Ten thousand years ago, in a universe far, far away.
His eyes stared at the pod, and his mouth...
His eyes stared at the pod, and his mouth...
The Legend of Malcador (GoT/40k)
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Ten thousand years ago, in a universe far, far away.
His eyes stared at the pod, and his mouth pressed into an ever-watchful frown. A single man trod next to him, his slippers barely making a sound against the marbled floor. "This was the one?" The second man said, looking at it with a frown. "The one they couldn't take?"
"He is." The other said, his voice carrying an otherworldly air. "For he was not worthy, too small and feeble, a failure to mock me with." He said. "Little more than a slightly more ordinary man. Less than even his brothers' progeny - worse, with his stink of tainted sorcery. Not like the other sorcerer - with the body and mind and strength to keep it together, a weak and feeble son - one who is nothing next to any of his blood, especially myself. My litter's runt." The man said.
"Your Majesty." The other said. "Can we truly be so harsh? How do you know he's imperfect to such a degree? And is he not of use to you, even just a normal man growing fast and living long?" The man paused, his golden robe glittering in the room's lighting. He looked down at his companion, pressing his lips firmly, closing his eyes. His companion knew when his lord and master was lost in the eddies - and sometimes he could grasp the straws of places far and away.
If he could - The man's eyes snapped open, and he slowly began to collect energy. His companion could practically feel the electricity. "I have uses for him yet. This second son - of the second pillar - I shall name Malcador. For it was Malcador whom gifted him with new purpose." A small bolt of psychic energy began to etch his name onto the pod, and the Sigilite instinctively dropped to a knee.
"You should know well by now that you do not kneel to me, Sigillite." The Emperor replied, crackling a massive burst of energy. The pod slowly began to dissolve, 'MALCADOR' etched hard into it. A hole slowly tore in reality - and not even the warp itself smiled back. Simple nothingness. It swallowed the bits of little Malcador whole, and left an otherworldly air within the room.
"What shall we say of the brother, to the others?" Malcador said.
"He was the second found. He was a hero. And he was sent far and away upon a mission of the greatest importance." A small frown graced the Emperor's face. "And may fate play its hand well for him."
==
The Legend of Malcador begins in 280 After Conquest - southwest of Sunspear at a small palace called the Water Gardens. An ostentateous property, filled with pools and upon a beautiful beach, it hosted the families of nobles all across Dorne - and it was on a night in that year that a falling star struck the earth - awakening all within. The young Doran Martell was sleeping there, his duty to watch over many a child fostered with House Martell in the twilight sun. Chief amongst them was Arianne, his daughter of six, and the new babe kicking in Mellario's belly.
Doran was out in the eve, breathing the night air as he watched Arianne play happily in the sand, watching her feet mar it as she rolled around and smiled - babbling on about things as six year olds were wont to do. It was calming to him - his life was where he'd wished it, and as his little girl took a seat next to him, he knew all would be alright. Then they saw the star. It began white - slowly tracing towards them across the night sky. "What's that, daddy?" Arianne said. Her little finger pointed into the sky, a small cylinder slowly roaring towards the Earth, blazing now a brilliant orange. A massive cloud smashed through the sky - buffeting off its edges. Soon, the flame cooled - and it was a simple dot floating across the horizon.
"I don't know, my sweet." Doran said, his eyes sharp. It seemed to hit the water - a massive spray spitting into the sky, steaming. It struck twice, thrice, and four times - its size suddenly apparent as it hit the fifth time - only a few dozen yards out - before landing on its sixth only a short way out to sea. The casing immediately cracked - a smaller pod rolling out as it began to bubble and dissolve - a silvery film coating the sea as a small metal tube floated to shore. It cracked immediately down the middle - revealing the bronze skin of a quiet baby boy. It let out a small breath and began to cry - trying to roll. Arianne stepped forward, and Doran caught her wrist. "Daughter, this is no-"
"It's a baby!" She said, running forward and scooping it out, holding it tight with her weak child's arms. The baby seemed to glow with a strange light, and suddenly Arianne seemed to hold it as if it were air itself. "Oof! It just got really light, daddy!"
Doran stood, brushing off his robe, and stepped forward in the evening sand. A pair of stunningly blue eyes stared back, a cold calculation seemingly analyzing him, even in a mind so young. Electric gold seemed to blaze in them. Whatever it was - whomever this babe might be - it came from the sky: and the gods themselves.
Arianne took the feather-baby to the gardens, as Doran went to wake Mellario and several of the servants - especially the Maester. The latter claimed the boy was unnaturally healthy and quick-witted for his age, and that he was already quite far along. The pod itself was made of something 'Better than Steel' and was sent to Oldtown as soon as possible. Little progress was made - it was far beyond anything they understood.
So began the tale of Malcador. Son of the God Emperor. Savior of all.
TheOmnimercurial
Dragon Bard
- Location
- UK
Ah cool! This I will read.
The Water Gardens - 280 AL
Two sets of feet beat against the blazing sand, a few chuckles filling the air as they slowly disappeared over a rise - away from a palace and all its guards. For all their ability and training, the spears that guarded the Water Gardens could not defeat the duo that oft found itself in trouble. Since he was big enough to walk, Malcador - called 'Mal', or Starchild, by many - had always been the adventurer - a quiet traveler whose skill at stealth was only matched by his own skill in reading others and using it to his advantage.
It was just such a skill that allowed he and his adoptive sister to disappear over a rise - far from the watchful eyes of their guardians. With naught but a pair of water flasks and their wits, they intended a journey that none could surpass - to find the famous font of long life as lady and knight! Arianne held up an empty sheaf of paper - she'd pulled it from a binding in the library at the gardens, much to Mal's chagrin. The boy had quite a love for books - and ever since he could turn a page he'd been reading.
"It has to be..." Arianne scrunched her brow - her small eyes staring hard at the paper. Her hand shot out arbitrarily, pointing in a direction, and Mal's blue eyes stared off into the distance. He rubbed his blonde hair - bleached brilliant gold in the sunlight, and shrugged.
"Are you sure, Ari?" He asked. Arianne turned to him, her hair falling in ringlets as she did.
"Are you questioning a princess?" She replied. Malcador stared at her, wordlessly, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
"As m'lady commands." Arianne stared back for a moment, before throwing her head back in a laugh. The pair let their chuckles rise high in the distance - and a tired guard held his spear tighter a distance away. He swore his daydreams seemed more and more real by the day - monstrous roars and other madness going on just outside his sight. He would have to see a Maester about it, for certain.
The young pair set off, their sandals leaving small spots in the sand as they disappeared over another rise - rocks crackling beneath their feet as they went. It had been nearly three months since Mal had fallen from the sky - and he was already six years old! Maybe even older, if you listened hard to Maester Caleotte's ramblings. The man was still beside himself at the idea of a child from far stars.
"So." Arianne said, her voice high pitched and joyful. Her hips swayed as she skipped along the sands, watching Mal's measured and steady path across the sands. She quickly began to skip around him. "What're you gonna do with yourself, Malkie?" She asked.
"I know not your meaning, m'lady." Malcador said, continuing his pace with the smallest of responses to his new familiar. She poked him in the back, giggling.
"You're silly. You don't have to do anything! You could be a knight, or a Maester - maybe go up north and become a Night's Watch person, or even a goldcloak in the big city - fighting crime! You could be a mercenary!" She said, smiling. "You could even be like big Captain Areo and get a huge axe! Wouldn't that be so amazing?!" She said, smiling. She stopped, grabbing Mal's shoulders. "Wouldn't it?"
"I dunno." Malcador said, averting his eyes from her. It was rude to look a super-noble lady in the eyes - but harder to deal with her appraising looks. He was really just a commoner - not even a Sand, and definitely not a Martell. Just a boy with a very interesting story - and one that everyone kept asking him about. Nobody remembers before they were born - Malcador was sure of that. All he remembered was suckling at the teet of a wet nurse - and later being told he'd become a ward of House Martell. Call him whatever you wanted, he was a commoner. Just some man with no title and no house and no prospects beyond serving the Martells.
So he'd play. Enjoy himself. And hope he never became useless. Not that Arianne ever would think of him that way - it was something to see a person's aura: their true selves. He never spoke of it - because if others knew of it, he might become more than some curiosity. Hers was that of a pure child - frolicking - and she never acted as anything else.
They crossed another dune, hot sun blazing down upon them, and Arianne stopped to look at the paper again. She turned back to Malcador, who calmly looked out across the horizon. "Um..." She said, looking at the paper. Mal frowned. This was the part where the failure of the expedition was left to his repair. Were he any other man, they'd wander in circles for hours upon hours. Thankfully, Malcador was not other men.
He took the paper from her, wordlessly, his eyes tracing it. Arianne wrapped her arms around her chest, grabbing her shoulders. It was hot for her - she was quite plump at her age, and looked off at the sands with some disappointment.
A sudden glow caught her eye, and she snapped back to look at Malcador - his eyes replaced by orbs of golden light - shining on the page before him. In Malcador's mind, a hundred pathways were flitting between one another - but soon he found his objective. His eyes clicked off, wordlessly, and he looked to see his companion's face struck with awe. "What?" Malcador said.
"Your eyes, Malkie! They were glowing!" Arianne shouted. She practically started jumping around him. "You're a wizard! You can do magic!" Malcador frowned. This would not do.
"I'm sure it was just the sun, Ari." Malcador said. "Anyway - there's an Oasis thataways-" He pointed with a finger, "-Let's go and have a nice afternoon." They marched off - Arianne prattling on about her friend-knights, and about her new sibling soon to be born. All the while she kept pecking him about his magic - and Malcador simply feared.
For there were bad things that happened to witches and wizards - and not very many good ones.
They spent much of the day sitting by the small pool - a few snakes slithering about them. Arianne smiled and laughed and chittered on to herself - while Malcador was content to watch the sun and play with the leaves of a small bush - occasionally drinking water and letting his pale skin try to brown. It was too pure, though - and refused any sort of warming. Really, he'd never complained about heat or cold in his life: nor had he found many afflictions that others had borne.
In many ways, he felt too powerful in this world.
After a time, Arianne declared it was time to leave. It was nearly dusk by then, and she seemed practically asleep from her hours frolicking. As they walked, she slowly began to stumble a bit, yawning regularly, and eventually decided they should stop. As soon as she was asleep, Malcador had her over his shoulders, her feet dangling in the air as he went over the rise. A few guards were out with torches - searching for something - and Malcador reached out with his thoughts. Suddenly, he was naught but a shadow in the eyes of most. It allowed him to cross into the gardens without trouble, and crack open Arianne's bedchamber without anyone noticing.
He dropped his guard just a moment - long enough for the backside of a longaxe to tap him in the forehead. The grey-haired figure of the man who liked him least stepped into view, his bearded face lowering to Malcador's level. "And where, exactly, were you?" The man's voice boomed, his Norvosi accent floating out.
"Lady Arianne wanted me to take her to an Oasis." Malcador said. Areo stood, quietly slipping her off Mal's shoulders and gently placing her on the bed. She quietly shifted, cuddling her pillow, and began a light snore. Hotah motioned to the door.
"And how, exactly, did you find one?" Areo said, the pair stepping out onto a patio - a single torch burning overhead. Malcador shrugged, and the axe-wielding priest searched his eyes for deception. His aura was like the Titan of Braavos - strong, tall, and unyielding. He wasn't particularly angry, Mal could tell, but certainly interested.
The man took a knee. "Prince Doran is unhappy, starchild. Do not let me catch you doing such things again." He said. "Whatever powers you use to change this world - they are dangerous, and people will always try to use you for them. Do not let them," He paused a moment, stroking his beard, "Soon we will go to Sunspear. It is a different place. Keep your wits about you - and do not find so much trouble as you have."
Malcador slept well that night, alone in his small room. He read books by his candles, finding little need for sleep. It was a tale, one about a boy named Salvis, who flew too high with his magic and was burnt by the sun for it. He read a tale about the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror, and how for all his powers he couldn't defeat Dorne. No matter your individual power, you're nothing if the world doesn't want you to be it.
He knew he was still a common boy. A lucky one.
What is nobility, even?
Very nice, I'm always up for a good GoT cross.
Primarch!Malcador getting lectured on his powers by a guard captain...... I don't even understand what's going on.
Is this guard captain special in his own way or is he simply a random character.
Is this guard captain special in his own way or is he simply a random character.
taovkool
Forever Gone
- Location
- The Library, Department of General Works
Areo Hotah was one of the Bearded Priest of Norvos, a special sect of warriors using axes that could make the Unsullied a run for their money. In canon, Areo even managed to kill a member of the Kingsguard, look it up in wiki since I'm still working on the spoiler text here.
Trust me, when priests actually learn how to fight in a semi-militant-religious sect, they tend to turn into badasses.
I meant on magic. How on earth did he know that Mal was casting?
taovkool
Forever Gone
- Location
- The Library, Department of General Works
Uuh, he's a bearded priest. I doubt he'd ever seen a real magic before but Norvos' advocates many religions, which may includes beliefs on spirits or shadowbinders. And with Mal's mysterious appearance...yeah, it's not hard to put 2 + 2.
This is very interesting. Malcador can always take a page out of Oberyn's book and go gallivanting as a mercenary out in the free cities. I'm sure he could end up making a name for himself out there, gaining great wealth, and maybe even unifying Essos if he's bored.
Sunspear
The city rose like a giant stone amidst sand and dust - small flecks of water giving rise to great trees of green palm and brown seed, the size of a small boy's head. The starchild rode with practiced ease - his body that of a boy fourteen - and his eyes like piercing eagles as they cut through the heat haze. A small shawl covered his robe, fluttering in the desert winds. His father rode atop his sand steed, its blonde mane bouncing as they slowly approached the fore gates. A party already stood there waiting for him - including a carriage containing the current Princess of Dorne. She was haggard, aged. As ancient as the sands of time that slowly sifted around them.
But she seemed keen - and those eyes were sharp like his. A few trumpets blared as Doran and party approached - Arianne in a small cart lead on by Areo Hotah himself. Merchants and passers-by stood to the sides, and Malcador's white and pristine face seemed to glow as the locals took him in. He had a radiance. Something the people seemed to love. A small bearded man, likely in his fifties, stuck out a hand. "Who is this lord I see before me?" He said. His daughter pushed his hand down, blushing hard as Malcador's horse steered in her direction.
"What do you say, my good man?" Malcador said, smiling.
The man ripped off his turban, holding it to his chest and bowing. "I ask who this lord is before me, pale as his skin is, and shining as he is to all." The party had stopped, everyone staring in turn at Malcador. The young adopted Prince smiled.
"A boy who fell from the sky. I hold no lands or title - other than ward to Prince Doran." The man's brown eyes stared up with a small glimmer in them, and Malcador kept a closed-lip smile kinked slightly upwards on his lips.
"From the sky?" The man said. "The seven have sent you!" He shouted. His daughter attempted to hush him. "No - no!" The man said. He stepped forward, touching Malcador on the calf from his short stature. Malcador's smile continued, and he leaned down to pat the man.
"It is not our place to say the gods' will for me." Malcador said. "Only that there is one, and I must find it as you must find yours." He cracked teeth on that line, smiling with glistening white amidst the bright sand. The man nodded, making his apologies, and the procession continued unabated.
"Mother!" Doran shouts, "I bring my daughter and the starchild to your acquaintance. I also bring joyous news - my wife is pregnant once more."
The Princess of Dorne smiled. "May the babe grow strong as you and Oberyn have." Her voice crowed. Her eyes crossed to look over Malcador. "But here is the man of the hour - one who makes the small folk forget themselves. Hail to you, boy." She said. Her face was impassive, but Malcador didn't budge an inch.
"Greetings, my Princess." Malcador said, his voice even and measured. The lady let out a small noise, slowly building in crescendo. It was a old cackle of a laugh, and she beckoned him forward.
"It seems the gods did give you the greatest of minds." She said. "Already playing the game, and a man grown within a year. They are just, no doubt." Malcador shrugged.
"I cannot deign what the gods have chosen for me. I can only act as I see fit." Malcador replied. He saw in his other eyes the aura of concern and pride that floated away from the woman. Malcador was a threat to her - and to her family: a man who could turn all of Sunspear to arms tearing down all House Martell had wrought.
Malcador's mind reached out, brushing hers with a calming ember. The woman's eyes softened. "And so you can." She replied. Her gaze turned to Doran. "Your brother has sent word. Our second Prince shall finish his company's contract in two months. Hence he shall return, hoping to see Elia in the north before returning to residence in the city." Doran smiled, nodding. Malcador could sense the slight unease he had at the prospect. "You will be here when he arrives, and stay here. The family has much to discuss. Come, come!" She shouted, clapping her hands. Her carriage started on its way to the keep, Prince Doran's party in calm tow.
This was Sunspear.
This would be Malcador's true home. A place where the people saw him as an angel, the nobles a double-edged sword, and he himself simply wished to evade it all.
He would not be so lucky.
(In this Episode, Historian writes nothing of particular consequence to anything. It's the Seinfeld of Westeros.)