a menace than usual, creating more work for Maester Aemon.
New recruits kept trickling in, carrying more and more rumors of the last Targaryens. They were in Astapor now, with an army at their name. Viserys had proclaimed he would return to claim his crown, too! The Beggar Prince was no longer a joke.
At first, people laughed and raged at those tales, yet the rumors persisted. In eight years, many of the loyalists who chose the Wall instead of facing exile or bending the knee died. Life at the Wall was never easy; if you were tough enough and lucky enough, you could survive for many a decade there, as Maester Aemon proved. Or you could die on your first ranging beyond the Wall, no matter how tough a bastard you were.
However, over a hundred Black Brothers were left whose only crime was keeping their oaths and refusing to blow down to a usurper. Ser Allister Thorne was the most senior among them left.
For eight long years, he had kept to his oaths, for they were the last thing he had left. Now, after Maester Aemon miraculously became better after ailing for years and all the news coming from far-off Essos, Ser Allister felt uneasy. He got to thinking and talking with his fellow loyalists. One evening, late in the year, he faked an injury and visited the Maester's rooms.
"Your mummery leaves a lot to be desired, Ser Allister," Aemon chided the knight. "You are as hale as you were yesterday."
"In body? Sure. Not so in mind or spirit, Maester," Thorne admitted.
"I am not a Septon," the Maester pointed out.
"I don't need one. It is you I need to speak with."
Aemon sighed at that. If anything, he was surprised that Ser Allister had waited this long since the rumors from the East reached them.
"Events across the Seven Kingdoms have tested my oaths many times," Aemon admitted. "Nevertheless, I've given an oath like you do."
"A King can release us from our oaths if he so desires. For many of us, our oaths were given under duress, as you know. They weigh on us far less than oaths freely given!" Thorne revealed. "Swearing ourselves to the Watch didn't suddenly invalidate our old oaths. They still matter!"
"It should have," Aemon gently reminded him.
"It would have if it wasn't for the Usurper swords aimed at our throats," Thorne countered.
"What do you want, Ser Allister? Advise? Permission? Absolution?" Aemon inquired.
"All of those and more. You still have living kin, Maester. No one can have too much sensible advice."
"What did I do to deserve such temptations, Ser Allister?"
"You are a decent man in a fucked up world, Maester."
A week later, a fire broke out in the Maester Tower in Castle Black shortly after Ser Allister Thorne took over a hundred Black Brothers ranging beyond the wall.
=Sith=
Eastwatch-by-the-sea
the Wall
A disgruntled Maester Aemon glowered at the hundred loyalists who happily kidnapped him despite his determination to uphold his vows. The bastards had the gall to look contrite at him, too!
"End this madness, Ser Allister, I implore you! What do you think will happen when we reach the edge of the Wall? How do you think you'll get us a ship to Essos?! Your people are no sailors!"
"I beg to differ, Maester. A few enough of us are good Celtigar men, and we weren't knights or Men-at-Arms," A wiry man with Valyrian features happily waved a hand at the Maester. "We can get a ship to Braavos, even if it will be tough. We can sell it there and buy ourselves passage to Astapor."
If they were lucky enough, it might even work, Aemon lamented. "No one will just give you a ship, Bartimos!"
"I am afraid you are right, Maester. The Usurper taught us one thing. If you plot treason, you better do it right," Ser Allister grimly proclaimed.
Late next night, sixty deserters rode into Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
"Ser Allister?" Commander Pyke exclaimed in surprise. "What brings you here?"
"We've got news about the Wildlings. As you can see, we've paid in blood to bring them to you. We must talk in your solar," Thorne demanded, glowering balefully at the small group of Black Brothers with the Commander. "My people can use something warm to eat and drink."
"All right. Myles, see to it!" Pyke barked and waved for Allister to follow him. Black Brothers scurried out of the castle to help their comrades settle their horses and gear while the cooks went to work.
Thorne drew a dagger when Pyke led him deeper into the castle, and they were away from prying eyes. Thorne took a few rapid steps forward and grabbed the commander's throat from behind before plunging the blade into his side. What followed was brutal knife work in the night. The Night Watch garrison at Eastwatch was tiny, bulked up by the ships' crews. Only a few of the Rangers stationed there reacted in time, drawing weapons and facing the traitors with naked steel. It was too little, too late, even if it cost Thorne a few of his men.
The little fortress fell rapidly before anyone could send a warning by raven or try to escape, for no one had contemplated this kind of treachery.
The deserters spent the next day stripping Eastwatch of anything of value before boarding the ship in the best condition and leaving with the evening's tide, all the while Maester Aemon berated them as craven traitors.
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys was trying to relax after a particularly irritating court session by reading histories of the Valyrian Freehold he found in the libraries seized by Good Masters now in exile. Dany was in her rooms, having a girl's evening with her Ladies-in-waiting and handmaidens, and the Green Grace was busy doing her job as Astapor's spiritual leader in preparing people for war. By now, it was crystal clear that the slavers at large didn't like what Viserys was up to and were gearing up to destroy him before he could become too much of a problem. Now, it was a race. On one side were Yunkai, Meereen, and company gearing up for an attack. On the other side were the ongoing training programs in Astapor, racing to produce sufficient numbers of trained infantry and administrators to make taking the rest of Slaver's Bay a practical option.
Viserys knew he could march his Unsullied out immediately and take Meereen and Yunkai within a month. Holding the much larger cities was another question, for the hostile coalition forming against him was larger than them. His merchants and envoys heard whispers stretching to Tolos and Mantarys. New Ghis was toying with a proxy war, and for now, it was hiring mercenaries. Thus, they were all on his to-deal list. Viserys would prefer to take and hold Tolos. Due to its location, holding New Ghis wasn't practical. He would need a window of opportunity of a few months to go there with a few thousand Unsullied and remove the threat.
Mantarys was going to be a tougher proposition to handle. Ideally, Viserys wanted it as well as a part of his New Valyrian Freehold, which he would proclaim as soon as the wars began, likely right after taking Slaver's Bay. However, Tolos shielded that city, and the logistics of an overland campaign that far from Astapor would be anything but a trivial exercise.
Mantarys, Tolos, and New Ghis might be targets for another campaign or a future war because Viserys knew he would have his hands full securing and incorporating Yunkai and Meereen. Stretching his military and attention too thin could invite disaster.
Viserys looked over the bay from the terrace where he was resting. His eyes skipped over the rolling thick fog, and he returned to his book, trying not to think about his strategic situation for a bit. Without the Force and all the time spent as a Sith, he wouldn't have noticed something unnatural scrape at his mind, lulling him into a false sense of security like a sheep for the slaughter.
The Sith's head snapped up and drew on the Force, reinforcing his mental defenses. The fog snapped into focus, and there was nothing natural or calming about it. It looked wrong. To his Force-enhanced senses, it stank of something foul and not quite dead.
Viserys jumped off his chair and threw the book on the table, spilling lemon water. He summoned his sword, which lay nearby with its sheathe in a belt, and strapped it to his waist.
"Lonmouth!" the Sith roared, enhancing his voice with the Force. "Raise the alarm and secure the pyramid! We are about to be attacked!"
Inhuman roars and screams carried over the still air from the direction of the docks. Viserys snarled at sensing the fear and death of his people. He drank deeply from the raging well of power that was the Dark Side, enhancing himself. A single Force-powered vault had him land on top of the pyramid, now free from a harpy. He ran, further enhancing himself, and jumped off the ledge toward the docks.
Whoever dared attack his city under the cloak of sorcery would die screaming.
Last edited:
So, Visierys is a rational man right? In a few months, there will be a 100+ experienced and Loyal men arriving under Thorne! This are the men that choose the black over death true, but on the other hand they are all Targaryen Loyalists! Hoe will he react to them bringing him a family memeber? Even if eamon is old, he is a very learned and wise man also family! Then comes the dangers the loyalists faced, and i imagine he will wilcome them with open arms, even if he keeps them from the higher positions!
As for eurons little visit? Its time to let loose, viserys needs some stress relief and the ironborn just vollunteered! Also wathever happens this will make quite the show!
As for eurons little visit? Its time to let loose, viserys needs some stress relief and the ironborn just vollunteered! Also wathever happens this will make quite the show!
Well what do we have here grand theft Maester it seems
I thought that was Pentos. He's in Astapor now.
Viserys will be very happy. At the worst, those among Thorne and company who live long enough will have to expunge any stain left on their honor in the distant future fighting Ice Zombies and undead besides everyone else. Otherwise, as long as they don't do something stupid serving Viserys, they're golden, for it would havebeen a few years at least, before Viserys had enough loyal people to trust with a trip to the Wall to try to buy Maester Aemon's freedom with gold and supplies.
Equally, importantly, Viserys simply can't get his hands on enough reliable people fast enough. About a hundred loyalists coming back will be a boon he can't overlook and, narratively, another hit against his belief that there were no loyal people left in Westeros.
Between the magic in his blood awakening, and being away from the Wall will also do Maester Aemon a lot of good. He might live longer than OTL because of that alone. Besides, having a competent relative ready and willing to tell Viserys when he is about to do something particularly insane, can only be a good thing in the long run.
Grand thief ship too! Like Thorne said, if you go traitor you might go all out, which the Targaryen loyalists at the Wall did. The only achievement they missed was nailing Benjen Stark as a bonus objective.
Well, he's about to murder his way through Astapor's harbor very soon... I'll get it fixed.
Chapter 10 Part 1
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Astapor
Euron had to admit that the Drowned God's boons were useful. Otherwise, they shouldn't have been able to sail into the harbor unopposed and launch their attack before anyone was the wiser.
Even at this late hour, harbor officials, guards, and ship crews were everywhere. Some were returning from taverns and pleasure palaces, and others were just leaving after docking with the evening tide and securing their ships.
No one paid attention to the Ironborn and the beasts from underneath the sea until the slaughter began.
Euron laughed in delight as he split the skull of a city watchman. He had a hundred hardened killers in good steel armor at his back, with twice that number of monsters flanking his push toward the city's heart. Everyone else was going to secure the harbor first, then spread out, causing havoc and dragging people to be given to the Drowned God.
An Unsullied shield wall formed to bar the Crow's Eye.
Damphair spoke in tongues, waving the beast around. "Consign them to the Drowned God! No mercy!" Aeron bellowed, then kept muttering incomprehensively.
The monsters surged forward, hissing and spitting globs of something at the Unsullied. Black, ink-like, or perhaps tar-like substance splashed over shields and helmets alike. Wood and metal hissed while foul smoke obscured the slave soldiers. They screamed and thrashed, contorting under the effects of fast-acting venom. The Unsullied's first rank collapsed before more monsters spat at them.
"Forward! The Drowned God protect us!" Damphair waved a pair of daggers and charged into the fray, moving far faster than Euron had ever seen him.
"You heard the madman, lads! At them! Pay the Iron Price!" Euron bellowed and pushed his reavers forward, though he advanced slowly and deliberately. When the Crow's Eye saw that the poisonous vapors didn't affect the Ironborn, he charged, happy at how things unfolded. The Unsullied could not form a proper shield war again, with monsters and reavers swarming them, hacking and slashing their way through them. In this kind of fighting, the Ironborn's heavier equipment told. Spears flashed, glancing off good steel armor. Swords, axes, and maces splintered shields and sliced through leather with relative ease, chopping Unsullied to bloody pieces.
Euron had to give it to the eunuchs; they didn't break like everyone he fought tended to. The Unsullied kept fighting with grim determination until they were all dead.
"Form up at me! Forward! For the Drowned God! We are sacking this city!" Euron pushed his reavers forward, driving them into even more of a killing frenzy.
A figure wearing rich black and red clothes landed before Euron's killers and pointed a distinct blade at the Crow's Eye. It was a pretty boy with Valyrian features. Check. Those were Targaryen colors. The boy had a Valyrian Steel Sword Euron would take, too.
"Viserys Targaryen!" Euron gleefully exclaimed. Now, he wouldn't have to chase the boy all over Astapor.
"Abomination! DIE!" Something that was undoubtedly not Damphair shrieked using Aeron's throat.
Viserys glowered. Only now did Euron notice that the Targaryen's eyes weren't purple like they were supposed to be? Instead, molten bronze glowed at him with a commendable amount of malice.
Monsters charged forward with bloodcurdling shrieks. The temperature fell rapidly, turning the fog into sheets of frost covering everything in sight. The stars winked out. Shadows rose to strangle the light of flickering torches.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Euron felt a pang of fear. It was an exhilarating sensation that made him feel alive. Lighting crackled, and the Drowned God's monsters howled in pain. Euron glimpsed thick forks of purple lightning jump from Viserys' clawed fingers and slam into the beasts, throwing them away with its sheer intensity. Their bodies convulsed hard as they danced under the magical onslaught, and bones broke.
The lightning ceased. Damphair chanted a spell while the Dragon Sorcerer simply waved a hand. An invisible force scattered a score of monsters with such force that their bodies broke when hitting men, walls, or the cobblestones covering the street.
Euron wisely let his reavers and monsters advance. This wasn't the kind of prey you attacked headlong. He would let his Ironborn and the Drowned God's own distract the Sorcerer, then see how deft Viserys was with magic when he had an ax spilling his guts into the dirt.
Crow's Eye was elated. The things he could do with such a potent blood. He might very well become a god himself!
Damphair finished his incantation. All the dead and crippled monsters turned into dried husks. Black itchor flowed from their corpses and swirled around Aeron. Some flowed into him, turning his veins black and distorting his form. The rest formed thin blades that shot at Viserys like bolts.
The Sorcerer was unfazed at such an attack. Viserys raised his free hand and halted the liquid blades in their track. A dismissive gesture threw them at the advancing Ironborn, cutting two dozen reavers into bloody chunks before they could react. The itchor splashed over the bodies and began devouring them, searing flesh from bone.
By then, Aeron was gone, Euron saw. The Drowned God was using his brother's body like a puppet now, distorting it into a monstrosity that burst from Damphair's robes. Tough scaled flesh, blood-red fins, and wickedly sharp talons devoured what little light the Sorcerer allowed to remain.
Euron dashed into a nearby side street, leaving monsters and frenzied Ironborn to swarm over Viserys.
Facing against fucking Ironborn and demented Sithspawn wasn't what Viserys expected to be doing this night. They were all dying too quickly, displaying no resistance to the Force. However, at least one of them had a few magic tricks up his sleeve before deciding to turn itself into a hulking monster the size of an adult Terentatek. That, at least, was impressive.
Ironborn and smaller spawn paid no attention to the transformation and surged forward in a swarm of blades, claws, and black spit. Viserys threw their globs of whatever that was back at them. Ink-like substance splashed over the sithspawn to no effect. However, the globs that hit the heads of Ironborn were enough to blind them, sending them flailing into the ranks of the other madmen.
The hulking abomination screamed loud enough to shake the nearby buildings and charged at the Sith with surprising speed, heedless of its minions. It trampled Ironborn and Sithspawn alike in its single-minded focus on getting to Viserys.
The Sith jumped to the building to the right, took stock of the stones pilled up on its roof, and levitated them. He used the improvised weapons as intended, hurling them at the enemy to bash heads and break bones. Viserys channeled more power and grabbed the building across the street. He twisted and pulled, shattering its walls, sending a torrent of red bricks to spill over the madmen below.
The abomination jumped off the street to land on the roof beside Viserys. Its claws swept down to tear him into bloody shreds.
Viserys vaulted back just in time to avoid the attack. His blade flashed upward, meeting the descending paws of the monster. Valyrian Steel bit deeply into the beast's wrist, nearly severing its left hand. It howled in pain, rearing back in apparent surprise at being hurt.
What did that fool expect? That it would be invincible now?! Perhaps it was so, for the Sith could sense no fear or apprehension from the attacking force. In the Force, the attackers were shrouded by unnatural miasma. Their whole beings leaked bloodlust and madness. Viserys doubted that there was enough left of their minds to be afraid.
No matter. Then, Viserys would have to kill them all instead of breaking their spirit first to end the threat.
The overgrown fish monster lunged at Viserys, who shoved a half-built catapult into its path, throwing it off the roof in a tangle of wood and ropes. The thing screeched in pain and indignation as it crashed on the street below.
Viserys ignored the big target for the moment and jumped off the roof at the Ironborn and human-sized monsters. The Force surged around him as he bled off and redirected his momentum, landing lightly on his fleet among corpses and raving lunatics. Power erupted around Viserys, surrounding everyone nearby and pulling them off their feet. A thought had them slam into the ground hard enough to shatter their bones and rupture their organs.
Before the other enemies could comprehend what was happening, Viserys charged them, moving like a blur. His blade danced, taking heads, removing limbs, and spilling guts.
Chapter 10 Part 1
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Euron had to admit that the Drowned God's boons were useful. Otherwise, they shouldn't have been able to sail into the harbor unopposed and launch their attack before anyone was the wiser.
Even at this late hour, harbor officials, guards, and ship crews were everywhere. Some were returning from taverns and pleasure palaces, and others were just leaving after docking with the evening tide and securing their ships.
No one paid attention to the Ironborn and the beasts from underneath the sea until the slaughter began.
Euron laughed in delight as he split the skull of a city watchman. He had a hundred hardened killers in good steel armor at his back, with twice that number of monsters flanking his push toward the city's heart. Everyone else was going to secure the harbor first, then spread out, causing havoc and dragging people to be given to the Drowned God.
An Unsullied shield wall formed to bar the Crow's Eye.
Damphair spoke in tongues, waving the beast around. "Consign them to the Drowned God! No mercy!" Aeron bellowed, then kept muttering incomprehensively.
The monsters surged forward, hissing and spitting globs of something at the Unsullied. Black, ink-like, or perhaps tar-like substance splashed over shields and helmets alike. Wood and metal hissed while foul smoke obscured the slave soldiers. They screamed and thrashed, contorting under the effects of fast-acting venom. The Unsullied's first rank collapsed before more monsters spat at them.
"Forward! The Drowned God protect us!" Damphair waved a pair of daggers and charged into the fray, moving far faster than Euron had ever seen him.
"You heard the madman, lads! At them! Pay the Iron Price!" Euron bellowed and pushed his reavers forward, though he advanced slowly and deliberately. When the Crow's Eye saw that the poisonous vapors didn't affect the Ironborn, he charged, happy at how things unfolded. The Unsullied could not form a proper shield war again, with monsters and reavers swarming them, hacking and slashing their way through them. In this kind of fighting, the Ironborn's heavier equipment told. Spears flashed, glancing off good steel armor. Swords, axes, and maces splintered shields and sliced through leather with relative ease, chopping Unsullied to bloody pieces.
Euron had to give it to the eunuchs; they didn't break like everyone he fought tended to. The Unsullied kept fighting with grim determination until they were all dead.
"Form up at me! Forward! For the Drowned God! We are sacking this city!" Euron pushed his reavers forward, driving them into even more of a killing frenzy.
A figure wearing rich black and red clothes landed before Euron's killers and pointed a distinct blade at the Crow's Eye. It was a pretty boy with Valyrian features. Check. Those were Targaryen colors. The boy had a Valyrian Steel Sword Euron would take, too.
"Viserys Targaryen!" Euron gleefully exclaimed. Now, he wouldn't have to chase the boy all over Astapor.
"Abomination! DIE!" Something that was undoubtedly not Damphair shrieked using Aeron's throat.
Viserys glowered. Only now did Euron notice that the Targaryen's eyes weren't purple like they were supposed to be? Instead, molten bronze glowed at him with a commendable amount of malice.
Monsters charged forward with bloodcurdling shrieks. The temperature fell rapidly, turning the fog into sheets of frost covering everything in sight. The stars winked out. Shadows rose to strangle the light of flickering torches.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Euron felt a pang of fear. It was an exhilarating sensation that made him feel alive. Lighting crackled, and the Drowned God's monsters howled in pain. Euron glimpsed thick forks of purple lightning jump from Viserys' clawed fingers and slam into the beasts, throwing them away with its sheer intensity. Their bodies convulsed hard as they danced under the magical onslaught, and bones broke.
The lightning ceased. Damphair chanted a spell while the Dragon Sorcerer simply waved a hand. An invisible force scattered a score of monsters with such force that their bodies broke when hitting men, walls, or the cobblestones covering the street.
Euron wisely let his reavers and monsters advance. This wasn't the kind of prey you attacked headlong. He would let his Ironborn and the Drowned God's own distract the Sorcerer, then see how deft Viserys was with magic when he had an ax spilling his guts into the dirt.
Crow's Eye was elated. The things he could do with such a potent blood. He might very well become a god himself!
Damphair finished his incantation. All the dead and crippled monsters turned into dried husks. Black itchor flowed from their corpses and swirled around Aeron. Some flowed into him, turning his veins black and distorting his form. The rest formed thin blades that shot at Viserys like bolts.
The Sorcerer was unfazed at such an attack. Viserys raised his free hand and halted the liquid blades in their track. A dismissive gesture threw them at the advancing Ironborn, cutting two dozen reavers into bloody chunks before they could react. The itchor splashed over the bodies and began devouring them, searing flesh from bone.
By then, Aeron was gone, Euron saw. The Drowned God was using his brother's body like a puppet now, distorting it into a monstrosity that burst from Damphair's robes. Tough scaled flesh, blood-red fins, and wickedly sharp talons devoured what little light the Sorcerer allowed to remain.
Euron dashed into a nearby side street, leaving monsters and frenzied Ironborn to swarm over Viserys.
=Sith=
Facing against fucking Ironborn and demented Sithspawn wasn't what Viserys expected to be doing this night. They were all dying too quickly, displaying no resistance to the Force. However, at least one of them had a few magic tricks up his sleeve before deciding to turn itself into a hulking monster the size of an adult Terentatek. That, at least, was impressive.
Ironborn and smaller spawn paid no attention to the transformation and surged forward in a swarm of blades, claws, and black spit. Viserys threw their globs of whatever that was back at them. Ink-like substance splashed over the sithspawn to no effect. However, the globs that hit the heads of Ironborn were enough to blind them, sending them flailing into the ranks of the other madmen.
The hulking abomination screamed loud enough to shake the nearby buildings and charged at the Sith with surprising speed, heedless of its minions. It trampled Ironborn and Sithspawn alike in its single-minded focus on getting to Viserys.
The Sith jumped to the building to the right, took stock of the stones pilled up on its roof, and levitated them. He used the improvised weapons as intended, hurling them at the enemy to bash heads and break bones. Viserys channeled more power and grabbed the building across the street. He twisted and pulled, shattering its walls, sending a torrent of red bricks to spill over the madmen below.
The abomination jumped off the street to land on the roof beside Viserys. Its claws swept down to tear him into bloody shreds.
Viserys vaulted back just in time to avoid the attack. His blade flashed upward, meeting the descending paws of the monster. Valyrian Steel bit deeply into the beast's wrist, nearly severing its left hand. It howled in pain, rearing back in apparent surprise at being hurt.
What did that fool expect? That it would be invincible now?! Perhaps it was so, for the Sith could sense no fear or apprehension from the attacking force. In the Force, the attackers were shrouded by unnatural miasma. Their whole beings leaked bloodlust and madness. Viserys doubted that there was enough left of their minds to be afraid.
No matter. Then, Viserys would have to kill them all instead of breaking their spirit first to end the threat.
The overgrown fish monster lunged at Viserys, who shoved a half-built catapult into its path, throwing it off the roof in a tangle of wood and ropes. The thing screeched in pain and indignation as it crashed on the street below.
Viserys ignored the big target for the moment and jumped off the roof at the Ironborn and human-sized monsters. The Force surged around him as he bled off and redirected his momentum, landing lightly on his fleet among corpses and raving lunatics. Power erupted around Viserys, surrounding everyone nearby and pulling them off their feet. A thought had them slam into the ground hard enough to shatter their bones and rupture their organs.
Before the other enemies could comprehend what was happening, Viserys charged them, moving like a blur. His blade danced, taking heads, removing limbs, and spilling guts.
Chapter 10 Part 2
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys tore through a mob of Ironborn, leaving a trail of broken, bleeding corpses in his wake. Only his sheer Force-enhanced speed and agility kept him intact because the reavers were out of their minds with bloodlust. They got in each other's way in their zeal to reach the Sith while the Sithspawn shoved and clawed them out of the way. The giant, wounded, sorry excuse for a Selkath came barreling down the corpse-strewn street, trampling everyone in its path.
Viserys jumped off the street, barely avoiding globs of smoldering ink. The Sithspawn howled in outrage at being denied, then in agony when their big brother smashed them away like a speeding train. The thing roared in indignation at its prey getting away and spat a stream of smoking ink at the Sith. It smashed into an invisible wall and rained upon Ironborn and monsters alike, who ignored the profane rain. Viserys levitated more stones and dumped the projectiles upon the raging horde, happy at the pained screeches that followed.
The Sith stepped away from the edge, struggling to push away his lust for battle. It has been far too long since he let loose instead of losing control like in Pentos. If he wasn't careful, he was going to lose sight of everything else so he could enjoy a proper battle, even if the enemy left a lot to be desired.
Viserys left his awareness to wash over the area so he could get an idea of what was happening. Pain, fear, death, and the frenzy of the invaders created a discordant song that hung like a blanket over the area. Whatever the fog was, it didn't help things – it acted like a barrier of foggy glass, obscuring things. Viserys pushed at it with the Force pocking it. The foul energies within it recoiled as if alive. There was something distant and malevolent connected to the magic at hand. However, it paled in comparison to the Dark Side at its worst.
A large, furious presence approached rapidly. Viserys shifted his attention and threw his sword, guiding it with Force. The fish-like abomination came barreling at him in a single leap. Its maw was open, ready to spill more of that disgusting ink. Viserys' blade flew into its mouth, slammed through the back of its throat, and severed its spine, using its own momentum against it. The thing choked on the sword and clutched its throat, hissing in spite.
It should have been dead, or at least crippled and no longer a threat. Instead, malevolent energies flowed into it from the fog, rapidly thinning it in the surrounding area until there was no trace left of it for a few hundred paces in every direction. The thing spat the sword and gurgled in disgust before its small evil eyes glowered murderously at Viserys.
The Sith glowered back, putting all his hatred and rage behind the glare. This thing thought itself immortal? It dared not die when a Sith demanded it?!
The hulking brute took a ponderous step forward, then recoiled in agony. Scales dried out and shivered before shedding like snow when the skin below them blistered and burned.
Dany's fear and exploding anger distracted Viserys. His control over his emotions slipped, and the Force responded. A pulse of pure Dark Side energy obliterated everything around him, sending the broken body of the abomination flying into a distant warehouse. Viserys didn't think but acted, jumping off the crumbling roof towards their pyramid.
Euron's plan was simple and to the point – use the distraction of all those fools dying to the Sorcerer to sneak up on him and split his skull open. However, that was hard to do when Viserys began jumping from rooftop to rooftop like some demented overgrown rabbit. Ambushing the Sorcerer would prove far more challenging than the Crow's Eye liked. He stalked through the shadows, looking for opportunity. The fog hid him, allowing him to deftly avoid a phalanx of Unsullied racing to the fight at the docks below.
A group of monsters stumbled into him, spilling from a side street. Their leader pointed at Euron and growled something in their inhuman language. The Crow's Eye scoffed at the beasts, who were going to be more of a hindrance than help.
A mace slammed into his face. At least, that was how Euron felt. He stumbled back, barely hearing something vast beyond comprehension speak into his mind.
Daenerys Targaryen. The little chit would make for a great salt wife and bait for Viserys.
She was a worthy sacrifice. He had to go get her and drag her into the water of the bay. He had to give her blood to the Drowned God!
Euron shook his head and melted into the mist with newfound purpose, followed by twenty of his God's Chosen.
The Drowned God's boons allowed them to slip past patrols and guard posts, leading them straight to the side of a large pyramid near the city walls overlooking the sea. The blessed champions moved silent and unseen. Clawed fingers and feet and unnatural vitality allowed them to rapidly and stealthily climb the side of the pyramid until they reached a terrace leading inside.
No one should have been the wiser about their approach! No mortal could see through the divine magic cloaking them!
Euron and the chosen spilled into a large open area, where they found three Unsullied Spears and men in white armor waiting for them. A small girl holding a dagger in each hand stood behind three rows of spears, glowering like a little fierce dragon.
The Crow's Eye smiled at seeing his prize. She would do, indeed!
The beasts spat corrosive tar at the spearmen and charged. The Unsullied raised their shields to fend off the attacks. Their line held for a moment before nearly a third of them collapsed, choking and coughing blood. The Targaryen Princess recoiled and stepped back, surrounded by the white cloaks.
Wicked coral daggers and swords crossed with spears and dug deep gorges into shields. The slave soldiers were no longer in a deadly shield wall, allowing their enemies to get in close. Blades pushed spears aside and often cut them right behind the deadly metal spearhead, making them useless. Euron advanced behind the beasts, watching with glee how they overpowered the Unsullied. Stabbing wounds that would have killed a man merely wounded and enraged the Drowned Gond's chosen. They caught spears stuck in their flesh and spilling their dark blood and pulled Unsullied closer, so bite at their throats, or allow other beasts to finish them off.
"We need to go, Princess!" A one-eyed knight tried to pull Euron's prize away. That enraged him, and he threw himself into the fray, revitalized by the power of the Drowned God.
"There can be others. We fight here where we have open space to move," Daenerys ordered. She thrust her hand forward and halted a charging champion in its track. It stumbled just before reaching a wall of three knights who fell upon it with a sword, ax, and spiked mace. A blade took off an arm. A white cloak stabbed it in its shoulder, and then a solid piece of metal opened its skull.
It didn't matter! More than half of the Unsullied were dead, with the rest struggling against an equal number of champions. Euron surged forward, surrounded by five beasts who threw themselves at the white cloaks.
A monster collapsed with its belly open and writhing guts spilling on the floor before the ax struck, nearly severing its head. A second beast buried its daggers in the side and neck of the axeman, bringing it down before he could pull his weapon away. The white cloak with mace smashed aside a coral sword and crushed the right elbow of the one who had just killed his comrade. Two beasts jumped at the swordsman. One fell with a blade buried into its chest, while the other cut the throat of its target before falling back with its face caved in. A dagger flashed, and the third white cloak fell to an enraged roar from the little Targaryen girl. She was alone now with a single knight at her side.
Meanwhile, the remaining beasts took out more Unsullied with their deadly spit. They split, most racing to overwhelm the remaining slave soldiers while half a dozen hurried to join Euron.
Instead of retreating or running like a little girl should, the Targaryen Princess and her last guard charged. The one-eyed knight overwhelmed the crippled beast with two strikes, slicing its hand off and slashing his throat. The girl ran almost faster than the eye could see. Despite the power of the Drowned God coursing through Euron, he could feel frost clawing at his skin. He swashed wildly at the approaching knight, forcing him to step back. Three monsters were on him a moment later, ensuring he would be of no consequence. Euron ran after the girl, simultaneously raging that she wasn't already in his grasp and appreciating her deadly dance.
More Unsullied and white cloaks raced into the chamber, only for two thin lines of monsters to meet them, spitting corrosive death.
What little reason Euron had left told him he was running out of time! He had to get the girl now and drag her to the sea to sacrifice her! Crow's Eye was at her heels, racing over hamstrung and gutted champions. She dispatched three of them in as many seconds, gliding below or just out of reach of their blades, before striking like a serpent with Valyrian Steel. That kind of blade left wounds the Chosen couldn't shrug off unless outright fatal.
Euron feinted a slash and twisted his blade to strike his target with its flat side. She ignored the feint and charged him. Only instinct born of countless raids and the power of the Drowned God allowed Euron to react in time. Valyrian Steel sliced through weak points in his armor, leaving burning lines in his side and front. He managed to kick the girl away with enough strength to shatter her ribs and leave her with mangled ribs, drowning in her own blood.
This was it! Euron had her! He saw pain and fear flash in her molten eyes, only to be replaced by pure rage. Instead of curling on herself, dying, the Princess rolled away. She jumped on her feet in an incredible show of agility.
"ENOUGH!" She screamed, and magic responded, shoving Euron away.
That allowed him to glimpse the last white cloak leaning away from a venomous spit. The knight buried his sword in the open mouth of the champion, then twisted the blade for good measure. Only one beast left to deal with him, and it had lost its sword arm, forcing it to pause and pick up a weapon from the ground.
The distraction cost Euron dearly. An invisible force picked him up and threw him back, sending him to roll over the stone floor hard until he slammed into a pair of discarded chairs on the terrace they used to infiltrate the pyramid. Euron felt bones crack and something shatter in his chest. His side hurt so much it gave him a moment of clarity.
What the fuck was he ever doing here!?
Targaryen blood. Sacrifice!
Those words drowned every other thought, driving them out of his mind. He got up, even though blood filled a pierced, collapsing lung.
Purple lightning slammed into Euron's injured side, picking him up and throwing him in the air. He howled in pain like no other. Every single piece of his body was on fire, hurting more than he knew it was possible. Euron flew while the wrath of the Storm God himself ravaged his body. He finally hit the water in the bay, which did nothing to end his pain and misery.
A pitch-black vortex opened below him, pulling him in. Fanged tentacles grabbed Euron's mangled body, pierced his skin, and pumped ichor into his blood.
His torture wasn't over. It just began. An immense eye stared at the puny mortal who failed him. The Drowned God was displeased, for he had such puny tools to work with. That simply wouldn't do.
Euron howled like the damned soul he was as his body began to slowly change into something better suited to his god's purposes. Whatever shred of sanity the Crow's Eye had left shattered when the Drowned God touched his mind to better observe how his enemies fought.
Chapter 10 Part 2
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys tore through a mob of Ironborn, leaving a trail of broken, bleeding corpses in his wake. Only his sheer Force-enhanced speed and agility kept him intact because the reavers were out of their minds with bloodlust. They got in each other's way in their zeal to reach the Sith while the Sithspawn shoved and clawed them out of the way. The giant, wounded, sorry excuse for a Selkath came barreling down the corpse-strewn street, trampling everyone in its path.
Viserys jumped off the street, barely avoiding globs of smoldering ink. The Sithspawn howled in outrage at being denied, then in agony when their big brother smashed them away like a speeding train. The thing roared in indignation at its prey getting away and spat a stream of smoking ink at the Sith. It smashed into an invisible wall and rained upon Ironborn and monsters alike, who ignored the profane rain. Viserys levitated more stones and dumped the projectiles upon the raging horde, happy at the pained screeches that followed.
The Sith stepped away from the edge, struggling to push away his lust for battle. It has been far too long since he let loose instead of losing control like in Pentos. If he wasn't careful, he was going to lose sight of everything else so he could enjoy a proper battle, even if the enemy left a lot to be desired.
Viserys left his awareness to wash over the area so he could get an idea of what was happening. Pain, fear, death, and the frenzy of the invaders created a discordant song that hung like a blanket over the area. Whatever the fog was, it didn't help things – it acted like a barrier of foggy glass, obscuring things. Viserys pushed at it with the Force pocking it. The foul energies within it recoiled as if alive. There was something distant and malevolent connected to the magic at hand. However, it paled in comparison to the Dark Side at its worst.
A large, furious presence approached rapidly. Viserys shifted his attention and threw his sword, guiding it with Force. The fish-like abomination came barreling at him in a single leap. Its maw was open, ready to spill more of that disgusting ink. Viserys' blade flew into its mouth, slammed through the back of its throat, and severed its spine, using its own momentum against it. The thing choked on the sword and clutched its throat, hissing in spite.
It should have been dead, or at least crippled and no longer a threat. Instead, malevolent energies flowed into it from the fog, rapidly thinning it in the surrounding area until there was no trace left of it for a few hundred paces in every direction. The thing spat the sword and gurgled in disgust before its small evil eyes glowered murderously at Viserys.
The Sith glowered back, putting all his hatred and rage behind the glare. This thing thought itself immortal? It dared not die when a Sith demanded it?!
The hulking brute took a ponderous step forward, then recoiled in agony. Scales dried out and shivered before shedding like snow when the skin below them blistered and burned.
Dany's fear and exploding anger distracted Viserys. His control over his emotions slipped, and the Force responded. A pulse of pure Dark Side energy obliterated everything around him, sending the broken body of the abomination flying into a distant warehouse. Viserys didn't think but acted, jumping off the crumbling roof towards their pyramid.
=Sith=
Euron's plan was simple and to the point – use the distraction of all those fools dying to the Sorcerer to sneak up on him and split his skull open. However, that was hard to do when Viserys began jumping from rooftop to rooftop like some demented overgrown rabbit. Ambushing the Sorcerer would prove far more challenging than the Crow's Eye liked. He stalked through the shadows, looking for opportunity. The fog hid him, allowing him to deftly avoid a phalanx of Unsullied racing to the fight at the docks below.
A group of monsters stumbled into him, spilling from a side street. Their leader pointed at Euron and growled something in their inhuman language. The Crow's Eye scoffed at the beasts, who were going to be more of a hindrance than help.
A mace slammed into his face. At least, that was how Euron felt. He stumbled back, barely hearing something vast beyond comprehension speak into his mind.
Daenerys Targaryen. The little chit would make for a great salt wife and bait for Viserys.
She was a worthy sacrifice. He had to go get her and drag her into the water of the bay. He had to give her blood to the Drowned God!
Euron shook his head and melted into the mist with newfound purpose, followed by twenty of his God's Chosen.
The Drowned God's boons allowed them to slip past patrols and guard posts, leading them straight to the side of a large pyramid near the city walls overlooking the sea. The blessed champions moved silent and unseen. Clawed fingers and feet and unnatural vitality allowed them to rapidly and stealthily climb the side of the pyramid until they reached a terrace leading inside.
No one should have been the wiser about their approach! No mortal could see through the divine magic cloaking them!
Euron and the chosen spilled into a large open area, where they found three Unsullied Spears and men in white armor waiting for them. A small girl holding a dagger in each hand stood behind three rows of spears, glowering like a little fierce dragon.
The Crow's Eye smiled at seeing his prize. She would do, indeed!
The beasts spat corrosive tar at the spearmen and charged. The Unsullied raised their shields to fend off the attacks. Their line held for a moment before nearly a third of them collapsed, choking and coughing blood. The Targaryen Princess recoiled and stepped back, surrounded by the white cloaks.
Wicked coral daggers and swords crossed with spears and dug deep gorges into shields. The slave soldiers were no longer in a deadly shield wall, allowing their enemies to get in close. Blades pushed spears aside and often cut them right behind the deadly metal spearhead, making them useless. Euron advanced behind the beasts, watching with glee how they overpowered the Unsullied. Stabbing wounds that would have killed a man merely wounded and enraged the Drowned Gond's chosen. They caught spears stuck in their flesh and spilling their dark blood and pulled Unsullied closer, so bite at their throats, or allow other beasts to finish them off.
"We need to go, Princess!" A one-eyed knight tried to pull Euron's prize away. That enraged him, and he threw himself into the fray, revitalized by the power of the Drowned God.
"There can be others. We fight here where we have open space to move," Daenerys ordered. She thrust her hand forward and halted a charging champion in its track. It stumbled just before reaching a wall of three knights who fell upon it with a sword, ax, and spiked mace. A blade took off an arm. A white cloak stabbed it in its shoulder, and then a solid piece of metal opened its skull.
It didn't matter! More than half of the Unsullied were dead, with the rest struggling against an equal number of champions. Euron surged forward, surrounded by five beasts who threw themselves at the white cloaks.
A monster collapsed with its belly open and writhing guts spilling on the floor before the ax struck, nearly severing its head. A second beast buried its daggers in the side and neck of the axeman, bringing it down before he could pull his weapon away. The white cloak with mace smashed aside a coral sword and crushed the right elbow of the one who had just killed his comrade. Two beasts jumped at the swordsman. One fell with a blade buried into its chest, while the other cut the throat of its target before falling back with its face caved in. A dagger flashed, and the third white cloak fell to an enraged roar from the little Targaryen girl. She was alone now with a single knight at her side.
Meanwhile, the remaining beasts took out more Unsullied with their deadly spit. They split, most racing to overwhelm the remaining slave soldiers while half a dozen hurried to join Euron.
Instead of retreating or running like a little girl should, the Targaryen Princess and her last guard charged. The one-eyed knight overwhelmed the crippled beast with two strikes, slicing its hand off and slashing his throat. The girl ran almost faster than the eye could see. Despite the power of the Drowned God coursing through Euron, he could feel frost clawing at his skin. He swashed wildly at the approaching knight, forcing him to step back. Three monsters were on him a moment later, ensuring he would be of no consequence. Euron ran after the girl, simultaneously raging that she wasn't already in his grasp and appreciating her deadly dance.
More Unsullied and white cloaks raced into the chamber, only for two thin lines of monsters to meet them, spitting corrosive death.
What little reason Euron had left told him he was running out of time! He had to get the girl now and drag her to the sea to sacrifice her! Crow's Eye was at her heels, racing over hamstrung and gutted champions. She dispatched three of them in as many seconds, gliding below or just out of reach of their blades, before striking like a serpent with Valyrian Steel. That kind of blade left wounds the Chosen couldn't shrug off unless outright fatal.
Euron feinted a slash and twisted his blade to strike his target with its flat side. She ignored the feint and charged him. Only instinct born of countless raids and the power of the Drowned God allowed Euron to react in time. Valyrian Steel sliced through weak points in his armor, leaving burning lines in his side and front. He managed to kick the girl away with enough strength to shatter her ribs and leave her with mangled ribs, drowning in her own blood.
This was it! Euron had her! He saw pain and fear flash in her molten eyes, only to be replaced by pure rage. Instead of curling on herself, dying, the Princess rolled away. She jumped on her feet in an incredible show of agility.
"ENOUGH!" She screamed, and magic responded, shoving Euron away.
That allowed him to glimpse the last white cloak leaning away from a venomous spit. The knight buried his sword in the open mouth of the champion, then twisted the blade for good measure. Only one beast left to deal with him, and it had lost its sword arm, forcing it to pause and pick up a weapon from the ground.
The distraction cost Euron dearly. An invisible force picked him up and threw him back, sending him to roll over the stone floor hard until he slammed into a pair of discarded chairs on the terrace they used to infiltrate the pyramid. Euron felt bones crack and something shatter in his chest. His side hurt so much it gave him a moment of clarity.
What the fuck was he ever doing here!?
Targaryen blood. Sacrifice!
Those words drowned every other thought, driving them out of his mind. He got up, even though blood filled a pierced, collapsing lung.
Purple lightning slammed into Euron's injured side, picking him up and throwing him in the air. He howled in pain like no other. Every single piece of his body was on fire, hurting more than he knew it was possible. Euron flew while the wrath of the Storm God himself ravaged his body. He finally hit the water in the bay, which did nothing to end his pain and misery.
A pitch-black vortex opened below him, pulling him in. Fanged tentacles grabbed Euron's mangled body, pierced his skin, and pumped ichor into his blood.
His torture wasn't over. It just began. An immense eye stared at the puny mortal who failed him. The Drowned God was displeased, for he had such puny tools to work with. That simply wouldn't do.
Euron howled like the damned soul he was as his body began to slowly change into something better suited to his god's purposes. Whatever shred of sanity the Crow's Eye had left shattered when the Drowned God touched his mind to better observe how his enemies fought.
Last edited:
Chapter 10 Part 3
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys' rage fed the Dark Side, which obligingly jumped to fulfill his intent and froze the remaining Sithspawn in the pyramid, slowly squeezing their life out with telekinetic claws. The Sith ran to his sister and examined her through the Force. Dany stood tall and proud despite holding her side. Fury and the corpses of her enemies made her look even more like a Targaryen warrior princess than usual. The glow in her eyes dulled when she saw her brother. She relaxed a fraction and let go of the Force, nearly collapsing.
Viserys blurted forward. His hands took Dany's shoulders and steadied her. The physical contact allowed him to better examine her wounds with the Force. She had four broken ribs, with two more cracked, along with her sternum. If she hadn't been enhancing herself with the Force, that strike would have driven jagged pieces of bone in her lung and other organs. Even with the Force, keeping her alive then would have been a challenging task to accomplish.
Pure rage threatened to overwhelm Viserys. Only Dany's softly glowing presence in his arms kept his fury dancing on the edge of his sanity without pushing over it.
The Sithspawn in his grasp died screaming, drained of all the life energy holding their unnatural bodies together.
"I want any Ironborn prisoners brought to me," Viserys growled. He channeled all stolen energy into Dany, shifting broken bones in place, stopping internal bleeding around their edges, and boosting her mending. "Sleep, Little Dragon," Viserys crooned, putting his sister into a healing trance. She slumped into his hands, and it was only the Force that prevented her from worsening her injuries. Viserys picked her up and walked towards her chambers. "Lonmouth, get a larger security detail for my sister. Sweep the pyramid for intruders."
Viserys knew the prudent thing to do would be to secure Dany in place behind as many Unsullied he could, then purge the harbor from invaders. However, his priorities were clear. Dany's safety was paramount.
The Prince marched past his sister's twin friends and handmaiden and walked into her chambers until he reached her large bed and carefully put her down.
"I need something to bind her chest. Her ribs are broken!" Viserys barked.
Handmaidens scurries to get him the right supplies. Meanwhile, he removed Dany's dress, revealing her side. His smoldering eyes glowered at a foot imprint that should have caved in her chest, shattering her ribs and killing her. That bastard died far too easy, Viserys decided. The Ironborn were already on his to deal with list. Now, he was going to ensure they all died screaming.
A handmaid ran in with a sheet of silk and scissors, and the girls busied themselves, slicing it into long strips to better bind Dany's ribs. Viserys relaxed a bit at the demonstration of competence and levelheadedness.
A few minutes later, Dany's chest was tightly bound. Viserys tucked her in and swept the area with the Force to ensure no unpleasant surprises. By the time he left Dany's room, reinforcements had arrived. Ser Lonmouth and a small group of Royal Guards were busy directing over a Century of spear men to secure the area. Viserys let them do their job and closed his eyes. He concentrated and cast his awareness away. The Force was in turmoil, shaken by the Targaryen's actions and all the death and suffering still happening at the docks and beyond. It raged at the thin filth film left of the fog, which was dissipating.
Viserys fury pushed at the fog and the unpleasant energies sustaining it. Whatever was on the other side retreated, trying to avoid attention. Viserys got an impression of something vast and alien, which had decided to cut off its losses for the moment. He could sense the fog unraveling, allowing him to perceive everything around him. Viserys could feel Sithspawn and Berserker Ironborn still fighting at the docks and in a few spots further up in the city. However, he could sense no unfamiliar signature near the pyramid.
It was time to end this and get himself some prisoners to heal Dany with.
"Protect my sister with your lives. I am going hunting," Vieserys told Lonmouth and dashed into the night.
The Sith ignored the slight burn in his body as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, signaling that he was pushing it farther than it was accustomed to the Force. He will rest soon enough. Alarm bells were ringing loud now, nearly drowning the clash of weapons and the screams of the dying. Hastily outfitted city guard streamed out of their barracks while Unsullied Centuries marched towards the docks, converging on the fighting.
Viserys landed on a rooftop above the incursion that got farthest from the harbor. A thin line of Unsullied held their ground against thirty or so Ironborn berserkers and a handful of Sithspawn. Viserys elite soldiers would have been overran already if it wasn't for liberated slaves with improvised weapons swarming the invaders. Dozens of mangled corpses painted a picture of a running battle with Viserys people and the invaders bleeding for every step taken by the enemy.
Lightning danced between the Sith's fingers. He fueled it with the pain and anger of his people, then added his own boiling fury. It crackled like an angry whip as he held the power momentarily, honing it to a deadly edge before unleashing it. Lighting bolts struck the Ironborn, scattering them like toys. Armor melted into flesh, eyes burst, and skin ignited under the kind of punishment meant to ravage armored wardroids. Viserys focused his rage on the few Sithspawns until they were little more than charred husks.
The Sith let go of the Dark Side and took a few deep breaths, allowing his body to begin cooling down.
"Gather our wounded and bring them to the Temple of the Graces. Ensure all invaders here are dead and hold position until reinforced," Viserys ordered. He spent a few moments relaxing and basking in the sheer disbelief of his people. The emotions of everyone looking at him were in overdrive. Shock and elation slowly replaced fight-and-flight responses, fear, anger, and determination.
"Prince Viserys!"
"The Liberator!"
"Our Sorcerer Prince!"
Viserys saluted them with a fist above his chest, and hundreds of people returned the gesture. A wave of certainty and palpable relief erupted from the crowd.
The Prince ended his brief respite, drew on the Force, and leaped away. He knew that the night was far from over, and tomorrow would be an absolutely rotten day. Fortunately, there were a few more groups of bastards for him to impress his feelings on the matter.
Soon enough, Viserys reached the second group that penetrated deeper into his city. He might not have bothered running here. An Unsullied Century had arrived to reinforce their comrades, followed by City Guard units from the nearby barracks. They had the invaders hemmed in from three sides. The crazy bastards were too maddened to even contemplate surrendering or running. No Sithspawn was still alive in the area, though Viserys could glimpse the remains of a couple down the street – the City Guard had hacked them to pieces.
Viserys saw that his Unsullied clearly had issues with the heavier armor and weapons of the Ironborn. Spears glanced off steel or got hacked into uselessness. Shields cracked then splintered under repeated strikes from war axes and maces. Swords cleaved through light armor or found unprotected flesh to bite into. The Ironborn were slowly losing despite their mindless bloodlust, or perhaps in part because of it, for they kept throwing themselves at a shield wall.
The Prince jumped off the roof and landed behind the invaders, startling some of his people.
"I want prisoners. Secure anyone unable to fight anymore," Viserys' voice thundered above the clash of steel. He spent a moment to focus and took the Ironborn's footing with precise application of telekinesis, sending them flailing over each other. Very soon, there was no longer a tightly packed group of maddened pirates; only dazzled men were overwhelmed by charging Unsullied and guards.
Chapter 10 Part 3
=Sith=
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Viserys' rage fed the Dark Side, which obligingly jumped to fulfill his intent and froze the remaining Sithspawn in the pyramid, slowly squeezing their life out with telekinetic claws. The Sith ran to his sister and examined her through the Force. Dany stood tall and proud despite holding her side. Fury and the corpses of her enemies made her look even more like a Targaryen warrior princess than usual. The glow in her eyes dulled when she saw her brother. She relaxed a fraction and let go of the Force, nearly collapsing.
Viserys blurted forward. His hands took Dany's shoulders and steadied her. The physical contact allowed him to better examine her wounds with the Force. She had four broken ribs, with two more cracked, along with her sternum. If she hadn't been enhancing herself with the Force, that strike would have driven jagged pieces of bone in her lung and other organs. Even with the Force, keeping her alive then would have been a challenging task to accomplish.
Pure rage threatened to overwhelm Viserys. Only Dany's softly glowing presence in his arms kept his fury dancing on the edge of his sanity without pushing over it.
The Sithspawn in his grasp died screaming, drained of all the life energy holding their unnatural bodies together.
"I want any Ironborn prisoners brought to me," Viserys growled. He channeled all stolen energy into Dany, shifting broken bones in place, stopping internal bleeding around their edges, and boosting her mending. "Sleep, Little Dragon," Viserys crooned, putting his sister into a healing trance. She slumped into his hands, and it was only the Force that prevented her from worsening her injuries. Viserys picked her up and walked towards her chambers. "Lonmouth, get a larger security detail for my sister. Sweep the pyramid for intruders."
Viserys knew the prudent thing to do would be to secure Dany in place behind as many Unsullied he could, then purge the harbor from invaders. However, his priorities were clear. Dany's safety was paramount.
The Prince marched past his sister's twin friends and handmaiden and walked into her chambers until he reached her large bed and carefully put her down.
"I need something to bind her chest. Her ribs are broken!" Viserys barked.
Handmaidens scurries to get him the right supplies. Meanwhile, he removed Dany's dress, revealing her side. His smoldering eyes glowered at a foot imprint that should have caved in her chest, shattering her ribs and killing her. That bastard died far too easy, Viserys decided. The Ironborn were already on his to deal with list. Now, he was going to ensure they all died screaming.
A handmaid ran in with a sheet of silk and scissors, and the girls busied themselves, slicing it into long strips to better bind Dany's ribs. Viserys relaxed a bit at the demonstration of competence and levelheadedness.
A few minutes later, Dany's chest was tightly bound. Viserys tucked her in and swept the area with the Force to ensure no unpleasant surprises. By the time he left Dany's room, reinforcements had arrived. Ser Lonmouth and a small group of Royal Guards were busy directing over a Century of spear men to secure the area. Viserys let them do their job and closed his eyes. He concentrated and cast his awareness away. The Force was in turmoil, shaken by the Targaryen's actions and all the death and suffering still happening at the docks and beyond. It raged at the thin filth film left of the fog, which was dissipating.
Viserys fury pushed at the fog and the unpleasant energies sustaining it. Whatever was on the other side retreated, trying to avoid attention. Viserys got an impression of something vast and alien, which had decided to cut off its losses for the moment. He could sense the fog unraveling, allowing him to perceive everything around him. Viserys could feel Sithspawn and Berserker Ironborn still fighting at the docks and in a few spots further up in the city. However, he could sense no unfamiliar signature near the pyramid.
It was time to end this and get himself some prisoners to heal Dany with.
"Protect my sister with your lives. I am going hunting," Vieserys told Lonmouth and dashed into the night.
The Sith ignored the slight burn in his body as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, signaling that he was pushing it farther than it was accustomed to the Force. He will rest soon enough. Alarm bells were ringing loud now, nearly drowning the clash of weapons and the screams of the dying. Hastily outfitted city guard streamed out of their barracks while Unsullied Centuries marched towards the docks, converging on the fighting.
Viserys landed on a rooftop above the incursion that got farthest from the harbor. A thin line of Unsullied held their ground against thirty or so Ironborn berserkers and a handful of Sithspawn. Viserys elite soldiers would have been overran already if it wasn't for liberated slaves with improvised weapons swarming the invaders. Dozens of mangled corpses painted a picture of a running battle with Viserys people and the invaders bleeding for every step taken by the enemy.
Lightning danced between the Sith's fingers. He fueled it with the pain and anger of his people, then added his own boiling fury. It crackled like an angry whip as he held the power momentarily, honing it to a deadly edge before unleashing it. Lighting bolts struck the Ironborn, scattering them like toys. Armor melted into flesh, eyes burst, and skin ignited under the kind of punishment meant to ravage armored wardroids. Viserys focused his rage on the few Sithspawns until they were little more than charred husks.
The Sith let go of the Dark Side and took a few deep breaths, allowing his body to begin cooling down.
"Gather our wounded and bring them to the Temple of the Graces. Ensure all invaders here are dead and hold position until reinforced," Viserys ordered. He spent a few moments relaxing and basking in the sheer disbelief of his people. The emotions of everyone looking at him were in overdrive. Shock and elation slowly replaced fight-and-flight responses, fear, anger, and determination.
"Prince Viserys!"
"The Liberator!"
"Our Sorcerer Prince!"
Viserys saluted them with a fist above his chest, and hundreds of people returned the gesture. A wave of certainty and palpable relief erupted from the crowd.
The Prince ended his brief respite, drew on the Force, and leaped away. He knew that the night was far from over, and tomorrow would be an absolutely rotten day. Fortunately, there were a few more groups of bastards for him to impress his feelings on the matter.
Soon enough, Viserys reached the second group that penetrated deeper into his city. He might not have bothered running here. An Unsullied Century had arrived to reinforce their comrades, followed by City Guard units from the nearby barracks. They had the invaders hemmed in from three sides. The crazy bastards were too maddened to even contemplate surrendering or running. No Sithspawn was still alive in the area, though Viserys could glimpse the remains of a couple down the street – the City Guard had hacked them to pieces.
Viserys saw that his Unsullied clearly had issues with the heavier armor and weapons of the Ironborn. Spears glanced off steel or got hacked into uselessness. Shields cracked then splintered under repeated strikes from war axes and maces. Swords cleaved through light armor or found unprotected flesh to bite into. The Ironborn were slowly losing despite their mindless bloodlust, or perhaps in part because of it, for they kept throwing themselves at a shield wall.
The Prince jumped off the roof and landed behind the invaders, startling some of his people.
"I want prisoners. Secure anyone unable to fight anymore," Viserys' voice thundered above the clash of steel. He spent a moment to focus and took the Ironborn's footing with precise application of telekinesis, sending them flailing over each other. Very soon, there was no longer a tightly packed group of maddened pirates; only dazzled men were overwhelmed by charging Unsullied and guards.
Darth Cooter
(Verified Lord of Cooters)(Dark Proprietor)(AP)
- Location
- error -loc root/users/dcooter not found
Would have been a perfect time for Viserys to hear "Assuming Direct Control..."
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUz4DP2vpB0